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Aaron knows that he is in love with her.
It felt ridiculous, obscene even, given that they’d only officially been dating for 10 weeks. It started with him offering to help her on her bad days, something he could understand better than the others. Their respective experiences with Foyet and Doyle as similar as they were different. Their monsters were real men, twisted into something insidious by memories and nightmares, both of them prone to waking in the middle of the night, the other always there to provide comfort, foreheads pressed together until breathing returned to normal.
Aaron had always been attracted to Emily, something she had admitted had not been a one-way street after their first night together. Her bare skin pressed up against his, a wide smile on her face as she just kept kissing him as if she was trying to convince herself it was real.
Aaron was trying to be a better boyfriend than he had been a husband in the last few years with Haley. So, on a rare weekend completely free from work, after a day spent entirely with his son, he leaves Jack in the care of Jessica so he could take Emily out on a date. A table booked at a French restaurant that she raved about, his thoughts almost entirely occupied by the way she’d teased him at work yesterday, whispers in his ear when it was just the two of them about the new underwear she’d bought for the occasion.
They had spent a relatively rare night apart, Emily encouraging him to spend some time with Jack by himself, something she knew he treasured and was keen for him to preserve. She had left him with a kiss and a wink as they went separate ways in the parking lot at Quantico, her own plans of having take-out and an early night something she had spoken about all day.
He hadn’t really heard from her all day, something that make anxiety spark in his gut. He’d had a quick text back when he asked if she was ok, something that helped dampen his concern. He knocks on the front door of her apartment, excitement at spending time alone with her simmering under his skin. A smile he could never seem to shake when he thought of her, of the fact she was his spreading over his face.
His smile slips off his face the moment he lays eyes on her, her drawn face peeking through the gap in the door as she opens it. She was paler than usual, something he didn’t think was possible, and she looked exhausted. Her hair was thrown back into a low ponytail, loose strands sticking to her skin with sweat. She was in an old t-shirt of his and a pair of sleep shorts, an indication that she hadn’t changed out of her pyjamas at all.
“Em, are you ok?”
“Aaron?” She croaks out, her throat raw. “What are you doing here?”
“Our date, we have reservations remember,” he explains, opening his mouth to ask her if she was ok again, noting that she had avoided his question.
“Fuck,” she says, sighing as she takes a step back from the door, opening it enough to let him in, “I’m so sorry honey, just give me a few minutes and I’ll be ready.”
Aaron frowns at her, his hands on his hips as he looks her up and down. “Sweetheart, you’re clearly sick. We can re-arrange dinner.”
“I’m fine,” she says, forcing a smile as she looks at him, “let me put some make-up on and I’ll be...” she drifts off, a look on her face that he had never seen before, and she covers her mouth, running off towards her bathroom at full speed.
“Emily?” He exclaims as he follows after her, wincing in sympathy as he makes it to the bathroom only seconds after she has, met with the sight of her crouched over the toilet, her knees against the tiles. There are empty Gatorade bottles strewn on the floor, and a half-empty glass of water on the kitchen counter. Sure signs that she’d likely been in here all day, alone and miserable in her illness. He thinks nothing of it, of his freshly dry cleaned suit, when he joins her, kneeling behind her as he rubs her back. “You’re ok, baby. You’re ok.”
She groans as she pulls back from the toilet, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she pulls the flush, shifting so she was leaning against the wall.
“I think we may have to rearrange tonight,” She says, smiling sadly at him, “you should probably go.”
His frown deepens, an incredulous look on his face as he shifts towards her, his hand on her forehead, something she bats away almost immediately.
“If you think I’m leaving you here alone you’ve lost your mind,” he says firmly, “you don’t feel hot.”
“It’s not the flu,” she says breathing out slowly, what he assumes is an attempt to settle her stomach, “it’s food poisoning,” her eyes meet his, and she scrunches her nose up, as if she was preparing to be reprimanded, “I got dinner from The Greek Wok last night.”
Aaron can’t help the sigh that escapes him, his hand falling to her bare thigh which he then squeezes. It was a place she frequented, a local Chinese take-out a block from her place, and he had told her more than once that she should stop eating there. The one time he’d been there he’d seen a mouse in the kitchen. Emily had all but insisted that he was seeing things, saying she’d eaten there from the week she’d moved in, and had never had any issues.
Until last night.
“Em.”
