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Losing You, It's Not An Option
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Prompt - 'The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair.â
Notes - This is my first time writing for Hotch so if itâs a little ooc, I do apologise.
It had been a rough case, three missing kids turned up dead before the FBI had been called in and another one missing for over ten hours. You had fourteen hours to figure out where this kid was before the chances of her being found alive were gone.
The plane ride over seemed to drag, nobody said anything after being briefed on the case, all too absorbed in reading through the files, thoughts and theories running through everyoneâs head a mile a minute.
This was a particularly tough case for you considering the last time youâd had a case involving a kid they had died just as you burst through the door.
If only youâd been faster then that kid would still be alive.
With a sigh, you scrubbed at your face before looking back down at the folder, missing the look of concern Hotch threw your way.
âY/L/N, Reid, youâre with me at the latest crime scene. Rossi, Prentiss, JJ, you head over to the station, the family of the missing girl should already be there.â Hotch said as everyone got off the jet and into two separate SUVâs.
There wasnât much at the crime scene at this point, nothing that gave you any clues and everyone was painfully aware of the countdown.
-
Around the fifteen hour mark the team was ready to give a profile. You stood to the side as you watched Hotch describe how you were looking for a male in his early to mid 30âs who would have recently lost a five year old brunette girl. Everyone took turns giving bits of information out but you stayed silent, this time noticing the glances from Hotch.
âY/L/N can I have a word?â Hotch asked once the briefing was over. You just nodded and followed him into an empty meeting room.
âIs everything ok?â He asked, closing the door.
âEverythingâs fine.â You told him and judging by the look he shot you, you werenât very convincing.
âY/N,â He began but you cut him off with a shake of your head.
âThereâs a little girl out there and we need to find her. We donât have any time to waste.â And with that you brushed past him and back into the bullpen just in time for Spencer to announce that Garcia had found somebody who matched the profile perfectly.
âNoah Williams, aged 33. He, his wife and daughter were involved in a car accident, only he made it out alive. The wife was declared DOA but the daughter didnât die untilâŠâ Here Spencer paused to skim through the details Garcia had sent over, âfour days ago.â
âWhen the kidnappings started.â You said, causing him to nod.
âWe know he doesnât spend long with his victims due to the length of time from the girls being reported missing and then found, itâs usually around the twenty four hour mark. Isabelle has been missing for nearly sixteen hours now giving us an eight hour window to find her.â Spencer informed everybody and Hotch was quick to pull his phone out, Garcia answering on the first ring.
âGarcia, we need an address.â He said into the phone and you could hear typing noises as Garcia desperately tried to find an address.
âI have two.â She announced after a few moments. âOneâs a cabin in the woods, pretty secluded, the other is a house not too far from you.â
âRossi, Prentiss, Morgan you take the house. Y/L/N, Reid youâre with me at the cabin.â Hotch directed and people around you were quickly moving.
âYou think heâll be at the house?â Rossi asked, causing Hotch to sigh.
âProbably not but we canât rule it out.â Everyone agreed and it wasnât long before you were all in the SUVâs heading to two separate locations praying that the little girl was still alive.
-
âReid, you and Y/L/N take the back, Iâll take the front.â Hotch said and everyone nodded before moving into position.
Just as Spencer opened the backdoor and headed inside you noticed a door that must have led down into the cellar. It was concealed pretty well but things looked out of place, like somebody didnât have enough time to properly cover it up.
You turned around, not seeing Spencer, and lifted your gun higher as you walked over to the door. Thankfully it pulled open without any resistance and you slowly headed down the stairs.
As you came to the bottom of the stairs you heard crying causing you to turn around to see Isabelle, looking scared and bruised but thankfully alive, and the man Garcia had sent you a picture of.
He held a gun to the little girlâs head causing you to pause for a second.
âCome any closer and Iâll kill her.â He threatened, causing the girl to let out a whimper.
âHey, itâs ok, nobody needs to get hurt.â You said as you lowered your gun. You knew Hotch would kill you for this but you just needed that girl alive. âLook Iâve put my gun away, Iâm not here to hurt you Mr Williams, I promise I just want to help.â
âYou canât help me!â He shouted, the hand holding the gun shaking.
âI can, I promise Iâll do everything I can to help you but donât let her parentâs go through what you went through when you lost Amelia.â You knew bringing up his daughter could go one of two ways and if it went southâŠyou really needed him pointing that gun at you and not Isabelle.
âDonât say her name!â He yelled and you couldnât help but relax as the gun was finally pointed at you.
âIt crushed you to lose her, she was your little girl and itâs not fair that sheâs gone but you canât take it out on these girls.â You tried to reason with him but you could see it in his eyes, you could see there was no talking him down.
You looked down at Isabelle and managed to discreetly signal to her to run up the stairs, out of the cellar, from there Hotch and Reid could help her.
You held your palm flat as Williams took a step closer to you, his attention no longer on the girl and with that you closed your fist and Isabelle was darting past you causing Williams to scream.
Before you even had a chance to draw your gun you felt a burning hot pain in your thigh and then another in your upper arm. As you hit the floor you heard the sound of people running down the stairs and more gun shots before your eyes slipped shut and your body went numb.
-
âWhat was she thinking?â Hotch asked as he paced in the private waiting room the team had been given.
âThat last case with the kid really got to her, man. She blamed herself for his death.â Derek said from his seat.
âSheâll be ok, she always is.â Rossi said after a few moments of silence. Spencer really hoped that was true but he couldnât get the image of you out of his mind.
Blood seemed to be pouring out of both the wounds alarmingly fast, Hotch hadnât hesitated to shoot Williams before he was knelt on the floor next to you, uncaring about the blood staining his clothes. His hand cupped your cheek as he pleaded for you to wake up, desperately shouting for a medic.
It was safe to say Hotch had always had a soft spot for you though it had never been said it was obvious to everyone on the team, except of course for you. Every time someone teased you about it you just smiled and shook your head.
The image of Hotch so emotional as he held your unconscious body against his chest was one that wouldnât leave his mind for a long while.
Eventually a doctor came over and told them of your condition. You had lost a lot of blood, nearly flat lined as they operated on you, one of the bullets had shattered so it was a long process but thankfully youâd be fine.
