I'm pretty much into a lot of fandoms, and even if I've written for myself since long ago, this time I'm going to share my works. You can call me Isa, Isabel, Izzy, Sissi. Hell, even Chabela. English is not my first language.
Hey/I knew Iâd run into you somewhere/Itâs been a while
The text message from Aaron has sat glaring at you on your phone screen for the past hour.
Hotch (BAU) Sorry for hitting you with my cart earlier.
You donât know what to make of it. Itâs obviously an attempt to start up a conversation after four years, but why? Why, after all this time, does he think this is okay?
May or may not have just written this in an hour. Also may or may not be based off the new Taylor Swift song. Based on this ask!
Also lmk if yâall want a part two because this does have an unhappy(?) ending, soâŚ
Warnings: angst, mentions of being pregnant, mentions of puking
Word count: a lil over 1k
HOTCH MASTERLIST || Donât You (Part Two)
It wasnât like in the movies.
You were foolish, youâll admit, to think that getting your heart broken like this would be like the movies. Where heâd run after you, kiss you to make it better, confess his undying love, and beg for your forgiveness.
I'm going to go ahead and say that y'all are going to hate me at the end of this I fear, so sorry 𫣠(Also the parallel of this fic beginning with these two arguing and ending with them still at each other's throats but now it's all sweet and affectionate, be still my beating heart :'))
Warnings: our usual angst and some good fluff :)) but nothing that crazy
âBefore you get all upset that Iâm here, know that Strauss called for me, so take it up with her if youâve got an issue.âÂ
Aaronâs lips press together into a barely contained smile from his spot just inside the BAU bullpen. âYou know the last thing Iâm going to be is upset when Iâm getting to see you.â
You narrow your eyes at his sweet talking and hum, walking right into his waiting arms. âThat sounds awfully boyfriend of you for a Unit Chief.â
âWell,â he chuckles, kissing the top of your head. âI wear many hats.â
You bury your face in his chest to hide your smile. Itâs been two weeks of properly dating Aaron Hotchner, and you still canât decide whether you want to hide from him or run toward him. So you often end up doing both at the same time.
âYouâre still on leave for another four weeks, though,â he reminds you. âSo donât get any ideas.â
You lift your head, pushing out your bottom lip. âSo you mean to tell me you donât want to see me all day every day?â You can barely get through the tease without smiling, especially when he rolls his eyes at you.
He presses a quick kiss to your lips. âGo to your meeting.â
âFine,â you huff playfully, giving him another kiss. âBut Iâm coming back after Iâm done. Youâre not skipping lunch today. You were way too grumpy when you got home yesterday.â
He rolls his eyes again, affectionately, pulling you back in for a kiss.
At the cubicles behind you both, Morgan drops his pen. Emily stares with her jaw dropped open. Reid laughs at them both.
You giggle when you notice their expressions. âSorry guys.â
Morgan holds his hands up in mock surrender. Emily does a similar gesture, laughing to herself. âNo, no. Enjoy yourselves. Weâll just be here, wondering what parallel universe we got dropped into.â
âI think you mean an alternate universe, parallel universes actually--â
âReid,â Morgan stops him with a look.
Spencer just grins, turning a page. âI donât know why you guys are so upset. Personally, Iâm enjoying this new side to Hotch.â
âExcuse me?â the Unit Chief in question raises his eyebrows.
You giggle beside him, definitely almost late for your meeting, but you donât care. This is too good to miss.
Reid shrugs. âYouâre happier now.â
And that. That melts your heart.
âThe lovebirds!â Penelopeâs sweet voice rings in your ears as she enters the bullpen with JJ in tow.
âOnly one of us, because Iâm about to be late for a meeting with the big boss,â you chuckle, moving to press a kiss to Hotchâs cheek. He leans down in perfect synchrony with you, and you hear Garcia muffling her delighted squeal. âIâll be back!â you promise them as you leave.
You smile to yourself as you wait for the elevator, knowing that just behind you, Hotch is absolutely being grilled within an inch of his life.
To think that it hasnât even been an entire year since you crossed paths with Aaron Hotchner again, and that at the time you thought it was still too soon, that you needed at least another decade before youâd be able to even think about tolerating him again.
And now look at you both. Lovesick messes. Itâs ridiculous, and you wouldnât trade it for anything.
The elevator ride to Straussâs office is short, and youâre knocking on her door right on time.
From the moment you enter her office, you know something is wrong. Or at least, something is off.
âThis came for you today,â she says simply, handing you an envelope.
Your eyebrows furrow as you peer down at it. Addressed to you, or rather, the building as a whole, with Attn: for you. And the return address?
âRichard Monroe sent this?â you blurt, looking up at Strauss in confusion. âBut--â
âI know,â she nods. âItâs postmarked for just a few days before his death.â
You look at the date, finding that sheâs right. So he did mail it himself, just before he was killed. As if he knew Carter was coming for him.Â
âIt got lost in our mailroom for a bit since it was addressed to the general headquarters,â she explains. âBut it finally came across my desk yesterday.â
You blink, nodding slowly, trying to piece together what it means, or rather, the reality of it. That you have, presumably, a letter from Richard Monroe, that he probably wrote days before his death because he saw it all coming. Somehow.Â
You might have answers. In your hand.
âI havenât read it,â she continues. âI wanted to leave that up to you. But I think it goes without saying that if there is any information in it pertaining to Carter Robinson, I need to be made aware.â
You nod. âOf course.â Thereâs an open case regarding Carter ever since they found bodies buried behind the cabin. It seemed his secrets were deeper than he truly let on to you.
âAnd if you would like to not read it,â she says, though you can tell she can see that you fully intend to, âplease pass it along to Agent Hotchner.â
Which, ironically, is who you thought this meeting was about in the first place. It hasnât been a secret to anyone that you and Hotch are officially dating now, not even to Strauss, but Hotch told you heâd handle it. And since you hadnât heard anything from her, you assumed he had it handled.
âWhen you return from your leave, if you wish to do so,â Strauss continues, âwe will need to have a conversation regarding your relationship to Agent Hotchner.â
âUnderstood,â you nod, almost laughing at the timing and how you thought you had gotten away with it. âIâm assuming he will be included in said conversation?â The last thing you want is for her to get you alone and try to convince you to transfer or grill you about it but let him off the hook.
She doesnât protest like you expect her to. âHe will.â
âAlright,â you say, satisfied. âIf thatâs all, then IâllâŚâ you hold up the letter with a little wave.
She lets you go without another word.
When you return to the bullpen, everyone is exactly where you left them, your meeting only having lasted all of about fifteen minutes. Everyone is shocked to see you back so soon.
âAaron?â you ask quietly, not wanting to alarm him -- or anyone -- because youâre not alarmed, youâre justâŚconflicted. âCan I speak to you for a second?â
Heâs nodding and leading you up to his office with zero hesitation, getting inside and shutting the door and the blinds.
âIs everything okay?â he asks, both hands resting on your arms. âDid she--â
âRichard sent me a letter,â you say simply, because how else are you supposed to tell him? You hold up the envelope, staring at it like itâs not actually real. âStrauss said it got lost in the mail because he just addressed it to the headquarters, but they found it, and she--â You pause, looking at Aaron instead. âHe sent me a letter.â
âDo you want to read it?â Aaron asks softly. âOr do you need me to?â
âNo, no, I want to, I just,â you sigh, rubbing your forehead. âI need a minute.â
âOkay,â he says. âLetâs eat first then.â
Lunch comes and goes, and youâre no more ready to read the letter than you were before. You leave it in Aaronâs safe hands while you go back home to clear your head without the letter looming over you.
He brings it home that night, and you put it off again, worried about what youâll find in it. The unknown of it all. So you focus on what you do know, and you let Aaron take you apart to his (and your) heartâs content.
There are dinner plans at Rossiâs the next night, so the letter doesnât get read then, either.Â
What does happen, though, is you witness the raccoons for yourself once everyone has left and itâs just you, Aaron, and Rossi cleaning up the kitchen. Aaron practically flies to the glass doors to point at the creatures as they scurry away, once again scared by his presence.
âI told you I wasnât lying!â He sounds so desperate that it makes you laugh. He really was hung up on you thinking he had made them up. (And truthfully, until you saw them yourself, you werenât one-hundred-percent sure he hadnât made them up, but with everything else going on, the raccoon incident was long forgotten and forgiven.)
Itâs not until about a week after Strauss handed you the letter that you finally cave, setting it on the coffee table for Aaron to see when he gets home from work. He notices it when he walks in the door and goes to find you where youâre putting away your laundry in the bedroom.
âIs it time?â he asks.
You turn and nod, smiling sadly, walking into his waiting arms. âSit with me while I read it?â
âOf course, honey,â he replies, as if it was ever going to be a question.
There, on the couch, with you curled into Aaronâs side, the two of you break the seal on Richardâs letter. You pull out the paper, thumbing over the dried ink before you start to read.
If youâre reading this, well, it means he caught onto me, it starts, and you immediately set it down.
Aaron rubs your arms to soothe you until youâre ready to pick up the paper again. Richardâs handwriting is neater than you expect it to be, and a strange mix of cursive and print. Itâs really beautiful, actually, in a twisted way.
If youâre reading this, well, it means he caught onto me. Youâll know what that means if itâs true.
Itâs wild to think this all started when you were just a baby. Itâs wild to think Iâve known you since then. I donât think you really remembered it, but your dad and I were buddies back then, even after he got himself locked away trying to find you. I always thought he loved you more than anything, but when he asked me to make sure you were safe since he couldnât, I knew it for sure. He never wanted anything or anyone to hurt you.
When Carter reached out to me again wanting to find you, I told him to go to hell. We all knew that kid was twisted in the head, sort of like us but not really, and maybe it was something in his blood, but I donât think so. It was different. But we knew we didnât want him anywhere near you then, and I didnât want him anywhere near you now. I made a promise to your dad to keep Carter away from you. So I kept Carter too busy to really find you, until he got too smart.
I promised your dad, but I made a promise to my daughter, too. And when that son of a bitch brought her into this, I had no choice. I had to turn myself in. It worked for your old man, so I thought it might work for me too.
Sorry for scaring you, by the way. I couldnât let on with the truth. You were never supposed to know any of this, daisy.
You gasp, your grip on the page tightening as tears blur your vision. Daisy. The nickname jogs some long forgotten memory. A warm one, for once. Warm as the summers before you knew the truth.
Aaron presses a kiss to your temple, silently supporting you, thumbing the tears as they fall down your cheeks.
You were never supposed to know any of this, daisy. It was supposed to be a secret I kept to the grave because I swore to your dad that Iâd die protecting you. And if youâre reading this, I guess I did.
Your dad always thought you were too good for him. He never wanted you to know about what he and I got up to. Iâm putting his letter in here too, but you donât have to read it. He gave it to me after he realized your mom was screening his letters. Canât say that I blame her. Lilaâs mom does, too. I get it.
Weâre not good men, daisy. Whatever you get from this letter, and your dadâs if you read it -- weâre not good men. I donât want you to mourn us.Â
We donât deserve it.
The letter ends there, and the next page is in your dadâs handwriting. Dated from your eighteenth birthday.
âIs that--?â Aaron asks, and you just nod, sniffling as you wipe your eyes. âDo you want to--?â You nod again.
Because you have to read it, you suddenly realize. Itâs the last one youâll ever get from him.
You lean into Aaron a little more, and he holds you steady, pressing a loving kiss to your temple.
Daisy, the letter starts, I know I shouldnât ask this, but can you forgive me?
Guys, it's our final chapter đ Don't fret! Because there is an epilogue coming day after tomorrow that'll be a nice little wrap up, but this is our end đđŤśđť (I have a crazy lil author's note at the end that I didn't want you to read before, so enjoy that after all the angst!)
Warnings: emotions! so many emotions! i cried so hard writing this one so that is your warning! minor character death but not "on screen", i listened to "waiting room" while writing this but like...don't do that if you don't want to sob uncontrollably ok
âWhat are you going to do to them?â you ask, knowing how innocent and naive it sounds. Thatâs your point.
Carter leans into the fridge and grabs one of the Mountain Dew bottles. âWe will shoot them. Simple. Thereâll be too many to do anything else, though I guess I could knock the women out and strangle them later.â
You nod slowly, as if that makes sense, as if it seems like a good plan, even though it terrifies you to hear it. In reality, you need to know his every move if youâre going to keep your team safe, if they make it to this cabin before you can figure something else out. Not that you donât trust them to be prepared for anything, but youâve witnessed just how unpredictable Carter is. You need to do your part to be one step ahead, even if heâs been five steps ahead this whole time.
âWhereâs my gun?â you ask casually.
He laughs through his drink. âYou think Iâd bring that shit with us here? God, no. Iâm not a moron. Itâs in that car we drove to the edge of the woods.â
âWait.â You had sort of figured he ditched the car, given that it was a government vehicle and all. âYouâŚdid you carry me here?â
âFuck no, I used the four-wheeler,â he says. He leans back against the counter, eyes narrowing. âYouâre asking a lot of questions.â
You mirror his stance and lean in the doorway. âI like to know what Iâm getting myself into.â You keep on taking mental notes. Thereâs a four-wheeler you can use to get down the mountain, you just need to get out of this house. Somehow.
He hums, eyes narrowing. âSo you can help me.â
âSure.â
He stares for a second. âI donât believe you.â
You sigh. âI donât know why you would.â
âI want to.â
âOkay,â you shrug. âThen just trust me.â
âFine,â he says, but he doesnât sound too happy about it right now. âI have a gun you can use, but Iâm not showing you where it is. I need to shower first.â
You roll your eyes. âRight.â
âSo,â he pushes off the counter. âCan I trust you to stay put? You know how dangerous these mountains are at night, and the sun is gonna set any minute now.â
Fuck. âI donât exactly want to be dinner for the bobcats, so yeah. Iâll be here.â
âGood,â he nods. He pats his pocket and you hear keys jingling there. âAnd Iâm taking these with me.â
You make a show of plopping down on the couch, kicking your feet up and leaning your head back. âCool. Iâm taking a nap.â You are sluggish, probably still the after effects of the drug he gave you, and you hope he takes it as that.
You hear him chuckle before going down the hall, so youâre in the clear. Thereâs movement in one of the rooms, presumably his bedroom, until you hear a door shut. After a few moments, you hear the shower turn on.
You stand up, eyes searching every inch of the room. There has to be something useful in this stupid place.
Youâre getting out of here one way or another. There has to be a spare key to the four-wheeler somewhere, or a phone for fuckâs sake. A phone might be more useful. You could call Garcia and she could find your exact location easily.
But of course, the only phone you see is a landline that probably hasnât been connected in years. He probably doesnât even pay for any phone service here, if heâs as strategic as heâs shown you to be.
You hear the shower curtain move aside. The clock is ticking. Fast. You donât know how quickly he showers, but you canât imagine heâll take long since youâre here. Youâre surprised heâs showering at all, and that he didnât handcuff you to a bed or something, but youâre glad he didnât. Youâre glad that, for whatever reason, he decided to trust you.
You spin in circles in the living room, willing your brain to come up with something. You check the drawers in the kitchen quietly, but there arenât any spare keys -- or keys of any sort. Itâs all random things, kitchen utensils, other household essentials that are no use to you right now.
Out of sheer curiosity, you try the front door. Itâs unlocked.
Your eyes dart to the bathroom as you hear the water splash. With the front door cracked, you weigh your options.
You have no idea how far up the mountain you are, or where you even are. You have no idea what or who is around. The sun is just starting to set, so youâll likely be out there in the dark for some time if you donât make it down to civilization in time.Â
Or you can stay here, risk him drugging you to make you sleep through the night, or worse, risk saying something to set him off and risk him seriously injuring you like you know heâs capable of doing.Â
Heâs my brother, you think with deep, deep sorrow. Heâs your brother, and in the cruelest twist of fate, he reminds you exactly of your father.
And that is why you canât stay. That is why you have to do what you didnât do when you were younger, because you knew no better back then.Â
Thatâs why you run.
You donât know how far youâll make it, you donât know if youâll even make it anywhere worthwhile, but you know you canât stay here. You know your chances are higher out there, with the possibility of running into a ranger, someone you can actually trust, with access to a satellite phone. You canât stay here because you canât change him, just like you couldnât change your father, no matter how badly some days you wished that you could.
Carter is too far gone, and it seems he has been since he first kidnapped you when you were kids. It seems heâs always been this way.Â
Tears stream from the corners of your eyes as you run, the wind whipping against your face as you follow the path down the road, hoping youâll find someone, but knowing thereâs likely no one up here, not even any neighbors -- at least not for miles.
Itâs gut wrenching, and you wish you never knew he existed. You wish you never had this knowledge that you have a brother, that youâve had one this whole time, and there was nothing you ever couldâve done to save him. He was doomed from the start -- and maybe you were too, just in a different way -- all because of your father.Â
You glance over your shoulder quickly, worried you hear footsteps, but no one is there. No one but the trees, covering you, encouraging you to get away. Weâll hide you, they say. Weâll keep you a secret.
+++
âGarcia, give me an update,â Hotch says, hoping the connection hasnât dropped as the trees thicken around them, swallowing the team whole.
âKeep heading straight,â she says. âYouâre closing in.â
Hotch motions to the team to keep moving, and everyone picks up speed. With every passing second, the sun drops lower and lower, and they know time is limited. Itâs dangerous in the mountains at night, especially without proper gear, but Hotch canât care about that. All he cares about is getting to you, getting to the house with heat signatures in it that Garcia found. That has to be you.
âWoah, hold on,â Garciaâs voice filters through Hotchâs ears. âThatâs weird.â
He doesnât slow his pace, but he asks, âWhat are you seeing?â Rossiâs head turns at Hotchâs panicked question.
âThe satellite updated, thereâs only one heat signature in the house.â
Hotch nearly falls flat on his face. âShe--â
âNo, no,â Garcia says, and she almost sounds like sheâs smiling. âI think sheâs running. There should be a road to your right, follow it around the bend.â
Hotch motions to everyone and receives nods in return.
And thatâs when he hears it. Sobbing.Â
Your sobbing. It breaks his heart to realize that he knows the sound so vividly and distinctly, but itâs you. It has to be.
âWait!â he shouts to the team and everyone halts, listening. A knowing look passes between them.Â
They hear it. Sobbing, and running.
+++
What are the odds, you think, of running down this mountain and running into your team as theyâre trying to get to you? Is it really so crazy to think that theyâre on their way to you just as youâre trying to get away?
You donât care how delusional it is, you try to imagine it. It keeps your legs moving. It keeps your fear at bay as you keep looking behind you, fearing you hear Carter behind you, but no one is there.
Until you come crashing into something hard.Â
Arms wrap around you and for a moment you think itâs Carter, that he caught up to you and got in front of you, but then you take in what youâre feeling. A kevlar. Strong arms. A cologne that only Hotch wears.
âAaron,â you cry, your entire body practically giving out in his arms. You bury your face in his neck as he holds you up and you take a deep breath, gripping him like heâll slip away any second. Like heâs a figment of your imagination, another after effect of the tranquilizer, and hell, maybe he is, but you donât care. If this is a hallucination, youâll take it. Itâs a nice one.
âIâve got you,â Aaron whispers and it sounds so real.
You distantly hear him giving orders to the rest of the team, telling Morgan and Prentiss to go with Rossi to the house. Reid stays with you and Hotch, talking to someone over the phone, and you realize itâs JJ.
âDo you have her?â Garcia comes into Hotchâs ears, frantic.
âIâve got her,â you hear him say, and then you hear him sniffle. âIâve got her, Penelope, thank you.â
âIs that Pen?â you murmur, your face still buried in Aaronâs neck with no sign of moving. âI knew sheâd know what to do.â
âI hear you, my angel, I know,â Garciaâs voice is thick with emotion.Â
With every passing second, you realize this has gone on for too long, so the only explanation is that itâs real. You lift your head from Aaronâs neck, peering up at him with wide, watery eyes.
âAaron?â you whisper, one of your hands cupping his jaw, fingers flexing against his face. âOh my god, you found me.â
Tears slip from his eyes, wetting your fingers against his cheek. One of his hands covers yours, squeezing. âIâve got you, honey, itâs me. We found you.â
Your head falls forward onto his chest, the emotion of it finally crashing over you. Your arms reach up to wrap around his neck, clinging to him ferociously now that you know heâs real, that this is real.
âIâm so sorry,â Aaron cries into your ear, arms wrapped around you just as tight.
âI never shouldâve left,â you sob.
âI never shouldâve let you,â he argues, muscles flexing, as if heâs trying to memorize the shape of you, to keep you against him forever. âWe need to get you down the mountain,â he says, and without any hesitation, you feel him lifting you into his arms bridal style.
You have no energy in you to protest, and you donât even want to. Your arms wrap around his neck for stability, and you let him carry all your weight.
Slowly, you hear Reidâs voice filter back in. âI see you guys, yeah, weâre coming down, Hotchâs got her, so weâll be fine, weâll meet you there.â A pause, then to Hotch he says, âThe paramedics are waiting down there.â
âGood,â you hear and feel Hotch say. You keep your eyes closed, face turned toward his shirt as the world sways as he carries you down.
Your head grows dizzy as your body catches up with itself, the adrenaline finally waning, your heart finally settling now that youâre in Aaronâs arms.
You almost donât hear the gunshot when it rings out, but your body tenses. The birds above scream and scatter.
You know what it means. Aaron does too. Neither of you say a word.
Once youâre down the mountain, Aaron reluctantly hands you off to the paramedics in the ambulance.Â
âWait--â you reach out for him, thinking heâs walking away, but he sits down.Â
âIâm right here,â he says, placing a gentle hand on your arm. âThey need to take care of you first, but Iâm right here. Iâm not going anywhere.â
You nod, a wave of nausea passing over you, causing your eyes to close.Â
âHe gave her something--â
âHe said it was a tranquilizer,â you manage to get out. âDonât know what kind.â
All of it is a blur. They say something, you feel a prick in your arm and your breath hitches, remembering before, but whatever they give you calms you down. You flex your arm at your side, searching for Aaronâs, and you find it, fingers loosely lacing with his. Everyone moves around you, and soon the rumble of the engine starting filters into your ears.
As the ambulance heads for the hospital, you rest your eyes, though youâre more alert than any of them are expecting you to be. But itâs because you have one thing on your mind, and your brain wonât let the thought rest.
âHeâs gone, isnât he?â you mumble after a while.
Aaron squeezes your hand. He doesnât need to ask who you mean. âIâm sorry, honey.â
You nod, knowing it was inevitable. Knowing there was nothing you could do.
+++
Youâll hear this later from the team, but Carter was already gone when they made it inside the cabin.Â
They heard the gun go off while they were on the porch. Morgan had just shouted, âFBI!â when they heard it. When they knew.
Morgan found Carter in the living room. He likely saw you were gone, heard the FBI at his door, and knew he had two options. So he made a choice.
Part of the team is glad they werenât the ones to do it, given the fact that they knew it was likely to end that way. But mostly they are sorry it had to end this way at all, knowing the pain itâll cause you, and the years of guilt youâll have to unpack.
+++
When you come back to yourself in the hospital, Aaron is sitting beside you, typing rapidly on his phone. You barely move and his eyes dart to you, phone immediately forgotten when he sees youâre beginning to stir.
âHey,â he whispers, hands reaching for you, one stroking your face, the other resting on your arm. As if heâs still trying to be sure that youâre back in arms reach.
âHey,â you echo, tears filling your eyes, the memories instantly coming back to you. âIâm--â
âNo, no,â he shakes his head, eyes watering too. âIâm sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for.â
âI wish I had found him sooner,â you cry, tears escaping as quickly as your eyes can fill with them. âI wish I had gotten to him before my dad did.â
âI know, honey, Iâm sorry,â Aaron says softly, shifting closer in the chair, but itâs not close enough.
âCome here,â you move over on the bed. âCan you hold me?â
He doesnât care that the bed isnât exactly big enough for both of you. Youâve asked if he can hold you, so thatâs exactly what heâs going to do. Heâs in the bed and pulling you into him faster than anyone can tell him no.
You tuck your head into his chest, sobbing as you fist his shirt, careful of the IV in your arm. âHe was too far gone,â you can barely get the words out, âor I wouldâve-- I wouldâve tried to help him--â
âShhh,â Aaron cradles your head, breathing shaky as he listens to you. âThere was nothing you couldâve done.â
You know that. You do. But it doesnât make it hurt any less, knowing that everyone is gone now. Your dad, your mom, and now your brother, who you only found out existed just yesterday.
God, was it really just yesterday?
