codename-mom

[codename-mom]

Eight hours - 2/2

Summary: Post S04E02. Hotch is about to leave the sheriff station of Lower Canaan, Ohio, to drive back to Virginia, when he hears a voice calling him.

Characters: Derek Morgan and Aaron Hotchner mostly (but the rest of the team shows up at the end of the text.

Contents: loooooooong dialogue about many stuff: after-effects of New York bombing, ear trouble, Joyner's death, grieving, FBI head agency's duties, divorce, neglect, consequences of their job, racism, alcohol, food and some humor here and there (Hotch is a brat. :D).

This is a text written for the CM Stuck Together challenge organized by @imagining-in-the-margins.

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

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First part >> https://www.tumblr.com/codename-mom/785417435195031552/eight-hours-12?source=share

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Read on AO3

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Morgan was out. Focused on his desire to worm the truth out of the director, he had listened to his digressions with only one ear, and it took long seconds for his brain to remind him what he was talking about. 

“What? What’s the point?”

“You’re not intrigued? We’re talking about a giant ball of wool.”

“And what do you want me to do with it?”

“Nothing. In any case, there probably won't be enough room in the trunk.”

“Hotch,” he creaked, clutching the steering wheel.

The ex-prosecutor suppressed a smile and sighed. He was well aware that his casual attitude was putting his neighbor's nerves to the test. Nevertheless, contrary to appearances, he wasn't doing it with the sole aim of exasperating him. There was a purpose behind it all. He would have preferred to teach this lesson implicitly but realized that if he wanted his disciple's full attention, he would have to lay his cards on the table.

“Morgan, if there's one thing you're going to have to learn to do when you become a manager – park over there, there's a space – it's to read between the lines.”

As ordered, the car took the first off-ramp and, after following the signs on the roadside, drove onto a bumpy path. They had now arrived at a gigantic earthen parking lot marked out by tape and a few metal posts. A dozen stunted trees offered a little shade for the first to be served. They would have no choice but to park in direct sunlight.

“I don't understand,” admitted Derek as he moved closer to the open space to make his maneuver.

“Reid saw fit to tell us that this ball of wool existed, which means it caught his eye. He wants to know what it looks like, so we're going to make his wish come true.”

“Are you serious?”

“Very.”

He even had no doubt about it. Spencer was like a child in some – many – things and, notably, if he happened to be too direct at times, he issued his personal requests in a roundabout way. Like Jack, he preferred to say that such and such an object was pretty rather than make it clear that he wanted it for himself. So, the mention was surely not accidental.

                Morgan parked as agreed and Hotch got out of the car to walk over to the till. Stunned by what he had just learned, his subordinate followed him like an automaton. He would never have interpreted the youngest team member's message in this way. Reid ranted so much all day long that he couldn't see how anyone could tell the difference between his propensity to regurgitate all his knowledge without restraint and a possible wish-fulfillment. 

“Two adults, please,” said the unit manager once in front of the counter.

An old man with a moustache, sheltered under an umbrella and seated behind a table on which the cash register was prominently displayed, next to a sign announcing the price of admission.

“What are you doing?”

“I pay the entrance fees.”

“I’ve got a wage, remember.”

“With which you paid for the gas.”

“That I’d be reimbursed by expense account. Unlike these two tickets.”

“Fine, you’ll pay for the food then.”

“Enjoy your visit,” trumpeted the pensioner, with a wry smile.

“Thank you.”

The colossus retrieved the two tickets, handed one to his travelling companion – who took it with an angry gesture – and made his way down the aisles. They were surrounded by a crowd. The weather was good, and all the locals had migrated here to enjoy the afternoon with their families. The stands had been spaced widely apart to provide as much space as possible, but even so, they had to trample in some places to get through. All around them were the classic fairground games: rifle shooting, duck fishing, whack-a-mole, test of strength, hoop throwing, etc.; and vendors of all stripes: savory takeaways, sweets, drinks, souvenirs, local crafts. In the midst of all this, a number of attractions had been set up for all ages: pony rides, merry-go-rounds, bumper cars...

“Can we talk again about what you’re doing with Strauss?”

“I thought that the debate closed.”

“Not at all. Hotch, we are adults. We are able to endure criticisms.”

“The question is rather how these criticisms will affect your behavior.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look, there!”

“What?”

Derek, thinking he saw Strauss coming, looked around anxiously before following the direction indicated by the giant's outstretched finger. He then saw a huge ball of multicolored wool, about three meters in diameter, resting on a wooden platform. A long line of people waited to climb up it.

“Let's go and take some photos,” Hotch said with a smile.

“What? Why?”

“For Reid and Garcia.”

“Garcia?”

“Yes. The others must have told her we were traveling in pairs, so she sent me a message asking for photos. And it's true that, when you think about it, we’re lacking to her collection.”

“I’m lost,” he admitted, completely clueless.

His superior, who had started to walk away, came back to him to explain.

“I'm talking about the photos on his walls,” he began. “She has dozens of Reid, JJ and Prentiss. A few of you and Rossi, most of the time with the first three. One or two with the group where I show up. But no shots with just the two of us. Hence my reflection.”

Morgan squinted his eyelids, trying to visualize the pictures pinned, taped to the young woman's wall. It was always a challenge to remember exactly what the place looked like, since it changed appearance so often. However, he soon discovered that there were indeed no photos of him and the director alone.

“When you say it like that, we look like Pokemon.”

“I hope my evolution will have a good face.”

“Wait, you know Pokemon?” he bounced back immediately, transfixed.

“Yes, of course. Don't ask me to give names, I just know the principle,” he clarified right away.

Jack was too small to be interested at the moment, but he'd already seen his cousins' children playing it and having very enthusiastic exchanges on the subject, throwing around words that didn't make much sense to the adults around them.

“I didn’t know you were into video games.”

“I’m not. But when the phenomenon arrived in the United States, we were asked to analyze it to make sure it couldn't drift dangerously.”

“And?”

“I can sing the theme song for you, if you like.”

“No thanks.”

They then had to wait a good half-hour, without shade or water, before reaching the stage where curious onlookers climbed up to take a glossy souvenir of this extraordinary encounter.

“Now it's our turn,” said Hotch as the ex-policeman read his text messages.

The latter looked up in time to see the former take a disposable camera out of his jacket pocket.

“Where did you get that from?”

“I bought it at the service station. My phone takes photos that are too poor to be developed.”

“Wait a minute…”

“And now it's the turn of this charming couple!” trumpeted a guy in charge of regulating the queue. “Go on, sir.”

They were pushed onto the stage faster than expected and Derek had just enough time to gurgle:

“Hey! No, it’s not…”

“Smile, Morgan,” ordered the titan, bringing his head close to his, the device held at arm's length.

“Hotch…”

Grudgingly, Derek made the effort to smile while his superior took several shots; then they were strongly encouraged to clear the floor. The pair descended from the pedestal in diametrically opposed states of mind.

“Hotch, why didn’t you say anything?” growled Derek.

“About what?”

“About what he said.”

“He didn't look hostile,” shrugged the Manassas native.

“It’s not my point! We are not a couple at all!”

“So, what? Personally, I’ve got no doubt about my sexual orientation.”

“Me neither, it’s just that…”

“Morgan, it’s okay,” he interrupted, having understood perfectly well where the problem was coming from. “We won’t meet that guy again from our entire life.”

The ex-policeman was very concerned about what people would say and was very proud of his appearance. He prided himself on having charm and pleasing girls without having to make any particular effort, except to maintain his prominent musculature. This must have occupied a good part of his free time. But insinuate that he was taking care of himself to attract men, and he'd go ballistic on the spot. Hotch imagined that this had something to do with what had happened to him as a child.

“… Fine,” he sighed, a little bit more relaxed. “Explain one thing to me: how come you bought that camera before Garcia asked us to do anything?”

“That's another skill you'll need to acquire to become a manager: knowing how to anticipate your employees' desires. And I knew that the second she knew where we were, she'd want pictures.”

“… Do you always have the answer to everything?”

“Third quality of a branch manager.”

“Stop it, I’m not gone yet.”

“Exactly. I have to take advantage of it first,” retorted the man who had hired him. “Here, you get us some food, I'll go to the shooting range over there.”

“What do you want to eat?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

The duo split up: one joined a hot-dog vendor, while the other wandered off to one of the games of skill. When Derek put his hand back on his boss, the latter had a pellet rifle in his hands, which looked immensely small for him. On the counter, a plush blond warrior with tridents sat, eyebrows furrowed, smiling victoriously.

“How is it going?”

“I've already won this one for JJ,” he announced, pointing at the fighter. “Now I'm aiming for this one for Reid and then this one for Garcia.”

He pointed in turn to a cat in a lab coat with a mad scientist look, and a gigantic sequined unicorn at least ten times as bulky.

“And for Jack.”

“That one.”

He showed a Spiderman hanging upside down from a string connected to a transparent suction cup. The aim was obviously to stick it on a window. Hotch shouldered his rifle, closed one eye and aimed at the balloons floating randomly behind vertical strings meant to keep them from flying away. A wind tunnel whirled them around at high speed. For novices, it was virtually impossible to hit the target.

“You’re left-handed?” suddenly noticed Morgan.

“Yes, but mostly it makes my ears hurt less.”

Before being stopped by another interruption, he took shot after shot, bursting ball after ball.

“You've got an accurate eye,” noted the stand owner, admiringly. “What do you want?”

“That one,” he said, pointing at the neurotic feline. “And her for another try.”

“… Okay,” hesitated the shopkeeper as he picked up the third five-dollar bill.

And for a good reason. It was unusual for a customer to obtain so many lots, even in a country where guns ran better than trains, and he was beginning to wonder. He had no legal right to prevent him from playing, but he didn't want to see his entire cargo disappear into one person's pockets. He had to be able to attract more people for the next five days before he had to move and stock up again. Besides, how could this banker be so talented? And who was the guy who'd joined him and looked like he'd stepped straight out of a fitness club advert?

                Hotch retrieved new pellets, reloaded his gun, took aim and shot all the balloons without missing a beat.

“Okay. That's enough now!” the guy raged. “Take what you want and get off.”

“Give me the Spiderman, please,” replied the family man calmly, hiding his smile.

“Here.”

He shoved the stuffed toy violently into his hands, arousing Derek’s protective instincts, but as the unit leader didn't seem in the least perturbed by this attitude, he immediately calmed down. However, he decided to carry out his superior's project and approached.

“How much is it?”

“Five,” replied the other, suspiciously.

“Okay. Hold this for me, Hotch,” he said, handing the two trays of food to him.

“With pleasure,” agreed the giant, his prizes tucked under his arm.

Morgan shouldered, aimed and destroyed all the balloons in the larger, more distant upper target.

“Seriously?! Where did you come from?”

In one motion, they presented him with their FBI badges. The showman scowled, defeated. Moments later, the duo set off with their booty. Gathering the stuffed animals – the little ones under the protection of the huge unicorn – at the end of a wooden table, they settled down to eat. Morgan took the opportunity to resume their interrupted conversation.

“What consequences do you expect Strauss' remarks to have for our behavior?”

“You won't give up?”

“No.”

“Hesitations,” he said biting in a French fry. “Not necessarily at the most opportune moment. Less spontaneity, more doubt and more reflection where instinct is needed. In short, anything that could diminish your intellectual capacities and put you at risk.”

A plausible fear, far from unjustified, but one that intrigued him all the more.

“What exactly is she blaming me for?”

“Being too impulsive, hot-headed, impatient, aggressive and a bit destructive.”

“A bit destructive?” he raised an eyebrow, doubting she'd used such wording.

“She'd like me to remind you that there are other ways of opening a door than by kicking in it.”

A habit he'd kept from his time on the Chicago police force, and one that resulted in almost systematic charges whenever the BAU flew out for a new investigation. And every month, the section manager was sure to bring to his attention the amount of the locksmith’s and carpenter’s bills.

“We don't always have time to pick locks,” grumbled the culprit.

“She simply suggested ringing the bell.”

“To get the suspect out the window.”

“I know, Morgan.”

There was no point in going on about it, since he was perfectly aware that the reality on the field was not burdened by bureaucrats' pecuniary considerations. Quite often, when an innocent person's life was in danger, politeness or theory could not be applied. There were costs involved, but at least they had a clear conscience, having done everything in their power to ensure a happy ending. They both knew it.

“Look, if that's all she's got against me, you might as well let her talk to me face-to-face,” Derek resumed. “It won’t change a thing.”

“For you maybe, but it won’t necessarily work that way for the others.”

“But you don't know that because you're always getting in the way,” he reproached him, exasperated.

He couldn't understand why the colossus was so keen to infantilize them in this way. He knew his caring, anxious temperament, but all the team members were adults. Who have responsibilities outside of their job. Who, for some of them, went through hard trials. They weren’t made of sugar. They weren't going to fall apart because some woman, who didn't even know what they were actually doing, came along and slapped them on the wrist for some nonsense. 

“Perhaps it's because I have strong doubts about their ability to ignore reproaches that I'm interfering,” justified the director. “I don't want her protocol whims to ruin the balance of this team. I don't want you to be there at key moments, torturing your mind about whether or not you can afford to say this or do that.”

“It’s already what we are doing, Hotch. When faced with an unbalanced person, we always have tons of questions about what to do.”

“Yes, but your goal at this point is to stay alive, not to respect the wishes of someone who never goes out on the field, but who insists that she knows better than you what to do.”

Morgan stepped back, shaking his head, fists clenched. They couldn't find common ground on the subject.

“… I still say you shouldn't take it all personally.”

“Are you worried about me, or do you just want to pick a fight with Strauss?” asked the titan, with a mocking smile.

“We have to find a gift for Emily and Dave.”

The reply took him aback. He hadn't expected his interlocutor to give up the game so quickly and, at the same time, he appreciated this reaction. Sometimes, cutting short a sterile conversation was much smarter than trying to prove a point. So, he played along and declared:

“… For Prentiss, I spotted a stand selling knives.”

“Where?”

“Next to the waffle stand.”

So, the two men finished their meal, threw their rubbish in the garbage can and, with their cuddly toys in their arms, approached the open-air weapons stall. They quickly spotted a notched dagger with a handle engraved with a skull and crossbones, and exclaimed:

“That one!”

“The choice is unanimous,” laughed the salesman, a paunchy, tattooed biker covered in nails and leather. “Who’s it for?”

“It's a gift,” announced Hotch, who hadn't imagined for a moment that he'd ever utter that phrase for such an object.

“Do you have any gift-wrapping materials? Or even just a ribbon?” bounced Morgan, already pulling his wallet out of his pocket.

“Must have something like that somewhere.”

“Thank you,” did the tallest of all.

The man with the white beard leaned under his counter, rummaged around in a box for a few seconds, then emerged brandishing a roll of shiny fuchsia-pink ribbon. The male trio found the combination of the two most effective.

“Here it is!”

“Thank you, sir,” said the ex-policeman, retrieving the wrapped knife. “Have a nice day.”

“You too.”

They turned their backs on the stand and walked slowly into the crowd.

“Remains Dave.”

“I ask Google if there's a distillery nearby.”

He picked up his phone, tapped on the touchpad and put it back in his pocket.

“So, the distillery?”

“I’m waiting for the answer.”

His phone vibrated at exactly that moment.

“Ah, here it is.”

“You call Reid, Google?”

“It's true that it should be the other way around.”

He unlocked his smartphone and began reading the latest message he'd received.

“So, what's this encyclopedia on legs got to say to you?”

“We should be able to find our happiness not far away. We'll have to make another detour, but it shouldn't take too long.”

“Let’s go.”

“Wait,” he stopped him as he typed a reply, “I'll ask Reid not to say anything to anyone.”

“It’s going to be difficult.”

Like their analyst, the youngest of the bunch had trouble holding his tongue. Although facetious and teasing, it was hard for him to hide the fact that he knew something the others didn't, and it didn't take much prodding to get him to spill his secrets.

“Yes. I'm not sure we'll make it to Quantico before he cracks.”

“Especially if the girls have doubts.”

“Hurry up.”

The pair left the funfair, got back into their vehicle and set off down the road. Morgan followed Hotch's instructions and set off on a parallel road a few kilometers further to reach a distillery. By the time they got out of the SUV, the alcohol fumes were already strong, even though they were only in the parking lot.

“Let’s not breath too deep. If we got checked none of us would be able to drive again,” half-joked Derek.

“Let's look for the souvenir store.”

Being particularly well signposted, they had no trouble finding it, but they did spend a fair amount of time there, reading all the labels and debating whether or not the novelist had already enjoyed this or that beverage. The co-founder of the BAU had traveled extensively and was a great lover of high-class alcoholic beverages. Finally, his disciple set his sights on a local berry spirit with a beautiful amber color.

“In my opinion, he never tasted that one.”

“With all the miles he's logged, I wouldn't be so sure,” Derek doubted as they walked toward their car.

“We’ll see. Do you want me to drive?”

“Still not. You should take advantage of it to rest. The last few days have not been easy for you.”

“Because it was a walk in the park for you?”

“No, but my eardrums are fine, contrary to yours.”

The manager rolled his eyes, but didn't insist and sat down on the passenger side, as he had done since the start of the journey. Ten minutes later, the SUV left the country road and took to the highway again, this time with Virginia in its sights. It was well into the afternoon, and they wouldn't arrive in Washington DC until nightfall.

“Okay. What lesson am I supposed to learn from this?” said the driver.

“What?”

“From the start, you’re giving me lessons on how to be a good unit manager every time you do something. What's the lesson I'm supposed to learn from all these trinkets we're bringing back?”

“What do you think?”

“That you have to be nice to your employees?” he said, a little mockingly.

He felt like he was back in elementary school, at a time when children had to be given rewards to push them to do more. From his point of view, salary and bonuses were what replaced good points among adults. That an FBI agency director would stoop to giving stuffed animals to his subordinates seemed childish to him.

“More precisely, you need to know how to let go of ballast from time to time, and reward everyone's efforts so that they are all the more motivated to make new ones.”

“It's the carrot principle, in fact.”

“The carrot is suggested before any effort is made. It's a decoy, it doesn't prove anything about the goodwill of the baited people,” objected his neighbor. “On the other hand, an unexpected but well-deserved reward will always have an effect. And even more so if you’re the stern type.”

Like him, finished the ex-policeman mentally. Hotch may have been protective and very passive when it came to some of his flock's excesses, but he could also be very strict on a few points and have requirements from which it was impossible to deviate. His team had long since learned to recognize when he was no longer joking and when it was time to get down to business.

“But if every effort is rewarded, after a while the effect wears off.”

“That's why it has to be dispensed sparingly. It’s all about dosage.”

“Does Strauss give you little gifts from time to time too?” he asked, curious.

“No. But I certainly don't do anything to deserve them either,” he replied, casually.

“And it doesn’t bother you?”

“What?”

“Receive no expression of appreciation from your line manager?”

“I don’t need her to say anything to appreciate my work. To tell you the truth, I don't really care about her gratitude,” he shrugged.

Derek could hardly believe it. Despite all the tension between him and the giant, he was keen to know what the giant thought of his actions. When he had been approached to take over Kate Joyner's position as head of the New York agency, he had been very disappointed to learn that Hotch had not sent his recommendations to Bureau headquarters in support of his candidacy. It was also inconceivable to him that the unit leader could carry on with his work without ever receiving the slightest congratulations from someone one rank above him.

“Yet, it's important to know whether or not you're doing a good job.”

“I agree, but it’s not her duty to complete this task. It's the victims who get justice, who regain their freedom, who are reunited with their loved ones or who can once again live their lives to the full without worrying about running into a sociopath around the next corner. I get my recognition there and nowhere else.”

It was a valid argument, indeed; and the impact of the thanks of the citizens to whom they came to the rescue far outweighed that of the check received at the end of the month, he could not dispute. However…

“… I want to say that it’s the same for us.”

“Of course, but that doesn't mean I won't give you a treat whenever I can.”

“Has anyone ever told you you're a sugar daddy?”

“No, not really. And now that Jack is away, it won’t happen anymore.”

Morgan's smile faded as the giant's face darkened. The divorce had been finalized six months earlier, and the director's whole life had turned upside down in no time. Not only had he had to give up the house he'd bought when he arrived in DC, but he'd also conceded that his ex-wife would have sole custody of their son. Since he didn't have a fixed schedule, it had been impossible for him to argue for times when he could fulfill his role as a father. In fact, Haley was free to keep Jack with her and take him on vacation to another state, for example, even though his sire was finally available to look after him. A situation that was eating away at him from the inside, even if he never opened up about it to his colleagues.

“… Sorry.”

“I had it coming,” he replied abruptly, shoving a crumb out of his pants.

“Why are you saying this?”

“Haley surely sent me lots of messages and signals heralding this disaster, but I didn't want to see them.”

It was the truth. When he returned from his investigation to find the house empty, it had been a blow. For most of the night, he had been sitting on the floor in the middle of his living room, holding the paper on which his wife had scribbled three words to stop him calling the police. In a daze, he hadn't eaten or slept, nor had he washed or changed his clothes, until the first rays of sunlight came through. He had then followed his usual morning routine like a robot and found himself behind his desk without even remembering having driven to Quantico. It had taken him several days to start fitting the pieces together and drafting an explanation for this brutal decision.

“Maybe you didn't see them because, as with us, you refused to profile her.”

“There's a difference between not profiling the people closest to you and becoming totally blind to their actions or deaf to their words,” he argued dryly. “All humans have to be a little profiler to fit into society. You need to know how to decipher the behavior of the people around you to get in tune and avoid conflict.”

“What you forgot to do.”

He hated himself so much for taking for granted what he had, for failing to question himself and for being such a coward.

“By not wanting to analyze her behavior, yes,” he admitted, his throat tightening. “I… I believed that the love we had for each other would be enough to overcome all that. I naively thought that the love I gave her for the short time I was there was enough for her. But I was wrong.”

He had disrespected her, and she had been perfectly right to abandon him like that. He didn’t deserve much. The gaping wound she had inflicted on him by ricochet was only fair.

“Did you warn her? That you'd have a totally random schedule and extendable hours.”

“Yes. But I think she gave me permission more because she saw how much I liked the idea than out of interest.”

“She gave you permission?” Derek repeated, surprised.

“When I met Rossi, I was already a federal agent. But I was a prosecutor for a local agency. I didn't go beyond the state borders, and I was home almost every night,” he explained, his eyes burning. “Given the change of pace that my integration into the BAU implied, I had to talk to her before giving my answer.”

“You were already married?”

“Only engaged, but we'd known each other for years.”

Since high school. They'd spent their entire adult lives side by side, and she'd undeniably spent more of her time supporting him than the other way around. Right from the start, the balance had not been right between them: she had given everything, and he had taken everything without bringing anything in return. In fact, he wondered how she could have stayed with him so long.

“In her defense, it's not easy from the outside to really realize what our job entails, in terms of quality of life, I mean,” said the ex-policeman, who also had a change of pace when he joined the FBI.

“Oh, I don't blame her at all, far from it,” Hotch assured. “She wanted to please me, but it backfired. She went from an ever-present, attentive fiancé to a ghostly husband, in every sense of the word. And things didn't get any better when I became manager.”

On a contrary. The weight of his responsibilities had been compounded by the extension of his working hours. He was, of course, paid more, but the opportunities to take advantage of it had been drastically reduced. In the end, it was mostly her who had used the money in their bank account. And even now, this was still the case, since his salary was essentially used to pay alimony and to replenish an account earmarked for their offspring's education. What was left after paying bills and running errands gathered dust in the bank.

“But she still wanted to have a child with you?”

“She must have thought it would force me to make less field missions,” he hypothesized. “But it was a very bad calculation. I wonder if it even made things worse. I was already a bad husband; I became a bad father.”

He ran away. He'd been scared and fled the marital home. Terrorized by the idea of doing things wrong, he preferred to stick to what he mastered. And since he knew it was a silly excuse, he'd offered no explanation. He'd left the mother with nothing to hold on to so that she could come to his aid or set the record straight. His father had spent most of his childhood treating him like a set piece, and he hadn't done much better with Jack in the end.

“No wonder she found it hard to swallow,” Morgan commented. “And you want me to become director?”

“I repeat: my approach is far from unanimous. Nothing's going to stop you from staying screwed to your desk and keeping fixed hours,” he threw out, not without a certain morgue. “But if you want real advice: when you find the right person, talk to them. Don’t keep everything for you. Without going into too much detail, at least tell them how you feel so they understand why, sometimes, you're not quite there.”

The unit leader didn't take his eyes off the landscape as he said these words, but his traveling companion saw a crack in it. It wasn't empty words or a formula, it was the key to the longevity of a relationship with people like them – people who rubbed shoulders with horror every day. The key that had failed him, or that he hadn't known how to use, and which was now completely useless to him.

“… By the way, why did you divorce?”

“Why she asked for divorce, actually,” he corrected. “I didn’t want to. But I couldn't hold her by force either.”

“So?”

“I think everything have been said. I was never there, and even when I was there, I was somewhere else,” he confessed, his hands twitching nervously. “I was in a world to which I denied her access so as not to hurt her. I consciously kept everything I saw and experienced a secret because I didn't want to frighten her. I didn’t want her to worry about be, about her or about Jack. Except I didn’t take into account the fact that she wasn’t blind nor stupid. She could see how all these investigations were affecting me, how my work was gradually erasing the Aaron Hotchner she'd married. And every time she reached out to me to get me out of there, I ignored her or pushed her away and told her everything was fine.”

“But that wasn’t what she wanted to hear.”

“No. She wanted to be part of my life. With its up, and its down.”

Derek understood that the situation was complex, that neither of them was entirely wrong nor entirely right either. Having been raised by a single mother, he understood that Haley wanted her husband's support in taking charge of their child's education. But knowing the reality of their profession, he also understood that it wasn't so easy to get caught up in paperwork when people were risking their lives to save others. Both sides had their points.

“What do you think? That she still loves you or hate you?”

“I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter anymore,” he said, sighing. “I know her and there will have no turning back.”

He spun his head to look out the window, but the vibrato in his voice gave him away.

“… What’s for sure is that you still love her.”

“Morgan, if you ever become a manager, be a smart manager,” he glared at him. “Do nothing like me.”

        A few minutes later, in a heavy silence, Hotch fell asleep, exhausted by the fatigue of the previous days. Derek didn't try to wake him and concentrated on the road, digesting his partner's words. He thought he'd made up his mind, but his recruiter's words made their way into his brain, leading him to re-evaluate his choice. The list of pros and cons balanced out, not making his task any easier, but his thinking was progressing nonetheless. However, he had not completed his reasoning when the giant began to move again. Night was falling.

“How long did I sleep?” was the first question his neighbor asked.

“An hour or two.”

“Sorry,” he said, straightening up and rubbing his eyes. 

“Why? You’re allowed to sleep.”

“When you’re driving? You could have fallen asleep without realizing it.”

“Relax, Hotch. I'm still awake and we haven't finished in the ditch.”

The unit leader was clever enough not to insist. He stretched his aching muscles as best he could, then resumed:

“… I didn't do anything weird in my sleep, did I?”

“No, you’re calm. Ah, yes!” he remembered, all of sudden. “There’s one time where you spoke.”

“What did I say?”

“’Morgan won it.’”

The ex-prosecutor frowned, unable to remember what he had dreamt or why he would have uttered such words.

“I assumed you meant the unicorn,” said the driver.

“Oh. Maybe. That’s all?”

“Yes.”

He then looked around, trying to pierce the darkness that surrounded them. The landscape was vaguely familiar.

“Where are we?”

“We should be there in a couple of hours.”

“And you still don’t want to let me drive?”

“Actually, I won’t say no this time. This straight line is killing me,” Derek admitted, suppressing a yawn.

“You should have told me earlier.”

“For once you were sleeping, I wasn't going to deprive you of that.”

“I'm sleeping, Morgan,” Hotch growled, aware of the rumors circulating about his robotic side.

“If you say so.”

“Take the next exit. We will do a break before hitting the road again.”

“I wouldn’t say no.”

Ten minutes later, as night fell, they reached a new service station. The Chicago native took the opportunity to go to the bathroom while his superior went around the shelves to find them something to nibble on. The hot dogs they had eaten several hours earlier had long since been metabolized by their bodies, and hunger was pangs. The choice of food on offer wasn't large, so he settled on what seemed the least chemical, then joined the cash register.

“Good evening.”

“’vening,” replied the manager, his baseball cap askew on his balding head. “Say, with a guy like that, you don't get much trouble.”

“I beg your pardon?” frowned Hotch, confused.

“Your chauffeur, there, he’s also your bodyguard, isn’t he?”

Reflexively, he looked over his shoulder, even though his subordinate had not yet emerged from the washroom.

“… What make you think that he’s my chauffeur?”

“Don’t know. Suited like that, you must be rich. And him… well, ‘see?”

Derek approached him at this point, his cell phone in hand.

“Hotch, we're due back at the office. Look.”

He showed him the text message Garcia had just sent. She said they were eagerly awaiting them, punctuating her message with a dozen smileys of support and as many glowing hearts.

“Very well. I'll drive you to the office, sir,” replied the manager in a stilted tone.

He then walked away from the counter, his purchases in hand and stiff as a board. Morgan, eyelids wide, was swimming in confusion. What was the point of this scene? He turned to the owner, who immediately lowered his nose in embarrassment. Unsettled, but determined to get to the bottom of things, he stepped outside and looked around for his boss. He was leaning against the car, a package in his hand.

“What's going on?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“A potato chip?” calmly offered the giant, handing him the open bag.

“Hotch.”

“He thought you were my chauffeur.”

The former policeman opened his mouth to retort before bursting out laughing. His neighbor looked at him, undecided.

“It’s not funny,” he stressed, taken aback.

“Hotch, if I had to revolt every time I heard a racist cliché, I'd spend my time railing.”

“Maybe you should.”

“I’ve got other things to do.”

He settled back against the doors and quietly picked up a potato chip, crunching greedily. All those miles had made him starving. 

“He looked very embarrassed after you left,” he informed him as he retrieved a whole handful of fried potato slices.

“Is that supposed to make me feel sorry for him?” grumbled the behemoth, chewing furiously. “At least he'll think twice before spouting that kind of nonsense.”

“Wow! You’re really angry.”

Until now, Derek had only seen him get angry in very specific situations: when the team was confronted with a man who was violent towards his wife and children, and when someone took the liberty of denigrating one of the BAU members. And recently, the day he criticized Kate Joyner's decisions. But the last case was exceptional.

“I don’t like this kind of shortcuts.”

“Why?”

“Does there have to be a reason for this?” he exclaimed, annoyed. “And why you’re not? You’re the first concerned.”

“Hotch, if you hadn't reacted the way you did, I'd never have known what he'd said, and we'd have started that bag of chips discussing something else entirely.”

“I would have told you.”

“Really?”

The titan thought for a moment and realized that he might, indeed, have overlooked this mention. If only so as not to hurt his subordinate. Then to avoid triggering a brawl between the latter and the pump attendant. 

“… Why doesn’t it piss you off?”

“Because I've been angry enough about it to realize that it's not necessarily the right way to raise awareness.”

“I'm not asking you to punch him, just to put him in his place.”

“For what? You already did. Subtlety,” he added, grinning from ear to ear.

Hotch pouted and swallowed a few chips in silence. Derek resumed:

“And you, why does it piss you off that much?”

“Because I think that in this day and age, it's absurd to still have such preconceived ideas in your head.”

“Let me guess: some kids gave you a hard time at school because of your name.”

“I don’t see the connection.”

“Hotch…”

Hotchner was a Jewish-sounding name, but given his extensive knowledge of the Bible, the explosives expert deduced that he must have spent part of his schooling in an institution that was, if not Catholic, at least Christian. Children are easily cruel, so it wasn't unreasonable to think that some of his classmates might have attack him a few times to remind him that he didn't really belong with them.

“What? I have no right to take your defense? I must have experienced some kind of childhood trauma?”

“No, but you’re more the stoic type usually. It's surprising that you react so epidermically.”

“Put it down to fatigue.”

“You’ve slept two hours.”

“Morgan.”

His tone was clear: he had no desire to continue this conversation.

“Okay. What else did you buy?”

“There wasn't much. I suggest paprika chips, vinegar chips or barbecue sauce chips.”

“Hard choice…” he pretended to think. “Go for some chips.”

“…” reacted Hotch, immobile.

“Doesn’t matter, give me one. I hope you found water with all that, because we're going to end up parched. “

“Surprisingly, this was the only drink left. Here,” he said, handing him a new bottle.

“And what we have for dessert?”

“So, you can't make this up, but all I could find were chocolate chips.”

“Seriously?”

He plunged his hand through the open window and picked up yet another package from the driver's seat. He then presented it to his neighbor, who discovered that he was telling the truth. Derek laughs again, amazed.

“Why is there a second one?” he asked as he spotted the duplicate of the one he was holding in the cockpit. “Did you think that after so many chips, we'd still be hungry?”

“No, it’s for Jack. Haley will probably kill me if she finds out I made him eat something like that, but I'm sure he's never tasted it.”

“I must admit that this would be a big first for me too.”

“And a big last one, I hope, as far as I'm concerned.”

Morgan smiled as he dug into his packet of paprika potato chips. Apart from the deafening noise of their meal, the area was quiet. They were the only two humans in the parking lot, and the sound of traffic on the main road could be heard in the distance. A few crickets tried to make themselves heard, but the rustle of tinfoil easily overpowered them. A light breeze caressed them regularly.

“Don’t you want to eat inside? The car, I mean,” he clarified, suspecting that the agency head had no desire to return to the station.

“No. We're going to get crumbs everywhere; we're going to have to get it cleaned and I don't feel like justifying why I had to pay for something like this.”

“No kidding, do you really have to justify all the unit's expenses?”

“Whenever we’re getting out of the frame, yes,” he explained, scraping the bottom of his bag of vinegar chips for the last crumbs.

“How often do we get out of the frame?”

“Pretty much every time we board the jet.”

“And you want me to become a director?”

“Your team may be more disciplined than mine.”

“Hey!”

“Barbecue?” he said, showing him the last package.

        Two hours and forty-seven minutes later, the pair finally arrived on the sixth floor of Quantico's offices. The building was partially deserted, but the entire team was gathered in the open-space area.

“Haaaa!” exclaimed the agents in unison as the two men pushed open the heavy glass doors.

“You've lost,” declared JJ to Prentiss, “they're in one piece, both of them.”

“Damn!” her colleague pestered, handing her a five-dollar bill.

Penelope hopped closer to them. Morgan didn't hesitate for a moment to take her in his arms, while she kept her distance from Hotch, who didn't much appreciate this kind of effusion.

“How was the journey?”

“Easy. It was straight ahead.”

“What have you got there?” she asked, squinting at the bags in their hands.

“This, sweetheart, is for you.”

He took out of his luggage the prize he had won for her at the funfair. The analyst's reaction was immediate and noisy.

“Oooooh! She’s marvelous! Look at this beauty!” she said, turning to the rest of the group in amusement.

“Did you buy him a stuffed unicorn?” Dave asked the manager, worried.

“Won. Riffle shooting range.”

“Ha. It changes everything,” ironized the novelist, shaking his head.

As was often the case, he was unsure of the exact nature of the place he'd landed in: an elite FBI agency or a daycare center.

“Here, this is for you,” continued his disciple, taking a bottle out of his travel bag. “We actually bought this one.”

“Oh!” he exclaimed, discovering the label. “Interesting. I didn’t know that one.”

“We followed the advice of a very good guide.”

Reid, not far away, smiled at Hotch's words.

“What about us, don't we have anything?” questioned the liaison officer, with a hint of jealousy.

“Yes. Here for you, JJ,” said Derek, offering her the warrior plush. “That’s for you, Spencer. Won by the top banana, with his evil eye no less,” he specified, paying no attention to the interested party's raised eyebrow.

“Oh, thank you! It’s so cute.”

“Thank you very much,” followed the multi-graduate, fascinated by his present.

“And for you, Emily…”

“No plush, no plush, no…” she murmured, eyes closed.

