Author's Note: Picking up in Montana, after their interview at the prison. This is a few days after the Lamaze class.

Week 8

Measure for Measure

"You're making me dizzy."

Hotch stopped pacing to look across the small examination room . . . Emily was glaring at him. And given that the glare was a bit stronger than the one he'd been getting from her for the last hour, he figured an apology might be in order.

His nose wrinkled slightly.

"Sorry."

With a slow exhale, Emily attempted to push aside her irritation with Hotch. A second later she patted the space next to her.

"Just come over here and sit down with me," she said softly.

Yes, she knew that Hotch paced when he was anxious, he couldn't help that personal tic, but her nerves had already taken too much of a beating today. So basically right now he was genuinely pissing her off.

And that was on top of the fact that she'd been annoyed with him since they'd left the prison!

Though . . . she sighed . . . continuing to be angry with him really wasn't accomplishing anything beyond adding more tension to their already crappy evening. Because he wasn't purposely trying to piss her off. He was just being overprotective.

And he couldn't help that personal tic either.

After staring at Emily for a second, Hotch took a breath and crossed over to where she was sitting . . . he hiked himself up onto the exam table next to her. For a moment neither of them said anything, but then as his eyes dropped to the floor, he asked quietly.

"Are you still feeling okay?"

This was the third time he had asked her that question since they'd arrived at the hospital. And he had received the same look of irritation from her each time the words had left his mouth.

That's why he'd looked away this time.

Emily's jaw twitched as she glared over at Hotch, but then she reminded herself yet again . . . he meant well. He was just worried about her. So rather than biting his head off, she took a breath and her expression softened.

"Hotch," she answered with a sad smile, "I'm fine. Really. I don't know how many times I can tell you that. I wasn't injured," she gave a pointed nod down to the blood stains on his shirt. "You're the one who needs to be checked. We both know that you have an ugly stab wound, and a possible concussion."

Seeing Hotch immediately look away from her with a dismissive shake of his head, all thoughts of Emily's new non hostility agreement, vanished. Her blood pressure spiked again.

How could he be so fucking BLASÉ about his own health?!

So with her jaw now clenched, and an awkward silence settling over them again, she started swinging her feet back and forth thinking about how it had come to this.

It was that God damn interview with Harvey Willis. It had been a catastrophe.

Actually that wasn't quite right.

The interview had ended catastrophically, but it had started out fine. They'd actually had a very productive morning with Willis. For the first time ever, with any set of investigators, he'd been forthcoming with the details of his earliest crimes. Not only had they compiled pages and pages of useful notes, but he'd also given them some solid hints about possible dump sites for those additional victims who had never been found. Not enough information for a definitive 'x marks the spot' map to be drawn up, but certainly enough to put the dogs on the right acres. In retrospect, the specificity of his disclosures perhaps should have tipped them off earlier that something wasn't quite right with him.

It hadn't though.

But really, it wasn't that uncommon for serials to decide to start spilling their guts after they've been incarcerated for awhile. Generally though, that is more likely to happen if they're coming up on an execution date, or have passed the point of any viable appeal. And in Willis's situation, he did still have a final due process appeal pending in the 9th Circuit. And given the way the courts had been ruling lately, he might have had a decent shot of getting a new trial on at least one of his last convictions. Of course there was no guarantee that would happen, but thinking about that point had been enough for Hotch to at least comment during the break that it was a little odd Willis had suddenly become so loquacious, when he still had one more appeal in the wind.

That errant thought was probably what had saved his life.

Because it turned out that the prison had failed to share a piece of VITAL information with them about Willis' health. Last month, he had been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer.

The doctors had given him a year.

Now, to most people, a year doesn't seem like much time at all. But when you know that you're going to be dying a slow death in a prison infirmary . . . a year is a fucking eternity. Unfortunately, she and Hotch had discovered too late that that was the reason why Willis had suddenly decided to be so cooperative. Not only had he wanted to get credit for the full scope of his crimes, but their visit had also provided him with the perfect opportunity to go out on his own terms.

His terms being a final blaze of perverted glory.

Due to prison rules, it had been twelve o'clock exactly when they'd broken for lunch. While Willis had been brought to the cafeteria, she and Hotch had been escorted to the guards' breakroom. There had been no way to get a 'proper' meal in there . . . they sure as hell weren't going to head down to the main cafeteria with the general pop . . . but given how they weren't expecting to be able to get to dinner until six or seven, Emily had needed to eat something. Otherwise her nausea would have started to take over again. So in the side pocket of her satchel, she had tucked a Ziploc bag of her now standard saltine crackers, a strawberry SoyJoy bar, and a small packet of dried cranberries.

