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winterscaptain · 4 years

Text

absence.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: the next installment is here! this is the second-to-last piece in the berry hill section of a joyful future. as it has been lately, this one requires little ajf context, but i would recommend reading berry hill and waldosia, if you haven’t already. (thanks to aimz @ssaic-jareau, kira @good-heavens-chris-evans, and sabina @writefasttalkevenfaster) edit: this has been heavily revised as of april 29th, 2021. the changes and additions address continuity errors and ongoing subplots.

words: 7k (prev. 3.8k) warnings: language, vomit mention, really accurate satellite phone protocol (eat your heart out, cm writers), beard!hotch, jack hotchner content, one last slow burn

summary: “absence is to love what wind is to fire; it extinguishes the small, it inflames the great” - roger de bussy-rabutin. au!march-september 2011

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next? updated: april 29th, 2021

There’s a moment where he stops at your desk on the way out of the bullpen, but you just stare at him. He opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it. After a moment, he finally says, “Jack is with Jessica tonight.”

You have no idea what your face looks like, but it’s enough to drop his shoulders and send him on his way, defeated.

+++

You let yourself into his apartment, slamming the door behind you. He’s been waiting for you, leaning against the windowsill across from the door.

“How dare you.”

He sighs and presses a hand to his forehead. “You have to understand that I -”

“Bullshit, Aaron. I don’t have to understand a goddamn thing. What are you thinking? We need you.”

His head tips up, and he looks through you. The haunted look in his eyes almost makes you falter - it so acutely reminds you of the days following Haley’s death - but you keep your resolve. He doesn��t say anything, just lets you yell at him until it's out of your system. You could never actually hate him and he knows that, which makes some of it easier, but not all of it.

The tears start and pick up speed as you continue, nearly at a shout. “You've known for seven months that you were going to leave for Pakistan. I read the brief. Seven. Fucking. Months, Aaron. Since September, you’ve known and you didn’t tell us about the task force assignment in fucking Pakistan!”

You pause, but the final nail in his proverbial coffin leaves your mouth without permission. “Emily died, and you’re still leaving?” He flinches. “You’re leaving me and Jack. You’re leaving our team. I never thought you could do something like that to us. Maybe them, but not me. Never to me. I mean, after everything we’ve -” You cut yourself off and raise the back of your hand to your mouth, unable to finish the unbearably painful thought.

He’s not sure which part is the most painful - the fact that you list yourself with Jack instead of with the BAU, the fact that you say ‘our team,’ or the tone that drips with hurt. The sob that rips through your chest breaks his heart. He leans heavily against the arm of his couch, knocked down by the weight of your tears.

No. The hardest part is knowing he deserves it, that you aren’t saying anything that isn't unfair or untrue.

“I can’t even look at you right now.”

He can only watch you as you walk back out, leaving the door open behind you.

About twenty minutes later, he receives a text.

9:34pm I’ll be there tomorrow at 12:30 to take you to base. Be ready when I get there.

He crawls into bed about half an hour later, and receives another text.

10:05pm Goodnight.

Fuck.

+++

The ride to base ride is mostly silent, and you know something’s wrong. It’s nothing you can articulate or even really put your finger on, but it’s something bigger than just his imminent absence.

He’s boarding a C-130 supply transport with a few Marines and various agency task force members to an outpost in Pakistan. It will no doubt be a long and deeply uncomfortable flight. His go bag, packed with desert fatigues and a couple of creature comforts, looks smaller than usual at his feet.

“How long?”

He sighs and shakes his head. “Task force operations are need-to-know.” There’s so much he can’t tell you, and it eats at him. Because it’s you, and he’s been an ass, he concedes a little. “Probably a couple of months.”

“We’ll be okay, Aaron.”

A little laugh leaves him, and it pulls a smile from you.

“What?”

“Remember when you chased me down last night to tell me the team couldn’t do this without me?”

You roll your eyes. “It’s still true, but we’ll manage. We always do.” There’s a moment of silence, and you continue. “And you’re going where you’re needed. That helps.”

It’s true. Your anger had cooled (just a little) overnight, and you decided you didn’t want to be upset with him when he leaves.

You already miss him.

“Don’t think I’m not still mad at you.”

He looks out the window, and you can hear the wheels turning in his head. Jack is on his mind, and so are you. There’s nothing more nauseating than the thought of leaving you while you’re still hurting from Emily’s loss. “I know.”

Why are you going through with this, Hotchner?

Oh, right. You’re a coward.

“I just don’t want our last conversation before you leave to be a fight.” You sniff, but don’t look at him as you continue driving down the highway.

I am perhaps the most undeserving man on the planet.

He says, “Thank you. I don’t want that either,” but he hopes you can hear what else he can’t say.

I love you. I’m sorry.

+++

“Alright, you’ve got everything you need?” You stand next to him on the tarmac, shading your eyes from the sun.

Aaron hikes his bag higher on his shoulder. “Think so. You gonna be alright?”

You nod and reach for him. He embraces you, tucking his head into your shoulder. “You be safe, Aaron Hotchner. If you die out there I’ll kill you myself.”

He chuckles, and you hope the sound is enough to keep your heart from breaking too much over the next couple of months. Your eyes close as he presses a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll check in when I can.”

Shoving against his chest, you turn him around and push him toward the plane. “Get outta here.”

He takes one last look over his shoulder when he reaches the loading ramp and offers you a wave. You return it.

+++

You manage to get to the highway before the tears start. The only person you want to talk to is Emily. She’d know exactly what to say, and she’d make sure your days off were full of fun and good company. You pull off on the side of the road, your head falling into your hands, sobs wracking through you.

When you’re able to keep driving, your chest hurts beyond belief.

Without her, these months seem to stretch before you forever.

+++ april 2011 +++

It’s not the first time you’ve ended up in his office alone, but it’s the first time you’ve really noticed the evidence of his absence.

The picture frames on his desk started gathering dust, so you brought a little duster to the office. His desktop computer has stopped making noise, so you turned it on and off once out of pity. His phone hardly rings, unless it's the NSA trying to get a hold of one of you for a sat phone call, so you and Morgan take turns taking forwarded calls.

The silence is overwhelming and seems to pull something intangible from you. It’s exhausting.

“When’s the last time you slept?”

You turn, finding Penelope in the doorway. You’re not sure how long she’s been there, watching your acquiescence to the bees that seem to have invaded your brain in the last couple of weeks.

“I slept last night,” you tell her. It’s not technically a lie.

She doesn’t look impressed. “Did you sleep through the night, or are you just trying to play one of your Jedi mind tricks on me?”

With a sigh, you cop to it. “No, I didn’t sleep through the night.” You look out the window to the bullpen, and you know she sees something on your face.

“I don’t like it either.” She looks over her shoulder, finding Spencer and Ashley playing a game of Go on the desk. Unsurprisingly, Spencer’s winning. Rossi and Derek speak quietly by the little kitchen, looking just about as tired as you feel.

The short-handedness is getting to you. “There’s just…” You search for something to say. “There’s just so much to do.”

Penelope looks back. Her mouth twists. “And we’re down a couple’a hands.”

That’s an understatement.

+++

“I would understand if you needed some time to think about it.” Erin leans forward in her chair, elbows on her desk. “With your team cut in half, even I wouldn’t feel comfortable sending you to another unit without some time to train a replacement or two.”

“Or three,” you add.

She looks at you and nods. “Exactly.”

You pick up the letter from the Special Agent in Charge in Los Angeles. You’d be his right hand - essentially the liaison between operational support divisions and units operating in the field. It’s a hell of an opportunity, a huge promotion, and a significant bump in pay.

“Can I take you up on the offer to think about it?” You slide the letter across the desk again.

Her eyes are soft, and you almost feel close to her in that moment. “Of course. Take your time. It’s a position created just for you, so there’s nobody else in line for it.”

“Thanks.”

+++ may 2011 +++

“Ready or not, here I come!” You call across the apartment, sneaking through the familiar rooms with practiced ease.

Aaron’s been away for close to a month, and you’ve settled into a routine. Cases, of course, keep you busy. Derek’s rather good at playing unit chief - decisive and collaborative - but you miss Aaron’s steady, even hand.

Really, you miss everything about him. You try not to think about him too much.

You fail, often.

Avoiding thoughts of Aaron gets even harder as you creep into the master bedroom. The smell of him hasn’t left. Past the doorway, the air is spicy, masculine, and warm. You squint at the bed. One of the pillows moves, just a little, and you pounce, pulling the covers back and grabbing the wiggling pillow.

Jack screeches and throws himself at you. You catch him and fall back on the bed, laughing. “I found you!”

Jess is off running errands for the afternoon, taking some well-earned time off. You’ll more than likely spend the night over here tonight to give her more of her weekend. It’s never any trouble to stay with Jack. You adore each other.

Usually, Jack leaps right to his feet for another round, but he stays put after his fit of mirth passes, sprawling across your chest.

“What are you thinking about over there?”

He sighs, and brings his little hands under his chin, propping his head up so he can look at you. He’s six (and then some), now - still very much a boy - but the pensive look on his face starkly reminds you of his father. “When’s Dad going to be home?”

You push some hair off his forehead. “I’m not sure, my love. I’m hoping it’s only a couple more weeks, but it could be a little longer than that.”

He sighs, and it breaks your heart a little. You turn on your side, and he curls into you, resting his head on your arm and tucking under your chin. “Are you and my dad best friends? I have a best friend named Connor and he says best friends are really important and I was just wondering.”

You laugh a little. “Yeah, I think so. Your dad and I have known each other for a long time.” His little hands play with the collar of your shirt. There’s more to his question. Jack’s just like his dad and takes a bit of ferreting out. Luckily, you’ve had plenty of practice. “What are you curious about, little bug?”

“Do you miss Dad?”

A track of Aaron’s laugh, his smile, the way his arms feel around you flies through your head. “Yeah, I miss him a lot.”

“I’m happy you’re here so we can miss him together.” You can almost hear Aaron’s voice in Jack’s. It sounds just like something he would say, and probably has said, talking to his son about Haley.

“Me too, buddy.” You kiss the top of his head. “Me too.”

Jess returns about an hour later, groceries in-hand, to find you and Jack curled together in Aaron’s bed, snoozing the afternoon away. She snaps a picture with her phone, saving it in an album she keeps for Aaron. After she puts the groceries away, she escapes, leaving a note.

You’re on your own tonight and tomorrow. Have a good time with breakfast - he’s been picky lately.

XO, Jess

+++

“You know,” Jess says, a little out of the blue one afternoon. “Haley told me something once.”

You snort. “I’d imagine she told you a great number of things.”

“Well, sure. But I mean about you and Aaron.”

It’s pretty stupid that your body decides to panic over absolutely nothing. If this was a polygraph, you’d fail outright. And yet, nothing’s happened between you and Aaron. You’re just friends.

Yeah but you love him.

And he probably loves you, too.

But we're all to chickenshit for that.

What a-fucking-bout it?

You take a little breath and a sip of your tea. “Oh?” You hope the query sounds casual enough and doesn’t give away the cool sweat blossoming over your palms.

Luckily, Jess isn’t a profiler.

“Haley told me - and this was the summer before she died, so it’s not like she told me under duress or anything - that she thought there may have been something between you and Aaron after the divorce.”

She says that like it’s the simplest thing. You’re not sure what to say, so you keep your eyes on the grain of the coffee table, tracing the lines with your eyes. Eventually, you decide to answer in the simplest, most honest way possible.

“There’s never been anything between Aaron and me. He’s one of my best friends and I care about him.” That sounds evasive even to your own ears. “I care about him a lot.”

Jess hums. “I know, but Haley always had a sense about these things. And she knows Aaron better than anyone.”

Her slip into the present tense makes your chest pull.

“I don’t say that to put you on the spot or anything.” She shrugs. “I just think you guys would be good together. You’re good for him and I think he’s good for you, too.”

She’s more right than she knows, but you can’t think about it for too long. You miss him too much.

Out of a need to respond, you offer a half-hearted, “Maybe.”

Jess reaches out. “He’ll be home soon. When he gets back, I think you should at least think about it. Or talk about it.” She shakes her head. “Or something.”

“I have -” You cut yourself off, not really meaning to share.

She squeezes your knee. “I know you have. So has he.”

+++ june 2011 +++

Back to back cases - five of them, to be exact, pull you through the next four weeks by the ear. Formal leadership wears on Derek more and more by the day, and you find yourself making just as many decisions as he does. You’re immensely proud of him, but the whole thing is exhausting. Spencer does his best to slip back into his normal role, but Emily’s loss continues to wear on him. You don’t blame him.

Most days feel held together by duct tape, with you and Rossi acting as the adhesive. All that and the offer in Los Angeles you’ve hardly had time to process.

Thus, your evening with Jess is both well-earned and much needed.

