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Aug 21, 2024

doctor, love

Pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader Warnings: fluff, angst, medical jargon probably used incorrectly, canon typical violence, swearing; no physical description on reader, but uses 'daughter' and 'mom' to describe reader.

it took me a while to figure out where I want to take this but here it is I hope you like it anon.

main masterlist

summary: based on this request but changed it up a little bit. reader is a trauma and orthopedic surgeon who works with Savannah.

Savannah's friend

“Just because you found happiness in your committed, monogamous relationship with Spartacus here, doesn’t mean we all have to,” you tilted your head at Derek Morgan, who was currently stuck in Savannah’s phone.

He frowned. The beige walls and yellow reading lamp were telltale signs of a random hotel room in the middle of nowhere. “Hey! Uncalled for!”

You stuck your tongue out at him, then turned to Savannah again. “Come on, Sav. I miss my wingwoman.”

It was the start of your first night off that you and Savannah had together in a while, and, coincidentally, Derek just so happened to close a case later than usual. You took your time gathering the scattered content of your tote bag, a little relieved (and a bit disappointed, but you wouldn’t tell your best friend that) that you didn’t have to end the day by going on a blind date that these two sick lovebirds had set up tonight.

“I am being a wingwoman right now,” Savannah rolled her eyes. “It’s just that instead of that White House intern with too much pomade in his hair, you’ll get to take home a hot DILF who works for the FBI.”

Derek groaned. “He is still my boss!”

Oh, yeah, the guy just happened to be Derek Morgan’s boss.

You didn’t remember his name, not really. Savannah had mentioned him in passing. It might be that you were in the OR, working on a broken leg of a sixteen-year-old soccer player, and she wouldn’t stop pestering you that you just said yes so you could go back to your patient.

It wasn’t like you didn’t trust Derek and Savannah, the latter had been your best friend since you started your place at Bethesda General after you finished your fellowship as a trauma surgeon. She was still starting her pediatric surgery fellowship when you first met, finding you throwing up on the sidewalk after one too many drinks and you bonded over the mutual hatred of a sexist neurosurgeon.

The problem was you, really, who swore off committed relationships when you found out your fiance of two years cheated on you with his younger grad student. You could still recall the fire in your bones when you reported him to Georgetown’s Faculty of Law.

Before any of you could reply, though, your phone chimed with a text from Deirdre, the head nurse of the ED.

“Fuck,” you cursed, knowing what was about to come.

DEIRDRE

9M. ARM FRACTURE. ER 6.

Savannah sighed, reading your expression. She groaned. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Not a chance,” you snorted. “Patient’s nine. It’s your lead.”

“Sorry, babe, I have to go,” Your best friend said to her phone.

“Don’t worry about it,” Derek said. “And you!” Savannah turned her front camera to you, showing a threatening Derek. “Don’t you think you have gotten away with this!”

You didn’t take it seriously, really, opting to flip him off before he hung up. But that was your first mistake. If only you had known.

The moment Savannah entered exam room 5, a blonde woman almost sobbed in relief, and the boy on the bed greeted her with a smile despite his tears. His left arm was propped up, black and blue and swollen.

“Jackers!” Savannah greeted, ever so good with kids. Her bedside manner was off the charts. “What happened, buddy?”

That question only served to make him cry harder. The blonde woman, who you assumed was his mother, pulled his head into her stomach, holding him.

“I think someone pushed him on the playground,” the woman said. “I had to pick him up early today, but he only told me his arm was hurting after dinner.”

Just then, Deidre walked in with a folder in her hand. “His x-ray scans.”

You opened the folder, eyes scanning the report. Savannah took the print out, lifting it to the fluorescent lighting in the room. Without a word, her eyes met yours and you sighed.

“Jess, why don’t we talk outside?” She said. “Jack, Nurse Deidre will stay with you for a minute, okay?”

His eyes were scared, and you could tell that he was trying to be brave by the way he nodded. Deirdre, the angel, took out a juice box and a Snickers bar from her pocket. “Hi, Jack, my name is Deidre.”

That was how your first meeting with Aaron Hotchner started. You, sweaty and gross from a surgery to pick out his son’s bone fragments, and him, on edge and agitated with Deidre taking the brunt of it.

In any other circumstances, you’d appreciate his disheveled look: tie undone and jacket draped over the chair in the waiting room, hair a mess. The blonde woman was nowhere to be found, but you saw Derek’s leather jacket folded over on one of the chairs.

But in these circumstances? You were a little more than annoyed at him.

As a trauma and orthopedic surgeon, you were no stranger to gunshot wounds or car crashes. Hell, Jack Hotchner wasn’t the first boy you operated on this week. But he was the first, however, to sit there in the ER for three extra hours just waiting for his dad.

The blonde woman, who you came to know as his aunt Jess, and Savannah, had tried to no avail to get him in the hospital room as soon as possible, but the poor kid just kept saying that he was scared and he wanted his dad. His dad, who, was called five times to his personal phone, twice on his work phone, and only picked up when Jess called a woman named JJ.

Your surgery was first thing in the morning with Savannah by your side.

“Jack Hotchner?” You called out anyway, watching as he scrambled to his feet. “You’re the father?”

“Yes,” he answered. “How did it go?”

“Jack had what we called a segmented fracture. His left radius was broken in two places and the surgery was done to recover some of the bone fragments, as well as to add some internal fixation,” you explained, voice clear cut and borderline robotic. “Luckily, everything went well. He’ll need to stay on the cast for a month or two, and regular check up with dr. Hayes. It's very important that you're there for him.”

You couldn't help yourself–you just had to take a jab at him.

His eyebrow furrowed, either deciding to ignore you or bypassing it completely. “Doctor Hayes?”

“Yeah, Savannah Hayes?” you said, but the crease between his eyebrows just got deeper.

