Author's Note: *waves*

It might take fifty years but, I promise to keep coming back when my brain/the world, lets me.

So, forty seven years ago, we left them Monday morning at the clinic. Now picking up Tuesday night, home after work.

End of December: Tuesday

I'll Take 'S' Words For $200 Alex

As Charlie Gibson signed off from the evening news, Emily put her hand up to stifle her fifth yawn of the half (news) hour.

Damn it . . . she rubbed her hand across her mouth . . . new radiation treatments or not, it was a little too early in the game for her to be passing out right after work. There'd be plenty of time for that crap later. And as much as she'd love to go down an entire pot of coffee, when she checked the time on the cable box . . . just shy of seven pm . . . she was reminded that it was a bit too late in the day for her to be drinking any coffee at all.

In the past it wouldn't have been, but she was planning on getting herself into a proper sleep regiment to help her body with this treatment. Which meant now getting to bed by ten o'clock every night rather than eleven.

Eleven being her previous, preferred, 'bedtime.'

So it would probably be good if she didn't get herself completely wired up on caffeine an hour before she'd be going up to dig out her pajamas. Also though . . . Emily's gaze shifted over to Hotch flipping through his case files . . . if she made coffee now, then he'd want some too. And although Hotch did not yet know this, he was actually in the process of breaking his caffeine addiction.

Okay . . . she rolled her eyes slightly . . . yes fine, she was the one who was in the process of breaking his caffeine addiction. But really, it wasn't good for a man his age to be drinking three liters of coffee a day. Really, it wasn't good for a man of ANY age to be drinking three liters of coffee a day! But certainly not one working an incredibly high stress job, who was also now rounding the curve towards the mid-century birthday mark.

Just because Aaron was lean and fit, didn't mean that he couldn't still be susceptible to a heart attack or a stroke.

Which was why, since they'd officially moved in together, (and she'd had more general control over his diet), Emily had begun slowly cutting back on his caffeine intake. It had started at home by switching out their normal morning coffee with a half caf blend instead. And then this week at work, she'd started alternating every other cup he drank with decaf.

He hadn't seemed to have noticed yet.

Or if he had . . . Emily's lips twitched as she saw his hair sticking up in front, he'd been running his fingers through it . . . then he was being good and not complaining about it. It was kind of like those old Folger's commercials, but without the fancy china or ambush TV cameras.

Basically her goal was to have him down to two cups a day by spring.

So that meant . . . she leaned over to fix his hair from its impromptu semi Mohawk state . . . no coffee for either of them tonight. And seeing that Hotch was too engrossed in his reading to even notice her fussing with his hair, Emily's lips twitched.

So cute when he was being oblivious.

"Honey," her hand slid down, brushing lightly over his cheek as she stood up, "I'm going to go make some tea. Do you want any?"

Still staring down at the open case file spread out on the coffee table, Hotch murmured back a half interested, "k" to whatever it was that Emily had just said to him. But then a split second later his brain processed the words she'd actually uttered, and realized that "k" wasn't an appropriate response to her beverage question.

He looked up at her with a little smile.

"Yes, please," he reached up to squeeze her fingers, "thanks."

Apparently tea was yet another 'caffeine substitute' she was trying out on him. Yes, of course he had noticed the surreptitious decaf replacements, and yes, he was going along with them without argument. After all, all she was trying to do was help him to live a long and healthy life. It was the same thing he wanted for her.

To live forever.

And besides that . . . his worried gaze followed after Emily as she left the room covering another yawn . . . if something happened to him, what would happen to her? A knot twisted in his stomach.

Who would take care of his girl if he was gone?

Realizing that he was allowing his brain to go down a bad road, the one where one of them had to go on without the other, Hotch's attention snapped back to the parole review on the table.

Yeah . . . he shook his head slightly as he picked up his pen . . . best to get back to work now.

/*/*/*/

Emily gave the dishes a disinterested glance before shaking her head slightly and moving over to pick up the kettle.

They could wait until morning.

Really . . . she walked over to turn on the faucet . . . she was too damn tired to think about doing housework. But given that Hotch had made their delicious dinner of homemade mac and cheese . . . she'd still been a little nauseous from the radiation treatment so he'd wanted her to have something easy on the stomach . . . it was only right that she clean up. The most important thing had been eliciting the promise from Hotch to make sure that he didn't cleanup after she went to bed.

It wouldn't be the first time that he had done that.

