since my list is too long for one post, and I can't pin two posts, here's the link to the first part of the list (containing group crack fics, Khabib and Khamzat)
IKRAM ALISKEROV
It's the quiet ones you have to watch
Quietly, Completely (OBSESSED SERIES)
Careful Hands (18+, MDNI)
The Vampire of AKA
Ikram the Ambassador
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
SHARA BULLET/MAGOMEDOV
We love the Red (18+, MDNI)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
The Dragon She Tamed (OBSESSED SERIES)
ISLAM MAKHACHEV
Varda and me
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
A Day on the Beach (MDNI, 18+)
Does the stud need to run? (MDNI, 18+)
Islam - Totally Not a Stalker (OBSESSED SERIES)
Birthday Surprise
Still Waters (MDNI, 18+)
Sharp Lessons (MDNI, 18+)
The Interview (or: How Islam Makhachev Does Not Drink Beer)
Very Sweet Dagestani Pastry (18+, MDNI)
The Weight of Shame
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
BIG ANK
Finally, home (MDNI, 18+)
BIG ANK: A Mountain Doesn't Chase (OBSESSED SERIES)
Mountains Do Chase (Sometimes) (MDNI, 18+)
Wash the Dishes, Big Dude
The Only Thing He's Ever Asked For (MDNI, 18+)
The Only Two Places
ABUBAKAR
The Gangster's Luck (OBSESSED SERIES)
Consequences (18+, MDNI)
Twelve Years To Fall In Love Again (MDNI, 18+)
ABDULMANAP
The Ghosts in the Mountains
TAGIR
The Smiling Wolf (OBSESSED SERIES)
The Incredible Tagir
RASUL MAGOMEDOV
In For A Penny, In For A Pound
UMAR
The Protector (OBESSED SERIES)
Discipline (MDNI, 18+)
USMAN
The Winner (OBSESSED SERIES)
ZUBAIRA
Would You Dare To Tell Me No? (OBSESSED SERIES)
Zuba Likes to Dance (MDNI, 18+)
AMRU
The Sleepy Stalker
They Don't Call It A Job For Nothing (MDNI, 18+)
CHANCO
A Very Good Bet (MDNI, 18+)
RIZVAN
The Doll (MDNI, 18+)
ISLAM MAMEDOV
The Wake-Up Call (18+, MDNI)
User Manual Not Included
MAKKASHARIP ZAYNUKOV
The Education of Makkasharip Zaynukov (Or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Lose Control) (MDNI, 18+)
I'm so annoyed I had this written and then saved it as a draft, I ended up deleting it by accident. So I had to redo it, to the anon who sent in the request hope you like this :)
Summer heat is one of the main environmental sources of injury, illness and death. And as the global average temperature and extreme summer heat rise every year, more people will be affected worldwide by extreme heat every year.
This post is a shorter version of the original post, Climate Change, Deadly Heat and You, so if you want to take a deeper dive into the science of extreme heat check out that post.
To start off, here's a graphic I made recently of increasing temperatures in Houston, Texas over the past 125+ years. What's important about this graphic is what comes with it, warmer average temps mean hotter heat waves.
It's not just the high temperature of a heat wave that kills, it's the nighttime highs. Warmer nights keep people from recovering from the heat, and put them at a worse position to cope with the heat the next day.
The Basics of Being Hot!
The main source of heat is the sun.  Solar radiation reflects off the ground, is also absorbed by the ground, then re-radiated back into the air. The balance between the environment and heat retained by your body is shown in the picture below. Â
In summary, a hot environment adds heat to your body, while evaporation of sweat takes heat away. (In extreme cold, this operates in reverse! Radiation, conduction and convection remove heat from your body.)
Evaporation of sweat is the second most effective way your body cools itself-- the most effective way to cool yourself is by behavior, or the things you do to keep yourself cool.
Your body wants to run at an even temperature, not too hot, not too cold, usually around 37C / 98F. The part of your brain called the hypothalamus monitors your body temperature, and when it gets too hot, it sends a signal to your sweat glands to start sweating.
As your skin sweats, the sweat evaporates off your body. When the sweat on your skin evaporates, it requires energy to change from a liquid into a vapor. The energy that drives that change is the heat from your body.  Thus energy is taken out of your body and you are cooled. Of course, the higher the humidity, the less effective this mechanism works.
The figure below is a great conceptual drawing that shows the combined effect of evaporation and convection. Heat is taken out of your body by evaporation, and a breeze, further enhancing your cooling by convection, carries the warm vapor away.
When itâs very hot outside, or very humid, or you are working hard, or you canât sweat for some reason, then evaporation is less effective, and your internal body temperature starts to rise. This eventually leads to hyperthermia and heat illness.
Let me repeat the most important concept -- The MOST effective way to cool yourself is by behavior - doing the things that help keep you cool. Things like drinking cold water, turning on a fan, going into an air-conditioned space on a hot day, and so forth. Hard to put that into an equation. :)
How heat makes you sick
The health effects of heat fall in a range from minor symptoms to life threatening illness.  Any of these conditions could be caused by extreme exertion, but they are all made much worse by hot, humid weather.
The table below summarizes the range of heat illness. The basic treatment for all of these is rapid cooling by whatever means possible, from going inside, to cool drinks, to draping with cold wet cloths, to ice packs in key places, to immersion in ice water.
Please note, medical information shown in this article is for illustrative purposes only and does not constitute medical advice to the reader. Please ask your doctor or other health professional if you have further questions.
Spectrum of Heat Illnesses*
ProblemSigns & SymptomsCauseTreatmentHeat CrampsMuscle cramps with exertionDehydration caused by exercise, heat, or bothStretching, rehydration, rest
Ease back into activityExercise Associated CollapseWarm skin
Sweaty
Low blood pressure
Fainting at the end of a period of strenuous exerciseWhen you stop exercising your heart slows down
Blood vessels are still dilated so your blood pressure drops
Blood flow to brain drops
Leading to fainting
Quick recoveryMake sure itâs not something else! (e.g. stroke, heart attack, etc.)
Shade, rest, cold water
Recovery should be rapid, if not then transport to hospitalHeat Exhaustion
/ Heat InjuryWeakness
Warm to hot skin, but can also be cool and clammy
Profuse sweating
Rapid heart beat (>100)
Elevated core temperature (38.3 â 40C /101 â 104F)**
NOT confused or deliriousDehydration and elevated core temperature result in weakness and rapid heart beat
Eventual decreased blood flow to kidneys and other organs may cause damageRapid cooling
Go to the hospital,
especially if prolonged or extreme episodeHeat StrokeHot, flushed/red, skin that is usually dry
IS confused, stumbling, dizzy, delirious
Core temperature >=40.5C/105F**
Altered mental status
Unconsciousness
Pending deathAs above, and...
Prolonged reduced blood flow to brain and vital organs leading to deathA life-threatening emergency!Â
Ambulance to the nearest hospital
Start cooling immediately while waiting for ambulance* OâConner, et al., Exertional heat illness in adolescents and adults: Epidemiology, thermoregulation, risk factors and diagnosis, in UpToDate.com, last updated May 13, 2026.
** Core temperature is measured by rectal thermometer. Other methods will read about a degree or more cooler than true temp
First Aid for Heat Exposure
The most important and obvious thing to do for someone who is suffering from extreme heat is to COOL THEM OFF! Here are some techniques to accomplish that...
Stopping all activity and resting
Siting or laying in the shade, or going inside
Drinking cold, water or better yet, diluted sports drink (a little sugar helps them to absorb the water into their bloodstream -- in other words, it helps them to hydrate!)
Cold water spray and fans (Note: This may not work in very hot and/or humid environments!)
Putting ice packs on the neck, arm pits and groin (all the places where blood flow is the highest)
Draping them in cold, ice water-soaked towels and sheets
Immersing in cold water or ice water
(Immersion requires at least two people to monitor the victim, one to keep them from going underwater should they lose consciousness, and the other to check vital signs and do other tasks)
If the heat illness is serious you should call for an ambulance while you are cooling them down. If you are in a remote area or are unable to get an ambulance for whatever reason, stop cooling when they start shivering, or after about 15 â 20 minutes of aggressive cooling. Ideally you would stop cooling them when their rectal temperature drops to 38C / 101F.
Some important points to remember about heat illnessâŠ
You canât always tell how bad it is just by looking at someone
Call for an ambulance early or take them to the hospital if you are concerned
The longer a personâs core temperature is elevated, the worse the outcome
Rapid cooling is the cornerstone of treatment
Protect Yourself from Extreme Heat
Government action is important to protect society as a whole, and to protect those who are more vulnerable.  But society's preparedness also rests on you, the individual.  There is plenty you can do to protect yourself and your family. And remember, your behavior is the number one method for protecting yourself from extreme heat.
Protecting yourself from extreme heat starts with changing your behavior during heat waves, and may eventually involve moving to a cooler climate. The measures you take will differ depending on your personal risk factors and your available resources.
Some steps to take to prepare for a heat wave or even just hotter summer months...
Stay hydrated by drinking plenty of water, even if you don't feel thirsty
Seek air-conditioned spaces during the hottest parts of the day
Wear light, loose-fitting clothing and a hat when outdoors. Sunscreen does NOT protect you from the heat, it only protects exposed skin from sun damage. I like sun shirts from Huk! (Not an affiliate link, just great sun clothes I wear almost every day.)
Avoid strenuous activity during peak heat hours
Check on vulnerable friends, family, and neighbors during heat waves (the elderly, people living alone, people with chronic disease, etc.)
Learn the signs of heat illness and how to respond (from above!)
Some things you may do over the long term...
install heavy curtains or reflective film over windows that get a lot of sun. Rejecting sun light and heat is super helpful to keep inside temps down
make sure your air conditioner is in good working order, whether a window unit or central air for your house
tighten up gaps that leak air in your house, otherwise you are working to cool the air outside!
make sure your refrigerator is in good condition. clean the coils, make sure air can circulate around it
have backup power to run fans, window air-conditioners, or your whole house A/C, and your fridge
make a "climate safe" room in your house. this is one room that is better insulated than other parts of your house or apartment
make a personal "heat wave plan". I just thought this up. If people can have a plan for other disasters, why not for a heat wave?!
have an emergency fund of money - get your finances in order. Haven't talked about his in a long time, but it's super important!
start thinking about eventually moving or retiring North
As our climate continues to warm, we must consider heat waves a major threat to our health and homes. By understanding the risks, taking personal precautions, and supporting community-wide adaptations, we can reduce the impact of extreme heat on our wellbeing.
Do you have any ideas about how to beat the heat? Put them in the comments below. Thank you.
Stay cool, stay safe, and remember: we're all in this together as we face the challenges of a warming world.
"Brother, if you get any more in love with her we're gonna have to put you down."
Johnny "Coco" Cruz had never been what anyone would call subtle on a good day, and unfortunately for him, falling in love had somehow made him infinitely worse, because despite every desperate attempt to convince himself that he was playing it cool, that nobody had noticed the way his eyes automatically searched every room until they found you, or the way his shoulders visibly relaxed whenever you walked through the clubhouse doors carrying takeout or coffee or absolutely nothing at all except yourself, or the way he somehow always ended up standing beside you during parties, rides, barbecues, and events as though the universe itself had decided that the shortest distance between two points was Johnny Cruz and you, everyone around him had, in fact, noticed almost immediately, and if there was one thing the Mayans loved nearly as much as motorcycles, it was mercilessly bullying one of their own.
It started small.
Angel caught Coco smiling at a text message one afternoon.
Not laughing.
Not grinning.
Smiling.
The soft kind.
The kind that belonged in greeting card commercials.
Angel had leaned over his shoulder before Coco could lock his phone.
"Who're you texting?"
"No one."
"You smiled."
"I didn't."
"You smiled so hard I almost threw up."
"I was reading something funny."
Angel squinted.
"'Hope work isn't kicking your ass. I made too much lasagna if you want leftovers.'"
Silence.
Angel looked at Coco.
Then back at the phone.
Then back again.
"...Brother."
"What?"
"...You got lasagna text."
"So?"
"You got domestic-ass lasagna text."
Coco shoved him away.
"Shut up."
Angel absolutely did not shut up.
Within twenty minutes everyone at the table knew about the lasagna.
Then there was the jacket incident.
You'd shown up one evening wearing a hoodie that was far too thin for the chilly California night, insisting repeatedly that you were fine because you'd "only be staying for twenty minutes."
Exactly three seconds after you'd spoken those words, Coco had silently taken off his leather kutte and draped it around your shoulders before you'd even realized he'd moved.
"You'll freeze."
"I'm okay."
"No."
"Cocoâ"
"No."
He'd tugged the collar together with surprising gentleness.
"Wear it."
You blinked up at him.
"...Thanks."
He shrugged like it was nothing.
"It ain't nothing."
Then he'd wandered away before his brain could embarrass him.
You'd mentioned offhandedly that your car was in the shop and you needed groceries.
Coco had immediately offered.
"I'll drive."
"You don't have to."
"I know."
"...You sure?"
"Yeah."
Simple.
Normal.
Reasonable.
Except...
Three prospects from Santo Padre happened to see Coco carefully loading reusable shopping bags into the back of his truck while you laughed about something involving avocados.
One prospect whisperedâ
"Who's that?"
Another answered.
"I dunno."
Third one shrugged.
"Must be his wife."
Coco nearly dropped an entire watermelon.
The teasing escalated.
Rapidly.
Mercilessly.
Every single thing he did became evidence.
You mentioned liking sunflowers.
Three days later there were sunflowers sitting in a vase in the clubhouse.
"Coco..."
"What?"
"Why are there flowers?"
"They're flowers."
Angel snorted so hard beer came out his nose.
You complained your favorite tea was sold out everywhere.
Two weeks later.
Coco handed you six boxes.
"...How?"
"I looked."
"You looked?"
"Yeah."
"At six different stores?"
"...Maybe."
You stared at him.
"...Johnny."
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"What?"
"You drove across three towns for tea."
"So?"
"So... thank you."
You hugged him.
Just...
A quick hug.
Barely three seconds.
But Coco froze like someone had unplugged his entire nervous system.
When you stepped back smilingâ
"You really didn't have to."
He cleared his throat.
"...Wanted to."
You smiled even brighter.
"I know."
It was becoming impossible.
Not for Coco.
For everyone else.
Because watching him pine was becoming physically painful.
He looked at you like sunrise.
Like peace.
Like he'd stumbled into something he'd never believed he deserved.
He remembered tiny details.
Favourite coffee. Favourite songs. The fact you hated driving in heavy rain. That you preferred blankets fresh from the dryer. That horror movies gave you nightmares but you'd watch them anyway because you liked pretending they didn't.
He carried spare hair ties in his truck.
Not because he needed them.
Because one time yours snapped.
Three months ago.
Nobody recovered from discovering that.
Least of all Angel.
"You carry HAIR TIES?"
"They're useful."
"They're pink."
"They were all they had."
"They've got little flowers on them."
"..."
"Coco."
"...Shut up."
Then one afternoon you wandered into the garage where several members were working.
You smiled.
"Hey."
Every man answered.
Except Coco.
Because Coco had completely forgotten how words worked.
You were wearing a simple yellow sundress beneath a denim jacket.
Nothing fancy.
Nothing revealing.
Just...
Pretty.
Soft.
Bright.
You looked like happiness had decided to become a person.
He stared.
For one second.
Then another.
Then another.
You waved a hand.
"Coco?"
"Hm?"
"You okay?"
"...Yeah."
"You've been looking at me for like... thirty seconds."
"I have?"
"Yeah."
"...Sorry."
You laughed.
"It's okay."
Then you reached over and brushed a smudge of grease from his cheek with your thumb.
"There."
His brain shut off.
Completely.
You wandered away to ask Hank something.
Coco remained standing exactly where he'd been.
Motionless.
Gilly walked over.
Snapped his fingers in front of Coco's face.
Nothing.
"Coco."
Silence.
"Coco."
Nothing.
"Cruz."
Finallyâ
"What?"
"...You dead?"
"No."
"You sure?"
"..."
"...Brother."
Still silence.
Gilly sighed dramatically before turning toward Bishop, Angel, Hank, and Nestor, who had all witnessed the exchange.
He spread both hands.
"Brother, if you get any more in love with her we're gonna have to put you down."
The garage exploded.
Angel doubled over laughing.
Hank had to lean against a workbench.
Even Bishop pinched the bridge of his nose to hide a smile.
Coco groaned.
"I hate every single one of you."
"No you don't."
"I really do."
"You looked at her like she personally invented oxygen."
"I did not."
Angel pointed dramatically.
"You stopped blinking."
"I blinked."
"You absolutely did not."
"Iâ"
"You looked like a Victorian gentleman seeing an ankle."
Louder laughter.
Coco threw a rag at Angel's face.
It accomplished absolutely nothing.
The worst part wasn't even that everyone knew.
It was that they were right.
Because he was in love.
Hopelessly.
Ridiculously.
With absolutely no chance of recovery.
The only problem...
He was convinced you deserved better.
Someone younger. Someone with less baggage. Someone who hadn't made every mistake imaginable.
Someone who wasn't him.
So he kept his mouth shut.
You, meanwhile, had reached the end of your patience.
Because from your perspective...
Johnny Cruz alternated between looking at you like you hung every star in the sky...
...and then acting as though crossing the room to sit beside you required congressional approval.
You'd catch him staring.
Then he'd avoid you for two days.
He'd buy your favorite coffee.
Then disappear before you could thank him properly.
He'd remember every little thing you ever mentioned.
Then insist none of it meant anything.
It was enough to drive anyone insane.
You found him sitting outside the clubhouse one evening after sunset, elbows resting on his knees, cigarette burning forgotten between his fingers as he watched the sky fade into indigo.
"You hiding?"
He glanced up.
"...Maybe."
You sat beside him.
Close enough that your knees bumped.
"You've been weird."
"I've always been weird."
"You know what I mean."
Silence.
"Coco."
"...Yeah."
"Did I do something?"
His head snapped toward you.
"What?"
"To make you uncomfortable."
"No."
"Then why do you keep disappearing?"
His chest tightened.
"You didn't."
"Then why?"
He looked away again.
Because saying it out loud would make it real.
"I just..."
He laughed bitterly.
"...Didn't wanna make a fool of myself."
You frowned.
"I don't understand."
He rubbed both hands over his face.
"You deserve somebody better."
There it was.
Ugly.
Honest.
Real.
You stared.
"...Excuse me?"
He sighed.
"I'm older."
"Yeah."
"I've got baggage."
"I know."
"I've made mistakes."
"I know."
"You could have anybody."
"I don't want anybody."
He blinked.
"...What?"
"I want you."
Silence.
"I have wanted you for months."
More silence.
"You are the most frustrating man I've ever met."
"...Me?"
"You look at me like you love me."
He closed his eyes.
"I do."
"You buy me tea."
"...Yeah."
"You remember everything."
"...Yeah."
"You carry flower hair ties."
"...Please don't bring up the hair ties."
A laugh escaped you despite yourself.
Then your expression softened.
"I kept waiting for you to ask me out."
His eyes slowly opened.
"...You were waiting?"
"Johnny."
You reached over, taking one of his rough hands between both of yours.
"I've been waiting forever."
For a second he simply stared.
Not speaking.
Not breathing.
Just looking at you as though he couldn't quite believe the words he'd heard.
"You mean that?"
"I wouldn't joke about this."
His thumb brushed carefully across your knuckles.
"So..."
"So?"
"...Can I kiss you?"
You smiled.
"I was wondering how long it'd take."
He leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, every opportunity to change your mind, but instead you met him halfway, your hand sliding gently against his jaw as your lips met his in a kiss that was soft rather than hurried, full of relief instead of uncertainty, and Johnny felt months of fear, self-doubt, longing, and quiet hope simply dissolve beneath the warmth of your smile against his mouth.
When you finally pulled back, neither of you had noticed the clubhouse door opening.
Unfortunately...
Everyone else had.
Angel looked around the room.
"...I give it thirty seconds."
Twenty-eight seconds laterâ
The door flew open.
Cheers erupted.
Wolf whistles echoed through the yard.
Gilly yelled, "HE LIVES!"
Hank laughed so hard he nearly spilled his beer.
Bishop shook his head with the resigned expression of a man who had watched this train wreck coming for months.
Coco buried his face against your shoulder.
"I'm transferring charters."
You laughed, wrapping your arms around him.
"No, you're not."
"No?"
"No."
He smiled into your hair.
"...Good."
Because after spending so long believing he didn't deserve a future that looked anything like happiness, Johnny Cruz discovered that sometimes happiness arrived wearing a bright smile, laughed at his terrible jokes, accepted his pink flower hair ties without a second thought, and loved him every bit as completely as he loved herâand for the first time in a very long time, the future no longer felt like something to survive, but something the two of you would ride toward together.
the first time Zeke Tyler calls you sweetheart, you blush so hard you both think you're going to explode.
writing this made me feel giddy
Everybody at your university thought Zeke Tyler was dangerous.
Some people said it because of the rumors.
Others said it because of the leather jacket, the motorcycle, the permanent smirk that looked like trouble wrapped in six feet of attitude.
Mostly though?
It was the eyes.
Zeke looked at people like he already knew exactly how disappointing they were going to be.
Detached.
Amused.
Untouchable.
Professors hated him.
Parents warned their daughters about men like him.
Half the student body was terrified of him.
And honestly?
You understood why.
The first time you saw him, he was leaning against the bleachers behind the football field smoking a cigarette while two seniors nearly tripped over themselves trying to buy drugs from him.
He looked bored out of his mind.
Then he caught you staring.
Your stomach dropped immediately.
Because those dark eyes slid over you slowly, sharp and assessing, before one corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
Not a smile.
Worse.
Interest.
Youâd walked away so fast you almost ate shit on the track.
Behind you, you heard him laugh softly.
Deep.
Warm.
Dangerous.
You ignored the weird flutter in your chest completely.
Like a smart person.
Unfortunately, the universe apparently enjoyed your suffering.
Because three weeks later, your chemistry professor paired you with Zeke Tyler for a semester project.
You genuinely considered pretending to be sick.
Mrs. Harper didnât care.
âMr. Tyler is perfectly capable of academic work when he applies himself.â
The entire class looked unconvinced.
Zeke himself looked the most unconvinced of all.
You gathered your books slowly while he slouched in his chair at the back of the room spinning a pen between long fingers.
When the bell rang, you reluctantly approached him.
âUh⊠soâŠâ
Zeke looked up lazily.
Close up, he was unfairly attractive.
Which honestly felt rude.
Dark hair falling messily over his forehead.
Sharp cheekbones.
Mouth made for bad decisions.
He watched you fumble through your sentence with visible amusement.
âWe should probably work out when to meet for the project,â you finished weakly.
âProbably.â
Silence.
God.
You hated boys.
âYou busy tonight?â he asked suddenly.
Your brain short-circuited so hard it was embarrassing.
âWhat?â
âThe project,â he drawled. âUnless ya thought I was askinâ you on a date already.â
Heat exploded across your face instantly.
Zeke blinked.
Then looked delighted.
âOh, thatâs cute.â
âI did not think that.â
âYou sure?â
âYes.â
âYouâre blushinâ pretty hard for someone innocent.â
You wanted to die.
Zeke grinned fully now, slow and devastating.
âRelax,â he said, standing and slinging his bag over one shoulder. âCome by my place around seven.â
Then he walked away.
Leaving you standing there internally screaming.
Zekeâs apartment looked exactly like you expected.
Messy.
Loud music somewhere.
Motorcycle parts scattered across the garage.
What you didnât expect was Zeke himself opening the door wearing gray sweatpants and a faded Metallica shirt.
Your brain briefly stopped functioning.
He noticed immediately.
The smirk returned.
âYou gonna come in or just stare at me all night?â
You nearly choked.
âShut up.â
He laughed softly and stepped aside.
The weirdest part about spending time with Zeke Tyler was realizing he wasnât actually mean.
Sarcastic? Absolutely.
Annoying? Constantly.
But not mean.
He made you grilled cheese halfway through studying because you mentioned skipping lunch.
He explained chemistry concepts patiently when you got confused.
At one point, he reached across you to grab a notebook and casually tucked a strand of hair behind your ear first like it was instinct.
You forgot your own name for approximately ten seconds.
The worst part?
Zeke noticed every single reaction.
Every blush.
Every nervous glance.
Every flustered little stammer.
And he enjoyed it immensely.
By the third study session, he was actively provoking you for entertainment.
