Author's Note: Skipping ahead a little or this baby will never get born.

Mid-March: Friday to Monday

All in the Famiglia

The first few days of Emily's hospitalization passed quickly . . . of course that was because she slept through most of them. And it wasn't completely the drugs. A lot of it, probably most really, was pure exhaustion. The pregnancy had already started to eat into her energy even before the abduction. So the injury recovery that she was now going through, was just another new 'function' for her body to undertake. Really, she was going to be SO happy when she was back to only expending energy on her body's basic upkeep, and gestating her little human.

That was more than enough to keep her busy.

For now though she did have to deal with the injuries too. And she knew that the more rest she got, the faster her body would heal, so she tried to just embrace the whole idea . . . for probably the first time in her adult life . . . of not doing a God damn thing. She slept and she ate and she watched a Seinfeld or three, but aside from Hotch reading to her from the book that he'd found in her ready bag . . . the new Harry Potter, he was kind of getting into it . . . that was about it for 'activities'. The only time she even got up was to go to the bathroom. And of course given her injuries, she could only get up with assistance. So for those trips to the commode, her primary escorts were either Hotch, or the nurses.

Sometimes JJ helped out too.

She and Reid were the ones that Emily found sitting by her chair if Hotch wasn't there. His orders were that as long as she was in the clinic, she wasn't to be left alone, ever, so the other two rotated in (as a pair) when he had to leave for something.

Oddly enough, she had no memories so far of seeing either Dave or Derek at the clinic.

Granted though, with all the sleeping and meds and general exhaustion, she wasn't a hundred percent on everything that went on around her . . . they could definitely have come and gone while she was unconscious . . . but she was still pretty sure that neither of them had been by to see her. Because if they had been, why wouldn't they have woken her up for five minutes? And when she asked the others about them, she was told that they were still helping with the investigation.

Apparently they'd found more bodies in that abandoned ghost town she'd been dragged off into.

Of course it was perfectly logical for them to be working the scene, but she still found it a little unusual that neither of them had come in to see her even once. She also thought that the others seemed kind of evasive when she'd asked the question.

But that might have just been her imagination.

With the sleeping and the drugs . . . and the underlying physical trauma necessitating the sleeping and the drugs . . . her brain wasn't exactly up to detailed profiling. With the bandages wrapped around her hands, she was barely even up to feeding herself.

Hotch was helping her with that too.

They had her on some kind of nutritional mush . . . they didn't want her choking on anything . . . so basically it was like getting fed baby food. The first morning she actually tried to make a joke to that effect, that it would be good practice for him. And although Hotch rewarded her with a little smile, she saw the faint sheen appear in his eyes before he blinked and looked down at the bowl in his hand.

She didn't joke about that again.

And then on Emily's fourth day in the clinic, her eyes opened to find her father's face staring down at her.

At first she thought it was the drugs.

"Dad?" She mumbled in confusion, trying to push herself up slightly, "is that really you?"

"Yeah, pumpkin," Richard Prentiss' lips curved in a sad smile as he leaned down to kiss his daughter's forehead, the one part of her face that wasn't noticeably bruised, "it's really me. I came to see how you were doing."

Good God, she looked terrible!

"But," she frowned, "how did you even know I was here? I told Hotch not to call you guys."

That first morning, as he was feeding her the nutritional mush, Hotch had specifically asked if she wanted him to call her parents, just to let them know what had happened. Her response had been an emphatic, "NO." Given that she was basically fine . . . 'ish, or she would be soon, there was no reason to worry them. She'd told him that in a few days, when she had a bit more energy, (and some dexterity in her fingers), she'd send them a general 'catch up' email. One where she added in that she'd caught a few stitches on the last case, but that she was healing up just fine. And then that little blurb would cover everything.

Or at least everything that she'd wanted to tell them.

But now here her father was seeing her totally bruised, burned, and banged up. And now . . . she started to feel a surge of panic . . . she had NO idea what to say!

Crap!

"Emily," Richard continued speaking softly while moving to sit down on the edge of her mattress, "I always know where you are."

At her confused look, he lightly squeezed her fingers.

