#hotch comfort
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The Cat's Out of the Bag [Hotch x Reader]
Photo credits: Left (@flowersforfrancis) Center (@hotchs-big-hands) Right (@grapeperfume)
Prompt: Aaron accidentally lets slip that he and the reader are together when the reader takes him home from the office while he has a cold. The team has a range of emotions about the news and Aaron and the reader go back to the office to face the music together.
Pairing: [established relationship] Aaron x BAU!reader. The reader uses she/her pronouns.
Category: fluff/comfort
Word Count: 9.7K
Content Warnings: Sickness [cold/fever], headache, mention of abuse and beatings [in the past (Hotch)], minor mention of intimacy. Relationship reveal. If I missed any, please let me know.
A/N: Hi loves! If you are headed into Spring Break this week have fun and please be safe. If you don’t have a break this week, please don’t let the Sunday scaries get to you. Be kind to yourself today. This fic is based on my March CM Prompt List (linked) The prompt is, “A character manages to catch a cold in the middle of Spring.” I hope you like this little fluffy fic. It was really fun to write. If you enjoy this fic, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! I hope you’re having a great start to your week and thanks for reading. Love Levi - ❤️
List with all stories
y/n = your name
_y/f/r/a_ = your favorite relaxing activity
_y/c/h_ = your color hair
Aaron liked to have control over most things. Even in things he couldn’t or perhaps shouldn’t control, he still tried to. This could include running on an injured ankle, or going out even though he knew it was too hot for his liking in an outfit that didn’t suit the heat. Half of this had to do with the fact that he could be stubborn, and the other half was a bit darker. The times that he went over these limits had often to do with his ability to endure. He knew a good deal about endurance from his work as a prosecutor, the leader of the BAU, and most impactful to him, from his childhood. His father had often reminded him that he wasn’t strong or a man with his fists, or a belt, or bottle, or anything Mr. Hotchner senior could get a hold on, and Aaron had endured it. He’d lived beyond it. Even with that being the case, and him trying to work through his questions about inadequacy, he still pushed himself too hard sometimes. It was a sort of naturally ingrained response unless he caught it early on.
y/n had noticed this trait in him and had brought it up a few times when they were more stable in their relationship. It hadn’t exactly been an easy topic, as y/n wasn’t sure why Aaron, who cared about his health and ability to perform in the field would seem to hurt himself by doing something reckless by his standards. One afternoon, when he’d limped toward her, y/n tilted her head and said, “Hey, how was your run?” y/n had stayed behind to play with Jack on the swings and playground while Aaron got in his long Saturday run. He and y/n would normally go early, but they had both slept through their alarm due to a long case earlier that week, a swamp of paperwork when they got back and some mandatory training on Friday. All in all, it had been too long a week for anyone to like, and they needed the rest. Thus, the plans for the day had been postponed.
Aaron wiped a hand over his face and then over his shirt. y/n looked at Jack who was now on the slide and then back to Hotch. y/n noticed how he was favoring one foot. She knew his gait better than anyone and it was easy to tell that something was up. Aaron could see it in y/n’s face -- the concern. He tried to brush it off by saying, “It was fine. My time was slower than normal, but I’d say that it was because I was so tired.” What Aaron had said was a lie. His ankle had started to hurt about halfway through his run, but he’d ignored it and pressed on anyway. By the time he’d gotten to the last mile, his right ankle was throbbing in pain. He’d fixed his expression to the best of his ability when he rounded the bend where he’d see y/n. He didn’t want her to be concerned. His faking a normal expression and lying didn’t stop y/n from seeing that something was wrong. y/n was about to ask him to clarify because she didn’t have to tell him that he was lying to see that something was wrong. However, Jack came and hugged the back of her legs, looked up at his dad, and said, “Hi Daddy!” Aaron smiled and replied, “Hey Buddy. Did you have fun on the playground?” Jack nodded his head enthusiastically and said, “Mh hm, I made new friends.” This fact warmed Hotch’s heart. Jack could struggle sometimes in meeting new people. Aaron said, “That’s great, Jack. Now I hear that it’s going to get hot in a few minutes, so how about we head home?” Jack and y/n nodded, and y/n watched as Jack scrambled into his dad’s arms. Again she noticed the brief flash of pain on his face as they moved to the car.
y/n waited until they got to Aaron’s apartment and Jack was tucked in for a nap that y/n moved to Hotch’s bedroom to ask him what was up. She didn’t hope this ended in an argument, but it seemed like this was something he was keeping from her and Aaron could be so closed off about his personal life sometimes. But if he was hurting, y/n wanted to know about it. She moved into Hotch’s bedroom where he was taking off his shirt and getting ready for a shower. y/n stood in front of him as he was sitting on the bed and leaning down to take off his socks as y/n said, “Aaron, what’s going on? You looked like you were hurting back there in the park. Also when you picked up Jack.”
Aaron tried one last attempt to avoid this conversation as he said, “Well, my ankle is acting up a bit, but I’m sure it will be fine.” y/n blocked him from standing and took both of his large hands in hers. His fingers were calloused in the same places as hers from holding a gun or a pen in a grip that was probably too tight from stress. It was comforting to feel the thickness of his skin mirrored in her palm. y/n looked down at him and said, “Aaron please be honest with me?” Hotch looked down at their entwined hands and then back up at y/n. He didn’t like lying. So much of their relationship had been built on trust. They’d gotten together a few months after Haley had called their marriage quits. If Aaron was being honest, he’d loved y/n for a while before his union with Haley dissolved. But Hotch was a man who believed in his commitment to his wife and he’d never done or said anything to y/n, his newest agent, until long after he had his wife split. He loved Haley dearly and he’d never hurt her by cheating. And y/n loved Aaron and his commitment too, so they were willing to give up any hope with a man she had slowly come to admire more than just a boss, fellow agent, or friend. y/n fully holding herself back had been one of the reasons Hotch had liked her so much. He’d seen women fling themselves at him while he was fully with Haley. Before their relationship got rocky. Even when Haley was pregnant with Jack women had tried to woo him. But never y/n. Even when she knew that he and Haley were struggling she never made a move. She had distanced herself more from him. Had supported him and let things play out to their natural conclusion.
As Aaron thought about the kinds of sacrifice y/n had made for him, he squeezed her hand and said, “My right ankle is hurting me pretty badly actually. It started in the middle of the run. I think it’s from when I had to dodge that bullet in the last case. I tweaked it a bit then, but it didn’t hurt much so I ignored it. But today on my run it really started acting up.” As soon as y/n heard this, she dropped to her knees next to the bed and gently pulled off his right sock. She didn’t care about how the sock or his feet smelled. If Aaron was in pain, y/n needed to make sure he was okay. By the look of his swollen and slightly bruised ankle, it didn’t look great. y/n gently caressed the spot on his foot and Aaron flinched instinctually even though y/n hadn’t hurt him. She looked up at his dark brown eyes and asked, “Sweetheart why did you keep running on this? It must have hurt you. You could have called me and I would have brought Jack and helped you?” y/n had never seen Aaron hurt or allow himself to be hurt like this. Sure, she’d seen him overwork himself, but this was different, this was physical more than mental.” Aaron bit the inside of his cheek before putting his arm under y/n’s arm and guiding her to sit beside him.
Once she was seated next to him and looking at him with the same concern, he heaved a small sigh before saying, “I felt like I had to I guess. Sometimes I get that way.” y/n tried to understand why he’d feel that way and said, “Why, you’re hurting yourself. I wouldn’t see you as weak if you needed a break. You’re the strongest man I know. You don’t have to prove that to anyone.” Hotch closed his eyes and leaned his head into the crook of her shoulder smelling the slightly floral scent of her perfume. He didn’t want to be seen as he replied, “It’s not about proving it to anyone else, it’s about proving it to me. My… my father always said I was weak. He tried to break me and he never did, but sometimes I can’t push those thoughts out of my head. I know it’s juvenile to explain it like that, it was so long ago, but it still happens sometimes.” y/n turned to him, wrapped him in a tight hug, and stayed there for a minute to let the words sit around them. To give them the time they deserved. y/n pulled away and looked at Aaron saying, “It’s not dumb and it makes sense. Your father treated you horribly, so it makes sense that that would stick with you. I just don’t want you to hurt yourself. I want you to know that you are good enough. I’ll keep telling you that until you believe it.” Aaron nodded slightly and gave y/n a soft smile. He should have known that y/n would understand him. It wasn’t easy for him to have these conversations. To open up. He knew he was lucky to have y/n in his life who knew him so well and could tell that he needed some help sometimes in dealing with his thought process.
y/n stood up and said, “Now, we can talk more about this later, but I want you to stay right there, No moving around and no shower. Just hang tight.” Aaron smiled and said, “Yes ma’am.” y/n chuckled at his tone but got up and moved first to the hallway where they kept a basin to clean Jack’s shoes in when they got muddy at school. y/n then got a glass of water and added ice before turning the tap to hot. Once the temperature was warm, but not scalding, she filled the basin. y/n then grabbed some Epsom salt from under the sink and added a fourth of a cup to the warm water; she stirred it with her hand until the salt began to dissolve. When y/n was happy with the mix, she carried the basin with two hands into the bedroom and carefully set it down on the carpet without spilling any of the liquid inside. She moved Aaron’s injured foot into the water and as soon as his ankle was submerged, he sighed with how good it felt. The sound made a rush of warmth rush through y/n, but she ignored it. Instead, she moved back to the kitchen and grabbed the cup of water and then some pain meds from the bathroom. She handed both items to Hotch and he took them with a smile and said, “Thank you sweetheart. How do you always know what I need?” y/n smiled and moved behind him on the bed gently messaging his neck and shoulders. He leaned back into her touch with another little groan and y/n felt that same rush again. At this point, she wondered if he was messing with her. For now, she just kept relaxing his stiff muscles and said, “I think I learned from the best because you take such good care of me. I think today I get to return the favor.”
Aaron and y/n didn’t speak much more about what he had said, but they both knew it was going to be a conversation they would have again soon. Instead, y/n just made him relax and stay off his feet for the rest of the day. She took care of Jack and dropped him off at Haley’s while Aaron slept. Even though y/n and Hotch had been dating for a good while, and they were very committed, two things hadn’t yet changed in their relationship. The first was that y/n and Aaron still hadn’t moved in together yet. They both found comfort in having their own space for themselves. It was good that after a case they had a place to relax and unwind alone if they needed it. There was a comfort for them in space, though y/n mostly spent her time at Aaron’s
apartment. The second constant, which was harder to maintain, was that the team didn’t know they were seeing each other. There had been multiple times that members of the team had almost caught them, but shockingly it hadn’t happened yet. Aaron assumed that Dave knew and Hotch had spoken to y/n about it, and she said it was fine. If Rossi brought it up, then Aaron could tell him. There wasn’t a reason to directly lie to the team, they just hadn’t explicitly made it a point to tell them either. At the start, they had kept it a secret to protect themselves. It might not have been strictly against the rules of the FBI employee handbook, but at the same time, it was easier to just keep it to themselves. By the time that y/n and Aaron had become fully committed, they had just gotten used to having it be between themselves. It felt like something they could have outside of work, even though work did come into it often. Keeping it a secret worked for both of their personalities. For Aaron who was a rule follower, it just made sense, and for y/n, who was a bit shy about her personal life, it allowed her to not have to have ten thousand conversations that could be intimate with the team. However, that would all change a month or so later.
It was early spring and the weather had changed to the warmer side instead of the cold Virginia often saw into late February or March. When Aaron woke at his normal 5:00 a.m. He felt a bit colder than normal as he got out from under the duvet. He assumed that it was because it was one of the rare nights when y/n was over at her apartment and not in bed with him. He also felt a bit foggy as he got up, brushed his teeth, and shaved. He didn’t think much of this either as he made his coffee and then headed to the office like he usually did when a case didn’t take the team away from Quantico. Aaron and y/n usually ended up getting to the office an hour early so they could have some time to themselves in the morning. They used to spend that time in the evenings after five, but as they continued to attempt it early in their relationship, it turned out that the team was much more likely to stay late in the office to finish up work than come in early. The only people who sometimes saw Aaron and y/n come in together or even enter Aaron’s office together were the janitors and now and then, Dave. They didn’t do anything inappropriate in the office, just work or talk on his couch. Hotch didn’t allow for hardly any outward signs of their relationship at work. However, he was looking forward to seeing y/n. It always seemed to set them up for a good day.
When Aaron arrived at the office, he felt that same chill run through him and his head started to ache a bit. He felt hot under the collar and as he got up the stairs and to his office, he just now considered that he might be sick. He hadn’t been sick yet that year but it happened to him at least once annually. He hadn’t expected it to be in March. And because he hadn’t expected it, he chose to believe it must be something else like his allergies kicking in. He’d arrived early even for his standards, and he sat down and pulled out his briefcase and laptop. After he did this, he realized that he wasn’t feeling that good and he moved to his couch to just close his eyes for a minute to try and collect himself for the day ahead. Aaron was startled awake at the sound of tapping on his door. He sat up and the room spun in front of his eyes. The lamp by his desk particularly blurred his vision as he stumbled to the door. He felt hot all over and as he stood, a few beads of sweat moved down his back making him shiver. He hadn’t realized that he’d fallen asleep and was surprised to see y/n outside his door. He felt disoriented and said, “y/n? What are you doing here?”
y/n looked at him concerned and said, “I’m here to hang out before work like we always do. Sorry I’m late, something came up at the apartment and I had to deal with it. Are you okay sweetheart?” y/n observed Aaron with a careful eye. He looked flushed and his eyes seemed slightly glazed over. He was also perspiring even though he must have had his office thermostat down to its lowest setting. Hotch nodded and said, “Yeah just a little tired I guess.” He stepped farther back and couldn’t believe he’d forgotten about the fact that y/n was coming early. y/n slipped past him into the dim office. She was only a few inches away from his body when she noticed just how warm he felt, even from a distance. Once Aaron had closed the door with a soft click, y/n turned to face Hotch and placed a hand on his forehead. She could feel him burning up and was sure he was running a fever. She led him back to his couch and he sat down with a little grunt as y/n took his hand and said, “Aaron, you’re so warm. You can’t be feeling good right now.” Hotch tipped his head back and half closed his eyes and in his normal, stubborn fashion replied, “I’ll be fine y/n. It’s just allergies or something. If I drink some cool water and just sit for a minute I can make it through the day.” y/n frowned at him and his antics before saying, “Aaron, you run warm, but you don’t run that warm. Also, your shirt is sticking to your chest because you’re sweating from the heat, so unless you’re planning on staying cooped up in your office all day, everyone else is going to know how you feel too.”
Hotch groaned as he realized that his body was giving away with how bad he was currently feeling. His headache was back and he was longing for y/n to put her cool hand on his head again. y/n could see the look of defeat on his face. Ever since they’d had the conversation about his ankle and subsequent discussion about Aaron’s need for care just like everyone else, he’d started asking her for more help when he needed it. Today was another reminder that he could still feel the need to perform, even when he was sick, but that it was okay that he treated himself well too. That he wasn’t letting anyone down by needing some rest. y/n moved over to his desk and started neatly packing his things back into his briefcase and bag. By the time y/n was working on gathering his belongings, he was back on the cool couch and his heavy eyes were closed again. y/n pulled his suit jacket and tie up from the floor, it was the last thing she needed of his. y/n was grateful that she had brought all of her things up to his office. That meant that they could go straight to the car. When y/n had all of their things by the door, she moved back to the couch, gently touched Aaron’s shoulder, and said, “Aaron, can you get up? I’m gonna drive you home.” Hotch grumbled something that sounded like, “Just five more minutes,” and y/n huffed at how this sickness was making him feel. With a firm voice, y/n said, “Not five more minutes. If we play that game we’ll be here all day and then you’ll try and do work again or something. Now stand up for me.”
Hotch gave a slight groan but slid his feet to the floor and pushed his body off of the couch. y/n could see a sweat stain where his back had been and hustled him out the door before he could see it and made a fuss about germs or something else to keep him in the office. y/n was sure she looked funny with her bag and purse, plus Hotch’s suitcase along with her boss leaning into her slightly as she wrapped an arm around his back to take him down the short flight of stairs and toward the elevator. Again y/n was grateful that Aaron was slightly out of it as Rossi exited the elevator bank on his and Aaron’s floor. The older man looked over at y/n and mouthed, “What’s wrong with him?” y/n mouthed back, “He’s sick and throwing a fit. He wants to stay.” Dave nodded, rolled his eyes, and pulled out his phone, indicating that she should check it when she was free. y/n nodded and kept moving Aaron toward the exit.
The pair just missed the entrance of Emily, Derek, and Spencer which was a stroke of luck. y/n helped Hotch into the passenger seat of her car and dropped all of their things in the back then y/n slid into the driver's side and started the engine. Aaron had perked up once he was outside and he looked over to y/n and said, “Listen, sweetheart, I can drive myself. Really, I’ll be okay if I just get an hour or two of sleep.” y/n threw him a warm smile while looking up from her phone and said, “Aaron. Somehow I feel like if I’m not there watching you, you’re going to be working or trying to be productive. Now, to avoid that and you being sick for longer, which I know you hate, I’m going to take you home and watch after you. You’re running quite the temp and I want to take care of you, remember.” Aaron turned to y/n and smiled at her. He remembered in a hazy kind of way how much y/n cared for him in times when he could be stubborn and try and push himself. He’d ended up being much kinder to himself in the last month thanks to y/n’s care. That didn’t mean he didn’t still fall into his old habits, like today, but he had y/n to look out for his best interests, even if he didn’t always want to admit that in the moment. y/n heard her phone ping and she pulled it out of her exterior purse pocket. It was a message from Rossi that simply stated, “Take care of him. I’ll let an admin know that Aaron’s out with a cold - Dave.” y/n chuckled at how old school Rossi could be by signing his texts with his name like his contact wasn’t in her phone already. He was being helpful, however, by telling Patricia in admin about Hotch’s absence for the day. That ensured that she didn’t have to go into his computer and file a report for him explaining why he’d be out of the office today. From the way Hotch was lightly snoring in the seat next to her, y/n highly doubted he’d have the energy to request time off when he got home, and even if y/n had picked up on Aaron’s password for his state-sanctioned computer, it would be a high-level breach of protocol on her part to go anywhere near the device. y/n could only imagine the intel on the computer in Hotch’s briefcase behind her, and in some ways was happy not to have such a burden of knowledge on her shoulders.
The pair made it to Hotch’s apartment in good time despite the morning rush into town. y/n grabbed all of their things first and moved them inside Aaron’s first-floor apartment. If he was in his full faculties she knew he’d throw her a stern look and go back for their work things first and give some comment about the safety of sensitive information if she tried to get him inside first. He would be correct of course, but it was always funny that Aaron’s mannerisms had started to rub off on her with time. y/n wasn’t complaining. It made her a better and safer agent. She was surprised that the team hadn’t picked up on it yet though. After y/n dropped their things off inside the door, then turned to go back to Aaron. Hotch had woken from his light sleep when y/n gently closed her door. He had gotten out of the car and was walking down the sidewalk. His muscles were slightly achy as they always did when he got sick. He lifted his arms above his head and y/n flushed as his shirt revealed a small stripe of his tummy. The trail of hair that led from his belly button down to his nether regions was on clear display. It looked pressed down from his shirt and the sweat on his body and the sight had y/n sigh. She wished more than anything to just have it be the weekend and be laying next to Aaron with her hand under his sleeping shirt trailing her fingers through that strip of hair from his belly button and lower. Aaron noticed y/n freeze and he lowered his arms. He still wasn’t feeling good at all but couldn’t help but say as he stepped next to her, “Now looks who looks like they’re warm?” Hotch watched as the blush only worsened on y/n’s face and she said, “Ha ha. Now let’s get you inside and in bed, Sir.” That comment had Aaron’s eye widen and he sighed, putting his warm hand on y/n’s back leading them to the door.
Once inside, y/n took the lead and took Aaron’s hand in hers, a classic gesture that they had become accustomed to in either of their homes. At the beginning of the relationship, Aaron was so used to not touching in the office or on the plane that he would take his hand away out of instinct. But over time he got used to the feeling of their hands conjoined. After a long case or a hard or boring day in the office which was most of them. Aaron could hardly wait to feel the comfort and grounding presence of y/n’s hand in his. They would hold hands whenever possible at home, even if it was impractical. y/n took him into his room and Hotch sat on the cool bed. y/n moved her hand to his shirt and started to unbutton it for him as he unbuckled his belt and pulled it out of the loops of his pants. This was the kind of soft intimacy that Aaron loved with y/n. She stripped his shirt from his body which was sticking to his skin slightly. When this was done, Aaron stood and slipped out of his pants. Now that he was home and he was in his room, the bed called him and he pulled the covers aside and dipped down to the cool mattress letting out a sigh of relief. He closed his eyes just as y/n leaned down, picked up his clothes, and moved to the laundry hamper to put them there. She then moved into the bathroom and grabbed a few towels. Two she dampened with cool water and wrung out and the last she kept dry. y/n moved back to the bedroom and sat on the side of the bed. Aaron was shivering slightly and y/n assumed it was because of his sweat cooling him off. He usually kept it pretty cold in his apartment. y/n gently pulled the covers off of him and used the dry towel to wipe off his sweat. Hotch didn’t open his eyes as y/n did this. He was so comfortable around her. He used to feel like he needed to look a certain way and act a certain way even outside of the office like with holding hands, but now he could do or act anyway around her, and she could do the same. Aaron’s eyes fluttered open when y/n placed the cool towels on his forehead and chest. y/n smiled at his half-lidded gaze and brushed his hair back with her hands and he murmured, “Thanks sweetheart.” y/ns smiled and said, “Of course love, now just rest.”
Once Aaron fell back to sleep, y/n got up and went back into the main room. She pulled out her laptop and sent in a request for a day off citing personal reasons as the cause. This wasn’t wholly a lie as taking care of Hotch was a personal reason to stay home for the day. y/n didn’t think about texting the team as she noticed some dishes in the sink and as she passed Jack’s room it seemed like it could use some picking up. y/n worked on the dishes first and then moved to the toys over the floor and bed of Jack’s bedroom. y/n knew that doing these small tasks would take a load off of Aaron’s shoulders later. These chores took about an hour and as y/n was walking out of Jack’s room, she got a call from Emily. y/n answered her phone and said, “Hey Em. How’s everything at the office?” Emily replied, “Well quiet for starters. You and Aaron are both out today. Apparently Hotch has a cold or something? Did you catch it too?” y/n thought quickly and pretended to not know that Aaron was sick and said, “Aaron is sick? Has that ever happened before? I swear he’s always in the office.” y/n heard Emily chuckle on the other end of the line and said, “Tell me about it. But anyway, what’s you’re excuse?” y/n through of a lie and said, “House problems. That drip in my ceiling from the workman redoing the unit upstairs turned into a river. I’ve been on the phone with maintenance and insurance for the last two hours.” There was a brief pause and Prentiss said, “Damn. Listen y/n, you’ve gotta get out of that place.” y/n laughed. She was happy to hear Emily and didn’t notice as Aaron moved out of his room. He’d taken Asperin which y/n had left on the table for him if he felt like he needed them. He was still very tired as he moved behind y/n with an empty glass and asked loudly enough for Em to hear Hotch ask, “Who’s on the phone, sweetheart?”
There was a heavy pause on the other end of the line before Emily said, “y/n, are you with Aaron. Did… did he just call you…” y/n quickly said, “Hey, gotta go Em. I’ll talk to you later” before quickly hanging up the phone. y/n turned to look at Aaron and his face took on a sheepish look as he asked, “I take it that was a member of the team?” y/n silently nodded before bursting out into a laugh and saying, “Aaron, how have we kept this a secret for so long and you’re the one who goes and says something about it? On the phone nonetheless?” Hotch couldn’t help but chuckle too as he placed his head in the crook of y/n’s neck. He inhaled her scent and said, “Can you blame me? I’m sick after all.” y/n scoffed; she could still feel the heat radiating off of him, and if he wasn’t so warm to the touch, she might have thought that he was doing this all to get them alone and out of the office. But Aaron would never do that. He was a great partner but also a workhorse and a dedicated employee. Aaron simply did not miss work, which was why y/n had to pressure and make sure he got home and rested. He’d be itching to get back to the office by tomorrow but he’d be out for longer if he overdid it now. y/n would have to think about his response about the team finding about them. She’d also need to think about her reaction, though y/n was sure most of that would depend on how the team responded. For now, y/n turned to Hotch and asked, “What are you doing up out of bed? You’re supposed to be resting.” Aaron stood back and replied, “Just getting some ice and another glass of water.” y/n smiled at him and said, “Okay, I’ll grab it for you. Now, you go lie down. I’ll be right there with some cold water.” Hotch nodded and walked back to his room. y/n moved toward the kitchen with a smile on her face. She wasn’t happy that Aaron was sick, just that he was so willing to let her help him. He was used to the notion that he needed to take care of everything himself, so letting her help him in these small ways was a big deal to y/n.
While y/n and Aaron were talking after y/n had hung up on Emily abruptly, Emily was standing in the center of the bullpen near her desk with her mouth slightly ajar and eyes wide with shock. Prentiss wasn’t even sure how to process what she had just heard on the phone. Em didn’t stay that way for long as Morgan came back from grabbing a cup of coffee and noticed her stunned state. Derek moved forward and said jokingly, “Well this is a rare sight. What’s got you all tongue-tied?” Emily gained her composure and said, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you?” Now Morgan’s interest was piqued and he raised an eyebrow stating, “Alright, try me, girlfriend.” Emily rolled her eyes at his nickname and said, “Well you know how Hotch is out sick today?” Derek nodded and Em continued, “Well I was just on the phone with y/n who is also missing…” Derek’s eyes widened as his brain connected the dots and he froze also. All the strong agent could say was, “No way,” Em nodded and said, “Well unless I have Hotch’s voice very wrong he just said ‘who’s on the phone sweetheart,’ to y/n.” Emily watched as Morgan’s eyes danced around for a second before he shook his head. Derek finally said, “Are you sure? What did y/n say?” At this point, Prentiss was smiling with the idea that y/n was seeing Aaron, just for the scandal of it all. She responded, “Not much. She said something came up, and she’d call me later, and then she hung up. If that’s not her trying to hide something then I don’t know what is.” Morgan let out a whistle and said, “Do you think she’s at his place or is he at hers?” That had Emily roll her eyes and say, “Well I’m not going to speculate about that right now. What I am going to do is go tell JJ about this. She will freak out.” Morgan agreed and said, “Do you think Rossi knows.” Prentiss replied, “Well we might just be freaking out. It could be something else you know. I might be reading into this.” Derek leveled a glare at her and Emily laughed, “Alright, you’re right. Listen, we can ask them tomorrow. Now, let me get to JJ and Garcia.” Derek let Emily past him.
Once Prentiss was gone, he crossed his arms over his chest. He considered that Aaron was dating y/n and took the concept a bit more seriously than Emily. He wanted to make sure everything was okay with that. Not only for Hotch and y/n but for the team. He knew from his time as a beat cop that interdepartmental relationships could get messy if and when things ended. The team had worked well in taking y/n into the fold and he didn’t want to see that ruined for a romance that was technically against the rules. Apart from the team dynamic, Derek was scared for Aaron who had been under some heat from the director. But his concern was more for y/n who was new. If she got caught up in something she could easily be transferred to a small department in West Texas somewhere where prostitution, cattle, and oil are the only things there. Morgan closed his eyes and took a breath and tried to put things in perspective. When he opened his eyes Rossi was looking down at him with a knowing look. The older profiler had heard Emily and JJ’s excited conversation in the next room over. Morgan just rolled his eyes. There was nothing for him to do now, so he went back to his desk and got back to work.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully for the team and y/n and Aaron. At 3:30 y/n went and picked up Jack and they had dinner in the kitchen while Hotch stayed as far away from them as he could while still keeping up some conversation. Jack was excited about the school play of Peter Pan that was coming up and y/n encouraged him in all things. Aaron couldn’t help but smile as he watched y/n and his son talk animately about what the play would entail. y/n opted to spend the night at Aaron’s the evening just in case he needed anything or his fever got way worse. That would also ensure that she could drop Jack off at school before heading to the office. That evening after Jack was in bed y/n attempted to climb in with Aaron but he sat up and said, “y/n if I’m sick and you sleep with me, then I’m going to get you sick sweetheart, and I promise you don’t want to feel like this.” y/n gave him a small pouty face. Although he looked much better than this morning he was still flushed and warm and he did look tired. y/n didn’t want him to worry about her, so she kissed his forehead, got him another towel for him to place on his face, and moved to the couch in the living room. She pulled a pillow and blanket from the closest and settled in for the night. y/n quickly fell asleep not aware of what was coming tomorrow at the office. The fact that Emily had heard what she heard had slipped out of her head as she had spent the rest of the day taking care of Aaron and Jack along with filling out some forms at Hotch’s desk in his home office.
The next morning came with soft daylight drifting into the living room where y/n was lying. She was woken by Aaron who ran his hand down her face and gently shook her shoulder. y/n smiled at him and noticed he was in his slacks and another white shirt. She stretched out her arms and legs and asked, “What time is it?” Hotch placed his hand on her shoulder and leaned down kissing her before saying, “6:25.” y/n hummed in response. She could feel that he was no longer warm. She could also smell his shaving cream which meant he’d gotten up early and got ready so she’d have time to use the shower and bathroom. y/n sat up and could also smell coffee. y/n leaned into Aaron and kissed him a bit more fervently, winding her hands into his short hair. When they pulled away he was flushed again and she ran a hand down his strong jaw as she moved to his bathroom. As y/n took a cool shower to wake herself up for the day, she considered just how kind Aaron was to her. The kindness she showed him he showered back on her in equal measure, if not more. Not on the field or in the office of course. There was never any favoritism, but outside of work they were there for each other and it felt so nice to have someone to fall back on on the hard days and someone to celebrate the good ones with.
y/n realized that her plan to drop Jack off was infeasible as Hotch had left his car in the Quantico lot yesterday as she drove him home. That meant that they both dropped Jack off and went to work together. This was a fact that wasn’t missed by Spencer or JJ who arrived at the office at the same time as them. Aaron moved up to his office like normal to see all that he’d missed while he was gone yesterday. y/n had asked him if it was a good idea for him to go back to work if he was possibly still sick, but he really felt like what he had yesterday was a twenty-four-hour bug, so y/n didn’t try and stop him. He mostly likely had a say in the sick day policy and y/n knew that she’d come in feeling lousy before, so to not be a hypocrite, she didn’t say much, just that she’d be looking out for him in case he started looking bad again. While Aaron went up to his office, y/n moved to her desk and she could feel a strange atmosphere in the air. There was a kind of excitement that she hadn’t expected coming back to the bullpen. Emily and Spencer seemed to look at her differently as she waved at them and said, “Good morning! I missed y’all yesterday. Did I miss anything good?” Spencer chuckled and said, “Oh yeah, you did. I’m sure Em will tell you about it later.” y/n smiled, she loved drama, but she didn’t realize that she was at the center of this one. She moved to her desk and wrapped up the last file she had been working on at Aaron’s yesterday. When she was finished with that, she moved to the staff room to refresh her coffee. y/n heard Emily and JJ come in behind her laughing and y/n turned around and said, “Hey, JJ, Em. Spence said that I missed some drama yesterday. Who was it? Is it Janet and Brandon again?” y/n sounded so excited and the two other agents in the room looked at each other and burst out laughing. y/n tilted her head and said, “Wait. What’s so funny? What’s going on you two?” The slight exasperation in y/n’s voice had Emily laugh even more and then the brunette replied, “Well does, ‘who’s on the phone sweetheart’ sound familiar?”
Once the words were out of Prentiss’s mouth y/n flushed deeply. y/n stammered a bit and that had JJ laugh and say, “I knew it! How long have you and Hotch been together?” Emily leaned against the counter and said, “Please, y/n. Spill the beans.” y/n had to let out a nervous chuckle and couldn’t believe that she had forgotten this was coming. y/n looked at her hands for a second and then back at her friends softly saying, “Almost a year now. We started considering ourselves official last April.” y/n’s statement had her two friends fall silent. Emily looked at y/n with surprise. Prentiss had expected it to be a few months, maybe four or five, but nearly a year was not what she’d assumed. JJ echoed the surprise and said, “That long? Where you planning on telling us?” y/n looked at their disappointed faces that had shifted from mirth to confusion and potentially hurt so quickly. y/n gave a small sigh and said honestly, “I never meant to keep it secret for so long. I don’t want to hide things from you guys.” Emily responded, “Well this was going on for a pretty long while y/n,” y/n nodded and replied, “I know. I know it has. When we started dating it was pretty soon after Haley. Aaron and I were good with it. But we didn’t want drama or blowback from everyone else. Not the team but the other departments. So we decided to just keep it between us for a while. And then I guess we just kind of fell into that pattern. It was nice. It was nice to have something just for us. I love you both. I love the whole team, but we know each other so well and so intimately. This gave us a place to just be us. But you and the whole team have supported me and Aaron so well. Always. And if you’re willing to support us in this too we’d be so happy. I can’t believe it took me so long to say something. I have so much to tell you both about us.”
Once y/n used Hotch’s first name in that tone, with such care and softness, JJ and Emily softened immediately. They hadn’t seen her look or sound that way before. As y/n spoke her words resonated and Emily stepped forward and asked, “Does he make you happy? That’s what’s most important to me. Because I’m sure you make him happy. He’s a lucky guy that he could get you. But are you happy with him?” y/n’s face broke out into a smile and replied, “I’m happier with Aaron than I’ve ever been before. You have no idea how good he makes me feel.” Hearing this, Prentiss and JJ smiled and moved forward to give y/n a hug. JJ said, “Well then I’m happy for you. But you better be ready for a lot of questions from us and Penelope over a few bottles of wine, y/n.” y/n smiled and replied, “You got it!”
While the ladies were chatting, Aaron got to his office and sat down. He, unlike y/n, was aware that he would have to explain things to the team. Or more like a certain member of the team who had shot him a disappointed look once he’d gotten into the office. When Aaron had his laptop out and had answered two of the most pressing emails the knock on the door shifted his attention. Hotch didn’t even say, come in, Derek just entered and stood at the door for a second before he closed it behind himself. Hotch looked up at his agent who stepped forward and placed his hands on his hips. Hotch pressed his lips together in a firm line as he extended the greeting, “Morgan.” Derek nodded and said, “Hotch.” Derek spent a moment testing out what he wanted to say, but finally just came out with, “What are you doing Hotch? What were all those trainings and mandatory workshops on professionalism about if you’re going to get into a relationship with not only the newest agent in the department but the youngest agent in the BAU? Explain the logic of that to me because it feels pretty hypocritical.” Hotch did his best to hold back the sigh he wanted to let out. This type of reaction was the exact reason why Aaron had been hesitant to let the team know in the first place. He understood that he was going against all of the things he had said and tried to demonstrate.
However, Aaron truly hadn’t meant to fall in love with y/n like he had. He’d tried to stop the feels at every turn. Hell, when y/n had joined the team he hardly believed in the concept of love anymore with how it had ended with Haley. But slowly, over time, the way Aaron had left about y/n shifted. There was a love there unlike any he’d ever seen before. It wasn’t anything dramatic. Not a damsel in distress or that a lust had come over him. It was in the little things y/n did for him and the team. y/n not only looked out for people in small ways but understood that she needed to take care of herself too. She personified not trying to pour from a cup half empty. It was rare to see someone be so aware of what they needed and when they needed to step away. Aaron thought it was very attractive that y/n knew herself so well. At the end of the day when the team asked each other in the elevator what they were doing that night, y/n would always confidently say, “Oh you know, _y/f/r/a_. How about y’all?” When y/n quickly realized that Aaron didn’t even seem to have any coping strategies apart from staying late in the office, she slowly started inviting him to join her for things she liked that helped her unwind. She never pressured him into anything. She never analyzed his patterns or made comments, and slowly Hotch had started to agree and had relaxed a bit. That was when he first realized his feelings for y/n might be deeper than just a simple affection.
Of course, explaining this all to Morgan didn’t feel appropriate or practical. It was he and y/n’s relationship and he didn’t feel like he had to justify it, although he could see where Derek was coming from. The best Aaron could answer Morgan’s question with was, “I didn’t intend it to be like this. And you see us in the office. We don’t flirt or act any differently than normal. And if what y/n and I have together started to affect how we act on the field then I would end it immediately. You can’t judge us on that. And it’s my private affair, Morgan.” The word came out hotter than Hotch intended, but he stood by them. Derek let out a huff and said, “Well it’s not your private affair anymore. You’re setting up rules that you get to break and we don’t? Well, y/n gets to break them too I guess. You might be our superior, but not in this Hotch. If those rules exist then they apply to you as well. And have you thought about y/n? Her role in all of this? You’re her boss whether you’re in a relationship or not.” Aaron flushed, suddenly angry that Morgan wouldn’t think that y/n was in the forefront of his mind at every moment. In every choice, he made going forward. Hotch was about to stand when the door opened again.
While Aaron and Morgan were having their argument upstairs, back in the breakroom y/n had honestly asked what she’d missed, and JJ and Emily had filled her in. Much to y/n’s joy there had been gossip about Janet and Brandon and she listened with rapt attention. While they were laughing about the antics in the department, JJ’s phone pinged and she pulled it from her pocket. JJ’s face dropped immediately when she read the text and y/n and Emily shifted their demeanor as well. y/n asked, “What is it, JJ?” The liaison looked up from her phone and said, “New case. This one seems urgent. It’s directly from the DA. A senator's daughter is missing and he’s running for re-election this year. The DA thinks there might be some connection. I’d better run up and print these files. Em, could you get the rest of the team, and y/n can you tell Hotch?” The two agents nodded and the trio left the break room with determination in their stride. It was fun to talk and chat, but when work needed to get done, they all switched to a serious mood.
Derek didn’t even need to turn around when someone else stepped into the office. From y/n’s distinct tread, he knew it was her. The exasperation that Morgan had been feeling seemed to slip away as he noticed the way Aaron looked at y/n. y/n stayed quiet. She could sense the tension in the air, and that it might be surrounding her. The silence lingered and Derek realized how Aaron looked at y/n. The look on Hotch’s face was one he hadn’t seen in a long time. He looked, happy. Not in a childish “I have a new toy kind of way,” but in a deeply contented and loving way. Morgan dropped his arms and stepped aside, that look on Aaron was enough for him to move aside. y/n stepped forward. She gave Derek a small smile and then looked at Hotch seriously as she said, “We have a case. An important one it seems. JJ is printing the files and we need you in the briefing room.” Aaron nodded and replied, “Okay. I’ll be there in a minute.” y/n nodded and Derek followed her out of the office, but not before giving Hotch a small nod. Not that he was fully onboard, but he could understand better now how much y/n meant to Aaron. Perhaps not only that, but how y/n had helped change Hotch for the better like she had helped the whole team with that. As the pair moved out of the office and toward the briefing room, Derek looked at y/n and asked, “So, how have you been?” y/n tucked a strand of her _y/c/h_ behind her ear and said, “I’m okay. It’s been an interesting day and it’s not even 11:00 yet.” Morgan chuckled and said, “Well, I think it will be okay. You’re a good person, y/n.” y/n smiled and replied, “Thanks, Morgan. You’re a good friend to me.”
Upstairs, Aaron secured his computer and grabbed a legal pad and pen. He and Rossi moved down the hallway together. Dave, whose suspicion had very much been proven correct jokingly said, “So, do you get her home by midnight every night?” Hearing Dave’s joke, Hotch froze. He knew Rossi was just being silly. It was part of his charm. Hotch scoffed and replied, “Maybe, maybe not. What about it?” Rossi moved forward, placed a hand on Aaron’s shoulder with a pat, and replied, “Well just let me know if you need a chaperone for your next date.” Aaron could only roll his eyes and say, “You’re as bad as Morgan, just in the opposite way.” Dave removed his hand and said, “Don’t worry about Derek. He’ll come around. I think we’re all just happy for you. Even if we won’t say it yet. Now, let’s get in there.” When Aaron walked in the room he felt like he was in high school for a moment as all eyes turned to him. He stopped in the doorway and flushed for a second. Emily and Penelope threw him grins but when his eyes landed on y/n he came to himself. y/n was giving him that soft smile that said, “Everything’s going to be alright.” Hotch took a breath knowing that it would be. If not what had they been working toward over the past few months of building a life together? Hotch moved forward, cleared his throat, and said, “This doesn’t seem to be our normal case. So let’s over over the information we have so far together then we can look at the information more closely before having another debrief.