“Wanna crash here tonight?” She sets a mug of tea down on the coffee table in front of you and sits heavily back on the couch. “It’s pretty late.”

You check your watch and find it is indeed late. Before you can answer, your phone rings, and you answer it with an apologetic glance toward Jess. “Hey, Morgan. What’s up?”

“We have sat call notification from Hotch. Can you come in?” He sounds exhausted.

“Yeah, I can be there in twenty. Is everything okay?”

He sighs. “Yeah, looks like a routine check-in.”

Jess sighs, knowing the drill. She goes to the kitchen and pours your tea into a travel mug.

“Are you calling anyone else in?”

“Nope. Just you. See you when you get here.” He hangs up.

You stare at your phone as Jess sits next to you again. “We have a call from Aaron coming in, and I have to head to the office.” She hands you your travel mug, and you take it gratefully.

“You’re welcome back here - I can set up Aaron’s room for you. We’re a lot closer to the office than your place, and I don’t want you to drive if you’re too tired.” She sets a hand on your knee, and you reach over to embrace her.

“Thanks, Jess.”

+++

When you arrive, Derek’s already on the phone. “... So, no leads?... Right.” He looks up and catches your eye. “Here, Hotch.”

You take the phone. “Hey.”

“Hi.” He sounds relieved. “Are you doing okay? How’s Jack?”

His questions make you smile. “We’re good. He’s good. I just left the apartment - Jess and I were having some grown-up movie time.”

You’re warmed by his laugh. “Good. Glad to hear it. I was just telling Derek that the leads out here have gone cold, but we’re still working.”

“Ah. Any chance you’ll be home soon?” You avoid Derek’s searching gaze.

“It doesn’t look that way, no. We’re picking up on some chatter out there, but nothing firm. We’ll have to keep out for a couple more weeks at least.”

Your heart drops, but you hide it as best you can. “Alright. Anything you need from us back here?”

“Just keep doing good work.” You know he can’t say much more than that, with more than a couple of NSA guys in between you on the line, not to mention the archival recording of the call. Even then, you know he means looking for Doyle. “That’s all I need from you.”

“We can do that.” You give him a quick rundown of some recent cases, all surface-level. You’re mostly stalling, using up incredibly expensive satellite time just to hear his voice.

You hear him sigh. “Alright, I gotta get back. Tell Jack and Jess I love them.”

“Of course.” You hand the phone back to Derek and wait while they finish up. Your eyes wander over the volumes of law books in Aaron’s bookshelf, the pictures of Jack and Haley and Jess behind his desk. Wandering over to his chair, you sit down and rest your head on your arms.

Your eyes wander to a photo taken a year and a half ago at Haley’s service. You’re not sure who took it, but you’re crouched on the ground talking to Jack, while Aaron stands behind him with a hand on his head. Jack's little hands are in yours, and he’s smiling a little.

Of all the photos to keep on his desk...

Derek hangs up the sat phone and puts it back in the lockbox. He crosses the office and leans against the desk beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

+++

When you get back to the apartment (indeed much closer than your home), Jess is asleep in the guest room, and Jack’s still out like a light.

You change into your pajamas, stuffed into your go bag, and curl up under the covers on Aaron's side of the bed. His pillow smells faintly like him, and you burrow into it.

The bed feels far too big and far too cold without him.

+++

“JJ!” You stand to greet her. “What are you doing here?”

She holds up her credentials. “I’ve been reinstated as a profiler on temporary assignment, so don’t get too excited. It’s a contingent favor for the FBI and I’m sure the State Department will call to collect sometime soon.”

You clear your consults and subpoenas off the desk beside you. “Good to have you back.” Looking over at the intimidating stack of files you ask, “Need anything to do?”

+++ july 2011 +++

The next time a sat call comes in, you can’t go into the office. Jack has the flu and is absolutely miserable. You can’t, in good conscience, leave Jess to her own devices. Between the vomit and the sleeplessness and the tears, four hands are absolutely necessary.

“Derek, I can’t leave. Jack is literally puking his guts out as we speak, and I don’t have any new intel for Hotch.”

Morgan huffs into the phone. “Come on. You know you’re the only one he actually wants to talk to and the only one who has any actual updates about Jack.”

“You just have to tell him that I’m up in the middle of the night with his son, who has the flu. Isn’t that enough of an update?” You don’t really mean to snap at him, but the lack of sleep has made you a little punchy.

“Fine. If he -”

“Yeah, I know. If he gets upset, just blame me. He can deal with me when he’s not in Pakistan. As long as there are five time zones between us, I’ll take my fucking chances.”

“Fair enough.”

He hangs up, and you return to the hall bathroom, where Jack’s cheek is pressed against the toilet seat, his forehead clammy and face pale. Jess is taking her turn to sleep - you’ll switch off in an hour.

“Hey, bubba.”

He mumbles something that sounds like, “Hi.”

“Can I get you some crackers or maybe some Sprite?”

Jack shakes his head and lifts himself up, holding his arms out. The risk of illness far from your mind, you gather him up and lean against the cabinets, rubbing his back.

“Can you try to close your eyes for me?”

“I don’t feel good.” There are a few tears in his voice, and it breaks your heart a little. You’ve so been there.

“I know, baby. I know. Just close your eyes for a minute, okay?”

He does, and his breathing evens out eventually. He’s still feverish, but you’re happy he’s sweating, at least. It could break by morning at this rate.

The makeshift towel-bed on the bathroom floor looks more than inviting. You gingerly shuffle over and lay down, keeping Jack flat against your chest.

It’s the best sleep you’ve had in weeks.

+++

“Strauss offered me that transfer to LA again.”

Derek looks up at you from his report, his brows drawn low over his eyes. “You gonna take it?”

You heave a sigh. Before you can say anything -

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” He puts his pen down, giving you his full attention. “What’s stopping you?”

So many things.

There are only a couple of them you can say aloud. Luckily, they have the benefit of being true, albeit incomplete. “I love this work. I love this team. I don't know if I want to be a lackey for an almost-politician.”

“And?”

He’s got you. He knows there’s more because he knows you. Even then, you can’t bring yourself to say exactly what it is that’s holding you back. So, you hedge your answer, knowing he’ll understand.

“I can’t -” leave Aaron and Jack. You clear your throat. “I can’t leave this team. Maybe that makes me a coward or suggests a lack of adventure or something, but I can’t do it.”

“It doesn’t,” Derek says. “It makes you human.”

You smile a little.

“And for the record, I don’t want you to leave. And I don’t think Jack and Hotch do, either.”

A little incredulous laugh leaves you. Derek simply smiles, but doesn’t say much else. It makes your point for you.

Nobody else knows you like this team.

+++

The hardest days are the ones where you end up by yourself. Derek’s picked up kickboxing with Penelope, Spencer has withdrawn almost entirely, JJ has her family, and Rossi retreats to the cabin by the lake with an alarming degree of regularity.

Thank God he’s not as cranky as Gideon.

That would be too spooky.

Everyone is out of the office, scattered to their respective distractions. You sit on the floor of Aaron’s office, leaning against his desk. Your laptop sits open in front of you, but you’re only half paying attention to the movie playing.

It was only this afternoon you realized his office smelled more like stale paper, your house, and Tiger Balm than Aaron, and it broke your heart a little. Your only solace was his apartment - the evidence of his existence was inescapable there. With Emily gone for good, you often needed the reminder.

His office phone rings. You pause the movie, stand, and answer it.

“Agent Hotchner’s office.”

NSA is on the other side, dry and professional. “We have an incoming call from Agent Hotchner. Is Agent Morgan available?”

You tell him he’s not, but that you’re the next in line to receive task force updates. In an equally dry and professional tone, you relay your credentials and your unique intel code.

“Thank you. Please stand by.” Click.

You roll your eyes.

God, they’re boring.

Sitting down at Aaron’s desk, you wait for the armed guard to arrive with the phone. As per protocol, you’ll sign for the call and remove it from the lockbox yourself. You’ll return it for pickup when the call is completed.

The guard shows up and you step through the motions, finally getting the phone to your ear.

“Hey.”

“Oh, it’s you.” He sounds surprised, but not displeased.

You laugh a little. “Yeah, it’s me. Morgan’s unavailable at the moment.”

“I see. Is Jack feeling any better?”

“Yeah. He’s been alright for about a week now. It was a pretty nasty bug, but he’s a trooper. Any new chatter down your way?” You trace the wood grain of his desk with your finger, only a little absent-minded.

“There’s a little bit of activity on the border. We’re monitoring the situation. Is everything going okay over there?”

“Yeah, for the most part. We’ve been feeling the heat a little since Seaver transferred to Andy’s unit, but we’re managing alright. Dave’s called JJ back in to lend a hand, and she’s doing really well.”

He hums. “That was a smart idea.”

“I’ll tell him you said so.”

“Oh, please don’t. It’ll go straight to his head.”

You smile. “Fair point. Any updates on the timetable?”

When are you coming home? Please make it soon.

“Not at the moment. I think we’re getting closer. Few more weeks.” There’s something behind his voice you can’t quite grasp, but you let it go.

“Alright. Keep us posted.”

“Will do. You know the drill.”

“I sure do. I’ll relay the information to the team, tell your son you love him, and talk to you in a couple of weeks.”

You can almost hear his smile. “Exactly. Talk soon.”

“Be safe, Aaron.”

“Hey, before you go,” he says. “Can you, um -”

You smile, tracing the wood grain on his desk. “I’ll tell Haley you said Happy Birthday.”

“Thanks.”

+++

Jess’s hand only shakes a little as she lights the candle and holds the cupcake between the three of you. While she takes care of the cake and begins to sing with Jack, you hold the camera, filming the impromptu party so Aaron can see it when he comes home.

“Okay, Jack you have to help Mom blow out the candle,” Jess says, holding the cupcake in front of him. With a great amount of glee, Jack extinguishes the candle with a big breath and a laugh.

You turn the camera on Jess, who says, “We couldn't let Haley’s forty-first go unrecognized - she’s officially old and we had to let her know.”

With a laugh of your own, you turn the camera around and wave before turning it off.

“Can I eat the cake now?” Jack asks.

Jess nods, pulling the candle and setting it aside on your picnic blanket. “Of course, but after we eat some fruit, okay? I don’t want the ants to get to the basket before you do.”

The July sunshine beats down on the three of you, picnicking beside Haley’s resting place. It is, in fact, her forty-first birthday. You can only imagine the look on her face she would have adopt when you reminded her of her age.

“Oh please,” she’d say. “When you get to be as old as me, you’ll never hear the end of it.”

Jack sits in the sun, munching on a little apple slice. You reach over, rubbing a little splotch of sunscreen into his skin. He already has a little sunburn from your adventure to the District earlier in the week and you’re not about to make your life even harder.

Aaron’s absence, even in its fourth month, is glaring. Jack has mostly stopped waking in the middle of the night looking for him and having regular meltdowns, but he always looks up when the front door opens with an expectant look that breaks your heart. He’s an adaptable kid, but months without contact from his father have taken their toll. If you’re honest, it surprised you a little bit.

With a little bit of perspective, months are different than days, or even a week or two. Jack relies on Aaron more than you realized and the difficulty of helping Jess where you can has only further illuminated your ignorance.

“Will Mom always have a birthday?” Jack asks.

Jess looks over at him. “What do you mean?”

He thinks for a moment, a little pensive. “I mean, because she’s not here. Do people who aren’t here still have birthdays?”

“They do,” she replies. “That’s why we have to celebrate for them. They aren’t here, but it’s still special.”

He nods, a kind of understanding look on his face that makes you think he knows exactly what that means.

+++

“Yeah?”

You smile. It’s been a minute since you heard his voice, over the phone or otherwise. “Hey, Dr. Reid. How’s Vegas?”

“Hot. But it’s nice to be home.”

“How’s your mom?” You trace aimless patterns over the mat on Aaron’s desk, watching the suede imprint and erase as you go.

He sighs. “She’s alright. I think she’s about ready to kick me out, though.”

“It’s only been three weeks,” you laugh. “Surely you can make yourself useful?”

“I sent in her most recent publication to the journal, so I’ve outgrown my use until I find her a new thesis.”

You can almost see it - the two geniuses, mother and son, bickering over a game of chess or fourteenth-century novel. “Better find her a new thesis, then.”

Spencer’s thin smile is audible through the phone. “Guess so. How are things over there?”

“It’s a little hectic. It’s just me, JJ, Morgan, and Rossi now. Penelope’s still working with us regularly, but counter-terrorism keeps pulling her for ‘special projects,’ whatever that means.”

You don’t mean to guilt him into coming back or anything - you know he needs the time to recharge. He’ll come back when he wants to or feels he needs to but at this point, there’s hardly a difference between four and five agents on the team. You need Aaron. And Emily.

“With the amount of summer task forces coalescing, that doesn’t surprise me.” He pauses. “I’ll probably spend a few more weeks here unless there are any developments between now and then.”

