Author's Note: Thank you so much for all the quick feedback on the first chapter! I knew a lot of people were looking forward to this story going up again, but it's always nice to actually SEE the proof that they're enjoying it :) And as a reward for all the reviews, another chapter! See kids, that's positive reinforcement. It goes both ways :)

Related Note: I love this chapter title, but I can take no credit for it. It's an episode title from Life On Mars (the U.S. version).

Mid December: Sunday

Home Is Where You Hang Your Holster

Hotch leaned back against the sofa and scrubbed his hands down his face.

It was barely five o'clock but he was already wiped. In his defense though, it had been a long weekend. Yesterday they'd braved the crowds at the mall so that he and Emily could finish up their Christmas shopping, and Jack could see Santa. Ordinarily neither of them would have waited so long to pick up gifts, but obviously last week they'd had much more pressing concerns than what to buy for Christmas presents.

After the biopsy results had come back, Emily's outwardly positive attitude had taken a serious dip.

Truth be told, his had too.

Theoretical cancer was not the same as actual cancer. And although they had tried to prepare themselves, it was still a real kick in the gut to hear the doctor say the words.

Even if it again had come along with the phrase, "manageable situation."

They'd both been severely depressed by the time they'd left her office. So on the way home from the appointment, Hotch had stopped and bought Emily all of her favorite junk food. And then for the rest of the week, they just operated on autopilot.

They went to work, kept to themselves during the day, and then went home to cuddle on the couch at night.

For four days not one minute of overtime was put in, and not one case file left either of their desks. For once something had finally . . . completely . . . shoved their work to the backburner.

They'd just needed some time away from all of their other problems.

Essentially they'd lived in a bubble outside of their normal reality. So in addition to the bags of junk food that had needed to be replenished within forty eight hours, every night for dinner they ate whatever greasy takeout Emily was in the mood for, and then they watched every weepy chick flick in her DVD collection.

Ordinarily Hotch would not be subjected to that much estrogen in that short a period of time, but he wasn't leaving her side, and Emily had said that the movies made her feel better. His theory there was that her being able to pretend that she was crying for the tragedies of fictional characters, was giving her enough distance from her own situation that she could process it a bit more easily.

Or at least that's what he told himself as he'd blinked away his own tears while he watched Sally Field standing in the middle of a cemetery screaming at God for taking her daughter.

Those few days weren't really healthy for their bodies, but psychologically, Hotch knew that depression was a normal part of the process and he figured that after the hits they'd taken that week, they'd deserved a few days of wallowing.

But then came Friday.

Jack.

There was no wallowing when Jack was around. The moment he'd come bounding out the front door of Haley's house dragging his SpongeBob backpack behind him, hollering his exuberant, "hi Daddy! hi Miss Emily!" a warm spot had filled Hotch's heart as a grin had spread across Emily's face.

Dinner that night was a homemade turkey dog casserole, and the movie choice involved a large green ogre and a small brown donkey.

Then later that evening, as they lay in bed, Emily had whispered in the dark that she was done being sad, that it was time to suck it up. Christmas was here and she wanted to be happy.

He had rolled her beneath him, with his hands sliding under her t-shirt as he murmured against her lips that he agreed one hundred percent. And then they'd made love. Although they had done that every night since they'd returned home from the hospital, Friday night was different.

They'd joked and they'd laughed and there was no stain . . . as there had been in their earlier couplings . . . that they were trying to chase away death.

They'd just had fun.

And in the morning Hotch had slipped out of bed early, to again make special pancakes. Then after they'd finished up at the mall, they'd come home and Hotch had made them turkey burgers for dinner . . . no more takeout for awhile . . . and then they'd played a Candy Land marathon before Emily had gotten into a tickle fight with Jack. That had ended with her laughing so hard that she'd had tears running down her face.

They were the first happy ones of the week.

Because with Jack around there was no talk of cancer, or illness, or anything negative. Life was good and simple and that's what they embraced.

So today his son and his best girl had baked Christmas cookies while Hotch had gone out on his own to pick up Emily's present.

With the exception of the one meeting Hotch had had with Strauss, it was the first time he and Emily had been more than a yell away from each other all week.

But when he got back from his special shopping trip, they'd had lunch and then they'd dropped Jack off at Haley's. His son was sent back to his mother with a tin of candy cane shaped cookies and a kiss from each of them.

When they'd come home Emily had given him his own kiss before she'd disappeared upstairs to take a nap. Hotch had put away the dishes and then spent the last forty-five minutes figuring out the new work schedules for both Emily and himself. She was due to start her radiation treatments next week.

That would be the Monday after Christmas.

