Author's Note: Happy Sunday!

Absolution

Emily blinked once . . . and then again, as she slowly opened her eyes.

Her vision was fuzzy and the lighting in the room was low, but still she could make out the faint design of square white tiles directly above her. The squares had little holes in them.

Hospital.

No . . . she suddenly flashed on the chopper ride with Captain Nichols . . . clinic. China Lake.

It had to be.

And as Emily thought about that, her nose wrinkled slightly, and that's when she consciously took note that the oxygen tubes they'd put on her in the helicopter, were still there.

Not an unexpected development.

And fortunately they weren't really causing her any physical discomfort. Plus at the moment, supplemental oxygen was probably a 'good' thing, especially for the baby, so she tried to ignore their presence so they wouldn't start annoying her. She had other problems at the moment anyway. Like her continuing efforts to focus both her foggy brain, and her foggy gaze.

The latter of which was now shifting to more fully take in her surroundings.

There was a white curtain pulled around one side of the bed . . . it blocked her view to the left. And when her eyes shifted to the right, they began to burn. The tears actually helped to clear the foggy vision. And seeing the person in front of her, helped to clear the foggy brain.

It was Aaron.

He was sitting slumped over in a small plastic chair. One arm was bent on his knee, holding his head up. His face was pale and drawn, and he had dark circles under his half shut eyes.

He looked absolutely terrible.

But then suddenly he seemed to realize that she was awake, and those red-rimmed eyes popped open wide with surprise.

"Hey," Hotch whispered as he stood and leaned over Emily's bed, trying to hide his worried gaze from a woman who missed nothing, "I didn't think you'd wake up before morning, but it's only been a few hours."

It was barely four, and that's why he hadn't even tried to lie down yet himself. Not to say that he wasn't utterly exhausted and emotionally spent . . . because he ABSOLUTELY was . . . but the whole hellish afternoon and evening were still all too fresh in his mind. And even if Emily was safe now, and on the road to recovery, he just couldn't leave her side quite yet.

Not even just to move over to the other bed three feet away.

And seeing her attempt to respond to him now, he leaned in to press a quick kiss to her lips, before murmuring as he pulled back.

"Hotchkin's okay."

He knew that was the question she was about to ask, so he wanted to alleviate her fears as quickly as possible. And seeing the flash of relief in her bloodshot eyes, he reached out and gently cupped her jaw. A faint, very tired, smile touched his lips.

"The Captain said you guys just need to rest for a bit, and everything should be fine." Then he sat down on the edge of her mattress. "Speaking of," he continued softly, "how do you feel?"

Though he didn't want her to talk much, he needed to know if she was in any pain.

Because they could do something about that.

The corner of Emily's lip curled up.

"Feel better than you look." She croaked back. Then she licked her lips, "could use a drink though."

Good Christ, she was thirsty! But of course she hadn't eaten or drank anything since lunch the day earlier.

Whenever the hell that was.

"Oh, hold on," Hotch hopped up, scrambling to take the lid off the small ice bucket the nurse had left on the dresser an hour earlier. "Nichols wants to keep you on the IV for at least the day, but," he hurriedly scooped out a bit of shaved ice into the small plastic cup, "the nurse said you can suck on these."

And he turned back with cup and tiny spoon in hand. Then he leaned forward . . . and when she opened her mouth . . . he fed her three small slivers of frozen water.

As they hit her tongue, Emily's eyes fell shut.

God, who would have thought that ice chips could taste like NIRVANA?! She thought as they moved around her mouth. And once those slivers had dissolved, she opened her mouth and Hotch fed her another few pieces. That time she licked her lips before swallowing the tiny trickle of water that was left on her tongue.

"Better," she rasped with a slow exhale, "thanks." And when Hotch turned to put down the cup and spoon on the nightstand, he was close enough that she was able to snag his sleeve between her fingertips.

"And now," she tugged faintly on the fabric, feeling a slight ache in her palm where the bandage was wrapped over one of her defensive cuts, "sit down and tell me what's wrong with me, and then," she slowly inhaled, "I'll tell you that I'm going to be fine."

To her own ears, her breathing was a little shallow, and her voice was raspy, but the words were steady and clear. And Emily could tell from the shift in Hotch's expression as she spoke, that however she sounded now, was an improvement over their last private conversation.

But of course she was dying then.

