Author's Note: Here's Pop Pop Prentiss out in the hallway having a chat with Daddy Hotchner.

Prompt Set #31 (June 2013)

Author: Arthur C. Clarke

Title Challenge: The Hammer of God

Fathers and Their Children

Seeing the door to the patient ward start to open, Hotch came up from where he was leaning against the wall, and snapped to attention.

Crap.

"So," Richard's gaze narrowed as he stepped out into the corridor and crossed his arms at his chest, "you're dating my daughter?"

Though he wasn't actually upset at this development . . . Emily was happy, and that was enough for him . . . he'd decided to let Hotchner think that he was displeased. It was simply a character test. He wanted him to squirm for a minute.

And then he wanted to see how he responded.

"Yes, sir."

The tone of Hotch's response matched the same degree of crispness that he was hearing from Emily's father. And that wasn't because he was feeling all that calm or cocky about this interrogation, not at ALL, but more because he figured that this was a man who would DESTROY him if he sensed any fear or reticence in his answers. And although he seemed to pass muster on the first question . . . at least he didn't get shot simply for their romantic association . . . along came the second one!

"And I hear that you've also gotten her pregnant?"

Though Hotch's jaw twitched slightly in agitation for the verb choice of that one . . . it's not like he had been the ONLY participant in those activities(!) . . . still, he obviously had no intention of making their night of CONCEPTION, a point of discussion with his girlfriend's father! So he simply pushed down his annoyance, pushed it down DEEP, and nodded again.

"Yes, sir," he responded with a fake calm while folding his hands behind his back, "the baby's due in the fall."

And then Hotch physically braced himself . . . for what he wasn't sure. Maybe a punch to the gut or a kick to the gonads, or really ANYTHING in between. He literally had NO idea how Emily's father was processing these developments.

Though he wasn't really expecting anything, 'good.'

But then to his surprise, after a moment of Mr. Prentiss coldly sizing him up . . . he'd seen a similar expression on Emily's face during a prison interview with a cannibal . . . he seemed to pass some kind of internal test. Because the older man's expression softened.

And then he took a step forward.

"Congratulations," he said with a crinkling of his eyes.

He must have sensed Hotch's surprise at that turn . . . shock really . . . because he added with a tip of his head.

"I've been hearing good things about you professionally for many years now, Agent Hotchner. But even more than that, I trust my daughter's judgment. So if she says that you're worthy of her affection, I'm going to take her word for it. That said," he continued with an unexpected hardening of his voice, "if you hurt her, or my future grandchild, they will be finding your body in pieces across many a desert, just like this one we are surrounded by right now. Are we clear?"

Just because he wasn't upset about their relationship, that didn't mean he wasn't still putting the man on notice. There was one rule when it came to dating his daughter, it was a very simple one . . . treat her like a queen.

It wasn't hard at all.

Seeing that the threat Emily's father had made was not an idle one . . . nor would he have expected it to have been, his own protective feelings towards Emily were approaching a similar degree of intensity. . . Hotch quickly nodded.

"Understood sir, and I respect that. And as a father, I appreciate it. But please believe me when I say that her happiness is of the utmost importance to me. I care for her very," he sucked in breath, "very much."

As he slowly exhaled, Hotch decided to add something that he wasn't sure Emily would have brought up with her father.

"I'm not sure how much she told you about our relationship," he added softly, "but my hope is, that by the time the baby is born, that we will have already attained a more permanent melding of our households."

Richard's eyebrow inched up.

"You're getting married?"

Interesting.

"If she'll have me," Hotch responded slowly, "then yes, that is the path that I hope we're on," he tipped his head, "or have already reached, by our child's first birthday."

"Hotchkin," Emily's father cut in unexpectedly.

Hotch's eyes popped open in surprise.

"Excuse me?"

Crap! Emily told him about THAT?!

Seeing the growing horror . . . and reddish hue . . . in the other man's face, Richard's lip quirked up.

Good, finally broke that shell of his. So he continued in the same amused tone.

"That is your child's name, isn't it? Hotchkin?"

Realizing that he had no way out of this one . . . and that Emily's father was LOVING this moment . . . Hotch accepted his fate. His balls were being busted.

Ruthlessly.

And he just needed to suck it up. So rather than attempting to be evasive, he simply took a breath and nodded.

"Yes, sir," he cleared his throat, "that is our baby's name."

For a second Richard stared at the younger man in amusement. His shoulders were a bit slumped and his skin was still a bit pink. Only two minutes and he'd already taken the upper hand in their relationship.

A personal best.

But then he started to think about the nickname itself . . . Hotchkin. How sweet and innocent it was.

And how that was the complete opposite of the man in front of him.

