"What do you think of putting Agent Cooper on my team?" Hotch asked, from the screen of the laptop. He was in his office, flipping through resumes trying to find Dave's replacement in the field. As usual, Strauss was shooting down all of his ideas. This time, from the comfort of her bedroom.

"I don't." Erin shook her head, "he's too reckless and he doesn't follow the rules."

"He's a good agent," Hotch offered diplomatically.

"Be that as it may, he'll have you in the Section Chief's office more often than I'd like," Erin said. "Just because I'm away, doesn't mean I'm going to set my best team up for failure."

"So that's a hard 'no' then?"

"What do you think of Matt Simmons?" She countered, "you've worked with him before."

"He's with IRT." Hotch said.

"Not anymore, IRT is being dissolved.A lot of talent was going to waste. They weren't nearly as successful as Director Robinson had hoped, his last act as Director, was to disband that unit."

Hotch nodded, "okay, I'll set up a meeting with Simmons and see how it goes."

"Good."

"Which brings me to my next point," Hotch said, flipping through the files in front of him. "Who is going to replace you?" The question dropped like a rock between them, Erin cleared her throat and said, "I talked with Barnes and we agreed that my position as Section Chief overlaps with her's as Assistant Director-"

"So, you're pulling double duty?"

"For now." Andy's generous benefit package that would have given her six months to find another Section Chief and a six month transition period after the twins were born, had never been drawn up. It was just another way her 'friend' screwed her over before his departure from the bureau.

"Are you sure you want to do that?"

"The Bureau is in crisis-" she argued. "I don't see another option here."

"I'm aware," Hotch said evenly. "My team is 3 people down and my section chief is pulling double duty. I think we should bring Dave back-"

"No." Erin said, shaking her head. "He's happy in his teaching position-"

"You and I are overworked and he can handle the section chief paperwork-" Hotch pushed, "I'm not saying he needs to be in the field full time, but with a physical-"

"No." She argued, with her arms crossed over her chest. "I can't put him back in the field-"

"Can't or won't?"

"It won't change my answer."

"You're pulling rank on me."

"I am." She said gravely. "His heart is like hamburger-"

"Erin, we both know that's an exaggeration-"

"So?" She dropped her shoulders, "my answer remains the same. He's available by phone for consultation, but I'm not putting him back in the field."

"Because he's your husband-" the statement hung between them, suddenly, you could cut the tension with a knife.

"What are you suggesting?" She asked, staring down her nose at Hotch.

"Only that you'd rather wrap him up in bubble wrap and lock him in classroom because of his 'bad heart' than admit that you need his help-"

"Agent Hotchner," Erin glared at him, "you're overstepping."

"Erin, he looks weak." Hotch insisted, going to bat for his friend's career. "He's got one foot out the door of the bureau already with his age. If Barnes takes over, we both know she's going to push him the rest of the way out."

"She won't get in," Erin said quickly. "I'm launching an investigation against her with the DOJ as soon as they appoint her replacement. If I had more manpower-" she didn't finish the thought. She needed Barnes as a placeholder until the DOJ appointed another Assistant Director. Then, she would happily watch as she was hauled away in handcuffs.

"You sound pretty sure about that," Hotch said and cleared his throat. Every inch of the FBI building was under constant surveillance, if Erin had a plan he didn't want her to say anything that might get recorded. "Erin-"

"Hey Hotch," Dave called, stepping into the frame. He had a towel draped over his shoulders, his t-shirt stained with post-workout sweat. "You're coming for Thanksgiving, aren't you?"

"The Annual Rossi Lonely Hearts Thanksgiving?" Hotch quipped, it was a standing tradition between the two men. When Jessica took Jack to her father's house and Aaron wasn't invited, the two met at Dave's house for food, ancient scotch and Robustos. "I don't think that's going to work out this time, Dave."

"It's a little different this year," he admitted, resting his hands affectionately on his wife's shoulders, "but you should still come."

"You should," Erin agreed, "It's an open invitation for the whole team."

"What can I bring?" Hotch asked.

"The turkey," Erin and Dave said in unison. Unfortunately, this time they weren't completely kidding.

"Oh, of course," Hotch said dryly, shaking his head. "That's a bad joke when Dave tells it."

"It's tradition," Dave boasted. "You can bring whatever you feel like sharing."

Hotch nodded, "Anything else?"

"Nah," Dave said, shaking his head. "Just yourself."

"I'll be there," Hotch said.

