Author's Note: This picks up directly from Emily's line in the last chapter.

In my Girl A/N I had put the night in the bar in early January, so six weeks later would be, as indicated below . . . mid-February.

Mid February

OH CRAP!

Hotch's brow wrinkled as he looked down at his watch.

"Late for what? Work doesn't even start for another half hour."

Emily closed her eyes . . . her child was going to be an idiot.

Then with a surge of frustration, her eyes snapped open as she looked back at Hotch and gestured down to her midsection.

"Late, late!"

Come on Hotch! Use that big brain of yours for something besides catching UNSUBS!

For a moment Hotch continued to stare over at Emily in utter bewilderment . . . what was she? And then two beats later, his eyes suddenly widened in realization.

OH CRAP!

Okay Aaron, keep it together! Maybe it's just normal late!

So his eyes dropped back down to her stomach as he asked nervously, "how late, late?"

And Emily winced, "two weeks."

He was going to freak. She'd freaked.

Hotch jumped out of his chair.

"TWO WEEKS!" He yelled, "YOU'RE TWO WEEKS LATE!"

SHIT! Well, there went any hope that there was nothing to worry about!

Her eyes started to fill . . . yep freaked.

Her face crumpled.

"Don't yell at me!" Her voice started to crackle, "things have been so crazy with all the travel lately, I just," the first tear ran down her cheek, "lost track."

Then she slid down the door onto the carpet, now crying softly into her hands.

How did this HAPPEN?! How could she make such a MESS of things?!

Seeing Emily's tears sent a stab of pain through Hotch's his chest.

Christ, he'd made her cry. You asshole!

And really, like she would be any happier about this than he was.

So he came around the desk and started walking towards her . . . his teeth were digging into his lower lip.

"I'm sorry, Emily," he spoke as softly he could, "I didn't mean to yell. I was just caught off guard."

He had just about reached her when he suddenly realized that the blinds were open for both his outer windows, and the bullpen. So before he did anything else, he quickly got both sets closed up before he walked back over to lock the door Emily was leaning against.

Now that they had complete privacy, he crouched down in front of her, and tipped his head.

He tried to catch her eyes.

"I promise we'll figure this out," he whispered, "but we don't even know for sure yet, right?"

"No," she sniffled and wiped the back of her hand across her face, "no, I didn't take the test yet. It was just this morning when I was looking at the calendar that I realized how late I was."

With his jaw now twitching, Hotch looked at Emily for another beat before he reached out to take her hand.

"Come on up off the floor," he whispered with a tug on her fingers, "you're going to get all dirty."

That was clearly the least of their concerns at the moment, but it was something to say, besides, "how the fuck did this happen!?"

Because he didn't really think that was going to be a particularly helpful outburst. It was also rather rhetorical. He knew quite well how it had happened.

He was a very ACTIVE participant in the happenings!

Emily let out a faint sigh as she allowed Hotch to pull her up to her feet and guide her over to the visitor's chair. It wasn't until after she'd sat down, that she looked up at him . . . and she burst into tears again.

"I can't believe this happening! I'm always SO careful!"

Stomach twisting at her sobs, it took Hotch only a moment to push aside all of the boundaries that they'd built back up since last month.

She was upset, and he couldn't bear to see her upset.

So he stooped down and reached out to pull her against his chest. And as she settled against him, he rubbed her back and murmured against her hair, "shh, it's okay. We'll figure it out. Please don't cry, Emily. Please don't cry."

The second the words were out of his mouth, Hotch flashed on the last time he'd said that exact thing to her . . . please don't cry. That had been perhaps the exact coupling which had led to their current predicament. His lips pursed.

What a fun irony.

Though she knew that she needed to get it together, Emily just didn't have it in her yet to do that. So for a few minutes she just buried her face against Hotch's shoulder and cried in his arms.

Her only real comfort was the feeling of being held by him again.