âSheâs waking up but sheâs on a lot of medication right now so just take it easy with her.â The doctor advised as he led them to your room. Everyone thanked him before he left and Hotch turned to the team.
âI know you all want to see her but could I have a few moments alone?â He asked and nobody had it in them to deny that request, not when Hotch was looking more scared, more worried than they could ever recall.
âHow you doing?â Hotch asked softly as he entered the room, shutting the door gently behind him.
âIâm ok.â You whispered, slowly opening your eyes and shooting him a small smile.
âY/N,â Hotch began still talking softly as he pulled a chair close to your bed, âwhat you did today-â He started but you cut him off.
âSaved a little girlâs life.â You smiled, âI wonât apologize, if I could go back and do it all again, I wouldnât change a damn thing.â You told him and were surprised to see him smile. It was a rare sight for you so you couldnât help but savour the moment.
Ever since youâd started working at the FBI youâd always had a small crush on Hotch, never acting on it because he was your boss but it was always there. The rest of the team teased you about Hotch being soft on you but you knew there was no truth to it - though seeing him here, smiling at you had you hoping they could be right.
When Hotch took your hand in his, brushing his thumb against your knuckles you couldnât help but stare down at the joined hands.
âI know you wouldnât.â He said, the small smile still in place. âY/N, I need you to be more careful though, you could have called for backup. Doing it alone got you hurt, you nearly died and losing youâŠitâs not an option.â Hotch said, the words surprising him as well as you.
You couldnât help but stare at him for a moment, your eyebrows knitting together as you took in the words.
âHotch,â You began, throat suddenly dry and you had no idea what you were going to say. Thankfully he cut you off.
âI canât lose you, Y/N.â He admitted and every part of him was screaming to shut up, he was your boss, this wasnât right but heâd almost lost you today, if the bullet had hit you a little more to the right you would have bled out. He couldnât lose you. âI know itâs not appropriate, I know Iâm your boss but I cannot lose you.â He repeated as he lifted your knuckles to his lips
Your eyes watered, Hotch was here with a confession youâd only dreamed of hearing.
God, you wished you werenât high on pain meds right now.
âI donât care that youâre my boss, I donât care what people will say. I only want you, Aaron.â You whispered, causing him to let out a watery laugh.
âIâve waited so long for you to say that.â He admitted quietly, making you blush. âYouâre so beautiful.â He murmured.
âI just got shot, I look horrible,â you laughed, causing his eyes to brighten.
âYou could never.â He said, his tone so painfully honest that all you could do was smile shyly at him, a soft blush covering your cheeks.
The two of you stayed silent for a moment before a knock on the door interrupted you as Derek poked his head around. You watched as his eyes almost immediately darted to your joined hands, a small grin on his face.
âCan we come in?â He asked looking at Hotch and then you, both of you nodded and pretty quickly everyone was settled in your room.
Hotch never let go of your hand.
-
âYou can take the jet home, weâll be fine here.â Hotch told everyone as they got back to the hotel that night. There was a sense of pride as everyone shook their heads no, wanting to wait until you were released so you could all head home together.
His team was truly amazing.
Alone in bed he had plenty of time to think of the conversation that took place between the two of you. There had always been something about you but he never focused on it, when you had first joined the team he was still married but after his divorce he started noticing you more.
It was true he had always been less strict with you but he was always able to brush it off until one day he realised he was falling for you. He didnât know when it happened just that it did but he was your boss, it wasnât allowed.
But seeing you in that hospital bed, looking so small attached to various different wires and monitors, watching as you bled out on the dirty floor of the cellarâŠrules be damned, he wasnât going to waste any opportunities with you. Even if you told him you didnât feel the same, at least he tried.
But somehow you did feel the same.
He was still trying to register that. How could someone like you, someone so young, so much potential, so much goodness, like someone like him, he was older, he was divorced, he had a kid.
With a sigh, he rolled over and closed his eyes.
You liked him.
He wouldnât let a day go by where he wouldnât show you how much he cared for you.
He couldnât lose you, it wasnât an option.
-
âHey, have you heard from the hospital? How is she?â Reid asked the next morning as everyone met in the lobby.
âSheâs trying to bribe nurses to let her leave so Iâd say sheâs doing much better.â Hotch said, causing everyone to laugh as they piled into the SUV.
The ride over to the hospital was fairly quick, everyone talking amongst themselves. Rossi sat up front with Hotch and after making sure everyone else was distracted he quietly spoke.
âSo, you and Y/N,â He began, watching how Hotch tensed.
âItâs a bad idea, isnât it?â Hotch asked, it was a thought that kept running through his head but he ignored it as best he could.
âI donât think so.â Rossi said, causing Hotch to look at him for half a second before turning his attention back to the road. âI think the two of you are professional enough to make sure it doesnât affect your work. You like her, Hotch, you have for a long time and she likes you. You both deserve to be happy.â Rossi said sincerely just as they pulled up to the hospital.
As everyone else got out, Hotch turned to Rossi and just looked at him for a moment.
âThank you.â He said. He really needed to hear that it was ok and he trusted Rossi to tell him the truth no matter how much it hurt.
-
âHow is she?â Emily asked as the doctor walked up to the group.
âSheâs tough. Though there was a lot of blood, the wounds themselves arenât a cause for concern. Weâre going to get her some medication and then you can take her with you.â The team all let out a collective sigh of relief at the news.
âHey baby girl.â Morgan greeted as he walked over to you, placing a kiss on your head. âHow you doing today?â
âHey,â you grinned up at him, âI feel pretty good, all things considered.â You told him honestly. Naturally your wounds hurt but the medication was working great.
Your eyes drifted to Hotch, looking for any signs of regret. You had a feeling that a night alone might make him realise all the ways this could blow up in your faces but thankfully he shot you a small, barely there smile letting you know everything was alright.
-
Being back in your own bed was a blessing you would never take for granted again. Though it was made better by the fact Hotch was here, sitting next to you as he adjusted the covers around you.
