Author's Note: I'm presuming that by now all of you reading this story have completed Girl proper. If not, I'd suggest at least checking out chapter 38, Last Call, because knowing the events there, are going to be very helpful in understanding the events here. Because here, Hotch and Em are taking a road trip back to Smokey's!

Prompt List #33 (August 2011)

Show: Cheers

Title Challenge: Where Nobody Knows Your Name

Mid January: Thursday

Retracing The Past

"And you're really sure that you're up for this?"

Hearing the not so faint note of concern in Hotch's voice . . . it had shown up about three hours ago . . . Emily looked across the seat at him with a little smile.

She hoped it was a reassuring one.

"Honey," she reached over to squeeze his knee, "I swear to you, I'm feeling really good today. Much better than earlier in the week. And all we're going to do tonight is play a couple of games of pool, and maybe take a couple of spins around the dance floor if I can talk you into it. And you know that neither of those activities is likely to wear me out."

Seeing the look that Hotch shot her . . . she hadn't mentioned the dancing earlier . . . Emily's eyes crinkled as she added with a faint smirk.

"Aaron, you know that dancing is a much less strenuous an activity than what we did last night. But either way," she patted his leg as the smirk changed to a soft smile, "we'll still be home earlier enough for you to tell me that it's getting passed my bedtime."

Though she hated that he worried so much these days . . . her stomach fluttered slightly as his fingers curled around hers . . . it was still incredibly sweet when he did it.

He was showing her that he loved her.

"Okay," Hotch shot Emily another quick glance as he let go of her hand to hit the directional to get off the Beltway, "if you're sure."

"I am," she squeezed his knee tightly, "I'm very sure, that I'm very good."

At least right now she was, and right now was all that mattered.

It was Thursday night, just past seven o'clock and they were heading to Smokey's Bar. It was their first trip there in almost a year.

Since the night that Hotch had signed his divorce papers.

Such a long time ago.

But Emily had been thinking a lot lately about her past. Nothing big, just the usual life or death considerations that most people have when mortality comes knocking at their door. And one of the things that she'd been thinking about, were the early days of her relationship with Hotch. All the little building blocks that led them to where they were now. The first hugs, first dances.

First kisses.

It was funny, so many of those early milestones . . . though she'd had no idea that's what they were at the time . . . had come months before they had really even started spending time together. And they were all LONG before they'd actually fallen in love.

But that night at Smokey's had been a big night for them.

A good night for them.

Well, marital breakdown circumstances notwithstanding, it was a good night for them. But really, if the marriage hadn't broken down, then they wouldn't have gotten together, so it had all worked out in the end.

It all worked out as it was meant to be.

But their relationship had definitely taken a very curious path from the beginning to the now. And as much as Emily loved the now . . . Hotch fingers came back down to cover the hand still sitting on his knee . . . she wouldn't change the beginning for anything either. Because all of it, the ugliness and the messiness and the stops and starts, it had been the foundation for what came later. And that's why she wanted to go back to Smokey's.

To go back to their beginning.

Because she'd come to see that as bizarre as it was, in retrospect, that had really been their first date.

In a pool hall.

Her eyes crinkled slightly . . . of course it wasn't a particularly romantic place for a first date . . . too many guys with spikes through their noses . . . but they hadn't planned it that way anyway. It was just what she saw from perspective that made it what it was.

Part of their history.

Of course Hotch . . . not being a fan of Smokey's the bar in general and Smokey the man in particular . . . probably would not agree with her reasoning there.

Which was why she hadn't shared it with him.

He would have just furrowed his brow and shaken his head and picked ten other days from their past he would rank higher than that one. And he would have done it for the simple reason that he would not want Smokey to play any role . . . no matter how minute . . . in their very untraditional fairy tale.

He disliked him just that much.

But that was okay. Aaron could see things through his eyes and she'd see them through hers, all that mattered was that the events had happened as they had.

And that he'd brought her back here tonight.

Of course he had not initially been on board with her desire for this Thursday night outing. And it wasn't because of his general viewpoint that Smokey's was a shitty bar in a crappy location being run by a known criminal. No, that was all incidental.

His concerns had revolved solely around her health.

