Author's Note: This is all Hotch, covering his viewpoint of the events previously conveyed by the team in the last chapter.

The Origins of the Turkey Sandwich

Damn it . . . Hotch grumbled to himself . . . Garcia had caught them today.

Although this was an event that had actually occurred three hours earlier in the day, this was the first moment that he'd had alone to actually consider the implications of that unfortunate run in. He'd been going non-stop all morning, but at present he was by himself, though in the semi-crowded Academy cafeteria, holding his lunch as he waited for Emily's special order to come out from the kitchen. It was a turkey, cheddar, and avocado wrap.

One of her favorites.

Of course ordinarily they'd eat lunch together . . . these days he spent as much time as humanly possible with her . . . but unfortunately that wasn't a possibility today. Emily was down in HR discussing her flex time and leave options for when the day came where she was too sick to work a full schedule. It was a heartbreaking future to consider. But it was still one that needed to be addressed.

Ignoring the hard stuff didn't make it go away.

And though she should be returning from that meeting fairly shortly, and of course he wanted to find out what she'd learned, their schedules were going to cross. He had a conference call in fifteen, and then back to back to budget meetings for the new year.

He wouldn't see her for more than a wave hello until at least four o'clock.

And this was really the worst day to be separated from her for so long. She'd been so nervous about this meeting. For one thing, it was the first time that she'd had to tell ANYONE that she was sick. And for another, even if those people in HR were sworn to confidentiality, for Emily it was still a terrible mixing of her two worlds. Her job had been her sanctuary. And now the cancer had just invaded it, as cleanly as it had her body.

It was one more setback.

And as much as he would have loved to have gone to the meeting with her simply for moral support, it would have been entirely inappropriate. He was just her chief, not her husband.

Not yet anyway.

But even if he had been her husband on that exact date in time, he knew that he still couldn't have gone with her for a meeting like that. It was a professional discussion about her career options. And that was NOT an occasion in which to bring along your significant other.

Not if you still wanted to have a career when all was said and done.

But because of that meeting . . . of that additional, CONCRETE proof of her deteriorating health and how it was taking over her worlds . . . Emily had woken up in a terrible funk that day. So much so that he'd deviated from their morning routine to surprise her with a quickie after she'd gotten out of the shower.

She'd just looked so miserable combing her hair that he couldn't help himself.

So that had helped a little . . . okay, it had helped her a little, it had helped him a LOT . . . but it hadn't really fixed the overall situation. Yes, she'd been a bit better over breakfast, but by the time they got to the car, she'd been physically . . . and metaphorically . . . curled in on herself again. She'd stared out the window for the entire commute. And he just couldn't let her start the work day that depressed . . . that defeated.

Which has what led to his little problem with Garcia.

Their elevator decorum had been a bit 'lax' today. Ordinarily their rule was hands, and lips, were to be kept to oneself once they were inside the Academy gate. But Emily had just looked so sad when they got out of the car, that rule one had gone right out the window.

As they started across the fairly deserted parking level . . . they deliberately picked floors the other team members didn't frequent . . . he'd reached over and taken her hand. Then he held it tight for the rest of the walk to the elevator. And though he knew that he was pushing his luck, the only person they saw was a maintenance man fixing a parking sign.

And he sure as hell didn't give a shit what they were doing.

And because of that, because they were still basically alone, Hotch decided to keep holding Emily's hand when they got to the elevator. And once she'd realized what he was doing . . . breaking the rules for her . . . she'd broken a rule for him.

She'd kissed him.

It was just a thank you, and it was just on the cheek, they certainly weren't 'making out' or anything, but right as she'd leaned back, the elevator doors had suddenly opened on the next level. And there was Garcia.

In all of her fluorescent glory.

It was an 'oh crap' moment if he'd ever had one.

And although he was pretty certain that Garcia had probably picked up on a vibe, Hotch didn't think that she was particularly suspicious at first. Emily had dropped his hand immediately, so he was kind of hoping that Penelope's gaze just hadn't dropped to that level before they'd separated. But then Emily had noticed the lipstick on his cheek.

That's where things went downhill.

She'd tried to covertly 'mime' that he needed to wipe his face. But unfortunately miming makeup removal was NOT one of the hand signals they were taught in the Academy. So she'd made a slightly too grandiose gesture . . . it looked like she was acting out a scene from a carwash . . . and he knew that she'd most definitely caught Garcia's eye.

