Author's Note: This one is coated in fluff. Why? Because Jack is back!

And reminder, we've officially moved into the new year.

Early January: Saturday Afternoon

Shopping with the Hotchner Boys

Hotch subtly twisted his wrist as he tipped his head down slightly to look at his watch.

He was attempting to surreptitiously check the time without Emily noticing. But not unsurprisingly . . . given his girl's first rate surveillance skills . . . his attempt at stealthiness, failed pretty spectacularly.

And when he looked back over to see the eyebrow going up as her jaw twitched . . . he wasn't sure if she'd learned that from him, but it was quite disturbing . . . he quickly flashed her half a dimple.

'Love you.'

The words were mouthed rather than spoken aloud . . . that would have been overkill . . . but still, he received a dramatic eye roll for his efforts at sucking up in the middle of a Target shopping trip. Then Emily grabbed the scruff of his shirt to tug him down into a kiss.

"That was pathetic," was the mumble as she pulled away.

His lips twitched slightly as he slipped his arm around her waist to tug her back against his chest.

"Pathetic, huh? Well, I'll have you know that there are fives of women that would kill to be with me," he whispered in her ear. To which she snorted back, "fives huh," she patted his hand, "well, just let me know when you get to 'tens' and perhaps I'll start to get worried about the competition."

A full dimple slipped out at her response . . . his girl could volley back anything. Then the humor faded a bit as he rested his chin on her shoulder to look down at his son in front of them, who was at present picking out a new toothbrush. Emily was just so damn stubborn sometimes.

And this would be one of those times.

It's not that he was actually annoyed they were spending the afternoon shopping . . . though admittedly his general enjoyment level for shopping fell somewhere above autopsies and below meetings with Strauss . . . it was more that he was concerned Emily was going to overexert herself.

Correction . . . he tightened his hold on her waist . . . she had already overexerted herself.

They'd been out for two hours now, and he'd noticed over the last twenty minutes that her shoulder had started to bump into his as they walked the aisles of the store.

She was clearly getting tired.

But she'd already made it quite clear that they weren't leaving the store yet. Not until Jack was all stocked up on items to leave at the condo.

That's why they'd been out all afternoon.

She'd woken up that morning insistent that they go shopping for Jack. And when Hotch had tried to point out that Jack already had all of the basics from his apartment, she'd shaken her head and said it wasn't the same. Because that was his place, and the condo had been her place. And even though Jack had been visiting her place for months, now she wanted it to be their place. And did that make sense to him?

As with all of Emily's twisty turns in logic, it had taken him a second to catch up with her . . . but then he'd understood. It was a sweet and loving gesture, from his sweet and loving girl. She was building their new family, one little Scooby Doo fork and Superman dinner plate at a time. And so he'd smiled and said of course, whatever she wanted.

Still though . . . his brow furrowed slightly as she tried to hide another yawn in her arm . . . he just wished that she hadn't been so insistent about doing everything today. But if he was honest with himself, though it was a painful topic, he knew that Emily was being so stubborn because she was worried that she wouldn't be able to do it later.

That she'd be too sick.

So for that reason, he knew that there was no point in pushing the issue. Of course he'd tried once, because it was impossible to curb his protective instincts, but she'd brushed him off. Said it was one afternoon, she'd be fine. And that was the end of that. So to mention it again . . . even though she was now slumping against his chest . . . would just cause a needless, pointless, disagreement.

And life was too short for those.

So with a sigh he resigned himself to feigning patience as Jack continued to play supermarket sweep, the extended Target edition.

But then Emily either took pity on him, or started to worry about her own stamina, as she suddenly clapped her hands together to gently hurry Jack along.

"Okay sweetie, which one are we getting, Buzz or Woody?"

Hotch let out another sigh then, though this one was of relief.

'Thank God!'

/*/*/*/

Thirty-five minutes later their little group had relocated to the children's furniture section of the store. Hotch's arm was again wrapped around Emily's waist, but this time she was the one that had initiated the gesture. They had a nearly full cartload of purchases.

