Author's Note: Sorry it took so flipping long! I finished cleaning up this draft weeks ago, then work went right to hell, and I was doing so much OT that I have had literally no mental energy to focus on writing. But, I am off Christmas Eve on to next Monday, so, I should definitely get a few more chapters up all around this place :)

Now to this, picking up a little later, still at the hospital.

Week 10

Shifting Winds

The instruction Hotch was given after he had his X-ray taken, was to go right back to the exam room to wait for the doctor. But as he walked out into the main hallway of the Radiology department and checked his watch, he decided to make a quick detour first.

It was closing in on six o'clock, and he knew that Emily hadn't eaten anything since noon. And even though he was planning on picking up dinner on the way back to the motel, God knew that would be AT LEAST another forty-five minutes until they were on their way out the door. And seven hours between meals was much too long a wait for a pregnant woman.

She needed to keep her blood sugar up.

And as Hotch continued down the hall, he spotted Emily sitting in the small waiting room just off the main corridor.

She was reading a magazine.

For a second he debated with himself as to whether or not he should tell her where he was going. But then he decided that she'd likely protest, telling him that she was fine and didn't need anything. So he decided to just leave her there undisturbed. After all, he'd be back quickly.

Ten minutes tops.

So he turned back three steps over towards the staircase he'd just passed, and then pushed through the fire door.

Once he'd backtracked his way down to the main level of the hospital, he followed the signs for the cafeteria. It wasn't until he was walking up to the open double doors though, that he remembered it was actually dinnertime.

The place was packed.

But that shouldn't slow him down too much, he thought with a nod to himself, because it wasn't like he was staying to find a seat. The crowd did extend out though the time he'd been expecting it would take to get through the lines first for food, and then for the cashier.

It was a solid fifteen minutes just getting all that done.

And even though he'd had no problem taking the stairs down to the ground floor of the hospital, by the time he was finally walking back out of the cafeteria, his day was starting to catch up with him. Which meant that he definitely didn't have the energy for hiking the three flights back up the stairs to find Emily.

Really, all he wanted to do was go lay the fuck down.

With that option not yet on the table though, with a weary sigh, he walked over and hit the button for the elevator. Then he leaned his shoulder against the wall, bit down a yawn . . . and waited.

/

Emily's head snapped up when she saw Hotch walk into the waiting room.

The magazine she'd been pretending to read was immediately dropped down onto the coffee table as she quickly stood up.

"Hey," she said with a relieved smile, while hurrying over to meet him halfway, "there you are! That took so long I was starting to get worr . . ."

Her words fell away when she noticed the white paper bag in his hand. A bag he definitely hadn't had when he'd disappeared into X-Ray forty plus minutes ago. Her head tilted quizzically.

"What's that?"

He held the bag out.

"You need to keep your energy up," he answered quietly, "so I ran downstairs and got you a snack."

For a moment Emily just stared over at him, wanting to say something about him running around like that when he was hurt. He looked so tired though, that she didn't have the heart to give him even a token scolding for pushing himself too hard. Instead, she took the paper bag, opened it up, and tipped her head down to look inside.

. . . a snack pack of her favorite 100 calorie chocolate chip cookies

. . . a banana

. . . and a cup of tea

When she looked back up to Hotch her eyes were stinging . . . God, he was such a sweetie! Of course that was an image which was in complete juxtaposition with the total hard ass that he projected to the world at large. She felt so privileged that he now shared that softer side of himself with her.

Even if most of the time she felt like she didn't deserve his many kindnesses.

Still, she was more grateful than she could say just to have this man in her life. So as she blinked away the moisture in her eyes, she gave him a soft smile.

"Thank you."

Feeling a blush begin to warm his skin, Hotch cleared his throat before his gaze shifted slightly over Emily's shoulder.

"You're welcome."

And THIS was the problem with having feelings for one of your agents. You ended up doing special things for her, and then feeling like a fool.

As if everyone could see that he was a chump.