"From your first day at the BAU, on your first assignment, and every one since, I get a notification when your team gets called out. I don't always know your case, but if I at least know where you are, it helps me not to worry so much about what you do." He tipped his head, "usually. But regardless of that point, this is how I knew that your team flew out here the other day. I was out of the country at the time. But this morning I flew back to the States coming in through LAX, and as I was waiting for my connecting flight, I was watching CNN, and there was a blind item on the crawl. Bodies found in an abandoned mining town, FBI agent seriously injured during the apprehension of the suspected killer. I recognized the location, so I called your cell to see if your team was all right, but your boss answered your phone," he sighed, "so here we are."

Though he knew that she probably wasn't pleased to hear how he'd been monitoring her assignments, he wasn't going to apologize for it. By occupation he was a spy, and after thirty plus years of doing this work, it was so ingrained that it really was in his blood. And given the nature OF his work . . . and the people and governments that he'd pissed off along the way . . . he'd always been very protective of both Emily and her mother.

And that was not going to stop until he was dead in the ground himself.

Feeling a jolt of perplexing emotions washing over her . . . confusion, surprise, irritation, and yes even love, her dad being her dad . . Emily had to look away from her father for a moment.

Though she was rather stunned to find out that he'd been keeping tabs on her all these years . . . a point that they WOULD be discussing in depth at a later date, sometime after she got home and had the energy for a fight . . . on some level she also found it a bit sweet. And she supposed maybe she understood why he had done it. He loved her.

And he worried.

Now that she was having a child herself, she had started to experience that worry. The fear, less for the safety of your own self, and more for that of your child. And flashing again on that moment when the UNSUB's knife had come ENTIRELY too close to her belly, Emily winced and brought her hand to her mouth.

For a moment she and her father were both quiet . . . he was clearly letting her process . . . and then she took a breath.

"We'll talk about the spying when we get home."

Seeing him nod slowly, while murmuring, "I expected that we would," she bit down on her lip. But then another point that he'd said, suddenly screeched to the forefront of her mind. And this point was one that was actually MUCH more troublesome than thirteen years of invading her privacy.

He'd spoken to Hotch.

Crap on a freaking cracker! It must have been while she was sleeping or Hotch would have told her. But a flight from LAX to this area, would have only been a couple of hours, if that.

And she'd probably been out cold since lunch.

And although in the past . . . say, six months ago . . . the idea of her father and her boss speaking wouldn't fill her with a mind numbing panic, this wasn't the past, this was the now. And in the now, Hotch wasn't just her 'boss' any longer.

He was now a thousand other things.

And Emily hadn't a chance yet to mention ANY of those things to her parents! Not the least of which was that he was the future father of her CHILD! A child which had not been mentioned yet EITHER!

Jeez Freaking Louise!

But all of that panic and anxiety which were bubbling up, were emotions that she tried to shove down to hide them from her father. Because it was time to see just how good her poker face could be. The fact that she'd yet to win a game of cards with her father . . . and they'd been playing since she was seven . . . was a minor quibble. This was her actual life that she was talking about now.

Much bigger stakes.

"So," she coughed slightly, trying to sound nonchalant as she brought them back on point, "you talked to Hotch earlier?"

"Yes," Richard nodded slowly, "I spoke to Agent Hotchner. And he was, as your mother had described him in the past, very serious and," he tipped his head, "and very intense. But he told me what had happened to you," Richard winced slightly as he again took in Emily's bandages and bruises, "the torture that you'd suffered, and he said that you should be okay in another week or so."

Even though Emily's boss had assured him that her injuries weren't critical, they'd sounded bad enough that he'd needed to see that for himself. And hearing about the burns was particularly troubling. Especially given her history in that area.

The mob attack overseas.

Emily bit her lip.

"Yeah," she took a shallow breath, "I've got a puncture in my lung, but that's the most serious injury. And the doctor said it's healing so far so good, on its own. Otherwise, some bruises and a few other stitches, and," she shook her head slightly, "whatnot. Nothing really."

At least nothing else she wanted to talk about.

"And what about the burns, pumpkin?" Richard asked softly, "How are those?"