After she'd been so sick on Monday, he was worried that she wasn't up for any outings anywhere. Let alone ones to shitty bars in crappy locations.

But his concerns . . . in this instance . . . had been unfounded. She'd started feeling better yesterday.

That was the day after the doctor had upped her anti-nausea meds by another 10 mg.

So she'd kind of been reset to how she'd been feeling the week before. Which was not awesome . . . she hadn't felt 'awesome' in quite some time . . . but overall her stomach issues were at least under control. Which was why she'd been so insistent on going to Smokey's as soon as she'd had the urge to go. Because she knew that next week . . . and every week from then on out . . . was going to be a new ballgame. The headaches and nausea were all going to get worse. And that wasn't even taking into consideration the slow and steady sapping of her energy and spirit.

She was going to be like a giant battery being sucked dry.

And those things were all going to suck big time. So she needed to do what she could, when she could. And this week she could play pool.

And next week maybe she couldn't.

Even though Hotch understood these points as well as she did, it had actually taken the two days of cajoling . . . and one red silk teddy she'd broken out last night . . . to convince him that this trip was a good idea. His concern, in unadulterated black and white, was that she simply was no longer physically strong enough to handle herself in a sketchy bar like Smokey's.

That something could happen and she could get hurt.

Granted . . . Hotch began maneuvering into a three point turn for a parking spot a half a block down from the bar's entrance . . . he did have a very valid point there on the strength issue. Though she was having a good day, her energy definitely wasn't what it used to be. She did get tired more easily now.

Sometimes annoyingly so.

But she wasn't yet to the point where she couldn't work a full day, so she didn't think that her physical strength overall had diminished that much. Really, it wasn't as though she wanted to go MMA fighting, she just wanted to play a couple games of pool.

It was a low effort, low energy, activity.

The red silk teddy sex had been WAY more of a workout!

And as to the potential for 'physical danger' at the bar, she had her Sig on her hip. But more importantly . . . her eyes crinkled slightly as Hotch turned off the engine and turned to face her . . . she was going to have her Hotch wrapped around her other side.

And her Hotch . . . she leaned over to press a kiss to the worried face . . . was better than a full Secret Service Detail.

And cuter too.

"It's going to be fine, Aaron," she murmured against his lips, "I promise."

Hotch leaned back slightly as his eyebrow went up.

"Do you also promise that if we run into any trouble that you'll let me deal with it?"

"Yes," Emily responded with a solemn nod, "I promise."

This was a point that she knew was non-negotiable if she wanted to actually make it inside the building.

Still though, Hotch's brow crept up another suspicious quarter inch.

"And do you also promise that you won't try to help me in any way?"

"But, what if you need my help?" Emily asked as her own brow wrinkled in confusion.

Again, she had her gun. And even if she wasn't up to smacking people around, she could still scare the shit out of them.

Or just, you know, shoot them.

"Sweetheart," Hotch responded flatly as he snapped back his seatbelt, "the day that I can't handle myself in a pool hall, no matter how low of repute it is, is the day that I'm turning in my badge and gun."

It was very sweet that Emily thought she might need to help with any 'theoretical' incidents, and yes, in the field he did indeed need her to watch his back, but in the field they were running down serial killers. These were just bikers and druggies and ex-cons.

He could eat them for breakfast.

"Okay," Emily's lips twitched as her eyes rolled in gentle indulgence, "if you're sure that your superhuman abilities will negate even my need to call 911 on your behalf, then yes, I promise not to try to help you in any way either."

Silly man.

"Good," Hotch's fingers fell to the door handle as he leaned over to smack another quick kiss on Emily's lips, "then we can go in now."

Just because he'd agreed to this little excursion, didn't mean that he wasn't still worried about how she was going to actually get through it. So as much control as he could exert over her behavior inside . . . which was really all of the control that she allowed him to exert . . . he was going to take.

That said, he did try to get the worried brow under wraps as they got out of the jeep.

He knew that she was excited about coming there that night, and God only knew when they'd get back there again, so he didn't want to ruin the whole outing by bringing down her mood with too much hovering or coddling.

