Author's Note: This is a safe read for work/school :)

Also here, it'll start to become more obvious that it's not just Emily who is already feeling a blurring in level of attachment for Hotch. He's falling down the same path.

Prompt Set #20 (July)

Show: Sabrina, the Teenage Witch

Prompt: Deliver Us From E-Mail

Of All The Gin Joints

Emily's brow wrinkled in confusion as she looked through her peephole.

What the . . .?

She whipped open the front door.

"Didn't you get my message?"

Hotch blinked, his surprised gaze taking in Emily's cleanly washed face, and purple flannel pajamas. Though there was no denying that she looked cute . . . part of that was just Emily, and part of it was the little cupcakes on the pajamas . . . it wasn't exactly the 'sexy seductress' look that he was expecting.

Something was off.

"What message?" He asked in confusion, automatically fumbling to pull out his phone. "Did you send me a text?"

"No," Emily shook her head, "it wasn't something to send on an FBI phone, so I sent an email. Yesterday morning," her brow quirked up, "you didn't see it?"

Noting Hotch's continued look of utter befuddlement, Emily sighed.

"Yeah, I'm guessing that you did not see it. I was telling you that I got my period," she rolled her eyes, "and it's only a day in, so we're going to have to put a pin in the planned eighteen hours of sex." She pouted. "Sorry."

Okay, this was embarrassing. Not the fact that she'd gotten her period, but the fact that he hadn't gotten her message! Email wasn't ordinarily her first line of communication, but she couldn't very well send him a text about it . . . they were on FBI accounts for God's sake . . . and it wasn't really the kind of thing that she wanted to leave on his house voicemail.

What if his son was standing there when he played the message?!

And given that there had still been like thirty six HOURS left before he was supposed to show up, email had seemed like a perfectly logical way to reach out. It really hadn't occurred to her that Hotch wouldn't check his personal email even once, ALL weekend! But seeing him standing there with his ready bag on his shoulder, watching his face fall, she felt like crap about having to ruin his day. It was bad enough that she'd already had to ruin her own.

Stupid menstrual cycle!

Hotch stared at Emily for a moment, trying to keep his BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT at this turn of events, from being readily apparent by the expression on his face. It wasn't her fault that she got her period, these things happened, so he wasn't going to be a dick about it.

But GOD . . . he ranted to himself . . . EIGHTEEN PLANNED HOURS OF SEX, GONE! What kind of shit luck was THAT?!

Okay Aaron . . . he took a breath . . . get it together. It's just sex, not a heart transplant, you'll live. And say something for Christ's sake! You've left her hanging here so she's going to think you're pissed off.

"Eh," he waved his hand dismissively, "it's okay. No problem, it happens. So I guess I'll just uh," he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, "go."

And he turned on his heel.

Though his words were perfectly polite, on some level he didn't quite understand, it felt like he was being rude. Like there should have been a more 'chivalrous' way to disengage from the conversation.

But he didn't quite know what that way would be.

After all, they weren't actually dating. He had just shown up to have sex, and they weren't having sex, so what else was there to say besides goodbye?

Right?

Hotch had just pressed the button for the elevator . . . still ruminating to himself about the general etiquette of the situation . . . when he heard Emily call out from behind him.

"Aaron, wait!"

And he turned back to see Emily running to catch up . . . she was apologizing again.

"I'm really sorry that you came all the way over."

But he quickly cut her off.

"No, Emily," he put his hand up as he took a few steps back down to the hall to meet her, "it's fine. You don't have to . . ."

"No," Emily cut in as she stopped in front of him, "it's not fine. I feel really badly that you came all the way over. Because thinking about it, when I didn't hear back from you, obviously I should have tried to call you this morning to make sure that you got the message." Then she rolled her eyes slightly, "and I don't know, seeing as we have to use the Bureau phones, and this situation is going to come up again, maybe we can work out some text code to cover the biological cock block."

Seeing Hotch's mouth quiver at, "biological cock block," Emily's eyes crinkled. Then she reached out to tug on his fingers.

"But I was thinking," she continued on, while looking up hopefully. "Given that you're already here, and you'd already cleared your day, do you want to just spend the night anyway?"

Seeing Hotch's eyebrow inch up a quarter of millimeter right before his mouth opened . . . and then closed, Emily realized that she was giving him COMPLETELY the wrong impression about her idea here! So she quickly shook her head.