Fortunately he'd already taken the team off rotation, but they still had regular obligations at work. Even with the holidays, there were still routine meetings to attend, and there would be classes to teach at the Academy once break was over. So Hotch had been trying to discreetly rework those items to free both of them up in the mornings, so that he could take Emily to the clinic.

The oncologist had told her that as long as she felt up to it that she could keep working even during the radiation treatments. They weren't every day, and because the effects were cumulative, more than likely she'd have a solid month before she started to really hit the wall.

Emily was hopeful that she could keep a full time schedule for at least those initial weeks, because once she had to start taking time off, that would be the point where they would need to tell the team what was happening. And then her cancer would become a big deal for everyone.

To put it mildly . . . they were going to be upset.

So she had decided that she didn't want anyone else to be sucked into their new world until they had to be. And as of right now, Hotch figured that meant they had until mid-January to continue with the status quo at work.

That was of course entirely dependent on him being able to shuffle around their standing appointments without raising any suspicions.

But as he looked back at the breakdown on his laptop, he was pretty sure that they were in good shape. They really only needed a ninety minute cushion of time, because Emily had already talked to the clinic and requested the earliest appointments they had. And apparently they actually did see people as early as seven am, so Hotch figured if she could regularly get in at that time, then they should be able to get into work by nine.

Which, although it was a regular start time for most people, was a little late for them. But he was planning on just bringing home a little work with him every night and then he'd be able to stay on top of everything like usual.

Now, bringing work home every night was a habit that he'd started to break himself of, but special accommodations needed to be made now for this new situation. And the most important thing was that he could physically be with Emily 24/7. So if he had to block off an hour of paperwork every evening while she sat next to him watching television or reading a book, well, then, that was just fine with him.

As long as he could be there for her if she needed him, then that was all that mattered.

Though as he thought about the 24/7 thing, he realized that he had a problem that needed to be addressed tonight.

Since the Friday before her accident he'd been living entirely out of his ready bag and the laundry he had left at her house. Which had been working out just fine until he had starting mentally planning what he needed to do tomorrow, and had suddenly realized that they hadn't done laundry all week.

He'd finally run out of work clothes.

Yes, he could just throw in a load now, but that was just a band-aid for the bigger issue. And the bigger issue needed to be discussed with the woman of the house, so he pushed himself off the couch to go up and see if Emily was awake.

As he started up the stairs, Hotch checked his watch and saw that she had actually disappeared almost two full hours ago, so if she wasn't up already, then she should probably be waking up soon. But knowing that her body needed the extra rest now, he didn't want to disturb her if she wasn't up yet on her own. So he made sure to be quiet as he poked his head into the bedroom.

Except . . . his brow wrinkled when he saw the empty bed . . . she wasn't there.

Huh.

And a quick check of the bathroom told him that she wasn't in there either.

Okay . . . he stepped back into the upstairs hallway . . . she hadn't come downstairs, so she was around here somewhere.

"Emily!" He called out with his hands on his hips, "sweetheart, where are you?"

Hearing a muffled, "down here," from the walk-in closet at the other end of the hall, he started walking closer. As he approached, Emily popped her head out, tucking a slightly dusty strand of hair back behind her ear while coughing out.

"What's up?"

Hotch's brow wrinkled when he heard the cough . . . she really needed to get her out of that filthy storage space before she had a respiratory attack.

And he knew this point from personal experience.

A couple weeks ago, he'd spent over an hour in there digging out Christmas decorations and had needed a Benadryl when he was done. But he put that thought aside for a minute so he wouldn't get off track.

"I've run out of clothes," his jaw twisted, "and I was thinking that's going to keep happening. So," he raised his eyebrow, "what do you think about me moving in officially?"

For most couples this would be a conversation taking place about six months down the road, and they'd only been officially dating for a few weeks. But of course unofficially they'd been together for months.

Since late summer their relationship had been cultivating like it was on growth hormones, and there was no doubt in either of their minds of their commitment to one another. Neither of them was going anywhere.

And he meant that literally.

Until she was well again, he had no intention of leaving her alone for even one night. So why pay the rent on two apartments, when one of them was just going to be a place to keep his clothes?

Of course under any other circumstances he might have considered their burgeoning codependency to be a slightly troublesome phenomenon, but given her illness, he'd given the issue about thirty seconds thought before he'd muttered "screw it" and had yelled into the bathroom to ask Emily if she wanted to watch the news before bed. And that was the beginning and the end of his concerns in that regard.

He had no time for petty neuroses anymore. Emily had cancer.

Cancer trumped codependency any day.

But seeing Emily biting her lower lip now as she considered his question, Hotch wrinkled his nose.

"I know it's only been a couple of weeks but," he shrugged, "I'm here all the time now, and that pattern won't be changing at any point in the foreseeable future. So it seems logical that I'd let the other lease go. What do you think?"