So to that end, he made himself wait (semi-patiently) on the sidewalk as she circled around the front fender. After all, she wasn't an invalid . . . her eyes crinkled as she stepped up beside him on the sidewalk . . . so he was trying his damndest not to treat her like one.

"Ready?" Emily asked with a happy smile. And Hotch nodded back with a faint quirk of his lip, "yep."

Then he slipped his arm around her waist and started them down the broken sidewalk.

It was a short walk . . . only four or five car lengths in total . . . so within a minute they were sidestepping the smokers catching a butt out front.

Though as they walked up to the entrance, Hotch's brow rose slightly in curiosity.

From the unmarred sheen of the red paint . . . and the lack of chips in the wood beneath . . . it looked like a brand new door. Which made his FBI brain start wondering just exactly how the old door had been destroyed.

Bar fight or bullet holes?

Perhaps . . . he suddenly pictured a raid . . . battering ram?

'Doesn't matter,' he reminded himself with a faint head shake as he pulled the handle. They were only there for an hour or so, which meant that he could keep his curiosity under control . . . and his questions as merely personal brain teasers . . . long enough for Emily to shoot some stick. It would be a personal test of his self-control.

Just how long could he keep 'SSA Hotchner' under wraps?

Time would tell on that one.

Though all thoughts on that point were temporarily pushed aside as Emily stepped in front of him to go through the door. That's when Hotch slid his hand down to her lower back. And as soon as he cleared the doorway himself, he slipped his arm back around her waist. That move was accompanied by a stony glare to anyone looking in their general vicinity.

He was marking her as completely "OFF LIMITS" to anyone who happened to be looking in their direction.

Which was pretty much half the bar.

At least the half that could see the door. Of course he wasn't ordinarily so 'me Tarzan, her Jane' when they were out in public . . . though he was not above scaring the shit out of any man who stared at Emily's breasts, legs, or ass for longer than five seconds . . . but tonight was different. They weren't just out in public. They were out in a scuzzy bar packed with bikers, ex-cons, and Congressional staffers.

All of your basic societal bottom feeders.

So he just wanted it crystal clear from the moment of entrance, that Emily was not to be spoken to. That she was not to be bothered in ANY way whatsoever.

She was with him.

And he could tell from the way Emily leaned into his side as her free hand came over to pat his stomach, that she was also looking to put out the same message. So Hotch gave the message a moment to sink in . . . everybody fuck off . . . and then fortunately the eyes started falling away from them.

Good . . . Hotch started walking Emily towards the bar . . . that should hopefully be the end of that. So he moved on to other matters.

Their lack of formal greeting by the owner of the establishment.

Mr. Smokey himself.

"Hmm, no Smokey," he observed offhand while scoping out the shady crew loitering by the bar, "do you think that he actually takes a night off occasionally?"

Doubtful, but it would be nice. Hotch was hoping . . . if possible . . . to not to have to be 'pleasant' (or some approximation therein) to the former head of the Outlaws.

Yes, the man had a tragic family history, and had evidenced a soft spot for Emily . . . but he was still a scumbag.

"No," Emily shook her head as she stood on her tiptoes slightly to scan the area, "I doubt it. He must be in the back."

Not once in all the times that she'd come to this bar . . . which was at least a couple dozen now . . . had she ever seen a night where Smokey hadn't turned up eventually.

Days off just didn't seem to be in his nature. Then she huffed to herself.

Kind of like somebody else that she knew.

And speaking of the somebody else . . . her head tipped slightly to the side as she looked up at Hotch . . . she really hoped that he was going to have a good time tonight. After all . . . she bit her lip as two men across the room started pounding each other . . . this wasn't exactly his favorite location.

"You really are okay with us being here, right?" She asked with a touch of concern. But the concern seemed unfounded as Hotch looked down at her with a soft smile.

"Of course, sweetheart. You wanted to play pool, so we'll play pool," he tipped his head over to the raucous beating going on in the corner, "even if we have to step over a few bloodied bodies to do it." Then he winked, "we'll just consider it a work day."

They had been a little light on the physical action lately, and as long as the pounding didn't turn into a massacre . . . i.e. enough blood was being spilled to warrant him interceding . . . then the pugilists could solve whatever their dispute was on their own terms.

Emily snorted, "okay then," she leaned up to kiss his cheek, "thanks honey."