“This.”

At the appearance of the wrapped dagger, the profiler's grimace of apprehension turned to admiration.

“It’s so beautiful! Thank you very much!”

“We hesitated with one of the waffles sold at the stand next door, but there was a special on knives,” joked Hotch, reassured by the young woman's positive reaction.

“I love you with love. Both of you.”

She winked at them, clutching the weapon in her hands, walking on air.

“And that's not all!” continued Morgan, rejoicing with delight.

“More gifts?” wondered the former computer hacker.

“Here's why we're back so late,” said the branch manager, pulling a rectangular box from his bag.

Their eyes lit up as soon as they recognized the object. Indeed, the duo had toured the city in search of a photographer who was still open and able to develop their film at this late hour. The group quickly gathered around the photographs, ecstatic. Derek noted Reid's blissful look when he saw them next to the giant ball of yarn. Everyone was amused by the other shots the agents had taken along the way. 

“These, Princess, are especially for you,” announced the ex-policeman, pointing to the last of the pile, which had been drawn in duplicate expressly for the bespectacled blonde.

“Ho! My Care bears!”

“What?” croaked the giant, surprised.

“I thought the secret of being a good manager was knowing how to anticipate,” Morgan scoffed, leaning toward him.

“Your employees’ desires, not the silly nicknames.”

The team burst out laughing, then Garcia shouted:

“I want a hug!”

“Me too!” bounced JJ.

“Me too!” Spencer and Emily imitated her.

“I'll pass, but I’m with you with all my heart,” said Dave, while Derek was already spreading his arms to welcome them.

In the end, the eight-hour drive had gone pretty well, Hotch observed, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

[codename-mom]

Eight hours - 1/2

Summary: Post S04E02. Hotch is about to leave the sheriff station of Lower Canaan, Ohio, to drive back to Virginia, when he hears a voice calling him.

Characters: Derek Morgan and Aaron Hotchner mostly (but the rest of the team shows up at the end of the text.

Contents: loooooooong dialogue about many stuff: after-effects of New York bombing, ear trouble, Joyner's death, grieving, FBI head agency's duties, divorce, neglect, consequences of their job, racism, alcohol, food and some humor here and there (Hotch is a brat. :D).

This is a text written for the CM Stuck Together challenge organized by @imagining-in-the-margins.

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

Read on AO3

___

“Hotch, wait!”

The BAU director did an about-face as he closed the trunk of the car over his travel bag and prepared to get behind the wheel. He frowned seeing the man approaching him.

“Morgan? What are you doing here?”

He had ordered his subordinates to resume the jet without him, now that the investigation was complete. And yet, the Chicago native stood before him. 

“The team is worried that you’ll spend the next eight hours on the road without any supervision.”

The profilers had been called out to Ohio and, following the eardrum-shredding bombing in New York, he was forced to drive home. He had tried the air route on the outward journey, and the terrible headache that ensued had dissuaded him from doing it again. He was surprised, nonetheless, to find that he'd been sent a chaperone. And even more so this one, given the regular spats between the two of them.

“Let me guess. You all drew straws, and you lost.”

“No,” furrowed Derek, dumbfounded by this reply.

“You won?”

His younger looked up, not enjoying the joke. Hotch's discreet smile faded, and he didn't insist on forcing him back to the airport. Especially since the plane had probably already taken off. Morgan intervened, however, when his superior wanted to sit in the driver's seat, and the two men negotiated longer than necessary before the older of the two finally gave in. He handed him the keys and walked around the vehicle to take a seat on the passenger side.

“You didn't have to do that,” declared the colossus as the car left town.

“Do what?” bounced back his neighbor, perplex.

“Being my chauffeur. My hurt eardrum doesn’t prevent me to drive.

“That's got to affect your balance, doesn't it?” objected the explosives expert. “This means that your inner ear is affected, and therefore your vision.”

He noted inwardly that it was already a miracle that the titan had escaped so unscathed and was fit enough to move about unaided, only a couple of weeks after the explosion. Nevertheless, it was clear from the last few days that he had not fully recovered.

“No. It just hurts to be near sounds that are too shrill. And because of the pressure changes on take-off and landing,” added the punctilious unit manager.

“Is that why you thought going on a mission would be a great idea?”

“I had to try to see if it was possible or not.”

“God, Hotch! You knew at some point you were going to fire a gun,” Derek scolded him, unable to recall a mission that hadn't ended with one of them pulling the trigger.

“Not necessarily. It’s possible to settle conflicts by negotiation.”

The driver gave him a sidelong, suspicious glance. His parcel stared back at him, quite sure of his words.

“Did you seriously bet on this hypothesis? I would remind you that our customers are rarely inclined to negotiate.”

“It was still a possibility,” he insisted, without hesitation.

“We've seen how that turned out,” grumbled his interlocutor. “All the cops around us asked what your problem was. And with good reason: an FBI agent who rolls into a ball at every gunshot is surprising.”

The ex-prosecutor's basic demeanor was quite puzzling to people who didn't know him: he would stare into the eyes of anyone with whom he was having a conversation, remained impassive in all circumstances, and could be offensively tactless on certain occasions. But until this investigation, neither he nor any of the other members of the group had ever felt it necessary to smooth things over or justify his attitude to the law enforcement agencies they were helping. The case had been different this time, since his reactions had been the opposite of those a federal agent should have.

“Sorry,” apologized the convalescent sincerely.

It hadn't been his intention to put his employees in an uncomfortable position, but it had been a failure all round. Not only had he scratched the Bureau's image by not acting as protocol required, but he had also been a source of concern for the agents he worked with. 

“On the other hand, you'll have to explain to me how you managed to remain stoic next to the megaphone.”

“I clenched my teeth.”

Or rather, he'd had such a headache at the time that the racket caused by the megaphone hadn't reached him. But Morgan didn’t need to know that detail.

“Hotch, why you didn’t tell us that you weren’t good for duty?”

“And you, why you don’t want to take the position in New York?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“If the only thing that bothers you is not having my recommendation, I can write it to you right away.”

“Hotch!”

The latter breathed in and out for a long time before making up his mind. He hadn't even considered talking about himself during the trip. Because he hated that. And his traveling companion was well aware of this. The idea behind this questioning was not to dampen the mood in the cabin, but to determine whether or not he could do his job properly, without his colleagues having to keep looking over their shoulders.

“… The doctor never said that I wasn’t good for duty. I just had to avoid noises that were too high-pitched or too loud.”

“Like a shotgun?” suggested Derek, sarcastic. “Convenient for an FBI agent.”

“She didn’t think that I would go back on the field right away. Me neither.”

“Yes, well, let me remind you that the jammed printer knocked you out too.”

“What an idea to make such a high-pitched sound for a simple stuck sheet of paper!”

He had needed to start printing a document just before leaving Quantico for the airfield where the jet was parked. The photocopier, unsettled by this sudden request, had swallowed the wrong way and let it be known loudly to the entire sixth floor. A violent pain had immediately flashed through his skull, and he had been unable to approach the dysfunctional machine. It was JJ who had come to his rescue by retrieving the object responsible for the commotion.

“Hotch, you should be at home, resting.”

“You mean, being assaulted by my coffee pot and my micro-waves oven.”

“Hotch…”

Morgan gave him a more than disapproving look, which spoke volumes about the depth of his thinking.

“What? You have no idea how many devices beep as soon as they've finished doing what they were built to do. It's like playing a trumpet every time I finish writing a report.”

“…”

“I can’t stay home, it drives me nuts,” he confessed watching through the window.

His driver caught his feeling. As someone who couldn't stand to be idle, he would have found it hard to remain bedridden or confined to his lodgings if he'd been told not to cross the threshold. However…

“You're allowed to go out, you know,” he remarked with a wry smile.

“To go where?” immediately replied the agency chief.

Derek repressed his urge to snicker. He and his colleagues shared the same image of their contractor: that of a sullen hermit, shunning the crowds and holed up in his cave. Obviously, this impression was confirmed.

“I don’t know. You’re divorced, you’re free to do anything you want.”

“I don’t have your lady-killer looks.”

The two men couldn't be more dissimilar. Although both were tall, the younger had a more athletic physique, a flirtatious smile, an unfailing wit and a well-defined musculature that he wasn't shy about showing off to everyone – and especially to every girl. The second had the austere appearance of a paper-pusher, the expressiveness of a refrigerator, and spoke only when absolutely necessary. The former attracted women like a jar of honey attracts wasps and enjoyed it amply. So did the second, but he didn't realize it at all.

“To each their own.”

“Okay, I rephrase it. I’m old enough to be the father of girls who go clubbing.”

“It depends on the club. I’m pretty sure Rossi knows some places for people of your age.”

Dave was ten years older than Hotch and, along with Jason Gideon, had been the young federal agent's mentor when he first joined the FBI. The result was a sincere friendship that allowed the former pensioner to call the director by his first name when everyone else trembled at the prospect.

“And what do you suggest as an approach phrase? ‘Hello, I’ve killed fifty people, and my wife dumped me because I’m working too much.’”

“Fifty people?” exclaimed Morgan, momentarily taking his eyes off the road to observe his passenger.

“I don't keep exact records, but based on the number of times I've had to take the interview for...”

“I get it,” he cut him off. “But instead of saying that, you can say you're an FBI agent. Usually, it’s doing the trick.”

The giant raised an inquisitive eyebrow as he looked at the man he'd hired.

“Do you use your badge to extend your hunting range?”

“Of course, when you put it like that, it sounds very unhealthy.”

“I’m actually surprised that you need that.”

“Why?”

“If you only knew how many women in Quantico approach me just to get your number or to see if you're available.”

And each time, he was all the more surprised that these agents dared to approach him – the Iceberg – to ask him about it, rather than going straight to their target. In theory, they had much more to lose by raising such a subject with a manager from another agency than by making advances to their counterpart. Not least because there was nothing to stop him reporting what he knew to HR.

“Jealous?”

“No. I just don't see your point in using your badge when all you have to do is show up and drop all the women like flies.”

“Okay. I confess that I’m not using it that much,” he admitted, honest. “But it could help you.”

“Morgan, I’m scaring people naturally. I’m not sure telling them that I’m a federal agent will help them to relax.”

“It’s because you don’t smile enough.”

In the time they'd been together, Derek must have seen his superior beamed less than ten times. Admittedly, their work was no laughing matter, but by comparison, JJ, Spencer, Penelope, Emily and Dave expressed their joy or hilarity much more freely when the context became less formal. As if to confirm this, Hotch merely shook his head and sighed before resuming:

“Well, all that to say that I couldn’t stay a minute more at home. But I grant you that it was stupid to get back on the plane so early. Maybe I should have left on the next mission.”

“We're making good progress.”

“Why didn't you take the job in New York?” he snapped back at him.

Morgan felt a block of ice slide into the bottom of his stomach. The offer from the New York office was more than tempting, but something was holding him back.

“… I haven’t decided yet.”

“They've been standing in front of the phone for three weeks waiting for you to call. They’ll get tired of it.”

“Why are you so keen to get rid of me?” he grumbled, embarrassed by his insistence.

“I don’t want to,” revealed the titan without flinching. “Only, I can't tie you to your chair to keep you on the team if you want to go elsewhere. But you have to be willing to go elsewhere.”

His scrutinizing irises planted themselves like banderillas on the driver, who kept silent to ponder his reply.

“It’s not an easy decision to make.”

“What hold you up? Your family is living in Chicago, the pay will be much better, you'll be making the decisions and the risk of getting shot will be drastically reduced.”

“You're a unit leader and you're in the field with us,” he reminded him, defensively.

“It’s a personal choice. And the BAU organization has no equivalent in any other agency in the country.”

“It's precisely this lack of equivalence that makes me wonder.”

Apart from a handful of agents spread over the rest of the country who had been trained in profiling – although this was not their main profession – the experts in the field were all grouped together at Quantico, under the command of the man sitting next to him. The way they investigated, the cases they studied and their scope for action were unique. He already knew that he would never regain such freedom of action by joining another team.

“Why?”

“You know what they say: you know what you lose, but not what you gain.”

“What? You think that New York agents are not nice? You already have seen them though.”

“Barely.”

“And did they strike you as particularly unsympathetic?”

Called to the rescue by Big Apple agency director Kate Joyner, the profilers had worked hand-in-hand with the local workforce to stop a burgeoning terrorist cell. In fact, yes, he had been able to get a feel for the environment, the atmosphere and the staff on site.

“I didn’t say that,” he affirmed before he went on, more hesitant. “Only… I care a lot about this team and… here, I don’t need to prove myself anymore. Over there, I'd have to learn everything all over again, including how to get to know the men and women who'd be working under me. It’s… it’s a big responsibility and… there's no guarantee that I'm really up to the task.”

The leap into the void was undeniable, all the more so for a young agent like him; Hotch was aware of this, but he wasn't worried about his integration.

“There’s no reason why you shouldn’t be. You have a lot of field experience, which will give you a definite advantage in understanding your agents; as opposed to a bureaucrat who barely knows how to hold a gun,” he advanced calmly. “Secondly, you are organized and methodical and have excellent self-control. Add to that your protective instincts and your taste for justice, and I can't think of anything that would make you a bad manager.”

Derek frowned. It was the first time he'd heard such a speech about himself from the mouth of his superior.

“Is it what you’re willing to put in your recommendation?”

“Pretty much, yes. But I get the impression that there's something else holding you back, to tell you the truth.”

The team was instructed not to profile each other, and he briefly had the urge to play this card to dodge the subject, then realized that the words spoken by his leader had already allayed some of his doubts. Perhaps prolonging this conversation would allow him to clarify his thoughts.

“… What if… what if I get bored? I… I mean: When I’ll become director of the New York agency, I’ll give up traveling the country. I’ll give up solving unusual investigations and chasing after... disconcerting guys. I'll finally get back to what I was doing in Chicago, and I'll have a completely predictable schedule.”

“Which is a huge advantage when you want to start a family,” Hotch replied calmly.

“Which is not really on the agenda.”

“It will. Sooner than you think,” he added with a knowing tone. “And when you do, you'll quickly realize that crossing every state every four mornings is irresponsible.”

The ex-policeman felt uneasy. The man sitting next to him had recently divorced the mother of his son, aged just two, after twenty-five years together. He knew what he was talking about then. That he should admit so coldly that he had behaved badly with his family was unsettling. Hardly surprising on his part, since he stated the facts – all the facts – with the same indifference but embarrassing all the same.

“That doesn't change the fact that the business I'll be doing there won't come close to matching what we're doing now,” he continued, redirecting the dialogue onto a less slippery slope.

“You don’t know yet. And even if that were the case, wouldn't it be a blessing in disguise?”

“Why do you say that?”

“When was the last time you managed to sleep without revisiting a crime scene or imagining yourself in one of the victims' shoes?”

Hotch was no fool. His men were human beings like any others, and what they saw on a daily basis struck them in one way or another, leaving its mark on their minds, their flesh and their hearts. He didn't know how long they'd be in his unit, but none of them would get out unscathed, he had no doubt. Despite the detachment he displayed as soon as he put on his federal agent's suit, he himself was having a hard time. He could no longer count the number of times he had spent the night staring at a wall, motionless, replaying the last few hours – the last few days – gone by, unable to close his eyes without being overcome by nausea. His neighbor acted tough, but he was just as much a sufferer as his counterparts.

“… You really want to get rid of me, uh?”

“Not at all. Once again, I wish to keep you by my side as long as I can,” he confessed, sincere. “But I know that this unit has to endure the worst part of being an investigator. I know that the psychological consequences can be extremely serious. So, when I took on the job of director, I immediately got it into my head that the team I would build at the beginning would not be the one I would have under my command at the end.”

The prospect choked his throat, but he knew it was the logical thing to do.

“… Why did you hire me, by the way?”

“The FBI's human resources policy requires that quotas be respected. I saw your photo; I took you in the team.”

Derek watched him, eyelids wide. The giant had spoken with all his usual seriousness, and there was nothing in his expression to indicate whether he was speaking frankly or in jest. Noting the interest in him, Hotch sighed and continued:

“What do you think?”

“That’s my point. I don’t know on which criteria you hired me.”

“Why do you want to know that?”

“I'm trying to figure out why you chose me when I wasn't even an FBI agent in the first place.”

“And it was exactly what I was searching for.”

“What that’s supposed to mean?”

Again, the driver looked at him as if he'd said something outrageous. He could even sense the anger that was simmering on the surface of this question.

“When I joined the BAU, there were only Gideon and Rossi. They got on well together, but they worked independently and often arrived somewhere imposing their own point of view and pace. With not always very convincing results,” he revealed lucidly. “So, I suggested, among other things, that they hire a cop for the team.”

“What for?”

“First, because a cop is no stupider than an FBI agent. Besides, you're a lot smarter than a lot of Quantico residents,” he pointed out, aware that the young man needed reassurance. “Secondly, because working hand-in-hand with the local authorities was going to be far more profitable than opposing them. And that's why having someone in our ranks who knows their modus operandi is a big plus.”

“What are you saying there? That you were using me as a bait?”

The annoyance was always there, ready to jump down his throat at the slightest wrong word. He was going to have to be careful what he said if he didn't want to turn this road trip into an interminable awkward moment.

“More like a white flag. A cop can recognize another cop. When we walk into a police station and the tenants see you, they understand that we’re not here to play cowboy. They're immediately less suspicious, less aggressive and more willing to help us.”

“I’m still feeling to be used like a tool.”

“We all are a tool for someone, there’s no need to see it as something bad.”

“It’s easy for you to say. You make me sound like a rattle.”

“A tool that has saved the sanity of more than one parent, believe me,” he asserted with a chuckle at the corner of his lips.

“Hotch,” his driver shouted menacingly.

“Morgan, I hired you because, quite apart from the fact that your experience as a police officer would be invaluable to us, you're a straightforward, hard-working, caring person with a considerable amount of sympathy when it comes to dealing with traumatized victims and bereaved families. That, plus everything else I've already listed, makes you an ideal candidate.”

The Chicago native took in the praise, assimilated it, appreciated it, and his muscles relaxed. His fingers released the steering wheel around which they had been gripping tightly without him realizing it. A strange feeling of pride spread through his veins, warming his chest, mingled with a hint of sadness whose source he didn't wish to analyze.

“… Do you really think I could do this job in New York?”

“Yes. And honestly, I don't think you'll get bored that much. As you said yourself, you'll have to relearn everything. Next, it'll be an opportunity to train new agents in profiling, as I'm sure the city has its share of sociopaths. And finally, if you miss the team that much, there's nothing to stop you dropping in to see us.”

Morgan smiled. This round was won for the unit manager.

“Can I ask you something?” resumed the first one.

“Go on,” agreed the second.

“Why don’t you say anything?”

“About what?”

“About the fact that I take the liberty of reproaching you without any consequences. You're my supervisor, I shouldn't be allowed to talk to you like this. In Chicago, I’ve been blamed for less.”

He'd sometimes been given a hard time for a too insistent look – in the words of his accuser – whereas Hotch had never said a word to him for all the times he'd questioned his decisions or lost his temper with him. Even the day he'd told him he was a drill-sergeant, the colossus had nodded politely.

“Do you want to be blamed?” this one raised an eyebrow, perplexed.

“No. I want to know why you won't put me in my place.”

“Maybe because it is not necessary. For me, a reproach is not to be blamed as long as it is justified and argued.”

“Even so, there’s a hierarchy to respect.”

“To be honest, I don’t care. I'd much rather have an agent who can contradict my orders if he finds them absurd, than one who obeys blindly without taking the slightest step back. At least I know that the day it occurs to me to come up with a plan that puts the lives of unit members on the line, someone will be there to tell me to keep my mouth shut to protect everyone.”

“Why will you do such thing? You watch over the whole team like a lioness over her cubs.”

It was not for nothing that his minions had nicknamed him “Mom”.

“You never know,” he evaded before pointing to a roadside sign. “Stop at the next station, we need to refuel. Plus, it will give us a break.”

“I'm fine, we've just left.”

Barely two hours had passed and they still hadn't left Ohio. They had decided to take the southern route rather than head straight east, and Kentucky held out its arms to them.

“We will talk about that with a coffee.”

Obediently, Derek followed his instructions and took the next exit. They arrived at a small service station where, with the exception of a pick-up truck in front of them, they were alone. He parked near the pump he needed, and Hotch climbed down at the same time.

“I'll leave you to fill up, and I'll see you inside.”

“Okay.”

The titan pushed open the doors of the nearby establishment and disappeared inside. Once refueled, his subordinate parked the SUV in the parking lot on the other side of the building and discovered other vehicles emptied of their occupants. He entered in his turn and headed first for the cash register to pay for fuel before heading for the coffee machines. His passenger was leaning against a high table, a steaming cup in hand.

“If you need change, I've something to help you out,” he said, blowing on the hot liquid.

“It’s fine, I’ve got what needed.”

“Okay. Please try to top up.”

“Why?”

Hotch didn’t need to answer. Morgan had just grazed the black coffee selection button when a shrill beep erupted in the high-ceilinged room. In a panic, he retrieved the coins the machine had given him back, and the screaming stopped immediately. But the damage was done. When he turned to his traveling companion, the latter was grimacing, his hand over his ear. 

“Sorry.”

He set his own beverage down on the table, embarrassed. Although he had no great affinity with the director, harming him was not in his plans. When he saw the tension leave the giant's face, he questioned him, curious:

“Can I ask you something about what’s happened in New York?”

His interlocutor – who had kept his eyes closed until the pain had passed – nodded in agreement.

“What do you remember?”

“Now, everything. But when I woke up on the pavement, I could hardly remember where I'd been.”

“You had forgotten why we came to New York?”

“Yes. It took me quite some time to get why I wasn’t anymore in Virginia. And even when I started to recognize the skyscrapers, I still didn't know what the hell I was doing there.”

The mental fog in which he had been immersed during this time was still vivid in his memory. It probably hadn't lasted more than a few minutes, but it had been a particularly unpleasant moment to experience. For a while, he'd been an empty shell, a carnal envelope with no past, no temporal or spatial reference points, no train of thought. He was relieved to feel his brain starting to work again. 

“You must have been aching all over.”

“Frankly? I've only felt pain once in hospital,” he said without trying to brag. “Before, it was as if I had been anesthetized. I didn’t even have a headache or something. Yet we were very close to the explosion when it happened. I've been lucky enough to escape with just a pierced eardrum.”

“We reviewed the CCTV footage with the team, and you did indeed get up quite quickly. On the other hand, you spent a very long time looking at this display case of household appliances.”

“For real, I barely remember to get up. But I remember all those TV screens broadcasting this image of a guy in a suit in a sorry state, half burnt, half torn; his face bloody and surrounded by flames and bits of glass.”

“You didn’t recognize yourself.”

“Not right away, no.”

This was surely what troubled him most about the experience: having lost his identity and his ability to recognize himself in a snap of the fingers. He had seen himself, multiplied by all those TVs, had detailed the appearance of this person in front of him, had noticed his haggard look, but  the brain area dedicated to facial recognition hadn't been able to tell him it was him. In the blink of an eye, he had regressed to the stage of his first months of life, when his notion of himself was non-existent.

“Did you hear what the terrorist told you?”

“No. I was hearing absolutely nothing. I felt like I had noise-canceling headphones on my ears,” he described. “But I guessed that he was asking me how I was doing. And then, normally, I'd tell him to call 911.”

“Normally?”

“It was my intention. But I may have screamed it. Or maybe I've just gibbered something totally incomprehensible. I couldn't hear myself and was half stunned. Who knows what I might have actually said.”

In addition to the pervasive tinnitus that had twisted his eardrums, he had indeed had the disturbing sensation that all sounds were muffled, distant, except those relating to his own body. His heart had pounded in his skull, the rubbing of his suit had echoed in his head. He even heard himself swallowing his own saliva.

“And then, you remembered of Agent Joyner.”

“Yes. Everything came back all of sudden. Even the sound. I went to check on her right away. You know the rest.”

Derek saw him lower his nose to his coffee, from which he drank the last drops. He could hardly believe how quickly events had followed one another. In less than thirty-six hours, he'd locked horns with the Englishwoman, apologized to her, found her bleeding to death on the pavement, never to see her again.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Hotch reacted, in a reflex.

“Is it true you worked closely with her when she was at Scotland Yard?”

The director turned his gaze on him on the spot. His hand tightened around his cup. 

“…Then I'll give you the same answer I gave Prentiss: our relationship was strictly professional. I was a married man when I met her and no, I’m not this kind of men.”

“Okay.”

“And no, she didn’t look like Haley.”

“Okay. It’s good, I get it. I was just... curious,” he justified, aware that he'd stepped on toes he should have avoided.

For the team, it had been a shock to see their boss suddenly so familiar with this outspoken blonde woman. The fact that the two agents had already cooperated in the past before this reunion immediately aroused the group's suspicions. Even if none of them honestly saw him cheating on his wife, the closeness between the British woman and him, as a bachelor, had fueled the fire of gossip.

“Let me to ask you a question now: Why didn't you respect protocol? You shouldn’t have been by my side.”

It was Derek's turn to tense up. When it was all over, he was pleased to see that his superior hadn't tried to find out the reasons for his disobedience. However, he had to believe that he had rejoiced too quickly. Hotch was a patient predator who didn't forget anything and knew how to wait for the right moment to attack.

“…I couldn't stand there with my arms folded, listening to you screaming for help.”

“You put yourself in danger.”

“I know. But it was the first time in my life I'd perceived anguish and fear in your voice.”

The giant once again avoided his gaze, preferring to linger on the scenery around them. He closed his fists, putting pressure on his thumbs in an attempt to relieve his stress. The situation was uncomfortable for him.

“… She was dying before my eyes and there was nothing I could do for her,” he finally said, still without looking at him.

“You did what you could.”

“That's what everyone tells me, yes.”

It was obvious that he didn’t believe it at all.

“Do you think you could have done more?”

“Who knows? Well, it’s too late now,” he affirmed, sighing.

“Sorry again.”

“You had nothing to do with it. On the other hand, avoid doing the same thing you did with that ambulance.”

“What? Saving New York?”

“Brush with death. Garcia talked to me about it throughout my convalescence.”

Morgan laughed and apologized again. Then the two men left the service station and took the direction of their vehicle.

“I can take over, if you like,” offered the wounded man.

“No, it’s okay.”

“It’s been hours since we left.”

“I told you I’m fine.”

“As you wish.”

The arm-wrestling went no further. They settled into their seats, the car started up and quickly reached the main road. A long silence followed, during which Hotch took advantage of the fact that he didn't need to keep his eyes on the road to check his e-mails on his phone. Derek didn't try to interrupt, concentrating on his driving, one elbow resting against the glass, his hand pressed against his forehead. Soon, however, the absence of noise around him made him nervous. He would have liked to play music, but given his passenger's medical condition, this was totally out of the question. He began tapping on the steering wheel before it was no longer enough to dispel his unease. An old question resurfaced in his mind at that moment. 

“How did you end up hiring Reid?”

“Quotas, Morgan,” ironized the unit manager, without looking up from his screen. “Quotas.”

“No, seriously? Where did you fish a UFO like him?”

“It wasn't me who found him,” he revealed, finally raising his head. “One day – Rossi had already retired – Gideon and I were called in to evaluate a teenager who was skimming all the conferences on serial killers and other sociopaths.”

“What did they think? That a dormant killer was scouting the area to fly under the radar?”

Which was the least realistic portrait of the young agent. He was more like a newborn lamb, ignorant of life and unsteady on his feet.

“Exactly,” he answered without joking. “We were asked to go and see him, at the university where he was taking his umpteenth doctorate, to establish whether or not he should be arrested.”

“And?”

“And we came across a shivering pipsqueak who wondered what he'd done wrong for two FBI agents to descend on him.”

“You've reassured him, I hope?” inquired his adopted big brother.

As soon as he joined the BAU, Derek took him under his wing, and although his know-it-all nature irritated him, he was determined to protect him. Which wasn't always easy with the job they were doing.

“There’s no need. He soon understood why he had attracted our attention.”

“How did he justify this activity?”

“Curiosity. The same one that drove him to lots of other, much more harmless conferences.”

“And he didn't ask you tons of questions or bombard you with information about anything and everything?”

He could picture the scene perfectly: that big grasshopper Spencer, frumpy, his mane matted, knocking the federal binomial out with his unstructured logorrhea, a smile running from ear to ear.

“No. But he truly wished too. I saw them written on his forehead.”

“But how did you come to the conclusion that it would be a good idea to integrate him into the team?”

“This is the result of a consultation between Gideon and myself. We thought it would be useful to have a living encyclopedia at our fingertips. Not to mention his incredible calculating and accelerated reading skills,” he explained sincerely. “Imagine how much time we'd save if we had to reread all the investigation reports.”

“Is that what you told Committee to convince them?”

The multi-graduate wasn't exactly checking off the boxes of what it took to be a worthy government agent. That he could join the FBI and be allowed to fly out with the rest of the team to investigate was miraculous. Negotiations with the officials must have been tough.

“Honestly, half the arguments I gave that day still haven’t been used; but it did work. It was complicated, but I managed to persuade them to hire him.”

“Despite failing every physical test?”

“I said that he’ll stay behind a desk.”

It had been a lie, of course, since it had never been his intention to cloister him on the sixth floor of Quantico or to force him to stay at police stations that required their assistance during investigations. His experience in the field had dictated that it was essential for this wealth of information to be permanently accessible.

“…It's a good thing they're not with us when we're on a case.”

“As long as he doesn’t hurt himself, everything is fine.”

Morgan shook his head, a sneer playing at the corner of his lips. He was curious to know how their superior had fared against the Committee when the young man had been tortured by Tobias Henkel or when he had been a hostage of Philip Dowd. A second case that awakened a second question that had been nagging at him for some time too.

“By the way, did you put him through the shooting tests?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“So we've already had to go over it several times,” announced the titan. “On the first attempt, he managed to trap his hand between the hammer and the breech.”

Surprise, the former policeman burst out laughing. It must surely have been a very painful moment for his youngest, but the scene was far too comical for him to hold back his hilarity. 

“How did he do that?”

“I don’t know. He didn't want to hold his gun normally, so as not to inadvertently pull the trigger. I turned my head one second and it was over. Seriously injured, we stopped the test immediately.”

While Hotch repressed his urge to smile, Derek laughed out loud beside him.

“Wait for the second test.”

“I'm hanging up my belt,” he said, chasing a tear from his eyes.

“Have you ever been to room number five?”

“Yes.”

“Do you see the third booth?”

“The one with a hole in the table?”

“That one.”

“He shot the table?”

“He was aiming for the target. Luckily for him, the table was of sufficiently poor quality that the bullet didn't come back to him.”

Morgan's giggle continued, encouraging his neighbor to smile more frankly.

“Okay,” he commented, catching his breath. “Next?”

“Way more classical. He's touching the cardboard now, but it's very fluid. One day, I'm confident that he will systematically hit the target. If possible, before being shot.”

“That would be better, yes,” he insisted, once again serious. “Did you give this test to Garcia too?”

As an FBI agent, she was authorized to carry and use a firearm, even when she wasn't out in the field with them. However, a recent – and unfortunate – experience had made him realize that she didn't, in fact, know how to use it. Worse, she was rejecting their use.

“She was really, really hard to convince, but yes.”

“And?”

“She killed a light bulb. Bull’s eye.”

He laughed again.

“I've decreed this a largely conclusive test.”

“I bet you did.”

Hilarious, he shook his head, thinking that they were so helpless sometimes. A silence passed and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hotch gloomed.

“What’s going on?”

“… Nothing,” he declared after a hesitation.

“Tell me. Did I say something wrong?”

“No, it’s me. I...” – he remained silent for long seconds before resuming, irises pointed in front of him. “Some days, I hate myself for doing this to them.”

“Doing what?”

“All that. All those sordid investigations; all that stress, all those nightmarish nights, all those traumatic memories. To Reid and Garcia.”

“Why them more than JJ, Emily and me?”

“Because you’ve been trained for it. You knew, so to speak, what you were getting into,” he justified, aware that what they saw and heard affected them just as much. “But them… I… I don’t know how they were doing to still be here. Garcia more than Reid. She's so sensitive, it's surprising she hasn't slammed the door yet.”

The former computer hacker hadn't had the easiest of lives: she was a child when her biological father disappeared, then her mother and stepfather were killed in a car accident when she was eighteen and they went looking for her. Riddled with guilt, she had deserted home and wandered the streets, clutching her only possession: a laptop. With it, she had committed several crimes before being caught by the Bureau – or, more likely, getting caught. Damaging crimes for the big capitalist companies, but always in aid of noble causes such as saving animals, preserving the environment or helping the underprivileged. Despite the difficulties of her daily life, Penelope had managed to retain a kind, altruistic and benevolent spirit, which now guided her in her work.

                Nonetheless, she was regularly struck by the cruelty of the human species, and it was painful to hear or see her crying because of what he made her endure.

“She's stronger than she looks,” assured Derek, with whom she got on wonderfully.

“Above all, she knows how to dispel her anxieties. I know that all the knick-knacks and photos she sticks on her walls are there to distract her attention from all the horrors she's forced to live with every day; but what happens the day there's no more room on her desk or walls?”

The dapper blonde's accomplice hadn't thought of that. Until now, the young woman had been finding spaces to expand her multicolored Noah's ark and brighten up the greyness of her den, but the place wasn't expandable. And he knew only too well that, over time, the therapeutic effects of certain objects, videos and music faded. Sometimes to the point of uselessness. In fact, the longer she remained in this position, the more she would have to renew her decoration. As far as she can.

“… We’ll build her a bigger office?”

“It's not that simple,” objected the colossus, more serious than ever.

“You seem to think her job is harder than ours. Except that we risk our lives on the field. The pain of the victims, the discovery of the corpses, the death of the hostages and the delirium of the sociopaths all come rushing back.”

“I'm not saying that our task is any easier and, like all newcomers to the circuit, we all started out sick and spending sleepless nights bored out of our minds in front of the TV, hoping to be swept away by fatigue,” he conceded, objectively. “But we had old hands with us to give us tips on how to cope. Now we know how to look without seeing, listen without feeling, and put our failures into perspective. It doesn't happen overnight, and some days are harder than others, but we know the method. But she... Nobody taught her what to do because the job didn't exist before her.”

The Chicagoan was about to reply that the police and FBI had been using computers and databases for a long time, but then realized that law enforcement's use of these tools to date had little to do with what the BAU was demanding of his colleague.

“You said it yourself, she compensates by adding frills and glitter all around her. It may be an unorthodox method, but it works to this day.”

“Morgan, she can't stand back from a crime scene the way we can. We can observe the landscape, talk to people, chat amongst ourselves. She just has her screen and nothing else. Until we return, she has no choice but to see and review everything we send her. And I'm not even talking about all the times he's forced to watch videos over and over again or listen to an audio track to find a clue,” hammered the director, pained. “Honestly, I couldn't do what she does.”

Derek recognized his neighbor's worried, protective nature.

“If it's any consolation, we talk to her a lot after the missions.”

“Really?”

“Yes. We know it's important for her to express herself, so we listen and reassure her.”

“… Good. It’s a good thing.”

“You're disappointed she's not coming to talk to you, aren't you?” he guessed, noting his lack of enthusiasm.

“Maybe I still scare her.”

Of all the group, the analyst was the only one to call the unit manager “Sir”. Out of respect first, but also because the man was impressive. Six feet tall, square, perpetually clad in strict, dark suits; his furrowed eyebrows were enough to scare off anyone who hadn't already run off when they caught sight of him. People who didn't know him imagined him to be a harsh, unsympathetic character, and he was perfectly aware of this reputation as he walked the corridors. According to his closest collaborators, this reputation was usurped, but he believed it was not totally unfounded. 

“No. She doesn’t talk to you because she doesn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Disappointing me? How could she think that? She far exceeds my expectations.”

“I hope you know that you look pretty severe.”

“Yes, I do,” he sighed.

A shiver ran down the ex-policeman's spine.

