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gothic-hotchreid · 2 days ago

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paper clips and first meetings.

the elevator gave a soft chime as the doors opened onto the quiet sixth floor. evening light filtered through the high windows of the bau bullpen, casting everything in that soft, golden hush reserved for near-emptiness. most of the desks were unoccupied, computer screens dark, swivel chairs slightly askew as if still holding the echoes of the agents who’d left for the day. the air was calmer now, the noise of ringing phones and urgent footsteps replaced by the occasional hum of fluorescent lights and the muffled sound of footsteps far down the hall.

emily stepped out, her keys in one hand, her sister balanced on the opposite hip. aria was warm and slightly messy from daycare — the end-of-day kind of clingy that settled into her limbs like molasses. she had one arm looped lazily around emily’s shoulder, the other still clutching the little blue blanket she insisted on bringing everywhere. she was quiet, but alert in the way small children often are in new spaces, her dark eyes sweeping over the dimmed bullpen with curiosity.

“just grabbing some papers,” emily murmured as they passed the glass railing. “then we’re going home, okay? i promise.”

aria didn’t say much — she rarely did in new places, before she took it all in. but her head turned to follow the soft sound of a printer warming somewhere, her thumb drifting near her lips before she tucked it back under the blanket instead. she trusted emily, and for now, that was enough.

they walked toward emily’s desk, still neatly kept from earlier in the day. a few case folders were stacked where she’d left them, a single sticky note curling at the corner. emily let out a quiet sigh of relief, shifting aria as she reached to set the files in order.

“all right,” she said softly, already lowering aria into the office chair beside the desk. “sit here for one minute while emmy grabs the folder. look, you see who that is?” she pointed toward the small photo frame on her desk, angled just slightly toward her keyboard.

aria blinked at it, then beamed. it was one of emily’s favorites — a candid from a sunday morning a few months back, aria tucked under a blanket on the couch, looking up at emily with her hair a complete mess and her eyes wide, clutching a bottle like it was gold. another photo nearby showed her a little younger, asleep in emily’s lap during a flight. aria reached for the frame immediately, her small hands a little clumsy but careful.

“’dat’s me,” she whispered proudly.

“that’s you,” emily smiled, crouching down to pick up the folder she needed from the drawer below. “and that one, too. you’re kind of a big deal around here,” emily said softly, resting a hand at the back of aria’s head as her daughter clutched the framed photo tighter and gave a satisfied little nod.

“me,” aria whispered again, just to hear it aloud. her lips curled slightly around the word, her thumb now pressed to the edge of the blanket near her chin.

emily smiled at that—because it was true. everyone on the team knew her. knew of her, at least. she’d become part of emily’s presence in the office without even being here most days. a name spoken in passing, a photo swapped in a wallet, the way emily’s phone would light up with a video from daycare at the worst moment of a case and suddenly the whole mood would change. even morgan had started calling her ‘emily’s boss’.

aria leaned forward a little now, pointing. “dat’s me too.”

“that is. it’s your halloween photo,” emily replied. “you wouldn’t take the kitty ears off for three days.”

aria hummed, delighted with herself, and began reaching for the other frames too. emily turned to the stack of papers and quickly scanned through. most of the file was intact, but—she paused—there was one section she remembered tucking into jj’s inbox earlier that morning. probably still sitting right there, waiting.

“okay,” she murmured under her breath. “i need to run to jj’s office for just a second.”

aria looked up quickly, her entire little body alert at the mention of leaving.

“no no,” emily soothed, already pulling open the drawer beside her desk. “you’re staying here, baby. emmy’s just going right there and back. i’ll be thirty-seven seconds. maybe thirty-nine.”

aria frowned, still holding the photo frame in one hand. emily dumped a palmful of paper clips onto the surface of the desk—bright silver, slightly jumbled—and nudged them into a pile.

“i need your help with something,” she said, in that soft, serious tone that meant business to a toddler. “can you count these for me while i’m gone? every single one. and if you finish too fast, you start again.”

aria’s mouth parted like she might protest, but her gaze had already shifted to the pile.

“count?” she asked carefully.

“mmhmm,” emily confirmed, adjusting her in the chair so her legs dangled comfortably. she handed her one of the chunky pens from the cup beside the monitor too, just in case she decided to draw instead. “you’re my big helper. keep the desk safe, and i’ll be right back.”

aria nodded solemnly and poked one paper clip. “one.”