The beginning look over the case information and lead so far was full of ideas and notes and the team did what it did best. After a few minutes, everything settled into its routine like always, and only when Hotch looked over at y/n did he feel himself flush a small bit, but it wasn’t unpleasant. The case so far, was. It dealt with children and a prominent political figure, so the pressure was on the team to solve this quickly. That on top of the mixed reception for the team to his and y/n’s relationship had Aaron feeling a bit antsy. When it came to looking at the files for a few minutes, Aaron moved to the table. It wasn’t a coincidence that the only open chair was next to y/n. Hotch sat down and pulled his chair into the table. He opened his file. y/n, as always, could tell that he was on edge. She took his hand under the table and gave it a soft squeeze. She kept her hand in his, and after a moment, Aaron took both of their hands and set them on the table. Now that the cat was out of the bag it just felt more comfortable that way. y/n took a second to smile at his actions and give his palm another squeeze as her eyes moved back to her file. The cat was out of the bag and Aaron didn’t mind or fear it now that it had happened. The BAU was like a family. They supported each other through life and changes including relationships. And with y/n beside him, he knew that they could make it through anything together.
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#aaron x y/n#aaron x reader#ssa aaron hotchner#aaron hotcher#aaron hotch x you#aaron hotch x reader#hotch x reader#hotch x y/n#criminal minds#fanfiction#cm#reader insert#fluff#comfort#hotch fluff#hotch comfort#aaron is so sweet#criminal minds x you#hotch blurb#hotch drabble#levi writes#female reader#emily prentiss#derek morgan#spencer reid#sick!aaron#the cats out of the bag#relationship reveal#domestic hotch
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Aaron makes you text him when you’re sad. Because he’s sometimes far away and it’s hard to pick up on these things if he’s not home for a week, so he has you text him, and then he’ll tell you to open his bedside drawer which is stuffed full of handwritten notes of reasons he loves you (and a separate box of ones from jack). And a dried flower from every bouquet he ever gave to you. He has Penelope stop by after work to bring you dinner and her favourite games to play with you.
Oh he definitely does 🥺.
He's so considerate having those things ready for you when you're feeling sad 🥺. They always make you smile when you read them and it always helps you feel better<3. Especially when you see the words that Jack had to correct or just completely messed up the spelling on because he's just such an adorable little bug hehe 🤭🤭.
Aaron always loves your messages so when you're not texting him as much as normal or your messages aren't quite you he can definitely tell that something isn't okay. He will ask you what's wrong if you don't tell him in what he considers a reasonable amount of time from when he notices something's off. But after some time you just start telling him straight away when you're not alright.
The flowers 🥹🥹 I love this! I would love to look at them 🥺🥺. They would still be so beautiful especially because they remind you of Aaron and when he gave them to you.
Penny!!!! I love her 🥹. She ALWAYS brightens you up! She's so cheerful and knows how to make you smile! And she's willing to do anything for you<3. I think she is protective of you and wants to take care of you of course<3. She gives you all the hugs! She will comfort you and get your mind off the bad thoughts and feeling better and brighter<3.
Aaron is just 🥺💞 I love him 🫶.
#rome🌞#ily my platonic romeo<3#rome you are wonderful!#rome and i share one braincell and it is soft for hotch#aaron hotchner#hotch#penelope garcia#aaron hotchner x reader#hotch x reader#aaron hotchner x gn!reader#aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader#hotch x gn!reader#hotch x gender neutral reader#aaron hotchner fluff#hotch fluff#aaron hotchner comfort#hotch comfort#mon answers 🩷
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Bulletproof Bonds || Aaron Hotchner
Summary: Request - Maybe a husband!Aaron x Long Time BAU!wife and how there’s a new member to the BAU and she keeps trying to flirt with Aaron but he keeps turning her down🥲 but the new member doesn’t know that Aaron and reader are married, and new member just thinks of reader as competition to get with Aaron, eventually leading to reader getting really mad cause new member does something really stupid on a case that leads to reader almost getting seriously injured??... Read Rest Here
A/N: Really loved writing this one. Hope you all enjoy! Thank you for the request @viscade !
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader,
Word Count: 3.1k
TW: Yelling, gunshot (non wounded)
In the bustling chaos of the BAU bullpen, Aaron Hotchner sat at his desk, his brow furrowed in concentration as he sifted through the multitude of case files scattered before him. A usual sight for the unit chief. The harsh fluorescent lights cast stark shadows across his features, accentuating the lines of exhaustion etched into his face by years of chasing monsters in the dark.
You sat by his side, a silent sentinel amidst the whirlwind of activity. Your own workspace dedicated beside him cluttered with documents and crime scene photos. The faint aroma of stale coffee hung in the air as you both delved into the intricate web of clues left behind by the latest serial killer to plague the streets. It was always so easy with him, your husband. The way the two of you were able to bounce ideas off each other was like none seen before.
The tension in the room was palpable, a heavy weight pressing down on everyone present as they grappled with the enormity of the task at hand. Each unsolved case seemed to loom over them like a specter, a constant reminder of the lives lost and the justice yet to be served. Amidst all the usual chaos, Agent Sarah Miller made her presence known. Her arrival heralded by the soft click of her heels against the linoleum floor. She moved with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, her youthful exuberance a stark contrast to the world-weary countenances of her colleagues. She had no idea what she was getting herself into.
Sarah's eyes lingered on Aaron as she sauntered past his open aired desk, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of her lips. She was young, ambitious, and hungry for success. Her gaze fixed on the formidable figure of the BAU's leader like a moth drawn to a flame.
Despite Aaron's cold indifference, she persisted in her attempts at flirtation, undeterred by his lack of response. Her tactics were shamelessly transparent, her words dripping with false sweetness as she sought to capture his attention. Agent Sarah Miller yet again walked past Aaron's desk, her gaze lingering on him for a moment too long before she turned her attention to you. There was a subtle flicker of annoyance in her eyes as she took in your presence, her lips curling into a barely concealed sneer.
"Hey, Hotch," she purred, leaning against the edge of his desk with practiced ease. "You must be tired of staring at all those files. Why don't you take a break and grab a coffee with me?" Her eyes kept looking back to you in brief flashes to gauge your reaction. You decided early on after her brazen attempts that you would give her none. A layer of disgust masked on top of the doe eyes she was attempting to give your husband was meant for you. She was very forward, you had to give her that one.
Aaron's response was polite but firm, his tone devoid of any warmth. "I'm sorry, Agent Miller, but I have work to do," he replied, his eyes never leaving the papers in front of him.
Undeterred, Sarah flashed him a flirtatious smile, her gaze lingering on him expectantly. "Maybe some other time, then," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness before she finally strolled away.
You couldn't help but roll your eyes at her blatant display of interest, the subtle scoff escaping your lips as you returned your focus to the files sprawled across your desk. "Some profiler she is," you muttered under your breath, the sarcasm dripping from your words like venom. It was a small act of defiance, a way to vent the frustration bubbling just beneath the surface as you watched Sarah's failed attempts at seduction.
Your comment earned a small smirk from Aaron, his lips quirking up in amusement as he glanced up from his work. His eyes met yours, a silent acknowledgment passing between you, a shared understanding of the absurdity of the situation. In that fleeting moment, you found solace in the unspoken reassurance that he was not blind to Sarah's antics, nor was he unaffected by them.
As the tension in the room continued to get heavier, you exchanged a knowing glance with Aaron, the unspoken bond between you speaking volumes. It was a silent reminder of the unbreakable connection that bound you together, a tether grounding you amidst the disarray swirling around you. In that moment, you drew strength from the knowledge that no amount of flirtation from the new agent could ever hope to rival the deep-seated love and loyalty that defined your marriage.
But beneath the surface, resentment simmered, fueled by the blatant disrespect for the boundaries of your marriage. Each lingering glance, each flirtatious comment served as a reminder of the fragile line Sarah was treading, unaware of the storm brewing beneath the calm facade. Yet, as frustrating as her antics were, you knew that the true test of your marriage lay not in her misguided advances but in the unwavering trust and devotion you shared with Aaron. A bond that would withstand any challenge thrown your way.
You had to give the girl credit. She certainly didn’t stop. It was not even an hour later that the girl came crawling right back to him. In the dimly lit bullpen of the BAU, the seasoned agents huddled together, their eyes darting furtively around the room as they exchanged knowing glances. Reid, Garcia, Morgan, and Prentiss stood in a tight circle. Their voices hushed as they leaned in conspiratorially.
"So, who's going to crack first?" Garcia whispered, her eyes sparkling mischievously behind her glasses.
Prentiss smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. "My money's on Y/N. She's got that poker face down pat."
Reid nodded in agreement, adjusting his glasses. "And she's got a wicked sense of humor. I don't think she's sweating it."
Just then, Morgan, ever the observant one, interjected with a grin. "You know what, I'm with both of you on this one. Y/N's handling this like a pro. She's probably just waiting for the perfect moment to drop a witty comeback."
The others turned to look at you, noticing your bemused expression as you observed the scene unfolding with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. The new agent, eager to impress, leaned in a little too close to Hotch, her voice dropping to a suggestive whisper. "So, Hotch, any plans for dinner tonight?"
Hotch glanced up from his paperwork, his expression remaining impassive. "Just finishing up some reports, Agent. Nothing planned."
Undeterred, the new agent persisted, fluttering her eyelashes coyly. "Well, if you change your mind, I know this great Italian place down the street."
Hotch merely nodded, returning his attention to the file in front of him. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, Agent."
Behind his back, the BAU members couldn't contain their laughter, stifling their giggles as they watched the new agent's attempts fall flat. It was clear that Hotch was immune to her charms, his focus unwavering even in the face of relentless flirting.
As Sarah retreated, finally somewhat defeated, the BAU members exchanged triumphant looks, their silent bet settled. Hotch may have been unflappable in the field, but when it came to dodging unwanted advances, he was truly a master of his craft. And you, well, you were just enjoying the show, your amused smile barely masking your annoyance as you watched the scene unfold.
The breaking point came during a particularly intense case, where the unsub's erratic behavior had everyone on edge. You felt the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you moved cautiously through the dimly lit corridors of an abandoned warehouse, every nerve on high alert.
In the heat of the pursuit, Sarah's impulsive decision shattered the fragile equilibrium you had struggled to maintain with your team. Ignoring protocol and disregarding the safety of the team, she charged ahead recklessly, her actions sending shockwaves rippling through your ranks. Bullets flew past you like angry hornets, the deafening roar of gunfire echoing off the walls as chaos descended upon you.
It happened in the blink of an eye, a split-second decision with far-reaching consequences. A bullet sliced through the air like a deadly whisper, its trajectory aimed straight for your chest. But thanks to the protective barrier of your bulletproof vest, the impact was nothing more than a forceful shove, the fabric absorbing the blow with a sickening thud. The impact knocked the wind out of you, pain searing through your body as you stumbled backward, clutching your chest.
As the adrenaline faded and the reality of what could have been sunk in, fury ignited like a wildfire within you. You rounded on Sarah, your voice a crescendo of anger as you unleashed the pent-up frustration that had been building for weeks. Each word was a dagger aimed straight at her heart. Your tone laced with a venomous ferocity that mirrored the intensity of the emotions raging within you.
Coughing up blood, your vision blurred as you struggled to make sense of what had just happened. Anger surged through you like a tidal wave, drowning out the pain as you staggered to your feet. With a primal roar, you lunged at Sarah, grabbing her by the collar with a strength born of desperation.
"What the fuck was that?" you yelled, louder than you ever had before. And certainly not in front of the team. Your voice raw with fury. Each word was a thunderclap, reverberating through the warehouse like a warning shot. "You could have killed me! Or them! Do you even realize what you've done?"
But Sarah's response was a defiant sneer, her gaze unwavering in the face of your righteous indignation. "I did what needed to be done," she spat, her voice laced with arrogance. "I'm not afraid to take risks to get the job done."
The words were like a slap to the face, a cruel reminder of the recklessness that had nearly cost you everything. With all your rage, you shoved her away, your hands trembling with anger as you struggled to contain the tempest raging within you.
"You're a liability," you growled, your voice a low, dangerous whisper. "And if you ever put my life, their lives,” You pointed to Spencer and Emily behind you, “in danger again, I won't hesitate to take you down myself."
As you stood there, trembling with fury and pain, the rest of the team made their way over. You still hasn’t seen Aaron yet but the rest of them looked on in shock and disbelief. Derek surged forward, his strong arms wrapping around you as he pulled you back from the confrontation. "Easy there Y/N," he said, his voice low and soothing as he tried to calm the storm raging within you. "Cool off."
Emily and JJ exchanged worried glances. Finally, Aaron found you after too many moments of losing it in front of everyone. His eyes widened in alarm as he took in the sight of blood staining your lips, his heart clenching with fear at the sight. "What happened?" he demanded. His usually calm voice was laced with urgency as he reached out to gently touch your arm. His fingers trembled against your skin, his touch a comforting anchor in the swirling chaos of the moment.
Still reeling from the confrontation and the shock of narrowly escaping serious injury, Spencer stepped forward, his voice calm but tinged with urgency. "Aaron, Sarah made a nearly fatal mistake," he said, his words cutting through the tension like a knife. "Her impulsive actions endangered everyone on the team, especially Y/N." You were thankful he was willing to step in because you weren’t quite sure if you had the right words.
Aaron's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching with barely contained fury as he turned his gaze on Sarah. The air around him crackled with palpable anger, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive. "Is this true?" he demanded, his voice cold and steely as he pinned her with a hard stare.
Sarah shifted uncomfortably under his intense scrutiny, her bravado faltering in the face of his unwavering gaze. "I...I was just trying to apprehend the unsub," she stammered, her voice wavering with uncertainty.
But Aaron's patience had worn thin, his temper flaring like a raging inferno. "You made a reckless decision that put the entire team at risk," he snapped, his voice echoing off the walls of the warehouse. "Until you can prove that you're capable of following protocol and putting the safety of your teammates above all else, you will not be back in the field."
The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the consequences of her actions. Sarah's expression fell, her defiance crumbling under the weight of his judgment. It was a harsh lesson, but one that she would need to learn if she ever hoped to earn back the trust of her colleagues and prove herself worthy of wearing the badge.
As Aaron turned away, his attention returning to you with a renewed sense of protectiveness, you couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for the unwavering support of your team leader and husband. But as you tried to catch your breath, a sudden coughing fit wracked your body, drawing Aaron's attention back to you. Concern flashed across his features, his eyes narrowing with worry as he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to steady you.
"Hey sweetheart," he murmured softly, his voice a gentle caress against your ear as he brushed a strand of hair away from your forehead. "Let's get you checked out, alright?"
You attempted to speak, but the coughing fit continued, leaving you gasping for air. So, you shook your head in protest. You were fine and you knew it, but the damn bullet hit you right in the lung leaving you gasping for air. Aaron's worry deepened, his brow furrowing with concern as he knelt down beside you, his hands hovering anxiously over your shoulders.
"Honey, just breathe," he urged, his voice filled with tenderness as he placed a comforting hand on your back. "We'll get you to the hospital, and they'll take care of you. I promise." It wasn’t usual that he dropped those sweet terms of endearment to you in front of the team, but he couldn’t really care. Not when he could’ve lost you.
Despite your protests, Aaron's determination remained steadfast. With gentle insistence, he scooped you up in his arms, cradling you against his chest with a strength born of love and concern. "You're going to the hospital," he declared, his voice unwavering as he carried you towards his SUV. “I’m not taking no for an answer sweetheart."
As Aaron settled into the driver's seat beside you, his eyes flickered with concern as he stole glances, his hand reaching out to brush against yours in a silent gesture of reassurance. But despite his unwavering determination to get you to the hospital, you couldn't help but feel a stubborn sense of resistance bubbling within you.
"I'm fine, Aaron," you insisted, your tone tinged with frustration as you crossed your arms over your chest. "This is incredibly dramatic. You’ve been hit in your gear too."
Aaron's expression softened at your words, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Maybe I am," he admitted with a chuckle. "I also know what it feels like honey. I’d rather be safe than sorry."
You shot him a playful glare, unable to suppress the teasing smile that danced on your lips. He cared for you, truly. Every inch of himself loved you more deeply than even you could have fathomed. You also knew that love bore stubbornness and there was no talking him out of what he knew he had to do. You were just along for the ride now. "You just can't resist playing the hero, can you?" You spoke up after a moment of silence between the two of you.
Aaron chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he glanced over at you. "Guilty as charged," he replied. "Always remind me never to get on your bad side," Aaron quipped, a lighthearted smile playing on his lips as he attempted to alleviate the tension that hung heavy in the air.
You managed a weak laugh trying your hardest to hide the pain radiating from your chest. However, so grateful for his attempt to lighten the mood. "You looked like you were about to take matters into your own hands back there," he teased gently, his voice laced with affection.
The image of you, ready to throw down with the new agent, brought a genuine laugh bubbling up from deep within you this time. "Well, she did have it coming," you admitted with a mischievous grin. "But I guess I'll let you handle the heroics this time."
As the laughter subsided, Aaron's expression turned more serious, a hint of regret flickering in his eyes. "I'm sorry things got so heated," he said softly, his voice tinged with sincerity. "I should have stepped in sooner. I thought she was harmless. Dealt with her type so many times before." He sighed, running a hand through his hair before finding your hand and lacing his fingers within yours.
You squeezed his hand, a warm smile spreading across your face. "It’s not your fault you’re such a silver fox," Tossing him a wink you couldn’t help but to tease him right on back. It’s how you knew everything was going to be just fine. The two of you had dealt with so much worse and come out even stronger, this would be nothing but a minor blip on your journey together.
Aaron laughed at your playful comment, a warmth spreading in his chest at your familiar banter. "Ah, so you're saying my charm is both a blessing and a curse," he retorted with a grin, his gaze softening as he looked at you.
You nodded, a fond smile playing on your lips. "Something like that," you agreed, feeling a surge of gratitude for the ease with which you could navigate even the toughest moments with Aaron by your side.
As the car glided through the streets towards the hospital, a comfortable silence settled between you, punctuated only by the gentle hum of the engine. Despite the events that had unfolded, you found solace in the quiet intimacy of the moment, knowing that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together. With each passing mile, you felt the weight of the day begin to lift from your shoulders, replaced by a sense of reassurance that only Aaron could provide. His unwavering love and support was everything you needed. He guided you through the darkness, illuminating the path forward with hope and determination.
As you arrived at the hospital and Aaron helped you out of the car, you knew that this was just another chapter in your life together. You couldn't help but feel a profound sense of gratitude for the man beside you, your literal partner in crime, your rock, your everything. Together, you were truly unstoppable.
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“Power Struggle”
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader
Rating: M
Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Word Count: 7.2k
Summary: For months, you and SSA Aaron Hotchner have been toeing the boundary between romance and your careers. When the unsub that's been killing women in Michigan by way of replicating Zeus' punishments from Greek mythology takes you as his next victim, it's up to Hotch and the rest of the BAU team to find you before it's too late. Hurt/comfort and angst with happy ending.
Tags: graphic depictions of violence, reader kidnapped by unsub, blood, implied SA, nudity, electrocution, scarring, hospitals
“You’re telling me someone is out here killing people to recreate, what? Greek legends?” Sheriff McCullen’s brow pinches as he shakes his head.
“Legends are stories often loosely based on a real person or event to teach us a lesson. Mythology is based on supernatural or sacred lore and explains why things came to be. It’s a common mistake.” Reid speaks quickly and methodically, as if reciting from a textbook. “It’s straight out of the mythos,” he explains, his voice tinged with something akin to excitement as he approaches the whiteboard where photos of the victims had been pinned up for review. Using a ballpoint pen as a pointer, he taps the first image of the first victim. “Regina Manford, she was found tied to a boulder in Craig Lake State Park with her liver removed. Animal predation showed birds had pecked at her while she was still alive. In Greek mythology, Zeus did this to Prometheus to exact revenge on him after he stole fire to give to man.”
Reid moves on to the next victim, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he did so. “Sarah Walters was found bound to an old water wheel that had been set on fire. Greek Mythology suggests this is a copy of Zeus’ punishment for Ixion.”
“And what did he do to deserve that?” asks the sheriff.
Reid’s lips form a tight line. “He was invited into Zeus’ home on Olympus. After attempting to seduce his wife, Hera, Zeus punished him by binding him to a wheel of fire cursed to spin forever toward the underworld. She might’ve smiled or even looked at him, and in his delusion believed she was a seductress deserving of punishment.”
“So, what? This guy sees himself as some sort of god?”
“We believe that is his delusion, yes,” answers Emily. “Each victim also bore signs of sexual trauma, this is something Zeus is also renowned for in the mythology. Our unsub thinks he’s infallible and that these women’s lives and deciding when and how these women live and die is his divine right.”
“Do we know if there will be more victims?” asks one of the detectives.
You step forward from your place between Morgan and Hotchner. “Given the number of victims Zeus punished within the mythology, we can assume he is not finished. These kills are two weeks apart. It’s been twelve days since the last body was found. We can only assume he’s currently hunting for his next victim. And when he finds one, he convinces her to go to a second location. It's once they leave the primary location that he attacks. In each case, the victim suffered a blow to the head, leaving a uniquely shaped gash in her forehead. This suggests that he strikes them with a distinct blunt object or even a ring that’s on his hand.”
“We need every man out on the streets,” Hotch states, his eyes hard as he scans the group of law enforcement gathered to receive the profile. “He stalks his victims in the city, often on the weekends when night life is busiest. He’s charming. He has no problem approaching women because he views himself as a deity and carries himself with the arrogance and confidence of one. He’s white, in his early to mid 30s, good looking, charming, and likely has a career that would’ve provided him with medical training.”
A female detective with short blonde hair sticks her pencil in the air. “How do we know that?”
“The incisions made on Regina’s body were clean, precise, and showed no signs of hesitation,” explains Rossi. “The M.E. also informed us that the hepatic artery was clamped off, meaning,” Rossi hesitates before continuing on, “meaning Regina Mansford was alive as her liver was being cut from her body.”
An uncomfortable murmuring breaks out. Hotch raises a hand, silencing them. Your mouth goes dry and you swallow, hoping your team doesn’t notice the way your eyes dilate when you look at him and the silent way in which he can command a room.
“This is why we need every available officer on the streets. Increase units in the downtown area. Have plain clothes officers on the streets. That’s where we’ll be. Thank you.” Hotch tucks his head and sweeps out of the bullpen, the rest of the team trailing after him into the conference room.
“Where do you want us?” asks Morgan as you shut the door to the conference room.
“Reid, I want you here working the geographical profile. See if there’s anything we missed that could bring us closer to a precise location where he’s kidnapping his victims. Rossi and JJ, I want you to go back to Sarah’s apartment and see if we missed anything that tells us where she was exactly on the night she was kidnapped. Derek and Emily take the north side of downtown.” He inclines his head toward you. “You and I will take the south side.”
His eyes linger on yours a moment longer than they ought to have. You dip your head and swiftly exit the room, jacket in hand as you prepare to brave not only the frigid Michigan cold but working one one-on-one with Hotch. This had been going on for months; subtle looks, brief touches where his fingers would slide over yours while passing off a case file…yet a part of you still wasn’t sure if it would ever go any further than that. You spend so much of your time with the team, it would be so easy to mistake one gesture for something that it wasn’t. Yet you knew that wasn’t true. You know behavior. You’re trained to recognize the subtlest of shifts in demeanor and body language and you know exactly what is going on.
You jump as someone pushes through the front door of the precinct. Emily’s gentle laugh disrupts your rumination. “Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She moves to stand closer to you as she zips her jacket. “The guys went to grab the cars.”
You nod and shove your hands in your pockets.
Emily arches a perfectly manicured brow. “What’s up?”
You school your expression and feign nonchalance. “Nothing, I just want to catch this guy before he hurts anyone else.”
Emily’s brow furrows and then straightens, a glimmer of knowing in her eye. “Something tells me there’s a different guy on your mind.”
Your heart skips a beat and you nearly choke on the crisp winter air. “What? I don’t—“ Your words falter as Derek and Hotch arrive, the SUVs humming to a gentle stop at the curb.
Emily eyes you, a sly smile curving one side of her red lips. “We’ll talk later.” She winks and steps forward to open the passenger side door, sliding inside and disappearing into the dark interior.
As you turn to move toward the SUV, Hotch is there, opening the door for you. The gesture surprises you, but it shouldn’t. He’d been doing little things like this for weeks now. You nod your head in thanks and as you turn your body to slide past him, his hand catches your hip. Your breath hitches in your throat as his fingers glide against the small of your back, guiding your movement into the vehicle.
His hard eyes meet yours as he shuts the door and you’re grateful for the shadows inside the car as you feel your face flush bright red. Hotch slides into the driver’s seat with ease. He shifts the car into gear and pulls onto the road, heading in the direction of downtown.
After a few minutes, you open your mouth to disrupt the silence, but his cell rings. Hotch answers and places it on speaker as JJ’s voice floats through the receiver, “Hotch, we think we’ve got something at Sarah Walters apartment.”
“What’s that?” you ask.
“There’s a sticky note in her trash can,” a garbled sound echoes through the speaker as she shifts the phone. The sound of paper crinkles as she reads, “Tony’s at 9, does that mean anything? Has Garcia come across a Tony in any of her research into the victims’ lives? Maybe an Anthony?”
An image of a neon sign flashes across your mind’s eye. “It’s a bar,” you say matter-of-factly.
“A bar?”
“I remember seeing the sign on our drive-in. It’s a bar on the south side of downtown. That could be where he’s meeting these women.”
“We’re only a few blocks away, we’ll head there now. Thank you, JJ.” He hangs up and slips the phone into his jacket pocket.
“How do you want to play this?” you ask.
“We go in, make observations, see if we can identify anyone that matches the profile.”
You smirk and a small laugh escapes your lips.
“Something funny?” Hotch asks, his voice low in his throat.
You purse your lips, pausing before you proceed. “If we go in looking like feds, we’ll scare this guy away.” You tilt your head, considering. “Well, one of us anyway.”
A slight twitch in his brow is the only indication your words have just barely gotten under his skin. “Touched a nerve, sir?”
As the traffic light ahead blinks red, he eases the car to a stop. He breathes out slowly, the amber glow of the stoplight reflecting in his eyes. In less than two heartbeats, he thrusts the car into park and with both hands clasps your face, drawing you in to kiss you with such fervor white spots dot your vision. It takes a moment to process the heat of his mouth on yours and the way his tongue slides between your lips, and before you can truly reciprocate the light turns green and he pulls back, his breathing ragged against your mouth as his forehead touches yours. “Be careful when and how you choose to call me sir.”
Before you can exhale, his eyes are on the road again and you’re driving deeper into downtown.
“Understood,” and then you add, almost imperceptibly, “sir.”
A small smile quirks at the corner of his lips, but he says nothing more as you approach your destination.
It's nearing 9:30pm when you pull up on the street parallel to Tony’s. People trickle in and out of the bar in groups of twos and threes; most are young, in their mid to late twenties.
“Right,” you say as you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to exit the vehicle. “Stay here.”
“Excuse me?” Hotch asks, reaching over your lap and grabbing your wrist to stay your hand from popping the door open. Your breathing stills and he just barely turns his face toward yours. “Since when do you give me orders?”
Unsure where the confidence to challenge him comes from, you lean in near his ear. You swallow once before speaking. “I think you like taking them.” Feeling incredibly brazen, you nip at his ear once and as the unexpected gesture disarms him; flick your wrist out of his grasp and pop the door open. You slide out of the car and are immediately greeted by the frigid January air eliciting goosebumps up and down your arms. Extending an arm overhead to hang on to the frame of the SUV; you lean down into the cab of the vehicle. “I’ve got you right here,” you say as you tap the hidden earpiece. “Let me know if you see anyone from the outside that fits the profile.”
Hotch eyes you and there’s a fierceness in his gaze. You wonder if he’s thinking of how he’ll ultimately retaliate for your little role reversal now that he’s gone and upped the ante in this little game of cat and mouse. “See you soon,” you wink and slam the door shut.
As you approach the bar, you make sure your coat is buttoned in a way that hides your sidearm and credentials from sight. The bouncer doesn’t even pretend to ask for an ID as you approach and move through the front door with ease. As you cross through the threshold, your senses are assaulted by the smell of beer on tap, the sharp tang of liquor, grease, and an amalgamation of perfumes and colognes.
Immediately you begin scanning the room. You note the layout of the bar: three exits for patrons, the one you just came in through, one near the bathrooms for cigarette smokers, and an emergency exit on the far right wall near to the kitchen. There are three pool tables all of which are occupied as well as three dart boards along the far wall. Groups of friends engage one another and dates carry on without a hitch. You approach the bar, which is centered along the far wall. Stools line the high countertop and behind the bar, two women work to fulfill the never-ending drink orders. You approach the bar and slide into one of the empty seats, relaxing your shoulders as you do so, and order a rum and coke that you don’t plan on drinking.
After a moment the bartender drops a cocktail napkin in front of you and places the drink on top. You thank her and stir the contents of the drink with the swizzle stick popped inside.
“Is this seat taken?” an unfamiliar voice causes the hair on the back of your neck to prickle and you know immediately that it’s him.
Painting on a saccharine sweet smile, you turn toward the voice. A white man, standing at about 6’2”, is smiling down at you. The neon lights behind the bar reflect in his blue-gray eyes and his honey blonde hair falls in soft waves to his shoulders. “Please,” you say demurely and gesture toward the seat. You tell him your name and continue smiling.
“Ronan Carlson,” he introduces himself as he slides in beside you and adjusts the lapels on his leather jacket, a fake Rolex peeking out from his sleeve. He’s preening, you think to yourself. The bartender approaches from behind the bar and he smiles, the curve of his lips the opening act of his charming performance. “I’ll have what she’s having, thank you.” He pulls a roll of cash from the inner pocket of his jacket, flips through several bills, and pulls a $100 bill free before sliding it across the counter to her.
The bartender’s eyes widen in surprise and he winks at her. She nods her thanks and turns to make his drink.
“That was very kind of you,” I say, stirring my drink for the thirteenth time.
He shrugs and tips the baseball cap he’s wearing down over his eyes and you know it’s to obstruct the view the cameras have of him. “It’s only money, and I think I may have made her night.” He inclines his head toward the bartender whose head is bent close to the other woman’s. She’s smiling wide and shows her the $100 bill.
Internally, you roll your eyes hard, but externally you smile and look at him from beneath your lashes. “You must have a great job, what do you do for work?”
His hand flexes as he sets his drink down on the counter and you note the two chunky platinum rings he wears on his right hand. There are symbols etched into them offset by different colored stones, but you don’t want him to catch you staring as he answers, “I’m in business for myself these days,” he says with no further explanation. “Though I used to be in the military.”
You feign surprise, though you were hopeful he’d continue to divulge information. “The military, wow. Let me guess,” you pause and allow your eyes to slowly scan him from head to toe. You remember the profile. “Army…medic.”
“Reign it in,” you hear Hotchner’s voice through the earpiece. “Be mindful of how much you reveal to him. Don’t let him know you know more about him than he’s letting on.”
You watch him assess you and your read into him. One blonde brow creeps up toward his hairline and that wicked smile curves his lips again. “Excellent guess, how do you figure?”
Leaning on to your forearms, you push your drink aside and slide your hand over his and you don’t miss the way his fingers tense at your touch.
“It’s the hands,” you say coyly. “You look like you know how to handle yourself.” He relaxes under your touch and a heat ignites in his eyes that makes your stomach churn, but you don’t let it show on your face. “You look like you know how to handle a lot of things.”
He licks his lips and turns the ring on his finger. “Tell you what,” he says as he picks up his drink. He places the glass to his lips and downs its contents. “Why don’t we get out of here?” He looks down at you from beneath dark lashes. “And I’ll show you just how much I can handle.”
You stand up and flash him a grin. “Let me quickly freshen up and I’ll meet you out front.”
His lips quirk into a smirk, “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”
You smile as you slip away toward the bathroom. As you push through the crowd you inform Hotch that the unsub is on his way out.
“There’s a line growing out the door,” he answers over the earpiece. “Does the description match the profile?”
“To a T,” you answer as you push past a couple with their tongues in each other's mouths. The amount of patrons has increased dramatically over the last hour. The volume of the music makes it hard to hear through the earpiece. You push your way into the restroom and are surprised to find it empty. Fortunately, the outside noise is muffled. You begin to describe Ronan’s appearance and note the jacket and hat he’s wearing. “He’s wearing two oddly shaped rings,” you add. “I think it’s what’s caused the unusual injury to the victims’ faces.”
“I’ve got him. He’s cutting through the line toward the parking lot.” You hear the car door open and slam.
“Got it, I’ll be right there.”
“Good work,” Hotch says over the open line.
You smile to yourself as you unbutton your jacket, glad to be on the receiving end of his praise. For a split second you wonder what else you could be on the receiving end of if you continue to play this game with him. After the case, you remind yourself. Priorities. Priority number one is getting this sick bastard off the street, and he’s right here within your grasp. You shoulder the door as you reach for your gun, positioning your thumb over the rotating hood to dislodge your weapon from its holster.
Over the speakers, an employee is calling to celebrate someone’s birthday. The crowd is distracted and pushing toward the source of celebration. The bar erupts into an off key rendition of Happy Birthday but you don’t hear it as 30,000 volts of electricity course through your veins. Your muscles spasm and lock up as you fall forward. Pain radiates from your abdomen in waves that crash over you again and again. You try to tell your body what to do as strong arms catch you and pull you into a chest that smells like cigarette smoke, but your limbs don’t cooperate. You feel his nose root into your hair as his lips find your ear. “How’s that for capable?”
As he shoulders your weight and steers you out through the emergency exit you hear Hotch’s voice in your ear. “It’s not him!” There’s an edge of panic in his voice as he says your name. “Do you copy? It’s not him. He gave another man $500 to wear his hat and jacket into the parking lot. It’s not him. Do you have eyes on him?”
Dark spots the edges of your vision as he drags your dead body weight. You try to focus all of your ability on getting out any words that can signal to Hotchner what’s happening, any at all but your mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton.”
You hear the tinkling of keys and a door slide open. Pain rattles through your skull as he throws you into the back of whatever vehicle he’s operating. Pain slices through your wrists as zip ties slice through the skin there. Through tunnel vision you see him leering at you. He’s backlit by the streetlights.
As his fist flies toward you, you finally manage one word.
“Aaron.”
•
When you come to, the first thing you feel before the splitting pain in your head threatens to cleave your mind in two, is cold.
Your mouth is dry, but as you move to lick your lips you realize you can’t because there’s a gag in your mouth. You try to move your hands, but they’re bound too. Zip ties cut into each wrist, securing them at your sides on the legs of a wooden chair. When you try to shift the chair, you learn that it’s bolted to the floor and your legs are spread open; zip ties at your knees and ankles keep them apart. Except for your bra and underwear, you’re naked. He undressed you. You feel the wound from the stun gun before you glance down at your stomach and see the two bloody pinpricks in your abdomen. You feel your heart rate increase as panic begins to set in. Do not panic , you tell yourself as you take a steadying breath. The minute you start to panic, you’re dead. You close your eyes and piece together the last dredges of your memory.
Tony’s. Sitting at the bar. The unsub. Ronan. Hotch was in pursuit. And then there was just pain.
Hotch.
The pain in your skull is overwhelming and you’re not sure if you can feel the earpiece anymore.
“Hotch,” you attempt to say through the gag. “Hotch, do you read me?”
You close your eyes as hot tears brim along your lash line when there’s no response. The signal is out of range or the unsub found the earpiece and removed it.
A door creaks open on squeaky hinges and your eyes dart toward the source of the sound. Ronan walks through the door with a sick smile on his face. As he saunters toward you, he rolls the sleeves of his flannel up to his elbows. Without looking away from you, his arm drops to his side and he scoops a folding metal chair with one hand, carrying it with him as he edges closer to you.
You flinch as he cracks the chair down in front of you, forcing it open. He chuckles as he takes a seat. His eyes skirt the length of your body and you wish any limb were free to deliver a blow to his smug face.
He reaches into his back pocket and withdraws your badge. He flips it open and holds it up to your face, the way his eyes flit between you and your credentials makes your lip curl.
“An FBI agent,” he says slowly. He slaps your credentials shut against his denim-clad thighs. “Hot damn!” he shouts and whoops. He throws your badge to the wayside and it clatters against the cement floor. “I’m going to take my time with you.”
It could’ve been hours. It could’ve been minutes. The torture is unrelenting and the pain is unending. Your chest heaves as you brace yourself for the next surge of electricity. Ronan, if that’s even his real name, twists the knob on the amplifier and taps the jumper cable clamps in his hands together. He smiles when he hears the buzz of electricity between them. As he presses them into your thighs, you cry out in pain as the shockwaves paralyze your body and mind and the pain overwhelms you.
“YES!” he roars as he pulls them away from you. He’d taken his flannel off, but now he peels off his t-shirt, balls it up, and uses it to wipe the sweat off of his face.
With the voltage no longer coursing through your veins, you slump forward, chest heaving as your scrambled brain fights to stay alert.
He drops the cables and clasps your face in his hand, forcing your chin up to meet his wild eyes. “You just don’t quit, do you? You're special.” He strokes your cheeks with his thumbs as if he cherishes what he’s doing to you. “You are worthy of a god.”
When you come to Ronan is watching you. He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his clasped hands.
“She wakes,” he muses.
You glare at him and his brow pinches. He purses his lips together like he’s been stung, but his eyes are alight with amusement.
“You,” he says, gesturing up and down your body, “look beautiful.”
You don’t need to look down to know the number of bloodied burn wounds spanning the lengths of your legs. If you couldn’t keep track of any other thought, the count was all that kept you grounded. There were ten. Five on each leg. Your wrists and ankles bled from the way you’d pulled against them with every shock he delivered.
He reaches forward and this time you don’t flinch. He hooks two fingers into the gag and pulls it down over your chin, his fingers trailing your lips as he does so.
“Here,” he says, bringing a bottle of water to your lips. “Drink.”
You clamp your lips shut and turn your face away. He laughs and shakes his head. “Come on now, don’t refuse me. That’s not how you show gratitude when a god shows you mercy.”
You muster as much hatred into your stare as you focus your attention back on him. “Mercy?” you hiss, and your voice is hoarse from screaming against the gag. It hurts to speak. You pull against your restraints. “This is what you call mercy?”
“I’m only testing you to see if you’re worthy,” he says by way of explanation. "You've lasted longer than the others."
“Worthy of what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.
“To be my Hera.”
“How is what you’re doing to me, what you did to those other women, going to help you find her?”
“They weren’t worthy,” he answered. “They couldn’t take my power like you could, my lightning. They were false. They needed to be punished.”
He leans in, his lips close enough to yours that you can feel his smoky breath on your skin. “But you, you deserve to be rewarded.” Your skin bristles at his words. His lips find your jawline and you grimace as he drags them up the side of your face. When he pulls away, dried blood flakes onto his skin.
“Don’t be afraid,” he soothes as he smoothes your sweat-drenched hair away from your face. “You’ll enjoy it.”
Unable to suffer any more of his poisonous bullshit, you rear your head back and slam it forward. Pain explodes behind your forehead, but it’s worth it to hear the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking. He roars in pain and clutches his bleeding nose. White light blinds you as he backhands you and curses your name. His ring splits the skin of your cheek open. The force of the blow causes you to bite your lip and you feel your teeth cut into the chapped skin there. You spit blood at him, angering him further.
“You are false!” he screams, spittle flying from his mouth as he shoves the gag back into your mouth. “You are not her!” He moves to pick up the jumper cables, twisting the knob of the amplifier all the way up causing the bulbs overhead to flicker. You know this is it. If he touches you with those, it will kill you.
Bracing yourself for the killing blow, you go to the grave knowing you did not give in to this bastard.
It never lands.
Instead, three shots ring out and he’s falling to the floor dead at your feet. As the unsub’s body falls, Hotchner’s frame comes into view and a choked sob escapes your lips. He holsters his weapon and runs to you. Emily and Morgan are right behind him. Morgan passes Hotch a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and he makes quick work of the zip ties binding you to the chair. From the corner of your eye, you see Emily turn off the amplifier and check Ronan’s pulse.