âYou always get this shy around me?â
âNo.â
âLiar.â
âIâm not shy.â
âSweetheart, you almost walked into a door five minutes ago âcause I smiled at you.â
You stared at him.
He stared back.
Then both of your eyes widened slightly.
Because neither of you seemed to register what heâd just said at first.
Sweetheart.
The word hung in the air between you.
Warm.
Intimate.
Accidental.
Your entire body went hot instantly.
âOh my God.â
Zekeâs expression changed immediately.
Not teasing anymore.
Something else.
Something surprised.
Because you were blushing so hard he genuinely thought you might burst into flames.
Your hands flew to your face.
âDonât look at me.â
That only made it worse.
Zeke barked out a startled laugh.
âHoly shit.â
âStop.â
âYouâre red.â
âI know!â
âNo, sweetheart, I mean red.â
The second he said it again, your soul practically left your body.
Zeke realized this immediately.
And thenâ
Then the asshole grinned.
Slowly.
Dangerously.
âOh, you like that.â
You made a horrified sound.
âI hate you.â
âNah.â
He leaned back against the couch, watching you with open fascination now.
âYou liked me callinâ you sweetheart.â
Your face somehow got hotter.
Which shouldnât have been physically possible.
Zeke looked absurdly pleased with himself.
âThatâs adorable.â
âYou are literally the worst person alive.â
âCould be worse.â
âHow?â
âI could keep doinâ it.â
Your stomach flipped violently.
He saw that too.
And suddenly Zeke Tyler looked entirely too interested in your reaction.
âYouâre killinâ me here,â he muttered, mostly to himself.
âWhat does that mean?â
Zeke stared at you for a second.
Then laughed softly under his breath.
âYou got no idea what you do to me, huh?â
The teasing tone was still there.
But quieter now.
Realer.
And thatâ
That scared you more than the flirting.
Because Zeke Tyler flirted with everybody.
But he wasnât looking at you like everybody.
He was looking at you like he was trying very hard not to cross some line.
Your pulse stumbled.
âZekeâŠâ
His eyes dropped briefly to your mouth.
That should not have been hot.
Unfortunately, it really, really was.
âYou should go home,â he said suddenly.
You blinked.
âWhat?â
Before I do something stupid, his expression said clearly.
Instead, he shrugged casually.
âLate.â
You glanced at the clock.
It was nearly midnight.
âOh.â
Neither of you moved.
The room felt different suddenly.
Smaller.
Warmer.
Dangerous in an entirely different way.
Then quietly, Zeke asked:
âDid it really affect you that much?â
You swallowed.
ââŠMaybe.â
His jaw flexed slightly.
Jesus Christ.
One word.
One accidental sweetheart and suddenly the atmosphere was unbearable.
You laughed nervously.
âThis is embarrassing.â
âFor you maybe.â
âYouâre not embarrassed?â
âSweetheart,â he said deliberately this time, eyes locked on yours, âIâm havinâ the best night of my life.â
You physically covered your face with your hands.
Zeke lost it completely.
Full laughter now.
Warm and rough and unfairly attractive.
âOh my God,â he wheezed. âYouâre so fuckinâ cute.â
âPlease stop talking.â
âNo chance.â
You peeked through your fingers.
Big mistake.
Because he was looking at you like that again.
All soft amusement and sharp interest and something deeper underneath it that made your chest ache.
Then his laughter faded slowly.
And the silence that replaced it felt heavier somehow.
Zeke stepped closer.
Not enough to touch you.
Just enough that your breath caught.
âYou know,â he said quietly, âmost girls donât blush when I flirt with âem.â
You tried for sarcasm.
âSorry to disappoint you.â
âNah.â
His gaze stayed fixed on your face.
âThink I like it better this way.â
Your heart did something deeply concerning.
âWhy?â
For a second, he looked like he might dodge the question.
Then surprisinglyâ
He answered honestly.
âBecause you mean it.â
The words landed hard.
Because that was the difference.
You werenât playing games with him.
Werenât flirting for fun.
Werenât trying to get something from him.
You just genuinely liked him.
And somehow, impossiblyâ
Zeke Tyler looked a little wrecked by that realization.
âYou should really stop lookinâ at me like that,â he murmured.
âHow am I looking at you?â
âLike Iâm better than people say.â
Oh.
Oh.
Your chest tightened painfully.
âMaybe you are.â
Silence.
Real silence this time.
The kind that changed things.
Zeke looked at you for a long moment like he didnât know what to do with that.
With you.
Then finally he reached up slowly and pulled your hands away from your face.
His fingers were warm.
Careful.
âYouâre still blushinâ,â he said softly.
âYou keep calling me sweetheart.â
His mouth twitched.
âYeah.â
âOn purpose now.â
âDefinitely.â
You laughed helplessly.
And something in his expression softened completely at the sound.
There he is, you thought suddenly.
Not the drug dealer.
Not the asshole everyone warned you about.
Just Zeke.
Tired.
Lonely.
Trying very hard to act like nothing mattered to him.
Your voice came out quieter than intended.
âI like when you say it.â
Zeke froze.
Actually froze.
Then stared at you like youâd just punched him directly in the chest.
âJesus Christ,â he muttered.
âWhat?â
âYou canât just say things like that to me.â
A nervous smile tugged at your mouth.
âWhy?â
âBecause Iâm tryinâ real hard to behave.â
Your stomach flipped.
âOh.â
âYeah, oh.â
You looked at each other for one long unbearable second.
Then Zeke cupped your face suddenly and kissed you.
It wasnât smooth.
Wasnât casual.
It felt like restraint snapping.
Warm hands.
Sharp inhale against your mouth.
The taste of cigarette smoke and soda and something entirely Zeke.
You made a tiny startled sound before kissing him back instantly.
His other hand slid into your hair.
And Godâ
The noise he made against your lips sounded almost relieved.
When he finally pulled away, both of you were breathing unevenly.
Your face was definitely still bright red.
Zeke looked wrecked in an entirely different way.
âYou got any idea,â he said hoarsely, forehead resting against yours, âhow long Iâve wanted to do that?â
Your eyes widened.
âYou liked me?â
He barked out a laugh.
âSweetheart, Iâve been losinâ my goddamn mind over you.â
The sheer sincerity in his voice made your chest ache.
You smiled helplessly.
And Zeke looked at you like he couldnât believe you were real.
Then he kissed you again.
Slower this time.
Like he planned on keeping you.
Kissing Zeke Tyler was a genuinely disorienting experience.
Mostly because nothing about him felt the way you expected.
You expected arrogance.
Expected cockiness and practiced charm and the kind of confidence boys like him usually carried into things like this.
Insteadâ
Zeke kissed you like he was starving for it.
Like heâd been holding himself back for weeks and finally lost the fight.
His hand stayed cupped against your jaw carefully, thumb brushing your cheek while his other tangled gently into your hair.
Careful.
That was the shocking part.
Zeke Tyler handled everything in life like he was either bored or one inconvenience away from setting something on fire.
But he touched you carefully.
Like he was afraid you might disappear.
When you kissed him back harder, he made this low sound in his throat that nearly melted your spine.
Then suddenly he pulled back half an inch.
Breathing uneven.
âYou okay?â
The question startled you enough to blink.
âWhat?â
His mouth twitched slightly.
âYou looked dizzy.â
You laughed breathlessly.
âThatâs because you kissed me.â
âYeah, noticed that.â
âYouâre very smug for someone who was just emotionally vulnerable.â
Zeke groaned dramatically and dropped his forehead against your shoulder.
âDonât ruin my reputation.â
You smiled helplessly, fingers brushing through the hair at the nape of his neck.
âYou have a reputation?â
âHeartless drug dealer. Terrible influence. Corrupting the youth.â
His voice sounded muffled against your shoulder.
Warm.
Comfortable.
And that was somehow the most dangerous thing yet.
Because you realized very suddenly that you could get used to this.
Too used to it.
Zeke eventually leaned back enough to look at you again.
And immediately froze.
âWhat?â
âYouâre blushinâ again.â
You covered your face instantly.
âOh my God.â
He burst out laughing.
âNo, no, câmereââ
âAbsolutely not.â
âYouâre cute when youâre embarrassed.â
âIâm leaving.â
âYouâre not leavinâ.â
Strong hands caught your wrists gently before you could actually pull away.
The grin on his face shouldâve been illegal.
âSweetheart,â he drawled, âif you think Iâm lettinâ you walk outta here after finally kissing me, youâre outta your mind.â
Your stomach flipped violently again.
âYou keep saying it.â
âSaying what?â
âYou know what.â
Zeke tilted his head innocently.
âSweetheart?â
You made a mortified sound.
He laughed harder.
âYouâre never gonna survive dating me.â
The word hit both of you immediately.
Dating.
The room went quieter all at once.
Zekeâs smile faded slightly as the reality of what heâd just implied settled between you.
Your pulse jumped.
ââŠDating?â
For the first time all night, Zeke Tyler looked nervous.
Tiny shift.
Barely noticeable.
But there.
His hands loosened around your wrists slightly.
âI mean,â he said carefully, âunless you donât wantââ
âI do.â
Too fast.
Too honest.
His expression changed instantly.
Softened in a way that made your chest ache.
âYeah?â
You nodded.
And suddenly you felt shy all over again.
Which was ridiculous considering youâd literally just made out with him on his couch.
âI justâŠâ you started weakly. âDidnât think youâd want that.â
Zeke stared at you like youâd said something genuinely insane.
âSweetheart.â
There it was again.
Warm.
Affectionate now instead of teasing.
âYou think Iâve been lookinâ at you like this for weeks because I wanted to be friends?â
Your face burned hotter.
âWeeks?â
He snorted softly.
âBeen doomed since you yelled at me in chem.â
You blinked.
âWhat?â
âYou heard me.â
âI yelled at you one time.â
âYou called me an asshole.â
âYou were being an asshole.â
âYeah,â he agreed easily. âKinda fell in love with you a little right there.â
Your brain stopped functioning.
Entirely.
Zeke noticed immediately.
âOh my God,â he whispered delightedly. âYou didnât know.â
âYou fell in love with me because I insulted you?â
âNah.â His hands slid carefully to your hips. âFell in love with you because you werenât scared of me.â
The teasing was gone again.
And underneath itâ
There was something heartbreakingly sincere in his eyes.
Something lonely.
Because everyone at school either wanted something from Zeke or feared him.
Nobody looked at him normally.
Nobody looked at him the way you did.
Like he was worth knowing.
Your voice softened without meaning to.
âI was a little scared of you.â
Zeke grinned slightly.
âYeah?â
âYou seemed mean.â
âI am mean.â
âYou made me grilled cheese.â
âThat donât count.â
âYou gave me your hoodie last week because I said I was cold.â
âYou were shiverinâ.â
âYou carried my books.â
âThey looked heavy.â
You smiled slowly.
âSee?â
Zeke rolled his eyes.
âSweetheart, if you tell people Iâm nice, Iâll deny it.â
You laughed quietly.
And once again, he looked at you like that sound alone could ruin him.
Then his thumb brushed absentmindedly against your waist.
Small touch.
Gentle.
Your heart stumbled.
âSo,â he said softly, âyou really wanna be my girl?â
The question wrapped itself around your ribs.
Because beneath the confidence, beneath the flirting and smirking and swaggerâ
Zeke genuinely wanted to know.
Wanted reassurance.
Your hands slid up his chest slowly, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his shirt.
âI really do.â
The breath he let out sounded almost shaky.
Then he kissed you again.
Slower this time.
Not desperate anymore.
Intentional.
Like he wanted to memorize exactly how you felt against him.
You melted into him immediately.
His hands tightened at your waist, pulling you closer until you were half in his lap, your knees pressing against the couch cushions on either side of him.
The room felt warm suddenly.
Too warm.
Your fingers slid into his curls and Zeke made that noise againâthat low rough sound like he liked your hands on him entirely too much.
When you finally pulled back for air, he chased after another quick kiss automatically.
You laughed softly against his mouth.
âNeedy.â
âShut up.â
âYou are.â
âYour fault.â
âProbably true.â
Zeke stared at you for a second after that.
Just stared.
Like he still couldnât fully believe this was happening.
Then quietly:
âYou know everybodyâs gonna lose their minds tomorrow.â
You groaned immediately.
âOh no.â
âYeah.â
âSarah is literally going to combust.â
âSheâs had a crush on me for two years.â
You narrowed your eyes.
âThat sounded suspiciously confident.â
âBecause she told me.â
âOh.â
âShe also told me sheâd beat up any girl I dated.â
Happy doesnât know how to flirt like a normal person, so his version of courtship is silently standing too close and threatening people who annoy you.
reader has an evil ex
The first time Happy Lowman threatened someone for you, you genuinely thought he was going to kill a man over a parking spot.
Which, in hindsight, probably should have been your first clue.
Youâd lived in Charming for almost eight months by then.
Eight months of trying very hard to keep your life small, uncomplicated, and quiet.
You worked at the feed store on the edge of town because it paid decently and because no one expected much from you there beyond stocking shelves, carrying bags, and ringing up customers. You rented a tiny duplex with perpetually crooked blinds and a water heater that screamed like a dying animal every morning. You kept mostly to yourself.
And you absolutely did not get involved with bikers.
That last part had been easy enough initially.
Everyone in Charming knew the Sons of Anarchy. They rolled through town like they owned it because, honestly, they kind of did. Loud motorcycles. Louder personalities. Men that looked dangerous in ways that made normal people instinctively move aside.
Youâd learned quickly that the smartest thing you could do was be polite, mind your business, and never ask questions you didnât want answers to.
Most of them were harmless enough to you.
One flirted shamelessly.
One complained constantly.
One had asked you for aspirin four separate times in a single week.
And then there was Happy.
Who mostly just stared.
It was deeply unsettling.
Not because he was ugly.
Unfortunately, the man was devastating to look at.
Tall. Broad. Dark eyes that never seemed to blink enough. Tattoos crawling across his scalp and disappearing beneath black T-shirts. Heavy boots. Heavy hands. Heavy silence.
He looked like violence wrapped in skin.
And he stared at you constantly.
Not in a normal way.
Not in a flirtatious way.
Just⊠intensely.
Like he was trying to solve you.
The first few times he came into the feed store, youâd assumed he was waiting for someone.
Then you realized he was absolutely watching you.
Not talking.
Not smiling.
Just standing there.
Watching.
It got worse after you made the mistake of being nice to him.
Which really shouldnât have counted as a mistake, but apparently it did.
Heâd come in one rainy afternoon drenched nearly through his cut, carrying a leaking cardboard box.
Youâd glanced over the counter.
âNeed help?â
âNo.â
The box meowed.
You blinked.
Happy stared at you.
The box meowed again.
ââŠis that a kitten?â
A pause.
âYeah.â
âWhy do you have a kitten?â
Another pause.
âFound it.â
You looked at the enormous tattooed biker holding a tiny soaking wet kitten in a collapsing cardboard box.
The image nearly broke your brain.
âOh my God.â
Happy frowned immediately.
âWhat?â
âNothing.â You bit your lip hard to stop smiling. âItâs just⊠weirdly adorable.â
The silence that followed was catastrophic.
Because apparently Happy Lowman had no idea what to do with compliments.
He stared at you for a solid ten seconds.
Then at the kitten.
Then back at you.
ââŠhuh.â
That had been the beginning.
After that, he started showing up constantly.
Never for long.
Never with any obvious reason.
Sometimes he bought things.
Sometimes he didnât.
But he always lingered near you like a particularly dangerous storm cloud.
And the longer it went on, the more bizarrely protective he became.
It started small.
A customer snapping at you because you were out of stock on horse feed.
Happy appeared silently beside the man before you could even answer.
âProblem?â
The customer visibly paled.
âNope.â
Then left immediately.
You stared after him.
Happy stared at you.
ââŠdid you just intimidate a man for being rude to me?â
âNo.â
âYou absolutely did.â
âHe was annoying you.â
Like that explained everything.
Which, to him, apparently it did.
After that, it escalated.
Someone cut in front of you at the coffee shop.
Happy appeared.
A guy at the gas station looked at you too long.
Happy appeared.
One drunk idiot at the bar grabbed your wrist while trying to flirt.
Happy didnât just appear.
He materialised.
One second the guy was grinning stupidly.
The next, Happy had him shoved against a wall with one tattooed hand around his throat.
âTouch her again,â Happy said conversationally, âand Iâll remove the hand.â
The bar had gone dead silent.
You were frozen.
The drunk man looked moments from passing out.
And Happy looked perfectly calm.
Not angry.
Not emotional.
Just matter-of-fact.
Like discussing weather.
You grabbed his arm immediately.
âHappy.â
His eyes flicked to you instantly.
You felt the shift in him like electricity.
Still dangerous.
Still lethal.
But suddenly focused entirely on you.
âLet him go.â
A beat.
Then he released the man.
The drunk stumbled away so fast he nearly fell.
Happy watched him leave before looking back at you.
âYou okay?â
The concern in his voice hit you harder than the violence had.
Because it was real.
Completely genuine.
Like your answer actually mattered to him.
âIâm fine,â you said carefully.
He nodded once.
Then stayed standing beside you the rest of the night like an attack dog pretending not to guard something.
Which was when Juice finally lost his mind laughing.
âOh my God,â he wheezed from across the pool table. âHeâs courting you.â
Happyâs head snapped toward him.
Juice continued anyway because apparently self-preservation wasnât high on his priority list.
âThis is literally how Happy flirts.â
You blinked.
ââŠwhat?â
Chibs looked deeply entertained.
âTold ye, brother. Ye cannae just threaten everybody she talks tae.â
âI donât.â
âAll ye do is threaten people she talks tae.â
Happy looked offended.
âYou threatened a cashier because she looked tired,â Tig informed you cheerfully.
âShe was rude.â
âShe asked if you wanted a receipt.â
âShe sounded aggressive.â
You stared.
The table collectively dissolved into laughter.
Happy looked increasingly irritated.
Mostly because nobody seemed to understand that he was being completely reasonable.
That was the terrifying part.
He genuinely thought this was normal behavior.
âWait,â you said slowly. âAre you actually flirting with me?â
Happy looked at you.
Then away.
Then back again.
ââŠyeah.â
You nearly choked.
âThatâs flirting to you?â
A shrug.
âI donât know.â
And somehow that was worse.
Because he sounded so genuinely uncertain.
Like he knew he was probably doing this wrong but had absolutely no idea how else to do it.
Tig cackled.
âSheâs gonna have to teach you how to people, Hap.â
Happy ignored him completely.
Still watching you.
Waiting.
You realized suddenly that he looked tense.
Actually tense.
Like your reaction mattered far more than he wanted it to.
And that realization did something deeply unfortunate to your heart.
Because Happy Lowman was terrifying.
But heâd also apparently been trying to court you for weeks like a feral guard dog that found a favorite person.
You pressed your lips together hard.
ââŠyou know most people buy flowers.â
âI can buy flowers.â
âNo threatening florists.â
âI wasnât gonna threaten the florist.â
Juice snorted.
âLiar.â
Happy glared at him.
You laughed before you could stop yourself.
The sound made Happy go still.
Not visibly.
Most people wouldnât have noticed.
But you did.
His shoulders relaxed slightly.
His expression softened almost imperceptibly.
Like hearing you laugh affected him physically.
And suddenly you understood why everyone at the table looked so fascinated.
Happy Lowman was gone for you.
Completely.
It only got worse from there.
Or better.
Depending on who you asked.
Happy started picking you up from work without ever technically asking if you wanted rides.
Youâd walk out of the feed store at closing time and find him leaning against his bike.
Silent.
Waiting.
The first time, youâd blinked at him.
ââŠwhat are you doing?â
âTaking you home.â
âYou donât have to do that.â
A shrug.
âYou got followed last week.â
Your stomach dropped.
âYou knew about that?â
Happy stared at you like the answer was obvious.
âYeah.â
âWhy?â
Another look.
âYou think I wouldnât know?â
Which somehow wasnât an answer and yet absolutely was.
You had, in fact, been followed.
Nothing dramatic.
A man in a truck lingering too long behind your car after work. Following two turns too many.
Youâd eventually lost him by pulling into a crowded grocery store parking lot.
You hadnât told anyone.
Apparently that didnât matter.
Happy knew anyway.
A cold realization crept up your spine.
ââŠhow much do you know about my life?â
Happy considered the question seriously.
âEnough.â
âThatâs not comforting.â
âYouâre safe.â
Again, like that explained everything.
Maybe to him it did.
You should have been alarmed.
Maybe you were a little.
But mostly you felt something warm and terrifying bloom beneath your ribs.
Because no one had ever made you feel protected before.
Not really.
Not without strings attached.
Not without making you feel weak for needing it.
Happy never acted like your safety was an inconvenience.
He treated it like fact.
Like breathing.
Like if someone scared you, that became his problem automatically.
Which was deeply insane.
And dangerously addictive.
So you let him drive you home.
The ride itself was another problem.
Youâd never been on a motorcycle before.
Happy handed you a helmet.
âHold on.â
âThatâs all the instruction I get?â
âDonât fall off.â
âVery reassuring.â
A tiny pause.
Then, quietly:
âI wonât let you.â
Your heart did something embarrassing.
You climbed on behind him.
The second the bike moved, instinct took over.
You grabbed his waist.
Happy inhaled sharply.
You felt it.
Every muscle in his body tightening beneath your hands.
ââŠyou okay?â you asked over the engine.
âYeah.â
He sounded strangled.
The ride home was fast.
Not reckless.
Just smooth and controlled and terrifyingly intimate.
Your chest pressed against his back.
Your hands locked around his stomach.
His body heat surrounding you entirely.
By the time he parked outside your duplex, your pulse was all over the place.
You climbed off carefully.
Happy stayed seated on the bike watching you.
âYou donât gotta keep doing this,â you said softly.
âWant me to stop?â
The question landed heavier than it should have.
Because he sounded genuinely prepared to.
Immediately.
If you asked.
You looked at him for a long moment.
Then shook your head.
ââŠno.â
Something warm flickered briefly through his eyes.
âOkay.â
That should have been the end of it.
Instead, he started showing up nearly every day.
Not clingy.
Happy would probably rather die than admit to clinginess.
But consistent.
Steady.
Like heâd silently decided your life was now part of his routine.
Coffee left on the counter during your morning shifts.
Your car mysteriously repaired after mentioning a weird noise once.
A space heater appearing outside your apartment after your heater broke.
You never saw him deliver these things.
They simply⊠appeared.
Like a very violent ghost trying to provide enrichment.
The club found the entire thing hysterical.
âYou know he threatened a mechanic for overcharging you?â Juice told you one afternoon.
You looked up from your drink.
âHe what?â
âGuy tried charging extra because youâre a woman.â
âHappy scared him so bad he fixed your brakes for free,â Tig added.
âHe did not.â
âOh, he absolutely did.â
Across the clubhouse, Happy sat at the bar pretending not to listen.
Which would have been more convincing if his attention wasnât visibly locked on your conversation.
You stared at him.
ââŠyou threatened my mechanic?â
Happy shrugged.
âHe was a dick.â
âThat doesnât mean you can menace people.â
âHe can.â Tig grinned. âThatâs kinda his thing.â
Happy ignored him.
Still watching you carefully.
Like he was trying to determine whether you were actually upset.
You sighed.
âYou cannot solve all my problems by threatening people.â
A pause.
âCan solve most.â
Juice nearly fell off his chair laughing.
And God help you, you laughed too.
Happyâs expression softened again.
That tiny almost-smile threatening the corner of his mouth.
You were beginning to realize he liked making you laugh.
A lot.
Not because he was naturally funny.
He wasnât.
At all.
But because your happiness affected him in a way he didnât know how to hide.
It was written all over him.
In the way he watched you.
In the way he automatically moved closer whenever you entered a room.
In the way his entire body subtly tracked your position like gravity.
And the worst part?
You were getting used to it.
Used to his presence.
Used to his quiet attention.
Used to feeling absurdly safe whenever he was nearby.
Which became painfully obvious the night your ex showed up.
You hadnât seen Daniel in over a year.
Not since leaving Stockton.
Not since finally realizing that love wasnât supposed to feel like constantly apologizing for existing.
The relationship had never crossed into physical violence.
And youâd spent years making yourself smaller trying to avoid triggering him.
Leaving had been the hardest thing youâd ever done.
Staying gone had been harder.
So when you walked out of work and saw him leaning against your car, your entire body locked up.
âHey, baby.â
The nickname made your stomach twist.
Daniel smiled like nothing had happened.
Like he hadnât spent months calling from blocked numbers after you left.
