Am i really doing it? Yes i am! So, if you’d actually want to read something i wrote, request it!
Right now, i mostly feel comfortable writing either male or gender neutral reader characters, i don’t do sexual stuff as i am asexual and feel uncomfortable writing such scenes and such.
My fandoms at the moment are Criminal Minds, The Big Bang Theory, anything Star Trek and How I Met Your Mother but if you feel like being bold, tell me about a fandom and i’ll see if i can groove into writing for that.
I’d appreciate it if you sent me like a bit of what you want to read, like Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, etc.
Open or Closed
Criminal Minds
Fanfiction without x reader:
BAU in an escape room (headcanons)
Aaron Hotchner
Male Reader
+ He’s his what?! (Aaron Hotchner x male reader) Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6
+ Bigots beware
Gender Neutral Reader
+ Of Dinos and Dragons (gn reader)
+ My socks are wet
+ Language Barriers
+ Pumpkin Soup for Dinner
Derek Morgan
Gender Neutral Reader
+ Fistfights at Nighttime
Spencer Reid
Gender Neutral Reader
+ Onomatopoeia
The Big Bang Theory
Sheldon Cooper
Male Reader
+ Waltz away if you will (just a drabble)
Bones (TV)
Seeley Booth
+ Bones Junior, huh?
Will be updated as i go, am still not sure how long i’ll stick with writing fics for whichever fandoms, but hmu if you’re interested :D
I work in an escape room, and I had a few ideas while having a break earlier. These are a few of the BAU characters (criminal minds) and how I think they would behave in an escape room.
Feel free to let me know what you think or who you would like to read about next :)
Derek Morgan:
Derek would be insanely competitive but in a secretive way. He doesn't want the people he's in there with to know that he wants to beat this room's record, but he is very much trying to do that. Derek locks in the moment they are in the main room. Too bad the introduction already had a few important bits and pieces and now he's looking at that table thinking "Did they tell me to climb onto furniture or to not do it?!".
Derek would put on that mask of "I'm here for the fun, yeah" but inside, he's dying a little more with each hint they get. He doesn't take it out on his teammates though, just gets quietly more frustrated with each and every minute they spend on the riddles.
Spencer Reid:
Spencer would actually be in it for fun. Yes, he could probably play through the room in record time, yes, he could solve most of the logic based puzzles almost by himself, but he wants to get invested in the storyline, appreciate the craftsmenship and just have fun with the people he is in there with.
Spencer would spot the cameras on his first or second mental sweep of the room and wave at them from time to time, smiling a little awkwardly.
Spencer would say thank you to the cameras whenever they got a hint, even if he thought they didn't exactly need it.
He is invested in the plot, maybe even reads the hints and riddles and whatnot in character according to the setting of the room.
Penelope Garcia:
Penelope is on board with every escape room you can offer her. She talks to the worker about the tech involved after playing and compliments the riddles when they include something she likes.
Penelope is as invested as Spencer, she reads the texts in character, empathises with the characters in the room and celebrates whenever someone solves a riddle, no matter how long it took them or how hard or easy it was.
She is a little jumpy, so if the room involves jumpscares or even just unexpected sound effects, there will be screaming.
If there is just a sliver of queer identity or something that can be interpreted as queer, Penelope will be on board, including comments as "Yas Queen" and "Slay." She would definitely base her decisions on how that might affect character relationships if that was part of a room ("Anything for the lesbians").
i kinda feel like writing stories or even just short stuff, but i'm a little busy with uni, plus i don't know who I want to write for or what...
so if you have sfw queer, male or gender neutral reader insert ideas or requests that more or less fit the fandoms i already write for (or just lmk what you're looking for and i'll see if i feel comfortable with that), hit me up.
i will not write s3xual stuff, just so you know up front, am fine with some hurt/comfort or even hurt/no comfort though.
reader's pronouns are he/him and he's written to be gay; otherwise, race is ambiguous and no physical descriptors are used.
summary: You start a new job as a cameraman for the show Kitchen Nightmares, featuring award-winning chef Hannibal Lecter. Every day brings something new—often something disgusting, uncomfortable, or otherwise baffling. But, hey, that’s what you signed up for.
Hotels and bars, on the other hand… You didn’t expect to add those to the list.
word count: 7.7k | ao3 version
warnings: cursing, suggestive humor & themes, partial nudity from an unnamed character, alcohol consumption.
notes: this is an absolute beast of a fic, just because i wrote it in narrative/script hybrid format. so it's a LOT to scroll through. you've been warned!
I was watching Kitchen Nightmares/Hotel Hell/Bar Rescue as I wrote this. I took inspiration from them, but I’m not writing about any of the real people. Hence why this is a Hannibal fic.
enjoy!
Kitchen Nightmares is infamous for… well… kitchen nightmares. As foolish as it may sound, some of the restaurants on the show are completely and utterly disgusting. Health violations, animals like rats and raccoons running through the restaurants, fruit flies in drinks, raw chicken stuck together in a greying sludge… The list goes on. None of it is appetizing. Watching the show religiously would probably give a person enough reason to swear off restaurants forever.
Why you apply to be a cameraman for the show, you’re not exactly sure. You did want more action and adventure—your previous jobs had been too monotonous and boring for your liking. But going from a simple advertisement agency to filming Kitchen Nightmares… It’s a full 180. Still, you know you’re good at what you do—so you go through the interview process with confidence. You get through the first phone interview, and then a digital interview. Your final interview has you entering the studio and filming some promotional material. The supervisor assures you that you’d be out filming at restaurants more often, but he wanted to get a sense of your abilities. And apparently, all of your demo footage wasn’t enough.
It’s stressful, but when you receive the call a few days later informing you that you’ve gotten the job, you’re ecstatic. It’s a well-paying job; not to mention, you’re sure there’s never a boring day. Combined with good benefits and generous vacation time, you’re convinced you’ve made the right decision.
Your first few days aren’t very eventful—namely because you’re confined to the studio, where virtually no filming occurs. The show is always on the road, as Chef Hannibal Lecter visits restaurants across the nation. Producers comb through submission tapes and choose what restaurants he’ll visit. Then, Lecter will stop by to inspect things and get a sense of what he’s working with. After that comes extensive training, menu refinement, and sometimes even interior design and renovations. Safe to say, Lecter has his hands full. While it may seem like the work on the show is easy and smooth, you recognize that he’s a lot more involved than people may think.
You haven’t met him just yet, but you’re sure you will once you’re on the road. You don’t expect to be bustling through the studio one day, only to nearly crash into the man himself. You reel back a bit, righting your balance.
“Sorry,” you say quickly. That wasn’t necessarily the first impression you were hoping for. But oh well. There are rarely any other people in the studio, so you don’t necessarily blame yourself for nearly colliding with him. Lecter doesn’t seem too bothered about it either, instead waving off your apology with a kind smile.
“I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” he hums. “Hannibal Lecter. Pleasure.”
You extend a hand for a handshake; he returns the gesture and places a free hand on your shoulder, before leaning in and kissing you on each cheek. When he pulls back, you’re flabbergasted. It takes you a moment to remember to introduce yourself in return. You’re a bit flustered. But, then again, you’re probably reading into it. The guy’s Lithuanian and frequently in Europe, so that was just a European greeting. Right?
Fortunately, you’re spared from any further embarrassment by the production assistant, who grabs you and starts briefing you on the next restaurant the crew is going to visit. As you walk away, you feel like Lecter is watching you—but when you turn around, he’s engrossed in conversation with someone else.
INTERIOR – Confessional.
A short individual interview with you. On a banner near the bottom of the screen, your name and role (“camera crew”) are displayed in white font. You’re seen pinching the bridge of your nose, shaking your head in disbelief before looking at the camera.
You
I’ve never smelled something so foul in my entire life. Some of us were wearing face masks when we were filming.
The camera then cuts to a behind-the-scenes shot of another cameraman, who can be seen nearly gagging as he places a hand over his mouth.
You
(sighing)
Yeah… Not fun.
Twitter
judasjudahahas
who’s the hot camera guy on Kitchen Nightmares???? And can we see more of him??? Asking for a friend. #KitchenNightmares
→ upsidedownapple: yesss omg his confessionals were so funny
→ gratattata: we stan him fr
INTERIOR – Chef Lecter’s car. Mid-day, rainy weather. Hannibal sits in the driver’s seat; you’re seated in the passenger’s seat, behind the camera as you film his reaction to this restaurant’s “Soup of the Day.” It was served to him through the drive-thru, which isn’t exactly promising.
Hannibal holds a styrofoam cup in his hand, and he glances down at it with a mildly disgusted expression.
Chef Lecter
(sarcastically)
Wonderful. Smell this.
You
(quickly)
No thanks. That’s your job, not mine.
Chef Lecter
(laughs)
Fair enough.
A beat of silence.
Chef Lecter
But look, at the very least.
(tilts the cup down)
The camera zooms in on the soup served in a styrofoam cup; the texture is chunky and there are weird orange bits in it.
You
Ew.
Chef Lecter
This looks like one of those McDonald’s desserts.
You
A McFlurry?
Chef Lecter
Yes. That.
You
(restrained laughter)
Pffft. You didn’t even know the name of it?
Chef Lecter
That’s not my job.
You
Right, fixing mediocre mom-and-pop restaurants is your job.
Silence. Hannibal’s lips quirk at the edges, close to smiling. Then he shakes his head to refocus.
Chef Lecter
(grimacing at the camera)
Here goes.
You’re quiet as you film him. Hannibal dips the spoon into the mixture, picks some up and looks at it. Chunks fall from the spoon and back into the cup. You shudder.
You’re watching Hannibal expectantly. He’s entirely silent, his face almost completely devoid of emotion. You’re not sure how long you sit there in complete silence. Hannibal just isn’t saying anything.
Chef Lecter
(diplomatically)
…Well then.
You
(bursting into laughter)
I’m so sorry— hold on—
The screen goes dark as you place the camera in your lap. For a few moments, all that can be heard is your laughter. Then you regain your composure and pick the camera back up again, pointing it at Hannibal.
Chef Lecter
(smirking slightly)
Ready now?
You
(still fighting off laughter)
Yes. Go ahead.
Hannibal repeats the same actions as before, dipping a spoon into the mixture before bringing it to his lips.
Chef Lecter
(contemplative)
Hm. Cold.
You
(sputtering)
I’m sorry— That was—!
A few more moments of laughter. Then, you take a slow breath.
Chef Lecter
(fighting off a smile)
You’d better straighten up soon. I don’t think my body will tolerate much more of this soup.
You
(pulling it together)
You’re right, my bad. Okay, last time. Go ahead.
Chef Lecter tastes the soup, pulls a face. He describes the abhorrent flavor profile and cold temperature; you watch on silently. Eventually, it’s clear you’ve gotten the shot.
Chef Lecter
Finally. I’m starting to think you did that on purpose.
You
(with faux-innocence)
Me? Never.
INT. – Confessional.
A voice from off screen speaks: So, you were the one to find that hidden freezer in the preliminary inspection.
You
(shuddering)
Unfortunately.
The camera cuts to black-and-white footage of a door hidden behind piles of boxes. From behind the camera in the flashback, you reach and open the door. The camera shakes a bit as you evidently grasp what you’re seeing.
You
Chef Lecter wasn’t pleased to see that. But I don’t really blame him. I mean, that’s gotta be several health violations. And a secret freezer? Their walk-in freezer was huge and it wasn’t even full. Very suspicious.
INT. – Jack’s Pub. It’s a rowdy dinner service, with waiters and guests bustling around the far too small space.
You’re filming some B-roll when you’re suddenly jostled by a passing guest. You’re thrown off balance for a second before you manage to steady yourself.
Chef Lecter
(turning to look directly at you)
Are you all right?
You
(blinking)
Yeah, I’m good.
Chef Lecter
(looking at the tight space around you)
Ridiculous. Completely and utterly ridiculous.
You
(jokingly)
Maybe us crew members need camouflage or something. Like those National Geographic photographers.
The chef laughs. You’re surprised by the gesture—you’re not sure you’ve ever heard him express such amusement before.
Chef Lecter
Yes, that would be beneficial. It is somewhat akin to photographing wildlife, isn’t it?
You
(scoffing, before lowering your voice)
Yeah. But without, y’know, the dignity and respect. These places are dumps, so even the best shots look completely shitty.
Chef Lecter
(lips quirking at the edges)
True. But you’re making me look good.
You
That isn’t exactly difficult to do.
You don’t realize the gravity of what you’ve said until you see Hannibal’s eyebrows climb up his face. You immediately look away, trying to pretend as if you hadn’t said anything.
EXTERIOR – Dumort Hotel. A gaudy hotel with bright pink walls and pastel yellow shingles looms over you. This is one of the first few episodes of Hannibal’s new show, Hotel Hell. After four successful seasons of Kitchen Nightmares, the network is deciding to expand and give him another program.
You pay a disbelieving glance at Hannibal as you stand in front of the garish hotel.
You
You’re really a masochist, huh? Was all the food poisoning and filth not enough for you?
Hannibal
(huffs in amusement)
I suppose it wasn’t. Now we’re adding crumbling wallpaper and burnished antiques to the mix.
Hannibal heads up the steps and you follow after him, filming the whole way. When you reach the front doors, there’s a comically large door knocker that he pointedly ignores. He holds the door open for you and you murmur a word of gratitude quietly, before stepping into the space.
The lobby is just as much of an eyesore as the exterior of the building. There’s a complete mess of colors: each as bright and dizzying as the last. There are furry armchairs and leather sofas scattered around the space. You zoom in on the cushions, which are tattered and look stained.
The owner of the hotel, Maxine, steps out from behind the desk. To your surprise, Hannibal doesn’t kiss her on the cheek—instead opting for a more formal handshake. This only reminds you of your first meeting. You take a deep breath and focus on the conversation as you’re filming.
Maxine
Chef Lecter, I’m so thrilled to see you!
Hannibal
Oh, please, call me Hannibal.
Maxine
Very well, Hannibal. I just know that you’ll enjoy your stay here.
Hannibal
I’m sure I will.
The smile on his face is ever so slightly sarcastic, as if he knows just how much of a nightmare this place is going to be. Maxine doesn’t seem to notice this, instead looking at the camera.
Maxine
(curiously)
And who’s this?
You’re hiding your face behind your camera at this point. But she doesn’t relent, and eventually you’re forced to show yourself.
You
(awkwardly)
Oh. Um… hi.
Maxine
Hello! Enchanted to meet you, darling.
She holds her hand out pointedly.
You
(hesitantly kissing the top of her hand)
…Nice to meet you too.
That’s strange. She didn’t do anything like that with Hannibal. You frown, hiding the gesture behind your camera as you continue filming.
Maxine
Now, shall I lead you to your room, Hannibal?
Hannibal
Please.
His tone is almost imperceptibly clipped, as if he’s slightly frustrated.
INT. – Confessional. Hannibal recalls his first impressions of the Dumort Hotel lobby.
Tell us about the lobby.
Hannibal
There was a veritable mess of colors. Way too much neon. And I believe the chandelier in the center was broken, which is a safety hazard.
And the owner, Maxine, seemed quite…
Hannibal
(tersely)
Friendly.
Overly friendly, some might say.
Hannibal
I would agree. If that was her attempt at buttering us up before we explored the hotel… Well, it didn’t exactly work in her favor.
EXTERIOR – Dumort Hotel hot tub.
You’re standing on the deck, where an above-ground hot tub rests innocuously. Hannibal left briefly to change. Upon his return, you quickly tilt the camera down.
Hannibal
(curious)
What are you doing?
You
Just figured you wouldn’t want to be shirtless on national television.
Hannibal
Ah. That is… a good point.
You
(stammering)
Not like you have anything to be ashamed of! I just mean—
Hannibal
(with a fond huff)
I understand. I appreciate the gesture.
You
(attempting to recover your dignity)
Good.
It’s quiet as Hannibal steps over to the hot tub. You still have your camera pointed down. He eventually crouches and manages to step in.
You
Ready?
Hannibal
Sure. Care to join me?
You
(shaking your head)
No thanks. I don’t even like regular hot tubs. Let alone… whatever that is.
Hannibal
A shame.
You
You’re not supposed to be talking to me, you know.
Hannibal
Oh?
You
I mean, the viewers aren’t supposed to know I exist.
Hannibal
You filmed some confessionals for Kitchen Nightmares, no?
You
You know what I mean.
Hannibal
(teasing)
And what am I supposed to do by myself, hm? This hot tub is depressing enough; this situation is completely undignified.
You lock eyes with him over your camera and roll your eyes.
INT. – Your room at Dumort Hotel, later that night.
You open the door and are immediately hit with a nauseating wave of stench. It’s thick enough to give you a headache right away. For a moment, you’re just frozen in the doorway in shock and horror. This is where you’re supposed to sleep for the night…?
Then you sigh and pull out your camera, turning it on.
You
(briefly turning the camera to yourself, before showing the room)
So… this is where I’m supposed to stay. And it smells like death. But, hey, at least we’ll get some good footage. Right? Haha…
You explore the room in search for the source of the smell. Eventually you find it: it’s the mattress. You almost don’t want to look. The last thing you want to find is an animal or fungus and mold. You pull the mattress back in what feels like slow motion.
…There’s nothing. You frown and put the mattress back down, only to feel something hit your arm. You look down in confusion, finding a drop of water running down your forearm. You pan the camera up slowly, unable to hide a choked gasp as you see the hole in the roof above. Zooming in on it reveals a consistent flow of liquid.
You
(to the camera)
It’s supposed to rain tonight too. Great.
You pause the camera and watch the ceiling for a moment, before confirming that it’s still leaking. Damn it. You’ll have to find somewhere else to sleep. There is a sofa a ways down the hall… You could just sleep there.
You’re sitting on the sofa for no more than a few minutes when Hannibal exits his room and heads down the hall, pausing when he sees you.
Hannibal
What are you doing out here?
You
Um… nothing important.
Hannibal
(astutely)
What is it?
You
(sighing defeatedly)
My room had a hole in the roof. And it’s raining, of course.
Hannibal
(with a sympathetic smile)
Of course.
Hannibal
…I’d be happy to share my room with you.
You
(politely)
No, it’s fine—
Hannibal
I insist. Can’t have you getting sick—it’s drafty out here.
Hannibal’s soon helping you to your feet and guiding you with a hand on your shoulder, leaving you no choice but to share his room with him.
INT. – Hannibal’s hotel room. Early the next morning. You’re wearing a simple shirt and sweatpants; Hannibal is wearing a cardigan and slacks. His version of a casual outfit, you suppose.
Hannibal
(looking at the camera)
So we were roused—
You
(interjecting, briefly panning the camera down to the floor)
Wait, wait, wait. You should probably just say “I”.
Hannibal
Why?
You
Otherwise, y’know. We shared a room, people will think…
Hannibal
I don’t mind.
You
(surprised)
Oh. Okay. Then… start over, I guess.
Hannibal
(staring at the camera once more)
We were roused this morning by an ear-piercing shriek, which proved to be a rooster outside…
Twitter
Trending
Hotel Hell
Related tags: #HotelHell, #HotelGayHell, #ChefLecter
spaghettihands
what am i watching and why do i love it SO MUCH #HotelHell
imeankingggg
Production is WILD for keeping the whole Maxine/Camera Guy interaction in the show #HotelGayHell
→ grrrrr8ate: RIGHT?????
→ fuygieri: hannibal seemed lowkey jealous
→ greenhamneggs: LOWKEY??? Bitch he was so snippy with maxine after
→ ooglyboogly: trueeee
drhouseapologist
that shit was so gay. They stayed there OVERNIGHT. TOGETHER. IN THE SAME ROOM??????????? #HotelGayHell
→ bananananana: lIKRRRRR i’m in shamblessss
→ crystalmegs: and judging from the clip he filmed, the camera guy had his own room!!! I think his was the one with the hole in the ceiling 😭
→ grianbriffin: ^i just know that mildew smelled so rank
→ yagamilightoh: YES BECAUSE HANNIBAL SAID “we were roused”
→ yugylimaf: WAS THERE ONLY ONE BED????????