Even though it was taking her a minute to answer, Hotch wasn't at all concerned about her response to his question. He didn't consider this a barometer of their current happiness, it was simply a logistical discussion. And he knew that Emily hadn't been in a serious relationship in years, so if it would make her more comfortable to wait a little longer before he hauled everything he owned into her condo, well, that was completely understandable.

Emily stopped chewing her lip as she squinted over at Hotch.

"What do I think?" She tossed back his question, "hmm, I think . . ."

She reached back into the massive hall closet and yanked out two large empty storage cubes as she spun back around.

"Mi condo, es su condo!" She finished with a grin.

Hotch's lips started to twitch as she continued.

"When I was moving your bag off the bed this morning, I noticed that you were down to two pairs of socks, and," she smirked, "as much as I'd enjoy having you sitting around the house buck naked, I didn't really think that would fly for work. So after I woke up I started digging around in here emptying these cubes out so that we could get your things tonight. But now," she winked at him, "I think I really should get out of this closet before I start coughing up furballs."

"What?" she smirked at his raised eyebrow, "did you honestly think that I didn't notice the way your brow narrowed when I coughed a minute ago," she huffed at him as she put the cubes down to wipe a cobweb off her pant leg, "this is not my first day as a profiler, Agent Hotchner."

Fortunately he hadn't been up here earlier when she'd first stepped through the door and had had a sneezing attack.

He would have had a fit, because Hotch had been watching her like a hawk since the diagnosis last week. It was very sweet, and completely understandable, so she didn't have the heart to even comment on it before tonight.

Because if God forbid their positions were ever reversed, she knew that she'd be doing the exact same thing to him.

Although to her man's credit, he was making an effort not to actually voice aloud every concern he had about her health or physical well being. But she knew him too well. So she hadn't missed one jaw twitch, nose wrinkle, or brow elevation in the past seven days.

When they were walking around the mall his brow was twitching so much that she was afraid he was going to get a face cramp.

As Emily stood in the doorway dusting off her pants Hotch shook his head in exasperation . . . the woman acknowledges that she knows that he doesn't want her in the closet, and yet still the woman was standing IN the closet!

Part of him wanted to just physically pick her up and move her into the hallway, but that seemed a slight overreaction to the situation. It was a layer of dust, not a flying bullet. And as thrilled as he was that they were on the same page about moving in, he did wish that she had talked to him before she started cleaning out these boxes herself.

He should be the one covered in dust right now, not her.

"It's only," Emily looked down to check her watch, "5:50," her eyes came back up, "and you need a suit for tomorrow," she winked at him, "and I need a warm man in my bed. So," she lightly kicked one of the boxes towards him, "let's head over to your place and fill these bad boys up!"

Emily knew that he wished she'd let him go into the closet instead of her . . . and really she'd had no problems whatsoever letting him dig out the Christmas decorations . . . but once she'd realized that she could now have Hotch in her bed on a permanent basis, she'd been so excited that she hadn't even thought about going to talk to him first.

She'd just wanted to get the boxes cleaned out so they could get going over to his apartment.

Hearing the exuberance in Emily's tone, Hotch's lip quirked up.

"That sounds like an excellent plan, sweetheart," he said as he stepped forward and reached out to squeeze her hands, "but I think maybe we should eat first. Because you know by the time we finish up there, and get back here, it's going to be late. And you're going to be very hungry."

Emily frowned as her eyes dropped down to the carpet . . . damn biological considerations messing up her evening plans. Then a thought came to her and she looked back up at him hopefully.

"I know that we're technically on a take-out moratorium, but," she pouted at him, "maybe we could make an exception for tonight and just have Chinese delivered to your house."

Never able to resist the pout, Hotch was already nodding before his mouth opened.

"Okay," he gave her a little smile, "I guess we could do that."

Yes, they were breaking their take-out moratorium less than seventy-two hours after they'd implemented it, but it was an exception for a good cause.

"Yay!" Emily grinned as she leaned up to kiss him.

As Hotch's hands fell to her waist, another thought came to her, so when she pulled back she smirked.

"You can even bring over that God awful Nicolas Cage movie I saw hiding in the back of your DVD collection."

She'd spotted it a couple of weeks ago and she'd been waiting for JUST the right time to mention it.

Right about now seemed perfect.

Hotch's eyes widened in alarm . . . crap! When had she seen that?! Knowing the amount of grief he'd get for that movie, he'd had it tucked WAY in the back of the cabinet behind some old movies of Jack's that he didn't watch anymore. But of course she'd still seen it.

So now he was never going to hear the end of it!

But wait, wait don't overreact Aaron, he told himself, maybe she's just bluffing! Deflect!

