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lucvangogh · 2 months ago

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"in the Shadows"

Aaron Hotchner x male OC

Chapter 6 + 7 + 8 (last chapter)

Chapter 6

Aaron Hotchner had always been good at compartmentalizing. The ability to lock away emotions and focus on the job was what made him an exceptional agent. But Elias had always been the exception, the one thing he could never quite put away. And now, after everything, Elias was back in his life—not physically, not yet, but his presence loomed like a shadow over every step Hotch took.

He was still staring at the list Garcia had uncovered. His name was at the top, but Jack’s was there too. Alongside Morgan’s family, Prentiss’ brother, JJ’s son. Whoever was pulling the strings now wasn’t just continuing Elias’ work. They were escalating.

“Garcia,” Hotch said, voice low but steady. “Who else has access to this list?”

Her face was tight with stress as she shook her head. “It was uploaded through a secure channel, but there are no digital fingerprints. This is someone with high-level clearance—or someone who knows how to bypass it.”

Hotch’s grip on the paper tightened. “And Elias?”

Garcia swallowed hard. “I checked. He’s still in federal custody. No recorded communications except with his lawyer, and even that’s been monitored.”

“But he’s involved,” Morgan said grimly, arms crossed. “You saw Rebecca’s face before she died. She wasn’t leading this; she was following orders.”

Hotch already knew where this was leading. “I have to talk to him.”

The team fell silent. Prentiss was the first to break it. “You sure about that?”

“No,” Hotch admitted. “But I don’t have a choice.”

The drive to the prison was suffocatingly silent. Hotch had prepared himself for this, yet the moment he stepped into the cold, sterile visiting room, the old wariness crept in.

Elias was already waiting.

Dressed in an orange jumpsuit, shackled at the wrists, he looked different. Leaner, sharper. But his eyes, the way they latched onto Hotch with that knowing intensity, were the same.

“Aaron,” Elias greeted smoothly, lips tilting in a smirk. “I was wondering when you’d visit.”

Hotch didn’t waste time. “Who else is involved?”

Elias sighed, shaking his head as if disappointed. “Straight to business. No ‘How have you been, Elias?’ No ‘Do you regret getting caught?’”

Hotch’s patience was razor-thin. “Names. Now.”

Elias chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “You already know the answer. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”

Hotch’s jaw clenched. “Rebecca Cole. She had your admiration. She also had my son tied to a chair before she bled out on a warehouse floor.”

Elias tsked softly. “Poor Rebecca. She always did have a flair for the dramatic.”

Hotch pushed forward. “There’s more of them.”

Elias tilted his head. “Of course. You don’t think this is just about me, do you? You think I planned this all alone?” He let out a quiet laugh. “Aaron, there are people out there who see what we had—what we still have—and they believe in it.”

Hotch felt something cold coil in his chest. “What we had was a lie.”

Elias leaned forward then, shackles clinking as his voice dropped to something dangerously soft. “Was it?”

Hotch forced himself to remain still. “They’re coming after my team.”

“I know.”

That admission sent a sharp wave of anger through Hotch. “Then give me names.”

Elias exhaled slowly. “You know how this works, Aaron. Give me something in return.”

Hotch narrowed his eyes. “You want something from me?”

Elias smiled. “I always have.”

Hotch knew the game Elias was playing, but he didn’t have time for it. “What do you want?”

Elias studied him, as if debating how much he could push. Then he leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me you missed me.”

Hotch didn’t flinch. “I didn’t.”

Elias let out a soft chuckle. “Liar.”

Hotch’s fingers curled against the table. “Who is leading them now?”

Elias hummed, as if considering. “Her name is Olivia Grayson. She’s smarter than Rebecca. More patient. She won’t make the same mistakes.”

Garcia had found nothing on the name. Hotch knew Elias was testing him. “Where is she?”

Elias smiled. “I don’t know. But she knows you.” He tilted his head, voice dipping lower. “And she knows what you mean to me.”

Hotch felt his stomach drop. Olivia Grayson wasn’t just coming after him.

She was coming for Elias, too.

Back at the BAU, Garcia had already begun the deep dive into Olivia Grayson. “She’s a ghost,” she admitted, fingers flying across her keyboard. “No official records, no employment history, no known associates—” She paused, eyes widening. “Wait. Oh, that’s not good.”

Hotch stepped closer. “What?”

“She had a visitor’s pass.” Garcia turned the screen toward them. “To Elias’ trial.”

The grainy security footage showed a woman seated in the back row, face partially obscured. But the posture, the attention she gave Elias—it was clear.

“She was there for him,” Prentiss said quietly.

“She’s been planning this since the beginning,” Morgan added.

Hotch exhaled slowly, the pieces falling into place. Elias wasn’t the mastermind anymore.

He was the target.

Hours later, Hotch sat in his office, staring at the evidence in front of him. Olivia Grayson had spent years watching Elias, studying him. And now, she had turned her attention to Hotch.

His phone buzzed. A text.

“It was never just about him, Aaron.”

Then another.

“You were always part of the plan.”

Hotch clenched his jaw, his mind already racing through every possible move.

Elias had drawn him in, manipulated him. But this? This was something else.

And he wasn’t going to let it happen again.

Chapter 7

The weight of the past few days pressed heavily on Aaron Hotchner’s shoulders as he sat in his office, the dim light casting long shadows across the room. The case had taken a toll on him, more than he cared to admit. Elias Vance’s influence was like a poison, seeping into every corner of his life, and now, with Olivia Grayson in the picture, the stakes had escalated to a level he hadn’t anticipated. He stared at the text messages on his phone, the words burning into his mind.

“It was never just about him, Aaron.”

“You were always part of the plan.”

Hotch exhaled slowly, running a hand over his face. He had always prided himself on his ability to compartmentalize, to push emotions aside and focus on the task at hand. But Elias had always been the exception. Even now, locked away in a federal prison, Elias’ presence loomed over him like a dark cloud, and Olivia Grayson was the storm threatening to break.

The door to his office creaked open, and Derek Morgan stepped in, his expression grim. “We’ve got a lead on Olivia Grayson,” he said, holding up a file. “Garcia managed to trace some of her movements. She’s been moving between safe houses, but there’s a pattern. She’s heading south.”

Hotch straightened, his focus sharpening. “Where?”

“Virginia,” Morgan replied. “Near the border. Garcia’s working on narrowing it down, but it looks like she’s setting up something big. We need to move fast.”

Hotch nodded, already reaching for his coat. “Get the team together. We’re heading out.”

The drive to Virginia was tense, the silence in the SUV thick with unspoken tension. Hotch sat in the passenger seat, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his mind racing through every possible scenario. Olivia Grayson was smart, methodical, and patient. She had been watching Elias for years, studying him, and now she had turned her attention to Hotch. He couldn’t afford to underestimate her.

Morgan glanced at him from the driver’s seat. “You think she’s working alone?”

Hotch shook his head. “No. She’s got followers, just like Elias did. People who believe in whatever twisted ideology she’s selling. We need to be prepared for anything.”

In the backseat, Emily Prentiss leaned forward. “What’s the endgame here? If she’s not just after you, what’s she trying to accomplish?”

Hotch’s jaw tightened. “She’s trying to finish what Elias started. But it’s not just about me. It’s about proving something—that she’s better than him, that she can succeed where he failed.”

Morgan’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “And what’s that?”

Hotch hesitated, his mind flashing back to Elias’ words in the prison. *“You were always part of the plan.”* He didn’t want to believe it, but the truth was staring him in the face. “She’s trying to break me. To prove that she can do what Elias couldn’t—destroy me, and everything I care about.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. The team knew what was at stake. This wasn’t just another case. This was personal.

By the time they reached the coordinates Garcia had provided, the sun was beginning to set, casting an eerie orange glow over the landscape. The safe house was a secluded cabin deep in the woods, surrounded by dense trees and a narrow dirt road leading up to it. Hotch stepped out of the SUV, his gun drawn, his senses on high alert.

“We’ll approach from the sides,” he said, his voice low. “Morgan, Prentiss, take the back. Reid, JJ, with me. Stay sharp—she’s expecting us.”

The team moved in silence, their training kicking in as they closed in on the cabin. Hotch’s heart pounded in his chest, but his hands were steady. He had to be. For Jack. For his team. For himself.

As they reached the front door, Hotch signaled for Reid and JJ to cover him as he pushed it open, his gun raised. The cabin was dark, the only light coming from the fading sun through the windows. The air was thick with the scent of dust and decay, and the silence was deafening.

“Clear,” Hotch murmured, stepping inside. The team followed, their guns sweeping the room as they moved through the cabin. It was empty, but the signs of recent activity were everywhere—discarded food wrappers, a half-empty bottle of water, a laptop left open on the table.

Hotch moved to the laptop, his eyes narrowing as he saw the screen. It was a live feed, showing a dimly lit room. In the center of the room was a chair, and tied to it was a figure—Elias Vance.

Hotch’s breath caught in his throat. Elias looked gaunt, his face pale and drawn, but his eyes were as sharp as ever. He was staring directly into the camera, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

“Aaron,” Elias’ voice came through the laptop’s speakers, smooth and calm. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Hotch’s grip on the laptop tightened. “Where is she, Elias?”

Elias chuckled, the sound sending a chill down Hotch’s spine. “Oh, she’s close. But you already knew that, didn’t you? You’ve always been so good at figuring things out.”

Hotch’s jaw clenched. “What’s her plan?”

Elias leaned back in the chair, his chains rattling softly. “You know, Aaron, I’ve always admired your determination. But you’re asking the wrong questions.”

Hotch’s patience was wearing thin. “Then tell me the right ones.”

Elias’ smirk widened. “Ask me why I let her take me.”

The words hit Hotch like a punch to the gut. He had been so focused on Olivia Grayson that he hadn’t stopped to consider why Elias, a man who had always been in control, would allow himself to be captured. Unless…

“You wanted this,” Hotch said, his voice low. “You wanted her to take you.”

Elias’ eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “Very good, Aaron. You’re starting to see the bigger picture.”

Hotch’s mind raced. If Elias had allowed himself to be taken, it meant he had a plan. But what? And how did Olivia Grayson fit into it?

Before he could ask, the laptop screen flickered, and the feed cut to another room. This time, it was Olivia Grayson who appeared on the screen. She was younger than Hotch had expected, with dark hair and piercing eyes that seemed to bore into him.

“Agent Hotchner,” she said, her voice calm and measured. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Hotch’s grip on the laptop tightened. “Where are you?”

Olivia smiled, a cold, calculating smile that sent a shiver down his spine. “Close enough. But don’t worry, we’ll meet soon enough. In the meantime, I have a little… challenge for you.”

The screen flickered again, showing a timer counting down from ten minutes. Hotch’s heart sank as he realized what it meant.

“You have ten minutes to find me,” Olivia said, her voice dripping with amusement. “If you don’t… well, let’s just say Elias won’t be the only one tied to a chair.”

The feed cut out, leaving the team in stunned silence. Hotch’s mind raced as he turned to the team. “We need to find her. Now.”

Morgan nodded, his expression grim. “We’ll split up. Reid, JJ, take the east side. Prentiss, with me. Hotch, you take the west.”

Hotch didn’t waste time arguing. He moved quickly, his gun drawn as he scanned the area around the cabin. The woods were dense, the fading light making it difficult to see, but he pushed forward, his senses on high alert.

As he moved deeper into the woods, his mind kept going back to Elias’ words. “Ask me why I let her take me.” What was Elias playing at? And why had he allowed Olivia Grayson to capture him? Unless…

Hotch’s eyes widened as the realization hit him. Elias hadn’t been captured. He had orchestrated this entire thing. He had let Olivia Grayson believe she was in control, but in reality, he was pulling the strings.

The thought sent a chill down Hotch’s spine. If Elias was behind this, then Olivia Grayson was just a pawn in his game. And Hotch was the prize.

He quickened his pace, his eyes scanning the trees for any sign of movement. The timer was ticking down, and he couldn’t afford to waste any more time.

As he rounded a large tree, he saw it—a small clearing, and in the center, a figure tied to a chair. It was Elias, just as he had seen on the laptop feed. But this time, Olivia Grayson was standing beside him, a gun pressed to his temple.

“You’re late,” Olivia said, her voice cold. “But I suppose that’s to be expected.”

Chapter 8

The aftermath of Olivia Grayson’s death left the BAU team in a state of uneasy silence. The cabin in the woods was now a crime scene, swarming with local law enforcement and forensic teams. Olivia’s body lay where she had fallen, her lifeless eyes staring blankly at the sky. Elias Vance, still bound to the chair, watched the chaos unfold with an unsettling calm, as if he were a spectator rather than a participant.

Hotch stood at the edge of the clearing, his arms crossed, his mind racing. The pieces of the puzzle were finally coming together, but the picture they formed was far from comforting. Elias had orchestrated everything—Olivia’s obsession, her capture of him, even her death. He had manipulated her just as he had manipulated Hotch, playing a dangerous game with lives as his pawns.

Morgan approached, his expression grim. “We’ve swept the area. No sign of anyone else, but Garcia’s still running checks on Olivia’s network. If she had followers, we’ll find them.”

Hotch nodded, his eyes never leaving Elias. “She wasn’t working alone. He made sure of that.”

Morgan followed Hotch’s gaze, his jaw tightening. “You think he’s still calling the shots, even from that chair?”

“I know he is,” Hotch said, his voice low. “This isn’t over.”

The drive back to Quantico was tense. Elias sat in the back of the SUV, his hands cuffed, his expression unreadable. Hotch sat across from him, his eyes locked on the man who had haunted him for so long. The silence between them was heavy, charged with unspoken words and unresolved tension.

“You’re quiet, Aaron,” Elias said finally, breaking the silence. “I expected more… anger. More questions.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened. “I don’t need to ask questions. I already know the answers.”

Elias raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Do you? Then tell me, Aaron. What’s my endgame?”

Hotch leaned forward, his voice low and steady. “You wanted to prove something. To me, to Olivia, to yourself. You wanted to show that you’re still in control, even from behind bars. That no matter what happens, you’ll always be one step ahead.”

Elias chuckled, the sound sending a chill down Hotch’s spine. “Very good, Aaron. But you’re missing one crucial detail.”

Hotch’s eyes narrowed. “And what’s that?”

Elias leaned back, his chains rattling softly. “I wanted to remind you of what we had. Of what we still have.”

Hotch’s fists clenched, but he forced himself to remain calm. “What we had was a lie. And whatever you think we still have? It’s over.”

Elias’ smirk widened. “Is it?”

Back at the BAU, the team gathered in the conference room, the weight of the case pressing down on them. Garcia had been working tirelessly, tracing Olivia’s network and uncovering a web of followers who had been inspired by Elias’ twisted ideology. The list of names was long, and the threat was far from neutralized.

“We’ve got leads on a few of them,” Garcia said, her voice tight with exhaustion. “But it’s going to take time to track them all down. And even then… there’s no guarantee we’ll get them all.”

Hotch nodded, his expression grim. “We’ll take it one step at a time. For now, we focus on the immediate threats. Morgan, Prentiss—you’ll lead the teams. Reid, JJ, you’re with me. We’ll handle the interrogations.”

The team dispersed, each member focused on their assigned tasks. Hotch stayed behind, staring at the evidence board. The faces of Elias’ followers stared back at him, their eyes filled with the same twisted devotion that had driven Olivia Grayson. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning—that Elias’ influence would continue to spread, like a virus infecting anyone who came into contact with it.

The interrogation room was cold and sterile, the fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows on the walls. Elias sat at the table, his hands cuffed, his expression calm. Hotch stood across from him, his arms crossed, his eyes locked on the man who had caused so much pain.

“You think this ends with you?” Hotch asked, his voice low. “You think locking you away will stop them?”

Elias tilted his head, his lips curving into a faint smile. “No, Aaron. I know it won’t. But that’s not the point.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened. “Then what is?”

Elias leaned forward, his chains rattling softly. “The point is that you’ll always be looking over your shoulder. You’ll always be wondering who’s next. And you’ll always know that, no matter how far you run, you can’t escape me.”

Hotch’s fists clenched, but he forced himself to remain calm. “You’re wrong. This ends here. Today.”

Elias chuckled, the sound sending a chill down Hotch’s spine. “Oh, Aaron. You always were so stubborn.”

Hotch took a step closer, his voice low and steady. “You’re done, Elias. You’ve lost.”

Elias’ smile widened. “Have I?”

The days that followed were a blur of activity. The BAU team worked tirelessly, tracking down Elias’ followers and dismantling his network piece by piece. It was a long, grueling process, but slowly, the threat began to fade. The names on the list were crossed off one by one, and the team began to breathe a little easier.

But for Hotch, the victory felt hollow. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Elias was still out there, still watching, still waiting. The man’s words echoed in his mind, a constant reminder of the darkness that had consumed his life.

One evening, as the sun set over Quantico, Hotch found himself standing in front of Elias’ cell. The man sat on the edge of his cot, his hands clasped in front of him, his expression calm.

“You came back,” Elias said, his voice smooth. “I knew you would.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened. “This is the last time.”

Elias tilted his head, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Is it?”

Hotch took a step closer, his eyes locked on Elias’. “You’re done. Your followers are gone. Your network is dismantled. You have nothing left.”

Elias chuckled, the sound sending a chill down Hotch’s spine. “Oh, Aaron. You still don’t get it, do you?”

Hotch’s fists clenched, but he forced himself to remain calm. “Get what?”

Elias leaned forward, his chains rattling softly. “You’re the one who’s trapped. Not me. You’ll always be looking over your shoulder. You’ll always be wondering if I’m still out there. And you’ll always know that, no matter how far you run, you can’t escape me.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he turned and walked away, leaving Elias behind.

As he stepped out into the cool evening air, Hotch felt a sense of relief wash over him. The nightmare was over. Elias was locked away, his network dismantled, his followers neutralized. The threat was gone.

But as he walked to his car, he couldn’t get one thing out of his mind.

“You’ll always be mine, Aaron.”

Hotch’s grip on his car keys tightened, but he forced himself to remain calm. He tried to erase this memory from his memory. The nightmare was over. He had to believe that.

As he drove home, the weight of the past few months began to lift. He had survived. His team had survived. And that was enough.

All he had to do, was believing that Elias was just talking and bluffing. That he wanted to scare Aaron. Because after all, Aaron knew that his team did everything to destroy every inch of Elias' power.

The end.

Author's note:

Y'all I finished that story!! Yippie! I hope you enjoyed it and are not mad that I uploaded these last chapters together haha 🦅

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63259909

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lucvangogh · 2 months ago

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I made this today 🦅

Aaron Hotchner, the man that you are 😩

#criminal minds #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner

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lucvangogh · 2 months ago

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"in the Shadows"

Aaron Hotchner x male OC

Chapter 4 + 5

Warnings: none actually

Chapter 4

The BAU office was quieter than usual, the weight of the investigation pressing down on everyone. Hotch sat at his desk, staring at the newest text message. ‘You’re getting closer.’ It was both a taunt and a warning, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was walking directly into a trap.

Morgan entered, dropping a file onto his desk. “We might have something.”

Hotch straightened. “Tell me.”

Morgan flipped open the folder, revealing a printed background check. “A name came up when Garcia ran her search. Rebecca Cole. Former forensic psychology student, obsessed with serial killers—specifically Elias Vance.”

Reid, who had been hovering near the door, stepped in. “She wrote multiple research papers on ‘the psychology of obsession’ and had a fixation on how criminals form emotional bonds with law enforcement. Some of her professors flagged her for concerning behavior.”

“She also visited Elias in prison,” Morgan added. “Three times in the past month.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened. “Why wasn’t this flagged sooner?”

Garcia appeared on the screen from her office, looking exhausted. “Because she used an alias. Only reason I found her is because one of Elias’ old case files mentioned a letter from a ‘Becky C.,’ and I got curious.”

Prentiss folded her arms. “So, she sees herself as Elias’ successor?”

“Or worse,” Reid murmured. “His partner.”

Hotch exhaled sharply. “Do we have an address?”

Garcia’s fingers flew over her keyboard. “Already sent it to your phones. She lives in an apartment downtown. Rent’s been paid six months in advance. No job. No recent financial records. Someone is funding her.”

Morgan grabbed his gun from the table. “Let’s go.”

The drive to Rebecca Cole’s apartment was tense. The team was prepared, but something about this case felt different. More personal. As they pulled up to the building, Hotch surveyed the area. It was a quiet street, too quiet.

Prentiss and JJ took the back entrance while Hotch, Morgan, and Reid moved in through the front. The landlord let them in, hands trembling as he explained that Rebecca “always paid on time” but gave him a bad feeling.

They reached her door. Hotch knocked. “FBI. Rebecca Cole, we need to talk.”

Silence. Then, a faint noise—a chair scraping against the floor.

Morgan motioned for Hotch to move back as he tested the doorknob. Locked. With a swift kick, he broke the door open, and they rushed inside.

The apartment was eerily neat. A single laptop sat on the desk, open to a video call—an empty screen, but the feed was live. The walls were covered in photographs. All of Elias. And Hotch.

Reid swallowed hard. “She’s been watching us.”

A blinking red light on the laptop caught Hotch’s attention. A recording was in progress. He leaned closer.

And then, a voice.

“I was hoping you’d come, Aaron.”

Rebecca’s voice. Smooth, calm.

Hotch grabbed the laptop. “Where are you?”

A soft laugh. “Watching.”

Suddenly, Reid’s phone buzzed. He checked it and paled. “Hotch. You need to see this.”

Hotch took the phone. A text message.

‘You were too late.’

A photo followed. A surveillance image of Jack Hotchner’s school.

Morgan tensed. “She’s making this personal.”

Hotch’s grip tightened around the phone.

“We end this. Now.”

The team wasted no time mobilizing. JJ was already on the phone with the school principal, ensuring that Jack was safe while Garcia worked her magic, tracing the origin of the message.

“There’s a good chance she’s nearby,” Garcia said, her voice tense. “Whoever sent this text is using a network that’s bouncing between local towers. I’m working on pinpointing it.”

Hotch’s hands clenched at his sides. The thought of Jack being in danger because of him sent a wave of anger and guilt through him. He turned to the team. “We split up. Morgan, Prentiss—you head to the school. Reid, JJ, and I will continue searching the apartment for leads. Garcia, keep working on tracking her location.”

Morgan nodded. “We’ll keep Jack safe.”

As Morgan and Prentiss rushed out, Hotch focused on the room around him. Rebecca Cole was methodical—her space meticulously arranged, her notes carefully organized. There had to be something here they could use.

Reid was already flipping through notebooks, his sharp mind scanning for patterns. “She’s meticulous. Her notes are structured, almost mathematical in nature. She’s studying behavior in real-time.”

JJ picked up a stack of photographs, flipping through them. “These aren’t just surveillance images… these are timestamps. She’s tracking Hotch’s movements. She knew exactly when he left, where he was going. This isn’t an admirer—this is an orchestrator.”

Hotch found himself staring at the laptop screen. The live feed was still open, a black screen, but there was something unsettling about it. He clicked a few keys, attempting to trace the connection. And then, suddenly, the black screen flickered—revealing another live feed.

A dimly lit warehouse. And in the center, tied to a chair—Jack.

Hotch’s blood turned to ice. His phone vibrated again. A final message.

‘Now the real game begins.’

Chapter 5

The moment Hotch saw the live feed of Jack bound to a chair in the dimly lit warehouse, a deep, primal fear gripped him. His mind raced through possibilities, strategies, anything that would get his son back unharmed. His phone buzzed again, another message from the unknown number.

‘Come alone. Or he dies.’

Morgan, Prentiss, and the others were already rushing back into the room, their faces etched with concern. Hotch clenched his jaw as he turned the phone’s screen toward them.

“She’s baiting you,” Morgan said, voice tight with restrained anger. “You know that.”

“And I can’t take the risk,” Hotch countered. “Jack is out there, and I won’t waste time debating.”

Prentiss placed a hand on his arm. “Hotch, you don’t have to do this alone. We can track the signal, send a team in.”

“There’s no time.” He turned to Garcia, who was already typing furiously on her keyboard. “Can you get me an exact location?”

“I’m working on it, but whoever this is, they’re good,” Garcia said, frustration evident in her voice. “They’re bouncing the signal off multiple towers. I need more time.”

Hotch took a steady breath. “Then I go.”

“No,” Morgan interjected. “You’re not walking into this blind. We’ll find a way.”

But Hotch had already made up his mind.

The drive to the warehouse was tense, every second stretching into an eternity. Hotch’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his mind replaying every lesson he had ever taught Jack about staying calm in dangerous situations. He could only pray his son remembered them.

His phone rang. He answered without hesitation.

“Good, you listened,” Rebecca’s voice purred through the speaker. “Elias always said you’d be predictable. That’s why he liked you.”

“Where is my son?” Hotch’s voice was like steel.

A chuckle. “You’ll see him soon.” The call disconnected.

As Hotch pulled up to the warehouse, his heart pounded. He scanned the area—no obvious snipers, no sign of a security setup. That didn’t mean there weren’t traps waiting inside.

He stepped out of the car, gun at his side, and approached the entrance. The large steel door creaked as he pushed it open, the sound echoing through the empty space.

Then he saw Jack.

Tied to the chair, eyes wide with fear but unharmed. Relief flooded through Hotch—but only for a moment.

“Daddy.” Jack’s voice was a whisper, shaky.

Then, from the shadows, Rebecca emerged.

She was younger than he expected, no more than thirty, with dark eyes gleaming with twisted delight. In her hand, she held a small switchblade, idly spinning it between her fingers.

“You actually came,” she mused. “I was almost hoping you wouldn’t. That would’ve been more fun.”

Hotch leveled his gun at her. “Step away from him.”

Rebecca smirked. “Or what? You’ll shoot me? You won’t. Not yet.”

She took a step closer to Jack, pressing the flat of the blade against his cheek. Hotch tensed, every instinct screaming to act. But he forced himself to remain still.

“You want him back?” she continued. “Then put the gun down.”

“Not happening.”

A moment of silence stretched between them, thick with tension. Then Rebecca’s smirk widened.

“Fine.”

She flicked her wrist, slicing a thin line along Jack’s arm. He let out a yelp, eyes brimming with tears.

Hotch’s vision went red.

Before he could react, a sudden crash echoed through the warehouse. Morgan and Prentiss stormed in, guns raised. Rebecca cursed, grabbing Jack by the collar, pressing the knife against his throat.

“Stay back!” she shrieked. “Or I swear I’ll—”

A single gunshot rang out.

Rebecca’s body jerked. Her grip on Jack loosened, and she collapsed onto the concrete floor, blood pooling beneath her. Hotch rushed forward, scooping Jack into his arms as Morgan secured Rebecca’s weapon.

But she wasn’t dead.

Rebecca let out a weak, breathy laugh as she looked up at Hotch. “You think this ends with me?” she whispered, her voice rasping from pain. “There are more. So many more.”

Prentiss knelt beside her, pressing a hand against the wound, her voice firm. “Who? Who else is involved?”

Rebecca coughed, blood staining her lips, but she only smiled. “You’ll see.”

Then, with a final, shuddering breath, she went still.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Jack clung tightly to Hotch, his small frame shaking against his father’s chest. Hotch held him close, pressing his lips to Jack’s hair. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

Morgan stood, his gaze dark. “We need to search this place. If she wasn’t working alone, we need to know who else is out there.”

Hotch nodded. “We won’t stop until we find them.”

As the team swept the warehouse, Garcia’s voice crackled through the radio. “Uh, guys? You’re going to want to see this.”

A file had just been uploaded to the FBI database. No known source. No fingerprints. Just a list of names.

Names of agents.

Names of their families.

And at the top of the list, written in bold letters:

‘The game is far from over.’

Hotch exchanged a glance with Morgan. The nightmare wasn’t over.

It was just beginning.

Author's note:

I hope you enjoyed this double update of the story! If you want to read it entirely, it's already completed on Ao3. I'll upload all chapters here in the next few days. :)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63259909

#criminal minds #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x male reader #aaron hotch x reader #criminal minds x male reader #criminal minds x reader #male reader #x male reader #aaron hotchner x oc #Aaron Hotchner x male oc #oc #criminal minds x oc #male own character #own character #x male oc #male oc #bau team

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lucvangogh · 3 months ago

Text

Beneath the Surface

Aaron Hotchner x male OC

Warnings: some very light smut

Chapter 1: a new case, a new face

The BAU had been called to a small town in Virginia to assist the local police department with a string of gruesome murders. The details were haunting—three victims, all found in their own homes, their throats slit with surgical precision. No signs of forced entry, no defensive wounds. The unsub was calculated, efficient, and methodical.

Aaron Hotchner was standing in the briefing room of the local precinct, his usual stoic expression in place as he addressed the gathered officers. His team sat nearby—Morgan, JJ, Prentiss, and Reid—each of them ready to assist.

As Hotch spoke, his sharp eyes landed on a man standing near the back of the room. He wasn’t just another uniformed officer—this man had an air of quiet confidence, his lean but muscular frame clothed in fitted dark slacks and a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His badge clipped to his belt, sidearm holstered at his hip. His name tag read Detective Ryan Hale.

Ryan wasn’t like the other officers in the room. Where they showed varying levels of exhaustion or skepticism, Ryan’s gaze was unwavering, his expression serious, his arms crossed in silent contemplation.

When the meeting ended, Ryan approached Hotch, his voice smooth and professional.

“Agent Hotchner, I’ve been following the case closely. I’d like to assist your team in any way I can.”

Hotch appreciated efficiency and directness, and Ryan had both in spades. “We can use all the insight we can get. Have you noticed any patterns we may have missed?”

