She woke to the sound of puking. As much as she might want to forget it that sound was something that would always be familiar. She even knew the different types. There was the bulimic puke, which she remembered a fair number of girls doing at Hotchkiss. There was the morning sickness puke, the alcohol/drugs puke, the flu puke, and the miscellaneous puke.
There was even the Linda Blair puke but truthfully that could fall under any of the other categories. The puke she heard was definitely drunk. Emily climbed out of bed, went to the cracked bathroom door, and peeked in. Sure enough, Hotch was hunched over the toilet tossing his cookies.
“Oh my God, Aaron.” she pushed the door open and rushed to his aid. “Are you alright?”
“Let me die Haley,” he muttered. “Just let me die OK? This was so stupid.”
“I'm not going to do that…mostly because my name isn’t Haley.”
“Huh?” he lifted his head from the toilet seat but was right back in a matter of moments. “Oh God, ohhh God; I'm so sorry. Oh God.”
Emily stroked his hair. She had no idea what they'd gotten up to tonight. What happened in Vegas needed to be revealed if she was going to help him. After dinner she and JJ decided to call it a night. They were all about the hotel Jacuzzi, manicures, and free cable.
How often did they get a night off recently? The guys had different plans. Since Spencer was spending the night with his mom, Rossi and Morgan decided to give Hotch a night on the town. Things had been up, down, and all around lately.
He needed to loosen his tie and have some fun in the city of sin. He fought it but they pulled him away kicking and screaming. It looked as if he finally let go. Typical of someone who was too wound up, he let go a little too much.
“What did you drink tonight?” Emily asked. During a puke break she got Hotch out of his tie. She also unbuttoned the top two buttons on his dress shirt. His jacket was already lying in the bathtub. In addition to smelling like puke and alcohol, he smelled of cheap perfume. She could just imagine where the girls sprayed it. “What did you go tonight?”
“I didn’t…” Gagging, Hotch hurled himself over the toilet again.
Emily went to the sink and filled a glass with water. No matter what this would all be over soon. And Hotch would learn a lesson about sushi and liquor not mixing. Even at his age men could still do very stupid things.
“I think I might be dying.” He moaned.
“You're not, believe me. Drink this.” Emily handed him the water but Hotch tried to push her away. He withdrew when she slapped his hands and then handed it to him again. This time he took it. “What did you drink?”
“I just drank some whiskey.” He sipped the water. “It was Michael Collins Irish Whiskey and they just kept it coming. What the hell was I thinking; I'm going to kill Dave. Oh, and there was also champagne.”
“Was there a champagne room?”
Emily wet a washcloth and gave it to Hotch to wipe his face. He did, changing his position so that his back and the back of his head rested against the wall.
“I swear to you we didn’t go to a strip joint. I swear, Emily…I swear. Just leave me here, I’ll sleep here. Don’t worry about me.”
“I think I won't.” she didn’t know if she believed him and didn’t really care. She trusted her man not to have sex with random strippers, even random high priced strippers. Because there was no way Rossi took them to a shitty strip club. “C'mon, finish your water and we’ll go to bed. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, Aaron.”
“What happened in Vegas?” he asked.
“Nevermind.” Emily smirked.
She didn’t know why she wasn’t angrier but she wasn’t. The plan was to get seven, uninterrupted hours of sleep. It was a long time coming. The plan was as down the toilet as Hotch’s dinner. Tipsy Hotch was adorable and always had been but this was drunken, pukey, cheap perfume-smelling Hotch. He was a completely different beast. He called his girlfriend by his ex-wife’s name.
“I think I drank too much.” he mumbled.
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“Are you pissed at me?”
“Why would I be?”
“What ever happened tonight already happened and its over. I hope you had fun. I don’t care if it was a strip club or someplace else altogether. I just want to get you off the floor and go back to sleep. OK?”
Hotch nodded. He finished the cup of water, put it on the side of the tub, and waited to throw up again. That didn’t happen. His stomach churned but he let himself be hopeful that the sick part of the night was over.
Emily summoned her strength as Hotch held out his hands. She planted her feet, took a deep breath, and got him up in one pull. Laughing a little to himself, he wrapped his arms around her.
“Damn, you're strong.” He whispered in her ear. “I find that really sexy.”
“You're soooo not getting laid tonight, Hotchner.”
“I don’t give you compliments just to get laid.”
“It helps though, doesn’t it?”
“Damn right it helps.” He laughed and sounded like Muttley from the Wacky Races.
In the bedroom, Emily undressed him. She took off his shirt, slacks, and socks. Hotch crawled onto the bed and lay on his stomach.
“Come to bed, baby. Come to bed and let me love you.”
“I think your short-term memory could be impaired.” She replied.
“Go to sleep, Aaron.” Emily went over to the other bed and slipped under the sheets.
“Mmm hmm.” She nodded.
“But…I wanted to sleep with you. We can cuddle. I won't even touch you, I promise.”
She fought hard and managed not to laugh. There was definitely a cheeky response on the tip of her tongue but Emily didn’t bother once she heard the snoring. She climbed out of bed, put the blanket over him, and kissed his cheek.
“I love you, Aaron Hotchner.” She whispered. “Sweet dreams and I'm sorry the morning will probably suck.”