Like he hadnât once screamed that nobody else would ever want you.
âYou moved far.â
Your pulse thundered.
âWhat are you doing here?â
âWanted to talk.â
âNo.â
His expression darkened immediately.
There it was.
That switch.
The one you knew too well.
âI drove three hours and youâre seriously gonna act like a bitch right now?â
You took a step back automatically.
Daniel noticed.
And smiled.
Cruel.
âYou still do that.â
Your throat tightened.
âIâm leaving.â
âYou always were dramatic.â
He moved closer.
You froze.
And then suddenly Daniel stopped moving.
Completely.
The change was instant.
His expression shifting from irritation to confusion.
Then confusion to fear.
Slowly, he looked past you.
You already knew.
You turned.
Happy stood ten feet away.
Silent.
Still.
Absolutely terrifying.
You had seen Happy angry before.
This wasnât that.
Anger at least looked human.
This looked cold.
Predatory.
The kind of stillness that existed right before violence.
Daniel swallowed visibly.
ââŠwho the hell is that?â
Happy started walking forward.
One slow step at a time.
Heavy boots against pavement.
Your pulse jumped for entirely different reasons now.
Happy stopped beside you.
Close enough that his arm brushed yours.
Daniel looked suddenly much less confident.
âProblem?â Happy asked.
His voice was calm.
That was the worst part.
Daniel laughed nervously.
âNo problem, man. Weâre just talking.â
âShe said no.â
The silence afterward stretched.
Happy didnât raise his voice.
Didnât posture.
Didnât threaten outright.
He simply looked at Daniel.
And somehow that was so much worse.
Daniel shifted uncomfortably.
âSheâs my girlfriend.â
âEx,â you corrected immediately.
Happyâs eyes never left Daniel.
âEx.â
Daniel scoffed.
âShe always does this dramatic shit.â
The temperature around you seemed to drop.
Happy tilted his head slightly.
âYou got about ten seconds to leave before I stop being polite.â
Daniel tried to laugh again.
It failed badly.
âYou threatening me?â
âYes.â
Direct.
Flat.
Honest.
Daniel stared.
Happy stared back.
And for the first time since arriving, Daniel looked genuinely uncertain.
Then he made the mistake of looking at you again.
âYou seriously fucking a biker now?â
Happy moved.
Fast.
One second beside you.
The next directly in front of Daniel.
Not touching him.
Just there.
Towering.
Dangerous.
âYou need to leave,â Happy said quietly.
Daniel actually stepped back.
You had never seen him back down from anything before.
Not once.
But Happy Lowman looked at him like he had already calculated where to bury the body.
Daniel pointed at you.
âThis isnât over.â
Happy smiled.
It was not a nice smile.
âYes, it is.â
Daniel left.
Quickly.
His truck peeled out of the parking lot hard enough to screech tires.
You stood frozen.
Adrenaline crashing through your system.
Happy turned toward you instantly.
The violence disappeared from his expression so fast it almost gave you whiplash.
âYou okay?â
Your chest tightened painfully.
Because he sounded so careful.
So worried.
And suddenly, horrifyingly, you realized your hands were shaking.
Happy noticed immediately.
His jaw tightened.
âHe touch you?â
âNo.â
âYou sure?â
You nodded.
Happy exhaled slowly.
Then looked toward the road Daniel had disappeared down with an expression that suggested murder was still very much on the table.
Without thinking, you grabbed his wrist.
His attention snapped back to you.
âDonât.â
A beat.
Then another.
Finally:
âOkay.â
Because you asked.
The realization hit hard.
Happy Lowman â terrifying, violent, deeply unhinged Happy Lowman â would apparently listen to you over his own instincts.
Your throat burned unexpectedly.
âIâm sorry.â
His brow furrowed instantly.
âFor what?â
âFor⊠this.â You gestured vaguely. âHe shouldnât have involved you.â
Happy looked genuinely confused.
âHe scared you.â
Like that was the only relevant detail.
You laughed shakily.
âThatâs your entire moral compass, huh?â
Another tiny shrug.
âMostly.â
God.
You covered your face briefly.
âThis is the worst flirting Iâve ever experienced.â
Happy stepped closer.
Not crowding.
Just near.
âYou want me to stop?â
There it was again.
That immediate willingness.
Not defensive.
Not angry.
Just prepared to back away if you wanted him to.
And maybe that was the moment everything shifted.
Because you finally understood something important.
Happy wasnât trying to control you.
He wasnât protecting you because he thought you were weak.
He just⊠cared.
Deeply.
Violently.
Completely.
In the only way he knew how.
You looked up at him slowly.
âNo,â you admitted softly.
Happy went very still.
âNo?â
âI donât want you to stop.â
Something flickered across his face.
Hope.
Raw enough to hurt.
Your chest squeezed.
âYou know,â you said carefully, ânormal people usually ask someone out before threatening their ex-boyfriend.â
A pause.
âShould I ask now?â
You stared at him.
He looked completely serious.
The absurdity of the situation nearly made you laugh again.
âYes, Happy. You should probably ask now.â
Another pause.
Then:
ââŠyou wanna get dinner?â
The question sounded awkward in his mouth.
Unpracticed.
Like he genuinely had no idea how this part worked.
And somehow that made it sweeter.
You smiled despite yourself.
âYeah,â you said softly. âI do.â
Happy blinked.
Like he maybe hadnât expected success.
Then his shoulders relaxed.
Just slightly.
But enough.
âOkay.â
You laughed quietly.
âThatâs your response?â
Another shrug.
âGot nervous.â
The confession hit you like a truck.
âYou?â
âYeah.â
You stared at the terrifying assassin biker standing in front of you admitting nervousness like it physically pained him.
Your heart was absolutely doomed.
Dating Happy turned out to be one of the strangest experiences of your life.
Not bad.
Just strange.
Because Happy approached relationships the same way he approached everything else:
Intensely.
Immediately.
Completely.
There was no casual setting with him.
No games.
No pretending not to care.
No gradual emotional distancing.
Once Happy decided someone mattered to him, they mattered fully.
Which was both wonderful and mildly terrifying.
He still didnât flirt normally.
At all.
Your first official date ended with him threatening a waiter.
Not seriously.
Just enough to make the poor guy nearly drop a tray.
The waiter had winked at you while refilling water.
Happy stared at him until he fled.
You pinched the bridge of your nose.
âYou cannot intimidate every man that looks at me.â
âHe was flirting.â
âSo are you technically.â
Happy frowned.
âThatâs different.â
âHow?â
Another long pause.
Then, completely sincere:
âBecause I mean it.â
You nearly choked on your drink.
Happy looked confused by your reaction.
Meanwhile your heart was attempting to exit your body.
He said things like that constantly.
Accidentally devastating things.
Not smooth.
Not polished.
Just painfully honest.
You learned quickly that Happy didnât really understand subtlety.
If he cared about you, he showed it.
Physically.
Practically.
Relentlessly.
He checked your locks. Walked on the outside of sidewalks. Memorised your coffee order after hearing it once. Brought you painkillers and heating pads during your period with the grim seriousness of a man preparing for war.
âYou didnât have to get all this,â youâd protested weakly from your couch.
Happy set another grocery bag down.
âYou said your back hurt.â
âThat doesnât mean you needed to buy an entire pharmacy.â
A shrug.
âYou need snacks too.â
You stared at the sheer quantity of chocolate.
ââŠdid you threaten someone at the grocery store?â
âNo.â
A beat.
ââŠlittle bit.â
You burst out laughing.
Happy watched you carefully.
That tiny almost-smile appearing again.
He loved making you laugh.
Loved it.
You realized one night at the clubhouse that he actually sought it out.
Youâd been exhausted after a terrible shift.
Quiet.
Headache building behind your eyes.
Happy noticed immediately.
Without a word, he disappeared.
Ten minutes later he returned carrying a tiny, extremely ugly stuffed animal from the gas station.
You blinked.
ââŠwhat is that?â
âDog.â
âIt looks diseased.â
âIt reminded me of Tig.â
Across the room, Tig yelled, âFuck you!â
You laughed so hard you snorted.
Happyâs expression softened instantly.
There it was again.
That look.
Like your happiness physically settled something inside him.
Chibs watched the interaction with poorly hidden amusement.
âHeâs whipped,â he informed the room.
Happy flipped him off without looking away from you.
The scary thing was, you were pretty sure Chibs was right.
The scarier thing?
So were you.
Because somewhere between the terrifying protectiveness and the silent acts of care and the bizarrely earnest attempts at romance, youâd fallen in love with him.
Which honestly felt a little inevitable.
Happy loved with his entire chest.
Even if he barely knew how to say it.
You figured it out anyway.
In the way he always touched you gently despite looking built to break things. In the way he listened whenever you spoke. In the way he never mocked your fears. In the way he looked at you like you were something precious and bewildering and entirely his favourite thing.
It terrified him sometimes.
You could tell.
There were nights he went quiet.
Watching you from across the room with something almost uncertain in his expression.
Like he didnât fully trust good things to stay.
One night you finally asked.
You were lying together in his bed above the clubhouse.
Rain hitting the windows softly.
Happy stretched beside you, one heavy arm across your waist.
âWhat?â he asked.
âYou get weirdly sad sometimes.â
A pause.
âDonât know what you mean.â
âYou absolutely do.â
Silence.
Then:
ââŠyou deserve normal.â
Your chest hurt immediately.
You turned toward him.
Happy stared at the ceiling.
Expression unreadable.
âYou think youâre not normal?â
A dry huff.
âCâmon.â
âNo, seriously.â
Happy finally looked at you.
In the dim light he looked softer somehow.
Still dangerous.
Always dangerous.
But tired.
âYou know what I do.â
You did.
Or enough.
You werenât naive.
The Sons lived in violence.
And Happy⊠Happy was the violence people sent after other violence.
Yet somehow none of that changed the way he treated you.
âYou know,â you said quietly, âmost people donât threaten mechanics on behalf of women they barely know.â
A tiny smile tugged briefly at his mouth.
âHe was overcharging you.â
âThatâs not the point.â
âWhat is?â
You reached up carefully.
Touched his face.
Happy went still instantly.
Not tense.
Just attentive.
Like every nerve in his body focused on your hand.
âThe point is nobody has ever cared about me the way you do.â
His eyes locked on yours.
Raw.
Unprotected.
âYou should probably get used to it,â he said quietly.
And God.
That was it.
That was the exact moment you knew this wasnât temporary.
Not a fling.
Not an accident.
This was forever if you wanted it.
Happy Lowman loved like a blood oath.
There was no halfway.
You shifted closer.
âCâmere.â
Happy frowned slightly.
âIâm already here.â
You laughed softly.
Then kissed him.
Slow.
Gentle.
Intentional.
Happy made a rough sound low in his throat and pulled you against him immediately.
Careful even then.
Always careful with you.
When you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
âYou know,â you murmured, âyou could also just tell me you like me.â
A pause.
Then:
âI think Iâm past like.â
Your breath caught.
Happy looked faintly uncomfortable after saying it.
Like honesty made him itch.
You smiled helplessly.
âYeah?â
âYeah.â
The room felt suddenly very small.
Very quiet.
Happyâs hand slid against your waist slowly.
âYou?â he asked.
There was something vulnerable beneath the question.
Something careful.
Like despite everything, despite the possessiveness and certainty and devotion, part of him still genuinely wasnât sure you could feel the same.
You kissed him again before answering.
Then whispered against his mouth:
âYeah, Hap. Iâm past like too.â
He stared at you.
Actually stared.
Then kissed you like he didnât know what else to do with the feeling.
It was overwhelming.
Not rough.
Just intense.
Happy always kissed like he meant it.
Like he didnât understand the point of doing anything halfway.
Later, when you were half asleep against his chest, you murmured:
âYou know your flirting still sucks, right?â
Happyâs chest rumbled with quiet laughter.
The sound startled you enough to lift your head.
âYou laughed.â
âSometimes.â
âThat was a real laugh.â
âDonât tell anybody.â
You grinned.
âYour reputation?â
âYeah.â
You snuggled closer.
For a long moment neither of you spoke.
Then quietly:
âGuy at the diner looked at you weird today.â
You groaned instantly.
âHappy.â
âWhat?â
âYou cannot threaten every man on earth.â
âI can try.â
You burst out laughing again.
Happyâs arms tightened around you.
And even in the dark, you felt him smile against your hair.
Like maybe this â your laughter, your warmth, your presence tangled into his life â was the closest thing to peace heâd ever found.
And maybe for you, it was too.
Because Happy Lowman didnât know how to flirt like a normal person.
He loved in silent proximity. In protective violence. In fixed engines and warm coffee and standing just close enough that nobody else could touch you.
And somehow, impossibly, it was the safest love youâd ever known.
So when people asked later how the two of you got together, you usually just smiled.
Because there was no normal explanation.
Just a terrifying biker who fell in love with you so hard he started treating every inconvenience in your life like a personal threat.
And you, apparently insane enough to fall in love with him right back.
summary: all your life, youâve been second-best. Even now that youâve been chosen to be an agent of the BAU, youâre just a replacement for Spencer Reid. What could change now thatâs heâs out?
cw: there is a bit of an age gap, i imagined reader in her early to mid 20âs, nevermind how it isnât accurate for working at FBI. this is a criminal minds fic, so there are graphic depictions of violence, as well as implied/referenced child neglect/abuse in readers childhood, reader is somewhat a genius
tropes/tags: slowburn on readers end, Spencer is flirting from the beginning, HURT/COMFORT, angst, bit of a sick fic in one scene, bit of soft dom! spencer as a treat
a/n : this came to me in a prophecy. full disclosure i havenât actually seen the prison arc yet so if thereâs any inaccuracies shhhhhh look at the fluff
also !! this is a LOOOOONG one. strap yourselves in. grab snacks and drinks
slipped in some very slight father figure Hotch bc thatâs my crack
title taken from Mirrorball by Taylor Swift
ââââ ââ â ââââ
Spencer Reid is absolutely nothing like youâd thought heâd be.
From how the team talked about him, youâd been expecting a short, slight man. Someone quiet and meek and non-threatening.
And Dr. (Agent?) Reid was quiet. But not in the donât-notice-me way, but in the I-know-what-Iâm-doing-and-donât-need-to-say-it way. He quietly commanded attention and respect. One look at the man told you he was not somebody to fuck with.
He was also really, really, really hot.
It was unfortunate and difficult, truly, because heâs your senior agent, someone whoâs got more than a few years on you in both field experience and general age. Heâs a genius- insanely good at what he does and thereâs no refuting that.
But most of all, heâs kind and respectful and just genuinely a good person. And also good looking. Did you mention that yet?
He clicks seamlessly into place with the team in a way youâve never managed to do in the time youâve been with him. And after all, why would you? Youâre just the rookie transfer with a bit higher than average IQ. Nothing to brag about. Nothing like Spencer.
You were a data analyst with the FBI before your boss told you: âThe BAU is looking for a temporary genius. I put your name in the ring. Hotchner mustâve been impressed with something, cause he picked you. I know youâve completed the training courses for their team, so pack your desk. Youâve got a new assignment.â
And just like that, every single one of your dreams came true. And then promptly burst into flames and burned to ashes when you realized what exactly your position on the team was: Temporary and replacing.
It makes sense, you guess. The team grew to rely on Reidâs quick wit and intellect. And beyond that, theyâre an agent short. And you fit the bill well enough: swift and intelligent. Nothing more, nothing less. It became clear during the first few weeks that no one on the team had any intention of liking or particularly getting to know you beyond a professional capacity. And you get it, you really do. You donât name the dog youâre gonna get rid of.
With the exception of Penelope. But you donât think she has the ability to ignore someone without a clear reason.
So you did your job and you were good at it. Held the team at armâs length even when they warmed up to you. Kept your head down, stuck to yourself. This way, itâs easier to stop yourself from leaning into JJ and Prentissâs jokes, or to stamp down the glow in your chest from Hotchâs approval.
All of this hard work goes sailing straight out the window and spattering on the concrete below when Reid comes back. Because all it took was one case together- one. And then youâre hopelessly in love with the guy you replaced.
And itâs all kinds of terrible, because itâs Reid. Heâs not only your coworker âsoon to be ex, because now that heâs back youâll be out of a jobâ but heâs also so incredibly out of your league itâs not even funny. But he keeps smiling at you and including you in conversations and saying hi to you and asking your opinion on things during cases as if you would have more to add than he does.
Itâs very hard to keep him at arms length. And because Reid is Reid he drags everybody else over with him and then youâre bonding with a team you have a week left with, maybe two.
Spencer Reid has weaseled his way into your life one stupid smile at a time.
â
The case is going terribly.
What started as a run-of-the-mill serial killer case in some nowhere town turned into huge investigation because Speâ Reid figured out its relation to a cold case from a neighboring town decades prior. And then, to top everything off, just so happens to be near enough to your hometown that your mom saw you on the news when JJ was giving a statement.
And now she wonât stop calling.
Prior to this, you havenât talked to your mom in about seven months. Now? Sheâs calling upwards of twelve times a day.
âMom,â You say, tucked in one of the police stations back rooms, pinching the bridge of your nose, âIâm working, I canât just come out to see youââ
âBut youâve never visited! And your finally in town, andââ
âIâm not in town, Iâm a four hour drive away from town.â
A sigh crackles through the line, her voice tinny. âYou know, your brother always made time to visit family, and your younger brothersââ
âAre younger than me and more successful, yes mom, Iâve heard it all before. Now if youâll excuse me, Iâm trying to catch a serial killer.â
You snap the phone shut before she can protest, effectively ending the call. You sag against the wall, sighing deep and weary. Exhaustion clings to your bones. Itâs not just your mom. This case, being physically close to your hometown, everythingâ itâs weighing you down. You spend more time in the hotel bed tossing and turning than sleeping.
Even Emâ Prentiss had shot you look when youâd came in this morning- though juryâs still out about whether or not it was an are-you-okay look or a you-better-be-good-for-the-case look. Youâre hoping itâs the former.
The room youâre in is empty- the precinct that called for the team went under renovation and remodeling last year, so some of the rooms have fallen into disuse, apparently. Itâs dusty, and filled with boxes and papers and weirdly, one or two condom wrappers. You wish you were surprised.
Your phone has been put strongly on silent, and youâre not expecting anyone to find you for at least twenty minutes. Of course, you donât need twenty minutes. You just need five.
You just need to collect yourself for a moment. A few minutes to breathe, to get your momâs words and the unpleasant memories they bring out of your head; to will the shake out of your hands and the cold creeping in your lungs.
So when the door opens, you nearly jump out of your skin.
Spencer walks in, phone clasped in one hand and a worried expression on his face.
âWeâre getting ready to give the profile.â
âOh,â You peel yourself off the wall, discreetly wiping at your face. You hadnât noticed the frustrated tears carving lines down your face, âSorry, Iâm coming.â
He frowns as you come closer, and panic begins to beat like a drum in your chest.
âIs Hotch upset? I just had to take a call, I thought it wouldââ
âSlow down,â He says, raising his hands. âHotch isnât upset. Is something wrong?â
âNo,â You say quickly, too quickly, because his frown deepens.
âYouâve been taking a lot more calls recently and youâre always upset after theyâre over. Is someone bothering you?â
You sigh, rubbing at your face. âMy mom. Weâre a four hour drive away from my hometown. She saw me on the news when JJ gave her statement.â
Something flashes in his eyes when you say your mother, but itâs gone before you can decipher it.
âYou donât want to see her.â
He says it flat-toned and blank. Like itâs a fact.
It is a fact.
âNo,â You confess, âIâve never been close with my parents. I havenât spoken to her beyond a text in years, and I havenât texted her in months. Then she sees me on the news and Iâm back on her radar again.â
You chuckle, but thereâs no humor in it. âOh, the folly of the disappointing daughter.â
He tilts his head, questioning. âYouâve made something of yourself. Youâre a special agent. Thatâs not nothing.â
âYeah, well. Itâs not Doctor or Lawyer or C.E.O or anything else my brothers or cousins have made of themselves, so,â You shrug. âDisappointing.â
âWell thatâs stupid,â Spencer says, a small curl to his lips, âYou keep all of those stupid people safe by catching serial killers.â
âYouâre a doctor. Did you just call yourself stupid?â
He shrugs, mimicking your earlier action. âIâm not that kind of doctor.â
You look down to hide the smile on your face but he ducks down, catching it anyway.
âHey,â He says, eyes catching yours, âIf you want to talk, you know where to find me.â
You (hesitantly) look up to meet his gaze. âThanks, Reid.â
His face does something weird. Contorts at the words, just for a second. Like he just bit into something sour.
And then itâs gone.
âOf course.â
â
For the rest of the case, everytime your phone rings, Spencer looks at you. Youâre getting close to just throwing the damn thing off a roof, if itâll convince him to stop looking at you like that. You donât know what to do with it. The look he gives you tastes like worry, and you donât know what to do about Spencer Reid worrying about you.
You never meet his gaze. You know heâs looking, but you never look back.
Finally, the case comes to an end. Actually, it goes out in a literal blaze of gloryâ the unsub lights his kill shed on fire.
All of it would have burned to ash if you hadnât run into the structure and and snatched the murder weapon and the most damning pieces of evidence: the printed photographs the unsub took with the victims.
Itâs a win because you saved the evidence.
Itâs a loss because Hotch looks pissed while the paramedics check you over.
Well. You assume he looks pissed. Youâre staring resolutely at your shoes.
Finally, the paramedic gives you the all clear âjust some minor burns here and there, you got luckyâ and you no longer have a human buffer and excuse to avoid talking.
The silence stretches out between you two. Eventually, you cave.
âHotch, Iâm sorryââ
He holds a hand up and you clamp your jaw shut.
âDid you not hear me give the order to stay back?â
âI just thoughtââ
âWe are a team, agent. I need to be able to trust not only that youâre going to follow my orders but be able to work together with the team. Now, youâre not doing either of those things.â
You frown. âI do follow your orders.â
He sighs. âYou didnât today. And more importantly, youâre not acting like a member of this team. You donât call for backup. You donât ask for help. You do good profiling work, agent. But if you canât work with this team then we might need to reconsider your position here.â
That⊠doesnât make any sense.
Hotch catches the confusion on your face. âSomething wrong, agent?â
âI justâ I was under the impression that I would only be working with the team for a few more weeksâŠ?â
Now itâs his turn to look confused. âYou may have been hired at an inopportune time, and until the first year is over it is a probationary basis, but pending review, you are and always have been a permanent member of this unit.â
You blink. âOh.â
Heâs quiet for a moment. âYou didnât think youâd be staying for long.â
You shake your head, your world turned on its head.
He hums. âYou should buy earplugs. Rossi snores.â
You drop your head into your hands.
âAnd agent?â
You look up.
âYou did good work today. You have a team. Learn to use them.â
He walks away, leaving you to process this crisis-inducing information.
So. Youâre not leaving the team. Youâre a profiler. Forever. This is your job now.
So does that mean you werenât replacing Spencer? So why were you hired? Anything you can do multiple people on the team can do better. Why would Hotch pick you?
You stare at the pavement, which gives you a perfect view to watch Spencerâs shoes walk into view and hear him settle next to you.
âYouâre a little young to be having a mid-life crisis.â
It takes you an embarrassingly long time to respond, partly because youâre not sure what to say, but also, the length of his thigh is pressed against yours and itâs hard to think when heâs emanating warmth and you canât stop yourself from thinking about how it would feel to touch, skin to skin.
âWell,â You croak, âI did just get some pretty big news.â
He leans back on his hands, raising an eyebrow. âOh?â
Looking up at him was a mistake. Bathed in the glow of the ambulance and the light from the moon, you can see just how long his eyelashes are, and how his lips move when he says your name.
Oh shit.
âSorry, what?â
His face twitches in a smile. âI asked if you were okay. You were staring.â
You flush from your neck to the tips of your ears. âSorry. Itâs been a long day. Iâm fine. I was just thinking.â
âAbout?â
See, he always does this. Most people would end the conversation there and move on. And thatâs fine. Itâs normal. But Spencer asks. Like heâs interested.
