Author's Note: I think this is the closest I have ever come to posting a holiday chapter to coincide with the correct holiday being referenced within said chapter. So here, it is well after midnight on New Year's Eve/Day 2009. Opening w/Hotch.

Nightmares and Dreamscapes

With a strangled cry, Hotch bolted upright in bed. He was choking, gasping, and . . . he swiped his hand across his face . . . crying.

Christ! That was one hell of a nightmare!

With another ragged gasp, he snapped his wet eyes down to see Emily curled up beside him, her bare shoulder peeking out from under the blankets. Even in shadows it was clear that she was still sound asleep, her breath . . . unlike his . . . coming in slow and even exhalations.

A peaceful slumber.

Feeling a wave of love and protectiveness wash over him, Hotch wiped his remaining tears away with one hand as he tentatively reached down with the other to run his finger along her cheek.

The touch was light. He didn't want to wake her . . . he just had to make sure that she was real. That she was warm.

That she was alive.

Because . . . his breath caught again as he flashed on the images from his nightmare . . . he'd dreamt that she wasn't. Not only had she died, but she'd died over and over . . . his eyes began to burn once more as he brushed a kiss to her skin . . . and over again.

There was Derek screaming on the radio that the takedown had gone bad, that Emily had been hit . . . the bullet going under her arm and through her vest.

Then the phone call in the middle of the night from the Duty Agent . . . the jet had crashed . . . there were no survivors.

The State troopers knocking at the door asking if he was Aaron Hotchner, could they come in and speak to him . . . Hotch looking to the side and seeing the chaplain holding a rosary.

And then there was the last one . . . his teeth sunk into his lip . . . the absolute worst one. The doctor coming out from behind that blue curtain, telling him that there was nothing that they could do. That it had spread too far, that she had one month left.

Maybe two.

Those were just the images that Hotch could recall in the most detail, that were causing him the most trauma. But he knew that wasn't all there had been. There were more shadows just beyond his mind's eye. Because in his nightmare, every possible way that he could lose her . . . he did.

And God only knew how long those horrific scenes had circled through his brain, but given the fear and grief still wracking his body, it felt like an eternity. Which was why he was somewhat surprised when he turned to check the time on the alarm clock, only to discover that it was just four seventeen. Not that that wasn't late, it was extremely late, but he knew that he hadn't actually been sleeping that long. Sean had left just after midnight and he and Emily had gone to bed immediately after. They'd made love . . . Emily had insisted it was the only way to start off the new year . . . then fallen asleep. Then sometime after two they'd both been yanked back to consciousness by Emily's sobbing. Her cries weren't like his had been though. They weren't the trauma from a nightmare. She'd been in physical pain.

Agony.

It had been her worst headache to date. So bad in fact that she'd been reduced . . . though grudgingly and at his behest . . . to taking one of her new pills simply to dull the pain enough to stop crying. And it had worked.

Tonight anyway.

Hotch knew though that the pressure on her brain could eventually get so bad that there would be no drugs to help her. But for now he'd take whatever little bottled miracle they could get. And those pills truly were a miracle, because they'd not only dulled her headache, but actually put her back to sleep again. Although it had been a long . . . exhausting . . . day, so that development wasn't entirely unexpected. Really if not for that headache, there was no way that Emily would have woken before dawn. Probably much later.

They'd actually had plans to sleep in.

Well, sleep in to the extent possible anyway given that Jack was in the house. But once Hotch had seen how badly Emily was suffering, how much the tumor had progressed, all thoughts of any further rest had fled. In their place a new fear gripped his mind.

What if something happened to her in her sleep?

What if she didn't wake up?

That was a completely new horror show. The one place that she should have been absolutely safe . . . laying in his arms . . . had just proven itself to be as much of a minefield as any day out on the job.

There was no safety anywhere.

And given that soul deadening thought had been on his mind when he passed out again, there was little surprise really where those nightmares had come from. And though Hotch would never wish his girl any pain, and would take this burden from her in an instant, he did allow that her having taken that pill tonight had been fortunate. Because otherwise he most definitely would have woken her up a moment ago. And there was no way that he would have been able to hide his terror, or his tears.

And they would have crushed her.

She would have felt that it were her fault that his subconscious was tormenting him.

A sad smile touched his lips.

'My sweet girl,' Hotch thought as his fingers brushed along her cheek again. And even though he was very grateful that she was still sleeping, part of him still desperately wanted to wake her up. To have her comfort him and tell him that it was okay.

Because that was her job.

