#he's more reid in off-duty vibes

[halfyourheart]

I wanna occupy your brain / Be the only livin' space in your head

criminal minds muke moodboard for aerie (@arishemmo ) 💜

[maddieinwonder]

A Lesson In Romance #7: False Start

Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Just a lot of awkward vibes hahaha

Word Count: 1.7k

Plot: Reader keeps getting caught in rom-com situations with Spencer Reid. This time, they try to confess their feelings.

A/N: I didn’t actually manage to include the definition of a False Start in the chapter itself, so I’ll add it at the end. No spoilers for now!

Masterlist | All chapters here!

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It took you 24 hours to decide that you were going to do something about your feelings for the good doctor. Pretty quick, considering you were a living, breathing rom-com cynic. But as ancient Greek philosopher, Heraclitus, once said: "The only constant in life is change".

Specifically, change happened after you woke up in your cute co-worker and dear friend's arms and you wanted nothing more than to get back into them as fast as possible.

But by the universal laws of working in the BAU, catching a break seemed to be the hardest when you actually wanted one.

Firstly, it was like every serial killer in the country decided to cancel their vacations simultaneously, swamping the team with urgent case after case. At this point, you were more familiar with the couch on the jet than your bed at home, and everyone was feeling the strain.

Secondly, if you weren't sleeping, you were usually out in the field chasing unsubs with Derek or Rossi. You had stopped holding out hope for being paired with Spencer — on account of your areas of specialty overlapping too much, and Hotch not being the type of leader to waste his resources — and as a result:

Thirdly, getting even ten minutes alone with the genius became an impossible task, and not for lack of trying either. At the start of the month, the two of you had tried to adapt your breakfast ritual to the road, but it always got interrupted mid-coffee order or even at the ding of the lift. Not that you and Spencer stopped trying, no, but your patience was wearing thin.

So you did something you hadn't done since you submitted your application to join the BAU — you prayed for a chance.

Because every day that you didn't admit your feelings to the doctor was another day fighting the compulsion to tell somebody else about them, and god only knows what a room full of profilers (and one nosy tech analyst) would do with that kind of information.

Then, out of the blue, the door of opportunity opened.

After two weeks of straight travel, the team had earned a well-deserved one night’s rest in your own beds before dealing with a local case, bright and early tomorrow morning. And since your flight landed at 2am and all the trains had stopped by then, this gave you the perfect shot to execute your plan.

Unfortunately, you forgot to take into account the most important factor — your nerves.

It didn't help that Derek had wolf-whistled in the carpark as the two of you walked off in the same direction, nor that Spencer immediately put your favourite album into the CD player out of instinct; an overly domestic action that made your heart beat even faster.

But it was when you arrived in front of his apartment building that you felt the worst of it. As you tried to summon the right words to your lips, your heart hammered in your chest and your thoughts jumbled themselves into nonsense.

"Are you ok?" Spencer asked, snapping you out of your anxious spiral instantly. "You don't look so well."

"I-I'm fine." Your fingers twitched nervously.

"Doesn't seem like it." He looked down at your hands, and you cursed your subconscious brain for giving you away. Then, he placed a hand over yours and your heart stopped.

"You're not alright, that's for sure, but it seems like it's just sleep deprivation." He assessed, bending slightly to look at your face. "You can't drive in this state. Do you want to come in?”

Your head snapped up to meet his gaze, ready to protest, but Spencer beat you to it. "Let’s go. You wanted to talk about something, right?" He called out, already one foot out of the car.

Before you could realise what was happening, you found yourself sitting on Spencer's couch holding a warm cup of tea.

This was the first time you were in his apartment. Yet, it was exactly what you thought it'd be like. Every wall was lined with bookshelves, filled to max capacity with books of every topic imaginable from neuroscience to philosophy. Those that didn't make it to the shelves were found in random stacks around his apartment, standing out against his forest green walls.

"Did you know that chamomile tea is a natural remedy for insomnia? In fact, it is commonly regarded as a mild tranquilizer. It's calming effects may be attributed to the antioxidant apigenin, which binds to specific receptors in your brain that initiate sleep and reduce anxiety." He explained, walking over with his own mug.

"I actually did know that." You smiled. The tea seemed to work its magic because you did feel relaxed, and you must have looked it too, because the worried frown disappeared off Spencer's face.

"Didn't know you were a tea person." You commented lightly, blowing the steam from your mug.

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me." He replied mysteriously, and you raised your eyebrows.

Spencer's apartment was too quiet, no rumbling fridge or quiet radio playing in the background to make your awkward silence any less pronounced. It was then that you noticed he didn't have a TV. Somehow this fact didn't surprise you very much.

"You... you wanted to talk to me about something?" He broke the silence, looking down at the hot tea swirling in his mug.

