Author's Note: Here, we're walking into Emily's first radiation treatment. The reason for its existence, and why it's all from Hotch's POV, will be explained at the end.

End of December: Monday

Karma, Superstition, and Prayers

Hotch's stomach started to churn the moment he turned off the engine.

It was six forty-five Monday morning and he and Emily had just arrived at the oncology clinic in Georgetown for Emily's first radiation treatment. And even though Hotch knew that this was a good thing, that this was the place, and that these were the people, who were going to save his girl's life, he couldn't quite reconcile that intellectual knowledge, with the stabbing pain in his heart.

He was scared shitless.

Afraid that somehow coming to this place . . . this place where sick people came . . . was a harbinger of bad things.

That they were inviting Death to notice them.

Ridiculously foolish thoughts, yes, of course they were . . . but that didn't change the fact that he was having them. But he knew that his foolishness was of a superstitious nature, and he was not a superstitious man at heart. So hopefully those thoughts would fade away sooner than later.

Although, given how the swirling acid in his stomach got no better as he hurried around the sidewalk to help Emily out of the jeep, he wasn't so sure that 'sooner' was going to be quite soon enough. Still, seeing the tension in Emily's jaw line as she stood up next to him, Hotch felt a wave of guilt push its way into his already aching heart.

It was his reminder that his feelings here were completely inconsequential. Because his role in all of this was just to take of his girl. To be strong for her.

And to help her be a little less afraid.

So when she bit her lip and whispered to him that she was scared, he dug down and bucked up, just before he pulled her into a tight hug and murmured back to just remember that they were there to make her better.

That even though it was a scary day, they would get through it together.

Then he waited for a second until she nodded against his chest. Unfortunately though, she said nothing in return, so he knew that his words hadn't made the impact that he'd hoped they would. So with nothing more comforting coming to mind, Hotch just slipped his arm around her shoulders and tucked her against his side. And as Emily turned her head and buried her face in the wool of his coat, he felt another stab in his heart.

In that moment he knew that living without this woman in his life, had ceased to be a viable option for his continued existence on the planet. Without her, his days would be dark.

It would be no life at all.

So for just a second he paused on the sidewalk as he leaned down to press a kiss to her temple. Then he took a breath and led them up to the entrance of the red brick building.

Showtime.

The door was automatic, but just before they stepped inside, he let his arm slip down and he gave Emily's fingers a small squeeze. Then his hand fell to her back and he guided her through that door . . . and into a new world.

Hotch wasn't sure quite what he was expecting, but he was a little surprised to see that the room looked just like any other doctor's office waiting area. It was of moderate size with maybe a dozen or so people sitting around in the black leather chairs lining the walls.

Walls which were painted a coffee colored beige.

And though all of the eyes there turned on them as they walked in the door, a split second later everyone looked away again.

Clearly this was a crowd that knew that it wasn't polite to stare.

So Hotch returned the favor, making sure to avert his gaze from the visibly ill patients. Those were the ones who were making his heart pound in his chest. Instead he focused on simply getting Emily checked in for her appointment.

Baby steps today.

After they'd walked up to the counter, for a moment Emily just stood there silently in front of the woman sitting behind the little glass window. And in that moment . . . with that tension rolling off her body . . . Hotch could see just how badly she wanted to turn around and walk back out the door.

'I know sweetheart,' he sympathized in his head as his fingers squeezed hers, 'I want to leave too.'

But they couldn't.

Nor could he do this part for her. If she wasn't ready to walk into that room yet, then he had no right to force that moment on her. So he just held her hand and waited for her to find her courage.

Something he knew that she had in spades.

And of course after a few more seconds, Emily took a breath, picked up the pen . . . and wrote down her name. Such a little thing of course, but it became a genuine 'moment' in Hotch's life. One that he knew he would remember until the day he died.

The moment Emily put her name on that list.

And then his eyes began to sting as she slowly filled in the words beside, "Reason For Visit."

Radiation Treatment.

He saw her gaze linger on the page . . . his did as well. But then he blinked and reached up to slip the pen from her shaking hand.

Enough of that.

Apparently she thought so too, as she immediately pushed the sheet towards the receptionist with a quiet whisper.

"All set."

Then they waited a moment as the woman looked at the name, and then pulled Emily's crisp new chart from the little stack to the left of her.

The morning's appointments no doubt.

After a bit of shuffling about, the receptionist pushed a clipboard and a stack of paperwork through the hole in the glass. Before Emily had even picked up the packet, the woman had asked for her insurance card and method of payment. So as Emily reached into her bag to dig out her wallet, Hotch picked up the pen he'd just put down and grabbed the stack of forms.

Then he began filling in Emily's medical history from memory.

Name . . . done.

Address . . . done.

Gender . . . done.

Date of Birth . . . done.

Social . . . that he left blank. Although he had known Haley's . . . after twenty years of filling out paperwork together he still knew Haley's . . . that was a piece of Emily that remained hers alone.