Unable to hold yourself up, you fall forward into his ready arms, letting yours fall over his shoulders. Hotch drops to his knee to support your weight. “You’re okay,” he says as he pulls the gag free from your mouth and you sob into his chest. He smooths your hair back from your face, his eyes assessing the damage done to you. Blood stains his shirt, your blood.
“Morgan, your jacket.” Hotch orders.
Without hesitation, Morgan unfastens his bulletproof vest and unzips his jacket. He passes it to Hotch who drapes it around your shoulders in an attempt to preserve some of your modesty.
“I need a medic!” he shouts before directing his attention back to you.
Your eyes waver as you try to keep them open. You lock in on the depths of his warm brown eyes. “You’re going to be fine,” he says but his voice sounds far away.
“He wanted someone to be his Hera,” you say weakly.
“Don’t worry about that right now,” Hotch soothes.
You swallow and it hurts your throat to do so. Your lips crack open, “You found me.”
Hotch cradles your head against his chest. “Of course I did.”
You wince as the sound of a gurney crashes into the room, the metal wheels squealing as it draws near. Your head swims as you’re swept into the air and laid out on its cushiony bed. A light shines in your eyes and voices are overlapping. Blindly, you use what strength you have left to drop your hand off the side. Unable to focus your attention on where he is, you know he’ll hear you. “Don’t leave me.”
And as you lose consciousness, you feel his hand slip into yours.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
•
A steady beeping fills your ears as you slowly come to. Your eyes feel bruised and you don’t think you have it in you to open them, but you feel something around your wrists and bolt upright. Pain crashes over you in a wave. It was a dream. You’re still bound in that basement. The beeping increases, growing louder and faster. Someone says your name and you feel hands on your shoulders. You try to swing your fist and are surprised when your arm follows through and makes contact with flesh. Did you break through the zip ties? You hear your name again, clearer this time. A man. He’s asking you to stop, to relax.
“It’s me,” he repeats and says your name again. “You’re safe. You’re in the hospital.” He says your name again. “It’s me, it’s Aaron.”
You stop fighting and blink hard. Hotchner’s stern face comes into view, except there’s concern wavering in the depths of his brown eyes. His brow softens as you relax. A small smile turns the corners of his lips. “Hey there,” he says. A nurse rushes into the room and he raises a hand, “We’re fine, here. Thank you.”
The nurse looks at you and you nod. She looks unsure about leaving but ultimately relents. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake.”
Aaron cups the back of your head in one of his hands and gently begins to lower you back down onto the pillows behind you. You allow him to guide you and feel the tension ease from your muscles as your back sinks into the surprisingly plush hospital pillow.
As the adrenaline wears off, you’re finally able to take stock of your injuries as the pain quickly makes itself known. You feel your pulse beating in your skull, pounding at your temples, eyebrow, and cheekbone. With shaky fingers, you touch the places where you remember the unsub striking you. You feel a thick bandage taped over your right eyebrow and steri-strips over your cheek. Your lip is swollen from where you bit it.
Bandages encircle your wrists and there’s an IV stuck in your hand. You’ve been dressed in a hospital gown and the sheets are drawn up to your waist covering the burn wounds. You don't have to see them to know how bad they look. The pain is telling enough.
“Is he dead?” you ask, lowering your hand back down to the bed.
Hotch’s lips form a tight line. “Yes.”
You blink back tears as that information sinks in. “Good,” you whisper in a choked voice. You blink and allow your head to loll to the side. A colorful bouquet of roses and carnations dotted with plastic ladybugs and butterflies sits in a clear vase on the side table.
You smile, “Garcia?”
Hotch smiles in turn. “It was tough to convince her to go home and get some sleep, but I promised her I wouldn’t leave you alone. Even then, it was still a hard-fought battle.”
You chuckle and wince as the movement irritates your injuries.
Hotch telegraphs his next move, and you know it’s to avoid startling you. He cups his hand over your uninjured cheek and strokes the skin there with his thumb.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he says, and his voice sounds tired and pained. “I should’ve gone inside with you.”
“Hotch, don’t.” You reach up and wrap your fingers around his wrist. “Don’t do that to yourself. He didn’t know I was with the FBI until after he took me. If you’d been there, he might’ve pegged us as law enforcement and taken off. He might still be out there and we’d be finding another dead woman in a matter of days. You know I’m right.”
Hotch closes his eyes and heaves a heavy sigh. “I could hear you.”
“What?” you whisper. You try to sit up and wince as the movement stings the wounds in your legs and abdomen. Hotch stands and helps adjust the pillows behind your back before sitting back down in the chair at your bedside.
“Not for very long. He drove out of range, but I heard him speaking to you. I heard the blows land. I heard your head smack against the floor when he threw you in the van.” He stops and shakes his head. “I felt so helpless. I was afraid. I couldn’t get to you, just like,” his voice catches in his throat. “just like I couldn’t get to Haley.”
Your heart breaks for him as he speaks. You reach for his hand and take it, squeezing it. “Aaron, you did get to me. You saved my life.”
He clears his throat and swallows. “Yes, but we were almost too late.”
“But you weren’t,” you state, your tone firm. “Aaron, look at me.”
He hesitates and inhales deeply before lifting his gaze to yours. The corners of his eyes soften as he meets yours and you smile. You gently tug his hand, “Come here.”
Hotch glances toward the door and then back at you, “The doctor—“
“Isn’t going to do shit,” you finish. “I’m the one that endured hours of torture. Pretty sure I’m allowed some close comfort.”
He lets out a shallow laugh. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Standing, he shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair. With one hand he loosens his tie until he’s able to pull it up and over his head. He tosses it onto the chair and circumnavigates the bed, assessing the best way to join you on the small mattress.
You groan as you slide over. Hotch reaches out to stop you but you silence him with a pointed look. “Mind the IV,” you say as you pat the space beside you.
Hotch acquiesces, using the tips of his fingers to raise the IV drip enough for him to slide into bed beside you. He slips an arm around you and drops the feed. It falls across his torso. The feel of his arm around you is comforting, like a security blanket, like safety. You relax into him, and rest your head on his chest. His lips brush against your bandaged brow.
“Not quite how I imagined we’d first be sharing a bed,” you joke softly as you nuzzle in deeper against the wide plane of his chest.
You feel him smile against your hair. “Only you could joke at a time like this.”
“If I can’t laugh at what’s happened, I’ll never be able to close my eyes at night.”
“Well, if that’s the case.” He rubs the bare skin of your arm in small circles. “I’ll be there until you can.”
You turn your head to look at him then, your heart full. This is happening. His eyes are on yours and you push yourself toward him ever so slightly. He closes the small gap between you and presses his lips to yours. It wasn’t hungry and primal like the kiss in the car. There would be plenty of time for that later. This kiss was light, tender…healing.
“Sir, I’m sorry. I tried to go home, I really did but as soon as I got there I—” Garcia’s voice abruptly cuts off. You look up and her initial look of surprise turns to one of abject joy.
You feel your cheeks flush as Emily and Morgan appear in the doorway behind her. Morgan’s eyes widen and Emily’s brow arches as a smile curves her lips.
“I, uh, brought backup.” Penelope giggles. She remembers she’s holding something. “And cookies! I couldn’t sleep, so I baked. I figured I could bribe you into going home and getting some sleep.” Her words leave her mouth at a mile a minute. “I thought you’d fight me on it, so I brought some muscle.” She gestures with a tilt of her head. “They’re the muscle.”
Morgan exhales and points a finger at you and Hotch. “Can someone explain to me what’s going on here?”
Emily elbows him and he drops his arm. She takes the tray from Garcia and walks it over to the side table where she places it next to the flowers. She winks at you as she turns back to Garcia and Morgan. “It’s about time,” she says.
Penelope laughs as she hooks her arm in Emily’s. “What's it been? Two, three months?”
Morgan guffaws. “Months?”
Penelope pats his face with a ring-adorned hand. “My sweet oblivious profiler. Come on, hot stuff.” She takes him by the hand and leads him from the room. Emily shakes her head and laughs. “Men.”
“Safe to say the team knows.”
Hotch releases a breathy laugh and kisses your forehead again. “I know what will be the first thing on the agenda at tomorrow’s debriefing.”
•
6 weeks. It had been 6 weeks since you’d pressed the elevator button that would bring you back to the office. The weight of your gun feels right where it sits upon your hip, your gait more familiar to you now than when it wasn’t holstered to your side. You nervously adjust the grip on your go bag. You’d packed and repacked it the night before.
This morning as you were getting out of the shower, you stared at yourself in the mirror. Your cheek had healed nicely though the skin on your brow that had been split by the unsub’s ring had scarred, severing the tail end of your eyebrow from the rest of it. The ligature marks around your wrists and ankles had healed and the skin was smooth once more. The stun gun had scarred your abdomen, but all that remained were two purple pinpricks of scar tissue no bigger than the size of an infant’s thumbnail.
Your legs are a different story. The front of your thighs are an array of mottled scar tissue. One burn had gone so deep that they’d needed to graft skin from your calf to salvage it. The wounds no longer hurt physically, but you’d woken up from nightmares on more than one occasion.
You were never alone though. Garcia worked remotely on secure laptops with VPNs as often as she was able. Rossi brought you home-cooked Italian at least twice a week and talked with you over numerous glasses of red wine. Reid brought black-and-white foreign existentialist films that you didn’t understand, but his enthusiasm as he watched made you happy all the same. Emily and Morgan brought coffee and donuts as often as they could and Hotch…if he wasn’t at the office or visiting Jack, he was with you. On several occasions, he brought Jack. Jack would sit on the bed beside you, playing with his toys, narrating the adventures of his action figures as Aaron stood in the doorway, smiling. At night, when you had woken in a cold sweat, Aaron was there with a washcloth to wipe it away. When the bandages had stuck to your burn wounds and it felt like your skin was being peeled apart, he got your pain medicine and helped change the dressings, holding you until the pain had passed.
You blink as the elevator dings, signaling you’ve reached your destination. You take a deep breath and smooth down the front of your blouse as the door opens wide. Everything looks the same, yet everything feels like it's changed as you approach the desk you occupy perpendicular to Emily’s. A smile crosses your lips as you see the Welcome Bac k card on your desk. Two vases of flowers sit behind the card. One is almost exactly like the one from the hospital so you know it’s from Garcia. The other, a bouquet of purple tulips, has a note attached to it. You open the note and read it.
Glad to have you back. Things haven’t been the same around here without you. -AH
Hotch. You should’ve known. You smile and tuck the note into your purse.
“Hey, hey, look who’s finally decided to get her ass back to work.” Morgan’s charming laugh is followed by Emily chastising him.
“Ignore him,” she says as she places a steaming mug of coffee on your desk.
“You’re a godsend,” you say by way of thanks and take a long drink. Two sugars, no milk, just the way you like. “Wow, Emily, that’s perfect. I needed this.”
“How come you don’t remember how I take my coffee?” Morgan asks pointedly.
She shrugs, “Chicks before dicks, Derek.”
You sputter and choke on your coffee.
“Look,” he says as he pats you on the back. “Her first day back and you’re gonna kill her.”
At that moment JJ passes by with a file in hand. She raises it in the air and gestures to the conference room. “We got a case.” She smiles at you warmly. “It’s good to have you back.”
Together, you, Morgan, and Emily enter the conference room where Reid, Hotch, and Rossi have already gathered. Once you’re all sat, JJ begins presenting the case. You review current victims and why the Sacramento Police Department has invited you onto the case
“Sacramento PD is expecting us this afternoon. We’ve got a long flight ahead of us. Wheels up in thirty, understood?”
A chorus of ‘yes sirs’ echo throughout the room. As the team gathers their belongings and moves to leave, you wait for Hotch to catch your eye. You wink at him before mouthing, “Yes, sir.”
#aaron hotch x you#aaron hotch fic#aaron hotch fanfiction#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotchner#aaron hotch angst#aaron hotchner criminal minds#aaron hotchner x female reader#f!reader#bau reader#behavioral analysis unit#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds#aaron hotchner headcanons#aaron hotchner hurt/comfort#angst with a happy ending#hurt/comfort#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x fem!reader#aaron hotchner x y/n
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Who suffered more? Jesus or me when they removed Hotch from Criminal Minds.
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𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐚 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫
Hotch touches your face much more than a boss should. Or, 5 times you have a nosebleed +1 time Hotch does.
8k words, a slightly bloody coworkers to lovers, fem!reader, nosebleeds, reader works in the BAU but isn't a profiler, jack is a sweetheart, hotch has game fr, fluff + hurt/comfort
༺༻
You like your desk job. You handle paperwork primarily, and act as a sort of assistant unofficially. Anything to be useful — you get paid either way. It's why you don't mind trying to be helpful in the office and take on some of the office administrator's overflow.
Today, that's fixing the coffee machines. The office can function on one at a stretch but both being broken means an entire roster of grumpy agents and all of them are on your back. And when they have to see all the stuff they say? You figure fixing the coffee machines is the least you can do.
You're ignoring the weight of their waiting, elbow deep in one of the machines. The instruction manual had mentioned a little spout that can get clogged with detriment. Hopefully, you can clean it out and get at least one machine working by midday.
"Oh no," you murmur.
The piece you're trying to unscrew is tightly wound, too tight for your fingers to work behind. You're probably going to need a small tool, like an allen key.
"No luck?" Agent Prentiss asks, sounding defeated.
You look up from the machine and smile quickly. "I need smaller hands," you joke, letting the machine sit back on the counter and pulling out your aching fingers. "I'll have one working by the end of the day, Agent Prentiss. Scout's honour."
She shrugs and waves a hand at you. "It's alright. What's one day without caffeine?"
You laugh at her good-natured sarcasm and go back to your machine. When you're certain you can't jimmy it you turn your attention to the second machine and run through the steps. You're too determined to lose. Your coworkers depend on you.
You start by changing the filter and are unsurprised when that doesn't work. You check the button connectivity, the fuse, and then you turn again to that small piece that needs to be washed.
"Yes," you cheer under your breath, pulling the piece from its home to assess the problem.
It's a tiny pipe with a piece of mesh that acts as a sieve to trap dust. Maybe. Whatever it is, it's full of caramelised coffee grounds. You move to the sink basin and turn on the faucet to clean it, washing with anticipation as the burned coffee trickles down the drain.
You're pleased enough to feel a mild adrenaline rush, and your excitement leads to butter fingers: you drop the prized piece of pipe and it rolls out of sight.
This is not a good time for business casual.
You tug your too-tight pants from your thighs and bend down in search. When it doesn't reveal itself you get on your knees and run your hands along the seams of the kitchen cabinets, face lowered.
"Is everything okay?"
You wince at a very familiar, very unfortunately timed voice.
"Yes, sir, everything is perfect," you say, looking up to meet the eye of your boss' boss, unit chief SSA Aaron Hotchner. "I've misplaced a piece but I'll have the coffee machine working again in no time. I'm sorry."
He raises his eyebrows at you. It's a very nice expression on him, his eyes light with an emotion you don't often see on him. "Is fixing the coffee machine in your job description?" he asks.
You think it might be a polite reprimand. You won't insult him by insisting you're always on time with your actual delegated workload because he and your supervisor have to send you emails asking for missing paperwork all the time, so you try to disarm him.
You beam.
You're not a supermodel but everybody is pretty when they smile. "Sir, I thought I could sacrifice my lunch break for the good of the Bureau."
"Yes, well." He looks like he wants to smile back. You might be seeing what you want to see, though. "That won't be necessary. Take your time."
Your smile falters as you feel a telling heat at the back of your nose. "Thank you," you say quickly, covering your nostril with the pad of your index finger.
You're hoping your swift words will send him on his way, but he's literally the lead profiler of the BAU. He knows suspicious activity when he sees it.
"Is something wrong?"
Blood starts to trickle down your palm. You slide your hand up to cover your nose the best that you can. The alarm on his face when he spots the blood sliding down your bare forearm can't be understated.
"It's just a nosebleed," you placate, sounding stuffed up.
He's a quick thinker, tearing a wad of paper towel off of the dispenser above the microwave and offering it to you.
If you weren't so distracted by your current predicament you'd say thank you.
He turns back to the paper towels and tears off another wad. To your horror, Hotch bends down right there in the kitchenette and waits for you to open your palm, feeding the towels into your spare hand.
"Should you tilt your head back?"
"I think that's a myth," you say.
Your skin starts to scrawl with embarrassment, the itchy, awful feeling of being pinned by his eyes.
"How long do they usually last?"
"Not very long, sir. I'm sure you're busy."
He tilts his head slightly to one side as if conceding your point. "Let me help you up," he commands.
You can't make yourself reject his help. Honestly, it's nice to have somebody care even if the nosebleed is purely superficial. His fingers curl around the crook of your elbow and he helps you onto your feet just in time for Agent Prentiss to return.
"Hotch, what did you do?" she asks, bewildered.
You try not to laugh too much, worried you'll force another burst of blood.
—
Confidential information. You hear it, you ignore it. Harder to ignore the whiteboards in the conference room that are currently choc-a-block with prints of crime scene photos.
You don't mean to gawk at them. It's severely unprofessional and you shouldn't really be in here to begin with. The electronic screen is off, as are the monitors, so you know the room isn't in use.
That could change any second, and it does.
You hide your clammy palms behind your back at the sound of footsteps and try not to rush obviously toward the mug you'd come in here to collect.
The door creaks open as you're leaning over the table.
"I'm sorry," you say without looking.
"You don't have to clean up after anyone."
"Actually," you say quietly, abashed at having been caught, "this is my mug."
You turn to face him.
Agent Hotchner is tall and handsome. These are two undeniable facts and yet every time you see him it feels like a surprise. It might have something to do with how composed he is, how deliberate his movements are, or it might just be 'cause you have a crush on him.
It's anybody's guess.
"I can make Reid wash it," he says.
You're so whipped that your chest confuses his offer for something much worse. Like, he's on your side.
"That's okay, I don't wanna punish him for my own fussiness." You cover the mugs printed sides subtly, or as subtly as you're able.
"What's special?"
You smile at him, lips pressed together tight and eyes squinting slightly. You know what he's getting at but you ask anyways, stalling now he's caught you. "About what?"
"About the mug."
You peer behind him.
"You can't tell anyone," you murmur, rounding the table to stand by his side with your shoulders to the door. "I'm not sure anybody knows it's mine."
The mug is a corn-husk yellow and printed with a scene from a vintage Peanuts comic, dark-haired Lucy standing behind her lemonade stand that boasts 'Psychiatric Help 5¢'. Charlie Brown sits in front of it looking morose.
It's hard to describe why you like it so much.
"I see," Agent Hotchner says.
It's become something of an office joke, offering each other five cents on bad days, calling someone Charlie Brown when they look lost. You doubt very much that anyone is making fun of you, you're just hiding that it's your mug because that's part of the fun. The mystery of the Peanuts mug.
"I can't drink out of anything else," you confide, turning your face to his.
He's definitely smiling this time. "Why would you?"
You nod in genuine delight. "Exactly! Vintage Peanuts, and I searched so much for this because they used to use lead in glassware paint, and-"
The nosebleed comes on suddenly. There's a drop of blood running down your lips before you've even realised. Agent Hotchner's eyes follow it all the way down.
"Oh, no," you say, blood dripping to the hill of your chin.
You use the back of the hand that's holding the mug to catch what's rolling down your neck and the other to pinch your nose closed, bending forward on instinct to hide your face. You're seasoned in nosebleeds. You know how you look — scary. Ridiculous.
"Here," Agent Hotchner says.
His hand comes into your eyeline, offering a dark square of fabric. You cringe at the idea of marring his likely expensive handkerchief but you can't not accept, pressing it haphazard to your bloody nose.
"What were you saying about lead?"
You're so frazzled about the blood you don't realise he's made a joke until it's too late to laugh.
"Do you know what causes them?" he asks.
"I'm not really sure, sir. I used to get them all the time as a kid, um…" You pull the handkerchief away from your nose to check if it's still bleeding. When it doesn't continue, you say, "They're pretty harmless. It's done already."
"If you need time off for a check-up, I'm sure the office administrator can find a sick day for you."
You smile at him, and then remember the blood and grimace. I must look like Carrie right now, you think morosely.
"That won't be necessary, sir, thank you. It's apparently the dry air." You're starting to feel more and more warm under his serious gaze. There's a startling amount of concern there. "I'm gonna go clean up now. Excuse me," you say, face glowing with heat.
"Of course."
You cover your bloody face with the back of your hand, his handkerchief held in red-stained fingers. You pass Agent Prentiss on the stairs, hurrying past her with an I'm okay smile.
"Hotch, again?" you hear Agent Prentiss ask incredulously. "Where do you get off?"
—
You can't return Hotch's handkerchief, it's a biohazard, but the fabric had felt so soft and the monogram in the corner had cued you in on how expensive it must have been. Your guilt manifests itself into three new handkerchiefs with the embroidered A.H. They aren't half as nice as the one he'd let you ruin. You leave them on his desk — or rather, you get Dr. Reid to leave them on his desk, as walking into his office doesn't feel like something you're allowed to do — and try to forget about them.
For a week, you do. Agent Hotchner doesn't visit his office, Agent Jareau apprehends him on his way in that morning and the profiling team gather around their round table, and you don't see any of them for four days. The Friday they return, you're already on your way home.
That's why his actions the following Monday shock you.
It's unusual that he walks anywhere that isn't a straight shot to his desk. You're doing paperwork for once in your life, sitting awkwardly with your foot hooked under your thigh and a pair of wired earphones in. It's not technically allowed but he really doesn't venture over to you often. You've become complicit in your unsupervised nirvana of a desk job.
You snatch your earphone out and struggle into a normal position. "Agent Hotchner," you say, wondering if you should call him Special Supervisory, or maybe something cooler, like your Highness. Your grace. He's intimidating in his accomplishments at the FBI, and he's super handsome.
"Can I see you in my office? Ten minutes."
You nod brainlessly.
Your desk buddy doesn't wait long after he's left to investigate.
"What did you do?" they ask from across the short partition.
"I really don't know," you say, though you have your suspicions.
"Were you reading on your computer again? I told you, read under the desk like a normal person."
"No, I learned my lesson with that one when Agent Morgan started reciting Pride and Prejudice from over my shoulder."
You check your face in a compact before you report to Agent Hotchner's office. Your heart beats in your throat as you knock his open door.
"Come in," he says without looking up.
You take a cautious step.
He finishes off quickly and lifts his chin. His eyes are dark in the early morning light, his hair in mild disarray from the wind and drizzle.
"Come in," he says again.
You wish there was a word that could describe his voice accurately. He talks in the peaceable kind of cadence that comes with hushed tones without truly being hushed.
"Sir…" You bite the bullet. "If this is about the macadamia cookies, I promise I'll replace them. I didn't actually eat any of them. They kind of fell out of the cabinet and exploded, it was a freak accident."
He holds up his hand. "Thank you. For the handkerchiefs. They were unnecessary."
He says 'unnecessary' with a smile.
"Actually, sir, I think they were entirely necessary." You just disagreed with your boss. "Sir. I couldn't return the first, I ruined it and I- I didn't think you'd want it even if I got it dry cleaned."
He raises his eyebrows. "It was unnecessary," he repeats, the word drawn out carefully. "But, I appreciate the gesture. Thank you."
Two thank you's. You stop while you're ahead. "You're more than welcome, Agent Hotchner, sir."
You share an amicable glance and turn to leave.
"L/N?"
You stutter to a halt. "Sir?"
"Hotch is fine."
You try not to swallow your own tongue. "Hotch," you say, and then worry that's something people only do in movies.
A few days later, your humming along to your earphones and wading through the chaos of the bullpen feeling pretty happy. The office has been busy but not in the scary, suffocating way, and you're happy to be here. The BAU can be hard (and that's as someone who isn't on the front line). Times like this are cherished.
You pause a foot from your desk, eyes creasing into a suspicious squint.
There's a small box on your desk.
"What is that?" you ask your desk buddy.
"What?" they ask.
"That. There's a thing on my desk."
"Nothing to do with me."
"Think I should call the bomb squad?"
"I'm sure you'll be alright. Maybe read the note before you raise the alarm."
"There's a note?" you mumble, caution swiftly overrun by a burning curiosity.
You'd be sincerely worried about a bomb, only this is the FBI. If a bomb got this far into the building half the people in it would lose their jobs. You kick your bag under the desk and drop your ipod onto the desk, tinny music blaring from your earphones.
"What are you?" you ask under your breath.
The box is wrapped in crepe paper and a yellow sticky note has been attached to the top.
Rest assured, made without lead.
That only confuses you more. You're hesitance has your desk mate sitting up in their chair. "Wait," they say, peering over the glass partition, "should I raise the alarm?"
You slide a trim fingernail under a neat stripe of tape. "No, I think we're good," you mumble.
And lo and behold, a mug is homed inside. A Peanuts mug no less; the mug has been printed with a Peanuts comic panel. Charlie Brown lays on the floor in a straight plank, and standing overy him is his friend Linus, who says, "I have been asked to tell you that your cries of anguish are keeping the whole neighbourhood awake!"
You laugh loud and instinctively, shrill enough to attract the attention of half the office. Slapping a hand over your mouth, you slouch down as low as possible in your desk chair. Heat pools in your cheeks.
"What is it?" your desk mate asks.
"A present."
And hence your new favourite mug is brought into life. You write your name on the bottom with black sharpie and continue to deny all knowledge of the first, which you retire to the drawer of your desk.
For a while your nosebleeds go away. You know exactly who left the mug on your desk, and you remember the joke he'd made. Maybe Hotch had been on to something, and you'd inadvertently poisoned yourself.
You smile practically every time you see your new mug, and you're unsurprised when others appreciate its humour.
You're not sure how to explain it to an eight year old, though.
You're slumped over, nose to the desk and hand working diligently across your notes. Having a crush on your boss makes doing your work easier because you're constantly trying to impress him — an impossible task, but trying all the same. Your earphones bump a soft love song, something sweet to cut through the unhappy details of the case file you're working on.
"What are you listening to?" a small voice asks.
You drag your gaze up slowly and find Jack Hotchner standing beside your desk. You've seen him in person a few times, and once as Hotch's phone wallpaper, but he grows so much between visits you almost don't recognise him.
"I'm sorry," you say, pulling your earphone out, "what did you say?"
"What song are you listening to?" he asks, hands creeping up over the lip of your desk.
You sit up and smile at him. You can't say he looks like Hotch, though maybe you can see it in his tiny grin, that hint of cheekiness. "I'm listening to a song called At Last. It's a love song. Do you… want to listen?" you offer quietly.
He nods.
You push your chair away from your desk and turn down the ipod's volume so it doesn't damage his hearing. "Here," you say, offering one of your earbuds. "Don't push it in, okay? I don't want it to hurt your ears."
Jack takes the proffered earbud but doesn't seem super interested. "Do you have The Beatles?" he asks.
"The Beatles! Is that what you and your dad listen to?"
He nods, pleased, and you nod yourself, flicking through your songs in search of what he wants.
"I have Here Comes the Sun. Do you like that one?"
He beams. "Yes! Me and dad sing that one in the car."
That's a really nice image, Hotch and Jack belting happy lyrics together in the busy mornings. It's also odd. Hotch singing isn't an image you can say you've ever thought of before.
"I love this one," you tell him, letting your elbows dig into your thighs so the two of you are eye level with one another.
"Me too."
You share the earbuds, Jack combing your desk for something interesting no doubt. You cover a case detail that involves some gory images and almost knock over your mug in your haste.
"What does that say?" he asks, pointing.
Jack looks between you and the mug for answers.
You lick your lips. "Uh, do you want me to read it to you?"
He thinks about it. "Can I try?"
"Of course you can."
You clear a path for the mug and place it in front of him.
"I have been asked to tell you," he begins confidently, "that your cries of an-" He frowns. "Anguish are keeping the whole ne… I don't know that."
"I'm sure you do, it just looks weird. Neighbourhood."
"Neighbourhood," he repeats. "Keeping the whole neighbourhood awake." He huffs a boyish, gentle laugh that makes your heart spin.
"Good job, buddy."
He melts under your praise. He's a cute kid, and his hair shines golden under the office lighting. It flops to one side as he tilts his head. "What's 'anguish'?"
"Anguish. Uhm, it's like sadness."
"Oh." He takes this in. "Do you have Let It Be?"
You eventually give up your chair and let Jack sit with your ipod in his lap, playing through all The Beatles songs that you have. Nobody seems to be watching you and Hotch has yet to come out of his office and tell you off for supplying his son with technology, so you work around him, leaning over the back of the chair to fill in what's missing from your reports.
Jack leans back in his chair, his adorable singing coming to a stop. "Do you have movies on the computer?"
Yes, but should my boss' son know that? "It's for work," you say regretfully.
"Not even FernGully?"
"I'm sorry."
He shakes his head. "It's okay, it's not your fault."
"Do you like to draw? I don't have many colours, but we can play a game."
He smiles for a moment, then hesitation crawls over his features. "Dad says not to disturb anyone."
"I'm on my lunch break," you assure him. You hadn't been, but you don't mind taking it now. "Are you hungry? I have oranges."
You and Jack end up sitting under your desk. You really don't mean to end up like that; you sit on your knees because your back has started to ache and Jack wants to sit with you. You can't say no to him. (You could, you just don't want to.)
"What did she say after that?" you ask, fingers digging into two orange segments to pull them apart. You shave off all of the strands of white pith before you pass it to Jack, who says thank you every time.
"She said to ask Stacy who said to ask Morgan P who said to ask Joan. And Joan said she didn't wanna know, but then she changed her mind after I told her abd she said to ask Cooper."
"What did Cooper say?"
"Cooper says he doesn't think he knows where it is."
You nod, chewing your own orange slice slovenly. "Well, what did your dad say?"
"I haven't told dad."
You lift your head from the paper where Jack has drawn an impressive house with five windows. "You haven't told your dad?"
"He worries about everything."
"That's his job, Jack. He has to worry about you."
"He worries about everybody."
"Some people do." You clean another orange slice for him, and he says thank you again. "You're welcome… Jack, I really think you should tell you dad. It sounds like somebody might have taken your pencil case on purpose. And even if he can't find out who did, he can get you some new pencils for school."
"I told mom but she hasn't done anything yet."
Your stomach hurts.
"Well," you murmur, picking up the green pen, "I'm sure she's trying her best, baby. Can I help colour in these trees?"
You and Jack fall into a companionable silence, his head bobbing to You Make My Dreams (Come True) the cutest thing you've ever seen. You're not sure how long you sit there, but all good things must come to an end, and your half hour for lunch draws to a close.
"Hey, Jack?" you say, straightening where you kneel and preparing to stand. "I have some stuff I have to do but you're welcome to stay there."
Unfortunately, you don't manage to grab his attention. Double unfortunately, somebody else does.
"Morgan, where's Jack?"
You peek past your desk chair. A little ways away, Hotch stands looking sick to his stomach, and Agent Morgan looks lost.
"I didn't have him?"
"I asked him to sit with you," Hotch says miserably, throwing his gaze over the office. "Jack?"
Jack hears that loud and clear. Something in his dad's tone must spark some urgency, as he stands in a rush and trips on his own shoelace, smacking the top of his head into your nose.
You gasp.
"Ouch," Jack moans.
Blinking, you shake off your disorientation. "Oh no, are you okay? Here, sweetheart, stand up," you encourage gently, "I'm so sorry, have I hurt your head?"
Jack's gaze to the floor, he rubs the top of his head with a clumsy hand. "It's okay, Miss Agent, it wasn't you and-" He stares at you.
"What?" you ask.
"Dad!" he shouts, backing away from you. "Daddy!"
Jack runs out of your little alcove and straight into his father's legs, almost bowling him over. Hotch drops two relieved hands down to his small shoulders. "What?" he asks, startled, "What happened?"
Your nose stings, admittedly, but you've felt worse. It's a light throbbing that distracts you entirely from the blood racing down your lips until you taste it.
Shit, you think, crawling out from under the desk with one hand, the other clamped over your bleeding nose. Your movement draws Hotch's attention, which in turn gathers at least a quarter of the office's.
"I didn't mean to," Jack says shrilly.
"It's okay. It wasn't your fault," you say stuffily, clambering onto shaky legs.
You turn your head away from the collective gaze of the office and start toward the kitchen and hear at least three different people say, "Wait!"
You ignore them, using your elbow to help tear off a paper towel from the roll and pushing it without finesse against your face. You squirm under the weight of tens of eyes, more embarrassed than anything else, worse when a warm hand turns you by the shoulder.
"He really didn't mean to," you say, looking up into Hotch's concerned face.
"I know."
"Is he okay?”
"He's not the one with a nosebleed," Hotch says, neither kind nor unkind.
"I honestly didn't even feel it."
His fingers curl around your wrist, a slow tightening. "That doesn't surprise me, Y/N."
You bite your tongue to stop from laughing. “He bumped his head into me."
"Mm. Just a red mark. It won't even bruise."
You deflate in relief. "Oh, good."
Hotch's hands have found their way onto yours. He pulls one from your nose, gaze hardening at the strong river of blood that makes its way into the dip of your cupid's bow.
"I'm sorry, sir."
He shakes his head and gathers another wad of tissue paper, a light blue that quickly turns to a wine dark when he presses it to your face. Your heart hammers at his proximity, a thousand and one nerves aflame.
He's close but not too close, nothing anyone could mistake for something else, and still it feels like a strangely intimate moment. His careful touches. He directs your hand to hold a fresh paper towel to the stream of blood and discards the bloody tissue. You watch him push up his sleeves carefully and give his hands a quick rinse in the sink before he dampens another paper towel.
It's cool against your neck.
"I think your shirt is ruined," he says, dabbing at a line of dried blood.
You shiver at the feeling of cold water dripping under your starched collar.
"Does it hurt?" he asks, moving up to your jaw.
You don't know how to admit it to him. No, it doesn't hurt. Your hands are really warm, and you're touching me so gently I can barely feel it.
"A little."
"Well, Jack is very sorry."
"He doesn't have to be. He tripped, he…" You fade off as Hotch lays his hand across your cheek, thumb lifting your head slightly so he can clean your chin.
"How are you faring?" he asks.
You pull your tissue away and wait for the tell-tale heat of continued blood flow. You're ashamed to admit it but you're almost glad it hasn't stopped, Hotch's hand warm and large and impossibly comforting. Nosebleeds don't stress you out, exactly, but it's not fun to be covered in your own blood at work where everyone can see you. It's nice to have somebody wiping it away.
"I think I'll live," you say.
—
Jack sends you an apology card.
It's hand delivered. Hotch is coming up to the BAU main floor as you're heading out. Like a rock dividing a river, his teammates stream from the elevator around you and Hotch remains inside.
"I'll catch up," he promises.
Agent JJ raises her eyebrows. Agent Morgan chuckles.
You draw in on yourself self-consciously. You don't dress as nicely when he isn't here, and today you're rivalling Dr. Reid for most lovable dork in a pair of brown pants and a big sweater. Teetering the line between professional and unprofessional.
"Sir," you greet, stepping into the elevator.
He presses the ground floor button. "I have something for you."
Your eyebrows jump up high. Hotch unzips the main zipper of his duffle back and threads between clothes and papers for a smaller envelope.
"It's for you."
You accept, careful not to tear the thin sheet of folded paper as you pull it free. You're thrilled to see a drawing of Charlie Brown on the front, crudely drawn but clearly him with his head-wrapped in bandages. His puppy Snoopy sits beside him with something in his hands. You're not sure what.
The inside is even sweeter.
To Y/N
I am sorry if I made your nose angwished. Please feel better soon
Love, Jack Hotchner.
"Oh, I love it," you say, rubbing your thumb over a heart drawn in red crayon. "He's really something else, Hotch. He's brilliant, and so smart. I mean, anguished."
He laughs and it twists your chest in five different directions. "He is."
"It wasn't his fault though. If my nose weren't so sensitive it really wouldn't have bled at all, I didn't bruise. How is he? Did his head feel better?"
The doors open. You hesitate, waiting for his reply.
"Children are made of harder stuff than we are," he says.
You step backwards out of the elevator. "I felt so bad. I don't suppose he'll want to come and sit with me again."
"Actually," Hotch says, stepping out of the elevator just as the doors close again, "he thinks you're, uh, in his own words, the 'coolest friend' I've ever had."
"Friend," you repeat with a smile.
You've focused on the wrong word, and you worry an awkward silence will ensue, but Hotch steps up to the plate and says, "Yeah. He wouldn't stop telling me about all the cool songs you have on your ipod."
"Purely for non-working hours."
"Right." His smile says that he's seen straight through you.
You're thinking maybe he likes what he sees.
"This is really amazing," you reaffirm, pressing Jack's card to your chest.
"He felt guilty."
"He doesn't have to. Please, tell him I said thank you. And that he's amazing. And that my nose was being dramatic." You smile softly. "He can sit with me whenever he likes."
"Maybe at the desk, next time, rather than under it."
"Yes, sir."
You nod at him and he nods back, and you take it as a dismissal, turning on your heel. You've barely walked a metre when he's speaking up.
"Y/N?"
You look at him from over your shoulder. "Yeah?"
"Are you hungry?"
You bite your cheek in a hurry to answer, “Yeah. I’m starving.”
Your heart is basically a ticking time bomb in your chest as you and Hotch make your way into the heart of the city. He's a fast walker with long legs and you rush to keep up. That’s totally why you’re breathless. Not because he makes you nervous.
Hotch is a really surprising guy, though maybe he isn’t surprising at all, you’re simply unversed in how he is outside of work. He talks more and his voice grows louder the further into the city you go, more expressive.
You’re no profiler, but you’d bet money on Aaron Hotchner being nervous.
Good thing you’re nervous, too.
“It’s not far now. You like Thai?” he asks.
“Yeah, of course. Have you ever had Tom Yum?”
“With shrimp?”
“Exactly.”
“I think I’ve tried it. I lived off of pad Thai when I was a prosecutor,” he says, head tilting back very slightly. His Adam’s apple works under the skin.
He looks back down, a sheepishness to his voice as he continues, “A lot of late nights.”
“More than now?” you ask skeptically.
His laugh is low and warm. “No. The firm was much closer to the city than the bureau. It’s a long walk.”
“It is,” you say, taking a small step closer to his side to share a secret smile, “but it hasn’t felt that way tonight.”
You try to keep it light. You don’t want to scare him off.
“No,” he agrees. “It hasn’t.”
You duck into a fragrant Thai restaurant and order fast, the two of you knee to knee in the very corner. A potted plant threatens to blind him every time he moves, and so he endeavours to stay very still.
The food's a little on the spicy side, and while you're laughing you can't find it in you to feel embarrassed about your runny nose.
"You didn't like Seinfeld?" you ask, and how you got here's a mystery, but Hotch is extremely passionate about it in the best way.
"No, of course not. How could you? George was always worrying about something, he was the definition of a self-fulfilling prophecy and he never learned!" he debates, all in a rush, chopsticks moving in emphasis.
You snort and wipe your nose again. "It was like a relief, though, that it was happening to him and not to you, you know? You might be having a bad day but George Costanza's having a worse one."
"Oh, honey," he says.
It takes you a second to realise that he's talking to you.
"What?" you ask, perplexed.
Hotch stands up though there's no space for it, chopsticks ditched and hand pushed into the recesses of his pocket swiftly. He pulls out a small packet of tissues, and he lifts his chin, a jut. You lift your own, and he's quick to press the tissue to your nose.
"It's bleeding?" you ask, startled.
"Just a little."
"Sorry."
"No, no," he says, bent down, a comforting hand around your shoulder, "don't be. It gives me an excuse."
"To do what?"
"To be this close."
Your smile is a slow, molasses thick thing. You can't get a handle on it, and Hotch's answering one is worse. He looks so happy to be here with you, to be wiping your bloody nose.
It's only a small nose bleed. Hotch pulls the tissue away once or twice to check, wiping at it tenderly and giving you a comforting squeeze each time. The silence feels natural as breathing.
"There," he says eventually, pulling the bloodied tissue away with a smile. "All done."
"Thank you, Hotch."
"I'd think you'd better start calling me Aaron, considering."
"Considering what?"
His hand climbs from your shoulder to the column of your throat. He doesn't make you wait any longer, leaning down with a sure, brave deliberateness. He presses his lips to yours.
A sweet kiss but too short — barely two seconds and he's taking a half-step away, your lips tingling in want.
You go to stand and he pushes you down into your seat, not unkindly. "I'm gonna go see if I can get some hot water for you," he says, placating your gutted look with a kiss to your cheek.
He wipes it thoughtlessly with the pad of his thumb before he goes.