âYouâll shout me if you need me, right?â He asked. You hadnât wanted to be alone tonight and Hotch had been worrying over you since you were discharged from the hospital. Now that the medicine was starting to wear off and the ones prescribed to you werenât as strong you were starting to feel the pain and Hotch had offered to come home with you just to make sure you were ok. He insisted on sleeping in the guest room of your apartment which made you smile.
âI promise.â You assured him, smiling as he leaned down to kiss your forehead.
âOk, Iâll let you get some sleep. Goodnight sweetheart.â He whispered, squeezing your hand twice before he headed out of the room. You watched as he paused in the doorway, a smile on his face as he looked back at you.
âGoodnight Aaron.â
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Sweetheart! I love this so much đ„șđ. I think you really captured it very well and it was so nice to read this đ„č. This fic genuinely helped me and made everything feel a little brighter đ„șđ«¶.
Hotch being so sweet and being as understanding as he can <3. And the end when they tell him how they've been feeling and the reaction he gives them đ„čđđđđ
This was incredible sweetheart! đ„čđđ«¶đ«đ„°
Rome I love your work and Iâm super sorry people are being rude to you, I was wondering if you would do an Aaron hotch X reader where reader comes out as nonbinary and Aaron maybe comforting them while on their period and having dysphoria (if your comfortable with that) thanks! â€ïžâ€ïžâ€ïž -anon
I am so so so so so so so honoured to have written this for you anon. I am so sorry for the wait, I can only hope after all this time Iâve done your request some justice.
Pairing: Aaron hotchner x afab!nonbinary!reader.Â
Word count: 7.7k
Warnings & A/N: Mentions of gross bathroom stalls. Mentions of menstrual blood. People address reader with she/her pronouns before they come out. Mentions of injected drugs and other canon-typical grossness. Mentions of assault/violence/murder and druggings at nightclubs. Inadequately proofread. That should be all! Please enjoy <;3Â
No one on the team could have expected this, for a simple opportunistic killer in the nightclub scene of New Orleans could have stretched on for five days and left the BAU without a lead to follow. Everyone was already irritable enough just given the sweaty, humid air that had blanketed around you all the moment you stepped off the jet. Every team member is now on edge, some five days later, having canvassed every club, hostel and backpacking destination in the city on foot.Â
For Prentiss, Morgan, Reid and Hotch, this has sent them into profiling overdrive. Theyâre throwing out complicated theory after complicated theory trying to think so far outside the box theyâre almost losing sight of the facts. Annoyingly, it seems like you just need to wait for more bodies to drop, hoping the killer will slip up, that theyâll do something of any meaning.Â
JJ, Rossi and yourself appear to be the only ones willing to accept the fact that this unsub is actually managing to evade all your efforts, with probably no knowledge youâre even looking for them.Â
Itâs 1:15 in the morning now, if the unsub is at the clubs again, youâll have a body showing up by 7am. Youâve already tried bargaining with Hotch for the team to just get some rest and hope some evidence arises, but he wonât quit. Youâre exhausted. Your back aches, thereâs a dull pain behind your temples, pulling at your last resolve as you bury your head in your hands, unable to listen to Reid presenting yet another theory that this unsub is using drugs that are completely undetectable to take down their victims.Â
âSpencer! Stop it. Thereâs no sign of needle pricks, tox screens showed NO sign of any drugs remaining in the victimâs systems despite their time of death being as little as four hours prior to the bodies being found. The only thing in their systems was alcohol! Thatâs it.â You snap, tired of hearing him circle around the same idea for over an hour now, knowing his specialties are in physics and engineering. Not human physiology and pharmacokinetics. Because those are your background.Â
âActually, the bodies have all been found at least four hours and thirty minutes later, so-â The boy genius leans forward, gesticulating with his hands, clearly preparing to lecture you in your own area of expertise and that does it. Without a word you push yourself up out of your seat, leaning over the desk to make sure he can see how little patience you have left for him constantly trying to correct you.Â
âReid. Correct me based off of something you read in the textbook I wrote one more goddamn time and I will see how far that giant brain of yours really is from your skull.â You point an accusatory finger at him as in the corner of your eye, Hotch and Morgan each rise from their seats, moving towards you, clearly both at least a little intimidated by the set of your brows. You mean business.Â
âWoah, woah, woah. Mama. Letâs just calm dow-â Morgan grabs your wrist pointing at Reid and brings it down to your side where you tear it from his grasp.Â
âWould you stop calling me mama?! And do not tell me to calm down.â You try to level Derek with another glare that could burn holes in his head if you tried any harder. A hand lands on your shoulder, gentle, from behind you. Pulling you back ever so softly away from the table. You follow the direction of the hand you recognise as Hotchâs, letting him direct you out of the room, where youâre met with the alarmed faces of the local police departmentâs entire night crew. They all return to their work, and youâre reminded of how sternly your face is still set. You make an effort to relax your jaw as Hotch leads you into an empty office without a word, closing the door. You stand still, eyes on the ground, expecting to be yelled at as you realize how exhausted you are, every muscle in your body providing almost no resistance to the force that wants you to lay down on the linoleum floor and cry yourself to sleep.Â
âAre you okay?â is all Hotch can string together to ask you right now, youâre clearly very volatile and on edge. He just canât figure out why. His mind is reeling with a thousand scenarios of you having been drugged or assaulted in some way in a nightclub just like these, and the thought makes his heart sink.Â
You finally look at him, noting the genuine concern and a hint of confusion behind his dark eyes. His thumb skating across his knuckles at his side seems to confirm your theory that heâs worried about you, not upset. The tenderness of his voice asking you the question is enough to make your chin wobble, your eyes welling up seemingly out of nowhere as you note that you definitely are not okay. You just donât know why.