That was becoming her new, healthy, 'on the go' lunch/snack. And to her amazement, she, The Junk Food Queen, was starting to get used to it.

Of course Hotch wasn't planning on eating anything at all, but Emily had told him it wasn't good for him to skip meals either. So he'd put down his notes, rolled his eyes, and had gone over to get a granola bar out of the vending machine. He'd eaten that with a cup of prison coffee, which he said tasted like dishwater. Still, she'd looked over at it enviously while she'd drank her can of flat ginger ale that he'd almost tipped the machine over retrieving for her.

At one, they'd reconvened in the interview room.

Things had gone along okay for another two hours. And then Hotch had started to wind things down, and Willis had started to get belligerent. Until that point, he'd actually been pretty courteous.

Well, of course that was courteous by convicted felon standards.

But given how their last joint interviewee had quietly informed her that he'd like to rip out her tongue and serve it up to Hotch on a Kaiser roll with a side of spicy mustard, Willis had been a damn charm school graduate. But once he'd started getting twitchy, Hotch had given her a look . . . it had been clear that they weren't going to get anything more productive out of him . . . and then he'd called it. That was at 3:17. The two guards had come into the room at 3:20.

By 3:21 their world had gone to shit.

Emily and Hotch were standing on the other side of the table watching as the guards followed the same procedures that they had followed at the lunch break. One released the ankle cuff tethering Willis to the table, and then the other had told him to stand up and put his hands behind his back. Given that it had been such a lengthy interview, and Willis had had no history of unprovoked, violent, outbursts (against adults), Hotch had not required full restraints.

Simply keeping him locked to the table, which had been bolted to the floor, had been sufficient for him. Of course if they had known about the terminal diagnosis, they would have handled everything differently. Because then they would have known what was coming next.

And what was coming next, was the four inch long shank that Willis had smuggled in with him after lunch.

Hotch had told her afterwards, that he'd had a nagging sensation in the back of his head since he'd remembered the outstanding appeal. And when he'd folded that information in with the sudden change in Willis' behavior, he'd been eyeing him a bit more closely as they'd begun the transfer from the room. He'd still seen the shank too late though.

But that was because everything suddenly started happening much too fast.

When Willis had stood up, he'd acted like he was going to allow himself to be cuffed . . . but then he'd suddenly turned . . . and jammed those four inches of jagged metal, straight into the guard's neck.

Arterial spray had gone everywhere.

The second guard had still been rising up from the floor after undoing the shackle. And he'd been so surprised that things had just gone COMPLETELY to shit, that he hadn't been able to get out of the way before Willis had kicked him in the face.

He'd gone down hard.

That's when Willis had looked over at Hotch and Emily. Both of them had automatically reached for the guns that weren't there. And realizing how much worse things were about to get, Hotch had shoved her away with a scream for her to hit the panic button. And then he'd caught Willis just as he'd thrown himself over the table, bloody shank still in hand.

Emily had hit the button just as Hotch's skull had hit the concrete floor.

The impact had briefly slowed Hotch's reaction time, which was bad, given how Willis had been trying to stab him in the throat. Fortunately though, Hotch's training was so ingrained, that even if his brain had been on a five second delay, just for the attack, he'd automatically bucked up and flipped Willis off his chest.

He'd still gotten stabbed, but thank God it had been nowhere near a major artery.

And after Emily had hit the button, and the alarms had started bleating, she'd run back over to watch in terror at the two men grappling on the floor.

At that point she'd had no thoughts about her own safety, or even her unborn child's, she'd just been thinking about Hotch. They'd had no weapons, were already two men down, and Hotch had been visibly injured. But she couldn't just jump in to help him.

They'd been rolling.

But then Willis had gotten on top of him again and he'd pulled back his arm to take another stab with the makeshift knife. That's when Emily had FINALLY been able to get into the fray.

She'd given him a roundhouse kick to the side of his head.

Even given the force behind it, Willis had been too amped on adrenaline to drop like he should have . . . really, she should have killed him . . . but she did break his jaw. That was clear from the howl of rage filled pain as the right side of his face went slack.

And that hit from her, had been enough for Hotch to get control.

He'd flipped Willis again, and that time he'd gotten him pinned him to the ground. Emily had kicked the shank out of his hand . . . and then when she'd seen the blood soaking across Hotch's shirt . . . she'd became so enraged that she'd kicked Willis in the head for a second time.

That time she'd knocked him cold.

And that was when the guards had burst in. It had only been about two minutes since she'd hit the button, but it had felt like a hell of a lot longer. The only reason it had even taken as long as it had for reinforcements to arrive, was because the immediate response team, the guards that should have been there INSTANTANEOUSLY, were the two men covered in blood, lying on the ground.