"Good," Erin said, always having the last word. "Line up an interview with Simmons and I like Tara Lewis for Dave's replacement."

"She's young," Hotch said "And she doesn't have much field experience…"

"Let her try. If it doesn't work out, we'll try Cooper. For now, I'd prefer not to have to write up your team in advance," she joked.

"Yes, Ma'am." Hotch nodded, "If that's all…" He let the sentence hang, he didn't like holding these meetings in his house, because they took away from his time with Jack. Which meant, he spent more time in his office.

"That's all, Aaron. Go home." Strauss said, "that's an order, Agent Hotchner."

"Always a pleasure." He said, grinning faintly, and ended the conference.

Erin closed her laptop and turned to her husband. "Have we even bought a turkey yet?"

"Nope." He responded, pulling off his t-shirt. "I'll go tomorrow and pick up everything. We have a day or two to figure it out."

"Can we have it catered?" She called as he closed the bathroom door and started the shower.

"We could, if either of us had thought about that two weeks ago." He said and stepped into the shower.

"What are we going to feed these people?" She asked.

"We'll figure it out-" Dave yelled, to be heard over the shower.

Erin sat down on the edge of the bed and slipped off her slippers. It was bad enough that they weren't prepared to host Thanksgiving, they'd talked about inviting the team. They planned the menu, dug out Erin's traditional autumn themed napkin rings and Dave's Waterford crystal, but nobody thought to go to the store and buy the food. Even if they had the ingredients, who was going to cook it when Erin was on modified bedrest? In short, this team dinner was shaping up to be a disaster.

Dave poked his head out the bathroom door, "there's always pasta…." he offered.

"And pizza," Erin said, then thought better of it. "Not pizza," she amended. "Can't you pull some strings?"

"You hate it when I throw money around." He grouched, pulling on a pair of sleep pants.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," She threw back, crossing her arms and reclined against the headboard. "Surely, we know someone who can get a turkey before Thanksgiving."

"Stop worrying," he went around to her side of the bed and pecked her lips. "It's bad for my health." He said, leaning his weight against the mattress, to look her in the eye.

"Your health?" She repeated, smiling. "Enlighten me."

"That's what I said," he laid his palm on her abdomen. "When you worry and your blood pressure goes up and that's bad for our little A-Team."

"Which then stresses you out." Erin rolled her eyes.

He smirked, "See? I told you, this was about me ," he joked and kissed her again. "I'll make some calls tomorrow and see what's out there."

"We could have ham-"

"On Thanksgiving?" Dave eyed his wife as if she had grown a second head. "Never."

"A ham is precooked, that means less cooking-"

"You're not cooking," he argued, "so don't worry about it."

"David-" she started to protest and tell him that he needed to watch his blood pressure. Cooking a Thanksgiving feast for a dozen people, by himself, wasn't good for him. "I don't want you to cook by yourself."

"Erin." He interrupted her train of thought, "I can handle it."

She gave him a stern look and laid her hand on his. "I'm worried you'll overdo it, trying to help me." He'd been handling everything, the laundry, cooking, anything that required lifting, he took care of it, but he was still a heart attack survivor.

"But I won't," He said, looking into her eyes. It seemed like, the closer they came to meeting their twins, the more anxious Erin became. He didn't know how to help her, but he tried.

"I'm starting to think this whole thing was a bad idea." In her mind, she saw her husband on the kitchen floor, clutching his chest and she was too big and too slow to help him.

"It wasn't," he went around to his side of the bed and climbed in beside her. His arm automatically went around her waist. "It will be good to have everyone together."

"I know you're not going to ask your team for help-" she said, turning on her side to face him.

"I won't have to ask," he pulled her towards him. "It'll be fine." He tried to reassure her, "don't worry."

"That's the problem," she swiped her face with the back of her hand. "I can't stop worrying, logically I know we don't need a turkey. I know you're not going to die on the kitchen floor-"

"Whoa, whoa whoa, Hang on." Dave held up his hand, alarmed. He stared at her in disbelief, "You're afraid I'm going to die cooking Thanksgiving dinner?"

"Yes," she nodded earnestly, blinking back tears. "I know it sounds crazy, but I can't help it."

"I get it," he said softly. "I worry too, but," he lifted her hand off the bed. "Everything's okay." He laid her hand against his chest. "Feel that?"

She nodded, the lump in her throat wouldn't dissipate.

"I'm always going to be here." He whispered and pulled her close to him, her head landed squarely against his chest. He drew absent patterns on her back with his hand. "Why would I want to leave you now?"

