Author's Note: Another story I had no memory of deleting! I'm finding them all over the place! This one was super short, and yet still not done with the final chapter, but, again, figure I'd repost the part that was taken down.

This is part of the "Some'verse," that is the "Some Chicken Soup…" and "Some …Wild Irish Oats" world. In order, this one comes before "Wild Irish Oats" as this is a prequel to that fic. In that story, Hotch makes passing reference to taking Emily to a wedding the month before. This is that wedding.

As to placement in time, basically assume terrible things from season 5 on, never happened, Haley is still alive and the team structure what it was back then. So say this is an AU, season 6.

Little Flutters

Emily dropped her hairdryer down onto the vanity, with a clatter.

Crap, crap, crap!

Her eyes shot over to the clock on the bathroom wall . . . she was running SO late! Hotch was going to be there any minute. And sure enough, she'd just reached over to pick up her eyeliner, when the universe decided to conspire to make her even LATER than she already was!

Her phone started to ring in the other room.

And though she wanted to let it just go to voicemail, given the nature of her work . . . the whole 'chasing serial killers' thing . . . as a rule, you couldn't just ignore the ringing phone so you could finish painting your face pretty colors.

That was kind of tacky.

So with a faint groan and a rolling of her eyes, while wearing just her black silk underwear . . . no, she still wasn't even dressed yet(!) . . . she ran out of the bathroom to snatch her phone up off the bed. And of course just as she picked it up . . . she rolled her eyes again . . . it stopped ringing.

"Awesome day, God!" She yelled with a point up to the sky, "awesome day!"

But then her gaze snapped back down to the phone and she saw a very cute face sitting there on the screen saying, 'missed call.'

Hotch!

Oh . . . she quickly hit the callback button . . . crap!

He picked up immediately.

"Hello."

"Hey," she sighed, while hurrying back into the bathroom, "are you running late?"

"No," Hotch slowly shook his head, knowing from the flustered tone that had just come through the line that Emily was nowhere near ready to go, "no, I'm not running late. I'm standing outside your door where I have just run the bell three times, but given the fact that you still have not come to the door, I'm assuming that you are running late."

The wedding starts at five, she'd said. I'll be ready at two-fifty on the dot, she'd said. I promise . . . she'd said.

He gave an affectionate eye roll.

It was his own fault for believing her.

"Oh shit!" She stopped short, "I'm so sorry, I was drying my hair! I guess I didn't hear it. Do you have your emergency key? I'm just going to be like five more minutes."

Okay, probably more like seven. But no more than ten!

"Yep," Hotch started digging in his pocket for his key, "I've got it. I was just going to use it actually, but I didn't want to scare the crap out of you if you came downstairs to find me in the living room."

Emily chuckled as she walked back over to the sink.

"Thanks for that, because I probably would have pulled my gun on you, and that would have just made the car ride awkward. So," she pulled the cell away from her head and clicked the speakerphone, "did you get a chance to take a look at the directions yet?"

She continued speaking now while projecting her voice and starting in with the eyeliner pencil again.

"It shouldn't be more than an hour, I don't think."

Hotch pushed the door open and slid the key back out of the lock.

"Yeah, maybe an hour twenty," he answered, "depending on traffic," he walked through the threshold and closed the door, "but if you're going to be a couple more minutes, I'll look up the directions one more time to double check."

"Yeah," Emily puffed out a raspberry as she dropped the eyeliner and picked up her silvery shadow, "I'm definitely going to be a couple more minutes. I twisted my ankle running this morning, so when I got home I had to put it up and ice it and I took too much Motrin and," she simultaneously sighed while she began making up her eyelids, "blah blah, I ended up falling asleep. Woke up, freaked out, and long story short, I just got out of the shower like six minutes ago."

Feeling his brow wrinkling with concern, Hotch paused in the middle of her front hallway.

"Is your ankle still bothering you?" He asked into the phone as his gaze shifted up the staircase, "should we stay in?"

Given how much Emily was DREADING this wedding of an extremely wealthy long ago ex-boyfriend to, ironically, her most hated cousin . . . as she'd assessed the whole event, "AWKWARD!" . . . he had to wonder if perhaps the ankle injury might have been her subconscious trying to figure out a legitimate, 'out' for her attendance that evening.