Seriously?

You sighed. “Just, drop by the ED next week, okay? The nurses will know. Thursdays you get Savannah, and Fridays you’ll get me.”

“Right, okay,” Aaron Hotchner took a breath. “Can I see him?”

“Doctor Hayes will come and get you in a minute,” you said, turning away.

Before you could, though, he called for you.

“Thank you,” he said with a voice small, yet sure. His even tone didn't match his broken composure, and you couldn't help but feel a little sorry.

You shrugged, giving him a small cynical smile. “Just doing my job.”

And as you collapsed on the brown couch in your office, you tried to erase him from your mind.

Jack's Doctor

There was a reason why you make at least $450,000 a year, and that wasn't Bethesda General.

Most of it came from the trauma center that you run, located right in the middle between the city and the suburbs of Virginia. Granted, it was your mother's trauma center. You were just a part of the machine cog that kept the place running. Savannah was also on the roster for pediatrics, but she was only scheduled to be on call twice a week.

Your office was located on the other side of the building, where you could watch Roscoe, one of the in-house service dogs, run around the back courtyard, or, as you called it, the gardens. You watched as the Rottweiler mutt hopped along his new prosthetic front leg.

That was, until a page came from the ED.

You were just a little bit surprised that Aaron Hotchner and his son were waiting for you in one of the examination rooms.

“Hi,” you greeted, pulling on a pair of gloves. Your tone was bright and cheery, but you couldn't hide your confusion. Well, at least Aaron Hotchner was present for his son.

“Sorry, Deirdre told us to come here when we swing by,” Aaron Hotchner explained, a little sheepish. He was out of his suit, wearing a casual polo and jeans instead. “I hope that's okay?”

You turned your attention to Jack, who was sitting patiently on the bed, in an attempt to not let your eyes linger on his dad. Fuck. You told yourself to pull it together.

“That's okay,” you replied, going over to Jack. “How are you feeling today, Jack?”

He shrugged, a little frown on his lips. “They get itchy, but dad said I can't scratch them.”

“Can I touch your arm?” You asked, and he nodded. You put it up, the cast was still clean, void from any marks. You looked for any swelling or signs that anything might have gone wrong, but you couldn't find any. “You didn't want to draw on them, Jack?”

“He hasn't been back to school since,” his dad said, almost like he didn't mean to. “I'm not–I’m not sure why. I thought it's because it's too painful.”

You remembered then, what Jess said in that ER at Bethesda General, that someone might have pushed Jack. You didn't know their family dynamic, and you didn't want to push, really, but Jack tugged at your heartstrings with his big eyes looking up at you.

He was his father's son, alright.

You reviewed the x-ray images the tech took when they came in, making sure the pins were in place. They were.

“Okay,” you turned to Aaron Hotchner. “There's no new swelling, and Jack hasn't indicated any new pain. Let's continue with the current pain relief, and if it gets too much, then you can ice it.”

You hoped he caught on to what you were saying. That whatever reason Jack didn't want to come back to school was not physical.

“I'll schedule another x-ray in two weeks, just so we can see how well it's healing,” you continued. “You guys can meet me in the Nurse's station for the form.”

When you got out, you stole a white marker from Felicia, the ED resident, and checked your white coat pockets to make sure the lollipop you snuck in from pediatrics was still there.

“So who's that?” Felicia asked, elbows leaning against the counter as you filled out the form for radiology in one of the computers.

“Who's what?”

“The hot dad, duh,” she snickered. “He came in here and asked you by name, hun.”

“He's Derek's boss,” you told her. You still remembered when Savannah told you after Jack got discharged back at Bethesda General.

Felicia gasped. “As in Savvy's Derek? Ugh, why doesn't she ever send any hot FBI guys my way?”

You rolled your eyes in amusement. “Maybe because you're still sticking around that med school sweetheart of yours.”

“But Garrett is just so dreamy when he's not an asshole!” She pouted.

“He's an asshole all the time!”

The printer spat out a copy of the form just as Aaron Hotchner and Jack emerged from the examination room. Jack's face was buried onto his dad's hip, hiding.

“Here you go, Mr. Hotchner,” you said, standing up. “Just come in and they'll show you to radiology. There's also a prescription for the meds and discharge papers.”

“It's Aaron, please,” he said. “Thank you, doctor.”

You tried to ignore Felicia's burning stare to your back. She would, after all, be assigning other nurses to do those for you. Hell, she was usually the one giving kids candies. Instead, you stepped around the counter and greeted Jack.

“Jack, can I draw something on your arm?” You asked, waving the white marker.

“Okay,” he mumbled, voice small.

“Thank you, Jack,” you drew your best shark on his arm, scribbling ‘you're jaw-some’ next to it. Savannah would give you shit for it when she saw you, but Jack's small giggle was worth it. “Are you allowed to have candy?”

“Yes!” The kid answered immediately.

“Jack–” Aaron warned.

“Please, dad?”

“Fine,” Aaron relented. “You can have candy.”

You laughed, reaching into one of your pockets, pulling out a red heart-shaped lollipop. “Here you go.”

“Thank you, Doctor Love!”

You could feel yourself getting flustered (and you heard Felicia's quiet gasp) but then you remembered the pink heart embroidered in your white coat, something your mom insisted everyone on having.

When they left, you gathered your tablet from the Nurse's station, ignoring Felicia's stare.

“Doctor Lov–”

“Shut up, Felicia.”

Okay, so, maybe letting Aaron Hotchner in your bed wasn't one of your best moves. In your defense, you couldn't just see him on a semi-regular basis and didn't want to jump his bones, even if you were slightly annoyed at him at first.

You found out a lot from Savannah, and again from Jack. Especially after his radiology appointment, he refused to go to soccer practice that day. Aaron, who still needed to coach soccer practice, had left him with Savannah at the trauma center, who was just gearing up for a prosthetic leg trial with one of her patients. Though Derek came by twenty minutes later, it left you quite a lot of time with Jack.