→ thespudhutmanager: LORDDD the people need to knowwwwww pleaseeeeeeEEE
yopapa
anyone else think it’s funny that hannibal dresses so nicely to go to these absolutely awful hotels and restaurants
→ user39751: yes lolllll
→ toucanscram: he’s so charming that i think people forget he’s there to tear them apart
What was a relatively peaceful lunch hour is quickly interrupted by the sound of loud music. Dancers draped in gaudy, revealing golden fabric weave their way through the tables. Everyone is immensely uncomfortable. The display is entirely unnecessary and inappropriate—there are children eating at the restaurant.
You’ve had plenty of memorable moments throughout the seasons you’ve been filming, but this one easily takes the cake. It doesn’t help that one of the dancers locks eyes with you (or the camera, you’re not sure) and advances on you, to the point where you’re backing away from her. Her hand grazes your arm and you can’t scramble back nearly quick enough for your liking. In your attempt to escape, you bump into someone behind you.
A sudden hand on your shoulder makes you flinch. Fear races through you.
Chef Lecter
(reassuringly)
It’s just me.
His hand slips from your shoulder. You’re barely paying attention to the shots you’re getting, at this point—too wound up from what just happened. There’s a displeased expression on the chef’s face. He clears his throat pointedly.
Chef Lecter
(firmly)
Please do not touch my crew.
The air falls silent. The music is paused. The entire restaurant seems to be holding its breath. The diners are uncomfortable, and the dancers are still. Eventually, they retreat and return to service.
You
(turning to Hannibal)
Thanks.
Hannibal
Of course. Are you all right?
You
Um… yeah, thanks.
Hannibal
(imploringly)
Take a breather, please. I can’t imagine we’ll need any more footage of… that.
He looks disgusted, annoyed. Repulsed, even. It takes you a moment to comprehend his offer, but once you do, you nod jerkily and head out the side door of the restaurant. You pause your camera and take a deep breath. Within a few minutes, you’re composed enough to return to the restaurant. Seeing Hannibal berate them in that sophisticated diction of his is all you need to feel better.
YouTube
kitchendreamsfan1
chef lecter simping for the camera guy for six minutes gay
featuring some moments from hotel hell!! if you haven’t watched it, then you should. episode 5 at Dumort Hotel has a shit ton of gay moments between these two. mwhahahha…
Comments:
diefrownhate: you are a SAINT
→ broombroommm: a POPE
→ keonlennedy: a BISHOP
→ poppyistired: pope is better but alright…
→ keonlennedy: shut up i don’t know christian mythology leave me alone
→ poppyistired: christian mythology? i’m stealing that lolol
saphael4L: lecter putting his hand on the camera guy’s shoulder at 3:04 !!!!!!! and the fucking look on his fucking face!!!!
dokidokidookie: do you think they’ve explored each other’s bodies
→ charizander: do you think you could log off for me
→ dokidokidookie: never
→ charizander: ok well i’ve done my civic duty idc anymore
INTERIOR – Colby’s Restaurant. Morning.
Chef Hannibal Lecter has a reputation for being cool, calm, and collected. He never lashes out at people, never even reacts to their insults. And most people, they’re able to recognize that—and respect it. But there will always be morons.
This particular owner, Colby Smith, is a piece of fucking work. He’s been a complete and utter asshole to his staff, his customers, the crew, and even Hannibal himself from the very beginning. And while Chef Lecter has a commendable amount of patience, it isn’t limitless.
Colby is going on another tirade, hurling insults left and right. He’s cursing so much that practically every other word will have to be censored. And the target of his ire? Hannibal. That’s right. Hannibal Lecter, the angel who gives people second and third chances when they don’t deserve them.
All it had taken was a simple question from Hannibal for Colby to go ballistic. Suddenly he’s spouting off about being emasculated, manipulated, used for profit, forced to play a role, painted as the villain. He goes on and on and on.
Hannibal is… uncharacteristically silent. Usually, he attempts to reason with people. Today, he is silent and nearly frozen in the face of this owner’s criticisms. And even as you keep filming, you can’t shake the feeling that something’s genuinely upsetting him.
“Cut!” the director yells.
Hannibal is tense. His shoulders are drawn tight. His posture is perfect as always, but it almost looks rigid now. He hasn’t budged since the cameras stopped rolling.
You’re moving before you can think better of it.
You
Audio’s a bit spotty. Hannibal, mic check, come on.
The audio’s fine. You just needed an excuse to get him away. And you get the feeling he wouldn’t want to be asked after in front of the entire crew. So you lead him through the restaurant and to the alleyway outside.
You
(considering him for a moment)
Are you okay?
Hannibal
(without hesitation)
Of course.
You don’t believe him.
You
Just take a few minutes.
You can’t help but sneak concerned glances at him. Hannibal is quiet, much too quiet. The blank expression on his face would fool most, but you’ve been working with him long enough to recognize when it’s a facade.
Hannibal is still silent. You feel compelled to speak, to reassure him somehow.
You
You always want to help people. You see the best in them. And I’ve always respected that about you.
More silence.
You
(gaining more confidence)
But you need to know when to draw the line.
Hannibal is looking at you now.
You
You don’t owe these people anything. They’re fucking dicks. And if they can’t accept your help, then they sure as hell don’t deserve it.
There’s a pause. Neither of you try to fill the silence. You study Hannibal. There’s a harsher pull to his lips now. His mask is cracking, slowly but surely.
You
(slowly)
You can’t help everyone. I know it sucks, but it’s the truth.
Hannibal
(exhaling in a measured breath)
You’re right.
You
(jokingly)
And I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but there’s no shortage of bad restaurants in this country.
Hannibal
(a hint of a tired smile rising on his lips)
I am beginning to realize that, yes.
Twitter
Trending
Kitchen Nightmares
Related Tags: #ChefLecter, #CameraGuy
wildonesare
oh the camera people were SO SHADY for filming that convo between hannibal and the camera guy… not that i’m not grateful, ofc 😏 #KitchenNightmares
→ torturedpoetrydept: IKR
→ phineasferbfanfic: they made that shit as dramatic as possible
→ boo_briangriffin_boo: right??? no video, just audio?? and the subtitles were crazy too. “loaded silence” ???? like, helloooo??
grapesouda
did we really just find the one restaurant that even hannibal lecter couldn’t save? #KitchenNightmares
→fourthpowerpuffgirl: lord i think we did
→ nerfornuthin: the owner seemed like such a fucking dick, hope he rots <3
→ fourthpowerpuffgirl: supposedly he’s in prison now, so… i think he probably is rotting
→ nerfornuthin: …oh! oh! i didn’t know that LOLLLL
→ fourthpowerpuffgirl: ahaha you’re good, dw abt it. i think it was pretty recent.
thatsnotbullying
the camera guy was so sweet i’m sobbing
→ kissmya33: hannibal probably appreciated it so much
asstutes
I HAVE A THEORY THAT THE RUSTLING CLOTHES AT THE END OF THE CONVO WAS HANNIBAL & THE CAMERA GUY HUGGING #KitchenNightmares
→ potatoh_: GENIUSSSS
INT. – Jack Crawford’s car. Jack Crawford, the host of Bar Rescue, has invited Hannibal and you as guests for the episode. He’s visiting a bar in Virginia called Sadie’s.
Hannibal and you enter the car. You’re nervous, your chest practically stewing in unease as you hop into the backseat. Maybe you can just sit here quietly, and everyone will forget you exist.
Jack Crawford
Welcome, you two.
Hannibal
We’re delighted to be joining you.
Jack Crawford
Chef Lecter, you’re an expert on food. And you’re—
(he turns to glance back at you)
You
(quickly)
I’m not an expert on anything.
Jack Crawford
That’s not what I was going to say.
Hannibal
(chidingly)
Don’t sell yourself short, dear. Besides, if there’s one thing these people are lacking, it’s common sense—something you have in spades.
Jack Crawford
Very good. There we go.
A few beats of silence.
Now, before we get started, I have to ask: are you two close?
You decide to wait for Hannibal to answer.
Hannibal
We’re good friends, yes.
You blink in surprise. Truthfully, you thought the same—but you didn’t want to make any assumptions. Plus, Hannibal isn’t exactly the type to make friends. You’re happy to hear he sees you as a good friend, though. The two of you have been working together for a few years now, after all.
Jack Crawford
Excellent. Just asking for the fans.
(he winks at the camera)
Twitter
Trending
Bar Rescue
Related tags: #ChefLecter, #JackKnows
mikuhatsunemikukuuuu
LMFAO Jack wasn’t slick 🤣 “asking for the fans” yeah right… #JackKnows
→ corporatepridemonth: i mean he was brave enough to ask to their faces so
→ byebyebyeeee: right???? he said what we were all thinking. the voice of the people.
→ waitin4u: sry… what is it we’re all thinking
→ user9191: that hannibal and the camera guy are dating!
→ waitin4u: ohhhh! well duh
→ user9191: lmfao exactly
boomboompowww
the camera guy was so self-deprecating 😭😭 which, i mean, mood. but also SIR YOU DESERVE TO BE IN THAT CAR 😭😭
→ therealjoeyjoe: yeah he’s probably more familiar with crazy people than hannibal and jack. just because of his crew job on the shows.
→ tyyoufish: i just know he has some wild stories…
→ witharakemom: and then hannibal noticing he’s being quiet and encouraging him to talk after😭😭
→ comeonbeverly: omfg i didn’t even notice that until now!!!!!
INT. – Jack Crawford’s car. Some time has passed since you both first entered. The three of you watched the bar through the hidden cameras for a while.
Jack Crawford
(determined)
Now, I have a bit of a special assignment for you two. You’re going to join me for recon. We’ll go in and pose as customers. Are you ready?
You
Ready as I’ll ever be.
Hannibal nods in evident agreement.
Jack Crawford
Good. Let’s go.
The three of you exit the car and enter the restaurant. You’re seated at a table, Jack Crawford next to you and Hannibal across from you.
You
It’s weird being on the other side of this.
Waitress
Hi, folks. What can I get started for ya?
Hannibal
Do you have a drink menu?
Waitress
No.
Jack Crawford
Alright. He’ll get a Manhattan and I’ll get an old-fashioned. And he’ll have—
Oh, and she’s walking away already.
(laughs disbelievingly, staring after the waitress before shaking his head)
You
It’s okay; I’m fine with water, actually.
Jack Crawford
Your liver thanks you.
You laugh.
Jack Crawford
And apologies, Chef Lecter, for ordering without asking you first. I’m sure you’d prefer wine, but judging from the look of this place…
Hannibal
(nodding)
They don’t have it.
Jack Crawford
Exactly. Now, let’s take a look at the menu. I’m going to defer to Chef Lecter here for some of the specifics.
Hannibal
(humming)
This is a strange menu for a bar. These items aren’t exactly… affordable to the standard bar patron.
Jack Crawford
I agree. $30 for a burger is highway robbery. But we’ll be ordering it, of course. When our waitress remembers to come back.
Five minutes pass… then ten… then fifteen.
Jack Crawford
I suspect she’s forgotten about us. Not great service.
Hannibal
No. And I believe I see the bartender sneaking drinks over there.
Jack Crawford
Great. Just great.
The waitress returns after around twenty-five minutes, which Crawford times on his watch.
Jack Crawford
(greeting her)
Ah, so you do remember us. Where are our drinks?
Waitress
(motioning back to the bartender)
He’s making them.
Jack Crawford
Well, in the meantime, we’d like to order some food. Let’s do… the nachos, the bison burger—medium, please—the mozzarella sticks, and the pepperoni pizza.
Waitress
Got it.
(walks away)
Jack Crawford
I tried to simulate the dining experience with that one. Sometimes, we have recon order the whole menu. I have a feeling we won’t need to do that here.
Hannibal
I suspect you’re right.
The bar is, safe to say, a complete and utter mess. Most of the staff is drinking and messing around. Some aren’t even behind the bar. And the owner, as Jack points out, is taking shots and flirting with the customers. One bartender passes by another, calling her a “messy bitch” and “whore.”
You
I can say I’ve had some similar experience. My first job was working for a fast food place—I did headset for the drive-thru. Minimum wage, close quarters, busy lunch and dinner hours, rude customers… I get it. But that’s no excuse to be talking to coworkers like that.
Hanniba
I agree.
Jack Crawford
I’ve noticed these things often happen because of a lack of management. The owner or manager doesn’t have any credibility, so the employees get comfortable. They do whatever they want because they can get away with it. And the blame lies with both parties there: the owner and the employee.
You
Also, I don’t think people realize that having a bar means having a business. It’s not a playground or a hang out space for your friends. So many of these people just buy a bar because they think it’ll be fun. Free drinks! But it sinks them every time.
Hannibal and Jack are both quiet.
You
(self-consciously)
What?
Hannibal
(sincerely)
I couldn’t have said it better myself.
Jack Crawford
(nodding in agreement)
Yes, that’s what this often boils down to, isn’t it? These owners never consider the practical parts of running a business: food and drink costs, labor costs. They don’t enforce any kind of standards; they let their staff get away with whatever the hell they want. And then they wonder why they’re failing.
You
I don’t envy you, Jack.
Jack Crawford
(diplomatically)
Oh, I’m sure you two can relate. You’ve seen hotel and restaurant owners of the exact same breed.
Hannibal
Yes, we have.
You
Hannibal definitely has the harder job. I just have to film it.
Hannibal
(politely)
We’ve both had our moments. You’ve been nearly stampeded by chefs before, if I recall correctly.
You
Oh, yeah, that’s true.
The waitress returns with the drinks.
Jack Crawford
(muttering)
Right on time.
Hannibal frowns down at his drink. Jack does too.
You
I’m not an alcohol expert, but… that doesn’t look right.
Hannibal
(takes a sip, pulling a face for a fraction of a second)
That’s revolting.
Jack Crawford
(takes a sip of his drink)
Disgusting. This doesn’t taste anything like an old-fashioned.
You
How long do you think the food will take? I’m guessing… thirty more minutes.
Jack Crawford
At least.
As expected, the food doesn’t arrive for forty minutes. It doesn’t look particularly appetizing: the bison burger is dripping with grease, the nachos are a giant clump, and the pepperoni pizza has sauce on top of the cheese. Maybe the mozzarella sticks are safe? You hesitantly poke at one with a fork.
Hannibal
Don’t eat that, sweetheart.
You blink, surprised to find his hand on your wrist as he prevents you from putting your fork into the mozzarella stick.
You
Okay, I won’t. But I’m curious to see what it looks like on the inside.
Hannibal’s hand slips away; you cut through the mozzarella stick with the side of your fork. The inside is a liquidy mess. You put a hand over your mouth in disgust before thanking Hannibal. He nods and smiles ever so slightly in return.
Jack Crawford
This is so disgusting. And look at these nachos.
Jack grabs a chip from the nachos and they emerge in one giant clump.
Jack Crawford
Chef Lecter, have you ever seen someone fuck up nachos this badly?
Hannibal
Never.
You
That looks like it could be a decoration for the wall.
Jack Crawford
(huffing as he holds it to the brick wall)
It does.
You
On that note, what kind of bar just has empty walls? This place is depressing.
Jack Crawford
I’ve seen alleys with more interior design.
You
Me too.
Hannibal cuts into the burger with a fork and knife. His sleeves are getting closer to the juice dripping from the burger. You’re reaching out to push his sleeves up before you can stop yourself.
Those stains would be a nightmare to get out.
Hannibal
(appreciatively)
Thank you.
He pushes the sliced burger apart with the knife. The inside of the burger has no pink.
Hannibal
This is well-done.
You
It looks past that. Like charcoal.
Jack Crawford
Here.
Jack reaches out and removes the patty from the burger. Then he knocks it against the table. There’s a dull thunking sound, as if the burger is completely solid.
You
Oh, gross.
Jack hits it against the table a bit harder and crumbs come off in chunks.
Hannibal
The pizza dough looks raw. None of these dishes are successful.
Jack Crawford
I want to meet the chef who served these. Let’s go to the kitchen, shall we?
The three of you get up from your seats. You follow behind Jack and Hannibal, briefly pausing at the host stand.
You
Their computers aren’t even on. If they have a POS system they’re paying for…
Hannibal
Then they’re certainly not using it.
You
(surprised he was listening)
Right.
You linger before the kitchen. Truthfully, you don’t feel like you should be here. The show usually has guest experts. But you’re not really an expert at anything, save for filming.
Actually… that gives you an idea.
I’m going to grab some B-roll. Make myself useful.
Hannibal
(frowning)
You are always useful.
You
You know what I mean.
You turn on the handheld camera you brought with you, before turning to Hannibal.
You
You go tear their kitchen apart, and I’ll find a moldy toilet or something.
Hannibal
(huffing a laugh)
Sounds like a plan.
INT. – Sadie’s.
Hannibal and Jack are exploring the kitchen now. Jack looks disgusted, and even Hannibal looks mildly revulsed.
Jack
(pointing to a bin kept off to the side)
What the hell is that?
Hannibal
Looks like… raw chicken.
Jack
Of course. Of course. Right next to the cooked chicken, in the same fucking freezer.
Hannibal
A health inspector would have an aneurysm here.
Jack
That they would.
The two of them investigate the filthy fryer and dirty grill with scrutiny. Jack inspects it for a few moments before seeming to come to a realization, glancing around the room.
Jack
I had a feeling the two of them were dating. Lecter seemed moments away from climbing into the backseat to sit with the camera guy earlier. And he called him sweetheart earlier, too. Not very subtle, that one.
They’re not dating.
Jack
They’re not? (sighs heavily)
Twitter
Trending
Bar Rescue
Related tags: #ChefLecter, #CameraGuy
melaniemartinezismygod
#CameraGuy coming back to the kitchen confused 😭😭 mf knew he missed something important 😭😭😭
1kyokokirigiristan
Swear on my life, #ChefLecter literally relaxed when the camera guy came back.
→ demonicinfluence: I SAW THAT TOO
generalgrievousrepairtech
what do you mean he called him sweetheart. and then stopped the camera guy from eating that vile shit. the camera guy rolled up Hannibal’s sleeves for him. Jack just sat there amused. what do you mean this show isn’t for the gays??? #ChefLecter #CameraGuy #KitchenNightmares
→ swimmerladdy: there’s drama, drinks, and homoeroticism. that’s all i need.
→ sportsgirl179: same tbh
thezoruark
the way Jack was so surprised to hear they aren’t dating. willing to bet my life that there are more moments between #ChefLecter and #CameraGuy that got cut
→ hellokittyluvr: i need the full unedited version and i need it right NOW. raw footage. I don’t even CARE.
kingkeonhee
what the fuck is with my tl. why is everyone talking about this cooking guy and bar show. do i need to watch it orrrr….. #BarRescue
→ seokjinnie132: you don’t need to watch it, you can just be uneducated and uncultured.
→ kingkeonhee: oof, my pride…
→ seokjinnie132: ahhahaa. kidding. jokes aside, the show is already chaotic and entertaining enough on its own. add two oblivious gay men and you have yourself a masterpiece.
→ kingkeonhee: oh purrrrr i’ll check it out then
→ polywhirlygig: keep us posted. i expect an essay of book report length.
→ kingkeonhee: don’t test me, because i will absolutely do that.
→ polywhirlygig: wait actually just watch it on call with me, i need to see everythingggg
→ kingkeonhee: BET running to discord rn
INT. – Jack Crawford’s car. A few months after your first time on the show.
Jack
(looking at the camera near the dashboard)
Now, our special guests for the episode are making a return appearance. These two were very popular with fans. I’d almost be insulted, if they weren’t my friends. At least, I think we’re all friends now.
Hannibal
Good evening, Jack.
You
Hey.
Jack
Hello, you two. I was just saying that we’re all friends now. Or I hope so, at least.
You
Yeah, we are. There are some things you go through that are just so horrible that you become friends after. Trauma-bonding.