Somewhere in the midst of your cries, a nurse comes in to check your vitals. All are fine, aside from your heart being a little fast as youâre worked up from crying.
But Aaron calms you down. It takes a minute, but soon your breaths even out, and the tears slow.
âWhere is everyone?â you sniffle.
âTheyâre outside in the waiting room,â he says. âDo you want me to get them?â
You nod against his chest. âDonât leave though.â
âIâm not,â he assures you. âIâm just going to text Dave.â
The team was clearly waiting for the go ahead to come visit you because barely a minute after Hotch texts, there are soft knocks on your door.
âCome in,â Hotch calls out, helping you sit up against his side.
JJ, Emily, Spencer, Dave, and Derek (with Penelope on the phone) filter in quietly, smiling softly when they see you.
âAlright, here she is,â Derek says, passing his phone to you.
âHey Pen,â you say.
âHi my sweet angel,â she answers, voice cracking. âYouâre okay.â
âIâm okay,â you nod, trying not to let the emotions pull you under again. âMovie night when Iâm back?â
âDone,â she says instantly. âYour pick.â
Hugs are passed around, everyone squeezing you tight and fighting tears.
When Dave gets to you, you see he has tears in his eyes, and thatâs enough to make you lose it again. You wrap your arms around him, sniffling into his neck.
âThank you for finding me again,â you murmur.
âAnytime, kiddo,â Dave whispers, rubbing your back. âI hope we donât have to do this again,â he teases, making you laugh, âbut if we ever do, Iâll always find you.â
âI hope we donât do this ever again,â Derek says sincerely. âThatâs enough excitement for the next decade.â
âI agree,â JJ laughs, leaning her head on Emilyâs shoulder.
âItâd be a statistical wonder if it happened again,â Reid says, rocking on the balls of his feet. âBut please donât.â
You laugh, wiping your face as you lean back into Aaronâs side, his arm curling around your shoulders protectively. âDonât worry guys, I donât plan on it.â
His arm tightens just a little, a silent promise that you hear clear as day. I donât plan on letting you go again.
You watch as practically all of the profilers notice Hotchâs arm around you, the way he pulls you closer, and the way you donât argue one bit. If you werenât so exhausted from the last twenty-four hours, youâd crack some joke about the two of you having gotten over yourselves, or about how the two of you can slightly tolerate one anotherâs presence now.Â
You will tell them soon. Thereâs time. And itâll make a good story, one to laugh about one day, once all the dust settles.Â
For now, you let your eyes slip closed as the conversation continues around you. A smile tugs at your lips when you hear their back and forth, and you think, they found me. In more ways than one.
~~~
a/n: little author's note for the end here: i suppose now is a good time to tell you guys that this fic was loosely based on family lore :) so very loosely i shall end with based on a true story
Guys đ Guys we're so close to the end đđđ
Warnings: angst! more of the truth! carter is insane!! the team will not stop until they find you safe and sound!!!
Supper is chicken soup and bread. You had wondered what you were smelling and why it smelled so good, so homey.
Your entire body is weak, not to mention your legs, so you reluctantly let Carter help you walk to the kitchen table. Your stomach betrays you and growls loudly when you spot the steaming bowl.
âItâs not poisoned, if thatâs what youâre thinking,â Carter says, helping you sit down. âIâm crazy, but Iâm not that crazy. Besides, youâre family.â
You resist the urge to roll your eyes. âRight.â
âWhat do you want to drink?â he asks, turning toward the fridge. He opens it and leans down, peering inside. âIâve got water, sweet tea, Coke--â He pauses, craning his neck to look at you. âOr are you weird like Dad and you drink Mountain Dew?â
âWater is fine,â you say, leaning over the bowl to inhale the steam, completely ignoring his family bonding attempts.
Carter looks back into the fridge, dejected. âYou used to like sweet tea. Used to drink it all the time.â
âYou didnât seriously kidnap me to take a trip down memory lane, did you?â
He shrugs, grabbing two bottles of water. He twists the caps off and sets one down in front of you. He flops into the other chair, leaning back. âMaybe I did.â
You take the water only because you know it hasnât been tampered with. âI know you didnât.â
âMaybe I did.â
âYou put in too much effort just for that,â you counter with a raised eyebrow. âRecreating all of Dadâs crimes, calling it a game--â
âNo, no, I didnât call it a game,â Carter interjects.
âNo? Then what was the gambit about?â
âOh, that was mostly for me,â he shrugs. âIâm always one step ahead.â
âIâm getting that,â you grumble, taking another sip of the water. Itâs slowly making you feel better, but you know what you really need is food. Youâre just not sure if you want to take that gamble yet with the soup, especially considering he hasnât touched his yet. âWhere are we?â
âSomewhere in the mountains,â he waves his hand. âItâs not important. We wonât be staying here long anyway.â
Your stomach roils again and not from hunger. If he moves you to another location, you know what that means. You know the statistics. You can practically hear Reid reciting them now.Â
âWhat are we even doing, then?â you ask, trying to sound curious and not accusatory. âPlaying pretend as a happy brother and sister?â
âIt doesnât have to be pretend,â he says, clearly on the defensive again. âWe used to get along.â
âYeah, before you kidnapped me.â
âI did what I had to do,â he scoffs. âDad wouldnât talk to me! He wanted nothing to do with me!â
âWell I canât help that!â
âYou couldâve!â Carter shouts. âHe loved you. God, he loved you so much. But wanted nothing to do with me. Youâre just as much his kid as I am, and he treated me like I was nothing. But you?â He pauses, lets out a cruel, sad laugh. âYou were everything to him.â
He had a real funny way of showing it is all you can think, but you know if you say that out loud itâll just make Carter even more upset than he already is.Â
âRecreating all this stuff, giving you a trail to follow, it was all for you,â Carter says, leaning forward onto his elbows, sounding strangely sincere. âIâve been looking for you ever since you moved away.â
âWhy?â you whisper. What could I possibly have that would be worth all this?
âYou knew him,â Carter says, like itâs always been that simple. âHe raised you--â you try not to laugh at that. â--he worshipped you, and you donât even realize it, do you?â
âI have no idea what youâre talking about,â you throw caution to the wind and rip off a piece of bread, stuffing it into your mouth. âHe was never around when I was a kid. Heâd disappear for days and show back up like nothing happened.â
âAt least he cared enough to go back,â Carter says. âAt least he didnât shut you out.â
âHe might as well have,â you mutter, eating more bread, wanting to dip it into the soup but unsure if you can trust it. âIt was like he was two completely different people. And when he disappeared, he was gone, but when he came back--â
âFor you,â Carter interjects again.
You shake your head. âI donât know that he was ever coming back for me as much as he was just trying to save face. Lay low so the police didnât catch on in Georgia.â You give Carter a look, something you probably shouldnât do. âIâm sure you know all about that.â
The lines of Carterâs face harden into a scowl. He looks too much like your father in that moment. âI wouldnât be the way I am if he hadnât shut me out in the first place.â
âWell, again,â you lean back in your chair, âI canât help that. You have a problem with him, I get it, but heâs dead. Do yourself a favor and make peace with it and move on.â
He laughs loudly. âWhat, like you have?â
âYeah,â you nod. âExactly like I have.â
âSo, going into the FBI, thatâs because youâve moved on?â Carter argues. âAnd not at all because of some guilt you feel? For being his daughter?â
Your jaw clicks when you clench it. It doesnât matter that heâs right, that youâve always known, deep down, that you went into the FBI -- and wanted specifically to be in the BAU -- because of some guilt that is built into your bones.Â
âBetter than becoming just like him,â you reply, your voice low. âI hate him.â
Carter laughs. âNo you donât.â He picks up his spoon, dipping it into his soup. Steam billows up again, but slower now. âEat. It shouldnât scald your tongue now.â
âIâm not hungry.âÂ
âDonât be a child,â he mutters, glaring up at you. âEat.â
+++
âFound the car,â Morgan says over the phone. âHe ditched it completely, even left her gun and badge inside.â
Hotch pinches the bridge of his nose. âRight.â
âWe canât see any other tracks, man,â Morgan says. âWeâve got no clue where he went from here.â
âWeâre looking into some cabins around where he and Doug were for long weekends,â Hotch explains. âWeâre not having much luck, but Garciaâs trying to narrow the area.â
âWant us to meet you there?âÂ
Hotch glances at Rossi who nods once. âYeah, Iâll send you our coordinates. Iâm gonna call Garcia, see if she has anything else we can use.â
âGood idea. See you when we get there.â
âBye,â Hotch says, hanging up to immediately dial Garcia. âDo you have anything?â
âMy finger was hovering over your speed dial just as your call came in, do you have a sixth sense?â Garciaâs voice echoes sweetly down the line. âIâve been looking into Carterâs financial records and honestly, it leaves little to be desired, I mean, youâd think this dude doesnât even have a life. Iâm talking he goes to work and thatâs it--â
âPenelope.â
âI know, I know, so it got me thinking, if heâs not using his money from his bank, then what is he using?â She pauses. âAre you guys still with Doug?â
âYes, heâs right next to me,â Hotch says. âWhy?â
âAsk him if he knows where his credit card is.â
Hotch mutters a curse under his breath before turning his head toward Doug. âDo you have a credit card?â
Doug just gives Hotch a confused look. âWhat does that have to do--â
âDo you know where it is?âÂ
âI havenât used the damn thing since--â Doug stops short. âDammit.â
âJust as I suspected,â Garcia continues. âWell, you can tell Doug his credit card has been in the hands of one Carter Robinson for six months now and heâs been running it up like nobodyâs business, including continually renting a cabin for the last six months and it does not look cheap.â
âGarcia, the coordinates to the cabin,â Hotch urges.
âAlready sent them to your devices, and to Morgan, theyâll meet you there, and Hotch?â
âYes, Penelope?â
âBe safe,â she whispers. âAnd bring her home.â
âWe will,â Hotch promises. âWeâll call you as soon as we can.â
âThank you,â Garcia says.
Hotch punches the coordinates into the GPS and starts the engine.
âWhere are we going?â Doug frantically buckles his seatbelt.
Hotch flicks the lights and sirens. âTo get my agent back.â
+++
You eat as little of the soup as you possibly can, just enough to settle your stomach and get it to stop gnawing at your spine. Itâs just regular soup, as far as you can tell, and because you waited for Carter to take a few bites first.
He takes it as a peace offering, seeing you eat. He relaxes.
If you have any chance of buying yourself some time and the team more time to find you, youâve got to keep Carter relaxed. And talking.
âSo,â Carter says, once heâs settled into the recliner in the living room and youâre on the couch. âI wanted to ask you what you thought -- about everything.â
There are a thousand ways you could answer this, and a thousand ways you could set him off again.
âWell, it took me a while to figure it out,â you start.
âBecause it was that good?â he asks, sounding hopeful.
âYeah,â you say automatically. âYeah, because it was that good and because I thought I was making things up.â
âI knew you wouldnât remember much,â he says, mostly to himself. âI knew I had to jog your memory somehow, I just didnât realize how much. But I knew youâd get there eventually.â
âRight,â you nod slowly. âWhen we got that first note, that was when I was starting to think something was up.â
âI knew Iâd have to make it obvious to you,â he chuckles, shaking his head. âI was starting to think you wouldnât ever get it, but then I saw you talking to Darlene, and I knew she wouldnât be able to help herself.â
So he was watching you the whole time. âAnd what Darlene said is true?â
âOf course itâs true,â Carter scoffs. âHe told my mom to get the hell out of town and she just listened to him! Didnât even try to fight it when he said he wanted nothing to do with us. Well, I wasnât going to let him get away with it that easily, not when I knew I could be in town with Doug whenever I wanted.â He paused, getting worked up again, this time all on his own. âDad had no right trying to keep me away from you. Weâre family! Flesh and blood.â
And yet we couldnât be more different. âI had no idea back then.â
âOf course you didnât,â Carter says, then shakes his head. âI canât fault you for that, not then. I was his best-kept secret, at least to you and your mom.â
âIf I had known,â you pause, choosing your next words carefully, âI wouldâve told him to let us hang out together more.â
âReally?â
You nod. âI always wanted a sibling.â Not entirely untrue. It got lonely being an only child, especially one with a father who was never around and a mother who was just as gone because of how preoccupied she was with her husbandâs whereabouts.Â
âI knew it,â Carter says, biting back a grin. âSee? He ruined everything, and so did his so-called friends by keeping me from finding you--â
âHis friends?â you blurt. âWho?â
âOf course you wouldnât know,â Carter says, but not unkindly toward you. âEven locked away, Dad had ways of keeping me from finding you after your mom moved you away. Richard, best friend Richard, always closer to Dad than Doug was, always his right hand man, always your protector. I always knew Iâd have to get rid of him before I could get to you, but then I thought, maybe it was the only way to get to you.â
Your mind reels with the new information, with the holes in the story that are being filled just as quickly as new ones appear. That it was less your dadâs friend looking for you and more keeping an eye on you so that nothing happened to you, so that someone like Carter wouldnât get close enough to harm you. Again.
âYou--â You canât even form a complete thought. âRichard had been protecting me?â
âIt was a lightbulb moment, honestly. And in doing everything to keep me busy, he earned himself a place on the FBIâs Most Wanted. I knew if something happened involving him, the FBI would come running. It was only a matter of time.â
âSo you kidnapped his daughter so the exact same chain of events would happen,â you repeat slowly.
âWell, not exactly,â Carter shrugs. âIt was a happy accident that you happened to be in the FBI, especially the unit they sent after him. I had my suspicions, but really I just wanted Richard off the board because I knew he was the last obstacle standing between me and you.â
âYou do realize that because Iâm in the FBI, my team is looking for me right now,â you reply, not trying to sound accusatory, just. Trying to get him to see the facts.Â
And to keep yourself optimistic. Theyâre going to find you. They have to.
He chuckles. âThey wonât find us here. And even if they do find this cabin,â he stands up, stretching his arms, âweâll be long gone. Weâre leaving tomorrow.â
You glance around for any clocks and find none. The sunlight tells you that itâs sometime in the afternoon, you just donât know how late. Probably close to the evening now. How long until sunset? What happens then?
âWhat are we going to do?â you ask hesitantly. âIf weâre leaving here, then whatâs the plan?â
He grins, looking down at you. âThink of it as a long overdue vacation. Weâll finally get to catch up on each otherâs lives. We can go wherever we want, do whatever we want. Finally get to be the brother and sister we were always meant to be.â
His final statement makes your brain stall. âMeant to be?â you ask carefully.
He nods seriously, eager and wide-eyed. âCome on, you feel it too, donât you? I know youâre in the FBI, but I was a cop, big deal. You canât run from who you are. You canât run from your blood.â
You shake your head, but you finally understand. He thinks youâve strayed from your true path, from your path together as your dadâs children, as children of a serial killer. He thinks youâre meant to be just like your dad was. âCarter, thatâs notâŚthatâs not true. My team--â
Carter suddenly steps toward you, pointing a finger that you know could turn into a strangling grip around your throat any second. He looks so much like your father that it sends a shock through your system. âIf your team even thinks about taking you away from me, theyâll get what they deserve,â he growls. âYouâre coming with me. I let everyone keep us apart for too long. I wonât let it happen again.â
âBut Iâm not--â You shake your head. âIâm not like you -- or Dad.â
âBut you can be,â he says, grabbing your shoulders. âIf Dad had just let me talk to you when we were younger, he wouldâve seen. We couldâve started back then. We wouldnât have lost all this time.â
You shake your head slowly. Itâs probably only going to upset him, your protesting, but you canât let him think youâll go wherever with him without a fight. Youâre not a kid anymore.
âYouâll see,â he says, squeezing your shoulders. âYou donât understand it right now, but when-- if your team gets here, youâll see.â
âWhat do you mean?â
âIf they find us, we canât let them leave alive,â he says simply. âYouâre going to help me kill them.â
+++
Following the coordinates that Garcia sent, Hotch drives faster than he ever has before. Clearly Morgan does as well, because just a few moments after Hotch parks at a mountain lookout, Morgan comes squealing in on two tires.
âThis is as far as the road goes,â Hotch explains while everyone jumps out, strapping on their bulletproof vests. âWeâll need to continue on foot from here.â
âWhat about me?â Doug asks.
Hotch shares a look with Rossi, tightening the straps around his waist. Sirens wail in the distance, the backup that Hotch had Morgan call for.
âStay here,â Hotch instructs. âJJ?â
JJ nods. âIâll wait for backup. Keep me posted.â
The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part thirty-nine
Yet another part that I wrote and rewrote and rewrote, so I hope it reads better than its first draft!!
Warnings: angryyyy hotch, angst ofc, prob inaccurate after-effects of drugging
Hotch knows heâs probably bruising his knuckles with how hard he raps his fist on the front door to Dougâs cabin, but he doesnât care. Reid passes an alarmed look to Rossi who just shrugs because honestly? This is still tame behavior considering how Aaron is feeling inside.Â
Doug Wright spends his days in a cabin in the woods where no one ever bothers him. Service is spotty at best up here, and drops off in particular down this street, which explains why Doug hasnât answered any of the FBIâs calls. Or anyoneâs, really, because after Garciaâs digging, she found a number that attempted to call Doug nearly sixty times in the last week. She was unable to trace it.
Hotchâs money is on that number belonging to Andrew Robinson.
But when Doug doesnât answer his door after the first round of knocks, Hotch starts to get angry. He can see Dougâs truck in the driveway, for fuckâs sake.
âFBI!â Hotch slams his fist into the wood. âDoug Wright, we know youâre inside!â
The door flies open not a second later, revealing an equally pissed off Doug. âQuit the fucking racket,â he snaps. âWhat the hell do you want?â
Hotch flashes his badge, not that Doug even looks at it because heâs too busy glaring up at Hotch. âWe need to talk about your son.â
Doug isnât a short man, but heâs shorter than Hotch, and clearly tries to compensate for it by puffing out his chest. âI donât have a son.â
âFine. We need to talk about Carter Robinson.â
Doug barks out a laugh. âI havenât spoken to that kid in years.â
âMaybe you should move somewhere with better service then,â Hotch shoots back, pushing past Doug and entering the house. Itâs a typical cabin in the mountains of Tennessee, hunting rifle displayed on the mantle, a TV mounted above it, across from a recliner.
âI didnât invite you in here!â Doug goes after Hotch, screaming and cursing up a storm. âGet the hell outta my home!â
Hotch glances around at the photos on the wall, on the side tables. He finds Robinsonâs face with ease, and pictures of Dougâs Deli. Confirmation that this is the right person to be speaking to, because why else would Doug have pictures of his son still on the walls if he didnât keep in touch with him, even a little?Â
Hotch turns to face Doug. âDo you remember when Carson Adkins shot a hole in the floor of your deli?â
âOf course I remember,â Doug spits. âWhat the hell does that have to do with anything?â
âAnd do you remember who the bullet was for?â
âFor Carsonâs goddamn ego, thatâs who,â Doug bites out. âWhat is this about?â
Reid, Rossi, and Hotch share a silent conversation, deciding who should make the first move. Hotch made the decision in the car to hold off on telling Doug exactly why theyâre here -- that Carter has kidnapped you a second time -- until itâs clear whether or not he knows, and when heâs at a vulnerable enough spot that revealing it will get him to give them the information they need.
âDo you remember the girl he kidnapped when he was younger?â Rossi asks, and itâs obvious from his tone that heâs fishing to see if Doug even knows about it at all, or if it really has been a secret all this time.
âHe didnât hurt her!â Doug protests, as if that was the question Rossi asked him.Â
âDid you know he had taken her?â Rossi asks.Â
Doug opens his mouth, flounders. âYes,â he finally admits. âBut I told him to let her go! I was gone for the day, I donât know what got into him, kidnapping Carsonâs daughter of all people--â
âSo you knew it was your son while we sat here and had a manhunt out for him, and you said nothing.â Rossi steps closer to him, eyes narrowing. âDo you have any idea the kind of trouble that sort of thing gets you in?â
âHe let her go unharmed!â Doug shouts again, as if it makes any difference, as if it fixes any of this.
âThat doesnât fucking matter!â Hotch yells, using every ounce of strength he has to not throttle Doug. âHeâs been obsessed with her his entire life, heâs been following her every move since she joined the FBI, and itâs led us here. All because you didnât turn him into the proper authorities when you should have.â
âYou have no right to come into my home and criticize how I parented a boy that wasnât even mine!â Doug argues, glossing right over the mention of Carter being obsessed with you and still stalking you to this day. âI was the closest thing that kid had to a father after Carson told his mom that he wanted nothing to do with them! I ainât perfect, but I wonât sit here and let you make this out to be my fault.â
âDoug,â Reid gets his attention calmly. âWeâre not trying to criticize how you raised him, or for your choice to do so. Itâs an admirable thing to do, to choose to take on a kid that isnât yours because you see theyâre in need.â
Reidâs calm demeanor does nothing to soothe Doug, who only seethes and growls, âThen what the hell are you doing here?â
âWe need to find him,â Rossi says. âAnd youâre the only person who knows where he might be hiding.â
âWell, I-I donât know,â Doug scoffs. âAnd I still donât understand what any of this has to do with--â
âWe know Carson Adkins is Carterâs real father,â Hotch says, watching Dougâs reaction for confirmation. They donât actually know for certain, but Dougâs reaction is as good as a DNA test.
Dougâs eyes well with furious, solemn tears. âI tried to protect him from that man,â Doug says quietly, mournfully. âBut Carson Adkins is a cancer. He infected that boy the day he was conceived. I thought I could stop it by helping to raise him, by being the father figure he needed, but I couldnât. He was drawn to Carson. Thereâs something in his blood, I tell you. Something evil.â
Hotch cusses under his breath and turns to face the wall. The pictures of Doug with the deli, of Doug with a younger Carter. He looks like a normal kid. He looks happy, free, even loved. How does all of that change? How does he become what he is today? Is it something in his blood? Is it?
âDoug⌠When exactly did you last speak to Carter?â Reid asks, still taking on the calm presence in the room.
Aaron turns and glances at Doug, whose chest is heaving from the screaming match theyâve just had. Aaron knew Doug was lying earlier when he said he hasnât spoken to Carter in years, he just doesnât know how much of a lie it is until Doug confesses a timeline that makes Aaron want to scream.
âSix months ago,â Doug starts quietly, âwe met up for breakfast at a diner down the mountain. He had been calling me constantly and leaving voicemails, and I was ignoring him, until--â He stops himself.
âUntil?â Hotch urges, as recognition flares in his mind, and in Reid and Rossiâs eyes. Six months ago, your transfer to the BAU was approved. Five months ago, Richard Monroeâs daughter, Lila, was kidnapped on your first day.
âHe left a voicemail telling me that he found her again,â Doug says, hanging his head. âHe lost track of her when her momma got her name changed, and I thought heâd never survive it, but then one day he moved on. And I thought, thatâs the end of that.â Doug sighs, dragging a tired hand down his face. âI had no idea he had been silently looking for her all these years until he told me. I never fathomed that heâd find her again.â
âWell he has,â Hotch deadpans. âHeâs taken her again and we need to know where he mightâve gone.â
Dougâs eyes go wide and his head snaps up. âJesus Christ,â he covers his mouth. âHeâs kidnapped her again?â
âThink, Doug,â Rossi steers him back on track. âWhere could Carter have taken her.â
âI-I donât know.â
âThatâs not good enough,â Hotch snaps. Heâs hanging onto his composure by a very thin thread that frays more and more with every useless word that Doug utters. âThink. A vacation home--â
âI ainât rich enough for that--â
âSomething special to him,â Hotch barrels on. âHeâs been trying to get her attention for months, trying to find her for years, and now that heâs got it, heâs not going to risk anyone interrupting him. Somewhere remote. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere that would have meaning to him, maybe for both of them.â Hotch stares him down, chest rising and falling rapidly. âGive me a good enough answer and I might think about getting you a deal.â
âA deal? For what?â
âFor knowingly withholding information about a kidnapped childâs whereabouts,â Hotch yells. âNow think.â
Doug shakes his head. âI donât know,â he groans, rubbing his temples. âWhen he had her the first time, it was at my house, but I sold that house--â
âThe address, Doug,â Hotch barks.
Reid takes down the address and texts it to Garcia. âHe drove in the opposite direction, though, guys.â
âWeâll still check it out,â Rossi says, glancing at the address and trying not to let it overwhelm him. You were just down the street that whole time. You were just a few streets over from your parentsâ house. How had they not found you all those years ago?
âWhere else?â Hotch presses.
âThereâs-- We used to take vacations up here, in these mountains,â Doug rambles. âWe just rented the same cabin every year, but I didnât own it.â
âWhere?â Hotch says through gritted teeth.