"I have no idea wha . . ."

But Emily cut him off at the knees.

"Uh, no," she shook her head, "don't even try it, Aaron Francis. I know what I saw and yet I still allowed you to accompany me back to my home that night, so clearly I was able to move beyond it. If you like it, it is welcome in our house. All I ask is that you please give me some warning if you're going to watch it."

As Emily smiled sweetly up at him, Hotch scowled his protest at her unprovoked attack on his video collection.

"Nicolas Cage is an academy award winning actor," he responded flatly as he leaned past her to grab the storage boxes from the floor.

Emily's eyes crinkled before she leaned up to give him an indulgent kiss on the lips.

"I know he is, honey," she said with a sympathetic pat of his cheek, "but not for Guarding Tess."

/*/*/*/

Emily sat cross legged on the carpet, in the middle of Hotch's bedroom, unzipping the giant grey duffel bag he had found in the back of his closet.

So far they'd been at his place for about an hour and a half. Billy had shown up a little after 6:30 with their dinner, and he had Hotch had done their usual cool trading of pleasantries while food and cash were exchanged.

It very much amused her that their little "rivalry" had continued for so many months. But their détente worked for them so she just chuckled and got out of their way.

So after Billy had left, they'd taken a fifteen minute break to eat before they'd moved back to the process of attempting to relocate Hotch's entire life, all in one evening.

The two cubes she'd dug out of her closet were decent size, but obviously they were nowhere near big enough to hold ALL of Hotch's possessions. She'd known they were going to need at least a few trips to get everything out, but if they could at least get him mostly packed and sorted tonight, then it would be easy enough to just grab a couple boxes or bags each night on their way home from work.

So essentially the more they did now, the less they'd have to do later.

That was essentially their new motto for everything . . . not putting off until tomorrow things that could be done today. Yes . . . she started loading his socks into the bag . . . she was aware that they had not invented this particular phrase, but at present it was the one that was most apt for their approach to life.

Oh . . . her eyes lit up as she stopped her sock stockpiling . . . maybe she should get one of those inspiration wall plaques for the living room!

Then her nose wrinkled as she pictured something really cheesy with a cat dangling off it . . . no, maybe not. Perhaps a refrigerator magnet would be better.

Yeah . . . she nodded firmly to herself . . . magnets were good. They were a cheerful kitchen accessory. So maybe she'd get a few little inspirational ones to keep herself perked up on crappy days.

Granted most of them were a little bit hokey, and kind of clichéd, but the clichés persisted for a reason.

They gave people hope.

And although she was not at all lacking in that regard right now . . . even when she'd been so down last week she'd still never truly believed that she was going to die . . . she wasn't foolish enough to think that there wouldn't be any dark days ahead.

She huffed to herself.

Which was why she'd better stock up on all of the clichéd, inspirational, hokey assed clutter that she could find, before those dark days arrived.

And suddenly realizing that she'd allowed her mind to wander for a bit too long . . . she'd been staring down at the beige carpet for a good minute . . . Emily shook her head and refocused on the task at hand.

Transitioning Hotch from "Regular Boyfriend" status to "Live-In Boyfriend" status.

Regular, Soon To Be Live In, man in question was cleaning out his bathroom and Emily had volunteered to handle the bedroom.

"Better opportunities for snooping," she'd told him with a grin as he'd reluctantly left the room looking slightly unsettled.

The "unsettled" look amused her. It meant that some part of his brain was nervous about her finding something embarrassing in his room.

But after all these months, she knew the man better than anyone, so she couldn't imagine what he could actually be worried about. But maybe . . . she pulled the sock drawer the rest of the way out . . . she'd find something good in here. Then her lips twitched.

Who knows, perhaps he was once the Dread Pirate Roberts!

Now chuckling quietly to herself, Emily grabbed the last pair of black socks in the drawer.

She'd grabbed his whole drawer because you never could have too many pairs of socks. One of the little bastards was always getting lost in the dryer.

That was so perplexing to her.

You have two feet, so you know that you put two socks into the wash, yet only the one comes back. She actually had a theory, that when conditions were just right with the rotation of the earth and the spinning of the drum, that a wormhole opened up and rogue socks escaped through to the Delta Quadrant. However, when she'd shared her theory with Hotch, he had responded with a dry, "now if only you could invent a theoretical wormhole jumping spaceship, then you could chase after them." Of course she'd told him that he was being ridiculous.

Clearly then the Borg would be after her.

At that point he'd rolled his eyes and walked away.

She opened Hotch's bottom drawer . . . sadly he was just not a man of science.

Okay . . . she started flipping through the clothes in front of her . . . and here were all of his non work pants.