For now anyway.

But someday . . . Hotch's teeth sunk into his lower lip as he moved on to the next question . . . they would share a bank account, a mortgage . . . a baby's birth certificate. Someday . . . he blinked away the moisture in his eyes . . . if all went well today and in the days to come, they would be married. For now though, he knew that he still had that one gap in his knowledge of her life.

Just that one gap though.

Because as Emily waited for the receptionist to finish making copies of her cards, Hotch slowly moved his way down the list of questions, answering them slowly and methodically, one by one. After a minute Emily seemed to realize just how much information they were requesting, and said softly, "I'll finish it, honey," as she moved to take the forms from his hand. But Hotch simply shook his head, moving the paperwork slightly to the left as he whispered.

"I've got this, sweetheart."

It was a test. Answering these questions, knowing her list of medications by dose, her type of birth control, that she'd had measles when she was seven, and that her paternal grandfather had died of coronary artery disease, all those things, and dozens more, were to him . . . an isolated, melancholy, man who believed that this woman was his one chance left to be happy . . . a measure of how much he loved her.

If he could just get these questions right . . . he began carefully printing in the name of Emily's surgical oncologist . . . if he could just prove to God or whomever the hell was up there running the show, that he wasn't taking this second chance for granted, that he really knew her inside and out . . . then maybe he could prove to that entity that he deserved her.

Then maybe everything would be all right.

That's how he saw it anyway. As a karmic quiz that he had to pass or God would take her from him. Was that crazy? Yes. Did he know that his ability to list her allergies in alphabetical order would have no bearing at all on the outcome of her cancer treatment? Of course. Did he stop writing?

Hell no.

Even after Emily got her cards back and they moved over to a set of chairs to wait, Hotch kept scribbling away on that clipboard. Line after line, question after question, so many little things they asked.

He couldn't skip one.

Finally he got to the end . . . four front and back pages later . . . and let out the breath that he'd been holding. Then he held the pen up in front of Emily and pointed to the bottom of the last page.

"Sign here, sweetheart," he said softly, "and then if you just want to check it over. I know we need your social on the front."

There was a momentary pause before Emily leaned over and he felt her press a kiss to his cheek. He turned to ask her what it was for, but her eyes slid away from his as she slipped the pen from his fingers. After signing her name and listing the date, she flipped to the front and jotted down the nine missing digits. When she was done she held it up in front of him, and a second later he nodded.

Those numbers were now as ingrained as his own.

Then Hotch watched as she walked over and handed the papers to the receptionist. As she sat down again, he quirked up a worried eyebrow.

"But you didn't check it."

"Didn't have to," she responded with a soft smile, "I know it's right."

And with those four words, for the first time since they'd arrived, Hotch felt the stabbing pain in his heart start to fade just a bit. If she believed in him . . . he tugged her down for a quick kiss . . . then maybe God would too.

As she leaned back, they both stiffened as the technician called out, "Ms. Prentiss?"

Emily straightened up, turning to look over at the younger woman as a tight smile frosted her lips.

"Coming."

Hotch quickly stood, pulling her into a hug as he whispered in her ear.

"Remember," he squeezed her tightly as his voice started to get husky, "they're going to make you better."

God help him if they didn't.

"Right," this time Emily sniffled back against his chest, "all better."

Then she slipped her holster off her hip and passed it to him with a watery smile.

"See you in a little bit."

Then she turned and walked away.

The fingers on Hotch's free hand curled into a fist as she crossed the room. When she got to the door the woman was holding open, Emily turned back and the look she gave him broke his heart. Still though, he made sure to conjure up a small smile as he mouthed, 'I love you.' And she nodded, her watery eyes crinkling slightly as she responded back, 'ditto.' Then she blew him a kiss.

A second later the door fell shut.

For a moment Hotch stood there, feeling that terror and anxiety wash over him again like a tidal wave. Then he realized that there were other people around him, and they were looking at him. Though . . . his gaze flickered around the room . . . not judging him.

From the half dozen faces turned in his direction he saw nothing but compassion. Still, he didn't like to put himself on display like that. But as he moved to sit down again, a young woman a few seats over leaned slightly towards him.

"Is this her first day?" She asked with a sympathetic smile.

And although Hotch was not a man given to discussing his personal life with anyone, let alone complete strangers, he unexpectedly found himself nodding back to the pale blonde.

"Yes," his voice faded slightly, "yes it is."

The woman's expression changed slightly to one of reassurance.

"It'll get easier. The first day's always scary, but then you get a routine, you establish a relationship with the staff, you make some friends, and soon it just becomes a part of your life." Her head tipped slightly, "granted, it's a part that you'd be happy to toss by the wayside. Still, things could be worse." She huffed slightly as her eyes fell to the beige carpet, "could be dead."

Then her head snapped up as she quickly apologized.

