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hotchs-bitch · 11 months

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4 AM

Credits: prompt idea from @foxy-eva Criminal Minds Writing Challenge! Hurt/Comfort prompt: Nowhere else to go: Person A didn't know where else to go in a time of need, so they ring B's doorbell. Betaing credits to @doctorstethoscope and @greg-montgomery- I would never post anything if you guys didn't tell me to <3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Haley Hotchner (post-slash?), Aaron Hotchner & blank slate Fem!Reader (no use of y/n) (platonic-ish)

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Unrequited love, discussions of divorce and parenting, Hotch's take on Haley leaving him, big sexy man cries a little, mentions of cases, angsty

A/N: I'm back with a song fic about Hotch's marriage crumbling, because apparently that's the only thing that can drag me out of my burnout era. Inspo song is 4 AM by Cate, and I highly recommend giving it a listen!!

Yes, this is angstier than I meant for it to be. Yes, I'm already working on a part 2 :)

Find it on ao3 here, or under the cut. Happy reading <3

Next part | Series masterlist | My masterlist

Why don’t you come over?

It’s only friendship we’ll risk

You can cry on my shoulder

If it’s her that you miss

Are you thinking of me

In a new light?

‘Cause if not wе could pretend for the night, for thе night

“Why don’t you come over for a little bit tonight?”

“It… it doesn’t even matter–”

“How long is your drive?”

Aaron’s sigh into the phone receiver is audible. You can almost picture him right now, his face screwed up in frustration and two fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose. “I’m… not far. I’m at a motel twenty minutes from Quantico. She offered to stay at Jessica’s house, but… I don’t want Jack to know what’s going on.”

This certainly wasn’t the conversation you were expecting to have when you phoned your boss in the evening, intending to apologize for the late hour and let him know that you would be sending a file to him that would need to be reviewed first thing in the morning. You were expecting a brief, rushed call. You weren’t expecting him to pocket-answer the phone so that you had an accidental front-row seat to the sound of your boss checking into a motel room for one guest.

When he finally heard your voice calling out, “Aaron!” from his pocket and realized what was going on, he had bashfully explained; another fight with Haley, a bad one. You know that they’re all bad these days, but his admittance meant that it was worse than usual. It had ended with both of them packing bags, insisting that the other stay at their house, and Hotch driving off before she could.

You can’t pretend that you aren’t a little surprised that he shared all of this without much prompting. But now, you just want to see him and know that he’s okay. You just want to make this better… but how can you do that?

Maybe it’s not your place to get involved at all. You would be the first to admit that, sure, you have a minor crush on your very married colleague, and maybe that means that you should be staying away from his marital problems with a twenty-foot pole. But if he needs help, you’re certainly going to offer it.

“I don’t want to say it, but… do you really think Jack doesn’t know? You two have been having a lot of problems, and he’s a smart kid.”

“I know. I know. But it’s not… we can work it out. We can figure something out. There’s no need to stress him out or make him think that we’re going to get a divorce. I don’t want him put through all of that, for something that won’t happen.” The pain in Aaron’s voice is as audible as his words, and the sheer emotion behind it… it just breaks your heart.

It’s your turn to sigh now, letting your head tip back and rest on the back of your couch. “Are you sure you don’t want to come over? It’s really no trouble, I promise. I’ve got a guest room; you can stay as long as you need.”

Now, there’s a familiar firmness in his tone. It’s that decisive I-know-best voice he uses when he really believes in what he’s saying. “I’m sure. I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be home by tomorrow. We’ll work this out. I… appreciate you speaking to me about this. I’m sure it’s not why you called.”

If he could see you, you would wave a hand in the air as if to say, ‘Don’t worry about it’. “Anytime, Aaron. And that offer stands, you hear me?”

This standing offer of yours might be a bad idea. What if he takes you up on it? What if he comes over, seeking your company? Your conflicting feelings for him are easy enough to set aside at work, but if he’s coming over because of his rocky marriage that’s a whole other battlefield you don’t have a clue how to navigate.

Aaron loves his wife. You know that he does. He adores her and their son, right down to his nightly phone calls with them on cases and the picture of the two that he keeps in his go bag. But sometimes, on the occasional event that he relaxes around you, you can’t help wondering if he could ever think of you the same way he thinks of Haley.

He could, you’re sure of that. He’s a red-blooded man, and even though that’s a little cliche of you, you can’t help but wish he would think of you as more than a colleague. You’re a woman who sees him more often than his own wife does, and that’s got to count for something. Does he really just view you as a colleague and friend, or… does he ever view you as something more?

Sometimes, you think maybe he does. During your last case – an abduction in South Dakota – the two of you had been canvassing together down a busy street when a biker rode past. Aaron had noticed in the nick of time, pulling you in towards him and out of the way of harm. He loves his wife more than anything, and you know that he was just keeping you from getting hurt. But for a moment, for just a split second, you had let yourself imagine that it was a gesture of more-than-friends, that he was pulling you in because he wanted to be closer to you.

So maybe this offer is a terrible, awful idea. You can admit that it probably is, but at least he doesn’t seem to be taking you up on it.

“I hear you.” There’s a bit of a smile in his voice now, as though he knows how serious you’re being and he finds it amusing. “Thank you, again. Have a nice night.”

Before you can respond, he hangs up. With a sigh, you set down the phone. It’s starting to get late now; you might as well go to sleep if he’s not coming over.

–

When you wake up, your bedroom is completely dark. Your alarm isn’t ringing on the nightstand, and when you roll over in bed you read the time on the digital clock. 3:46 AM.

So what the hell woke you up?

Your answer comes in the form of a knocking sound, loud enough to get your attention without being an obnoxious pounding sound. The noise is coming from… somewhere, so you get out of bed and slip on a robe over your pajamas to find the source of the noise.

The hunt leads you to your front door, where that steady knocking is coming from the other side. Someone is knocking on your door, at the late hour, and in a haze of grogginess and confusion, you wrench the door open.

“What is- Aaron?”

He’s standing on your step, his hand raised like he’s ready to knock again. His face… god. His face is full of pain, unimaginably pure pain, and he nods at you. “Hi. I’m sorry, I… you were sleeping. I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

His voice breaks a little, and that’s when you reach out. With one hand on his shoulder, you steer him into the house and close the door. “Are you okay? You didn’t… what?”

When you guide Aaron to the couch, he sits down without hesitation. His voice is drenched with despair when he says, “I didn’t… know where else to go. You said that the, er, offer was standing, right?”

“What? Yes, of course, it is. Aaron, what’s going on?” You sink down onto the couch next to him, watching him inhale deeply like he’s trying to ground himself. The tiny part of you that preens when he says that he didn’t know where else to go… well, you try to fight that part back. Right now, the priority is Aaron. The priority is not your ridiculous, unrealistic crush on him. “I thought you were staying at the motel tonight and going home tomorrow.”

“I did, too. Haley texted me a little while ago. She… she told me that she wants to figure out a… custody agreement that recognizes her as Jack’s primary parent. She wants to… work that out before she gets her lawyer involved.” He gives you a sardonic little smile, one that fills you to the brim with empathy as he continues to speak. “Apparently, when she said she would stay at her sister’s house, she meant indefinitely. I can expect to be served the… papers in the next week.”

He says ‘papers’ in a bitter tone, like the very sound of the word puts a bad taste in his mouth. It’s not hard to piece two and two together, and you slowly reach for his hand. He lets you take it, and you give him a moment before you ask the question.

“You and Haley are divorcing?” Compartmentalizing this has to be one of the most strong-willed things you’ve ever done. This isn’t the time for your feelings and emotions to be anywhere near the surface; not when Aaron needs you like this.

At the d-word, he flinches a little like he’s been wounded. He obviously hasn’t come to terms with the idea of it yet, and you wonder how long it’s been since she texted him. “We aren’t divorcing. She’s divorcing me.” His correction is swift, and his voice is brittle; it feels like he’s close to shattering. Seeing him like this – so vulnerable, so broken – is completely alien to you.

“Aaron…” You don’t know what to say, so you squeeze his hand. In lieu of any other words, you ask the stupidest possible question. “How do you feel?”

He laughs a little, at that. It isn’t genuine, but it’s not a cruel laugh either. It’s a little bit cynical, a little disbelieving. “I just found out that my wife is leaving me. It’s 4 AM, and I’m tired, and I can’t go home. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel, right now.”

“I know. I know, I’m sorry. It was dumb of me to ask.” You move a little closer to him, the couch cushions shifting under you until you’re almost pressed against him. “You can talk about it, if you want to. You can tell me everything that’s going through your head.”

Aaron takes another deep breath at that, and his hold on your hand tightens a little. “She isn’t happy. She hasn’t been happy, and we both knew it. I just… I didn’t think this would happen. I know she wants me around more- wanted me around, I suppose. Lately, most of our fights have been about work. Haley wanted me to leave the BAU, the Bureau if it came down to it, and I refused. And I can’t blame her for wanting a normal life, or wanting me to work at a 9 to 5, but… I can’t do that.”

His monologue has shaken every remaining ounce of grogginess out of your system. Aaron so rarely opens up, especially about personal matters. Listening to him talk like this, you could go all night long without a cup of coffee.

Come to think of it, coffee is a really good idea. Standing up, you give him a small, sympathetic smile. “I’m just going to make us some coffee. You look like you need it.”

The open-concept design means that you only move a few feet away to get to the coffeemaker in the kitchen, and you look over at Aaron as you scoop grounds into the basket. “Why can’t you leave the BAU?” Your question is soft, not accusatory.

He hears your tone, the general curiosity, and sighs. “When I was a lawyer, I prosecuted dozens of murder cases. By the time they reached my desk, it always felt like it was too late. And I wanted to, uh… stop them, before they got to my desk. We see a lot of things, you know? Jack… I don’t want him growing up in a world like this, with serial killers around every corner. I want to make the world a safer place for him. I suppose I thought that… I thought that because I’m doing it for my family, that would make it… easier for her to deal with.”

By the time Aaron finishes speaking, you’re handing him a cup of coffee. It’s sweetened with a bit of sugar and some cream; he usually drinks it black, but you know he considers any other kind of coffee to be a treat. If there’s ever been a time for him to deserve a treat, it’s now.

“You’re a good dad,” you tell him as you sink back down onto the couch with a mug of your own. “I know that you and Haley might have different ideas about what parenting should look like, but… you’re doing this because you love him. You want to protect him, and keep him safe and innocent. That doesn’t make you a monster for missing bedtime.”

It’s silent for a long moment; the only sound is both of you sipping your coffees, and then Aaron hums quietly. “I just… I never want him to know what kind of people are out there. He’s a little kid. I’m supposed to be there to tell him that there isn’t a monster under his bed. Instead, I spent his birthday in Mississippi looking for a guy who hunts his victims by actually hiding under their beds. I can’t blame Haley for being upset with me.”

You’re still trying to think of a response to that when he speaks again. His voice softens now, and when you glance over he looks away quickly. It’s not quick enough, and you still make note of the tears in his eyes that he’s obviously trying to hide. “We’ve been together since high school, you know. Graduation, college, law school… all of it.”

“I had no idea,” you murmur. You knew that Aaron and his wife were together for a long time, obviously. But to be together since high school? That’s a hefty chunk of time; it’s more than half as long as he’s been alive. “I’m sorry, Aaron. I… I can’t even imagine how you feel.”

“If it helps, neither can I. I don’t… I have no clue how I feel,” he admits, setting down the coffee cup. His gaze is still averted, but you can see the tears shining in his eyes. “Things haven’t been great for a while, and I know that. I’m not an idiot. But she’s always been there by my side, always. And now… she won’t be there, anymore.” His voice breaks a little on the last word, and it just… breaks your heart, all over again.

When you speak, it’s a little more tentative. Between his strict professionalism in the office and the reason for this impromptu 4 AM visit, you’re worried that you might be crossing some sort of line here. He’s got a wife at home; technically, he’s still married. That, and the reason for your offer is more selfish than you care to admit. But you don’t mind that as much as you probably should. After a pause, you say it.

“You can say no, but… do you want a hug?” Even as you ask the question, you start to get to your feet. Maybe to give him easy access, or maybe just so you can busy yourself with the coffee mugs if he says no.

A soft ‘oof’ escapes you when Aaron gets to his feet and hugs you tightly, like he’s just been waiting for you to ask. His arms wrap around your waist while your own come up to reach around him, rubbing his back gently in as reassuring of a manner as you can. Yes, your reason for this hug is selfish… It's selfish to take pride in the fact that you’re the one comforting him, reassuring him, and hopefully making him feel better.

You’re just about to let go – the guilt-ridden confliction of your emotions is almost too much to handle – when you feel and hear a sharp intake of breath against your shoulder, under your hand. It’s paired with the softest, most broken-sounding sob you can imagine. Aaron is trying to hold back that flood of emotion, that heartbreak that seems to surround him like it’s stuck alongside him inside an impenetrable bubble, and you tighten your grip on him a little.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, and you hope that you sound soothing. You hope that you can calm him, help him in some way. “You can let go, it’s okay. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

Aaron doesn’t respond. He’s silent against you as his face presses into your shoulder, but his back moves under your hand when he takes in another deep, shuddering breath. It isn’t until he pulls away and lowers his head that you realize that the shoulder of your robe is soaked with tears that you couldn’t feel through the layers of fabric.

His head is still down, and he wipes at his face like he can’t stand to have tears running down it. “I’m sorry,” he says after a long moment, and he turns away altogether while he presumably collects himself.

You allow him this privacy, this pseudo-solitude to wipe his face and straighten his posture and do whatever else he can to recover from his moment of sheer, sheer vulnerability. He’s starting to turn back by the time you say, “Don’t be. You’re hurting, Aaron. I want to be here for you, however I can be. If you want to talk about how much you miss her, and cry on my shoulder…” you shrug one of the aforementioned shoulders, a gesture meant to play off the tension of the moment, “Well, I’ve got two of them, so feel free. Whatever you need, okay? That’s a promise.”

With a little nod, Aaron wipes a hand under both eyes again. “I understand. I really appreciate it… I appreciate you. Just having you here, with me… it’s helped more than you know.”

A tight smile graces your face, and you pat his forearm as you step back. The coffee is starting to wear off, and you can feel the exhaustion down to your bones. It’s on his face too, in his eyes and the way they’re growing heavy with the need to sleep. “Of course. We can talk more in the morning, but I think for now you should try to get some sleep. Okay?”

Aaron straightens up, and you don’t miss the way his jaw flexes as he tries to suppress a yawn. “I think you’re right. Thank you, again.”

“There’s no need to thank me,” you promise, leading him down the hall towards the guest bedroom right next door to yours. “Just get some rest, and… tomorrow can wait. Everything else can wait, for now.”

“It can wait,” Aaron agrees with a solemn nod, his voice quiet. He thanks you once again before you step away from the door, listening to it shut before you turn off all the lights and return to your own bedroom.

By the time you slip under your blankets, you can hear soft snores floating through the shared wall. It’s still hard to tell if you’ve overstepped, or if you’ve crossed some sort of line tonight. But for now… Aaron might have Haley in his head, but he’s fast asleep in your guest bedroom. You’re going to support him through this next stage of his life. Whatever the next few weeks or months may bring, you’ll be there.