Ryan nodded and gestured for Hotch to follow him to his desk. As they leaned over the case files together, Hotch found himself aware of how close they were standing. Ryan smelled of cedar and something faintly spicy, a subtle but intoxicating scent. Hotch quickly pushed the thought away.

This was work. That was all.

Chapter Two: A Chance Encounter

The case was grueling, the days long and filled with dead ends. By the time Hotch found himself at Mason’s Bar, a dimly lit, quiet spot near the precinct, he just wanted a drink and a moment to collect his thoughts.

He didn’t expect to see Ryan Hale sitting at the bar, a whiskey in front of him, his sleeves rolled up higher now, revealing strong forearms.

Hotch debated leaving, but before he could, Ryan glanced his way and smirked. “Agent Hotchner.” He raised his glass in greeting.

There was no point in avoiding him now. Hotch walked over, taking the stool beside him. “Detective Hale.”

Ryan took a slow sip of his drink before turning to face Hotch. “Rough case.”

Hotch nodded. “They always are.”

Ryan hummed in agreement before glancing at Hotch with something unreadable in his dark eyes. “You don’t seem like the type to unwind at a bar.”

Hotch gave a small, rare smirk. “And you don’t seem like the type to make assumptions.”

Ryan chuckled, deep and warm. “Fair enough.”

They talked—about the case, about their careers, even a little about their personal lives. Ryan was perceptive, sharp, and had a dry sense of humor that took Hotch by surprise.

And then there were the moments of silence, the ones where Hotch could feel the tension simmering between them. The way Ryan’s eyes flickered to his lips once or twice. The way their knees brushed under the bar.

By the time the second drink was finished, Ryan leaned in just a fraction closer, his voice lower now. “I don’t usually do this…”

Hotch arched a brow. “Do what?”

Ryan’s lips quirked into a slow, knowing smile. “Pick up FBI agents in bars.”

Hotch exhaled a small chuckle, tilting his head slightly. “That makes two of us.”

There was a charged pause. A silent decision being made.

Ryan grabbed his coat. “My place is five minutes from here.”

Hotch didn’t even hesitate. “Lead the way.”

Chapter Three: Tension Unleashed

The door to Ryan’s apartment had barely closed before Hotch was on him.

Their lips crashed together in a heated kiss, years of restraint breaking all at once. Ryan groaned against Hotch’s mouth as he was pushed back against the wall, his fingers gripping Hotch’s suit jacket, pulling him even closer.

Hotch’s hands moved to Ryan’s waist, fingers digging into firm muscle. Ryan responded by sliding his hands beneath Hotch’s blazer, pushing it off his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor. His tie followed.

“You kiss like you’re trying to take control,” Ryan murmured against his lips.

Hotch smirked, his fingers moving to the buttons of Ryan’s shirt. “Maybe I am.”

Ryan let out a low chuckle before biting at Hotch’s bottom lip, just hard enough to make him gasp softly. “We’ll see about that.”

The next few moments were a blur of hands and mouths, of fabric being shed and bodies pressing against each other. By the time they stumbled into the bedroom, Ryan had Hotch’s shirt unbuttoned and hanging off his shoulders, while Hotch had Ryan’s belt undone, his fingers teasing along the waistband of his pants.

Ryan was the first to push Hotch onto the bed, straddling him with a confident smirk. “I like seeing you like this,” he murmured, running his hands along Hotch’s chest.

Hotch arched a brow. “Like what?”

Ryan leaned down, lips brushing against Hotch’s throat as he whispered, “Out of control.”

Hotch let out a low groan, threading his fingers through Ryan’s hair and pulling him into another deep, searing kiss.

What followed was heat and urgency, mouths tracing over skin, hands gripping wherever they could. Ryan was all sharp angles and strong muscles beneath Hotch’s hands, and Hotch, for once, let himself enjoy the feeling of being lost in someone else.

Their bodies moved together in perfect rhythm, gasps and moans filling the dimly lit room. Ryan’s hands were firm but reverent as he explored every inch of Hotch’s skin, while Hotch responded with just as much intensity, refusing to simply surrender completely.

They took their time, drawing out the pleasure, savoring every touch, every sound, every desperate plea whispered against sweat-slicked skin.

And when they finally reached their peak together, it was with Hotch gasping Ryan’s name against his lips, their bodies shuddering, hearts pounding in sync.

Chapter Four: The Morning After

Hotch woke to the scent of coffee and the distant hum of the shower running. His body ached in a way that wasn’t unpleasant, a reminder of the night before.

Sitting up, he ran a hand through his hair before looking toward the bathroom door. He could hear Ryan moving inside, the sound of water cascading over his skin.

For a moment, Hotch considered leaving.

This wasn’t something he did—casual hookups, waking up in someone else’s bed. But something about last night felt different. Ryan felt different.

The bathroom door opened, revealing Ryan with only a towel wrapped low on his hips, droplets of water sliding down his toned chest. His gaze met Hotch’s, a knowing smile forming.

“You’re still here.”

Hotch nodded. “I am.”

Ryan walked over, standing in front of him. “Good.” He leaned down, brushing his lips against Hotch’s in a slow, teasing kiss. “Because I wasn’t done with you yet.”

Hotch exhaled, a rare grin forming as he pulled Ryan back onto the bed.

The case could wait a little longer.

The End.

Hope you liked this little story 🫶

#criminal minds #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x male reader #criminal minds x male reader #criminal minds x reader #male reader #x male reader #x male reader smut #Aaron Hotchner x male oc #x male oc #male oc #male own character #own character #criminal minds x oc #aaron hotchner x oc #x oc

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lucvangogh · 3 months ago

Text

"in the Shadows"

Chapter 3

Aaron Hotchner x male OC

Warnings: none

The silence of Hotch’s office felt heavier than usual. The photograph, now sealed in an evidence bag, sat on his desk like an unspoken threat. The phone call still echoed in his ears, the whisper taunting him in a way that Elias never had before. Because this wasn’t Elias. This was someone else—someone emboldened by him, someone who had taken his obsession and made it their own.

Morgan had stayed long enough to make sure Hotch locked his doors and set the alarm before heading home himself. Now, in the early hours of the morning, Hotch found himself staring at the case files once again. He should sleep, but his mind refused to quiet.

The call had been traced to a burner phone—no surprises there. Garcia was already running every possible lead, but Hotch knew it wouldn’t be easy. If this person was careful enough to slip past security and deliver the package undetected, they weren’t about to leave a trail now.

His phone vibrated again, pulling him from his thoughts. A text. Unknown number.

‘You haven’t answered my question, Aaron.’

His fingers hovered over the screen. Engaging was a mistake. He knew that. But ignoring it felt just as dangerous. Whoever this was, they wanted his attention—and he wasn’t sure what they’d do if they didn’t get it.

Before he could decide, another message appeared.

‘I can see you thinking. You always do that, don’t you? Overanalyze. That’s why he liked you. Why I do too.’

A chill swept through him. His blinds were drawn, his security system armed. Yet, the words felt too precise, too knowing. He pushed back his chair and stood, scanning the room, his pulse steady but heightened.

Another message.

‘Don’t worry. I’m not there. Not yet.’

Hotch exhaled slowly, forcing control over the rising tension in his chest. He typed a response before he could stop himself.

‘What do you want?’

This time, the reply came almost instantly.

‘To finish what he started.’

By morning, the team was gathered in the conference room, the usual low hum of conversation replaced by an uneasy silence. Garcia had dark circles beneath her eyes, her fingers drumming anxiously against the tabletop. Morgan and Prentiss were tense, eyes sharp and alert. Reid was flipping through files at an almost frantic pace.

“Whoever this is,” Garcia started, her voice tight, “they’re good. Like, scary good. The phone was a burner, but it pinged near a cell tower less than two blocks from your apartment, Hotch.”

“They wanted to be close,” Prentiss murmured. “Close enough to make a point.”

Hotch nodded. “They sent another message.” He placed his phone on the table, the last text still displayed. ‘To finish what he started.’

Reid leaned in, his eyes scanning the words. “It’s not just about continuing Elias’ work. The phrasing—‘what he started’—implies this person believes there was an unfinished goal. That Elias had an endgame they’re now trying to fulfill.”

“Which means we need to figure out what that was,” Morgan said. “Before they do.”

JJ crossed her arms. “Do we have anything on Elias’ known associates? Anyone who might have been in contact with him recently?”

Garcia shook her head. “No family. No known outside connections. He was a ghost before he came to the BAU.”

“But he had admirers,” Hotch said, repeating Elias’ words from the day before. “Loyal ones.”

A beat of silence. Then, Garcia’s fingers flew across the keyboard. “I’m cross-referencing past case files, looking for patterns—anyone who might have shown an unusual fixation on Elias. If they admired him enough to do this, they might have left a footprint somewhere.”

Morgan’s jaw tightened. “If we don’t find them soon, they’re going to escalate.”

Hotch looked around the room, at his team—his family. He had no doubt this was personal. And for the first time in a long time, a terrible certainty settled in his gut.

Elias may have been caught. But the nightmare he’d created?

It was just beginning.

That night, Hotch didn’t go home. Instead, he stayed at the BAU, pouring over files, searching for the missing piece. A new case file sat open in front of him—a cold case eerily similar to Elias’ victims. A victim that predated Elias’ known killings.

Had he been at this longer than they thought? Or was this proof that his admirer had been active long before Elias was caught?

His phone buzzed again. He hesitated before checking the screen. Another text.

‘You’re getting closer.’

Hotch’s grip tightened around the phone. Whoever this was, they weren’t just following him. They were anticipating his every move.

And they were waiting for him to figure it out.

✨️ Hope you enjoyed this new chapter ✨️

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63259909

#criminal minds #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x male reader #criminal minds x male reader #male reader #male oc #male own character #own character #oc #criminal minds x oc #aaron hotchner x oc #aaron hotchner x gn!reader

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lucvangogh · 3 months ago

Text

"in the Shadows"

Chapter 2

Aaron Hotchner x male OC

Warnings: none

The weight of the photograph lingered in Hotch’s grip, the edges crumpling slightly beneath the pressure of his fingers. He forced himself to take a slow, measured breath. Elias Vance was locked away. He had seen the cell door close, had watched as the man was processed, stripped of his carefully cultivated anonymity. And yet, the evidence was undeniable—this picture, this note, the knowing smirk captured in the inked scrawl of Elias’ handwriting.

Miss me yet?

A chill crept along the nape of Hotch’s neck. The words were more than a taunt; they were a promise.

Hotch turned the photograph over, scanning for any additional markings, any clue as to where it had come from. Nothing. The envelope had been standard, the postmark too smudged to be useful. Whoever had delivered this had known exactly what they were doing.

He reached for his phone and dialed before he could second-guess himself.

“Morgan,” came the gruff voice on the other end, thick with exhaustion.

“We have a problem,” Hotch said, his own voice steady, controlled. “A package was delivered to my house tonight.”

Silence stretched between them for a beat. Then, “I’m on my way.”

Morgan arrived within twenty minutes. His expression darkened as he examined the note and the photograph, his jaw tightening with each passing second.

“This has to be someone on the outside,” Morgan muttered, flipping the note between his fingers. “No way Vance has access to send this himself.”

Hotch nodded. “But he has help.”

The thought settled between them like a lead weight. Elias had been meticulous, methodical. If he had planned for this eventuality, it meant there was someone out there, someone who was still following his lead. Someone who had access to Hotch’s home.

Morgan exhaled sharply. “I’ll call Garcia, have her run a trace on the delivery. Maybe there’s surveillance footage we can pull.”

Hotch’s eyes remained locked on the photograph. “We need to visit him.”

Morgan stilled. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“No,” Hotch admitted, his voice grim. “But we don’t have a choice.”

The next morning, they made the drive to the federal penitentiary. The walls loomed gray and lifeless under the early dawn, the cold steel gates groaning as they were granted entry. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of bleach and stagnation, the fluorescent lights casting an eerie pallor over the inmates shuffling within their confines.

Elias was waiting.

He sat in the small interrogation room, shackled at the wrists but no less composed. If anything, the chains seemed almost decorative, a formality rather than a restraint. When he looked up and met Hotch’s gaze, his lips curled into something faintly amused.

“Aaron,” Elias greeted smoothly, as if they were old friends catching up after years apart. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Hotch settled into the chair across from him, his expression carefully schooled. “Someone delivered a package to my home. A photograph of me. A note.”

Elias’ head tilted slightly, as if considering. “And you think I had something to do with it?”

“Don’t play games,” Morgan snapped, leaning forward. “We know you orchestrated this.”

Elias chuckled, low and rich. “Oh, Derek, if I had orchestrated something, you’d know it.” His gaze flicked back to Hotch, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “But I didn’t send you a package, Aaron. That would be… reckless.”

Hotch kept his breathing even. “Then who did?”

Elias leaned forward slightly, the chains rattling between them. “I have admirers,” he admitted, almost casually. “Loyal ones. People who understand the depth of what we had.”

The words twisted in Hotch’s stomach, but he refused to react.

Elias sighed, leaning back. “Tell me, what did the note say?”

Hotch hesitated, but only briefly. “Miss me yet?”

Elias’ lips parted, and for the first time, a flicker of something passed across his face. Surprise? Satisfaction? Hotch wasn’t sure.

“How delightful,” Elias murmured. “It appears I have a ghost writer.”

Morgan’s patience snapped. “Enough with the theatrics! Who the hell is helping you?”

Elias merely smiled. “You’re looking for ghosts in the dark, Derek. But the truth is much simpler. Someone is watching over Aaron. Someone who cares.”

Hotch stood abruptly, chair scraping against the linoleum. “This conversation is over.”

Elias watched him, eyes gleaming. “You’ll come back.”

Hotch turned away. The chains rattled once more as Elias shifted, his voice lowering just enough to slip through the cracks of Hotch’s resolve.

“You always do.”

The drive back was silent. Morgan clenched the steering wheel with a force that made his knuckles whiten. Hotch stared out the window, Elias’ words looping through his mind.

He had admirers. Loyal ones. People who understood the depth of what they had.

Hotch’s grip on his knee tightened. He had spent years profiling the most depraved criminals, dissecting their motives, their patterns. He should have seen this coming. Elias wasn’t acting alone. He had followers. And one of them had made it their mission to remind Hotch of what had been taken.

The phone in his pocket vibrated. He pulled it out, dread curling in his stomach at the unknown number flashing across the screen. He hesitated before answering.

“Aaron Hotchner,” he said, voice steady.

Silence. Then, a soft exhale, a whisper just barely audible over the line.

“Do you miss him?”

The call ended before Hotch could respond.

His pulse pounded against his ribs, but his hands were steady as he lowered the phone. Morgan’s gaze flicked toward him.

“What is it?”

Hotch swallowed, the cold realization settling deep in his bones.

“He’s not the only one watching.”

Author's note:

I tried to hurry up with writing the 2nd chapter🦅 I've planned on writing like 10 chapters for this story and in gonna link my Ao3. Hope you enjoyed this chapeter!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63259909

#criminal minds #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x male reader #criminal minds x male reader #male reader #criminal minds x reader #x male reader #criminal minds x oc #own character #male oc #male own character #x male oc #x oc #Aaron Hotchner x reader

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lucvangogh · 3 months ago

Text

Original footage of me everytime I hear the name "Tracey Lambert" --- iykyk

#criminal minds #s3e8 #criminal minds trauma #criminal minds memes #meme

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lucvangogh · 3 months ago

Text

"in the Shadows"

Chapter 1

Aaron Hotchner x male OC

Warnings: a tiny bit angst, small mentions of violence (nothing big tho, it's barley anything)

The first time Aaron Hotchner met Elias Vance, it was under the most unassuming of circumstances. A new analyst, recommended through the higher-ups, seemingly vetted and competent. Elias was quiet but observant, slipping into the BAU with an ease that should have raised suspicion, but Hotch had been too distracted to notice. Cases piled up, and the wear of leadership sat heavy on his shoulders. Elias had been a welcome presence—efficient, reliable, and, to Hotch’s reluctant admission, attractive in a way that had made him self-conscious.

What began as an accidental brush of hands while reviewing case files turned into late nights in Hotch’s office, murmured conversations that edged toward something dangerous. Elias had a way of making Hotch forget himself, forget the weight of the world pressing in from all sides. He hadn’t let himself indulge in years, but Elias—Elias made him want to.

Hotch had resisted at first, but the allure of warmth after years of self-imposed coldness was intoxicating. One evening, after closing a particularly grueling case, Elias had waited for him, leaning against his desk with a confidence Hotch should have questioned. One moment of weakness, one soft kiss, and the dam had broken.

They were careful. At least, Hotch believed they were. It wasn’t as if he flaunted their relationship—if it could even be called that. It was stolen moments, whispered words, the ghost of a smile exchanged in the hallways. Elias never pressed, never pushed, and that, more than anything, made Hotch trust him. If he had only looked deeper, if he had only questioned the timing of Elias’ arrival—

But he hadn’t.

The case that finally tore the blinders from his eyes had been a brutal one. A string of murders, all eerily intimate. The victims—men who bore a resemblance to Hotch, if only vaguely. And all of them had one thing in common: they had been romantically involved with law enforcement. The photos of their lifeless bodies, posed almost reverently, sent a chill down Hotch’s spine.

At first, he rationalized the discomfort. A coincidence, maybe. But as he pored over the case files late into the night, the similarities piled up like a weight on his chest. The pattern, the ritualistic nature of the killings, the eerily personal connection to the victims—

Then, the realization. Elias.

Hotch had been in his office, reviewing the files, when Elias appeared, quiet as ever, standing just beyond the threshold.

“Long night?” he asked, his voice smooth, even.

Hotch hadn’t looked up at first, too absorbed in the horrific details sprawled across his desk. But then he did, and he saw it. The slight curve of Elias’ lips, the satisfaction in his gaze. He had seen that look before—on the faces of those they hunted.

He stood slowly, his heart pounding in his chest. “Elias,” he said, his voice careful, measured.

Elias only smiled. “You figured it out, didn’t you?”

Hotch’s blood ran cold. He had let him in. Let him close. And now, he was alone in his office with a man who had killed for him.

Elias stepped forward, slow, predatory. “You weren’t supposed to figure it out yet, Aaron. Not yet.”

Hotch moved subtly, shifting toward the edge of his desk where his gun lay just out of sight. “Why?”

Elias tilted his head. “Because you belong to me.”

The words sent a chill down Hotch’s spine. He lunged for his weapon, but Elias was faster, catching his wrist, twisting it just enough to send a sharp pain up his arm.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” Elias murmured, almost regretful. “But you just couldn’t see it, could you? I did this for you. I did it all for you.”

The struggle was brief but violent. Hotch, trained, experienced, fought back with everything he had. He managed to wrest himself free, sending Elias stumbling backward. The commotion was enough—enough for Morgan, for Prentiss, for the rest of the team to burst in, weapons drawn.

Elias didn’t resist. He only smiled, that same unsettling affection in his eyes. “You were worth it,” he whispered as Morgan cuffed him. “Every second.”

As he was led away, Hotch exhaled, his hands trembling as he braced them against his desk. He had let a monster into his life, into his bed. And the worst part? He had never even seen it coming.

Days later, as Hotch sat in his office, staring at the empty space Elias once occupied, he felt the weight of his choices settle deep in his bones. He had been compromised in the most intimate way, manipulated by a mind as brilliant as it was deranged. The BAU had always warned others of the dangers of emotional entanglements, and yet, he had fallen victim himself.

He could still hear Elias’ voice in his head, smooth, affectionate. You belong to me.

Even now, behind bars, Hotch feared Elias truly believed it. And worse—some part of Hotch feared that, in the darkest recesses of his mind, he had believed it too.

But the nightmare wasn’t over.

Three nights later, a package arrived at Hotch’s doorstep. No return address, but he knew. The box was small, perfectly wrapped. He hesitated before opening it, but curiosity—or perhaps dread—got the better of him.

Inside, there was a single photograph. A picture of him, taken weeks ago, in his own home. Elias must have been there, lurking in the shadows, watching.

Beneath the photo was a note, written in Elias’ familiar, elegant script: Miss me yet?

Hotch’s pulse roared in his ears. Elias was supposed to be locked away. He was supposed to be contained.

But somehow, some way, he wasn’t done yet.

And neither was Hotch.

Author's note:

Okay... second story I've ever written, a little different then the first one, but hopefully still enjoyable. I'm gonna continue this story at one point, but idk when. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next month we'll see. If there are any wishes for the second part, I'd be glad if you told them to me. Hope you liked this part! 🦅

Ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63259909

#aaron hotchner x male reader #male reader #x male reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #own character #oc #male oc #criminal minds x male reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x oc #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner x oc

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lucvangogh · 3 months ago

Text

"I shouldn't..."

Aaron Hotchner x gn! Reader

Warnings: none? Just some soft kissing, nothing more

The rain lashed against the windows of the small apartment in Quantico. You sat on the couch, a file on your lap, but your thoughts were far from the current case. Instead, they revolved around your boss – Aaron Hotchner. The man was a legend at the BAU, a brilliant investigator, yet closed off, distant. And yet, you had managed to catch a glimpse behind his facade.

It had developed slowly – accidental touches, glances that lingered too long, conversations that became more personal than they should have. And then there was that moment two nights ago, when you had stayed late at the office after a particularly brutal case. He had sat beside you, silent, only a glass of Scotch between you. At some point, he had leaned closer, his gaze dropping to your lips – but then he had pulled away, reestablishing the distance. Since then, everything had been different. Tenser. More charged.

A knock pulled you from your thoughts. You flinched, looking toward the door. Your heartbeat quickened as you stood up and opened it.

"Hotch?" Your voice was rough, surprised. He stood in the doorway, his shirt slightly damp from the rain, his tie loosened. His gaze rested on you, dark, intense.

"We need to talk." His voice was calm but carried an undertone you couldn’t ignore. You swallowed and stepped aside to let him in.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, he stood before you, his presence overwhelming. "Since that night…" he began, but then shook his head as if searching for the right words. You felt the tension in the air, almost tangible. Your eyes traced his features, the slight clench of his jaw, the way his hands curled into fists as if he were fighting an internal battle.

"I know," you interrupted softly, stepping closer. "It changed something."

He let out a quiet laugh, but it sounded hoarse, almost pained. "I can’t afford to let something like this happen. Not in my job, not with you."

"But you want it." It wasn’t a question, but a statement. His silence was answer enough. Growing bolder, you lifted a hand and gently touched his cheek. He flinched slightly but didn’t pull away. Instead, he closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling a heavy breath.

And then it happened.

With a quiet growl, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you against him. His lips met yours with an urgency that made everything else fade away. The file slipped to the floor, your hands grasping at his shirt as he pressed you against the wall.

It was raw, uncontrolled, a release for all the pent-up tension. His fingers dug into your skin as his lips left heated trails along your jaw and neck. "Tell me if I need to stop," he murmured roughly, his breath hot against your skin.

But stopping was the last thing you wanted.

The moment seemed to stretch into eternity, the air thick with need and unspoken words. Hotch's grip on your waist tightened as he pulled you impossibly closer, his body solid and warm against yours. His breath was ragged as he rested his forehead against yours, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns along your back.

“I shouldn’t…” he murmured, voice laden with conflict. Yet, even as he said it, his hands refused to let go. You could feel the war inside him, the struggle between his ironclad control and the undeniable pull between you both.

“You always do what you should, Hotch,” you whispered, tilting his chin so his dark eyes met yours. “What do you want?”

His breath hitched, and for a split second, he hesitated. Then, something in him snapped. His lips crashed against yours once more, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, pressing you flush against him. His body was tense, coiled like a wire about to snap, and you felt the barely restrained hunger simmering beneath the surface.

Moving together, you stumbled toward the couch, never breaking contact. Hotch guided you down with practiced ease, settling above you as his fingers explored, his touch leaving trails of fire in their wake. Your hands slipped beneath his damp shirt, mapping the hard planes of muscle, feeling his breath hitch at the sensation.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured against your lips, his smirk almost teasing, but his eyes betrayed the depth of his desire.

“You’re the one who knocked on my door,” you countered, tracing your fingers along his jaw, feeling the faint stubble beneath your touch. “So, what now?”

For a moment, he just looked at you, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, deliberately, he leaned in again, his lips ghosting over your ear.

“Now,” he murmured, voice husky with promise, “I stop thinking.”

And with that, he surrendered. To the moment. To you.

The hours blurred together, the world outside forgotten. The storm raged beyond the windows, but inside, the air was thick with heat, whispered confessions, and the kind of desperation that only comes from years of restraint finally unraveling.

When you awoke, the early morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow over Hotch’s sleeping form beside you. His expression was softer now, peaceful in a way you rarely saw. You let yourself watch him for a moment, memorizing the rare vulnerability etched across his face.

But reality had a way of creeping back in.

A soft vibration on the nightstand drew your attention—his phone. Duty calling. And just like that, the spell was broken.

Hotch stirred beside you, his brows furrowing as his eyes fluttered open. He took one look at the phone, then at you. The weight of what had happened settled between you both, unspoken but impossible to ignore.

“We should talk,” he said, his voice rough from sleep.

You exhaled, nodding. “Yeah. We should.”

But whether the night had changed everything or nothing at all, you weren’t sure yet.

Author's note:

I hope no-one comes for me cause that's the first story I've ever written 😩 English ain't my mother tongue so keep them mistakes to yourself 💀 also I know it could have been a little more spicier, but I didn't want it tou sound weird or cringe so I just skipped it for now. I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.

#aaron hotchner x male reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x gn!reader #x male reader #x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x male reader #gn reader #gn!reader #male reader #aaron hotch hotchner #thomas gibson

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lucvangogh · 3 months ago

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Hotch x Male BAU Reader List - Whiskeyverse

This is where you can find the connected series of Hotch x BAU Male Reader fics known as the Whiskeyverse.

They will also be under the tag #whiskeyverse

Will edit and reblog with new additions as they are released

Be mindful of the content warnings on each part!

These Fleeting Moments - 6,431 words Reader and Hotch have both been a little off since their last case. Much like during the case, Reader makes the hasty decision to do something about it. Set around mid season 3.

At Cross Purposes - 13,313 words Reader and Hotch try to make good on their unspoken agreement to stop shutting out the rest of the team. A night out at the bar should be simple enough, right?

Actions and Thoughts - 17,840 words Mondays are always the worst, but Reader is dreading it a little more than normal considering the last time he saw the team he was a little drunk, bleeding, and disoriented. Work should be easy compared to that, right?

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lucvangogh · 3 months ago

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Actions and Thoughts

Part 3 of the Whiskeyverse --- LINK

Read the first 2 parts before this for maximum enjoyment!

Relationships: Hotch & Male BAU Reader, BAU Team & Male Reader Content: Angst, Explosions, Peril, Panic, Blood & Injury, Hospitals, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort Word Count: 17,840 Summary: Mondays are always the worst, but Reader is dreading it a little more than normal considering the last time he saw the team he was a little drunk, bleeding, and disoriented. Work should be easy compared to that, right? Takes place around mid-season 3. Note: Might be mistakes that slipped past my notice. Just pretend you do not see it lol IMPORTANT: You know the drill! Next part won't be posted until: Reblogs ≥ Likes (Reblogs must be greater or equal to likes. You can tell me your fave part of the story!) Dedicated to my lovely mutuals who left nice comments on the previous parts of this series: @hotchfiles @wheelsup30 @mayfieldss @masterwords @ralvezfanatic And to @enonymously and especially @wily-wheelchair who reblogged At Cross Purposes enough for this part to be posted! Thanks to all these people! <3 But don't let them do all the work this time and REBLOG this if you enjoyed! Thanks!

“Alright, what the hell happened the other night?”

Morgan’s voice cracked against the silence and echoed in the hallway just outside the bullpen. Your eyes drifted shut momentarily as your plan to be the last one to slip in to the office and avoid any questions for at least an hour immediately crumbled. This conversation was not one that should be had quite literally first thing on Monday morning, before even setting foot in the office.

Glancing over your shoulder, you caught sight of him striding over to you with the hint of a smile. As if pulled by a magnet in the opposite direction, your whole body drew away from his presence without you directing it to do so. Quickly pushing through the double doors, you didn’t turn to look at him again until you had the option of running toward the tiny sanctuary of your desk.

He stopped short just inside the doors and stared at you, his smile slipping away.

“Not you, too,” he shook his head slowly.

You tried to look him in the eye but couldn’t hold his gaze for longer than a second without it transforming into the leer it had been the last time you had seen him.

“What?” he thrust his arms out to the sides, “What is it, man?”

“Um…” you shifted minutely from foot to foot, one of your hands coming up to fiddle with the end of your tie.

“Look, I –” Morgan scoffed self-consciously, rubbing at the back of his neck, “I know I must have gone overboard ‘cause I suddenly woke up at home Saturday morning. I mean, I never do that.”

You found yourself nodding at his words. It was definitely the first time you had ever seen him completely lose himself. It happened to the best of people once or twice. Others, much more than that. You blinked, forcing your mind back to the present moment.

The doors pushed open as Anderson walked in, smiling and greeting you both. You side stepped to give him room as both you and Morgan bid him a good morning before he strode toward his desk. A still moment passed before Morgan turned his attention back to you.

“But…” he shook his head, “What did I do? What was so bad? Garcia’s giving me the silent treatment, and now you, too?”

The coarse stitches itched beneath the bandage hidden under the thin layer of your shirt. Your expression echoed the grimace you wore that night his grip tore your flesh open again.

I knew he was a fruit, man!

“I… uh…” you fumbled for words to possibly explain it all, mind going blank.