âIâm, I donât know, Hotch, Iâm so tired, I feel like gravity is working against me, my back hurts, my head is throbbing and my-â Thatâs when it hits you, your stomach has been churning for hours, a thrilling mix of starvation and nausea despite you eating the same order of food thatâs sustained you a thousand times before. Oh. Oh. Your period. God. This is so embarrassing, youâve just threatened two of your coworkers for being even more dedicated than yourself at solving this case, and youâve completely made a fool of yourself now, crying in front of your boss like a victim of some terrible thing.Â
âYour..?â Hotch offers, trying to get you to finish your statement.Â
âI, um. I think I know whatâs wrong. I just, I just need like fifteen minutes to go⊠wash my face and get some air. Iâll be okay. Donât worry, Hotch.â You wipe your tears with your sleeve and try to offer him a reassuring smile, but his face is nothing short of perplexed. Youâve gone from screaming to crying to comforting him in under four minutes without any prompting at all. He decides that heâs just going to have to keep you by his side for the rest of this case, to make sure you really are just overworked, and that this isnât something more personal.Â
âAlright, Y/N. Iâll head back to the briefing room, please, take your time. I think Reidâs going to want to apologize in no fewer than a thousand words. Morgan will be okay, but. Just, donât come back until youâre ready⊠If you need the night off-âÂ
âNo, Hotch, really, I donât. I just need a moment. Itâs okay.â You donât want to be that weak, someone who gets their period and is suddenly unable to help do your job, when there are people being killed, slaughtered, and you canât find their killer because youâve got some cramping? No.Â
You can see Hotch doesnât really seem one hundred percent convinced youâre fine after your sudden outburst, but itâs late and he probably doesnât have the energy to fight you on this. At this point, he just hopes you havenât been freaky fridayed with some much less tolerant individual, you really werenât acting yourself tonight.
âIâll be right outside if you need⊠anything.â He gives a wave of his hand on âanythingâ, trying to really drive home the notion heâs here for you in whatever circumstances youâve found yourself in.Â
âActually, do you think you could send Emily in here for a second?â You realized your go-bag is at the hotel and you have exactly nothing to help you with the imminent bleeding. You subconsciously give Hotch the biggest, most watery puppy dog eyes heâs ever seen, and his heart melts. Of course, of course heâll get her for you.
âEmily? No problem. Iâll grab her now.â He offers you a small smile, only sparing a momentâs thought as he walks out the door as to why you need her help, not his. He decides once again that youâre more than capable of knowing what you need. Heâs offered his help, thatâs all he can do.Â
When the door clicks shut behind him, leaving you alone for the first time all day, your shoulders fall. You shift from one foot to the other feeling your back yelling at you to just lay down. You hate this part. Itâs the worst part of all. The anticipation, your monthly reminder of who you are forced to be, looming right in front of you. When you can feel your grasp on your emotions slip away just a little bit and those little voices in your head gain a little too much power. The thoughts of how your body doesnât look anything close to who you feel you are. Your chest is even more prominent in your life, aching each time you move too quickly, or worse, when you put on the kevlar vest, and your already tender chest becomes a constant reminder of how people see you. As a woman. Your stomach bloats no matter what you eat, and you feel even curvier than normal, wanting nothing more than to put on your baggiest clothes and crawl into a dark bed and just sleep.Â
You can deal with the usual levels of dysphoria well enough, youâre known as just not being particularly effeminate. You wear looser clothes and the tiniest bit of makeup, and you feel like yourself. Each time Derek treats you like youâre not made of glass, smacking a hand into your arm like he would with a guy friend. Each time rossi invites you to taste his new whiskey with himself and Hotch, knowing youâre not as much of a wine person like Penelope and Emily. Whenever Spencer is confident and open enough to freely be himself with you, knowing how nervous and closed off he tends to get with women. In those moments, you donât need any labels, you donât need to feel like youâre some kind of imposter, or in the wrong body, it doesnât matter. Youâre just, you.Â
But every month or so, nature sends you the most blinding reminder of who you are, of what you were made for.Â
A knock on the door brings your head back out of the clouds, as Emily gently pushes the door open.Â
âHi, Em. Howâs spencer? And Derek?â you ask, cringing at how you sound like the one who just got yelled at for trying to do your job. Like youâre owed an apology.Â
âTheyâll live. They really do need to learn to give you a bit more space. I think everyoneâs tired, I canât blame you for snapping.â You love Emilyâs honesty. Knowing sheâd only ever sugarcoat it for you if you really needed it. âHotch said you needed me?â
âYeah, god. I just had to ask if you have any tampons, a pad or anything?â You try not to sound so embarrassed. You know this is a perfectly normal biological function. It just feels like a cruel touch of fate to always drag you back to an identity that never fit you.Â
âSure do. Here, Iâll get it from my bag, itâs on the way to the bathrooms.â Emily opens the door for you to walk with her back through the room the teamâs set up in. You feel too many eyes following you as you enter the room. You keep your head down, trying not to have to look at any of the prying eyes or leveling stares youâd find looking back at you. Emily passes you the plastic package from her bag without a word, and you pocket it, padding down the hall to the bathrooms where you start taking deep breaths.