You aren’t going to change his mind on anything. If he wants to contest the divorce, you’ll be there for him. If he wants to do it amicably, you’ll ask how you can help. If he realizes somewhere along the way that you could be the one for him, you certainly won’t argue.

You’ve already waited without hope for years. If he winds up single then maybe, just maybe, he’ll think of you in a new light one day. And if not… maybe you can just pretend he will, for tonight.

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jenny-from-the-bau · 1 month

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In The Lap of Luxury, Chapter 15

Show: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Jemily

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Instead of joining the BAU after Doyle, Emily takes another undercover case with Interpol. This time, she's going undercover as herself. She's married Gabor Farkas, the American ambassador to Hungary (and a sex trafficker), in order to get information and track down the rest of the ring. Unfortunately, she's been with him for two years and hasn't found anything. Instead, she's bored, frustrated, and lonely, tired of being a trophy wife to someone who is never around. So, she hires an escort that can keep her company and give her as much sex as she wants. That escort? JJ. The thing is… Emily doesn't know that JJ is undercover, too.

Total Word Count: 78,540

AO3 Link

#this is the last real chapter #only the epilogue left!#luxury #in the lap of luxury #criminal minds #cmfanfic #cm fanfic #cmfic #cm fic #jemily #jemily fanfic #jemily fic #jemily fanfiction #emily prentiss #jenniferjareau

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demonicbaby666 · 1 year

Note

Hiya may I request

Reader is the one to find JJ bleeding out instead of Spencer. (In season 14. Pretty sure it was.) And waits by JJs bed for her to wake up.

Bedside Confessions

one shot | Criminal Minds Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: JJ x fem!Reader

Genre: Angst

Words: 1.6+

Warnings: Blood, resuscitation, Will LaMontagne

A/n: Thanks for the request and I'm so sorry it took me so long, I was just dreading watching these scenes cause poor JJ. But tadahhh here it is in all its sad glory 💔

After hearing shots fired you sprinted into the parking lot to the sight that forever altered your life. It had taken mere moments to register what you were seeing, and it wasn’t until you were next to JJ did the reality of what was happening dawn on you, the severity of it. There she lay in a pool of crimson, choking up blood as she struggled to breathe, her life force slowly leaving her body.

“JJ! Stay with me, come on.” You pleaded trying to simultaneously put pressure on her wound and call an ambulance. “JJ look at me, keep your eyes on me. I've got you okay?”

Another set of coughs echoed through the empty car park. Her gaze focussed on you, the spark was slowly draining from her ocean eyes, and her eyelids were beginning to close whilst you screamed the address down the phone and explained what was happening.

“Don’t you dare give up on me Jennifer! Help is coming, I need you to stay with me.”

Tears stung your eyes watching the woman you loved fade away right before your very eyes. Her breathing slowed until it almost came to a halt. Sirens blazed in the background, but your main focus was on JJ and the limp hand you were holding, squeezing lightly in hopes it would keep her conscious.

Tears were free flowing and streaming down your face, the image before you engraving itself deep into your psyche. Hands came to move you out of the way, your brain was fighting and refusing to let go of the blonde’s hand, but logic finally won over knowing you had to let the medics get to work if she was to have a fighting chance.

Everything happened so quickly after that, you rode in the back of the ambulance with them as they worked to stop the bleeding, meanwhile you never stopped letting JJ hear your voice, hoping it would keep her anchored and soothe her.

By the time you’d reached the hospital everyone sprang into action whilst you tried to keep up, they wheeled JJ in and were all running around spouting information from one person to the other. “Gunshot wound to the upper torso, bullet entered under left arm no exit wound, pulse is steady, breathing is shallow.”

They brought the bed to a halt and hooked her up to machine after machine. “Stats are dropping,” Then the monitor stopped. “she’s crashing.”

Eyes widened and the world stopped, you looked at JJ’s lifeless body whilst yours mimicked hers, freezing up, paling, heart stopping in your chest. Doctors clambered around her, and paddles were charged, electrical currents worked to shock her heart back into a steady rhythm.

“Clear.”

Everything was moving so fast there was barely time to be relieved before JJ was wheeled away to an operating room and a doctor was in your face asking question after question.

“What?” You asked, eyes trying to follow JJ.

“I said are you her partner? I saw a ring.”

“No, he’s not here.”

“Well, you’d better tell him to get here.” She said walking away, not quite realising the weight of her statement and the paralysing fright she’d inflicted on you. Fighting against every bone in your body you pulled out your phone and called Will.

Your knee bounced up and down, you’d given up on trying to calm yourself after the first hour of waiting. When Will had come it was near impossible to reel in your feelings, so you had just conceded and let your mind spiral and body act out.

“Agent Jareau’s out of surgery.” The exhausted doctor stood above you, half scaring you and half snapping back into reality. Her eyes searched around the room, “Is her husband here?”

“Yes, he stepped out to call their kids. How is she?”

“She’s lost a lot of blood but she’s stable.”

“Will she be okay? Can I go see her?” You asked scrambling to your feet.

“Physically she’ll recover but until she regains consciousness, we won’t be able to tell whether she’s sustained any neurological damage. And yes.”

“Will she be able to hear me if I talk to her?”

“It’s unlikely Agent y/l/n.” sorrow laced every word, and it was as though the doctor had read you like an open book, saw the pain in your eyes, the gush of anguish held within your broken heart. “I’ll take you to her room and talk to her husband to give you some time.” She said with a small sorrowful smile.

Being stood over her motionless body tugged at your heartstrings, the monitor beeped, mocking you, JJ may have been alive, but she wasn’t there with you. The only consciousness in that room was yours and it was both suffocating and empty. None of the warmth she naturally radiated was there, her face neutral, still so beautiful, but dull and stoic. Seeing her like this was enough to break you, your shoulders slumped and shook as you finally allowed yourself to emote for the first time in hours.

“I’m so sorry JJ, it should have been me. I can’t stop seeing you laying there, it me broke. I know things have been different between us ever since that night, but I need you to know-” you wanted to finish, you wanted to tell her everything, how that one single night months prior had made you feel the most alive you’d felt in years. You wanted her to know that all you could think about for the last few months was how soft her lips had been on yours, how perfect her naked clad body melded together with yours, how her ethereal moans echoed in your mind every time your head touched your pillow at night, how badly you wanted it all again. You wanted her to know you’d heard the three she muttered when she thought you were asleep.

“I need you to know that you have changed my life in so many ways. I know I pushed you away, I couldn’t handle knowing you loved me, so I ran. But I can’t lose you and I know I already have; I know I can never have you, but I can’t lose you JJ. I would rather feel all this pain of seeing you happy with Will and settle for just getting to see you smile again than have you gone. Please don’t leave me here without you.”

Your face was now tearstained and puffy, and your mouth was moving faster than your brain could keep up with, words were free flowing like never before and there was no time in between to think. Even though she couldn’t hear you, she needed to know. You had to get it out, “I love you; I think I’ve always loved you JJ.” You finally breathed out as you sank next to her on the bed, head falling into your hands as quiet sobs left your lips.

“Y/n.”

Her eyes fluttered open and held within them you saw the pain and sorrow. She’d heard. She’d heard it all. Her hand reached for yours and squeezed, she frantically began searching your eyes then looking over your face, finally her gaze settled on your lips. JJ tried to sit up, but you gently placed a hand over her chest, stopping her from making any unnecessary movements.

You kept your hand placed where it was when she settled back down, feeling her chest rise and fall, you could feel her heart pounding against her chest. It was strong against the palm of your hand, it was beating, that’s all that mattered. Memories replayed in your mind of bare flesh against your hand, feeling her fierce heartbeat in the clutches of passion, the images of that night played over and over as you stared down into artic blue eyes.

Her eyes found yours again, studying the emotions held within them, yours did the same before trailing a path to her lips. You brought a hand to her face and felt the soft warm skin, almost immediately JJ’s eyes flickered shut and a timid smile graced her lips. The room was suddenly transformed, minutes before it was cold and eerie and now it was only JJ’s homely presence that filled it, trapping you with in this very moment and encapsulating you in a blanket of mellow, balmy, temperate adoration.

Finally gathering the courage, you leant down, bringing your lips to JJ’s. They were just as you remembered, soft and welcoming. Your lips moved slowly against each other for mere seconds before hurried footsteps came from outside and you pulled yourself away. Will emerged from outside the door, practically running to JJ’s side. You quickly made yourself scarce, backing off the bed and trying not to watch as the couple embraced each other.

“I’m going to give you guys some space.” You whispered, turning towards the door.

What did you think would happen? That this would be your happy ending. You had said it, admitted the truth, you would never have her. She was with Will. Knowing the truth and accepting it were two different things, you knew that one night you had with JJ and the fleeting kiss you had just shared were all you would have but that didn’t stop you from wanting more.

As your feet carried you to the door you tried to focus on the one thing that mattered, she was alive.

With your back turned away you failed to notice that blue eyes never tore themselves from you, watching as you exited the room that was now filled with confessions of what you believed to be unrequited love.

“I love you.” JJ breathed out, and though her arms were around Will, her tear filled eyes remained on you.

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somber-sapphic · 8 months

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Flu in the FBI

〘Prompt 7 (day 8, oops)- "You're a jerk when you're sick.〙

〘Notes- Yeah, I was going to post this yesterday but I only finished it a few minutes ago. I'm probably just going to write as I have time for now, but I'll do my best to keep up with this month! Excuse the title, it's bad. Also for the editing, it doesn't exist :,)〙

〘Summary- Morgan really can't take a hint.〙

〘Word Count- 1.2k〙

〘Pairing- JJ x Sick Emily (CM)〙

〚Main Masterlist〛⌶〚Sicktember Masterlist〛

“Come on Prentiss, just a quick game!” Morgan teased, throwing a sugar packet at the brunette’s head. Emily didn’t even look up to register the “attack”, she just continued to power through her paperwork with gritted teeth.

The game he was talking about was a version of basketball in which they would try to throw as many sugar packets into a paper cup as they could in a minute. The loser usually had to take a portion of the winner’s paperwork. It was something they often did to lighten the mood of their dreary workplace.

Normally, the former Interpol agent would’ve taken him up on the challenge, but she didn’t have the energy. The slight cold she’d felt developing on the second day of the case had turned into a full-on bout of the flu, and it was kicking her ass.

Another packet of sugar smacked her on the head, but she ignored it, focusing instead on making sure her letters were even slightly recognizable. Her hands had grown progressively shakier throughout the last few hours, turning her already messy handwriting into chicken scratch.

“Not tonight, Morgan.” Emily croaked, stifling a sneeze. She was secretive about it, in fact someone who didn’t know her well wouldn’t have noticed. Reid, who was standing slightly to the side of her, only knew that she had sneezed because of the quick tensing in her shoulders and the slight bob of her head. The woman had mastered the art of being discreet.

“What, scared you’ll lose?” Derek taunted, a gloating edge to his voice. Had he been paying attention he would’ve seen the reddening around Emily’s nostrils, the glassy tint to her typically sharp brown eyes, and the ghastly pale shade of her skin. Most of the color in her face was coming from the red spots on her cheeks that had come with the spike in her fever.

“I said no.” She snapped back, her words more clipped despite the congestion. Her patience for his antics was wearing thin and she had no energy for his lighthearted teasing. Deep down the BAU agent knew that her friend meant no harm, but this illness had her short tempered and miserable. As soon as she had completed her work she planned to drive home and sleep until she was free of this illness.

“Nah, I get it. You don’t want to make a fool out of yourself in front of Spencer. Don’t worry princess, I don’t think he cares.” It may have been his own exhaustion not letting him notice Emily’s poor mood, but it didn’t matter. He had pushed her over the edge, and she wasn’t going to hold back.

“Morgan. I said no. I do not want to play your stupid game; I want to finish my fucking work and then I want to go home. What part of that isn’t clear to you?” She slammed her hands onto her desk and glared at him, trying to muster the scariest look she could. It was hard to look menacing with a runny nose, but Emily pulled it off.

The tall man stood there in shock, not having expected such a strong reaction. His confusion turned to worry as he finally realized just how sick his coworker was, but that quickly shifted to frustration. He was annoyed with himself for not noticing and annoyed with Emily for her tone. Sure, he had deserved it, but no one liked to be talked to like that.

“You’re a jerk when you’re sick.” He grumbled, walking back to his own desk.

“Oh, I’mthe jerk? You were throwing shit at my head!” Oops. He hadn’t meant for her to hear that. Emily was fuming and, more embarrassingly, felt like she was about to start crying. The stern words of her mother rang in her head, demanding that she keep her emotions in check. She could cry when she got back to her apartment.

“Hey, what’s going on over here?” JJ asked, appearing out of seemingly nowhere. Apparently the two had been louder than they realized, they had attracted a crowd. Garcia had emerged from her Bat Cave and even Hotch was hovering by the door to his office, surveying his troops.

Rossi was probably deep into his glass of Whiskey by now and couldn’t care less about the happenings of his team as long as they weren’t actively trying to kill each other.

“Nothing.” Emily whispered, sitting back down at her desk. If JJ got involved, she was going to coddle Emily and that, while a tempting idea, wouldn’t let Emily get her work done.

Unlike the others, JJ wasn’t about to let this go. She could see that not only was her girlfriend sick, but she was much sicker than she was letting on. The blonde had noticed it first when Emily had fallen asleep on the plane, but she was secretly hopeful that it was just the lack of rest during the case.

Now it was clear that it wasn’t simple tiredness, her beautiful lover was sick. JJ sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to keep her frustration at bay. She could already tell that Morgan felt bad, but in the short run that didn’t really matter. For now, she needed to get Emily home and get the fever under control.

“Alright. Em, pack your stuff. And one of you,” She jabbed her finger at Morgan and Reid, “is finishing her work. I’ll pay you back later.” The media liaison was not looking for an argument, she had said that they were doing Emily’s paperwork so they would be doing Emily’s paperwork.

“Jayje, I’m fine. I’m almost done anyway.” The brunette protested weakly, no fight behind her words. There was a very good chance that she would be dragged home, and she’d realized that she would be more than okay with that.

“Shush, you look awful,” JJ’s face softened as she looked down at the slightly pathetic woman and she reached out to stroke her cheek. It wasn’t often they showed affection in the workplace.

Even though their relationship had been approved by Hotch, the rest of the team hadn’t been told about it. Being profilers, they had probably figured it out, but no one would say anything until the two felt comfortable.

“Let’s go hun, I’ll make sure Hotch knows.” She said gently, holding out a hand Emily. The brunette hesitated for only half a second before taking JJ’s soft hand and standing with her purse over her shoulder.

With their fingers tangled together, the two women walked toward the exit and entered the elevator. As soon as the two were alone Emily dropped her head onto her girlfriend’s shoulder and coughed painfully into her hand. It sounded like she had been suppressing the fit for a while, and just let it run its course as her body shook from the force.

“Oh sweetheart. Why didn’t you say anything?” She murmured, brushing her lips across Emily’s hot temple. The brunette radiating heat and shivering simultaneously. JJ was itching to get her ill girlfriend home and into a warm bed.

“We were working.” Emily sighed, her voice raw and gravely. She shifted closer to the blonde, beginning to fall asleep standing up and JJ couldn’t help but smile. The woman she loved may be a workaholic, but at least she listened when told to. Well, to JJ anyway.