By developments, you know it means any confirmed sighting of your target. “That sounds like a plan. We’ll be glad to have you back but take your time. You’ve more than earned it.”

“Thanks.”

+++ august 2011 +++

“How’s Jack?”

“He’s doing alright,” you tell him. “He misses you.”

I miss you.

Aaron sighs. There isn’t time for everything he wants to say, even less for the things he could. “I’m probably going to miss his first day.”

“That’s what I figured.” It's hard to think about and probably going to be harder than you can imagine, especially if there’s a case that takes you away from home. “Jess will take lots of pictures and I’m sure he’ll be happy to tell you all about it when you get home.”

It’s hard to keep the bitterness from your voice, but neither one of you could have anticipated this would go on for this long. ‘Over the summer’ seems a little abstract until the end of the summer arrives.

This isn’t his fault. It isn’t. You know that.

But it’s his fault for going in the first place.

Conceptual anger isn’t useful. That’s another thing of which you’re keenly aware.

And yet…

“Thank you for being there for them,” he says, as if he’s reading your mind. “I know this isn’t easy.”

There’s nothing you can really say, but you hum anyway.

The pair of you are just eating satellite time now, so you say goodbye and good luck before tipping your head back against his office chair.

When the tears slip down your cheeks, you’re not sure if you miss him more than you’re mad at him or the other way around.

+++

“Chief Strauss?” You knock lightly on her door and she beckons you in, just finishing up a phone call. She gestures to the little sitting area in the corner of her office, and you make yourself comfortable on one of the couches.

She hangs up and joins you. “Have you thought more about the offer?”

“I have. Thank you for your patience. I know it’s been a little while since we first spoke about it.”

Erin waves her hands, brushing off the implied apology. “The BAU’s work in the last few weeks has been exemplary. I’m impressed, especially considering the significant funding and personnel obstacles you’re facing at the moment.”

You laugh a little. “I hope that doesn’t make anyone think working with this many people is acceptable, ma’am.”

“No,” she assures you. “I’ve made that very clear.”

There’s a small moment of silence before you speak again.

“I won’t be accepting the position in Los Angeles.”

Strauss sighs but doesn’t look surprised. “That’s as I expected. I will, however, add something that I did not share with you before to further inform your choice.”

You sit up a little straighter, a little more attentive.

“The push for a transfer is also in an effort to protect your reputation. I know the BAU has continued investigating Ian Doyle and while that is noble, it could go very wrong. And that much is above my head. DHS, ATF, NSA - they could all be upset by your unofficial involvement. This could go as high as Congress and could result in your permanent termination from the bureau, making you ineligible for work in federal law enforcement.”

“Yes, ma’am. High risk, high reward.” You shrug. “Or at least, that’s what Dr. Reid tells me.”

A wan smile pulls at her mouth. “Yes. As long as you’re comfortable with the consequences.”

“I am, ma’am.”

“Good.”

+++ september 2011 +++

“Alright, buddy! You ready to go?”

Jack adjusts the straps on his little backpack while Jess finishes putting his lunch together. “I’m ready. Just need lunch.”

“It’s right here!” Jess says, bringing his Captain America lunchbox to him and strapping it to the outside of his backpack. “You’ve got a ham and cheese sandwich, a juice box, some carrots, and a brownie. Does that sound okay?”

He nods.

“And if it’s not enough, we can always get some more food after school okay? It can be a special treat.”

Jack grins and you all head off to the car together.

+++

The little meltdown arrives when you and Jess move to leave him at the door of his classroom. Jack’s brown eyes get wide and rapidly fill with tears as soon as you take a step away from him.

“Jack, baby, c’mere.” You drop to your knee and open your arms. He steps into them and you can feel his shaky, hiccuping breaths against your shoulder.

While you hold him, you hear Jess debriefing his new teacher about their current situation, and the way things are in general. Dad in Pakistan, dead mom, goes by Jack rather than Jonathan, the whole nine.

“You are so brave,” you whisper into his hair. “You are so smart. You are a good friend and you are safe.”

He nods.

“I’m so sorry your dad can’t be here, honey, but he’s going to be so excited to hear all about it as soon as he gets home. And I'll tell him how brave you are on our next secret superhero phone call.”

‘Secret superhero phone call’ was the best way you could describe using the sat phone (and why Jack couldn't talk to Aaron himself) so you just went with it.

Jack nods again, sniffling a little and pulling back. You reach for him, wiping his tears with your thumbs.

“I love you so much, bud.”

“I love you, too.”

You kiss his forehead, reminding him, “I might have to get on a plane for work, but otherwise I’ll see you after you’re done with your first-ever day of school, okay? This is so exciting!”

He finally smiles, and your work is done. When he steps into the classroom, he doesn’t look back.

+++

Thankfully, you’re not pulled for another case until the end of the week, so you’re able to see Jack through his first-ever week of school.

It hits you more than once that you’re the person next to Jess right now while he hits these milestones. Long gone is that toddler that would giggle in his mother’s arms as she danced around the living room to Hall and Oates. In his place is an insightful little boy with a rapidly burgeoning sense of humor and a wickedly kind smile.

You love him.

+++

The entire team got an emergency call, so you're all gathered in the roundtable room when Aaron walks in, looking all the worse for wear and -

Is that a beard?

Wait. He’s back.

You just spoke to him on Monday, with news of a “few more weeks,” even in the face of developments on the Doyle case.

Fucking bastard knew he was coming home, didn’t he?

All of your joy in seeing him evaporates, and you narrow your eyes at him. Just like the last time you were in this room together, there’s an apology in his gaze.

“Welcome back.” Derek doesn’t sound surprised, and your head whips toward him. He doesn’t look at you.

Unbelievable.

“Thanks. Everyone, have a seat.” You follow Aaron’s instructions, and sit, crossing your arms. It’s childish, sure, but the balance of personal and professional life has flown out the window.

This feels like a personal slight, rather than a professional one. You try to push it away, but it lingers in your sternum like a lit flare. It’s uncomfortable, and you hate it.

“Why?” Derek sounds a little concerned. Your anger cools a little bit. Derek doesn't actually know anything. “What’s going on? Is everything alright?”

“Seven months ago I made a decision that affected this team.” You notice, brow furrowed, that JJ stands beside Hotch like an ally. They both have odd looks on their faces. “As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle.”

No.

“The doctors were able to stabilize her. She was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration.”

No.

“Her identity was strictly need-to-know. She stayed there until she was well enough to travel. She was reassigned to Paris, where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to for her security.”

No.

There’s silence, and you can’t tear your eyes from Aaron.

“She’s alive?”

“We buried her...”

Penelope and Spencer’s comments rush past you and you feel much like you did in the waiting room on that horrible, horrible night seven months ago.

“As I said, I take full responsibility for the decision. If anyone has any issues, they should be directed toward me.”

His eyes finally meet yours, and you find your vision blurred. You blink away your tears.

It was a necessary lie.

You go into this business expecting to be lied to.

Not by Aaron.

That’s not the issue and you know it. He left.

He missed Jack’s first day of school. He was gone for five months.

He left us.

“Any issues?” Derek’s disbelief is marred by hurt, but you can’t reassure him through your own shock. “Yeah, I got issues.”

He’s cut off by Penelope’s glance toward the doorway.

The team, save for JJ and Hotch, rushes toward her. You’re stuck to your seat until she approaches you. At her touch, you come back to life, throwing yourself into her arms. Her name sounds strangled leaving your mouth. “Emily.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.” Her grip on you is tight, but your arms, looped around her shoulders, don’t feel like they’re attached to your body.

She lets you go and continues to speak. Derek’s frozen, and you can’t imagine for a minute what’s going on in his head. Emily wraps around him. He’s stock still, his eyes misty. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when he brings his hand to her shoulder, his cheek falling onto the side of her head.

It’s back to business faster than you can blink, and now you’re sure you’re not the only one ready to kill Aaron where he stands. Derek is livid.

They stare at each other while Spencer starts asking questions. Eventually, they focus back. Aaron crosses to you, contributing where necessary.

You don’t acknowledge him. It’s horrible. You hate being so angry with him, but there’s nothing to be done.

You can’t be upset at him about Emily. There’s too much to understand, and yet the initial shock of it is like a never-ending bucket of cold water poured over your body.

Selfishly, you realize you’re upset with him because he didn’t tell you he was coming home. It’s so small when there are other, much bigger, issues to address.

Emily’s lie is professional. Just part of the job. This one feels personal.

You’re a child. Let it go.

He knew and he left.

He missed Haley's birthday.

He knew and he left.

He shouldn't have gone.

He didn’t tell you he was coming home.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #hotch #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #tali writes fanfiction #tali talks cm #a joyful future fanfic

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sometimesiwritebadly · 4 years

Text

Paintbrush (Spencer Reid x Artist!Reader)

Summary: You’re an artist in DC, and a serial killer has started using your artwork as inspiration for his murders.

Warnings: Mentions murder (duh) but doesn’t go into detail

Notes: This is way longer than I planned lol. I based the chaotic-artist vibe that the reader has going on the tiktoker @/artistkatiesmall so y’all can watch her tik toks if you like chaotic energy and paint as much as i do. Oh also I tried to keep this gender-neutral but if there are any pronouns in here that shouldn’t be let me know and I’ll fix it!! I use she/her so sometimes it just comes naturally and i don’t notice.

Word Count: 2.3k

Masterlist

You were in your studio, listening to music as loud as physically possible. Your art studio is like a safe haven; the only place you feel completely yourself. Right now you’re working on your latest piece. Your art style is very “splattered paint that ends up looking like something”, which your mother had told you on multiple occasions. She had meant it as an insult, but you ended up taking the term and making it your own. She’s not wrong; you typically start your pieces by throwing some paint on a canvas and letting it take you somewhere. So here you are, slapping paint on a canvas and screaming the lyrics to your favorite song.

As the painting began to take form - you hadn’t decided what it would be yet, but you’re excited with what you have - you heard some pounding that didn’t match the beat of the song. Grabbing your phone, you turned down the music, and the pounding could be heard much more clearly now. “Y/N Y/L/N! FBI!” You quickly paused the music and rushed to the door. As you opened the door, your paintbrush (still covered in paint...oops) was tucked behind your ear. At your entrance was two men, one tall and skinny, and the other older with graying hair. “Y/N?” The younger of the two asked, his voice considerably softer than when he’d yelled through your door. You only nodded, and each of the men showed you their badges before the older of the two spoke.

“I’m SSA Rossi, and this is Dr. Reid, we’re with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. Can we come in? We need to ask you a few questions.”

“Uh, yeah, of course.” You opened the door wider now, allowing them both to step inside your small studio. “Um, sorry about the mess, I’m not exactly the most conventional artist.” You apologized. You would've offered them a seat, but you only had two chairs in the place, and they were both occupied by piles of your various art supplies. “What is this about?”

Dr. Reid held a file in his hands, which he passed over to you as he spoke. “Do you recognize any of these paintings?” You open the file to find 4 pictures of your own artwork; portraits of various different people. One short blonde woman, one ginger man with an impressive beard, and a hispanic woman with a pixie cut.

“Yeah, I painted these a while back...Why does the FBI care about some random commission artwork?”

“Someone commissioned you to do these?” Dr. Reid spoke quickly, causing you to look away from the pictures and back towards him. “Uh, yeah. He calls me every once in a while and asks for weirdly specific portraits.”

“What do you mean, weirdly specific? You don’t base your work off of pictures?” SSA Rossi asked you.

“No, he’s never given me pictures to work from. He just describes the person he wants me to paint. Like about two weeks ago,” You paused as you walked over to your cluttered desk, and grabbed your notepad, which was still open to the page you’d jotted down your notes on, “He asked for a portrait of a short, Asian man with bleach blonde hair, dark eyes, and one pierced ear.” You handed the notepad to Dr. Reid, who scanned it quickly.

“What’s his name?” He asked, before handing the notepad to his partner.

“Tanner. I don’t know his last name, he always pays with cash. What’d he do?”

The two men looked at each other briefly, before Dr. Reid spoke again, “We believe Tanner has been killing the people that you paint. He left the paintings at the crime scene.”

Your heart dropped. Not only had you been in constant contact with this psychopath, but you felt like you’d inadvertently helped him. You took his money, and he killed the people who looked like your paintings.

“I know this is shocking, but have you painted anyone else for him?”

“Uh, no, this was the most rece-” You cut yourself off, remembering something from the last time you’d spoken with Tanner. “He bought a painting of me.”

“When?” Dr. Reid asked.

“When, uh, when he picked up the last painting. I had a self-portrait sitting over there that I'd done for fun. He asked if he could have it along with the other one, he paid me extra for it-”

“What day, Y/N?” Dr. Reid placed a hand on your shoulder, trying to comfort you. You felt like you might pass out.

“3 days ago.”

Again, the two agents looked at each other, and their faces didn’t make you feel any better.