“Hey!” Prentiss called from somewhere behind you in the bullpen.

You turned to see her standing several paces away in front of the coffee machine, beckoning you over rather frantically as she glanced around at others passing by to start their days.

“Can you help me with this thing? I – I don’t know why it’s not working,” she craned over the machine, tapping it on all sides and muttering, “Oh, god, I hope I didn’t break it.”

Almost instantly, you began to rush over to her. You spared Morgan a backward glance and a quick shrug, taking note of the tilt of his brows before he started on his way to his desk.

“So what’s the problem?” you eyed the machine as you sidled up beside her.

Prentiss’s lips slowly curled into a smile.

“Nothing.”

Your eyes found hers and the knowing glint in her gaze rendered you motionless for a moment. A grateful smile then broke through your surprise.

“Thanks,” you muttered, fighting to rein in your expression as you faced toward the counter again.

“Mhmm,” she hummed, still smirking and keeping her eyes forward.

Continuing the charade, you let your fingers run over the smooth plastic top of the machine.

“How’s your shoulder?” she spoke quietly.

You lifted the lid and gave a cursory peek inside, the aroma of the coffee grounds wafting over the two of you.

“Alright,” you responded as you removed the pot and filled it with water from the sink, “Stitches are starting to itch a little but it’s okay.”

She hadn’t brought it up over the weekend in any of the texts you had exchanged, but now you silently prayed she didn’t ask how Morgan’s hand could have possibly caused such a wound.

“Debated just not coming in today, honestly…” you added.

She huffed a soft laugh, leaning closer toward you until your arms touched momentarily.

“Hey, no one would blame you,” she said.

You poured the water into the open lid, then put the pot back in its place and switched the machine to the correct setting that everyone seemed to ignore. Finally, you glanced at her out of the corner of your eye.

A faint smile graced her expression as she took in yours.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” she spoke, the loud burble of the machine providing a cover from any prying ears, “That was… a hell of a night.”

A wry chuckle forced its way out of your chest.

“Yeah,” you agreed, “It was mostly okay, though.”

You gave her a smile, your chest feeling lighter when you saw how she returned it brightly.

“I mean, I had fun with you,” you continued.

The skin around her eyes crinkled as she emitted a soft laugh.

“Yeah, me too,” she agreed.

The pair held each other’s gaze, the memory of a frenzied dance flitted through both minds in the same moment. You blinked as the memory skipped ahead to what came soon after. And you glanced away toward the machine that was now beginning to drip contents into the pot.

“It was just, well, you know…” you mumbled.

She nodded, her gaze drifting toward Morgan’s desk where he seemed to be taking an incredibly long time to find a suitable pen. His eyes continued to dart over toward the pair standing at the counter.

“Are you gonna tell him about it today?” she asked.

A heavy weight settled in your chest, your brow creasing. An irrational flood of annoyance filled your head, swimming behind your eyes. How did this become your responsibility? Why did you have to worry about having a big discussion, informing someone else of their actions?

Prentiss watched the range of emotions dart across your expression. Her eyes widened for a brief second, her hands coming up to wave away her question.

“Uh. I – I don’t know,” you spoke before she could, “I guess I just wanted to do my work and not really worry about it for a while.”

She nodded quickly, biting at her bottom lip as she studied you.

“Yeah,” she patted your arm, “Okay. Go ahead. I’ll bring you a cup once it’s finished.”

She jabbed her thumb at the machine, still pumping out a wonderfully strong scented liquid.

“Alright,” you smiled at her before turning away.

Skirting around co-workers, you wound your way through the paths in between the desks. Carefully avoiding the eyes that burned into your back, you made it to your own desk and sat down with a heavy sigh.

The feel of the paper beneath your fingertips allowed a deep, steadying breath to pass through your lungs. This was easy, it was methodical. Paperwork was simple, structured.

At times it was utterly boring but at the moment, the repetitive nature was exactly what you craved.

You could feel people passing by as the air around you whooshed in waves against your skin but you kept your head down and focused on your tasks.

A soft clink of ceramic against wood made you start, your head whipping up to find the source.

Prentiss smiled as she left you the promised mug of coffee, just how you liked it, and moved on to her own desk. Smiling back gratefully as she passed by, you grabbed the mug and blew at the gently coiling steam before taking several long sips. You relished the rich flavor and awaited the much needed caffeine boost as you continued to push through your large slog of work.

Eventually, your hand began to cramp and you needed to set your pen down. Blinking away the slight bleariness that came from staring so hard at your files, you sat back in your chair.

A soft groan sounded in your throat as a joint your lower spine popped. You stretched your arms above your head. You risked a quick glance in Morgan’s direction but found he was miraculously focused on his own work as well. As you looked around, you caught Reid’s eye and he gave you a tiny smile. You returned it, watching as his gaze flicked toward Morgan too before he went back to his own tasks.

The parts in your chair strained as you leaned further back, your lips pressing together as you wondered how Reid felt about the whole situation. Perhaps he had something to do with the peace you were being granted at the moment. He certainly could have told Morgan to give you some space in the time you were hiding behind coffee related excuses with Prentiss. Your fingers tapped softly against your thigh as you made a mental note to ask him later.

A trilling phone ringing ripped you from your speculation and you glanced around the busy office. Now seemed as safe a time as any to take a quick bathroom break. The others were all occupied and you could quickly dash away. Your chair creaked as you stood, but luckily the office was filled with so many sounds, it was not enough to bring any attention your way.

Your hands went to your tie, straightening it as you made your way to the nearest bathroom. You tended to avoid public bathrooms when possible, given that there was a ninety-five percent chance they would be disgusting. But the bathrooms here were kept so pristine, you had no qualms using them whenever you needed to.

Pushing the door open, you found the bathroom miraculously empty and you were able to take a stall for once. Afterward, you washed your hands slowly, methodically. The rush of the faucet hit your ears. Your eyelids fluttered as you recalled the last time you were in a public bathroom.

On a whim, you splashed a bit of the frigid tap water against your face. A muffled gasp pushed past your lips as you leaned over the sink, clear droplets falling from your nose and chin. The little shock was enough to banish any creeping feelings.

Ripping a paper towel from the dispenser, you quickly patted your face dry. The bright, white overhead lights shone harshly and accentuated the faint purple crescents beneath your eyes. You exhaled heavily from your nose at the sight. You could only hope they were less noticeable out in the bullpen.

Turning to leave, your shoes squeaked against the tiles as you stopped short when the door was pushed open from the other side.

Hotch halted in his tracks when his gaze landed on you, staring as the door closed behind him. The soft thud as it landed back into place seemed to echo in the quiet. For a couple of seconds, neither man moved, merely peering at each other in surprise.

“Hey,” Hotch said as he took a small step forward to avoid the door’s range, should it open again.

“Hey,” you repeated, your hands balling up the damp paper towel you had yet to toss away.

“I thought I made it clear that you could take today off if you needed to,” he muttered, surprise etched on his face.

A quiet moment crawled by where you held his scrutinizing gaze. You saw past the wall with the boss personality projected onto its surface, and saw the worry hidden behind it.

“Well, I don’t need to,” you responded plainly.

He stood very straight, his eyes flitting over you, looking you up and down in a quick flash.

“Okay,” he agreed placidly, giving a tiny nod.

You nodded in return. Then you turned to toss your clump of a paper towel into the bin near the edge of the row of sinks.

Hotch moved toward the stalls, giving your upper arm a soft pat as he brushed past you. A ghost of a smirk flitted across your lips as you moved toward the door.

As you strode through, your chest felt oddly tingly. You turned back to glance through the rapidly closing door, the sight of the bathroom within quickly becoming obscured.

You caught sight of Hotch as he paused in front of a stall, turning back in the same moment, his eyes finding yours through the waning sliver just before it shut completely.

The bright sun that shone through the windows had faded slightly when you finally broke free from your trance, whipping a file on top of the stack you had piled up on your desk. You slowly turned your head and exhaled sharply when a joint in your neck gave a crack.

The clock on the wall informed everyone that it was now well past noon, running closer to one o'clock. You rubbed at your eyes before glancing around to catch Prentiss look up and give a faint smile.

You gave a minute nod. Leaning back, the hole in your stomach suddenly made itself known as if your stretch had provoked it.

That coffee was ages ago.

A late lunch seemed to be in order.

Taking special care to not look anyone in the eye, you grabbed your things and made your way out of the room.

The sleek, grey elevator closing in front of you allowed a deep breath to release from your chest. Finally, you were away from any fleeting glances. Your stomach emitted such a loud rumble, you found yourself grateful for the empty elevator for another reason entirely.

Out on the street, the midday air warmed you quite quickly. The sun against your skin was a stark contrast to the cool air conditioned state of the building you worked in. You closed your eyes momentarily, turning your head toward the sky and inhaled deeply.

A waft of something delicious hit your nose. Your eyes snapped open and you spied a man hurrying by on the sidewalk with a paper bag in hand that contained what seemed to be some kind of bagel sandwich.

Stomach grumbling at the sight, you turned and began walking in the direction he had come from. Weaving in between people, you kept a sharp eye out for anyone else with a bag or cup with a similar design that the man’s bag had printed on it.

Only a few minutes later, you smiled when you spied an awning with the very same design. Walking in, you weren’t surprised to find it bustling with customers and the staff members scurrying about behind the counter.

You slotted yourself into the back of the long line for ordering. You already knew what you wanted. That bagel sandwich smelled like a dream and your heart was set on it.

Pulling out your phone, you thought it wise to check it while you waited. No missed calls or sudden messages yet. You let out a heavy breath.

Absently, you scrolled through everything possible in your phone while taking a couple of shuffling steps forward in line. Clicking through your contacts, you finger stopped when you landed on a new one that had recently been imputed but had yet to be used.

Javi

You fixated on the contact for so long, you didn’t realize you were suddenly several paces away from the man in front of you in line. Moving up quickly, you stowed your phone and banished all thoughts of anything except food.

When it came to be your turn at the front you hastily ordered the egg and bacon bagel sandwich along with an iced coffee. After stating your name for the order, you rushed out of the way to allow the next person their go.

The smell of various cafe foods swirled and danced in the air around you as you shuffled around people to head toward the single person tables.

Once in your seat, you looked about and felt a tickle of restlessness on your back. You should have brought something to occupy yourself with.

Pulling your phone out again, you stared at the little illuminated screen.

Your finger hovered over the selected contact for so long, it started to tremble slightly.

You clicked it before you could think better of it and were putting the phone to your ear to listen to the nerve-wracking ring. By the time it rang for a fifth time, you figured there would be no answer and you pulled the phone away to end the call.

“Hello?” a voice answered.

You put the speaker back to your ear, stunned.

“Hello?” he repeated.

“Hey,” you finally found your voice, “Uh, you might not remember me. We met at the bar the other night –”

Javi’s laugh cut you off.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said, his tone shifting from wary to pleasant, “Are you kidding? How could I forget?”

“Heh,” you chuckled self-consciously, your hand tapping against your thigh.

Javi continued, undeterred.

“First off, and I take personal offense to this, you had no idea how to drink a Jägerbomb and then –”

“Is that what it’s called?” you interrupted with disbelief, recalling the odd drink that required dropping one glass into another.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “Man, you don’t get out much do you?”

“Well,” you tiled your head, releasing a light scoff, “You saw what happens when I do.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “I left for, like, five minutes and I come back to you basically bleeding out. And your really weird group of… friends taking you away.”

Your throat grew tight and you struggled to swallow around the phantom pressure that coiled around your esophagus.

“What, uh…” Javi’s light tone gave way to seriousness, “What exactly happened there?”

You gripped the phone a little tighter, swallowing before speaking again.

“It was – It was just an accident,” you managed to say.

He was silent on the other end for a few moments, possibly under the impression that you would expand on that. When you didn’t, he spoke up.

“Listen, I, uh,” he gave an airy chuckle, “I hope I didn’t, um… read things wrong that night.”

Sitting up straighter in your seat, the words tumbled from your lips.

“Oh, no – no, um, it was my –” you stuttered, your neck suddenly growing hot, “I thought that you…”

You picked at a nick in the table with your fingernail, wondering how to reveal you assumed he was into Prentiss. When you didn’t finish your thought, Javi continued.

“Are you sure?” he pressed, “You looked kinda… Well. Let’s just say, I didn’t think you’d call.”

You could almost picture him rubbing at the back of his head nervously.

He had good reason. The paper with his phone number hastily scrawled onto it was nearly illegible, thoroughly worn from the amount of times you had folded and unfolded it. It had nearly found a home in the trash on more than one occasion until you finally saved the number in your phone.

“Well, I was…” it was your turn to release a nervous laugh, “I was kinda messed up by time you gave me the number.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s fair,” he agreed.

A staff member shouted out a name and you jumped a little, pulling the phone away from your ear for a moment, but it wasn’t yours that she repeated.

“Sorry about…” you paused.

You didn’t know exactly what you were apologizing for. There was the obvious of the insane manner in which you parted ways. The way you had been too dense to realize who the object of his attraction was. And of course… Morgan. But you weren’t sure if Javi himself was aware of that one. You had a strong suspicion but you dearly hoped you were wrong and he hadn’t heard Morgan’s drunken words.

Realizing you had gone silent for too long, you cleared your throat before finishing your thought.

“Well, take your pick.”

You were graced with his hearty laugh at your parroting of the same words he said to you that night at the bar, the sound pulling your lips up in response.

“Well, damn. That’s hard, there’s just so much to hate about you,” he said, laying the sarcasm on thick.

The laugh that pulled from your chest was a little louder than appropriate for the public setting and you glanced around before speaking again.

“I guess there was one thing I… wanted to say sorry for, specifically,” you hesitated, “Uh, I don’t know if you noticed but one of my friends was really drunk. Like, black-out drunk.”

“Oh, yeah. I remember,” his nod was almost audible, “He could barely stay on his feet. Are you talking about, uh, what he said? After I came outside?”

A hot spike of nerves rammed through your gut at the confirmation that he had heard Morgan’s drunken comment after all. His voice had gone soft as he asked the questions and your nail dug deeper into the groove in the table.

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” Javi tried to wave it off, “That was, uh, pretty tame compared to most things I’ve heard.”

It was meant to put you at ease, but it only served to compound your guilt. Your continued tense silence must have made your thoughts clear, as he spoke again hurriedly.

“It – It’s fine, really,” he reassured, “I mean… I’m guessing you wouldn’t hang around him if he really was… you know, not cool.”

Your finger stopped scratching at the dark wood as you swallowed with difficulty.

“Uh…” you couldn’t get much else past your lips.

Your chest had begun to rise and fall more harshly. His words had struck a target in your throat that you had been unaware of. You tried to clear your throat.

“Hello?” Javi paused, most likely checking that the call was still going, “Um. Are you good?”

“Y-Yeah,” you said, your voice a little hoarse, “Yeah, I’m good. You?”

“Yeah,” he spoke with a breathy chuckle, “Well, uh, you wanna make it all up to me?”

Your heart soared at the possibility.

“Yeah,” you replied honestly.

“Alright. I just need one thing,” he said.

“Sure, anything,” you said.

“Buy me a coffee,” he declared.

Your eyes snapped up, scanning the bustling place as if Javi were about to stand up from one of the other tables and reveal himself.

You couldn’t undo the other night, but you could do this. Coffee and a chat with someone who knew next to nothing about you but seemed to enjoy speaking with you.

Perhaps it would help. He didn’t look at you like you were about to break at any moment. He didn’t ask you how you were doing every twenty minutes, didn’t watch your every move. It could be fun, refreshing.

“Yeah,” you laughed, “Okay.”

“Great!” you could hear the smile in his voice, “When are you free?”

You paused, considering it. Today felt far too soon.

“Does tomorrow evening work?”

“Yeah, I’m down. I’ll see you then,” he said.

You could picture him drumming his hand against a table as he spoke.

“Alright, bye,” you said, ending the call.

You slowly set your phone down on the table, unblinkingly. Your phone chimed after a few moments and you saw that Javi had texted you the name and address of a coffee shop along with a little smiley face. A soft chuckle left your chest at the sight and the thought of him typing that out.

The cafe had become rather subdued, all the patrons glancing around at each other. You hadn’t noticed the way the chatter died down to muted mutterings.

It took the staff member another two tries of shouting your name for you to process what you were hearing. Shaking yourself free of your thoughts you realized you were holding up the delivery section at the counter. Standing in a rush, you quickly scurried over and apologized quickly as you retrieved your iced coffee and bacon bagel sandwich.

Heading back to your small table and carefully avoiding the judging gazes of the other customers, you sank down into the chair. Spying the deep gouge you had left near the corner, you discreetly covered it with a napkin. You took a sip of the coffee to quell the deep grumblings your stomach was making at the smell of your food.

Unwrapping it, you wrestled back a groan of delight at the fluffy looking egg nestled above the perfectly cooked bacon inside of the bagel. You were only a single, savory bite into your late lunch when your phone rang once again.

Brows drawing together, you fished it out of your pocket and swallowed your bite before you were ready to.

“Hello?” you answered slightly hoarsely.

“Hey,” JJ replied, “We have a case.”

Your feet pounded against the floor, the loud heavy sounds echoing through hall as you rushed back to the building. Garcia was waiting at the doors to inform you that the team had already headed down to the cars. Thanking her, you gave her arm a quick squeeze before you dashed off to the garage as your heart rate picked up.

If they were down there already, it was clearly serious and time was of the essence.

The air dropped to a slightly cooler temperature as you made your way into the parking structure, your footsteps echoing off the cement walls. Rushing over to the team’s usual set of cars, you saw them split between three cars. You paused for just a sight moment, a few feet away, wondering which you should join.

Hotch finally spied you from one of the driver’s seats and beckoned you toward his car.

Grateful, you jogged over and opened the back door. Prentiss greeted you quickly from the passenger seat as you slid into the back.

“Hey,” you said breathlessly as you swung the door shut with a slam, “What do we got?”

Hotch had already begun to pull the car out as you were still closing the door and you turned to watch the others follow suit closely behind.

He launched into an explanation, with Prentiss chiming in periodically with bits of her own.

The team had been called in to help as soon as possible to a small, woodland town that was within driving distance. A series of explosions had been set off with a variety of different methods. Yesterday alone, there had been three fires set. One had been in a small gas station market in the early hours of the morning, another at an abandoned house around midday, and the final one in the middle of a small, outdoor shopping street in the evening.

Only the single staff member of the gas station had been injured, but it was luckily rather superficial burns and scrapes from when he was thrown to the ground outside after the blast. If he had been inside the shop, it would have been much worse. No one in the shopping street had been injured.

“Why are we just hearing about this now?” you asked.

Hotch took a sharp turn on the road and your hand shot out to brace against the car door.

“Aside from yesterday, there was only one minor fire a couple of weeks ago that they ruled out as an accident,” Hotch said, “The local police said the ones from yesterday were done so randomly, they couldn’t be sure if it was the work of the same person.”

Prentiss gave a light scoff as she tossed her head back briefly.

“Three explosions in one day?” she said, incredulity dripping from her words, “And they didn’t think that was cause for alarm?”

You shared a look with her, your own scoff coming out rather harshly.

“So, what changed their minds?” you asked, your fingers twisting the seat belt.

The following quiet thrummed with a vibrating intensity as Hotch pressed down on the gas pedal a little harder.

“Well, they made it clear to get there as quickly as possible,” Prentiss said, her nose scrunching in thought before her voice dropped to a low mutter, “So, I guess we’re gonna find out.”

You know what you did.

The local police chief showed the team the ashen note with the accusation scrawled on it after they arrived. The piece of paper now sat on the table between everyone, glaring up at them. They were momentarily situated in a small room in the police station.

The chief assumed the eight meant that they had until eight o’clock that night until the unsub struck again and there would be another blaze somewhere. They were asked to build a profile as quickly as possible in order to find the person before the next explosion could happen in a place where a greater number of people could be hurt.

The team was skeptical about the eight meaning a time, but they still didn’t want to risk it. Time was always of the essence with any case, but this one had everyone exceptionally tense as the minutes ticked by.

Hotch spoke quickly, his back not even touching the chair as he assigned tasks.

“We’re going to need to split up and visit each of the sites,” Hotch ordered, “See if we can find any connection between all of them. Starting with –”

He tossed a photo on the table. Everyone gathered in close to peer at it.

“The gas station.”

The photo displayed the tiny shop of the station, blackened and charred. The ashy remains of shelves and products scattered across the floor.

“We can go check that one out,” Morgan volunteered, his fist nudging you, “Right?”

All team members stilled as their eyes flitted between the pair of you and Hotch, waiting to see what his say on the matter would be. The wind faded from Morgan’s sails as he noticed the way the others were silently regarding you and the slight shift in the already tense air.

Morgan let his hand drop onto the table with a dull thud that was much louder than normal in the tense silence.

“Oh, my god, just tell me already!” Morgan groaned, slumping in his chair as he looked at everyone in turn with exasperation.

“Morgan,” Hotch spoke quickly, “Now isn’t the time.”

Morgan shot upright in his seat.

“Well, when is?” he spread his arms as he gazed at all of the other team members before jabbing a finger at the photo on the table, “I can’t focus on this with this thing hanging over my head, man.”

You kept your gaze trained on the photo, feeling Morgan and the others watching you. Even Hotch was quiet for a moment, giving you the option to handle it yourself.

“It’s fine, we’ll go check it out,” you said, looking up to give everyone a clear view of your calm expression.

Hotch gazed at you evenly until he gave you a resolute nod.

The drive to the crime scene was rather silent, with only sporadic snippets of small talk interspersed between theories. You tried to keep on track, throwing out ideas of why people tend to lean toward fire and destruction.

Morgan stayed in that lane with you, analyzing what could possibly make someone angry enough to do so. This wasn’t the work of someone that simply got off on the chaos of it all, there was obviously some sort of grievance that the unsub was reacting to. Whether it was real or perceived was another matter entirely.

The sun that had been so pleasant a mere hour ago now beat down against your neck once you arrived at the gas station and exited the car.

You fell into step alongside him, your feet crunching loudly over the loose gravel. Scanning the environment, you attempted to put yourself in the unsub’s shoes. You pointed out that coming at an angle from the back would hide the unsub from the security camera outside.

After gleaning all you could from the smoky remains of the place, you set back to the station. The tires tore through the pebbles, sending some flying in all directions as Morgan pulled back out on to the road.

You kept your gaze pointed out of the window, watching the large trees flit by quickly. Your mind raced as you pondered what this unsub’s goal was. It clearly wasn’t hurting as many people as possible, considering they targeted an old abandoned house as well as the other locations.

“What are you thinking?” Morgan’s voice pulled you from you trance.

You blinked, turning away from the window to look at him. He was glancing at you furtively, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

“Don’t you think it’s weird that…” you muttered, your mouth twisting in confusion, “It’s almost like the gas station worker’s injuries were just an accident. The unsub clearly waited until they knew no one was inside the building.”

Morgan nodded, his expression growing thoughtful as he took a turn in the road.

“Yeah…” he mumbled, “So what do you think it means?”

You shook your head, scratching at your neck in agitation.

“I don’t know,” you said, frowning as you thought aloud, “Just… kinda weird that we’re on the clock like this… And no one has really been hurt, you know?”

The silence dragged out as Morgan rubbed at his chin before looking to you with the same confusion in his gaze that you felt.

Back in the small room at the police station, the air sparked and crackled as everyone hung around in varying states of quiet agitation. The other scenes had offered little insight and building an accurate profile so quickly would prove difficult. It certainly wouldn’t be enough to figure out where the unsub might go next, there simply wasn’t enough information yet. But time to get more information was exactly what police chief made it clear they did not have.

Everyone had taken their seats, looking over the facts and throwing ideas out.

Hotch had risen to speak with the chief when he burst in asking for an update. After trying to explain to the man why they felt the eight on the note didn’t mean a deadline, he only became further irritated.

“I thought this was your whole job?” he threw the question at Hotch, stepping close into his space, “Aren’t you guys supposed to be the best at knowing what this guy’s gonna do?!”

You bristled when you noticed how the older man was nearly toe to toe with Hotch, the pent up energy radiating from him. Hotch remained steadfast and though you couldn’t see his face, you could guess what it looked like at the moment.

Before you could think better of it, the sparking in your gut had propelled you up and out of your seat until you were beside them.

“Problem, Chief?” you asked measuredly, as you stopped mere inches away just as he was doing to Hotch.

The chief blinked at your approach, the aggression in his gaze fading as he backed away, grumbling something under his breath about the FBI. You glanced sidelong at Hotch and saw his carefully constructed mask of neutrality paired with authority that he crafted specially for situations like this.

You retreated back to your seat, avoiding the eyes of the rest of the team. Reid and JJ were burning holes into your head from their end of the table. If they had lasers in their eyes, they probably would have fired their beams to the middle of your brain by now.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw when Hotch returned to his seat at your left side. On the other end, you noticed Prentiss exchange a brief look with Rossi.

As Hotch brought his seat closer to the table, he looked at you momentarily and gave you a quick nod before addressing the others.

“Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath, “What do we know?”

He let his hands fall onto the photos they were given and spread them out in order.

“Three blasts,” you said, “Where no one got hurt on purpose.”

Reid’s brows furrowed, the pen he was fiddling with going still in between his fingers.

“What? What makes you say that?” he asked as he leaned forward.

All eyes were on you as you gave your explanation, Morgan already nodding along from his spot to your right, having had heard your speculation on the drive back.

Rossi tapped a rhythm against the table, his other hand rubbing over his mouth as he seemed to take in your words.

“Okay,” he said, “So, let’s just say he’s not doing it to harm anyone. What’s the point of this then?”

JJ shook her head, her hands forming a half shrug motion.

“Maybe he just likes the destruction?” she suggested.

“Yeah, but explosions and fire?” Prentiss said, her brows raising, “It’s one of the easiest things that can slip out of your control.”

A deep sigh passed your lips as you let your head rest in your hands, raking your fingers through your hair.

Morgan noticed your growing agitation and reached over to give you a soft clap on the shoulder.

At the feeling of his touch, a gasp was wrenched from your throat. You jerked away instinctively. The momentum propelled your chair sideways and you nearly rolled right into Hotch. Morgan was left with his hand still partially aloft, his eyes wide as he stared at you and then to everyone else.

“Dude, what is it?” Morgan threw his arms out, “What? Did I try to fight you or something?”

Reid lightly worried his bottom lip as he peered between you. JJ and Prentiss exchanged tense looks, Prentiss picking at her thumb nail. You glanced at Hotch, now mere inches away, a slight heat building under your skin at your overreaction as you carefully scooted your chair away from him and back to it’s original spot.

“No, nothing,” you muttered, training your eyes on the photos, “It’s fine, let’s try and figure this –”

“Oh, come on,” Morgan said, indignant, “How am I supposed to get anything done if you’re – what, you scared of me?”

“No,” you repeated sharply, your hands clasped together tightly on the table’s surface.

“Really?” Morgan said, the single word as bitter as vinegar as he let his hand fall on to the table with a huff.

“Ohh-kay,” Rossi cut in, his voice jamming into the exchange as he dragged the word out, “I think we’re all just a little frustrated. Maybe we should take a quick break?”

He looked to Hotch questioningly, who gave a nod as he began to push his chair back.

“Yeah,” he said, addressing everyone, “Let’s clear our heads, meet back here in five minutes?”

Reid seemed like he was trying to sink right into the floor, like he couldn’t wait to exit the now incredibly tense room. Prentiss looked just as eager and JJ appeared eerily blank. The soft creak of everyone’s chairs as they moved to stand filled the thick, heavy air for just a moment.

Then Morgan scoffed and spoke under his breath, his gaze downcast.

“Yeah, so you can find another way to avoid me?”

The crack of the pen slammed down against the table had everyone halting in their movement, eyes snapping up in surprise at the sound.

JJ gazed at Morgan evenly from the other end of the table.

“Can’t really blame him,” she said with a wry shrug, her mouth rather tight.

Ice dropped into your stomach when you saw the irritation burning behind her eyes as she continued.

“Hell, I probably wouldn’t know what to do either if you had me bleeding and –”

“JJ,” you pleaded in a wheeze.

Reid tried to put a hand on her arm in the same moment but the words were already blurting from her mouth.

“– called the guy who hit on me a derogatory term.”

The silence that followed could have been cut and served up on a plate.

“No…” Morgan gaped, “I – I did that?”

“JJ,” Hotch admonished quietly, fixing her with a level stare.

She finally looked away from Morgan. Turning to Hotch, her eyes widened as the realization of what she had just done seemed to dawn on her. She turned to you, her hand coming to rest in front of her mouth.

You clenched your hands into fists, pressing them hard into your lap. Heat spread like wildfire in your veins, mostly from embarrassment and shock but also a spark of anger. You absolutely could not let it catch and flare to life. You always worked to keep your anger in check, you couldn’t let it get out of control now.

“Did I?” Morgan turned to Prentiss, at a loss.

She looked at him, slightly paralyzed as she glanced around at the others. When Morgan looked to Rossi, he was much the same as Prentiss and glanced toward you with uncertainty.

The unsub could possibly strike again in a matter of hours. You didn’t understand why time was being wasted on this. You pointedly remained silent in the hopes that Hotch would put a stop to all this.

“I… No, there’s no way,” Morgan shook his head as he turned his attention back to you.

Irritation flared in your chest and flooded all the way down to your toes after hearing how he denied it and suddenly the dam broke.

“No?” you fired at him, tone cracking like a whip, “You want me to call him so you can ask him yourself? He heard what you said, man. Forget my shoulder, that might be the worst part.”