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blackbird-brewster · 3 months

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UPDATE: REQUESTS ARE NOW CLOSED (03 Feb)

I want to get back into the swing of writing, so for the first time in 10 years -- I'm opening my ask box for PROMPTS!!

Send me a CM femslash ship* and a prompt of your own making, or choose some from this list '150 prompts' Feel free to specify if you want ANGST, FLUFF, or SMUT.

* Ships I'll write for: JJ/Emily, JJ/Tara, Tara/Emily, JJ/Tara/Emily, Tara/Rebecca, JJ/Elle, Penelope/Tara, Penelope/JJ -- or any combo of these.

If you're looking for my usual pinned post about how to navigate my blog you can find it here: Welcome to Je 'Temily Garbajistan

#ask box open #writing requests #jemily #temily #jara #je t'emily #emily prentiss #tara lewis #jennifer jareau #cm fanfic

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cowboysandpilots · 1 year

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This blurb was written for @outofnowhere82 thank you so much for requesting it, it really means the world to me. <3 I hope you enjoy it and the other 2 are on the way :) Warnings: None

Pairings: Spencer Reid/Aaron Hotchner

Word Count: 551

✨Request your own $1 blurb✨ Spencer hadn't been expecting it the first time his supervisor had kissed him. If you asked Reid, it had come out of nowhere. If you asked Hotch however, he had been building up to it for quite a while. When it had happened, that had been a surprise. Spencer had been hurt during a case, of course. Maybe it was because he was the most vulnerable or maybe because Hotch wasn't as good at looking after the kid as he would want to think but Spencer was no stranger to getting hurt. It hadn't been too bad, he had only needed a few stitches on his forehead just above his right eyebrow and he hadn't even needed to stay at the hospital. The nurse said that if he was lucky, it wouldn't even leave a scar. Still, Aaron felt this need to go visit Spencer in his hotel room that night when he couldn't sleep.

Aaron knocked on the door gently, quietly, so that he wouldn't accidentally wake Spencer if the kid had been asleep. He wasn't. Spencer answered the door like he hadn't slept a wink. "What are you still doing up?" Hotch asked softly as if he wasn't also awake. Spencer called him out with a soft chuckle. "I could ask you the same question." He turned around and walked back to sit at the end of his bed, Hotch took this as an invitation to come in, while Spencer offered up an actual explanation. "Actually I uh... can't sleep. Head hurts." He shrugs. "Let me look at your stitches." Hotch offers, already taking a step forward. Spencer figures there's no room to argue so he just sits there and lets Aaron look. His breath hitches a bit when Hotch uses his finger under Spencer's chin to tilt it up and get a better look. "Hotch, no offense, but you were a lawyer, not a doctor. Do you know what you're looking for?" Spencer tries to keep his voice steady and Hotch offers nothing more than a hum in response. "Are you going to kiss it better? Because I'm a little older than Jack." It's an anxious joke, one to break the tension of them being so close, and much like a lot of Spencer's jokes, it doesn't land. Aaron barely notices it, he's in his own head, and without even registering that he's moving, he does lean down to press a kiss, not on, but beside the end of the stitches. It's obviously different than the kiss he would give Jack on a scraped knee. It's not the quick peck you'd give to placate a crying child, it's longer, more gentle and it comes with Aarons's hand moving to the side of Spencer's neck. He looks up at his boss after, eyes big with surprise and a little confusion. Hotch is looking at him with an expression that he's never seen before. Neither of the two men planned for what happened next, the way that Aaron's thumb runs across Spencer's sharp jawline before he leans down and presses a kiss to Spencer's dry, but not chapped lips. It's not until Spencer actually starts kissing him back that he realizes what he's doing and also realizes that, no matter how many rules he's breaking, he doesn't want to stop. --

(Thanks for reading! Reblogs and likes are always appreciated and of course, even if you don't want to request anything but still want to support me, I would be so grateful if you would consider buying me a KO-FI. <3)

#hotchreid #aaron hotchner x spencer reid #heid #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #cm fanfic #criminal minds fandom #writing commissions #writing requests #my writing

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prentiss-theorem · 1 year

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Back Home

Alex comes back home after a long case.

Pairing: Alex Blake x Reader

Warnings: None, I think

Genre: Little Fluffy Blurb

Word Count: 600+

A/N: Little blurb I wrote for @nightmarish-fae a while back. The prompt was "you smell nice". Contains canon dialogue from season 8 episode 22 "#6". Posted before but I accidentally deleted my old account lol

*Ring, Ring*

“Hey, you” you said as you answered your phone, a wide smile plastered on your face

“Hey,” You heard Alex’s soft voice as she replied, “Remind me why did I think working at the BAU was a good idea?”

“Because you’re an exceptional profiler and even better agent?” you said, chuckling a little at your girlfriend’s question. “Just a guess.”

Alex has been away on a case for close to two weeks now, and this was the first time you have spoken since she left. You don’t tend to make phone calls when she’s away, not often at least. Occasional text messages to let you know that she’s okay are what she prefers, and as much as you missed Alex, you understood her need for independence. But this was a nice exception to the unspoken rule between the two of you.

“How’s the case going?” You asked, full of hope that the investigation was progressing at a faster rate. “When are you gonna get home?”

“Who knows,” Alex said with a hint of sadness and exhaustion in her voice. “all the leads we’ve gathered in the past few days led us nowhere, each being a dead end”

The hope in your eyes was instantly replaced with sadness, as you realised that this is going to be, yet another night spent alone, curled up in your shared bed holding tightly onto Alex’s pillow pressed against your chest. In the moments when you especially missed her, you’d often spray some of her perfume, the smell of which brought you comfort and reminded you of the woman you loved.

*Doorbell Rings*

“Are you expecting someone at 11pm on a Wednesday night?” Alex questioned softly.

“Um, no, not that I’m aware of.” you said, slightly concerned as you truly didn’t remember to make any plans for the evening, your mind starting to spiral in all possible ways

“Maybe you should go and check it out?” the linguist said in a much more enthusiastic way.

Your eyes filled with hope, you ran to the door to open it as soon as possible. Would Alex really not tell you she’s coming back? She never did that, somehow, she was never good at keeping secrets and surprises, always being so excited she couldn’t hold it in her. When you finally reached the door, you looked through the peephole, almost not believing the sight in front of you. There she was, as beautiful as ever, standing with a huge smile on her face. The same smile that you found yourself get lost in so often. You immediately opened the door, almost jumping at the gorgeous woman standing in front of you, wrapping your arms around her neck. Never wanting to let go. You felt her smile as she pulled you closer to her, leaving soft kisses on your head.

After what simultaneously felt like hours and seconds the two of you broke the hug, Alex placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“I’ve missed you” she whispered, smiling at the realisation that she can finally hold you in her arms again. “If I ever get the idea to work for the FBI again, please shoot me.” She added, both of you chucking a little.

After chatting for a while, Alex decided to take a shower, the exhaustion from the previous days slowly taking over her. You waited for her in your in your bedroom, happy to have her back.

“You smell nice,” the linguist whispered as she joined you in the bed and wrapped you in her arms. “Is that my perfume?”

“Mhm, maybe.” You said in a barely audible whisper. She slightly chuckled, pulling you even closer to her, you let yourself melt in the warmth of her body as you both drifted off to sleep.

#alex blake #alex blake x reader #reader insert #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #ssa alex blake #dr blake #y/n fics #alex Blake fics #cm fanfic #fanfic

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 3 months

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Cover Up

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1k

Warnings: implied smut

Summary: You hooked up with someone expecting to keep him as a one-and-done. You didn't expect him to show up at your college.

Square Filled: "You are one fine specimen, and I'm not saying that because I'm drunk.” for @spencerreidbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

Shit. Shit. Shit. You’re so late. You can’t be late for your first day of college. You had a bit too much to drink last night which caused you to sleep in longer than you wanted to. You’re so late that you didn’t have time to do your makeup. Eh, you can do it when you get to school. The drive is only thirty minutes but with morning traffic, it takes forty-five.

Meet me in the bathroom by the cafeteria! Emergency! You send to your best friend.

You rush from your car all the way to the bathroom before anyone else has a chance to see how messed up you look. You have everything you need in your backpack to fix your look, and you almost cringe at yourself when you look in the mirror.

“Man, I need to stop drinking,” you shake your head.

You take out your brush and comb your hair when Madison walks in.

“Y/N?”

“Over here.”

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“I woke up late. I didn’t have time to do my makeup. I need to use yours.”

“You texted me this is an emergency. I blew off Jason just to come here.”

“Mads, this is an emergency. Look at me. I can’t go to class looking like this. I still have pimples on my face. Can I use your makeup or not?”

“Of course.” She sets her backpack on the counter and takes out the massive bag containing everything she needs for a full face of makeup. It’s a damn good thing you’re the exact shade as her. “Why’d you wake up late?”

“I was out late last night.”

“And?”

“Why does there have to be an and?”

“Bitch, I know you.”

“I had too much to drink,” you sigh.

“There it is,” she laughs. “Who’d you do?”

“Why does there have to be a guy?” you chuckle and look at her. She raises an eyebrow as if you could actually fool her. “Okay, I don’t know his name. I was too busy making out with him to ask.”

“Do tell,” she smirks. You grab an elastic and put your hair up to have it out of the way while you do your makeup. She gasps when she sees the dark purple marks on your neck. “What the fuck are those?”

“So, they’re noticeable?”

“Noticeable? It looks like he was trying to suck your blood. God damn.”

“Mads, when I tell you this man was so fine, I mean it. I thought he was shy and awkward because he had that look about him, but he was the complete opposite. He took me to the back where the bathrooms were and had his way with me. God, he was so big,” you gasp.

“Tell me you got his number.”

“His friends came and got him before we could say anything. I don’t even know his name. I had to go home and put my vibrator to good use even after the orgasms he gave me.”

“Okay, new mission in life, find that man. It’s been a while since you let someone ruffle your feathers.”

“Yeah,” you chuckle.

You grab what you need and cover your marks as much as you can. They’re so dark that the foundation can’t cover it completely, but with your hair down, it’s manageable. Once you feel like you can walk out in public, you hand everything back to her.

“Okay, we’re good to go. Thank you.”

“Anytime,” she winks.

You take one look at yourself and remember what it was like to have his hands on your body.

You’ve never done this with a stranger before. Sure, you’ve had public sex before but nothing like this. None of your flings had this much passion. You’ve only met this man not even an hour ago and his tongue is down your throat.

There is a family bathroom next to the men’s and women’s restrooms, so he shoves you into that one and locks the door behind him. He grabs your hips and lifts you so that you can wrap your legs around his slender waist. He shoves his hand between your legs as his lips trail down your neck.

“You are one fine specimen, and I'm not saying that because I'm drunk,” you moan.

All you can focus on is the way his fingers are rubbing on your clothed clit and how his lips are sucking on your neck.

“Y/N!” You snap out of your trance and look at her. “We’re going to be late. Come on.”

“Right.”

You two leave the bathroom and head in the direction of your first class, Criminal Justice 101.

“Tell me what he looks like. It’ll help me try to find him.”

“Curly brown hair, brown eyes, very tall, slim build, and he was wearing a sweater vest. Not what you’d think he’d be like. He knew what he was doing, that’s for sure,” you chuckle. “I don’t know anything about him.”

“You just know what his tongue and cock feels like.”

“Madison!” You look away once and run into someone who is reading a book. “Watch where you’re going.”

“That is no way to speak to a professor, young lady.”

You look back and see the Dean of the school escorting one of the new professors. You lock eyes with the new professor with wide eyes. He’s the man you fucked last night. He recognizes you but doesn’t say anything about it. Madison can guess what happened based on how you’re looking at him.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“No, it was my fault,” he chuckles.

“Come, Dr. Reid. I’ll show you to Criminal Justice 101.”

“Wait, you’re teaching that class?” you ask, stopping the two men from leaving.

“Yeah.”

Madison grabs your shoulders and grins at Dr. Reid.

“Lucky for us, we’re your students.”

“Can’t wait,” he chuckles.

The Dean leaves expecting Dr. Reid to follow but the young doctor leans closer to you so you’re the only one who hears him.

“It’s a shame you covered them up. I’ll just have to make more.”

Your mouth drops open as he jogs to catch up with the Dean. You’re totally fucked. It’ll make class more interesting though.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fan fic #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #cm #cm fic #cm fanfiction #cm fanfic #cm fluff

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ssahoodrathotchner · 1 year

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Comfort

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Summary: on the plane back from Alaska, you and Penelope tease Aaron and Derek

Word Count: 900 words

Warnings: fluff, discussion of the Alaska episode, stealing Aaron’s quarter zip

A/N: this team needs to tell each other they love each other more often smh . I started this fic in November of 2020 !! it’s taken me over two years to get it done !! holy shit !!

Masterlist

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The case in Alaska had been rough. On the return flight home, Emily and JJ quickly claim the couch, a soft blanket thrown over their laps as they talk no louder than a whisper. Rossi and Reid sit across from each other in the back, a glass of scotch in the hand of one, a book in the other’s, as they unwind in their own ways. You and Aaron sit across from Penelope and Derek at the larger table. Tucked under Aaron’s arm, you mirror the friends opposite from you. One of your hands stretched across the table between you to grasp one of hers and provide silent comfort.

Before getting on the jet, you had commandeered Aaron’s quarter zip for your own use—you were cold, what can you say—although it didn’t hurt that you love the way it fell over your body and smelled like him. Leaning further into his side, you look at the case report he was dutifully filling out.

He never stops, does he?

Stifling a yawn, you settle in for a long flight back home. You had a book in your bag somewhere, but you didn’t want to move; not with Penelope’s hand in yours and Aaron’s arm around you, safe. Shifting a bit more to get comfortable enough for a nap, Aaron sets down his pen to stare down at you, eyebrows raised, amused smirk on his lips.

“Sweetheart,” he says, only a little exasperated with your movement.

“Hmm?” you answer, feigning obliviousness to just how much you’re disturbing him.

He sighs and rolls his eyes before turning you slightly and then locking his arm around your shoulders and then pulling you into him with your head resting more comfortably against his chest.

“Better?” he asks with a small but knowing smile.

“I guess,” you say, scrunching your nose.

Aaron leans down to kiss the top of your head before once again picking up his pen and continuing to do paperwork. Your hand hasn’t left Penelope’s and so you turn your attention there; gently moving your thumb back and forth across her knuckles, tracing random patterns, and just squeezing it as you think.

Sinking further into Aaron—and his incredibly warm quarter zip—you reflect on the case. The fact that it was a teenager killing all the townspeople—even his best friend’s mother—was unsettling, to say the least. Suppressing a shiver, you move to lace Garcia’s fingers with your own, which she reciprocates with a squeeze, continuing to watch a movie on her laptop with Derek.

Penelope. Kind, strong, brilliant Penelope who sat with a man in his last moments, alone in the dark, because she didn’t want him to be alone. Penelope who took time to compose herself before coming back with renewed energy, determined to catch the unsub with mascara tears still on her cheeks. And you wouldn’t have been able to do it without her.

“Hey,” you say softly, tugging on her hand to get her attention. “Pen. Penelope”

She turns to look at you, making a show of looking away from the movie, which makes Derek smirk at her antics.

“Yes, my brilliant beloved agent?” she responds with a smile.

“I love you,” you say earnestly, squeezing her hand. “I love you and we couldn’t function without you.”