Hannibal
(amused)
Yes, we’re friends. It’s good to see you, Jack.
Jack
You too, Hannibal. (looks to you in the backseat) And you, of course.
You both will be pleased to know that I’ve hired two other people for recon tonight.
Hannibal
That is a relief.
Jack
They’re entering the bar now, as we can see on the screen here. On the left there is Alana Bloom, a practicing psychiatrist and good friend of mine. On the right is Freddie Lounds, a journalist. They’re heading in… Let’s see how they’re treated.
Hannibal
Pardon me, Jack.
Hannibal gets out of the car. Then, to your disbelief, he enters the backseat and sits next to you. At your confused look, he explains.
I couldn’t see.
You
(skeptical)
Right… So you moved further away from the screen.
Silence.
You
If you wanted to sit with me, you could’ve just said that.
Hannibal
(shameless)
I wanted to sit with you.
You
(surprised)
Oh.
Jack
Enough flirting, you two. Take a look at this. The bartender is on the wrong side of the bar.
You
(leaning forward and considering the screen for several moments)
That one server’s busting her ass just to keep the place alive.
Hannibal
Right. And the bartenders aren’t even serving drinks.
Jack
Oh, and now one’s offering “boob shots”.
You
(covering your eyes)
Oh no… No…
Jack
I can see this is happening the opposite effect.
You
(muttering in disbelief)
I’m too gay for this.
Hannibal’s eyes snap to yours. He looks incredibly amused. A few moments pass.
Hannibal
(patting your knee briefly)
You can look now.
You
(removing your hands from your face).
That’s crazy! That’s illegal. She could have the cops called on her for indecent exposure!
Hannibal
(sincere)
You’re correct. This isn’t—or, at least, shouldn’t be—a strip club.
Jack
She would also lose her liquor license.
You
Not to mention… that’s just inappropriate.
Jack
No wonder the place is filled with men—that’s what’s bringing them in!
The three of you are stuck in shocked silence for several minutes. Jack is the one to break through it.
Jack
And checking back with our recon agents… we can see they’re uncomfortable. Understandably. They’ve been sitting there for fifteen minutes. They still haven’t gotten their drinks. And here comes Paul, the owner.
The three of you are quiet as you stare down at the screen for several minutes.
Jack
He’s drunk and he’s flirting with them. Not the best first impression.
You
Not at all.
Hannibal
They look visibly uncomfortable.
Jack
He’s practically sitting in their laps, at this point. And he’s married. Flirting right in front of his wife, who is the bartender. Completely ridiculous.
You
Let’s get them out of there.
Jack
I’m with you. Let’s go.
The three of you exit the car.
Hannibal and you manage to get the owner away from Alana and Freddie. They seem relieved, to say the least. Jack has since stepped into the back, and you can hear him yelling at the owner from out here. Good. The guy deserves it.
Then Alana, the psychiatrist, places a hand on Hannibal’s forearm and leads him to a nearby corner. They converse privately for a moment. Your eyebrows climb up your temple as you see how she’s practically draped herself over him. Freddie’s voice draws your attention.
“That drink was nasty,” she scoffs.
“I bet,” you grimace in sympathy, taking a look down at it. You’re not much of a drinker, but you can still tell what makes a good one. Fruit flies don’t make a good drink, that’s for damn sure.
Hannibal comes back soon enough. Alana and Freddie exchange a look; Jack returns from the kitchen and leads them out of the bar, apologizing profusely for the situation he unknowingly put them into.
Hannibal and you are left standing together now. “Hey,” you greet him. “Looks like you have an admirer, huh?” you joke, referring to the interaction you witnessed between Alana and him just now.
“I was going to say the same to you,” Hannibal says, nodding at Freddie, who is being led out by Jack.
You huff and ignore the remark, trying to ignore the strange tightness in your chest. “So, did she ask you out?” you continue. You know you need to stop talking, but you can’t quite get yourself to just shut up. “To a cleaner bar, maybe?”
Hannibal exhales in amusement. “She did,” he admits.
“And?” you prompt him. Why are you pushing this? You don’t think you even want to know the answer, you don’t want to be thinking about Hannibal sitting close to someone at a bar—
“And I denied her,” he answers.
“Aw,” you say, managing to smile sympathetically. Secretly, you’re relieved—even though you shouldn’t be. “Why? She seemed nice. She’s a friend of Jack’s, right?”
“I wasn’t interested,” Hannibal says with a brief shake of his head. His hands are in his pockets now. He seems completely at ease, despite the fact that he’s standing in the middle of a very dingy, dimly-lit bar. “And I have plans.”
“Plans?” you repeat. “Look at you.”
There’s a strange expression on Hannibal’s face. He almost looks… smug? You soon realize why. “You almost seem jealous,” he notes.
“Jealous?” you echo. Fuck. “Me? Aha… No… definitely not. At all. Totally. I’m completely fine over here. Totally… good. Great, even.”
You’re not sure how much longer you would’ve kept rambling if Hannibal hadn’t leaned in to kiss you. You’re immediately reminded of your first meeting, and how his hand found your shoulder as he got closer. Then, there was some room for interpretation. You had only just met.
There’s no room for interpretation now. There’s nothing platonic about this gesture—he’s holding you tenderly, smoothly entering your space before swiftly breaking away. “You are ridiculous,” Hannibal says with a smile.
“Oh,” you blink. Suddenly everything starts to make sense: all of the behavior you had just perceived to be friendly. “...Ohhh.” You smile.
“Yes,” Hannibal responds with a knowing look. A fond one.
“Okay, we’re going to redo that somewhere less filthy,” you assert.
Hannibal is fully smiling now. You’ve never seen him look so expressive. His eyes are gleaming. “Yes, we are,” he promises. He reaches out and clasps your hand.
The two of you don’t seem to break apart quickly enough, as Jack storms into the restaurant once more. He stops in front of you, seeming moments away from going on an angry tirade about the owner before he sees your hand in Hannibal’s. “Finally,” he says dismissively. “I thought you’d never get it together.”
“Yes, thank you, Jack,” Hannibal replies in amusement.
“Glad something good came out of tonight,” Jack says with a shake of his head. “Because the owner’s bat-shit crazy. I’m going to have my work cut out for me.”
“You definitely will,” you acquiesce. “Have fun with that.” You smirk teasingly.
“You’re lucky the fans love you,” Jack sighs, sensing that you’re leaving.
You just smile. “Bye, Jack.”
“See you two,” he nods. “Hopefully in a slightly cleaner establishment next time.”
“One can dream,” Hannibal responds. You all laugh before Jack heads into the kitchen again, leaving Hannibal and you standing outside the bar hand-in-hand. Hannibal glances over at you and smiles; you squeeze his hand. The two of you head out to the parking lot, the night air a welcome change from the stuffy and warm air of the bar.
“You remember when we first met?” you ask. Your hand still clasps his. A cool breeze runs through the air and it’s refreshing. You feel safe here, comfortable enough to be vulnerable for a moment. You glance at Hannibal, awaiting his answer.
“Of course I do,” he answers.
“Were you messing with me?” you question. “With the kiss on the cheek thing, I mean.”
“Oh, yes, I remember,” Hannibal recalls. A smirk dances on his lips. “Maybe.”
“Seriously?” you nearly exclaim. “You had me second-guessing myself for months.” Years, even. But he doesn’t need to know that.
Hannibal laughs. “Apologies,” he says, stopping in his tracks and turning to face you. His free hand moves to glide across your cheek, settling just near your jaw. “I just couldn’t help myself.” There’s an unmistakable fondness in his eyes. He’s staring at you like you’re the only person in the world.
“And you say I’m ridiculous,” you remember to say. You can’t bring yourself to be cross with Hannibal for long, because he’s soon pulling you into another kiss and taking your mind off of that embarrassing encounter.
okay okay, hear me out I have an idea and i have some stuff written for it already but also i’m not sure if anyone would even be interested, so:
Derek Morgan x bookshop owner !male reader?
like, the whole “I read crime books to make fun of the police work” x “i read for a living so i can recommend you something other than shitty crime books” dynamic?!
Okay so either with Derek Morgan or Aaron Hotchner but wgat if the reader and him both have feelings for each other but hide it (or maybe secret relationship styke idk your choice) because working on the same team is forbidden. And they get paired to go look at the victims house but they both get kidnapped and the unsub makes them play a game and in the ebd one of them practically has to sacrifice themselves to save the other just as the team is turning up.
I don't know if this is the type of heartbreak request you want it's just been sitting in my head for a few days. I have other ideas otherwise tho 😅 also I love your work so muchhh.
A/N: this is my oldest draft, i am so sorry to this anon it has been multiple years 😅😭 also this didn't really turn out that heart breaking, more just a sarcastic reader
Warnings: abduction, mentions of murders,
You're paired with Morgan. Again. Which is fine, you liked Morgan. You really liked Morgan. Okay, fine, you liked him a little too much. That was sort of the problem. You knew that even if he liked you back (which you knew realistically wasn't the case), there wasn't exactly anything that could be done about it. There's a strict 'no bone your team mate' rule out and about within the FBI. It wasn't exactly worded like that, of course, but it was there. Besides, Penelope Garcia herself might actually kill you.
Everything seemed fine, you had entered the property and nothing seemed to have changed from the photos you had reviewed on the jet. How were you supposed to know the unsub was in the house? The unsub's behaviour didn't exactly profile like someone who would revisit the abduction site.
You walked into the bathroom and a gun was pressed to the back of your head. You did what you were told, putting your phone on the side and handing him your weapons.
"Hands where I can see them." You did so.
Using your cuffs, he cuffed your hands tightly behind your back, pocketing the key. "Come on, let's go grab your little friend." He growled.
"This isn't going to stop the investigation." You huffed.
"That's not why I'm doing this." He grins, "I need people to play my game."
"What game?"
"Don't worry, you'll find out soon enough."
Morgan's face falls when he sees you. He does as told, taking his phone out and putting it on the closest surface, he hands over his gun. You watch Morgan as his eyes widen and he reluctantly hands the cuffs over to the unsub, letting him cuff his hands behind his back. Pain explodes in your head and the world goes dark.
You wake up in an abandoned warehouse and snort slightly at the cliche. The soft sound draws Morgan's attention to you.
"(Y/N)?"
"Yeah?"
"You okay?"
"Sure, you?"
"Yeah."
"Good."
"Ah! You're both awake!" The unsub chimes as he walks into the room. "Are you ready to play a game?"
You share a look with Derek. This probably wasn't going to be good. "I think we're good." You replied.
Rolling his eyes, the unsub crouched in front of you. "I don't believe that's an option." He said, tilting his head as he looked at you, eyes running up and down your face. "Heads or tails?"
"Excuse me?"
"Heads. Or. Tails."
You watch him for a moment, when Derek gives a slight nod, "Tails."
"Good choice." He grins, reaching forward and grabbing you roughly. He pulled you up.
"Hey, hey, get off him-!" Ignoring Morgan's yells and the way you tried to escape from his grip, pulling you out of the room, locking the door behind him.
When you're dragged back in the room, you're looking a little... worse for wear, face bloodied and bruises already starting to form.
"You son of a bitch, I will kill you-" Morgan glared up at him.
The Unsub gave a short laugh, throwing you to the floor, listening as you groaned. "Such a pretty sound." He grinned. "You know, (Y/N) and I had a little conversation. I made him pick who gets to play my game. You're lucky, SSA Derek Morgan, he volunteered."
"Don't you touch him-"
"Ah, ah, ah," The unsub tutted, "I'm not above hurting him to get you to shut the fuck up."
"That's so cliche," You grumbled, wincing when he grabbed your hair, yanking you up.
"You talk too much." He growled into your ear.
"Get fucked." The next thing you know, you're being shoved to the ground, a boot colliding with your stomach.
"FBI!" Your shoulders dropped at the sound of Hotch's voice. Oh thank the lord. "Step away with your hands in the air."
Rossi cuffed the guy quickly as Reid and Prentiss made their way over to you both. "He needs medical attention."
"Not that injured," You grumbled, turning onto your back with a quiet groan.
"Shut up and let the EMTs take a look at you," Morgan rolled his eyes.
Morgan doesn't approach you until you're in the back of the ambulance, both paramedics occupied with gathering gauze and antiseptic wipes. He doesn't say anything for a moment before he sits next to you.
"What was the game?" He asked.
"He wanted someone to use as a punching bag." You gave the slightest of shrugs. "He wanted one of us to sacrifice ourselves, or whatever."
"If I find out you ever agree to sacrifice yourself for me again, I will personally kill you."
Read the first 2 parts before this for maximum enjoyment!
Relationships: Hotch & Male BAU Reader, BAU Team & Male Reader
Content: Angst, Explosions, Peril, Panic, Blood & Injury, Hospitals, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Word Count: 17,840
Summary: Mondays are always the worst, but Reader is dreading it a little more than normal considering the last time he saw the team he was a little drunk, bleeding, and disoriented. Work should be easy compared to that, right?
Takes place around mid-season 3.
Note: Might be mistakes that slipped past my notice. Just pretend you do not see it lol
IMPORTANT: You know the drill!
Next part won't be posted until: Reblogs ≥ Likes
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“Alright, what the hell happened the other night?”
Morgan’s voice cracked against the silence and echoed in the hallway just outside the bullpen. Your eyes drifted shut momentarily as your plan to be the last one to slip in to the office and avoid any questions for at least an hour immediately crumbled. This conversation was not one that should be had quite literally first thing on Monday morning, before even setting foot in the office.
Glancing over your shoulder, you caught sight of him striding over to you with the hint of a smile. As if pulled by a magnet in the opposite direction, your whole body drew away from his presence without you directing it to do so. Quickly pushing through the double doors, you didn’t turn to look at him again until you had the option of running toward the tiny sanctuary of your desk.
He stopped short just inside the doors and stared at you, his smile slipping away.
“Not you, too,” he shook his head slowly.
You tried to look him in the eye but couldn’t hold his gaze for longer than a second without it transforming into the leer it had been the last time you had seen him.
“What?” he thrust his arms out to the sides, “What is it, man?”
“Um…” you shifted minutely from foot to foot, one of your hands coming up to fiddle with the end of your tie.
“Look, I –” Morgan scoffed self-consciously, rubbing at the back of his neck, “I know I must have gone overboard ‘cause I suddenly woke up at home Saturday morning. I mean, I never do that.”
You found yourself nodding at his words. It was definitely the first time you had ever seen him completely lose himself. It happened to the best of people once or twice. Others, much more than that. You blinked, forcing your mind back to the present moment.
The doors pushed open as Anderson walked in, smiling and greeting you both. You side stepped to give him room as both you and Morgan bid him a good morning before he strode toward his desk. A still moment passed before Morgan turned his attention back to you.
“But…” he shook his head, “What did I do? What was so bad? Garcia’s giving me the silent treatment, and now you, too?”
The coarse stitches itched beneath the bandage hidden under the thin layer of your shirt. Your expression echoed the grimace you wore that night his grip tore your flesh open again.
I knew he was a fruit, man!
“I… uh…” you fumbled for words to possibly explain it all, mind going blank.
“Hey!” Prentiss called from somewhere behind you in the bullpen.
You turned to see her standing several paces away in front of the coffee machine, beckoning you over rather frantically as she glanced around at others passing by to start their days.
“Can you help me with this thing? I – I don’t know why it’s not working,” she craned over the machine, tapping it on all sides and muttering, “Oh, god, I hope I didn’t break it.”
Almost instantly, you began to rush over to her. You spared Morgan a backward glance and a quick shrug, taking note of the tilt of his brows before he started on his way to his desk.
“So what’s the problem?” you eyed the machine as you sidled up beside her.
Prentiss’s lips slowly curled into a smile.
“Nothing.”
Your eyes found hers and the knowing glint in her gaze rendered you motionless for a moment. A grateful smile then broke through your surprise.
“Thanks,” you muttered, fighting to rein in your expression as you faced toward the counter again.
“Mhmm,” she hummed, still smirking and keeping her eyes forward.
Continuing the charade, you let your fingers run over the smooth plastic top of the machine.
“How’s your shoulder?” she spoke quietly.
You lifted the lid and gave a cursory peek inside, the aroma of the coffee grounds wafting over the two of you.
“Alright,” you responded as you removed the pot and filled it with water from the sink, “Stitches are starting to itch a little but it’s okay.”
She hadn’t brought it up over the weekend in any of the texts you had exchanged, but now you silently prayed she didn’t ask how Morgan’s hand could have possibly caused such a wound.
“Debated just not coming in today, honestly…” you added.
She huffed a soft laugh, leaning closer toward you until your arms touched momentarily.
“Hey, no one would blame you,” she said.
You poured the water into the open lid, then put the pot back in its place and switched the machine to the correct setting that everyone seemed to ignore. Finally, you glanced at her out of the corner of your eye.
A faint smile graced her expression as she took in yours.
“I’m just glad you’re okay,” she spoke, the loud burble of the machine providing a cover from any prying ears, “That was… a hell of a night.”
A wry chuckle forced its way out of your chest.
“Yeah,” you agreed, “It was mostly okay, though.”
You gave her a smile, your chest feeling lighter when you saw how she returned it brightly.
“I mean, I had fun with you,” you continued.
The skin around her eyes crinkled as she emitted a soft laugh.
“Yeah, me too,” she agreed.
The pair held each other’s gaze, the memory of a frenzied dance flitted through both minds in the same moment. You blinked as the memory skipped ahead to what came soon after. And you glanced away toward the machine that was now beginning to drip contents into the pot.
“It was just, well, you know…” you mumbled.
She nodded, her gaze drifting toward Morgan’s desk where he seemed to be taking an incredibly long time to find a suitable pen. His eyes continued to dart over toward the pair standing at the counter.
“Are you gonna tell him about it today?” she asked.
A heavy weight settled in your chest, your brow creasing. An irrational flood of annoyance filled your head, swimming behind your eyes. How did this become your responsibility? Why did you have to worry about having a big discussion, informing someone else of their actions?
Prentiss watched the range of emotions dart across your expression. Her eyes widened for a brief second, her hands coming up to wave away her question.
“Uh. I – I don’t know,” you spoke before she could, “I guess I just wanted to do my work and not really worry about it for a while.”
She nodded quickly, biting at her bottom lip as she studied you.
“Yeah,” she patted your arm, “Okay. Go ahead. I’ll bring you a cup once it’s finished.”
She jabbed her thumb at the machine, still pumping out a wonderfully strong scented liquid.
“Alright,” you smiled at her before turning away.
Skirting around co-workers, you wound your way through the paths in between the desks. Carefully avoiding the eyes that burned into your back, you made it to your own desk and sat down with a heavy sigh.
The feel of the paper beneath your fingertips allowed a deep, steadying breath to pass through your lungs. This was easy, it was methodical. Paperwork was simple, structured.
At times it was utterly boring but at the moment, the repetitive nature was exactly what you craved.
You could feel people passing by as the air around you whooshed in waves against your skin but you kept your head down and focused on your tasks.
A soft clink of ceramic against wood made you start, your head whipping up to find the source.
Prentiss smiled as she left you the promised mug of coffee, just how you liked it, and moved on to her own desk. Smiling back gratefully as she passed by, you grabbed the mug and blew at the gently coiling steam before taking several long sips. You relished the rich flavor and awaited the much needed caffeine boost as you continued to push through your large slog of work.
Eventually, your hand began to cramp and you needed to set your pen down. Blinking away the slight bleariness that came from staring so hard at your files, you sat back in your chair.
A soft groan sounded in your throat as a joint your lower spine popped. You stretched your arms above your head. You risked a quick glance in Morgan’s direction but found he was miraculously focused on his own work as well. As you looked around, you caught Reid’s eye and he gave you a tiny smile. You returned it, watching as his gaze flicked toward Morgan too before he went back to his own tasks.