“there you go,” emily murmured with a small grin, brushing a kiss across the top of her head before walking toward jj’s office just past the bullpen glass.

she moved quickly—she had no doubt aria would keep counting, but only for so long. toddlers had a strict internal clock for independence, and emily knew hers was ticking the second she stepped away.

“two. free.. fo’..,” aria whispered, her small fingers working carefully to line the paper clips in a row. she tapped each one with her index finger, brows knit in quiet concentration. then—one slipped. it clinked softly off the edge of the desk and dropped to the floor. aria paused.

“uh ohs,” she said, breathy and small.

she glanced around, her eyes wide for just a second. when no one appeared, she slid down from the desk chair with a practiced wobble, blanket trailing like a tail behind her. her knees hit the ground with a soft thump, and she picked the paper clip up carefully, closing it tight in her fist. but as she turned to climb back up, her eye caught another—two, actually—just under the edge of another desk nearby.

spencer’s.

without hesitation, she stood. fast. toddler-fast, where balance is still a gamble, but determination wins. she tottered forward in her socks — since she kicked her shoes off the second she got in emily’s car, blanket still clutched in one hand, the rescued paper clip in the other. her little legs carried her in a straight line, no hesitation, eyes focused on the metal glint under the chair leg.

she didn’t see the woman rounding the corner. didn’t see the heels. but she felt the stop. a soft thud. aria collided straight into the front of someone’s legs.

she stumbled slightly, but before she could fall back, a steady hand reached out gently and caught her arm—not tight, just enough to steady her.

aria blinked up.

erin strauss stood over her, perfectly composed, her expression unreadable for only the briefest second—before it shifted.

because the child who’d run into her did not cry. did not shrink back or startle or even look afraid. instead, she looked up with big, nearly black eyes, one fist still closed around a single paper clip, the other hand gripping a worn blue blanket. her cheeks were flushed from movement, her little mouth parted in surprise, but her voice—when she spoke—was soft and steady.

“i ah-ee-yah,” she said quietly.

i’m aria.

the name came out a little sticky at the edges, toddler-style. but it was clear, and it was offered freely. strauss stood frozen for a breath longer than necessary. her gaze swept over the girl—her silky hair, the wrinkled from the day jumper, the way her socks were bunched at the heel. then back to her face.

and something in strauss, for all her rigidity and structure and long history of walls, visibly softened. she crouched slowly, knees creaking a little in her slacks, until she was eye level.

“it’s aria? your name,” she repeated, her voice lower now. not sharp. not clipped. just even.

aria nodded once, seriously. then, very solemnly, she opened her tiny fist and held out the paper clip.

“it f’ell,” she explained.

strauss blinked. and something—maybe amusement, maybe awe—tugged at the corners of her mouth, just briefly.

“i see that,” strauss said gently, eyes flicking to the tiny hand now holding out the paper clip with such purpose. “you’re very thorough.”

aria blinked up at her again, like she was still deciding whether this woman was a real person or not. her hair was already slipping loose from the small sprig emily had tried to make stick this morning, and her blanket had half-dragged through whatever dust lived beneath reid’s desk. but she stood tall, the way she always did when she was trying to be big.

“it f’ell,” she repeated, then added, “i fix’d it.”

“that’s a good skill,” strauss murmured, head tilting slightly. “do you fix lots of things?”

aria considered that with all the gravity of a courtroom witness.

“tometimes,” she said. “i fix bunny. an..puzzle. but not… not juice.”

“no?” strauss asked, curious now. genuinely this was the lightest part of her day. “what happened with the juice?”

aria shook her head solemnly, lowering her hand. “i spilled. it go ev’rywhere. emmy say oh—oh no—so loud. but i c’ean it. most.”

strauss pressed her lips together, not to hide judgment—but to keep from smiling. she nodded, serious now.

“most is still impressive.”

aria puffed up slightly, pleased, then added, “i help. lots. i count’d.”

“you counted?”

aria pointed back to emily’s desk, her eyes wide with the pride of someone who’d just finished a major assignment. “da ‘clips. one, two, free, and… seben. no. six.”

“ah,” strauss nodded. “a very tricky number.”

aria nodded back, like they were in perfect agreement. and then—quiet footsteps behind them. a brisk pace.

emily.