Right. You were here to talk about your feelings. Your face flushed as you tried to summon your willpower, again.

"I wanted to tell you something—" You began shakily. "But before that, I just want to preface, we can ignore this entire thing if you don't agree. I mean, I really enjoy our friendship as it is, and I wouldn't want to do anything to affect tha—"

"Wait." Spencer interrupted urgently, before catching himself. "Sorry, um, before that, can I say something?"

"Um, ok, shoot." You replied meekly, trying to hide your relief behind a long sip of tea. There was a pause as he gathered his thoughts, and you might have been seeing things, but he looked almost... nervous? 

"The day we met, I calculated the probability of meeting somebody that shared my exact coffee order and the result was almost one in a million.” He finally spoke, lifting his head to meet your gaze. “That probability decreased when I factored in working together, sharing the same interests, and... and how I enjoyed spending time with you more than with anybody else."

Spencer cleared his throat, a blush coming onto his cheeks.

"Ever since then... my life just started making sense. I know I’m a scientist, not a poet, and I could tell you all the statistics about relationships in the world, but when it comes to you...”

His cheeks were crimson now, as he ran his fingers through his hair. You had a feeling yours looked the same.

"I guess, what I'm trying to say, is that I think you're beautiful and smart, and I have no idea what you see in me, but I'd really—"

Suddenly, both your phones buzzed violently against his coffee table, jolting you out of the moment. You leaned over in a trained motion, only to see exactly what you expected:

Garcia: No rest for the wicked, crime fighters. Conference room in 30.

Penny: No rest for the wicked, crime fighters. Conference room in 30.

You let out a sigh you didn't realise you were holding, and Spencer looked over at you, doe-eyed and nervous.

“The case?" He asked quietly.

There was a silence filled with words unsaid. "We should go." He said finally. "If we leave now, we can still make it on time."

You only nodded in response, more out of duty than desire, and gulped down the rest of your tea. The thought of what he was about to say burned down your throat.

Driving away from Spencer’s apartment was torturous. The doctor hadn’t said anything to you since he entered the car, only fiddling with his bag as he looked out the window. It was too dark to read his expression, but you wondered if he could still hear the way he called you “beautiful”, or whether the moment had already dissolved into the space between you.

Luckily, you didn’t need to wait long for an answer, as Spencer tugged on your sleeve before you exited the carpark, his face scrunched in worry.

"I really didn't mean for that to be so... weird. Can we talk about this again after the case?" He asked softly, and despite every semblance of logic left in your brain, you couldn’t stop the hope from blooming in your chest and you smiled.

That was when Spencer did something completely uncharacteristic. (You didn't know this at the time, but it was something that you would tease him about for a long time after.)

In one fluid movement, the doctor pulled you into a tight hug that elicited a squeak from you, but it only took a second for the initial shock to wear off before you relaxed completely into his warm touch. He took that as a sign to continue, burying his head into your shoulder and letting out a content sigh.

Unlike waking up to your bodies intertwined, nothing about this was a mistake. Not the way his fingers stroked your back peacefully, nor the way his curly hair tickled your cheek. You felt the stress of the past two weeks melt away in his embrace, and so did any coherent thought, except one: normal friends didn't hug each other like this.

Later when the two of you finally entered the conference room, miraculously still on time, nobody commented on the smiles plastered on your faces but everybody could tell. They were profilers after all.

But for the first time in awhile, you were just too happy to care.

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Tag List:

@blue-space-porgs @nobutalsoyes @lady-loves-a-lot @queen-flower @oops-all-ajs @spottedzebrasinpartyhats @agentcarterisgay @totalmess191 @sapphic-prentiss @mellowalieneggsknight || @averyhotchner @amesandpineapples @willowrose99

Definition of a False Start here

[hotchley]

like blood underneath your fingernails

Honestly, I’m quite proud of this one. It’s been in the works for a while, and I finally have a title (from Looking Too Closely- Fink) and I both did those flashcards and emptied the dishwasher, so it’s here now. It’s been proofread!! Once. In the car.

The writers (according to the internet) did not deal with the aftermath of Scratch’s initial... thing. So I took it upon myself to write the case after. It got dark, but I had fun writing it. And it has low-key Mortch vibes... a lot of other amazing writers have also written fics linked to this, so you need to read those too because they’re just the best

OH!! This is not a Rossi-friendly fic. I have tried to explain why he responds the way he does, but it does come off as Rossi bashing, so if you reallllly love him and think he was a great friend to Hotch... skip on this one.

Trigger Warnings: dissociation, aftermath of torture, a slight reference to suicide and child death, canon-typical violence, cases involving kidnappings and murder, blood, dark themes, other canon-typical darkness, hallucinations

read on ao3!

He cannot close his eyes.