The parts in your chair strained as you leaned further back, your lips pressing together as you wondered how Reid felt about the whole situation. Perhaps he had something to do with the peace you were being granted at the moment. He certainly could have told Morgan to give you some space in the time you were hiding behind coffee related excuses with Prentiss. Your fingers tapped softly against your thigh as you made a mental note to ask him later.
A trilling phone ringing ripped you from your speculation and you glanced around the busy office. Now seemed as safe a time as any to take a quick bathroom break. The others were all occupied and you could quickly dash away. Your chair creaked as you stood, but luckily the office was filled with so many sounds, it was not enough to bring any attention your way.
Your hands went to your tie, straightening it as you made your way to the nearest bathroom. You tended to avoid public bathrooms when possible, given that there was a ninety-five percent chance they would be disgusting. But the bathrooms here were kept so pristine, you had no qualms using them whenever you needed to.
Pushing the door open, you found the bathroom miraculously empty and you were able to take a stall for once. Afterward, you washed your hands slowly, methodically. The rush of the faucet hit your ears. Your eyelids fluttered as you recalled the last time you were in a public bathroom.
On a whim, you splashed a bit of the frigid tap water against your face. A muffled gasp pushed past your lips as you leaned over the sink, clear droplets falling from your nose and chin. The little shock was enough to banish any creeping feelings.
Ripping a paper towel from the dispenser, you quickly patted your face dry. The bright, white overhead lights shone harshly and accentuated the faint purple crescents beneath your eyes. You exhaled heavily from your nose at the sight. You could only hope they were less noticeable out in the bullpen.
Turning to leave, your shoes squeaked against the tiles as you stopped short when the door was pushed open from the other side.
Hotch halted in his tracks when his gaze landed on you, staring as the door closed behind him. The soft thud as it landed back into place seemed to echo in the quiet. For a couple of seconds, neither man moved, merely peering at each other in surprise.
“Hey,” Hotch said as he took a small step forward to avoid the door’s range, should it open again.
“Hey,” you repeated, your hands balling up the damp paper towel you had yet to toss away.
“I thought I made it clear that you could take today off if you needed to,” he muttered, surprise etched on his face.
A quiet moment crawled by where you held his scrutinizing gaze. You saw past the wall with the boss personality projected onto its surface, and saw the worry hidden behind it.
“Well, I don’t need to,” you responded plainly.
He stood very straight, his eyes flitting over you, looking you up and down in a quick flash.
“Okay,” he agreed placidly, giving a tiny nod.
You nodded in return. Then you turned to toss your clump of a paper towel into the bin near the edge of the row of sinks.
Hotch moved toward the stalls, giving your upper arm a soft pat as he brushed past you. A ghost of a smirk flitted across your lips as you moved toward the door.
As you strode through, your chest felt oddly tingly. You turned back to glance through the rapidly closing door, the sight of the bathroom within quickly becoming obscured.
You caught sight of Hotch as he paused in front of a stall, turning back in the same moment, his eyes finding yours through the waning sliver just before it shut completely.
The bright sun that shone through the windows had faded slightly when you finally broke free from your trance, whipping a file on top of the stack you had piled up on your desk. You slowly turned your head and exhaled sharply when a joint in your neck gave a crack.
The clock on the wall informed everyone that it was now well past noon, running closer to one o'clock. You rubbed at your eyes before glancing around to catch Prentiss look up and give a faint smile.
You gave a minute nod. Leaning back, the hole in your stomach suddenly made itself known as if your stretch had provoked it.
That coffee was ages ago.
A late lunch seemed to be in order.
Taking special care to not look anyone in the eye, you grabbed your things and made your way out of the room.
The sleek, grey elevator closing in front of you allowed a deep breath to release from your chest. Finally, you were away from any fleeting glances. Your stomach emitted such a loud rumble, you found yourself grateful for the empty elevator for another reason entirely.
Out on the street, the midday air warmed you quite quickly. The sun against your skin was a stark contrast to the cool air conditioned state of the building you worked in. You closed your eyes momentarily, turning your head toward the sky and inhaled deeply.
A waft of something delicious hit your nose. Your eyes snapped open and you spied a man hurrying by on the sidewalk with a paper bag in hand that contained what seemed to be some kind of bagel sandwich.
Stomach grumbling at the sight, you turned and began walking in the direction he had come from. Weaving in between people, you kept a sharp eye out for anyone else with a bag or cup with a similar design that the man’s bag had printed on it.
Only a few minutes later, you smiled when you spied an awning with the very same design. Walking in, you weren’t surprised to find it bustling with customers and the staff members scurrying about behind the counter.
You slotted yourself into the back of the long line for ordering. You already knew what you wanted. That bagel sandwich smelled like a dream and your heart was set on it.
Pulling out your phone, you thought it wise to check it while you waited. No missed calls or sudden messages yet. You let out a heavy breath.
Absently, you scrolled through everything possible in your phone while taking a couple of shuffling steps forward in line. Clicking through your contacts, you finger stopped when you landed on a new one that had recently been imputed but had yet to be used.
Javi
You fixated on the contact for so long, you didn’t realize you were suddenly several paces away from the man in front of you in line. Moving up quickly, you stowed your phone and banished all thoughts of anything except food.
When it came to be your turn at the front you hastily ordered the egg and bacon bagel sandwich along with an iced coffee. After stating your name for the order, you rushed out of the way to allow the next person their go.
The smell of various cafe foods swirled and danced in the air around you as you shuffled around people to head toward the single person tables.
Once in your seat, you looked about and felt a tickle of restlessness on your back. You should have brought something to occupy yourself with.
Pulling your phone out again, you stared at the little illuminated screen.
Your finger hovered over the selected contact for so long, it started to tremble slightly.
You clicked it before you could think better of it and were putting the phone to your ear to listen to the nerve-wracking ring. By the time it rang for a fifth time, you figured there would be no answer and you pulled the phone away to end the call.
“Hello?” a voice answered.
You put the speaker back to your ear, stunned.
“Hello?” he repeated.
“Hey,” you finally found your voice, “Uh, you might not remember me. We met at the bar the other night –”
Javi’s laugh cut you off.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said, his tone shifting from wary to pleasant, “Are you kidding? How could I forget?”
“Heh,” you chuckled self-consciously, your hand tapping against your thigh.
Javi continued, undeterred.
“First off, and I take personal offense to this, you had no idea how to drink a Jägerbomb and then –”
“Is that what it’s called?” you interrupted with disbelief, recalling the odd drink that required dropping one glass into another.
“Yeah,” he chuckled, “Man, you don’t get out much do you?”
“Well,” you tiled your head, releasing a light scoff, “You saw what happens when I do.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, “I left for, like, five minutes and I come back to you basically bleeding out. And your really weird group of… friends taking you away.”
Your throat grew tight and you struggled to swallow around the phantom pressure that coiled around your esophagus.
“What, uh…” Javi’s light tone gave way to seriousness, “What exactly happened there?”
You gripped the phone a little tighter, swallowing before speaking again.
“It was – It was just an accident,” you managed to say.
He was silent on the other end for a few moments, possibly under the impression that you would expand on that. When you didn’t, he spoke up.
“Listen, I, uh,” he gave an airy chuckle, “I hope I didn’t, um… read things wrong that night.”
Sitting up straighter in your seat, the words tumbled from your lips.
“Oh, no – no, um, it was my –” you stuttered, your neck suddenly growing hot, “I thought that you…”
You picked at a nick in the table with your fingernail, wondering how to reveal you assumed he was into Prentiss. When you didn’t finish your thought, Javi continued.
“Are you sure?” he pressed, “You looked kinda… Well. Let’s just say, I didn’t think you’d call.”
You could almost picture him rubbing at the back of his head nervously.
He had good reason. The paper with his phone number hastily scrawled onto it was nearly illegible, thoroughly worn from the amount of times you had folded and unfolded it. It had nearly found a home in the trash on more than one occasion until you finally saved the number in your phone.
“Well, I was…” it was your turn to release a nervous laugh, “I was kinda messed up by time you gave me the number.”
“Yeah, okay, that’s fair,” he agreed.
A staff member shouted out a name and you jumped a little, pulling the phone away from your ear for a moment, but it wasn’t yours that she repeated.
“Sorry about…” you paused.
You didn’t know exactly what you were apologizing for. There was the obvious of the insane manner in which you parted ways. The way you had been too dense to realize who the object of his attraction was. And of course… Morgan. But you weren’t sure if Javi himself was aware of that one. You had a strong suspicion but you dearly hoped you were wrong and he hadn’t heard Morgan’s drunken words.
Realizing you had gone silent for too long, you cleared your throat before finishing your thought.
“Well, take your pick.”
You were graced with his hearty laugh at your parroting of the same words he said to you that night at the bar, the sound pulling your lips up in response.
“Well, damn. That’s hard, there’s just so much to hate about you,” he said, laying the sarcasm on thick.
The laugh that pulled from your chest was a little louder than appropriate for the public setting and you glanced around before speaking again.
“I guess there was one thing I… wanted to say sorry for, specifically,” you hesitated, “Uh, I don’t know if you noticed but one of my friends was really drunk. Like, black-out drunk.”
“Oh, yeah. I remember,” his nod was almost audible, “He could barely stay on his feet. Are you talking about, uh, what he said? After I came outside?”
A hot spike of nerves rammed through your gut at the confirmation that he had heard Morgan’s drunken comment after all. His voice had gone soft as he asked the questions and your nail dug deeper into the groove in the table.
“Ah, don’t worry about it,” Javi tried to wave it off, “That was, uh, pretty tame compared to most things I’ve heard.”
It was meant to put you at ease, but it only served to compound your guilt. Your continued tense silence must have made your thoughts clear, as he spoke again hurriedly.
“It – It’s fine, really,” he reassured, “I mean… I’m guessing you wouldn’t hang around him if he really was… you know, not cool.”
Your finger stopped scratching at the dark wood as you swallowed with difficulty.
“Uh…” you couldn’t get much else past your lips.
Your chest had begun to rise and fall more harshly. His words had struck a target in your throat that you had been unaware of. You tried to clear your throat.
“Hello?” Javi paused, most likely checking that the call was still going, “Um. Are you good?”
“Y-Yeah,” you said, your voice a little hoarse, “Yeah, I’m good. You?”
“Yeah,” he spoke with a breathy chuckle, “Well, uh, you wanna make it all up to me?”
Your heart soared at the possibility.
“Yeah,” you replied honestly.
“Alright. I just need one thing,” he said.
“Sure, anything,” you said.
“Buy me a coffee,” he declared.
Your eyes snapped up, scanning the bustling place as if Javi were about to stand up from one of the other tables and reveal himself.
You couldn’t undo the other night, but you could do this. Coffee and a chat with someone who knew next to nothing about you but seemed to enjoy speaking with you.
Perhaps it would help. He didn’t look at you like you were about to break at any moment. He didn’t ask you how you were doing every twenty minutes, didn’t watch your every move. It could be fun, refreshing.
“Yeah,” you laughed, “Okay.”
“Great!” you could hear the smile in his voice, “When are you free?”
You paused, considering it. Today felt far too soon.
“Does tomorrow evening work?”
“Yeah, I’m down. I’ll see you then,” he said.
You could picture him drumming his hand against a table as he spoke.
“Alright, bye,” you said, ending the call.
You slowly set your phone down on the table, unblinkingly. Your phone chimed after a few moments and you saw that Javi had texted you the name and address of a coffee shop along with a little smiley face. A soft chuckle left your chest at the sight and the thought of him typing that out.
The cafe had become rather subdued, all the patrons glancing around at each other. You hadn’t noticed the way the chatter died down to muted mutterings.
It took the staff member another two tries of shouting your name for you to process what you were hearing. Shaking yourself free of your thoughts you realized you were holding up the delivery section at the counter. Standing in a rush, you quickly scurried over and apologized quickly as you retrieved your iced coffee and bacon bagel sandwich.
Heading back to your small table and carefully avoiding the judging gazes of the other customers, you sank down into the chair. Spying the deep gouge you had left near the corner, you discreetly covered it with a napkin. You took a sip of the coffee to quell the deep grumblings your stomach was making at the smell of your food.
Unwrapping it, you wrestled back a groan of delight at the fluffy looking egg nestled above the perfectly cooked bacon inside of the bagel. You were only a single, savory bite into your late lunch when your phone rang once again.
Brows drawing together, you fished it out of your pocket and swallowed your bite before you were ready to.
“Hello?” you answered slightly hoarsely.
“Hey,” JJ replied, “We have a case.”
Your feet pounded against the floor, the loud heavy sounds echoing through hall as you rushed back to the building. Garcia was waiting at the doors to inform you that the team had already headed down to the cars. Thanking her, you gave her arm a quick squeeze before you dashed off to the garage as your heart rate picked up.
If they were down there already, it was clearly serious and time was of the essence.
The air dropped to a slightly cooler temperature as you made your way into the parking structure, your footsteps echoing off the cement walls. Rushing over to the team’s usual set of cars, you saw them split between three cars. You paused for just a sight moment, a few feet away, wondering which you should join.
Hotch finally spied you from one of the driver’s seats and beckoned you toward his car.
Grateful, you jogged over and opened the back door. Prentiss greeted you quickly from the passenger seat as you slid into the back.
“Hey,” you said breathlessly as you swung the door shut with a slam, “What do we got?”
Hotch had already begun to pull the car out as you were still closing the door and you turned to watch the others follow suit closely behind.
He launched into an explanation, with Prentiss chiming in periodically with bits of her own.
The team had been called in to help as soon as possible to a small, woodland town that was within driving distance. A series of explosions had been set off with a variety of different methods. Yesterday alone, there had been three fires set. One had been in a small gas station market in the early hours of the morning, another at an abandoned house around midday, and the final one in the middle of a small, outdoor shopping street in the evening.
Only the single staff member of the gas station had been injured, but it was luckily rather superficial burns and scrapes from when he was thrown to the ground outside after the blast. If he had been inside the shop, it would have been much worse. No one in the shopping street had been injured.
“Why are we just hearing about this now?” you asked.
Hotch took a sharp turn on the road and your hand shot out to brace against the car door.
“Aside from yesterday, there was only one minor fire a couple of weeks ago that they ruled out as an accident,” Hotch said, “The local police said the ones from yesterday were done so randomly, they couldn’t be sure if it was the work of the same person.”
Prentiss gave a light scoff as she tossed her head back briefly.
“Three explosions in one day?” she said, incredulity dripping from her words, “And they didn’t think that was cause for alarm?”
You shared a look with her, your own scoff coming out rather harshly.
“So, what changed their minds?” you asked, your fingers twisting the seat belt.
The following quiet thrummed with a vibrating intensity as Hotch pressed down on the gas pedal a little harder.
“Well, they made it clear to get there as quickly as possible,” Prentiss said, her nose scrunching in thought before her voice dropped to a low mutter, “So, I guess we’re gonna find out.”
You know what you did.
8.
The local police chief showed the team the ashen note with the accusation scrawled on it after they arrived. The piece of paper now sat on the table between everyone, glaring up at them. They were momentarily situated in a small room in the police station.
The chief assumed the eight meant that they had until eight o’clock that night until the unsub struck again and there would be another blaze somewhere. They were asked to build a profile as quickly as possible in order to find the person before the next explosion could happen in a place where a greater number of people could be hurt.
The team was skeptical about the eight meaning a time, but they still didn’t want to risk it. Time was always of the essence with any case, but this one had everyone exceptionally tense as the minutes ticked by.
Hotch spoke quickly, his back not even touching the chair as he assigned tasks.
“We’re going to need to split up and visit each of the sites,” Hotch ordered, “See if we can find any connection between all of them. Starting with –”
He tossed a photo on the table. Everyone gathered in close to peer at it.
“The gas station.”
The photo displayed the tiny shop of the station, blackened and charred. The ashy remains of shelves and products scattered across the floor.
“We can go check that one out,” Morgan volunteered, his fist nudging you, “Right?”
All team members stilled as their eyes flitted between the pair of you and Hotch, waiting to see what his say on the matter would be. The wind faded from Morgan’s sails as he noticed the way the others were silently regarding you and the slight shift in the already tense air.
Morgan let his hand drop onto the table with a dull thud that was much louder than normal in the tense silence.
“Oh, my god, just tell me already!” Morgan groaned, slumping in his chair as he looked at everyone in turn with exasperation.
“Morgan,” Hotch spoke quickly, “Now isn’t the time.”
Morgan shot upright in his seat.
“Well, when is?” he spread his arms as he gazed at all of the other team members before jabbing a finger at the photo on the table, “I can’t focus on this with this thing hanging over my head, man.”
You kept your gaze trained on the photo, feeling Morgan and the others watching you. Even Hotch was quiet for a moment, giving you the option to handle it yourself.
“It’s fine, we’ll go check it out,” you said, looking up to give everyone a clear view of your calm expression.
Hotch gazed at you evenly until he gave you a resolute nod.
The drive to the crime scene was rather silent, with only sporadic snippets of small talk interspersed between theories. You tried to keep on track, throwing out ideas of why people tend to lean toward fire and destruction.
Morgan stayed in that lane with you, analyzing what could possibly make someone angry enough to do so. This wasn’t the work of someone that simply got off on the chaos of it all, there was obviously some sort of grievance that the unsub was reacting to. Whether it was real or perceived was another matter entirely.
The sun that had been so pleasant a mere hour ago now beat down against your neck once you arrived at the gas station and exited the car.
You fell into step alongside him, your feet crunching loudly over the loose gravel. Scanning the environment, you attempted to put yourself in the unsub’s shoes. You pointed out that coming at an angle from the back would hide the unsub from the security camera outside.
After gleaning all you could from the smoky remains of the place, you set back to the station. The tires tore through the pebbles, sending some flying in all directions as Morgan pulled back out on to the road.
You kept your gaze pointed out of the window, watching the large trees flit by quickly. Your mind raced as you pondered what this unsub’s goal was. It clearly wasn’t hurting as many people as possible, considering they targeted an old abandoned house as well as the other locations.
“What are you thinking?” Morgan’s voice pulled you from you trance.
You blinked, turning away from the window to look at him. He was glancing at you furtively, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel.
“Don’t you think it’s weird that…” you muttered, your mouth twisting in confusion, “It’s almost like the gas station worker’s injuries were just an accident. The unsub clearly waited until they knew no one was inside the building.”
Morgan nodded, his expression growing thoughtful as he took a turn in the road.
“Yeah…” he mumbled, “So what do you think it means?”
You shook your head, scratching at your neck in agitation.
“I don’t know,” you said, frowning as you thought aloud, “Just… kinda weird that we’re on the clock like this… And no one has really been hurt, you know?”
The silence dragged out as Morgan rubbed at his chin before looking to you with the same confusion in his gaze that you felt.
Back in the small room at the police station, the air sparked and crackled as everyone hung around in varying states of quiet agitation. The other scenes had offered little insight and building an accurate profile so quickly would prove difficult. It certainly wouldn’t be enough to figure out where the unsub might go next, there simply wasn’t enough information yet. But time to get more information was exactly what police chief made it clear they did not have.
Everyone had taken their seats, looking over the facts and throwing ideas out.
Hotch had risen to speak with the chief when he burst in asking for an update. After trying to explain to the man why they felt the eight on the note didn’t mean a deadline, he only became further irritated.
“I thought this was your whole job?” he threw the question at Hotch, stepping close into his space, “Aren’t you guys supposed to be the best at knowing what this guy’s gonna do?!”
You bristled when you noticed how the older man was nearly toe to toe with Hotch, the pent up energy radiating from him. Hotch remained steadfast and though you couldn’t see his face, you could guess what it looked like at the moment.
Before you could think better of it, the sparking in your gut had propelled you up and out of your seat until you were beside them.
“Problem, Chief?” you asked measuredly, as you stopped mere inches away just as he was doing to Hotch.
The chief blinked at your approach, the aggression in his gaze fading as he backed away, grumbling something under his breath about the FBI. You glanced sidelong at Hotch and saw his carefully constructed mask of neutrality paired with authority that he crafted specially for situations like this.