“By the way, I… I hope you don’t mind.”

“What?”

“The way she and I communicate together.”

“Did I seem disturbed at any point?”

“No,” he suddenly realized. “But as it’s not very… formal…”

“Morgan, as long as you and she keep up the great work, it doesn't matter what nicknames you call each other.”

“And upstairs, what do they say?”

“I don't know, and I don't care,” he asserted, indifferent to such considerations. “The job is done, efficiently, so they can't say anything.”

“And for Garcia’s knick-knacks? Does Strauss know?” asked the driver, curious.

“She’s not authorized to enter her office. And even if she made a remark on the subject, I'd deny having heard it.”

To tell the truth, the section chief had already pointed out on more than one occasion that she didn't appreciate the bespectacled blonde's colorful and unacademic outfits, but he'd systematically sent her back on the ropes and the fifty-something had finally stopped making the slightest remark on the subject.

“I see. You’ll protect her at any cost.”

“That applies to all of you, actually.”

“What?”

“Ah, the team has arrived. Prentiss just sent me a message,” he said, noticing his phone wake up.

“Hotch, what do you mean by that?”

The interested party's mouth stretched as he read the SMS he'd just received from the profiler.

“What’s going on? Why are you smiling?”

“She asks me if we've already started to eat each other.”

“As if we weren't capable of traveling together without going at each other's throat,” grumbled Derek, who didn't appreciate the line of humor.

“I told her I'd save her a piece.”

“Very funny, Hotch. What did you mean when you talked about protecting us at all costs?”

He had no intention of giving up the fight. His neighbor's last line had titillated his instincts, and he was convinced he was hiding something.

“Do you know where we are?” his superior continued, carefully avoiding answering.

“What?”

“Reid asks me where we are. I guess he's eager to tell us something about the local area.”

“We left Lexington an hour ago and are heading for Charleston,” he spat, annoyed. “Now, answer please.”

“A moment.”

For what seemed an interminable time to his youngest, Hotch typed his message for the Las Vegas native. He was doing it on purpose, Morgan was sure of that. Then, without hurrying, the giant raised his nose, put his phone back in the inside pocket of his jacket and said:

“I don't see what's so complicated about what I've said.”

“What I want to know is what it implies. For you and for us.”

“Normally, nothing detrimental to you. As far as I'm concerned, I don't think it's any of your business.”

“Why? Because you’re my line manager?”

“No, because what it costs me only matters to me.”

“’What it costs’? Do you hear yourself? It’s nothing reassuring. What happens between you and Strauss when she falls on you?”

Hotch ignored his outburst to pick up his smartphone again. A notification was shining on the screen. He read the text message and said, in a tone far too cheerful for Derek's taste:

“Did you know that in Kentucky it's illegal to paint your lawn red? And that we'll soon be passing by the world's largest ball of wool?”

“Stop deflecting the conversation!”

“Breathe, Morgan. Everything is fine,” eased the unit chief, very calm. “I'm just making sure that Strauss's wrath doesn't fall on you.”

“Because she has reason to be angry at us?”

“Oh, yes, plenty. All the time, in fact,” he added, still joking. “Every time we go out in the field, she blows up her blood pressure monitor.”

“Why?” worried the ex-policeman, unsettled by the contrast between the gravity of his superior's words and his detachment.

Given Erin Strauss's position and proximity to the FBI Executive Committee, she had considerable power over the future of BAU employees. That she was upset with them was surely not very good news.

“Because we don't follow protocols to the letter. And that we're very expensive,” he clarified, knowing that this was the real reason for the fifty-year-old's reproaches.

“But wait, she never spoke about that to me. And, in fact, I don't think I've ever seen her talk about it with anyone on the team.”

“And with good reason: She's telling me. And me only.”

“And you don’t share?”

“No, because I think it’s not justified.”

He knew the figures: those for the unit's expenses, but also those for his team's results. He knew that as long as they remained as good, if not better, his subordinates wouldn't fear much for their future. Especially since, unlike her, he had the advantage of being in the field with them and could therefore easily counter-argue whenever she thought of pointing out a superfluous flow of money.

“Does she know you're not repeating what she wants us to hear?”

“She has strong doubts.”

The irony was obvious, and the situation seemed to amuse the branch manager greatly. Derek had no more sympathy for Strauss than he did, and he understood why Jack's father stood up to her; however, he also saw the consequences of this behavior, and he didn't like it at all.

“Hotch, why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Why do you take fire without telling us?”

“Because that’s my place.”

He frowned. His passenger had made this statement with such simplicity that it had taken him some time to analyze his words.

“… What? Does your contract stipulate that you have to be a lightning conductor?”

“No, but I'm supposed to look after your health and well-being.”

“And your health, can we talk about it? How much time do you think you’ll handle it?”

“As long as necessary. Take the next exit,” he continued in the same tone.

“For what? It’s not the road.”

“No, it’s not, but we’ll do a little detour.”

“To where?”

“See the ball of wool.”

___

Next part >> https://www.tumblr.com/codename-mom/785418701977632768/eight-hours-22?source=share

[codename-mom]

The hunt

Summary: The team is gone for a new investigation under Morgan's command. They found themselves in a small hotel where they have to share bedrooms and Hotch and Prentiss end up in the same one. When they start to act weirdly after the first night, their colleagues start a side investigation.

Characters: BAU team (Prentiss era)

Contents: post-Foyet assault on Hotch, but it's never mentioned (it's just for the record). It's a case-fic but with no graphic depiction of anything. Mention of alcohol and that's all. The story is mostly gossiping. :D

This text was written with the classical "there's only one bed"-prompt.

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

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Read on AO3

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                The BAU was stranded in a small town, with only one hotel and very few bedrooms available. The establishment was being renovated, and the owners made do with the rooms that weren't being refurbished to keep their business going. In the rush of their late-night arrival, the manager's son had handed out the keys at random, and Prentiss and Hotch had ended up together. Again.

                Their colleagues, always on the lookout for exciting news, watched them closely the next day. And they quickly noted that the two agents were not in their normal state.

“Is it just me, or does Emily keep yawning?” whispered JJ to Derek as eleven o'clock struck.

“Ah, you noticed it too?”

“It’s hard to miss it. This is at least the fiftieth time she’s yawped since this morning,” declared the liaison officer, before adding, “and then she looks completely out of it.”

As well as struggling to keep her eyes open, the female profiler seemed lost in thought, reacting very slowly or not at all to prompting and playing with her pen, her hair, anything, with an absent air.

“It's obviously been a rough night," Morgan laughed.

“I’ll ask her.”

She moved away from the coffee pot and headed for the meeting room.

“Hey, you tell me then?” the ex-policeman snapped at her before she got too far.

“No worries. I'll keep you posted.”

And so, she moved closer to her colleague, who appeared to be immersed in reading the current case.

“Short night?”

“What?” flinched the brunette, surprised.

JJ sat down next to her with a smirk that she hoped wasn't too mocking.

“You keep yawning.”

“Oh, it’s…” - she smiled and swatted away an invisible fly with her hand. “Hotch snores. And when asleep, it’s impossible to wake him up. I even hesitated to call his cellphone to make him stop. Since it’s the only thing that wake him up.”

She rolled her eyes, apparently annoyed.

“Did you succeed to sleep a little?”

“Not enough. I feel like this day will never end.”

Her confidante stayed with her a little longer to give her support, then decreed that she had to let her work. Prentiss didn't even pretend to object and plunged back into her police report. Derek hadn't moved a muscle and was waiting impatiently for his accomplice to return.

“So?”

“She’s lying.”

“What did she say?”

“She blamed everything on Hotch's snoring.”

The explosives expert frowned, puzzled. With good reason.

“He doesn’t snore. At least, he didn't the last time we shared a room.”

“Yes. And, curiously, she didn't ask for a trade.”

She'd had ample opportunity to do so during their interview. JJ had ended up with Spencer, and she wouldn't have found it suspicious if her colleague had suggested a barter. That she didn't, when she'd pulled an all-nighter because of her roommate, on the other hand...

“It’s all a bit fishy,” judged Derek. “Let’s take a look at Hotch.”

“What do you have?”

The giant's cavernous voice startled them. Absorbed in their low masses, they hadn't seen him coming up behind them.

“Nothing! We've got nothing!” exclaimed JJ, stiff as a board.

“Why do you think we’ve got something?”

The colossus stared at them blankly for a – very long – second, unsettled by their reaction; then resumed:

“… Didn't you do the neighborhood survey?”

This was the mission they had been given after breakfast.

“Ah! Yes. Yes,” confirmed the blonde, catching her breath.

“Of course,” agreed her partner, trying to regain his usual relaxed attitude.

“And then?”

The duo glanced at each other in panic, their skulls suddenly emptied of all substance, and Morgan babbled:

“Uh… no one saw a thing.”

“The neighborhood is so bad that the few residents don't pay attention to anything anymore,” JJ finally remembered, after a considerable effort of memory.

“To them, it must have been just another guy on the prowl, turning over garbage cans or disposing of stuff somewhere other than the dump.”

“There.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

And Hotch walked away, his phone already in hand to manage the rest of the investigation. The budding detectives breathed a sigh of relief as their hearts began to beat again.

“Good thing he sucks at analyzing the behavior of people who aren't sociopaths,” Derek pointed out.

“For sure.”

“It’s not nice of you to say that.”

The agents jumped again. This time, it was Dave who had arrived behind their backs, without making the slightest noise.

“Even if it's true,” he conceded with a wry smirk. “Why this sudden interest in Hotch's floating clairvoyance?”

The two snoopers didn't even bother to discuss or look at each other to decide whether or not the ex-retiree should be taken into confidence. Rossi loved gossip as much as they did.

“Actually, it's more Prentiss's state of fatigue that concerns us,” clarified Morgan.

“She's been struggling to keep her eyes open since this morning and she said it's because of him.”

“According to her opinion, he snores.”

“Which is not true,” remarked the novelist, who had shared more than one room with the director.

“I know. That's why we're going to watch Hotch now.”

Dave raised a doubtful eyebrow. According to him, the young people had forgotten one element in their equation.

“You know he won't yawn, even if he hasn't slept all night.”

“Yes, that's why we'll have to pay close attention,” declared JJ.

“Or you can ask him.”

“What? What he made with Emily last night, so she'd sleep standing up?” spat Derek, sarcastically. “I doubt he’ll answer this kind of question.”

“You're forgetting your current status.”

The Chicago native looked at him quizzically before realizing what he was talking about. Two weeks earlier, the BAU had changed management, the giant having been ordered to step down after making several legally dubious decisions and incurring numerous complaints. And it was he who had been chosen as his successor. A role he wasn’t entirely comfortable with. He appreciated being able to give orders and steer his own ship as he saw fit, but the job came with heavy responsibilities and a lot of administrative and political dealings that drained his energy. Not to mention the fact that his predecessor was one of his subordinates.

“We all know it's just to appease Strauss.”

“Not for Hotch,” Rossi contradicted him, knowingly. “For him, you’re the boss.”

Morgan sighed. Their elder was right. The colossus hadn't fought the section leader's injunction, especially from the moment she'd told him that people had complained about his behavior. He had given up everything on the spot, even leaving his office, and during the ensuing investigation had obeyed the instructions of the man he had hired without balking.

                Derek looked up at the glass room where they had been seated. The father had been standing in front of a map of the city for long minutes, perfectly still. After taking a deep breath, his superior entered the room and approached cautiously.

“Hotch.”

The person concerned did not react at all. His eyes, wide open, stared at the board without blinking. The ex-policeman wondered if he wasn't literally sleeping standing up. Which wouldn't have surprised him.

“Hotch!”

The titan flinched and turned towards him.

“Morgan?”

“You okay?”

“Yes. Sorry,” he apologized on the spot. “I… I observed the map, trying to extract a particular pattern.”

“A pattern?” he repeated as he was discovering that word.

“The suspect takes the trouble to place the victims' bodies in distinct locations, exactly one mile from where they live,” he began, turning his attention back to the map. “For the last victim, we know that the killer obtained material from this address, which happens to be equidistant from the victim's address and the place where she was dropped off. And we know how important this equipment is for the suspect.”

He hadn't noticed this fact but wasn't surprised that his interlocutor had. Like Spencer, he could easily focus on small details, insignificant to most people.

“Do you think he bought the equipment for the three previous murders in the same place?”

“No. That he bought it in another place, but always respecting this equidistance.”

The city wasn't huge compared to DC, but big enough to have several DIY stores. That said, he couldn't see where he was going with this thought.

“We already know that the suspect is meticulously planning the murders. What's in it for us?”

“First, more physical information can be obtained if sellers remember the buyer. Secondly, if the suspect does indeed follow a pattern, this attests to autistic behavior, which would greatly reduce our search area.”

“But?” he asked as he sensed the doubt in his voice.

“We're missing some elements,” he admitted. “I'm waiting for Garcia to come back, and I think Reid will be more effective than me on the subject. His ability to detect patterns is superior to mine. And to anyone else, for that matter.”

He felt like telling him that he surely wasn't that far behind, but held back, his gaze fixed on the evidence. His mind wandered. He knew he had to react to this new information, reorganize the team's tasks, revive their technical analyst... in short, do his job as agency manager. But his brain kept bringing him back to the reason he'd entered the room in the first place.

“What? Is my reasoning absurd?”

“No! Not at all,” he said, getting back into reality. “I… I think it’s good. I… I had another question, actually.”

“Which one?”

“Everything went well with Prentiss?”

“When?” he asked without hesitating.

“Last night.”

“Yes, why?” he continued, eyebrows slightly frowned.

“She has a hard time keeping her eyes open.”

“I saw, yes,” he admitted, resting the felt-tip pen in his hand on the edge of the blackboard.

“She said it’s because of you. Because you were snoring.”

“Oh. Uh… it’s possible. I… Sorry. May… maybe she should do the switch with Reid.”

Morgan returned to his companions, puzzled. He had scrutinized Hotch's reactions throughout the interrogation. He didn't seem to perceive the sexual undertone of his questions – which was half a surprise, as the giant seemed so detached from such considerations – but he remained true to himself throughout. Why had Emily's accusation upset him so much? Had she deviated from the planned alibi?

“So?” Dave interrogated him.

“He looked surprised to discover that he snored. But, according to his opinion, everything went fine with Emily last night.”

“Why would he say otherwise?” remarked JJ.

“Let's take it easy on the dubious speculations,” tempered the Italian-American, who was no stranger to scabrous allusions. “It's definitely not Aaron's style to do this kind of thing.”

“Even now that he's no longer officially an agency director?” pointed at Derek, incredulous.

He agreed with him that Hotch was nothing like those bosses whose hands were wandering and whose gaze was more often plunged into their employees' cleavage than into their accounts. But he was still a man, with needs that had gone unsatisfied for over a year; and their colleague was a beautiful woman. 

“I bet my best bottle of Scotch that you're kidding yourself.”

“Then how do you explain Emily's fatigue?” insisted JJ, who didn't think any less of it than the former policeman.

From the day she set foot in the BAU, she knew she had nothing to fear from the colossus. Not because he was married – that often didn't matter much – but because he didn't look at her as a piece of meat. He regarded her with as much deference as the male agents under his command. However, she had noticed the gradual rapprochement between him and her colleague since his divorce.

“And I had to call out to Hotch twice to get him to react to my presence,” related Morgan. “I know that when he's focused on a task, the world could collapse around him and he wouldn't even notice; but in this case, I think I've mostly woke him up.”

“I wouldn't be surprised if he could sleep standing up.”

“I'll investigate, but I'll take the bet,” Rossi insisted, convinced that he was right.

***

                An hour and a half later, Hotch and Prentiss found themselves on a stakeout near the house of a witness who hadn't turned up at the police station as agreed. This was not surprising, on the contrary; but according to his neighbors and the locals who used to bump into him, he had been discreet and nervous of late. The young woman yawned ostentatiously.

“Gosh, we really need to get some sleep tonight,” she said, rubbing her face in an attempt to wake up once and for all.

“Yes. By the way, why did you say I was snoring?” inquired her teammate, whose features were as drawn as hers.

Sleepless nights were clearly out of their time.

“What?” she croaked confused. “Ah, yes. JJ wanted to know why I looked so tired.”

“And that was the excuse you found?”

“What's wrong with that?”

Thousands of guys were snoring, keeping their companions awake.

“I don’t snore. And Morgan, Reid and Dave know it well.”

He was tempted to add that she knew as well as they did, since they'd already shared a hotel room, but the message had got through.

“Yes, well,” she grumbled, ”what did you want me to say? The truth?”

“No. Something else.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” he blew. “I can’t think since this morning.”

“Welcome to the club.”

Silence fell in the cabin. They were exhausted as much as each other.

“We should have drawn up a strategy before we left the room,” he continued, disillusioned.

“Oh, yes,” she agreed. “Because right now, I can tell you that the game is very, very badly played.”

“Here is Terry Walters. Let’s go!”

Their target had just appeared in front of the car, ready to go home. The man was more desperate than ever.

***

                At the police station, Spencer's nose was practically glued to the map on which so many colorful sticky notes had blossomed. His colleagues returned to him, with the exception of the pair who had gone off to find the missing witness.

“What it’s like?” Dave asked, curious.

“Hotch was right,” announced the multi-graduate cheerfully as he moved away from the board. “There’s definitely a pattern emerging. Now, it's hard to know what this means for the suspect without knowing more about his past.”

“I'm working on it,” assured Penelope, on the phone with them.

“JJ, come with me,” ordered Morgan. “We'll go and interview the two sellers. Maybe they'll remember something.”

“Okay,” nodded the mother, following suit.

They had just left the police station to return to their vehicle when they spotted Hotch and Prentiss in deep discussion in the parking lot. The duo was too far away for them to hear its words, but only a few centimeters separated their counterparts.

“Who'd have thought these two would ever be as thick as thieves?” laughed Derek.

“What do you think they are talking about?”

“Maybe they're consolidating their alibi.”

“There’s only one way to know.”

They reduced the distance between them and their peers, who were still whispering.

“So?” their current boss called them out.

“Nothing!” they affirmed in unison.

They exchanged a reproving glance, then met the inquisitive gaze of their colleagues.

“Walters didn’t show up?” imagined JJ.

“What?” retorted the brunette before she caught it. “Yes! Yes, we… we even succeeded to talk to him.”

“So?” asked again Morgan.

“He claims to have seen nothing, heard nothing, although he confirms his presence at the scene,” summarized the giant, with a dejected air.

“He’s lying.”

“He looked scared,” Emily corrected. “Maybe the unsub saw him and threatened him with reprisals if he talked.”

“Or maybe he knows them,” assumed the liaison officer.

“This is also a possibility,” added the former prosecutor.

All this, however, did little to advance their investigation, contrary to what the youngest member of the team had proclaimed.

“By the way, Reid confirms your pattern hypothesis.”

“Garcia has tracked down the other salesmen?” he bounced back, not in the least flattered by this assertion.

“Yes. We were about to interview them.”

“Give us one of the addresses, we'll cover more ground that way.”

“Okay.”

The interim manager texted the information to his predecessor, who then got back in the car, immediately followed by the female profiler. They started up and rolled out of the parking lot, watched by their team-mates.

“They're in a hurry to leave, both of them,” Derek pointed out, a smile reaching his ears.

“It’s shady, without any doubt.”

                Professional, the pair fulfilled their part of the contract before returning to the police station and hurrying back to their elder to tell him what they had witnessed. He was in the meeting room, studying the forensic reports.

“Dave,” interrupted Morgan, “I think you can leave us your bottle of whisky now.”

“Really?”

He was far from sounding defeatist. Mainly because he knew Aaron well and couldn't imagine him crossing that line for a moment.

“Clearly there's something fishy going on here,” JJ exclaimed ecstatically.

“We caught them plotting in the parking lot and they behaved like two teenagers caught in the act when we approached them.”

“Not to mention that they ran away the first chance they got.”

“Who are you referring to?”

The two plotters froze as they heard the disembodied voice of the BAU analyst emerge from the telephone on the table. In their haste to reveal everything, they had not paid attention to the green light indicating that a communication was in progress.

“Hello?”

“Aaron and Emily share the same hotel room, and Emily looks like she hasn't slept all night,” reported Rossi with a mocking sneer.

“She doesn't look it: she hasn't slept all night. Nuance,” corrected JJ, confidently.

“Oh, my God!”

The novelist replaced the file in his hand in the box it had come from.

“Wait! Hold the horses. I’m sure that nothing happened between them.”

“Yet this would be the most logical explanation for their strange attitude since this morning.”

The ex-retiree sighed. His young colleagues wouldn't give up until they had concrete proof that they were at fault.

“Penelope, can you tell me where they are right now?”

They heard a keyboard clicking on the other side of the country, then Garcia replied:

“… At the drugstore.”

“No, we sent them to the hardware store,” Derek couldn't help but retort.

“Yes. Well, they are at the drugstore just in front of it.”

All eyes turned to Dave, dumbfounded. He couldn’t believe it. There had to be an explanation other than the hypothesis hammered home by his cadets. He had to know for sure. So he jumped out of his chair when he saw that his disciple's SUV was parked again in the parking lot later that day. He arrested one of the policemen, surprised not to have seen the duo pass by. 

“Haven’t you see Agent Hotchner, please?”

“Yes. He went into the locker room. With Agent Prentiss,” added the officer, with a bored air.

“With…? For how long?”

“I’d say twenty minutes. Maybe more.”

“O… okay. Thanks.”

Absorbed in his reading, he didn't immediately notice the return of his counterparts. Nor did the others, focused as they were on the investigation. What had the two agents been up to all this time, when the hunt was on for a serial killer?

                He headed straight for his destination and was about to knock on the door when Emily appeared in front of him. She readjusted her belt on her hips.

“Rossi?”

“Prentiss?”

They were both on the alert.

“Uh… Is there a problem?” she asked, careful.

“What? No… uh… Morgan's looking for you,” he stammered, flabbergasted.

“Where he is?”

“In the meeting room.”

“Okay. I go.”

She thus distanced herself from him. He watched her go for a few moments, then decided to enter. Hotch was there, without his suit jacket, buttoning his shirt. A wave of heat passed through his chest. He was furious. Disappointed, no doubt about it, but also angry at the man he thought had integrity to the core. In the end, he was as weak as the others. He, who had been proud to be able to present the giant as the most reliable person in the world, realized that he had been mistaken all these years.

“Dave?” pronounced the former prosecutor finishing to put his clothes on.

“Uh… could I know what were you doing?”

His tone had been more disapproving than intended. He knew that with his three divorces and his epicurean lifestyle, he was not the best person to give sermons. But if they had actually done what the team was thinking about, it would not be good for any of them. He appreciated them very much and, in other circumstances, he would have been more than happy to know them together; but the context was not in their favor.

“Who?” answered Hotch, genuinely.

“Prentiss and you. She had just left the locker room so don’t say that you didn’t know she was there.”

He crossed his arms on his torso. His interlocutor lowered his eyes and adjusted his tie.

“She… she needed a hand for… something personal.”

“Something personal that implied to pass into a drugstore?”

“How…?” he hiccupped, surprised. “What are you talking about?”

Rossi uncrossed his arms and put on his most serious expression. It was not the moment to beat around the bush.

“Look, Aaron, the situation is a bit worrying.”

“What do you mean?”

“What’s happened between you and Prentiss last night?”

“Nothing,” he assured, visibly uncomfortable. “We… we slept. What do you want us to do?”

“Emily hasn’t slept. She’s a zombie since this morning. She’s barely able to stand up.”

He was deliberately biting. The agent in front of him had been trained to withstand pressure and usually hid his emotions very well. But when people he cared about, people he trusted completely, suddenly turned against him, he lost his composure. And the two co-founders of the BAU were the closest thing he had to a father figure. This reprimand made him take a step back.

“Well, I… I don’t know. You have to ask her.”

“It’s already done and she lied,” he revealed, scathingly. “So, I ask again: what happened?”

“I… Is that that important?”

He was getting back on his feet. The writer had to make him understand what a mess he was running into.

“Yes, it’s important, Aaron. You have no idea what the team is currently imagining about you two.”

“About…? What do you want them to imagine?”

Dave sighed, torn between empathy and exasperation.

“Aaron, I know you’re a little short in some topic, but don’t pretend to be dumber than you really are.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Okay. I’ll give you the script, tell me what you concluded from it. Two individuals of opposite sex, single and heterosexual as far as we know, find themselves sharing the same bed in a hotel room. The night passes and the next day, both seem to have all the difficulty keeping their eyes open. Your conclusions?”

His opposite quickly made the deductions that everyone else had made before him and immediately appeared offended.

“… Prentiss is my subordinate.”

“Not right now,” Rossi reminded him, having expected that answer. “Derek is the unit chief. Emily and you are on the same level.”

The colossus opened his mouth to reply, than closed it. He ran a hand through his hair in embarrassment, looked around for an escape route, and finally sat back down on the nearest bench.

“Aaron?” worried his colleague and friend.

“I assure you, Dave, that nothing has happened between me and her.”

“I’ll believe you if you explain to me what really happened.”

He exhaled loudly and gave in.

***

                The bedroom was pitch black and nothing was moving. Hotch and Prentiss, side by side in bed, carefully separated by about ten centimeters, were on the lookout. Eyelids open, ears pricked, they listened for the surrounding noises. But not those of the other human in the room.

“Prentiss?” said the first after almost an hour of stony silence.

“Yes,” immediately replied the young woman, perfectly awake.

“Did you hear that?”

“Yes.”

“Do you mind if I turn on the light to take care of it?”

“They love you too?”

“Too much.”

“Go. I’ll give you a hand.”

“Careful, I light up.”

The ex-director flicked the switch on his bedside lamp and a yellow light illuminated a good half of the room. For her part, his neighbor imitated him, chasing away as much of the darkness as possible. Soon, she found herself standing on the bed while her colleague hovered around the mattress. With their noses in the air, they scanned the area more carefully than ever, ready to strike. Suddenly, the titan stretched out a finger towards a tiny point above the frame overhanging the pillows.

“Over there! I can see it!”

“Seen!” exclaimed Emily, grabbing the pack of tissues from the bedside table.

She threw it on the wall.

“Missed! Where is it?” she growled, searching for the infernal creature that was keeping them awake.

***

Rossi had settled down beside Hotch to listen, and a broad smile now split his wrinkled face.

“Did you get it?”

“No,” grumbled Aaron. “We ended up falling asleep around four or five in the morning, exhausted.”

Dave felt like bursting into laughter, but held back, aware that this was really not the right moment.

“Why the drugstore?”

“Because it has eaten us alive! And with our outfit, the urge to scratch is unmanageable.”

As if to illustrate his point, he scratched his neck, struggling to find an access point under the collar of his shirt. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the elder's mocking expression and glared at him.

“I forbid you to laugh.”

“It seems to me that you’re no longer the director.”

“I hate you.”

Shortly afterwards, the two men joined the meeting room where the rest of the team was working. The younger of the two looked as defeated as the other was hilarious.

“Why the smile?” enquired JJ, troubled.

“Because I keep my bottle of Scotch.”

“And why that?” snarled Derek, suspicious.

“Because I know everything and it’s not what you think it is.”

“Hotch!” cried Prentiss, outraged. “We said the honor of the FBI was at stake!”

A chuckle escaped the keeper of their secret when the image he had formed of the scene reappeared in his head. Indeed, if the brass at the Bureau learned that two of their elite agents had been ridiculed, in their pajamas, by a nocturnal Diptera, they'd have something to choke on.

“I know,” flogged the culprit. “I cracked.”

“But then, what happened?” moaned Penelope, frustrated at not being there with them.

“What are you talking about?” interjected Spencer, totally lost.

___

And if you wonder when did Hotch and Prentiss end up together in the same room, it's for another chapter currently in progress. ^^;

[codename-mom]

Hi, people! o/

I hope everybody is fine and enjoying Spring time. :)

Well, here is the next challenge I'll write for. To be honest, the French text is already written and I "just" need to translate it now. 39 pages to translate.

Wish me luck.

Please.

Joke aside, I honestly have many chapters that fit the challenge (another veeeeeeeeeeeery long one I won't be able to do in time, and another shorter one that fit with the "gun" pun). I'll see if I've got the time to do something.

By the way, I'm also working on two other chapters related to the classical "there's only one bed" trope with Hotch and Prentiss (gen fics, because, remember, Code Name: Mom is a gen fic except for the official couples). Don't know when I'll post them but they're on their way. :p

If you want to participate to this challenge, don't hesitate. New challengers are always welcome.

Stuck Together Challenge

Hey everyone, I’m back with another monthly challenge! For the months of May AND June, I am formally challenging any willing writer to take a stab at writing fanfiction including characters that are "stuck together" (figuratively or literally) using their choice of Criminal Minds characters! Reader, Original Character, Character/Character ships, and Gen/Platonic fics are allowed! Please check out the Rules below the Keep Reading. There are prompts below the cut, so keep going!

(**This is NOT a request list for me—this is a prompt list of other writers! Feel free to request from someone else, and be sure to let them know about the challenge!)

Assorted Prompts 🪢

The infamous get-along shirt

There's only one bed/desk/car

Characters play seven minutes in Heaven

Characters get stuck in an elevator together

A threat to the BAU has Quantico in lockdown

Character has to ride on the back of a motorcycle

A storm warning forces Characters to shelter together

Characters are visiting a jail when it goes into lockdown

Characters are forced to go together on a work road trip

The flight is going to be a lot longer than anyone thought

Characters are put on the same team at the annual picnic

During office renovations, Characters must share an office

Characters have to give a shared presentation for the BAU

Characters both get seriously wounded and have to share a hospital room

Characters get briefly stuck in a freezer and have to huddle together for warmth

The stakeout feels like forever when Character is stuck with their “least favorite” coworker

Characters are tasked with digitizing the BAU’s records... all of them... In the tiniest filing room

Characters are tied together as fake-victims in a work training exercise and it takes forever to be saved

During surveillance, the two have to stay close together to listen through a single set of headphones... like, really close

Characters both try to hide in a closet to avoid an embarrassing discovery... then they get stuck inside

Despite their best efforts to avoid their coworkers, Character moved next door to their least favorite

Dialogue Prompts 🧵

“Just… stay on your side.”

“Are you… building a wall?”

“You have to stop moving.”

“Try not to make this weird, okay?” “Too late.”

“At least you smell nice.” “Please don’t smell me.”

“Is that a gun or are you happy to see me?” “It’s a gun.”

“This was not what I meant when I said I wanted to be closer to you.”

"You're a decorated FBI agent, and your instinct was to hide? Here? Really?”

“I can’t believe you’re the one to witness my end.” “It’s been five minutes.”

“Well, there’s one way out.” “You would die.” “That honestly sounds better than staying here with you.”

Rules ✂️

Your fic can be a Reader insert, an Original Character, a character/character ship, a platonic ship, or a Gen fic. It can feature any Criminal Minds character. AUs and crossovers are more than welcome.

Tag me in the fic, or send the link to me in a Direct Message. It can be already written, or you can write it for the challenge - I collect both! You can also tag “#mentioningmargins”

The fic can be any genre, but ONLY send me smut if your bio states you are 18+. I DO NOT WANT smut written by minors. Ever. At all. I will check. Platonic ships and pure, fluffy fics are 100% allowed. Please also include some indication of rating if it is NSFW.

Please include Content Warnings and a one-sentence Summary of the fic in your post. For xReader fics, PLEASE specify if your reader is Female, Male, or Gender Neutral.

The use of Generative AI is PROHIBITED. Please do not enter any fics that are written in whole or in part by generative AI. Thank you for respecting my boundaries!

The Masterlist of fics will (hopefully) be posted around June 30. If you finish after that, no problem - just send me the fic once you’re done and I’ll add it after-the-fact!

Feel free to message me if you want help developing a plot, have any questions, or just want to gush about your fic. I’m happy to help, and I’m happy you’re here ❤️

Happy writing!

[codename-mom]

Duty of secrecy

Summary: JJ is pregnant and as she was worried about the health of her fetus, she made some research on Internet. A thing leading to another, she has made a curious discovery on one of her coworker. And when Prentiss joins her, the question of telling him or not rises.

Characters: JJ and Emily Prentiss

Contents: mention of pregnancy (obviously), but this chapter is most of all about my hc that Hotch is autistic. If you disagree, just don't read please.

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

JJ brushed her rounded belly. Now seven months pregnant, she was gradually preparing to give up her position temporarily. A prospect that made her anxious, she had to admit. However, two days earlier, after a grueling case, she had experienced severe abdominal pain and, driven by Will, had rushed to the obstetric emergency room. Ultimately, her test results came back positive and the gynecologist's speech reassuring. Like everyone else, he had asked her to take it easy, but all was well with her fetus.

Nonetheless, concern for her unborn son remained, and she hadn't been able to sleep a wink the night before. In desperation, she left the bed and went into the living room, where she sat down in front of her computer. Guided by a single obsession, she began a search that kept her awake for long hours. In the end, she'd barely slept when she reached Quantico. Troubled by one of her discoveries, she had returned to one of the websites she had visited the day before and completed a questionnaire, taking time to reflect between each answer. The conclusion disconcerted her so much that she didn't notice Prentiss when she entered her office, smiling, mug in hand.

“Is everything all right?” she worried, perplexed.

“Oh,” reacted her coworker, flinching. “Hello, Emily.”

“Why so long face?”

The profiler stepped into the room after closing the door behind her.

“Uh… nothing. I… Nothing serious,” stammered the tenant as her visitor took place in front of her.

“Nothing serious?” repeated Prentiss. “That means that there is still something.”

JJ sighed. Sometimes she forgot who she was working with. However, she wasn't sure she was in her right by broaching the subject that was bothering her with the first person she met. Even if she was a friend and confidant.

“No, I… I probably have made a mistake. It’s… False alarm.”

“What are you talking about?”

All the issue was there. She wasn't talking about anything at the moment and had no real knowledge of what was troubling her, but she knew it wasn't harmless. That it wasn't something trivial that could be taken carelessly. She herself would have liked to ignore it, so as not to prejudice the accused individual; but the fact was, her brain couldn't dismiss the question out of hand.

“JJ, are you okay?”

She rose her eyes to her opposite who was watching her with an anxious face.

“Yes. Yes, it… it’s not about me.”

Emily placed her mug on the desk, between two stacks of files, and stretched her arms out in front of her.

“Okay. It's too confusing, you'll really have to tell me more.”

The liaison officer sensed that this confession would trample on the freedoms of a man dear to her. She couldn't tell how much of it was reciprocal, but she was sure he wouldn't appreciate the conversation. On the other hand, perhaps the dark brown hair agent would be able to help her untangle her thoughts, muddled as they were. Her gaze kept returning to the numbers on the screen, which said too much and too little at the same time. She took a deep breath and said:

“Fine. Promise me you’ll keep it for yourself.”

“JJ, I want to, but I don't even know what it's about.”

She understood her reluctance to give here word, given what the BAU was working on. The team was swimming in a lake of confidential information, some of which could filter outside its walls under certain conditions, and some of which would never come to the surface. And the lives of their fellow citizens depended on many of them.

“… I went to see my obstetrician yesterday. I… I had very painful cramps and was worried about the baby.”

“Is he all right?” inquired Emily at once, her black beads swiveling toward her round belly.

“Yes. Everything was normal on ultrasound and the results of the latest tests arrived this morning. Clean.”

“Everything is fine then?”

For her and the fetus, yes.

“I… I spent the night surfing the Internet to find out what the consequences of these pains might be and...”

“What?”

“Did you know that autism can be diagnosed in adults?”

“What?”

Same interrogation, two very different tones. The brunette’s confusion was understandable. A little contextualization was in order.

“I… I was afraid the baby could be autistic, so I made research on the subject. To prepare myself, you know,” she added, uncomfortable. “And… I discovered that there were online tests. For adults especially.”

“If it was to find out if Reid was autistic, there was no need for a test,” joked her colleague, smiling.

She had clearly relaxed now that she knew neither her neighbor nor the offspring she was carrying were in danger.