Jack had sat with you in your office, where Roscoe would sit and nap, when he told you about what actually happened. A little confession about your absent parents, and he was telling you the things he struggled with.

You didn't mean to tell his dad off in front of the physiotherapy room.

“Love and care are crucial to not only recovery, but also a child's socialization and brain development,” you told him right when he walked through the front lobby. “I know being in the BAU is tough and takes up a lot of your time, but your son literally has metal pins in his arm!”

His eyebrow furrowed, there was a little downturn of his lips. “I am well aware of that, doctor. I haven't missed any appointments and Jack is taking his medication and vitamins on time.”

“It’s not just—” you took a deep breath. “I'm not a child psychologist. I'm not equipped to work through his trauma with him. But I know–I know what it's like to spend my whole life chasing after my parent's attention. I'll listen, but he needs professional help. You, a profiler, out of all people should know the importance of that.”

Realization drew on Aaron's face. “What did he tell you?”

You blinked at him, not believing the nerve of this guy who was more worried about his secrets spilling out, instead of the wellbeing of his child.

He seemed to read your expression well, and realized how he had come across, because he immediately backtracked. “He hasn't told me how he broke his arm. I've been trying to get him to.”

“Maybe it says a lot more about you than it does about him.”

“Dad!” A voice called. Jack was running down the hallway, Roscoe leading him. Savannah struggled to catch up behind them, and Derek just looked amused.

“Roscoe, slow down,” you commanded, letting the black dog slow down on its own, Jack following suit. Aaron raised an eyebrow at that.

“I swear, without his harness on, that dog only listens to you,” Savannah said, panting. She looped an arm around you. “Oh, hi, Hotch.”

“Dad, look!” Jack stopped in front of you. He turned to Roscoe. “Roscoe, sit.”

To your and Savannah’s surprise, Roscoe did as he was asked.

“Paw, please,” Jack commanded, beaming when the black dog gave him his paw.

You shrugged at Savannah. “Maybe you should've said please.”

“Shut up,” Savannah mumbled.

“Can we get a dog, dad? I asked Doctor Love for Roscoe but she said he needs a controlled and supervised environment to heal and work,” Jack said, blinking up at his dad.

Savannah raised an eyebrow at Jack's vocabulary. You weren't surprised since he was just parroting you.

“We can't have a dog in the apartment, buddy,” Aaron said, putting his hand on Jack's shoulder.

Savannah's grip on your arm tightened, and that should be your first warning. “You should just come by whenever you can.”

You gaped. “Whenever they can?”

“We have other rescues and service animals other than Roscoe,” Savannah continued, as if she didn't hear you.

“We are not a daycare. We are a trauma and rehabilitation center–”

Derek snapped his fingers. “You guys have that after-school and weekend program for pediatrics therapy!”

“As in physical trauma and physiotherapy –”

“There’s a new program initiated for community outreach catering towards children who have experienced trauma,” Savannah added.

You turned your head towards her, mouth agape. She did not just–your head turned back to Aaron, who shifted in his feet. Out of your periphery, you saw Derek run a hand through his face.

The two seconds of silence was broken by Jack.

“I am a child who has experienced trauma!” He exclaimed, a little too excitedly. Jack raised his cast–now covered in silver and white drawings from his friends–and wiggled it.

Oh my fucking god.

Aaron coughed. “We'll see about that, buddy.”

Savannah, now embarrassed, grinned sheepishly. “I'll lead you guys out.”

That left you and Derek, standing there like a statue, mortified.

Sighing, the man groaned. “There goes my PTO next week.”

You meant it when you said the trauma and rehabilitation center wasn't a daycare. While you came in twice a week to Bethesda General, your life was essentially at the center. From surgeries to recovery supervisions to outpatient clinics to rounds and research, you were pretty occupied.

But Aaron Hotchner, had without fail, met you every Saturday after Jack's soccer practice even after Jack recovered.

You'd come to know Jess when she accompanied Jack in the group activities after school. Twice a week during the weekdays, like clockwork, the little guy would show up with his blue cast running for his new friends. Roscoe would join him when his harness was off, and you'd send Jack off with a heart-shaped lollipop.

You and Aaron–it started the weekend after you confronted him.

“You’re right, doc, that I've been trying to hold onto the belief that Jack is fine,” He said after you finished discussing Jack's arm recovery. “He was so young when he–we lost his mom. I never expected him to have a hard time with it now.”

You nodded in understanding. “The mind forgets, but the body keeps score.”

“Yeah, and I think these group sessions are helping,” he continued. “He finally told me what happened. I made sure it was reported, but Jack doesn't want to do anything else.”

There was a slight crease in his eyebrows, a slight downturn of his mouth, a clear sign of frustration that you often see in patient’s families when they felt hopeless.

Instinctively, your hand touched his arm lightly to comfort and ground him at the same time. “The most important thing you can do right now is to make sure Jack knows you have his back no matter what, that he's safe with you.”

After that, maybe, just maybe, you had formed an easy friendship with him. He'd bring you (and Savannah) donuts or pastries every time he visited and you'd always make time to see him whenever he was around, no matter how busy you were.

Felicia and Savannah (and by extension, Derek) caught on. They, except for Derek, would tease you about him–how you seemed to light up every time you heard his voice or how Saturday became another one of your work days. Derek was just grateful about the (almost) guaranteed weekend off, saying Aaron would always make sure the team got back before Saturday.

“And to think you were ready to cut me open with a scalpel when I first tried to set you up with him,” Savannah mused, head resting on her hands.

“And I have a guaranteed eye candy every Saturday,” Felicia sighs dreamily.

You groaned. “Come on, he's still my patient! That broke like, ten different HIPAA rules.”