You retreated back to your seat, avoiding the eyes of the rest of the team. Reid and JJ were burning holes into your head from their end of the table. If they had lasers in their eyes, they probably would have fired their beams to the middle of your brain by now.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw when Hotch returned to his seat at your left side. On the other end, you noticed Prentiss exchange a brief look with Rossi.
As Hotch brought his seat closer to the table, he looked at you momentarily and gave you a quick nod before addressing the others.
“Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath, “What do we know?”
He let his hands fall onto the photos they were given and spread them out in order.
“Three blasts,” you said, “Where no one got hurt on purpose.”
Reid’s brows furrowed, the pen he was fiddling with going still in between his fingers.
“What? What makes you say that?” he asked as he leaned forward.
All eyes were on you as you gave your explanation, Morgan already nodding along from his spot to your right, having had heard your speculation on the drive back.
Rossi tapped a rhythm against the table, his other hand rubbing over his mouth as he seemed to take in your words.
“Okay,” he said, “So, let’s just say he’s not doing it to harm anyone. What’s the point of this then?”
JJ shook her head, her hands forming a half shrug motion.
“Maybe he just likes the destruction?” she suggested.
“Yeah, but explosions and fire?” Prentiss said, her brows raising, “It’s one of the easiest things that can slip out of your control.”
A deep sigh passed your lips as you let your head rest in your hands, raking your fingers through your hair.
Morgan noticed your growing agitation and reached over to give you a soft clap on the shoulder.
At the feeling of his touch, a gasp was wrenched from your throat. You jerked away instinctively. The momentum propelled your chair sideways and you nearly rolled right into Hotch. Morgan was left with his hand still partially aloft, his eyes wide as he stared at you and then to everyone else.
“Dude, what is it?” Morgan threw his arms out, “What? Did I try to fight you or something?”
Reid lightly worried his bottom lip as he peered between you. JJ and Prentiss exchanged tense looks, Prentiss picking at her thumb nail. You glanced at Hotch, now mere inches away, a slight heat building under your skin at your overreaction as you carefully scooted your chair away from him and back to it’s original spot.
“No, nothing,” you muttered, training your eyes on the photos, “It’s fine, let’s try and figure this –”
“Oh, come on,” Morgan said, indignant, “How am I supposed to get anything done if you’re – what, you scared of me?”
“No,” you repeated sharply, your hands clasped together tightly on the table’s surface.
“Really?” Morgan said, the single word as bitter as vinegar as he let his hand fall on to the table with a huff.
“Ohh-kay,” Rossi cut in, his voice jamming into the exchange as he dragged the word out, “I think we’re all just a little frustrated. Maybe we should take a quick break?”
He looked to Hotch questioningly, who gave a nod as he began to push his chair back.
“Yeah,” he said, addressing everyone, “Let’s clear our heads, meet back here in five minutes?”
Reid seemed like he was trying to sink right into the floor, like he couldn’t wait to exit the now incredibly tense room. Prentiss looked just as eager and JJ appeared eerily blank. The soft creak of everyone’s chairs as they moved to stand filled the thick, heavy air for just a moment.
Then Morgan scoffed and spoke under his breath, his gaze downcast.
“Yeah, so you can find another way to avoid me?”
The crack of the pen slammed down against the table had everyone halting in their movement, eyes snapping up in surprise at the sound.
JJ gazed at Morgan evenly from the other end of the table.
“Can’t really blame him,” she said with a wry shrug, her mouth rather tight.
Ice dropped into your stomach when you saw the irritation burning behind her eyes as she continued.
“Hell, I probably wouldn’t know what to do either if you had me bleeding and –”
“JJ,” you pleaded in a wheeze.
Reid tried to put a hand on her arm in the same moment but the words were already blurting from her mouth.
“– called the guy who hit on me a derogatory term.”
The silence that followed could have been cut and served up on a plate.
“No…” Morgan gaped, “I – I did that?”
“JJ,” Hotch admonished quietly, fixing her with a level stare.
She finally looked away from Morgan. Turning to Hotch, her eyes widened as the realization of what she had just done seemed to dawn on her. She turned to you, her hand coming to rest in front of her mouth.
You clenched your hands into fists, pressing them hard into your lap. Heat spread like wildfire in your veins, mostly from embarrassment and shock but also a spark of anger. You absolutely could not let it catch and flare to life. You always worked to keep your anger in check, you couldn’t let it get out of control now.
“Did I?” Morgan turned to Prentiss, at a loss.
She looked at him, slightly paralyzed as she glanced around at the others. When Morgan looked to Rossi, he was much the same as Prentiss and glanced toward you with uncertainty.
The unsub could possibly strike again in a matter of hours. You didn’t understand why time was being wasted on this. You pointedly remained silent in the hopes that Hotch would put a stop to all this.
“I… No, there’s no way,” Morgan shook his head as he turned his attention back to you.
Irritation flared in your chest and flooded all the way down to your toes after hearing how he denied it and suddenly the dam broke.
“No?” you fired at him, tone cracking like a whip, “You want me to call him so you can ask him yourself? He heard what you said, man. Forget my shoulder, that might be the worst part.”
You were on your feet without recalling doing so, your chair clattering behind you. Before the bellows could stoke the flames of your temper, before your voice had a chance to rise further, you took the best course of action and removed yourself from the situation.
Though you already knew you had messed up having an outburst like that, you avoided a much more horrible scenario. You shook out your tight fists, taking in deep breaths to steady yourself as you stalked away and pushed into a small, unoccupied room.
Sinking down into a chair, you let your head drop heavily into your hands with a soft groan. Your mind drifted longingly to the time before everything got so difficult. The tick of the watch on your wrist was loud, right next to your ear. You let the steady beat calm you, willing your heart to match the pace.
After several bracing ticks, the door opened slowly after a quiet knock. Unmoving, you listened to the soft padding of footsteps coming toward you.
“Sorry,” you muttered without bothering to look up.
The shiny, almost reflective shoes you could see from under your arms were enough for you to be certain who you were speaking to.
“It’s alright,” Hotch said as he lowered himself to a seat beside you.
A huff left your lips as you finally lifted your head. There were no traces of anger anywhere in his expression that you could detect.
“Oh, really?” you smirked in disbelief, “You tell JJ it’s alright?”
His expression mirrored yours, a flash of mirth dancing in the background of his gaze.
“Well. I think it could’ve gone a lot worse,” he murmured, an eyebrow quirking at the thought before his tone shifted into more serious territory, “But out here, we need to be able to rely on each other. No matter what else may be going on between us personally. I’m going to talk to Morgan, too. But you still shouldn’t have spoken to him like that –”
You shook your head before you cut him off.
“No, I know I shouldn’t have –” a heavy groan left your chest as you dragged your hands through your hair, “Honestly, I was already kinda over it. It really wasn’t even that bad. But just now, when he said “no” it just – it made me so mad for some reason.”
“Well, we’re not exactly on a relaxing retreat at the moment,” he said, “We’re all feeling the strain.”
You fell heavily against the back of the chair, your hands coming up to scrub harshly at your face.
“Ugh, god…” you lamented, “When this is over I just might actually go on a relaxing retreat.”
A soft snort sounded from your side and you looked to find Hotch nearly grinning as he studied you, the skin around his eyes crinkling.
“W-What?” you said, your lips upturning despite yourself.
“Nothing,” he murmured, shaking his head, “I’m just imagining you trying to relax on a retreat. It’s… very amusing.”
Forcing your expression to remain neutral, you nudged your foot against his.
“You’re gonna go, too,” you declared seriously, biting back your smile, “If any one desperately needs a retreat, it’s you.”
Hotch laughed properly at that as he shook his head at you. An odd lightness emerged in your chest at the sight, remembering the easy moments shared over whiskey at a late hour. You finally cracked and felt your own laughter rush forth at the sheer incredulity of the turn in conversation.
When your mirth subsided, you glanced at your watch before looking back at him with a slightly raised eyebrow.
“Don’t worry,” he said, waving a hand, “I decided a ten minute break would be more appropriate.”
A soft, amused huff left your nose at this. Grateful for the extra minutes, you let yourself slouch in the chair, eyes drifting shut, and tried to think of absolutely nothing.
“So…” Hotch spoke after a couple minutes of silence.
You shifted to look at him again. The slow quirk of his lips was the only hint you got at what the rest of his sentence would be, yet you never would have guessed it.
“You did call him.”
The silence in the room pressed on you heavily. Your lungs momentarily lost the ability to take in air as you gaped at his raised brows and smirking lips.
“Uh – I,” you faltered, whipping upright in the chair.
Your mind provided a flash of the look on Hotch’s face when he spoke to Javi that night.
“Well…” you stared at him wide-eyed, your hands clasped so tight around the armrests that your knuckles were turning white.
Hotch’s features smoothed out, fading from teasing into a muted disbelief as he noted the apprehension thrumming through your rigid form.
“You don’t think that I…” he faltered, a brief flicker of something like hurt in his eyes.
The door opened once more, causing both of you to jump and whip around.
JJ skidded to a halt just inside the room, her lips pressed together as she regarded you.
“Hey,” she breathed, taking a small step toward you, “I – I’m so sorry I said that. I don’t know why I did it. I should have let you decide if you wanted to talk about it, I –”
Hotch watched as you rose from your seat. You cut her off gently with a hand on her arm to stop her apology.
“It’s okay,” you said carefully, “Really. It’s fine. Let’s worry about it all later, okay?”
JJ blew out a harsh breath, glancing to Hotch quickly, before giving you a grateful nod and falling into step with the both of you to head back to the rest of the team.
You gave a sidelong look at Hotch, catching him still studying you with a worried tilt to his brows. Swallowing and turning your gaze forward again, you couldn’t believe the relief you felt at reentering the room you had been so eager to exit mere minutes ago.
Tensions only ratcheted higher with each passing hour. The closer it got to 8 p.m. the more agitated the chief got with the team.
With only a partially complete profile but not much else to go on, there weren’t many answers they could give him. Even Garcia couldn’t find anything of note about any of the targeted locations or any suspects that fit. Irritation hung in the air like fireflies, sometimes flying right into their faces when they least expected it.
Not to mention the fact that whenever Morgan attempted to speak to you about anything other than the case, he’d find himself cut off by someone else. The message rang clear to him after about an hour of this occurring and he focused only on the work.
Once the clock announced it was eight o’clock, a sudden stillness washed over everyone. Even Reid stopped moving entirely as the team gazed at one another in quiet apprehension.
The chief barreled into their room a few minutes later, informing them rather testily that they would keep a close eye on all the news outlets.
Minutes crawled by, slowly turning half an hour into a whole hour.
Prentiss peered at you, her brows raised silently. You shrugged helplessly at her.
After nine o’clock pushed forward into 9:38 and there was still no word, the team came to the conclusion that they were safe from another disaster. Their suspicions about the note proved to be correct.
The chief failed to appear in their room again.
The wooden stirrer scraped softly against the bottom of the ceramic mug. You added another spoonful of sugar to your coffee, feeling like you were wearing a weighted vest as you stirred.
The break room’s name suddenly became crystal clear to you as you stood alone, heaving a sigh. Another half hour had slogged by with not a single new insight that could help the team.
Tossing the small stick into the trash, you raised the mug to your lips and took a long, desperately needed sip of coffee.
The break room door opened behind you and you turned, only to set your mug down on the counter with a loud clack.
Morgan approached you cautiously, his thumbs hooking into his pockets as he stood a couple of paces away.
“Reid told me,” he said, “What I did and, uh, said that night.”
“Okay,” you said plainly, moving to exit the room.
“Come on, man, you have to know I don’t really think like that.”
“Yeah, I do,” you said, then gestured past him, “Can I please just –”
“Oh, that was real convincing. Look, I shouldn’t have said those things, alright?” Morgan heaved out a huge sigh, his jaw tight as he gazed at you, “I don’t even remember saying it. I – I still can’t believe I said it. But –”
Your fingers dug into your eyes, breathing slowly as you willed yourself not to get heated again. A presence lingered just outside the door that you failed to notice in the moment your eyes were closed.
“Just stop, dude, we’re fine. Honestly, I’m just glad you didn’t say a lot worse,” you muttered, “I’m getting tired of talking about this. And we have an unsub to find.”
You skirted past him to exit the small break room that had begun to feel like an interrogation room instead.
“Hey, hold on –”
The sensation of his fingers curling around your upper arm–
Sparks of alarm flew across your brain.
“Dude!” you exclaimed.
You twisted away from his touch, spinning around, your back now to the door.
Morgan held his hands up, palms facing you, his mouth falling open at your outburst.
“What?” he asked plainly, stunned.
“Seriously –?” you rasped, your throat going dry.
Memories clawed their way to the forefront of your exhausted mind.
Your lungs screaming for air. Morgan cackling too close to your ear. The flames tearing across your shoulder.
The breath skittered out of your lungs as Morgan’s eyes grew wide with realization.
“We just talked about that,” you ground out the words.
Morgan watched as your eyes screwed shut and you took a deep breath, gently rolling your right shoulder.
“Oh, damn. Right,” Morgan shook his head at himself, “I –”
Morgan’s gaze focusing on something past you made your turn to follow his line of sight.
Hotch stepped through the doorway, studying the both of you coolly.
You tried to stand straight, to look normal, but once glance at the way Hotch was scanning you and you knew it was futile. You chest puffed out as you forced yourself to take in a great breath, some of the spikes of alarm already fading.
“Give us a minute,” Hotch muttered firmly as he locked eyes with Morgan.
Morgan tried to catch your eye, lingering in the hopes that you might speak up and perhaps negate the need for Hotch’s order.
You said nothing.
He dipped his head in a low nod as he stepped around Hotch to exit the room.
“I’m fine,” you spoke between slightly gritted teeth.
Hotch merely stared at you evenly, his hands sliding into his pockets as he allowed your tone to float in the air between you and refute your words.
“Maybe it is too soon for you to be back,” he suggested, “If you need to take some time, you know you’re allowed to do that.”
You were already shaking your head vehemently.
“No. I can work,” the words came out firm.
His lips pressed together in a rather resigned line.
“What makes you so sure about that?” he asked.
You lifted your gaze, holding his steadily.
“You’re here, too,” you said.
The quiet that followed was so loud it nearly burst your eardrums. You didn’t break his gaze. You knew if he was half as obstinate as you thought him to be, he couldn’t possibly contradict your claim without damning himself.
A full thirty seconds passed. Both studied each other, unyielding.
“Let’s go help the others,” he spoke at last.
You nodded, and followed as he led the way out the door.
As the minutes ticked away relentlessly and midnight fast approached, the team accepted that they would not be headed to bed tonight.
Everyone had spread out to think.
Reid was spinning his chair in soft, half-circles as he stared at a map that marked the known locations of the explosions.
JJ had her feet tucked beneath her on the tiny sofa that was in the corner, turning the pages of a collection of old reports on fires in the town.
Prentiss had the end of her pen in her mouth as she studied the photo of the charred abandoned house.
Rossi turned the ring on his finger absentmindedly as he also observed the map on the board.
Morgan tapped his fingers against his knees, not looking at anything anymore but leaning back with his eyes closed.
Hotch was slouched in his chair, his hands resting on top of his head as he peered between all the evidence gathered.
You had called Garcia back a couple of hours ago to let her know nothing bad had happened after eight o’clock and to let her know she had not been “forgotten” like she had claimed.
“What’s the point of me being here if it’s just gonna be the seven of you going off to do everything on your own?” she had complained.
Your lips quirked up at the memory of how she had sounded so genuinely hurt and the way you cheered her up by promising to watch a movie together when you returned.
The pen in your hand scribbled aimlessly against a piece of paper. You let it glide and form random lines. They mirrored what the inside of your head felt like.
Sighing, you stood and stretched with a quiet groan.
“Anyone want any more coffee?” you asked generally.
Everyone turned to you, mostly all shaking their heads except for Reid who nodded appreciatively.
You gave him a thumbs up as you left to the break room again. The sounds of the station had grown slower, quieter. All the local officers looked subdued and worn out.
Entering the room and heading toward the coffee machine, you were surprised to find someone had recently brewed a fresh pot that was mostly full. Grabbing two paper cups, knowing Reid wouldn’t want someone else’s mug, you began to fill them both.
You were only just stirring in the sugar when a voice sounded behind you, making you jump and nearly spill the coffee all over yourself.
“Woah,” Morgan said, a surprised chuckle pushing past his lips, “Easy.”
You turned to give him the ghost of a sheepish smirk. He lingered silently for several moments. Clearing his throat, he finally spoke.
“Can we just do all this again?” he said, with a half-smile tinged with regret, “I don’t like bein’ like this, man.”
He gestured between the two of you with a heavy sigh. You found yourself nodding in agreement.
“Me neither,” you muttered.
“Look, I…” Morgan glanced away for a moment before steeling himself, “You know I have no problem if you’re, you know, gay or –”
“Wh – I’m not gay, Morgan,” you cut him off, whipping your head around to see if anyone was within earshot.
Morgan faltered, blinking as a current of confusion swam across his face.
“Uh, you’re not?” he threw his hands out, “Well, then why are you so pissed at me for this?”
A scoff pushed past your lips as you shook your head, turning back to the coffees.
“Wait. Please,” Morgan’s tone softened as he scurried to your side, “I just – I thought since you were this mad, just about something I said –”
The breath came harsh from your chest, and you could almost hear your blood pumping in you ears. Every word, every thought that you had been pushing away finally bubbled up to the surface and burst out in a rush.
“Do I have to be gay to not want you to say homophobic things?” you said, looking him dead in the face, “And I’m not mad. I’m just… It was kinda embarrassing, man. And disappointing. That guy, Javi? He was real nice. Just because it wasn’t… the worst you could’ve said, doesn’t mean I don’t wish he didn’t have to hear you say anything at all. I’ve seen firsthand how little thoughts like that… can lead to actions. Which lead to bigger, scarier actions. It can – It can really make people feel unsafe, man. Like – Like they aren’t allowed to exist.”
You realized your breath was coming quicker and you forced your mouth shut. You blinked rapidly, a hot spiral coiling deep in your gut. You had disclosed much more than you intended to.
Morgan had gone still as he took in all of your admission. His fingers tapped nervously against each other at his side, remorse swimming in his eyes. You shifted from foot to foot, unsure of where to look now, wondering if you could walk away without him trying to stop you.
“Damn it,” Morgan said under his breath, a hand coming up to scrub at his face in agitation.
A tug pulled inside your chest at the sight of his rising guilt.
“Look, Morgan. It’s – I know that you’d never –” you began, your hand reaching out toward him tentatively.
“Hey!” Reid called, as he leaned in through the doorway, cutting you off, “Come on, we might have the unsub.”
You shared a stunned look with Morgan, silently agreeing to shelve the conversation for now before rushing off in unison after Reid.
The tip that came in to the station directed them to a large expanse of property with several buildings spaced out across the land where the unsub could be hiding. Hotch sent everyone off, splitting up into groups to cover as much ground as possible.
The buildings were spaced so far apart, you couldn’t even see where the others were, not even a glimpse of their lights. The dry, unmaintained grass crunched lightly under your feet. Slowly stalking around a vast, old brick building, you held your gun down at your side. You glanced at Morgan, with his back pressed up against the wall, and nodded silently toward the back end of the building.
He nodded back as he began creeping ahead, the cold darkness of the night only serving to make both men extra cautious. You had agreed silently to walk around the perimeter first, attempting to check the windows without alerting anyone that may be inside.
The exhaustion, irritation, anger, everything that had been warring within gave way to adrenaline as you poured all your focus to the matter at hand. Finally, the both of you pushed into the building from the back entrance and immediately swept your field of vision. Your small flashlights cast concentrated beams of light across the interior.
Old machinery and what appeared to be long forgotten crates of random storage filled the large building.
Your footsteps sounded painfully loud as you checked behind every object where anyone could possibly be hiding, your chest rising quicker with each spot. You kept your ear trained on Morgan doing the same on the other side of the space.
