Where the Heart Is

Chapter 2

It was 6 AM the next morning when Hotch woke up. Even on days when he didn't have to work, he couldn't seem to sleep in more than an hour after his usual wake-up time, 5 AM. He wandered into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of hot coffee, stirred in the creamer, and went to sit in the living room and watch the news.

Unfortunately, Hotch wasn't used to having a cat in his home, and he accidentally sat on Sergio, who lept up with a loud, angry hiss and darted off back towards the guest bedroom, knocking Emily's purse off of the coffee table in the process. Its contents spilled out all over Hotch's living room floor.

Cursing, Hotch bent over, trying to gather all of Emily's things so he could shove them back into her purse and so she wouldn't think he had been snooping.

How the hell does all of this fit in there? Hotch thought angrily as he picked everything up and set it onto the coffee table. Sifting through the items, he found hand sanitizer, a miniature sewing kit, hair bands and bobby pins, aspirin, a miniature notepad, three pens, a book of matches, a compact mirror, three tampons, breath mints, mint gum, two of her favorite energy bars, her lipstick, a nail file, a tube of tums, sunglasses, a small calendar, her wallet, a bottle of clear nail polish, three band aids, a condom, a pack of Kleenex, mascara, a small brush, nail clippers, perfume, a rubber band ball, a box of paper clips, a miniature stick of deodorant, a small camera, an MP3 player, a toothbrush, a package of M&Ms, a checkbook, stamps, hand lotion, a library card from London, her Interpol credentials and her old FBI credentials, both badges, a can of pepper spray, her PDA, a small pair of scissors, a small bottle of hairspray, a deck of cards, a screw driver, her cell phone and cell phone charger, a gun belt, a comb, a small half-full bottle of ginger ale, and a mostly-empty sleeve of Saltine crackers.

Did Haley used to have this much crap in her purse? Hotch wondered as he picked up the last items, deciding he would let Emily put them back herself so it wouldn't be so much of a cluttered mess. He glanced at the clock - it was 6:32, church would be starting in an hour. He wasn't particularly religious, but Haley had been, and he felt he was serving her memory by taking Jack to church when he was home on Sunday mornings. He reluctantly got up and stretched, heading into the bathroom to take a shower.

Just as he began to shampoo his hair, he heard someone come into the bathroom. There was only one bathroom in the Hotchner household, so he and Jack never locked the door while in the shower so that the other could come in and get ready.

"Morning, buddy," Hotch said, rinsing the shampoo out of his hair.

Then he heard the retching.

"Jack?" he asked, concerned, poking his head out from behind the shower curtain. It wasn't Jack, however, that was in the bathroom with him. He watched in horror as Emily Prentiss knelt over the toilet, vomiting. "Prentiss? Are you okay?" he asked, immediately turning the water off and grabbing his robe from where it hung over the curtain rod, pulling it on. He stepped out of the shower and took her hair from her, holding it back as she threw up again. "What's wrong? Are you sick?"

Emily finally leaned back hesitantly and flushed the toilet. Tears began to form in her eyes as she turned around and said, "God, Hotch, I'm so sorry-"

"Don't be sorry," he said, immediately pulling her into his arms in a show of unusual compassion, "It's okay. Are you sick? What's wrong?"

"I'm not sick," she said, pulling away from his awkward hug and turning towards the sink to rinse out her mouth.

"Are you sure? I can take you to the doctor's if you want. You might have the flu or something..."

"No, Hotch, I'm really not sick," she repeated.

Then it dawned on him. The ginger ale and saltine crackers in her purse... a common cure for morning sickness...

"Emily..." he said gently, and she looked slightly surprised by his use of her first name, "Are you pregnant?"

She nodded, avoiding his gaze.

"Well, that's not a bad thing!" he said, happy for her, "Congratulations, Prentiss!"

"No," she said, turning towards him but not making eye contact, "It's a bad thing, Hotch. It's a very bad thing."

"Wha- why?" he asked. "You're not happy about it? Are you going to... get rid of it?"

"No, no," she said, wiping her tear away before he saw it, "I did that once and it was terrible. I'm never doing that again."

"Why is it a bad thing?" he asked, not showing any emotion. "Does the father know?"

"No, he doesn't, and he isn't going to," said Emily firmly.

"Why not? He deserves to know, Prentiss -"

"He does not."

He stared at her for a moment. "And why not?"

She stared at him for a minute, and then gave a shaky sigh. Looking away, she whispered "Ian Doyle is the father, Hotch."