Regardless of how bad the circumstances . . . and they were VERY fucking bad . . . it was all that she'd wanted for the last month. Just to have him hold her. But after everything that had happened that night, and the obvious potential for more, they both knew that the only way to build a real friendship between them, was to restrict their physical expressions of affection.

If they hadn't, then it would have been impossible to get away from their (mutual) need for something more.

So although they had spent a lot of time together building this new relationship, a pat on the arm or a touch to the hand, had been about the extent of allowable physical contact. Hugs had definitely been cut out completely.

Hugs were a very slippery, emotionally complicated, slope.

A slope that Emily realized that she was about to start sliding down again. So she suddenly pulled back, startling Hotch slightly when she straightened up with a gasping breath.

She was trying to stop crying.

"I um," she spoke with a sniff and a rub of her nose, "I was planning on taking the test tonight. I looked it up and if you get the right kind you don't necessarily have to do it first thing in the morning. And given how late I am, the time of day is apparently even less of a factor. So uh," she swallowed, "I was just wondering if you might um . . ."

And she trailed off, because she couldn't quite get the words out. It was difficult to ask someone if he'd like to come over and watch her pee on a stick.

She'd never asked a man to do that before.

Fortunately, Hotch knew what she was trying to say. Because he rubbed her arm and said, "of course I'll come over." Then he gave her a small, though supportive, smile. "We'll find out together, and then we'll decide what we're going to do, okay?"

For a second she just stared at him, before finally giving him a watery smile back, "okay."

At that moment she was thanking God that Hotch was such an innately good guy. Because as suck ass personal situations went, this one was pretty much as bad as it got. She was in the FBI and might have just gotten knocked up by her boss.

God, just on paper, that sounded SO bad!

And not only did they have their chain of command issue . . . which had been the key factor in them keeping their hands to themselves the last six weeks . . . but they also had basic anti- fraternization rules to contend with.

Any way you cut it they were fucked.

And yet, aside from the initial yelling, which she realized now was totally understandable . . . she'd done some initial yelling of her own at home . . . so far he was being really great about the whole thing. Warm and supportive, when instead he could have easily defaulted to his work method of dealing with stress.

Cool and detached.

For her he was making the effort though . . . she appreciated that. Him.

She appreciated him.

Hotch stared over at Emily, very much wishing he could just give both of them the day off and go get this test over with now. But unfortunately he had two meetings that he just couldn't cancel, not to mention a lecture at the Academy.

Though he realized then it was probably for the best that they wait anyway.

If she was already weeks late, odds were that this was long ago done deal and the test was just a formality. But at least if they waited until after work, they could take the day and think about their options. They could decide what they wanted to do individually, and then talk about it together tonight after they knew the results for sure. That would be a hell of a lot better than taking the test now and then still not talking it over until tonight. He'd be going nuts all day.

Well, more so.

Suddenly taking note then of the after effects of Emily's two crying jags, Hotch reached back and grabbed a tissue out of the box on his desk.

He leaned down to start cleaning up her streaked mascara.

It wasn't until he was cupping her jaw with the palm of his hand, that he took note of what an intimate gesture that was. The kind of gesture he'd been avoiding engaging in for the last six weeks. For a split second he almost pulled his hand away, but then he said fuck it.

It didn't matter anymore.

Besides, what he was doing now was for practical purposes. There was no mirror in here, and she sure as hell couldn't go back out to the bullpen with mascara running down her face. Yes, it was still early, but there a few people already down there working. So if she came out of his office crying, people were going to wonder why. And this was their business.

Nobody else's.

Not wanting to abrade the sensitive skin under eye though, rather than using the tissue, he used his thumb to gently run along the edges. And Christ, she looked so sad, it was breaking his heart. He just wished there was something he could do for her now that would reassure her. But this definitely wasn't the time to get into anything. He needed to think.

They both needed to think.

So instead of doing what he wanted to do . . . hold her again . . . he pulled away. Then he took a step back and said softly.

"All clean."

She gave him a sad smile, "thanks."

