Part 1
Content Warnings: Creep at the Bar™, Soft Hotch
WC: 2.5K
。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。
“Come on. Just one more!” Emily begs you, her voice loud over the constant chatter. She reaches over the unsettlingly sticky tabletop to grab your forearm, then, sensing your vacancy, searches for another target. “Garcia? JJ?”
Two margaritas and four vodka shots is all it takes to unravel whatever illusion of dignity you’ve managed to scrounge together since joining the BAU. Two margaritas and four shots has you giggling at anything said, funny or not, and struggling to keep your eyes open. Now, if Emily has her way — and you’ve come to learn that she often does when the team unwinds at the bar — a tequila shot is in the cards for you too.
“I’m out.” JJ says with a shake of her head, “Any more and I won’t be alive to see tomorrow morning, let alone Monday.”
“That’s the whole point,” says a now-pouting Emily as she spins in her seat to hound Garcia into agreeing to another round. The first to Morgan’s at the bar making friends, as he puts it. Watching him with a smile pulling at his lips is Reid, who nurses a soda and regales the rest of you every so often with numerical predictions of his chances for success.
Your head is spinning, and it’s got everything to do with the alcohol flooding your veins, not the unfortunate reality of your boss sitting at the head of the table, with those two top buttons open, exposing just a glimpse of his throat. He’s been checking his watch as often as is socially acceptable. Somewhere deep in the haze of your mind, you suspect Rossi, who's long gone, bullied him into coming. Now he nods along with Reid’s tangents, inserts a comment or two whenever the younger profiler takes a breath.
Emily calls your name once more, pinning her hopes onto you. It’s a rookie mistake you make when you nod, having not processed her question properly. By the time you realize what you’ve agreed to, it’s too late to back out. Suppressing a groan, you grab your card and slide out of the booth. You try not to think about squeezing past Hotch as you do it, try ignoring the warmth that spreads into you when your forearm brushes his shoulder.
You fail. Sweet as ever, Garcia offers to join you, but you shake her offer off with a smile, standing on only-slightly-unsteady legs and making the short walk to the bar.
As you slot yourself into the crowd waiting for their drinks, you debate whether Emily will notice you taking a water shot instead of the tequila you’ll buy for her and Garcia. You’re about to take the risk and order one when an unfamiliar hand settles itself on your lower back. Brow furrowing, you whirl around, hoping to see Prentiss or Morgan behind you.
Those hopes are dashed pretty quickly. A stranger presses in close to your side. His fingers curl around your waist in a manner so confident it’d make you laugh, were you sober enough to react with more certainty. Instead, you shiver. And of course he takes that to be a sign, his grin cheshire-cat-wide.
“I’m sorry. Do I know you?” you take a moment to respond as you cover his hand with your own, moving it away from you.
He’s tall, blonde, what many people would deem attractive. But his smile is too quick to appear and just lopsided enough to look practiced. “Not yet,” he says. “What are you drinking?”
“Nothing more now. Just water.”
Your tone is clipped, impersonal, and you hope he gets the message.
If he does, he chooses to ignore it and steps even closer, reaching the same hand across your body and resting it against the bar, boxing you in against it. The proximity has your stomach sinking.
Stephen — really, you’ve no idea what his name is, but he looks like a Stephen, and the type to spell it with a ‘ph’ over a ‘v’, just for the status of the extra letter — raises an eyebrow at you. “Just water? Come on, honey. What do you want? It’s on me.”
The pet name sounds wrong on his lips. You’re an FBI agent. You’ve dealt with the sickest people humanity has to offer, seen more in your short time with the team than most people see in their lives. You’re an excellent shot, giving even Morgan a run for his money. You should be more than capable of dealing with a freak who gets a little too close at the bar, for fuck’s sake.
But you’re tired and a little dizzy, and the scent of his cologne makes your head spin in the wrong kind of way. Emily wouldn’t hesitate to shove him hard, and JJ wouldn’t get herself into this situation in the first place. You’re not Emily or JJ though. You’re just you.
“Thank you, but I’m really not—”
The bartender cuts you off to ask for your order, and you try to forget Stephen’s eyes on you as you rattle it off, opting for an extra glass of water just to spite him.
He isn’t pleased, though his face says otherwise. “You don’t really want that. No strings, I promise. Just let me buy you a drink. Just one.”
You’ve had enough. “I’m not interested.”
Now the smile drops from his face, leaving it a blank mockery of neutrality that makes you sure ‘no strings’ is an empty promise. He leans in even closer, and you suppress a wince at the sensation of his breath against your skin. “You know, you don’t have to play hard to get.” Stephen’s tone is rougher now, all of its artificial sweetness abandoned. He looks you up and down, eyes the neckline of your shirt with a frown. “It’s obvious what you’re looking for.”
Your throat constricts. The air is hot. Too hot. It’s all you can do to keep your hand steady as you pay for your drinks. “I told you, I’m not looking for anything. Or anyone.”
When the bartender slides your drinks across the bar, you rush to grab them, nearly spilling them in your haste to leave. You’re not that lucky. Stephen’s arm is still in your way. You don’t like how your breathing speeds up, chest heaving just a little despite your attempts to remain unfazed, but it’s all too much.
Stephen opens his mouth to retort again.
He doesn’t get far.
“Move.”
A new hand settles itself on your back, and its fingers curve ever so slightly around your hip. If you wanted to back away, there’d be more than enough room. But you don’t.
Turning slightly in Hotch’s hold, you’re not surprised to see him issuing Stephen with the full force of his glare. The creep’s hand retreats, though he stays put otherwise.
“Here, sweetheart,” Hotch takes the tray from you, not even bothering to look at your ‘admirer’ again. His focus is on you, now, and his eyes are soft, one corner of his mouth curving up. “Thought you could use a hand. I think Prentiss might kill you if you drop another of her drinks.”
You manage to pull yourself together enough to roll your eyes. Of course he picks now to bring that up. “That was one time, Aaron. I don’t think she even remembers it.”
Now Stephen turns and walks to the other end of the bar, and you feel your shoulders loosen at the distance.
Hotch notices, because of course he does. Instead of walking you back to your booth, he stays put and searches your face. “You okay?”
You nod. “Fine. I don’t know why I didn’t…”
Trailing off, you scan the bar. Garcia is laughing at something Prentiss says (some kind of story, based on the gestures she’s making). Reid watches them with fondness in his features, Morgan back and sitting by his side.
“You shouldn’t have had to do anything,” Hotch says quietly. His arm rests by his side now. “I think I’m going to head back. You want to go home?”
“Yeah. I’m gonna call a cab.”
He tilts his head, echoing your words from months ago with just a hint of a smirk playing at his lips. “Everyone and their mother is calling a cab. I’m driving you.”
“Hotch…” you sigh. You can’t trust yourself, now, not to say the wrong thing, not to comment on the something that’s changed between the two of you since you gave him a ride home, not to wonder if he’s noticed it too.
“Let me do this for you. Please.”
His insistence is too gentle to argue with.
“Okay.”
Hotch takes the tray of drinks, leading you back towards the rest of the team.
“You’re an angel, honey,” Garcia tells you. She squeezes your hand in thanks as Hotch sets down the shots and hands you your water. If anyone noticed anything wrong, they don’t mention it, and you’re grateful for that small mercy.
“I think we’re going to head out now,” says Hotch. His hand hovers just above your back, almost touching you, as he goes on to explain that you aren’t feeling well and shouldn’t chance a cab.
You’re not too drunk to miss the communal grin passing through the group like the flu, so you file it away for later and hug the rest of the team one by one, giving Reid a tired smile and a wave goodbye.
Hotch leads you out of the bar and out into the cold in search of his car. You feel yourself take a real breath for the first time in a while.
“Are you alright?”
“Fine. Thank you,” you say, and mean it. The chill in the air helps to clear your head some. At the very least, you don’t feel nearly as drunk as you did inside.
Hotch hums, unlocking the car. Climbing into the passenger seat, you can’t help but laugh.
“What?”
You look over at him, groan quietly. “You’re a liar, Aaron Hotchner. Your car is so much cleaner than mine.”
It really is. You glance over the interior in search of a coffee stain or a loose wrapper, but come up empty handed.
“Guilty,” he shrugs. “And it’ll stay that way, if you behave.”
You’re pretty sure your brain short circuits when he puts his hand on the back of your headrest to reverse out of the parking spot. It takes you longer to respond than usual to his gentle taunting. When you do, it’s a little half-hearted. Maybe you aren’t as sober as you thought.
“Please, Hotch. I’m not about to throw up in your car. I’m not that far gone.”
“No. You’re not,” he pauses, opening the window anyway. “We’re back to ‘Hotch’, now? What happened to Aaron?”
You give him the most innocent look you can manage and plug your address into his satnav. “You’re right there.”
You’re pretty sure the look he gives you now is reserved for murderers. And clearly, on some occasions, you.
Eventually, he relents. “You called me ‘Aaron’, earlier.”
“You called me ‘sweetheart’,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. Resting your chin on your hand, you turn your head to look out of the window. You don’t want to see the smug expression you’ve come to recognise over the past few weeks, reserved almost exclusively for you. You know he wears it now.
“Did I?”
You don’t answer. Your fingers move to cover your lips, as if that’ll stop you from making more of an idiot of yourself than you already have.
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you register his sigh. “Look in the side pocket,” he says, his voice quiet.
“What?”
“In the compartment in the door. Take a look.”
You follow his instructions, finding a few CDs tucked away there. You’re about to tease Hotch for his taste in kids’ audiobooks when you spot it, and feel your breath hitch.
“Hotch…” You say, turning over the copy of Carole King’s Tapestry in your hands. It’s still wrapped in plastic, still new. Taking the disc out of its case, you look to him for permission before sliding it into the player. “When did you…?”
“Indiana. I saw it a few weeks ago, and it made me think.”
You press play, and I Feel The Earth Move floods the car. “You really didn’t have to—”
“—I wanted to,” he frowns as he says it, determination etched into his face. “I don’t have much of a collection, but it’ll get there.”
A comfortable layer of quiet settles between you as you watch the world move outside, late-night stragglers heading from offices with briefcases in hand, or stumbling out of nearby bars, arm-in-arm and laughing. It’s been a long while since you took that first journey alone with Hotch, since your determination not to think about him in any non-professional way wavered and cracked. Now, weeks later, you take turns to bring each other coffee in the morning. You ask him about Jack and revel in how content he is to talk about his son. You look at him and wonder if this slow, tentative thing you’ve built, this easy friendship, is all you’ll ever share.
If it is, you can’t bring yourself to be upset. But you glance at him now, his hair falling over his forehead, and think to yourself that it might not be.
Three songs or so later, Hotch turns into your street. You point out your apartment and wait for him to turn the engine off, but he doesn’t.
“Thank you for tonight,” you say, simply to have something to say that isn’t an admittal of something you really shouldn’t be confessing to.
He hesitates. The car stays running. “You’ve got nothing to thank me for.”
You nod towards the CD player, pressing pause. Silence. “Thank you for this, then.”
“It was your idea,” Hotch says, “You’re a lot more thoughtful than you give yourself credit for.”
It’s sweet. Too sweet.
You laugh at him. “God, you sound like a fortune cookie.”
“I’d make an excellent fortune teller.”
There’s that tone again. It’s flat, but with something exasperated lingering beneath it, something fond.
“Go on, then. What’s in my future?”
He sighs. “A nasty hangover. And a text or two hundred from Garcia, complaining about hers.”
You snort in acknowledgement. “And what do you see in yours?”
Now he turns the engine off, leaning back against the headrest and turns to study you. His eyes trace from yours down to the curve of your lips, and to where your hands lay intertwined in your lap. For a long moment, he says nothing. Your breath is starting to turn the windscreen foggy. Then, with a gentle grip, he takes your hand and brings it to his lips, kisses the tender skin on the inside of your wrist.
“If you’ll have me? Another very uncomfortable conversation with Strauss.”
Your soft, tired smile is answer enough. He leads you to your front door, kisses your forehead, and sees you inside. When that conversation is over, he promises, he’ll be driving you home much more often.
It isn’t very long before he makes good on it, and Reid is a little richer.
Hiiiiii!!!!!!! I recently got back into criminal minds and devoured all ur hotch fics like a MANIAC (you write. So unbelievably well. Im also in love w ur tasm peter stuff, you are just such a good writer thru and thru) and that one request where Jack calls reader mom for the first time really stuck w me so I was wondering if maybe I could request smth of the opposite? Like not-so-single mom!reader and hotch have been dating for a while and her lil girl calls him dad for the first time :3 🖤🖤
thank you for requesting! 💌 —your daughter calls Hotch dad for the first time. fem, 2k
“Come in, come in!” Hotch says, the door held ajar by his arm, forcing you to squeeze in and save the heat. “Quickly, honey, please, get out of the rain.”
Sarah bursts in through the door and away from the rain, her vinyl coat covered in raindrops, her boots wet with mud. “Aaron!” she says, pulling it into something softened and excited at once, though her ‘r’s are weak, closer to ‘w’s. “I missed you.” She jumps from one foot to the other.
He makes sure you’re safely inside before he abandons you. It’s not very kind to you, but he can’t help himself. “Sarah,” he says, without your daughter’s sweetness but heavily fond, “I missed you more, honey. How many days has it been?”
“Four!” she says, holding up four fingers as Hotch grabs her by the waist.
He doesn’t mind her wet coat, working an arm around and beneath her to shuck off her muddy shoes. They topple to the ground to unveil damp socks.
“Oh, no, your socks are wet. I did all the laundry while we were waiting, I have some warm ones for you in the dryer. Should we get you out of this coat?”
“Where’s Jack?” you ask.
“Eating. He was starving, couldn’t wait.”
You kick your shoes off and gather them with Sarah’s to line up by the door. Hotch takes off Sarah’s coat with some one-armed manoeuvring, aware of her smiley gaze following his every move.
“I,” you say, pressing a swift kiss to his cheek, cold lips to his rough skin, “am gonna go to the toilet really quickly. Hi, handsome.”
He savours your kiss and watches you go. He owes you a better greeting, he missed you just as much as he missed your girl. For now, he wipes the cold from Sarah’s cheeks and stations her comfortably on his navel.
He loves her like his own. He’s privileged to get the opportunity, and it’s hard not to feel that low level of awe whenever she’s around, because she loves him the same way. Sarah waits for him to smile before she wraps her arms around his neck, long enough to twine her fingers in the short hair she finds there.
It’s funny to love someone you had no hand in bringing into the world, but no less real. He’d do anything for Sarah. I miss you doesn’t cover it, but it’s a start. “I missed you,” he murmurs, not well-versed in baby talk but always willing to try for his kids. “It’s so nice to see you. Jack missed you too, should we go see him? I can change your socks.”
He ushers her back enough to see her. She has such loving eyes, not shy at all as she nods her head. “Can you make crackers?”
He beams. “Oooh, yes. Crackers and cheese and apple slices, I know what you want, honey. It’s ready for you in the kitchen.”
Things weren’t easy at first for either you nor Hotch. He works too much, and you both have priorities that can’t be shifted, but the connection between you was easy. Love, undoubtedly, pretty much the moment you met, even if it scared him. He never thought he’d get a second chance and he’s not sure you thought you’d find yours either, and yet loving you has been as helpless as loving your daughter. He doesn’t have a choice and he doesn’t want one.
In this time, you’ve found routine. He’s introduced the idea of moving in together and you’re excited for it, though concrete plans haven’t been laid. There’s a lot of questions and no need to rush into answering them yet. He has no intentions of letting you go now —Hotch will do anything it takes to keep his small family.
Today, right now, that’s crackers.
“Sarah!” Jack says when he sees them, jumping off of his chair to climb on top of it. He holds his hands out and Hotch leans down with a loving laugh to let his son hug her. “You’re back!”
“I’m back,” she agrees.
“Do you want some of my sandwiches? Daddy made me two.”
“Yes!” she says, wiggling to be put down and given what he’s promising.
Hotch fights to take her to the sink and wash her little hands, to her horror and whining. He says, “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, sweetheart, but you gotta wash your hands before you eat.”
He puts her in her own chair, and it is Sarah’s chair, outfitted with a big pillow so she can see the table and marked by a pink star sticker, putting a placemat in front of her. Jack quickly pushes one of his sandwiches towards her. “There you go.”
“Thank you, Jackers,” she says.
Hotch smiles. Despite their different interests and ages, they’re quick to get along.
He shouldn’t pry while you’re in the bathroom, but he worries about you. “Honey?” he calls up the stairs.
“I’m just changing!”
“Yeah? Can you bring some socks for Sarah, please?”
You shout back something incomprehensible. He returns to the kitchen, where Sarah looks over the chair with pleading eyes and asks, “Crackers?” a piece of lettuce stuck to her chin.
“Ah,” he says showfully, turning to the fridge to grab the plate of crackers, sliced cheese, and apples he’d Saran wrapped an hour ago. He peels off the wrapping and places it in front of her. “Here, sweetheart. Do you want anything else? Maybe some chips?”
She laughs and grabs a piece of apple without answering him.
“What about you, sweetheart? Drink?” he asks Jack.
“Yes please, daddy.”
Hotch makes Jack a cup of orange juice and Sarah a sippy cup, hers diluted some with water. He places them down in front of the kids, crouching between their chairs, intending to stay and chat. “How’s that?” he asks, tilting his head to the side to listen for your light footsteps on the stairs.
“Thanks, daddy,” Jack says.
“Thank you, daddy,” Sarah echoes, reaching for him. Hotch offers his hand, startled, not quick enough to hide it. She doesn’t pay any mind to his expression, pleased to have her hand held and her big plastic plate of crackers to munch on.
“Why’d you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” you ask, passing him Sarah’s socks, and rounding the table to stand by Jack's other side. “Hi,” you add, ruffling Jack’s hair, “look at you, gorgeous, you got your hair cut.”
Hotch rubs Sarah’s knuckles, trying to phrase it, not sure how to tell you with the kids still there. Will Sarah feel embarrassed if he brings it up so swiftly? Will she feel like she’s done something wrong? Will you?
“What’s wrong?” you ask.
He decides to present you with the situation. He’s not manipulative, but clever. “Mommy got your socks, too. Can we take these cold ones off, is that okay?”
“Yes, please,” Sarah says.
You watch in confusion. Hotch gives you a quick look. Trust me for a second.
He eases the socks off of her feet, laughs when she laughs at his tickling, even if he’s not quite sure how to feel. Happy, he gives her toes a squeeze and bunches a sock up to pull it over her heel and up to her ankle. “One,” he says, repeating the process with the same tenderness. “Two. There we go, all warm again, Sarah.”
“Thanks, daddy.”
You breathe in.
Sarah puts some cheese on a cracker and offers it to Hotch, who eats it while you summon him away with silent parent talk. He kisses her forehead and wipes it clean as he goes.
“Did she do that when I was upstairs?” you ask quietly.
Hotch knows you. Loves you, but knows you intrinsically. He knows just by looking at you that you’re happy, but you’re worried about something, and it’s not hard to guess what it is: he might not want Sarah to call him daddy, and telling her not to might break her heart, and yours too.
“She did.”
“She’s never… expressed that interest to me.”
“Sometimes they think about things more than we know.” Jack still surprises him as he did when he was a toddler.
“She just loves you,” you say.
“I love her. She can call me whatever she wants to.”
You hold his wrist, taking a step closer to him. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.” He murmurs now you’re close, ducking his head to yours, two halves of the same heart looking at one another’s hands. “I love her more than anything in the world. I want to make her crackers for the rest of my life.” Hotch puts his index finger to the soft skin under your chin. “Maybe by tomorrow she’ll forget she called me daddy and she’ll never say it again, but… I want her to. Is that okay?” he asks.
You lean up to kiss him and you nod into his lips, which makes it hard but not impossible to kiss back. “She loves you so much,” you say quietly. You’d only wanted a quick peck.
He might’ve said he loves her more than anything, but there’s a level on which he holds her and Jack where you sit too. He loves you. You made Sarah who she is all by yourself, and you’re so lovable standing in his reach. You’re perfect.
Maybe he’s feeling sweet because Sarah called him daddy.
“I think Jack confused her,” he says.
“Maybe. You are, you know, her dad. You do everything a dad would.”
Hotch slots his leg between yours and leans back to force you into his favourite kind of hug. You laugh slowly, hug the same, your arms sliding up over his shoulders to wrap behind his head, your hand cupping his hair.
He closes his eyes and feels your waist.
“You don’t have to worry,” he says.
“I don’t worry about you and Sarah, I know you love her. I guess I just worry about us. Not that you don’t love me, Aaron.”
“Big changes,” he guesses in a whisper.
“Big changes.”
He encourages you away to hold your face. He hopes that waiting with you in quiet for a while can explain it better than words.
I would love a fic about Reid’s friend coming to visit him at work and as soon as Hotch lays eyes on her it’s love at first sight. But she’s like really girlie and bubbly so the rest of the team is so confused as to why Hotch is so whipped for her :)
“She said that to you?”
“Yeah…I mean the audacity of some people,” you said shaking your head. “I’ve had enough of her. And I promise you, next time I’m telling our manager.” As if to prove the harshness of your words you dropped on his desk a stapler you had been playing with to occupy your hands.
Spencer smiled, entertained as always from your stories involving your least favorite coworker.
“Anyway, enough with her. We can go now, right?”
“Yeah, just let me get all my stuff.”
A deep voice coming from behind you right before you opened your mouth stopped you from complaining. “Reid, that last report needs-
The fact that you turned around to search for the owner of that voice seemed to stop him from speaking any further.
You blinked softly at him melting under the man’s gaze. He was tall, handsome, and looked like he could easily kill you: just your type.
“Hotch?” you heard your friend’s voice.
That was Hotch?
“You’re Hotch?
“Yeah,” he breathed out a laugh. “And you are?”
“Y/N,” Spencer introduced you to him. “Sorry, she’s just picking me up.”
“That’s alright,” Hotch replied to him while still looking into your eyes. “So I take it you’ve heard about me.”
“Only the best,” you giggled.
“Yes, I’m sure Reid has never complained to you about paperwork or having to work on a weekend,” he rolled his eyes, not entirely convinced.
“I haven’t!” Spencer defended himself.
Hotch laughed and a beautiful smile stuck on his face. No way this was the same man Spencer had talked to you about that ‘never smiled’ and ‘never blinked’.
“Um…you wanted to tell me something about a report?” your friend awkwardly positioned himself next to you trying to get Hotch’s attention.
“Right,” he said. “It’s…it’s fine. It can wait until tomorrow.”
“Oh, okay.”
--
“Do you see that?” Penelope whispered, grabbing Emily with one hand and JJ with the other.
“What is it?”
“Look,” she said pointing at you from afar.
“Who’s that?” Emily asked.
“And why is Hotch looking at her like he’s about to eat her?” JJ added.
“It’s Y/N, Reid’s best friend.”
“Oh…well good thing she’s not his girlfriend ‘cause…”
“Right?” Garcia said. “Oh my God, do you guys think they’re gonna fall in love? It would be so cute…they will start going on dates and we’re gonna get the weekends off!”
JJ tilted her head observing the pair of you. “You wouldn’t think that’s his type. She looks so…sunshine-y.”
“Well, I think that’s exactly what Hotch needs,” Emily said. “Some sunshine.”
--
“Why didn’t you tell me he was hot?” you asked when you were finally out of everyone’s sight.
“Who?”
“Hotch!”
“Ew…he’s like my dad!”
“To you!” you said opening your car door. “How am I supposed to drive now? My hands are shaking.”
“Because…of my boss?” Spencer asked, sounding confused.
You got into your seat and started giggling, covering your mouth with your hands. “Fuck,” you sighed moving your hands to cup your own cheeks feeling their heat. “This has never happened to me before. I think I just fell in love.”
Spencer gave you a side eye. “We’re still talking about Hotch, right?”
You bit your bottom lip and pulled a little card out of your pocket. “He gave me his number.”
“When did this even happen?”
“When you were putting your stuff in your bag.”
“So he likes you too?”
“I guess,” you smiled.
For a few moments the two of you stared at each other before bursting out in laughter.
“And I always thought Derek would be the one going after you.”
You let out a heavy sigh like a lovesick schoolgirl. “He’s really handsome, Spence.”
“He’s a good man too,” he said.
“So you approve?”
“I would never stand in the way between you and my father figure.”
could you pleaseee do more hotch x bombshell reader
cw suggestive —you and Hotch have a shared secret you’re hiding from the rest of the team. fem, 1k
“He’s too old for you, you know.”
You give Elle a charmed smile. “He is not.”
“Is too.”
“How old do you think I am, Greenaway?” you tease. “I know I look good for my age, but I’m fully developed. He is not too old for me.”
“Who?” Spencer asks, placing down his dinner tray with a smile.
“Gideon,” you say. “What do you think, babe, do I have a chance with our great leader?”
“No,” Spencer says, giggling as he spears a dehydrated looking green bean with his fork. He’s getting good at recognising jokes for what they are.
As the younger (but, despite Elle’s insistence, not young) crowd, you have complimentary avoiding of work to do, free with your employment. You spend your lunch hour trying to stretch it into two, driving Gideon insane, and prompting Hotch to come and find you. He hasn’t appeared yet, but when you check your watch you’ve got about ten minutes left until you need to get back.
“The line was so long,” Spencer says. “They could reduce the foot traffic in here by half if they had two people working the register.”
“Maybe if we had our own offices we could eat our lunch alone from a brown paper bag like everybody else does, and we wouldn’t need to line up,” Elle says wryly.
“You don’t like lining up like middle schoolers?” you ask in feigned shock.
“I don’t,” Spencer says earnestly.
“She’s being sarcastic,” Elle says. “You couldn’t tell?” She looks over your shoulder suddenly, but there’s a velvet voice in your ear before you can turn around.
“Can I borrow you?”
You smile because he can’t see it. “That depends, Agent Hotchner, will I get to finish my lunch?”
You don’t have a tray in front of you. It clearly doesn’t matter to Hotch. “I’ll take care of it.”
You’d let him drag you around by the collar, but that’s none of his business. You turn to meet his eyes over your shoulder, disappointed that he’s already a few steps back waiting for you to stand up.
What Elle doesn’t get, what nobody seems to see but you, is that Hotch had no need to lean in and talk so close to your ear. He could have sent you an email, paged you, and he’s here in the cafeteria waiting for you to follow him out.
You send both Elle and Spencer a suggestive look and climb off of the bench. Hotch senses when you’re near rather than looking, starting out of the cafeteria and down the hall to the elevator bank. He does a sharp turn you aren’t expecting to the photocopying rooms, where you refuse to go, lest you get killed by a falling stack of printer paper. One minute you’re walking together and the next he’s taken your hand and pulling you into an alcove, suddenly sliding his hand behind your back.
“Aaron–”
He dips his face down and kisses you. It’s surprising and not, one slight nipping kiss before he looks you in the eyes. He’s asking if you’re alright to be kissed, and if it’s him, he can shove you up against a wall —you lift your head and he pulls you right back up to be kissed again. His hands slide over the tight fabric of your blazer and hold you chest to chest, his nose crushing yours, his lips unwavering. Pinpricks of heat ricochet from your mouth to your neck, a shudder he feels that has him laughing hot against your lips.
“That’s not very gentlemanly,” you say, weaving your fingers into the soft crop of hair behind his ears.
“I’m sorry,” he says. He lifts his hand, cleaning the smudge of your lipstick with his pinky finger, before stroking your cheek with his knuckle. “What sort of note was that, this afternoon? Why do you think that’s alright to leave at my desk?”
“How’d you know it was me?” you ask, dropping your hands from his hair to poke at his waist.
“I hoped it was you,” he admits. He looks like he might say something else, but he steals a rough kiss instead, and then another.
“Okay,” you say, pleased to be kissed like this by him, “it was me. And you deserved it.”
“Did I?” He takes your face into two hands. “Did I?”
You stutter momentarily at his repeated question. “You– yeah, Hotchner, you did. It was supposed to be nice, like a promise.”
“Are you promising?” he asks, giving your cheek a sweet, gentle stroke with his thumb.
You kiss his nice jaw, ruffle the hair that curls over his forehead playfully, and laugh as he catches your hand. He doesn’t grab. Hotch isn’t ever aggressive with you (though he can get a little excited).
“Decide what you want for dinner tonight, and we’ll go after work,” he says, returning your hand gently to your side.
“Another kiss?” you ask.
Hotch kisses you sweetly. “Come on, honey, lunch is over.”
“Just one more?” you ask.
He falls for it every time. You must harvest half a dozen extra kisses, incensed because it’s him, because nobody thought for a minute he’d bend to your whims.
Hotch doesn’t bend. He just wants you like you want him.
“One more,” he says as you pull away. “Just one.”
It tickles your lips. You curl your arms behind his neck and try to make it one that’ll linger, your fingers scratching lightly at his scalp as he presses your back to the cold wall. You yelp a laugh and he covers your back with big hands, mumbling a sorry that gets completely lost.
You don’t know how he’s going to explain this to Gideon.
hellooo, hope everything's okay with you:) i was thinking of a hotch request, of bau!reader being "his favourite" in the team (in a way that the team can see he has a soft spot for her). maybe the members of the team seeing little interactions between them two and noticing it <33 i just *loved* the one you wrote about hotch helping her in a bau party, and would love to see more of hotch protecting her and being soft with her, during the jobs as well!! thank you so muchhhh, hope you have a good day x
hiii thank u so much baby!!! this has been in my drafts since september i’m so sorry for the delay!! i hope this is okay <3 | 0.6k of fluff
Aaron Hotchner was never one to play favorites. He’s always loved his team, has always felt fond towards its members in one way or another, but none ever seemed to outrank the other.
Until you.
You’d joined the BAU as a temporary replacement, and then, you just stayed. You fit right in, which wasn’t hard to do considering how welcoming everyone had been, but it still felt like the kind of luck that isn’t easy to come by.
Hotch has felt a sort of pull towards you ever since you stepped into the bureau, your shirt a little wrinkled, smile nervous and beautiful. He’s grown to feel for you in a way that doesn’t compare to how he feels towards the others. It’s completely different; incomparable.
Even now, over a year since you’ve joined the team, Hotch can’t help but feel like he has to protect you, has to make sure you’re okay.
The others know it, too.
Derek has taken to doing his very own Hotch impression, a lovestruck version of him, that is. Spencer tells Aaron daily that he should just tell you how he feels. Emily likes to say, ‘you’re going soft, Hotchner.’ And all he can do is fight a smile and shake his head.
Even now, in some town in Indiana, Aaron can’t help but look for you in the busy station. It’s early in the morning, he’s got two cups of coffee in hand. One for him, the other for you.
“Aw, thanks, you shouldn’t have,” Derek says, reaching for one of the coffees.
“You know that’s not for you, Morgan.”
Pretending to be hurt, Derek walks off towards Spencer, a ‘can you believe him?’ look on his face. Hotch vaguely registers Spencer’s voice saying something like, “I believe that’s what they call favoritism.”
Then, the conversation goes quiet for Aaron’s ears, because he sees you. You’ve got a sweater on today, the sleeves long enough that only your fingertips poke out. His feet are walking towards you before his brain processes it.
Before he reaches you, an officer from the station does. “Hey, miss, reporters aren’t allowed inside.”
You take a step back, eyebrows furrowing at the man questioning your presence, “I’m not a reporter. They cleared me at the door.”
“Nice try, sweetheart, I’ve heard it all before-“
“Agent,” Hotch steps in, trying not to squeeze the coffee cups too hard. “Good morning, coffee for you.”
Your gaze softens as soon as it flicks from the officer and over to Hotch. Your fingers brush when you grab the drink from him, sparks shooting up your arm.
“Thank you, Agent Hotchner.”
“Is there a problem here, officer?” Aaron asks, tilting his head.
“No, no, sir. Thank you for coming down and helping out.”
“It’s what we do,” Hotch emphasizes the ‘we,’ like he’s making sure the officer knows that you’re as much a part of this as he is.
The officer nods and walks off, leaving the two of you as alone as you can be in the station.
“Thank you, Aaron,” you say, nudging your elbow against his arm gently. “I totally could’ve handled it, though.”
He smiles because you’re the only one on the team who calls him Aaron. He likes it that way.
“I know, honey.” And he’s the only one who calls you honey. “But I didn’t really feel like explaining why one of my agents punched an officer today.”
“I was not going to punch him!” You laugh, your morning getting better by the second. “Maybe berate him a little. That’s all.”
“Sure it is.”
When you and Aaron walk into the conference room where the rest of the team is waiting, you’re met with the same type of stare from all of them. Knowing, expecting, secretly admiring.
You duck your head and take a sip of your coffee, forever grateful that you joined this team, that you found these people, that Aaron is beside you where you always seem to want him to be.
Spencer calls you drunk and in need of rescue. You confess a few secrets to him while he won’t remember them (or so you think). 3k, fem
cw drunk!spencer, mentioned past drug use, confident/bombshell!reader, flirting, spencer getting some well deserved comfort, a handful of his drunken compliments, insecurity, intense mutual pining
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
You’re blissfully sleeping in the arms of a REM cycle when your phone rings. It pulls you by the chest, a punch of shock and expectancy at once. It’ll be someone calling you into work, Hotch himself if you’re lucky.
You search blindly for your phone. If you’re even luckier, it’ll be a wrong number. Your fingers curl around the little body of your phone and you bring it to your ear without checking the number, frazzled. “Hello?” you ask hoarsely.
Total quiet.
“Hello?” You pull the screen away. The caller reads: SPENCER. You pull it back rather than hang up. “Hey, Spencer. Are you there?”
“Hello.” He laughs. “Hello, are you there?”
“I’m here, Spencer, where are you?”
“That’s an interesting question, actually, and I’m sure there’s a great answer, but…”
“But what?” You sit up quickly, your throat aching with sleep. Your room is black as coal pitch. “Spencer, what time is it, my love?”
“You shouldn’t call me stuff like that.”
“Stop being weird and tell me where you are.”
He laughs like a hyena. You can see it in your mind, his smile and all his pearly perfect teeth. You love it when he smiles like that and he rarely ever does. “I’m somewhere and I need your help getting home!” he says with another funny laugh.
“Are you alright? You sound…” He sounds inebriated.
Spencer struggled with his drug problem for so long before you found out. You just hadn’t been around enough, and when you were he’d gotten good at hiding it. You can still remember how furious you’d been with everyone, including him, because you could’ve helped, would’ve done anything to support him through it. If he’s hurting now and hasn’t told you, you love him, but you’ll be insanely angry.
“Spencer?” you ask quietly.
“I went for drinks with a girl but she didn’t like me and I may have drowned my sorrows too much,” he admits. “Um. Did you know gin is very strong?”
“Aw, baby. You’re cheating on me?”
“I’m afraid so,” he says, and hiccups.
“Where are you?”
After some hassle wherein you persuade Spencer to give the phone to someone else in the bar for a slightly less drunk interrogation, you dress and gather your bearings for the drive. You zip a hoodie up over your pyjamas, stuff your feet into some old converse, and set out into the dark to find him.
He calls you again as you’re parking. “Hello,” he says as soon as you answered. “I need you to come and get me.”
Spencer called you twice to save him. Even if he doesn’t remember, he’s called you to come and get him when he knows he needs help, and that realisation is hard to ignore. “Spencer, I’m two minutes away, I’m parking. You’re still where you were?”
“Where was I?”
“At the bar, sweetheart. Are you still there?” It’s scarily dark out and you didn’t grab any sort of defensive measure before you came, which you regret now, climbing out of your car to walk the dimly lit road. The bar glows like a beacon to be followed.
“Still where?”
“Did you hit your head?”
“Not to my knowledge. Though I’m not sure I have much right now. I feel like I’m forgetting everything I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a lot. You know I can read about eighty average length novels in one hour on an e-reader? The buttons make it faster.”
“You haven’t told me that before.” You shiver against the nighttime winds, footsteps heavy on the grey sidewalk.
“I’m trying to be more conversational. Emily says it’s not working.”
“You’re conversational. Isn’t the only condition of being conversational to prompt a conversation? We’re always talking.”
“…What?”
You laugh like crazy. “Spencer, you don’t need to change the way you talk.”
“I annoy people.”
“You don’t annoy me.”
You approach the door of the bar, a ramshackle sheet of plywood over what looks to be a glass door. The bar building seems in similar dessaray, with modern features wrecked by scratches and smashed panes. It’s a real dive. Spencer couldn’t have meant to come here.
You war with both hands to open the door and find yourself faced with a long and empty corridor leading to another door. Worried you’re going to get kidnapped, you bring the phone back to your ear, Spencer’s chatting an immediate greeting. “…telling me I’m doing something wrong without telling me what it is, it’s impossible.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, can you come to the door?”
“I don’t think I have control of my legs,” he says without inflection.
“It’s definitely the building with the smashed door?”
“Yesssss. Are you here?” he asks excitedly.
“I better not get murdered, Spencer Reid.”
“Am I in trouble?”
“How are you even keeping the phone to your ear right now?”
“I’m on speaker phone. Milly showed me how to do it. Say hi, Milly.”
“Hi Milly,” a new voice says.
You rub your eyes with one hand and square your shoulders, prepared to defend yourself if the creepy door leads to a creepier room.
Spencer is immediately visible from the get go. You open the door on to a rather cosy looking bar, which you’re thinking might be the whole point; wretched exterior, secret attraction. Warm orange light ebbs into the space from sconces and a faux fireplace, while a wrestling match playing from the small TV behind the bar casts brighter light down onto Spencer’s shoulders. He looks out of place, dressed in a white oxford shirt and a suit jacket, his tie loosened and hanging from either side of his neck, compared to the lingering patrons who sit dotted around the room in booths and on barstools. One such patron sits in a plaid shirt and a trucker hat, her hair to her back, thick and dark.
You hang up the call and put your phone in your pocket. Spencer gasps like he’s been smacked and picks his own phone up from the bar, clicking at buttons with clumsy fingers. “No,” he hums sadly.
“Spencer,” you say, not wanting to disturb the people spending their sorry-looking night here. “Spencer. Hey, Spence!”
His phone tips between his fingers. The woman you assume to be Milly catches it and offers it back without looking too far from her beer.
“Hey,” you say gently, crossing a wide empty space to meet him. The room itself is shaped like a horseshoe, the bar taking up a surprising amount in the centre, and booths and tables placed around it. Spencer’s off of his barstool as you approach, eyes like puppy dog’s, arms extended. “You okay?” you ask.
You can feel eyes on you both from every angle, but it doesn’t matter, not when Spencer’s falling into your arms (or on to them —he’s surprisingly tall when you aren’t wearing heels). “You alright?” you ask again.
“You don’t have to be worried, I’m fine.”
He’s less coordinated in real life than he’d sounded over the phone, his slurring unmissable, his hands like jumping fish as he tries to hug you. It’s weird and straining to take his weight but you do it without complaint. He smells the same, at least, only his cedary cologne is sharpened by the tang of gin on his breath.
“Thank god you’re here,” he whispers.
“Why?” you ask, pulling away to check for danger.
“I missed you.”
“I missed you too, handsome,” you say, genuine but laying it on thick simultaneously as you ease his head back to cup his cheek. You can’t help yourself. He’s the prettiest man you’ve ever met, and it gets worse every year.
He frowns at you deeply. “I don’t like first dates.”
“Then don’t go on them,” you suggest, “you don’t need to until you’re ready.”
“I’m ready for love,” he says. You pull your lips into a flattened line, unsure of what to say, how to explain that it’s waiting for him, but his chin dips towards his neck and his eyes lock onto your face. “You’re not wearing makeup. God, you’re so pretty.”
You flinch away from him. “Fuck, Spencer.”
“I’m sorry! It’s not that you don’t look pretty with makeup, but I never see you without it!”
You’d forgotten you weren’t wearing any. Makeup isn’t a shield, exactly, but you like putting your best foot forward, so to speak. You’ve no clue what you look like tonight, hadn’t managed to look in the mirror, you’d been focused on getting to Spencer before he got lost. You can imagine the puffiness.
Spencer touches your cheek. You let him turn you mostly because he’s surprised you, his eyes roving up and down your face with a fawning curiosity.
“You’re beautiful. You know that already, but people don’t tell you enough,” he says, his hand falling from your cheek.
“Spencer,” you say softly, “let’s get you home.”
You thank Milly for her help and grab Spencer’s bag from the floor to hang on your shoulder. You’d make a joke about how heavy it was if you didn’t think he’d take it from you, and, considering how drunk he is, topple over from the imbalance it provides. His shirt is clammy where you push your hand through his arm to link them, his footsteps wobbly.
“I didn’t want to go on a date,” he says.
“Then why did you go?” you ask, helping him over the door jam into the long hallway.
“I don’t want to be alone forever.”
“Spencer, you won’t be.” It doesn’t feel like the best time to bring up how much you like him. You’re sure he thinks you’re kidding, doesn’t everybody? Don’t torture him, they say. Don’t toy with him. Every time you flirt with him the team acts like you can’t mean it, and for a while it worked for you; you weren’t in love with Spencer. You weren’t playing with his feelings, but you didn’t love him, and then you joined the team and got to know him, watched him fluster at every comment you made or under any soft looking and realised you could love him. It was easy to fall for him. You liked doing it. But now he’s determined to write your affection off as a joke and going on dates?
In the morning, when he’s sober, you’ll have to tell him how you feel. Or you could let him find someone more like him… ugh. It’s such a mess.
You grapple with the size of your feelings for him as he hums and laughs his way down the hall to the glass door. On the street, he squints and straightens his back, fighting to regain his arm from your hold to cover your shoulder instead. “It’s cold,” he says in surprise. “You okay?”
“I’m fine, I got my jacket. It’s a short walk, come on.”
His arm stops acting as protection and starts to use you for support. “I didn’t mean to drink so much.”
“Drowning your sorrows is always a terrible idea because it tends to work,” you lament, less scared of the dark with him at your hip, though what protection he might offer is negated by the alcohol.
“She kind of looked like you.”
You squeeze your eyes together quickly. “Oh.”
“I didn’t know she was going to. But she didn’t– she didn’t– it’s hard to talk. She didn’t listen like you do,” he says, lightly slurring, “she just stared at me like everyone used to in high school. Like she could tell there’s something wrong with me.”
“Spencer, there’s nothing wrong with you.”
“I know,” he says.
“Do you?”
“Yes.” He frowns. “No, I don’t know. I don’t feel like there’s something wrong with me,” —his voice turns to a nearly indistinguishable mumble— “but everyone else always does.”
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.”
“Is that why you make all your jokes?”
“What jokes, babe?”
“Like that! Like babe. It’s funny ‘cos you’d never date me.”
You’d slow if he weren’t already walking at a snail's pace. “That’s not true. Let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?”
“I won’t remember to ask you in the morning.”
“Spencer, you remember everything.”
He drags his feet. “I wish I wasn’t so weird,” he whines. It’s playful at the forefront but desperate otherwise, and it gives you pause. “I wish I was normal, and you could like me normal.”
You look down at your hands, panicking, a flash of Is this a good idea? like an alarm in your head as you turn on the sidewalk to face him. He’s looking at you like he’s begging you to disagree with him.
You’re happy to.
“Spencer, I like you like this,” you insist loudly. His eyes and all his sweet lashes track the movement of your hand as you touch your chest, and your neck. “You’re not normal, I’m not normal. Do you know how many times I’ve been rejected? Just for being me? I’m too bossy, too outspoken, too– too high maintenance. I've had friends with good intentions tell me I need to lower my standards, need to relax, because otherwise I’m going to end up alone for the rest of my life. I feel alone all the time.”
“But you’re perfect,” he says, puzzled.
“To you. And you’re perfect to me.” Your hand crawls to the base of your throat. “So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. You think I’d come and get anybody else in the middle of the night dressed like this?” you ask him, gesturing to your ratty pyjamas and your dingy converse.
“You look so cute,” he says mournfully.
You roll your eyes. He’s too wasted for this conversation. “Come on, sweetheart. You can think about this too much in the morning. Let’s just get home in one piece.” Physically and emotionally.
“Can I come home with you?” he asks.
That had always been the plan. “Ask me nicely and I’ll consider it on the way.”
— —
Spencer shuts his eyes, hands itching to clap over his ears as you scratch the head of a spatula across your frying pan. “Is three eggs too many? People usually have two but that’s never enough for me.”
“I think…” Oh my god the metal screeching is so loud. “You should have as many as you want. You know your body. There’s this study on intuitive eating…” I'm too hungover for this. “Three eggs is better than two.”
“So you want three?”
He cannot eat right now. “Yes. Please.”
Spencer’s half sick with dehydration and half grief. He stayed at your house last night and he was too drunk to be nosy. He slept in your bed. He slept in your bed. He woke up to you at your vanity doing your hair, the nutty smell of hair oil mixed with the heat of the hair tool on high and realised with a start that he’d missed something he thought about all the time.
You’d tipped your head back to smile at him. “There’s my boy. Sweet dreams?”
He didn’t dream, but if he had, it would’ve been another agonising wish where you were his girlfriend, or his wife, or just there looking at him with love. He wakes up feeling sick because it isn’t true. And now you’re making him breakfast, humming a tune under your breath, sourdough sizzling under the grill and a shoddily blended avocado sitting in the bowl in front of him.
You asked him for one thing. He picks up the fork and starts to mash the avocado again. He can’t fight the foreignness of sitting in your kitchen, a gap in his memory.
He knows he told you about his date, how she looked like you, how she didn’t seem to like him much, but he’s struggling to collect the finer details. Why had you picked him up? He must’ve called you, but you could’ve said no. He remembers thinking you looked beautiful, but he always thinks that.
The avocado is making him feel sick.
“Here,” you say, sliding a plate of toast in front of him. “Do you want butter?”
“I think I'm gonna throw up.”
“You’re okay.”
“I can’t believe how I acted,” he says, pressing his palms to the hollows of his eyes.
You turn off the hob. Fat bubbles and pops until it’s cooled. The clock on the wall by the refrigerator ticks incessantly. His slept-in shirt feels too tight despite the undone button.
“Hey…” You round the island but don’t touch him, your voice gentle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
He drags his hands down his face. “I can barely remember what I said.”
“You were really nice to me… told me I looked pretty without my makeup, n’ that I was perfect. You were really nice.”
Your tone is off. No flirtatiousness, no endless confidence, you sound wistful, like you’re glad he said it. You take the bowl of avocado he’s made a mess with and put it aside with the toast, resting your arm on the counter, and leaning into his space. “Spencer, last night? You didn’t do anything to be embarrassed of. You were nice, and kind. You tried to open the car door for me and you almost lost your eye, but you were fine. You don’t have anything to be worried about, really.”
“But it’s you.”
“Gonna touch your hair,” you say, giving him enough time to move away as you reach out and rake back his fringe. His heart leaps into his mouth. “You said something last night like that, you know? Do you remember that? You said if you were normal.” You grace the skin beside his eye with the tip of your thumb, your perfume floating his way as you move. “And I said–”
“I’m not normal,” he says, remembering now.
You’re not normal, I’m not normal, you’d said.
But you’re perfect, he’d said.
To you. And you’re perfect to me.
“Right. We’re not normal, Spencer Reid, so forget that girl. She didn’t deserve you anyways,” you say.
You draw a short, silken line down his cheek with the side of your pinky. To be touched so lightly has his stomach in knots —he’s not shocked by the swiftness with which your affection can make a bad situation good again.
You turn away. “Now we should eat before everything goes cold.”
He watches your shoulders move, and he remembers one last detail. So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do.
The way you’d said it… you couldn’t really mean…
“How’s your appetite? Still feeling sick?” you ask.
Spencer smiles to himself, the ghost of your touch glowing warm on his cheek. “I’m feeling a lot better, actually.”
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
thank you for reading!!! please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed, i appreciate anything and it always inspires me to write more<3!! my requests are pretty much always open for bombshell!reader (even though this one strays a bit from their usual story haha) so if you wanna see more let me know❤️
summary: Hotch and his childhood best friend working together at the BAU: a slow burn across the seasons.
word count: 19.2k
warnings: canon!typical violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of death, abortion mention, implied SA, gun violence, specific episodes mentioned in this part are 4x01, 4x02, 4x03, 4x09, 4x11, 4x16, 4x17, 4x18, 4x23, and 4x26
a/n: Some more tension in the slow burn! I included some more specific episode details in this one, because some of the eps and characters are important to future seasons :') P.S. I love hearing all of your thoughts and comments (it's honestly what makes all of this worth it) so lmk what you think:) Title is from Grace by Rag 'n Bone Man
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"Garcia, is everyone okay?"
You can hear the sound of sirens blazing down the street a few blocks away from you, but you're too far away to make it there in time.
"Oh, thank god, you're alright," she gasps over the phone, her voice thick with tears. "Rossi and Reid called me just now, and Derek's on the line."
He greets you with a frantic urgency. "Hey, Y/N, I'm heading to the explosion site to see what happened."
"Okay, sounds good, keep calling people," you instruct Garcia, before swerving across the lanes and turning at the next intersection.
She calls Emily, who tells you that she's also going to the NYPD's critical incident command posts. When she tries JJ, the call doesn't go through, and then suddenly the line goes quiet.
"Garcia?" you call into the void. "Penelope, are you there? Derek? Emily?" No one responds, and your heart rate spikes again as you pull over in front of the command center and rush inside.
Rossi and Reid envelope you in big hugs when you find them in the main bullpen, and soon after, Emily and JJ join you inside.
"Do we know what happened?" you ask them as you crowd around the city map where Reid pinpointed all the prior crime scenes. "What street was the explosion on?"
Reid opens his mouth to answer, when Emily's phone rings. "Yeah, Garcia, I'm back. JJ's here too."
She listens for a few seconds, before her eyes widen and she glances over at you. Lifting the phone from her ear, she puts it on speaker and says, "Can you repeat all of that?"
"Derek's chasing after the bomber," Penelope says, her breaths coming out in short spurts. "The bomb... it was in Kate's SUV, or under it. Hotch is out there with her."
Your heart stutters and you press your palms against the back of the chair in front of you, leaning over it to get closer to the phone. "Is he okay?" You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment. "Are they okay?"
"He seems okay, but she looks really hurt. He hasn't moved her."
You release the breath you didn't realize you were holding and stand up straight, turning around to catch your breath. If something had happened to him...something irreversible...you don't know what you would've done. Especially after the last thing you said to him.
It's not your place to have this discussion.
Screw you.
"Where was Kate's SUV parked?" Rossi asks from behind you as you rub your eyes and turn back to face Emily's phone.
"2 blocks East of Federal Plaza."
***
You keep picturing the security camera feed of his SUV blowing up as you rush into St. Barclay's hospital. The moment Morgan called with the update that Hotch was taking Kate there in an ambulance, you all piled into an SUV and drove straight over.
You know Garcia and Morgan said he was fine, but not all injuries are visible. You're the first person inside, and you rush down the hallways until you spot a nurse in the ER. After you flash your badge, she points you to the curtains behind her.
When you push past them, he's standing up, working on the last few buttons of his shirt. His face is covered with tiny abrasions, and there's a piece of gauze stuck to his right ear.
"Aaron," you whisper, not wanting to startle him. He looks up as he grabs his tie out of the bag they put his clothes in. "Let me do that."
You take the tie from him as he sighs and closes his eyes for a long moment. It's silky against your fingers as you loop it around his neck and slide it under his collar.
"How are you feeling?" you ask him, trying to keep your voice soft.
He dips his chin to meet your eye and he squints as he shakes his head. "I'm fine, but Kate's in surgery. It didn't look good."
"I'm sorry," you whisper, forgetting about any prior gripes you had with her. "I'm sure she'll pull through."
He purses his lips and nods, just as the rest of the team pushes past the curtain. You step back quickly without thinking, and you don't miss the flash of confusion in his eyes before he turns to Morgan for the latest update on the bomber.
You swallow thickly as you look at your feet, letting everyone else walk around you. You don't know why you stepped back. Maybe it's the freshness of his divorce. Maybe it's the way Agent Calvert from the Portland office looked over your shoulder after you told him you weren't ready for dating again.
Whatever it was, you know you hated how it felt.
***
"There's a bomb on the ambulance."
Fear spikes through him as he turns around. "The ambulance which I drove in here." This day has already been longer than any of them expected it to be, but each passing minute seems to bring another surprise.
Rossi shoots him a knowing look that he reflects. "The hospital is their target."
He glances at you and you look back at him, your eyes filled with what he can only guess is fear. His mind flashes back to your interaction earlier, but he pushes it out of his brain as he realizes that they are down a man. "Where did Morgan go?"
Emily turns back. "He went to find the ambulance."
"Alone?" you gape at her, reaching for the gun in your holster.
He figures they only have a few minutes before the cell signal returns, so he grabs his own gun and nods. "Let's head down."
The ambulance is gone when they find the bomber in the parking garage, holding a knife to his throat. Before any of you can approach him, he slits his own throat. He can't help the grimace of disgust that crosses his face as the terrorist falls to the ground.
Once the immediate danger to the hospital is alleviated, everyone starts to relax. The rest of the team stays behind to clear the scene as he sprints up to the seemingly empty surgical ward. He finds the operating room that Kate was supposed to be in, but when he pushes through the doors, all he sees is a few janitors mopping the blood off the floor.
"What happened?" he gasps out. "Where's the surgeon."
A man in a blue scrub cap comes forward and pats his shoulder, a resigned look on his face. "We did all that we could. I'm so sorry."
All of the momentum leaves his body as he releases his breath, his shoulders deflating along with it like a circus balloon. The surgeon leaves the room and he looks down at her blood seeping down the floor drain. He watches as it mixes in with the cleaning fluids, and he can't help but wish that her death could've been less painful.
***
You wait outside the hotel the next morning, your go-bag hanging heavily off your shoulder. When the doctors told Hotch he wasn't cleared to fly yet, you told the NY agent assigned to drive him that you could take over.
"What are you still doing here?"
You turn around to see Hotch walking out of the hotel, the bag in his left hand evening out his gait after the explosion gave him a temporary limp.
You smile, pushing your sunglasses down from your head. "I'm your ride."
His eyes twinkle in the bright sunlight. "You really didn't have to. The flight is much quicker."
"It's okay," you shrug, before grinning. "Besides, I would never pass up an opportunity to annoy you for three hours."
That makes him laugh, before he winces slightly. Got it. No jokes.
He doesn't complain as you take the driver's seat, and that's when it hits you how much pain he must be in. For as long as he's had his license, he has preferred to be the one driving, sometimes even when he's in your car.
The first few minutes of the drive are quiet, but eventually you need to fill the silence. "I'm really sorry about Kate."
"Thank you," he sighs, his eyes squinting at the sun as you pull onto the highway. "I've known her for a long time." He exhales sharply. "Knew her."
You remember him telling you about a case he worked, years ago, that took him to Scotland Yard. He had sounded almost excited as he recounted the differences in how the British government handled procedure, but he had kept one thing to himself.
"You never told me about her," you say gently, trying to keep the blame out of your voice. You're not angry, you just don't understand why it would have been a secret.
He turns his head to gaze out the window for a few moments, before he looks back at you. "I wasn't sure about how that case would go when I agreed to take a look, but we ended up working really well together. I had spoken to her a few times before, mostly over the phone, but it was our first time meeting in person. We caught the guy we were looking for in just a few days, so before I left, she invited me to join her team for dinner."
You can guess where this is going, but you let him finish, in case you're wrong.
"When she dropped me off at my hotel that night, she made a... suggestive remark that I would've ignored if the implication hadn't been so clear. I shut it down immediately, but I didn't tell Haley when I got back, and I guess I just felt so guilty about it that I couldn't bring myself to tell you either."