You were on your feet without recalling doing so, your chair clattering behind you. Before the bellows could stoke the flames of your temper, before your voice had a chance to rise further, you took the best course of action and removed yourself from the situation.

Though you already knew you had messed up having an outburst like that, you avoided a much more horrible scenario. You shook out your tight fists, taking in deep breaths to steady yourself as you stalked away and pushed into a small, unoccupied room.

Sinking down into a chair, you let your head drop heavily into your hands with a soft groan. Your mind drifted longingly to the time before everything got so difficult. The tick of the watch on your wrist was loud, right next to your ear. You let the steady beat calm you, willing your heart to match the pace.

After several bracing ticks, the door opened slowly after a quiet knock. Unmoving, you listened to the soft padding of footsteps coming toward you.

“Sorry,” you muttered without bothering to look up.

The shiny, almost reflective shoes you could see from under your arms were enough for you to be certain who you were speaking to.

“It’s alright,” Hotch said as he lowered himself to a seat beside you.

A huff left your lips as you finally lifted your head. There were no traces of anger anywhere in his expression that you could detect.

“Oh, really?” you smirked in disbelief, “You tell JJ it’s alright?”

His expression mirrored yours, a flash of mirth dancing in the background of his gaze.

“Well. I think it could’ve gone a lot worse,” he murmured, an eyebrow quirking at the thought before his tone shifted into more serious territory, “But out here, we need to be able to rely on each other. No matter what else may be going on between us personally. I’m going to talk to Morgan, too. But you still shouldn’t have spoken to him like that –”

You shook your head before you cut him off.

“No, I know I shouldn’t have –” a heavy groan left your chest as you dragged your hands through your hair, “Honestly, I was already kinda over it. It really wasn’t even that bad. But just now, when he said “no” it just – it made me so mad for some reason.”

“Well, we’re not exactly on a relaxing retreat at the moment,” he said, “We’re all feeling the strain.”

You fell heavily against the back of the chair, your hands coming up to scrub harshly at your face.

“Ugh, god…” you lamented, “When this is over I just might actually go on a relaxing retreat.”

A soft snort sounded from your side and you looked to find Hotch nearly grinning as he studied you, the skin around his eyes crinkling.

“W-What?” you said, your lips upturning despite yourself.

“Nothing,” he murmured, shaking his head, “I’m just imagining you trying to relax on a retreat. It’s… very amusing.”

Forcing your expression to remain neutral, you nudged your foot against his.

“You’re gonna go, too,” you declared seriously, biting back your smile, “If any one desperately needs a retreat, it’s you.”

Hotch laughed properly at that as he shook his head at you. An odd lightness emerged in your chest at the sight, remembering the easy moments shared over whiskey at a late hour. You finally cracked and felt your own laughter rush forth at the sheer incredulity of the turn in conversation.

When your mirth subsided, you glanced at your watch before looking back at him with a slightly raised eyebrow.

“Don’t worry,” he said, waving a hand, “I decided a ten minute break would be more appropriate.”

A soft, amused huff left your nose at this. Grateful for the extra minutes, you let yourself slouch in the chair, eyes drifting shut, and tried to think of absolutely nothing.

“So…” Hotch spoke after a couple minutes of silence.

You shifted to look at him again. The slow quirk of his lips was the only hint you got at what the rest of his sentence would be, yet you never would have guessed it.

“You did call him.”

The silence in the room pressed on you heavily. Your lungs momentarily lost the ability to take in air as you gaped at his raised brows and smirking lips.

“Uh – I,” you faltered, whipping upright in the chair.

Your mind provided a flash of the look on Hotch’s face when he spoke to Javi that night.

“Well…” you stared at him wide-eyed, your hands clasped so tight around the armrests that your knuckles were turning white.

Hotch’s features smoothed out, fading from teasing into a muted disbelief as he noted the apprehension thrumming through your rigid form.

“You don’t think that I…” he faltered, a brief flicker of something like hurt in his eyes.

The door opened once more, causing both of you to jump and whip around.

JJ skidded to a halt just inside the room, her lips pressed together as she regarded you.

“Hey,” she breathed, taking a small step toward you, “I – I’m so sorry I said that. I don’t know why I did it. I should have let you decide if you wanted to talk about it, I –”

Hotch watched as you rose from your seat. You cut her off gently with a hand on her arm to stop her apology.

“It’s okay,” you said carefully, “Really. It’s fine. Let’s worry about it all later, okay?”

JJ blew out a harsh breath, glancing to Hotch quickly, before giving you a grateful nod and falling into step with the both of you to head back to the rest of the team.

You gave a sidelong look at Hotch, catching him still studying you with a worried tilt to his brows. Swallowing and turning your gaze forward again, you couldn’t believe the relief you felt at reentering the room you had been so eager to exit mere minutes ago.

Tensions only ratcheted higher with each passing hour. The closer it got to 8 p.m. the more agitated the chief got with the team.

With only a partially complete profile but not much else to go on, there weren’t many answers they could give him. Even Garcia couldn’t find anything of note about any of the targeted locations or any suspects that fit. Irritation hung in the air like fireflies, sometimes flying right into their faces when they least expected it.

Not to mention the fact that whenever Morgan attempted to speak to you about anything other than the case, he’d find himself cut off by someone else. The message rang clear to him after about an hour of this occurring and he focused only on the work.

Once the clock announced it was eight o’clock, a sudden stillness washed over everyone. Even Reid stopped moving entirely as the team gazed at one another in quiet apprehension.

The chief barreled into their room a few minutes later, informing them rather testily that they would keep a close eye on all the news outlets.

Minutes crawled by, slowly turning half an hour into a whole hour.

Prentiss peered at you, her brows raised silently. You shrugged helplessly at her.

After nine o’clock pushed forward into 9:38 and there was still no word, the team came to the conclusion that they were safe from another disaster. Their suspicions about the note proved to be correct.

The chief failed to appear in their room again.

The wooden stirrer scraped softly against the bottom of the ceramic mug. You added another spoonful of sugar to your coffee, feeling like you were wearing a weighted vest as you stirred.

The break room’s name suddenly became crystal clear to you as you stood alone, heaving a sigh. Another half hour had slogged by with not a single new insight that could help the team.

Tossing the small stick into the trash, you raised the mug to your lips and took a long, desperately needed sip of coffee.

The break room door opened behind you and you turned, only to set your mug down on the counter with a loud clack.

Morgan approached you cautiously, his thumbs hooking into his pockets as he stood a couple of paces away.

“Reid told me,” he said, “What I did and, uh, said that night.”

“Okay,” you said plainly, moving to exit the room.

“Come on, man, you have to know I don’t really think like that.”

“Yeah, I do,” you said, then gestured past him, “Can I please just –”

“Oh, that was real convincing. Look, I shouldn’t have said those things, alright?” Morgan heaved out a huge sigh, his jaw tight as he gazed at you, “I don’t even remember saying it. I – I still can’t believe I said it. But –”

Your fingers dug into your eyes, breathing slowly as you willed yourself not to get heated again. A presence lingered just outside the door that you failed to notice in the moment your eyes were closed.

“Just stop, dude, we’re fine. Honestly, I’m just glad you didn’t say a lot worse,” you muttered, “I’m getting tired of talking about this. And we have an unsub to find.”

You skirted past him to exit the small break room that had begun to feel like an interrogation room instead.

“Hey, hold on –”

The sensation of his fingers curling around your upper arm–

Sparks of alarm flew across your brain.

“Dude!” you exclaimed.

You twisted away from his touch, spinning around, your back now to the door.

Morgan held his hands up, palms facing you, his mouth falling open at your outburst.

“What?” he asked plainly, stunned.

“Seriously –?” you rasped, your throat going dry.

Memories clawed their way to the forefront of your exhausted mind.

Your lungs screaming for air. Morgan cackling too close to your ear. The flames tearing across your shoulder.

The breath skittered out of your lungs as Morgan’s eyes grew wide with realization.

“We just talked about that,” you ground out the words.

Morgan watched as your eyes screwed shut and you took a deep breath, gently rolling your right shoulder.

“Oh, damn. Right,” Morgan shook his head at himself, “I –”

Morgan’s gaze focusing on something past you made your turn to follow his line of sight.

Hotch stepped through the doorway, studying the both of you coolly.

You tried to stand straight, to look normal, but once glance at the way Hotch was scanning you and you knew it was futile. You chest puffed out as you forced yourself to take in a great breath, some of the spikes of alarm already fading.

“Give us a minute,” Hotch muttered firmly as he locked eyes with Morgan.

Morgan tried to catch your eye, lingering in the hopes that you might speak up and perhaps negate the need for Hotch’s order.

You said nothing.

He dipped his head in a low nod as he stepped around Hotch to exit the room.

“I’m fine,” you spoke between slightly gritted teeth.

Hotch merely stared at you evenly, his hands sliding into his pockets as he allowed your tone to float in the air between you and refute your words.

“Maybe it is too soon for you to be back,” he suggested, “If you need to take some time, you know you’re allowed to do that.”

You were already shaking your head vehemently.

“No. I can work,” the words came out firm.

His lips pressed together in a rather resigned line.

“What makes you so sure about that?” he asked.

You lifted your gaze, holding his steadily.

“You’re here, too,” you said.

The quiet that followed was so loud it nearly burst your eardrums. You didn’t break his gaze. You knew if he was half as obstinate as you thought him to be, he couldn’t possibly contradict your claim without damning himself.

A full thirty seconds passed. Both studied each other, unyielding.

“Let’s go help the others,” he spoke at last.

You nodded, and followed as he led the way out the door.

As the minutes ticked away relentlessly and midnight fast approached, the team accepted that they would not be headed to bed tonight.

Everyone had spread out to think.

Reid was spinning his chair in soft, half-circles as he stared at a map that marked the known locations of the explosions.

JJ had her feet tucked beneath her on the tiny sofa that was in the corner, turning the pages of a collection of old reports on fires in the town.

Prentiss had the end of her pen in her mouth as she studied the photo of the charred abandoned house.

Rossi turned the ring on his finger absentmindedly as he also observed the map on the board.

Morgan tapped his fingers against his knees, not looking at anything anymore but leaning back with his eyes closed.

Hotch was slouched in his chair, his hands resting on top of his head as he peered between all the evidence gathered.

You had called Garcia back a couple of hours ago to let her know nothing bad had happened after eight o’clock and to let her know she had not been “forgotten” like she had claimed.

“What’s the point of me being here if it’s just gonna be the seven of you going off to do everything on your own?” she had complained.

Your lips quirked up at the memory of how she had sounded so genuinely hurt and the way you cheered her up by promising to watch a movie together when you returned.

The pen in your hand scribbled aimlessly against a piece of paper. You let it glide and form random lines. They mirrored what the inside of your head felt like.

Sighing, you stood and stretched with a quiet groan.

“Anyone want any more coffee?” you asked generally.

Everyone turned to you, mostly all shaking their heads except for Reid who nodded appreciatively.

You gave him a thumbs up as you left to the break room again. The sounds of the station had grown slower, quieter. All the local officers looked subdued and worn out.

Entering the room and heading toward the coffee machine, you were surprised to find someone had recently brewed a fresh pot that was mostly full. Grabbing two paper cups, knowing Reid wouldn’t want someone else’s mug, you began to fill them both.

You were only just stirring in the sugar when a voice sounded behind you, making you jump and nearly spill the coffee all over yourself.

“Woah,” Morgan said, a surprised chuckle pushing past his lips, “Easy.”

You turned to give him the ghost of a sheepish smirk. He lingered silently for several moments. Clearing his throat, he finally spoke.

“Can we just do all this again?” he said, with a half-smile tinged with regret, “I don’t like bein’ like this, man.”

He gestured between the two of you with a heavy sigh. You found yourself nodding in agreement.

“Me neither,” you muttered.

“Look, I…” Morgan glanced away for a moment before steeling himself, “You know I have no problem if you’re, you know, gay or –”

“Wh – I’m not gay, Morgan,” you cut him off, whipping your head around to see if anyone was within earshot.

Morgan faltered, blinking as a current of confusion swam across his face.

“Uh, you’re not?” he threw his hands out, “Well, then why are you so pissed at me for this?”

A scoff pushed past your lips as you shook your head, turning back to the coffees.

“Wait. Please,” Morgan’s tone softened as he scurried to your side, “I just – I thought since you were this mad, just about something I said –”

The breath came harsh from your chest, and you could almost hear your blood pumping in you ears. Every word, every thought that you had been pushing away finally bubbled up to the surface and burst out in a rush.

“Do I have to be gay to not want you to say homophobic things?” you said, looking him dead in the face, “And I’m not mad. I’m just… It was kinda embarrassing, man. And disappointing. That guy, Javi? He was real nice. Just because it wasn’t… the worst you could’ve said, doesn’t mean I don’t wish he didn’t have to hear you say anything at all. I’ve seen firsthand how little thoughts like that… can lead to actions. Which lead to bigger, scarier actions. It can – It can really make people feel unsafe, man. Like – Like they aren’t allowed to exist.”

You realized your breath was coming quicker and you forced your mouth shut. You blinked rapidly, a hot spiral coiling deep in your gut. You had disclosed much more than you intended to.

Morgan had gone still as he took in all of your admission. His fingers tapped nervously against each other at his side, remorse swimming in his eyes. You shifted from foot to foot, unsure of where to look now, wondering if you could walk away without him trying to stop you.

“Damn it,” Morgan said under his breath, a hand coming up to scrub at his face in agitation.

A tug pulled inside your chest at the sight of his rising guilt.

“Look, Morgan. It’s – I know that you’d never –” you began, your hand reaching out toward him tentatively.

“Hey!” Reid called, as he leaned in through the doorway, cutting you off, “Come on, we might have the unsub.”

You shared a stunned look with Morgan, silently agreeing to shelve the conversation for now before rushing off in unison after Reid.

The tip that came in to the station directed them to a large expanse of property with several buildings spaced out across the land where the unsub could be hiding. Hotch sent everyone off, splitting up into groups to cover as much ground as possible.

The buildings were spaced so far apart, you couldn’t even see where the others were, not even a glimpse of their lights. The dry, unmaintained grass crunched lightly under your feet. Slowly stalking around a vast, old brick building, you held your gun down at your side. You glanced at Morgan, with his back pressed up against the wall, and nodded silently toward the back end of the building.

He nodded back as he began creeping ahead, the cold darkness of the night only serving to make both men extra cautious. You had agreed silently to walk around the perimeter first, attempting to check the windows without alerting anyone that may be inside.

The exhaustion, irritation, anger, everything that had been warring within gave way to adrenaline as you poured all your focus to the matter at hand. Finally, the both of you pushed into the building from the back entrance and immediately swept your field of vision. Your small flashlights cast concentrated beams of light across the interior.

Old machinery and what appeared to be long forgotten crates of random storage filled the large building.

Your footsteps sounded painfully loud as you checked behind every object where anyone could possibly be hiding, your chest rising quicker with each spot. You kept your ear trained on Morgan doing the same on the other side of the space.

Finally reaching the other end of the large, open area at the same time, you both lowered your guns.

“There’s nothin’ here, man,” Morgan heaved out a breath, the tension dropping from his shoulders.

“Yeah,” you blew out your own deep breath as you glanced about, “Think it was just a prank call?”

Morgan shook his head, shrugging and letting his hand fall sharply against his side.

“Whatever this is, it’s a waste of our time,” he muttered, moving past you toward front exit, “I mean, what’s the point of all this?”

You remained still as his words sunk into your brain. Something snagged in your mind, the clarity from the burst of adrenaline that remained still thrummed in your limbs.

What’s the point of me being here if it’s just gonna be the seven of you going off to do everything on your own?

“Morgan…” you murmured, brow creasing.

He turned back to you, his hand on the door, already pushing it open. Your eyes landed on the small square just above the door.

Heart racing, you lunged forward to stop his motion.

“Morgan, wait!”

He was already through, the door swinging open and pulling something free from the block above their heads. Morgan was turning to follow your gaze when you tackled him through the doorway, shielding him as best you could as you turned to look behind you.

The door was swinging shut.

It didn’t close fully before it was blasted off its hinges.

The darkness that enveloped you was like tar, thick and sticky, clinging to you and unwilling to release you. Hands were under your arms, dragging your limp form across a bumpy terrain. Each sharp movement over a rise or dip in the ground caused flares of pain to dance across your torso. A harsh ringing hit your ears, like someone had just hit the world’s largest tuning fork an inch away from your head.

“I’ve got ya,” a labored voice near your ear cut through the ringing.

Blinking blearily, your eyes peeled open. In a dull daze, you registered that the vision in your left eye wasn’t working correctly. Only a blurry darkness was visible, creating an unsettling one-sided perspective of everything.

The sight of your own legs dragging slack in front of you appeared like something happening on a film screen you were watching, as opposed to reality.

The hands dragging you must have deemed your journey complete, for you came to a halt. The scorching that spread across your chest from the harsh movement faded to a blessedly dull simmer. A weak wheezing sounded in your ears.

Your eyelids seemed to be the only part of your body responding at the moment. Apart from the wheezing, the all encompassing ringing drowned out almost every other noise.

Soft jostling from behind made you blink, and you felt what seemed to be someone propping you up against their chest as they sunk down to sit on the ground. The hands rested carefully on your upper arms, holding you in place and tucking your head beneath their chin.

“I’ve got ya, kiddo,” the voice came again.

You knew that voice. Didn’t you?

You managed to turn your head to the right, and spotted a shiny ring, glinting a raging orange, on the hand at your side.

Rossi’s ring.

Burning pressure built on your chest like someone was slowly releasing a palate of bricks to rest atop of it.

A stifling cloud of smoke hung in the air.

No.

Wait.

Something else.

Alarm slashed through the thick wool in your head.

There was something–

Pushing away the burn, you forced your arms to obey your will and pressed your scraped palms flat against the ground, sharp, dry grass poking into your wounds.

“No, no,” Rossi’s grip tightened a fraction, “Don’t move. It’s okay, it’s me. It’s Rossi. I’ve got you, kid.”

The blurry sight of the blaze overtaking the brick building a distance away had you straining against Rossi’s hold.

There!

You had to get back.

“N–” a cough wracked through your body, dry and husky.

“No, no. Listen to me,” Rossi muttered, pressing lightly against your chest to keep you flush against him, “Listen. Don’t try to get up just yet.”

Patches of fuzzy edged blackness skirted across your limited field of vision when Rossi touched your chest. The burn spread wildly through your torso, mirroring the inferno before you. A groan tore past your lips, a grimace twisting your features. Your chest rose hard and fast, the wheezing in your ears growing louder and quicker.

Weakly, you fought to sit upright against Rossi’s grip.

Your arm outstretched toward the flaring windows of the building.

“No!” you rasped.

Rossi didn’t understand–

“M – Morgan!”

Rossi had been running the instant he recovered from the intense shock wave of the blast. Even from the smaller building he had taken on his own, he could still feel it.

He ran toward the sound, his breath coming harsh when he saw the flames roaring to life and beginning to consume the interior of the building. The anxiety rendered his mind useless as he tried to remember who had taken this building.

When he finally reached it, he turned the back corner and his heart dropped at the sight before him. You were lying on the ground, frighteningly still, and a right mess. He pushed away the fear at all the blood he could see seeping from your form.

In a split second, he leapt into action. He rushed to your side, squinting and shielding his eyes from the thick smoke that billowed from the nearby windows. After a brief once over to rule out any obviously broken bones, he had hooked his hands under your arms to drag you away before he could debate it a moment longer.

The smoke made it difficult to know for sure, but he thought he spied two other forms ahead in the distance and he heaved you in that direction. Chest heaving from the exertion and the dwindling oxygen in the air, he came upon another grunting and gasping team member.

“Hey! Oh, thank god, I – couldn’t carry both of them,” Prentiss panted, sweat and ash smudging her face as she held an unconscious Morgan, exactly the same way Rossi dragged you, “You okay?!”

“Yeah,” Rossi grunted, “You?”

She had nodded as they continued pulling the other two away until the growing heat of the building didn’t feel like it was cooking their eyeballs.

Now, he fought to keep you still in his arms as you struggled agitatedly.

He took stock of the blood running down your face from a spot near your eye, the area bloody and swollen. The glint of something embedded in your face, a jagged piece of shrapnel. He winced at the thought that your eye might be damaged beyond repair. Crimson trails flowed down your head and the back of your neck. And another dark spot spread slowly on your torso.

He knew it was best for you to not move. He had already risked moving you and potentially causing more damage. But you had been lying on the ground, so scarily limp and far too close to the building that was currently roaring and cracking.

The blazing heat was incessant, even at a distance. He wouldn’t be surprised if the hair on his arms had been singed off in the process of getting you to safety.

You were trying to speak, and Rossi shared a horrified look with Prentiss when your voice came out in a weak, dry cough. He tried to reassure you, knowing you were probably operating at the slowest capacity.

“No!”

When you strained against him and began reaching toward the building, he held you still with confusion

“M – Morgan!” you lamented.

Understanding flooded the fully conscious pair when they heard this.

“It’s okay!” Prentiss called breathlessly, “I got him. He’s here.”

You tried to move in Rossi’s arms, he felt your arms trembling from the effort.

“Here,” he said softly, “Hang on.”

He rose to a crouch and rotated the pair of you carefully.

Prentiss, sat on the ground and cradling Morgan, shifted into the line of sight from your one working eye. He was still out cold, but he seemed largely unharmed by some sort of miracle.

Rossi settled back down, feeling you finally relax in his grip as you took the sight. Your horribly weak wheezes slowed as you looked at them.

“It’s alright,” Prentiss said, wiping at her forehead, smearing the blackness across it, “You’re gonna be okay. I – I already called the ambulances.”

Pounding of footsteps brought hers and Rossi’s attention away and they heard Hotch, Reid, and JJ yelling in the distance.

“Here!” Rossi yelled.

He craned to look down at you but your eyes had fluttered shut after taking in Morgan and Prentiss, going fully limp against his chest.

“Hey,” he suppressed the instinct to shake you awake, “Kid, come on. They’re almost here.”

The distant wail of sirens growing closer was all he got in response.

Morgan shifted, his head feeling rather heavy as he blinked blearily to find Prentiss at his side, watching him carefully. She looked like she had just attended a finger painting party where the only colors available were grey and black.

“Hey,” she said, “Take it easy.”

Sitting up slowly, he groaned as his mind processed the fact that he was lying on a gurney. The thick, choking smell of smoke still clung to the inside of his nostrils. The slight tremble of everything around them made him realize they were inside a moving ambulance.

A medic appeared at his side. After getting a light flashed in his eyes and his scrapes cleaned off, they let him try to reorient himself.

“What… Wait,” Morgan rubbed at his head, eyes screwing shut, “Wait, we – we were… Why –”

Prentiss put a hand on his arm, prompting him to look at her.

“The building went up. You were caught in the blast.” she spoke quietly, “We’re all headed to the same hospital. Everyone’s mostly fine.”

Morgan tried to sit up straighter, his chest rising quicker.

“Mostly?” he repeated, “What do you mean ‘mostly’? What –”

Prentiss squeezed his arm, pressing her lips together momentarily.

“Well, it was you, and, um…” she trailed off, blinking rapidly.

Morgan’s blood stopped pumping for a split second.

Your yell echoed in his mind.

He squeezed Prentiss’s hand when he remembered how you had thrown yourself on top of him.

Hotch gripped the steering wheel so tightly that JJ feared he might rip it off before they could reach the hospital. He stayed right on the tail of the ambulances that carried Morgan, Prentiss, you and Rossi.

Reid was nearly thrown into the door of the backseat when Hotch took a sharp turn. JJ turned back from the passenger seat to glance at him. They could only stare at each other in concerned silence.

The sight of Morgan and you lying unconscious on the ground had rendered all of them still in shock for a few seconds. They didn’t have much time to react before the medics arrived and were carting everyone away.

They left the firefighters at the scene, jumping into a single car to follow behind their teammates.

What felt like eons later, they reached the hospital and everyone was bolting inside. When Hotch merely stood in an incredibly disconcerting silence, staring rather vacantly, JJ attempted to get answers from the nearest staff member. She quickly explained who they were and what had just happened.

Soon after many questions that felt absurdly unnecessary, they were being directed to a waiting room. There they found Rossi and Prentiss collapsed into chairs, their shoulders touching.

Reid rushed over to give Prentiss a tight squeeze as she stood up. JJ followed suit after him. Hotch walked over and put a hand on Rossi’s shoulder silently.

“We’re… probably not gonna get word on the kid for a while,” Rossi murmured, sounding rather sapped of energy.

“What about Morgan?” Reid asked.

“He woke up on the ride over,” Prentiss said, rubbing her hand on her thigh, “They think he’s pretty much fine, but they’re running scans on him now just to be safe.”

A collective relief spread through the others, Hotch releasing a sigh as he rubbed his fingers over his eyes.

They all settled into seats, preparing for a long wait for any news. An hour somehow felt triple its length as they waited without a visit from any staff member.

Fatigue caught up to them, crawling up their legs and coaxing them into fitful sleep.

Reid’s head had fallen sideways against Prentiss’s shoulder as he finally fell to the heavy pull after the clock passed two in the morning.

“Hey,” Rossi spoke quietly, rousing him and the others. “Why don’t you go on home?”

“No,” Reid’s brow furrowed, “We can’t.”

“Here,” he produced a card from his wallet, “Take this. Go get a few rooms nearby. Go ahead and get some rest. Save a room for me, I’ll stay and let you know anything once I hear it.”

JJ looked like she was about to protest, as did Prentiss, but Hotch spoke up as he shifted in his seat.

“It’s a good idea,” he said.

Reluctantly, the trio was ushered away and reminded them several times to call the moment they heard any news. Once they were alone in the room, Rossi turned his gaze to Hotch. He was hunched over in seat, his arms resting against his knees as he gazed into space.

“I should have sent you with them,” he remarked.

Hotch turned his weary gaze on him and Rossi knew he would have failed if he attempted to do so.

Hotch lost a firm grasp on how much time had passed by. He alternated between pacing the room and sinking heavily into his seat.

When the door to the room finally opened again, both he and Rossi shot up to meet the doctor that entered. He appeared to share their exhaustion. He explained how they had to remove several pieces of shrapnel from your body, and the main concern was a large piece that had gone into your torso. Hotch felt his breath speed up when he heard how close it had come to fully puncturing your lung.

“What about his eye?” Rossi asked.

“Also rather lucky it was just a gash above the eyebrow,” the doctor said, “He could have been blinded if the object had landed any lower.”

“But he’s okay?” Hotch asked, his hands clenched at his sides.

“He’s definitely not going anywhere for a while, but he should be,” the doctor replied, “We can’t know for sure until he wakes up but being so close to an explosion like that, it might have caused some damage to his brain. He might have… trouble remembering things or be confused and disoriented. His body had gone through a lot, so it might be a while before he wakes. We going to have to watch him carefully to make sure he doesn’t have any trouble breathing and everything’s healing correctly.”

“Can we see him?” Hotch said.

The man hesitated, looking between both of them.

“I can let one of you in at the moment,” he said.

Hotch locked eyes with Rossi.

“Go ahead,” Rossi nodded at him.

The walk to the room as the doctor lead the way passed in a stuttering blur. He blinked forcefully, willing himself to remain calm. When the man paused outside a door and opened it for him, he halted just outside.

“Sir?” the doctor said.

“Yeah, thank you,” Hotch muttered.

He walked into the quiet room, gaze locked on your unmoving form. Somehow, the sight of you in the bed with monitors hooked up to you and oxygen flowing into your nose, bandages across your head and face, was worse than when they had found you after the blast.

A shaky breath left his lips as he tentatively approached your bedside.

“Hey,” he whispered.

He tried and failed to remember the last thing he had said to you. Glancing backward, he was glad to find the doctor had closed the door behind him. Slowly, he reached out and let his fingertips rest on your arm. He scanned your face for any sign of a reaction.

When you remained still, his head dropped forward as he let out a harsh breath. He kept his fingers where they were, contenting himself with the reassuring feel of the warmth of your skin under his touch. He glanced up to the beeping monitor, finding the number that signified your pulse.

Alive.

At least you were alive.

“You better wake up,” Hotch muttered, blinking hard against the burn in his eyes.

He blamed it on the effects of the smoke.

Morgan had finally been freed from the short observation they were holding him on. After asking about his colleagues, he was directed to the room where you had ended up. Lingering in the hall, he checked his phone and replied to the texts he had received from Prentiss hours ago when he was still getting his scans.

Rossi appeared from around the corner, a vending machine sized bag of pretzels in hand. He approached him slowly, a hand coming up to give his back a quick pat.

“Good to see you on your feet,” he said, “Gave us a scare, there.”

Morgan looked to him briefly, his arm coming up to drape loosely around Rossi’s shoulders for a moment before dropping away again. He looked back to the room that contained his teammate and boss.

“Safe to say,” Rossi murmured with a quirk of an eyebrow, nodding at the door, “Pretty sure you’re forgiven.”

Morgan gave a small nod, swallowing thickly. Rossi fiddled with his bag, heaving in a deep breath.

“I won’t lie, it was pretty damn scary all around. You knocked out. Him with a piece of metal sticking out of his face.”

Morgan shook his head, his gaze growing hard.

“What?” Rossi questioned.

“I can’t believe I’m walking out of here, man. With barely a scratch. Thanks to him,” Morgan spoke stiffly, his jaw clenched, “While he’s –”

He ran a hand over his head, blowing out a long breath.

“What if he doesn’t…?” his voice grew quiet as he trailed off, unwilling to speak the fear into existence.

“He’ll wake up,” Rossi said resolutely.

Morgan finally turned to him, regret painting his features.

“How do you know?”