Her gaze softens, and you can see the tears that seemingly spring to her eyes.

“Hey,” she starts softly, “I love you too.”

“And you,” you assert, turning to Derek, “I love you.”

He smiles and huffs a laugh, “Right back at you, Princess.”

“You too, Hotch!” Penelope grins, looking to where Aaron is valiantly trying to hide his smile.

“Yeah, Hotch,” you tease, leaning into him more, “We love you too.”

Derek laughs at this point, pulling your attention to him.

“What,” you ask playfully, “Don’t you love Hotch, Morgan?”

This makes him laugh louder, Penelope joining in as you smile so hard your face hurts.

Aaron turns his attention to Morgan, schooling his expression into his usual stoic mask.

“I love you, Derek,” he states seriously, as you and Penelope burst into giggles.

Morgan quickly catches on, making his own faux-serious face, as he reaches across the table to take Aaron’s hand.

“And I love you, Hotch,” he says, matching Aaron’s tone.

You and Penelope are gasping now, the hilarity of the situation at hand mixing with the absolute devastation of the case you finished. You can feel the eyes of the rest of the team on you, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You’ve found that taking moments of levity where you can is essential to not breaking down 24/7 given that your job routinely shows you to the worst parts of human behavior.

“And I love you!” Penelope sing-songs, looking over at Spencer, “And you, and you, and you, and you!” she continues, looking at each member of the team.

You fall into laughter with the rest of the team, as you all give in to Penelope’s contagious adoration.

Aaron drops a kiss on the top of your head and you reach to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw in return, watching as the stress of the case seems to melt away from everyone.

Leaning further into Aaron’s embrace, you close your eyes, reveling in the pleasant atmosphere that’s permeated the plane.

No matter what, with these people by your side, you know you’ll be okay.

---

Taglist: @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @averyhotchner @prentisswrites @mylovelysnowflake @hqtchner @fakin-it-til-i-make-it @emlynblack @clarawatson @andromedasstarship @madamsnape921 @mac99martin @midsummernightdream @itsmytimetoodream @homoose @whosscruffylooking @agentaaronhotass @thenewnormalforensicator @myloveofcmreid @ssahotchie @romanogersendgame

#andi writes #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner #penelope garcia #derek morgan #emily prentiss #spencer reid #jennifer jareau #david rossi #criminal minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #cm fanfic

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sopeacefulandquiet · 1 year

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The First Meeting

Summary: After spending 6 months undercover working at a cafe in downtown Las Vegas, Y/n finds someone who might make her time here more interesting and maybe help her getaway.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader Word Count: ~3k Warning: N/A Genre: fluff? kinda Notes: This is honestly so bad, you can tell I had no idea what was happening as I got halfway in, I do apologise if you decide to read this and make it till the end as it makes absolutely no sense as I ran out of motivation to write it halfway through. I just really had to finish it and get it off my mind. So thank you for reading. Enjoy. Please let me know if there is any way I could improve this! Feedback is much appreciated.

Y/n didn't believe in love at first sight. She didn't understand how someone could look at a person and decide that they now loved them based solely on looks. She saw it as futile, falling in love with someone without knowing their true personality. She’d scoff just thinking about someone she knew ‘falling in love at first sight’, Y/n believed there was no love at first sight, there was only lust at first sight. Nothing more, nothing less.

Being an undercover agent heavily contributed to her opinions, she couldn't fall in love (not that she would, love was overrated in her opinion) with someone knowing that at any moment now, she would have to sacrifice her life for a country that she didn't believe in anymore. She could, however, sleep with as many people as she wanted, she could lust after people, because in her opinion lust had no such consequences as love did.

Love simply was not worth the risk.

Love at first sight was a false notion.

Love did not make people happy. She saw it firsthand with her parents.

Love left destruction in its wake, and she had no room for destruction in her life.

Y/n y/l/n was sworn off love. it had no room in her life.

Not until a certain brunet unknowingly made his way into her life.

——————————————————————————————————

Y/n grew to appreciate the little things in life. The little things in her life were what made her happy, little things that she had grown to love in the past year; the birds chirping in the morning when she woke up, her little apartment which was minimally decorated but still home, and even her old neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Rogers who would welcome her into their home and feed her until she could stomach no more.

The things she didn't have to learn to love, things that brought a smile to her face instantly were the degrees placed on her mantel, delicately framed in gold frames. At the young age of 19, Y/n had already completed two Ph.D.'s and she couldn't be more proud of herself - nor could her mother. Next to the certificates sat her most beloved possession - the only family photo she had. She would often spend hours sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, photo frame in hand, examining each smiling individual in the photo, her mother, father, and her three brothers. She wondered how they would look now, after 7 years. Would they remember her? Maybe, maybe not. Y/n, however, could remember each of them so vividly, their voices, their mannerisms, the way they’d call for her. She often imagined what life would be like if those events 7 years ago never took place.

Alas. one could not change the past. And so she’d place the photo frame back on the mantel and try not to think of it again.

Being an undercover agent at her age was hard. She was supposed to make her way into the family of the mafia boss in Las Vegas, which she had done successfully in under 2 weeks, but after informing the FBI that she had done her part, she was asked to lay low until a new case was sent her way; which she had been doing for the past 3 years. Her days became predictable, which she grew to like, school, work, home, and then repeat. Every single day. Enrolling in and attending university became almost a hobby for her, which was how she’d achieved 2 PhDs at a young age, hoping to gain her third in the upcoming year.

Working at the little cafe in downtown Las Vegas was something she grew to enjoy. She liked the way every day was almost predictable. The cafe would open at 7am every day. She’d go through the process of raising the blinds in front of the door window and turning the sign around from ‘closed’ to open. She’d take her place behind the tills with a bright smile on her face ready to greet customers, continuing conversation with her co-workers, Jayne and Andrew, who were primarily the ones making the large array of drinks they served. Y/n reveled in the predictability of the day ahead.

The cafe, being close to the center of Las Vegas, meant that it was incredibly common for customers to frequent it on a daily basis to get their morning to-go cup of coffee, but it was rare for them to stay. So when a boy - who could be no older than her - came in every day for 3 months, y/n’s interest was piqued. He’d walk in every day at exactly 3pm, and she noticed a thick book in one hand, the other clutching the strap of his satchel. He would sit in the far back corner and read. Until the closing time at 11pm. He slowly became her favourite person and knowing nothing about it (and being too afraid to ask) she would watch him intently, creating little stories in her head about him; her favorite being one about him being a child prodigy, like Mozart, but instead of being into music, he’d be into maths.

She watched him, on and off, for the past three months and each time he was looking down engrossed in his book, flipping through it at a godly speed, y/n was certain he was just looking at the pictures to keep himself occupied, for what she didn't know. Every day she watched him walk in, with a smile on her face, waiting for him to come up to the counter and place an order, but when he walked in, he’d make an immediate beeline to the table in the back, never once coming up to the counter.

He’d walked in today, with a thick book in one hand, as he always had, and y/n had been thoroughly overjoyed when she caught a glimpse of the title, Schizophrenia Genesis. it was a book that y/n had picked up for some light reading and she had thoroughly enjoyed it. She watched as he took his place at the booth in the back corner and flipped to a page he was presumably reading before and once again began flipping through it. He was such an intriguing creature and y/n … the day she would talk to him. She decided it was going to be today.

“Hey,” Jayne came up behind y/n, lightly touching her on her shoulder. She jumped and turned around, looking at her colleague who simply grinned at her.

“Andrew and I were thinking of taking our break now seeing as it's not too busy,” she said, pointing at Andrew who was standing in the door frame behind her holding two cups of coffee, “Do you want to join?”

“Yeah.” y/n nodded, “but I'm going to take it on my own if that's alright,” she continued, sending an apologetic smile towards her colleague, taking her apron off and placing it on the counter behind her, quickly washing her hands and drying it using napkins. Jayne smiled, nodding, making her way past Andrew and to the break room.

Y/n walked up to Andrew, who was still waiting at the door with a cup for her and took the cup from him, throwing a quick smile at him and mumbling a “thank you” before sauntering over to the boy she had been fascinated by, making sure to take a handful of sugar packets as she passed the condiments station.

“I really enjoyed that book. Are you sure you're even reading that?” she questioned the boy, sliding into the seat opposite him and placing down the cup of coffee in front of him, alongside the sugar packets.

The boy looked up at her and his face fell flat as he pushed his fringe back and tucked it behind his ear, his voice came out small and defensive, “of course, I'm reading it.”

Y/n nodded her head slowly, “of course you are,” she responded with a smile, pushing the coffee cup towards him.

He stared at her, his face expressionless if not for the slight raise of an eyebrow, “I can - er - read at 20,000 words per minute.” he stated, his eyes glancing down at the cup Y/n had ushed in front of him.

“Americano, it's on the house,” she said eventually, “You’ve been here an hour just reading and haven't ordered anything, you must be really interested in schizophrenia,” she joked. “ and 20,000 words, wow. Genius boy” she continued, her eyes widening at his comment, a small smile still playing on her lips.

The boy looked at her, “thank you.”

Y/n nodded at him as she watched him reach for the cup, grabbing it and taking a small swing of it, grimacing.

She slide over the many sugar packets she took and watched him pour all but one into the cup, using the straw to mix them in. He took a sip again and nodded approving at his sugar-filled drink.

“Would you like me to get some more coffee to add to your sugar?” she joked, giggling. She found the boy amusing. He couldn't be much older than her yet it seemed he was bewitched by a book - which now lay closed on the table - that was classed as a graduate-level read.

He laughed with her but stopped as Y/n gasped, her hand covering her mouth as her eyes widened.

“I didn't even introduce myself, my name is y/n,” she started, outstretching her hands towards him, “but Y/n/n is fine, that's what everyone else calls me.” the smile that was present when she first sat in front of him, found its way back onto her face.

The boy simply stared at her hand and nodded, “I'm Spencer.”

Y/n put her hand back down and nodded her head,

Spencer nodded his head, awkwardly, taking a sip of his coffee before looking back down at his book and continuing to read.

She watched him for a few minutes, before looking up at the clock on the wall and gasping. Y/n slid out of the booth, pushing herself to her feet, “my breaks nearly over, we can do this again… if you want to that is…” she trailed off, apologetically.

“Okay.” he replied simply, giving her a quick glance before returning his attention to the book of which he was half way through.

Y/n nodded her head before taking her apron off the counter she had left it on and putting it on, taking her place behind the counter, which seemed to be incredibly good timing, as a customer had just walked in.

——————————————————————————————————

it had quickly become a daily occurrence. Spencer would walk in - with a different book - every day, and sit in that exact booth (as he always did) and she would make him a coffee and sit with him during her breaks. Keeping each other company as they made small talk, usually updating each other about their day so far. As Spencer became more comfortable with her, he would ramble on about statistics and facts about what she had been telling him about, and she loved it, listening intently every time.

A week turned into a month and a month tuned into an entire year and the two quickly became friends, despite barely even knowing the basics about each other.

This day was as normal as any other day, Y/n had assumed, until she had watched Spencer bite his lip and fiddle with the corner of the page he was reading, taking glances up at her every once in a while, as she stood at the counter.

She kept her eyes on the clock and as soon as her break time was displayed on it, she pulled her apron off - throwing an apologetic look towards the customer who had just shown up, and hollering for Jayne for came quickly and took y/n’s place at the counter - placing it on the chair in the back room, and practically running towards spencers booth, taking a seat parallel to him.

Y/n leaned back in the seat and watched the way he pushed back his long brown hair that fell in front of his face, before looking up at her and smiling - she of course reciprocated that smile.

“Have you ever thought about cutting your hair? Just a bit shorter, of course, just to keep it out of your face… you know, since you keep pushing it back and it might just be eas-”

“i haven’t actually,” he stated, cutting her rambling short, the smile still resting on his lips.

She smiled back at him, mumbling a little sorry, which he shook his head at.

“I’m- er - I’ve been recruited to join the FBI,” he mumbled quickly, “and er- I'm leaving in a month's time,” He looked at her sheepishly.

She looked at him incredulously, “The FBI? Why? Aren't you a little too young? I mean, you have 3 PhDs, don't you want to do something else?”

Spencer closed his book before sitting up straight and shrugging, “um- well- yes. I’m only 22 and I got offered a position with the behavioral analysis unit, so I er- thought why not. Maths and statistics and such things don't feel complex enough, so I think it’ll be a challenge, you know, Dissecting the human brain… in a philosophical sense”

She nodded along, “So you’ll be moving to Virginia then, I'm guessing”

“They're sorting out an apartment for me in D.C, so I’ll just have to take the subway to Quantico. Or get a car.” He shrugged

“Oh.”

She looked at him, giving him a small smile.

She didn't know how to feel. She felt happy for him at first, he was moving up in the world, and doing something she knew he was going to enjoy - Spencer liked puzzles and always complained to her how easy they were - picking apart the human brain and finding the unsub, such a job seemed to be right up his lane and she was truly happy for him. At the same time, she felt hurt, he was the only real friend she had. He was going to be so far from her. She wouldn't get to see him every day. She wouldn't see his smile when she complimented him on his outfits, or the slight roll of his eyes when she teased him about actually being able to read the book he brought in. She wouldn't see him for who knows how long, and she wasn't ready for this change. She wasn’t ready to lose the one person she could call a friend, not yet anyway but she would tell he was happy - no matter how nervous he was - and excited and so she didn't want to burst his bubble.

Y/n smiled at him, wide, and tried to convince herself that she was happy for him.

——————————————————————————————————

The next week, Spencer showed up at his usual time, the same book from the day before clutched in his hand, and took a seat at his usual spot.

Y/n sighed as she watched him. She was going to miss this - being able to look over at the corner and see her friend was something that made her smile. The simple thought that she had a friend despite having to live in secrecy made her smile. And so when she saw him simply place the book on the table and not even open it as he looked up at her, she left her place at the counter and slid into the seat opposite him, wanting to spend as much time as possible with him before he left.

Spencer smiled at her not saying a word as he took in her appearance, printing this image of her into his mind, knowing he possibly wouldn't get to see

it was also when y/n l/n decided, she didn't have to live like a recluse to fulfill her duties. She too was allowed to have a little bit of happiness, and as she shook Spencer Reid’s hand, she knew; he was going to be her happiness. And as she watched his eyes crinkle, and the corners of his mouth turn upwards, she decided; She would leave this life and she too would try to be his happiness.

She didn't know what came over her when the words fell out of her mouth.

“Let me come with you.”

Spencer stared at her, his mouth opening and closing as he thought of what to say, “I- er- What?”

“I know it's kind of weird, scratch that, it's incredibly weird, but you're like my only friend and I know we won't be able to talk when you were gone. Actually, we’re not even meant to be talking no-” she started rambling, and was very thankful when he cut her off.

“I couldn't possibly ask that of you.”

Y/n exhaled thankfully when she realised he didn't pick up on what she had blurted out at the end, thanking her lucky stars silently.

“You're not asking me, I'm asking you. If you let me, I want to come with you.”

Spencer stared at her, his face expressionless, “I don't even know what to say…”

“I promise I won't be a burden. I’ll get a job..” she started, she was thinking about putting her degree in medicine to good use, “and I’ll help finance everything… I promise.” she was begging at this point, sounding so desperate, even though she was shocked with herself.

Taking a drink of his coffee, which was cold at this point, Spencer sat deep in thought for a few minutes, y/n staring at him expectantly.