Hotch feeling guilty about something. There's a shocker.
You glance over at him with a small smile. "I get it."
The "Welcome to New Jersey" sign flies past as you cross the bridge, and you both sit in comfortable silence as the sun glints off the water and reflects onto the cars around you. You see him looking out the window, and you wonder if he's thinking about Haley again, but then he turns to you with a curious expression. "The unit chief job here is yours if you want it."
Do you want it? You know you like leadership, and you would be lying if you said you hadn't thought about the possibility of moving up the ladder at some point, but now that you're confronted with the opportunity, it doesn't feel how you thought it would.
The thought of leaving this team, when they've become your second family, tastes bitter on your tongue. You know you could assume that other teams are like this too, but when you actually try to picture it, it doesn't feel possible.
"You can think about it," he says after a minute, "but not for long. They need a replacement ASAP."
You glance over at him and a realization clicks in your brain. "Wait, they needed your recommendation before offering me the position, didn't they?" You crack a smile. "You tryna get rid of me, boss?"
He laughs, before it turns into a small grimace from the pain. "No, of course I don't want you to leave. I just know you're destined for more than this. You could be doing so much good work, leading your own team."
The sun peeks out from behind the buildings in front of you, and you reach up to pull down the sun visor. "Maybe one day. But not today."
His eyes flit over to meet yours and you share a smile before you turn back to the wide expanse of road ahead of you.
***
You've been watching him all day. He was cleared to fly again, but you saw how pained he looked when the jet took off, and again when they exhumed Cortland's grave. The way he's been flinching back at the slightest sound, and cowering in pain after the louder screeches.
You tighten the strap of your kevlar vest and glance over at him again as he whispers something to the local sheriff on the Angel Maker copycat case. You've cornered the unsub in the latest victim's house, and Morgan got her out before she could be killed, but Emily continues to speak to the unsub through her megaphone, coaxing her out and into custody.
"It's over, Chloe," she says calmly as Morgan deposits the woman into the awaiting ambulance. "We have Faye. You have nowhere to go."
After a few moments, the front door creaks open and everyone lifts their weapons. She looks surprised when she sees the dozens of guns pointing at her, but then she lifts her own and Hotch steps in.
"Chloe, drop the gun."
The sheriff, with much less composure, jabs his weapon forward. "Damn it, lady, drop it!"
She takes a step forward and the sheriff fires, taking her down in one shot. Hotch goes down at the same time, doubling over in pain, his hands going up to cover his ears as he lets out a low groan.
As everyone else goes to Chloe, you rush to him, lifting your hands to press them over his in an attempt to help him hide from the external chatter and noises. "Aaron, it's okay, you're gonna be okay."
His body folds into yours as you wrap your arms around his head, clutching him to you, unable to help. "It's okay, it's okay."
It takes a few seconds for him to relax in your arms, and then a few more for him to remove his hands from his ears and stand up straight again.
"I'm okay," he sighs, his brow still furrowed with tension. "Thank you."
"Of course," you whisper, your chest heaving as the stress slowly seeps from your body. "You're not flying home."
He takes a deep breath before slowly dipping his chin into a nod. "It's a much longer drive. You don't have to accompany me this time."
The corner of your lip quirks up. "What makes you think I was offering?"
"Okay," he chuffs, rolling his eyes. You can still see the image of him doubling over in pain splashed across your eyelids, but you manage to push it out of your mind long enough to return his smile.
***
"Stand!"
You look up from the young girl you were interviewing with Emily and Spencer as Cyrus storms into the room with a gun, his second in command hot on his heels.
"What's going on?" Emily asks as she and Nancy Lunde, the state officer you came onto the cult compound with, stand up and approach him.
He squints, scrutinizing each of you. "We just got A very strange phone call from a news reporter. Is there anything you want to
tell me, about a raid, maybe?"
You frown, genuine confusion coloring your expression as you shake your head. "We told you, we're child victim interview experts."
He takes another moment to consider your answer before nodding and instructing the man with him to lead you to the tunnels for safety while the raid continues.
You let Spencer, Emily and Nancy go ahead of you as the sounds of gunfire from the back get louder. When you reach the tunnels, they head further in to help the children take cover as Nancy turns back and gives you an earnest look. "I can talk to him."
You're shaking your head before she's done speaking. "No, you can't. It's too dangerous."
You try to grab her arm, but she rushes forward and past the small crowd of children that safely made it out of the school. You run after her as she calls out, "Mr. Cyrus, let me talk to them."
She's too close to the window. You reach forward to grab her arm and pull her back but then another round of gunshots fires off and she drops to the ground in front of you. You start to crouch down, out of the line of sight of the window, when a searing pain shoots through your abdomen. You keel over, falling forward into the wall of the chapel as you gasp out in pain.
It doesn't hurt as bad as it probably should, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins won't last forever. You press your hands against the bullet wound that ripped through the side of your abdomen, and try to calm your breathing as fear washes over you. The team knows you three are in here, they'll figure out how to get you all out.
You know the minimal loss scenario by heart, and the BAU was the one who wrote the CIRG playbook, so it's a small comfort to know that you'll be able to predict their moves. You can only hope that they will be able to predict yours just as well.
Another wave of pain shoots through your side and you grit your teeth as the adrenaline starts to wear off. They better hurry.
***
He knows he's emotionally involved. They all are, but if his people aren't the ones leading this negotiation, he won't be able to forgive himself for any outcome that doesn't end with the three of you coming out in one piece.
He's listening in as Dave speaks with Cyrus, and he can't help but notice how cavalier his tone is after his followers were just shot at. He continues to rant about the final battle he has foreseen, until Dave manages to get him back on track.
"Now, the four child services workers..." he says slowly. Hotch can hear the concern coloring his tone even as he tries to act detached.
Cyrus's voice is crisp over the line. "One of them is dead."
His heart jumps to his throat. Your face flashes in his mind and he closes his eyes as he silently begs whoever is out there for it not to be you. Not you, not Prentiss, not Reid. Please.
"Her name was Nancy Lunde."
His breath comes out like a gasp, and Dave turns to him with an equally relieved expression. He's so thankful that the guilt for wishing harm on anyone takes an extra second to take over.
But Cyrus isn't finished talking. "One of the other child service workers was shot during the same raid. Once again, by your people."
He looks up at Dave, waiting for him to ask who it was, but he doesn't have to. The next word out of Cyrus's mouth is your name, and his stomach twists with nausea and anguish even as he assures Dave that your wound has been cleaned and properly dressed.
He turns to look at the compound, as though he could see you if he squinted hard enough. Hold on, he thinks, hoping you can hear him somehow. You've always had a way of reading his mind. Please hold on.
***
You wake up on a small cot, with a woman bent over you. You hiss as she presses down the edge of the bandage on your abdomen, and you bring your chin to your chest to see the current state of your gunshot wound.
You're surprised to see the blood washed off, a clean bandage and gauze left in its place.
"You got lucky," the woman says when she realizes you're awake. "The bullet went all the way through."
"Thank you," you whisper, before turning your head to look around the room. "Where are the people I came in with?"
"I'll take you to them," she nods, reaching her hand out. You take it and let out an involuntary groan as she helps you into a standing position. You try taking a step, but another spike of pain shoots through you, so the woman latches her arm under your shoulder to help you walk.
It takes a few minutes, but eventually you get back to the main chapel, where Emily and Spencer are sitting with the rest of the followers. They turn when the doors open in front of you, and they immediately jump out of their chairs to take over for the woman helping you.
"How are you feeling?" Spencer asks, his eyebrows pinching as he looks at you.
"I'm okay," you assure him, even as your vision blurs from the pain of having to walk so far. "Can we just sit down, though?"
"Of course," Emily nods, helping you sink into a chair. "I'll get you some water."
Spencer sits down next to you when she rushes off, and you don't miss how he keeps glancing down at your stomach.
"It'll be okay, Spence." He meets your eye and you nod again. "We know the playbook. We just have to follow it."
Emily returns with a water bottle that she opens and hands to you, and you chug half of it before setting it down. Hotch, please hurry, you think, wishing he could hear you.
***
The next morning, you wake up to a knock on the front door of the compound. You peel your eyes open and try to sit up, before remembering what happened the night before. Your skin feels wet as you run your fingers against the edge of the gauze, and you look down to see that you're bleeding through the dressings.
"Emily," you whisper, pushing her shoulder gently to shake her awake. "I need you to get the first aid kit again."
You feel more blood drip down your stomach, and your vision turns hazy for a moment, like a confirmation. She walks across the room to get the kit, and you almost forget about the knock on the door, until Cyrus opens it, revealing a stone-faced Rossi.
They shake hands as Emily removes your dressings before tearing open a new packet of gauze and pressing it into your wound.
"The children," Cyrus tells him, gesturing to the crowd. He then points at the three of you. "And our guests."
Rossi meets your eyes for a split second, and you make sure to keep your expression neutral as he nods and turns back to Cyrus. You're glad it's him who came inside, and not Hotch, because even though you want nothing more than to see him right now, you also don't want him to see you like this.
Rossi tries to get him to release the children, but he ends up leaving with nothing more than a promise to send food and supplies.
***
"Prentiss, Reid, and L/N are okay," Dave says as he jogs back to the tent outside. He turns to Hotch then. "She's been shot in the abdomen. They've tried to dress her wound, but she's losing blood."
Shit. He shuts his eyes as he tries to think about what he can do from out here to speed up the playbook.
"I have a signal!" Morgan beckons them over as he lifts a few sets of headphones for them to wear. With the bug Dave left on the compound, at least they have ears on the inside. It's not all he wants, but it's something, at least.
***
"Which one of you is it?"
Cyrus storms into the basement, where Spencer and Emily are sitting next to you as you lay down on the small cot from earlier. After Emily changed your bandages, Spencer managed to convince him to let you rest away from the followers.
"Which one of you is the FBI agent?"
Spencer jumps in before you can react. "Why do you think one of us is an FBI agent?"
You haven't had the time or capacity to properly profile this man yet, so you don't know if his evasive tactic will work, but you also know he's smart enough to have thought this through.
Cyrus sighs, almost like he's disappointed. "God will forgive me for what I must do." He steps forward and points his gun at Spencer's head. You gasp, trying to keep a look of confusion on your face as you fight the urge to step in.
"I-I don't know what you're talking about," Spencer says, stumbling over his words. His eyes are wide with fear, and you can't tell how much of it is real and how much is for show.
Cyrus tuts. "One of you does. Who is it?"
You open your mouth to say something, anything, to distract him, but then Emily stands up. "Me. It's me."
The moment of relief you feel when he lifts his gun from Spencer's head is gone as soon as he grabs Emily by the hair and drags her to the door. Your legs burn with the desire to leap off the cot and tackle him to the ground, but you can't move as the door shuts behind them.
***
It's almost night fall by the time Emily joins you again. You and Spencer were moved back up to the chapel after Cyrus took her away, and seeing her now, she looks awful.
Splotchy bruises of purple and blue paint her neck and chest, and there's dried blood on her temple and the corner of her mouth.
"Emily," you gasp, trying to control your expression so that Cyrus and his diehard followers don't think you know her as well as you do. You hate the feeling of letting her take the brunt of his punishment and blame, but it won't help to expose yourselves as agents too.
Spencer leans over you to get a better look at her. "Are you okay?"
She nods, flashing him a small smile. "Yeah, it looks worse than it feels." You can't imagine she's seen her reflection today, but you still appreciate her trying to relieve his stress.
Right then, the front door opens again and a shipment of food containers are carried inside. Men lift the boxes and bring them around the room to feed everyone inside, and when they set a box in front of you three, you notice a familiar scrawl of handwriting on top of the to-go container. 3AM. They're coming in at 3AM.
***
When the followers leave to go to bed, Cyrus takes Emily away again to separate her from you and the others. You fight the exhaustion pulling your eyes shut as you sit on the floor with your back against the wall. Spencer has been talking to Cyrus's second in command, trying to convince him that the Bible can be used to manipulate anything, but Cyrus catches on quickly.
You keep glancing at the door, hoping that Emily will find her way back up before 3AM hits, but as each minute ticks by, the idea becomes more futile.
You saw the diehard followers rigging the compound with explosives earlier in the night, and the detonator is clutched in Cyrus's hand like a lifeline. The irony doesn't escape you.
"Something's wrong," the follower reports, his eyes scanning the darkness outside through the window of the chapel.
Cyrus walks over to check, and you use the moment of distraction to lift the edge of your shirt and check your bandages. You're starting to bleed through the gauze again, but it's not bad enough that you need your dressings changed just yet.
When Cyrus realizes that he's been lied to, Spencer tries to distract him by spouting off verses at a rapid pace, but Cyrus just rams the butt of his rifle into his head, sending him to the ground.
"You cannot convert my brothers," Cyrus says before hitting him again. You crawl over to him, ignoring the screaming pain in your side, and clutch his arm for some semblance of comfort. Cyrus looks down at the both of you, his eyes squinting. "No one had to follow. God could have stopped me."
"He just did."
There's a gunshot, and you whip your head around to see Morgan and a young girl racing out of the tunnel before he crouches beside you. "You two alright?"
You nod, reaching your arm up to let him help you into a standing position. "Where's Emily?"
"We got her out of here," he explains, before turning to the girl. "Sweetheart, come with me."
She looks at each of you, her face twisted with panic, before bending down and picking up the detonator from where Cyrus dropped it. Your eyes widen and you yank Spencer in front of you before pushing him down the tunnel. "Run!"
Derek wraps an arm around your shoulder, holding half of your weight as you both sprint down the tunnel after Spencer. You're almost outside when the explosion goes off, pushing you to your knees with a strong gust of air and smoke.
***
He yells out your name as the blast engulfs the compound. His throat feels ragged as he yells out for Reid and Morgan too, but he can't see anything until three figures stand up from the plume of smoke and stumble down the steps.
He rushes up, meeting you halfway as you collapse from Morgan's arms into his. He grabs onto you as your knees buckle, and he manages to pull you towards him before you hit the ground.
He can't breathe as he clutches you to him, trying to be mindful of your wounds. Your breath comes out in gasps that mix in with his own as he sags with relief that you're here, back in his arms, where he can keep you safe.
He pulls back when he sees the paramedics approaching, and it's only then that he finally gets a good look at you. Your skin is gaunt, and his heart thuds loudly in his ears as he sees you wince in pain.
When they load you into an ambulance, his feet finally start working again and he races after you. "I'm coming with you."
You nod as he climbs through the doors and you reach your hand out over the side of the gurney. Your fingers feel cold when he clasps your hand in his, and he syncs his breaths with the sound of the sirens as your eyes fall closed.
***
The first thought that goes through your head when you wake up is that it's too bright. You squint as your eyes peel open, and in the few moments it takes for them to adjust to the light, a chorus of quiet 'she's awake's filter around the hospital room.
"How are you feeling?" JJ asks, stepping closer to stand at your bedside.
"You gave us a real scare, Mama," Penelope adds with a gentle smile.
You open your mouth to respond, but your throat is so dry, no sound comes out. Emily darts forward to grab the cup of water on the counter, and you glance over to see the yellowing bruises on her cheekbones.
After a few sips, you clear your throat and say, "I'm good. How long was I out?"
"Just a day," Derek responds from the foot of your bed, where he's standing with Spencer and Penelope.
Spencer chimes in. "You got out of surgery a few hours ago, and the doctors said you can go home tomorrow morning."
You nod slowly, stretching out your arms and legs to test the limits of your mobility. When you push yourself up into a sitting position, it doesn't hurt as much as it did on the compound.
"Ah, you're awake," Rossi smiles as he joins you all in the hospital room. It's not exactly huge, so everyone has to stand to make room, but it still doesn't escape your notice that someone is missing.
You return Rossi's smile before glancing over at the door, trying to see if he's just outside. Noticing your gaze, Spencer walks forward and takes your hand, giving it a small squeeze. "He's on the phone with your father. I think he got a flight for tomorrow morning."
You exhale slowly and take another sip of water. "Thank you." He nods and moves to release your hand, but you grip it tighter, holding him back. "Seriously, Spence, thank you." You turn to Emily, who is on the other side and her eyes shine, reflecting the tears in yours. "That whole operation sucked, but I'm really glad you two were in there with me."
She lets out a watery laugh and bends down to press an kiss to your temple. "I'm glad you're okay."
When you start fading again, the team leaves with promises to see you back at work in a month, and you close your eyes to get a break from the harsh fluorescent lighting.
***
"Alright," he says into his phone, nodding. "We'll see you in the morning, Mr. L/N. Yes, she's doing a lot better...okay, good, see you soon."
He ends the call and tucks his phone back into his pocket, before walking over to the vending machine at the end of the hall to grab a few of your favorite snacks. He loads up on chips and pop tarts before heading back up the hallway to your room. When he reaches the door, he realizes that the rest of the team has left, so he steps inside quietly and takes a seat in the small plastic chair next to your bed, before gently setting the snacks on your bedside table.
Your eyes are closed and he figures you must have just fallen asleep, so he crosses his arms over his chest and just sits there, watching you. Your face is covered in little scrapes from the explosion, and you still look a bit ashy, but you somehow still do look beautiful. This isn't the first time he has thought this - it was more of a recurrent notion when you were younger - but he can't deny that you're just objectively a beautiful person. But then again, he's not sure if beauty is ever really objective (eye of the beholder and all that), so he pushes the thought aside and turns back to you.
His thoughts are interrupted when his phone chirps with a text message. Pulling it out of his pocket, he checks the name and sees that Haley has arrived at the hospital. He had called her after you went into surgery, knowing that she would kill him if he didn't keep her constantly updated on your condition.
When he finds her at the end of the hall, she pulls him into a quick side hug that's slightly barred by Jack, who is clutching onto her tightly. He can imagine how scary the hospital looks to a three year old boy.
"Hi, bud," he smiles, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, before looking at Haley again. "She's sleeping, but I'll take you to her room."
"She's alright, Aaron." Haley is looking at him like she's worried he may break down, and it makes him wonder what his expression looks like right now. Ever since you got out of surgery, he has felt a weight lifted off his chest, but if he really thinks about it, he doesn't know if he feels all that much lighter at all.
But he doesn't want to say any of that out loud. Nodding, he cocks his head at the other end of the hall and leads her to your room, where you are blinking your eyes open again.
"Oh, sweetheart," Haley coos, adjusting Jack on her hip and walking over to your bedside. "I hope we didn't wake you up?"
You shake your head with a smile, but he can tell you're lying. You look exhausted, and he can see you periodically glancing at the light on the ceiling to keep your eyes alert.
"Well, hello," you grin at Jack as you carefully push yourself up into a sitting position. "How's my little Jack-o-lantern doing?"
His mouth twitches and he reaches his arms out as he lets out a loud, "Good!" You reach forward slowly, likely testing the limits of your mobility, and take him from Haley, who hands him off with a concerned look on her face.
"Be careful, baby," she tells Jack, before stepping back and crossing her arms. "Aunt Y/N is a little fragile today."
To his credit, Jack just slumps down into your arms, absentmindedly playing with the ends of your hair as you turn to Hotch. "Reid said you called my dad?"
He nods, taking a deep breath. "He'll be here in the morning. I assured him you were just fine, but he wants to stay here for a bit to keep an eye on you."
"That's okay," you shrug, much to his relief. After your last conversation about your father, he wasn't sure where you stood and how far he was allowed to push. "It'll be nice to have some company while I'm off for the next two weeks."
"Two months," he corrects with a stern look.
"One."
"Fine." The only reason he relents so quickly is because he knows how quickly he would be back at work if he was in your position. "But I'm limiting your field work until you're more healed."
You nod after a second. "I'll take it."
Haley huffs out a laugh and looks at him with an expression he remembers from their marriage. Affection with a hint of exasperation.
"Alright, you two," she smiles, reaching for Jack again. His entire fist is tangled in your hair at this point, but you don't seem to mind. "I should get him to bed. It's already past his bedtime."
You nod and hand him back, before letting her envelope you in a warm hug that you settle yourself into. "Love you, Hales. Thanks for coming by."
"Love you too, honey."
***
Haley leaves with Jack, and you slump down in the bed, feeling tired, but no longer sleepy.
"I can head out too," Hotch says quickly, reaching for his coat, "if you want to sleep."
You shake your head, and he drops his arm immediately, as though he was just looking for an excuse to stay. The thought makes you smile and his brow pinches in confusion. What's on your mind?
"I'm just glad I met you." You reach for his hand he takes it, giving it a soft squeeze, before taking a seat in the chair beside you.
"I brought you some snacks from the vending machine," he points out, glancing over at the pile he made on your table. "I got your favorites...at least out of what they had."
You grin, feeling your chest fill with warmth as you take in the assortment. "Sunchips and cinnamon pop tarts. You remembered."
"Of course," he shrugs. "You're the only person I know, other than my three year old son, who still eats pop tarts."
You make a face, swatting your hand at him, but he's just out of reach. "It's not my fault toddlers have great taste."
He chuckles as you tear open one of the packages and break off a piece. The buttery, sweet taste brings you back to your childhood when your mom was still alive. She would wake you up with two brown sugar cinnamon pop tarts before school, the sweet smell enough to drag you out of bed at eight in the morning.
"What are you thinking about?"
You look up with a smile, your gaze wistful as the memory slowly fades away. "My mom, actually. I don't have a ton of memories of her, but sometimes the most random thing will trigger an emotion or a memory that I forgot I had."
He nods, his eyes thoughtful. "Like the taste of pop tarts."
"Exactly." You break off another piece and toss it into your mouth, before setting the package back on the table. "Last week it was the smell of this perfume I found at the back of my dresser. It wasn't even the exact scent she would wear, it just had the same base notes."
Your voice trails off, and he looks at you, giving you a moment before speaking up. "What else do you remember?"
"I remember her funeral," you say without thinking, before realizing that it's not a lie. You know that grief is weird, that people usually remember everything or nothing, but for some reason, the funeral only comes back to you in pieces. Your dad crying silently, Hotch holding your hand, your dress being too small on you. You wore it anyway, because she had picked it out for you at the store a couple of years before. "I remember you holding me up."
His eyes flash with something that resembles amusement and he purses his lips. "I remember feeling the opposite. I knew I was supposed to be there for you, but somehow, it felt like you were the one holding both of us up that day."
You shrug, realizing the details don't mean anything. "All I really needed was for someone to hold onto."
He nods and that's when your mind flashes back to New York last month. "Did you go to Kate's funeral?"
"No," he sighs, raking a hand through his hair. "Her family flew her back to London to have it there, and I couldn't take any time off."
You want to apologize, but before you can open your mouth, he beats you to it. "I'm sorry for how I acted in New York."
You frown, but he just shakes his head. "I don't really know why I was trying so hard to protect her. I guess after the close call with Strauss last year, I was less sympathetic to bureau politics, but I still shouldn't have taken it out on you. I should've been protecting you too."
His words are tinged with self-contempt, and you find yourself wanting to take away his guilt even though you were hurt by how he treated you during that case. But that's how the two of you work. The protective instincts don't go away just because one of you is angry at the other.
You remember prom night all those years ago, when he was so peeved at you for convincing him to ask Haley to the dance, even though they had just started talking. She had freaked out and said no, so he was forced to take another girl who asked him after the fact (of which there were many), while you went with Kyle Martinez, who had been showing interest in you for a while. You knew your feelings for Hotch definitely weren't just platonic anymore, but he was into Haley, and he was also Hotch, so you had pushed it aside and gone to the prom with Kyle.
You had spotted Hotch the moment he walked into the ballroom that the school had turned into a Gatsby-themed prom venue. He commanded everyone's attention, and you certainly weren't immune, but you had your own date, so you ignored your best friend and danced with Kyle.
As the night wore on, he had grown bored and asked you if you wanted to get out of there and go somewhere quiet, but you weren't exactly experienced back then.
"I'm okay," you had whispered, trying to maintain your smile. "I'd rather just stay at the dance."
You can still remember the change in his expression when he saw you glance at Hotch, as though it was just yesterday. "What, are you into him or something? You seriously think he'd fuck you?"
You hadn't been able to help it as tears flooded your eyes, and before you knew it, Hotch was standing in front of you, glaring down your date as he asked if you were okay.
"Everything's fine," Kyle had sneered, trying to get around him. "Butt out of our business, Hotch."
He looked at you again. Do you want me to go?
You shook your head, a tear falling down your cheek, and before you had time to blink, his fist was swinging. There was a horrible thump as his fist collided with Kyle's cheekbone, sending him stumbling backwards from the force of the hit.
You couldn't move as Kyle swung back, trying to shove him down, but he didn't budge. He could take physical aggression better than most guys his age, but that didn't make this okay.
"Hotch, please," you had pleaded as he landed another punch. The sound of your voice must had cut through the fog, because he looked up then, unaware of the bruises on his knuckles. You helped him up, and the two of you watched as his date stormed out of the ballroom.
Presently, you look at him sitting in his chair and crack a small smile. "Do you remember prom night?"
He groans and you laugh lightly, being careful not to tear the stitches in your side.
"You never actually told me what that asshole did to you." His tone is light, but you can hear the genuine question underneath.
"It was so long ago," you shrug after a beat. "I don't even remember."
***
Your dad arrives at the hospital early the next morning right before you're discharged. The papers are quick, and by the time the sun has risen fully, you are being taken to his car in a wheelchair, despite your best efforts to refuse.
"I can walk!"
"I don't care."
"Dad, come on."
He frowns down at you. "I drove up here to be of use to you. Let me be of use."
You huff in frustration as he wheels you beside his car, and you try to get up on your own, but you twist the wrong way. You gasp out in pain as one of your stitches pulls and your dad immediately comes around to assist you.
"I hate your job," he grumbles, taking your arm to help you into the passenger seat. "If I had my way, you'd be working out of an office cubicle."
"I know, Dad," you soothe, turning your head back to smile at him. "I'm glad you're here."
"Me too, sweetie."
The drive to your house is quick, and he takes your arm again when you get out to help you inside. Once you're laying down on the couch, you insist that you don't need any more concessions, but he doesn't sit down in your armchair until after he has brought you a glass of water and a blanket.
"Dad, I'm fine, really." He doesn't look convinced, so you paste on your brightest smile, and he finally cracks, smiling back at you. "What do you want to do today?" you ask him.
"Wha- do today?" he sputters. "You need to rest, young lady. I'm not letting you leave this couch until you head up for bed tonight."
You can tell he's serious about this, so you sink back into your pillows with a sigh and grab the tv remote. "What do you want to watch then?"
He leans back in his armchair and brings his palm to his face: his thinking expression. "What's on?"
You click on the television, and the first channel it opens up to is playing a rerun of Breaking Bad. Neither of you seem interested in watching it, so you keep flipping through the channels, but after 20 minutes of mindless surfing, you eventually end up back on Breaking Bad.
"We could just play it in the background," you suggest with a shrug, "while we talk."
"Sure," he agrees, placing his hands on each armrest.
Two hours later, your eyes are glued to the television after having watched three episodes.
"We should probably do something else," Dad suggests at the next ad break. "All of this meth production is rotting my brain."
"Yeah," you agree, taking your time to reach for the remote before clicking the tv off and tossing the remote aside. "We can have lunch in the kitchen..."
"Nice try," he chuckles, before standing up. "Aaron is coming by with takeout soon, and you can eat that right from here."
He had been coming by a lot after your movie night a few months ago, and while hanging out with your best friend isn't an anomaly, it does reinforce the reminder that neither of you have anyone to go home to at the end of the night.
It's another half hour by the time he shows up, Thai takeout in hand, and by then you're starving.
"Thanks for bringing food," you say genuinely after your dad lets him inside the house. "I was worried I would have to live off Dad's cooking for a week."
"Very funny," he says with an eye roll. "But yes, thank you, Aaron."
"Of course," Hotch says simply, before handing your dad a fork and napkin. "I'm also hoping to convince Y/N to take more time off."
"Not fair!" you complain, feeling like you're reverting to your high school self with your dad and best friend sitting across from you. "I'm not starting field work for a couple of months. I just want to come in soon to meet the new press liaison."
"Is JJ leaving?" Dad asks as he takes a bite of green curry with rice.
"Just temporarily," Hotch says, reaching for the pad kee mao container. You nod, chiming in, "She's due in a couple of months, so she's gonna start training someone soon to take over while she's gone."
"Is she still with that cop from...where was it again?"
"New Orleans," you answer with a laugh. "Yeah, she and Will are still together."
You can feel the conversation getting dangerously close to (ex) spouses, so you steer your father away from the topic by having him try all of the food Hotch brought. He ends up staying for a couple of hours as he explains some of the more tame cases you've handled to your dad, who actually seems interested in the finer details of each profile.
Eventually, he heads home, with the explanation that he has Jack that night, and you say good night to your dad before heading up for bed. You cover the stitches with plastic the way the doctors instructed you to before taking a fast shower and getting into your bed.
You can hear the sound of your father's quiet snores from the guest room down the hall, and for a moment, you let yourself imagine that you're back in your childhood home, sleeping in your pink and purple bedroom after spending the day with your best friend.
***
It takes a lot of convincing, but at the end of the month, your dad drops you off at work before making his drive back home. Emily had called you before the team's plane took off, and you timed it right so that you'd get to the office just as they arrived.
The elevator doors open on your floor, and you hear a loud conversation happening between Morgan and Prentiss just before they spot you from the bullpen.
"Y/N!" Emily grins, rushing forward to give you a hug. "How's the healing process been?"
"I feel a lot better," you tell her with a smile as you pull back and drop your bag next to your desk.
"You look a lot better," she nods, before Derek grabs you and pulls you in for a surprisingly gentle bear hug.
"You look great," he says, grinning at you. "Are you cleared to come back to work?"
"Not field work," you sigh, pushing your hair back behind your ear. "I'm just here to turn in some paperwork and then I'm stuck to my desk for a few more weeks."
Derek takes the files from your hand and tosses them on your desk before throwing an arm around your shoulder. "You should come out and get burgers with Prentiss and me."
"Tempting," you say, "but I just came by to meet-"
"Hey guys," JJ calls out from the hallway. "I want to introduce you to someone."
She walks up to you all with another woman by her side. "This is Agent Jordan Todd. She'll be taking over for me while I'm on maternity leave."
You grin, clasping your hands together in front of you as she smiles sheepishly at all of you. "Agent Jareau's told me so much about you all."
She turns to Emily first. "You must be Agent Prentiss."
"Yes," she smiles, shaking her hand. "Nice to meet you."
Spencer walks up at that moment and Agent Todd nods at him. "Hello, Dr. Reid."
He waves back, and she then looks at you. You reach out first to shake her hand and she smiles. "Agent L/N, I presume?" When you nod, she takes your hand. "I heard about the cult incident."
"Yeah," you let out a laugh. "Incident is definitely a word for it."
Derek drops his arm from your shoulder and Jordan turns to him with a cheeky grin that piques your interest. "And Agent Morgan. Nice to see you again."
He nods, not giving anything away. "Nice to see you, too. So, this must be the good news."
"This would be my brownie."
Emily frowns, pointing between the two of then. "Uh, you two have met?"
Derek doesn't turn away from her. "Briefly."
JJ shoots him a look before steering Jordan away to meet the rest of the team, and you and Emily turn to Derek with matching expressions. "What was that about?"
"I met her at a coffee shop this morning," he explains, rubbing a hand over his face. "She knew my name then, and I guess this is how."
"JJ's about to pop," Emily says, glancing at you with a small smirk. "Looks like it's about to get interesting at the BAU."
***
Your first case back in the field takes you to Atlanta, where Vanessa Holden was murdered after going home with a man she met on a night out clubbing. Jordan briefs you all on the details back in the office before you get on the plane.
You're still not used to JJ being gone, and you heard all about Jordan's drive from Hotch when he came by your house with dinner periodically over your bureau-mandated leave, but you don't want to make any judgments before getting to know her yourself.
You sit across from Hotch on the plane, and you don't miss the way his eyes follow each of your movements from the second you sit down. Your bandages are still on, but you've regained almost all of your mobility.
As the jet takes off, you lean forward slightly to adjust the back of your blazer, and his gaze shoots to you, his brow furrowing with concern.
You flash your eyes at him, cutting the tension with a small smirk. I'm fine, I promise.
He squints slightly, scrutinizing your expression for a moment, before letting out an inscrutable sigh and turning back to the case file.
When you land in Atlanta, you start off at the police department with Hotch, Morgan, and Todd, and her continued insistence on being the first to meet with the local officials and debrief them surprises you, given JJ's more subtle nature when working with those who call your team in.
The local police let you know that the Holden family has stopped cooperating with their investigation, but the four of you head over to their home to try and speak with her mother and sister one last time. Jordan gets you in the house by sharing a story about her older sister who passed away, and you find yourself feeling awful about your misjudgment of her, until you notice the look of Hotch's face.
"Did you know that about Jordan?" you ask, trying to understand why he looks so miffed.
"No," he says simply, his brow pinched together, "and neither did she. According to her file, she's an only child."
You flash your eyes at Derek.
The conversation gets you a basic profile of the unsub, based on the cocky way he held himself with Vanessa and the way he was dressed when approaching her at the club, but when the moment you exit her home, Hotch corners Jordan on the driveway.
"The information about Vanessa Holden being the responsible sister," he fumes. "Where did you get that?"
She has the gall not to look ashamed, and you can't decide if you respect her resolve or detest her lack of responsibility. "Some of it was online, and some of it was an educated guess based on birth order."
"A guess."
You practically wince and Derek stares at her, as though trying to hypnotically get her to backtrack.
She looks down then, and he delivers the kicker. "And in the process you lied."
You step forward to insert yourself in the conversation (for what purpose, you don't yet know), but Jordan just stands up straighter, ready to defend herself. "That mother was shut down. I needed to salvage some rapport."
Hotch doesn't back down, and as his brow locks into place, you step back again. "I don't know how you did things in counter-terrorism, but we don't make it a habit to lie to get the job done."
"I got you in the door, didn't I?" she spits out one last time. It's both, you realize. Respect and distaste.
"Not only do you represent the FBI, you represent this team."
He shakes his head, and you cock your head at Derek, gesturing for him to head back to the car. You hear the tail end of their conversation as you yank open the passenger side door.
"From now on, everything goes through me."
Jordan gets saved by the literal bell as his phone rings, and when he steps away to answer it, she comes back to the SUV and gets in the back. "So, how bad did I just screw up?"
Derek heaves out a sigh, looking at her with his characteristic stoicism mixed with compassion. "On a normal scale of one to ten, I'd say a six."
He glances at you and you press your lips together. "But on Hotch's scale...an 11."
She rubs a hand over her face and you turn back to face the front, watching as Hotch paces back and forth, his phone pressed to his ear. He doesn't look up until he's back in the SUV.
***
The profile becomes clear when a new victim emerges: an unsub with a possible scar or birthmark above his left eye, who went to a class for pickup artists. After doing some researching with Garcia, Emily returns with a flyer for a man named Viper that makes your stomach twist.
You, Morgan, and Hotch join her at one of his classes later that day, and it takes everything in you not to sneer in disgust as he describes his approach to meeting women.
"This is the jungle, my friends," Viper finishes off, lifting his hands in the air theatrically, "and your prey wants to be caught."
You and Hotch share a look, and he raises his eyebrows as you cringe. What, not a fan?
You shove his shoulder with yours, but it's not hard enough to actually make him budge. Hilarious.
"Will you listen to that language?" Emily whispers from next to you. "He's training serial killers."
"Great," Derek sighs. "We're dealing with a rampant narcissist and misogynist who's turned himself into a snake oil salesman."
Hotch nods. "That's one more thing he has in common with our unsub."
The class ends soon after, and you get the distinct pleasure of meeting Viper in the flesh. When he approaches the four of you, he makes a clear effort to keep eye contact with only the men, likely trying to use his self-prescribed techniques to make you and Emily feel vulnerable. Instead, it just makes you want to laugh in his face.
"So you think this- what did you call him- unsub, took my class?"
He raises his eyebrows at Emily then, in what you can only hope is meant to be a seductive nature, and she practically snorts. Using his clear attraction to her to the team's advantage, she steps forward and takes control of the conversation. By the time she's finished, she has managed to secure his location for later tonight, and get him just flustered enough that a chance meeting later would have him ready to divulge anything she wants to hear.
'Please tell me we are not giving up on that guy." Emily heaves out a breath as you all walk back outside after speaking with Viper. She was just talking to him, but she looks like she's ready to take another shower.
Hotch flashes his eyes with uncharacteristic mirth. "We're just getting started."
***
His eyes keep darting back to the door of the locker room. Prentiss is going undercover at Club Aqua to get more information about the unsub from Viper, and when she suggested that you and Agent Todd join her, he couldn't think of a good enough reason to quash her idea.
He knows he's been hard on Todd. He figured it out on his own, even with your furtive glances from the passenger side of the SUV after leaving the Holden household.
He wishes he could say it all came from a place of protecting bureau leadership, but he knows that isn't completely true. It's been almost two weeks since he last saw Jack, and every time he drops him back at Haley's, that feeling settles back in his gut, like clockwork. The feeling that tells him he's just like his father.
The locker room door flies open and he averts his eyes, trying to maintain some level of subtlety, but it's only Prentiss and Todd. Where are you?
His unspoken question is answered when Prentiss announces that you told them to get started without you. He's still worried that you're not ready for this kind of assignment so early in your return to field work, so, before he can regret it, he stalks forward and pushes open the door.
The regret immediately comes when he sees your bare back, underneath your unzipped dress, on the far end of the locker room.
"Oh, sorry," he blinks, turning his head back. "I didn't realize-"
He moves to shut the door again, but you look over your shoulder and raise your hand, beckoning him inside. "Wait, I could actually use your help."
He steps through the door and crosses over to you, where you turn your back to him after a small glance. "Zip me up?"
The bottom of the zipper is at the small of your back, and he tries to avoid touching you as he pulls it up to the base of your shoulder blades. He isn't able to avoid it completely, and he tries to ignore the heat of your skin as he drops the zipper and nods. "All set."
You turn around and he forgets to step back in time, leaving you only a few inches from him as you glance up with a confused smile. "You okay?"
He nods again, stepping back and clearing his throat. Why is his skin burning? "I should be asking you that. Are you sure you're up for this?"
"I'm getting the bandages taken off later this week," you tell him, partly misunderstanding his concern. "It doesn't even hurt anymore."
That's definitely a lie, but he allows it for now. "That's not all I'm talking about. You haven't been in the field in months. I just worry that I'm tossing you into the deep end on your first day back."
"I'm fine," you insist, reaching out to put your hand on his forearm. "I would have refused the assignment if I didn't think I could handle it."
He's not sure if he believes that either, but in this case, the assignment itself seems odious enough that he can let it slide. "Okay. Are you ready to head out there?"
"Yeah, just one second."
He waits as you pull a thin necklace from your bag and clasp it around your neck. When it's attached, you spin around with a goofy smile. "How do I look?"
"Amazing," he says without thinking. "I mean- you look great, of course."
You just smile at him, before patting his shoulder and walking out the door to meet the Prentiss and Todd at the club. Your hair brushes past him as you leave, and the scent of your perfume lingers in the air behind you, a flowery aroma that persists even when the door swings shut.
***
Emily waves at you when you approach her and Jordan in a crowded part of the club. "Y/N, I'm sure you remember Viper. God's gift to women."
You smile at him sweetly, before glancing at her. "Sure hope he came with a receipt."
"Another friend," Viper says, letting out a weak laugh.
Emily uses this moment of distraction to pounce. "You promised if I met you on your turf, you'd show me something special. So...let's see it."
He starts spouting off some nonsense about chemical signals, and you're about to take Jordan's arm and pull her aside to give Emily some room, when Viper turns to you with a mock-sincere expression. "Does the boss man you're out here, with me?"
You turn back with a frown. "Excuse me?"
For a moment, you forget to mask your emotions and he practically grins as his bravado grows. "What I do for a living is pretty similar to what you all do. I read people...and from what I could tell during your little ambush of my class earlier, there's something going on between you and the supervisor."
You let out a laugh that feels surprisingly forced as it leaves your throat. "I really can't believe there are people out there who pay you for assessments like that, because you're dead wrong."
He shrugs, looking back at Emily, and you roll your eyes at him before turning away under the guise of giving them some space. When you're out of his line of sight, you let out a breath that was caught in your chest. You know you and Hotch are closer than most friendships are at your age, and you're not unaccustomed to people reading more into it than there is, so you're not sure why Viper's words feel like a fist around your gut.
"Hey, you okay?" You turn back to see Jordan approaching you with a glass of water. "He's really trying everything to get under our skin."
You accept the glass gratefully, and swallow a few gulps, before nodding. "Thank you. I think I just needed some air. I forgot how stuffy these clubs get."
"I hear that." She laughs and you feel your chest loosen with relief that she didn't believe Viper's insinuation. "I can't believe I'm saying it, but I'm almost excited to get back into my work clothes."
You let out a breathy chuckle, before sending her back to keep an eye on Emily as she works on breaking Viper. Later that night, when you get back to the station to meet up with the rest of the team, you excuse yourself early to head to the hotel, and you allow yourself to pretend, just this once, that you weren't avoiding him, and you really were just tired.
***
You're sitting in your car in front of the hospital at seven in the morning, because you didn't want to take any work off just to get your bandages removed. You know this is likely the exact sort of thing the bureau mandates time off for, but a small part of you didn't want anyone knowing you were coming here. Or maybe you just didn't want him to know.
You haven't been trying to avoid him. You may be a little embarrassed by how far under your skin Viper got with his one little comment, but you can't help it. The notion stirred something you don't recognize inside of you and you don't want to take the time to think through it.
You take a deep breath and get out of your car, before walking into the hospital and checking in for your appointment. When you called to secure a time slot, the nurse mentioned that, barring any complications, the appointment shouldn't take more than half an hour.
You're a few minutes early, so you sit in the waiting area, flipping through a fashion magazine from the table next to you. After a minute, you're so engrossed in a page about returning trends that you don't realize he is sitting next to you until he taps the side of your foot with his own.
"Oh shit," you blurt out when you see him, more out of surprise than the shame of being caught. "How did you know I'd be here?"
"Garcia saw it in your calendar and told me." You turn to look at him with mock-exasperation, but you're caught off guard by the genuine hurt in his eyes. "Why didn't you tell me the appointment was today? I could've driven you."
You open your mouth to come up with an excuse, but all that comes out is, "I don't know." He doesn't look convinced, but the doctor calls your name then and you stand up, pressing your lips together. "Will you come with me?"
He stands up immediately, without another word, and you both follow the doctor into a back room, where she proceeds to remove your bandages and check where you are in the healing process. The wound is closed, and is almost entirely scarred over, but she recommends that you continue to take it easy - a point which you see Hotch take mental note of immediately - and limit excessive physical activity.
"The wound is healing very nicely," the doctor says as you walk back to the front. "Give me a call if anything changes, but as long as you keep applying the salve, there shouldn't be a permanent scar."
You thank her before she heads back to meet with another patient, and Hotch holds the front door open for you as you walk out into the parking lot.
"Thank you for coming," you tell him earnestly, "even though I didn't ask you to. I should've told you."
He exhales through his nose, bumping your shoulder. "Yeah, you should have."
He loops his arm through yours as you step off the curb and you lean your head on his shoulder for a second before unlocking your car. You were stupid to let Viper's words get to you. He's your best friend.
He's your best friend, and you love him.
***
One of the first happy memories at the office in a long time comes in the form of JJ coming in with baby Henry. It feels like a welcome relief to see her face back in the bullpen, and for a few peaceful moments, everything feels like it's back to normal.
You know firsthand how much this job takes from people, and Jordan's absence in the office now doesn't go unnoticed, even with a sweet baby boy here to take your mind off of it.
Is this my fault?
Rossi had tried to talk her down after discovering that the unsub had killed his entire family in their home, seemingly after her press release, but sometimes the words aren't enough.
I'm not sure I can do this job.
There had been so much anguish in her voice as she admitted to Rossi that she wasn't cut out for this line of work, but no part of you judged her for it. A bigger piece of you almost envied her ability to recognize that she was in over her head - that she couldn't keep going like this.
Looking at JJ now though, you feel a sense of hope again, like maybe this job doesn't take everything from you.
"I thought you could use a surprise," she smiles, cradling Henry in her arms under a swath of blankets.
"He's beautiful," you whisper, stepping in closer to get a better look at his little scrunched-up face.
Penelope comes back into the room with a freshly warmed up bottle of milk, and JJ starts to feed him as everyone leans closer in wonder. "I wanted us to have at least one good memory to hold onto in this room."
Before you can react, Derek is pushing past you and Spencer. "Excuse me, kid. Um, JJ, can I..."
He points to the bundle in her arms and she looks at him with a soft grin. "Of course."
She carefully transfers Henry into his arms as all of the women worriedly chime in with reminders and comments on his form.
"You gotta hold his head up."
"Careful, you're smothering him!"
"I got it," Derek chuffs, before rocking Henry in his arms. "Look at that, what's he doing? He's smiling at Derek Morgan."
Penelope and Emily share a look. "Gas."
He shoots them a pointed glare, before grabbing the bottle from Garcia's hand and feeding Henry himself. "Hey, little man."
You can't help the smile that crosses your face as you step back to give them some room. Your shoulder bumps into Hotch as you step around JJ, and you look back at him, noticing the little curve of his lips. "You're smiling."
He glances over at you with an eye roll. "Gas."
***
"What's up, Hotch?"
You roll over and turn your bedside lamp on as you press your cellphone to your ear. The alarm clock beside you says it's just past five in the morning.
"We have a case."
You frown, pushing yourself up. "Wouldn't JJ usually call us to come in?"
"This one's different." His voice sounds slightly muffled and his tone is colored by a familiar tinge of irritation. "Dallas AG called me last night to come down here, and it looks like they may have a serial."
"You went alone?" you ask, trying to blink the grogginess from your eyes as you get out of bed. You are distinctly aware of how many questions you're asking, but your brain is still fuzzy from being woken up.
"Yeah," he says simply, before you hear someone call his name from the other end of the line. "I convinced them to bring the team in as well. Anyway, I have to go, but I'll see you soon."
"Yeah, see you-" The line cuts and you sigh, tossing the phone down.
So much for a full night of rest.
***
Spencer briefs all of you on female serial killers on the flight over, and once you land, Hotch is waiting at the hotel. You drop your things off in your room and meet with him, Rossi, and Morgan to head over to the location of the latest crime scene, when another man is murdered.
"Victim was Joseph Fielding," Rossi explains when you enter the office building. "He was CFO here."
"Poisoned?" you clarify.
"And staged," Morgan adds, glancing over the body. This time, the victim was left out in the open, naked and tied up. There's no way the company can keep the media away from this one.
"Which one of you is Aaron Hotchner?"
You turn around to see a man in a fancy suit stalking towards the four of you. You step back to let Hotch get around you, and he approaches the man with a frown. "I'm Hotchner."
"Larry Bartlett," he introduces himself. "I represent Mr. Fielding and Webster Industries."
Hotch angles himself to stand between the man and the body. "This is a closed crime scene, Mr. Bartlett."
"I spoke to Ellen Daniels," he explains, his eyes glinting with over-confidence. "She said you're a very reasonable man."
You resist the urge to snort as Hotch moves to get the attention of the police officers nearby. "Escort him out, please."
"No, wait! The press is outside, and they can smell blood. Any way we can handle this discreetly?"
This time it's you who frowns. "We're not about to lie for you."
"Don't have to lie," he says, gesturing with his hands as though that will help his case. "Just don't comment."
Hotch looks at him for a moment, before excusing himself and pulling the rest of you aside. "Is there any reason to go public yet?"
Rossi shrugs. "Validating her is exactly what she wants. If we hold back, she's more likely to make a mistake."
You almost smile. "He doesn't need to know that."
Hotch meets your eye for a beat before spinning around and putting his lawyer face back on. "We need everything you have on Fielding. Bank accounts, tax records, emails...everything."
***
When Penelope uncovers that the victims have all been withholding child support from their ex-wives, Hotch meets with the city's high-profile corporate lawyers to present the profile. You're not sure how helpful this will be, given that their primary motive is to protect their clients' companies, but it proves useful when one of the lawyers reveals that the unsub may have a penthouse to her name.
The apartment is massive. You walk around the living area, trying to find anything the unsub may have left out, but she has clearly been covering her tracks.
When you don't find anything by the bedroom, you head over to the walk-in closet where Derek and Emily are poking around her jewelry box.
"Hey, Prentiss," Derek suddenly says, lifting up a leather bodysuit and holding it in front of her. "Got a whip?"
Rolling your eyes, you smack the top of his head with the evidence baggy in your hands and walk back out to find Hotch. He's poring over her antique book collection when suddenly the apartment phone starts to ring.
You all argue for a few moments over who should take the call, and Derek quickly alerts Garcia to trap-and-trace it, before it soon goes to voicemail.
"Hi, it's me," the woman's voice says brightly in the voicemail message. "You know what to do." There's a beep, and then her voice comes back, more present this time. "Aaron."
Your eyes snap over to him, but he's still looking at the phone.
"I know you're up there," she continues. "Aaron Hotchner."
He reaches forward and carefully lifts the phone with his gloved hand. He walks over to the window as he presses it to his ear. "I'm at a disadvantage. You seem to know my name, but I don't know yours."
You bend down and press the speaker button on the main console as he moves across the room.
"I thought I could trust you, Aaron." Her voice is tight over the line, the tiny speakers still enough to amplify the emotion in her voice. She sounds so...disappointed.
"Who says you can't?" he responds slowly, clearly testing the range of her emotion.
"I want to," she says quietly. "I even looked you up online. I watched the presentation you gave on school shootings...and for a moment, I actually thought there were still good people in the world."
You remember that presentation. There had been a shooting at an elementary school in Virginia, and the moment the news hit, he had been on the phone, discussing procedures to ensure it wouldn't happen again. You went with him that day that he gave the speech, and you could tell he had been thinking of Jack the entire time he was up there.
Hotch closes his eyes for a beat. "But I've disappointed you, haven't I? Just like all the other men in your life who've walked out on their families."
The line is silent, before: "Did you walk out on your family?"
Hotch looks down for a moment and you fight the urge to walk over and pull him into a hug. "No. My wife left me."
You can feel the team's eyes on you as you keep your expression neutral, your eyes focused on him.
"Do you have kids?"
Your mind flashes to Jack, and your chest feels warm as he nods, before muttering a quick "yes".
The woman speaks up again, her voice stronger yet more emotional. "How often do you see him?"
"I try to see him every week."
She scoffs. "Do you see him every week?" Her question is like a jab, trying to push him into doing or saying something that will prove he's just like the other men in her life.
"No," he admits, glancing back at you. You nod, trying to let him know that you're right here. "I don't get there as often as I want."
"I believe you." Her voice softens and you watch as Hotch's expression turns back to his thinking face. He has an idea.
He lets her talk for a minute, listening in to Garcia's updates on the trap-and-trace, until he chimes in again. "But I'm just frustrating you, aren't I?"
You can hear the confusion in her tone. "What do you mean?"
"Well, you wanna show the world all these bad men, and my investigation's just getting in your way."
"No, Aaron," she sighs heavily. "You just want me to disappear, just like they do."
He shakes his head, turning to look out the window. "Truthfully, I'm only interested in finding you. You don't know who to trust. Am I right?"
There are tears in her voice as she quietly whispers an acknowledgement.
"Come to me and turn yourself in." He walks back to the living area. "I will make sure that you get the help you need. I won't let you disappear."
His voice is a comfort, and for a brief moment, you think that he could probably convince you to turn yourself in if you had to.
There's a beat of silence, before a small rustling sound. "If we met under different circumstances...I could believe that."
The rustling continues, before her tone changes completely, going from soft and meek to strong and icy. "I won't let you cover this up."
There's a gunshot right before the call cuts out.
***
You follow Hotch and Derek into the hotel room, checking behind you as you aim your gun out in front of you. Once Garcia found Megan Kane's address and client list, everything else fell into place.
The room is empty, except for a gun and a bottle of champagne placed theatrically on the center table.
"Hotch," Derek whispers, pointing out at the balcony, where a figure is laying down on one of the lounge chairs.
His brow furrows and he lifts his hand. "Wait here."
"You sure?" you ask, stepping forward to get a better look.
He nods. "It's over. She knows it."
Derek steps out to call 911, and you watch as Hotch approaches her slowly, tucking his gun into his holster before sitting on the chair beside her.
"Nothing will change," you hear her whisper, her voice overflowing with despair. "They'll just go back to doing whatever they want and they'll keep getting away with it."
He shakes his head. "Not if I have anything to do with it."
The response is almost corny, but his voice is so earnest that you find yourself believing him anyway.
He reaches forward and takes her hand, holding it tightly as her head lolls to the side to look at him. "How could your wife have ever left someone like you?"
He doesn't say anything, but you can feel the sadness permeating off of both of them as he comforts her in her final moments. Haley is one of your good friends, and you know she would've made their marriage work if it was something she could control. This job just isn't that.
Megan lets out a soft sob and you avert your eyes, feeling like you're intruding on a private moment. "You're the first man I ever met who didn't let me down. Will you stay with me?"
He doesn't hesitate. "Yes."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
He holds her hand for a long time, and he doesn't stand up until you're certain she's been dead for minutes. The walk back to you is slow, and you can see the extra weight on his shoulders as he trudges across the hotel room.
You open your arms and he all but falls into them, letting you pull him into a tight hug that you can tell is holding him together right now.
"You did good," you whisper as his face presses into your shoulder. "You kept your promise. It's the last thing she wanted, and you gave it to her."
You feel him nod, and a moment later, he stands up, letting his arms drop like deadweights. His hair is slightly disheveled, so you reach up and push the front strands back from his forehead, before resting your hand on his cheek for a quick second. "Let's go home?"
He nods again. "Let's go home."
***
It's snowing. You don't realize it until you step out of the car and onto the sidewalk in front of the Georgetown brownstone where the priest was taken in.
Emily and Derek caught him in the middle of an attempted exorcism, and you didn't arrive with the rest of the team until they were already bringing him out in cuffs. She looks shaken as she leads her friend out of the house and to the ambulance waiting on the street.
Once the paramedics take him from her hands, her body all but deflates, and she exhales deeply, as though releasing the pent-up tension from the day.
"Em," you whisper, approaching her slowly. "Can I drive you home?"
She doesn't look at you at first. Whites flecks of snow dance across your vision and stick to her coat and hair as she stares at the ground. After a moment, she shakes her head. "I'm gonna walk for a while."
Her feet don't move, and you're reminded of a conversation you had years ago, when she comforted you and offered you a quiet place to just be. Gently looping your arm through hers, you ask, "Do you want some company?"
She nods almost immediately, and you let her lead the way as you walk away from the red and blue flashing lights. You can't imagine how tough this case must have been for her, especially because the people she loved were so deeply involved.
The walk is silent, and you look down, watching the patterns the soles of your boots make in the snow. You only stop moving when Emily does, her sudden stillness tugging you back as she stands in front of a small church that she must have seen from down the street.
She lets go of your arm as she turns her face up to the sky, hugging herself in an effort to stay warm or shield herself. Maybe a mix of both.
"You don't have to say anything," you say softly as you turn to face the church as well, your shoulder pressing lightly against hers, "but if you want to, I'm always here to listen."
Emily glances up at the church, her eyes shining in the cold, and presses her lips together as she takes in a shaky breath. "My friend...who died...Matthew. He knew the Bible inside and out, and one day he started to question everything."
You think you know where this is going, but you don't want to interrupt her when she's letting out emotions she has clearly kept inside for years.
