Author's Note: Sorry I had to break the daily posting spree :( The last few days I had to go into work early/go to bed early, so it kind of messed up the rhythm we had going. But, I'm off until Tuesday! So if you all can push along the feedback, I'll push along the chapters :)

For the below, please remember, I'm not a doctor. I did research some for this chapter, but as I've mentioned before when it's comes to topics I need to research, I'm not getting paid for this crap :) So basically my research is intended to make as plausible story as possible given my super limited writing time. It is not intended to hold up to a New England Journal of Medicine, review. Basically, if you do hold some medical expertise, keep in mind I keep the language around my diagnoses 'loose' for a reason :)

The Waiting Game

Hotch's jaw twitched as he paced back and forth in the small surgical waiting area of the base clinic. His fingers, recently washed clean of Emily's blood, were curled into tight fists. And out of the corner of his eye, he could see that one of the nurses was watching him.

It was the same woman . . . the lieutenant . . . who had assisted with Emily's ultrasound that morning.

Since the chopper had landed fifty plus minutes earlier . . . approximately two hours after they'd taken off from the desert . . . she seemed to have either been appointed, or had appointed herself, as the official buffer between him and Dr. Nichols.

However she got the role, a mediator had definitely been required.

After they'd rolled Emily inside the building, Hotch had wanted to gown up and join Nichols in the surgical area. Nichols, that fucking asshole, had vetoed his request outright.

Okay . . . Hotch's jaw clenched a little more . . . maybe the guy wasn't really an asshole. He'd actually been very kind to them that morning. And very decent, to both him and Emily, on the flight back. It wasn't until after they'd landed that Hotch had started to have a serious problem with him.

As in, hate his fucking guts.

That was when Nichols had put his foot down. Telling Hotch that they needed to do some tests and stitch and dress Emily's wounds, and that it would just be better for everyone if all of that was done without any "distractions."

That was his polite Navy doctor way of saying that Hotch would just be in their way.

And although some tiny part of Hotch's rational brain understood that the doctor MIGHT have had a valid point . . . after all he didn't want any terrified, hand wringing, family members standing around his office while HE worked . . . the tiny rational part of his brain was still not back in the driver's seat. No, it was the primal 'my woman, my baby' part of his brain that was still running the show. And that guy didn't give a flying FUCK about any perfectly rational explanations as to why he needed to be separated from HIS woman and HIS baby!

He wanted to be back with them NOW!

Those hours that he'd been searching for Emily, wondering what in the hell was being done to her by that animal, had been horrific. And being together with her again during the fifty plus minutes of flight time, had been nowhere near enough to settle his nerves. Or his heart.

It was still racing.

And that was in part because of Emily's condition on the chopper. Though she'd somehow managed to keep up her end of the bargain to stay conscious until help arrived, after that it was just too much. She was in and out. And although Hotch knew . . . intellectually . . . that at least some of that was just pure exhaustion and simple blood loss, it didn't make him feel any better about her eyes being shut.

He wanted them open.

He wanted her to smile and squeeze his hand, and tell him that she was feeling much better, and that everything was going to be just fine now.

But she didn't do any of those things.

And she wasn't going to do any of those things . . . not for a while. And that was tearing him up inside. The only reason that he'd been able to keep his temper (so far) while he paced around the waiting room, was that he'd had one bit of relatively good news since Emily had disappeared off into the triage room. And he'd been holding onto that little bit of good news like the pearl that it was. The nurse . . . Lieutenant Buffer Zone . . . had come out to tell him that Captain Nichols had diagnosed the cause of the blood that Emily had coughed up.

He said it was due to a small puncture in one of her lungs.

Not that that was in any way 'good' news all on its own, but then the nurse had gone on to explain that as Emily was still technically breathing on her own . . . though she'd been on supplemental oxygen the moment she was loaded onboard the chopper . . . and that the intense chest pain she'd experienced had only been of a short duration, the doctor thought that it was unlikely that Emily had any serious internal damage to either her lungs, or her upper respiratory tract.

THAT was the good news, she'd explained. It meant that it was likely they could just let the puncture heal up on its own.

No surgery.

Hotch had been thrilled to hear that one. The less additional trauma they had to put Emily's body through, the better. Not just for her, but for Hotchkin as well. And during her moments of consciousness, Hotchkin . . . of course . . . had been Emily's ONLY concern. Even though Captain Nichols had been adamant that she not attempt to speak, Emily had still been MORE than capable of getting her point across about the baby.

