December 6, 2013

It's a long day.

A very long day.

A no good, very long day.

When Hotch walks through the door of his apartment, grumpy Jack in tow – it seems a grumpy father does not a happy son make – he is absolutely and utterly done with his day. The only thing he wants to do is, well, nothing. A beer, maybe a movie. He'll even accept a movie of Jack's choosing just to placate his son and keep him from getting even grumpier.

Thing is, when he steps into the kitchen to inspect dinner options for the evening, he sees the bright silver Christmas ball sitting right where he and Jack left it that morning.

Crap.

This one, even Hotch can admit, is a little more obvious than some of her other gifts. It can only be one or two things, he thinks. Either they're decorating, or they're getting a tree. Considering the way the calendar's been going, Hotch's money's on the former. But the idea of decorating even a small corner of his apartment just does not appeal to him. Not even for the absolute and honest pleasure of Emily's company.

And no, for the record, he's not hiding. Not at all. And no, he did not dream an entirely different ending to their almost kiss the night before. He's not that kind of guy, thanks. He doesn't do the daydreaming, the fantasizing. He's not that fanciful.

Except he is.

He should just call her. It's Emily. If anything, she's going to be incredibly understanding of his bad day and let him off the hook. She's that kind of person and she knows days in the BAU can be utterly brutal. But at the same time, he does not, does not want to risk things with her. He's screwed up last night, pushed where he shouldn't have whether she looked like she would have responded positively or not. Because it doesn't matter, nothing can come of it, not with his job and her job and her life across and ocean. And he couldn't, wouldn't, would never even think of asking her to choose between him and her life on another continent.

Still, he thinks. The least he could do is call her.

"Hey."

A single syllable and he feels his shoulders slump. "Hey."

"That doesn't sound so good."

God, that's scary. "It's been a long day-"

"Oh. Oh Hotch."

"No." He's shaking his head. "No it's fine. You know how it is."

She hums her agreement and he's struck hard with the fact that she does, that she's been there. She knows some days are long, that some days are bad.

"Did Jack open his door?"

"He did. It's why I'm calling."

"Oh? Oh! Hotch, no. If you're not up to it we don't have to do anything. Really. I just wanted to know."

"Em-"

"It's not a calendar meant to be a burden," she goes on and he can tell she's ramping up for quite the rant. "It's just a fun thing, so if you can't, you can't. And it's decorating your apartment anyway, technically, which you guys can do whenever and I don't even have to do it with you. It's your calendar so-"

"Emily."

Silence reigns. He opens and closes his mouth a handful of times, of course, because it's not that he doesn't want to spend time with her. It's not that he doesn't want to see her. He just knows neither he nor Jack is fit for company and definitely not decorating.

"Can we switch?"

"What?"

Considering he hadn't even realized the words had come out of his mouth it takes his conscious brain a moment to catch up what is quite obviously his heart. But it's a thought that solidifies and he can't seem to let it go.

"Is there another door, another traditions we can switch?"

Because she's known every door so far, like she'd memorized it or chosen each one with particular care. He's starting to think that maybe she put too much time into it, considering. There's no way she'd be able to make two when Henry was old enough to enjoy it. Assuming she was going to do it every year of course.

And he's getting ahead of himself.

"There could be," she says slowly. "Can you get to the calendar without Jack noticing?"

Jack is nowhere to be found, not that Hotch is particularly worried. He'd bet his son is pouting and sulking in his room. The two of them are alike like that. "Yes."

"Check next week. Late. Like… the twelfth maybe? Maybe later. The fifteenth?"

He checks the twelfth first. The calendar itself is made of cardboard and he pops open the window easily. Re-useable. He likes that. The tiny present is not indicative of something low-key, he thinks. She agrees, swiftly and with a laugh. He tries the fifteenth next and laughs at the cartoon cookie he pulls from the window.

"That's not the one I'm thinking of either," she says with a bit of a huff. "Between them though, I think. What's the fourteenth?"

Santa.

That's a negative too.

"Thirteenth?"

That one holds promise. He pulls from the door a tiny little television.

"Yes! That's it. And you don't even need me for it. Father and son, nice and relaxing. Do you guys have any of the Christmas specials?"

Hotch wrinkles his brow. He doesn't think so. Honestly, by the time Jack was old enough to enjoy most of that stuff he spent so much time with his cousins or with Haley. And Haley hadn't had any of the videos.

"JJ's got them all," Emily tells him and he can almost picture the way she's waving her hand dismissively. "I'll run them over really quick. Jack doesn't even need to know I was there."

Because they both know the kid'll want her to stay. Which, Hotch knows, he cannot blame the kid for. As it stands, he can feel the words on the tip of his tongue himself. He has things to smooth over; things to make up for. And she's only here for so long. Regardless, he wants to make the most of his time with her. But he bites it back.

"Twenty minutes. Or so."

He starts to get worried around thirty, and by the time she hits forty-five with no message, he's well into panic. Then his phone buzzes and it's her and holy crap.

He's pretty sure he flies down the stairs. "What the hell?!"

"Um. Hello to you too?"

"You said twenty minutes."

"Yeah. That didn't happen." Then she's pushing past him with way more bags than she should have for a handful of DVDs.

"Emily?"

She's called the elevator – which is kind of entertaining, he rarely uses the bloody thing – and looks a little sheepish when she turns back to him. "So, I know it's been a long day and all, but I figured you guys hadn't eaten either." Here, she holds up one of the bags and he can make out jarred sauce, maybe even pasta. "So I took the liberty of picking up some ingredients and I figured you could do your thing, Jack could do his, I'll cook and then you guys don't have to do anything, yeah?"

She looks nervous. Properly nervous. He does not find it adorable, because God knows he doesn't need to like anything else about her.

"I can get out of your hair right after that. Cross my heart."

Except now that she's here, now that she's coming up, now that she's going to cook for him, he most certainly doesn't want her to leave. His long day seems a little less long with her standing beside him. Or walking off the elevator in front of him, standing in front of his door…

Damnit.

Screw it.

"Stay."

"Hm?"

"Stay," he repeats, hand on the doorknob and key in the lock. Nothing for it now. He knows she heard him the first time. "We'll cook, we'll watch movies. Stay."

"Hotch-"

"Stay."

She's looking at him, staring at him really. He looks right back. He wants her here, it's that simple.

"Okay."

So they make dinner together – a simple spaghetti, nothing he hasn't made a hundred times – and Jack is ecstatic to see her. She even stands side-by-side with him to clean up, patient and hilarious and he thinks maybe his cheeks are starting to hurt.

It's different, he thinks, having her here as a real genuine friend and not as a co-worker. She's here because she wants to be and they don't have to go to work together in the morning. He doesn't have to watch her all day, he can just absorb the feeling of her in his space. She even sits beside him on the couch, lets Jack drape over her side.

They make it through Rudolph and the Grinch.

Not a single one of them realizes they're all asleep before the end of Frosty.

So I didn't think I'd get this done today. I've been baking most of the afternoon for a bake sale tomorrow and I'm essentially dead on my feet. But then it was one of those things where I got like the first line, and knew the end picture I wanted in my head and poof!

It also didn't totally go to the vague cloud-like plan in my head? But some of the stuff can be put off until "tomorrow". Which for those keeping track is technically today. I'm still a day behind. Ugh. I dislike this. And I'm not entirely sure how I'll catch up. BUT! Faith, right? Tis the season and all.

Loves to reviewers. It is an absolute pleasure to wake up to a slew of new ones. Even though ya'll are crazy 'cause 117 of them?! Seriously?! Off of 6.5 chapters? Gracious.