"We moved around a lot when I was younger, because of my mom's postings, and when you're 15, it's really hard to get accepted."
She's silent for a few moments and you take the opportunity to fill in the gaps for her, so she doesn't have to say it out loud. "You got pregnant?"
She nods, taking a deep breath. "Matthew wasn't the father. It-it was...something else. But I didn't know what to do. He told me to talk to our priest, but he just said that if I had an abortion, I wasn't welcome in his congregation."
Your throat tightens with tears and you blink them back, swallowing thickly. "What did you do?"
"Matthew found a doctor." Her arms tighten around her abdomen, and she lets out a small shiver. "He took me there, and he stayed with me. Then, when we got back, he held my hand and walked me into the church." Her voice cracks as she continues. "Father Gamino actually stopped his sermon, but Matthew told me to hold my head up and we walked to the front pew."
Her arms fall then, and you look up to see the wetness on her cheeks, pink from the cold. "Matthew saved my life. He made me feel like I was worthy of...love, and friendship, but then his anger and questioning started." She finally looks at you, and her eyes are wide with grief and anguish. "He saved me, and it's my fault that his life unraveled."
You're shaking your head before she's even finished speaking. "Em, honey, it's not your fault. He was your friend. He loved you, and everything he did for you was his choice. Anything he discovered after that was already within him."
Another tear falls down her cheek and you reach forward to pull her into a hug that she accepts gratefully. "You're one of the strongest people I know."
Her hands clutch the back of your coat as she cries silently into your shoulder, and you don't let go until she finally stops shaking.
***
Hotch is ending a phone call when you step into his office. He sets it down and nods when you step inside, but you can see the lines of tension just in the way he's standing.
"Is everything alright?" you ask, walking inside and standing in front of his desk. "What was that call about?"
He doesn't look up. "Shaunessy died last night."
"Oh, Aaron, I'm so sorry." You squeeze his forearm over the desk, but he still won't look at you. "He was your first boss here at the BAU, right?"
He nods, before clearing his throat and straightening his back. "He was sick. This isn't a surprise, but there's something else we may need to talk about-"
He's interrupted by JJ coming into his office, a case file in hand. "Sorry, but you wanted to know immediately about any unusual Boston homicides?"
You see his jaw twitch as he takes the file from her and flips it open, scanning the first page quickly. JJ glances over at you, a confused expression on her face, but you can only shrug.
He looks up after a minute. "We're going to Boston."
JJ sputters. "Wha-what, but we haven't been invited?"
"We will be." He grabs his coat and sidesteps the two of you, before booking it out of his office. You're hot on his heels as he grabs his briefcase and alerts the team that they need to be ready to leave within the hour.
"What was that about?" Morgan asks, turning to you.
You shrug again. "I have no idea." You turn to the glass doors swinging shut behind him, and rush outside before you can second guess your actions.
"Aaron!" you call out, forcing him to hold the elevator for you. "Tell me what's going on."
He sighs as you step inside, and he sets the briefcase on the floor. "It's the Boston Reaper. He's back."
"The Reaper?" The name sends a shudder through your body. "That was your first case as a profiler, wasn't it?"
He nods, and you wait for him to continue. "He offered Shaunessy a deal that if he shut down the investigation, then he would stop killing."
His words take a moment to register, but then your face falls. "He took the deal. And now that he's dead..."
"The Reaper has started killing again."
***
The next crime scene comes in the form of an older couple, who were killed in their car on the side of the street. When you arrive, you discover that the unsub left behind the previous victim's watch, as well as a note.
You sidle up next to Hotch, bumping your shoulder against his to alert him to your presence. "Looks like he went through her purse. Any idea what he was looking for?"
He's so focused on the letter in his hands that he doesn't respond, so you lean in and read it from beside his shoulder. "The question mark is new."
"It's for us," he says suddenly, dropping his hand and looking at you. "He's saying it's not fate. He's saying we had 10 years to save them and that these latest ones are on us."
You frown, trying to scrutinize the lines of tension on his face. "You got all that from one question mark?"
"I may know him better than I've let on."
Your brow furrows and you grab his wrist, bringing his attention back to you. "What does that mean? Aaron?"
"It means that there is a profile on The Reaper."
"You said you were called off before you could make one-"
"We were," he cuts you off, shaking his head. "I had just started the profile, and then he stopped killing, so officially we were done, but..."
You purse your lips. "But this case stuck with you."
He nods. "I kept coming back to it over the years, and I worked on it alone."
You can imagine young Hotch, in his first years at the bureau, poring over the case file late into the night, because he couldn't put it away when the unsub was still out there. You realize, all of a sudden, that it reminds you of Gideon.
Looking up at him, you release his wrist, letting your fingers drag on his pulse for a moment before letting go. "We need to hear your profile."
***
After he gives the profile alone, you all head back to the hotel to get some rest before the long days ahead of you. In your heart of hearts, you know that no one will really be sleeping tonight, least of all Hotch, so you go up to his room with him to keep working on the case.
"Can you imagine living with the fear that the man who killed your fiancee, and nearly killed you, is still out there?" Your question is mostly rhetorical, but Hotch still lets out a soft grunt from the bed where he's poring over crime scene photos from the last few victims.
"It explains why Foyet went so underground," he says with a frown. "The multiple residences under different names, always taking the bus...I just wish he had taken us up on moving him to a safe house."
"I think that's actually the one part I do understand," you muse, looking up from the file on your lap. "Part of the reason why I came back from my dad's house so soon after Jeff died was because I needed everything to return to normal. I needed my life back."
He glances up at you then with a slight raise of his eyebrow and you shake your head before looking back down. It's okay. Not now.
He looks like he wants to say something, but then the hotel room phone goes off, piercing the air with a high ringing sound. He gets off the bed and picks it up, answering with a stern, "Hotchner."
He's silent at first, but you only look up when you hear him say, "You've misjudged me. I'm the guy who hunts guys like you...I'll see you soon." He slams the phone down on the receiver, and even though you know exactly what that was, you still need him to say it.
"Hotch, what was that?"
He rubs a hand over his face, pacing back and forth across the small space in front of you.
"Was that him?"
He doesn't respond, instead mumbling something under his breath that you can't make out. You stand up and cross the room, before grabbing his forearms so he's forced to look at you. "Aaron! What did he say?"
His eyes are frantic as he finally meets your eye. "He offered me the same deal...and I didn't take it."
***
"Six bodies, not including the driver. He put 'em down with the gun and finished them off with his knife."
The scene inside the bus is horrifying. Blood is dripping from each of the seats, and the words "No Deal", along with a series of numbers, are painted in blood on the windows.
Rossi comes up beside you as you watch Hotch survey the scene, an eerie stillness to his composure. "What's going on with him?"
You glance at him, before turning back to Hotch. "The Reaper called him at his room tonight, offering the deal...and he hung up on him."
Rossi nods, before patting your arm and stepping around you. He nods at Hotch, grabbing his attention away from the scene he hasn't been able to look away from for minutes. "Y/N told me what happened earlier. So, what, you think this is your fault?"
"It is." His voice is shakier than you'd expect based on the resolution in his choice of words.
"Okay," Rossi shrugs, reaching for the gun in his holster. "Here, use mine." Your brow furrows and you step forward, making sure you're nearby in case this gets out of hand. You love Dave, but he can be a bit heavy-handed sometimes.
"You convinced me," he continues, shoving his hand forward. Hotch shakes his head, but he doesn't let up. "No, no, you hung up on him. You practically killed them yourself. Go ahead, get it over with. Don't worry about us. We'll get this guy without you."
Hotch closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them, they're shining with tears. You realize, with a shock, that you haven't seen him cry in decades. Not since the day after his father's funeral when Sean shut himself in his room for hours, because he truly believed that his brother didn't care about their family.
When he looks at Rossi again, a few tears have fallen down his cheeks. "I had ten years to do something about it."
"Look," he says simply, lowering his gun, "if you want to end up like Shaunessy, like Gideon, blaming yourself for everything, then you go ahead. But that voice in your head, it's not your conscience. It's your ego."
Hotch deflates, and you reach forward to wrap your fingers around his wrist, maintaining a steady connection. He looks at you, and you dip your chin into a tiny nod. It's not always your fault.
He looks back at Dave with a heavy sigh, but he doesn't pull his hand from your grasp. "You can put that away now."
Rossi raises his eyebrows as he tucks the gun away. "You sure?"
Hotch shakes his head, unable to hide his smile, and you let out a little chuckle. "It's a little dramatic, don't you think?"
"My wife always said I had a flair for the dramatic."
You and Hotch speak up at the same time. "Which one?"
Rossi shrugs. "All of them."
You laugh, before squeezing Aaron's wrist once more and letting go.
***
George Foyet is the Reaper.
You can't believe it even as the words circle around your brain. The team was able to catch him before he killed Colson, the journalist who wrote a book about him, but the victory still doesn't feel sweet.
I'm gonna be more famous than you even realize.
His last words before Derek cuffed him and handed him off to the police. They won't leave your head even as you step off the elevator into the office. Emily and JJ are chatting about some new restaurant in town as they step out ahead of you, and you walk to your desk in a trance, unable to figure out why you aren't able to let out the breath you've been holding since you left for Boston.
Your question is answered when JJ runs back from her office a few minutes later, her phone clutched in her hand and a panicked expression on her face. "Foyet escaped."
***
It takes a while for Derek to get over the Foyet news. He took his badge and credentials when he knocked him out, and even with the replacement he was given, you know the knowledge that Foyet is out there is still irking at him.
Hotch isn't much better. He's been throwing himself into work extra hard, and you're worried he's going to burn out or simply combust if he keeps at it.
This is exactly what Foyet wants, you want to scream. He's trying to get in your heads and mess with your life, without even being here.
But you don't say it.
***
He's been so immersed in work that he doesn't really get to talk to you until a case in Oregon, where an unsub has been killing people by hitting them with his car.
You're grabbing a cup of coffee at the local police station, pouring in an uncharacteristic packet of sugar, when he approaches you, perching on the edge of the counter. "Sugar?"
"I know," you sigh, tossing the empty packet into the trash can next to you. "I just wanted something a little sweeter today."
"Can't argue with that," he says softly, making you smile. It drops almost as fast as it appeared, and he scoots closer as he hands you a wooden stirrer. "How are you holding up?"
This case can't be easy for you, especially knowing how your mom died. You don't talk about it often, but when you do, he can tell it's because you need to let it out. He's the same way with his father, only the feelings he is hiding from are different.
"I'm fine," you say quickly, like it's an automatic response. You both know it's a lie, and you close your eyes for a beat, dropping the stirrer into your cup. "I should be fine, but...I don't know." He follows your gaze over to the open case file across the table, and notices how your eyes hang on the crime scene photos. The car wreckage. The tread marks on the road. "I don't know why this case is affecting me so much. I didn't even see the crash when my mom died."
He reaches forward and closes the file. "Grief works in interesting ways." If there's anything he has the authority to speak on, it's grief. But then again, so do you. He doesn't know if he would've gotten through the aftermath of his father's death without you. Thinking about it now, he doesn't think he's told anyone else the whole truth about his family. "Anything can be a trigger."
"What was your trigger?" you ask suddenly, turning to look at him. "After your dad died?" Your eyes are full of curiosity, and for a moment, he wonders again if you really can read his mind.
He takes a deep breath before answering. "For a while, almost everything was. The smell of his beer, the material of his favorite coat...it all made me so angry."
"I remember," you whisper, setting your coffee down, "but soon after, that changed." You look at him with a small smile. "You met Haley."
His jaw twitches and he realizes that he wasn't even thinking about her. The first person that came to mind when he thought about his healing process was you. Haley was everything to him, but she wasn't built for the life he grew up with. She wouldn't have been able to understand the rage flowing through his body when he thought of his father's death. The anger and hurt he felt, that somehow always transformed to guilt when he went back home for the night.
"Yeah," he says after a moment, accepting your judgment, even if it is a lie. He doesn't want to talk about this anymore, so he diverts back to the original subject. "Your mother was different. She loved you exactly how you deserved to be loved. Even if it hurts sometimes, it's just a reminder that you had something great."
That makes you smile, and he feels warmth fill his chest. "Yeah, I guess you're right."
He nods, patting your knee. "It's been known to happen."
***
You're in the passenger seat next to Derek when you see it. You watch him swerve his SUV into the unsub's truck in real time, but you still don't believe what you're seeing until the cars come to a stop, smoke billowing out of the front.
Derek screeches to a stop and there's glass everywhere as you throw yourself out of the SUV and race towards the collision site.
Aaron is stumbling out of his car when you reach him. There's a gash on his forehead, dripping blood down his face, and another on his arm. He tries to reach for his gun, but you grab his arms, holding him against the SUV.
"Sorry," he mutters through gritted teeth as you reach up to swipe the blood off his forehead before it falls into his eye. Your hand stays on his face as you survey the rest of him for any other wounds that may need your attention.
Once you're certain that he'll be okay, you turn back to him with a glare. "You scared the shit out of me." Your thumb is unconsciously rubbing circles on his jaw as he looks down at you. You are well aware that danger comes with the job description, but he also knows you would kill him if he ever put himself in serious danger, especially when it wasn't necessary. "Don't ever do that again."
He takes a deep breath as you pick a piece of glass out of his hair. When you return to meet his gaze, he reaches out to grab the strap of your vest. "I'm sorry."
You tug each other forward into a hug at seemingly the same time. You don't get the chance to be careful with his wounds as you collide into his chest, but you forget about everything else the moment his arms close around you. He's okay. He's alive.
"You don't get to die on me," you whisper into his collarbone as you tighten your grip around him. "Promise me."
You know it's not fair. You know it's not something he can control, especially with the kinds of people you chase on a daily basis, but it doesn't matter, because he knows you. He knows when you need the facts, and when you need reassurance, so instead of uttering a funny quip or a painful truth, he just says, "I promise."
***
Are you sure it's okay that I'm coming?
You type back a response as soon as you see the message on your phone. Of course. Dave invited you and Jack, and I would love to see you too.
A few minutes later, you get a simple Ok, so you set your phone down on the table and stand up to join the rest of your friends. With summer around the corner, Dave wanted to host a garden party, and after the last few months, you definitely don't mind the respite.
"Come get some more food," he tells you the moment you approach them by the edge of his huge yard. He's standing with Derek, Spencer, and Penelope by a long table adorned with steaming dishes of bread, pasta, and salad.
"I'll explode if I eat any more," you say with a laugh as Spencer stuffs another piece of bread into his mouth. For a small as he looks, he can be a bottomless pit when it comes to good food. "Have you guys seen Hotch?"
"He isn't here yet," Penelope notes as Derek wraps an arm around her. "I'll keep an eye out though."
"Do you think he'll bring Haley and Jack?" Spencer asks as JJ approaches with Henry in her arms.
"I told her to come," you say, tickling the baby's chin with the tip of your finger. "It'll be nice to see everyone together."
As though conjured by their questions, the door to the backyard opens and Jack steps out with Haley and Hotch right behind him.
"You're here!" You walk across the lawn and give her a quick hug, before bending down and lifting Jack into the air. "What's up, Jack-o-lantern? You're so big now."
"Yeah," he giggles, wrapping his arms around your neck. You press a loud kiss to the side of his head and he bursts into a fit of giggles as you tickle his belly with your free hand.
"I'm so glad you made it," Dave says from behind you as he comes over and gives Haley a hug. "We love having you here."
She raises her eyebrow at Hotch, but there's no intention behind it. Divorce seems to have treated them well, reminding them of all of the good that was there before everything else got in the way. "Thank you for inviting us."
"Seriously, thank you," Hotch agrees, before reaching out to take Jack from your arms.
"Any time," Dave says sincerely, before nodding at him. "Come help me grab some more wine from the cellar."
They disappear into the house, and you pull Haley down with you into two of the chairs by the edge of the sprawling yard. "Hotch and Jack are sweet together."
She nods, looking wistfully at the door. "He loves any time he gets with his dad."
"It can't be easy," you say slowly, hoping you aren't breaching a boundary unknown to you. "I've seen firsthand how busy the job has been getting recently. I haven't been home before midnight in over a week."
She's silent for a moment, and you worry that you crossed the line, but then she just smiles. "He's trying so hard...and that's all I can really ask for, isn't it?"
You suppose she's right. Not everyone is lucky enough to find a person who fights as hard as Aaron does to get home to his family at the end of the day.
"You're good for him, you know." You look at her as she crosses one leg over the other. "You always have been."
"You are too."
"I know," she says, before shaking her head. Her expression is warm as she smiles at you. "It's not the same, though. Even when you weren't around, you were in everything he did."
You don't know exactly where she's going with this, and you're acutely aware of the choruses of laughter floating over to you from across the lawn as she reaches out to squeeze your arm. "He loves you."
Your face transforms into what you imagine is a look of confusion. "I love him, too. He's my best friend."
Haley looks at you for a moment, before shaking her head with a nearly inscrutable sigh. "Anyway, thanks for convincing me to come. I'm gonna get some food."
~
Eventually, the sun sets, and the string lights in Dave's backyard turn on, along with the soft sounds of Ella Fitzgerald and Sam Cooke. He helps Derek and Will push the tables and chairs aside to make room for a dance floor, and soon, Haley is in his arms as they swing along to the lilting tunes filtering out over the yard.
It feels natural, dancing with her like this, but at the same time, he knows it's different now. He holds her firmly as she tilts in his arms, loose from the wine that Dave made sure was pouring all night, and she lets him swing her around the lawn, no care in the world.
Soon, the song changes, and she looks at him with a dreamy smile. "You love this song."
It's a soft tune by Sam Cooke, one he can't remember the name of right now, but he smiles at her as he nods. "I'm glad you're here. You and Jack."
"I missed you all," she says, before cracking a smile. "Mostly just Y/N though."
That makes him laugh, and before he knows it, Dave is walking over, with you on his hand, asking to trade partners for the song. "I haven't gotten to talk to Haley all night."
It's not the best excuse, but Haley doesn't seem to mind at all. "Of course, I'd love to dance."
Dave whisks her away, and Hotch holds a hand out for you, pulling you into another steady swing.
"I love this song," you whisper as the two of you fall into a rhythm. "I Wish You Love."
Right, that's what it's called. His hand settles on your waist as you grip his shoulder, and he can tell you've had a bit of wine too, but only because of the red tint of your cheeks.
"This is nice," you say after a few beats of silence. "We don't get to do this often."
He nods, turning you to make room for Derek and Emily, who are swinging heartily across the yard. "It's nice to see the kids together." He glances over your shoulder to peer at JJ, who has Henry and Jack in each of her arms. She has jumped head first into motherhood, and it suits her.
The song changes to something a little slower, so he steers you to the edge of the dance floor, taking control as your feet glide after him. Maybe you've had a bit more wine than he first assumed.
The thought makes him chuckle and you look at him with a quizzical expression. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing." He shakes his head, and clasps your hand tighter to hold you to him. He glances over your shoulder again and finds an excuse for his laughter almost immediately. "Garcia is trying to teach Reid how to dance."
You tug his arm immediately, spinning the two of you around so you can see the situation he described, and your face breaks out into a wide grin when you spot them a few paces over. "The poor kid has no coordination."
As you watch them dance, he watches you. The way the string lights glance over your exposed shoulders. The sparkle of your eyes under the waning moonlight. He realizes, not for the first time, how beautiful you are.
He could give himself the usual excuse, that it's just the time of the night, or the single glass of red he drank a few hours ago, but tonight, he lets himself just be there.
You're his best friend, and he loves you. He's here, dancing around the grass with some of his closest companions, and you're with him. For once, he can just be.
***
You can't the pile of shoes out of your head. Derek and Emily were able to find the girl before Lucas Turner killed her, but even after arresting him and getting her back to her mother, the case is still sticking with you.
89 pairs of shoes.
You shake the thought from your head as you get into Hotch's car in the field office parking lot. He insisted on driving you home after seeing the look on your face in the plane, and for once, you didn't argue with him.
"I can't stop thinking about them," you whisper as he pulls out of the lot. "So many lives that are forever changed because of two men."
You saw how Derek reacted when he found the box of muddy shoes. You saw JJ's face after she had to shoot Hightower for murdering the man who experimented on his sister.
"I'm thinking of giving everyone a few days off," he says, glancing over at you. "We all need some time to get away from this job. I'll put the request in tomorrow morning."
You nod, unable to voice your opinion. You feel depleted, without having even witnessed the horrors you know occurred up on that farm.
It takes a second, but eventually you regain the ability to speak. "Do you think it's worth it?" Your voice feels like sandpaper, but the question hurts more than anything else. "This life, I mean."
He mulls it over, and you notice his grip tighten on the steering wheel in front of him. "I think it has to be." Your brow furrows, and you don't know whether you want to scream or cry at how terrible that answer feels right now, but he isn't finished. "We have put too much of ourselves into this job to allow us to forget about all of the good that has come out of it too. If we choose to forget the good, then none of it means anything."
You look at him in wonder, realizing he has voiced exactly what you needed to hear. You're constantly awestruck by how he always seems to know exactly what to say to bring back your sense of purpose.
"You're good at this whole leadership thing," you say softly, cracking a smile when he looks at you. "You help me grow."
He pushes you just hard enough to help you transform into something so much bigger and better than you hoped you could be. His chin dips and he turns back to the road as your neighborhood comes into view. "You help me grow too."
You lean your cheek on your palm as you snuggle further into the seat. "I called Josh Cramer, over at organized crime."
His eyebrows raise with surprise and he glances over at you. "Jeff's old boss? How did that go?"
During your last interaction at the BAU office all those years ago, you weren't ready to see him yet. He still reminded you of the hate and anger and guilt you felt over Jeff's death.
The last few months have been kinder to you, though. It doesn't hurt as much when you think about him.
"It went well," you sigh, looking out the window at the houses passing by. "Even though it'll never really be the same, it felt more like old times, if that makes any sense."
"It does," he says simply, providing you an acknowledgement before letting you fill in the spaces yourself.
You take a deep breath, feeling the air fill your lungs, before letting it out again. "He told me a story from before Jeff went undercover. It was just a dumb story about some night his team went out for burgers after wrapping up a case." Your breaths get shallower, but the tears you are expecting don't come. "Apparently, he made the team go to three different burger spots, because he wanted to bring me back curly fries, and none of the places were selling the kind I like."
You clear your throat to dispel the tightness, and when you look back at him, the car has come to a stop in front of your house.
"That sounds like him," Hotch says, smiling at you as you chuckle to yourself.
You nod, closing your eyes for a beat. "I guess I just wanted to say that, yeah, our lives are sometimes changed inalterably, but...it's not always bad. I met him, I loved him...and then I lost him, but I still wouldn't take back any of it."
His eyes crinkle and he looks out the windshield for a brief second. "Me neither."
It's already late, and you don't want to take up any more of his night, so you bid him goodbye and shut your door after making him promise to actually get some rest.
Your front door shuts behind you, and you hear the sound of his car driving off as you exhale heavily. Your house feels big with you here alone, but for once, you revel in the solitude. Finally, a few days of peace and quiet.
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summary: Hotch and his childhood best friend working together at the BAU: a slow burn across the seasons.
word count: 23.1k
warnings: canon!typical violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of death, specific episodes mentioned in this part are 3x01, 3x02, 3x03, 3x06, 3x08, 3x09, 3x14, 3x16, 3x17, 3x19, and 3x20
a/n: season 3! The slow burn continues:) This was really fun to write, so I hope you enjoy it! (and I promise the chapters won't keep getting longer, this one just got out of hand LMAO) Title is from Heal by Tom Odell
"Excuse me?"
Section Chief Strauss doesn't falter. "You can't expect me to believe you think Agent Hotchner has done an effective job leading this unit."
"You can't expect me to believe that you think I'd willing spy on my unit chief for you."
She sighs and you want to throttle her. "Agent L/N, I know you two share a history, but this is bigger than that. People have died on his watch."
You have been trying to remain neutral since you were called into her office, but every word that comes out of her mouth makes you see red. Yes, this past year has been tough, but none of it was in his control.
"I think you know my answer," you say coldly, straightening your back in her chair. "I have to go, we have a case in Arizona."
She holds your gaze for a second, before nodding and turning back to her computer. You stand up and leave her office without another word, hastening your pace to a light jog the moment you're out of her line of sight.
You want to talk to Hotch as soon as possible, but by the time you get back to the bullpen, the whole team and their go-bags are gone. Grabbing your own bag, you rush over to the airstrip where everyone is settled inside the jet.
He glances up with a thin smile when you take a seat across from him, and you return it, not wanting to raise his concern when everyone is around.
The Flagstaff police meet you at the airport when you land, and everyone jumps into the awaiting SUVs to get to the crime scene as soon as possible.
The victim is another brunette woman on the college campus, but luckily her body was found after curfew, so students aren't milling around.
You step closer to examine the woman's body as JJ glances down at her hand. "She had her Mace out, but she didn't use it?"
Morgan nods, looking around. "And it's well-lit. He's not afraid of being seen."
A bus stop sign catches your attention and you turn to Detective Griffith. "How often do the shuttles run?"
He answers immediately. "Every 10 minutes."
"Were all the other victims posed like this?" Reid asks, bending over to get a better look. "With their arms crossed."
Griffith frowns. "Yeah. Why?"
"It's a classic sign of remorse," Morgan responds, stepping in to take over the explanation. "The unsub kills the victim then immediately feels bad about it, so he poses them like this, so they'll rest in peace."
"You can tell that just by the arms?"
"It's why you called us here. To build a psychological profile of your killer."
After inspecting the crime scene, Gideon and Morgan leave to talk to the dean of the school, and JJ and Reid go to meet with the students living in the victim's dorm. Hotch is still back at the station, and you haven't gotten a chance to talk to him since meeting with Strauss, but you push it out of your mind as you accompany Emily to the coroner's office.
You're so lost in thought that the drive over is entirely silent, and it's not until you've parked that you realize she didn't say a word either.
When the coroner leads you to the victim's body, you notice how much clearer each of the markings and cuts are. Hotch doesn't assign you to speak with the coroners very often, usually sending Prentiss, because of her incredible attention to detail, but not that you're here, you appreciate the second chance to examine the victim.
"Did the other victims have this much overkill?" she asks, pulling out her camera as you flip open your notebook.
"Death was caused by a single, very forceful stab wound to the heart," the coroner confirms.
You lean in closer to see the insertion point and notice the lumpy discoloring on the victim's chest. "Yeah, it looks like he broke through the breastbone."
"And after that he just lashed out at random," he adds.
Emily hums in agreement before snapping a couple of photos. "Well, no defensive wounds. She didn't even hold her hands up to fight him off."
"The first two victims were the same."
A shudder runs through you as the two of you leave the cold room and emerge into the warm sunlight. "Why is it almost harder to look at the victims when they're cleaned up and no longer covered in blood?"
Emily considers your question for a moment. "Maybe it's because they look less human that way."
You remember Jeff's funeral, how lifeless he seemed in his casket, and how you could barely look at him during the proceedings. It was somehow worse than seeing him at the crime scene, blood everywhere. At least then, you could still see the warmth in his skin. Later, he just looked cold.
"I think you're right," you tell her just as her phone chirps with a call.
She stiffens imperceptibly when she sees the number, but you only notice because of how hyper-vigilant you have been about your own tells since speaking with Strauss. "I need to take this. Give me a second."
She walks away from you and answers the call, her tone hushed so that you can't hear her. You know it could easily just be a personal call about something private in her life, but there's something almost familiar about the look in her eyes when she saw the number.
"Everything okay?" you ask her when she returns, but she just sighs and starts walking to the SUV. "It's nothing."
You haven't known her for as long as the other members of the team, but it's not hard to tell that she's hiding something. She looks distracted as she avoids making eye contact, and when you remember how you did the same with Hotch on the plane, the pieces fall into place.
If Strauss gave her the same assignment she tried to give you, then you need to keep an eye on her. You don't believe that she would sell out the team, but you also know how terrifying you thought Strauss was when you first joined the bureau.
***
The profile leads you to take Nathan Tubbs, one of the campus security guards, into custody, and while Gideon interrogates him, you walk with Reid, JJ, and Emily through the quad to get back to the station.
"Everyone is so much younger than I remember being," JJ says, as you all pass through a crowded part of campus. Word must have spread that the team arrested someone, because you can't imagine why else there would be so many students hanging outside after dark.
"Yeah, it's a weird age," Emily chuckles. "You want to be treated like an adult, but you're still used to someone else solving your problems for you."
"All I remember is trying to figure out who I was."
That makes you laugh. "I had no idea what I wanted to do when I was in college."
"Didn't you go to college with Hotch?" JJ asks, her eyes twinkling. You expect she's hoping for an embarrassing, or at least interesting, story from those years, but your past with him feels almost like sacred territory: something you can't breach when he's not around.
"Not college," you correct, "just everything else before and after."
"What was he like then?" Emily asks, genuine curiosity in her tone. You still can't believe that she would spy for Strauss, but you also can't help your suspicions.
"He was completely different, but also the same." You smile as you think back to the early years of your friendship. "He was kind of a cool kid in high school, but he was just as focused and determined as he is now."
"Hotch was popular?" Reid asks in disbelief.
JJ snorts. "Why can't I imagine that at all."
"He was trustworthy," you shrug, "and kind. Even when people weren't kind to him."
The three of them go silent, and you suddenly feel extremely self-conscious, but you're saved when your phone rings with a call from Derek. "Hey."
"There's been another murder."
***
The case ends in a murder-suicide that a part of you believes Gideon should've seen coming. JJ calls the jet to take off at first light, and everyone looks exhausted when you arrive at the airport. You sleep most of the flight back, but when you step into the field office again, you know you can't ignore the talk you've been avoiding all day.
You go to his office in the hopes of having this conversation privately, but he isn't inside when you look through the open door. You turn back with a frown and are about to head down the stairs again when you see him leaving Strauss's office across the hall.
He spots you immediately, and before you can say anything, he says, "I just got suspended."
Your mouth falls open. "What?"
"Two weeks."
You blanche as you follow him into his office, where he immediately starts packing up his essentials into his briefcase. "Hotch...I have to tell you something. Something I should have mentioned yesterday."
"What is it?" he asks, his voice slightly distracted.
You press your lips together, before trying again, slower this time. "Strauss asked me to spy on you, and I think she also asked Emily."
He closes his eyes for a beat, but it feels like years. You can feel the disappointment wafting off of him, but he doesn't say anything, giving you the time to explain in more detail.
"She asked me right before we flew to Arizona," you tell him, your chest aching at the defeated look on his face. "I told her I wouldn't do it, of course, and that you are the perfect leader for this team. But I was watching Emily the whole time we were there, and I think Strauss might have threatened her or made her some kind of offer."
His hands pause their packing and for a moment, you're worried that he's going to be angry you didn't come to him sooner, but then he just sighs, a deeply dejected sound. "I figured she would. It's basically in the FBI playbook."
"You knew?" you say, your voice almost like a gasp.
"I didn't know for sure," he amends, "but I believed so. And I'm usually right about these kinds of things. Anyway, it doesn't matter now. You guys will be fine without me."
You want to shake him; to reach forward and rattle his shoulders until he realizes that this is it. This is exactly why he makes such a great unit chief.
He doesn't get angry, even when he may have cause to be. He trusts his team so wholeheartedly that even under the suspicion of spying to the higher-ups, he still treats everyone the same. He puts the team above himself in almost every aspect, and the intermittent calls you get from Haley when you're in the middle of a long case prove that it may be to his own detriment, but he still does it. Because he cares so deeply, about each of you, and about each victim, and about catching each killer.
"We need you," you say, emphasizing your words as though that will make him understand you better.
"Morgan and Prentiss will be fine," he says pointedly, as though trying to prove a point. "I'm sure they'll even be better off. And Reid and JJ can look to you for guidance. It's practically what they do already."
"Fine," you sigh, throwing your hands up in exasperation. "They'll be okay. But what if I need you?"
He looks at you then, and there's a sadness behind the stern set of his eyes. "You'll be okay."
***
You have to drag yourself out of the house the next morning. The knowledge that Hotch (and most likely Gideon) won't be at the office sucks the motivation out of you, especially because you have no idea what will happen once the team is given another case. Will they assign you a new unit chief? Will they temporarily promote someone on the team?
You push your questions out of your mind as you mindlessly get through security and flop down at your desk. There's a palpable difference with half the team gone, especially since Emily doesn't seem to be anywhere in sight either, and the emptiness of the office somehow feels more claustrophobic.
You finished all of your paperwork the night before, because you couldn't sleep after hearing of Hotch's suspension, so sitting at your desk now, you have nothing to do until a new case arrives.
Reid and Morgan dive into their own paperwork the minute they sit down, and they don't look up except to grab a new pen or refill their mugs.
You can see the tension lining everyone's shoulders, the stress about the future of this team, with its two senior-most members gone.
When you can't take the lack of work anymore, you head over to JJ's office, where she is poring over a stack of case files so tall that you can't see her face until you step in front of her desk. "Hey, JJ."
"Oh, hey," she says, looking up at you. "It's been really quiet out there."
You nod, dropping onto the sofa across from her. "Half the team's gone. It doesn't feel the same."
"I wish I could come out there and sit with you guys, but I have so many new case files to look over."
"Need any help?"
She looks up in surprise. "Actually, that would be great. Can I leave you with a few of them? There's a checklist for what I need you to note down at the top of that stack."
"Of course," you say before she hands you a thick stack of files. "I'll get them back to you soon."
"Take your time," she says, waving you away. "I have like a billion more to go through anyway."
When you're back at your desk, you set down the stack with a small thud and open the first file. You're bombarded with gory images of men who have been brutally stabbed to death, and you read over the case history quickly before opening the next one. This time, the images are of live women, all of whom share a skin tone and hair color, and have been kidnapped in the last week.
You slam the file shut and close your eyes in an effort to keep your head from spinning. You don't understand how anyone could classify these cases. How they could decide that one of these unsubs is worse than another. But there aren't enough teams like yours to cover every case that comes through the door, so someone has to.
You glance up at Hotch's office again, a force of habit, and the darkness in his doorway reminds you of the emptiness in the office. It's the same with Gideon's office, and Emily's desk.
You miss them all.
***
The first week of Hotch's suspension is hell. Gideon still hasn't turned up, and you can see his absence clawing at Spencer, who hasn't gone more than an hour without glancing at his office since he left. Derek doesn't admit it, but you can tell he misses Hotch's leadership over the team.
Strauss has come by periodically to "check in" on your team's work, but with the other units available to take on any new cases, she hasn't assigned you anything. You know she doesn't trust your team, but you're surprised that even with Hotch gone, she's still treating all of you like extensions of him. Not that she's wrong about that.
Without getting called in, you stay at home for the first few days, and even get some use out of your Peloton for once. You've been missing him all week, but it's not until the following Monday that you decide to actually do something about it.
Grabbing the files JJ gave you to look over, you stuff them in your bag and drive up to his house. Both cars are in the driveway when you arrive, and you belatedly realize that you should have called first.
You knock on the door hesitantly, and are surprised to see Jack in Haley's arms when she opens the door. She looks excited to see you, but you still feel bad about just showing up. "I'm sorry, I should have called."
"Not at all," she says, opening the door wider for you to enter. "You know I love seeing you."
"Y/N's here," Haley announces as she leads you into the kitchen and sets Jack back into his high chair. She shoots you a pointed look. "And she's not here to talk about work."
"Of course not," you say with a laugh. "I just wanted to see how the suspension was going. The team really misses you."
He acknowledges you with a small nod, and you take a seat opposite him at the table, where he is feeding Jack his cereal.
"I miss everyone, too," he says, "but it's also been nice to have some extra time at home."
"This suspension has been a blessing in disguise," Haley jumps in, ruffling Jack's hair. You don't miss the way Hotch's jaw twitches.
You aren't sure what to say to that, but Haley just pulls Jack out of his chair and turns to the doorway. "I'm gonna put him down for his nap. It was nice seeing you, Y/N."
"You too, Hales," you say earnestly, before smiling at Jack. "Bye, buddy."
When she's out of the room, you shoot Hotch a look that makes him lean back with a frown. "What?"
"You miss work, don't you."
He huffs, and you take that as an admission. "I've loved being home," he says, his words slightly more emphasized than necessary.
You can hear the candor in his voice. You don't doubt that he loves spending time with his family, you just also know the pull of the job. The fulfillment of saving people from unimaginable horrors, and the desolate ache that comes when you know you aren't doing everything you can.
"You can feel both things," you whisper as he exasperatedly runs his hand through his hair. He got a haircut.
The thought pops into your head against your will, and you glance up at his hair as you realize this is the shortest it's been in a long time. It suits him, but it also emphasizes the hard furrow of his brow.
"Haley doesn't understand that," he says simply, no ill intention in his tone, "but I can't expect her to. I barely understand it, and it's what I'm feeling."
To the outside listener, his words could be construed as complaints, but there's nothing but deep empathy in his voice. He loves her so much, and even though they're having differences about his work life, she loves him too.
You spend the next half hour talking him through each of the cases that JJ left you with, and when Haley returns to the kitchen after putting Jack down for his nap, you pull out a chair for her and tuck the files away.
"We need to have you over for dinner sometime soon," she says as soon as she takes a seat. "I can't believe we haven't done it yet." She looks to Hotch with an earnest sigh. "I guess Jack has been kind of a handful, but I can't believe this is your first time coming to the house since he was born."
"It's been too long," he agrees, draping an arm over the back of her chair. The sight of their casual intimacy is a reminder of what you once had, but the usual mistiness doesn't come when you think about Jeff. Your chest just fills with a liquid-y warmth that feels like melted chocolate and syrup.
"Likewise," you smile, patting Haley's hand. "I don't know if I can handle another night out, even with the mid-evening interruption."
She laughs heartily, and you see Hotch's lips curve up involuntarily. "I think I'm partied out for the year."
His arm slips down to rest against her waist, but she doesn't lean into him like she usually does. You avert your eyes, glancing up at their kitchen wall clock and faking a gasp. "I've taken up too much of your family time. I should go."
"It's okay," Hotch assuages at the same time that Haley says, "I'll walk you out."
They share a small glance, and you suddenly feel intrusive in their home. "I'll see you in a week."
He nods and you follow Haley to the door, where she gives you a quick squeeze and another promise to have you over for dinner soon. The sun starts to set as you drive home, and before you can second guess yourself, you're turning into a local farmer's market that is about to shut down for the night.
You rush through the stalls and stop in front of the flower shop, where you buy a dozen pink carnations. The vendor ties the bouquet with a silky ribbon and you hold the flowers close to your heart as you walk back to your car and start driving.
This time, you're more aware of the direction you're headed. You don't stop your car until you're in the parking lot and you don't stop moving until you're past the front gates and up the grassy hill where Jeff's headstone sits stoically under the waning sunlight.
You take a deep breath as you sink down to your knees, blissfully unaware of the grass stains coloring your slacks. You set the flowers down in front of his headstone, which you haven't seen in months.
Jeff Adler
Beloved Son, Husband, Brother
Until we meet again
The carnations look bright against the gray stone, and you arrange them neatly so that they don't get blown away.
He loved flowers. He knew they were impermanent and likely a waste of money, but he still loved all of the different emotions they symbolized, and how beautiful they could be for as long as they lasted.
He brought you a bouquet of heliotrope almost every week after you got married, and when you asked him what it meant, he insisted that it was something you had to find out in your own time. That time came a quick Google search later, and when the words 'eternal love' flashed on your screen, you knew you had picked the right man.
You brush your finger against the petals of the pink carnations you brought, remembering the rest of what the search yielded. Angelica for inspiration, calla lily for beauty, and pink carnation for gratitude.
You're so grateful you met him. So grateful he loved you as much as you loved him.
"I love you," you whisper, suddenly needing to say the words out loud. There's no one around, and the sun has set far enough that there's barely enough light to see, but your words feel strong as they come out of your mouth. "Thank you for coming into my life. Thank you for giving me 10 beautiful years."
You wipe away the tear that falls from the corner of your eye. "Goodbye."
***
He takes his time as he walks through the halls of the Virginia field office on Monday morning. He hasn't been inside in two weeks, and after he and Haley agreed that he should request a transfer, he likely won't be back again for a very long time.
When he walks past the glass doors of the bullpen, he spots you at your desk, pointing out something to Morgan in a case file. He hastens his pace so you don't see him. He still doesn't know how to tell you that he isn't coming back.
"Good morning, ma'am," he says when Strauss beckons him into her office.
"I was hoping you'd do the right thing," she says, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Have you given any thought to what department you'll request?"
He shakes his head. "I was under the impression that if I left the BAU, I'd have my choice of posts."
"Well, I'll consider it after I fully complete my investigation."
She pauses before looking at him again. "You were a prosecutor. What about heading up a white-collar crime task force? That'll get you home at night at a reasonable hour."
That sounds like exactly what Haley wants for them. They spent hours over the last week discussing what the best path forward would be post-suspension, and after countless late-night arguments, they finally agreed on a transfer. It would be best for the team, and best for his family. So why does he feel so guilty?
"Sorry to interrupt."
Prentiss barges into the office, as though she had an appointment. She glances over at him, and he can't read her expression. "Sir, I've decided to resign from the FBI, effective immediately."
"I don't understand," he frowns, taking in her rigid posture. He remembers your suspicions, as well as his own, but this can't be where it ends.
"I'm taking the foreign service exam. With my connections, I'd stand a good chance of landing in the State Department."
"Prentiss," he urges, trying to convey his understanding in his tone. "I think that's a mistake."
She shakes her head with a sigh. "Well, don't try to talk me out of it. Garcia saw my name on the list, and she already tried."
That makes him pause. "If she can't talk someone out of doing something, no one can."
"Sorry for the interruption, but, sir, it's good to see you back." She turns her gaze to Strauss, even as she continues speaking to him. "The team needs you."
She stalks out of the room after a quick "Ma'am", leaving him alone with Strauss, who looks like she's up to her last nerve. "I'll be overseeing this next case until I can assign your replacement."
"You don't have any field experience, do you?" He doesn't mean for the words to come out so critically, but his emotions are a jumbled mess that he can't decipher well enough to fix his mood right now.
"My job is to protect the Bureau. If I have to hold the team's hand
for one case, so be it."
Hold the team's hand. He can't imagine that Strauss will be of much help in the field, but he keeps his mouth shut. He's been around enough authority figures to know when to keep his criticisms to himself.
"Ma'am," he says gently, hoping he can turn his thoughts into useful advice. "In order to function effectively, this team needs stability."
She clasps her hands together on her desk, and he knows it's done. There's nothing he can do to fix this for the team, at least not on this case. "The BAU has some very talented people, and they're Bureau assets, and I believe it's time that they were out from underneath the leadership of you and Jason Gideon."
***
Hotch was supposed to come back today. It's not until you're on the plane that Derek informs the team that he's requesting a transfer.
"What?" you burst out, unable to keep your composure even with Strauss seated a few rows behind you.
"He didn't tell you?"
You shake your head with a forlorn frown, and Derek jumps back in quickly to remediate the situation. "I only found out because I ran into him on the way to the jet. He didn't seem like he was in the mood for talking."
But he tells you everything. At least you thought he did.
"It's okay," you say, forcing your face into a neutral expression. "This isn't about me. I just can't believe he's leaving."
"Yeah," JJ grimaces, "and I can't believe we're stuck with her now. You know, from this angle, she looks almost human."
You all glance behind you, but thankfully, her face is still buried in the case file.
"Emily didn't come in today, either," you point out, turning to the empty seat next to you. "We're down two agents, and Gideon's MIA."
Reid blinks, and you curse yourself for being so cavalier. You know how hard Gideon's absence has been on him.
He recovers quickly and leans in to the center console with a raised eyebrow. "Has Strauss ever even been out of the-"
A chorus of shushes come from Derek and JJ and he shuts up as Strauss walks down the aisle and sits across from you all. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe it's protocol to brief everyone before we arrive at the crime scene?"
JJ turns red and she nods hastily, opening her file. "Yes, ma'am."
Strauss has only been here for ten minutes and you already want to strangle her. JJ explains the case details succinctly, and when the plane lands, you all head over to the crime scene to find Detective Wolynski, who called your team in when the murders got out of hand.
Within minutes of meeting them, Strauss manages to ruin your relationship with the local police by questioning their decision to wait so long to call in the BAU. JJ immediately takes matters into her own hands as she explains that we have to work with them if we want to be included in the investigation at all, but she doesn't seem to care.
You get a call from Penelope as you're heading back to the SUVs, and you step aside to get out of Strauss's earshot. "What's up, Pen?"
"I tried everything I could," she wails. You can hear the distinct clicking of her keyboard in the background. "I tried to convince him to stay, but he's so stubborn."
You sigh, glancing over at the scene, where Strauss looks positively nauseous. You can empathize with her emotions, because you know how hard it was for you to see your first crime scene in person, but this just further proves how unfit she is to understand what being on this team really means. "If he made up his mind, there's gonna be no changing it, unless he changes it himself."
She huffs, before audibly perking up. "I gave him the Milwaukee case file before he went home, and I also, uh, saw that his transfer hasn't passed through the system yet."
You're almost certain she had something to do with that, but your mind immediately starts going through the possibilities of what this could mean. If his transfer isn't in the system, then that means he technically still works on this team...which means him not being here is in dereliction of duty. If there's anything that can convince Hotch to show up, it's duty.
"You've been more help than you know," you tell her, before hanging up and hopping into the SUV.
***
When he arrived at his house with the case file Garcia gave him, he immediately stuffed it in his bag and tossed it onto the floor. He definitely didn't think about reading it the entire time he was changing out of his suit, and making a quick lunch for Haley and himself. When she went upstairs to put Jack down for his nap, he couldn't help himself any longer.
Reaching into his bag, he pulls out the file and flips it open slowly, being careful to angle the gruesome photos away from the stairs in case Haley came down without him noticing. Women taken in the afternoons and killed. Bodies dumped in the morning. Hearts cut out of their chests. The words pop out at him as he skims the page, and he's so engrossed in the material that he doesn't hear her until she's standing over him. "I thought this was over."
"It is," he sighs, closing the file. "I'm just curious." He doesn't know when he started lying to his wife, but he doesn't like it. The bitter taste of it in his mouth.
He can see her gearing up for a fight when their home phone rings. He picks it up and clicks the button to answer, but even after saying 'hello' a couple of times, no one responds. For a split second, his mind flashes back a year to the Fisher King and the secret message left on his home phone, but he pushes the thought away.
He clicks the phone off, looking up at Haley again, but then a shrill ringing sound starts again, this time from her purse across the living room.
An unfamiliar queasiness fills his stomach, and he maintains eye contact with her as her eyes flicker back and forth a couple of times. He promised himself he would never profile his family, but the analyses come before he can shut off that part of his brain. Shifting eyes. Rigid posture. All indications of lying and shame.
"What did the Section Chief say?" she asks, her hands going to her hips. Stance of power to overcompensate for-
He shakes the line of thinking from his head. "She suggested that I transfer to a white-collar-crime task force."
"Would you have to travel?"
"No, I'd have a nine-to-five life."
She nods, and he can see the finality in her stance. "Then, it's a no-brainer."
***
You haven't been able to focus as well as you'd like to with the knowledge that Hotch isn't coming back hanging over your head. When you get a spare moment at the station, you step out of the conference room where all of the evidence has been scattered around and press the first number on your speed dial.
"Hello?" It's Haley.
You stumble over your words as you say 'hello' back. You weren't expecting it to be her who answered. She clearly wasn't expecting you either, because she sighs dramatically when she hears your voice and you hear a quiet "It's Y/N" before the phone is handed over.
You can understand where she's coming from. When Jeff was about to start his undercover assignment, you were so angry at him for choosing to be away from you for so long. But then rationality won over, and you remembered why he was doing it...for the same reason you are.
"Hey."
He sounds guilty. You can imagine.
"Hey," you say simply, waiting for him to fill in the gaps. He owes you at least that much.
"I'm sorry," he says after a long pause, "but you knew this was coming. You know Haley hates what this job turns me into, and you know sometimes I hate it too."
That wasn't really the explanation you were expecting. Not willing to let him off the hook, you turn your face away from the conference room windows to hide your expression and lower your voice. "You should have told me, and you know it. That's why you're hiding behind this false justification...but I guess you know that too."
There's a small rustling sound over the receiver and you can imagine him running his hands through his newly cropped hair. "This doesn't change the fact that I'm leaving."
Sometimes you forget that he was once a young boy with an alarmingly developed moral compass that didn't always point in your direction. It's times like this that remind you.
"Fine." You feel like an irritable teenager again, but you can't contain yourself around him. Even when you want to hide a part of yourself, you can't.
"How's the case going?" he asks finally. His voice has gotten softer and you know he feels bad about how this call has been going, but with neither of you willing to concede, you decide to ignore it for now.
"Well, Strauss just offended the lead detective 45 seconds into her first crime scene."
He chuckles softly. "I'm not surprised."
"This isn't about to get any better, is it?" you ask, huffing out a forlorn sigh.
"I doubt it," he agrees. "I'll keep looking at the file from my end. Any idea how he's getting control of these women? Is he blitzing them or coercing them?"
"So far, we're coming up blank," you admit, glancing back at Morgan and Reid, who appear to be in a productive debate.
"All right. Keep me posted."
***
Another victim turns up and you're not any closer to figuring out who the unsub is. Derek steps away from the group a few minutes after you and you see him pacing the halls of the precinct, his phone pressed to his ear.
A break in the case comes when Garcia identifies school records of children who exhibit signs of perfectionism and co-dependence, leading you to a profile for the unsub. You're all listening to Garcia as she reads off the records when the door opens, with two figures standing in the entrance.
"Look who's here," Morgan grins, shaking Hotch's hand. Emily looks sheepish as she glances over at Strauss, who is downright fuming.
"How fast can you get us up to speed?" Hotch asks without another greeting.
Morgan scoffs. "How fast can you sit down?"
Strauss opens her mouth to say something, but Hotch beats her to it as he takes a seat next to you. You ignore the gesture. "We're only here to help."
She sighs. "We'll deal with this later."
With two more members back on the team, at least for the time being, the SUVs are split more evenly, and you join Emily, JJ, and Strauss in the first one as you head to the crime scene. Strauss is the first one to walk up to the scene, but the moment she sees the mangled body, she breaks down, her face contorting into a sob that she tries and fails to hold in.
You make a move to go and help her, but you're surprised when Hotch is the first to step in. "If you need a second, take a second. This is what it is. Just don't let the public see you break down."
He's so kind to her, even though she's the reason for all of his professional stress. You suppose she's not the only reason, but that isn't something you get to have an opinion on.
The devolution of the dump sites leads to an update of the profile, which gets you an address for a young boy who left school early with the nurse on duty. It doesn't take long to get to the house, and Derek and JJ coordinate some of the local police and SWAT as you strap on your kevlar vests.
After an initial argument about the probable cause of entering a house you don't know is dangerous, Emily pipes up with an idea. "Let me go in alone."
"Wait..." you start but she steamrolls over you, clearly needing to compensate for not being here before. "The boy's in the family room. He's looking for female authority figures. If he lets me in, I can signal as soon as I see anything that gives us cause."
"Technically, you're not even in the FBI," Reid points out.
She nods. "All the better."
Strauss steps in with a frown, to no one's surprise. "She's interfering
with a federal investigation."
"Well, if I'm no longer in the FBI, then you have no authority over me." Emily shrugs and turns to Hotch for the approval she actually wants. "I'm just a civilian knocking on a little boy's door."
He nods and she pulls her hair back into a ponytail. Derek hands her his gun, and you suddenly remember that Hotch doesn't have his gun either. Reaching into your other side holster, you pull out your second firearm and hand it to him without a word. He doesn't lift his hand at first, but then he nods at you and takes the gun, his eyes filled with an earnest gratitude, and you know you've forgiven him.
Once she goes inside, you all wait in silence for the signal to breach the home. It takes almost too long, but eventually your earpieces fill with a loud beeping, and Derek yells "Go!"
You find her in a back room, where she's on the floor, her forehead bleeding from a thick gash. You enter just in time to see Hotch leap forward and take Emily's weapon from the little boy, before lifting him up and carrying him out of the house.
"I can't officially approve of how that transpired," Strauss says when you all come outside. You sit next to Emily and squeeze her hand as the paramedics patch up her forehead.
Hotch shakes his head, clearly done with the bureau politics. "The arrest was clean. It would be a mistake to break up this team."
She looks at him pointedly. "None of you will ever move up the chain of command, you know that."
"Why would I ever want to leave the BAU?"
You almost believe him. It's not that you don't think he wants to stay. You know he does. You just also know how much his family means to him, and how thin Haley's patience has worn.
Morgan asks if he means it, and he gives a vague answer that you expect, before turning to look at you.
"Here." He reaches into his waistband and pulls out your gun. "Thanks, I appreciate it."
His hand brushes yours when you take it back, and the warmth of his skin makes you shiver against the slight breeze. "You're welcome."
***
When he gets home, the lights are off.
"Haley?" he calls out into the empty silence. He tries to convince himself that he didn't see this coming, but after her last words to him before he left, it's a futile exercise.
"Make sure to give your son a kiss before you leave."
He left, even when she begged him not to. Now his wife has left, and she took their son with her, and once again, he is utterly alone.
***
Gideon's resignation comes through and you find yourself missing him more than you thought you would. If Hotch is the backbone of the team, he was the stoic foundation. He formed the roots of the BAU as a unit altogether, and you owe your life's work to his intelligence and foresight. But more than that, you can't help but remember the fact that out of all the members on the team, Gideon knew Jeff the best.
He attended countless lectures about past unsubs that Gideon put on at the academy, because he believed understanding why people do things was just as important as knowing how or what they were doing. He even went to Gideon's home for the occasional dinner, and he brought you along once after you got married.
You're not sure what the team will look like without his guiding hand, but you don't have to wait long to find out when JJ calls you with the notice that you're going to Portland.
Spencer is reading a piece of paper over and over again when you get to the office, and when you peek over his shoulder, you see the familiar scrawl of Gideon's handwriting.
Taking a deep breath, you reach forward to put your hand on his shoulder for a moment of comfort, but think better of it and pull back at the last second. Derek sees your indecision and cocks his head towards him.
You walk over to his desk and perch on its edge with a sigh. "I can't believe he would leave just like that."
"I can," Morgan shrugs, his eyes hard with contempt. When you shoot him a look, he softens. "I just mean that he's been showing signs of withdrawal for a while now. It still sucks for the kid, though."
You both look up at Reid across the aisle, where he is still scanning the letter. "At least he got a letter." You try to bring humor into your tone, but it doesn't work.
"It's not about us," Derek says gently, in a show of empathy for the older agent that is unfamiliar coming from him. "He did what he had to do to keep himself sane. We just have to let him."
You nod, just as JJ emerges from the hallway with Hotch on her heels. "We're starting the briefing."
***
"You must be the BAU."
A handsome man with a thick East Coast accent comes forward to introduce himself when you all enter the Portland field office. "Special Agent Bill Calvert."
"Hi, Jennifer Jareau," JJ smiles, extending her hand. "This is SSA Aaron Hotchner. This is Dr. Reid and Agents Morgan, Prentiss and L/N."
He smiles at each of you but his eyes linger on yours for a moment before he takes JJ's hand. "I appreciate your help on this case."
"You're from Boston?" you ask, trying to place his accent after having heard nothing like it since you landed.
"The accent's kind of hard to miss in Oregon, right?" he grins, before reaching his hand out to you. "Agent L/N, was it?"