The next morning, Dave crept out of bed and changed his clothes. Erin was still asleep and he didn't want to wake her. She was a wreck and there was nothing he could do about it. He took his phone off the dresser and left the bedroom, gently closing the door behind him.

He sat down at the dining table, in the chair furthest from the bedroom and dialed Hotch. A minute later, he answered.

"What's up Dave?" He asked, pouring a cup of coffee. He didn't worry about keeping his voice down, because his house was empty. "Well, I've got a problem...my wife, my lovely, calm, rational wife-"

Hotch cut him off, Dave's long suffering tone told him all he needed to know. "Erin's worried about Thanksgiving."

"She's...shall we say...a little emotional. She thinks there won't be a turkey, she's afraid I'm going to keel over in the kitchen. The problems get worse as the list goes on."

"Are you worried about Postpartum Depression?" From what he could tell, since being forced to work from home, Erin's moods swung faster than a pendulum on a grandfather clock.

"I wasn't," Dave said sharply, "but I am now, thanks."

"Sorry-"

Right now, I'm thinking that I need to get this Thanksgiving thing figured out before my wife gives herself a heart attack."

The corner of Hotch's mouth pulled in a half smile. He was glad to hear Dave so concerned, he deserved this chapter in his life. He earned the right to be happy.

"I'll talk to the team, I'm sure we can come up with something." Hotch said, thinking about the turkey he'd bought, when he thought Jack was going to be home. It wasn't very big, but it was better than nothing.

Dave sighed in relief, the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders. "I knew I could count on you."

"Don't expect perfection-"

Dave's tone turned somber, "Hey Hotch?"

"Yeah?"

"Is it wrong that I can't wait for this pregnancy to be over?" He loved his children, but he loved Erin more. Every day there was something new wrong with her, just to keep them healthy. He was tired of watching her ankles swell bigger by the day because of her blood pressure. He couldn't rub her feet because the pressure points could induce labor.. The mood swings were making them both crazy, the aches and pains that came from spending too much time in bed, he could do nothing about.

"Dave-"

"Don't get me wrong," Dave jumped in, lest Hotch get the wrong idea. "I want the babies, I want them healthy, but my wife is suffering. How is that fair?"

"It's not fair," Hotch agreed, "But it's normal...and it's worth it."

Dave rested his elbow on the table and held his head in one hand, "then how do I help her?"

"That's a hard one…" Hotch blew out a breath. "Usually I'm coming to you for advice."

"Now we know why," Dave snarked with a smile, "I know how to help you."

Hotch laughed slightly, "I'm trying here. Just love her, Dave. You know how to do that."

"Here's hoping." Dave pretended to raise a glass, "thanks Hotch. I better go, there's a shortage of frosted flakes in my house."

"You can't have that," Hotch agreed and ended the call.

Dave laid his phone on the table, he heard the sound of running water coming from the en-suite bathroom. He pushed open the bedroom door, "Good morning." He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Did you sleep okay?"

"I slept fine, did you?" She asked, shifting toward him, supporting her weight on her arm.

He nodded, "we're out of cereal."

"That's a problem," she said, "are we completely out?"

"Well, you could have the last bowl of Trix, but I'd have to explain to our ten year old, why she's left with the Cheerios."

"Good point," she shifted further onto her left side, preparing to get up. "That won't work, give me ten minutes to get ready and I'll go with you."

"Are you sure you want to go?" He asked.

"I haven't gone further than the gas station and my OB's office in two weeks," she complained and you only let me walk inside the doctor's office because they didn't have a wheelchair."

"Mary said you needed to take it easy," he argued. They were a few days short of 27 weeks and Max was already head down, in the perfect position to make his appearance. Which would be great, if they were closer to 37 weeks than 27. The last thing they needed was for her water to break in the produce section. That was Dave's irrational fear, delivering their extremely premature twins in the middle of the grocery store. Or in the car, or the house...anywhere that wasn't a hospital.

"Do want me to go postal on you, because that's where we're headed." Erin said, her eyes narrowed into slits. "That's not a threat either, it's a promise."

"Okay," he held up his hands, "whatever you want but would you at least consider a motorized cart?"

"I'm pregnant, not disabled." She scoffed, "those are for sick people." She argued and yanked off her t-shirt and threw it to the side. "Please, pass me the green sweater in the closet?"

