Your daughter is mildly confused when Aaron beckons her over during the ceremony, but at four years old, she's mostly obedient to her parents. Well- to Aaron. To you, she protests and screams and giggles maniacally, but you suppose you're the one that gave it to her, so you can't complain without sounding like a hypocrite.
You set a hand on Jack's shoulder, ushering the older boy into your own grip.
"You look so handsome," You gush, eyes teeming with tears that threaten to ruin your mascara, "Jack, I- I won't embarrass you by calling you a mushy nickname like CrackerJack, or JackAttack, or Jackers-"
"You're using them all right now-!" The teenager protests, but he doesn't shrug your hand off of his shoulder; his protests are for show.
"Sorry! Sorry," You sniffle, and you let the fifteen year old wipe a tear away from your eye before it ruins your makeup.
"Jack," You repeat, steeling yourself, "I- I just want you to know that I love you. It's not because I love your dad, it's not because we live together, it's not because you woke me up with breakfast in bed on my birthday. It's- it's because of you, sweetheart. I know you're getting older, and- and you might be going away to college soon," You poorly withhold a sob, thinking of an empty bed in the room down the hall, "-but I just- I need you to know that it's you that I love, just the same as I love June. Your mom was an amazing woman, and she made an amazing son, and I'm so honored that you've given me permission to be your stepmom. I love you- Jackers."
Perhaps its awkward for the teen to face such strong emotion head-on, but you won't tattle to his schoolfriends about the tears that well up in his eyes, or the red tint to his nose as he bites them back.
"Love you too," He supplies weakly, surging forwards to wrap his arms around your waist- but it's all you need. One of your photographers makes to readjust your veil where it's been momentarily crumpled beneath his arm, but damn the veil, your stepson is more important.
"They're gushy," Aaron accuses, holding little June in his arms and pointing at you, "Are we gonna be gushy, Junie B Jones?"
Her eyes are mystified as she stares at her mama and her brother, but she shakes her head dutifully at Aaron.
"Oh, go, you're sappier than I am," You tease Aaron, and it rouses a light chuckle from your guests.
"Loony-Junie," Aaron starts, and the girl in his grasp giggles at the name. Encouraged by her delight, he employs her favorite moniker; her most desired snack, "My little pickle. Thank you, for letting me marry your mama. And for giving her the ring, even if it fell in the eggs instead of the fully-baked cake."
The little girl roars with a squeal of laughter at the memory, and- now you know why the Lysol wipes were on the counter the night of Aaron's proposal.
"You were a super big helper to me and your brother," He continues, holding her close, "And I'm so happy I get to be your stepdad now. I know you're a big girl, and you can do pretty much everything by yourself now," He lets her pipe up, falling silent as her tiny voice rings out.
"-I can even put my own shoes on the right feet!"
Not every audience member manages to stifle their giggle, but the little girl doesn't look abashed for it. Aaron nods with a fond grin on his face, and Jack leans into your side where you've pinned him in a hug.
"She can not. I had to switch her mary janes before the ceremony."
"Stop," You pinch him in the side, snorting with laughter and concealing it in the warmth of his shoulder, "Do not make me turn into an evil stepmother, Jack. Let her have this." He concedes- oh, such a good brother.
"I know!" Aaron exclaims, one of his large palms spread wide across her belly as he holds her in his arms, "I'm super proud of you, baby. But. If you ever need help with your shoes, or with your hair, or with your friends, or with your teachers, or with your brother," He shoots a suspicious glance at Jack who sticks his tongue out at his father, "Or with anything at all, pickle, you come tell me. Okay? Even if it's a problem that I'm part of."
"Okay," She agrees easily, unaware of the dozens of painfully-swollen hearts watching the display, "Thanks, dada."
"Oh, pickle," He bites back a shallow, raw twinge to his voice as he hugs her and you hiss, 'Gushy.'
"I love you too," He promises June, "Forever, and always, and even longer after that."
"Infinity?" Her eyes shine; it's a concept her pre-k class came upon in a library comic book and she's fascinated with it.
"For infinity." Aaron confirms, and her teeth show in a grin as brilliantly white and gleaming as the beads sewn into your outfit.
Her response is two tiny, chubby arms slung around his neck, and a delicate face buried in his shoulder. Despite your no-photography request, you're fairly certain a camera shutter goes off that doesn't belong to the photographer you hired.
"Alright you saps," You manage to blubber, your voice barely clear of the sobs creeping up your throat, "Let's get married before I cry and ruin my makeup. I paid so much for the stylist."
Jovial laughter rings through the tent you've set up, and Aaron sets June down, though she follows at his heels the same way Jack does at yours. They stand together, brother and sister, just as you do with Hotch, soon-to-be husband and wife.
"Don't cry." You command, "Or I'll cry."
"Don't cry," He repeats with a sheepish grin and a thick voice, blinking rapidly, as your babies join hands, "Or I'll cry."
"I'm crying," A faint voice from the audience rings out, but you can't manage to find any annoyance towards Garcia's repeated disruptions.
Aaron laughs, squeezing his eyes shut and letting a tear slip despite his best efforts. He presses his forehead to yours, and you do the same, feeling his breath fan over your face as he reels himself in.
"Come on, Hotchner," You urge, your voice wobbly, as your heart races in anticipation, the officiant stepping towards you, "Get it together, big guy. I'm not leaving this tent without your last name."