“Technically, his son is your patient,” Felicia said, then paused. “That's not much better.”

“Exactly!”

Savannah drummed her fingers on the wood of the ED Nurse's station. “Well, Jack is having his cast and pins removed today.”

Felicia gasped. “Right! You should totally ask Aaron out.”

You rolled your eyes in response, signing discharge papers for the patient in ER 5, a college kid who got into a solo car crash with fractured ribs. It kind of pissed you off that the ED doctors paged you for this, really.

The phone rang, and Felicia picked it up. After a confirmation, she turned to you and Savannah.

“General admissions said Jack's at the pediatric unit,” at your confusion, she added, “There were–a couple more people in his cavalry.”

Sure enough, as Savannah helped prepare Jack for the pin removals, you found a group of people with balloons and goodie bags in the waiting room. They stood out like a sore thumb amongst the parents with little kids running around.

“Jack Hotchner?” You called, and they all came to stand in attention. You only recognized Penelope, Derek, and Aaron.

“These are–these are my team,” Aaron explained, a little flustered. Good, he recognized the absurdity of the situation.

“Hi, darling!” Penelope waved. “We're here to support Jack.”

You wanted to tell them that it would take twenty minutes tops, and all these weren't necessary, but an older man spoke up.

“And we want to meet the doctor we can't stop hearing about.”

“Dave–” Aaron's tone was low and a warning.

“Right,” you nodded with an eyebrow raised, skeptical. “Obviously.”

Aaron's date

It happened after Aaron offered to buy you dinner as a thank you. You had declined, stressing that you were just doing your job, but he insisted.

“It's called gratification, Aaron, and it's generally frowned upon.”

“Then how about as a date?”

You would be lying if it didn't fluster you a little bit. But you had experience with guys like that before, and you'd take any chance you could get to taste him.

On the scheduled day of the dinner, Aaron texted saying that he would be late. You happily let him off the hook after someone was rolled into the ED with a GSW.

It wasn't until you got out of your scrubs, ready to head back home, when you spotted Aaron leaning against his dark SUV, still in his suit, outside of Bethesda General.

“Well, hello,” you greeted.

“Hi,” he said. “It's too late for dinner, but maybe we can get drinks?”

You ended up in the far side of the bar, in a dimly lit secluded booth. You let out a giggle at something he said, basking in the bright smile he sent your way.

The conversation felt like hours–you talked about your upbringing (military brat, academia mom, John Hopkins educated) and he talked about his (private boarding school, GWU law, prosecutor before FBI)–about his team, about your love for good food, and his extensive knowledge of the city's best spots.

There was something so different about him as you sat there. As a father, he was sweet, attentive, and gentle. Jack, as much as he was unsure about his father's long hours, he grew up kind anyway. A ten year old with empathy? That was a rarity.

And based on Derek's accounts, this Aaron was a far cry from the stoic hardass boss that stayed so long with the team. For you, though, this felt natural. Almost like an extension of the Aaron who showed up to the center every Saturday.

Meanwhile, your phone kept chiming in your bag, but you ignored it.

[SPARTACUS

DRINKS?

Bossman let us out early

Well, earlier than usual.

Hello???

Sav said you should be free

OH.

OH WAIT.

YOOOO

HOLY SHIT YOU'RE WITH HIM

AREN'T YOU?

ANSWER ME

I WANT DETAILS!]

“Actually, Dave should be credited for this place,” Aaron admitted at one point, bashful.

The soft tunes of instrumental jazz served as a beautiful background to his voice. You just had one glass of wine each, and that was two hours ago downed with some hors d'oeuvre they served.

“Oh, wow, Agent Hotchner,” you smiled, leaning forward. “Are you trying to impress me?”

He mirrored your pose, getting close enough that you could make out the details of the dark pools of his irises. “I've been trying to impress you since you called me out on my shit.”

You couldn't deny it, the fire in your chest, the desire to kiss his lips and cheekbones and to mark him up.

But you had to make a decision, either you have him now and let him go, or let yourself fall in love.

When his little finger grazed yours on the table, you knew. You had to have him.

Aaron woke up surrounded by your scent, trying to fight the urge to fall back to sleep. He knew it was a work day, and he knew he'd have to get to the office soon. He could almost visualize the pile of files on his desk, the unread emails, the unsolved cases waiting for his review.

But your sheets were linen and your perfume lingered and your side of the bed was cold.

Your side of the bed was cold.

Aaron tried not to show his disappointment, really, but he checked his phone for a text from you anyway. He found nothing but a text from Jess, saying that Jack would be home today after spending the night with his grandpa.

He checked his work phone, finding Garcia reminding him to choose a case from the five her and her algorithm had chosen.

Fuck.

Aaron was so late for work.

He decided to shoot you a text. But by the time he got into the office (and sat through Morgan's questioning glances and Garcia's scandalized gasp), there was still no answer.

By the time they got to Columbus, Ohio, he considered asking Morgan, but quickly decided against it after hearing the hushed whispers as Morgan gossiped with Garcia and Savannah through his phone.

Sometimes, he hated being the boss. Sometimes he–

DOCTOR LOVE

Sorry, there was a multiple crash at Bethesda

Didn't want to wake you.

The release of the tension on his back was noticeable.

DOCTOR LOVE

Dinner when you get back?

How did you–oh, yeah. Morgan watched from one of the detective's desks, grinning as Aaron raised an eyebrow. Right.

DOCTOR LOVE

Assuming no one gets shot.

You, or anyone else around Bethesda

He replied,

Of course

I'll call you

That was how you both started dating. Soon enough, he was your boyfriend and you were well, you were everything.

You and Aaron were also, if anyone asked, Derek Morgan's greatest accomplishments. Sometimes, whenever Aaron would go home early or wouldn't take work calls during weekends, Derek Morgan would get an appreciative pat on the back from Dave and Tara.