For months now, Emily had been his person. The one he turned to for everything, and right now his gut was aching and he needed her to make it better. But this was one burden that he knew he was going to have to carry alone. Because this was one thing that he could never share with her.

It would just be too cruel.

Christ . . . his fingers dug into his palm . . . how do you tell the love of your life that in his dreams she'd just died . . . in graphic detail . . . twenty times over?

You don't.

You don't tell people you love those kinds of dreams. Those kinds of dreams you keep to yourself. Especially given that his brain hadn't just conjured up a series of wildly implausible scenarios.

Every single one of them . . . blue curtain included . . . was dead on.

They could happen . . . his stomach twisted into another knot . . . they really could. And if any of those things happened, how would he go on living his life without her? Just the thought of it was enough to make him want to throw up.

So with a queasy stomach, an ache in his chest, and a throbbing at the base of his skull . . . a nice tension headache setting up basecamp . . . Hotch swung his legs to the side and his feet to the floor.

Though the lights were off, there was still a small patch of moonlight peeking around the curtains. And with that faint glow, combined with the small illumination provided by one of their half dozen new nightlights, it took him only a moment of fumbling in the semi-darkness before he found his boxers lying on the floor by Emily's nightstand.

As he stepped into them, his gaze caught on her blue silk nightgown dangling off the far edge of the mattress. It had been tossed there hours earlier when they'd made love.

Feeling that ache in his chest spread up and form a lump in his throat, Hotch blinked away the moisture that was again beginning to cloud his vision. He needed to leave before she woke up to find him like this.

He would have NO good explanation for being on the verge of tears.

So even though he knew he needed to go, quickly, before he left the room Hotch crossed back to the bed and tucked the covers up tightly over Emily's bare shoulders. She so easily caught a chill that she only slept naked if he was there to keep her warm. But he was leaving . . . he lightly pressed a kiss to her temple . . . and he was afraid that now she'd get cold.

Finally, he reluctantly pulled away . . . he was always reluctant to leave her now . . . and started towards the door.

Maybe he'd get some milk, or, no . . . his jaw twitched as his eyes watered . . . no, he was definitely pulling out the whiskey.

After he stepped into the hall, Hotch turned back to see Emily was curling herself around his pillow. His tears started to pool again as he blew her a kiss.

'Sleep well sweetheart.'

And he pulled the door shut behind him.

/*/*/*/

A Few Minutes Later

Emily was shivering.

Her eyes popped open, the blankets falling from her shoulders to her waist as she sat up feeling groggy and out of sorts. She quickly crossed her arms and rubbed her hands along her cold skin, trying to brush away the goosebumps that had formed.

"Why is it so cold?"

The question was directed to Hotch, but then Emily realized that he wasn't there . . . she was alone. Her brow wrinkled slightly in confusion when she saw through the open door that the bathroom was also dark. So she turned to look at the alarm clock.

4:37 am.

Aaron had been lying next to her when she'd fallen asleep. But now it was the middle of the night and she was alone. Which was very odd. Since they'd gotten together, and really probably for months before that, Hotch had never left her while she was sleeping. And he'd certainly never left her if she was sick in any way, and her nursing a tumor induced headache definitely counted as being a type of 'sick.'

It was actually a headache so horrendous that she'd been sobbing when she'd woken him up. Emily's expression softened as she thought back to how he'd immediately jumped out bed and rushed into the bathroom to get her new prescription. But as bad as the pain had been . . . the worst so far . . . she still hadn't wanted to take those new pills. So she'd told him no as she'd pushed the bottle back, and said that Tylenol would be fine.

That it wasn't that bad.

That's when he'd gotten angry. Telling her that the pain was obviously very bad, and that was a fact very obvious to him. And seeing that her ridiculous lie was falling on deaf ears, Emily had finally whispered the watery truth . . . that taking the pill was admitting defeat.

It was admitting that the cancer was now taking over her life.

That's when Aaron's anger had washed away. He'd kissed her forehead as he'd brushed the tears from her cheeks. Then he'd told her that she was being silly, that taking the pill was actually taking back her life. It would take away her pain and that would take away the power of the disease. And really, if she didn't want to do it for herself, could she please do it for him.

Because he couldn't bear to see her in so much pain.

His voice had cracked at the end, and that's when she'd realized that she was being selfish. That in the reverse, she would have been FURIOUS with him for being so stupid and stubborn. So for Aaron's sake . . . to at least take away his pain, even if the medicine couldn't fully take away hers . . . she had taken the new pill. And not too long after . . . with a naked Hotch wrapped tightly around her body and rubbing gentle patterns on her stomach . . . she had, miraculously, fallen back to sleep. And then . . . her eyes crinkled . . . she'd had wonderful dreams!