“Y/N, why don’t you come with us to the police station, you’ll be safe there.” You could only nod in response letting them lead you out of the studio. Before you exited, Dr. Reid grabbed the paintbrush from behind your ear, placing it on a table before you made your way out to the car.

~~~

Sitting in the police station was like torture. First of all, you were wearing your normal painting outfit: a paint-stained t-shirt an ex had left at your place, jeans that were so ripped up you could barely call them jeans anymore, and of course, socks and sandals. The cops were either completely ignoring your presence, or asking you the same questions you’d already answered dozens of times. One top of all that, they wouldn’t let you do anything besides sit and wait. You had managed to find a paper pad and a pen, so at least your doodling could help pass the time.

You’d been at the station for over an hour already, which meant your doodle was nearly perfect; you ended up drawing one of the agents, Dr. Reid. From where you were sitting, he was in clear sight, and one of the only people who was actually sitting still enough for you to draw. And, y’know, he’s the only person you want to look at long enough for you to draw.

“Is that me?” His voice startled you; you’d been looking down at the paper and didn’t notice Dr. Reid coming towards you. You dropped the pen immediately, and moved the paper out of his sight.

“I’m sorry Doctor, I was just, y’know, bored and-” You tried to put together a sentence, but your embarrassment was getting the best of you.

“I don’t mind, I, um, think it’s kind of flattering. Can I see it?” Dr. Reid asked, and you reluctantly handed the paper over. You’d been an artist for so long, you were almost never nervous for people to see your work anymore; you have a very “if they like it, great! If they don’t, I don’t care,” kind of attitude when it comes to your artwork. But Dr. Reid was making you nervous. “You don’t have to call me Doctor by the way. Reid is fine. Or, uh, Spencer. You can call me Spencer.” He had a light blush on his face as he spoke, which calmed you a little bit. At least he’s just as nervous as you. Suddenly, as if he was snapped out of his train of thought, Spencer handed the paper back to you and cleared his throat before speaking. “We used the phone number you gave us to find Tanner, but he doesn’t have any listed addresses. Did you ever deliver paintings to him?” Behind him, another one of the agents who’d talked to you, Hotch, walked up.

“Um, no. I’d just call him whenever I finished a painting and he’d come to me.”

“Would you be willing to call him again?” Hotch asked. Your eyes widened at the idea. You’re already terrified at the notion that you may be a target for a serial killer, but calling him? Hotch must have noticed your fear, as he began to explain further, “We can track his location with a phone call, but we need some time to do it. If you’re the one speaking, he’ll probably stay on the line long enough for our technical analyst to find him.”

You took a deep breath, before nodding slowly. “Y-yeah. I can do that. Can you guys give me a minute first? I need some air.” You didn’t wait for an answer before walking out of the police station. Once you got outside, walked to the end of the building and leaned against the side wall. You closed your eyes, breathing deeply. You couldn’t shake the feeling of responsibility over those people’s deaths. Tanner had taken your artwork, your passion, and ruined it.

“Are you ok?” You looked up to find Spencer standing in front of you, hands in his pockets.

“Not really.” You played with your hands as you spoke, not making eye contact.

“You feel guilty, don’t you?” He asked, as he moved to lean against the wall next to you.

“Shouldn’t you be inside? Y’know, you’ve got a serial killer to catch.”

“You know there are a lot of signs that someone feels guilty. Avoiding eye contact, changing the subject, lack of an appetite...I noticed you didn’t eat the snacks JJ got for you.” He was right, Agent Jareau had gotten you some snacks that you left untouched back in the station. When you didn’t say anything, Spencer continued, “Usually when I see people acting like this, they have good reason to be guilty. You haven’t done anything wrong, Y/N.”

“I inspired him.” When you looked up at Spencer, he gave you a confused look. “When I saw him last, when he wanted to buy that painting of me, I asked him why. He said that my artwork inspires him. If...If I hadn’t painted those people, they could still be alive.”

“You don’t know that.”

“But there’s a possibility, isn’t there? You can’t say for sure that he would’ve killed them anyways, can you?”

Spencer was silent for a moment, confirming your fears. Eventually, he spoke up. “He may not have killed those exact people, He would’ve killed someone. He’s already killed before.” Your eyebrows shot up at this, so Spencer kept talking, “We think we can connect him to two murders from a few years ago. If he had never used your art as part of his signature, it would’ve taken us a lot longer to find him. He may have even gotten away with it all together.” Spencer’s words did give you a little relief. You still felt bad for the way your art had been used, but it was a good reminder that you weren’t the murderer. That Tanner’s actions had nothing to do with yours.

“Thank you.” Spencer nodded in response, giving you a small smile. “I guess I have a phone call to make.”

~~~ a week later ~~~

You were back in your studio, getting ready for a new painting. Just as you placed your canvas on the easel, there was a knock on the door. When you opened it, you were surprised to find Spencer Reid on the other side. “Spencer?”

“Hi.” There was an awkward moment of silence before Spencer spoke again. “I, uh, saw your mural. It’s beautiful.” A small smile formed on your face at the mention of the mural. After you helped the BAU catch Tanner, you reached out to the family of the victims. With their permission, you painted a mural that was put up at the memorial down the road. The mural had been featured on local DC news channels, which is probably how Spencer had seen it.

“Thank you. I probably wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t for you.” As you spoke, you moved over so that Spencer could enter the studio space. “Back at the police station, I wanted to quit art. Figured I’d finally put that communications degree to use or something.” Spencer lightly laughed as you continued, “But you made me realize that I can still do something good with my art.”

“I’m glad.” Spencer paused, and took a deep breath, and a step towards you, “Do you, uh, think we could go get coffee sometime? I mean, it doesn’t have to be coffee, we could get tea, or um, lemonade, we could get lemon-”

“Spencer!” You cut him off, with a light laugh. You found his nerves to be both flattering and cute. “I’d love to get any beverage you’d like, as long as you’re there with me.” You ran your hands through your pockets, looking for the sharpie you’d had in your hand before you’d opened the door. “Where is…” you mumbled, looking down at your pockets. Suddenly, you felt Spencer’s hand at your ear, where he pulled down the sharpie you’d placed there.

“Looking for this?” He was now standing close enough to you that he only had to whisper.

“Yeah” You responded, at the same volume he’d used. You took the sharpie from his hand, but before he could pull it away, you grabbed it and wrote down your phone number. When you finished, you looked up to Spencer’s face, which had turned pink. “Call me whenever.”

Neither you or Spencer said a word, you just stood there, staring at each other. You couldn’t help but try to memorize every feature of his face. Your staring contest was interrupted by Spencer’s phone dinging. He took a step back, much to your disappointment, and looked down at the text. “I, uh, I have to get to work. We have a new case.” You could tell he was disappointed too.

“Ok.” You whispered. Spencer looked at you for one more moment before he did what you least expected; before you even realized what was happening, his hand was wrapped around your waist and his lips were on yours. Your hands found their way to his collar, pulling him even closer to you.

You two didn’t pull apart until Spencer’s phone went off again. “You better call me.” You said, finally letting go of him.