Each other's heartbreak

Aaron called you Love because Jack did. Neither of you had said the L-bomb, at least not as a confession.

They said not all that glitters are gold.

When you both first started dating, Savannah warned Aaron that you were a flight risk. It was how you try to protect yourself, she said, after your fiancé cheated on you two months before the wedding.

You were the one who suggested keeping it a secret from Jack, even after eight months.

So he treated you like one. He treated the relationship like it was made of glass. No arguments, no demands, just peaceful nights and delicious dinners that he loved and cherished more than anything.

Safe and light and floating in the clouds.

You thought the hitman network case was messing with him more than he let on.

Most of the time, Aaron had already refused to let you into the deep of his mind. He would talk about the cases he worked on, but he wouldn't talk about how it affected him, and so on.

The fact that a network of paid killers was targeting Penelope shook him to his core. He wouldn't admit it, of course, but he was scared for you. It was proven when he canceled date nights or declined the offer to come over for what felt like a hundredth time.

“I don't know what you want from me,” he sighed. “One of my team member's lives is in danger, how do you expect me to not do everything I can to keep her safe?”

“Well, find another way because this is tearing you apart,” you told him. “You are buckling under the weight of the responsibilities you put on yourself.”

“Because I am responsible for her!” He argued, tone still level but forceful. “I recruited her, I told her to do the job that led her to be targeted. If anything happens–”

His lips were talking about Penelope, but his body language–the way he turned away from you, his refusal to look at you—told you enough.

“Is that what you plan on doing?” You finally confronted him. “You’re going to lock me up in the FBI when you can't push me away anymore?”

“I'm not pushing you away.”

You walked right up to him, right in front of his desk that he used as a barrier between the two of you. “I had to get Derek to let me in here to talk to you after weeks.”

The blinds in his office were closed, but you knew that the profilers down in the bullpen were witnesses to this exchange.

“It feels like you're not really here in this relationship,” you confessed. “You won't tell me what's going on with you or the team, you're pushing me away instead of just, oh I don't know, talking to me!”

“Because I thought you'd walk away.”

That stopped you cold in your tracks. “What?”

Aaron sighed, hand rubbing his face in defeat and frustration.

“I was scared that you'd walk away when you see how much baggage I have with me,” Haley did, was what you didn't hear but rightly inferred. “And now I'm waiting for you to.”

You didn't think hearts could break this way.

Okay, so maybe you were a flight risk. So maybe you got scared and it was hard for you to trust others. But Aaron held you one time after a bad case where you couldn't save your patient and you knew. You knew you loved him and you wanted to go all in.

All in. All risks.

All for nothing.

“You're avoiding me because you were scared?” You almost sneered, causing him the smallest of a flinch.

“You have to understand,” he whispered. “I can't protect you all the time. Not from this, not from all the monsters I see every day.”

“I can kill a grown man with nothing but a pen in twelve different ways. I don't need protection!”

“Love–”

“–I just need you.”

As a former prosecutor, it would take a lot to render Aaron into silence. All you needed was four words and fifteen seconds.

You didn't understand, maybe you never would, but if there was one good thing that came out of your parent's relationship was at least they'd have tried. At least they'd choose. At least they'd commit again and again and again.

Aaron thought in black and white. You thought there was only ever red.

“I'm sorry,” he said, finally. Not for this, not for being absent, not for his behavior lately.

For he knew he couldn't give you what you wanted, what you needed.

You left Quantico with one thought in your head: it was right that you hadn't told Jack yet. When you cried on the way home, you couldn't help but wonder if it had been real at all.

“It's better that we send him to the burn unit,” you told your colleagues, consisting of a neurologist, Deirdre, and someone from general surgery. “Instead of straight to reconstructive plastic. The white phosphorus didn't cut through to the bone, but it damaged a lot of the skin and muscle tissue here.”

“There was no significant damage to his nerves caused by the white phosphorus. The MRI showed nothing unusual,” the neurologist paused “Well, for someone who was tortured.”

Deirdre winced. “Should we call dr. Neuman?”

dr. Neuman was the head of psychiatry.

“Yeah, like that would go over well,” you scoffed.

“No lasting damage to his internal organs either,” the general surgeon said. “I think we can conclude with a physio regiment from burns and orthopedics.”

Savannah was lounging on the yellow sofa of the trauma lounge at Bethesda General, a pillow underneath her legs. Her eyes were closed, but you knew that by the way she positioned her hands on her stomach, she was showing off her new engagement ring. Her smile never flattered.

“Nice rock,” you complimented, moving so her head would rest on your thigh as you sat down. She opened her eyes. “When's the wedding?”

“As soon as the worst of the burns healed,” she answered, borderline giggling, blinking up at you. “Is that his physio regiment?”

“Yeah,” you handed her the folder. “Is six months of rest and recovery enough for you to have your shotgun wedding and a honeymoon?”

It had been two weeks since Derek was kidnapped and tortured, eleven days since he was transferred to Bethesda General. You had been at a conference at Harvard when you got the news.

A scenario out of a nightmare, Savannah called it.

Savannah scanned the papers, mentally calculating her schedules and calendar. After another half a minute, she put the folder away, “Cool. Now, pack your bag, we're leaving.”

“But I'm tired,” you whined. “I just pulled out a bullet from a twenty-year-old frat guy’s ass. I deserve some sleep until next week.”

“Sleep? The old you would’ve wanted to get drinks,” Savannah protested. She stood up, pulling you up in one swift motion. You didn’t know pregnancy could give people extra strength. “Well, the pre-Hotch you, as Derek called it.”

You groaned. “I’ll go if you promise to never mention that guy ever again.”

“Done.”

“Where are we going anyway?”

“Getting me a wedding dress and getting you a maid of honor dress.”

