This fic is dedicated to my favouritest girl in the whole world, Cas, who's been having a super rough day. Love you my sweet!

This is set in the world of my "You're Not Alone" fic where Hotch has been promoted to Special-Agent-in-Charge and he and Emily have had a baby, Grace. Just pretend I didn't write the epilogue.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters except for the jackass LOL

"Hey man!" Morgan greeted Hotch as his former Unit Chief took a seat on one of the empty stools at their table.

"Morgan, good to see you." They shook hands. "How are things?"

Morgan flashed a brilliantly white grin. "I like how you pretend that Emily isn't going home every night giving you a run down of exactly how I'm doing as Unit Chief."

Hotch felt his mouth twitch. "I must admit that it's rather handy having my own little mole in the BAU. How is she going by the way?" Emily had gone back to work four months ago after taking extended leave to be with their new baby. Hotch couldn't believe that Grace was turning one on the weekend. The year had flown by.

"Like she never left. Although I think having Gracie has mellowed her out. She's not the don't-mess-with-me-cos-I-have-steel-balls agent that she was in the past."

"No, she saves that particular ball busting act for me when I forget the milk and bread," replied Hotch dryly. He looked around "Where's everyone?"

"JJ's home cos Henry's sick. Garcia and Kevin are playing pool with Rossi and Reid."

"Reid's playing pool?" Hotch raised his eyebrows.

"Apparently he read this book on the weekend and wants to test out the theories in it. I didn't want to know, so I'm sitting it out. Your other half is buying the next round of drinks." Morgan leaned back, taking a sip of his Jack Russell. "So is everything okay with you guys?"

Hotch frowned. "Of course it is, why are you asking? Has Emily said something?" He hadn't forgotten something like an anniversary or something had he? His brain worked at lightning speed as he combed through the list of significant dates. It couldn't be a birthday or their wedding anniversary. His secretary would have reminded him. One of the perks of being a Section Chief that he really liked. He just hoped it wasn't something like the anniversary of their first date or the first time they had had sex. Like never asking for directions, men did not remember dates. It was as if this was something that was genetically embedded in the Y chromosome. Thank God for navigators and secretaries.

"Nope." They both looked up to see Dave join them at the table. "She's just been in a filthy mood for the last three days. I thought she was going to take the head of the sheriff this afternoon when he suggested that she quit her job and go home and have some babies."

Ah. That was probably what the furious, incoherent message on his voicemail was all about.

"So, what is it? You're not giving her enough loving or has our Emily been spending too much time with you? I tell you, that glare she shot the sheriff was pure Hotchner. We were surprised he wasn't lying in a pile of ashes on the floor." Dave's eyes were twinkling.

"Go to hell, Dave." At the smothered laughter from his friends, Hotch shook his head. "Well, she is a Hotchner now." He chose to ignore the other part of Dave's question. It was none of his business. Although it had been three weeks since he and Emily had been intimate due to a combination of their work pressures. Hotch sighed. And if she was in a bad mood, his chances of getting lucky tonight was pretty much zilch. That sucked big time. He smiled when he realised he had used the word 'sucked'. She was obviously rubbing off on him too.

"Oh shit."

Hotch followed Morgan's wide-eyed stare. "Damn it, Emily!" He leapt off his stool and rushed over to where his wife was standing.

Emily leaned close to the blond man, tightening her hand around her Glock. "Would you like to repeat what you said?" she hissed, feeling angrier than she had ever felt in her entire life. Even angrier than she had been this afternoon. First, the fucking sheriff. Fucking men! Where the hell did they get off? "What, lost for words now? Because you sure as hell weren't when you were commenting about my boobs to your friends."

"I..I..I'm sorry." The man's eyes bulged at the sight of the gun clutched in her grasp in its unbuttoned holster.

She suddenly heard her name uttered quietly. Even the sound of the familiar voice didn't make her take her eyes off the guy in front of her. She narrowed her eyes, weighing between the satisfaction of hitting this supreme jackass in the face and the bruised hand she would suffer for the next few days. Her hand twitched.

Hotch must have seen it, because the next thing she felt was his hand over the one she had on her gun. "Emily," he repeated. "The man's apologised. Let it go."

Let it go? Was he kidding? "You didn't hear what he said to me," she retorted angrily.

"He's obviously intoxicated, Emily. Forget about him. Come with me, let's go home." She didn't miss the deliberate calm that he had injected into his voice. At least he didn't sound like he was trying to soothe her. That would have been a major mistake. She felt him rest his free hand on the small of her back. That was supposed to soothe her. She should have felt her hackles rising, but his touch, oddly enough, achieved its purpose. She slowly removed her hand from the handle of her Glock.