âI donât remember the exact address, but itâs-- Itâs maybe an hourâs drive from here--â
âYou still remember how to get there?â Rossi asks.
Doug barely gets the chance to nod before Hotch is gripping him by the arm and hauling him to the door. âIn the car. Now.âÂ
âBut itâs been years since Iâve been there--!â
âYou said you remember it,â Hotch snaps, pausing just outside the car. âAnd if you even think about purposefully taking us to the wrong place, there will be consequences, do I make myself clear?â
âCrystal, Jesus,â Doug scoffs.
Reid and Rossi climb in the back while Doug sits passenger, and Hotch tries not to bend the steering wheel while he drives.
+++
Your head is pounding, and youâre only waking up because youâre being jostled around to all hell.
Carter grunts, losing his grip on you. âFuck.â
âWhat the hellâŚ?â your words are slurred as you hit the ground, wood underneath you. âCarter?â
That makes his grip falter entirely, and you groan when the back of your head slams into the hardwood. Whatever it is, because youâre outside still. You can hear the birds chirping.
âSorry,â he mutters. âShit. You know my name?â
âI r-remember you,â you breathe, eyes rolling into the back of your head.
He lets out a noise, somewhere between a bitter laugh and a scoff. âNo you donât. Thatâs the whole problem. You havenât remembered a damn thing. Fucking-- Sit up.â
You donât move, your body is full of lead.
He groans again, attempting to lift you and failing. âYouâre heavier than you were twenty years ago.â
âThanks,â you laugh is breathy, bordering on hysterical. What the fuck did he give you?
Your body sways, or at least it feels like it, while the time passes, and Carter says nothing to you, just sits next to you from what you can tell with your blurred vision. You canât tell if the sun is making your vision hazy or if itâs just the drug, whatever it is.
You drift off and when you wake again, the swimming in your vision has left you. The sun has moved. And youâre alone.
But you canât move, so running is out of the question. All you can do is lay here, turning your head to get a look at where you are.
Youâre on a porch. Thatâs the wood youâve been feeling. It looks like its attached to a log cabin, probably in the middle of nowhere, and you shove the doomed feeling that it elicits down as far as you can.
Theyâll find you. They will.
You think of your last conversation with Aaron. The frustration. The anger. And the whole time, he was right. It wasnât safe there, and now look at where you are.Â
You shouldnât have driven away with him in the car. You shouldâve gotten out, screamed, done something other than drive to a gas station and given him the opportunity to do this again. Youâre not a kid anymore. You shouldâve known better this time.
Tears prick at your eyes and you blink them away. Thereâs no time for crying right now. Crying wonât get you out of this.
You turn your head and look out across the porch, to the woods. Nothing but trees fill your vision. You have no way to know where exactly heâs taken you.Â
âYouâre awake! Perfect timing!â
Your head lazily rolls to the other side, eyes narrowing as Carter stands above you. Time for what?
âI made supper, come on,â he says, bending down and extending his hand.
âI canât move,â you mutter. âWhat the fuck did you give me?â
âJust a tranquilizer, it should be wearing off now, come on, try,â he gestures with his hand expectantly.Â
You have options. You can grab his hand, pull him down, get on top of him, force him to answer questions and tell you where the hell you are. But thatâs what youâd do if you werenât full of a tranquilizer right now.Â
The more likely option to succeed is that you accept his hand, you stand up, and you try to calmly get some answers out of him.Â
You lift your arm, grabbing onto his wrist so he can grab yours and pull you upright. Just sitting up has your head spinning and stomach lurching, an involuntary gag leaving your throat.
âSorry,â he grimaces. âA side effect is nausea.â
âYou donât say,â you say in between heaving, taking a deep breath to calm down. âA simple âHey, we should talkâ wouldâve been a lot nicer than drugging me.â
âPlease,â he scoffs. âLike you wouldâve agreed to talk to me.â
You turn your head to look at him. He has your fatherâs eyes. How you never saw it until now, you donât know, because itâs so obvious. The same color. The same slightly crazed look, even when heâs acting suspiciously tame right now.
âI wouldâve,â you finally say. âWhen Darlene told me--â
He scoffs again, louder, dropping your wrist so violently that your grip loosens. âDarlene, the town gossip.â
âShe told me that youâre my brother,â you talk over him until he stops, staring at you with wide eyes. âI wanted to talk to you about it.â
âAnd here I thought I was going to break the news to you over supper,â he mutters, clicking his tongue. âGuess that saves us some time.â
âWhy didnât you just reach out? Normally?â
âWhyâd you change your name? Whyâd you have to run away from me?â
âIt was my momâs decision, not mine,â you snap, finally getting some of your strength back. âI was a kid!â
âWell I was too!â
His raised voice sends a shock to your head, a sharp pain prodding behind your eyes that makes you hiss in pain.
He doesnât apologize for it. Just curses under his breath.
âCome on,â he says, extending his hand again. âSupperâs getting cold.â
+++
The cabin Doug remembered is occupied. By a family. Itâs an AirBnB now.
Hotch has Rossi wait in the car with Doug while he and Reid go check out the cabin, and thankfully the family staying there has no issue letting them walk around. They check everywhere, the upstairs, the downstairs, the basement, the storm cellar. All empty. No signs of you or Robinson.Â
âWeâre sorry for the intrusion,â Hotch apologizes to the wife again. âThank you for letting us look around.â
âItâs no problem,â the husband says, gripping his wifeâs hand in one and his daughterâs in the other. âWe hope you find whoever is missing.â
âThank you,â Reid murmurs, waving goodbye.
By the time they get back into the car, Rossi is already on the phone with Garcia, asking her to look into any cabins in the area that were recently bought. Or rented. Or anything. Anything at all.
âMost of them are little AirBnBs now like that one,â Garcia says regretfully. âBut Iâm digging, donât worry.â
âThank you Garcia,â Hotch sighs, picking at his fingernails. It doesnât help that Garciaâs words are choppy because of how spotty the cell service is up here.
âWeâre gonna find her, boss.â
âI know,â Hotch says. Because heâs not going to stop moving until he finds you.
The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part thirty-eight
For some reason I've had to rewrite this chapter (and the next couple) because they didn't feel right so here's to hoping that I got it right with this draft đ
Warnings: another motherload of angst so sorry, drugging (that is probs not accurate but oh well), Hotch's ever-growing guilt
Youâre barely sitting in the driverâs seat of the bureau vehicle for two minutes when the passenger door opens and someone slides inside. You expect it to be Hotch. Itâs not.
âOfficer Robinson,â you say, keeping your gaze straight ahead, though you glance in the mirrors. All around you, officers are still peeling out of the parking lot to go on patrol -- likely to look for him. Itâs no coincidence Robinson just got in your car, in civilian clothes, right at this moment. You crank the engine. âJoining me to the airport?â
âThought you might need an escort,â he says. âAnd someone to drive the car back to the precinct.â Sunglasses don his face and he has a baseball cap pulled over his head. Just like that day in the car with Hotch, when he chased the two of you down that long stretch of road. âDrive.â
You do. Youâre not an idiot. You need to be careful about this. You need to think about your next move, so as not to risk angering him and having a gun pressed to your temple.
âSaw you storm out of there pretty angry,â Robinson says while you drive, heading toward the airport. âWas it that guy again?â
âWhat guy?â
âYour boss,â he chuckles. âAgent Hotchner.â
You roll your eyes. âYeah. We donât get along.â
âNot what I hear.â
âAnd what do you hear, Andrew?â
âOh, weâre on a first name basis, are we?â
âMight as well be,â you reply, drumming your fingers on the wheel. You wait a few seconds before feigning forgetfulness, raising one hand and smacking the wheel. âShit. Iâve gotta call the pilot.â
âWhat?âÂ
âItâs fine,â you wave him off, hitting Garciaâs speed dial before he can stop you. âThe pilot isnât just living on the jet, you know. We have to actually get somebody to call him before we fly.â
âRight,â Andrew scoffs, but heâs getting antsy already. You can see it in the way his left leg bounces, the way his jaw twitches.
âOracle of all things knowledgeable, hello gorgeous,â Garciaâs sweet voice rings out. âWhat can I do you for?â
âHi Pen,â you chuckle. âCan you do me a favor and call the pilot? Iâm heading back to Quantico, looks like Iâll be keeping you company in the bat cave.â
She hesitates for a moment before replying, and thatâs when you know sheâs picked up on your tone and weird wording. Because sheâs Penelope Garcia, and no matter what she says or thinks, in your eyes, sheâs as much a profiler as the rest of the team.Â
âWonderful news, my sweet!â
âOfficer Robinson and I are heading to the airport now, be sure to let Aaron know.â
âWill do, my angel. Is Officer Robinson flying with you, so I can let the pilot know how many will be on board?â
You glance at Andrew from the corner of your eye. Heâs chewing on his fingernails. âNope, just me.â
âAlright, see you soon!â
âThanks Garcia,â you say, hanging up with a sweet, sweet smile.
If you know Pen, and you do, then sheâs calling Hotch right now, telling him something is off about you. All you need to do is get somewhere safe and wait. The police cars and other bureau vehicles will fly into the lot within minutes.
âMind if we stop for gas?â you ask, looking over at Andrew. âAnd grab some snacks. Itâs a long plane ride.â
âThey donât have snacks on that fancy jet of yours?â
âNone that I like,â you scrunch up your nose, already getting into the turn lane for the gas station. âI need something from here, you know. Something that tastes like home.â
That clearly strikes a nerve, and if Andrew didnât know before that you know his little secret, then he definitely knows now.
You pull into the gas station, an old rundown Shell, and you hope itâs one where you have to go inside to pay, but it isnât. You donât let that deter you, though, as you park and pull out the BAU credit card from your wallet.
âIâll just be a sec,â you tell him. âDid you want any snacks?â He says nothing, just stares straight ahead. âSuit yourself.â
You step out of the car and insert the card into the reader, typing in the zipcode. The car does actually need gas, which works in your favor, buys you more time.
Just as youâre about to grip the nozzle, Andrewâs hand beats you to it. âWhere are my manners?â he says. âA lady never pumps her own gas. Go have a seat.â
You shake your head. âThese cars can be a little funny,â you say, a lie. âYouâve gotta watch the gauge.â
âThen I will,â he smiles.
âFine,â you mutter. âBut Iâm staying right here.â
âSuit yourself,â he mimics you from a moment ago, switching places with you so heâs closer to the gas tank.Â
You lean back against the car door, watching the numbers go up as gas fills the tank. You try to discreetly glance around the empty lot, hoping someone will be coming soon, hoping Garcia has traced your phone or the car and told them exactly where to go. But you donât even hear any sirens yet. You cross your arms over your chest, watching the numbers again as they climb. Youâre running out of time.
The gas pump clunks as it stops and you flinch, earning a raised eyebrow from Andrew. He leans over to glance inside the car at the dash, and when he pulls back, you feel the tiniest of pricks on the side of your neck.
You hiss and immediately step away, your hand flying up to your neck.
âWhatâs the matter?â he asks, shaking the nozzle before replacing it. âGet stung by somethinâ?â
âI hope not,â you reply with an irritated glare.
âWhy donât I drive?â he says, pressing the button for no receipt. âSince Iâm just dropping you off.â
You donât have it in you to argue with him as you walk around the hood of the car, hopefully in full view of the security cameras at the traffic light. You hold onto the car as you walk, your footsteps growing slower with each one. The air begins to feelâŚthick.Â
You nearly trip with your next step, almost falling over entirely if it werenât for the door right there. Somewhere in your panicked, sluggish state you managed to dig your phone out of your pocket, your hands working on autopilot to press one of the speed dial numbers. Aaronâs. Because heâll help. Aaron will know what to do. You just need Aaron to get here.
âYou wonât be needing that anymore,â Andrewâs voice swims in your ears as your vision blurs. You reach for the passenger seat, but itâs so far away now. Your phone leaves your hand easily, your muscles all lax.
You blink slowly, just barely registering the sound of your phone hitting the sides of the metal trash can. You try to climb away from the car, but Andrew lifts you up and hauls you into the backseat, flicking the child lock before slamming the door on you.
Heâs a blurry streak as you watch him walk around to the driverâs side. Your hands shake as you reach for your gun on your hip, aiming it at him when he sits behind the wheel. But in your drugged state, you forget to flick off the safety. It takes nothing for Andrew to lift the gun from your fingers and tuck it between his knees.
âJust lay down, sis,â he says, adjusting the rearview. âWeâre going for a drive.â
+++
When Deputy Lanemanâs car comes flying into the Shell parking lot, the store clerk comes outside, hands waving. A few officersâ cars are already around, lights flashing and turning people away when they try to turn into the lot.
Laneman skids the car to a stop between two pumps and Hotch jumps out before the engine even shuts off, JJ not far behind him.
âHey!â the clerk yells. âWhat the hell is going on?â
âMike, did you see a woman here with a man, another officer?â Laneman asks.
âNo,â Mike says. âJust your men tearing up my drive like itâs the damn Indy 500.â
âThink, Mike,â Laneman urges. âDid you see Andrew?â
âAndrew?â Mike pauses, looking skyward. âYeah, actually, I think it was him. Had his sunglasses on, but he was with a woman. Not unusual for him, though, you know how that kid is.â
âWe donât care about his sex life,â Hotch interjects harshly. âDo you have cameras?â
âOne, it ainât great,â Mike says. âWhatâs this about?â
âWe need to see that footage,â Laneman says. âNow.â
âAlright, come on back. Youâll have better luck with the traffic camera, Iâm telling you.â
âYou go ahead and look at the footage with the deputy, JJ. Iâll call Garcia and get her to look at the traffic camera,â Hotch says, already pressing his phone to his ear.
But heâs not calling Garcia, not yet. She said your phone was still here. So where the hell is it?
He pulls his phone away from his ear as it rings, trying to listen for yours. His ears lead him to the trash can at pump three, and when he looks down into it, he sees it. His face, lit up on your screen.
Something wretched tugs at his heartstrings, seeing that photo. Itâs a close up that you took of him the first time you met, ten years ago. He expects his name in your phone to be what it used to be: Hotch (BAU). But itâs not. Youâve changed it.
Aaron is all it says. He reaches in and grasps your phone, pulling it out. He goes to your call log, sees your call with Garcia, but sees something else, too. Something else that makes it feel like his chest is ripping open.
You tried to call him. It mustâve only rang once, or barely began to, because he didnât receive the call on his end. But you tried. Youâre in trouble, and you called for him.
Tears sting his eyes as he pockets your phone, returning to his previous task. âPenelope, I need you to look at the traffic camera outside the gas station,â he instructs once she picks up, having no time for pleasantries.
âOne step ahead, boss, I am just about to get my hands on that footage.â
Hotchâs smile is watery. âThank you.â
He waits for her confirmation that sheâs got it, and while he is, the rest of the team comes screeching into the lot, the cars practically on two wheels.
âShe was here,â Hotch relays the information to Reid, Morgan, Rossi, and Prentiss. He pats his suit pocket. âI have her phone, he tossed it in the trash, probably when she tried calling me. I didnât get the call, but itâs on the log, so she definitely tried. Garciaâs getting the footage from the traffic cam--â His words stop short when he hears Garcia gasp loudly on the other end. âPenelope?â
âSorry sir, IâllâŚIâll send the footage, but itâs--â
âWhat is it, Garcia?â
Hotch can hear the emotion in Garciaâs voice as she speaks, âOh my god, I think he drugged her.â
Morgan pulls the footage up on his phone just as Hotch turns around, pinching the bridge of his nose to stop the tears from escaping. This wasnât how things were supposed to go. You were supposed to be in Quantico. Safe. Away from all of this.Â
Instead, by telling you to go, Hotch might as well have handed you over to the unsub himself.
He inhales shakily, hanging up on Garcia and taking a walk to the far end of the lot. Distantly, he hears one of his team membersâ phones ringing, Garcia probably calling one of them instead.
With his back to his team and the officers, Aaron canât keep the tears at bay, and they flow heavy and warm down his cheeks, despite how hard he bites into his knuckles to keep himself grounded.
How could he do this to you? Why couldnât he have just listened? Why couldnât he have just kept you by his side until they brought the unsub in? Why did he have to push you away?
Why did he let you walk away?
Itâs going to haunt him for the rest of his life, this guilt. He knows it. Itâs going to follow him around like a soul-sucking shadow, always curled around his shoulders.
âAaron.â
âNot now, Dave,â Aaron bites out, voice weak and broken. He waves his hand over his shoulder at his well meaning friend. âJust-- Give me a second.â
Dave doesnât listen. He rounds on Aaron and stands face-to-face with him, a frown settling into his features.
âItâs not your fault,â Dave says.
Dave is wrong this time. Aaron knows it. But he doesnât say it.
Instead, he says, âI told her to go.â
âThat doesnât make this your fault,â Dave argues. âYou had no way of knowing--â
âBut I told her to go,â Aaron cries, shaking his fist at Dave, as if anything is going to make him understand this feeling. âI shouldâve told her to stay. She didnât want to go. But I told her she had to. I told her it wasnât safe here, but I shouldâve never let her go, I shouldâve-- I shouldâve gone with her.â
âAaron,â Dave tries. âAaron, we will find her.â
Aaron has no doubt about that. Because he doesnât know what the hell heâll do with himself if they donât find you. But as for what shape theyâll find you in, he doesnât know. Carter didnât hurt you when you were a kid, but that doesnât mean he wonât now. The circumstances are different this time around.Â
He feels like his ribcage is being forced open, like his own heart is trying to escape because itâs ashamed of his actions, ashamed that he would tell you to go when his heart was screaming that you should stay.
âGarcia is tracing the GPS in the car,â Dave says. âWeâre not going to stop until we find her. We need you to help us do that.â
âI know,â Aaron nods, sniffling, wiping his nose on his arm. âI know.â
Dave shakes his head, offering a comforting hand on Aaronâs shoulder.
âGod,â Aaron chuckles, but it turns into more of a sob. âSheâs never going to forgive me for this.â
All Dave can offer then is a frown, his hand squeezing Aaronâs arm.
After a few deep breaths and wiping his face, Aaron steels himself enough to return to the team where theyâve huddled near the gas pump where you and Andrew Robinson were last seen.
âThey went north,â Morgan says, pointing toward the road. âGarcia has tracked them as far as the state line, but she isnât getting anything anymore.â
âHe probably figured out how to disable the GPS,â Reid says.
âOr he ditched the vehicle,â Prentiss adds.
âMorgan, take Prentiss and JJ and drive to where Garcia last traced them. Knowing our unsub, he probably switched vehicles. Call the local police and have them meet you there, we donât know what youâll find,â Hotch instructs. âJJ, I want an APB out on the vehicle and Robinson. If heâs not taking backroads, someone has definitely seen him.â
âOn it,â she nods, stepping away with Morgan and Prentiss, already typing on her phone as the three of them jog toward the car.
Hotch pulls out his phone and starts dialling.
âWhat are we doing?â Reid asks, sharing a glance with Rossi.
âWeâre flying to Tennessee,â Hotch says while it rings, his previous distraught tone being replaced with one much more lethal. âDoug hasnât been answering his phone and Iâm tired of waiting.â
+++
When you peel your eyes open, the car is still moving, and you have an awful twinge in your neck from where your head is half hanging off the backseat. Not to mention, your head is absolutely pounding.
But when you try to move your limbs, you canât.
Panic immediately sets in, just as quickly as the realization does. Andrew is driving you God knows where, and there isnât a damn thing you can do about it because you canât move. You canât even make any noise, not that heâd hear you, because he has the radio blasting.
An old Beatlesâ song comes on, and you donât know the name of it, but part of you is glad it plays. It makes you think of Aaron, and the image of his face is enough to make you not panic as your eyelids slam shut again.
The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part thirty-seven
I am soooo sorry for what you're about to read. Genuinely so sorry
Warnings: the motherload of all angst tbh, if you're conflicted abt whose side to take (reader vs hotch) good bc me too, everything will be fine I promise!!!
Dave takes one of the bureau SUVs back to the hotel to grab the rest of the team. Aaron tucks you into the passenger seat of the other and takes you for a drive to help you calm down, and because heâs at a loss for what to do next. You want to go to the precinct, but heâs not sure youâre ready yet.Â
Or maybe heâs not ready. Maybe all he wants to do is drive straight to the airstrip, call the pilot on the way, and take you home-- back to Quantico.
He wants you somewhere safe, and right now it seems like the safest place is the BAU offices. He wants you there, working with Garcia, in a protected federal building. He wants you far from here, far from whatever caused you to sob so hard you couldnât stand.
But he doesnât think youâll agree to do that, especially not with this new piece of information -- that still isnât entirely clear to him because youâve only just begun to calm down. He wants to wait for your breathing to even out before he tries to ask another probing question about what happened in the diner with Darlene.
He takes another left turn, driving in circles at this point, his brain doing the same. Eventually, you take one last shuddering inhale before your breathing smooths out. Your hand reaches for his and he takes it with a small smile, glancing over to make sure youâre okay. Your response is a drained, barely-there smile.
âCan we head to the precinct now?â you ask, sniffling once, but your breaths remain calm and steady. âWe need to try to reach him.â
Aaronâs heart clenches. âReach who, honey?â
âOfficer Robinson,â you reply, eyebrows furrowing like youâre not quite registering what you have and havenât told Aaron yet. âI need to talk to him. I think heâsâŚâ
The pieces click together in Aaronâs mind, the fragmented words you were crying through earlier. âYour brother?â
You nod slowly. âDarlene said she wasnât sure because no one ever saw a paternity test, but it was one of the rumors around town that wasâŚtoo specific to be just a rumor. Too much of it lined up.â
Aaron squeezes his hand. He doesnât like how shaken up you were when you came out of that diner, and he definitely doesnât like that it was because of something Darlene said. After yesterday, he doesnât trust what that woman says, but for some reason you do, and for the life of him, Aaron canât wrap his head around it.Â
But he doesnât want to say anything about it right now and risk sending you into another panicked state so quickly.
âOkay,â he says instead, turning to head back to the precinct. âWeâll talk more about it at the station.â
You nod and settle down into the seat, pulling his hand closer to you, curling around his arm as little as you can.
+++
Youâre feeling slightly more yourself when you enter the precinct, albeit absolutely exhausted from being awake since five and then your emotional whiplash talk with Darlene.
The team is waiting for you and Hotch in the small conference room. Youâre not sure how much Rossi has told them, but judging by some of their expressions, you can assume he told them enough.
âHere, why donât you sit?â Hotch moves to pull a chair out for you.
âIâm fine,â you wave him off, but you donât miss the concern that flashes in his eyes before he relents. You stand up by the board, by the letter the unsub wrote to you and left on Richardâs body, by the bracelet of childish charms that now make perfect sense. âDo we know where Officer Robinson is?â
No one answers. You turn your head and meet Rossiâs eyes, expectant.
âIâll go ask the deputy,â he nods, disappearing from the room.
âDougâs son isnât his -- biologically,â you begin, looking up and tapping the Dougâs Deli newspaper clipping you tacked up yesterday. âBut he treated him like his own. And Doug never married Laura Robinson, but they did have plans to elope, until Doug found out about her affair. They had been living together and trying for a baby when Carter -- Officer Robinsonâs first name -- came along. Doug figured out the kid wasnât his, but he was willing to look past it -- the lies, the infidelity -- when he found out who the real father was. But Laura didnât want to.â You pause, crossing your arms over your chest, some futile protective gesture. âShe moved back to Georgia and took Carter with her. Except that Carter sometimes spent weekends with Doug, and no one could understand why Laura let him do that, until Darlene figured out one day who Laura was coming to see.â You inhale sharply. âMy father.â
Morgan is the first to blurt out âWhat?â
Emily is next with âWait.â
âSo Robinson is yourâŚhalf-brother?â Reid says slowly, and skeptically.
You open your mouth to respond, but you donât get a chance before Rossi is returning with the deputy in tow.
âCan I ask what all this is about?â Deputy Laneman asks with a tick of his jaw.
Hotch speaks up. âDeputy, we just need to speak with Officer Robinson and ask him some questions.â
âAbout?â
Hotch levels his gaze, clearly irritated already with how defensive Laneman is. âThis case. Richard Monroeâs death. Officer Robinson called it in, did he not?â
âHe was on patrol that night, I scheduled him myself, he wasnât anywhere he wasnât supposed to be.â
âBe that as it may, deputy, new information has come to light, and we need to speak with him,â Hotch says. âAnd if you continue to keep us from doing so, I might start to think youâre the one who needs to be questioned next.â
Laneman works his jaw. âFine. Robinsonâs off today. Iâll call him.â
âHave officers go to his house,â Hotch says. âWe need to speak with him urgently, and I donât want to risk him not seeing his phone.â
Laneman looks ready to spit fire, but he agrees. âFine. Iâll send some men out to his house.â
When the deputy leaves the room, Hotch watches him go, narrows his eyes. He waits a beat.
