Author's Note: A reminder here 'timeline wise' as to where we are in the Girl character evolution of H&Ps emotional baggage. Their personal relationship is still very new, and all the little hang-ups pulled from canon that they'd started to work through (in Girl fanon) by the time they got together in later versions, are still very much present in this one. This story arc has already hit on some things with Emily, this time we're using the pokey stick on Hotch.

And related point, I posted this on another story, but I'm excited enough to be sharing it everywhere! Over the last week I've now written NINE NEW PAGES in one of my incomplete stories! So it's no longer totally wishful thinking on my part that this repost project might actually kick start the CM muses, one of them really came back! :) And the story is Something Wicked. Another entry in the Girl'verse. If you aren't familiar with it, the official description is, "the team gets lost in a snow storm and stumbles in to hell." It's a good time :)

A Rumor Of Love . . . And A Decision To Regret

Hotch's gaze fell sightlessly down to the phone in his hand as Emily moved over to the sink to wash the remnants of the blue gel from her stomach.

They'd finished the ultrasound a moment before, and everything was as hoped for, just fine. So after a quick reminder for Emily to keep her ant bite clean and dry, the doctor had stepped out to let her freshen up. And Hotch should have been thrilled to have this minute alone with his girl . . . a minute where they could perhaps engage in a true personal connection over their impending parenthood, rather than a muted, professionally distant one. But instead a wave of melancholy was lapping away at him, eroding what should have been a joyous moment. And it was killing him because he knew that it was a moment he wouldn't get back.

The day that they saw their unborn child for the first time.

When those grainy images had first appeared on the screen, Hotch's eyes had begun to burn. He'd immediately been filled with a wave of genuine love for Emily . . . an emotion that he had not yet allowed himself to feel for her . . . but also there was a pure joy in his heart to see the new life that they had created. It was a wonderful miracle, a beautiful counterbalance to the horrors of their day so far. It was all of those things and more.

For just a second.

But then all of his joy and happiness had been ruthlessly repressed. Because he'd remembered where he was.

In public.

Hotch had never in his life . . . at least not as far back as his memories went . . . felt comfortable displaying his true emotions in front of others. It all went back to first having an emotionally rigid, alcoholic, father, and then later, a physically abusive stepfather. Both men had considered any display of genuine emotion to be a display of your personal weaknesses.

Repression was the only way to survive.

Over his years with Haley, Hotch had worked to be better, to be more open than how he'd been raised. And in some ways he had succeeded. As an adult, he could be demonstratively affectionate to his loved ones without any restraint. He'd never had any problem giving his wife or child hugs and kisses. He had even been able to kiss Haley when they were out in public.

A little thing for most people, but a big one for him.

And on some days . . . when the stars were aligned just right . . . he had been able to laugh and smile like a regular person. But of course those days had never come back to back. And then on one of those random days his wife had gone away and she had taken his boy. So just a moment ago, when he had automatically shut down and repressed all of his internal joy, Hotch had begun to wonder for the thousandth time . . . was that part of why Haley had left him?

Was he really THAT fucked up?

And then a second later, when he'd seen Emily's brilliant smile as she pointed to the screen, he'd suddenly flashed on the day when he'd come home from Milwaukee and had found that note.

The one where Haley had told him it was over.

So although a few moments ago Hotch had been filled with happiness and joy at the images on the screen, now those emotions had been replaced with a growing sense of dread and despair. He was wondering if he was really up to this journey. If he had grown enough to be a truly open, and loving, husband and father.

Or would he fail this family too?

And really . . . his teeth sunk into his lower lip . . . what kind of a future would he and Emily have if their child's first introduction to the world was as a result of a mishap at a crime scene for a dead wife and mother?

He sighed.

Christ, they couldn't even get to the first ultrasound . . . hell, to the first trimester . . . without this job screwing things up. Hotch's gaze drifted over to Emily slipping on her holster.

This was all wrong.

"I'm sorry."

Hotch's voice was so soft, that for a second Emily wasn't sure what it was that he'd said. Then she processed his words, and her eyes widened as she paused in straightening her belt to look over at him in surprise.

"Why are you sorry?"