“I didn’t do it for Spencer.”

For whom the question didn't really arise, indeed.

“For who, then? You?”

“Hotch.”

Emily tensed immediately. JJ was aware that the two agents had an on-again, off-again relationship. Initially stormy, it had since calmed down and, as far as she had been able to tell recently, it was now at an all-time high. At least, from what she could make out of the giant's behavior, who shut his emotions and feelings behind very high walls. One of the reasons she'd pushed it so far.

“… Oh. And?”

“Well, we've never been confronted with certain suggested situations, so I've sometimes had to answer at random, and some answers are biased by the fact that he's been trained to analyze people's behavior...”

“JJ,” interrupted her guest, who raised an inquisitive eyebrow in her direction.

“Okay. I obtained a score of thirty-five on fifty.”

“And above how much are we supposed to be autistic?”

“Twenty.”

A silence fell over the room, during which Prentiss seemed to cogitate intensely, as she had done before.

“Well, that would explain a lot,” nodded the profiler.

“That would explain everything, you mean,” she corrected on the spot. “His hyper-fixation, his inability to realize when he's hungry or thirsty, his difficulty in expressing his emotions, his inability to break rules or the fact that he imposes them on himself... all this falls completely within the autism spectrum.”

“Just like staring at people, disliking physical contact or spitting out excerpts from books he read over twenty years ago,” Emily pursued, enthusiastically. “Like Reid does.”

“Reid that he understands faster than anyone else.”

All the pieces of the puzzle fitted together so easily after these results appeared. She was relieved to hear that her thoughts were shared by someone more knowledgeable than herself in the field. She was also relieved to see that the latest recruit wasn't frightened or repulsed by this hypothesis.

“It’s so obvious. Why are we only noticing it now?” the latter continued, dumbfounded.

“Because we thought he was just… uptight.”

A realization that twisted her insides. And to think that for all these years, she and her colleagues had been making fun of him and his strange habits and inconsistent attitude, when in reality, he had no control over it.

“Morgan won't like it when he finds out he's not doing it on purpose,” Prentiss resumed, with a mocking sneer.

“We won't tell him,” JJ objected, serious. “Nor him nor anyone else in the team. And even less so to the principal concerned.”

Although a lover of gossip, she considered this information to be the last to circulate in the corridors. In fact, it should never leave this office.

“Why?” frowned her coworker. “It could be important for him to know it.”

“I… I’m not sure he’ll take it very well.”

Truth be told, she'd known him long enough to be sure he wouldn't like this news at all.

“Why not?” insisted the brunette. “He hired Spencer, which proves that it's all right with it.”

“Emily, we're talking about someone who runs a unit that specializes in tracking down serial killers,” she reminded her. “If you were in his shoes and you learned that you were in fact incapable of understanding the most basic social codes, or that you didn't even realize you needed to go to the bathroom, would you stay on?”

The profiler remained silent for a few moments, but it didn't take her long to answer:

“… No.”

If only to avoid endangering his subordinates, he'd hand over his badge and gun right away.

“And if Strauss were to find out, she wouldn't even take the time to listen to us before kicking him out.”

There was no doubt in her mind that the fifty-something was doing everything in her power to get him fired. An enmity whose origin she had never understood.

“Okay for Strauss and him, but the others?”

“Spencer already has his own problems to deal with, so let's not burden his mind with a secret he can't keep.”

“Penelope would insist on telling him.”

And would leak the info the second she got tipsy, she prolonged in thought. If she wasn't outright trying to organize a party to celebrate the news and encourage him to accept it – which was exactly everything the agency director hated.

“And Derek wouldn’t even believe us. For him, Hotch is intentionally annoying,” she assured, lucid about the ex-policeman's lack of discernment towards their superior.

“Left Dave.”

The man who had known the unit leader the longest. The one who had gotten him hired at the FBI. A relationship closer to friendship than to a professional bond existed between the two.

“Yes. I hesitate to talk to him about it,” she confided. “Maybe he already suspects something.”

In any case, he never seemed to mind the colossus' wanderings.

“But?” bounced Emily, suspicious.

“It’s just online tests,” she underlined. “It is clearly stated that the results must be confirmed by further examinations, with specialists, etc. Not to mention the fact that traumatic past experiences may be at the root of autistic behavior, without the person actually being autistic.”

She didn't know much about the titan's childhood, but her colleagues suspected a violent past had forged his unexpressive personality.

“Given our work, I think he has a few in reserve,” Prentiss added.

“Besides, I didn't have the answers to all the questions,” she also admitted.

“So, his score may be much lower.”

“Or much higher.”

A new silence passed, during which the two women digested all this information and this potential news that cast a different light on the man who commanded them.

“In your opinion,” she went on, “would that explain why he can't take a hint when someone makes a pass at him?

“Totally.”

___

This is my birthday gift to all the people who have the same hc.

I hope it won't offend anyone, because it was not my intention (as much as I love the idea of him being autistic, I'm pretty sure he will freak out learning it. Not for him, but for the people he cares about).

Happy Autism Awareness Day to all the neurodivergents around! ^_^

[codename-mom]

Joshua Timmons

Summary: The BAU, now lead by Prentiss, has to investigate on a armed attack in a supermarket. And when it's time to interview the employee, she may have recognized one of them.

Characters: Emily Prentiss, Aaron Hotchner and Penelope Garcia

Contents: it's a case fic without being one, so there's few intel about the case, but not too detailed. It's a little bit angsty, with some fluffiness too.

This is a text written for the CM Undercover challenge organized by @imagining-in-the-margins.

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

Read on AO3

___

                Emily was just starting to settle in as the BAU's new director when her team was called to Idaho for an armed robbery in a supermarket. This was the suspect's third strike and, as on previous time, he had left a corpse behind. The police were keyed up and needed help to catch him before he claimed a fourth victim. The federal agents had just arrived at the crime scene, which had been closed for the occasion, and were now faced with frightened and obviously sleep-deprived people. Few of them had managed to sleep the night before.

“Are all your employees here?” she asked the manager.

“No. Three of them are on vacation,” replied the man in his fifties, curiously more annoyed than shocked.

Clearly, he must have thought that every second spent without a customer represented a dollar less in his cash register.

“We’re going to need their name and file.”

“Okay,” he sighed. “There is Marylin Smith, Joshua Timmons and Herbert Trudeau. I'll tell HR to send you their file.”

“Thank you.”

The profilers questioned the staff, gathering as much information as they could about the man who had robbed them for no apparent reason the day before. In fact, he had not demanded any money, had shown no particular displeasure and even seemed to have chosen his target at random, a few minutes before the police arrived on the scene. Like the two attacks before, he'd taken off into the wild in record time, which made the team think he was a local and probably had a military background.

                Their task completed, they returned to the police station where the files of the missing people were waiting for them, faxed by Garcia. Prentiss immediately retrieved them and opened them one by one. Her heart suddenly leapt against her ribs when she saw the photo of the last one: Joshua Timmons. All her blood left her extremities in a blink. It was him, without any doubt. The hair was longer, the face hollowed out, and beard hairs prickled his chin, but it was him. It was his eyes. She would have recognized them anywhere.

“Uh… I'm going to question this one,” she said, closing the jacket she kept mechanically against her chest. “Dave, Spencer, go to this one and JJ and Tara, go see Mrs. Smith. Luke, Matt, go see the coroner to get the most info on the circumstances of death.”

Everyone nodded, thankfully without question. She asked herself a big one for a few moments before making her decision. Protocol dictated that she should stay away from him, to avoid endangering him; but he had been clearly cited in front of all her subordinates, so his interrogation had to be on the record. She could bluff and invent an interview that hadn't taken place, but that would mean taking the risk of her ploy being discovered and the suspect walking free from his trial.

                A shy smile played on her lips at the thought. A memory had arisen; a recurring worry he'd had in the past with each of their investigations: procedural irregularities. His past as a prosecutor regularly resurfaced, and the fear that they'd worked for nothing and that the crooks would go home free of suspicion always hovered around him. And now it was her turn to do the same. It must have been the job coming in.

                Her throat then constricted, anguish surging through her veins. What was she supposed to do? Lewis was a dangerous opponent, perhaps even more so than Foyet. He had more means and was in better health than the latter. His chances of tracking her and her team were far from nil. Giving in to her deep desire to see him again, even for a brief moment, could lead to a catastrophe she didn't want to instigate. And, at the same time, she was dying to approach him, to catch a glimpse of him and, eventually, to touch him.

                The transfer of power had not gone as well as she had hoped. Although she'd never imagined she'd one day take his place – the job seemed to have been designed just for him – logic would have dictated that he should have been there to pass on all his knowledge to her. But that hadn't been the case, and even though he'd had the presence of mind to leave notes everywhere – sticky notes, an e-mail addressed solely to her and even a letter he'd had to slip into her box himself – she hadn't had the opportunity to ask him all the questions that were still swirling around under her skull. She also wanted to tell him how important he had been to her. How much he meant to her.

                Realizing that this might be her only chance to get that message across to him – which he surely needed now that he was isolated from the people he cared about – she made her decision and grabbed the keys to her SUV. She drove to the address indicated in the file and parked about thirty minutes later in a residential area where all the buildings looked alike. These were single-storey buildings with access via an external staircase. Basic housing for people on moderate to low incomes. It was a far cry from his bespoke suits and Gucci ties. The thought that he'd had to give up his Rolex, like everything else, crossed her mind.

                She climbed the stairs and knocked on the door. Her heart was running wild into her chest. How would he react when he saw her on his doorstep? How was he going to react when she told him that, no, he still couldn't go back to his old life? That it was by chance that their paths had crossed that day. He would be disappointed, undeniably. Not for him – never for him –, but for his son. As she knew him, he must have blamed himself every day for dragging him into this mess yet again. To have torn him away from his quiet life once again; to have deprived him of his loved ones, his friends, his comforts, and to have put him in danger once again. Having to tell him it wasn't over was crushing her insides.

                But the door didn’t open. The landlord, who lived on the first floor and had heard her, told her that Joshua must be at the synagogue at this hour. Emily frowned subtly and held back a comment. She knew he wasn't a believer, and given everything he'd been through, she doubted he'd suddenly found faith. She assumed that he had acquired this habit to give the impression of his new identity. She drove to the site, taking a series of twists and turns through the alleyways to make sure no one was tailing her, and then parked not far from the temple.

                She entered as discreetly as possible and scanned her surroundings with all her expertise as a former spy. The place was practically deserted. A couple stood to her left, talking in low voices, bent over a sheet of paper marked with Hebrew signs. Farther to her right, a man sat motionless on one of the benches. The hairs on her neck stood on end. Not because of him, but because she felt the weight of a look on her spince. She didn't turn around; she'd understood what it was about.

                Inhaling deeply, she stepped into the aisle, suddenly regretting having worn those boots. Her heels were making a hell of a racket in this acoustically enhanced venue. But none of the individuals present reacted to this intrusion. She quickly decided not to go any further and settled behind him. In other circumstances, she would have sat next to him, perhaps taken his hand in hers to give him that human touch he must have missed so much and given him her most reassuring smile. However, she had no choice but to face the back of his head.   

“Hello, Mr. Timmons,” she murmured trying to control her emotions at best.

“Hello, Agent Prentiss,” he answered calmly.

She could have sworn he was smiling. If it was the case, it was a good thing. It proved that he was happy to see her again, and that he hadn't totally given up hope that all this would ever end.

“Do you know why I’m here?”

“I didn’t see anything that could help you. I was in the warehouse when it happened,” he clarified with his customary seriousness.

Hearing his voice again, at once soft and cavernous, was strange. She realized how much his absence weighed on her. Her eyes began to burn, and she had to summon all her strength not to cry. 

“But you know all the same,” she remarked, focusing her attention back on the investigation.

“I heart some noise. And my coworkers talked about it.”

“I see.”

“Sorry to not being able to help you more.”

He thought it earnestly. She knew him well enough to be certain of that. The giant had always been an altruistic person, perpetually putting the well-being and desires of others before his own. Not being able to do anything to support his former subordinates must have added weight to the burden on his shoulders.

“… How are you?” she dared after a long silence.

“It depends on the day,” he affirmed, honest.

In the past, he would have said he was fine so as not to worry her, but he knew that would have been a lost cause in such a context. So, he played the sincerity card.

“How is your kid?”

“He’s growing up.”

Emily smiled. Jack was about to be thirteen in a few months. The last time she saw him, he was six. The man he was to become must already have appeared, his childlike features gradually disappearing. She wondered how much he looked like his father now. At the time, his genetic link with Haley was more than obvious: light hair, identical smile, same sunny joie de vivre. But now that testosterone was to pulse through his veins and metamorphose his appearance, his parentage with his father was finally to be revealed. She hoped so.

“How are you doing?”

She hesitated for a moment, surprised by this turn of events, then remembered who she was talking to. In the end, it wasn't all that surprising.

“It depends of the day,” she admitted when her mouth stretched.

“How are your kids?”

She smiles frankly.

“They’re more undisciplined than ever. Dave more than the others.”

“If you want some good advice, deprive him of dessert once in a while. He’ll fall right into line.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

This moment of lightness was followed by a peaceful silence. They were comfortable there, the two of them in their own bubble. She wished the moment could go on forever. She wanted to ask him a thousand questions, just for the pleasure of hearing the sound of his voice. She wanted to confide in him everything that was on her mind. However, she sensed movement behind her and growing tension. His guardian angels were getting impatient.

“I’m going to leave you, Mr. Timmons. Have a good day.”

“Thank you. Good luck with your investigation,” he continued, turning his head slightly towards her.

“Thank you. I think I’ll need some.”

“You'll do just fine.”

“You think so?” she frowned, suddenly very interested by what he was thinking.

“Yes.”

“… Thank you.”

Emotion had seized her. If she'd listened to her inner voice, she would have wrapped her arms around him to let him hear how much those words touched her. Instead, she stood up, hesitated for a brief moment, then put her hand on his shoulder. He flinched and tensed before relaxing almost immediately. She then withdrew it and walked away more confidently. Behind her back, the man watched her leave, a fragile smile on his lips. 

                Prentiss returned to the police station right afterwards to debrief her subordinates. The team began debating the first lines of their profile, then adjourned as night fell over the city. She was about to hang up so that Penelope could get on with her research when she called out to her:

“Emily, can I talk with you? Alone.”

“Uh… yes, wait.”

All eyes were on her, concerned and intrigued, but she ignored them to retrieve her phone, leave the meeting room and move to an empty office nearby. She worried about what the former hacker had to say. She hoped nothing had happened to her last witness in the meantime.

“I’m listening.”

“How is Mr. Timmons doing?”

“Wh…?”

“I’ve seen his photo,” she explained on the spot.

And like her, the luscious blonde had made the connection on the spot with her former boss. The two agents had been very close despite their obvious differences. The youngest had found in the man who had hired her a long-lost father figure, and the branch manager had never ceased to defend the free spirit she was against all the head office snipers. United by the same empathy and singular passion for the stage, the two had formed a quirky but close-knit duo. The disappearance of this load-bearing wall had been difficult for the young woman.

“… He told me that he had known better days.”

“And Timmons Jr.?”

“He said he was growing up.”

Garcia's smile lit up her pale face and her brightly-colored glasses went up a little. Her superior continued, delighted to be able to share this secret with someone. Someone she could trust, of course.

“He also asked news from the team.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That you were undisciplined. It made him laugh.”

She'd seen his shoulders twitch when she'd mentioned their lack of behavior.

“I wish I could have been there. To give him a huge hug.”

“You'd probably be fried by the witness protection guys.”

“Did you see them?”

“I felt them. I'm sure they didn't miss a second of our exchange.”

“They didn’t say anything?”

They hadn't even approached her. If she hadn't had this experience of life under surveillance, she surely wouldn't have detected them.

“They must have recognized me. And I made sure I was as unfamiliar with him as possible. A… actually, I haven’t even seen his face. We… we kept our distance.”

Frustration and anguish were now competing for space in her chest. She'd followed her instincts up to a point, until she realized that more would have been dangerous, and now she realized she might have gone too far.

“Do you think they’ll make him move again?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

She crossed her fingers that this would not be the case. That the father-son duo enjoy a lull in their run.

“Can’t wait to catch this creep.”

“Tell me about it.”

___

Long time no see. ^^;

Sorry about that. My brain is entirely focused on IRL stuff and my Hotchniss silliness, so it's a little bit complicated to went on with that story. BUT I've planned to write at least three more chapters during the next months. Then, it'll depend of the challenges subject.

Well, I hope you have enjoyed the ride again. :p

[codename-mom]

Happy New Year 2025

Hello everyone! o/

2024 was quite a busy year for Code Name: Mom, with many new chapters written (plus one I didn't post because I didn't make the translation yet) thanks to the many CM writing challenges suggested.

But there are still many to write to be honest and, even if 2025 will be full of serious real life stuff, I wish this year to be busy too, with many new chapters.

I hope you'll follow me on that trip, still liking and rebloging my texts.

I wish all of you the best for this new year (pleasant readings, mojo to write and plenty of nice stuff IRL). I hug you all! X3

[codename-mom]

Out of breath

Summary: The BAU is searching for a mad scientist and enters his house. Two members of the team fall into a trap and are about to die, unless their colleagues and friends find a way to catch the antidote.

Characters: BAU team (Emily's era)

Contents: it's a case fic that takes place a few times after Haley's death, so Hotch is not really in a good mood. Giving the subject, it's angsty AF, with plenty of medical stuff (and inaccuracies because I'm not a doctor), sadness, anxiety, self-deprecation, with mention of drug use (for Spencer). NSFW/Minors DNI

This is a text written for the CM Wrong Recipient challenge organized by @imagining-in-the-margins.

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

Read on AO3.

___

The two SUVs parked loosely a stone's throw from the address Garcia had given them. The federal agents, wearing their bulletproof vests, stepped out of their respective vehicles and closed the doors as quietly as possible. The aim was to catch the suspect, a certain Vernon Pierce, who had caused the death of a dozen people by playing the sorcerer's apprentice. The team was now standing in front of a house apparently under construction. Signs were hung on the fence surrounding the garden. But the gate wasn't locked, and they were able to enter the lawn in a sorry state. The few blades of grass were smothered by the garbage scattered around the hovel.

Hotch, at the front of the line, arrived at the door and turned the knob, taking cover behind the palisade. He had expected to hear the click of a trap, but there was nothing more than the usual sound of the bolt sliding into the lock. The BAU had not been able to call on any special task force due to the isolation of the town where they had landed, and the local police station was more than understaffed. In fact, they were on their own to apprehend a guy whose motives they hadn't yet fully grasped. They only knew that he was living there. At least, theoretically. This they quickly came to doubt as they made their way through the entrance hall, with empty rooms on either side.

Dave announced he was going to explore the first floor, taking Prentiss with him, while the last four climbed to the second floor. The building had two floors and an attic and was not connected to the electricity grid. So, they navigated in the halo of their torchlight. 

“Morgan, Reid, take care of this floor,” ordered the agency manager as they reached the first landing. “JJ and I are going upstairs.”

The two men nodded, and the younger one followed in the footsteps of the ex-policeman who had opted to go off to the right. The liaison officer dared a glance in the direction of the giant, whose gaze was fixed on the top of the stairs. At first sight, no one was waiting for them. They began their ascent with a minimum of fuss, no easy task given the dilapidated state of the building.

When they reached their destination, five rooms remained. With a wave of his hand, the ex-prosecutor indicated to the young woman to move to the left of the corridor while he dealt with the other side. The closed doors faced each other, so they didn't lose sight of their peer. Less used to being in the field than he was, she imitated his every move to synchronize her movements with his. The first two spaces – a bedroom and a toilet – were deserted. They moved on to the next two doors. The handles lowered and another bedroom and bathroom appeared. No one. This left them with only one option.

Hotch instinctively placed himself between the door and his subordinate to open it. He frowned when he spotted the device inside. The place was entirely bare. The tenant of the premises had left only a closed cardboard box on a post one meter above the ground.

“What is it?” murmured JJ, her voice slightly shaky.

“I don’t know. Stay behind me.”

The titan's heartbeat quickened, but with a few deep breaths, he managed to slow it down. He had to be perfectly calm to deal with what came next. He subtly checked that his partner was at a distance, then gently lifted the lid with the tip of his weapon. He froze when a click was heard. The container exploded, spreading a cloud of white powder all around them.

“Don’t breathe!” he yelled; eyes closed. “Go away!”

A terrible itch gripped his throat as the particles entered his nose and mouth. A violent cough split him in two.

“Hotch!” exclaimed JJ, who had taken only one step back towards the exit.

“No!”

In a reflex action, he had leapt next to her to place his huge hand on her lower face. He'd wanted to stop her breathing in the toxic dust, but it was too late. She herself began coughing violently. With his mind occupied by the burn ravaging his lungs, the colossus nevertheless perceived the sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs. The explosion had made no sound, but the rest of the team must have heard their exclamations.

JJ fell to her knees beside him, struggling to inhale healthy air, when he reopened the door. Derek's head was just emerging from the steps. Following his instincts, Hotch cocked his shot and squeezed the trigger repeatedly. The bullets hit the banister and the wall of the first bedroom. This was enough to halt the explosive expert's ascent.

“Hotch?!” he raised an eyebrow, more confused than annoyed.

“Get… get away! Call… one, one.”

He collapsed immediately afterwards; his windpipe completely blocked. Without consulting each other, everyone obeyed, racing downstairs. Morgan pulled out his phone and called for support once outside. He alerted a specialized team to take charge of the situation soon afterward. None of them were really trained to deal with this kind of trap, and the cloud of white smoke he'd seen floating in the room from which his superior had emerged didn’t seem good to him.

After an interminable wait, their colleagues were taken, unconscious and in great respiratory distress, to the nearest hospital. The two SUVs followed in the ambulances, and the federal quartet awaited the return of the toxicology tests with obvious impatience. They had not yet called Penelope, preferring first to arm themselves with arguments to reassure her. The only thing they'd been told so far was that their teammates had been placed on life support, in a sterile bubble. The doctor finally appeared, three hours after the two agents had been admitted. 

“What's up, Doctor?” harrumphed Morgan, who could hardly stand still. 

“So, I don't know who the madman is who created this cocktail, but we're going to have to catch him very quickly and make him spit out the recipe for the antidote,” he declared, clearly annoyed.

“What is it? Anthrax?” enquired Spencer, worried.

“Partially, yes. The product they breathed in made the pleura porous, allowing hemolymph to pass into the lungs at phenomenal speed.”

“Basically, they're drowning,” Dave realized.

A shiver ran through the entire team.

“That’s it,” confirmed the practitioner. “By regularly puncturing and pumping air into their lungs, we can slow down the process, but oxygen circulation is very poor and vital organs will soon be in pain.”

Everyone came to the same conclusion: their friends were dying. 

“What can we do?” wanted to know Emily, who couldn't stand not being able to do anything for them.

“Call their family.”

___

The doctor had left them on this fateful advice and Derek had sat down in the nearest chair at once, his head in his hands.

“I'll talk to Erin to negotiate the arrival of their loved ones,” announced Rossi, already retrieving his cell phone from his pocket.

“I'll call Garcia,” Prentiss continued.

The two went their separate ways to make their calls away from the ears of their counterparts. Reid settled down next to Derek. He knew that the rules of society required him to place his hand on his shoulder to reassure him, but the gesture didn't seem natural enough for him to try it. Talking was easier for him.

“It's not your fault,” he said, touched by his neighbor's distress.

“I know,” sighed Morgan straightening up. “It's just... we have no idea where this son of a bitch is.”

This address had been the only lead they'd come up with. Not only had they returned to their starting point, but their group was now down to two members.

“We’ll take it all back and find him.”

“Reid. It's not just a question of finding him, we're going to have to get him to talk too,” he grumbled, lucid about the silence Pierce would display if they managed to get him out of his hole.  “And quickly.”

Several meters away, in the sterile chamber, Hotch awoke with difficulty. A horrible feeling of discomfort oppressed him. He couldn't push his breaths all the way out despite the oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth. Another coughing fit shook his ribcage.

The BAU’s wiry blonde lay in the opposite bed, and she too was regaining consciousness. The director felt another kind of embrace close over his chest. 

“… JJ…,” he called her without recognizing the sound of his voice.

Blue irises swept the space around her, then focused on him. She frowned.

“… Hotch?”

“How are you?” he interrogated her on the spot, anxious.

“I… I feel like there’s an anvil on my chest.”

“Welcome to the club.”

The line of humor had wrung a smile from the young woman, who coughed, choking half-heartedly. When her breathing stabilized, she observed their surroundings and realized:

“We are… in a bubble?”

“Probably to protect us... or everyone else,” he suggested with a grimace. “We… we don’t know what was in that box.”

He felt like he had iron filings in his lungs. Every inhalation and exhalation brought an itch that only coughing seemed to relieve. Except that it only made the problem worse. Especially as secretions seemed to be clogging his trachea, further disrupting his respiratory cycle.

“The others aren’t with us,” she noticed rapidly.

“I… I prevented them to come closer.”

“You surely saved their lives.”

Surely, yes. But he put hers in danger.

“… I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I… I never should have opened it.”

“We needed to know.”

“I should have asked you to leave.”

JJ fixed her azure gaze on him. She'd known the giant long enough to know how angry he must have felt at this moment for putting her in such jeopardy. In other circumstances, she would have sat next to him and taken one of his hands in hers to soothe his anguish. But moving already seemed an insurmountable task.

“Hotch, it’s no use to…”

“It could very well have been a bomb,” he cut her off, his jaws clenching. “I could have killed all the team.”

“But that's not the case,” she reminded him, eager to make him see reason. “There’s only the two of us.”

“It’s already too much.”

Just then, Emily appeared on the edge of the bubble, distracting the two patients from their fruitless discussion. She was relieved to see them awake, but the monitors beside them were more than explicit: they were struggling to supply their bodies with oxygen. She would have liked to hug them both. She had to content herself with pressing the switch that allowed her to communicate with the interior of the hermetically sealed space.

“Listen, I’ve got a good and bad news. Which one do you want first?”

“The bad one,” Hotch replied immediately, which didn't really surprise her.

“The crap you've been breathing is drowning your lungs and killing your immune system,” she revealed, her heart racing. “And, to top it all off, it goes really fast.”

“And the right one?” bounced JJ, trying to put on a brave face. 

“Strauss has agreed to let your families come here on a jet.”

The news cast a pall over the trio. The two parents exchanged knowing glances. The section chief would never have authorized such a thing unless their state of health was alarming, not to say irremediable. They swallowed hard, their hands shaking.

“I promise you we'll nail the bastard and make him spit out the antidote,” Emily continued, in her most confident tone possible.

The titan said nothing, immersed in his dark thoughts, consumed by guilt.

“We trust you,” replied JJ, with tears in her eyes.

The ambassador's daughter smiled sadly at them, helpless in the face of the distress of these two people she cared for more than she dared admit to herself. Then she moved away and returned to the corridor. A leaden silence had fallen over the bubble, its two inhabitants stunned by these announcements.

Pushed out by the nursing staff, the team returned to the station, where they renewed contact with their analyst. The jet was already on its way to them, families on board, but Garcia was not among the travelers. Strauss had decided there was no need for her to travel. A decision that was not at all to the liking of the principal concerned, who was sniffling at the other end of the line, terrified at the thought of losing her friends and, what's more, of not being able to be there to see them one last time.

“Penelope, breathe, sweetheart,” Derek advised her, moved in spite of himself. “Let's get this guy and make him spill the beans.”

“Before or after they die?” she retorted, tears rolling down her plump cheeks.

“Hopefully before,” Prentiss reacted, her throat caught in a vice.

“Hopefully!?” exclaimed the bespectacled blonde, suddenly furious. “That’s not how you’re going to save them!”

“Garcia,” called Dave, who knew how impetuous the ex-computer pirate could be when one of her loved ones was in a bad way.

“Sorry, sir.”

She dabbed at her face with a handkerchief covered in little kittens with colorful ribbons, breathed in and regained some composure. They didn't have much time before them to get to the bottom of the case they were working on, so they couldn't wait any longer to start their research.

“Let's go back to what we have.”

“Concretely, nothing more than before,” began the multi-graduate. “The house was thoroughly cleaned from top to bottom. He really just left the box.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” winced Emily. “This kind of personality likes to brag about their exploits. They want recognition, they want to see the fear in people's eyes as they approach. They need to see the results of their experiment.”

“Which would have failed miserably if Hotch hadn't lifted that lid.”

All eyes turned to the man who had just spoken in a tone oozing reproach.

“Morgan, I think Aaron feels bad enough as it is for putting JJ in such a situation, there's no need to burden him any further,” Rossi stressed, with uncharacteristic seriousness. “Let’s focus on our mission instead.”

This was no time for ego battles. Their colleagues and friends were in urgent need of an antidote, which they could only obtain by getting their hands on the instigator of all this. Blaming the branch manager for his ill-considered action wouldn't help them at all.

“Does the press know that Hotch and JJ are in hospital?” inquired Reid, who had continued his reflections during the reprimand.

“No. We managed to contain the news.”

A miracle, according to the former pensioner. In this kind of small town, information circulated at the speed of light. Everyone already knew that FBI agents had traveled here. It wouldn't be long before a hospital staff member a little less conscientious than the rest would slip a note to a local journalist. They could always invoke their desire to protect the population from the existence of an unknown lethal bacterial strain to justify their act.  

“What if we let it leak?” suggested Prentiss, who had understood the younger team member's reasoning.

“The suspect wouldn't be able to resist getting in touch with us,” Derek instantly realized, regaining a more personable attitude.

“Or go see them,” Spencer added.

This would save them the trouble of looking for the suspect, who could be absolutely anywhere.

“Baby girl, can you prepare this for us? It has to look like it’s coming from outside.”

“I'll get to it,” replied the analyst, whose tears had subsided. “I’ll show it to you before sending it.”

While hope was reborn at the BAU, the mood at the hospital was far from cheerful. Aaron blamed himself for putting the young mother in danger. Staring into space, he ruminated silently, his jaws clenching at regular intervals as his fingers abruptly fiddled with the sheets. His roommate was watching him with some trepidation. She was afraid, of course, to leave like that, without having seen Henry grow up, and a knot weighed down her insides, but she didn't condemn the man who'd hired her and trusted her for so long. She felt that the real culprit was the one who had set the trap they had fallen into. 

“Hotch, you had no way of knowing.”

“In this kind of situation, there are protocols to be respected, and I didn't do it,” he replied harshly. “And now you're going to die because of my negligence.”

“I’m not dead yet, Aaron. And neither are you,” she reminded him with the same dryness. “The team is going to do anything to find Pierce. We’ve found his lair once; we can do it again.”

The brown irises tilted towards her, and the liaison officer stiffened in spite of herself. There was hatred and anger in those eyes, but not against her. More than ever, the man lying in the same room as her hated himself.

“JJ, even if they catch him, he won’t talk. Killing two FBI agents is far too big a trophy to pass up.”

“We were thinking the same thing when you and Garcia were taken prisoner, and we were able to free you.”

“You know very well what happened to bring our captor to talk. It won't happen again this time.”

Shortly after the New York attacks, the head of the unit and the computer expert had been kidnapped by a jealous and bitter man, and the federal duo had found themselves locked up for two days in the cellar of an isolated country house. The suspect was quickly apprehended, but it took some unexpected outside help to get him to spill his guts. However, there was no guarantee that it would be as effective this time. Had she even been warned of what was happening? JJ ignored it, but that didn't stop her from retorting:

“Hotch, we have to keep faith.”

He rested his head on the pillow with a sigh, still chewing his lower lip. Remorse was always present. 

“… I… I should never have teamed up with you,” he finally said after a long silence.

“What?”

“You should have gone with Prentiss or Morgan.”

She didn't understand what he was getting at.

“Would you have gone alone?”

“No, not necessarily. I… I could have taken Reid. Or Dave,” he added, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

The young woman wanted to argue, but an umpteenth coughing fit delayed her reply. The tightness in her chest was growing, and she could see that her neighbor was having as much difficulty as she was in taking a breath. Even more than her. She could regularly hear his breathing catch in the middle of the process. Was he holding back his cough? Putting this question out of her mind, she returned to the one that intrigued her most.

“Why? Are their lives worth less than mine? 

“Their disappearance would inevitably be a loss, but yes, their lives are worth less than yours.”

The tone had been cold, without the slightest vibration. He meant what he said, as mechanical as it sounds.  

“Why?” she insisted, confused.

“Because you’re a mother. You’ve got a son, JJ, and he needs you.”

“Just as Jack needs his father,” she returned, outraged.

“No,” he countered, shaking his head. “We can live without a father. Morgan did, I did. He needs a mother.”

“Aaron…” she moaned, tears in her eyes.

“He talks to her.”

A bolt of lightning sheared through her ribcage. She was afraid to understand who he was talking about. His pupils still fixed elsewhere than on her, he went on:  

“When he’s playing in his bedroom, he talks to her. As she was still able to answer him. When he’s having nightmares, he calls her. Not me. It's a mother he needs,” he concluded, repressing the urge to cry in turn.

After Haley's death, he had no choice but to assume his responsibilities as a father. He'd picked up a four-year-old boy he didn't know much about, with nothing to welcome him properly. The last time he had taken him in, the child was barely three years old. He'd grown up, his tastes had changed, and he knew how to do things he'd never done before. All the clothes he owned were too small, his knowledge dated, and his accommodation no longer suitable. He had to adjust to the speed of light and thought he had succeeded, but not without a few bumps. And yet, Jack naturally continued to turn to the one who was no longer there to hear him. 

“Hotch, I'm sorry,” resumed JJ, unable to contain her emotions any longer.

“No, I’m the one to be sorry. I shouldn't have allowed you to return to the field. It was irresponsible of me.”

“It was my choice,” she stressed with all her remaining confidence. “At any moment, I knew I could ask you to stay at the police station, but I chose to be with you, in the field. I knew the risks, but I made that choice. You don't have to feel responsible. And…”

She hesitated to keep on, then realized it was essential. Someone had to tell him what he couldn't grasp on his own. The colossus was an intelligent man, but his lack of self-esteem clouded his vision on many things.

“And for Jack, it’s normal. He’s young, he misses his mother, but he loves you.”

“Jessica will know how to take care of him. It’s already what she’s doing. Better than me.”

His breathing stopped at the end of his sentence and a coughing fit violently raised his chest. Bent in two, eyelids closed, he struggled to soothe his expectoration. Between the weight compressing his lungs and the agonizing sensation of his throat becoming increasingly congested, he had to fight to regain control of himself. This he did, however, after long minutes of struggling to breathe. JJ, who had followed the whole scene with a distraught look on her face, started talking again:

“Aaron, no matter how much his aunt may love him, she'll never replace his real parents. You can’t give up on him.”

“No, you’re the one who mustn’t give up.”

She didn't have time to bounce off that as he started coughing again. His pulse immediately raced as his oxygen saturation plummeted. He was literally choking to death before her very eyes, and there was nothing she could do to help him.

“Aaron!” she cried, panicked. “No! Please! Help!”

A team of caregivers, equipped from head to toe in coveralls, rushed into the bubble and surrounded the giant's bed. 

“He's sinking,” said one of them. “We need to intubate. Quick!”

There was no curtain that could be drawn between the two patients, so JJ watched the whole scene, unable to escape. When the group of cosmonauts left, Hotch was inert, his eyes closed and his skin extremely pale. If his heartbeat wasn't displayed live on the monitor beside his bed, she might have thought he was dead. She realized, however, that this was only a temporary setback. In shock, she began to cry, feeling terribly alone.

At the police station, Derek's cell phone rang. He picked up the phone, even though the number didn't ring a bell, and was put through to the doctor he'd met earlier in the day. The rest of the team spied his reactions, worried.

“Morgan. … When?... Okay. Thank you.”

He hung up and met the stares he was getting.

“What’s going on?” dared to ask Emily.

“Hotch is in a coma.”

The three agents tensed up. It was as if half the hourglass had just emptied at once. 