Though . . . he felt a little pang of guilt as he put his hand on Emily's shoulder for the walk back down the hall . . . chump wasn't the right word. It implied that somehow she was taking advantage of him. And she certainly wasn't. If anything, Emily was very persistent in trying to get him to NOT do so much for her.

But he couldn't help it.

And he'd like to think that he'd be just as attentive in looking after her even if this had been three years ago when he was a happily married man. But he knew that was crap. Because if he was still a married man, the focused attention he'd recently been giving this single, pregnant, extremely attractive woman, would be COMPLETELY inappropriate!

Like being in the room for her fetal scan, that would have been a huge no. Not to mention the irony of the fact that if it was three years ago, Emily would actually have been pregnant at the same time Haley had been carrying Jack. Even though that was all speculative what if, still, it was kind of a strange picture in his brain.

Strange enough actually, that as he guided Emily back into their shared triage room, he had to shake his head slightly to clear the image. That's when he pulled down a fresh piece of paper onto the examination table, and as he stepped back, Emily opened the white bag and took out the three items that he'd purchased for her. After she'd ripped the seal on the cookies, she went over to where he had just perched himself back up on the stool.

"Hold out your hand," she instructed, "because you definitely need to eat too. After all, you ate even less at lunch than I did."

Hotch could tell from the set of Emily's jaw that she wasn't going to take no for an answer on this one. So his eyes crinkled slightly as he did as instructed.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me," she said with a smirk while pouring a half dozen of the tiny cookies into his open palm, "you bought them."

Huffing slightly, he popped one of the cookies into his mouth.

"Well," his lip quirked up, "then I'll just thank you for sharing."

She winked.

After Hotch had finished his designated share of the cookies, Emily gave him a few sips of her tea, and then made him eat the last couple bites of her banana, claiming she was feeling a little full.

That was crap though, because she was actually still starving. Really she just wanted to make sure that the man ate something more substantive today than a granola bar and six literal slivers, of Chips Ahoy.

It turned out to be very lucky that Hotch actually had bought her/them the snack though, because they ended up waiting almost another full hour before the doctor came back in with the test results.

As Hotch listened to the doctor read over his X-Ray results, he felt a fresh surge of annoyance. Because as he'd expected, there were no fractures or brain bleeds. So they'd spent almost two and a half hours waiting around the hospital just to be told what he'd already known before they'd walked in there.

What a ridiculous waste of time.

But then he looked over to see Emily's happy smile right before she reached out to catch his hand.

"Thank God!" she let out on a relieved sigh while leaning up to give him a quick hug, "I was so worried that you were going to have a fracture!"

That's when he realized that he was being an absolute ASS! Because her worries about his health were probably the same as his were about hers. And he certainly didn't consider the initial hour spent waiting for her to be checked as a waste of time, so he probably shouldn't feel that way about his own exam. If nothing else, it had set her mind at ease.

That was enough.

So as she dropped back down to her feet in front of him, his eyes crinkled slightly.

"Yeah," he answered with a squeeze of her fingers, "I did get lucky."

Then after a quick reminder from the doctor to keep his stab wound clean, and to follow up with his primary when he got back home, he and Emily were officially discharged.

They left the exam room still holding hands.

Hotch was past the point of that being a distraction. He was just happy that he was allowed to do it. And after one quick stop on the main level for Emily to go to the bathroom, they were ready to head back to the motel.

A few hours earlier, the warden had had one of the prison secretaries drive their car over to the hospital and she'd dropped off the keys before they'd been called into the exam room. That was fortunate, because it was freezing outside, so not exactly good weather to have to stand around waiting for a cab.

It was also fortunate that they had their car back, because that's also where their coats were. Even though it was April and already annoyingly muggy back home, Montana still regularly received snow this time of year.

There had been steady flurries all day, but luckily the snow didn't really seem to be sticking.

When Hotch looked down then to see Emily wrinkling her nose as she looked through the glass doors, he took note that they were now both only dressed in scrubs, and it was about thirty degrees outside. So he was just about to tell her to wait there while he went to get the car, when she seemed to read his mind.

Emily looked up and shook her head.