âMorgan, Prentiss, go with the officers to see if Robinson is at home,â he instructs quietly. âRossi, take Reid and join the officers on the patrol, look for Robinsonâs car, anything around the area at any restaurants, stores, gas stations, the gym-- just find him. JJ, get ahead of the press if you can, I donât know that I trust this to not get out with how Laneman is acting.â
Youâre not surprised to find that this leaves you with Hotch -- and JJ, though she steps out into the hall to handle phone calls, and to speak with the remaining officers about keeping this under wraps.
You finally sit down, leaning your head onto one of your hands. âThis is-- If this is true, Hotch.â
âI know,â he sighs, sitting down next to you, reaching for your free hand. âLetâs just find Officer Robinson first and ask him some questions.â
âWhat if what Darlene said is true?â you whisper. âWhat if he is my brother?â
âLetâs not get ahead of ourselves,â he says, squeezing your hand. âWe donât know that itâs true. We know Laura is his mother, that he was raised in Georgia, but we donât know for sure yet that he--â
âBut everything she said, it--â You shake your head, pulling your hand from his, and a stricken expression crosses his face as you start to pace the length of the room. âIt makes sense. And I-I remember him. I remember a young boy. Laura used to live here and date Doug, had an affair with my father, and-- They were friends! He was friends with Doug, yet he had sex with Laura and ruined their friendship, a child comes of it and he tells her she canât stay here, not with a kid now too, because my dad had met my mom by then, and they were engaged by then. So he kept going to Georgia to see Laura, and she kept coming here, and he was-- I donât know, was he murdering the women in Atlanta because he feltâŚguilty? Do you think he felt guilty about having an affair? Is that why he went after sex workers? He saw them as a representation of his own infidelity and killed them for it.â
You spin around to find Hotch still sitting, and his expression is pained. His eyes narrowed in concern, a frown set deep in his lips.
âWhat?â you nearly snap. âWhy are you looking at me like that?â
âSit down, please,â he whispers, gesturing to the chair you were just in.
âNo,â you murmur, shifting your weight on your feet. âBecause I feel like whatever youâre about to say is just going to make me stand up and pace again, so. What is it?â
He sighs, but he remains sitting, not challenging you. âI think you should go back to Quantico and work on the case from there with Garcia -- if you feel comfortable continuing to work on it.â
You stare at him. And stare. And stare.
When you donât speak, Aaron stands slowly like youâre a frightened animal that heâs worried heâll spook. âI think you need to take a break. This case is wearing on you. You couldnât walk earlier, honey--â
âDonât call me that right now,â you snap.
He nods, but continues. âI think you want what Darlene says to be true because you want to be able to trust someone from your past. You want to have someone like her in your life, someone who remembers your past and can give you the answers you need, but Iâm not certain that sheâs a reliable source. I think sheâs harming you more than sheâs helping--â
You ignore the fact that heâs profiling you within an inch of your life and instead take a jab at him. âSo youâre just sending me away? Thatâs it? Thatâs your solution?â
âThatâs not-- Itâs not about me sending you away, itâs about keeping you sane, and keeping you safe.â He gestures at you. âYouâre exhausted.â
âAnd no one else is?â
âNo one else on this team is hunting for their kidnapper,â he says, âor brother.â
You glare at him. âSo you do believe Darlene? Or you donât? Which is it?â
âI think what she says holds some truth,â he admits, albeit reluctantly. âWe just need to figure out how much truth before we jump to any conclusions.â
âLike sending me away.â
He sighs. He looks away from you. âI have been thinking of broaching this subject since we got here. That first night when you had a panic attack and couldnât read the letter.â
You fume silently. Clearly heâs already made up his mind and nothing you say will change his decision. He canât exactly force you onto the plane, but if he doesnât want you here, why try to stay?
âWhy are you pushing me away?â you ask outright, unable to keep it in. It sounds ridiculous and you know it does, but here you are.
Youâre already walking a thin, vulnerable line after finding out the man who kidnapped you when you were younger might actually be your half-brother, and that his motives maybe werenât as sinister as you had always been told to believe. But in fact, they were the actions of a neglected child begging to be seen by his father -- something that, God help you, you can relate to.Â
But to have Aaron suggesting this, wanting you to go back to Virginia, all under the guise of thinking itâs safer, well. You donât know what to make of it. Other than the fact that it hurts.
âIâm not,â he says quietly. âIâm not pushing you away.â
âThen why does it feel like it?â you protest, angry tears beginning to break. âIt just feels like that night at Daveâs house all over again.â
Aaron tilts his head, completely lost now. âWhat do you mean?â
âI mean, every time we get close, you just--â You wave your hand. âSomething happens. The âracoons,â if those were even real, and now, the day after we have sex, you want me gone?â
âThe racoons were real! But-- Youâre the one who snuck out last night,â he reminds you. âIâm the one who woke up to an empty bed.â
âBecause I knew you wouldnât have agreed to let me speak to Darlene again!â you cry. âBecause I knew you wouldnât have let me go alone! And you still didnât.â
âAnd Iâm glad I didnât!â he fires back. âBecause you couldnât even walk when you got out of there!â
âI wouldâve been fine!â you protest. âIâve dealt with this without you before, I wouldâve been fine this time!â
Aaron watches you, tears brimming his own eyes, and you have no idea why. Heâs the one telling you to go. Heâs the one doing this to the two of you. Heâs the one ripping the two of you apart.
âI donât want to go back to Quantico,â you say quietly, sniffling. âBut if you tell me to go, Iâll leave.â Leave, quit, resign, walk away. Theyâre all the same. Aaron knows it just as well as you do. âSo?â
He doesnât want to say it. You can see it all over his face. All he has to do is say stay here, donât go.
But he doesnât.
âPlease,â he says, voice quiet, broken, the syllables all jagged. âGo back to Quantico. Itâs safer for you there.â
You nod once. Thatâs that, then.
âI can drive you,â he offers.
âNo,â youâre quick to reject it. âNo, if youâre forcing me to go, I can drive myself.â
âIâll call the pilot--â
âI can do that myself, too.â
He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. âPlease. Iâm not doing this to slight you, or-- or to punish you. Please tell me you understand that.â
âIâll head to the hotel and grab my things,â you mutter, ignoring his pleas as you head for the door. âThen head straight to the airport.â
âLet me know when you land in Quantico, at least. Please.â
You laugh, a bitter sound as you twist the handle. âSure. Let me know when you find my brother.â
+++
Aaron sits in the conference room, the resounding slam of the door from when you left ringing in his ears. He wants to give you space. He told you to leave. He knew you wouldnât like it. He doesnât even like it. But itâs for the better.
But the look on your face, when he told you to go. Itâs going to haunt him for years.
He waits a few more moments before following your path out of the room and into the bullpen. He glances around, but he doesnât spot you anywhere, so he heads outside.
After scanning the parking lot, he curses under his breath. The other bureau vehicle is gone, which means youâve already left for the airport. Alone.
Aaron had hoped to find you still sitting in the driverâs seat of the car, so maybe he couldâve tried to apologize, at least tried to mend some of this before you left, but heâs too late. He waited all of three minutes, and heâs too late.
He knows if he tries to call you right now, youâll just send him to voicemail. And if he goes to the hotel to intercept you there, he risks making this worse and losing you forever. All he can do is wait for you to tell him that youâve reached Quantico.Â
He heads back inside, passing JJ and asking her to call the pilot and let him know heâs needed soon. Just in case it slips your mind, but really itâs Aaron wanting to help. To take one more thing off your plate, even if he knows itâll upset you when he finds out JJ called the pilot.Â
Still, Aaron tries to let it go. He goes back to the conference room, pacing in front of the board just like you had, and glancing at his phone every five seconds, looking for text messages from you that wonât appear.
He caves about fifteen minutes later and tries to call you, but the line is busy. Youâre probably talking to Garcia, telling her youâre heading to Quantico and talking shit about him in the same breath. If you are, he doesnât blame you. He waits.
Aaron waits, and waits, and wishes he knew what he was doing. Wishes he knew exactly where you were.
JJ comes into the conference room, eyebrows furrowed down at her phone.
Hotch looks up. âWhat is it?â
âThe pilot,â JJ shakes her head. âI gave him an ETA for her based on when she left, but he said she still hasnât shown up at the airstrip. Have you talked to her?â
âNo,â Hotch says regretfully. âShe was angry with me when she left, so sheâs not speaking to me.â
âIâm trying to call her now,â JJ nods, phone pressed to her ear. But she pulls it away all too quickly. âVoicemail.â She tries again, and gets the same outcome.
Hotch, against his better judgement, and fueled by some delusion thinking youâd send JJ to voicemail but answer him, tries to call you. It cuts out, goes to voicemail.
His phone starts ringing a second later, and he jumps, thinking itâs you, but itâs not. âGarcia,â he answers.
âHey boss,â she says, sounding concerned. âI was just-- She told me to call you and let you know that theyâre on the way to the airport.â
Hotchâs spine straightens. âThey?â He puts the phone on speaker, placing it on the table between him and JJ. âPenelope, who is they?â
âShe said, âOfficer Robinson and I are headed to the airport, be sure to let Aaron know.â She sounded like she was reading off a script, Hotch, it was creepy. I donât like whatever this is--â
âPenelope,â he says slowly, trying to keep his own composure as JJâs eyes widen. âI need you to trace her phone for me.â
âOh, trust me, I started doing that as soon as she started speaking, I knew something was off,â Garcia says, keyboard already clacking, and Hotch has never loved her more than he does in this moment. âIâve been digging into Andrew Robinson some more too, I know we ruled him out initially because he wasnât raised there, but Iâve just been looking around. His real name is Carter, though, and get this, he spent a lot of time in that town with--â
âDoug, we know,â Aaron interjects, not unkindly, just fucking stressed. âDoug treated him like a son because he was in a relationship with Robinsonâs mom before he found out about the affair, but he wanted to look past it.â
âWoah. But I canât find anything on Carterâs real father, itâs like the guy doesnât even exist--â
âItâs Carson Adkins,â Hotch sighs. âOr Darlene thinks it is, and Iâm starting to think sheâs right. Garcia, do you have eyes on her?â
âHer phone says sheâs at a gas station not far from you. They must be getting gas or something, they havenât moved.â
âThank you,â Hotch exhales, grabbing his phone and leaving the conference room, heading straight for Deputy Lanemanâs office. âIâll call you with updates.â
âBe safe, sir.â
âThank you,â he says, hanging up as he opens Deputy Lanemanâs door without even knocking.
âMy men just spotted Officer Robinson at the Shell on Hickory,â Laneman says, already standing and setting the phone down. âHeâs--â
âWith one of my agents, that I just sent home,â Hotch finishes, giving Laneman no room to question him on it. âSheâs in trouble.â
The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part thirty-six
I feel like I can't say a damn thing in this note because we get answers in this chapter and they are đŤŁđŤŁ Anyway happy reading!
Warnings: angst so much angst, Hotch being his way too overprotective self but also he has good reason, oh southern gossip you are so special to me but so damaging sometimes
Aaron sleeps like a rock. Youâre not sure if itâs a combination of general exhaustion and coming down from the sex, but he doesnât move at all when you sneak out of bed around five a.m.
You pull some pajamas over your body and step out into the hallway, typing in Darleneâs number that she gave you. You think about just sending a text, but at the last second, you hit call.
It rings twice. Halfway through the third, the line connects. âYâello?â
âDarlene?â you whisper. âItâs me.â
She laughs, and you hear glass clinking. She must already be in the kitchen. âI figured it was you, kid. Youâre lucky Iâm an early riser.â
âSorry,â you grimace. âI didnât think.â
âItâs alright, sweet pea,â she replies. âIâm at the diner just getting started on todayâs pie. What do you need?â
You chew on the inside of your cheek, unsure of how to ask. Unsure of what to even ask. âActually, it might be easier if I come to the diner.â
âDoorâs open,â she says. After a beat, she adds, âAre you okay, kid?â
âYeah, yeah,â you rush to ease her concern, though you donât know why. Itâs obvious something is on your mind. Why else would you call her at five in the morning? âIâll be there soon.â
âJust you?â
You glance over your shoulder at the shut hotel room door. Where, just beyond it, Aaron sleeps peacefully. Peace that you know will be disturbed when he wakes and finds you gone. âYeah,â you say. âJust me.â
As quietly as you can, and with pausing every few seconds when you think you hear Aaron stirring, you put on some clothes and shoes, strapping your gun to your hip just in case and covering it with your shirt and jacket. You grab the note pad every hotel has and write a quick note to Aaron, just in case: Gone out to grab some breakfast. Be back in a bit. You leave it on the nightstand next to his phone.
You grab the keys to the car and your purse, leaving the room like a ghost. The hallway is empty, yet you still look both ways to ensure the coast is clear before heading for the stairs.
Once downstairs, you can finally breathe, nodding to the woman at the front desk. She tips her coffee toward you in greeting, though thereâs a slight twinge of confusion in her brows.
Youâre nearly free, but you turn the corner, and you almost jump out of your skin.
âBit early for breakfast,â Rossi says from the lobby chair, glancing at his watch for emphasis. His other hand rests comfortably around a complimentary cup of hotel coffee. âGoing somewhere?â
You just cross your arms over his chest. âSpying on me?â
He chuckles. âI heard every word of your conversation, kiddo. I was already awake, but hotel hallways echo.â
âIâm just going to see Darlene,â you explain, even though he clearly knows that already. âI left Aaron a note.â
Dave raises an eyebrow, but you know heâs not surprised about Aaron being in your bed. âHeâs not awake?â
âNo,â you reply, though with every ticking second, it becomes more of a possibility. You mustâve caught him deep in REM sleep because he doesnât normally sleep that hard. âDave. I need to do this -- alone.â
He sighs. âWhat does she know?â
âMore than she had time to tell us yesterday,â you say. âAnd I wasnât expecting to run into anyone I would know here, let alone anyone who would remember me or my parents, so I wasnât prepared. But I am now.â
âQuestions that canât wait another couple hours? Or even for someone to go with you?â Rossi argues, though with him itâs much clearer that it comes from a place of worry, of fatherly concern.
âYes,â you reply confidently. âAnd questions that I need to be alone to ask her. I think Hotch being with me scared her and she wasnât saying everything she couldâve.â
Dave sits up in the chair. âWhy?â
âI donât know,â you shake your head. The elevator dings and your eyes dart toward it, but itâs no one you know. âPlease.â
âAlright,â Rossi relents. âWhere are you going?â
âThe diner Hotch and I went to,â you say, your feet already moving toward the doors. âAcross from the train tracks. Iâll be back in an hour, two tops. Seriously.â You pause at the doors, turning back to look at him. âIf Aaron asks, donât let him come after me. Iâll be fine.â
Rossi nods once, though he doesnât seem happy at all about agreeing to this. âOkay.â
âThank you,â you breathe, pushing through the doors and sprinting to the car.
+++
Aaron wakes half an hour later to an empty bed. He had heard you get up, but in his half-asleep state, he thought you were just going to the bathroom.
Clearly, he was wrong.
Once it sets in that the bed is cold and you are gone, he practically flies around the room, checking for you in the bathroom, behind the curtains, outside in the hall. But youâre nowhere.
He takes long strides to his phone, checking for texts that are nonexistent. His eyes glance next to the notepad. A simple note. Youâve gone out for breakfast. But when did you write this? Itâs barely six a.m. now, how long have you been gone? Why didnât he notice sooner?
He dials Rossiâs number and his friend answers on the first ring. âWhere is she?â
Rossi hesitates. Itâs enough to convict him in Aaronâs eyes.Â
âDave,â Aaron bites out, already searching for pants and a shirt. âWhere did she go?â
âSheâs coming back,â Dave says, as if Aaron gives a fuck about that. Youâre out there right now, alone, in the town you were first kidnapped in, when the unsub is no doubt out there too, probably watching your every move. âShe just needed time.â
âTime for what?â Aaron puts Dave on speaker while he gets dressed faster than he ever has, rivaling his time when the BAU gets a call in the middle of the night. He pauses. âDid she go to see Darlene?â
Rossi is quiet. Aaron curses.
âI donât like this, Dave,â Aaron hisses. âDarlene lied to us. She said Doug had a son, and he doesnât.â
âWhy would she lie about that?â
âI donât know!â Aaron cries. âBut if sheâs hiding something, or not telling the truth on purpose, I donât like it, whatever the reason for it, and--â
âOkay,â Dave sighs. âIâll drive.â
+++
Darlene is waiting outside the diner when you arrive, a cigarette pursed between her lips. She smiles when she sees you park and cross the tracks.
âI hope you still know how to bake,â Darlene says while she stomps out the cigarette. âI need an extra pair of hands.â
âPut me to work,â you grin, kind of relieved at the prospect of talking while doing something with your hands. Itâll take the pressure off, keep your hands occupied. âCan I ask you some questions while we work?â
âIâm an open book,â she promises, pulling open the door. âAsk away.â
You follow her inside and back to the kitchen, tying the apron around your waist when she hands it to you. You wait for her instructions.
Youâre mid-way through heating the pie filling on the stove when you pitch your first question. Or, rather, the first statement.
âOur technical analyst did some digging,â you begin, âand she found that Doug doesn't have a son.â
Darlene chuckles, but itâs a bitter and hard sound. âWell, then I guess Doug got his wish.â
Your head turns at that. âWhat do you mean?â
She just sighs, continuing to work the pie crust on the counter. âDougâs son, Carter, isnât biologically his. Carterâs mom was having an affair, and when she had Carter, Doug knew it wasnât his. She tried to say he was, but Doug didnât believe her.â
âWow,â you say, because you canât think of anything else. âSo thatâs why his name wasnât on the birth certificate. It was just his mom.â
Darlene nods. âThatâll be why. So, Carter lived with his mom over in Georgia, and occasionally spent time with Doug here. I donât honestly know why his mom let him do that, I guess because she and Doug loved each other, and for what itâs worth, Doug was willing to look past the cheating.â
âWhat?â
âYes maâam,â Darlene continues to nod. âDoug was prepared to look past it all and stay with her and raise Carter as his own since his real father was not in the picture anymore, but she didnât want that. She moved back with her mom in Georgia and took Carter with her, but let him visit with Doug. I always thought she did it when she needed a babysitter and her mom was busy, 'cause she knew Doug would always say yes. He loved that kid.â
âLoved?â you raise an eyebrow. âNot anymore?â
âThey donât speak anymore, last I heard,â Darlene says, shaking her head. âItâs a shame. Doug moved away to Tennessee a while back. Carter,â she glances at you carefully, adding, âyou might remember him, actually, Iâm sure he hung out with your dad and Doug at those bonfires your daddy always threw. Back when they could stand to spend an evening together.â
You shake your head. âItâs all so vague. I think Iâve blocked most of it out, or at least, my mind put such a sheen on it that I canât really see any of it clearly anymore.â
âOh, hon,â Darlene frowns, arms twitching like she wants to reach out and hug you. âWell, I suppose thatâs for the better. Thereâs a lot of stuff that I hope you donât remember.â
You decide to fish for one of them. âDoes my dad shooting the floor Dougâs Deli ring any bells?â
Darlene curses. âIt does.â
âDo you have any idea what that was about?â you ask, desperate to understand. âAll Iâve got is that my dad was looking over my shoulder when he shot the floor, but I donât know who he was looking at. Doug?â You pause. âCarter?â
Darlene shakes her head, but you get the feeling that she isn't exactly denying your guesses. âNone of us really know what happened that day,â she admits. âBut after it happened, me and Cindy tried to have an intervention with your mom. She didnât take it well, or, I guess she took it better than we expected her to, but she still didnât leave him.
âAnd DougâŚI donât think Doug ever forgave him for shooting a hole in his trailer. It was obvious who the bullet was meant for, and it was obvious that your father was crazy enough to do it, but you were with him.â She shakes her head again. âI know thatâs the only reason Carter is still alive today.â
âBecause I was there?â your eyes are wide. âMy dad was going to shoot him but didn't because I was there?â
âThe boy was obsessed with you!â Darlene cries. âJust absolutely enamored with you, and your father hated it. Oh, it riled him up worse than anything when heâd invite Doug over and Carter came too.â
You still donât understand. âMy dad hated himâŚfor having a crush on me?â
âYes,â Darlene laughs, then shakes her head. âNo. Well, sort of. It wasnât a crush. It wasnât like that. He was obsessed with you. I think he meant well, a lot of people did, he was just a little too eager and a little too old for you, too, even to be friends. Five years makes a big difference at that age. And it was just,â she pauses, rolling the crust over the pan. She shakes her head again. âHe meant well.â
You narrow your eyes, staring down at the boiling fruit as you wrack your brain for any memories of a Carter, of a boy a little older than you, looking at you a little too much, trying to spend just a little too much time with you. Your brain conjures a murky vision of a face, and sandy blond hair, but nothing much else. Nothing you can confidently say means anything.
âDo you know where he is now?â you ask tentatively. You feel like Darlene wouldâve already mentioned it if it was information she was willing to disclose, and the fact that she hasnât is beginning to worry you a little. âWeâre gonna try to speak to Doug too,â you add, as if to tell her weâll find Carter one way or another. You donât want to believe that sheâs hiding anything from you intentionally, but she wonât quite look at you, and sheâs leaving obvious holes in her explanations.
You wait patiently, listening to her sigh, cuss under her breath. âHe doesnât go by Carter anymore. But heâs around.â
âAround?â you question, your heart lurching to your throat. âDarlene. What does âaroundâ mean exactly?â
âIt means, youâve prob'ly already talked to him,â she says, as if each word pains her to say. âItâs Officer Andrew Robinson, honey. Thatâs Dougâs son.â
+++
Dave parks the car in the lot across from the tracks, right next to yours. When Aaron goes for the handle, Dave locks the doors.
âYou need to wait,â Dave scolds him, free hand reaching out and gripping Aaronâs shoulder like heâs a flight risk -- because he is. âShe needs to do this alone.â
Aaron knows his friend is right, but it pains him to not be able to lay his eyes on you, especially after last night. It was always hard, heâll admit, being away from you, but the feeling has only grown stronger.
He doesnât know what heâs going to do. His gut tells him more and more with every passing second that it isnât safe for you here anymore, not right now, but he doesnât know if heâll survive you being far away from him.
But if they find this unsub, and itâs the same man that has been taunting and following you all these years, Aaron doesnât know what he might do to him -- and if he wants you to see that side of him.Â
+++
The world sways where you stand, and you narrowly avoid dropping the wooden spoon and splattering hot fruit everywhere and on the both of you. You sit it down on the spoon rest, leaning onto the counter for stability.
âOfficer Robinson?â you repeat quietly. âWhyâŚâ you shake your head, almost glaring at Darlene because why? âWhy didnât you say anything before? When we were first talking about Dougâs son, why didnât you mention that heâs still here? I donât understand why youâd-- why youâd keep that from me.â
âOh, honey,â Darleneâs frown deepens, wiping her hands on a towel. âBecause it took so long for that boy to let you go after you moved away -- we didnât know if heâd make it, honestly, he was that heartbroken. And when you showed up in here and didnât mention him at all, I thought-- Maybe he didnât recognize you, and maybe you didnât recognize him, and maybe thatâs all for the better. We all thought his infatuation with you was harmless back then, but when he heard you moved away and then we heard nothing about you ever again, it wasâŚlike he thought you had died.â
All you can think right now is: I wish I had. I wish I wasnât hearing any of this.