You're genuinely surprised your nose doesn't start bleeding again at the look he gives you as he turns the corner toward the restaurant's kitchen. Protective, knowing. Your heart races in your chest.
You probe at your face, elated. Your sensitive nose is good for something after all.
—
The first time you sleepover with Aaron is an accident. You don't "mess around," as you'd crooned over the phone, joking but with enough salaciousness to make him smile. The gas and hot water had stopped working in your apartment, and though the landlord had promised they'd fix it the very next morning, Aaron couldn't stand to think about you cold and alone when you could easily be warm and with him.
So here you are.
"Are you sure this is okay?" you whisper, peering over his shoulder at Jack.
His son stands in the living room in his pyjamas.
"It's okay," he says, "I asked him, and you know he's obsessed with you. His one condition is that you watch FernGully."
"FernGully," you say, enthused.
"You'll like it."
You actually really do. Showered and dressed in your own pyjamas, a little shy but not too much to stop from laying against his side on the sofa. He's got one arm around you and one around Jack but he might as well be invisible, the two of you talking in murmurs across his chest.
"And that's-"
"Pips," Jack supplies helpfully.
"Pips," you say, hand spread over Aaron's chest.
If he didn't know better he'd think this was a slice of heaven.
"So many people," you whisper in Aaron's ear.
"More in the second one."
"There's two?"
After the movies finished — "It was better than you said, Jack," — and dinner’s been eaten and cleared away, Aaron takes Jack to bed.
"Do you want a story?" Aaron asks, flitting around the room in a half-hearted attempt to square away the mess.
"No."
"You sure?"
Jack's eyes are heavy, and they have been since dinner. "Yes," he mumbles, face turned into his pillow, hands lax on top of his blanket.
Aaron smiles and makes his way to Jack's side. He kisses his son's cheek, and strokes the soft hair from his face. He smells like strawberry toothpaste and kids shampoo.
You're sitting on the end of the bed when he gets to you, face damp with skincare and shining in the light. Aaron kisses you without touching it, worried he'll mess it up.
“He’s wiped. All the excitement,” he says.
“Excitement- From me?” you ask.
“From you.” He puts his hands carefully either side of your neck.
You haven’t been dating very long, and still he knows how easy it is to fluster you. And while he loves to see it, see you giddy and shy, blinking at nothing like there’s a light shining in your eyes. He’d once pressed his thumb with the very faintest of pressure into your windpipe while kissing you, and you hadn’t been able to look him in the eye for three days.
He loves that, but he’d prefer if you slept facing him. He wants to see what you look like asleep, as odd as it sounds, he assumes you’ll be beautiful. He wouldn’t be surprised if you were more.
“Aaron,” you whisper.
“What?”
“Want me to massage your bad shoulder?”
He wonders, as he thinks is more than allowed, if that’s a seduction trick, but you genuinely just give him a massage, as you have a couple of times in his office after noticing how sore it gets now the weather’s cold.
You rub into the problem spot carefully, sighing with sympathy. “Oh, baby,” you say, more to yourself than him.
He fucking loves the way you say it. Aaron’s never been called baby like that — like it’s his name, and it’s sweet to say. Your tired yawns warm the back of his neck as you go. He doesn’t think he’s getting lucky tonight, and he doesn’t care one bit. He feels pretty lucky just having you near.
He gets you under the covers before you can fall asleep against his back and makes sure you know how grateful he is for the massage with two kisses. The first is a genuine thank you and the second is to make you laugh, nipping and playful under your jaw.
Aaron falls asleep thinking about it.
He wakes to something much less idyllic.
It’s that strange feeling. Being a dad has honed it, but he’s always had it. It’s one of the things that makes him so good at his job, a prickling at the back of his neck. At first he can’t pin it down.
Your waist rises under his hand with your breathing. He remembers that you’re there and smiles contentedly, hand sliding behind your back to pull you in. You’d fallen asleep on your back, and you’ve turned toward him in your sleep.
The metallic stick of blood is sudden and sharp in his nose. He knows what it is before he opens his eyes. The room is dark, lit only by the red light of his alarm clock on the nightstand. His eyes ache with fatigue, and he knows in his gut that it’s too early to get up.
Blood pools under your nose. Not a lot, nothing to panic over, but blood all the same. He sits up, quickly turns on his bedside lamp, and rouses you as gently as he can, a hand slid under your shoulders to drag you up.
You blink blearily. “What?” you ask, voice scratchy.
“Nosebleed,” he informs, pinching your nose before blood can slink down your neck and ruin your pyjama shirt.
You wince and he hates the way you flinch away from his touch, your clouded confusion. It’s only a second but it doesn’t sit right with him.
“Sorry, honey.”
You catch hold of his bicep and blink some more.
“You okay to pinch it yourself? I’ll go grab some tissue paper.”
You nod robotically and replace his light pinching with your own, much less kind. He rushes to grab a roll of toilet paper from the bathroom, and when he returns you've pulled yourself into an alert sitting position, awaiting his return.
He tears you off a wad of paper. “Here, honey.”
“I think it’s stopped.”
“Yeah? Let me grab you a towel.”
Back to the bathroom. When he returns for the second time you’re holding his given toilet paper against your face. He’s alarmed to find your eyes glassy with tears, shimmering in the bedroom light.
“What’s wrong?” he asks softly, sitting across from you.
He’d been right about sleepy you. You look lovely, a little funny with your rumpled pyjamas, and now quite sad because of your tears. “Honey,” he says again, pulling your hand from your face so he can assess the damage, “you’re okay. Is it hurting?”
You’ve told him before the nosebleeds are painless, but maybe they’re a symptom of something, maybe you’re sick—
“I ruined your pillow,” you mutter.
Ah. That’s much better than your being sick. He can work with that easily.
“You didn’t ruin anything.”
He takes your chin between his thumb and his forefinger to lift your head. The blood has stopped already; your nosebleeds are often a whirlwind, over by the time you’ve started panicking.
“I’m sorry.”
He drops your bloodied tissue into his lap and brings the dampened towel to your face. He’s cautious. Your nose gets irritated and any roughness could disrupt the blood clot or agitate the anterior blood vessels inside.
“You think I’m mad over a pillow?”
“No, of course not.”
You sound stuffy. It’s adorable. Adorable and sad. He rubs the hill of your chin in a show of affection.
“Then why?”
“Sorry, I think I’m just tired. I- I was trying to make tonight perfect because,” — a small tear bumps down your cheek — “it’s our first night together even if it was accidental.”
He dabs at your upper lip and the wet blood there with a smile growing. “It was perfect. It is perfect. You getting a nosebleed on a seven dollar pillow doesn’t change that.” His hand moves to your cheek, squashing your baby tear. “You know I love any opportunity to touch you… Now, do you want a glass of water?”
You close your eyes and lean your face heavily into his palm. “Can I have one of those kisses from earlier?”
“Can you keep your blood inside your body?” he asks with a smile, rubbing your cheek with his thumb.
“Depends how hard you bite me.”
He’s very, very gentle.
—
+1
Aaron breaks his nose. You are not supposed to know that he breaks his nose, only he breaks it so bad that he has to go to the hospital to get it set, and he decides he’d like you there.
Technically, somebody else broke his nose. The details aren’t important. What matters is that Aaron makes a rookie mistake and he has to deal with the consequences, which is a biting, aching pain behind his eyes and a trip to the ER. He does not let them take him in an ambulance, and it really isn’t urgent. He sits in a waiting room chair with a stiff back and it doesn’t take long before you’re striding inside looking terrified.
“Hey, baby,” he says, testing it out. He doesn’t really like it.
“What did they give you?” you ask, bending at the waist to take his face into your kind hands.
“Vicodin when I got here.”
“Lucky you.” You turn his face in your hands.
“You look beautiful,” he says.
“I wish I could say the same, but somebody messed you up bad.”
He laughs and takes your face into his hands, the two of you smiling way too much for the situation that you’re in. “I was so worried,” you say with a little laugh.
He kisses you soundly. It hurts, but it’s worth it.
They call his name not long after and a nurse takes you both into a grey examination room. The doctor is a short, stern woman who has to use a stool to reach Aaron’s face, and she sets his nose with a swiftness that even he manages to recognise for the brutality that it is in his drug haze.
You hold his hand. He has to try very hard not to crush your fingers.
It starts bleeding immediately.
Aaron meets your gaze over the doctor's head, eyes wide and in similar fashion as your own, and he knows it’s an adverse reaction to shocking pain but he starts giggling. Aaron Hotchner doesn’t giggle, really. He laughs, and sometimes when he’s with Jack that laugh can get super loose and high, but this is a bona fide giggle.
You try to gasp in shock but you’re laughing too. “Aaron,” you reproach.
He holds his breath as the doctor presses gauze to his face.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” he says.
You snicker behind your hand. The doctor presses gauze to his face and rolls her eyes. She likely does not get paid enough.
“You’re still handsome,” you say giddily.
“Oh, well that's good.”
There’s a small silence rife with tension, and when it breaks it bursts like a dam. You laugh so hard you end up clinging to his arm, chest pressed to his bicep. He strokes the back of your head with a wobbly hand, wondering how miserable he’d be if you weren’t here with him right now.
“What happened to keeping all your blood inside your body, Hotchner?” you ask, delighted.
He beams at you dopily. “I’ve never been any good at that.”
You kiss his forehead. The doctor is furious.
༺༻
#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner fluff#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotch fluff#aaron hotchner x fem!reader#aaron hotchner x female reader#aaron hotchner imagine#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds#aaron hotchner#hotch#aaron hotch x you#aaron hotchner one shot#aaron hotchner hurt/comfort#criminal minds fandom
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★ gentle hands ❥ A. HOTCHNER.
➻❥ masterlist. ➻❥ patreon.
CW ➥ reader has issues with eating ⋆ very brief mention of an alcohol problem ⋆ mention of binge eating or not eating ⋆ sweet and sappy comfort fic ⋆ if i missed anything, lmk!
WC ➥ 1,3k. SONG ➥ chocolate mint , duster.
SUMMARY ➥ you've always had issues with food, you either eat too much, or not enough, or not at all. you've always struggled with it yourself, but now that you live together with Aaron it's a little difficult to avoid or hide. so when you tell him about your struggles, he comforts you. as requested by an anon, but i lost the ask 😭
AUTHORS NOTE ➥ i'm getting a little bit better! still feel like i've got the flu, but i've atleast been able to concentrate on writing a request! 😁 i'm gonna try my best to finish up the remaining Kinktober posts, those will at the very least be all done before the end of November!
★ - © 2023 HTCHNR. do not copy, share or translate my work to this platform, or any other! - ★
you rolled on your back, eyes glued to the ceiling as you tightened your jaw. the clock had briefly flashed 3:28AM when you moved. your hands clenching and unclenching at your sides.
the urge to eat something was so overbearingly painful. you weren't necessarily hungry, you just need something to eat. you've tried explaining it to therapists before, but it never came out the way it needed to. you've briefly talked about it with Morgan once, though ended up not continuing the conversation after you got a call about a case and left.
and you didn't want to bring it up with Aaron; he already worried about the smallest things, the tiny bad habits you had. Aaron was one of the best people you've met, but you felt like you only burdened him with your flaws. though if Aaron ever heard you say that, he'd crush you in a hug and force you to apologise. to yourself, for ever daring to think that you were a burden to him.
your fists clenched one more time before you sat up, rubbing your hands across your face in frustration. some nights food was comforting, other nights; like this night, it was a nuisance and it frustrated you so much, your self image took the bullet for it.
you carefully moved the blankets off of you, letting your feet quietly hit the cold wood floor of your bedroom. you glanced behind you at the figure in your bed; Aaron laid peacefully, the deep creases in his face looking more relaxed as he slept.
you brushed a hand through your hair as you quietly left the bedroom and walked towards the kitchen. you yawned as you pulled open the main cupboard where you kept most packaged foods like crackers, cookies, cereal etc. one hand holding the door, the other on the bare skin of your waist, you hadn't bothered putting anything else on beside the bralette and the pair of pyjama shorts you had worn to bed.
you hesitated, i should shut the door and just go back to bed, you thought to yourself. but your body moved on it's own accord, grabbing a box of cereal and two granola bars. your hold tightened around the bars, plastic crinkling in your grip before you set the items on the counter. you pulled open the fridge to grab the milk, and pulled out a rather large clean bowl from the dishwasher. you made a mental reminder to empty that out after you were done eating.
you poured the cereal into the bowl, hoping the sound didn't trigger Aaron and then twisted open the cap of the milk before pouring it in, the quiet 'crackle' of the cereal filling your ears.
you cracked open the dishwasher once more, grabbing a spoon and shoving it in the bowl, stirring and coating all the cereal in the milk. you took a bite, your tense form almost instantly relaxing a smidge as you chewed on the cereal. see? eating was a good idea. you stood facing the counter while you ate, stuck in your own headspace.
so much so that you hadn't noticed that Aaron had left the bedroom. you rather quickly finished the bowl of cereal, putting it down on the counter beside the sink. as you grabbed for one of the granola bars, a pair of warm, gentle hands slid around your waist and their fingers splayed across your stomach, followed by a pair of lips pressed against your bare shoulder.
"what are you doing up honey?" he asked quietly. he noticed the atmosphere the second he entered the kitchen. your hand tensed around the granola bar, before shoving it against the counter and letting it go. your frame was still tense, even against Aaron's warm body. you don't need the granola bar, you eat enough as it is.
you shook your head a second after Aaron's question. "it's nothing, i was just-" you paused. don't tell him, you'll just give him more to deal with. one side spoke. while the other side encouraged you to open up to him about this. "what's wrong? i can hear those brilliant gears turning. talk to me dear." he spoke endearingly, a slight tease to his tone, that left as soon as it came. you turned in Aaron's arms, your lower back now against the counter, the granola bars behind you as you faced Aaron's bare chest.
"it's nothing Aar, go back to bed.." you insisted, still not meeting his eyes.
Aaron's hold tightened a little on the swell of your hips before lifting one hand to tilt your chin up to face him. "i know when something's wrong, please just talk to me about it." he spoke in a tone a little higher than a whisper. he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss against your forehead.
"it's just that," you paused. are you doing this right now? "i," you suck in a breath. you couldn't seem to find the words now.
Aaron stroked your cheek. "hey, take your time." you encouraged you gently, a reassuring smile on his lips.
you nodded, looking down at your hands. do it, come on. "i have a problem with eating." there, it wasn't that hard, was it? Aaron nodded lightly, prompting you to continue. "i, i either eat too much or nothing at all." Aaron's hand returned to your waist, his thumbs rubbing reassuring circles into the soft flesh.
this wasn't as hard as you made it out to be. "some nights i feel like the urge to eat is so strong, that it eats away at me until i eat. though i'm not always even hungry, i just, have to eat. that doesn't make sense does it?" you chuckle sadly, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his warm chest, your arms still hanging at your sides. "and some days, i just avoid food all together. it's like the feeling of eating makes me feel so sick? not necessarily physically sick, but mentally." you continue, a slight crack in your voice.
Aaron's heart breaks at your confession. he knew something was going on, but not that it ran this deep. "and some days, i just drink all day. being drunk blocks out all the issues with eating. either i eat a normal amount, or i don't really eat at all, but it takes the bad feelings about each away." you mumble. this is embarrassing. Aaron lowers one of his hands down to one of yours, intertwining his fingers gently with yours. your thumb fiddled around with his thick fingers.
"i'm sorry i'm laying this all on you i know-"
"hey, don't." he speaks, his voice still gentle and quiet, but more assertive. you look up at him. "don't be sorry about something you can't control. as for not talking to me about it, i'm not mad at you, i just wished you'd come to me with these things more often. i know you're struggling, but i have no way of helping you, or even just being there if i don't know what's going on in that gorgeous mind of yours."
tears well up in your eyes. Aaron's thumb coming up just before a tear rolls down, gentle wiping it away. "come to me when you feel like this okay? come to me when you're having one of those days where eating pains you, or when you crave to eat the whole day. i'm here for you okay honey? i'm here for you, no matter what." he's here to help you, so let him.
you nod, licking a tear off your lips. he wraps an arm fully around your soft bare waist, the other one wrapping around your shoulder as he pulls you against him. your arms wrapping around his waist as you hold him tight. "thank you." your voice is muffled by his skin, but Aaron hears it. "i love you." you hold him tighter, pressing your face against his warm chest, the feeling of being held by him calming down any negative thoughts or feelings.
"i love you too." he whispers back, placing a firm kiss on the top of your head.
he pulls away, his thumb wiping away some tears. "do you want to eat something before we head back to bed?" he asks you, he had already spotted the granola bars behind you. you think for a second before nodding.
Aaron nods along, reaching for one of the bars behind you. he opens it, leaning away from you for just a second as he throws away the wrapper and hands you the bar. his hand wraps around yours as you take the bar from him, his thumb rubbing brief but gently against the back of your hand.
you eat the bar slowly, having Aaron stand in front of you calms the intensity of the craving. and when you're finished with the bar Aaron smiles. he leans down and captures your lips in a soft kiss. you wrap your arms around his neck as you lean into it. Aaron leans down, his warm gentle hand sliding down your waist and hips until they reach the back of your thighs, pulling you up and into his arms. you wrap your thighs around his bare waist and lean your head on his shoulder as he carries you back to the bedroom.
tonight might've been conquered, but there's still many more nights and days to go. though, now they don't seem as dark and daunting..
#⋆୨🩷©2023 htchnr#⋆୨⭐️aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner fluff#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotch hotchner#aaron hotch hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner oneshot#aaron hotchner comfort#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner angst
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We'll Be Alright | Spencer Reid x F! Reader
Summary: In which you discover that the line between love and hate is quite fine. Your actions are done out of love, but they only make you hate yourself more and more. Inspired by "Fine Line" by Harry Styles
Cross posted on Wattpad and AO3 and here is my masterlist!
WC: 9.1k
Warnings: Angst, a lot of angst, pining, mention of Ed Gein, mention of blood, use of guns, that sorta thing
a/n: Back at it again with another Spencer Reid oneshot. I hope you all like it, I think this is one of my favorites so far.
"I could live with you hating me, but I couldn't live in a world without you."
With a smile on your face you listen to Spencer ramble on about how he put the pieces together to find the unsub while you two ride to the scene together. He speaks with such passion and you don't think you'll ever get tired of listening to him, his mind is a brilliant thing and you make sure to remind him every chance you get. You can tell that sometimes when he gets fired up about something he starts becoming insecure, fearing that the others will make some snide comment or dismiss his thoughts. But not you, you listen intently every time, hanging onto every word.
Spencer has played a very vital role in developing you into the analyst you are today. Where the others were satisfied with letting you learn on your own, and showing you pointers here and there, Spencer took the time to explain nuanced ideas to you. He showed genuine interest and care, and you gave him your undivided attention. This dynamic created a tight bond with the two of you, allowing you to work together seamlessly and at times, it's like you read each other's thoughts.
"I knew you could do it." You tell him as you pull onto the scene. He utters a thanks as the two of you get out of the car and join the rest of the team.
The unsub is nearby and the team is just waiting for him to show up; Garcia had been able to track his phone and his movement aligned with the area you and Spencer had narrowed down as the next area of interest. Hotch, Morgan, and Emily give you both a nod of acknowledgement and the five of you begin scouting out the area to look for any signs of the unsub, he should be here by now.
This particular unsub sent a chill down your spine, and not much gets to you anymore. His modus operandi was always to kill his victims, skin them, and use their flesh for various purposes. It's like he was trying to be Gein's prodigy, except he never dug up a grave, he preferred to kill them all himself. The team had found his workshop early in the investigation, but the unsub was nowhere to be found, until now. Seeing household objects made of flesh isn't going to soon leave your memory, you're sure of it.
"There he is!" Morgan yells and points to a man crossing the street with a paper bag in his hand. Everyone takes off in a sprint towards him and you pull your firearm from the holster strapped to your thigh. The unsub takes off, trying to evade you all.
Emily and Hotch split up from the rest of the team to try and cut him off up ahead, leaving you, Spencer, and Morgan trailing him. The little man is fast, you'll give him that much. Eventually, he ducks down an alleyway, unaware it's a dead end, and turns back to look at you all with wide, stunned eyes. You see the panic in his eyes and as Morgan shouts instructions at him, you see him reach inside of his jacket.
The unsub pulls a gun of his own and aims it right at Spencer. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears. Spencer puts his hands up in surrender while you and Morgan keep your sights trained on him.
"Put the guns down or I'll shoot him, I swear I'll do it, just like the others!" The unsub declares while switching the safety off of his gun. Your hands begin to shake with adrenaline, but you don't put your gun down. Faintly, you can hear Morgan informing Hotch and Emily of the situation via radio but it's like you have tunnel vision on the man in front of you.
"Do it now!" He screams erratically and you see his finger dance on the trigger, just about to pull it.
An internal battle wages itself inside your mind, trying to quickly assess the pros and cons of listening to the man. Just as you go to lower your gun, you see the man grin sickeningly at Spencer with an evil glint shining in his eye; you've seen that look before. Without thinking, you turn and knock Spencer out of the way just as you hear the shot go off. Spencer slams into the brick wall beside him, chest heaving with panicked breaths. Behind you, you can hear Morgan yelling something but his voice sounds miles away.
All you feel is a blinding, white-hot pain.
Blinking rapidly, you look down and see that your shirt is quickly becoming stained a deep scarlet red. Your heart is pumping at an alarming pace, you can feel your pulse in your neck. The red stain keeps growing but your mind can't comprehend what's going on. Large hands obscure the stain from your view, and you finally look up to see Spencer's hazel eyes, wide and afraid.
He gently brings your body to the ground, leaning you against the brick wall you had shoved him into. His hands apply pressure to the wound, sending a shockwave of pain through your entire body. It feels like you can't catch your breath, you fight for oxygen every few seconds and even that makes your body feel like you've just been set ablaze. The edges of your vision start going black, and you can't really see anything clearly anymore. Your mind is a jumble of incoherent thoughts that just sounds like static.
"Hey, hey look at me. Come on now. Stay with me. Please." You feel a tap on your cheek and your blurry vision can make out Spencer's form, his fingers coated in red. A wave of nausea and pain racks through your system, and you try to reach out for Spencer, but your arms are just too heavy, and words take too much effort. It's easier to just close your eyes.
-----
A constant beeping sound stirs you awake. You don't even remember falling asleep. Trying to open your eyes feels like an impossible task, like they've been bonded shut with super glue. Your throat feels like a desert, and you start to panic, not remembering where you are. Mental images of the unsub's flesh creations flash through your mind and you start panicking, thinking that somehow he got you.
The panic is enough to make your eyes open, and you're greeted with bright lights. Flinching, you squint your eyes and look around. This isn't the unsub's workshop, no, this looks like a hospital. Your eyes travel down your body, seeing lines embedded in your arms, a plastic piece clamped over your finger, and a large white bandage wrapped around your stomach. As if on cue, your stomach starts to burn like hot coals had just been placed there. An image of Spencer's hand covered in bright red flashes behind your eyelids.
A nurse walks through the doors and smiles when she catches your eye. She comes to your bedside and sets down an IV bag full of clear liquid.
"Glad to see you're finally awake. How do you feel?" She asks and you go to answer her, but your throat is too dry, so you just end up coughing. The nurse crosses your room and returns moments later with a plastic cup half full of water. Greedily, you take it from her and drink the water, a lone stream wandering down your chin. Once the cup is empty, you decide to finally answer her.
"Not great." You admit, trying to reposition but unable to do so because of the pain. The nurse nods as she hangs the new IV bag from the metal rack beside your bed.
"I imagine so. I'll give you something to dull the pain." She tells you, resting a gentle hand on your upper arm. Your eyes are glued to her hand and you nod, anticipating the relief of pain medication.
"What exactly happened?" You ask, only able to remember tiny bits and pieces. The image of Spencer's hand refuses to leave your mind but you just can't remember what happened before, or after, that moment. The nurse looks down to the bandage covering your torso.
"An ambulance brought you in last night. You got shot through the abdomen and had to be rushed into surgery. There was sustained damage to your liver and other intestines, but nothing life-threatening. You gave your coworkers quite the scare though, they didn't want to leave but we had to send them home." Her voice is soothing despite the words leaving her mouth, like she was used to delivering this sort of news. Which she probably is. You stare down at the bandage on your stomach, trying to remember anything else, but being unsuccessful.
"So when can I leave?" You ask, knowing that there's an incident report or two waiting for you on your desk. Truthfully, you'd rather do anything but those reports right now, seeing as how you can't even remember a major event, but you know the job doesn't allow for much downtime.
"Probably tomorrow or the next day depending on how well you're doing." She reassures you, and you can live with that. If the team wants the paperwork done that badly, they can bring it to you. Otherwise, you're perfectly content to stay here for a little while. The nurse exits the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts.
From what you can remember, Spencer was definitely there when you got shot. His hands were covered in your blood, that part you can vividly remember. Your heart sinks as you are able to recall the look in his eyes, how scared he was. You hope he doesn't blame himself for what happened, you know it isn't his fault even if you can't quite remember how it all went down. If the roles were reversed you can't even imagine the wreck you would be; the thought alone makes you sick.
-----
The next day your doctor clears you for discharge, and you call Hotch to come pick you up. You have no family to call to get you or take care of you, Hotch and the team are the closest thing you have. You had almost called Spencer, but decided against it because you're not sure if you're ready to see him just yet. Hotch's car pulls up to the curb and he hops out to help you in the car but you wave him off.
"I got shot I'm not immobile." You try to tease as you grimace, pulling yourself into the passenger seat. Hotch closes the door once you're in and quickly returns to the driver's seat. His hands grip the wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white. He starts the route back to your home without a word, but you can tell something is bothering him.
"What's up?" You break the silence, the curiosity of what he's thinking becoming too much. Hotch glances at you from the corner of his eye before training his eyes back on the road.
"You're off of field duty for the next few months. Technically, you should be on a leave of absence for a while but I know you won't abide by it. But, you have to promise me you won't overwork yourself. You got shot, you need to take care of yourself." His words come out slow and even, which contradicts his body language. There's something else going on, but you know him well enough to know he's not going to tell you.
"No field work, got it." You agree, knowing it's the best deal you're going to get. When another agent was shot on the job about a year ago, they made her stay out of the office for four months. You'd go crazy under those restrictions.
The two of you ride in silence until he pulls up outside of your quaint home. The lights are all off and the mail has gone unchecked. Dark clouds in the sky start emitting light sprinkles, likely to turn into a storm. With a sigh, you look to Hotch, whose eyes are already on you and you smile weakly at him, trying to mask the pain shooting up your spine.
"Thank you, Hotch." You say and open the door despite your body's protests.
"If you need anything, don't hesitate to call." He tells you with a father-like authority. You nod your head, knowing he means it.
"I will." You confirm and close the door. Hotch drives off and you check your overflowing mailbox before heading up the short stone walkway to your home. You're thankful for the stair railings as you have to pull yourself up each step to reach your front door. From what should be a simple, few-second task, it feels like you've run a marathon. The keys fumble around in your hands but you're able to unlock the door after a few attempts.
Your home is unusually dark and cold inside. The mail finds itself scattered across the dining room table and you go around turning on a lamp or two to bring some life back into the space. Clutching the back of your couch, you catch your breath and look down at your torso. With careful hands, you lift your shirt and look at the bandage. Thankfully it doesn't look like the stitches have broken, it's just a lot of pain. The doctor had given you two prescriptions to fill, but you probably won't go pick them up, you can't imagine how painful it would be to drive a car right now; moving your arms and legs, straining your abdomen. It's just not worth it in your mind. And you're surely not going to inconvenience anyone to pick it up for you, they probably couldn't anyways seeing as how one of them is a narcotic.
Instead of doing anything else, you go around and lay down on your couch, propping your head on a throw pillow and pulling the blanket draped over the back overtop of you. Thunder sounds off overhead, and you know the rain will put you to sleep if the pain doesn't do it first.
The plush material of the blanket soothes you somewhat, it definitely feels better than the hospital blankets. Thick raindrops start pelting the window situated on the wall perpendicular to the couch, giving you the perfect view through your sheer curtains. Your eyes droop as you watch the droplets race each other to the bottom but you don't want to sleep, it's pretty much all you've done the past two days.
While your eyes concentrate on the raindrops pelting the window your mind races with all the thoughts you've slept away in the hospital. Since first waking up, you've been able to recall most of what happened, the doctors told you it was a normal thing to experience, but it freaked you out as you just kept remembering what happened. You can hear Spencer's voice begging you to stay awake and you remember shoving him out of the way so he wouldn't be shot.
While the pain of being shot is like nothing you've experienced before, you know you'd do it all over again to save Spencer. And that terrifies you. It's for that reason you haven't contacted him yet, but you see the messages he's left on your phone, asking if you're okay and if he can do anything for you. If it had been him that got shot, and he didn't pull through, you know you'd crumble, you'd absolutely lose yourself. And that shakes you to your core. You knew you and Spencer were close, but you never realized just how deep your love for him runs.
Being shot made you understand that in this line of work it's not smart to form these personal ties, for reasons such as this. If the roles were reversed and he did die, you know you wouldn't be able to continue doing your job. It's been made abundantly obvious to you during your time on the BAU that these deep connections could pose a threat to your safety, and that's never been more clear to you than it is right now. It's precisely the reason you don't answer Spencer at all. You feel guilty, but you know it's better like this in the long run. You can't stomach the thought of him taking a bullet for you, so you have to distance yourself, for his safety.
-----
Five days later you decide to return to the office. You're feeling slightly better, the pain is still strikingly difficult to deal with, but you can't stand another day being cooped up in your house. Plus, you know there's at least one incident report waiting for you.
You leave early to give yourself enough time to get there, and you find out that you were right about driving, it definitely does not feel good. You reach the office later than you usually do, but you don't really care. The team isn't even expecting you for another two days, so there's no punctuality expectation. After you get out of your car and make your way across the parking lot you find that a pit of dread has taken residence in your stomach, right next to the aching pain; and you're nervous to walk through the doors that have become so familiar. But the elevator ride is too short for your comfort and you find yourself staring at those very doors before you're truly prepared.
With one hand lightly resting on your abdomen, you force yourself into the office, where everyone is busy with their daily duties. Maybe you can just slip in here without anyone noticing you. Your steps are drastically slower than normal, and you make it halfway to your desk before you hear someone calling out your name.
"What are you doing here? Thought you weren't supposed to be back until Monday." Morgan asks, tossing a file on top of his keyboard. You clear your throat and try your best to smile.
"Just couldn't stay away I guess." You say and finish the journey to your desk, feeling your legs start going weak. Within the days you've spent at home, you couldn't bring yourself to exert much energy getting food, you mainly just spent time wrapped up in a blanket on your couch. Your body is weaker than it ever has been, from both malnutrition and the gunshot, but nobody needs to know that, then they'd start to hover. You'd much rather just suffer in silence and take care of yourself. Morgan follows you over to your desk and you're hypervigilant to keep up a good appearance.
"We've been worried about you. Nobody's heard from you since Hotch picked you up." He says and you glance over to Hotch's office, seeing the door closed.
"Yeah, sorry about that. I've just been trying to rest and heal up." It's not a total lie, just not the entire truth either. You meet Morgan's eyes as if to seal the deal, and thankfully he doesn't push you further on the matter, he just puts a hand on your shoulder.
"Well it's good to have you back." He says before departing back to his own desk.
You open the cover of the file that's sitting on your desk, seeing blank pages waiting for you to fill them out. Grabbing your favorite pen, you start jotting down your notes of the incident report up until you get to the part where you were shot. The pen hovers over the page for minutes, and you can't seem to find the right words. The opening of Hotch's door distracts you and you see him and Spencer walk out. Spencer's eyes lock with yours immediately and he wastes no time abandoning his conversation with Hotch to come over to you. You knew this time would come, you were just hoping to avoid it for a while longer.
"How are you? Are you okay? You weren't supposed to be back until Monday." A flurry of questions gets thrown at you while Spencer looks you over as if he's expecting to see another bleeding wound on you.
"I'm fine, thanks." You keep your answer short, too short for his liking and you know it. Guilt sits heavily in your heart, but you remind yourself that this is for his benefit and wellbeing. You can deal with a broken heart, you can't deal with Spencer dying and that's why this is necessary. His eyebrows scrunch together, confused about why you're acting so strangely.
"I tried to text you." He says, lowering his voice, eyes tender and full of worry. If only you could reach out to him, to feel his soft skin under your fingertips and tell him about the hell you've been going through. Instead, you lick your lips and nod shortly,
"I saw. I just, I wanted some time alone." You lie straight to his face and watch as he buys it so easily. Disappointment paints itself all over his face, but he nods anyways and shoves his hands into his pockets.
"Right. Sorry, well, um, you know where I'll be." He says in a hushed voice before turning and walking to his own desk. Your eyes clamp themselves shut and your fists clench, leaving crescent-shaped indents in your palms as you take a deep breath and fight away the tears that threaten to spill.
Once you've regained control of yourself, you pick your pen back up and focus on nothing else but getting this report done. You force yourself to write robotically, stating only the concise facts of what happened and not a detail more. You're sure the other agents' reports will make up for yours, you just need to get this done and filed so you can leave. The air in the office space is suffocating.
After what feels like a short eternity, you've finally completed the report and you shut the front cover of the file and push yourself out of your chair, gritting your teeth the entire time.
"Need help?" You hear Morgan's voice behind you, and you're quick to shake your head.
"No, I'm fine, thank you." You say as you stand as straight as you can, grabbing the file off your desk with one hand, the other rests over your wound, which feel unusually warm. Fearing the worst, you make your way to Hotch's office, biting your cheek the entire way there.
When you enter his office he looks at you with uncharacteristically soft eyes. He waits for you to make the first move and you put the folder on his desk, letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. He opens the folder and reads over your work before tossing it on top of a pile of other folders.
"What's going on with you?" He asks and stands to shut his door. Hotch closes the blinds on the office windows as well, so that the other agents can't see into the room and you're thankful. Your bottom lip quivers as a sharp hot pain radiates from your wound and you feel your throat constrict. Grasping the back of a chair situated in front of his desk you lean your weight on it to try and alleviate the pain, but it isn't working.
"Let me see." Hotch stands from his desk and stands beside you. Once you feel you can stand on your own you lift the edge of your shirt up, exposing the bandage wrapped around you. From your vantage point you can see the warm red skin peeking out from the bandage.
"That's not good, that looks like it's becoming infected." Hotch's voice is thick with worry and he delicately peels back the bandage to examine the wound and you bite down on your hand to keep from crying out. The air coming into contact with it feels like he just pushed a fire poker right through the stitches.
"We're leaving right now, that's definitely infected." Hotch secures the bandage back and you shake your head.
"I'll be fine, it's just part of the healing process." You try to downplay the situation. In reality, you know that it's not good for your wound to be that red or warm, but if the two of you leave right now the others are going to know something's up. And that will inevitably lead to them hovering over you.
"No, it's not. You're going to come with me or I'll call the squad." Hotch threatens and you see no trace of a lie in his eyes or in his tone. Relenting, you agree to go with him. He leads you out of the office and you keep your head down, compelling yourself to not look at Spencer, who's undoubtedly tracking your every move.
Once you reach the parking lot Hotch begins questioning you. He helps you into his car and you let him, not having the energy to fight him.
"Have you not been taking the medicine prescribed to you? I know they gave you an antibiotic." He scolds, knowing the answer. If you had been taking them, you wouldn't be showing up to the office with an angry gunshot wound.
"Hurt too much to drive and get them." You keep your answer short and he huffs in annoyance, but starts driving somewhere to get you the medical attention you need. Deep down you're thankful Hotch cares this much, he's the closest thing to real family you have.
Last Thanksgiving the team found out that you have no family to spend the holidays with. You had never meant to tell them, but holiday plans came up in conversation and yours were painfully dull and lonely compared to theirs. But Hotch invited you to his family's Thanksgiving dinner. At first, you had declined, not wanting to intrude on his family time away from work, but he wasn't taking no for an answer. Now you're glad that he persisted and you went. His wife, Haley, took you under her wing and everything just fell into place; you're practically their surrogate daughter at this point.
After Hotch makes sure that you get looked at by a doctor, and that you actually have your intended prescriptions, he drops you off at your home and makes you promise that you'll send him a video of you taking your medicine on schedule. Knowing that if you don't, he will most definitely drive over here and count the pills, you agree. And as a punishment for not taking the medicine in the first place, he makes you agree to stay out of the office for another week.
-----
The week passes too quickly for your liking. Each day Spencer had texted you, asking if you're okay, that he's worried about you, and that he misses you. It broke your heart to not reply to him, every fiber of your being yearned to text him back, to let him know that you're okay. The temptation to abandon your decision of distancing yourself from him grew stronger each day. It became so tempting that you forced yourself to let your phone battery die and then you buried it underneath the clothes in your dresser so that it would stay out of sight.
But now, as you stare up at the office building from the parking lot, you know that you won't be able to avoid him today and you know that you're going to have to not give into temptation. Every time you want to slip, you're going to have to remind yourself that this is for his safety. You remember that you can deal with the heartbreak, the possibility of him hating you, but you'll never be able to go on if he dies. So you have to do everything in your power to make sure he will never have a reason to make a decision to take a bullet for you, like you did him.
Eventually, you walk into the office, admittedly in a lot less pain than last time. Who knew that taking your prescribed antibiotics would make your life easier? As soon as your foot crosses the threshold of the door, you feel like everyone's eyes are upon you. Instead of looking around to confirm your suspicions, you make a straight route right to your desk. But, of course that doesn't stop people from coming over.
"Back again. You look better this time." Morgan smiles and slides to sit on the edge of your desk. You smile back at him, feeling refreshed and healthier than last time.
"Feel better too. Any new cases?" You ask, hoping to establish some normalcy back into your routine. Typically, you and Spencer carpool to work together and his missing presence from your morning routine didn't go unmissed. Morgan licks his lips and nods,
"Yeah we just got back from one out in Colorado. I think there's another briefing at ten." He tells you, taking a sip of his coffee. You know you won't be let into the field yet, but you at least want to sit in on the briefing. More than likely you'll be paired with Garcia, and you're fine with that.
Morgan slides off your desk and as he moves you see Spencer staring straight at you. His eyes look bloodshot, there are dark circles under his eyes. He looks like he hasn't had a decent night of sleep for a month and his hair is a mess. His lips fall open as you two make eye contact, but you're quick to look away before you go over to comfort him. The inside of your cheeks burn from how hard you're biting them.
Once ten rolls around the team files into the conference room, and you're careful to stand in the back instead of taking your usual seat. Prentiss gives you an odd look but she doesn't say anything. It's glaringly obvious to everyone that something is off, but you assure them you should stand to help your blood circulation. As Hotch starts going over the next case you feel a familiar pair of eyes lingering on your face, but you stare right at Hotch.
Soon enough, the rest of the team is off to work a local case, and you stay in the office to help Garcia. She pulls up a chair for you to sit on, and the two of you get to work without saying a word. It's weird for there to be a silence so thick between the two of you, you two always work so well together and you love Penelope. As she waits for something to load, she taps a pen on her desk and takes a deep breath.
"What's wrong?" You ask, not being able to take it any longer. The tapping pen stills and she looks over to you with an uncertain look on her face.
"What's wrong with me? Nothing, I'm perfect as a peach." She tries to lie, but you can read her too well. Your eyebrows raise, and you push her further.
"Come on, Pen. I know you better than that. Tell me." You implore and she bites her lower lip, conflicted with herself as if she should say anything or not. But eventually your staring gets to her and she breaks.
"Fine. Fine, but you didn't hear this from me. Spencer thinks that you blame him for getting shot and that's why you've been dodging him." You've never heard such ridiculous words come out of Penelope's mouth, and you've heard her say a lot over the years. Taken aback, your mouth falls open and you blink, trying to come up with something to say.
"No. Of course it's not his fault. I pushed him out of the way, he didn't pull me into the bullet's path." You say, wanting to set the record straight. Your heart aches at the thought of Spencer beating himself up, thinking that you blame him for your own actions. You know you won't tell him this directly, but you're certain Garcia will relay the message. And that will have to be good enough.
"What's going on with you two then?" Her voice is uncharacteristically soft. You know you can't tell her what you're really doing because you know she'll fight you on it and try to dissuade you. So you choose to dodge the question altogether.