A day on the beach with the wind in her hair and Hotch's strong fingers in her grasp . . . Jack making castles in the sand nearby.

Hotch crouching down on one knee . . . her crying as she said, "yes! Yes!"

The church and her boys, the big one and the little one wearing matching tuxes, matching grins, and matching dimples.

And the best one . . . the stick that had turned blue, that wonderful blue! She saw Aaron coming home and her telling him seven months, maybe eight.

There were others too, more than she could remember in full detail, but that was the last one. The one that had caused her to awaken with a smile.

And this chill.

After all these weeks of constantly being together, it was clear that her body could sense now when Hotch was gone. And really . . . her eyes scanned the room in the fading moonlight . . . where had he gone? Emily swung her legs to the side.

He had to be downstairs.

So, now covered in goosebumps, she hurried across the room, reaching for the new fleece lined, red silk robe slung over the chair by the window. It was a gift that Hotch had given her on Monday night.

The night of her first radiation treatment.

When she had tried it on and realized that it was as warm as it was beautiful, she'd grinned like an idiot as she'd asked him why he'd been hiding such a wonderful Christmas present from her. And he'd shaken his head and said it wasn't a Christmas present. It was a present, "just because." Then he'd smiled and kissed her forehead before he went off to make her tea.

And she knew then . . . as he walked away . . . that she was starting to fall in love with him all over again.

And that was a blessing that she wouldn't take for granted.

Actually, she would never take him for granted, is what Emily vowed to herself as she crossed over the threshold of the bedroom and headed for the landing.

As she started down the staircase, her steps slowed as the glow of the television came into sight. There were ocean scenes on the screen.

But the TV was silent.

Hotch was apparently watching nature documentaries on mute at four something in the morning. That wasn't good. And also . . . her gaze narrowed slightly as she continued down the stairs . . . there was whiskey on the table.

That was even worse.

"Aaron?"

Hotch looked over his shoulder, surprised to Emily up so soon after him. It had barely been ten minutes since he'd left her.

"I'm sorry sweetheart," he answered softly, "did I wake you?"

After taking in his pensive stare . . . and the alcohol in his hand . . . Emily gave Hotch a small smile.

"No," her lip quirked up slightly, "no you did not wake me while you sat in the dark with the television on mute." Then she stepped onto the cold wood floor and added drily. "But most people would definitely consider that pretty disruptive behavior."

It was clear that if he was up like this in the middle of the night, that something was very wrong. But still, Emily hoped that maybe she could joke a smile out of him.

That usually worked.

But tonight she saw only a slight twitch on one side of Aaron's upper lip . . . and then he turned his attention back to his whiskey.

Her heart sank as he took another swig . . . no joking him out of this one.

So with her stomach now twisting with anxiety, Emily crossed over to the couch and reached down to take the glass out of his hand. It spoke volumes about his mood that he didn't resist . . . or even protest . . . the loss of his drink.

As she placed the glass on the table, she turned back to him with a small frown.

"Honey," she asked worriedly, "would you please tell me what's wrong? Why are you up?"

Though those were two direct interrogatories, he didn't acknowledge the questions. He just continued to stare at the silent television for another ten seconds before he finally murmured back, "you should be in bed, sweetheart."

And that was it.

He didn't even look at her. He didn't lie . . . he didn't say he was fine or nothing was wrong . . . he just ignored the questions. He was shutting down.

He was shutting her out.

Well . . . Emily's eyes began to sting as she stood there looking down at him . . . that just wouldn't do. It wouldn't do at all. Because they weren't allowed to shut each other out. They were supposed to be sharing everything.

Those were Aaron's rules.

The ones that he'd remind her of whenever she tried to shield him from her pain or her fears. He'd say no secrets. That their relationship would never survive her illness if they didn't stick together for every step of it. And now here he was . . . her fingers curled into two tight fists . . . sitting down here in the dark.

Drinking.

Alone.

And that's when her heart began pounding in her chest. Her man rarely drank alone. Really, he only pulled out the Jameson's after the worst of their worst days. And since she'd started taking her medication, he'd stopped drinking all together. It was an act of solidarity.

An act of love.

So what in God's name could have happened to cause him to pull out the bottle tonight? Yes, she'd woken up earlier with a bad headache, but it was hardly the first one. And it would hardly be the last one. Not for some months. So there had to be something more going on.