“JJ must be terrified. I go see her.”

“Okay,” agreed the ex-policeman, who knew she'd go anyway. “As soon as the families arrive, I'll send them to you.”

She nodded to let him know she'd heard and stormed out into the parking lot. She didn't take the time to put on her coat, and climbed into one of the SUVs, switched on the ignition and began reversing. She crossed the city with her hands clenched on the steering wheel, her knuckles whitening under the strain. Her friend had a very clear vision of what was about to happen to her. She must have been in a state of stress that would only worsen her condition. So, she needed support, which is why she didn’t hesitate to use the flashing lights.

When she arrived, she was greeted by the doctor who had just called Derek.

“What happened?” she interrogated him without waiting.

“His lungs can no longer oxygenate his body. His brain switched into economy mode.”

“If that wording is supposed to relax me, it doesn't,” she spat, neither amused nor appeased by this turn of phrase.

The practitioner's shoulders slumped, and he became more serious.

“He is in a coma and his prognosis is seriously compromised.”

If she hadn't worked for the FBI and wasn't required to put on a brave face under any circumstances, she'd probably have sat down on the nearest chair; or anything that could support her weight. All of a sudden, her legs seemed much less solid than usual, and she wished she hadn't worn her high-heeled boots. But she controlled herself and went on:

“… How much time?”

“He is the one who ingested the largest quantity of the product. He’s strong and athletic, but…”

“How much?” she interrupted, the little patience she usually had annihilated by anxiety.

“You’ve got less than twelve hours.”

Of course, this was not a precise figure. It was just a statistic roughly calculated from what he knew about similar diseases. But it had nothing to do with what he knew, really. The powder the pair had unwittingly ingested had nothing in common with any known toxin, so its effects were uncertain. So, the BAU potentially had even less time than that to get their loved ones out of this bind.

“… What about her?”

“Expect her to sink too. And, given her constitution, you won't have much more time.”

Her eyes began to burn intensely. Holding back her tears required more strength than ever.

“Did you call their families?” he enquired, looking sorry.

“Yes. They… they arrive.”

“Do they have children?” he asked, retrieving a pen from his breast pocket to write on the sheets of paper attached to the board in his hand. 

“Yes.”

“How old?”

Her heart missed a beat. The faces of the two boys appeared in her mind, and the feeling of injustice that gripped her throat made her want to punch the wall with her fist. 

“Two and five,” she said controlling herself.

“Okay. Prepare them. Seeing a parent in such a situation can be traumatic. And, above all, tell them they won't be able to enter the bubble.”

“Why?”

“That could be the end of them.”

This wasn't going to make her job any easier. How was she going to explain to the toddler duo that they couldn't hug their dying parent? And, above all, how was she going to tell the young mother that she would see her son for the last time only through the soft glass of a sterile bubble?

“… Can… can I talk to them?”

“To her, yes. To him, it’s unlikely that he’ll hear you.”

“… Thank you, doctor.”

He moved away, but not without touching her shoulder briefly. He was aware that her situation was more than uncomfortable, but barring a miracle, there would be no other solution. So, she went up the corridor to her friends' private room. She stood still and took several breaths before daring to appear in front of JJ.

“Emily!” exclaimed the latter when she saw her.

The dark irises noted the reddened sclera, the wet streaks on her cheeks, the gray circles, and her blue fingernails. Her condition had seriously worsened since the previous time, which had taken place only a few hours earlier. Then she saw Hotch's lifeless body. He was deathly pale, a sign that the blood no longer flowed efficiently to his limbs. Even when he'd been stabbed by Foyet, he hadn't looked that bad.

A shiver ran through her, and she turned her attention back to the one she could still talk to.

“How are you?”

“I… I’m scared,” she confessed, sniffing.

“The opposite would have been surprising. You have to hold on. Henry is on his way, with Will.”

“What about Jack?”

The director's only offspring had been the unit's first baby, and the whole team had grown fond of him. After the birth of her own son, JJ and Hotch had forged a relationship other than a professional one, thanks to their shared status as parents who were often on the move. That she was worried about Jack came as no surprise.

“He’s on his way too, with his aunt.”

Emily didn't know if Dave had also called Ada, their supervisor's mother, who had become the go-to contact for bad news since his divorce, but he hadn't informed her in any case. They had all focused on spouses – well, the spouse – and descendants, with no concern for other family ties. And yet, despite Aaron's conflicted relationship with his mother, the female profiler felt that she would have appreciated witnessing her eldest son's final moments.

“It’s… Good,” commented the liaison officer, before starting to cough.

“JJ, what happened?” asked the brunette when she was able to speak again.

“He… We were discussing and he… he was blaming himself for dragging me into this. He… he was saying that Jack didn’t need him.”

“If he gets away with it, remind me to kick his ass to get his head straight.”

JJ found the energy to smile, then coughed again. Every breath cycle was now a fight. Every trickle of air that made it back and forth was a victory. But she felt herself weakening by the hour, by the minute. She had a headache, dizziness, and staying awake required inconsiderate resources. 

“Tell me that you’ve got a lead.”

“Garcia may have found us something.”

“Great,” she rejoiced, trying to smile, but without success. “You… you should be with them.”

“No, I stay. There's no way I'm leaving you alone,” she asserted, determined not to leave her post. “And… Henry and Jack need to be prepared.”

“Prepared?” frowned the young mother. “For what?”

Emily saw her interlocutor's heartbeat quicken. This was not good for her, as it was already difficult to supply her resting muscles with oxygen, so her colleague took courage.

“JJ... you're not going to be able to hug your son.”

She thought she'd heard wrong, but Prentiss's pained expression told her that her eardrums had worked perfectly well. Tears escaped down her cheeks, and she was soon overcome by incoercible sobs. Henry, her baby, her flesh. How could anyone stop her from hugging him, kissing him, cuddling him one last time? 

“Sorry.”

The families arrived a good two hours later, Henry in his father's arms and Jack holding hands with Jessica, Haley's younger sister. Prentiss rose from her chair to intercept them before they entered the room. 

“Hello, Emily,” JJ's partner greeted her warmly with a peck on the cheek.

“Hello, Will,” she replied, before stroking the cheek of the little boy, as blond as his mother. “Hi, buddy.”

“Hello,” he murmured, shy.

The trio already knew each other, as they regularly invited the others to celebrate birthdays and various national and religious holidays. Aaron's ex-sister-in-law was probably the least close of the group, since Hotch rarely came to them with her. They knew she existed, that she was there to support him in his task as a single father, and they had already crossed paths with her the day Foyet was killed and at his sister's funeral, but they didn't know her any better than that. 

“Jessica Brooks,” she introduced herself naturally, extending her hand. “I… I’m Jack’s aunt.”

“Emily Prentiss,” indicated the interested party, who no longer knew if she had identified herself clearly last year. “I’m working with… your former brother-in-law.”

It felt strange to talk about her superior in such terms. She'd already seen him wear something other than his tailored suit and be less stuffy than in his role as supervising special agent, but the fact that he might be related to or friendly with anyone other than Jack and his subordinates still unsettled her. And this despite the fact that the BAU had crossed paths with several of its cousins scattered across the country.

“Jack, say hello to Emily,” she encouraged him, lifting the toddler off the ground and cradling him on her hip. “She’s working with your daddy.”

They crossed path occasionally when he was a baby and had met again at the agency manager's hearing. She and her colleagues had spent the day keeping the boy occupied, so he wouldn't get bored waiting for his sire to return.

“Hi, big guy,” she said in her softest voice. “Do you remember me?”

He nodded.

“When I can see Dad?”

“Uh… I need to discuss with your aunt before, and then, you’ll see him. Okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed, a little disappointed.

“You can go and see the lady in white over there,” she said, pointing to the nurse who had just arrived near them. “She’ll take care of you and Henry. She’s nice, you’ll see.”

“Okay.”

Jessica put him down and walked him over to the young woman who had teddy bears and rainbows embroidered on her blouse. She knelt down to greet Jack, spoke to him for a few moments, then stood up to take Henry in her arms. One of her colleagues had joined her to lend a hand. They then moved away to give the three adults their privacy.

“What’s going on? I thought we could see Jen,” worried the policeman.

“You’ll be able to see them, yes, but not like you hoped to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jessica interrogated her, eyebrows furrowed.

“What have they told you about why they're here?”

“I was told that she had been contaminated by an unknown product and that her lungs were affected.”

“That’s not the case?”

Emily confirmed, thinking about how she was going to tell them what happened next. Once again, she was the bird of ill omen, and she was going to have to smooth things over as much as possible if she didn’t want the both of them – the four of them – to be ready to drop.

“Yes. But it's a little more complex than that,” she began, cautiously. “In fact, they were contaminated by a product containing a mixture of very aggressive bacterial strains. Lungs are affected, but not only. Their immune system is too.”

“Which means?” Jessica insisted.

“JJ and Hotch are currently in a sterile bubble. None of the four of you can get in.”

“What? But…”

“I know,” she cut him off. “It's going to be complicated, but we'll have to make the kids understand. Believe me, it's not easy for JJ either.”

Attentive, Haley's sister bounced right back:

“… Wait. Wh… why only JJ?”

The profiler suddenly felt very cramped in her jacket. But she had to go through with it.

“… Hotch is in a coma. It… it’s been three hours now.”

Will seemed as shocked as Jessica, who immediately put her hand to her chest, her eyes watery. The brunette didn't know what the real bond was between her boss and the curly-haired blonde, but her attachment to him was unfeigned. But she recovered more quickly than she had imagined.

“… Is it… Can he hear what we're saying to him?”

“Yes,” she threw without thinking.

She still had the doctor's words in mind, but she also knew that, in reality, one didn't know much about what a person in the same situation as the colossus felt or perceived. Logic dictated that outside sounds would no longer reach him, but this was also the case when one was asleep. The human was losing awareness of their environment, but the brain was in truth still attentive to sounds and smells, ready to reactivate all the body's motor and sensory functions, which it controlled as required. Why should things be any different for people in comas? What's more, the ordeal she was about to impose on them was hard enough as it was for her not to add, on top of that, the impossibility of speaking to him.

“Can I… can I see him first? To… to find out how I should tell Jack.”

“Of course,” she agreed, smiling thinly. “He’s just behind that door. There… there is a switch to allow you to communicate with them.”

Jessica followed the direction she had indicated. Will had remained silent throughout her discussion with her. Anguish pulled at his features.

“How long before Jennifer falls into a coma like him?”

“I don’t know. She… she inspired less product than Hotch.”

He shook his head and she saw his jaw tighten.

“What happened? How did she fall into such situation?”

“I'm not allowed to tell you,” she argued, sensing the anger coursing through his veins. “Sorry.”

“Emily, I know the drill. I know what that gibberish means. Who made a mistake?”

JJ's companion's reaction was natural. It was for all those brutally confronted with the sudden or imminent death of a loved one. They needed a culprit – a scapegoat – someone to vent all their frustration, hatred, and despair on.

“It’s him? That’s it, it’s Hotch?” exclaimed the police agent, now furious.

“Will, I understand that you’re pissed, but…”

“But what? I'm going to lose the woman I love and the mother of my son because her boss didn't respect safety regulations, and I'm supposed to keep my mouth shut?”

When Haley had died, her father had turned against his daughter's ex-husband, even though he hadn't been the one to pull the trigger. Aaron had let himself be stepped on, eaten away by his own guilt. And she knew that if he'd still been conscious, he wouldn't have fought off Will's attacks any more. However…

“He never wanted that. And right now, he's the one in the worst shape of all.”

“Thank goodness!”

He didn't wait for Emily to fight back and followed Jessica's lead to meet her near the sterile bubble. JJ began to smile as soon as she saw her partner appear. He tried to put on a brave face, despite the rage and fear in his gut. Beside him, Jack's aunt couldn't take her eyes off the inert, sensor- and catheter-laden body of the man who had been her friend before becoming her brother-in-law for almost twenty years.

They didn't linger, nonetheless, and went to pick up the two boys who were hoping to see their respective parents. Will left first with Henry in his arms, while Jessica took the time to prepare Jack for the meeting ahead. It was hard to determine what would really impress kids his age. Some were frightened by nothing, while others didn't even shudder at horror movies. Nevertheless, what she was sure of was that he would want to snuggle up against his father's chest. Which, unfortunately, he couldn’t do.

“Listen to me carefully,” she advised, kneeling at his level, her hands enveloping his small palms. “Your dad is very ill, and his body needs a lot of energy to fight the virus inside him. Do you get it?”

“Yes.”

He and Aaron had fallen prey to colds, strep throat, and gastroenteritis often enough for the toddler to know what she was talking about.

“But for that, your dad needs to rest. He’s sleeping a lot, very deeply. He will be able to hear you, but he won’t move and won’t open his eyes.”

“Could I give him a hug?”

“No. The… the virus inside him could attack you if you did,” she justified, uncomfortably. “Then, you'll see, he's in a big plastic bubble, with Agent Jareau, who's sick too, but a little less so. She’ll be awake.”

“But I couldn't talk to him then?” he replied, saddened.

“Yes, there is a button for that.”

“Cool!” he rejoiced, smiling again.

Jessica was pleasantly surprised to see him accept the situation so well. Admittedly, his naive mind didn't allow him to see that part of her argument was false, but he could have had a crying fit or demanded to have physical contact with his father regardless. Which he didn't seem to be willing to do. She took advantage of his good composure to stand up and offer him her hand. 

“Are you ready?”

“Yes,” he affirmed taking her fingers.

“So, here we go.”

They passed Emily a few meters away – Jack waved to her as they passed – and then entered the airlock. Henry was glued to the translucent wall of the bubble, waving to his mother, who responded as best she could, tears rolling down her cheeks. Jessica had to hold the little boy so he could see through the opening. She carefully observed his behavior to assess his stress level. Eyes wide, eyebrows wrinkled, he stared at Aaron without saying a word. She felt him grip her top more tightly. He wasn’t serene at all.

“Do you want to say something to him?”

Jack bit his lower lip, just as the giant did when he was hesitating.

“You could tell him about the jet trip.”

“Ah, yes,” agreed the youngster, coming back to life. “Where is the button?”

“Over there.”

Standing back, Prentiss followed the scene with her eyes, her throat tight. 

Several floors below, on the first floor, the team apprehended the suspect, who had indeed not resisted the urge to watch his victims die. Pierce was immediately dragged off to the police station and into an interrogation room. Morgan was the first to enter the negotiations, and he decided to get straight to the point.

“Where's the antidote?”

The man, unshaven, his sparse hair a mess, raised a curious eye to him before his irises tilted towards a corner of the room. He settled back in his rickety chair, as if trying to demonstrate that it was comfortable.

“What makes you think that I’ve created one?”

“All mad scientists like you make them, in case you're inadvertently contaminated.”

“You're only contaminated if you're not careful,” he quipped.

Derek, who had no time for amusement, grabbed the back of the seat and forced the scientist to turn his attention back to him.

“Don't play that game with me,” he growled menacingly.  “Where’s the antidote?”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” declared his interlocutor, trying to back away as far as possible.

For his taste, the federal agent was much too close. It was information that the latter and his peers had established in his profile: he was agoraphobic, or at least didn't like anyone encroaching on his living space.

“You do have fun, hu? Knowing that two of my colleagues are going to die because of that thing you made.”

“Perhaps,” he shrugged.

Furious, the ex-policeman opted to leave the room before doing something regrettable. He joined Dave and Spencer, who had been watching everything through the two-way mirror.

“This guy knows the effects of his creation. He knows that time is against us,” noticed Morgan, dejected.

“He's not going to give anything up, just for the pleasure of seeing us lose the fight,” Rossi sighed.

“Not necessarily.”

Both men looked up at their cadet in surprise.

“Why do you say that?” asked the Chicago native. “You can see it made no odds to him.”

“I wouldn't be so categorical,” affirmed Reid. “Usually, people like him want to kill as many persons as possible to spread fear around them.”

More than a year earlier, they had been confronted by another chemist who had propagated a modified strain of Anthrax with the sole aim of demonstrating that the federal administration wasn't taking the risk of a nationwide epidemic seriously enough. Its creation caused hundreds of deaths in a very short space of time.

“Except that he's only killed a dozen of them,” pointed out the novelist. “Which isn't much considering the destructive potential of his cocktail.”

Derek, calmer, straightened up, ready to listen to the reasoning of the unit's youngest member.

“What do you think about?”

“Let's take another look at what all these victims have in common.”

“We already did so.”

In fact, it was one of the first things they did when the file came into their hands, precisely to define the kind of individual they were dealing with.

“Apart from the fact that they were all members of AA, everything else was different. Age, sex, race, social status… everything.”

“We must have missed something.”

Morgan understood that he wouldn’t give up. He shook his head and said:

“Okay. You search, I’ll keep interrogating him.”

“Let me try,” imposed himself the BAU co-founder.

“What?”

“I don't think your muscles will convince him to talk, on the contrary,” he chuckled with a smile. “He’s an intellectual. I think a duel of grey matter is in order.”

Even if Dave didn't have as many diplomas as his neighbor, he had already proved in the past that he had nothing to be ashamed of when it came to strategy.

“… Okay,” bend Derek, offering him the way.

While their eldest set about giving the suspect the third degree, the remaining pair of agents returned to the meeting room they'd been allocated, where all the evidence had been laid out. They retrieved the cardboard box containing information about Pierce's previous victims and began to go through it. But after an hour, the explosives expert, unsettled by the sword of Damocles hovering over their heads, pushed aside the papers in front of him.

“It’s useless! We are wasting our time.”

“No. There must be something we can do to put pressure on him.”

“How can you put pressure on a guy who gets off on decimating people by the hundred?” he shouted getting up abruptly.

Spencer gasped, but stayed where he was and picked up his phone to dial the number they all knew like the back of their hand.

“Garcia?”

“Yes, sweetheart.”

He'd put the speakerphone on, and the note of hope was evident in the luscious blonde’s words.

“Is there any way you could get the names of all AA members?”

“Those who are dead?”

“No, those who were absent.”

“Spencer, kitten, do you know what AA means?”

“Alcoholics Anonymous,” he answered genuinely.

“So, you’ve got the answer to your question.”

Morgan watched the exchange without understanding the purpose of it all. They already had the identities of those who had succumbed to the chemist's first attack. What did his colleague hope to find by taking an interest in those who had escaped the massacre?

“Except that there's bound to be a sign-in sheet somewhere. If only to plan roughly how much fruit juice and snacks to buy. This kind of association generally has a very tight budget, so they can't afford to order too much.”

The former police officer had the impression that his team-mate was determined not to look up at him, not even to receive any validation from him. Two years earlier, the boy had struggled with his addiction to Dilaudid, developed following a kidnapping. He had never spoken to any of the team about it and had chosen to get out of the mess on his own. They had all been watching the fight from a distance, and he had managed to overcome the ordeal. He hadn't celebrated the victory with them either and everyone had respected his choice. In fact, he knew how this kind of psychological support structure worked.

“Spence, if I go through the books, all I'll know is whether or not the usual number of members was present.”

“Penelope,” intervened Derek, eager to show his partner that he trusted him. “Check this, please. Go back to the last six months.”

“Even the last twelve. It takes time to meet all the members.”

They heard the keyboard keys clicking in the distance.

“… Interesting.”

“Tell us,” Morgan encouraged her.

“Over the last seven months, between seventeen and eighteen people attended each meeting. But the night of the attack, they were only twelve.”

“The question is: were these five or six members absent by chance, or did the suspect keep them away to kill only the other twelve?”

“Let’s go back to the association’s siege to catch the sign-in sheets. Thank you, sunshine.”

“Run. JJ and Hotch need you.”

With their hearts pounding, the duo climbed into the nearest SUV and drove at breakneck speed to the association's premises. They hit a brick wall as soon as they presented their request to the manager.

“People will die if you don't give us this information!” yelled Derek, more stressed than ever.

“I understand, but legally, without a warrant, I'm not supposed to give you these papers. It would be a betrayal of our members' trust,” the fifty-year-old reminded them.

“Non-assistance to a person in danger, you know what that's going to cost you?”

“Morgan, there may be another solution,” Reid interjected, his voice trembling.

“What?” coaxed the latter, glaring at him.

Spencer swallowed, impressed by his counterpart's vehemence, but focused his attention on the woman watching them, eyebrows furrowed.

“Ma’am, do you know the members of your association?”

“Yes,” she confirmed in a tone of obviousness.

“Including those who were there last Thursday?”

“Yes.”

Derek felt all his muscles tensing. All this conversation didn’t make sense. Maybe he was wrong to follow his plan.

“Okay,” commented the young agent, indifferent to the growing tension. “We know that they were missing members that night. Some regulars.”

“I won't give you names,” objected the founder of the help group.

“And I won’t ask for it. We only need to know what they had in common or what made the difference between them and the others.”

The first response was silence, clear-sighted for his colleague and bewildered for the manager.

“What do you mean?”

“Did they live in the same neighborhood? Did they know each other since childhood? Did they all have a dog?”

“Anything the others present that evening didn't have,” clarified Morgan, who had finally understood the objective of the maneuver.

She thought for a few moments, turning her gaze sideways to search her memory. The profilers remained silent, inwardly crossing their fingers for a result that would help them break the deadlock.

“Well… uh… they… they all have children.”

“Married?” enquired Derek.

“Not all of them. But they all have at least one child in charge.”

“Why didn’t they come?” bounced Reid, as nervous as his neighbor.

“Someone would have called to tell them that Simon was ill and therefore there would be no meeting that evening.”

“It's him,” Morgan deduced, on tenterhooks. “He called them so they wouldn’t come.”

“He doesn’t want to break families.”

“I call Emily.”

At the hospital, the female profiler listened attentively to her peers’ words and, as soon as she hung up, sought out the doctor in charge of the case. She found him deep in conversation with a woman in a white coat. Not having time to wait for them to finish talking, she intervened: 

“Doctor, you must allow the children into this bubble.”

“Out of question,” he retorted on the spot. “There’s no worse germ vector than children. They touch everything, put everything in their mouths, and their immune systems are still developing.”

“I know but listen.”

She then explained the strategy her colleagues had devised to get the man responsible for the situation to talk. The practitioner listened without interrupting, then, when it was his turn to speak, he hesitated:

“I… I understand your plan, but it would be like pulling the trigger,” he declared, embarrassed. “And, as a doctor, I can’t authorize that.”

“Okay,” she agreed, clear-headed about the problem of conscience this posed for him. “What do these children need to do to minimize the risks?”

“Wash their hands and faces at first, and get them to put on overalls, gloves, and masks. For them and for their companions. And you too.”

“So, let’s do this.”

They immediately sprang into action and joined Will, Jessica and the boys, who had set up in a small room with toys while they waited. Prentiss repeated Derek's words and, with the help of a few nurses, the four patient relatives got ready to enter the bubble. The young woman didn't know what the consequences of this somewhat suicidal idea would be, but it was their last chance to get something out of the suspect.

With the quartet finally ready, she called the team's IT technician. She would be the liaison between the hospital and the police station.

“Garcia, I’m going to film what’s going to happen in Hotch and JJ’s bubble. Can you get these images to Rossi as soon as possible so that he can show them to Pierce?”

“What for?” she frowned, puzzled.

Clearly, she hadn't yet been taken into the confidence.

“The guy doesn’t want to destroy families,” she revealed so she’d figured out. “He couldn't have known that Hotch and JJ had children, and he certainly hadn't planned for them to be the ones contaminated.”

“Okay. I can do something better that what you asked?”

“Better? What that supposed to mean?”

“Beauty, you’re on the air.”

Emily hesitated for a moment, then understood.

“Are you saying that you can see me now?”

“Yes, and that charlotte suits you perfectly.”

Like the others, she'd had to cover her hair, encasing it in a sky-blue charlotte that fell over her eyes. She was also wearing overshoes, gloves, and a sterile gown, and would have to don a mask just before entering the sterile area. The kids were delighted to dress up, while the adults realized how ridiculous they looked in those outfits.

“Okay,” she continued, pushing aside these aesthetic considerations. “Do the connection with Dave.”

“Done.”

“Rossi?”

“Yes,” she heard as he was standing next to her. “Morgan and Reid explained their plan to me. Go on.”

She returned to Will and Jessica and encouraged them to join the patients. The medical team stood at attention nearby, visibly nervous, fully prepared to intervene at a moment's notice.

“Mom!” exclaimed Henry, escaping from his father's grasp to rush towards his mother.

“Darling.”

Will helped the toddler climb onto the bed and JJ immediately hugged her son, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Mom,” repeated the youngster, snuggling up against her breast.

“I love you, angel. I’ll love you forever.”

For the other parent-child pair, the atmosphere was completely different. Jessica had also allowed Jack to climb the medical bed to gain access to his father, but he had no reaction to his approach. He was still in a coma.

“Dad?”

“Jack, do you remember? He can’t answer you,” reminded him his aunt standing close to him. “But you can talk to him. You can take him into your arms.”

“Dad, I love you. Don’t leave me,” he said, his eyes shining.

The boy leaned over the motionless body to give it a hug. But Aaron's heart suddenly raced, and the nearby monitor began to beep loudly. In panic, Jack jumped into Jessica's arms. And things got even worse when JJ began to suffocate. She desaturated at lightning speed and lost consciousness in her turn. Will eagerly retrieved Henry, distraught, not knowing what to do to save the woman he loved. 

“Get out!” yelled the doctor through the speaker. “Now!”

At the police station, Dave had witnessed the whole scene at the same time as the suspect. Throat tight, he tucked his phone away in his pocket and put on a brave face before facing the culprit's gaze.

“Satisfied?” he spat, terse.

Pierce's arrogance seemed to have melted like snow in the sun and he'd clearly lost some color. Clearly, he hadn't expected to see the effects of his mephitic cocktail live.

“That… that was not what I wanted. I… I didn’t know…”

“What? That FBI agents could have kids?”

“No, that they'd be the ones to get in front of my trap,” he corrected at once, uncomfortably. “Normally, it’s Morgan, the hot-headed agent. He's the one who should have been touched, along with you or Agent Prentiss. Not the two with families!”

Rossi stopped himself from widening his eyes in surprise. Little did he know that the chemist had researched them to the point of having specific targets in mind. Unfortunately, he'd hit the only ones he'd wanted to spare.

“What was Agent Hotchner doing there?” he snapped, unsettled.

“He led the team,” replied the BAU co-founder coolly.

Yes, as astonishing as it may seem, Hotch was one of those rare bosses who got involved in his subordinates' tasks, who put himself in as much danger as they did, and who didn't mind facing the worst conditions to complete investigations. But, given his status, Pierce must have assumed he was just another paper-pusher. First mistake.

“O… okay. But what was Agent Jareau doing there too? She’s supposed to handle the press!”

“And she also helps us when we need support in the field,” he stressed, his fists clenched.

JJ had received the same training as her colleagues, so she was perfectly capable of accompanying them despite her different status. She may not have had all the knowledge needed to profile suspects, but she knew how to use a firearm, intercept a malefactor, and defend herself if need be. The scientist must have felt that her slender physique limited her to the role of spokesperson. Second mistake.

“Give us the antidote now.”

“It's too late,” he lamented, shaking his head in defeat.

“For him, maybe, but not for Agent Jareau. You still can save her life and prevent her son to become an orphan.”

Later, the whole team had gathered around Will and Jessica, who were still reassuring the children, shocked by the scene. Henry wept silently, his cheeks bright red, while Jack, curled up in his aunt's arms, looked pale. The doctor reappeared beside them.

“So, doc?” enquired immediately Morgan, impatient.

“The injections have been given, but now we have to wait for their immune system to do its job.”

Pierce had caved in half an hour earlier and passed on all the necessary information to Rossi, who gave it to Emily at once.

“How long is this going to take?” she asked.

“The question is whether we acted in time or not.”

“And when will we know?” continued Dave, worried.

“If they make it through the night, we can start breathing.”

And so began the longest night the BAU had ever known. None of them wanted to go back to the hotel to enjoy the comfortable mattresses. They all stayed at the hospital, the children asleep in the arms of their father and aunt, and the profilers took turns going back and forth to the bubble to see how the condition of their colleagues and friends was evolving. If they didn't see any noticeable improvement, they noted with some hope that it wasn't getting worse either. They were both stable; comatose, but alive.

At dawn, Spencer dragged himself to the sterile area. He was aching and desperate for sleep, but letting his shift pass was out of the question. Behind the warped window, the branch manager and the liaison officer seemed as inert as the day before. He observed their vitals for a moment, but nothing remarkable caught his attention. He stayed a little longer, staring at the pallid faces that seemed simply to be asleep, then prepared to leave. His eye caught a movement. He stopped and stepped back, concentrating on the giant.

The latter’s fingers quivered. He pushed the switch without waiting. He had to be sure that he wasn’t dreaming.

“Hotch?”

This time, the colossus' knuckles twitched, and his eyeballs agitated behind his eyelids. Reid's heart raced along with Aaron's, whose chest suddenly contracted. He couldn't breathe properly. 

“Hotch, ca… calm down. I… I’ll find a doctor.”

The multi-graduate rushed out of the room and hailed the nurses. A quartet of carers were already rushing towards him. When they entered the room, Hotch was sitting on his bed, eyes open, obviously trying to pull out the tube pushed down his throat. The four professionals entered the bubble and surrounded the patient.

“Calm down,” the smallest of the pack commanded him, a hand on his elbow. “Calm down. We’ll take care of it.”

Her colleague withdrew the titan's respiratory aid, and he was seized by violent coughing fits.

“Calm down,” repeated the first one. “Breathe normally. Come on. Slowly.”

The ex-prosecutor obeyed, obediently, and gradually simmered down as his breathing returned to normal. A hand brought to his throat, he raised his irises to JJ and gurgled:

“… She…?”

“She has received the antidote, like you. So, she should wake up.”

“Jack?”

The orderlies turned with one accord to Spencer, who had followed the whole scene, frozen in place. He shook himself when he realized what was expected of him and stormed out of the room to call Jessica. Overexcited, he announced the good news on the fly, the words escaping his mouth at full speed. Jack leapt to his feet and galloped back to the bubble, where he plunged into his father's arms. Aaron hugged him to his chest, placing kisses on the top of his skull, a tear rolling down his cheek.

___

Two days later, when the doctor cleared their colleagues for discharge, the BAU took the jet back to Virginia. Will, Jessica and the children were part of the journey. Exhausted by their latest investigation, the federal agents had fallen asleep on the plane, along with JJ's partner and Aaron's ex-sister-in-law. But the latter two were fully conscious, their offspring curled up against their chests, sleeping soundly. They watched them with the same tender smile, holding back from hugging and kissing them so as not to wake them.

“Do you still mean what you said in the bubble?” whispered the liaison officer, looking up at her superior, sitting opposite her.

“About what?”

“About the fact that you think Jack will have a better life with his aunt than with you.”

The brown irises rested for a moment on the little boy, cradled by the heave of his ribcage, then returned to the young woman.

“… I thought I was about to die, so yes.”

“Do you really think that children don't need a father?” she frowned, doubtful.

She had spent a large part of her childhood with both her parents, until a certain event shattered her family unit and led her to live solely with her mother. It was an upheaval she had found hard to accept, and one that she felt had led to a great deal of tension between her and her mother.

“I'd say they're getting used to their absence better than their mother's,” he added.

Until the age of fifteen, he too had lived with both parents, but it hadn't been an experience he enjoyed remembering. He had even experienced the news of his father's death as a relief. And, although there was regular friction between him and his mother, in reality he would have preferred never to have known the man who had been her husband.

However, he knew that his case was particular and that he was surely biasing his view on the matter; but as far as his son was concerned, he had the feeling that his point of view held up. From his birth to Haley's death, the little boy had essentially been cared for by her; including when he was still her spouse. He hadn't done much to help his wife take care of him and, now that he had to take on the full burden, he always felt like a draught for the toddler. No matter how much time he spent with him in the evenings and on weekends when he wasn't out and about, it seemed to him that the child was more at home with Jessica than with him.

“Jack needs you,” resumed his subordinate. “He's already lost his mother, and I don't think he'd take it well to lose his father, adorable as his aunt is.”

“I have no intention of abandoning him, JJ,” he reassured her at once. “I… I know that what I said look like that but…”

He hesitated. He knew that what he was about to say would sound crazy to his interlocutor, but he was certain of what he had experienced. The memory was perfectly clear in his head, and it was a strong argument in what he hoped to make JJ understand.  

“I heard him,” he confessed then. “I heard his voice.”

“You were in a coma,” she reminded him, disconcerted.

“I know, but the fact is that I heard him. You know how much down to hearth I am.”

“More than never, yes.”

Even more than her. Although not very credulous, the thought that guardian angels might exist or that her departed loved ones might still be out there, somewhere, watching over her and her family, soothed her. Hotch, on the other hand, had always seemed to him to be agnostic to the core. At least until the death of the woman who had shared twenty-five years of his life. 

“And yet, I heard him calling me,” he insisted, sure of himself. “I heard him telling me about his trip on the jet. And… I heard him being scared. I felt his fear and anguish a hundredfold. I… It hurt so much that I immediately wanted to get out of there so I could just hug him and tell him everything was going to be okay.”

A testimony that could have frightened the wiry blonde, who never thought she'd hear such words coming out of her boss's mouth, but the reverse happened. She relaxed and smiled.

“… If that's not paternal instinct, I don't know what to call it.”

Aaron answered her by a smile. He pulled up the blanket that had slipped off Jack's back in the meantime and placed a light kiss on his fine hair, before gently wrapping his arms around him. Then the two parents let their gaze drift towards the sea of clouds gilded by the rays of the setting sun; a magnificent sight they had come within a hair's breadth of not being able to witness anymore. 

___

I hope you have enjoy your ride! :)

[codename-mom]

Between two worlds

Summary: Aaron has just been stabbed by Foyet. Half conscious, he's trying to figure out what's going on around him.

Characters: Aaron Hotchner (Foyet is somewhere around but he doesn't speak)

Contents: TW pain, stab wounds, blood, paralysis, nausea, medical actions... it's an internal dialogue with Hotch analyzing all his feelings, so it can be rough. NSFW/Minors DNI

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

Read on AO3 / lire sur AO3

___

                Nine. He had counted nine stab wounds. If Foyet decided to follow his plan to the letter, he had to be done with it. Well, that was what he was hoping for. He was in such a pain. He had the sensation that every nerve in his chest was screaming at the same time. That they were all trying to make their voice heard more than the others, resulting in a sensory cacophony that totally stultified him. He wanted it to stop. He wanted to close his eyes and feel nothing at all. Except that his eyes were already closed and the pain was excruciating. How could anyone be in so much pain and still be conscious?

                What was that noise? He couldn’t turn his head to check. He couldn't even spread his eyelids. Too much pain. No strength anymore. He could no longer feel his extremities. All his limbs weighed tons. What was that? A chuckle? A groan? Actually, he didn’t want to know. He was nauseous. Why was the ground rocking so much beneath him? It didn’t make sense. And Foyet, who seemed to be enjoying the moment when all he wanted was for it to stop. Mercy! Somebody bust his eardrums or rip his ears off! He didn’t want to hear anything anymore. In any case, he couldn't have been in more pain.

                He has lost consciousness? Maybe. There was something missing in the sequence of events. What he was doing on his belly? The pain returned, more searing and intense than ever. What was that texture under his cheek? It was cold, bumpy and noisy. The slightest movement Foyet made him make – because he couldn't move on his own anyway – provoked a series of cracks that echoed in his skull. The sound hurt him. Everything was hurting him, in fact. Or almost. Foyet was kicking him in the calf – or was it his thigh? Or his ankle? In short, somewhere in his leg – and the sensation seemed to be coming from extremely far away. He had the impression that a thick layer of cotton cushioned the shock.

