hi!?! could you please write slowburn with hotch.. like working at the bau and being a little oblivious and udhhd until it eventually resolves with smut?? I lack fics without previously established relationship
you're the risk i'm gonna take it
pairing: aaron hotchner x reader, background michael robinavitch x reader
summary: request above
word count: 3.7k
tags: jealous!hotch, possessive!hotch, angst, hotch is lowk toxic but it works out for him, reader is oblivious but also kind of dumb, the pitt mention (helloo hyperfixation) dr robby is down bad, not proofread.
author's note: thank you for this request angel! i hope you like this and ty for being so patient xx
· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── ·
The first time you meet Aaron Hotchner, you’re ready to hightail it out of the room. Your transfer to the Behavioural Analysis Unit was something done out of necessity—you’d spent a long time in private practice before deciding to branch out and were lucky enough to score an opening with the FBI.
Hotchner was…a lot. Of what? You weren’t entirely sure. You’d been made aware he had a reputation for being a hardass and somehow also one of the best team leaders in the FBI.
He was calm, confident and at times abrasive, but you wouldn’t have gotten to this point if you were unable to work under pressure. He had been strict and clear in his expectations of your role on the team; you were new and had to fight to prove yourself.
“I look forward to working with you Agent.” He had remarked, barely looking up from his pile of papers as he dismissed you from the meeting. If you were any less professional, you would have scoffed but all you did was offer a tight smile and nod.
“I do too, have a good day further Agent Hotchner.”
And that was that.
˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆
The BAU was a learn as you go workplace and you quickly figured out it was also a seemingly do as I say, not as I do environment. If you had a dollar for every time you witnessed one of your coworkers pull some kind of self-sacrificing bullshit—you’re fairly sure you’d never have to work ever again.
You would be lying if you said it didn’t bring some sort of spark back into your life, despite the dead bodies and sadistic murderers—you had found that missing puzzle piece.
The team sat on the plane back from one of their most recent cases, half-asleep on the red eye whilst you had your laptop out, typing away at your report so you’d be able to sleep as soon as you got back.
“You should sleep.” Hotch’s voice startles you despite being barely above a soft murmur. He’s watching you over a case file whilst sitting across from you.
You snort, “Yeah, no chance.”
Hotch frowns, “You having a hard time sleeping?” His tone is concerned and it brings a stiffness to your shoulders. You shouldn’t have said that. You’re completely capable of doing your job and it’s not like you’re the only one on this plane who has a hard time closing their eyes at night and not picturing every other gruesome thing they’ve encountered.
“No,” you smile tightly, shuffling your laptop closer to you as you squint at the screen. “I’m fine.”
Hotch stares at you for a second, as if he’s deciding whether or not to call you out on the blatant lie but instead heaves a sigh, slumping into his own seat.
“You shouldn’t squint like that—it will hurt your eyes.” He reprimands lightly and this time you can’t help the amused raise of your brow as you meet his dark gaze.
“God, you’re old.” You snort, immediately trying to muffle your laugh when his expression turns perplexed.
“Old?” he mutters in disbelief.
“Sorry,” you giggle, slapping a hand over your mouth as you watch him shake his head in fond amusement.
“You’re trouble for a man’s ego.” He points at you with a wry smile on his face as you flush.
You shrug, “Gotta keep em’ humble.”
Hotch flashes his teeth as he grins softly. Silence grows between the two of you as you continue to work on your own respective tasks.
As you continue to write your report, nibbling on your bottom lip you are seemingly unaware of the soft looks Hotch sends you in between his own reading.
˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆
Your relationship with Hotch is complicated. There are times where you’ll catch him staring at you from his office, small smile on his face or there’s times where he inconspicuously accommodates you more than he would someone else.
He’s just being nice is what you tell yourself, because any other option would be ludicrous to even consider. Though there are moments that make you start to question whether those options might be reality.
You’re on a case in Pittsburgh, somewhere near the hospital you used to work at before transferring to the BAU and it’s just your luck that one of your key witnesses is currently being held in the ED.
You’re more than happy to accompany Hotch to the ED to try and get something useful out of the guy and you really struggle at schooling your expression of excitement at seeing any of your past colleagues.
It doesn’t slip passed Hotch’s notice who quirks a curious brow at you from the driver’s seat, “You’re quite eager to be meeting a witness.” He remarks dryly but there’s no hiding the humor in his expression.
You grow shy, nibbling on your bottom lip and drawing his attention to your action. “I used to work in the psychology department at PTMC.” You admit softly, wringing your hands in front of you.
Hotch hums interestedly, it’s not often in their line of work that agents are transferred into the FBI from outside of the academy. He’s willing to take any chance to know the parts of you he’s been yet to discover and visiting your work is what brings him hope that this might just be the thing that pushes you both closer together.
You haven’t been outwardly dismissive of his advancements, but he would be lying if he said it wasn’t killing him inside that you weren’t as forthcoming. Sure, it had been a while since he’d had to whip out his flirting tactics—his first and last relationship being well his late wife.
But you were so enigmatic that he just couldn’t help but want to be near you, he’d been making every effort to impress. Well, at least he thought he had, if your blatant obliviousness to his affection wasn’t sign enough.
Hotch had found himself gritting his teeth one too many times after he’d been blatantly flirting with you only for you to respond in your sweetest smile yet most professional tone.
He knew it wasn’t right, that he had no business crushing on his subordinate but Lord help him if you weren’t the only woman who had made him feel things he didn’t think himself capable of.
When Hotch parks the car, you practically launch yourself out of the vehicle to speedwalk your way into the entrance. You’re fast enough that Hotch has to jog a little to catch up to you with a breathy chuckle before matching your strides.
“So, you can run in those heels,” he teases softly, his arm coming back to rest on the curve of your back to guide you to the entrance.
You lift your hand to swat at his chest half-heartedly with a playful scowl that diminishes the moment you step into the bustling ER, the both of you adopting your composed manner of professionalism despite your simultaneous twitching lips.
˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆
You’re met by a blonde nurse whose smile is as wide as can be when she catches sight of you, her southern drawl echoing as she crosses the room, “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes sunshine? Who knew we’d be seeing your face again!” she remarks happily, wrapping her arms around you in a motherly hug.
“Dana, I missed you.” You say softly, hugging her back before throwing a sheepish expression to Hotch who shrugs.
“And who’s this with you?” Dana sizes up Hotch, staring him down something fierce and he feels himself paling a little.
“Uh—” you chuckle nervously. “This is Agent Hotchner, he’s um—he’s my boss.” You say.
Dana turns to you, quirking a brow that makes you roll your eyes fondly. “We’re here on a case, Pittsburgh PD should have called ahead, we’re here to interview a James Harlow? He was in—”
“MVA, Yeah Robby’s got him down in South 12, you remember where that is don’t you? He’s gonna be real excited to see you.” Dana drawls teasingly.
Hotch expects you to laugh and wave off the statement, but he’s surprised to see you fluster, your shoulders hiking up towards your ears as you shove Dana softly.
“Stop,” you chastise her through a whine and Hotch feels like a rock had lodged itself in between his heart and ribcage. Who the hell is this guy?
He has no right to be jealous, the two of you aren’t…anything. You’re both colleagues, he’s your superior but Hotch feels his gut clenching and palms sweating all the same.
He coughs, clearing his throat which draws your attention back to him. You have the decency to look embarrassed but without further mention of it you say a hasty goodbye to an amused Dana who looks like she’s sizing him up and drag the both of you to what he assumes is South 12.
˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆
When the curtain is drawn away, you both are met with the sight of your witness and what Hotch assumes is “Robby” explaining his blood test results to.
“Uh,” your witness mutters awkwardly, gaze switching between yourself and the man behind you. You suppose you must look quite intimidating in your formal wear and FBI badged plastered to your lapels, but you school your expression into something that you hope resembles comfort.
“Sunshine.” Robby remarks surprise as you muster a shy smile and an awkward wave while Hotch behinds you clenches his jaw.
Fuck. Granted, Hotch could’ve rationalised his jealousy if the guy were your age (no he couldn’t have) but Robby must be his age if not older. He’s all crows’ feet and greying hair that Hotch can’t help but measure himself up against.
He hates this. Never once has something so personal jeopardised his ability to maintain professionalism yet you have a way to test all of his boundaries. He hates how Robby is looking at you—like you’re some kind of miracle that he never thought he’d have the chance to see again.
It’s how Hotch looks at you. He knows that look, he wears that look every day with a feeling of pride because up until now—he had no reason to doubt that it was a matter of when not if you returned his affection.
Now? Now he feels the urge to drag you out of this ED and make you promise to never look at another man ever again. But he can’t, so he doesn’t.
“I uh—we’re here to interview Mr. Harlow. We’re with the BAU—we just have a couple of questions about what you saw today,” you murmur reassuringly to the wary man whilst glancing back at Robby.
Hotch’s firm voice startles you slightly when he moves from behind you to stand next to you, effectively acting as a barrier between you and Robby, “We need you to go over anything you can remember from this morning.”
Robby’s gaze turns amused when he notices Hotch’s posturing, snorting to himself as he shuffles out of the room, “I’ll leave you to it.”
You nod meekly, opening your mouth to start the cognitive interview before Robby’s voice interrupts you, “Dinner later Sunshine? Would be good to catch up.” He offers, an easy smile in his place.
Your heart warms, as much as you’ve enjoyed your time at the BAU, the day shift were the first people who made you feel like you were part of a community.
“Yeah,” you offer easily. “I’m working a case right now, but I’d like that. Maybe you could invite the rest—”
“Agent, we’re in the middle of something.” Hotch spits out, his eyes ablaze as he stares you down.
You shrink into yourself, not noticing Robby’s frown at your demeanour though he leaves after you give him a reassuring smile. You give your full attention back to your witness and proceed with the interview.
˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆
You somehow feel like you’ve done something wrong despite the interview being a complete success. You walk out of the room with the feeling that Hotch is…mad at you? Frustrated?
You’re not entirely sure, only that he speaks to you in one word responses if he’s not supplied a grunt of some kind. It gets worse when you confirm your plans with Robby as you walk out, offering for Hotch to go on without you when you notice other Pittsburgh PD officers also in the ED.
“It’ll give me some time to ask him a couple more questions and you can go over what we already know with the rest of the team, I’m sure the officers won’t mind.” You reassure him.
Hotch fights the growl that wants to burst out of his throat. He minds. He minds that Robby’s been waiting not so patiently to get you wrapped around his dirty little fingers, for you to decide that maybe you don’t want Hotch and instead want to trade up to some fucking ER Doctor.
“No, we came together. I’ll drive you back.” His answer is curt and your confusion doubles. What is his problem?
“But I—”
“Sunshine, my truck’s sitting outside if you’d rather drive that. I don’t mind coming and getting’ it from you later before dinner.” Robby offers, interrupting your conversation Hotch thinks bitterly.
Of course he drives a truck, and of course he’d offer for you to take it. Any excuse in the book to get to see you again huh? Well Hotch can deal with that.
“That won’t be necessary, we have everything that we need to form a working profile and time is really of the essence here. We need to go. Now.” He orders, leaving no room for misinterpretation as he grabs your arm despite the gasp you let out, sparks shooting up your arm as your dragged out the parking lot.
“What? Hotch—” you squeak out, trying to tug your arm from his hold as he pulls you into the car, lifting you by your hips and plopping you into the passenger seat. You squawk in protest squirming as he adjusts your legs slightly and closes the door, jogging to the driver’s seat and getting in with a scowl still planted on his face.
˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆
You’ve been silent and matching Hotch’s scowl the entire drive back to the precinct, “This is kidnapping you know.” You remark sarcastically, folding your arms over your chest..
Hotch blows out a frustrated breath, “We had to leave, we didn’t have time for you be chummy with your friends.” He growls out, hands tightening on the wheel until he’s white knuckling it.
“Yeah sure, blame me when you’re the one with a stick up your ass.” He hears you mutter to yourself, forcing his resolve to break.
“That’s it.” He snarls, pulling off onto the shoulder of the road. There are barely any cars on this stretch of road, but it still brings a gasp to your lips at the jerky movement.
“What is wrong with you!” you hiss out, clutching at your seatbelt and the handle of the door as your eyes grow wide in panic.
“You’re being a brat.” Hotch growls out, his gaze dark and heavy as his chest heaves up and down in frustration. Your gaze drops to his chest, your mouth growing parched as you shake yourself out of your stupor.
“I’m a brat?” You say incredulously, “I’m a brat when you’re the one who nearly got us into an accident because you were too busy having a temper tantrum over what the fuck ever?”
Hotch’s jaw clicks from how hard he’s clenching it, his glare focused on you, “Well I wouldn’t have been so on edge if you weren’t distracted while on the job.”
If it’s even possible, your scowl deepens, as you unbuckle your seatbelt thrusting your pointer finger into Hotch’s chest with vehemence, “Don’t you dare insinuate that I can’t do my job, I told you I could’ve gotten a ride with a different officer. Hell, even Robby offered—”
“Don’t fucking say his name.” Hotch threatens.
You falter, expression turning into bewilderment, “You’ve got a problem with Robby? You just met him how—”
“Because he was hitting on you!” Hotch bursts out, running his hand over his jaw as he blows out a frustrated breath as he chuckles without humor.
“Huh? Robby? He wouldn’t—”
“Oh, trust me,” Hotch taunts, “He would and he did. I had a front row seat to that entire segment.”
You frown looking as puzzled as ever, “That’s why you were angry? Why does it matter what Robby thinks, it doesn’t impact the case—”
“Fuck, you’re irritating.” Hotch grounds out, launching himself over the counsel and swallowing your annoyed sound with his lips. He kisses you fiercely, his chapped lips borderline bruising your own as he prods at your lips with his tongue, seeking entrance.
He muffles your whimpers with his drawn out groan as he licks into your mouth, his hand coming up to cup your face, angling you to deepen the kiss as he threads his fingers through your hair.
Your hands come up shakily to clench around his t-shirt as you whine into his mouth, lazily licking into his mouth like you’re trying to play catch up with him.
When he draws himself away, you follow his lips unconsciously—your own puckered with a whine as he takes in your dazed expression. He licks his lips watching you, already half hard in his pants from the taste of you.
“I was jealous.” He admits, his voice low. He’s still looking at you, watching for any change in your expression.
Your eyes widen, “Why?” you mumble aloud.
Hotch scoffs a laugh, “Because I like you? Because I wished that I had worked up the nerve to ask you out before that hotshot doctor did? Because I was too much of a wuss because I was scared you’d say no? you take your pick.” He says, smiling without humour.
You frown, your hand hesitantly lifting to cup Hotch’s cheek. You nibble on your bottom lip, drawing a groan from Hotch’s chest.
“I—I like you too.” You admit shyly, your expression growing abashed as you avoid eye contact with him.
“Look at me.” He demands firmly, his hand cupping your chin to force you to meet his gaze.
“I’m sorry I lashed out at you, that was unfair of me.” He says softly. You shrug, rubbing your thumb up and down his cheek.
“S’okay, I know you didn’t mean it.” You mumble.
Hotch shakes his head, “No.” he states firmly, “I didn’t mean it but that doesn’t make it right, you don’t deserve to be treated like that. I’m sorry.” He insists.
You smile softly, “Forgiven, you can be so emotional sometimes.” You tease softly.
Hotch can’t help but roll his eyes, “You mean it though? you—you like me?” he asks hoarsely.
You grow shy, nodding softly. “Say it again.” He demands petulantly.
You snort, “What will I get if I do?” you taunt.
Hotch’s expression grows devilish, “Anything you want.” He mutters darkly, gazing at you with heat in his eyes. His dick twitches inside of his pants as he has to fight the urge to thrust up into empty space.
Your pupils dilate, “I like you.” You say breathily and Aaron’s smirk grows wider.
“That right?” He taunts softly, his hand dropping to your thigh and slowly moving upwards.