“Can we get milkshakes on the way?”

The wedding was short and sweet, held in your old childhood house in Chevy Chase. Since their house was flooded because of a burst pipe and the Hayes’ house was being renovated, your mom oh-so-happily offered the old brick mansion to “the girl who set her daughter straight”. Your mother then conveniently had a conference out of town, leaving you in charge of taking care of her prized possession.

It was a garden ceremony, where your mother had the chance to show off her glorious rose bushes as a backdrop. Derek’s immediate family flew in from Chicago, completing the groom’s side other than the BAU. You, Felicia, and Deidre stood on Savannah’s side, amongst the family members she had in D.C.

It paid to be one of the most revered pediatric surgeons in Maryland and D.C Metro area, really, because all these were possible to put together in two months because she saved the life of a Michelin star restaurant owner’s daughter.

“Doctor Love,” A voice called, sourced from the only person who'd call you that. You turned around from the luncheon, finding Jack wet as a dog and Henry looking a little scared.

“Oh shi–,” you said, getting up from your chair. “What happened?”

“We were playing by the fish pond and Jack slipped,” Henry explained, head tucked down in shame.

“Are you guys okay?” You asked. “Anyone hurt?”

Both boys shook their heads.

“I'm sorry,” Jack said.

“Me too,” added Henry.

You laughed. “As long as no koi fish was harmed.”

“None, I promise!” Henry insisted.

“Okay, I believe you,” you chuckled. “Henry, why don't you go to your mom and tell her what happened? Tell Uncle Aaron to meet me inside, please.”

“Okay!” The little blond boy sped away, finding the BAU table.

You turned to Jack. “Come on, Jack. Did you hurt your arm?”

The kid followed you to the patio, then further inside. “It's just a scratch, no blood or anything. It's a zero.”

You taught Jack about the pain scale one Saturday, explained to him how to describe how hurt he felt and how it affected his activities. He had listened attentively, ultimately making an interactive chart on it as a science project.

“Jack,” Aaron's voice called. He came in from the French doors, his suit jacket held in his arm. You tried to hide the shivers down your spine. “Are you okay?”

Jack moved in front of you, nodding.

“I'll go get a towel,” you mumbled, moving towards your old room on one side of the house.

“Do you want to go home?” Aaron asked.

“I don't want to, but I guess I have to, right?”

You stopped as you turned down a hallway and took a deep breath. Christ, you totally would regret this later. Walking backwards, you poked your head over a wall.

“You want to raid my old wardrobe, Jack?”

“Yes, please!” Jack exclaimed. “Can we dad?”

Aaron was staring at you. His gaze was a little heavier than you were comfortable with, so you shrugged, feigning nonchalant.

“Alright, just be careful!”

Your childhood bedroom was surprisingly beige, for lack of a better word. Not in the literal sense, but the fact that it matched the rest of the house. Like a showroom, like if IKEA was mid-century.

Aaron couldn't help but notice how pristine the walls were, no sign of wear and tear or weather damage. He noted the white Egyptian linen sheets–likely the same one he used to sleep on in your townhouse–, the solid wood desk, and the en-suite bathroom with a walk-in closet.

They were unbelievably bare.

His mind compared it to your actual house–a vinyl collection, a book collection, a skeleton replica dressed like a pirate, a mustard colored sofa against a dark shade of green and bright blue of the kitchen.

It was as if you had torn apart everything that made this room you.

Like from his life.

Aside from Jack occasionally visiting Roscoe after school, Aaron never took Jack to the center on Saturdays anymore. His son didn't question it, but Aaron had to deal with a cold shoulder for three days.

“Stop that,” you scolded, spinning in the pink office chair–one of the few splashes of color in this room.

Aaron blinked. “Stop what?”

“Profiling my room,” you answered simply.

“There's nothing to profile,” Aaron said automatically. You raised an eyebrow as a response. Right. That itself was a profile. He cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

The air was awkward, but you couldn't be blind towards the thick underlying tension. Aaron leaned on his arms on your bed, tie loosened. It annoyed you how good he looked, how much effects he still had on you.

It had been four months. Soon, it'd be eight. You had four months left to mourn the loss of your relationship with him before you had lost him as long as you had him.

But love was a fickle thing. It took root in you, ever-growing, and ever-present. Especially since you couldn't seem to cut contact completely.

After the hitman network was taken down, Aaron had come to see you at the center. He told you how everything's safe now, that he could have a peace of mind in being with you.

You told him to fuck off.

“I love you, Aaron,” you had told him. “And we both know this isn't going to stop with the network. There will always be another unsub with another motive. I don't think I'll survive it, if you leave me again.”

That was the last time you saw each other, until the wedding.

Before any of you could say anything, though, Jack stepped out of the bathroom clad in your old high school tennis team sweatshirt and old basketball shorts. You went through a phase back then, and your mother couldn't care less of the fact that you joined a lot of sports just to get an acknowledgement from her.

“You have a cool bathroom, Doctor Love!” Jack said. “Thank you.”

The “cool” in question was a washer and a dryer just for you. Your mother didn't bat an eye when you asked for them, while you got them so your then-housekeepers wouldn't babble about booze or weed smell from your clothes.

“No worries,” you shrugged. “You ready to party now?”

You shouldn't be jealous, shouldn't be looking at the dance floor with longing eyes. This was one of your presents for Derek and Savannah, that you'd behave and not have an argument with Aaron during the day.

Like you'd want to anyway, when one of Savannah's cousins had her arms wrapped around him in a dance.

You never got to do that in public, only in your kitchen or his living room if Jack was away. But there he was, a small smile on his lips and a beautiful girl in his arms. You tried not to show it.

“I think you need this,” someone said, holding out a champagne flute towards you. Dr. Spencer Reid might not have an MD, but he knew just the cure for your condition.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you took a huge sip. “Savannah sent you?”

