Author's Note: I really do not know where I was going with this story. It started off angsty, became more passionate than I thought it would, then tapered off into something more subdued and sweet. It's crazy, but what about If That Mockingbird Don't Sing isn't?

Anyway, thank you as always for taking the time to read my stories. I promise I won't disappoint. Enjoy!

Story title inspired by the Florence + the Machine song, "Breath of Life."

Disclaimer: I do not own Criminal Minds or any of its characters.

Hotch sighed defeatedly as he quickly checked his rearview mirror, the image of a weary, sleeping Jack ingrained in his vision. It was late, very late at night, but the darkness of the sky didn't stop Hotch from continuing his drive down the rain-slickened road that would lead to Emily's apartment.

Once again, he glanced back at his son's sleeping frame. The six year old didn't have the slightest clue as to the many different - sometimes subtle - ways adults expressed affection towards one another; and on one hand, Hotch was glad he didn't. Jack was still so young, and still so innocent.

But it sometimes complicated things.

Hotch thanked his lucky stars Jack had been with Jessica and out of the house the day his newfound alcoholism had peaked. He still remembered, clear as day, the sound of ceramic shattering against the wall, the feel of sharp, burning pain that bolted up his arm and through his heart as he broke several fingers in an impassioned rage. There was no way for Hotch to explain to Jack that love hurts, no way for him to explain how he had sought Emily out later that night and -

Jack was unassuming. He didn't know his father had spent the night. He didn't know his parents were on the road to recovery; he guessed just the opposite, unfortunately. And that made the poor boy sad.

Making a right that would bring him onto Emily's street, Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. It had only been a day since Emily had insisted she couldn't stay in the house for any longer, no matter how much she wanted to; but Hotch hadn't been able to get her off his mind.

Based on Jack's never-ending temper tantrums, neither had he.

Which is how and why Hotch found himself at Emily's door, a sleeping Jack slumped against his chest; or at least, that the reason Hotch kept repeating to himself. Jack was heavy in his father's arms, but Hotch didn't mind, not when a flash of pink on the inside of his heavy wool coat caught his eye.

Folded up in the coat's large inside pocket was Emily's favorite pink cashmere blouse. Unbidden, he remembered angrily and stubbornly packing Emily's belongings into boxes; only to hold onto the blouse for his own reasons. Emily had worn it on their first date together and it smelled so beautifully like her.

It gave Hotch a reason to see her again, too. And that reason was what had driven him forward, to her door.

He just wanted to see his ex-wife.

Biting down hard on his bottom lip, Hotch rapped his knuckles loudly on the wood separating him from his one true love. And he waited.

~.~.~

Emily didn't notice, however.

Tangled up in her cool cotton sheets - which, in all their glory, couldn't compare to the ones she had left with Hotch -, Emily lapsed into a restless sleep and dreamt. Though the world she had fallen into was more adequately a nightmare. Emily's own words came hurling back at her; "Everyone grieves differently. But if, for you, that means having another child so soon, then I'm sorry, but go find another woman to have your baby," she had yelled in a moment of fury and misplaced disappointment.

"Go find another woman to have your baby."

That was exactly what Emily was witnessing now.

She watched through a sheen of tears as Hotch leaned over a woman, a woman who looked so much like her but wasn't, and lovingly took a newborn from her arms. It was a baby boy, Emily noticed, bile rising in her throat. Neither Hotch nor the mother of his child - his new wife? - paid a second of attention to Emily standing at the window, wailing. And even though Emily knew she shouldn't, she knocked and banged on the door relentlessly.

But Hotch never once met her gaze.

It was then that Emily jolted awake, sweat dampening her brow. She was working to steady her breathing when she realized the knocking from her nightmare hadn't stopped.

Someone was at her door.

Pushing herself out of bed with a mental strength Emily hadn't known she possessed, she made her way to the door, her hand on the doorknob as she gazed through the peephole.

Emily's heart skipped a beat then stopped altogether as she pulled back a fraction and drew open the door; revealing a concerned-looking Aaron Hotchner who visibly relaxed in her presence. His eyebrows remained furrowed in question, though. "Are you okay, Emily? You look like you've...seen a ghost."

And just like that, Emily was pulled back into the present. In a flash, she remembered the night they had shared a little more than forty-eight hours earlier; the night that had been glorious but only served to make her more confused. There was no other baby boy, she assured herself.

There was no other woman.

Emily smiled, though it didn't quite meet her tired eyes. "Hello to you, too, Aaron," she greeted, taking Jack from his arms without needing any explanation.

Hotch gave one anyway. "He, uh...really wanted to see you. He wouldn't stop crying until I promised to bring him over."

"You can come in, you know," she called over her shoulder upon noticing that he was still lingering in the doorway.

"I would've called, but Jack fell asleep in the car and I didn't want to wake him...and frankly, I forgot," he admitted, following Emily to her spare bedroom, where she laid the boy on the thin, complimentary cot. She would move him to her bedroom later; later when she discerned her ex-husband's ulterior motives, later when she was ready to be assaulted by more nightmares. "I have a lot on my mind."

"You and me both," Emily whispered, pressing a kiss to the young boy's forehead. Wordlessly, she led Hotch back to the main room, wondering all the while about what he was thinking of.

Hotch was pondering just how domestic Emily had become when he realized, for the first time, just what she was wearing.