"No, no, I don't' mean for sex! I don't, well," her nose wrinkled distastefully, "that's not my thing. But," her expression brightened again, "there's a Bogart marathon on this afternoon. I was going to order some junk food and huddle up with my hot water bottle." She gave him a little smile.

"Would you like to join me? So maybe I can just huddle up with you instead?"

Even if they couldn't have sex, she knew that they could still have fun. Off duty Hotch was good company. He was intelligent, thoughtful, and without the constant stress of a case hanging over him, that dry wit of his was much more on display.

He'd had her giggling like an idiot more than once the other night.

For a few seconds, Hotch stared down blankly at Emily, the automatic, "no, no thank you. I have to get going," sitting there on the tip of his tongue. Because that's what he always said when somebody asked him to do anything that was simply defined as 'social'.

But then he again took note of her hopeful smile, and the way her warm hand was tugging on his fingers. His eyes dropped down to the floor.

Even though it wasn't the eighteen planned hours of sex, Emily's offer did still hold definite appeal. After that little chat the other night in bed, Hotch had discovered how VERY much he enjoyed spending off duty time with her even when they weren't conjoining parts.

And also . . . more to the point at the moment . . . he literally had nothing to do.

Nothing at all.

Yesterday, he'd gone out of his way to take care of all his errands in anticipation of being naked with Emily, all day today. So with his schedule completely cleared . . . and it being a physiological impossibility for him to simply 'relax,' alone in his own home . . . he knew that if left to his own devices, he was going to go back out to his car, and drive into the office. And then he'd spend the next six hours immersed in case files. And that would be AFTER he'd already put in a seventy hour week. But he had decided the other night that he needed to stop working so much, and so often.

So it would be pretty God damn pathetic to break that pledge to himself like FOUR days later.

His eyes snapped back up . . . Emily was watching him with a raised eyebrow.

"Humphrey Bogart, you said?" he asked slowly.

"No," Emily rolled her eyes, "Jasmine Bogart. Yes, Humphrey! And I'm going to take it from the question, and the fact that your eyes just shifted down to my door and back again, that you've decided to stay. So," she squeezed his hand and flashed him a brilliant grin, "come on."

She started tugging him back down the corridor.

"Let's get inside before the neighbors see me literally dragging men into my apartment. It won't be good for my image."

Just then they stepped over the threshold, and she turned to slip the bag off his arm and to shut the door.

Hotch immediately slid the deadbolt.

Good . . . Emily's eyes crinkled . . . now they were in for the night.

So she continued down the hall, calling back over her shoulder.

"Just so you know, seeing as you've now seen more of my naked body, than my gynecologist, you've been elevated above 'guest' level. So," she dropped his bag by the stairs and turned to give him a little smile, "I won't be waiting on you hand and foot. Just help yourself to whatever you want, but again, today," her lip quirked up as she put her hand on her hip, "that doesn't include me."

Hotch's lips twitched as he walked up and stopped in front of Emily.

"Understood."

They stared at each other for a moment, and Hotch couldn't help but notice that Emily's eyes were bright with amusement. She did look cute.

Adorable really.

And he was feeling . . . well, he wasn't sure what he was feeling. Attracted to her, yes. That was an easy one. Because this last week and a half, he had become accustomed . . . very quickly . . . to the intimacies of their off duty relationship. But now that they were off duty and the 'intimacy' portion of that new relationship had been taken off the table, he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself.

Or his hands.

At this point in their private time they'd ordinarily be tearing off the woman's clothes.

And he was just about to ask Emily if she too was feeling a little off kilter, when suddenly she leaned up and kissed him.

It was nothing like the passion that she'd greeted him with the other night, but . . . his hands fell to her waist, feeling the fuzzy material of her pajamas beneath his fingers . . . it was still nice.

It was very nice.

Nice enough that he pulled her in closer, one hand sliding around to the small of her back and the other still resting on her hip. Her breasts were pressed against his chest, her hands were clutching the material of his Academy t-shirt.

And when they broke off the kiss a moment later, with her lips slightly bee stung, and her breath coming in small pants, she gave him a shy smile.

"I just realized that I was really happy to see you," she whispered. "I hope you don't mind."

When they were at work, it was still easy to differentiate that world from their new arrangement. He was "Hotch," she was "Prentiss," and everything was just as formal as it always was.

Mostly.