Something he clearly didn't want to share with her.

It had taken Emily MONTHS to crack through that protective shell that had enveloped Hotch for so many years. And now she was afraid that if he started to cut off his emotions again . . . most particularly if he cut them off from her . . . that he'd fall back into that old pattern.

The one that had been eating him up from the inside out.

Even if he thought that was how best to protect her . . . and she had no doubt that's what he was doing right now, protecting her from whatever he was going through . . . he was wrong. And Emily knew that if she left him there alone . . . left him as he so clearly was hoping that she would . . . that it would be the worst thing for them. It would be a little chip in their bond. Just a tiny crack . . . but a crack was something that could grow.

Something that could eventually ruin them.

And that meant . . . she took a breath . . . she needed to fix this little thing now before it became a huge thing later. So she decided to completely ignore his body language . . . you didn't need to be a behaviorist to understand his silent scream of, "leave me alone!" . . . and instead simply reached out and ran her fingers through his hair.

When he shifted slightly, turning his body just another millimeter away from hers, she felt a stab of pain at the rejection. But that was also when she just said screw it and took the bull by the horns.

So with him still trying to ignore her . . . he was no longer even pretending to watch the television . . . she moved around the couch and climbed into his lap.

In the process of moving her body onto his, the silken robe slipped, exposing one leg from ankle to thigh. Any other day, Hotch's eyes . . . and his fingers . . . would have followed along the expanse of newly bare skin.

This time though, he didn't even spare it a glance.

'Oh honey . . . what's wrong with you?!'

With her heart aching, Emily pressed a kiss to Hotch's cheek. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged him close.

Still, his body remained rigid against hers, his arms tight at his sides. And that was killing her more than his silence, because for months now . . . even back to the summer . . . the second she initiated physical contact of any kind, be it a hug or a kiss . . . or even just reaching for his hand . . . he always responded immediately.

He always responded in kind.

But not now. And the longer he went without touching her, the more terrified she was. It wasn't really just the hurt at being rejected . . . she knew without question that he loved her . . . it was the hurt that he was hiding something from her.

Something big.

"Aaron," her voice was hoarse as she pleaded softly in his ear, "honey, you're scaring the shit of me. So please, tell me why you're so upset."

In response to her pleas, Emily heard a faint, hard, "please go to bed, Emily," which she flatly ignored. Instead she tightened her hold, tucking his head against hers as she responded firmly, "no. No, I'm not going to bed until you tell me what's wrong. I'm not leaving you here like this, and you know damn well you wouldn't leave me here like this. So if you want to stay up for the rest of the night," she kissed his temple, "then I'm staying here with you."

Knowing how focused he now was on her rest, she knew that last one would break him. But still, somewhat surprisingly, he held out for another full minute. Her man was stubborn. But finally Emily heard the soft murmur of, "I had a bad dream."

And he stopped.

And although she wanted to prompt him to elaborate on the dream, it was obvious that he was done speaking. A second later though it all became clear. Because the words actually were so simple.

He'd had a bad dream.

A dream bad enough to drive him from their bed in search of solitude and alcohol. A dream that was now preventing her sweet, affectionate, man . . . a man that she knew with due modesty, adored her with all of his heart . . . from either touching her or looking at her. This was not rocket science.

That bad dream was all about her.

Which meant that this was something she could fix.

"Honey," she murmured in his ear, "if your dream was about," her voice thickened as the words started to fade, "about, me leaving you. Well," she sniffled as her eyes started to burn, "you just put it out of your head, because I'm not leaving you. Not ever. I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere."

No sooner had the words left her mouth, then suddenly Emily was engulfed in Hotch's arms. The hug was fierce . . . and desperate . . . and a few of those hovering tears began to slide down her cheek.

"I love you so much, Emily."

His voice cracked on her name . . . and then her tears were a flood.

"I love you too, Aaron," she rubbed his back, "so much. And I promise that no matter what happens, I'll always be with you."

Like him, her voice broke on the last word. Then she kissed his temple and he tugged her closer still. When he buried his face in the nape of her neck, she felt a little tickle on her breast from the warmth of his breath. And then a second later the tickle was from the warmth of his tears.

They became a river.

It was the first time that he'd ever cried in front of her. Really cried, like his heart was breaking. And given how tightly he was holding her, she believed that it was.

And that meant hers was too.

That was the way love worked. You hurt when he hurt. But as she cuddled him close and rubbed his back, all she could think about was that dream that she'd had . . . and how she wished that she could have shared it with him. Because then he would know what she already did. That they had so many good days ahead.