Slowing nodded his head he started, “Okay, I guess you can come with…”

Y/n didn't know what came over her as she leaned over the table pulling Spencer into a hug, whispering thank you’s into his ear as he stood awkwardly, having been pulled up forcefully, keeping his hands to the side, clutching his coffee cup not wanting any to spill.

Y/n let go of him when she realised what she was doing and awkwardly dusted off his shoulders, patting his arm twice before muttering a “thank you” and “text me the details of when we leave” before walking into the staff breakroom, trying to come up with discrete ways you could hand in your resignation.

To say she was excited was an understatement. She couldn't wait to leave the uneventful Las Vegas and go somewhere new, no matter how much she liked the predictability of her every day, and she couldn't wait to start a new life in Washington D.C. with her best friend.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #cm fanfic #cm fic

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hotchs-bitch · 1 year

Text

Hold On

Summary: When a case hits a little too close to home, it’s time for Aaron to face the music and be honest about his feelings after the breakup

Pairing: Hotch x blank slate Fem!Reader (no use of y/n), Hotch x Beth mentioned, Emily Prentiss x mentioned oc (aka @leftoverenvy)

Word count: ~12k (the girl cannot shut up) (it’s closer to 13 but it’s worth it I swear to god it is)

Warnings: hotch pov, case-compliant violence/injuries, mentions of suicide, mentions of pregnancy & pregnancy scares, domestic actions without fluff, relationship talk/references to relationship, angst angst angst, deep delving into their feelings, this is basically a case study, I once again leaned way too heavily on song lyrics so pls listen to it

A/N: As Taylor Swift said…. Dear reader, if it feels like a trap, you’re already in one. Mwahaha. Anyways I hope you enjoy this. Massive shoutout to @munsons-curls and @doctorstethoscope for fixing my many mistakes and validating me, and to everyone who has let me take them on this little ride. I can’t express how much I’ve enjoyed writing this fic, or how excited I am to write the epilogue

Find it on ao3 here and as always, happy reading <3

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—————

There's so many dreams that we have given up

Take a look at all we've got

And with this kind of love what we've got here is enough

So hold on to me tight, hold on, I promise it'll be alright

'Cause we are stronger here together than we could ever be alone

Just hold on to me, don't you ever let me go

Once upon a time, Aaron had considered himself lucky. He had a steady job, as dangerous as it was fulfilling, with the BAU. He had a son, energetic and joyous despite all he’d been through. He had you, beautiful and strong and endlessly supportive of him. He had a version of the life he had always wanted, the normalcy of family game night and someone else making Jack eat his veggies. It had been perfect.

But then, he’d screwed up. Hadn’t he? He had opened up, just a bit too much, and told you something you didn’t want to hear. Scared you off.

Instead of spending the rest of his life with you, as he’d planned, Aaron found himself alone. He tried not to blame you, tried not to feel bitter about the inevitable result of finally opening up to someone so wholly.

He bit back every thought of how conditional your love turned out to be, every scathing remark about how Biometrics was one of the most useless departments in the Bureau. He pretended not to care when he overheard that you were dating again, courtesy of JJ and Prentiss’ water cooler gossip.

He’d done what Aaron Hotchner always did; he’d buckled up, lifted his chin, and done what was expected of him. He’d found a nice girl, one that fell for him quickly, and he wished he could return the depths of her affection. He’d continued to work, putting away bad guys with Morgan and Reid while missing the easy way you’d always been able to read his mind in the field.

He moved apartments as soon as it became apparent that the ghost of you would never leave; he just wished that it hadn’t followed him, haunting him with thoughts of you dancing around the new stainless steel kitchen, or flopping onto the brand new suede couch.

He’d done what you asked him to, two years ago when you’d walked away from him and left him to pick up the pieces of his son’s broken heart and ignore his own.

Everyone has a breaking point, though. Aaron, to his credit, hadn’t reached it many times in his life.

There was the first time his father hit his little brother; the first time Aaron fought back. Open-handed slaps, broken noses, Sean screaming. He had never regretted it, not even when he wound up in the hospital that night.

There was George Foyet, dead on the blood-soaked carpet after a blur of a fight. Bloody knuckles, blurry vision, Haley’s blood flecked on her killer’s face. He’d do it a hundred times over if he had the chance.

There was the breakup, the one that simultaneously snuck up on him and had been inevitable. Crumpled flowers, Aaron yelling, you packing your desk. If he hadn’t snapped, would you have stayed?

And then there were the breaking points Aaron never expected to reach.

Leaving for a case the day you broke up with him, only to return to a half-empty apartment. Empty closet, the ‘hers’ sink from the his-and-hers themed bathroom scrubbed clean, your favourite mug left in the dishwasher. He had shattered the mug, thrown it off the balcony where you liked to drink your coffee in the mornings.

The first time you’d come along on a team outing after the breakup. Laughter, avoiding glances, ignoring how good you looked. He had taken home the first woman who caught his eye that night, learned her name- Beth- and given her a place in his life, like that would solve anything.

No matter how many breaking points he experienced, Aaron could never be sure about when the next one would occur. His saving grace through it all was that at least he could keep his composure at work.

Where Aaron failed, Hotch wasn’t allowed to.

Maybe that’s why it’s such a shock when the team gets news of a bombing in New York, just days after Emily’s wedding, and Hotch nearly keels over at his desk.

You’re in New York.

— — —

The drive to the airstrip is a blur; the whole team is worried, of course, but Aaron can hardly see straight until he’s on the plane with a file in his hand and Emily is squeezing his arm.

He remembers giving a quick and quiet order to Garcia, to call you and find out if you’re okay, and it doesn’t help his nerves that all she could tell him was, “Her phone is off.”

“She’s okay, you know,” Emily murmurs, discreet enough that no one else can hear. “It’s a big city. She’s just fine. We’ll catch this guy, and then you can see her. We just need to work the case first.”

Aaron- Hotch, now- takes a deep breath and does his best to hide that those words are exactly what he needs to hear right now, even if he doesn’t plan on seeing you. She’s right; they just need to work the case. “Alright. Okay,” he says a little louder, “What do we know?”

“Not much,” Morgan frowns at the file in his hand. “A bomb went off at The Vessel. It was a structure, I guess, but no one was allowed inside and that’s where the bomb was. Makes sense with the casualty numbers- Seven wounded, two dead.”

“Probably nearby tourists, taking pictures with it,” Prentiss says thoughtfully. “Maybe he’s sending a message to outsiders, but didn’t want a high body count.”

“That could be it,” Rossi agrees. “‘Stay out of my city’.”

“There’s been no communication to any news outlets so far,” JJ chimes in. “I don’t think we’ll learn much more until we get there and have a chance to check out the scene.”

Reid adjusts a few papers so they align, most of his attention focused on the task. “You know, most seemingly random bombings have a high chance of being followed up with a string of serial bombings, for a number of reasons. Sometimes the unsub gets addicted to the attention, or the feeling of killing, or the initial bomb doesn’t impact the intended target,” he continues, not noticing the look Rossi is shooting him.

Hotch takes a deep breath and tries to push back the feeling in his chest that resembles a brick being crushed into his sternum. “Alright. JJ is right. There’s not much more we can do with no signature and no other bombings. Everyone, just try to relax; I have a feeling we won’t be getting much rest in New York.”

He watches as the team follows his instruction. The tension is palpable but they know there’s nothing they can do; the waiting is everyone’s least favourite part of the job. Still, they try to relax. Morgan pulls on his headphones and closes his eyes, JJ and Reid start to play cards, and Prentiss and Rossi re-open their file folders to review case details.

As much as he’d like to do the same, Aaron can’t bring himself to move. He sits there, head against the window, and he wonders if you’re okay. Were you caught in the blast? Did you become one of Reid’s bombing statistic numbers? Or are you perfectly fine, content somewhere in the city with no idea that Aaron is on his way there?

He wonders, briefly, against his will in a moment dripping with guilt, which potential is worse.

———

Aaron Hotchner is something of a practiced master at hiding his agony. Maybe that’s why his voice is so level when the plane starts to descend, and he finally speaks to do the one thing he knows how; direct his team.

“Morgan and Rossi, go to the bombing site. See what you can find. Prentiss, head to the hospital with Reid and start talking to victims, and JJ, see if any news outlets have been contacted yet. We’ll meet at the station later.”

As though on cue, Garcia’s computer screen against the wall of the jet lights up. The tech analyst looks a bit paler than usual, and Hotch crosses his fingers and chalks it up to bad lighting until she speaks.

“Sir, there was another bombing. Three minutes ago, in a grocery store near the Village. There’s no casualty numbers yet.” She looks like she might cry now, and it’s not hard to figure out why.

“A grocery store is a serious escalation,” Rossi says, opening the file folder he’d just closed. “There’s locals, long-stay tourists, families shopping. Big jump from a tourist trap.”

“So we know he’s not possessive of the city. At least, he isn’t just trying to get rid of perceived outsiders,” JJ offers, and Morgan shakes his head.

“If this guy is looking for the homey-cozy ‘love thy neighbour’ deal, he’s not about to get it in New York no matter what he bombs,” he points out.

When the plane jostles them all a little, Hotch takes the moment of silence to re-assess assignments. “Garcia, is search and rescue at the second bombing site?”

“Yes. Well, sort of. The team is split between doing recovery at both locations,” she says, and one nod from Rossi means Hotch doesn’t hesitate to reassign.

“Morgan, you’re with me at the new site. We’ll be assisting with search and rescue before anything else. Rossi can handle the first scene by himself. Everyone else, stay as assigned.”

“Hotch, are you sure about that? I might be able to…” On what was probably going to be an offer of how he can assist at the original scene, Morgan falters. Of course he does. There’s nothing to be done when the bomb’s already gone off.

“I’m sure. There are people out there, and they deserve to be saved.”

———

When the plane hits the tarmac, his team is ready. It’s like watching a well-oiled machine, the way they pair off and head off to their assigned zones. The only pause is between Aaron and Rossi, when he grabs his friend’s arm on the way off the plane. “Dave…”

“I’ll tell you if she’s there,” Rossi promises, and then he’s gone in a black SUV while Hotch climbs into one with Morgan and heads to the Village bombsite.

“So, search and rescue,” Morgan says, raising his voice to speak over the sirens that Hotch has turned on. “Are we heading in, or assisting from the sidelines?”

“According to Garcia, the ambulances aren’t able to make it out to the grocery store. There’s too much rubble blocking the roads that aren’t under construction, and it’s New York traffic in addition to the media outlets swarming the place.” Hotch lets out a concentrated breath. “It’s going to be all hands on deck. Look for survivors, get them to an ambulance.”

“Got it.” The second Hotch throws the car into park, Morgan is sliding out of his seat and onto the sidewalk. Both men make their way through the media storm, past the ambulances that managed to park closer than they did, and into the store.

Search and rescue is there already, along with the SWAT team. They’re moving debris, lifting fallen shelves, and occasionally carrying people out to the ambulances waiting for them.

Hotch sets into motion instantly. He breaks off for the frozen food aisle where he doesn’t see anyone searching. “Is anyone over here?” He calls out, but there’s no answer.

The bomb must have come from across the store; there’s less debris here, but the shelves are twisted and collapsed all the same. Shattered glass from the freezer doors covers the ground, and he tries to avoid it as best he can as he walks down what once was an aisle.

He steps around stray items- a warped metal freezer door frame, a pile of frozen pizza boxes, pints of melting ice cream- while keeping his eyes trained for any sign of another person anywhere.

When he finally does see something, it makes his adrenaline spike. It’s a leg, poking out from under a freezer shelf. If he has to venture a guess, he’d say that someone is pinned under the bent freezer frame, but whether they’re merely unconscious or dead remains to be determined.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” Hotch raises his voice a little and gets closer to the figure. He can see the leg a bit more clearly now, and a hand poking out from under the side of the freezer. The fingers twitch slightly. Thank god.

The sweatpants the person is wearing look vaguely familiar, and Hotch can’t place them until he sees the image of Nemo on them, and it clicks. As soon as he realizes, his stomach drops. His hands go clammy, the blood rushes from his face, and it’s all he can do to stay on his feet.

When the dizziness hits him, he wants to throw something and scream and maybe sink down onto the floor and cry, but he can’t.

He can’t, because he remembers when Penelope made sweatpants out of quilts for everyone on the team four Christmases ago. He can’t, because she’d had more than enough Disney quilt for two pairs, and had given you and him matching pants.

He can’t, because he recognizes those pants because they’re in his closet at home, but the only other person who owns a pair like this, obviously handmade, from a quilt covered in Disney characters, is…

It’s you.

Aaron can’t help himself, couldn’t stop it if he wanted to; he turns his head, bends over, and throws up on the grocery store floor, on layers of glass and rubble and thawed boxes of Pizza Pops. Right there, staring at your leg and hand, Aaron almost breaks.

But where Aaron has chinks in his armour, Hotch has none. Hotch is the one who takes a deep breath and wipes his mouth and straightens up, the one who uses every bit of strength to lift a warped freezer shelf up and reveal you, with a mangled wrist but looking generally otherwise unharmed.

You look terrified.

Not that Hotch can blame you, of course.

“It’s alright. You’ll be okay,” he says, and he doesn’t know if it’s Hotch or Aaron talking, because he sounds calm but he has no idea what happened or how hurt you are. “Were your neck or back hurt? You need to answer me.”

You’re looking up at him, gaze half-lidded, and he doesn’t know if he should be scared or relieved when you shake your head and croak out, “They’re fine.”

He knows it’s risky, knows he should call for Morgan or a member of SWAT or anyone with a gurney to transport you safely. But you’re in front of him, dazed, grimy and half-conscious with your wrist bent at an angle, and all he can do is pick you up and hold you close to him. “Hold on,” he instructs, and he feels your arm wrap around his neck.

“Aaron…” you whisper, and he strains to hear you as he makes his way towards the doors with you in his arms. No words follow, though, and he looks down to see you crying against him, silent with tears slicing through the coat of dust on your face. Your arm starts to slip, and he squeezes you a little.

“We’re going to get you out of here,” he promises, “But you need to stay with me. You’ve probably got a concussion, so don’t close your eyes. Hold onto me, tight. I’ve got you.”

When your grasp tightens again, he resumes moving towards the exit. The first breath of fresh air must invigorate you, because he feels you tighten your grip even more. “Aaron,” you repeat, less feeble than before, but he doesn’t want you wasting an ounce of energy.

“I know, but it’s going to be alright,” he shushes you as gently as he can until you arrive at the ambulance, and he passes you off to two paramedics who slide you onto a gurney.

He tries to step back but your hand shoots out and grips his dirtied suit with more strength than he thought you had. “Will you visit? At the hospital?”

The correct answer is no. No, there’s a case to work. No, you’ll be fine. No, we broke up and that’s weird. “We all will,” he promises instead without a hint of regret. “Just let them take care of you, and we’ll be by when we can.”

Relief shines in your eyes, and it’s the last thing he notes before your grip loosens on him and you’re wheeled up into the ambulance.

A minute or so passes before Aaron senses someone behind him and turns to see Derek, who’s watching the road the ambulance disappeared down. “She’s gonna be okay,” he says to Aaron, offering him a nod of support.

Hotch doesn’t know who he’s trying to reassure.