Knowing exactly what her father was referring to . . . the one thing she didn't want to talk about, her attack at that marketplace in Riyadh when she was fifteen . . . Emily felt her eyes start to water.

"They're pretty small. A few of them are bad, but nothing like last time. I won't need any skin grafts," her voice began to thicken, "might not even have any scars," then a tear slid down her cheek, "the treatment's better now, you know."

Seeing her father nod his head slowly as he murmured back, "yes, pumpkin, I know," was strangely the thing to finally break her.

Feeling the sob rising up, the tears started to spill over.

"I was really scared, daddy!" She choked out, "I was really, really scared!"

And then, with the tears still streaming down, and her nose starting to run, she winced and brought her hands to her face. She was trying to hide her breakdown. But her father wasn't having any of that. He just shifted forward, leaned in . . . and pulled her to his chest.

"I know, baby," his voice was husky as he kissed the top of her head, "I know. But you're safe now."

As her father whispered those words in her ear, Emily remembered him saying them a long, long time ago. That first day when he got back to the Kingdom, and he found her in the hospital with the finger marks on her body, and that chunk of flesh burned out of her leg. Those wounds had healed.

And these ones would too.

But still, she let her father hold her and stroke her hair, and tell her that everything would be okay . . . because that's what dads were for. And when her tears were done, she did feel better. Because that was one stress release she had been trying to hide from Hotch. It would have just added to his guilt.

And she would never do that.

But again . . . she leaned back to give her father a watery smile . . . that's what dads were for.

To play cleanup when the world tossed you through the ringer.

And so she let him wipe her tears, and blow her nose, and brush her hair back behind her ears. Basically all of the things that he had been doing for her for as long as she could remember. In her father's eyes, Emily knew that some part of her would always be his baby. And she'd learned to be okay with that too. Because it was a wonderful thing to have a man in your life who loved you unconditionally.

Someday, she thought wistfully, if things kept going well with Hotch, she might even have two.

"So uh," she started with a sniffle while wiping her nose with the clean tissue her father had just handed her, "did um, Hotch tell you anything else when you spoke?"

"No," her father responded slowly as he sat back on the bed, "was there something else that he should have told me?"

Hearing the rising note of concern in her father's voice, Emily quickly shook her head.

"No," she cleared her throat, "no noth . . ."

And then she stopped, realizing that at this point the lie about to leave her mouth, was a stupid one. Even if this wasn't the day that she had planned to share her personal news, this was the day that had arrived. And she'd already known that she was going to have to have this conversation with her parents soon anyway.

Of course she'd been dreading it.

But Hotchkin was rapidly evolving from peanut size to peach pit, which meant that Emily was going to start notably showing very soon. And she really didn't want to pop into the next family dinner looking like she'd shoved a beach ball under her shirt.

That would be disastrous.

But if she did it today, told her dad that is, she'd have a trial run for the horror that would be the conversation with her mother. Because make no mistake, THAT discussion was going to be a nightmare.

An unwed daughter who got knocked up by her boss. Yeah, that was going to be one GIANT goose egg for the uber Catholic ambassador.

But maybe . . . Emily bit her lip . . . things would go a bit better with her father.

Here's to hoping anyway.

So she took another shallow breath . . . breathing a bit more of a task now generally what with the oxygen having been removed the day before . . . and then she started again.

"Uh, actually dad," she slowly exhaled, "there is something else I need to tell you, but it's not bad. It's really good news actually, but it is going to be a bit of a surprise, so uh," she gave him a nervous smile, "try and keep an open mind right now, okay?"

For a moment her father stared back at her, the abject confusion clear on his face. Finally he tipped his head.

"Okay."

"All right, um . . ."

And then Emily's voice faded away. Long conversations were taxing, but she wanted to get this out. So she cleared her throat.

"Sorry," she coughed, "getting a bit hoarse, but seeing as you're here, and this was a conversation I was going to have with you soon anyway, I just wanted you to know that Hotch and I are um . . . involved. It's been a few months now."

Her plan was to start slow . . . boyfriend to baby, making no reference her boyfriend's VERY recent divorce. But then her father cut in.

"Involved, as in the romantic sense of the word?"

