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“I got more tequila!”
Emily groans as Penelope places a tray of drinks on their table - three shots and three frozen margaritas - and she scrunches her nose up as she makes eye contact with JJ, both of them smiling as Penelope waves off their obvious concern.
“We said no more shots,” Emily says, hearing the slur in her own voice already and grimacing. JJ nods in agreement but grabs one of the shots and cocktails anyway, turning her nose up as she holds up the shot of tequila.
“I have a kid to look after in the morning,” JJ says before she clinks her shot glass against Emily and Penelope’s, and they all down their shots before placing the empty glasses back down. Emily smirks as she watches the other two grimace, silently thankful for her misspent youth drinking her way across Europe, and her smile only gets wider when JJ rolls her eyes at her lack of reaction before she turns her attention back to Penelope, “Any more of these and I’m getting Will to bring Henry over to your place tomorrow morning.”
Penelope holds her hands up, “Okay, no more shots. Only margaritas.”
Emily hums and pulls her drink closer, missing the straw at first, frowning at it as if it had moved as it hits her in the nose before she takes a sip, “Aaron is on his way to pick me up. So no more drinks for me after this one.”
She smiles as she thinks of her boyfriend. Her sweet, handsome, perfect boyfriend who was currently driving over from her apartment to pick her up from the bar so he knew that she got home safe. He’d insisted, had organised for Jack to stay with Jessica for the weekend, and Emily hadn’t fought back against him at all. She found herself more and more willing to let him look after her these days. It was something she no longer fought against, something she found herself coveting and seeking out - the comfort and help she’d never been comfortable accepting from someone before, something she’d never felt safe enough to accept before, suddenly the thing she wanted most in the world.
Things were still relatively new between them; it had only been six weeks since their first date, but she knew he was it for her, and that she was it for him. She loved him, and he loved her, and after everything they’d both been through and survived, it felt like nothing short of what they deserved. A peaceful, quiet epilogue to the horror they’d lived through. The happy ending she would have once believed wasn’t possible.
They hadn’t said it yet, hadn’t said the three little words that carried so much more weight than they felt like they should, but it didn’t mean she didn’t feel it. She felt loved all the time, even when he was simply just looking at her, when she’d catch him staring when he thought she wasn’t looking, a sparkle in his eyes that seemed to mean forever.
“You two are so cute.”
JJ chuckles, ready to step in for Emily, to defend her usual love of her privacy, “Pen-”
“No, she’s right,” Emily says, her tongue and inhibitions loosened by the tequila, “We are cute.”
Penelope squeals, a sound she stopped trying to cover up two rounds of drinks ago, and she sighs contentedly, “You two are perfect for each other.”
“He’s maybe too perfect,” Emily says without meaning to, still lost in thought as she thinks of Aaron, well aware he’d likely have stuffed a bottle of water and her favourite snacks in the passenger door of his car for her, “He is so good at anticipating my needs. I’m not used to it. It’s like he knows what I need before I do.”
“Well, he does analyse behaviour for a living, Em,” JJ says, raising her eyebrow at her and Emily narrows her eyes playfully.
“I think I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop,” she sighs, “I’ve never…” she scrunches up her nose as she admits something she usually wouldn’t, “I’ve never been this happy,” her cheeks burn with embarrassment as JJ and Penelope both beam at her, excitement shining in their eyes. She takes a sip of her drink, concentrates on the icy burn of it as it slips down her throat, distracting her from how exposed she feels, even if she is with her closest friends, “It’s…weird.”
“I don’t think the other shoe is going to drop,” JJ says, reaching out for her, placing her hand over Emily’s on the table, “You and Hotch both deserve to be happy. After everything he went through with Foyet and everything you went through with Doyle I think you’ve both had more than your fair share of big bad things.”
Emily hums, well aware that life didn’t work that way, that there was no set amount of terrible things for any one person to go through. But it’s a nice thought, one she lets herself sink into, pulled under by a mix of hope and overwhelming love for her boyfriend, and she thinks that there would be worse things to drown in.
“I think the shoes will very firmly stay on for the rest of your life,” Penelope agrees, using her finger to wipe some of the salt from the rim of her glass. She gasps as if something has just occurred to her, and looks up at Emily with wide eyes, “You two are going to have gorgeous babies.”
Emily laughs and shakes her head, but she takes a sip of her drink to try and settle the flipping in her stomach, to try to ignore the burning in her cheeks at the thought of having kids with Aaron, of building a life she’d always wanted but never thought she’d get to have. She’s just finishing her drink when Aaron walks into the bar, immediately catching her eye in his gorgeously casual outfit, his polo shirt and jeans forcing her to bite her lower lip in an attempt to contain his smile.
“Aaron!” She calls out, and he looks over, his smile tinged with amusement the moment he sees her. She waves him over and links her hand through his as soon as he’s by her side, tugging him into the empty seat on her right. She leans in to kiss him, her lips catching his cheek, “Hi honey.”