“aria?” she called again, slightly breathless now, turning the corner just as aria turned to look. emily’s eyes went wide at the sight in front of her—her sister standing directly in front of erin strauss, not crying, not hiding, not clinging—but just standing there like she belonged.

“oh my god—” emily crossed the bullpen fast, file in one hand, the other already reaching. “i’m so sorry. i thought she was still in the chair. i was gone for two seconds—well, thirty-nine—but really it felt like maybe sixty—”

“prentiss,” strauss said quietly, rising to stand again, one hand gesturing gently to slow her down. “it’s alright.”

emily stopped mid-step, blinking. “you’re—i’m?”

“we were just talking,” strauss said, folding her arms lightly. “aria and i have been discussing project management. and the limits of juice containment.”

emily stared for a second. then looked down at aria, who was already reaching for her sister’s leg with one hand while still holding her blanket like a badge of honor.

“you left your post,” emily said quietly, crouching to her level. “you were supposed to be my desk security.”

aria made a soft sound of guilt. “saw ‘clips. an’ got it.”

emily exhaled slowly, brushing her thumb under aria’s chin. “you did, huh?”

aria nodded again, then looked back up at strauss, still curious but no longer afraid. her small voice rose again, quieter now: “big.”

emily followed her gaze, then turned back toward strauss with a quick breath. “aria, this is erin strauss. she’s my boss. she’s one of the big bosses.”

aria, now resting her head against emily’s shoulder, turned her eyes back to strauss and whispered, “hi, boss.”

and strauss, who was so rarely caught off guard, blinked once and said quietly—almost kindly—

“hello, aria. you have excellent manners.”

“’m two,” aria added softly, like that explained it all. her fingers wigging with the struggle of trying to get only two fingers to stay up.

“that’s even more impressive,” strauss murmured. then she turned to emily again. “i didn’t expect to run into you this evening.”

“i could say the same,” emily said, adjusting aria on her hip. “i just needed the file i left on my desk.. didn’t mean to cause… a scene.”

“you didn’t,” strauss said simply. “she’s… she’s lovely.”

emily’s brows lifted just slightly, but her voice was warm when she answered. she just wasn’t used to this version of erin in front of her.

“she is,” emily said, her hand settling against aria’s back—steady, familiar, the way it always did when she could feel aria start to fold in.

only—she wasn’t folding in. aria’s head wasn’t tucked under emily’s chin the way it usually was when strangers were near. she wasn’t shy or squirming, or whispering against emily’s shoulder like she sometimes did when overwhelmed. instead, she was still holding that worn blue blanket in one hand, fingers gently fisting it at the edge—but her gaze was level, her eyes wide and curious. she was looking right at erin strauss.

emily blinked, realizing it all at once. aria wasn’t hiding. aria had introduced herself. had answered questions. had talked. emily kept her voice even, but something shifted behind her ribs.

aria hardly spoke to anyone the first time she met them. even in daycare, she needed weeks. and yet, here she was—standing in her socks in the middle of the bau, talking to erin strauss like she’d known her since breakfast.

emily adjusted her grip slightly, tucking the folder under one arm, the other wrapping protectively around her daughter’s waist.

“we’ll get out of your way,” she said softly, offering strauss the faintest smile. “have a good night.”

aria looked over her shoulder, resting her head on emily’s. but just before emily turned to go, aria shifted again. she peeked back over the fabric of emily’s shirt and raised one small hand in a gentle wave.

“buh-bye, boss,” she said simply. sleepily. kindly.

emily froze, just for half a breath. her eyes flicked down to aria, then to strauss—caught completely off guard. strauss was startled by it more than she let show—felt her mouth tug into the smallest curve of something like a smile. she nodded toward aria.

“goodbye, aria,” she said gently. “well done today.”

aria gave a sleepy blink. nestled her face against emily’s collarbone. and with that, they disappeared down the hall, emily’s steps measured and soft, the hush of the bullpen returning as the echo of their exit faded behind them.

the quiet hung there for a beat longer than it needed to. strauss stood still, the click of her heels now silent. then, she turned toward emily’s desk. she didn’t touch anything at first. just looked. at the chair still slightly askew from where aria had slipped down. at the little trail of paper clips across the desk. at the small photo frames lined in a row—two of them now off-center from being handled by toddler hands.

strauss reached forward. she straightened the nearest frame—the halloween one, aria in cat ears and a crooked grin, seated in what looked like a blanket fort. the photo beside it had slid forward slightly in its stand. she fixed that too. then, without a word, she used two fingers to brush the stray paper clips back into the ceramic cup beside the monitor.

a quiet task. not something anyone would notice. but she did it carefully. purposefully. because for a long time, she hadn’t thought this kind of life belonged in the bau. but there it had just been. arms full of blanket and paper clips and a soft, sleepy girl who whispered “hi, boss,” like it was the most natural thing in the world.

maybe it was.