You shrug. âI thought⊠I thought I was leaving the team in a few weeks. Turns out iâm staying.â
He starts swinging his legs on the edge of the ambulance, though where his almost brush the ground, yours swing several inches above it. âWhy did you think you were leaving?â
You laugh softly. âMy boss told me the position was temporary. And in my excitement of getting it I may or may not have⊠not read the paperwork?â
He clicks his tongue. âOh, honey.â
The tips of your ears burn. âI was excited!â
âTo get a job staring at gruesome crime photos?â
âTo help people.â
âWhat? Data analysis not helping people enough?â
âDo I even have to answer that?â
He snorts, his body shaking against yours. âYouâre a consulting analyst. Thatâs the big leagues.â
Now itâs your turn to huff. âIs there a big leagues for data analysis?â
He leans his head down to look at you. âWell, maybe miss smarty-pants over here made a league of her own.â
The shade of red you turn must be visible, dark and bad lighting aside. âYou have an IQ of 187. Can you really call me a smarty-pants?â
He tilts his head, giving you an assessing look. You recognize it. He gives case files the same look.
A faint shudder runs down the length of your spine at that precise, clinical gaze.
It should concern you, unnerve you.
It doesnât.
âNo, Iâm positive. Youâre a smarty-pants.â
You look away, unable to hold the intensity of his gaze.
âHey, no. Come on, you gotta own up to being a smarty-pants. Otherwise you ruin the effect.â
âAm I supposed to start wearing sweaters and Converse, then?â
âWell, that wouldnât be owning the smarty-pants look.â
âDo we have to keep the smarty-pants thing going?â
âTook your mind off the burns, didnât it?â
You blink, realizing that you havenât noticed the dull sting of the minor burns littering your body for a few minutes now.
But that has less to do with Spencer speaking and more to do with the fact that heâs here. Touching you. If you focus really hard, you can feel the chords of muscle lining his arm.
âUh,â You stutter, momentarily flabbergasted by the way heâs looking at you. Like itâs important to himâ you not being in pain. âYeah, yeah, I guess. Well. I feel them now.â
âOh, shame. I guess weâll just have to keep talking.â
You furrow your brows. âDonât you have somewhere else to be? Shouldnât you be helping finish wrapping up the case?â
He shrugs. âIâm right where I want to be.â
Thatâs a decidedly very loaded statement that are not going to unpack.
Youâre not going to unpack to jolt of pure electricity you feel from it, either.
â
You may or may not have lied about just how sick you were, exactly.
âYou know,â Rossi says after you hack a cough into your elbow for what has to be the fiftieth time in as many minutes, âThatâs starting to sound less like the plague and more like desperation.â
You sniff harshly, taking a swig of cough syrup and praying this isnât the king with codeine in it. You didnât read the label very well. âWhat do you mean?â
Prentiss raises an eyebrow. âHeâs saying that most people on their veritable death/bed opt to sleep comfortably in their own beds in their own homes rather than on a plane to hunt down a violent killer.â
You think if your apartmentâ itâs cozy, at least, but still a glaring reminder of the reason you told Hotch you were fine to come in- loneliness.
You have heated blankets and warm lighting and books and tea âboxes and boxes of teaâ and all manner of things that make you happy. But no amount of things can replace, tangible human connection.
You knew the ache of spending the day in your apartment would sting worse than the cold. Fever, Whatever you have.
âIâm thinking of a word,â JJ says, mock tapping her chin thoughtfully, âStarts with work, ends with holic.â
âI am not a workaholic,â you wheeze. âI am fine.â
âYes,â Prentiss says, raising her other eyebrow. Oh no. Not the double eyebrow raise. âBecause this is exactly what the picture of health looks like.â
To avoid answering, you take another swig of cough medicine.
âJust do you know,â Spencer says, âYouâre about one tiny sip of that away from overdosing. Iâd cool it on the cough syrup.â
âBut Iâm still coughing.â
âHave you given it any time to work?â
âItâs been thirty-ish minutes since I took the first dose.â
He levels you with a look at your usage of dose. âWhy donât you wait a little longer before committing suicide via shallow breathing and seizures.â
You wave a hand. âItâs fine. I know how to take care of myself when Iâm sick.â
âIs your version of taking care of yourself just continuously taking medicine until the symptoms become bearable?â
âYouâre un-bearable.â You snort at your play on words, but grow quiet because when you look up, the entire team is looking at you. âWhat?â
âYou never joke.â JJ says.
âAnd I think Iâve heard you laugh exactly two times, and Iâm pretty sure one of them was a sneeze.â Rossi says, a look of vague disbelief on his face.
You squirm in place. âItâs not that big of a deal.â
âUh, yeah it is. Youâre definitely too sick to be on a case if youâre laughing.â
âCome on, it was barely a chuckleââ
Spencer looks around. âYeah, whatâs the big deal? Iâve heard her laugh before.â
JJ and Prentiss snap their heads to him in tandem. âWhat?â
Now he looks vaguely uncomfortable. âI just donât get why itâs such a big deal.â
âThatâs cause you showed up late to the party,â Em- Prentiss says, âYou didnât meet her when she first came. She was all genius consulting data analyst.â
âI wouldnât call myself a geniusââ
âYeah,â JJ chimes in, âI only ever saw her smile to be polite.â
âWait,â Prentiss says, brows pinched, âYou heard her laugh and you didnât tell us? You knew we were trying to see who would make her break first.â
âYou guys were trying to make me laugh? Is that what was happening all that time? I almost called Hotch like, thirty times because I was concerned for you guyâs mental wellbeing. I thought youâd had a nervous breakdown.â
JJ snorts. âNope. Just tried to see if the rumors were true about all data analysts being robots.â
You cough into your elbow. âYou guys make it seem like I was some sort of frigid bitch.â
âFrigid, yes. Bitch, no.â
âHey!â You retort, then wince as the volume of your own voice makes your head pound harder and makes your throat sting worse, âI wasnât that bad. Also, I was nervous! Iâm the youngest person here by like, a long shot. I wanted to be professional.â
âI for one enjoyed it,â Rossi cuts in, âIt was all blunt business. Straight to the point. No beating around the bush or gossiping. A few people here could learn a thing or two.â
âSee?â You gesture. âRossi agrees with me.â
Just about everyone on the plane gives you the exact same look. Hotch especially, whoâs stayed silent during the entire exchange, looks troubled.
Once you land (an ordeal that normally doesnât bother you, but today, had you worshipping the porcelain altar) Hotch pulls you aside.
âAgent,â He says before you climb into the car thatâll take you to the police precinct, âI canât have an agent not at peak performance on this case.â
You frown. âWhat are you saying?â
âIâm saying youâre too sick to work this caseââ
âNo, no, I can work, I can do itââ
ââIn the field. Youâre working from the station until we wrap up. Understood?â
You sigh, knowing when youâre beat. âUnderstood.â
He gazes at you for a second. âYou might want to call out of work entirely the next time youâre sick, you know. The less time you spend resting the longer itâll take to get better. I expect to see you taking care of yourself at the precinct.â
You blink. âAre you⊠dad-ing me?â
He almost smiles. âWell, I am a father. Itâs bound to come out sometimes.â
The joke soothes your concerns of him being upset with you (again.) You suppose it wouldâve been warranted âHotch never gets upset without a reasonâ but still. Heâs the only one you occasionally struggle to read.
The good news is by the time you make it to the station, your medicine has kicked in.
The bad news is when you get to the station your medicine has kicked in.
âSpencer,â You say, spinning in a spinny chair and staring at his blurry face. âDid you know that elephants have prehensileââ
âDo not finish that sentence.â He says, glancing back at the team, all in various stages of concern, disgust, amusement, and annoyance. âDid you take non-drowsy cough medicine?â
âYes! I didnât want to be tired.â
He scrubs a tired hand down his face, then nudges a sealed water bottle across the table to you. âDrink that.â
You wrinkle your nose. âBut my throat hurts.â
âDrink it anyway.â
You snatch the water bottle, grumbling the whole time as you crack the seal and gulp down the water, not realizing how thirsty you were until this very second.
You lean your forehead on the table head still pounding from the pressure in your sinuses. You feel a prickle in the back of your neck, signifying that the team is still staring at you.
With great effort, you lift your head, tilting your chin up and trying to summon all the self confidence you donât actually have.
âI am making a fool of myself. Please disregard my actions until I am no longer ill. This wonât happen again.â
Words are hard. Speaking is hard. With a groan, you drop your head back on your arm.
âAh, there she is.â
âKnew that laugh had to be a fluke.â
âCold medicine must be working.â
There are other mutterings about stubborn geniuses and workaholics and data analysis and Spencer staying at the station andâ
You snap your head up. âIâm fine. I donât need a baby-sitter. Spencer would be most useful in the field. Heâs one of the best shotâs on the team.â
âAnd when it comes to needing a marksman I wonât hesitate to get him,â Hotch says, âBut for now, I need my two geniuses to put their heads together to solve this case.â
Feeling cowed, you avoid Spencerâs gaze as the team files out of the room youâve all set up in, instead grabbing a file from the center of the table. You really are being stupid. You shouldâve stayed home, now youâre a liability, not to mention a walking biohazard. Fuck, why couldnât you just think before youâ
âI can hear you spiraling from over here.â
You lift your gaze, eyeing Spencer who hasnât even put down the case file heâs reading.
You look back down. âI wasnât spiraling.â
âYouâre really going to lie to a profiler?â
âWeâre both profilers.â
âYeah, well, you have an obvious tell when youâre worrying about something.â
âI do not!â
You hear the quiet shuffling of papers.
A sigh leaves your lips, and you press the heels of your hands to your eyes. âIâm really sorry, Speâ Reid. I didnât mean to drag you here with me.â
If he notices your slip up, he doesnât give any indication of it.
âWho said anything about dragging?â
âI know youâre a germaphobe, and Iâm a walking biohazard, and now youâre stuck here going over case files and, and Iâm a liability right nowââ
âSlow down,â He says, interrupting your slew of word vomit. His voice has dropped an octave, gaining a richer note. You should stop thinking about his voice. âIâm fine. Youâre fine. The team is more worried than upset. Youâre not the first person to come to work sick. And you wonât be the last.â
âThey keep staring at me.â
âBecause your current state and manner of behavior are disrupting their pre-conceived notions and set opinions of your character.â
You scrunch your nose. âDonât get all clinical on me,â
You hear a small huff of laughter across the table. âIâve come to work far worse than hopped up on cold medicine, believe me. Donât worry about it. Just focus on working the case.â
Slowly, the itching under your skin settles, and you manage to swallow the lump in your throat. Eventually, you peel your hands away from your face and do what he says.
Hours pass by in a blur of text and you and Spencer occasionally either bouncing ideas off each other or making small breakthroughs. Spencer handles the relay of information because you canât really go more than three full sentences without hacking up a lung. Seriously, what is cough syrup good for?
Sometime past midday, you start flagging. The words start blending and smushing together and your head gets harder and harder to hold up. Youâre jolting yourself back awake every five minutes, forcing your body to just bear through the illness for the sake of productivity. You got yourself into this mess, you deal with the consequences.
Youâre just⊠so tired. Maybe youâll close your eyes, just for a few minutes. To get energy. And then you can get back to the case.
Just for a few minutes.
â
âShe out?â
âLike a light. Powered through for a lot longer than I expected. But dextromethorphan gets us all in the end.â
A low whistle. âPoor kid. The âproving yourself to the teamâ phase is rough.â
A hum. âI think itâs more than that.â
A beat passes.
âYou got her?â
âYeah,â Something soft and good smelling, like pine and coffee and something almost rich settles over your shoulders, âYeah, I got her.â
â
When you wake, your neck is sore but youâre not cold, which is strange considering you remember falling asleep in a table.
Oh god you fell asleep on the table.
You jackrabbit up in place, knees knocking against the underside of the table. Hissing in pain, you tug the warm thing further around your shoulders which isâ
Holy fucking shit itâs Spencerâs sweater.
Said man is nowhere to be found, and the conference/briefing room youâre in is dark. Not only did someone turn the lights off (youâre pretty sure you can guess who) but itâs dark outside. Meaning you didnât just take a short nap.
You slept the entire day away.
Cold dread seeps into your shoulders. âOh my god Iâm so fired. Oh shit. Fuck, Hotch is going to be so pissedââ
The door opens and you stand, whirling around to face the doorway and then instantly regretting it when spots dance across your vision and your head swims.
You stumble, grabbing the edge of the chair for support and squinting at the figure in the doorway.
âHotch?â
âNope,â Spencerâs voice rings out in the room, âGuess again.â
You groan, sinking down into the chair. âAm I fired?â
He snorts. âSeeing as Hotch bet that youâd fall asleep before dark, Iâd say no.â
âHe bet against me?â
âActually, everyone else thought youâd only last an hour. He bet for four.â
âHow long did you bet for?â
He sets a mug in front of you, steaming tea wafting up and warming your face. âThree hours. You metabolize cough syrup better than I thought.â
You take the mug in your hands, warming your fingers but not actually taking a sip. âMmm. Told you Iâve done this before.â
âI donât think thatâs the brag you think it is.â
You chuckle, which quickly turns into a cough.
âDrink your tea,â He commands softly from across the table, sleeves pushed up around his elbows and papers spread about him.
You dutifully take a sip, something restless growing calm in the back of your skull.
You eye is forearms, hoping the look-over youâre giving them is subtle. (It probably isnât, but come on. A button down with the sleeves rolled up while youâre wearing his sweater is practically sinful.)
âDo you⊠want the lights turned back on? Iâm awake now, so.â
He flips over a piece of paper, then scribbles something on a sticky note. âYou were sleeping. And you have a headache. I can see just fine.â
âMy headache isnât that bad, really, Iâm fiââ
He levels you with a look, and you sink a little lower in your chair. âDo you at least want your sweater back?â
âNo. Keep it.â
âCareful, maybe Iâll just keep it forever,â You joke.
âIâd be fine with that.â
What. The. Fuck.
You stand, pushing out the chair with a loud screech. âIâm just gonnaâ bathroom,â You splutter, your face blazing and stomach doing a gymnastics routine, âIâm gonna use the bathroom. Bye.â
Youâre screaming internally the entire way to the bathroom, and once you get there, open-mouthed silent screaming in the privacy of a stall.
Because. He said. He didnât even look up. He just. And he. Maybe heâ
No, no, no. You are not about to entertain that notion. Not again. He was just being nice. Thatâs all. Thatâs all.
Collecting yourself takes about five more minutes, and then youâre walking back to the conference/briefing room when you realize you never took the damn sweater off. He watched you scramble out of that room to the bathroom he has to know you werenât using, with his sweater on.
This is the end for you, then. Thatâs it. Itâs over.
You mentally slap yourself. Get it together. Itâs fine. Itâs fine. Everything is fine.
You re-enter the room marginally calmer than you left it. You slide into your seat, sip your tea (that he made you!) and keep working on the case.
You pretend you canât see him smirking from across the table.
â
The case doesnât last too long. The team catches the guy in the act of beating his next victim. Thankfully, you manage to save the poor woman before he finishes his plan, and with being caught red-handed, itâs fairly open and shut. Case closed. Which is great, because you really arenât sure how many more nights you can suffer through trying to sleep in the hotel bed.
You have this thing, when youâre sick. You canât sleep anywhere but the couch. Your couch. You figured (apparently foolishly) that it wouldnât be too bad, since the crux of the issue is that you hate sleeping in your bed when youâre sick, but no. Youâd spent every night of the case tossing and turning and coughing yourself out. Your lungs were tired. Your body was tired. You were tired.
Spencer raises an eyebrow at you when you board the jet. âYou havenât been near-overdosing on cough syrup again have you?â
âNo,â You grouse, rubbing your face with your hand. âIâm like, not even sick anymore. I just didnât sleep well.â For several nights in a row.
âMmm,â He hums, non-committal.
You practically collapse into your usual seat on the jet, hunching in yourself and attempting to make yourself comfortable in the seat.
You blink your eyes open when you feel the seat jostle next to you. âReid?â
Heâs already pulling out a book. âWhat?â
âThis isnât your seat.â
âWe donât have assigned seats.â
âNo, but you always sit over there.â
âAnd now Iâm sitting here.â
You narrow your eyes at him, trying to decide if you want to argue him on the point or not. You decide against it, because arguing will draw attention to the fact that youâre sitting next to each other having this conversation at all.
You settle back into your seat. âWhatever. Hope youâre not a loud page-turner.â
âIs that even a thing?â
You shrug, eyes falling shut again.
After a few minutes, you shiver, unconsciously scooting closer to the warmth of the person next to you, your sleep-addled brain barely processing the fact that itâs Spencer youâre pressing your shoulder into.
He repositions next to you, shoulder jostling you. You grumble, dropping your head to his arm. Now much closer, your nose fills with the smooth, all encompassing smell that is Spencer.
The dull chatter that fills the plane, the warm body next to yours, and, despite your earlier complaints, the quiet, gentle page-turning lull you into an easy sleep.
â
âAre you drugging her or something? Iâve seen her sleep more this week than I have in her entire time on the team.â
âThe only drugging sheâs done was voluntary.â
âHer neck is going to be so sore when she wakes up.â
âSore? Mine would be broken if I did that.â
âAh, the joys of youth.â
A beat passes. Then another.
âSheâs a bit young, donât you think?â
âEmily donât startââ
âJust saying, Spence. HR would get a kick out of this.â
âNot like it never happens. Weâve all walked into supply closet B at the wrong time.â
âThis isnât meaningless sex though.â
ââŠNo.â
Silence.
âAre you sure youâre alright?â
A deft hand re-adjusts your head to a more comfortable angle. âI will be.â
â
Landing jolts you into wakefulness and off Spencerâs shoulder. Itâs not embarrassing. Itâs not. Itâs only weird if you make it weird.
When youâre all back at HQ, you pull Hotch aside.
âCan I talk to you for a minute?â
He nods. âIn my office.â
You stalk up the stairs, aware of the eyes following your back. You step into the office, shutting the door behind you and pretending it doesnât feel like sealing your doom.
He sits, gesturing for you to do so too, but you shake your head.
âI wonât be long. I just wanted to apologize.â
He blinks. âFor?â
âI shouldnât have come in. I was a liability, and it was unprofessional. Next time Iâll act with more discretion.â
Selfish, Your motherâs words echo in your head, your fatherâs words following suit: Try harder.
He laces his fingers together, resting him on his desk.
âDo you know why I chose you?â
âBecause Reid was gone, and you needed a geâ someone smart.â
âEvery member of my team is intelligent. Thatâs not why I chose you.â
He reaches down, opening a desk drawer and pulling out a newspaper clipping.
Your breath hitches when you read the words on it.
âGarcia found it,â He says, scanning the piece of paper. ââProfessorâs Assistant saves college class from school shooterâ. You were sixteen.â
You look down at your shoes. âIt was the scariest moment of my life. I didnâtâ he came in, and I was behind the door getting paper, and he didnât see me. He⊠I knew people would die if I didnât do something. I tackled him. He shot me twice before I managed to kick the gun away. I almost bled out.â
He nods, putting the clipping down. âThatâs who I chose. Not the genius. Not the consulting data analyst. Someone who wants to help people.â
He puts the clipping back in his drawer. âIâm not going to write you up for not having a healthy work-life balance. No one in this bureau does, and if they say they do, theyâre lying.â
You sigh, rubbing at your face. âNow I look stupid for asking to talk.â
âItâs not an imposition. Youâre a member of my team. That makes your wellbeing when youâre on the job my responsibility.â
Unable to form a response to that, you manage to stutter out a thank you, and then flee from his office, collapsing into your chair at your desk with a sigh.
A mug is set in front of you. Different mug, same tea, same hand.
âI think you need to reevaluate your opinion of Hotch and what kind of person you think he is.â
You take the mug with a glare. âI was reasonably concerned.â
âYou thought you were going to get written up for coming to work sick?â
âIt was a logical conclusion to draw,â You pause, taking a sip of the tea, which is just as good as it was last time. Actually, itâs slightly sweeter, and it soothes your throat more. âAnd stop profiling me. Whatâd you put in this?â
âStop being so easy to profile,â Spencer says, crossing his arms. âHoney. They didnât have any at the station.â
Itâs quiet for a few moments: him staring at you, you pretending heâs not staring and sipping your tea.
âYou should go home.â
âWhy?â
âBecause youâre still sick. Donât tell me you just canât wait to write all this paperwork.â
âMaybe I am.â
âNo youâre not,â He picks up your jacket from where itâs hanging off the side of your cubicle and plops it in your lap. âGo home. Iâll sick Hotch on you.â
You stand, shrugging your jacket on and pointing an accusing finger at him. âYouâre a cruel man.â
âMhm. Sure. Go home.â
You grumble all the way to the door, but quiet when you look back to see him watching you fondly. He gives you a little two finger wave, and with the sheer amount of heat that rushes to your cheeks, you have no choice but leave immediately.
Stupid genius co-workers.
â
The next week brings wellness and a lull in cases.
Unfortunately, that also means you donât have an excuse to put off your paperwork any longer.
Spencer taps the top of it with a slender finger. âDid it get bigger since the last time I saw it?â
Heâs hanging around your desk for⊠some reason. He came to drop off paperwork from your last case, and then stuck around for some unknown purpose.
âNo,â You groan, setting your mug of coffee aside and grabbing the first paper off the stack. âStill the same pile Iâm procrastinating on.â
âGood luck,â He huffs, finally turning and walking back to his own desk. Itâs still in your eyeline, if you crane your neck a little.
You sigh, grabbing your earbuds from your desk, knowing you canât put the paperwork off any longer. Youâre pretty sure Records is going to start sending you death threats soon.
Making your way through the pile is slow going. Itâs terrible. The only part of working with the BAU you hate is the paperwork. Itâs tedious and never-ending and it always gives you a headache.
The only times you get up are to use the bathroom and get more coffee. JJ kindly tells you that you should probably leave your mug in the break room after your sixth or so trip. Spencer, somehow, appears in the room, and rattles off the symptoms of caffeine overdose.
You leave the mug there.
You continue working well after everyone else leaves. It gets dark, people go home, office lights go off, and while the pile has largely decreased in size, itâs still not finished.
You have to finish. Hotch had made an offhand comment about turning in your paperwork on time and now you have to finish it. To show him youâre not lazy.
Youâve only got a little bit of paperwork left when a hand taps you on your shoulder.
You yank your earbuds out, blinking blearily. âWha?â
Spencerâs face swims into view. âCome on, time to go home.â
âWhat are you doing here?â
âMaking sure you didnât fall asleep and forget to go home. They do lock the doors at a certain point. Ask me how I know.â
Your brain is moving like sludge, and it takes you several minutes to process what he says. He continues standing in front of you, patiently waiting for you to respond.
âBut⊠the paperwork.â
âWill be here tomorrow. Come on, up we go.â
You whine as he takes your hands, hauling you to your feet. You attempt to scrub the sleep out of your eyes while messily moving papers about so your desk doesnât look like a copy machine threw up all over it.
He pushes your jacket into your hands and you shrug it on, grumbling all the way through the doors and out to the parking lot, Spencer in tow. He follows dutifully behind you, and everytime you look back at him to voice your complaints all he does is smile.
âItâs cold.â
âThat does tend to happen in winter.â
When you get to your car, he reaches out, tugging on your wrist.
âHey,â He says, looking down at you, eyes deep pools of some emotion you canât identify, âDrive safe, okay? Itâs icy.â
âMy commute isnât that bad. And Iâm,â You break off with a huge yawn. âNot even that tired.â
âThat doesnât inspire much confidence, smarty-pants.â
âOh, so weâre locked into the smarty-pants thing, huh?â
âYep.â He says, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and popping the P.
âWell then what am I supposed to call you? Robot-Reid?â
âHow about Spencer?â
His words hang in the night air, mingling in the puffs of air from both of your mouths.
ââŠWhat rhymes with Spencer?â
âSensor, denser, dispenserââ
âDis-Spencer,â You say, smiling to yourself. âI like the sound of that one.â
âYou know dis comes fromââ
âThe latin word dis, and the prefix is used to denote a reversal of absence of an action, expressing negation, or expressing completeness or intensification of an unpleasant or unattractive action.â
He chuckles, smiling down at his shoes. âThatâs why youâre the smarty-pants.â
âOh please. You know all of that and then some.â
He shrugs. âMaybe, maybe not.â
You both stand in the cold of the parking lot, neither willing to leave yet.
Before you can think better of it, you dart forward, throwing your arms around Spencerâs neck and mumbling âGoodnight, Dis-Spencer.â
You step away quickly, awkwardly giving him a small wave before hurrying into your car and driving away.
Smooth.
â
The next case is⊠really rough.
Two spree killers, working as a team. A father and a son; the son was groomed into the lower position.
Not anything you havenât seen before. Trained for. Studied.