— — —

They reconvene at the station a few hours later, and Aaron sits mostly silent while his team discusses victimology, motives, and the chemical makeup of each bomb. He tries to contribute once or twice, but he falls quiet every time he recalls the way you’d looked up at him.

There had been fear in your eyes, of course. You’d been in a bombing, and he knows how natural fear is after traumatic events. But there had been recognition there too, a solemn kind. He wonders to himself if you wish anyone other than him had found you and brought you to safety, or if he’s worrying about nothing.

You’re safe now, and that’s what’s important. Even if you recover and stay in New York and Aaron never sees you again, at least you’re safe.

Who is he kidding? He can’t go along with never seeing you again, safety be damned. And yet…. He clenches a fist, ignoring Morgan and Reid’s discussion about chemical compounds. And yet, you’d been so close to dead. An aisle or a footstep away, and you could have been ripped away forever.

It makes him sick to think about.

He’s thinking so hard about it that he’s got no idea how long he’s had his gaze fixed on the table before JJ’s sharp “Hotch!” breaks through and gets his attention.

He clears his throat, embarrassed to be caught off guard. “I’m sorry. I was… elsewhere.”

“Did you hear what Emily said?” She asks, and he shakes his head. When he makes eye contact, JJ’s features soften. “You should go see her.”

“No. No, that’s unnecessary. We have a case to work,” he says, and Morgan scoffs at that. “We need to work it like any other case.”

“Any other case? Hotch, you carried her to the ambulance! It’s first aid 101. She could have had a broken spine, and you threw protocol out the window,” Morgan says, staring his boss down. “This isn’t any other case. You guys were in love, man. Go see her.”

Hotch sighs, wishes that the floor could open up and swallow him. Of course he wants to see you, buthe needs to catch the person who did this, first. “It’s not my priority. There are people dying, and we need to stay focused on that. I told her that we would all come visit her after the case is closed.”

“We are focused,” Emily points out. “You aren’t. You’re not helping anyone like this. Just go talk to her, see how she’s doing.” When Aaron opens his mouth to protest again, she cuts him off. “I’m not saying you should live at her bedside or propose to her, but just go say hi. It’s going to help both of you.”

When he looks to his right, Rossi has one eyebrow up. “You know you aren’t winning this one, right?” he asks, and Hotch sighs again. “Bring the girl some flowers, too.”

Aaron closes his file and stands up. “I’m not bringing her flowers,” he mutters. “I’ll be back in forty-five minutes. If anything else happens, keep me updated.”

——

When he gets to the hospital, flowers in hand, Aaron finds your room almost immediately. He knocks twice on the door, is greeted with a soft, “Come in.”

“Hi,” he says gently, leaving the door open. He watches, waits while you do a double-take like you can’t trust your own vision when Aaron Hotchner is standing at the door.

“You came,” is your response, and he can’t decide if your voice is coloured by exhaustion or disbelief. Maybe it’s both, but he doesn’t like the idea of not being seen as dependable to you, even now.

Encouraged slightly, Aaron takes a further step into the room. Maybe you do want him here, and you weren’t delirious when you asked him to visit. “You asked me to; of course I came. How do you feel?”

While he waits for an answer, he observes you. You’re in a fresh pair of clothes, and before he can enquire about it you’re speaking.

“I’ve been better.” You hold up one arm in a cast. “But I’ve just got this and a concussion, so it could be worse. Remember that case in Kansas where I broke my leg? That was way worse.”

Aaron shakes his head, wanting to scold you for speaking so lightly of an event that had very genuinely terrified him, but he stops himself. It’s not his place. In lieu of conversation, he raises the vase of flowers slightly.

“I, uh, brought you these.”

In the two long years that you’ve been gone, Aaron has never stopped reading human behaviour. More than anything, he has experience with your body language, and he looks over you with a familiar eye.

He sees the tension in your shoulders, your eyes narrowing slightly in the direction of the arrangement, and he knows that you’re remembering the last time he brought you flowers. “Thank you,” you say after a pause that’s almost too long. “What kind are they?”

“They’re Gladioli,” he says, and the words are fully out of his mouth before he remembers that he should have lied.

When you were dating, he had always brought you flowers. On your birthday, when you solved a case, when you just felt down; Aaron was there with a bouquet, one that always meant something. Celebration, or supportive love, or some other flower language message that he knew you would understand even when he couldn’t say it out loud.

He’s pretty sure that by the time you broke up, you had memorized the whole flower dictionary. But it’s possible, he hopes, that you never came across the Gladiolus flower. Hope. Love. Remembrance.

Why he bought them, he can’t say for sure. Maybe old habits die hard. Maybe he wants to know what you’d do if you recognized the flowers.

When you finally speak, it’s with an indecipherable voice. He’s got no idea whether or not you know what these flowers mean. “They’re beautiful. Can you just put them there?” You point one finger at the windowsill, and he follows your directions to place the vase down.

“Of course.” He sets the flowers down in a beam of sunlight, adjusts them this way and that until he’s satisfied. Once he stops moving, a heavy silence falls over the room.

What is there for you to discuss?

He’s racking his brain looking for something, anything, to talk about, until you speak bluntly.

“What do you know about the bomb?”

“What?” He hadn’t even considered that you might want to talk about the case. You’re a former agent of his unit, so ethically, it’s fine to discuss this with you. Still, he’s concerned about the trauma to your body and mind. Before he can speak again, or protest, you’re already talking.

“The bomb,” you repeat. “Do we know who it was placed by? Is it connected to any other bombs? What was it made with?”

This is familiar. This is okay. This is something Hotch knows how to talk about, even when you’re laid up in a hospital bed and he’s only talked to you a handful of times since you broke up two years ago.

At least it’s not awkward anymore. He can read it in the way you sink back into the bed, and how his own shoulders release a bundle of tension that’s been there since he initially heard that there was a bombing in New York this morning.

“We’re still trying to figure that out,” he admits. “It was made with the same chemical compound as the one that blew up The Vessel this morning. It was a homemade compound, nothing that could have been acquired naturally without extensive knowledge of bombs.”

“The Vessel? That’s a tourist attraction.” You sit up, but Hotch shakes his head.

“A closed one,” he corrects. “People just go there to take pictures outside the structure, now. That’s why there’s such a low body count.”

“Well, yeah, but it’s not just closed. The Vessel is the attraction that closed after a string of suicides,” you say, and Hotch’s head snaps up in attention. “It was a big thing on the news. Have you looked into anyone related to any of those suicides?”

“No, we haven’t.” He’s already fumbling for his phone. “I’m going back to the station. Just… keep us updated on your condition, okay? We would all like to know how you’re doing.”

“Absolutely not.” Hotch can’t decide if he’s more annoyed, impressed, or concerned when you stand up. “I’m coming with you.”

“You aren’t a part of the BAU anymore,” he reminds you. “You made that choice.”

“Yeah, well, there weren’t any lives at stake. He went after a grocery store, Aaron! What’s next, the Empire State Building? Times Square?” You grab your bag of possessions collected from the bombing and rustle through for your purse. “Did you drive here?”

“You can’t come with me. You’re in the hospital for a reason.”

“For a concussion! People are dead.” You stride towards the door, holding your purse and jacket in the hand that doesn’t have a cast around the wrist. “Can you bring the Gladioli, please?”

Is he caught? Do you want to bring them because you know what they mean, or just because they’re nice flowers? With a sigh, Aaron picks them up and pulls his car keys out, knowing that you’ve won this one. “We aren’t putting your name on any reports,” he warns, taking your jacket and bag of possessions in his other hand. “Strauss would kill us both if she thinks I’m borrowing agents from other units.”

“I don’t need credit. But we need to find this guy, before he hurts anyone else.”

———

When Aaron gets back to the station, he thinks that his agents probably expected him to come back with something like Thai food, or information about a new bombing.

They likely weren’t expecting him to bring you with him. Or maybe they were, because the response of greeting waves and murmured ‘hello’s are less surprised than he had expected.

“How are you feeling?” Prentiss asks casually, but Hotch can see the flicker of panic in her eyes when she glances at your cast.

“I’ve been worse. Listen, Aaron told me about The Vessel…” you start talking to the team as Hotch calls Garcia to loop her in, and suddenly everything feels more normal than it has in two years.

When you’ve finished filling the team in, Hotch starts to speak. “Garcia, we’re going to need history on the deaths that occurred there before it was closed down. Rossi and Prentiss, go through medical reports. Reid, I want you going through any written notes or other evidence found with the bodies.”

While he talks, he notices you slipping out of the room out of the corner of his eye. Morgan grabs his phone and calls Garcia, trying to help her comb through articles for a list of suicides that occurred at The Vessel.

Hotch sits down with Reid, paging through suicide notes and crime scene photos sent by Garcia until he feels like his head is spinning.

That’s right around when you come back, your presence subtly announced with a cup of tea placed in front of Hotch and a gentle squeeze of his shoulder as you pass.

When he brings the cup to his lips, he smiles. It’s English Breakfast tea with a dash of sugar in it; his beverage of choice when it’s too late in the day for coffee. “Thank you,” he says, and you just give him a grin before going to assist Rossi and Prentiss.

After a few minutes of idle work and murmured discussion, Derek shushes everyone and puts his phone on speaker. “Okay, baby girl, tell us something good.”

“None of that, crime fighters. After a truly depressing deep dive through news articles, I’ve got 37 names belonging to people who… you know, died at The Vessel.”

“That’s not workable,” JJ remarks, “We need to narrow it down.”

“We said he has a protective, low body count style. Could be the family member of a suicide victim. One who doesn’t have the guts to cause the maximum amount of carnage,” Rossi suggests.

“That’s good,” Hotch hears himself say, like he’s hearing it from a distance. “A parent would show aggression. Garcia, look for suicide victims with surviving siblings in the area. Focus on the ones with older siblings.”

The click-clack of her keys is the only audible sound before she reports, “16 left. Still too many names.”

“Do any of them work in auto mechanics, or in proximity to cars?” Reid asks. “There’s a specific compound in the bomb that’s almost impossible to come by unless you have access to garage-grade chemicals or a specialized lab, and the lab is unlikely for him.”

“Two names. Anything else?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Hotch sees you perk up. “Did any of the victims work at that grocery store?”

“Uhh…. One! He wasn’t on our list of two, but his name was Jackson Moyer.”

“Wait, I’ve got something here.” Reid sorts through papers- suicide notes and similar images sent from Garcia, and Hotch doesn’t know when he had time to get them printed out- until he pulls out a sheet of paper. “Jackson Moyer. It says in the note that his girlfriend broke up with him on the same day he got fired.”

Emily leans over to look at the note. “It’s dated nine months ago.”

Nine months. “She was pregnant,” Hotch blurts out, and a heavy silence falls over the group.

Moments later, Garcia gives the confirmation. “Nora Carr, Jackson’s girlfriend, had the baby…. Three days ago, but she gave it up for adoption,” she reports.

“Right before the bombings started.” Rossi’s observation sits heavy for a second until you speak again.

“Back to the victim. Does he have a surviving family member matching the description?” You hold the end of a pen in your mouth, worrying it between your lips while you look at your files. “A sibling or close cousin, maybe.”

There’s a moment of typing before Garcia says, “Bingo. His older brother, Jeremy. It looks like they were really close growing up; same sports teams, friend group, classes, you name it. He doesn’t work at any kind of auto shop, though. He works in retail.”

“He felt betrayed when his brother killed himself,” Hotch starts.

He’s caught off guard when you continue his train of thought for the first time in two years. The ease with which you take over his idea is one that he’s missed; sometimes, when he’s having difficulty going somewhere with a profile, he misses working with you. It’s like you hold the other piece of the puzzle.

But now, even if just temporarily, you’re here and you’re fitting the puzzle piece into place

“And he saw giving away Jackson’s child as the ultimate betrayal. Does he have a boyfriend or girlfriend with access to the chemicals used?” You ask.

“Yep. Her name is Erica Harmon and she’s a grad student at Columbia. She’s a TA in a load of undergrad chem classes, too.”

“He’s got access to the chemicals through her,” JJ says, frowning at her list of materials found in the bombs. “Almost all of this is lab-grade, and the rest of it wouldn’t be hard to find at a supermarket.”

“And he’s probably going after Jackson’s ex-girlfriend next,” Morgan says, already grabbing his gun as the rest of the group stands up.

Prentiss looks at her boss. “Where do you want us?”

“You and Reid, head to Jeremy’s house. Rossi, Morgan, JJ, I want you at the ex-girlfriend’s apartment.”

“Where am I going?” You ask, using one hand on the table to steady yourself when you stand up and wobble slightly. “I need a gun.”

“No, you don’t. You need to stay here, and I’ll stay with you.” Aaron sits back down, pulls you into your own chair with both hands on yours while he ignores the team’s stares.

“Hotch, are you sure?” Morgan asks, but Aaron doesn’t even look over.

“Go.”

He hears the sounds of rustling to his side, his team leaving as fast as they can while Garcia says something about sending them the addresses, but he can hardly focus. “Are you okay?”

“A little…” You bring a hand to the centre of your forehead. “A little dizzy, that’s all. Are they going to be okay?”

“They’ll be just fine. We profiled that he targets the buildings themselves, not the people in them. He won’t be able to take a hostage successfully.” Aaron promises.

He hopes he’s right.

He hopes he hasn’t lied to you yet again, especially when you give him a hopeful smile.

“I missed this,” you say, so casually that his heartbeat falters before you continue to speak, giving him clarification that he doesn’t want. “Working with everyone, being on cases. Biometrics isn’t nearly as interesting.”

The confession cracks his face into something resembling a smile. “Never a dull moment here,” he agrees before the two of you fall into a silence that he can’t decipher.

Should he have said something else? We missed working with you, or I missed having you around, or Biometrics is practically an entry-level unit. Maybe even, Are you thinking of rejoining the team?

He still doesn’t know why he lied to you on the day of the breakup, why the words ‘it’s not reversible’ had ever left his lips. You could have come back to the BAU at any time, Strauss be damned. Of course, it would be his head on the chopping block, but still. You deserved to know.

He doesn’t say anything.

“How’s Beth?” You blurt out, and he wonders how long you’ve been holding onto that question before you asked it.

He wishes you hadn’t asked. He has a moment of panic, gives you a reaction he already hates himself for before he does it. Instead of answering, he stands up and picks up his now-empty mug of tea. “I’m going to get another. Do you need anything? Some water?” He suggests, brushing the back of his hand on your forehead the way he does when Jack is sick.

The look in your eyes is unreadable when you slump down into your seat further, staring at the table. “I’m okay,” you mumble, and Aaron hates himself even more for the familiar way he caresses your hair before he walks off.

His return a few minutes later finds you curled up in one of the large office chairs, your head leaned back while you speak into your cell phone. “… not sure when I’ll be back,” you’re saying, and you glance up when he enters the room. “I’ll call you back later, okay?”

You hang up and tuck the phone under your leg before you look up at him. You don’t say anything.

He doesn’t say anything.

You don’t say anything.

“I brought you tea,” he blurts out.

Aaron Hotchner, ex-prosecutor, Unit Chief of the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, well-known in more than one elite circle for his nuanced understanding of the human mind and what makes it tick. That’s him.

Or maybe it’s not, because after two seconds of awkward silence he’s offering you the mug of tea he made for himself.