"So," with a faint huff she switched gears while snapping her attention over to Lucas eyeing them suspiciously, "do you want to get a beer?"

Though Hotch had been very sweet going on the wagon with her . . . her wagon of course being mandatory because of medication interactions . . . if ever her man was going to need a drink to relax, this would be the place.

"No, no," Hotch's brow wrinkled slightly as he shook his head, "it's fine. I'll just get a ginger ale," he looked down at her, "you want a diet Coke?"

That was her standard.

When Emily nodded, Hotch looked back over towards Lucas. His brow darkened slightly as he did . . . it wouldn't do to look soft in front of one of Smokey's men . . . while making a gesture for him to come towards them.

Of course as he moved down the bar, Lucas' own expression tightened up a notch as well.

Hotch huffed to himself . . . it was probably Smokey's rule one.

Never be nice to the feebs.

"You two sticking around?" Lucas asked warily.

The question wasn't really unexpected, though it still . . . for some reason . . . amused Hotch. He did so enjoy making convicted criminals uncomfortable.

So his lip quirked up slightly in a cold smile.

"We are. So if you need to run around back and tell your boss, feel free to do it now. But first," he tipped his head down to Emily tucked against his side, "get the lady a diet coke. Bottle preferably."

"And a ginger ale for him," Emily added with a pat to Hotch's stomach.

It was clear that their physical interactions had not escaped Lucas' attention . . . nor had the side arms that they were still wearing.

His eyes were bouncing around their bodies like he had rubber balls in there.

And though Hotch had a perverse inclination to tap his fingers on the butt of his pistol just to see if he could make the balls stop bouncing, he let them hang at his side instead.

No reason to be THAT antagonistic, at least not this early in the evening.

Save some fun for later!

So after Lucas had dropped their drinks down onto the counter with a begrudging nod to Emily's cheerful, "thanks Lucas," Hotch simply slid a ten back towards him.

"Keep the change."

Then he picked up his plastic bottle . . . Emily had already taken hers . . . and turned to start back towards the pool tables.

As they cut around the other patrons, Emily began pointing out some of the regulars that were still hanging about. Hotch was listening with half an ear . . . mostly he was watching for trouble spots . . . but then Emily started to laugh, his attention snapped back down.

"What?"

Emily was still laughing as she gestured slightly with her chin.

"Slash, he just saw me, waved, then saw you, and," she snorted, "flipped you off."

It was amazing the first impressions that Hotch could make. Though as she thought back, Emily did recall that at one point on his original outing to Smokey's, Hotch had slammed Slash against the bathroom wall and threatened to tie his testes into a bow.

And then rip the bow off and toss it in the trash.

That was after Slash had 'accidentally' bumped Hotch into the sink when the two of them had crossed paths without Emily there to intercede. Of course it wasn't just the bump that had set Hotch off. Slash had also shared a few choice words about Hotch's mother . . . and grandmother.

And Hotch himself.

So really, given that the Metro PD hadn't had to be called, that encounter had ended about as well as could have been expected.

That is, without a body bag.

Hotch's lips began to twitch at Emily's pronouncement.

"Did he now?" his gaze shifted towards the corner to see the man with the oversized lightning bolt carved over half of his face still glowering at him, "I'm sorry I missed it."

Though it probably was for the best that he had. The comments about his mother/grandmother had not yet been forgotten.

Nor forgiven.

So if Slash came within four feet of him, most likely he was going to be able to add a new nickname to the roster.

Something involving his ability to sing soprano.

But knowing that he couldn't get himself bogged down in those plans . . . Slash certainly wasn't the only asshole shooting him the eye at the moment . . . Hotch refocused simply on getting to the pool tables a little further back.

Though . . . he heard a slightly dejected sigh from his side as he looked over the area under the hanging lights . . . it did appear that they were all full at the moment.

"I guess we'll have to wait," Emily murmured as her head flopped to Hotch's chest.

Of course she should have planned for this possibility because the place had always been busy regardless of the night she went. But given that it was only Thursday, she'd just kind of figured that they'd luck out.

But no.

And from what she could see, these were all hardcore sharks at the tables . . . she'd played with half of them before and mostly gotten her ass kicked . . . so she knew that they could easily stay there until closing.