Rossi locked eyes with him, a firm belief in his gaze.

“Because he has to.”

The words were spoken with such authority that both had to believe it. Several beats passed where they allowed themselves a brief time to revel in the fact that they were okay. Hospital staff walked back and forth in front of them and they watched silently.

“Feeling in fighting shape yet?” Rossi asked, nudging him with his shoulder.

“Huh?” Morgan said, surprise in the single word.

“You gotta help me with the most difficult part of all this,” he nodded solemnly, “Worse than any unsub.”

Morgan’s brows drew together as he peered at him silently, wondering what could possibly be worse.

Rossi quirked an eyebrow wryly.

“Convincing Hotch to let us take turns waiting with him,” he concluded.

Morgan couldn’t hold back his wide grin and genuine peal of laughter.

“Ooh, man,” he groaned lightly, “I think I’d rather take my chances with another blast.”

Rossi smirked, their quiet chuckles lifting the grim air off their shoulders for a moment. Morgan then skirted around him, giving his arm a pat.

“Well, you’re on first watch right now,” he gave a faint smirk, “I gotta go wash all… this off me.”

He gestured at his darkened skin and clothes, ash smudging nearly every inch.

Rossi blew out a heavy breath, gaze drifting across the hall to land on the door of your room and imagined the utterly resolute state Hotch must be in on the other side of it.

“Hurry back,” Rossi muttered, raising an eyebrow at Morgan.

The night sky had given way to daybreak when Morgan awoke from his nap. After a heavenly shower where he scrubbed himself clean and rubbed his sore muscles, he had fallen like a log into the bed of the hotel room.

After checking his phone, he returned Rossi’s missed call and agreed to trade places at the hospital. He had sounded dead on his feet. Morgan didn’t envy him. He knew Hotch was probably more stubborn than ever and would not listen to any suggestions to take a break.

Arriving at the place, he passed Rossi in the hall and handed him the room key.

“Good luck,” Rossi muttered, the darkness under his eyes wasn’t just from the ash. He patted Morgan on the back as he continued toward the exit.

Lingering outside your room, Morgan gathered his courage and tapped a knuckle against the door as he entered.

Hotch’s head lifted toward the sound, his features shifting into surprise at the sight of him. A distant corner of Morgan’s brain latched onto how odd the sight of Hotch with no tie or jacket was.

“Hey,” Hotch said softly, passing a hand over his face and sitting up straighter as he surveyed him, “How are you feeling?”

Morgan stepped in slowly, his eyes on your pale, still form on the bed.

“Well,” Morgan shrugged, “A couple of scrapes, a few bruises. Took about an hour long shower to get rid of that smoky stench.”

He lifted his hands and let them fall at his sides with a slap, making Hotch huff quietly in amusement.

“But other than that, I’m alright,” Morgan sighed.

He pulled up a chair on the other side of the bed, looking back at you. Hotch stayed quiet, allowing Morgan to take in the sight in his own time. He noted the way Morgan’s hands had balled up in his lap, one of his fingers scratching at his thumb erratically.

“Is he…” Morgan murmured as he looked at the needle piercing your skin, “Is he gonna be okay?”

Hotch stayed silent long enough that Morgan turned his gaze toward him. He was staring at you, his lips in a tight line. Hotch looked away from your face to meet his eye and nodded.

“They say he should be,” Hotch muttered, mouth still a rather rigid line.

“Should be,” Morgan repeated derisively, shaking his head.

One of his legs began to bounce rapidly as he ran his gaze over your body and the bandages visible on your face, head, and arms. The stark whiteness of them seemed to sap any remaining color in your skin, giving you a deathly pale look.

“You know… He saw it. Right before the bomb went off, he yelled at me. He – he pushed me down and covered me, Hotch. If he hadn’t… I don’t know. I’d probably be the one in this bed right now. Or... worse.”

Hotch was silent for a while as he took in this new information, the monitor beeping loudly for several moments.

“Speculation doesn't do us any good, Morgan,” he spoke quietly.

Morgan’s fingers tapped agitatedly against the armrest of his chair.

“But look at that,” he pointed at the thick bandage just above your left eye.

“Rossi said he had a shard of metal in there,” he tapped a finger on his own face to demonstrate the location, “He was one inch away from losin’ an eye, man.”

A wry scoff tore from his lips, a smirk of disbelief cracking across his face.

“I don’t get him,” he spoke tightly, “I mean, the dude’s pissed at me but then risks his life? To save me? I…”

“I don’t think he is,” Hotch gestured at you and the room as a whole, “Clearly.”

Morgan was apparently unable to find a way to argue with that, for he went silent and peered at you again.

Hotch did the same, a heavy sigh exiting his nose and his hand in front of his mouth.

The steady beep of the monitor kept the time for them, counting off the minutes. Morgan had entered an almost meditative state, lost in the steady tone, when Hotch threw a wrench in the silence.

“He can’t keep doing this,” Hotch muttered, his brow creased.

Now, it was Morgan’s turn to gaze at Hotch with surprise.

“What?” he asked.

“This,” Hotch repeated, a tinge of frustration leaking into his previously calm tone, “He has little to no regard for his own safety. He keeps running headlong into danger, into the literal line of fire for us.”

Hotch’s frown deepened as he shook his head.

“That’s not how decisions should be made in the field.”

Morgan bodily turned in his chair to gape openly at Hotch in disbelief.

“Hotch,” he said, voice going rather high with skepticism, “All due respect, but are you kidding me, man?”

Hotch turned his agitated gaze away from the unconscious man and onto the other staring at him with wide eyes.

“You know I wish he wasn’t lying here right now,” Morgan began, gesturing toward you, “But if I’m being real with you, and I was the one who saw the bomb before he did…”

His shoulders rose in a harsh shrug.

“I probably would’ve done the same thing,” he leaned forward to drive home his point, “Can you honestly tell me that you wouldn’t have?”

Hotch’s expression had become rather fixed.

The beep of the machine was the only thing that answered Morgan.

A thick fog enveloped your whole being. You weren’t even sure if you had a being… You felt like… you were thoughts, floating around a vast, black nothingness. You dreamily bobbed along, not a single care to worry about.

Eventually, the heavy mist grew thinner. Cold began to creep in.

Light peeked through the darkness.

With the light, came a bright, searing feeling.

Taking in a stuttering breath, your were plunged back into a physical form.

You heard your own agonized groan as you fought to remember how to open your eyes.

“You’re fired.”

Your eyelids moved slowly, blinking so languidly that you nearly slipped back down into unconsciousness once more. The pillowcase crinkled under your ear as you managed to turn your heavy head to the side where the weary voice had originated from.

Hotch was folded into a small hospital chair, elbows on his knees, gazing at you from behind his hands clasped together at his lips. Darkness was visible past the small window behind him.

The first thing to filter through your snail’s pace of thoughts was that he had shed his suit jacket, giving him an undressed look despite being fully clothed. The second was the dark shadows under his eyes that contrasted starkly to the pallor of the rest of his face.

“What –” you grimaced as the word scraped on its way out.

Flames tickled up your throat, you swallowed with difficulty.

“Where am I?”

“It’s alright,” he reassured quietly, “You’re in the hospital.”

At this, your eyes opened wider.

“What?!” alarmed tinged your tone, “The – the team?”

Hotch quickly leaned forward until he was on the edge of his chair, hovering with his hand outstretched like he was about to keep you down in the bed.

“It’s alright, it’s okay,” he murmured, “Everyone's fine.”

A labored breath passed through your lips as your eyelids grew heavy again.

Hotch watched silently as you slipped back into unconsciousness, his fingers slowly moving back and forth over one another.

Cracking your eyes open, you winced as you felt a tug above your left brow. Blinking, you turned your head slightly to find Hotch watching you. His gaze was so steely, it was nearly a glare.

“You're… angry,” you rasped.

He said nothing for a moment, pausing as if he were about to deny it.

“Hmm. Well,” he muttered, “Good to see you still have your observational skills.”

After a moment of regarding him silently, a hazy memory floated up to the surface of your mind.

“Did you…” your brow creased with the effort of remembering, “Did you fire me? Or… did I – dream that?”

A soft huff came from Hotch’s lips.

“I did warn you to never do this again,” he said, the playful tone undercut with just a whisper of sincerity.

“Do… what?” you sniffed, grimacing as you noticed the nasal cannula threaded across your face.

Your hand wandered up toward it, instinctively wanting to remove the foreign object from your nose.

“Leave that,” Hotch said.

You dropped your hand onto your chest as you turned your head toward him again.

“C’mon,” you blinked heavily at him, taking in a labored breath, “Hire me back.”

Your hazy gaze locked onto his concerned one, a lazy smirk pulling at your lips.

“How am I gonna… pay for these hospital bills?”

Hotch shook his head softly, letting it fall into his hands for a moment as soft chuckles emanated from behind his arms.

“Barely conscious,” he muttered, “And you’re already joking.”

You gave a soft laugh of your own. Hotch lowered his hands in time to watch your face twist into a faint grimace as you cut yourself off. You inhaled with effort, your chest rising slowly with an audible wheeze.

He brought his chair closer, the armrests nearly touching the edge of the bed. Your gaze flicked over him.

“Stop that,” you ordered weakly, your eyes fluttering shut.

“What?” Hotch asked.

Your eyes creaked open again to peer at him blearily.

Hotch watched you with concern, leaning closer to catch your faint speech. Your hand came up toward his face. He stilled, fixating on you as your hand cradled his temple. Your thumb brushed at the crease between his brows, smoothing it out.

Hotch’s chest stopped moving up and down for several long seconds.

“Stop… worrying,” you muttered.

Your hand fell back onto the sheets as your eyes fluttered shut once again.

Hotch remained completely still, eyes slightly widened, until someone rushed by in the hall, shouting something. He blinked, coming out of his stunned state, and fell heavily back into his seat.

The time he had gone with hardly any sleep except fitful dozing was now incredibly difficult for him to calculate. His chin slipped from his hand as he nearly fell into sleep again. Shaking himself, he straightened in his chair as he scanned your form for any notable change.

A soft ringing tore his attention away from your face. He peered up at your monitors, trying to find the source. All of them beeped steadily.

Rubbing his eyes, he stood up and followed the noise. Realizing it was coming from the bag of your personal affects, he opened it and fished out your phone that had amazingly survived the explosion.

On instinct, he brought it to his ear and answered the call.

“Hello?” Hotch said rather wearily.

“Hello?” a man repeated, confusion evident in the single word.

“Who is this?” Hotch asked.

“Javier Madrigal. Who’s this?”

“Aaron Hotchner.”

“Sorry, I must have called the wrong number. I thought I called a, um – someone I met recently but –”

The realization thrummed through Hotch’s limbs as his sluggish mind finally placed the voice he had heard what felt like a lifetime ago.

“You called the right number,” Hotch cut him off, “I’m his… We work together.”

“Oh. Oh, wait,” Javi paused, recognition blooming in his tone as well, “Yeah! I remember you, man. Real serious, tall dude, right?”

Hotch had nothing to reply to that with.

His gaze flitted over to the pale form lying so still in the bed, debating whether he should try to wake him or if he should end this call immediately.

“Uhh, why are you… answering his phone?” Javi asked lightly, but the nervous energy still bled through the phone speaker.

Hotch tried not to dwell on the manner in which he had asked, at the implication under the words.

“He’s in the hospital. He’s not awake at the moment,” Hotch said, wondering exactly how much was appropriate to tell this man.

“Wait, seriously?” Javi’s tone dropped everything except a growing worry, “Is – Is he alright?!”

Hotch paused, his hand coming up to rub at the hair at the back of his head.

“It might be a while before he’s out, but yes. He should be.”

The line was quiet for a moment as the other man processed Hotch’s words.

“Shit… Okay. How – What happened?” Javi sounded genuinely concerned.

Hotch glanced over to you, blinking harshly, hating how entirely still you were apart from your chest stuttering up and down.

“There was an explosion,” he took in a great breath, as if ensuring the air was clear of smoke, “He got – He got pretty banged up.”

“Goddamn…” Javi murmured, his voice slightly muffled like he had a hand over his mouth, “Well, shit. That’s a hell of an excuse to stand me up.”

A beat passed.

“Excuse me?” Hotch’s brow creased as his hold on the phone tightened.

“We had a date.”

Hotch’s widened gaze fell onto the unconscious man.

“A date?”

Even through his drowsiness, Hotch noticed you’d been grimacing quite often in your sleep. The next time a doctor came in to check you over, he’d mention it.

He must have drifted off for a while because he opened his eyes at the sound of rasping breaths. You were awake, your hand at your chest as you seemed to struggle to take in air.

You looked to him, frightened at the fact that even the oxygen being delivered directly into your nose didn’t seem to help much.

“Is the pain getting worse?” Hotch asked in a rush, his gaze boring into yours, “What’s happening?”

You noted how he kept his expression carefully blank, a tactic he used a lot at work, but the angle of his brows clued you in to how horrid you must look.

“I – I don’t know,” you gasped.

Hotch tilted his head, lips pressed together. Your eyes squeezed shut as your breath came accompanied with a lick of fire in your chest.

“Okay,” you gritted your teeth, “Maybe.”

Hotch watched as your frame shuddered, your nose scrunched, and a thin layer of sweat broke out across your brow. He was opening his mouth to suggest calling a doctor when your hand shot out toward him.

“What?” he asked, alarmed, as he grasped your hand.

“H–Hotch –” you wheezed.

Hotch’s fingers squeezed together in your tightening grasp, producing a faint wince of shock from him. Your other hand came up to your neck, fingers clawing at nothing but air around the strained muscles of your throat.

“Okay. Hang on,” he pulled away from you.

The pang of guilt that he felt when you gave a frightened grimace as he disappeared from your side could be dealt with later.

One of the machines next to your bed began to shriek. The sound served to quicken his run to a sprint toward the door.

“I need help in here, please!” he shouted out into the hall.

Mere seconds had never felt so prolonged.

Hotch’s breath came in short pants as he hung outside of the door frame, his frenzied gaze scanning up and down the vacant hallway. He glanced back toward you to see your eyes fluttering, the machine’s beeping growing more shrill.

He felt pulled in two directions at once. The urge to rush to your side and another to sprint to find help. Both warred against each other, pulling him from both sides equally and resulting in rooting him to the spot instead of doing either.

“In here, please!” he called again, voice cracking, any care for other sleeping patients now dashed to pieces.

The moment he heard hurried footsteps approaching from all sides, Hotch rushed back into the room and skidded to a halt at your side.

“They’re coming, they’re coming,” he panted, hands hovering slightly above you.

Your eyes fell on him but they were so panicked, he was unsure whether you were recognizing him at this point. Your hands moved erratically around your chest and throat as you thrashed as hard as your weakened body would allow.

Hotch’s own breath was coming hard and fast at the horrible sight of you unable to breath. It was the same thing all over again. He blinked hard, forcing his sight to clear away the images of dark, murky water rising quickly over their heads.

Rossi didn’t bother calling to announce his arrival, knowing Hotch would tell him it wasn’t necessary. His best chance at getting him to go to the hotel was if he showed up without warning. Walking toward your room, he turned the corner and halted.

Hotch stood in the middle of the hallway, his back turned as he looked in the opposite direction. The sound of hospital staff speaking in hurried tones was fading around the far end of the hall.

He approached and looked into your room to find it empty.

It was easy to surmise what had just transpired. He cursed under his breath before cautiously approaching Hotch, who was utterly quiet apart from his ragged breaths.

“Hotch,” he called softly.

No reaction.

“Aaron,” he said.

Hotch finally turned, a blank wide stare landing on him.

As he turned toward him, he wobbled as if he were a precarious stack of books that someone just piled another heavy volume on. His hand shot out instinctively for the nearest thing to steady himself on. It just so happened to be Rossi.

“Okay,” he said, his hands firm on Hotch’s upper arms as he caught him, “Come on. It’s alright.”

He guided Hotch back into the room and eased him into a chair.

“It – It’s fine,” Hotch managed to force out, his gaze still rather vacant.

“Mhmm,” Rossi hummed pointedly, sarcasm tinging the sound, “Sure looks like it.”

He fished out his phone and flipped it open, dialing a number.

“Hey, bring some water and anything easy to eat,” he spoke quickly into the speaker, no introduction or preamble.

Rossi hung up and focused on keep Hotch conscious, coaching him to get his breathing back to a regular pace.

Later, Morgan entered the room with a water bottle, a couple granola bars, and a bag of pretzels. Hotch was already shaking his head when he laid eyes on Morgan.

Rossi shared a long-suffering look with Morgan.

“Come on. It’ll do him no good if you end up in a bed right next to him,” Rossi said.

Together, they managed to force Hotch to eat one of the bars and half of the bag, along with one full water bottle.

“He… he couldn’t breathe,” Hotch muttered.

Morgan met his haunted gaze.

“How long has it been?” Hotch asked.

Rossi glanced to his watch.

“I don’t know,” he said, “Twenty minutes since I showed up.”

Hotch’s eyes drifted shut as he leaned back in his chair, completely drained.

“How long can you go without breathing?” he whispered before falling asleep.

Everything hurt. You weren’t sure where you were or what was happening but the pain was a certainty. As you surfaced back into wakefulness, you realized that every breath brought a dull flare of pain.

Peeling your eyes open, you saw the blank ceiling above you and the rectangular lights. You shifted as you realized something hard was on your face.

“Hey, there,” a voice came from your left.

You turned to see Morgan watching you, a smile pulling his lips upward. You blinked slowly, something in the back of your mind giving way to relief at the sight of him.

Weakly a hand came up to your face, trying to pull the obstruction away.

“Leave it,” another voice came from your right.

You looked to find Hotch watching you. A strange sense of déjà vu filled you for some reason.

“Your lungs need all the help they can get,” he said with a horribly spent air.

The knowledge that you were wearing an oxygen mask slowly filtered into your brain and you relaxed.

“I…” you tried, but your chest burned.

“No, no, no,” Morgan shushed you, “It’s all good, man. Just… rest, alright?”

Nodding minutely, you felt yourself following his direction immediately. Hotch shared a subdued look of amusement with Morgan at the sight.

“You can go ahead to the room now, Hotch,” Morgan said, “I got it. Go sleep in an actual bed for a while.”

Hotch passed a hand over his face, finally appearing to consider the words instead of instantly rejecting them. Morgan cocked an eyebrow.

“And honestly, man?” he said, “You kinda stink.”

Hotch tore his gaze away from you to fix Morgan with a wide stare, disbelief coloring his face. Morgan grinned brightly. Hotch broke into a slightly delirious fit of laughter. Morgan chuckled as well, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

Hotch finally stood and patted Morgan’s shoulder on the way out.

Morgan didn’t even look behind him before he spoke.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll call ya if anything happens,” he said, beating Hotch to the punch as he paused at the door.

Hotch closed his mouth, smirking before exiting.

The rise and set of the sun had passed three times before you could manage to stay awake for significant periods of time. You kept forgetting things you had already asked before, or asking to see members of the team that had just been in to visit you. This brought a terrible panic over Hotch but after an assessment from the doctors, they informed him that it was a concussion that would eventually heal.

On the fifth day, you suddenly sat up straighter and winced at the sudden motion.

“Hey, easy,” Hotch admonished carefully from his seat, putting his book down.

“No, no, I – I just remembered,” you rasped, the oxygen mask still on your face, “Garcia. Call Garcia! Get – Get her safe. Where – where is everyone?”

Hotch was already used to these bouts of confused babble, scooting closer as he attempted to reassure you that the team was fine.

“Hotch!” you exclaimed, reaching out and grabbing his arm, “The – the unsub. It – it wasn’t about…”

You paused, head ducking as you took in several labored breaths.

“They were after us,” you muttered, “The note. The – the eight. There are eight of us.”

Hotch stilled, taking this in. It did seem odd to him. But the preoccupation of you in this state had overridden everything else.

The fact that the other explosions were so random. No one targeted specifically.

The convenient tip call that came in.

The only time anyone was injured coming as a result of that call.

The eight on the note.

Your grip on him tightened and brought him out of his thoughts.

“Okay,” he agreed, “I’ll tell her, don’t worry.”

He watched as the tension bled from your form and you began to slip back into sleep, the strain having sapped your energy. Fishing his phone out of his jacket, he called Garcia to let her know and then told the rest of the team, just in case.

By the eighth day, you were mostly able to stay awake for the whole day. You had finally been able to switch out your oxygen mask for a nasal cannula. Though it still bothered the hell out of you, it was still miles better than the uncomfortable mask that dug into your face.

You had told Hotch the day before that he didn’t need to stay by your side anymore. You were lucid enough now to realize that he had spent the whole time in the hospital along with you and that guilt of that fact was settling in.

He had waved off your words, but you still forced him to at least go get something to eat from the hospital cafeteria. You had joked that you were sick of seeing him and were rewarded with his unreserved laugh before he complied to your order.

A doctor entered about ten minutes later.

“Well,” he said, clapping his hands together, “Quite a ride. But if you’re ready to go home, you can now. Of course, you’re going to need help getting around. No strenuous activity for at least two weeks and even after that, take it easy.”

You nodded eagerly, you had never longed for your apartment as much as you currently did.

“And of course, you’ll be given oxygen to take with you,” he continued.

You looked at your hands, wondering how you were going to get up the stairs to reach your floor.

“Sir?” the doctor prompted, “Do you have someone waiting at home that can help you?”

“Yeah, I’ll be alright,” you said.

“So, you do have someone who can help you?” he repeated, his eyebrows raised as he peered at you over his glasses.

You faltered for only a split second.

He pursed his lips, looking down at a paper on his board.

“If not, you might as well just stay here,” he murmured, his brow furrowing as he looked at your chart.

“No, I – I can –” you tried, pushing yourself up straighter in an attempt to look healthier.

The doctor gave you a sympathetic but firm look.

“You can’t be on your own, sir. Not yet,” he said, “I’m sorry, but if you don’t have anyone who can –”

“I’ll be there.”

Both you and the doctor turned at the sound of a new voice.

Hotch passed through the open doorway, a nurse with a waiting wheelchair following in behind him.

As it turned out, an explosion wasn’t the most stupefying thing you would experience this week.

429 notes · View notes

lucvangogh · 3 months ago

Text

These Fleeting Moments

Relationships: Hotch & Male BAU member Reader, Reader & Team CW: Angst, brief flashbacks of peril, drowning mentions and allusions, Blood, Hurt/Comfort, tension Summary: Reader and Hotch have both been a little off since their last case. Much like during the case, Reader makes the hasty decision to do something about it. Set around mid season 3. Word Count: 6,447 (This was meant to be one scene...) Notes: This is my first reader fic! Kinda worried it's not great lol. Please let me know what you think! No use of "y/n" "---" in place of Reader's name. Don't repost onto other sites, please. Originally meant for the #MarchHotchness event by @hotchfiles (I have not slept. I stayed up writing this so enjoy. There are probably mistakes.) Banner by @saradika

Thirty seconds.

That was all it took.

How was it possible that thirty seconds was so fleeting, yet so eternal?

Thirty seconds to run as fast as possible toward a teammate. To catch a falling child. To say the right words to a suspect with a gun. To disarm a bomb.

That was when thirty seconds had somewhere else to be, when they would race by without a backward glance. That was when all that remained of the thirty seconds was a racing heart, heaving breaths, and stunned silence.

Thirty seconds never set up camp to stay for the night.

And, yet, here they were.

***

The sounds within the building were unceasing. The clack of keyboards and the bubble of the coffee maker working overtime were a constant stream of background noise. The stability it provided, the knowledge that others were still living their lives, was a comfort during long hours or after a particularly taxing experience in the field.

The past week had been a difficult one and the sound of the team causing a ruckus brought a smile to your lips. You would much rather listen to Morgan and Reid bickering over how much salt is acceptable on particular foods rather than what had been replaying in your head since it had happened.

You raked your fingers through your hair as you willed yourself not to think about the case from three days ago. Everyone else already seemed to have moved on, you shouldn’t dwell. That would be the quickest way to ensure you would no longer be fit for this job.

Your gaze drifted up to the window of Hotch’s office. A deep breath pushed past your lips at the sight of the other man at his desk. Hotch was there, he was okay. In the sense that he was still breathing, walking, and talking. He was there.

“Hey, ---” JJ called.

You tore your eyes away from the office above and turned to see her standing near Morgan’s desk, smiling.

“Do you wanna come with us later? We’re heading out for a couple drinks,” she raised her eyebrows enticingly.

An amused huff forced its way out of your lungs at the sight. Words of acceptance were already on your tongue but you swallowed them back at the last second.

“Uh, thanks but maybe next time,” you declined politely. She held your gaze for just a second longer than usual but nodded all the same and left with a pleasant goodbye. You sighed as you leaned back in your chair and watched her make her way back toward her office to finish up for the night.

Almost immediately, a rush of confusion and regret filled your head. Your eyes drifted shut, fingers pressing on the back of your eyelids. You should have said yes. Why didn’t you? What good would come from pulling away from your friends?

Over here! Help!

A soft gasp tore from your chest as you sprang upright, the chair thudding as the front legs slammed back down onto the floor.

From his own desk, Morgan fixed his gaze onto the man across from him who looked like he had just received a minor electric shock.

“You good, man?” he asked, brows going up.

You whipped your head around to see Morgan’s slightly concerned expression.

“Yeah,” you said simply. You turned away before Morgan could try to continue the conversation.

Unconsciously, your gaze went back on the window above. Your hand came up to fiddle with the knot in your tie, adjusting it unnecessarily and then pulling it loose instead.

Hotch was still in there, his focus was intense on whatever he was writing or reading. The roof of the office was still in tact. His leg wasn’t pinned underneath a large, metal pipe. There was no water rising up as Hotch attempted to free a young boy from his chains, despite being stuck himself.

He was there, working. Hotch was no longer in a collapsing basement that was flooding far too rapidly. And you weren’t diving headlong inside with Morgan yelling after you to stop, missing your arm by inches.

I’m fine, help the boy!

Reid’s voice pulled you out of your memories.

“Hey,” Reid stood at the edge of the desk, “It’s time to go.”

You looked around in surprise, noting how almost everyone was already gone. The only ones left lingering around were members of the team.

“Oh,” you said. You stood with a tiny laugh, hoping Reid didn’t question why you had just been staring at Hotch’s window for the better part of ten minutes.

“I am so ready to see you dance, boy!” Garcia’s voice rang out as she emerged and approached the group gathering near Prentiss’s desk.

You looked over to her and were shocked to see she was pointing directly at you.

“Ooh, you’re gonna dance?” Prentiss grinned at you, dragging out the word, her eyes trailing over you like she was already imagining the sight.

“What? No, no, not happening,” you said, laughing. Garcia’s eyes narrowed as she stalked over and slung her arm over your shoulder.

“Oh, believe me, I can make it happen,” she smirked, “I know a certain drink that will have anyone busting the moves after a few!”

The notion of Rossi having a few of those drinks had you laughing already.

“Sorry, I’m not going tonight,” you said, giving her an apologetic look.

“What?!” she exclaimed, “Oh, no, come on!”

Her hands gripped your shoulders as she gave you a shake. Your gaze flicked up to everyone else desperately.

Morgan laughed as he carefully pried Garcia off.

“Let’s leave him be, baby. I’m sure he’s got a hot date with a book,” Morgan grinned as he tugged Garcia away. You laughed at his words, but your eyes glanced back toward the office where the door hadn’t even opened yet.

Garcia began to protest further but by the way she stopped herself, you got the sinking feeling that she had caught you looking. You forced yourself to keep your eyes locked on the team. Prentiss was staring at you not very subtly. JJ looked like she wanted everyone to leave you alone already. Reid looked like he would prefer to stay behind with you. Rossi gave you a silent once over.

“Alright, let’s go,” he called to the rest of them, shaking his keys, “Before I change my mind about paying.”

That got everyone to race toward the exit.

Rossi glanced back at you and you gave him a grateful nod. You sat down at your desk once more, not quite ready to leave the building yet. The quiet solitude of your place wasn’t very appealing to you at the moment.

Minutes ticked by. You caught yourself watching Hotch through his window again. He stood and walked out of view. Blinking, you glanced around self consciously. But the floor was empty. You scoffed softly as you stood up, shaking your head at yourself.

Slowly, you gathered your things and reorganised the contents of the desk back to its original state.

Help me with this! Come on! Damn – Damn it!

The mug full of pens nearly slipped from your grasp. Your chest tightened.

Swallowing hard, you tried to banish the memories. Your fingers clenched around the mug.

You tried not to think about how Hotch hadn’t spent a second longer than necessary outside of his office for the past few days. Or the way he had declined every offer to go out that everyone on the team had provided. Not that you could speak much on the subject yourself, seeing as you were currently still at your desk while the others were probably enjoying Garcia’s special drink by now.

J-Just go!

No! I’m not leaving!

“Hey.”

Pens scattered across the floor. Luckily, the mug was still in your iron-clad grip.

You looked up from the mess to see Hotch standing at the steps.

Silently, he walked over and crouched near Prentiss’s desk to gather the pens under her chair. Shaking your head at yourself once again, you unwound your stiff fingers and put the mug back on the desk before a more permanent accident occurred.

“Sorry,” you muttered, crouching and picking up the nearest ones, “You don’t have to do that.”

Hotch said nothing and only gave you a quick glance before moving to gather the ones near Morgan’s desk. As your heart slowed back to its regular pace, you focused on the task at hand. Spying one last pen that had sneaked under Reid’s desk, you bent over to snatch it.

Straightening, you went to take the handful back to their place. Both of your hands outstretched toward the mug. You froze. Hotch glanced up at you.