It was his dress shirt. He remembered giving it to her one playful night, loving the way the lavender and white cotton looked against her skin. He hadn't thought she'd kept it, though. Seeing it on her now caused a jolt of fire to shoot through his veins; and more than anything, Hotch found himself missing her all the more.

Feeling Hotch's gaze on her nearly bare frame, Emily pulled the sides of the dress shirt tighter around her frame and cleared her throat softly. "Aaron...I'm not trying to be rude, but..." her dark gaze met his, her eyes sparkling, "what are you doing here?" Her tone was inherently curious, with the slightest tinge of wistfulness.

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Then opened it again. "I told you, I came here because of Jack." He winced when he realized how that sounded. "I wanted to see you," he eventually said, "and I wanted to give you this."

Emily blinked, surprised, as Hotch pressed an expanse of strawberry pink cashmere into her hands. Her favorite shirt. But why had he...

"I found it at the bottom of a different drawer after...after you left with the rest of your stuff," he lied. "I put it aside as a reminder for me to stop by one day and give it back to you. But I guess I forgot."

A pregnant pause lapsed between them.

"I don't think you did," Emily finally said; and her voice was husky and low. She glanced down pointedly at the shirt she was wearing - his shirt. The beautiful look in her eyes begged him to challenge her.

Hotch bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood at her casual response. She always had been able to read him; she always had been able to tell when he was lying. It infuriated him.

But it made him love her all the more.

"Maybe you're right," Hotch said with a shrug, taking a single step closer to her; and then another, and another, and another. The tension - the sexual tension - in the air was stifling, so unbelievably thick. They had always been good at this, Hotch realized, as he fisted a hand in the only material shading Emily from him. They had always been good at playing cat and mouse.

Though, who would be cat and who would be mouse at that specific time always remained to be seen.

"'Maybe'?" Emily echoed, her eyes bright as he pulled her flush against him. "I'm always right, Aaron."

And then, she swallowed any protest he might have had with a long overdue, bone-melting kiss.

Hotch growled against her hard mouth, lifting her up off the ground as she flung herself at him. He knew, in that one moment, any unenthusiastic or reserved vibe he might have gotten off of her had been solely for show; in the end, her thoughts and desires were always the same as his.

The embrace was the epitome of passionate, with Emily's hands tangling in his hair, drawing him in closer until there was not a sliver of space between them. Her legs were wrapped around his waist now, much to Hotch's delight. She panted in his ear, he buried his face in the sweet-smelling crook of her neck, she let out a breathy moan. Together, they were too much to handle; together, they were explosive.

"Mmmm..." Emily peered at him through lust-hazed eyes as he walked her back to her bedroom. "First, you say you came here because of Jack. Then you say it's because you wanted to give me back my shirt." She kissed the corner of his mouth lazily. "And now...this. Is this why you came here, Aaron?"

"Maybe," he rumbled, his mouth busy sucking at her pulse point.

"You and your 'maybe's," she playfully chided. "Aaron, you really need to stop confusing me."

Emily's teasing tone only augmented the fire raging everywhere in his body. "I'm the confusing one?" he countered. "That's funny, I've always thought my intentions were quite clear..." He laid her back on her bed. "Especially now."

Emily couldn't prevent the giggle that slipped from her lips as she felt Hotch's stubble rake over the sensitive parts of her body. "Very clear," she breathed, her eyes falling shut at the myriad of sensations that were threatening to overwhelm her. "C'mere."

He obeyed willingly, giving her yet another passionate kiss before moving to rid himself of his clothing. She, too, was about to shrug her shirt off of her shoulders when Hotch's large hands stopped her.

"Keep the shirt on," Hotch ordered hotly, his eyes burning holes into hers.

She did.

~.~.~

"Aaron."

Hotch groaned into Emily's hair as he felt her find her release. The way she uttered his given name - like a prayer - was all he needed to find that paradise as well, the paradise he had coveted for much too long. And with Emily in his arms, her silken hair tickling his cheeks, Hotch knew...he would never be more content.

"Oh, sweetheart," he sighed, his eyes falling shut after they had been silent for a while. "Mmmm, Emily. That was..." Perfect. Beautiful. Exactly what I needed.

"Yeah." Snuggling closer to him, Emily found she was ready to fall into sleep's waiting embrace, for she knew that with Hotch by her side, she would be safe and shielded from the pain. Gently, she left a good night kiss to Hotch's bare chest.

She was pulling the sheets over their twined bodies when Hotch spoke. "I should go check on Jack," he whispered, and slowly moved to climb out of bed.

Slender arms wrapped around his waist, stopping him. "Just...could you maybe wait?" Emily asked tinily, her voice soft, shy, and almost childlike. "Just one minute," she said quickly. "I..." their gazes met in the dark, "I need you right here, Aaron."

Hotch was about to protest, to tell her he promised to be quick and that, after that, he was all hers; when, curiously, he saw something like a nightmare flash behind her eyes. His expression softened. "How about more than just one minute?" he whispered affectionately. "I'll be here for as long as you'll have me, Emily."

Her eyes burned for a second before she gave him a chaste kiss, wondering all the while about the many years she wanted to spend with him; the rest of her life, even. "Be careful what you wish for. You might be here for a really long time, then," she teased.

Deliberately, Hotch touched the wedding ring still resting on her finger. And he smiled as she drifted to a restful sleep. "I sure hope so."

THE END.

Author's Note: Reviews are love! Please don't hesitate to leave a review; I love hearing your thoughts and suggestions. No account needed!