âYou shouldâve said something,â you hiss, ripping the knot out of your apron and yanking it over your head. âThis is an ongoing investigation, Darlene! My boss wanted to have you arrested for withholding information when he found out Doug didnât actually have a son!â
âBut Doug does!â
âNot on paper!â you shout, hating that youâre yelling at her like this, but youâre too frustrated, you canât stop it from boiling over. âCart-- Robinson might be Dougâs son in his eyes, but heâs not on paper, and Doug was never married!â
âThey might as well have been,â Darlene scoffs. âThe two of them were living together, they had plans to elope before he found out about the cheating!â
âBut they didnât!â You donât even know why youâre arguing with her about this. These are trivial details now; none of these matter. All that matters now is calling Officer Robinson in for questioning, and so you can get a good look at his face, and really hear his voice. âI need to get to the precinct. I need to-- I need to leave.â
âSweetheart, Iâm sorry.âÂ
You feel her hand reaching out for you, but you flinch away from it. âDarlene,â you exhale sharply. âI am going to do all that I can to make sure you donât get in trouble for any of this, but you cannot tell me any more lies. I donât care what the rumor mill says, I donât care what anyone âmight as well have beenâ. This is a homicide investigation. I need facts.â
âThen I need to tell you one more thing,â Darlene says, wringing her hands nervously. âAnd I know you said you donât care about the rumor mill, but thatâs part of what this is because it was never confirmed -- or...none of us ever saw a test.â
You wheel around, eyes narrowing. âA test for what?â
+++
The plan had been for Dave and Aaron to discreetly pull away when they first see you in the front of the diner, so as not to alert you to the fact that theyâve been watching and waiting. But when Aaron sees you flying out the front doors, tears streaming down your face and mouth open, choking on a sob, he doesnât give a fuck about any sort of plan.
He opens his car door and launches himself out of the seat, practically jumping over the train tracks entirely to reach you because you can barely walk. He thinks the worst: that youâre physically injured, that the unsub was in there hurting you.
When you meet him halfway, in the middle of the empty street, he expects you to be angry with him for being here, for coming along when Dave told him that you asked him specifically not to, but youâre sobbing too much to say anything. Youâre clinging to him with all your might, knees buckling, raw, angry, screaming sobs coming out of you. Sounds heâs never heard anyone make, sounds he canât believe are coming from you, and itâs shattering his heart into pieces, splintering all over his body.
âCome on, Iâve got you,â he focuses on getting you somewhere else. He lifts you into his arms when he realizes you canât move much more, and carries you bridal style over to the car.Â
Dave is already out of the car and opening up the back seat so Hotch can set you down. Youâre still clinging to him when he does, arms refusing to unlock themselves from around his neck.
âHoney,â Aaron cries, tears stinging his eyes just from seeing you like this. He presses a kiss to your forehead, tucking you into his chest, shushing you. âWhatâs going on?â
You try to get the words out, but your chest is heaving, your sobs wonât relent. All Hotch and Rossi can make out is one word: brother.
The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part thirty-five
Guys đđ GUYS!!! đ¤đ¤ Only took 35 mf chapters but we are finally here!! Enjoy đŤśđť
Warnings: SMUT 18+ only mdni!!, p in v, oral (f recieving), slight edging, these two just can't stop bickering for five seconds, angry but tender sex, Aaron being a little shit and R giving it back to him, protected sex for once (GASP i know), slight size kink (no one is shocked)
The late evening creeps in when Garcia finally gets back to you about what she has found on Doug.Â
The rest of the team have since gone to the hotel to check in and get settled, since only you and Hotch did so earlier, leaving you with said Unit Chief alone in the conference ro om at the police precinct. To say the air between the two of you has been tense puts it lightly. And it only gets worse the second Garcia delivers her findings.
âWhat do you mean youâve found nothing on Doug?â You nearly drop the fry youâre holding, you and Aaron just finishing up dinner when she called.
âI mean, thereâs nothing, lovely. He lives in Tennessee now in a little cabin outside Nashville, he doesnât run the deli anymore, heâs retired, and heâs got a squeaky clean record, not even a speeding ticket. Iâm sorry kids, even his credit card bills check out fine. The only questionable thing -- purely for the sake of his health -- that I can find is that he spends way too much money at a local coffee house.â
âWhat about his son?â
âI looked into that as well, andâŚIâm sorry, but it doesnât look like he has one. Heâs not listed as the father on any birth certificates, never paid any child support, heâs never even been married.â
âBut that doesnât make any sense,â you pick at your fingernails. âDarlene said--â
âThank you Garcia,â Hotch says, abruptly ending the call.
You shake your head. âI donât get it, she said--â
âIâm having Garcia look into Darlene as well,â Hotch admits quietly. âAfter this, I think itâs warranted.â
âBut Doug has a son, Aaron.â
âGarcia just said--â
âNo, youâre not listening to me,â you interrupt. âHe has a son. I remember him. I know he does.â
âListen,â he sighs. âItâs been a long day. I think we should head back to the hotel, get some rest--â
âYou donât believe me.â
âI think youâre tired,â he says carefully. âI think youâve had a long day. I think being back here is as mentally exhausting for you as it is physically, and I think youâre starting to confuse yourself.â
âConfuse myself?âÂ
He rubs his forehead. âI donât mean it in a negative way--â
âWhat other way could you possibly mean it?â you scoff. âIf you say you mean it in a caring way, I swear to God, Aaron.â
He says nothing.
You gather your things, and Hotch does the same, neither of you saying anything as you turn the lights out and leave the conference room for the night. Most of the officers have gone home, including the deputy, but a couple have stuck around, watching you and Hotch as you leave, no doubt looking to be in the middle of a lovers quarrel.
The drive back to the hotel is dead silent, and youâre glad youâre the one driving because you need something to do before you ram Hotchâs head into a wall.
When you park at the hotel, you slam the car door on your way out of it, not even bothering to look back and see if heâs following you inside. You stomp your way up the stairs, only not slamming the door to your room out of respect for your neighbors, but God.
He just keeps doing this. He keeps doubting you. You know it was twenty years ago, and you havenât been back here since then. But now you have and now memories are being jostled loose and you have to trust them. Why else would they be so vivid if they werenât real?
You donât care what he says. You can trust Darlene, you know you can. She would not lie to your face -- because why would she? What purpose would that serve? What would she gain from that?
Nothing, thatâs what, but instead, Hotch thinks she lied and now needs to do a background check on her to see all her dark secrets that sheâs apparently hiding.
You scoff at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Itâs ridiculous.
You need to talk to her again -- alone. How exactly youâre going to do that with Hotch breathing down your neck the whole time, you donât know. Youâll figure it out tomorrow, you guess.
You tug your shirt over your head, tossing it in the corner. Youâre just about to unbutton your pants when you hear soft knocks on the door. You tilt your head toward the sky, knowing exactly who it must be.Â
Still, you answer the door -- after a quick check through the peephole to determine that youâre correct. Aaronâs eyes dart to your chest in surprise before landing back on your face.
âMy bag is still in here,â he says, and the effort heâs using to keep his eyes on your face is straining his voice. âAnd Dave kicked me out.â
âRight,â you deadpan, opening the door further and nodding him inside. âIâm gonna shower.â
âOkay.â He shuts the door, flicking the deadbolt. âI can sleep on the floor.â
You roll your eyes, heading into the bathroom. âIâm not making you sleep on the fucking floor.â
âWell, you donât exactly sound like you want to sleep next to me.â
âProfiler of the year, everybody,â you announce to the room.
He looms behind you, meeting your eyes in the bathroom mirror. Meeting your glare. You drag the makeup wipe down your face, looking away from him when you start to feel the heat in his eyes settling into your gut.
You know youâre standing here in your bra, but he canât look at you like that.
âIâm mad at you,â you say instead, quiet as you toss the wipe.
âI know.â But he doesnât sound sorry for it.
âYouâre doing it again, Aaron,â you exhale, turning around and leaning back against the sink, crossing your arms over your chest protectively. âYouâre thinking Iâm not capable--â
âNo, no,â he steps into the bathroom, into your space, getting dangerously close to breathing the same air as you, âthat is not what Iâm doing--â
âYes it is!â
âNothing about this is me thinking youâre incapable, or bad at your job, or whatever your head is telling you.â
âWell then enlighten me, because my head is just telling me what Iâm seeing, clear as fucking day.â
He fucking laughs at you. âYou know what youâre doing?â
âWhat?â you snap, tilting your head up at him, challenging. âWhat am I doing?â
He leans over you, placing both hands on opposite sides of your hips, effectively pinning you to the sink. It makes your traitorous heart fluttter. âYouâre angry at me again for helping you.â
Your lips are just barely ghosting his when you hiss, âOh, fuck you.â
âYeah,â he leans even closer, kicking your legs apart and stepping between them, âI think I will.â
You donât have a second to spare before Aaronâs lips are on yours, hot and heavy and claiming. His hips press into yours and your lips part in surprise at how hard he already is. He takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth, coaxing you open for him, and youâre gripping his arms for stability, feeling his muscles straining with the weight of him as he holds himself up against the sink. He takes a step closer, as if he can get any closer to you, his arms wrapping around you to lift you up and onto the sink.
âFuck,â you moan, opening your legs wider for him, locking your heels together behind his back and pulling him into you. The action surprises him, his footsteps faltering and hips stuttering when you grind into him.
He reaches behind you and unclips your bra with one hand, pulling the straps down and tossing it away. Your hands claw at his shoulders, trying to convey what you canât say because words arenât working right now. He understands, though, he always understands you, and continues kissing you while he unbuttons his shirt with one hand. You shove it over his shoulders and down his arms, wasting no time before you grab the hem of his undershirt and pull it upwards.Â
Your hands smooth over his chest, whining into his mouth because finally, finally you can feel him. The hard ridges of the muscles in his shoulders, chest, his stomach. Your nails bite into his skin as you fight to pull him toward you, and he hisses, but he doesnât stop you, he growls into you, going for your neck.
âAaron,â you gasp, one hand going to the back of his head, tugging on his hair. âIâm still mad at you. This doesnât-- Fuck, this doesnât mean Iâm not mad at you--â
âYouâre always mad at me,â he breathes hot into your ear, nipping at your skin. âItâs so--â
âFrustrating?â you giggle.
âSexy,â he groans, going back for your lips. Theyâre going to be bruised in the morning if he keeps this up.
Youâre just about to ask for more when he reads your mind and picks you up off the counter, heading back into the room. You have no idea how he doesnât knock into the doorframe or trip over anything because he doesnât stop kissing you to look where heâs going.
He topples you both onto the bed, laughing when he nearly crushes you. Youâre giggling at his face, the way he went from blissful to genuinely concerned he was going to crush you underneath him.Â
âThese need to come off,â you grin, going for his belt and undoing it.Â
He lets you push them down his hips, all while heâs unbuttoning yours and tugging them away. Both pairs land in a pile somewhere, and just when youâre about to pull him back up to your face, he kneels down.
âNo,â you whine, trying to pull him up by his shoulders, but itâs no use. âAaron, stop, I need you inside me.â
âI will be,â he whispers, licking his lips, his eyes not at all focused on your face. He tongues at your clit through the fabric of your panties, and it sends such an electric shock through you that your back arches and your hips lift toward his mouth. âFiesty,â he smirks, easily pinning your hips down with his hands.
âStop teasing,â you protest. âJust fuck me already.â
âI said I will,â he chides, pulling your panties down and placing them on the floor. âFirst, youâre going to let me taste you.â
âYou can do that after--â
âJust shut up and let me,â he pauses to nudge your clit with his nose, his breath hitching. He grabs your hips and pulls you into him, getting comfortable. âGod, you are so--â
âFrustrated,â you quip, ready to kick him, but your heels just barely tap his back as he keeps you in place.
He smirks against you, dragging it out for another few seconds, and just when youâre about to seriously yell at him, he dives in.
âFucking shit--!â you curse, squirming against him as he starts at an unforgiving pace, tongue flicking against your clit and hands keeping you right where he wants you with no chance of escape. You feel your climax coming at a frightening pace. âAaron, Iâm gonna--â
He stops. He comes up for air, looking up at you with a dumbass grin on his lips that are shining with you. âWhatâs the matter?â
âYou little shit--â
He returns to your core, starting a little slower while the remnants of your previous ruined orgasm simmer just below the surface. He inserts one finger, then two, opening you up for him. He slowly increases the speed until youâre right on the edge again, and you expect it to be ruined, expect him to break away with some witty little smile, but he doesnât. He throws you right over the edge and doesnât stop. If anything, once you start cumming, he goes faster.
Youâre kicking his back now, wanting him to stop and yet keep going until you cum again, and he knows it. He knows exactly how you work. He slows down, letting you ride it out on his mouth until youâre just worked up enough to go again, and then he crawls up your body.
He kisses you sweetly, tongue darting between your lips without preamble. You can taste yourself and itâs somehow the hottest thing ever when youâre tasting it off his tongue.
âI donât have any condoms,â he admits against your lips. âWe donât have to--â
âIn my bag,â you gasp, hand reaching out beside you and gesturing toward it. âI think I have some.â
He pulls back, raising an eyebrow at you with that damn smirk. âSeriously?â
âDonât flatter yourself,â you grin, tapping his cheek lightly. âCouldâve been for someone else.â
Theyâre not. Theyâre not really in there for anyone, you just like to be prepared for anything. But Aaron doesnât need to know that. The flash of jealousy that you get in his eyes is just delicious.
Silently, he goes to your bag and grabs one, crawling back over you on the bed, condom in hand. âWho were they for?â
âAnyone,â you shrug, fingertips trailing up his arm. When you see heâs still staring you down, you whisper, âNo one.â
âThatâs what I thought,â he mutters, ripping the packet open with his teeth. He rolls the condom on and hauls your hips up, positioning himself right at your entrance.
When he finally pushes in, your eyes immediately roll back, but he stops. âLook at me,â he says, and you do, forcing your eyes to focus on him. When you do, youâre rewarded with him thrusting the rest of the way in, stretching you just right. His hips meet yours and he exhales shakily, stomach muscles flexing with how he holds himself back.
âAaron,â you groan, gripping his shoulders. âPlease.â
âI need a second,â he says through his teeth. âYouâre so warm.â
âYouâre so big.â
He hisses, leaning over you, inadvertently pushing further in and you gasp. âSorry, sorry-- was that a good noise?â
âYouâre so deep.â
âGood deep?â
You nod, lifting your hips, allowing him to slip in just a little bit further. âGod.â
âI know, honey, I know,â he whispers, capturing your lips again. âCan I move?â
âI might start drawing blood if you donât,â you laugh, digging your nails into his arms just slightly for emphasis.
âOkay, okay,â he laughs breathily, pulling his hips back before shoving in. You both curse, clinging to one another like your lives depend on it.
âDonât hold back,â you tell him, right into his ear when he buries his face in your neck. âFuck me, Aaron.â
He needs no further permission. If you thought his pace earlier was unforgiving, this is something else entirely. Youâre thankful heâs on top of you because you need something to cling to, and that something is wrapping your arms around his neck.
You can barely form words, let alone anything else as he rams into you so hard that you move upward on the bed. One arm holds himself up while the other wraps around you, holding you in place against him. Heâs already as deep as he can be, and you want more. You lift your hips and meet his thrusts, gasping when his movements stutter and you feel his hold on you tighten just that much more.
When you reach your peak a second time, it forces a choked moan from his chest, and he falls over onto his elbows, lips mashing into your forehead. His hips keep working lazily, dragging in and out, riding out your orgasm.
Youâre barely calmed down when youâre lifting your hips again, willing him to start moving again. He laughs against your neck, pressing a loving kiss there before he starts up again, slamming into you.
âOne more,â he rasps, one hand snaking down to rub your clit. âCan you give me one more?â
You donât know, but something tells you he wonât accept that answer, and you donât want that to be the answer. You want to cum around him again and to feel him cum in you, even if through the condom.
âCome on, honey,â he murmurs, lifting his head to watch you, slowing his hips so his thrusts are easy and deep. âOne more.â
When you shatter around him this time, it pulls him under too, and feeling him twitch inside of you makes your head spin and body arch into him all over again.
Heâs still cumming when he presses more of his weight onto you, and you sigh contentedly, feeling him all over. Chests heaving, rising and falling against one another, you shut your eyes and try to memorize this moment.
After a beat, he presses a kiss to your neck and asks, âAre you still mad at me?â
You roll your eyes, pulling his face toward yours to kiss his lips. âYes,â you smile against him. âA little.â
The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part thirty-four
Back to our regularly scheduled programming! đ¤
Warnings: our usual angst, these two are starting to bicker again (emotions are running high!!!), more pieces of our puzzle and a new face đ
You have got to stop agreeing to being trapped in a car with Hotch for an afternoon. Neither of you have an entirely pleasant time when youâre like this (read: the car chase, the many arguments). Except all those times before, Hotch had been driving. And this time, you are.
âLet muscle memory guide you,â he says, buckling himself in.
âAaron, I didnât drive when I lived here. I was a kid.â
âJust trust me.â
You glare at him, but you buckle yourself into the driverâs seat all the same. âFine.â
Forget the fact that you didnât drive when you were here -- because you left when you were thirteen -- but you also hardly remember living here. The memories are so hazy and broken.
Itâs so complicated. This place is as much home as Washington state, yet you only lived there in your teenage years. When you really think about it, deep down, this town is home. This is the place youâve always felt called to, while simultaneously being the one place you sought to avoid for the rest of your life. You hardly remember living here, years of blocking out memories and only seeing these streets in your nightmares, and yet, you remembered where to turn to go around the back of the schools late last night. You remembered where to go to find your old house, despite it being a library now.
âWhere are we going?â Hotch asks casually, resting his arm on the console in the middle.
You readjust your grip on the steering wheel, squeezing so hard it hurts a little. âDonât know.â
You turn down a side street, then another, weaving through the backroads until youâre at a spot you remember. The train tracks.
You turn into the small area under the bridge. Itâs a proper paved parking lot now, but back then, it was just gravel that served as extra parking for the strip across the tracks. A hair salon, diner, general store, and body shop all lined up next to the fire station.
âMy mom used to get her hair done here,â you murmur, nodding across the way. âWoman named Cindy. Looks like itâs aâŚâ you squint your eyes, then roll them. âOf course itâs a vape shop now.â
Hotch chuckles. âYeah. And a pool hall.â
âThat used to be the general store,â you say. You scan the other doors. The body shop looks like itâs still in use, though the garage has a cardboard CLOSED sign duct taped to it right now. And the diner-- âNo way.â
You open the car door with zero warning to Hotch, who scrambles to exit the car with you and join you outside.Â
âNo way itâs still open,â you almost laugh. So much has changed around here, youâre relieved to see something that is familiar.
âWill you please watch where youâre going,â Hotch mutters behind you, clearly bothered by you clambering across the train tracks without even looking or listening.
âOh, please, theyâd have the bells ringing,â you wave him off. âThey didnât even put the crossing arms up until a couple years before we moved.â
Heâs still muttering behind you, and you have to fight the smile that wants to crawl up your face.Â
You at least look before crossing the street, even though no one is out. Itâs a little strange, considering itâs lunch time, but everywhere looks pretty barren.
A red and blue Open sign is lit up in the dinerâs window, though, and thatâs all you need to see.
The bell above the door dings as you and Aaron enter. As with any small town, all the heads turn to see who just walked into the local diner.
You meet the eyes of an elderly couple sitting at the counter, and a waitress on her break with headphones jammed in her ears. The woman behind the counter doesnât look up from the coffee sheâs brewing.
âSit anywhere youâd like, Iâll be over in a second,â she calls out.
Hotch moves toward the booth right by the door, but you stop him instinctively, saying, âThe AC leaks there.â You pause. âOr it used to.â
The woman hears you, turning her head and raising an eyebrow. âSheâs right,â she says. âIt ainât much, but some folks donât like their pie being waterboarded.â
You snicker. Hotch looks simultaneously amused and out of his depth.
âHere,â you nod to a different booth, just a few away from the elderly couple. âWe wonât freeze to death here -- or get waterboarded.â
Hotch slides in across from you. âYouâre remembering this place?â
You nod, looking all around you. The tiles are the same colors, though theyâve probably been replaced. Same with the booths. The coffee pots certainly havenât had an upgrade, but youâll bet the coffee is good. You never had any as a kid, but you loved the smell of it, and sometimes your mom would let you have a sip of hers.Â
The woman behind the counter reads your mind, coming over with two mugs and filling them near to the brim with black coffee. She steps back, looking down at you with narrowed eyes. âYou from here?â
âUhâŚâ You let out an awkward laugh, moving the mug closer to you. âKind of.â
âKind of?â Her name tag reads Darlene. You donât recognize her face, but she is an older woman, so maybe you saw her when you were younger, if sheâs worked here that long.
âItâs complicated.â
âAinât it always,â she sighs. She looks at Hotch. âWhat do you want, sugar?â
âThe coffee is fine,â he says.
Darlene glances back at you, her face asking this is the company you keep?
âWeâll have todayâs pie,â you say with a smile.
âItâs cherry.â
âThatâs perfect.â Itâs not. You hate cherry pie. But the last thing you need is for the two of you to get zero information because Hotch is too busy being Mister Guard Dog.
âAlright,â Darlene turns on her heel. âHoller if you need anything. Dee, yâall ready to pay?â
The elderly couple behind Hotch nods and waves some cash at Darlene. They argue about how much theyâre tipping and it makes you laugh.
âLighten up a little,â you lightly kick Hotchâs leg under the table.
âSorry,â he says, finally cracking a tiny smile. âYou donât like cherries,â he whispers.
âShhh!â you hiss. âThatâs not the point. The point is, she seems like she might know me--â
âI noticed.â
â--or maybe remembers my mom or something, so I want to try to ask her some questions--â
âOkay.â
âBut I canât do that if you keep acting likeâŚthat,â you give him your best glare. âBe nice.â
âI am nice!â
âSure.â
Now he gives you his best glare.
The couple pays and leaves, the old man holding the door for his wife despite her grumbling about it. The waitress on her break gets up and heads outside after them.
Darlene walks over with two slices of pie -- apple pie. She sets them down in front of the both of you, grabbing another mug from the counter, this one already full of coffee.
Hotch glances at you, then back to Darlene as she pulls up a chair and sits at the end of the table.
âAlright, out with it,â she huffs, nodding toward you. âThereâs only one reason youâre back in this town and thereâs no way itâs good news.â
You blink. âYou know who I am?â
âIâm not that old, sweetheart,â Darlene laughs, but itâs good-natured. Homely. Reminds you of your mom. âYou and your momma used to sit at that booth over there before Cindy colored her hair and trimmed yours. Until the AC started leaking and your coloring book got water spots all over it, and Lord, you were a sight that day.â
âWas I upset?â you chuckle. âWait-- You used to have red hair!â
âI did,â Darlene nods, pleased that you remembered. âBlack covers up my grays better. Anyway, of course you were upset, those were fine art! You were calmed down with a slice of apple pie, though.â
You lower your eyes to the plate before you. âCaught.â
âYou never used to have trouble asking for what you really wanted,â Darlene comments. âNot with your mom, anyway.â
Across the table, Aaron tenses.
You pick up your fork, stabbing at the pie to occupy yourself. âWas IâŚever in here with my dad?â
Darlene nods very slowly. âOnce or twice.â
âWhat was his behavior like?â Hotch asks.
Darlene cuts her eyes to Hotch before looking at you. She gestures at him with her coffee. âIs he serious?â
âWeâre investigating something in town, and itâs-- I think itâs a big spider web and my dad is at the heart of it.â
Darlene sighs, takes a sip of her coffee, looks out the front window. âI told your momma she needed to divorce that man. She needed to get him the hell away from you. And when we heard you were kidnapped, we just knew it was him--â
âMy dad didnât kidnap me,â you interject. You donât know why youâre defending him, or why you feel like you should. âHe was missing, he turned himself in to help find me.â
âTurning himself in was the least he could do after he let that man take you,â Darlene hisses.
Your mind reels, replaying her words. After he let that man take you.Â
âYou know who it was?â Hotch questions.
âWe have some ideas,â Darlene scoffs. âRick, for starters. They met here once, started talking all funny and laughing too loud-- They were drunk at 10am. Probâly high too. I kicked them out. Told them they could go drink on the train tracks for all I cared.â
âRick?â you ask. âDo you remember his last name?â
âStarted with an M or an N,â she shrugs. You and Hotch share a look. âHell, itâs been twenty years, honey. Iâm still not convinced youâre not a ghost. We all thought when your mom took you away from here that youâd never set foot near this state ever again -- for good reason, too.â
âBelieve me, I tried,â you laugh bitterly. âDo you remember anyone else he met with here?â
âDoug,â she adds. âHe used to own the deli on the other side of town. He and your father never got along, though, I donât know why they kept trying to be friends. He was here with his son when your dad walked in. That was the second time I kicked your dad out of here, and it was for good that time.â
âWere they arguing?â Hotch prompts.
Darlene nods firmly, pure hatred in her eyes. âShoutinâ at each other like they had nothing else better to do. In front of God and everybody.â
âDo you remember what they were arguing about?â Hotch asks.
Darlene nods again. At you.