In a flash, he deposited his pens and pulled away. After a second, you placed the last of yours back as well. The silence swelled between the two of you. Your heart rate had begun to quicken again.

“Um, thanks,” you murmured.

“What are you still doing here?” he asked suddenly. He must have heard how blunt it came out because he spoke again before you could respond.

“It’s well past hours, you don’t have to stay,” Hotch’s tone was much softer.

“I know,” you said. You didn’t realise your eyes had been tracking over his form for a moment until he shifted and cleared his throat.

Your gaze snapped back up to his, but it was obvious that he had been watching you scan him. Heat formed in your chest and you desperately hoped he didn’t get the wrong idea. You were only making sure he was really standing in front of you, that his leg wasn’t crushed, that his chest still moved with breath, that it wasn’t full of water.

“Wasn’t everyone going for drinks or something?” he spoke again, mercifully avoiding what he just caught you doing.

“Oh, yeah,” you nodded, “They left a while ago.”

Hotch’s brows pulled together.

“And you didn’t go with them?”

You bit back the defensive words you wanted to say, “Neither did you.”

You fiddled with the end of your loosened tie.

“No, I didn’t really… I don’t know, the thought of going out right now just wasn’t…” you trailed off.

You were unable to articulate how the thought of going out to witness everyone around you laughing, dancing, and having a good time, was enough to send you into a minor spiral. Because how could you possibly drink, joke, laugh, and put on a smile when you had failed to-

“Yeah,” Hotch’s whisper cut through your escalating thoughts, “I get it.”

You nodded. If anyone did, it was him.

He was the only one that could get it.

“We could have one now,” you said absentmindedly.

Hotch gazed at you questioningly.

“A drink.” you explained.

When Hotch’s brows went up in surprise, you wanted to smack yourself.

“I mean, not– Not that I – Never mind. You probably want to get home,” you immediately backtracked. You turned around quickly, grabbing your bag and hoping your face wasn’t turning red.

“You like whiskey?”

You paused while closing your bag, wondering if you heard him correctly. Turning back, the ghost of a smile danced in his eyes.

“Yeah,” you answered, your lips pulling into a soft smile of your own.

Next thing you knew, you were staring out of Hotch’s large office windows at the quickly blackening sky as he poured out two generous glasses. The sofa in his office was so comfortable, it made you consider asking him if he would trade you for the one in your apartment. No doubt this one was more expensive. Hell, the whiskey Hotch handed you was probably more expensive.

The other man sank down beside you with a heavy sigh. Awaiting instruction, you peered at him. He only raised his glass to you expectantly. A huffed laugh escaped you as you leaned closer to clink your glass against his.

A careful sip had your eyes going wide. This was definitely more expensive than your sofa.

“Hotch!” you said in disbelief, almost wanting him to take it back, “This is too good. This is –”

“Deserved,” he cut you off.

You met his serious gaze, the silent challenge to say otherwise. Instead of responding, you looked away and took another sip so you could blame the whiskey for the sudden burn in your chest. The silence dragged out, neither man wanting to be the one to break it first. Your eyes drifted shut for a few moments, the effects of the whiskey spreading through your body. Your muscles relaxed and you released a deep breath. Hotch did the same, his head leaning back against the cushions.

Hotch!

The complete silence only served to make the sharp exhale you emitted echo like a gunshot.

Hotch’s head snapped up, alert once more.

“What?” he looked around the room briefly.

You took a large gulp from your glass, nearly draining it. You felt him sit up slowly, he placed his own glass on the small table in front of you both.

“---” he spoke carefully. You didn’t look at him yet, uncertain what he would see when you did.

“Yeah?” you breathed, your gaze fixed on the remaining dark liquid in your glass.

“You didn’t go with Reid when he invited you the antique shop yesterday. Or with Prentiss when she went to the theatre the day before.”

The atmosphere was shifting into territory you weren’t thrilled with. In lieu of response, you emptied your glass in one more gulp and set it on the table with a sharp clang. A breath blew out of your nose as your head felt rather light suddenly and you looked at the pitch black sky outside. It was so dark, yet you couldn’t make out any stars. So dark. All encompassing. Just like the water–

“Are you still thinking about it?” he asked.

“Aren’t you?” you retorted, finally fixing your gaze on him to see his surprised expression.

Replaying the moment in your head, you realised you had spoken with far more snark in your tone than you had intended. Perhaps you should have nursed that glass a little slower.

“Sorry…” you eased up, running your hand through your hair. Hotch nodded before grabbing his glass again and drinking a little more.

“But…” you began, “If I’m being honest, then you’ve gotta be, too.”

Hotch nearly choked on his sip, swallowing with difficulty.

“Excuse me?” his voice went up in pitch.

Normally, you would’ve had to have gone mad before considering talking to him like this but the better-quality-than-your-sofa whiskey had given you just the right amount of courage.

“I mean, come on, Hotch,” you said, gesturing with a wry smile, “You’ve basically moved into your office since we got back.”

Hotch was now the one to avert his gaze and conveniently take another sip.

“And Morgan invited you over to his place to watch the game the other day,” you quirked an eyebrow at him, “But you said no. Rossi invited everyone, including you, to his house last night for dinner. And you didn’t go, either.”

Hotch met your gaze, his expression rather hard, and you were already kissing your job goodbye. Then a tiny huff escaped his nose as his stiff lips fought against a smile.

“Alright. We pay way too much attention to each other,” he muttered dryly with a smirk. He downed a larger gulp.

A small laugh rose from the back of your throat in disbelief. Hotch had just made a joke. And you weren’t out of a job. You fell back against the cushion and scrubbed your hand over your face, wanting to make sure you weren’t dreaming.

You opened your eyes to catch Hotch finishing off the last of his drink.

“Another?” he raised his glass at you. You hesitate a moment, you had already downed your first one rather quickly and the last thing you ate was a muffin a couple of hours ago. But this was the most relaxed you’ve gotten since the case, and you knew for a fact that it was the same for Hotch. Biting your bottom lip, you nodded.

“Okay, yeah,” you handed him your glass. He walked to his desk where he had left the bottle. You leaned over to peer around him and saw that he refilled them with the same amount as the first time. An apprehensive breath blew out of your lungs at the sight. Your tolerance was high but this really ought to be the last one.

“How much of this do you plan on having tonight?” you asked as he returned and sat down a little closer than he had been before. You took your glass as he hummed in thought.

“I guess we’ll see where the night takes us,” he mumbled before drinking. Your glass froze on its way to your mouth. Hotch stilled in the same moment, most likely hearing how his words had come across.

“Um –” he met your gaze and cleared his throat. A snort came from your nose before you could help it. Hotch just looked so awkward, it happened before you could control it. He gaped at you, affronted. A full laugh burst forth and your head fell into your hands.

“Sorry!” you gasped, still heaving with mirth.

“Wow,” Hotch deadpanned, “Glad I’m such an amusement to you.”

You took a deep breath and got ahold of yourself enough to look up and catch him let out a muted giggle. You leaned back into the cushions, letting your head fall back.

“Oh, god,” you sighed, eyes closing, “The team’s not gonna believe me when I tell them about this.”

“You are telling absolutely no one about this,” Hotch replied. You opened your eyes and turned your head toward him.

“What?” you asked plainly, “I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

“You will,” he nodded.

“Oh, really?” you laughed.

“Yeah,” Hotch spoke seriously, “I’m gonna have you sign an NDA.”

His expression was so earnest, you expected him to pull out the forms any moment. The tense pause was shattered by Hotch’s laugh bursting forth like a shot from a cannon. You had to set your glass down before you spilled it as you shook with silent laughter.

“And to think, you were yelling at me a minute ago,” you muttered as you wiped at your eyes.

“That drink has gone to your head,” Hotch chuckled, “If I recall correctly, you were the one yelling at me.”

You turned to him in the slowest, most dramatic fashion you could muster.

“What?!” you nearly shrieked with mock indignation, “Excuse me, I’m not the scary boss-man here!”

Hotch pulled his glass away from his lips.

“You think I’m scary?” his voice grew quiet. You took in the way he hunched over slightly, as if to make himself appear smaller.

“Hotch,” you angled yourself toward him further, your knees almost touching each other’s, “I was kidding.”

Hotch drank instead of responding, his gaze becoming unfocused. Uncomfortable, burning tingles began to spread inside your chest.

“Hey,” you said, “You know I don’t really think that, right?”

Hotch blinked, and focused on you again after a moment.

“No, no, I – I know,” Hotch quickly reassured, “I was just thinking… You ever wonder how scary it is to dr –”

All the warmth that had been steadily building in your veins from the drink was instantly snuffed out. He cut himself off as he seemed to realise what he was saying, and looked up to gauge your response. You turned away, not wanting him to see the echos that lingered in your head. You reached for your glass, cutting its content down to half in one drink. The fresh burn that trailed down your throat and settled in your stomach helped defrost the chill that had settled in your bones.

Your hand still trembled just enough to send tiny currents crashing through the liquid in the glass. You set it down with a loud clack.

“---” Hotch softly called.

“Mhmm?” you hummed, fighting to keep your breathing even.

“It’s okay to lose it sometimes,” Hotch said. The tick of the clock rang out, audibly marking the long moments that passed before you turned to look at him again. His expression was softer than you’d ever seen it, gaze so open and unguarded. You supposed you owed him the same in return.

“Yeah,” you whispered, afraid to go any louder and risk your voice cracking. “I know. I think… I might be, a little.”

Hotch gave an understanding nod, keeping quiet and allowing the space for you to continue if you needed to.

“It’s okay for you, too,” you breathed, holding his gaze.

The reaction was instantaneous. You could physically watch as his wall was carefully constructed again, pulled into place as he looked away from you to drink some more.

“Hey.” you leaned closer, your knees actually touching his now, and waited until he looked at you again, “You don’t need to do that.”

He set his jaw, clearly struggling internally. Then he nodded in agreement, and your heart swelled at the simple action.

“But since were playing this game,” Hotch began with an eyebrow quirk, and you knew you were in trouble, “You don’t need to, either.”

You heaved a great sigh, falling back into the cushions again.

“Ah, damn it,” you muttered with a dry smirk, “Walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

Hotch huffed humourlessly, swirling his drink.

“Seriously, though,” he said, and you suspected the liquid was taking its effect on him, for he wasn’t one to continue pushing topics like this, “It’s alright to accept consolation.”

Of course it was. You knew it to be true. As you watched him drink, you knew that he was well aware, too. Incredulous laughter bubbled out of you, unbidden. How utterly ridiculous the pair of you were. Sitting up, your forearms resting on your knees, you grabbed your glass and finished off the rest of the drink. You released a fiery exhale. Hotch watched you, surprise in his face.

He tossed back the rest of his own, obviously not wanting to allow you to show him up. You shook your head at him fondly.

Hotch stood, not yet wobbly by any means, but you weren’t sure if he’d be able to safely run in this very moment. He snatched your empty glass and returned to his desk.

“Wait, hey – We should probably slow down,” you called out, moving to stand and stop him. You were just on your feet when he turned back with one glass already filled. A sigh came from your gut.

“Well, I already poured this one,” he said, a small smile forming, “I can have it, but you wouldn’t let me drink alone, would you?”

Goddamn him.

“Fine,” you threw your hands up, then pointed at him seriously, “But that’s it. We do still need to get home tonight.”

If you weren’t so unsure about your level of sobriety at the moment, you would be shocked at the fact that you swore Hotch gave a little fist pump as he turned around to pour the other drink. You sank back into your seat. A moment later, Hotch returned, set his glass down, and passed yours over. But he let it go too soon, thinking you already had a proper hold of it when your fingers had only just begun to touch it.

Quickly, your other hand came up to grasp at it, lurching closer, trying to avoid the disaster that would have you both smelling like a brewery. Hotch had reacted similarly to you. Somehow the glass was kept upright, but it was because both of your hands were wrapped around each other’s, both holding on.

For a second, you both remained stock still, watching the liquid inside settle slowly. Then you took in how truly close the two of you were, your hands intertwined around the glass. Silently, you both began to deduce which fingers you could move without upsetting the delicate balance you had created. You began to extract one hand, as did he, until the glass remained in your grasp alone.

“Yeah,” Hotch murmured, “Definitely the last one.”

The tension broke and you giggled, taking a drink before putting it down safely on the table. You relaxed, leaning back, wondering why it felt so much easier to do this than it was to do it with the rest of the team.

Your eyes drifted shut. You already knew the answer, of course. The rest of the team meant well, but they just wanted to “cheer you up” with random outings. But that wasn’t really what you needed. They knew that you weren’t doing great, but they didn’t truly understand what happened a few days prior. There was only one person in the world that did. And he was sitting inches away from you.

“You know…” Hotch spoke slowly, “I probably wouldn’t be alive right now if it wasn’t for you.”

Your heart began to pound against your chest as the meaning of his words sunk in. You shot up and grabbed your glass, taking a long pull.

“Don’t say that,” your voice came out harsh.

“It’s true,” he shrugged as he drank.

Yes, what a goddamn hero you were.

Like a flash of lightning, the urge to hurl your glass struck you. You heaved in a deep breath and forced it away, suddenly terrified that you had nearly done it.

Hotch had witnessed the hard look grow in your eyes and the creak of your fingers as they tightened around the glass before you put it down in a hurry as your thunderous expression cleared.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?”

“I upset you.”

“No, you didn’t.”

He paused a moment.

“But you are upset,” he stated.

You sighed.

“Yeah. But not at you,” you revealed.

You didn’t need to say more. You both were well aware who you were angry at.

“It’s not your –”

“Please. Please don’t,” your voice was raw.

Hotch went quiet, putting his full focus on carefully swirling his drink. The silence was given room to grow, blooming between them. It enveloped them, soft and plush. Both men breathed deeply for the first time in days, free to unwind in each other’s presence. Both knew that the other wouldn’t balk at the knowledge of what they carried within.

Minutes ticked by as they both took comfort in the other’s solid presence.

“You know… I can’t remember the last time I did this.” you almost whispered, not wanting to break the spell you two were under.

“What?” Hotch muttered.

You turned your head toward him and he copied you.

“Accepted consolation.”

Hotch’s lips formed a line briefly as he considered your words.

“Me neither,” he said so quietly, you wouldn’t have heard him if there were any other noises happening. Something snagged in your throat. You tried to wash it away with a swig. You let the silence swell again for another few minutes.

Take a deep breath!

You jerked a little from your relaxed posture. Your knee shifted to press lightly against his and you shook the echos out of your head. Hotch glanced at you, probably already working out that you needed to touch him for some kind of reassurance. You only hoped he couldn’t guess that you needed to reassure yourself of his continued living.

Finally, you couldn’t hold it in any longer. You had wanted to say it from the moment you were on the plane back home and you saw the way he had retreated into himself. You had wanted to tell him when you caught him staring at his hands detachedly. You had wanted to tell him almost every moment since… it happened.

“You’re doing… a good job, Hotch.” you sat up to look at him properly.

“Excuse me?” Hotch said, staring at you like he was sure he had misheard.

“You’re doing a great job,” you repeated, holding his gaze, “You are doing far more than enough.”

Hotch couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from you, his jaw clenched and his eyes growing misty.

“You are far more than enough,” you said, plain and simple.

Hotch swallowed and turned away with a soft huff.

“Yeah, okay,” he muttered.

A burst of frustration replaced everything else inside you for a moment. You needed him to get it. You were on your feet in the next second.

“Stand up.” you ordered.

You said it with such authority that Hotch automatically obeyed without a word. He was on his feet, toe to toe with you.

“Okay,” he said slowly. You reached over and took his glass from his hand, putting on the table. Hotch simply let it happen, curious to see where this was going.

"Alright,” you said as you straightened, “I’m gonna hug you–”

“What?” Hotch laughed, already pulling away. You brought your hands up to his shoulders, keeping him in place.

“For thirty seconds,” you continued. He stared at you like you were insane.

“Okay, how drunk are you?” Hotch chuckled.

“Drunk? Not at all.” you said truthfully. Your mind was clear with its intent.

“Thirty seconds, Hotch,” you repeated. The other man let out a huff of disbelief, running a hand over his forehead.

“Uh… Fine. Will you tell me why you suddenly need to do this?” he asked.

“Because I think you need it,” you said, “You need to hear these things sometimes. You don’t hear them enough.”

His expression had closed off at your explanation.

“Can you remember the last time you got a hug?” you whispered, “Because I can’t.”

He looked away, and you knew you got him. You gave him as many moments as he needed to prepare himself. After a minute passed, he nodded.

“Alright,” he said. You opened your arms and took one more step, already in each other’s space. He slowly mirrored your movements.

“Now, it’s going to feel real awkward at first,” you said, wrapping your arms around his back. He was so tense, it was like embracing a wooden plank.

“Then, after a little bit, it’ll start to feel okay,” you murmured, feeling his arms lightly wind around your back, hardly touching you. Laughter bubbled out of your chest at the sensation.

“Are you counting in your head?” Hotch asked.

“The timer doesn’t start until you take it seriously,” you said matter of factly.

“What?!” he whined, “It hasn’t even started yet?”

“Nope.”

“Was this your plan all along?” he said wryly. “Playing the long con.”

You didn’t budge, merely keeping your hold of him, waiting.

“Waiting to get me alone, huh?”

You still said nothing. You knew what he was doing.

“Liquor me up a little, and then make your move, is that–?”

“Hotch,” your grave, hushed tone silenced him.

You knew he was aware that you caught on to his ploy to distract you. You felt yourself begin to tremble slightly with what you were about to say.

“I think about him, too,” you whisper.

A shudder wracked through Hotch’s body. His hands tightened around your shoulders until they were almost painful, but you held fast. You wrapped your arms more firmly around him, the fabric of his suit jacket rumpling under your hands. The breath caught in Hotch’s throat.

“Goddamn it,” he voice broke, “I hate it when you’re right.”

A thick chuckle pushed past the hot lump in your throat.

“No, you don’t.” you muttered.

“You’re right,” Hotch muttered back, tentatively resting his head in the crook of your neck, “I don’t.”

The office was filled with the sound of both of your shaky breaths as you clutched at each other.

“I… I still see him,” Hotch admitted, “When I go to sleep.”

You nodded, your chin rubbing against his shoulder.

“I… I still hear you. The both of you and I –” your voice gave way, pulling him so close that you could feel his heart beat through your chest, “I have to find you to – to make sure…”

Hotch nodded, understanding.

“I’m right here,” he said.

He was. He was breathing, he was alive right in your arms. You shook at the thought of how close that had come to not being true.

“Get him!”

You swam under a fallen beam. The kidnapped boy was barely keeping his head above water, the metal cuff around his ankle was chained to the floor. Diving under, you found the other end and tugged with all your strength. You cast about for anything you could break the link with.

You surfaced for air, noting how the boy could hardly keep his mouth out of the water, no longer wasting his oxygen on calling for help.

“Fuck!” you said, diving under again. You spied a small piece of broken pipe and tried to leverage it under the link fixing the chain to the floor. It slipped. You tried again. There wasn’t enough space. You began to bang it against the link but you couldn’t generate enough force underwater. Your lungs were beginning to protest but you ignored them. You tried again.

Again. Again.

Distantly, you thought you heard someone yelling.

Finally, your body forced you to the surface against your will.

The moment you gasped your first breath, your chest caved in at the sight before you. There was no more movement beneath the rapidly rising water. You wanted to crack open, to let yourself leak into water all around you.

“---!” Hotch’s laboured voice pulled you back.

You swam over to him and dived below without listening to him any longer. Careful to not look at what was behind you, you found where Hotch’s leg was pinned underneath a large, jagged pipe. It was much larger than the one you-

You emptied your mind. Grasping the end, you tried to lift it off. It was unwavering.

Surfacing, you saw your time was running out. The water was almost at the basement roof. Hotch’s head was almost submerged. Your heart pounded, not only from the exertion. You weren’t doing this again.

“Take a deep breath!” you said. Diving under again, you pushed your arms up against the water until you could wedge yourself in a crouch underneath the jagged, heavy pipe. Bracing your shoulder against it, you pushed up with all your strength. Miraculously, you felt it shift. You kept going. Bubbles obscured your vision as you released grunts of effort, pushing the death trap off Hotch.

Your lungs spasmed, desperate for air. You ignored everything. Keep pushing. Keep pushing.

You didn’t even register the feeling of hands on your arms until Hotch’s face came into your field of vision. He pointed up frantically.

He was free.

You finally let go.

You didn’t want to let him go.

You furiously swiped at the wet tracks that had made their way down your face. You felt Hotch moving, and guessed he was doing the same.

“I never said thank you,” he said softly. You shook your head and buried it in his shoulder.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you replied.

A few moments later, you sniffed and began to loosen your vice-like grip on him.

“Well. Your time’s definitely up.”

A watery laugh came from Hotch as he let you go, looking at you with red rimmed eyes. His expression which was a mix of emotions was a mirror of your own. With a deep breath you loosened your tie further and unbuttoned your top button, suddenly needing more air after reliving the memory.

Hotch’s brows drew together, all other emotion being replaced with concern.

“Are you– Are you bleeding?” he asked in disbelief.

“Huh?” you tried to follow his gaze toward your neck, but couldn’t see. You brought your fingers up and dragged them across the exposed skin of your neck and shoulder. They came away slick and red. For a moment, everything that just happened clouded your mind.

“Oh,” you murmured, “Oh, yeah.”

“Let me see,” Hotch pulled your collar toward your shoulder before he could get permission. The gash at the junction of you neck and shoulder was prominent. A soft gasp fell from his lips.

“How did –” he met your eyes, “Was this from when you…”

You nodded.

“I had to get it off you,” your murmured.

Hotch stared at you, gaze shining, his fingers still holding onto your shirt.

“Why didn’t you go to the medics?” he asked, walking back to his desk and rummaging in the bottom drawer.

“They… they were busy.” the words almost didn’t want to pass your lips. The memories of them trying unsuccessfully to revive the still body flooded your head. You blinked hard and found your glass to take another deep drink. Hotch straightened, a small plastic box in his hand.

“Enough of that,” he pointed at you, “It’s making you bleed more.”

A huff of annoyance came from you but you obeyed, aware that he was right. Hotch made you sit and unbutton your shirt halfway to give him easier access. You quirked an eyebrow at him as you undid them.

“Mmm. Now who’s playing the long con?” you teased. He gave you an unimpressed look.

“Come here,” he said, opening a sterile cloth. You leaned a little closer and he dabbed carefully at the wound. By the way his shoulders were tensed, you knew he was upset that you didn’t ask for medical attention the minute you realised you were hurt.

“I’d do it again,” you said. He halted in his tending.

“What?”

“I know you don’t approve, but I’d do it again,” you locked eyes with him, “This is nothing. I’d take worse if it saved you…”

Hotch swallowed thickly. He pulled his fingers away to hold them in front of your face. They were slick with red.

“Nothing?” he hissed. “This isn’t nothing.”

“A small price to pay. To have you here,” you muttered, looking away from his hand. You didn’t want to see his disapproving face, so you didn’t look up as he wiped his hand off silently.

Next thing you knew, you were being pulled into his arms.

Shocked, it took you a moment before you reciprocated the embrace.

“I might not approve, but it doesn’t mean I’m not grateful,” he said sincerely. Then his tone shifted to a mock seriousness, “Just never do it again. Or I will fire you.”

A genuine laugh originated from your chest as you nodded into his shoulder.

“No promises,” you muttered.

You both clung to each other, reassuring yourselves of the other’s well-being.

“So,” you smirked after a few moments, “should I start the clock?”

333 notes · View notes

lucvangogh · 3 months ago

Text

At Cross Purposes

Sequel to These Fleeting Moments

Relationships: Hotch & Male BAU Reader, BAU Team & Male Reader Content: Fluff, Alcohol, Angst, Slight non-violent homophobia, Injury, blood, bouts of panic Word Count: 13,313 (The rest of the team wanted time with you, too. Idk how this happened. Just take it and enjoy lol) Summary: Reader and Hotch try to make good on their unspoken agreement to stop shutting out the rest of the team. A night out at the bar should be simple enough, right? Note: "---" in place of reader's name Oh, boy... Things are shifting. I try hard, but there are probably still some spelling mistakes that slipped by. Important: It takes so little time to reblog! It lets me know you really enjoyed and I appreciate it so much! :) I probably will not post the next in this series unless the amount of reblogs, with or without comments, on this are at least equal to the number of likes (though I'd prefer it to be greater). Divider by @cafekitsune

Sometimes it seemed like no matter what they did, they couldn’t help but profile in every situation they found themselves in. At the coffee shop when a woman received five texts in a row and then ordered another coffee. Or when a man at the bus stop kept glancing down the wrong end of the street and pulled at his hood nervously.

Other times, profiling skills took the day off.

The Behavioral Analysis Unit is a team of some the most perceptive, well trained minds around. They had the ability to look at a person and gather an almost scary amount of information about them in mere seconds. They were truly amazing.

They were also some of the densest people on the planet.

Morgan and Prentiss’s cackling could be heard from almost any part of the floor. Normally, you’d tell them to shut it after too long but today you didn’t mind so much. You looked up from the papers on your desk and shook your head at them with a suppressed grin. The pen in your grasp rolled back and forth between your fingers. You were well aware of how bad you had allowed yourself to get recently.

Fortunately, three days ago, your impulsive tongue had taken the plunge for you when you suggested something you normally never would. The barricade you had erected around yourself began to break down after you spent part of the night in Hotch’s office.

The words on the paper blurred together. You rubbed at your eyes with your free hand as you tried not to think too hard about what happened that night. The two of you hadn’t talked about it since.

The day afterward, you had greeted each other pleasantly and Hotch had given you a knowing smirk when you both had made a beeline for the coffee machine to pour yourselves a large, black serving. Other than that brief moment, he hadn’t acknowledged or brought it up again. You assumed it was something that would be kept private, contained to that night alone. You both had dearly needed that night but at times, the memories of it would make your gaze grow unfocused or your chest tingle.

Your knee pressed against Hotch’s.

The pen creaked in your grasp.

Him clutching you just as fiercely as you did him.

“Oh, god, you’re such a pig!” Prentiss’s laugh cut through the trance.

You shook your head vigorously and blinked your way back to reality, the air from the vents overhead hitting the back of your neck. You realized you had scribbled several erratic lines across the paper, effectively ruining it. Sighing, you folded it, tossed it into the small bin at your feet, and grabbed a fresh one.

“Hey, ---!” Morgan called.

Abandoning hope at finishing this paper any time soon, you leaned back in your chair and turned to look at the other man.

“What?” you raised an eyebrow, already not liking the devilish look he was wearing.

“Okay,” Morgan began, leaning in your direction, “If a girl was talkin' you up all sweet-like and then you buy her a drink, wouldn't you –”

Prentiss cut him off with a laugh.

“Oh, come on! You're clearly setting him up to agree with you!” she shook her head, throwing her hands out to the sides.

“What?” he said innocently, “I'm just asking his opinion!”

“My opinion,” you said with a smirk, “is that you're insufferable.”

Prentiss leaned over and presented her fist. You bumped it with your own as Morgan sputtered in indignation.

“Are you serious?” he looked at you as if you just insulted his mother.

“I agree,” Reid mumbled from his own desk.

“Stay out of this, pretty boy!” Morgan jabbed his finger in Reid's direction, “I'm only asking people that actually go out to places.”

Reid's brow furrowed as he glanced over at the other two before turning back to Morgan.

“I think I'd rather stay home than go out and watch you try to force women into talking to you,” Reid muttered, a sly smirk playing at his lips.

Morgan actually rose from his chair to gape at the group of three that were turning on him. Despite yourself, you laughed along with them.

“Excuse me? I don't force women to do anything! Don't go spreading rumors!” Morgan waved his hands at everyone as if he could physically stop their words from traveling through the air.

“Alright, okay,” you held your own hands up placatingly, “Sure. But if you buy a woman a drink she didn't ask for, that's your choice, man. You’re not indebting her. She doesn't need to talk to you at all if she doesn't want to.”

Prentiss gave a mighty groan, her hands reaching toward the heavens.

“Yes! I knew there was at least one sane man on this team!” she exclaimed, actually standing to come and give you a quick squeeze.

You laughed in surprise as she wrapped her arms around you from behind, nuzzling her cheek against the side of your head.

“What about me?” Reid asked, the beginnings of hurt in his tone, as she released you. She gave another small chuckle and winked at him.

“Well, of course,” she smiled.

“And me?” a voice came from behind.

Everyone turned to see Hotch approaching, his gaze flitting over Prentiss’s hand still lingering on your shoulder. Prentiss rushed back to her desk in the same instant that Morgan sat back down and Reid ducked his head, once again focused on his own work.

You cursed internally, wondering how much he had heard and how irritated he might be that you all had taken an extended break.

He paused near the desks and peered at Prentiss expectantly.

“Well, I – Yeah, of– of course,” she stammered, glancing at the rest of the group for help.

Hotch's lips quirked into the faintest of smiles as he passed by, handing something to Anderson.

“That was reassuring,” he deadpanned, moving past them and back toward his office.

A collective weight lifted from everyone’s shoulders as they realized Hotch wasn’t about to reprimand them about staying on track.

“Hotch, come on. Back me up, here, man!” Morgan called out with a grin, “They’re calling me a dog!”

Hotch gave a little huff of a laugh that had you mirroring his soft smile. He paused for a moment, considering his response before he continued on his path.

“How about you prove them wrong? Tonight.” Hotch said, glancing back as he walked toward the steps.

“What, go out?” Morgan sat up, excitement brewing in his eyes, “All of us?”

Hotch raised his eyebrows with a fleeting smirk.

“It is Friday,” he proposed.