The first guard had bled out before they had gotten even one pressure bandage on him.

Emily had tried her best to staunch his wounds until the prison nurse had gotten there, but she'd known the whole time it would have taken a miracle to save him.

The spray had gone everywhere.

But still she'd kept trying, kept pleading with him to hold on for just a little while longer. Because all she kept looking at was his shiny gold wedding band.

And she'd known that somebody was waiting for him to come home for dinner.

When the nurse had run in, Emily had fallen back on her haunches and watched the expression on the woman's face as she'd checked his vitals.

He'd already been gone.

While Hotch had helped her up off the floor, the nurse had turned her attention to the other guard. He'd had blood running out of his ear, and after they gotten him to the hospital it had been determined that he had a subdural hematoma.

Currently he was in surgery with an official prognosis of, "serious but stable."

Willis had the broken jaw, a hairline fracture in his skull, and a severe concussion from the two blows to the head . . . he'd live. And given the children that he'd butchered, and the two sobbing wives Emily had seen in the hospital lobby, she was glad that he was getting the slow death and not the quick one.

Cancer was a horrific disease. And for the first time in her life she had met someone who actually deserved all of the suffering that was coming his way. But the reason that Emily was so pissed off at Hotch right now . . . when he had been her ONLY concern in the world two hours ago . . . was because he was refusing to get any medical treatment for his injuries.

Seriously.

He'd told her that the stab wound was nothing and that he was fine. Initially she had just been confused by his behavior. That had changed to downright stunned when he'd said that they were going to the hospital though, but only so that SHE could get checked out.

HER!

He was the one whose head had been repeatedly slammed into the concrete floor! And he was the one who had gotten stabbed by a homemade knife, covered with God knew what kind of filth! And yet the only reason that they were in this hospital right now, was so that SHE could get checked out!

She'd been so angry that she'd barely spoken three civil words to him since she'd read him the riot act in the prison parking lot.

Hence the scowl she was throwing at him right now. But then she saw him wince in pain as his hand came up to touch his temple. Her expression immediately softened again.

Stupid, stubborn, RIDICULOUS man!

She reached over to pick up his hand.

"Hotch," she asked with a gentle squeeze of his fingers, "would you please, just for me, let the doc check you out too? You hit that cement hard enough to make ME wince. So you could easily have a concussion, or even a hairline fracture. And also," her lips pursed, "your wound has got to be cleaned properly. We don't know where the hell Willis was keeping that knife, and I don't want you getting an infection."

It had stopped bleeding before they'd left the prison, but Emily was terrified of the germs on that thing!

Hotch slowly dragged his eyes up off the floor and over to Emily's.

He could see her worry was now overriding the anger. And he didn't want to upset her, that's the last thing he wanted. He just wanted to make sure that she was okay . . . that Baby was okay. And her simple insistence that she was "fine," really wasn't sufficient to alleviate his fears on this front.

But maybe she had a point.

If nothing else, he probably should get the stab wound cleaned out properly. He'd been planning on doing it himself when they got back to the hotel, but it probably would be better (wiser) to get it done now by a professional.

So with a squeeze of her fingers he nodded back.

"Okay," he responded softly, "I'll get checked." Then, seeing the obvious relief on her face, he quickly added, "but only AFTER the doctor looks at you."

Emily was about to protest again, but then she realized that there was no point. It was obvious that Hotch's primary, his only, concern was her condition. So there was no way he was leaving the room before he knew that she was okay. Which was really, so very sweet.

Yet INCREDIBLY frustrating!

Basically the story of her life with Hotch. But as long as he'd now agreed to be examined as well, that was really all that mattered. So she nodded back.

"All right," and then she gave him a hard look, "but you swear to me that you'll let him look at you right after he's done with me?"

His eyes crinkled slightly.

"Yes, Agent Prentiss, I pinky swear, cross my heart, that I will get checked out right after he's done with you."

The last of Emily's irritation faded with the twitch of her lips.

"Did anyone ever tell you that sometimes, Hotch," she shot him an eyebrow, "you're a real pain in the ass?"

"Yes," he huffed slightly as his eyes dropped back to the ground, "yes, I believe I've been told that before."

The exam room door suddenly opened, and both of their eyes shot across the room.

The doctor was looking down at the chart when he came through the door, but then he lifted his head, stopping and blinking as he looked between the two of them.

They'd both forgotten their jackets at the prison, and between Hotch's wound, and Emily's efforts to save the dead guard, they were both splattered with a fair amount of blood.

Basically their day was written all over them.