And thinking about that point, and then thinking about a likely future . . . one possibly mere weeks away . . . when she would truly be at a point of exhaustion that would make her incapable of sharing any of the household chores, Emily took a breath and closed her eyes.

Time to suck it up.

So when she opened her eyes again, she went over to place the kettle on the stove. After that, she pushed up the sleeves of Hotch's black hoodie, and walked over to turn on the hot water. And then she started doing what she had decided a minute ago could wait until morning.

The dishes.

And as she placed the cheesy baking dish into its slowly rising, hot, sudsy bath, from behind her Emily heard a strange sound. Her eyebrow quirked up.

Hotch seemed to be talking to himself.

Or actually . . . she turned her head slightly to see what it was on the TV . . . apparently he was talking to Alex Trebek.

"What is 1854?"

Pause for the actual Jeopardy participants to do their parts.

"Who were the Mennonites?"

Pause for the actual Jeopardy participants to do their parts.

"What are The Aleutian Islands?"

And hearing the steady stream of questions continuing to float in from the living room, Emily's lips began to twitch as she turned back to her pot scrubbing.

That would be the love of her life. Mr. "What Was the Land Act of 1820?" playing Jeopardy.

Not that this was the first time Emily had heard Hotch mutter a Jeopardy answer before. Everybody did it. And over the last six months of their relationship . . . since they'd been spending time at one another's apartments . . . they'd certainly had Jeopardy on many times after work.

But the difference was that usually she was the one who was really watching the show . . . well, half watching, half mocking Alex's general pomposity . . . while Hotch just piped up occasionally when he focused in one of the categories. Really, her man wasn't much for dedicated TV watching unless he was in full decompression mode and cuddling up with her on the couch.

Tonight was clearly different though.

Tonight she'd just seen him sitting on the edge of the couch cushion, shirt sleeves rolled up, interrogation level intensity in his voice, as he quietly rattled off one answer after another.

It was flipping adorable.

And on and so on he went, all while she cleaned up the kitchen and the tea water continued to boil away. Even when the kettle started to whistle and Emily heard single Jeopardy moving into double, it was obvious that Hotch was still really into it.

"What are the Ural Mountains?"

"What is zinc oxide?"

"Who was Dolly Madison?"

He was on FIRE! And Emily started to chuckle as she began to pour the water into their mugs. But then a minute later . . . as she looked up to see Hotch had just kicked ass on the second Daily Double . . . Emily's amusement at his very un-Hotchlike game show playing, morphed into a ridiculous surge of pride and affection.

He hadn't missed a question yet!

But of course . . . a soft smile crossed Emily's lips as she added a dash of milk and sugar to each cup . . . her man was one extremely smart cookie. Not that that didn't mean a little teasing wasn't still in order.

So she picked up the mugs and started out of the kitchen and back into the living room.

After all . . . she paused, leaning over to place the 'too hot to drink yet' tea on the coffee table . . . there was a karmic balance to maintain. A careful ying and yang to their relationship.

I.e., a regular busting of balls.

So after Emily had sat back down on the couch, she moved up and around so she could kneel between Hotch and the back cushion. Then she put her chin on his shoulder as her hands rubbed slowly down his biceps.

"So can we go to Vegas with your winnings?" She asked quietly.

Hotch ignored Emily's question for a moment so he could give Alex one.

"Who were the Lakota?"

And then . . . seeing the show was going to commercial break . . . Hotch turned his head slightly to look at Emily leaning over his shoulder.

"May I presume that you are making fun of me?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.

Knowing her . . . yes.

"No," Emily shook her head emphatically, "not at all." And then a second later her lip quirked up, "okay, yes," she nodded, "yes, very much so."

It was no fun to play with him if he didn't know for sure that he was being played.

Hotch rolled his eyes before shifting slightly, "thank you, sweetheart," he pulled her around and into his lap with a grunt, "your support always means so much to me."

Next to Dave and Sean, Emily was the only other person in Hotch's life who felt free to openly mock him on any and all topics. And with Emily in particular, though this was something . . . Hotch's eyes fell shut for a moment as he buried his face in her hair . . . that on occasion could drive him nuts, mostly he could no longer imagine his life without.

Because that would be a life without Emily.

And that . . . he squeezed her tightly . . . just wasn't something that could be comprehended.

Emily grinned as Hotch wrapped her up in his arms.

"That's what I'm here for, honey," she gently patted his cheek, "support."

There . . . she slipped one arm around his waist as she snuggled against his chest . . . daily mocking of Hotch complete, karmic balance in order.

