A/N: It was lovely to get back from my trip yesterday and read all the wonderful praise you guys had left in my inbox over the weekend. It gave me the energy I needed to finish up the story. And so here it is. More notes on the continuation of this universe at the end. Enjoy, my ducklings!

He stayed with her for the rest of the night, the two of them just fading off to sleep at some point with her still in his arms. When he woke, he was met with deep brown eyes that were staring intently at him and beautiful lips stretched into a faint smile.

He had to say something. He knew he had to do; they couldn't just lie there all day, staring at each other, but he couldn't think of anything. Giving it up as hopeless, he just let his mouth run. "I don't understand your hair."

Emily laughed. "It's just hair," she replied, grinning. God, he loved her smile.

"It changes colors," he said by way of trying to explain himself. "But slowly, not as if you dye it, unless you get it dyed a shade darker or lighter every week."

"I might," she replied, her eyes twinkling with mischief. He must have looked surprised, because she laughed again. It was a beautiful noise, and one that he didn't hear enough; none of them laughed enough. "I don't, Hotch," she said, "I promise."

He kissed her then. Afterwards, he would never be able to say why he had chosen that moment, why he hadn't kissed her the night previous when he realized how he felt; it just seemed like the right time. He also couldn't say why he was surprised when she kissed him back, but when, after half a moment of stillness, he felt her return the pressure, he felt a jolt of joy and shock course through his body.

She moved closer, not pressing into him, but initiating full contact along the fronts of their bodies. Her hand slid to the back of his neck as if she wanted to hold him there forever as he splayed his hand across her lower back. He took her bottom lip gently between his teeth, pulled it into his mouth, stroked his tongue across it. She trembled against him, her whole body going tense. Was she nervous, or afraid? Was he going too fast? When she didn't pull away, he began to massage her back gently, and she melted into him, molding her body to his.

With this for encouragement, he released her lip from his teeth and begged entrance to her mouth. She granted it immediately, and as he explored her, found out what made her shudder, what made her sigh, what made her moan, she slid her hand from the back of his neck into his hair. It was all he could do not to flip them, to cover her body with his, to possess her, mark her, claim her as his own; she was hurt, bruised still, and he did not want to make it any worse. When they did let this escalate farther, he didn't want anything to mar the memory of it for her.

Finally, she pulled away, breathing heavily. He wanted to trail kisses down her neck, stop at her pulse point, and leave a mark, but he couldn't stand the thought of another bruise streaked across her skin, even one put there with love. Instead, he blinked slowly, met her deep brown eyes with his own hazel ones, and smiled at the dazed joy he found there.

Suddenly, her stomach growled loudly, and they both started laughing. "Come on," he said, not even trying to wipe the grin from his face. "Let's get food.

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Emily insisted on making the food, but in return, he managed to wheedle out agreement to go to the hospital to make absolutely sure that she was okay. He called Rossi to say that neither of them would be in that day. He explained what had happened (minus, of course, Emily's nightmare and the tonsil tennis), and his plan to take her to the hospital.

Rossi agreed with him completely about the hospital, though he could tell from Rossi's voice that, were the circumstances any less serious, the older man would tease him mercilessly about staying the night with Emily. It seemed that Rossi had read his feelings long before he himself had even acknowledged them.

He sat down at Emily's kitchen table just as she finished cooking the food. "Rossi agrees with me," he commented conversationally as he took his first bite of the eggs she had given him. "This is really good."

"Of course he does," Emily replied, unable to keep an affectionate smile off her face. "He's a man, too. And don't expect a repeat performance of this." She gestured at the food in front of them. "I can't make anything other than breakfast."

"That's fine," he returned with a grin, "seeing as I can cook anything but breakfast."

She smiled back. "Well, then, I guess that just means that this will all turn out perfectly."

He locked eyes with her at that; she met his gaze almost defiantly, as if daring him to contradict her. He didn't, though; he wouldn't have dared. He just reached out and covered her hand with his. "I guess so."

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The trip to the hospital was uneventful. When they got there, though, Emily stopped just outside the doors.