Morgan's face broke into a grin akin to a child promised ice cream for dinner.

“Oh, yes!” he clapped, “Hell yeah, man!”

He laughed as though already having won his honor.

“I better see you all later!” he said, point at each of you in turn, “I heard about a new place we can go light up.”

You hardly looked at Morgan and his excited antics because Hotch caught your eye as he ascended the steps and gave you a little nod that seemed more pointed than not. There it was. The challenge. I’ll go if you will.

You gave him the most minuscule tip of the head before he turned away and returned to his office.

Reid gave a pinched frown. You suspected the only reason he would go was because it was basically a direct order from Hotch. That made two of you.

Prentiss was already bickering with Morgan again, saying something about rules and etiquette.

“You okay?”

You turned toward Reid to see him watching you with concern. You hadn’t realized your new paper was crumpled in your clenched fingers. You were not helping the environment today.

“Uh, yeah,” you said quickly, grabbing a new paper, “I just, uh, kinda don't want to go out, honestly.”

Reid's expression opened up again, his eyes widening, as he leaned toward you to whisper.

“You think we can fake an emergency together? Say we got a flat tire on the way there?” he gave a little grin, “Then we can watch my new DVD, it’s a nature documentary on bioluminescent sea creatures!”

“That sounds like a really good backup plan,” you murmured with a smile.

Both men nodded at each other conspiratorially before turning back to their respective paperwork. You had only been able to fill out around half the page before Morgan caught JJ’s attention as she walked by, headed toward Hotch’s office.

“Tonight, all of us!” he mimed downing a shot and made an exaggerated dance move in his seat.

She laughed at the ridiculous sight.

“Yeah?” she asked, glancing over at you, “Even you?”

Your fingers halted in their writing for a moment, nerves flaring for just a split second as you heard the disbelief in her tone.

“Uh, yeah, yeah,” you huffed a bit sheepishly, running a hand through your hair.

JJ’s eyes sparkled with delight at your confirmation.

“But you all just went out the other day,” you glanced between everyone in disbelief, “How are you already down to go again?”

Prentiss scoffed at the same time as JJ let out a wry laugh, holding up the stack of paperwork she was taking to Hotch.

“Easy,” Prentiss shook her head in a long-suffering manner.

“Yeah,” JJ agreed as she began to ascend the steps, “Alright, I’ll let Garcia and Rossi know, too.”

Morgan gave her a thumbs up.

As the day waned, you found yourself able to concentrate less and less. The ticking of the clock pummeled against your eardrums. The scratching of your pen grated on your skin.

Finishing the last of your paperwork, you shoved it on top of the rather impressive stack. A sigh heaved from your gut as you leaned back in your chair, stretching your neck and groaning softly when the joint popped.

“Hey,” an unsubtle whisper sounded your way.

You shifted to look at Morgan, his eyes glinting as he tapped his watch.

“Wanna make a bet for later?” he asked.

Saying nothing, you merely quirked an eyebrow at him.

“First one to get a girl’s number, wins,” he proposed.

You let your head fall forward into your hands, an incredulous laugh bubbling from your throat.

“Oh, my god,” you groaned.

Prentiss stood with a shake of the head, jabbing her thumb at the other man.

“You see?” she scoffed, but her gaze held mirth in it all the same.

You nodded sympathetically at her with a smirk playing at your lips.

“What?” Morgan spread his arms innocently.

Reid joined in on the laughter that erupted from the group.

In the office above, a soft chuckle was emitted at the sounds that were coming from the desks in the bullpen.

The drive home was just what you needed to clear your head of any lingering reservations. You had offered Reid a ride, still considering the flat tire plan earnestly. He had laughed when you brought it up, saying it wasn’t too late.

“No, it’s alright,” he had waved the offer away, then gave a sneaky smirk and leaned a little closer, “Besides, I kinda wanna see Morgan crash and burn.”

You stopped at a light and a little laugh came from you at the memory.

Morgan had given everyone the address of a new place that had just opened a couple months ago. No one had been to it yet, so everyone agreed to go together for the first time. Prentiss had claimed if she found out Morgan had frequented the place before, she would immediately call an end to his trial and he could never redeem his honorable name. Morgan had crossed his heart that he hadn’t stepped foot in the place.

You arrived at your home and briefly entertained the idea of simply not going. You could tell them tomorrow that you had fallen asleep early. You shook your head at yourself as you slid the key in the lock and entered, dropping your bag into its spot behind the door.

Hotch would see straight through your lie. And even worse, he would know the reason for it and know that you had immediately failed to keep up your end of the unspoken deal.

Sinking down onto your sofa with a sigh, you let your eyes drift closed for a few minutes. The flat silence pressed against your ears. You shifted, grunting, as the cushions somehow felt harder than when you first bought the damn thing. Thoughts of a much more comfortable sofa floated up in your mind.

Your eyes snapped open and you rushed to go take a shower instead.

The glow of the bluish, purplish light emanated from the open door and cast a colorful stripe onto the pavement outside. Music blared from speakers that were nowhere to be seen. As you approached the building, you pulled out your phone to send Reid a text to see if he was there yet.

Stepping inside and spying the crowd of people laughing and dancing, you were suddenly glad you had chosen your light blue button-up instead of a t-shirt. The dress code here appeared to be smart-casual with a heavier lean toward smart.

Before you had finished typing out the message, you spied two familiar blonde heads of hair at a corner table.

“Hey! Over here!” JJ spotted you, and yelled over the music, waving you over.

She had changed into a loose, silky looking, dark blue button-up of her own.

A smile broke across your face as you watched Garcia whip around in her seat. You hadn’t even made it halfway over yet when she shot up and the rapid click-clack of her heels rang out as she ran toward you.

Her arms wrapped around your torso, and all the oxygen was squeezed from your body for a moment. A squeal of delight hit your ears. The brief shock of being enveloped in a hug rendered you still. The last one had been –

“You’re here! You’re really here!” Garcia chanted.

You finally hugged her back with a laugh that only her specific joy could produce from you. JJ made her way over to where you stood, wrapped in her embrace.

“Yeah, I know,” you said as you released each other, “I can’t believe it either.”

Garcia’s dark, shimmery dress matched her eye makeup perfectly.

“And, oh, gosh, you smell so good,” Garcia muttered, leaning in close to get another sniff.

You leaned away with a slightly embarrassed huff.

“Okay, how much has she had already?” you said to JJ out of the corner of your mouth.

JJ had been watching the exchange with a growing grin, hands resting on her hips.

“Um…” she scratched her head, “I think she’s at four shots now?”

You turned back to Garcia, mouth open. She grabbed your arm and draped it around her shoulders with a slight pout.

“What?” she tried her best to look sober, “It’s the weekend! And you’re here, you’re actually here!”

She shook your arm and bounced on the spot as she elongated the last word. Another laugh rang out from your lips.

“I’m so happy! We can dance and have fun. Ooh, and do more shots,” Garcia began to ramble, “Oh, and I can’t wait ‘til Hotch shows up, too, and you both can be happy again and I’ll get–”

JJ cleared her throat loudly, cutting off Garcia’s chatter with a stiff head-shake. Garcia’s eyes went wide as her hand flew to her mouth and she snapped her gaze back to yours. You desperately hoped that you didn’t look as chagrined as you felt.

“I mean – Um, not that you’re not happy now. Maybe you could be happier, but hey, we can all be happier, right –?”

JJ rubbed at her eyes. You tightened your arm around Garcia’s shoulders briefly, bringing her words to a halt.

“It’s alright,” you murmured, not quite meeting her eyes.

“Uh, how about you get me that famous drink you told me about before?” you switched gears.

Garcia lit up, her smile returning full force.

“Yes,” she nodded, already clacking away toward the bar, “Yes, that I can do.”

JJ shared a fond look with you before you followed her back to the table a few paces away. You slid into a seat adjacent to her, while keeping an eye on Garcia. You hoped she wouldn't topple over in her haste.

“She probably shouldn’t have any more,” you said, a smile pulling at your lips as you watched Garcia gesturing emphatically to the dark-haired woman behind the bar.

“At least not until everyone else shows up,” you amended.

JJ grinned as she grabbed her own glass of wine. It appeared to be untouched as she most likely didn’t want to drink while Garcia was far more intoxicated than her. Now, she took a proper long sip. You wondered how much her job was taking its toll on her before you shooed the thought of work away like a pesky fly.

“Yeah,” JJ agreed, her voice rather low and you struggled to catch it over the booming beat of the music.

“Where are they, by the way?” you mused as you turned to glance around the place, “I thought I’d be the last one here, for sure.”

“Uh, I know Spence is on his way. And Emily, too,” JJ said, checking her phone, “Not sure about everyone else though.”

You nodded and glanced over at Garcia again, finding the bartender listening to her with slight astonishment. You wondered how much longer it would take for her to get the aforementioned drink. A slight tickle of nerves sprouted in your lower abdomen as the silence stretched on between the two of you at the table.

You clasped your hands together to prevent them from doing something stupid like fidget or, even worse, shake. The music lulled in between rhythms, only providing an even greater silence.

“So,” you began, knowing you ought to say something, “Seen any… good movies lately?”

JJ peered at you, unblinkingly. Her laughter broke through the wall of ice that had been forming around you and you laughed along with her, leaning the chair so far forward that you were in danger of tipping over.

“What are we, on a first date?” JJ asked, wiping at her eyes.

“Apparently,” you responded, still smiling, and shrugged at yourself, “I guess I’m a little out of practice with… this.”

You gestured to everything as a whole. She sobered as you gave your explanation and nodded understandingly.

“Yeah. You been doing okay?” she asked carefully, delicately swirling her wine glass between her fingers.

You fought down a sigh of resignation. Glancing at your watch, you took note of the record timing it had taken until someone asked you how you were doing.

“So, uh, how screwed do you think I am with that drink she’s bringing?” you nodded in Garcia’s direction, the woman in question now making her way back with a very tall glass of bright violet liquid.

JJ looked to Garcia, then back at you, and you held your breath. She graciously allowed the subject to drop as Garcia set the tall glass in front of you with pride.

“There you go, sir!” she said, clapping as she sat down across from you.

“Thank you,” you eyed the radiant drink with blackberries and sprigs of mint on top, “What’s in it?”

Garcia shook her head and made a zipping motion across her lips.

“No can do, baby doll,” she said, “It’s my secret recipe.”

The music’s bumping beat was all that filled the space for a moment as you peered at her, curiosity piqued.

“Wait, you made this?” you asked, surprised.

“Uh-huh,” she nodded with a smile.

JJ gave a laugh, inching a little closer to get a better look at the drink.

“You didn’t tell me that part,” JJ said.

She turned to JJ slowly, eyebrows raised dramatically like an old film star.

“You didn’t ask,” she spoke in a low tone, “There’s a lot you guys don’t know about me.”

JJ shared a look with you, astonished, and you both let out another chuckle.

“Well, go on! Taste it, taste it!” Garcia chanted, practically bouncing up and down in her seat.

You took a tentative sip, waiting for the burn of the alcohol. When nothing came, you glanced up, brows furrowing.

“Uh,” you gave a bit of a nervous laugh, “It just tastes like berries.”

“Yes!” Garcia’s smile widened in delight and she turned to JJ with her hand up.

Eyes squinting in confusion, JJ high-fived her reflexively.

“Am I supposed to taste any alcohol in this?” you questioned, taking a longer sip.

Still no notable taste of any liquor came across your tongue.

“That’s the secret,” Garcia grinned, swaying ever so slightly.

“Maybe it’s a placebo,” JJ smirked at you, taking another sip of her wine.

“It – It certainly is not!” Garcia snapped her gaze to the other woman.

Sensing the shift in her mood, you took another long gulp before speaking up again.

“So what’s it called?” you inquired.

When Garcia focused on you again, her offense ebbed away. You glanced at JJ who gave you a slight toast with her glass. Someone on the dance floor gave a loud whoop that drew everyone’s attention for a moment.

“Huh?” Garcia turned to you again.

“It’s your drink,” you explain, holding up the glass, “You gotta give it a name.”

Garcia bit her bottom lip as her brows drew together.

“I hadn’t thought about that,” she murmured, deep in thought.

You took another pull. You thought perhaps JJ was right after all and there was no alcohol in this whatsoever, until your head suddenly felt a touch lighter.

“How about The Purple Penny…” you uttered, gazing at the drink and then at its creator in slight awe.

Her eyes went wide and her jaw fell open as she gaped at you. For a moment, you thought she was about to yell at you, too. You glanced to JJ apprehensively, who only gave you a tiny shrug.

“Shut up!” Garcia squealed, “I love that!”

Relief coursed through you and you all laughed when she tapped you lightly on each of your shoulders with her straight, outstretched arm, as if knighting you.

“Hey, do we get one of those?” a laugh came from behind you.

You turned to see Prentiss as she approached with Reid, Morgan, and Rossi at her sides, looking like the oddest bunch of security guards ever, all smiling at the scene before them. You tamped down the odd crest of disappointment that rose within you at the absence of the final person of the group.

You stood along with the others to allow them to choose their seats at the table. Morgan hugged Garcia tightly and took the seat beside her, to no one’s surprise. Some of the other patrons nearby glanced at the team, embracing happily as if they hadn’t just seen each other a matter of hours ago, and you wondered what they assumed.

Both Prentiss and Morgan had chosen t-shirts, hers a bold red and his a more subtle burgundy, and they somehow managed to make them look smart and stylish. You glanced down at your own pale blue button-up and briefly wondered if you could have gotten away with a t-shirt of your own. A quick scan of Rossi in his stripey button-up and blazer and Reid in his sweater-vest eased your worries.

Everyone settled, Reid asking Garcia about the bright drink and what gave it the distinct hue. You peeked over your shoulder toward the entrance.

“He’s on his way.”

You jumped, turning back to see Rossi gazing at you rather knowingly. A writhing tendril of flame flared in your gut at the sight and you silently turned back to your drink, missing the worried tilt to Rossi’s mouth.

The bluish light from the dance floor twinkled across the violet liquid in your glass, creating an entrancing kaleidoscope effect. Everyone that just arrived stood to head to the bar for their first round of the night, while JJ accompanied the slightly wobbly Garcia to the bathroom.

“Reid?” Morgan held his hand out questioningly.

“Uh, I’m alright for now, thanks,” Reid nodded, holding up his glass of water, staying firmly planted in his seat.

Morgan shrugged and went to join the others. You turned to look at the door, trying to see past the crowd of people that swayed and jumped with their drinks in hand.

“Hey,” Reid called.

You shifted, meeting his gaze to see his lips twisted in the tiny pout he sometimes made when he was worried.

“You okay?” his gaze flitted down to the table.

You followed it and found that you had shredded the piece of the coaster that poked out from underneath your glass. Brushing your hands off, you nodded, grateful that there was no pity in Reid’s gaze.

“Yeah, man, I’m good,” you said with a quirk of your lips.

“I’m not,” he mumbled, screwing his face up as he looked around skeptically, “What even is this music?!”

You grinned, having had the same thought yourself a bit ago. You glanced up toward the ceiling, trying to find the source of the rumbling bass.

“I don’t think even it knows,” you joked.

Reid’s face shifted to mirror yours and your laughter was able to push past the irritating block that had been building in your throat.

The others returned with their drinks at the same time as JJ and Garcia from the bathroom. JJ and Rossi shared a look when they heard the laughter coming from you and Reid. They all settled back into their seats, enjoying a variety of different drinks. You sipped at your own at little more freely, giggling quietly when Prentiss relayed how Morgan already seemed to be failing at his trial of the night.

Morgan, of course, grew affronted, asking Reid his opinion on the matter. When Reid gave an answer he didn’t like, he turned to Garcia who tried her best to reassure him. The liquid in your glass was almost halfway gone when you saw Rossi’s gaze look behind you with recognition.

“There he is,” Rossi called affectionately, “For once in your life, you’re the last one to arrive.”

You swiveled in your seat to see Hotch approaching with a rather bashful glint in his eye. He had somehow managed to make dressing down look like dressing up. Instead of his usual button-up, tie, and suit ensemble, he wore jeans and a black, short-sleeved polo shirt with a little alligator on it which you assumed meant it was expensive.

“Hey,” he greeted everyone with a smile.

You resisted the sudden urge to stand that briefly overtook you once he reached the table. Morgan stood instead and beckoned Hotch to the bar with him, having drained his glass impossibly quickly and in need of another. Your gaze followed them as they weaved between the ever-moving sea of people.

Reid tapped your shoulder and you looked over to see him watching you expectantly.

“Wait, what?” you asked blankly.

A chuckle rippled through the group and a slight flush rose in your neck, but you smiled despite it.

“I said, how do you think Morgan’s gonna do?” Reid repeated.

A soft breath blew past your lips as you held your hands up.

“Don’t look at me,” you said, “I’m taking no bets on that one.”

Morgan and Hotch returned, drinks in hand, to everyone staring with concealed mirth.

“What?” Morgan squinted his eyes at everyone in turn, sinking onto his chair, “You guys been conspiring against me?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Prentiss mumbled, taking a hearty sip of her beer to avoid speaking further.

Banter broke out almost instantaneously and you watched like it was your own private film showing. Hotch swiped a chair from a nearby vacant table and propped it next to yours, close enough that a wave of his cologne hit you a second after he slid onto it.

He raised his glass of dark stout toward you, expectant. A smile forming at the familiar action, you clinked your glass against his. You met his eyes and immediately dissolved into a fit of laughter along with him.

“What’s so funny?” Reid asked, his attention shifted from telling Garcia about the importance of spacing drinks accordingly.

Hotch gazed at the others, the mirth in his eyes falling away into a mocking version of his serious expression.

“Uh, we’re not at liberty to say,” he shook his head.

You fought away the tide of giddiness and schooled your features into a grave mask.

“Yeah, top secret,” you agreed, putting on an air of importance.

“Oh, okay,” JJ laughed, “Thought this was supposed to be a team bonding experience.”

“I think we’re good,” you said, quirking an eyebrow, “We’re a team and this is an experience.”

“Oh, it’s about to be,” Morgan grinned devilishly, drumming the table, “Now that everyone’s here… we’re doing shots!”

Immediate protests rang out from everyone. Except Garcia who volunteered to go with Morgan and help him bring a round to the table.

“No!” you and JJ exclaimed in unison.

“What?” she pouted at the two of you, “Why not? That’s no fair.”

At seeing how the rest began to chuckle at her dismay, you shifted a little so you could look her in the eye more clearly.

“Yes, it is,” you spread your hands, shooting her an imploring look, “You gotta let the rest of us catch up to you. Everyone knows you’re always four steps ahead, Garcia.”

You winked and clicked your tongue at her.

Your over-the-top antics had the desired effect. Her pout transformed into a smile brighter than the moon. She reached across the table for you and you took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Alright, alright,” Morgan held his hands up between the two of you, as if to physically stop the interaction, “You made your point, handsome. Now back it up, before we gotta throw down.”

The ripple of laughter emanated from the whole group and you felt rather weightless as you joined in.

A while later, when everyone’s first round had disappeared, the table was empty once again as they left to help bring the shots and other drinks back. You and Rossi stayed behind since his glass remained mostly full and you didn’t want a new drink along with the shot. JJ had tossed a look over her shoulder, meeting Rossi’s eyes for a split second before they all braved the tide of dancers again.

A small shiver ran through your torso, a chill creeping in from the open door. Your mind went to the jacket you had left in the car as your hands tapped out a rhythmless beat against the wooden table.

“How are you doing, kiddo?” he asked in a low tone.

“I’m fine,” you answered automatically, the sudden question took you by surprise. You were unable to keep the irritation from seeping into your voice.

“You sure?” he pressed.

“Yeah.”

You falsely blamed the alcohol in your system when you heard how hard the word came out.

You met his gaze, interpreted his pointed expression and realized there was no use. A breath heaved out of your nose as you carefully rotated your nearly empty glass. The condensation that collected on the surface chilled your fingertips. You focused on the sensation as you tried to untangle the web of thoughts and emotions that snarled around your body.

“Sorry. Just – tired of that question,” you glimpsed his knowing nod out of the corner of your eye, “It’s- It’s been hard, but…”

Your gaze drifted to the group at the bar. Prentiss was throwing peanuts at Reid who kept looking around, perplexed, while Hotch and Morgan tried not to laugh. The sight of Hotch smiling again lifted something heavy from your throat.

“It’s getting better,” you finished.

Rossi stayed silent for a moment, gaze following yours.

“I’m sure it is,” he smiled softly.

“This helps,” you breathed.

When you looked at him again, he lifted his hand to the back of your head and ruffled your hair as he smile grew. If anyone else did that to you, you’d probably leave them with at least a sprained finger or two. But when Rossi did it, there was only a glowing warmth that burned away some of the sticky threads that ensnared you.

The large tray that Prentiss placed on the table shattered the cozy moment as you both looked at the impressive array of shots with trepidation.

“Do I even wanna know how much that cost?” Rossi groaned.

Hotch shook his head as he slid back into his seat.

“No, you don’t,” he muttered, reaching behind you to give Rossi a little pat on the back.

You chuckled as Rossi rubbed his face in defeat, clearly regretful about agreeing to pay for the first few rounds. You stilled when Hotch drew his hand back and his fingers briefly brushed across your shoulder blade.

Glancing sideways, you found him peering at everyone pleasantly, clearly unaware of what he inadvertently did. You forced your attention to the group as Morgan and JJ distributed shots to everyone, minus Garcia.

Taking yours, you felt Hotch’s knee bump yours under the table. You gave another sidelong glance, wondering if that was an accident as well. He gave you the quickest glance in return as he picked up his small glass.

“Déjà vu,” his voice rumbled lowly, for your ears alone.

Your mouth quirked into a smirk for a split second.

“Mhmm,” you hummed in agreement.

“Alright!” Morgan called out, holding his glass high.

Everyone lifted their own, Garcia with her water and lime, and gathered all the glasses together in a large, tinkling toast.

You spied Reid already grimacing before he even drank the liquid and you laughed. A chorus of grunts and groans rang out from the others as they downed theirs. You threw yours back with ease. You couldn’t help the swell of satisfaction when Prentiss and JJ stared at you, their faces almost matching expressions of surprise mixed with admiration.

“Okay,” Morgan smiled, reaching over and smacking the top of your arm lightly, “You been holdin’ out on us, Mr. I don’t like bars.”

“He’s not even getting started,” Hotch murmured, a mischievous glint in his eye.

When Morgan looked to Hotch, then back at you expectantly, you kept your face as neutral and innocent as possible. Hotch shook his head slowly, disbelief spreading across his features.

“Don’t do that,” he said, a smile forming, “Don’t make me look crazy.”

You merely shrugged, turning to Reid with an exaggerated look of confusion. He laughed before he sipped at his water, washing the taste of the whiskey away. Garcia was watching you with pure delight dancing in her eyes, much like JJ and Prentiss.

JJ and Rossi glanced at each other before they began to laugh. For many long moments, the smell of the whiskey and the sound of everyone setting each other off in a chain reaction was the only thing in the space between everyone.

“Alright, hot shot,” Morgan said when the laughter subsided, grabbing another couple from the tray, “Let’s go.”

He set the next one in front of you, the clack of the glass against the table ringing out loudly. You glanced around, all their faces betraying how intrigued they really were to watch this development.

“What about everyone else?” you asked.

“Who wants another?” Morgan addressed them.

A cluster of hands gestured negatively, except for Garcia whose hand shot up like she was desperately trying to be called on by a teacher.

“Ooh! Ooh! Come on!” she pleaded.

You locked eyes with JJ, having a quick telepathic conversation.

“Alright,” you agreed, “I guess you’ve waited long enough.”

You grabbed another off the tray and placed it in front of her, but Morgan was staring you down over his glass and your focus was on him. Prentiss’s eyebrows went up, whispering to JJ behind her hand. If it weren’t for the loud bass that drowned out nearly everything, you would have sworn you could hear old cowboy duel music playing as you gazed at Morgan with your glass aloft.

Hotch sharply tapped the table twice and you all threw your shots back. The whiskey was rather decent, but it wasn’t the best you’d ever had.

Slamming your glass back onto the table, you watched Morgan struggle to keep his grimace away. The gasps from JJ and Prentiss only served to bolster your confidence and you couldn’t contain your smirk.

Morgan groaned, shaking his head in frustration as he shot his hand out and snatched Reid’s water to take a sip.

“Hey!” Reid protested, pulling back with a frown when Morgan tried to return it, “Keep it. I need a new one now.”

Garcia cackled and you extended your fist which she bumped with gusto.

“We finally got him on something!” you cheered with her.

Morgan was already trying to call for a rematch while everyone else chimed in, trying to get him to gracefully accept defeat. You heard a familiar giggle at your side and looked to find Hotch positively beaming. Rather lightheaded, you wanted to down the rest of the platter if it would keep that look on his face.

Time began to throw its order to the wind, sometimes racing along before you could even catch a glimpse of it. Other times, it would creep by like it was slogging through mud as thick as clay.

You swore you had been listening to Prentiss talk about the adoption process for cats for nearly fifteen minutes, but when you glanced at your watch it revealed that only five had passed.

The others had gone on another trip back to the bar, all the glasses from the platter now empty. Morgan had done away with a good deal more than the rest of you. You were taking a break, knowing you couldn’t afford to go as wild as you wished.

You sank low in your chair and scrubbed at your face. The air around you shifted as the others returned and took their seats. Peeling your eyes open, you smiled at them as they shuffled by.

In a moment, your smile faded as you realized Hotch wasn’t there.

Breath coming a little quicker, you shot up and had to catch yourself on the edge of the table when the chair tipped forward onto its front legs. Settling back down hard, your gaze scanned the whole area in a flash.

“Where’s Hotch?” you demanded, searching the area over again.

“He went to the bathroom,” JJ said gently, eyeing your tense posture.

“Calm down, man,” Morgan laughed, his words rather thick, “What, you want Garcia to track him for you?”

Over here! Help!

You blinked hard.

Rossi sighed as he glanced at Morgan, then at you and your fingers clenched on the edge of the table.

“Kid, it’s okay –” he tried.

His tone launched you out of your seat, your chest burning with a flush you could feel creeping up your neck.

“Be right back,” you choked out and lurched toward the door, stumbling around people in your haste.

The group grew still and the air was sapped of all the joy that previously permeated it.

“I was… just kidding,” Morgan mumbled, gazing at everyone for reassurance.

Garcia gave his arm a light smack.

“You can be so –! Ugh!”she crossed her arms, staring at him.

No one said anything to refute Garcia’s words. The silence grew stale and uncomfortable as they all took fervent glances toward the door, waiting for you to come back.

When Hotch returned, his face shifted from an expression of ease to concern when he felt the abrupt change in atmosphere. Noting the empty chair next to his, he turned to survey the room. His eyes scanned all the dancing forms rather frantically.

“Where’s ---?” he asked.

The frosty gusts of wind tickled your neck as you leaned against the outside of the building, your top button undone. Small tremors ran through your hands and you blamed it on the cold. Your gaze edged toward the end of the street where your car sat parked. You could get in and just be done with this night.

Your heart seemed intent on jumping out of your throat. You heaved in a breath, the frigid air going in jagged. The shaky exhale left a great cloud in front of your face for an instant before it dissipated. If only expelling feelings were that easy.

The crunch of the gravel underfoot alerted you to the approaching figure, but you didn’t look. Instead you glanced at your watch, surprise mixing in with everything else when you realized they had given you ten minutes before someone finally came to check on you.

“Hey,” Prentiss approached you slowly.

“Hey,” you choked out.

“What’s going on? You okay?”

You turned to see her unhindered smile had been replaced with a look of deep concern. Before you could stop it, a scoff came out, forming another thick little cloud. You hated that you had caused the shift in her mood, in everyone’s mood most likely.

An understanding hum came from the woman at your side as she rubbed her hands over the goosebumps that rose on her arms.

“I shouldn’t have asked that, should I?” she gave a sheepish smirk.

“No, go ahead!” you threw your arms out with an exasperated laugh, “Everyone else is, you might as well.”

You glanced over at her agitatedly, but stilled when you noticed her trying to warm herself.

“I’ve got a jacket in the car if you want it,” you lowered your voice self-consciously.

“He really upset you, didn’t he?” she asked earnestly, skipping over your half-hearted attempt at changing the subject.

Cars whizzed by on the street, their headlights illuminating the pair standing against the wall for brief intervals. You lost count of how many went by before you could speak again.

“It’s fine, I know he’s just kidding,” you mumbled toward your shoes.

“Yeah, well. He can be real sweet and funny, but sometimes…” she shook her head with a little grimace.

You nodded, rubbing at your neck. She let you sit in silence for another minute, shuffling close enough that your arms pressed against each other. She would claim it was for warmth only.

“You can talk to us, you know,” she murmured, “You’re not alone.”

Mortifyingly, a searing sting rose behind your eyes. Your jaw clenched and you didn’t dare look over at her. When she felt you leaning into her more heavily, she smiled at the ground.

The swirling puffs of her breath mingled with yours in the space before you. Cars continued to rush past, too many to count. Finally, you pushed off the wall and gave her a tentative peek.

“Thanks,” you uttered softly, “Let’s go back in, you’re freezing.”

“Hey,” she put a hand on your arm, stopping you in your tracks, “I meant what I said.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “I know… Thank you.”

She must have found your second reply more satisfactory because she smiled and began to pull you back inside at a startling pace.

“Woah! Hey!” you exclaimed, your cold limbs fighting to move fast enough to keep up, “Hey! Prentiss, what are you doing?!”

She let out a jubilant laugh, saying nothing and continuing to drag you onward. Straight onto the dance floor. You tried to dig your heels in, but it was no use.

