"Why don't you let me do that?" Erik suggested, watching from the doorway as Emily attempted to undress the baby with one arm in a sling. Isadora, however, was not in a cooperative mood, refusing to lay still long enough for Emily to unsnap the onesie she wore.

"I'm fine," she insisted, sounding annoyed, even though she was smiling down at the baby. "I can handle it." She looked from one hand to the other as if debating whether she could withstand the pain of removing the sling.

He approached beside her, rested a hand on her uninjured shoulder. "I wasn't suggesting you couldn't," he said, calm in the face of her irritation, "But you're dealing with a very squirmy baby and one good shoulder."

"Well, I can't just stop being her mother," she snapped. "She needs a bath and someone has to do it..."

"Let me," he repeated. "I'm her father. I can manage for one night, I manage just find while you're gone..." It wasn't intended as an accusation, but it may have come off that way, judging by the reaction it produced from her.

"You said you were fine with me returning to work, but the truth is that you resent me for it, is that it?" she accused.

He sighed wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I didn't say that..."

"But it's true, isn't it?" she demanded. "You think that none of this would be happening if we'd just gone back to Genosha like you'd wanted – you think this is all my fault, right? Just admit it!"

He squeezed her shoulder tightly, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Emily, it's just a bath," he reminded her, "Just one night."

She sighed, bowed her head, all the fight seeming to bleed out of her in that moment. She kept one hand on Isadora's tummy to prevent her from rolling off the changing table (Isadora seemed to take that as a personal challenge, proceeding to wail at the top of her lungs in protest). "I like doing bath time," Emily said weakly.

"Em," he coaxed, "It's just for a few days while your arm heals – there will be plenty more bath times to come."

She cocked her head, her gaze turning sad. "And by the time it heals, I'll be away on a case. And then another. And another. Pretty soon, a year has gone by and she barely knows who I am."

Erik raised a brow. "I thought you wanted to return to work?"

"I do," she said, "I did. But..." She trailed off, looked down at the baby who was squirming against her hand, shaking her head softly. "I thought... I thought I didn't know who I was without my job, without being an agent, but I think I do now..."

"And who is that?"

She stared down into Isadora's eyes. "Her mother."

Erik rested a hand on top of hers where it rested on the baby's belly. "You'll always be her mother, Em – even while you're at work, you're still her mom," he assured her. "And she's certainly not going to forget you."

"And what happens when I don't come home?"

A beat. "Emily..."

"I mean, I could have died today – if that bullet was a few inches off..." She trailed off once again, eyes falling shut for a moment before opening again, shining with anxiety. "I don't want to leave her without a mother."

"You won't."

She let him take over undressing the baby then, finally admitting defeat. She stood back, watching him gently wrestle her flailing limbs out of the onesie. He lifted the baby into his arms, carrying her into the bathroom where the tub was already filled with a few inches of warm water.

She settled on the counter to watch him bathe her. "I can't guarantee that, though," she supplied in response to his insistence that she wasn't about to leave her daughter.

"So, what are you saying?"

The conversation didn't come up again until a few weeks later: on the night that Reid dropped her off after a night out – the first non-work night out she'd had since Isadora was born.

When she'd said she was going out that night with the girls, he'd anticipated a few hours at most before she missed Isadora and returned home for the night. He was not expecting her to stay out almost until dawn (three AM, according to the alarm clock beside the bed) and, apparently having drank everything in sight...

He could hear her drunken voice carrying up from the foyer, a series of thuds that was presumably her attempt to climb the stairs. He emerged from their bedroom to shush her before she woke the baby, but the moment she spotted him, she cried, "Hey, babe!" She stumbled into his chest, wrapped her arms around his neck, hanging off him like a monkey.

He raised a brow, tried to resist laughing as that would only encourage her overly affectionate (and overly loud) behaviour."You're wasted..."

"Shhhh," she hissed as if it were some sort of secret.

"How much did you have to drink tonight?" he asked, doubting she'd remember.

Instead of answering, she smiled drunkenly up at him, leaned in for a kiss that he reluctantly gave. "I love you," she sing-songed.

He rolled his eyes, but smiled anyway. "I love you too. Now, let's get you into bed," he said, picking her up bridal style and carrying her into the bedroom before they woke Rossi and attracted his ire.

"Bed?" she repeated, waggling her brows. She let herself go limp in his arms, like a rag doll.

He laughed a little, shook his head. "Not like that..." He set her down on the bed, brushed the hair out of her face. "Go to sleep while you still can – Is will be hungry in a few hours and she won't be quiet about it."

She wriggled out of her jeans, tossed them aside, then snuggled up under the blankets. "I think I need to quit my job," she mumbled, eyes already closed.

"What?" he asked, stopping in the middle of pulling aside the covers.

But apparently that was the entirety of the conversation, as she'd already fallen asleep.