He nodded. “She said she only wants to see happy faces, no moping allowed.”

You snorted. “Obviously.”

“Can I ask you something?” He asked, then continued as you nodded. “What was the hardest case you've worked on?”

Your eyebrows furrowed.

“I'd say every patient was unique, because I don't only have to fix their injuries but I also have to take into account their medical history. I try to did operations on immunocompromised people as fast as I could, and not at all if I can help it. Unfortunately, people with HIV or in chemotherapy still got shot sometimes. It's all a race against time.”

“I understand. Some cases are more time sensitive than others,” he nodded, then smiled. “Savannah also said the best way to distract you was by talking about your work.”

You shook your head in amusement. “I hope Derek's though as nails. She will not let up.”

You pretended not to notice Aaron's eyes on you when Spencer brought you to the dance floor, or when Derek and Dave took turns twirling you around.

You pretended not to notice how his fingers brushed yours as you gave him Jack's now-dry clothes when he was preparing to go home.

You pretended not to notice that your old bed kind of smelt like him.

Four months. You'd do everything you could to get over him.

Your husband

Fuck you, hitmen. Fuck you, unsubs.

You had been writing patient reports from your rounds in the trauma ICU at Bethesda General when you got the page. GSW, woman, 33 weeks pregnant. You saw dr. Lynch from OB enter your OR before you saw Savannah wheeled in with dr. Marie from the ED.

Fuck.

Fear gripped you first. Fear and dread. And you wanted to ask Derek a million questions, and possibly yell at him.

But one of your nurses called out your name and it was like a bucket of cold ice water.

“Show me x-ray and have four bags of A neg on standby,” you snapped into action. “dr. Lynch, let's save both patients.”

You had to.

It felt like hours. In reality, you barely passed two. She had to get a C-section, that much you could tell, because no way her body would let her recover with her son still inside.

You texted Derek, telling him to meet you in the ICU, but not stopping dr. Marie from leaving to get him anyway. Whichever the fastest in getting the news to him.

You explained to Derek as plainly as you could. He wrapped his arms around you in thanks and fear.

“We'll keep her under anesthesia for a little bit, just until it's time for her C-section,” you told him. “Derek, I don't ever want to do this again, you hear me?”

Your voice broke, barely kept together as you looked Derek right in the eyes. This, meaning operate on someone you knew. In response, Derek just hugged you again, tighter this time, and planted a kiss on your head.

“I love you so much, you know?” He whispered. “I'm sorry for letting this happen.”

“Just promise me you'll get whoever did this, Morgan,” you whispered. “Please.”

“I promise.”

You allowed yourself to break down in the empty waiting room of the ICU. The nurses were kind, they left the lights off so no one would see you.

Savannah was like a sister to you. You didn't know if you'd make it if anything happened to her.

In the midst of it all, you couldn't help but think. Derek was willing to fight like hell for Savannah, why wouldn't Aaron do the same for you?

But it didn't matter. You were no longer a part of his life. It had, after all, been eight months. The deadline of your mourning was over.

Of course it was him who found you crying in the dark.

The first time he saw you break down because of a patient, it was during one of his cases. A woman in her thirties, two gunshot wounds in her chest and abdomen. She had lost too much blood and you were too late.

Aaron had pulled you into one of the empty rooms, held you as you mourned and tried to put yourself back together, kissed you gently before you went back out again.

This time, he stood there, hand on your head as he pulled you to him. Your head tucked against his stomach and you allowed yourself some reprieve.

“I'm sorry,” Aaron whispered. “I never wanted you to be a part of this.”

You pulled away from him, arms still around his hips. “I'm a trauma surgeon, Aaron. This is just another fucking Friday.”

His hand cupped your jaw, thumb caressing your skin. Even then you knew, you lost. Aaron Hotchner would always have a hold on you and you'd always love him.

You closed your eyes, savoring the feeling.

“I've been through this before,” he confessed. “I don't know if I'll survive a second time. I don't know if I'll survive if it's you.”

You pulled away, sighing. “Then don't. But know that it would've been a privilege to fight next to you.”

Aaron faltered, knees almost buckling under the weight of your words. Before he could reply, though, JJ’s voice called out from the hallway.

“Hotch, we need you.”

You nodded. “Go.”

“Love–”

“Go, Aaron,” you reiterated. “Please keep Derek alive.”

As he walked out the waiting room tailing JJ, your heart felt hollow. This was it.

The NICU was the scariest part of the hospital, in your opinion. The nurses had to be on standby 24/7, and they were insanely protective of the babies inside. Usually, they wouldn't let anyone in after 8 p.m., but you were a favorite. You were also the baby's godmother.

It wasn't hard to get Penelope's blessing for it, surprisingly enough. Might have something to do with the fact that you saved Savannah's life.

The baby boy was asleep, and you stopped yourself from trying to monitor his vitals.

“Are you heading out?” Aaron called out, making you jump where you stood behind the observation window. “Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.”

You shook your head. “No, I'm dead tired. I don't think I have the energy to go home.”

“All the more reason to rest,” he was next to you now. “I'll drive you home.”

“I'll sleep in my office,” you said. “I really don't want to be alone right now.”

There was a shift in the air, a shift of his body. He hesitated before saying, “You can stay with me, I'm sure Jack wouldn't mind—”

“Go home, Aaron,” you told him, but it was you who left him in the NICU.

You wished you could have time off the next day, but alas.

A new ward just opened up at the center. Burns, this time. Your mother had a way of securing funding from anywhere.

Not to mention, with Savannah on maternity leave, only a couple of fellows were left in the pediatric surgery unit and sometimes, they'd get on your fucking nerves.