After determining that Hotch actually had a hell of a lot more pairs of pants than she'd realized . . . or that he would ever wear . . . Emily decided that four pairs of jeans and four pairs of khakis would be more than sufficient to cover him for right now.

They could get the rest later.

All right, next . . . she bumped that drawer shut before she opened the next one . . . boxers! As with the socks, the full drawer was coming so she started pulling out the folded stacks.

Given that they'd been regularly sleeping in each other's beds since long before they'd actually started having sex, Emily was quite familiar with Hotch's underwear. And everything she was pulling out now were all of the typical, conservative, Hotch type colors and prints that she'd seen before.

Solids, plaids, and stripes were in the lineup. Really, in all the times that she'd done his laundry she'd never seen so much as a polka dot in the mix. So when she got to the back of the underwear drawer she found quite the surprise.

Playboy Bunnies!

Her mouth started to quiver at the black silk shorts with the big white bunny on the crotch.

Well . . . she snorted as she shook them out in front of her . . . this was interesting! And there was no way in HELL that Hotch had bought these for himself! It also seemed extremely unlikely that he would have saved them if they were a gift from Haley . . . not that Haley seemed the type to give such a gift . . . so Emily was surmising they were perhaps a favor from a bachelor party.

Or if not that . . . she chuckled to herself . . . Dave.

Yes, she could easily see Dave giving him such a thing for some nefarious reason.

Well . . . she turned around to tuck them into her own bag before Hotch came out of the bathroom . . . wherever he got them, there was no way that he would have left her alone in the bedroom if he had any memory of putting them into the back of his drawer.

So she was quite sure that as soon as he spotted them, they'd get dumped right into the trash. And that wasn't happening until she'd had a chance to whip them out and conduct an impromptu interrogation.

It would be a fun way to make him squirm.

And as much fun as it would be to think up a good scenario now . . . something with him fresh out of the shower would be good . . . picturing a naked Hotch was just too much of a distraction when she still had work to do. So Emily regretfully pushed those thoughts out of her head before opening the next drawer. It was one that she was quite familiar with from all of her clothes stealing in the past.

Pajama pants/sweats.

Half flannel, half cotton, and they all balled up nicely so they could all come to their new house tonight. They were trying to cram as much of the small stuff into the duffel that they could so the cubes could be used for larger things that it would be best not to wrinkle.

Eventually everything would be coming of course, but as this move was completely impromptu, she still needed to rearrange her closet and dressers tomorrow so he'd have a place to put the stuff they were bringing home now.

Otherwise . . . she started pulling out the piles of pajamas . . . he wouldn't be able to reuse the bags and containers they had. And as with Hotch's boxer shorts Emily was also quite familiar with his pajamas, but then suddenly she saw a pair that made her eyes lit up.

World's Greatest Dad ones!

Oh God . . . she pulled them out and shook them . . . they were ADORABLE! And she was going to make sure that he wore them the next time Jack was over!

They would make him so happy.

And after she'd tucked the dad ones safely into the bottom of the duffel, she smiled to herself. Because and now she'd learned that Hotch kept all of the good stuff in the back of the drawer. Helpful to know for the future when she was snooping for presents.

Okay . . . she turned back to the dresser with a sigh, she was starting to get a bit worn out . . . T-Shirts and golf shirts.

All the white ones of course needed to come, he needed them for work.

Plus he had . . . she started scooping . . . a red, a blue, a green, and huh . . . her nose wrinkled when she realized that he didn't have anything in yellow. He'd look good in yellow. She made a mental note to pick one up for him.

Okay, and the last one in the back . . . she reached in . . . black. Her brow furrowed slightly.

No, not black, not completely. She shook it out so she could see it more closely.

That's so odd. Where in God's name did he get this?

"Aaron!" she yelled over her shoulder. Hearing a mumble of acknowledgement she called back.

"Where did you get this t-shirt?"

"What t-shirt?" Hotch asked as he poked his head through the doorway. He was juggling his shampoo, conditioner, contact solution and shaving kit.

He really should have brought a bag into the bathroom with them.

"This one here," Emily held it up in front of her to show the big pair of red lips, "you aren't really a 'Concert T-Shirt Guy'."

Which was why his ownership of this particular item was so perplexing.

"No," Hotch pondered, "no I'm really not a concert t-shirt guy. Where DID I get that?" He bit his lip as he thought for a second. "Wait," he nodded, "I know. Law school class get together for our five year reunion. I actually think that was just after I started at the Bureau."

He looked at the shirt for a second.

"It was just a souvenir we all got from the concert," he shrugged, "I've probably never even worn it. You can leave it and I'll deal with it later."

When he'd moved out of the home he'd shared with Haley he'd just dumped everything from those dresser drawers into boxes, and then the boxes were emptied back into dressers again.