You shake his hand, shooting him a thin smile. You can already see Emily and JJ's smirks behind your back.
"We'd like to take a look around Jenny Wittman's apartment," Hotch steps in, moving forward to stand beside you.
Calvert nods. "I'd take you myself, but I'm waiting to meet her family, so I'll have another agent drive you."
"Thank you." Hotch rushes off with Reid and Morgan, and you stay back with JJ and Prentiss to work the victimology.
"Can we set up in here?" you ask Calvert as you start moving the boxes of case files and evidence onto the conference room table.
"Of course," he says, before leaving the three of you alone.
The first ten minutes of looking through the evidence is silent, and for a second, you nearly let yourself believe the other women won't bring up the elephant in the room, but then JJ lets out an involuntary giggle and they pounce.
"He's definitely into you," she says, making no effort to hide her gaze as she unabashedly stares at Calvert through the window. You want to retort immediately, but after seeing her check her phone about a dozen more times a day than she usually does, you suspect she may actually know what she's talking about when it comes to love these days.
Emily nods, biting her lip. "He couldn't stop looking at you."
"You're profilers," you argue, tossing the file in your hand onto the table. "You notice all kinds of insignificant stuff."
"So are you," JJ points out. "What do you think, then?"
They have you boxed in, and you can't think of any answer that would sufficiently appease them so you just groan.
"She's into it, too," JJ grins at Emily, who replies with, "I can't believe Y/N's gonna date someone from Portland."
Without thinking, you huff. "He's from Boston." All three pairs of eyes widen as you realize your slip in not denying her statement.
Emily laughs. "Ohh, it's so happening!"
***
When the men return from Jenny Wittman's apartment, Hotch instructs JJ to televise a statement warning possible future victims who fit the unsub's victimology. When Emily and Derek later find an ad hung up in a local laundromat that suggests he's been killing for longer than you'd previously thought, you decide to head back to the trail where the first bodies were found.
When you arrive on the scene, a dozen new bodies have been found further down the trail and near the water.
"How did we miss this before?" you think out loud, not realizing that Calvert has come up behind you.
"The trail's 40 miles long."
You jump when you hear his voice, and he apologizes after a small chuckle. "Didn't mean to scare you."
"Special Agent Calvert," you say, your voice slightly airy as you catch your breath. "No need to apologize."
"Okay," he smiles, turning to stand in front of you, "and you can call me Bill."
He's a good looking man, and you don't dislike the feeling of someone showing interest in you, especially as clearly intelligent and qualified as him.
"Sure," you say, returning the smile. "I'm Y/N, btw."
"That's a pretty name," he says, his eyes glinting with mischievousness, before he turns back to the scene before you. "They dug up eight new graves before you got here."
You frown. "So the unsub didn't stick to the pattern."
"Guy had a busy year."
You nod, pondering what this change in M.O. could mean, when Bill interrupts your thoughts. "I'm interested to hear more about how this profiling thing goes."
You give him a quizzical smile, and his lips quirk up. "I took a class in criminal psychology in college, but I don't remember enough to be useful in this area."
"We observe human behavior," you explain, ignoring the subtle smirk Emily is flashing you from behind his back. "Profiling is about making connections and predicting future actions based on history, victimology, and behavior."
He takes a moment to digest your words before huffing out a laugh. "Sounds to me like we called in the right team."
When another agent comes by to ask him about the crime scene procedure, you take your leave and walk up the hill of mulch by the open graves. You are nearly to the SUV when you spot Morgan beelining towards you.
"Not you too," you sigh, rolling your eyes dramatically as you stalk away from him.
He catches up to you easily and throws an arm over your shoulders with a grin. "I'm not gonna give you the giggly girl talk that JJ and Prentiss clearly have covered. I just wanted to say one thing."
You look at him expectantly and he brings you both to a stop by the cars. "You're a catch, L/N." You start to roll your eyes again, but he shakes his head. "You are, so if you want to have a little no-strings-fun, then I'll have your back through and through."
You have no idea what no-strings-fun would look like, but you glance back at Bill, who is speaking animatedly with another agent about the change in digging patterns of the graves.
"I don't know what I want," you admit as Derek drops his arm and turns to face you.
"That's okay," he says, before the corner of his mouth quirks up into a smirk. "But figuring that out can be just as much fun too."
***
He would be lying if he said he hasn't noticed you talking to the Special Agent on the case. Calvert, he remembers as he thinks back to the capture and subsequent suicide of the unsub from the roof of his old therapist office.
They were able to find the final victim before she died, so even with the unsub's death, the case feels like a victory, and the whole team looks light on the way back to the jet.
He has been trying to keep himself light too, but every time he gets a moment to himself, his mind reverts back to the silent darkness of his home after he returned from the last case. The reminder that he hasn't seen Haley or Jack in days.
When he reaches the tarmac, he spots you talking to Calvert again, but the conversation looks different than before. The special agent looks nervous, and he tries to gauge whether you seem comfortable, before realizing how relaxed you look.
When he gets closer, he catches the end of a question that likely started with "Can I have your number?" You smile at the man, and he turns away, trying not to eavesdrop.
He can't tell what he wants you to say. He knows it's been enough time since Jeff's death that real dating isn't out of the question, but he can't reconcile the protective instinct flickering in his gut.
Regardless of the distance he tried putting between you and himself, your voice carries over the tarmac, and he hears you say, "I'm sorry." before the rest of the sentence gets jumbled in the breeze. Something that feels alarmingly like relief settles in his chest and he frowns at the foreign feeling of it coursing through his veins.
He boards the plane and purposefully chooses a seat with an empty spot next to it, knowing you'll choose to sit beside him after he practically ignored you all day. He really wasn't trying to shut you out, he just doesn't know how to broach the topic of separation with anyone, let alone someone who had as stable a marriage as you did.
When you board the jet and take your seat next to him, he glances over at you sheepishly and murmurs, "I overheard the end."
He's surprised when you laugh lightly. "It's okay. Everyone was going to find out soon enough, especially with how excited Prentiss and JJ were about it."
He nods, glad that you aren't angry about his invasion of your privacy. Then, before he can stop himself, he looks at you and asks, "You didn't want to see him again?"
"I don't think I'm looking to just date for dating's sake anymore," you explain, your eyes flitting around the cabin at the sleeping forms of the rest of the team. "I had a true love...I don't want to settle down again for anything less."
He understands that completely, but he can tell there's something else bothering you, and not just because of the rhythmic bouncing of your knee that you don't seemed to have noticed. "What else?"
You shrug, not meeting his eye. "I used to have my usual excuse, but I can't really say it's too soon anymore, can I?"
He frowns as he notices the visible strain on you that this burden has caused. "You get to decide that for yourself."
"I know," you sigh, rubbing your eye with a loose fist. "I just worry sometimes that I use Jeff as an excuse to keep myself closed off." Your knee stills, and Hotch scoots closer, even with the armrest in the way.
"You don't seem closed off to me."
Your eyes crinkle with laughter. "I'm not sure if that means much coming from you. You're not exactly the picture of openness, Hotch."
He knows you're mostly joking, but your read punches him in the gut in a way he doesn't expect. You must see the shock on his face, because you immediately lean in closer. "What is it?"
He shakes his head, trying to delay for as long as he can. If he doesn't say it out loud, maybe he can pretend that he's still a happily married man. That he didn't fail his wife and son by being as absent as he had wished his father had been, early in his life.
"It's not about Gideon leaving, is it?" You scrutinize him for a moment before shaking your head. "No. Hotch, what's the matter?"
"We agreed not to profile each other," he sighs, gritting his teeth against the pain of having to vocalize one of the lowest moments in his life.
"Aaron," you whisper. Your voice is soft and gentle, and he breaks.
"Haley left."
Your mouth parts in surprise, and he looks down at his lap, taking a deep breath. "And I don't know if she's coming back."
***
You've been waiting in the arrivals lot of the airport for almost an hour. You're assuming his flight got delayed, and you're grateful for the time to get yourself ready to see him, but the wait hasn't made your jitters any better.
You haven't seen Hotch since you left for college last year, and with his pre-law internship that he somehow snagged as a first year, it was a lonely summer.
When he called you last week with profuse apologies for not staying more in touch and a somber tone that had to be about more than his regrettable phone habits, you had told him that you would love to see him, but your winter break doesn't start for another month. After a few hushed breaths and a second of thinking, he told you that he had bought a plane ticket out to California for the following weekend.
That's why it's Friday afternoon, and you're still waiting for his familiar mop of dark hair to appear through the exit doors. A boy walks out right then, with the same raven hair and fit stature, and your heart rate hastens for a split second, before you realize it's not him.
You look down at your car's radio and twist the dial to change the station. It's been playing the same Madonna song nonstop, and you shut off the volume when the other stations are no different. Your shift in focus takes your attention away from the airport exit, so you jump in your seat when a quiet knock sounds at your passenger side window.
He's here. Your lips curve up into a bright smile and you unlock the door, letting him get in.
"Hi," you say, your voice weaker than you'd like.
"Hey, Y//N," he replies, pushing his long hair back from his face. The simple motion sets off butterflies in your stomach and you turn back to your steering wheel to keep your emotions off your face. He could always read you so easily. "It's good to see you."
He grins at you and leans forward to give you a quick, awkward hug over the center console. You involuntarily inhale as he pulls back, and the scent of his natural musk mixed with whatever new cologne he's been wearing smells dreamy on him.
You said you were over it, you tell yourself in your head. He has a girlfriend who he's going to marry, and you are his best friend. At least you were.
You don't really know where things stand between you two now. A year is a long time to go without seeing someone, and you're sure college has changed him in similar ways that it has changed you.
"I have one more class today," you say quickly as you pull your car out of the lot. "It's criminal psychology, so I figured you wouldn't mind coming to the lecture with me."
"Sounds fun," he says, before leaning his cheek against the window to watch the scenery that zips by. "God, the weather here is crazy."
"It's definitely warmer than I'm used to," you agree, struggling not to glance over at him. "We never had 70 degree winters growing up."
"Which do you prefer?"
You grin. "Home, of course."
"Of course."
You look at him then, and his expression is one you don't understand. It's the same look he gets when he's in the library and he finds a book he's been looking for.
The drive doesn't take long, and you bring him to your lecture, where he proceeds to pay more attention to the information being presented than you do. The class usually feels too short for you, but today, the time ticks by, because you can't focus.
It's been so long since you've sat next to him in a class, and the sight of him jotting down notes on a scrap piece of paper takes you back to high school, when he was still the more attentive one.
After the lecture, you both grab a quick dinner in the dining hall and settle back into your double dorm room, which you painstakingly cleaned up before he arrived.
"So, how long have you guys been friends?" your roommate, Katy, asks him as he drops into your desk chair. You've been watching her ogle him since he arrived, and if he's still as perceptive as he was in high school, it hasn't escaped his notice either.
"Forever," he says, looking at you with a grin. "We met when we were eight. When she judged my taste in The Beatles, it was over for me."
You can't help the heat that flames in your cheeks, even though you know this story by heart. Katy keeps glancing over at you as he explains how you guys met, and eventually she gets up and flops down onto your bed next to you. "You're bringing him to the party tonight, right?"
Your eyes widen as you remember that was today. "Oh, I don't know. We might just stay in."
"You have to come!" she squeals, shaking your arm. She turns to him with a pointed look. "We already have outfits picked out."
"I guess we gotta go, then," he smiles at her, before looking at me with a small raise of his eyebrow. You okay with that?
You dip your chin into a nod, and he stands up. "I'll head out for a walk as you guys get ready."
"Sounds good!" Katy says, grabbing your hand and sliding off the bed. "We'll see you in an hour."
Once the door closes behind him, Katy turns to you, her mouth agape. "You never told me how cute he is."
"What?" you sputter, your cheeks turning a bright shade of pink.
"You also didn't tell me you're, like, in love with him."
You scoff involuntarily, your usual diversion technique when someone brings up a topic you want to evade. "What are you talking about?"
"Okay," she shrugs, reaching into your closet and tossing you the dress you were planning to wear. "If that's how you want to play it."
You go into your attached bathroom to change into your outfit, but after seeing Hotch, the mini sundress you picked out feels like too much. You hate how much you're overthinking something as stupid as an outfit for a party.
You turn away from the mirror and go back into your dorm, where Katy is applying her signature shade of red lipstick in her little mirror stand.
"He has a serious girlfriend," you whisper, almost too quiet for her to hear you. But she is more perceptive than you give her credit for. "Like eventual marriage-serious."
"Oh, honey," she coos, patting the bench seat next to her. You scoot in until you're side by side and she wraps an arm around your shoulders. "I'm sorry I brought it up."
"It's okay," you shake your head, leaning on her shoulder. "I just need to get over it. It's a stupid crush that I've had since high school, but it's time. Maybe this party will help."
"Yes, exactly!" she grins, turning her head to look at you. "Nothing that a little music and a few shots can't fix."
"A few shots?" you laugh.
She nods. "Each."
~
You down another shot of whiskey before tossing your cup onto the table and following Katy onto the dance floor. She grinds against her boyfriend as you dance beside them, moving your hips side to side with the rhythm of the music.
Being in Los Angeles, the temperature outside is already warmer than it should be in November, but inside the house, your dress is sticking to your skin from the sweat and body heat surrounding you.
You're feeling the alcohol enough to have a good time even in the sweaty throng of bodies around you, and you throw your head back as you close your eyes and feel the thump of the music vibrating the floor boards.
Meanwhile, Hotch can't find you anywhere. He's drunk enough already that he knows he won't be able to find you himself, but he doesn't know anyone else here, so he grabs a half empty bottle from the drinks table and makes his way to the dance floor, where the life of the party seems to be centered.
He's usually a lot more fun at parties, but lately he hasn't felt like himself. Ever since you left for school across the country, it has felt like something in his life was wrong, like he was missing a limb. Then, things started looking up with Haley, and he pushed you away in the hopes that he would forget about any of the doubts he had, but it didn't work. The more he missed you, the worse things got in his relationship, and suddenly he wasn't sure what his life was supposed to look like anymore.
He takes another swig from the bottle and leans back against the counter as he watches people dance against each other in the dim light of the house. His eyes flicker over the mess of bodies until they catch on someone he almost doesn't recognize.
Your eyes are closed and your hands are in the air as you move to the beat. It's not exactly graceful music, but you have managed to find some semblance of a rhythm as you slide your hands down your thin dress, which is sticking to your body in a way he can't take his eyes off of.
He doesn't realize he has lifted the bottle to his lips again until the liquid is burning his throat, and he tears his eyes away from you as his head starts to spin. Maybe he's had enough for tonight. He puts the bottle down just as your roommate spots him. Katy, he thinks, or is it Sadie?
"Aaron!" she calls, stumbling over to him as a man holds her up with an arm around her waist. "Where's Y/N?"
"Not sure," he lies easily, barely conscious of the way his words have started to slur together. "I may head out soon."
"Don't leave without her," she instructs, her voice suddenly getting serious. "I'm staying with him tonight." She pats the man's arm. "So I won't be going back with her."
He nods with a resigned sigh, and slumps down on a couch in the next room, leaning his head back to stop the room from spinning.
~
When you tire of dancing, you push to the back of the crowd and look around to find any familiar face. You can't see Katy or her boyfriend anywhere, but after exiting the room, you spot Hotch asleep on the couch.
You walk forward with a slanted smile and put your hand on his shoulder to shake him awake. "Hotch, get up."
He groans, peeling his eyes open slowly. "I'm awake. Just resting my eyes."
"Yeah, yeah," you tease, looping your arm through his to help him up. "How much did you drink?"
He shrugs and you wrap your arm around his waist to hold him upright as he stumbles forward. "Whoa there. Okay, let's get you back."
You manage to get him out of the house, and once the fresh air hits, he can almost stand up straight on his own. You keep your arm around him just in case, trying to ignore the way his tee shirt is slowly riding up around his waistband.
You make the walk back in silence, and he falls back onto your bed as you lock the door behind you.
"I'm sorry," he whispers when you perch on the edge of the bed next to him.
"It's okay," you say, huffing out a laugh. He looks so young with his hair falling onto his face, and you resist the urge to push it back off his forehead. "Happens to the best of us."
"No, not that." He rolls over with a groan, flopping onto his back and scooting back so he can lay on your pillow. "I'm sorry I stopped calling."
Your heart skips a beat and you tuck your hair behind your ear, needing to occupy your hands somehow as your mind races with a million questions. "It's my fault too."
"No, it's not."
He isn't slurring his words anymore, but you can still hear the earnestness that only comes when one's filter is completely shattered. He was never one to hide things from you, but you also know how truthful people can get when alcohol takes their mask away.
"Haley and I have been having problems for a while," he mutters, making you sigh. So that's why he flew here in the middle of the school year. "We haven't been seeing eye to eye on a lot of things, and we decided to take a break, but I haven't told anyone, because the only person I wanted to tell was you."
You can't look at him. His gaze is too much, his eyes too full of truth and intensity. "Hotch-"
"I miss you so much," he says, cutting you off. "You're the only person I've ever really been able to talk to, but you know that, don't you? It's the same for you, it has to be."
You don't say anything. The air feels thick with tension, and you're afraid that if you say something, the room will explode.
"She's the perfect girlfriend," he says wistfully, his voice tight with an emotion you can't decipher. "I know it's me who's fucking it up, and I hate myself for it, because she's trying so hard to make this work. But every time it feels perfect, and I think I've finally gotten what I wanted, I just remember-"
"Aaron."
You look at him and his eyes are already staring into yours. You have wanted him to love you the way you loved him for years, but not like this. Never like this.
"You can't fuck this up," you whisper, your voice stronger than you expect it to be. "Call Haley tomorrow morning. Tell her you're sorry, and that you love her, because you do. You know you do."
"I love her," he nods as sleep pulls his eyelids down. "Tomorrow..I'll call her."
You watch him as his limbs relax and his breathing evens out, but you don't fall asleep until the sun starts to rise and you physically can't keep your eyes open anymore.
***
"Happy All Hallow's Eve, folks."
Reid pulls his mask off as Derek looks at him with a frightened frown.
"Are you scared of Halloween?" you ask him, trying to keep the grin off your face.
"I didn't say I was scared," he corrects, glancing over at Reid, who drops his mask on his desk and pushes his hair back from his face, "I said I was creeped out."
"What creeps you out about it?" Emily asks, before grinning at you.
"I bet it's the candy," you joke. "Those muscles probably cower at the sight of anything that isn't meat or protein powder."
Emily snorts and Derek frowns at both of you. "It's the masks. I don't like people in disguises."
"That's the best thing about Halloween," Reid chimes in. "You can be anyone you want to be."
Derek grins. "No, I'm pretty good just being me."
You and Emily share a look. "Yeah, why is it that neither of those points of view surprise me?"
"Guys," Reid suddenly calls out, his voice hushed. "He's here."
You turn around to see Hotch walking down the stairs, accompanied by Agent David Rossi, who you've heard a lot about in your years at the bureau. He was one of the founding members of the BAU, and you can't help but wonder what made him want to come back.
JJ introduces him to everyone, before Reid starts spouting off a list of facts from one of the old cases he solved when he was the chief of the unit.
"Reid, slow down," Hotch says with an uncharacteristic smile. "He'll be here for a while. Catch up with him later."
He nods. "Right, sorry."
Agent Rossi doesn't seem fazed. "No problem, Doctor."
This pleasantly surprises you. It's all too often that new people who meet Spencer don't immediately treat him with the respect he deserves.
"Let's start the briefing."
***
The flight back from Texas is hushed. The case went about as well as you could hope, with them catching the unsub and saving the final victim, but the way Rossi went rogue over and over again has rubbed you the wrong way.
You watch him across the cabin as he pores over his little notebook, and you wish you could peek inside his head. You know that the team aspect of the BAU is a newer addition to the unit, but you don't understand how he can keep all of his thoughts to himself.
"What are you thinking about?"
"Gah," you fright, jumping in your seat. "When did you sit next to me?"
Hotch shrugs, his lip quirking up. "A few minutes ago."
"Well, you should really wear a bell or something, god."
"Y/N," he says, giving you a pointed look. He doesn't let you use your evasion tactics anymore. Given your penchant for aimless talking, you suppose that's a good thing.
"I was just thinking about Rossi," you sigh, glancing up at him again. "Lying to the press to get a reaction from the unsub? Taking over that phone call? I don't like how he works, Hotch."
"He's from a different time," he says, even though you can hear the agreement in his voice, "but he worked with Gideon, and if you remember, it took you a while to warm up to him too."
You heave out a breath but it's the only concession you're willing to give in this moment.
"He's used to an older way of doing things, but he's a great agent."
"He clearly has good ideas," you whisper, "but I just worry that you'll have to work over time to keep him under control."
Hotch ponders this, and you think that maybe he knows you're right. Your eyes shift up and you realize his hair has been shorter for a while now, but you're still not used to seeing so much of his forehead. Not that there's anything wrong with his forehead. It's a fine forehead.
"He was the team leader before he retired," Hotch says suddenly. "He may be tough as a subordinate now, but I'm still glad he's back. We needed someone to fill Gideon's spot, we were low on hands."
"Speaking of, why do you think he's back."
He looks at you with a quizzical frown. "Is it really so hard to believe that he may just want to help us out?"
You think for a second, before shrugging. He laughs.
"I don't know," you concede, with a small chuckle. "I think I'm just expecting things from him that aren't fair."
He turns his body to face you. "Like what?"
You press your lips together, trying to formulate your words properly, so you can clearly articulate the tornado of thoughts in your brain. "I know Gideon wasn't a father figure exactly, but he was someone that Reid and Elle latched onto."
Hotch exhales. "I don't know if Gideon is someone I'd want as a father."
You let out a surprised laugh. "Fair enough."
"How is your father doing, by the way?"
You blink in surprise. It's not that he doesn't talk about your family, it's just that the timing is uncanny. You haven't spoken to him in months. After your mom died, you two were almost inseparable, but then you left for school, and you realized how much bigger the world could be when you weren't always bogged down by your grief. "I haven't called him in a while."
"What did he say after Golconda?" he asks, his voice gentle. After Frank, he means.
You close your eyes, guilt flooding your body. "I never told him."
"What?" You don't look at him, but you can see the shock in the stiff line of his posture. "Did something happen between you two?"
You shake your head, your protectiveness over your family flaring up at the concern in his eyes. "Nothing happened. I just didn't want to worry him."
"That's his job," Hotch stresses, scooting his leg over so his knee bumps yours. "If something like that had happened to Jack, I wouldn't know what to do with myself."
"That's what I'm scared of," you tell him, your eyes flitting over to the window, where the clouds are dancing across the horizon. Sometimes, when you're on the jet, you like to pretend that the time up here isn't real. That as long as the world looks like a series of splotches and blinking lights, nothing can really hurt you. "My mom's death nearly killed him. I learned to cook when I was ten, because he couldn't leave his room for a month." Hotch knows all of this already, but he lets you vocalize your thoughts, obviously knowing how badly you need reassurance for the guilt you're feeling. "Then, when Jeff died, I stayed with him for a few weeks to have some company, but...but.. I was so glad when I left, because then I could finally let myself fall apart."
He reaches under the armrest and clasps your hand in his, extending the comfort you didn't know you needed.
"I've never told anyone that," you whisper, feeling your voice tighten with tears. "I love my dad, I love him so much, but I just needed the chance to recover on my own."
"He loves you too," Hotch says, finally breaking his silence. "You know he loves you. I still remember the themed sandwich baggies that he packed your lunch with all through middle school."
You choke out a laugh. "You would always steal the Spiderman ones."
He smiles, squeezing your hand once. "Maybe you just need to give him another chance to be who you want him to be. He might just surprise you."
You know he's right. Somehow, he's always right.
You nod, flashing him a small smile, and lean your head on his shoulder as the clouds float past your window.
***
He glances at his watch for the tenth time since he sat down in his office. The plane landed just over an hour ago, and he sent you home immediately with the instruction to get some rest. He probably should have gone home too, but ever since he got his new apartment, home hasn't felt the same.
He used to be able to look around any corner and see a memory: the couch where he and Haley made love on their first night at home, the soft carpet where Jack took his first steps, the doorframe where he measured his height on his first birthday as Haley held him up by the arms. He also remembers that he wasn't there to see Jack's first steps; he was in Pittsburgh, working a case and thanking his lucky stars that Haley had had the foresight to take a photo as his son stood upright all by himself.
He lifts the picture frame from the edge of his desk, running his fingers over the cool glass and looking at the blue drawing underneath. Jack had drawn his favorite cartoon character and left it for him on the kitchen table, a few nights before his suspension went into effect.
Putting it back down, he looks at the photograph of him holding onto Haley as she clutches newborn Jack to her chest in the hospital. He still has the photo of just him and her on their wedding, but he pushed it to the back, behind the pictures of Jack, and the one of you and him at law school graduation.
A knock sounds at his door and he looks up to see Dave standing in his doorway. "Can I come in?"
"Of course," he says, waving him in. He doesn't sit down, so Hotch stands up too, unsure of how he feels about the power imbalance in the room. "What can I do for you?"
"You said out there, 'The team shares everything.'"
He nods. "That's right."
"There is no 'I'?"
He nods again, not liking where this may be going.
Dave glances down at his desk, where his phone sits next to the picture frame of his family. "Seems a big thing to withhold. Separating from your wife, your child."
He freezes, unconsciously looking at the door to see if anyone heard. "What are you talking about?"
"You used to call Haley 10 times a day," Dave says, his voice not unkind. "We've been together 48 hours and I haven't seen you call her once. You haven't mentioned her, and you're not going home now."
He frowns, feeling his brow settle into place like it's a uniform he wears whenever he's at the office. "What's your point?"
"I guess you're just not used to sharing."
He doesn't say anything, but Rossi seems to interpret this the wrong way. "Or maybe it's something else." He looks out the window at the empty bullpen, but the implication is still clear. "Was it because of...?"
"What?" He doesn't know where this is coming from, but he can't stop the anger that rumbles through him at the connotation. Unable to help it, he looks down at your desk, and Dave tuts.
"I won't say anything."
"Dave," he shakes his head, trying to remain calm. "You have it all wrong. She's my best friend...since we were children. It isn't like that. It was never-"
It was never like that. That's what he's about to say, but that wouldn't be true. Rossi is a good enough profiler that he would be able to spot a lie from a mile away, so he shuts his mouth and shakes his head again. "It's not like that."
"Okay," he accepts, lifting his hands in surrender. "My mistake."
Hotch nods, and Dave leaves his office, but he can't get their conversation out of his head until later that night when his head hits his pillow and his eyes finally fall shut.
***
"Hey, Dad."
You called him when you got home from work that night, and he answered on the second ring. "Hi, sweetheart."
"How are you?" you ask, clutching the phone to your ear as you sink down onto the couch in your living room.
He doesn't answer for a moment, and you can hear him taking a breath. "I'm good, Y/N, how are you? Is work going well?"
"It's good," you tell him. "Really good. We were able to save a woman today, before the unsub could kill her."
"Unsub?"
"Unknown subject," you explain, quickly realizing just how long it's been since you've spoken to him. "It's what we call the bad guy before we know who he is."
"Right," he says, and you can practically see him rubbing a hand over his face, his nervous tic. "I knew that. Anyway, how is everything in your life? Do you still work with Aaron?"
"Yeah, I do," you say with a laugh. "He was actually asking about you earlier today."
"That's nice of him," your dad says, his voice brightening slightly. "He was always a good friend to you."
You tell him about your most recent case, and about Gideon and Elle leaving the team, but eventually you can't evade the topic you've been trying to avoid all night.
You're okay, you think to yourself. Frank can't hurt you anymore.
"Dad," you whisper, closing your eyes as you take a deep breath. In 1, 2, 3. Out 1, 2, 3. "I have something to tell you."
Then you tell him everything, and he just listens, exactly like you hoped he would.
***
"I met this guy." You didn't even see Penelope approach you, but here she is, looking at you like she's about to say something dirty.
"Hell yeah," you grin, trying to match her energy. "Where?"
"A coffee shop," she smirks. "He was having trouble with his computer, so I fixed it for him, and then he asked for my number."
"Look at you," you joke, giving her a side squeeze, "putting your technical analyst skills to good use."
"Thank you," she huffs, throwing an annoyed glance over her shoulder. "That's more of the response I was looking for."
"What do you mean?"
"Derek," she says simply, and you nod, already knowing where she's going with this. You know they have an uncommon relationship, so you're not surprised that he didn't react exactly how she hoped he would.
"He's an idiot," you tell her, patting her arm.
She laughs. "You don't even know what he did."
"Uh, yeah," you say, turning around to face the bullpen, "I definitely do."
***
The case takes the team to Florida, where an unsub has been feeding women their fingers, killing them, and then carving pentagrams in their skin.
The pentagrams suggest a religious element, so you go with JJ, Morgan, and Rossi to the local church to meet with the priest.
"Rossi, do me a favor," Morgan says just before you walk inside. "You talk to the priest, all right?"
You remember his agitation on the jet when Reid prodded him about his beliefs, and given the cruelty of his childhood, a crisis of faith wouldn't surprise you.
"Hi, Father Marks," JJ greets the priest when you enter the church. She introduces all of you to him, before shaking his hand. "We're sorry we have to be here under these circumstances."
"It's good of you to come," he says, greeting all of you. "Abbey's parents are upstairs in my office."
"We'll go up," Rossi says with a nod, "but Agent Morgan actually has some questions for you."
Your eyes flash to Rossi, but he doesn't return your gaze.
"I have some questions too," you offer, and Derek nods gratefully.
The priest answers the few questions Derek spits out at him, and you watch as his eyes wander around the hall, his shoulders raised with tension. You insert a few of your own questions before heading outside with him to wait for JJ and Rossi to finish up with the victim's parents.
"What happened in there?" you ask when he doesn't meet your eye. "Being rude to Father Marks? That wasn't like you."
"You know what happened to me, L/N," he says angrily, kicking his foot out at a loose stone on the pavement. "I went to church everyday, and I prayed for it to stop, but you know what God did? Nothing."
"I know what a crisis of faith looks like, Derek." You stand in front of him, forcing him to look at you. "But Father Marks doesn't know your story. He's not judging you, he's just showing his faith how he knows best."
His shoulders are still tense as his jaw twitches. "Who does Rossi think he is, throwing me under the bus like that?"
"He's an instigator," you shrug, letting the topic slide for the time being. You'll talk to him again later if he still needs it.
"I didn't love the way Gideon did things either," Derek says, his posture going from agitation to annoyance, "but Rossi might just take the cake. Even if he is better with the victim's families."
"I can't help you there," you almost laugh. "I had the same conversation with Hotch after the case in Texas, and he managed to convince me to give the guy a chance. So...if you can't bring yourself to trust him, just think of it as putting your trust in Hotch."
Derek hums, bumping your shoulder with his. "I guess I can do that."
***
The search party for Tracey Lambert only leads to the unsub taking another woman, and suddenly the ticking clock gets a lot louder. By the time you find his lair and the bodies he has been cannibalizing for years, you're already struggling to keep down even the water you've been drinking. When he reveals where Tracey actually is, you feel so sick, you can't breathe.
When the jet lands back in Virginia, you go home immediately, desperately needing some peace and quiet away from the team for the first time in a while. But that doesn't last long.
You're awoken by the shrill ringing of your home phone. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you check the number and answer the phone. "Is this payback for the last time I called you past midnight?"
"Y/N...it's Garcia."
You shoot up into a sitting position as Hotch explains what happened. "How bad is it?"
"I don't know."
"I'm on my way."
You change into a sweater and a pair of loose jeans before grabbing your keys and flying out the door.
"She's in surgery," JJ tells you when you find them in the waiting room. She pulls you into a hug before returning to her hunched position in an uncomfortable vinyl chair.
"There's no other word," Hotch adds, giving you a quick hug as well. With his cheek pressed against your temple, he whispers, "Police think it may have been a botched robbery."
"Where's Morgan?" Emily asks, standing up from her chair.
"He's not answering his cell."
Reid nods, stepping away. "I'll call him again."
He squeezes your hand before he exits the waiting area, and you glance down at JJ again. Her eyes are red from crying, and her chin is pressed into her palm as she stares at the floor. You watch as Emily sits next to her and pats her hand, before clasping it in hers.
You don't realize you've been staring at the same spot on the floor until Hotch stands next to you and nudges your shoulder. You okay?
"I will be," you say out loud, barely registering that he didn't actually ask you anything. "As soon as she's out of surgery." When you got the call that Penelope was shot, you had been hit by an intense feeling of deja vu. Only this time, the call didn't come from bureau leadership, because she wasn't killed at the scene. Because she's going to make it.
He doesn't seem fazed as he checks his watch again, his frown lines deepening. "It shouldn't take this long to get an update."
"Where have you been?" Reid asks suddenly. You look up to see Derek walking into the waiting room, his eyes wide with panic.
"I was in church. My phone was off."
"There's nothing you could have been doing here," Rossi assures him, before nodding at Hotch and pulling him aside to discuss something with the deputies outside. You use the momentary lull to approach Derek, putting your hand on his arm as an initial test. When he doesn't jerk back, you pull him into a hug that he returns gratefully.
The doctor walks in a few minutes later and explains that Penelope will be fine, but she needs to rest until the morning.
"David and I will go to the scene," Hotch informs, his eyes fixing each of you with an empathetic look. "I think the rest of you should be here when she wakes up. I don't care about protocol. I don't care whether we're working this officially, or not. We don't touch any new cases until we find out who did this."
When they leave, you pull Derek down into the chair next to you and lean your head onto his shoulder. After a beat, he relaxes in his seat, and lets out a long sigh. "She's okay."
***
Early the next morning, the doctor shakes you all awake with the notice that Penelope's up, so you rush into her room, trying not to crowd her as she blinks awake.
"Hi," she says softly, her voice small. She looks so innocent, laying in her hospital bed with her blonde hair a halo around her head. You can't imagine how anyone would want to hurt someone like her.
"No tears," she smiles as you swallow down your anger. "I'm afraid if I start crying, I'll come unstapled."
JJ presses a kiss to her cheek, before Derek and Emily start gently plying her with the usual questions. When it comes out that the man who shot her was the same man who asked her out at the coffee shop, your anger turns to anguish, and you reach forward to squeeze Penelope's hand in an effort to comfort her.
"I just thought he liked me," she whispers, the pain in her voice breaking your heart.
"We need a name," Emily asks abruptly. You can see her mentally kicking herself at how serious her words came out, but you know Penelope understands the gravity of this situation.
"James Colby Baylor."
She asks you and JJ to stay back for a second as the rest of the team leaves to investigate Baylor.
"What's up, honey?" you ask, smiling at her sweetly as she uses her other hand to take JJ's.
"I feel so stupid," she sighs, her breath turning into a gasp as tears fill her eyes. "Maybe Derek was right about all of it."
"No," JJ says sternly, reaching forward to brush some of her hair behind her ear. "None of this is on you."
"What she said," you echo, nodding at JJ, "and don't listen to Morgan. He loves you, and he's very protective over you, but he's also a man."
She sniffles out a laugh, before pressing her lips together. "One last thing."
JJ blinks. "Anything."
"Please don't talk about me like I'm a victim."
***
The case wraps up back at the office, where Baylor, whose real name is Deputy Battle, was shot in the head by JJ, who doesn't seem as plussed by the situation as you would expect. You tried to talk to her afterwards, but after telling you she was fine, she put all of her attention on Penelope, who has spent the last week recovering at home.
Now, you're sitting in the break room stirring your black coffee, just for something to do. Hotch finds you in there and walks inside, shutting the door behind him.
"It's been a long week," he grumbles, looking longingly at the spot next to you on the worn couch.
You lift your cup and nod your head at the full coffee pot. "That's what caffeine's for."
"We really should sleep at some point," he says, filling up a paper cup and carefully dropping into the spot beside you. The couch you chose is small enough that his thigh presses against yours when he spreads his legs even the slightest bit.
You snort. "Sleep's overrated."
You both sip your steaming coffees in silence as you watch the other agents shuffle back and forth across the bullpen, unaware of your watchful eyes. The break room is the one place in the office to go for a little bit of privacy, but the unobstructed view of everyone's desks isn't unpleasant either. You imagine this is how Hotch feels when he looks out his office window.
Your eye catches on the stapled wood planks that are currently replacing the broken glass door that leads into the bullpen. He must be looking at the same thing, because he breaks the silence and says, "I think we may need to get JJ out into the field more."
His tone catches you off guard and you crack a small smile. "She does seem remarkably well-adjusted, given that it was her first time."
He nods, turning his head to look at you. "Do you remember your first time?" Killing someone, is the part he doesn't say out loud.
"Of course." You take a deep breath and gulp back more coffee. "He was a serial rapist in Texas. One shot to the heart. I wasn't trying to kill him, he just ran at the last second."
"Serial killer in Florida," he responds simply. "Headshot. He died instantly."
"That was your first year at the BAU, right?" He nods and you sink back into the cushions. "I wasn't even in the field then."
He hums, a low sound that you feel as vibrations on your skin. "I worry that I brought you in here too early. Jeff had just died, and I assumed that getting you out of the house and in the field would take your mind off of things, but I wonder sometimes if I made the wrong call."
"You didn't," you assure him, turning your body to face his, even as he doesn't meet your eye. "First of all, you brought me in six months after he died, and by then, I definitely needed an excuse to leave my bedroom."
He sighs, a small concession, and you continue. "The first case I went into the field for after he died, I could barely hold my gun. Every time I pulled it on someone, I would imagine his body...with all of those bullet holes...and I would just freeze up. It took me months to pass my firearm certification again, but I still don't regret it."
"You sure?" he asks, his voice almost timid.
"Positive," you smile, nudging your thigh against his. "Besides, I didn't realize it until later, but it wasn't getting out into the field that helped me through my grief...it was meeting the team. These people became my family in the moment that I needed one most."
You turn back to your coffee and sip it again, though it's no longer as hot as you'd like it to be.
"How are you doing, by the way?" he asks suddenly. "With Garcia, I mean."
An involuntary shudder runs through you as you remember her pale face in her hospital bed last week, but the warmth of the coffee cup in your hands makes it pass quickly. "I'll never get used to it. But she's okay now, so hopefully it'll be easier this time."
***
You're jotting down notes in the margins of a new case file JJ asked you to look over when your cell phone rings. Hotch and Reid are at a nearby prison, interviewing a serial killer on death row for the Criminal Personality Research Project, so you're not expecting a call from either of them. The rest of the team, except for Rossi, is scattered around the bullpen, but you don't expect him to call you either.
After finishing the line you were writing, you check your phone and see a name you haven't spoken to in weeks.
"Haley," you answer after clicking open your cell. "Is everything okay?"
"I know you're busy," she sighs, her voice tight with what you can only decipher as irritation, "but I didn't know who else to call. Aaron hasn't been answering my phone calls."
You get up from your desk and step out into the hallway to get some privacy. "He and Dr. Reid are at a prison right now, interviewing a criminal for this research project. There likely isn't any cell service out there."
"It's not just today, Y/N," she says, her tone getting colder as she inadvertently directs her anger towards the only person she can get ahold of. "He hasn't been taking my calls for days."
"I can talk to him," you suggest, trying to keep your tone light in an effort to keep this conversation from derailing. "I'll tell him to give you a call."
"I appreciate that," she sighs, losing her steam. "I'm sorry for involving you, I just really need to speak with him about something."
"Is everything alright with you and Jack?" you ask her quickly, wanting to make sure that you aren't making the wrong assumptions about why she's calling.
"Oh!" she inhales sharply. "Yes, of course, we're doing great. Well, great maybe isn't the right word, I didn't mean- I just-" She sighs. "You know what I mean."
"I do," you assure her as your heart twists at the sound of her shallow breathing. You know how hard the separation has been on Hotch, but you know Haley too, and she has always been better at hiding her pain that she seems. "Where have you been staying?"
"With Jess," she says, her voice brightening considerably at the mention of her sister. "She's been a godsend. I feel terrible taking up so much of her space, but she doesn't seem to mind."
You smile, remembering the few times you met Jessica Brooks while Haley and Hotch were together. "She definitely doesn't mind. She always loved children. I bet she's already scheming on how to steal Jack from you."
Haley laughs, and the sound is like wind chimes twinkling in your ear. "She totally is."
Her laughter slowly fades, and you both stay on the line for a few moments in comfortable silence.
"I'll tell him to call you," you promise.
"I know," she sighs. "Thank you."
***
The prison was a bust, but Reid got a chance to use his intelligence to get them out of a tough spot without anyone getting hurt, so the day wasn't a total loss.
He is sitting in his office, drafting an email to the project coordinator, when you walk inside and take a seat in front of his desk.
"Thanks for knocking," he says sarcastically before finishing up the sentence he was working on. Once it's done, he saves the draft and turns off his computer. "How was Indianapolis?"
"Good," you say, leaning back in the chair. "Great, actually. Rossi got to close up the case that's been haunting him for a decade, and the three kids are finally safe."
"I'm surprised he wasn't more excited when he got back," he notes, watching your body language. You look wired, but not about this. Something else is bothering you.
"The unsub wasn't exactly the most gratifying arrest," you sigh, rubbing a hand over your temple. "We don't even think he committed the murders intentionally."
He frowns, shaking his head. "Those are the worst kind."
You're silent for a moment before you sit up straighter and look at him. "Haley called me this morning. While you were at the prison."
"Oh?" Something that feels like ice slithers down his spine even though he can probably guess exactly how the conversation went.
All week, he has felt an enormous weight on his chest in the form of a stack of divorce papers that Haley served him with. She had called him right after, with the explanation that they both should have seen this coming, but he really hadn't. He was a profiler, whose entire job was to notice and analyze human behavior, and he truly hadn't been able to let himself believe that this could be a possibility. That his marriage could actually be over.
"She said you've been ignoring her calls."
He had been ignoring them. He knew she would just tell him to sign the papers, and he couldn't bear to hear her say it again. Once was enough.
He reaches into his desk and pulls out the manila folder that he hasn't opened since his initial read-through. He suspects you already know what he's about to tell you, but he also knows that it won't feel real until he says it out loud. And it's about time he came to terms with what his life would be from now on. "Haley wants me to sign the divorce papers, uncontested."
"She doesn't want to involve a lawyer?" you ask, your voice delicate as you walk him through the explanation with clarifying questions. It's the technique they use when interviewing the families of victims, to help them feel comfortable as they talk about the hardest thing they've ever gone through. He's surprised at how reassuring it feels coming from you.
He shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair. It has grown out a bit since he last cut it, but he doesn't think he minds. Haley wanted him to cut it short when Jack was in his grabbing and teething phase, but now, he likes how he can push it back when he wants. "I don't want to sign, of course, but she's adamant that we get this done soon."
"You'll be okay," you say, and he looks up in surprise. "You're a good man, Aaron."
"I'm not," he whispers, heaving out a sigh. "I'm not doing anything right. At home, I was an awful husband and an absent father, and at work, Strauss would replace me if she had even the slightest bit more ammunition. I can't focus in either place. Maybe Haley's right, maybe I'm just selfish."
You lean forward and grab his hand, even as he doesn't look at you. "You're not selfish. You're the farthest thing from selfish. You don't want to sign, but you will. You're giving her what she wants, even though it's the last thing you want."
He nods, but his heart isn't in it. He glances down at the folder again and takes a deep breath as you give him a small smile and stand up.
"I'll see you tomorrow, boss?"
He nods again. "See you tomorrow."
When the door shuts behind you, he flips open the folder, faster than he meant to, but he's afraid if he doesn't do this quickly he'll lose his nerve. Grabbing a random pen from the mug on his desk, he uncaps it and scrawls out his initials on all of the earmarked lines throughout the stack.
When he finishes the last page, he shuts the folder and leans back in his chair, letting out a long exhale. He did it. He supposes he should feel some sort of severing away of his old life, maybe an audible snap as the ties to his marriage get cut, but there's just silence.
His office suddenly feels stifling, and he loosens his tie before reaching forward and lifting the picture frame with him and Haley on their wedding day. Her smile still looks beautiful to him, and his content expression as he gazes at her doesn't make him feel anything different. Their marriage may be over, but he still loved her.
He runs his thumb over the smooth edge of the frame, and then opens his desk drawer, before sticking it inside and pushing it closed.
***
"Thank you for watching him," Hotch says, his voice slightly muffled over the phone.
"Of course," you smile, sitting down on your couch with the pasta you made for dinner. "It was my pleasure. Jack's a total sweetheart."
Jess was out of town for a couple of days, so he had asked you to watch Jack while he and Haley met up to finalize the divorce in front of an attorney. She had been adamant about finishing the process over the phone, but he wanted to ensure that she and Jack would be taken care of after the papers went through.
"Did he eat lunch?"
"Kind of," you say, quickly swallowing the bite you took. "He didn't want a full meal, but I got him to eat some fruit and bread with cheese."
"I'll make him a snack soon," he says quietly, but you can tell he's just thinking out loud. "Alright, I'll see you at the office. Thanks again."
"Always," you tell him, genuinely. "See you."
The phone clicks off and you scarf down the rest of your pasta before doing your dirty dishes and cleaning up your kitchen. You're considering whether to change into your workout clothes so you can crank out a few miles on your Peloton, but then you hear a knock on your door.
You're not expecting anyone, and with Hotch watching Jack, it can't be him. You peek around the corner into your foyer to see who's at the door, and relax when you spot a familiar mop of brown hair.
"I'm sorry I didn't call first," Spencer says when you open the door, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his book bag. "I just didn't know how to ask you this over the phone."
"Spence, what is it?" you ask, opening the door further to let him in. He doesn't step forward, and a pinprick of anxiety enters your system.
"If I come inside, I won't be able to do this," he says vaguely, before reaching into his bag and pulling out a flyer. He hands it to you and you read the title, the tension seeping from your body as the words sink in: Narcotics Anonymous for Law Enforcement.
"I know it's a lot to ask," he whispers, "but would you drive me to the meeting tonight?"
Your heart feels like it's about to crack open. Only a boy who was never looked after, never given the love and care he deserved, would think that something like this was too much to ask.
"It's not too much," you tell him, glancing down at the address. "I'll get my keys."
When he's settled in your passenger seat, you pull out of the driveway, not commenting on the fact that his car is parked on the street beside your sidewalk. You understand the need for company more than most people.
The drive to the rec center where the meeting is being held is mostly silent, but you don't press him. He stares down at his hands for most of the ride, and when you stop in front of the entrance, he unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to you. "Thank you."
"Of course," you smile. "I can wait, if you'd like."
He gives you a thin-lipped smile. "It's okay."
"You sure?"
He presses his lips together and looks at you, his eyes reflecting the question in yours.
"Go on," you say, patting his arm. "I'll be here."
He nods and steps out of your car, and you pull into a parking space to wait in while he's in the meeting. You turn on the radio and it's the same song they've been playing for the last week, so you turn the volume down low and close your eyes for a few peaceful moments.
You must have fallen asleep, because you're jarred awake by the chirping sound of your cell phone ringing. It's a bureau number, so you clear your throat and answer the call. "L/N."
"Hey, Y/N." It's JJ, and she sounds tired. "We have a case. It's urgent, so we're flying to Texas tonight."
You sigh louder than you meant to. "I can be there in 20."
"See you soon."
The line clicks off and you rub the sleep from your eyes. A quick check of your watch tells you that you were only asleep for about a half hour, but that's just half of the meeting time. You know Spencer will come back when he gets the call, so you turn the radio off and sit up in your seat.
A few minutes later, he returns to the car. You saw him just over 30 minutes ago, but he already looks lighter than he did when he got to your house.
"I'm proud of you, Spence," you tell him as you start the car.
He nods, a quick thanks. "This federal agent gave me his one year medallion after I left the meeting. I've only been clean for 10 months, but he still gave it to me."
"He believes in you," you say simply, glancing over at his confused expression.
"He doesn't even know me."
You shrug. "You don't have to really know someone to care about them, Spencer. You just have to see something of yourself in them."
"Is that what you see in me?" he asks, finally looking at you.
You consider this for a moment. Is that why you feel so protective over him?
"I don't know," you say eventually, not wanting to lie, even by accident. "I definitely wasn't as smart as you were, or as focused. I wasn't all that driven in high school at all, to be honest. I was lucky to have Hotch. He gave me the push I needed to get out there and focus on school."
He's silent for a minute and you worry you may have said something wrong. Then: "I didn't have anyone in school." He pauses for a beat, before speaking again, his voice quieter this time. "I was in the library one day, and this girl comes up to me, and she tells me that Alexa Isben wants to meet me behind the field house. Alexa Isben was, like...easily the prettiest girl in school."
You frown, already not liking where this story is going. "Did she not show up?"
"No, she was there." His voice sounds almost resigned, but there's a note of something darker underneath. Something raw and painful, that likely still hurts after all these years. "But so was the entire football team. They stripped me naked and tied me to a goal post. So many kids were there, you know, just watching."
"No one stopped them?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.
"I begged them to, but they just...they just watched. Then finally they got bored and they left." He clears his throat, and the sound is small, like a little boy's. "It was like midnight when I finally got home. And my mom didn't...Mom was having one of her episodes, so she didn't even realize I was late."
"You never told her what happened?"
He shakes his head. "I never told anybody. I thought it was one of those things that I thought if I didn't talk about it, I'd just forget. But I remember it like it was yesterday."
"You don't need an eidetic memory for that, Spence," you whisper, trying to stay focused on the road even as his words swirl into your memories and create an agonizing hurricane of emotions. "I was only ten years old when my mom was killed, but I can still remember every moment of her funeral."
The field office comes into view and you push forward as you scan your badge and slide into a parking spot below the upper garage. When the car is in park, you undo your seatbelt and turn to him. "I know how hard it can be to push away the painful memories, but there's something more important that I need you to remember."
"Remember what?"
He looks at you then, and you reach forward to squeeze his hand. "You're not alone anymore."
***
"Is it always this hot?" You look up at the beating sun through your shaded sunglasses and fan your face with both of your hands.
"Every day, all day," Emily huffs, running her fingers through her bangs to unstick them from her forehead.
Everyone is sweltering in the Miami heat, but then Derek gets off the plane with a wide grin, his skin glistening in the sun, and you resist the urge to throw your bag at him. "South Beach, baby."
He immediately shuts up when he spots the stunning Miami PD detective who called your team in for the recent string of murders. JJ shoots you a smirk before introducing her to the team. "Detective Lopez. We spoke on the phone."
"Tina," she corrects, before shaking her hand. "Thank you for coming down so quickly."
"Hey," Emily says from beside you, making you turn to see what she's looking at. "Isn't that..."
You spot the person she's referring to, and your face splits into a big smile. "Detective LaMontagne!"
"He's here to ID the cop they pulled from the bay last night," Tina explains.
You don't miss the flush in JJ's cheeks as she shakes his hand. "Detective, good to see you."
"How are you?" you ask, giving him a quick hug that he returns.
"Yeah, Charlie Luvet and I worked together for seven years."
Derek frowns. "Sorry for your loss, man."
Tina looks confused, and you don't blame her. "So, you all know each other?"
"Professionally," JJ is quick to add. Will whips around to look at her, and you turn to Emily with an eyebrow raise, feeling like you're intruding on a private moment. You aren't sure why she won't just admit that they've been together since New Orleans, but that's her business.
***
You join JJ and Will at the IDing of Officer Luvet, and you keep your distance as he glances down at the body and affirms the report.
"Yeah, that's him."
JJ looks like she wants to comfort him, but instead she sticks to the professional approach. "If you need help making arrangements, liaising with families is part of what I do."
Will nods, his voice choking up slightly. "I might just take you up on that. Excuse me, I'll be outside."
When he steps outside of the coroner's office, you can't help but notice the longing look on JJ's face as she watches him go.
"Let's go," she says to you softly, her eyes still on the door. You follow her outside, but by then Will is nowhere to be found.
"It's okay, you know," you blurt out. You weren't really planning on talking to her about this, but sometimes your mouth takes over before your brain can catch up. "I know you worry that being around a band of profilers all the time makes you vulnerable."
"I'm not sure what you're talking about," she says simply, not quite meeting your eye.
"JJ," you say seriously, trying to convey your pure intentions. "If you keep trying to hide it, you'll lose him."
She purses her lips, and you squeeze her forearm, hoping you aren't pushing past her boundaries. The whole team is sparing with details about their personal lives, but you like to think that you're someone people feel comfortable sharing things with.
"I know you, hon." You flash her a knowing smile, feeling a shot of satisfaction as her lip twitches. "I know that it's enough for you to know that you care about something, but it's not enough for everyone."
She exhales, tucking her hair behind her ears. "He's upset with me, but I don't know what to do. I'm still scared."
You sigh, understanding her predicament, but still wanting her to push past it. "You can let yourself be happy, JJ. You won't always get hurt."
She nods before glancing around the room again, searching for Will even though he's long gone. It's an instinct you recognize.
Later, when JJ finally acknowledges their relationship by pulling him in for a kiss at the police station, you can't help but take it as a win.
***
Your house feels emptier than usual when you get back from Miami. Seeing JJ and Will find each other again reminded you of how much you miss having someone to share your life with.
Deciding to take a night to yourself, you pop open a bottle of red, and pour yourself a glass, which you swirl around before taking a sip. It's drier than you tend to go for, and when you check the label, you realize that's because you didn't buy it.
How can you drink this stuff?
It makes me feel sophisticated.
Jeff would break out the fancy glassware every chance he got, because he didn't believe in special occasions. He used to say that people waste precious moments of their life waiting for the right occasion to come around.
The memory feels warm in the back of your mind, and you take another sip of wine before walking over to your cupboard and grabbing the fanciest wine glass you can find. You pour the rest of your wine into the new glass and place the other in the sink, before swirling it around again. No time like the present.
You bring the glass to the couch with you, where you turn on the television and skip through the first few channels. As the wine in your glass depletes, the loneliness sets back in. You're about to pour yourself another pity glass when your phone buzzes with a call from Hotch.
"Do your television channels suck as much as mine do?"
You smile, muting the television and pressing the phone to your ear. "Definitely not."
He chuffs. "I guess I'm not used to the new tv controls."
Right, his new apartment. After the papers were finalized, he gave the house to Haley and moved into a new place ten minutes away.
"We can share mine," you say, listening to the sounds of his breath over the receiver. "I also have wine."
That gets a laugh. "I'll be there in 15."
You hear a knock on your door exactly 14 minutes later. When you open it, you're greeted with the sight of Hotch in a tee shirt and jeans. "A little underdressed, aren't we?"
He snorts, taking the wine glasses from your hands and following you into the family room. "What are we watching?"
"You're the one with the broken tv," you grin, flopping down on the couch and taking your glass from him. "What do you want to watch?"
He thinks for a minute, before his eyes sparkle with an idea. You cut him off before he can suggest what you already know he will. "We are not watching Top Gun again, Hotch!"
"You asked," he shrugs, hiding his smile behind a sip of wine. "What do you want to watch, then?"
You can see him watching you over the rim of his glass, so you blurt out the first name that comes to your mind. "Footloose."
He looks at you blankly for a moment, before his brow twitches, and your jaw drops. "You haven't seen Footloose?!"
"It came out when we were in high school," he groans, taking one of the throw pillows off the couch and stuffing it behind his back. "Terminator and Dune came out that same year. I remember because you tried to get me to watch it then too."
"It's an amazing movie!" you exclaim, standing up to go dig through your movie cabinet. "We're watching it right now."
He groans and sinks back into the pillows as you find the DVD and start the movie. You've seen it at least a dozen times, mostly because it makes you nostalgic for your teenage years, but the opening still gets you excited.