Which meant that she wouldn't get to play at all.

Hotch's gaze shifted down to the look of disappointment on Emily's face, and then back over to the four occupied pool tables.

He passed Emily his unopened bottle of ginger ale.

"Hold this for a second please, sweetheart," he murmured while guiding her over to an empty wooden chair against the wall.

After he had Emily seated . . . now with a wrinkled brow to match her pouty lips . . . Hotch walked over to the opposite wall. There he shifted his body slightly so that Emily couldn't see what he was doing. Then he slipped his hand into his pocket to pull out his wallet.

He discretely fanned the bills inside the little leather pocket.

Just over four hundred.

He pulled out forty . . . then rolled his eyes and pulled out another sixty. With this crowd . . . and the stacks of cash sitting on those tables . . . there was no way that he'd get any takers on his request for less than a hundred.

So once he had the hundred curled in his fist, Hotch tucked his wallet away again and headed over to the table with the smallest wad of cash stacked on it.

It seemed his best place to start.

/*/*/*/

Emily watched in confusion as Hotch walked over to one of the sharks in the corner.

What the hell was he doing?

He'd plopped her down in a seat, walked away . . . paused for a second to do something that she couldn't see . . . and then started off with some sort of purpose in his step. But she didn't know what he could be up to, because it was obvious from where she was sitting . . . even with her somewhat obstructed view . . . that at least two of those tables had serious bets going on them.

And again, all four had professional sharks playing, so there was no way that any of them were in the midst of a 'friendly' game of anything. This was cash money all the way.

So they weren't going to let anyone else play until they were done bleeding each other dry. Which was why she was a bit surprised when Hotch interrupted one of the games.

Though not nearly as surprised as when he suddenly pointed back in her direction.

The other man's eyes followed over.

Emily's own eyes then widened in recognition . . . a name had just popped into her head . . . so she raised her hand in a small wave.

That was Big Slim. He'd once taken her for two hundred bucks. Then the following week she'd won it back, plus another hundred and seventy.

That was one of her biggest prizes ever.

Though she didn't know if Big Slim would remember her, she certainly remembered him. It wasn't likely she was going to forget the name of anybody who was six foot five and weighed a hundred fifty pounds soaking wet.

But as she thought back to that second pool tournament, Emily did recall Big Slim saying at the time that she was one of only three women to have ever taken a dime off of him.

So that was probably something that he was going to remember.

And sure enough, after he'd stared at her blankly for a second, she saw his eyes widen as his lips curled up into something resembling a smile.

It was a terrifying look.

But the poor guy was homely as sin . . . seriously there wasn't one symmetrical feature working on that face . . . so as she recalled, his smiles had always been fairly upsetting to look at. He was a nice enough guy though.

For a street hustler.

And she could see him giving her the once over before he looked back at Hotch again. Hotch was saying something, then pointing to her again, then the table, then gesturing to his watch.

Big Slim said something back . . . Emily would have killed for one of those Miracle Ears about then . . . before he pointed to his opponent. Hotch nodded to whatever that was, and then the opponent shrugged.

Everyone was quiet for a second before Big Slim started saying something else as he tipped his head back in her direction. Whatever the something else was, it was a story that went on for nearly a minute. And by the time he was done talking, Emily's eyes had widened in surprise.

Hotch was grinning in a full wattage, ear to ear, double barrel dimpled . . . SMILE!

She'd never seen him display that much joy or enthusiasm . . . not to mention the dimples . . . to anyone outside of her, Jack, or Sean! And she certainly never would have expected to see him light up like that, in a place like this.

But whatever had just been said certainly had given him quite a bit of amusement. Because he was still smiling when he turned to look over at her.

And though she still had no idea what he was doing over there . . . or saying about her . . . she couldn't help but smile back.

He was just too adorable.

Then he winked at her and she felt a little spot of warmth burn in her chest. She loved those winks.

They were always just for her.

So she watched as he turned back to Big Slim, saying something else of relatively short duration right before the two men shook hands. After that, Hotch turned away and began cutting back around the pool tables again.

Finally he arrived back at the chair where he'd left her five minutes before.