âMe?â you sit back, confused. âWhat about me?â
âOh, we all had opinions, honey, about your father. Sometimes people got loud about it. Them two were going at it because Doug thought Carson was a bad father -- hard to argue with -- and Carson made some jab at Doug for being divorced before their baby was even born-- It was awful. It didnât get too far before the sheriff came in. We were dating at the time, he was on his way for lunch and happened to walk into something more.â She shakes her head. âGod, I havenât thought about this in decades. Iâve thought about you, honey, Iâm so glad to see youâre doing so well for yourself.â
You smile fondly, then falter at her wording. You look at Hotch and your eyes widen. âOh! Oh, Darlene, weâre not--â
âWeâre not together,â you and Hotch say together, waving it off.
Darlene glances back and forth between the two of you, eyebrows raised. âRight.â She sips her coffee. âAnyway, Mary will be back from her smoke break soon. I figured it was something you didnât want anyone else listening to.â
âYeah, thank you,â you chuckle. âIâm an FBI agent trained to read people, and youâve read me pretty damn good ever since I walked in.â
Darleneâs smile turns smug. âNot hard at all to read you.â She turns her head to Hotch. âYou either, sugar. Loosen the tie, itâll choke you one of these days.â
Hotch offers a tiny laugh, nodding. âThanks.â
âAnd eat the pie,â Darlene says to the both of you. âI made it this morning, donât waste it.â
âYes maâam,â Hotch says, picking up his fork.
You eat your pie in silence, trying to process all the new information Darlene has given you. The waitress comes back from her break and heads through to the back of the diner.
Darlene comes over and refills your coffee. âItâs on the house,â she says, âand donât argue with me.â
âAlright, fine,â you hold up your hands. âCan I give you my phone number?â
âOf course.â
âIf you remember anything else that you think might be important, donât hesitate to call,â you say, handing her your card. âOrâŚif we could just talk? I donât really remember much, but Iâd like to hear some stories, if you want to share.â
Darlene rests her hand over yours. âAlways, sweetheart. Let me give you some pie to go.â
âIâd love that,â you murmur. âThank you.â
She comes back with two to-go boxes of pie, and you know without a doubt that there are two slices in each, but you donât dare say anything about it.
âWe should get going,â you say, reaching for the boxes, but Hotch takes them instead. Darlene notices. âThank you for everything. And if you can think of anything else--â
âIâll send you a text so youâve got my number,â she promises, squeezing your arm. She turns to Hotch. âYou two take care of each other.â
âWe will,â he says with a smile, but itâs strained. You can tell. You narrow your eyes, but you donât say anything about it. Not yet.
You wait until youâre outside the diner, back across the tracks and under the bridge. You come to a stop in front of the car, blocking his path to the passenger seat.
âDo you want me to drive?â he asks.
âNo, I want you to tell me whatâs going on,â you retort. âOut with it. What do you not like, what are you sensing, why do you not like Darlene?â you tick each question off with a finger.
Hotch sighs, setting the to-go boxes on the hood of the car. âI just think we should be careful.â
âHotch, sheâs the first -- and maybe only person left who remembers my dad, my mom, me, and youâre worried that sheâs the unsub?â
âNo, that is not what I said,â Hotch argues. âI said we should be careful. Yes, she remembers you and your family, but that does not mean we should throw caution to the wind and immediately trust her every word. We should look into her.â
âYou--â You almost laugh. âYou seriously think sheâs a threat? She gave us names, Hotch. She gave us new information, pointed us to Dougâs Deli -- that was the place I was at with my dad. We need her. Sheâs harmless, trust me.â
âI do,â he replies. âYou know that I do. Thatâs not what this is about.â
âIf you say itâs about protecting me,â you roll your eyes. âI lived in this town once, Hotch. I can handle being here again.â
âYou were a kid the last time you were here, I have no doubt you can handle yourself now, just as I have no doubt that the unsub is here, and is watching.â
You pause, open your mouth, close it again. âYouâre paranoid.â
âAnd youâre not?â
âSure, Iâm scared, I donât exactly enjoy being back in the town that holds some of my worst memories, but we canât afford to be paranoid, Aaron. We canât give the unsub that kind of power.â
âWe certainly canât afford to be so lax with our trust that our guards are down.â
âDarlene is harmless,â you protest. âDonât make her out to be someone sheâs not.â
âYou should take your own advice,â he fires back. âRemember you havenât seen her in over twenty years. You didnât remember her until she sat down. Are you even one-hundred-percent sure sheâs the same woman you think you remember?â
âThatâs enough,â you snap. âI donât need you questioning what I do or donât remember, I do that to myself enough.â
He opens his mouth to reply, but you cut him off.
âGet in the car,â you mutter, pushing past him to head to the driverâs side. You yank the door open so hard youâre surprised it doesnât come off the hinges.
Hotch gets in silently, setting the to-go boxes on the backseat.Â
âDonât ask where weâre going,â you say quietly. âI just need to drive.â
+++
Hotch doesnât dare speak while you drive. He hardly breathes, if heâs honest. He answers texts from Dave and Morgan, nothing of import. And when Dave asks how the two of you are doing, Aaron deliberately ignores the message.
He watches where you drive, taking note of the streets you pass, when your eyes linger a little too long on certain buildings at stoplights. But you donât say a single word. You sit there, driving around like a ghost. Itâs unnerving.
The first thing you do say is âThis used to be a dirt roadâ when you turn down a side street. Hotch hums, but he doesnât answer. He doesnât know if you want him to.
Youâre too quiet, though. You keep turning your head to get a look at both sides of the road as you drive. No one is out here; itâs all fields on either side.
Then, out of nowhere, you slam on the brakes.
âWhat?â he says, hand instinctively reaching for you. He turns to look behind the car, but thereâs no one. Itâs just the two of you out here.
âI thinkâŚI think my dad dumped bodies out here,â you whisper. âIâve seen it in the pictures, but this used to be a dirt road becauseâŚthere used to be horses up there. Weâd stop and Iâd feed them. I donât even know if he knew the owners or anything. I never thought to question that, we were justâŚspending time together.â
Hotch opens the GPS and reads the road name, and you were right. Heâs seen the name pop up before in the files heâs read about The Strangler. Two bodies were found here, but it was strange. While your father did occasionally dump bodies off back roads, it was mostly schools. The bodies were believed to be his victims purely because of the location and the way they were killed, but only after the fact, after they found out Carson Adkins was The Strangler and lived here.
Obviously, you and Hotch both know that sometimes serial killers dump bodies in places they consider to be sacred, places they return to time and time again to relive the kill, revisit the bodies, feel that high all over again. And if the unsub is married with kids, it sometimes means places where the family would spend time together, the killer blurring the lines.Â
But your father never did that. All of his confirmed victims were found in Atlanta or California, places you never touched. It doesnât align with his profile to dump bodies here, where heâd spend afternoons with you, who he clearly adored. He wouldnât taint this area.
So who would?
âWe need to look at those cases again,â Hotch says, âthe women he dumped on this road.â
âWhy?â You turn your head toward him, furrowing your eyebrows. âWe canât backtrack or weâll never get ahead of this guy.â
âYou said you and your father spent time together here, feeding the horses, bonding together.â
âA few times, yeah, but,â you shrug, âI donât know that that means much.â
âHe wouldnât have tainted this area with his crimes,â Hotch says. âHe loved you too much, thatâs obvious in those letters. It would make no sense for him to dump bodies here, where he spent time with you.â
âBut someone else would, someone jealous, or just upset with my dad--â You pause. âWe need to get Garcia to look into Doug. Now.â
The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part thirty-three
Coming up for air from my other one shot idea for today's Gambit update as promised đ¤
Warnings: our usual angst but more about r's father that is đŤŁ, bits of fluff here and there, local cops being local cops, that's about it i think
Hotch knows this is inappropriate. He knows this is so beyond unprofessional. He knows a âno fraternizationâ seminar is certainly in his future if this goes any further.
But when he sees you lying there, sleeping soundly, he canât bring himself to care. Heâll deal with Strauss, with HR, with anyone who tries to make this something it isnât.
He doesnât know why heâs thinking ahead like this â because the two of you havenât talked. Richard Monroe turned up dead, the unsub left the body outside your old school, and you had (and fought off) a panic attack and somehow remained standing. You have no idea how strong you are.
Hotch tucks the blankets better around you before forcing himself to sit in the desk chair and go over some files while you rest. Rossi texts him updates from the precinct â nothing viable â and not-so-subtly asks how youâre doing.
Sheâs sleeping, Aaron types back with a slight eye roll. Dave certainly gets even nosier with every passing day.
How did you manage to do that? is Daveâs reply.
Aaron turns his phone over and doesnât answer. Instead, he looks over his shoulder to check on you, but youâre fast asleep, little puffs of air escaping your lips peacefully.
He turns back to his files. Theyâre coming up empty so far, and itâs starting to worry him.
Yes, the majority of these officers were raised here, but aside from some charges that have since been dropped and were clearly the result of teenage ambition, there is nothing untoward, nothing to suggest that one of them might know more than theyâre letting on.
Frustrated, Aaron grabs his phone and steps outside into the hall, keeping the door open a crack, and his back pressed against it protectively. He dials Rossi.
âAaron?â Dave answers.
Hotch keeps his voice quiet, âIâm not finding anything. Some vandalism charges from spray painting the playground, from egging a police officerâs car, all while teenagers. Thatâs nothing to write home about.â
âI agree,â Rossi sighs. âItâs the same here. Small things, no indicators of the kind of behavior weâre looking for.â
Hotch rubs his forehead. âWeâreâ Weâre grasping at thin air, Dave.â
âWeâre still missing something.â
âHow can we be missing something still? After all this time?â Hotch fights to keep his voice low. âI canât leave her alone. Iâve got a bad feeling.â
âI know you do,â Dave says quietly. âYou sure itâs not mixed with something else?â
Aaron sighs. âI donât know.â
âHave you two talked?â
âYeah,â Aaron murmurs, a fond smile toying at his lips. âWe have. Butââ Your fucking raccoons interrupted us and she hasnât acted the same since. âObviously we were interrupted with Richardâs death, andâŚâ He trails away, shaking his head. âNow isnât the time.â
âNow might be the time,â Dave argues. âTo let her know how much you care. How much youâre worried about her.â
âShe knows, trust me,â Aaron says. âShe was angry with me for making her get some restââ
âYou did spring that on her.â
âBecause you know she wouldnât have agreed if I tried to ask.â
âMaybe,â Rossi muses. âOr maybe you could try something new, try talking to her before making an executive decision about her. You did it on the jet.â
âRight.â Aaron sees his friendâs point. Maybe you would be more open-minded about his help if he would talk to you first, especially now, after getting things out in the open about how he was trying to help all those years ago. The jet was different; it was in relation to work. And as much as he tries to convince himself that ordering you to nap is also considered work, he knows it isnât. He knows itâs something else. âIâll try.â
âGood,â Dave says. âYou should try to rest too, if you can.â
Hotch thinks back to earlier. You had told him he needed to rest too, and he hadnât planned on it, but maybe he should. Maybe an hour.
When Aaron heads back inside, youâre on your side, eyes cracking open.
âHey,â he whispers, shutting the door. âSorry, didnât mean to wake you.â
âCâmere,â you murmur, obviously still half asleep. âYâgotta nap too.â
He smiles. âAlright. I concede.â
He strips his suit jacket and tie off but leaves his pants and shirt. Heâs just about to crawl into bed beside you when you give him a funny look.
âYouâre gonna wrinkle your clothes.â
âItâs fine.â
âThat canât be comfy.â
âItâs just a nap.â
You shrug, snuggling further into the pillows and shutting your eyes. Hotch sighs.
He takes off the dress shirt, and hangs it over the back of the desk chair. When you donât move, clearly drifting off again already, he strips down to his boxers, draping his dress slacks over the chair too.
He sets his phone on the nightstand before sliding into bed beside you. You might be half-asleep, but you move closer to him instantly, curling into his side and sighing happily. Aaron wraps an arm around you, chuckling softly as he tucks you into his chest.
+++
You hate being back in this town.
You wake with a start, the gunshot in your dreams still echoing in your ears as if it happened just now. One quick glance around the room tells you it didnât. Youâre in bed, in a hotel room, and youâre alone.
Well, almost alone. There is currently a koala clinging to you in his sleep in the form of Aaron Hotchner.
You laugh softly as you try to twist in his arms, but have no luck. You donât even know what time it is, but knowing Hotch, he set alarms, so you canât be late for anything.
You let the comfort of that â and his arm around your waist â lull you back to sleep again, even if for just another few minutes. And it was the worst idea youâd had all day.
This time when you wake, you manage to fling yourself out of Aaronâs arms, sitting up so suddenly that he is woken with a jolt.
âWhat is it?â Heâs alert instantly, the man and agent that he is. His hand comes to rest on your shoulder.
âSorry,â you laugh it off. âYou ever have a dream and wake up, then fall back asleep and the dream picks up right where it left off?â Youâre rambling and you make no sense, but that doesnât matter. âWe should get back to the precinct.â
You stand up and head for your work clothes still hanging up where you left them. Youâre barely touching the fabric when Aaron is behind you, hand on your shoulder again.
âTalk to me,â he says. âWhat happened in the dream?â
To his credit, he doesnât try to turn you around to face him. You donât think youâd be able to speak if he did.
âMy um,â you pause, clearing your throat. âMy dad almost shot me. It was real.â
You hear him sigh. âIâm sorry,â he whispers, his hand dropping down to your arm, thumb rubbing your skin gently. âIt wasnât real, it was just a dream.â
You shake your head. âIt was a dream, but it was alsoâŚa memory.â
His motions falter. âWhat do you mean?â
You start shaking your head again. âItâs stupid, itâs probably my mind twisting my memories because I learned about what my dad did and now everything is tainted with thatââ
You stop to catch your breath when Aaron says your name, his voice quiet, broken.
âWe were getting lunch together,â you murmur, taking the clothes off the hangers just to busy your hands while you speak about this. âIt was a good day.â
âWhat happened?â
âI donât even know,â you huff. âWe were having a good day. Mom had gone to run some errands, Dad took me out for lunch, it was the weekend so I was just surprised and happy he was home. We went to my favorite sandwich place nearbyâ Itâs probably not even here anymore. But I was just eating, he was talking. I guess I said something wrong?â You donât even realize Aaron has turned you around until heâs taking both of your hands in his, trying to meet your eyes. âI donât think I even knew he had his gun on him â I knew he had one, thatâs normal for a family in Alabama, but like, shotguns. For hunting deer. Not a pistol.â
âHe tried to shoot you?â Aaron prompts.
You nod. Shake your head. Nod again. âHe shot the floor. He was looking over my shoulder.â You pause. âAnd then we left, and when I got up I saw that it wasâ It was so close to my foot, Aaron, he nearly shot me.â
âAnd you leftâ Was he angry with someone that worked there?â
âI donât know, I was too shocked by the fact that he shot the fucking floor where my feet were,â you snap, yanking your hands out of his. You wipe your palms on your shirt.
âWhat was the place called?â
âI donât know, something Deli,â you shake your head. âIt was in a trailerâ Does this even matter?â
âIt might, we can look into it,â Hotch says, keeping his hands by his side. âWhy donât you take a shower?â
âHotch, I donât have timeââ
âWhat will help you calm down?â he asks. âWhat can I do?â
You sigh. âWhat time is it?â
Hotch looks like he doesnât want to answer, but he does anyway. âAlmost 11:30.â
âOkay. Can youââ You pinch the bridge of your nose. âI donât fucking know what to do.â You breathe shakily. Then, you ask him something that surprises the both of you. âCan you tell me what to do?â
He nods slowly. âTake a shower,â he starts. âItâll help. Iâll get dressed. Iâll call Rossi and tell him what you told me, weâll get Garcia to look into it. Do you remember how old you were?â
You shake your head. âElementary school, I think.â
âOkay, that narrows it down, good job,â he says softly. âWeâll leave when youâre ready and get back to the precinct and go over everything with the team. Find some new leads and weâll follow them. Weâll get this guy.â
You nod. âOkay. Okay, Iâm gonnaââ
âShower,â he says, one hand coming up to your arm again, guiding you toward the bathroom.
You walk with him, pausing just outside the bathroom door to turn around. You hesitate for a moment before throwing your arms around his neck.
He stumbles for a second before his arms encircle your waist, squeezing you tightly against him. As if a promise to protect you from anything bad that will ever come your way again.
âThank you,â you whisper, pulling back to press a kiss to his cheek.
Youâre into the bathroom and shutting the door before Aaron can even register what just happened.
+++
The team is waiting for you and Hotch when you arrive back at the precinct. You donât necessarily look well-rested, despite your nap, but you do feel marginally better, and Hotch had you change clothes instead of wearing the same ones from before. A fresh start. A reset.
âWhat do we have?â you ask casually, hoping the team of profilers will pick up on the fact that you do not want to talk about you being practically ordered to get some sleep.
âThey have mostly clean slates,â Rossi starts as Hotch shuts the conference room door. âSome petty theft, some vandalism, mostly from teenage years. One officer has a sexual harassment charge that Iâm eager to ask about.â
âWho?â you ask. Not that you think that officer might be the unsub youâre looking for, but itâs all youâve got so far.
âThe deputy,â Rossi says. âLaneman.â
âWait before questioning him,â Hotch interjects, just a touch of warning in his words. âIâm not sure I want these guys knowing weâre investigating them just yet. We need their help while we can get it.â He pauses. âWe need to ask them about Adkins. Watch their behaviors, see if anyone recognizes the name or knows maybe more than they should.â
âHow are we going to do that without it being suspicious?â Prentiss chuckles. âAs far as they know, weâre just investigating Richard Monroe and his death.â
âAnd the guy was a serial killer, Iâm sure theyâre wondering why the hell weâre even being called here to investigate,â Morgan adds. âHe had a lot of enemies, a lot of victimsâ families that wouldâve had more than enough motive.â
âBut itâs the letter,â Reid says. âItâ At times it almost reads like a suicide note, other times like an apology to you,â Reid looks at you, âbut for what? And if it isnât Richard who wrote it, if itâs the unsub, a suicide note makes sense, to make us think Richard killed himself, but the overkill immediately rules that out. Itâs likeââ Reid pauses and makes a face, stopping himself.
âWhat? What are you thinking?â Hotch asks.
âItâs almost like our unsub had this all meticulously planned out from the beginning, step by step, right down to this moment, but something threw a wrench in his plans andâŚthatâs why there was such a brutal overkill.â
âLike he and Richard were part of a team to find her, until Richard bailedââ Morgan starts.
âBecause the unsub brought Lila into it and Richard said he promised that he wouldnât,â you finish. âRichard didnât write that letter. The unsub did. Richard didnât visit my dad in prison. I visited Richard. This unsub mustâve visited Richard as well, wanting to find out how to get to me, andââ Your eyes go wide and you turn toward Hotch. âThe car chase.â
âRichard told the unsub weâd be there,â Hotch says. âTold him the exact time. It had to be approved in advance, he wouldâve known in advance.â
âThis unsub wasnât friends with my dad, not as close as he and Richard must have been, or someone else the unsub witnessed being friendly with my dadâ But he wanted to be. He wanted my dadâs approval for some reason. He wanted to be noticed by him,â you carry on, not sure where youâre going, but hoping itâs going somewhere. âAnd my dad mustâve written him off. Didnât give him the recognition he was looking for, and it upset him. So he kidnapped me to get his attention.â
âAnd your father made it very clear that he wasnât happy with whoever took you,â Rossi adds. âSo that upset the unsub further. He wasnât getting validation, he was getting contempt.â
âWeâre just talking in circles here,â you sigh, propping your chin in your palm. âThis feels like everything weâve already known.â
âAssumed, and now itâs confirmed with behavior,â Hotch says softly. âBut we are going in circles. We need to find out what these men know about Adkins.â
âLeave that to me,â Reid smiles, a little too deviously for him.
âReally, genius?â Morgan chuckles. âWhat are you going to do?â
âAsk them if theyâve heard of him,â Reid shrugs. âIn my own way.â
Everyone shares looks.
Emily tilts her head with a smirk. âThis is going to be good.â
+++
Itâs like a well-orchestrated dance, the way Hotch rounds everyone up to set the scene for Reid to interject. The plan is to begin giving the profile, and Reid is going to start one of his rambles, this time about how the infamous serial killer Carson Adkins was from right here in town.
Rossi, Hotch, Prentiss, and Reid stay at the front of the room, while you, JJ, and Morgan hang around the sides, gauging reactions from there.
Youâre not even sure what youâre going to be looking for. You wouldnât be surprised if any (or all) of them have heard of your father. They obviously have no clue youâre his daughter, which is how it needs to stay, but unfortunately for everyone, your father is famous for his killings, and for turning himself in when you were kidnapped.
You canât even count on two hands the number of articles you read that argued he had a heart because he turned himself in for his daughter. You donât know that it was any indication of him having a heart or not, but you do know that he killed all those women and somehow wanted you to be safe.
Two things can be true at once, you guess, but those two things? Some days it just makes no sense.
âAs youâre all aware, the victim, Richard Monroe, had been on the FBIâs Most Wanted for some time, so he has no shortage of enemies,â Rossi starts.
âThis rings true in the injuries Richard sustained,â Prentiss continues. âIt was the very definition of overkill. Whoever is responsible, they held a grudge against Monroe, probably for many years.â
âDo you think it could be like a family member of one of his victims?â Officer Hunt asks.
âI said save your questions for the end,â Deputy Laneman scolds with a huff.
âItâs alright Deputy,â Hotch says with a nod. He looks at the officer that spoke up. âItâs possible, yes, weâre looking into the whereabouts of the victimsâ families.â
âBut there could be some victims we donât even know about,â Reid chimes. âSo weâre not sure.â
âThis guy is angry,â Morgan says from the other side of the room. âThat kind of anger doesnât just go away with getting revenge. We think heâll slip up again.â
âSo youâre sure weâre looking for a man?â another officer â Smith, you think â questions.
âWe believe so,â Hotch replies. âWhite male, mid-30s to mid-40s, most likely the same build as Monroe, if not slightly larger. Monroe put up a fight, but was ultimately overpowered. This suggests our unsub was able to subdue him by brute force before continuing to injure him post-mortem.â
âRichard Monroe was just one of the famed and known serial killers in this region,â Reid begins, and just by the tone in his voice, you know where heâs heading. You scan the officers carefully, even the deputy who stands not far from you, arms over his chest like a shield. âActually, uh, did you guys know that Carson Adkins, The Strangler, was from this town? His home was not far from hereââ
âThatâs enough, agent,â Deputy Laneman all but growls.
You cut your eyes to him, not moving your head, not wanting to raise any suspicions.
Hotch, however, fully turns his head to glare at the man. âDeputy, may I speak with you in private?â
âWhatever it is, you can say it in front of my men.â
âNo, I think we should speak in your office,â Hotch gestures to the door. âAfter you.â
The deputy almost looks like heâs going to put up a fight, but he doesnât. He clicks his tongue and bulldozes into his office, leaving the door ajar for Hotch to follow through. Hotch doesnât look at anyone as he goes, and you can tell he holds himself back from slamming the door.
A tense silence settles over the room.
Reid, in all his blessed awkwardness, clears his throat. âUhâŚsorry.â
Officer Robinson chuckles. âDonât be sorry, kid, heâs a hothead.â
âWeâve all heard of him, though,â Officer Smith says. âThe Strangler, I mean.â
Everyone pipes up in agreement.
âEven Iâd heard of him, and Iâm not from around here,â Officer Robinson adds. âHeâs a boogeyman here, yâknow? Almost like a myth.â
You swallow around the strange lump in your throat. Your father, a boogeyman in your hometown, even as a ghost.
âYeah,â another officer, Whittler, laughs. âMy brother used to tell me if I wasnât quiet at night The Strangler was gonna jump out and get me.â
Everyone laughs, punching each other's shoulders in agreement with similar childish laughs.
You roll your eyes and head back toward the conference room. None of them are taking this seriously. You need a new angle, one that doesnât involve asking any of these officers for insight. Clearly they won't be helpful.
+++
Hotch finds you, alone, in the conference room after his rather unproductive discussion with Deputy Laneman.
Youâre staring at the board, at the photos of Richardâs body, at the photos of the charm bracelet and letter since both have been sent off for prints.
Hotch doesnât even get to ask whatâs upsetting you before you tell him.