First at his temporary month to month, apartment and then at the new place.

And he didn't wear half of the stuff he owned. so basically he just took from the tops of the piles. So God only knew what was in the backs of those drawers.

Hence his slight bit of apprehension at having Emily sorting out his dresser for him. If she found something embarrassing tucked in there . . . like a glow in the dark condom or something . . . he was never going to hear the end of it!

"No," Emily said quietly as she rubbed the cotton with her fingers. "I like it." She looked up at him with a soft smile, "we should take it."

This was too perfect, and there was no way that she was leaving it behind.

Though Hotch was a little perplexed at Emily's obvious affection for an old Stones T-shirt, but if it made her happy then . . . okay. So he shrugged again and gave her a little smile, "whatever you want sweetheart."

And after Hotch had dumped his toiletries into the clear storage bin on the floor, he picked it up as he continued talking.

"I'm going to go check the living room and see if there's anything else down there that will fit in here."

The box was pretty full but maybe some books or something would fit.

"'Kay'," Emily mumbled back, still staring at the shirt. After he'd disappeared through the doorway she remembered something and called out a little louder.

"Don't forget Tess!"

Hearing a grumble of "yeah, yeah" as he got further away, Emily's lips twitched slightly. Then her attention turned back to the article of clothing in her hands.

Hmm . . . she thought as she carefully folded the T-shirt back up . . . really, what were the odds?

Because she remembered attending this exact same concert herself back in the summer of '95. It would have even been at the same venue. She'd just graduated from Yale and was staying with her parents for a few weeks before she started her graduate studies abroad. And her date for the concert that night . . . she could picture his face but not his name . . . had gotten drunk and started picking fights with the other intoxicated jackasses around them. So naturally she'd stolen his keys and then ditched him before she went home alone. And the reason she remembered that night SO CLEARLY was because when she got back to her parents' house, she'd been fumbling with her key when the front door had suddenly opened and there she'd stood nose to nose with a somewhat grave, but ridiculously handsome, face.

Of course Emily being Emily, she'd ruined the moment by tripping into the doorway and almost falling flat on her own pretty face. But at the last second the handsome young man in the crisp black suit, had caught her hand. And she'd seen him try to hide his little smile at her clumsiness.

That was the night she and Hotch first met.

Not exactly Bogie and Bergman escaping from the Nazis, but that was okay . . . her eyes crinkled . . . they were always more like Hepburn and Grant lost in the middle of the woods. And the other thing she remembered about that night was how he hadn't released her hand immediately. Instead he'd stared at her for another beat before he'd squeezed her fingers just once . . . alerting her to that damn wedding ring . . . and then he'd let her go, continued on his way out the door . . . and out of her life.

For a decade anyway.

Emily had left for Egypt a few days after the concert and she didn't see Hotch again until she started at the BAU. But she had thought about him occasionally over those intervening years. Yes, she had felt his wedding ring press into her hand that night in July, but they'd still definitely shared a little moment, so there was no crime in wondering whatever became of him. And now . . . her lip quirked up . . . she knew exactly what had became of him.

He became hers.

With a soft smile she placed the shirt carefully on the top of Hotch's other clothes . . . and this t-shirt was kind of a souvenir of that first meeting. That's why she liked it so much.

It seemed like a sign that they were meant to be.

She rolled her eyes.

Of course she'd never tell him that was why she liked the shirt so much. Really, there was No way she was ever telling him that story!

Emily gave a derisive chuckle as she zipped up the overflowing duffel and started to drag it towards the hall.

It was waaay too sappy!

/*/*/*/

Hotch looked up from the DVD cabinet as Emily came into the living room tugging his duffel bag along on the carpet behind her. His lip quirked up slightly.

"Heavy?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.

"My God," she exclaimed as she kicked it towards the door, "you have more clothes than I do!"

Looking over to see his eyebrow go up another millimeter she amended.

"Okay, maybe not MORE, but," she walked over and flopped down on the couch, "definitely more than I'd thought you had."

She had a three quarters full walk-in closet so yes, she did beat him on this one point. But seeing how many things he had too, she knew that both of them were going to have to pare down and send some stuff to Goodwill before they would have equal closet and dresser distribution.

Hotch was just about to ask Emily if she could go look in the bedroom for another duffel bag, but then he noticed how tired she looked. His expression softened as he stood up.

"You know I think we've done enough for today," he walked over and leaned down to brush her bangs back, "I can get the rest over the weekend."

The last thing he wanted was for her to overdo it. Moving was mentally and physically exhausting even when you were one hundred percent physically fit. And . . . he gently cupped her jaw as he tried to give her a little smile . . . his girl's present physical fitness was no longer one hundred percent.