Admittedly, Emily had found herself much more 'aware' of his presence than she had been before. And she'd noticed that he'd been staring at her a little bit, but never for too long. Usually once she made eye contact, he'd look away. Basically they were trying to keep one world totally separate from the other.

And they were doing a pretty good job.

But when they were here in her home, with him so adorable in his off duty clothes, and just his general super-hot, Hotchness, Emily had immediately fallen into their other world.

The one where she was allowed to kiss him whenever she wanted to.

Hotch's eyes crinkled.

"No," he huffed slightly, "no, I don't mind at all. And," he leaned down to press another quick peck to her lips, "I am very happy to see you too."

With the initiation of that kiss, Emily had just chased whatever vague discomfort he'd had about how he was supposed to be interacting with her.

Normally.

Just . . . he pulled her into a hug and kissed the top of her head . . . normally. Or, at least normally for their new relationship.

It was just that today they wouldn't be naked.

And yes, that was . . . he rolled his eyes slightly out of Emily's view . . . unfortunate. But given how he'd very recently broken nine months of celibacy, he could do a seventy-two hour sex fast standing on his head! These were the bumps that came with being in a relationship of any kind. As Emily had so succinctly pointed out, sometimes there was a biological cock block.

You dealt with it.

But he was coming to see that no sex didn't have to mean no fun at all. Again, he'd had a really good time the other night when they were just talking. They could still do that. Just, again, they'd be doing it with more clothes on.

So as Emily rubbed her nose on his chest, he patted her butt and pressed his lips to her ear.

"So what time does Jasmine come on the tube?"

Emily giggled.

"The first one starts at two," she tipped her head back, "The Big Sleep. The marathon's twelve hours."

Now that she had him in the apartment . . . and she'd already not so subtly dropped his bag by the stairs . . . she was really hoping that he wouldn't back out on the sleepover idea. It would be nice to get in a good cuddle when she went to bed.

And Hotch was . . . a bit to her surprise . . . a very enthusiastic cuddler.

She'd woken up early Friday morning with his body wrapped around hers from behind, his head on her shoulder and his arm snaked tightly around her waist. She'd actually had to pull his fingers back to slip out and go to the bathroom. And when she'd come out to get back into bed, he was already holding up the blankets for her.

They'd snuggled back in like she'd never left.

She'd like to do that again.

"Hmm," Hotch slipped his arm around Emily's waist, and walked them over to the couch, "twelve hours. I don't think I've ever sat and watched television for twelve hours straight."

"Really," Emily harrumphed, "then you've totally been missing out. And besides," she squeezed his thigh as they dropped down onto the couch, "it doesn't have to be all TV, we can also make out a little bit. I mean," she shrugged, "if you want."

Given what she'd learned about men from almost four decades on the planet, Emily knew that Hotch was going to say yes to the make-out. She hadn't met a man yet who wouldn't take whatever action he could get, whenever he could get it.

Hotch's gaze narrowed.

"Breasts in play?"

Emily thought for a second before she tipped her head.

"I suppose," then her eyebrow went up as she wagged her finger, "but it has to be gentle. They're a little tender. And the shirt has to stay on, otherwise," she rolled her eyes, "you know it'll get out of hand and I'll have to shut it down before things get weird."

Hotch's lip quirked up.

"So basically we can make out like we're twelve and playing spin the bottle in somebody's basement?"

"Yes," Emily nodded, "exactly." She put her hand out, "so are these make-out terms acceptable to you?"

Trying to hide his amusement at her serious tone, Hotch reached over to shake Emily's outstretched hand.

"Yes," he nodded, "they are acceptable." Then he tipped his head, while matching her same no-nonsense tone, "and let me add that I very much look forward to pinning you to the couch in a few hours."

Emily started to laugh.

"I bet you say that to all the girls!"

See, quite amusing!

"No," Hotch responded drily, "never before in my life, actually. So," he dropped their hands down to his thigh while still holding onto her fingers, "with a make out on the agenda for a later intermission, what shall we do now?"

Although he wasn't getting any sex, he was still pleased to be getting some action. But he also understood the need for it to be fairly minimal. Too much playtime would be like foreplay, and with no relief on the horizon, he'd end up with some mighty blue balls.

That was not a road he wished to go down! Not again!

But also, he knew from many years of married experience, that if you were warned about 'tender breasts,' then you damn well better be careful with them. Otherwise make outs could go downhill VERY quickly.