“I will, promise.” Was the last thing he said to you before rushing off to work. When the door closed behind him, you turned to your blank canvas with a clear idea in mind. So you turned up the music, grabbed your paints, and began to put every detail of Spencer you could remember onto the canvas.

~~~

Notes: i’ll be honest idk how i feel about this ending lmao but i hope y’all liked it

Tags: @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @la-vie-en-amour1 @peculiarinsomniac

#spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x gender neutral reader #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fic #david rossi #aaron hotchner

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qvid-pro-qvo · 3 years

Note

do you have a favorite Criminal Minds episode overall? Do you have a favorite for each character?

mmmmmmm very good question to think about as i comfort rewatch :) also, probably gonna do favorite here and not best, because i think those are two separate questions. you’ll also see my bias toward earlier episodes here. whoops.

favorite episode overall - this is a tough one, but i LOVE the episodes where we see the work of profiling, and in some episodes this is really shown as an art form. i would have to say “seven seconds” (3x01). i love the enclosed space the mall serves as geography, i love how they interview the family, i love the way they bounce off of each other. i could watch this episode every day. shit like this is why criminal minds is great. there are other episodes that i could classify as favorites but probably fall into the category of character episodes.

this unsurprisingly got long, like novel-lengthy, so i’m sticking the individual characters under a cut.

hotch

aaron hotchner. there’s a reason i write fic for this man, besides the fact that i feel like in later seasons he is the epitome of one note most times. we see him smile every so often, but i also think i latch onto earlier episodes because we see so much of his care for those he cares for. i LOVE “lessons learned” (2x10) for him. i LOVE the way he is so blatantly shown to adore haley and jack. i think this is one of the episodes that speaks volumes across the show, even as his humanity kind of gets stripped away in the later episodes. i think this is a great intro for emily prentiss, too, but i don’t put it with her because while she does shine, i like other episodes for her better. the foyet storyline, of course, all the way through its conclusion in “route 66” (9x05). i really love the way we see his adoration for haley and jack, i love the way we see him grapple with his guilt, and. fuck. i just care about aaron hotchner a lot. also i can’t not say “it takes a village” (7x01) - beard hotch? inspired my first ever fic for him? yeah. also, i think it also shows the things he is willing to do for his team, because i truly think that if any member of the team was in that situation, he would be there for them and do the exact same thing. hypothetically.

rossi

rossi isn’t my favorite character for a variety of reasons, namely because i never really felt connected to him and i think he... is a tool for the writers to bring things out of left field. but i think a huge growth moment for him and for me in terms of appreciating him as a character is “zoe’s reprise” (4x15). the rossi that comes back to the bau is definitely one who is a lot of things, and this episode pretty much expertly breaks down every wall that he’s put up since he left. we see him empathize with a victim, see him get told off when he tries to use money to fix the situation, we see him reflect on the consequences of his actions and the way that even though he’s kind of an ass when he first comes on, there’s more underneath. like i said, he’s not my favorite character, but this episode does a good job of working in much needed humanization of him. also, of course, the dinner scene in “proof” (7x02) could be an episode all on it’s own. “as a family.” you’re so right, rossi, you’re so right.

derek

god, i fucking love derek episodes. i love, love, love derek morgan. i high-key think that shemar moore does some of the most incredible/versatile acting on this show, and i’m not even speaking in hyperbole. we can talk about microexpressions from hotch and mgg’s portrayal all we want, but the way shemar moore delivers a man who suffered from some of the worst childhood trauma and creates a layered character with some of the most incredible empathy towards others on his team and victims is just jaw-dropping. i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again - derek is the most emphathetic character and the most in tune with the rest of the team. he is 100% the character who knows what others are feeling and actually acts on it. his relationships with spencer and penelope and emily -

but the episodes. there are tons of points in episodes focused on other characters where he shines (”penelope” and “mayhem” are two that come to mind) but honestly? “profiler, profiled” (2x12). not because of the trauma, but because how derek reacts to the trauma. we see him go through the five stages of grief when it comes to watching his persona, his shield, crumble around his team. we see him get taken apart and put himself back together. it is one of those episodes that makes me cry every time i watch it. derek confronting carl buford, that scene - f u c k. that’s all i have to say.

penelope

i absolutely adore my girl penelope. her character-centric episodes are some of my absolute favorite in the show. and it’s more like, i see a lot of myself in her even if i don’t absolutely identify with her personality (i am not nearly as sunshiney, unfortunately). so for her, i have to go with the classic “penelope” (3x09) for one. first of all, i think that the way the team cares for her is so vital. she is the heart of the team. and this episode shows it. more than that, i think it also shows how important a role she plays when she’s fully functioning, and we get reminded of how much she so desperately cares for others. i rewatch this episode often. another one for her is “exit wounds” (5x21). once again showing how much she cares for others, and also a really good/great/awesome derek and penelope moment. i love how often we get reassured that the team wants her exactly how she is, and she doesn’t have to change to catch the bad guys, and the moment where she says she looked into that man’s eyes so he could see something brilliant and bright as he died? god. sticks with me.

emily

now. i’m not gonna lie. i think while i simp for hotch, emily is the most interesting character in the canon besides derek. i think while there are some problems in terms of continuity in her storyline, i think her journey in season six is one of my absolutely favorites to rewatch. i love watching her manipulate doyle. do i think the show could’ve done more in terms of fallout? yes. do i care? not totally. it’s a procedural, i get it. i love emily prentiss (probably am in love with her). i think her introduction in “lessons learned” is expert. while “demonology” (4x17) isn’t my favorite episode overall (i felt a disconnect with the story they were trying to tell in terms of unsub), i think for emily it’s such a brilliant look into her psyche and the way she thinks about her past. and i think “lauren” (6x18) is awesome at making the audience really look, watching her grapple with the consequences of her actions, her breakdown when she hears garcia’s message and having to quickly put herself back together... yeah, i love it. another one? “minimal loss” (4x03). i LOVE minimal loss. not only because of the story and the unsub, because emily throwing herself verbally in front of spencer to protect him is one of the top tier moments in the show. her and spencer’s relationship... fuck, so good.

spencer

there is a reason that spencer reid sticks around through fifteen seasons and it is because he is the soul of show. no, i’m not kidding. i think there is a lot of development that happens with spencer and when his individual relationships are highlighted the show shines. i think when the show, well, showcases his ingenuity it thrives. one episode that i just rewatched that comes to mind is “derailed” (1x09). the intensity of the episode is highlighted by spencer’s moments of humor, humanity, and intelligence. i like “revelations” (2x15) for the same reason. we see his genius through the eyes of the team and we’re just as in awe of him as hotch and gideon are. (did he get the support he needed after that episode? no, and i’ll die mad about it.) also his relationship with his mother, i will cry about it at any moment of the day. i LOVE their relationship, i love the way they develop, i LOVE, LOVE, LOVE the fact that we see the both of them throughout the whole series. “the fisher king, part two” (2x01) and the growth moments between the both of them - like, god, rip my heart out kind of love. fuck, and don’t even get me started on HIS empathy. the way that he reaches out to so many people who are suffering through his ability to just... listen. he doesn’t overlook anyone. he can’t. he knows what it feels like. some examples i love “the uncanny valley” (5x12) and “coda” (6x16).

jj. there’s a lot i could say about jj, but i will say this. i do think liaison jj is more interesting, inherently, than profiler jj, and i do think that her character is reduced as the series goes along. i honestly think she is more of an equal with the rest of the team when she is liaison and plays that role. i will say, though, that i think her own exhibition of empathy, namely through the way she is willing to take the brunt of communicating with victims and families, is brilliant throughout the show. she does so much and i wish we saw her do even more (also she is canonically one of the best shots on the team, and i LOVE that). my favorite episodes for her is “risky business” (5x13), because as someone who has lost a friend in the same way jj lost her sister, i really felt for her and i think this gave us so much insight into WHY she does what she does. and “the longest night” (6x01) because her speech impacts the unsub almost as much as it impacts me. there’s a reason hotch wants her to be the one on the radio waves, and she nails it because she’s competent and incredible and... yeah. i do love her.

#ask the status qvo #thanks anon!!!! <3 #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #david rossi #derek morgan #penelope garcia #emily prentiss #spencer reid #jennifer jareau #meta? i guess?

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sasarahsunshine · 3 years

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Criminal Obsession | Prologue

Warnings: Rated M for Mature. Murder, drugs, alcohol, sex, swearing, the whole shebang.

A/N: I’m finally getting around to my mafia!AU for Criminal Minds! I’m very excited, because unlike my other fics where I write whatever comes to mind, this one is actually planned out. I’m already almost done with chapter 3, and I hope to have an upload schedule for this one. We’ll see! This is a HotchReid fic.

You can also read this on AO3.

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The leader of America’s largest Crime Ring is lonely. He’s surrounded by his friends; people who he trusts with his life. He has his son. But he's lacking something more meaningful in his life. He’s lacking companionship. After the death of his wife a year ago, maybe it’s time to find someone new?

How did he end up there? Standing at the top of a marble staircase, blood splattered across his face as he watched his first kill tumble and roll to a stop on the red carpet below, eyes vacant of life. Nothing but the echoes of their dying breaths in his ears, a memory he won’t ever forget. Their blood drips from the knife in his shaking hand, his grip tightening. He’s only 14 years old. Only 14.

A pat on his shoulder, a glint in his father’s eye, a pearly white smile. “You did well, son.”

You did well.

He did well.

He didn’t feel well.

He spun around, vomiting over the railing to the floor below. Just another mess for the Help to clean, he thought glumly. That wasn’t his intention.

The cold hand on his shoulder gripped him tighter, malice in the voice which only seconds before was praising him, “You’re weak! I am so ashamed to have you as a son! You can’t even handle a little blood on your hands- how do you expect to survive in this world if you can’t even defend yourself in a fight? Pathetic.”

Ten years later, he thought over those words as he twisted the knife in his father’s gut, making sure to watch the light fade from his eyes. His father coughed, blood seeping from his blue lips, “Why?” He asked, his voice a whisper. He leaned closer, humming into the old man’s ear, “Not so pathetic now, am I, father?”

Twenty years later, on the anniversary of his father’s untimely death, he sits at his desk, his throne, and nurses a glass of the finest whiskey. It tastes like shit. Like every other alcohol that’s touched his tongue throughout his life. But it gets him drunk, and it burns his throat in the way he needs.

His suit is black, form-fitted, custom-made. His fingers tap an unknown beat on aged oak, his eyes set on the door. His office is enormous. Practically a library. But as he stares, it begins to feel smaller. The walls close in on him, his lungs aching for the oxygen he is being deprived of. He could open the window. But that would require him to turn around. So instead, he sits, he drinks, and he stares.

He’s very aware of who is on the other side. He knows what they want. He waits for them.

And, eventually, the door opens, creaking on old hinges as it’s pushed open with little care. The man who saunters in is not who he was expecting, and he finds himself allowing the smallest twitch of a smile to grace his lips.

He is thankful, for this man is his friend. He is thankful, for this man is his left-hand. He is charismatic. Charming. A breath of fresh air after the week he’s had.

There’s a twinkle in his eyes as he takes a seat in the chair opposite of the desk, one leg going over the other as he leans back. He chuckles, running his hand over his shaved head. There’s dried blood speckled on his knuckles, on his disheveled button-up. The top two buttons are undone, and his tie is nowhere to be seen. There’s a brief moment where he wonders where the tie and jacket had gone to, seeing as his friend was wearing them both earlier in the day.

“You don’t need to worry about the threat anymore,” his left-hand says, flashing his white teeth in a smile that reveals small dimples. He pulls out a pocketknife, flipping it once in his hand before setting it on the desk, offering it as a gift. It’s covered in blood. The blood is going to stain the old oak of the desk.

“You’re sure?” He asks, finally setting his now empty whiskey glass down on a coaster. He can’t help as his eyes flitted behind his friend, taking in the large hallway behind him. A dead man is being dragged away by someone in a black suit, blood smearing on the floor behind him. “There was only one?”

“There were two,” he replies, holding up two fingers, “The first was in the kitchen. But don’t worry, I made sure they were the only ones. You’re safe. Jack’s safe.”

He allowed a sigh to escape. He didn’t need to be as stoic, as stern, in front of the left-hand; he knew that. He could finally relax. The room didn’t feel so small anymore. He could breathe again.

Sitting up a little, the vertebrae in his back cracking as he did, he nodded his head once, “Thank you, Morgan.”

“No problem, Hotch,” Morgan replied with a grin, “I had fun doing it.”

I’m sure, Hotch thought to himself. If anyone liked beating people to death, it was Morgan. That was probably why he discarded his jacket. Beating was messier than just shooting someone. He could never understand the so-called thrill of being covered in blood. He’d rather stand further away and just shoot someone between the eyes. Cleaner. Colder. Easier.

“Feel free to take the rest of the day off,” he replied, finally turning his chair around to look out the window at his expansive property, “But I want two men posted with Jack for the rest of the day. Just in case.”

“Right, boss,” Morgan said. Hotch could hear him stand and leave, not closing the door behind him. How irritating. Typically he would have called after him, but instead, he stayed silent, watching the soft breeze blow fallen leaves around in the yard. There weren’t that many yet, as it was only September, but the colder months were fast approaching. It wouldn’t be long before the auction season starts again.

“Door’s open,” he said as footsteps approached. He hated when people knocked. Turning his chair around, he found himself looking at the last person he wanted to see. He sighed, running his hand through his hair, “What?”

“What do you mean, ‘what?’” The older man scoffed, walking into the office with an air of confidence. His hair was greying, salt and pepper sprinkled in his beard. He arched an eyebrow, “I was just told that there were only two assassins in here this year. Are you sure that’s the end of it? It’s only 2pm, you know.”