The doctor's eyes widened as he stared at them for another beat, and then looked back down to the chart.

"I'm sorry," he muttered in confusion, "am I in the right room? I'm supposed to be doing a welfare check on an expectant mother," then he looked over at them worriedly, "have you two been checked out yet?"

Hotch shook his head.

"We haven't been checked yet, but most of the blood isn't ours. He slipped his badge out of his pocket, holding it up, "there was an incident at the prison," he tipped his head towards Emily, "she's the expectant mother." He gave Emily a hard look, "and she DOES need to be checked."

And for using that tone after she'd already agreed to be examined, Emily shot him back the same look.

Two can play this game.

"As does he," she looked over at the doctor, "there's no chart on him though, because he wouldn't sign in. But really doctor, he absolutely needs medical attention. He's got a stab wound in his left shoulder, and he hit his head pretty hard on a concrete floor."

With his jaw now twitching in anger, Hotch glared over Emily. Because he knew what was going to happen now. And sure enough, the doctor's attention was immediately focused in on him as he hurried over to shine the light in his eyes.

"No," Hotch turned away and ground out, "NO, you check her first! She's pregnant!"

The doctor started to get agitated, "agent, if you'd just . . ."

But Hotch cut him off again with a vehement, "NO! You check her and THEN you can check me!"

Emily caught the doctor's eyes and gave him a shrug.

Welcome to my world pal.

So with a frustrated shake of his head, the doctor stepped back.

"Okay, fine," he huffed, "we'll check Miss . . ."

And Hotch cut him off again, that time with a frigid look and a matching tone.

"Agent. Her name is Agent Prentiss."

It was on the God damn sheet. Emily was too angry about being dragged to the hospital to be cooperative in the waiting room so Hotch had filled it out for her, and he'd clearly written 'Agent' right there at the top. It always pissed him off when people spoke to Emily and JJ like that. He was addressed by their collective title and they were addressed as "Miss."

It was bullshit.

Emily's eyes crinkled at Hotch's obvious anger with the doctor's method of addressing her. Again, he was much too sweet for her to stay annoyed with him. But that subtle sexism from the doctor was something that she had become accustomed to over the years. If it was a situation like this, where she knew the person didn't mean anything derogatory by it, she just let it go. But she had noticed that Hotch never did. He always corrected the person. And he always did it in the same tone.

Like you'd just called his mother a whore.

And as she saw the doctor, the kid really, he was probably only twenty-five or twenty-six, jump slightly at the scorn in his tone, she squeezed Hotch's hand. And to her amusement . . . he squeezed back.

Stuttering slightly, the doctor murmured a quick apology to her before his eyes dropped down to their joined hands. He looked up at Hotch a little warily.

"Are you staying for the ultrasound, Agent?"

It was clear to Emily that he'd prefer to not be dealing with him any longer. Granted, Hotch was kind of scary sometimes, and he was definitely pretty cranky right now, still though, there was no reason to chase him out of the room. Especially because she knew that his concern over her health was the precise reason that he was so cranky.

So right after Hotch had said "no" and pushed himself off the table, Emily immediately contradicted him while tugging back on his hand.

"Hotch, wait," then she looked over at the doctor, "will you be doing anything besides the external ultrasound?"

He shook his head.

"No, not unless you're experiencing any particular symptoms. But according to the notes of the triage nurse, it says you didn't suffer any physical trauma and you're not experiencing any pain, discomfort, or bleeding, correct?"

When she nodded her affirmation, he gave her a little smile.

"Then it sounds like you're probably fine. So I think the ultrasound should be more than sufficient to remove any concerns about fetal distress."

Emily bit back a sigh.

And that was because she didn't have any concerns about fetal distress. She knew Baby was fine. Hotch was the one who was freaking out! Which was why she thought it might be better if she let him see for himself that there weren't any problems.

"You can stay," she said softly as she turned and brought her free hand up to briefly touch his cheek, "and then you'll see that everything's okay."

His eyebrow went up as he looked down at her.

"You're sure?"

That actually would make him feel much better. But he would never would have asked to stay in the room while she had a medical procedure done.

Even if it was a non-invasive one.

Emily's lips curved in a soft smile.

"Yep, it's fine," and then one upside to this whole travesty of an afternoon came to her, and her eyes crinkled as she gave his hand a squeeze, "besides, it'll be nice to have somebody else see Baby too."

That was one thing which did make her a little sad when she went to the obstetrician. Most of the time, the other women were there with a friend or their partner. And she'd see them come out after their checkup and they'd be all excited. Sometimes they'd be carrying the little black and white pictures.

It would be fun to have that experience just once.

Hotch found himself involuntarily smiling back at her.