“Oh, no, no, no! Emily!” you tried in vain to stop your momentum but once she finally came to a halt you were already in the middle of the crowd.

You gaped at her, astounded. She took your hands and began to direct you, her laughter loud enough that you could still hear it over the music. All the surrounding people were gyrating to the sounds and you began to feel stupid just standing there.

Stiffly, you shifted around as you wondered what this form of dance was even supposed to be. Prentiss shook her head at you, her eyes gleaming with fondness. She leaned close to your ear.

“You’re overthinking it!”

Slowly, you simply tried to move in ways that felt comfortable as opposed to looking a certain way. The sight of her dazzling smile and the sound of her laugh cutting through the rhythm was enough to spur you on.

Back at the table, everyone caught sight of the pair of you and gave various exclamations.

“I don’t know what he was worried about,” Reid muttered, “He’s better than me, at least.”

“Still no match for me, though,” Morgan elbowed Reid with a laugh.

“Hey, no fair!” Garcia began to rise from her seat, affronted, “I’ve been wanting to dance with him for – forever!”

JJ pulled her back down gently.

“Easy,” she laughed, “I’m sure you’ll get your turn.”

“Speaking of turns,” Morgan stood, slightly unsteady, “I’ve been catching that woman looking at me – one too many times.”

He strutted toward the dance floor himself.

Rossi watched as you spun Prentiss around, earning a gleeful laugh from her, and smiled into his beer. He glanced at Hotch, spying his worried look having melted away to leave only a fond smile as he watched the pair of you.

Your chest rose rather harshly when you finished your pseudo routine with Prentiss, and she put her arms around your shoulders as you swayed together to catch your breath.

“Thanks for that,” you said, knowing she’d hear because of how close you were. Her heavy breath and little laugh tickled at your ear.

“Anytime,” she replied.

A rush of gratitude spread through to your fingertips, warming you faster than any alcohol. Still smiling, you spied a man at the bar watching you and Prentiss.

“Uh, don’t look now,” you muttered, “But I think that guy is checking you out.”

“Oh, really?” she asked, “Is he cute?”

A huff burst from your lips.

“I don’t know,” you laughed, “Here.”

You rotated slowly until you had traded places with her and she could look behind you. She gave an approving nod when she finally caught sight of the dark-haired man in the open button-up over a t-shirt that kept shooting looks over.

“Hmm,” she hummed, “Not too bad. But hey, not my priority tonight.”

She fixed her gaze back on you with a smile. You stilled in your swaying and her smile slipped slightly.

“What, did I –” she began, worried.

“You’re a great friend,” you muttered before you could stop yourself and cringe at the sappiness.

Her smile returned, wider than before and her eyes glistened a little.

“Thanks,” she said, “Takes one to know one.”

With Prentiss gone on a bathroom break with JJ and Garcia, you wandered toward the bar. The dancing had left you thirsty for anything that could chase away the dry burn in your throat. You caught sight of Morgan out on the floor as well, with a young woman’s arms around him, and you shook your head with a smile.

Finally reaching the bar, the chaos surrounded you. People crowded around each other, alcohol dulling their manners as they barked their orders at the woman making their drinks. Finding an empty corner, you slotted yourself in and waited patiently.

“What can I get ya?” the woman asked as she spied you, looking rather harried.

“Um, whatever you’re making them is fine,” you motioned toward the group of men off to the left, clamoring and waving their hands.

She nodded, serving something in a tall glass in a flash and sliding it over to you. As you thanked her, you grabbed it to lift it to your lips, but she placed a shot glass filled with a pitch dark liquid next to it.

Perplexed, you looked up to ask her what it was for, but she had already rushed away, her tattooed arms flying as she made more drinks than seemed possible.

Glancing around at the other men, you saw them chugging the drinks but you couldn’t see their shots. Assuming they were supposed to be mixed, you picked up the smaller glass to pour the dark contents in.

“No, no, no!” rushed words came from off to the right.

You turned to see the man that had been watching Prentiss when you were dancing, holding his hand out as if to stop you, with an incredulous smile cracked across his face.

“You’re supposed to drop the whole glass inside,” he mimed releasing the glass from his grasp.

You stared at him blankly. For several moments, the din of the surrounding crowd crashed over you in waves.

“Are you messing with me?” you chuckled as you still held the smaller glass aloft.

The man came closer and nodded with a muted laugh. Wary, you pulled your glass away a little but not enough to make it obvious. The raucous sounds of people enjoying their Friday night dampened a little as your focus was pulled onto him.

“Here,” he held a hand up toward the bartender, “Another one of these, please.”

He pointed at your drink and the woman nodded. Before you could utter a word of protest, another identical drink slid across the bar and the man sidled up next to you.

“Alright, look,” he said, holding up his shot glass, “Watch and learn.”

Sure enough, he let the little glass fall straight down into the larger one and began to gulp down the mingling contents rapidly. He didn’t stop until he drained both glasses simultaneously.

At the table, Rossi noticed the tenseness of Hotch’s shoulders and the hard press of his lips against each other. Leaning over, he peered around him to see you talking to another man at the bar.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

Hotch remained motionless, his gaze trained on you as you observed the other man downing a drink.

“Aaron,” Rossi called.

Hotch blinked, and finally turned back to meet Rossi’s perplexed gaze. When he didn’t say anything more, Hotch gave a little head-shake and a shrug.

“That guy’s getting kinda close to his drink,” he murmured.

“What, you think he’s gonna get roofied?” Rossi deadpanned.

“Dave,” Hotch shot him a look, clearly unimpressed, “That’s not funny.”

Rossi shook his head, gesturing in your direction.

“Look,” he nodded emphatically at you, “He’s right there. He’s alright.”

Hotch turned back toward you, watching rather intently.

“The better question is, are you?” Rossi threw at him.

Hotch peered at him, his features hardened as he looked away, taking a purposefully long sip of water.

“Wow,” you said.

When you glanced around to find no one laughing at the man, you assumed he wasn’t pulling a prank on you.

“Alright,” you shrugged and copied his instructions, the shot glass clinking onto the bottom of the other. You chugged the drink until it was gone, the blend of the liquids rather sugary and smooth. Finishing it, you exhaled heavily and shared a triumphant look.

“I’m Javi, by the way.”

You shook his outstretched hand and introduced yourself.

“Thanks,” you shook your empty glass, creating a tinkling, “Kept me from looking stupid.”

“Any other drinks you need help with?” he leaned his elbow against the bar with a smirk.

You paused and thought for a moment.

“Well… how would I know?” you asked earnestly.

Laughter jumped from deep in his chest, his eyes crinkling, clearly not having expected your response.

“Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t. Wanna pick one at random?” he lifted his eyebrows.

It was your turn to laugh, the aftertaste of the drink was sweet on your tongue.

He pointed at the large array of options listed on the menu above the bar.

“Take your pick, my treat.”

“What?” you shook your head, “No, no, thanks, but I couldn’t.”

He tapped the bar as he shook his own glass enticingly.

“Come on,” he smiled, “Look, I’m gonna hit bathroom real quick. When I get back, you need to have a choice!”

Stunned, you watched him saunter away toward the back of the building. Through the buzz of the drink, you felt a wash of disbelief come over you. Making a friend at the bar tonight was not something you had on your itinerary.

You asked the woman for a small water while you perused the menu and waited for Javi to return, not knowing how much more alcohol would be in the next drink.

Morgan appeared at your side and his hand clapped your back, the force rather stronger than usual, leading to some of the water sloshing out of your cup. You gave a sidelong glare of annoyance as you shook your hand off, reaching for the nearest pile of napkins.

“How drunk are ya, handsome?” Morgan laughed.

“What?” you fired back, affronted, “You just spilled my drink.”

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all, “But I meant your, uh, your new buddy.”

He slung his arm around your shoulder, giving you a whiff that only solidified your suspicion that he was far drunker than you, and then pointed toward Javi who was typing something out on his phone near the bathroom.

“The bet was to get a girl’s number,” Morgan chuckled.

Irritation flooded your veins as you wiped the outside of your glass as well as your hand. You didn’t grace his comment with a response. Morgan studied the man silently for a moment, leaning on you heavily. You replayed the night in your mind in double speed, recalling the number of times Morgan had gone back to the bar for another drink as you tried to get an estimate of how wasted he was.

“I mean…” Morgan muttered, pursing his lips in thought,“He is kinda pretty. Maybe he’s… a little light in the loafers, if you know what I mean.”

His carefree laugh rang out, the sound piercing your ears uncomfortably.

“I’ll give you half a point for that!”

You wrenched out of his reach and shot him a hard, backward glance.

“Nice.” your tone was flat.

“Come on, man, I – I’m kidding!” Morgan pleaded, the stupid grin never leaving his face, “I know you like the ladies.”

Hotch approached slowly from behind Morgan and caught your eye. He must have been watching the interaction from afar and seen the unamused look that grew on your face. He put a hand on Morgan’s shoulder and beckoned him over to the table where he had been sitting with Rossi. Surprisingly, Morgan went willingly and you stalked away before anyone else could swoop in to ask you what happened.

Pushing into the bathroom, you were blessed to find it empty, briefly wondering where Javi had gone. Your fingers went numb at the thought of him, Morgan’s comment ringing in your ears.

On a whim, you locked the main door. If anyone came, you’d unlock it immediately but the spiky tingling in your chest made you desperate for a moment of solitude with the certainty that no one would walk in.

Turning on the tap full blast, you cupped your hands underneath the cold stream and splashed the water onto your face. You avoided your reflection, knowing that seeing yourself would only make things worse at the moment.

You let your eyes close and tried to ground yourself. Your breath was coming too quick.

In, out, in, out.

In-out, in-out, in-out.

Your fingers clenched around the sink. Cold. Wet.

In out.

The loud rush of the tap counteracted the ringing in your ears.

In out.

You screwed your nose up. Discarded beer. Smelly.

In, out.

Your eyes opened. Your fingers were white with the force of your grip. The bright tiles of the floor were shiny and new, no one had the chance to scuff and crack them yet.

In. Out. In. Out.

Your heart no longer felt like it was in danger of bursting and you heaved a great sigh of relief, feeling rather lightheaded. It felt safe to look in the mirror. You were surprised to see a rather normal looking man staring back at you. You never would have guessed he had just been talking himself down from some kind of breakdown.

A knock on the door made you jump and you nearly slammed your shoulder into a towel dispenser.

“Yeah, sorry!” you called as you turned the tap off and reached over to unlock the door. You quickly moved out of the way to allow whoever was on the other side a wide berth. Ten long seconds passed and the door remained closed.

Slowly, you shuffled toward it, still wary and under the impression that it would swing open at any moment. Gripping the cold handle, you pulled it open gradually.

An unsurprised breath left your lips. Hotch was waiting patiently on the other side.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” your voice was mercifully steady.

“You want to go outside for a minute?”

A man pushed roughly past Hotch and through the door, nearly slamming it into your face in the process.

“Yeah,” you repeated dryly, “Probably a good idea.”

Hotch led the way toward the back door and a wave of gratitude rushed forth, replacing the odd franticness, as you realized he was taking you away from the prying eyes of the team. Peering around as you stepped through, you briefly wondered if the two of you were allowed to use this door.

The shift was instant. It was like stepping through a portal to another world. The bumping music faded, the darkness enveloped you, and the wafting aroma of alcohol faded away. There was nothing but the blessedly cool night, the glowing stars above, the chilled bricks of the building at your back, and Hotch at your side.

He said nothing and looked at the sky, always knowing when you needed time. Your skin felt like it should be emitting a soft glow with how warm it was. You let your eyes close as the breeze ruffled your hair, letting out a deep breath.

“Thanks,” you finally muttered, finding it odd that you didn’t have to raise your voice anymore, “I… I’m alright.”

“Whatever he said, he didn’t mean it. He’s just drunk,” Hotch said, eyes trailing across the stars that shone overhead.

“He doesn’t need to be drunk,” you responded almost bitterly, “He says those things all the time.”

“What things?” Hotch asked, now a touch alarmed, peering at you searchingly.

When you didn’t respond right away, he fixed his gaze back onto the stars. The brisk wind picked up again and you caught a lingering note of his cologne.

“Uh, nothing really,” you muttered, hand dragging through your hair, “I think I just need to… stop drinking for the night. I’m getting all… irritated.”

A self conscious huff passed through your nose.

“You’re nowhere near drunk,” Hotch stated, “I’ve seen firsthand how much you can handle.”

You whipped your head around to mockingly glare at him but a jolt ran through you at the fact that he acknowledged that night again, however indirectly.

“You been monitoring my drinks, Agent Hotchner?” you narrowed your eyes, but allowed your smirk to grow.

His laugh was rich and full, blanketing the little space between you and providing a shield from the frigid air.

“Busted,” he muttered, deepening his voice humourously.

Silence stretched out for a few minutes, the chilly night doing wonders for your hot skin. Suddenly, the fact that you needed it at all came crashing down on the ease you had settled into.

“So stupid,” you spat bitterly.

“What?” Hotch asked, brows drawing together, startled.

Going out to have drinks shouldn’t feel like fighting a battle with enemies that looked identical to your friends. Normal people didn’t need regular time-outs just to have a successful outing. You were a federal agent, for god’s sake. You crossed your arms, fingers clenching around your biceps.

“Just… all of it,” you mumbled.

Hotch peered at you, studying your expression and body language. He must have agreed because he said nothing, merely leaning his head back against the wall. You watched your breath cloud in front of your face. The dim light of the moon peeked out from behind an actual cloud.

“Have you been asked if you’re alright yet?” you broke the silence, turning to send him a wry look.

He snorted softly, his lips quirking into a smirk.

“Yeah. Dave and JJ,” he nodded.

“I got you beat,” you huffed, “I’ve got everyone except Morgan.”

The absurdity of the competition had you both giggling. You clutched at your chest. This was the only kind of breathless you wanted to be.

It was getting better with the others, but even if you spoke about it, they simply wouldn't understand what you were feeling the same way he did. As you settled into quiet again, your ears pricked up at a steady sound. You blinked and focused on it, discovering with a start that it was his breathing.

Leaning your head back against the cool bricks, your eyes closed as you tried to match your own to his. His presence at your side was solid and steadying. He might have noticed what you were doing because you heard a sudden stutter in his breath before it evened out again.

“You know, I think they might have a little bet of their own going,” you murmured, your head heavy against the wall.

“Who?” Hotch sounded interested.

“Rossi and JJ,” you said.

Hotch turned fully toward you at that, his expression rapt.

“I’ve seen them… giving each other these looks,” you shook your head, “They think I can’t see them.”

“Yeah?”

“I think it’s about us,” you said softly, apprehensive about how he’d respond.

He was quiet for a moment, only the muted beat of the music inside filling the silence.

“Who do you think’s winning?” Hotch quipped, his gaze glinting.

A gentle chuckle came from you at that, producing little puffs of breath in the air.

“I have no idea,” you admitted, “But… we’re definitely tipping the scales in someone’s favor right now.”

His smile broke out fully now, a true laugh ringing out and you joined in. Your head fell into your hand and your shoulder bumped into his.

Both men stilled as they regained their composure, but neither pulled away from the other afterward. Soft warmth emanated from the point of contact where his shoulder leaned into yours. The contrast of it to the night air was pleasant.

The cloud in front of the moon shifted and you both were bathed in dim, silvery light. The fact that he was standing outside with you, forgoing making the most of his limited time off to help you, had a tide of emotion rising within. You swallowed with difficulty, and the sudden urge to embrace him again came over you like the moonlight.

Hazarding a glance, you saw he was looking to the sky with an air of content and you pushed the urge away, unwilling to disturb that peace. You settled for leaning into him a little closer, your arms touching. When he did nothing to move away, the ease inside you returned.

He was alright.

You were alright.

“We should probably get back in there,” Hotch finally spoke quietly, glancing at his watch, “Before they start sweeping the place for us.”

“Yeah,” your brows furrow in thought, “I think I still owe Garcia a dance.”

Hotch gave a low chuckle, his dimple appearing as he smiled at the thought.

“Good luck with that.”

Hotch went in first, allowing you a couple extra minutes to gather your resolve. When you finally pushed back inside, the music that you danced to minutes before now seemed to ring rather hollow.

Another deep breath, and you began to make your way back toward the table. A group of women cut in front of you, nearly screeching with laughter and almost stumbling over each other. The sight made you laugh reflexively and you were a little less nervous when you continued.

“Oh, hey, there you are,” a voice came, and you turned to see Javi standing from a seat at a small table, “Thought maybe I scared you off or something.”

“Oh, no, I was just, um…” you pointed over your shoulder at the back exit and trailed off, unaware of how to explain without sounding insane.

You shook yourself, switching gears.

“Uh, are you here alone?” you asked, contemplating inviting him to join the group.

He seemed nice enough, and maybe you could try and steer the conversation in the right direction for Prentiss to get to talk to him one on one.

“Yeah,” his smile grew, “You?”

“I’m with some friends,” you said as you both started toward the bar again.

“Oh, cool,” he said, a spark glinting in his gaze, “So that woman, she’s – she’s just your friend?”

“Yeah,” you laughed, nodding.

You were definitely going to try to set them up, as a thank you to Prentiss.

“Alright,” he smiled, then shot a finger gun at you, “I’m gonna go get us two new drinks. I’ll try to find a doozy for you.”

A snort came from your nose as you watched him approach the bar, disappearing into the throng of people that crowded around it. You weaved around groups, heading back in the direction of the table.

A presence appeared at your side and Morgan’s liquor-heavy grip landed on your shoulders. If you had one less drink in your system, you would’ve made the connection much quicker. His boisterous cackle rang out, unaware of his fingers tightening and twisting too roughly as he jostled you playfully.

Hot pain flared across your right shoulder in a sear as quick as a match falling into gasoline. A yelp was ripped from your throat as you shrank and twisted away from his vice-like clutches. Even in his state, Morgan tore his hands away in shock after hearing your cry of pain.

But the damage was already done. Clutching at your shoulder, the slow, hot gush spread under your fingers. Looking down, you heaved a shaky breath at the deep red stain that was steadily tainting your shirt.

“Woah! Dude – I – What – I’m sorry, man, how –” Morgan fumbled for words, bleary eyes wide as he gawked.

“My shirt…” you croaked, unable to tear your eyes away from the trail seeping down your front.

Prentiss passed by and caught sight of you both, changing course to meet you, but her relaxed expression shifted into horror when she spied you trembling and transfixed on your torso.

“Oh, my god!” she scurried to your side, trying to assess the severity of the wound, “What happened?”

“I – I barely touched him,” Morgan held his hands out.

Prentiss shot him a stunned look, her eyes scanning the ground for broken glass or anything that could’ve caused you to bleed so much.

“Hang on,” she told you, disappearing for a moment.

Your breath stuttered, the music dulling as a roar grew in your ears. You vaguely registered the sound of shocked gasps and mutterings from people nearby as they began to notice you. Prentiss rushed back into your space, prying your hand away and pressing a cloth into your shoulder.

You winced at the movement, feeling like your fingers took some of your skin with them.

“Sorry,” she said sympathetically, “Come on, can you walk?”

Your feet stumbled along as she gently guided you back toward the table while hissing back and forth with Morgan about what happened.

“My… my shirt, Emily,” your voice came out in a disoriented mumble.

“What?” she questioned, eyes wide in bewilderment.

The chorus of exclamations and gasps snapped your unfocused gaze up to the table of your teammates.

Hotch shot up from his seat, at your side in an instant. Garcia let out a series of bewildered sounds, grasping at JJ who gaped at you silently. Reid stood as well, approaching to take stock of your injury. Rossi stared at you, wide eyed, before sharing a tense glance with Hotch.

You were dimly aware of everyone speaking, some of it probably directed at you but you couldn’t get your mouth to form words as you gazed at them.

Ignore it. Keep pushing. Keep pushing.

“He’s in shock,” Reid’s voice drifted by.

Hands carefully maneuvered you into a chair. A familiar cologne hit your nose as someone leaned in, prying your fingers away and pulling your collar open briefly.

“I told you it needed stitches,” Hotch’s voice came.

His tone could easily be interpreted as anger or annoyance, but a distant corner of your mind knew he was really worried.

“I didn’t do anything – I just grabbed him, man,” Morgan’s lilted speech was close to your ear.

“Sit down, Morgan,” Hotch spoke measuredly, and the rank scent of alcohol-heavy breath vanished.

You were able to turn to see Hotch putting himself between you and Morgan. Reid held a hand on his shoulder as he mumbled attempts to distract him.

“What the hell’s the matted – the matter with you, Hotch? Huh?,” Morgan nearly shouted, clearly beyond reasoning, “He does somethin’ stupid but what – no, no big Hotch lecture? You’re his bodyguard now?”

J-Just go!

No! I’m not leaving!

“Let’s not cause a scene in the middle of the bar,” Hotch’s even tone carried out, “If you want to yell at me, please do it outside.”

“I…” your voice was inaudible above everyone else’s.

You fumbled with your top button, trying to undo it with one hand unsuccessfully.

Just as quick as Morgan’s anger had flared, it vanished as he snorted and slung his arm around the other man, hanging off Hotch’s shoulder.

“Freakin’ Hotch, man,” he snickered, “You’re so serious…”

“Who’s taking him home?” Hotch looked to the others, the thin line of his mouth was the only indicator of his true feelings.

“I got it,” Rossi said.

“Thanks, Dave,” Hotch mumbled.

“Hey,” Garcia’s teary voice came from the side, “You didn’t have to do this. We can dance another time.”

You glanced at her, trying to blink her into focus and clear away that worried look on her face.

“---?” JJ called.

“Mhmm,” you hummed over the odd wheezing that met your ears.

She exchanged a few worried whispers with Prentiss.

“Oh, hey! Where’s your f – Oh, shit!”

Blinking, you dragged your gaze over to spot Javi, two drinks in hand as he approached, his eyes wide as they took in your state.

“Ohhhh,” Morgan slung his arm around Reid, failing to whisper to him, “Here we go.”

“Come on,” Hotch’s fingers curled under your elbow, “I’m taking you to the emergency room.”

You stood hesitantly as Hotch and Prentiss kept hold of your arms, knowing you should say something to Javi who was trying to understand what had happened in the time he had been gone.

As you were marched through the front door and the frigid night air hit your skin, the shock cleared your head somewhat and you briefly marveled at the fact that none of the staff did anything about the situation.

About halfway to where everyone’s cars were, you were struck with how bizarre the bunch of you must look. You being surrounded by most of the team like they were your secret service agents and Morgan interchangeably hanging off some of them.

“Wait up!” a yell halted the procession, “Hey!”

Javi bounded out of the building, jogging up to the group, slightly breathless and staring at them with bewilderment.

“Woah, lot of friends,” he muttered with a crooked smile.

Your lips twitched upward at the coincidence of his expression as he surveyed the unusual group, clearly wondering how it came form. You looked at Prentiss, trying frantically to think of what to say to ensure he could see her again since he clearly liked her a good deal.

“Yes?” Hotch asked, impatient.

“Listen, um,” Javi rubbed at the back of his head, glancing at the others briefly as he shifted from foot to foot, “I’m no doctor but, uh, here.”

He reached out and pressed a slip of paper into your free hand.

“Why don’t you call me tomorrow and let me know how you’re doing?” he smiled hopefully.

All the urgency that thrummed through the group dissipated for an instant as they stared at him, stunned, you possibly the hardest out of all of them. Blood that you couldn’t spare rose to your face.

“He’s needs an actual doctor right now,” Hotch’s flat voice cut through the moment.

Javi looked at him, his easygoing air waning as he took half a step back.

“Yeah, yeah, sure, of course,” he muttered, gesturing vaguely, glancing back and forth between you and Hotch’s severe expression, “Feel better.”

He turned and began making his way back to the building. Morgan let out a cackle like a madman.

“I knew it! I knew he was a fruit, man!”

“Morgan,” Reid admonished, his brows drawing together in disbelief.

Garcia and JJ both gave little groans and Rossi shook his head silently.

“Dude…” you muttered, embarrassment flooding you, knowing Javi could still hear him.

Hotch’s gaze ran over you assessingly, and he peered at Morgan with a blooming comprehension that had you dropping your gaze back to the ground underfoot.

The trek resumed, everyone rather silent as the atmosphere shifted uncomfortably. Hotch stopped in front of his car, leaving you with Prentiss as he went to turn it on and move things from the passenger seat.

“How’s the bleeding?” she asked quietly, peeking under the saturated cloth.

You shrugged. A hiss escaped your lips. Not a good idea. Your mind was still rather blank at the revelation you just experienced. You wondered how in the hell you had a job that required profiling people as the small slip of paper burned a hole in your pocket.

JJ and Garcia passed by, giving you affectionate pats on your uninjured shoulder, bidding everyone goodbye.

“Come over tomorrow,” Garcia whispered to you, her gaze concerned.

“We’ll see,” you murmured, “Bye, guys.”

As they departed in JJ’s car, Rossi went to input Morgan’s address into his navigation system. Reid stayed with the man himself, basically becoming a Morgan-rack for him to drape himself over to avoid falling.

“Prentiss,” Morgan blurted, hissing the “s” sound, “So? Did I – Did I win? I prove I’m not a dog, huh?”

Several cars passed by, whipping the frosty air at everyone in strong gusts. You didn’t want to look at him directly at the moment. He wasn’t in his right mind, you were well aware. But it still felt like you had received an insult indirectly.

Prentiss turned toward him, disappointment coloring her face.

“Yeah,” she nodded with a wry smile, “But you did prove you’re a bit of an ass when you’re drunk.”

“Oh, wow,” he hung off Reid to lean closer, “I’m gonna remember that!”

“You know, considering the amount of alcohol in your system, you probably won’t even remember saying that,” Reid said matter-of-factly.

“I’ll remember!” Morgan grunted.

“Unfortunately, you won’t remember any of the hurtful things you said, either,” Reid mumbled, gaze flitting over to you and Prentiss.

“Wha – Hurtful?” Morgan’s brow furrowed, hand coming up to ruffle Reid’s hair, “I just tease ya, pretty boy.”

Reid stared at the other man for a long moment, his silence speaking volumes.

“Alright, come on,” Rossi gripped the arm that wasn’t draped around Reid and hauled him toward the car.

Hotch appeared at your side, urgency dancing in his gaze again.

“Let’s go,” he said, nodding at Prentiss and you, then calling over to the others, “Dave? Let me know when you get him home, please?”

“Yeah,” Rossi grunted in acknowledgment, heaving the inebriated man into the car.

Reid gave you a little wave before turning toward his own car.

“Thanks,” you smiled softly at Prentiss as she helped you into Hotch’s passenger seat, a surprisingly difficult task with one hand occupied.

She clipped the seat belt for you.

“Yeah,” she returned the smile, “See you soon.”

The deep rumble of the tires rolling against the asphalt helped ease the racing thoughts in your head. Hotch had yet to speak in the time you had been on the road. You wondered what the inside of his mind was like at the moment.

“Well… at least we went out this time,” you muttered drolly, slightly hoarse.

And somehow ended up alone together again.

“Yeah,” Hotch tilted his head in a little nod, “Not thrilled about how the night ended up, but it was a good start.”

A sudden, hot sting built up behind your eyes. Hotch had actually been having a good time and you had to go and ruin it. Your heart slammed painfully against your chest and your free hand clenched tight around the seat belt at your hips.

“Sorry,” your voice cracked, shame settling heavily upon you and forcing your head down.

Hotch turned to you, momentarily alarmed as he took in your ducked head and slumped posture.

“I’m not upset with you,” he explained quickly.

That got your attention. You looked up to see him glance back at you, not a trace of deception written anywhere on his face.

“I just wish… the night had gone better, is all,” he continued, then sighed, “I wish Morgan hadn’t drank so much.”

A tiny huff was pulled from you at this. That was something you could agree on. You swallowed thickly, tightening your fingers around your damp shoulder.

“Yeah.”

After several embarrassingly necessary stitches and many instances of inability to explain how the injury occurred other than stating it was an accident, you were back in the warm comfort of Hotch’s car. Your neck and shoulder itched from the tape that secured the bandage under your ruined shirt.

Your finger ran back and forth over the door handle, the shine of the white lights stabbing into your eyes for a moment.

“He was kind of right,” you said under your breath as Hotch turned out of the hospital parking lot.

“What’s that?” Hotch asked.

“Morgan,” you explained, “I was reckless… Back then. That day.”

You swallowed thickly before adding on to your thought.

“But you didn’t lecture me about it.”

The silence extended for long enough that you finally had to risk a glance at him, afraid he would start lecturing you right in that very moment. His jaw was tight, his mouth in a hard line, and he gripped the wheel a little tighter than necessary to take the next turn.

“You don’t need a lecture,” he spoke in an undertone.

You turned your attention back to the road, allowing the sound of passing cars to count off the minutes.

“So,” Hotch’s voice jumped up in pitch, attempting to sound casual, “Are you gonna call him?”

The meaning of his words took a little longer to sink in to your scattered, inebriated brain but when they did, the view of the dark street outside swam and blurred. A harsh roaring began to thunder in your ears as you realized what he was really asking you, as you excavated the question under the question.

“What?” the word punched past your lips.

The memory of his stern, disapproving look at Javi swam in your mind. You scrubbed your palms against your thighs as a rather shaky chuckle emerged from your chest.

“W-Why would I call him?”

Hotch’s fingers tightened just a touch on the steering wheel, his head bobbing in a stiff nod.

“Yeah,” Hotch replied quickly and gave the barest chuckle of his own, the sound almost strangled, “Right.”

Sometimes profiling skills took the day off.

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