Emily was about to protest that she was fine, that they could do a little more tonight, but then she saw the little wrinkle in his brow and she realized that he was right. It was probably time to stop.

Even though she'd taken a short nap earlier, she was exhausted.

Though she was pretty sure that it was just normal exhausted . . . they'd had a long, stressful week . . . and not cancer exhausted . . . whatever the hell that was . . . but either way, she did have to start getting into the habit of knowing when to call it a day. She was used to working ten, twelve hours at a stretch, more even if they were on the road. And even though she didn't actually feel like she had this horrible thing growing inside of her . . . she did.

And she knew that if she let herself get run down . . . which was definitely going to start happening more easily . . . then her immune system could be compromised.

And that would be bad.

So instead of insisting that they push through another hour, she reached up and squeezed Hotch's hand.

"Yeah," her lip quirked up slightly as she looked over at the little stack of boxes and bags they had by the front door, "that's probably enough for today."

Knowing that this was only the first of many adjustments that they were going to have to make because of her illness, Emily felt a little wave of melancholy hit her.

As time went on it was going to get harder and harder to pretend like everything was normal. At some point her cancer was going to be an entity that they couldn't ignore. She had pills now for the headaches, but they were for after the pain already hit.

She still had to GET the headache first.

And she'd been told that they . . . and the dizzy spells . . . were probably going to get worse before they got better. Not to mention the other side effects that she had to look forward to getting from the radiation and the array of medications that she was soon going to begin taking.

So . . . she sighed . . . she might as well start making her peace with the new normal now.

But she didn't want to get depressed again after she'd decided a few days ago to let that go (negative thoughts served no purpose) so Emily tried to think of something to lighten the mood again. Then she remembered what day it was.

Tuesday.

Mike Rowe was on tonight. Well, kinda, it was a voiceover. But that was close enough for government work, so she grinned at Hotch.

"If we get going now we can watch Deadliest Catch and eat the leftover Chinese in bed."

Hotch tipped his head as he tugged her up from the sofa.

"Yes, we could do that." Then a thought came to him and his eyebrows knitted together.

"But that's officially half my bed now you know," he said while pulling her flush against his body with a mock scowl, "so you'd better keep your fried rice off my pillow, Agent Prentiss."

"Well, SIR," she leaned up, smacking a kiss on his lips as her arms slipped around his neck, "if you'd stop STEALING my pillow, then you wouldn't find rice granules in your hair."

That actually had happened last month. He'd woken up with a clump of fried rice and a tiny piece of pork in his hair.

For some reason he was not as amused about that as she was.

Hotch rolled his eyes as he looked down at her.

"I can't believe that you're attempting to blame me for your inability to use an eating utensil as intended," he shook his head at her, "you put the food on the tines of the fork and then you bring the fork to your mouth."

After pausing for a beat Hotch smirked at her.

"It's not difficult sweetheart, even Jack can do it."

Emily stared at Hotch for a moment before she shook her head slowly.

"You're quite cocky today, aren't you? Apparently you seem to have forgotten that I have a picture of you with tomato sauce all over your dress shirt," she poked him in the chest, "so you keep it up buster and I might be forced to bring that picture into the office."

Unlike the fried rice incident where he was half naked, the meatball picture showed a fully work clothed Hotch, so she could definitely get away with flashing it around the BAU.

The bare-chested one with him scowling at her in the bedroom would admittedly be a bit harder to explain.

Hotch's mouth dropped open in astonishment.

"YOU'RE the one that spilled the tomato sauce on me!" He cried out in disbelief. "You tried to steal my last meatball and knocked it, and the spaghetti wrapped around it, off the fork and into my lap!"

An incident which was of course followed by the age old standard, "oops, sorry honey."

What KILLED him though, was that he would have given her the damn meatball if she'd just asked him for it! But apparently purloined food tasted better, because that was always her default position.

"So you say," Emily smiled at him as her arms slipped around his waist, "but my little photo is simply a still life, not a flip book biography. So I just have you covered in tomato sauce with an empty fork," she rested her cheek on his chest. "Plus," she yawned now from her more comfortable position, "like I said, I also have the one of you with fried rice in your hair. So you're 0 for 2 right now."

Though it was true that the flour on his cheek the other day was the first time that Emily had ever seen Hotch look disheveled on his own, it was also true that on more than one occasion SHE had spilled food on him, his clothes, or his bed. And that was going back WELL before they even started hanging out together over the summer!

It really was lucky that he loved her as much as he did, or the night that she gotten both mozzarella and pizza sauce in his hair, might have been a dealbreaker.

Hotch had a smart retort for Emily's not so veiled blackmail threat, but when he looked down he saw that her eyes were closing as she settled against his chest.