Though there was some surprise evident on his face, Emily couldn't hear any judgment (yet) in his tone, so she took that as a good sign. So she nodded.

"Yes, yes in the romantic sense. He's um," her eyes crinkled then, "he's very good to me. Very sweet, and kind. You'll like him, I promise."

Her father was quiet for a second, and then his expression softened slightly. Then he reached over to pat her arm.

"Okay, well," his fingers curled around her forearm, "if you say that he treats you well, and you're happy, then," he tipped his head, "that's what matters."

Though if asked, he would not have chosen for his daughter to become involved with someone in her chain of command, he did trust her judgment. She might have made some bad choices when she was young, but that was a long time ago. And her rebellion in those years had unfortunately been born of genuine trauma.

His daughter had had a lot of things to work through.

But the one thing that he'd already learned from Emily's youth, was that it did no good at all to disapprove of the boyfriends.

The ones that you hated the most, stayed the longest.

And although he was relatively sure that she'd grown out of that reactionary response sometime in her twenties . . . that was the point where she'd settled in at the Bureau . . . he also very much doubted that the look on her face when she spoken of this man was reflective of anything short of genuine love and affection. So he would be okay with this, because he had to be. His daughter was in love.

Which meant that this one was clearly sticking around.

Though . . . another thought came to Richard then . . . this would also explain the agitation he'd seen in Agent Hotchner when the two had met outside. Hotchner had been called out to meet him at the nurse's desk, and then he'd left him at the door to the patient ward. At present he was hovering out in the hallway, practically jumping out of his skin when he left, but he'd said that he wanted to give the two of them a few moments alone together. Apparently he must have presumed this conversation was going to come up. And he'd also assumed it would be better if he wasn't here for it.

Smart man.

Realizing that her father wasn't going to give her any grief about Hotch being her boss, Emily breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thanks, Dad," she gave him a little smile, "that means a lot that you trust my judgment here because I know Mother's not going to be happy about our working relationship."

Seeing her father about to interject . . . a defense of her mother, she was sure . . . Emily waved her hand.

"It's fine. We don't need to talk about her reaction right now. Because there's one more thing I need to tell you. And I REALLY need you to, uh," she gave him another little smile, though this one a bit more nervous, "trust my judgment just a little bit more. Because the other news I have is that Hotch and I are expecting a baby." Then she paused for a second before adding somewhat unnecessarily.

"I'm pregnant."

Watching her father's eyes widen in surprise, she quickly added.

"Please don't be upset. I know this is kind of out of left field for you, and we do have some," she rolled her eyes slightly, "challenges with work, but we're both really, VERY, happy about this."

In that moment, Emily had NO idea what was going through her father's brain. Aside from the splash of initial surprise, there was nothing else in his expression that was readable.

But then his eyes shifted down to her stomach. And she watched as he reached out and pressed his palm down over the slight bump under the blanket. After a moment he asked quietly.

"How far along?"

"About eight weeks," she responded in the same tone, "I'm due late October. Because of all the stress this week, I'm on bed rest right now, but otherwise Hotchkin's perfect."

At that last remark, her father's eyebrow inched up.

"Hotchkin?"

"Oh um," Emily's cheeks started to get hot, "that's uh, what we call the baby. Hotchkin." Then her voice started to catch, "Daddy, if you're not going to be happy for us, then please just don't say anything, okay? Because I want this baby so much, and if you say that you're disappointed in me, or something else negative, I'm just going to start crying again," she blinked and shook her head, "and I don't want to do that. This is the one GREAT thing in my life, right now. With Hotch and the baby I'm finally building my own little family," she bit her lip.

"Please don't spoil it."

God, this was going so much worse than she'd thought it would! She hadn't meant to share their Hotchkin nickname. That was private, and special, and she didn't want him to be dismissive of it.

That would hurt.

But then she saw her father's expression soften. A moment later he leaned up to kiss her forehead.