No amount of studying could have prepared you for the cold grip of dread that gripped your throat like a vice when you finally confronted the unsubs, and heard eerily familiar words uttered from the father:
âYouâre a good for nothing son! I wouldnât have had to do this if you werenât such a disappointment of a child! Why couldnât you have just been more like your siblings?â
The son was killed before anyone could intervene.
Wrapping up the case left you shakenâ youâd watched with hollow eyes as the boyâs body was zipped in a body bag.
A hand landing roughly on your shoulder shoves awareness back into your body and you flinch, hard, whirling around with your shoulders raised to meet the oncoming threat.
Only itâs not a threat. Itâs Hotch. And he looks concerned.
You force your body to relax. âIâm sorry, Iâll go help question the rest of the familyââ
âAre you okay?â
You blink. âWhat?â
âAre you alright?â He asks again.
âYeah, Iâm, Iâm okay. It just⊠reminded me of something.â
Hotch purses his lips but doesnât say anything. He looks heâs going to say something, but then decides against it.
âHelp Reid get the last of the evidence. Once you two are finished head back to the station. Weâll meet you there.â
You nod, inwardly relieved about not having to deal with the family members. You might start actually crying.
You sidle up to Spencer whoâs tagging blood splatters on the carpet. He wordlessly hands you a pair of gloves. He doesnât ask. You donât tell.
You work side by side for the better part of two hours, occasionally conversing with the local police or helping the crime scene investigators tag evidence.
If he knows whatâs bothering you, he doesnât say. You wouldnât have an answer anyway. Youâre far too gone in your own head.
You follow Spencer to the break room back at the station, watching him quietly make two mugs of tea. He presses one into your hands with a gentle command to let it cool for a few minutes. The mug is warm in your hands. Spencer is standing next to you, a mug of his own in his hands. Your parents arenât here. Youâre fine.
You chant this mantra in your head while you wait for the rest of the team to come back.
Your parents arenât here. Youâre fine.
Spencer doesnât ask before sitting next to you on the jet. He just does. He hands you a book, then opens his own.
You donât read a single page. He must know. Still, he says nothing, just presses a little closer to you when he sees your hands shaking.
The team gives the two of you space when you finally land. You stumble off the jet, trip backpack slung over your shoulder, legs wobbly and breath uneven.
Youâre not sure why the case upset you this much. Your parents donât upset you this much. They justâ they make the same kind of comments, and so did that father, except now his son is dead because he killed himâ
âHey,â Hotch approaches you slowly, makes sure you can see him. You hate that he feels the need to do so. âTake tomorrow off. Stay home. Recuperate.â
âIâm fiââ
âWe all have tough missions and I would do the same for any agent,â He says, clasping you gently on the shoulder. âBesides. We both know you havenât been sleeping well.â
Your lips twitch. âIsnât there a rule against profiling each other?â
âThat rule is for all of you. Not me.â
He gives your shoulder one last squeeze before departing.
You manage to haul yourself into HQ and out to the parking lot, cursing as your cold fingers fumble with your keys. Frustrated tears begin to well in your eyes and you press the heels of your hands to your face, sucking in a shuddering breath and begging it all to just stop.
Someone gently pries your hands open, pulling your keys out of your clenched grip. Your shoulders shake as you heave, gasping for cold night air that burns on the way down.
A hand finds its way to the back of your head, pressing it forward into something warm and solid. Another arm wraps around your waist, keeping you close, while the hand on your head drifts down to your neck, squeezing and rubbing intermittently.
âIâm sorry,â You cry, rubbing your face and smearing your tears across your hands, âI donât know why, it justââ
âYou donât need a reason,â Spencer says, spreading his hand out wide so it covers the entire nape of your neck, âSometimes it all just gets to you.â
You nod into his chest, lowering your hands from his face to wrap around his torso, clutching it like a lifeline.
âI donât want to go home tonight,â You whisper, ashamed. âIâll dream of it. And them. And itâll be cold and aloneââ
âCome home with me,â He says, voice a little breathless while he holds you closer, âCome home with me.â
He says the last part a little desperate.
You sniff. âOkay.â
You hesitantly pull away from the hug, but not before Spencerâs hand moves from your neck to your face, his thumb brushing away the tear tracks on your face. He drops his head down, and you feel the gentlest brush of lips against the skin in between your eyebrows.
âLetâs go home.â
He tugs you along by the hand, helping you into his little old car, tucking your bags into the backseat. He lets the radio play softly while he drives, loud enough to quiet your thoughts a bit but not so loud as to overwhelm you.
He helps you out of the car when you arrive to the apartment building, carrying one of your bags up the stairs- youâd insisted on carrying the rest of your stuff.
He unlocks the apartment door, ushering you into the warmth and comfort that is Spencerâs home.
Itâs exactly like you pictured, if not tidier. A bit more modern than youâd imagined. Books are everywhere of course, but so are knick-knacks and trinkets and other little bits of things that are so decidedly Spencer. Thereâs even a quilt on the couch.
He sets your bag down by the door. âThe shower is down that hall to the left. Use whatever products you need to. Do you have any clothes to change into?â
You chew on the inside of your lip. âIn my luggage, yeah, but they need to be washed.â
âI can put them in the wash while you shower. In the meantime, you can borrow something of mine.â
You shuffle in place. âI donât wanna imposeââ
âPlease let me do this for you.â
The raw, rough edge to his tone makes you pause. You nod in acquiescence.
He takes your hand in his again, tugging you into his bedroom. With one hand, he opens drawers, handing you his smallest pair of sweatpants, and a large, worn, and incredibly soft Caltech sweatshirt.
âIâll have to cuff these,â You mumble when he hands you the sweatpants, âMy legs are half the length of yours.â
âYouâll make it work, Iâm sure. Now shoo. Iâll have laundry and food finished when you get out of the shower.â
The bathroom, like the rest of the house, is clean and neat, and to your relief, houses more than just a five-in-one in the shower. Spencer actually owns multiple products for you to choose from and it hits you while youâre lathering the body wash you chose because of how good it smelled that youâre in Spencerâs shower, showering with his body wash, about to put on his clothes.
Youâre going to smell like him. His clothes will smell like him. Everywhere in the apartment smells like him.
You decide to blame the near permanent flush on your cheeks on the heat from the shower.
When you exit the shower, fresh and drowning in Spencerâs clothes, heâs standing at his kitchen island, putting the final touches on two bowls of soup.
You almost tear up again. âYou made me soup?â
âItâs widely regarded as a comfort food for people who are ill or otherwise sad, and is most commonly made in the wintertime.â
He gives you a little jazz hand, gesturing to the soup as if saying ta-da!
You really do tear up then.
Heâs in front of you in an instant, hands poised to help. âHey, hey, whatâs wrong? Do you not like soup? I can make something else, or we can order in, orââ
You scrub at your face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. âYouâre just, youâre just really sweet.â
His face softens. âOh, honey.â
He envelops you in the second hug of the night, except this time youâre crying in earnest now. Your crying about your parents, about the nights you went to bed hungry because your Dad told that you were smart, and to figure something out, but you were too young to work any of the kitchen appliances. Youâre crying about your first best friend, who ditched you the second your brother asked her out. Youâre crying about all the classes and friendships you missed out on while you were in the hospital with gunshot wounds. Youâre crying about how your parents didnât visit you once. Not even when you were in the ICU.
Spencer holds you through it all, a steady rock against the battering waves crashing in your head.
After a few minutes, you wear yourself out, quieting down to sniffling, your shoulders hitching.
He pulls back, studying your face. âAre you ready to eat some soup now?â
You nod, blinking the final tears out of your eyes. âI got snot on your shirt.â
âThatâs why we invented washing machines.â
He keeps up a stream of idle chatter while you eat, explaining all the different major soups in the world and where they came from. Itâs a balm against your weary mind, lulls you into peace and safety.
Or maybe thatâs just the effect Spencer has on you.
When you finish your food, he takes your bowl, deposits it in the sink, and then takes your hand and leads you to his bedroom.
âI donât have a guest room, so you can take the bed,â He says, voice soft. âThereâs extra blankets in the closet next to the bathroom if you get cold.â
He turns to leave, but a stab of panic slices down your chest, and your hand is reaching out and grabbing his wrist before you can stop yourself.
He pauses, turning back around. âYou want me to stay?â
You take your lip between your teeth. âI donât want to be alone.â
He studies you in the dark of the roomâ clad in his clothes, face puffy from crying.
The muscles in his jaw work.
âI canât do this platonically. If we do thisââ
You surge up on your toes, grabbing his face and smashing your lips together so quickly your teeth clack.
He goes rigid, then kisses your right back, hands coming up to cup your face, squeeze your neck, smooth over your shoulders.
You pull away first, looking at him through your lashes with hazy eyes. âI canât do this platonically either.â
He traces the planes of your face with his thumb. âYou have no idea how long and how much Iâve wanted to have you right here, just like this.â
âCrying and sad?â
âDressed in my clothes, in my apartment, in my bed.â
You pause. âYou know, tonight, I canât, Iâm not going to haveââ
âIâm not interested in sex with you tonight,â He says, reading your mind, âI just want to get that empty look in your eyes gone.â
âJust?â
âWell,â He says, tugging you down onto the bed with him, crawling under the covers and covering you both, âThere are other things. A lot of other things, Like this,â
He presses a kiss to your forehead.
âAnd this,â
He pulls you flush against him under the covers, tucking your head under his chin.
âBut mostly this.â
He presses one last kiss to the crown of your head.
âReally?â
âReally.â
Itâs quiet for a moment before his voice breaks the silence.
âAfter I got out, all I wanted was something soft and gentle. Having something, someone soft and lovely to hold was all I looked forward to. And then I came back and I met you, with your polite introductions and the way you care so deeply about so much and I knew. I knew who I wanted to hold.â
âWow,â You breathe, âYours sounds so poetic. Mine is much less so.â
âMmm,â He hums, âAnd what might that be?â
You press your face against his chest and mumble so quietly youâre wondering if he can ever hear you:
âI just wanted you to choose me. I wanted to be someoneâs first choice.â
Heâs so quiet after that you think he must not have heard you.
Youâre on the verge of sleep when you hear his whisper:
âThere couldnât be anyone else for me.â
àȘââŽ
EDIT: if you want to be tagged in the sequel when itâs posted, please comment âtag me please!â or some variation of THE POST LINKED HERE !! if you comment asking for a tag on this post, you will not be added to the tag list. tag lists are hard to keep track of, so please keep them all in one place !! :)
EDIT TWO: THE SEQUEL IS UP !! It is linked at the top of this post under ânextâ :)
summary: The BAU team is being sent to catch an unsub going after couples with age-gap relationships. How are things going to go when you have to go undercover with your boss in order to catch him?
word count: 7 K đ”
-
âAlright,â Hotchâs voice evenly said, âLetâs go over what we know.âÂ
Garcia clicks the remote. Four crime scene photos take over the screen. The team breaks their gaze on their files in front of them to look. Same town. Similar neighborhoods. Same brutality.Â
You take a long sip of your coffee. Trying anything to get your brain caught up with the team. Youâve been a part of the team for nearly nine-months, the newest and youngest addition. You thrive under the pressure, but seeing pictures like this at this hour of morning is something you hope to never get used to. Youâve gotten comfortable with the team at this point, facing countless horrors together is impossible not to bond someone. Except for Hotch. All frowns and corrections on the surface. You do a lot of things to make him frown. Some of the team had taller walls than others. Hotch being one of them. You tease him, but cling to the fact that his dark eyes follow you. Watch you when he thinks you wonât see. You can always feel it.Â
âAll victims are couples,â Garcia looks over the group, ducking away from the images, âAll of the attacks occurred in the Coyote Springs just outside Flagstaff, Arizona. All within a gated subdivision, heavy neighborhood watch presence, but itâs a large neighborhood. Thereâs nearly 6,000 residents in the community.âÂ
âWoah, big neighborhood.â Emily sighs, looking back to the file.Â
Reid clears his throat, âThe murders span six weeks. Each murder escalates in violence, but consistent within method. This suggests the unsub is a local. Or at least familiar with the area.â
âNot a drifter,â Morgan adds, âHe knows their routines. Knows who belongs.âÂ
Your gaze sharpens, âWhich means heâs comfortable there.â
Hotch nods without looking up to acknowledge you, âAnd patient.âÂ
Reid leans forward to add more, âThereâs another commonality. Every couple has a significant age gap.â
âYeah,â JJ agrees, âAll of these women are at least fifteen years younger than their husbands.âÂ
âThatâs not a coincidence,â Prentiss confirms, âThatâs motive.â
You speak without hesitation, âResentment.âÂ
Rossi turns to you, âElaborate.âÂ
âWhen I was working in hostage negotiation,â Your voice calm, âlarge age gaps in relationships came from extremist ideology and vigilante thinking. They see themselves as a moral authority. He isnât killing these couples, heâs correcting something he sees as wrong.âÂ
All eyes on you. Your eyes dart to Hotch.
âTheft of youth.âÂ
Reidâs eyes light up, âA savior complex. He may believe heâs actually rescuing the younger woman from-â
â-a perceived predator,â Rossi finishes.Â
âWhich makes Coyote Springs his hunting ground. His own aquarium. Everyone inside thinks theyâre safe.â Emily continues.Â
âThat could spook him into hiding.â JJ argues.Â
âYeah,â Morgan agrees, âThis guy thrives on control. You flood the neighborhood with badges, he disappears.âÂ
Prentiss tilts her head, âUnless he comes to us.âÂ
You feel the shift before anyone could actually say it. Her eyes darting to you. Then Hotch.Â
Rossiâs eyes flick between you two now, âYouâre thinking bait.âÂ
It didnât go over anyoneâs heads that you and Hotch have a scarily similar age gap as the victims. Beautiful. Active. The perfect setup.Â
âIâm thinking opportunity.â Emily corrects, âTwo people who could fit the pattern. A new couple moves in quietly. Lets the unsub think something perfect fell in his lap.â
âNo.â
Hotchâs answer immediate.Â
You blink. Then laugh. âWow, look at us already on the same page.âÂ
His eyes turn to you now, sharp and warning, âThis is not a game.âÂ
âNever said it was,â You reply lightly, âIâm just agreeing that maybe the two of us playing house isnât the best play.â
JJ steps in, âIf the unsub is watching, heâs choosing couples that look stable. Happy.â
âYet another reason this wouldnât work.â You mutter, Rossi elbow in your side tells you heâs the only one that caught the comment.Â
âWhich means?â Garcia questions.Â
âA married couple, or at least one that presents that way would statistically be the most appealing to draw him out.â
More eyes fall back to you.Â
You slowly look around, âOh, absolutely not.â
Hotch doesnât look at you, âAgreed.âÂ
âYou telling me youâre scared, Y/Ln?â Morgan grins.Â
You look him dead in the eye, âIâm telling you Iâm smart enough to know that Hotch and I canât sell married and in love.âÂ
âWell,â Rossi turns his gaze over to the rest of the group, âAre there any other alternatives here on the team?âÂ
The group looks around at each other. You know there arenât any. You donât need to look around to know that most of them are too close in age to raise that kind of brow.Â
âI canât believe this.â You shake your head with a humorless laugh.Â
Hotchâs jaw tightens, âHeâs looking for a performance.âÂ
The rest of the room quiets at his words. Youâd be ashamed to admit to the warmth pooling at the dark look on his eyes. This shouldnât be able to work.Â
âLook, youâre both qualified.â Emily claps, âIt wouldnât be your first time going undercover.â
âI mean no offense by it, but Y/Ln is the perfect trophy wife bait.â Morgan holds up his hands in self defense.Â
âSomehow Iâm still offended.â
Rossi raises a brow to you and Hotch, âThe unsub is escalating. If we miss him again, someone else dies. This isnât about whatâs comfortable. Itâs about leverage.âÂ
Hotch pinches the bridge of his nose. Silence stretches while everyone tries to come up with an alternative.
âSo maybe it is the best play.â You sigh, coming to the same conclusion as the rest of the team. Your hand slides to cover your face with a groan.Â
âFor what itâs worth, this is like so hot.â Garcia bites the end of her pen looking at you both, âSo hot.âÂ
âBabygirl.â Morgan sighs with the shake of his head.Â
âYouâre enjoying this way too much, Pen.â You warn with a smile that is anything but friendly.Â
âImmensly.â She continues to beam.Â
A long pause.Â
Finally Hotch exhales, âIf we do this-â
He pauses to read your face. You arenât supposed to profile each other, but you can see heâs looking to see if youâre truly comfortable. If you can do this. You know you can. You give him a subtle nod.Â
â-we do everything by the book.â He continues, âFull surveillance. Backup within minutes. No unnecessary risks.â
You suddenly smirk, âYouâre gonna hate every second of this.âÂ
âYes,â He said flatly.
You grin wider, âThen Iâm in.âÂ
He looks at you. Really looks.Â
âWheels up in two hours. We prep covers immediately.â
Garcia squeals. Prentiss smirks at you. Morgan claps once.
This is going to get complicated.Â
-
The jet's familiar hum rings over them lowly. Youâre curled sideways in your chair, Emily to your right. Hotch directly across from you, Rossi to his left. A table separating you both. Morgan was making calls to get a stakeout van for the rest of the team. They wouldnât be the only eyes on you two while undercover, but they would be most watchful.Â
âAlright,â You smile, âLetâs build our beautiful lie.âÂ
Hotchâs eyes dart to yours over his file, âWe already have preliminary covers.â
âPreliminary is not convincing.â You reply, turning to Emily for help.Â
âSheâs right.â She shrugs, âEspecially since we know this unsub is watching his victims.â
He doesnât argue, he simply sets down his file on the table.Â
âProgress.â You bite your cheek.Â
âAaron Hayes. Attorney. Corporate litigation.âÂ
âThird marriage,â You add with cheer, âWhich no offence, you can sell.âÂ
His mouth tightens, âItâs realistic considering the previous victims.âÂ
âAnd it adds baggage.â You continue, âBaggage is realistic. Thatâs what heâll like.âÂ
Rossi raises his brows, âWhat about you?â
âY/n Hayes.â You quickly reach out a hand to shake his with a pearly smile plastered to your face, âTwenty-six. Former marketing assistant. Now⊠professionally vague.â
âTrophy wife.â Hotch said flatly.
You beam, âExactly.âÂ
His eyes study you, âYouâre sure youâre comfortable with this?âÂ
âHotch, youâve seen me pretend to be sympathetic to truly terrible people. Being hot and underestimated is a vacation.âÂ
He exhales quietly.Â
âI want to add something else.â
He looks back up.Â
âPower.âÂ
He frowns, âExplain.âÂ
âYouâre already older. Already established. Already married multiple times, but I think we lean into it harder.â You lean back in your chair, âMake you a professor. Law school. Ethics. Authority.â
He immediately stiffens, âThatâs unnecessary.âÂ
âIs it?â You tilt your head, âOur unsub in punishing perceived imbalance. We donât know how long he watches his victims, he may have already picked his next couple. But if we tip the scale? Give him something that makes his skin crawl.â
The jet goes silent as itâs clear he is contemplating your idea.Â
âA professor implies mentorship. Influence.âÂ
âAnd the implication that I was dazzled,â You add lightly, âBy your mind. Your status. Your power.âÂ
The silence stretches back over the jet.Â
âThat makes you uncomfortable.â You observe.Â
He pinches the bridge of his nose, again, âIt complicates the dynamic.âÂ
âThatâs the point.â
He stares for a long moment, âFine.âÂ
You grin, âGreat! So, how did we meet?â
âA conference.âÂ
âBoring. Try again.âÂ
He sighs, âGuest lecture. You were assisting with event coordination.âÂ
âOoh, I love that!â You agree, âI spilled coffee on you.âÂ
âYou did not.âÂ
âI absolutely did. You were very patient about it. Very kind. I thought you were intimidating.â
Hotchâs lips twitch into a smile for a split second before he could correct it . For a split second, you saw it.Â
âAnd then,â You continue, âyou asked me to dinner. Which I declined. Twice.â
âWhy twice?âÂ
âBecause it makes you chase.â You answer obviously, âAnd because neighbors love that kind of story.âÂ
Hotch closes his file, âYouâve done this before.âÂ
âSomething tells me you really didnât look at my resume all the times Straus sent it back when I was brought on.â
Rossi leans in closer to Hotch, âShe did this for a year for the FBI. It was prior to the hostage negotiation.âÂ
You watch the realization and curiosity pass over his face. He hadnât looked into you much at all. There wasnât much desire after Straus insisted upon you.Â
The jet began to descend shortly after that. By the time you guys touchdown, the local office had coordinated everything. A house at the end of a cul-de-sac in the middle of Coyote Springs. Clean title. Plausible history. A U-Haul full of furniture staged to look like it was from a loving family.Â
As soon as you both stepped onto the tarmac, you slid your hand into Hotchâs. Walking over to the small public airport rather than the waiting black SUVs with the rest of the team. Hotch froze for a half second.Â
âBreathe. Like you like me.â
âI donât-â
âIn character.â You correct yourself, âIt's game on.â
Realistically the unsub could be anyone. Which is why they werenât afforded with the luxury of riding with the rest of the team. The show has begun.Â
You keep your posture relaxed, smiling brightly. By the time Hotch parks the U-Haul in the driveway, three neighbors were already watching from their front porches.Â
âShowtime.â You give Hotch one last smile before hopping out of the truck.Â
You make your way around to his side, wrapping both arms around his waist and pressing a kiss to his cheek. You look at the house in front of you both. He stiffened again, then recovered. He slips an arm around your shoulders.
âThere you go.â You whisper, âProfessor Hayes.âÂ
He glances down at you, âYouâre enjoying this.âÂ
âImmensely.â You tease.Â
They began unloading the truck under several curious eyes. You laugh loudly at his dry comments. Leaning into him. Stolen touches and passes. Selling the lie with ease.Â
âNewlyweds?â A voice calls out.
You turn to see a woman from two houses down. You answer without skipping a beat, âSix months!âÂ
Hotch blinks, looking back down at you.Â
You tip your head forward before Hotch can flinch. Ripping off the bandaid. You knew he would tense if you didnât catch him off guard. Heâs still trying to protect you. You can feel the hesitation. Your lips are soft on his. Convincing. He relaxes into it.
When you pull back, the woman waves before heading inside. You look at Hotch, his eyes still on you.Â
âRelax.â You place a hand on his chest, âYouâre doing great.âÂ
His voice is low, âYou donât hesitate.âÂ
You pull him down for a hug, whispering in his ear, âNeither does our unsub. We canât afford to.âÂ
You press another kiss to his cheek, grabbing another box out of the back of the truck and hauling it inside. Hotch stood for another second before grabbing something himself. He was beginning to have the feeling that this cover was going to test more than just his professionalism.Â
-
The surveillance van arrives a couple hours after they had returned the U-Haul. It pulls into their corner of Coyote Springs under the guise of a local internet provider. Uniforms are convincing, and plenty of equipment inside.Â
Garcia is already online and active before Morgan can put it in park. The cameras in the house are connected now. Her screens fill with all different angles. Street coverage. Door sensors. Motion alerts.Â
She hums in their earpieces, âFor the record, the neighbors clocked you as âvery affectionateâ within twelve minutes of you pulling in the driveway. Linda from two doors down texted her sister Sharon about you.âÂ
You arch your brow, âWhatâd she say?â
You can practically hear Garciaâs grin, âQuote âThe new wife is gorgeous and very young. Heâs either lucky or stupid'."
âIâll take it.â You hold up your mug of coffee in mock salute.
Word spreads fast in this neighborhood.Â
The team backs off for a while, letting them get settled together. Leaving you in a house that grows quieter and quieter. Heavier.
You open the fridge and take a peek inside, âWe should establish routines.â you say, practical as ever, âFood. Morning patterns. Something that feels lived in.âÂ
Hotch nods, âIâll take mornings. Coffee. The paper.â
âI donât do early.â You decide immediately, âBut Iâll fake it if I have to.âÂ
He glances at you, something like amusement flashing across his face before he hides it. âNoted.âÂ
âI can handle dinner.â You decide, âWhat kind of trophy would I be without something warm on the table for you?â
You make a face at him that reveals your true feelings about that role you're playing. You still need to establish how much the mask stays on inside. You know the unsub was watching his victims, but not how. You start pulling ingredients and getting things ready on the stove.