Hotch drummed his fingers on his desk, scowling, “Morgan said that was it. He double-checked the property. But if you’re so concerned, Dave, why don’t you just make yourself at home here in my office? Be my babysitter?”

Dave smirked, sitting down in the authentic leather seat with a chuckle, “Why, thank you, Aaron. I think I will.”

Hotch rolled his eyes, pulled the bottle of whiskey from his cabinet, and poured it into his glass. Dave procured another glass from somewhere, holding it out for Hotch to fill. He did so, but not without shooting his oldest and dearest friend a glare of disapproval. Dave was the only person who could get away with such blatant disrespect. And he knew it, too. That was why he did what he did so regularly: getting on Hotch’s nerves.

The two allowed silence to fall over them as they sipped on their alcohol, Dave smirking at the furrowed brow of Hotch when he tasted the burn. They shared several minutes like this, enjoying the quiet. Their lives weren’t often slow, so when it was, it was nice.

Perhaps ten minutes passed, maybe a little more, before Dave spoke, his eyes studying the swaying oak tree outside the window, “Have you gone to see Sean and Haley yet?”

Hotch peered over the rim of his glass at him, frowning, “No. My priority was making sure Jack was safe.”

“Yes, I know that. But normally, you would have gone by now. What is really keeping you locked in your office?”

Hotch scoffed. Damn Dave and his ability to read people. He shrugged his shoulders, his fingers once again drumming along the table. He chose not to dignify his friend with an answer. He decided to stay silent.

David sighed, leaning forward a little, “Is it because today isn’t just your father’s death-versary?” The use of that word was one only the two of them shared.

Hotch’s frown deepened as he stared at the whiskey in his glass. Thirty years ago, he killed someone for the first time. Twenty years ago, he killed his father. Ten years ago, his brother was murdered in retaliation. One year ago, his wife was murdered. He was not going to allow this year to be the year his son was taken from him too.

He didn’t need to say anything. David nodded in understanding, a thoughtful look to his eyes. He let a beat of silence fall between them before he spoke again, “It’s been a year since Haley. And longer since you two were intimate-”

“Dave,” Hotch warned, his eyes growing dark as he glanced at his right-hand man. David shrugged, choosing to continue speaking anyhow. He could get away with it. He was the only one who could. “All I’m saying, is that you can’t hide your loneliness from me. It was there before she died, and it’s there now.”

“I won’t bring anyone else into my life who can be ripped away just as quickly,” Hotch responded, setting his glass down. He no longer wanted alcohol. He wanted to punch someone. Probably Dave.

“Since last year, your empire has doubled!” Dave argued, leaning forward with interest, “And with that, so has your personal guard! Nobody is going to touch you, Jack, or anyone else you might find love with. Aaron, please, I’m begging you, you’re a miserable old man who is letting your emotions control your business sense.”

“My business sense? Old man? Watch it, Dave, you’re older than me,” Hotch scoffed, rolling his eyes, “And since when has my empire growing been a bad thing?”

“I’m not saying it is,” Dave countered, “But don’t you want someone to share your wealth with?”

Hotch let his shoulders slump a little as he leaned back, swiveling his chair from right to left, “I’ve had plenty of women to spoil in the last year-”

“Not escorts,” Dave scolded, “someone more permanent. Someone you can have hanging off your every word when you speak. Someone to take with you to the galas and the auctions. Someone like Haley used to be for you.”

Hotch was about to retort, but the echoing of little feet running down the marble-laid hallway broke his concentration. He smiled as his son came barreling into the office, dark hair wild and unkempt, giggles and squeals coming from him as his nanny was on his heels. Her face was that of exasperation, but she smiled at her boss upon seeing him, “Sorry, sir,” she said as Jack climbed into his father’s lap, wrapping his little arms around his neck and shouting, “Daddy! For Halloween this year, I want to be Spiderman!”

Dave chuckled. Hotch widened his eyes, “Oh yeah, buddy? Why do you want to be Spiderman?” Jack leaned in and whispered into his father’s ear, “‘Cause we just watched Spiderman, and he can swing from webs in the air. Kinda like when we’re in the ‘copter ‘cept he doesn’t need a ‘copter! He can just do that!”

Hotch smiled, planting a kiss on his son’s forehead, “Wow, that sounds super cool, buddy. Halloween is still almost two months away, though, so you have time to think about it if you want to change your mind.”

“Nope!” Jack shook his head proudly, “I’m going to be Spiderman!” He then turned and smiled wide at Dave, his front two teeth missing, “Uncle Dave! What are you going to be for Halloween?”

David laughed, setting his glass down and leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, “I don’t know yet, kiddo. Maybe I’ll be Superman.”

“You can’t be Superman,” Jack scrunched up his nose.

“Oh? Why’s that?” David asked, peering from him to Hotch then back.

“Cause daddy’s Superman,” Jack said matter-of-factly. His nanny gave a tight-lipped smile at that, “That’s right, Jack,” she said. Hotch just smiled warmly at his son before picking him up and setting him down on the floor, “Well, Superman is still very busy right now,” he said, “so why don’t you go with Miss Clara and finish up your schoolwork, okay? I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Okay,” Jack nodded, smiling back at Miss Clara, “I only have some coloring left!” He declared. Miss Clara nodded, “Yep, so let’s go back to that, okay?” She looked up at Hotch, “Sorry again. He was just so excited to tell you.”

“It’s fine,” Hotch waved her off, watching her and his son hurry back down the hall. Thank goodness the Help was quick at cleaning up the bloody mess Morgan has left behind. He didn’t need Jack seeing that. He was only five.

Dave chuckled to himself, shaking his head a little, “Don’t think our conversation is over, Aaron,” he warned, “I’m not done trying to convince you to find a good woman to love.”

Hotch frowned. Of course, Dave wouldn’t drop it. He sighed and rolled his eyes, standing from his chair for the first time all day. His knees protested. “I don’t really have time to date, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Then pay for a girlfriend.”

“But you said no escorts,” Hotch knitted his eyebrows in confusion.

“Not escorts,” David used his hands for emphasis, “But what about a Sugar Baby?”

“A what?”

It was Dave’s turn to roll his eyes, “Oi, you’re younger than me, and you don’t know what a Sugar Baby is? Jesus Aaron, you haven’t been out of the game that long, have you?”

Hotch made a pointed look at Dave, expecting an explanation, not a taunting tone. Dave sighed, “Sugar Babies are girls who are paid for sex, but long-term. And not always with cash, although some take a certain amount upfront. They get spoiled by their Sugar Daddies with gifts, dinners, money, cars, whatever it is they want. A girlfriend you pay for. Someone to be your arm-candy at events. Someone to keep you company and to get your rocks off so you’ll stop being such an ass.”

Hotch scowled a little, leaning against his desk, his hands folded in his lap, “How is that different than an escort?” He was tense.

“Escorts are temporary. You fuck ‘em and dump ‘em,” Dave shrugged. Hotch furrowed his brow at his friend’s language. After a beat of silence, he exhaled, “That isn’t exactly a true girlfriend, either,” he pointed out.

Dave stood up, pulling a cigar out of the pocket on the inside of his suit jacket, “But it’s a step closer. Plus, you can shop around until you find one you like. You got money, Aaron. Might as well spend it.” He lit the cigar before inhaling on it deeply, blowing the expensive spice-scented smoke into the air. Hotch hated when he smoked inside.

He waved his hand in a motion to tell Dave to leave. Dave shrugged again, “Think about it, Aaron. I bet Penelope could put her feelers out there for you.”

“I can’t bring anyone in here,” Hotch warned, “With the business and all.”

“That’s why you have Penelope check them all out first. I’m sure there’s plenty of bad girls out there who have been Babies for other Crime Lords.”

Hotch flinched. He didn’t like being compared to other “Crime Lords.” He wasn’t like them. He didn’t deal in people. He didn’t murder for fun. He did what he needed to survive. This was survival, nothing more. Even though it was illegal.

Dave started walking out, waving his hand in farewell, “Think about it,” he said again, his smoke following him.

Hotch scoffed, going back to his desk and pulling out a file. He glanced it over, sitting down slowly. Financial reports from the last year. Boring.

He couldn’t help his mind from wandering a little, debating on the idea of a ‘Sugar Baby.’ A girl that had to be interested in what he said, what he did. Someone to wear extravagant dresses that he bought for them, custom-made, tailored to their body perfectly. Someone to hang off his arm at every event of the year. Many were coming up. The amount, he wasn’t sure, but he would have to ask Penelope. She would know.

Maybe it would be nice to have someone pay attention to him again. Someone to have in his bed for longer than one night, even if it was a paid arrangement.

His eyes flickered to the phone on his desk.

He hadn’t wanted a girlfriend before now because he couldn’t fathom the idea of even finding one. His life was too busy. If he wasn’t at an event in New York, he was in D.C. or Vegas. He just didn’t have the time. The only eligible woman on the property was his son’s nanny, and even though she was pretty, she was not his type.

But, if he could skip the formalities? If he could just have someone there for him without needing to date them first?

He picked up the receiver and dialed. After a beat, Penelope answered on the other end, “Yes, sir?”

“Garcia,” he started, “I need you to look into something for me.”

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latoyalestrange · 3 years

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<- previous | five | next ->

masterlist

chapter five — foyet returns

AFTER SEVERAL days, Ophelia was finally convinced by Aaron and Spencer to stay at the BAU. Aaron justified her extended stay by saying Strauss was forcing him to step down, and it would make easier transition for the team if Ophelia just remained unit chief even after Aaron returned. This proved to be true, hence their next few cases went without obstacles; everything falling into place as it normally would during a case. That was, until Aaron and Ophelia went to interview an incarcerated serial killer, one dubbed The Fox.

Walking side by side, Aaron and Ophelia approached the steel, chain-link door that buzzed when they stopped in front of it. Aaron, as he always did, opened the door for Ophelia. She shuffled in, carrying a sizable stack of files in her arms. The room smelled of metal and a particularly potent floor cleaner. She scrunched up her nose as she spotted the killer, waiting for her and Hotchner in the interview room. To their left was a small, concrete room with a tv set up on the wall which showed another angle of the man. "You go in first," He muttered darkly, not looking away from the killer even though he was chained to the table. "Remember, this is all about sex for him," Ophelia nodded and the guard inside the room unlocked another chain link door, allowing them access to The Fox. Hotch followed close behind her, discretely placing a comforting hand on the small of her back, but only for a moment as to not alert the man in front of them. Ophelia placed the files on the table with a loud thud and sat in the only other chair at the table, Hotch standing protectively behind her. "Agent Ophelia Holmes," The man had a large, unkept ginger beard and a matching mess of hair. "So good to finally meet you," He would shake her hand, but seeing as his were chained to his sides, he didn't get that luxury. "Agent Hotchner," He added coolly, just barely sending him a glance before refocusing his attention back to Ophelia. "We have reason to believe that an admirer of yours has committed a series of homicides in the area," Aaron began, placing his own files on the table. "Is that so," The man inquired, a knowing smirk appearing on his features.

The rest of the team was trying to set up a profile while Aaron and Ophelia were getting virtually nowhere with The Fox. Aaron relayed this to the team on their most recent update. The two agents were held up in the room with the TV, watching intently at the screen. "We're going to have to take a different approach," Ophelia knew what that meant and she immediately felt her stomach turn. "We can't," She objected quietly, gulping hard. "Ophelia, they're just pictures," Ophelia. She looked up at the agents dark, determined eyes. His matching hair flopped messily over his eyes. She wanted to fix it, but now was not the time. "Using Lucy like that..." She trailed off, returning her gaze to the television. "I've never done anything like this before," "And you don't have to now," Aaron shifted slightly in front of her to attract her gaze once more. He looked apologetically into her hazel eyes which glimmered with the slightest hint of fear. "Yes, I do," She reassured him, holding the files close to her chest. She strode triumphantly back into the interrogation room and placed the files in front of her once again. "You want to see them, don't you?" She started. His eyes widened at her sudden confidence. "Why yes, I do," He replied matter-of-factly. "You know, your case was actually one of the first ones I studied," She shifted in her seat so that her cleavage was more noticeable. His eyebrows raised. "Really?" He was impressed, but more so surprised. "Yeah, it was really...interesting," She continued her charade. Hotch watched from the TV room. He felt his fists subconsciously clench and his brow curving inward. The Fox chuckled and Ophelia followed. On the outside, she was chatting up, even flirting with him, but on the inside, she was begging for this moment to be over. "What did you do those kids?" She quizzed, her expression hardening. "Wouldn't you like to know," He replied maniacally as he mimicked her ruse, leaning forward. "Yes," She pushed herself to lean forward even more. Just then, Aaron entered, new bits of information flooding his mind. Taking on his bad cop persona, he ripped open the folder in front of Ophelia, forcing her away from the man in chains. He slammed pictures of the crime scene, the family, and finally one of Lucy in her grave. Ophelia stifled a shiver. Seeing such a young child, especially a girl, so exposed and degraded, made her stomach flip. "You satisfied?" He bellowed, his deep voice making Ophelia jump slightly. "Very," The Fox replied, leaning all the way back in his chair, almost as if her were lounging. "Why did you do it?" Ophelia chimed in, catching the attention of the both of them. "I already told you why—" "No, you told us the how, not the why," Now she raised her voice, getting agitated at his stubborn antics. "The things I would do to you," His voice was barely above a whisper but sinister nonetheless. "It's about your father," Now he was listening, but he shook off her comment. "It must be so distracting to work with someone so beautiful," He remarked, trying to get under Hotchner's skin. "You kill the man of the household and treat his children just like your father did you," He gave up trying to anger the agents. "You save the best for last. It's like killing your father and ultimately yourself over, and over, and over again—" She cut herself off, a sudden realization coming to her mind. "Wait, Aaron," He turned to her, softening his seething expression. "That's an angle we didn't consider," She began. "She's gentle with the girls because she sees them as herself,”

"The unsub is a woman," Aaron darted towards the door and put his phone to his ear. Ophelia quickly gathered their things and joined him. Before they left, however, The Fox had one more thing to say.