"Sorry. We have a bit of black humor around here, but I'm sure that's not helping the first day jitters," she leaned forward a bit more as she stuck her hand out and smiled, "Diane Eads."

"Uh," Hotch switched Emily's gun to his other hand as he leaned over to shake while responding softly, "Aaron Hotchner."

This was strange. He was not expecting to make new friends today . . . he didn't make new friends ever . . . but he certainly hadn't expected this development in the oncology clinic. But there was something about this woman. Though he could tell from her coloring and somewhat frail physique that she was sick, she didn't act sick. She didn't act like she wanted any sympathy or compassion for what she was going through. Instead she was just being bright and cheerful as she tried to make him feel better.

And of the two of them, HE was the one in perfect health!

The woman's smile warmed as she squeezed his hand, "nice to meet you, Aaron Hotchner. And I'll keep a good thought for your wife"

"Emily," he said quickly as their hands fell apart, "her name is Emily. But we're not married," his lips pursed, "not yet."

Why he felt the need to volunteer that information he did not know.

"Emily," she repeated softly, "okay." Then her gaze shifted towards the door and Hotch realized that her name had just been called. As she stood up, he gave her a pointed nod.

"Good luck."

"Thanks," she slipped her bag back on her shoulder as her eyes crinkled, "I'll take every bit I can get. And I'll keep an eye out back there for your Emily. I'm sure she got all the pamphlets, but it still helps to know somebody who's gone through it, so you know what to expect."

"I'd appreciate that," Hotch nodded slowly, "thank you."

And that's when he realized why he'd told this virtual stranger Emily's name . . . he knew his girl needed a friend. And as the woman disappeared through the same door Emily had a few minutes earlier, Hotch slowly exhaled, letting out a little ball of tension with that puff of air. Then he tucked Emily's gun into her handbag, and tucked the handbag down next to him on the seat.

It was sitting on top of her coat.

But a second later he picked the bag back up again and placed it on his lap. His fingers ran over the soft leather of the strap as he looked around the room at the other people left waiting in the room with him. That's when he noticed something that he'd missed before.

He wasn't the only man left holding a purse today.

But unlike the typical scene on a mall bench where it's obvious how uncomfortable the man is that's been left holding the handbag, here Hotch could see that these men were clutching them tightly in their laps.

There were at least four sets of white knuckles in that waiting room . . . and they all matched the tight jaws and somber expressions on the men who owned them. Hotch could also see the glint of a wedding band on all of those clenched fingers.

Husbands . . . perhaps fathers . . . each sitting there scared to death that they were going to lose the women that they loved. And seeing them like that, Hotch suddenly felt that stabbing pain in his heart again.

Because he could definitely relate.

And when he looked down, Hotch realized that his own hand had involuntarily curled into a fist. Like the others, he was now holding tightly to that one piece of his woman that was still within his grasp. But he knew that wasn't going to save her.

It wasn't going to save any of them.

And perhaps his responses on that quiz wouldn't save her either, but of the two options compared side by side, he would place more eggs in the first superstitious basket than the second. So, very slowly he relaxed his grip, and then he took a shallow breath and slowly let it out.

His fingers still loosely held the strap though as he leaned back with a swallow, trying desperately to find a happy medium between the karma and the superstition that were both riding roughshod over him that morning.

And that's when Hotch realized that there was one bit of otherworldly intervention that he hadn't yet tapped into that day. One that had worked for him on occasion in the past, and there was nothing to say it wouldn't work again today. So he took another breath and closed his eyes.

And that's when he began to pray.

A/N 2: The idea for this chapter came from an article I read while I was posting Girl. It was kind of an unusual article, in that it was by an oncologist, but she was writing about dating advice that she gives to her friends. And she was talking about the men she sees in her waiting room and as I recall she specialized in women's cancers, and she was saying how she sees these men from all walks of life coming in with their wives and then the women will go in for their treatment and the men will sit there frozen stiffly in the waiting room clutching their purses with white knuckles. It was a really bittersweet article, but the point was that she tells her friends to stop searching that perfect guy based on his looks or his money, but instead to find that guy who would hold your purse if you got sick. I read the article and I sent it to my beta Arcadya and I said when I do the respost I have to put this one for Hotch. She agreed. But given that Hotch had the little twist of observing the human condition, I figured (even if he was one of those guys) he'd pick up on the behavior more quickly and what it meant. So I thought that self awareness, and making himself loosen his grip slightly, yet still holding that piece of her close to him, worked better for his character as we know it. And even though this is not a story "about" her being sick, I thought just touching base with them on day one in the clinic would add another layer to not only their relationship, but also seeing them later on just trying to go about and live their lives like everything's normal when this is now part of the normal.

Side point, I know Second Chances has been the main repost the last few months, but my completed chapters for that story are winding down so I'll be moving over here probably as my main story. And I'm also trying to get Horses and Mirror bouncing along again too.

That's all folks. Thanks!