As the movie plays, you keep glancing over at Hotch, trying to see if he's enjoying the scenes just as much as you did on your first watch. To his credit, he watches the movie faithfully, without checking his phone or straying from the television screen.
"Enough," he grumbles suddenly, startling you.
"What?" you question, whipping your head around to face the screen.
"I'm watching the movie," he huffs, fixing you with a pointed look. "You don't have to keep checking."
You frown, hugging a pillow to your chest. "I wasn't checking, I just like seeing people's reactions to my favorite movies."
"Either way."
You groan, reaching out to thwack his arm.
"Eyes on the screen," he berates you, pointing at the TV. "The dance scene is starting."
You sip your wine bitterly as you try to resist the urge to glance over at him. Eventually, the movie takes over your attention and soon it's the final town council scene where Kevin Bacon gives a speech to the whole town.
"'There was a time for this law'," you quote along with the movie, "'but not anymore.'"
The movie comes to an end, and you click the remote to turn off the television. When you turn to Hotch with an excited grin, you're surprised to see that he has fallen asleep.
His head has fallen to the side, resting on the armrest, and he looks so peaceful with his expression completely neutral. His characteristic frown is nowhere to be seen as he snores quietly through his nose.
Your lips curve into a smile as you stand up and grab a blanket from a basket beside the couch. You drape it over his body, being careful not to wake him, and take the wine glasses to the sink before heading up for bed.
***
"That's because you pick horses the same way you practice law."
You hold your breath as he glances into the crowd for a brief second.
"...by always taking the long shot."
Emily snickers under her breath, and you see even Reid crack a smile as the lawyer starts floundering. The rest of the day in court goes by quickly and you all wait for Hotch in the hallway of the courthouse as he finishes up inside.
"That was impressive," you grin, nudging his shoulder as he walks alongside you. "I can't believe that was my first time seeing you in full prosecutor mode."
"Hardly," he says, rolling his eyes lightly. "I was called to give testimony, it's very different."
"I'm just surprised that prosecutor is still walking after how hard you hit him." He shoots you a look and you raise your hands in surrender. "Metaphorically, of course."
"That was a straight knock out." Derek comes up behind you and throws an arm around your shoulder as he spins you both to face Hotch. "The crowd practically cheered when you cleaned the floor with him."
"Thank you," he concedes, flashing his eyes at you. "Now let's get back to work. We still have to get more evidence for the rest of the trial."
And just like that, everyone switches back into work mode. Derek drops his arm and jogs forward to catch up to Rossi and Spencer, while Emily calls Garcia to get the latest update.
Using the moment of solitude, you bump his shoulder again. "Do you ever wish you were still a prosecutor? Your life would certainly be a lot simpler."
He shakes his head, the answer coming quickly and firmly. "I couldn't do it then, and I still couldn't now. Seeing the murderers come in after they've finished killing...I needed to know I could stop them before they were done."
His sentiment sounds familiar. Your mind flashes back to the little boy who took matters into his own hands, because no one could stop the pain for him.
You blink and it's present day again. You loved your best friend who fought his own battles without asking for help, and, even though he's vastly different, you love your best friend as he is now.
***
"Five shootings in two weeks."
"It's about time we got the call."
The whole team, plus Garcia, flies up to New York, where an unsub has been shooting people around the city, seemingly at random.
"Kate Joyner heads up the New York field office," Hotch explains, glancing down at his cell phone. "She's running point on the case and called me directly."
You have heard of her, which isn't too surprising, but all you know is that she's British and seems to be very good at her job.
"You know her?" Morgan asks him, echoing your thoughts.
Hotch nods. "We liaised when she was still at Scotland Yard."
They liaised. You don't know what that implies, but you also know that he and Haley didn't take a single break during their relationship after graduating college, so it can't be anything too personal.
JJ and Emily share a look, but you don't engage with them, instead looking back at the case file and trying to focus on any of the words that aren't 'Kate Joyner'.
***
"Kate."
A pretty blonde woman approaches you all with a smile only for Hotch. "Aaron. How have you been?"
He nods. "Well, thank you. This is my team." He introduces each of you to her, but you don't miss how her eyes linger on you when he mentions your name.
"Thanks for being here," she says, before walking you all through the background of the case. Shootings in different precincts, seemingly random, FBI only brought in after the fourth murder.
After explaining the details and introducing you to the local detectives on the case, she pulls Hotch aside for a private word in her office. You turn back to the team, trying not to let your gaze linger on them as they walk away.
The NYPD doesn't seem happy that SSA Joyner has taken over their case, but even though she comes off as a bit brusque, you can tell she cares about catching this unsub just as much as they do.
"What's your partner's problem?" Reid asks Detective Cooper, the only local officer who has made an effort to meet any of you.
"We're glad the FBI was brought in," he explains with a heavy sigh, "but all of a sudden Joyner's taking meetings with the mayor and calling in you all without us knowing anything about it."
You can understand his hesitation, but you also need his cooperation if you're going to get anything done here.
"We're only here to help," Emily tells him as you turn around to find JJ.
"Has Garcia gotten settled in with the New York tech analyst?" you ask once you find her staring at a map of the various boroughs. She doesn't answer immediately, so you nudge her shoulder. "JJ?"
"Huh?" she startles. "Oh, sorry, yeah. She called a few minutes ago, she's all good."
JJ is usually the focused one who brings you back on track, so you're surprised by how distracted she seems. You nod in acknowledgement, scrutinizing her expression for another second, before heading back to the team. Your eyes involuntarily dart over to Kate's office, and you notice how close together she and Hotch are. You're about to avert your eyes when their body language becomes a bit clearer: each time she leans in to say something, he subtly pulls back.
The dynamic of their relationship is suddenly apparent, and you mentally kick yourself for daring to assume the worst when he first mentioned her. You can't say the same for your opinion of her, though. He's still wearing his ring, for God's sake. Based on how little you've heard about her from him (nothing, you mean), you doubt she even knows about the divorce yet.
Derek and JJ head out with the detectives to check out the last crime scene, while you stay back with Emily and Spencer to build the anti-geographical profile. When another victim is shot, you head to the new scene to see if you can build a working profile.
"It's a different borough again," you sigh after getting out of the SUV and joining Hotch, Kate, Derek, and JJ in front of the body. "Prentiss and Reid are back at the office still working the profile from a geographical angle. We're starting to think maybe we should get officers out onto the high-traffic intersections, and maybe even get some of us out there too."
"Uniforms are rounding up witnesses," Kate jumps in, ignoring you. "It doesn't seem like anyone got a clean look."
You see Derek glance at you out of the corner of your eye, but you don't entertain the look. If she has some issue with you that you aren't aware of, you won't give her the satisfaction of letting her get to you. "The unsub's probably gone before anyone even realizes it's happening,"
Hotch nods, turning to face Kate. "Is this what it felt like during the Son of Sam."
She returns his gaze. "First we realized that if the violence was truly random, there was almost no way of stopping it. Seems like these people have figured that out."
You look up, trying to see if there's anything in the vicinity you can use to ID the unsub. Your eyes catch on a security camera outside one of the delis directly behind you. "From the placement of that camera, odds are the only view they're going to get is the back of his head."
She frowns. "Let's not be too quick to decide what we do or don't have."
This time it's both Derek and JJ that glance at you, but you turn to Hotch, who is avoiding meeting your eyes. Kate steps away to speak with the detectives at the scene, so you grab his arm and pull him aside. "What is her problem?"
He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. "FBI brass has made it clear to her that if she doesn't bring this case home, she's going to be reassigned. And you are at the top of the list to replace her."
"Replace her?" you echo, trying to process what he's saying. "I haven't even been in the BAU that long."
"It's not about field experience," he says, angling his body so that you're separated from the others. "You've been with the bureau longer than I have, and your work speaks for itself. It's not a surprise that they'd want to promote you."
You still can't wrap your head around the fact that you could be leading a unit yourself, or that you may have to leave the team you love, so you focus on what you do know. "I thought the bureau was proud of the fact that they stole her from Scotland Yard."
"I don't know," he shrugs, glancing back at her. "Politics here are different."
***
After finishing up at the crime scene, the whole team heads to the hotel to get some rest for the night. You feel more alert than you usually do after a long day of building a profile, and you adjust your bag strap on your shoulder as you dig around the side pockets for your room key. You don't plan on going to bed for at least a few more hours, and you might as well use the time to work on the case, but you need your key if you're going to get any sleep at all.
When your fingers finally catch on the thin plastic card, you look up to see a familiar face that you've been seeing more often than not, as of late. "Wait, isn't that..."
JJ looks up with a start, and she doesn't look distracted for the first time all day. "Will."
He gets up from the lobby chair he was lounging in and approaches her. "Hey, I took a shot and flew to D.C., but when it didn't work, I figured a train ride to New York was only a few more hours."
"Detective." Hotch reaches out and shakes his hand, before glancing at you with a frown that says, Did you know he was coming?
You shake your head imperceptibly and turn back to Will as he looks longingly at JJ. "Look, I'm sorry for showing up like this. I know you're working, but I can't stand you being on this case and me not being near." He pauses for a beat. "Not with what's going on."
That makes you frown too.
Hotch echoes your thoughts. "Is there a problem?"
JJ takes a deep breath and turns around to face all of you. "I'm pregnant."
Oh my God.
"Oh, my God," Emily exclaims, pulling her into a hug, the first of you to regain her bearings after hearing the news. "JJ, congratulations."
"That's amazing, JJ," you grin, hugging her next.
You don't miss how stiff Hotch is as Will shakes his hand. "I've asked JJ to marry me."
"Will," JJ says tightly, a warning in her voice.
He chuckles. "Well, we're working out some kinks."
"We'll give you both some privacy." Hotch turns away from them, his face falling the moment she can't see him anymore. You know he's hurt that she didn't trust him with this information, but you're surprised by just how downtrodden he seems.
JJ rushes after him. "Hotch-"
"JJ, you could have told me," he says softly, his voice both confused and stung.
She looks down. "I know."
"Because I understand if you need to take some time."
"No," she shakes her head, without a look back. "I want to be here."
"Okay," he nods, not looking at any of you. "7:00 AM."
You try to catch his arm as he walks off, but he either ignores it, or he doesn't feel you reaching for him. You choose to believe it's the latter.
***
You all deliver the working profile to the police officers first thing the next morning. While you're explaining an alternate possibility, Garcia calls with an update that a possible unsub was caught on camera shooting someone on a subway platform at one of the intersections you suggested that your team patrol yesterday.
"We could have had that guy," you say, your voice fuming with anger as you turn to Kate with a glare you haven't used in ages.
She doesn't falter. "Even if we were on that platform, odds are he would have moved onto someone isolated."
"Maybe, but it was worth taking a shot."
She fixes you with a stare. "I had every available man on the street."
"And I suggested to you that you use this team." You can't believe that her decision to ignore your advice yesterday might have just cost someone else their life. You can see the rest of the team looking at you with some blend of concern or indignation on your behalf, but you don't care. You just need Hotch to back you up.
Instead he just looks at you. "L/N, second-guessing doesn't do us any good right now."
You're so angry, you can barely see straight. Emily reaches for your arm, but you shake her off. "Hotch, how are we supposed to look these cops in the eye and tell them that we're actually here to help them, if she won't let us do our job?"
"We're here to present a profile," he says simply, not quite meeting your eye. "That's what we need to do."
You gape at him, your back straightening as you get ready to stand your ground. You don't disagree on things like this often, but when you do, it's usually a civil conversation that gets resolved quickly. You've never felt this angry about his handling of a case before, but then again, he's never not had your back before. "We've got seven bodies, Hotch."
He looks at you then, and you can't discern anything from his expression. It's a blank slate that sends a shiver down your spine. "It's not your place to have this discussion."
"Screw you."
You spin around, shoving away Derek and Emily as they try to talk you down. You stalk past them and out of the field office, where the cool evening air fills your sinuses and clears your head for a moment of silence. You stand on the sidewalk for a few seconds, waiting, and when he doesn't follow you out, you just manage to convince yourself that you're not disappointed, but relieved.
***
You're sitting at the hotel bar when Rossi finally finds you. You only ordered a lemon water, still feeling like you're on the clock, even if there's a good chance Hotch won't let you back into the investigation.
"I know," you huff when he takes a seat beside you. "I was out of line."
"You got too emotionally involved," he says, turning to face you. "I know you and Hotch are friends, but that doesn't mean you get to be unprofessional."
You sigh, your body deflating as all the fight leaves you. "I just felt like he was taking her side. Like he didn't have my back."
"There are no sides here."
You nod. "I know."
"And he does have your back." You look at him then, and he flashes you a small smile. "That man will always have your back. Right now, he's just worried about how Kate is holding up, with the word on the street."
That surprises you. "You know about the promotion?"
He nods. "People talk. But if she were to get fired, it would be because we didn't solve this case."
You frown, lifting your hand in defense. "Rossi, I hope you're not saying you think I want her to fail."
"Of course not," he shakes his head. "I just hope you know what you're doing."
"I lost my head for a second," you acknowledge, taking a sip of water. "I think I just needed a minute."
"And you got it," he says simply. "But right now, I see someone
who wants to get back on the job. Or is there another reason why
you ordered a glass of water at a bar?"
You set your glass down, letting out a surprised chuckle. "Where is everyone now?"
You both stand up, and he leads you out of the lobby. "Joyner took your advice. We're spreading out across the city."
***
"Emily, what happened?"
You rush forward to where she is standing over the dead body of a young man. Detective Cooper was taken in an ambulance to a nearby hospital after getting shot, and you only just arrived on the scene.
"He was strangely calm," she whispers as Derek and JJ come up behind her. "It's almost like suicide by cop."
"Why?" JJ thinks out loud. "Why would he do that?"
Derek looks at you. "We need to walk back through this profile."
Hundreds of thoughts are swirling through your brain, but based on the look on everyone's faces, you can tell they're thinking the same thing you are: terrorism.
After the crime scene officials arrive, you head over to your SUV to get back to the field office. Derek heads out to brief Homeland Security, and Reid leaves to talk to the Port Authority police, while Hotch and Kate call with the update that they will be going to speak with the mayor's office.
You start your SUV and pull out into the street when a loud explosion goes off a few streets behind you, the plume of smoke and fire large enough that you catch the high end of it in your rearview mirror.
You screech to a stop, just as your phone starts to ring.
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(message me to be added!)
Listen it’s been a minute since I’ve written anything and by minute I mean 4 years so bear with me!! There’s probably spelling and punctuation errors but I wrote this in the middle of the night so cut me some slack.
OK so a bit of an explanation on this.. so you know how everyone has their imaginary scenarios they make up before bed or wherever (and if you don’t you’re weird!) well this is mine!! OK not really but ever since I watched CM which was probably about 5/6 years ago now, Hotch was on my mind 24/7 and I have this plot in my head with YEARS worth of scenarios thought out with original characters and everything!! This is just a small snippet of the whole plot I have had thought out for Hotch and Alex (that is what I have named her in my head, but have obviously written it as a Y/N to make it more enjoyable I guess? Idk what people prefer!!). I could probably write a book on this crap but I’ll just start with this part. I am in the process of writing a part two to this so if anyone’s interested I’ll try to get it out before the weekend’s over as this is the only free time I have currently! Now if I ever was going to make this into a series (that’s a very big if) this would be a chapter towards the end of this plot that I have created. Anyways enough rambling…
I am an angst over any other kind of genre girly so that’s all this will be :D this seemed better in my head and it ALWAYS does but I just wanted to get it out of my system.
Hope u enjoy xx
Warnings: smut (a little not too much), cheating.
Word count: 3.9k
It was your best friend’s wedding and you couldn’t have been happier. Henry was your rock and pretty much the only family you ever had. He had been with you through everything, all the highs and lows, so he deserved today to be absolutely perfect.
You were helping Luca with his tie and giving him a final check over before he went out to marry your best friend. Luca knew how important you were to Henry and how important Henry was to you. The three of you were practically a throuple. OK maybe not a throuple but anyone who was important to Henry became important to you. They had been together for almost 5 years but knew each other for even longer.
“He’s here you know...” Luca said “Henry invited everyone from the BAU..”
You raised an eyebrow at Luca whilst finishing up with his tie.
“I know” you replied simply.
Henry was the one who got you a job at the BAU. He knew almost everyone and if he didn’t, he knew someone who did. He had helped out with several cases and knew everyone at the BAU well, so of course they all got an invite to his wedding which was in London. Henry knew your history with Hotch and that meant so did Luca.
“He has them all staying at the Ritz you know, booked a suite out for everyone’’ Luca rambled.
“I know” you repeated and rolled your eyes.
Of course he has you thought to yourself, money was never an issue for him. Not that it was for you either but you were slightly more modest than him.
Luca could sense that he wasn’t going to get anything else out of you so he decided to change the topic.
“You think we’re doing the right thing?” He asked referring to him and Henry.
“Absolutely” you confirmed “he needs you Luca, I don’t even want to imagine what he would be like without you. It’s not something I’m prepared to take on” you let out a laugh. “You two have practically been married for the last 5 years, now it’s just time to make it official!” You gave his arms a squeeze.
“I’ll see you out there, no backing out now” you gave him a wink and gave you a nod with a smile.
You took that as your cue to leave and made your way towards the alter and towards Henry. As you made your way up to the front you saw all of the guests take their seats. You spotted JJ, Will and her boys a few rows from the front, who were staying at your place for the next few days. Emily, Spencer and Garcia were seated a few rows behind them and you spotted Morgan and Savannah seated on the other side of the room. You were trying to find Rossi and Krystall until your eyes landed on someone else. There he was sitting right next to Rossi with a brunette next to him which I assumed was Beth.
“How is he?” Henry’s voice snapped you back to reality.
“Huh?” Was the only thing that came out of your mouth as you slowly dragged your eyes away from the man that left you on pretty much your death bed and then divorced you.
“Luca – how is he? He’s not making a run for it is he?” Henry laughed but behind the laugh he needed the reassurance. He hadn’t been the perfect fiancé and has put Luca through the wringer at times, but there’s no one else for Henry other than Luca and vice versa.
“Stop being stupid!” You swatted him gently, “Of course not! I stopped him just before he got to the fire exit” you replied playfully.
“Ha ha very funny” Henry replied dryly, “And how are you? …You know with him being here.. You did say it was okay for me to invite him but I can send him home if you want. Just tell me and I’ll have him escorted out by security-” he rambled on.
“Please stop, it’s fine. Honestly I mean it. We’ve both moved on I’m with Avery now and he’s with Beth” you answered. “Besides today is not about me or my woes, it’s about you!”
-
The wedding ceremony was beautiful and it was now time for the reception. You made your way round to all the tables saying hello to the people you recognised until you reached the table you dreaded the most. Thankfully your husband Avery caught up with you to let you know that it was time to make your way to your seat as it was almost time for your speech.
You gave Rossi a smile in the distance before walking back to your seat, avoiding contact with Hotch for now who was sat right next to him.
-
After the speeches were done and the drinks began floating around the room, everyone felt a lot more relaxed. You were listening to the conversation Emily and Avery were having about a book they both had read, until you felt someone tap your shoulder.
“Hi you must be Y/N! I’m Beth, Aaron has told me so much about you!” Beth exclaimed as you turned around to face her.
“Yes hi! It’s lovely to meet you, I’m sorry I couldn’t introduce myself earlier.” You gave her a smile.
It was a genuine smile, she seemed nice and in any other situation you could even be friends. She is not to blame for what had happened between you and Hotch, however you did wonder what kind of things he has told her about you.
“It’s okay don’t worry about it! I understand how stressful weddings are,” she continued and for a second you thought if she had married Hotch without anyone telling you. Your eyes flicked towards her left hand that was wrapped around a champagne flute. No sign of a ring. You cursed yourself for still caring enough to check.
“That’s a beautiful ring” she said bringing you out of your trance.
You followed her gaze which was now on your own left hand. You hadn’t realised that you were twisting your own wedding ring with your thumb, reminiscing about how it felt when you had the ring on that Hotch gave you. It was a lot smaller than the one you had now. It had an oval diamond in the centre with three green sapphire petals holding the diamond in place on each side. It was a delicate ring and you loved everything about it. Everything but the dreaded memories that came along with it. The ring was now replaced with a big teardrop diamond from Harry Winston and it was beautiful. It sparkled even in the dark and felt almost heavy on your finger. You had to admit that Avery had great taste, the two of you had now been married for almost 2 years.
“Thank you” you smiled and let a breath out you didn’t know you were holding.
“Uhm this is Avery my husband” you cleared your throat, almost forgetting to introduce him to her.
They shared a few polite words until Beth excused herself. You assumed she had gone to find Hotch as she disappeared into the crowd.
“She seems nice” Avery said and gave you a small smile. He knew what had happened with you and Hotch and he wasn’t his biggest fan but he was never the one to bad mouth him.
“Yeah she does…” you replied quietly whilst your mind drifted off elsewhere. Emily sensed that you were uncomfortable and resumed her conversation with Avery in an attempt to take his attention off you.
-
It was several hours into the reception and you had stepped outside with Luca and lit a cigarette for you both to share.
You had noticed Beth was in the distance on the phone but Hotch was nowhere to be seen.
“Today has been beautiful” you said as you took a pull of the cigarette and passed it to Luca.
“It really has been, thank you for helping Henry with the planning” he expressed.
You both conversed about the wedding and your favourite parts until someone had interrupted you.
“Oh sorry,” your eyes followed his voice “I thought Beth was out here” he explained as he looked between you and Luca.
“She is,” you pointed with the cigarette between your fingers “she’s just gone into the gazeebo over there to take a call I think,” you replied.
“Thank you” he looked into your eyes longer than he should have before he began walking her way.
“Is this the first time you’ve spoken to him tonight?” Luca asked whilst following your gaze that was still on Hotch.
“Yup.”
“There’s an explanation. I am sure he has an explanation” Luca tried standing up for the man he barely knew.
You didn’t respond and instead focused your gaze on something else.
“You know… and I really shouldn’t be saying this but... I think Henry might’ve had something to do with it” Luca continued.
“What makes you say that? Has he told you something?” You questioned focusing your attention back on Luca.
“Nope. He doesn’t tell me anything when it’s to do with work and I thank him for it. But it wouldn’t surprise me if he did. He would do anything to keep you safe. Even if it meant putting your newly husband into witness protection…”
You thought about it for a minute or so and yes maybe Henry was the one who suggested going into witness protection but that still doesn’t explain the radio silence from Hotch even after Peter Lewis was caught.
“I want you to have what me and Henry have” Luca brought you out of your thoughts once again.
“I have that. With Avery, he makes me happy” you replied not knowing if it’s the full truth. Avery does make you happy and you love him but you’re not sure if it compares to what you and Hotch had and it seems like Luca doesn’t either.
“Let’s get back in there shall we? I’m sure Henry is looking for you!” You perked up, trying to change a conversation that was becoming too heavy for your liking.
-
Since you were one of the few people that didn’t drink at the wedding, you decided to give Emily, Spencer, and Garcia a lift back to the hotel whilst Avery, JJ, Will, and the boys got an Uber home back to your place.
The car ride back to the hotel turned into an episode of carpool karaoke with Emily blasting any and every song that came on the radio.
Once you pulled up to the hotel you helped Emily out of the car and then let Spencer take over. You were about to shut the passenger door when you noticed a phone on the seat Emily was sat in.
“You left your phone Beyonce!” You called out to Emily as she was finishing her 3rd run of single ladies from the start.
You caught up with her and placed the phone in her hand, she took one look at it and blurted out that it’s Beth’s and that she had found it by some gazebo outside.
You pressed the lock button on the side and the phone lit up revealing a picture of Hotch and Beth set as the lock screen.
“What room is she in do you know?” You asked Emily but she just shrugged her shoulders and carried on signing. Spencer and Penelope both gave you a shrug signalling that they didn’t know either.
“Right I will just leave it with reception. The three of you get some sleep ok, we have brunch tomorrow!” You shouted even though the three of them were already inside the hotel queuing up for the elevator.
You pressed the lock button once again making the phone light up just to stare at the lock screen once more. With a sigh you then began to make your way into the hotel and walked towards reception.
“Hello Miss can I help you with anything?” The lady asked.
“Uh yes actually, I’m trying to return a lost phone to a friend of mine but I don’t remember the room number. Could you please let me know? It should be a suite under the name Hotchner, they’re here for a wedding,” you smiled hoping she’d give you the information you needed.
She typed away on her keyboard for a few seconds before replying to your question.
“I have an Aaron Hotchner on the system along with a Beth Clemmons sharing suite 107?”
“Yes that’s the one! Thank you so much!” You thanked the lady and made your way to the elevator. Emily and the others were long gone, probably passed out in their beds by now you hoped.
-
You tapped softly on the door waiting for someone to open it and hoping that it wasn’t Beth. You weren’t even sure what you were doing, what you were going to say, what if Beth’s awake, what would happen then?
You had no excuse and no business to be knocking on his hotel door. Well aside from the fact that he left you on your wedding night right after you got shot, had someone serve you with divorce papers as soon as you came out of your coma and you still haven’t had an explanation even though it’s been close to 4 years.
After a few moments the door was gently pulled open and there he stood. Still in his shirt and trousers from the wedding. He looked taken back seeing you stand there in the hallway. Although you were the only one on his mind tonight, you still had caught him off guard.
“Hi…” Was all that he managed to say.
“Hi…” you breathed out. “..Beth left her phone at the wedding reception,” you said holding it up as proof.
You looked behind him and could see 3 mini whisky bottles that were now empty, lined up on the coffee table. On the left you could see two large double doors that were shut behind the sofa. You had assumed that’s where Beth was sleeping as there was no sign of her anywhere else.
“Oh… Well thank you for bringing it here, you didn’t have to go out of your way...”
“It’s okay I was dropping Emily and the others off anyway,” you replied whilst handing him the phone.
As he took the phone from you he moved slightly to the side, almost inviting you in before actually saying it.
“Would you like to come in?” he paused for a moment, “…please come in” he pleaded. “I’ve meaning to talk to you the whole night I just didn’t want to disturb you. Beth’s asleep so you don’t have to worry about her or we could take a walk somewhere” he went on; desperation clear in his voice.
Instead of replying you walked past him making your way into his room, a completely different side of you taking over.
You made your away towards the sofa, never sitting down just standing in front of it. You turned to face Hotch who closed the door and walked towards you, stopping just a few inches away. You could tell he had been drinking. You had obviously seen him drink at the wedding but he left several hours ago yet here he was emptying the mini fridge in his hotel suite.
You eyed the bottles on the coffee table.
“Rough night?’ You asked but it sounded more like a statement. When you looked back at him his mouth was slightly open, almost as if he was thinking of what to say but no words were coming out.
You tilted your head to the side as you took in his features. He looked different. Good but different. After all these years had passed, you never knew when you would be able to get a good look at him again, and god how much you’d missed his handsome face. The last memory you had of it was when you collapsed in his arms after being shot during your first dance as Mr and Mrs. You don’t remember much after that, just faint shouting in the distance as your vision went blurry until you eventually passed out in his arms. That was your first and last moment as Mrs Hotchner.
“I- um I don’t know what to say Y/N… I don’t even know where to begin” he expressed. Concern, pain and regret all clear in his voice.
Before he could continue you lifted your hand up in an attempt to stop him from saying anything else. That’s not what you came here for.
“I am so sorry” he breathed out but you took a step closer to him and placed one of your fingers on his lips to silence him.
“Shh” you whispered whilst you ran your other hand slowly down his chest stopping at the belt of his trousers. You could feel his pulse quicken as he took in what you were doing.
Never breaking eye contact you began to gently move your hand lower until you reached his crotch. You then began to palm him with a bit more force, feeling him harden underneath your touch. A slight smirk played on your lips as you realised how much of an affect you still had on him, how much his body still responded to you. You believed that you were the only one that could get him this flustered, to get him to cheat on his girlfriend, to get him this hot and bothered over practically nothing.
“Take off your trousers...” you hissed.
The concern and regret was now replaced with confusion and curiosity but he did as he was told and began to undo his belt. You watched him carefully as he dropped his trousers to the floor stopping at his boxers.
“You can leave those on, this won’t take long” you instructed coldly and pushed him onto the sofa. As he sat down he reached over to switch a small table lamp off, leaving a soft glow on your silhouette that was coming from a floor lamp on the other side of the room.
You lifted your dress and rolled it up stopping at your waist whilst you straddled Hotch. The familiar feeling of his dick beneath you was enough to send you over the edge.
You lifted yourself up slightly using your knees and grabbed him through his boxers, silently thanking him for wearing a pair with the slit. He watched your every move and took in a sharp breath when your hand made contact with him and took another when you gently lowered yourself onto his dick.
You began rocking your hips, savouring every single second. You started to pick the pace up and you felt Hotch move in to kiss you to which you gently pushed his head back with your hand, not wanting any other intimacy other than the feeling of him inside you and maybe you inside of him.
You took two of your fingers and placed them on his lips again, this time using them to part his mouth. You gently slipped them inside and he welcomed it. You decided to push them in deeper. Not deep enough to hurt him but deep enough to your liking. Your fingers felt cold against his tongue.
At that point you knew you were close and so was he, your fingers in his mouth helped him to stifle his moans, whilst you watched him intently. After a few moments you felt him twitch beneath you as he threw his head back when he came and you shortly followed.
You removed your fingers from his mouth and gently stood up lowering your dress back down giving the man you still loved one last look before turning around to leave. Just before you got the door you stopped and turned around, he was now up grabbing his trousers off the floor.
“You left me… I was in a coma Hotch and when I came out of it you weren’t there. You left me Aaron.”
Without giving him a second to respond you left and closed the door behind you.
-
As you stepped into the elevator a thousand thoughts were racing in your head. You began to question yourself on why you had come here in the first place, but you knew exactly why. You wanted to see if you still had that control over him, you wanted to see if you could still have him, if he still belonged to you. And he did. You thought about how your relationship had evolved from being just co-workers to friends from friends to lovers and from lovers to strangers. That’s what it felt like being in that room with him. Just two strangers having sex. That was probably the first time the two of you had sex instead of making love. There was a difference between the two and you knew which one you preferred.
Deep down you knew why he had to leave and most importantly leave without you, but it still didn’t make it any less painful. You had thought back to what Lucas said earlier when you were outside, that Henry might’ve had something to do with it... But the truth is whether he did or didn’t it wouldn’t have changed the outcome. He needed to leave, to hide and go into witness protection. Not only for his and Jacks safety but for yours too. It all made sense. Peter Lewis couldn’t hold you over him anymore if you had no connection to him so he left. He left without you and then had you served with divorce papers.
The elevator doors opened and snapped you back to reality. You shook your head in an attempt to get rid of the thoughts. You didn’t want to go back there, you had tried your hardest to move past that part of your life and dwelling about the details and the what if’s is something you didn’t want to do anymore. You had wasted enough time doing that and you’ve moved on since then and so has Hotch. But sometimes late at night when you can’t sleep, those thoughts creep back in and they have a way of suffocating you.
“Did you manage to return your friends phone?” The lady behind the reception desk asked with a smile.
“Yes I did, thank you so much for your help again!” You replied and returned the smile.
You made your way to the parking lot and got into your car and made your way home… To your husband…. Who you had just cheated on with your ex-husband. You pulled out of the parking lot and let the memories from earlier fill your mind. You had glanced briefly at your watch and the time told you that is was quarter past three. You groaned at the thought of having to be up before 11 am later that day for a brunch that Henry and Luca had organised with a smaller amount of guests, which included the BAU team.
You had wondered if he’ll be there with Beth or if he won’t show.
Your Hotchner blurbs are so fantastic I've read them all twice now! I was wondering if you have any thoughts on hotch collecting his drunk girlfriend from the bar? Xoxo
you’re so sweet, angel!! thanks for the love :)
— The One with all the Alcohal (and Jack)
“Honey?” Aaron asked, holding the phone up to his ear.
He heard high-pitched giggling in the background and knew it had to be something relating to you.
“Tell him I love him!” He heard your voice say, quiet im contrast to the voice that crackled through the phone next.
“You need to come pick y/n up,” your friend said, laughing at something.
“Yeah I’m- I’m on my way. What’s the address?”
“Hi Aaron!” You called. “I miss you, baby. Like, a lot. Almost as much as the… what’s that book you used to read to Jack?”
“I love you to the moon and back,” Aaron answered, opening the door for his son to climb into the vehicle, repeating the address your friend gave him in his head.
You giggled on the other line. “I love you more,” you said.
Aaron shook his head and smiled. “You ready, buddy?” He asked Jack.
Jack nodded. “Can i say hi to y/n?”
Aaron nodded. “Y/n, honey. Jack wants to say hi.” He handed the phone to Jack and climbed into the front seat.
“Hi, y/n/n!” Jack greeted cheerily.
Aaron started up the car and peeled out of the driveway. “Tell her we’re on the way.”
“Daddy says to tell you we’re on the way,” Jack repeated. Aaron heard you talking to Jack and then Jack’s little giggle. “Do you really think he will?”
Aaron looked at his boy through the mirror and couldn’t help but soften at the way he kicked his feet in excitement to talk to you- to go pick you up. The ring in Aaron’s desk had been heavy on his mind as of late. “Tell y/n we’re almost there, kiddo.”
Jack did as he was told and kept up the comversation. “I miss you too! Do you think you and Daddy can make some french toast tomorrow? Actually… can you make it for me? You make it better than Daddy. He burns it.”
Aaron heard you laugh through the phone and heard you say something that sounded like “I’d love to, Jackie-boy.”
Aaron pulled up to the bar your friend had said you were at. “Okay buddy. You keep talkin’ to y/n. I’m gonna lock the doors. I want you to wait until I knock on the door to unlock them, okay?”
Jack nodded. “Daddy’s coming in to get you,” he said as Aaron handed him the car keys.
Aaron kisses Jack’s head before shutting the door and hearing Jack lock the door.
— 🧠
Pushing through the sweaty, lewdly dresses bodies, Aaron was glad he made sure Jack stayed in the car. Luckily, Aaron was tall enough to see over most of the heads of people getting hammered.
Then he heard a laugh. It was most definitely your laugh. He pushed through even more people wondering how many people could possible fit under one roof.
“Y/n,” Aaron sighed in relief to himself. You were sitting at the bar, still talking to Jack; your girlfriends taking down shots by the second. Damn.
“Hey, you,” Aaron greeted, a hand on your shoulder. You turned and faced your boyfriend, not recognizing his voice.
“Aaron!” You squealed lunging from your chair into his arms, phone discarded on the bar.
Your boyfriend smiled. “Hi, honey.” Rubbing your back as you clung to him, fingers fiddling with the hair at the nape of his neck. Aaron reached for the phone. “Hey Jack. We’ll be out in a second, buddy. Are you okay in there?”
“Yeah!” The little boy answered, growing antsy.
Aaron hung up the phone and tucked it into his back pocket. “You ready to go, sweetheart?” He asked, turning his attention to you.
“Yeah, A. I-“ you paused and looked up. “Where’s Jack?”
“He’s in the car-“
“Ohmygoodness Aaron. You can’t leave him in there! He might get kidnapped! He’s- Aaron he’s too cute and sweet to get kidnapped. We gotta go make sure he’s safe,” you blubbered, emotional over the fact that Jack’s all alone.
“Okay, honey. Whatever you want,” Aaron said, guiding you through the crowd. Secretly, Aaron felt his heart swell at every interaction you had with Jack; he’d never really seen someone other than Hayley dote on him and love him like their own flesh and blood. Aaron had even asked Jack what he thought Aaron should do. Aaron remembered Jack looking up from his Captain America coloring book and his little voice saying “I won’t be upset if she’s gonna be my new mommy”. That really struck a chord for Aaron.
“Be careful, honey,” Aaron said, wrapping his arm around you waist to ensure you didn’t fall on the sidewalk.
“You know,” you began, liquor destroying any kimd of self control you still had left. “You’re way too good for me. You an’ Jack… both are the best things that’ve ever happened to me.”
Aaron stopped and swept you off your feet, delighting in the giggle you let out and the way you clung to him just a little bit tighter. “If anything… you’re too good for me, y/n. The way you love Jack as your own, make sure I get abreality check when I need one… the way you love us… you’re too good for me, honey.” Aaron said.
But you didn’t hear a single word because you were too busy admiring Aaron’s features, lightly brushing a pointer finger across his features. “Wow,” you breathed.
That made Aaron chuckle. “Hold on, honey. I gotta have Jack unlock the door.”
You didn’t really hear that either, still giving Aaron that star-struck look you do so well.
And then you heard Jack’s happy voice say hi.
Aaron didn’t say anything as he drove home. He had his hand on your thigh to make sure you didn’t move around too much, but was quiet. He listened to you talk with Jack and how involved in the conversation you were, even if he was just a little kid. Your kindness and passion would always knock the wind out of Aaron’s lungs- in a good way.
Just as he had ushered Jack inside the house and gotten you onto your feet, you had yawned and all but melted into Aaron’s side.
“Come here, honey,” Aaron cooed, picking you up bridal style. You relaxed in his arms, even if your pretty dress was growing increasingly uncomfortable by the minute.
“Jack, buddy, I’m gonna help y/n take off her makeup and get her all tucked in before reading your story,” the father explained to his son.
Even though you couldn’t really keep your eyes open, you knew Aaron was doing your skincare routine right because of how observant and thoughtful he is.
And then, when Aaron tucked you into his (!!) bed, he kissed your forehead, believing you to be asleep. “I’ll be right back, honey. I love you,” he whispered, pulling away to watch you curl up and get comfortable in his (!!!!!!) bed.
A sleepy smile painted your face as he padded out of the room: you heard him drop the ‘L bomb’.
summary: Hotch and his childhood best friend working together at the BAU: a slow burn across the seasons.
word count: 18.8k
warnings: canon!typical violence, mentions of abuse, death of a spouse, kidnapping, torture, drug use, specific episodes mentioned in this part are 2x01, 2x05, 2x06, 2x13, 2x14, 2x15, 2x16, 2x18, 2x23
a/n: here's season 2! I had a lot of fun writing this one (hence why it got so long lmao), and I included a lot more direct show content in this part, so I hope you like it. Also more flashbacks:)
season 1
A gunshot. That's the last thing you hear before Elle's front door flies open, almost throwing you back onto the stairs. The shock of seeing the Fisher King standing right in front of you almost makes you miss the puddle of blood that has started seeping across the floor to your feet.
"Elle," you gasp, your moment of distraction enough time for the man to push you behind him and make a break for it. You fall forward with the force of his shove, but he's much slower than you are. If you ran after him now, you could almost certainly catch up to him, but the sight of Elle bleeding out in front of you makes you immobile.
Making the split second decision to abandon the chase, you throw yourself forward and press your hands against her wound to control the blood flow.
"You're gonna be okay," you tell her, even as her blood trickles out from below your palm. "I need to call for help."
Pressing one hand down harder, you try to ignore the sounds of her gasping in pain as you reach behind you for her house phone. After dialing 911, you hold the phone between your ear and shoulder and bring your hand back to apply more pressure.
The paramedics arrive within five minutes, and they pry you off of her as they pull out a defibrillator. You had been so focused on stopping her from bleeding out that you hadn't even noticed she had stopped breathing. How could you have missed that?
"Charging to 200."
You lean back against her couch as tears leak from the corners of your eyes.
"Clear!"
***
"They took her into surgery," you say when Hotch meets you at the hospital. Your eyes keep darting around, like you're looking for something, but you don't know what.
"What happened?" he asks, placing his hands on your shoulders to regain your focus. The pressure calms you down.
"I think he was waiting for her," you whisper, your throat tightening. "He had to have been. It all happened so fast."
His eyes stay on yours, as though trying to predict your next movement. "I'm glad you're okay."
More agents filter into the hospital and he begins to turn away to talk to them, but then you stiffen under his hands. "I had him, Hotch."
"What?" he frowns, looking at you again. "What are you talking about?"
You lift your hands to your face to brush away a strand of hair, barely noticing the stains all over your skin. "He was right there. The unsub. I could've grabbed him...but I didn't."
Anderson walks over with a question, but Hotch doesn't take his eyes off you. "You went to Elle. It's okay, you made the right choice."
"But the girl he took," you protest, shaking his hands off, "this could have lead us to her, but she's still-"
"You did the right thing," he cuts you off, waving Anderson away to speak with someone else. "It's not your fault."
You grit your teeth, your voice still tinged with guilt. "How do you know?"
"Because," he sighs, running a hand through his hair, "it's mine. I sent her home."
You open your mouth to tell him how unfair that is, but he cuts you off with an order to go wash up before he leaves to explain the situation to the other agents.
The only bathroom on that floor of the hospital is at the end of the patient ward, so you trudge down the hallway and into the single family restroom, trying to avoid the worried glances from all around.
You haven't seen your reflection since before leaving with Elle, and you know it can't be a pretty sight, but the face staring back at you in the mirror is still a shock.
The bottom of your shirt is matted to your skin, and your hands are covered in now-dried blood that looks flaky and dark. When you look up, you see a streak of blood smeared over your nose from when you swiped at your face earlier.
Grabbing a fistful of paper towels, you run them under the faucet before scrubbing at your face and peeling your button down off to rid them of any trace of Elle's blood. When you're sure there isn't anything left, you turn the faucet back on and stretch your hands forward, watching the warm water turn a muddy red color as it swirls around the drain.
Eventually, the water runs clear, but you can still see the blood in your mind. You are suddenly ambushed by a memory you thought you had pushed down long ago. Red blood, cold skin.
How was there so much blood in the human body?
Your department-mandated therapist told you at the time that you would be in denial for the first few weeks, but you weren't denying anything. You had seen his body, seen the blood pooling around him as the coroner snapped photographs for the crime scene report. You knew he was dead. You just couldn't get that question out of your mind.
The memory shifts and suddenly you're seventeen again. You're seventeen and you are reaching for your first aid kit for the second time this month as Hotch sits on your bed with what feels like a permanent wince fused to his lips.
"Hold still," you whisper as you pour rubbing alcohol onto a cotton pad and press it into the cut on his hand. There's also blood under his nose and in his teeth, but he doesn't seem to notice.
He hisses as the alcohol makes contact, but he doesn't pull away. He's used to this routine now. You both are.
"I'm sorry I came by so late," he whispers through gritted teeth as he watches your fingers peel open a bandage. You want to berate him for apologizing, for feeling so much guilt all the time, but it's fruitless. It's like he was born with it inside of him, always clawing its way out at the slightest inconvenience.
"Don't be." You shoot him a look that he knows to mean 'be quiet and let me finish this'. He heeds your unspoken order, but after a few minutes, it's you who breaks it. "How did this one happen?"
He looks down and you immediately want to take it back. "You don't have to answer."
He's quiet for a beat. "He was drunk and I cleared his bottle away before he was finished with it."
Your lips thin and you press your hand to his knee, desperately needing to connect yourself to him in some manner.
"I tried to keep him in the kitchen, so Sean wouldn't hear, but I guess the noise woke him up." He takes a deep breath, and you can almost feel the determination entering his body as he sits up straighter. "I couldn't let him get to Sean, so I finally did it. I fought back."
He looks down at his bandaged hand then, and you can see pride accompanying the blood etched into the lines of his face. "I finally fought back."
Your eyes refocus and when you look at yourself in the mirror again, there's no trace of Elle's blood on your body anymore.
***
When Elle is discharged from the hospital, you spend the rest of the break helping her move out of her house and into a new apartment. When you drove her back home, the blood had been cleaned off of her floors, but you could see in her expression that it wasn't enough. This place would always be a reminder of what had happened to her.
The apartment search was quick, only a week between finding a place she liked and signing the new lease, but she saved the actual move out for the last few days of your break, instead hopping between sleeping in your guest room and a motel in town.
That's why you find yourself in Elle's old bedroom on the final Saturday before you're due back at work, packing some of her clothes into a suitcase while she works on clearing her bathroom. She tossed out almost everything she didn't absolutely need, only packing up her basic clothing and a few other sentimental keepsakes from her past.
"What about these?" you ask, holding up a pair of dark wash jeans that you remember her wearing to the bars with you a few months ago. God, has it really only been a few months?
She peeks out of the bathroom for barely a second. "I told you, I don't care. Keep it, toss it, your choice."
You don't know how you feel about being in charge of her future wardrobe, especially since you tend to live in loose jeans and old tee shirts when you're not at work, but you can understand where she's coming from. The instinct to hand off every decision to someone else.
You remember how hard it was for you to even decide what to eat for dinner after Jeff died. You also remember Hotch slipping pre-packed meals into your fridge whenever he came over to keep you company.
It takes you a couple of hours to clear out her house, and another hour to drop her and her stuff off at the new place, with promises to visit whenever you can over the next months of her leave.
You don't realize how exhausted you are until your front door shuts behind you and you collapse onto your couch, still in your dirty clothes. The summer sun is completely below the horizon as you lean back into your throw pillows and grab the tv remote. You haven't used your tv in months, and you figure that a vacation from work is the perfect opportunity to dust it off.
The screen comes to life on a local news channel, where a young reporter with teased-up hair is announcing a recall on a vacuum cleaner brand you've never heard of. She finishes her spiel before handing the mic off to an older woman who starts reporting the details of a car accident that took place in a neighborhood a few miles from yours.
These reports don't usually get under your skin - you have seen enough to know that it happens everyday - but suddenly, you can't stand to look at the crime scene tape flashing on your screen. You don't wait long enough to see what caused the accident. Whether it was a simple mistake, or if it was a drunk dri-
Grabbing the remote, you turn the television off and stand up, shaking your limbs out in an effort to rid yourself of the anxious feeling that's been growing inside of you.
You make yourself a quick microwave dinner and wolf it down in a few minutes, before trudging upstairs and hopping in the shower. You take your time washing the dust off of your body, and only emerge when the hot water runs out.
Even after cleaning yourself off and climbing into a fresh set of sheets, sleep doesn't come easily. The minutes tick by slowly as you stare at the ceiling, and before you can overthink it, you grab your phone off your nightstand and hit the first number on your speed dial.
It rings twice before the line connects. "Is everything okay?"
"What happened to 'hello'?" you ask, huffing out a laugh as you sit up in your bed.
Hotch grunts quietly. "Hello." You can hear the tiredness in his voice, but he sounds alert. You didn't wake him up. "What can I do for you?"
"So I have to need something to call you?"
"Y/N."
"Sorry for wanting to talk to my friend-"
He sighs so loudly, you can practically see his eyes rolling. "Are you going to tell me why you called or not."
"I helped Elle move out today."
That gets his attention. "How is she doing?"
You shrug, even though he can't see you. "As good as can be expected. We threw out almost all of her stuff, you know. She ended up with just a suitcase and three boxes at the end."
"That's just her way of coping, I guess."
"When we got to her house, it was..." You pause for a beat. You don't know the correct way to bring this up. "Well, it was clean. The blood was gone."
He doesn't say anything, and you know you were right. "Hotch, it was you, wasn't it."
He exhales quietly, as though he's trying to control his volume. Shit, maybe Haley's sleeping next to him. This is why you don't call someone after midnight.
"She didn't need to see a crime scene in her own home."
You wonder if he knows how he sounds right now. How caring and compassionate he can be when he doesn't try to tamp down that side of himself.
"You're a good unit chief," you say, leaning your head back against your wooden headboard. "I don't know why you keep things like this hidden."
You do know why, but that isn't what's important right now. There's a small creaking sound over the receiver and you imagine he's getting out of bed and crossing the room. Then the click of a door closing. "All that matters is that it's done."
You can't control the exasperated sigh that leaves your body. "Who are you trying to kid, Hotch? This is me you're talking to. I know how you worry that you aren't setting a good example for the team, but it's things like this that go a long way. It really wouldn't hurt for the team to see you showing some emotion."
"That's what they have you for," he says, his voice tightening the slightest bit. "They don't need that from me. When my emotions get in the way, I can't do my job properly."
You scoff. "And what job is that, exactly?"
"Keeping you safe."
He doesn't need to raise his voice to make you feel his anger. "If I had kept my emotion out of it, I wouldn't have sent her home. I wouldn't have let you accompany her, and I wouldn't have put both of you in danger."
Your hand comes up, rubbing circles into the skin above your chest. "Aaron...that wasn't on you." You can sense his protests coming, so you try a different tactic. "It wasn't on me either. No one but Garner deserves any blame for what happened."
The line is silent for a few moments, and you take the little victory. "I'm sorry I called you so late."
"Oh, it's alright," he chuckles. "You know I was up anyway."
***
She came back too quickly. You can't get the thought out of your head as you watch Elle restlessly tap her foot on the ground as she waits for the final word on whether she will be acting as bait for the serial rapist.
You don't think she's ready, and you've made your opinion known to the team, but Gideon made up his mind quickly.
"You think Elle's ready for it?"
"We'll be there for her."
You watch her vigilantly from Hotch's SUV as she enters the house and drops her keys on the table by the window. She's wired, which is a small relief, but Gideon's instruction not to have her gun on her has you more anxious than you'd like.
"Why isn't she leaving?" Hotch says from next to you, echoing your thoughts.
A car driven by a man fitting the profile pulls up on the opposite side of the street and you hear Morgan dialing Garcia. After a few seconds, he's back on the line. "William Lee. It's him."
"Bingo," Gideon's voice exclaims through your earpiece. "She's on the move."
You turn away from the car and see Elle exiting the front of the house. She glances at the man on her way to her car in the driveway, and it's only then that you notice the gun stuffed in her waistband.
"Her gun's out," you whisper, mostly to yourself. "What's she doing?"
"She's panicking."
"We've got no reason to bring him in."
"Don't blow it, don't blow it."
A chorus of yells echo through your earpiece as Elle stomps down the drive and points her gun at the unsub. "FBI, put your hands where I can see them!"
You throw open the car door and run over to apprehend the man as he fervently denies all of her accusations. "I was just stopping to look at my map."
The police put him into an interrogation room back at the station, where Hotch and Gideon try to get him to confess by showing empathy for this motive. It seems to be going well until his lawyer shows up, putting an end to the conversation.
She's been tense all day, so you're not surprised when Elle blows up. "You're letting him walk?"
Gideon is the first to step in. "Back off, Elle."
"You don't know what he's done," she yells, as though trying to reason with the police. The pain in her voice is palpable, but you can't deny the truth, even if you aren't able to voice it to her.
Hotch doesn't face the same issue. "The only reason he's walking is because you panicked."
"I'm supposed to believe that you've got my back?" she fires back, her anger redirecting to fly in his direction.
"What are you saying to me?"
"The last time you sent me home, Hotch, it got me shot."
All of the air leaves the room. You grab Elle's arm and pull her back, expecting more resistance than you get. "Walk with me."
She follows you across the hall and into a little meeting room that's scattered with evidence bags and files from the case. You let the door click shut behind her before you start speaking. "You need to take a breath. I know you, Elle. I know exactly what you're capable of. You just need to give yourself time to heal."
The fury in her eyes hasn't abated since you apprehended Lee a few hours earlier. You're not sure it will in this environment. "Take a walk. Get some air, and then come back."
She doesn't meet your eye as she pushes past you and storms out of the station.
***
"There's no reason for us to stick around anymore, is there?"
Gideon shakes his head and you purse your lips, glancing at the doors behind you. You haven't been able to shake the feeling that something terrible is going to happen, but you suppose that's a common notion on this team.
"Wheels up at noon tomorrow."
You're walking out to the parking lot with the team when the feeling hits you again. The last time you felt this level of dread was right before you got the call from organized crime just over two years ago.
Your fears are confirmed when Hotch's phone rings with a call from the local PD that they have Elle at Lee's address. The drive over is silent, and even though you're always the first to call Hotch out on his guilt spirals, you can't get the thought out of your head that this is all your fault. You knew she had come back too quickly. Never mind that it wasn't your call. You should've fought it harder.
Lee's bullet-riddled body is like a beacon of your guilt as Elle insists it was cut-and-dry self defense. "I was having a conversation with him and he drew his weapon and I fired."
The police don't let any of you talk to her as they load her into the back of their cruiser, but you know what you have to do if you want to be able to sleep tonight.
"I'm going to the station," you tell Hotch before flagging down another one of the officers on the scene. He moves to stop you, but you sidestep him and level him with a glare that high school you would have been proud of. "I have to do this."
The station doesn't finish processing her until halfway through the night, but you couldn't fall asleep even if you wanted to. When they finally remove her cuffs and bring her out, you stand up from the plastic chair you spent the last four hours in and stretch out your legs.
She doesn't spot you immediately, but when she does, her body almost deflates. "I'm fine, L/N. You didn't have to come here."
She stops in front of you, her jacket hanging over her arm as she stuffs her badge back into her pocket. If you didn't know her so well, you would be surprised by how relaxed she looks. You wouldn't recognize the front she has had up since she stepped off the plane.
"What happened, Elle?"
That catches her attention, and you watch as the mask slips by a hair. "You don't believe me?"
You don't want to accuse her of something you have no evidence of, but you also can't ignore all of the signs in front of you. "Can you really look me in the eye and say you didn't go there hoping Lee would provoke you?"
She just looks at you, and you watch in real time as the mask slides back into place. Without another word, she turns around and walks out of the station.
***
The next case doesn't come until a few days later. Elle gets cleared by the bureau's internal investigation, but you can't imagine Hotch won't tack on a psych eval just to be safe.
"Nicholas Faye of Ozona, Texas, was beaten to death roughly 13 hours ago."
JJ clicks her remote and the screen in the conference room changes, displaying the crime scene photos.
"God," you curse, averting your eyes for a moment. "He's just a child."
"Blunt force trauma to the head," she continues with a forlorn sigh. "He's the second young boy in Ozona to die the same death in the last 2 months. Local hunter found his body in the woods."
Morgan looks down at the case file. "First victim's name: Robbie Davis. Are these boys connected somehow?"
JJ shrugs. "Ozona's population's roughly 2, 500. Everyone has some kind of connection."
"Well if they weren't linked before, they most certainly are now."
Hotch and Gideon's absences from the conference room don't escape your notice, so you keep an eye out for them upon leaving the briefing.
You spot them discussing something in hushed whispers by the coffee station, and you wait for them to finish before you approach Hotch.
"You missed the briefing."
His eyes pinch, and you notice that the lines in his forehead are more prominent than usual. "What is it?"
"Elle missed her evaluation."
Your breath releases like a sigh. "I can check her apartment."
"No," he says matter-of-factly, with a shake of his head. "Gideon wants all of you in Texas for this one. I'll go look for her."
You would normally argue, but the horrific images from the briefing are still imprinted on the backs of your eyelids. "Okay. I'll see you soon."
He leaves you with a nod, and you grab your go-bag before following the rest of the team to the jet.
"You guys see Elle's cleared?" Reid pipes up as soon as the plane takes off.
Derek nods, his lips thinning. "Self defense."
"So it was a good shot."
"She hit what she was aiming for."
Reid frowns. "That's not what I meant."
"I know."
"If they cleared her how come she's not here with us?" You glance up and realize Reid is looking at you. "Or Hotch?"
You don't want to reveal more than is necessary, especially when the situation is this precarious and personal, but you're saved from responding when Gideon turns around and yells, "Focus on the case!"
JJ turns the conversation back to the unsub's motivations, and you all discuss a possible profile until a new female victim emerges that strays from the previous victimology.
Gideon doesn't waste any time delegating tasks. "When we land, Morgan and Reid, go to the new crime scene. The little girl."
He turns to you. "We'll look at the scene where Nicholas Faye was found."
The murder site is so far into the woods, that you can't help but imagine what it would've been like to be the little boy who was brought all the way out here with no hope of return. You can't believe that a young child would come this far out of their way unless they trusted the person they were following. "I think the victims knew their killer."