 Looking at your face in the mirror, you canât stand the sight. You put makeup on this morning, in some attempt to keep up a facade with the team, you were overcompensating for a tackle youâd made yesterday, youâd seen the look on Rossiâs and Morganâs faces when you took down a runner during canvassing. Their eyebrows were raised as Morgan put his hands in the air, signaling his surrender. Rossi made some halfhearted comment in the SUV about your true calling being in the NFL.So here you are, playing a part. Itâs really just some mascara and blush, but it feels like a thick mask over your face as your breathing comes more and more ragged. Itâs 2am and your makeup is smudged anyway, the stray mascara making your eyes look darker and even more exhausted than you really are.Â
You groan, turning the water on in the sink as you start scrubbing the masquerade off of your face. If youâre already going to be hot and temperamental, you should at least be able to freely rub your eyes without worrying about your precious mascara smudging.Â
You finally manage to clean the black stains from your face when the cramping starts. You feel a hundred twisting knots inside of your uterus begin pulling you to curl into a ball. You put the toilet lid down, sitting down on it with a groan as you let the tears slip, bringing your shoes onto the rim so you can bury your face in your knees. The waves of pain start to come closer and closer together, each spike in your abdomen joining together until it feels like a mass of barbed wire has lodged itself inside of you.Â
Youâre sure youâre reaching the worst of it when you start hearing whimpers escape your mouth at the stabbing sensations. Youâre freely crying now, partly due to the pain and partly due to the embarrassment of this whole situation. How desperately you donât want this to be happening, this isnât you. This isnât your body. This isnât right. Your shoulders are shaking now with the momentum of your crying.Â
You barely have time to lift your head up when a hand against the door cautiously opens it, large strides through the small staff bathroom before a tall figure crosses the open doorway of your stall. You almost miss them, your tears clouding your vision as the figure pivots, taking a step back into the doorway.Â
âY/N?â Youâve never heard Hotchâs voice so delicate, so laced with concern as the figure shrinks in front of you. You rub at your eyes, trying to clear the pooling tears so you can see him better. Heâs crouched down to your eye level, his thumbs moving over his knuckles as his jaw clenches and unclenches, his eyes scanning your entire body for any signs of injury. âWhatâs the matter?â His hands fall around your shins where your feet rest on the lid. His thumbs begin rubbing over your legs so carefully you feel like you could just melt into his touch. Warm hands reminding you of where you are, of who you are.Â
âItâs s-stupid, Hotch.â You sputter out, a cry tearing through you as your eyes squeeze shut, another wave of pain in your stomach clawing at your insides.Â
âI donât care if this is because a tellytubby died, it isnât stupid to me if it upsets you.â The genuine care in his voice, the pools of concern in his eyes drawing you in, you donât know what did it, but the next thing you know youâre pulling him up by his shoulders towards you.Â
Your boss finds himself kneeling either side of a toilet, in a unisex police station bathroom. A puddle of unknown origin soaking into the knees off his $300 slacks, his arms wrapping around you while your hands find purchase on his dress shirt and you bury your forehead in the crook of his neck. Heâs shocked to find that he couldnât care less about the surroundings, his hand finding the back of your head to hold you close to his aching heart. Heâs desperate to know whatâs happened to you, but he will kneel here until his knees lock if it means youâll tell him when youâre comfortable. If it means youâll stop crying. He feels a part of him physically ache every time a cry escapes your lips.
âItâs gonna be okay, Y/N. You have my help, through whatever this is.â You tug at his shirt harder, a shaky breath escaping you as his hand rubbing up and down your back soothes your mind. You donât know why Hotch has such a comforting effect on you, but his presence has always been so calming to you. Even now, youâre hysterically crying in a bathroom and heâs the only thing able to draw you out of your own mind, making you able to see past the pain.Â
Your breaths start to come easier with each swipe of his hand up and down your spine. You let go of his shirt, smoothing it with your palms and he pulls back to look at you, finally seeing the pink paper package rustling in your hand. Oh. The penny finally drops, and he can understand why you were so volatile earlier. What he doesnât yet understand is whatâs changed, why are you so upset now? He resigns to the fact that he really canât judge how youâre feeling, having never felt it himself. He refuses to draw a line in the sand as to what kind of response is appropriate for the level of pain youâre in. His hand keeps rubbing at your back, even as you sniffle and he pats at his breast pocket, finding thereâs no handkerchief there because he discarded his jacket hours ago. He instead uses his free hand to tear off some toilet paper from the dispenser, offering it to you as a tissue.Â
You take it rather bashfully, wiping at your eyes and nose as you look down at the floor. This situation is so embarrassing, and the waves of pain are still making you well up.Â
âHotch?â You keep your eyes glued to your shoes, almost digging into the flesh of his stomach where he still leans in close to you, right where you had held him.Â
âYes.â He doesnât skip a beat before responding.Â
âD-do you think you could take me back to the hotel?â Your chin wobbles as you feel just ridiculous asking, but another bolt of pain through your insides reminds you why you had to.Â
âOf course. Iâll just go pack up my things, did you just have your coat and your satchel with you today?â You nod, unable to respond. âOkay, Iâll be back in five minutes, just, hang tight.â He untangles himself from you, letting out a tiny groan as he stands up, straightening his soaked knees under him and closing the stall door for you this time, striding out of the bathroom.Â
You make quick work of putting the pad in your underwear, wincing through the pain of standing up and maneuvering your pants off and back on, but once youâre seated back on the closed lid of the toilet, you can breathe easier, still teary eyed from the pain but hopeful that youâll soon be able to get some rest. Hopefully the exhaustion you can feel sinking into your bones will outweigh the pain and allow you some rest. Youâll have to buy more pads, though, the one wonât last you long. You know how heavy the flow is on the first few days, youâll need more supplies to even make it through the night.Â
God, and now your male boss is driving you home. Youâre going to have to ask him to let you out at a convenience store so you can grab some. Hopefully he doesnât ask too many unnecessary questions, you guess thatâs one reason Hotch will be the perfect companion for this. He wonât try to talk just to fill the stretches of silence, badgering you with questions about work or about the nitty gritty details of your apparent breakdown. You cannot even imagine having to have this conversation with Spencer or Derek, even Penelope tonight. As much as you love them all, they would either ask a hundred senseless questions, or try to make some jokes about periods to lift your mood. This isnât really something you want to be reminded of.Â
Not that thatâs their fault, itâs really yours for not telling them the truth about what youâve been feeling for a long time. Youâve been sure of who you are for a while now, and you just havenât been able to find the words to spit it out. Youâre sure itâs been less than a perfect secret, after all, a team of highly skilled behavioral analysts from a range of backgrounds and training styles ought to be able to piece it together, even a little, right?