She'd been praying for a case to come up.

"No," Emily pouted down at the phone, though Hotch couldn't actually see her, "unfortunately it's okay now. Just a little achy, and a tiny bruise around my ankle bone. Besides," she put down the shadow and moved on to her blush, "short of actually losing a limb completely, I can't miss this damn wedding. I'd never hear the end of it."

Not only would mega bitch cousin Caroline, be making snide remarks about it for the next twenty Prentiss Family Christmas Parties, but her mother would be all over her too. The Ambassador was quite 'vested' in her attendance at this union. She hated her sister-in-law . . . Dad's brother's wife . . . as much as Emily hated the woman's daughter. And there apparently had been some comments made about Emily not really "fitting in" to Darren's world . . . Darren being the groom . . . the way that Caroline did, so no wonder things didn't work out between him and Emily.

Essentially it was a 'breeding' shot at their branch of the family. That Caroline was the purebred Palomino and Emily was the raggedy inbred . . . mule.

The Ambassador had hit the roof.

Truly, she'd ranted at Emily about "that botoxed witch," and her "buck toothed daughter," for an hour and a half over a Sunday afternoon high tea last fall at the Park Hyatt. By the end of the 'discussion' Emily had drank two pots of fifty-seven dollar organic Chinese snowflake tea (yeah, that was the actual price per pot, thank God her mother was paying) and had stress eaten three scones, six butter cookies, one gluten free baby cupcake, and nine chocolate petit fours.

When she'd finally gotten home, she'd eaten another half a roll of cookie dough. Then she'd called Hotch, and whined on the phone to him for twenty minutes about how her family was ruining her life. Finally he'd cut her off with an exasperated sigh and a promise that he'd be over in twenty minutes with a deep dish pizza, and for her to go put on her pajamas.

They could watch The Exorcist until she fell asleep.

Yeah, he knew that was her favorite de-stress movie, and yeah . . . her eyes crinkled slightly as she thought back to that night six months ago when she'd opened the door to find him with the pizza, an eye roll and half a dimple . . . he was the best 'platonic boyfriend' a girl could have. Someday, hopefully someday SOON, if she could ever get her shit courage together and just jump the man's bones already(!), she could remove the modifier 'platonic.' And then he'd just be the best boyfriend, period.

Though again, he kind of already was.

Case in point, it was a Sunday night and he had agreed to put on a tuxedo, drive halfway across the state, and spend like seven hours schmoozing with her INSANE family at this insane, over the top, two MILLION dollar wedding that they were attending that evening. Fortunately it was President's Day weekend so they were off tomorrow, but still, it was going to be one LONG ASS night!

It was just then she'd realized she'd kind of spaced out thinking about Hotch, and not actually listening to Hotch. His voice was still coming to her through the phone, and he'd just asked if quote, "that would be okay?" but she had NO idea what the first part of the sentence was, to which he was asking her permission.

Nice Emily . . . she rolled her eyes . . . real nice.

And not wanting him to know that she had totally zoned out on him when he was doing her this amazingly huge favor, she just said, "uh yeah, sure, okay with me," rather than saying, "uh yeah, sorry, what the hell are you talking about?" Because given that it was Hotch, it was unlikely that he was asking if he could clean out her bank accounts, or sell her to the Prince of Dubai.

So, "okay with me," seemed like a safe answer to pretty much any request he might have made.

And then sure enough, when he came back with a, "great, then I'll just go grab my ready bag now so I don't have to drag it up later when I'm tired," she thanked GOD, that she'd just said yes to his question! Because apparently he was asking if he could just sleep over her at place, rather than having to drive all the way back to his own when they got back at like two in the morning.

A plan which was ABSOLUTELY A-freaking okay with her!

Because now she was thinking that this might actually end up being a good night to try and pin him to the bed. But she pushed that thought aside for the moment, to simply say, "k, I'm just fixing my hair and then I'll jump into my dress."