Finally reaching the other end of the large, open area at the same time, you both lowered your guns.
“There’s nothin’ here, man,” Morgan heaved out a breath, the tension dropping from his shoulders.
“Yeah,” you blew out your own deep breath as you glanced about, “Think it was just a prank call?”
Morgan shook his head, shrugging and letting his hand fall sharply against his side.
“Whatever this is, it’s a waste of our time,” he muttered, moving past you toward front exit, “I mean, what’s the point of all this?”
You remained still as his words sunk into your brain. Something snagged in your mind, the clarity from the burst of adrenaline that remained still thrummed in your limbs.
What’s the point of me being here if it’s just gonna be the seven of you going off to do everything on your own?
“Morgan…” you murmured, brow creasing.
He turned back to you, his hand on the door, already pushing it open. Your eyes landed on the small square just above the door.
Heart racing, you lunged forward to stop his motion.
“Morgan, wait!”
He was already through, the door swinging open and pulling something free from the block above their heads. Morgan was turning to follow your gaze when you tackled him through the doorway, shielding him as best you could as you turned to look behind you.
The door was swinging shut.
It didn’t close fully before it was blasted off its hinges.
The darkness that enveloped you was like tar, thick and sticky, clinging to you and unwilling to release you. Hands were under your arms, dragging your limp form across a bumpy terrain. Each sharp movement over a rise or dip in the ground caused flares of pain to dance across your torso. A harsh ringing hit your ears, like someone had just hit the world’s largest tuning fork an inch away from your head.
“I’ve got ya,” a labored voice near your ear cut through the ringing.
Blinking blearily, your eyes peeled open. In a dull daze, you registered that the vision in your left eye wasn’t working correctly. Only a blurry darkness was visible, creating an unsettling one-sided perspective of everything.
The sight of your own legs dragging slack in front of you appeared like something happening on a film screen you were watching, as opposed to reality.
The hands dragging you must have deemed your journey complete, for you came to a halt. The scorching that spread across your chest from the harsh movement faded to a blessedly dull simmer. A weak wheezing sounded in your ears.
Your eyelids seemed to be the only part of your body responding at the moment. Apart from the wheezing, the all encompassing ringing drowned out almost every other noise.
Soft jostling from behind made you blink, and you felt what seemed to be someone propping you up against their chest as they sunk down to sit on the ground. The hands rested carefully on your upper arms, holding you in place and tucking your head beneath their chin.
“I’ve got ya, kiddo,” the voice came again.
You knew that voice. Didn’t you?
You managed to turn your head to the right, and spotted a shiny ring, glinting a raging orange, on the hand at your side.
Rossi’s ring.
Burning pressure built on your chest like someone was slowly releasing a palate of bricks to rest atop of it.
A stifling cloud of smoke hung in the air.
No.
Wait.
Something else.
Alarm slashed through the thick wool in your head.
There was something–
Pushing away the burn, you forced your arms to obey your will and pressed your scraped palms flat against the ground, sharp, dry grass poking into your wounds.
The blurry sight of the blaze overtaking the brick building a distance away had you straining against Rossi’s hold.
There!
You had to get back.
“N–” a cough wracked through your body, dry and husky.
“No, no. Listen to me,” Rossi muttered, pressing lightly against your chest to keep you flush against him, “Listen. Don’t try to get up just yet.”
Patches of fuzzy edged blackness skirted across your limited field of vision when Rossi touched your chest. The burn spread wildly through your torso, mirroring the inferno before you. A groan tore past your lips, a grimace twisting your features. Your chest rose hard and fast, the wheezing in your ears growing louder and quicker.
Weakly, you fought to sit upright against Rossi’s grip.
Your arm outstretched toward the flaring windows of the building.
“No!” you rasped.
Rossi didn’t understand–
“M – Morgan!”
Rossi had been running the instant he recovered from the intense shock wave of the blast. Even from the smaller building he had taken on his own, he could still feel it.
He ran toward the sound, his breath coming harsh when he saw the flames roaring to life and beginning to consume the interior of the building. The anxiety rendered his mind useless as he tried to remember who had taken this building.
When he finally reached it, he turned the back corner and his heart dropped at the sight before him. You were lying on the ground, frighteningly still, and a right mess. He pushed away the fear at all the blood he could see seeping from your form.
In a split second, he leapt into action. He rushed to your side, squinting and shielding his eyes from the thick smoke that billowed from the nearby windows. After a brief once over to rule out any obviously broken bones, he had hooked his hands under your arms to drag you away before he could debate it a moment longer.
The smoke made it difficult to know for sure, but he thought he spied two other forms ahead in the distance and he heaved you in that direction. Chest heaving from the exertion and the dwindling oxygen in the air, he came upon another grunting and gasping team member.
“Hey! Oh, thank god, I – couldn’t carry both of them,” Prentiss panted, sweat and ash smudging her face as she held an unconscious Morgan, exactly the same way Rossi dragged you, “You okay?!”
“Yeah,” Rossi grunted, “You?”
She had nodded as they continued pulling the other two away until the growing heat of the building didn’t feel like it was cooking their eyeballs.
Now, he fought to keep you still in his arms as you struggled agitatedly.
He took stock of the blood running down your face from a spot near your eye, the area bloody and swollen. The glint of something embedded in your face, a jagged piece of shrapnel. He winced at the thought that your eye might be damaged beyond repair. Crimson trails flowed down your head and the back of your neck. And another dark spot spread slowly on your torso.
He knew it was best for you to not move. He had already risked moving you and potentially causing more damage. But you had been lying on the ground, so scarily limp and far too close to the building that was currently roaring and cracking.
The blazing heat was incessant, even at a distance. He wouldn’t be surprised if the hair on his arms had been singed off in the process of getting you to safety.
You were trying to speak, and Rossi shared a horrified look with Prentiss when your voice came out in a weak, dry cough. He tried to reassure you, knowing you were probably operating at the slowest capacity.
“No!”
When you strained against him and began reaching toward the building, he held you still with confusion
“M – Morgan!” you lamented.
Understanding flooded the fully conscious pair when they heard this.
“It’s okay!” Prentiss called breathlessly, “I got him. He’s here.”
You tried to move in Rossi’s arms, he felt your arms trembling from the effort.
“Here,” he said softly, “Hang on.”
He rose to a crouch and rotated the pair of you carefully.
Prentiss, sat on the ground and cradling Morgan, shifted into the line of sight from your one working eye. He was still out cold, but he seemed largely unharmed by some sort of miracle.
Rossi settled back down, feeling you finally relax in his grip as you took the sight. Your horribly weak wheezes slowed as you looked at them.
“It’s alright,” Prentiss said, wiping at her forehead, smearing the blackness across it, “You’re gonna be okay. I – I already called the ambulances.”
Pounding of footsteps brought hers and Rossi’s attention away and they heard Hotch, Reid, and JJ yelling in the distance.
“Here!” Rossi yelled.
He craned to look down at you but your eyes had fluttered shut after taking in Morgan and Prentiss, going fully limp against his chest.
“Hey,” he suppressed the instinct to shake you awake, “Kid, come on. They’re almost here.”
The distant wail of sirens growing closer was all he got in response.
Morgan shifted, his head feeling rather heavy as he blinked blearily to find Prentiss at his side, watching him carefully. She looked like she had just attended a finger painting party where the only colors available were grey and black.
“Hey,” she said, “Take it easy.”
Sitting up slowly, he groaned as his mind processed the fact that he was lying on a gurney. The thick, choking smell of smoke still clung to the inside of his nostrils. The slight tremble of everything around them made him realize they were inside a moving ambulance.
A medic appeared at his side. After getting a light flashed in his eyes and his scrapes cleaned off, they let him try to reorient himself.
“What… Wait,” Morgan rubbed at his head, eyes screwing shut, “Wait, we – we were… Why –”
Prentiss put a hand on his arm, prompting him to look at her.
“The building went up. You were caught in the blast.” she spoke quietly, “We’re all headed to the same hospital. Everyone’s mostly fine.”
Morgan tried to sit up straighter, his chest rising quicker.
“Mostly?” he repeated, “What do you mean ‘mostly’? What –”
Prentiss squeezed his arm, pressing her lips together momentarily.
“Well, it was you, and, um…” she trailed off, blinking rapidly.
Morgan’s blood stopped pumping for a split second.
Your yell echoed in his mind.
He squeezed Prentiss’s hand when he remembered how you had thrown yourself on top of him.
Hotch gripped the steering wheel so tightly that JJ feared he might rip it off before they could reach the hospital. He stayed right on the tail of the ambulances that carried Morgan, Prentiss, you and Rossi.
Reid was nearly thrown into the door of the backseat when Hotch took a sharp turn. JJ turned back from the passenger seat to glance at him. They could only stare at each other in concerned silence.
The sight of Morgan and you lying unconscious on the ground had rendered all of them still in shock for a few seconds. They didn’t have much time to react before the medics arrived and were carting everyone away.
They left the firefighters at the scene, jumping into a single car to follow behind their teammates.
What felt like eons later, they reached the hospital and everyone was bolting inside. When Hotch merely stood in an incredibly disconcerting silence, staring rather vacantly, JJ attempted to get answers from the nearest staff member. She quickly explained who they were and what had just happened.
Soon after many questions that felt absurdly unnecessary, they were being directed to a waiting room. There they found Rossi and Prentiss collapsed into chairs, their shoulders touching.
Reid rushed over to give Prentiss a tight squeeze as she stood up. JJ followed suit after him. Hotch walked over and put a hand on Rossi’s shoulder silently.
“We’re… probably not gonna get word on the kid for a while,” Rossi murmured, sounding rather sapped of energy.
“What about Morgan?” Reid asked.
“He woke up on the ride over,” Prentiss said, rubbing her hand on her thigh, “They think he’s pretty much fine, but they’re running scans on him now just to be safe.”
A collective relief spread through the others, Hotch releasing a sigh as he rubbed his fingers over his eyes.
They all settled into seats, preparing for a long wait for any news. An hour somehow felt triple its length as they waited without a visit from any staff member.
Fatigue caught up to them, crawling up their legs and coaxing them into fitful sleep.
Reid’s head had fallen sideways against Prentiss’s shoulder as he finally fell to the heavy pull after the clock passed two in the morning.
“Hey,” Rossi spoke quietly, rousing him and the others. “Why don’t you go on home?”
“No,” Reid’s brow furrowed, “We can’t.”
“Here,” he produced a card from his wallet, “Take this. Go get a few rooms nearby. Go ahead and get some rest. Save a room for me, I’ll stay and let you know anything once I hear it.”
JJ looked like she was about to protest, as did Prentiss, but Hotch spoke up as he shifted in his seat.
“It’s a good idea,” he said.
Reluctantly, the trio was ushered away and reminded them several times to call the moment they heard any news. Once they were alone in the room, Rossi turned his gaze to Hotch. He was hunched over in seat, his arms resting against his knees as he gazed into space.
“I should have sent you with them,” he remarked.
Hotch turned his weary gaze on him and Rossi knew he would have failed if he attempted to do so.
Hotch lost a firm grasp on how much time had passed by. He alternated between pacing the room and sinking heavily into his seat.
When the door to the room finally opened again, both he and Rossi shot up to meet the doctor that entered. He appeared to share their exhaustion. He explained how they had to remove several pieces of shrapnel from your body, and the main concern was a large piece that had gone into your torso. Hotch felt his breath speed up when he heard how close it had come to fully puncturing your lung.
“What about his eye?” Rossi asked.
“Also rather lucky it was just a gash above the eyebrow,” the doctor said, “He could have been blinded if the object had landed any lower.”
“But he’s okay?” Hotch asked, his hands clenched at his sides.
“He’s definitely not going anywhere for a while, but he should be,” the doctor replied, “We can’t know for sure until he wakes up but being so close to an explosion like that, it might have caused some damage to his brain. He might have… trouble remembering things or be confused and disoriented. His body had gone through a lot, so it might be a while before he wakes. We going to have to watch him carefully to make sure he doesn’t have any trouble breathing and everything’s healing correctly.”
“Can we see him?” Hotch said.
The man hesitated, looking between both of them.
“I can let one of you in at the moment,” he said.
Hotch locked eyes with Rossi.
“Go ahead,” Rossi nodded at him.
The walk to the room as the doctor lead the way passed in a stuttering blur. He blinked forcefully, willing himself to remain calm. When the man paused outside a door and opened it for him, he halted just outside.
“Sir?” the doctor said.
“Yeah, thank you,” Hotch muttered.
He walked into the quiet room, gaze locked on your unmoving form. Somehow, the sight of you in the bed with monitors hooked up to you and oxygen flowing into your nose, bandages across your head and face, was worse than when they had found you after the blast.
A shaky breath left his lips as he tentatively approached your bedside.
“Hey,” he whispered.
He tried and failed to remember the last thing he had said to you. Glancing backward, he was glad to find the doctor had closed the door behind him. Slowly, he reached out and let his fingertips rest on your arm. He scanned your face for any sign of a reaction.
When you remained still, his head dropped forward as he let out a harsh breath. He kept his fingers where they were, contenting himself with the reassuring feel of the warmth of your skin under his touch. He glanced up to the beeping monitor, finding the number that signified your pulse.
Alive.
At least you were alive.
“You better wake up,” Hotch muttered, blinking hard against the burn in his eyes.
He blamed it on the effects of the smoke.
Morgan had finally been freed from the short observation they were holding him on. After asking about his colleagues, he was directed to the room where you had ended up. Lingering in the hall, he checked his phone and replied to the texts he had received from Prentiss hours ago when he was still getting his scans.
Rossi appeared from around the corner, a vending machine sized bag of pretzels in hand. He approached him slowly, a hand coming up to give his back a quick pat.
“Good to see you on your feet,” he said, “Gave us a scare, there.”
Morgan looked to him briefly, his arm coming up to drape loosely around Rossi’s shoulders for a moment before dropping away again. He looked back to the room that contained his teammate and boss.
“Safe to say,” Rossi murmured with a quirk of an eyebrow, nodding at the door, “Pretty sure you’re forgiven.”
Morgan gave a small nod, swallowing thickly. Rossi fiddled with his bag, heaving in a deep breath.
“I won’t lie, it was pretty damn scary all around. You knocked out. Him with a piece of metal sticking out of his face.”
Morgan shook his head, his gaze growing hard.
“What?” Rossi questioned.
“I can’t believe I’m walking out of here, man. With barely a scratch. Thanks to him,” Morgan spoke stiffly, his jaw clenched, “While he’s –”
He ran a hand over his head, blowing out a long breath.
“What if he doesn’t…?” his voice grew quiet as he trailed off, unwilling to speak the fear into existence.
“He’ll wake up,” Rossi said resolutely.
Morgan finally turned to him, regret painting his features.
“How do you know?”
Rossi locked eyes with him, a firm belief in his gaze.
“Because he has to.”
The words were spoken with such authority that both had to believe it. Several beats passed where they allowed themselves a brief time to revel in the fact that they were okay. Hospital staff walked back and forth in front of them and they watched silently.
“Feeling in fighting shape yet?” Rossi asked, nudging him with his shoulder.
“Huh?” Morgan said, surprise in the single word.
“You gotta help me with the most difficult part of all this,” he nodded solemnly, “Worse than any unsub.”
Morgan’s brows drew together as he peered at him silently, wondering what could possibly be worse.
Rossi quirked an eyebrow wryly.
“Convincing Hotch to let us take turns waiting with him,” he concluded.
Morgan couldn’t hold back his wide grin and genuine peal of laughter.
“Ooh, man,” he groaned lightly, “I think I’d rather take my chances with another blast.”
Rossi smirked, their quiet chuckles lifting the grim air off their shoulders for a moment. Morgan then skirted around him, giving his arm a pat.
“Well, you’re on first watch right now,” he gave a faint smirk, “I gotta go wash all… this off me.”
He gestured at his darkened skin and clothes, ash smudging nearly every inch.
Rossi blew out a heavy breath, gaze drifting across the hall to land on the door of your room and imagined the utterly resolute state Hotch must be in on the other side of it.
“Hurry back,” Rossi muttered, raising an eyebrow at Morgan.
The night sky had given way to daybreak when Morgan awoke from his nap. After a heavenly shower where he scrubbed himself clean and rubbed his sore muscles, he had fallen like a log into the bed of the hotel room.
After checking his phone, he returned Rossi’s missed call and agreed to trade places at the hospital. He had sounded dead on his feet. Morgan didn’t envy him. He knew Hotch was probably more stubborn than ever and would not listen to any suggestions to take a break.
Arriving at the place, he passed Rossi in the hall and handed him the room key.
“Good luck,” Rossi muttered, the darkness under his eyes wasn’t just from the ash. He patted Morgan on the back as he continued toward the exit.
Lingering outside your room, Morgan gathered his courage and tapped a knuckle against the door as he entered.
Hotch’s head lifted toward the sound, his features shifting into surprise at the sight of him. A distant corner of Morgan’s brain latched onto how odd the sight of Hotch with no tie or jacket was.
“Hey,” Hotch said softly, passing a hand over his face and sitting up straighter as he surveyed him, “How are you feeling?”
Morgan stepped in slowly, his eyes on your pale, still form on the bed.
“Well,” Morgan shrugged, “A couple of scrapes, a few bruises. Took about an hour long shower to get rid of that smoky stench.”
He lifted his hands and let them fall at his sides with a slap, making Hotch huff quietly in amusement.
“But other than that, I’m alright,” Morgan sighed.
He pulled up a chair on the other side of the bed, looking back at you. Hotch stayed quiet, allowing Morgan to take in the sight in his own time. He noted the way Morgan’s hands had balled up in his lap, one of his fingers scratching at his thumb erratically.
“Is he…” Morgan murmured as he looked at the needle piercing your skin, “Is he gonna be okay?”
Hotch stayed silent long enough that Morgan turned his gaze toward him. He was staring at you, his lips in a tight line. Hotch looked away from your face to meet his eye and nodded.
“They say he should be,” Hotch muttered, mouth still a rather rigid line.
“Should be,” Morgan repeated derisively, shaking his head.
One of his legs began to bounce rapidly as he ran his gaze over your body and the bandages visible on your face, head, and arms. The stark whiteness of them seemed to sap any remaining color in your skin, giving you a deathly pale look.
“You know… He saw it. Right before the bomb went off, he yelled at me. He – he pushed me down and covered me, Hotch. If he hadn’t… I don’t know. I’d probably be the one in this bed right now. Or... worse.”
Hotch was silent for a while as he took in this new information, the monitor beeping loudly for several moments.
“Speculation doesn't do us any good, Morgan,” he spoke quietly.
Morgan’s fingers tapped agitatedly against the armrest of his chair.
“But look at that,” he pointed at the thick bandage just above your left eye.
“Rossi said he had a shard of metal in there,” he tapped a finger on his own face to demonstrate the location, “He was one inch away from losin’ an eye, man.”
A wry scoff tore from his lips, a smirk of disbelief cracking across his face.
“I don’t get him,” he spoke tightly, “I mean, the dude’s pissed at me but then risks his life? To save me? I…”
“I don’t think he is,” Hotch gestured at you and the room as a whole, “Clearly.”
Morgan was apparently unable to find a way to argue with that, for he went silent and peered at you again.
Hotch did the same, a heavy sigh exiting his nose and his hand in front of his mouth.
The steady beep of the monitor kept the time for them, counting off the minutes. Morgan had entered an almost meditative state, lost in the steady tone, when Hotch threw a wrench in the silence.
“He can’t keep doing this,” Hotch muttered, his brow creased.
Now, it was Morgan’s turn to gaze at Hotch with surprise.
“What?” he asked.
“This,” Hotch repeated, a tinge of frustration leaking into his previously calm tone, “He has little to no regard for his own safety. He keeps running headlong into danger, into the literal line of fire for us.”
Hotch’s frown deepened as he shook his head.
“That’s not how decisions should be made in the field.”
Morgan bodily turned in his chair to gape openly at Hotch in disbelief.