“I thought you went to get yourself one,” you say, but a barely-trembling hand reaches forward to accept the mug nonetheless. Thank god he’d grabbed a clean one.

“You need it more. How’s your arm doing?” He asks, and you shrug.

“It’s been better, but it’s been worse. Hurts less when I don’t think about it.”

Aaron has always prided himself on giving you what you need. If you’re telling him that you don’t want to think about it, he can work with that. He can distract you. “Who were you on the phone with?”

It’s excruciating, the length of time that he sits in silence before you answer. It feels like he’s waiting for a signed murder confession. He sits there and waits for what feels like days, weeks, maybe a month or two to hear you say, “My friend.”

“Garcia said you were visiting a friend. That’s why you bought the onesie, isn’t it?” He guesses, remembering that awkward run-in with Beth and Ella at the museum gift shop.

He can’t believe he brought it up. Can you see the shame for it on his face, or the tips of his ears red with embarrassment?

It had been a great day. He had had a rare day off, and he and Beth had taken the kids to the park. They’d gone out for ice cream afterwards, and finally for a tour of Jack’s favourite museum that ended with the museum gift shop. It’s almost a perfect memory, a day that he would fit into a snow globe to preserve if he could.

He knows that if he did that, somehow preserved the day in a sphere full of glycol, he would just remember the look on your face in that gift shop. He still can’t put a name to the emotion other than ‘torn’.

Aaron Hotchner; the master of understanding every human mind except yours.

“She just had a baby,” you respond, and he blinks twice before he remembers that you aren’t in the gift shop anymore and that he asked you a question.

You’re here in front of him now with a broken wrist and a concussion and you finally seem to be opening up to him, and he doesn’t want to risk missing it by staying in his own head.

“Boy or girl?” He asks while you sip the tea. It's an English Breakfast with nothing but a bit of sugar, but you don’t seem to mind.

“He’s a boy. His name is Tristan and he’s cute, too. Do you want to see a picture?” You’re already eagerly reaching for your phone, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop you now whether he wants to see the pictures or not.

When you show him the screen, a part of him wishes he had stopped you.

The baby is tiny. Tristan is swaddled in a blanket, the top half of his head poking out just for tiny eyes to squint at the camera. Aaron can see the top of a scrunched nose, maybe the beginning of a cry or a yawn. He examines the details, the obviously-plush blanket with grey-blue floral detailing.

Aaron does his best to fixate his attention on Tristan and ignore the fact that the photo is of you holding the baby, looking almost maternal and definitely happy and…

He looks away.

He can’t help it; he hardly stops himself to consider whether it’s rude of him to actively dodge the photo. Instead, he clears his throat. “Very cute,” he agrees, “You’re right about that.”

“Yeah. He was born a little premature, so I thought I’d take some time off of work, come up and help her out for a little while.” You look down at your cast and let out half a scornful laugh. “Some help I am. I don’t even think I could hold him now.”

“I’m sure you’ve been plenty helpful,” he assures you without a thought. After all, for years you had as much of a hand in raising Jack as Aaron did. “It just might have been cut short a little.”

“Yeah, a little. I’m probably going to have to head home after this. It doesn’t make sense to stay when I can’t do anything.” You look glum at the prospect, and without a thought Aaron reaches a foot out to bump against the roller wheels of your chair. It’s a gentle tap, one that just serves to get your attention.

“Talk to your friend,” he advises. “Maybe you can still cook, or help her clean up around the house. There’s no need to cut your time off short just because you can’t hold a baby.”

Your head tilts just a bit, and your eyes narrow as though you’re looking at an equation in the air that Aaron can’t see, let alone guess the factors of. He hopes you can solve it, whatever it is. “Maybe,” you say, and that’s when he hears the conference room door open.

“Hey, double trouble.” Morgan has a trademark grin from ear to ear as he sits down at the table, and Hotch swivels in his seat to face the team as they file into the room.

How did it appear to them? Him close to your chair, you tucked into it with one leg under you and the other hanging off the side. Did it seem uncomfortable, like you didn’t want to be there? He wishes he could have taken a picture of the two of you, somehow, something he could study and examine and hope to understand.

You’ve been alone in a room for… well, he’s lost track of time, but it’s been a while and he still can’t tell if you’re comfortable or not. He’s got no clue until you pipe up and wheel your chair closer to the table.

“Dibs on being ‘double’. You can be ‘trouble’.” You nudge his shoulder with your own, and Hotch does his best not to smile. There’s no use in encouraging you, after all. Still, he can feel some of the tension drain from his shoulders at the light tone; you’re happy to be here, happy to work on this case and to talk to him.

“Actually, you can’t assign nicknames based off of a group nickname when the name itself is a play on how many members there are,” Reid corrects as he sits down with his case file in hand. “You can only do that if each nickname is a separate title.”

Morgan groans out loud at that and reaches over to swat Reid’s arm. “C’mon, man, you’re taking all the fun out of it,” he complains, leaving Reid with a mildly perplexed look on his face.

“We can try again,” Prentiss offers, slipping out of her bulletproof vest. “Hey, sugar and spice.”

Aaron can feel your reaction before you can even open your mouth, and he beats you to it by a half second by warning, “Don’t say that I’m spice.”

The look on your face tells him that that’s exactly what you meant to say. He pushes away thoughts of Look how well I know you in favour of We’re at work.

“How did takedown go?” He asks. The debrief usually happens on the jet, but it feels wrong to discuss the case without you now. Debriefing is an essential part of each case for everyone who works on it, and he does his best to make sure that each member of his team- past or present- can leave each city with a sense of closure.

If anyone needs closure on this case, it’s the woman wearing a cast who hasn’t had to face the horrors of the BAU in two years.

And maybe Aaron, because it’s just as important to him that you feel okay after the events of the last day. Maybe you need to know that the unsub is behind bars, but Aaron needs to know that you know.

Dave, who has been smirking ever since he saw Hotch quickly wheel his chair away from yours upon the team's arrival, speaks first. “Nice and easy. We caught him while he was assembling a bomb in the apartment complex's boiler room. Taking a hostage never crossed his mind.”

“He didn’t even go to Nora’s apartment. She had no idea what we were talking about when we tried to interview her,” JJ says. She hasn’t sat down yet, and is already working to gather up the metric ton of paper covering the conference room table.

Maybe Hotch should have thought to do that.

“Good. And Erica, the girlfriend?”

“She had no idea about any of it. Morgan found a copy of her keys on the unsub’s keyring, and her best guess was that he copied them right out of her purse.” Prentiss passes JJ a stack of papers and sighs. “I feel bad for that girl. She had no idea what was happening right under her nose.”

“She had no way of knowing that her boyfriend would be pushed over the edge like he was. She’s gonna need help after this, for sure,” Morgan says thoughtfully, and the group mumbles out a collective agreement.

“Either way, mi bellos,” Rossi stands up to clasp his hands together, “The case is closed and we’ve got someone in cuffs. All’s well that ends… well, you know.”

It catches Hotch off guard when his stomach pangs at the thought of leaving. Boarding the jet and heading home. Leaving New York, leaving Jackson and Jeremy and their girlfriends in the past, leaving you to deal with the aftereffects of being injured on your own.

He can’t stop himself from speaking, even if just to re-think his words before they become law. “We can stay the night.”

There’s no subtlety to the rise of Morgan’s eyebrows, or the glance that Prentiss and JJ exchange. But there’s nothing he can do about it now. The words are out there. It’s already done.

“Why would we do that?” Reid asks, always one to voice the question no one wants to vocalize. Hotch has always loved his curious mind and his need to understand every aspect of something.

Even if he kind of wants to throttle the kid right now, because how the hell is he supposed to answer that?

“Because you all did some good work today,” he answers after a painfully long minute, “and deserve a night off. We can all go out for dinner and be on the jet early in the morning.”

That answer seems to satisfy the room, and Aaron ignores the look Rossi is giving him as he glances over at you and drops his voice. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” you promise. “Do you, you know, maybe have an extra seat at that table?” You look nervous; he can read that clear as day. The idea that this could put you on edge almost makes a laugh bubble up in his stomach but he shoves it down in favour of a smile.

“I’m sure we can pull one up,” he assures you in a murmur. “We’d love to see you a bit more before we leave.”

“Oh.” You sound almost surprised, and he’s glad that he thought to hide behind the royal ‘we’. “Okay. Can I ride there with one of you?”

“Of course.” Aaron stands up and pulls your chair away from the table so you’ve got room to stand. Unnecessary chivalry; he has to remind himself to cut it out. “We can take a taxi.”

—

That’s how, fifteen minutes later, he finds himself in the passenger seat of a cab with you, JJ, and Garcia squished together in the backseat.

He wonders what you’re talking about back there behind the partition in low whispers, the occasional giggle, and one or two sharp “Shh”’s. The taxi stops too soon for him to find out, and your little group finds the rest of the team at a table already.

You slide into a seat and Hotch unconsciously moves to take the seat farthest from you- a habit he’s built in the last two years- only to find Morgan already sitting in it. “Sorry, Hotch. You snooze, you lose,” he defends with a wide smile.

By the time he turns to see what other seats are free, the only one left is right next to you. “Aaron, over here,” you say, and with all eyes on him there’s nothing to do but come around the table and sink into the stiff chair.

The waitress comes by to take drink orders a minute later, and Hotch orders himself a water. He’s here on official business, and he refuses to get drunk. It’s what his father did, and that always ended up in violence or big scenes made in public. Hotch does everything he can to avoid that side of himself, especially when he’s representing the government.

“What kind of wines do you have?” He hears you ask, and he turns his head to see the waitress produce a menu from what must have been thin air.

“She can’t drink,” he says loudly, putting out a hand like he can stop the menu from making its way to you. “She has a concussion.”

Speaking around you, to you, for you, is a dance, as Aaron is slowly learning.

You frown, and he hopes he hasn’t overstepped. You don’t say anything, and he holds his breath. You finally look up at the waitress and order a water, and he sighs in relief.

“Thanks, it slipped my mind,” you murmur once she’s walked away, and he gives you a tight smile before getting dragged into an argument between Morgan and Reid.

Dinner, for the most part, passes in a blur of quiet conversation and polite laughter. It isn’t until everyone is eating dessert, half the team feeling the effects of the wines they’ve been indulging in, that everything goes to hell.

He really shouldn’t be so surprised. The evening has gone without a hitch so far- Aaron’s left arm occasionally bumping your right when you try to eat at the same time has really been the only obstacle- so he figures that you’re about due for something to go wrong. Some event to stir up the peaceful bubble he’s stumbled across.

It happens, as many things do, in the form of Emily Prentiss opening her mouth. She leans over you to speak to Aaron, and it’s like he’s watching the train crash in slow motion when she says to him, “So, how’s the single life?”

He can feel the way you stiffen up next to him, white knuckles on your fork, peering out of the corner of your eye. Do you want to hear the answer? “Prentiss, please. That’s hardly appropriate.” His voice is being held together like it’s wrapped in duct tape, but it comes out steady enough.

Emily sighs at the scolding. “I just wanted to know,” she grumbles, pushing a piece of cheesecake around on her plate. “You and Beth broke up a week ago; I’m just curious.”

“Good question,” JJ says. “Have you talked to her since? Wait, is that why she wasn’t at the wedding?”

“You told us she was sick, but statistically this is the least likely time of year for someone to experience cold or flu related symptoms.” Spencer frowns down at his rootbeer. “Did you lie? You could have told us that you broke up. We could have helped.”

“Same way I got over the second Mrs. Rossi,” Dave jokes, lifting his glass in a salute. “I don’t think I left the strip club for a month.”

“Please,” Aaron repeats, raising his voice slightly. “This isn’t appropriate.” He directs it primarily to Emily, who started this whole thing, and he notices the shell-shocked look on your face out of the corner of his eye.

“I just wanted to know,” Emily repeats, as petulant as a stubborn child.

She wanted you to know, more likely. Aaron has been careful about not talking about his relationship- Emily only knows because he developed a case of drunkenly loose lips the night of the wedding and overshared to her wife, Katie- and now you know the one thing he didn’t want to become widespread. There’s no way that wasn’t intentional.

“I should…” You push your chair back with a ‘screech’ and stand up, hurrying out of the restaurant in the direction of the lobby without further excuse.

Hotch watches you go, lets out a groaned “God.” while he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I need to- I’ll be back.” He tosses down his napkin and takes off in the direction you exited.

“Now, that wasn’t too nice,” Derek points out, and Emily shrugs.

“I didn’t like the tension. At least now they’ll talk.”

Meanwhile, Aaron finds himself rounding the large fountain display in the lobby to talk to you. “Are you leaving?”

When you look up, there’s vague surprise on your face. Did you think he wouldn’t follow you? If there’s one thing Aaron knows about himself by now, it’s that he would follow you to hell and back.

“I think I should. I think that would be best.” Instead of looking at him, you fiddle with your keys and look everywhere else. The chandelier, fountain, reception desk; everywhere except at Aaron himself.

“Just… just hold on, a couple of minutes. I didn’t mean to upset you, by not saying something. I thought it would be… easier.”

That gets a reaction. Your eyes snap to his, and he can see something like hurt swimming in them. “Easier?”

“Yes. You didn’t have anything to do with it; why should I have to tell you?” He challenges, even though it’s half a lie. You weren’t faultless in the breakup, but he’s not going to be sharing that fact.

“You don’t think I would want to know?” You take a small step towards him. “Even just so I could be there for you?”

“That’s not a good idea,” he counters. “I have friends I can speak to about breakups.” He regrets his words the second that he sees the pain in your eyes. Oh, because you’re supposed to be friends now. That’s right; his last breakup was with you.

Three feet away, perched on the edge of the fountain, an older woman is watching the two of you intensely. She’s obviously listening, and that’s something that Aaron doesn’t want to deal with. “Look,” he says, his voice low and quiet, “Will you come up to my room? We can talk there, but I’m not doing this in public.”

The conflicting emotions on your face seem to be going to war until you take a deep breath and take Aaron’s hand, your fingers wrapping around his as you board the elevator.

He hopes you don’t notice David Rossi standing near the elevators. He hopes you don’t notice the thumbs up that the older man gives him, or the middle finger he gives in return.

The elevator ride is silent and long, almost excruciatingly so, and he’s half relieved once you get into the hotel room and take a seat on separate beds facing each other. His suitcase is against the wall, zipped up, and the desk is covered in various writings and readings that he doesn’t even know when Spencer had time to unpack.

You break the silence first, your face expressionless like it’s an interrogation. It feels like he’s on the wrong side of the interrogation table for once when you speak. “You and Beth broke up.”

“We did,” he agrees, and that’s when he wonders if he made a mistake bringing you up here. He doesn’t want you to hear the whole story; why not just confirm the breakup in the lobby and send you on your way?

Well, he couldn’t have done that, and he knows why. It’s still a half-decent alternative to this, though.

“Why?”

“Why… did we break up?” He clarifies, and you nod. “We wanted different things.”

Finally, emotion crosses your face; a flicker of anger. He doesn’t blame you, especially when he remembers the sacrifice you made. “Different things? So, she didn’t want more kids? Or was it work-related?”

He isn’t going to get through this without telling you the whole story; he can see that now. As hard as it is, he knows you aren’t letting this rest until you get a comprehensive answer.

“She had a pregnancy scare.”

Your sudden bark of laughter is hardly a surprise, but it makes him wince all the same. “You broke up because you don’t want to have another kid? Are you serious?”