"There. The victim's information loaded." You point at her screen and she scowls at you, but turns in her chair and resumes her job anyways. While she does her research you busy yourself with putting pins on a map, trying to figure out where the unsub is going to strike next.
Later, the team returns to the office before going home for the day. You're at your desk, shutting down your computer and making sure your file drawer is locked, and when you grab the jacket off the back of your chair, you see Spencer talking to Morgan at his desk. He catches you out of the corner of his eye, and you brush past the two of them before either one of them can say something to you. Your heart shatters a little with each step, but you remind yourself why you're doing this. If you didn't, you're convinced you would have turned back and never let Spencer go.
-----
Three days later, the case is solved. The unsub basically handed the team a map right to himself and chose not to lawyer up when Hotch questioned him. It's almost like he wanted to be caught. You don't dwell on the thought too much, you're just glad another murderer is off the street. While everyone else cheers about the victory as they fill out their reports, you keep to yourself at your desk. Unlike the last report you filled out, you make sure this one is extensively detailed.
"What does everyone say? Celebration drinks tonight?" You hear Morgan's voice, eager and happy. The man loves to celebrate sometimes. The rest of the team agrees, and you finish your sentence, hoping they keep you out of it. If you stay quiet enough, you're sure they'll forget you're even here.
"Oh did someone say drinks?" Penelope walks into the bullpen to give Hotch something. Morgan fills her in on the details and of course she agrees.
"I'm assuming you're coming too, right?" You hear her voice but choose not to look up, hoping that she's talking to someone else. Unfortunately, she was not talking to someone else, and taps on your shoulder to make you look up. You see Spencer standing in the background with everyone else, but you keep your eyes trained on Penelope like he doesn't even exist.
"Oh, I don't know. I was thinking of calling it an early night." You admit, knowing full well that you had planned to sit on your couch all weekend binging some trashy reality show to distract yourself from your reality. Penelope frowns,
"Come on, you've never turned us down before. It'll be good for you." She says, and you can tell by the tone of her voice that she's not going to take no for an answer.
"Fine, I'll be there." You relent, with a tight smile on your face. She cheers and goes back to talking with Morgan, and you swivel around in your chair to finish the report. While you scribble words, you're already forming your escape plan for the night.
You'll stay for about an hour, after everyone has already had a few and then you'll excuse yourself. If you have to, you'll use your gunshot wound as an excuse; and yeah it's a cheap cop out, but if that's what it takes you'll do it. And then once you're out the doors you're free. It's a simple, yet effective, plan.
Hours later the team huddles around a table in a crowded bar. Usually you're all over celebratory drinks, you use it as an excuse to remind your coworkers of just how brilliant they are. But tonight, while the rest of them are chatting away happily, you sit on the edge, nursing your drink and looking out of the bar's front window. Spencer is seated across the table from you and you keep accidentally meeting his eyes, which makes the alcohol in your system warm your skin even more.
Spencer sure does make it hard for you to ignore him. After all, his puppy-dog eyes practically plead with you, silently begging for you to say something to him. You can see how hard he's being on himself, still probably convinced that you blame him for your wound. Even if Garcia told him otherwise, you know he will have a hard time buying it considering your actions completely contradict what you had said. While the others might not notice how miserable he is, you can tell. He hasn't gone on a random knowledge tangent since you've been back and he's been reusing the same coffee cup without washing it for the past few days.
You hate how hard Spencer makes it to actually dislike him, you hate how he's such a kindhearted person because it makes all of this ten times more difficult. If he had at least one dislikable trait then this would be easier, then you might have a chance of convincing yourself that you can't stand him, that you never liked him to begin with. Though you're not sure you could ever convince yourself of that, truly. As you take your last drink, you come to one reasonable conclusion: You hate that you love him.
Suddenly feeling like the room is closing in on you, you stand from your seat and make your way to the bartender to close your tab out for the night. Maybe you can just sneak out of here and nobody will notice. The bartender hands your card back to you, and you start heading towards the door. But of course a team of FBI agents noticed that you had left, and are now heading towards the door. Morgan is the first one to confront you.
"Going home already? It's not even nine yet!" He teases and you give him your best smile.
"Just starting to hurt a little." You ghost your fingers over your healing wound for extra measure, knowing they won't chastise you about that. It seems you've taken the low road after all.
"Want someone to take you home?" Penelope asks, and you're quick to decline, knowing exactly what kind of plan she has in store.
"No, thanks. That's alright, I don't live far. Have a good night everyone." You smile at Morgan, Penelope, and Prentiss before you leave. As you walk to your car you notice that everytime you turn away and leave Spencer, your heart fragments more and more. But you remember what's at stake, and you pick yourself up, the best you can, and keep moving forward. You know that the pain and turmoil you're feeling now will amount to nothing if something ever happens to Spencer.
-----
Months later your gunshot wound is practically completely healed. There's a scar that's going to be left behind, but you don't mind it. You're one week out from being cleared to go back into the field, and you're undergoing your evaluation now. You thought that you'd be happy and eager to get back out there, but instead you find yourself hesitant and nervous about it. Working with Garcia had made you feel safe and secure. So now, as you sit in Hotch's office, you try to find the words you're looking for. He's staring at you expectantly.
"I just. Hotch I don't know if I can go back out there." Your voice is shaky, and you're afraid this admission will get you dismissed from the team. He leans forward, elbows resting on his desk.
"You're saying you don't want to return to the field?" He tries to clarify. You take in a deep breath,
"I want to return to the field, I just don't know if I want to do it right now. I mean, I still get nightmares about being shot and it feels so real. What I'm trying to say is that I don't know how well I'd react in stressful situations right now." You tell him, hoping that this makes more sense. In a way, you're figuring out what exactly it is you want. His eyes narrow, trying to get a read on you. Hotch writes some words on the paper in front of him and sighs.
"I can give you another month. And I want you to start seeing a therapist." He says and you scoff immediately. Hotch holds his hand up to stop your protests before they even start.
"Listen. I don't know what's going on inside your mind since this all happened. But you haven't been yourself. And you haven't spoken to Spencer once. You two used to be the best of friends. It's none of my business to know, but you need to tell someone about it. Being shot like that is not something that someone gets over easily and without ramifications." He explains, and deep down you know he's right. You just don't want to confide to anyone about your issues.
"Sure." You agree, knowing that he's going to force you to see a therapist one way or another. If you tell him no now, you're sure someone will show up in the office next week to conduct some sort of "random psych evaluation". Hotch dismisses you from his office, and you make your way to the break room for some much needed caffeine.
The coffee in the pot is hot, like it's been freshly brewed. You pick a mug at random and fill it, then you sprinkle in a modest amount of sugar before tasting it. It's warm and comforting, like a hug from the inside. You close your eyes to help yourself destress from what happened in Hotch's office, but when you open them you see Spencer standing in the doorway. His hair is still wildly curly, there are still circles under his eyes from sleep deprivation. Even his clothes are wrinkled now, it looks like he doesn't take the time to iron them out anymore.
You two stare at each other with so much left unsaid, and you make a move to leave the room before you fold under the pressure. Your shoulder brushes his on the way out, and you hear him speak.
"Please. I'm sorry." You hear him plead with you and your steps falter, wanting so badly to just stop and turn around. To hold him close to you and apologize, to tell him you miss him so bad it makes your chest hurt and how life is dull without him. But instead, you take a scalding sip of coffee and keep moving forward like you never heard him. Each day that passes you find yourself hating how deeply you love him more and more, it's almost a constant burn in your veins.
You spend the rest of the day tucked away in Penelope's office, nose buried in a screen, doing the most menial research as if the fate of the world depends on it. Penelope doesn't say anything. She just sighs and helps you with the research.
-----
A few more weeks pass, and fall is now in full swing. There's a crisp chill to the air, the leaves are all turning colors and falling to the ground. And with fall comes your birthday. You have no real plans to celebrate, Hotch had given you your gift in the parking lot before work this morning, knowing that you don't like a lot attention being drawn to you, but it is nice to get a simple "happy birthday" from your friends.
The team packs up for the day, and your heart sinks with disappointment. It seems that nobody but Hotch had remembered your birthday. You convince yourself that this is a stupid reason to get sad, that they all have busy lives to keep up with. Plus, it's not like it's a milestone birthday anyways. Grabbing your jacket, you leave the office for the day with a heavy sadness taking residence in your chest.
When you arrive home, you turn some lamps on and toss your jacket over the back of the couch. You put Hotch's gift on the table, and go to the kitchen to open a bottle of wine. You don't bother pouring it into a glass, straight from the bottle will suffice just fine. Taking the bottle with you, you go to your room and change out of your work clothes. As you rummage through the drawers, you find your phone still sitting in the bottom of one of them.
You had never found the courage to charge it back up, afraid to see what words had been left for you. But tonight, you figure it's about time you confront your own feelings. You plug the phone in and set it on your nightstand, taking another swig of the wine and waiting for it to charge.
After what feels like hours, the phone finally turns back on. And within minutes, the notifications start pouring in. Text after text after text rolls in and the missed calls start to pile up. With another drink, you take your phone in your hand and read over the messages. There are exactly fifty seven messages from Spencer and thirty missed calls.
Your eyes scan the texts he sent you, his words sinking into the fibers of your very being, and you're saddled with an intense sorrow. Tears fall from your cheeks onto the phone's screen and you stop reading, not being able to take it anymore. All of his texts were him apologizing to you, begging you to please talk to him. You listen to the voicemails he left, hearing his voice crack and listening to him sniffle as he pleads for you to please just say something, anything. You can almost visualize him in your mind, wiping his tears as he tells you how sorry he is and how he misses you more than anything. He's begging and apologizing as if he's the one who has done anything wrong here. You hate yourself more than anything for letting him suffer like this.
You leave your phone on your nightstand and grab the wine, returning to your kitchen table, where Hotch's gift sits perfectly wrapped. Taking it in your hands, you unwrap it and look inside the box, heart stilling as you see what's inside. With trembling fingers, you grab the frame and hold it in front of your face. Hotch had given you a framed photo of the team, a picture in which Spencer is holding you tightly against his side, and you're looking up at him with stars in your eyes. The frame slips through your fingers and clatters onto the table.
You support yourself on the back of a chair, and you finally let yourself feel everything you had suppressed over the last few months. Sobs shake your body and the tears fall onto the photo. Your hands clutch the back of the chair until your knuckles turn white, afraid that if you let go you'll collapse to the ground.
A knock at the door catches you off guard and you try to level out your breathing, using the back of your hand to wipe the tears from your cheeks. You aren't expecting anyone, and you almost consider just leaving it be, but your curiosity gets the best of you. Knowing that you probably look deranged and pathetic, you open the door anyways.
Spencer stands in the doorway, a small box in his hands along with a bouquet of your favorite fresh-cut flowers.
Your mouth falls open, and you think your heart might actually jump out of your chest. He looks you over, an obvious concern coming over his face. You should shut the door on him, tell him to go away, but your resolve has crumbled, like dust in the wind.
"Can I come in?" He whispers, and you nod, letting him inside your home, where he's been so many times but now it feels like the first time all over again. Your house is in a state of disarray, and if you hadn't just been sobbing over a photo of him, you might care more. You wipe more tears from your eyes and you clear your throat, not exactly sure what to say or do. But thankfully, he speaks up again.
"Happy birthday." His voice is soft, and he gives you a small smile, but the sadness is evident in his eyes.
"You didn't have to get me anything." You say, looking at the beautiful flowers and carefully wrapped box, topped with a ribbon of your favorite color. He takes a step towards you, and hands you the flowers first. As you take them, your fingers brush his and it feels like the air has been kicked out of your lungs.
"I know, but I wanted to." He says, meeting your eyes. You catch the scent of the flowers, appreciating their freshness and the life they bring to your otherwise sad home. Making your way into your kitchen, you find a vase to put the flowers in and then you set them on the table. Spencer's eye catches the photo, and you know he can see the wetness that still adorns the frame. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to put the pieces together.
"Thank you, Spencer." You say after you position the flowers just right. Willingly, you catch his eye and you know you can never go back to ignoring him after this. He glances from you, to the photo, then back to you before he hands you the box. Lifting the top off, you see a beautiful gold chain inside that has a beautiful gemstone pendant hanging from it.
"I picked the stone because it reminded me of your eyes." He sheepishly admits, and you look up at him through your lashes with the purest and deepest love flowing through you. But through that love, the guilt eats you alive.
"Spencer, this is too much. I've been horrible to you lately, I don't deserve this. And I definitely don't deserve your kindness." You say, looking into his gorgeous, kind eyes. The tension is noticeable between you, and you wish it would melt away and that you two could go back to how things used to be.
"I've missed you so much." Is all he says, voice cracking and you see tears gather in his eyes. Unable to help yourself, you set the necklace on the table and close the gap between the two of you, resting your hand on his cheek. Your bottom lip trembles,
"I'm so sorry Spencer. I'm so sorry." You say, tears once again flowing down your face. He sniffles as a tear runs down his cheek onto your thumb.
"Why?" Is all he asks but you know exactly what he means. You decide to come clean to him, there's no use of lying now.
"When I got shot, I realized that if you had been the one who got hit, and you didn't make it, that I wouldn't be able to live. The thought of living in a world without you is too much. So I had to make sure that I didn't give you a reason to make the same choice I did. I could live with you hating me, but I couldn't live in a world without you. I wanted you to hate me so that you wouldn't risk your life for me." Your thumb gently brushes his cheekbone, trembling with your words. He closes his eyes as tears keep falling down his cheeks. One of his hands comes up and grabs yours that's on his face, and he grips it tight.
"When I realized you had taken the bullet for me, I knew that nothing would be the same between us. I thought I was going to lose you. Your blood was on my hands, and it's the only thing I have nightmares about anymore. And this made me realize that I can never stop loving you, no matter what happens." He admits, causing you to cry harder. The remorse you feel for putting him through so much torment feels like it's eating you from the inside. You should have been there for him.
"I'm so sorry." Is all you can say, it's all you can express to him right now. He needs to know that you didn't mean any of it. Spencer pulls you in for a hug and holds you tight against him. One of his hands cradles the back of your head, the other is secure around your waist. Your tears stain his sweater, and the two of you let out everything.
When you finally pull back from the hug you grab his face with gentle hands, making him look at you.
"Spencer, I love you so much. I need you to know that I did what I did because I love you too much to lose you." You admit to him and he smiles. A genuine smile that you haven't seen in months. Through the tears and emotions, you two smile widely at one another.
Spencer closes the gap between the two of you, and tilts your chin up. Your lips connect with his ever so softly, and you pull him closer to you, your hands trailing down his torso, collecting fistfuls of his sweater. One of his hands rests on your cheek, brushing your cheekbone and the other keeps you close to him.
Everything that has gone unsaid is spoken loud and clear as you kiss one another. When your lungs start burning, begging for air, you break away and lean your forehead on his chest. He brushes your hair with his fingers and you feel him press a tender kiss to the top of your head. You stay entangled with each other in a comfortable silence before you look up at him,
"We'll be alright." You tell him, knowing that the two of you will be able to mend each other in time. And things may never be like they were, and that's okay.
"We'll be alright." He confirms, kissing your forehead.
Eventually, you two move to the couch and you ask him to clasp the necklace around your neck. In the soft, warm glow of the lamps you look into his eyes and can see all of the love he holds for you. You take one of his hands in yours and he positions himself so that you can lay back against him. He's warm, and being held by him feels like home.
Laying in his arms, you decide you don't want to return to the field. After all, if you're not in the field he won't ever be faced with the decision to take a bullet for you or not. As long as he's in your life, and you're in his, things will be okay. Before you drift off to sleep, you lean up and press a kiss to his temple.
You have everything you need right here in your arms.
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#dr spencer reid#spencer reid angst#spencer reid comfort#hurt/comfort#hotch#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfic#derek morgan#penelope garcia#spencer reid fluff#harry styles#Spotify
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the way he just looks disappointed when hotch taps his arm 😭😭
#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid#criminal minds fanart#spencer reid comfort#spencer reid fanfiction#agent hotchner#aaron hotch hotchner#hotch#aaron hotchner
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↬In Sync↫
Aaron Hotchner x Fem reader
Summary: You and Aaron are in sync more often than not, but a small bump throws you off beat
Warnings: suggestive language/allusions to sex, (18+ only minors please do not interact), mentions of pregnancy, nausea, anemia. Mainly loads of fluff.
WC: 1.9K
Gif credit: @ssahotstuff 💕
‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧
You and Aaron are always in sync. He is the ying to your yang, the two of you always moving together in perfect harmony. He is unlike any man you’ve been with. A big shot in his world, yet quiet and reserved, even shy at times.
Your lives are in sync, his hectic never-ending schedule matched perfectly with your self-scheduled work-from-home hours. It meant that you were there when he wasn't, to pick up where you both left off, to be with Jack, to maintain the balance. Aaron is immensely appreciative and forever in awe of how well you bond with his son. To him, you are a natural, better at this than he ever was. Deep down, he wants the two of you to share that experience from the beginning, to give you a baby of your own. But he never mentions it.
Your emotions are in sync. You feel each other, validate one another, and embrace every emotion together. It had been a daunting three weeks without him, an extended case followed by another, right on its tail. You held him down, like always, offering him a listening ear, sharing your day-to-day adventures, looking after Jack, and letting the two share father-son time over facetime. Every time Jack raves about the cookies the two of you baked after school or the new dinosaur stories you read to him before bed, it tugs at Aaron’s heartstrings. It ignites those feelings in him again: he wants a baby with you. Again, he never mentions it, it was hardly the time or place anyway.
Sometimes, the two of you are not in sync. When you’re apart, he lets his mind wander to the familiar dark corners of self-doubt. What does it say about him that he wants to create a child with you while leaving you to take care of his son time and time again? Who does that to a partner? Who would stand for that? He benefits in every way from your relationship, but what do you gain? Is he holding you back? If he truly loves you, why would he do that? What does that say about him as a man, as a partner, as a father?
You were his solace, his anchor, the moon and the star and everything in between. When he was around you, everything fell into place, everything felt right. You granted him a very warm welcome after those three weeks. The two of you held it together through the evening for Jack’s sake, with poise and grace, as any parent would. As soon as he was sound asleep, you and Aaron fell into a passionate, desperate dance. It was a night of longing, unlike any other. In the heat of things, you forgo protection, Aaron reminds you both, apologizing profusely. But you beg him to continue. He feels conflicted, in his heart of hearts, he feels guilty because this is what he truly wants, more than anything else. But he has not said anything, he still doesn’t. Afterwards, you soothe his mind, tell him you’ll address it in the morning, assuring him not to worry. He continues to hold his feelings in.
Whenever the two of you aren’t in sync, it's usually Aaron who’s off-kilter and you bringing him safely back to shore. Except for this particular evening. A dimly lit, friendly dinner at Rossi’s beloved mansion. Laughter and conversation flow easily through the dining hall. The comforting smells of Rossi’s home cooking waft through the air. In stark contrast, you sit tensely at the edge of your seat, unable to enjoy the evening, unable to relax at all. Aaron is well aware, placing a reassuring hand on your thigh. He feels guilty for even attending, but you had insisted on going, reassuring him that you were ok.
The fact is, you are not ok, at all. Far from it. It had been almost 4 weeks of headaches, nausea and body aches. Work was more stressful than normal. You felt out of it every single day. You managed to convince Aaron that it was due to your chronic anemia and promised to see your doctor. The blood tests showed that your levels were in fact quite low, but the perpetrator was one you did not see coming: pregnancy.
The memory hit you like a truck. That night, nearly a month ago now, when you practically begged him to forgo a condom. When you reassured him that you would handle it in the morning. But you hadn’t. You forgot. That morning was hectic, by the time you got Jack and his dad out of the door, you did not stop taking calls for work until it was time to pick up Jack. From there, you had 2 hours of paperwork to complete, soccer practice for Jack, and a trip to the dry cleaners. You also managed to squeeze in an oil change for your car that was well overdue and make a stop at the post office. You completely forgot.
The guilt consumed you, it made you sick. It's not that you don’t want a child with Aaron, in fact, he is the only man you’ve been with who you felt worthy of having children with. But not like this. It felt like you betrayed him somehow, as if you had done this on purpose. Who does that to someone they love? Did you trap him with a baby? How would he respond? What would he think? The questions kept you up all night, tossing and turning, endless scenarios playing in your head.
Hotch is a profiler, he could see that you were hiding something. He knew by now it was more than just anemia. It hurt him that you wouldn’t tell him right away but he wants to give you the space you need, while gently reminding you that he’s here for you, as always. Somehow, you manage to save face for the rest of the evening, wearing a fake smile, even laughing when appropriate. The drive home is mostly silent, the sound of rain creating a short lived force of peace within you.
“Sweetheart, please talk to me. You can tell me anything, you know that.” You took a deep breath as you walk into the living room, gently placing your purse down, “Aaron, it's nothing really.” You were saved by a sound you normally hate: his phone ringing. He answers with a sharp tone as a deep frown settled onto his face. He has a case and you urge him to go, secretly grateful for this distraction. He will not budge until you promise to talk to him about what was going on the minute he got back.
This time, he returns in 24 hours. You feel guilty for wanting more time, unprepared to tell him. The two of you sit out on the balcony, enveloped by the cool spring breeze.
“Angel, please talk to me, whatever it is that's bothering you, just please talk to me.” You instantly feel flustered, whatever preparation you had in store for this moment has utterly failed you. Speaking in simple sentences is suddenly a difficult task. “Aaron, I don't know where to begin” you sigh, averting your gaze to the string lights you and Jack had decorated the balcony with. “I’ve been irresponsible and stupid. I’m sorry, I broke your trust, I didn't mean to I swear it, Aaron, it genuinely slipped my mind,” you ramble as tears begin to form in your eyes.
Aaron immediately places both his hands on your forearms. Normally, it takes a lot to make you nervous or anxious, so this display was troubling.
“Sweetheart, please slow down, what are you apologizing for? Just breathe with me for now angel”, his words are soothing, they always are, it only makes you feel worse because how could you have put this sweet, caring man in this position?
You took a deep breath in and out, “Aaron, do you remember the night you came back last month? After those three weeks? Do you remember what we- how we, um you know- we,”
He holds your hands now, firm but gentle. Brown eyes filled with more kindness and concern than you could fathom. “Yes I remember, sweetheart we both agreed to that in the moment, do you regret-”
“No! No, it's not that” you’re quick to cut him off, afraid of where he’s going, with a shaky breath you continue, “I told you not to worry, promised that I would take a plan B, but Aaron I forgot, I swear I didn’t mean to it slipped my mind and I found out this morning” you can’t hold back the tears this time as you struggle to pull out the paper with your test results to show him.
Aaron freezes for a minute, staring at the paper before pulling you into one of his warm, soul-soothing hugs that you loved dearly.
“Y/N, sweetheart, please don’t apologize. You have done nothing wrong, I am not upset angel, look at me.” His tone is tender, not reprimanding or upset in the slightest.
He stares into you with the most loving gaze, “You have done nothing wrong, what would make you think I would be upset?”
You frown, eyes glued to your lap, “I betrayed your trust, that was so irresponsible of me.”
“You did no such thing. It's human to forget, you are allowed to be human sweetheart,” you shake your head at that, “But Aaron, you don't do that to people, we haven’t even discussed any of this or planned for it. ” He looks at you with sad eyes, in his profiler mind, it sounds like you are parroting something that was once told to you. That thought makes his blood boil, but he’s careful to mask that particular emotion in the moment.
“And you already have Jack, I never thought” you pause, this was uncharted territory for you, “I assumed you wouldn’t want another kid”.
In your mind, it makes perfect sense. He is older than you, has seen more than you have, he’s been divorced, widowed, and traumatized beyond belief. Aaron worries about Jack all the time, and fatherhood is somewhat of a touchy subject for him. You concluded that he was content in raising Jack, why on Earth would he want to add more children to that?
But your words break his heart. He feels heavy, sick even. Here you are sitting across from him, pregnant, yet these thoughts are plaguing your mind. It’s his dream come true, his fairytale ending, the one story he would play over and over in his head.
“Y/N, how could you say that? What gave you that idea sweetheart?” his tone is tender as he stares at you in disbelief. “There is nothing more that I would want than to have a child with you” he pauses to hold your hands, placing a soft kiss on your knuckles. “It's something I've thought of for a while.”
It's your turn to stare in shock now, as you struggle to find words in the moment, afraid that this is a twisted dream you would soon wake up from.
Aaron’s words bring you out of you shocked state, “but Y/N, none of that matters if you are not ready, that's whats important, angel. Whatever you decide, I am right here beside you. I love you unconditionally.”
You burst into tears again, engulfing him in a hug, clinging onto him for dear life, the two of you whispering ‘I love you’ back and forth. He places sweet kisses on you forehead, cheeks, chin, and gingerly over your belly.
You and Aaron are in sync once again.
‧⋆ ✧˚₊‧⋆. ✧˚₊‧⋆‧
My first ever fic!! Please excuse any errors & any feedback would be very much appreciated ♡
#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x fem!reader#aaron hotch x you#aaron hotch fanfiction#ssa aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotch#criminal minds#criminal minds fan fic#fluff and comfort#aaron hotchner x female reader#yuly writes!#aaron hotchner x reader#hotch x reader#criminal minds fanfiction#david rossi#criminal minds bau#aaron hotchner x y/n
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Not Alone. Aaron Hotchner x GN!reader
Hi all! so, this is actually a birthday gift to a beautiful friend and mutual who has been struggling recently. I heard him say that Aaron would not be proud of him at this very point in time, and well. I just couldn’t disagree more. So! That sparked this. I hope all of you reading can hear the message I originally intended to shine through the words. <3 And Happy Birthday, Casper!!!!! @softhairedhotch
word count: 3,400.
THIS IS HEAAAAAAVY ON THE HURT AND HEAVY ON THE COMFORT SO PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS!
This fic contains: graphic depictions of depression/depressing imagery. Brief mentions of alcoholism/alcohol as a coping mechanism. Some allusions to suicidal thoughts and loneliness/bullying. Mentions of reader shaving and accidental cuts (no mentions of where on their body). Mentions of caffeine consumption.*
*not tagging due to the heavy themes in this particular fic, I don't want to pressure anyone into reading if they aren't completely comfortable*
Numb. The only way to describe the way you’ve been feeling, or rather, unfeeling lately. What you know to have been weeks, feels like months, could have been years stretching on and on feeling this way. You have, of course had moments of joy and happiness, seemingly outnumbered by those where you’ve felt a kind of misery seeping in through the windows at night, staining your carpet with its seething despair. You’ve been trying and trying and trying to avoid it, standing on the furniture as it rises and rises. Now you must be clinging to your raised curtain like a cat, trying still to escape the dreary fog.
Of course, you wake up every morning, noticing there is no stain at all. The sunny daylight bleaches every fiber in sight and washes away all your signs of last night’s struggle. You turn off your blaring alarm, wipe a restless sleep from your eyes and have to get on with your day. Every. Damn. Day. You throw on your uniform and you begin the endless trudge to Quantico. You can’t help but look around on your long commute, wondering if every other train passenger feels the same way you do. You see the same faces appearing time and time again, expressionless on their way to their same mind numbing 9 to 5. But surely, not everybody feels this weighed down. Not everybody feels like their boots are packed with lead and every step is in the wrong direction. They can’t all have been pushed to their last limit, violating every rule they set for themselves because they just can’t deny themselves a moment’s pleasure. A moment’s reprieve in a world that is otherwise frankly draining.
Looking around, you note the absence of a particular man you’ve labelled Hat Guy. Until two days ago, you saw this man every morning on the same commute. He’ll often share a row with Newspaper Dude and sit in their comfortable silence. They never greet each other, though. In fact, you wonder if any of these people find the same brimming sense of familiarity and calm that you feel seeing the same faces each day. Actually, do any of them even know you? Would they notice if you stopped riding this train? If you were here every day for the past who knows how many months and then you weren’t?
Luckily, that crisis is cut off by the shrill sound of the doors grating open, you’re finally at your stop. You pick up your daily energy drink from the corner store before beginning your short hike to Quantico’s FBI Headquarters. Greeting the guards at the security checkpoint, you’re predictably asked to remove your bag and belt, putting your drink aside while you make your way through the scanners. The metal alarm sounds as you rush to explain to the guards you have a plate in your arm from an injury as a child. The guards seem equally surprised by this every day. Every day the same. You’re starting to wonder if you’re actually living the plot of groundhog day as the younger, more by-the-books guard picks up the metal detector wand, waving it over your body ‘Just to be sure’. You narrowly avoid telling him, like every single morning. that you’re quite literally one of a few people entering this building without a gun on your hip. There are about a thousand armed agents he should be more concerned with than you.
You take the elevator up to the sixth floor, barely needing to glance ahead of you to know the path towards the BAU doors like the back of your hand. You push through the doors, the ever predictable Dr Reid being the first to turn and notice your figure trudging past his desk.
“Morning.” He offers you a tight lipped smile as you note that he’s never even greeted you by name. If he didn’t have an eidetic memory you’d be convinced he didn’t know it.
“Morning, Reid.” You offer him a similarly forced little smile as you trudge by the other familiar faces of your coworkers, all too absorbed in their work or in quite literally anything more interesting than you, you suppose. You set down your things with a sigh, shedding your jacket over the chair and looking over to see your three fellow evidence technicians deep in conversation, all sat around your ex-partner’s desk, laughing about how much they enjoyed going out for karaoke with the team’s field agents last night. None of them seem to notice your presence as you wake your computer and start rummaging through your desk drawers for your notepad, yesterday’s nearly finished evidence logs, pens and a calculator.
One of your peers laughs so hard at a joke the infamous Derek Morgan made that she tips backwards, her hand flying out to catch her as it collides with the cold metal of your energy drink, spilling it all over your desk. The fizzy liquid quickly soaks into the loose pages of your entire week’s work as you just watch the can gulp more and more sticky drink over your things. You raise your hands to your head, taking a moment to breathe and tell yourself that you can redo the work. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. Things can be replaced. It’s just useless. Seriously, what’s the point of trying anyway if everything is just ruined in the end? This is always the way it goes. You feel before you see the now empty can picked up and placed gently into the wastebasket by your desk, a long set of legs planting two shiny soles beside your chair as a throat clears, loudly beside you.
The room comes to a grinding halt, your coworkers piling off the desks around yours, clambering to their feet to face their very unimpressed boss.
“Agent Summers.” You hear a cold but familiar tone directed at the particular ass which collided with your morning caffeine.
“Yes? Um, sir.” She stutters, clearly surprised to be greeted at 9:02 sharp with such a directed reprimand.
“Clean this mess up, please. This is furniture, not a playground. We don’t go swinging beverages over important documents. Although, I expect since you and your colleagues were meeting in your paid hours, you guys can come up with some plan to make up for this lost work? I trust you can make out which documents you just carelessly ruined on your own?”
“U-Um, yes, sir. I’m sure we can, We can fix these-” She began peeling the dripping messes of paper off the desk as Agent Hotchner carefully wheeled your chair back just out of the splash zone.
“Good. And don’t let this happen again.” He gave one last icy stare to the group of fools you once called friends as he carefully moved a hand to your shoulder. He bent down closer to you as his tone turned to one of delicate care. “Come with me.” He offered you a very neutral, soft expression as you pulled yourself to your feet, willing to just move one in front of the other, like always, and stay calm. Whatever he’s about to hit you with, you probably deserve it.
It’s worth noting that you and Agent Hotchner had been in a sort of dance for months now, both of you had clearly been harbouring feelings for one another but each time one of you took a small step forwards, the other was nearly sent flying back. It was torture. His unwillingness to just be seen as even a little bit unprofessional even once in his life made it impossible to read him as anything other than neutral, if not even a little off-put by your continued presence in his life. Your building anxiety over his indeterminable feelings for you eventually led to the mounds of dead weight you’re now forced to carry with you day to day. The notion you weren’t enough for him to risk his reputation for and the nagging feeling that he only ever did what was right or polite of him to do towards you, and no feelings ever really existed for you continues to burn your throat where your loving words had once died trying to work their way to him. In any case, you’ve been actively avoiding him ever since your strong feelings of regret towards him began following you around like a bad smell.
You follow him up the stairs to his office where his blinds are already drawn, his hand resting on the door as he allows you in before shutting it behind you. You walk towards the chairs opposite his desk, ready to be fired honestly for someone finally noticing your sluggish and lazy work ethic these past few months, only to be stopped in your tracks.
“Not there. Over here, please.” You turn and see Aaron gesturing to the small couch by the window. You take a seat, pointedly staring at your now stained work pants as you feel Hotch lower himself onto the couch next to you. You sit for a moment, hand fiddling with the seam of your pants at your side while you await your doomed fate.
“Y/N. Please, try to look at me when I say this.” Your head turns towards the more seasoned agent, but your eyes stay glued on your reflection in his overpolished shoes. “I’m worried about you.” You’re caught off guard by this, fully expecting the reprimand of the century for your lackluster job performance. You turn to him fully now, a frown pulling at your features as you try to think of what to say next.
“You mean… like, worried about my job performance, or?” He doesn’t care. Mister professional, mister perfectly fine can only care about one thing and it’s this unit.
“No. I mean you. Come on, Y/N. You think a seasoned FBI Profiler can’t notice when somebody is clearly struggling?” You resent that he had to say clearly, as if all of your efforts to hide your anguish and your pain have been for nothing, if it’s as clear as day anyway. “I don’t say this just to hurt you. I want to help you. I’ve seen you shrugging off every person who tries getting close to you recently, and I don’t want to let that happen here. I can’t let you push me away.” The gentle tone of Aaron’s voice drifting through the narrow space between the two of you almost moved you to tears. His offer to help you hanging in the air while you took a deep breath, trying to keep the beads in your eyes at bay.
“I don’t know how to fix this, Hotch. Even if I wanted to let you help. Everything I’ve tried has only made this worse. I can’t get out. I come close but then each time I think I have a handle on my senses, I end up sinking further from the surface again.” You hear your boss actually take an audible gulp. His throat is tightening hearing you admit you’ve been struggling this much. The way your voice keeps wavering mid sentence is making his chest feel tight. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep treading water, Aaron. I’m tired. I’m so, so tired. There’s just no end to this.” You bury your head in your hands, only when your palms meet your cheeks do you realise they’re wet with tears you’ve held back for too long. The dam has burst.
“You start by admitting you’re not okay. You start by talking to a friend, or even just someone you can bear, and you admit that one person cannot move this mountain alone. You just did that.” A warm hand lands on your shaking shoulder as you move to sit more upright again, finally turning to look at the kind soul seated next to you. ‘Someone you can bear’ you note that this must be the sentiment aaron thinks he holds in your mind. God you’ve made such a mess of things. “It’s hard. I can’t pretend that reaching the other side of this is easy, or even that it’s fast… or linear. There are a dozen ups and downs and it’s so so slow going, but one day, you look up and it dawns on you that you haven’t been carrying such a weight around for a while. You realise it’s lifted. Little by little, without you even knowing, it got better… It does get better, Y/N. It did for me, at least.”
You face the older man fully now, searching those deep, soulful eyes of his for the slightest hint that he’s lying. That he’s making this up just so you won’t stop treading water.
“And I was like you. I won’t lie. I thought I was handling it, and I was handling it, and even as I lost my handle on it, I refused to let people in. To let them even see how bad things were. I couldn’t face my own employees knowing they’d seen me so weak or so vulnerable. I thought they’d all be disappointed to learn their unshakeable unbreakable boss was exactly as terrified and shattered as a person can be. But, you start with a conversation, and then you start changing the way you talk to yourself. The way you treat yourself. If we treated ourselves half as well as we’re willing to treat other people, I really think we’d live an awful lot longer. Fuller lives, too. But, I digress. I just wanted to say that I’m in no way disappointed in you. In fact I’m proud of you. Every day, no matter how bad you’ve been feeling, you have walked through that door and you have tried, even for a second, greeting this unit with a smile. Every day you’ve tried. Even if there was a whiff of alcohol on your breath from the long night before, or if you had to take home half your work for the day, trying to complete a respectable amount even though your brain is so clouded with shit that you can’t even find the lead end of a pencil. Even the mornings you’ve come in with fresh nicks and cuts from shaving yourself with shaking hands. I have been proud of you. You’ve never quit trying.”
You swear you must be staring at Aaron like he has three heads by now. He saw everything. He saw right through you, all of your greatest faults and flaws, and he felt… pride? You feel a gasp rip through your chest, your now thick lens of tears in your eyes making it hard to tell if this is a dream, finally, the sweet dreams you’ve been hoping would interrupt the endless cacophony of hurt you’ve felt every night as you tossed and turned in restless sleep. Aaron’s weight shuffles closer to you on the couch as he moves to wrap his arms around you. Seeing your trembling form blubber beside him was beginning to make his chest physically ache as he saw himself in you. He thinks maybe that’s why he’s so inclined to help you. You helped him. The part of his story he didn’t disclose, was that the moment he realised the weight had long since left his shoulders, was the same moment he saw you setting down your things at a desk in the bullpen. Your quirked smile as you bounced from foot to foot, shaking your new colleagues hands had cut through the ashy gray of his known world like a beam of light. He had only then noticed that his back had stopped aching from carrying all of his grief with him.
Right now, he pulls you into him as your fists ball in his neatly pressed shirt in the back, his cupped hand finds the back of your head and he instinctively rocks a little, side to side, his hand smoothing over your mess of hair so gently. The two of you feel yourselves drifting slowly apart from the flow of time as you sit there, heart to heart. All of your months of stress and heartache and dread finally move away from the forefront of your mind, drawn to the back for once, out of the spotlight. You can’t help but wonder if Aaron’s hand is a magnet for negative thoughts, but surely that is a thing of fiction. His smoothing motions over your slowing mind sure are dulling the terror and sadness that usually run rampant through your every synapse, though. Your mind feels almost clear when you pull back from Aaron, sniffling and removing your hands from his now very wrinkled, tear stained shirt as his arms loosen their hold around you.
“I’m sorry, I-”
“Don’t be. You are more important to me. Okay?”
“Okay… then can I at least apologise for being such an ass every time you tried asking me out?” You look at the wonderful, sensitive, caring man before you and cross your every finger, toe and hair follicle that he’ll let you express your regret for the way you acted towards him. He clearly doesn’t deserve to be treated so hot and cold.
“Pfft, only if you let me apologise for your probable whiplash the morning I scolded you for trying to take everyone’s coffee orders in a classified briefing right after I’d told you I had feelings for you the night before. I think I was trying to appear impartial to you but I very, very badly overcompensated and swung the other way towards disdain. If anyone should apologise for you not meeting me on the roof for dinner, it’s me. That was my own doing.”
“Wait, that was you going for impartial? You threatened to charge me with Unauthorised Disclosure if you saw me even blink at Morgan’s open casefile again.” Now it’s Hotch’s turn to bring his hands to his face and groan.
“God. Maybe impartial isn’t my strong suit. Actually, maybe dating isn’t my strong suit. But, dating or not, I really want to make sure you have someone in your corner for this. Even if you’d rather that’s Garcia, or, or Rossi. I just need to know you’re not alone. That you know you’re far from alone.”
“I think you’re about the only person who’s been able to draw me out of my own head in months, Aaron. I really think you’re the best person for me to turn to here. Besides, it sounds like however far you’ve come since you were, um, treading water, you could maybe use somebody in your corner too. I’d like to do that for you.” You only notice now that the other agent had let go of you completely when he relented his role to the other agents in the unit. You make the move this time to be the one to put a warm hand on Aaron’s shoulder. Letting him know he’s also not alone. “Deal?” You offer your spare hand for him to shake. You think for a moment you catch sight of the stone-faced agent’s chin wobbling as he steadies himself in your grasp and moves to hold your hand, not shaking it. Interlacing both of your fingers between your laps where your bodies are exchanging the same warmth.
“Deal” He offers you a shaky smile, letting a moment pass before he turns, checking the blinds are still closed and that time isn’t really at a standstill since you two fused with this couch. “Now, let me try look up what can get Mango Loco Monster out of cotton workpants.” He stands, moving to his desk too swiftly to peel open his laptop. You don’t miss the moment where he brings a knuckle up to his eye, wiping a stray tear onto his own pants as he rounds the desk.
In that moment, you decide that you don’t particularly care if none of the other commuters, none of the other evidence technicians or even the field agents know you exist or notice your absence. You know now more than ever that you’re not nearly as alone as you thought you were. Once Aaron Hotchner is in your corner, he’s immovable. Destined to remind you that you’re worthy of love and of pride, even in your darkest moments. And you, in his.