Gideon seems to be on the same train of thought. "They followed him to this spot."
"What makes you think that?" the local officer asks.
Gideon looks at you expectantly, and you take the invitation with a grateful nod. "Well I guess they went this deep into the woods because they trusted him. He probably stashed his weapon here beforehand. This means we're looking for someone intelligent, methodical."
The police officer accompanying you doesn't look sure of your assessment. "He bashed the kid's head in, it looks like a moment of rage to me!"
"I agree," Gideon muses, turning away and looking further into the woods. "It doesn't make any sense."
After informing the town's parents of the five PM curfew, and the children of the new buddy system in place, you excuse yourself to go call Hotch for an update.
"Anything new?" you ask when he answers the phone.
"I went to her appartment to talk to her," he explains, "but she was leaving with an overnight bag."
Your heart collapses in your chest. "She's running."
"I don't know, I hope not." He pauses for a beat. "I'm following her."
"All right," you sigh, wishing there was more you could do from here, "I really hope I'm wrong about this."
He's silent for a second, and you realize your slip up. "I just mean, I don't want to- I mean, fuck."
"I know," Hotch whispers. You can hear his car starting in the background. "But Gideon's right. She's innocent until proven guilty."
He ends the call with a promise to keep you updated, and you head back to the station, where another child has been reported missing. The missing boy's little brother draws your attention to a local legend that leads you to a Mr. Fennigan's so-called "haunted" house up in the hills.
***
"Garcia," you say into your phone before putting it on speaker and setting it down at the table you're sitting at. After establishing that Finnegan's house was empty, you and team have been searching the property for any indications that he's the unsub. "You got anything for me?"
"Only that Fennigan's house on the hill is like the Bates Motel of Ozona, Texas."
You roll your eyes, even though she can't see you. "We heard the legend from that counselor, Charles I think."
"Be careful, though," she says, her voice going lower as though she's telling a campfire story. "People that go into that house supposedly never come out."
"Garcia."
"But then there is that matter of his missing wife."
Deciding to humor her, you clear your throat and whisper, "Do you think she's still on the premises?"
"I got two words for you, my friend: 'rear window'. That guy probably chopped that lady up into delicious bitesize pieces."
You suppress a laugh. "Pen, do you really think that's gonna scare me?"
She huffs and you grin, tugging open one of the drawers next to you and peeking inside.
"You're no fun. Reid was scared shitless."
"He's just afraid of the dark," you smile, before your eyes catch on something bright under the table beside you. "Garcia, I gotta go. And cut Reid some slack."
"No promises, Mama."
You tuck your phone away and reach below the table, where you find a small pink backpack with the last victim's name scrawled on top in Sharpie. "Guys! I found something."
The clues from Finnegan's house lead you back to Charles, the town's guidance counselor, and then to his son, who the police are able to catch in the act of luring away Tracey Belle, another young girl. You don't relax until she's back with her parents, and even then, there's still a tension in your shoulders.
Cases involving children never get easier, but you can't help the kinship you feel to little Tracey Belle, who had the same look in her eyes that you recognized in yourself when you were ten years old. You don't remember your mom's funeral much, mostly because you were so young, but also because the whole day was a blur. The few flashes that come back here and there are your father's eyes, red from crying, and the cold gray of the headstone that you visited with him every year on the anniversary until you graduated.
The plane ride back is morose, and no one looks up from their reading material until it's time to disembark. Hotch isn't at the office when you drop off your case file, so you rub the exhaustion from your eyes and drive home.
There's a figure sitting on your porch when you pull into your driveway, and you're a moment from panicking when her face comes into the light.
"I turned in my badge," Elle says after you lock your car and walk up the steps.
Something twists in your gut, but the one emotion you aren't feeling is surprise. "Do you want to come inside? How long have you been waiting?"
She shakes her head, and you give her some time to formulate her thoughts. After a minute, she meets your eye again. "You were kind to me."
You don't know what to say, but you can see the change in her since just last week. She already looks lighter, and you can't help but think about how heavy the job can be. It's a weight on each of your lives that never seems to let up, and while you're going to be sad to see her go, you understand. It's the right choice.
Elle presses her lips together before curving them into a small smile. "You supported me after...after Garner. I'm gonna miss you."
You smile at her, even as your heart fills with sadness. "i'm going to miss you too."
Her body shifts like she's making to leave but then she turns back one last time. "You're too good for him, you know."
You get the sense that you know what she's referring to, but it's not something you can acknowledge without sending a flare shooting up your spine. She nods once, like that's all she wanted to say, and turns away into the night. You blink your eyes closed, squeezing them tightly as though it will somehow make the last few months a nightmare you can wake up from. But that's not how this works.
You give yourself a minute to pretend, but when you open your eyes again, she's gone.
***
The case that takes you to Golconda, Nevada feels almost unique to Gideon, as he takes each of the unsub's decisions personally in a way you haven't seen before.
Once you give the profile to the local police, the sheriff, Georgia Davis, leads you to a woman with a story to match the previous victimology.
"Jane," she says softly as she walks into the holding area at the back of the station. "These people are from the FBI. I'd like you to tell them your story."
Her story takes you through a tale of alien abductions and young love, but the kernel of truth underneath sounds awfully similar to the unsub's M.O. Her eyes still shine with a childlike tenacity that you don't usually see in other victims of such prolific and disturbing killers.
"Her subconscious mind has created a delusion that she was abducted by an alien," Gideon sighs after Sheriff George sends you all out of the room to let Jane rest. "She didn't show him the fear he wanted, so he let her go."
When it becomes clear that he is still in town, you disperse around the local R.V. park in search of his vehicle.
Hotch pairs you with Emily Prentiss, the new agent who joined the team after Elle left, and you welcome the opportunity to speak with her more than you've gotten the chance to since she arrived.
"How have you been settling in?" you ask her as you both stroll along the edge of the R.V. park.
"The team has been very welcoming," she says as she continues to scan the vehicles around you. "I'm just glad to be joining such an accomplished unit."
"That's kind of you," you smile, noting the extreme focus in her eyes. Her intelligence and intense concentration on each of the cases you've worked made much more sense when you learned about her history. Her background must have sparked more than a few nepotism claims over the years, so you don't mind letting her overcompensate, if it means she will prove to herself that she deserves to be here. "Everyone seems to like having you around. I certainly don't mind."
She shoots you a smile that you return by patting her forearm comfortingly. You were worried it would be hard for another agent to settle into the space Elle left on the team, but Prentiss has made easy work of it. She has the same humor as Derek and Penelope, and you've seen how well she gets along with you and JJ. Even Reid has welcomed her with open arms.
"This team is kind of famous," she says after a moment, piquing your interest.
"Oh?"
She shrugs, turning into another row of vehicles. "You've all been through so much, but it just seems to have made you more of a family."
When you first joined the team, that was all you wanted. You were by yourself, completely alone, and the team had become your family in the blink of an eye. It was exactly what you needed. These days, you're not so sure anymore. More family just means more people to lose.
"Can I ask you a question?"
You look at her with a nod. "Yeah, of course."
"It's about Agent Hotchner."
You should've figured. Every new agent tries to vie for his approval, until they realize it's not something you can force. "Yeah?"
She sighs, and you can tell this isn't something she wants to be talking about. "I don't know if I understand him. You're the only person who seems to have his ear. I guess I'm just wondering how I can do the same."
"I got his attention and respect through decades of friendship," you say, watching her eyes widen as you speak. "But he's not the enigma you may think he is. Showing off won't help your cause, but working hard and doing your job well is all you can really do."
She nods, taking in your words. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."
You smile, bumping her shoulder to lighten the mood. "Don't worry about him. He knows your worth, I can tell."
Prentiss leans against you for a moment before shaking out her legs and turning back to the lot. "I don't think the unsub is here. We should meet up with the rest of the team."
Once Gideon puts it together that the unsub is hiding out somewhere in town, Hotch suggests that you all turn in for the night, but the older man doesn't want to listen.
"We could wait till first light, Gideon," he stresses, turning his body to stand between him and the officers. "It's gonna be dark soon."
"Do what you like," Jason grunts, shoving past him. "I'm gonna find him."
Hotch starts to go after him, but you step forward and put your hand on his shoulder. "Let him go. Maybe the walk back to the station will help clear his head."
He sighs heavily, and you know it's all the agreement you're going to get right now. "Let's head over there too. He needs our help if he wants to crack this before morning."
The stress lines on his forehead are almost as noticeable as they were the day Elle left the bureau, and you grab his wrist as he tries to turn away. You raise your eyebrows, knowing he'll be able to read the question written in the ridges of your face. How are you holding up?
Hotch rolls his neck to the side, stretching it out after what has been a very long day. When he looks back at you, you wait for a nod that comes after a moment. Alright. Been better, but alright.
Back at the station, the work is slow going, and you don't feel like anyone is helping with how uptight Gideon is acting. The air inside the small building has started to feel suffocating, and you finally get your chance to escape when Sheriff George grabs her car keys.
"I'm gonna take Jane home," she tells you when you approach her at her desk. "It's been a long night, and she needs to sleep in her own bed."
"You need to rest too," you say, noticing the droop of her eyes from sheer exhaustion. "Go home, Sheriff. I'll take her back. I remember her address from earlier."
She doesn't look convinced, so you lean in with a smile. "It's getting really stuffy in here. I need some air too."
That's all it takes to satisfy her, and she pats your arm with a nod before handing you the keys to the cruiser and walking to the exit.
You only see Morgan as you pick Jane up from the holding area, so you tell him you'll be back in a half hour and head out to the back lot.
"How long have you been living in this town?" you ask Jane as you make the short drive to her house.
"Since I was a teenager," she says dreamily, her eyes gazing out the window.
"You never wanted to live anywhere else?"
She shakes her head profusely. "Why would I? This is where I can be found."
You frown at her words, but it's not the oddest thing she has said today. When you arrive at her house, you park the cruiser out front and lead her up the porch steps, where she slowly unlocks the front door. "Do you want to come inside?"
You figure it wouldn't hurt to scope out the place, so you accept her invitation and follow her inside. "This is a beautiful home, Jane." Trinkets are scattered everywhere, and rudimentary sketches cover the walls.
"Thank you," she responds from another room. "You're very nice." You follow the sound of her voice to her kitchen, where she is struggling to lift a pitcher of juice from her fridge.
"Here, let me help you," you say, taking it from her and setting it down on the little breakfast table in front of her stove. "Do you have any cups?"
She walks over to a cupboard across from you, and you unclip your side-holster and set it on the table until the sound of a footstep behind you makes you spin on your heels.
You're assaulted by the sight of a tall, white man, who you immediately recognize from Gideon's profile earlier that day.
"Jane!" you yell, inching toward the table where your gun is. "I need you to run."
"Come with me, Jane," the man says, ignoring you completely. You use the moment of distraction to reach for your gun, but he's quicker than you. A sharp pinprick of pain shoots down your neck as your hand knocks over the pitcher of juice and your limbs suddenly feel like they weigh a million pounds.
"Jane, he's a murderer," you yell, hoping your voice doesn't sound as quiet as it does in your head. Your vision is already blurry, and you wish Reid was here to distract you by spouting off a list of fast-acting drugs from memory. "Jane, run!"
The last thing you hear before you black out is the sound of hurried footsteps receding into the background.
***
None of this makes sense. As each minute ticks by, he can't shake the feeling that they are missing something that's right under their noses.
"JJ just called," Morgan says, walking back into the station with his phone waving in his hand. "Apparently an anonymous caller called the tip line and claimed they saw an R.V. driven by a man who fits the description we gave to the media."
Hotch frowns. "Claimed?"
"Well, not a single R.V. or trailer has passed through any of the roadblocks."
Morgan's words click in his brain, and he instinctively glances beside him as an idea forms, but you aren't there. Now that he thinks of it, he hasn't seen you in over an hour.
"Who does the number belong to?" he asks, shifting his focus back.
Morgan is about to respond when Deputy Silo runs into the office, shoving past the other cops in his way. "We got a call from outside Jane's house. I think it was from the unsub."
Hotch stands up immediately, grabbing his jacket and gun, but next to him, Morgan stills, his face going slack.
"We need to head over there now," Hotch says, listing off a few instructions to the deputies nearby. Where are you?
"Hotch."
"And have some of your guys check in town," he continues, "in case he took her with him."
"Hotch."
He turns around. "What is it?"
"L/N drove Jane home."
His heart drops.
***
Just stay for a few more minutes, Jeff implores, his fingers dancing over your arm as you try to sit up.
You laugh as he tries to pull you back into the bed. I can't, I have to go into work.
Just five minutes, I promise. He pouts as you slide your legs out from under the covers. Three. One. One minute, please. I miss you.
I miss you too, you sigh, pressing a kiss to his lips. I'll see you tonight.
His hands reach up to caress your face, like he always does in the mornings. Cupping your cheek with his palm and running his fingers through your hair.
You settle into the feeling, wishing you had more time to just lay in bed with him. But you don't. Because Jeff's not here anymore.
Your eyes snap open right as the unsub tapes your mouth closed.
***
His hands grip the steering wheel as his SUV barrels up the small country road leading to Jane's house. He can't seem to press the gas pedal hard enough, and Reid's incessant foot-tapping in the backseat is driving him crazy, even though he understands the anxiety coursing through his body.
He beats Deputy Silo to the house, and flies out of the car without waiting for the other agents to open their doors. He's not sure what he's expecting to see inside as he pulls his gun from his waist holster, but he doesn't give himself a chance to think about it before kicking the door in.
"What the hell are you doing?" Morgan yells from behind him as he checks around the door and makes his way through the small hallway. The house is silent, aside from the footsteps of the agents behind him, but the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears is almost deafening.
"Clear," he shouts after checking each room up to the kitchen. When he steps inside, there's juice all over the floor, and he spots the pitcher on its side beside the fridge. Juice, not blood.
His eyes flash to the table and his breath catches in his throat. He would recognize your holster anywhere, especially since he was with you when you bought it.
What do you think? It's not too bold, is it?
I definitely wouldn't mess with you.
"Why didn't she reach for her gun?" he wonders out loud.
"Because she couldn't." He turns around to see Reid holding up a large, empty syringe he found under the table.
He can't take his eyes off the juice on the floor, splattered everywhere as though someone had knocked it off the counter. The image of Elle's blood spilled all over her living room is still fresh in his mind, and he can't get over how easily the dark red cranberry juice seeping into the floorboards could have been yours.
Growing up, it was a common occurrence for you to patch him up and wash the blood off his skin, but there was only one time when he had to return the favor.
He still remembers the proud glint in your eyes after you had literally head-butted a man who had grabbed you in a college bar by Georgetown. Already a year into law school, he would've thought you'd have more forethought than to injure yourself in the hopes of getting back at the jackass, but once he saw your bloody grin, his annoyance had fizzled away.
"What on earth were you thinking?" he had asked as you stuck a scrap of napkin up your nostrils to control the flow after the head-butt broke a few blood vessels in your nose. He hadn't seen you much throughout undergrad, but he was glad that you hadn't changed too much, even if it meant you were just as wild as before. "I'm getting you ice."
A few minutes of angry haggling later, he returned to your side with a small bag of ice that he held to the bridge of your nose. Nothing he said could have ruined your mood that night, especially since the man had been kicked out of the bar and banned for life.
"Did you see the look on his face?" you had asked, your eyes twinkling behind the quickly melting ice.
"I did," he sighs, before breaking into a grin. "I'm just glad that your future law degree will give you another method of retaliation against scumbags like him."
You had laughed then, causing a few drops of blood to spray out of your nose, but all he could think about as he jerked back to avoid the mess was how happy he was that you were back in his life again.
Hotch flies back to the conversation happening around him, his brain refusing to let him imagine the worst case scenario.
"Those footprints," Morgan is saying as he starts listening again, "they got to be Jane's."
Reid nods, following along. "They go to the back."
"She escapes. The unsub knows the ketamine's gonna wear off, so he's got to act."
"No," one of the deputies says. "He hasn't got what he came here for."
His voice returns to him all at once. "So he took Y/N for leverage."
"He thinks we have Jane. Which means he wants a trade."
"Whatever he wants, we need to find Jane and your agent fast."
His agent. He feels sick at the thought of whatever that man is doing to you. "Garcia can track the phone number from the anonymous caller. You go to town, we'll find Jane."
***
Your eyes are blurry as you try to clear the fogginess in your head from whatever he injected you with. You can see the shape of the unsub moving around the room, and you squint your eyes to get a better look at the anatomical posters and drawings on the walls.
When your vision begins to focus again, the man comes toward you with a smile. "You're awake." He reaches forward to check the tape on your wrists and you try to jerk away from him, but your body is still flowing with the drug. You can't move as he brushes your hair behind your ear and smiles down at you, a sinister lack of emotion in his eyes. You stop trying to move, realizing it's no use. He's been doing this for years. Mutilating women. Cutting them to pieces.
You can feel your heart rate increasing, and you try not to look at the knives and saws littering the tables around you in an effort to keep yourself calm. Your team is looking for you. Derek knows where you went.
When he grabs your arms and starts lifting you off the makeshift operating table you were lying on, you try to scream, but the tape just pulls at your lips, tearing at the thin skin underneath.
Your eyes widen as he drops you into a metal coffin-like box, but he just looks at you with a shake of his head. "No need for that," he tsks before closing the lid over you, enveloping you in eery darkness.
***
Reid and Prentiss help him inspect Jane's house further for clues as to where the unsub could've taken you. The wind chimes of rib bone blowing in the breeze on the front porch catch his attention almost immediately.
His chest feels tight and he clears his throat. "He's obviously been here before and left these gifts for her."
"How romantic," Prentiss grimaces.
"Well, his version of romance."
Prentiss frowns. "What, are you trying to say you think he keeps coming back here because he's in love with her?"
"That's impossible," Reid interjects. "A sexual sadist can't feel love."
"Well," he says, "define love." He doesn't know if he can. He knows he loves Haley and Jack. He likes to think he always wants to be with them, but when a particularly excruciating case arrives on his desk, his desire to catch the bad guy trumps everything else in his mind. He knows he will always try to protect them from anyone or anything that wants to do them harm, but is that love?
It must be, because he feels the same instinct to protect you, but it manifests in him differently.
"Chemically, it involves surging brain elements called monoamines, dopamines, norepinephrine, and serotonin."
Of course that would be Reid's answer.
He continues rattling off a list of foods that contain these chemicals, and Hotch tunes him out, turning back to the house. They're missing something, they have to be. It's not until they spot a small trailer out back that it clicks.
***
You don't know how much time passes until the effects of the drug finally wear off enough for you to rub your wrists together to loosen the tape around them. The noises outside the coffin stopped a while ago, and you assume the man has left, likely to resume his search for Jane.
When the tape finally breaks, you let out a relieved gasp and let your arms rest for a few moments, before you begin slamming your fists into the bottom of the lid. It doesn't budge, no matter how hard you pound at it, so you change tactics, instead clawing your fingers at the seams in search of a hinge or screw you can loosen.
You're still trying to pry open the lid when you hear a muffled voice speaking outside the coffin. Despite your determination to stay calm, your heart squeezes in your chest as you bring your hands up to fight back in case he opens the lid. You feel someone slide your box across the floor, before opening the top and flooding your eyes with light.
When you adjust to the brightness, you see the familiar faces of Hotch, Reid, and Prentiss standing above you, and you almost cry with relief. Hotch reaches down with a small "thank god" and pulls you up and out of the coffin. Prentiss carefully peels the tape off your mouth, wincing as some of the skin of your lips comes away with it.
When you're standing up again, your legs give out as the fear leaves you, and you collapse into Hotch.
He catches you easily, holding you against him tightly as you shake from the sheer relief of being found before something irreversible happened. You're acutely aware of your teammates watching you hang onto your unit chief as though your life depends on it, but you can't bring yourself to let go.
It's only after your hands stop shaking that he finally pulls away.
***
When you return from Texas, most of the team heads straight home, but Gideon hangs back, calling you into his office.
"How are you doing after today?" he asks as you shut the door behind you and take a seat in front of his desk.
"Fine," you say simply, looking him straight in the eye. You're not sure exactly what you're feeling, but it definitely isn't fine. The few times your eyes fell closed on the flight back, you could still feel Frank's fingers pressing the tape onto your face.
Gideon scrutinizes you for a moment, his brow crinkling as he waits for you to elaborate. You can appreciate his intention, but you really don't feel like talking about it right now. Not when the memory of the cold metal on your skin is still fresh.
"Okay," he concedes after a minute of silence. It's not really a concession - you can already hear him recommending you for a psych evaluation - but it's enough for the moment. "You don't have to do it right away, but you need to eventually fill out an incident report. I can get you the paperwork now, but I mean it, take your time."
He reaches into his accordion file folder and pulls out a sheet of paper that's mostly blank, except for a few lines at the top. "Just hand it in to me or Hotch when you're done."
You accept the paper and leave his office, with a promise to head home soon. You heard his suggestion to finish it in your own time, but you can't imagine coming back to this at a later date.
Dropping into your chair, you lay the paper down on your desk and read over the form. The first section is the same as every other form you've had to fill out at the bureau: name, date, badge number.
The second half is just one line of instruction before a vast sea of white space. Describe the incident in detail.
Images from Frank's workshop flash in your mind. A roll of silver duct tape. A bloody washcloth. A rusted scalpel. Nothing you can effectively put onto paper.
The words don't come, even as the lights in the hallway automatically turn off, and the hushed voices from the nearby offices go silent. You eventually stand up to shake out your legs and get another coffee, not because you need it to stay awake, but because it feels like the normal thing to do. The idea of sleeping just takes you back to the darkness of the coffin, and a shudder runs through you as you pour yourself a cup and dump the muddy remains of the pot in the sink.
You're about to head back to your desk to fruitlessly stare at the form for a little while longer, when your eye catches on a small lamplight from Hotch's office at the top of the stairs. Gulping back a mouthful of stale coffee, you toss the rest in the trash and grab your report before hiking up the stairs.
"You're still here?" he asks when you knock on his door and push it open. "I thought you left hours ago."
The same question Gideon asked you earlier is etched into his face, but you know he won't voice it just yet. He was always good about knowing your boundaries (and when to push them).
"I could ask you the same thing," you smile with a shrug, before flopping down into the chair by his desk. "You really need to replace this chair, by the way. It's horribly uncomfortable."
He snorts quietly. "It's a perfectly fine chair."
You laugh, the sound quickly turning into a yawn.
"Go home," he stresses, dropping his pen and fixing you with a pointed stare.
"You first."
"I have work to do."
"So do I."
He looks down at the paper in your hands. "Gideon gave you the form already? I was going to give it you in a few days."
"I'm glad he gave it to me today," you say, before dropping your eyes with a sigh. "I've just been having some trouble finding the words to describe what happened."
"You don't have to do it now..." he starts, but you cut him off.
"I do. I don't want to come back to this later. I need to finish it now, while I still can."
"Okay," he accepts after a moment. "Then take your time. I'll be here."
You fall into a comfortable silence as you bring your pen back down and start writing.
***
He doesn't finish his own paperwork until well after midnight. When he looks up from his reports, you're asleep, your head resting on your crossed arms over his desk.
He would normally wake you and tell you to head home, but you look so peaceful for the first time in too long. Haley and Jack would have gone to bed hours ago, so he figures it won't hurt to stay with you for at least a little while as you get some much needed rest. He can't imagine that sleep has been coming easy - he saw you shaking yourself awake each time you closed your eyes on the plane - so he lets you slumber.
He still hasn't gotten the image of you with your hands and mouth taped out of his head, and he doesn't know if he ever will. When your legs had given out, his arms had instinctively shot forward to grab you before his brain could catch up. He can barely look at the bandages on your wrist now, where the tape rubbed your skin raw.
Standing up from his chair, he slides his suit jacket down his arms and steps around his desk. Being extra careful not to wake you, he drapes it over your shoulders and lets you sleep.
***
Hotch gives you the next week off, but the quiet solitude of your house is too much to bear with all of the memories swirling through your brain. You know he would have called you if there was a case out of town, so a few evenings later, you find yourself in your car, driving over to the Virginia field office.
When you walk into the bullpen, it's empty aside from Reid at his desk and Prentiss at the coffee station. It's late, and you assume Reid is just taking some notes down from the last case, but you aren't sure why Emily is still here.
"Hey," she says when she sees you sit at your desk. "Don't you have the week off?"
She looks exhausted, but you understand where she's coming from. The urge to overcompensate for being new. For not being the agent you're replacing. You felt it with Gideon when you were transferred here. She likely feels it with Elle.
"I needed to get out of the house," you explain, adjusting your seat and settling back.
"I hear that," she says, before putting a lid on her coffee cup and grabbing her bag. "I should actually go home for once, but I'll see you in a few days."
Spencer doesn't look up from his notepad until the sound of the door closing behind Emily jerks him from his stupor.
"You're here," he states, as though he's not sure if he is supposed to be asking a question or not. "What are you doing here?"
You shrug, smiling at him. For a genius, he can be kind of clueless sometimes. "I wanted to see you guys."
"Oh," he says, placing his pen on his desk, "well, it's just me here."
You grin. "Works for me."
That makes him smile slightly, but it falls in an instant. "I'm glad you're okay."
Your heart leaps into your throat. "Thanks, Spence, me too."
You expect him to return to his notes, but he just looks down and back up again. "Are you? Okay?"
You frown, more out of a lack of understanding, but he starts backtracking immediately. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't press-"
"It's fine," you reassure, pressing your lips together. "It's what everyone's thinking anyway."
He doesn't say anything for a moment, so you continue to fill the silence. "You just can't let the stares get to you."
"How, though?" he says after a beat. You're not sure what he's asking, but the confusion you're feeling must be mirrored in your expression, because he elaborates. "Ever since my mom came here for the Garner case, I feel like everyone has been looking at me, with all this...pity."
Your chest squeezes as you think about all of the lingering stares that followed him around in the week after Garner killed himself. Even Morgan couldn't hide his shock when Mrs. Reid showed up at the field office. "Have I?"
He shakes his head, and your chest relaxes with relief. Spencer glances up at you, and he looks so young for a second. "You're one of the few who hasn't."
"I guess I just understand the stares better than anyone," you sigh, feeling the familiar ache as your memories return to you in flashes.
You hear him suck in a breath as the realization dawns on him. "Agent Adler..."
You nod and Reid gives you a second to take a breath before he continues. "He was my instructor once, you know. At the academy."
You smile as your eyes shine with unshed tears. "Yeah, I know."
There's this kid in my hand-to-hand combat seminar.
Kid?
He can't be more than 20, maybe 21 years old. But the kid has guts.
You remember those nights before Jeff joined organized crime so fondly these days. The calm before the storm.
"He never treated me differently."
You look up with a sad smile, the memory receding as Spencer shares his own. "Hotch made me take a few physical training classes at the academy after I joined. All the other instructors acted like I was a joke, or a prank being pulled on them...but he never did."
That doesn't surprise you. Jeff was so nurturing and kind, much better than you ever were before you met him.
"I really miss him sometimes," he whispers softly.
You reach forward and press your hand on top of his. He doesn't pull back. "Me too, kid."
***
You can't remember the last time the team went out together. There was one night, what feels like years ago, when you all got dinner together after an especially cut-and-dry case that ended within the first day you arrived on scene. When the cases are long and hard-fought, it's not the same; everyone bolts the minute the jet hits the tarmac.
Tonight, something feels different. There hasn't been a new case in a couple of weeks, and everyone seems lighter.
"I'm back," Haley smiles, carefully setting two drinks down on the little high top table you are crowded around. "Spicy marg for Emily, and mojito for me."
You're still nursing the old fashioned you ordered a half hour ago, and Hotch is only halfway through his pint of Guinness.
"How are they treating you at the BAU, Emily?" Haley asks, before putting the straw in her mouth and taking a large sip.
"She means is he being nice to you," you grin, cocking your head at Hotch as he shoots you a look of mock-offense. You know I'm right.
He flashes his eyes. And?
"Everyone has been incredibly nice," she says with a smile as a waitress approaches you with a drink in her hand.
She sets it on the table in front of you and glances behind her. "That man over there bought this for you."
Haley starts hooting before the waitress has a chance to leave the vicinity. She's definitely starting to feel her mojito, but you would never judge her on her one night away from the baby.
"That was weird," you say, hoping you don't look as awkward as you feel.
Haley leans forward and grabs your hand, an earnest smile on her face. "You should go talk to him! Only if you want to, of course."
"Yeah, it's your night off," Emily agrees, shooting you a smirk over the rim of her margarita.
"I don't know, guys," you say, sliding the drink to the center of the table.
You can tell Haley isn't done encouraging you to have a wild night, so you brace yourself for the pounce, but thankfully, Hotch stands up just as she's opening her mouth, and takes her hand. "Come on, honey, let's go show them how it's done."
"Oh!" she smiles, her face lighting up as she follows him onto the dance floor. "You ladies don't have too much fun without me."
"Wouldn't dream of it," you grin, before downing the last of your original drink.
Emily watches them shimmy into the crowd, her chin resting on her palm. "They are so sweet."
"They've been that way forever," you agree, glancing back over at them as they dance lazily in the center of the dance floor. Haley's movements are a bit looser as she slides through his arms, but he keeps a firm grasp on her hand, keeping her upright even when it looks like she may fall.
He still looks at her the same way he did in high school, when he saw her at that first rehearsal for Pirates of Penzance. There's so much wonder in his eyes, like he's seeing her for the first time, every time.
***
You should be happier right now. You're done with high school, sitting in a sea of green caps and gowns with all of your friends, but all you can think about is how soon he's going to be gone.
You're going to be at different schools next year. Him at Harvard, you at UCLA, opposite ends of the country, for four years. The gravity of what that means didn't sink in until this very moment, the worst possible timing, because you're supposed to be happy right now.
"High school couldn't end fast enough," the girl next to you grins, her cap decorated with the glittery letters of the school she will be attending next year. "I'm so ready for all of this to be over."
You're not. You force your lips into a smile and let yourself glance a few rows up, just for a moment. When it's just the back of his head, you aren't confronted by the confusing emotions that have been swirling around your brain for the last few months. Of course you would realize you're in love with your best friend a semester before school ends. But that isn't the only reason your timing couldn't be worse.
You wave at your dad in the crowd, you is wearing more school colors than even you are, and he waves back enthusiastically. It distracts you for a moment, but then you face the front again, and your eyes are drawn back to the same place.
He turns back then, with a grin meant just for you, and your heart flutters like it's in a butterfly enclosure. You smile back, more genuine this time, but his attention shifts behind you after a quick nod. You don't have to turn back to know who he's looking at in the stands.
You shouldn't be surprised they got along so well, you practically set them up. After their first date, he seemed lighter than air, giddy with the impatient brush strokes of a first love. The look in his eyes now is the same as it was that day.
How did it go?
I'm gonna marry that girl one day.
You don't know why you had just assumed he was joking around. Hotch never joked about things like this.
Eventually, he turns back around in his seat, and you stare at your hands as you clasp and unclasp them over and over and over again until you no longer feel the cavity in your chest where your best friend used to be.
***
The next case comes in as you're working on your second drink. JJ corrals everyone at the bar into taxis, and sends you all off to the airport where the jet is already fueled and waiting.
"You missed a fun night," you note as Gideon climbs into the plane, a few minutes after the rest of you arrived.
"I had a good time," he says simply, before sitting by himself a few rows over. He hasn't spoken to you since he gave you the incident report, but you know it's not about you. Being forced to let Frank get away was hard on him, but you don't know how to assuage his guilt about your kidnapping if he won't even look at you.
Derek flips open his case file and huffs out a breath. "Well, good time's definitely over."
"The Kyles," JJ says, beginning the briefing as the plane takes off, "Dennis and Lacy were murdered an hour ago in their suburban Atlanta home."
You look up, assuming you heard her wrong. "Only an hour ago?"
"Police were on scene unusually fast," she nods.
Derek frowns. "Why?"
"One of the unsubs called them and told them that the other was about to murder the victims."
Prentiss lets out a humorless laugh from across from you. "You're kidding."
"From inside the house."
JJ scans the file again. "According to the dispatcher, the first male sounded terrified and begged them to get there before the other, who they both identified as Raphael, was about to kill the sinners that lived there."
Gideon enters the conversation with a confused frown. "Sinners?"
"Also, when they arrived, the police found this displayed prominently on the bed." She holds up a photo of a page that looks torn out of a book.
"Revelations, chapter 6, verse 8."
Gideon sighs. "They're on a mission. And mission-based killers will not stop killing."
***
Gideon was right, as he usually is. The killings don't stop, and videos of the murders are posted online, spreading the killers' message for them.
"JJ, why don't you and Reid go out there, see if you can find Mr. Hankel and see if he remembers something."
"On it."
Garcia calls almost immediately after they leave. "There's a new video from our psycho."
Hotch stills. "Get it on the monitor here as soon as you can."
The police officer you met at the first crime scene joins you, Hotch, and Morgan in front of the computer as the video appears on the screen. The first thing you see is the dirty mattress. Then come the dogs.
You avert your eyes as the woman's screams for help fill the room.
"Jezebel's death," Hotch whispers, almost to himself.
"My god," Morgan grimaces. "You can turn it off."
The officer suddenly leans forward. "Oh, wait."
"You haven't seen enough?" Morgan asks, disgust coloring his tone. He has two sisters, both of whom he protects fiercely. You can't imagine what he's thinking about as he watches the screen.
"Those dogs," he says, his voice growing in strength as he speaks. "Those three dogs attacked someone a couple of months ago. I would have had them impounded, but the victim knew the owner."
"You have the owner's name?"
He checks his notepad, flipping through it rapidly. "Hankel."
Your blood runs cold. "Hankel?"
"Tobias Hankel."
You're on your feet before he can finish saying his name.
***
The drive to the Hankel farmhouse is filled with hand wringing and nervous leg bouncing. You keep catching Hotch glancing over at you, but you don't care. You just need him to drive faster.
When he pulls up in front of the house, you and Emily throw your doors open before he can come to a complete stop. Hotch and Gideon head toward the house, so you lead Prentiss and Morgan over to the barn, where you can hear the faint sound of panicked breathing.
Lifting your gun and flashlight, you push open the barn door and are greeted by the sight of JJ pointing her gun at you. "JJ, it's L/N, Prentiss, and Morgan. You're okay."
She looks frenzied, her hair and clothes covered in a layer of sweat and grime. When her flashlight comes down, you notice the dead dogs on the ground.
"Tobias Hankel is the unsub," she gasps, stumbling over to you.
"We know, honey," you whisper, taking her arm and leading her outside, before glancing at Emily behind you. "Call an ambulance."
She nods and rushes over to the clearing in search of better cell signal as Derek steps forward, his face still twisted into a worried frown. "JJ, where's Reid?"
"They just completely tore her apart," she babbles, her eyes still frantic even as you put your hands on her shoulders to steady her. "There's nothing even left-"
"JJ, look at me."
Her eyes snap over to Morgan, and he brings his voice down again. "Where's Reid?"
"We split up," she says, her voice still tight, but slightly calmer. "He said he was going to go in the back."
"House is clear," Hotch calls from behind you, making you spin around, your mouth twisting with dread.
"So where is he?"
JJ's eyes glance back at the cornfield behind the house, and suddenly you're running. You can hear someone calling your name, but all you can think about is Spencer with an unsub who's idea of torture is biblical and cruel.
There are two sets of footprints in the dirt by the edge of the field, but after a few feet, they turn to drag marks. Oh no, oh god no.
***
The whole team - except for Reid, your brain keeps reminding you - sets up in Hankel's house, with even Garcia joining you on the scene to limit communication time.
You can't sleep as you alternate between reading Hankel's journals and hovering over Penelope's shoulder as she pores through his downloaded images and videos. Even as exhaustion pulls at your eyes, you periodically splash your face with water from the bathroom to keep yourself up. If anyone can understand how terrifying it is to be taken by a psychotic killer, it's you. Succumbing to sleep feels like a defeat, like you've given up on him.
You don't find anything useful until after Emily and JJ return from meeting with Tobias's N.A. sponsor, but in the sixth hour of scouring his journal, your brain clicks with a realization. "Guys, some parts of this journal match his father's handwriting. But they were written after he died."
"The bedrooms upstairs..." Gideon mutters, his eyes shifting up like they do when he's thinking. "One of Tobias's personalities may be his father."
Your brow furrows and you look down at the journal in front of you even as your eyes burn with fatigue. "Then who is Raphael?"
"My guess," Gideon sighs, "a mediator between the two."
Hotch looks at you, and you can see the concern etched into his face. "We need to start profiling Tobias's father. He may be the one who chose where to take Reid."
Morgan nods. "I'll get Garcia on it."
He leaves the room and Hotch comes over to the table, where you're still staring down at one of the journals. Your hands are covered in pink half-moon indentations where your nails were pressed, and he fights the urge to take you away from here, to save you from this hurt. "You should get some rest."
"I'm fine, Hotch," you whisper through gritted teeth. He can hear the worry in every word that leaves your mouth. The terror at the prospect of losing the team's youngest profiler.
"You didn't sleep at all last night," he points out gently.
"Neither did you."
You're not wrong. He didn't get a chance to shut his eyes either, but he's used to the sleepless nights. He supposes you are, too.
Your focus returns to the journal, and you don't notice as he slips out of the room and finds Gideon by the front of the house.
"Reid's brilliant," the older man sighs when he notices Hotch, almost like he's trying to convince himself. "He'll make it."
"I take advantage of Reid for his brain," he says softly, "but I never teach him how to handle things emotionally."
Jason shrugs. "Lead by example."
"What kind of example is that?"
For a bunch of criminal psychologists, you all still have no idea how to truly deal with losing people. Maybe that's just how life works. He thinks about the weeks after Jeff's death, when he wasn't sure if you would ever be okay again. Even as he held you while you cried, and promised that you would feel okay someday, he's not sure if he ever actually believed it.
But then one day, your eyes stopped shining at the mention of his name, and you no longer fell apart after each time you had to question a victim's widow.
Even after your mother's death, you were stoic. He remembers holding your hand at the funeral, but your grip was almost stronger than his, like you were holding him up with your sheer willpower to stay upright.
Seeing you now, he's not sure what will happen if Reid doesn't come back. He just knows he doesn't plan on finding out.
He and Gideon rush back inside when Garcia's voice frantically calls for everyone to look at Hankel's monitors. His eyes squint inadvertently as the video feed of Reid tied to a chair lights up the screens in front of them, almost like his brain is trying to block out the image.
Your hand flies to your mouth, but not before a small anguished sound escapes. "He's been beaten."
"This is for us," Garcia whispers, tears streaming down her cheeks. "He knows we're here."
"I'm gonna put this guy's head on a stick," Morgan spits out, before turning around and slamming his fist into the room's wooden door.
Gideon leans closer to the screens, clearly trying to take in any detail he can from the scene. "Why can't you locate him?"
"He's rerouting to a different I.P. address every 30 seconds," Garcia explains, her voice thick through the tears. "I can't track him."
***
The screens shut off and the video feed of Spencer is gone. Penelope starts frantically typing away at the keyboard, likely in an effort to regain the signal, but it doesn't seem to be working.
Your body feels heavy, like there are weights on all of your limbs. Realistically, you know it's mostly the stress and exhaustion, but you can't stop thinking about the frightened look on Reid's face and how he must be feeling.
When you walk back through the house, the sound of a hushed argument in the kitchen catches your attention.
"JJ, what do you want from me?"
You recognize Morgan's voice, and you almost turn away to give them some privacy, but something in JJ's voice as she responds keeps you at the door.
"I just...I want someone to tell me the truth."
"The truth is one of you is here, and one of you isn't. You gotta figure the rest out for yourself."
You're walking inside before you can stop yourself. "Morgan, go help Penelope with the video file."
He looks surprised when he sees you, but he doesn't argue before leaving the room.
JJ rakes a hand through her hair as you approach her slowly. She doesn't shy away as you stand next to her, so you reach out and squeeze her forearm once before pulling back. "I was terrified when Frank took me in Texas."
She looks up with a shocked expression, her eyes finally meeting yours for the first time all day.
"I was terrified," you repeat, "but I never lost hope, because I knew you guys would come for me, no matter what."
Her eyes crinkle with sorrow and you pat her arm again, almost as much for you as for her. "I didn't blame anyone for what happened to me, JJ. Reid isn't blaming you either."
Her lip trembles, and you pull her into a hug as the tears finally come.
***
"Your team members...choose one to die."
Spencer gasps on the grainy computer monitor. "Kill me."
"Tell me who dies."
"No."
The back and forth continues as Hankel stalks toward him and lines his revolver up with Reid's forehead. "Choose."
"I-I choose Aaron Hotchner."
The room stills.
"He's a classic narcissist. He thinks he's better than everyone else on the team. Genesis 23:4. 'Let him not deceive himself and trust in emptiness, vanity, falseness, and futility, for these shall be his recompense. In emptiness, vanity, falseness, and futility, for these shall be his recompense.'"
Reid's words sink in and you unconsciously reach towards Hotch, but he's already walking out of the room. You follow him into the other room, the rest of the team on your heels.
"I'm not a narcissist," he says, his voice lighter than you're expecting. He grabs a Bible from the table and quickly flips through it, landing on the verse Reid mentioned.
"Come on, look," Gideon urges. "You can't think anything from that. He's not in his right mind, Hotch."
He waves away everyone's concern. "No. Stop. Stop. All right, everybody right now- what's my worst quality?"
No one says anything. You can feel Morgan revving up, so you jump in to start things off. "You're a workaholic."
Your mind flashes back to your hometown's library, all the late nights where you would fall asleep in your chair as he worked away into the early hours of the morning. His home was a trigger after his father died, and you could see the guilt eating away at him as he realized he didn't miss his dad as much as he was supposed to. As much as Sean did. The guilt that wore him down as he struggled to figure out how to be there for his brother, when he couldn't understand his pain.
He nods at you then, and there's nothing but determination behind his eyes.
"You're a bully," JJ chimes in.
Morgan adds, "You can be a drill sergeant sometimes."
Hotch is still nodding. "Right."
"You don't trust women as much as men," Emily says, her voice wavering slightly.
"Ok, good," he says, tapping the page with his finger. "I'm all these things, but none of you said that I ever put myself above the team, because I don't, ever."
"Hotch, what's your point," you whisper, chewing your lip as you anxiously glance back at the screen.
He shushes you with a wave of his hand. "Reid and I argued about the definition of classic narcissism, and he knew that I would remember that, and he also quoted Genesis, chapter 23, verse 4. Read it."
You lean forward, taking the book from him. "'I am a stranger and a sojourner with you. Give me property, forbear a place among you that I may bury my dead out of my sight.'"
"He wouldn't get it wrong unless it was on purpose."
"Bury my dead," Morgan repeats, his eyes widening. "He's in a cemetery."
***
Hotch heads to the nearest cemetery with Morgan and Gideon, while you follow closely behind, with JJ in the seat next to you and Emily in the back. The drive is short, and you all throw yourselves out of the SUV when you park, as everyone spreads out to search the cemetery.
"Come with me," you tell JJ when you see her eyes flit around the darkness, a slightly panicked expression on her face. "We'll find him."
The wet mulch of the graveyard sinks under your quick footsteps, and you keep your eyes peeled as his name choruses around you, from all of the officers milling around.
The search ends with the sound of a gunshot, and when you get to the source, you nearly collapse with the relief of seeing Hankel on the ground as Reid kneels beside him.
"Spencer," you gasp as the other agents examine Hankel's body. He looks up at the sound of your voice and his face contorts for a second as you kneel in front of him.
A small sound leaves his mouth and suddenly your arms are crushing him to you, your panic ebbing away with the rapid rise and fall of his chest. "You're okay. You're okay."
Hotch reaches out when you break apart and helps him up before Reid pulls him into a tight hug that surprises everyone. "I knew you'd understand."
Hotch tightens his arms for a moment, before they both pull back and JJ throws her arms around Reid. "I'm so sorry."
He pats her back, and for a split second, you can almost imagine he's comforting her, instead of the other way around. "It's all right. It wasn't your fault."
She steps away from him and he asks for a moment alone, so you all move back a few paces, allowing him the time to come to terms with the death of the man who somehow both tortured and saved him. You use the second of space to catch your breath as you will yourself not to let the tears of relief fall.
When Spencer finally stands up, you grab onto his shoulder as he wraps his arm around you, and you help him over to the ambulance that is waiting by the edge of the cemetery.
"Thank you," you gasp as he sits on the edge of the vehicle, suddenly unable to help yourself.
He frowns, his hair hanging in sweaty pieces in front of his face. "For what?"
"For staying alive."
***
The next case takes you to New York, where you find yourself hyper-vigilant as you watch Spencer try to acclimate to the job again. You can't help but notice the small changes in his demeanor, including the snappiness in his tone as he responds to everyone's questions, but you attribute it to the shock of his kidnapping.
After returning from the city, you decide to take some time to complete the paperwork you've been letting slide. Hotch managed to head home at a decent hour for once, and JJ and Prentiss are no where to be seen, but you spot Morgan twiddling his thumbs at his desk, his eyes darting over to peer at Reid almost as often as yours do.
An hour into scribbling out a case report, you head over to the coffee station to refill your mug. It has cooled down since you made it a couple of hours ago, but it still tastes just how you like it.
Burnt, Hotch's voice grumbles in your head. Even when he's gone, he won't leave you alone.
Topping off your mug, you turn around to get back to work and end up bumping into Reid, who looks worse for wear than he did on the jet.
"Shit, sorry," you smile, trying to get him to meet your eye. "I didn't see you there."
"Watch where you're going," he snaps, before stepping around you.
You don't let him get away that easily. Grabbing his arm, you hold him in place as he tries to wriggle away. "Spencer, don't do that. You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"
"I'm fine," he says simply, his expression almost emotionless as he glances back at you over his shoulder.
"I'm serious," you say, putting extra emphasis on your words. "I know what you're feeling. I can help."
His expression shifts into one of animosity and something else you can't place. "You don't know anything about what I'm feeling."
His words are like a slap to the face, and he uses your break in focus to tug himself out of your grip and stalk over to the bathroom around the corner.
You press your lips together, willing yourself not to take it personally. He's just been through a horrifying ordeal. No one can expect him to continue on like normal, at least for a little while.
"Something is up with him," Morgan says from his desk, before spinning in his chair to look at the spot where Reid walked away. "He's acting...hostile."
"He's just adjusting," you say quickly, your protective instinct coming out in full force. You close your eyes for a moment to calm your voice down. "This is a normal reaction for what he went through."
Derek doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't press the issue. You don't even know if you're convincing yourself, because you know why this kind of hostility and irritation manifests: when you're hiding something.
You weren't a particularly crazy teenager, so you didn't have much to hide from your parents, but there was one secret you held until you left for college that manifested in your daily interactions. One secret that changed how you acted around your best friend, how you spoke to him, how you even looked at him.
You push the thought away before turning to stare at the bathroom door as it falls shut behind Reid. You know Morgan's right. You just don't know what to do.
***
"Hey, Reid," Derek says, looking at him with a small smile. "What's going on up there?"
He shrugs. "Just thinking of this old friend of mine from Las Vegas, Ethan. Pretty sure he lives in New Orleans now."
JJ called you at home a few hours ago with the briefing and an instruction to pack for warm weather. Wanting to pack light, you threw on the tank top you planned to wear, and a button-down for the flight. A few cursory glances around the jet tell you that almost everyone else had the same idea. Of course, Hotch is still in his suit, and Reid has on a sweater vest that you're sure he won't take off, even if the temperature skyrockets.
"Really?" Derek asks. "You going to give him a call?"
Reid shrugs again, and you absentmindedly wonder if his shoulders hurt from the number of times he has used that motion over the past week. "We grew up competing against each other in absolutely everything. Spelling bees, science fairs. We also both had our hearts set on joining the Bureau but first day at Quantico he backed out."
Emily, who is sitting next to you, looks up with a grin. "He probably just couldn't take the heat."
"It's not really for us to judge, is it?" Reid states, and her face falls immediately.
"Right. My bad."
He hasn't been as irritable in recent days, but sometimes a random response will rub him the wrong way. You find Emily's hand on the armrest and squeeze it once. She looks down at her hand and then at you, a grateful smile on her face.
JJ directs everyone back to the images that were recovered as you approach Louisiana.
"A slaughter like this takes time," you note as you examine the depth and shape of the wounds on the dead man in the photos before you.
"Andrei Chikatilo fantasized that the men he killed were his captives," Reid adds, chiming in from across the cabin, "and that torturing and mutilating them somehow made him a hero."
Gideon nods, looking up from his file. "This city's barely back to life. Something like this could cripple its psyche."
"So," you say, looking at JJ. "Where do we start?"
She sighs. "All of the records were washed away in Katrina."
"With no case files, there's only one place we can start," Hotch says, drawing your attention. "Square one."
The plane lands soon after, and you disembark into the midday heat, heading to the latest crime scene immediately after dropping your bags off at the station.
Instead of a body, there's a very alive man waiting for you all at the scene.
"You must be BAU," he says, reaching out to shake JJ's hand. "Will Lamontagne."
She smiles at him, accepting the handshake. "Hi, Jennifer Jareau,
we spoke on the phone."
The detective is looking at her so intently, you almost feel like you're interrupting something by bring here. "Okay, then. I pictured you different."
You glance over at Emily, who is already looking at you, a smirk on her face.
"These are Agents Gideon, Morgan, Prentiss, and L/N," she introduces. "This is Detective William Lamontagne Jr."
He nods at you. "Appreciate you guys being here."
"Of course," you say, trying to keep the smile off your face as you shake his hand. Beside you, JJ has turned a light shade of mauve that you presently allow her to pretend is just from the heat.
***
"Morgan called," Hotch mentions when you finally meet him back at the station. He hasn't seen you since you got off the plane. "He and Prentiss think the unsub is a woman."
You ponder the idea, your eyes lighting up as the gaps in the profile get filled. "All straight male victims, killed while on a night out at the bars. Always in groups of other men, drinking. A woman would be able to lure them away. That makes sense."
He nods, turning back to the letters from the unsub. He's about to call the rest of the team back in when he notices your forehead crinkle out of the corner of his eye. You look up at him. "Wait, you said Prentiss and Morgan think it's a woman. What about Reid? Didn't he fly out with them?"
He sighs, mentally kicking himself for letting that slip. He doesn't want you worrying about Reid any more than you already have been, but he knows there isn't anything he can do to stop you. "Apparently he missed the flight. They couldn't get ahold of him."
"What?" Your brow furrows with concern, and he quickly interjects to keep you from spiraling. "They will be back from Texas any minute now, and Gideon said he spotted Reid heading over here a few minutes before you arrived. Nothing has happened to him."
"What are you talking about?" you exclaim, before bringing your voice down. "The worst thing happened to him. He's hurting more than any of us can possibly imagine. I just don't know how to help him get through it."
He doesn't correct you. He doesn't say that almost every single member of this team can at least somewhat relate to what Reid may be feeling, including you. Instead, he puts his hand on your arm and says, "You're doing all you can."
You sigh. "And what's that?"
"You're promising to be there when he's ready for your help." He sees the tension visibly leave your shoulders, and he pulls his hand back. "That's all any of us can do."
***
When another body is found in the French Quarter, the plan changes. Everyone disperses in pairs to cover the streets in the hopes of catching the unsub in action.
Even as night falls, the temperature doesn't, and you strip off your over-shirt, leaving you in a pale pink tank top. When you emerge from the bathroom, Hotch is the only one waiting for you outside, with all of the other pairs already patrolling Bourbon Street.
He gives you a funny look when he sees you tying your button-down around your waist, and you bump your shoulder against his with a laugh. "What are you looking at?"
He exhales in a quick burst, before meeting your eye. "You look different."
"That doesn't sound good."
"No," he shakes his head, his eyes blinking shut as he clearly regrets his choice of words, "no, it's good...uh, you look good."
Your stomach flips and you turn your face down to hide the smile that's threatening to appear. "Thanks, Hotch."
He huffs out a laugh before leading you up to the bars, where tourists are bustling around in large groups. The sounds of buskers playing their accordions at the street corners loosens a memory from your brain, and you turn to him with a bright smile. "Remember your first performance of Pirates of Penzance?"
He frowns. "I remember it being my first and last foray into the world of theater."
"No," you giggle, glancing around you periodically even as you continue the story. "I mean, do you remember how that one accordion player tripped and almost fell into the orchestra pit like ten minutes into opening night?"
His eyes light up at the memory and he laughs. "I thought it was hilarious, but Haley was so stressed out the whole performance. To this day, I've never seen that vein in her forehead get so big."
"You were pirate number four," you chastise him with a grin. "She was one of the leads. I hardly think you can compare experiences."
He shrugs, his eyes still scanning the vicinity. He looks like he wants to say something, but then you both notice Morgan and Reid rushing towards one of the side streets and your conversation halts. "Let's go."
***
With help from Detective Lamontagne and his late father, the team is able to catch the unsub right before she kills another man. Once she's in custody, you wait outside by the ambulances, watching from afar as JJ and Will talk by his car.
After a few minutes, she hands him something and walks back over to where you're standing. "I can't believe I just did that."
"What did you do?" you ask, trying not to laugh at how freaked out she looks.
She puts her face in her hands for a second, before looking at you with a sigh. "I gave him my number."
"That's good!" you smile, squeezing her arm. "That's good, right?"
"I don't know," she says softly, her eyes squinting as she looks at you. "He seems really sweet. And he's clearly great at his job. I think the distance just worries me."
"You can take it slow," you tell her earnestly. "This doesn't have to be any more serious than you want it to be."
"What if I want it to be serious? Eventually, I mean."
You can't help but smile at the look on her face. You recognize it on yourself from when you first met Jeff: the excitement of possibility. "Then that's up to you too."
She nods, and you let out a smile. "Let loose, JJ. He seems like a good one, and you definitely deserve something good."
JJ glances over at the police cars, where Will is talking to one of the paramedics. "I hope so."
***
You sit by yourself on the flight home, giving yourself a bit of time to unwind from the case. You don't encounter female unsubs often, but the ones that arise always have a tendency to get under your skin. Maybe it's because their motivations seem so different from the others. Or maybe you just feel bad for them.
You're so zoned out that you don't realize Spencer is sitting next to you until he taps your arm. "Hey."
"Hey, Spence," you smile, trying to keep your tone light so he doesn't think you expect too much. "What's up?"
He looks down for a beat before meeting your eyes. "I'm sorry."
Your heart twists and you press your lips together to keep from speaking too quickly. "You never have to apologize to me."
"I do," he says, shaking his head. "Please just let me."
He looks so strong all of a sudden. You haven't seen him look so steady in months, and it makes your chest feel lighter. "Okay. I forgive you, Spencer."
He nods, making a move to get up, but you don't let him get away just yet. "Just promise me something."
He purses his lips, like he's unsure of how to respond, but eventually he dips his chin into another nod.
"Promise me that next time you feel this way, you'll come to me."
He looks at you with an expression you can't decipher, but it quickly falls into contrition. "I promise."
***
"What are you thinking about?" Hotch's shoulder bumps yours as he sits down on the edge of the desk next to you.
"Nothing," you say quickly. He's not sure why you're lying. He can sniff out your dishonesty from a mile away.
"I thought you and Reid got a chance to talk on the plane last week," he frowns, following your line of sight.
You sigh, turning your gaze away from the younger agent. "We did. I just keep thinking about what he said about the unsub at the last scene."
He's like a drug addict.
It would be almost impossible for him to quit without help.