Personally, she was operating at a level of 'slightly tempered over the moon' and she'd rather expected that Hotch would be too. But then she saw the sadness on his face and she felt a pang in her heart . . . why was he so unhappy? Then he raised his hand and gestured to the room.

"I'm sorry for this. For the job ruining this first moment for you. We should have been home, you should have been with your own doctor, and we should have been off duty. This was all wrong. You deserved better," his gaze dropped down to her stomach as his voice faded, "you both did."

He'd promised himself that this time it would be different, and he was afraid that already he, by his emotional repression, and this job, by its emotional oppression, were fucking things up.

Emily's jaw fell open . . . and then snapped shut.

"Aaron," she whispered in disbelief as she crossed over to him, "how could you think for even a second that this moment was ruined?" She stopped in front of him and reached over to take his hand.

"You gave me this baby," she squeezed his fingers as she placed them on the slight swell of her stomach, "and that's all that matters. The rest of it," her free hand waved spiritlessly around, "it's nothing. It was just the set," she leaned forward to press a quick kiss to his lips. "This is the story," she murmured as she pulled away, "and the story is what makes me so happy."

Seeing Hotch's expression was lightening a bit, she leaned up to wrap her arms around his neck. Then she pulled him close.

"So," she whispered in his ear, "you stop beating yourself up over this one. After all, it's my job too. And regardless of the circumstances, today we got to see our baby for the first time," Emily's eyes fell shut as Hotch's arms finally encircled her, "and the doctor said that Hotchkin's healthy, and perfect, and that's all I'm going to remember about today. How happy I was, and how happy I was that you were here with me. That's what I'm taking with me from this clinic," she turned her head slightly to kiss his neck, "and that's all you should take too."

There was so much heaviness on his heart, so much blame and guilt he still carried from the divorce. And although Emily knew that it wasn't all his ex-wife's fault that he felt that way, still, some days, she wanted to smack Haley senseless.

The version of Hotch that the world saw was that of a good, and fine, man. And as Emily had learned over the last few months, in his personal life, he was also a loving and sweet romantic partner. And that man most certainly did not deserve to walk through life thinking that the demise of a twenty-year marriage was ENTIRELY his fault.

That was utter bullshit.

Obviously though . . . as had been picked up on from the one sided phone conversations Emily had overheard between Hotch and his ex . . . Haley did not necessarily agree with Emily's sentiments on this point.

Again . . . Emily squeezed Hotch closer . . . smack the bitch senseless.

Hearing Emily's surprisingly complete and utter absolution of him and his own perceived failings as both person, and a man, Hotch felt a burst of warmth in his heart. Then he blinked away the tears suddenly stinging his eyes.

"Sweetheart, I . . . I . . ."

The sentence was a stammered whisper. And then he stopped even trying to put his emotions into words. There were no words. So instead he pulled Emily closer, trying to hold onto what he was feeling in that moment.

He wanted to remember it, to keep it with him as an image to pull up when those residual waves of guilt and inadequacy from his lost family, started to taint this new one.

So little time had passed . . . less than a year since he'd found the note on the mirror . . . that Hotch knew in many ways he was still the same man that Haley had left.

Sometimes that scared the hell out of him.

Because for all the things that he tried to work on, there were also things about himself that he knew he could never really change. His emotional repression, his bouts of melancholy, his innate workaholic tendencies, and his occasional obsessiveness when it came to this extremely dark . . . extremely disturbing . . . profession.

Then of course there was his temper.

That last one he'd hidden pretty well from Haley. But all of those other things were what his ex had grown to resent.

Despise.

They had become deal breakers. And as much as Hotch hoped, and was so often hopeful about this new family that he was building, there were also genuine fears there. His worries that at some point in the future, Emily would start to see the things that Haley had.

That at some point she too would decide to leave.

And if that happened, then not only would he lose her . . . the woman he was becoming convinced would be his next great love . . . but yet another child would also be taken from him. Those were the fears that would wake him up in a cold sweat.

But then something like this would happen.

Something that would push all of his anxieties away with just a whisper from the woman in his arms. In that instant she made him see the world in a new way.

Her way.

And Emily's way of looking at the world was wonderful. She brought a new light to chase away the dark shadows in his heart. Nobody had ever done that for him before.

Not even Haley at their best.