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gothic-hotchreid · 9 days ago

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Your Blood, My Salvation

word count: 1.5k

warnings: graphic injury, blood drinking, consensual bloodletting, self-loathing

Spencer didn’t remember much after the bullet ripped through his side.

The world had merged into sensation and heat, the coppery smell of his own lifesblood heavy in the musky air of the motel. There’d been shouts, the sharp bangs of gunfire, his own ragged breathing pulling uselessly through his lungs. And pain– god, the pain was bright and burning, lightning racing through every nerve as he collapsed behind the couch they’d flipped for cover previously.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been shot. It wasn’t even the worst injury he’d sustained on the job. But this– this was different. His body was already starting to heal, but sluggishly, far too slow for what he needed to live. The blood loss alone wouldn’t kill him, but paired with the silver-tipped rounds the unsub had been using, there was a very real possibility.

Silver. Not enough to kill outright, but enough to make cellular regeneration almost suffocatingly slow. Like mercury poisoning on a molecular level, seeping into everything, weighing his cells down with their own burning death.

His vision blurred at the edges. The hunger clawed up through his throat like an old enemy.

It had been millennia since he’d tasted living blood.

Not since the fall of the Roman Empire, not since marble temples and blood sacrifices, not since languages lost to history and cities crumbled to dust. Not since wars and emperors, kingdoms rising and falling, dust and echoes and bones.

He had sworn never to feed from a living person again.

The bags he stole from hospitals, trauma centers, blood banks– they sustained him. Barely. Enough to remain himself. Enough to walk among humans unnoticed, to pass for something fragile and breakable and harmless. But he knew it couldn’t save him this time. Synthetic storage, anticoagulants, refrigerated for god knows how long– all of it dulled the potency. Refrigerated blood was calories without nutrients.

What he needed was fresh.

And he’d sooner burn himself alive in the sun than ask for it.

But Hotch knew.

Aaron was the only one who ever saw him fully– the hunger, the restraint, the centuries of isolation wound into his very being. He saw the scholar, the genius, the immortal, and he never flinched.

And now he saw Spencer still, bleeding out on the linoleum floor. Aaron was kneeling over his body, his trembling hands pressing against Spencer’s abdomen to keep his insides from spilling out.

“Stay with me,” Aaron murmured, voice steady in a way that meant I’m falling apart but you won’t see it. His hands were hot and stained crimson. “Help is coming.”

Spencer’s lips parted, a soft gasp escaping as his eyes desperately blinked, trying to force the world into focus. His skin was pale. Paler than usual, at least, but that made the darkness in Spencer’s eyes more noticeable. It wasn’t just pain or the loss of blood.

It was hunger.

Hotch could see it in his eyes, that deep gnawing hunger Spencer spent every waking moment fighting. There were blood bags, always in the fridge in the office fridge, tucked behind the yogurts in Rossi’s house, even in a freezer bag in Morgan’s SUV. They were everywhere.

Everywhere but here.

He opened his mouth to speak again but Spencer’s weak whisper cut him off.

“No. Don’t.”

“Spencer, we don’t have time for pride.”

“It’s not–” Spencer coughed, droplets of red sputtering out of his mouth. “It’s not pride.”

It was shame.

It was need.

He hadn’t crossed that line since he was turned, since that monster inside of him had taken a human life before they could even scream. He never wanted to feel that soft pulse fading under his lips again, to taste the difference between clinical bags, and something alive.

It would be so easy to lose himself.

Aaron knew it too.

“I’m offering,” Hotch said, like it was nothing, like it wasn’t the greatest temptation Spencer had ever faced. Like he wasn’t kneeling between Spencer’s legs, holding him together with his bare hands, offering his life like it was no heavier than offering him a ride home.

That was what made it worse. Aaron didn’t understand what this was. Didn’t understand what it would feel like to lose that last shred of humanity and replace it with teeth and hunger and–

“Don’t.”

Aaron’s eyes softened at the quiet plea. “You need it.”