"No, we'll go together. The woman said she left it in the parking garage, Level B, spot 238, right by the elevators," she tapped on the glass, "and that right there across the street is Level B. It should only take a minute to find the car."

As much as she appreciated all that Hotch did for her, she didn't want him waiting on her hand and foot. A couple minutes out in the cold air wasn't going to hurt the baby.

Knowing this one wasn't worth a debate . . . he was just trying to be nice . . . Hotch flashed Emily a quick dimple before slipping his arm around her shoulders. And as he pushed the doors open, he pulled her against his side, trying to keep her a little warmer.

Still, they both immediately started shivering when they stepped outside.

With the wind chill, it was definitely MUCH colder than the thirty degrees that they were flashing on the televisions inside! So by the time they had run across the street, through the parking garage, and actually FOUND the car, they were both full on shaking.

After Hotch hit the button for the door locks, Emily jumped into the front seat, while he pulled their coats out of the back. After he'd pushed hers through the center console and into her lap, he slammed the door shut, and then yanked on his own coat while hurrying around the front of the sedan.

He dropped into the driver's seat and slammed that door shut too.

For almost a minute he sat there just huffing on his fingers, trying to get them to bend again, before he finally slid the key into the ignition and turned on the heat.

Although she was still shivering herself, when Emily looked over at Hotch she could see that the skin on his hands was bone white. With a faint sigh, she turned up the heat that still wasn't quite coming out yet.

"A few more minutes outside and it would probably be frostbite on your fingers," she said before adding softly, "this really was a bad day."

Hotch was quiet for a moment, and then he started rubbing his hands together again.

"Well," he looked over at her, "neither one of us were seriously injured, so I think that maybe it was a . . ."

And he stopped, thinking about the dead guard, and the one not expected to make it out of surgery. Then he finished with a slow exhale.

"Well, it wasn't a good day . . . but it was nowhere near as bad as it could have been."

As badly as he felt for what had happened to the guards, it was all about taking care of your own. All that really mattered to him was that Emily hadn't been hurt. And he'd gotten away with a lump on his head, and small hole in his shoulder. Both would heal in a few days.

All in all, they'd been damn lucky.

But given the shit day that they had experienced, Hotch had decided to grab them a pizza for dinner. After all, Emily had been really good about cutting out all of her crappy junk food, so he figured a treat was in order. So on the way back to the motel they stopped into a strip mall. And while she waited in the car, he went into Rico's Pizzeria and grabbed her favorite . . . a medium bacon and pineapple pizza.

And of course a small side of French fries.

He'd already promised her the fries, but the pizza was a surprise. When Emily was in the bathroom he'd asked the nurse at the desk for the name and address of a pizza place close by, and he'd ordered everything before Emily had come back out.

When he saw the look on her face as he walked up to the car he couldn't help but smile.

She was grinning from ear to ear.

Then after he'd opened his door she'd exclaimed up at him up at him, "YOU BOUGHT PIZZA!"

With an amused chuckle, Hotch leaned in to pass the box over to her before he climbed back into the car.

"Yes," he huffed, "I bought pizza. A special treat for saving my ass today," he passed her the smaller plastic bag, "and here are the promised fries, plus drinks."

She placed the bag on the floor by her feet and then lifted the lid of the cardboard box, inhaling deeply before she impulsively leaned over and kissed Hotch's cheek, "thanks."

As she pulled back, Emily felt her face begin to get hot.

She'd just kissed Hotch! For like, NO reason! Well, pizza was the reason. But still, not the usual response to someone handing you a pizza box. That would just be "thank you."

Not a public mauling.

Her eyes shifted over to gauge his reaction . . . fumbling with his keys . . . and his skin looked pink too.

Okay . . . she started to calm down a little . . . at least he wasn't upset. It looked like he was also a little embarrassed, so that was good. It meant that if she just ignored it then he'd go along.

It took Hotch two tries to get the key into the ignition.

He couldn't believe that Emily had just KISSED him! Talk about completely throwing off his concentration! Yes, it was a completely innocent kiss, but still, it was from her.

And it had come completely out of nowhere!