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#rome's writing!#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x gn!reader#aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader#aaron hotchner angst#aaron hotchner hurt/comfort#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotch hotchner#hotch x reader#hotch x gn!reader#hotch x gender neutral reader#hotch angst#hotch hurt/comfort#hotch fic#hotch fanfic#hotch fanfiction#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner x you#hotch x y/n#hotch x you
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Hit and Run [Hotch x Reader]
Photo credits: Left (Panic! at the Disco) Center (@hotch-girl) Right (@figdays)
Prompt: The BAU reader gets in a hit-and-run accident on the way to work, and Aaron is forced to confront his growing feelings for her. Those feelings are finally shared as the reader nearly faints on a case and Aaron is there to catch her before she falls.
Pairing: Hotch x fem reader. The reader uses she/her pronouns
Category: Hurt/Comfort/fluff
Word Count: 13.5K
Content Warnings: Car accident (hit and run [reader]) cuts and bruises, second-degree burns on the legs and feet (and healing of those burns), hospitals, canon typical violence (mention of poisoning and strangulation), fainting (reader) language.
A/N: Good evening, loves! I’m so happy that this is finally finished. It turned out much longer than I had planned. But somehow I’m not surprised. There isn’t a ton of action in this story, it’s just a lot of emotional build-up that I hope pays off in the end. I hope you enjoy this, and if you do, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! I hope you have a great rest of your week! Love Levi ❤️
P.S. This is not as edited as it can be. I'll do that tomorrow.
List with all stories
_y/f/s_ = your favorite song
_y/h/l_ = your hair length
_y/f/f/w_ = your favorite face wash
_y/f/c_ = your favorite color
_y/f/f_ = your favorite fruit
_y/b/f_ = your best friend
_y/f/s_ = your favorite TV show.
_y/n_ woke to the lack of oxygen. Her vision was black, and she couldn’t breathe. _y/n_ tried to move, and that was her second mistake. As she tried to shift in what was a very uncomfortable, confined space her body protested. It was also hot, uncomfortably hot. The pain and the heat dragged a ragged breath from _y/n_. That also hurt, her ribs aching against the movement of her lungs expanding in her ribcage. _y/n_’s eyes open and the world swam in front of her. There was something white in her lap. That was all she could make out, as she blinked and saw spots. The heat on her lower legs was becoming unbearable. She groaned in pain. Why was everything hurting? What was going on? She had just been driving to work like every other day for the last two years after joining the bureau. _y/n_’s mind moved back to the early morning.
She had woken at 5:00 a.m. as normal to an alarm that she was now regretting horribly. _y/n_ could feel the approaching time change, and she knew that it would be even harder to adjust to the shorter days and possibly leave the office in darkness instead of the warmth of the dripping orange five o'clock sun. _y/n_ had set _y/f/s_ as her new alarm. Now that she had woken to it for over a week, _y/n_ realized that she might be ruining her favorite song for herself. _y/n_ had rolled over in bed and for one second, wished she was back in college when the worst thing about an alarm had been the prospect of a dreadful 8:00 a.m. algebra class. In the darkness of her room, _y/n_ finally hit stop on the alarm and got out from under the warm covers of her bed. Once her feet were on the wood floor of her bedroom, _y/n_’s natural routine kicked in. _y/n_ moved to the bathroom and turned on the light by the sink. She had to blink a few times to adjust to the sudden brightness. _y/n_ pulled her _y/h/l_ hair away from her face with a fluffy grey headband. She turned the tap to warm and waited a moment for it to heat up. After thirty seconds, _y/n_ leaned down and began raising her face with the warm water. After her face was wetted, she pumped a small bit of _y/f/fw_ into her palm and began applying and lathering it over her skin. Once _y/n_ was satisfied with the coverage, she rinsed it off completely. Lastly, she turned the knob on the sink to cold and rinsed her face once more. The cold water always had the wanted effect; finally getting her tired brain to wake up. _y/n_ padded into the kitchen and started a cup of coffee before moving back to the bedroom to change. She needed to do laundry but was avoiding it -- putting it off until the weekend. Because of this, her options were scant. She decided on a pair of loser-fitting black pants with a simple white grid pattern. She had picked them up at a thrift shop two weekends ago and thought they were a good find. _y/n_ then went to her closet and picked out a _y/f/c_ turtleneck shirt. She added a grey scarf and pulled out some thick socks and her well-worn Doc. Martins. Once the outfit and boots were on, _y/n_ moved back to the kitchen. She doctored the coffee to her liking and opened the fridge. She pulled out a yogurt cup and a piece of _y/f/f_ from the fridge. She leaned against the counter as she dipped the spoon into the yogurt. She needed to eat quickly as morning traffic was going to be hell on the way to work. It had rained the night before and the temperatures had dropped below freezing which meant slick, icy roads. After burning her tongue on the hot coffee and finishing breakfast, _y/n_ made it out to her car. She didn’t forget to grab her go bag or sidearm from its gun safe, as she locked the door behind her.
Coming back to herself, the heat on her legs was really starting to hurt and whatever adrenaline had stopped the real pain from kicking in was quickly ebbing away. _y/n_’s eyes cleared, and she came fully to her senses. She let out a cry. The deflated airbag was resting on her lap with fragments of tempered glass from the passenger side door and windshield. _y/n_ could distinctly hear her breathing. _y/n_’s left hand seemed to be pinned between her seat and the plastic padding of the interior of the car. She tried to pull the appendage free but it was struck. _y/n_ could move her fingers at least which was a good sign. _y/n_ was sure there was some sort of fire happening near her feet and legs, and she used her right hand to clumsily push back the airbag. There was black smoke filling the cab now and there was a tongue of flame dancing near her ankles. She tried her best to pull her feet up as she coughed on the noxious fumes. The situation was becoming dire. _y/n_ started to panic as her eyes welled from the smoke. She tried to undo her seatbelt, but it was stuck. Not thinking clearly with all the pain, she tried to open the driver’s side door, but that too seemed jammed. _y/n_ pulled her turtleneck over her lips and nose and tried to undo the seatbelt again. She didn’t even seem to notice as a group of strangers beat on the unbroken glass of her window to get her attention.
Emily saw the whole thing. Or almost the whole thing, as she made her way to work. The roads were crowded and people driving were either very defensive or just plain bad given the weather. Emily pulled on the main drive to work and saw _y/n_’s car in front of her. Em had considered tapping her horn to say hello but decided against it. They would be together in the office in about ten minutes anyway. As they moved down the road toward the intersection that led to the FBI field office, a car merged into the lane in front of Emily, dangerously. At this, she did honk her horn once and thought, ‘Jerk,’ as the sedan slightly blocked her view of _y/n_’s car. The light, which was notoriously fast, turned green and Emily inched forward. The light was turning yellow as Prentiss approached the intersection, and _y/n_ was halfway through the four-lane street with her blinker on to turn left. There was no way that _y/n_ could see the truck coming from the other side of the intersection. The large vehicle was speeding down the slippery road and ran straight passed the red light and into _y/n_’s car. Emily couldn’t tear her eyes away as the metal collided. Prentiss watched as _y/n_’s body was violently pushed to the side. The sound of the metal crunching and glass breaking had Emily’s nerves standing on end. _y/n_’s car and the truck slid a foot to the edge of the highway curb. There was a moment of silence as if Emily were waiting for something else to happen. The truck didn’t seem that damaged apart from a large dent to the hood, and it roared back to life loudly. The tires squealed against the ice as it backed up and then, very quickly sped down the street. Em memorized the plate number and then pulled forward into the intersection. Prentiss sent up a silent prayer that everyone else on the road had stopped and that another car hadn’t been involved in the crash. Em flicked on her hazards and jumped out of her car. Two other vehicles had done the same thing as her and a large man was already at the door of _y/n_’s car trying to open and free the agent trapped inside. Then there was a petite woman with her phone to her ear speaking to 9-1-1. Em overheard the woman say, “No, we’re trying to get her out of the car now. She’s moving around in there. Yes, yes. It’s the intersection of Neville Road and Barnett Avenue. Because Emily was assured the paramedics were on their way, she moved toward the heavily dented call. She called a number one on speed dial as she got to the wreck.
Aaron had gotten to the office early. When didn’t he? He was normally the first one in and the last one out. No matter how he cut it, either as he found his job important, or that he hardly had a life outside of work -- apart from Jack -- at least his extended hours at the bureau kept him from his empty apartment. When he was there, and Hailey had Jack during the week, it felt all too still. All too lifeless for his liking. At least he got to do some of the more bureaucratic brain-rotting mundane paperwork the job entailed from the team. He could often be found late at night in his office filling out the basic forms for his team over and over and over again in his neat blocky handwriting. So far it was only he and Mogan in the office, Derek was moving toward his desk, and Aaron turned to do the same. In half an hour he was going to meet with JJ to see about the next case for the team. Just as he settled into his swivel chair that hurt his back if he sat in it too long, he heard Derek shout his name. There was a distress in its tone. A sharp “Aaron!” that he rarely if ever had heard from Morgan before. He was on his feet and out of his office in an instant. He flew down the stairs. Morgan was already on the move toward the elevators and Hotch jogged to make up the distance and asked as he moved down the hall, “Morgan, what is it?” Derek turned to Aaron and said, “_y/n_ got in a hit and run on Barnett. Emily just called me. She’s already there.” Hearing this made Hotch’s stomach feel like it was suddenly being squeezed by an iron fist. His heart dropped as the worst possible scenarios flicked in front of his mind. Aaron hurriedly asked, “Is she okay? What did Emily say!” The urgency in his voice probably gave away that he was incredibly concerned for his younger agent’s safety. Perhaps more concerned than a boss should be about his employees. Hotch could see that Derek had caught what he was thinking, but he couldn’t fucking care. Not when he was imagining _y/n_ bleeding out, or already dead in front of him. He couldn’t bear it, so he repeated his question. Finally, Morgan snapped back to himself and as the elevator moved to the ground floor, he replied, “Em says she’s awake but trapped in the car and there’s a smoke filling the cab.” Hotch gritted his teeth, as he nodded along. Smoke meant fire, and fire meant possible combustion. Aaron wished the damn elevator moved faster. When they got to the bottom floor, he and Morgan sprinted past Spencer, Rossi, and JJ who were waiting to pass through security. Spencer asked, “What’s going on?” Morgan shouted back, “_y/n_’s hurt.” Derek’s car was the closest to the pair, and they both got in. Derek moved out of the lot as quickly as he could without speeding or getting himself and Hotch in an accident of their own with the roads as they were. When they got closer to the intersection, the cars were backed up down the road. Aaron looked at Morgan and Derek could see the desperation in his colleague's face. Morgan said, “Jump out. I’ll pull over and be there in a minute.” Aaron nodded and moved out into the bitterly cold air. Hotch nearly ate it twice on the slick concrete. He couldn’t care, he’d crawl on his hands and knees to get to _y/n_. Hotch could hear the peal of sirens in the distance. When he got to the scene, there was an assembled crowd. He elbowed his way to the front. He was relieved to see _y/n_ was out of her car. But the crumpled wreck of metal didn’t much calm his mind. _y/n_ had been pulled twenty or so feet away from the damaged vehicle.
Emily saw Hotch ran, and nearly tumbled, as he got a foot away from _y/n_. Prentiss felt better now that he was here. Em knew that _y/n_ and Hotch had something going on, or at least they both wanted to have something going on. The whole team saw it as a matter of fact. The issue was that neither Aaron nor _y/n_ had caught on. Or if they had, both parties weren’t acting on the feelings between the two of them. Hotch fell to his knees next to Emily. Prentiss was holding _y/n_’s hand. Prentiss sort of handed over _y/n_’s hand to him. Aaron didn’t even think as he took it and held it close in both his hands. Subconsciously, he drew _y/n_’s hand close to his chest, his heart. He was leaning over her, trying to ascertain the damage to her body. Her level of pain. When _y/n_ felt a new set of hands, a familiar set of hands resting around hers, she opened her eyes. Everything was bleary, swimming in front of her. But even with her compromised vision, she knew it was Aaron beside her. His broad shoulder and soft touch were all she needed to know that it was him. _y/n_ thought that she’d know him with less information than that. She believed that she could be blinded and deaf and she’d still know it was him if he walked into her room. _y/n_ tried to turn her head to the side to see his face better, but the man that had ended up dragging her body out of the driver’s side window which Emily had shot out with her sidearm, stopped her movement. There was a painfully loud explosion from _y/n_’s car as it finally combusted. The fire had reached the fuel tank and even though they were far enough away from the car to not be burned, the whole group could feel the heat radiate out from the flaming car. At the noise and heat, Hotch protectively moved his body over _y/n_’s. The loud sound had _y/n_ whimper, and Aaron wasn’t sure he could take hearing _y/n_ like this. Aaron didn’t even realize that the fire trucks, police cruisers, and ambulances had arrived. The sound of their siren was not registering to him, as he only had thoughts for _y/n_. Morgan and the firemen telling the assembled crowd to move back finally brought him back to himself.
Aaron shifted up as two EMTs ran over to them. Hotch reluctantly let go of _y/n_’s hand and moved back to make room for the two men who now had taken his and Prentiss’s places. One of the EMTs pulled out a penlight. _y/n_’s eyes didn’t follow the light. They drifted, and her pupils were dilated. Meanwhile, the other, leaner EMT was looking at _y/n_’s legs. The man had pushed up _y/n_’s pants up to her knees. Aaron looked at the angry red skin on her legs. At some point _y/n’s shoes had been taken off and Hotch noticed there was a small hole in her sock near her big toe. All Aaron seemed to be able to do at the moment was notice small details about _y/n_. Like how her watch face was cracked. How _y/n_’s speech was slurred as the paramedic asked her if she remembered what had happened. It seemed that _y/n_ did, just struggled to get the words out as she said, “Hit ‘an run. Big.” She swallowed painfully and continued, “Truck. Grey green… light.” Aaron suddenly became poignant about Emily being near him again as he felt her gaze linger on him. He turned and looked at Prentiss. Aaron asked, “What happened exactly?” Emily swallowed, as she watched _y/n_ squirm under the hand of the leaner paramedic who was pressing down on her blistering legs. Once Em had composed herself a bit, she said, “Well _y/n_ was one car in front of me. The light turned green. She did everything right, obviously. This guy, I’ve got his plate number and everything was driving a Ford F-350. And it was grey. The guy hit her on the driver's side. He was out of control maybe. He just barreled into her. I couldn’t guess the speed he was going. If the dude had been out of control when he crashed into _y/n_, he most certainly intentionally left without getting out and checking on _y/l/n_.” Hotch nodded and said, “Alright. Well, call Pen about the license plate. She’s sure to be in her office right now. I’m sure she’s called all of us at least twenty times by now. She’ll be relieved to hear from any of us.” Prentiss nodded her assent and moved to get her phone from her back pocket.
Aaron watched the paramedics move _y/n_ onto a waiting stretcher. As they lifted her up, Hotch turned to the larger man and said, “Can I ride with you to the hospital? Where are you taking her?” The man looked at Aaron intently and said, “Rockingham Memorial. Are you her husband? Partner.” Hotch cleared his throat for a moment, as his heart stuttered in his chest, and said, “I’m her boss. She’s a federal agent.” Aaron flashed his badge at the man, and the EMT took a second to look at the badge and Hotch over once. The EMT nodded and said “Alright. We’re going to load her in and then you can sit in the bench seat.” Hotch nodded as the seasoned medical professionals easily transported, wheeled, and lifted _y/n_ into the back of the waiting ambulance. Once the more built man was inside and locking the gurney in place, as well as placing one restraining strap around _y/n_’s waist. Hotch sat on the edge of the small seat. The EMT radiated the other man and said. “We can get moving, Stan.” There was a static and Stan replied, “Roger that. Headed to Rockingman, John.” With that, the large vehicle started moving down the road. John started by pulling out the pressure cuff and placing it around _y/n_’s arm. The man checked in, making sure his patient was still with them, even if not fully present. John asked, “How are you feeling? What’s your pain level on a scale from one to five.” John held up his hands, indicating one and five. Aaron focused in on her, as she said, “I don’t feel anything really. I’m just cold. So cold.” John nodded and moved to the front of the space. The man pulled out an emergency blanket and spread it over _y/n_’s form before he started pumping the pressure cuff to see what her blood pressure was. When the man had taken the reading, he jotted down the number, the EMT looked to Aaron, who was clearly upset, and said, “She’s most likely in shock. Both from the cold and what she’s been through in the last hour. Right now it looks like a mild concussion, some; burns to the legs, lacerations from the glass, and bruising to the body. Given the state of her car and how charred it was, I think we can find _y/n_ very lucky to have so fortunate an outcome. She very well might have died in her car as it caught fire.” Again all Aaron could do was nod along because there was nothing else for him to do but wait to hear more, from the hospital, Garcia, or _y/n_ herself. Hotch knew that he was going to have to think long and hard about what this whole incident meant to him. How he had reacted on pure instinct. How he couldn’t stop himself from seeming composed as he learned that _y/n_ had been hurt. How he had pictured her dead, lifeless body in front of him. How that was the worst thing he could possibly imagine at the moment. But for now, he would wait. Try to be present to _y/n_’s needs. There would be time to think later. Quickly the ambulance rushed to the hospital and when it arrived, Hotch jumped out and made way for the EMTs to lift _y/n_ down and out of the truck. As Hotch watched the men wheel her away to a space he didn’t have access to, John said, “You can go to the front of the hospital and check-in. A nurse will be with you when there’s news on _y/n_’s condition.”
Once Aaron had checked in at the front desk, he paced around the waiting room. Hotch pulled out his phone for the first time in an hour and found thirsty missed calls from Gacia, and three texts from Derek, Rossi, and Emily asking where _y/n_ had been taken. Hotch told Morgan the name of the hospital and what John’s preliminary assessment of _y/n_ had been in the ambulance. He was sure Derek would spread the word to everyone else. Once he ended the call with Morgan, who assured him he, Emily, and Rossi were headed over once they had finished speaking with the police. Next, to keep himself busy, Hotch called Garica. Penelope picked up on the first ring, and even though she said, “Office of Supreme Intelligence, to whom am I speaking?” Aaron could hear the strain in her voice. Aaron replied, “It’s Hotch. Got a read on that license plate yet?” There was a squeaky sound as Penelope moved in her swivel chair. Her tone was now determined as she stated, “I do. Plate number 7PN-G542 belongs to Mr. Paul Wilson of South Carolina. The man is squeaky clean. It appears he’s done nothing wrong in his life. I’m pretty sure this isn’t the guy we’re looking for.” Hotch asked, “Why’s that?” Penelope was typing away wildly, as she replied, “Well Mr. Wilson is Cuban American and the man Emily described was white. Also, there’s a report out for that truck's plate reporting it being stolen two days ago from a lot in South Carolina. So…” Hotch breathed a sigh and said, “Alright. Well, the report’s out there, at least there’s that.” There was a moment of silence before Garcia asked, “How is _y/n_? Em said she looked pretty bad. Did the paramedics say anything else in the ride to the hospital?” Aaron was still pacing but stopped for a moment. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his left hand. Everything felt like it was happening so fast and yet so slow. He looked at his watch, it had only been fifteen minutes since he had gotten here. He had no idea how long it would be until someone came to tell him more information about _y/n_. He exhaled and replied to Garcia’s question saying, “There’s not much more to add from what Morgan told you. The EMT said she was most likely in shock, but she stayed conscious the whole ride over. _y/n_ was a bit loopy though, speaking with slurred speech, and long pauses, but the EMTs seemed to think she would be alright. Of course, only time can tell.” Hotch let the last line slip and realized how strange that sounded coming from someone like him. He repeated the line in his head, ‘Only time can tell.’ How cliche he reflected. Time would tell, time was telling right now as _y/n_ was being examined, prodded, and pocked to see the extent of damage her body had taken. Hotch became aware that he hadn’t been speaking for a minute, as Garcia’s breath on the other end of the line came through clearly. Thankfully Aaron was saved from any awkwardness because Prentiss, Rossi, and Morgan all rushed into the room. Hotch said, “Hey, Garcia, most of the team is here now, so I’m going to catch up with them. You can come a join us if you like.” The technical analyst replied, “I’ll be there in a bit. I’m going to see if I can find more info on the APB for the stolen truck, and then I’ll head right over.” Hotch nodded and said, “Garcia, please don’t break any internet or hacking laws trying to find this guy.” There was a pause and he tacked on, “At least not any that you can get caught for.” Hearing this, Penelope chuckled and said, “You got it, boss man. See you in a few.” The call ended, and Aaron approached the rest of the team.
Thankfully the members of the BAU only had to wait for about another forty minutes before a nurse came out and said, “Party for _y/l/n_?” Just as the middle-aged woman called, Garcia entered the building and all five members moved to the woman. Her nametag had Joan printed on it. Joan smiled and said, “Ms. _y/l/n_ is recovering well. She sustained a second-degree concussion, a hairline fracture to her left wrist, some bruising and lacerations to the face and chest, and second-degree burns to her legs. The whole team seemed to still at the news. Everyone looked around as if silently asking, ‘And how bad is that? What does that mean?’ Joan was helpful enough to answer their unanswered question with, “Miss _y/n_ is recovering well. She’s more fully conscious now. The primary concerns are her concussion and the burns on her feet. She’ll need some aid in getting around for a week or so, and the hospital is going to monitor her for a few more hours to make sure she’s cognitively okay for discharge. The doctor is speaking to her now, but you should all be able to go back and see her in a few minutes. She’ll need someone to stay with for a few days. Everyone nodded along. It was a short wait now that the team knew more, and that _y/n_ wasn’t in any serious danger. This didn’t stop Hotch’s mind from racing. From him wondering what would have happened if it had been worse. If _y/n_ had been seriously hurt. He tried as hard as he could, and yet he couldn’t still those thoughts. This situation reminded him that life was frail. That life, love, could be snuffed out in an instant. Life could be taken and it wouldn’t even have to be on the field, it could happen on a cold Monday morning and it wouldn’t even be his fault. There might not even be anyone to blame. The idea disturbed him deeply. His first were clenched tightly at his sides. He could feel his fingernails digging into the soft skin of his palm. As the nurse indicated it was okay for the team to move and see _y/n_ Hotch thought, ‘This is a problem.
Inside _y/n_ little curtained-off room, the doctor was just finishing up speaking with her and the grey-haired man moved out of the way to make room for the large group. When everyone shuffled in, _y/n_ almost smiled. She was much more coherent than two hours ago when she had been laid out on the frozen ground, Aaron noticed. _y/n_ didn’t look or feel great. Her body ached all over and her vision was still a bit off. The lights were too bright for one thing. She had to stop herself from squinting as the team all herded in around her. She knew she already looked goofy in a hospital gown. The nurse hadn’t let her look in a mirror, and maybe that was for the best. Not that _y/n_ was a very vain person. She tried her best to be content with her body and how she looked, but it felt like crossing some unspoken personal rule to be this disheveled in front of the team. In front of Hotch. For a second, she wanted to hide her face in her hands, or ask Emily, “How do I look?” But it was all pointless, and it would be such a character shift from the normal, no-nonsense attitude she showed in the field and office. So she mustered up a face that hid some of her pain and said, “You don’t have to look so concerned, guys. I feel like garbage, but I’ll live.”
The team did look very worried, and she thought that maybe she really did look as bad as she felt. The team chuckled at her comment, and immediately she felt better. _y/n_’s gaze found Hotch’s, and she noticed the thin line of his mouth. It was set seriously. She wondered if he was mad at her? But why would he be? She’d never really seen him like this before. It was close to the time that Emily had gotten hurt in a case at Waco. But there was something more to this look, and she was too tired to try and decipher it at the moment. Instead, she flashed him the tiniest of smiles. At this, Aaron’s face seemed to settle to its normal stoic look, so _y/n_ looked to the rest of the team so she didn’t start blushing. Penelope moved toward and gave her a little kiss on the cheek and asked, “How are you feeling, baby girl?” _y/n_ normally bristled at Pen’s pet names, but she accepted it once given the circumstances. _y/n_ replied, “Well, they’ve got me on some pretty good pain meds, so all things considered it could be worse. My feet feel funky though, in a not great kind of way. Penelope squeezed _y/n_’s hand and said, “Well we’re all here to help you out with whatever you need.” Derek agreed, saying, “Exactly what Pen said, _y/n_. You need anything and we’re on it.” As Morgan finished, the nurse moved back in and asked, “Miss _y/n_ have you decided who you’re going to stay with for the next few days?” _y/n_ blushed profusely. She hadn’t had time to ask anyone on the team, and she wasn’t even sure they had been informed that she was going to get some help for the next two days. It was embarrassing really. She liked others to think of her as strong and confident. Someone they could turn to, but now the tables had been turned. She looked up at the team, and she could see in all those assembled that they would be happy to have her. Rossi may be less so, but both she and Dave knew that she wasn’t going to ask him. _y/n_ had to pull herself from looking at Aaron. Because if she did, he would readily nod, and then that would mean that they could spend the night together at her place, or his, and potentially the night after that, and _y/n_ wasn’t sure if she could take that right now with how she was feeling. She might say things and do things that betrayed her feelings for him. In fact, she knew she would do something stupid, given all the meds and endorphins rushing through her body. So she looked up at Emily, and Prentiss beamed at her. They didn’t even need to say anything to understand each other. _y/n_ looked over at the nurse and said, “I’ll stay with Emily.” Prentiss raised her hand as her name was spoken, and the nurse moved toward her to get her contact information for the hospital's systems. As Emily moved with the nurse to the information desk, Rossi stepped forward and patted _y/n_ on the shoulder and said, “Keep your head up, kid.” _y/n_ gave him a smile too and said, “I’ll try Rossi.” There was an awkward silence as _y/n_ looked over at Hotch. _y/n_ wondered if he was ever going to say anything, or just keep standing there looking pained and uncomfortable.
Finally, Aaron cleared his throat. Garcia and Dave seemed to slide out of the room before _y/n_ could ask them to stay. She flushed again, and _y/n_ knew that Aaron could see her. _y/n_ wasn’t so silly to assume that Hotch didn’t know about her infatuation with him. It had to be clear. It was just awkward that neither of them had admitted it, even in the slightest. Maybe _y/n_ had read into Hotch’s actions around her, but she was pretty sure he cared about her as much as she liked him. The fact that he was her boss was what was a real punch in the gut. But what could she do? The feelings were there, she just had to stifle them. After a minute of silence, Aaron spoke. He used his reassuring voice, but he wasn’t sure who exactly he was giving comfort to, himself or _y/n. He said, “Would you be honest with me? How do you really feel, and what did the doctor say?” _y/n_ let out a sigh. She couldn’t lie to him even if she wanted to, so she said “My head’s all fuzzy, the lights are too bright, and my feet and legs hurt. Not that they're hot, just painful, like pins and needles all over. The doctor has them bandaged all up.” For some reason, she pulled up the blanket covering her legs to show off the medical gauze covering her feet and lower legs. It went up to her mid-calf and Aaron couldn’t help but cringe a little. It looked painful. He waited to see what _y/n_ was going to report about the doctor’s findings. He said her name, “_y/n_?” The woman in the bed came back to herself and said, “Dr. Jenings said I’d be out of the field for a few weeks, maybe three. The concussion and the fact that I can’t really walk sealed that deal pretty easily.” When _y/n_ finished, she bit the inside of her mouth. Aaron looked her over and saw the disappointment in her gaze. He knew that _y/n_ hated when she was out of the field. It had only happened once before when she got the flu very badly in December last year. She had been out for two cases and as badly she had felt, she still had Gacia fill her in on the case and called Emily or Derek once or twice a day. Aaron wanted to reprimand her, but he knew he would have done the same thing if he had been in her position. He had, however, texted her saying, “_y/n_ please take it easy.” Hotch felt the same way now, as he had then. He stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. That really got _y/n_ to look at him, and he said, “This wasn’t your fault, _y/n_. There was nothing you could have done about this, and no one on the team or in the office is going to fault you for having to take a break.” _y/n_ looked a bit crestfallen but nodded anyway. Sometimes Aaron thought that _y/n_ felt like she had to right every wrong the world threw at her. Hotch knew that _y/n_ had a troubled past like every member of the BAU had a complicated past. He didn’t have all the details of her story, but he could sense that she felt pressure to show up. To be there a hundred percent of the time. Aaron knew how that felt. He knew what it meant to think that it was already too late. Hotch didn’t have a lot of time to think about it further as the nurse and Emily moved back into the space. Joan was holding a pair of crutches and for a moment Aaron thought that she must be joking. There was no way that this medical professional expected _y/n_ to get on her feet this soon after what she had been through Not after he and multiple doctors had seen the state of her feet.
Aaron’s concern was addressed shortly as Joan said, “Miss, _y/n_. This might seem counterintuitive, but we’re going to need you to try and get out and up on your feet as soon as possible. The doctor recommends it so that there isn’t a chance of thrombosis or blood clots. There’s also a chance for tautness of the surrounding skin. It will be incredibly painful, but we need you to try and walk as soon as you can for your well-being.” _y/n_ nodded. Aaron could see that she looked concerned at the request, but was trying to hide it from everyone. Maybe even herself. Joan gave _y/n_ an encouraging smile. The nurse said, “Good, well here are some clothes to change into for your release. Would you like me to stay behind and help you with that?” _y/n_ nodded and Joan asked Aaron and Emily to give them some privacy. As the duo moved outside, the rest of the team was waiting for them. Now Spencer and JJ were there as well and everyone asked Emily and Aaron what had happened. The pair did their best to explain what the nurse had said. It took a bit longer than expected. However, Hotch assumed a lot went into getting someone ready for that much pain. Aaron didn’t even want to think about it. He didn’t have to as a half-strangled sound could be heard coming from _y/n_’s room. The sound took the breath out of Hotch and he could see the rest of the team cringe. Garcia was so upset that she hugged Derek. Morgan took the analyst in his arms and covered her ears for her. There was a shuffling from inside the room and more pained noises. Hotch was biting down so hard on his tongue that he was sure it would bleed soon. The door was opened by Joan, and Aaron’s eyes snapped to _y/n_. She wasn’t even trying to look at any of them. Her brows were pulled so tight in pain that they were nearly touching. _y/n_ was leaning heavily on the crutches, gripping the handles with white knuckles. _y/n_ was taking labored breaths, as she moved unsteadily on her feet. She was looking at the ground only. Just at where her feet were meeting the floor. She had on some special shoes, thick black sandal-type things that accommodated the thick bandaging on her feet. The rest of the team moved to give her space and not have to see how pained she looked. But Aaron moved to her other side. It may hurt him to see _y/n_ this way, but it was clearly nothing to how she was feeling. And if his presence could provide even a modicum of comfort, then he would be there for her. Hotch stood on her right as she moved toward the door toward the check-out desk and the charge nurse. Aaron moved his hand behind _y/n_’s lower back. He didn’t make contact with her skin; his hand simply hovered over _y/n_’s shirt. It was a metaphorical helping hand. For one second, _y/n_ moved her eyes to his, and he could see that all the pain was still there, but there was a small bit of gratitude as well. _y/n_ wouldn’t be able to find the words to thank him. She wasn’t sure if she could for two reasons. First was the fact that even breathing seemed like an impossibility at the moment. The second reason was that the team was still around, even if they weren’t looking at her and Aaron. But _y/n_ had a feeling that if she opened her mouth more than a thank you would tumble out.
It took what felt like a very long time, though it was just around four minutes, for _y/n_, Joan, and Aaron to make it to the door. The nurse moved and held open the swinging doors for _y/n_ to get out of. Hotch’s train of thought was similar to _y/n_’s as she moved out into the lobby. He wondered if the team was scrutinizing his actions with _y/n_. If they were, and someone brought it up later, he would address it. For now, his attention was solely on _y/n_. Hotch was grateful that the staff at least let _y/n_ sit while she signed a few forms for her discharge. Emily also took on some papers and Joan also gave Prentiss a few file folders for the needed care steps for _y/n_’s recovery. Rossi moved forward and took the papers from Emily. When the paperwork was finished, Aaron looked over to Em and said, “I’ll drive you both to your apartment.” Prentiss nodded and Derek moved forward to get Prentiss's keys to drive her car to the front of the hospital. Aaron bent down and asked, can I give you a hand up?” _y/n_ looked up at him for the first real-time that day. She looked so tired but nodded her head yes. _y/n_ got her crutches ready to support her weight once she was on her feet again. Aaron bent down, placed his hands under her arms, and lifted her up. Once _y/n_’s weight was on her feet again, she made another pained sound, but this one was much smaller, just a little “mhm,” with an exhalation of breath. Hotch, _y/n_ and Em all moved to the sliding doors and out into the cold air. Hotch watched with a keen eye for any slick or ice spots on the sidewalk. Thankfully it was just a few feet from the hospital entrance to the waiting car. Derek got out of the driver's seat and along with Aaron, helped _y/n_ into the back seat. Hotch noticed the goosebumps from the chilly air on _y/n_’s skin, and he removed his jacket and handed it over as she gave him the crutches that didn’t quite fit in the backseat. Aaron watched with a tiny bit of warmth in him as _y/n_ slipped his oversized jacket over her frame. Em and Derek were talking quietly near the front of the car. Aaron moved to the trunk and placed the crutches there then moved to the front. Morgan stepped forward and asked, “Are you going back to the office after this?” Hotch nodded and said, “Yes. I’ll need to file some paperwork for _y/n_ and reach out to medical and see what timeline they have for time off in the field. However, if you or anyone else on the team needs the rest of the day off, I’d understand. Can you tell anyone else on the BAU team that?” Derek nodded and said, “Will do Hotch.” Morgan gave his arm a sturdy pat and as the built man turned to move back inside, Aaron called out saying, “Please drive safely, Morgan.” Derek looked back and caught his eye before he nodded and then moved back into the hospital.
Emily moved to sit in the back of the car with _y/n_. Em and took the injured woman’s hand in hers. Prentiss rubbed circles over _y/n_ thumb softly, providing a soft touch to distract and remind _y/n_ that she wasn’t alone. Aaron pulled out out of the crowded parking lot. He looked into the rearview mirror and saw _y/n_ leaning against Emily’s shoulder. Hotch asked, “_y/n_ how’s the temperature? Do you need it warmer?” _y/n_ just barely opened her eyes and said, “I’m good, thanks.” Aaron nodded, feeling bad that there wasn’t more he could do for her. It took about a half hour with traffic to get to Em’s townhouse in the center of the city. Emily got all of the files, and Aaron helped _y/n_ into the elevator, down the hallway, and finally to a seat on Emily’s couch. Emily turned on a single lamp and grabbed a glass of water for _y/n_. Prentiss took a bit longer in the kitchen than she needed, giving Hotch and her guest a few minutes of privacy. Hotch knelt and placed a hand on her left shoulder. He wanted to do so much more, to rub his hands over her arms, or stroke the profile of her face with the pad of this thumb. He wanted to dote on her, pick her up, put her to bed, and make sure there wasn’t any pain. But _y/n_ probably wouldn’t like that. She acted so strong on and off the field that he wasn’t sure that this kind of corporal affection would be appreciated. He also wasn’t sure his romantic feelings would be reciprocated either. It was one of the many reasons that he hadn’t said anything about his feelings for her. He couldn’t deny that he sensed a connection between them. Something physical and beyond. But perhaps he was reading into things. His brain going into hyperdrive in terms of profiler mood. His brain seemed to short-circuit sometimes when he was near _y/n_, but he was composed enough to hide it. Or at least he hoped he hid it. Aaron realized that he wasn’t saying anything, that his hand was lingering on _y/n_’s body. He looked at her, and she was staring at him. Her gaze seemed a bit distant, but _y/n_ was trying to focus on him. She opened her mouth and tried to say, “Hotch. I’m…” but Aaron stopped her saying, “Please don’t say you're fine, _y/n_. You were, are, in real pain, and you also went through something very traumatic. You don’t have to be brave right now. It’s okay.” That was all Aaorn could bring himself to say without it getting out of hand. A noise from the doorway had Hotch standing in an instant. Emily entered the room and placed the glass of water on the table next to the couch. Hotch softly said to _y/n_ alone, “Rest if you can, alright?” _y/n_ nodded and moved to take off his black blazer. Without really thinking about anything, or that Emily was standing right by him, he said, “You keep it for now. You can bring it back when you’re back in the office.” Aaron moved and unclipped his FBI badge that was still attached to his exterior breast pocket. He slipped the plastic into the back pocket of his trousers and moved away from _y/n_ reluctantly. He turned and Prenitss had a look on her face that spoke volumes without having to say a word. Aaron let out a little sigh, and he motioned for Emily to follow him a bit farther away from _y/n_. Hotch wasn’t ready to address whatever Em was thinking. Instead, he said in a steady voice, “Feel free to call me or text if you need me, or _y/n_ needs something. Anything. I’m just a few minutes away.” Prentiss nodded and said, “I’ll let you know. She’s going to be okay, Aaron. _y/n_’s a strong person.” Hotch nodded, not willing to address the look Emily was sending him. He moved out the door before anything else could happen.
The next morning, _y/n_ who had just changed her bandages and taken her antimicrobial and pain meds got a call from Aaron. _y/n_ picked up and tried not to give a groan of pain, as she raised her legs onto the bed. She answered, “Hey Hotch? What’s up?” There was a brief pause before Aaron said, “Just checking in. I have some news, but I want to hear how you’re feeling first. How was last night?” _y/n_ could hear that Hotch was using his office voice again. The tenderness that he had spoken to her with yesterday was still there, just veiled behind professionalism like normal. _y/n_ could picture him sitting behind his desk. His knees brushed the inside of his desk as it was just a bit too small for his lanky limbs. He wasn’t on his office phone, given he had called her on her cell. The image of him sitting, bathed in the soft lighting of his lamps was one she played out in her head often. He wasn’t exactly stationary in these thoughts, he was doing things other than paperwork or calling her to see if she wasn’t so battered and bruised. _y/n_ had to push those thoughts back. Now was not the time or the place. Even if her wildest fantasies were fulfilled, given the pain in her body was still feeling, none of those blissful ideas would be able to be completed. _y/n_ stifled a sigh, and instead replied, “It was okay given the circumstances. Things are still pretty painful and I understand what the doctor was saying about the long-lasting effects of a concussion now. My head and brain still haven’t seemed to reset to normal yet, but other than that, I feel as good as I can. Now tell me about your news. What did medical say?” _y/n_ was so familiar with the BAU procedures to not know why Hotch had been calling her. The medical board had gotten back to him to let Aaron know how long she medically needed to be out of the field. Hotch let out a big sigh and replied, “Well the med board looked over your files from yesterday and they’ve grounded you for three weeks, minimum. Given the concussion and the physical nature of being on the field, it’s not wise to have you back with us until then. When you get back after the three weeks, you’ll have to see medical to get cleared back to the field. _y/n_ couldn’t stop the long sigh that they let out while hearing the news. _y/n_ understood the need for her physical well-being, but being off gave her time to think. And if she thought too hard, her mind went to bad places, from the past and present. Working for the BAU mercifully kept her mind on other places and horrible scenarios. But now she was grounded and it sucked. There was a small silence before _y/n_ replied, “I understand.” She could hear Hotch click his pen, a habit of his that she noticed when Aaron was in the office. He would click his pen either on his wooden desk or with his thumb. Aaron took in a breath and said, “Try and rest while you can, _y/n_. You can call me or text me if you have any questions about your return to the field. And if you think you need more time, just let me know.” Hotch said the last sentence as a formality. He knew _y/n_ would be going stir-crazy after three days of not being at work. There was another silence, and _y/n_ asked, “Can I come into the office at least? Like after a week?” Aaron sat back and swallowed his emotion of concern for _y/n_. What more could he say than, “I can’t stop you from coming in the building, _y/n_.” They wrapped up the call shortly after that. _y/n_ closed her eyes for a minute and just tried to relax. In a few minutes, she was going to do her exercises to help with her recovery. It would be a long three weeks.