âTheyâre just laughing,â you say, disgusted. âHeâs a boogeyman,â you mock. âOur unsub is not in this precinct, clearly. Theyâd all run away screaming if he was.â You pause, finally turning to look at him. âWhat about the deputy?â
Hotch shakes his head. âHe definitely has some anger issues and is probably aggressive when heâs drunk, but itâs not him. He thinks weâre wasting time by being here.â
âWasting time? We havenât even been here a full day yet.â
âI know,â Hotch says. He studies the pictures again. âWhat are we missing?â
You snort. âEverything, apparently. Every time I think weâre about to get a grip on this guy, it turns out heâs somewhere else entirely.â You chew on the inside of your cheeks. âDid Garcia ever look into the deli?â
âItâs on her list,â Hotch sighs. âI still have her looking into every officerâs background here, just in case.â
You nod. âIt was nothing special, anyway. Except that their pickles were homemade.â
Aaron shares a soft smile with you. âStill. Iâll have her look.â
âAnd the victimsâ families?â you ask with a smirk. âOr was that just to keep them thinking weâre not at all digging into their credit histories and tragic backstories?â
Aaron rolls his eyes at you, still smiling. âThat was the truth. Itâs on Garciaâs list.â
You raise your eyebrows with your grin. âRemind me to get her one of those big baskets of chocolates when we get back. And a bouquet of roses.â
He chuckles. âFunny, I was thinking of getting one of those for you.â
Your breath stutters a little as you turn toward him, realizing with a shock that heâs being sincere. âWell,â you knock your shoulder into his arm lightly. âSorry to ruin your master plan.â
âYouâre forgiven,â he replies, his fingers grazing the back of your hand.
The door to the conference room flies open and you yank your hand away, returning to crossing your arms over your chest. Hotch straightens and resumes his Unit Chief demeanor.
He waits until the door shuts behind JJ, Prentiss, Morgan, Reid, and Rossi before asking their thoughts on the officers.
âThey were too busy laughing about a boogeyman to even suspect any sort of connection,â Morgan snaps. âI mean, seriously, how are we supposed to get anywhere if these guys donât even seem a little concerned that whoever killed Richard Monroe might kill someone else?â
âI know,â Hotch sighs. âPrentiss, Rossi, go back to the dump site, see if thereâs anything we missed. JJ, check on the bracelet, see if theyâve made any headway with the prints, if they havenât, try to get it sped up if you can. Reid, Morgan, Iâm having Garcia look into some of the families of Richard Monroeâs victims, help her determine anything suspicious, make some phone calls, see where everyone is.â
âWhat about us?â you ask.
âWeâre going to drive around,â he says. âI want to see if any place jogs your memory. And see if Carson Adkins truly does haunt this town like the boogeyman they say he is.â
The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part thirty-two
Hello again đđ
Warnings: 18+ mdni we know the drill!, but before that: oh no these two are arguing again (it's sleepy/silly arguing tho!), our usual angst with the case, GASP only one bed, massage turns inappropriate, fingering, idk how to tag this stuff anymore, he puts you to sleep with his fingers idk!
The team sets up shop in one of the interrogation rooms at the precinct. Itâs small, but necessary, especially after what you asked Garcia to look into. Regardless, though, Hotch tells everyone that he wants this kept quiet for now, especially given the location.
Itâs strange, youâll admit, being in your hometown. You canât say that youâre surprised things ended up here. You figured the unsub would lead the BAU here, especially if your suspicions about it being the same man were correct. And you think itâs safe to say with absolute certainty now that this is the same man and he had to have been friends with your father in some capacity. Somehow.Â
âGarcia is looking into all of the officers currently working here, and those that were here twenty years ago,â Hotch explains quietly. The door is closed, but the walls arenât soundproof, and everyone needs to be as careful as they can.Â
âDo you think it could be one of the officers here?â Reid asks.
âI donât know,â you reply. âBut I know that growing up here, a lot of the time, the police would turn a blind eye if you were friends. Thatâs just how it is here.â
âTheyâll cover up anything,â Morgan comments with a small scoff. âEven murder.â
âMaybe,â you murmur. âI have no idea, but until thenâ Do we have the letter and bracelet?â
âYeah, itâs here,â JJ says, sliding both across the table. âThey found some prints on the letter, but theyâre a direct match to Richardâs.â
âFigured,â you mutter, ignoring the letter to slide the bracelet closer instead. You pick it up, thumbing over the charms through the bag. A heart, an initial â not an L, like youâd assume if it was for Lila â instead itâsâŚthe first letter of your middle name. âHuh,â your eyebrows furrow as you study the letter.
From beside you, Hotch softly asks, âWhat is it?â
You show him the charm. âThe initial. If it was for Lila, it would be an L.â
âRight.â
âBut instead itâsââ
âYour middle initial.â Hotch straightens up. Neither of you notice the way the rest of the team give such wild looks in Hotchâs direction because he knew your middle name with zero hesitation. âDo any of the other charms mean anything to you?â
You shake your head. âI mean, not really, the heart is too generic, theââ You pause on the flower. The same flowers that used to grow in the front yard of your childhood home. And then another charm to represent a hobby you had as a kid. âYou donât think this wasâŚmeant for me?â
âItâs his gambit,â Hotch says. âInstead of a note, heâs left this.â
You drop it onto the table, hand shaking. âOkay. Okay, so itâs definitely the same person because these areââ You look up at the wide eyes of your team members. âThese are all charms that meant something to me as a kid. My dad called me by my middle name all the time, especiallyâ Fuck.â
âWhat?â Aaron leans down, trying to meet your eyes. âWhat is it?â
âEspecially when I did something he didnât like,â you explain weakly, rubbing your forehead. âHeâdâ Heâd have friends over for a bonfire and if I was too loud or didnât get him a beer quick enough, heâd call me by my middle name to get my attention.â
You hear Hotch take in a tense breath, stepping away from you for a moment. You look up and see him raking a hand down his face â heâs angry.
âI-I donât remember who was at those bonfires,â you blurt, feeling the need to explain yourself. You meet everyone elseâs eyes, everyone else who will look at you. âIt changed every time, I think, maybe, I donâtââ
âSlow down,â Derekâs voice cuts through your panic. âSit down, come on, and breathe, youâre fine.â
Aaron pulls a chair out for you, the only indication that he actually cares in this moment. You sit and stare at the bracelet, at the letter, at these clues that make no sense and almost seem useless.
Rossi glances at his watch. âIâll go grab breakfast. Weâll need the fuel. Any takers?â
âIâll join,â Emily nods.
As the two of them leave, you tear your eyes away from the evidence and look at the floor. âWhat time does the sun rise?â
âSix thirty-four,â Reid replies automatically. âSo in thirty minutes.â
âOkay.â You look around for your cup of coffee, finding it when Hotch hands it to you. âThanks.â
He nods in acknowledgement, but he doesnât sit. Instead, without a word, he leaves the room.
When the door shuts, you sigh, propping your arm on the table to rest your head in your hand.Â
âHey,â Morgan says.
âWhat?â you mutter.
âWeâre going to get this guy.â
âBefore he gets me?â you let out a dark laugh, opening your eyes when Derek doesnât join in. âSorry.â
âHey, listen to me,â he rests a hand on your shoulder. âNo one is getting you, okay? Not on my watch, not on any of our watches. Alright?â
You nod. âOkay.â But itâs like chasing a ghost. You donât know who this guy is, but he knows you, and he knows your every move, somehow.Â
The door opens again but you donât move.
âHere,â Aaronâs voice is as soft as his hand when he rests it on your shoulder. The other hand places a banana and granola bar down in front of you.Â
You look at the food and then at Aaron, surprise written all over your face. You thought he left because he was frustrated or angry with you and this case â not because he was getting food for you.
âBut Dave and Emily are getting food,â you respond dumbly as he takes a seat next to you.
âAnd youâre shaking right now, so you need to eat,â Aaron replies, so matter-of-fact, and begins opening the granola bar for you.Â
âOh. Thanks.â You take it and bite into it, immediately realizing how much you needed something sugary and substantial on your stomach â something other than shitty coffee.Â
Derekâs phone starts ringing through the silence and he picks up with a sigh, âGive me some good news, babygirl.â
âGood news, and bad news,â Garciaâs sweet voice comes through the speaker, the volume turned low so youâre all huddling around Derekâs cell. âNone of the current officers were there when dear old Dad was getting up to his crimes.â
âFigures,â you shrug.
âHowever,â she continues, âquite a few of them were born and raised in that little town.â
âDoesnât surprise me,â you reply. âLoads of people never leave here.â
âIâll send their names to your devices,â Garcia says. âHeads up, though, it is all butâŚtwo officers.â
âAll but two? Baby, thatâs the whole damn department,â Morgan groans. âYouâre lucky I love you.â
âOh, I know,â you can hear Garciaâs smile. âIâll keep digging for anything suspicious. PG out.â
âOkay, everyone pick an officer and start reading. Reid, we canât print anything, I donât want to risk any of the officers here seeing that weâre investigating them now,â Hotch speaks quietly. âKeep yourselves alert.â He pauses, eyeing you for a second. âAs alert as you can.â
You refrain from asking what the hell was that look for? as you take out your tablet to start reading.
+++
Once Rossi and Prentiss return with breakfast, everyone digs in and goes silent as the team reads. Hotch leaves for a moment to speak with the other officers, likely to keep them âin the loopâ and away from questioning the team on what exactly theyâre doing.
It isnât long before you see the sunrise through the windows, though, and you start to get restless.
When Hotch returns the second time and settles down next to you, you elbow him in the arm to get his attention. He raises an eyebrow.
âWhen are we going to the dump site?âÂ
Everyoneâs heads lift at your question.
Hotch glances briefly at the team before back at you. âWe can go when youâre ready.â
You share a look of pure shock with the rest of your team. âReally?â you ask, and at the same time Derek says, âSeriously?â
Hotch pushes back from the table. âSooner the better. Everyone else, uh, keep reading. Call me with any updates you have.â He nods to Rossi who gives one nod back.
Which, in turn, gives you nothing.
But you donât question it. Donât look a gift horse in the mouth, and all. If you try to argue about why heâs letting you go to the scene this easily, it might turn into him not letting you go at all. So you keep quiet.
You follow Hotch out to the car in silence. He pauses briefly to tell the officers that the two of you are heading to the scene, but thatâs all.
You keep giving him sideways glances while he drives. The fact that he put up zero fight is unnerving you.
He parks outside the schools and you climb out, not wanting to waste a single moment, just in case he decides to flip on you.
No one is around, save for the crime scene tape, so you and Aaron have full rein of where you can go. Hotch, still in his eerily quiet mood, lets you take the lead and walk wherever you want.
Richardâs body has since been moved to the morgue, but there are markers where he was. You go there first, studying the area in the growing sunlight.
Just as you worried, he was laid right next to the small opening in the woods where you used to walk with your dad. A path that has since grown up, but you can still see where it used to be. You wonder if that is part of the message. If thatâs a testament to how close the unsub was with your father.
âMy dad walked me home from school a couple of times,â you say, not really to Hotch, even though he is just behind you. You wrap your arms around your torso, the air still slightly chilly before the sun fully rises. âIt was through these woods.â You point to the small clearing where the path was. âI thought it was so cool, my dad picking me up and we got to walk home. Through the trees,â you chuckle. âWhen youâre a kid, you think your dad is the coolest person ever, you know? Or at least I did.â
Hotchâs footsteps sound softly on the grass as he moves to stand beside you. âDid your dad ever have a friend walk you home?â
You shake your head. âNo,â you exhale. âBut he usually did have friends over when heâd pick me up. It was never weird, though, not like what youâre probably thinking.â
âWhat am I thinking?â
You cut your eyes at him. âPedophilia. Grooming.â
His face gives nothing away, which tells you thatâs exactly what he was thinking. âIâve worried about it.â
âMe too.â You donât look at him as you admit it.
Heâs quiet for a long moment. âDid you want to see anything else?â
You look around at the trees before you, all the markers of where his body was. The crime scene tape. The playground not far off.
âNo,â you finally say. You donât know what you were expecting to feel or gain from coming back here, but youâve gotten nothing. You turn your head to look at him. âCan we make a detour? I want to see if my old house is still there.â
He nods, his arm reaching out to guide you as you walk back to the car. âSure.â
+++
The house isnât there anymore.
The street is, but most of the houses you remember have been torn down and three have gone up in their place. Everything is so crowded that it makes you cringe.
âThatâs soâŚsad,â you sigh, sinking down in your seat. âItâs been so long, though. I donât know why I didnât expect it to change.â
âItâs okay,â Aaron says softly, hand reaching out to find yours where it rests on your thigh. âItâs hard.â
âYeah,â you sigh, tipping your head back. âItâs fine. We can head back now.â
He squeezes your hand and turns back onto the main road. You shut your eyes for just a moment, pulling his hand closer to you.
You feel yourself slipping into sleep, so you jolt yourself awake, blinking at your surroundings, focusing on his driving. You realize where you are with some relief; still about fifteen minutes to the precinct.
Until Aaron makes a left turn when he shouldâve gone straight to head back to the police station. You clock it immediately.
âWhere are we going?â
âTo the hotel.â
âWhat? Why?â
âSo you can take a nap.â
âWhat?â you turn your entire body toward him. âI donât have time for a nap!â You donât care that you almost fell asleep a few minutes ago and that he definitely noticed â thereâs no time.
âIâm making you take the time,â he says firmly. âBecause if you donât, your body will, and I donât need you passing out at the precinct or in the field.â
âHotchââ
âIâm not arguing about this.â
âIâm not even sure Iâll be able to fully fall asleep,â you mutter, slumping back into your seat. You jolted yourself awake a second ago. Youâll likely do it out of sheer panic if you try to nap right now.
âThen weâll just sit in silence.â
âWe?â
âWell Iâm not leaving you at the hotel,â he scoffs.
âWhat, so youâre just going to watch me sleep? Thatâs creepy, Aaron.â
âNo, I brought my tablet, Iâm going to read,â he explains calmly, but with just enough bite in his words that you can tell heâs getting irritated with you.
âWhy do you get to read?â you snap. âYouâve had the same amount of sleep as Iâve had.â Maybe even less, you want to throw in, but you donât.
âIâm fine,â he says.
But youâre not letting him get by that easily. âNuh-uh, Hotchner. If Iâm being forced to nap, then you are too.â
âAm I, now?â
You nod. âYep.â
He chuckles. âOkay.â
The hotel he pulls up to is a nicer one, definitely built after you and your mom left town. You only remember there being motels around here, and not very nice ones.
You donât really pay attention as Hotch checks in, too busy being pissed off that he grabbed your go-bag and called ahead for an early check-in, all under your nose. Is that why he was leaving the room so often, while the rest of you were going through files? And is that why he seemed so nonchalant about letting you come to the crime scene?
Youâre silently fuming the entire elevator ride, even more so because he doesnât say a damn word to you.
He unlocks the room and holds the door open for you, and somehow that adds to the irritation, so you barely wait for him to be a few steps in behind you before you spin around, ready to lay into him.
He only sighs and sets the room keys down on the counter of the kitchenette next to the two of you. âWhat now?â
âWhat now?â you mimic. âYouâre joking, right?â
âDoes it look like Iâm joking?â he deadpans. He points behind you. âGo get some rest.â
âNo.â
âAre you serious?â His voice is too calm. âAre you starting a fight about this?â
âNo,â you protest, but itâs your weakest one yet. âI just donât get why everyone else gets to work while Iâm being forced to take a nap.â
âBecause everyone else got more sleep than we did and looks more awake than you do, thatâs why.â
âThat shouldnât matter,â you snap, but it makes no sense, not even to you. âIâm justââ
âYouâre just going to lay down and take a nap,â he says again, pointing behind you. âNow.â
You roll your eyes, turning around to just get the hell away from him, exceptâ
Thereâs one bed.
You freeze.Â
Aaron looms right behind you, his voice gentle in your ear. âI can go to a different room tonight. I only grabbed this one because it really was my intention to read at the desk while you get some sleep.â
You nod slowly. Youâre still halfway pissed with him, and now halfway pissed with yourself because you donât want him to go to a different room tonight. You want him here. In this bed.
But you canât ask that of him.
You silently rifle through your bag to find a t-shirt and shorts to change into, at least so you donât wrinkle your work clothes beyond recognition. You head into the bathroom to change.
By the time you come back out, Hotch is sitting at the desk facing the wall, his tablet out and briefcase open with other files. He smiles softly when he sees you, but tucks his head back down.
You hang your work clothes up and then slip under the covers, wondering if you can fake sleep for an hour and call it a day. Something tells you he will be able to tell youâre faking it, though.
So, instead, you toss and you turn. And Aaron, frustratingly, does nothing about it. He keeps his fucking head down and nose in the files. He doesnât utter a word.
You turn again, this time fully onto your stomach, pressing your face into the pillow. It has that hotel detergent smell that is both soothing and nausea-inducing at the same time.
You donât even hear Aaron move, which is why you nearly jump out of your skin when suddenly his voice is right by your ear. âAre you trying to suffocate yourself?â
âAre you trying to scare the shit out of me so I never sleep again?â you retort, turning your head to the side. Heâs crouching beside you, one hand coming to rest on your back between your shoulder blades. Heâs looking at you all soft again, so all you can think to say is âWhat?â
He shakes his head. âNothing. Youâre cute when youâre fighting sleep.â
You glare at him. âI am not fighting sleep.â
He starts rubbing circles on your back. âWhat can I do to help?â
âNot make me sleep,â you mutter. âIâm restless because thereâs too much to do.â
âYouâre restless because youâre exhausted from having a panic attack on barely four hoursâ sleep, but sure,â he replies casually. âThereâs too much to do.â
You glare at him again. You hate when heâs right and you especially hate when he reads you like an open book.
âWhat do you normally do?â he asks. âListen to white noise?â
You feign thought even though you know the real answer. Because the real answer is masturbate. The real answer is give yourself an orgasm (or two or three) so that by the end of it, youâre floaty and sleepy enough to knock out within minutes.
But you canât do that when heâs right here. Obviously.
âWhat are you thinking?â he asks.
âNothing,â you say quickly â definitely too quickly. You turn and bury your face into the pillow again. âJust let me suffocate, if I pass out then Iâll be asleep.â You turn your head toward him and crack a small smile. âGo back to reading. Stop staring at me.â
His hand keeps rubbing circles, but this time it moves to the small of your back. âCan I propose something?âÂ
Thereâs a heat brewing behind his eyes, the same that you saw last night. You nod slowly against the pillow, whispering, âWhat?â
âWhat about a massage?â
You smirk, turning your head. âA massage? Seriously?â
âOr I can just do this,â he shrugs, still rubbing your back gently. âYouâre tense.â
âThin ice, Hotchner.â
He rolls his eyes. âJust shut up and lay there.â
Something wild burns in the pit of your stomach that you barely manage to contain. You bury your face into the pillow and hope he wonât mention it.
He doesnât.
He shifts so heâs sitting next to you on the bed, and it isnât long before you feel the pads of his fingers digging into your shoulders. You are tense, and you hadnât even realized. Another moment of him reading you like a book.
You push your face further into the pillow, if only to muffle the groans that nearly escape your mouth.
âStay still,â he chides softly when you squirm, trying to escape his fingers and escape the noises heâs drawing out of you.
Youâre too late, though. One particularly harsh dig into the muscles of your shoulder has a moan escaping your lips before you can stop it.
Aaron freezes. You freeze.
âFuckâ is all you hear him say before he starts up again.
And you have all of two seconds before youâre moaning again, your back arching.
âYou canât make those noises,â he says, and for some reason, he sounds out of breath.
âI canât help it,â you snap â or maybe you whine; you donât know the difference at this point. âJesus Christ,â you groan, eyes squeezing shut. âAaronââ
âDonât.â
The next noise you make is incoherent and the closest to a whine after another rough dig. âYouâre doing that on purpose.â
He hesitates. âSorry.â
âDonât be,â you exhale deeply. âFeels good.â
âYeah?â he murmurs.
You nod. âYeah.â
âDid it feel good last night?â
Your breath hitches. âWhat?â The question is muffled by the pillow, so you donât expect a reply.
But he does. âLast night,â he starts. His hands soften, just ghosting along your spine. âI heard you. After we went to bed.â
Mortified doesnât even begin to cover how you feel. His fingers dip, toying with the hem of your shirt, with the idea of his hands slipping under the fabric.
âDid that help you fall asleep?â
You nod slowly.
âCan I?â
Heâs barely through asking when you answer. âPlease.â
You start to roll onto your back, but his hand splays across your spine, gently pressing you into place.Â
âJust stay there for me,â he whispers. âBut letâs get these off.â
You lift your hips to help him tug your shorts and panties down. Something about the soft timbre of his voice already has you feeling floaty, but it could be the lack of sleep. And the anticipation. All of it.
You feel the bed shift again as he maneuvers around you, kneeling at the end, his palms spreading your thighs gently, reverently.Â
Youâre not entirely sure how this angle is going to work, but clearly you donât need to worry about it. Aaronâs fingers are skilled as they dance across your folds, finding your clit with ease and applying pressure that has you moaning all over again.Â
He plays your body easily, as if heâs always known it and known how to make you sing. One hand keeps your legs spread, a gentle pressure on the inside of your thigh, while the other slowly inserts a finger inside you.Â
He doesnât keep you wanting for long, one finger becoming two. Youâve always admired his hands, stared at his fingers for maybe a little too long, but itâs something else entirely to finally have them inside you, stretching you like this with only two. He works slowly, expertly building your pleasure before he curls his fingers, nailing that spot inside you with precision.
âOh fuck,â you hiss, your muscles tensing.
âYouâre supposed to be relaxing,â he scolds softly, his hand moving from your thigh to press down between your shoulder blades.
You mutter a string of noises that somewhat resemble words, breaking off into a loud moan when he adds a third finger, the new stretch igniting something molten inside of you. âAaron,â you gasp.
He shushes you. âDonât fight it.â
His fingers speed up but lose none of their precision. You must be a sight, squirming and flailing on the bed as he keeps you pinned down easily, with only one hand. The show of easy strength pisses you off as much as it makes you burn hotter, your orgasm approaching with startling quickness.
You have almost no warning before your body implodes, the shocks of your climax sending shivers all over you. Aaron eases you through it, fingers slowing as the high subsides.
You melt into the mattress, sighing deeply. He takes his fingers from you and goes quiet.
âGo to sleep,â he says gently, pulling the covers back over your body. âAt least an hour.â
You murmur something into the pillow, you think, but youâre too exhausted to remember.
The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part thirty-one
Just another note that I'm going to be updating every Monday until the fic is finished! đŤśđťđŤśđťđŤśđť
Warnings: panic attack, the usual angst, just more of the case nothing too bad methinks!
When you touch down in Alabama, everyone parts ways into separate cars without any words, all laser-focused on their tasks.
Your lips have seen better days. Youâre gnawing on them relentlessly, tasting blood but being unable to stop. Youâre in the passenger seat next to Hotch and he keeps glancing over at you, but you keep your eyes forward.
The ride is silent.
âTake a left,â you mutter, almost on autopilot. âGoes around the back of the schools. Closer to the woods.â Your dad always took this route on the rare days he drove you to school in the morning. Less traffic.
Hotch nods and flicks the signal, turning like you said.
As the road goes on, you start to see police cars lined up and waiting, all with their lights on. Crime scene tape decorates the place like neon signs in the dark. And you want to throw up.
As soon as the car stops, you stumble out, reaching for your badge to flash to the officers. Youâre far ahead of the rest of your team and you know it, but you have to get there, you have to get up there, you have to see Richardâs body and the rest of the scene.
Officer Robinson stops you when you introduce yourself. âWait. Did you say L/N?â
You freeze. âYes. Why?â
Hotch comes to a stop beside you. âWhatâs going on?â
âThereâs a note, with your name on it,â the officer says, nodding his head at you. âIt was in his pocket.â
âHis pocket? We told you not to touch anything,â Hotch all but snaps at the officer.
âHey, we didnât get that call until after,â Officer Robinson defends, raising his hand. Heâs a younger guy, but he clearly has a fire in him. âWe didnât touch it with our bare hands, donât worry. CSI has it in a bag.â
âI need to read it,â you say. âWhere is it?â
âOver there,â Robinson jerks his thumb over his shoulder. âSo. Youâre the BAU.â
âYep,â you mutter, running off toward where he pointed for CSI. You donât have time for small talk with some random police officer.
You donât even glance over your shoulder to see if Hotch is following you, but you know he is. His fast footsteps are loud even as you walk on grass.
âWhereâs the letter?â you ask, and all you get are blank faces in the dark. âThe letter. That was on his body. Itâs addressed to me. Where is it?â
One confused face pipes up, âUh, who are you?â
You flash your badge, and that makes everyone start moving. The letter is in your hands within seconds. But itâs not the unsubâs writing. There isnât a gambit in sight.
You see your name. You look to the bottom and see the signature. Richard Monroe.