They were both quiet as they drove along down the road back to the motel. Then Emily realized that it was actually too quiet. And she didn't want things to be weird between them just because of a little kiss. Especially given how Hotch was the only one she'd shared the baby news with, so he was basically her closest friend now.

Huh.

Her brow creased . . . was that true? Was Hotch now her closest friend?

That position used to be held by Derek, but once she'd found out that she was pregnant, she'd started to pull away from him. At first it was because she was so embarrassed about what had happened with Chris. Also though, some part of her was a little afraid of what Derek might have said about the pregnancy.

Probably something that would have made her feel bad.

Then as the weeks had passed, she'd started spending more and more personal time with Hotch, which was also when he'd started partnering them up almost exclusively at work. It hadn't taken long before Derek had stopped being the person she turned to when she wanted to talk. Now if there was anything on her mind, even if it wasn't baby related, she still saved it until her break time with Hotch.

She looked forward to their talks.

There had been more than a few occasions over the past month and a half when Derek had asked her if she wanted to get a beer, or go to a club with him and Garcia. Of course she'd had to decline. Each time feigning another errand that needed to be done after work.

After the fourth time she'd turned him down, she could tell that he hadn't quite believed her excuses anymore. But she'd ignored the hurt look, pretending that it was just her imagination . . . even though she knew that it wasn't.

After that he had just stopped asking.

But it wasn't like she could tell Derek that she couldn't drink because she was pregnant. And if she'd stuck to just soda he would have noticed and commented and then she would have had to make up a lie. Something more substantive than just, "picking up my dry cleaning."

It was gradual, and most definitely accidental, but she had somehow cut Morgan cleanly from her personal life.

At that realization, Emily began to feel sad . . . and guilty.

No matter how innocently it had happened, it had happened. And she knew that he was going to be terribly hurt when she did finally tell him about the pregnancy.

He wouldn't understand why she'd kept it from him for so long.

As Hotch pulled the rental car into the motel parking lot, Emily was feeling a sense of melancholy settle over her. Even the prospect of pizza and fries wasn't cheering her up.

She'd completely cut herself off from one of her closest friends, and then somehow . . . her lips pursed . . . replaced him.

Though, she thought while sliding out of the passenger seat with the food in hand, Hotch and Derek really weren't were very different men. So no . . . she shook her head slightly . . . it wasn't the man who had been replaced.

It was the person who held a role of prominence in her life.

Hotch was now her go to person for everything.

Being with him made her really happy, and oddly content. So even though she was sad about the shift in her relationship with Morgan, she didn't regret for an instant the change in her relationship with Hotch. Those two things together were confusing, and she wasn't quite sure how to process them.

Seeing the expression on Emily's face as he took the food out of her hands, Hotch scrunched his brow. Then he looked down at her questioningly.

"What's wrong?"

Emily shook her head.

"Nothing," she said quietly as started down the open walkway towards their rooms, "I'm okay."

Certainly nothing that she wanted to talk about, so her response was technically the truth.

For a moment Hotch stared after Emily . . . he could tell from that look on her face that something was wrong. And he stood there for a second trying to think what that might be. But then he took note of the fact that the wind and snow were picking up . . . Emily was holding her door open for him . . . and he was just standing there like an idiot holding their dinner.

'Good one, Aaron,' he thought with an internal eye roll.

With that, he hurried down the slippery asphalt and followed Emily into her motel room. A room he wasn't all that crazy about. He didn't like the locks on the doors. There were chains, but no deadbolts. Fortunately they were only there for the one night.

Hopefully they wouldn't be murdered in their sleep.

Still, with that thought in mind . . . because safety was always his paramount concern . . . he watched as Emily turned the lock and set the chain before he even went over to place the food down on the desk.

When he turned back around, he could see that there was still something weighing on her. His expression softened as he walked back over.

"Come on," he whispered softly as he laced his fingers through hers, "tell me what's bothering you."

Emily quickly pasted on a false smile as she shook her head again.

"Nothing, really, Hotch," she answered with a squeeze of his hand, "I'm just um, just the day I guess." Then she wrinkled her nose while quickly changing the subject. "And I feel kind of gross. I think I want to take a shower before we eat."