Feeling a little ache in his chest at the reminder that even though they were bantering like it was any other day, things weren't really like they used to be. And that thought doused his competitive spirit completely. So he put aside his comeback and instead just sighed as he tipped his head down and cuddled her close.

Knowing Emily, she was probably considering his silence as a win in her column, but he was just considering it a draw.

Besides . . . he rubbed his hand down her back . . . this conversation was sure to come up again . . . he rolled his eyes good naturedly . . . probably tomorrow when he woke up to find a piece of teriyaki stuck to his ass.

They stood there for a minute before he heard her murmur against his chest.

"If you promise to make me special pancakes again for Christmas, then I promise to delete the meatball picture."

Though the fried rice was totally his fault . . . you steal somebody's pillow and you get what you deserve . . . but he perhaps might have had a SMALL point that the splattering of tomato sauce on his shirt was all her.

Hotch's lips twitched at her offer . . . she gets special pancakes in exchange for destroying a setup blackmail picture. He huffed.

Only in Emily's mind would that be considered an even trade.

But he knew a good deal when he heard it. That picture could easily turn up at the office holiday party this Tuesday.

Also though . . . his expression softened . . . if she wanted special pancakes for Christmas, New Year's, and Easter morning then that's what she was getting. Hell he'd happily get up early and make them for her every damn day of the week if she asked. No trade required.

He just wanted her to be happy.

But for the sake of normality, he needed to at least pretend that there was an exchange happening here, so his eyes crinkled as he tipped his head down and kissed her temple.

"Agreed," he said softly, "special pancakes on Christmas morning."

Then a thought came to him and he patted her back before whispering.

"Though if I make special pancakes again this week, will you please stop threatening to leave me for Mike Rowe?"

Although he'd known of her Mike Rowe crush for months . . . years actually, the guys would tease her about it at the office . . . ever since she'd found out the host was from Maryland, and the EXACT same age as Hotch himself . . . Emily had begun making joking comparisons between the two of them.

It was all in good fun until after they'd made love the other night and then he'd noticed that Dirty Jobs had been on in the background. Now, it could have just been a coincidence, but he could have sworn that they'd been watching CNN before the clothes started coming off. And if his girlfriend was now putting Mike Rowe on the TV when she made love to him, well . . . Hotch grunted . . . joke's over.

Emily snorted against Hotch's chest before she lifted her head to look up at him in astonishment.

"You're such a goofball!" She laughed, "I already told you that I didn't change the channel!" She poked him in the chest, "YOU hit the remote when you did that thing with my knee. It was on CNN and Discovery is the next channel down so that's where it went."

Really, it was his sex move that was causing him all this consternation. Granted it was a very fine move, but she was thinking that in the future she was going to have to make sure that the remote was six feet from the bed before he put a hand anywhere on her.

And seeing him now still raising a vaguely suspicious eyebrow, Emily rolled her eyes good naturedly.

"But if it makes you feel better," she raised her right hand, "I solemnly swear not to watch, listen to, or talk about Mike Rowe or any Mike Rowe related programming while we are kissing, making love, or engaging in any type of amorous activities," her hand went down as her eyebrow went up, "okay?"

Hotch stared at her for a moment before he tipped his head.

"Okay, now was that so difficult?"

They stared at each other for a moment, both completely straight faced, before Emily grinned at him and he shot her a dimple.

"I love you."

"I love you too," she whispered as she leaned up to smack a kiss on his lips, then she turned back and looked over to their pile of stuff by the door.

"Now let's go home."

A/N 2: If you read this before you can clearly see the original scenes and I always liked those chapters. And this I think is a good example of my hopes in pulling together this new version, we keep the good stuff from the beginning with a little padding on them plus a couple of bookends to actually "set" the scenes with more context of the larger events going on in their lives. And a key bookend here was adding in the bit with the first few days of adjusting to the news. That would have been something that happened offscreen the first time, but now that I have a better grasp on how to really "tell" a story (if you don't write let me say, to do it properly it's not as easy as you might think) and that was an oversight I wanted to correct. Because really, all the positive thinking in the world isn't going to change basic instinctive human reaction, you get told you have cancer and that's going to suck. So I thought they deserved a couple days of the wallowing so they could adjust and move past it to the next stage of just sucking it up and dealing. And yes, WildTreeRenee, the Steel Magnolias reference was for you! I don't think I'd had a chance to write back and say thank you yet, so I put this in here for you as a bigger thank you :)

Emily's crush on Mike Rowe was set up over in Girl (though it was in the original story here too).

The furballs line was Arc's suggestion in the first version, and I didn't change a word this time around :)

Thanks all. And remember, feedback gets you more chapters more quickly :)