This was inclusive of a whole new SpongeBob themed bathroom (rug, toothbrush holder, soap dispenser and shower curtain), three new Sesame Street bath toys, a new "motorized" submarine, the big bottle of Bert & Ernie Bubble Bath, the small bottle of Mr. Bubble bubble bath, a fire truck poster for one wall of Jack's room, a Donkey/Shrek poster for the other, an assortment of Bugs Bunny dinnerware items, inclusive of two plastic cups, a set of children's cutlery and matching place mat. And that was all in addition to the Scooby Doo and Superman sets which had been purchased for "special occasions." Yes, Emily spoiled Jack rotten, and yes, Hotch probably needed to start reining her in a bit.

But that of course was a conversation for another day.

All they needed to do now was finish picking out the bed linens, and their (Emily's) shopping list would be complete. They'd done well with the sheets . . . as evidenced by the poster choice, Shrek was always in fashion . . . but then they'd hit a snag with the comforter.

Jack . . . for some reason locked in his little four year old brain . . . was adamantly opposed to Shrek, Donkey and Fiona setting up camp on TOP of his bed. Their presence was apparently designated for undercover purposes only. And the few others options that Hotch had tried to helpfully suggest, had been completely shot down with a vehement headshake and an, "uh, uh daddy," so eventually Daddy had just shut up.

His boy could not be rushed.

Of course Emily had a perfectly good plain blue comforter on the bed now. It served the dual purposes of both keeping his son warm, and his new Shrek sheets safely under wraps, but Emily didn't want to leave the store until Jack had found a new comforter that he'd picked out himself. To quote, "Aaron if that means a few extra minutes of our lives spent in this store, then so be it."

At least that had been her attitude sixteen minutes ago. But then nine minutes ago she'd agreed that perhaps they might need to put a pin in this one.

Jack just couldn't make up his mind.

Still though, Emily was insistent that they wait until five o'clock before they threw in the towel. Hotch . . . this time not at all subtly . . . checked his watch.

They had six more minutes to go.

So with half of his brain shifting focus to what he was going to cook for diner . . . he was thinking baked ziti . . . the other half stared sightlessly at the dizzying display of cartoon characters in front of them. He was trying to mentally will his son to make a decision. Because even if she had agreed to leave at five o'clock, Hotch knew that Emily was going to be disappointed if they hadn't crossed off all of the items on her list.

And he did so hate to see her disappointed.

But then suddenly Jack started to bounce up and down on his little black Addidas, and Hotch let out another sigh of relief. It appeared that they'd finally had hit pay dirt here.

Again, thank God!

"That one! That's the bestest one!" Jack exclaimed as he pointed to a comforter set two shelves above him. "Daddy look, you can see Squidward! And he's making faces like you do!"

"The BEST one, honey, not bestest," Emily gently corrected as she moved out of Hotch's arms to take their last purchase of the day off the shelf.

As she placed it in their now overflowing cart . . . in addition to Jack's stuff she'd picked up a few items herself . . . Emily was biting her lip to keep from snickering at the expression on Hotch's face.

For a moment there had been that subdued Hotch look of relief that they were finally done shopping. But then something unexpected had happened.

His son had compared him to a morose cephalopod.

It had taken a second, but when she'd turned back with the package in her hand, she'd seen the shift in his expression. The 'what the hell?!' look that would pop onto anybody's face after a comparison like that.

It was understandable . . . funny . . . but understandable.

But Hotch's brilliant brain was always thinking a bit too much, and sometimes that was a bit of burden for him. Because Emily could see that in this instance, as he stood there, he was giving the morose cephalopod observation more than the passing consideration most people would.

Or should.

"Emily," Hotch's brow wrinkled as his gaze shifted from his son to his girlfriend, "you don't think that I look like Squidward, do you?"

Yes, he realized that sounded as stupid aloud as it had in his head.

"Well, uh," Emily scrunched her face up pensively as she started pushing the cart towards the registers, "huh."