“Hi sweetheart,” he says, smiling as he looks at the empty glasses on the table, “Did you have fun?”
She tries to roll her eyes at him, but it makes her dizzy, so she settles for squeezing his hand a little tightly, “Yes. I did.”
JJ clears her throat, and it reminds them that they aren’t alone. They both look up, neither one of them missing the amused smiles on JJ and Penelope’s faces, “We had fun too,” JJ says, sipping her drink, “If you care.”
He clears his throat and nods, and Emily kicks JJ under the table, her eyes flashing with a playful warning for embarrassing Aaron, something that only seems to encourage their friends. Emily shakes her head and turns to look at her boyfriend, “Ready to go?”
He nods and turns to Penelope and JJ, “Do you want me to take you home?”
“No, thank you, sir, Hotch,” Penelope replies, “We’re going to stay a bit longer.”
Emily stands up, almost losing her footing, which has everything to do with the sticky floor and not the amount she’s had to drink, and Aaron stands too, his hands on her hips as he steadies her. She hugs Penelope and JJ goodbye, makes them promise to text her when they get home, and links her arms through Aaron’s as they leave the bar.
“You know they’ll already be talking about us,” she says, resting her head against his shoulder as they step outside, shivering against the cool air.
“I’m sure they are,” Aaron replies, pausing to shrug off his jacket and wrap it around her shoulders before he links his arm back through hers and starts walking again towards his car, “You had fun?”
She hums, “So much fun,” she squeezes his arm, “Pen said we’re cute,” she says, her smile slightly lopsided as they make it to his car and she turns to look at him, “I agreed,” she says, stamping her lips against his, leaving the taste of liquor and her behind, “We are cute.”
“We are,” he chuckles and nods, unlocking his car and then opening the passenger door for her, holding it open for her as she slumps into her seat. He rounds the car and gets into the driver's side, smiling at her as she initially struggles to clip her seatbelt into place. He nods towards the passenger door pocket, “I brought some water for you. And those salt and vinegar chips you like.”
She groans in delight and reaches for the chips, tearing the bag open before he even starts the engine, “You really might be the perfect boyfriend.”
___
She almost trips up the stairs leading to her apartment building.
Twice.
Aaron keeps his arm around her, flitting between amusement at her lack of coordination and simply wanting to get her back to her apartment in one piece. He uses the key she gave him on their second date to let them in, his eyes wide as she slips her hand into the back pocket of his jeans to grab his ass, looking around to make sure none of her neighbours are nearby as he guides her into her home. She snuggles up against him as he locks the door and sets the alarm, and then he wraps his arm around her.
“Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you into bed.”
“Sounds like a great idea to me,” she hums and stops in place, tugging on his arm until he’s right in front of her. She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him, her tongue licking through his mouth before she pulls back, her eyes hazy and her smile soft, “Let’s go to bed.”
He smiles and stamps his lips against hers before he carries on leading her through the apartment, “The only thing you’ll be doing in bed tonight is sleeping.”
She groans, “But Aaron…”
He clears his throat to cover a chuckle at the whining tone of her voice, knowing even when drunk she wouldn’t accept him making fun of her. He encourages her into her ensuite bathroom and sits her down on the closed toilet seat.
“Emily, baby,” he says, smiling as he strokes his knuckles down her cheek, “I think if we had sex tonight it would count as a felony,” he leans in and kisses her forehead, “Tomorrow when you’re sober. If you’re feeling up to it.”
“I’m always feeling up to it,” she grumbles, narrowing her eyes as she watches him open her medicine cabinet, “What are you doing?”
He holds up a pack of cotton pads and her make-up remover, “Taking off your make-up for you,” he says, barely stifling a groan as he kneels in front of her, “I know it’s not your full skincare routine,” he says, tipping some of the remover onto one of the pads, “But it’s better than waking up with today’s make-up still on.”
“You’re a good boyfriend,” she smiles at him, her lips pressed together as he carefully starts to wipe her face, “I told JJ and Pen that you’re too perfect.”
He chuckles, concentrating on his task as he raises an eyebrow at her, “I don’t think that’s something I’ve ever been accused of before.”
She frowns, “Don’t say that,” she says, jumping to his defence, even though it’s him she’s defending him from, “You are perfect,” she mutters, “Perfect for me.”
He disposes of the first cotton pad and throws it in the nearby trash can. He takes the opportunity to lean in and kiss her cheek before he starts the process again, pulling another pad out of the packet, “You’re perfect for me too.”
Her eyes drift close as he carries on taking off her make-up, and for a moment he thinks she may have fallen asleep where she’s sitting, but then her eyes flutter open. She stares at him, thinks about how at home he looked in her apartment, wearing jeans that he kept in her closet and wiping off her make-up with remover he’d bought for her after she lamented she’d run out last week.