                If he’d been able to, he would have screamed. Instead, when Foyet put him again on his back, all he uttered was a vague, suffering gurgle. Loud enough, however, to attract the attention of his torturer. He opened his mouth, made sounds and seemed to find his words amusing. He couldn't have said it, he hadn't understood anything. The letters had arrived in a jumble in his ear canal, then scattered randomly in his brain. The pain wiped out all mental exercise. His brain was entirely focused on the twinges coming from his torso. Spins that redoubled in power when Foyet set about towing him. To go where? What was he going to do with him? Why didn't he let him die in his living room? What was his sick mind up to now? He didn't know, and he was in too much pain to make any assumptions.

                Where was he? He had fainted again. How much time? Was it really moving beneath him or was he just dizzy? He felt like throwing up. What was in his mouth? It was hot, liquid and ferruginous. Blood. He parted his lips and trickles of hemoglobin ran down his chin, down the back of his neck and onto the tarpaulin he was loosely wrapped in. He coughed, winced in pain and coughed again. Where was he? Why was the floor vibrating under his back? Was he delirious or was someone singing nearby? Who? Foyet?

                A flash blinded him, quickly followed by a second, then a third. With great difficulty, he managed to open his eyes. The glare again. Fleeting, yet repetitive. He looked away, trying to figure out what was going on. The plastic in which it had been wrapped had slipped – unless he had been dragged along by his own weight. In any case, he realized he was in the back of a vehicle. A pickup truck or a van. Everything around him was a blur, but he smelled rust, dust, earth and iron. That of his blood and that of the structure on which he was carried. Every bump, every pothole, every turn caused vibrations throughout his body, tugging at his torn tissues, jostling his ripped muscles. He was incapable of the slightest movement, but his entire nervous system had reached a level of sensitivity that would have made him scream if he'd had the energy. That was not the case. So he ached, silently, his retina regularly burned by the streetlamps that lined the roadside.

                He didn't know how long the journey lasted, but the brake jerk woke him from his unconsciousness. His brain had once again stalled, overwhelmed by the overflow of stimuli, all the while running out of oxygen. His heart thumped erratically against his ribs, his lungs struggled to rise, his eyelids were far too heavy to open now. A draught slapped his face as he heard a clatter. Someone was walking around him. Foyet? Who else? Without warning, he was shoved violently out of the way, and the encounter with the concrete sidewalk was brutal. He heard distant cries, doors closed and an engine started up close to him. Too close. He felt like coughing, but held back because he knew the consequences. Where had he abandoned him?

                He heard people running in his direction. Voices shouted at each other. He still didn't understand, but he felt their concern, their annoyance, their daze too. Hands came to rest on his chest. His stomach reflexively contracted and a groan escaped his lips. The lightning had moved up his spine, shearing everything in its path, clouding his thoughts. Someone wrapped something around his neck as he returned to the present moment. Strangling him? No. His neck was blocked. A neck brace. He had dropped him off outside a hospital. Why? It didn’t make any sense. He was abruptly lifted from the tarmac and laid down, without much more gentleness, on a softer support. A stretcher, most likely. He moved again, and the tremors of the metal frame reverberated throughout his bones. The pain was still spreading its venom through his veins. When would it stop? Soon, he hoped.

                The overhead lights exploded as they entered the building. Even with his eyelids closed, he was in pain. He wanted to turn everything off. But that wasn't on the agenda. A woman approached the team around him and questioned them. He managed to translate two or three words, but he had relied more on her intonation. She had to ask them where he'd come from. She was answered and then one palpated him with varying degrees of delicacy. His badge was taken from his inside pocket. This should direct them to the BAU. What time was it? His subordinates were surely asleep. They had no idea what was happening to their superior.

“… Derek Morgan.”

What? What were they saying? Aaron. His name was Aaron Hotchner. Why did they mention the ex-policeman? The stretcher moved, away from whoever had spoken. He had to rectify this information. He had to straighten up, communicate, explain what had happened. He didn't even have the strength to move a finger. In fact, he could no longer feel them. Did he still have them? A slight pressure on the tip of his index finger enabled him to determine that he had at least one left. The bed rolled and rolled and rolled, through swinging doors, forcing shadows to move aside. Someone touched his cheek with a certain firmness. Then a questioning voice spoke up. Was he the one being asked? He opened his mouth and a warm liquid beaded along his jaw. Drool? Blood? Well, he was sure he hadn't said anything.

                The room they entered was darker than the corridor. Good, his head hurt too much. His shoes were removed, then his socks. The cold slid under his foot arch. Then the sleeves of his pants and jacket were pulled. He knew what was coming and tried to protest. That suit cost a fortune and they were going to turn it into lint. He gurgled and nearly choked to death. It didn’t change anything. Within moments, he found himself with nothing on his back. An icy breeze circulated through the room. He shivered. The pain followed the same path. A cloth was laid over his legs, untouched, and his eyelids were lifted for him. A point of light crossed his right lens before piercing his left. Pupil reflexes. Someone must have realized that he wasn't as unconscious as he seemed. We grazed his arm, stuck stuff on it, and then shoved a pipe down his throat. He retched, but it only hurt.

                The world around him began to darken. The panicked beeping that had just appeared nearby became increasingly distant. His body seemed to sink onto the operating table. The pain was gradually subsiding. He was falling asleep. At last. He’s going to stop suffering. No! He had to stay awake. They didn't know his exact identity. They had to know who he was to warn his team. To warn his mother. To warn his son. Jack. He had to… resist… Foyet… free… His son… danger… Jack.

___

I had this idea in mind for quite a long time now, but didn't find the time to write it until now. It won't be part of Code Name: Mom, just as an appendix.

I hope you like it anyway. :)

[codename-mom]

Under the costume - 3/3

Summary: The team is hunting a child abuser who abducts children during the night of Halloween. They have to blend in with the locals and for that, they'll receive the help of unexpected tiny agents.

Characters: BAU team, but it's mostly Hotch and Emily, with plenty of OCs

Contents: the story happens just after Hotch divorce so it's a little bit angsty, and yet there's a lot of fluff also. TW: mention of cheating, negligence, and killing (and I think that's all).

This is a text written for the CM Autumn Air challenge organized by @imagining-in-the-margins.

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

They reached the police station some twenty minutes later and found the cowboy and the fairy, along with the two kids in their care, their bucket full of sweets. Spencer and Dave must have been around since Eli's daughters were present.

“Derek! JJ! Here, candies!” Ephraim yelled, running towards them with his hands full.

“But…” Morgan reacted, surprised.

“Why do you give your sweets to him?” questioned Hava, her little eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment.

“Because they lost in the search for the villain but searched anyway.”

“So what?” bounced Keren, just as confused as her older sister.

“Poppy, she says that all pain deserves reward.”

He had said this in a very serious tone, which made the liaison officer and the ex-policeman smile.

“What does that mean?” asked Keren, still confused.

“This means that if you make an effort to do something and it fails, well, you still have to get something. So, here’s some candy.”

“That is...” JJ stammered as she caught up with the treats at the last second.

“Here's some candy too!” rushed Hava, imitating her cousin.

“Yes! And for Uncle Aaron too,” exclaimed Keren turning to the titan. “And for Mrs. Agent too.”

“Emily,” Hotch corrected, accepting the offering.

“Mrs. Emily. Here.”

Suppressing a burst of laughter, the interested party collected her due. Not always at ease with children, she realized that not all miniature humans were egocentric, meddlesome bullies in short pants. In any case, these five seemed adorable.

“Wait, wait,” Derek interjected, drawing their attention. “You know who'd love to receive some candy?”

“No,” they answered in chorus.

“Her name is Penelope Garcia and she's a great, great help to us when we're out in the field.”

“Is she the computer lady?” inquired Hava.

“Uh… yes,” he confirmed, bewildered by her insight or that appellation.

“Where is she?” immediately asked the three people close to the director.

“Who is it?” interrogated the other two, thrown by this dialogue.

Morgan was about to give them an explanation, but Ephraim gave him the slip:

“She's a lady who's so good with her computer. She can do everything.”

“And she's got cat ears and glittery glasses,” added Keren.

“Where is she?” repeated the brother and sister, curious.

“She’s in Virginia,” Hotch revealed.

“Ooooh!”

Faced with this general saddened exclamation, he tried to justify himself:

“It’s easier for her to work from up there.”

“I wanted to see her,” moaned Hava, genuinely pained.

“But you can see her,” interposed the explosives expert. “Look, we gonna call her with that computer.”

All little heads turned to the laptop in question and Morgan applied the protocol to reach the analyst by videoconference. Blonde curls and a pair of black glasses topped with bright orange pumpkins appeared. 

“Goldilocks is ready to listen, my little...”she declaimed before realizing she was addressing a quintet of complete strangers. “Uh… Hello.”

“Hello, Mrs. Penelope!” they greeted her together, smiling from ear to ear.

Backing away from the angle of the webcam, her colleagues watched the scene with amusement. Including the branch manager, who had regained a discreet smile. Derek leaned over to reappear in the field of the camera.

“Baby girl, I'd like you to meet tonight's acolytes. Those three are the kiddos of Hotch’s cousins.”

“Hello!” shouted the three concerned, waving their hands frantically at the screen.

“Hello, sweeties!” she replied, imitating them. “Were you happy to work with your uncle?”

“Yeah!” they cried.

“I'm the one who worked with him!” said Ephraim, proudly. “And with Emily!”

“Us, we were with the cowboy and the fairy!” the two sisters told.

JJ bowed in turn to appear before the camera.

“Long story. We will explain later.”

“You better!”

“And these little ones,” Derek pursued, “are the children of Hotch's cousin's neighbors.”

“Hello,” they said, shyer.

“Hello, angels! So, what’s it like to work for the FBI?”

“We were with a tall, thin man and the old guy,” said the little girl.

“Thanks...” grumbled Dave, who had just burst into the main room of the police station, Spencer hot on his heels.

Emily deduced that they had finished handling the paperwork with the local authorities. 

“We got the bad guy!” exclaimed vividly the brother.

“Yeah!” confirmed his younger sister.

“Congratulations!”

She waved her feathered and frilly pens to make the moment even more festive. No doubt she relished this suspended moment, far from the usual horror of their work. And, to tell the truth, the innocence and joie de vivre of the five toddlers was contagious. Everyone around them had an amused smile on their lips. Including the parents, not far away, who must have been used to this kind of phenomenon.

“Actually, I was calling because they have something to tell you,” Morgan resumed.

“Yes, it's to give you candy,” announced Ephraim, sticking as close as possible to the screen.

“Derek, he said you'd want some too,” snitched Hava, pointing at the cowboy.

“But they are yours.”

“Mom, she's going to say I have too many, so I might as well give them to other people,” he said before specifying. “A little. Not everything.”

“Mum's a dentist,” Hotch revealed without moving from his seat.

In any case, his voice was loud enough to be picked up by the laptop's microphone.

“Oh. Well, can I choose?”

“Yeeees!” they all agreed, thrilled.

They almost scrambled to present their findings to the laughing ex-hacker in her Virginia office.

“Look!” shouted the little girl and Hava as they lifted their filled bucket.

“Look what we've got,” bounced Ephraim and his cousin Keren as they spread the goodies on the keyboard.

“That too!” brother and sister outbid each other as they threw more onto the pile, causing most of them to slide to the ground.

Out of the corner of her eye, Prentiss saw that their progenitors were laughing. Some of them even filmed the scene, for their own souvenir or to show the rest of the family. Penelope was beaming. Colored papers, costumes, childlike chaos, it was everything she loved.

“Ho! It all looks very appetizing, you tell me. Let’s see.”

Derek had to tilt the screen to give her a better view of what was on offer, and then she was able to quietly choose a few treats from each child. They were happy as can be when she selected one of their possessions, even if it was her lifelong accomplice who retrieved it for her. Every member of the team knew that he was really going to bring them to her, and the kids seemed to understand it too. 

“And that one too. Thank you, my little birdies!”

She pretended to blow them kisses, and her audience responded in kind. Then Keren, her cheeks reddening, dared to ask the question that seemed to have been on her mind for some time.

“Uncle Aaron, he... he says you have a unicorn. Is that true?”

“Yes, it is. Look…”

Garcia reached out from the frame of her screen and folded her arm with her unicorn mug in hand. All five pairs of eyes widened.

“Oooooh!”

“And look, I've also got...” – she went snooping somewhere to the left of her desk then came back – “an octopus.”

“So good!” enthused the boys and Hava.

“And... and... and...” – she searched a drawer on her right – “a dragon!”

“Yeah!”

“I still prefer the unicorn,” Keren admitted in a tiny voice.

And the kids suddenly turned to their parents and ran in their direction, screaming at the top of their lungs. 

“Mom! Dad! We want the same mugs!”

The eyes of all three couples naturally turned to the branch manager. He sighed discreetly and moved closer to the laptop to address his subordinate: 

“Penelope, send me the addresses as soon as possible.”

“It’s already done, sir.”

“We'll bring your candy back soon,” Derek informed her, his hands full of sweets.

“Thanks, my love!”

All the commotion had momentarily diverted Emily's attention from what had happened earlier in the evening, but she only had to catch that glimmer of sadness in his brown eyes to remember that he wouldn't be experiencing Halloween with his son this year. What about the next year? And the years after? She crossed her fingers that Haley's anger would subside in time for him to still enjoy Jack's childhood and participate in such festivities with him.

___

First part >> https://www.tumblr.com/codename-mom/765878681027706880/under-the-costume-13?source=share

[codename-mom]

Under the costume - 2/3

Summary: The team is hunting a child abuser who abducts children during the night of Halloween. They have to blend in with the locals and for that, they'll receive the help of unexpected tiny agents.

Characters: BAU team, but it's mostly Hotch and Emily, with plenty of OCs

Contents: the story happens just after Hotch divorce so it's a little bit angsty, and yet there's a lot of fluff also. TW: mention of cheating, negligence, and killing (and I think that's all).

This is a text written for the CM Autumn Air challenge organized by @imagining-in-the-margins.

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

Twenty minutes later, Prentiss and the giant in the suit entered a residential neighborhood where hundreds of children in brightly-colored outfits circulated from house to house. All the gardens were adorned with spooky decorations: cobwebs, bubbling cauldrons, pumpkins with fiery eyes and demonic smiles... Middle and high school students were also roaming the aisles, having as much fun as the younger ones, while the few adults present tried to keep the situation under control. The female profiler told herself that the task was not going to be easy for them.

“What's your name?” suddenly asked Ephraim, who was holding his uncle's hand, scrutinizing her curiously.

“Emily,” she replied, smiling.

The young woman wasn't very comfortable with kids but tried not to show it too much.

“Uncle Aaron, he says you speak a lot of languages. Is that true?”

“Yes, that's right,” she confirmed, glancing in the direction of Hotch, who was looking away.

To what extent had he detailed the people who worked under him to his family?

“Why?” went on the little boy, still fascinated.

“Uh… because my mother traveled to many countries with me,” she stammered, taken aback by this unusual question. “So, I learned languages to speak with people on the spot. To make some friends.”

The answer seemed to satisfy him, as he changed the subject.

“Do you do portraits of the bad guys too? Like uncle Aaron.”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a gun too?”

“Also, yes.”

“Have you ever arrested bad guys?”

“I wasn't alone, but yes,” she clarified, amused by the youngster's zest.

“Do you break doors with your feet?”

“What?” croaked the unit leader, finally turning his attention back to his little cousin.

Since they'd entered the area, he'd been entirely focused on analyzing their surroundings, completely ignoring the kid's babble. But there was every reason to believe that he was listening with one ear.

“On TV, the police break down bad guys' doors with their feet,” Ephraim recounted. “Poppy, she says it’s false.”

“Well, I don’t break doors with my feet, but Derek does,” specified Emily.

“The cowboy?”

“Yes.”

“Cool!”

“No, that's not cool,” grumbled Hotch, who didn't appreciate this behavior very much.

“Why?”

“First of all, because the damage has to be repaid. And secondly, because some doors are harder than others, and you can be hurt doing so.”

The thirty-something wondered what really mattered most to him. Knowing him, she was leaning towards the second reason; the financial aspect of the problem only came into play because his superiors regularly remarked on the outrageous expenses his little agency was incurring. 

“Does he ever hurt himself?”

“… For now, no,” he admitted reluctantly.

“With the arms he’s got, it’s normal. There!” exclaimed abruptly the kiddo. “Candies!”

He immediately let go of his uncle's hand and ran towards a huge bowl filled with sweets. The lawn was invaded by infernal creatures, which had no effect on the visitor's enthusiasm.

“You only take one, Ephraim,” reminded the giant, who was attentively following his grand-cousin's movements.

“Yes, I know. If not, the other children have nothing.”

As expected, the boy returned with a unique prize of war, a large sugar stick in Halloween colors. He took Hotch's hand after slipping his treasure into his khaki backpack.

“Have you ever killed someone?”

“Ephraim,” grunted the colossus, brows furrowed.

A threatening air that totally slipped over the little brat, as he continued without changing his attitude.

“Mom says that sometimes you have to. Because otherwise, the bad guy will kill you.”

Emily saw the man hesitate and understood his embarrassment. Even if his miniature interlocutor seemed to know a lot of things, he had to consider that he was still a child who had to be protected from such realities.

“… It’s true,” he finally confirmed. “Or someone of my team. But there’s nothing good in killing someone, you know. It’s still a human life.”

“Poppy says that, sometimes, the arrested bad guys go in front of the judge, they give money, and they can go back outside to hurt people again.”

New hesitation, justified once again. Animated films and TV shows for young audiences often told their viewers that all they had to do was handcuff the villains and justice would be done. Because, in a way, it was a reassuring vision of the world. But reality was way different. Prentiss doubted it was a good idea to reveal so much to a child, but Ephraim didn't seem particularly stressed by this truth.

“… Yes, it happens. For those who have a lot of money.”

“So, it’s better if they are killed. Like that, we are sure that they will hurt no one.”

“Yes, but...” his uncle objected before pausing, searching for his words. “How can I put it?”

“Sometimes, the people we catch aren't the right ones,” confessed the female federal agent. “They're innocent people who've done no harm to anyone.”

The little boy's head swiveled at full speed in her direction.

“Really? But I thought you were the best of the world.”

“Yes, but even us can be wrong sometimes.”

“Is that true?” he said looking at the giant.

“Yes, it’s true. It doesn’t happen every time, but it happens. Here, there is a new house.”

“Yeah!”

The boy freed himself from the director’s grip and ran to ring the doorbell. Soon, a woman opened the door and pretended to be frightened. She entrusted her tormentor with some sweets and chatted with him for a moment, watched by his bodyguards. 

“He's a talker,” Emily pointed out, impressed by the logorrhea of their evening sidekick.

“And you haven't seen anything yet,” Hotch replied with a smile.

Ephraim returned to their side, all happy.

“What did you get?” the colossus asked him.

“That,” he replied, brandishing a small packet of chewing gum. “And that too.”

From his bag, he had taken out some dark chocolate-covered caramels wrapped in gold foil.

“Ah, yes. Those are good.”

“You want some? Here,” he offered, handing him two of the four he'd received.

“No, it’s okay. Keep them.”

“I’ve got plenty, I can give you some. And Mom won’t want me to eat them all.”

“His mother is a dentist,” Hotch disclosed to Emily, before returning to his generous donor. “Keep them. You can distribute to your cousins if you have too many.”

“Okay.”

Ephraim stowed his booty in the side pockets of his bag, put it on his back and took his chaperone's hand again.

“Uncle Aaron?” he resumed, even though they hadn't gone two meters.

“Yes.”

The female profiler was curious to know what subject he would broach next.

“Is it true that Aunt Haley is not living with you anymore?”

“Who told you that?” frowned the agency head, uncomfortably.

“I heard Mom telling Poppy.”

By reflex, Hotch met his subordinate's gaze, uncomfortable, then had to remind himself that she already knew. She even knew more than the other team members about the origins of his separation.

“Uh… yes, it’s true.”

“Why?”

“Because… it happens sometimes. The… Adults decide to not live together anymore,” he explained, embarrassed.

This new situation was relatively recent, and even if his closest collaborators were aware of it, it didn't make things any easier for him. And dwelling on such an intimate issue in the presence of the young woman made him nervous. Emily naturally took a few steps back to give him a little more space. She was going to hear all about their conversation, that was obvious, but psychologically, it would ease his anxiety. A little.

“Why?”

“Because… they don’t love each other anymore.”

“You don’t love Aunt Haley anymore?”

“… It’s… it’s complicated,” he said, his voice trembling. “But, in any case, she doesn’t love me anymore.”

Prentiss couldn't help but roll her eyes – which he didn't see, since she was walking behind them. To say it was complicated was an understatement in her opinion. Haley had cheated on her husband while he was busy bringing food to the table, he'd found out, she'd filed for divorce, and he still loved her. The agent knew there was nothing she could do to change her superior's feelings, but this blindness annoyed her.

“Oh. Does this mean that Poppy and Mum will do the same?”

“Not at all. There are lots of couples who live their whole lives together,” he reassured him, before adding. “And your mothers love you very much.”

“Really?”

“Yes. There, here another house,” he told him. “Will you ring the bell?”

“Yes.”

Ephraim headed for the new home, but returned almost immediately, looking worried.

“Aren’t you going to ring?”

“There’s a scarecrow.”

“So what? It’s a décor, it’s not going to eat you.”

“Sometimes, they move.”

The little boy looked up at his uncle, silently begging him not to let him face this hellish creature alone.

“Okay,” abdicated the giant. “We are coming with you.”

Emily was surprised to be included in the maneuver but followed suit. She wanted to intercept Hotch's gaze and ask him what he had planned to justify their lack of cross-dressing, but to no avail; he was concentrating all his attention on the toddler, who pressed himself against his legs as they passed close to the object of his terror. Then they reached the door, and the child regained his former liveliness. 

“Trick or treat, sir!” he exclaimed as the owner appeared on the threshold.

“Ho!” said the latter, a hand on his chest. “Here, buddy. Here are some candies, don’t hurt me.”

The man pretended to tremble, and a few sweets fell to the ground. Ephraim picked them up, laughing.

“Thank you!”

The fifty-year-old smiled, then finally caught sight of the two adults standing back. He frowned his eyebrows.

“But… you’re not wearing a disguise.”

“Yes,” replied the male profiler. “I’m Agent Fox Mulder and here is Agent Reyes.”

He took his badge out of his pocket, knowingly hiding his name with his fingers. His neighbor watched him, eyelids wide. She didn’t prepare herself for that. Especially that the strategy worked.

“Ah, yeah! Your badge is well done.”

“Thank you. Good evening.”

“You too.”

They waved at each other, then the trio returned to the street while the other went home.

“Who's Fox Muller and Reyes?” asked the youngster, grinning from ear to ear.

“Mulder,” corrected the colossus. “They are two characters from an old TV show, not really for children.”

“They are FBI agents?”

“Yes. They are chasing aliens.”

“Especially Mulder,” said Prentiss, who recognized herself more in the scientist woman usually associated with Mulder.

“He has a funny name.”

“True,” admitted Hotch.

Elizabeth's daughter understood better why the agency director didn't seem more stressed than that by the fact that they weren't dressed for the evening. She'd forgotten that FBI agents existed in many works of fiction, and so could hog their names for the time of a brief exchange with people in the neighborhood. However, hearing him mention The X-Files had surprised her. She'd never given much thought to what he might be watching on TV in his spare time, but she imagined him viewing documentaries or chatty, presumptuous auteur cinema more than a political and conspiracy sci-fi show. It seemed she was mistaken.

“Uncle Aaron, where does she live, now, Aunt Haley?”

“She’s living in the house, actually. I’m living somewhere else.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s the one who take care of Jack, so she needs more space than me.”

The reasoning was logical, but she felt a twinge of guilt at the thought that he'd given up a suburban Washington DC home to his unfaithful wife for a shabby downtown apartment where he didn't even have room to unpack all his boxes. All this while the insurance papers at his old address were probably in his name, since he was the only one with a job. Considerations that didn't affect the boy.

“But… does this mean that you won’t see Jack again?”

“No. I have the right to see him from time to time. When I’m not working.”

“Wait, there is a house!”

The kid didn't give him a chance to react. He let go of his hand and ran towards the steps of the building. Emily wondered how all his questions were affecting her superior's morale.

“Are you okay?”

“It’s normal for him to have questions and he needs answers,” answered Hotch in an even tone.

Ephraim returned holding a rectangular object at arm's length. He beamed with happiness, as if he'd never had the previous conversation.

“I’ve got chocolate! The all bar!”

“Great! I hope you say, ‘thank you’?”

“I said to the mister that he was so cool!”

The two agents smiled in unison. The toddler stowed his treasure in the belly pocket of his bag and retrieved the titan's hand. He regained his seriousness at light speed.

“Uncle Aaron, are we going to see Jack at Thanksgiving?”

“I don’t know. It depends if his mother wants him to be with her for Thanksgiving or if she accepts him to be with me.”

The female profiler's heart suddenly quickened its pace. It hadn't occurred to her that this separation would jeopardize all family reunions.

“And if she doesn’t want to?”

“So he will celebrate Thanksgiving with his mother and his family.”

“It means ‘us’?”

“I was talking about Haley’s family.”

“We're his family too!” grumbled the little soldier.

“I know, but his other family also have the right to see him.”

As Prentiss had never known her father and had been raised – or almost – by a mother perpetually on the move around the world, she had never really been steeped in this kind of tradition. However, like many children, she had been exposed to those end-of-year movies where large families gathered around a big table to enjoy a delicious meal. The actors and actresses seemed to be spending a warm moment that she had often dreamed of experiencing one day. So, she completely understood that the little boy wanted to see his cousin there.

“And at Hanukkah, will we see him?”

She frowned before remembering that JJ had once told her he was Jewish. By birth only – because his mother was Jewish – for he did not believe in God or follow any Judaic precepts.

“Once again, I can’t tell you. His mother may have prepared something else for this time.”

“But we can't foresee anything other than Hanukkah!” revolted Ephraim, outraged by this nonsense.

“You know, Haley hasn’t the same religion as you and me.”

“She doesn’t believe in God?”

“Yes. Moreover, it’s the same one,” he underlined quickly. “But she’s Christian. And in the Christian religion, there is no Hanukkah. They celebrate Christmas instead.”

Which, by extension, must mean that he shouldn't celebrate it, she imagined, her mind racing with multiple questions. Did he celebrate when he was still married? Would he celebrate it now that he was separated, or would he live the twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth of December as just another day of the year?

“But… if we don't see Jack at Thanksgiving or Hanukkah, it means we'll never see him again!” moaned the toddler, his eyes shining. 

“Not necessarily. There are still the school vacations... when he goes to school,” he clarified, surely remembering that his son was only two. “But maybe I'll see him outside the holidays, so you won't. Or, less often.”

“There's a house!” shouted the interviewer, abruptly changing the subject. “Wait, I’ll ring.”

“Go on, we’ll watch you.”

The little cousin hurried away, mingling with the mass of other pocket monsters gathered outside the door. Emily knew it was none of her business, but she couldn't keep this questioning to herself. 

“Will you have Jack for Thanksgiving?”

“No. He will be with his mother’s family,” he answered without looking at her.

“And for Hanukkah?”

“Neither. She has planned a skiing vacation.”

“Are you serious?” she chocked, baffled.

He finally turned his head in her direction and asked, with the expression of a mortician: 

“You don’t think I am?”

The ground on which she intended to venture was slippery, as well as being more than a little private. However, she couldn't see herself remaining impassive in the face of such an attitude. She didn't know Haley much more than that, but she was around Hotch almost every day of the week. The man had his faults, but he was fundamentally good, and to see him being stepped on like that made her angry.

“… She knows that you’re celebrating Hanukkah, she did this on purpose.”

“It’s possible,” he reacted coldly.

“Wh…?”

She had to stop because Ephraim was coming back at full speed. 

“I’ve got bubble gums!” he declared, thrilled.

“Neat!” commented his uncle, smiling.

The little boy took his relative’s hand and continued the discussion, as if nothing had happened in the meantime. He also regained the same level of anger.

“If Aunt Haley doesn’t want Jack to be with us for Thanksgiving and for Hanukkah, she’s mean!”

“You can’t say that Ephraim. She has the right to decide that,” defended her ex-husband.

“Why? It’s not fair! I want to see Jack!”

“I guess so. But the judge we went to for our separation said that Jack would live with his mother and that I would only see him when she wanted me to.”

“It sucks!” considered the kid, kicking a clod of earth that was sticking out.

“It's the law, I can't go against it,” Hotch quietly replied.

Emily was bubbling as much from the inside as the youngster who was traveling with them. Seeing him obey every form of regulation to the last comma, she found it hard to believe that he could have had a criminal record. Juvenile, yes, but a record, nonetheless. What had happened to make him suddenly stop all transgression, to the point of being almost repulsed by the idea of crossing the street outside the crosswalk?

“And Jack, he says what?”

“Jack is two years old, so he doesn't really realize what's going on,” remarked the father of the child in question. “And what he wants doesn’t matter. Until he is eighteen – or twenty-one, depending on the state in which he lives – his mother will make all the decisions for him.”

“But by the time he's eighteen, he'll be all grown up!” he cried, suddenly freezing, letting go of the giant's hand to wave his arms. “He won’t remember us. And maybe he won’t love us anymore.”

“I know, Ephraim,” conceded his interlocutor, embarrassed.

The parents around them began to observe them with intrigued eyes.

“But…”

“Why Aunt Haley doesn’t love you anymore?” the kid cut him, furious.

Hotch lowered his nose. She watched him mechanically dig his nails into his fingertips. It was a tic he developed when he was thinking or, in this case, when stress and anxiety assailed him. She would have liked to help him, but this was a conflict that didn't concern her.

“… It’s a complex question. I don’t really have an answer to give you. These things happen, that’s all.”

“Don’t want to!”

Frowning, mouth down, he crossed his arms over his chest. His uncle sighed and kneeled before him.

“Listen, Ephraim, I can’t really tell you when Jack will be with me because it depends on my working schedule. It’s even possible that I won’t be here for Thanksgiving or Hanukkah. Or both,” he explained gripping delicately the little boy’s arms. “But when I’ll see him, I will talk about you and all his cousins. I will show him pictures, so he won’t forget you and he’ll know everything happening in the family. Okay?”

“And you will show us pictures of him?”

“Yes.”

“And you will tell us stuff about him?”

“Yes, also.”

The toddler thought for a moment, still scowling, then questioned him again:

“… And if we make presents for him, will you give him?”

“Of course.”

“… Okay, then,” he relented half-heartedly.

Hotch hugged him to his chest to finish comforting him, then got to his feet, offering him his hand. Ephraim took it and followed him along the sidewalk. And so, they walked in silence to the next house, where he announced his desire to go. However, he returned very quickly, not very reassured. 

“What’s going on?”

“There is a dog,” he said, clinging to him.

“It must be nice. Moreover, its owner mustn’t be that far.”

“Come with me.”

“Okay. Prentiss.”

“I’m following.”

They made their way to the door. The kid dared to knock, but immediately hid behind the manager's legs as soon as the tenant's pet started barking. A female voice exclaimed on the spot:

“Down, Rufus!”

Then the door opened to reveal a woman in her sixties in a black dress with a neon-orange witch's hat perched crookedly on her head.

“Good evening, ma'am,” the giant greeted her cheerfully.

“Good evening...?” she paused, her eyebrows furrowed.

“We're the Men in Black,” he revealed, taking his sunglasses out of his pocket and placing them on his nose. “I’m Agent A and this is Agent E.”

Emily hastened to imitate him before being polite in her turn:

“Good evening.”

“Ephraim?”

“Ah...” – flinched the interested party, still hiding behind his uncle, before finding the courage to mumble – “Uh... Trick or treat?”

The lady smiled and retrieved a large salad bowl full of sweets which must have been sitting on a counter next to the entrance. She grabbed a handful of them and gave them to the boy.

“Here for you, little man.”

“Thank you, ma’am!” he answered, smiling again.

“Your son is so cute!”

“Thank you,” said the agency head without correcting her. “Good evening.”

They then walked away and returned to the street. His fright over, the skunk retrieved his tongue and noted: 

“It’s funny, she thought you really were my parents.”

“Good. It means that the bad guy will believe it too.”

“Men In Black, that was funny! With the tiny alien in the tall guy! And the talking dog. Did you see it, Emily?”

The profiler was caught off guard for a few seconds by this sudden challenge, then spoke up: 

“Yes, I have seen it.”

“The brunette looks like you.”

“The one who gets the ginger cat?”

“Yes!”

“Good choice! I love cats.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

In fact, she had considered adopting one several times since her arrival in Washington DC. But for now, the reality of her random schedule outweighed her desire to have a comforting presence in her home.

“Poppy, she's allergic, so we're not allowed to have pets in the house.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. There’s another house!”

And off he flew into the richly decorated garden to collect his due. Despite the interlude, she had forgotten nothing of the conversation she'd had with her superior and intended to set out her thoughts on the subject, with all the risks and consequences that entailed.

“You can't let Haley stop you from seeing Jack.”

“She's applying the judge's decision,” he retorted, frowning. “As I don't have a fixed schedule, it was decided that I would only see him when I was on vacation, provided she hadn't planned another activity with him.”

“And it didn't occur to you that she might still have an activity planned at the time?”

“I’m not an idiot.”

“That's not the point,” she objected, annoyed. “She can't plan a winter vacation right on Hanukkah when she knows you're all getting together.”

“Theoretically, yes.”

“She did it on purpose. She takes her revenge.”

“I know.”

Ephraim reappeared, all happy, before she could analyze the calm with which he had replied. What did it mean: he knew? What that supposed to mean? Why did he let go? It didn’t make any sense.

“Do you think I can taste a candy? I love the ones the lady just gave me.”

“Just one then, or your mother will hit me.”

“Yeah!”

He chose one of the sweets at once, removed the wrapping paper and gobbled it up. He chewed a little, then swallowed before taking his chaperone's hand again.

“Uncle Aaron?”

“Yes.”

“Aunt Haley, is she going to find another lover?”

Emily saw the colossus turn pale. He couldn't very well tell his little cousin that she was probably already in a relationship with someone else, even before they split up.

“… Per… perhaps,” he evaded, uncomfortably.

“Will she have more babies?”

“Maybe. She wanted plenty.”

“So, why did you have only one?”

“Uh… because… Well…”

Prentiss had no idea why the bride and groom had limited themselves to just one offspring, and clearly the answer was none of the business of such a young human being. So, she decided to come to her boss’s rescue.

“Because baby-making is complicated. You need many tries to succeed. And it can take years.”

“Oh. That’s why I don’t have any brother and sister?”

“I don't know,” replied Hotch, sounding as if he knew a lot more about the subject. “Some parents don't want more than one child too.”

“Why?”

“Because it takes time, energy, and money to take care of them. And not everyone has all this at their disposal.”

It occurred to her that if the future parents' abilities were assessed before they were allowed to reproduce, it would save the BAU a lot of work. How many neglected and abused kids did they lock up behind bars as adults? Of course, this wasn't the majority of cases, and some of them even turned out just fine, but the suffering they'd felt throughout their childhood had been present all the same and had etched unforgettable memories in their minds. Memories that guided their every move for the rest of their lives. Her insides began to knot, so she pushed these thoughts from her mind to focus on the present moment.

“Poppy says that Mommy makes a lot of money.”

“And she works a lot too.”

“Yes. I see Poppy more than I see Mom,” said the little boy a little sadly.

“It doesn’t mean that your mom loves you less than Poppy.”

“I know. House!”

He took off again, leaping over the property's flowerbeds. Emily, for her part, jumped at the chance to resume their discussion.

“What do you mean, you know? You know she's out for revenge and you're just standing there?”

“Let's just say she has a good reason to be angry with me,” he declared without looking at her.

He fidgeted with his fingers nervously. The subject was uncomfortable for him. She could have left it at that but wanted to help him make his voice heard. 

“What are you talking about?”

“She didn't go elsewhere on a whim.”

“Wh…?”