"Aaron," He held up the letter he received from his admirer. "Look at what I've done," "Our unsub isn't connected to your admirer. We will find whoever sent you those letters," Aaron responded cooly, his phone still dialing Derek's number. "No, Agent Hotchner, I rather think he has already found you," That same sinister smirk appeared on his face. Ophelia scrunched up her nose in confusion as Hotch instantly put his phone down. He started flipping through the files frantically, his expression blank. Ophelia wondered if this is what Hotch looked like when he was scared. "Aaron?" She called, darting her gaze in between the two men. The Fox laughed, he found this incredibly entertaining. "Aaron." She called again, more serious this time as she placed a hand on his forearm. He quickly brushed her off and picked up the notebook that belonged to the killer. "I can't believe you can't see what he's doing," Ophelia was terrified now, though she tried to suppress it. Aaron landed on a page with a newspaper clipping. His portrait, with the reaper's logo scribbled on top of it. "Foyet," She gasped, bringing her free hand to her mouth. Aaron slammed the book down and The Fox bellowed a hefty laugh. Aaron stormed out of the door and Ophelia tried to keep up with the tall man's strides. "He knew you'd come!" He yelled after them and fell into a psychotic laughing fit. Ophelia's calls for Aaron were drowned out by the other prisoner's hollering and banging on doors. Aaron visibly seethed as he practically left Ophelia at the ward. She lost his trace, not sure where to turn next. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, unaware of how tightly she held on to the files in her grasp. "Morgan," She breathed. "The reaper," She attempted to catch her breath but was defeated. "He's back,"

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine

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bau-rookie · 3 years

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not to out myself as also a huge Community fan, but we finished s6 and safe to say that it’s Criminal Minds “gas leak” season. it ended on a pretty anti-climactic note, even tho it was nice to see a certain familiar face.

the Community similarities continue in that the S7 opener is a “Repilot” in which every qualm i had about s6 is made better, tho they jump over a couple of plot hoops just to get us back to the status quo of having our core 7 back as a team. (rip Seaver tho, they really made “my dad was a serial killer” her only personality trait and then let her go) the Doyle stuff was pretty good tho!

also can someone explain to me why Hotch would take reassignment to Pakistan? did someone on the writing team just desperately want to have a valid reason to have a bearded hotch on screen, and that’s the best they could come up with? i mean im not complaining but they just gave us Hotch looking like that then took it away the next second like come on

#honestly without the beard #hotch looks so gaunt and skinny this season #his suits also look looser on him #is he okay #can someone remind him to eat well #its the real reason why rossi agreed to pasta dinner night really #if anyone feeds hotch its him #charlie watches criminal minds #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #ashley seaver #david rossi

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dontshootmespence · 7 years

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The Calm in the Storm

A/N: An anon request for a Derek x Reader where it’s the middle of winter and she goes into labor. Derek has to deliver the baby at home before the EMTs can arrive. @coveofmemories @sexualemobitch @jamiemelyn

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This could not actually be happening. This wasn’t supposed to happen this way. “Oh fuck me,” you exclaimed, rubbing the side of your stomach in a pointless attempt to get the baby to chill for like...a day more...two days. “Please, kiddo.”

When you looked out the window, you could see nothing but white. You were 8 and a half months pregnant and of course DC was experiencing its biggest snowstorm in nearly 20 years. No one was outside. The streets were silent. But of course government employees still had to work - at least until the storm had gotten so bad that they’d been sent home. It had been nearly two hours since Derek had called to say he’d be coming home. Nearly every fifteen minutes, he called back to let you know where he was on the road.

Finally, after two and a half hours, you heard the doorknob turn. “Hey, baby,” he said, his face dropping as he took in the pained look on your face. “Oh no. Seriously? Right now?” The storm in his eyes mirrored the blizzard outside.

“Baby’s not waiting,” you choked out. “I feel like someone is ripping out my insides and actually when I think about that’s exactly what’s happening. I think we need to call 911.”

Your husband was always one to keep calm, but even he couldn’t contain the fear in his eyes. Quickly, he walked over to you and placed you on the couch as he picked up the phone, leaving it on speaker. “911, what is your emergency?”

Immediately, Derek gave them your address and told them you were in labor and on speakerphone. Even the operator didn’t sound confident. Lovely. “How far along are you honey?” The woman asked.

“Eight and a half months,” you replied. “And my contractions are about five minutes apart because I know that’s what you are going to ask next.”

With a deep breath, you heard the woman strike the keys of her keyboard. “Alright, I am sending out emergency services, but I’m going to be honest with you. Derek?”

“Yes?”

“You will very likely have to deliver your own child.” The sheer panic in his eyes made your breath catch in your throat. “You’re going to stay on the phone with me and I’m gonna walk you both through it.”

“Okay...” you said shakily. The operator, who subsequently introduced herself as Talia, told your husband to grab a bunch of towels, blankets and sheets. A couple would be placed under you and the rest would be kept on standby for drying the baby off after his or her arrival.

After grabbing towels and placing them on the floor, Derek lifted you off the couch. “We can do this,” he said with a smile. “Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.”

“Okay, Y/N,” Talia said through the phone. “We need to give the medic as much time to get there as possible, so for as long as you can, if you feel you need to push, I need you to try every method of breathing you can. Don’t push unless you absolutely, 100 percent feel you can’t wait any longer. Okay?”

“Yea,” you replied through shaky breaths. Another contraction came on and you yelled out, grabbing Derek’s arm as your stomach constricted around itself. While the contraction rolled through you, your husband removed your pajama pants and underwear, leaving you naked from the waist down. “Not exactly how I imagined this.” You laughed through the pain, because it was either that or you would cry and crying was probably not the best for the baby under these circumstances.

Derek snorted and came to your side asking Talia if he needed sterilized scissors or a knife to cut the umbilical cord. “Actually,” she replied, in a way that remind you both of Spencer, “it’s better if you leave the cord attached to the baby and the placenta until the medics arrive. They’ll take care of it.”

Another contraction came on, even closer together than the last ones, and you panted through it until the feeling passed. That happened two more times before the third time. You had to push now - medics or not. “I can’t hold it anymore, Talia,” you warned. “I have to push.”

“Okay, Derek, I need you to stay right in front of your wife to catch the baby. If you see the umbilical cord around the baby’s neck, stay calm, you can gently lift it over their head, or loosen it enough for the baby to born. I can imagine how scary this is, but don’t panic. You’re wife and baby need you to remain calm.” She was very good at this. Maybe when this was all over you could thank her adequately. “Now, Y/N, if you’re sure you can’t stave off pushing anymore, I need you to bear down with your next contract, but don’t overexert yourself. There’s more likely to be tearing that way.”

Well, that thought was panic inducing. As the contraction came around again, you beard down, feeling the baby move ever so slightly. Derek counted for 10 seconds and then told you to breathe. Again and again, you repeated the process. “Wait,” Derek said,” I see the head but the cord is around the neck.”

Your breath caught in your throat, but your husband took a deep breath and placed his finger in between the cord and the baby’s neck. “Okay, it’s over their head. We’re good. Also, baby, you’re amazing, I have no idea how you’re doing this.”

“Because I have to,” you chuckled softly, your breath easing out of you with the relief that your baby’s neck wasn’t being strangled anymore. “And now I have to again.” Once more, you bore down as much as you could without overexerting yourself, and within a minute, the rest of your baby slid out of your body.

“It’s a girl,” he said, grabbing her in a dry towel and wiping her off. To both of your relief, she immediately started to cry. “It’s a little girl.” Derek didn’t cry all that often, but you both looked down at her and burst into tears. Talia told you both to leave the cord alone. The placenta needed to make its way out, and she’d been keeping in touch with the medics - they would be there within a few minutes.

“Now, place your daughter on your wife’s stomach. She needs skin to skin contact.”

“Hey baby girl,” you breathed, running your fingers down the side of her nose to make sure there wasn’t anything caught in her airways. “You’re so beautiful. Mommy and Daddy love you.” A few moments later, you felt the placenta make its way out, which was even more disgusting than you’d imagined, and seconds after that, the medics arrived. They cut the cord and cleaned everything up as best they could before ensuring that both of you would be warm enough as thy transferred you to the hospital.

With tears still in his eyes, Derek grabbed the hospital bag and followed you down the stairs. Although it was nearly 30 minutes before the ambulance made it back to the hospital, the medics were great at keeping you calm and checking you out to make sure everything was okay. There had been slight tearing apparently, but very little considering you’d given birth at home, and more importantly, your little girl was totally, 100 percent healthy. “She still needs a name,” you said to your husband as you were wheeled inside.

The warmth of the hospital felt great as you finally got inside. Derek called everyone on the team to let them know you and the baby were okay. They all insisted they’d be there as soon as possible, despite the weather. After the doctors and nurses checked you out again, they cleared you and allowed you and Derek time alone with the baby. “What’s her name gonna be?” he asked. You’d been going back and forth for so long.

“What about Penelope? After your original baby girl?” you asked, referring to his relationship with Garcia. They were best friends and you’d already asked her to be the godmother to your baby.

As Derek looked down at her, he started to cry again. “Yea. Penelope Morgan.” He reached out for her and cradled her in his arms, allowing you to sleep for a couple hours before everyone arrived. You woke up to the cooing and awwing of your friends. “How are you feeling?” Emily asked. Garcia was holding her namesake a few feet away.

“I’m tired,” you said. “But I’m good. Did Derek tell you her name yet?”

“No. He was waiting for you to wake up,” Garcia said. Spencer was leaning over them and grazing his finger over the baby’s cheek. And Rossi, Hotch and JJ were nearby smiling. “What’s her name?”

“Penelope,” Derek said. Garcia’s head popped up, thinking that he was addressing her.

“Yea?” She asked. “What’s her name?”

You couldn’t help but giggle. “Garcia? Her name is Penelope.”

Garcia’s eyes glazed over with tears. “Nooooooo, really?” When you nodded, she burst out in hysterics, waving at her eyes in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. It wasn’t working.

Little Penelope’s birth hadn’t gone at all how you’d imagined, but it was amazing nonetheless. Your family was here. You were both okay. And she was perfect.

#derek morgan #derek morgan x reader #derek morgan x you #derek morgan fanfiction #derek morgan fic #dontshootmespence #the calm in the storm

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criminallysupernatural · 7 years

Note

he looks pissed all the time and it's so fucking hot ugh I'm gonna stop now

He better never stop. That episode where he faces off with the serial killer in the room is perfect.

Sliding off his jacket. Ripping off his tie. Staring daggers.

Ugh. Take me!

Bearded Hotch was also amazing

His arms are heavenly.

Smiling Hotch melts my heart.

Any Hotch is a good Hotch.

Maybe I should stop too.

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laurensprentiss · 3 years

Text

Jouska [Hotch x Reader]

Chapter 5:

Warnings: Mentions of guns, lil’ bitta tension, lotta angst. Mentions of Haley.

Word Count: 2,262

------

“I don’t know what’s worse: to not know what you are and be happy, or to become what you’ve always wanted to be, and feel alone.” - Daniel Keyes

------

“Aaron would you just listen to me?!” The frustration seeps out of her pores, her hands running through her blonde hair.

They’ve been going around in circles for months now, ever since he took on your case, the irregular hours and time away taking its toll. It seems like a never ending cycle, she argues, he goes to work anyway, brings her back some flowers or gifts, they make up. Rinse and repeat. And she’s at the end of her tether.

He holds his hands up in defeat, setting his phone against the kitchen counter. “Haley! What would you have me do? I have a job, this is my career.” He says, almost condescendingly.

She slams the cupboard as her voice goes up a few octaves. “What is that supposed to mean? Don’t do that. Don’t you dare try to make me out to be the bad guy! Don’t you dare, Aaron.” Her eyes narrow and she’s seething, her face red and tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “You asked me to move in with you because you wanted to be with me. You wanted a future with me.”

“-I do.”

“Don’t interrupt me.” She hisses. “We moved from Seattle to DC so you could chase your dreams. I left my parents, my family, my friends to be with you. Because I believed you when you said you wanted a future with me.” Her tears spill over as she wipes at them frantically.

“Haley.”

“No. Aaron. I can’t. I understand you want to follow your dreams, I know this is your job, that this is who you are. But you need to seriously reconsider what’s important to you, because I can’t keep doing this.” Her voice cracks.

The sentence hits him like a freight train as he swallows the lump in his throat. “Keep doing what?” He asks hesitantly. He’s not sure if he even wants to know the answer. She’s all he knows.

“Going to bed alone.” She whispers. “I can’t keep living like this, I can’t keep being the only person all in for this relationship.”

His heart sinks. He crosses the small kitchen to hold her hands in his, a split second taking him back to when he held yours in the car that day. He shakes the thought from his head and seeks out her eyes. He doesn’t really know what to say, can’t quite find the words.

“I’m sorry.” He says defeatedly. He cups his hand around her cheeks and wipes the tears from her eyes as she leans into his touch, bringing her forehead to his.

It hurts him to know that she feels like this, but it devastates him even more to know that he can’t promise her he’ll do better. He wants to. More than almost anything, to give her what she wants, but his commitment to his job is almost hardwired into him, his need to uphold his oath. And the strange pull he feels towards you makes him feel like there’s too many parts of him being pulled this way and that, being spread too thin.

He feels torn.

She leans into his touch, both of them sharing a quiet moment after their blow up, their eyes closed, a glimmer of hope emerging in her chest.

But then his phone rings. He can almost see the disappointment rise in Haley’s shoulders as his eyes tear open at the sound, but Haley squeezes her eyes shut even more, knowing the answer. She already knows the outcome.

She knows who wins in this situation.

“Just go.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

Panic rises in Hotch’s chest, the magnetic pull of his phone and his job tearing him away from his childhood sweetheart.

“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. Can we talk tonight?” He pleads.

She doesn’t respond, just keeps her eyes shut as he places a chaste kiss against her lips.

“I’m sorry.” And with that he leaves.

———-

“Oh, so big bad Hotch’s gonna teach me how to shoot, huh?” You huff out a laugh as you hand him your bag to load into the trunk.

“Yep.”

You squint at him, puzzled by his sudden change in demeanour, a knot forming in your stomach. You step into the SUV, securing your seatbelt, your anxiety taking over, suddenly.

You’ve noticed he’s been tense the past couple of days, but today especially. His eyebrows are pulled into a frown, he seems distant and unfocused and his jaw is set into a hard line, which ordinarily would get you into trouble with yourself, but today, it’s a sign for concern.

He checks his phone for the fifth time in almost as many minutes, rubbing a hand over his beard, inhaling sharply. His jaw ticks as he rolls open the window before putting the car into drive.

The car ride is literally and figuratively chilly, the spring air permeating the awkward atmosphere. Hotch doesn’t attempt to make any conversation with you, doesn’t even look at you, his nostrils flared and his mind elsewhere.