He stopped in front of her.

"Would you mind sharing your seat with me, ma'am?" He asked with a trace of lingering amusement.

Emily's mouth quivered as she stood up.

"That sounds like a very crass come on," she said while moving slightly to the side so that he could sit down.

Hotch's brow rose in amusement.

"Crass?" he huffed as he tugged her down onto his lap, "I'll have you know that's one of my best pick-up lines."

"Well," Emily laughed as she leaned back against him, "then thank God that I took you off the dating market, because you were going to end up getting arrested with a routine like that!"

Feeling the faint chuckle of laughter vibrating through Hotch's chest, Emily smiled. Then she patted the arm that had wrapped itself around her waist.

"So what were you doing over there? And what did Big Slim say that was so amusing that you actually smiled in public like a regular person?"

"Big Slim?" Hotch repeated as he cranked his head back to look into the corner, "yeah, I guess I can see that. And what amused me so much," he continued as his gaze shifted back to the woman in his arms, "was a story that he told me about you."

"Me," Emily repeated innocently, "what about me?"

Crap.

"Well," Hotch started slowly as he rested his chin on Emily's shoulder, "he was telling me how you, quote, 'that hot lady fed,' as he referred to you, had once taken him fair and square for three hundred and seventy dollars. And that when someone in the crowd who'd bet against you, called you a quote, 'cheating little tramp,' end quote, you went over and knocked the asshole flat out on his back." Hotch chuckled, "but my favorite part of the story, was when you apparently ground your boot into the guy's wrist, while you took the ten bucks out of his hand."

"Well," Emily huffed indignantly, "it was MY money!"

And the asshole didn't think he had to make good on the bet because she was a girl. Pfft . . . she thought back to him bleeding on the floor . . . showed him what girls can do.

Kick your ass six ways to Sunday, that's what.

"I never doubted it for a second," Hotch murmured as leaned forward to kiss her cheek, "I was just very proud of you is all."

If he lived to be a hundred, he would never tire of hearing tales of his girl's epic smack downs.

She should have a cape and an invisible jet.

"Oh, okay," Emily's indignation immediately deflated as she patted Hotch's hand, "thanks. So," her gaze flickered briefly to the corner table, "did Big Slim say how many games they were playing? I'm assuming that was the main topic of your conversation," she rolled her eyes slightly, "not my bar room exploits."

"Yeah," Hotch nodded, "actually he's going to let us have the table next. He just needs to finish this game."

Emily swung her head around in surprise.

"Seriously? But they usual go at least best of five, and it didn't look like he had enough money on that table to be more than a game in."

"Well," Hotch shrugged, "I pointed you out, said that you were my girlfriend, that you were pregnant and couldn't stay out all night, but wanted to play a couple of games of stick. It was just luck that he actually knew who you were, I wasn't expecting that. But that's when he told me that story about the last time he'd played pool with you. And he said that he could take a two hour break as long as we held the table until he got back," Hotch huffed, "apparently he's got a lady friend down the block, so he's going to head down there as soon as he finishes up this game."

The whole exchange was actually surprisingly civil. Big Slim, like so many of the upstanding gentlemen in this establishment, was a big fan of his Emily's, so he'd been amenable to doing her a harmless favor. Of course the hundred bucks that Hotch had also offered him as compensation for potentially lost winnings, had been what really sealed the deal to give up the table. But Emily didn't need to know about that. That's why he'd slipped it over discretely in the final handshake.

Let her think that for once somebody was nice just because.

There were too few people like that in their world.

"Hmph," Emily turned to give Hotch a kiss, "well thanks honey." Then she shifted to lean back against his chest again, "pregnant huh," she mused, "that was a good excuse."

Much better than the ridiculously melodramatic, "she has cancer!" Of course that was true, but again, ridiculously melodramatic.

Like she was in a damn Lifetime movie and crossing off items on her bucket list.

"Yeah," Hotch nodded, "I thought it would work well for a smidge of sympathy. And actually," he cleared his throat, "Big Slim passed along his congratulations on our upcoming 'bundle of joy.'"

"Did he now?" Emily asked with a smirk, "and what did he say exactly?"

This ought to be good.