And with that, Hotch said he'd be back in five minutes, and she heard the phone click. So with him off doing his own errand, she twisted her hair up in quick chignon, using some of her fancy, sparkly hair combs to keep it all in place. Then while shielding her eyes with her dog-eared, water stained, bathtub copy of Glamour, she did a hairspray spritz, before popping in a few final bobby pins to keep everything all tidy. Then her last piece of bathroom prep was to paint on a pretty Chinese Apple Red, smile.

There . . . her eyes crinkled slightly at her reflection . . . perfect.

And after another quick glance at the clock . . . coming up on three pm, ten minutes after she'd wanted to leave, damn it . . . she ran back out to the bedroom with lipstick and travel compact in hand. She tossed those on top of the dresser before she pulled her 'fancy dress holster,' aka the thigh high one, out from her lingerie drawer.

Was it weird that she kept her spare holsters in with her delicates? Perhaps some people might think so. But given that she considered her holster to be a basic 'undergarment,' as she strapped it onto her leg, she figured that those other people could just go to hell.

And once the holster was on, and snug, she unlocked her bedside safe and pulled out her backup piece.

The Glock 23.

Her pretty, poor, neglected baby, that only got to leave the house for off duty events. And after checking the safety, and the clip (good and good), she tucked it down into the little black leather holder now strapped to her thigh.

Again, perfect.

So she moved on to accessorizing her OTHER thigh with the lacy black garter she'd left out on the bed. Yes, again, perhaps it was a little odd that she was wearing sexy lingerie when she had no current sexual partner to speak of. But for the last eleven months, every planned private outing with Hotch, she made sure that all of her undergarments were super fun and sexy, JUST IN CASE the man FINALLY volunteered to fill the 'sexual partner' role, that she'd been holding open for him for like a year and a half now. Admittedly the celibacy was starting to chafe a tiny bit, but . . . she rolled her eyes . . . as long as she didn't watch too many Ryan Gosling movies, she was doing okay.

But whatever, she tried to push Gosling's face (and Hotch's) out of her mind while walking over to the bed. That's where she picked up the new dress she'd picked out for the wedding. It was a blue strapless ball gown with a filmy, layered chiffon skirt and sparkly sweetheart, bodice.

The thing was, in a word, GORGEOUS!

It had also blown out her limit on the Nordstrom's card, but as she started shimmying into it, she remembered that was the price she had to pay for looking hotter than her shallow, nose-jobbed, ear tucked, lipo-butted, Mean Girl cousin, at her own wedding. And really that was the entire purpose of the dress.

Revenge.

She and Caroline had gone to the same high school together junior year, the year Emily had gone through her punk phase, and the girl had been a NIGHTMARE to her! So this was just a reminder to all of the villagers (guests) throughout the land (at the wedding), who was really the fairest of them all.

Her!

Okay . . . she rolled her eyes slightly as she popped her boobs into the built in bra . . . maybe she wasn't actually the fairest in ALL the land. There were admittedly many, MANY women in the world (and probably the greater Metro area) who were way hotter than her, but when it came down to just fairest Prentisses in all the land, if she removed her cousin Gregory from the list, he who looked like a buffer version of George Clooney in his ER days, then she totally kicked all other Prentiss asses!

And she was twisting around, trying to get her zipper pulled up, when she heard Hotch yelling from downstairs.

"I'm back! Just coming up to drop off my bag!"

"K," she yelled, while wincing slightly when her finger pinched in the zipper track, "and I just need to do shoes and jewelry!

Or . . . she started to frown . . . she thought she just needed to get her shoes and jewelry, (deodorant and perfume had been done immediately post shower) but now she'd just realized she had a little problem.

Her zipper was stuck.

And for a second she had a panic attack thinking that she should have been cutting out the pizza and Ho Hos the last three weeks, because DEAR GOD, she did not have a backup dress! But then she ran her new fake fingernail along the zipper track, and realized it wasn't that the metal teeth weren't meeting, it was just that the material was caught somehow.

But fortunately . . . especially fortunate for a single gal who lived alone . . . for a change, she did actually have a Zipper Fixer on site. So with one hand on the sweetheart dip of the bodice to keep the girls from popping out, she started shuffling her way towards the open door.