âI can help.â He gets up from the counter, eager to wipe the sour look from your face.Â
âRespectfully, you moved us in today. You should shower.â
The way your grin lights up your face, turning back to the stove top without a care in the world, makes Hotch freeze. His heart skips a full beat. It already feels so domestic. You catch it and turn back, taking a half step closer to him.Â
âDonât forget, Iâm your hot twenty-six year old wife. Act like it.â You press a kiss to his cheek before he can protest. Now you actually focus on the stove, eventually hearing his steps take him away from the room.Â
By the time Hotch is done with his needed shower, he can smell the food coming from downstairs. Spaghetti. Heâs impressed that youâve even set the table. Creating the fantasy. Creating his illusion. You set down his plate at the end of the table, and you take the seat closest to his on the right.Â
âIf weâre too distant we stand out, and now that weâre here-â Hotch clears his throat, âYouâre right. I need to act like it. At any point now the unsub could be watching us.âÂ
He smiles as if he hadnât said something so horrifying. The place had already been swept for bugs, and now they had eyes on them. Now they would have to wait and see if the unsub was watching them too.Â
âIâm glad youâre officially on board.â You grin, placing your hand in his.
You guys both practically drag your feet cleaning up from dinner. Avoiding the bedroom. The last line to cross.Â
The room has been staged well, itâs a pretty room. A large bed right in the middle of it. Hotch pauses just behind you in the doorway, âWe can take turns on the couch.âÂ
You shake your head immediately, âNo. Couples like us donât do that.âÂ
He exhales slowly, âUnderstood.âÂ
You leave him in the bathroom and take your bag to the bathroom. You change quickly and then open the door back up while you take off your makeup and brush your teeth. After spitting in the sink, you look up in the mirror to see Aaron walking in. Heâs changed into long pajama pants and a black t-shirt.Â
You were hoping if you were fast enough, Hotch would be in bed with the lights off by the time you came out. You blush when you notice him taking in your cover wardrobe. Youâre supposed to be a young hot wife, that means little for the pajama department.Â
He begins brushing his teeth while you do your skincare. The silence stretching painfully rather than peacefully is the only clue that this isnât real.Â
Youâre nearly done by the time Hotch leaves and heads back to the bedroom. You follow after turning off the lights and pull back the covers. Total darkness and silence.Â
You lie on your back, your hands folded over your stomach, âNight, Hotch.âÂ
âGoodnight.âÂ
Neither of you sleep very well. He stares at the opposite wall. Plagued by listening to your soft breaths while you sleep. Morning comes too fast. Heâs already up by the time your eyelids pull open.Â
You pad into the kitchen to see a pot of coffee on, Hotch manning the stove. He still has on his pajamas, his hair disheveled from sleep. Youâre surprised he didnât fix it first thing. But, this isnât really him.Â
âMorning, professor.â Your voice lazy from sleep.Â
He freezes for half a second.
Then recovers, âSleep well?â
You smile, taking steps closer to him. He reaches out an arm to wrap around your shoulders. The food smells good.Â
âLike a dream.â You lie. He knows.Â
You wrap your arms around his waist while you both sway together. Youâd be ashamed to admit it once you were more awake, but you lean your weight against him to support.Â
By noon, youâre laying out by the pool. The bikini is not subtle. It isnât meant to be.Â
Garcia groans over the comms you can all hear again, âThis seems deeply unfair.â
âTell me about it.â Emily whined.Â
Hotch watches from inside, his jaw tight, posture rigid. He knows exactly what you are doing and why it works. Heâs almost alarmed at the pace you could set for the unsub.Â
Neighbors slow as they pass.Â
A man across the street checks his mail. Twice.Â
You donât look at any of them. You keep your sunglasses on, body relaxed and unconcerned.Â
Itâs bait.Â
And itâs effective.Â
Hotchâs eyes finally snap up from your figure when he sees someone approach the fence. A woman smiling brightly and waving you over. You get up from your lounge chair and walk over to her.
âHi! Iâm Linda. Weâre having a block party on Friday, and I thought weâd invite the new couple!âÂ
You smile, all warmth and charm, âIsnât that sweet!â
Hotch steps out the back patio door and walks over to join you. His arm wraps around your lower back so his hand can find home on your hip. Linda notices. Everyone does.Â
âAaron.â He extends his other hand to shake Lindaâs.Â
Itâs clear Linda is trying to hide her gaze on their PDA. She stutters out the time while focusing on your hand placed on Hotchâs warm chest. The rock the FBI provided glimmering brightly on your ring finger. The sun continues to beat down, Hotch very aware of how youâre all skin right now. Heâs only touching bare skin. He vaguely hears you ask if you should bring anything. He misses the response.Â
âLovely.â She waves, âWeâll see you then!â
Linda walks away, you wave goodbye as she walks back to her house.Â
âSo, that's what it takes to get you to come outside?â You turn, Hotchâs hold still on you, âLinda?â
âWhat-â
âI mean, Iâve been out here for how long, Garcia?â
His hand tightens again, not expecting you to circle the team back in. He forgot their eyes and ears are on everything.
âForty-five minutes.â She answers.Â
âDisappointing.â You whisper, it fans over his face.Â
âIâll work on it.âÂ
He leans down before you can pull another stunt, he presses a kiss to your brow.Â
-
Later Emily and Morgan come over under the guise of friends bringing a housewarming gift. They welcome them both in and accept the wine with hugs. They gather together in the kitchen, everyoneâs face all smiles but Emilyâs tone tells another story.Â
âI think weâve got to work on being what the unsub is looking for.â She reminds, âYou both need to work on being closer. Physically.â
Morgan nods, âSheâs right. The profile says entitlement. Ownership. A guy who thinks heâs won.âÂ
âYou donât protect, Y/n. You flaunt her.âÂ
Hotchâs jaw tightens, âThatâs not-â
âThatâs the role,â She cuts in, âA man who would absolutely brag about locking down another wife half the age of the last one.âÂ
Emily is exaggerating obviously, but she makes her point clear.Â
âIâm good, Hotch.â You smile, wrapping your hand around his arm and pulling him closer, âIâm not fragile.âÂ
He exhales slowly. Once. Controlled.Â
âUnderstood.âÂ
The shift is nearly immediate. You can feel it. He changes how he stands. How close he is. How his hand settles on your waist when you pass him in the kitchen. Unapologetic.Â
An arm draped over her shoulder as they sit on the front porch enjoying the summer night, the sky beginning to darken. Morgan and Emily left a little bit ago, leaving them alone again. This time you claim each other's space.Â
A neighbor you havenât met jogs by on a late run, waving to them as she passes. Lindaâs husband takes out the trash, putting it at the end of their driveway. A group of kids pass through on their bikes, loud yells and laughter.Â
Lots of activity in this neighborhood. Lots of eyes. You and Hotch are putting yourselves in full view.Â
âYou good?â You ask quietly.Â
âYes,â He answers, âAre you?â
You study him, âIâve played worse roles than this.â
His mouth tightens, âThat doesnât make it easier.âÂ
âNo, but it gets the job done.âÂ
You reach up to card your hands through his hair. Running along the side, pushing it back.Â
âUhh, guys?â Garcia chimes in the earpiece. You both keep faces neutral.Â
âOne of the exterior cameras just changed angles.âÂ
You still. Hotch does too. Youâre not sure you would be able to tell if you werenât practically in his lap right now.Â
Inside the van, Rossi leans closer to the screen. âDid we do that?â
Garcia typing away furiously.Â
âNo. And the system didnât flag it either.âÂ
Emily frowns, âCan someone access it remotely?â
Garcia hesitates before answering.Â
âIf they had administration credentials they would have remote access.âÂ
âSo, the unsub is watching right now?â You ask, eyes still on Aaron.Â
âI would assume so since he adjusted the exterior to include you both in frame.â
âLetâs give him a show.âÂ
You want to pull Aaron to you, but you know he needs to push this. He is the pursuer. Your hand is still in his hair when he leans down to connect your lips again. You donât give him the chance to cut it short, leaning into him.Â
He opens his mouth wider to deepen the kiss, you sit up against him. Throwing one leg over his lap, practically indecent for the front yard.Â
âTake me to bed.â Your words are pressed against his lips.Â
Hotch stiffens under you for a second. His eyes wide, before you give a small nod. He picks you up from his lap, carrying you into the house. You let him set you down and pull him up the stairs by the collar of his shirt. Still full of smiles and teasing. Aaron corners you against a wall in the hallway, pressing hot kisses down your neck.
You push back from him, taking his hand and pulling him into the bedroom and shut the door. The second the door shuts, you both let go, but are still out of breath. Hotch paces a few feet away from you. The bedroom is one of the few places they didnât put a camera.Â
âGarcia, did any other angles in the house change? Any interior cameras?â Your voice sounds a lot more calm and clear than you feel.Â
âUm,â She clears her throat, obviously still reeling from everything she just witnessed. âUh-I-uh it looks like he has. The hallway is angled more in the bedroom than it was when it was installed. I think I can see if heâs watching.â
Thereâs a long pause while she works before she comes back on, âWait, yes! Heâs online. Heâs still active on the hall camera. Iâm guessing heâs waiting for the afterparty.âÂ
Emily nods, âHeâs watching for something. He wants to know if they fit his needs.âÂ
Inside, the performance continues. You mess up your hair, Hotchâs to be fair already was. You change out of the clothes you had on before and opt for just one of Aaronâs law t-shirts. It feels right. Puts a little pressure on that authority insecurity.Â
âIs he still watching?â You ask Garcia.Â
âMhm.â
You open the door and casually skip down the stairs to the kitchen to get a glass of water. You're still flushed from the couch make out. Didn't have to fake that.
âBabygirl, youâre a genius.â Morgan claps.Â
It only needs to give the illusion they need. Just enough to piss him off.Â
-
You made brownies for the block party. Aaron had to run out to the store, leaving an opening for the unsub to approach as well. They donât know his true patterns and if heâs confident enough to approach them both at once.Â
All morning there is activity out in the street. People are setting up tables, music, and food. It looks like they donât do anything small here in Coyote Springs. You picked out the perfect summer sun dress, and curled your hair and leaving it down simply. Itâs short enough to put your legs on display.Â
âSafe choice,â Hotch nods, looking at the tray covered in foil.Â
Safe to comment on the food, not the dress.
You smile up at him, âPeople trust baked goods.âÂ
He opens the door for you both to walk out, and itâs already full. The party is already in full swing. People everywhere. Children running around. The smell of the grill takes over.Â
Too many faces.Â
You immediately feel your posture sag a little trying to keep track of everyoneâs expressions while walking through. You keep one hand on the tray and the other curled possessively around Aaronâs bicep. You let him guide you around, introducing yourselves.Â
He leans down to press the occasional kiss to your lips, temple, brow. Anything to hear your low laugh. You both look inseparable.Â
From the street, itâs enviable.
From the cameras, heâs raging.Â
âWeâve got a lot of eyes.â Garcia says into the earpiece.Â
JJ watches over the crowd, âHeâs here. He wouldnât pass up this opportunity.âÂ
You move slowly. Deliberately. Introductions begin to blur. Retirees, young families, couples whoâve lived here twenty years. Kids continue to race around playing. Teens hang back in groups, too cool to really participate. You laugh easily, leaning into Hotch. You even let him speak over you once or twice.
You both stop near Linda, who is holding court beside the grill and a whole table of food.Â
âOh! You made it,â Linda says brightly. âAnd you brought something.â
âBrownies,â You smile. âI hope thatâs okay.â
Linda takes the tray. âOh, people will love you.â
Her gaze flicks to Hotch. âYouâre a lucky man.â
Hotch smiles wide, proud, exactly the wrong way.
âI know,â he says. âI really do.â
The reaction is instant. Not from Linda.
From just behind her.
A boy, sixteen maybe seventeen goes still.
Too still.
You can feel pressure between your shoulder blades. Hotch squeezes your hand, he saw it too.Â
âOh, where are my manners!â Linda sighs, âMeet my family. This is my husband Bill, and my son Matthew.âÂ
She then turns where the other boy still watches.
âAnd this is my sister Sharon and her son Toby. They live just a couple streets down.âÂ
Toby is tall, a little lanky. He wears a black hoodie despite the heat. He stands half in the shadow of a tree, his eyes wonât meet yours. Instead theyâre on Hotch. Specifically where his hand is glued to your hip possessively. You shift closer and his grip bruises, Tobyâs jaw tightens.Â
You turn to speak over Aaronâs shoulder so they wonât notice what you ask Garcia.Â
âGarcia, what do we know on Sharon and her son?â
Thereâs a pause. You turn back your attention to Linda and Sharon, waiting for her chipper voice to come on the earpiece.Â
âLet me see what I can find!â She eagerly begins typing. They had to move the surveillance van a couple streets down for the block party. It would be curious for them to be parked there with all the homeowners having a party together.Â
You keep smiling and turn your attention to Sharon and her son who hovers behind.Â
âSo, how long have you guys lived here?â
âAll of his life.â Sharon answers, smiling softly at him.Â
âMust be hard,â You reply gently, âwatching things change. New people are moving in, although I hope weâre welcomed!â
Everyone laughs at your comment, except for Toby. His gaze has yet to leave Hotchâs touch.Â
Sharp. Hurt. Furious.Â
Hotch squeezes a warning.Â
His eyes flick up to your face for the first time.Â
You excuse yourself from the group to refill both of your drinks. When you return, you immediately slide onto Hotchâs lap. You dive back into conversation totally unphased, but in your peripheral you can see Tobyâs hands clenching.
Hotch makes sure to brag about his job, about you, about how good his life is now. Toby is locked in with his full attention. Every laugh from you is a needle. Every kiss gasoline. Building.
âIâve got something juicy,â Garcia jumps back in, âSharon was just divorced from Tobyâs father last March. They had been married for twenty-two years, but he moved out and left. And then six weeks ago it looks like he was re-married.âÂ
âRight when the killings started.â Emily reminds.Â
âIt get better-or worse, I donât know which is-what way it-âÂ
âGarcia.â
âHe has been teaching the girls college soccer team almost as long as they were married. His new wife? She just graduated from the team last year. Can you spell slimy?â
Garcia gags over the earpiece nearly making you wince and yank it out of your ear.Â
âSheâs twenty-four, heâs fourty-nine.âÂ
Bingo.Â
You turn to look over Hotchâs shoulder to see Tobyâs expression, only to find him missing. Lindaâs son is gone now too.Â
âDoes anyone have eyes on him?â
No answer.Â
You both thank people as youâre saying goodbye. Smiles. Keep the act flawless.Â
The house feels wrong the second your foot crosses the threshold. Hotchâs hand moves instinctively toward his weapon and stops. Static takes over the earpiece.
-
Back in the surveillance van, the team waits anxiously. Re-watching footage to see if they can spot him disappearing. Eerie silence from the couple undercover. Garcia watches the door shut and suddenly the screens turn to pixels, static playing over the speakers.
âWhat the hell is that?â Morgan yells.Â
âI donât know! Something is blocking the signal.â Garcia types furiously.Â
âWeâve got to go in now.â Morgan grabs his vest and his gun.
âIf heâs not with them, this will blow their cover. Weâll scare him away.â Rossi adds.Â
âIt wonât matter if theyâre dead. Toby is the unsub, Iâm sure of it.âÂ
-
Toby is standing in the living room, holding a gun he shouldnât know how to handle. And itâs aimed right at you both. His hands are shaking. Your hand tightens around Aaronâs arm.
âShut the door!â He yells, you both slowly step the rest of the way into the house and shut the door.Â
His face is pale, eyes wide, and breathing way too fast.Â
He raises the gun closer to them, âUpstairs. Now.â
Hotch manages to keep himself placed between you and the gun as he follows you both to the bedroom. Every step is deliberate, intentionally trying to put you in the least amount of harm.
âOn your knees.âÂ
Neither of them hesitates. Neither of you tries to reach for your weapon. Yet.Â
Hotchâs shoulders brush with yours. Toby paces in front of you, waving the gun wildly in their direction the entire time.Â
âYou think youâre better than everyone!â He yells, âYou think itâs okay to take whatever you want.â
You tilt your head slightly, âWhat did he take from you?âÂ
You try to remind that Hotch is not his father, although with the anger in his eyes youâre not sure he can tell. His pacing stutters.
âYou watch people like us?â You continue, âYou think youâre correcting something?â
âCorrecting what heâs taking!â He jabs the gun at Hotchâs chest. You feel the air get knocked out of your lungs.Â
âCorrecting my theft of youth?â
Your words from the beginning of the case now echo with Hotchâs voice. Toby freezes.Â
âThatâs what he did,â Tobyâs voice growing hoarse, âHe took her youth. He took our family and replaced it with something younger. Easier.â
Hotch swallows when Toby turns his focus onto you. He lets the barrel of the gun slide across your collarbone.Â
âItâs despicable. This is the same thing.â He gestures between you two.
You hold his gaze, âI chose him. He didnât take anything from me.â
Your voice softens, âAnd I donât regret it.âÂ
The truth in your voice is unmistakable. Hotch feels it like a shockwave. An earthquake.Â
âYou donât want to kill us.â You voice gentle, calming the room, âYou want someone to admit what happened to you was wrong. That it was fucked up.âÂ
Tobyâs hands shake more, his eyes fill.Â
âHe didnât even talk to me about it. He just moved out.âÂ
You nod, âDonât you want it to stop hurting?â
His head bobs.Â
âThen put the gun down.â
He hesitates.Â
Hotch keeps his voice low and steady. Using his dad voice, âYouâre not a monster. Youâre a kid that got left behind.â
The gun lowers. Just enough. You reach forward and take the gun from his grasp and pass it back to Hotch immediately. You kneel beside him while he cries. Morgan breaks through the door, armed and ready.Â
âItâs okay, weâre all safe now.âÂ
Red and blue lights take over the room flashing in from the window. Morgan takes Toby down to the cars to bring him into the station. An ambulance. Police. Statements. Protocols.Â
-
The team gathers in the living room to discuss everything that just unfolded and establishing a time to meet at the jet.
âSharon works for CPI Security. Thatâs how Toby was able to access the homes and the cameras. He was using her devices.â Garcia explains their total blackout on seeing and hearing them. Toby was smarter than they had thought. Thatâs how he was without a trace. The team gives them a couple looks, quiet comments about their act while they try to wrap things up.
âEnough!â You shout, âI would like to shower and then get on a plane and go home! Is that too much to ask for?âÂ
Rossi leaves to go get one of the SUVS so they can head to the airport. It would be a late night flight home. You and Aaron are left with a few officers downstairs taking pictures and taking statements while you both pack up your belongings.Â
âWell, I suppose I will have to give this back to evidence.â You sigh, holding up the rock on your ring finger to the light with a chuckle.Â
âYeah, Iâm sure thatâll take some getting used to. Youâll feel lighter.âÂ
You roll your eyes, putting your toiletries away, looking at him in the mirror.Â
Leaning your hip against the counter you look up at him, soft now and unguarded. âYou were very convincing. You stepped it up.â
He matches your lean, a step closer.Â
âYou were extraordinary from the beginning.â
The smile on your face shifts into something real, âYou used my words back there.âÂ
âI know.â He says, âI know what they mean to you.â
A beat passes. You swallow, his eyes follow down your throat. One he has kissed numerous times now.Â
âDo you regret it?â he asks.Â
You shake your head without hesitation, âNot even a little.âÂ
Hotch reaches out, slowly. Deliberate. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is warm. Bare. Uncharacteristically gentle.Â
âNeither do I.âÂ
-
The jet hums as it cuts through the dark sky. Hotch sits at the table with a file open in front of him that he is definitely not reading. You took the same seat across from him as usual. Emily and Rossi join the table, Morgan and Garcia sit on the couch facing them with wide grins.Â
For the first six minutes of the flight, no one says a thing.Â
âSo,â Morgan starts far too casually, âWe gonna talk about the kissing, or are we pretending none of that ever happened?â
You close your eyes.
Hotch exhales through his nose.Â
JJ doesnât even look up from her tablet, âI witnessed at least nine when I was on cams.â
Garcia gasps, âIâve got so many screenshots-
âGarcia.â Hotch warns.
You groan, âOh my god.âÂ
Rossi smiles into his coffee, âYou know, Iâve been undercover a lot. But Iâve never seen Hotch commit like that.âÂ
Morgan grins, âMy boss went from âdonât touch meâ to âthis is my wife, donât even breathe in her directionâ in twenty-four hours.âÂ
Hotch clears his throat, âFocus.â
âSir,â Emily smiles, âYou grabbed her waist every time someone looked at her for more than two seconds.âÂ
âThat was tactical.â
You snort loudly before you can even stop it.Â
Morgan points immediately, âSee! She knew it!â
Garciaâs cuts in, âAnd can we discuss the wardrobe?â
You straighten in your seat, âGarcia-â
âThe bikini,â She barrels on, âThe sundress. The backless sundress. The way you were charming everyone and-â
âGarcia!â You say both mortified and laughing.
JJ smiles, âTo be fair, it worked. He didnât stand a chance.âÂ
âHotch or Toby?â Rossi asks with a jab.Â
Hotchâs ears turn red.Â
âWell, technically Y/n is closer in age to Toby than she is to Hotch.â Reid interjects.Â
âPlease, donât ever remind me of that again.â You shake your head, a sour look on your face.
âI would also not like to be reminded of that.â Hotch agrees.Â
Rossi raises his brow still looking at Hotch.Â
âIt was part of the profile.â He reminds.Â
Impossibly so, Rossiâs brow aims higher at Aaronâs answer, âYou told three different men you were âvery luckyâ and ânot stupid enough to mess this upâ.â
Silence.Â
Your lips twitch with a smile as you look over to him, âYou did?â
His jaw tightens, âThat⊠may have come up.â
Morgan outright laughs, âBoss, you were bragging.â
You cover your face with one hand, âI can never show my face in Arizona again.âÂ
âYou absolutely can,â Emily disagrees, âYou own that cul-de-sac now. Whatever you two were doing, it sold and it worked.â
Reid nods, âYeah, no notes. Except, next time? I want hazard pay for having to watch all that.â
"Me on the other hand, " Garcia grins wickedly, "I saved it all!"
âYouâre welcome, you pervs!âÂ
You toss a harmless handful of plane popcorn at them, rolling your eyes. Thereâs an unguarded and warm smile on your face that makes Hotch shake his head watching it all unfold.Â
Hours later itâs early morning on the east coast when they finally land on the tarmac.Â
âDebrief tomorrow at 9AM.â Hotch says, âGet some rest.âÂ
The team disperses, still chuckling and yawning as they walk to their cars. The cabin is quiet as you lean back in your seat while Hotch packs up his briefcase.Â
âYou think any of them bought it?â You ask, a soft smile on your face. Honest and open.Â
He flashes you his rare smile. The one usually saved for you and Jack on the weekends.
âProbably not.â
extra of the team finding out here!
an// all too aware of the fact that itâs been almost two years since iâve written for Hotch, but I am obsessed all over again i fear. i had so much fun writing for him again!
Spencerâs nerves have been building since the little grey letters that spelled âRead 7:45amâ under his text first appeared. Minutes tick by and he forces himself to focus on the case. Work had always been an easy distraction for him. Each investigation requires his full attention, letting him get lost in what he feels most comfortable in â numbers, facts, and puzzles. But how can he do that when the only number he can think of is the number of hours since you read his text, the only fact he can focus on is the fact that you havenât texted him back, and the only puzzle he wants to solve is 800 miles away celebrating a birthday alone?
Despite his head being in the clouds, the team wraps the case in a few hours and brings the missing little girl back to her parents. Itâs a happy ending.
âReid!â Spencer hears Emily shout through the low hum of the plane engine, pulling him from his faraway stare.
âWhat?â He asks casually. Turning his attention to the pair sitting across from him. Emily laughs.
âWeâve been calling your name for the last ten minutes.â Derek says.
Spencer looks around the cabin to see Rossi sitting beside him filling out a crossword puzzle, his glasses low on the bridge of his nose, and JJ leaning in from behind Emilyâs aisle seat, also staring at him with a mixture of confusion and amusement.
He looks back to Derek. âWe havenât even been in the air for ten minutes.â He points out.
âWhatâs been up with you, Spence?â JJ asks. âYouâre usually our resident computer but youâreâŠglitching today.â She jokes lightheartedly with a chuckle.
âSorryâŠâ Spencer mumbles, picking at the thread on his coat. He hesitates before being honest. âItâs Y/nâs birthday today and I bailed last minute.â
âFor the case?â
âYeah, we had a bunch of plans but I didnât make it to any of them.â He confesses quietly.
âSpence, you couldâve taken this one off. You know Hotch is really understanding about our personal lives.â
âI would never forgive myself if I didnât go and that little girl died.âÂ
âYou canât save everyone, Reid.â Emily says gently.