You shudder softly, your thighs slipping open as you gaze grows heavier. “Is this okay?” Aaron checks in with you.
You nod softly, your own hand coming to rest of his shoulder as you feel him run his index finger over the inseam of your tailored pants.
A sharp gasp escapes you, “Fuck.” Aaron mutters as he watches you squirm.
“Take off your pants.” He orders and you scramble to pull your pants and underwear off in quick succession.
Aaron’s breathing grows heavier as he catches sight of your wet cunt, glistening from its moisture as you spread your legs shyly.
His groan is loud in the car as he runs his thumb over your sticky entrance, pausing to press indecently over your hole softly before running it back up and down through your wetness.
You whimper, grabbing hold of his bicep as you make half-hearted thrusts against his thumb, clenching down emptily on the tip of his thumb each time he teasingly enters your cunt.
“I—oh.” You gasp, feeling Hotch’s thumb start to rub circles on your clit mixed with your wetness. You feel yourself start to leak between your thighs, grinding your hips up into Hotch’s thumb.
“Does that feel good?” he grunts, using his other hand to circle your entrance with his index finger, slipping it in as he rubs your clit and watching in fascination as your pussy swallows his finger whole, clenching down so tightly on him that he can’t help but imagine how tight you’d be on his dick.
“Hotch, I—" you whine as he thrusts his finger in and out, curling it slowly to brush against that soft spongy area inside of you that turns your legs into jelly.
“Aaron,” he orders you. “You call me Aaron while I make you feel good.”
You nod nonsensically, barely even listening as your focus is on the feeling of Hotch’s fingers in you. “Another—want, oh my god, another.” You beg him, leaking all over his fingers as you thrust harder, seeking more friction.
Hotch adds his middle finger easily enough, drawing out a guttural moan from you as you feel yourself climbing closer to the edge. You can feel every callous and groove on Hotch’s fingers and it makes you even wetter.
God you want his fingers inside of you forever, stretching you out and making you cum. “I can’t, close—” you mumble softly, throwing your head back as you clench your hand down on Aaron’s shoulder—you expression scrunching in pleasure.
“Yeah?” Aaron coos, “Cum on my fingers baby—that’s a good girl, cum for me.” He growls, fucking his fingers into your harder as you hurtle towards the finish line.
Your cunt clenching down harshly as you walls spasm around his fingers, your vision whiting out from pure pleasure as Hotch milks you for your orgasm until you’re left twitching and spent on the seat.
“Good girl.” He mumbles softly, laying a soft kiss on your forehead before taking his fingers out of you, bringing them to his own mouth, and sucking as his own eyes roll back into his head.
You’re about to offer to suck him off when you’ve recovered when you notice the wet patch that blooms over his crotch.
Warnings: Angst!!!! PSA! THIS IS A REAL LIFE STORY AND 95% OF THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENED TO ME. So be aware of that. Traumatic event: run down/car crash (detailed description of the whole TL of the accident happening), physical injuries: bruising, lacerations, road rash, head injury, hip and back trauma, blood, pain. Hospital setting, examinations, cleaning wounds, injections, etc. R is in shock, implied mild medical misdiagnosis (cause it happened). Y/N used once.
Summary: It's a foggy winter morning, and for some reason, you've decided to bike to work. During your commute, you're struck by a car turning right as you're going straight in the intersection. You get hurt, go to the hospital, and Hotch comes like a knight in shining armour to keep you company.
A/N: I have debated for so long whether to post this or not, but ultimately have decided to for my own sake since today is the anniversary of it happening. The whole process has been very therapeutic for me.
Also, if you decide to read the doctor's note in the graphic, be aware that it is excerpts from my actual hospital records from the accident, like actual copy-pasted and translated words from my records. They’re not graphic but just a heads-up. And there’s a picture of my thigh right after the incident (in the graphic) before it developed into a massive bruise with internal scarring.
The fog hangs heavy over the city, blurring the edges of the world. It's so thick, you can barely see more than twenty feet ahead.
You don’t know what made you take the bike today. It’s winter, it’s cold, and it’s slippery. You usually never take the bike when it’s like this. Usually, you would’ve gone for the car in these conditions, but something felt different today.
You’re flying down the hill, nearly halfway on your commute. The cold air slices through your coat slightly, and you hunch your shoulders trying to stay warm. Your cheeks feel numb, and your lungs slightly burn from the cold air streaming through them with each breath you take.
It’s freeing
It’s dark out—like it is on all mornings this time of year—and the light at the front of your bike makes your position known to the drivers checking their mirrors before turning—or it should have.
The light is green for right turns as you inch your way closer and closer to the intersection. And as you near, it switches to green for straight passage, giving you right of way—that’s when the sedan appears.
Its blinker flashes right, holding back for the cyclist in front of you, letting him pass—because that’s the traffic law.
As he passes, you’re only a few feet away from heading into the intersection. You keep your eyes trained on the car, it keeps waiting, seemingly waiting for you to pass too. You’re sure the driver has seen you... so you loosen your feet’s grip on the pedals, moving them forward again, easing off the brakes, trusting the driver to hold back, like they did for the other rider.
They don’t.
The sedan surges forward the exact moment you’re parallel with their mirror, cutting across your path. Time feels like it slows. It’s too late to brake as she swings further into your path.
You yank the handlebars right, trying to dodge the car, to make it far enough away from it that the driver spots you before you collide, because it’s your only option at this point.
But that doesn’t happen.
The headlights slam against your left thigh at a slow speed, but enough to knock you down. You lose balance, biking, twisting under you, and you fall toward the road—thankfully, the car has stopped by now.
Your hip hits the ground first, taking most of the impact, then your back, and lastly, your face slams into the asphalt. It feels like your brain rattles inside your skull as the impact processes.
During the impact, you bite down—hard—bruising the inside of your lower lip.
You’re up quickly, sitting before the driver even managed to get out of their car. Your vision swims, looking blurry and like static on an old television. You don’t black out, fully aware of everything around you.
People rush around you, the air filling with voices, gasps, people asking if you’re okay, where you’re hurt, if you know what day it is.
The driver—a lady, no older than your own mom—stands nearby, shocked, on the verge of tears, and barely coherent as she keeps saying ‘I’m so sorry’ and ‘I didn’t see you’ while the pedestrians and other bikers check you over.
You get up on your own, whole body trembling as the people gather your things and help you to the grassy patch on the side of the road. Somehow, you’ve managed to lift your bike up and pull it along with you. Nothing seems broken, it wheels smoothly as you walk it—that’s good, you tell yourself, probably not expensive to fix if anything is wrong.
When you sit down, you feel something drip down your face, running from the impact spot above your left eyebrow and running down the bridge of your nose.
“Am I bleeding?” You ask, knowing the asnwer is yes, but in your confused state, you need the validation, need to know that your brain isn’t lying in the middle of the road.
Someone presses a wad of tissue to the gash, confirming your question, while someone else hands you a water bottle, telling you to drink, that it’s important for your recovery until you can get to the hospital.
(A/N: I make a phone call to my dad here irl as all the people fussed over me. And he actually raced to the scene and was the one to drive me to the hospital in the end.)
Everything feels overwhelming. You’re completely surrounded by people on all sides. You should be crying, you should be screaming, yelling at the driver for being unattentive in traffic, but you don’t; you just sit quietly, answering the questions of all the people as they keep you awake.
You feel like you’re floating.
The grass is wet.
Someone suggest to move you to the bus shelter about thirty feet down from where you’re sitting, because there’s a bench there and you won’t get cold from sitting on the ground.
People start disappearing slowly as you get up—they need to get to work, you think, not stay with you, they don’t know you—your hands are around the handlebars of the bike once again, dragging it along, mostly to steady yourself, while someone brings your backpack in their hands.
“I have to call work and tell them I’m not gonna make it.” You state as they get you seated on the bench in the bus shelter. You find your phone, fingers fumbling to unlock it.
In your hazy state, you’re barely able to recall where your contact list is, you don’t call his office phone often, so it takes some time before you manage to press the call button on one of your contacts.
It rings twice before someone picks up.
“Hotchner.”
His voice is too lively and clear for it being...?—you pull the phone away from your ear, 7:30. He’s probably already at his desk working on the massive stack of paperwork in his inbox you saw last night before you went home.
“Hotch.” You whimper slightly into the phone before your voice turns flat, almost robotic, but still quivers slightly as you speak. “I’m not... I won’t make it to the office today. I just got hit by a car. Can you inform the others?”
The line goes dead silent.
Then he inhales sharply and says your name, in a tone softer than you’ve ever heard him use with you.
“Are you hurt? Where are you right now?” He asks, his questions nearly overwhelming you even further.
“I’m okay,” you answer, trying to gather your thoughts before continuing. “I think I have a concussion, but nothing seems broken. I’m on a bench in a bus shelter, and I’m gonna go to the hospital soon to get checked out. I just didn’t want you to think I was a no-show today.” You explain, babbling more information than he asked for, but is glad you shared.
“You were hit by a car,” he repeats. He sounds like he’s in disbelief, like he’s still trying to process the words you told him. “Which hospital? Tell me where you are.”
“I don’t know,” you admit. “The closest one?”
Hotch is about to ask you to stay on the line, at least until you’re at the hospital, but you’re already saying bye, telling him you have to go and ending the call, ready to go to the hospital.
You let the lady drive you to the ER after you lock your bicycle behind the bus shelter and check that your work laptop didn’t break—because you’re convinced Strauss would fire you if you had to apply for a new device.
Outside the ER, you ask the lady to send you all her details and a report of how she experienced the timeline of the accident.
You rattle off your phone number. She text you, just to be sure you remembered correctly—you did.
She keeps apologizing, and you keep telling her that it’s okay and that it was an accident. You just bid her farewell and that you’ll be in touch, before walking through the ER doors.
Inside, you find the nearest intake desk and tell the nurse stationed there what happened to you. She instantly gets you sat down, blood pressure cuff on—because you’re pale as a ghost—and calls it in.
She’s quickly beside you again, asking about your social security number to admit you. You’re amazed that you can recall it in its entirety.
The nurse is concerned about your low numbers, rechecks your blood pressure, and when they come back just as low, she guides you through the doors into the ER hallway and tells you to lie down on the gurney until she finds a room for you.
You lie there for what feels like hours, but in reality is less than thirty minutes. Nurses keep walking past you, eyeing you in passing to make sure that you’re not worsening.
You’re about to ask the next passing personnel for an update when the restricted access doors that you entered through burst open, and purposeful steps echo closer and closer to your bed.
You could pinpoint those steps from miles away.
Hotch strides through the hallway like he owns the place, already having spotted you—not that it was hard when you’re out in the open.
You push up slightly on your elbows, just enough to lift yourself to a position where you can see him approaching. “Aaron...?”
He’s at your side in seconds, flashing his credentials at the nurse about to threaten him with security.
Hotch looks at you, really looks at you. He takes in your injuries, the gash over your eyebrow, the road rash on your chin and nose, the way you look so tiny and broken in the hospital bed.
“I’m cold.” You whimper at him.
He doesn’t speak at first, just grabs your coat crumpled near your feet, and lays it on top of you like a blanket. “You said you were walking in,” he says quietly, worry evident in his tone.
“The lady who hit me drove me here.” Hotch brushes a hand across your forehead and over your hair, caressing the crown of your head with the softest look in his eyes. You can’t tell if he’s satisfied with the answer or not, but he definitely looks relieved that you didn’t walk all the way there.
Hotch sits with you in silence until a nurse comes and unlocks the wheels of your bed. He wheels the bed down the hall and into a proper room, giving you privacy, dimmer lights, and no passing eyes that seem more judgmental than concerned for your well-being.
Once situated in the room, the nurse clips a pulse-ox clip on your finger, telling you that the doctor will be in soon, and then he leaves.
Hotch sits in the chair next to your bed. Your coat has now been moved to his lap, and your back rests on top of it. He looks way too serious and domestic at the same time.
Thirty minutes pass before another nurse comes, cleans the gash over your eyebrow, and leaves.
It takes yet another thirty minutes before the doctor actually comes.
Hotch is with you all along. Quiet, observant of you, your health, the machines, everything. The only time you hear him speak is when he takes a call from Rossi, giving a quick update on your state ‘banged up but stable’ he says, chatting for another minute before hanging up at letting his focus return to you completely.
He starts by asking what happened, letting you recall the whole story. Meanwhile, he shines a light in your eyes, tells you to follow his finger, and checks your reactions while you talk.
When he’s satisfied, he moves on.
“You’re not gonna like me after this.” The doctor jokes as he starts pushing, with all his weight, on your hips, collarbones, squeezing your ribcage, moving your arms and legs. All to check your joints, to figure out how much pain you’re in, if anything is broken.
The doctor makes you peel your pants down enough to where he can physically see the spot on your thigh where you collided with the car. The bruise is already forming, and there’s what feels like a raised bump under your skin. But he’s not concerned about that.
He then moves on to your jaw, puts his hands in your mouth, checking your bite, looking at the spot where you bit yourself. It feels a little too clinical at this point. You voice your concerns about your potential concussion, but he doesn’t seem worried about it either.
The doctor tells you—well... Hotch mostly—to get some rest, to keep an eye on your injuries, to call your family medicine doctor if first if you feel nauseous and throw up, or if you generally take a turn for the worse.
You can sense that Hotch is starting to get a little annoyed with all the waiting as the doctor bids you a speedy recovery and tells you a nurse will be in shortly to give you a tetanus shot—just in case.
It’s been ages since you last got one, and you’re long overdue for a booster shot.
Yet another thirty minutes pass before the nurse comes; she barely readies the canula before she’s called away.
When she comes back, she finally manages to give you the shot and get you ready to be discharged.
It’s noon when they finally release you.
You slowly sit up, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. You feel disoriented as you go from lying to a sitting position, closing your eyes for a brief moment to steady yourself.
Hotch is quick to grab your elbow as you begin to lower yourself to the ground, holding you steady as your hips buck slightly with a flash of white-hot stabbing pain.
“Let me,” he says quietly. No room for argument—not that you have the energy for that.
You let him wrap your coat around you and slowly lead you out of the ER to his waiting car.
Getting into his car is a quest on its own. Hotch supporst nearly your entire weight as you slowly pivot and lower yourself into the passenger seat before carefully lifting your legs in and buckling your seatbelt.
The drive to your place is mostly quiet. You don’t know what to say, don’t know how to feel. You just watch the city slide by through the window, resting your forehead against the cold glass, bandage taking most of the coldness.
Hotch guides you straight to your bedroom as you make it up the stairs and into your apartment, not allowing your suggested detour to the couch—because you’re more comfortable in your bed.
And he’s right.
The bed looks heavenly as you enter the bedroom. Hotch pulls back your duvet and fluffs your pillows slightly before he helps lower you until you’re sitting on the edge of the bed.
Every muscle feels like you weren’t just hit by one singular car, but a fleet of buses.
You don’t know where he disappears to, but he somehow returns with a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.
You should feel embarrassed by your boss helping you undress and redress yourself. But it’s Hotch. And he’s so nice. And he came to keep you company, and he would never do anything to you. You keep telling yourself.
It’s a battle in itself to get you out of your office attire. The shirt is fine and changed in seconds, but the jeans are a nightmare, an actual nightmare.
It nearly takes five minutes to get them peeled off your legs, and not without winces, whimpering, and one snapped “Aaron!” when he pulls a little too hard.
He kneels down in front of you, opening the one leg of the sweatpants like a pair of tights and tells you to steady yourself on his shoulder.
You stand up enough to where you can lift your leg into the leg of the sweatpants, your entire weight leaning against his shoulder. Hotch works as quickly as possible, and once they’re on, he helps you lower yourself back to the mattress and position yourself lying on your “good side”.
You catch a glimpse of yourself in the dresser mirror across the room: still pale, the road rashes raw on your nose and chin, a thick white bandage over your eyebrow, your hand wrapped like a boxer’s, where you tried to brace your fall, but instead ended up scraping your palm open.