"All of us knew," he says softly, his eyes turning up, searching for something he can't see. "To some extent, we knew. But he's doing a lot better now. We just have to give him time to trust us with the truth."
Your eyes find his. "How did you know you could trust me? When we were kids, I mean?"
Your question takes him aback. He wants to say something profound, to mention a specific moment when he realized that he could share the worst parts of his life with you without the fear that the world would end, but it wasn't that poetic. All he knows is that you were a kid, and he was too, and the first time you saw the splotches of black and blue painting his skin, you didn't turn away. You looked at him, not with pity or sorrow, but with a strength that he still draws from to this day. "I think I just knew you would always be there."
You ponder his words, your eyes traveling back to Reid, who is flipping through a book he brought with him. He knows there are a lot of ways you could take what he said, but he believes you'll take what you need, because he was telling the truth.
You really were always there for him. Even when you weren't - either because of physical distance or because you were in a fight - he never doubted that you would be there if he needed you.
"Come on," he says after a beat. "Let's head back."
You nod, your mind still a million miles away. "Okay."
***
Friday nights used to be your date night. Jeff would promise to be home by seven, usually with a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers, and you would cook something special together before watching a movie or falling into bed.
After he died, Friday nights became your least favorite time of the week, serving as a constant reminder of what you should have, and no longer do.
Today, for the first time in over two years, you think you might be ready to remember those nights you used to love. Grabbing a bottle of cabernet from your pantry, you pull out a thin-stemmed glass and pour yourself some wine. Your heart thuds heavily as you swirl the wine around, and you are willing yourself to bring the glass to your lips when your pager goes off. You feel a shameful sense of relief as you set your glass down and reach for your purse.
181 Arthur Street. Why does that look familiar?
You wrack your brain for a second before it clicks. It takes you less than a minute to toss your wine into the sink and grab your coat.
***
"Where's Gideon?" you ask when you spot Hotch and the team standing in his kitchen.
"He's not here," he replied. "It seems he left in a hurry."
Morgan looks at him with an urgency you recognize in yourself. "PD thinks he did this?"
"They have six witnesses who saw him running down the street covered in blood, wielding a gun."
"Okay, he was probably chasing the son of a bitch who did do this."
Hotch shrugs, and you can feel the momentary helplessness in the motion. "Either way, we're under strict orders not to get in the way
of the investigation."
"Gideon's a suspect," Emily nods, "we're his colleagues."
"Conflict of interest," JJ agrees. "There's no way they'll ask for our help."
"Which he needs badly right now."
You turn into the bedroom to look at the crime scene for the first time. The mutilation of the victim's body brings a familiar nausea to your stomach that you swallow down. "Do we know who she is?"
Hotch comes in behind you. "An old school friend." He turns back to spout off a list of instructions to JJ, but you can't take your eyes off of the woman.
Evisceration of the torso. Removal of various organs. No defensive wounds.
Something in her hand catches your attention and your eyes flicker down to see what she's clutching. Using one of your gloved hands, you pry open her fist and reveal a broken piece of bone. A rib bone.
"Frank," you whisper, almost to yourself. "It's Frank."
"What did you say?" Morgan asks, stepping up next to you. You unfurl your hand to reveal the bone, and he swears under his breath. He turns around to address the rest of the team. "Frank's back."
After JJ snaps a dozen photos of the crime scene on her phone, you all head out into the night air to regroup and formulate a game plan. You hang behind the team on the walk out, your mind spinning with memories of hands and voices you still see sometimes when you're trying to fall asleep.
"Y/N." Your eyes snap up to Emily's as she strolls alongside you. "You okay?"
She looks sincere, and you find yourself wanting to talk all of a sudden. You nod, heaving out a sigh. "Yeah, it just feels very fresh all over again."
"I can imagine." She takes your hand and gives it a small squeeze. "You can come to me if you need a break from all of it."
She leaves you with an earnest smile, and you realize, not for the first time, how glad you are that she's on the team.
***
You aren't able to save Rebecca Garner this time. Frank kills her, and you once again feel that familiar bitterness of nausea rising in your throat as you see her mutilated body.
When you realize he's going to go after children again, you join Hotch and Morgan as they go to Tracey Belle's house.
"We need a crime scene team," Hotch barks into his comm when the home comes up empty, no trace of anyone inside.
"That's my house!"
You turn around and see Tracey's parents running up to the entrance, panic reflected in their eyes.
Hotch steps forward to block them. "Mr. Belle..."
"You have to let us in. My daughter's in there."
He turns to the mother. "Ma'am, you can't go in right now."
"Where's Tracy? Where is she?"
You can see the interaction pulling him down, like a ship anchored to the sea floor.
"What's important to know right now is Tracy is alive, okay? Your daughter's alive."
S.W.A.T. takes the parents aside to explain the situation to them in more detail, and you go to Hotch's side as a pained expression crosses his face. More than anything, you want to comfort him. To tell him that Tracey isn't Jack, that this won't happen to him...but how can you?
Gideon's girlfriend was murdered tonight. Jeff was killed while undercover. Your mother was killed by a drunk driver. No one is ever really safe.
Your eyes flash back over to Mr. and Mrs. Belle, and your chest tightens almost uncontrollably as you imagine how scared Tracey must be.
When Emily and JJ find Jane in a holding cell at the local precinct, her knowledge of Frank's backstory provides more clues about his whereabouts. You go with JJ and Reid to his mother's apartment in Manhattan, while the rest of the team heads to the train station to find Frank.
The idea of Tracey being all alone, frightened for her life, plagues your every thought as the three of you drive to the city. You try to clear your mind as you push through the front door and check for any sign of life. Instead, what you find is the dusty corpse of Frank's late mother.
"Guys, over here." Reid points to a latched door. Stepping around the bed, you immediately unlock the door and throw it open, revealing the tiny, shivering form of Tracey.
"Oh, sweetie," you gasp as sits up in fright, her posture only relaxing once she sees the FBI vests. "You're okay, honey."
You undo the ties on her wrists and she all but falls forward and into your arms. You pull her into a tight hug, making sure to be careful of any possible injuries she could have sustained. The feeling of her chest rising and falling against yours brings you a familiar comfort, and you squeeze her tighter, before finally letting go.
***
He finds himself in Strauss's office again as he explains what happened with the Frank case. How he killed himself and Jane, but he can't bring himself to take that as a failure, because he knows she never would've found the strength to leave him anyway. "Once again, the team has battled a monster and won."
"The future of the BAU is not in the balance here." Her eyes are brimming with scorn. "The residual impact as a result of the investigations into the crimes and criminals you pursue is. Every cause has its effect."
He almost scoffs. "You think I don't know that?"
"I believe you are no longer effective in your post."
There it is. He knows she never liked the way he handled his team. The next words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. "The modern furniture, strategically placed magazines, the framed diplomas, the art on the wall are all in conflict with your family photos."
Her eyes widen but he just continues, undeterred.
"You have three children, but you favor the middle one, your son."
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Of course you love all your children," he shrugs, "but not like your son."
Strauss twists her hand into a fist. "That's enough."
"The bonsai that you obsessively nurture is to compensate for feelings of failure as a mother..."
"Agent Hotchner," she says, her voice bordering on rage. "I said that is enough. My position is not in question here. As your superior I am questioning your ability to lead your team."
"My team?" he scoffs, unable to keep the malice from his tone. "Let me tell you about my team. Agent Morgan fought to protect his identity from the very people who could save him. Why? Because trust has to be earned and there are very few people he truly trusts.
"Reid's intellect is a shield which protects him from his emotions and at the moment his shield is under repair.
"Prentiss overcompensates because she doesn't yet feel she's a part of the team. She needn't worry.
"Every day, Agent Jareau fields dozens of requests for our team. And every night she goes home hoping she's made the right choices.
"Garcia fills her office with figurines and color to remind herself to smile as the horror fills her screens.
"Agent Gideon in many ways is damned by his profound knowledge of others, which is why he shares so little of himself. Yet he pours his heart into every case we handle.
"And Agent L/N," he pauses finally, taking a moment to find himself again, "she has taken the immense loss that life has handed to her and transformed it, not into cynicism, but into empathy, for her team, for the victims, for the world."
Strauss doesn't say anything, and he can't help the vindication that shines through his voice as he says, "I stand by my actions and I stand by my team. And if you think that you can find a better person for the job, good luck."
"Agent Hotchner," she emphasizes, making him look back at her one last time.
"How do I know you favor your son?"
She simply looks at him, a mixture of irritation and shame on her face.
"I'm good at my job."
***
"What's wrong?" Hotch looks up in surprise as you sidle up next to him. He was staring at the portrait of the FBI director, hanging in the hallway outside the bullpen, and he only does that when he's professionally stressed.
He looks like he wants to avoid the question, but you fix him with a glare that makes him sigh. "We're being evaluated."
"Doesn't that happen every year?" you ask, still not understanding.
"It's six months early."
You take a deep breath. This past year has been tough for everybody, but you think the team has come through the other side better people. "So they're assessing our unit. It'll be fine, we did great work this year."
"The only file they didn't request was mine."
That sends a spike of anxiety through your bloodstream, but he doesn't need your fear. "They could never fire you. You stepped up to the plate when Gideon left. You helped make this unit what it is."
You're the reason I joined at all, you want to say. You made this unit my family. I can't imagine being here without you.
But that isn't fair. He doesn't need to carry this with you. This burden of having no one else.
So instead you just smile at him, bump his shoulder with yours, and say, "You're going to be fine. This team wouldn't be the same without you."
TAGLIST: @citrusiove, @distortionbobble, @sanayikes
(message me to be added!)
Hi all! so, this is actually a birthday gift to a beautiful friend and mutual who has been struggling recently. I heard him say that Aaron would not be proud of him at this very point in time, and well. I just couldn’t disagree more. So! That sparked this. I hope all of you reading can hear the message I originally intended to shine through the words. <3 And Happy Birthday, Casper!!!!! @softhairedhotch
word count: 3,400.
THIS IS HEAAAAAAVY ON THE HURT AND HEAVY ON THE COMFORT SO PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS!
This fic contains: graphic depictions of depression/depressing imagery. Brief mentions of alcoholism/alcohol as a coping mechanism. Some allusions to suicidal thoughts and loneliness/bullying. Mentions of reader shaving and accidental cuts (no mentions of where on their body). Mentions of caffeine consumption.*
*not tagging due to the heavy themes in this particular fic, I don't want to pressure anyone into reading if they aren't completely comfortable*
Numb. The only way to describe the way you’ve been feeling, or rather, unfeeling lately. What you know to have been weeks, feels like months, could have been years stretching on and on feeling this way. You have, of course had moments of joy and happiness, seemingly outnumbered by those where you’ve felt a kind of misery seeping in through the windows at night, staining your carpet with its seething despair. You’ve been trying and trying and trying to avoid it, standing on the furniture as it rises and rises. Now you must be clinging to your raised curtain like a cat, trying still to escape the dreary fog.
Of course, you wake up every morning, noticing there is no stain at all. The sunny daylight bleaches every fiber in sight and washes away all your signs of last night’s struggle. You turn off your blaring alarm, wipe a restless sleep from your eyes and have to get on with your day. Every. Damn. Day. You throw on your uniform and you begin the endless trudge to Quantico. You can’t help but look around on your long commute, wondering if every other train passenger feels the same way you do. You see the same faces appearing time and time again, expressionless on their way to their same mind numbing 9 to 5. But surely, not everybody feels this weighed down. Not everybody feels like their boots are packed with lead and every step is in the wrong direction. They can’t all have been pushed to their last limit, violating every rule they set for themselves because they just can’t deny themselves a moment’s pleasure. A moment’s reprieve in a world that is otherwise frankly draining.
Looking around, you note the absence of a particular man you’ve labelled Hat Guy. Until two days ago, you saw this man every morning on the same commute. He’ll often share a row with Newspaper Dude and sit in their comfortable silence. They never greet each other, though. In fact, you wonder if any of these people find the same brimming sense of familiarity and calm that you feel seeing the same faces each day. Actually, do any of them even know you? Would they notice if you stopped riding this train? If you were here every day for the past who knows how many months and then you weren’t?
Luckily, that crisis is cut off by the shrill sound of the doors grating open, you’re finally at your stop. You pick up your daily energy drink from the corner store before beginning your short hike to Quantico’s FBI Headquarters. Greeting the guards at the security checkpoint, you’re predictably asked to remove your bag and belt, putting your drink aside while you make your way through the scanners. The metal alarm sounds as you rush to explain to the guards you have a plate in your arm from an injury as a child. The guards seem equally surprised by this every day. Every day the same. You’re starting to wonder if you’re actually living the plot of groundhog day as the younger, more by-the-books guard picks up the metal detector wand, waving it over your body ‘Just to be sure’. You narrowly avoid telling him, like every single morning. that you’re quite literally one of a few people entering this building without a gun on your hip. There are about a thousand armed agents he should be more concerned with than you.
You take the elevator up to the sixth floor, barely needing to glance ahead of you to know the path towards the BAU doors like the back of your hand. You push through the doors, the ever predictable Dr Reid being the first to turn and notice your figure trudging past his desk.
“Morning.” He offers you a tight lipped smile as you note that he’s never even greeted you by name. If he didn’t have an eidetic memory you’d be convinced he didn’t know it.
“Morning, Reid.” You offer him a similarly forced little smile as you trudge by the other familiar faces of your coworkers, all too absorbed in their work or in quite literally anything more interesting than you, you suppose. You set down your things with a sigh, shedding your jacket over the chair and looking over to see your three fellow evidence technicians deep in conversation, all sat around your ex-partner’s desk, laughing about how much they enjoyed going out for karaoke with the team’s field agents last night. None of them seem to notice your presence as you wake your computer and start rummaging through your desk drawers for your notepad, yesterday’s nearly finished evidence logs, pens and a calculator.
One of your peers laughs so hard at a joke the infamous Derek Morgan made that she tips backwards, her hand flying out to catch her as it collides with the cold metal of your energy drink, spilling it all over your desk. The fizzy liquid quickly soaks into the loose pages of your entire week’s work as you just watch the can gulp more and more sticky drink over your things. You raise your hands to your head, taking a moment to breathe and tell yourself that you can redo the work. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. Things can be replaced. It’s just useless. Seriously, what’s the point of trying anyway if everything is just ruined in the end? This is always the way it goes. You feel before you see the now empty can picked up and placed gently into the wastebasket by your desk, a long set of legs planting two shiny soles beside your chair as a throat clears, loudly beside you.
The room comes to a grinding halt, your coworkers piling off the desks around yours, clambering to their feet to face their very unimpressed boss.
“Agent Summers.” You hear a cold but familiar tone directed at the particular ass which collided with your morning caffeine.
“Yes? Um, sir.” She stutters, clearly surprised to be greeted at 9:02 sharp with such a directed reprimand.
“Clean this mess up, please. This is furniture, not a playground. We don’t go swinging beverages over important documents. Although, I expect since you and your colleagues were meeting in your paid hours, you guys can come up with some plan to make up for this lost work? I trust you can make out which documents you just carelessly ruined on your own?”
“U-Um, yes, sir. I’m sure we can, We can fix these-” She began peeling the dripping messes of paper off the desk as Agent Hotchner carefully wheeled your chair back just out of the splash zone.
“Good. And don’t let this happen again.” He gave one last icy stare to the group of fools you once called friends as he carefully moved a hand to your shoulder. He bent down closer to you as his tone turned to one of delicate care. “Come with me.” He offered you a very neutral, soft expression as you pulled yourself to your feet, willing to just move one in front of the other, like always, and stay calm. Whatever he’s about to hit you with, you probably deserve it.
It’s worth noting that you and Agent Hotchner had been in a sort of dance for months now, both of you had clearly been harbouring feelings for one another but each time one of you took a small step forwards, the other was nearly sent flying back. It was torture. His unwillingness to just be seen as even a little bit unprofessional even once in his life made it impossible to read him as anything other than neutral, if not even a little off-put by your continued presence in his life. Your building anxiety over his indeterminable feelings for you eventually led to the mounds of dead weight you’re now forced to carry with you day to day. The notion you weren’t enough for him to risk his reputation for and the nagging feeling that he only ever did what was right or polite of him to do towards you, and no feelings ever really existed for you continues to burn your throat where your loving words had once died trying to work their way to him. In any case, you’ve been actively avoiding him ever since your strong feelings of regret towards him began following you around like a bad smell.
You follow him up the stairs to his office where his blinds are already drawn, his hand resting on the door as he allows you in before shutting it behind you. You walk towards the chairs opposite his desk, ready to be fired honestly for someone finally noticing your sluggish and lazy work ethic these past few months, only to be stopped in your tracks.
“Not there. Over here, please.” You turn and see Aaron gesturing to the small couch by the window. You take a seat, pointedly staring at your now stained work pants as you feel Hotch lower himself onto the couch next to you. You sit for a moment, hand fiddling with the seam of your pants at your side while you await your doomed fate.
“Y/N. Please, try to look at me when I say this.” Your head turns towards the more seasoned agent, but your eyes stay glued on your reflection in his overpolished shoes. “I’m worried about you.” You’re caught off guard by this, fully expecting the reprimand of the century for your lackluster job performance. You turn to him fully now, a frown pulling at your features as you try to think of what to say next.
“You mean… like, worried about my job performance, or?” He doesn’t care. Mister professional, mister perfectly fine can only care about one thing and it’s this unit.
“No. I mean you. Come on, Y/N. You think a seasoned FBI Profiler can’t notice when somebody is clearly struggling?” You resent that he had to say clearly, as if all of your efforts to hide your anguish and your pain have been for nothing, if it’s as clear as day anyway. “I don’t say this just to hurt you. I want to help you. I’ve seen you shrugging off every person who tries getting close to you recently, and I don’t want to let that happen here. I can’t let you push me away.” The gentle tone of Aaron’s voice drifting through the narrow space between the two of you almost moved you to tears. His offer to help you hanging in the air while you took a deep breath, trying to keep the beads in your eyes at bay.
“I don’t know how to fix this, Hotch. Even if I wanted to let you help. Everything I’ve tried has only made this worse. I can’t get out. I come close but then each time I think I have a handle on my senses, I end up sinking further from the surface again.” You hear your boss actually take an audible gulp. His throat is tightening hearing you admit you’ve been struggling this much. The way your voice keeps wavering mid sentence is making his chest feel tight. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep treading water, Aaron. I’m tired. I’m so, so tired. There’s just no end to this.” You bury your head in your hands, only when your palms meet your cheeks do you realise they’re wet with tears you’ve held back for too long. The dam has burst.
“You start by admitting you’re not okay. You start by talking to a friend, or even just someone you can bear, and you admit that one person cannot move this mountain alone. You just did that.” A warm hand lands on your shaking shoulder as you move to sit more upright again, finally turning to look at the kind soul seated next to you. ‘Someone you can bear’ you note that this must be the sentiment aaron thinks he holds in your mind. God you’ve made such a mess of things. “It’s hard. I can’t pretend that reaching the other side of this is easy, or even that it’s fast… or linear. There are a dozen ups and downs and it’s so so slow going, but one day, you look up and it dawns on you that you haven’t been carrying such a weight around for a while. You realise it’s lifted. Little by little, without you even knowing, it got better… It does get better, Y/N. It did for me, at least.”
You face the older man fully now, searching those deep, soulful eyes of his for the slightest hint that he’s lying. That he’s making this up just so you won’t stop treading water.
“And I was like you. I won’t lie. I thought I was handling it, and I was handling it, and even as I lost my handle on it, I refused to let people in. To let them even see how bad things were. I couldn’t face my own employees knowing they’d seen me so weak or so vulnerable. I thought they’d all be disappointed to learn their unshakeable unbreakable boss was exactly as terrified and shattered as a person can be. But, you start with a conversation, and then you start changing the way you talk to yourself. The way you treat yourself. If we treated ourselves half as well as we’re willing to treat other people, I really think we’d live an awful lot longer. Fuller lives, too. But, I digress. I just wanted to say that I’m in no way disappointed in you. In fact I’m proud of you. Every day, no matter how bad you’ve been feeling, you have walked through that door and you have tried, even for a second, greeting this unit with a smile. Every day you’ve tried. Even if there was a whiff of alcohol on your breath from the long night before, or if you had to take home half your work for the day, trying to complete a respectable amount even though your brain is so clouded with shit that you can’t even find the lead end of a pencil. Even the mornings you’ve come in with fresh nicks and cuts from shaving yourself with shaking hands. I have been proud of you. You’ve never quit trying.”
You swear you must be staring at Aaron like he has three heads by now. He saw everything. He saw right through you, all of your greatest faults and flaws, and he felt… pride? You feel a gasp rip through your chest, your now thick lens of tears in your eyes making it hard to tell if this is a dream, finally, the sweet dreams you’ve been hoping would interrupt the endless cacophony of hurt you’ve felt every night as you tossed and turned in restless sleep. Aaron’s weight shuffles closer to you on the couch as he moves to wrap his arms around you. Seeing your trembling form blubber beside him was beginning to make his chest physically ache as he saw himself in you. He thinks maybe that’s why he’s so inclined to help you. You helped him. The part of his story he didn’t disclose, was that the moment he realised the weight had long since left his shoulders, was the same moment he saw you setting down your things at a desk in the bullpen. Your quirked smile as you bounced from foot to foot, shaking your new colleagues hands had cut through the ashy gray of his known world like a beam of light. He had only then noticed that his back had stopped aching from carrying all of his grief with him.
Right now, he pulls you into him as your fists ball in his neatly pressed shirt in the back, his cupped hand finds the back of your head and he instinctively rocks a little, side to side, his hand smoothing over your mess of hair so gently. The two of you feel yourselves drifting slowly apart from the flow of time as you sit there, heart to heart. All of your months of stress and heartache and dread finally move away from the forefront of your mind, drawn to the back for once, out of the spotlight. You can’t help but wonder if Aaron’s hand is a magnet for negative thoughts, but surely that is a thing of fiction. His smoothing motions over your slowing mind sure are dulling the terror and sadness that usually run rampant through your every synapse, though. Your mind feels almost clear when you pull back from Aaron, sniffling and removing your hands from his now very wrinkled, tear stained shirt as his arms loosen their hold around you.
“I’m sorry, I-”
“Don’t be. You are more important to me. Okay?”
“Okay… then can I at least apologise for being such an ass every time you tried asking me out?” You look at the wonderful, sensitive, caring man before you and cross your every finger, toe and hair follicle that he’ll let you express your regret for the way you acted towards him. He clearly doesn’t deserve to be treated so hot and cold.
“Pfft, only if you let me apologise for your probable whiplash the morning I scolded you for trying to take everyone’s coffee orders in a classified briefing right after I’d told you I had feelings for you the night before. I think I was trying to appear impartial to you but I very, very badly overcompensated and swung the other way towards disdain. If anyone should apologise for you not meeting me on the roof for dinner, it’s me. That was my own doing.”
“Wait, that was you going for impartial? You threatened to charge me with Unauthorised Disclosure if you saw me even blink at Morgan’s open casefile again.” Now it’s Hotch’s turn to bring his hands to his face and groan.
“God. Maybe impartial isn’t my strong suit. Actually, maybe dating isn’t my strong suit. But, dating or not, I really want to make sure you have someone in your corner for this. Even if you’d rather that’s Garcia, or, or Rossi. I just need to know you’re not alone. That you know you’re far from alone.”
“I think you’re about the only person who’s been able to draw me out of my own head in months, Aaron. I really think you’re the best person for me to turn to here. Besides, it sounds like however far you’ve come since you were, um, treading water, you could maybe use somebody in your corner too. I’d like to do that for you.” You only notice now that the other agent had let go of you completely when he relented his role to the other agents in the unit. You make the move this time to be the one to put a warm hand on Aaron’s shoulder. Letting him know he’s also not alone. “Deal?” You offer your spare hand for him to shake. You think for a moment you catch sight of the stone-faced agent’s chin wobbling as he steadies himself in your grasp and moves to hold your hand, not shaking it. Interlacing both of your fingers between your laps where your bodies are exchanging the same warmth.
“Deal” He offers you a shaky smile, letting a moment pass before he turns, checking the blinds are still closed and that time isn’t really at a standstill since you two fused with this couch. “Now, let me try look up what can get Mango Loco Monster out of cotton workpants.” He stands, moving to his desk too swiftly to peel open his laptop. You don’t miss the moment where he brings a knuckle up to his eye, wiping a stray tear onto his own pants as he rounds the desk.
In that moment, you decide that you don’t particularly care if none of the other commuters, none of the other evidence technicians or even the field agents know you exist or notice your absence. You know now more than ever that you’re not nearly as alone as you thought you were. Once Aaron Hotchner is in your corner, he’s immovable. Destined to remind you that you’re worthy of love and of pride, even in your darkest moments. And you, in his.
banners custom designed by @ssaahthings please do not copy without permission from the artist. <3 thank you.
jade i am begging on my knees ….. any time you are up for it …… it would make me very greatly happy to see something with a bombshell!reader x hotch <33333
The office is hot today in the midst of a ninety degree summer, and your coworkers have been forced to strip down to their lightest layers, the women in linen blouses, men with their shirt sleeves rolled up high. Spencer has ditched his sweater vest reluctantly, cooling himself with a makeshift fan fashioned from printer paper, and Emily huffs next to you at her desk, overwhelmed.
“How aren't you hot?” she demands to know.
You lean back in your chair with a demure smile. “Mind over matter.”
She rolls her eyes. “I shouldn't have asked.”
Hotch's office door opens. You turn in your chair to watch him appear —even Unit Chief's get hot, apparently. He looks flustered in the heat, pink-cheeked and hair skewed ever so slightly, the most unmade you've ever seen him at work.
You could get used to it.
He feels you looking, narrowing his eyes. You'd like to think it was playful. For Hotch, it is.
“Hot, handsome,” you say.
“I'm fine.”
“I wasn't asking.” You beam at him.
“Enough. You know the rules.”
He doesn't seem too mad, but he's right; you know the office rules. Don't flirt, don't start, and don't text him inside of work hours unless that text pertains to work itself. You'd started calling him instead —what are you wearing right now?— and he'd decided that text now meant any communication lest you find another loophole. You're pushing it.
“Ah, the rules,” you say, throwing your arm across your eyes in mock distress, before peeking under it to see if he's watching. He always is. “You know rules aren't made for people like me, handsome.”
“Stop it, final warning. Or I'll have you moved.”
He makes being his girlfriend very difficult. You roll your shoulders and drop the act. “Hey, I need to talk to you about something.”
“Afterwards.”
“No, right now. Please? It's important, I swear.”
He gestures for you to come up. You take the stairs and cross the landing to his office, where he's already stepped back inside to open the window even further on its hinge. There isn't much wind to breeze, but there is a palpable difference between his office and the bullpen. You join him at the window and let the barely cooler air fan your face.
“What's wrong?” he asks.
“Can you give me a quick kiss? It would really lift my spirits.”
He laughs somewhere deep in his chest. “No, honey. Now tell me what you wanted to tell me.”
“I have a doctor's appointment next week, on the 13th. It's a Wednesday. I was hoping for PTO, but I can take a sick day if that's not agreeable.”
Hotch gives you the side eye, brows gently furrowed. “Everything okay?”
“Wouldn't you like to know.”
“I would, actually.”
“Yeah, well, you'll have to beg for it. Not everything in life is free, Hotchner–” You break into laughter as he grabs your waist, not expecting it, your hips tender as he squeezes. “Ouch, you're kinda handsy, you know that?”
You sound beautiful like this, laughing as you talk, so happy it lines every word. Hotch pulls your front to his, arms crossing casually behind your back, his eyes expectant. “Tell me,” he commands smoothly.
“Because you asked so nicely, I'm just fine, but I've been feeling a little under the weather. I think I'm anaemic.”
“And this is the first time I'm hearing about this because…”
“Because I'm not allowed to talk to you at work!”
He rolls his eyes as you drop a considerable amount of your weight against his arms. Usually, Hotch would meet your eyes and say, You're punishing me for a rule created out of necessity, or something to that effect, but, despite everything that might say otherwise, he really likes you. Loves you.
“I know, honey, I'm sorry. Maybe we can… allot you a few texts a day.” He analyses your expression. “One a day.”
You squeeze his naked forearm and lift up to kiss his cheek. He stays completely still while you do it, beside the small stroke of his thumb where it rests on your back. “Thank you. I'll leave you alone now, or we might get caught fraternising with one another and lose our jobs. Oh, wait, that's not actually going to happen–”
You burst out laughing as Hotch once again squeezes your waist in warning, the hint of a smile on his lips.
warnings: usual cm things? angst, Aaron being horny again but I doubt that's an issue
a/n: I actually wrote smut in this part but it got so big I had to cut off lmao
Time passed strangely.
The car ride to the station was weird and silent, the elevator was too small, a couple officers looked at you weirdly but you never felt more relieved to be in a police station as you were now. Missing person records were scattered all over the place, set up specifically for your team, the door to the room the BAU had been using was left open, the round table in the middle was surrounded by maps and pictures of possible suspects.
"Oh, hello!" so focused on getting away from Aaron you had failed to realize Derek was watching you since you stepped out of the elevator, "What took you so long, honey?"
"Look who's talking, you are always at least 10 minutes late."
"That's because I got things to do" he smirked and even dared a wink "But you... Are always on time, I got curious that's all."
Opting to answer with a slight slap on his muscled arm, you left him and went to search for some coffee, the constant change in emotions left you dizzy with a foggy brain, your stomach grumbling did not help.
The embarrassing noise it made reminding you that those peanuts you ate for dinner are not actually meant to fill your stomach. Coffee was already being brewed despite not having many officers working this late, you supposed it was probably one of your teammates. There were some packages of food next to an old box of pizza and some napkins, nasty.
A sudden husky voice from the entrance door echoed inside the small room, the speed in which you lifted your head made your tense neck hurt.
"JJ is getting us something to eat, well, something better than..." with 'better' he meant healthier, there was barely any food in there and the only things that were edible did not really seem edible. With a hand gesture he pointed to the package in your hand, to be honest you had picked it up just to try and figure out what it was, not exactly meaning to eat it.
"Good, she always knows what we want." throwing the package back to where it sat before, you leaned on the counter trying to look unaffected, over the years you had mastered the art of having no facial expression, yet, you couldn't hide from the person standing in front of you.
...
He noticed the way you stepped out of the elevator, your head being held high even if your mind seemed to be elsewhere, the minute you two spent side by side in that tiny space seemed to have made your confidence slip. Heading to the meeting room to see Dave he walked past you and Morgan talking, he couldn't hear what was said before but the smirk on Derek's face told him enough-
"That's because I got things to do." spoke that teasing voice he was so familiarized with, making him stop, "But you... Are always on time, I got curious that's all." turning back, he saw the way you glared at the guy, tired and unfocused but with a hint of the flame that always showed when you were being teased, your mouth opened and closed but no words came out, your hand raising slowly to give the man's arm a weak slap, making your way around Derek your feet dragged you towards the kitchen.
His heart felt lighter and his lungs could finally take a deep breath. He knew the relationship you maintained with the team was at maximum, friendship. You were strictly professional and barely ever laughed at the dumb jokes and acts Derek and Emily pulled, holding back your own dumb remarks for an off work time, he had caught a glimpse of it once. At the time he wasn't aware how deep in he was for you so it didn't really affect him the way you threw you body at Emily from laughing too hard, or the way Derek always kept his hands on you, a simple trick to make people think you were unavailable and to keep creepy men away from you, he used that with Garcia too. Unfortunately for Aaron, it worked so well that it even kept himself away from you.
Following you was a decision his heart made and his mind didn't argue with. After what happened tonight he could use some caffeine to keep himself sane, the words you two exchanged seemed to have been said yesterday and not 45 minutes ago.
His phone, which he had found strangely under his go bag, now tucked into his left pocket buzzed twice, the walk to the kitchen was rather small so he stopped to check the messages. Both of them being from JJ and he could already guess what they said.
"Hotch!"
'Don't let anyone eat yet, I'll get us something.' paired with a winking emoji. Good, he didn't think anyone would eat the food here anyway.
He was wrong.
Seeing you with a 'snack' on your hand made his eyebrows go up and the sides of his mouth pull down, you wouldn't... "JJ is getting us something to eat, well, something better than..." his mouth worked fast, you hadn't acknowledged his presence, the slip on your expression when you looked up made him cringe at himself, you looked frightened before staring at him like a blank wall.
He heard your voice and saw your mouth moving but paid no attention to what was being said. He was focused on the way your body leaned on the counter and the way you tried so hard to keep a straight face.
Not knowing what he was supposed to say, he only nodded and walked over to the coffee machine right beside you. Grabbing two cups and filling them without saying anything, you kept watching him, he was close enough that his arm brushed yours a couple times.
"Did you talk to Rossi yet?" your voice was almost a whisper.
"No, not yet." he pushed one of the cups in your direction before mirroring your position against the counter. "Did Derek say anything?" he couldn't stop himself from asking.
"About the case?" he nodded. "No."
"What did he say then?" Oh my god, Aaron.
You laughed, a sarcastic laugh with no actual humor behind.
"Why would I tell you?" you grabbed the cup and left the kitchen.
...
"We thought he was only taking girls, right? But we were wrong, I asked Garcia to take a look at other bodies found in the area because I was sure I had seen something similar. Two young boys were taken a few weeks ago, few days in between and were found dead after three days too. I had seen their pictures and something clicked. The unsub has a type! People who look innocent and small, in general someone who look defenseless you know?" He took some time to place all of the victims pictures on the table.
"We profiled that he was impulsive," his messy hair and fumbling fingers made him look like a crazy magician. "But actually, he's extremely cautious and calculated." his rambling went on for what felt like hours.
"Reid!"
"Sorry, Hotch!" he took a deep breath, "What I'm trying to say is, he's smart. He plans everything twice before acting. He chooses the victims based on their relationship with their partners, all of them had abusive boyfriends, one of the boys was married to a woman twenty years older than him, not that age means anything! But they apparently started dating when he had just turned eighteen..."
"How did we not see that they were all in a abusive relationship?" Emily sounded surprised because normally, relationships is one of the first things to be checked.
"We did." Aaron sighed. "But toxic relationships are unfortunately common enough that we just... ignored it."
"So, what do we do now?" you asked. On the way to the police station you were excited to hear what Spence had figured out, now feeling what was about to come did not ease your anxiety.
"I think some of us are going to have a date tomorrow" damn Dave and his teasing.
"Fortunately not me." Emily said while raising both hands, "I flirted with a psycho last time, I deserve a little break."
"All of them had dark hair..." You could see how JJ was relieved, she was almost always pretty much like the victims, blonde and innocent looking.
"I am too old."
"Oh, now you think you're old?"
"Don't push it, Emily." Dave rolled his eyes before turning to you. "I think you should go, you look innocent and young, dark haired and small."
"Ok, I'll go. Who am I dating?"
"I could go." bless Emily.
"I thought you were taking a break? I'll go, I'm strong and intimidating." Derek ignored her.
"Yeah I think you'd be good at it, considering you basically gaslight all your girlfriends into breaking up with you." Emily laughed.
Aaron was strangely quiet. after you walked into the room and stood behind a chair, he had taken a place right beside you. If you didn't profile people for a living, you'd think nothing of it, but you knew he did it for a deeper reason. Everybody knew you two were sharing a room, and everyone had the tendency to stand close to whoever they roomed with, you two were no different. If he chose a place far away from you like he wanted to, it would be too obvious something had happened.
"I think it's funny how none of us considered Reid." You said. "Maybe we could ask that rookie to help?" you could hear a sigh coming from your side right after the words left your mouth.
"He almost cried when Dave gave him a lesson on how to handle the victims parents, you think he can play your toxic boyfriend?" His voice was slightly raised and the word 'boyfriend' had a mocking tone. From where you were looking at him you could also see Emily and JJ exchanging a look. "I'll do it." Nobody questioned him.
The next couple hours were spent planning and then you two were being sent back to the hotel. In a few hours, after the sun came up, you would probably be going out to pick some clothes, and after that you'd be rehearsing your role. While Aaron would be acting like a complete asshole, you couldn't help but feel some butterflies in your stomach. Fake dating Aaron Hotchner was the closest you'd be to the real thing and if it wasn't for a mission, you would certainly be making the most of it.
When you got inside the room the first thing you did was take your sneakers off and find the shorts you were wearing earlier, going straight to the bathroom to change. You brushed your teeth again and went back intending to ignore Aaron, unfortunately for you, he was sitting on your bed facing the bathroom.
"Can we talk?"
"Now you want to talk? Now?" You weren't yelling, yet.
"Listen, tomorrow it's going to be just me and you alone, I thought it would be best if we talk now."
"I actually think the opposite." you walked to your bed and threw your clothes above your bag, there'll be time to fold it later. "You are going to act like an asshole anyway so if we just continue like this you won't have to pretend." you were now facing him from the end of the bed, he was still in the same position but his neck was bent in a weird way to look at you.
"What do you mean I won't have to pretend?" he raised his voice and turned a leg to rest above the bed. "You actually think I would be like all those fucking idiots?"
"No, I'm just saying it would be easier to not have to pretend this fucking awkward thing between us." if he was raising his voice then you could too, and you did.
"How do you expect me to treat you poorly when I know we're already on bad terms?"
"Aaron, you already did treat me poorly, and in front of everyone! You doubted my profile skills, you questioned my methods in front of other officers, you brushed off my theories so many times even when everyone believed them... You have been toxic, playing a toxic boyfriend won't be so hard for you."
He didn't know you felt that way, he always thought so highly of you that sometimes he felt like he needed to brush a few things off. He got lost.
"I didn't know you felt that way."
"Why would you?" he didn't answer. "You realize the BAU is not a normal unit right?" Now he looked like he was expecting you to finish talking, "Normally, we do have to trust each other and have a certain connection, but we don't always get treated like family. Sometimes we don't even like some coworkers, for a couple units I've been in we didn't even talk outside work. The BAU makes you feel special, like you actually add something to the team that no one else has. You are a big part of the team, and a big part of why I felt special... but for a while now you make me feel like I'm fucking dumb and useless."
From and outsiders perspective, you two looked broken.
"I am so sorry you felt that way."
There wasn't any answer from you, your arms were crossed tightly over your chest. Your eyes weren't meeting his but from what he could see they were teary too.
"I always trusted you, to the point where Dave asked if I was giving you special treatment on purpose. I wasn't. You have always been a good agent and an even better profiler. Your work is impeccable but as a unit chief I couldn't give you the treatment I would like to give. At some point I got scared that I would slip and compliment you too much, when we first started interacting outside work I noticed how much I actually liked you as a friend, and I had to put a stop to it before it got too far. Except I was late and went too far, I liked you too much already and I didn't know how to stop being so nice to you so I just started pushing you away. So many stories from Derek breaking up with his girlfriends gave me an idea and I hated having to do that, always hated hearing him tell me how he manipulated them just so he wouldn't be the bad boyfriend, but it worked. I see now I should've never done that and I am so sorry I made you feel the way you felt."
"Feel."
"Sorry?"
"Feel. You said felt but I still feel."
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah, thanks."
There was this weird silence in the room, not as weird as the other ones were but still uncomfortable.
"This is probably not the best time to say this but-"
"Oh my god! What are you doing? We finally communicated!" you groaned while dropping your head into your hands.
"-I think I'm in love with you..."
"What the hell happened with 'not sure we should act on it' bullshit you pulled out earlier?" you were sure you two would've woken the people sleeping on the rooms close to yours, thankfully they were all too busy working in a police department now.
"We acted on it anyway! We're not fucking but we acted like a married couple fighting today!" and the 'not fucking' part also contributes. He stood up but didn't get any closer to you.
"And whose fault is that?"
"What? What did I do?"
"Aaron, what the fuck? First you told me you liked me and then you just brushed me off when I said I liked you back. You didn't let me leave the room and pulled a move like I was a teenager and you were the parent taking my phone off, then later you just pretended nothing happened but looked so fucking jealous that I talked to Derek."
"Okay, it's my fault! I'm sorry, but I already told you, I like you and Derek is a fucking threat to anyone!"
"I told you I like you back, you idiot! Derek is not a threat for you!"
"What did you call me?"
"Idiot. Is that the only thing you paid attention to?"
"No..."
Oh my god...
"Are you-" no way.
"Yeah..." he whispered.
"You liked being called idiot?"
He was hard. His left hand making a move to adjust his pants, a tent making itself bigger. He looked embarrassed, his cheeks were getting red and he couldn't look you in the eye.
"No, I like you."
"You can't just do this, you know?" your head was pounding and you raised a hand to apply pressure with your thumb and index finger to both sides of it. In merely a few hours you had gone through so many emotions and now you could even feel a certain warmth on your lower belly. "You make me confused."
"I am sorry and I want to fix it." he was stepping closer to you now, "Please, let me?"
"I'm not confused in a sexual way, I find you extremely hot and all that. I'm confused in a way that I need you to explain your actions and feelings because I feel like there's more to it than you told me." your eyes were still closed and you only opened them when you felt his hands touching both of your arms.
"I will, I promise. But I can't handle this anymore."
"Aaron..."
His toes were touching yours from how close he had gotten, his hands kept moving up and down your arms, occasionally squeezing your flesh. He was so close, his touches warmed up your skin, his ragged breath fanned your face. You couldn't, you shouldn't... But he was so tempting and you were tired of holding back.
summary: you and aaron are friends with feelings more obvious than you think. or: 5 times the team suspects you and hotch are dating +1 time they know it.
word count: 6.6k
warnings: friends to lovers, the team being a little nosy, pining idiots!!!, probably inaccurate descriptions of bau jobs (for the plot!), a very small injury, a birthday, a first kiss, and fluff!
a/n: hiii this one has been a long time coming so thank you guys for being so patient with me!!! and special thanks to the anon who requested this one! i hope u guys enjoy it and please please let me know what you think <3 ily
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Aaron Hotchner was never someone you thought you could be this close to.
Coming to the BAU, you’d been intimidated more than anything. As Unit Chief, he’s got a reputation that’s hard to ignore. Professional, brave, cold when he has to be. His success and talent were undeniable, and all you wanted to do was prove that you belonged there, too.
Then, you really met him, and he surprised you in a way you hadn’t expected. Hotch was kind right off the bat, welcoming you to the team with a smile that felt like some sort of prize.
He was an excellent boss. Understanding and protective, quick to defend anyone on the team like they were his own family. Except, he was so much more than just your boss.
Now, you’d call him your closest friend, someone who’s number you’d call if you were in trouble. He’s your closest friend and yet you feel so much more for him.
It started slow, a friendship blooming the way a plant does with just enough sunlight. It was a shared smile here, a nudge of the shoulder there. It grew to be a seat next to him reserved for you on every plane ride.
Today, it’s eating lunch with him in his office.
Aaron usually works through lunch, more eager to get things done than he is to worry about skipping a meal. Somehow, with two tupperware containers in your hand and a sweet smile, you’d managed to get him to take a break.
“Whatcha doing?” You’d asked.
Hotch looked up from his paperwork then, dropping his pen because you were in his doorway. “You know, Unit Chief business. Reports.”
“Sounds like you have time for lunch, then.” You set the containers down on his desk, making sure to avoid the papers he’d just been working on.
“I should really get this done-”
“Hotch,” you stopped him, “you and I both know that you’re always ahead on this stuff because you stay here so late. Lunch won’t set you back.”
With a shake of his head and the biting back of a smile, a simple twitch at the corners of his mouth, Aaron agreed and stacked his paperwork off to the side.
That’s how you’ve ended up in the chair that’s usually on the opposite side of his desk, only now it’s tugged to be next to his. Your knees touch every so often when one of you shifts, and the warmth stays with you even when the contact is gone.
“Sorry it’s nothing fancy,” you say as he opens the container you brought for him.
“Don’t apologize. It’s great.” Hotch has a way of saying things that make them sound true, no matter how few words he uses, so you accept it.
“Okay, good!” There’s a small silence, a lull as you both take your first bites. “Can I help with anything?”
Aaron looks from the paperwork to your face, your eyes already on his. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to,” you reassure him. “I think sometimes you forget that you aren’t the only one who can do this stuff.”
He knocks his knee against yours. Purposeful this time. A silent ‘thank you.’
“Like you said, I’m ahead anyways. I’ve got it.”
“Come on, Hotch. I’m already done with my report from our last case. I’ve got time. Let me help.”
He’s always been reluctant to accept help, to ask for it, but when you’re asking so sweetly, when it’ll give him an excuse to spend more time with you, it’s hard for Aaron to say no.
“Alright. You help for an hour, that’s it.”
You grin at him, like his acceptance of your offer was some kind of gift he’d given you. Your nose crinkles a little with it, and his hand flexes in his lap, like he’s fighting not to reach out to you.
“Okay, put me to work, boss.”
“We just started lunch,” he says, a little chuckle puffing out.
“Have you ever heard of multitasking, Agent Hotchner?”
Aaron laughs, shaking his head as he reaches for one of the files in the stack he’d made and hands it to you. He’d call everyone at the BAU a friend, but there’s something different, something more about how he’d describe you.
He’s grown closer to you than he usually lets himself get to people, like you’re the only one with the right tools to break through walls he’s put up. You see each other outside of work (on the rare days you aren’t working), and still, he feels like it’s never long enough.
Hotch briefly wonders if he could just move your desk into his office. He shakes off the thought and what it might mean.
Head bent, you’re now focused on the work he gave you, and Aaron takes the chance to admire you. His eyes flick over your profile, the light hitting your cheeks, the flutter of your eyelashes every time you blink.
As if you could feel his gaze on you, you turn towards him and smile—a small, closed-mouth smile, but a smile all the same—before turning your attention back to the page.
When you take a pause and take another bite of your lunch, a small drop of sauce lands on your thigh. “Oh, shit.”
Aaron grabs a tissue from the box on his desk, wrapping it over his fingertip before wiping the small spot from your leg, his finger a spark against you even through your pants.
“Good thing you wore black,” he says, tossing the tissue in the garbage. His hand, however, stays on your leg, and though the touch is light the weight of it feels the opposite. Heavy, huge.
“Good thing you’re here to clean up after me, more like.”
Your eyes meet, and you share a smile with Hotch the way you often do. Mid-conversation, across a room, it’s a smile you sort of reserve for each other.
In the main office below, Derek, Spencer, and JJ stand together, watching the interaction through the window into Hotch’s office. You and Aaron seem to be in your own bubble, completely unaware of your small audience.
“They’ve gotta be together,” Derek is the first to speak, waving a hand towards the office where you and Hotch are talking. “I mean, come on.”
“I don’t know,” JJ shrugs, “they both seem kinda clueless.”
“We probably shouldn’t speculate about them,” Spencer, always the sweetheart, says. “But, statistically, Hotch never eats lunch. Just saying.”
JJ pats Reid on the shoulder, huffing out a laugh before she heads back to her desk.
You stay in Aaron’s office much longer than an hour that day.
-
Punctuality is important in the BAU. Really, if you’re not early, you’re late. You’ve always got to be ready, wheels up in ten, or five.
You suppose that doesn’t really apply to outside-of-the-office parties at Garcia’s.
It’s rare that you’re all available at the same time, from late nights at the bureau to families, it’s tough to make your schedules line up when you aren’t working, which is why whenever she can, Penelope likes to host drinks for the team.
You’re on your way there now, or, you should be. Instead, you’re getting ready in your bedroom while Aaron waits in your living room.
Hotch has offered to drive you to these things every time, and with every offer, comes your easy answer of ‘yes.’ He’d been outside in his car for five minutes before he decided to call, because you’re usually in his passenger seat within seconds of him pulling over by your building.
The ringing of your phone had your eyes blinking open, squinted against the sudden brightness of your TV. You’d accidentally fallen asleep, and, still disoriented, picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Hey, everything okay?” It’s Aaron’s voice on the other line, and you pull your phone away for a second to check the time before sitting up quickly.
“Shit, Hotch, I must’ve fallen asleep. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s alright, I can wait for you.” He’d wait as long as you need, he thinks. The thought passes through like a leaf blown in the wind, freely, randomly.
“Have you been waiting long?” You ask, fingers tugging at a loose thread in your pants.
“No, don’t worry. Barely five minutes.”
And he still wanted to check on you.
“Why don’t you come in? My couch is probably more comfortable than your car, right?”
“You sure?” He checks, like he hasn’t been to your place before, like you’d ever not want him there.
“Get in here, Hotchner.”
You hung up before he could reply, and he laughed to himself in his car before shutting it off and doing exactly what you’d told him.
So, now, you’re rushing to find an outfit while Aaron sits on your couch by himself.
Even though he’s in the next room, you can feel his presence around you, the steady security he gives you, the warmth that seeps out of him even when he tries to hide it.
You settle on a knitted sweater, a skirt, and some tights, which you realize as you tug them on aren't the speediest of options, but it’s too late to change your mind now. With your hair figured out and the mascara that had smudged during your nap fixed, you step back out into the living room.
Aaron made himself at home while you were gone (he often feels that way with you, at home), sitting on your couch with his arms spread across the back. He looks better than he should there, suit stretched across his shoulders, and you have to clear your throat to snap yourself out of it.
“Okay, sorry again for the delay. I’m ready to go.”
He looks up as soon as you walk in, eyes skimming over your legs and the tights wrapped around them, your waist, up your neck. His gaze lands on your eyes the way it often does, like magnets.
He shakes his head, “don’t be sorry. We’ll be what they call ‘fashionably late.’”
You laugh, because who would’ve thought that the words ‘fashionably late’ would ever come out of Aaron Hotchner’s mouth.
“Who taught you that one, huh?”
“I like to keep my sources anonymous.”
“Well okay, then. Let’s go be fashionably late, Hotch.”
He lets you lead the way to the car, only jogging up ahead to open your door before you can reach it yourself.
During the drive to Penelope’s, you take control of the music with little objection from Aaron, and when it gets to a song you know he likes, you sing along, encouraging him to do the same.
“Let’s hear it, Agent Hotchner.” You hold your fist out like there’s a microphone in it, looking at him with a grin on your face.
“I can't sing.” Aaron’s fighting off a smile, because you’re sitting beside him, not too shy to sing along, being all cute and, briefly, he thinks about reaching out and grabbing your hand and holding on.
“Sure you can! Everyone can sing, come on.” You unfurl your faux microphone-holding fist and tug on the knot of his tie, “loosen up a little.”
And, because you have some way of convincing him of things—first lunch, now this—he humors you by joining in for one chorus of the song. When your eyes light up a little, and your grin only widens, he can’t bring himself to be too concerned of how bad he probably sounds.
By the time you’re at Garcia’s door you’re a solid hour late, yet you and Aaron walk up to the door with matching smiles all the same.
“I’m getting you to do that every time I hear that song now, I hope you know.”
“That was a one time special,” he says. He reaches over your shoulder to knock on the door. His hand brushes against you, featherlight and quick, a crackle over your skin.
On the other side, Morgan says, “must be the lovebirds” when he hears the sound.
You and Aaron don’t hear him, only broken out of your little shared bubble when Penelope opens the door. “There you guys are! I made your drinks but the ice might be melted by now. You know, ‘cause you’re late.”
You know this is directed towards you more than it is Hotch, because Garcia’s a little intimidated by him still. You also know she’s only joking, and greet her with a hug before stepping in.
Aaron isn’t far behind you, though at these things, he never is.
You’re met with warm greetings from the team when you walk in, and you chat for a bit, but it isn’t long before things split off into smaller conversations. They all know that Aaron drives you to these things, and, as profilers, they’re also all able to see the way you look at each other, the way the knot of his tie sits lower than usual.
In the corner, Emily leans over to Derek, saying, “usually it takes at least two drinks for Hotch’s tie to look like that.”
“I told you, they’re together,” Derek shrugs.
“I don’t think they know that,” Emily replies.
This time, Aaron hears them, and he can’t help but look towards you in the room the rest of the night, thinking and thinking and thinking.
He ends up deciding that they might have a point. That maybe, that shift in his heartbeat when you’re around isn’t nothing, isn’t just friends.
-
The flight home from a case always feels the longest.
On the way there, you’re packing every hour with information about what’s going on, talking to Garcia, reading police reports. You’re all on edge, eager to get out there and help and do your jobs,
Then, on the way home, with another case solved, all you’re thinking about is going home, sleeping in your own bed, and time seems to go slower.
If your name happens to be Aaron Hotchner, you’d spend the plane ride home doing paperwork that actually can wait.
You and Aaron sit next to each other on pretty much every flight, though the seats have never been assigned. It’s an unspoken thing, like your names are written on the fabric of the same two seats on the jet and that’s just the way it is.
The first time was early on in your time on the team. It was a tough case for you, and Hotch seemed to know it without you having to say anything, so, when you got on the jet to come home, he smiled that small, twitch of his lips smile at you and nodded at the seat next to him. You’ve been sitting there ever since.
Today, your flight is on the shorter side, but feels long the way it always does. Trying to keep yourself occupied, you pull out your earbuds and shuffle your playlist, hoping that the songs will speed things up.
“Sick of me already?” Hotch speaks up when he notices your headphones.
You tilt your head to look at him. He looks tired, the way you’re sure you do, too, but never any less handsome. His eyes are soft where they meet yours, paired with a hint of a smile that you’re always able to catch.
“Sick of you, Hotch? Never.” You nod at the file he has open on the small table, “just didn’t want to distract you.”
“I thought you enjoyed distracting me. Always telling me I work too much.”
“‘Cause it’s true,” you say. “That doesn’t mean you listen.”
“I listen to you more than I listen to most people.” Aaron’s voice is gentle when he says it, the words sinking in and melting you just a little, sugary sweet. It could mean absolutely nothing, but with the way he keeps his eyes steady on yours, you don’t think it does.
“Listen to this, then,” you hand him one of your earbuds, and his fingers brush yours when he takes it from you. “But you can’t make fun of me if a musical soundtrack comes on, okay?”
“Okay,” he huffs a small laugh, and you feel a little brighter. “I promise.”
You’re aware of the team having their own conversations in the rows in front of you and Hotch, but you can’t bring yourself to join in, because you and Aaron are sharing your earbuds and his head is bent just a little closer to yours. It’s delicate, and you’ll do your best not to break it.
You talk a little longer, until it naturally fizzles out and Hotch is back to working on his files and you’re bobbing your head along to your songs. Only now, Aaron sits closer to you, his arm against yours.
He’s not sure what to do with his newfound realization that his feelings for you run far deeper than friendship. All Aaron knows is that he likes the feeling of you beside him, and that he’s planning on keeping you there as long as you’ll let him.
It’s quiet between the two of you aside from your occasional ‘this is a good one,’ and his hum of acknowledgement.
Eventually, you’re relaxed enough that your eyes grow heavy, the sleep you’ve been lacking suddenly catching up to you, and when you hit a patch of slower songs you’re fighting to stay awake.
When your head lulls onto Hotch’s shoulder, you jerk your head up, “sorry, Aaron.”
His chest does something funny. A jump. It’s not often you call him Aaron, and he’d listen to the sound of his name on your lips on a loop if he could. Because he can’t help himself, he scooches himself even closer to you.
He decides to call you something different, too, saying, “it’s alright, honey.”
You’re too sleepy to really read into that one, all you feel is the flutter in your stomach and Aaron’s hand on your head, gently guiding it to his shoulder.
When he’s sure you’re asleep, Hotch looks away from his files and over to you. Your cheek is squished against his shoulder, your lashes fanned shut. He thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.
Aaron doesn’t even feel the smile that spreads over his face as he reaches up and pushes your hair away from your face. He’s completely unaware of the eyes that catch him, far too focused on you.