God . . . she sent up a note of gratitude . . . thank you for this moment. And now . . . her lip quirked up . . . how best to torture the love of her life? Because really, if he was actually going to give this serious thought, rather than dismiss it as the superficially offhand remark of a small child . . . and she knew how his mind worked, he was doing exactly that . . . then she was going to enjoy yanking his chain.

Love of her life or not, the man had brought this on himself.

When Emily trailed off without actually saying anything, Hotch lightly bumped her in the side with his elbow.

"Excuse me Agent Prentiss, that wasn't actually a sentence."

"I know that, sir," Emily responded formally, "I was considering my response."

Boy was she ever. Then she shot him a look.

"Really you of all people should understand the importance of a fully articulated report when asked for a consult. Now the question is, do you look like Squidward? So I'd have to start with the obvious, in that clearly you don't have the follicular issues that he has. Also, you do have better fashion sense. I really can't see you going to the office without pants," she shot him a smirk, "not that I'd object if you wanted to give it a whirl."

Hotch stifled a groan. Two words into Emily's "consultation" he'd seen how this conversation was going to shape up for him.

Badly.

Not that he thought that his immediate capitulation would be sufficient to prevent him from having to hear the end of whatever she had planned to say. Oh no . . . he restrained an eye roll as they sidestepped another family in front of them . . . he was on this train until it made a full and complete stop at the station.

Case in point, Emily had just moved on to "similarities."

". . . be noted that you do both wear name tags at work. So there's that commonality." Then she smirked playfully, "plus you do occasionally have those OCTOPUS hands."

Seeing the wince of pain on his face . . . a sign that he was grinding his teeth . . . Emily zeroed in for the kill.

"And then of course," she shot him a pointed look, "there's the obvious propensity to approach many tasks great and small, with a grim faced determination. And that might have possibly, maybe, been your son's superficial four year old observation regarding your similar facial expressions."

And after giving him a moment to digest that. . . she could hear the little grunt of acknowledgment . . . she smiled sweetly.

"But in conclusion," she leaned up to smack a kiss on his cheek, "no, I do not think that you look like Squidward."

"Thank you, sweetheart," Hotch responded drily.

"Anytime, honey."

And then their eyes locked . . . Hotch's rolled . . . and she burst out laughing.

"You brought that on yourself!"

After another grunt and mumble of "a simple 'no, Aaron' would have sufficed," Hotch sighed as he leaned down to kiss her cheek.

"I'll push the cart."

That was all he was going to give her, because he refused to admit that she was right. She already knew that he knew that she was right . . . he could tell that from the grin on her face . . . so that was good enough.

He'd get her back later.

With a final snort at Hotch's defeat . . . always fun to win one on the road . . . Emily's gaze dropped down to the small boy walking in front of her.

His fingers were hooked into the little holes in the red cart.

The little prince munchkin . . . her eyes crinkled as she felt Hotch's hand on her back . . . that looked just like the big munchkin next to her. And she knew from the kiss and the protective hand that she'd been forgiven her mockery, so Emily looked up at Hotch. Then she raised her eyebrow slightly as she tilted her head down to the little body in front of them. Hotch's lip quirked up as he gave a nearly imperceptible nod.

It was a question and answer technique honed over the past few years of take downs . . . but it still came in handy in domestic situations. And fortunately both were clear on the specific question and answer in this situation.

They had discussed the matter an hour ago as Jack sorted through bubble bath options.

"Hey," Emily raised her voice slightly, "Jack in the Box?"

This resulted in a giggle as Jack turned back to look up her over his shoulder.

"Yes, Miss Emily Femily!"

Hearing Jack's response . . . even at four, his boy could already volley too . . . Hotch's eyes crinkled in amusement.

Coming up with new nicknames for one another was a recent activity that these two were now holding in high regard. And secretly . . . though he'd never say it aloud . . . Hotch found it adorable. His more practical, (i.e. official assessment), was that it helped to sharpen Jack's ability to think on his feet. And really . . . Hotch thought with not a little biased pride . . . his son was quite clever with the monikers he was coming up with.