Of that she was sure.

Today anyway . . . she wiped away another tear that slipped down her cheek . . . and today was really all that mattered. Because today was the day that they needed to get through. And today she needed to be the strong one. So today she would take care of him. Because they were partners.

In every sense of the word.

So Emily waited until Hotch's quiet sobs tapered off, and then slowly she started to feel the shift in his body. In his spirit. The hand on her waist came up to scrub across his face. Then there was a sniffle . . . and a sigh. And a husky murmur on her skin.

"I'm sorry."

The remorse was clear in his tone, the belief that by letting go . . . by letting her in . . . he was letting her down.

Silly man.

"Aaron," she whispered as her fingers stroked through his hair, "why would you apologize for showing me how much you love me?"

At Emily's words, slowly Hotch lifted his head. Their eyes locked.

"I would never apologize for that," he whispered back.

"All right," she gave him a sad smile, "then you need to stop feeling guilty for having the same breakdown that I had two weeks ago. It's okay," she cupped his jaw, "I'm okay."

It took only a second for Emily to see the impact of what she'd said. Hotch's eyes brightened ever so slightly . . . almost in surprise that she knew what he was thinking . . . and then he reached out to touch her cheek.

"How's your head?" He asked worriedly.

Not that he'd forgotten about her headache . . . not possible . . . but he'd been so busy trying to shut her out that he'd disengaged from even that level of contact.

"You were right about the pill," she said softly as her lip quirked up, "it did make it better. But do you know what would make things better still?" She asked on a sigh as she put her head down to snuggle against his chest.

"What?" Hotch sniffled slightly as he tucked Emily closer, taking a second to kiss the top of her head, "what do you need, sweetheart?"

Though he was truly sorry that he'd broken down that way in front of her . . . and he'd not missed the tears that she'd shed as well . . . as he'd hoped, she had made him feel better. That's what Emily did, she made his life better. And really, he should have anticipated this turn of events. She'd known immediately that his behavior was because of her. His lips twitched faintly.

But of course the woman had been able to read his mind for years.

Knowing from the gentle rubbing of Hotch's hand up and down her back, that he was trying to sooth her to sleep again, Emily decided to help things along in that department.

She was still pretty damn tired.

"I need you to come upstairs with me now." She tipped her head back to give him a little smile, "you know I can't sleep naked by myself," she dropped her head back down to murmur against his throat, "I get cold, and then I have to put more clothes on, and God knows you don't want that happening."

Her flannel Hello Kitty pajamas were folded at the ready, but really she much preferred her Hotch Blanket these days.

"No," Hotch chuckled slightly as he wiped the remaining bit of moisture from the corner of his eye, "God knows we don't want you putting more clothes on."

And just like that, she'd made his world right again.

Emily smiled against his chest.

"Then we'd better get moving." And with that she shifted slightly to drop her feet back to the cold floor. But before she could move to stand, Hotch had slipped his grip around to lift her in his arms. Then he pushed himself off the couch and came to his feet.

Apparently she was getting a ride upstairs.

And knowing that this was not a point of negotiation with her overprotective . . . still slightly overwrought . . . boyfriend, Emily simply slipped her arm around his neck and settled against his chest. If his dream had been bad enough to reduce him to the state that she'd found him in twenty minutes ago, then she knew that this would make him feel better. Really it was unlikely that he'd be letting her out of his sight for the rest of the weekend. And she was okay with that.

Being alone was highly overrated.

After Hotch clicked off the television and they started towards the stairs, Emily knew that there was one point that she needed to address before they got back to bed.

She tipped her head slightly to look up at him.

"I dreamed that we took Jack to the beach and he made castles in the sand."

If it was within her power, she was going to make damn sure that Hotch went to sleep with only good thoughts in his head. No more bad dreams tonight.

Feeling his eyes start to burn again, Hotch stopped to look down at Emily.

"You did?"

"Yeah," she smiled softly, "do you want me to tell you what else I dreamt tonight?"

"Yes," Hotch hugged Emily to his chest as he blinked away the new tears . . . the happy tears . . . starting to pool.

"Yes," he took a breath, "I'd like that very much."

A/N 2: If you read the first version of this story you know that that this scene ends on the point where Hotch begins to weep. But obviously I decided to carry that moment forward on the redo, and I did that because now that I've written their relationship 'from the beginning' I could see exactly how Emily would have handled that situation. She would have been all over it! :) And even if she couldn't take the dark thoughts from his mind, she could share a little of the light from her own.