So even though they needed to go back to work . . . as always, there was a killer to find . . . Hotch took just a few more seconds with the woman in his arms. After a minute though, he knew it was time to let go.

It was time to go back to the world again.

But as he slowly loosened his grasp, he tipped his head back to give her a soft smile.

"You're becoming my best friend, you know?"

It was true. And it was as close to 'I'm falling in love with you' as he felt he could get to on that day. Those words would be for another day.

A day when they didn't have the cloying scent of decay on their clothes.

At Hotch's very unexpected . . . and incredibly sweet . . . disclosure, tears immediately sprang to Emily's eyes.

"Really?" She asked in surprise.

"Most definitely," Hotch's lip quirked up slightly as his fingers brushed through her hair, "you make my world a better place. And when we get home, I think it's time that we made arrangements to go visit my mother. How's that sound?"

It was time to start blending his worlds. They'd been working hard to move things forward, to cover all the ground that most couples would have in a normal 'date based' relationship. And Hotch could say without a doubt that their romantic relationship was ten times more grounded . . . and emotionally intimate . . . than it had been on the day that they'd discovered they were going to be parents. And when it came to his mother, although Hotch knew his divorce still somewhat rankled . . . as evidenced by the years of abuse she tolerated from her second husband, her generation didn't really 'get' divorced . . . still, he thought the earlier the introduction the better.

Basically it needed to be done before Emily started showing.

And if they did it now, she'd just be a new "friend." Then later . . . early in the third trimester perhaps . . . Hotch could mention the baby on the way. Then he could just announce later that it came a bit early.

It would save his mother thinking of Emily as a harlot.

"That sounds just," Emily cleared her throat to push down the little sob that started to bubble up, "just wonderful."

Then she quickly buried her face in Hotch's windbreaker before she started crying . . . damn hormones. Still though . . . she blinked away the moisture in her eyes . . . meeting his mom, they were moving to a new level.

A firmer commitment.

But she didn't want to get too emotional about it now, because as she'd been telling herself all morning . . . it wasn't the time. So when she tipped her head back to look up at Hotch, her eyes were only slightly moist as she raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"So do you want to get a set of those BFF heart pendants? We could wear them on our ID lanyards."

Always best to lighten the mood.

Hotch's lips twitched faintly as he started guiding Emily towards the door.

"Perhaps for Christmas."

/*/*/*/

Almost seven hours later . . . a little before three pm . . . Hotch was standing in the middle of the small sheriff's outpost trying to lead an overview on the type of killer that would be perpetrating these crimes. And the reason that he was trying to lead an overview, rather than simply DOING it, was that he was having a bit of a personal problem. Reid had just dropped a box on his hand.

His ant bitten hand.

Before they left the clinic, both the doctor and the nurse had assured them that once the bites were cleaned out that their hands shouldn't cause them any additional, notable, difficulties or distractions. But what they'd neglected to mention was that if somebody dropped a fifteen pound dead weight on either of their injured hands, that they'd be ready to give up state secrets.

Honest to Christ his eyes were STINGING!

And of course this had happened just before they'd sat the locals down . . . Reid was moving the files to make room for people to sit . . . so Hotch hadn't even had a few minutes to go off and curse by himself. So even though his self control was quite rigid . . . and he knew the pain would pass soon enough . . . still, even he was having some issues keeping a poker face.

The involuntary quivering of his hand wasn't helping.

Nor was his need to keep pausing for essentially no reason . . . in actuality sucking in a breath to keep his composure. Every time it happened, Hotch could see the rest of the team (only Reid and Emily knew what had happened) look over at him in alarm.

He was pretty sure that they thought he was having a heart attack.

Emily though . . . his eyes briefly made contact with hers across the small room . . . she knew what the real problem was. He could see her lips pursed in sympathy, and he wanted to tell her, "it's okay, don't worry, sweetheart. I'm fine." But obviously he could not do that.

It was neither the time nor the place.

And simply the fact that he was distracted with such a domestic thought at that moment . . . reassuring his girlfriend so she'd stop worrying . . . was just another indicator that perhaps working together was going to be a bit more of a challenge than he'd originally calculated.

Though it seemed . . . he took another shallow breath as he changed topic . . . like things always were.