Emily stood up, staring at her boots for a second before she looked back up at Hotch, who was still watching her so closely. She cleared her throat.

"Do you still want to get lunch today?"

They'd been getting lunch together almost every day since that night. Though she wasn't sure if they should meet today or not.

Maybe they needed some time apart.

But if they didn't get lunch, then she wasn't sure what she was going to do with herself. She definitely didn't want to hang out with anyone else. And she was already going to have TEN HOURS to think about what a mess she'd made, and how she was going to handle it. So she was going to need to take a break of some kind.

"Uh," Hotch winced slightly, "I would but I'm doing that lecture today, remember?"

Figures that would be today, the WORST possible day to look like he was avoiding her. And seeing her face fall at his response, he felt like an even bigger jerk. So he quickly reached out to squeeze her hand.

"But uh," he tried to come up with a compromise, "if you want to wait for me, and go later, I'll probably be done around two."

"Yeah," she nodded, "uh, I'd like that." She sighed, "it's just that I'm going to be going nuts all day anyway, thinking, and if I'm not going with you then somebody else will probably ask me and God knows I don't feel like being sociable." She blushed slightly, "well, not that being with you means I can be rude, I just mean . . ."

Hotch cut her off with a little smile . . . he did love her ramblings.

"I know what you meant, Emily," he responded quietly, "it's okay. And yes, I really do want to go with you." Then he gave her hard look, "and I want you to remember, that no matter what the test says, or what we decide, I would never start avoiding you, okay?"

Though he had no idea what they were going to do about this, he couldn't imagine not having Emily in his life anymore. It hurt just to think about it.

She bit her lip.

"Okay," and then her eyes started to fill again as her voice crackled, "because I would really hate it if this destroyed our friendship."

He shook his head.

"That's not going to happen," he answered firmly, "you've become too important to me. So even though this is likely to get," he tipped his head, "complicated, for a while, we'll get through it. And we'll do it together."

She stared at him for a moment before she stepped forward and pressed her hand to his chest.

"You've become important to me too," she answered with a sniffle. And though part of her wanted to say more then, to pour her God damn heart out to him, obviously this was NOT the time. Later.

They would talk about all of the rest of it later.

So with a final pat of his chest, and a faint smile from him, she turned to go.

Just before she put her hand on the doorknob, Hotch called out.

"You know, I'm actually leaving for a meeting in twenty minutes."

She turned to look at him, and he continued softly.

"And I probably won't be back until we meet for lunch, so," he shrugged, "if you want to work up here today you can. Just tell the guys you have a migraine and I said it was okay."

At his offer, her face brightened slightly.

"That would be great, thanks. I've been dreading the idea of sitting down there with them all day, because they're going to know something's wrong and they'll start asking me questions."

Hotch's eyes crinkled slightly.

"Okay then, just get your stuff and I'll stop by when I'm leaving so you'll know when I'm gone."

"Okay," she nodded. And as she started to turn the knob she whispered, "oh, you want it open or closed?"

His brow went up ironically. "Uh, closed, please."

She huffed slightly, "right."

So Emily slipped out, clicking the door shut behind her. And Hotch stared over into that corner for almost a minute before he walked around his desk and dropped down into his chair.

A moment later his head dropped down onto his desk.

CRAP!

A/N 2: Yes, I know you're ideally supposed to take the test in the morning. But according to the National Institutes of Health (who actually has a page on this!) the later you are, the less it matters. So like a few days late, you definitely need to do it in the morning for any type of accuracy, a couple weeks late, the hormones in your system are much more concentrated so the time of day is less relevant. I learned something new!

Obviously they are going to keep the kid :)

And side note, I was hoping to get the next Mirror up today too. But when I started reading it over I realized that it was FORTY FLIPPING PAGES LONG! Forty. That's a lot by itself but especially because I'm still working through the rougher writing bits from a decade ago. So basically it's forty pages of proofing. It's taking a bit of time. And it's not so much fun. So still aiming for this week, but definitely not today.