“Hotch,” he said, voice going rather high with skepticism, “All due respect, but are you kidding me, man?”
Hotch turned his agitated gaze away from the unconscious man and onto the other staring at him with wide eyes.
“You know I wish he wasn’t lying here right now,” Morgan began, gesturing toward you, “But if I’m being real with you, and I was the one who saw the bomb before he did…”
His shoulders rose in a harsh shrug.
“I probably would’ve done the same thing,” he leaned forward to drive home his point, “Can you honestly tell me that you wouldn’t have?”
Hotch’s expression had become rather fixed.
The beep of the machine was the only thing that answered Morgan.
A thick fog enveloped your whole being. You weren’t even sure if you had a being… You felt like… you were thoughts, floating around a vast, black nothingness. You dreamily bobbed along, not a single care to worry about.
Eventually, the heavy mist grew thinner. Cold began to creep in.
Light peeked through the darkness.
With the light, came a bright, searing feeling.
Taking in a stuttering breath, your were plunged back into a physical form.
You heard your own agonized groan as you fought to remember how to open your eyes.
“You’re fired.”
Your eyelids moved slowly, blinking so languidly that you nearly slipped back down into unconsciousness once more. The pillowcase crinkled under your ear as you managed to turn your heavy head to the side where the weary voice had originated from.
Hotch was folded into a small hospital chair, elbows on his knees, gazing at you from behind his hands clasped together at his lips. Darkness was visible past the small window behind him.
The first thing to filter through your snail’s pace of thoughts was that he had shed his suit jacket, giving him an undressed look despite being fully clothed. The second was the dark shadows under his eyes that contrasted starkly to the pallor of the rest of his face.
“What –” you grimaced as the word scraped on its way out.
Flames tickled up your throat, you swallowed with difficulty.
“Where am I?”
“It’s alright,” he reassured quietly, “You’re in the hospital.”
At this, your eyes opened wider.
“What?!” alarmed tinged your tone, “The – the team?”
Hotch quickly leaned forward until he was on the edge of his chair, hovering with his hand outstretched like he was about to keep you down in the bed.
“It’s alright, it’s okay,” he murmured, “Everyone's fine.”
A labored breath passed through your lips as your eyelids grew heavy again.
Hotch watched silently as you slipped back into unconsciousness, his fingers slowly moving back and forth over one another.
Cracking your eyes open, you winced as you felt a tug above your left brow. Blinking, you turned your head slightly to find Hotch watching you. His gaze was so steely, it was nearly a glare.
“You're… angry,” you rasped.
He said nothing for a moment, pausing as if he were about to deny it.
“Hmm. Well,” he muttered, “Good to see you still have your observational skills.”
After a moment of regarding him silently, a hazy memory floated up to the surface of your mind.
“Did you…” your brow creased with the effort of remembering, “Did you fire me? Or… did I – dream that?”
A soft huff came from Hotch’s lips.
“I did warn you to never do this again,” he said, the playful tone undercut with just a whisper of sincerity.
“Do… what?” you sniffed, grimacing as you noticed the nasal cannula threaded across your face.
Your hand wandered up toward it, instinctively wanting to remove the foreign object from your nose.
“Leave that,” Hotch said.
You dropped your hand onto your chest as you turned your head toward him again.
“C’mon,” you blinked heavily at him, taking in a labored breath, “Hire me back.”
Your hazy gaze locked onto his concerned one, a lazy smirk pulling at your lips.
“How am I gonna… pay for these hospital bills?”
Hotch shook his head softly, letting it fall into his hands for a moment as soft chuckles emanated from behind his arms.
“Barely conscious,” he muttered, “And you’re already joking.”
You gave a soft laugh of your own. Hotch lowered his hands in time to watch your face twist into a faint grimace as you cut yourself off. You inhaled with effort, your chest rising slowly with an audible wheeze.
He brought his chair closer, the armrests nearly touching the edge of the bed. Your gaze flicked over him.
“Stop that,” you ordered weakly, your eyes fluttering shut.
“What?” Hotch asked.
Your eyes creaked open again to peer at him blearily.
Hotch watched you with concern, leaning closer to catch your faint speech. Your hand came up toward his face. He stilled, fixating on you as your hand cradled his temple. Your thumb brushed at the crease between his brows, smoothing it out.
Hotch’s chest stopped moving up and down for several long seconds.
“Stop… worrying,” you muttered.
Your hand fell back onto the sheets as your eyes fluttered shut once again.
Hotch remained completely still, eyes slightly widened, until someone rushed by in the hall, shouting something. He blinked, coming out of his stunned state, and fell heavily back into his seat.
The time he had gone with hardly any sleep except fitful dozing was now incredibly difficult for him to calculate. His chin slipped from his hand as he nearly fell into sleep again. Shaking himself, he straightened in his chair as he scanned your form for any notable change.
A soft ringing tore his attention away from your face. He peered up at your monitors, trying to find the source. All of them beeped steadily.
Rubbing his eyes, he stood up and followed the noise. Realizing it was coming from the bag of your personal affects, he opened it and fished out your phone that had amazingly survived the explosion.
On instinct, he brought it to his ear and answered the call.
“Hello?” Hotch said rather wearily.
“Hello?” a man repeated, confusion evident in the single word.
“Who is this?” Hotch asked.
“Javier Madrigal. Who’s this?”
“Aaron Hotchner.”
“Sorry, I must have called the wrong number. I thought I called a, um – someone I met recently but –”
The realization thrummed through Hotch’s limbs as his sluggish mind finally placed the voice he had heard what felt like a lifetime ago.
“You called the right number,” Hotch cut him off, “I’m his… We work together.”
“Oh. Oh, wait,” Javi paused, recognition blooming in his tone as well, “Yeah! I remember you, man. Real serious, tall dude, right?”
Hotch had nothing to reply to that with.
His gaze flitted over to the pale form lying so still in the bed, debating whether he should try to wake him or if he should end this call immediately.
“Uhh, why are you… answering his phone?” Javi asked lightly, but the nervous energy still bled through the phone speaker.
Hotch tried not to dwell on the manner in which he had asked, at the implication under the words.
“He’s in the hospital. He’s not awake at the moment,” Hotch said, wondering exactly how much was appropriate to tell this man.
“Wait, seriously?” Javi’s tone dropped everything except a growing worry, “Is – Is he alright?!”
Hotch paused, his hand coming up to rub at the hair at the back of his head.
“It might be a while before he’s out, but yes. He should be.”
The line was quiet for a moment as the other man processed Hotch’s words.
“Shit… Okay. How – What happened?” Javi sounded genuinely concerned.
Hotch glanced over to you, blinking harshly, hating how entirely still you were apart from your chest stuttering up and down.
“There was an explosion,” he took in a great breath, as if ensuring the air was clear of smoke, “He got – He got pretty banged up.”
“Goddamn…” Javi murmured, his voice slightly muffled like he had a hand over his mouth, “Well, shit. That’s a hell of an excuse to stand me up.”
A beat passed.
“Excuse me?” Hotch’s brow creased as his hold on the phone tightened.
“We had a date.”
Hotch’s widened gaze fell onto the unconscious man.
“A date?”
Even through his drowsiness, Hotch noticed you’d been grimacing quite often in your sleep. The next time a doctor came in to check you over, he’d mention it.
He must have drifted off for a while because he opened his eyes at the sound of rasping breaths. You were awake, your hand at your chest as you seemed to struggle to take in air.
You looked to him, frightened at the fact that even the oxygen being delivered directly into your nose didn’t seem to help much.
“Is the pain getting worse?” Hotch asked in a rush, his gaze boring into yours, “What’s happening?”
You noted how he kept his expression carefully blank, a tactic he used a lot at work, but the angle of his brows clued you in to how horrid you must look.
“I – I don’t know,” you gasped.
Hotch tilted his head, lips pressed together. Your eyes squeezed shut as your breath came accompanied with a lick of fire in your chest.
“Okay,” you gritted your teeth, “Maybe.”
Hotch watched as your frame shuddered, your nose scrunched, and a thin layer of sweat broke out across your brow. He was opening his mouth to suggest calling a doctor when your hand shot out toward him.
“What?” he asked, alarmed, as he grasped your hand.
“H–Hotch –” you wheezed.
Hotch’s fingers squeezed together in your tightening grasp, producing a faint wince of shock from him. Your other hand came up to your neck, fingers clawing at nothing but air around the strained muscles of your throat.
“Okay. Hang on,” he pulled away from you.
The pang of guilt that he felt when you gave a frightened grimace as he disappeared from your side could be dealt with later.
One of the machines next to your bed began to shriek. The sound served to quicken his run to a sprint toward the door.
“I need help in here, please!” he shouted out into the hall.
Mere seconds had never felt so prolonged.
Hotch’s breath came in short pants as he hung outside of the door frame, his frenzied gaze scanning up and down the vacant hallway. He glanced back toward you to see your eyes fluttering, the machine’s beeping growing more shrill.
He felt pulled in two directions at once. The urge to rush to your side and another to sprint to find help. Both warred against each other, pulling him from both sides equally and resulting in rooting him to the spot instead of doing either.
“In here, please!” he called again, voice cracking, any care for other sleeping patients now dashed to pieces.
The moment he heard hurried footsteps approaching from all sides, Hotch rushed back into the room and skidded to a halt at your side.
Your eyes fell on him but they were so panicked, he was unsure whether you were recognizing him at this point. Your hands moved erratically around your chest and throat as you thrashed as hard as your weakened body would allow.
Hotch’s own breath was coming hard and fast at the horrible sight of you unable to breath. It was the same thing all over again. He blinked hard, forcing his sight to clear away the images of dark, murky water rising quickly over their heads.
Rossi didn’t bother calling to announce his arrival, knowing Hotch would tell him it wasn’t necessary. His best chance at getting him to go to the hotel was if he showed up without warning. Walking toward your room, he turned the corner and halted.
Hotch stood in the middle of the hallway, his back turned as he looked in the opposite direction. The sound of hospital staff speaking in hurried tones was fading around the far end of the hall.
He approached and looked into your room to find it empty.
It was easy to surmise what had just transpired. He cursed under his breath before cautiously approaching Hotch, who was utterly quiet apart from his ragged breaths.
“Hotch,” he called softly.
No reaction.
“Aaron,” he said.
Hotch finally turned, a blank wide stare landing on him.
As he turned toward him, he wobbled as if he were a precarious stack of books that someone just piled another heavy volume on. His hand shot out instinctively for the nearest thing to steady himself on. It just so happened to be Rossi.
“Okay,” he said, his hands firm on Hotch’s upper arms as he caught him, “Come on. It’s alright.”
He guided Hotch back into the room and eased him into a chair.
“It – It’s fine,” Hotch managed to force out, his gaze still rather vacant.
“Mhmm,” Rossi hummed pointedly, sarcasm tinging the sound, “Sure looks like it.”
He fished out his phone and flipped it open, dialing a number.
“Hey, bring some water and anything easy to eat,” he spoke quickly into the speaker, no introduction or preamble.
Rossi hung up and focused on keep Hotch conscious, coaching him to get his breathing back to a regular pace.
Later, Morgan entered the room with a water bottle, a couple granola bars, and a bag of pretzels. Hotch was already shaking his head when he laid eyes on Morgan.
Rossi shared a long-suffering look with Morgan.
“Come on. It’ll do him no good if you end up in a bed right next to him,” Rossi said.
Together, they managed to force Hotch to eat one of the bars and half of the bag, along with one full water bottle.
“He… he couldn’t breathe,” Hotch muttered.
Morgan met his haunted gaze.
“How long has it been?” Hotch asked.
Rossi glanced to his watch.
“I don’t know,” he said, “Twenty minutes since I showed up.”
Hotch’s eyes drifted shut as he leaned back in his chair, completely drained.
“How long can you go without breathing?” he whispered before falling asleep.
Everything hurt. You weren’t sure where you were or what was happening but the pain was a certainty. As you surfaced back into wakefulness, you realized that every breath brought a dull flare of pain.
Peeling your eyes open, you saw the blank ceiling above you and the rectangular lights. You shifted as you realized something hard was on your face.
“Hey, there,” a voice came from your left.
You turned to see Morgan watching you, a smile pulling his lips upward. You blinked slowly, something in the back of your mind giving way to relief at the sight of him.
Weakly a hand came up to your face, trying to pull the obstruction away.
“Leave it,” another voice came from your right.
You looked to find Hotch watching you. A strange sense of déjà vu filled you for some reason.
“Your lungs need all the help they can get,” he said with a horribly spent air.
The knowledge that you were wearing an oxygen mask slowly filtered into your brain and you relaxed.
“I…” you tried, but your chest burned.
“No, no, no,” Morgan shushed you, “It’s all good, man. Just… rest, alright?”
Nodding minutely, you felt yourself following his direction immediately. Hotch shared a subdued look of amusement with Morgan at the sight.
“You can go ahead to the room now, Hotch,” Morgan said, “I got it. Go sleep in an actual bed for a while.”
Hotch passed a hand over his face, finally appearing to consider the words instead of instantly rejecting them. Morgan cocked an eyebrow.
“And honestly, man?” he said, “You kinda stink.”
Hotch tore his gaze away from you to fix Morgan with a wide stare, disbelief coloring his face. Morgan grinned brightly. Hotch broke into a slightly delirious fit of laughter. Morgan chuckled as well, rubbing a hand over his mouth.
Hotch finally stood and patted Morgan’s shoulder on the way out.
Morgan didn’t even look behind him before he spoke.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll call ya if anything happens,” he said, beating Hotch to the punch as he paused at the door.
Hotch closed his mouth, smirking before exiting.
The rise and set of the sun had passed three times before you could manage to stay awake for significant periods of time. You kept forgetting things you had already asked before, or asking to see members of the team that had just been in to visit you. This brought a terrible panic over Hotch but after an assessment from the doctors, they informed him that it was a concussion that would eventually heal.
On the fifth day, you suddenly sat up straighter and winced at the sudden motion.
“Hey, easy,” Hotch admonished carefully from his seat, putting his book down.
“No, no, I – I just remembered,” you rasped, the oxygen mask still on your face, “Garcia. Call Garcia! Get – Get her safe. Where – where is everyone?”
Hotch was already used to these bouts of confused babble, scooting closer as he attempted to reassure you that the team was fine.
“Hotch!” you exclaimed, reaching out and grabbing his arm, “The – the unsub. It – it wasn’t about…”
You paused, head ducking as you took in several labored breaths.
“They were after us,” you muttered, “The note. The – the eight. There are eight of us.”
Hotch stilled, taking this in. It did seem odd to him. But the preoccupation of you in this state had overridden everything else.
The fact that the other explosions were so random. No one targeted specifically.
The convenient tip call that came in.
The only time anyone was injured coming as a result of that call.
The eight on the note.
Your grip on him tightened and brought him out of his thoughts.
“Okay,” he agreed, “I’ll tell her, don’t worry.”
He watched as the tension bled from your form and you began to slip back into sleep, the strain having sapped your energy. Fishing his phone out of his jacket, he called Garcia to let her know and then told the rest of the team, just in case.
By the eighth day, you were mostly able to stay awake for the whole day. You had finally been able to switch out your oxygen mask for a nasal cannula. Though it still bothered the hell out of you, it was still miles better than the uncomfortable mask that dug into your face.
You had told Hotch the day before that he didn’t need to stay by your side anymore. You were lucid enough now to realize that he had spent the whole time in the hospital along with you and that guilt of that fact was settling in.
He had waved off your words, but you still forced him to at least go get something to eat from the hospital cafeteria. You had joked that you were sick of seeing him and were rewarded with his unreserved laugh before he complied to your order.
A doctor entered about ten minutes later.
“Well,” he said, clapping his hands together, “Quite a ride. But if you’re ready to go home, you can now. Of course, you’re going to need help getting around. No strenuous activity for at least two weeks and even after that, take it easy.”
You nodded eagerly, you had never longed for your apartment as much as you currently did.
“And of course, you’ll be given oxygen to take with you,” he continued.
You looked at your hands, wondering how you were going to get up the stairs to reach your floor.
“Sir?” the doctor prompted, “Do you have someone waiting at home that can help you?”
“Yeah, I’ll be alright,” you said.
“So, you do have someone who can help you?” he repeated, his eyebrows raised as he peered at you over his glasses.
You faltered for only a split second.
He pursed his lips, looking down at a paper on his board.
“If not, you might as well just stay here,” he murmured, his brow furrowing as he looked at your chart.
“No, I – I can –” you tried, pushing yourself up straighter in an attempt to look healthier.
The doctor gave you a sympathetic but firm look.
“You can’t be on your own, sir. Not yet,” he said, “I’m sorry, but if you don’t have anyone who can –”
“I’ll be there.”
Both you and the doctor turned at the sound of a new voice.
Hotch passed through the open doorway, a nurse with a waiting wheelchair following in behind him.
As it turned out, an explosion wasn’t the most stupefying thing you would experience this week.
This is the start of a possible longer Booth x male reader fic... Seriously don't know if there's an actual audience for that, but I'd read it if it existed, so here goes nothing....
Seeley Booth x (male) reader
Bones (TV)
"Bones? Come on, I really need that analytic mind of yours!" Seeley Booth exclaimed as he stepped through the doors to what in his mind was squintmania, which was a name he had learned he shouldn't utter in the presence of any of his squints. Speaking of, the squint Seeley had been looking for was nowhere to be found, and almost all of the other stations seemed abandoned, too. However, in one of the labs, there was a shadow visible through the frosted glass doors. The FBI agent walked in without knocking, already speaking, "Come on, need that sexy brain of yours, Bones! I know you gave me a timeframe, but it doesn't make any-" he interrupted himself as he came face to face with … you. In turn, you looked up at him from where you sat at a desk, typing away on your work computer, then: "Doctor Brennan went home two hours ago."
Seeley looked somewhat dumbfounded, he hadn't seen you around before, he knew Bones had wanted to get Cam to hire a new assisstant or intern or something, but he didn't know they'd actually done it. He'd assumed that he'd be at least a little involved in the process, being a federal agent and all, but now he was stood in front of the desk which Temperance Brennan usually occupied, and the person sat there was not Doctor Temperance Brennan, but you. Sat in your, huh, your blue labcoat. Maybe you weren't an intern at all. Seeley had seen enough interns and students in beige or white coats, but never in blue. Those were reserved for permanent employees, but you seemed too young for that, and why wouldn't anybody tell him?
You cleared your throat, the agent had been staring at you for quite some time now, and being the introvert you were, you grew uncomfortable, "As I said, sir, Doctor Brennan has gone home for the day, she has a date, apparently. Can I help you, maybe?" Seeley shook his head to clear his mind and opened and closed his mouth a few times before settling on introducing himself, "Well, I'm Seeley Booth, the agent usually assigned to these cases, I just wanted to have a quick chat with Bones about the current case. And you are…"
You apologised about the confusion and introduced yourself in turn, telling him your name, before: "I'm basically the new guy for everything that needs to be done for about anyone, but mostly the IT stuff. I have access to Brennan's notes and everything if that helps your investigation?"
Booth still seemed a tad confused, though he now knew who he was talking to, "Already earned a blue coat, I see. Well, I just wanted to consult Bones' brain because her timeframe doesn't make sense with the evidence y'all collected… Wait, you said she had a date? Bones?!" You shrugged at that, "That is what she said to me, yes. Angela had bet on you being her date, but I assume, that is not the case… Did Bones not send you her new timeframe? We updated it earlier today… Hang on." You typed away something and pulled up the timeframe, Seeley stepped around and leaned over your shoulder to look at the computer screen.
"No, I'm definitely not Bones' date. And no, she didn't send me anything. Let me take a look at that… Yeah, yeah that makes more sense. Can you print that out for me?" he asked, before straightening up again, looking around as he waited for the pages.
You nodded, but in the same breath, "Not a fan of email?"
He chuckled, "Heh, not really, only for things that can't be done through text or paper… Do say, though, everybody here has a nickname or something, or they're called by their last name only, did you get one, already?"