And she hadn't wanted any bullshit response from him either.

Every time Nichols had tried to hedge about possible trauma to their child, she'd shaken her head and tapped her fingers lightly on her stomach. Finally the captain had given in, and gave her the straight answer . . . that he had no idea of the baby's condition. That he couldn't give her any answers until after the ultrasound.

But when Emily's eyes had filled with tears . . . and Hotch had been ready to punch the guy in the face for things that were not at all his fault . . . Nichols had quickly added that it was very "encouraging" though, that she hadn't been experiencing any pain in that area. Then he'd said that it was best for her to keep a positive thought, and that there was no reason for her to worry unnecessarily.

That had been enough to calm her down again.

From that point on, until they'd landed twenty minutes later, she'd just held Hotch's onto hand, with her eyes locked onto the blackness out the window. There'd been some world out there that she she'd been looking into, that he couldn't see.

She hadn't tried to communicate again.

So Hotch had had no idea what she was thinking for those last twenty minutes of flight, but he knew what he was thinking about the doctor's words. And he knew that if God made him choose between the two of them . . . though it would break his heart . . . he would pick Emily over the baby.

And he would make that choice every damn time.

After all of these weeks together, falling in love, blending their worlds, he couldn't imagine losing her. Not now. They could always have another baby . . . tears started to prick his eyes . . . but he couldn't have another Emily.

Her loss would leave a hole in his world.

But he also believed that Emily . . . if she was conscious and able to voice her opinion . . . would make the other choice. That she would see herself fall into a coma, a vegetable gestating their unborn child for the next six months, before she'd allow Hotchkin to die.

She wanted the baby just that much.

And that was his primary thought as he looked at her bloody fingers, wrapped around his own. He was wondering if she knew that he would never allow her to sacrifice herself. And if she did know . . . and so often now she seemed to know his thoughts even before he had them . . . what did she think about that? Because Hotch's fears weren't just for the physical well-being of his little family, there was more. His terror that if he was forced to let the baby go to save Emily, that he'd lose Emily anyway.

That she wouldn't forgive him.

So that was the hell of his chopper ride back. And then Emily had been ripped away from him, and he'd gotten to pace a hole in the floor for the last fifty . . . his head snapped up to check the clock on the wall again . . . six minutes, waiting for an update on her condition.

And he got to pace oh so impatiently for another eleven minutes before he heard Lieutenant Buffer Zone call his name. He spun around and she pointed to a corridor off to the left.

She said he could go down, the doctor would be waiting.

The "thank you" had barely passed his lips before Hotch had taken off at a sprint heading around the corner. Then . . . up at the far end . . . he saw Captain Nichols just stepping out into the hall. He was snapping off his gloves.

Thank Christ!

"Captain, how is she?!" Hotch called out anxiously as he continued hurrying down the corridor, watching the doctor dump his gloves and booties in the biohazard bin.

"Is she still awake?! How's the baby?!"

The questions were still being shot rapid fire before he'd even approached normal conversational distance. And he saw Nichols lip curl slightly as he put his hand up.

"One at a time. First," he said with pointed nod and gesture for Hotch to move a few steps over to the side of the corridor . . . he'd just stopped short in front of him, "let's get out of the road here."

It wasn't exactly a metropolitan hospital, but there were still people around. So once they'd moved over, Dr. Nichols leaned his shoulder against the wall.

"Now then," he took in a breath, "at the moment Agent Prentiss is sleeping, but overall her condition is basically good. Small bump on her head, no concussion. And most of her cuts and bruises, though they do obviously do look pretty bad, are relatively superficial. Soft tissue, not deep tissue injuries. She did need some stitches, but overall even those injuries should heal up over the next one to three weeks. And as to the burns," his jaw tightened, "the one advantage of them coming from, as you explained, a fire poker, is that the resulting burn patterns were very small in diameter. Though there are a couple of bad spots, they're still measured in millimeters. So with that very minimal exposure of raw flesh, the odds of infection are low. We'll just keep everything clean and dry until the raw areas start to heal over. I think in about week, give or take a few days, she should be completely out of the woods in that area."

Hotch slowly exhaled, letting loose a small degree of tension.

Given how bad Emily had looked, all of that was MUCH better news than he had been expecting to receive.

He was also amazed that she didn't have any broken bones.

