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“Hi, honey!” A grin spread across your face as you answered the phone.
“What did the doctor say?” Hotch asked, without preamble. You could hear him getting into the car, linking you in to the Bluetooth. He’d been out on a case for a few days and called you every hour, or at least that’s what it felt like.
“Bedrest,” you sighed, reclining on the couch in the living room. “Who’s all in the car?”
You heard laughter before Aaron spoke again. “I’ve got Morgan, Prentiss, and JJ.”
You smile into the phone. “Hey, guys! Miss you like crazy.” A chorus of hellos followed.
“Are you going insane yet?” JJ’s voice came through clearly, and you could almost see her leaning on the median from the backseat.
“Completely. And now I can’t even go for my walks.”
“Any particular reason for the bedrest?” Aaron’s question was casual, but you knew the whole thing made him more than a little anxious. He’d done the same thing with Haley and was doing his best to take it one day at a time.
“Doc wants me to keep an eye on my blood pressure, and he may or may not have implied that this baby will be massive, and I should rest while I can. I feel like a whale, and your spawn keeps sticking her feet in my ribs.” You said the last part through a laugh.
The upside to the belly, though, was having a table for everything all the time. You had a pop-tart resting there as you were on the phone. The convenience couldn’t be overstated, even when Baby Girl Hotchner decided to kick your snacks off you and onto the couch whenever she pleased.
Hotch laughed, and you smiled at the rare treat. “We’re wrapping up here, should be done in a day or two.”
“Sounds good, my love. Give everyone else my best, and please be safe.”
“Always!” JJ said.
Simultaneously, Aaron chimed in. “Of course, sweetheart.”
“We love you, beautiful!”
That drew another smile from you. “Love you too, Derek.”
+++
You were asleep when Hotch finally got home two nights later. He toed off his shoes and put his gun back beside yours in the safe as quietly as he could, hanging his suit jacket on the back of one of the dining room chairs.
He watched you sleep for a minute, sitting up on the couch, feet up on the coffee table and crossed at the ankles, wrapped in a blanket with a hand resting lightly on your belly. Walking back to you, he knelt, tucking hair behind your ear.
“Aaron?” You woke a little, your awareness blurred by sleep. You reached for his wrist, and he laced your fingers with his.
“Yeah,” he said in a whisper. He kissed your forehead and you hummed, leaning into his touch. “How are you feeling?”
You groaned, stretching your arms above your head and flexing your toes. “Huge.”
He smiled with one side of his mouth, a small laugh leaving his nose. “Besides that.”
“Fine. Tired. I haven’t been dizzy all day, which is nice.”
He stood and offered you a hand. “Ready for bed?”
You followed suit, slowly, taking his hand to steady you. In your final month of pregnancy, your balance was shit. “Only if we fool around first.”
He shook his head, laughing. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”
“Can’t help it.” You shrugged. “My husband happens to be an incredibly sexy federal agent and being out of the field has me all amped up. How am I to resist?” You turned and slid your hands up his arms, all the way to the nape of his neck. With a tug, you brought his mouth down to yours.
Your only focus then was his hands on your back, pulling you as close as your belly would allow, the way his breath felt fanning against your face, the taste of him, the smell of the plane – all of it so distinctly Aaron. He kissed you with abandon, like a dying man. With his attitude, you wondered how bad the case really was.
You both pulled back, breathing heavily.
“Sorry,” he said, and you tugged on his hair sharply – a reprimand. He hummed low in his chest.
“Don’t be sorry.”
“You’re supposed to be resting,” he said, and it almost sounded like a whine.
You raised your eyebrows. “Do my tax dollars pay for federal agents who whine at their wives?”
He collapsed into the crook between your neck and shoulders with a groan. “It’s been so long and now you’re on bedrest.” His hands wandered to the curve of your back and then around to your ass. You laughed quietly, still mindful of your stepson sleeping down the hall.
Your hands carded through his thick dark hair, disrupting the pomade. You pulled his head from your neck and turned him toward the bedroom with a playful shove of his shoulder. “Well, consider this a raincheck. You can do whatever you want to me, with me, around me, whatever, as soon as I’m cleared after she,” you pointed at your belly, “is out of here.”
You lowered yourself into bed and pulled the covers around you. Between his chronic blanket theft and your chronic overheating, they’d all end up on his side by the morning anyway. You settled in, tucking your big pregnancy pillow between your knees and slipping your arm underneath. This thing saved your life (and your back) on a nightly basis.
“You stay away from me, Hotchner,” you warned as he dropped in next to you.
His tone was dripping with sarcasm when he replied. “Oh, sure. I’ll be on my best behavior.”
“You better.”
Nevertheless, he curled up flush behind you, his arm draped protectively over your middle. You laced your fingers through his.
“I love you so much. I’m always glad when you come home safe to me.”
He somehow managed to press closer to you, dropping a kiss to your shoulder. “I love you both.”