He went to the closet and got the shirt, there was no point in arguing, when Erin wanted something, she found a way to get it. There was nothing he could say to stop her. "I agree that you're not sick," he handed her the sweater then took two steps back. "But you're supposed to be on bedrest, not running around a warehouse shopping for Thanksgiving supplies. Hell, Erin, I get tired in Costco."

"Then you ride the cart," she argued, changing from silk pajama pants to a pair of maternity leggings. "I don't get tired," she huffed and sat back down on the edge of the bed.

Dave shook his head, grinning. "You're a terrible liar, my love."

"It's mind over matter," she argued, she stood up and brushed her hair in the mirror then sat down again. "If I say I can handle a trip to Costco, then I'm going."

Lies. All lies. Exhausted was her new normal, but she couldn't leave everything on her husband. He still worked, consulting on cases from home and building class material for his students at The Academy, on top of doing the bulk of the housework, while she lay in bed, trying not to die of boredom.

"I think, therefore I am," Dave muttered, exasperated, why couldn't she milk this pregnant thing for all it was worth, like any normal person would? Here he was willing to wait on her hand and foot, tending to her every weird and wild whim. If she asked for watermelon at 2AM in November, fine he would go get it. Pickles and ice cream for breakfast? No problem, would Madame like the pickles chopped up and mixed with the ice cream or on the side? Would she prefer the small spoon or a larger one? Or would a fork be better suited for the occasion? No, Erin wouldn't have any part of that. She wanted to do everything for herself. If he washed a load of clothes, she folded them. If he cooked dinner, she loaded the dishwasher, it took her twice as long and sometimes she had to sit down between the rinsing and loading, but she did it and she wouldn't let him help.

He pulled a pair of socks from the dresser. "Can I at least help you with your boots?"

"Well, considering I haven't seen my feet in several weeks, I think that's a good idea." He knelt down in front of her, her feet and ankles were swollen, again. He prodded her foot experimentally, the last thing she needed was to roll an ankle.

"What's going on down there?" She asked, leaning forward to look over the cusp of her baby bump. "Why are you poking me?" She asked, with a laugh.

"Just...checking out the situation." He unfolded the socks and slid one onto her foot.

"What's the verdict, Doc?" She asked, as he poked her ankle again.

"You're riding the damn cart," he grouched, covering her other foot with the sock. He stood up and grabbed her snow boots from the closet. "It's freezing outside." He muttered.

"David, I can't wear those."

forty-five minutes and one pair of Dave's sneakers later, they were finally parked in front of Costco. "Watch your step," Dave said, holding the passenger door of the Audi. The Costco parking lot was packed to the brim, the cold weather and icy roads hadn't deterred the shoppers. Apparently, half of Dale City was prepping for Thanksgiving, judging by the amount of shoppers leaving the store with carts brimming with turkey and the usual trimmings.

"I can do it," Erin said, cautiously sticking one sneaker-clad foot onto the asphalt. "You never park this close to the carts." Usually, he parked as far from the other patrons as possible, to avoid dinging the paint on the Audi, this time, the passenger door almost touched the cart corral.

"I didn't want to look for a cart," he explained, yanking one out of the stall. "And, we're as close to the front as we could get without a handicap plaque." He huffed as they walked through the lot, his breath left a cloud of fog in their wake. As they approached the sliding doors, he pulled out his wallet and handed the attendant his membership card.

"You're riding the scooter, right?" Dave asked as they walked inside the store.

"You were serious about that?" She hissed, low enough so the other shoppers wouldn't hear.

"Yes, I was serious." He said, unplugging the nearest scooter.

Erin glanced from her husband to the scooter and back again, she caught the door attendant's not subtle at all, side-eye then looked back at her husband. "We'll take two." She said and sat down on the seat.

He unplugged another, beaming at his wife, "race ya."

"I admire your petty streak," Erin said, while they cruised through the store. They had bakery pies stacked in the basket of her scooter. Dave's basket was reserved for heavier things, like the milk and cereal.

"People are staring at us," Erin hissed as they zipped through the baby section, picking up random things. Erin's cart was stacked high with books and toys that they wouldn't use for several months. "Someone's going to get the wrong idea and call CPS."

"Let 'em stare," he shrugged and added another set of baby bottles to his basket. "We'll laugh the social worker out the door."

"Thanks for doing this," she said, he parked his scooter beside her long enough to take her hand. "Any time."

They took their time, cruising along, snacking and sampling their way across the store. Every once in a while, they would take turns getting off the scooter to read a sign, but Dave did all the heavy lifting.