"Quote," Hotch responded stiffly, "'got that fine woman knocked up, did you? Good on you man for scoring a hole in one." Then Hotch paused for a beat, "really, said with a Jamaican accent Emily, it was very sweet."

Emily burst out laughing.

"Yeah," she snorted, "I'll bet it was right up there Shakespeare's best 'knocked up' sonnets."

"It was," Hotch nodded, "really. I think the 'hole in one' is what really gave it that extra touch of class."

And going by Emily's giggle . . . which resulted in a corresponding slip of one of his dimples . . . he knew that Emily did as well.

Then she sighed happily as she settled back against his chest.

"So I guess we still have at least twenty minutes to kill." She pointed to Big Slim's opponent, "I can't remember that guy's name, but as I recall he was pretty good too, so neither of them are going down that fast."

When they were that good, the goal with every shot wasn't just to get your own balls in, but also to fuck up the position of your opponent's.

So again, that was at least fifteen to twenty minutes of back and forth.

"Hmm," Hotch murmured as he checked his watch, "well, that's not too bad. We should still be out of here by ten at the latest."

They'd get home, he'd draw Emily a bath, make her some tea, and a little snack to take with her evening pills. Yeah . . . he nodded to himself . . . she should still be in bed well before midnight.

"Yep," Emily bit her lip, "ten sounds about right."

Then, with a stifled yawn . . . she really wasn't tired, it was just normal long day yawning . . . her gaze shifted from the pool tables, to the other parts of the bar.

First to the center of the room with the tall rickety tables, complete with the even more rickety stools. And then to the scuffed green leather booths along the wall . . . they were about half full.

And then finally to the small dance floor running opposite where they were facing.

Lots of people, lots of noise . . . her eyes crinkled . . . it was nice. It was nice just being out like a normal person. Just out pretending that everything was normal.

Pretending the world was like it was before.

It was probably the last time that she'd be able to do that for a while. Well, out in a situation like this anyway. If she made a request to come back here a month from now, she knew that Hotch wouldn't be so amenable.

He'd probably just flat out say no.

And really . . . she felt a little sting of melancholy . . . he'd probably be right. A month from now she wouldn't have any business at all being in a place like this. And thinking about that, and thinking about the other things she wouldn't be able to do, she started to feel a little sad.

It was stupid. Really it wasn't like her condition was new to her, these were all facts that had already been in evidence before they'd arrived there that night, but still, her emotions were what they were. And then she spotted a lanky blonde tossing back a shot of whiskey and her little bit of sadness welled up to an actual stinging of her eyes.

"I really miss JJ," she murmured as much to herself as to Hotch.

It was just a statement of fact. She did miss JJ.

She missed her a lot.

Still though, Emily was a little surprised when Hotch shifted her around in his lap so he could see her face.

"Do you want me to call and ask her to come meet us?"

"What?" Emily's eyes widened in surprise, "like, now?"

Was he nuts?!

"Yeah," Hotch nodded, "JJ and Will just live over in NW, Woodland I think, so if they swung around the city I bet they could be here in twenty minutes."

"But," Emily frowned, "what about the baby? And the fact that they might not actually want to, you know, leave their home?"

These seemed like kind of important questions.

"Well," Hotch slipped his phone from his pocket, "as to the baby, if they don't have a local sitter, I'm sure that Garcia would revel in pinch hitting on Godmother duties. And as for whether or not they'd like to leave their house," he shrugged, "we won't know unless we ask them. So," he held up his phone, "what do you say? Should we ask them?"

JJ and Will were the ONE other couple that they had actually socialized with in the past. Actually, they were the one other couple that they socialized with period.

Hotch wasn't really a big fan of, well, people. But he was actually a very big fan of JJ, and he had a growing respect . . . and affection . . . for Will.

He was a good guy.

And if it would make Emily happy to see her girlfriend . . . it had been painfully obvious from her tone that she was genuinely missing her right now . . . then he saw no downside in asking the other couple if they'd like to meet them for a game of pool. It was just a twenty minute drive and a couple of hours out of the house.

Again, everyone would be home by ten pm.

"Um," Emily looked at the phone dangling, and then back up to Hotch, "yeah," she smiled, "if you think maybe she might like to come out, I would kind of like to call her."

