A/N: FLUFF. JUST... FLUFF.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN CRIMINAL MINDS

Hotch suddenly opened his eyes in surprised at the loud bang from the kitchen. Suddenly so alert at a possible intrusion, he turned to his side to wake up the woman beside him.

"Em-" Shit. She's not there. She's not beside him, where she's supposed to be.

With his heart thumping, he grabbed his glock from the bedside table, and headed quietly to the kitchen.

Please God, let her be okay, he silently prayed. He's not even religious. With quiet footsteps and gun in his hand, he made his way to the kitchen, quickly clearing every corner and room he passes by.

He was ready to take this son of a bitch who probably has Emily hostage. Except, he stopped as he turned to the kitchen, there was no intruder. No son of a bitch.

"Emily!" He sighed as he found her on the floor, picking up pieces of broken glass. He put his gun on the counter and approached her.

"Emily…" He said again as he knelt in front of her. However, Emily did not seem to hear him.

"Sweetheart" he called again softly. This time she looked at him, but he sees the confusion in her eyes. "Your hand is bleeding. C'mon." He pulled her up to sit on the stool by the counter. He grabbed some paper towels to temporarily put on her cut.

He was quickly sweeping up the broken glass when he heard her speak quietly. "I- I wanted some water but then I suddenly felt dizzy. I'm sorry."

Huh. Hotch then remembered that Emily told him that she was feeling a little under the weather when they got home. He was worried then because technically speaking Emily Prentiss doesn't get sick. But she shrugged it off and said "I'll just sleep it off. I'll be better in the morning." But hey, look where they are now.

He place his hand on her forehead and then her cheek. "Sweetheart, you're burning up." He hugged her tightly and placed a kiss on her forehead. "Let's go back to bed, okay?" She nodded.

As they walk back to their room, Emily was annoyed. How could her body betray her? She was supposed to feel better. She was supposed to enjoy this hopefully case-free weekend with the love of her life. But now her throat is burning, her head is pounding, and every muscle in her body is aching. And goddamn, this cut is hurting like a bitch.

She groaned as Hotch made her sit on the bed. "Stay awake for a couple of minutes, okay?" He said as she watch him make his way to the bathroom.

Hotch came back with a first-aid kit, a bottle of Tylenol, and a thermometer. She didn't even know she had one. He placed the thermometer in her mouth and started digging in the first aid kit while he waited.

At the beep, Emily took the thermometer of out her mouth and Hotch immediately grabbed it from her. "102" He sighed. "Are you in pain?" He asked. She shrugged, "My head. And my muscles feel very sore too. And my throat… So yeah. Yeah, I'm in pain."

"Must be the flu. Okay, let me see your hand."

He started cleaning the cut on her hand. She hissed and pulled her hand away when he applied the antiseptic. "It stings" she said with a pout.

He looked at her clutching her wounded hand and chuckled a little. "Emily Prentiss, a respected FBI agent, pouting on a little antiseptic."

"But it stings" she whispered, and immediately his face softened.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. But we have to clean it, otherwise it'll get infected." He said as he took her hand back. She knows it could get infected. He knows that she knows, but he couldn't help it. Not when she currently looks like a little girl wounded on a bike ride gone wrong.

Emily's face softened at the sight in front of her. It's all new. This amount of affection, care. This kind of love. She was not used to having someone take care of her. Always the independent, Emily never imagined that she would ever find a man like him. A man who wakes up at 2am to attend to his sick girlfriend and her clumsiness. Sometimes it scares her. It scares her because someday, once she gets used to it all, it might all go away. But this man, her Aaron, had never failed to remind her that she deserves this – all of it- and that he intends to stay for as long as she'll have him.

Hotch has just finished putting the bandage on her hand. He kissed it and said, "There you go, all better." And just like that, a tear fell from her eyes. Hotch frowned at this. "Why are you crying? Does anything else hurt?"

However, she just shook her head and quickly wiped her tears away. Hotch knew all too well not to push, especially when she's at this state. So, he just grabbed the Tylenol and gave her one, and the bottled water. "Here, sweetheart. Take this, and if you're not better by tomorrow afternoon, I'll take you to the doctor." She whispered her thanks.

After drinking the medicine, Hotch made her lie down, while he turned her bedside lamp off and lied down on his side of the bed. Emily immediately curled into him, snuggling her face on the crook of his neck. He, in turn, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her forehead. He was giving her hip feather-light taps, a new method he newly discovered that could make Emily relax enough to sleep easily.

"Aaron."

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Thank you for waking up and getting my medicine, and cleaning my wound, and kissing it better." He heard her whisper.

"Anything for you, Emily. I'll do anything."

"I'm sorry I'm sick and already ruining our weekend." He heard her sniffle.

"No, Em. You shouldn't be. Being sick is your body's way of telling you that you need to rest. And that is what we'll do all weekend. And no, you're not ruining it, sweetheart. I'm perfectly happy with spending the weekend taking care of you. Because I love you. I love you so much. Always remember that."

She sniffled again at his response. She could hear the passion in his voice. God, what did she ever do to deserve this man? But one thing's for sure – she's not going to screw this up.

"I love you too, Aaron. So much."

And the last thought in her mind before she fell into a deep slumber – Nope. Definitely not screwing this up.