âI can try.â
âYou canât lose yourself trying.â Rossi chimes in. Spencer glances at him.
âDid you give her a heads up?â Derek asks.
âI left before she woke up but I sent her a text.â He explains, glancing at his phone again. âShe hasnât messaged me back.â
âIt sucks when plans get canceled at the last minute but surely she understands. I mean you guys have been together for two years. She knows how it goes.â Derek comments bluntly with a shrug and Emily rolls her eyes.
âShe understands but I donât know⊠it feels like something else.â Spencer mumbles, still deep in thought.
âYou think sheâs cheating on you?â
âWhat? No. Why would you say that?â Spencer defends, slightly annoyed by Derekâs brashness.
âDerek, youâre not helping.â JJ scolds. âDonât put those thoughts in Spencerâs head. Y/n would never do that.â
Derek holds his hands up in defense.
âIgnore him. What makes it feel different?" Emily asks, nodding her head up. Spencer is aware that you and Emily are close so he knows her questions about you are always genuine.
âI missed our anniversary dinner last year. And a few months ago I missed Valentine's Day because of the Kentucky case.â
âSo, a few rainchecks donât hurt. An unpredictable schedule is a casualty of the job.â Derek argues again.
âItâs only truly unpredictable for so long. Then it becomes predictably unpredictable and takes over your life.â Rossi adds again, not looking up from his booklet as he presses the blue ballpoint pen into the thin gray page. âFour letter word for German wine?âÂ
After a quiet moment, Spencer says âhock.â
Emilyâs phone buzzes and she glances at it. She has a good enough poker face for everyone else but Spencer is a Las Vegan. She types on her phone and then avoids Spencerâs gaze for the rest of the flight.
After two hours of nothing but turbulence, they land with tired eyes and day old clothes. Spencer is the first one to stand and exit the plane. The tiny space has been growing tinier and tinier with each mile closer to the airport.
The bright tarmac lights illuminate like Christmas all around the ground crew. Men and women in orange reflective vests work to cart luggage and wave light-up wands to communicate with the pilots. The breeze catches his brown curls and Spencer pushes his hair out of his eyes before checking his phone again. The screen shinning onto his worried face.
Nothing.
He opens the message bar under your name, his fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment until his eyes catch sight of those grey letters again and he huffs before shoves his phone back in his pocket.Â
From behind him, he feels a hand on his shoulder and he turns around. âReid, I know itâs not any of my business but I watched my job destroy my marriage for years. If I could go back, Iâd do anything Haley needed from me to fix it.â Hotch says.
The cold air bites at Spencerâs skin. âWould you have left the BAU?â
âYes but Y/n would never ask you to do that.â Hotch answers plainly and looks over Spencerâs shoulder to see the team chatting as they walk out of the plane. He lowers his voice. âThe first few months after returning to the BAU, I almost quit. It felt impossible to do this job properly while raising Jack but I realized that itâs not about every second of your life being in your control â nobody in the world has that. Itâs about using the time in your control in the right ways. When you can do that, being away from home isnât so hard.â
âBut how do I do that?â Spencer mumbles.
âYouâve gotta ask her.â Hotch walks away, lingering behind the team.
The metro ride from the airport to his usual stop down the street from your shared apartment is empty and quiet. He spends the shaky, fluorescent bleached ride replaying his conversation on the tarmac with Hotch. He wasnât sure where to start. His eyes ache with a longing for sleep or better yet, something to rest them on â you.
Eventually his tired feet bring him straight to the door heâd walked out of this morning. The metal key in his fingers clinks against the scratched door. He slips into the apartment fully expecting you to be asleep. Heâd planned to crash on the couch but as his sock covered feet slip out of his shoes, he hears rustling in your shared bedroom.
For a second, he lets Derekâs off handed comment about you possibly cheating, get the better of him. With a scoff, he refutes the idea and hangs his work bag on the hook by the door. You would never do that. Spencer knows that for certain.
A small smile grows on his face, happy youâre awake and ready to take Hotch up on his advice. Making the time he has control of matter more than the time he doesnât.
The hinges squeak with age as he swings the bedroom door open. Spencer is wearing a careful grin but his face falls when he sees you standing by the bed, next to a half packed bag. The only lights on are the small lamps next to the bed.
âY/n?âÂ
You jump, clearly very frightened. You hadnât even heard the apartment door open.âSpencer!â You shout in fear.
âWhy are you packing?â
âI didnât think you were coming home until Wednesday.â
âWe finished early.â He mumbles, looking back down at the pile of clothes on your side of the bed. âWhy are you packing?â
In a small, nervous voice you reply âI think I need some spaceâŠâ You look away, too scared to see the look of devastation he must be wearing.
Spencerâs whole body feels numb.Â
âIn the closet?â It was a stupid question, Spencer knows that but his heart still skips a beat when you shake your head.
âFrom me?â His voice cracks.
Your heart drops to your feet and tears prick at your eyes. Your jaw feels heavy and your teeth feel too big for your mouth as you admit âfrom us.â
The knot in Spencerâs tie digs into his neck. âFrom us?â His voice trembles with impossibly more devastation. âWhy?â
âSpencer⊠you know why.â You say quietly.
âAre you cheating on me?â
Shock over takes your features and you flinch at his accusation. âAre you serious?!â You say louder than necessary. Spencer curses himself for letting Derek get in his head.Â
âIâm sorry.â he says softly and earnestly. He steps forward. âIâm sorry.â
Your hard expression softens. âFor what?â The sharp edge that was in your voice is gone but your spine stays stiff.
Spencer takes too long to answer and you humorlessly chuckle.
âIâm not gonna apologize for taking the case, Y/n. The first 48 hours are crucial. We needed to be there as soon as possible. We were working the whole flight over. You have to understand that it was an emergency.â Spencer has a bad habit of thinking emotions can be explained away, he knows this.
You shake your head, offended that he would even think you donât understand the severity of the situation. Your body drifts closer to him, your weapons down. âSpencer, there is no reality in which my birthday dinner is more important than finding a missing 12-year-old girl alive, I know that. And I love that you have decided to use your limitless genius to help people. The way you care for these victims is more than just extremely attractive â itâs admirable. Everything about you is admirable. ButâŠâ You take a deep breath, almost ashamed to say your next words out loud. âI am constantly comparing the best days of my life to someone elseâs worst day of theirs. And I never win. It sounds so selfish and petty but just because I understand the importance of your job doesnât mean my feelings go away. It still sucks to cry in the restaurant by myself on my birthday.â
âYou cried?â
You ignore his question. âWeâve missed Valentineâs Day two years in a row, you flew out on Christmas in the middle of opening presents and you didnât get back until the new year, we never made up our anniversary dinner, and last week you bailed on our first scheduled date night in three months because you guys got a case.â
Spencer sighs. Heâd never realized how much he was missing.Â
âAll I could think about today was what I would tell our child if they were asking where Daddy was on Christmas morning, or their birthday, or their soccer game.â The mattress sinks as you sit on the end of the bed.
Spencerâs heart hitches at the news that you think about having a family with him. Tears well in your eyes and he joins you on the edge of the bed, sitting carefully next to you.
âI donât want my job to hurt you.â He states. Itâs not defensive, itâs honest. It feels like heâs trying to break ground on an open conversation. He turns to face you and places a hand on your knee.
âAnd I donât want you to feel like Iâm mad at you for doing good in the world.â You say tearfully.
âI donât feel like that, baby.â Spencer shakes his head. âI just wanna know how to fix this.â
âI think⊠I just need some space to figure out if this is what I really want.â You confess and a tear falls directly off your bottom lashes, onto Spencerâs hand.
He swallows a lump of nerves and the sudden urge to vomit at the thought of being not what you want. âOkay.â
âIâm sorry.â You cry quietly, your posture giving away more as you sniffle and wipe at your wet eyes.
Spencer shakes his head and the wrinkled covers on the bed shift as he moves closer. His arms wrap around your crumpled frame. âDonât apologize. Donât apologize.â He repeats.
âI love you.â You remind him, one of your hands resting on his arm.
He kisses the top of your head. âI love you, baby.â He says earnestly, afraid this might be the last time heâll ever get to say it to your face, holding you in his arms. His eyes glass over but he blinks the tears away. He kisses your hair again and holds you tighter.
âIâm so sorry, Spencer.â You say again and sniffle.
âStop that.â He feels you pull slightly and he loosens his hold on you. You sit up and he catches a glimpse of your stricken face â eyes red and watery. He pushes some tear soaked strands of hair off of your feverish cheeks. You look up at him and through his pained expression, he offers you a small smile. He leans forward and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. âWeâll get through this, Y/n. Okay?âÂ
You nod with low energy, closing your eyes for a moment and taking in a deep breath in an attempt to calm your shaky hands.
Spencer rubs your back, trying to comfort you but his kind gesture only makes everything so much harder. His other hand pulls your hair neatly off your neck and he places a chaste kiss against the skin of your shoulder.
You sigh heavily and use every ounce of strength left to raise to your feet, pulling yourself out of Spencerâs arm. The loss of contact is devastatingly heavy.
âIâm gonna stay with Emily for a while. Sheâs picking me up.â
Spencerâs throat bobs as he gulps. His eyes fall down for half a second, then back up to you. He nods. âSergio will be happy to see you.â Itâs an olive branch in the hurricane.
You chuckle quietly. âYeahâŠâ You agree.
Neither of you could make eye contact while you put a few things in a small bag. With a mixture of not wanting to smother you and not wanting to be smothered by the godawful thick sadness in the air, Spencer stepped out of the room. He sat on the edge of the couch in the living room, his muscles tense â ready to stand at any moment. The bones in his fingers ache from the nonstop wringing of his hands and his bottom lip stings from his teeth chewing it raw.
The sound of drawers opening and closing, your padded footsteps across the tattered rug, the zipping of small cosmetic bags, plastic racks clicking against each other as you shuffle through the closet. He tried to keep his eyes trained downward but every so often â at a new noise â they would flicker up to your moving figure as you paced around the room then heâd blink hard and look away again.
Each second that ticks by on the clock mocks him. The longer you take to pack, the longer you must be planning to be gone. Spencer squeezes his eyes closed and runs his hand over his face. He can feel a migraine coming on.
âSpencer?â Your quiet voice calls from the open bedroom door.Â
His head jerks up and he stands to his feet immediately. âYeah?â His voice cracks and he clears his throat.Â
âDo we have extra toothpaste?â You mumble.
He slouches a bit. âUm, w-we donât have any. Just take the one we share. Iâll get another one.â
âIâm sure Emily has extra.â You politely try to dismiss his offer.
âYou need the one for sensitivity. Please take that one.â
You shuffle awkwardly. âOkay.â You whisper before disappearing back in the bathroom.
Spencer doesnât sit back down. His knees feel like theyâre locking and his lungs feel like theyâre shrinking.
âOkayâŠâ You announce quietly as you step back through the threshold, this time with a full bag.
You want to shrink yourself away under Spencerâs longingly stare. Leaving a bad man is rewarding. Leaving a good man is remorseful. Leaving a man like Spencer â the most beautifully layered, thoughtfully loving, good hearted, gentle, patient, and perfectly everything man â feels impossible. Even if you manage to pick your feet up off the floor and drag your beat up sneaker bottoms to the old wooden apartment door, the look heâs giving you will still haunt every room you enter for the rest of your life. Every morning coffee youâll make, youâll reach for his dorky chemistry pun mug too. Every time you laugh, youâll look to your left hoping to see him there. Every hard night will feel heavier without his gentle reassurances and soft kisses. Every book will smell like him and every record scratch will sound like his quiet humming along to an old James Taylor song. Spencer is part of your life no matter what you decide to do during your time at Emilyâs apartment.Â
He watches you like his soul wants to leave his body and attach to yours.
You move towards the door and Spencer mumbles something about helping you but you politely decline, telling him that youâve got it.
He steps in slow pace behind you.
The dimly lit space near the door feels claustrophobic, like being trapped in a raging sea of white water at night.
âIâll do anythingâŠâ Spencer confesses, heartbreak lacing his words. His eyes flit across your face.
His heart slows for a second as you drop the bag at your feet and step forward. He melts into you as you wrap your arms around his neck and embrace him tightly. The soft material of your shirt brushes his skin as his arm snakes around your waist, the other cupping the back of your head. He buries his distraught face into your neck, a few of his tears slide down the strands of your hair. Your bodies are flush against one another and he hears you softly say âme too.â
A moment passes and you pull back. You brush his hair back, gazing into his tearful eyes. He leans into your touch as your thumb wipes the glistening streaks of tears off his flushed cheeks.
âIâll do anything.â He repeats. âJust tell me.â
âIâll tell you what I need when I figure it out.â You whisper. He nods against your hand before turning his face and placing a kiss against your palm.
His hand reaches up and grasps yours, pulling it into his chest between the both of you. His eyes stay locked onto yours, afraid that even with an eidetic memory heâd forget them.
Your hand slides off his sweater vest clad chest as you step backwards, closer to the door. Your interlocked hands slowly and delicately pull apart. Spencer watches you pick up your bag and before you can talk yourself out of it, you open the door.
With a few minutes left in the day, Spencer quietly says through choked back tears âhappy birthday, Y/n.âÂ
Your heart canât take anything else. You quickly step into the hallway and close the door behind you. Both of you pretend to not hear the other cry from the other side.
Summary: You have been Aaron Hotchner's nanny, taking care of Jack, for over a year when someone looking for revenge breaks into the house while Aaron is away on a case.
5.3 K nanny!reader
Warnings: break in, attack, stalking, blood, violence
-
Most days being Aaron Hotchnerâs nanny were simple. Get Jack to school, using the occasional cereal bribery. Make sure all of his homework was done and in his backpack. Keep the house from looking like Aaron wasnât actually gone half the month for cases. Answer the occasional late night call while heâs away so he can hear about his sonâs day.Â
You had taken over the guest room, half of your apartment has made its way over at this point. Any time Aaron was pulled away on a case you would stay at the house. It helped Jack have as normal of a routine as possible. Aaron would deny it if anyone asked, but he liked seeing your things around the house.Â
Youâve been with them for just over a year now. It only took a few months for it to feel a lot less like work and dangerously close to home. The two Hotchner men had quickly taken over your world and you wouldnât change a thing.Â
Jack liked you right away. Somewhere between the dramatic lightsaber battle and the joke about transformers and he was sold.Â
Aaron, on the other hand, had taken longer. He was always polite and respectful, but he was also rigid. He moved like he was always bracing for impact. He trusted carefully in measured doses, and time and time again you proved yourself.Â
âYouâre still awake.â His voice comes through right after you hit answer.Â
You smile and bite back the yawn youâve been fighting.Â
âSo are you.â You comment, âThatâs not good.âÂ
âNo, it isnât.âÂ
âYouâre profiling a serial killer, and Iâm trying to profile whether Jack actually brushed his teeth or not.âÂ
He lets out an exhale that is as close to a laugh as you can get while heâs on a case. You know thereâs a small smile with it too.Â
âSomething like that.âÂ
âJack informed me when you get back he needs you to know dinosaurs would definitely beat sharks in a fight.âÂ
He hums, âSo he came to a conclusion?â
âHe said sharks lose because they canât climb stairs.âÂ
âSolid logic.âÂ
You snort out a laugh.Â
âThank you.â He says softly after your laughter has slowed.Â
âFor what?â You ask.Â
âFor this. For being there.âÂ
Your chest tightens in the way it always did when Aaron let the walls slip a little.Â
âYou donât have to thank me, Aaron.âÂ
A pause.Â
âI know.âÂ
You hear a soft unmistakable click of the back door in the kitchen. You straighten instantly, sucking in a breath of air. Aaron notices the change immediately.Â
âWhat is it?âÂ
You slowly stand from the couch and take quiet steps back towards the stairs.Â
âI-I think someoneâs in the house.â You whisper.Â
Silence.Â
Aaron breaks it with no trace of softness left.Â
âY/n, get to Jack and lock yourselves in his room. Right now.âÂ
You grip the phone tighter in your hand, your heart racing. Your instincts are screaming at you, but part of you wonders if you really heard it. Did your mind make it up? The house has been silent ever since.Â
âI-â You hesitate.Â
âNo,â His voice turning sharp before you can hear him shout to someone close by, âGarcia get the police to my house immediately. Someoneâs in the house and Y/n and Jack are there.â
Your eyes are laser focused on the kitchen, taking a half step back toward the stairs. Then a shadow moves and your stomach drops.Â
âAaron-âÂ
A man lunges forward and you race for the stairs. You make it up the first three before his hand catches your shoulder. It sends the phone clattering against the hardwood floor.Â
Aaron is hundreds of miles away, forced to listen. The sound of the phone hitting the floor echoes like a gunshot.Â
âY/n!â Aaron shouts your name, pacing the conference room of the Tennessee police department. Against his true desires, he puts it on speaker so the rest of the team can hear this and understand whatâs going on.Â
His voice tears through the line, but itâs useless and frantic. He could hear everything. Furniture scraping violently against the hardwood. Your cries and sharp gasps. The sickening sound of someone being thrown down on the stairs. Aaronâs entire body went cold.Â
âGarcia, how far away is the unit?â Aaron asks, clutching the table in front of him. The sounds just continue to go on.Â
âIâm on it, Iâm on it!â She stutters, clearly distracted by the other phone on the line, âThe closest patrol is three minutes away.âÂ
Might as well be three hours away.Â
Aaron could still hear you fighting.Â
âGet the hell off of me!â You shout, the unsub snarls something the phone doesnât quite pick up.Â
Then suddenly footsteps running upstairs.Â
âNo!â You shout.Â
Because Jack is upstairs. You knew it and he knew it too. Everyone can hear the pure desperation in the way you shout. Thereâs more crashing, following by the awful sound of bodies colliding. You manage to throw yourself at him, taking both of you down to the bottom of the stairs.Â
Aaronâs grip on the table grows so tight his knuckles start to burn. He could hear the sharp cry when the unsub yanked you back down to the floor hard enough to make JJ physically flinch. But youâre fighting like hell, kicking and scratching, anything purely for survival at this point.Â
A small voice from far away calls out.Â
âY/n?âÂ
Everything stopped.Â
You look up to the top of the stairs and see Jack standing there in his pajamas. He has one hand on the bannister, but his eyes widen with fear when he sees the reality of whatâs going on.Â
âJack!â You cry, âHide! Run!â
Your voice is clear and cuts through the chaos like a whip.Â
âNow!âÂ
Aaron could hear the shift. The moment you started to fight harder, you could feel it too. The fear was gone, now youâre running off of protective fury. A sharp kick connects hard enough for the unsub to curse loudly and roll over onto his side on the floor.Â
You pull yourself toward the stairs, managing to stand after using the railing for leverage. The unsub groans, slowly rising from the floor. You try to move faster, but he drags you back down again. You scream again but never stop fighting.Â
Sudden sirens take over the neighborhood. Loud and close, the bright red and blue lights shining in the living room windows. The unsub freezes. He shoves you back again, hard, before taking off for the kitchen and you hear the back door again.
You crawl up the stairs to where Jack is hiding somewhere.Â
âJack?â You call, âItâs okay! Heâs gone, the police are here.âÂ
Your voice is shaking now, pain starting to catch up to the adrenaline. Small footsteps bound down the hall, you sit on the top step unable to move any closer. You hold your arms open for him and he collapses into you instantly.Â
âItâs okay, Iâm here.â You sigh, running your hand over the back of his head, âWeâre okay.âÂ
You repeat it over and over until the police break down the front door.
âTheyâre safe, Hotch.â Morgan places a cautious hand on his shoulder.Â
Aaron canât answer. He canât answer because youâre hundreds of miles away, helpless and terrified, and all he could do was listen. Again.Â
-
The jet was silent. It was heavy in a way that only happened when something was personal. This was a direct attack in Aaronâs home against you and his son.Â
âGarcia said the officers think the unsub knew the house layout.âÂ
Hotch stares straight ahead.Â
âHe did.â
He didnât need the officer's report to know that.Â
âHe knew where the backdoor was and he moved like he had been there before. He went upstairs.â
Toward Jack. No one said it, no one had to.Â
Rossi leans closer, âWeâll find him.â
Hotch gives him one short nod, but his expression remains the same.Â
The unsub isnât the only thing weighing on his mind, he canât get over the guilt pulling at this throat. Heavy and sharp. He heard it all happen, he listened to you fight for his son while he was useless. And you had nearly been killed because of it.Â
The jet landed just after dawn and no one bothered with going home, they just went straight to the hospital. Garcia had already texted that she was in the waiting room and would stay until they got there.Â
She jumps up from her chair when she sees them walking together down the hall and walks straight up to Hotch.Â
âShe has a dislocated shoulder, bruised ribs, stitches along her hairline, and enough bruising to make everyone working this floor visibly wince when they leave her room.â Penelope spits the words out quickly, Aaronâs face remaining the same.Â
They slow as they approach your room, through the open door they can all see you. Youâre asleep and carefully propped against white pillows. Bruises in ugly shades of purple and blue litter you, with one arm secured in a sling. The other arm is wrapped around Jack and resting on his back. Heâs tucked against your side, out cold.Â
Morgan swore quietly under his breath and JJ had to look away. Rossi, who has seen enough violence for ten lifetimes, stood there without speaking.
It was undeniable and written all over your body that you had but yourself between danger and Jack without hesitation and fought like hell. Aaron stood in the doorway like the air had been knocked out of him.Â
Rossi gives him one firm nod before stepping back, âWeâve got the rest. Go be here.â
Aaron stepped into the room alone, shutting the door halfway. For a long moment he just stood there and watched the two of you taking steady breaths. He pulls a chair close to your bedside, sitting carefully like a sudden moment would have you both jump. Maybe it would.Â
He doesnât know how much time passes where he just enjoys the consistent sound of your breathing. Long enough that he notices the second it changes and you shift a little. Your eyes open slowly, heavy with pain medication and exhaustion.Â
âAaron?â Your voice comes out rough.Â
He nods first because it takes him a second to trust his own voice.Â
âHi.âÂ
A small smile curls on the edge of your mouth.Â
âYou look terrible.â
A surprised laugh escapes him.Â
âIt's okay, I look terrible too. I think my face scared Jack earlier. But heâs used to having you around, so he managed.â
You try to lighten the mood, anything to ease the deep frown and heaviness all over his face. Youâve seen him after some terrible cases, but youâve never seen him like this. He looks defeated.Â
Silence settles between the two of you. You glance down at Jack, sleeping soundly against your side.Â
âHe finally crashed a little bit ago. He refused to leave.âÂ
Aaron looks over his son, then back to you.Â
âHe stayed because he knew you were safe.â
You swallow.