"Hey Aaron," she called out, hearing his footsteps coming up the stairs, "before you do that, can you please help me with my zipper?"

"Yep," she heard him walking closer, "coming."

Just as she reached the doorway to look out, he appeared in front of her. And God DAMN did he look good in his tux! Like Hotch pretty much always looked good, but this was a new level of 'Prince Charming in his best Armani, at the ball,' good! But then she saw how his eyes had widened when he looked down at her.

He shook his head.

"You look amazing, Emily." Then his gaze shifted down to take in the length of the dress, before he looked back up at her with a little dimple, "Caroline is going to hate your guts."

Which he knew was, ONE HUNDRED PERCENT, the point of this dress that she'd told him she'd blown half a week's salary on. But still, God did she look beautiful. So much so that he couldn't even believe that he actually got to be her date that night!

He was a lucky, lucky bastard!

Feeling a faint flush touch her cheeks, Emily gave Hotch a shy smile.

"You do say the sweetest things, Aaron."

Hotch chuckled as he dropped his bag on the floor.

"Okay," he twirled his finger, "let me see the zipper."

After she'd turned around, he placed his hand on her shoulder as his gaze took in the smooth expanse of creamy skin on her back. She'd only been able to get the zipper a little above her waist, so it was quite obvious that she had no bra on either.

He bit down a groan.

Torture.

But as he stooped down slightly to get the piece of blue material unstuck from the shiny metal teeth, fortunately, she didn't know that. And he'd still choose, a thousand times out of a thousand, to be the one getting this view and nothing more, than knowing that she had some loser boyfriend out there helping her get dressed for these events. Because that was the key "hobby" he had going in his life right now.

Making sure all other men stayed far away from his woman.

Even if she didn't yet know that she was his woman. Yeah . . . he started running the zipper back up the track . . . it was complicated.

"Thanks again for coming with me tonight," Emily said softly over her shoulder.

"Not a problem," he patted her back, "and you're all set here. And if nothing else," he shrugged while stepping back and dropping down to sit on the edge of the mattress, "the food should be good, right?"

Considering this was a Metro DC 'crème de la crème' invitation list, (basically on his own, he as an attorney, decorated FBI agent, and chief of his division would be considered a no invite, 'plebian') they most likely had a name chef preparing tonight's meals. And sure enough, in response to his question, he saw Emily nod while stepping forward to pick up one of the dangly diamond earrings he could see she'd laid out on the vanity.

"Oh yeah," she slipped the first earring into her ear, "considering the budget for tonight's wedding was, at the last family gossip posting, 1.75 million dollars, the food should be ah-mazing."

For a second Hotch just looked up at Emily from his spot, sitting on the end of bed. Then he tipped his head.

"You're exaggerating that number, right?"

"Oh no," she turned to him shaking her head, with the other earring still in her hand, "not even by a penny. That's from Mother, who got it from Dad, who got it from Uncle Charles. And Uncle Charles," she gave Hotch a pointed look, "you know he is the one that actually is paying these vendor bills. Of course Aunt Margaret," she rolled her eyes as she started sliding the other earring through the hole, "is the one authorizing all of these costs, but he's the one actually writing the checks."

The woman had wasted like the GDP of a small nation, on what was essentially . . . a party.

"That," Hotch shook his head in disbelief, "is insane. I think Haley and I spent maybe five thousand dollars on our wedding, which included the cost of her dress, and both of our wedding bands, and I still thought that was ridiculous."

"Ah," Emily called over her shoulder while digging into her jewelry box to get her rings, "and that was what? Like late eighties money? So by inflation standards you probably spent . . ." her brow wrinkled as she slipped on her rings, "well, that's probably twice that today, right?"

"Yeah," he made a face, "you're right, probably close to ten grand. God, that's disgusting." Then, seeing Emily had picked up her necklace and was now fumbling with the clasp . . . she'd gotten a manicure the day before, and he knew she couldn't work the new, fake, French Manicured nails she was wearing . . . he pushed himself off the bed.

"Here," he put his hand out, "let me do it."