And if she stopped having fun, that would be the end of that.

"Um," Emily turned to look at the coffee table, trying to spot the menus she'd been flipping through, "we should order food, I guess. I'm starving."

"Wow," Hotch's eyebrow inched up, "that is," he shook his head, "shocking."

The woman's appetite was legendary. Though the more personal time he spent with her, the more Hotch found that quality strangely endearing.

But seeing Emily shooting him a suspicious eyebrow . . . no doubt trying to decide if she should be annoyed by his teasing . . . he responded by shooting her a half of a dimple. And when her lips curved in a soft smile, he let go of her hand to reach over and pull her into his lap.

"Okay," he asked with a sigh while resting his hand on her thigh, "what are we ordering? And will I have to take out a small business loan to pay for it?"

He had discovered that holding her made him feel more connected. And given how cuddly Emily was when they were alone . . . and how generally agreeable she was to letting him do WHATEVER the hell he wanted to with all of her lovely girl parts . . . he was quite sure that she wouldn't mind him picking her up.

And sure enough, once she was in his lap, the first thing she did was tip her head over onto his shoulder.

"Keep that up buddy," Emily huffed while gently swatting his chest, "and your breast action is going to be a quick honk OVER the bra."

Hotch's brow wrinkled in confusion before he lifted his arm and reached up to pull back Emily's pajama top. A quick peek confirmed what he had already suspected.

"You're not even wearing a bra! And when the hell did I HONK your breasts? What am I, actually twelve?"

Not that he had ever done that when he was twelve either, but SERIOUSLY! What grown man HONKED breasts?!

"Yeah, well," Emily's brow furrowed as she batted Hotch's fingers away from her shirt, "shut up with your logical retorts."

Hearing Hotch's dismissive snort . . . which she chose to ignore . . . she sucked in a deep breath and leaned back against his shoulder.

"Okay," she asked while holding the menu up between them, "so what are we getting?"

/*/*/*/

They ended up getting a lot.

As far as Hotch could see, it was half the menu . . . and probably a quarter of his paycheck. But Emily pointed out that it was a marathon, and that marathon rules said that you were required to eat continuously, throughout the length of said marathon. If you didn't, you might as well just call yourself a damn Communist.

She made that pronouncement with such a ridiculous, patriotic, self-righteousness, that Hotch couldn't help but burst out laughing. And as he saw her wink back at him right before she kissed his cheek, he realized that she'd said that for him.

Simply to make him laugh.

He felt another little pull of affection for her . . . and another yen of attachment. It was funny how quickly things had changed between them, but he knew for sure that the attachment he felt for her was definitely stronger now . . . or at least more readily apparent to him . . . than it had been before they'd begun sleeping together.

He'd picked up on that Friday afternoon.

That was their most recent 'day after.' And that was the day that he unexpectedly found himself staring at her across the Academy cafeteria. She was talking to one of the agents from the Richmond Field office. And although he couldn't hear what was being said . . . he was too far away . . . he could tell that the conversation was upsetting her. Her brow was pinched, and her mouth was tight. And he'd wanted so badly to go over there, give her a hug, and see what was wrong.

And even though he had always felt a pull . . . and familial affection . . . for his team, what he'd felt then was much more intense. Much more possessive.

And much more personally painful.

His chest actually felt tight.

There was this feeling that it was his responsibility to go over there and take care of her. Those were actually the thoughts he'd had as he watched her, his nails digging into his palm when he saw hers doing the same. And yes, at the time, those thoughts had caused him a bit of apprehension. It was the intensity of them.

And the corresponding physiological response, that had accompanied them.

But thinking about it a bit more abstractly after he'd gone back to his office, Hotch had decided that his reaction to seeing her upset had been normal.

At least for someone like him.

His tribe was small, and the connection he now had with Emily was an intimacy that he'd had with very few women before. And truly, his feeling was that if you were going to be involved in an exclusive sexual relationship with a woman that you would, literally, lay down your life for, then hell yes you should feel a strong ATTACHMENT for her! Otherwise there was no point to any of it.

He might as well be paying for sex.

So with that thought again fresh in his mind . . . the distress on Emily's face and his concern because of it . . . after their food order had been called in, he decided to ask her what had happened that afternoon. Of course he'd wanted to ask her before the weekend, but it had all happened so late in the day . . . after three . . . that he hadn't had the chance.