Youâre pulled out of your thoughts when the external door opens with a creak, a light knock on the bathroom stall as you see a familiar pair of oxfords plant themselves on the opposite side of the stall. You pull the door open, standing with a wince, trying to stand as humanly as possible, but you canât quite straighten your back without tearing up again. You actually see the moment Hotchâs expression falls, any morsel of hope he had that youâd no longer be in pain melting away before his eyes as he places an arm across your shoulders, helping you walk beside him slowly back into the precinct. You once again expect to face your entire team but your brows draw together seeing that theyâve vanished already.Â
âThey were pretty excited to get a few hours sleep when I said weâre calling it a night. IÂ think theyâll be very grateful to you for changing my mind.â You turn to look at him as he speaks, only now taking notice of how close your face is to his own. From this distance, your tearful eyes are able to see the hint of hazel in his as they search your face.Â
âIâm glad this is helping someone, I guess.â You say, still regretting the fact that youâre slowing down the investigation of a serial killer over a little cramping. But as you two start slowly walking out of the precinct, ignoring the sideways glances from all the deputies on the night shift, youâre hit with more waves of sharp, twisting pain and you let it go.Â
Hotchâs hands keep reaching out to catch you as you insist on heaving yourself into the SUV alone. You try to ignore the hot feeling that spreads over your skin each time his hands move to guide you. He closes the door, careful to make sure your legs are safely tucked inside the car before rounding the hood to the driverâs seat.Â
Aaron wastes no time getting the car in motion towards the hotel, eyes on the road only flicking to you each time you shift in your seat or let out a quief huff of air as the pain simmers in your stomach.Â
âHotch?â You hate how small your voice sounds tonight. Hotch feels it slicing right through his sternum each time your voice cracks with the pain.Â
âYes?âÂ
âDo you think we could just make a stop at a gas station or convenience store? Just anything thatâs on the way.â Hotch throws the blinker on immediately, preparing to turn left. With your head down you hadnât seen the glowing sign of the 24 hour service station you were about to pass right by.Â
âOf course.â The car is in park in no time, Hotch leaving the keys in the ignition as he undoes his seatbelt. âWhat can I get for you?â He asks, grabbing his phone and his wallet.Â
âNo. Oh, no, I can go in. Itâs fine.â
âY/N, I found you sobbing in a filthy police station bathroom less than an hour ago. I donât really fancy sending you into a seven eleven at 2:30 in the morning alone just to see whatâll happen. So either we both go, or you can sit here in the nice cool air conditioning and relax, and Iâll get you what you need.â You sigh, realizing you do feel much less like crying now youâre cooled down, out of the sticky, humid air.Â
âI need some tampons and ibuprofen, please.â You avert your eyes, trying to ignore the creeping feeling that youâd very much like to crawl into a hole and wither away rather than to ask your very kindhearted boss to go buy your period supplies.Â
âPerfect. I wonât be a moment. Lock the doors if anyone comes within thirty feet of you.â He slides out of his seat and strides into the service station.Â
His senses are greeted with the ice cold, dry air, and the faint smell of hotdogs as he grabs a basket, making his way to the back corner of the store where the freezers are. He grabs a pint of cookie dough ice cream, and some mint choc chip. Heâs seen you accept the offering of both of those at Derekâs game nights before. He grabs a bottle of blue electrolyte water, having quite honestly no clue how thatâll help your period symptoms, but at least youâll stay well hydrated. Especially if you keep crying, god, he canât stand the dragging feeling of his chest thinking about how much pain youâre in to cry that much.Â
He throws in a bag of chips here and some m&ms there as he makes his way to the health products. He finds some fast-acting ibuprofen and chooses that without a momentâs thought for the price. Heâd give anything to make you feel better faster right about now. He stops in front of the sanitary products, and he looks for the tampons.
 His eyes are reading a million miles a minute as he mutters to himself âLight, ultra light, regular, overnight, sport, active, everyday, heavy, ultra max⊠shit.â Why would there be different tampons for night time?? Is field work considered âsportâ? Itâs definitely active, but how different can that be to everyday? His mind casts back to Haley asking him to pick up the orange pearl ones. Okay, orange is regular. But what if your periods arenât regular? Is it regular to be so bad youâre crying in a police station bathroom? You canât even stand up straight, that definitely doesnât seem regular. But thereâs still âeverydayâ and âovernightâ? Donât the two of those alone cover all times of day? Why are there times, weights and activities? This canât be a build-your-own type situation⊠right?
 His hand drops to the outside of his pants pocket, feeling the weight of his phone there as he looks out the window to the SUV. You look like you might be asleep. Oh god. He canât wake you if youâre finally feeling calm enough to sleep. Or, no. Maybe youâre crying. Itâs hard to see, but either way he doesnât want to disturb you further by prodding you with questions. The overnight employee is stocking the shelves with baby powder behind him, but he doubts the surly man with a braided beard is going to be of much help here. Crap. Heâs taking too long. All you want is to go to sleep and heâs agonizing over sticks of cotton that frankly all look the same to him, but heâs sure itâd be a world of hurt if he handed you some ultralight tampons and youâre more of an ultramax type girl. Aaron. Just choose. Just make a choice. Come on.Â
He stares at the boxes before him a moment longer before reaching out a hand to drag it across the shelf, dropping an ultralight, regular, heavy, ultramax, sport and overnight into the basket. He sends his curses to the all-boys boarding school he was in throughout most of puberty, having missed many a talk on the monthly goings-on of someone with a uterus. He feels stupid, really, at how quickly his IQ was slashed to a single digit when he was given such a simple task. Heâs a father, after all. Heâs witnessed every stage of the human life cycle. He knows how reproduction works, he just didnât anticipate that there are more categories of menstrual bleeding than there are of hurricanes.Â
He drops a few extra chocolate bars into the bag at the register, ignoring the strange look from the cashier as they scan his six boxes of tampons with a laugh, noticing he has just about every period supply under the sun.Â
âYâknow, youâre a stronger man than me, I always just avoid my lady that time of the month. They call it shark week for a reason, champ.â He mutters, manually entering the code on one of the ice cream tubs that wouldnât scan. Hotch feels his face shift into what you call his âcyclops glareâ, telling him he reminds you of the x-men character that can turn men to sludge with just one withering look. He makes no attempt to hide his sour face when the cashier looks up at him, giving him his total. Aaron pays and collects his bags in his hands before turning to leave with one last look in the manâs direction.Â
âFunny. Sharks rather like eating invertebrates.â He barks over his shoulder towards the counter.Â
âInvertey-what?â Hotch smiles as he walks towards the door.Â
âInvertebrates. Spineless creatures.â He says, watching the glass doors part as he strides towards the car.Â
Your head lifts from the cool glass window at the sound of the car door closing, Hotch rifling through three grocery bags in his lap. He finds the gatorade, ibuprofen and a kitkat bar, handing you the items before dropping the rest onto the floor behind his seat.Â
You try to bite down another bout of tears at the sweetness of the action, gulping down some ibuprofen with the cool liquid soothing your throat, chilling you from the inside out. You wear a shy smile as you unwrap the chocolate bar, offering Hotch a row for his troubles.Â
âNo, thank you.â He waves a hand for his troubles but you refuse to take the piece back, holding it out to him until he relents, taking it from your hand gently. You smile wide as you both share the chocolate bar on the short ride back to the hotel.Â
Once you two arrive, he insists on carrying all the bags for you, and now that youâre feeling even the tiniest bit more human and less like a pincushion, you feel the exhaustion radiating through you. The magnetic pull of the concrete ground on all your bones is almost irresistible at this point, but you know if you walk just a little further to your room, you can collapse in a soft, cushioned, non-concrete bed. With your head lulling towards the ground, Hotch walking just a step in front of you, your eyes land on the bags in his hands. You notice one bag is about to tear a hole, overstuffed with the four, five, SIX boxes inside all trying to poke through. Another bag looks rather colorful, chips, chocolates and your favorite drink inside. The third bag is covered in condensation. Itâs clear Hotch has gone very far overboard on your supply requests, or, heâs a diabetic at risk of a blood sugar crash.Â
âHotch, did you need some groceries back there?â You ask innocently, hoping he hasnât blown $70 of his hard earned money on trying to get you to stop crying.Â
âUm, no. I. Well, I uh, didnât really know what you might need at the hotel so I just got some of everything. Iâm sure Prentiss and Morgan would help you finish off anything you donât eat.â Heâs stopped dead in his tracks, looking rather embarrassed as you rush to assure him he did nothing wrong.