Literally.

"First of all," Hotch whispered as he moved over to sit down on the edge of the mattress again, "try not to talk too much. You have a small puncture in your lung. Captain Nichols thinks it'll heal okay on its own, but talking is going to suck your energy, not to mention hurt like a bastard. The latter's probably not so noticeable right now because of the drugs, but tomorrow they're going to try to wean you down a little for Hotchkin's sake."

At that, Emily's eyes widened in alarm.

"What am I on?" she mouthed, her free hand, the one with the IV, immediately sliding up from the mattress to cover the little bump, "is it safe?"

"Percocet," Hotch responded quickly as his own hand fell over hers, "and he said it shouldn't cause any problems. But again," he took a breath, "as with any drug, the lower the dose, the better. So tomorrow they'll fine tune that a bit until they figure out your happy medium. And they're going to let us stay here at the clinic until you get released," he squeezed her fingers, "that's going to be about two weeks."

Emily blinked.

"Weeks?" She croaked back in disbelief, "I have to actually stay that long?"

Though she would have loved to just tell Hotch to have them to take her off the drugs, that she'd suck up the pain, she knew that wasn't a realistic . . . or wise . . . course of action. Because she'd been in absolute AGONY when they'd found her, so those were clearly not injuries that were going to heal in a day. It would be more like a week.

Or three.

And the more pain that she was in, the more stress that her body would be under. And even without a medical license, she knew that constant stress on the mother was much more likely to cause problems for Hotchkin's development than a few days on a Class A narcotic. So the drugs would stay.

For now.

"Yeah," he nodded slowly, "it's mainly because of your lung. That's your most serious injury, so Nichols doesn't want you flying anywhere for at least a couple weeks. And also this first week you're going to be on bed rest for Hotchkin too, so basically," he gave her another tired smile, "for the next seven days, they just want you to sleep as much as you can. Rest up to get better."

For a moment Emily stared back at him, but finally she nodded slowly.

"Okay, got it."

Then she again took in his gaunt features and the tightness around his mouth, and her expression softened.

"Are you okay?"

Hearing the worry in Emily's gravelly tone, and hating that her concerns were shifting to him . . . she didn't that stress on top of all the rest of it . . . Hotch's eyes began to burn.

"Don't you worry about me, sweetheart, I'm fine. Or," he tipped his head, "at least much better now that I have you . . ." he stammered, "bb, back."

His voice started to catch on the last word. And feeling his emotions welling up . . . his eyes were burning . . . he paused for a moment, trying to get it all shoved back down again. But then in that momentary quiet, he suddenly focused in on the sound of Emily's monitors beeping.

Hers and Hotchkin's.

And he winced . . . and his voice broke.

"I shouldn't have left you alone!"

God DAMN it . . . he sucked in a ragged breath . . . this was NOT the time for this CRAP! But he couldn't stop that stabbing guilt in his chest, or the tears now pooling in his eyes. The effects of far too little sleep and FAR too much stress, were now destroying his usually rigid control.

Shit!

Hearing the pain in Hotch's voice as she saw the tears in his eyes, Emily felt an ache in her chest. Her own eyes began to water. And although she had little physical strength in her in that moment, somehow she managed to tug him down to her body.

Even though he hovered slightly . . . she knew he was afraid of hurting her . . . still she held him as close to her chest as she could. He was levering himself up with one hand on the opposite side bed, and the other was still clenching her fingers.

His breath was soft and ragged on her throat.

"Hush now," she murmured with a crack in her voice as she clutched his windbreaker in her fingertips, "this isn't your fault, Aaron. This is our work, and our work is very dangerous. But you saved us," she sniffled, "I knew that you would. I never doubted it for a second."

Hotch slowly lifted his head, his watery eyes locking onto hers.

"Really?"

"Of course," she gave him a sad smile, feeling his clear pain just as though it was an ache in her own heart, "and I told Hotchkin too. I said daddy's coming, and everything will be fine."

Her faith in Hotch was absolute, always. But as she saw him wince and nod, she only wished that his faith in himself was the same. But as long as she had him there, as long as she had him period . . . which was hopefully going to be for some decades to come . . . she was going to do what she could to shore that up.