He tries to answer. Instead, memory hits him like a brick wall, wraps its arms around him and drags him down into it.

“Aaron? Honey, where are you?” Beth’s cheery voice entered the room before she did, and Aaron looked up at her with a smile.

“Hey, sweetheart. How was your day?” He asked. He hated this domestic part, the part where he had to pretend to be just as in love as she was.

But love grows, he knew. Just as flowers could blossom from cracks in the pavement, love could develop with time and affection. It wouldn’t be fair to her, to not return the open affection she gave him.

He always wondered why it never felt easy or effortless, why he often felt like he was just a young boy playing at being in a relationship, instead of an adult who was actually in one.

“My day was good,” she said, a barely-contained smile on her face. “So, you know how I’ve been under the weather lately?”

That was an understatement. She’d thrown up more than once in the last couple of days. Love or not, Aaron cared enough that he was on the verge of taking her to the emergency room himself. “Of course. Are you feeling any better?”

“Not really. But my period was late yesterday, so I thought, why not?” Why not, what? She wasn’t making any sense, and it wasn’t until Aaron saw the little stick in her hand that the pieces flew together for him, like a puzzle begging to be solved. “And, well…”

He stared down at tanned hands presenting him the stick, two tiny lines deciding his future for him. “You’re pregnant.”

“I’m pregnant,” she confirmed, throwing her arms around his neck. He slowly brought both arms up to hug her- a facade of excitement, even though his face would certainly betray him if she were to look at it. “Isn’t that great?”

“That’s… wow.” It was as honest of an answer as he could give. “Are you going to see a doctor to make sure?”

“Of course I am.” She pulled away just enough to kiss him, but he broke away soon enough. “Aaron? This is great, isn’t it? Aren’t you excited?” There was an edge in her voice, one that told him that his face- expressions of shock, uncertainty, certainly no joy- was giving him away.

He couldn’t dodge the direct question, the look in her eye. She already knew the answer before she asked the question, and they both knew that this was his chance for redemption.

He didn’t take it.

A week later, the doctor confirmed the false positive. Aaron couldn’t have brought himself to be upset if he tried.

The same afternoon, Beth packed up hers and Ella’s things, and they were gone.

He wanted to feel sad. He wanted to feel heartbroken. He wanted to punish himself, for knowing that he had missed out on the closest chance he had had to a real family in years.

It was the reason you left; your sacrifice, the heartache you’d both been left with, everything you’d both gone through was deemed useless in the deciding moment. It was his one chance, and he hadn’t taken it.

He just felt numb.

“Aaron.” Your voice, pitched sharp, manages to pull him out of his trance. “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t know why you’re asking. He wants to know if you’re okay. He wants to apologize, to fall to his knees and hold onto you the way he should have two years ago.

“I’m fine.”

“So, Beth had a pregnancy scare,” you prompt. “And that’s why you broke up?”

He hesitates. “Yes.”

He hesitated too long.

“Why?” You ask.

He knows that you’re only pushing it because you know him.

You know him better than anyone; you know that he doesn’t walk away from things that he wants, not when he has a choice.

And wasn’t that what he wanted? Didn’t he want Beth, more children, a family of his own?

“Don’t do this.” It’s a plea, and it goes unanswered.

“Why did you break up? Aaron… come on.” The desperation in your voice kisses his ears. It reminds him that you’ve been hurt at least as badly as he’s been. It tells him that you aren’t there as a concerned friend; you’re there as someone who deserves the answer to the question you asked. Someone who’s a part of the twisted equation, who fits into the formula of the last two years. Someone who’s been hurt by him, for him, only for him to throw that sacrifice away.

He replies by just saying your name, the name he’s spoken so many times. He’s said it before with love, playful annoyance and affection. After the breakup he said it less often, and it was often delivered with spite or tears of proportions that he didn’t know he would, or could, shed.

This time, when he says your name, he thinks he sounds… broken. His voice cracks, his face flushes, and he looks down at his feet. He’s still got his dress shoes on, and he counts the eyelets- 3, 4, 5 pairs of them, black laces looped neatly through- without saying another word.

Your name, as broken as it is between his lips, is an admission of guilt. It’s a confession, an entreaty for you to stop pushing, and it contains unspoken defeat.

“Aaron.” Your voice is firm when you repeat his name, and his eyes snap up from his shoes- 3, 4, 5, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5- to meet yours. “Don’t I deserve to know?”

You do. He knows you do. The ‘don’t I deserve?’ angle is never something you’ve used, and he knows this is a last ditch effort to get the truth out of him.

You do deserve to know.

How can he say it? How can he tell you the truth? How can he possibly look into your earnest eyes and pretend that he can defend himself and the decisions that he’s made?

He can tell you that more kids doesn’t make sense; he knows that, in a factual sense. He wasn’t around enough when Jack was little, is hardly better at being around now. The job is priority; he could get hurt or worse, and leave behind a widow with more mouths to feed than she can handle. He could become a twisted version of his father, pitting his children against each other. He’s too old to run around with toddlers for the next ten years.

He can tell you any number of things that make sense, but you won’t accept anything less than the truth. That, at least, is written plain as day on your face.

“She isn’t you.”

His words hit you like a bucket of ice water. They slap you so hard that you have half a mind to bring a hand up to your cheek and check for sore spots. “Aaron-”

“It’s true. I’m sorry if that’s not what you wanted to hear, but you wanted the truth and that’s it.” His breathing sounds more ragged now, like he’s fighting to stay collected.

He doesn’t know what he was thinking, telling you. He isn’t trying to get you back. You made your choice, you walked away, and that’s that.

“Aaron. You want a family,” you remind him, your voice cracking. How can he not remember? How can he throw away the last two years, disregard your sacrifice like this?

Hadn’t that always been his dream? A positive pregnancy test with a woman who loved him? And yet, in the final hour, he’d walked away. He’d made a choice, one that he has to face now, with you.

“I know. God, I know, but it just… it couldn’t happen.”

“Because she’s not me? Are you serious?” Your voice is hardly above a whisper, fraught with disbelief and maybe a hint of fear at the potential weight of his answer, and you wish that Aaron were speaking even quieter when he responds. You wish you couldn’t hear him at all.

“Because there’s no family without you.”

The dry scoff that escapes you is answer enough, especially once it’s paired with your head dropping into your hands. “Then what the hell have we been doing?”

“I tried,” he defends. Desperation is poured into every syllable, filling in the spaces of the things he can’t say like resin on wood. “I gave it a chance, she was happy. But when I saw that test…”

Neither of you knows if he’s stopped to figure out what he should say, or if it’s because he can’t say it. He looks small, appears defenceless in a way that he never lets himself.

“I couldn’t do it,” he finishes. He spreads his hands out, a placating gesture. “I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want a family with her. When I saw that test, I was scared. Terrified. A baby is a commitment, and I don’t- I can’t- see myself making that commitment with anyone but you.”

“You know how I feel about kids.” For a moment his eyes flicker down, to where your phone sits on the bed, and you have half a mind to wonder if he’s going to bring Tristan into this.

Maybe he’s settled more into this conversation. Maybe he’s realized that he doesn’t have much to lose here. For whatever reason, his rebuttal to you, perched facing him on the opposite bed- worlds away, yet only mere feet- is more of a challenge than a question. “When did I ask you to have any?”

“What?” You tilt your head the slightest bit, stray hairs illuminated in the yellow-grey light, and he thinks his heart skips a beat when you blink.

“I didn’t ask you to have kids. I never asked for that.” He knows it for a fact; that simple thought has been his port at sea more than once, on the nights where he wondered exactly how things had gone so wrong.

You blink again. ‘I want us to get married, have as many kids as we can, I want all of that and I want it with you.’ Those were his words, spoken so passionately two years ago.

But there were other words, too, and they fly back into your mind like they’re trying to haunt you. Words that circle you, remind you that you were the reason he couldn’t have that life.

‘I’ve been thinking, and you’re more important to me than having more kids.’

‘Just say the word, and I’ll never bring it up again.’

‘I’m not going to sit here and tell you what I want, because I’m not forcing you into that. You don’t want it, fine. We don’t do it.’

You remember him confessing what he wanted, so earnest and unexpecting of you to go along with it.

Phrases swirl your head, sentences that haven't done so since the breakup.

Sentences that you hadn’t let yourself understand until now.

‘I would be happier knowing that I’m in a relationship with someone who wants the same things I do. I want that with you, I want you to want it, but that isn’t happening.’

‘I want us to go back to normal. How we were.’

‘You’re all I need. I mean it.’

“You want a family. That’s what you want.” Your protest is weak, and you don’t know if it’s a protest for your self-protection or his feelings.

Maybe it’s both.

“You were my family. You and Jack. I was so happy with you.”

“Not as happy as you could have been,” you counter. Aaron visibly hesitates, a moment of back-and-forth sway before he crosses the room to sit next to you on the other bed.

“You…” the breath he takes is deep and rattling. “You made me happier than I could ask for.”

You move back and he does too, kicking off his shoes to mirror your crossed legs. The two of you sit and face each other. The headboard sets the scenery behind him, cheap hotel wall art behind you. When you take a breath, so does he.

“You walked away,” you remind him. It isn’t a show of blame; it’s a reminder, pure and simple, that he wasn’t happy with you.

“No, I didn’t.” He reaches out, one of his hands trembling as it grasps yours. “I wouldn’t have.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute. Instead, he watches as his hand wraps around yours, squeezes it once.

He’s just about to let go when you squeeze back.

“You told me to go,” he whispers, staring down at those linked hands. If he looks you in the eye now, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. “It’s what you wanted.”

You laugh, and the sound is humourless and dry. “What I wanted? Aaron, you only stayed past that first day for me, to make me feel like I wasn’t ruining your life. I didn’t kick you out; I let you go.”

“I didn’t get a choice. I chose to stay, I chose you above a bigger family, and you didn’t let me,” Aaron says, and your hand tightens on his. “I tried, okay? I- I found Beth, we moved in together. For God’s- Ella called me ‘dad’. I did my best to have that life. I tried. It didn’t work.”

“I don’t know what you want,” you confess, and he hates himself a little more when he sees the heartbreak in your eyes. “I just want you to be happy. I thought I was giving you that.”

Aaron shifts himself, moves a little closer to you. He thinks he might be about to say the wrong thing, the thing that destroys whatever tentative relationship the two of you have built.

He doesn’t care.

This relationship, this dance of overdoing and understepping and caring too much without saying enough? He doesn’t want it.

He doesn’t care about throwing it away.

“Nothing,” he vows, extending one hand to raise your chin when you look down, “Nothing has ever made me as happy as you did. That’s all I wanted. You.”

You avert your gaze, and you feel your face grow warm. It’s been a long time since he looked at you like this, with all of the care and attention in the world somehow pouring from the gaze of warm hazel eyes locked on yours.

“What do you want me to say?” You ask after a stretch of silence. Not even the sound of breathing dares to disrupt the quiet; neither of you want to make the wrong move right now, not when you can see the crossroads ahead.

“Whatever you want to say. Just not what you think I want to hear.”

That’s what it’s come down to, at the root. Both of you lying, sneaking, saying and doing whatever you can to protect the other’s feelings and do what you think is best. He’s tired of it.

You did what you thought was the right thing, and let him go. He did what he thought was the right thing, and chased the life you made possible by leaving. But neither of you are happy, and he can admit that now.

“I still don’t want kids.”

“I’m still not asking you to have any.” He waits two beats, unsure if he can even bring himself to ask what he knows he has to.

“Does Jack count?” He’s breathless as he waits for the answer. You could have found freedom in the last two years, after several spent living a mother’s schedule. Maybe you don’t want a hand in any child’s life, and he won’t begrudge you that.

“He’s… no,” you say, and Aaron exhales in what might be relief. “But that doesn’t mean I want more. You want more.”

“I want you,” he corrects, the same way he did two years ago. Maybe this time you’ll listen, and accept his words for the truth that they are. “I had more. I didn’t want it, not without you.”

Your breathing, shallow and timid, hitches at his words. He notices the slip-up in a heartbeat, wants to trip over himself and correct it. Before he can, you say, “But the future-”

“The future,” he interrupts, clasping one of your hands in both of his, “My future, it only matters if it’s you.If you’re happy with Jack, I’m happy. You’re what I need. You’re all I need.”

“Aaron, please.” Your voice is small, and that’s when he realizes that he’s been trailblazing this conversation with hardly a thought about what you want. Maybe you’ve moved on, or fallen out of love.

He doesn’t think you have, though. Between your conversation at the wedding and the fact that you’re still here, both hands now holding onto his, wide eyes peering into his own, he thinks he’s made a safe bet.

“Please, what?” He murmurs. He can defer to you now, let you approach this at your pace. He’s said his piece.

It’s not until he sees your eyes squeeze shut that he remembers your concussion, and he’s sure that this conversation isn’t helping what must be a painful headache.

“I… it’s getting late. And I really should sleep. My head...”

Every instinct in Aaron’s body is well-honed, trained to take opportunities that might pass him by otherwise. It’s what got him Haley, what got him into the BAU, and now it’s what might get you back.

Every instinct is screaming not to let you leave.

“Do you want to talk more about this later?” He offers, his right hand releasing your left. The other two stay linked, his fingers brushing the cast, and you make no move to loosen them as you nod.

He waits. He isn’t sure what he’s waiting for, but he waits.

You close your eyes, already on the verge of rethinking before you speak. But you’ve got instincts, too, and they’re all telling you to stay in this room. Your future is in this room, and you aren’t about to close the door on that. Even if the conversation can wait, you know exactly how it will end.

It’s clear to you now that Aaron only left because he did the same thing you did, tried to protect your feelings. He never would have left if you hadn’t forced his hand and left first, and the thought of the time that you lost makes your chest seize unpleasantly.

It’s not too late to undo old mistakes, though.

“Can I sleep here? It’s not really safe, getting a taxi this late.”

Aaron lets go of your other hand first. “Of course, you can.” He’s half situated to go to sleep already, just has to take off his tie and loosen his shirt. He doesn’t get off the bed, and that’s why it surprises him when you lay down in the same bed, on your side.

“So you don’t have to share with Spencer when he gets here,” you explain through a yawn, and his heart hurts when he sees the way your nose crinkles. He’s missed it, missed you.

Sleep comes quickly, somehow. The exhaustion of the day, of the conversation, overtakes you both in what feels like mere moments.

When Aaron wakes up, it’s with his arms around you and his nose pressing into your neck. He holds on for a moment before he has to let go; you’ll have time later, and the team is waiting.

Getting out of bed, Aaron finds the other queen bed- Spencer’s- empty, untouched.

When the two of you arrive at the jet, late with your suitcase, he says, “I stayed with Morgan and Rossi. We thought you could use some privacy.”

You let go of Aaron’s hand to reach out and ruffle Spencer’s hair, ignoring the look he gives you when you mess up his curls. “Thanks, Spence.”

If the team is anything, it’s ‘respectful when the time calls for it’. No one says a word when you and Aaron sit next to each other. No one blinks when your hand slides home into his.

His fingers lace around yours. He squeezes once, and you squeeze back. As the jet takes off, soaring towards DC and your new future, you hold onto him. It’s going to be alright.

Once upon a time, they always said that you and Aaron were the lucky ones. Maybe they were right.

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