For a moment Hotch stared at her before deciding that it wasn't right to push things if she didn't want to talk. Finally he nodded his agreement to what she'd said.

"Yeah, I want to change and clean up too. I'll be back in about ten minutes, okay?"

"Okay," she nodded, "sounds good."

After Hotch let go of her hand, Emily began to slip off her coat.

Some time apart to clean up would be good. It would give her a few minutes to pull herself back together again. Because if she continued to be mopey all evening . . . she went over to hang her coat in the closet . . . Hotch was definitely going to notice.

Given that they had connecting rooms, rather than going back out into the cold, Hotch unlocked the internal door to get next door. Once there, he immediately began to strip.

His pants were filthy and he was still wearing the scrub top . . . both went right in the trash. And though he really wanted to take a shower, the doctor had just put on a clean dressing, and he figured it would probably be best to leave that alone for now. To let it heal.

So rather than taking the shower he wanted, he just thoroughly scrubbed up at the sink.

Afterwards, he put on fresh deodorant and aftershave to trick himself into feeling more refreshed. And then finally he changed into his t-shirt and sweats.

Even though he was still exhausted, and definitely sore, he felt ten times better when he crossed back over into Emily's room.

Her bathroom door was still shut so he decided to call Dave to let him know what had happened.

Hotch wasn't sure if the news of an incident at the prison would be big enough to get picked up by the wire, but given the lack of missed calls from the team, he doubted it had been.

After he'd scrolled down to the R's, he hit "Rossi," and then waited while it rang three times before Dave picked up.

"Hey, it's me."

Rossi leaned back on his couch as he muted the Knicks game.

"Hey Aaron, how'd the interview go?"

And Hotch had his answer as to whether or not the story had gotten back east. He cleared his throat.

"Uh, not so great."

And then he proceeded to explain their day to Dave. After some choice expletives from Rossi, Hotch assured him that both he and Emily were fine. Then, hearing the bathroom door opening, he looked up.

But it was only open a crack.

Emily, with her hair up in a towel, was leaning around the corner mouthing, "I forgot my clothes."

Still listening to Dave with one ear, Hotch went over and grabbed Emily's duffel off the floor and brought it to her.

Though he was trying to be a gentleman and not look right at her, when she reached her arm out he caught a glimpse of white towel and the bare expanse of her shoulder.

"Thanks," she whispered . . . and shut the door.

With an exaggerated eye roll, Hotch went over and flopped down on her bed. Now he was DEFINITELY only half listening to Dave's tirade about prison security.

Great! Now he knew what she looked like in a towel!

That was an image that he definitely could have lived without, because it was just one more thing to keep him up nights!

Finally realizing that he was just wasting oxygen staying on the phone, he feigned exhaustion with Dave telling him that they'd be home late tomorrow. Possibly stopping into the office, but probably not. It was a long flight and it would depend on what time they landed.

Then he hung up.

Although he was pretty sure that Dave was still talking when he disconnected, Hotch was just too tired to listen. And though he was also starving, he didn't want to eat dinner without Emily, so he just went over to grab a few of the fries before they got cold. Then he flipped on the news . . . realized he wasn't up to seeing the grieving widows again . . . and kept going up the channels until he got to Turner Classics.

His lip quirked up . . . The Maltese Falcon, and it was just starting. Okay . . . he settled back on the bed with a sigh . . . he felt like shit, but now he had a very pretty girl to sit and watch Humphrey Bogart with while they ate pizza and french fries.

He fluffed the pillow slightly.

And that sounded like a decent end to a really crappy day.

/*/*/*/

Emily had a bitch of a time getting the snarls out of her hair, so it was at least five minutes from the point that Hotch had handed her her bag before she actually went back into the motel room.

When she stepped out of the bathroom she found Hotch sound asleep on the bed, and Humphrey Bogart talking on the screen. The pizza was still sitting where Hotch had left it earlier. Her eyes crinkled.

He'd waited for her.