You look like you lost a fight with a truck. Which…isn’t far off to be honest.
Hotch pulls your duvet up over you before he sits carefully on the edge of your bed near your feet. His eyes search yours, assessing you, trying to figure out if you need anything, anything you’re not telling him, if you’ll be alright, anything.
“Get some sleep,” he says softly, placing a hand on your shin over the duvet, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Your body’s been through hell. You need the rest.”
“You don’t have to stay.” You whisper, alright fighting your eyelids as they get heavier and heavier by each passing second.
“I know.” Hotch moves his hand from your shin and brush as strand of hair behind your ear—he’s too good at this... but then againhe probably took care of a sick Jack enough times to know what to do, you think to yourself. “I’m not leaving yet. I’ll be out at your dining table with my laptop if you need anything. Just call my name. Even if you just need me to sit with you.” You give him a tiny nod, giving him the go-ahead, ‘allowing’ him to stay.
“Okay,” you manage.
Hotch brushes the back of his hand over your cheek before getting up. “Sleep,” he whispers, turning the light off and leaving the door slightly ajar.
You drift off to sleep the instant he leaves the room.
Hotch sets up on your dining table like promised. His laptop and the current working case file are open in front of him.
The team is gathered in the conference room at the BAU. And Hotch is on a video call connected to them.
He briefs them on the case—victimology, geographic profile, escalation patterns—guiding the discussion to the best of his abilities from thirty minutes away.
The briefing almost feels normal despite the unfamiliar background of your half-decorated kitchen and the string lights you never took down from Christmas.
Garcia lasts all of twenty minutes before she can’t contain herself anymore. “Okay, I’m sorry, I can’t... I just... Sir, with all due respect, how is she?” The words tumble out in a rush. “Our sweet, sweet, lovely (Y/N). Hit by a car. We’ve all been sitting here pretending to focus, but we’re worried sick.”
The room goes quiet.
Hotch’s expression softens. He leans back slightly in your dining chair, glancing toward the hallway as if checking that your bedroom door is still closed.
“She’s sleeping,” he says quietly. “Finally. I’m giving her an hour, then waking her up to make sure her condition isn’t getting worse.”
Garcia exhales like she’s been holding her breath for hours—she probably has.
Morgan leans forward, elbows on the table. “How bad is it, Hotch?”
He considers for a moment, choosing his words with care, debating how much you’d want him to tell them.
“No fractures, no internal bleeding. Significant bruising... especially the left thigh where the car made contact... and a laceration over her eyebrow, didn’t need stitches or glue though, so should be fine, but will leave a scar. Road rash on her face and palm. The hip and lower back took the worst of the impact when she landed, so she’s in a lot of pain. They gave her a tetanus shot and sent her home with strict instructions to rest and keep movement minimal for the next few days.”
Prentiss frowns. “And the head?”
“They’re calling it a mild traumatic brain injury. She never lost consciousness. Officially, they don’t think it rises to concussion protocol.” He pauses, jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. “She disagrees. Says the light sensitivity and headache feel worse than they’re admitting. She’s had a concussion before, so I trust her judgment a little more on that. We’ll monitor it, though.”
“She must be terrified.” Garcia’s eyes are glassy now.
“She was in shock at first,” Hotch admits. “Very calm on the phone... too calm, honestly. But she’s taken everything really well so far.”
“You staying with her?” JJ asks.
“For tonight, yes.” Hotch’s tone leaves no room for discussion. “She shouldn’t be alone until we see how she responds the next twenty-four hours minimum. I’ll work remotely while you guys travel to L.A. for the case, unless the world burns and it’s life or death.”
“Tell her we’re all thinking about her. And that we’ve got the case covered.” Reid speaks up softly.
“I will,” Hotch says.
There’s a beat of silence.
Garcia sniffs once, then straightens. “Okay. Okay. We’ll be brilliant and catch this creep fast so you can focus on taking care of her. And tell her I’m sending cupcakes. The good kind. With sprinkles.”
“She’ll appreciate that.”
He glances toward your bedroom again, hearing nothing but soft, even breathing through the cracked door.
warnings: we're here, fluff finally! hotch and reader getting their shit together and realise that they're meant to be. hotch being DOWN BAD, i mean DOWN BAD for reader. allusions to sex. two-ish more parts until the end! part one for the written companion will be out and she's a biggie (15k+ words, lord help me). may also be planning a robby smau.
hotch masterlist | masterlist | ask
love is embarassing masterlist
part one | part two | part three, pt 3 excerpt | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight| part nine
liked by a.hotchner, yourgirlgarcia, s_riley, jj.jareau, prentiss.here, derek_morgan, spence_reid and 222 others
lilprivyn touchin' nature and shit after being sad. can't believe i have to leave this beautiful scenery to be stuck in concrete hell
song i'm a fool to want you - frank sinatra
yourgirlgarcia You are positively GLOWING my love!!!
lilprivyn i'll be glowing even more when i see you again!!!!
a.hotchner That's such a beautiful place, and I know beautiful because I know you.
derek_morgan Yo, Hotch, where did this game come from?
prentiss.here Did you go on your 'sad girl walks'?
lilprivyn sad and hot girl walks** tyvm and yes. clocked in an avg of 12k steps a day 💪🏼
s_riley So aesthetic, (Y/L/N). I wonder who took those photos of you.
lilprivyn i've bought every single thing you wanted this whole trip. be grateful, sugar baby
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liked by a.hotchner, yourgirlgarcia, n1kt0_00, prentiss.here, derek_morgan, spence_reid and 278 others
lilprivyn oh yeah smashed so much fucking bacon & eggs and ramen.
song self aware - temper city
location bigger, better, and sluttier
a.hotchner You are the most beautiful person that I have ever seen. I am thankful everyday that I get to see you.
seba_doss what you don't see is (y/n) eating the ground after taking those hot pictures of herself
seba_doss @/a.hotchner do you want photos of your girl stacking it on the ground? cause they're funny
liked by a.hotchner
seba_doss pic creds btw
lilprivyn this is why i kicked you out of the house
lilprivyn and stfu pls and thank
a.hotchner I can't wait until I can go there with you and you can show me around.
prentiss.here God, some people lay it on THICK.
s_riley People out here making future plans instead of just messaging each other.
liked by prentiss.here
lilprivyn oh god, are the two of you friends???
s_riley That's why you kept farting all night.
lilprivyn it's a normal bodily function?! stop shaming me bro
s_riley @/a. hotchner Your girl farts up a storm, by the way.
lilprivyn bro
a.hotchner I don't mind. I have tums regularly stocked in my house.
s_riley God, (Y/L/N), this bloke's a fucking keeper.
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lilprivyn has posted a story!
caption i am coming to your town.
a.hotchner liked your story!
s_riley responded to your story!
s_riley Do not come to my town.
lilprivyn :(
lilprivyn i mean i wouldn't want to set foot in manchester anyway
s_riley Fuckin southerners.
lilprivyn i'll remember that next time you need to borrow my flat in chelsea xx
s_riley Safe flight, birdie. Text me when you land.
yourgirlgarcia responded to your story!
yourgirlgarcia Safe flight, my star girl! Your flight seems to be on track!
lilprivyn you're tracking my flight??
yourgirlgarcia I get antsy!!
lilprivyn pen, it's like a two hour plane ride. i'll be okay
lilprivyn but thank you <3
prentiss.here responded to your story!
prentiss.here Safe flight, can't wait to see what you got me.
lilprivyn our friendship is so fun
prentiss.here You love me.
spence_reid responded to your story!
spence_reid Have a safe flight, (Y/N). I know you don't really want updates on Hotch but he seems happier today. He's also been looking at his computer more, I think it's your flight that he's tracking.
lilprivyn what have i said about snooping, spence?
spence_reid It just caught my eye. I didn't realise that Hotch was a aero-fanatic, until I realised that it was your flight number and it all made sense.
lilprivyn okay, boarding now, spence. i'll talk to you when i land?
iked by a.hotchner, s_riley, yourgirlgarcia, prentiss.here, derek_morgan, price_john, johnnythelad and 169 others
lilprivyn mail order bride was not a success. 1.5/10 would recommend. would review on yelp but they banned me - too many reviews apparently. how does a review website ban someone for reviewing too many things #sufferingfromsuccess
song photograph - nickleback
s_riley 'Thank you for visiting me, and thank you for being such a good friend. I wish you a safe flight. Text me when you land.'
lilprivyn ur a cunt for showing up on my doorstep without any warning. ur an okay-friend but you reported me to yelp so fuck u. call me when u land <3
s_riley Love you, birdie.
lilprivyn 🤮🤮🤮
a.hotchner Have a safe flight, Simon. Thank you for looking after (Y/N).
seba_doss what are we?? chopped goose?
n1kt0_00 Дело в печени, идиот
a.hotchner Thank you all for looking after her.
kon_igs I still do not like you, but you are polite.
johnnythelad think this is most i've ever seen riley, willingly smile
lilprivyn i just bring it out of him <3
s_riley No, it's the fact that I'm using you for your money <3
lilprivyn sugar baby, say it ain't so
prentiss.here Your song choices truly do make you a divorced dad, (Y/L/N).
lilprivyn i can't help who i am, em
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lilprivyn has posted a story!
caption first day back, wanna kms. jk. for legal reasons that's a joke. hr pls don't send me to get a psych eval
a.hotchner liked your story!
derek_morgan responded to your story!
derek_morgan Hot mama!
yourgirlgarcia responded to your story!
yourgirlgarcia I missed you!!!! Come up already and let me give you a hug!!!! I also have your coffee!!
lilprivyn penelope garcia i love you so much. be there soon xoxo
prentiss.here responded to your story!
prentiss.here FINALLY! I don't think I can take much more of Hotch watching the doors waiting to see you.
lilprivyn missed u too, em
prentiss.here Yeah, yeah. Hurry up and go through, I think he's about to vibrate through the floor from how excited he is.
liked by a.hotchner, yourgirlgarcia, s_riley, kon_igs, jj.jareau, david_s_rossi, prentiss.here, spence_reid and 302 others
lilprivyn fuckin' alright i guess
song smooth operator - sade
tagged a.hotchner
a.hotchner Alright would not be the word I would have used for last night.
lilprivyn oh my god aaron
a.hotchner Now you're sounding more like it.
lilprivyn i do not know how to respond to this new side of you
a.hotchner Well I told you I was going to be more upfront with my feelings.
lilprivyn baby you have me, you don't need to do that anymore
a.hotchner I frankly like everyone knowing just how much I love you, so I'm going to keep doing it, if that's okay with you.
lilprivyn i have things to say to you right now that i can't say in public, so come back to bed
yourgirlgarcia OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD
spence_reid I'm happy for you both (I'm assuming this is Hotch) but you've made the group chat go crazy.
prentiss.here EXCUSE ME when did this happen?
spence_reid I assume it was night after Hotch asked her to his office.
jj.jareau Spence. Details. Now.
sjbooth WHAT?!
sjbooth WHEN?!
drtemperancebrennan From the looks of things, Booth, just last night. Congratulations to you both. You both make a fantastic and attractive couple!
sjbooth Bones.
drtemperancebrennan What? They do. They're both very attractive people, and they're very intellectually compatible.
lilprivyn tempe, you will always be my favourite
drtemperancebrennan Thank you! You'll always be my favourite Booth, even though you're not legally a Booth.
haley_lane finally. thank fuck you finally took my advice, hotch
lilprivyn 🧍🏻♀️
lilprivyn wait wat
lilprivyn explain both of you
a.hotchner Honey, don't get mad but Haley was talking to me about you, when you were on your leave. She gave me the push that I need.
haley_lane babes, trust me, i wouldn't have done it but you guys were so pathetic for each other
haley_lane but still so pathetic
lilprivyn why would i be mad??????
lilprivyn my best friend and the love of my life conspiring so i can be happy <3 <3 <3
derek_morgan About damn time. If I had to take one more minute of pining between the two of you I would have transferred.
lilprivyn no derek, don't transfer ur so sexy haha
derek_morgan Don't think you can say that anymore, mama. Not about to step on Hotch's toes.
seba_doss this is like saying that the sky is blue but i'm glad that i don't have to hear about your man for another minute
lilprivyn yes, seba, go die in a hole cause ur so ugly haha
seba_doss crying, gonna jump off a roof. that's bad luck for your new relationship
seba_doss seriously though, spatzi, happy for you
lilprivyn love u sebs
seba_doss printing this comment and keeping it inside my helmet <3
s_riley Congrats on bagging the stinkiest farter and refuses to stop eating eggs.
lilprivyn si y u do me so dirty
s_riley Birdie, it smells like an atomic bomb went off.
a.hotchner Thank you, Simon. I know, it can be diabolical.
dave_s_rossi Congratulations to you both! When you finally get out of the bedroom, I would love to take the two of you out for dinner.
prentiss.here Yuck, Rossi, didn't need the bedroom part.
jj.jareau I agree, I don't think I want to think about Hotch getting it on.
derek_morgan For reasons, I refuse to believe that these two do anything behind closed doors.
spence_reid You guys obviously never shared a wall with them before on cases. They tend to get loud.
prentiss.here WHAT
yourgirlgarcia You guys were hooking up this whole time?!
jj.jareau Spencer, details.
derek_morgan Kid, again, about what I said?
derek_morgan But seriously? Where the hell did this come from? I thought they were just pining and being very obvious in love but not saying anything.
prentiss.here Yeah, when the hell did you two start to bone?
spence_reid I think it happened a year or so ago? They started when they first shared that room. I was sharing a room with Morgan but he was fast asleep with his headphones, so I don't think he heard.
lilprivyn guys
lilprivyn usually when you gossip about someone, you don't do it under their page
derek_morgan Sorry, missy, but we just found out that the two of you have been hooking for ages and we're just now finding out.
sjbooth WHAT?!
lilprivyn omg seeley, pipe down pls
dave_s_rossi I shouldn't have commented.
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a.hotchner has posted a story!
caption My girl.
song hey lover - the daughters of eve
tagged lilprivyn
derek_morgan liked your story!
derek_morgan responded to your story!
derek_morgan Congrats, man! Truly. But how the hell did I not know that the two of you were sleeping together throughout this whole thing?
a.hotchner That was on me. We kept things quiet. We wanted to just be us but then everything happened.
derek_morgan Got it. Don't need to say anything, but be prepared for the interrogation that's going to happen when we have our outing next.
a.hotchner I've already drafted up my responses.
derek_morgan Got your girl and now you've got jokes?
prentiss.here liked your story!
prentiss.here responded to your story!
prentiss.here So I was right about the boning comments?
a.hotchner Prentiss.
prentiss.here And there he is. Glad (Y/L/N) has you back on her leash.
a.hotchner Prentiss.
as always please let me know what you think! i don't think i can express how much i adore and value people's comments - y'all always make my day and make me more motivated to do this!
summary: Hotch comes to you for solace and finally asks for clarity on your “relationship”
pairings: hotch x fem!reader
warnings: Hotch x fem!reader, smut, sorta angsty, reader is traumatised and avoidant as hell, situationship/fwb final boss, sort of introspective, Haley mention (rip!), this takes place around s5-7ish I’d say.
a/n: most of my titles come from songs lmao, I listened to sorbet by kelela on loop when I wrote this. watch me disappear for a month after this lol.
Aaron finds discomfort in the way your relationship is in a state of flux. There’s no label on it just ‘two equally stressed out people who fuck on occasion’ as you so eloquently put it one time.
It’s not what he was used to, to say the least. With Haley it was easier—he knew where they stood, where he stood. They did everything by the book. got married, settled down had a baby together and lived a typical life for a regular family living in suburbia.
You’re not Haley, and he knows that.
Yet he can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy and confusion when you’re in his bed or office one night, coming apart at the seams for him, baring yourself to him in a way only he’ll ever get to see. Just for you to entertain Anderson’s obvious attempt at trying to flirt with you at work the next day.