"Okay then," then with a quick schooling of his features, he shot the doctor another slight scowl, "I'm staying."

He still hadn't forgiven the "miss" thing.

With a pained smile the doctor nodded back a, "great," before shifting his attention over to Emily.

"Misssagent, if you could please lie down?"

Mouth quivering at his mangled address, Emily let go of Hotch's hand and swung her legs up so she could scoot back on the exam paper.

Hotch shot her a tiny grin as he walked around to the other side of the table.

He'd also caught the doctor's fumble.

Though when he looked down at Emily, he noticed that there wasn't any support there for her head and he murmured drolly, "it's too bad we're not going to class tonight, then we'd have your precious pillow with us."

She chuckled before suddenly remembering something that she'd meant to tell him.

"Oh, that reminds me, I found a class in Manassas that meets at eight pm on Tuesdays," she looked up at him hopefully, "do you think that we could try that one next week?"

At first, the idea of Hotch being her birthing coach had been a little weird. But in the days since her God awful experience at the first class, she'd started getting more excited about it. Yes, she would still probably feel strange if he was actually in the delivery room with her, just because that would be a little too much personal 'exposure' to share with a man who was technically her boss. But when it came to just the classes, she was relieved to have him there simply for the support.

It was the only support she had from anyone.

Hotch's lip quirked up.

"Sure," then he grunted, "and an eight pm class will give us PLENTY of time to drop off our weapons first."

He was going to make damn sure this next class went a hell of a lot better than the last one! If it was just a matter of her getting the process down, that would be one thing. But the primary end game here was for her to make friends, so he was going to make sure absolutely nothing went wrong this time. So rule one, definitely NO weapons onsite! And he was also going to be nice and sociable even if it fricking killed him!

He couldn't take another night that ended with her in tears.

Emily's cheeks got slightly warm as she gave Hotch a little smile.

"Right, no guns. Speaking of which," she sat up and took off her holster, handing it to Hotch as she added ironically.

"I'd kind of like to not have a picture of my baby and a handgun."

Giving her a sympathetic look, he tucked her holster in on his right hip as he rubbed her shoulder with his left hand. Then as she lay back, he looked over at the doctor setting things up.

Hotch hadn't been in the room for an ultrasound since Haley was pregnant. Obviously that had been a very different experience for him personally. And although it felt a little strange being here for something so personal when he wasn't the father, he just wanted to make sure that Emily was okay. Everything had happened SO fast at the prison that he hadn't even had a chance to stop and think about Baby until it was all over.

Of course he had been very conscious of Emily being in the room with him, and knowing if Willis killed him, that she would be next. So he'd discovered that his personal worries about her safety had actually helped to focus his attentions rather than distract him. In retrospect, that was a relief.

At least he knew that whatever his feelings for Emily were, that he could still work with her in the field without compromising their safety.

But as soon as Willis had been subdued, and Hotch had looked over at her covered in the guard's blood, he'd started to panic.

Even though he'd been fairly sure that she hadn't been hit . . . again everything had happened so fast, he couldn't give a perfect second by second recitation of events . . . but the stress of the situation could have been enough to cause a serious problem. That's why he'd insisted on her getting checked even though he'd known she'd been pissed off at him for ignoring his own injuries.

But he never would have forgiven himself if it had turned out something was wrong and she hadn't known until it was too late.

So now Hotch watched as the doctor rolled the machine over and then lifted the bottom of Emily's shirt so he could put the jelly on her stomach.

Seeing her nose wrinkle, his eyes immediately crinkled in response.

"Cold?" He whispered.

"Yeah," she nodded, "it always feels weird."

And then, seeing the doctor pick up the wand . . . her muscles clenched up.

Even though she'd already told Hotch that Baby was fine, she couldn't help but get nervous now that they were at the actual examination. That little nagging part of her brain that worried there would be something wrong, popped up and started whispering bad thoughts.

Hotch glanced over to see Emily's brow was now pinched and he realized that she was getting anxious. But she'd mentioned to him before that the exams always made her a little antsy and he had a pretty good understanding as to why that was. And even though he felt this exam was important, he started to feel guilty about upsetting her. So he grabbed the stool behind him and shifted so he could sit down by her head. He brushed her bangs back.

"Don't worry," he whispered in her ear, "I'm sure Baby's okay. You know I just like to be cautious. We'll see everything's fine and then I'll get checked out and we'll go to dinner." Then he tried to distract her, "maybe I'll even let you get something that's bad for you."

Feeling some of her tension dissipate, Emily's eyes flicked over to Hotch's.

"French fries?"

His lips twitched, "we can split an order."

She smiled.