âThank you, Hotchner. Iâm actually kind of dying to pig out and have a picnic on my hotel bed tonight. But, youâll have to let me repay you for it all. Please.â You try this time to muster up all of the tears you have left, pouting to make your eyes look all puppy-like, hoping heâll cave and let you get away with anything.
âI can allow no such thing. I feel bad. As your boss I shouldâve known that working a nineteen hour day is just unreasonable. I feel kind of like it might be a human rights violation to deny a menstruating woman her sleep.â He tries for a self-deprecating joke, but the last four words hit you like a punch in the gut. He must see your mouth fall into a hard line because he steps closer to you. âHey, are you okay?â His hand reaches out towards your arm, holding both of your briefcases in mid air, just hovering there in case you need him. Instinct.Â
âYeah, Iâm fine, just. Well if you arenât going to let me pay you back, would you at least join me for the picnic in bed?â A breath of relief leaves him as he starts to smile at you.
âSure. Iâd Love to.â Damnit. He instantly regrets throwing the L word at you, youâre his employee, he is being nothing short of unprofessional right now. But he just canât help but want to reassure you when youâre like this. Heâs never seen you cry until today, and he has seen you take a four inch blade to the shoulder before in the field. Youâre one seriously tough cookie, which is why heâs so worried having seen you break down earlier.Â
You both start walking again, you take your room key from your satchel as Hotch holds it out for you. Entering the room, youâre suddenly ashamed to see you left yesterdayâs clothes scattered at the foot of the bed. You shuffle in to scoop them up, shoving them into your go-bag as Hotch unloads the ice cream into the minibar. The pain in your abdomen making itself very known as you stand back up and move to pull some clean sweatpants out of your bag, before slipping into the bathroom to change out of your work pants.
 âJust one second.â, a nod from Hotch and you close the door. Flicking on the light and fan in the bathroom, you turn to the vanity. Your glazed, bloodshot eyes stare back at you. You canât help but notice how miserable the stranger in the mirror looks. You try to divert your attention away from the features you most dislike as you slide off your work pants, not wasting a second before pulling the sweatpants up your legs, tugging harder as they stretch to accommodate your thighs and hips. You try to bite down the resentment for how tightly they hug your curves, every inch of flesh there is a reminder of who you are. Of who youâre sick of pretending to be. You drop your face into your hands, willing yourself not to be caught crying in yet another bathroom by your boss.Â
You flick the light off, opening the door to greet Aaron whoâs sitting on the bed. A tray from the kitchenette now filled with bags of all your favorite snacks, and a small mountain of tampon boxes stacked next to your go-bag on the chair in the corner. You see his face fall from relaxed into profiler mode in the blink of an eye.Â
âWhatâs wrong?â He sits up straighter, making sure thereâs room for you to come fall onto the other side of the bed. You oblige, tumbling onto the mattress with a sigh as you move the pillows to support your already aching back.Â
âI, just cramps.â you stare at your hands a moment while Hotch cracks open the bag of m&mâs, offering you first pick.Â
âY/N, you do realize I taught you how to profile, right? How to read people?â You nod your head, eyes now focused on the colorful beads of chocolate in your palm. âThen you must know I can tell when youâre lying. I can tell when one moment youâre completely fine and the next itâs like youâre forty feet from your own body. Now, I wonât even pretend to know why that is, or what it is that you go thinking about, which forces you into the darkest recess of your own mind. But, I do know that whatever it is, I have your back. If youâre in danger or if itâs stress, anxiety from our work. Whatever it is, I have youâŠâ A flash of worry crosses his intentionally softened features as you meet his stare, his hand freezing in mid air where it was reaching between the two of you. âI mean to say the whole team does. Of courseâ Hotch says, redirecting his hand into the bag of candies, rattling them in his palm, turning them over with his thumb while he struggles to bring his eyes back to you.Â
He finds you staring back at him with such a troubling intensity that he thinks you might have something seriously incriminating to ask of him. Then your chin wobbles once more, you close your eyes tight. Taking a deep breath in and out. You steel yourself. Hotch has only seen this look on your face before when youâre about to face an unsub. Itâs your armor. Itâs the kind of look that will conceal almost any wars waging behind your eyes. He knows it well because he uses it himself. He silently prays you arenât about to begin an interrogation.Â
âI feel. Different. To the way people see me. To the way they always have, I guess⊠I donât feel like my labels or my clothes or my⊠pronouns, fit me. I donât really know if the bureau allows, changes, like that, to be made. But. I donât think my identity fits me very well. At all. Iâm not a woman, Hotch. I donât feel like a man, either. I think I sort of fall someplace in the middle there, in the grey area. I um⊠I hope that doesnât, like, compromise how you see-â A larger pair of hands flies across the space between you on the bed, both encompassing your shaking one. His warmth causes your cold hand to clam up as he carefully relaxes his face, offering you a loose smile.Â
âThat doesnât compromise any single thing I have ever known about you. Youâre still my bravest agent, maybe even more so now.â He squeezes your hand tighter, making sure you can feel his genuine joy radiating through him. âI am so, so happy that Iâm someone youâre comfortable to talk about this with. Now. I just want to check Iâm grasping this correctly before I go make any incorrect assumptions and, well, you know what they say about when you assume things. So, you feel you best align with âthey/themâ pronouns? Or they/he? they/she? he/she? I mean you, you donât have to feel exactly the same way every day of your life, so I could totally arrange a sort of system if you have some more feminine or more masculine days?â Your eyes flood with tears as Hotch talks about making arrangements to accommodate you at work, and you canât stop them from falling as you try to find the words to answer him.Â