She frowned, puzzled, before her brain reminded her of her words some time earlier. When the two of them had ended up in the same hotel room – following a number of misunderstandings – after several sleepless nights, Hotch had confided in her the real reason why Haley had chosen to end their marriage. After this revelation, he had asked her why a woman who seemed to have it all could feel the urge to do such a thing. Impulsively, she had hypothesized that the cuckolded husband must not excel in bed, before realizing that she was talking about him. She'd wanted to apologize, but he'd accepted the affront without rebuff, and she still felt uneasy thinking about it.

“Look, I said that, but it doesn't necessarily apply to you.”

“Your answer was clear and unequivocal. You didn't hesitate, which would suggest that this is the one and only plausible explanation.”

“I haven't the slightest idea what you're worth in bed!” she burst out, forcing him to turn his head in her direction. “It may have absolutely nothing to do with it!”

“According to statistics, three out of five women don't reach orgasm during coitus with a male, which proves that men are far less competent than they think,” he recited in a monotone. “It's not shocking that I fall into this category of incapable partner.”

Emily was taken aback by the disconcerting ease with which he denigrated himself. Any other man would have ranted and raved about how well he was doing his job, but not him.

“After twenty-five years of putting up with my presence and my inability to satisfy her, she may well get her revenge once or twice.”

“… Hotch, I…”

She could go no further, as Ephraim came up to them again. The manager's phone rang just as his little cousin slipped his hand into his.

“Hotchner… Yes, Dave… Perfect. We’ll meet at the police station.”

He hung up and announced:

“Dave and Spencer have found the bad guy.”

“Noooo!” moaned the youngest of the trio, crestfallen. “I wanted us to find him!”

“It doesn’t matter. The important thing is to have found him,” said his uncle.

The small soldier crossed his arms over his chest and pouted for a few seconds, his fine eyebrows furrowed, then he muttered:

“Can we still finish the street?”

“Of course,” agreed the agency head with a discrete smile.

“Here. Take those.”

He reached into his backpack and pulled out a handful of sweets, which he handed to them. 

“No, it’s your candies.”

“It’s worth the trouble of looking.”

“Thank you,” said Emily, embarrassed, “It’s nice of you but…”

“And I’ll give some to Derek and JJ too. Because they have lost too.”

“Keep some for yourself too,” advised the giant as they collected their booty.

“Don't worry, I've got plenty,” he assured, putting the bag on his back again.

A little further on, the boy walked towards yet another house where other children were enjoying themselves. The profiler took the opportunity to repent.

“Hotch, I'm so sorry I implied something like that. There must be another explanation.”

“Yes. Carelessness,” he declared in the same off-key tone.

She hadn't expected this reply and didn't know what to say at the time.

“And a combination of the two can't be ruled out,” he went on, still without looking at her.

“But…”

“Prentiss,” he stopped her on the spot. “I get what you are trying to do but the evidence is all here. I opted for field investigations rather than an office job that would have guaranteed me fixed hours. I'd rather look after you than my wife and son. And I'd rather go to the other side of the country than go home. Turn that around in your head as much as you like, it was and will remain negligence.”

“… You save lives,” she retorted after what seemed an infinite amount of time.

“Really?” he said with a doubtful raise of his eyebrows.

“Yes. It’s… By arresting all these sociopaths, we save people from dying.”

Her thoughts were muddled, she struggled to formulate correct sentences. Her neighbor's negative behavior totally baffled her.

“No. My question was: do I save them or do you?”

She understood that the “you” didn't refer to her specifically, but to the whole team. However, she didn't have time to utter a word as he unrolled his pessimistic reasoning.

“As long as my presence isn't necessary, this argument becomes null and void. Now, Ephraim is coming back. If you don't mind, I'd rather not continue this conversation.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I just don’t want to talk about it anymore. With anyone.”

Prentiss nodded silently, not without noticing her superior's overly bright gaze. The whole situation was painful for him, and while one part of her thought that talking about it would help him cope better with this sudden change in his daily life, another saw perfectly well why he behaved as he did. She herself would probably have kept everything to herself.

___

First part >> https://www.tumblr.com/codename-mom/765878681027706880/under-the-costume-13?source=share

Next part >> https://www.tumblr.com/codename-mom/765879180446646272/under-the-costume-33?source=share

[codename-mom]

Under the costume - 1/3

Summary: The team is hunting a child abuser who abducts children during the night of Halloween. They have to blend in with the locals and for that, they'll receive the help of unexpected tiny agents.

Characters: BAU team, but it's mostly Hotch and Emily, with plenty of OCs

Contents: the story happens just after Hotch divorce so it's a little bit angsty, and yet there's a lot of fluff also. TW: mention of cheating, negligence, and killing (and I think that's all).

This is a text written for the CM Autumn Air challenge organized by @imagining-in-the-margins.

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

Idaho, the day before the 31st of October

The entire team had been called out on an emergency basis by the county sheriff because an unbalanced person had made a habit of abducting a child on Halloween every year for the past three years. To date, despite all the precautions taken, the police have been unable to catch the suspect or prevent him from reoffending. The mayor had opted for a radical solution – to cancel the party – but the parents, urged on by their offspring who had been looking forward to this evening for weeks, had insisted that it go ahead anyway. It was now up to the BAU to nail the culprit before any further tragedy occurred.

“How do we proceed?” asked Derek. “We can't walk around among parents and children; we’ll be spotted, and the guy will keep his distance.”

From their profile, they had established that the perpetrator had to be a local, who therefore knew just about everyone by sight. The idea that he was aware of the FBI's presence hadn't escaped them either. And counting on the fact that he couldn't possibly identify all the inhabitants clearly was foolish. The weapons they wore on their belts and the strict outfits of some of them would soon have aroused the suspicions of the pedophile they were looking for. That he wouldn't make a move all evening was the lesser evil, but his urges would drive him to act no matter what, and he might migrate to another city to do it. Which, of course, they didn't want him to do. 

“It'd be easier if we were dressed up and accompanied by children,” underlined Spencer in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Well, renting a disguise should be fine – although at this date, we won't have to be picky – but for the kids, I can't imagine where we'd get one. Legally,” bounced Emily, clear-headed.

“I… I think I have an idea.”

All eyes turned to Hotch. Ever since they'd realized the difficulty of the task they'd been assigned, he'd been staring into space, pensive. He was finally coming out of his trance.

“Really?” JJ raised an eyebrow, as perplexed as her neighbors.

“Let me give a phone call. Meanwhile, think about another plan.”

Without giving them time to reply, he walked away and left the building, his cell phone to his ear. Taken aback, his subordinates cast glances at each other.

“Who's he going to call?” dared Prentiss, bewildered.

“No idea,” confessed Rossi, next to her.

“Alternatively, can anyone think of a way to do otherwise?” said Morgan, pointing to the unfolded map on the table in front of them.

They looked again at the squared-off, annotated document, speechless. She didn't know about the others, but the ambassador's daughter couldn't see any way around the problem. She would have been in favor of keeping the kids at home but get that parents didn’t rejoice at the prospect of having to endure an interminable crying fit. Halloween was an institution. Since the end of summer, orange and black decorations had been blooming on every street corner, supermarket shelves were overflowing with sweets and television was running commercials on a loop for the latest fashionable costumes. It was a crime to deprive the youngsters of the one night of the year when they could go out in the street, dressed in any way they liked, to collect buckets of treats.

And yet. Danger lurked nearby, and one of these miniature humans could potentially fall prey to a notorious sadist. A despicable being who left no body behind, condemning parents to endless mourning punctuated by occasional bursts of hope. Something was needed to be done. The problem was that it was impossible to keep track of all the children, even if only those who matched the previous victims; just as it was unthinkable to search every house and set up roadblocks at every crossroads without totally ruining the atmosphere. Most policemen had offspring of their own to look after without spoiling their fun.

Together with her colleagues, she analyzed the suggestions made by each of them, with no single strategy finding favor. Then the director reappeared a good half-hour later. 

“Fine. We can apply Reid’s plan.”

“Really?” asked the latter, indecisive.

He wanted to smile, delighted that his proposal had been approved, but didn't understand how they were going to move from theory to practice. 

“Yes. I… I happen to have cousins living not that fat, with their children,” revealed the giant, avoiding their gaze. “They've agreed to… lend them to us for the evening.”

Emily and her peers widened their eyelids in surprise. The unit leader never talked about his family – or anything even remotely close to his private life – so learning that he had relatives nearby was unsettling, to say the least. And…

“Wait a minute, did you explain the risks?” interrogated the female profiler, worried.

“Yes, and I assured them that agents would be looking after their children throughout the evening.”

“Huge responsibility!” hissed the liaison officer, suddenly pale.

“Any better idea?”

This time his dark irises focused on them, looking for an answer to his question. But nothing came of it because their reflections had not come to fruition.

“I'll be out in the field just like you, and they're my little cousins, so I don't want anything to happen to them,” he noticed, trying to convince them.

Everyone glanced at their neighbor and realized that this remained the only valid plan at the time. They nodded in agreement. That was enough for their supervisor.

“When are they arriving?” asked Dave, pragmatically.

“Their parents will drop them off tomorrow afternoon. We’ll organize the teams at that time.”

“We're still missing the costumes,” intervened the youngest member of the group.

“It’s going to be our mission of the day.”

“I have a feeling it won't be as simple as it sounds,” commented the writer, raising his eyebrows.

“Let's not dawdle any longer, or we'll have nothing left,” ordered the ex-policeman, already heading for the exit.

The team scoured the city and the stores in search of suitable clothes for the following day. Garcia, on the other side of the country, tried to help as best she could, but not even online stores could satisfy them. When the disguises weren't too small, they were indisputably indecent. As night fell over the county, they all found themselves in the room the sheriff had allotted them to carry out their mission. After a long and fruitless search, Reid had found a mad scientist costume with explosive hair, Rossi would have the opportunity to dress up as a vampire, while JJ would transform into a fairy in a puffy blue dress and Morgan would don his cowboy hat and all the paraphernalia that went with it. Prentiss and Hotch were the only ones to return empty-handed.

“There's really nothing left at all,” justified the first. “Or there's no way I'm going to wear the rest.”

“It would have been nice for you, though. Especially the whip,” joked Derek, who had been by her side the whole time.

“It’s freezing out there! I'm not wearing that!” she insisted, as she saw again the skimpy leather outfit her comrade was talking about.

“It doesn't matter,” interrupted the second while answering a text message.

She turned to him, bewildered by his calmness at a time when their plan was on the brink of collapse.

“How do you expect us to blend in dressed like this?”

“Do you have a pair of sunglasses?” he replied, raising his nose.

“Uh… yes,” she said, meeting the eyes of her colleagues.

“Take them with you tomorrow night.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“You’ll see.”

And he turned his back on them without further ado, leaving the place, probably to get back to the hotel. Prentiss questioned the other federal agents without opening her mouth, and they all responded by raising their hands and shoulders in confusion.

The next day, she still didn't know what the titan's brain had concocted but had quickly become absorbed in the ongoing investigation. They had spent all morning and early afternoon trying to narrow down the search perimeter with the little information they had managed to glean, but the clues were leading them in completely different directions. As five o'clock struck, they had come to the conclusion that they had no choice but to scatter to the four corners of the city to cover as much ground as possible. Which was not to their liking.

It was also time for them to dress accordingly. Emily witnessed a surreal scene of the sheriff's office gradually transforming into an imaginary world where Bugs Bunny rubbed shoulders with Batman, Pinocchio chatted with Wonder Woman, while a giant butterfly fluttered from desk to desk in search of a working stapler. The lucky members of the team returned, more or less embarrassed by their new, less formal appearance. The brunette mused that if Strauss saw them, she'd probably break out in hives. Hotch made no comment, all his attention focused on the map.

“Aaron!” suddenly cried a female voice.

Everyone straightened up to see through the windows of their workspace. A tall brown-haired woman with her hair up in a bun, obviously alone, waved her hand in their direction.

“I think there's someone here for you,” Derek quipped.

The director left the room, followed by his flock, and walked towards the new arrival.

“Hi, Elana.”

Without waiting, she took him in her arms, triggering an epidermal reaction of tension in his cousin, who didn't fight back, nonetheless. The group spied on them with childlike curiosity. Elana was in her thirties and roughly the same height as the titan, her heels only giving her a couple of centimeters more. Emily thought they must all be gigantic in this family.

“I'm so happy to see you!” exclaimed their guest before giving him a second hug.

“I wish it had been under different circumstances,” apologized the ex-prosecutor, subtly moving away from her.

“An occasion is an occasion, no matter what the context,” she declared philosophically.

Hotch's gaze darted around her.

“Where is your son?”

“Outside, in the car. Poppy is untying him,” she replied, before her brown eyes shifted to the spectators on stage. “Is that your team?”

“Uh… yes. Let me introduce them to you.”

He moved towards them, but his cousin grabbed him by the sleeve to rave:

“How well you described them! We recognize them on the spot.”

“Oh…?” he punctuated, disconcerted.

His men had the same expression of astonishment, intrigued to learn that he had mentioned the BAU members to his relatives. But a howl diverted their attention.

“Uncle Aarooooooooooooooon!”

A pocket soldier rushed through the building, heading straight for the colossus, who had meanwhile crouched down to receive him. Ten years old, the little boy landed gently against the chest of his “uncle”, who gave him a kiss on the forehead. Behind him, another woman arrived quietly, her hands in the pockets of her red jacket. She was wearing jeans and sneakers, the opposite of her partner's suit. Hotch stood up to shake her hand, the boy still clinging to him. As Poppy didn't seem the least bit offended by this difference in treatment, Emily wondered if the short-haired young woman had understood that he preferred this kind of less intrusive greeting.

“Mom said I was going to help you catch a bad guy! Is it true?” inquired the little boy, as dark-haired as his mother.

“Yes.”

“What do I have to do?” he wanted to know, overexcited by the idea.

“You have to knock on doors and ask for candies.”

“Okay. And then?”

“That’s all.”

“For real, your job is so easy.”

The adults smiled around him, well aware that he was very far from the truth. The manager took the opportunity to make some formal introductions, announcing to his agents that the kid's name was Ephraim. And when Reid remarked that it was odd that the child should use the term “uncle” for him, he explained that, in order to simplify his family's complex genealogy, certain terms had been extended. So, Jack was the cousin of Ephraim and of all the children of his father's own cousins. The multi-graduate accepted this unprecedented precept with a nod.

“Shall I go with you?” asked the mini-soldier, suddenly worried.

“We’ll see. It depends on who your cousins want to go with.”

“Oh!” brutally reacted Elana. “Eli told me he'd asked a couple of their friends to bring their children. You should go even more unnoticed if you have two children with you.”

“Why didn’t he ask Joshua?”

“They are at Becca’s this year.”

“Ah, yes. True.”

For some strange reason, Prentiss made a mental note of all the names that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. As if this slight crack in the door of his supervisor's private garden deserved the utmost attention. It had to be said, too, that they all knew it would close very quickly, perhaps never to open again. At the same time, she realized that the “Becca” in question was probably that other cousin, a geneticist, who had helped the BAU to drop the charges against their superior.

An hour later, two couples accompanied by children of roughly the same age as Ephraim – three girls and a boy – burst into the building. One of the pairs of parents was African American, leaving little doubt as to the identity of Hotch's cousin.  

“Aaron!” cried out the short-haired, stocky man.

“Hi, Eli.”

The branch manager held out his hand, but the other hugged him vigorously, patting him on the back several times with an ear-to-ear grin. He was smaller than his cousin and Elana, but he pushed Hotch away as if he weighed nothing.

“You've lost weight,” he remarked, frowning. “I’ll tell my mother to send you some latkes.”

“Don't do it, she might send me enough to feed the whole neighborhood.”

“Perfect! You'll meet people like that,” concluded his interlocutor, placing his hand violently on his shoulder.

The giant gave him a torpid look that had no effect, as Eli continued to smile wryly. For their part, the federal agents were trying hard to hold back their hilarity. Clearly, Hotch was nothing like the other members of his family when it came to temperament. 

“Is this your team?” asked the cousin, changing the subject completely. “They look just like you described. Except for the costumes.”

“That's what I was saying,” bounced Elana, next to him.

Eli's wife moved closer to greet the titan, her two daughters beside her, impressed by this unfamiliar environment. The girls were younger than Ephraim and probably a year or two apart. They were both wearing a dress worn by Beauty that Emily was certain she'd never seen in a store. Hotch revealed that the eldest was named Hava and the youngest, Keren. Everyone tried to welcome them as cheerfully as possible.

“Where's the computer lady?” inquired Hava, tugging at her uncle's jacket.

“She’s in Quantico.”

“Why?” continued her sister, holding her small orange bucket firmly in her hands.

“Because it’s easier for her to work from out there.”

“Oooooh!” exclaimed the girls, with the same saddened pout.

Prentiss wondered what their boss had told his little cousins to make them so eager to meet their analyst. What was certain was that the disappointment matched their hopes.

“I feel like you've just threw off their groove,” Eli commented to his cousin, a sneer playing at the corner of his lips.

“Sorry,” Hotch apologized, pained to see the pair of princesses return to snuggling up to their mother.

His cousin, less sensitive – or more accustomed – to this kind of reaction, went on to urge the other couple closer.

“Let me introduce you Mira and Hal, they’re our neighbors. They agreed to support the cause.”

“Good evening,” Hotch greeted them with a handshake. “Have you been informed of the purpose of this mission?”

“Yes,” answered the mother succinctly.

“Are you aware of the risks?”

“Are you going to keep an eye on them anyway?” replied the father, a little more serene than his wife.

“As if they were our own,” assured JJ.

Mira and Hal glanced at each other, then the latter adjured:

“I’m fine with that. But we want regular news.”

“You'll get it,” asserted the unit manager, before moving on. “Let’s build the team. Kids, who wants to go with Derek and JJ?”

“Who's that?” asked the neighbors' children logically.

“The cowboy and the fairy.”

Hotch remained serious as he answered, but Emily, Spencer and Dave were amused to hear him say such a thing during an investigation. The seriousness of the situation made the reply even more weird.

“Me!” said Hava, quickly raising her hand.

“No, me!” counter-attacked Mira and Hal's offspring. 

“Okay. Stop,” interposed the liaison officer before the negotiation could degenerate. “I think it's better that we choose you.”

She pointed to the brother-sister duo.

“Why them?” retorted Hava, eyebrows furrowed.

“Uh…” stammered JJ, meeting the parents' inquisitive gaze.

It was obvious that with Morgan as a partner, it made more sense to choose children of color to avoid them being spotted too quickly by the suspect. But at the same time, she had to realize that this reason might not go down well with the people concerned.

“Because their disguises fit theirs better,” Hotch interjected confidently.

The whole team realized that the little boy was dressed as Woody from Toy Story, while his sister had donned a Cinderella costume.

“Oh,” did Hava, vanquished.

“Who am I going with?” asked Ephraim, who had spent the previous hour making small talk with all the local police officers.

“Well, you three have the choice of going with Spencer and Dave, who will be your father and grandfather for the evening,” Hotch explained. “Or with Agent Prentiss and myself.”

The trio's gaze intensely examined the four remaining people, showing no particular interest in any of the proposed pairs.

“Spencer is doing magic tricks.”

“ME!!!!” shouted the children in chorus.

“Stop!” interposed Prentiss, who felt that the situation could get out of hand for a long time yet when it was already dark outside. “You two, you go with the girl and the cowboy. You two, you’ll go with the magician and the vampire. And you, buddy, you’ll come with your uncle and I.”

“Yeah!” rejoiced Hava, rushing over to Reid and Rossi.

“But…” pouted the neighbors’ kids.

“I know how to get more candy,” Derek then declared with a smile that reached his ears.

“Is it true?” bounced the little boy.

“Yeah.”

“Cool!” outbid her older sister.

That's all it took for the miniature duo to adopt the two unfamiliar federal agents. Emily smiled before wondering if it would have been as easy to convince them in a different context.

“Ready to go, Ephraïm?” she heard Hotch questioning his grand-cousin.

“All the way!”

“Let's go then,” he ordered, before turning to his subordinates. “We cover as much ground as possible and keep in touch.”

“And don't eat everything on the way!” commanded Elana as the group began to move away.

“Yes, ma'am!” replied the children meekly.

___

Next part >> https://www.tumblr.com/codename-mom/765878841007882240/under-the-costume-23?source=share

[codename-mom]

Hello everyone! o/

Here is a new CM writing challenge for the next two months!

I'm currently translating my entry. If you want to jump in, feel free to check the prompts and to knit something up. :)

CM Autumn Air Challenge

Hey everyone, I’m back with another monthly challenge! For the months of October AND November, I am formally challenging any willing writer to take a stab at writing fanfiction including the season of Autumn using their choice of Criminal Minds characters! Reader, Original Character, Character/Characterships, Gen/Platonic fics are allowed! Please check out the Rules below the Keep Reading.

There are a LOT of prompts below the cut, so keep going!

(**This is NOT a request list for me—this is a prompt list of other writers! Feel free to request from someone else, and be sure to let them know about the challenge!)

General Prompts

Characters fight over the perfect pumpkin.

Characters share a bale of hay on the hayride.

Character A helps B cope with the lack of sunlight.

The BAU takes a holiday trip to Rossi’s hunting cabin.

Character A “helps” B with baking for the Fall Festival.

Character A is shocked by how cold B’s hands get in Fall.

Character insists on getting the perfect apple. And then they fell on their ass.

The BAU’s Missed Holiday Meal is the first family meal Character's ever enjoyed.

It’s unseasonably warm, but that won’t stop Character from wearing fall sweaters.

Character A tells spooky stories around the bonfire. Now B is afraid to sleep alone.

or anything else you can think of!

Halloween Prompts (SFW)

Wait. That isn’t fake blood. Oh no.

Character has a “secret admirer” for Halloween.

Character A thinks B is in costume… they are not.

Characters argue about the accuracy of a costume.

Character A hates Halloween. B tries to change that.

Character A grabs the wrong hand in a haunted house.

Character is very brave while watching the horror movie.

Character A catches B’s wardrobe malfunction seconds before disaster.

Keep reading for more prompts + rules!

Halloween Prompts (NSFW)

Character's costume is multipurpose.

It’s okay. Screaming is normal on Halloween.

Characters have sex... with the costumes on.

Period sex is, in a way, thematically appropriate.

Character A’s costume is awakening something in B.

Character A dresses as B’s fantasy to fuck with them.

Character A’s obsession with lollipops is becoming a serious problem for B.

Dialogue Prompts

"That is NOT a horror movie."

"Wait, are you afraid of the dark?"

“You’re scarier without the mask.”

“Am I meant to be afraid or aroused?”

“No way, you’re a fan of (sports team)?!”

“Gourds are very versatile.” “You look insane.”

“If the leaves are allowed to change, so are you.”

“My costume is not cute. It’s scary and powerful.”

“Stop looking at me like that. The candlelight is for dramatic effect, not romance.”

Your fic can be a Reader insert, an Original Character, a character/character ship, a platonic ship, or a Gen fic. It can feature any Criminal Minds character. AUs and crossovers are more than welcome.

Tag me in the fic, or send the link to me in a Direct Message. It can be already written, or you can write it for the challenge - I collect both! You can also tag “#mentioningmargins”

The fic can be any genre, but ONLY send me smut if your bio states you are 18+. I DO NOT WANT smut written by minors. Ever. At all. I will check. Platonic ships and pure, fluffy fics are 100% allowed. Please also include some indication of rating if it is NSFW.

Please include Content Warnings and a one-sentence Summary of the fic in your post. For xReader fics, PLEASE specify if your reader is Female, Male, or Gender Neutral.

Have fun!

The Masterlist of fics will be posted around Nov. 30. If you finish after that, no problem - just send me the fic once you’re done and I’ll add it after-the-fact!

Feel free to message me if you want help developing a plot, have any questions, or just want to gush about your fic. I’m happy to help, and I’m happy you’re here ❤️

Happy Writing!

[codename-mom]

Is Hotch...

A good husband?

A good father?

Let’s be honest, the answer is: no (for both).

Why?

CW: mention of domestic/child abuse, cheating, divorce, death, difficulties for child conception, pregnancy

Hotch is not a good husband

We don’t know much about the way Hotch and Haley have lived between the moment they have met (in high school) and the moment Jack was born (a short time after Hotch became the BAU’s director).

We know that they have met each other at a very young age and that they get married years later, in 1998 (?). If we take into account the hypothesis that Hotch was born in 1965, he was then 32/33 years old. So, they’ve known each other and probably lived together for 15 years before their wedding.

Which is curiously long, admit it.

However, it’s possible that they have waited for their situation to be more stable. Hotch have studied law in Virginia until 1992. We know that in 1997, he was a federal prosecutor at Seattle (so, at the other side of the country) and that after he has met Dave, he has moved to Quantico to become a profiler (so, new crossing of the country).

Haley has then followed Aaron from one side to the other of the US, leaving behind her family and friends (a thing that doesn’t bother Hotch because he doesn’t seem to have any friend and, officially, his only family is an errand young brother who can’t stand him). Which is, I think, a huge sacrifice for someone jobless and kids free (at this time), of which the only activity is basically to see people.

Then come the time where Hotch started to work for the BAU. At first, simple federal agent in a small team (Gideon, Rossi and him + maybe two other persons vaguely evocated once, but it’s hard to know how much time they have worked for the agency), he has to multiply travels so as the unit could cover all the territory. From this moment, he began to desert the marital home, but we can imagine that Haley agreed because they were understaffed.

Then Dave went retired, and Jason has surrendered; Aaron became an FBI unit chief at 38/39 years old. – The timeline is quite chaotic talking about this character, but we see in season 3 that Penelope has arrived 4 years earlier, when Derek and Spencer (and JJ?) are already there and all the team is already on the 6th floor of Quantico (and not anymore in the basement of another building, where Jason and Dave were). So, we can establish that Hotch must be around that age when he became a director (let’s remind that Gideon and Rossi discover the new premises when they come back, respectively in season 1 and 3).

Since then, taking into account his workforce (we know the usual team + Anderson, but there are also other agents in the bullpen who must be part of the BAU like the others) and his status, it’s not inconsistent to think that he doesn’t need to be in the field anymore. He can also follow office schedules, more adapted to a couple’s life.

But, no, he continues to leave with his subordinates even if his presence is not useful (his only expertise is to have been a federal prosecutor, which is of no use for the investigations), and he continues to come very early at work and to leave the office very late at night. He clearly forsakes Haley to his team profit.

And the things get worse when Haley becomes pregnant and has to stay in bed when she has still several months to wait before birth. We’ve got a woman who have to move as less as possible to increase the chance of survival of her fetus and who need help. Her husband should have been by her side to support her and to make her daily life easier, but in place of that he wanders for days far away from her. (We can assume that Jessica and her parents did the job, but it’s not a reason).

And here we go again after Jack’s birth. First of all, nothing prove that he was there for the birth. In a cut scene, we learn that he knew that Haley had contractions when he was in an investigation, and he offered to turn back home. Haley told him to go on working, that everything was fine. The eventuality he arrived too late is not nil then (but it’s still theoretical).

But we know that he wasn’t there to help her to take care of Jack when he was newborn. So, when kids are the most demanding in term of time and energy. He has continued to go on the field and to do two many hours when he didn’t have to. It’s clear that he had left Haley all alone with the baby (and a sick baby because we learn in the episode S02E04 that he has a condition bad enough for him to go to the hospital – detail that will disappear then from the writers’ memory…).

Haley had then to handle, upfront, her son, all the household chores and all the possible issues occurring into a house; after having follow Aaron from one coast to the other of the US several times. If we add on this that he never talked about what he was doing (‘cause it was confidential), we can understand that she was fed up with all this and that she asked for divorce.

We can however give some arguments in favor of Hotch:

His job is vital for the survival of the citizens: he doesn’t peel potatoes or is an accountant, he’s involved in the arrest of serial killers, sociopaths, and psychopaths able to go after anyone’s life. To take the decision not to go on the field anymore or not to answer his phone at night and during weekends is not simple.

He’s the only one to work in the couple: in the episode S05E01, Haley tells Aaron that she’s “working now”, which means that she wasn’t before, and that Aaron was the only one subsiding to the needs of their family. I don’t know how much a federal agent of his rank is paid, but if we take into account the fact that they lived into a house with a garden, in DC suburbs, with two cars (we didn’t see Haley’s but I doubt she went to the hospital, to the mall and to Quantico with a stroller using public transports); it was necessary for them to have a certain amount of money. To work less, without the possible risk premiums going on the field, would have pushed the couple to move again and to restrain their lifestyle.

In the episode S01E22, we learn that household chores don’t seem to bother him, on a contrary (he looks so thrilled to accomplish all the tasks Haley wants him to do). As so, we can assume that the days he was there, he took over his wife on this point.

And finally, from episode S02E19, we learn that this situation – him working a lot when his wife and son live their life by their side – weighs on him and stresses him. He’s afraid to receive phone calls when he’s at home and to have no choice but to leave. If we suppose that he loves his job, he doesn’t forsake Haley and Jack joyfully either. He doesn’t abandon them because he’s mean or because he doesn’t like them, he just thinks that he doesn’t have any choice.

[In the same episode, we learn that his father was a womanizer who didn’t try to be discreet, and in the episode S01E08, we can think that the said father wasn’t particularly nice too. And then, in the episode S03E02, when he understands that his wife cheats on him, he shows absolutely no aggressiveness. On the contrary. Hotch could have copied the attitude of his sire and been way more violent with Haley at that exact time. Somewhere, she was lucky that he has a strong self-control and that he’s more the passive guy…]

Actually, the only thing Haley did wrong was to haven’t ask for divorce earlier (before Jack’s birth for example), because the man she has married was clearly not the one she has met in high school anymore. She would have had a different life, maybe with several children, and would have still been alive. She stood by his side, perhaps because it was easier, but it wasn’t the right solution knowing that Aaron is obviously not made for married life.

And not for family life too…      

Hotch is not a good father

Like we’ve seen it above, the probability that Aaron have missed Jack’s birth is not nil. And, if the arrival of his son was of his interest, the logic would have been for him to adapt his schedule and to not go on the field anymore with his team near the due date.

Then, we know that he didn’t help his wife with the baby and in the episode S01E19, Jessica reproached him to not hold Jack properly, which leads us to think that he’s not used to have him in his arms.

Divorce happens and, even if he’s the only one to have a salary, the child custody is entirely entrusted to Haley, probably because of his numerous travels and his schedules not at all compatible with a life with a kid (that and the fact that he can get shot at any moment every time he leaves for a case). From this moment, we can suppose that his visits depend to his ex-wife’s will; ex-wife who is nice enough to let him break in in the middle of the night to see a sleeping child. It’s of no interest for Jack (he doesn’t know that his father is there). Once again, logic wants that he shows up on weekends and by daylight.

Which he doesn’t seem to do because, in the episode S04E13, we learn that he has offered a Christmas present for his son but doesn’t know if the latter had appreciated or not. Several explanations for that:

He has sent the present by mail and wasn’t there then for the receipt.

He hasn’t saw Jack since even if he had the time to (several weeks/months pass between episodes)

He didn’t make the effort to call Haley or to sent her a message to have the information.

Well, he doesn’t do what’s necessary to keep in touch with his son.

Then Foyet shows up and we all know what’s happened: Hotch becomes a single dad in a sudden. And nothing gets better… Indeed, if we see in the episode S06E16 that he seems to be there in the morning to take Jack to school, he continues to work very late at night and to go on the field for several days without having contacts with him (we saw him calling Haley at the beginning of the show, but we don’t see him doing the same with his son). All the work is done by Jessica, Jack’s aunt: pick up at school, homework, dinner, shower/bath, movie/fairy tale, tooth brushing + complete support during investigations.

Well, we understand that this is a suggestion of Jessica herself (Jack is the only "thing" left from her dead sister, we can get that she doesn’t want to lose her connection with her nephew), but Hotch doesn’t hesitate for long to pass it on and to get back to his old habits of workaholic, still not suitable for parenting. And he doesn’t seem to care about the fact that Jessica could wish to have her own family and that she must have a job and her own personal activities. He has the right to work – a kid is not free, so it’s normal that he keeps his job, especially when you know how much studies cost in US – but he could have adapted his schedules. But he didn’t.

You’re going to tell me: “Yes, but he’s there for Jack soccer encounters.” He’s there to train the team. He’s there to give orders and to handle a dozen of kiddos on Sunday morning. He’s still working, and his attention is not only directed on Jack, but on all the players. He’s just doing the cab between the apartment and the club, that’s all. Especially that we see in episode S10E20, he’s still working home (exactly like when he was married), which could mean that Jack is on his own when his father is there.

(Stop drooling, people! I know he's hot, but it's not the point. He has an office in his apartment (look behind his sexy hips).)

Well, we discover in the episode S07E04 that he’s regularly learning to Jack how to read the evening (to the point that Jack is well ahead of his comrades on that subject) and at the beginning of the episode S11E22, we understand that he and JJ often drive Jack and Henry to school in the morning. We also see him building a hut in the living-room in the episode S07E23, searching for a last minute Halloween costume in S10E05 and he's doing cookies with him in S06E06.

All this seem to prove that there are some interactions between them. But sadly, it doesn’t compensate the fact that he’s absent for the Halloween costume contest, that he skips the school trip to the museum and that he leaves his son to the hands of a woman he knows for a few months (Beth) in a city he and Jack barely know (New York). All these absences could have been avoided if he did just trust his men and let them handle the cases on their own. (I mean we talk about a guy who took a dangerous mission overseas when he has a son alone at home...)

And he knows it. He knows that he’s bad. He knows that his son agrees to his absences because he sees him as a hero. In the episode S11E22, tensions appear because Jack is not a little boy who idealize his father anymore and that he starts to understand that all this is not normal. That to privilege unknown people over his own child, it’s bad. And Hotch feels that the wind has changed as he speaks about it to JJ in the said episode. I think that if Thomas Gibson hadn’t been fired from the show, we would have seen conflicts between father and son because of his lack of involvement.

If I wanted to explain his behavior – without forgiving it – I’ll stress out that we start with a couple who knows each other for more than twenty years before the arrival of the baby. Which is abnormally long. (I know people who willingly had a kid when they only knew each other for a few months…)

The first explanation could be that they had some difficulties to conceive. One of them could have been sterile to a certain degree which makes difficult a natural conception. Or there is also the possibility of biological incompatibility between them (some vaginal biomes can be toxic for the spermatozoa of some individuals). Or certain external factors could have complicated the process. In any case, it could explain why the couple had only one child after so many years of marital life.

The second explanation – which is my personal headcanon – is that one of them didn’t want a kid (and by that, I mean he didn’t want one).

If we think about the fact that Hotch seems to have had a rotten childhood because of his disrespectful and violent father, and his resigned mother (she knew about the affairs of her husband, surely didn’t ignore his brutality, but she stayed with him and she even had another child with him 15 years later (yes, I know, beaten wives are under the influence of their torturer and to quit this vicious circle is extremely difficult; but from Aaron’s point of view, he was facing a woman who made the choice to stay no matter how the situation was dangerous for her and for him, in place of leaving and improving their chance of survival. Worse, she even has accepted to keep and give birth to another of his child…)), it’s not weird to imagine that he didn’t want to start his own family. He didn’t have any good example of what is a good father or a good mother. He doesn’t know what a warm home looks alike. [May I remember you that Hotch doesn’t celebrate his birthday (Haley and Jessica wished him once, but when we see how Penelope wishes it to him in the episode S09E06, we understand that she’s the only one to know); which could underline the fact that it wasn’t a happy day for him when he was a child.] In the end, he could have delayed this eventuality as long as possible.

How has Jack arrived tho? Several possibilities again:

Reassured by Haley and a little bit more comfortable with his abilities, he would have accepted his wife request.

Haley blackmailed him: “Give me that child or I leave”. To not lose her, he would have agreed no matter his fears.

Jack is not Aaron’s child.

I lean for the second option, which also explains the fact that he has some hard time to create a connection with his son. He didn’t really want him and he’s still thinking that he’ll be a bad father because of his past.

I could add that his autism doesn’t make the thing easier, but it’s another debate.