âIâm sorry.â
His eyes widen with surprise, âFor what?â
âFor not stopping it sooner, for scaring Jack-â
âY/n.â He interrupts, his voice cracking. That actually makes you stop. He leans forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped tight like he had to physically hold himself together.Â
âYou have absolutely nothing to apologize for.â He shakes his head, âYou protected my son.âÂ
The next words were lower and less steady.Â
âYou put yourself between him and a man you knew could kill you, and you're apologizing?â
Tears flood your vision, but you still canât pull your gaze from Aaronâs.Â
âI couldnât let him get to Jack.âÂ
âI know.âÂ
His voice was softer now.Â
âI heard it. I heard it all.â
He heard it all. You had forgotten he was on the phone when the stranger broke in, which is likely what saved you. He got police to you within minutes. Everything could have been so different if you hadnât stayed up waiting for his call. But he had heard it all. The fight. The fear. Jack.Â
You lift your hand carefully from Jackâs back and reach out for Aaron to take. He looks at it for a second before using both of his hands to completely envelope yours. He stares at them for a minute while he gathers his thoughts.Â
âI was on the other end of that phone listening to someone hurt you, and I couldnât do anything about it.âÂ
âAaronâ You start.Â
âIâve only felt that helpless once before, and I never wanted to feel like this again.âÂ
His hands tighten around yours.Â
âAaron.â Your voice calm, pulling his focus back on you, âYou got the police to us in minutes, Jack is okay, and Iâm okay. You donât get to carry blame or guilt over a man choosing to do something horrible.âÂ
He wants to look away, but he knows he wonât get away with that. Jack shifts, mumbling something in his sleep and both of you instinctively look down at him. The room stays quiet like that for a few minutes before Aaron looks back again.Â
Thereâs something in his expression now that had been there for months but neither of them had dared to touch. It was also part of why you waited for your late night call. They had started as a way for him to say goodnight to his son, but had evolved to at least twenty minutes with you each night.Â
âI donât know what I would do without you.â He admits and your breath catches.Â
Aaron Hotchner does not say things he doesnât mean.Â
âIâm not going anywhere.âÂ
-
By late afternoon, the hospital had reluctantly signed discharge papers. Aaron was given strict instructions to follow for three different pain medications and that you canât lift anything heavier than a pillow. Hotch nodded along like he was taking an oath.Â
You borrowed extra sweats from Aaronâs emergency overnight bag, and were entirely unimpressed with the mandatory wheelchair escort all the way to the car. The car ride to the house was quiet, Jack hardly making a peep as they got closer to the house.Â
Aaron parks in the driveway and from here you can see the caution tape over the door. The wood is splintered where they kicked down the front door to get to you. You donât make a move to get out of the car and neither does Jack. Aaron turns from the driverâs seat to face you.Â
âThe two of you wait in the car. Iâm gonna run in and get our stuff, weâre not staying here.â
You blink, âWeâre not?â
âItâs not safe to stay here until we know who weâre looking for. Weâre going to go in to Quantico.â
âThe BAU?â
âItâs secure. Garciaâs there and JJ is bringing enough snacks for Jack to qualify as a federal offence. Until we know who did this, Iâm not leaving either of you alone. Iâm sorry.â
You frown, âDonât apologize for that.âÂ
He looks back at Jack and he gives him a thumbs up. Aaron gets out quickly and races inside, it doesnât take him long to pack go bags for all three of you.Â
âI get to see Uncle Reid!â Jack says excitedly.Â
âAgent Reid.â Hotch corrects.Â
âNo,â Jack shakes his head, âUncle Reid.âÂ
Aaron sighs, âApparently Iâve lost control of professional boundaries.âÂ
You dare a smirk.Â
âLong ago.â
For the first time since the attack you see the ghost of a real smile from him.Â
The team was waiting when you arrived, Garcia launching herself at you before remembering your injuries. She settles for a cautious hug that you hide a wince for.Â
âOh my god, look at your face!âÂ
âIâm okay.â You laugh softly.Â
Rossi leans in next to press a careful kiss on your cheek, âHeâs gonna give you a really good raise after this.â
You laugh and look back at Aaron. You missed it, but Rossi gives Aaron a look behind your back that says âyouâre in love with your nanny and everyone knows itâ. Aaron ignores him with practiced precision.Â
They set you up in the conference room with ice packs and coffee, Garcia is watching Jack in Aaronâs office. Everyone is sitting around the table, far from their typical victim interview but this was far from a typical case.Â
This was personal.Â
The hospital did pull DNA from under your fingernails, but whoever the unsub was, he wasn't in the system so it turned up nothing.
âStart from the beginning. Anything you remember matters, even if itâs small.â Hotch manages to keep his voice steady, staring directly at you.Â
You nod slowly, setting down your coffee down on the table.Â
âThe back door first. The house was quiet, but I heard the click. He knew how to get in without making much noise.âÂ
Reid starts taking notes.Â
âHow tall was he?â Morgan asks.
âAt least a head taller than me. Strong. He knew exactly where he was going, he didnât hesitate.âÂ
You swallow.Â
âHe never looked around, he moved like he already knew the house.âÂ
The room fell to a still. Reidâs pen stopped moving and everyone looked up.Â
âHe was there for Jack.â Aaron states.Â
You nod, agreeing with the theory.Â
âAnd for you.â Rossi nods toward you.Â
You look at him, âWhat?â
âPeople who target families like this arenât improvising. Itâs personal. They want fear, and they want the message to last.âÂ
âHe couldâve killed me if he really wanted to.â You shake your head, âHe kept trying for the stairs for Jack-â
âHe probably wanted you to be scared.â Morgan clears his throat, âHe was getting off on your fear.âÂ
The stuns you into silence.
Emily sets down her pen, âDid he say anything to you?â
You frown again, âHe saidâŠâHe should know what it feels likeâ.âÂ
Aaronâs jaw tightens instantly because that isnât random at all. That sounds like revenge, which confirms his biggest fear. Yet again his job is putting the people he cares most about in harm's way.Â
-
The team had scattered to run more leads, but you stayed in the conference room. You find yourself standing in front of the evidence board for the case. Crime scene shots, the staircase, the broken bannister. Your blood on the hardwood. The photographs from the hospital that are so clinical and detached you donât even recognize yourself.Â
The woman in the picture looks like someone else.Â
âYou really shouldnât do that.âÂ
You turn and see JJ in the doorway.Â
âI know.â
She steps into the room and stands next to you, turning her attention to the same photographs. For a solid minute neither of you speak. Finally, you exhale.Â
âIt just feels like if I stop trying to remember something thatâll actually help⊠like heâs winning somehow.âÂ
JJ nods, âI get that.âÂ
âI hate that Iâm scared of his house. That his house is crime scene photos again.âÂ
You know that this isnât the same house he had with Haley, but itâs still been his home with Jack for years now.Â
âY/n, you were attacked. Being scared doesnât make you weak.â JJ insists.Â
âIt feels like it does.âÂ
âNo,â Her voice firm now, âwhat you did was beyond brave. You kept Jack safe and saved yourself.âÂ
You blink, âI was terrified.âÂ
âExactly.â She finally smiles, âAnd you still did it. Bravery typically looks like that.âÂ
That hits you harder than you had expected. JJ softens even more when she realizes none of this has done anything to ease your concern.Â
âFor what itâs worth, Aaron is barely functioning.â She smiles knowingly, âHeâs trying very hard to look like Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner, but the rest of us have eyes.âÂ
You let out a warm laugh.Â
âHe cares about you. A lot, honestly. I think heâs been trying not to for months.âÂ
Her words make you go completely still, eyes darting to his office on the other side of the room. JJ simply shrugs.Â
âWe all see the way he looks for you first when he walks in, and the way Jack talks about you. Hotch hasnât been the same since you came into his life, and I mean that as a good thing.âÂ
âWhy are you telling me this?â You look back at her finally.Â
âBecause I donât like wasting time. Or seeing people I care about hurt without each other.â She reaches out a hand carefully for your shoulder before leaving the room.Â
Maybe JJ is right. Maybe everyone already knew.Â
-
You softly knock on the doorframe before letting yourself into Aaronâs office. He looks up from his desk instantly. You're wearing a spare FBI hoodie, but you're still wearing his sweats that are too long. You look as cozy as you can while wearing an arm sling.Â
Jack peeks his eyes open, he had been faking sleep over on the couch for nearly a half an hour.Â
âThere you are!â He sits up.Â
You smile at Hotch before making your way over to him. You sit on the edge of the couch and smooth a hand over his hair, gentle and automatic. Jack shifted so you had more room and he could tuck himself against your side. Within minutes, his breathing slowed. Sleep finally won.Â
âHe couldnât sleep without you.â Aaron says softly, unable to take his eyes off the two of you.Â
Eventually you look up, daring to meet his gaze. The bullpen is still a blur, but itâs warm and quiet here in the office. Safe.Â
âHeâs scared youâll leave again.âÂ
His eyes dart down to his son.Â
âI know.âÂ
âHe doesnât blame you,â You continue, âhe is so proud of what you do. He just knows something bad happened when you were gone.âÂ
âAgain.â He answers, âSomething bad happened when I was gone, again. Iâm supposed to be the person who keeps him safe.âÂ
You frown, âYou are.â
âI wasnât there.âÂ
The guilt is still there. How could he not still feel guilty? Here you are trapped at the FBI for your safety, covered in bruises, and heâs sure you still canât take a full breath with your ribs.
âYou got the police to us immediately and came home.â You offer a teary smile, âHe knows you love him so much.âÂ
âSometimes that doesnât feel like enough.âÂ
You shake your head.Â
âIt's enough.â You disagree, âAnd you canât blame yourself for something some lunatic decided to do.âÂ
He leans back in his chair, you can finally see the exhaustion that JJ was talking about. He looks tired in a way that sleep canât even fix.Â
âI canât get it out of my head.â You shake your head, mostly saying it to yourself but Aaron is hanging on every word, âWho is capable of doing that to a family?â
Aaronâs eyes flash with recognition.Â
âWhat?â You question, seeing the idea that just hit him.Â
He steps out to the bullpen where the team is still there. You ease yourself carefully off the couch not to wake Jack and lean against the door frame. You watch him go down the steps toward the desks.Â
âGarcia, look into Karl Arnoldâs recent activity. I want to know everything that has gone on at his prison, any of his visitors, and all of his mail.âÂ
Morganâs head snaps up, âThe Fox?â
âOn it, sir!â She begins rapidly typing on her laptop and youâre just as puzzled as you were thirty seconds ago.Â
âWho is Karl Arnold?â You ask, pulling all eyes on you. Everyone hesitates in their answer, save for the youngest member of the team.Â
âKarl Arnold killed entire families-â
âReid.â Emily warns, effectively cutting him off.Â
âHe fixated on me during the case.â Aaron explains, âPersonal resentment and control issues. He blamed law enforcement for his capture.â
âYou think itâs connected?â Rossi asks.Â
Aaron nods, âThe one and only time Iâve seen him since then he was passing along a message for Foyet.âÂ
Garcia starts typing even faster at this realization.Â
âOkay, digging into everyoneâs favorite horrifying family annihilator. Prison records, visitor logs, and communications, give me⊠uh oh.âÂ
âWhat?â Aaron stops in his tracks.Â
âKarl Arnold has had the same visitor for the past three months. Every Tuesday, his younger brother Daniel Arnold.â
Morgan crosses his arms, and Garcia connects her laptop with the big screen. A large picture of a white man in his mid-forties pops up. Your grip in the doorframe tightens to steady yourself. The second you see the picture, all of the color drains from your face.Â
âThatâs him.âÂ
No one moved right away.Â
âHe wasnât just sending a message, he was trying to continue the work.â Morganâs voice is low and careful.
Youâre unable to pull your gaze from the screen. The same dark eyes from last night staring right back at you through the screen.Â
âIf heâs following Karlâs methodology, he was watching the house for weeks.âÂ
That makes you sick to your stomach, you slowly turn back into Aaronâs office and settle carefully back onto the couch with Jack. You donât want to hear the rest.Â
The bullpen was still moving fast, Garcia discovered Daniel has a storage unit in the area and a rental car that has been reported missing for nearly five weeks.Â
âOkay, Mr. Creepy Brother also has a very concerning purchase history including lock picks and burner phones, because apparently subtlety is dead.â Garciaâs typing doesnât falter for a second.Â
Morgan checks his weapon, the rest of the team gearing up.Â
âGot an address, mama?â Morgan looks at her.Â
âThereâs an apartment in Arlington.â
âSplit up.â Aaron instructs, âMorgan, JJ, and Reid go to the storage unit. Prentiss and Rossi go to the apartment. Bring Anderson too.âÂ
He looks over the team one more time.Â
âIâm not going.âÂ
âWhat?â Garcia blinks.Â
Morgan looks up too, surprised. Rossi simply nods and pats his shoulder before walking toward the elevator. Rossi understood first, but the rest were not far behind. Family first.Â
"We've got this." Emily nods, following the rest of them out.
The bullpen felt quieter immediately with the team gone and Garcia returning to the lair. You flinch when Aaron opens his office door, not expecting anyone to be here.Â
âYouâre not going?â You ask softly, glancing down at Jack once more before looking up at Aaron. He doesnât move back toward his desk, he just takes slow heavy steps and lands in the chair right next to the couch.Â
âNo.â he sighs, âYou were right.â
You frown, âAbout what?â
He looks down at Jack before coming back to you.Â
âYou said heâs scared Iâll leave again.âÂ
âAaronâŠâ
âI spend so much time trying to protect him by doing that job that sometimes I forget he also needs me to stay.âÂ
The honesty makes your chest ache.Â
âI need to be here when he wakes up.âÂ
A beat passes while he studies you. You hate that. The advantage he has to every conversation and moment. Youâve gotten good at reading him over the past year, but it was nowhere near his capabilities.Â
âYou donât need to be out there with your team?â You question carefully.Â
âEverything I need is right there.â He reaches out to take your hand in his. Itâs warm.Â
âReally?â You smile.Â
âMhm.â He barely cracks a grin.Â
âYou know, for a profiler, youâre being surprisingly unclear.âÂ
That actually earned you a quiet laugh.Â
âProbably because Iâm very aware Iâm saying this to the woman who was attacked in my house while protecting my son twenty-four hours ago.âÂ
You squeeze his hand.Â
âYeah, probably not your smoothest timing.âÂ
âDefinitely not.âÂ
You look down at Jack again for a second, then back up.Â
âI care about him.âÂ
Aaron nods once.Â
âI know.â
âAnd I care about you.â
It was out there. No taking it back.Â
You bite back a nervous smile, âSee? Very brave of me. Your turn.â
His thumb starts to stroke back and forth on the back of your hand. You can tell heâs being extremely careful, like it all truly mattered to him.Â
âI care about you too,â He swallows, âMore than I should have let myself.â
Your breath catches.Â
âBut I did anyway, and I donât regret it.âÂ
âGood.â You whisper.Â
âGood.â He agrees.Â
You sit up, letting him pull you closer to him. His kiss is soft, still careful but it still feels like relief for both of you. Like coming home.Â
A mischievous giggle escapes from behind you on the couch. You both pull away and turn to Jack. He has one eye squinting shut, like he could still be asleep.Â
âHey!â You tease, turning on him to tickle at his sides.Â
His giggles start instantly and Aaron is quick to jump up and join in. Jackâs laughs only get louder.Â
âOkay! Okay!â Jack sits up, out of breath from his laughter. Aaron sits in the space it opens, all three of you squeezing together.
Youâre confident neither of you wanted him to know about this quite yet. Maybe a trial run before letting the eight year old know that they liked each other.Â
âI saw you kiss Y/n.â Jack grins.Â
âI did.â Aaron admits, eyes checking in on you for a second before focusing back on his son, âWhat do you think about that?â
âWould you be home more?â Jack turns to look at you.Â
You nod, âYeah, it would be more time with your dad and I both at home. At the same time.âÂ
He nods eagerly, causing both of you to chuckle. Aaronâs phone rings on his desk, causing all three of you to look at it. He gets up to answer it, pausing for a second before saying âHotchnerâ.Â
He looks up after a few seconds, his eyes narrowing on you. He replies with âokayâ several times before ending the call with a âGood work. Thanks, Morganâ and sets the phone back down. He turns to face the two of you.Â
âMorgan has Daniel in custody.âÂ
You let out a breath of relief and itâs visible in your shoulders. You close your eyes briefly, itâs finally over. Aaron comes back to the couch, pulling the two of you closer to him. Jack sits on his lap, and you lean against his side.Â
For the first time in days, the danger was gone and there was a new future ahead for each of you. It finally feels like everything really could be okay.Â
-
an// ok kind of cheesy ending but you guys why did i lowkey scare myself while writing this LMAO?! I shouldâve waited for my roommates to get home⊠it was 11pm when I was setting up the break in and it had me shaking in my own boots! But seriously I loved writing nanny!reader so I might have to do that again. Please let me know your thoughts!!
Hi! Could you please do one where teen reader has no friends and due to her being younger, sheâs a bit disconnected from the team. They all think she has friends and is busy like a normal teenager so thatâs why they never reach out but theyâve also never taken to time to see that she doesnât actually have friends.
Teen Reader x Avengers Family!
Empty Weekends
Avengers & Fem!Teen!Reader
[A/N] It's Bank Holiday Monday and it's boiling đ„” Has anyone got any fun plans? My bestie's coming over soon and tonight we're playing Blood on the Clocktower again, I can't wait đ„ł This request was so cute, thanks my lovely â€ïž Hope you like it!
Youâre packing up your gym bag when you first overhear them talking. âMovie starts at eight so I figured we could get food at six then walk over?â
âSounds good,â Hope replies. âDid you invite Carol?â
Your heart sinks as you watch the two of them, hoping that theyâll look over, that theyâll realise. Natasha said all the girls â all of them surely included you? Neither of them even glances at you as they grab their own stuff and head out of the gym. It stings more than youâd care to admit as you slowly stand up, wiping some sweat from your forehead. Natasha had been training with you all day and hadnât asked you once about a movie, or even told you she had plans that evening.
As you head towards the entrance you spot Tony and Sam talking, âMost of the girls are going out so I thought we could watch a movie here,â Sam says. âRest of the team, get some snacks, maybe some beer, just chill.â
âSounds good, Iâll send out a text,â Tony says.
Rest of the team? Surely that must include you. You linger in the doorway, waiting for one of them to say something to you. Tonyâs eyes land on you and you smile, but all he does is reach over and ruffle your hair, âHave a good weekend kid. See you on Monday.â
Sam smiles at you too, âYeah, have a good one kid.â
You visibly wilt but neither of them notices, both clearly eager to start their evening. Maybe theyâre under the assumption youâve been invited out with Natasha and the girls. Maybe they were only planning to invite people actually living in the compound, though you know Tony has his own place. Perhaps itâs your age but youâre only a few years younger than Kate, you could go watch an R-Rated movie with themâŠ
As you head through the compound it feels like everyoneâs getting ready to do something fun. Everyone except for you. You pause by the kitchen, seeing Wanda making herself a snack which she often does after training. Kate is sitting on the kitchen counter talking to her, along with Yelena. You wait for one of them to look over, to invite you to join them, but when Yelena does eventually notice you she just smiles and waves, âSee you Monday, kid! Donât get into too much trouble!â
Officially dismissed, you head for the exit, knowing exactly what format the evening, and the rest of the weekend, will now take. Your Mom will be out; sheâs usually out most evenings. Your Dad had taken off years ago, you couldnât even remember the last time youâd seen him. No one will ask you to hang out. No one will make plans with you. Youâll watch reruns of Judge Judy whilst eating whatever food your Mom left for you in the fridge, then head to bed and play on your old Nintendo DS that was just about still clinging on for dear life. Youâd got it cheap at a second-hand stall a few years ago because you couldnât afford a Nintendo Switch. There was no point buying an XBOX or a PlayStation because the only TV in the house was in the living room, and was so ancient that the cables probably wouldnât be a match.
You have five dollars that youâd found in the park when youâd gone for that walk last week. That might get you a couple of decent snacks to make your evening slightly better. As you head through the reception you hear a burst of laughter behind you, and you have to blink back sudden tears.
Youâd joined the Avengers earlier this year, after it had been discovered you could turn invisible. All youâd done was sneak into your school to get the test answers so youâd be prepared for the following day when it had suddenly turned into a whole government problem. Youâd been terrified theyâd lock you away indefinitely but theyâd eventually handed you over to the Avengers, deciding it would be easier for them if they made you the Avengersâ problem. Thereâd been a long discussion but theyâd ultimately agreed you werenât dangerous, that you could continue living with your Mom, but youâd begin your training at the compound. No more school for you, Tony had hired a tutor to come in to keep you on top of your studies, but most of your time was now dedicated to intensive Avengers training.
Not having to go to school anymore was a major bonus â youâd never really made any friends there. When youâd joined the Avengers youâd been pleased by how kind they were to you, and youâd thought youâd finally found your âtribeâ so to speak. Months had gone by though and none of them had ever invited you to Avengers events, to hangouts, to anything outside of training.
Youâve taken just a few steps out of the compound when you stop. Suddenly you canât stomach the thought of going home. Of sitting alone in that empty apartment with reheated leftovers from last night, wondering whether your Mom will come home tonight or whether sheâll stay at someone elseâs house, not sure which is worse. You think of the Friday that she did come home, so drunk she could barely stand, how sheâd woken you up by sitting on the edge of your bed, âYouâll always be a loser.â Her voice had been slurred, continuing with her monologue as you pretended to be asleep. âItâs why your Dad left. He knew as well. Your teenage years are for sneaking out, for having some fun⊠And all you do is sit in this apartment.â
Her hand had patted your head, and youâd burrowed under the covers, trying even harder to pretend you were asleep. It hadnât stopped her though â her voice had carried beneath your duvet, continuously calling you a loser, a loner, saying you were wasting your teenage years. By morning sheâd forgotten. She got to forget and youâd have to remember them for the rest of your life.
Whilst her words had been cruel, some of them hadnât been untrue. Every weekend does look exactly the same. You never go anywhere or do anything. There are no friends for you to hang out with. Whatâs the point in âsneaking outâ? Your Mom wouldâve even notice and itâs not like you have anyone to cause mischief with. Nobody likes you. Nobody looks out for you. Youâre completely alone in the world.
Before you even realise what youâre doing you turn on your heel and storm back into the compound, throwing your gym bag against the wall, and heading straight to the kitchen. More of the Avengers are gathered there now, some having a drink, some a snack, some just congregating as they all joke and banter, ready for the weekend ahead. All of them excited, none of them lonely or left out.
Steve spots you first, giving you a soft smile, âHey kid. Did you forget something?â
âNo, you guys forgot me!â You shout at the very top of your voice. Usually soft-spoken, it makes everyone pause their conversations to look at you. Normally youâd be embarrassed but the words spill out of your mouth before you can even process what youâre saying, âI like movies! I like hanging out and going for walks and playing games and I know Iâm a little young but Iâd probably like drinking too and I like- I like all of you! But none of you like me and I donât get why Iâm not your friend or why Iâm not invited to any group activities or- Or-â
Youâre finally cut off by Wanda putting an arm around your shoulders, and you burst into noisy tears. She shoots a look at the other Avengers, before leading you out of the kitchen, âItâs okay Sweetheart, letâs go somewhere a little quieter and you can tell me, okay?â
You sob as she leads you towards one of the smaller meeting rooms, used mainly for one to oneâs and performance reviews. âI just- All I- I just want you to be my friend.â
âI am your friend.â
âSo am I,â Yelena says, having followed you both from the kitchen. She closes the door behind her as the three of you sit in the meeting room. âWhatâs going on?â
âIâm so lonely,â You sniffle, letting Wanda stroke her fingers over your head. âI donât wanna go home and sit by myself-â
âWe thought youâd be out with friends,â Wanda says. âOr that youâd have plans with your parents-â
âItâs just me and my Mom, and she hates me.â
âOh no, Iâm sure she doesnât,â Yelena says. âHow could anyone hate someone as funny and considerate and resilient as you?â
âNo, she does, she called me a loser and I am, Iâm a fucking loser, I never go anywhere or do anything, and you guys can sense it too which is why you never invite me anywhere-â
âSlow down, slow down,â Wanda encourages, as you hiccup and choke on your words as you try to force them past your tears. âWe just thought youâd get bored hanging around with a bunch of adults. We didnât realise you were feeling so lonely.â
âOf course you can come to the movie,â Yelena says. âIt is girlâs night after all.â
Your bottom lip trembles, âI- I canât. I donât even have any money.â
âThen Iâll pay for you,â Wanda says. âHave whatever you want at dinner, and Iâll cover your movie ticket too.â
âAnd you can sit by me and Iâll get us popcorn to share,â Yelena says. âAnd those strawberry laces, those are so good.â
âThe others wonât want me there after I just yelled like that,â You sniffle.
âNo one will care honey, I promise,â Wanda says. âEveryone loves you, I mean⊠I thought you realised you were our baby.â
âWhat do you mean?â
âWeâre all pretty protective of you,â Yelena says. âWeâve tried to give you space âcos you know, youâre a teenager and youâre probably way too cool for us to be fussing over you all the time-â
âHey, is she okay?â Natasha asks, appearing in the doorway. âI got you a glass of water.â
âSee,â Yelena says with a grin. âWe all think the world of you.â
âY/Nâs joining us for dinner and the movie,â Wanda says.
âOh, awesome!â Natasha says, putting your water down on the table and smiling. âYou can sit next to me-â
âSheâs sitting by me!â Yelena says.
âWell she has two sides and Iâm sitting on the other one!â
Wanda pats your shoulder, âSee? We are your friends, I promise. And now we know, weâll invite you to more things. We didnât mean to make so many assumptions.â
âYou promise you donât just feel sorry for me?â You ask.
âNo way, youâre like the coolest person ever,â Natasha says. âYouâre so young and yet youâre already such a great asset to the team. Weâll have you out on the field in no time. Youâre gonna be one of the strongest Avengers, just wait.â
You let them continue comforting you, basking in their attention and praise. Yelena gently wipes at the tears on your cheeks, whilst Natasha encourages you to drink your water. Wanda keeps her arm around you the entire time, and you can finally feel that protectiveness that they were talking about. The weekend still stretches ahead of you, feeling never ending, but for tonight at least, you have plans. You have friends. Youâre not alone anymore. Maybe you never will be again.