If nothing else at least she could talk to her for a minute, and maybe that would be enough to ward off the little twinge of melancholy that she was feeling about her friend.

That was the other thing about being sick.

You started to miss people that you didn't see often in a way that you didn't miss them when you were well. Because when you werewell, you could always call them tomorrow. Because when you were well, there was always another tomorrow.

An endless supply.

But when you were sick, tomorrows started to come with question marks on them.

That reminder that eventually your tomorrows ran out.

Of course everyone's tomorrows run out eventually . . . but right now her eventually, might be a little more eventual, than it was for most. And for that reason she'd been trying to think of a way to get together with JJ for the last few weeks.

Really since the Christmas party last month when they'd actually promised to do so.

But given how little excess energy she had by the end of the day . . . and her general desire to spend all of her weekend free time with her boys . . . Emily hadn't yet figured something out.

Of course if she could just invite JJ to bring the baby over some weekend, that would great. But with Hotch's moving in still a secret . . . technically Hotch himself was still a secret but that was more of a grey area when it came to JJ and Will . . . she couldn't very well invite anyone else from the team into her home.

Their home.

It was filled with pictures of the two of them with and without Jack. Plus all of the toys, children's books, Jack's drawings, and just the general evidence of an actual family living in a small space. Which was wonderful on every point imaginable.

Except for secret keeping of course.

But a simple game of pool . . . she slipped the phone from Hotch's hand . . . that should be just the ticket.

If JJ wanted to come out of course.

Really though . . . Emily popped into Hotch's speed dials . . . she might be happy for a couple hours out of the house.

As she pressed down on the green button, Emily tipped her head against Hotch's shoulder. And as the phone began to ring in her ear, she felt him rubbing soft circles on her stomach.

It was nice.

And then JJ picked up the phone.

"Hi Hotch," she answered a little breathlessly, "what's up?"

"Hey Jayje," Emily's eyes crinkled, "it's actually me. I stole Hotch's phone."

"EM!" JJ's voice shot up three octaves, enough for Emily to pull the phone slightly away from her ear, "hi! How ARE you?! You know I was just saying to Will over dinner that I should call you this weekend and see if you guys wanted to come over. Remember we said that we'd do that at the Christmas party, and then we never did," then her voice faded slightly, "I really miss you."

Hearing the sadness in JJ's words, Emily's began to sting again.

"Yeah," she whispered back, "I miss you too. That's actually why I was calling," she cleared her throat, "um, Hotch and I are at this bar and uh, well, I know it's really last minute and you've got the baby and all, but we were wondering if maybe you and Will might want to come meet us and play some pool. We only have the table for a couple hours so you'd be home by ten."

The words had barely left Emily's mouth before JJ jumped all over them.

"Oh! That sounds like fun! Yeah, um, let me talk to Will but I'm sure he'll say yes," she chuckled, "he was just complaining that they blacked out the game he wanted to watch tonight so he's got nothing else to do. And the baby's already down so I just have to ask the girl next door to come sit with him. So let me give her a call and then you can text me directions on where we're going."

"Sounds like a plan," Emily said with a grin before adding with her hand over her mouth, "oh and you might want to take your gun, because we're sort of in a bad neighborhood of a bad quadrant."

Actually, the worst neighborhood of the worst quadrant, but why quibble?

"Oh," JJ's tone rose slightly in interest, "which bad neighborhood?"

"Anacostia."

And JJ burst out laughing.

"Only you would go play pool in the worst neighborhood in the city!"

"I know, I know," Emily chuckled, "I've heard it all from Hotch."

"Yeah," JJ snorted, "I'll bet. So yeah, okay, we'll come armed! See you in a bit."

"K," Emily smiled, "the text will be there in a minute. Bye."

"Bye!"

And then there was a dial tone. Emily turned to shoot a grin at Hotch.

"They're on their way!"

A/N 2: So yeah, couple chapters here on the trip to Smokey's. I'd really wanted to work JJ and Will specifically more into this version of the story, so I thought this was a good place to do so.

And I do see given her illness that Emily would be looking back over their past with a new eye.

Thanks as always for any and all feedback past and future :)