Because when he closes his eyes, he sees one of them, falling to the ground as the light leaves their eyes and the life leaves their body because his worst fear has never been his own death. It has always been the death of the family he is meant to protect- whether that was Sean, or Haley or the team. 

He hears the fear in JJ's voice as Spencer, her little brother, the boy that has always been too young, the man that he has never succeeded in saving, falls to the ground, eyes never opening again. 

He tastes the horrifying and coppery tang of blood as Derek is shot right in front of his eyes, the blood splattering onto his cheek and every sentence Reid has ever spoken about the bacteria and pathogens in blood springing to the forefront of his mind.

He smells the bitter and disgusting sage that Peter Lewis uses to torment people and turn them into brutal murderers that cannot stand the sight of their own hands or wrap their heads around their actions because they had always been normal and good, and it hurts because he's already a killer, never once normal or good.

He touches the knife that was slid towards him, the metal cool against his warm hand and the weight a comforting thing that make him feel like he could regain control of the situation he was in, despite the thoughts of George Foyet that fill his mind, and he wonders whether Scratch is impotent.

He closes his eyes and he no longer knows what is real.

It is why he is returning to work only ten days after the case. He had wanted to take the usual five, terrified even of that small number because he couldn't trust himself. The doctors that assessed him in the hospital wanted him to take thirty. Ten, and a passed psychological evaluation, had been the compromise.

He wonders if the team knows how he lied. They must do. They aren't stupid. He wonders if anyone will call him out on it, or if they'll once again be so terrified of the humanity he wants nothing more than to cling to that they will simply watch and wait until he shatters again.

The steady ticking of the clock is the only noise in the otherwise silent apartment. When he flicks the light on, he sees there are still five hours until he needs to wake up. For a single moment, he closes his eyes, contemplating whether or not attempting to sleep is a pointless exercise. He swears he can still taste sage and opens his eyes again.

A silent house is not necessarily a bad thing. It means Jack is sleeping through the night, no nightmares about the gunshots haunting him. And it means the extra locks on the door, the obsessive way he checks every window is locked as soon as the sun goes down, are doing their job at keeping the monsters out of the only home Jack has real memories of.

Aaron creeps out of bed, grabbing the jumper that was folded at the foot of his bed. Once he's put it on, he sighs to himself and counts to five. For each number, he tells himself a fact that cannot be disputed. That grounds him.

His name is Aaron Hotchner.

He is forty-four years old. 

He is standing inside his bedroom, in his apartment, which is located in Virginia.

The windows of that apartment are locked from the inside.

Just down the hallway, his son is sleeping peacefully, untouched by the monsters that strangle his father every single day.

He creeps down that hallway, taking comfort when the same floorboard that always creaks does just that. Normally he would avoid it. But lately he's been finding every opportunity to do something that Peter Lewis would have no knowledge of, if only so he can convince himself he's fine.

Jack's door is slightly open, allowing some light to enter. Aaron nudges it gently, making sure he doesn't wake Jack. The door doesn't make a sound, and his son carries on sleeping. He never looks so similar to his mother as he does when he sleeps. Haley slept on her left side, a slight smile on her face, and Jack does the same, unless he has a bad dream.

But even then, he is so much like his mother that his tears can be turned into something beautiful. Aaron was the exception of their little family, having always expressed his emotions so honestly, the few times he let himself do that, that there was no way it could be anything but ugly and human.

He's too big for the chair in front of Jack's desk, but he sits in it anyways, turning it so he can face Jack's bed. On the table is his latest art project- a collage of things that remind him of the people he loves- and Aaron finds it difficult to look at. Because his son has painted his mother as a perfect angel, and his father a superhero.

One day, Jack will realise his father is the furthest thing from the superhero and he will hate him for destroying his childhood and taking his mother from him before he was old enough to understand that people were mortal. Aaron is mentally preparing for that day- there are already so many letters that will never excuse or justify what he did hidden in his office drawer- but until then. he will allow himself this one good thing.

He will allow himself to sit, and take comfort in the steady rise and fall of Jack's chest. He ends up staying there until sunlight starts to stream through the window, and then he takes his leave. 

Seeing Jack, sleeping so calmly and normally, reminds him of why he's going back to work. Because if he hurts the wrong person there, the team won't hesitate and they'll do it. If he hurts Jack- and he knows he's weaker than the man that refused to harm his son, knows that it will be Jack- there will be nobody there to end his pain and suffering. He'll be forced to live with it.

A minute before his alarm is set to go, he turns it off, and then he goes about morning like it is any other day. 

He doesn't feel like himself till he puts the watch Dave got him when became lead profiler on, tightening the strap till it mirrors the feeling of holding the knife. And he wonders whether the team are discussing his return to duty the same way they had six years ago. 