Although as Emily slowly sighed against Hotch's throat, she suddenly remembered the bigger picture there . . . what a flipping GENIUS he was! Just because she enjoyed teasing him . . . it helped to keep his 'Hotch'tensity' in check, which was in turn good for his health . . . didn't mean that praise wasn't also given on a daily basis as well.

And as she saw Alex's face appear back on the screen, Emily smacked Hotch's chest.

"Oh, but wait," she continued with an enthusiastic bounce, "I almost forgot to point out how smart you are!" She pointed at the screen.

"Look at that! You're TOTALLY kicking Norman's ass!"

Norman of course being today's reigning champion.

Hotch's lips twitched slightly at Emily's accolades.

"Again," he huffed in amusement as he kissed her temple, "thank you for the support, sweetheart."

That one was actually sincere . . . he laced his fingers through hers . . . on both sides. And Hotch was just about to ask Emily how her stomach was feeling since dinner, when Alex Trebek interrupted his thoughts.

Ah . . . Hotch's attention shifted as his fingers tightened around Emily's . . . Final Jeopardy.

"Inventors. This woman patented the windshield wiper in 1905."

And the music began.

And Hotch . . . realizing immediately that he didn't know a damn thing about windshield wipers except that they seemed to be pretty handy at scraping water off of glass . . . scowled slightly at the television.

Damn. His streak was going to be broken.

Not that he'd set out to become the "Home Jeopardy Champion" that evening, but it was irritating to come THAT close to pitching a perfect game, and then lose it all on windshield wipers of all things!

Though . . . he felt a little burst of self-satisfaction as Alex began polling the players . . . it appeared that neither "Jen" nor "Kate" nor . . . Hotch's his brow quirked up as he waited for the final response . . . yes . . . "Norman" had a clue either.

Straight down the row they had bright blue question marks on their screens.

Good . . . Hotch nodded to himself as he placed a satisfied kiss on Emily's temple . . . at least he hadn't missed an obvious one.

Apparently nobody knew who had invented the windshield wiper.

But then just before Alex made the big reveal, Hotch heard Emily whisper.

"Who was Mary Anderson?"

And a split second later . . . Alex confirmed her answer was correct. Hotch looked down at Emily in disbelief.

"How did you know that utterly obscure piece of information?"

Emily shrugged.

"I just did," she gave him a soft smile, "but I wanted to give you time to answer it first so I wouldn't break your streak."

She'd actually known lots of the answers, but again, she hadn't wanted to break his streak. It was rare that he did something so ridiculously normal as play along with a game show.

Far be it for her to even consider ruining his fun.

Hotch's eyes crinkled as he leaned down to give Emily a thank you kiss. And as he leaned back, he also gave her a little thank you smile.

"That was very sweet, Emily," he said as he looked back to the screen with a small huff, "but unfortunately I broke my streak all on my own."

"Hey now," Emily brow wrinkled slightly as she patted his hand, "don't forget, between the two of us we covered the entire board. And that sir," she smirked as he looked back down at her in amusement, "is why we make such a perfect team."

One of the reasons anyway. But yeah, if they ever had a Couples week on Jeopardy she was SO signing them up!

"You think so, huh?" Hotch asked with faint dimple.

It didn't matter the situation, Emily was always the Sunny Side of the Street Girl. Which was reason number two hundred and fifty-seven that meeting the woman in his arms was one of the best things to ever happen to him.

Next to the birth of his son of course.

"I KNOW so, baby!" Emily responded with another smooch on the lips. And he started to chuckle as she checked the time again.

"Okay," she forward slightly to grab her cooling cup of tea off the coffee table. "It's still early so," she took a little sip before looking up at him hopefully, "how about we see what Pat Sajak is bringing to the table?"

Wheel of Fortune wasn't generally Hotch's cup of tea . . . pun incidental given her beverage of choice that evening . . . but it was fun playing goofy game shows together like regular people. It was almost like they had a Normal life.

Almost.

Hotch looked down at the stack of ugly files still spread across the table, and then back to Emily's pretty . . . faintly pouty . . . lips.

No contest.

"Winner tells Reid it's time for another haircut?" He asked with a faint quirk of his eyebrow.

They'd come in twenty minutes late yesterday to find that Garcia had put Reid's hair in braids . . . braids. Hotch's eyes had nearly bugged out, and if not for the fact that Emily . . . who had just had one of the worst mornings of her life . . . had laughed so hard that tears ran down her face, Hotch would have pulled the kid into his office that afternoon to point out that it was probably time for a trip back to the barber.