"Okay," then her gaze shifted down to the doctor who was fiddling with the controls. She watched as he turned and started running the wand over her stomach, pressing down just enough to make her tense up. Even though she knew he had to do that or he wouldn't see anything, she still had the immediate desire to kick him in the teeth.

Like he was hurting Baby.

But she reminded herself again that Baby was safely floating in a sac of amniotic fluid. A little pressure from the wand wouldn't touch it . . . and then suddenly there was the image on the screen. Her eyes started to burn as a huge grin spread across her face.

It was just as amazing as the first time!

And in her excitement, she reached over to grab Hotch's hand.

"See! It's Baby!"

It really was SO much better having somebody to share this with! Somebody besides the medical staff. Because Hotch was somebody who actually cared about the little life growing inside of her. He'd be happy for her.

Hotch turned to Emily with a dimple.

"Yes, I see. It is indeed Baby. Were we expecting someone else?"

When she started to laugh, he turned back to the monitor.

He remembered enough about Haley's pregnancy that he could still discern all the working parts on the screen. And when he saw the little heart beating in front of him, he was filled with that same warmth he'd felt when he'd had that small bump under his hand. And all of those feelings for Emily that he'd been trying so hard to keep tamped down . . . they all came bubbling back up.

But this wasn't his baby.

He couldn't get attached to the two of them. Not like that. But still, he could see how happy she was. So despite his best efforts to stay emotionally distant from the moment, he felt the warmth spread and then he found himself smiling back at her as he again brushed back her hair. And still the whole time he was desperately hoping that these feelings would start to go away.

If they didn't he was going to end up with a broken heart.

The doctor chuckled at Hotch's comment about the baby, and then looked back at the image on the screen.

"So have you guys thought about any names yet?"

Seeing Hotch's eyes pop out at the question, Emily bit down a chuckle.

But the man had just been holding her hand while they discussed Lamaze classes. And he was the one who was insisting (VERY emphatically) that she and the baby get checked. So it wasn't a huge leap to see where the doctor had deduced that he was the father. But rather than get into the whole thing, she simply answered the question that was asked.

"No, no names," and then her amusement faded, along with her voice, "well, not really."

If it was a girl she thought she might name her after her sister. But she wasn't sure. Part of her really liked the idea, and part of her was just afraid that it might be too depressing. She figured she had a few months to think about it.

As he saw Emily's face fall, Hotch's brow wrinkled in concern.

"You okay?" He whispered.

The doctor's assumption had thrown him a bit. It was like he was reading his thoughts, but now he was just worried about Emily. She looked . . . sad.

And a minute ago she'd been so happy.

After taking a deep breath to push away those more maudlin thoughts, Emily looked over at Hotch.

"Yeah," she answered with a nod before directing her attention down to the doctor, "so everything's fine, right? I was just at the doctor two weeks ago and she said was everything was going well."

The doctor turned to them with a smile.

"Yeah, everything looks just fine. You're all clear."

And with the ultrasound done, he turned the machine off and went over to get a paper towel for Emily to wipe off her stomach. At the same time, Hotch was helping her sit up even as he was asking for one more confirmation.

"So absolutely no indications of any fetal distress?"

Because he just had to be sure.

But then the doctor shook his head as he came back over and handed her the towel.

"Nope, no signs of distress. Everything looks good. But let's do one more check of your vitals Agent Prentiss, just to verify again."

So Emily shifted around, and after he'd checked her heart rate, the doctor moved on to her blood pressure. They were all quiet for a second while he listened, and then he slowly let the cuff deflate.

"Yep," he smiled, "all clear."

The nurse had already checked Emily's vitals during triage and had said everything was normal then. So feeling particularly vindicated now knowing that she'd been right all along, Emily looked back over to Hotch. She was about to give him a "see, I told you," but then she saw how genuinely relieved he looked.

And she felt a stab of shame.

Why was she going to be a smart ass when all he'd wanted was to make sure that she and her baby were healthy? And he was literally the ONLY person who actually did give a crap about the two of them. Well, the two of them as a unit. So instead of saying what she was going to, she just took his hand again and gave him a soft smile.

"Okay, Baby and I have the all clear, so now it's your turn."

Hotch let out a huff as he squeezed her fingers.

"Okay."

A deal was a deal. And he actually did have a splitting headache. So if nothing else, maybe he could get some damn Tylenol.

So he sat very patiently on the stool while his pupils were checked. Then he had to stand up to do some basic equilibrium tests.

When he was done, the doctor said that cognitively, everything seemed fine, but he was still ordering an x-ray just to make sure. But that he was going to clean out his stab wound before he left.