âDid I say something wrong?â He shifts closer, worry rising like bile in his throat that he might have misunderstood what you were saying.Â
âNo. Not at all! You, youâre just being so sweet to me and I was really ready for like, an argument or I donât know, maybe more a patient debate because I know you understand these things but I just thought you wouldnât want to change things at work, or-â
âY/N. I will go and call every Section Chief in all fifty states tomorrow morning if you want me to adjust our M and F tickboxes on every piece of bureau paperwork to a, to fill in the blank or a slider for goodnessâ sake. I want you to feel as comfortable as Iâm able to accommodate.âÂ
âThe tickboxes are okay, theyâre just for medical stuff, anyways. And they//them, to answer your last question.â You wipe your eye with the sleeve of your free hand. âIâm not sure I want you to go petitioning the whole FBI just yet. Maybe just the BAU is fine, for now. I at least know all of you are respecting of other identities.â You sniffle as Hotch smiles widely again.Â
âWell, we can do that. Start small, take on the world later, right?âÂ
âRightâ you giggle. Feeling a whole lot better about this whole ordeal. A moment of silence passes as you both just take in whatâs just happened. You reel at how well Hotch took the news, how he still looks at you with the same twinkle of amazement in his eye. He still thinks youâre his bravest agent. Although, youâre not sure how the man who stared down the barrel of a gun, took 16 stab wounds to the chest fully conscious, and took down countless unsubs with his bare hands or even a piece of string is saying youâre brave, and he sounds like he really believes it.Â
Your thoughts are interrupted by a sharp stabbing pain through your insides, that tuft of barbed wire twisting inside of you. A corner of your mind sees the irony of you thinking of Hotchâs real stab wounds and then feeling some of your own, but you push that down. You curl over, trying to assume the fetal position against the stack of pillows behind you as Hotch sits up, moving the tray of snacks out of the way and giving you a pitiful look.Â
âIce cream?â He offers, you feel bad heâs so helpless, you know how he hates feeling that way in situations.Â
âIâd normally use my heat pad but I didnât bring it.â You wince, feeling the mattress shift around you. You open your eyes as your boss peels the duvet and sheets back, opening the bed to you.Â
âSlide in. Under the blankets. In the middle, there.â You move yourself slowly, trying not to further twist your stomach. âI want to try something, okay? Do you trust me?â He pushes the blankets over you where you sit stranded, an island in the large bed.Â
âOf course.â You donât hesitate, knowing youâd trust Hotch with your life in any situation. He begins climbing into the bed behind you, pulling you back onto his torso where his legs part around your own. You feel his heat encompassing you underneath the blankets, forcing out the cold, dry air conditioning of the room. Your back flush against his front as your head lays perfectly on his chest, and he rubs his hands together tightly in the air in front of you both, the friction between them audible where it sizzles your ears.Â
âI run really hot so, you tell me if this does anything to help the pain, okay?â He races his hands under the blankets, wrapping his arms around your middle, interlocking his fingers of both hands over your front as you feel the near-steam rising off of him all around you. Much to your surprise, his hands really do feel a little like your heating pad from home as they rest over you gently. A moment passes as his warmth wrapping around your body like silk and the dull thrum of his heartbeat behind your head begin to lull you towards sleep. The only sound in the room is the metallic whirring of the minibar in the corner, and Hotchâs tentative breathing, trying not to rock your head where it lays cradled in his chest.Â
You begin to drift off, the exhaustion of a nineteen hour work day, the stress on your body from shedding your insides in as a violent bout of cramping and nausea and emotion. You couldnât even begin to chart the journey youâve taken across the entire wheel of human emotions in the last three hours alone. It has been such a long day, but you canât bring yourself to regret it even one bit as your hands come up to wrap around the strong forearm framing your body, and sleep overtakes you.Â
Hotch lies awake almost an hour longer, his mind reeling with the events of today. He thinks it over and the penny drops in his mind as to why you despise your period so much. Aside from the associated side-effects, he understands why you didnât just run to Emily or JJ today. Why you refrained from seeking comfort from other women, as a woman. You arenât one. He canât imagine getting a scheduled monthly reminder that youâre living in a body different from the one you belong in. Let alone with the added bloodshed and havoc on your emotions, all other bodily functions giving way to the one thing you wish you could live without. He wonders how long youâve wanted to tell him this about yourself, how many times heâs seen you retreating into your mind, could he have pulled you out sooner? Showed you that thereâs safety in the light, with him? In any case, he swears he can feel specks of glitter appearing all over his skin with how ecstatic he feels that you were able to tell him. That you trust him. That heâs the one person you allowed to hold you at your lowest and to support you through the hardest thing he can imagine an agent like yourself having to go through. Subjecting yourself to the scrutiny of your boss, of your peers, is so difficult. Heâs never been good at it. But you wear your heart on your sleeve. You are able to be so vulnerable, so honest and so ready for whatever comes your way.Â
When sleep finally does find Aaron Hotchner that night, he really does believe you are the most admirable agent heâs ever had the pleasure of meeting. Of course, itâs normal for this admiration to taste sweet in his mouth, like honey. Itâs normal for this admiration to feel as if itâs warming him from the inside out. Itâs normal for this admiration to make his heart skip a beat whenever he looks down and finds this admiration wrapped tightly around his arm, their short breaths fanning over his bicep as his eyes flutter closed. Right?
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