Now biting her lip, she stood there trying to decide if she should wake him up to eat while the food was hot. Her expression softened as she stared at him for a moment . . . even sleeping he still looked exhausted. And they'd had a hell of a day.

She decided to let him sleep.

Besides . . . she nodded to herself as she went over to the desk . . . it was pizza. Pizza was just fine cold. Not that she could be as chivalrous as he had been though. She couldn't wait for him to wake up, she was starving. So she sat at the foot of the bed watching one of her favorite movies, with her all time favorite actor, as she ate the fries that Hotch had left her and two slices of the pineapple and bacon pie. She washed it all down with her caffeine free diet coke.

With the exception of the drink, it was the greasiest, most fattening, dinner she'd eaten in over a month . . . and she savored every artery clogging bite. God knew the next time she'd be allowed pizza and French fries.

Her lips twitched slightly as she put her diet Coke back on the table . . . 'allowed.'

Even though Hotch technically couldn't order her to eat healthy, somehow that's still what had happened. But she was actually grateful for his intervention on that front. Not only had he brought something to her attention that would keep her and the baby healthier, but it was also nice just to know that somebody cared.

After all . . . her eyes suddenly began to sting . . . nobody else did.

That's what she kept thinking in the shower. Morgan had been her closest friend on the team and she'd cut herself off from him. So who else really cared about her now? Who else knew what was going on in her life?

Just Hotch.

She carefully slid back on the mattress, turning to lie on her side facing him. They were only a few inches apart.

While blinking back the tears, she reached over to gently brush her fingers through his hair . . . he was all she had

And she didn't even really have him.

Huffing to herself, she rolled onto her back . . . though he'd already shown more concern for her and the baby than Chris ever had. She'd never told Hotch what had happened that night she'd told Chris she was pregnant. And she hoped it would never come up, because things had gotten . . . her teeth ground together . . . out of hand.

After the screaming and exchanging of insults, he'd grabbed her arm and shaken her, ordering her to abort the kid because he had no intention of spending the next eighteen years paying for a mistake.

The grip he'd had on her was one that she'd experienced before. Not with him of course, he'd never laid a hand on her prior to that night. But she still knew that there were bruises coming. Because the first time somebody had grabbed her like that, she'd been twenty-four years old.

She'd ended up losing the next thirty six hours of her life to previously unimaginable pain and suffering.

So beyond just her rage at being violently grabbed like that by ANYONE, her reflex reaction now to being touched in that way was visceral. Based on pure survival instinct. She'd kicked him in the balls, and when he doubled over in pain . . . releasing his grip . . . she'd pulled her weapon and knocked him to the ground. And with one foot on his crotch, she'd shoved the gun into his throat as she'd told him that if he EVER touched her again, it would be the last thing that he did. His eyes had been wide with fear and pain as he'd stuttered an apology. An apology which she'd told him to shove up his ass, before informing him that he didn't have to worry about child support because as far as she was concerned, the baby had no father.

Then for the next two weeks, she made sure to wear long sleeves so nobody would see the welts on her arm. Because she knew that if Hotch . . . or really any of the guys . . . ever saw those marks and found out where she'd gotten them, that one of them would have finished what she'd started.

With a heavy sigh, she pushed Chris out of her mind . . . he wasn't worth the mental energy . . . as she turned to plump the pillows up before leaning back and spreading her travel blanket across her chest.

Then she settled in to watch one tough guy onscreen as she waited for the one next to her to wake up.

A/N 2: I deliberately didn't make Chris a flat out batterer. Emily's not so screwed up that she'd knowingly stay involved with somebody who was smacking her around. But it was pretty clear from the beginning that he was a narcissistic douche. And personally, I've found that men like that, when they don't get their way, they get a little insistent, because they are accustomed to the world (in their estimation) bending to their needs. But grabbing someone that way is the last step before hitting.

If you pay attention to the little things, you'll notice that compared to the Girl'verse, in this world Emily's favorite actor is Humphrey Bogart, not Cary Grant. And Em's favorite pizza here is Hawaiian, and not a pepperoni and mushroom. It's odd, but things like that really are what allow me to write this story. I have to make them different people, to approach them differently.