Hell . . . he sighed . . . she would have caught Stevie Wonder's eye.

And of course he'd tried to wipe off the smear of pigment before Garcia had turned back, but he'd been too slow. While she'd pretended to check her stockings . . . like he was falling for that one . . . he'd tried to slide into just a straight 'rub hand across mouth,' gesture. But, for a change, the makeup hadn't been on his mouth.

It had been up higher on his cheek.

He'd totally missed it . . . or more to the point . . . he'd actually drawn attention to it.

To his face.

Something that Garcia hadn't really been looking directly at when she'd stepped onto the elevator. And he'd known this from her sharp intake of breath right before her back went ramrod straight. Then when she'd turn around twenty seconds later to say goodbye, her eyes had been sparkling. So there was no doubt.

She was onto them.

But . . . he slowly exhaled as he shot a glance over to the lunch counter to check on the sandwich . . . there was nothing really to be done about it. Yes, they were trying to keep their relationship under wraps for now, but he and Emily had known that the others would start catching on eventually. Really, they were now spending twenty-four hours a DAY together, so it was somewhat embarrassing for him as a supervisor to realize that NOBODY in his behavioral analysis unit had figured that fact out yet!

God . . . he huffed in disgust . . . what was WRONG with them?!

Suddenly realizing that he was getting a bit more worked up about that minor point than he'd intended . . . after all the goal here was to NOT get caught . . . Hotch pushed his somewhat misplaced aggravation at the team's piss poor observational skills aside. Really that wasn't anything to be focusing on right now, not when he had Emily to worry about.

He could bust their balls about it later.

And then for the next six months after that.

And seeing that Emily's wrapped lunch had just appeared, Hotch sighed in relief as he stepped forward to pick up the turkey wrap from the counter. It joined the roast beef on whole wheat already tucked in the crook of his arm. Then he went over to the cold case to get two diet ginger ales, and then a stop in the dessert area to grab a package of chocolate chip cookies. After that he stepped into another line.

This time to pay the cashier.

Fortunately there was only one person in front of him . . . it was just shy of twelve so he was beating the midday rush . . . so he was shoving his wallet back into his pocket less than a minute after he'd pulled it out. And though he needed to get back to his desk . . . that conference call was rapidly approaching . . . Hotch stopped again for a moment at one of the empty tables by the door. Once he'd put down his sandwiches and sodas . . . and tucked the cookie into his pocket . . . he pulled out his pen and notepad. Then he wrote a quick note to Emily.

I promise sweetheart, everything will be okay. I love you.

Always, A

P.S. I have cookies :)

Hotch's eyes crinkled slightly as he drew the little emoticon. He'd never done that before . . . it just wasn't 'him' . . . but he knew that it would make Emily happy. So after he'd ripped out the small piece of paper, he folded it in half and tucked it into the cellophane wrapper of her sandwich.

That should hopefully brighten her spirits until he could take her for coffee later.

And with that thought in mind, Hotch gathered up all of his purchases again.

Then he headed back to the BAU.

/*/*/*/

As Hotch started to cut through the bullpen, from across the room he took note of Reid again practicing his new paperclip trick. For a second he debated saying something when he walked by, but then opted to keep his mouth shut for the time being. Although Spencer might have thought that he hadn't noticed him fussing around with the paperclips . . . he had.

Six days ago.

And every work day since.

Though unlike day one when Spencer just kept knocking them into a metal heap . . . and then muttering, "oh man" . . . now he was actually starting to get pretty good at it. It was clear that he could now balance three. But of course it would be funnier to wait until he had the trick down pat, before he scared the shit out of him.

Hotch made a mental note to do it the following Monday.

Now approaching the desks of his team . . . and having opted to ignore Reid who had just dropped a case file on his tiny paperclip mountain . . . Hotch had to restrain an eye roll at Derek. Special Agent Morgan seemed to be attempting, key word attempting, to play eye spy today.

Thank GOD he'd never gone into the CIA.

'Yeah Derek, I see you, NOT looking at me while I put down Emily's sandwich. Good job.'

Without breaking stride, Hotch continued up the stairs shaking his head. He was making another mental note. This one was to send Morgan off for a surveillance refresher before the end of the next quarter.

That display was just an embarrassment . . . for both of them.

And with that . . . he slammed his door shut.

A/N 2: So you see, Hotch sees all and knows all. That's why he's Hotch :)