It’s annoying, knowing that he barely has you in his reach. You’re here and there—a fleeting energy and Aaron is falling, fast. He’s never been the one to rush or prod you, scared that his ask for something more than this will send you running for the hills.
However, you have this way of making him feel like the only man in the world in the bedroom. An intimate, sacred chasm between the two of you, where the weekly grievances built up at the office fall silent in a cacophony of moans and grunts.
Aaron is an attentive lover, he drinks up every reaction now matter how small—his years of profiling allowing him to fine tune his senses a bit better. Every stroke, every moan, every slip of his name as he buries himself inside you, he gets heady at the sight of it all.
Sometimes in the moment he loses himself, he thinks of a future with you, with Jack and maybe another baby in the mix—a girl he thinks. One that’ll take after you but you can still see elements of him in her face. Maybe he’ll finally leave this profiling world behind, work a less strenuous life threatening job and finally enjoy the fruits that life has to offer.
“Aaron?” Your voice snaps him out of his daydream, he blinks a few times remembering where he was and what he was currently doing. “Sorry.” He mumbles placing a quick kiss on your shoulder.
“It’s alright.” You reassure him, scanning his face with a look that in his eyes that is akin to love but he doesn’t fixate on that. You look almost angelic in a sense, the light fixtures providing a glow only seen in sunlit stained glass windows, as if you were a gift from the divine itself.
“Where did you go?” You ask softly, slowing down your movements as if you’d be able to catch his train of thought. Your gentle question, reminds him that he is a sentient being despite all else, bringing him away from the endless rabbit holes of his mind that is brimming with doubt, what ifs?, guilt and much more.
Here he is present.
Your bodies currently intertwined in a dance that only you two know the moves to. He knows that if he lets this silence pass between you both a second longer he’ll hear the faint sounds of your heartbeat. An indicator of life that quiets the loudness that reigns over the dark hallows of his mind.
With your pointed gaze there is nowhere to hide or lie, his micro expressions almost becoming second nature to you. Yet Aaron doesn’t want to dampen the mood with his need for clarity. He can already sense the disappointed look on his therapist’s face when he speaks of this moment, already knowing the question he’s going to be asked.
And it’s not one he can answer, not out loud at least. So he chooses to bite the bullet, consequences be damned. Maybe it’s time that he finally tries his hand and living for once instead of merely surviving, it’s deserving for him, no? Does he deserves happiness after all, after everything.
It’s what Haley would’ve wanted for him. For Jack.
“What are we doing?” He asks, finally finding his voice in the midst of the silence. His tone isn’t harsh or demanding, a far cry away from the stern Unit Chief you often saw at work.
As soon as the words leave his mouth he wishes that he never said anything at all. He watches your mind whirr, trying to spin a coherent sentence out of your mouth whilst he’s currently splitting you open.
You knew that this would eventually happen, the day that you’d be made to confront your feelings in this relationship (?) you were in. If it was anyone else you’d deflect or bolt, the question of something more making you feel trapped.
To you, these frivolous hookups/situationships were a means to an end, another way you’d cope with the darkness of humanity you were privy to week in, week out at the BAU. A few moments of non committal bliss with a random stranger to outweigh the sordid horrors of your job, was what you needed to get by the hardest days.
Aaron’s soft yet penetrative gaze cages you in, leaving you no room to escape. And for once you don’t feel a sense of panic or alarm, maybe because Aaron isn’t a means to an end to your problems, nor is he a cure to them. His gaze isn’t riddled with expectations or an idealised version of who you are or who you could be.
It’s refreshing for a start. You start to feel bad for your poor attempts to throw him off your trail, flirting with Anderson in the mornings, letting his hands linger on your shoulder for a second longer knowing that it should be him instead, laughing at his unfunny jokes.
“We’re having sex, Aaron.” You say matter of factly and he knows you’re bullshitting, trying to use the obvious as a blanket for your vulnerability. He sighs, knowing that your walls are pretty much fortified but he still pushes slightly, he can’t help it. His pursuit for the truth takes over his desire for peace.
“You know that’s not what I meant.” He replies matter of factly, leaving no room for confusion as he slows his movements. The drug of mind numbing pleasure that you were planning to get high on and lose yourself in stalls, sobering you up to the reality where your relationship hangs in the balance, on the edge of something that you can’t quite describe.
You knew that you wanted him, so bad that it almost terrified you. To the point where you’d do anything to avoid being one with one with him at work. Delaying your routine wellness check ins with him, cancelling last minute meetings, dropping off paperwork when he wasn’t in his office.
You even went to the lengths of rerouting your entire walk to work in order to avoid him. Turning down hangouts with JJ and Garcia because you didn’t want to approach him at post work socials, especially after a few drinks in your system.
Was it childish? Yes. but it was easier for you to deal with him in small doses. Particularly during sex, the focus on mutual pleasure made it easier to forget your growing emotions towards him, especially when he was pulling orgasms out of you like a magician pulling rabbits out of a hat.
“You know I can’t give you what you want.” You admit after a beat and the moment passes as fast as it began. It was typical of you to run from your feelings than to address them, feelings made everything more complicated and you’re pretty sure you’ve just fucked everything up.
He doesn’t say anything after that.
Yet he fucks you like he loves you (he does) and when you’re both spent and satiated, he holds you with a love he cannot express but it’s one you both know, one that you both hold for each other.
And when you see each other next at work, the tensions dissipated into something more digestible. You thought that Aaron would want nothing to do with you after what happened during that night. He carried on as usual, which was understandable since he had a reputation to maintain and cases to solve but you did miss the borderline staring contests you’d have with him when you both thought nobody was looking.
Little did you know, no matter how many times he’d busy himself with menial tasks, Aaron would unknowingly spend his days waiting for your call, your green light, that would let him be yours for however long you needed him to be,
You love Aaron, Aaron loves you. But you don't talk about it. Oh, you'd never. Until your mom says a thing, and feelings finally tide over.
A/N: a whole lot of unspoken/suppressed feelings, years of restraint culminating into...something, Aaron taking a chance, reader feeling conflicted, angst, so much pining.
Word count: 3.5k
The steering wheel is warm beneath your fingers, sticky even, from sweat and sunscreen and general car-grime that has accumulated in your old Nissan Altima over the years, complemented by faded, worn-out seat covers and the stubborn Black Vanilla Little Tree hanging from the rearview mirror. It’s pointless, really—its scent has faded into oblivion by now—but it clings there like a badge of honor, a relic from the past. This car has stood the test of time—your first car and you’re preferential to firsts, even if they’re a little stuffy inside.
First taste of ice cream (Jo’s Caramel Cookie Crumble), first time out of state (Sarasota, 1992) and your first ever love letter—to Craig Sullivan, devastatingly.
However lyrically—? A work of art.
“I can’t believe she said that, you know.”
Aaron’s crammed in the passenger seat, knees squished against the glove department and nightly shadows swallowed by jet black hair, but if you looked at him, really looked, you know you’d see the street lights reflecting in his eyes—bright, sparkling, taunting.
If.
You’re not sure you can ever look at him again.
___________
Such a beautiful ring, my dear.
It’s funny though, how life works. I always thought you two would—
___________
“She didn’t mean it.”
Right. Of course not.
Your jaw ticks, eyes drifting from the barely visible road to your phone. 0.3 miles until the next turn, left on Hill Drive, then another left and you’ll be straight on the I-95 to Washington.
ETA: 00:06 AM. 37 minutes to go.
“I don’t care if she meant it,” you say through your teeth, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “She can’t just—“
Say what you’ve never had the courage to say? What you never dared to even think about?
Aaron and you. You and Aaron. Like a pendulum, two poles forever divided, but always connected. By something.
You remember being small, innocent, playing fetch with your neighbors’ son—Sean, not Aaron—because Aaron was always busy fixing your mother’s house or mowing the lawn for some extra cash—to get the fuck out of Manassas—and when he did, he left you, too.
You were only eight, but still. Sean was four, and practically lived at your house instead of next door. You never thought of it as particularly neglectful on anyone’s part—you just liked having a little brother to torment.
And before you were old enough to even grasp the meaning of love, Aaron was head over heels for Haley, blushing furiously whenever your mother mentioned the theatre club, when she teased him about being the worst fourth pirate in The Pirates of Penzance to date, and yet—and yet, maybe you liked Haley even more than Aaron.
She was the big sister you never had, but always wanted—and while Aaron threatened to punch Craig Sullivan for cheating on you with a girl from Eastwood High, in a god-darn tree of all places, Haley was the one who actually helped you through senior year.
Checking in on you from GWU campus, revising countless applications essays—she even took you dress shopping for prom, which you attended with Craig’s best friend.
Better to go out with a bang, right?
And it’s not like you thought about Aaron in any sort of way—ever—at least not until you really grew up and started to subconsciously compare any guy you met to Aaron and any of your relationships to his marriage.
A marriage that is now over—your once so highly esteemed picture-perfect image of partnership, of love, festered into something else entirely by the force of responsibility, by careless negligence and scathing loneliness.
Priorities, for short.
But it’s weird, right?
The man who chose his job over his own wife and son countless times—which you condemn, of course—flies in from Wisconsin the moment your mother calls from the hospital?
It makes you wonder, would he do the same for you? You know you would. Any day, even at three in the morning, without hesitation.
“I’ve been engaged for two months,” you point out finally, the words grating on your throat, “even as a joke, it’s not fair to Nathan.”
And although it’s not your truth per say, somewhere in this universe, in a dimension where you’re more worried about your fiancé than your ever emotionally unavailable childhood best friend, it’s a truth, at least.
You thought your mom liked Nathan; his happy-go-luckiness, the quirky glasses, always coming through with some sort of historical fact or grammatical pun.
He’s a teacher—a fun teacher. Reliable. Nice.
A real sweetheart.
Everything you should ever want. Everything you do want.
“You keep saying that like it’s already over.”
From the corner of your eye, you catch Aaron’s hand landing on his thigh, the way he shifts in the passenger seat—and your chest constricts.
“It’s always ‘I’ve been engaged’ or ‘I got engaged’. Past tense, like you’re detaching yourself from the reality of ‘I am engaged’ or ‘I’m getting married’.” Aaron’s voice is quiet, a low, steady rumble that is void of any real affliction, like he’s solving a case.
Like he’s solving you.
“Really, Aaron?" you ask, unimpressed, but there's a subdued sharpness to your tone. "My mom just had a heart attack and you’re profiling me?”
Aaron mumbles, “Costochondritis,” as if that matters at all—as if you didn’t get a phone call sixteen hours ago and drove 180 miles to D.C. under the impression that your mother did have a heart attack.
And you haven’t been able to get it out of your head; the image of your mother, the strongest woman you know, in a hospital gown, talking with a slight voice and shaky fingers, her face pale and drained in a moment she thought could have been her last—and the one thing she chooses to tell you isn’t I love you, kid or I’m proud of you. No, it’s:
I always thought you two would end up together.
It makes sense, the both of you.
Like that’s at all an okay thing to say to your engaged daughter and in-the-midst-of-his-divorce surrogate son. And Haley, god, she loves your mom. She and Aaron chose you as Jack’s godmother—that way you’re officially part of our family, isn’t that beautiful?—and if it wasn’t for her being the second half to in-the-midst-of-Aaron’s-divorce, you would’ve asked her to be your maid of honor. Hell, you still might.
“Why does it bother you so much?”
You cast a squinting look at Aaron in the passenger seat, just for a moment.
Is he being serious?
“For a plethora of reasons,” you reply gravelly, trying to keep your voice level, “Nate. Haley. The fact that it’s absolutely absurd.”
You scoff sharply, fingers tightening around the steering wheel as you relive the scene.
Because that’s the problem, isn’t it? The way Aaron didn’t flinch when she said it—not even the bat of an eye. No surprise on his features, no denial.
As if he’s had the thought before, maybe even the conversation.
And that, the simple idea of it slowly ships away at your resolve, clawing straight into your chest, where a quiet, stickling truth resides, always there, hiding, lingering—the one you’ve never wanted to face—and never had the chance to.
“The question is,” you continue, signaling left to turn on Hill Drive, although it’s not like there’s any other vehicle around at this time of night, “why doesn’t it bother you?”
The moment it’s out, you regret it. Deflection means there’s more to the truth.
You remember the first time he said that to you, in his brand new prosecutor’s office, back when the USAO building was just a couple blocks from the National Gallery on 6th street, and you had just come back from taking a stroll to enjoy the architecture—or, more accurately: call Craig Sullivan from a payphone down the street.
You were sixteen, for god’s sake.
“Maybe because she’s not entirely wrong.”
Something in you snaps, shatters—and the world turns upside down. Your world, carefully constructed to hold everything together, to reconcile this feeling with that feeling, to keep everything neatly compartmentalized, safe, unchallenged.
Aaron and Haley. Haley and Aaron.
You and…someone else.
That’s how it’s always been.
Craig from high school, Jordan from college, then no one for a while—and now Nate, anchoring you to a reality where things are clear-cut, where your engagement means certainty, where Aaron is just Aaron, the brother-like figure, the best friend who has always been there although for you, at times, it’s not been quite enough.
But you never thought—
—yet here you are now, in your first car with the signature Black Vanilla Little Tree, and Aaron isn’t denying your mother’s words. He isn’t scrambling to explain them away. He’s just… accepting them, as though they’re not absurd at all.
“You’re joking,” you balk, but it’s not as sharp as you intended. Your voice wavers, thoughts whirring, desperately trying to keep this, whatever it is, at bay.
Aaron exhales slowly, hands pressing into his thigh. And yet, he doesn’t say a thing. He just has this look on his face, tired, weary, like he has had this conversation before—but not with you. Never with you.
With who, then? Your own mother? Sean? Haley?
Betrayal weighs on your chest, leaving a bitter taste on your tongue.
“This is a joke.” You don’t mean to sound defensive, but you are. Defending everything you’ve ever thought to understand about him, about yourself. About boundaries, unspoken, but always there.
Heat sizzles beneath your skin, anger bubbling in your veins. From his words. His silence. Your right foot steps on the throttle as Hill Drive stretches ahead, empty and dark, giving you nothing to distract yourself from the growing heaviness in your chest.
“Please Aaron, enlighten me,” you snap, wondering if this is him finally reacting to Haley filing for divorce. Maybe he’s overcompensating, prodding at the stability of your relationship, testing the vigor of your choices because he regrets his own.
Maybe it’s the broken home he’s from—alcoholic father, a passive mother—and he just can’t bear to be happy, to see anyone else happy.
You know that’s unfair. But he isn’t being exactly fair either.
“Why do you think Nate’s wrong for me?”
And then, finally—
“I don’t think he is,” Aaron says quickly, decisively. “I think he’s good for you. But maybe different things can be true at the same time.”
You blink in confusion, frozen as your chest slowly fills with dread. Your eyes drop to the TomTom, the new-tech navigation device Aaron got you for Christmas three years ago.
Philadelphia’s a big city. I don’t want you to get lost.
But isn’t that exactly what you are?
Living somewhere between a fantasy and a delusion, balancing it out with careful calculations to not feel too out of control. Because what you do is what you feel, right?
Daily runs equals 10,000 steps equals feeling healthy. A busy calendar equals productivity equals feeling purposeful. And Nate checking a lot of your boxes? A steady foundation equals a happy relationship.
It’s a logic you thought Aaron, of all people, could appreciate.
31 minutes to go.
You hum quietly, carefully, like you’re bracing yourself for impact, a revelation, perhaps. A tipping point.
“What…are you saying?”
Your eyes stay on the road, grip tight around the steering wheel as your pulse kicks up. This isn’t happening. This conversation isn’t happening.
“That it’s…crossed my mind,” Aaron’s voice is gentle, the familiar rumble of syllables and words, hushed, like he’s running out of time, always. But for you, he makes time, he makes room. It’s music to your ears on any given day, and right now, if it weren’t for the adrenaline coursing through your body, you probably would have asked him to tell you again and again and again.