“I don’t think anyone’s ever taken my make-up off for me before,” she says, her words almost slurring into one, “And no one has ever looked after me like you do,” she shrugs, “I’ve never let them.”
Curiosity gets the better of him, and he hesitates for a second before he finishes removing her make-up, “Why do you let me look after you?”
She shrugs again, “I think it’s because I love you,” she says simply, as if she’s said it a thousand times before, not just this once, “And I thought I’d been in love before, but I never felt anything like this for them,” she leans in closer, as if whispering a secret to him, as if they weren’t the only two in the apartment, “I think you might be the love of my life.”
For a moment, he stops breathing, his heart stuttering in his chest, as she so casually says what they’d both been talking around for weeks.
He’d been in love with her for longer than he cared to admit even to himself. He didn’t need to hear the words to know how she felt about him, he saw it in everything she did. In the way she so casually looked after him, in the way she’d always touch him when it was just the two of them, the press of her skin against hers the only confession he thought he needed. He told himself he’d wait her out, that he would go at her pace, but he couldn’t lie and pretend that hearing her say it wasn’t one of the best moments of his life.
“Want to know a secret?” He says, and she nods, “I think you’re the love of my life too.”
She beams at him and leans forward to kiss him, pressing her forehead against his, “We’re going to bed?”
“Yes,” he says, standing up and offering her a hand, something she takes, linking their fingers together as she stands, “To sleep.”
She scoffs but leans into his side anyway, her face pressed into his shoulder, “Spoilsport.”
___
The first thing she’s aware of when she wakes up is the pounding in her head. She groans as she rolls over onto her back, her arm thrown over her eyes as she protests being awake.
“Good morning.”
Even the gruff, beautiful, sound of her boyfriend’s voice first thing in the morning is too loud and she moves her arm just enough to look at him. He’s sitting up in bed, his back against the headrest, and he’s smiling down at her, “What the hell did I drink last night?”
He shifts closer and she moves just enough to rest her cheek against his stomach, “I think that bar might have a tequila shortage.”
“Oh God,” she grumbles, curling further into him as he wraps his arms around her, “Penelope Garcia is dead. The moment I can stand up.”
He laughs and leans down to kiss her forehead, “I’ll go get you some water and aspirin.”
She tightens her hold on him, “In a minute,” she says, tilting her head to look up at him, “You’re comfortable.”
He nods and runs his fingers through her hair, “You had fun last night?”
She hums, “Judging by my pounding headache and my intense craving for bacon I’d say so.”
“I’ll make breakfast for you too,” he says, scratching lightly at her scalp, “When you were out last night I went to the store and got bacon and everything I need to make you pancakes.”
She groans, this time happily, “You’re a good boyfriend.”
“You said that last night too,” he says, running his knuckles down her cheek, smiling when she furrows her brow, tilting her head as if asking when, “Right after you propositioned me and just before I took your make-up off for you.”
She smiles, something she couldn’t suppress even if she wanted to, and she feels warmth flood through her, her chest full of love and adoration she can feel on the tip of her tongue. She almost says it, almost says she loves him, but then she feels a wave of nausea and the dryness in her mouth, and she knows she doesn’t want it to be like this.
“Well, I was right,” she says, smiling up at him, her lips pressed together to stop herself from saying what was desperate to burst free. She rests her head back on his stomach and draws idle patterns on the comforter over his thigh, “I’ll take that aspirin and glass of water now.”
He leans down and kisses her forehead before he climbs out of bed, taking a second to rearrange the covers around her. She watches him go, and she feels half a memory, a warm feeling in her chest that feels familiar, the way he looks so at home in her home triggering something she can’t quite reach.
“Honey?” She says, waiting for him to turn to look at her, “I didn’t say anything embarrassing last night did I?”
“Just that I’m a perfect boyfriend,” he replies, suppressing a smirk as she flops back down onto the bed, burying her face in his pillow, her voice muffled when she speaks again.
“I didn’t say anything else, right?” She asks, her eyes wide in mild horror as she looks up at him, blinking against the light in the bedroom.
He thinks about telling her, about reminding her of the love confession she’d made whilst sitting on the closed lid of her toilet, her face pressed against his hand as he took off her make-up for her, her eyes half closed. And whilst he knows he’ll always treasure it, that for him that uninhibited, drunk, version of her was just as beautiful and precious to him as any other version, he knows it wouldn’t be the same for her. Saying I love you, admitting it to someone for the first time, was a big deal, bigger for her than most, and he didn’t want to take that from her.
He wants it to be something she looked back on fondly too.
“No, sweetheart,” he says, smiling softly, “You didn’t say anything else.”
She sinks into the bedding in relief, tugging it up around her to fight against the slight chill of the room, “You said something about breakfast?”
He nods and turns to leave the room, sneaking one last glance at her before he goes, “Coming right up.”
A week later, when she says I love you for the first time, for the second time, he says it back immediately, his lips pressed against hers as she smiles widely, and he knows he’s made the right choice.