"K," she gave him a little smile, "thanks. My mother made me borrow it, and it's super expensive so the clasp is kind of complicated." She made a face, "you know, we have to do it right so I don't accidentally drop ten thousand dollars worth of diamonds down into the snow."

Her mother had INSISTED she wear her diamond necklace so she'd have on 'good' jewelry, but just having the damn thing in the house made Emily nervous. Not like she was going to break it if she dropped it, but she did have a tendency to lose shit. And all she needed to do was drop the stupid thing in the parking lot, and she would NEVER hear the end of it!

"Ten thousand, huh," Hotch held the diamonds up to the light, "well, it is very pretty. And I guess I'm on guard duty tonight, because if you do lose this thing, then your mother is never going to let me hear the end of it."

Emily chuckled.

"You know that's true. Of the two of us, you are clearly the more responsible, so she probably would blame you. So," she pointed to the clasp, "just make sure you get the safety clasp too."

Her mother had actually been quite pleased to hear that Hotch was her escort tonight. Quote, "oh good, he's much better looking than Darren."

"Yeah, yeah," he stepped up behind her, "trust me, it's not coming off."

And then as he leaned over and slipped the necklace around her neck, he asked softly, "so how much do you think is an appropriate amount to spend on a wedding?"

Feeling her breath quicken at how close Hotch was now standing . . . she could feel the heat of his body against hers . . . Emily tried to take a breath to settle her racing heart.

"Um," she murmured, "I don't know. Clearly tonight is just an obscene waste of money, but I don't begrudge people spending a few bucks if they have it to spend, aka, aren't putting themselves or their parents into debt. And of course if they spend it on the right stuff, and not like fifty thousand dollars on flowers. Which," she rolled her eyes, "is actually what Caroline is spending on the bouquets and decorations for the church and the function rooms. For myself," she continued, speaking to Hotch in the mirror, "and I haven't really thought about it much before, but I think maybe just a nice simple church service, with just a few flowers tied to the pews, and then maybe do the reception at my parents' house. Their backyard is really big and obviously well landscaped, so no cost for the venue and again, really wouldn't need to spend much else for flowers. Just rent a few awnings and some chairs, pay for a nice caterer and," she grinned at him over her shoulder, "a super awesome, all butter cream frosting, seven tier wedding cake, and we're good to go."

Hotch grinned.

"Seven tiers, huh?" He tipped his head, "that, that is a big cake."

"Yeah, well," she turned back around so he could fix the safety chain, "keep in mind that they really do make a BOATLOAD of kickass cake fillings now. So I think," she put her hand up, "given that I'm just planning on getting married the one time, that I need to fit in as many flavors as possible for this one huge event cake. And I'm not looking for fancy designs. I'm cool with just circles," she shrugged, "or squares. Whatever's easiest."

Feeling his lips twitching, Hotch nodded slowly.

"That is a sound argument for what would still likely be an eleven hundred dollar hunk of pastry. And," he hooked the last two pieces of her clasp together, "I think overall that sounds like a very nice gathering," his hands slipped over to her shoulders as he smiled at her reflection. "I hope I get an invitation."

"Yeah well," Emily gave him a shy smile back, "I think I can probably scrounge one up for you."

The plan actually was for him to be 'co-hosting' the event with her, but that was a clarification she'd save for another day.

And for a moment they were both just standing there, and she saw him smiling down at her in the glass, but then his expression suddenly softened as he stroked his thumb along her shoulder.

"You really do look amazing," he murmured.

And for JUST a second, her breath caught, because the way he was looking at her, she was positive that he was FINALLY going to kiss her! She was SO convinced actually, that she found herself turning around in his arms. But her movement seemed to break whatever little spell was settling over them. Because when she looked up at him again he blinked . . . and took a step back.

DAMN IT!

"We should get going," he said while turning around to pick up her faux fur wrap from the bed, "or we're going to be late."

And once more, he'd almost lost control and kissed her! Those near misses had been happening off and on for the last few years, but they'd been coming with a LOT more frequency over the last few months. And he knew that he could only avoid the inevitable for so long.

The time was coming where he just needed to make up his mind about where he saw them going, and then just, well, kiss the woman already!