"I just realized how this is going to look," she said in response to his inquiring look. "I mean, I'm an FBI agent. I should have gotten completely looked over at the scene."

He had taken her hand instinctively when they'd gotten out of his car, and now he squeezed it gently. "It'll be fine," he reassured her. "I've got an idea of what to say. Just let me take care of it."

She smiled and nodded. As they walked through the automatic doors, he felt a swell of…something in his chest that she trusted his word so implicitly. He led her to the reception counter and outlined the basics of what had happened to the woman behind it.

As he got closer to the reason they had taken so long to come in, he felt Emily's hand tighten spasmodically around his. He stroked his thumb along the back of her hand in an effort to calm her, and felt her settle almost immediately beneath his touch. "Neither of us realized how badly she had been hurt until this morning," he told the nurse, "and we both though it'd be a good idea to make sure there was no lasting damage."

The nurse nodded. "That was probably the best idea," she said, "and you're in luck; the clinic isn't very busy today." She managed to get them into an appointment slot half an hour later and, after taking down Emily's information, directed them to the appropriate waiting room.

They spent the intermittent period talking about nothing. When Emily's name was called and she got up, he let go of her hand for the first time. She looked back at him curiously, and reached to pick his hand up again. "Come with me?" she asked.

He got up, feeling ridiculously happy that she wanted him with her.

The check was quick and easy, and as Emily lay on the examining table, her shirt once more pulled up and the doctor running the ultrasound wand over her abdomen, he found himself longing for nightfall and a shooting star to wish on, to wish that they were there for a better, happier purpose. He tried to fight the mental image of Emily, his beautiful Emily, her hair curled like she used to wear it, her eyes sparkling with laughter, her stomach swollen with their child, but when he met her eyes, he was hit with the feeling that she was thinking about the same thing.

"No internal bleeding," the doctor said, smiling as she put away the ultrasound equipment, clearly oblivious to the silent sharing of a daydream that had gone on under her nose. "I know you said that you know you don't have a broken rib, but I want to schedule you for an X-ray, just to be sure that a fracture isn't hiding under the bruises' pain. If I can fit you in, do you think you could do it today?"

"No problem," Emily replied, sitting up and pulling down her shirt. "The sooner, the better, really."

The doctor smiled again and left.

Emily swung her legs off the exam table, but remained sitting on it. She met his eyes and smiled, as if the mere sight of him made her painfully happy. If it did, he knew the feeling. She swung her feet slightly, kicking out like a child on a high seat, and she was so incredibly adorable that he just wanted to laugh and hold her tightly and kiss her senseless, all at once. He satisfied himself by walking over to her and gently pressing his lips to hers.

"Mm, Hotch," she sighed happily against his mouth.

He pulled back. "Aaron," he said quietly. "I want you to call me Aaron."

"Keep kissing me like that and I'll call you whatever the hell you want," she told him.

He couldn't stop himself from laughing this time, even as she said, "Aaron," very sternly, grabbed his tie, and pulled him in to continue the kiss he had interrupted.

~To Be Continued in "Claim"~

A/N2: And that's it for this one! I mentioned in the very first Author's Notes that this would be part of a series of episode re-writes flowing from the alternate universe started here (alternate universe? Whaaaaaat? This is totally canon). Now, here's the plan: Muses willing, I will post four more oneshots, one a week, and then another little multi-chaptered fic, roughly the same length as this one, to finish out season four. Then there will be a pause while I finish watching Angel (finally) and locate Criminal Minds season 5 on DVD. All bets are off after that, but I'm pretty sure that the entirety of the Foyet arc that is in season five will be one fic. There may also be oneshots to supplement it, but, like I said, who the hell knows.

Now, I'm planning on keeping this pretty close to canon for the most part, but then right at the beginning of season six A Thing is going to happen and you may or may not end up hating me, depending on how I decide to let it play out.

ANYWAY, like I said, that's all for "Realize," keep your eyes open for the next one, and soldier on, my ducklings.

(Yes, you are now officially my ducklings. If I ever become famous, that is what I will call my fans.)