“Can we save the lecture until after I’ve stopped throwing up everything I’ve ever eaten," she pleads, cutting over him before he could say anything, he nods in response and she smiles thankfully, “you really don’t have to stay. We have not been together long enough for you to see me like this.”
“And what kind of boyfriend would I be if I left?” He says, getting onto his knees so he could lean over to the counter, grabbing a washcloth from the drawer he knew she kept them in and wetting it under the tap, turning back to her to run it over her pallid skin. “Garcia would never let me live it down if she found out I abandoned you on your bathroom floor.”
She chuckles, a weak sound in comparison to her usual laugh, but it still makes his heart lurch anyway, words he had to keep forced down trapped in his chest.
“Well we can’t have that,” she replies, groaning as she presses her hand to her stomach, “god I feel like shit.”
“I’m not surprised, love,” he says sympathetically, disposing of the washcloth by turning to put it into the sink, “have you managed to keep anything down?”
She shakes her head. “Not really,” she complains, leaning forward so her forehead was against his shoulder, “I hadn’t thrown up in well over two hours when you got here so I thought I was ok.”
“I do have to ask,” he says, cupping the back of her head as he encourages her to look up at him, “what was your plan if we made it to the restaurant?”
He doesn't ask why she didn’t tell him she was sick when she knew he was at home all day, that he would have been here with her in a second. He knows it’s not the time, a conversation they can have when her best friend isn’t the toilet.
“Just eat something plain.” She says, a sheepish look in her eyes he knows would be paired with a flush to her cheeks if she had any colour to her at that moment.
He hums at her. “Good thing we weren’t planning on eating really rich food in a French restaurant then, isn’t it.” He quips, an eyebrow raised at her.
She furrows her brows at him. “Don’t make fun of me, I’m sick.”
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he says, gathering her into his arms, his lips against her forehead as he held her, “do you think you can move to bed?” She shakes her head against him, desperation in the movement as she grips at his jacket a little tighter. “Ok, we’ll stay here then.” He kisses the top of her head again. “I’ll just call the restaurant and go grab you a couple of things, and then I’ll be right back.”
He kisses her cheek before he breaks away from her, ignoring the protest in his knees as he stands up, grabbing the Gatorade bottles from the ground as he goes. He calls the restaurant to cancel the reservation and walks around her kitchen, desperate to find something he could give to her to make her feel better. He finds a can of ginger ale in her fridge and grabs it. When he’s back in her bedroom he grabs a pillow from her bed, slipping it under his arm, and the comforter too, determined to make her as comfortable as possible.
He walks back into the ensuite to find her hunched over the toilet again, and he sighs.
“Oh, Em.” He says, putting the things he was carrying down so he could kneel behind her again, grimacing on her behalf as she spits into the toilet.
“God,” she exclaims, her voice shaky as she flushes again, pulling back to look at him, her eyes sheening with unshed tears, “I fucking hate this.”
“I know you do baby,” he says, gathering her into his arms, “don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” He presses his lips to the top of her head, “do you want to brush your teeth?”
“No point,” she grumbles, settling into his side, “I’ll never stop throwing up, it’s a waste of toothpaste.” He chuckles into her hairline and she looks over at the things he’d brought in with him, finally registering her comforter on the floor. “Is that my bedding?”
“I thought just because you can’t move from in here doesn’t mean you can’t be comfortable.” He explains, reaching for the glass of water she’d clearly abandoned earlier and encouraging her to take a sip as he grabs the bedding, placing the pillow in his lap as he leans against the wall. “Come lay down for a bit.”
Emily smiles at him, laying so her head is in his lap, curling up against him. He lays the comforter over her, almost wrapping up in it entirely. They lapse into silence, their bodies pressed close together in the cool air of her bathroom.
“I’m sorry for ruining date night.” She whispers eventually, her hand reaching for one of his, linking their fingers together, “I was really looking forward to it.”
“You have nothing to apologise for, we’ll just rearrange for when you’re better.” He says like it’s easy, like their schedules allowed for every Saturday evening off work,
“You’re too good to me, Agent Hotchner,” she says, yawning, his spare hand playing with her hair, his blunt fingernails against her scalp, lulling her to sleep. “A girl could get used to this.”
Aaron can’t help but smile as he looks down at her, her eyes fluttering shut, her long lashes throwing patterns over her cheeks.
“You better get used to it,” he says, her body relaxing against his as she succumbs to sleep, “because I’m not going anywhere.”