Because he says it so simply, like it’s just another fact about the world—as if it doesn’t unravel something buried deep inside you, something you’ve never had the nerve to examine or admit, not even to yourself. A threat to the foundation you’ve so carefully laid.
“Aaron—” you choke out, pleading, asking him to stop, to repeat. You don’t even know.
The time on the TomTom drops from 31 to 30 minutes, and it’s the longest sixty seconds you’ve ever endured.
Waiting for Aaron to say something, to do something, laugh it off, tell you it was just a joke, a test, anything that doesn’t mean what you think it means. But he doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t take it back. And for a moment, just one second, you allow yourself to imagine it—
Coming home from a long day at work, tired and exhausted, to a wall of warmth and Aaron’s favorite freshly cooked pasta—the one your mom always makes with lentils—and he’d greet you with a hug and a smile. Then you’d have dinner, talking about work and how Jack’s doing, maybe you’d be thinking about buying a house, about building a life together.
You’d drive to Manassas on the weekend to visit your mom and she’d finally have something nice to say about your partner.
You’d bicker about something stupid on the way home, like you always do, and he’d kiss it better later in the night, knowing just how much you could take, how much you wanted it, needed him—
“No.”
It’s sharp, panicked, cutting through the air like a blade, like a door slamming shut before something dangerous can slip through. Something you’ve kept under lock and key for a long part of your life.
The road blurs on front of you, but you blink a few times, force yourself to focus. And then the anger comes back, red hot in your veins.
“No,” you repeat, lower now, and your head shakes, “you don’t get to do this.” Your voice is thick with emotion, uneven, like the ground is shifting beneath you and you’re trying to stay upright. “Haley’s my friend. I’m getting married.”
“I know,” Aaron nods once, like it’s another fact he’s just…accepted. But his voice is strained, frayed at the edges, like he’s at war with himself, and he knows he’s losing.
Frustration rises in your throat, edging into something akin to fear—maybe a dooming realization that Aaron feels it too, that you might not be alone in this, maybe haven’t been for a while.
It makes everything worse.
“This isn’t fair,” you say, voice clipped. It’s not fair to Haley or Nathan or you, after all these years of keeping your mouth shut, after all the times you bit your tongue, forced a smile, tucked emotions away like secrets. When you sat across from your boyfriends and thought—Aaron wouldn’t say it like that. Aaron would know better. Aaron would understand.
Every moment you had to remind herself that wanting more would never be an option.
“I know,” he says again. “I’m just trying to be honest.”
Now that—
That does it.
There’s a beat of silence—deafening, devastating silence. You glance at the rearview mirror, and before you can think about it, you slam the brakes. Aaron jerks forward in the passenger seat, caught by the seat belt. His right hand snaps to the dashboard to steady himself.
“What are you—” Aaron starts, but you don’t let him.
The moment the car stills, you stare at him, eyes wide, streetlights flashing through the windshield, casting fractured streaks of gold and shadow across his face, and for once—Aaron Hotchner looks caught off guard. But you’re too angry to revel in it.
“You want honesty?”
The heat behind your words builds fast, sharp and unforgiving, spilling out before you can stop it. “I have been watching from the sidelines for years, Aaron. I was happy for you, for Haley and I never said a thing because it would have ruined the life of everyone I love.”
Your voice is rough, edged with something close to regret—not for holding back, but for never getting the chance not to. You shake your head slightly, swallowing hard, forcing down the ache rising in your throat before locking your gaze on him.
“And you throw this at me now? When it’s finally my turn? When I finally found someone who—”
You stop short, words catching like a lump in your throat.
Someone who ticks all the boxes? Someone so opposite that you couldn’t possibly compare him to Aaron?
This is a farce. A cruel joke you’ve played on yourself for years—pretending you don’t care, convincing yourself that holding back was a choice and not survival. That your careful decisions, your curated relationships, your picture-perfect stability meant you’d won.
But the truth is, you’ve been fighting against this from the very beginning—against him, against whatever this is. And what’s worse?
It makes sense, the both of you.
Ultimately, it’s the truth. You know it is.
Aaron’s jaw shifts. His gaze flickers toward you, unreadable—but not indifferent. Never indifferent.
“Your turn?” There’s something careful in his voice. The weight of his words settle between you, thick and suffocating, pressing into the space where something shouldn’t be—but is.
Always has been, maybe.
“Are you getting married to prove something?”
Your stomach twists, brows pulling together in something that feels like being caught, ensnared in your own web of divisions and self-preserving lies, and for what?
A sense of control? A lifeline for something simpler, something less...impossible?
“That’s not—” you exhale sharply, leaning back in the seat, your head falling against the headrest as you try to keep it together, scrambling to hold onto the reality you’ve built over the last three years, the one that was supposed to protect you, to help you move on.
Because you had to, after Haley announced that she was pregnant. It was the last straw, undeniable proof that Aaron belonged somewhere else—that there was no space for whatever you had convinced yourself wasn’t real.
So you did what anyone desperate to move on would do.
You left Washington. You packed up your life, relocated to Philadelphia, took on a different job, met new people—built something from scratch, far enough away that you wouldn’t accidentally run into old ghosts. You filled your days with work, routine, order. When you met Nathan, cheerful, fun, shining bright like the sun, it was like two jigsaw puzzle pieces entwining, factoring into a bigger picture.
It was supposed to be enough.
“I love Nate,” you force out, the words scraping against your throat, raw, uneven, too fragile to feel real. You stare straight ahead, refusing to meet Aaron’s gaze, because if you do, if you see whatever’s sitting in his expression, you might not be able to hold back.
He studies you, and for once, you let him, assuming—accepting—that you will not get out of this conversation unscathed.
“Because you choose to, yes.”
Your breath falters, letting out a hollow laugh, sharp, bitter—because isn’t that the truth?
A person chooses actions, feelings choose a person. It’s a cycle you’ve been trying to escape for years, by making calculated decisions, the kind that leave no room for recklessness.
Because recklessness is what led you here, on the side of a road with Aaron, unraveling years of restraint with just a few sentences.
“What else was I supposed to do?” The question is desperate, your tone reproachful. “Did you want me to put myself on hold while you were married with a kid? Always at your disposal when it’s convenient? That’s selfish, even for you.”
Aaron’s jaw tightens slightly. His gaze flickers toward the windshield, toward the empty road ahead, like the words have landed somewhere he isn’t sure he wants to explore.
“I didn’t know you felt like that,” Aaron says, his voice quiet, pondering.
De-escalating.
You let out a breath, shaking your head as something pulls at your chest—something heavy, similar to grief.
“You weren’t supposed to.” Your gaze softens in the dim lighting. It’s been a long day, and his hair is messier than usual. Unkempt in a way that makes him look younger, less intense, more approachable. “I guess you’re not the only one with a good poker face.”
It’s a try at lightness, at easing the blow of this conversation. But your momentum ends as soon as Aaron’s eyes meet yours.
“I’m sorry,” he says, murmurs, and it sounds sincere. “I never wanted you to feel that way.”
Suddenly you’re twenty-four again, sprawled across your tiny apartment floor, notes scattered and cradling a half-empty coffee cup in your hands, complaining to Aaron about legal terms like prudent person and quid pro quo.
He used to revel in it, you—a trained nurse, taking after him, fighting for patient’s causes, for justice.
It’s addicting, right?
And it was, just like him.
When you finally got that certificate, he was so, so proud of you. And you loved every second of it, loved it in a way you shouldn’t have.
That’s when you knew, six years ago.
Your eyes close, just for a second, but the weight of it doesn’t lessen. If anything, shutting out the world only makes it louder. The memories, the choices, the things you told yourself you were better off leaving behind.
None of it has worked.
So you open them again, the world settling back into place—but it doesn’t feel any steadier.
“What do you want then?” The words spill out of you before you can stop them. Sharper than you meant, but there’s no taking them back.
Silence stretches between you, long enough to feel unbearable, to make you second-guess, wishing you never had this conversation.
Because this might be the end of it all—the end of you and Aaron, Aaron and you, two poles forever divided by time and place and the weight of your choices.
Then, softly—too softly, like he’s had the same realization—, “I don’t know.”
Guys, it's our final chapter 😭 Don't fret! Because there is an epilogue coming day after tomorrow that'll be a nice little wrap up, but this is our end 😭🫶🏻 (I have a crazy lil author's note at the end that I didn't want you to read before, so enjoy that after all the angst!)
Warnings: emotions! so many emotions! i cried so hard writing this one so that is your warning! minor character death but not "on screen", i listened to "waiting room" while writing this but like...don't do that if you don't want to sob uncontrollably ok
“What are you going to do to them?” you ask, knowing how innocent and naive it sounds. That’s your point.
Carter leans into the fridge and grabs one of the Mountain Dew bottles. “We will shoot them. Simple. There’ll be too many to do anything else, though I guess I could knock the women out and strangle them later.”
You nod slowly, as if that makes sense, as if it seems like a good plan, even though it terrifies you to hear it. In reality, you need to know his every move if you’re going to keep your team safe, if they make it to this cabin before you can figure something else out. Not that you don’t trust them to be prepared for anything, but you’ve witnessed just how unpredictable Carter is. You need to do your part to be one step ahead, even if he’s been five steps ahead this whole time.
“Where’s my gun?” you ask casually.
He laughs through his drink. “You think I’d bring that shit with us here? God, no. I’m not a moron. It’s in that car we drove to the edge of the woods.”
“Wait.” You had sort of figured he ditched the car, given that it was a government vehicle and all. “You…did you carry me here?”
“Fuck no, I used the four-wheeler,” he says. He leans back against the counter, eyes narrowing. “You’re asking a lot of questions.”
You mirror his stance and lean in the doorway. “I like to know what I’m getting myself into.” You keep on taking mental notes. There’s a four-wheeler you can use to get down the mountain, you just need to get out of this house. Somehow.
He hums, eyes narrowing. “So you can help me.”
“Sure.”
He stares for a second. “I don’t believe you.”
You sigh. “I don’t know why you would.”
“I want to.”
“Okay,” you shrug. “Then just trust me.”
“Fine,” he says, but he doesn’t sound too happy about it right now. “I have a gun you can use, but I’m not showing you where it is. I need to shower first.”
You roll your eyes. “Right.”
“So,” he pushes off the counter. “Can I trust you to stay put? You know how dangerous these mountains are at night, and the sun is gonna set any minute now.”
Fuck. “I don’t exactly want to be dinner for the bobcats, so yeah. I’ll be here.”
“Good,” he nods. He pats his pocket and you hear keys jingling there. “And I’m taking these with me.”
You make a show of plopping down on the couch, kicking your feet up and leaning your head back. “Cool. I’m taking a nap.” You are sluggish, probably still the after effects of the drug he gave you, and you hope he takes it as that.
You hear him chuckle before going down the hall, so you’re in the clear. There’s movement in one of the rooms, presumably his bedroom, until you hear a door shut. After a few moments, you hear the shower turn on.
You stand up, eyes searching every inch of the room. There has to be something useful in this stupid place.
You’re getting out of here one way or another. There has to be a spare key to the four-wheeler somewhere, or a phone for fuck’s sake. A phone might be more useful. You could call Garcia and she could find your exact location easily.
But of course, the only phone you see is a landline that probably hasn’t been connected in years. He probably doesn’t even pay for any phone service here, if he’s as strategic as he’s shown you to be.
You hear the shower curtain move aside. The clock is ticking. Fast. You don’t know how quickly he showers, but you can’t imagine he’ll take long since you’re here. You’re surprised he’s showering at all, and that he didn’t handcuff you to a bed or something, but you’re glad he didn’t. You’re glad that, for whatever reason, he decided to trust you.
You spin in circles in the living room, willing your brain to come up with something. You check the drawers in the kitchen quietly, but there aren’t any spare keys -- or keys of any sort. It’s all random things, kitchen utensils, other household essentials that are no use to you right now.
Out of sheer curiosity, you try the front door. It’s unlocked.
Your eyes dart to the bathroom as you hear the water splash. With the front door cracked, you weigh your options.
You have no idea how far up the mountain you are, or where you even are. You have no idea what or who is around. The sun is just starting to set, so you’ll likely be out there in the dark for some time if you don’t make it down to civilization in time.
Or you can stay here, risk him drugging you to make you sleep through the night, or worse, risk saying something to set him off and risk him seriously injuring you like you know he’s capable of doing.
He’s my brother, you think with deep, deep sorrow. He’s your brother, and in the cruelest twist of fate, he reminds you exactly of your father.
And that is why you can’t stay. That is why you have to do what you didn’t do when you were younger, because you knew no better back then.
That’s why you run.
You don’t know how far you’ll make it, you don’t know if you’ll even make it anywhere worthwhile, but you know you can’t stay here. You know your chances are higher out there, with the possibility of running into a ranger, someone you can actually trust, with access to a satellite phone. You can’t stay here because you can’t change him, just like you couldn’t change your father, no matter how badly some days you wished that you could.
Carter is too far gone, and it seems he has been since he first kidnapped you when you were kids. It seems he’s always been this way.
Tears stream from the corners of your eyes as you run, the wind whipping against your face as you follow the path down the road, hoping you’ll find someone, but knowing there’s likely no one up here, not even any neighbors -- at least not for miles.
It’s gut wrenching, and you wish you never knew he existed. You wish you never had this knowledge that you have a brother, that you’ve had one this whole time, and there was nothing you ever could’ve done to save him. He was doomed from the start -- and maybe you were too, just in a different way -- all because of your father.
You glance over your shoulder quickly, worried you hear footsteps, but no one is there. No one but the trees, covering you, encouraging you to get away. We’ll hide you, they say. We’ll keep you a secret.
+++
“Garcia, give me an update,” Hotch says, hoping the connection hasn’t dropped as the trees thicken around them, swallowing the team whole.
“Keep heading straight,” she says. “You’re closing in.”
Hotch motions to the team to keep moving, and everyone picks up speed. With every passing second, the sun drops lower and lower, and they know time is limited. It’s dangerous in the mountains at night, especially without proper gear, but Hotch can’t care about that. All he cares about is getting to you, getting to the house with heat signatures in it that Garcia found. That has to be you.
“Woah, hold on,” Garcia’s voice filters through Hotch’s ears. “That’s weird.”
He doesn’t slow his pace, but he asks, “What are you seeing?” Rossi’s head turns at Hotch’s panicked question.
“The satellite updated, there’s only one heat signature in the house.”
Hotch nearly falls flat on his face. “She--”
“No, no,” Garcia says, and she almost sounds like she’s smiling. “I think she’s running. There should be a road to your right, follow it around the bend.”
Hotch motions to everyone and receives nods in return.
And that’s when he hears it. Sobbing.
Your sobbing. It breaks his heart to realize that he knows the sound so vividly and distinctly, but it’s you. It has to be.
“Wait!” he shouts to the team and everyone halts, listening. A knowing look passes between them.
They hear it. Sobbing, and running.
+++
What are the odds, you think, of running down this mountain and running into your team as they’re trying to get to you? Is it really so crazy to think that they’re on their way to you just as you’re trying to get away?
You don’t care how delusional it is, you try to imagine it. It keeps your legs moving. It keeps your fear at bay as you keep looking behind you, fearing you hear Carter behind you, but no one is there.
Until you come crashing into something hard.
Arms wrap around you and for a moment you think it’s Carter, that he caught up to you and got in front of you, but then you take in what you’re feeling. A kevlar. Strong arms. A cologne that only Hotch wears.
“Aaron,” you cry, your entire body practically giving out in his arms. You bury your face in his neck as he holds you up and you take a deep breath, gripping him like he’ll slip away any second. Like he’s a figment of your imagination, another after effect of the tranquilizer, and hell, maybe he is, but you don’t care. If this is a hallucination, you’ll take it. It’s a nice one.
“I’ve got you,” Aaron whispers and it sounds so real.
You distantly hear him giving orders to the rest of the team, telling Morgan and Prentiss to go with Rossi to the house. Reid stays with you and Hotch, talking to someone over the phone, and you realize it’s JJ.