/*/*/*/

Emily watched in sympathy as Hotch bit down on his lip one more time right before he moved into the last piece of their initial profile. They were down to loner family history, and fortunately that one was Derek's forte, so as soon as he got the nod from Hotch, Morgan stood up and walked over to their makeshift white board . . . it was actually a corkboard with lined paper on it . . . immediately outlining the likely upbringing of this particular sociopath.

And as Morgan took the majority of the room's attention . . . Reid was still openly wringing his hands in guilt at what he'd done to Hotch . . . Emily noted that Hotch himself stepped first off to the side, and then quietly slipped towards the back of the room.

Their eyes caught as he headed towards the door.

Emily waited ten seconds . . . just enough time for the door to fall shut . . . before she pushed herself off the wall and followed after him. She knew that Rossi at least . . . probably Morgan as well, the man could multi-task with the best of them . . . were taking note of her exit. But she didn't much care.

Hotch was clearly in pain . . . she quietly slipped through the back exit . . . and she needed to make sure he was okay.

That was all that mattered.

/*/*/*/

Hearing footsteps coming from around the corner of the small wooden structure, Hotch lifted his head from his chest just in time to see Emily's face appear.

"Oh, Aaron," she murmured in sympathy when she saw him cradling his hand to his chest, "are you all right?"

For her he was able to manage a tight smile as he reached out with his good hand to quickly squeeze her fingers.

"Yeah, it's still throbbing, but it's not quite as bad as it was when Reid dropped the box on it. So really Emily, please don't worry," Hotch let out a slow breath as she took his clenched hand away from his chest, "I'll be just fine in a few minutes."

Though it was a relatively minor setback, Hotch knew that Emily didn't even need that much more stress today.

There had been more than enough already.

Emily looked down at Hotch's slightly swollen hand in hers, and then back up again to gauge if he was indeed telling the truth about his condition.

Her brow wrinkled as she took in his tight features . . . he appeared to be.

And when she looked back down and gently turned his hand over in hers, she could see that the bites themselves didn't actually look reddened or infected, it was just the additional trauma to the tissue that had not been needed.

Everything was still too tender.

And for just a second, Emily started to lean down to place a quick kiss on the back of his hand. But then she quickly remembered again . . . on duty . . . so she carefully let his fingers go. Just then, when she was about to ask Hotch if he wanted her to get him anything, she heard a throat clear.

"Everything okay back here, guys?"

Rossi.

Feeling the heat crawling up her face, Emily spun around in horror.

CRAP! How long had he been standing there?!

Given the perplexed look on his face she was guessing . . . too long.

And for a second Emily she completely dumbfounded over to what to say. Fortunately though, Hotch's complete unflappability once again saved the day. Because, although she had no plan of action beyond standing there, bug eyed, like a deer caught in headlights, Hotch immediately stepped around her, lifting his head slightly as he answered back with his usual confidence.

"Yeah," he raised his still aching hand, "just needed a second out of the room. Right before the briefing Reid dropped a box on my bad hand. Since then," he rolled his eyes, "it's been throbbing like a bastard."

Hopefully if he just kept talking then Rossi would forget that he and Emily were huddled together out in the back of the ranger's station like it was a junior high recess. As to whether or not Dave had just seen Emily holding his hand, he didn't know.

It would be just their luck though.

Rossi's brow knitted together as he stared at Hotch and Emily ten feet away.

Even though they weren't actually doing anything inappropriate . . . though he had seen Emily inspecting Hotch's hand . . . for some peculiar reason Dave had the sensation of having just flipped on the den light to find two teenagers necking on the couch.

But that was nuts.

First of all, Hotch had JUST gotten divorced, and second of all Hotch . . . unlike Dave himself . . . did not fish off the company pier . . . and third of all, even if Hotch was on some sort of bizarre uncharacteristic rebound fling with Prentiss, they sure as hell wouldn't be making out on duty in the middle of a murder case.

Now THAT . . . Dave suddenly realized how stupid he was being . . . was beyond nuts!

So having now decided that whatever his kneejerk assessment of the situation had been, had been completely wrong, Rossi refocused his attention on the words Hotch had actually said.

His hand.

"Do you need to see a doctor?"