"Emily," he said, cupping her cheek as he pulled back, "I wasn't going to say anything negative. I was just processing." His eyebrow inched up slightly, "it's a lot to take in, you know? It's not like I knew you were in a relationship, or that you were thinking about having children. This is all, 'new information.' But if this is what you want, then of course I accept it. I love you, and," his voice started to catch, "and I want you to have a happy life. And if your Agent Hotchner is the person who can make that happen, and I've heard very good things about him professionally as well as what you've said today, then," he took a breath, "I say congratulations," his eyes crinkled, "and I think that you're going to be a wonderful mother."

Emily had started to tear up when her dad told her that he loved her, and by the time he was done talking, those tears were once again freely running down her cheeks.

Though at least this time they were happy ones.

"Thanks Dad," she sniffled, "that really means a lot. Because I've been so worried about telling you guys."

Richard's brow darkened slightly.

"Emily, I know that you and your mother have a complicated relationship," he said softly, "but you must know, at the end of the day, she loves you more than anything. So even if her initial response isn't the same as mine. If she's a little," he tipped his head, "subdued at first, she'll come around, I promise. Come on, it's a new little you," he grinned, "how is she going to resist that?"

Feeling a wave of love for her father, Emily shot him a brilliant, though still faintly watery, smile. Then she hooked her finger.

"Can you please come closer again? I'm supposed to rest my core muscles, but I want to give you a hug."

"Of course, baby," his eyes crinkled as he leaned over to pull her into another gentle embrace, "you can always have a hug."

For a moment he just held her close, and then Emily heard his faintly amused whisper in her ear.

"Hotchkin, huh?"

"Yeah," she giggled slightly as he pulled back, "Hotchkin. It's my Hotch munchkin, so," she jiggled her head, "it just fit."

His lips curved.

"I like it." Then he winked, "it goes with pumpkin."

She laughed.

"Yeah," she huffed and wiped her eyes, "I guess it does kind of." Then a thought occurred to her and her eyes widened slightly, "wait, did you call me pumpkin before I was born? Is that a nickname that stuck in-utero to out?"

He nodded.

"Sure did. Your mother actually never much cared for it, I mean when she was pregnant." His lips twitched, "but of course that might have been because the first time I said it was the day I came back from a three week assignment to find that she'd popped out to here. I said it looked like she was carrying a pumpkin around under her dress." His lips twitched, "she didn't speak to me for a day."

Feeling another giggle bubbling up, Emily quickly brought her hand to her mouth.

"Yeah," she snorted, "I can imagine!"

That one must have gone over like a lead balloon.

And then she saw her father going to stand up.

"Okay," Richard took a breath, "I'm going to go see your Agent Hotchner for a moment. I'll be back. Actually," he looked down at his watch, "I'm probably going to stay until tomorrow so," his eyes snapped back to hers, "if you're tired, why don't you go back to sleep. I'll still be here whenever you wake up."

Emily stared back for a moment.

"Okay," then she looked over nervously, "but you're going to be nice to Hotch though, right? You won't hurt him?"

Richard's eyes crinkled.

"Yes pumpkin, I promise that I have no plans to maim and or injure the future father of my grandchild. We just need to chat for a bit." He winked, "men stuff."

Just as her father started to walk away, Emily called out.

"So you want to be called Grandpa or Gramps?"

Her father turned back, his lips twitching.

"I think maybe Pop, Pop."

She started to laugh.

"Pop, Pop Prentiss?!"

God, her father was ridiculous! Yeah . . . she snorted to herself . . . THIS is where she got it from!

"Yeah," he winked, "it's got a certain panache to it."

And with that, and her chuckling after him, he continued heading out of the ward. When she saw him reach the double doors at the end of the aisle, Emily had a thought. She winced and shook her head.

God, I hope he doesn't make Hotch cry.

A/N 2: I am presuming if you're reading this story, that you've already read Girl proper, so you know how much I LOVE writing Emily's dad. And you'll also know that in my mind, he is Bruce Boxleitner :) And I always saw him coming in here to see her, because she did need that emotional release and she wasn't going to let Hotch see it for the reasons already covered. And also, again, I just like writing her dad :)

More covered now on the history of the scar on her leg. I still have the 'blow by blow' of that incident over in The Hours, and that's staying over there. But this here, I think you now have enough details to get a clearer picture of what happened than what had been shared to date. Hopefully anyway.

Thanks all!