“Do you have her?” Garcia comes into Hotch’s ears, frantic.
“I’ve got her,” you hear him say, and then you hear him sniffle. “I’ve got her, Penelope, thank you.”
“Is that Pen?” you murmur, your face still buried in Aaron’s neck with no sign of moving. “I knew she’d know what to do.”
“I hear you, my angel, I know,” Garcia’s voice is thick with emotion.
With every passing second, you realize this has gone on for too long, so the only explanation is that it’s real. You lift your head from Aaron’s neck, peering up at him with wide, watery eyes.
“Aaron?” you whisper, one of your hands cupping his jaw, fingers flexing against his face. “Oh my god, you found me.”
Tears slip from his eyes, wetting your fingers against his cheek. One of his hands covers yours, squeezing. “I’ve got you, honey, it’s me. We found you.”
Your head falls forward onto his chest, the emotion of it finally crashing over you. Your arms reach up to wrap around his neck, clinging to him ferociously now that you know he’s real, that this is real.
“I’m so sorry,” Aaron cries into your ear, arms wrapped around you just as tight.
“I never should’ve left,” you sob.
“I never should’ve let you,” he argues, muscles flexing, as if he’s trying to memorize the shape of you, to keep you against him forever. “We need to get you down the mountain,” he says, and without any hesitation, you feel him lifting you into his arms bridal style.
You have no energy in you to protest, and you don’t even want to. Your arms wrap around his neck for stability, and you let him carry all your weight.
Slowly, you hear Reid’s voice filter back in. “I see you guys, yeah, we’re coming down, Hotch’s got her, so we’ll be fine, we’ll meet you there.” A pause, then to Hotch he says, “The paramedics are waiting down there.”
“Good,” you hear and feel Hotch say. You keep your eyes closed, face turned toward his shirt as the world sways as he carries you down.
Your head grows dizzy as your body catches up with itself, the adrenaline finally waning, your heart finally settling now that you’re in Aaron’s arms.
You almost don’t hear the gunshot when it rings out, but your body tenses. The birds above scream and scatter.
You know what it means. Aaron does too. Neither of you say a word.
Once you’re down the mountain, Aaron reluctantly hands you off to the paramedics in the ambulance.
“Wait--” you reach out for him, thinking he’s walking away, but he sits down.
“I’m right here,” he says, placing a gentle hand on your arm. “They need to take care of you first, but I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
You nod, a wave of nausea passing over you, causing your eyes to close.
“He gave her something--”
“He said it was a tranquilizer,” you manage to get out. “Don’t know what kind.”
All of it is a blur. They say something, you feel a prick in your arm and your breath hitches, remembering before, but whatever they give you calms you down. You flex your arm at your side, searching for Aaron’s, and you find it, fingers loosely lacing with his. Everyone moves around you, and soon the rumble of the engine starting filters into your ears.
As the ambulance heads for the hospital, you rest your eyes, though you’re more alert than any of them are expecting you to be. But it’s because you have one thing on your mind, and your brain won’t let the thought rest.
“He’s gone, isn’t he?” you mumble after a while.
Aaron squeezes your hand. He doesn’t need to ask who you mean. “I’m sorry, honey.”
You nod, knowing it was inevitable. Knowing there was nothing you could do.
+++
You’ll hear this later from the team, but Carter was already gone when they made it inside the cabin.
They heard the gun go off while they were on the porch. Morgan had just shouted, “FBI!” when they heard it. When they knew.
Morgan found Carter in the living room. He likely saw you were gone, heard the FBI at his door, and knew he had two options. So he made a choice.
Part of the team is glad they weren’t the ones to do it, given the fact that they knew it was likely to end that way. But mostly they are sorry it had to end this way at all, knowing the pain it’ll cause you, and the years of guilt you’ll have to unpack.
+++
When you come back to yourself in the hospital, Aaron is sitting beside you, typing rapidly on his phone. You barely move and his eyes dart to you, phone immediately forgotten when he sees you’re beginning to stir.
“Hey,” he whispers, hands reaching for you, one stroking your face, the other resting on your arm. As if he’s still trying to be sure that you’re back in arms reach.
“Hey,” you echo, tears filling your eyes, the memories instantly coming back to you. “I’m--”
“No, no,” he shakes his head, eyes watering too. “I’m sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I wish I had found him sooner,” you cry, tears escaping as quickly as your eyes can fill with them. “I wish I had gotten to him before my dad did.”
“I know, honey, I’m sorry,” Aaron says softly, shifting closer in the chair, but it’s not close enough.
“Come here,” you move over on the bed. “Can you hold me?”
He doesn’t care that the bed isn’t exactly big enough for both of you. You’ve asked if he can hold you, so that’s exactly what he’s going to do. He’s in the bed and pulling you into him faster than anyone can tell him no.
You tuck your head into his chest, sobbing as you fist his shirt, careful of the IV in your arm. “He was too far gone,” you can barely get the words out, “or I would’ve-- I would’ve tried to help him--”
“Shhh,” Aaron cradles your head, breathing shaky as he listens to you. “There was nothing you could’ve done.”
You know that. You do. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less, knowing that everyone is gone now. Your dad, your mom, and now your brother, who you only found out existed just yesterday.
God, was it really just yesterday?
Somewhere in the midst of your cries, a nurse comes in to check your vitals. All are fine, aside from your heart being a little fast as you’re worked up from crying.
But Aaron calms you down. It takes a minute, but soon your breaths even out, and the tears slow.
“Where is everyone?” you sniffle.
“They’re outside in the waiting room,” he says. “Do you want me to get them?”
You nod against his chest. “Don’t leave though.”
“I’m not,” he assures you. “I’m just going to text Dave.”
The team was clearly waiting for the go ahead to come visit you because barely a minute after Hotch texts, there are soft knocks on your door.
“Come in,” Hotch calls out, helping you sit up against his side.
JJ, Emily, Spencer, Dave, and Derek (with Penelope on the phone) filter in quietly, smiling softly when they see you.
“Alright, here she is,” Derek says, passing his phone to you.
“Hey Pen,” you say.
“Hi my sweet angel,” she answers, voice cracking. “You’re okay.”
“I’m okay,” you nod, trying not to let the emotions pull you under again. “Movie night when I’m back?”
“Done,” she says instantly. “Your pick.”
Hugs are passed around, everyone squeezing you tight and fighting tears.
When Dave gets to you, you see he has tears in his eyes, and that’s enough to make you lose it again. You wrap your arms around him, sniffling into his neck.
“Thank you for finding me again,” you murmur.
“Anytime, kiddo,” Dave whispers, rubbing your back. “I hope we don’t have to do this again,” he teases, making you laugh, “but if we ever do, I’ll always find you.”
“I hope we don’t do this ever again,” Derek says sincerely. “That’s enough excitement for the next decade.”
“I agree,” JJ laughs, leaning her head on Emily’s shoulder.
“It’d be a statistical wonder if it happened again,” Reid says, rocking on the balls of his feet. “But please don’t.”
You laugh, wiping your face as you lean back into Aaron’s side, his arm curling around your shoulders protectively. “Don’t worry guys, I don’t plan on it.”
His arm tightens just a little, a silent promise that you hear clear as day. I don’t plan on letting you go again.
You watch as practically all of the profilers notice Hotch’s arm around you, the way he pulls you closer, and the way you don’t argue one bit. If you weren’t so exhausted from the last twenty-four hours, you’d crack some joke about the two of you having gotten over yourselves, or about how the two of you can slightly tolerate one another’s presence now.
You will tell them soon. There’s time. And it’ll make a good story, one to laugh about one day, once all the dust settles.
For now, you let your eyes slip closed as the conversation continues around you. A smile tugs at your lips when you hear their back and forth, and you think, they found me. In more ways than one.
~~~
a/n: little author's note for the end here: i suppose now is a good time to tell you guys that this fic was loosely based on family lore :) so very loosely i shall end with based on a true story
✮ꜜ : ❛ long time coming : aaron hotchner x fem! reader
pairing: aaron hotchner x bau! reader
summary: after getting hurt out in the field, you're on leave for a month. coming back felt long overdue, that is until your plans with the team lead you to a situation that feels a bit too close for comfort after such a traumatic time. what's worse, your feelings you've harbored for your boss have no choice but to come to light when he makes the odd choice to address you as 'agent' rather than your name after one month of being apart, and years and years of back and forth will-they-wont-they.
content warnings: making out. allusions to sexual assault + r4pe (but only in the context of the case). reader has slight signs of PTSD. anxiety/panic attacks. reader runs into a few pushy men while out at the club. drinking / drunk confessions. reader has a crush on her boss, it is also implied that reader finds derek attractive, and he reciprocates these feelings. hotch is very good at calming reader down. no usage of y/n. reader is described as having shoulder length hair (can be read as a wig/weave) angry/disappointed hotch! reader has been hiding her anxiety / nightmares / memory issues from the team. mentions of vomiting. kissing. mentions of elle & the events of the fisher king. no distinct timeline, but can be read as s7 with the iconic team (hotch, emily, derek, jj, penelope, rossi, & spencer)
"Okay, I didn't know we were going all out. I would've prepared better." you smile shyly as Jennifer pulls you into a tight hug. When Penelope had called you early that morning with an excited decree that you'd been cleared to return to work you hadn't been sure how to feel. You hadn't bothered to ask how Garcia of all people was privy to information you hadn't received from your bosses yet, there was no getting a straight answer when it came to the Technical Analyst.
It had been her idea for the entire team to get together. You'd been out of the office for a full month, and in that time you'd tried your hand at maintaining your bonds with the rest of the group. It of course wasn't the same, but you knew that you'd needed the time. The last time you'd joined them on a case things had gone horribly wrong. You shudder at the thought, you had been doing so good at forgetting about it all, but seeing them again made it all come back.
The unsub had been your run-of-the-mill anger excitation rapist, a creep that had been using an elaborate ruse to entice and entrap women. It had been Emily's idea for the two of you to go undercover, the unsub had been killing two women every week, women who in many ways were polar opposites of one another, a trait that you and Emily shared. Long story short, in the midst of your plan to lure and trap the Unsub, you'd been separated from Emily and cornered.
You’d been carted off by the creep who kept you stuck for three hours before the team used his mistake to find you. By then though, the damage had been done. You remember the look on Rossi's face when he and Hotch came busting in, and found you looking bruised up with a bloody face, and a gun barrel to the side of your head. You'd never seen Hotch quite as scared, at least not since everything with Foyet nearly three years ago when he lost Haley and almost Jack.
You'd been too out-of-sorts to hear the way they'd tried to reason with the Unsub. And you hadn't realized your abdomen was losing blood until a gunshot rang out, bullets whizzing past your head as the unsub curled into himself before falling to the ground. You didn't know much, you thought maybe your eardrums had exploded with the way they were ringing, and you'd half expected to smack your head against the ground and end up with an annoying concussion.
Instead, you'd been met with the sight of your boss. He'd yelled something you weren't privy to, mouth moving as he seemingly forced the rest of the team out of their stupor long enough to get a medic inside to look you over. It was like you said, the details were fuzzy, but nothing had managed to wipe Hotch's worried expression as he fussed over your safety, out of your mind. However, if you were honest with yourself for one measly second, that was nothing new.
Nothing seemed to fill up your mind the way your boss did, and it was stupid, and deplorable all things considered. But it's not like it had even been something you'd asked for. It just happened one day. You shake these thoughts of your near paralyzing emotions away, pulling yourself back to the present as you took in JJ, who despite her perceived candor looked great. "Oh come on Jaige." you huff, and you appraise her more openly. "You look amazing, as usual."
She grins, albeit shyly, and she's waiting, maybe for your approval maybe for something else. She's trying to be discreet as she sweeps your for obvious reminders of what happened, and you feel nervous. Most of your injuries had healed up well enough, and the scratches that littered your face had been covered in a smattering of makeup. You felt comfortable in your pretty girl cocoon, all done up with a bright smile on your face that was surprisingly believable.
"Can I hug you?" she asks, and you can tell she's been holding it in, waiting to ask. You nod your head, a quiet chuckle escaping you as the blonde seems to scoop you into her arms. She's careful not to squeeze too tight, but the love is felt all the same. "God, it's been so weird without you around." she hums, and while the rest of the team is already huddled inside, probably in a booth Penelope picked, you're so happy she's the one here telling you this now.
"Now you know how we all felt when they sent you to the Pentagon." you whisper back, and you hear her bemused giggle as she steps back, and she takes you in again. Your red minidress was a stark contrast to the usual business-casual attire you wore everyday to work. Your hair was curled, pinned back with a gold claw clip, hair just barely ghosting over the divots of your collarbones. You'd opted for a shorter do' following everything with the unsub.
"Never leave us again." she pleads, and you feel this warmth blossoming in your chest at the way she's staring at you, almost like she really means it. You'd joined the team back when Elle and Gideon had still been around. At one point you'd been the rookie, the new girl nobody knew what to expect from. JJ had been right there beside you, even back then. She had been sweet, assertive, your first real friend on the team. She'd welcomed you before anyone else.
In time of course, things had changed, JJ had a husband, kids, a hoard of other units that were plotting on her skills at all times, but she was still JJ. Still that same first friend that helped you to see the Behavioral Analysis Unit was the only place for you. "I'll do my best." you promise, and she grins. She links arms with you before you both head inside the bar. There was music playing, some alternative indie song that wasn't half bad.
"Here's the girl of the hour now." Emily exclaims, and it's clear they've already started tossing back shots. JJ's head is instantly shaking in mortification. So it was going to be one of those nights. Penelope meets you both, pulling JJ from your arms and leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek sweetly, before she's turning to you. She's got tears already brimming in her eyes, and you can't help but giggle at the dramatics of it all.
"I'm so happy to see you." she squeals, and you find yourself hugging back despite the sting of your abdomen. "You look so beautiful." she adds a second afterwards. "What are you looking to get lucky?" she asks, as she uses her hands to push you away slightly, hands resting gently on both of your shoulders. You feel your face growing hot at the implication, and you see the way she's looking at your facial expressions for a signal of your lies. Curse her proximity to profilers.
"I just wanted to look nice." you reply and Penelope lets you off the hook. She leads you to the table, and you're just in time to hear the group finish up their hellos to JJ. She's sitting next to Morgan, who's bright-eyed as he looks up at you. You find yourself fussing with your hair, playing it cool as you press your lips together, re-smearing your lipstick as you waved your hand.
You weren't sure why you felt like the new kid all over again.
"It's good to see you, pretty girl." he croons, and you grin. Morgan was flirty, had been since you met him, and if you weren't so disastrously into Hotch, you think he'd be all on your mind. Well, you know... more than he was. There had been times where you'd been partnered together, and it almost felt like the tension was going to cut you in half. Sexual tension aside though, Derek was your friend.
They all were, and despite what your mind tried to tell you as you sobbed yourself through nightmares during your break from work, they were genuinely happy to see you. "I'm glad you're okay." your eyes flit over to the youngest member of the team. Spence is looking relieved as he too looks up at you with eyes full of relief. He's next to Emily, and she's already downing another drink. She'd be complaining about a migraine the next day, you could hear her now.
"Thanks, Spence." you coo, and you offer him a wink as your eyes fall on the only present member of the team that hadn't addressed you. Rossi had made a point to send his hellos, but due to a previous standing appointment, he wouldn't be joining tonight. You couldn't hold it against him, Rossi was scoping the prairie for wife number four. He offers you a faint smile, the group instantly falling into chatter.
"H-Hey Hotch." you mumble, and he's closest to you, sitting on the outside of the booth as the rest of the team tried their hardest to pretend they weren't expecting this. He doesn't say anything for a moment, instead he takes you in. He wasn't blind, he'd seen you before, you'd always been beautiful, but there was something about you done up like this. Red dress, red lip, bold makeup, and heels that showed off your legs, and accented your model-esque posture.