You shook your head, "Not really, no. I mean, Cam has called me tech guy so far and Bones just says new kid… But I'm told that won't last"
Booth thought about that for a short moment as he went and got his timeframe from the printer, when he returned, he suggested, "I'll just call you Bones Junior, you know. Easy to remember, the other agents know who I should be talking about, and I get to tease you squints down here."
You looked up with an amused expression on your face, "Bones Junior, huh?"
Feedback, reposts, comments, requests whatever are greatly appreciated.
summary: Aaron is finally back from his mission in Pakistan and forcefully sporting a new beard, ready to shave as soon as he’s through the door of his and his boyfriends apartment
Aaron was an attractive man, he could agree with that statement to an extent, but his boyfriend would agree before the sentence even finished and not without worshiping Aaron and the ground under his feet. The two men had been together just shy of 4 years now, living together for 3.
However for the past 2 months Aaron had been in Pakistan for some kind of mission he had to do. Y/n was missing him, fed up of being alone in the apartment, only making dinner for himself for a whole 2 months, although that’s the price you pay for dating the unit chief of the BAU. He knew Aaron’s job was important to him, and he wasn’t going to make him quit, so instead he stayed quiet and just waited for Aaron to arrive home, which according to the Penelope Garcia who had been keeping y/n in the loop would be any day soon.
And any day soon indeed. Y/n’s head snapped towards the apartment door as it opened, bracing himself for an intruder or Penelope with freshly baked cookies which she’d been bringing recently. The last thing he expected to see in the door way was his boyfriend, skin slightly tanned, a dark bear on his face, and his body holding a little more muscle than it did before he left for the mission.
Y/n’s stomach practically dropped when Aaron’s bag hit the floor, but not in a bad way. In the way that he was ready to jump Aaron’s bones there and then, at the fact he was even home, at the fact he looked like that. The sofa sagged slightly under Aaron’s weight as he dropped down next to the younger man, the muscular arms going straight around y/n’s waist and face to the crook of his neck, muttering almost too quickly about how much he’d missed him, how glad he was to be home.
The two men sat comfortably like that for the next 10 minutes, a mess of tangled limbs and whispers as they hold eachother, occasionally sharing soft kisses that held more than their words could manage to.
A lingering kiss was pressed to y/n’s lips, a small noise leaving him as he felt Aaron’s beard scratch against his chin, likely going to leave a small graze, but god was it worth it.
However the small noise made Aaron pull back in slight guilt, his thumb brushing over the younger man’s chin with a gentle breath of a laugh.
“Sorry baby, i need to shave” He spoke quietly, although his voice was just as low and grumbly as it was before, the way it never wavered even when he was calm and soothing, speaking as if he was the most gentle man ever.
“Honey. Don’t you dare shave.” Y/n whispered with a grin before pressing his lips back onto Aaron’s, arms around his neck. And as soon as Aaron heard the whisper he was kissing back, the men tangled together in kisses and cuddles, ready for a long night, and a long week of convincing Aaron to keep his beard. Which would end in victory, because in reality Aaron was a weak man, and he could never say no when those big y/e/c eyes were looking up at him.
would you be willing to write some headcannons for t4t hotch x ftm reader? if not that’s okay too
So I don’t really do that well with headcanons and short prompts, so i just tried to write like a drabble? Hope that works out for you as well :)
btw i did not read through this a lot, just felt like posting it (there’s this awesome German word for what I would’ve done otherwise “Verschlimmbessern” which basically means to make something worse in the process of trying to make it better)
ftm Aaron Hotchner x male ftm reader
Bigots beware
Aaron Hotchner and his boyfriend had a few things in common. Most people would probably say that they like the same kind of music, that the fact that they were in a relationship was something the two men had in common in itself, or that your shared love for Jack was the connection between the two of you that was most obvious. Only people who knew the two of you closely were aware that there was a bond between you that surpassed simple intimacy or knowledge of your significant other. Both you and Aaron were transgender and therefore in a relationship where you understood each other in a way most of your previous partners didn't.
You supported each other throughout your respective transitions and whenever you could help him or he you, that's what you did. Accompanying the other to appointments and bringing home the favourite treat when dysphoria got especially bad.
Jack loved having two dads, he didn't care both of you were transgender, though he did know, you were open about your identity in almost every aspect of your life, other than Aaron who while not denying any claims or accusations (that were true) when confronted, did not tell just about everybody about his being trans, the nature of his career making stealth about queerness a safety feature. Jack just loved that you watched documentaries with him, that you listened to his problems and that you refrained from telling on him when you felt you didn't need to. He knew you were queer and he knew you were proud to be, he wanted to read your favourite books and he wanted you to approve of him because he loved you and you and he knew his dad did, too.
Being in a T4T relationship meant a lot to you, to Aaron too, because for the first time in your life, you were understood in a way that was more intimate than you could have imagined. You had a boyfriend who understood dysphoria, who understood the ways HRT could make you feel and who understood that you had a complicated relationship with your body and self image.
Aaron Hotchner loved his boyfriend, and if anybody dared misgender you or him, well, he knew some people who could make life hell for that bigot.
i got a new laptop because i’m starting uni in october and mine absolutely doesn’t work for anything other than word really, but after testing the new one and finding that i love it and really want to use it, the battery is less than optimal, and now it doesn’t charge at all…
"Alright buckle up buttercup because I’m only doing this once. So Aaron is taking off from work and coming back home to his house husband and who just finished making dinner for them. Alright that it’s and have fun with this silly little prompt I made. 🤪🤪🤪"
"Hotch man, we're heading out for drinks, you wanna tag along?" Morgan asked as he saw his Unit chief, one Aaron Hotchner pack up his bag earlier than usual, about to leave the office for the night. He glanced up at Morgan, gave him a small smile and shook his head, "I can't tonight, promised Jack we'd watch some sort of documentary he's been interested in, and before we get a new case or even more paperwork, I'm headed home sooner rather than later. You have fun, though."
Morgan nodded and returned the smile before returning to the others, leaving Hotch to make his way home by himself.
He turned his key in the lock, he was already able to make out the soft sounds of his radio playing in the kitchen. It wasn't enough for him to make out quite what it was, but it was enough to release some of the tension he seemed to be carrying at all times nowadays. The smell of onion and roasted pumpkin hit him once he opened the door and stepped into the warmth of your shared home. The soft but incomprehensible music turned into quiet film scores, it seemed that you had once again connected your phone to the speakers, playing what you and Jack loved to listen to in the background, when you needed to focus on other things. Even though the two of you didn't actually share a relation by blood, you had an understanding Aaron couldn't quite fathom. You shared a few interests, or you indulged Jack's interests enough for them to be yours as well, you seemed to be automatically "cooler" because even a hero as dad can become boring just because he was still his dad, and you were on a wavelength when it came to understanding the depths of Jack's mind, a lot of the tricks that did it for you were also helpful to Jack and if they weren't, there were always more options to try. One of the things that did do the trick for the both of you, and Aaron had to admit, he enjoyed this particular shared indulgence, was preparing the food you consumed together. Jack had been a bit of a picky eater for most of his young life and Aaron had assumed, for the most part, that that was an issue every parent had with their children, especially after everything that happened with Foyet. When you'd met Jack for the first time, Aaron had been worried you might judge him or Jack as others had done in the past, but you'd just asked Jack if he'd like to help you with making dinner. Turns out, Jack liked to participate in making his food or at least watch it being made, and so the two of you prepared meals together almost every day, Aaron took part in this little ritual whenever he could, but it seemed that tonight he wouldn't be doing any preparation work. After he'd discarded his coat and left his briefcase in the home office, he made his way to the kitchen, where Jack was sitting at the set table while you were stirring the soup, deep in conversation on mythology, Jack's latest topic of immense interest. When Aaron entered, Jack jumped up "Dad! You made it! And it isn't too late for the documentary after dinner!" and ran into his father's open arms excitedly.
You turned around with a soft smile and pressed a soft kiss to Aaron's lips, gesturing towards the table with your free hand, "Dinner's ready. Autumn soup even though it is still technically summer."
Aaron sat down with his plate, leaning over towards you to whisper "You know I love you, right?" before pouring himself some water. He really was lucky to have you, and you him.
"This is delicious, you two really are master cooks."
"That's all on Jack. I don't know what I would do without my taste tester." you said with a wink, ruffling the boy's hair.
The smile that made itself onto Aaron's face grew easier and more relaxed with every second he spent in your company, he knew why he loved you, he knew why he loved Jack and even if he knew he'd get more of these moments if he changed career paths, he knew he couldn't leave the BAU or his team. He cherished these moments and he cherished you, but more than that, he trusted you with his life, his love and his son.
He couldn't imagine life without you anymore, and he didn't want to either.
just passed this on my way to the train station to go from my new flat (first time living by myself yay) back home for my dad’s birthday and i couldn’t believe my eyes when i saw this restaurant
Synopsis: In a rare spur of the moment decision, Aaron suggests you take a family vacation for a week, work and school be damned, because you all deserve it.
Tags/Warnings: Hotch/FTM!Reader, reader has top surgery scars, established relationship, fluff, vacation, fluff, domestic fluff
Word Count: 1997
Outside the bedroom window, you could hear the soft chirping of the birds that had taken up residence in the old tree in the garden, framing the gentle morning you were enjoying. You softly sighed as Aaron’s fingers gently stroked over the skin of your back, a soothing motion, your head rested on his bare chest. The sun had only barely risen, casting a warm glow over your shared room, creating the perfect soft morning atmosphere. Since dating Aaron, it’d been almost entirely bliss. There was stress that came from his job, there always would be, but if that was the only real stressor in your lives then you were sure that you’d continue to be just fine. You shuffled slightly to sit up, your stomach growling to tell you that it was time for breakfast. Aaron followed you only a moment later, wrapping his arms around your waist.
You laughed softly and leaned your head back against his shoulder, pressing a kiss to his jaw where stubble was just starting to grow, a sign he would need to shave this morning.
“I need to make breakfast.” You said, though you were easily tempted to remain in bed by Aaron’s hands trailing over your body, slowly up your stomach and chest until he reached your scars, tracing over them with two fingers.
“You’re so handsome.” He said, rather than actually replying to your mention of breakfast.
“So are you,” you pushed up and out of his arms, “but it’s time for breakfast.”
Finally he let you go, going to take a shower and shave for himself, and when he descended the stairs to find you in the kitchen, there you were with Jack, eating pancakes and turkey bacon. That was the view that inspired Aaron’s next thought. It wasn’t often that he was impulsive, but once upon a time he’d been someone different - a boy that liked taking risks and being spontaneous. The two of you led a perfectly happy domestic life, but he had to wonder whether maybe you wished for something different, just once. To do something you usually wouldn’t. As he stood in the doorway, just observing you with Jack, the way you laughed and joked with him, so easily as if you’d always been there, he knew what he had to do.
“We should go on vacation.” He suggested, finally stepping into the room proper to join the two of you at the dining table and eat his breakfast. Fork half way to your mouth, you paused, staring at your lover with raised brows.
“Really?” Jack asked eagerly, looking between you and his father with a grin. There was no chance you could say no now, you never could say no to Jack, but you were still stunned.
“Yeah, bud. Just us three, somewhere nice.” Aaron replied, smiling warmly at his son. Jack hopped down from his chair and rushed around the table to throw himself at his father in a tight embrace. Your confusion and the fast working of your brain that considered the logistics crumbled in the face of the warm familial affection. It seemed neither of you could say no to Jack.
You decided today would have to continue as planned, so when Jack rushed away to get ready for school, still excited about the upcoming trip, you turned to Aaron.
“Where did that come from?” You asked, smiling and easily leaning into his body when he stepped in behind you, arms wrapping lazily around your shoulders.
“Thought maybe some spontaneity would be good for us.” He replied casually, and you laughed softly.
“You don’t do spontaneous.” It was true, in the time you’d been dating, the most spontaneous thing he’d done was buy you a gift while out on a case, and even then that was a deliberate choice he made the first time that became a habit when he got a chance to engage in it. He was a man that appreciated routine, and planning.
“I can.” He protested, looking down at you with a frown, though you could see the amusement in his eyes. Maybe long before you’d known him, he’d been different, but you didn’t mind that because the man he was now was the man you’d fallen in love with.
“Clearly. Now go get ready or you’re going to be late.” You told him, pushing him away to send him back up to your shared bedroom. Aaron snatched a quick kiss from you before he actually went, and you enjoyed watching from behind as he ascended the stairs, admiring his ass. He was your boyfriend, it was your ass to admire.
Thankfully, Aaron didn’t get called away for a case that day, so instead of doing paperwork he spent most of his work day cooped up in his office looking at travel sites to find a place to take you. He needed a place that the two of you would enjoy, but would also be fun for Jack. Even before he’d gotten excited, there was no way Aaron would leave his son behind to go on a romantic holiday with you - at least not for more than a weekend. And, if he had anything to say about it, Aaron was taking you away for full week. He texted with you a little to see when you could get days off at work, and once he had confirmed dates, he finished the planning.
In two weeks, the minimum notice both of you could give for vacation days, you’d all be flying out to Europe to enjoy a vacation in sunny Spain. He’d found a small villa with an indoor pool for you all to enjoy, within walking distance of a tourist heavy area which had plenty of day time activities for adults and children alike to enjoy. Strauss was surprised to see him taking vacation days, but was pleased by it seemingly, and Aaron warned Rossi ahead of time under the assumption he’d likely take over for the week.
Two weeks passed quicker than you’d have expected, and suddenly you were in the airport, Aaron’s hand in one of yours, Jack’s in the other. You’d all dressed comfortably for the long flight, your suitcases already checked in. Jack was bouncing on the balls of his feet with nervous excitement, having already been told all about the plane and what it’d be like to prepare him for the journey. You’d packed a snack box that you’d seen suggested online, brought an iPad and portable charger, with games and movies downloaded, and a neck pillow in case he wanted to take a nap. You’d never been quite so prepared for a flight before.
“It’s going to be fine.” Aaron assured you, voice filled with fond amusement.#
“I know it is, because we’re prepared.”
“You’re still worrying.” He gently chastised, using his free hand to cup your chin and tilt back your head, to kiss you softly.
“It’s hard not to. I just want to make sure he’s happy.” You mumbled against his lips. Jack released your hand and began to jog in circles around the two of you.
“He’s happy in the airport. It’s going to be fine.” Aaron replied, and you were forced to accept that with a sigh. Aaron stepped back to scoop Jack up, preventing him from running off or getting in anyone’s way, and lifted the boy onto his shoulders.
Much to Aaron’s amusement, and your exasperation, everything went basically perfectly for the flight. You got onto the plane without issue, Jack was a champion, sitting mostly still and then sleeping for the rest of the duration, and you even managed to get some rest yourself. When you landed, the weather was perfect, and you almost seamlessly passed through and back out of the Spanish airport.
You arrived at the villa and immediately set to unpack, wanting to be fully settled before you agreed to do anything else. Jack took off to explore everywhere, and you found him bouncing on the bed that he’d claimed. It was evening time once you were done, so you all freshened up, changed, and headed to enjoy a meal together. You’d enjoyed a leisurely walk on your way to find somewhere to eat, choosing to find something on foot rather than looking it up ahead of time. It forced you all to enjoy the local scenery and investigate each place individually. Realistically, for your first meal you wanted something quick and familiar, but exploring like that meant you were able to note some places down to return to at a later date, when you were less hungry or Jack was feeling more adventurous.
The meal arrived quickly, but you ate it slowly, allowing yourselves to enjoy it and the reality of being in another country. The waitress was a younger woman and was easily entertained by Jack. It was a slow evening, so her boss didn’t seem to mind her helping Jack figure out how to say a few simple phrases in Spanish, things that admittedly likely would come in handy while you were there, and so you made sure to leave a generous tip, even if that wasn’t typical of the local culture. When you had the means, why shouldn’t you tip someone for good service?
When you returned, you put Jack to bed, glad that the activity and filling meal seemed to make him tired enough to go to bed despite the time difference. He’d asked you both to lay with him until he fell asleep, and you couldn’t begrudge him that since you were not only in a new place but an entirely new continent, and the bed was big enough for the three of you to squeeze in together.
Once he was sleeping soundly, and had been for at least ten minutes, you and Aaron changed your outfits again, swapping into your swimwear, to enjoy the swimming pool together to end your long day of travel and excitement.
“We never get to stay in hotels as nice as this.” He murmured from where he sat on the edge of the pool, feet hanging over the edge to be in the water while you had found a lilo to inflate and rest on.
“That’s because it’s a work trip, not a luxury retreat.” You replied, sticking your leg out to push off the edge so you could look at him head on.
“I don’t disagree, doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He said, then pushed off the edge and dropped into the pool to swim over to you. You easily followed suit, submerging most of your body in the water so you could close the distance between the two of you.
It was so easy to fall into his arms, wrapping yours around him in turn, and even easier to let your lips touch. In the quiet of the late evening, the pool water still rippling just slightly, hands wandering entirely above the waist - exploration more about feeling and closeness than further pursuits. There was no better feeling that simply being close to him, feeling his skin on yours, and knowing that nobody else on the Earth could ever love you like this, like him; knowing that this man was your home, that you were his, that the connection you shared was the thing keeping you both sane, it was uniquely intoxicating. You parted for a moment to catch your breaths, but rather than leaning in for another kiss, you rested your head against Aaron’s shoulder, softly kissing a scar he had there.
“I love you. Thank you for this, I think we needed it.” You said, and Aaron hummed, pressing a kiss to your head in turn.
“I love you too. We did, just some time to be a family, away from all the stress of work and school and life.” He agreed, starting to softly sway you both, just slightly, not to any particular tune. What more could you want than this?
Tag list: @claryeverlarkf @uselessboots @cainnoable @hyperfixationthingss @queenmimi2817
If you'd like to tip me you can head over to my Kofi
I suffered through Latin class and got a great/big (?) Latinum, not even sure if there is an English equivalent to what that means in Germany, but here is my knowledge put to good use, I'd say.
Spencer Reid x reader (gender neutral)
Reader and Spencer nerd out over stylistic devices/Reader infodumps a little.
Btw Onomatopoeia "is a literary device where words phonetically imitate, resemble, or suggest the sound they describe" (Wikipedia)
"You know, ellipses are actually almost my favourite rhetorical figure. Those were like the easiest stylistic device to find in my Latin textwork, and they were still so elegant. Easy points as long as you can think of shit to interpret into the usage of ellipses in that phrasing."
You'd surprised Spencer and even yourself by actually telling him your thoughts on ellipses. You often ended up having the most random but still somehow logical and connected thoughts, obscure topics and facts you were sure no one wanted to hear about at all, but the way Spencer just infodumped was comforting. You were sure he wouldn't laugh at you for having a favourite stylistic device, or for keeping your Latin dictionary even though it wasn't very accessible in your opinion.
Spencer Reid was interrupted often enough, he'd come to terms with having to shorten his so-called lectures, not having anybody interested in what he was interested in. You, however, were different. You let him utter every thought he wanted to voice, you didn't interrupt him and you actually listened to him. Really listened.
He'd thought you were polite at best, but he noticed the way there was a silent understanding, and came to the conclusion that you probably had the same kind of thoughtpatterns, the way you needed to fidget with your hands at all times, seemed to hear any and all noises, especially those no one else seemed to hear.
He was certain it was only a matter of time until you were comfortable enough with sharing your thoughts the way he shared his, but it seemed like you'd been told time and time again that what you deemed interesting and fascinating was irritating, confusing, childish, out of place and too stupid to be listened to; so, when he took his place opposite you on the jet, he was pleasantly surprised that you'd listened to his amusement on ellipses and stylistics, and even more surprised to learn that you were comfortable enough to share your love for those stylistics with him.
"Almost your favourite?"
"Can't beat a good old Onomatopoeia if you ask me."
That's the nerdiness for tonight, thank you for reading, feedback and/or criticism appreciated :)