'Miss Em-anana Banana' was Hotch's personal favorite.

Once Emily had Jack's attention, she smiled as she reached down to scoop him up on her hip. Given how tired she was he felt a bit heavier than usual. But he was also warm and cuddly and looked just like his daddy, so she figured screw taking it easy.

Life was too short for that crap.

And as Jack looked at her with rapt attention, one small hand snaked around to play absentmindedly with the back of her ponytail.

She kissed his cheek.

"So," she began to speak while brushing away the slight smudge of lip gloss, "Daddy just told me that you were such a good boy shopping today, that we can stop and pick up ice cream to have for dessert tonight."

Jack loved ice cream.

So as expected, his face immediately lit up as his eyes snapped over her shoulder and up to his father's.

"Really, Daddy?!"

At Hotch's nod and, "sure can, buddy," Jack yelled out an exuberantly ecstatic, "YAY ICE CREAM!" as he shimmied in Emily's arms while pumping both of his little fists in the air.

Emily immediately burst out laughing as she mimicked Jack's movements with her free arm.

"That's right honey!" She said loudly, "YAY ice cream! Isn't that right, Daddy?!" She asked Hotch with a curved lip and a raised eyebrow.

Hotch looked down at the two most important people on the planet . . . both wearing ridiculously wide matching grins . . . and although he knew that Emily was mostly just busting his balls, he still accepted his fate.

He had to do it too.

After all . . . he slowly exhaled . . . keeping them happy was his primary avocation.

No matter how publicly humiliating it was.

So after he'd given a quick look around to make sure that nobody he actually knew was in their vicinity . . . no . . . he robotically mimed their fist shakes with a lackluster, "yaaaay, ice cream."

It wasn't exactly his most convincing display of enthusiasm, but it still sent Jack and Emily into the expected fits of laughter, so that was good enough for him. And then Jack giggled out a "Daddy, you're silly!" and Hotch gave him a little smile as he mussed up his hair.

"I bet there aren't too many people at Daddy's work who would agree with you on that one, bud," he huffed as they arrived at the front of the store.

Emily gave her own smirk of agreement at Hotch's assessment as she placed Jack back down to the shiny off-white floor.

He was getting a little too heavy to keep carrying.

Then she stooped down to give Jack a gentle . . . but firm . . . instruction that he needed to now hold tightly to her hand.

Not that she was planning on loosening her grip on him, but little children, when excited by something shiny in the distance, sometimes tried to wriggle away. Not that Jack would ordinarily do that in public, but Emily still wanted to have her bases covered. They had just reached the registers and there was a crowd of people around them now.

All right by the doors.

Crowded exits always made her a little antsy when Jack was around. So once she was sure that the littlest Hotchner was firmly in her grasp . . . and he'd responded with a dutiful "K Miss Emily" . . . her stress levels lightened a bit. And with it her thoughts moved back around to the bigger Hotchner at her side.

That and their plans for the evening post dinner and ice cream.

So she leaned up on her tiptoes to make sure that her words to him were well out of the range of Jack's hearing. Then with a saucy grin she leaned in to tickle Hotch's ear with her breath.

"Hey Mr. Tentacles," she murmured, "I think that while you make dinner, I might just take a little nap," she patted his stomach, "so then after Jack goes to bed I'll be up for playing with that big clarinet of yours."

Just because she was taking another Squidward shot, didn't mean that she wasn't also looking to have some fun tonight.

Life was also much too short not to have sex with Hotch as much as possible!

At Emily's, not at all subtle, proposition, Hotch's lips began to twitch. And when his gaze shifted down to see her wink at him, he tried . . . unsuccessfully . . . to hide his smirk behind his wrist.

Finally he just gave up as he shook his head and leaned down to give her a kiss. And as they settled into a line he huffed.

Okay . . . he slipped his arm around her waist and tucked her against his side . . . maybe it wasn't so bad to be Squidward.

A/N 2: Not too much of a deviation from the original post, yet somehow it's much longer. Funny how that goes.