But with nothing but time for the rest of their Sunday, after she'd turned on the TV and flipped to the right channel, he gave a light pat to her hip.

"I meant to ask on Friday, what were you talking about with Agent Barek? It looked like you were upset about something."

For a second Emily looked up at him in confusion, like she didn't know what he was talking about . . . perhaps it was a bit of a non-sequitur . . . but then her gaze shifted.

Fell.

Her head dropped back down to his chest, and her voice was tight when she spoke.

"Oh," she bit her lip, "that. Um, there's a girl down in Richmond, she has a stage four brain tumor. And uh," Emily cleared her throat, "she's a really sweet kid. I met her a few months ago on a Make a Wish visit to the Academy, and we started sort of a pen pal thing. A couple emails a week back and forth. She wants to be an agent. She also wants to live to see her thirteenth birthday." Emily's voice started to thicken, "but it doesn't seem very likely now that either of those things will be happening."

Hotch bit his lip . . . this was not a story that he'd been expecting.

"What happened?" He asked softly.

"Um," Emily blinked back the tears pricking her eyes, "Agent Barek, he's a friend of the family, he helped arrange the Academy visit. He told me that Sophie, that's the girl, she took a turn. There was a stroke from the chemo, and now she's in a coma. They aren't sure if she's going to wake up. I called her mom when I got home on Friday, and she said they'd just signed the DNR. She was crying, then I was crying," the tears started to pool, "and I couldn't stop."

Some little girl that had never done anything to anyone was dying a slow, painful death, and these creatures that they chased, all of the horror that they inflicted on the world, most of them would live to a ripe old age. Anybody who believed in a benevolent God was a fool. If he was up there at all, he was an Old Testament bastard.

Smiting the world and moving on with a smile.

"Oh, Emily," Hotch tipped his head down to kiss her temple, "why didn't you tell me about this?"

Emily blinked away her fresh tears, her head coming up so she could catch Hotch's eyes.

"I haven't seen you."

"You could have called," he countered softly, his index finger lightly tracing the curve of her jaw, "I was around all weekend."

Emily stared up at him in surprise.

"You really wouldn't have minded if I'd called you? Because I actually did consider it. After our talk on Thursday night, I was thinking that maybe telling you about Sophie would make me feel better. But," her gaze dropped to his chest, her voice falling at the same time. "I uh, well, I wasn't sure if I should bother you on an off day."

Even though Hotch had now been elevated to a much greater level of importance in her life, they still weren't really 'dating'. Yes, if he'd actually been around when she'd been crying into her pillow, she most likely would have told him what was wrong.

But he hadn't been around.

He'd been off in another part of his life. So she'd dealt with her sadness the same way that she'd always had . . . by herself. It would be nice though if someday that could change.

If she could find somebody that she could lean on.

Feeling an unexpected tightness in his chest . . . it was the word "bother" that had done it . . . Hotch dropped his eyes down to the rug for a moment.

Though he would never consider an off duty call from anyone on his team a "bother," he also knew that he hadn't exactly been putting himself out there as Mr. Dependable. Yes, he had certainly had his share of team conversations over the last year if one of them was dealing with the aftermath of a gruesome case, but this situation Emily had outlined here was different. She was upset over a sick little girl. She'd been dealing with just a 'regular' tragedy.

If there was such a thing.

But the bottom line was, he understood by her hesitance . . . and phrasing . . . that even with these changes in their relationship, that she still didn't see him as someone to turn to for 'routine' emotional support.

And for some reason that was hitting him pretty hard.

His gaze shifted back to hers . . . he bit down on his lip.

"I know that this last year, I have not perhaps been the most emotionally available person," he started softly, "but I've also been trying very hard not to be a complete bastard."

"Oh Aaron," Emily's face twisted as she immediately cut in, "I didn't . . ."

"No," he stopped her with a finger to the lips, "please, let me finish. That wasn't a dig directed at you, that was directed at me. I have been closed off. Sometimes maybe a little cold. I know this. It doesn't mean I didn't care, it means that I . . ." he took a breath, "well," he gave her a sad smile, "I've been doing the best I can. And staying detached is mostly how I've gotten through. And especially with Haley gone, I haven't had to genuinely," he rolled his eyes slightly, "connect, shall we say, with anyone in a very long time. But if we're going to do this, I can't, uh . . . that is to say . . ."

He stopped for a second to take a breath and collect his thoughts. Then he started again.