Though he was aware that Hotch and Emily had stumbled into a fire ant's nest out in the desert . . . a stumbling which necessitated a trip to the base clinic at China Lakes . . . he hadn't actually given the situation much consideration beyond that. And that's because by the time everyone had arrived back at their temporary headquarters, the two of them had blown off any concern the others might have had for their well being. They'd said they were fine. And if not for a slight bit of favoring of their bad hands, they had seemed fine.

But now . . . Rossi's jaw twitched as he saw Hotch slowly raise his somewhat 'claw cramped' shooting hand . . . one of them wasn't.

"No," Hotch's brow darkened slightly as he shook his head and reflexively pulled his hand back to his chest, "no, it'll be good within the hour," he jerked his other thumb over his shoulder, "Prentiss was just offering to run back to the motel to get me some Motrin from her bag."

Though Emily had actually made no such offer, Hotch knew that when Rossi walked up she was only a breath away from asking him if he needed anything. And he did need some damn pills.

So as he'd expected, Emily immediately jumped right into the conversation.

"Right, Motrin," she put her hand out, "somebody have keys?"

Both men reached for their pockets but Rossi pulled his out faster.

"Here you go," he tossed them over to Emily, who caught them one handed, and then he turned his attention back to Hotch.

"You need anything else now? Ice pack, maybe? Or can we head over to the autopsy?"

Hotch jerked his head.

"No, it's fine. I don't have time to ice it properly anyway. I just need something for the pain." Then he turned back to Emily, "can you meet us on base?"

The motel was just down the road, but the autopsy was being done back at China Lake.

Twenty miles in the opposite direction.

"Of course," she flashed him a soft smile, "be there before you know it."

Hotch shot her a half a dimple . . . out of Rossi's eyesight of course . . . then he turned to follow Dave over to the other SUV.

Halfway across the baking asphalt, Hotch suddenly turned back again. Emily was walking to the Suburban on the other side of the small lot.

Her black clothes were shimmering in the bright sun.

"Prentiss!" he called out. And she stopped, turning back to look at him as her arm came up to shield her eyes from the sun.

"What?"

"Why don't you take JJ with you?"

Though he phrased it as a question, it was really more of a rhetorical one. Seeing her alone like that, he'd suddenly had a bad feeling creep into his stomach. He wasn't sure if it was the chief in him, or the boyfriend, but either way, suddenly he didn't want her going anywhere alone.

"What?" Emily's brow wrinkled in confusion, then she shook her head, "don't be silly, Hotch. I don't need backup to grab a bottle of Motrin. It's broad daylight, and I'm just running to the motel and then the base. I'll be perfectly fine."

Though his worrying was generally sweet, this one was rather ridiculous. An armed woman . . . even a pregnant one . . . could certainly retrieve a bottle of pills without assistance.

She wasn't a freaking invalid!

Hotch stared back for a second, debating whether or not to make this an argument. But the problem was . . . her retort had been perfectly logical and reasonable. And that's when he started to worry that it was Boyfriend Hotch calling the shots right then.

Still though, he was about to say screw it and just tell her to get JJ anyway . . . who was to say Boyfriend Hotch had any less valid instincts than Chief Hotch . . . when Rossi honked the horn.

Time to go.

Crap.

"Fine," he huffed in exasperation, "just be careful."

Then he turned, quickly jogging over to where Rossi was impatiently waiting for him.

Just before Hotch yanked the door open, from behind him he heard Emily call his name. He turned to see her shoot him a jaunty salute.

"Roger that, sir!"

His lips twitched slightly as his tension level started to drop.

She'd be fine.

And with that last thought . . . he jumped into the cab.

/*/*/*/

With a roll of her eyes, Emily reached over to turn down the air conditioning in the SUV.

Damn men and their ridiculously hot body temperatures. This was the vehicle that Dave and Derek had been using for half the day, and apparently they'd felt that simply because they were in a technical desert location that they had to crank the AC up to Arctic levels.

It was freaking March!

Yes, the sun was blinding as hell, but the air temperatures weren't that bad. It had actually been pretty chilly when they'd first woken up. In fact . . . she snapped off the AC altogether and hit the window button . . . a little fresh air would probably do her some good. Because this baby making thing was starting to dip into her energy levels a bit. Especially in the late afternoon . . . and it was now just before four . . . she felt like she could happily go curl up in the corner and take something approaching a long winter's nap.

