criminal minds

There are always risks with any surgery. Even one done as often as a simple appendectomy and knowing her husband, Emily is a little worried they might run into those very issues. When those said complications arise, she faces them how she’s faced everything in her relationship with a man like Aaron Hotchner– bravely. How many times has she walked the halls of a hospital waiting for him? How many more times will she wait in a room like this? So, when they tell her they had to abandon their original plan for a more invasive one, their fears about scar tissue coming true, she gives her consent. 

And she settles back down and waits. 

But he always comes back. That much has always been true.

This time is no exception.

“Hello, my love.” She pushes his hair back from his face, smiling at the sleepy little grin he manages when he sees her. “How do you feel?”

He grunts a little, dazed, and mind heavily clouded by the sedative still working through him. “Cold,” he rasps, moving his head and rubbing absently at his cherry red nose. He’ll only aggravate his nose more the longer they keep him on the oxygen and morphine. 

She reaches over and gently pins his hand down. He’s still too sedated to remember how to really coordinate movement with his right hand. So as long as she can keep the left busy he won’t further move the canal under his nose. Otherwise, she’ll spend the next few hours straightening it out. 

“You’re married?” He asks in amazement, scowling down at their joined left hands. More importantly at the rock sitting on her ring finger.

She grins because she can’t help it. The immediate shift between her soft Aaron and the hardened, still confused, scowl of Hotch a little too humorous in the moment. “I’m married to you, doofus.” She slides her fingers between his, watching his confusion only grow, as she lifts their joined hands to show him the tan line on his own ring finger. 

“To me?” he asks, a slight increase in pitch in his bewildered voice. “Why?”

Her smile softens, if not a little sad. His confusion is warranted. They’ve done this dance so many times she expects some form of hesitation and bewilderment but the anger that arches his brows is disheartening. As if he’s considered she’s just pulling his leg. Making fun of him and the crush he’s had for ages. 

Sweeping his bangs from his forehead, mind wandering for a moment as she makes an effort to remember to get him an appointment to get his haircut. Otherwise, she’ll be hearing how the length is bothering him for the next week and a half. He can take calls all day from freaked out police officials but ask the man to call a barber and he’s cowering away.

“How about you worry about eating that cracker?” She points to the cracker in his right hand. The cracker he’s got to finish before they let him go anywhere. The cracker she knows is going to take him ages. 

He scowls at it, obviously having forgotten its existence. Lines of concentration wrinkle his forehead as he leans forward off the bed, hardly lifting his right hand. “Ow,” he groans, laying back down. He looks up at her a betrayed look written across his face. As if she’s the one that’s pulled at his fresh stitches by trying to sit up. “That hurt.”

She shakes her head and reaches over him to take the cracker from his right to put it in his left. “Move your hand not your body,” she explains patiently. She puts her hand under his wrist, aiding the slow, uncoordinated movement as he takes a small bite from the corner. “There you go.”

He chews it slowly, grimacing. 

“You want some water,” she offers. That saltine is only going to dry his mouth and she knows his throat is hurting.

He shakes his head, chewing thoughtfully on another small bite. “ ‘m tired,” he whispers, rubbing at his eyes with the palm of his hand. “Need coffee.”

She shakes her head, “no coffee.” Only her husband would ask for coffee not even an hour after surgery. He’s an addict. “You just had surgery, Aaron. It’s gonna be water or Gatorade for a while.” She moves the oxygen canal back under his nose from where he’s moved it with his rubbing. 

He grunts, trying to turn away while she fixes the canal. “It’s itching me,” he grumbles, frowning at her, “and I ‘on’t like Gatorade. It’s nasty.”

She rolls her eyes. “Just eat your cracker.”

He frowns at the cracker in his hand, nearly half-gone (mercifully). “Not my boss,” he mumbles, chewing on its edge. 

She brushes the crumbles off his chest. “Oh, I’m afraid I am,” she says. “I’m your proxy and your wife. That’s as much as your boss as anybody comes.” 

He looks at her with that bewildered look from earlier. “My WIFE?” He just stares at her with his mouth open, “huh-uh. You’re lying… jus’ being mean. That’s not true.”

She pushes his cracker to his mouth, waiting for him to take another bite. “I’m not lying,” she reassures him. “We’re married. Happily for about nine years.” She runs a hand down through his hair. “Well, when you’re not being a pain in my ass.”

He smirks at that, a dopey little thing that makes her smile even if she shakes her head. 

“Eat your cracker,” she says with a roll of her eyes, smiling too. He’s so ridiculous. 

He takes a bite of his cracker and frowns at it, “I don’t like crackers very much.” He shows her the cracker, “look, it’s almost gone!”

She can’t help but smile, “I see that. Now, finish it off and I’ll go get your go-bag and we’ll see about letting you put some pants on.”

That makes him raise his eyebrows. He glances around the room, a soft blush forcing his pale cheeks pink. “I’m not wearing pants,” he asks softly, a slightly panicked edge to his tone.

She shakes her head, “or underwear.” That causes a whole blush, his entire face a very light pink. She laughs, almost feeling bad for getting him so worked up. “We’ll get you some pants once you finish that cracker,” she barters. “Some socks as well.” 

He frowns at her, all sad and mushy with those big brown eyes. “It’s hard,” he complains, “and nasty.”

She nods, “I know but you’re not getting any pants until you finish it.”

He nods solemnly, taking a sad little bite. “Are you gonna help me put them on?” It’s a completely innocent question, absent of all his usual mischief. “I don’t want you to see me naked,” he explains patiently, finishing his cracker with a happy little smile.

She nods, “we’re married, remember? I’ve seen everything you have to offer plenty of times.” She shakes her head when he blushes a little. “You’ve seen me naked too so we’re even.”

“Really?” He smiles, “I bet you’re really pretty. No, I know you’re very pretty.” 

She rolls her eyes.

“I mean it,” he says, voice getting a little too loud when he thinks she doesn’t believe him. “So, pretty. It’s crazy.”

It’s just so sweet and one of those moments where it’s so easy to remember why she fell in love with him. She leans down and kisses him, cupping his cheek. When she pulls back his eyes are wide. “You’re adorable.”

“Woah,” he chuckles. “Do we always kiss like that?” 

She nods, “well, yeah.”

He raises his eyebrows in amazement. “Jeez,” he swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing. “Can we do it again?”

She chuckles but leans back down and gives him a quick peck. 

“I like being married to you,” he informs her.