Because it wasn't that he didn't see them together in the future, he actually saw them together RIGHT now! Truly, though it had not been a point they'd ever actually 'discussed,' he considered himself very much taken. He was hers, and she was his, and they were happy. Like today, helping her with her zipper and her jewelry, those were things that he'd only ever done before for Haley.

Back when they were married.

Those activities showed an intimacy to their relationship, an intimacy that he hadn't had with anyone since his wife. Yes, he knew that there were many MORE intimate activities that he could be doing with Emily . . . and to Emily . . . than simply touching her shoulders or brushing his fingers along her bare back, but those things were on another level. And although he was sensing more and more lately that she might be ready for them to move on to that other level, he wasn't quite there yet. Work was the problem. Both their chain of command issue, and just the general anti-fraternization policies of the Bureau.

They could both lose everything if he moved too quickly.

So even though he could see Emily looking up at him with a faint confusion, and a small pout . . . one he so badly wanted to kiss away . . . he ignored the questions she wasn't voicing, to give her a soft smile instead.

"You ready to go?"

For a moment she continued to look up at him, and he knew those questions were right there on the tip of her tongue, but for whatever reason she seemed to understand . . . he wasn't ready to talk today. Because her eyes crinkled slightly as she reached out to pat his chest.

"Anywhere you lead," she responded with a wink. Then she turned, and after a split second pause . . . nobody could throw his composure like this woman . . . he slipped the soft, fake fur, over her shoulders. He waited a moment longer while she picked up her evening clutch and slipped her compact and lipstick inside.

They were just about to walk out of the bedroom, when Hotch took note of a point that seemed to have escaped Emily's attention.

She was about three inches two short.

"Uh," he cleared his throat, "Em?"

And she turned to look up at him.

"Yeah?"

He jerked his head over to the bedcovers . . . her box of heels were lying on top.

"You might need those."

She looked over to the bed, down to her bare, silver painted, toes poking out from the front of her dress, and then back up to him.

"Oops."

"Yeah," he huffed, "oops." Then he walked over to pick up the box. When he turned back he pointed down to the other side of the bed.

"Sit."

So she sat, and feeling very much like Prince Charming with his glass slipper . . . though in this instance he was carrying both slippers . . . he walked over, knelt down, and with one hand on her calf, he slipped on first her left heel.

And then her right.

When his gaze shifted back up to hers, she gave him a little smile.

"I think Prince Charming was supposed to be blonde."

He smirked.

"And I think Cinderella was supposed to have some birds helping her get dressed," he put his hand out and she clasped his fingers, "so I guess we can't be Prince Charming and Cinderella."

"No," she sighed as he pulled her up to her feet, "I guess not."

Though when she looked up at him in his tux, and that adorable little dimple that he flashed basically just for her, she was thinking that folklore Prince Charming was ENTIRELY overrated. So when Hotch squeezed her hand and ran his thumb over the three small topaz bands she was wearing on her left ring finger, she gave him a little grin. He winked back. And when he started leading her out of the bedroom, her eyes crinkled slightly.

Yeah, Real Life Prince Charming was SO much better than Fake!

A/N : I'd gotten the idea for this story when I was looking over the Irish pub tale (the 'sequel') and read the line about them going to this wedding for her least favorite cousin. Suddenly the whole thing started spinning out in my head, when it never had before. I think I've done that in maybe 3 worlds. I write stories where they get together, and then write the prequel like a year or three later. My brain is weird.

If you'd like to see Emily's dress, faux fur, or diamond necklace, they all exist and the pictures are up with the story posting on my Tumblr. I've said before, I can never just describe outfits from the same imagination that comes up with the rest of the story, I always have to actually 'go shopping' to pull it all together. Again, brain is weird.

I do like this version of them quite a bit. They're fun, but I don't feel like I'm writing Girl H/P. They live in their own world, so they were talking to me in totally different way.

Again, this isn't a finished story, but I do have chapter two done, and that covers the ceremony. Chapter 3 has existed as 'draft' for like 3 years. I'd love to think I could suddenly wrap it up after the next one (it was always designed to be the end here) but no promises!

Thanks everyone!