It was obvious that you were still a bit nervous about being out and about, and you were out of practice with being around the team. He imagined after a bit though you'd be back to yourself. You, and the rest of the girls would be falling into a rhythm in no time. He stands to his feet, much taller than you, as you take a small step back to give him space. "It's good to see you up and about, Agent." and his voice is low, clearly as a courtesy to the bustling of conversation behind you.
"Agent?" you repeat, and the word is so foreign. It makes you take another step back, the bottoms of your Louboutin's clacking against the ground. You looked a bit hurt, but you played it off quickly. "Come on, Hotch. I think we're a little past those formalities." you chuckle awkwardly, and you find yourself looking towards the bar. Yeah, you were definitely going to need a drink. He seems to curse under his breath, but you're not sure if that's due to you, or some internal conflict you weren't privy to. You don't wait to figure it out either.
He doesn't have the opportunity to reply to your correction, because you're looking to Emily, JJ, and Garcia. "Wanna get some shots?" you ask, and you sidestep Aaron, making sure you don't look his way again, as the girls immediately exclaim their agreements. Penelope's sliding out of the booth first, Emily and JJ following her example as they head straight towards the bar. JJ's shooting you a knowing glance as she looks between Hotch and yourself.
"You coming boys?" you extend the invite to Derek and Spencer, who are quick to nod along, both men trailing after the others as they head to the counter to order more drinks. You prepare to follow after them, ready for the welcome respite from your mind swimming in circles.
"I didn't mean to offend you." you stop short, spinning on your heel to meet the gaze of your Unit Chief.
"Well you did." you reply, and your voice is small. "I've known you for almost seven years, and here you are treating me like a stranger." you mumble, and you find yourself tugging at your dress. "I mean, I know it's been a while, but geez Hotch, it's still me." you say and he winces. You're not sure what the last month has been like for the others, but you know what they've been like for you. Torturous. It's been Hell.
"I know." he says, and your eyebrow raises, unmoved by his words. "And again, I didn't mean to offend you." he promises, and he clenches and unclenches his fists by his side. "After everything that happened, I guess I just assumed you'd prefer a more professional approach." he mutters, and you scoff quietly. Classic Aaron Hotchner, running away from interpersonal conflict with his tail tucked between his legs. "You don't even seem comfortable with us tonight."
You blink. Okay well he had a point there, but you were trying.
"It's not that I'm not comfortable." you mutter, and you look over your shoulder at the rest of the team. "I guess I just didn't expect to feel so out of place being out and about." you shrug your shoulders bashfully. "Everyone's normal, everything seems the same." you continue, and you notice the way that Hotch's lips have pressed into a hard line. "And it's like no time has passed at all for anyone else, but for me it's like I never moved." you blink, shivering at the thought.
Hotch's eyebrows furrow inwardly as he takes in your words. "I still feel like I'm-" you trail off, feeling a wide lump growing in your throat. "It's like I never left." you course correct, eyes shutting briefly, lashes brushing against your cheekbones. "Like no matter how much time passes, it still feels like I'm there with him and I'm-"
"I understand." he cuts you off, you think maybe to salvage your pride or to keep you from having a panic attack at the thought. "And you're certain you're ready to come back to work? You know you can take all the time you need." he reminds you, and you are immediately nodding your head as you wave a tired hand his way.
"I can't stay cooped up in my house anymore." you mumble. "It's becoming counterproductive." you huff. "I'm ready." you add a second later. "Apart from this awkwardness, I'm also perfectly fine." and it's a lie, you'd been having nightmares every night. Restless, sleepless evenings full of dread, and jump scares of your own creation. "I mean, I'm here aren't I?" you offer a tight smile as you reach out and tap Hotch's shoulders twice, a tense little conversation ender.
You don't want to stay huddled up with him anymore, not while he was looking at you like he was trying to see into your soul. You turn on your heel, dress swishing side to side as you head for the group. You find yourself in between Emily and Penelope, the blonde to your left immediately sliding a drink in front of you. You down it in a second, the intense burn as the alcohol rested in your chest was a welcome reprieve from the anguish and anxiety you'd been feeling.
You forget about Hotch, and all your heavy feelings by the time you're on your third drink. Your heels feel much too heavy under your feet as you stumble into Emily, the brunette chuckling vibrantly as you hang off each other, the music playing overhead lulling you into a false sense of security. It was nice being like this again after so long, laughing at the dramatic banter between Derek and Penelope. You wondered if they'd remain purely platonic forever.
Trading gossip back and forth with Emily and JJ was always a treat, especially as Spencer tried to keep up with eyes wide as saucers while Emily finally cracked the secrets of her coveted Sin-To-Win weekends. You weren't sure what was funnier, the peeks into Emily's life outside the unit, or the horrified looks that crossed Spence's face with every new tidbit of knowledge he learned about his coworkers. You found your eyes flickering over to Hotch again.
He was stoic as ever, but looser than he would be in the office. He seemed to enjoy being a quiet observer much more than he preferred to be in the mix. He leisurely swirled his glass of scotch, and you felt that familiar buzz of warmth in your chest when you managed to catch him smiling as he quietly passed conversation back and forth with a newly drunk Penelope, and Derek, who looked exasperated.
"Are you just gonna stare at him all night?" you jump a bit, turning to face Emily with surprise swirling in your irises. "If you keep it up, he's gonna catch you." she adds a second afterwards and you tense, head nodding as you scold yourself. You peel away from the bar, drink clutched in your hand. You had to get away from the bar for a second, maybe the cluttered dance floor would be the best distraction.
"Sorry." you mutter, and Emily offers a airy laugh. "He's just usually so serious." you lean into Emily, who nods along. She'd met Hotch after you, but still she'd managed to become so close to him it was almost surreal. She seemed to always know what he was thinking, they were in sync. Unlike you, who seemed to always be on the other end of a hard stare from the man. For a while you just began to assume he hated your guts. Or better put, he was indifferent to your existence.
That was why his look, that look he'd given you as he cradled your head while he waited for backup had been burned into your skull. All that went out of the window the second he'd labeled you 'Agent' though. God, how stupid were you? Emily's amusement makes your eyes roll. "Can I be honest?" she asks, and you nod. Penelope and JJ have migrated to the dance floor, JJ grabbing the good doctor and bringing him along with them. He looks incredibly uncomfortable.
"Sure, Em. If you think it will help." you reply audibly.
"I haven't seen him this relaxed since everything went down." she admits, and you're surprised. As if somehow your presence had been enough to set the stone-serious man at ease. "The first few days after your accident he was a mess." she adds, and she's got a surprising about of stability to her tone to be as inebriated as she was. She lowers her voice some as she leans into you, "He showed up late." she mutters this like it's some sworn secret just meant for the both of you.
"I'm sure Strauss was just riding him about another mishap in the unit." you try, and Emily looks unconvinced and unimpressed with you. "He's our boss, it's kind of his job to worry about us." you finish.
"Yeah, I guess so." Emily concedes, and she looks like she's done talking about it, so you find yourself relaxing. "Still. I've never seen him go that hard against an unsub, maybe you're not the only person that's feeling something." she leaves you with that, trying to keep from tipping as she marched towards the group. You chuckle quietly to yourself, ignoring Emily's words as you focus on finishing your drink. It seemed you'd inadvertently been trying to be alone all along.
You felt some of the tension melt from your shoulders now that you were standing at the bar, away from those prying eyes you couldn't lie to. There's this sound of heavy footsteps, and then the clearing of a throat, as you turn to be met with the sight of a man. He looked to be about your age, cheeks and nose covered in a little smattering of freckles. He's got a head full of shaggy hair that hangs in his face. He takes a quick step, sliding up against the bar beside you.
Way too close.
"Hey." he mumbles, and you appraise him boredly. It's not like he was ugly or anything, but despite Penelope's words you were not looking to get lucky tonight.
"Hi." you offer a dry greeting, shuffling your weight from one foot to the other as the bar seemingly became a beacon for thirsty men. Just as you were politely stepping away from the freckled man, you found yourself bumping into another man who'd slithered up to the bar, your ass pressing against his crotch as his hands wound around your waist. A sleazy chuckle escapes the man's mouth as you gasp. "I'm so sorry." you exclaim, and you're quick to peel away.
You feel trapped though, there were at least four guys, they all seemed to be friends, they all seemed to be in kahoots.
There's a third and fourth man joining the fray, they all looked to be about the same age, height, and weight class. This was probably their routine: approach and overwhelm whatever drunk girl they might have happened upon. It looked like you were tonight's target. "Hey, what's the rush?" the guy closest to you drawls, and you wonder where all your years of training have gone. His arm raises, and it feels like he might hit you so you flinch way too violently.
"Stick around, we'll order the next round." the next demands, and his breath smells like booze. It stinks, and it's hot as it puffs across your face. You almost break your heels backing away from them, suddenly feeling self conscious a`nd way too vulnerable in your short dress.
"No, it's alright, really." you try, and you stumble again. "My friends are right over there." and you point in their general vicinity. "Have a great night though." you offer politely, and you're trying to make your grand escape. One guy, a shaggy blonde haired man is quick to grab you by your forearm, and it's like you're back to that day. Your bureau appointed therapist had been talking to you about your anxiety, how a range of things could become triggers and transport you mentally.
"That wasn't a question. Stay a while." You're stuck, absolutely frozen in place as your entire body tenses up. Some Special Agent you were, the bureau would be so disappointed in you. Your team would be so disappointed in you. All it took to turn you into a pile of nothing was a bit of confrontation. You could remember a stronger version of you, that girl would've had these men on their knees for even thinking of laying hands on you. God, you missed that girl.
His grip on your arm tightens, fingers digging into you harshly as you find yourself surrounded on every side.
"L-Let me go." you huff under your breath, and you crane your neck. You spot JJ, the blonde's eyes locked on yours as the reality of what's going on forces her to sober up. "I just-" and you jerk away, stumbling back completely. You're surprised you don't scream as your glass drops to the ground shattering as glass sprays in every which direction. You feel like your ankle's twisted as you fall back on your ass. You expect to feel the embarrassing thud that came with smacking your ass on the hard floor of a bar, but it never comes.
Instead you feel cocooned by a familiar scent. Strong arms are looped around you, but you suppose your lack of disgust at the action is just a testament of your comfortability. "Are you alright?" it's mumbled against your ear, and the low tone of his voice makes you shiver. All you can really offer is a tight nod as Aaron's guiding you behind him. You don't get to see Hotch in action, not when JJ, Penelope, and Emily are flocking you like Charlie's Angels.
You feel the first signs of the need to barf pricking at you, and you know that you need to get some air. You needed to breathe.
"God, are you okay?" Penelope asks, and you're not sure if you are being dramatic. I mean, it wasn't like they'd done anything really. Now you were gonna look like the freak that ruined a fun night.
"I'm sorry." you chirp, and you miss the way Jennifer and Emily share a hard glance. It's not until you're feeling brisk air whipping around your face that you realize they've taken you outside, and you haven't stopped apologizing. I'm so sorry. Penelope's got wide eyes, quickly brimming with tears as you find yourself crumbling to the ground. Your hand's quick to clutch around your chest as you try to inhale. The dramatics of it all made you even more nauseous.
You should've stayed at home.
"Hey, hey, hey..." Emily's cooing, and it seems being out like this has sliced through her tipsy stupor. She's focused just like she would be on any regular sort of day. "I need you to breathe." she instructs, and JJ's crouching down in front of you, brown eyebrows draw inwardly as she takes in your clearly frantic state. Every puff of air that escapes you is tight and sounds like it hurts. You can just barely hear the sound of a commotion taking place inside.
You do hear JJ's quiet exclamation of "I'll stay with her, go check on Hotch and Derek!" before Penelope and Emily are heading back into the packed building. She calls your name, and it takes a while for you to regain your voice. She's devoid of pity, which you appreciate. JJ knew more than anyone how much you hated being seen as a burden, or someone to be sorry for. Pride was a killer. "Can you try and take a deep breath for me?" and it's then you realize your choppy little intakes of air weren't doing you any favors.
It takes a great deal of effort for your vision to be less blurry. Your ears were full of cotton, and your head was swimming. You feel bile again in the back of your throat, and you jerk away from JJ's reach. You feel like you're suffocating, transported away from the random bar in the middle of Virginia, and back to a place you'd fought so hard to escape. You were certain you'd remember that unsub forever. His evil eyes, the way he tried to use your entrails like paint.
You remember how Elle had changed after she'd been attacked by Garner. How she had changed so much that she had no choice but to step away from the Unit. Would that be your life? You didn't want that life, but it was clear you needed something, you needed help. You couldn't focus on anything else, but what had happened. You'd ruined a night out because the act of being cornered was enough to transport you back.
JJ's still peering at you as if she's waiting for you to start panicking, and maybe you were. "I'm sorry." you huff again, and JJ's shaking her head at you.
There's a deep frown etched into her face as she sighs herself. "Stop apologizing." she insists, and your lashes are wet with unshed tears. "You didn't do anything wrong. Those assholes should've never put their hands on you." she proceeds. "You know that don't you?" she continues, and you don't know how to respond, so you don't. JJ reads you like an open book, and she smacks her teeth. "Well now you do." she says this firmly. "And I'm sure Hotch and Morgan are teaching them that lesson right now." you tense up again.
"I didn't mean to ruin the-" JJ's offering you a hard glare that shuts you up. Another bad habit you'd picked up since the incident. You were working on it, trying not to blame yourself for things you didn't cause. "I'm sorry." and this time it's not because of tonight. "I was so nervous about tonight.-" you take in a hiccupped breath. "I just wanted to prove that I could bounce back." you explain, and it's the first insight you've allowed anyone. "I figured if I pretend everything's normal, soon enough it would be, but it's too much." you huff.
"And that's okay." she promises. "What you went through isn't something anyone's expecting you to forget about in a month, alright? It's gonna take time, and there will be days where it'll hurt a lot more, and there will be days where you're feeling like your old self again." she promises. "What you need to understand is that we-" she pauses as you take it in. "are your family." she finishes, and your lips start to twitch, you're not sure if you'll smile or cry.
"I know-" you proceed, and she holds a hand up in front of you.
"Let me finish." she pleads, and you inhale before nodding. "I don't- none of us want a repeat of what happened with Elle." she says quietly. "None of us want to show up to the unit one day and see your badge and gun sitting on your desk." JJ sighs. "So if you ever start feeling anxious, or terrible, or just like you're back... there." and you wince at the mention. "I want you to call me, call one of us. Don't deal with this alone, alright? Not when you don't have to."
JJ hugs you before you have time to respond, but her words sink deep and make you feel warm inside. "Thanks, Jaige." you mumble against her hair. She squeezes you tighter, and you believe it's to make up for her shyer hug earlier.
"You're welcome." she mumbles back, and then she's pulling back. You don't have much respite, Penelope practically tackling you in a hug of her own. You hadn't even realized the rest of the team has left the bar, you were sure the mood of the night was much lower.
"I'm so glad you're okay!" Penelope exhales, and you do too, breathing fine again, save for a few hiccups that escaped you every so often. She lets you go after a beat, and you're quick to take a small step back, suddenly feeling anxious once more.
"Yeah, I'm fine now." your eyes meet Derek and Emily's. "Thank you." and you're chuckling quietly as Derek pulls you into his side. He plants a kiss on the top of your head, and you warm inwardly. Spencer does hug you, and it's a shock. One of those hugs that you never take for granted, because it could be a while before you get another. Once he's pulled away you find yourself still hovering, listening quietly as they all decide the night's not over.
You respectfully bow out, you'd had enough for one day. It's then you notice that Hotch is all by himself. You quietly excuse yourself, but you find that they're not really listening now that you were safer. "Are you alright?" you ask, and your voice is very quiet. Hotch looks up from his phone as if he's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. You take in his face, and it's clear he's been in some sort of scuffle. Most notable due to the fact he's got blood smeared under his nose.
"I should be asking you that." he retorts, and your eyebrows furrow in.