You were dead on your feet. It was barely 2 p.m. and you already did an exploratory laparotomy on a sixteen year old with a first year fellow who froze at the sight of internal bleeding. Then, you were forced to stand in an audience full of people kissing your mother's ass.

All you wanted to do was nap in your office, maybe take off early because you were sure Felicia would love to—

What the fuck?

You could see Roscoe running around in the gardens, chasing someone, barking. Chasing–Aaron?

Without wasting another second, you opened the backdoor of your office, shouting, “Roscoe, down!”

The dog stopped, but didn't stop snarling at Aaron, who managed to trip over a stepping stone, now laying on the ground, groaning.

“Roscoe,” you ran towards the two. “What the hell, dude?”

He just barked in response.

“Just because Savannah can't get to him, doesn't mean you could.”

Roscoe whined.

You sighed. “Fine. Go inside. No, I will not be thanking you.”

With another whine, Roscoe ran into the open door of your office.

You turned to Aaron, now sitting on the grass, staring up at you. “You good?”

“Fine,” he answered, but his voice was strained. You gave him a look. “I might or might not have sprained my ankle.”

You were convinced Aaron Hotchner knew exactly what he was doing that Saturday morning, showing up to the center in running gear. His arm muscles were prominent, toned chest straining the fabric. Damn him. Damn him to hell.

But you were still a doctor, so you crouched down anyway. “Can I touch your ankles?”

“Yeah,” he breathed out.

There was no visible redness or swelling. Your hand wrapped around the bottom of his calves, then one tentatively moved to the sole of his shoes. “And here?”

“Sure, doc.”

You pushed his feet up gently. “Does that hurt?”

“A little,” he admitted. “It's a three.”

“Well then, nothing that an ice packet and rest won't fix,” you smiled, ready to get up and leave.

“Wait,” Aaron called. “There's something else.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Something else?”

There was no missing the pink tint of his cheeks, the flush of his skin, the shortness of his breath. “I, uh, I have chest pain.”

“Chest pain?” You repeated. Noting the sweat on his forehead, your hand reached out to the left side of his chest. “Right here?”

“Yeah,” Aaron's hand wrapped around your wrist. “It hurts, doc.”

“Any other symptoms? Dizziness? Nausea?” You asked rapidly, your other hand feeling for the wrist of the arm that was holding yours, counting the pulse. “Do you feel pain in any other area?”

“No, no, just,” he moved his fingers to lay right on top of yours, on his chest. You felt the strong, steadfast heartbeat underneath. “Right here.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Nine months give or take.”

You looked at him incredulously. “Nine months? And you're just telling me now–”

Then it dawned on you. The son of a bitch was not having a fucking heart attack. He was being cheesy.

You cursed under your breath, turning your palm into a fist and then pushed at his chest. He had a small smile at you finally understanding him.

“Aaron,” you grumbled, falling to the grass in front of him. You pulled your knees up, resting your arms on them. “I was really scared!”

“I know,” Aaron said, lowly. His hand reached out to cradle the side of your head. You were too entranced to push him away.

Dear god. You missed him.

“I'm sorry,” he continued. You looked down at the green grass. “Love, I'm really, really sorry.”

That nickname. That god-damned fucking nickname.

You pulled down your white coat, straightening it. There it was, a pink heart embroidered around your name.

“Do you know why our logo is a heart even though we don't have a cardiology ward?”

Aaron shook his head no.

“When I was ten, my father came home missing a leg from Iraq. They botched the amputation in the middle of war, so my mother sued the DoD.”

You snorted a laugh, then continued. “Used the money to study bioengineering and dedicated her life to ‘fix’ him. So in her own twisted world, this center is their temple of ‘love’.”

It was jarring at first, because she would always be too busy to spend time with him or you. Until he was broken. Until he was something to fix. Until he had sacrificed enough.

“All my life, I always came second to their love, to her cause,” you smiled bitterly. “I grew up believing that the only way I can get love is to pay for it. I thought getting into John Hopkins would be enough, but it wasn't. By then I'd already fallen in love with this–this whole trauma and orthopedics medicine thing.

“It took my ex-fiancé cheating on me two months before then wedding that I finally understood,” you turned to him, letting your knees fall. “Aaron, you don't need to be a hero to deserve love.”

Deserve you.

“And all I wanted was someone next to me.”

At that, Aaron moved his head forward, forehead pressing against yours, tender and gentle. His eyes were full of love and admiration and relief. His shoulders slumped, his breathing easier.

“If you give me a chance,” he whispered. “I'll stay by your side for the rest of my life, my love.”

You smiled.

Aaron Hotchner looked annoyingly hot in running gear.

A black running shorts with yellow stripes on it and sleeveless top. Sunglasses protected his eyes from the sun, a silver chain hanging around his neck as he shouted words of encouragement to the group of kids chasing around a ball.

Roscoe slept soundly on your feet, the graying of his snout rested comfortably on his tucked paws. A kid, no older than 10, came up to you on the sidelines.

“Are you Adam's mom?” He asked.

Oh, right.

“Yeah,” you answered. “Can I help you?”

“Adam said his mom is a superhero,” the kid said. “Is that true?”

“I can fix your arm if you break it,” you said. “Is that heroic?”

The kid pondered for a second, before shrugging. “I guess.”

She walked back to the stands, where, who you assumed was her mom, was sitting and continued to watch the game.

Cheers erupted as Jack scored a goal, you cheered with them.

Except, being in the witness protection program, he wasn't Jack. His name was Adam, and Aaron wasn't Aaron.

But he still called you Love and Aaron was still your husband. Hopefully, Peter Lewis would be behind bars before Hank Morgan turned old enough to remember birthdays.

Though, right now, you'd enjoy the way sunshine shined off your and Aaron's matching wedding bands as Jack was hauled up by his teammates for scoring the winning goal.

#Aaron hotchner x reader #Aaron hotchner #criminal minds #fic rec

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