"This isn't terrible," he mused. "Although, the view could be better…" he strained to see inside the freezer case, they still needed a turkey and there was limited time to thaw it.

She laughed, "you don't have to do this, but I appreciate the effort. I know your ego is suffering."

"It's dead," he muttered. "My pride is dead." He parked the scooter in front of the freezer and surveyed the offerings. Cornished game hens ,whole chicken, duck, but not a single turkey. He glanced up, looking for an employee, hoping they would have one stashed in the back. Unfortunately, his eyes landed on the bright pink sign first. "Completely out of turkey. No turkey, no ham."

"Do you know how to cook a Cornish hen?" He asked. Pulling out his phone he snapped a picture of the sign and sent it to Hotch.

'We got a problem.'

Hotch responded right away: 'I bought the last turkey, yesterday. Everything's been handled. All we need is your house.'

"That sounds like fancy chicken," Erin said.

Dave shook his head and shoved his phone in his pants pocket. "Let's make it desert only, everyone can fill up on pie and junk food. I think you were right, Sweetheart, Thanksgiving isn't the same without the right bird. The food doesn't matter anyway, as long as everyone is together."

"I knew you would see it my way, eventually." She grinned like the cat who caught the canary. "Now, can we move on to the important things?"

"What else do we need?" He asked, staring at their overflowing baskets.

She shot him a look, as if it were obvious, "watermelon, pickles and ice cream."

He pulled a disgusted face and shook his head. "Just promise me you don't plan to eat all of those things together," he caught the look on her face. "In front of me," he added quickly.

"Well, that was fun." Dave said, unlocking the front door. "I'll unload everything, then go pick up The Kid."

"Would you please let me help-"

"It's a box, Erin and it's cold enough outside that it can stay in the car for awhile."

"Then leave it," she pressed. "It makes me nervous when you lift too much." She checked the clock on the wall, they had two hours before school let out. "Come sit with me and take a break."

"I'm fine." His hands clenched into fists involuntarily, why did she insist on riding his ass every chance she got? He couldn't take a breath without someone asking if he was alright. "Would you please stop fussing over me?"

"Then stop giving me things to fuss about." He insisted on lifting the 50 lb sack of dog food into the backseat, by himself. He loaded all the groceries into the car, damn near locking her in the front seat while he did so. If he wasn't careful he was going to hurt himself, worse than last time. She was starting to think Mary was right, they would both be safer chained to a bed.

His fists clenched, his carotid hammered in his neck, heat spread across his face. "Goddammit, Woman! You're the patient here, not me." He stomped into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him.

Erin put her feet on the footstool with a sigh, his pride was wounded and her hovering around, busting his balls didn't help. "If you're mad at me, there are chairs in the kitchen, too. Sit your ass down somewhere." Busting his balls didn't help, but who would they be if she didn't?

He wasn't mad at her, truth be told, he wasn't mad at all. Frustrated? Absolutely. He sat at the counter, annoyed with his current lot in life. Erin was just looking out for him, the same way he tried to look out for her. He just didn't realize how annoying it was to be on the other side of things. He rode a fucking scooter through Costco and enjoyed it, what did that say about him as a man? That he was too weak to support his family, right when they needed him the most. That's what it said. "I'm not dead," he scrubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. "You're not getting out of this marriage that easy!" He threw back, loud enough to be heard through the closed door.

"I told you 'for better or worse, and I intend to capitalize on both!" Erin yelled.

"If you're looking for my balls, I think you left them tied to that scooter."

"Nah, don't worry, David. They're safe, hanging from my key ring, like always."

That did it, he stormed out of that kitchen like a bat out of hell, grinning the whole way. "Has anybody ever told you, you're mean?" He came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders.

"Mean, ruthless, hard…" Erin said, inspecting her manicure. "You knew this when you married me."

"I didn't think I'd like it this much," he muttered, sitting down beside her.

She stared at him, aghast, "you like it when I'm mean to you?"

"I like it when you help me put things in perspective."

"We both know you only rode that scooter for me."

"That, and to piss off the door attendant."

She giggled and leaned her head on his shoulder, "Mission accomplished."

"Happiness cannot be traveled to owned, earned, worn or consumed. Happiness is the spiritual experience of living every minute with love, grace, and gratitude."

– Denis Waitley

Dear Reader, This is a cordial invitation to a Thanksgiving celebration with the Rossi's and the BAU in the next chapter.