He'd actually kind of hoped that Reid would somehow see on his own that an active duty federal agent . . . with, or without a penis . . . couldn't come to work with their hair pulled back like Pippi Longstocking. But then he'd shown up again today with the braids still in, exclaiming how convenient it was to have it out of his face.

Apparently simply CUTTING the hair had not occurred to him.

Emily's mouth quivered as she flashed on yesterday morning's break room scene of Reid's exuberant extolling of the virtues of his new hairstyle . . . and the simultaneous triple jaw drops of Hotch, Dave, and Morgan.

The absolute insanity that was her work family had been just what she'd needed after the morning they'd had. Still though, Reid obviously couldn't keep that look when they went back into the field.

They'd be laughed out of every precinct house in the country.

So her lip quirked up as she put her hand out.

"Deal."

And after she and Hotch had shaken on it . . . with a kiss for good measure, because really that was the best way to seal any agreement . . . they settled back on the couch with their mugs of tea waiting for the show to begin. But when Pat appeared on the screen and began introducing the contestants, Emily's eyes lit up.

"Oh!" She smacked Hotch's chest excitedly with her free hand, "do you think that we could . . ."

"No, Emily."

"But . . ."

"No."

"Fine," a pathetic sigh escaped as she leaned back against his chest again. Then she started thinking about her earlier idea.

"What about Jeopardy?" She whispered as the wheel began to spin.

For a moment Hotch was quiet, tapping his fingers on Emily's knee as he watched the Cs light up on the screen. Finally he took a sip of tea . . . and then he sighed.

"I suppose."

"YAY!" She smacked a kiss on his cheek, "we're going to be on COUPLES Jeopardy!"

Yes!

"Emily," Hotch snorted, "you do know that there's no . . ."

"I'm sorry," Emily interrupted with her hand raised to her ear, "there's no what?"

Silly man.

Hotch looked at his girlfriend, then back to the television, then back to his girlfriend again. Her eyes were sparkling, and he knew then exactly what was expected of him.

To play along.

"I was just saying," he said with an amused eyebrow, "that there's no way that we wouldn't be five time Couples Jeopardy champions."

If such a thing existed as Couples Jeopardy existed of course . . . which it did not. But that didn't matter, what mattered was keeping Emily amused. So when he saw her grin at his response, one of his dimples slid out.

"That," she leaned up slightly to smack a kiss on his lips, "was what I thought you were going to say."

Just as Emily pulled away, her eyes drifted back to the television screen. She yelped, nearly spilling her tea in the process.

"Ooh! Some Like It Hot Cup Of Coffee!"

"What?" Hotch's eyes snapped back to the show.

"Damn it, Emily!" He yelled. "You distracted me with kissing!" He shot her a look, "That one doesn't count."

Yes, Reid was technically his responsibility, but if he had to open one more conversation with "Spencer, we need to talk about your hair," he was going to lose it!

Emily stared back at Hotch, jaw twitching as she considered whether to count that one or not. Her competitive streak said yes, of course it did.

Everything always counted.

But then she remembered how sweet and supportive Hotch had been at her appointment the morning before, how he'd even helped her make a friend.

Diane.

The woman who came into the back at the clinic and asked for the chair next to hers. And then she'd told her that she'd just met her husband in the waiting room, and had promised him that she'd come say hi and tell her the ropes.

Emily had smiled then, even as tears had filled her eyes.

So for that moment . . . for him finding her somebody to share that part of this journey that he couldn't . . . she let it go.

"You're right," her fingers tangled with his as she dropped her head back to his chest, "best of three starting now." Then she tipped her head back, a little grin on her face as she looked up at him.

"Still going to kick your butt though."

Maybe. Or maybe . . . she let out a giggle as he poked her in the side . . . she'd let him win. Because that's what you did for the people you loved.

You did what you could to make life better for them.

So when the next puzzle began to take shape on the screen, she bit down her tongue, waiting for Hotch to get it first. And two seconds later when he blurted out the answer, she feigned a bluster and huffed that it was a lucky guess. And as he harrumphed at her poor sportsmanship and threatened to take JJ with him to Couples Jeopardy instead, Emily tucked her head back under his chin and grinned again . . . some days it was more fun to lose than win.

Today was one of those days.

A/N 2: There you go. Another shot at Reid's hair, and unapologetic fluff and romance. And way fluffier and more romantic than the first posting.

Hopefully this will tide you guys over for a bit. If I'm not back again this month, Merry Christmas/Happy New Year! :)