If he had been willing to not only 'go along' with Emily's use of that moniker for their unborn child . . . and make no doubt, Richard was quite sure it was his daughter's pick . . . but to also use it himself (he wouldn't be so embarrassed if he didn't), then that indicated a true depth in his affections for Emily.

Another point in his favor.

So he decided to throw him a lifeline.

"Before she was born," he said with a faint softening of his expression, "we called Emily, 'pumpkin.' I still do." He nodded. "Hotchkin's a good pick," then he huffed slightly, "just know that you might still be calling your daughter that thirty years from now."

Seeing that Emily's father seemed to be extending an olive branch . . . thank Christ . . . Hotch relaxed his own posture.

"Yes, well," his expression warmed, "I'd be okay with that." Then he rubbed his hand across his mouth, "you know, I haven't told Emily, but I am sort of hoping for a girl. I mean you know," he tipped his head, "after this week of course I'm just so glad that they're both okay, but I have a son, and I think a little girl," his lip quirked up as he gave Emily's father a wistful smile, "a little Emily, well, that would be nice."

Richard huffed as he suddenly flashed on his daughter when she was knee high.

"Little Emily was a handful. But yeah," his voice started to get a bit husky as he thought about the trauma his daughter had just suffered, "I'd start all over with her again in a heartbeat."

Realizing that he was getting a bit emotional . . . it had been a hell of a day . . . Richard took a breath and cleared his throat. Then he focused in on something that Hotchner had said a moment before.

"You have a son?" He asked with a raised eyebrow, "how old?"

His daughter was going to be a pseudo step-mother. Hmph.

That had not been mentioned.

"He just turned three in November," Hotch answered, "his mother and I share custody." Then, seeing an opportunity perhaps to build a bridge with this man who was going to be his unborn child's grandfather, Hotch pulled out his wallet. After a second's digging, he slid out a picture that he'd tucked into the back. He held it out to Emily's father.

"His name is Jack," he added softly.

Richard took the photo and stared down at it for a moment. The image was that of a happy little boy in blue footed pajamas. He had dark hair, big dimples . . . and a stuffed bear. His lip quirked up.

"He's a cutie. And you can definitely tell he's yours." Then his eyebrow inched up as he handed the picture back. "What the bear's name?"

Hotch huffed to himself . . . that was an Emily question.

Clearly this was where she got it from.

"Mr. Bobo," he responded while looking down to tuck the picture back into his wallet, "he's had him since he was a baby."

When Hotch looked back up again, he was slipping his wallet back into the pocket of his jeans. But then he saw that Emily's father had pulled out his own wallet . . . and he was pulling out his own picture.

He held it up . . . and Hotch's eyes crinkled.

It was Emily.

She was laughing, holding a glass of what appeared to be red wine in her hand, and saying something to the person taking the photo. Given the decorations in the background . . . lots of twinkly lights . . . Hotch was assuming that it had been taken at her parents' house over a recent Christmas.

Actually, it was probably just this past one.

For one thing, she had the bangs, and he also recognized the V-necked, blue cashmere sweater she was wearing. It was fairly new. But she'd worn it two or three times between the holidays and the night that they'd found out she was pregnant. Though she was wearing a gold scarf with it in the picture . . . one that obscured the bust line a bit, probably to make it more appropriate for a family gathering . . . underneath he knew that it was tight, and form fitting.

God did he love that sweater.

And not just because of the wonderful things it did for her figure, but also because aside from the color . . . it was that shade of royal blue that she looked so good in . . . this sweater was almost identical to the red one that she'd worn to Dave's Christmas party. That was a good night.

It was the night of their first kiss.

"You see . . ."

Hearing Emily's father began to speak, Hotch's eyes snapped up.

". . . it doesn't matter how old they get," he continued, "you never stop carrying them around. Or more to the point," he gave Hotch a sad smile before he looked down at the picture in his hands, "you never stop needing to carry them around."

For a moment, neither of them said anything. And then Hotch saw Emily's father slowly slide the photo back into his wallet. When he spoke again, his voice was very faint.

"What did you do to the man who abducted her?"

Hotch winced . . . another conversation that he'd known was coming. And another one that he'd been dreading. But as he thought back to those horrible events of just a few days ago, he felt a fresh surge of rage fill him. His expression hardened.

"Three bullets," he responded tightly, "one to shatter his clavicle, one to blow off his right hand, and one to take off his left knee cap. I wanted him to scream . . . he did."

He saw Emily's father looking over at him quizzically.

"And why did you stop?"

Once more flashing on the state of Emily's bloodied body when they'd found her . . . it was an image that was haunting him . . . Hotch's rage was pushed aside. And he was once more filled with sadness and grief over the pain that she had suffered.

His eyes started to sting.