"That's great, doctor," he nodded, "thank you." Then his left hand curled back into a fist, "but what about her lung? Do you still think we can avoid surgery?"

That was the biggest minefield . . . next to injuries to the baby of course.

"Yes," the captain nodded, "I think we can. The CT confirmed a tiny puncture in her left lung. It was probably just the tip of the blade that penetrated, but the wound appears to have already clotted, and her airway is clear. So provided she stays stable, and doesn't have any additional breathing issues, we are going to try and let that one heal on its own."

Hotch swallowed.

"Okay," he nodded as his fingers clenched slightly, "that's good. And um," he swallowed, "the baby?"

Even though his first focus was Emily, of course he was praying that he still had a WHOLE family back there. So it was to his undying relief, that in response to his question, Dr. Nichols gave him a weary smile.

"Yes," his eyes crinkled, "your baby's okay too. You guys got really lucky there. Fetal heart rate was slightly elevated, but given the stress to mom, that was not unexpected. I'm not an OB, but if Agent Prentiss wasn't already going to be confined to a hospital bed, I'd order at least a week of bed rest for her just to let things settle with the fetus. So I'm quite sure when Dr. McNamara, that's our gynecologist, does come in tomorrow, that he's going to order the same. He might want her on bed rest longer, but I'm sure it'll be at least a week before he'll allow her to do anything besides go to the bathroom." Then Nichols finger came up, "and with that lung, I don't want her flying anytime soon either. I know you guys aren't military, but you're not civilians either, so we can make an easy argument to keep you here. I'll clear it with the CO. We might not be the biggest medical facility in the state, but our people are experienced, most of us are combat vets, and Agent Prentiss will get top notch care here. And she's probably going to be here, for at least two weeks. Then we'll assess her again."

Hotch nodded tightly.

"Understood. And thank you for letting us stay. So um," he hesitantly cleared his throat, "may I uh, may I see her?" He bit his lip. "Please?"

Though he was of course grateful for what Dr. Nichols had done, it still killed him to ask nicely. Again, it was his family. But he also knew very well that with Emily's injuries, the doctor could justify keeping him out of the room for the rest of the night.

Not that he would have accepted that decision . . . no way in hell . . . but he figured that before he broke out any weaponry, he should at least start with the soft approach.

But then he saw the doctor's eyes crinkle slightly.

"I didn't think that we'd be able to keep you out of there. And our patient ward is pretty empty right now. One pinky finger lost in the mess, and one compound fracture from a training accident this morning. So," Nichols huffed out a breath, "the nurse is making up a bed for you next to Agent Prentiss." Then his eyebrow rose up in amusement.

"Was I correct in presuming that you'd want to stay here until she's released?"

"Yes," Hotch nodded firmly, "yes, I absolutely do, thank you very much." Then his expression softened slightly, "and I appreciate the special consideration, on all counts. Truly. And I apologize if I was a little uh," he tipped his head, "rude, earlier."

Okay, now he felt like a complete asshole for all of the terrible things that he'd been thinking about Nichols for the last hour.

"No problem," Nichols clapped him on the shoulder just before he started to walk away backwards, "I've got a fiancé too."

Then he continued moving backwards, while making a gesture off to the right.

"Go around the corner, short hall. The patient ward is at the end. Double doors, you can't miss it. And the nurses have been told that you have special privileges, so nobody should give you any problems. Let me know if they do."

And with that, Nichols turned and started walking away, pulling off his scrub cap as he went back the way he'd came.

"Thank you, doctor," Hotch called out. And he got a half wave back over his shoulder.

And then for the first time that night, a faint, genuinely happy, smile touched Hotch's lips. The tightness in his chest was starting to lessen.

His heart was beating normally again.

Emily was okay . . . the baby was okay. Apparently God hadn't given up on him quite yet.

Miracles never ceased.

A/N 2: There you go. Didn't get the second grand reunion, but you got an update on everybody's condition, and where things are going from here. From here we'll be able to pick up a bit more easily to move the whole world forward, not just this one incident.

A reminder generally, even though it's been almost two hours since they left the desert, JJ and Reid haven't arrived back in civilization yet. If you'll recall, it was almost two hours of Hotch driving over 100 maniacal miles per hour just to get out there. So obviously it's going to take the others much longer to get back going non suicidal speed, and visa versa for the sheriff's department. So outside of Morgan, nobody on the team knows yet that Dave has blown away the UNSUB. There will be consequences to that one ;)