The team got called away on a case the next day. Thankfully _y/b/f_ was able to help _y/n_ who moved back to her apartment after Emily left for the new case in Vegas. Even though the lights twinkled and shone on the Vegas strip, and there was a highly unique case afoot - an unsub apparently leading people to poison themselves due to bankruptcy and gambling addictions - Hotch found it hard to keep his mind on the case. At the hotel the second night, he tried to find a lead, any lead that would help the team pinpoint more about this unsub. His brain drifted to _y/n_. He wondered what she was doing right now. It was 11:45 p.m. Any sensible person would be asleep given the chance. Maybe she was in her bed. Aaron had to stop himself there. He didn’t have sexual thoughts about _y/n_, at least not yet, but he was so tired that if he kept thinking about her, his brain might idle down that path. This, he would not allow. It was bad enough that he felt that he couldn’t even talk to _y/n_ he would feel infinitely worse if he started getting off to her too. He reflected on these feelings for a moment, how they had come to metastasize in him. From early on during their employment, Aaron could tell that _y/n_ was someone who couldn’t be easily pushed or waived. When _y/n_ had committed to something, they stuck to it. Not that she was one to hang onto an idea or train of thought during a case like Rossi's. _y/n_ tried to be open-minded in that regard. But she had committed fully to the team since the day she signed on. That was the standard, the expectation for him, but _y/n_ sometimes felt over-committed. She would stay up all hours of the night trying to figure a piece of a case out. She relied heavily on his, Rossi's, and Emily’s experience in the field to catch up on facts or training that she might have missed in her previous placement. Aaron sensed that she was running from something given how hard she worked both in the field and the office. He hadn’t asked what that was, but Aaron could sense it. He had hoped that maybe one day she would tell him. But then their feelings toward each other had become more complex. It had happened during a brutal and long case in October last year. It involved kids which was always the worst to deal with for him. The team had been working non-stop until Aaron had essentially ordered them to get some rest. Everyone had moved into their rooms to pretend to sleep and an hour later Aaron was moving down the hall to run a theory by Rossi. He had passed _y/n_’s room and heard crying inside. It wasn’t loud, but he could hear it distinctly. The sobs coming from inside ripped at his heart like a knife. He had knocked and the crying stopped momentarily. _y/n_ had moved to the door, unlocked both bolts, and removed the security chain. Aaron could hear the metal rubbing against each other. When _y/n_ had opened the door, she moved back to let him in. She turned her face as if to hide the pain there from him. Aaron gently took hold of her hand, and she finally looked at him. Softly he asked, “What’s the matter _y/n_? Is it the case? Has something personal happened?” _y/n_ bit the side of her mouth trying to stop the tears from coming again. But she couldn’t, and as she started shaking and crying again Aaron moved forward and took her in his strong arms. She leaned into him; really leaned into him for the first time. He had never seen her so vulnerable before and as he asked, “Please tell me what’s bothering you,” and her enigmatic reply of, “I just can’t Aaron. I can’t;” had changed everything. Because at that moment Hotch would have done just about anything to make _y/n_ feel better. To free her of whatever pain she was feeling. Whatever emotions were plaguing her? And when _y/n_ had stopped crying, and Aaron pulled away, she could see it in his eyes, and she wanted that from him just as badly as he wanted to give it; thus their fates were sealed, because this relationship, or hope at one couldn’t happen, and yet Hotch yearned for it. Thought about it nearly every time he looked at her.
Thankfully Aaron’s brain did manage to think of something besides _y/n_, and that was Rossi. Whenever he got stuck, he’d go and see Dave to see what the pro had noticed that he might have missed. It was helpful having someone older than him on the team for Hotch to turn to. Aaron pushed himself out of the bed and slipped on his tennis shoes. He padded down the hall and as he moved forward, Emily stepped out of her room in front of him. Prentiss was on the phone and said, “Yeah the team’s okay. I’d love to be spending a week in Vegas just for fun. How’d you feel coming here during Spring Break some year? You, me, Morgan, and Penelope…” There was a pause and Em continued, “You got it, Baby. Sin to Win.” Hearing this, Aaron actually laughed. He tried to disguise it as a cough but didn’t succeed. Prentiss turned on her heel and relaxed when she realized it was just him. She gave him a bit of a joking disapproving glare at him eavesdropping. Hotch could never not laugh when Emily said, “Sin to Win.” He was still unaware of the connotation or story associated with the phrase, but it never failed to make him laugh. It just sounded so strange coming from someone as polite and proper as Em. He pointed at the phone pressed to her ear and whispered, “Who is it?” He already knew, but Emily indulged him and mouthed, “_y/n_.” Aaron nodded and mouthed back, “Tell her to go to bed.” Prentiss rolled her eyes and said into the phone, “Someone has someone has something to say to you, _y/n_.” Without further ado, Em removed the phone from her ear and pressed it into Hotch’s hands. Aaron flushed red and looked at Emily like a deer in headlights, but Em crossed her arms and just looked at him as if saying, “Do it yourself.” After what felt like a bit too long, Aaron pulled the cell to his ear and said in an embarrassed tone, “Hey, _y/n_. Ummm… maybe you should be getting some rest?” The was a beat of silence, and _y/n_ let out a soft breath at hearing Aaron suddenly on the other end of the line. She replied, “I am resting, I’m in bed right now watching _y/f/s_. I feel so rested that I’m even planning my next vacation. Emily is promising me ‘Sin to Win’ in Vegas in the Spring.” Hotch had to stifle some sort of sound from coming out of his mouth at the rather wild and lurid image his brain came up with in association with _y/n_ and Em’s new favorite phrase. He coughed once and said, “Well good, just don’t get ahead of yourself. Rest well _y/n_.” With that, he quickly handed the phone back to Emily and moved down the hallway, well aware that his agent could see how flustered he was. As Aaron made his retreat, Em pulled the phone back to her ear and said, “It’s me again.” As Prentiss slipped into her room, she smiled. It was fortuitous that she had stepped out of her room when she had. Prentiss, JJ, Rossi, and even Morgan had started waiting for bated breath for something to happen between _y/n_ and Aaron. At this point, Emily was willing to push things in that direction if she had to, and tonight had been a clear, successful first step.
The case in Nevada wrapped up. Hotch was always glad to be headed home, but in this case, he was especially glad. It meant that he could check up on _y/n_ The team decompressed, and a few days into the next week, _y/n_ stopped by the office. _y/n_ sat next to Spencer and Derek talking about the latest case and what she had missed. Hotch clocked her grabbing at one of Morgan’s files, but he swooped in and took it from her hands, turned it over, and set it firmly back on Derek’s desk. _y/n_ pouted at him slightly, and both Spencer and Derek looked away. Hotch and _y/n_ were acting differently than they had before. Aaron had realized after the accident that life was too short and fickle for him to be playing around. The thought of _y/n_ being in a worse situation than being dragged from her car just in time was something that was going to stay with him for a long time. So even if he couldn’t say anything, he was going to at least act a bit more involved. Hotch viewed this like a soft launch, though to the rest of the team, it looked like ten massive steps forward. No one on the team was going to say anything about it though. They were just grateful that something was happening between them. Hotch also started acting like this to see if _y/n_ wanted this like he assumed she did. If she wasn’t interested in his advances then he would stop instantly. This was only his first day seeing her, and he was trying to still act natural, but he couldn’t deny the rush he felt when she looked at him like this. She feigned disappointment at him taking the file she had, but a genuine happiness to see him again. Aaron’s thoughts were shattered as Penelope's voice cut through his mental fog. Hotch turned to look at the small landing that connected the bullpen to the upper level of the floor the BAU was housed on. Garcia said, “The fam is home, _y/n_ is here, and everything is right with the world.” No one on the team acknowledged that their very jobs meant that the world was a horrible, awful, depraved place. But it was the thought that counted. Aaron moved aside to make room for Garcia in the little huddle of agents. He moved to the edge of the staircase, hesitant to move away. He listened in on the conversation the group was having. He pretended to look over one of his own files, even though he wouldn’t normally do that down in the bullpen. He at least pretended like he was missing a paper as he rifled through his full folder. He listened in on Garcia and asked, “So what’s with you and your friend getting into a fight? What happened there?” _y/n_ gave a small sigh at the question, but replied, “It’s this damn concussion. Some things, like the lights or certain sounds, just seem to set me off. I apologized, profusely, and we made up, but it’s just annoying that such little things are bothering me. It makes me feel like I’m not in control. I hate that.” Aaron actually started moving up the stairs as Spencer started going on a tangent about concussion symptoms and car crashes, while Pen leaned down and kissed the top of _y/n_’s head.
A full week elapsed and _y/n_ met with medical and took a physical to clear her for the field. _y/n_ was still walking awkwardly, but they were out of the heavy bandaging and her feet and legs had healed well given the care she took with her body and recovery. Aaron was forwarded the medical report from Dr. Sujedia recommending _y/n_ take off a few more days. Aaron had called _y/n_ to his office to discuss the results. _y/n_ sat down and did her best to look tough and undisturbed. Unbothered by the results of the test. Aaron looked over the papers and said, “As you know, Dr. Ramirez recommends another three to four days of rest. I’m prepping a new case with JJ this afternoon and I want your opinions on your condition. How are you feeling?” _y/n_ was honest with Hotch, knowing that was the best guarantee that they would be allowed onto the next case. She said, “My head’s still bothering me, and I don’t think my legs are down for a chase on foot right now, but I can just sit in the background. I can listen to and organize files in the precinct. I can work with JJ and do a geographical profile, or…” Aaron cut her off with a small raise of his hand from his desk. He knew she was trying to prove that she could still be an asset to the team, even if she couldn’t do all of the physically demanding aspects of the job. Hotch thought it over for a moment. He knew that _y/n_ would be upset if he said no. He saw the determined look on her face. Reluctantly he gave a nod. At least if she was with the team he could look over her. Not that she wanted that exactly, but it would make him feel better. He dismissed _y/n_ shortly after he reminded her that she was to take it easy on the case, doing work that would let her rest her body. He watched as she gave him a big smile and walked out the door. She was so happy that she didn’t even try to hide the little limp she had while walking on her tender feet. Once _y/n_ was back in the bullpen talking animatedly to Emily, he moved over to Garcia’s office. He knocked on the door once before he entered the dim space. Penelope looked up from her three monitors and asked, “What’s up Hotch?” Aaron leaned against the door and replied, “How many times did she visit you while we were away?” The ‘she’ in question didn’t need to be named before Pen said, “Just twice, but I didn’t ask her to Hotchy. I swear she came of her own accord.” Hotch’s set into a firm line for a second before he said, “Alright, well don’t encourage it, at least until she’s a bit better.” He added very softly, “She looks worn out.” Pen smiled gently and could see the concern on her supervisor's face. Garcia replied, “Pinky promise. We’ll take care of her.” Aaron nodded ever so slightly and then moved out of the technical den and toward JJ’s office.
The next case was in North Carolina at the private post-secondary school, High Point University. So far four male students that were all athletes had been found strangled on the school grounds. A panic had set in from the students, faculty, and most annoyingly the donors to the small campus. There was an obvious tie with all of the students being men and athletes. Though different sports had been targeted, not just a single athletic pursuit. There was also the option that scholarships could take a part in the murders as two of the three men killed had been on athletic scholarships that semester. As the team bounced ideas off of each other on the plane ride, _y/n_ said, “There are some wealthy alumni from Highpoint. Maybe this is some wild Operation Varsity Blues type of situation?” As always Spencer took off with this idea and how nepotism could be as real a motivator for murder as rage or shame might be. Aaron looked over his team from his spot near the front of the jet. It felt good to have _y/n_ back, even if in the pit of his stomach he felt concerned about throwing her back in the field like he was. Granted she had asked, but even so, he was still concerned. When they got to the university, JJ immediately started working with the campus media team to get a consistent message out. Hotch moved to speak with the University Police Department and Rossi went to the local station. Hotch took Morgan and _y/n_ with him, while Rossi had Spencer and Emily moved to the downtown police station. Things continued to move quickly as they always did on a case. The team made a basic profile. By the end of the day, due to the unsub clearly being young, or at least mentally young, they had made plenty of mistakes that were easy to pick up on. Unfortunately, the campus's UPD wasn’t used to murder’s happening on their territory and was overwhelmed by the student and parent response. The day unfolded with the team creating a profile and trying to stay as low-key as possible. Because the BAU was the BAU it was clear to the students that something was happening. This meant that the unsub was also likely aware of the presence of the FBI, pulled back, and might stop their killing spree. This would be a good thing except that once the BAU was gone, they could simply start killing again. Therefore, the team started canvassing the campus. Sitting in on big lecture classes and speaking to faculty. The team assumed that the unsub was a student first. Secondly, they assumed that the student was not an athlete, and potentially a student who had to retake a year or even more of coursework at the university.
_y/n_ was trying to listen to her body and abide by Hotch’s request that she take it easy. She had sat in a large mirco-economics class with Spencer and watched as the genius took so many notes. Covering over twenty pages as Dr. Reid wrote furiously about economic theory, where the Professor was wrong, where the textbook, which Spencer quickly read before class was incorrect. All _y/n_ could think of was that she was glad she was not that professor, or that she would ever have a class with Spencer as the instructor -- she knew she would fail the course on entry. After that, _y/n_ moved to the UPD’s department and went through piles and piles of non-sexual assault claims. If the unsub was a supersenior, there could be over six years' worth of reports to look through. She spent most of the day looking over these reports. The next day, _y/n_ spent a good deal of the morning with JJ, fielding concerns from students, bursars, and faculty members who asked questions. The pair also held some interviews with a few students that had caught the team's interest the day before. Although the interviews didn’t reveal much, but they gave _y/n_ an idea about something she read yesterday in a report. _y/n_ didn’t mind doing this kind of clerical work, but it was harming her current condition. Being under such harsh fluorescent lights was making her head swim. It was also putting their temper on edge. The last interview where a young sophomore had scratched his head incessantly and said, “Um,” “Like,” or “And” every other word had put _y/n_ pushed something in her like an itch that desperately needed to be scratched, but there was no actual, physical place to relieve the annoyance. _y/n_ was desperately looking forward to being cooped up alone in the files room looking for that one folder that she was thinking of. It would be killing two birds with one stone. It could be potentially helpful to the team, and it would give her a moment to decompress and let out her annoyed feelings. Just as _y/n_ was getting ready to leave, Hotch showed up and asked JJ and her about their progress. Mercifully JJ answered for both of them. When Aaron turned his gaze to her, she said, “JJ’s right. We haven’t found much with what we’ve looked at this morning. However, there’s a file I remember standing out at the UPD. I was going to head there now actually.” Aaron nodded. He turned to JJ quickly and said, “Keep up the good work here. Call me if you find anything useful. The smallest scrap of information could be helpful now.” JJ smiled at Hotch and said, “You got it, Hotch.” Next, Aaron turned to _y/n_ and said, “I’ll walk you there.” _y/n_ nodded and followed after him as he opened the door for her. Aaron could tell that something was happening with _y/n_. He couldn’t pin it down yet, but he wanted to make sure she was okay. The day was unimaginably hot given that it was November. The campus was also sprawling and had lots of external stairs. The UPD and the file storage center were almost a mile apart. As the pair moved down yet another set of stairs. _y/n_ felt that she was so hot. The sun felt like it was beating down on her relentlessly. As _y/n_ took another step down, she felt her ankle buckle and her mind went blank as her body swooned toward the concrete steps.
Aaron could feel that something was wrong as he and _y/n_ moved down yet another set of steps. Halfway down those steps, he looked over to _y/n_. Her breathing was shallowed and despite being in the direct sun, her skin looked shallow. He watched as her eyes fluttered closed and _y/n_’s body crumpled dangerously quickly toward the hard, sharp steps. For a millisecond, Aaron felt like he was back at the scene of the wreck, but this time he could do something in the moment. He wasn’t powerless. So, Aaron moved his left leg down two steps and positioned his body and arms to catch _y/n_’s limp body. When he caught her, she let out an exhalation at the harsh contact of her body colliding with his. Aaron bent down slightly and used his other arm to pull up under _y/n_’s legs. He gave a soft grunt as he took _y/n_’s full weight in his arms. Hotch moved carefully down the steps and glared at any students who threw him an intrigued or concerned look as he held _y/n_ close to his chest. Aaron moved to a flat portion of the path that was covered. He spotted a bench that was shaded by a large tree. Hotch quickly moved in that direction, and _y/n_ started to stir in his arms; her eyes slowly opening. Aaron got to the bench and sat down with _y/n_ nestled in his lap. He brushed a hand over her cheek, as she fully came to her faculties. _y/n_ gave a small groan and asked, “Wha’ happened?” _y/n_’s slurred speech worried him. Hotch replied, “You fainted, _y/n_. You really could have been hurt if you were walking alone.” Aaron couldn’t veil his concern. Not now. He added, “I’m worried about you, _y/n_.” _y/n_ looked up at him, not fully aware that Hotch’s hand was in her hair, and his heart rate was beating out of his chest with concern. _y/n_ tried to get her vision to clear. The pain in her head from the lights and the heat was still causing her pain and she replied in a tone that she wanted to sound exasperated, but it really just came out like a snap, saying, “Why do you even care?” And once the words were out and the tone became apparent, her vision cleared and she saw Aaron fully, and the look of love and care for her overwhelmed her. In a breathy voice, one that was starting to be overcome with tears, she said, “I didn’t mean that, Aa…” Her voice was strangled by tears and Hotch pulled her close to his body. His head rested on top of hers as he said, “I know. I know you didn’t mean it that way. I know.” And as Aaron held her, she did know he knew. That he knew it all. At that moment she wouldn’t fight him. All she wanted was for him to hold her and help with the pain. He had at the hospital. Even being near him made her feel better. They stayed there for a few moments and Aaron said, “I’m taking you back to the hotel. You need rest and don’t even try to fight me on this. You mean too much to me to be having on the field right now.” _y/n_ nodded and shifted to stand, but Aaron stopped her with a large hand, saying, “You’re not walking right now in this heat. I’ll carry you to the SUV.” _y/n_’s mouth fell open slightly and said, “Aaron I can do it.” Hotch nodded his head no, replying, “I’m not having you move down all those stairs again. The car is only two lots, over. Now if I hold you like I did before, will it hurt your legs at all?” _y/n_ swallowed and softly said, “No. It won’t hurt me.” Aaron nodded and readjusted his hands again. Carefully picked her up again. He moved quickly to the SUV. He set _y/n_ down and got pulled out his keys and unlocked the doors. Once _y/n_ was seated and buckled, he turned on the AC. The ride to the motel was short with Aaron just shooting Rossi and Em a text saying that he’d be back in a half hour or so.
_y/n_ was grateful that Aaron let her walk to her own room. As much as she liked Hotch’s touch and gentle care he had when he had carried her, she had her dignity and desire to still be able to care for herself. In her room, Aaron looked over at her bed. _y/n_ didn’t even care as she pulled off her blazer, slipped off her shoes, and laid back on the bed. While she was doing this, Aaron turned off the overhead light and turned on a lamp instead. He puttered with the air conditioning so that it wasn’t freezing, but not too hot either. He then moved to the window messing with the curtains even though the blackout curtain and decorative curtain were clearly closed. Hotch did this because he didn’t know what to say. Finally, _y/n_ called him. It was a voice she had rarely used with him. It was vulnerable, needy, scared even? When Aaron looked at _y/n_ he saw the desire in her face, a look that must have been the one he had on his own face as he covered her body on the freezing road, and as he carried her to the bench just a few minutes earlier. Aaron was drawn to her and sat on the edge of the bed as _y/n_ said, “Aaron. I like you. I have for a long time. I’m sorry if this fucks everything up between us, and I’m sorry that it took me so long to say anything. But I have to say something.” At this, she stopped and looked at him concerned that she might have ruined everything. Aaron leaned forward, ran his left hand through her hair again, and rested his forehead against hers. He felt such a reprieve at her words. He closed his eyes and said, “I like you too, _y/n_. I’ve been a coward about my feelings and your still here being brave after everything that’s happened to you this month. For a few minutes, I thought I’d lost you and I’m never going to let that happen again. At least where I can. I want to be with you.” _y/n_ gave a little hum and placed a hand on his chest. Knowing that she wasn’t delusional for desiring Aaron suddenly made all her pain seem to fade into the background. His breath on her face was comforting, and she opened her eyes a bit. She shifted up a bit and gave his mouth a peck. At this, Hotch opened his eyes. He gave her a soft smile and moved his mouth more needily over hers. As they shared that kiss, they were both grateful for the other. For the comfort that was to be had now and in the future. There was a lot to be said later, but for now, their love and lips said everything that needed to be at the moment. _y/n_ closed her eyes and let the moment linger. _y/n_’s hand found its way to his chest, placed it over his heart, and felt its steady beat under her palm. _y/n_ closed her eyes and as they continued to kiss, she was certain that she would know anywhere. No matter how they were challenged and pulled, she would always know and love him, and this was just the start of that journey.
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Tag list: @criminalskies @tgskitten @geminitapestry
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#criminal minds#fanfiction#ssa aaron hotchner#aaron hotcher#cm#reader insert#aaron hotch x reader#hotch x reader#aaron x reader#hotch x y/n#aaron x y/n#hotch blurb#hotch drabble#hotch comfort#protective hotch#emily prentiss#derek morgan#david rossi#criminal minds x reader#fluff#comfort#aaron revels is feelings#cm fanfiction#hit and run#it's finally here#sorry this took me so long#i hope you like it
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Can I get Hotch accompanying a very nervous/anxious reader to the hospital? Either they’ve fallen sick at work or had an accident in the field but basically they shyly ask hotch to come with because he’s so sweet and kind and good at holding their hand when they need it ♥️
Hospitals
Warnings: Hospitals, injured ankle, reader feels a bit anxious, Hotch being sweet 🤭
Word count: 568
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!reader (no pronouns used)
A/n: Hehe yes my love<33. I'm not entirely happy with how this came out but I'm not entirely disappointed in the outcome either 😂. This was not proofread so there may be some mistakes.
Forever tags: @greg-montgomery @boredelle @hotchsdoormat @ssahotchnerr @criminalskies @beardedhotchh @hotchnerbau (I think I got you all 😂🩷)
The unsub had been successfully caught. The only issue was that you'd stumbled when you tackled him and twisted your ankle in the process. And it hurts like hell. No one had really noticed it during the take down.
Hospitals sort of freaked you out a bit. You didn't really like the idea of going to the hospital in the first place, let alone going by yourself. So who better to ask than Aaron Hotchner? Someone you've always been able to rely on since starting at the BAU and has for some reason always had a soft spot for you.
You'd been limping and wincing as you made your way over to Hotch. He was talking to Rossi about something so of course you waited patiently. Even though this definitely does not call for patience on your end.
Dave notices you first and points to you, causing Aaron to turn and face you. "Hotch uh, I sort of fell and um...could you come to the hospital with me please? I think I messed up my ankle. I don't want to go by myself." You mumbled it shyly. Upon hearing this, Hotch immediately had concern written all over his features. He moved closer and put a hand on your lower back then looked to see which leg you were currently favouring over the other. Supporting most of your weight on one foot. He moved your arm around his neck and helped support you with his arm now wrapped around your shoulders.
"Of course. Can you walk to the SUV?" You give him a small nod. Neither of you thought it really called for using the ambulance when there was at least one injury that was far worse than yours.
After telling Rossi to inform the team of what was going on, Hotch helped you get in the backseat and into a good position before driving you to the nearest hospital. It was a local case so he knew exactly where he was going.
Once you'd made it to the hospital and you had been placed in a room awaiting the results of the x-ray, Aaron could see how nervous you were about being there. He didn't know why and he didn't want to pry for information. So instead he gently grabbed your hand and squeezed it, offering a small smile.
"How are you doing? Apart from the ankle."
"I'm alright. I'm just nervous. Hospitals...they aren't really my thing, you know?" Hotch gives a sympathetic nod and another gentle squeeze. "I understand that. Is there anything I can do to help?" You look away for a moment as you think and then turn back to him. "Could I have a hug?" He gives you a slightly bigger smile this time and leans in close to wrap his arms around you. "You can always have a hug, y/n." You both stay like this for a few seconds and then he pulls back, taking your hand in his again.
"Any better?"
"Very much. Thank you, Hotch. For coming here and sitting with me. And putting me at ease. You didn't have to but thank you for doing it anyway."
"I didn't have to, but I wanted to. I'm glad to."
Exchanging smiles once again, you're feeling much better now. Aaron has a way of calming you down and you're always grateful that he's willing to do so without hesitation.
#anon🩶#aaron hotchner#criminal minds#hotch#aaron hotchner x reader#hotch x reader#hotchner#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader#aaron hotchner fluff#aaron hotchner x y/n#hotch x gender neutral reader#hotch fluff#aaron hotchner blurb#aaron hotchner drabble#aaron hotchner comfort#anon ask#anon request#mon answers 🩷#300 follower celebration 🎉
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Through the Years || Aaron Hotchner
Summary: Request - Aaron Hotchner x reader, It will be like 2 moments in different years... like the first time little Jack is comfortable enough around reader to call her mom... and the other one teen Jack not taking her grounding while Aaron is away and screamimg at her something like "You are not my mom"... Read Rest Here
A/N: This was tough to write. But overall very sweet. We love a good teenage melton.
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader, Jack Hotchner x Stepmom Reader
Word Count: 2.8k
TW: Yelling, intentional hurt, Jack being mean lol
Year Six: Jack’s Question
The gentle hum of the air conditioner filled the cozy living room as you and Jack sat together on the couch, surrounded by an array of colorful crafting supplies scattered across the coffee table. Glue sticks, markers, and construction paper formed a creative mess as the two of you worked on a project together, a rare moment of tranquility in the chaotic life of an FBI agent's family.
As you guided Jack through the steps of creating a handmade card for his grandmother's birthday, you couldn't help but notice the way he looked up at you with a mixture of admiration and affection. His small hands moved with determination, mirroring your own movements as you carefully cut out paper hearts and glued them onto the card letting him guide how he wanted the card to turn out.
"Y/N?" Jack's voice broke through the soft hum of conversation, tentative and uncertain. He shifted back and forth on the couch letting whatever was on his mind eat away at him for the time being.
As Jack's voice broke through the soft hum of the television on, you turned your attention back to him. He looked so nervous that you could only put the supplies down and focus solely on him. "Yeah, Jack?" you replied, your voice soft and encouraging.
Jack shifted nervously beside you, his brow furrowing as he wrestled with his words. You could see the uncertainty flickering in his eyes, the weight of his question heavy on his young shoulders.
"Can I... can I call you Mom?" His voice was barely above a whisper, filled with hesitation and longing.
Your breath caught in your throat at his words, your heart soaring with joy and disbelief. It was a moment you had dreamed of, hoped for, but never dared to expect. Not so soon anyway. You and Aaron had been seeing each other for just over a year. And yet, here it was, unfolding before you in the most unexpected of moments.
Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you gazed at Jack, overwhelmed by the depth of emotion welling up inside you. You wanted to gather him into your arms, to hold him close and never let him go, to shower him with all the love and affection he deserved. But you also knew that this moment was about him, about his courage in voicing his feelings, his desire to forge a deeper connection with you. And so, you swallowed past the lump in your throat, your smile widening with genuine warmth and love.
"Of course, you can, sweetheart," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. "I would be honored."
As the words left your lips, a weight seemed to lift from Jack's shoulders, his face breaking into a radiant smile that mirrored your own. In that moment, surrounded by the remnants of your crafting adventure, you felt a profound connection form between you, one that transcended blood ties and was forged by love and mutual respect.
Jack let out a sigh of relief, his smile widening as he leaned into your embrace. "Good, Daddy said I could," he explained, his voice filled with a mix of excitement and validation.
Your heart swelled with warmth at his words, grateful for Aaron's support and understanding. It meant the world to you that he had encouraged Jack to express his feelings, to embrace the bond that had grown between you. "Your daddy is a smart man," you replied, your voice tinged with affection as you ruffled Jack's hair affectionately. "And he's right. You can call me mom whenever you want. You can also call me Y/N. Whatever you want kiddo."
Jack beamed up at you, his eyes sparkling with happiness as he settled back into his seat, a sense of contentment settling over him like a comforting blanket. In that moment, it felt as though the world had shifted, the connection between you and Jack deepening with each passing second. And as you returned to your crafting project, your hearts overflowing with love and gratitude, you knew that this was just the beginning of a beautiful journey together.
Year Fifteen: Teenage Turmoil
The soft glow of the lamp illuminated Aaron Hotchner's cluttered desk as he typed away on his laptop, the faint clicking of keys the only sound in the otherwise quiet house. It was Friday night, the end of a long week, but for Aaron, the work was far from over. His eyes flickered to the clock, noting the late hour. Jack should have been home by now, safely tucked into bed. Anxiety gnawed at him as he tried Jack's number once more, only to be met with the unwelcome sound of voicemail. He would give it until 12:30 then he was going to be calling Penelope to locate his young son. He didn’t want to be overbearing but he couldn’t help it. Not with what he’s seen, what he’s had to deal with.
In the living room, you paced back and forth, your heart pounding with worry. Each passing minute felt like an eternity. With every unanswered call, your concern grew tenfold. The clock on the wall mocked you, its hands moving relentlessly towards midnight. You too knew how dangerous it was out there. But you couldn’t lock the kid in. He’d resent the both of you for the rest of his days if you did that.
Finally, the creak of the front door announced Jack's return. Relief flooded through you, quickly replaced by a surge of frustration as you caught sight of his nonchalant expression. "Jack, do you have any idea what time it is?" you exclaimed, unable to keep the edge from your voice.
Jack's eyes flickered to you, irritation flashing in their depths before he masked it with a careless shrug. "Relax, I lost track of time," he retorted, tossing his jacket aside without any regard for how stressed both you and his father were.
Your temper flared. "You were supposed to be home over an hour ago! Do you have any idea how worried we were?" As Aaron remained in his office, you and Jack were left to confront each other alone, the tension between you palpable.
He shrugged again before attempting to make a break for his room.
"Jack, please," you implored, your voice trembling with concern. "We need to talk about what happened tonight. It's not just about breaking curfew; it's about communication and respect."
Jack's eyes narrowed, his arms crossing defensively over his chest. "I don't need a lecture, Y/N. I'm not a kid anymore."
Your heart sank at his dismissive tone, but you refused to back down. "I know you're growing up, but that doesn't mean you can disregard the rules we've set. They're there for a reason, Jack. We worry about you when you're out late, especially when we can't reach you."
He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You worry too much. I can take care of myself."
Your frustration bubbled to the surface. Your voice tinged with emotion. "It's not just about taking care of yourself, Jack. There are awful people out there and…”
Jack's demeanor shifted, his expression hardening with defiance. "You're not my mom, Y/N. You don't get to tell me what to do."
His words cut deep, a pang of hurt flashing across your features. "I know I'm not your biological mother, but I love you like you're my own," you admitted, your voice wavering with emotion certainly not expecting the conversation to take such a turn so quickly.
Jack's jaw clenched, his anger simmering beneath the surface. "Yeah, right. You're just trying to control me like everyone else. Well, news flash, it's not gonna work."
Your heart shattered at his harsh words, the weight of his rejection crushing you. "I'm not trying to control you, Jack. I just want what's best for you," you pleaded, tears welling in your eyes despite your best efforts to push them away.
But Jack's frustration boiled over, his voice rising with each word. "Stop pretending like you know what's best for me! You're not my freaking mom! You can't tell me what to do!"
As Jack's explosive words hung in the air, a heavy silence descended upon the room, filling the space with tension and uncertainty. Your heart felt as though it had been squeezed tight in your chest, the sting of Jack's rejection still raw.
A gasp came from your mouth as you tried to form any sort of coherent sentence. "Oh, I'm... I..." you began, your voice faltering as you struggled to find the right words. But your mind was a whirlwind of emotions, and you found yourself at a loss.
Jack's eyes widened, a flicker of realization crossing his features as he took in the impact of his own words. For a moment, he seemed unsure, caught between his anger and the weight of what he had just said. And then, as if sensing the weight of the moment, Aaron appeared in the doorway. His expression a mix of concern and disappointment. His presence seemed to ground the room, his steady gaze sweeping over you and Jack.
"What's going on here?" Aaron's voice was calm but firm, his eyes never leaving yours. He saw the watery tears that threatened to spill over at any second. He heard the tail end of the conversation and knew exactly why you were so devastated. You saw Jack as your own child and for him to say something so deeply hurtful left you reeling.
You struggled to compose yourself, the turmoil of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "Jack... he... I don’t… I need to go," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. Without waiting for a response, you turned and fled towards the kitchen, unable to even look at your stepson or Aaron in that moment. You felt utterly embarrassed. Like you hadn’t been loving that child for the last ten years of his life. Did he really feel like that or was he just lashing out?
In the living room, Aaron's expression darkened, his jaw clenched with restrained anger as he watched you leave. The weight of Jack's hurtful words hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over their father-son relationship.
Jack shifted uncomfortably; his eyes fixed on the ground as guilt gnawed at him. "Dad, I didn't mean..."
But Aaron's patience had worn thin with his moody son. "Not now, Jack," he interrupted, his tone stern. "Right now, I need you to think about what you said and why it was completely unacceptable."
Jack swallowed hard, the gravity of his actions sinking in as he met his father's unwavering gaze. "I know, Dad. I messed up," he admitted, his voice tinged with remorse.
Aaron's frustration boiled over, his voice taking on the commanding tone he used when interrogating suspects. "You think you can just say whatever you want and there won't be consequences? You hurt her, Jack. You hurt someone who cares about you deeply, and I won't stand for it."
Jack's eyes widened, the full weight of his actions crashing down on him as he met his father's intense gaze. "I-I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to..."
But Aaron cut him off with a sharp gesture. "Apologies won't cut it this time, Jack. You need to understand the gravity of your words and the impact they have on people." As Aaron continued to reprimand his son, he couldn't shake the worry gnawing at him. He knew he had to find you, to make sure you were alright. With a final stern look at Jack, he turned on his heel and headed towards the kitchen, his footsteps heavy with concern.
As he entered the kitchen, his heart sank at the sight before him. There you were, hunched over on the floor, your shoulders shaking with sobs. Without hesitation, Aaron crossed the room and knelt beside you, gathering you into his arms.
"Hey, hey, it's okay," he murmured softly, his voice a soothing balm against the storm raging within you. "You're alright, I've got you." Aaron felt a pang of anguish as he held you, his heart breaking at the depth of your pain. Gently, he lifted your chin, guiding your tear-filled eyes to meet his own.
"Honey," he whispered, his voice filled with tenderness. "Listen to me. You may not be Jack's biological mother, but you are his mom in every sense of the word."
You shook your head weakly, unable to comprehend his words through the haze of your despair. "But I-I..."
"No buts," Aaron interrupted, his tone firm but gentle. "Every day, in every action, every moment of love and care you've shown him, you've proven yourself to be his mother. You've been there for him, supported him, loved him unconditionally. That's what a mom does. That’s what you are, sweetheart.”
Tears welled in your eyes as his words washed over you, a glimmer of hope piercing through the darkness of your despair. "But Jack said..."
Aaron's expression softened, his thumb gently wiping away your tears. "Jack was angry and confused. He didn't mean what he said. And even if he did, it doesn't change the truth. You are his mother, my love, in every way that matters."
As his words sank in, a sense of warmth enveloped you, the weight of your anguish easing with each beat of your heart. In Aaron's arms, you found solace, reassurance, and a renewed sense of purpose. You leaned against Aaron's chest, letting the last of your tears fall, a sense of peace washed over you. His comforting presence wrapped you up in his warm embrace, grounding you in the certainty that together you’d be just fine. “Thank you.” You whispered as he held you in his embrace.
Aaron held you close, his hold on you a silent promise of unwavering support and love. "Anytime, honey," he murmured, his voice a soothing melody in the midst of chaos. "We'll get through this together."
Just then, the sound of footsteps echoed in the kitchen, and you looked up to see Jack standing in the doorway, tears glistening in his eyes. His expression was wrought with guilt and remorse as he hesitated, unsure of how to approach you.
"Y/N," he began, his voice choked with emotion. "I-I'm so sorry. I didn't mean what I said. I just wanted to hurt you, but I didn't mean it. I didn’t mean it at all, I promise. I need you! You are my mom! Please don't leave me." His words came out quickly as he wiped away his own tears.
Your heart shattered at Jack's raw confession, the depth of his pain washing over you like a tidal wave. Without hesitation, you opened your arms, inviting him into the embrace. Aaron backed off letting the situation between the two most important people in his life play out.
Jack rushed over and threw his larger frame right into your arms You wrapped him up tightly as he let his own cries out. The weight of his own words crashing down on him in the instant he saw how much he had hurt you. He was just a kid, of course you could forgive him. "It's okay, Jack," you whispered, your voice breaking with emotion. "I know you didn't mean it. I love you so much. I'm not going anywhere."
“I can’t lose you too.” He let out a whimpered cry breaking your heart even further.
Tears streamed down your own cheeks as you held Jack close, the weight of his words settling over you. "You’ll never lose me, Jackie," you reassured him, using his old nickname, a sign of the deep love you two shared for each other. "I'm here for you, always. Always and forever kiddo."
Jack's sobs began to subside as he clung to you, finding exactly what he needed in your embrace. "I love you. I’m so sorry." he whispered again. His voice filled with sincerity.
A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you gently pulled away to look into his eyes. "I love you too, Jack. It’s okay. I forgive you." You said again, reassuring him.
He nodded, relief flooding his features as he buried his face in your arms once more, the weight of guilt slowly lifting from his shoulders. "You are one of the best things that's ever happened to me," you continued, your voice filled with warmth and affection. "Other than your father," you added with a playful grin, feeling Jack's chuckle rumble against your side. He gave you one more squeeze before pulling away. The remorse still heavy on his face. Carefully, you brushed the stray tears away from his face showing him the love that the both of you needed.
As Aaron joined you both in the kitchen, his presence a reassuring anchor, you shared a smile, knowing that no matter what life threw your way, you would be okay. For truly these two were the best things that had ever happened to you.
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through love and loss
~for riv, happy birthday angel <3 thank you for letting me tell this story~
pairing: hotch/reader
rating: t
word count: 9.5k
genre: angst, hurt/comfort with a happy ending
summary: after witnessing your long-term friend and colleague profess his love for you moments before dying in the field, you struggle to cope with the grief and trauma of his loss. through his own experience with traumatic loss, day by day, Hotch aids in your healing and the feelings you begin to catch for him as time goes on scare you just as badly. Will you be able to move on and start again? Or will your grief be too much for you to bear?
“You’ve been one hell of a partner,” he says. His fingers gently clasp over yours and your panicked eyes glance up from the gaping wound in his abdomen to lock onto his. They’re surprisingly clear, the lights of the street lamps reflecting back at you in them. His blood paints your now intertwined fingers. Your gaze flickers between them and his eyes, the soft smile on his lips.
“Don’t say that,” you bite, your voice thick with tears. “Garcia!” you cry knowing she can hear you through your earpiece.
“Honey, they’re coming as fast as they can! Hotch is leading the charge, EMS is with them.” Her voice wavers as it crackles through the mic. “Just hold on.” You don’t know if she’s saying it to you or to him. His earpiece hadn’t fallen out when he caught the bullet and hit the ground.
“They won’t make it in time.” He says, choking out a pathetically weak laugh. “I always knew it could end like this. Can you make sure they use a good photo of me at the funeral? Maybe that shirtless selfie I took in Miami?”
“God, can’t you just shut the fuck up for once?” you snap as you apply more pressure to his abdomen. “You always have some kind of joke, some one liner.”
His smile cracks as you press down, a small “oomph” passing his lips. “You,” he takes a shuddering breath. “You love my jokes.”
“Yeah,” you bite as you blow a strand of sweat drenched hair out of your face, “and you can keep annoying me with them after you get to a hospital.”
“Humor me, will ya?”
Hot tears brim along your lash line as you paint on a smile. “Okay,” you answer tightly.
“My ma,” he starts. He coughs and a trickle of blood spills from the corner of his lips. “Tell her I got him, ok? She’ll need to hear that. And, and tell her I went laughing. That’ll help.”
You can’t help the sob that erupts from your throat, but you try your best to stifle it. His hand tightens around yours and you know it’s taking all of his strength to do that.
“Can you do that?”
You nod as tears stream down your cheeks, etching soft lines into your skin.
“And,” he coughs again as he struggles to breathe. “I can’t—” he rasps. “I can’t go without telling you.” His fingers shake as he withdraws them from your hand and reaches up to touch your cheek. Instinctively, your hand reaches up to support it, cradling the warmth of his palm against your face. He smiles as he winces. “I love you. Since the first day I saw you, I’ve loved you. I shouldn’t—” His features twist as a shudder racks his body and a sob breaks free from his lips. “I shouldn’t have put this job above that, what the Bureau would’ve thought. It’s all too short, ya know?” A bitter laugh tumbles free as he takes a deep breath.