"Y-You already did." you remind him, eyes darting away. "Why are you over here by yourself?" you shoot off a round of questions, the wind whipping around, and making you crave the comfort of your bed. You maintain a respectful balance, you weren't in any rush to be all up in someone's space.
"I think I've had enough of crowds for the night." he retorts. You don't realize until it's happened though, your hand reaching up to swipe at the blood that's slowly drying on his upper lip.
"Get into a bar fight?" you ask, and you hold your breath for the answer. Hotch looks down at you, and there's this unreadable expression on his face. You realize that this is nothing new. Hotch had never been easy to read, he was one of the greatest profilers you'd ever met, one of the greatest people. But he'd always been an enigma. His emotions were an Alcatraz all on their own.
"You should see the other guy." the classic rebuttal to a question like yours. It doesn't make you smile, mostly because he's not smiling either. "Are you okay?" and he's got you by your wrist, eyes zoned in on the harsh mark the guy from the bar had left behind. "He never should've touched you." his voice lowers, and there's an annoyance attached to his tone. "I'm so sorry." you find yourself huffing.
"You shouldn't have fought him." you say matter-of-factly. Your fists fold up at your sides, your lips pulling down into a frown. "It'll give everyone the wrong idea." you say, and you wrench your hand away from his grasp.
"Everyone?" he repeats, and he looks confused, classic Hotch.
"Me." you correct, "I'll get the wrong idea." you whisper. "I might actually think you like me." you admit quietly.
"We wouldn't want that." he replies, and his tone is far from mocking. You hate that it makes you crack a smile. You hate that he's always the one that manages to get that reaction out of you.
"Hey, are you two coming? We're all heading to Mo's." Emily calls, and you snort at the fact that their alcohol riddled mind had caused them to forget you'd already declined. You take a step away from Hotch, and you hate that you stumble. You were hating a lot of things tonight. Maybe you weren't as sober as you'd thought.
Aaron looks to you as if he's waiting to see your answer before giving his own, and maybe he was. The second you're politely explaining that you're ready to head home, Aaron is offering to drive you. Derek is whistling, Emily and JJ offering you smug little smirks. Penelope is trying to keep herself secured to Earth. "He's gonna take her home." he whispers to no one in particular, and it's a horrid attempt.
"We all heard, babygirl." Derek replies to her, and you find yourself a bit stuck. The thought of spending the eighteen minute car ride with your boss make you want to scream, but you'd taken a cab. Your own car was parked in the driveway of your place. And he doesn't look like he' taking any goodbyes either way. Rounds of goodbye and see you laters are soon offered. "Take care of our girl, Hotch." Derek calls, and you hear Spencer as he starts to rant about Derek's turn-of-phrase.
Our girl. Hotch finds that the words repeat in his head like an obnoxious echo. "Why are you doing this?" you question quietly. "If you're just trying to make up for the whole Agent thing, there's no need." you proceed, and you take a small step back.
"I'm not trying to make up for that." he replies quickly. "But, you're drunk, and you've been through a lot tonight." he reminds you as if you're ditsy or something. "It wouldn't be smart to leave you by yourself." he continues, and he inhales deeply. He watches the way you watch him, like you're unsure, like you're suspicious. "That isn't a testament of whether or not I think you can handle yourself... and neither was fighting that man at the bar." he promises, and you blink.
"No?" you ask, and your tongue feels extra dry. Like you've licked a stripe of sandpaper.
"No." he reaffirms. "You mean a lot to the team. We wouldn't be the same without you." he says this bit like he means it, and you can't find any trace of a lie residing in his face. He does mean it.
"Thank you, Sir." you reply under your breath, exhaling the word. The chill of the night finally gets to you, and you shiver.
"Can I take you home?" he asks, and you know you're reading into it more than you should. You know what he means, what he's really asking, but delusion was healthy every now and again, right?
"Y-Yeah." your head nods, voice wavering slightly as you take hold of the bottom of your dress. "Yes." you say more firmly.
"Okay." you stand there for a few moments more, passing charged glances back and forth. "You never answered my question earlier." is what he says to break the moment. "About how you were doing..." he proceeds. "I've asked you twice, and both times you-"
"Deflected?" you offer, and his head nods. "I guess I'm just scared you'll see right through whatever my answer is." you admit, and you cross your arms, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. "Emily and JJ will at least humor me." you explain. "Penelope won't ask... mostly because she's scared of the answer." you chuckle awkwardly. "Derek and Spence, well I guess they're like you too... but you're here, and they're not... so here we are."
Hotch appraises you for a second, but he doesn't say much else. You're grateful for that, but equal parts annoyed that he wasn't leaping to tell you that you were harder to read than you thought. No such luck. Still, you're surprised when Hotch grabs you by your arm, much gentler than earlier, and he's slowing his stride to be in step with yours. You don't realize you've leaned fully into his side until you feel him tense up. He doesn't say anything though.
A win is a win.
You didn't know much about the inner workings of Aaron Hotchner's mind, but you did know that if he was uncomfortable with your proximity, he would have said so. The walk back to Hotch's car is silent. At least outwardly, inside you were panicking. He opens the passenger side for you, and you imagine a world where this was normal. Where it didn't take you being hit on by sleazy men at a bar to be having these moments with Hotch. But it was impossible.
"Did it hurt?" you ask, once the car is moving. He's adjusted the temperature, a soothing warm pooling from the vents. You're surprised at how quickly he drives, you'd half expected him to be one of those slow as molasses drivers. Hotch looks over at you incredulously, his eyebrows raise, but he doesn't look agitated nor annoyed with you breaking the silence again.
"You'll have to be more specific." he replies, and you hum. You pause for a second, trying to find the right words. At the last second you decide saying it straight would be just as good as anything else.
"Punching that guy?" you ask, and Hotch's lips quirk upwards, he was amused with you. In truth, he had no idea what he was thinking. As soon as the girls had ushered you away, he'd found himself swinging before he could think of the repercussions. All he knew was that you'd sounded scared, you'd sounded unlike yourself in a way that made him angry. Everyone saw how you had changed, the elephant in the room was hard to ignore. But you were trying, he could give you that.
"No." he mumbles, and that likely has a lot to do with the fact that he hasn't come down. He's still on edge, still watching you like you might at any moment start spiraling. "Besides, it was worth it." and he says this a bit under his breath, you hear it all the same. "I doubt he'll try it again." he admits, and you feel liberated. It was nice to have someone fighting for you, fighting the fights you weren't capable of.
"Thanks, Hotch." you hum, and it triggers a yawn.
"Back to Hotch?" he asks, and you look over at him confused. You kick your feet back and forth, careful not to dig your heels into the plush of the car's floor.
"Would you prefer I call you sir?" you ask, and he is tapping on the brake, the car slowly peeling to a stop as you come up on a red light.
"No." he answers sternly. "It's not like you." he admits, and the light is turning green again. He steps lightly on the gas, the car surging forward "Especially if you're only calling me Sir, as payback for me calling you Agent." he says, and even though you had tried your hand at pretending the greeting hadn't bothered you, it was obvious he had read right through you.
"Why'd you do that?" you question and your tone is a lot more clipped than you had intended.
"So it did offend you?" he retorts, and you feel anger flaring up. You swallow this feeling, hands balling up by your side.
"Hotch." you snap, and he smirks fully, eyes back on the road. "Can you be serious, please?" you ask, and you probably sound pitiful.
"The last month I've just been..." he trails off momentarily, and you wonder if he's emotional, or just being dramatic. "I should have known better." he expresses. "I should've been there to make sure that what happened didn't." he says, and you tense up. "He never should have gotten the chance to get close enough to cart you off." he completes his thought, and you're shocked. You never would have guessed Hotch blames himself for what happened to you.
"That wasn't your fault." you promise, and you mean it. You'd never once thought of blaming Hotch for what went down. "You were confident in the plan, you were putting your faith in the team."
"There is a very thin line between confidence and arrogance." He rebuttals instantly. "We got cocky, and you suffered because of it." he looks so destroyed as he says this. "And then you showed up tonight, and tried to pretend everything was fine." he notes as you remain silent. "It just reminded me that we're too close." he tightens his grip on the steering wheel. "The longer you stay in the unit, the more you become numb to the things we see. You start to ignore the signs that you're not alright." he says, and you'd never thought of it that way.
"Hotch..." you exhale.
"I called you Agent to set up a boundary, or at least I tried." he says this like he's beating himself up. "But then I saw the way it hurt you." and he looks ashamed. "And I never want to be someone who does that to you." you're warring with your heart then. "So I wont do it again." he promises, and he looks to you briefly. "I'll call you by your name, I won't deflect." he adds as your mouth drops open just briefly.
"But, it's not right for someone your age to be so closed off. It's not right for you to pretend to be okay just to keep up with the people around you. If you weren't up to being out, you should've stayed home, our opinions don't outweigh your safety." he lectures you. "They never will." he adds a second after, and he's so sure as he says this. He's slowing down, coming up on your place.
Your leg is shaking slightly, that pesky feeling of anxiety creeping back up on you. "We're here." he says under his breath as if you weren't aware. You don't budge, you can't. You have so much to say, but where do you start. Hotch has shut his car off, almost like he too has a lot sitting on the tip of his tongue.
"I just wanted to prove I could handle it." you admit, and you're crying. "I didn't want to be another Gideon or Elle... or Spence." you cringe at the memories. "I didn't want you guys to handle with me with kid gloves. I didn't want you to see me as the girl who needs the kid gloves." you express honestly, and now your tears are falling in quick precession. "I'm sorry..." you swipe at your face. "I don't know why I'm crying, this is so stupid." you hiss at yourself.
"No, it isn't." the response earns him a surprised glance. "It's good... this is good." Hotch is quick to use a hand to swipe at your tears. He hates the sight of them, but loves what they mean. Your heart's still soft, pliable. You haven't fully succumb to the horrors of the job. "Consider this me atoning." he prompts. "You have my ear, say whatever you need to say." he looks over at you again, and seems to mentally backtrack. "If it'll help you." he adds.
You sniffle audibly, hands clenching and unclenching as the car suddenly feels much too hot. "It's not your fault, okay?" you repeat, and you say it with more certainty. "I just need you to know that." you sniffle again, but your tears keep falling, even as you try to blink them away. "Hotch, you're our leader for a reason, and you were there to save me that night, and you were here to save me tonight." you remind him. "I don't want you to pull back, not when I'm finally making some progress with cracking that hard exterior of yours."
Hotch's lips quirk at your words, and he looks down at his lap. "I've never meant to pull back from you." the inflection with the last words sticks. "I thought I was doing right by you... pulling the band aid off before you got in too deep." he says. "But that was wrong of me, I can admit to that. I'm sorry." and his apologies are like kisses. They wash over you, and force you to believe him.
"Don't apologize to me." you plead, "Just promise not to leave me behind, treat me like an outsider again." you continue as his head nods, and you can trust that he's listening.
"I can do that." he promises.
That seems to be the key to unlocking the dam of your emotions. You choke on the feelings, a quiet sob escaping you as you clasp a hand over your mouth. How dramatic, and pathetic, and God awful were all these feelings. But they'd been years in the making, right?
"Are you alright?." he asks under his breath, worry palpable.
"Do you know that the only thing that kept me from losing it that day was you?" you ask, and your boldness won't leave you, clearly it was now or never. "You told me to 'keep breathing'... you said it over and over and over, and I listened." you explain, and he remembers the day too well. "Even though everything hurt like hell, and there was so much blood." you reminisce. "And I don't know, maybe I'm just crazy, but there was this look." you exhale sadly. "This look you had on your face that made me think... 'maybe it's not just me'"
It isn't. He knows that instantly. You've plagued his mind so severely for so long that he can just barely remember a time where you weren't one of the only things he thought about, worried about, cared about. But he had his post to think about, he was the Unit Chief, your boss, your superior. What would the team think? What would Strauss think? Did it matter? In the grand scheme of things, did those worries outweigh his need, his innate desire to see you safe and protected from harm? Absolutely not. So what was the real problem?
"Hotch..." you inhale deeply, voice cracking distractingly as he gives you his full attention. Something you'd dreamed of, wanted more than anything since the first time you'd ever laid eyes on him. "Aaron." you correct, and you breathe again. "I've been thinking of how to say this... i've been rehearsing it over and over again, because I wanted to get it right, and I just knew tonight would be the night I'd have to have the balls to either say it or let it go forever." you admit.
"Say it..." and he's rushing you, but you suppose that's deserved. You were still stalling, dragging this out way more than you needed to.
"I'm in love with you." and it was out there, and you couldn't take it back. You stare him down, worried about his reaction, about how he would respond. "And it took me getting hurt, and being sent home, away from the team for me to realize." you inhale shakily. "I kept having these-these dreams about that night. All these different scenarios about how things could've turned out different, how I could've died had one thing been out of place." you process.
"You're the reason I'm still here, you're the reason why this team can function, and you're the reason why I- why I came tonight even though my anxiety told me it wasn't safe. Because, somehow I knew that as long as you were here... I'd be okay, and I am." you say, and it's a lot, too much maybe. His reaction is hard to read at first, face just as stoic as most times, but his eyes.... his eyes hold the truth. They melt, pools of warm honey dancing in the darkness residing there.
"And it's inappropriate... and wrong... and silly... but- I couldn't go another day without you knowing, without you hearing from me." you explain. "When you came up to the bar tonight I just... I've never felt this way before... lucky, protected, safe.... and-and I'm not asking for anything from you... I'm not expecting something in return, I just wanted to get it out there... I think we both know it's been a long time coming..." and your words are being swallowed as Aaron leans forward. The middle console is a bridge, a roadblock.
It doesn't deter him though, not from using a hand to gently cup your face, mouth slotting against yours as if it belonged there. You're dizzy, shocked, surprised, but you don't let this mess you up. You can't possibly allow anything to mess up this moment. Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two... the seconds tick by with neither of you moving to break the kiss, hands and tongues and breaths fanning over one another as you get acquainted in the most perfect way.
Still, life dealt lots, and yours consisted of a need for oxygen. It's the only reason why you break apart with heady gasps, eyes dilated and fogged with emotions much too heavy to really explain. "Oh, you can't do that." you explain, and Hotch's bemused, eyebrows raising upwards, as his thumb brushes over your cheekbones.
"I can't?" he asks, and he sounds so much lighter now.
"No, you can't. I'll get the wrong idea, you know." you explain, and he smiles brazenly at your callback to earlier. "I'll actually believe you're in love with me or something." you say, and Hotch is slow as he leans back in, a peck being placed right on your lips as your eyelashes flutter, and your heart beats out of control.
"We can't have that, can we?" he's following your lead with the callback, and your cheek presses into his palm.
"I don't know." you answer, and your voice is faint. "I'm scared this'll be a dream." you proceed as Hotch's eyes scan over your frantic face. "I'll wake up and find out that this was all in my head, and the only memories I get to hold on to are from that night." Hotch's lips purse, head shaking in denial as you inhale shakily.
"No, not this time. an ambitious remark. "This time it's real." he promises. "This time I'm here with you to make sure that all those things you felt that night, and earlier by the bar, are how you keep feeling about me." he answers truly. "I'm here to love you back for as long as you'll have me. Is it alright for me to feel that way?" he asks, and your hand jumps up to keep his squished in place against your face.
"You can feel however you want." you reply, and he laughs, a full blown chuckle escaping him as his face seems to light up like a thousand suns. His eyes glisten, twinkling as he looks down at you, like everything was right in the world. And to him it was. Nothing and nobody could hurt you here.
"Good. Then I choose whatever this between you and I leads to, I choose the feelings that come with that." You smile grows to an almost blinding brightness as you reach across the console to hug him, and pull him into your arms. He's quick as he presses a peck to the top of your head, eyes still dancing over you as if he was seeing you for the first time. And maybe he was, that part wasn't your business, all you knew was that loving Aaron was easy, it could be.
A long time coming, but a wait well worth it. Lucky you.