“I wont–” Spencer’s voice cracked. “I can’t. I don’t know if i can stop. I haven’t– I haven’t fed from a living source in–”

"Nearly two thousand years,” Aaron said gently, “I know. You told me.”

“I’m scared.” Spencer admitted, his breath coming in short panicked gasps. “I’m scared i’ll lose control. I’m scared I’ll hurt you. I’m scared i’ll kill you.”

But, to Spencer’s complete disbelief, Hotch didn’t hesitate. Not for a moment.

“Then I’ll stop you. I trust you with my life, Spence. I always have.”

Aaron shifted, wiping his bloody hand against his trouser leg to clean it as best he could. And then he reached into his tactical belt, pulled out his knife, and with those same steady hands that held Spencer together, cut a shallow line across the side of his own neck.

Spencer’s breath hitched, horror warring with need, and before he could even open his mouth to protest, Aaron lifted a finger to the welling blood, swiped it through the thin line, and smeared it gently across Spencer’s lower lip.

“You won’t ask,” Aaron murmured. “So I’m offering.”

The sharp coppery tang of Aaron’s blood touched his lip– and Spencer was almost embarrassed at how his body reacted.

Predatory instincts long since buried in a lonely shame flared to a violent clarity. His senses sharpened instantly, vision refocusing so quickly it made him dizzy. Every hair on his arms stood on end, muscles twitching involuntarily.

One drop.

It was like feeding gasoline to a dying fire.

His hands shot out, fists clenching into Aaron’s vest in a blur of movement that made his injury scream, dragging Hotch closer overrode everything rational in his mind. Spencer’s lips parted, tongue darting out to sweep over the cut.

And god–

It was better than he’d ever dared himself to imagine.

Warm. Sweet. He could taste the oxygen flooding Aaron's bloodstream with every breath he took. It was surreal.

His tongue swept over the cut again, trembling, shaking, just holding on– but the demon inside of him was screaming at him to take it, take it, take it—

And suddenly, with a broken sob, Spencer tore his lips away.

“I said don’t!” he snapped, almost snarling with some mix of betrayal and self-loathing. His voice echoed off the motel walls, rage and terror twisting into something feral.

“I told you not to. I told you I can’t. You don’t– you don’t understand what you’re asking me to do–”

But, like always, Aaron didn’t flinch, didn’t scare away from the venom in Spencer’s voice.

“I might not understand, but i’m not going to let you die for a promise you made two thousand years ago.”

Spencer’s head shook frantically, curls sticking to the sweat and blood across his forehead. His hands still gripping Aaron’s vest, knuckles white, torn between shoving him away and pulling him closer.

“I can’t, Aaron–”

“You can, and you will.”

Before Spencer could stop him, before the shred of humanity could scream another refusal, Aaron moved. His hand came up, gentle but firm, curling around the back of Spencer’s neck, fingers threading into his damp hair, holding him close.

“I trust you,” Aaron whispered against his temple. “I’ve always trusted you. Let me help you.”

The words cracked something deep in Spencer’s chest.

Help me.

No-one had helped him in centuries. They’d fought him, feared him, worshipped him, hunted him– but help?

Then Aaron leaned closer, until his lips brushed his ear, the cut still bleeding slowly between them, painting Spencer’s lips red.

“You’re not a monster,” Aaron whispered. “You’re mine.”

That broke the little restraint Spencer had left. But this time it wasn’t a frenzy. It wasn’t madness.

With a broken moan, Spencer shifted forward, burying his face against Aaron’s throat, fangs descending slightly to widen the cut.

Aaron’s fingers stayed wrapped in his hair, thumb stroking slow circles against his scalp to soothe him.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

The blood hit Spencer’s tongue, flooding him with heat that pushed back the cold numbness on his fingertips. He could feel it– the slow stitch of tissue knitting itself back together, his own bleeding falling to a complete halt, the pain subsiding into nothingness.

Aaron was murmuring reassurances the whole time, a stream of quiet affection Spencer barely processed but he was beyond grateful it was there. You’re safe. I’m here. That’s it.

He didn’t feel evil, or violent.

He was cared for.

Held together by hands he didn’t deserve– not physically anymore but emotionally. Hands that belonged to a man whose love overshadowed any modicum of fear.

For the first time since the night of his turning when he first looked down at the body in his hands, the life he’d stolen, and called himself a monster–

–for the first time in two thousand years–

He didn’t feel like one.

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