"Aaron," she sucked in a slow breath, "I was snatched up from out of nowhere and you found us out in the middle of nowhere. A hundred miles away. Pitch black, a speck on the map, a patch of sand in the desert, and you still got there in time. Nobody," her voice cracked again, "and I mean, nobody else could have done what you did." A tear slid down her cheek.

"You're my super hero."

Hotch stared at her for a moment before he blinked and gave her a watery smile.

"Ditto."

And seeing that faint tinge of pink in her cheeks, even as her lips twitched, he felt a spark of warmth ignite in his chest. Pure love.

Capital L.

This was his girl. And she was going to remain his girl as long as he had a breath in his body. He'd find a way to make this one work.

He had to.

And although he was always going to feel that he should have been faster getting there . . . and really that he never should have let her go off alone at all . . . Emily's arguments had merit, and her absolution of him did help.

Hopefully time would do the rest.

And as she mouthed, 'give me a kiss,' he happily obliged, leaning in to lightly press his lips to hers. But when he started to pull away, she murmured, "uh, uh, not good enough." So he smirked and leaned back down to give her a proper one.

And when he pulled back for the second time, he was the one that was slightly out of breath. She just gave him a sleepy smile.

"Next time don't make me ask twice."

A small chuckle bubbled up, and he had to lift his hand to cover as it slipped out. He didn't want to wake anyone. But with that faint laughter, to his surprise, most of the remaining pressure on his chest . . . left him. Absolution can do wonderful things.

But nothing was quite as wonderful as the woman in front of him.

And then she squeezed his fingers.

"So," she half whispered, half yawned, "are they going to let you stay with me here the whole time?"

"Sweetheart," Hotch murmured back, "I'm not going anywhere. Not until it's time for you to go home." He reached over to gently brush the tears off her cheek, his eyes stinging as he gave her a soft smile, "what if you guys need me?"

Trying to blink back fresh tears, Emily clutched his hand to her chest.

"You know that word we don't say yet?" She asked softly.

Hotch's eyes widened slightly.

"Yeah," he responded slowly, his breath catching, "I know that word."

"Well," she smiled as a tear slipped down her cheek, "I think I'm almost ready to say it."

He winked.

"Me too."

For a moment they looked at each other, a pure happiness filling Hotch. One that had been lost to him for a long time. It wasn't just getting his new little family back, but he was also feeling a genuine hope for the future. And he saw light on that path.

Joy too.

But then he saw Emily biting back another yawn, and he realized that those thoughts could wait for another day. Her six minutes of consciousness had worn her out again.

She needed to rest.

"Okay," he simultaneously stood up while gently pulling his hand free from her grasp, "time for you to go back to sleep." Then he leaned down to fix her blankets, before checking her arm to make sure the IV was still secure.

Oh yeah.

It was taped around three times. And then he remembered what Nichols had said . . . combat nurses. They would definitely be particularly concerned about needles coming lose in transit.

So after gently rubbing Emily's stomach . . . goodnight to Hotchkin . . . he pressed a light kiss to his girl's lips and then her forehead.

"You sleep, sweetheart," he gave her a little smile as her eyes started to fall shut. "I promise I'll be here when you wake up."

"Mmkay, hon," she murmured.

And that was the last thing she said. But still Hotch watched her for a few minutes longer. Watching as her breath evened out, and her head tipped to the side. And once he was sure that she was out, he took a breath . . . and turned to look at the bed behind him.

Okay . . . he bit back his own yawn . . . now he could get some sleep.

A/N 2: Not a super long chapter, but I decided to cut it where I did because after being separated and/or her drowning in her own blood for like 5 chapters, they deserved to have a little alone time to reconnect. And that scene had a certain intimacy to it that would have been ruffled if I had continued with the next segment.

Random trivia, the thing about combat nurses and the tape, that's true. Makes sense for the field obviously if your patient is getting bounced around. But I learned a few years back, when my brother in law had a minor emergency and was overnight at a different base clinic, that some of them don't get out of the taping habit. But I was kind to Emily here, because in his instance, his nurse wrapped his arm up almost to his shoulder, basically like he was getting evac'd out of Kabul. It was a very painful 'wax job' when one of the other nurses had to unwrap him for release the next day. And she was rolling her eyes and that's when she explained the other nurse was six months back from a combat assignment and they keeping telling her, you're stateside now, stop wrapping them like mummies, patients aren't getting jostled that badly, but she keeps doing it.