You feel awkward, uncomfortable and there’s a creeping sensation up your neck, a sharp contrast to a couple days ago when he had held your hand in his, reassured you that he’d do whatever he could to catch this guy. Now, the butterflies are an unwelcome sensation.

You continue on your wordless journey, pulling up to the shooting range. You take a beat and wait for Hotch as he unbuckles his belt and steps out of the car without even so much as acknowledging you. You swallow thickly, feeling an almost misplaced guilt towards his actions.

Was it you? Did you do something wrong?

———

“Okay, you’re gonna start with this one here.” Hotch explains, holding the Glock 42 flat in his palm, weighing it in his hands. “You’re gonna start with the smallest, get used to the trigger and the weight before we can move up.” His voice is monotone, unwavering. No hint of levity. You move up to the shelf, taking the gun from his hands.

Damn. What is with this guy today?

You clear your head.

Okay. Check the magazine, load, safety.

Done.

Stance, aim, push, pull and squeeze.

The smoke from the round wafts into your nose as you open your eyes to check the paper target in front of you, completely untouched.

Shit.

Hotch pinches his nose, the vein in his temple throbbing. “No, c’mon! How many times-“

He winces and stops abruptly. Stops before he says something he doesn’t mean, before he does something he knows he’ll regret. This isn’t him. And it isn’t your fault. He knows this, but he can’t help but feel that the misplaced frustration he has towards you is because of his guilty conscience, it’s compensation for the way he feels so torn. Still he pushes it down further.

He clears his throat. “I’m sorry. I-. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to-“

You just follow his movements, watch him collect himself. He takes a breath and huffs out a dry laugh. “Alright. C’mere.”

You shoot him a puzzled look, the swift change in his mood taking you aback. Part of you wants to rip him a new one for treating you like this, but it wouldn’t do any good. Strange attraction aside, he was fast becoming your friend, one of the only people you could rely on, and knowing he wasn’t in the right headspace but not having the answer for him was frustrating.

He chuckles. “Come on. Come here.” He beckons you toward him. You plant yourself in front of him, as he moves in close, his body solid behind you. He grips your wrists from behind as your hands wrap around the glock, taking stance, his breath on your neck.

His voice is low in your ear. “Remember to follow through, okay?” You don't dare turn your head, he’s so close. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye to find him watching you, his eyes flirting to your lips for a brief second and you feel that familiar heat creep up your neck.

He moves back only slightly, giving him enough room to grip your hips, positioning your right foot back, angling your body at a slight diagonal. His hands are solid on your body, moving you with ease. You try your best to concentrate on the target in front of you and to hold the glock level, but Hotch’s presence so close is less than ideal when you need to focus.

He positions your arms once again, touch feather light this time, brushing your shoulders as he does. He nods for you to try again.

You keep your eyes on the target this time, trained on the marker body in front of you after you shoot and you can’t quite believe you hit it. You squeal with excitement and turn to face Hotch who looks proud but drops down quickly, seeing the Glock still in your hands.

“Yeah, lesson number 2. Never-“ He nods at you to punctuate his point, taking the gun from you. “-Never. Point a gun at someone without aiming.”

———

It’s dark when Hotch pulls up outside your building, the mood decidedly lighter than before but the unspoken heaviness still lingers in the air, carries all the way up to your apartment. You key the door open, switching on a lamp on your way in, Hotch making quick work of a window sweep.

“Two MPD officers are posted right outside, and there are two unmarked cars outside, too. Just in case.”

You nod as you walk into your kitchen, a sudden surge of bravery taking over. “Hey, Hotch?”

He doesn’t look up from his phone when he answers. “Yeah?”

“Hotch.”

He looks up this time, sheepish expression on his face when he realises you’re staring at his phone, too, cursing himself for not minding his manners.

“Sorry. What is it?”

“Are you okay?” You ask, earnestly.

He pretends to be oblivious, as you walk out of your kitchen and plant yourself on your couch, water in hand. He sits on the ottoman you use as a footrest opposite your couch, but says nothing. Just watches you, but you wait for him.

He runs his hands through his hair. It’s endearing, you think.

“That obvious?” He says with a dry chuckle.

You wait for him to go on.

“I know I’ve been ‘off’ the last couple of days. I’m sorry. It’s just- I don’t know. Stuff in my personal life, I guess - I let it affect my job. Won’t happen again.”

“That’s not what I mean. Screw the job. I mean are you actually okay?” You feel a strange pull in your chest, the vulnerability is written on his face. But you don’t want to push him. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“It’s- just this job, y’know. My girlfriend-“

“-Haley.” You’re thinking out loud but he looks surprised as to how you could know her name. “I think I heard you talking to her a couple times.” You shake it off.

“Yeah. Well. She’s struggling to cope with all of this, I guess. The job. It’s not like it’s a regular 9-5, and I don’t suppose it’s much fun going to sleep in an empty house most nights.”

I go to bed alone.

She goes to bed alone.

He curses himself for his lack of tact. “I mean I know where she’s coming from, I wish I could be around more but it’s hard trying to get the right balance y’know? And I don’t know, I have the feeling she might not want to stick around much longer - and I wouldn’t blame her.”

He whispers the last part, like he doesn’t trust his voice to betray him. He’s surprised he’s even opened up to you this much, this quickly and he realises his mouth has already betrayed him before his brain had even had a chance to catch up. He feels lighter though, maybe even optimistic.

But you feel your heart sinking. The naive little girl in you had thought maybe Hotch could have felt attracted to you, maybe even had some feelings for you. The realisation that he has a foundation, a home, a long-term relationship - even if it was on the rocks - makes your chest heavy. Makes it hard to breathe.

You don’t want to give him advice. Don’t even want to really think about him and Haley at all. But the sadness in his eyes and the worry in his voice speaks louder than the little voice in your head.

“You love her?”

He takes a beat, but nods.

“Then you know what you have to do, Hotch. Give her what she wants. Give her what she needs to stay.” You feel a misplaced, profound kind of sadness deep within you, and you can’t tell whether it’s because you feel utterly alone and like nobody would ever want to fight for you - or whether it’s because you know that person wouldn’t be the man sitting in front of you.

Still, you inhale deeply and stand. “Well, listen - I don’t wanna keep you.” You walk him to your door. “I hope it all works out.” You tell him as you watch him leave. And you only half mean it.

———

“Haley?” Hotch shouts through the door. He shrugs off his blazer and loosens his tie as he turns on the lights in their dark home, blinking as his eyes adjust. There’s no answer.

“Haley?”

Nothing.

He searches the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom, a sinking feeling taking over. Still, he calls out her name, to no avail. He turns on the light in their bedroom, the wardrobes open and hangers laying on a neat pile in the corner. He sighs defeatedly.

His eyes fall to a piece of folded yellow paper on the centre of their perfectly made bed. He picks it up and lets his body fall onto the mattress, unfolding the note.

Haley’s elegant, slanted writing reads:

‘I’m sorry too. - HB’

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———

Tags: Let me know if you would like to be tagged!

@oreogutz @andromedasstarship @galacticnerd-78 @izzyl13 @private-backrooms @crying-river @purpledragonturtles @gabbysblogthingy @euphoricmidoriya @archiveofadragon @yoshigguk @swiftingday @jeor

#aaron hotchner #hotch #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch smut #hotch fluff #cm fanfic #cm fic #cm fic rec #criminal minds

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dontshootmespence · 7 years

Text

Passive-Aggressive Partnership

Parts 1-20 @coveofmemories @bleedreid @my-xomatosis-s

Part 21

----

“Why do you think I’m here?” he said coolly, smiling as though he wasn’t pointing a gun at her intern’s back. “I’m here for you. I’ve kept a close eye on you since you left my classroom that day.” You mean when I smacked you across the face after you stuck your hand down my pants? Let’s call it for what it is. “I’m so proud of all you’ve accomplished.”

Okay, that was creepy. Her assaulter had never forgotten her. Tracked her for nearly 10 years. “You’ve been planning this since I last saw you?” she asked, never taking her eyes off Jessica. The poor girl looked like she was about to piss herself. Y/N would’ve been in the same position if it wasn’t for the fact that she was trying not to vomit.

“Yes,” he said, keeping the gun trained on Jessica while walking to her side. “I was wrong about you. I said you’d never make it - that your ambitions were too high; I was so wrong about you. I like that. When a woman can exceed my expectations.”

She swallowed hard, wondering if there was any way to alert JJ out in the car without getting Jessica hurt in the process, but the second her hand even inched toward her pocket where her phone sat, he pointed the gun at her. “You were,” she said hesitantly. She didn’t want to piss him off, especially with another potential victim in the room, but she needed to keep the conversation going to try and think of a way out of this. “I’ve worked very hard to get where I am. What can I help you with professor?” She was afraid she already knew the answer to that question.

“I’m going to need you to come with me,” he said, bringing the gun up to Jessica’s head and putting his hand on the trigger.

He was getting ready to shoot. “I will only go with you, if you let her live!” she said quickly. “Do anything to hurt her at all and I will go nowhere with you.” The fire in her eyes must’ve convinced him that she meant what she said. If he hurt Jessica, she would kick and scream as he dragged her away.

He didn’t want to take the risk, but he also wanted her. “I let her live and you’ll come with me. No screaming? No nothing?”

“Yes, but only if you leave Jessica alone. Completely.”

“Fine,” he said, turning toward Jessica and walking toward Y/N. As he put his arm around her neck, he continued to aim the gun down at the scared intern. “You count to 100 before you get up.”

As Jessica started the countdown, Y/N hoped that she took note of what name she’d said. It would give the team a heads up if they knew who it was. “Jessica, listen to me,” she said, as Boyland began to drag her out the back door and away from JJ. Away from solace. “This was not your fault, okay? I don’t blame you. You’re going to be okay.”

“Enough of that,” he said, pulling her by her hair out of the door and toward his car. Just as she thought about her phone, he reached into her pocket, grabbed the phone and threw it on the ground, stomping it into pieces. “Now get in the backseat and lie down. I don’t want your face on any cameras. We’re going to change up your look a little bit when we get to where we’re going.”

“Okay,” she said, her heart lurching in her throat as she slipped into the back. Please let Jessica remember the name. Please. It was Y/N’s only hope. “Please don’t hurt me.”

Putting his gun on the passenger side seat, he laughed. “I don’t plan on hurting you. We’re going to be happy together. You’ll see.”

----

After waiting nearly 15 minutes for Y/N to return, JJ looked at her phone and decided to go in and see if there was anything she could do to help, only to find a young woman lying on the floor and counting. “Where is Y/N?” JJ asked frantically, coming to kneel at the woman’s side. “What happened?”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m Y/N’s intern, Jessica. Someone came in here with a gun and said he was going to shoot me unless I called Y/N. I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” JJ cradled Jessica’s head in her arms before she ran out the back door to see Y/N’s phone in pieces on the ground.

“Can you describe who took her?” JJ asked as she ran back inside to the terrified Jessica. “What did he look like?”

“White guy, beard, sunglasses, tall, average build. But Y/N said a name. She knew him,” Jessica sobbed.

She knew him? How? “Who was it? What name did she use?”

“Professor Boyland.”

“Shit!” she said, pulling her own phone out of her pocket. “Hotch! Y/N’s stalker is the professor that abused her. Professor Boyland! He took her!” The tears poured from her eyes as she realized what she’d done. She should have gone inside with her. She should have known he would set a trap. If anything happened to her, she would never forgive herself.

----

Just five minutes later, the entire team screeched up to the ME’s office with Spencer running out of the car in a rage. “What happened? Where is she?” he asked.

“He took her,” JJ cried. “I’m sorry, Spence.”

“Why didn’t you go in with her?” he screamed. “What were you thinking? He’s got almost 20 minutes on us now! How could you be so stupid?!”

“Spence,” she said, attempting to turn him around. “She said it was just a paperwork thing and that she’d be out in a few minutes.” As she placed her hands on his arms, he ripped them out of grasp and knocked over everything on Y/N’s desk.

“Dammit! Fuck!”

Hotch walked into the room to Spencer screaming after checking out the back and bagging her phone for evidence. “Calm down, Reid.”

“Calm down? Are you kidding me?! Hotch, she’s missing. The man that violated her put his hands on her again and you want me to calm down!? No! I told her I’d protect her! You didn’t stay calm when Hayley’s life was on the line and I won’t now!” He looked down to see the phone and nearly collapsed right there. They couldn’t use the phone to track her. All they had was his name.

Leaving everyone behind, Spencer ran to one of the cars and hopped in racing back to the BAU by himself.

----

Spencer had told her to play along. As much as it pained her, she tried to carry on a conversation and keep his eyes off of her pants pocket. No one knew she had a separate phone specifically for work calls, but if Garcia would look into her records like she knew she would, there was a chance Garcia would see she had a second phone registered in her name and attempt to track that. But in order for her to turn it on she needed to not raise suspicion. “Where are we going to go?” she asked, steadying her voice so that her anxiety wouldn’t betray how scared she was. When she thought about their last encounter and that he had tracked her for almost a decade, the reality of what he actually wanted from her made her shiver.

“Some place just for us,” he said calmly. “We’ll be happy there. I promise.” He looked into the rearview mirror and caught her eye. “You look just as beautiful as when you were my student. Even more radiant.”

After swallowing the lump in her throat, she feigned a smile, pulling the corners of her mouth up and hoping it was convincing. “Thank you...Nicholas. You look different from when I last saw you.” Just keep calm. Spencer won’t stop looking for you.

At the sound of his name, he softened further. Flattery was working so far. “Yea, I wanted my beard to grow in. I think I look better with it.”

Flatter him. “You look good both ways, but I like the beard too,” she said leaning her hand on her head. If there was a chance that her hand could be seen through a window, Spencer might be able to identify her by the ring on her hand. Her great-grandmother’s ring adorned her right ring finger and it was very distinctive. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice. Looking up from the window, she could see that he was driving her out of the city. Buildings turned to trees rather quickly. He was isolating her. “Will you please tell me where we’re going? I don’t like surprises,” she said, leaning upward slightly in an attempt to meet his gaze.

With one fluid motion, he grabbed the gun from the front seat and pointed it at her head. “You’ll see when we get there. Now no more talking,” he said sternly. His tone betrayed his next movements as he laid the gun back on the seat and caressed the side of her face, shivers rolling down her spine as she felt that touch she swore she’d never feel again. “We’re going to be so happy together. Don’t you worry.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #dontshootmespence #passive aggressive partnership

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