"The bottom line is, I'm realizing that we're too involved in one another's lives to pretend like this is just sex in a vacuum. Even if that had been our plan, I just don't see it working out that way."

Feeling her stomach begin to churn, Emily bit her lip.

"Does that mean that you don't want to do this anymore?"

Her voice was small. Even though it was only ever supposed to be casual, the thought of ending this arrangement of theirs now, made her feel terribly sad . . . and a little bit sick.

"No, no," Hotch hurried to clarify, "that's not what I meant at all. I just mean, we spend nine, ten hours a day together. You are not just a woman now sharing my bed Emily, you are a regular person in my life. We're, well . . ." he swallowed, "bound. We were already. Even without the sex. So," he finished softly, brushing his index finger along her cheek, "I don't want you crying yourself to sleep all alone. Not if there was something that I could have done to help you. And I would never consider a call from you, no matter what the topic or the time of day, to be a bother. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

No relationship in practice was ever as clear cut as it was in the blueprint. People who signed a piece of paper pledging to love you forever, didn't. People who you thought were simply going to float in and out with no impact, ended up tethering to you for life. And then there were people like Emily.

Ones without labels.

But whatever the two of them were . . . or weren't . . . the thought of her being alone and sad, and crying into her pillow, made his chest ache. And so he would rather that situation was not repeated.

Not if he could help it.

Feeling new tears welling up in her eyes, Emily slowly nodded.

"Yes," she sniffled, "I understand. Thank you." Then she leaned over to kiss him, wishing so badly that this wasn't a day where sex was off the table.

But it was.

But that wasn't to say that she couldn't at least find a special way to say thank you.

"And for being a sweetie," she murmured against his lips, "you can have my shirt off for the make out. But just don't break anything."

Hotch chuckled. Then his eyes crinkled as he pulled back.

"I'll be careful. I promise."

"Okay," she gave him a watery smile, "I'm going to hold you to that one. Because if you bust 'em up, playtime for the rest of the week is going to suck for both of us."

Hotch's lip quirked up as he stared at Emily for a second. Then he leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead.

"Thank you for asking me to spend the day anyway." He whispered. And she smiled as she looped her arms around his neck and whispered back in his ear.

"Yeah, well, thanks for not leaving me to eat fifty pounds of Chinese food all alone."

"Never," he gave her a squeeze, "the Oompa Loompas would end up singing a song about you."

"Oh," she exclaimed, "I'm so proud of you for knowing about Oompa Loompas!" Then she chuckled and kissed his throat, and he found just a little of the tension that he carried with him always, leave his chest.

Because that thing was beginning to happen.

That thing where he fell into The World of Emily. It was the world where he got hugs and kisses, and somebody who cared about making him smile. And he could laugh with an openness there, that he rarely experienced in his regular life. The World of Emily was a good place.

He'd love very much to spend more time there.

Because contrary to popular belief, he wasn't an inherently unhappy person. Yes, he was reserved, and a sometimes bit taciturn, but in the past he had only ever been 'humorless and serious' when he was at work.

And that's because his work was serious business.

But during his time with Jack, his heart was full, and for that little bit of time . . . he was happy. And he was once like that with his wife too. They'd had a family, a good life . . . and then they didn't. And the misery from that loss of both his family and his home, had of course begun to bleed into his general persona.

For the last year he'd been terribly unhappy.

It was a spiraling misery.

But he didn't want to be that way anymore. He wasn't a masochist. Being with Emily, the affection she showed him, the light and humor that she was bringing back into this little sliver of his life, those were all good things. He knew that. And he was trying very hard, so very hard, to embrace them. Because he wanted that spiral of misery to end.

And he was going to need her to do it.

So when Emily patted his chest and told him to go change out of his jeans and into his pajamas so he'd be more comfortable, rather than dismissing her request with an eye roll and a logical retort that it was only two in the afternoon, he just stared at her for a second, and then said, "what the hell."

Even she seemed surprised that he'd agreed so quickly.

So he went over and dug a pair of plaid flannel pants out of his ready bag, kicked off his sneakers and did a quick change in the living room.

When he came back to the couch, Emily gave him a kiss. She said it was a thank you for making the effort. Before he could say anything back . . . like to ask how she could always read his mind . . . the food arrived.