___

To make it short, Hotch is not made for marital life or family life no matter what.

Don't misunderstand me. I love the character but I can't forget that he has (huge) flaws. He's not the perfect man that we (fanfics writers) want him to be. He's neglectful on many points outside of his job. And that's why he's interesting in my opinion. A flawless character would have been so boring.

(Damn! This post took ages. None only because the gif search on Tumblr is all crap, but because I've got to rewatch countless episodes to find one line of dialogue so useful for this explanation. ^^; Hopefully, the next one will be less demanding.)

[codename-mom]

New CM challenge! /o/

If you needed some inspiration to write something, here is a list of prompts with an interesting subjet. :D

Feel free to jump in. ^^

I'm currently working on my own entry. It'll be published on my Hotchniss sideblog (because Code Name: Mom is fully gen/platonic).

CM Friends-with-Benefits Challenge

Hey everyone, I’m back with another monthly challenge! For the months of August AND September, I am formally challenging any willing writer to take a stab at writing fanfiction including friends with benefits/situationships using their choice of Criminal Minds characters! Reader, Original Character, Character/Characterships, Gen/Platonic fics are allowed!Please check out the Rules below the Keep Reading.

There are a LOT of prompts below the cut, so keep going!

(**This is NOT a request list for me—this is a prompt list of other writers! Feel free to request from someone else, and be sure to let them know about the challenge!)

🥰 Song Prompts 🥰

"Sex" by The 1975

"Too Sweet" by Hozier

"dress" by Taylor Swift

"august" by Taylor Swift

"Casual" by Chappell Roan

"Dinner & Diatribes" by Hozier

"Close to You" by Gracie Abrams

“Stuck in the Middle” by Tai Verdes

"Good Luck, Babe!" by Chappell Roan

"I Wanna Be Yours" by Arctic Monkeys

“Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High?” by Arctic Monkeys

💌 Dialogue Prompts 💌

“I’m just in it for the snacks.”

“No wonder you’re single…” (joking?)

“So... what’s the stance on cuddling?”

"You deserve something real. I want us to be real.”

“We’re just friends with benefits.” // “Right, and the benefit is being madly in love.” (sarcasm?)

“We’re… friends. With benefits.” // “Without sex? What’s the benefit?” // “My delightful company, asshole.”

"I'm your boyfriend without the benefits." // "Do you want the benefits?" // "Yes—No... I'm your fluffer!" ('New Girl')

“What is up with those two lately?” // “They’re sleeping together.” // “Yeah, right. Imagine… wait, seriously?”

General & NSFW Prompts Below!

🌹 General Prompts 🌹

Someone figures out the situation. A and B try to figure out how.

A is blindsided by jealousy when someone shows an interest in B.

A and B try to be normal so no one knows. Literally everyone knows.

A is so worried about B falling for them that A fails to realize A already fell for B.

A realizes they are happier with B than any actual significant other they’ve had.

A is totally B’s type, which has never worked out before. As a result, A keeps sabotaging things.

A agrees to a situationship with B because they think it's the only way they'll be able to have them.

A reaches out to B for a hookup but gets rejected, and they each struggle with their disappointment.

A is treating the arrangement like a formal business deal. B gets tired of it and shuts them up with a kiss.

A and B used to be friends with benefits. When they meet again later, the arrangement is still appealing.

Character A has to leave town for a long time. They have one last night with B but don’t tell them. They’re gone in the morning and leave B wondering what they wanted to say the night before.

💋 NSFW Prompts 💋

A completely defies B’s expectations of what they’re like in bed.

A and B decide to hook up one last time (or maybe not the last...)

A agreed to take B’s virginity as long as B didn’t catch feelings. It seems like B didn’t. A did, though.

A and B's no-judgment rule means they're finally comfortable to ask for what they've always wanted to try in bed.

A is annoyed with B, so they start loudly complaining/joking about their situationship. Angry/playful sex ensues.

A and B have never felt truly satisfied in bed until there were no strings attached... it definitely wasn't because of finding the right partner.

The fic can be a Reader insert, an Original Character, a character/character ship, a platonic ship, or a Gen fic. It can feature any Criminal Minds character. AUs and crossovers are more than welcome.

Tag me in the fic, or send the link to me in a Direct Message. It can be already written, or you can write it for the challenge - I’m collecting both! You can also tag it “#mentioningmargins” which is a tag I track.

The fic can be any genre, but ONLY send me smut if your bio states you are 18+. I DO NOT WANT smut written by minors. Ever. At all. I will check.Platonic ships and pure, fluffy fics are 100% allowed.

Please include Content Warnings and a one-sentence Summary of the fic in your post.

Have fun!

The Masterlist of fics will be posted around Sept. 30. If you finish after that, no problem - just send me the fic once you’re done and I’ll add it after-the-fact!

Feel free to message me if you want help developing a plot, have any questions, or just want to gush about your fic. I’m happy to help, and I’m happy you’re here ❤️

Happy Writing!

[codename-mom]

Hello everyone! o/

Well, I just pass by to say that I'm sorry to be so inactive lately. ^^;

To be honest, I'm currently writing a lot, essentially Hotchniss texts (several in front row, because I'm crazy). But as I try to write everything my brain is blurting everyday as fast as possible before I forget (because I will), I don't have much time anymore to translate and then post stuff here.

All that to say that I'm not dead. I still have plenty of drafts and ideas for this blog, but it'll take time before the next update.

I know you're not so much to expect something to be posted here but, please, be patient. Hope you'll have a wonderful day and see you next time. ^^

[codename-mom]

Paternity test

Summary: Aaron has doubt about Jack being his now he is nine and still doesn't look like him. Dave tries to find a solution to reassure him, but it can be a double-edged sword.

Characters: BAU team (Callahan era) + Jack Hotchner

Contents: TW mention of Haley's cheating, alcohol, anxiety and I think that's all.

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

                Jack finished his exercise and looked up at his father. He hadn't moved an inch since he himself had sat down at the living room table to begin his homework. The giant was concentrating on his computer screen, eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed, his right hand regularly twitching, as it always did when he was deep in thought. The little boy got down from his chair and walked towards the sofa, his heart pounding. He wasn't afraid of his sire, but he still impressed him a little.

“Dad?”

“Yes, Jack,” he answered without looking at him.

“Can you check if it's okay?” he asked, placing his notebook on the armrest.

“I'm listening,” affirmed Aaron, his attention still fixed on the monitor.

“It's not math, it's grammar.”

The titan immediately ceased his activity and turned his attention back to his pocket roommate. Jack smiled at him, sketching a discreet chuckle. Then he picked up his notebook and read his lines in silence under the toddler's worried gaze. His father spoke much better than most of his teachers and other parents, and he had told him many times that knowing how to write properly would be an asset for his future life. In fact, the boy could feel the pressure on his shoulders as the director's brown irises leapt from one word to the next. It was hard to tell from his unexpressive face whether he was satisfied with his work or not.

“Reread the third sentence,” he said, finally giving him back his possession.

“What did I miss?” he interrogated him, disappointed that he hadn't got it right the first time.

“I don’t know, think.”

His ascendancy rarely made it easy for him to understand his mistakes. For many things, he let him analyze, study and dig for himself, before providing the explanation he needed, when necessary. For others, he readily agreed to teach him what he knew, just as he also took the time to listen to the results of his own discoveries. Jack loved these moments of exchange between them, and cherished them all the more as his father wasn't often at home. And when he was, he sometimes carried on with his duties as branch manager, forgetting about his offspring. Which he appreciated less and less.

“What are you doing?” he questionned as the colossus fell back into his trance.

“Research.”

“For work?”

Aaron didn't react on the spot, squinting his eyelids, before suddenly flinching as he met his gaze.

“… What? No, I... he stammered, his pupils shifting from him to the screen. I’m actually looking for a new place to live.”

“Why?”

He hadn't expected this.

“Because this one isn't very practical for either of us. Especially now that you're older.”

“Why?”

“You need a bigger bedroom, and I need an office where I can work without blocking your access to the living room.”

Instinctively, he looked towards the corridor at the end of which was his den. When he'd had to move in for good, he'd had a hard time adjusting to the old-fashioned decor, the noisy surroundings and the smallness of the place. Now he knew all its nooks and crannies by heart and felt at home here.

“Where are we going?” he worried instantly.

“Not that far, don’t be afraid. I'll make sure you stay at the same school so you can keep your friends, Aaron declared with a smile. And, in any case, we can't go too far away. I have to stay close to Quantico and I can't make your aunt travel miles for you.”

His father's large hand passed through his hair and lingered on his cheek. The FBI agent was smiling in a very exceptional way, but the whole physiognomy of his face, usually hard and cold, changed all at once. All the sweetness in his heart seemed to emerge from its hiding place and envelop him tenderly, soothing him instantly.

“Did you find something?”

“Not yet. But maybe you could help me, he asserted, looking at him. After all, you have a say in it, since you'll be living in it.”

Forgetting his English exercises altogether, he climbed onto the sofa beside him and pressed himself against his arm.

“What should I do?” he inquired, delighted to be able to support him.

“Look at the photos with me and tell me what you think. Would you?”

“Yeah.”

“So correct your third sentence and we'll take care of this.”

“Okay,” he yielded, picking up his notebook again.

Later, on a Monday, Dave invited himself into Hotch's office to let him know it was time for lunch. But as soon as he saw his drawn features and low expression, he knew something was wrong. He approached and shouted: 

“What’s going on? And watch what you say.”

His superior had a nasty habit of insisting that everything was fine, when it absolutely was not. A protective reflex that had already played many tricks on him. But the manager didn't fight. He sighed and settled back in his seat, pushing back the folder in his hand.

“…This weekend, Jack and I visited several homes. The other one's getting too small for the two of us, and I need a more suitable workspace than the living room,” he explained as Rossi sat down opposite him.

“Sounds like a good idea. But I have the impression that the hunt wasn't a good one.”

“In fact, one of them might do the trick, but... - he hesitated – that's not really the point. I didn't really expect to find the gem right away.”

Given the high demand and indecent real estate prices in the capital, it would indeed have been naive to think you'd hit the jackpot on your first try.

“So why the long face?”

“Because of the reaction of the real estate agents when they saw me arrive with Jack. You… you should have seen their faces.”

Surprisingly, Aaron wasn't looking at him, his irises turned to an invisible spot on his desk. He looked defeated.

“Well, what?” his mentor said impatiently, perplexed.

“None of them thought for a moment that that kid with me was my son, he revealed, staring at him at last. And even when Jack called me “Dad”, they still had their doubts.”

“Aren't you being a little dramatic?”

With his former disciple's tendency to see the glass as half-empty, the former retired doubted the accuracy of his statement.

“No. Many asked to see Jack's identity papers, even though they were of no use in completing the application files.”

He had to admit that this supported his hypothesis and he understood better why he wasn't particularly happy.  He dared to put things in perspective:

“At least they check.”

“Dave, these people were convinced I was a pedophile looking for a new hideout!” snapped his wounded interlocutor.

“Aaron…”

“And, at the same time, they have good reason to think so,” he continued, looking downcast.

“Why?”

The novelist had no idea why he would say such a thing. He was used to hearing him self-inflict a multitude of imaginary defects, but this one was beyond comprehension. Especially as there was nothing innocuous about it.

“Look at him, Hotch resumed, flipping the frame on his desk. Look at him and tell me where I am.”

A frozen Jack on glossy paper gave him a radiant smile, his straight, light hair waving in a passing breeze.

“He’s still a child, Aaron.”

“He's nine! the ex-prosecutor reminded him. It's high time he showed some of his father's physical traits. Except he doesn’t. Jack, it’s clearly Haley and... someone else.”

“Don’t say that.”

“So, tell me! Tell me what he took from me.”

 Uneasy, Rossi lowered his eyes to the toddler's portrait and carefully observed his eyes, nose, ears, chin... Apart from the color of his irises – which could also be his mother's – it was difficult to identify his sire's features. However, the elder felt that the kid was still too young to express all his genetic characteristics. Besides, he didn’t like what it implied.

“See. Even you can't answer that.”

“You realize you're implying that Haley went elsewhere.”

“But she went somewhere else, Dave, he asserted without preamble. One… one day when I was unusually at home, someone called. I picked up the phone and nobody answered. There was a silence and then they hang up. Right after that, someone called on Haley’s cell phone. I didn't make the connection with Jack this day, but now it's so obvious that he's not mine.”

The BAU co-founder realized that it had been eight years since his opposite had kept his wife's betrayal to himself, and he was touched that he hadn't been in the loop at the time. Why hadn't he told him about it? He'd been living with this memory for almost a decade, and it must have crushed his self-esteem when he realized that Haley hadn't had the respect for him that he'd had for her in the twenty-five years they'd been together. A memory that continued to undermine even now.

“Aaron, maybe it was someone who had the wrong number.”

“When you get the wrong number, do you just hang up?”

“… No,” he conceded, honest.

“You apologize and explain that you made a mistake. Haley didn't ask for a divorce because I was never around, but because I was too much and had discovered the truth.”

Dave easily perceived the anger rolling through his veins. Even after so much time, even after everything that had happened, he was still furious. The question was, against whom? The most likely answer was: his partner at the time. But Hotch was a complex person who had very little regard for himself, and his eldest wouldn't have been surprised if he resented him too.

“Wait, that doesn't mean that Jack isn't yours. It's playing with fire to have a child with someone other than your husband.”

“Except when the husband doesn't want children.”

Taken aback by this outburst, he widened his eyelids, questioning the giant with his eyes.

“She wanted that kid so badly; she could have done just that. And, once pregnant, she did what it took to convince me to take the plunge.”

He glimpsed a side of Aaron's private life he'd never known about before. The couple he had formed with Haley at that moment had seemed so harmonious that he hadn't questioned further why they had remained childless for so long.

“For… for years, she had put her desire for motherhood on the back burner, but suddenly it became urgent. She put me on the spot for it, he added, his eyes shining. And, as luck would have it, it worked the first time. Normally, it takes several attempts to make it work, even for couples who have frequent relations. But not us. I'm sure of it now, she was already pregnant and I find myself raising someone else's kid.”

“Hold on, Aaron. Breathe. All this is just speculation.”

He ignored all the statistics that ran through his brain about the number of tries one had to go through to get it right – even more so when the mother-to-be was in her forties – just as he refrained from bouncing on the fact that Haley had obviously taken advantage of her husband's unconditional love for her to finally accede to her request. Even if the evidence seemed to be mounting, he couldn't overlook the fact that he didn't hold all the cards and that, even if she had gone elsewhere, there was no proof that she had played him to such an extent.

“What are you going to do anyway? Abandon Jack?”

“No, he retorted immediately. I… I can’t do that. He… he’s not to blame. And… if I couldn't be his biological father, I could always be his... his legal guardian.”

                Dave was struck by the sadness that emanated from these last words. Even if he hadn't actually experienced it, becoming a father was an incredible opportunity, a stage of life like no other. All of a sudden, you found yourself propelled into a completely different dimension, where care freeness disappeared, replaced by a constant attention to detail. One was brutally invested with a long-term mission, which consisted in bringing an innocent and pure being to become strong and skilful enough to survive the ferocity of life; all without turning them into a bloodthirsty and cruel monster. Becoming a father meant making millions of sacrifices and compromises every day for the sake of a single individual; it meant facing up to fears and repulsions, ignoring fatigue, silencing anxieties, mastering annoyance, monitoring one's own behavior, weighing one's words and being able to give it all up when necessary. All this without even knowing if the child will return the favor one day.

                Being a legal guardian was a soulless legal term for the fact that you were just a name on an administrative document.

“But, you know there's a way to check if there's a genetic link between the two of you.”

“I won't do a test,” rebelled Aaron, adamant.

“Why not?”

“No. Imagine that... that he really wasn't mine. What should I do? Tell him nothing, at the risk that he might discover the truth later? Telling him the truth and destroying his mother's image and the pretend balance we've both managed to achieve? I… - he sighed. At least, at the moment, I'm still left with the doubt that he's mine.”

                Rossi left the office and joined the team gathered in the corridor, ready to go down for lunch. Their brows furrowed as soon as they noticed their superior's absence.

“Isn't he coming with us?” worried Penelope.

“No. He’s… he’s cogitating.”

“What? What's that supposed to mean?” grumbled Derek, unsettled.

“Cogitate comes from the Latin cogitare, which means... began Spencer, before all eyes turned to him. That wasn't what you meant, was it?”

Morgan shook his head jaded, but said nothing.

“Aaron thinks Jack isn't his.”

“Again?” exclaimed JJ.

Everyone stared at her, surprised.

“I'm sorry, but this idea has been on his mind for some time now, she justified herself, a little embarrassed. Everyone tells him that Jack looks like his mother and never like him. After a while, I can see why the idea would catch on.”

“When they're born, babies resemble their sire so that the latter can attach more easily to the newborn and thus provide it with all the protection it needs,” declared Reid, perhaps a little too cheerfully.

“Who did Jack look like when he was born?” bounced Kate, who didn't even know what the child looked like now.

The two blondes glanced at each other awkwardly and replied in unison:

“… Haley.”

“Wait, interjected Derek, suddenly enthusiastic, Jack has brown eyes and so does Hotch.”

“Around eighty percent of the world's population has brown eyes.”

“Reid, I'm trying to make a case for Hotch, he growled, letting his shoulders fall back. Don’t help me there.”

Dave refrained from hammering the point home by reminding the ex-policeman that the boy's mother also had brown eyes. 

“Sorry, but the only way to be sure Hotch and Jack are related is to have them take a DNA test,” the multi-graduate defended himself.

“He doesn’t want to.”

“Why?”

“Because without it, he still has the illusion of being his father.”

His reply cast a chill over the assembly. The few snatches of a smile that remained disappeared in a flash, and discomfort seized everyone.

“It's so sad,” commented Garcia, tears welling up in her eyes.

“At the same time, I've always thought Jack had a false air of Sean about him,” said the ex-officer liaison, in a very small voice.

“Seriously?” choked Rossi, blown away by this thought.

“It's true that it could explain the hair color,” supported the technician, who didn't dare meet his gaze.

“Who’s Sean?”

Attention turned to the newcomer to the team, whose embarrassment had given way to confusion.

“He's Hotch's younger brother, Spencer explained. They don’t look alike at all.”

Which was saying a lot. As tall as each other, the resemblance ended there. Aaron was as dark-haired as Sean was blond, and his dark irises were set against a much more attractive blue-gray. And then there were their differences in character: the former's straightforwardness didn't go at all well with the latter's carefree attitude. While both had criminal records, the elder had settled down before he came of age, while the younger was multiplying offences now that he was an adult.

“Hotch took from his mother and Sean from his father,” continued JJ, helping her colleague understand the situation.

“How likely is it that Hotch passed on his own father's physical characteristics to Jack?” suggested Kate, very seriously.

“That’s a good question. If we assume that his mother's alleles are all dominant...”

“We're going to do a DNA test,” proclaimed Rossi, cutting Reid off who was, in his opinion, putting a little too much effort into this sordid calculation given the context.

“What?” croaked the group, bewildered.

He'd expected this reaction, but the Las Vegas native was right: it was the only way to get to the bottom of the story.

“At least we'll know for sure.”

“How do you plan to do it? Derek questioned, eyebrows furrowed. Recovering Hotch's DNA shouldn't be a problem; all you have to do is steal his mug...”

“The DNA of all FBI agents is recorded in the national database so that it can be discarded when analyzing crime scenes.”

“Thank you, Reid.”

“You're welcome,” replied the latter, as cheerful as his colleague was weary.

Morgan sighed and resumed:

“How do you plan to get Jack's DNA?”

“JJ, I thought I'd put you to work.”

“Me? Gasped the interested party, unsettled. But… how?”

“You could organize a brunch with Will where you invite them both. Henry and Jack will be happy to play together, and Aaron won't suspect a thing.”

He'd come up with this plan in the very short time between their conversations, but it seemed feasible. And, by leaning on the young woman, he thought he wouldn't arouse the giant's natural distrust, which, after their conversation, might put distance between the two of them. If only to avoid being told to do the test over and over again.

“Are we talking about the results? Intervened Penelope. What are we going to do once we get them? We're not going to tell him that Jack isn't his, even if it were true.”

“Of course not. The whole plan relies on him not knowing about the test. In fact, if it's not in his favor, we won't tell him anything – and he'll keep hoping he's his real father – and if it is in his favor, we'll be able to prove to him that Jack is really his, he unrolled before adding. And he'll be too relieved to give us the hell for doing the test behind his back.”

The profilers and the analyst watched him as if they'd just suggested bungee jumping off the Empire State Building on a windy day. They, who were so quick to pounce on the slightest crumb concerning their superior's intimate life, retreated with great strides when he offered them a scoop on a silver platter.

“Not all at once.”

They exchanged questioning glances, then JJ spoke again:

“Okay. I’m in.”

“Thanks for your support.”

As agreed, JJ invited the Hotchners, father and son, to lunch at her home one weekend, and she met Dave in his office to entrust him with the few hairs she'd been able to remove from Jack's jacket. That same evening, the agency's eldest went to the analysis laboratory, where he knew one of the employees. The woman in question was a little younger than he, and they had seen each other on occasion outside of the professional context. Intelligent and endowed with a certain charm, she didn't shy away from propriety. In private, at least; at work, it was a different story, and he was going to have to convince her to help him despite the unofficial nature of his request.

“Hi, Dave, she said with a smile as she saw him enter her den. What brings you to this part of the world?”

“I’ve got a favor to ask.”

“I thought so too,” she ironized, resting the notepad in her hand on the bench behind her.

“I'll need to look for a DNA match.”

“Which file is it for?” she inquired, activating the nearby monitor.

She settled down on the stool, ready to launch a computer search so that she could attach the results to the ongoing investigation. Rossi couldn't lie on this point, but he was equally put off by the idea of unpacking Aaron's intimate life to this scientist who was a stranger to the titan.

“It’s… confidential.”

“Are you serious right now?” she retorted immediately, swiveling her seat in his direction. 

She knew perfectly well what this formulation meant. 

“I can’t tell you more.”

“Then, I won’t do anything. These machines are worth a fortune, and we don't run them for nothing.”

He then realized that there must have been some abuse lately, and that the laboratory workers were being watched. He didn't know how it all worked in practice but wasn't surprised to hear her put the financial argument of the procedure on the table. However, he didn't trust those online sites that offered DNA tests for a fee; just as he couldn't see himself contacting an analyst in whom he didn't have absolute confidence. The hostess stared at him, waiting for further explanation.

“Okay, okay, he yielded, raising his hands in front of him. I have a friend who's convinced his kid isn't his. I'd like to prove him wrong for once.”

She frowned.

“You know this kind of bet is a double-edged sword?”

“If he's right, he won't know.”

“But you’ll know.”

“I'll deal with it, he swept with his most casual air. How soon can you get me the results?”

He handed her the sample taken by the former liaison officer. She took it and sighed, before giving him a discreet smile.

“I’ll give you a call when it’s done.”

“Thank you.”

“Wait until you get the results before thanking me.”

A week passed, during which a certain tension gripped him from morning to night, and he was relieved to see a message from the coroner appear on his phone screen. He didn't yet know what she had to tell him, but the simple fact that his mission was progressing soothed him. He left Quantico earlier that day to see her. She was in the same place as last time and handed him an unmarked envelope.

“So?” he inquired, curious all the same.

“I'll let you find out. All I can tell you is that the father has a record.”

Which, in itself, did not exclude Aaron. Indeed, shortly after he and Gideon had decided to give the young prosecutor a chance to join the fledgling BAU, the HRD's vetting department had alerted them to the fact that he had a juvenile criminal record. He and his then accomplice had asked to take a look at it, only to discover that the obviously angry pre-adolescent had abruptly mellowed out three years before coming of age, never to leave the beaten track again. And apart from a few outrages against law enforcement officers, he had committed no crime that would prevent them from hiring him. But that didn't mean he was Jack's father, either; only that Haley had messed around with someone who hadn't been above the law at some point in her life.

“… Okay. Thanks.”

He started to walk away when the scientist called out to him:

“Hey, Dave! It’s not for free.”

“What do you want?” he replied, unsurprised by her remark.

“Look at the results first, then we'll discuss about it.”

Rossi's usual plan was to go home, open the envelope and pour himself a glass of twelve-year-old whisky to celebrate the fact that he'd been right, and could therefore reassure his superior and friend. But when he found himself sitting on his sofa, with that white rectangle in his hands, he couldn't go any further. What if it wasn't him? And what if Aaron's ex-wife really had slept with someone else to have the child she so dreamed of before she played her then-husband? Or, to put it more simply – and more commonly – had she had an ongoing extramarital relationship, forgotten to take her pill, or had unprotected sex and got pregnant afterwards? She would have backed her husband into a corner to cover her tracks. Unless she slept with both of them on the same day or within a very short period of time and didn't know which one was the father. There were so many plausible hypotheses that he didn't know which to believe.

He thought he could handle knowing the truth without blinking. But now that he was within a hair's breadth of knowing it all, he realized the implications and no longer felt as serene as he had at the start of his quest. Could he still look Hotch in the eye, smile at him, and joke with him and, above all, watch him interact with Jack knowing, in fact, that they were not related at all? How long could he keep this information secret? What would the agency director's reaction be when he heard that he was right and, what's more, that his mentor had hatched a whole plan behind his back and then kept quiet about it?

The next morning, he returned to the FBI training center with the envelope still sealed in his hands. The whole team was eagerly awaiting him, huddled together in the bullpen area while their boss held yet another management meeting.

“You've got them, haven't you?” Spencer hooked him up, impatient.

“It seems so.”

“So?” bounced JJ.

He didn't answer, staring at the mail as if it were about to start talking.

“You didn't dare open the envelope, did you?” teased Derek, with a smirk.

“I'd like to see you in my shoes, kid.”

“If that’s all it takes.”

Morgan took the document from his hands, gestured to open it, and then froze. Dave took the opportunity to say:

“Think about the fact that you'll have to work alongside him knowing the truth. And perhaps this truth will have the power to destroy what little self-esteem and self-confidence he still has.”

The ex-policeman rolled his eyes and sighed before handing over his property. The novelist could have savored this victory if it hadn't brought them back to square one.

“What do we do? Should we abandon the project?” suggested the Chicago native.

“I'd love to know the results, honestly, Reid admitted, but I don't want to hurt Hotch.”

“And, at the same time, continued JJ, if this test proves that he's Jack's father, it'll take a burden off his mind.”

“So, we come back to my question: what do we do?”

Everyone casted questioning glances at each other. They wanted to help their colleague feel better, but none of them wanted to be the bearer of bad news, let alone spend the rest of their lives with the weight of the truth on their shoulders.

“In any case, there's no way I'm opening this envelope,” said Penelope, moving away from the group.

“I'll do it, decreed Dave, cheerlessly. It's my idea, and it's up to me to accept the consequences to the end.”

“But if the results are negative, does that mean you'll be willing to take on the job of reassuring him again on the matter, when you'll actually know it's wrong?” pointed out Kate, dubiously. 

“Ouch!” commented Spencer, his irises leaping from his female coworker to his elder.

He hadn't thought of that possibility either, but threw out: 

“Somebody's got to open the damn envelope.”

“Is there a problem?”

The team gasped as they heard the cavernous voice behind them. They turned as one to see their leader standing beside them. They'd been so absorbed in their discussion that they'd stopped paying attention to their surroundings. Hotch looked at them blankly for a moment, then looked at the envelope in turn.

“What is it?”

“What? Ah! Stammered Rossi, unease. Uh… these are the results of a medical test I took.”

“A test? For what?” worried the giant, his eyebrows more furrowed than usual.

“No big deal. It's more of a routine check-up.”

He had tried to adopt his most detached attitude, but the expression on his interlocutor's face proved that he had not achieved his objective.

“Dave, would you tell me if something serious was happening to you?”

“Of course, Aaron. You’d be the first to know.”

The interested party seemed even more concerned, but the ringing of a distant telephone made him look up at his desk.

“I have to go. Don’t forget to keep me in touch.”

“Everything is fine, don’t worry.”

The BAU co-founder patted Hotch on the shoulder as he walked away from them, and they watched him climb the ramp to the walkway and disappear into his office. A general sigh passed through the federal agents' rib cages.

“Are your legs shaking too?” Garcia asked, leaning on the nearest piece of furniture. 

“If it was just the legs...” confirmed the other blonde on the team.

“Well done, Rossi,” congratulates sincerely Derek, who didn't seem to mind any more than his comrades.

“Fortunately, he always worries more about others than himself.”

It would have been a lie to say that he'd thought about it when he came up with this justification, but fact was that the giant's altruism and empathy had made things much easier for him.

“We might have to open that envelope now,” Callahan snapped, curious in spite of everything.

“Wish me good luck.”

Dave followed in Hotch's footsteps, but continued on his way to his own workspace, next to that of the colossus in the suit. He sat back in his chair and placed the envelope on his desk pad. He was afraid. Afraid to open the envelope and learn the truth. Afraid of condemning himself to silence for an indeterminate time. Afraid of having to lie for the rest of his life about the true nature of the bond between his friend and the boy he hoped would be his son. Afraid to face Aaron's scrutinizing gaze every time his insecurities resurfaced.

                He knew that the man behind the wall behind his back hadn't chased fatherhood – his difficult childhood hadn't encouraged him to extend the lineage – but that he adored Jack, nonetheless. More than that, the former pensioner was convinced that if the little boy hadn't existed, Aaron probably wouldn't have found the strength to overcome all the hardships he'd been forced to endure. Without the toddler, he'd never have recovered from the death of the only woman he'd ever loved. He hung in there because there was a four-year-old who needed him. Then, little by little, he had gained confidence in his new role as a single father and, year after year, he had even managed to overcome his grief to the point of getting back together as a couple.

                To reveal to him that Jack was not of his blood was to set him back almost a decade and annihilate all the efforts he'd made up to that point. It was tarnishing – ruining – the last nine years of his life, just as Haley had soiled their twenty-five years together by cheating on him and then filing for divorce. Dave hadn't been there for the birth of their child, but he'd been there for everything else, and he wasn't at all happy to destroy it. On the contrary, he really wanted to help his neighbor relieve his conscience of at least one of his anxieties. And for that, he had no choice but to throw himself into the lion's den.

He took a deep breath and picked up the envelope. So as not to back down again, he didn't wait to open it and extract the tri-fold sheet it contained. The paper was thick enough that nothing could be read from the outside. With his heart pounding against his ribs, he slowly unfolded the letter: first flap first, with the date, title, and laboratory logo; then the next two, clearly displaying the results. A long exhale escaped his lips.  

A few moments later, the profilers saw their colleague cross the few meters separating his door from that of the manager. He had a serious look on his face. He knocked to signal his presence to Hotch, still on the line, who beckoned him in anyway.

“Listen, I understand your concerns, but my team is used to this kind of situation and... Yes, even agent Callahan… he affirmed, rolling his eyes. I don't think this information will be of any use to you... Very well, we'll discuss it in person... Of course… And I'll get back to you as soon as possible... Have a good day too.”

He hung up immediately afterwards and turned his gaze on Rossi, who was standing in front of him.

“Something tells me you're not going to answer them right away,” Dave said with a smirk.

“I have no idea why you would think that.”

“Intuition.”

They smiled in unison, then his superior became serious again.

“What can I do for you?”

“Read this.”

He placed the envelope on his desk.

“These are your medical results, he remarked, confused. It’s private.”

“You wanted to know if I was okay. You'll find the answer in here.”

“Why won’t you tell me?”

“Aaron, open this letter, please.”

Disconcerted by his insistence, the giant obeyed, not without some hesitation. His perplexity gave way to annoyance, however, when he read the document's subject.

“You did a DNA test?” he scolded, glaring at him.

“Keep reading.”

Hotch gulped. He was hesitating, logically. He hadn't asked to know because he didn't want to know. He didn't want to lose the person he loved most in the world. He didn't want to be reduced to a wallet on legs for Jack. Dave understood his reluctance, so he made sure to appear as relaxed as possible. Finally, the branch manager applied himself and unfolded the entire sheet. The features of his face suddenly distorted. Anger vanished and a daze overtook him. Then tears rolled silently down his cheeks.

“I’ll leave you to it. You know where to find me.”

Rossi left the office, leaving his tenant in shock, and rejoined the group that had gathered at the bottom of the ramp. Penelope had emerged from her lair and was watching him walk towards them, her eyes shining.

“So?” she asked, in chorus with JJ.

“It’s a boy.”

Relief and joy took hold of the whole assembly, which found itself smiling and colorful once again.

“Are we sure?” wished to clarify Derek.

“Yes, the match is there.”

“I've got to go and give him a hug!” stomped Garcia, tears of happiness escaping from behind her glasses.

“Penelope, give him time. He's got a few years' worth of doubts to sweep under the rug right now.”

“I'm so happy for him,” declared JJ, moved.

“Me too,” toped up Spencer, grinning from ear to ear.

“I don't know him as well as you do, but I must admit I'm relieved,” revealed Kate, who shared her peers' elation.

“Here he is!”

At the analyst's exclamation, all eyes turned to the manager's office from which Hotch had actually emerged. Letter in hand, he walked slowly towards them, a neutral expression on his face. The general jubilation subsided into discreet smiles. Their superior froze in front of them, and the tension spread to Dave and his neighbors. By having this test done without his knowledge, he had trampled on his privacy, something the giant abhorred. Whenever his men had started poking around in this area, he had always reacted very badly. It was probably the only thing that made him bang his fist on the table about them. Except that this time was different from all the others. He spread his arms and embraced his mentor, saying:

“Thank you.”

“Mazel tov,” exclamed the latter, responding to his embrace with a few friendly pats on the back.

“I'll never know how to thank you.”

“Stop doubting yourself.”

The titan smiled and detached himself from him, but not without keeping a hand on his shoulder. Rossi was delighted to see him so happy. He had succeeded in his gamble. His colleagues approached in turn, and Morgan extended his hand in the direction of the man he'd had to replace at short notice years earlier.

“Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” answered Aaron, squeezing his palm.

JJ was the next to congratulate him, but she allowed herself to give him a hug. Garcia then threw herself at him, her red cheeks bathed in tears. 

“I am so, so, so happy for you! You have no idea.”

“Thank you, Penelope.”

Spencer dared an awkward embrace, offset by the radiant, confident smile that lit up his youthful features. Callahan waited for Hotch to face her before speaking:

“If all your affairs are resolved like this, I'll sign on for the next ten years.”

“I'll make a note of it, replied the ex-prosecutor, amused, before he regained his seriousness by enveloping them with his gaze. I… I should be mad at you for going behind my back, but...”

The end of his sentence disappeared into limbo, his smile revealing the depth of his thought. Dave guessed that he was a little embarrassed to be the center of attention, but that he wanted to share this moment of joy with them.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” said Reid, proudly.  

They all burst out laughing, dispelling the pressure that had been building up.

“How did you get Jack’s DNA, by the way?... Oh, the brunch,” he realized all by himself.

“Sorry,” apologized the culprit.

“Well done.”

JJ immediately blushed, touched by the compliment.

“Well. Clearly, I owe someone a meal now,” he stated as the team filed out of the open plan to retrieve their respective places, and he and Aaron returned to their desks.

“To who?”

“To the coroner who performed the test.”

“If that's all there is to it, just make an expense claim. I'll validate it with my eyes closed,” assured the colossus, ecstatic.

“It’ll be fine, he answered, laughing. Thanks.”

He squeezed the shoulder of his friend and, by now, official family man, before resuming his day's work. Curiously, despite the harsh news they received by email that day, the same calm smile remained on the lips of the BAU agents.

___

I'm still alive! Actually, I put my other works on hiatus just to write this for Father's day (which was last sunday in France), and I'm now back working on three CM AU at the same time. Yes, three. I'm crazy. XD

Well, I hope you've enjoyed your journey. ^^

PS: Yes, I know "Mazel tov" doesn't mean "congratulations" and Aaron knows it too, but Dave is always so cheerful when he's using it that he never told him that he's wrong. ^^;