"Because I had to get to her," he said softly, his gaze falling down to the white tile as his voice thickened, "I saw her bleeding out on the floor, and I knew . . . she needed me."

He blinked, trying to hide the moisture in his eyes as they shot back over to Emily's father's.

"And even with the rage that I was feeling over what had been done to her," he continued softly, "some part of me still understood that if I had taken that last head shot, the review board would have crawled up my ass." He shook his head. "Our relationship would have come out, and the Bureau would have already officially separated us by the time we got home. So I stopped," he bit his lip, "because I had to."

Though he knew then . . . and still believed now . . . that his choice had been the right one, he was always going to regret not being able to finish what he'd started. Because if he had . . . he felt his stomach churning as his eyes burned . . . then Dave wouldn't have had to.

Richard stared back at his daughter's boss (lover) for a moment, considering his tone, and his words . . . and the wisdom behind the latter. Then he tipped his head.

"You were right to stop," he responded with a slow nod, "they would have crucified you."

Seeing the younger man trying to get his emotions under control . . . his eyes were wet even as he nodded . . . Richard looked down for a second. He gave him that moment.

He'd earned that much.

But once he heard him clear his throat, he looked back up . . . and asked the last question that needed to be asked.

"And where is this man now?"

"In the county morgue," Hotch responded quietly, "pending autopsy by a specialist they're flying in from LA. Though he was alive when Emily and I left with the Navy medevac crew, he was dead by the time we arrived here."

Knowing that this was a story unto itself, Richard's brow crow creased as he took a step closer.

"How?" He whispered.

"Another member of our team," Hotchner responded in the same subdued tone, "Dave Rossi. My second. He shot him in the head. He said it was an accident, that he was startled and the gun went off, but," the other man's lips twisted as he gave a quick, furtive look around to make sure they were still alone, "Dave's been a firearms instructor off and on for the last fifteen years. He doesn't have accidents like that. And now there's pressure coming down, so the local authorities that we came in to assist with their case, are treating this death as a criminal matter."

Though he knew that Dave had done what he did with the best of intentions . . . and that that man had ABSOLUTELY deserved to die . . . it had brought a shit storm down from up on high. Because after fingerprinting, it turned out that their perpetrator wasn't just some white trash orphan . . . he was the son of a Colorado state senator. The long estranged son, but still, somebody cared that he was dead. Somebody with some juice.

And he wanted to know exactly what the hell had happened out in that Godforsaken ghost town.

Seeing the worry in Hotchner's features, Richard knew that the fallout here was bad.

"Has Agent Rossi been detained?" He asked. And seeing the tight nod he received in return, Richard's jaw clenched.

"Okay," he nodded slowly as his gaze fell to the tips of his shoes, "okay." Then he cleared his throat, and lightened his tone, pretending like the matter they were discussing wasn't the matter that they were discussing.

The death of the monster who had tortured his daughter, and the impending destruction of another man's future. A man that he now owed a huge favor.

He'd taken care of a problem that Richard would have otherwise had to take care of himself.

"All right," his head snapped up, "I just remembered that I have to run an errand. But I told Emily that I would be here when she woke up, so if I'm not," he gave Hotchner a pointed look, "just tell her that I stepped out for something to eat and I'll be back shortly. And if I'm still not back when she wakes up the next time, tell her that I was briefly called away but I'll see her in a day or so. Is that understood?"

"Uh," Hotch's brow wrinkled, "yes sir, I guess so. But where are you . . .?"

"Don't you worry about that," Richard cut in with a shake of his head, "you just take care of my daughter."

And he started to walk away. But at the last second he stopped and turned to look over his shoulder.

Then he walked back down the hall again.

And with Hotchner still looking at him in confusion . . . he clearly had no idea what was happening, which was exactly how Richard wanted it . . . he walked up, reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

"You did good, son," he said softly, "I would have made him scream too. Emily chose well."

Then his eyes crinkled slightly and he gave the younger man a cold smile.

"I'll see you soon."

And with that, he once more turned away. And although he could hear Hotchner calling his name, he just kept walking.

There was a mess to clean up.

A/N 2: That was the other reason for Emily's father to come visit at this stage. Not only as an outlet for Emily's stress, but also as a Cleaner. It's been made clear in a few other stories, Pop Pop Prentiss takes care of stuff behind the scenes. And his presence was needed here to get Rossi out of the clink. Hence the prompt that inspired it.

And we are slowly inching our way out of the desert. I really want to get them home again. Originally I planned the 'desert incident' (which was planned from the beginning) as like 3 chapters. Heh. See, you never know how things will take on a life of their own.

If you're also reading The Hours, you'll note that the Christmas referenced in this chapter, is the one that happened in Girl the year before. Coincidental to be posting those two bits of history at the same time.

As always thanks everybody for reading and for the feedback :)