And after he'd paid her delivery boy . . . an amusingly suspicious little guy that Emily said went by just, "Billy". . . they settled in with their food. The cartons were stacked up around the coffee table, and the Bogart marathon had started on the TV. They ate and then snuggled, then ate some more. Then they watched a movie . . . and then another. Then they started a third, all the while with Emily's little running commentaries and observations accompanying the general soundtrack. She was making him laugh.

She was making him happy.

And then Emily took her top off, and he got happier still.

It was during Hell is for Heroes . . . not one of Emily's favorites . . . so she announced (while unbuttoning her top) that the make out intermission had arrived.

After she'd tossed her shirt over the back of the couch . . . and yanked his off as well . . . she pushed him onto his back. Then she straddled his torso and leaned forward.

His hands came up to rest on her hips, and as her hair fell down in a curtain around them, his lip quirked up. They were literally in their own little world.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself," she responded with a wink. Then she leaned in further, her eyes crinkling as his hands slid up her sides. And knowing where their final destination lay, she murmured against his lips.

"Remember," she felt his thumbs brush lightly over her nipples, "don't break anything."

"I promise I'll be careful." He whispered back. And as he gently palmed her breasts, she opened her mouth. She tasted of ginger and snow peas . . . and a sweetness that he could now recognize as just Emily.

And that made him happy too.

Their overall playtime lasted for about half the length of the movie. Not that he was paying the movie any attention, but he was at least aware of the volume of the television. It wasn't exactly a full on make out . . . all activities were restricted above the waist . . . but Hotch had a very good time all the same.

Maybe it was because his release from sexual dry dock was so recent, that he was still grateful for whatever action he could get. Or maybe it was because, hey breasts! Or maybe . . . he bit his lip . . . just maybe, it was that the sound of Emily giggling in his ear, brought a particular warmth to his chest that he hadn't felt in a very long time.

Yeah . . . he pulled her down into a hug . . . maybe it was that last one. Because as she snuggled in close, the dominant sensation he focused on, wasn't the cushiony softness of her breasts pressed against his bare chest, but more the feeling of her warm breath on his throat.

"Are you going to get cold?" He whispered, while his fingertips stroked gently along her spine, "do you want me to get your shirt?"

Emily pouted.

"Yes," she mumbled back, "I am going to get cold." Then she sighed. "So yes, please, I do need my shirt."

It would have been nice to just have the skin on skin contact for a little while. After all, it was all the skin on skin contact they were getting for at least another forty-eight hours.

And as she felt Hotch twist to reach up for her top, she bit back another sigh as she pushed herself up. But then to her surprise, she saw that the shirt that he'd picked up, wasn't hers . . . but his.

His FBI T-shirt.

She looked at him, at the shirt, and then back to him again. Her lip quirked up.

"Thanks."

Then she lifted her arms, and he slipped it over her head. When her head popped out, he reached over to fix her hair from where it was caught in the collar. Then he tucked it back behind her ears.

Feeling an unexpected tug at the attention he was showing her . . . he was just so damn sweet when they were alone . . . Emily quickly blinked, trying to hide the moisture in her eyes.

Damn hormones.

"Again," she leaned down to brush a kiss on his lips, "thanks."

Hotch stared up for a moment.

The other day was when he'd realized just how much he liked seeing her in his clothes. Intellectually of course, he knew that it was textbook alpha behavior . . . it might not have been a permanent arrangement, but for the foreseeable future, any intimacies Emily shared were to be with him alone . . . but understanding the psychological imperatives involved, didn't detract from his satisfaction in seeing her pert little nipples poking through his blue cotton shirt.

And he couldn't stop himself from reaching up to stroke his thumbs over them, feeling the tips harden through the soft cloth. But then he remembered that her nipples were particularly sore . . . that was the one area she'd requested he try to minimize contact . . . and he immediately dropped his hands down to give her a sheepish smile.

"Sorry."

"S'okay," Emily's eyes crinkled as she caught his fingers and kissed the back of his hand, "didn't hurt." Then her eyes dropped down to his bare chest.

"Do you want to get another t-shirt out of your bag?"

Though he didn't get cold like she did, she figured that he might just prefer to not sit around half naked when they weren't on the verge of having sex at any given moment.

"Eh," he shrugged and tugged her down to his chest, "I'll dig one out the next time I get up. But for now," he slowly exhaled and patted her back, "I'm good."