When the doctor went out to get the nurse back, Hotch dropped back onto the stool and started unbuttoning his shirt. And seeing the wince on his face as he twisted to try to get his sleeve, Emily quickly hopped down off the table to go help him.

As she stood between his legs, she leaned up to gently tug the material off his shoulder. Then she reached around to pull the sleeve down his other arm.

When she stepped back . . . holding his bloody shirt in her hand . . . her eyes began to water. Because now she was looking at his chest covered in what was formerly a white t-shirt.

It was now mostly crimson.

God . . . her stomach churned . . . that was a LOT of blood! Before, she had been assuming that at least some of what was on the dress shirt, was, like her stained shirt, spray from the guard. But this was underneath.

This was all Hotch.

Her teeth sunk into her lip as her watery eyes snapped up to his face.

"You almost died today," she whispered with a crackle in her voice.

Even being in the mix of what had happened, the emotional impact of the day had just hit her.

Hotch had been stabbed.

If he'd been even a millisecond slower in his reflexes, he'd be as dead right now as the guard. And she couldn't really imagine that.

Having to get on the plane and go home without him.

Hotch looked down at his shirt and then back to Emily blinking frantically . . . she was trying not to cry.

And God did he want to give her a hug . . . but he was covered in blood. Even though his t-shirt was mostly dry, there were still tacky spots all over. So instead of the hug, he gave her a sad smile and reached over to take her hand.

"But I didn't die," he whispered back, "and that's because you saved my ass."

Seriously, if Emily hadn't been in the room, he could easily be lying in the morgue right now. The guards had come in AFTER Emily had kicked Willis twice in the head and taken away his weapon. If Hotch hadn't taken the crack to the skull when he'd first gone down, he might have been able to get control of the situation more quickly by himself. But he had absolutely been stunned for at least two beats, which is how he'd ended up getting stabbed.

She really had saved his life.

But seeing that Emily's tears were about to spill over, he tried a joke to distract her.

"You know it's too bad we don't have a Pregnant Agent Monthly. You'd definitely be on the next cover."

One tear ran down Emily's face as her mouth quivered.

"That would be quite the centerfold," she responded with a snort, "you'd be unfolding for days!"

At that mental image, Hotch's lips twitched, and then he put his hand up to cover his laugh.

Seeing Hotch trying to hide his dimples, Emily was suddenly overwhelmed with a wave of affection for him.

He was so adorable when he smiled.

And that thought made her heart ache when she remembered yet again that he could have so easily been the second body that day.

So saying fuck it to the bloody shirt, she stepped in between his legs, leaned in, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

For a second he didn't react and she almost started to feel self conscious. But then his arms encircled her, and he pulled her in close.

"You're going to get blood on your shirt." He scolded gently.

She turned her face into his neck, breathing in his fading aftershave.

"My shirt was already bloody," she murmured back, "it's going in the trash no matter what." Then she slowly exhaled, "we had a bad day and I wanted a hug."

That was something she missed. Not really having a man in general, just . . . hugs.

Simple affection from someone who cared about you.

People who had it took for granted. And people who didn't, well . . . she felt Hotch rub his hand down her back . . . she was never going to take this for granted.

Hotch knew that he shouldn't be doing this, holding her close . . . smelling her hair. These things were torture! It was bad enough when she was helping him with his shirt. But then she'd wanted a hug. What was going to be his rationale for denying her such a simple thing?

That it was unprofessional because they were technically still on duty?

Please! He had just oohed and awed over her sonogram with her! He was her Lamaze coach for God's sake! A hug was nothing. It was something men did after their sports teams won the playoffs. But as he felt her soft body in his arms, the playoffs definition was not the one that was coming to him. And for his own sanity he was just about to pull back . . . and possibly hurt her feelings in the process . . . when he was saved by the bell.

The doctor walked back into the room.

Hearing the doctor clearing his throat, Emily immediately disentangled herself and turned around, though she was still standing directly in front of Hotch. And she was so happy when he put his hand on her shoulder and began gently rubbing her neck.

That was affection too.

Then she started to feel somewhat pathetic.

Apparently she'd been starving for any kind of tenderness for some time now. Even when she'd been with Chris, he was never particularly affectionate with her. Really, as she thought back, anything that he did was just a precursor for sex. He did like to have sex.

Which was why she'd made sure to get an AIDS test as soon as she knew the results would be reliable.

It honestly hadn't occurred to her then that she could have gotten pregnant, she had just been worried about disease. Thank God that had been her mindset though, because if she'd had to wait for her initial AIDS test after she'd found out that she was pregnant, she would have been going out of her mind.

Realizing that she was getting herself totally distracted, Emily focused back in on what the doctor was saying.