You can hear the sirens now. They’re close, but not close enough. They won’t make it.
“Promise me,” he says, his voice wavering. His gaze locks on yours though you can hardly see for the tears blurring your vision. “The next time you feel love, you really, truly start to feel that hint of desire, those, those butterflies in your stomach, goddammit chase them, Catch that feeling, bottle it up, and don’t let it go for nothing. Promise me.”
You shake your head as you hold desperately onto his hand against your cheek. You feel his thumb weakly stroke the skin there.
Cars screech to a halt. Doors slam.
“I promise.”
His hand goes limp in yours.
The scream that tears from your body is primal and unearthly. This isn’t happening. It cannot happen. You scramble to check his pulse, to hope beyond hope you’ll feel the faintest of beatings; something, anything to signify that he’s still there. There’s nothing. Naturally, you move to begin CPR. Or at least you try to before two big arms thread through yours from behind, hooking you against the plane of someone’s body as they pull you away. You thrash and scream against their hold, fighting to get back to him.
“Let the medics do their job,” a voice says in your ear. Morgan. His grip tightens around you, not in a way that’s painful, but grounding. “Let them try.”
There’s a ringing in your ears, growing louder as you watch the two medics crowd around him. One cuts away the fabric of his shirt while another begins CPR. You watch on in silent, stunned horror.
“What happened?” another voice you recognize says sternly, though his voice sounds far away, like you’re underwater and he’s up above the surfaces.
The medics exchange a grim look after a couple of minutes. The one performing CPR’s rhythm slows until she’s doing nothing at all. She shakes her head.
Your knees buckle and you’re falling. Morgan responds immediately, trying to balance your weight against his own as you go to the ground. Though you're prepared to hit the asphalt, it never rises to meet you. Instead, you fall against the scratchy fabric of a Kevlar vest. Arms cradle you into the plane of a wide chest, your body spasming against their frame as uncontrollable sobs wrack your body. Harsh, guttural screams tear from you, your breathing uneven and irregular as you struggle for air between sobs. Black spots dot your vision.
“You have to breathe,” a faraway voice says. His tone is even, modulated. “Listen to me.” He says your name. Your name. Your name. You latch onto that. You try to, but oh my God. He’s dead. You watched him die. You felt his life leave his body. He loves you…loved you.
“I think she’s going into shock. Medic!”
Everything feels detached, like your limbs are not your own. A light shines in your eyes, but you don’t flinch away. You see the stars. You’re on your back? Your fingers buzz and shake involuntarily, numbness creeping in as you fight to inhale a full breath. A hand clasps yours. It's warm. Something slips over your nose and mouth, a mask? Breathing feels easier, but not by much.
“She suffered a blow to the head—”
Had you? Yes, wait. The fight before. The scramble for the gun. The unsub had wrestled it out of your hand and struck you over the head with the butt of the weapon and then…then two shots rang out.
White stars explode behind your eyes, blinding you. There’s a ringing in your ears.
“He loved me,” you whisper as your vision blurs.
Someone’s calling your name.
“He told me he loved me.”
And then it’s dark, and there’s nothing. And you don’t have to feel anymore.
•
“I can walk you inside.”
“I’m fine, Hotch. Just—” You close your eyes and inhale slowly. You’re not fine. You don’t know if you’d ever be fine. You smooth down the black fabric of your dress, the silk wrinkled from how tightly you’d held onto it during the service. Your knuckles ache from clenching them so hard and your palms sting, littered with half moon cuts from
digging your nails into them; any external stimulation to distract your mind from what was actually happening. Anything to keep from breaking down in front of everyone.
“Just?” he hedges.
You blink out of your stupor and stop staring at the dash. “Thank you for the ride,” you say curtly. Without meeting his gaze, you hastily exit the SUV and step into the rain. You clutch your arms against your chest, holding your double breasted trench closed over your body as you tuck your head and slip through the double doors into your apartment complex, hardly registering the motions of entering your code into the keypad.
God knows how many times you’ve walked this path to your apartment, but today it seems longer. You feel the pressure of each step in these uncomfortably tall, but not too tall, heels. Your purse bounces against your leg as you walk, each step heavier than the last. The ride to the top floor takes longer than ever and when you arrive in front of your door you almost can’t recall which key on your ring will unlock it.
The door to your apartment yawns open to greet you, yet you kick it shut, clamping its lips together to envelop you in darkness once again. Everything is the same, yet it’s all different. You stand there on the doormat staring down the short corridor you cross through day in and day out. Did he know he’d leave his apartment for the last time that day?
The hall leads to the open concept shared living room and kitchen areas. Despite all of the shades being drawn, the wide rectangular sliding glass door ahead emits shrouded gray light from behind the curtains. Without clear thought, you move toward it, dropping your keys and purse on the ground at the door. Mindlessly, your fingers move to the buttons of your coat. Shrugging out of the bulky layer, it falls to the floor in a ripple of fabric as you push the curtain open and unlock the door. The dull pitter patter of raindrops crescendos as you slide open the door, the thick glass no longer dampening the sound of the downpour. You breathe in the crisp November afternoon as a wall of cold air slams into you, eliciting goosebumps across your exposed flesh. You don’t think as you step out into the rain, the wind blowing sideways.
Standing still, you let the rain pelt you and the wind throw your hair. It doesn’t take long for it to soak through your dress, which now clings to your figure. Your hair sticks to your face and neck, a tangled mess of mother nature’s finest. The cold seeps in just as fast and before long your lips are quivering and your teeth are chattering. You feel it bruise down to your bones, yet you don’t move. You feel the icy sting because anything is better than feeling his loss. Anything is better than feeling the raw agony of grief as it digs its fingers into your chest and holds your beating heart in its hand and mocks your pain, never letting you forget a second of that night.
There’s your name on the wind, wait, no. It’s behind you. Your instincts have slowed, like deadened nerves, they don’t react the same.
“What are you doing out here?”
You blink and Hotch is standing just outside of your back door, his hand shielding his eyes from the rain. Your lip quivers in response as he steps forward and pulls you inside. He immediately shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over your shoulders before guiding you to the couch.
“God, you’re freezing,” he says as he drops your hand in your lap. “I’ll get some towels.”
You stare at your hands in your lap as he stands, his footsteps echoing down the hall. He returns with two. The first, he passes to you and you just hold it. The second he uses to blot your face before draping it over your shoulders and pulling your hair off your neck and face, smoothing it over your ears and shoulders so it falls over the towel.
When he sits, his eyes meet yours. They’re a deep brown, like coffee, coffee without milk. They’re warm like coffee, too. Just looking into them begins to just barely chisel at the ice you’ve let burrow deep into your bones.
His brow pinches. “God, what the hell were you thinking? You’re going to get sick standing out there in the rain and cold like that.”
Your fingers curl around the towel in your lap, your gaze fixed on the coffee table. “I needed to feel anything else,” your voice cracks as tears well along your lash line. “Because if I don’t, all I’ll feel is the hurt and it’s so deep, and I’m so scared that this is all I’ll ever feel.”
Hotch’s features soften, his lips parting. He knows the feeling all too well. “It seems like that now.” His voice is soft. “When I lost Haley, even though we’d been divorced for some time, it felt like my world had crumbled out from under me and I wondered if I’d ever be able to rebuild it.”
A strangled sob escapes your lips and you hug the towel to your chest. “How? you ask, voice pleading. “How do you do that? I want to do that. I need to start, because I can’t…I can’t live with this pain, Hotch.”
“It’s not immediate,” he answers. “It’ll take a long time for the pain to subside to where it’s only a dull ache and then one day, you’ll wake up and it won’t hurt anymore. You have to give yourself grace and let yourself feel the agony of his loss. Stop trying to push it down. You don’t have to save face for anyone.”
Your voice is small when you speak. “I’m scared.”
“I know,” Hotch responds empathetically. “Grieving is the hardest part.” His hand reaches for yours. It’s warm against your icy skin and you remember this feeling. He’d been the one to hold your hand as the paramedics loaded you into the ambulance that night. For the first time, you raise your eyes to meet his.
“I don’t think I can come back,” you say, “not now.”
Hotch nods. “I wouldn’t expect you to. Take the bereavement. I’ll pull some strings to grant an extension on it. When it runs out, we can revisit a return to work.” He squeezes your hand and inclines his head to really look at you. “I understand what you’re going through more than anyone. I know how easy it is to want to isolate and shut the world out. When you feel that darkness calling you? I want you to call me instead. I’ll help guide you out of it. Can you do that?”
You pull your bottom lip into your mouth with your teeth to stop its trembling and nod. “I can do that.”
•
Your heartbeat echoes in your ears as the elevator slowly climbs to the floor where the BAU works from. Your fingers twitch along your side as you watch the numbers light up with each passing story. When the elevator dings, signaling it’s your turn to face reality, you square your shoulders and stride through the doors as they part.
A shock of blonde and pink hair greets you immediately. Arms are around you, squeezing you against a fuzzy green cardigan that smells faintly of jasmine.
A small smile tugs at your lips and you're surprised to hear laughter from your lips. “It’s nice to see you, too, Penelope.”
“I missed you!” she says, a wide smile on her pink lips.
“I’ve missed the team,” you say, peering around her. “Is everyone here?”
She shrugs, “It’s Monday morning so everyone is filtering in. You know how it goes.” She turns toward the double doors leading inside. She points over her shoulder with a pen topped with a purple pom pom. Her lips press together. “Are you ready?”
You inhale slowly and swallow.
You know this is going to be hard, but it has been a month. You were sleeping through most nights and had begun seeing the Bureau appointed therapist to cope with the trauma and loss. Hotch had kept his word too. When you had holed yourself away in your room; takeout containers barely touched, forgetting to take showers, and had laundry piled so high it threatened to bury you in an avalanche of fabric, you called him. That’s all you’d done. You couldn’t speak when you did. It had taken all of your strength just to find his contact and hit ‘dial.’
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” was all he’d said before hanging up.
Penelope had given him the spare key to your apartment that she’d still had from when she watered your plants whenever a case kept you out for longer periods of time than usual. He’d figured you’d not have the strength to pull yourself out of bed. He hadn’t even come into your room when he’d first gotten there. He announced himself when he’d entered, not that you’d have reacted if it were an intruder. Ok, that might have been bullshit. At your core, you were still an agent and those instincts would’ve kicked in. You’d stayed in your blanket cocoon as the sound of dishes clanking and water splashing echoed from the kitchen. He’d knocked on your door and entered with a trash bag, collecting takeout and emptied the rather gross and overflowing bedroom trash can by your bed that you’d filled with tissues from the sporadic sob sessions that would overtake you. Silently, he’d pulled your clothes up off the floor into the hamper and started a load of wash. Only when things were clean did he sit on the edge of your bed and let you fall into him and fall apart all over again.
“Rossi sent me with a home cooked lasagna. It should last the week and then he’ll send another next week. I stocked your fridge with Gatorade. You’ll get sick if you dehydrate and trust me, you don’t want that to happen.” It had sounded like he’d spoken from experience.
When you’d managed to stop crying, you’d sniffed and looked up at him. “Did I hear you humming the “clean up” song?”
“It helps Jack stay on task at home,” he’d said, a soft smile and blush spreading across his cheeks.
“Sweetie?”
You blink. Penelope is looking at you, the concern clear on her face.
You clear your throat and nod. “I’m ready.”
As you enter the bullpen, you don’t miss the way people pretend not to stare as you pass by; watching for cracks in your face and your body that might fracture leaving them to pick up the pieces. There’s a tension in the room as you pass his desk, a pregnant pause as they await your reaction but you’d been preparing for it. You feel the pain flow through you and take slow, measured breaths. The dread passes. The room breathes a sigh of relief.
It isn’t until later in the day that you’re passing the briefing room to deliver a file to Hotch in his office that you notice his photo on the wall honoring fallen heroes within the Bureau; his name embossed on a golden placard and eager, bright face smiling back at you.
Your ceramic coffee cup shatters as it hits the tile. Heads turn in your direction and Hotch is quick enough to react, stealing out of his office and reeling you back into it before you crash onto your knees unable to breathe.
•
Work gets easier. The routine becomes familiar again. There are good days and bad days. You don’t break down again at work after the initial shock on your first day back. Aaron checks in with you regularly as does the rest of your team. Hotch seems to pay extra attention, though, and you wonder if the team notices just how close you’d become over the last few months.
It started out simple enough; an extra “how are you?” or bringing you a cup of coffee in the morning. On your first week back, he’d only brought you decaf. “I don’t want to increase any anxiety you might be feeling,” he’d said.
You weren’t cleared to return to the field for two months, so you’d stay behind when the team left; helping remotely from the office with Penelope. You’d missed Hotch during the cases that took them far away from home. At first you told yourself, you were only missing how within reach Hotch had been when you were having a harder time making it through the day. You’d chided yourself and told yourself that it's time to cut the cord, that you had to learn to stand on your own two feet again sooner or later without him there to be your crutch. But was that all you missed?
Having him around made breathing feel easier. It made waking up in the morning seem worth it. He reminds you why you face each day and of the important work you do for the community and country at large. He reminded you why he wouldn’t want you to suffer like this months after the fact.
As you sit at your desk awaiting a phone call from Spencer to get you that update from the morgue, you lean back in your chair and close your eyes. Your ears pick up on the rustling of papers, the gentle whir of the copy machine, phones ringing, and people talking. It’s all so normal. It feels like any other day at the office, yet it feels hollow still.
Hotch had been working on it with you, though. He knew that you’d been withdrawing, despite having come back. You still weren’t taking people up on their offers to go out on weekends or getting a drink after work. It was all too exhausting. So, he started slowly with you. At first, it was really just making sure that you were meeting your basic needs. He’d schedule a time with you at the weekend to go out and get groceries; easy grab and go items because you still didn’t have much energy to cook. He’d help you unpack them and then head back home, not before giving you a hug and telling you how proud he was of you. Eventually, as you’d been able to handle more, he invited you on outings with him and Jack. You’d go watch one of his soccer games or go to the park. Seeing someone so carefree and innocent brought real joy to your heart and it suddenly didn’t seem so unnatural to smile and laugh. And during all of this Hotch had even shared his own experiences with how he’d handled his grief when Haley died. He’d done it all alone though. He’d confided this in you one night over a glass of wine and Thai takeout in your living room.
“I wish I’d had someone to help pull me out of the thick of it, the grief.” he’d said and you’d stopped chewing your food.
“You went through this all on your own?” you’d replied, stricken by the thought.
He’d nodded as he’d wiped a napkin over his lips. “Haley’s sister would keep Jack for a week at a time because I could hardly take care of myself, let alone my own son. It felt terrible, like I was failing him and failing Haley all over again. I would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, pouring over every little detail wondering what I could’ve done differently, how I could’ve changed the ending.”
“Then what?” you’d asked, because you’d been plagued by the same nightmarish loop of that night.
A soft smile had graced his lips then. “I finally accepted that there’s no way I can change the past. I can wish and hope and beg and plead for a do-over, but that just doesn’t happen. I could either live in that painful memory forever or be grateful I got to have the time with her that I did and do everything in my power to honor her life with my own. I chose to keep living.”
Your phone rings, pulling you out of the memory.
“Hey Spence, any update from the morgue?”
“Mm, not Reid.”
You sit up straighter. “Oh, Hotch. Is everything alright?”
“Yes, I’m leaving the station now to go interview the victim’s wife and wanted to check in.”
“Oh, sir. You didn’t have to do that. Things are fine here. Penelope and I are holding down the fort.”
“You know that’s not what I’m calling to check in about.”
Your brow furrows. Is that a smile you hear in his voice?
You lower your voice. “I’m fine.”
“If being back in the office is too much, too soon I can petition—”
“Really, Hotch,” you say, keeping your voice down. “It feels good to be busy again. If I’m caught up in work, my mind can’t dwell elsewhere. I’m right where I need to be.”
“Well, not right where you need to be,” Hotch comments.
There’s an immediate silence that follows, his words hanging in the liminal space between you and him over the line.
You open your mouth to speak when a beep hits your line. You pull your phone from your ear and see an incoming call alongside Spencer’s photo illuminating your screen. “That’s Spencer on the other line. I uh, I gotta go.”
•
You startle awake, heart hammering inside your chest. His name leaves your lips in a jagged, anguished cry. Cold sweat trickles down your face as you bolt upright, digging your fingers into the mattress to steady yourself.
The door to your room swings open and Hotch hurries to your bedside. You blink hard following the intrusion but quickly remember why Hotch is even here in the first place.
Jack had had a sleepover party at a friend’s house nearby, so you’d asked if he wanted to come over and have a Lord of the Rings marathon. It was playing on cable all evening and you did love those hairy footed hobbits. Hotch had smiled and said something about it having been years since he’d seen them. You’d started to doze three quarters through The Two Towers and he’d encouraged you to go to bed. You told him that he was welcome to stay and keep watching and he’d made some crack about you having a comfortable couch to fall asleep on. Your apartment was closer to Jack’s sleepover party than Hotch’s apartment, so it just made sense for him to stay. Or at least that’s what you’d told yourself.
He smooths back the hair that’s stuck to your face and the feel of his fingers on your skin helps ground you back to reality.
“Deep breaths,” he soothes. “Here.” he passes you the glass of water off of your nightstand and you mutter a thank you as you gulp it down.
When you finish, he takes the glass from you and replaces it on the nightstand. His other hand curls into yours.
“Hey,” he says, inclining his head to intercept the trajectory of your blank stare. Your eyes shift to meet his. “Do you want to talk about it?”
You press your lips together and shake your head. “It was all the same. Just that night in high definition except,” you swallow and shake your head, hoping it clears the image away like when you’re a kid and shake your Etch A Sketch when you want to create a new picture, “the unsub was laughing. From where he lay, dead on the ground, he was laughing. Blood bubbled up through his teeth as he did so and he just kept laughing.” You drop your head into your hands and rub your temples. “I swear I can still hear it. I can still see his open eyes, unseeing, while he laughed.”
Hotch rubs small circles on your back. “I know how scary it is, how unsettling it can be. It’s only a dream. The unsub is dead. He can’t hurt you or anyone else anymore.”
“How long?” you ask, exhaustion heavy in your voice.
“How long, what?”
“How long do the dreams last?”
Hotch sucks a breath in through his teeth. “I wish I had an answer for you,” he says. “There are some nights I still wake up in a cold sweat just like you, Haley’s name on my lips. There are nights I dream that I saved her, nights where I got to Foyet before he got to her. There are nights I dream of Foyet standing over me, of his knife—”
Your hand slips into his and this time it’s Aaron’s turn to lift his eyes to meet yours. “I understand.”
A small smile turns the corners of his lips. “They get easier to live with.” He pulls you into his arms. You close your eyes and let yourself mold against his frame. The smell of cedar and teakwood has become familiar to you, comforting too. You inhale deeply as he squeezes you against him.
“I should let you get back to sleep,” he says as he pulls away.
“Stay?” you blurt awkwardly, voice smaller than usual.
Aaron’s brow arcs in response. “I’ll be right outside.”
“With me,” you say, gesturing toward the bed. “Just,” you breathe out slowly. You feel vulnerable. Your voice cracks despite how hard you try to keep it steady. “Can you just hold me? For a little while? I’m afraid to close my eyes just to see that smile again.”
“I—” he starts and stops. You feel your lip begin to quiver and you wish you could stuff your words back inside your mouth. He is still your boss. What the hell kind of request was that for you to make? Before you can tell him to forget it, he speaks again.
“Of course I can.”
You shift awkwardly, heart hammering now for an altogether different reason, as you make room for him to slide in next to you.
He eases onto the bed, stretching his legs out in front of him atop the covers and crosses one over the other.
He stretches his arm nearest you, “Come here,” he says softly and almost hesitantly, you lay your head against his chest. His heart beats evenly, if not a little quicker than what you imagine his resting heart rate ought to be. Was he nervous too? Was this crossing a line? Before your mind can run away with anxious thoughts, he wraps his other arm across your body while his hand finds its way into your hair, his fingers gently combing through it in slow, soothing movements.
You feel his eyes on you and you want to tilt your face up to look into them, but something holds you back. Instead you let your lashes flutter close and mutter something about only staying until you fall asleep. If you weren’t lying right beneath his lips, you might’ve missed the whisper of laughter that tumbles from them.
“Don’t worry about me,” he says as he drops his hand to your shoulder and strokes deliberate, gentle lines up and down the skin there.
He talks then; about work, about Jack, just about anything until his voice sounds further and further away and you’re fast asleep. And for the first time since you can’t remember when, it’s dreamless.
•
The hum of the jet’s engine should lull you to sleep at this hour yet you continue to scratch notes into your legal pad, not wanting to forget any details to add to your case report. You’d had trouble concentrating when you’d departed from LAX and had spent the first few hours of the flight lost in your thoughts.
The case had gone well. Within 72 hours, you’d delivered the profile and successfully captured the unsub. Richard Pyre, aged 32, had been kidnapping young women and strangling them, leaving their bodies in public places. Local PD had done an excellent job of canvassing the streets. The team came in and connected the missing pieces they’d not been able to decipher and together, you all had caught the bad guy. It was a slam dunk case. So, it shouldn’t be taking you long to compile notes for your report.
You just couldn’t get him off of your mind. It had been a month since Hotch had stayed over at your place, since you’d wept in his arms and begged him to hold you until you fell asleep. The memory alone brings a hot, embarrassed flush to your cheeks. Why? Because Hotch had fallen asleep in bed with you. His phone alarm that he’d set to remind him to pick up Jack from his sleepover had gone off in the living room. When it continued to beep, you’d stirred awake. At first you’d been confused, not remembering having set an alarm as it was Saturday, but then you’d felt the rise and fall of a chest underneath you. Aaron Hotchner was still in your bed, arms around you. He’d pulled the throw blanket from the end of your bed up and over his legs at some point during the night and just fallen asleep too.
For a moment you’d been scared to move, afraid of what lines had been crossed despite not having engaged in any sexual activities. That was your boss in your bed, for Christ’s sake. Yes, the pair of you had been blurring the lines with friendship lately as he’d become so integral to your life. But then again, everyone in the BAU kinda sorta blurred the lines between colleagues and friends. But you’d never woken up in anyone else’s arms.
You’d tried to slip out of his arms without waking him, but between the movement and his alarm going off in the other room you’d never stood a chance. He stirred awake and rubbed his eyes.
“Good morning,” you’d said awkwardly.
He’d immediately dropped his arms from around your body and cleared his throat. “I, uh,” he breathed in deeply and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I must’ve fallen asleep, I’m sorry.” He’d quickly exited the bed and scurried into the living room, where he’d swiped his alarm off.
He’d quickly collected his belongings, muttering about needing to pick up Jack. He’d averted your gaze and apologized again before giving you a quick hug and making a rather hasty exit from your apartment.
You didn’t talk about the incident afterwards, but something had definitely shifted between the two of you.
You drop your pencil onto the table and angle the reading light more towards yourself to not disturb Reid who breathes deeply as he sleeps across from you, arms cuddling his beloved satchel to his chest. As you reach for your coffee, you exhale a heavy sigh when you notice it's empty. You don’t even remember finishing it. You check your watch: 1:22AM. You really ought to try and sleep, but instead you rise to fix another cup.
Walking on the balls of your feet to not disturb the rest of the sleeping team, you make your way toward the back of the plane where the restroom and bar are situated. The red light still blinks on the coffee machine, signaling it’s been keeping the half-full pot hot all this time. As you lift the pot and begin to pour, someone speaks.
“Another cup? Really?”
You startle at the sound of Hotch’s voice, causing you to miss your cup and spill coffee on your hand. You hiss quietly and shake your hand, flinging drops of coffee across the counter.
“Shit, I’m sorry!” Hotch whisper-shouts as he withdraws his pocket square and dries your hand. He moves, bringing your hand under the bar’s lighting to inspect for injuries. Fortunately, it’s just a few blotchy red spots that ought to go away in a couple of hours. His thumb gently strokes the skin around it and your breath catches in your throat. You watch for a few moments, feeling your heart slowly start to beat its way into your throat the longer he holds onto your hand. A part of you wants to draw nearer to him, but instead you clear your throat.
“You should sleep,” he says, finally, dropping your hand. You miss the feel of his fingers immediately.
“Hi Pot, I’m Kettle, you reply snarkily.
Aaron’s lips twitch into a smile. “Yes, well. Typically, I’m working on a lot more than you’ve got to worry about as Unit Chief. I’m usually up at this hour anyway. You, on the other hand, are usually asleep with everyone else. Are you still having nightmares?”
You swallow and turn away, ripping open a packet of Splenda and stirring it into your coffee. “No, actually. Not since—”
“Since?” he presses.
You pick up your mug and turn back around to face him. “Since you stayed the night at my place.”
You don’t miss the way his eyes widen just slightly. He swallows and fidgets with the buttons of his suit jacket. Aaron Hotchner is fidgeting, a clear sign he’s nervous and holding something back.
“It scares me too,” you whisper after a long stretched out silence, hardly discernible.
“What’s that?” Hotch says, tone shifting.
You focus on the heat of the coffee mug in your hands as you press your thumbs into the ceramic to try and fight the heat rushing to your cheeks.
“Whatever this is, these feelings. I’m not stupid, Hotch, and neither are you. We’ve clearly crossed a line and I don’t know how to uncross it.” You take a deep breath, feeling like you’re rambling. “I don’t know how to think around you anymore. Everyday I wake up and get excited because I know I���m going to see you. You bring Jack over on the weekends and it fills me with so much joy I don’t know how to cope with it. And then I feel guilty because I’ve toed this line before. I toed the line and was too afraid because of my job and protocols and it left my heart so broken I didn’t think I’d ever get to put it back together again. Then you come along with your tapes and your glues and you find a way to turn the fractured pieces of my heart into this mosaic of something capable of beating once more.” A tear slips from the corner of your eye and drips down your cheek, falling into your coffee with a soft plop. You raise your eyes to meet his, “Now you tell me what I’m supposed to do with that.”
At this point, your heart is slamming in your chest. Afraid of triggering a panic attack, you turn around and dump the coffee into the small sink carved into the small bar. You don’t need it nor want it anymore.
Hotch says your name and reaches for your arm but you pull away, turning and moving back to your seat at the opposite end of the jet. He could follow, but he won’t. Fortunately for you, Reid being asleep in the seat across from you and Derek being sprawled out across the way didn’t leave much room for Aaron to follow through on your conversation.
•
When the plane lands, you pull your go-bag down from the overhead bins alongside your gun case and cut out as soon as the doors open and the stairs descend.
Emily calls after you, but you duck your head and push ahead off the tarmac and onto the path leading back to the office. You’d finished your report on the plane. Once inside, you drop the manila envelope in the box affixed next to the door to Hotch’s office and dip back out through the main office doors. The elevator dings, alerting you that the rest of the team is about to walk through those doors. Not feeling up to facing anyway you move swiftly to the staircase and push the door open, sliding your body through as the whoosh of the elevator begins to open.
Your thoughts move too quickly as your feet slap against each step, your footsteps echoing in the empty chamber of the stairwell. When you reach the ground level, the parking garage, you fish your keys out of the front pocket of your bag and press the key fob, unlocking your car. Opening the trunk, you toss your go-bag in and place your gun case beside it before slamming it shut. After sliding into the front seat, you put your seatbelt on and back out of your space. As you shift your hands to cut the wheel to the right, someone jumps in front of your car with their hands up.
You slam the breaks and curse. You roll your window down. “Christ, Spencer! What the hell are you doing?”
He lowers his hands and moves to the driver's side window, awkwardly adjusting his satchel on his shoulder as he does so. He swallows and tilts his head to the side, brow furrowed. He takes a few deep breaths. He’d clearly been rushing to follow after you. “I was uh, wondering if I could get a ride home.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “JJ was going to give me a ride, but something with Henry—”
“Just get in,” you say, too exhausted to care.
“Thank you, thank you.” He rushes around the car and clambers into the passenger seat.
For a while neither of you speak. When you pull out of the garage, the sun hurts your eyes. You cuss under your breath as you reach for your sunglasses.
“Why’d you rush off the plane so fast?” Spencer asks as you turn onto the main road. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone disembark the jet that quickly.
You press your lips together, not really wanting to have this conversation. “Maybe I just really want to go home. I’m pretty exhausted, aren’t you?”
He nods quickly, considering. “See, I think this has more to do with the conversation you and Hotch had on the plane.”
You jerk the wheel to the side, causing Spencer to cling to the handle above his seat. The sound of your tires screeching to halt echo as a car swerves and honks.
“What the hell, Spence?” you shout, pulling your sunglasses off to look him in the eye. “Did you lie to me about needing a ride just so you could trap me in this conversation?” You point a finger at him. “That’s fucked up. I don’t like lying. We’re friends.”
He tenses, flinching under your hard stare. “And that’s exactly why I’m doing this,” he says, voice tight.
You lower your finger, posture relaxing only slightly. “What are you talking about?”
“I’ve been paying more attention to dynamics across the team over the last eight months. I read a study on how shared trauma can impact working relationships; some for the better and some for worse. Fortunately, our team seems to have stayed relatively strong following—” He pauses, eyes shifting to yours and then back to his hands in his lap. “His death. Anyway, obviously you took it the hardest, what with having worked closest with him and the lines you walked between colleague and romantic partner.”
You feel your heart squeeze inside your chest, yet Spencer continues on.
“I didn’t see it at first. I thought Hotch was just checking in on you as is his duty as Unit Chief and having to make sure we’re all fit to be in the field. However, as time progressed I started to notice shifts in the way Hotch spoke to you and even his body language around you, even when you weren’t in the office.”
That strikes a chord deep within you. “Okay, and?”
He sits up straighter, lips pursing as he decides how to continue. “It started quite small. I’d catch him end a call with you while out on a case and he’d be smiling, other times his nostrils would flare and he’d wipe his hands down the fronts of his pants, likely because they were clammy, much like you’re doing right now.” He indicates toward you and you clench your hands into fists.
“So, what?”
He laughs exasperatedly. “So, what? You don’t have to be a behavior analyst to see these are all behaviors in line with burgeoning romantic feelings for someone.”
“I don’t—” your words falter as you fail to come up with an excuse.
“You’re scared,” Spencer states. “Moving on is the scariest part. There’s so many feelings attached to it: guilt, remorse, anger, fear, relief, joy. It’s normal to be afraid, but don’t let that fear hold you back from allowing yourself a chance at happiness.”
You swallow thickly as you feel the familiar pressure of tears burn the backs of your eyes. “It’s only been eight months. It feels wrong.”
“I miss him too, you know?” Spencer says after a minute. “I know I might not have been as close to him as you were. You two were in the Academy together after all.” He reaches across the center console and takes one of your hands in his. “And I know that once upon time you and him considered taking your relationship further but decided not to because you were just starting out with the Bureau, but,” he says your name and smiles. “His profession of feelings for you doesn’t mean he’d never want you to find that for yourself. He just wanted you to know that while he was a part of your life, he loved you for all of it. I don’t think he’d want to see you hurt like this. I really don’t.” His clear eyes search yours as he smiles. “For as short a time together as we had, I loved Maeve every day I knew her.”
“Spence—” he cuts you off with a wave of his hand.
“I miss her every day and it’s been two years. I’m not really a guy that goes on dates very often. I’m awkward and weird and I know this about myself. I do know though, that if I am lucky enough to find someone again that loves me, that she would want me to be happy. At least, I’d have wanted her to if our situations had been reversed and I’d been the one to die that day. I wouldn’t have wanted her to put her own happiness on hold.” He squeezes your hand. “You don’t have to put your life on hold. That doesn’t mean you’ll forget him.”
He drops your hand and points to the road. “I’ll buy you breakfast by the way, to make up for the lying.”
You unbuckle your seatbelt and lunge over the passenger seat to pull him into a hug. Spencer wheezes as your body weight collides with him, but his slender arms snake around your back to return the embrace.
“Thank you, Spence.”
•
Usually, after a case, you have a shower and immediately go to bed. Not this time though. Spencer’s words play over in your mind again and again as you pace the length of your apartment floor.
You’d picked up your phone a dozen times to call Aaron, but each time you’d dropped it back onto the counter.
Eventually, you just plop down onto the couch and drop your head in your hands. “Why is this so hard?” you mumble to yourself.
You look up and make eye contact with the picture of you and him from the office Christmas party two years ago. He’s wearing a Santa hat and you’ve got on a headband giving you a pair of reindeer antlers. He holds a Solo cup in the air (Rossi had definitely spiked the eggnog) and the smiles on both of your faces are so genuine. A pang of guilt shoots through as you pick up the frame and cradle it to your chest, as if that was anywhere close to what a hug from him would feel like.
“I wish you were here to tell me what to do,” you whisper.
Spencer’s words move through your mind again, especially what he’d said about Maeve. God, this team has dealt with more love and loss than any normal group of people ought to deal with, but then again you all weren’t exactly a normal group of people.
Spencer had a point though. Rationally, you know he wouldn’t want you to hold yourself back from the possibility of love and happiness with someone. You smirk to yourself because you can picture him sitting next to you making some crack about not ever thinking that man would be Hotch. He’d probably point out that Hotch was at least ten years your senior and make some dumb joke about being a gold digger. You’d never really thought about how much Hotch made compared to the rest of you, but with his title and tenure at the Bureau, it probably was up there.
If you are to do this, pursue whatever is going on between you and Aaron, presuming that that was also something he wanted, it won’t be easy. There’s enough red tape as is, let alone throwing relationships and romance into the mix. However, Rossi and Strauss had been together for a year prior to her untimely death. Again, this team had been through too much. She was his superior and there hadn’t been any problems that you’d been aware of, though no one had really been aware of their relationship until it was too late.
God, you wonder. Even Rossi hadn’t been afforded a chance at long term happiness with her. Is the BAU team just destined for trauma and loss? Maybe you should put a stop to this before it has the chance to go any further…but on the other hand you know Spencer would give his left arm if it meant having one more day with Meave. David would probably do the same to be with Erin. So, what were you doing? Why was it even a question?
You place the photo frame back in its place on the side table and grab your phone and keys off the counter. You know you look a bit disheveled. You’d not bothered to change or shower since getting home. You probably still smelled like plane funk too, but if you didn’t go see him now, you probably never would.
You pull open your front door and nearly trip over yourself as you force stop to keep from barreling into Hotch.
His hand is raised, like he is about to knock on the door no longer between you two. He licks his lips nervously and drops his hand after a
moment of you two staring at each other in stunned silence.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry to barge in like this.”
An uncomfortable laugh flits between the two of you as your voices overlap.
“Do you want to come in?” you say, gesturing behind you.
Hotch nods, “Please.”
You shuffle to the side and he steps into your apartment, eyes bouncing around the space. “You’ve managed to keep up with the place, that’s good.”
You cross your arms over your chest, hugging your biceps with your hands. “I find that humming the ‘clean up’ song helps.”
A pink blush sparks across his cheeks at your jab. “I’m glad that’s now a part of my legacy.”
There’s another awkward laugh followed by an even more awkward silence.
You rub your hands up and down your arms, suddenly finding yourself not as brave as you were feeling minutes early.
“Aaron, what are you doing here?” you manage to say after a few more awkward moments of silence.
Hotch presses lips together before taking a deep breath. He sweeps his thumb across his lips, suddenly looking very determined as he meets your eyes. “What I should’ve done on the plane.”
It takes seconds for him to cross the space between you. His hands clasp the sides of your face and then his lips are on yours, kissing you with such fervor you’re surprised that you don’t see stars. At first, you don’t even react, too stunned to believe this is happening. And then your arms are looping around his neck and you’re deepening the kiss, tasting the coffee on his lips as your tongue slips between them.
After a minute, he pulls away and you’re both breathless. He presses his forehead to yours and gasps. You look up at him from beneath your lashes and his eyes are wild and searching.
“We’re doing this, then?” you say between breaths.
Hotch nods and brushes his nose against yours. “I don’t think it’ll be easy.”
You twist your fingers into his hair, your lips brushing his as you speak. “Nothing about our lives is easy.”
He kisses you once, quick and brief. “So, we’re doing this?”
“We’re doing this.”
•
*Two years later
“Penelope is really excited about it,” you say as you pull your knees to your chest. The sun is shining brightly, but the crisp fall air is still chilly enough to warrant a scarf and light jacket.
“She wants it to be bright and colorful, with peonies and baby’s breath everywhere. There’s a board in her office with enough strings and photos connected you’d think it was a case.” You laugh to yourself and smooth a hand across the gingham pattern picnic blanket beneath you.
“There will be a chair for you,” you say wistfully. “It’ll be next to ones for Haley, Erin, and Maeve.”
You reach out and brush your fingers along the perfectly etched letters of his name. “I hope you’ll be there.”
The sun glints off of the circular cut engagement ring on your left hand, casting a dazzling rainbow across his tombstone.
“I think about the promise I made you,” you say as you adjust the bouquet of sunflowers and roses you’d propped against his grave and smile to yourself knowing he’d probably make fun of you for the way you diligently make sure there’s always some fresh arrangement to decorate the space. “I was scared when I first started to feel things for him, scared of what that meant. It took me a long time, and an oddly sentimental conversation with Reid to start chasing the feeling.” You laugh to yourself then. “I felt the butterflies though, and though it took a while, I did finally chase them.”
A small gasp escapes your lips then as a Monarch Butterfly lands on top of the stone. You don’t know a ton about their migration patterns, but you know it’s late enough in the Fall that they should all be gone. JJ had said something to you once long ago about how butterflies can be signs of your loved ones from beyond the grave, their way of visiting when they can.
There’s the pitter patter of small feet whooshing through the grass as Jack’s laughter echoes throughout the field as he races toward you.
“Daddy and I finished visiting Mommy,” he says as he throws his small arms around you. Haley had been buried at Quantico National Cemetery too given Aaron’s position within the Bureau. You wrap your arms around Jack’s and look up to see that Hotch is smiling down at the two of you. He asks you if you’re done with your visit, referring to him as uncle. You palm Jack’s small cheek in your hand as your lips curve into a small half smile and tears fill your eyes.
“Just about,” you say.
Aaron stretches a hand toward you and you take it, letting him pull you to your feet.
You glance down at his grave once more and watch the butterfly sit atop the stone gently stretching its wings. It lifts off after a few more beats, fluttering around before landing on your sweater, its small leggings hooking onto the threads of your sleeve.
You gasp in disbelief as you watch it climb a couple of inches before it takes off toward the clouds.
A tear slips down your cheeks as a bubble of laughter erupts from you, though there’s something of a sob there too. Aaron curves an arm around you and pulls you against the planes of his body that you’re now all too familiar with. He says nothing and kisses your temple as you watch the butterfly disappear into the sky and you can’t help but entertain the thought that maybe there is a heaven and that maybe, just maybe, he was checking in to let you know everything is okay.
You wrap an arm around Aaron’s torso and hug him tightly. Jack scoops up the blanket and bunches it into his arms.
“Well Soon-to-be Mrs. Hotchner,” Aaron says, rubbing your arm. “Are you ready?”
You take one last look at his grave and the flowers you’ve left there for him.
“I’m ready,” you answer with finality. And when you say those words, you mean them. You’re not just ready to leave for the afternoon, you’re ready for this next chapter of your life to truly and fully begin. It doesn’t mean you’re leaving this part of your life behind, the grief will always be a part of you and you know you’ll miss him and feel his loss until the day you die. And you know that Aaron feels the same about Haley. They’re integral parts of both of your stories, and through the healing you found one another. It’s that that carries you through to each new day, to each tomorrow. You’ll spend the rest of your lives honoring their legacies through the work you do and through the love you share with one another and all of your loved ones.
And that’s an encouraging thought.
#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner#aaron hotch fanfiction#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fic#aaron hotch fic#aaron hotchner criminal minds#aaron hotchner headcanons#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotch x you#aaron hotchner angst#aaron hotchner x fem!reader#aaron hotchner hurt/comfort#aaron hotchner x y/n#angst#hurt/comfort#hurt/comfort with a happy ending#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotchner fic#amor de mi vida#aaron hotchner comfort#trauma#aaron hotchner drabble#aaron hotchner x reader#jack hotchner#bau reader#bau!reader#bau criminal minds#the bau team
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I love the father and son relationship that Hotch and Reid have.
#criminal minds#spencer reid#bau#agent reid#comfort#dr. spencer reid#comfort character#cm#comfort show#comfort characters#aaron hotchner#agent hotchner#hotch#father and son
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