It wasn't skin to skin contact, but it was the next best thing. So they settled in to watch the end of Hell is For Heroes . . . ain't that the truth . . . and then the next film was introduced.

Sabrina.

"Oh," Emily bit her lip and patted his chest, "I like this one."

"Hmm," Hotch murmured back, "I don't think I've seen it."

"It's really good." she continued softly, "Bogey, Audrey Hepburn, William Holden. In the beginning Bogey's all reserved and by himself, but then he falls in love with Hepburn and she totally changes his life."

"Hmph," Hotch murmured again, though that time it was more of a 'sounds interesting' hmm, than the previous, 'I have no idea what you're talking about' one.

Either way, Emily seemed pleased with his interest.

Though, sometime later, around the point that Bogey was trying to be noble . . . idiot was in love with the woman and he was letting her get away . . . Hotch realized that Emily had become entirely too quiet. It wasn't that she generally chitchatted all through a movie, or at least that had not been his experience to date, but she did huff and harrumph and giggle and laugh, and was an all-around active (amusing) movie watching companion.

But he hadn't heard a peep out of her in at least ten minutes.

So he tipped his head slightly to see her face. And . . . his lip quirked up . . . she'd fallen asleep.

Given that it was still pretty early, barely eight really, her passing out was a little odd. But then he remembered how much food she'd eaten . . . a ridiculous amount for a living human . . . and the digestive process can make you sleepy.

Especially when half of the food ingested was fried rice.

So he just rubbed his hand along her back, feeling the soft cotton of the t-shirt beneath his skin, and her warm body pressed against his. And when Emily woke up twenty minutes later, complaining of cramps and a headache, he got up and got her hot water bottle and some Motrin. Then he gave her a little smile and suggested that maybe it was time that she move upstairs to the bed.

That she'd be more comfortable there.

After he'd sent her on her way with a kiss to the forehead, he cleaned up their dishes and put away their food. Although not before making Emily a little snack to bring upstairs with him. Then he checked the locks, and turned off the TV and the lights. As he was picking up his bag from the bottom of the stairs, Hotch suddenly realized that his no strings arrangement with Emily, had taken a decidedly . . . alarmingly . . . 'domestic' turn. For a moment that thought filled him with panic. He wasn't ready for anything domestic!

Not yet!

But then he took a deep breath, and told himself to man up. Then he reminded himself just how content he'd been all day with them simply lying on the couch and watching old movies. And he wouldn't give the day back, not for anything. He liked Emily. He liked being with Emily. And yes, he actually liked taking care of Emily too. It made him feel good.

Useful.

And for a man who had been feeling pretty God damn useLESS in his personal life for the majority of the last year, a small return to domesticity perhaps was a good thing. Because looking after the people that he cared about, that was part of his personality too.

Another part that had been getting somewhat bitter and twisted in his loneliness.

So as he began to climb the stairs of Emily's home, his fingers on one hand trailing lightly along the cold banister as he carried her little plate of appetizers in the other, Hotch decided to embrace these little activities that had been causing him panic a moment before.

As long as he could keep the line in his own head . . . what was okay and what wasn't . . . then he could keep things from getting too serious. From falling too hard. And he had no doubt that he could keep all of this shit straight. He was Aaron Hotchner.

He could do anything.

And with that thought in mind, he reached the open door to Emily's bedroom. She was lying on her side under the covers, as she stared over at the television across the room. When he stepped over the threshold, she turned and gave him a little smile.

"Come snuggle up with me." Then she patted the mattress, "Casablanca's starting."

His chest warmed and his eyes crinkled.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

A/N 2: So you see, Emily's not looking quite so 'mooney' off by herself now. And you might have picked up on the foreshadowing for this chapter. Emily made a few prior references to having PMS so it was logical that her period would be coming along shortly. And I thought it would be a good opportunity to move them forward emotionally by putting them together for a day in their new 'arrangement' status, but without the sex. So basically they were just behaving like a normal couple, whether they wanted to admit that to themselves or not.

The next chapter will pick up on Hotch's birthday. That one will NOT be safe for reading work :)

Fun fact, this was the debut of Billy, in this universe! :) All hail Billy, king of the Chinese food delivery boys!

I hope you're all enjoying the ride here. I do TRULY have hopes for being able to wrap this one up, this time around. I mean, no promises, clearly, but I was SO close to the end here last time, that it genuinely was upsetting to me that it never got finished. So, good thoughts for the muses, folks!