He was telling Hotch that the wound would probably need a couple of stitches and that they could do it with or without a local. Hotch of course opted to just suffer through the pain. She turned to give him a good natured eye roll.

Always the tough guy.

Just then the nurse pulled a pair of scissors from her scrubs pocket, and that's when Emily finally stepped completely out of the way.

After she'd grabbed the stool Hotch had been sitting on during her exam, she rolled it over to the corner of the room, out of the way. Then she watched as the nurse cut away Hotch's bloody t-shirt.

She winced when she saw his stab wound.

The edges looked ragged, and God knew where Willis had been keeping that shank, so she was relieved to see that after the doctor was done irrigating the wound and closing him up, he gave Hotch a shot of antibiotics.

As the needle went into his arm, Hotch caught Emily's eyes across the room. And seeing the look of worry on her face, he winked at her.

The wink made her smile.

And feeling another ache in his chest, he could only hold her gaze for a moment longer before he finally had to look away.

Now that the doctor had given him the shot, he left them alone with the nurse. She quickly sponged the blood off his chest and back before she helped him on with a scrub shirt.

Both his t-shirt and his dress shirt were ruined.

As the nurse updated his chart, Hotch made a mental note to put in for reimbursement on the clothes when he got home. His eyes flicked across the room.

For Emily too.

Actually . . . his lips pursed . . . he really didn't like seeing her in the bloody shirt. It wasn't soaked through like his had been, just dried smears and splatter, but still . . . it was upsetting.

He looked down at the nurse.

"Would you have another shirt that Agent Prentiss could wear?"

The nurse looked over at Emily and smiled.

"Sure," then she went back to the supply cabinet and pulled another scrub top out from the bottom shelf. After she'd walked over to pass that to Emily, she pulled a set of orders off the clipboard, and handed them to Hotch.

"Okay," she let out a slow breath, "you need to go to X-ray. It's on the opposite end of the floor. Once you're back out in the hallway, just follow the purple line."

"Okay," he nodded, "thank you."

Then he watched the nurse leave the room too.

His gaze shifted over to see that Emily had stood up and was holding the scrub top in her hand. And that's when he realized that if she was going to change her shirt, then he needed to turn around.

So he looked towards the sink and a moment later Emily announced, "okay I'm decent." When he turned back, he saw her in a smaller version of the same blue smock he was wearing. He walked over and took the bloody shirt out of her hands, before dumping it into the same hazmat bag where the nurse had dumped his.

His expression softened when he looked back at her.

"Does that feel better?"

"Yeah," her eyes crinkled, "thanks. The shirt was pretty gross."

They stared at each other for a moment and then he tipped his head towards the door.

"Do you want to wait in the cafeteria while I go to X-ray?"

Her lips twisted into a faint frown.

"How come I can't go with you?"

And his nose wrinkled.

"You really should stay away from the X-ray area, Emily."

A soft smile touched her lips then as she reached out to pat his arm.

"Well, I wasn't going to go in the room with you. I'll just wait out in the hall."

Seeing Hotch was still making a face, Emily pouted.

"Come on Hotch, don't send me off to the cafeteria by myself. I'm sure there are signs up with big fat pregnant ladies and X's through them. I'll just avoid the areas where my big fat pregnant self isn't supposed to go."

Hotch's mouth started to quiver as he shook his head at her.

"You're not fat."

And Emily sighed as they started walking towards the door, "I will be soon enough."

So far she'd actually lost a little weight. But she figured that was part the week of vomiting, and part the radical change in her eating habits. Not that she was in any way overweight before, but now that she had cut 97% of the fat and grease from her diet, clearly she was going to lose a little weight as a result.

Hotch caught up with her at the door, where he reached out to catch her fingers.

"You will be pregnant, NOT fat," he said emphatically.

Her eyes crinkled slightly as she yanked the door open and looked back up at him.

"Tomato/tomahto," Emily huffed, "I'll still be wearing pants with an elastic waist."

Hotch rolled his eyes as he gave her hand a tug, "let's go."

And they started following the purple line down the hall.

A/N 2: It is interesting writing Hotch in this mode whereas Emily is still oblivious. Also, now that they're more affectionate and joking around a little, it is a bit of a struggle to not fall into Girl mode. I don't want this to be a fluffy story. The goal is to keep it grounded in a harder world.

I thought about writing the prison part 'live' but it was an entire day of their lives that had to be covered. And it would have been really boring to do a moment by moment for the whole day until the 'incident' so I decided as long as it had to be done partially in recap, I might as well just pick up from the hospital rather than the prison.

Hope you all are enjoying the ride!