âWhat?â A gasp leaves your lips before you can stop it. Why did he write you a letter? And why did the unsub leave it on Richardâs body?
âWhat is it?â Hotch asks, materializing beside you.Â
âItâs from Richard,â you say, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. You havenât even read the damn thing yet, still reeling from the fact that itâs from someone you didnât expect. âItâsâ I canât read this.â
âLet me,â he says gently, trying to take it from you, but you wonât let go.
âNo, itâs fine,â you snap. His hand jerks away from yours. âIâve got it.â
Faintly, you hear Hotch say to the other CSI agents, âCan we have a minute? Please?â
They scatter quickly, but your eyes donât look up from the letter. From Richardâs letter. That you still canât fucking read.
âLook at me.â
You shake your head. âDonât.â
âYouâre trembling,â Aaron whispers. âYouâve been staring at that letter and you canât read it. You need to breathe.â
âIâm breathing fineââ
Your heart stutters when big hands cup both sides of your jaw, tilting your face up to look into Hotchâs brown eyes. Where you mightâve found anger before, you only find deep concern and care.Â
âYouâre panicking,â he says softly. Itâs not accusatory, heâs not mocking you, heâs stating it. Because somehow he knows that right now you donât really know whatâs going on in your head and body or anywhere, and you need the statements. You need someone to just tell you whatâs going on. âYouâre shaking. I know youâre scared. I know that where we are makes that worse. But I need you to be here. Because if you canât be present, I will have no choice but to send you home. Not because I want to,â he interrupts your already brewing protests at the mere mention of sending you away, âbut because I cannot in good conscience as your Unit Chief keep an agent of mine here when she is unable to even breathe or read because an aspect of the case has her panicking. Understood?â
You nod your face in his hands. âUnderstood.â
âGood,â he murmurs, the softest of smiles crossing his lips. He moves his hands and somehow, your eyes do seem less clouded. âNow, what does it say?â
You take in a deep breath and look back down, your eyes scanning the words and this time actually reading it.
âItâsââ The words are legible and you can understand them, but they almost make no sense to you. âItâs about my dad.â
âYour dad?â Hotch inquires, leaning closer to you to read with you. âHe was friends with him.â
âNo wonder heâŚâ Your eyes skim further. âNo wonder he recognized me. He visited my dad in prison. My dad talked about me. Showed him pictures. After I stopped writing letters, heâŚâ You read more. âMaybe he wanted to find me.â
âSo he had a serial killer looking for you?â
You shake your head. âA friend. To him, it was a friend looking for me.â No one had caught on to what Richard was doing yet back then. You look up at Hotch, confusing brimming as you read a confession. âButâ But we know it wasnât Richard killing those women, he was back in custody.â
Hotch nods, face stern as he reads. âWe know it wasnât him. Someone wants us to think that it was.â
Your eyes move further. Richard confessed for the women in Mobile, the ones strangled, but he was in custody. It makes no sense. This wonât hold up in court, not when there is confirmation that he was at the prison on those dates.
âWe need to get this to Reid,â you tell him. âThereâs something in here that Iâm missing. All Iâm getting is he was friends with my dad, which makes sense all things considering, I kind of had a feeling, but this confessionâŚwhy even write it when itâs known that he was in custody when the murders happened? It wonât work, but if it could, why would he do that? Was he friends with the unsub? Trying to take one for the team?â
Your phrasing stops both you and Hotch in your tracks, your eyes locking together.
He nods firmly. âWe need to get it to Reid.â
You let him take the letter from you this time. âWhereâs Morgan and Prentiss?â
âTheyâre looking at Richardâs bodyââ You barely hear the end of his sentence before youâre off, finding Derek and Emilyâs forms in the dark with their flashlights.
You hear Hotch curse behind you as he tells a CSI agent where to get the letter to. And then you hear his damn footsteps chasing you down.
Morganâs eyes are wide when he spots you coming, and the fucker steps in front of you, blocking your vision. âHey. Hey. You donât need to see this.â
Your glare might as well be lethal. âDonât tell me what I donât need.â
âIâm serious,â Morganâs voice is calm, even. His eyes glance behind you, no doubt finding Hotchâs. âItâs too much for her.â
âWhat about it could be too much for me at this point?â
Morgan looks at Hotch, desperate. âCome on, man.â
To his credit, Hotch doesnât try to argue with you. âLet her see.â
Morgan looks ready to throttle his Unit Chief, but he steps aside, gesturing for you to go ahead.Â
âThank you,â you mutter to the both of them, walking forward and squatting down next to Emily.Â
Richardâs body is against a tree, tossed down like he was nothing. Even in the dark you can see how much blood is covering him. Emily is studying something on Richardâs body, something tucked into his shirt pocket.Â
âLooks like the chain of a necklace,â Prentiss murmurs. âOr a bracelet.â
âCan you grab it?â you ask, raising your hand. âNo gloves.â
âYeah,â she nods, reaching forward to tug on it. Slowly, she lifts it out of the pocket, and it is a bracelet. One with little charms all over it. âHuh.âÂ
âWeird,â you say. âDo you think it was for Lila?â
âMaybe,â Emily says softly. âYou okay?â
âYeah,â you swallow as you nod, your eyes roaming over Richardâs body. âHe was strangled. And shot in the head. And stabbed. A little dramatic, donât you think?â
âYeah,â Prentiss scoffs, turning over Richardâs hand to find bloodied knuckles. âDefinitely a struggle.â
She hands the bracelet off to be bagged. You stand and stare down at Richard, a weird wave of sadness creeping over you. You donât know why. Itâs not like he was a good person; itâs not like your father was, either. But they were friends. He was probably the last person who was a friend to your father, the last person that you maybe couldâve talked to one day and actually tried to ask questions about your dad. And now heâs dead.
You look away from him, turning back toward Hotch and Morgan who are standing back. And who stops their conversation as soon as you look.
Whatever. You ignore it. You have a bigger question. âWas there anything with gambit on it? Anywhere near here?â
âNothing that weâve found,â Morgan says.
âThen how do we know this is our unsub?â Prentiss asks from beside you. âI mean, we know it is, but he didnât leave his mark. Why?â
âI donât know,â you chew on the inside of your cheek. âHe left a letter and a bracelet. What are those supposed to mean?â
âLetâs get to the precinct for now,â Hotch says. âGo over both of those and get a better look.â
âAnd some coffee,â you mutter, rubbing your forehead. âCan we come back here when itâs light out?â
Hotch studies you for a moment. âSure. But they need to get his body out of here.â
âI know, I just,â you pause. âWant to see the rest of the scene in the light.â
âOkay,â he says. âLetâs go.â
You nod, walking away. When you pass by Hotch, he follows beside you.
Neither of you see the odd, knowing looks you get from Emily and Derek, both wondering where the hell all the hostility went between you and Hotch. When this is a time that the two of you might normally be at each otherâs throats, youâre bothâŚsoft. Itâs weird, but they leave it alone for now.
+++
Officer Robinson was the one who found Richard Monroeâs body. He returns to the precinct as the rest of you do, and youâre the first to question him about it by the coffee machine.
âI heard about it on the news, when he escaped,â Robinson explains. âMy wifeâs into all the crime stuff, so she usually tells me,â he jokes. âBut I knew when I saw his ID that I recognized him. Had to phone it in.â
âThank you,â Hotch says genuinely, standing beside you. Then, just slightly skeptical, âWhat were you doing outside the schools so late?â
Robin chuckles. âWell, kids are rowdy these days. They TPâd the playground a few weeks ago. Weâve had someone on duty come stroll by every night or so since then, just in case. Theyâre just kids, you know, it's harmless fun, but thatâs hell to clean up, especially after the morning dew.â
You smile. Itâs funny, you never TPâd the playground, but you definitely snuck over way too late with your friends when you were twelve to ride the swings just a little too high. Your mom was not happy when she caught you sneaking back into the house, bruised and limping from taking a jump too risky.
You realize now just why her eyes were so wide with fear that night.
âI understand,â you reply. âIâm glad you were around.â
âMe too,â Robinson says seriously. âWhatâs all this about the letter?â
You glance at Hotch, unsure of just how much the BAU wants to let these small town officers in on the case. He senses your hesitation and takes over.
âWe believe this might be connected to another case weâre currently investigating,â Hotch explains. âBut unfortunately, itâs confidential. Iâll let you know more when Iâm given the go ahead from my superior.âÂ
Itâs very clever wording, and it works.
âHey, fair enough,â Robinson holds his hands up in mock surrender. âI get the politics, I donât wanna be in the middle of that.â His phone rings in his pocket and he groans. âSpeaking of. I gotta take this. Yeah, this is Robinson.â
He leaves with his phone pressed to his ear. You stay huddled around the agonizingly slow working coffee machine, probably standing just a little too close to Hotch.
âI forgot how friendly the officers are here,â you murmur. âWell, in any small town, but here especially.â
Hotch nods. âThey can be.â
âGuess thatâs why my dad got away with a lot,â you shrug. âEveryone was friends here. Everyone had each otherâs backs.â You pause, looking up at Hotch. âWe shouldââ
âIâll get Garcia on it.â He steps away to make the call.
Itâs a long shot, any of the officers still being here from when you lived here with your mom and dad. But maybe not impossible to track them down if they didnât move far. And then they might know something. Anything.Â
Youâll take anything at this point.
The coffee finally finishes and you pour two cups, making one for yourself and one how Aaron likes it. You donât even think of the implications of doing so almost instinctively until you turn and realize some of the team is watching you with almost horrified expressions. Well, Rossi is just smirking. The others, aside from Reid who isnât even looking, look beyond confused and you canât say that you blame them, especially not when Hotch comes back and takes the coffee from you with a soft smile.
âWhat did Garcia say?â you ask, wanting desperately to talk about the case and ignore the watchful eyes.
Hotch, with his back to the rest of the team, says, âSheâll look into it. If theyâre bothering you, just let me know.â
You roll your eyes. âOf course they're annoying, itâs what I love about them.â You try your hardest not to move your lips. âBut I just made you coffee.â
âYou did,â he murmurs with a little smile. âThank you.â
âIâm not supposed to do that!â you hiss.
âWhy not?â
Heâs teasing you. Heâs absolutely teasing you right now to somewhat lighten the mood, and itâs working, but damn if it also doesnât make you want to smack him.
With your lips. On his. Repeatedly.
Youâre going to give yourself emotional whiplash if you continue like this.
Speaking of, a thought pops into your head, and as you tend to do recently with Hotch, you blurt it. âDo you think the unsub mightâve been jealous?â
Aaronâs eyebrows furrow a little. âJealous?â
âYeah,â you whisper, trying to figure out where youâre going with this. âLike, Richardâs letter just talked all about being close friends with my dad. If the unsub knew me when I was little, maybe he was jealous of that friendship?â You shake your head. âI donât know where Iâm going with that.â
âNo, but itâs something,â Aaron says. âWanna go share it with the team?â
âI probably should stop hogging you,â you joke. âTheyâve been staring this entire time.â
It does indeed feel like I'm edging y'all and for that I apologize đ¤Łđ¤ These two will have their moment very soon!
Warnings: so sorry to deceive u abt the smut bc it's so short it's just f!masturbating, even still 18+ mdni pls!!, Rossi being a little shit, angst (what's new), cutie moment on the jet, welp! the unsub is back!
Hotch doesnât know what noise he heard, but he heard something â he swears he did, absolutely nothing wouldâve made him stop kissing you, unless it was dire. He heard a crash outside, or something, heâs not sure, but it was enough. It was enough to make him panic, to think the unsub was outside, here to grab youâ
Except, it was nothing, because now heâs standing on the patio watching two raccoons scurry away, frightened by the security light they triggered and the frantic six-foot human who nearly shattered the glass doors wrenching them open.
Aaronâs phone rings in his pocket, making him flinch, but when he glances at it, he sees itâs only Rossi.
âYeah,â Hotch answers.
âI got a security alert on my phone, shouldâve warned you about the raccoons, sometimes I give them my leftovers,â Dave almost sounds amused. âAnd why did you call earlier? You two kill each other yet?â
Hotch thinks back to just a few minutes ago, both of you attacking one another, for sure, just not in the way Rossi thinks. âDo you seriously give the raccoons leftovers?â
âOf course I do.â
âOkay. Well.â Hotch rubs his forehead. âIâll let you goââ
âWhatâs the matter with you?â Dave presses, no doubt smirking. âYou sound like youâre out of breath.â
âNothing,â Aaron replies.
âOh, I seeââ
âGoodnight, Dave.â
Aaron just barely hears Rossi laugh through a âgoodnightâ before he hangs up the call.
He takes one more second to right himself before he heads back inside, shutting the patio doors and triple-checking that theyâre locked securely.
When he finds you again in the living room, he knows. The moment is gone. The air shifted. Youâre standing. You look like youâve seen a ghost. Or maybe not.
âDid you see anything?â you ask, but you barely sound like yourself. Your words are detached.
âNo, it was just uh,â he pauses, shaking his head, âraccoons. It was nothing. Sorry to spook you.â
You nod, a jerking movement like youâre barely holding it together. Aaron thinks for one moment that youâre having another panic attack, but this looks so different. Itâs not that. He doesnât know what this is.
âListen,â you start, and then you pause, wringing your hands. âLetâsâŚnot talk about what just happened.â
He furrows his eyebrows. âWhat?â
You shake your head. âWe can blame it on the wine. The fancy dinner. TheâŚbeing stuck in this house together for the weekend.â You take a deep breath. âLetâs justâŚblame it on that and forget it happened. Okay?â
Not okay. Very much not okay, not for him. He finally spent time with you that didnât involve clenching his jaw so hard it popped, shared malicious glares, and even venomous words. He finally worked up the courage to kiss you. He finally got to have you, and now you want to forget it even happened?
âAaron?â you ask, looking up at him expectantly, and you donât look like you want to forget this. You lookâŚhurt.
But he canât figure out why. And you donât seem to be in the mood to tell him right now.
But he canât just agree to forget this.
âCan we talk about this tomorrow?â he asks quietly, tone bordering on pleading. If you try to protest, he might get down on his knees and beg for you. âPlease.â
Aaron sees you start to bite the inside of your cheeks. Itâs something youâve always done to stop yourself from getting too emotional. He wishes you werenât doing it right now. He wishes you would show him, wishes you would tell him whatâs the matter. What changed.
âOkay,â you agree softly. âTomorrow.â
âThank you,â he says automatically.
âGoodnight,â you murmur, barely looking at him before you head for the stairs.Â
Aaron is frozen in place while he waits for your footsteps to reach your room. He shuts his eyes with a sigh when he hears your door shut as well.
+++
Raccoons. Thatâs the excuse he goes with? Raccoons?
Itâs not that youâre doubting him â you absolutely are â but even he has to admit that that sounds fake. Raccoons, seriously?
Hearing that only confirmed for you that the two of you need to forget whatever happened on the couch. Or, at least, you were convinced, until you saw the look on his face when he asked if the two of you could talk about it tomorrow instead. He lookedâŚwell, he looked like you had just twisted a knife in his heart. And that wasnât what you thought you were doing.
It doesnât matter right now. Right now, you need to calm yourself down, get ready to sleep, and actually relax enough to do so. You need to sleep at least eight hours tonight. These sleepless nights of barely four hours rest are not sustainable, not like this.
Itâs really just another excuse to get in bed as early as possible in hopes of being unconscious as soon as possible. Because you canât think about what just happened, or how it felt to finally have his hands touch your skin beneath your shirt. How it felt to touch him, to get so close, to feel him underneath you and almost do something about it. How it felt to hear how much he liked it, how much he liked you.
It makes your head spin.
You donât know if itâs better or worse that things didnât escalate further. On the one hand, it feels good that you didnât go too far. Thereâs less to regret.
On the other hand, it feels like you only got a mere taste, a tease, and now youâre hungry for more â hungrier than you were before.
You wander around the room like youâve forgotten where you are or who you are until you eventually settle down and put your pajamas on. You get under the covers. You shut your eyes.
And your mind puts you right back where you were barely an hour ago. Hips rocking over his, his fingers digging into your skin, his choked moans as you nip at his neck, your own whines as he cups your breasts, pinching your nipples just barely, teasing you, keeping you warm, keeping you wanting for more.
You let your imagination take the reins. Itâs hard not to fantasize after that. You imagine what mightâve happened had he not gotten up so quickly. Would your hand have finally snaked its way into his boxers, gripping him gently, tugging enticingly? Would he have been able to hold back? Would he have flipped you both, pinned you beneath himâ
You donât realize that your hand has found its way into your panties until you narrowly manage to cover your mouth on a moan. Your eyes fly open, listening for any movement, any sign that Aaron mightâve heard you. Disappointed, you find silence.
But your imagination returns. Images of Aaron with his face between your legs has your hand moving faster, fingers slipping inside, curling, your back arching just at the idea of him pulling you into his mouth, as if he could crawl inside you and still not be close enough.
You add a third finger, the fantasy shifting to Aaron moving inside of you, hitting you in all the right places, the places you canât reach, not even with your vibrator.
You bite down on the heel of your palm to stifle the sound when you fall over the edge, the orgasm shocking every cell in your body.
Heaving, you try to quietly regain your composure. Youâre satisfied, slightly, the fantasy still swimming beneath the surface. Itâs not even close to the satisfaction youâd feel if he was here, finishing what he started.
But itâs all you have, so you roll over, hoping the post-orgasm bliss will at least help you fall asleep faster.
+++
You wake in a haze, your phone ringing loudly from the nightstand. The room is dark, the sun having long gone to sleep, and you have two seconds of blissful confusion before the realization sets in.
That ringtone. Emergency recall.
You scramble to answer the call, but it cuts off, a new one coming through, JJâs picture lighting up your screen. âHello?â
âRichard Monroe is dead,â JJ blurts. âThey just identified his body an hour ago. We have to get to Alabama.â
You stand to your feet. âAlabama? What do you mean? He was in Alabama?â
âYes,â JJ rushes out. âCan you notify Hotch? Iâll call the others. Plan is to meet on the airstrip in an hour. Theyâre fueling up now.â
âWeâll be there in thirty,â you promise, ending the call as your feet are already carrying you across the room.
You bang on his door, giving him five seconds before you plan to open the door. Heâs opening it for you in three.
He has his phone already pressed to his ear. âRichard Monroe.â
âDead in Alabama,â you hiss. âIf itâs in fucking Huntsville, Aaron, Iââ
âIâll call you back,â he says to whoever is on the phone. âStrauss wants us there immediately.â
Your eyes go wide. âYou just hung up on Strauss?â
âI said Iâd call her back,â he defends. âDid JJ call you?â
You nod. âSheâs calling the others. Weâre leaving in an hour.â
Hotch hesitates when you say we and you already know where this is going, so you stop it while you can.
âI know what youâre going to suggest, and no,â you say firmly. âIâm going. Donât even try to make me stay back with Garcia.â
âThis could be a trapââ
âIâll be fine,â you insist. âBecause Iâll be with you.â
That looks like it knocks the wind out of him, and you know exactly why. But you canât talk about that right now.Â
He knows it, too. He holds your gaze for just a moment too long. Every second that ticks by is a second you two donât have to lose.
âWe need to go,â you murmur, trying to break the trance. âCan you be ready in five?â
He nods. You nod.
Without a word, you turn and retreat back to your room. You shut your door and move faster than you even think humanly possible, throwing your pajamas off and throwing on a work outfit. You cram a few extras into your go-bag, not bothering with any makeup or anything before walking out with your bag and shoes in hand.
Hotch meets you downstairs, ready to go. You slip your feet into your shoes and follow him out to the car.Â
âJJ said weâre meeting at the airstrip,â you say, scrolling through the groupchat. Everyone is awake and on their way. Garcia is already headed to the BAU office to get set up.
Hotch doesnât acknowledge your statement. Instead, he says something else that makes your stomach turn. âStrauss said his body was found near Huntsville.â
You curse loudly, rubbing your forehead. âWhat the hell are we walking into?â
âI donât know,â Hotch says automatically.
You keep massaging your forehead, trying to soothe the brewing headache. A hand squeezes your free one out of nowhere.
You lift your head to look at Hotch, almost in shock, but when he goes to pull away, you turn your wrist and lace your fingers together. A silent question that he hears. He squeezes your hand in response, lifting your hands to kiss your knuckles.
He doesnât let go for the rest of the drive.
+++
The air on the jet is tenser than youâve ever felt. Garcia is already at the office, video calling into Hotchâs laptop that now sits on the table between you two. Morgan is just across the aisle, leaned against the couch and he canât sit still. Reid is next to Hotch and Emily is next to you.
Rossi eyes you warily from the little kitchenette where he stirs a cup of coffee.Â
âOkay, crime scene photos have been uploaded to your devices,â JJ says, handing a file of hard copies to Reid and placing an extra copy down on the table. âItâs all we have at the moment, theyâre not touching anything until we get there, just snapping pictures and keeping it blocked off.â
You grab a picture just so you can glare at something. But when you get a good look at it, you drop it like it burned you.
âWhat is it?â Hotch says immediately.
âIs hisââ You pause, your throat constricting. âIs his body outside an elementary school?â
The sound of Garciaâs frantic typing stops abruptly. âHow did you know that?â
All the police have said is that Richard Monroeâs body was found dumped at the edge of the woods near Huntsville. But you know those woods, that edge in particular. Because you used to walk through them when you were younger if you were walking home with a friend. There were times â rare times â when your dad picked you up from school that the two of you would take the shortcut through those exact woods.
âBecause,â your voice shakes, âI used to walk through those woods. Theyâre outside the elementary school I went to.â As if you need to prove your point and your credibility, you continue, âThereâs a junior high next to it. Or there used to be. Itâs probably called something different nowââ
âYouâre right,â Garcia says, rattling off the names of the two schools you went to.
The jet is quiet for just a moment.
âThis isnât a coincidence,â Rossi says.
Your eyes lift and you meet his gaze with a solemn nod. Youâre both thinking the same thing. âMy dad dumped bodies outside schools,â you explain. âWhen he wasnât dumping them in abandoned lots or dirt roads, it was outside elementary schools. This is as direct as a message gets.â
Hotch shifts anxiously in his seat across from you. You know heâs battling with sending your ass back to Quantico, but you also know heâs learned by now that you will only be angry with him if he does that.
âWeâll go to the crime scene when we arrive,â Hotch says finally, though he wonât look at you. âDave, take Reid and JJ and get set up at the precinct. Morgan, Prentiss, and I will go to where his body was dumped.â
âWhere am I going?â you ask, ready to let the annoyance seep into your words.
But you barely feel any annoyance at all. Because of Hotchâs reply.
âThatâs your decision,â he says softly. âItâs up to you. Weâve always known this case was closely connected to you, but itâs getting closer. You can go with Dave to the precinct, come with me to the crime scene, or I can have the pilot take you back to Quantico. I can arrange for agents to escort you and you can work at the BAU office with Garcia. But itâs up to you.â
You blink. Heâs not saying any of this in a frustrated way. No, itâs genuine. Itâs caring.
âThank you,â you whisper. âIf itâs alright, Iâd like to go to the crime scene.â
Hotch nods, his eyes unreadable. âThatâs fine.â After another beat of silence, he glances at his watch and sighs. âWeâve got roughly forty-five minutes left in the air. If anyone needs sleep, I recommend you do so now. Iâm not sure when weâll check into a hotel.â
Or if weâll sleep at all, you add in your head to yourself. You donât see yourself getting a single second of sleep until you catch this unsub.
Garcia hangs up and everyone disperses, curling into seats and couches in desperate attempts to catch just a little rest.
You and Hotch donât move from your spots.
Well, you donât move. He does. It starts with him nudging your leg underneath the table. You donât look at him. He whispers your name. You donât even blink.
You hear him sigh before he slides out of his seat and switches sides, taking the now empty seat beside you. It makes you smile, just a little.
And then Aaron, the man that he is, is sliding down in his seat, leaning his body toward yours. You have no idea what heâs doing until you move to turn your head, and he guides you down to his shoulder.
âSleep,â he whispers. âYou need to get some rest.â
You smile, nuzzling your face into his shoulder. âYou do too, you know,â you murmur.
âI know,â he says, then leans his cheek onto your head. âI will.â
You let your eyes slip closed then, but not before wrapping yourself around his arm, pulling him into you, just needing to hold onto something. Anything.
Aaronâs hand slips between your knees, the touch not at all sexual, yet somehow more intimate. The level of comfort heâs providing, how easily he fits into your space, how right his body feels when it fits to yours, not even in a sexual manner. This is just the two of you existing, trying to squeeze in some sleep before everything else crashes down around you, and itâs perfect. Itâs as easy as breathing.