Emily straightened up slowly, keeping her eyes locked with the blond man's. "Don't think for one second that I'm backing down. You're a jackass and a coward, and now everyone here knows it. If I hear you make one more offensive comment to a lady, I'll hunt you down and use you for target practice. With my pump action shotgun." She gave him a final glare then turned to leave.

Unsurprisingly, now that she had turned her back, the cowardly bastard was no brave enough to call out. "Yeah man, you take that bitch home and keep her away from me!"

She paused, mid-step, fury seething anew.

"Sweetheart, keep walking. It's not worth it." Hotch's voice was gentle.

She ground her teeth. "Do you know that dickwad told me that my tits were made for his hands and my legs were made for riding him? What do you think about that?"

Emily saw the moment her words registered. Hotch's entire body stilled. His eyes hardened and became chips of black ice. "He said what?" His normally mellow baritone was flat and deathly quiet.

The look on his face and the tension that had invaded his frame finally jolted her out of her fury. "Never mind, honey, let's get out of here." She took his hand and tugged at it, but it was like an ant trying to budge a boulder.

"Stay here. I'll be back in a minute."

Emily stood there open-mouthed as she watched her spouse, the epitome of calm and control, stride up to the blond man, draw his fist back and punch him in hard the jaw. There were loud exclamations and a couple of screams as he fell off his chair. A few seconds later, Hotch was back by her side, eyes glittering with anger and jaw clenched. He took her arm and led her towards the door. "Let's go," he bit out.

Silence reigned for the first few minutes of their drive home, before Emily decided to speak. "Thank you for defending my honour." Her voice was tentative, testing the waters. The dark interior of their Suburban held just enough light for her to see his tense jawline and the abnormally tight grip he had on the wheel. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen him this angry.

The only sound he made was a grunt.

O...kay. "I missed you."

"I missed you too." His voice was curt, but she thought she saw his hands relax just a tiny bit.

"Jack and Grace were okay while I was gone?" She hated being away from them and would normally already be home with them except that they were spending a few days with Jack's grandparents, who had fallen in love with Grace at first sight.

"They were fine." His voice softened, as it invariably did when he was talking about the kids. "They missed you too." He exhaled. "I'm sorry." He turned and gave her an apologetic look which she just managed to catch under the light of a passing street lamp. "I shouldn't have lost my temper. That was inexcusable."

"No, he was acting inexcusably. You were justified seeing that you were defending the honour of your beloved wife." She paused for effect. "And that's exactly what I'll say on the stand when you're standing trial for assault."

Emily grinned when Hotch chuckled, and she reached over to put her hand on his thigh. He picked it up, pressing a kiss on her knuckles. "You always know exactly what to say to defuse me."

"What can I say? It's a gift."

He glanced across at her, a faint smile on his lips. "Speaking of gifts, you know that thing you do with your mouth? Well I was wondering ..."

She gave a low laugh. "Drive faster sweetie. This damsel wants to give her hero his reward."

Hotch accelerated so quickly that the wheels actually squealed in protest.

She gave him his reward as promised. Three times. It might even have been four, but he couldn't be exactly sure. His brain had long since joined his body in the comatose haze of post-coital bliss.

Sometime later, as they lay in a sweaty, tangled heap on their bed, he asked her the question that had been at the back of his mind since talking to Morgan and Dave earlier that evening. "So, do you want to tell me what's been making you grumpy?" He cared enough about preserving his own life not to say the word PMS in front of any female. Especially his wife. "I thought I told you to stop scaring the boys."

"Did Dave-the-big-mouth tell you what happened with the sheriff?" She snuggled her head into the crook of his neck, her arm tightening around his waist.

"He might have. But I'd already guessed from our phone calls and from the little bar incident earlier," he felt compelled to add.

"Great deduction, Chief Hotchner." Hotch grinned at her sleepy voice.

"Thanks, it's a gift," he said drolly.

Emily poked him in the side. "I know what you're thinking, but it's not PMS."

"Really?" Hotch frowned.

She moved, propping her face on her crossed arms on top of his chest. "Just a case of raging hormones." She gave him a speaking look.

Raging hormones but not PMS? "I don't underst…" His voice trailed off when he realised what she was trying to tell him. "Emily, are you telling me you're pregnant?" His voice was hushed with wonder.

A joyous smile broke out on her face, so radiant that he felt his heart clench with emotion. "Yes. I did the test this morning."

"Sweetheart." He swallowed hard, emotion clogging his throat. They had been lucky to conceive Grace. He had never dreamt they would be blessed with another child.

"Congratulations, Daddy." Emily lifted herself up and they shared a sweet, tender kiss.

Their lips broke apart and she started to laugh. Hotch raise his eyebrows at the look of glee on her face.

"So the boys are already scared, huh?" She snickered. "I can't wait to see the look their faces when I tell them I'm going to be a total bitch for the next three months."

*grin* Just something a little lighthearted. Let me know if you enjoyed that.