Emily turned around when she realized she hadn’t heard your voice in a bit, and she did it just in time to catch Hotch’s movement. Instead of saying something, she turns back around and shakes her head to herself.
Hopeless, she thinks.
Sleep doesn’t come so easily with this job, with the things you see, so Aaron can’t help but try and stay steady for you, and if that leads to him letting his eyes close and resting his head on yours, then so be it.
It’s not until the end of the flight that the team checks on the two of you. As everyone stands and grabs their go bags, they notice the two of you, asleep next to each other, earbud wires hanging between you.
“Should we wake them up?” JJ asks.
“Hotch doesn’t get enough sleep as it is,” Spencer chimes in. “Neither does she, actually.”
Of course, Derek finishes with, “let’s leave the lovebirds to it,” before the team gets off the plane.
It’s only about twenty minutes later that Aaron does wake up, but he feels more well-rested than he has in a while, even with the kink in his neck.
Blinking his eyes open, he’s met with an empty jet and the comforting weight of your head on his shoulder. “Shit,” he sighs.
He debates waking you, ultimately deciding that you’d probably rather sleep in your bed rather than the seat of the BAU’s jet. Reaching up, he pulls your earbuds away, setting them on the table. With a brush of his fingertips to your cheek, he coaxed you awake.
“Hey, honey,” Aaron’s nearly whispering, like he’s afraid to scare you. Or, maybe, he’s convinced that if he moves too quickly, too loudly, this whole thing will fade away as if he’d been dreaming. “Wake up, we’re home.”
“Hm?” You grumble, scrunching your nose when he brushes your cheek again.
“We fell asleep, but we landed.”
“Oh, god.” You sit up properly, lifting your head. “I’m sorry, Aaron. Hotch.”
“Aaron is good,” he eases you. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”
Sleep-hazed, or maybe just happy that he can be Aaron to you, you agree easily and take his hand when he offers it, letting him lead you to his car.
-
You’ve been spending more time at Aaron’s ever since that flight. In the car, he’d convinced you to stay over at his place in the guest room, since it was closer. With your go bag already in his car and heavy, sleepy eyes, it was hard for you to do anything but agree.
It’s another slice of his life that he’s let you see, and you can’t help but feel like it means something, like you’re stepping further and further away from being coworkers who are friends and towards something different. Something more.
That flight feels like the catalyst, the thing that caused things to shift into what they are now.
Aaron’s couch is much more comfortable than yours, and though you’ve yet to spend the night again, you’re sitting there with him at almost every chance. The time off you get is rare, and Aaron wanting to spend it with you sends flutters to your stomach whenever you think about it.
You feel like you know him better, getting to see his space, how he chose to decorate, what colors he likes, which ones he doesn’t. You also know what temperature he likes to set his thermostat.
“Do you enjoy living in a refrigerator?” You ask, hands tucked into your sleeves. “Just wondering.”
Aaron laughs, a small huff, “I think you just run cold, honey.”
He’s been calling you that a lot, too. Honey.
“No way, Hotchner. Your house is what runs cold. Or maybe you’re cold-blooded.”
Not with you, he thinks. Years and years of doing what he does, Hotch might even call himself cold when he’s thinking a little too hard. But never cold with you. He thinks that might be impossible for him.
“Shhh, don’t tell anyone my secret,” he says, his arm brushing against yours from where he sits next to you on his couch. “Where are you cold?”
“Can’t feel my toes, Aaron. I might be out of commission for the next case.”
“Well we can’t lose our best girl, can we?” Best girl, he says. Like he means it, like it’s simple. “I’ve got some thick socks you can grab. Bottom drawer.”
Just like that, he’s cracked another wall of his down even further, giving you permission to go into his bedroom as if you’ve been in there a thousand times.
“Really?”
“Unless you’d rather not feel your toes-“
“Okay, okay,” you stop him, unable to fight your smile. “Thanks, Aaron.”
When you stand and head towards his room, Aaron can’t stop himself from thinking that you belong there, in his home, his room, his life. You fit in so seamlessly he wishes you’d never leave.
He stands up too, because the couch suddenly feels sort of empty without you beside him, without your warmth. He walks over to his thermostat on the wall and turns it up for you.
You’ve always thought that you can tell a lot about a person from where they live, and seeing Aaron’s bedroom now solidifies it. His place does too, but there’s something about his bedroom that feels much more personal.
Here, there’s more of him, little bits of his life scattered around. A picture of him as a kid with his parents on the dresser, the newspaper’s crossword sitting completely finished on his nightstand, his bed neatly made.
You smile at the framed photo before slipping the top drawer open and finding the pair of socks he’d been talking about. As much as you’d love to snoop, you don’t want to invade his privacy in any way. Besides, from Aaron, even a glimpse of his space feels special.
You slip on the socks before you leave his room, letting them bunch at your ankles.
As soon as you walk back into the living room, Aaron’s phone rings. Glancing at you softly, almost apologetically though he’s got nothing to be sorry about—you work with him, you know how important a call can be—he picks it up.
“Hotchner,” he says, holding it to his ear. His voice is different this way, more professional, controlled. Never any less pleasing to hear.
He’d wanted to say something about how good you look in his clothes when his phone rang, Garcia’s name flashing on the screen. Aaron wishes it was someone else, only to spend more time with you this way.
“Sorry to call late, sir,” Penelope says. “We’ve got a case. Missing kid; it’s urgent.”
“Don’t be sorry, Garcia. We’re on our way.”
“Wait, we?” She asks, curious as always.
“What’s going on?” You ask Aaron.
“Got a case. I’ll drive, honey.” He lets the pet name slip, like it’s a habit.
On the other line, Garcia’s grinning to herself in her office. She’d had a suspicion of who on the team Hotch would be with outside of work, and hearing your voice, and his use of the word ‘honey’ all sticky sweet, she knows she’s onto something.
“Oh, that’s ‘we,’” Penelope’s voice teases. “Tell her I’ll see you guys soon!”
Aaron shakes his head, fighting his smile. “Bye, Garcia.”
He hangs up and looks from his phone to you, your eyes already on him, corners of your mouth tugged up just a little like you’d heard what Garcia said, heard the lilt in her voice. Like you liked the idea of you and Aaron being a unit. We.
He likes that idea, too.
Back at the BAU, Garcia calls Derek next, who picks up with his classic, “hey, babygirl.”
First, she tells him that he needs to come into the office, that they’ve got a case, then, “you’re never going to believe this.”
Penelope loves to talk, and Derek’s happy to listen, so she tells him about how you’d been with Aaron when she called, and that you were on your way together.
“I give them another week, max, before they’re holding hands when they come in.” Derek laughs, because he can see yours and Hotch’s feelings so easily, plain as day, and he loves to be right about things.
“How mad will Hotch be when he finds out that we talk about his relationship?” Penelope’s mostly joking, only a fraction concerned.
“If the boss didn’t want us talking about it, he shouldn’t be so obvious, sweetheart.”
Once you arrive at the office, you don’t catch Penelope and Derek’s shared looks behind yours and Aaron’s—who happens to be carrying both his and your go bag—backs.
And if anyone notices the loose socks around your ankles, they don’t say anything about it.
-
You’re not supposed to go off on your own unless it’s absolutely necessary. You know that, the team knows that. Aaron, who is always trying to keep you as safe as possible, enforces it.
You guess that this time might be up for debate.
When it comes to what you do, you have to trust your instincts most of the time. And today, your gut told you to make a decision that might not have been safe, but to you, it felt like what you had to do.
Aaron had been on the phone with you, trying to figure out a way to make the car drive any faster to get to you. He’d heard it in your voice, in the tone of it, that he couldn’t convince you to wait for someone else to show up.
“I have to do this, Aaron,” you’d said. While the team would normally probably tease him about you calling him Aaron, as if it isn’t his name, they’d known not to interrupt this time. “You know I do.”
“You don’t have to.” His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he spoke. “We’ll be there soon, alright? Just-”
“I’m sorry.” And then, you hung up.
In the end, going in when you did had been the right move. A life had been saved, and you’d slowed the guy down enough that the police were able to arrest him when they arrived. All it cost you was a cut and a bruise on your cheek.
So, your instincts weren’t so bad.
Aaron, however, disagrees. Logically, he knows that he would’ve done the exact same thing you did, knows the rest of the team would’ve, too. But when it comes to you, he has a hard time thinking logically.
After you hung up on him, all he could do was breathe and breathe and breathe over the heavy thumping of his heartbeat and the worry spinning in his head. He drove the quickest he could manage, the car silent inside. A static.
It’s not that he doubts your abilities—he’s always thought you were incredible, even before the friendship, even before now—only that the idea of you being alone with such a bad man makes him feel sick.
He’d take your place in a heartbeat, if he could, just to make sure you’d be safe.
By the time he and the rest of the team get to the scene, you’re walking out of the building with a hand pressed to your cheek and a paramedic leading you to a nearby ambulance.
Aaron spots you right away, his eyes scanning the small crowd through red and blue lights and conversations surrounding him. When he spots you, everything goes quiet.
His first thought is, thank god she’s alive, then, it’s fuck, she’s hurt.
Without a word to anyone, he heads over in your direction right away. He meets you at the ambulance, where you sit on the small bench inside while the paramedic presses your cheek with gauze.
“Honey.” It comes out in a breath. Relief and pain all at once.
You look over to him, his hair a little messy, his eyes wide and roaming all over you like he’s checking for any other injuries. He cares about you, and it’s written all over him.
“Aaron. I’m okay.” You hold a hand out, and he grabs it, sitting beside you on the bench in the ambulance. “Promise.”
For now, he nods, letting the paramedic do their job bandaging up your cheek. When they’re finished, they hand you a spare bandage saying, “it’s gonna bruise, and it might feel sore for a bit, but you’re all patched up.”
The paramedic leaves after that, probably going to check on other people. The lights inside the ambulance seem to cocoon you, a bright difference to the darkness outside.
The first thing Aaron says is, “let me see.”
His hands reach for your face, rough fingertips gently holding your jaw, tilting you so that he can look at your cheek. It’s a little swollen, discolored where you must’ve been hit. There’s a furrow in his brow, something that looks like a pout on none other than Aaron Hotchner.
“Hey,” you grab his wrists, but his hands stay on your face. “I’m fine.”
Aaron’s always worried, he’s always cared about you and about everyone on the team, but this is different. He was usually able to hide things much better than this. Much better than with you.
Now, all he sees is the tiny bloodstain on your shirt and the bandage on your cheek. All he feels is your hands squeezing his wrists and your eyes locked on his.
“You should have waited,” he says. “I could have been there.”
“Hotchner,” your deadpan tone is intact, which he’ll take as a win, even if it’s directed towards him. “You and I both know you would have done the same. I had to.”
One of his hands shifts to cup your non-injured cheek. Normally, he’d be much more composed while working, but he can’t bring himself to care about how he must look right now.
“I know you did,” he tells you, because he does. “I just wish that you didn’t. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”
Your stomach is tumbling, rolling, your heart doing silly things in your chest. You can hardly feel the pain of your cheek anymore when his hand is on the other, his palm warm against your skin, his gaze even warmer.
“I’m hardly hurt, Aaron. Just a scratch.”
“Right. One that required medical attention. That’s more than just a scratch, honey.”
“If you say so, Hotchner.”
He shifts his hands so that they fall into your lap, palms up and fingers instantly finding yours, tangling together perfectly. Like puzzle pieces.
“Good job, by the way.” Hotch rubs his thumb over your skin once, back and forth. “You did the right thing.”
“Learned from the best,” you say.
You’re both oblivious to the fact that the team is watching from a distance, and that the two of you look so lovesick it’s ridiculous that you haven’t spilled your feelings yet. You’re both absolutely fucked.
Where she stands with the team, Emily shakes her head, “I haven’t seen Hotch like this since… ever.”
Beside her, JJ merely shrugs, like it’s obvious, “yeah, they’re in love.”
Spencer looks at you and Aaron in that ambulance with a smile. “The odds of you guys being right are very, very high.”
-
+1
Aaron Hotchner was never the biggest fan of birthdays. Was never big into the cakes and making wishes, the song and the presents and the fuss of it all.
When he started at the bureau, it stayed that way. Days off were rare enough as it was, so he’d always work on his birthday. And while he kept the signed cards from the team, he treated it as any other day. Nothing special.
This year, you’re on a mission to change that.
While it isn’t the first of Aaron’s birthdays you’ve spent with him, it’s the first one since the two of you have grown as close as you have, since you’ve felt the way you do. You’re just hoping to make it a good birthday for him.
You’ve roped the whole team into it. Decorating the conference room with streamers and balloons and a sign that hangs crooked on the wall, bringing in a cake that reads ‘Happy Birthday Hotch’ in frosting, and keeping it all a secret.
Of course, you’ve all already said happy birthday to him, and you’ve got a present stashed under your desk for later, but you’ve been doing your best to act natural even when the anticipation of your surprise for him eats at your stomach a little.
Surprises are a tricky thing, and there’s no way of knowing whether he’ll like it or not. You’ll just have to wait and see.
While in his office, the team had made it seem like they’d all left for the day, saying their goodbyes to Hotch. Instead of leaving, though, they’ve been hidden in the conference room waiting for you to bring him in.
“Aaron,” you say, knocking on his office door. “I think I lost an earring. Do you think you could help me look for it?”
Because you’re the one asking, Aaron says, “‘course, honey. Where do you think it is?”
You smile, because he’s fallen into your trap easily, because you know that he probably would search for an earring with you if you’d actually lost one.
“I remember having it on in the conference room, so maybe there.”
He stands from his desk, gesturing for you to lead the way with his hand held out. You grab onto it before he can drop it, tangling your fingers and leading him behind you.
Aaron lets you guide him, and when you open the door to the conference room and flick on the lights, he’s met with the team’s grinning faces and a chorus of, “surprise!”
For a moment, he’s speechless, frozen in his spot in the doorway with your hand in his.
No, Aaron’s never been the biggest fan of birthdays, but maybe that’s because nobody’s ever done something like this for him. You came into his life all sweet smiles and now you’re throwing him a surprise party? He’s never ever liked someone the way he likes you.
So much that like is spilling into a four letter word and he’s happy to let it.
You know him well enough to know that he doesn’t like being the center of attention too much, so the only people in the room are those of the BAU. His closest friends. And you, his favorite person.
Before he can say anything he’s being spoken to by the team, getting a ‘happy birthday, boss,’ from Derek, a spill about how hard it was to keep this a secret from Penelope, a grin from Spencer, a tip about how you’d organized all of this from Emily, a squeeze to the shoulder from JJ.
When he finally gets the chance, the others split into their own conversations, Aaron tugs you aside to the corner of the room.
“You did all of this for me?” He asks, head bent to catch your eye.
Although you’d caught the signature Hotchner smile—closed-mouthed and quick—when he saw the surprise, you’re nervous about what he might say. You worry that you’ve done too much, that he’d been pretending to like it for your sake.
“I’m sorry if it’s a bit much,” you start, anxiously tugging at your sleeves. “I wasn’t sure if you liked surprises, I know not everyone does, but I wanted to do something for you because I care about you. A lot. And birthdays are meant to be celebrated, you know?”
Aaron can’t help but let a smile spread over his face as you speak; a real smile. His heart is light, his feelings for you melting through him like the soft pink of cotton candy. He doesn’t think you could ever do anything that he wouldn’t like.
“I’ll clean it all up, too, I prom-”
Your rambling is cut off with his lips on yours. He’s kissing you.
It’s soft, the press of his mouth against yours, and it takes you a second to push back. It stays delicate, a dance between the two of you like you’d practiced a million times before.
His hands skate down your arms to hold your hands, weaving his fingers with yours, squeezing like he’s making sure you know this is real.
You feel it all over, your stomach tumbling, your heart beating in a rhythm that thumps his name. Aaron, Aaron, Aaron, over and over.
It’s a kiss worth a thousand words that you haven’t said yet, a kiss full of feelings and meaning and you know it, just by the way he does it, because you know him and he knows you. It’s you and Aaron, and it feels like the beginning of something huge. Of the rest of your life, maybe.
When he pulls back, Hotch rests his forehead against yours, giving your head a gentle nudge, locking his brown eyes on yours.
“It’s perfect,” he says.
The next thing you hear is Derek Morgan cheering, “I knew it!”
Similar words come from the rest of the team.
“Finally,” from Emily.
“About time,” from JJ.
“This isn’t surprising,” from Spencer, who smiles while saying it.
A sweet, “yay,” from Penelope.
Distracted by Aaron kissing you, you’d sort of forgotten they were there. Bashful, you tuck your head beneath Aaron’s chin, forehead against his collar. He simply tightens his hands around yours.
And when it’s time for cake, this year, Aaron Hotchner makes a wish on his birthday candles. He wishes to spend every other birthday just like this. With you.
༄
thank you so so much for reading!!! if you liked it, please please please consider reblogging/commenting and letting me know what you thought! love you <3
Summary : It’s Christmas Eve. You’re all alone at work until your ‘mystery man’ is pushed onto the train tracks. You save him and are now mistakingly thought of as his fiancée. For the rest of the holidays, the family seems to cling onto you. What do you do when you meet his seemingly cold and unwelcoming brother?
Word count : 3k
A/N : THIS CHAPTER DOESN’T CONTAIN A LOT OF AARON! Don’t sue me I’m just trying to set the story but attempted to add a little snippet at the end. So before anyone gets mad at me just remember there’s a thing called developing plot so don’t hate me please. Anyways I had fun writing this and part 2 will definitely be out soon!
-
It started off as a completely innocent activity.
Ogling the man who took the train to work everyday. He was lean, casual and relaxed with soft - as least, you thought it looked soft - straight, light brown hair which fell over his eyes if it was windy.
You’d sit back in your booth and think about a future with someone like him. Listening to the constant clatter as people slid their tokens through while you began to daydream. From the look of it, he seemed to be successful too.
He’d always smile at you too.
His smile brought out the creases in his eyes and his straight teeth. He was so perfect it was meant to be.
It was small and you may have been taking it too far, but he was so dreamy.
“Thanks.”
You could only melt on the inside as he walked off, his scarf trailing down his back as it had been lazily wrapped around his neck.
However, this would always distract you from punching other people’s tickets. You’d get a furious rap on the window with an angry businesswoman.
But that was fine for you. It was fine if it meant being able to catch glances of him.
It was a chilly December morning. The wind seemed to push against you as you made your way to work. It may have been due to the fact that it was Christmas Eve.
Your boss had managed to convince you to work holidays. Probably because you didn’t have anybody waiting at home for you. Except for the landlord’s son.
You can only wrap your scarf around you tighter while you clasp onto your sandwich. You were nearly there.
The booth was slightly warmer than outside, with only your chair and table greeting you as you got yourself comfortable.
Here you were - working on Christmas Eve while everyone else were probably bundled in blankets and sipping hot chocolate with their families.
Listlessly staring into the glass barrier, you admire the blanket of snow which the city had been showered in. It just seemed to show that everybody was connected or all together.
Apart from you.
You settled in your chair, turning a token between your fingers slowly.
Before he came up to the booth.
“Merry Christmas Eve.” He smiled, tapping on the barrier.
You instantly looked up to meet his eye which made you falter at his piercing gaze.
He was wearing his long, dark jacket but a knitted red scarf was slung around his shoulders. His hair fell over his eyes as he looked down at you, sliding his token in the little gap.
Underneath his jacket, you could spot your favourite suit - rich navy blue blazer and a clean, pressed shirt which brought out his light eyes. His buttons were a beautiful mix of brown and amber, sewn neatly onto his jacket which was half buttoned. He was careless in such a fashionable way
You look up at him, eyes wide and mouth agape.
This was the most he’s ever said to you.
“Uh-“
He’d already walked off and was waiting happily for his train.
You looked like an idiot - frozen in action. Your jaw almost hanging open at the sheer embarrassment.
Nobody else was at the station or by your booth, so you took the opportunity to ogle your mystery man once more.
He stood idly, checking his watch and clutching his briefcase in his hand. Was he going to work? Was he visiting family?
While you imagined a future with him in 10 years, it suddenly came to your attention that a couple of men were now standing by him.
They hadn’t put a token in, what were they doing?
You squint in an attempt to catch a better look while being blocked by the glass barrier, you could faintly hear their conversation.
“Hey, nice jacket.” The tallest one approached him closely, he was most likely the ringleader.
“Must be expensive.” Another chirped in.
It happened so fast.
Before he could even respond, they’d taken the opportunity to shove him onto the tracks.
He fell face first, his briefcase dropping from his hand as he fell.
They immediately ran off, urging you to do something, anything.
You jumped out of your chair, dashing out of your booth and now standing on the spot where your beautiful stranger had been pushed.
He lay limply on the tracks.
He’d been knocked unconscious.
You couldn’t see his face but you knew it was bad. He could’ve hit his nose, or even broken a tooth.
Without even thinking you lowered yourself down cautiously next to him and turned him over with some effort.
You tried to think of a way to capture his attention or even wake him up, but his bloody nose and parted lips were making your mind race.
“Sir- sir? Sir!” You kept repeating over and over, using an arm to tilt him towards you.
Blood was now dripping down his face and you couldn’t contain your distress.
“Somebody help me! Please- sir!” Another hand was now stroking his cheek. You needed him to wake up.
He couldn’t leave you here on the tracks like this.
You never even got to know his name.
That was when you heard it.
As you were lamenting, the muffled sound of a horn could be heard through your panicked cries.
Still holding onto him tightly, you look up.
It’s a train coming your way.
“Sir! Sir, there’s a train… and- and it’s really fast and I don’t think it can stop for us.. please wake up.” You added, pleading with this unconscious man as the silhouette grew larger and larger out of the corner of your eye.
He really wasn’t going to wake up; he sure was stubborn.
He was too heavy to drag up onto the platform, but you’d just spotted a small nook to hide in.
With no time to consider your chances, you laid with him and rolled into the small corner. You were holding onto his expensive jacket like it was your own life force as the horn was now blearing through your ears.
Your face was pressed against his chest, your eyes shut tightly as if that would alleviate any of the pain you could’ve felt if the train had hit the two of you.
He really seemed like a successful man. Even his cologne smelled good.
The train came to a halt at your station and concerned passengers were now wandering mindlessly to find a way to help you.
You could only hold onto your dream man and anticipate what would happen next.
-
It was all such a rush you never understood how you’d handled it so well. It was probably all the adrenaline.
You were whisked away in an ambulance with him lying on the stretcher. As you sat with a professional in the back, you’d steal glances of him from time to time. You never thought this could happen.
They’d managed to clean you up fairly quickly but kept you in the hospital waiting room for the authorities.
You’d been sitting for around twenty minutes, holding onto his scarf that had been separated from him in the frantic rush to put him on the stretcher.
Was he going to be okay? Was this your fault? Were you going to be arrested?
All these questions bubbled in your head and were slowly beginning to rise. If you didn’t talk to someone soon, you might explode.
Suddenly, you spot him being wheeled in another stretcher through the glass doors.
Surely they had to let you see him. You needed to know if he was okay, especially since you’d saved his life.
You got up and pushed the door open, about to follow him and the group of doctors wheeling him but was met by another doctor.
“Sorry, only family are permitted to visit-“
“Oh, but-“
“Are you family?”
“Well, no..”
“Then you need to stay here, please.” He added, but there was no sincerity in his tone as he guided you back into the waiting room, just outside the forbidden door you’d just entered.
You couldn’t stand by and let your dream man be whisked away once more. You needed to see him.
Clutching the scarf tighter, you could feel the pain growing. If you’d actually tried, you could have possibly had a future with him. Maybe if you were actually social-
“God… I was going to marry him..” you whisper, holding a yearning hand up to the door.
This was the moment when your whole life was absolutely flipped upside down.
A nurse frantically rushed up to you.
“Dear, is that- do you need to see him? Are they not letting you inside?”
You look up at her, but her glare is urging you to stand up and look back at the doors.”
“Yeah.. it’s.. it’s fine though.”
“It’s not! They shouldn’t be doing that.”
She took your arm and guided you through the doors once more. The corridor was empty as the two of you walked down; it seemed to be never ending.
“Your man is right… here. I believe this is the room he’d been assigned to, dear.” She taps her clipboard while she smiles and waits by the door.
“Oh.. thank you.” You smile back. This is all quite overwhelming for Christmas Eve, probably more exciting than any of your previous years.
You push the door open gently, examining his while he slept. He seems calm enough, a brace was now placed on his nose and he wasn’t bleeding anymore.
His scarf settles in your arms as you take a seat next to him.
You need a minute to take in the way his hair is mussed and how peaceful he seems to look.
“Hi..” you murmur, shuffling closer.
You were planning to just apologise to him, speak to the authorities and move on to your life.
Maybe he would be able to hear this all in his sleep.
“It’s uhm.. it’s me. You got pushed onto the train tracks..” you chuckle, but quickly stop yourself.
“I didn’t find that funny.. I just thought it’s quite a coincidence for Christmas Eve. It sort of set us up together.” Your voice was coming out much smoother and softer as you got rather comfortable with your mystery man.
“I’m sorry you have to spend Christmas Eve like this.”
Suddenly, the door almost burst open with the group of people now entering. An ocean of voices flooded the room, overlapping each other and growing in volume.
“Sean! What happened to Sean!”
“He’s right there, why don’t you ask him?”
“He’s sleeping, can’t you see?”
“Stop arguing!”
They all stop abruptly, now turning to look at you in unison. You’ve never seen a family so connected.
The group contained two elderly men, an old woman and a man in his early 20s.
“Who are you?” The younger man cocked a brow.
What you didn’t notice was the doctor who refused your entry had gathered them here.
He came to the front of the group, pointing an agitated finger at you.
“I thought I told you-“
“She is family! She is his fiancée!”
They all seemed to quiet down at the nurse’s sudden interruption. Even you were startled, you didn’t realise she’d stayed.
“Sean has a fiancée?”
“It’s been a couple of years..”
“I can’t believe he didn’t tell us!”
“She could’ve been a mistress-“
You stood up quickly, gathering your coat. This was all too much for you.
“I- I should go..”
“Nonsense!” The old woman stood in front of you and continued, “Sean may have wanted to surprise us!”
“He’s already surprised us enough today…”, one of the men grumbled.
The other three men nodded and murmured amongst themselves, most likely doubtful.
You couldn’t say no; she seemed so definite that you might as well be his fiancée now.
“We’re so sorry for being so ignorant, honey. It’s just that Sean never let us know he had a fiancée..” she put her hands on your shoulders fondly, smiling.
“It’s.. it’s okay.”
“What would Aaron say?” The youngest seemed much more panicked than the rest, probably solely focused on Sean in the hospital bed.
Who’s Aaron?
Like a Greek chorus, they moved together in a flock as they surrounded Sean’s bed. You followed slowly, standing a couple of inches behind them as they examined his current situation.
“My poor boy..”, the woman - presumably his mother - sniffed and held onto one of the men.
“What happened to him?”
“Coma. He got pushed onto the train tracks.” The nurse was now standing by them, gesturing to her clipboard.
You were too busy mapping out who his potential family were in your head.
“He’s not dead, honey. He’ll make it..”, the husband added reassuringly.
“Let’s leave soon before everyone bursts into tears. Sean would want us to stop feeling sorry him.” The other old man patted the young boys back and nodded to you.
That was your cue to leave.
Or so you thought.
In the waiting room, the boy wandered off around the corner to the vending machines. It was just you and the old man.
“Come. Sit with me.” He gestured to the chair in front of him.
You obliged, trying to be polite as he now thought you were going to be bound legally due to marriage soon anyway.
“You feeling okay?”
“Me? Oh, I’m fine.”
“It must’ve been quite stressful. Saving Sean from an oncoming train.”
“It was definitely.. something.”
“How long have the two of you been together?”
You paused. When did you first see him? When was the first time you were graced by his smile and clean suits?
“June. It was a Monday.” You smiled fondly at the memory.
Beneath your daydreams, doubts were lurking in the back of your mind. Why were you going along with this?
“So.. around 7 months? Pretty quick for an engagement. He never told us about you.”
“Yeah.. yeah..”
He was about to ask another question, but the rest of the family were now approaching swiftly and took seats in the chairs around the two of you.
The mother sat next to you, smiling up at you admirably.
“You went onto train tracks for my boy. God, thank you!” She sniffed again and flung her frail arms around you.
You almost flinched at the sudden movement but accepted her embrace awkwardly.
“Thanks.. I’m just thankful that he wasn’t injured severely.”
“And she’s humble too! Sean really found himself a rose in a bundle of thorns.” The husband commented, grinning.
This was all becoming far too much for you. It was Christmas Eve - you should’ve been sitting at home, swirling a mug of hot chocolate in your hands and enjoying watching your cat play with the new toy you bought him.
You shouldn’t be in the hospital surrounded by strangers that now believe you’re engaged to your mystery man.
Sean. That was his name.
He’s no longer your mystery man, is he? He was your fiancé now and there was nothing you could do to get yourself out of this predicament.
They talked amongst themselves, sharing fond memories of Sean. Some of them included ‘Aaron’, who you still hadn’t met.
After 10 minutes or so, the mother turned to you.
“Dear, we were all wondering.. since Christmas Eve has been such a disaster..” she sighed and sniffed again, “Would you like to join us for Christmas? It’ll just be a small celebration, but we all think it’s so unfair we haven’t been able to introduce you to any of the family traditions. Right?”
She looked at everyone else, who all nodded enthusiastically. They all seemed to be sold on you being Sean’s fiancée, so why not go with it?
-
It was evening now, the sun had set much earlier and darkness shrouded the house.
They had refused to leave you alone in an attempt to make you feel happier concerning the situation at the moment. It wasn’t working.
You weren’t his fiancée and it seemed to be eating you alive. You can’t tell them now, they seem to like you so much already!
You’re sitting on the porch, staring out into the darkness. It’s chilly but you got to borrow one of Sean’s coats he’d left at his childhood house, you wrap it around yourself tightly and embrace the faint scent of cologne as you find solace in the eerie silence.
It’s not that you don’t appreciate what they’ve doing for you. It’s just all quite overwhelming for one day.
You’re only one person, you don’t think you can handle it all.
You exhale shakily, folding your arms over your chest to try and block out any breeze.
That’s when you see it.
A car pulls up in front of the house. It’s a nice one - shiny and expensive. You contemplate going inside but decide it’s probably no threat.
Then, a tall man encased in a long, black coat begins to walk up to the porch.
He’s refined, smooth and carries a sense of power. However, it seems to fade as he walks up the pavement. He’s less tense at the sight of the warm aura and bright light escaping from the inside and shining onto the frozen grass that he steps on.
Every ounce of friendliness leaves as soon as he comes face to face with you.
He stops abruptly, looking down at you with a cocked brow.
“Who are you?”
Before you can open your mouth, the door swings open and Mrs Hotchner rushes towards him.
“Aaron, we didn’t think you’d make it! It’s so good to see you, honey!” She cried, flinging her arms around him.
“Always a pleasure to see you, mother.” He replies, patting her back gently but not tearing his eyes off of you.
You shrink a little at his piercing gaze. It’s like he’s slowly peeling back the layers of your character, examining all of your features and trying to determine how to feel about you. Maybe you’re looking into it too harshly.
18+ Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader | Masterlist | AO3 link
Summary: Worried for Aaron's safety as he heals, she takes him to the one place she knows no one can find them. The Bed and Breakfast in West Virginia.
Warnings: depression, anxiety, ptsd, suicidal thoughts, sexual assault, anti-depressants, hotch has a really hard time with everything. taking care of him, helping him bathe, hurt/comfort, deep talks, teasing, getting his staples removed, implied off-screen "sex", proposals
Word count: 5.6k
For some reason, he feels incredibly self-conscious as the nurse explains to Y/N how to help him change his bandages. They give him a little sponge bath in the room, ie a basin of soap and warm water is in his lap and they clean around his wounds with a washcloth while he lays back against his pillows biting his lip when it hurts.
In total, he has over 100 staples in his chest right now. Each wound has a large purple and blue bruise growing out around it and the wounds are gross… but Y/N doesn’t care. She lightly dabs the washcloth over these wounds, she cleans off the blood and iodine left over from his surgery and she listens so intently to the nurse as she explains how to re-bandage him. They dry him off, cover him in bandages and then make him lean forward so they can wrap his chest in gauze.
“Now, when it’s time to take the staples out you’ll have to come back here—
“We’re leaving after he gets discharged,” Y/N cuts her off. “With everything going on I don’t want to stay in his apartment or mine in case the unsub comes back, he’s not strong enough to help me fight the guy off if we need to.”
“Oh uh… where are you going?”
“West Virginia. The closest town to our cabin is Davis,” she explains, voice as low as possible.
“Okay,” the nurse nods and thinks of what they could do. “Um, I can send a referral to a local doctor or nurse practitioner in the area to get them out there?”
Aaron just takes a deep breath, he knows the plan but he’s so tired, so out of it, that he has a hard time caring. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You can’t take them out yourself,” the nurse reminds him. “Don’t even try.”
“I won’t let him,” Y/N assures her.
“Good, okay, I’m going to go do some research and talk to the doctor and you can help him put his gown back on?” She asks Y/N.
She nods, “Yeah, thank you so much.”
“Oh, you’re welcome,” she gives them a smile and then heads out with the basin and the washcloths.
She helps him back into his hospital gown with some grunts and heavy breathing as he stretches with staples in his chest. It’s not fun. He wants to pass out from the pain but he’s had more than enough pain medication today so he has to just deal with it. He’s so miserable, depressed beyond belief and trying his absolute best not to take it out on the woman he’s supposed to be so in love with.
Every time he looks at her, he knows he loves her. Every time she smiles at him, he knows he loves her. It's when she talks, to the doctors, to their friends… she talks to them as if he’s not there. As if everything will be okay. As if this isn’t the worst situation he could ever be in. He’s so mad at what’s happening that he wants to scream at her, ask her to be a little less cheery, to be a little more upset like he was.
“Are you okay?” She asks, giving him those over-caring eyes again.
He nods, “Yep.”
“Do you want to talk?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Aaron you can’t--
“I can. Watch me,” he spits back, closing his eyes as he lays back. “I’m hurting, I’m sad. Let it happen.”
She simply crosses her arms and stares at him, “You want me to leave you here? Do you want me to just go back to work and let you wallow in your self-pity and hurt yourself further? Cause I can do that.”
“No, no that’s not—
“I love you. I know this is hard, it’s killing me to see you like this but if we both fall down this hole who’s going to pull us up? I have to stay above ground for the both of us,” she explains and he knows she’s right. “So I’m going to plan things, I’m going to help you, I’m going to keep you on a schedule, and when you’re ready, we’re going to talk. Because I love you. I’m not doing this because I have some fake hope that things will be okay. I’m doing this because I truly believe we can get through this. I love you, which means I love your family and I will go to the ends of the earth to bring them back to you. Believe me when I say that.”
He beckons her closer, makes her sit on the side of the bed and takes her hand in his, “Thank you.”
“And?” She teases him.
“I love you too,” he assures. “Could you… um… could you ask the doctors to get me a psych consult?”
She nods, “Yeah, I can.”
He takes a deep breath, it hurts and so his breath comes back out in a sputter as a tear drips down his cheek. He doesn’t want to say it but he promised her a while ago that he would never leave her in the way he’s been thinking about it. “It’s been a week and my thoughts are… they’re not good. I want to fall asleep and never wake up in the morning. I want to die before they do. I can’t go through this anymore… I need some help.”
She reaches out and cups his cheek, wiping the tear away with her thumb, “thank you for telling me.” Fighting every urge not to cry with him, she swallows sharply. “you’re not thinking about hurting yourself? You just want to slip away in the night?”
He nods, crying harder, “I’m sorry.”
“No, no, no,” she gets even closer to him and lightly rubs his shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll talk to someone, get you some medicine to help with the thoughts and I know I said we’re going to the middle of nowhere but I can find you a therapist there? We can handle this. We can do something about this before it gets too bad.”
He just cries, leaning forward she catches him carefully and their foreheads rest together. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
That’s all he could ask for.
—
With a new prescription for escitalopram, his bottle of pain meds and a referral for a nurse practitioner in Davis, they hit the road 1 week after the attack.
It takes them 4 hours to make it to the bed and breakfast that they knew and loved last year which isn’t too long for Aaron to be sitting but is just long enough to drive him a little crazy. He gets out with her to go get the keys, needing to stretch a bit before they have another hour and a half drive to their cabin.
Mary's daughter is working the front desk when they walk in. “Eileen, it’s lovely to see you again,” Y/N smiles as they enter.
“Oh, hey! Mom said you were coming today,” she smiles wide, happy to see them and then reaches under the desk for something. “I’ve got the key right here.”
“And I have the money,” Y/N says, digging $2k out of her purse in hundred-dollar bills.
They exchange the money and keys, Eileen gives her a map with instructions on how to get to the cabin and makes sure they know how everything there works. There’s a fireplace, they’ve stocked up the wood near the front porch so they don’t have to go far to get it and they walk them through the temperamental amenities for their stay.
She helps Aaron back into the car and he sighs, “Thank you…”
“Hey,” she looks at him from the door. “You don’t have to thank me, ever.”
“I know,” he gives her a little smile. She closes the door and rushes around to the driver's side again. “I just want you to know how much I love you for all this.”
She reaches over and takes his hand in hers, “so you should know I love you just as much because I’m doing this.”
He nods, “I know… thank you.”
“Let's go hide away.”
—
The first day at the cabin is just them moving in, unpacking all the things she brought and making a fire. She leaves Aaron there with his guns and makes him lock the door while she heads to the grocery store to get some food for them for the first week and when she gets home, he’s sound asleep on the couch, by the fire, with his gun untouched on the coffee table.
She makes him dinner, she helps him change his bandages, she gives him his meds and she helps him into bed. It’s the same the next day, only they start the day with his antidepressants and cuddles in bed. He’s starting to feel the side effects of adjusting. The nausea and dry mouth, he’s sweating even though it's pretty chilly without the fire on and he’s so tired. That can be both from his injury and his pain meds, but it’s definitely more intense than just regular fatigue.
She lays there beside him, as close as she can be without her head on his chest, watching him sleep. She’s done a lot of that over the last 2 weeks. He’s barely awake, he knows she’s watching him so he smiles and blinks into the light, “What?”
“Nothing,” she smiles back at him. “I like watching you sleep… knowing you’re okay.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“For what?” She asks, confused.
“I gave up,” he whispers. Eyes welling with tears, “I could’ve fought back… I got stabbed that first time and I just laid there.”
“We profiled him, we knew he’d need a stern face and if you show fear it’ll get worse. You did what you needed to do, clearly, he didn’t want to kill you,” she explains. “You didn’t give up, you did what you had to. We’re still doing what we have to. And when we catch him, he’ll pay for it.”
“What do you—
“I’m going to kill him,” she assures. “I’m going to shoot him in the chest and watch him hit the ground. I’m going to step on his wound so it hurts and I’m going to stare him in the eyes while I shoot him between them.”
“You can’t—
“I can and I will,” she nods, staring him down. He knows she’s being serious, she wants revenge. She loves him deeply. “And Haley said she would too.”
“What?”
“Before she left I gave her a talk, I gave her the profile and I let her know what he’s like. The games he plays and the shit he might try. I told her that he’s going to try and find her, he’s going to try and get her away from her Marshall and he’s probably going to pretend to have killed you to draw her out of hiding. I told her she couldn’t trust anything if it didn’t come from her Marshall's mouth or one of us. I made sure she knew to get a couple guns, one for her room, one for her purse and that if she ever thought she wasn’t safe, she should get in her car and drive right to Quantico.”
“Seriously?” He can’t believe it.
“Yeah. I’m going to make sure she comes home to you,” she whispers, trying not to cry. “You love her, I love you, we all love Jack. We’re getting them home. We’re all going to make it out of this alive.”
He reaches for her hand, holding it tight, “kiss me? I can’t sit up,” he laughs.
“Okay,” she smiles, leaning into his space to press a kiss to his lips. She kisses him a few times, hand on his cheek, she pulls back with a smile, “I love you.”
“I love you,” he whispers back. “I love you so much, I don’t want you to ever think I love her more because I do love her… but it’s so different now. The love I feel for you is so intense, I crave you every day. I will never be able to explain how different it is.”
“I don’t need an explanation,” she caresses his cheek, staring at his lips and then his eyes. “I know you love me. I’m perfectly fine with you loving her. I love her because she is your family. We are a weird, misshapen family… but we’re a family.”
“When this is over… when it’s all okay again…. Would you ever want to get married?” He wasn’t even sure where it came from, but he knew he wanted this.
Her smile slowly grows, “seriously?”
He nods, “When I was on the floor, bleeding out, all I could think was you’re going to find me like this and— and I’m going to break your heart in a way I promised I never would… and all I’ve thought since then, as I watch you take care of me, is that I never want to be without you. I never want to leave you with nothing. I want everything that’s mine to be yours, I want to take care of you as well as you take care of me and I want to love you until the day I do die. Naturally, as an old, old man, holding your hand.”
She kisses him again and again, crying slightly, he holds her as close as he can without hurting himself. He really didn’t think their first real vacation would involve him being hurt… he thought the first time they disappeared into the wilderness they’d be able to be all over each other, take hikes... go sit by the lake. But they can’t.
Not just because he’s in pain and recovering and worried about internal bleeding… what Foyet did to him transcends just physical trauma.
He pulls away from the kiss, memories flashing through his mind and taking him out of the moment. “Sorry…”
“It’s okay,” she worries, “are you okay?”
He shakes his head. “No… sorry. I just. I’m hurting.”
“Oh, oh, sorry,” she pulls away, sitting up and away from him and it breaks his heart.
“It wasn’t you,” he shakes his head. “I uh… I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it all yet but, I just got a little triggered.”
“That’s okay,” she assures him. “What did you want to do to feel better? I can read to you? We can go outside and sit on the porch? Whatever you want to do, we can do it.”
“I think sitting by the lake would be nice?” He suggests.
And so that is what they do.
She brings both the chairs from the porch all the way down to the dock and she lets him sit down in the first one while she retrieves the second. She brings down some blankets and then she heads back inside to make them both a coffee and he just sits there alone while she does it. The water is so calming, the air is so fresh. The sounds of the birds in the trees and the squirrels in the bush. He sees some ripples in the water where the fish have come up to nibble at the insects on the surface and he even sees a beaver out for a swim with a stick clenched between his teeth.
When she comes back, she has two mugs, and he gives her a big smile. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it,” she waves it off cause he should know by now that she’ll do anything for him.
He reaches his free hand out to her, and she holds her coffee on the other side so she can meet him halfway. They interlock their fingers, he smiles over at her and she smiles back. “It's nice to see you happy,” she says as if a weight has been taken off her shoulders.
“I’m trying really hard,” he admits. “You make it easier.”
—
Getting him into the bath was easy. She bought Baby Johnson baby wash so she could clean him without any scents or harsh chemicals hurting him and he’s thrown back in time to when Jack was a baby. There were only a handful of times that he helped give Jack a bath before bed, he was always home after bedtime… it just makes him miss Jack even more. He normally sees him once or twice a week and now it’s been 2 weeks since he’s seen him last.
She gives him some time alone in there, letting him relax when in reality she can see the pain in his eyes and allows him to cry in peace. He was grateful. It’s not like he’s ashamed to cry in front of her, but she knows sometimes it’s more cathartic if you do it alone. She kissed his head before she left the room and he promised to call for her when he was ready to get out… and now he’s just sitting in lukewarm water, tears on his swollen face and no courage to actually stand back up to get out.
“Y/N?” He calls out for her, his voice more horse than he thought it would be.
She’s there in seconds, a dish towel thrown over her shoulder, and she looks worried. “You okay?”
“Can you help me out?” He asks, cheeks probably pussy and eyes bloodshot.
She nods, “of course.” She looks around, making sure she has a towel for him close by and there’s one on the floor too to capture all the water that drips off him. “Can you get to your knees?”
He groans but he does it. She helps him from his knees to his feet with her hands under his armpits and as soon as he’s standing, he kisses her. “Thank you,” he whispers against her lips. “I love you.”
"I love you more,” she whispers back. “Come on,” she gives him a little courage to lift his leg and get himself out of the big, clawfoot tub. “There you go, you got it.”
He groans as his foot hits the ground, his chest stretches and the staples pinch slightly. “Fuck I hate this,” he says through gritted teeth. He brings his other foot out and stands tall on solid ground.
“I know, just another week and then they’ll be out,” she reminds him. She reaches for the towel and wraps it around him. “Are you cold?”
“I’m okay,” he assures her. “Do you have the fire going out there?”
She nods, “Yep, just put a couple more logs in a few minutes ago. I’m in the middle of making some of those Pillsbury cookies for us. Did you want some coffee or tea?”
“A tea would be nice,” he gives her a smile and then another quick kiss. “I can change on my own, I’ll meet you out in the living room.”
“Sounds good,” she smiles right back, and just by the look in her eyes he knows how much she loves him.
It takes him a couple minutes to get back into his clothes, it hurts a bit but he’s okay. He’s so glad she packed his sweatpants and comfy shirts, he doesn’t get to wear them often enough but he loves them. He’s so comfortable, so happy… he wanders out into the kitchen and wraps his arms around her and rests his head on her shoulder, watching her place more cookies on a sheet.
“Hi,” she coos.
“I love you,” he reminds her.
“I know,” she smirks. “I love you, too… do you feel better?”
“I do, thank you,” he kisses her cheek.
“Your tea is right there,” she points.
“Do you mind if I go drink it outside again?”
“Not at all… just be careful?” She asks.
“I will,” he kisses her again before pulling away. He takes his cup and steals a cookie from the cooling rack. “Come out and join me when you can.”
He slips into his shoes and a coat, steps outside and starts to walk down the path toward the lake. It’s not too far, there’s nothing he can trip on, and their chairs are still out on the dock. He’s actually shocked by how much he truly enjoys being here.
He actually loves it here.
And when this is all over, maybe they can get a vacation home here. Like the one Gideon has. He always said it was a great escape and Aaron agreed to a point… he never fully understood it till now. It’s so peaceful, his brain is quiet and his belly is warm from the tea. He’s having the time of his life here.
Even though he misses his family deeply. Both his work family and his real family. They’re all his real family, who is he kidding? Even Strauss, he misses her too. He’s never been away from work this long without a single call or update or question. It’s weird… but he also enjoys it.
The sun is starting to set when Y/N comes out to join him. Wrapped up in a blanket, she sits on the arm of his Adirondack chair and smiles down at him. “Having fun?”
He wraps his arm around her and wishes he could pull her into his lap but it would hurt too bad. “I’m okay…”
“Good, good,” she smirks. “Did you want to go out for dinner? Or I could go pick something up for us?”
“I don’t mind,” he shakes his head. “Either is fine, but what do you want?”
“Just you,” she leans forward and steals a kiss from him. “I still have lots of food to make for dinner here, but it could be nice to get out?”
“What if I make you something?” He suggests. “I want to do something nice for you.”
“Okay,” she gives in easily. “There’s lots of stuff in there, do you have anything in mind cause I can run to the store real quick?”
“I’ll whip something together,” he promises. “Come on, let's go in. You can sit by the fire and read a book, maybe have some of that wine you bought?”
She stands up and reaches out for his hand, “let's go, handsome.”
—
Dinner is nice. He makes some rice with broccoli and chicken doused in teriyaki sauce. It’s so good she compliments him the whole time. “Seriously, Aar, where did you learn to cook like this?”
“It’s not hard… I made this a lot in college,” he smiles, enjoying the praise. “Rice is easy, chicken with a store-bought sauce is easy, and steamed broccoli is a piece of cake… I’m just glad you enjoyed it.”
“I loved it,” she says, reaching out to hold his hand across the table. “Thank you for treating me tonight.”
He runs his thumb over her hand and smiles, “I think I’m ready to talk tonight… I wanted to do something nice first before I tell you what happened to me.”
Her face drops, her eyes scan his face and she shakes her head, knowing already. “No… no. He didn’t? Oh my god, Aaron?”
His head bows and he takes in a deep breath as he draws his hand away from her. “He got completely naked while he stabbed me… I was incapacitated after the first one and he was able to straddle me and explain to me that stabbing isn’t always a substitution for a sex act.”
She doesn’t say anything, she just shakes her head. Having a hard time believing it.
“He was hard… he touched me. He touched himself,” he explains, feeling a little sick. “He used my blood as… as lu—”
“You don’t have to,” she waves her hand, unable to stomach hearing anymore. “Oh my god, Aaron?”
“It was awful, but by the 6th stab, I was pretty much unconscious… I could probably remember more with some therapy but, I don’t think I want to uncover more just yet,” he explains. “I’ll definitely talk to someone, I don’t feel any disgust towards myself or hatred even. I’m angry it happened, I want to get him. But I’m tired, more than anything, I’m tired.”
She gets out of her seat and walks around to wrap him up in a hug. He stands too, holding her as close as he can, “I love you. I love you so much,” she whispers, trying not to squeeze him too tight but she wants to. He can tell. “You are so strong, you are so brave. You’re the bravest man I’ve ever known in my whole life. I… I love you.”
“I love you,” he whispers into her hair. “Thank you for listening.”
“I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell me until now.”
“I knew I could, I just didn’t know how to say it,” he explains. “I wasn’t raped but I was assaulted. It was awful but I’m okay. I’m alive. You’re here with me, I knew you’d still love me after it. I know the team will save my family. I know it’ll be okay. I just hate waiting.”
“You’ve always been impatient,” she teases, she pulls away to cup his face and smile. “But you’re right. You’re always right. You’re loved, your team is powerful and we’ll win. We’ll always win.”
“I just wish I wasn’t this beat up,” he whispers. “I should be able to cuddle while on a vacation with you. I should be able to hold you close and let you sit in my lap and… and I should be able to make love to you.”
“We have lots of time to do that,” she assures him. “I spent almost a year sleeping beside you without sex. And sure… I would’ve loved to be having sex with you the whole time but just being near you means more to me. You make me happy and you make me feel safe and that’s all I want on this vacation. I just want us to be happy and safe.”
“How about we do the dishes tomorrow and we just crawl into bed and we cuddle as best as we can?” He suggests.
“I think we can do that,” she agrees, taking his hand and dragging him into the bedroom.
—
The day he gets his staples out they have an hour and a half drive to the doctor's office. They check him for hernias, which he doesn’t have and they say he’s healing really well. And his antidepressants are working so he doesn’t need to go up a dose yet. But the best part is that his doctor is gentle as he takes out every staple. Y/N holds his hand the whole time and he gives her a good squeeze on the ones that pull a bit but other than them, it’s bearable.
“Now, I have to say it, but you probably still shouldn’t have sex for another 2 to 3 weeks,” he explains.
Aaron blushes, “thank you… honestly, I was going to ask.”
“I could tell,” he smiles. “You two seem very close… but it’s just exercise, heavy lifting and quick movements that could cause tearing or rupture. so if you do anything, keep that in mind.”
Basically, there are ways to be intimate without having full-on sex.
They go out for dinner afterwards, they sit down in a real restaurant and he has a burger for the first time in almost a month. He’s so used to eating out for work, he survives off breakfast burritos and club sandwiches and burgers and fries… it’s honestly a shock that he’s not 300 pounds with how much greasy food he eats. But he does do a lot of running after unsubs to counteract it.
And he doesn’t hurt as much today so he hasn’t had any of his pain pills meaning he can have a beer with dinner. And he’s so happy. He holds her hand across the table, they catch some of a football game on the TV and they talk about normal things for the hour and a half they’re there. It’s like everything is okay for a night.
And when they get home, there’s a different feeling in the air. She sits on the couch with a sigh and he puts the fireplace back on. “I have to go to the internet cafe tomorrow…”
“Why?” He asks, confused. She hasn’t gone there before.
“Strauss promised me she’d email me with updates on the case once a week and I haven’t checked them yet…” she explains, wincing like he’s going to yell at her.
“Oh, well, I mean she would call if there was anything serious to update you on,” he understands. “Is it safe to check them there though?”
She nods, “Penelope added a VPN to your computer for me so that when I do get an internet connection no one can hack us and it’s extra secure so that when I do click on anything no one can get our coordinates.”
“Okay,” he likes that she was so careful with everything. “Save everything and show me when you come back tomorrow?”
“Duh?” She teases him.
He smirks back at her, so in love… “thank you for doing all this for me.”
“To the moon and back, my love,” she stands up and pulls him to his feet carefully. She cups his face in her hands, “to the moon and back.”
“Come with me,” he backs her up towards the bedroom. “I know they said no sex but… there are other ways I can thank you for everything.”
She hums, “and ways I can thank you right back…”
—
When she gets back from the cafe she has a sad look on her face and the laptop tucked under her arm. “How was it?” He asks.
She sighs, “well… I showed my badge and they let me in the back room so no one could look over my shoulder and I read everything.”
“And?” He’s anxious as all hell. Patting the couch so she can come sit beside him.
“Haley called her mom, so they got relocated again. I have a couple videos of Jack playing at parks and things taken from the Marshall's car as he watches and the team has been trying to track Foyet with the long list of drugs he’s on but they don’t have anything yet,” she explains.”
“But they’re safe?” He asks.
“Oh yeah, they’re fine,” she assures him. “It’s only been 4 weeks, it’ll be okay. We’ll get him. It won’t take as long as it did last time.”
He takes in a deep breath. “When can we go back to work?”
“We have two more weeks off,” she whispers, staring at him carefully and he knows she wants to say more.
“But?”
“Are you really ready? Are you going to be okay back out there?”
He nods, “It’s not like I’ll be in charge, I don’t have paperwork to do, I can fly easily this time. It’ll be fine.”
“But what if the cases trigger you? What if you act out and get yourself hurt even more?” She worries. “I can’t go back out there with you if you’re going to be reckless and stupid because you need something to feel powerful again.”
“I won’t,” he shakes his head, upset she’d think that but really, why wouldn’t she? He’s done it time and time again. “I’ll listen to Derek and Dave… and you. I’ll follow orders and give my thoughts to the group and it’ll be okay. I want to get back out there, I want to work. I want to be with the team again.”
“You remember when you were interviewing for me?”
He nods, “Yeah?”
“They hired the other top candidate, Emily Prentiss. She’s been doing great filling in for both me and Spencer, who’s also doing a lot better,” she explains. “He’s at work, just he’s staying with Penelope in her room and giving his two cents on the phone.”
“I’m sure that’s not fun for them,” he jokes. “They’re like twins, butting heads because they’re so smart and know everything and both want the credit.”
“Oh, I know,” she laughs. “He’ll be on crutches for a few more months and he should be able to fly again by the time we get back.”
“Okay,” he nods along, trying to grasp how different life will be when they go back. “I want to call Dave… I know he has a few extra rooms in his place and I think I’d feel a lot safer if we stayed with him once we get back. I don’t like thinking about how he was able to get into my house without me knowing and the thought of him being in yours while we’ve been gone…”
“God, I didn’t even think about that,” she whispers. “Yeah, we should ask Dave for help.”
“And maybe when all this is over we could get our own place?” He asks, “I’ve really enjoyed living with you… I mean, it’s been months of sharing hotels and going back and forth between our apartments anyway, it wouldn’t be that much of a change.”
She smirks, “Aaron, you’ve already asked me to marry you, I think moving in together is the only logical next step.”
He chuckles, tilting his head to the side cause he honestly didn’t even think about that part, “I did, didn’t I?”
She leans over and kisses him quickly. “There’s no place I rather be than beside you for the rest of my life.”
“Good,” he kisses her again, whispering against her lips. “Me either.”