Generally, fortunately, if she just powered through, the feeling would fade by dinner. But still . . . she turned onto the one of the side access roads as she stifled a yawn with the back of her hand . . . she knew the month might come when the afternoon nap might actually become a necessity.

For now though, she just refocused on her driving.

She'd already picked up the Motrin, plus a couple of peanut butter granola bars and another bottle of water, from out of her room. So now she was driving back to the base as she happily munched and drank away.

Her appetite had been somewhat legendary pre-pregnancy, but now this 'eating for two' business was even worse than the 'sleeping for two' business. Basically if she didn't keep shoveling something into her mouth every couple of hours . . . and she tried to be good and restrict the shoveling to just granola bars and dried fruit . . . then she'd start to feel a bit lightheaded. Based on what she'd read in the baby book, it seemed that her ravenous appetite was probably a good thing though.

It might be helping to keep the fairly typical baby nausea away.

At least that was her theory anyway. It sounded like the cure for the morning/day sickness, was to get some bland food into your stomach and keep it there. They said that an empty stomach was more likely to get the ishy feeling than a semi-full one. So as long as she kept shoveling the food in on a regular basis, then hopefully her body wouldn't start revolting against her on a regular basis.

She still couldn't stand eggs though.

Emily's nose wrinkled as she thought back to her stomach flipping at the sight of Reid's sunnyside up breakfast that morning.

Blech.

Yeah, she was kind of afraid she was off them for good. Oh well . . . with a sigh her hand fell down to rub the bump . . . if eggs were the trade off for getting both the Hotchkin and the Hotch, she'd live with that loss just fine. Really, she just thanked God it wasn't Mexican food the baby didn't like.

Losing salsa might have actually made her cry.

Emily was so lost in her food trade off musings that she almost didn't see the glint coming up ahead of her on the dusty back road that was going to eventually lead up to one of the back gates at China Lake.

Fortunately she did see it though.

But she saw it a little later than she should have. And her foot ended up slamming down on the brakes barely ten feet from the object that had caught her eye.

Spike strips.

FUCK!

Emily immediately yanked out her weapon with one hand as she hit the door locks with the other. Just as she moved her hand to roll the window up, a zip passed her face and took out the glass on the other side of the SUV.

FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!

Still screaming profanities in her head, Emily jerked the Suburban into reverse then immediately her foot came off the brake that had prevented her tires from being shredded.

She slammed it down full throttle onto the accelerator.

The agent part of her brain knew that she needed to immediately call for backup . . . she began flying backwards down the road . . . but that voice was being drowned out at the moment by the survival instinct part.

If she didn't keep moving she was dead.

And she was doing good too. Though there were still bullets flying, she'd cleared at least thirty feet back down the road before suddenly there was a pop . . . and then another. He'd just taken out two of tires.

While she was going backwards at sixty miles per hour.

Feeling the lumbering vehicle begin a sickening lurch to the right, Emily had time to do little more than brace herself for impact.

Then the SUV flipped.

A/N 2: There we go! Promised you we'd have a bit of a Great Falls type plot development here. It just took an extra chapter to get to it.

I'm sure that some of you are happy that there's a bit more Haley Hating than you usually get in the Girl'verse. I figured though, Emily (in her role as Hotch's new "squeeze") is obviously going to be much less diplomatic in her feelings than she was in the main verse where she was an outside observer to the downfall of their marriage. She and Hotch weren't even close friends yet during this raw, painful, early stage of the divorce. So having a front row seat to that bit of ugliness, clearly Emily IS going to be choosing a side, and it isn't going to be Haley's! I haven't decided if I'll make them out and out hostile here in this version, but, I might. It'll be a nice switch to everyone being grown up and mature. God knows that gets old :)

As to Dave figuring out what's up with them, it's a little early for anybody to figure out their secret, but I figured it wasn't too early at all to plant a seed. Because really, nobody at this point in time (barely 2 months beyond Hotch's official signing of the divorce papers) would assume that not only had he moved on to another serious relationship, but to another serious relationship in house. Either action would be totally out of character. So, although Rossi's profiling instincts were dead on, he dismissed them outright.