They are. Aaron's absence meant more paperwork for the rest of them, as there is no way the team are going to let him handle it when he comes back, so every single one of them are in an hour earlier. It also means his return will be as smooth as it can be.

Even if they don't all approve.

"It's only been ten days," Derek says. "He needs more time."

"Does he? He came back thirty-four days after George Foyet stabbed him in his apartment and his wife and son were sent into Witness Protection, and he was fine. This is like child's play compared to that," Dave says, fiddling with a paperclip.

"Ex-wife," Reid corrects quietly. 

The three of them are sitting in the bullpen, looking towards the elevator every few minutes. Kate pretends she's not listening, and Derek pretends he believes her.

"Was he fine? He looked us in the eye and asked why a man that had lost his wife and child was still alive. He walked into a hostage situation unarmed. We all pretended he was fine because we needed Foyet to strike, but I'm not making that mistake again. Not after what happened when he did end up striking," Derek snaps.

Spencer swallows. Dave just raises an eyebrow. It's almost funny. Spencer views Aaron as a father, Dave as a son. Either way, they both believe he is perfect. Able to come back from anything and everything with nothing more than a broken ego. But Derek remembers what Foyet's body looked like, and he remembers how Aaron had shattered in his arms for those few seconds.

"If you want to ruin his first day back, then be my guest. But you need to trust him the same way he trusts us. After all, you care more about him than you do your job," Dave says, annoyance bleeding into his tone.

And Derek gets it. He really does. He had wanted to believe Gideon was invincible when he came back after Boston. Everyone had. So they hadn't done anything, and he had just gotten more and more reckless with his actions until innocent people ended up dead and Hotch got suspended. And then he ran. 

He isn't going to let that happen again.

"This isn't about not trusting him. This is about keeping him safe. And you're right. I do care about him more, because the last time I didn't, he almost retired. So we either do the opposite of what we did last time, or we let history repeat itself."

"Derek, you can't force him into anything. He passed his psych eval, so Cruz can't do anything either," Spencer says. 

Derek softens as he turns to him. "I know pretty boy. It's not about forcing him into anything. It's about making sure he knows that we're here if he needs more time, or if he needs a break. And don't get me started on that psych eval. I saw his answers. They're too perfect. He's lying."

"So what are you going to do?" Dave challenges, and not for the first time, Derek wonders how Aaron kept his sanity working with him, Jason Gideon and Max Ryan at the same time without any of the other members to meet his eyes with the same exasperated look every time one of them reverted to the old fashioned way of doing things.

"Be the friend he trusts me to be," Derek says. It's his own challenge. Dave prides himself on being the only one to call him Aaron. To people outside the team, Rossi seems to be the only one that Aaron trusts enough to be vulnerable with. 

But Derek knows better. Aaron will never be completely open with anyone, but he still feels like he has a duty to be the hopeful and undamaged boy that thought he could save the world that Dave recruited. He still has a duty to be the father that Spencer never had and thought he'd found in Gideon. It is only with Derek that he allows himself to do his own type of falling apart: one that is contained and messy and ugly. Somehow both terrifying and anticlimactic

It was Derek that stopped him from running into a burning building all those years ago. It was Derek that was voluntarily told about Haley leaving. It was Derek that stepped up as Unit Chief and pulled him off Foyet's dead body. Not Dave and certainly not Spencer. So he won't let them influence his actions. Not this time.

Hotch does blink. But only when he thinks nobody will see him do it.

Dave keeps eye contact for a few more moments, but this time, Derek does not break it. Eventually the older man turns around and heads to his office. Derek sighs, knowing fully well that Aaron is going to end up doing the paperwork anyways.

"Is he going to be okay?" Spencer asks, sounding so painfully young that Derek has to look at him to remember he wasn't the new recruit anymore.

"Dave? Yeah, he'll be annoyed, we'll get a case and then everything will be fine," Derek says, smiling so Reid doesn't worry.

"No I meant Hotch. Will he be okay?"

Derek can't tell him the truth. "Of course he will. He's Hotch."

"Why are you lying to me?"

He knows there's no point in trying to deny it. "I'm not trying to patronise you or keep you in the dark. It's not that. It's just- I don't know. It's stupid, but I want to shield you from his mortality and flaws and imperfections for as long as is humanly possible. You are always going to have a different relationship with Hotch because of how much younger you are, and I just don't want to be the one that ruins it."

"So you want to protect me?"

Derek nods. "I guess."

"Thank you. Nobody ever did that when I was younger," Spencer says.

Kate breaks the ensuing silence by asking for Spencer's opinion on her consult, and Derek starts watching the elevator doors again. They don't open until precisely nine, when Hotch steps off, dressed in the same suit and tie he wears every second Monday of the month, carrying his briefcase and acting like nothing happened.

He gives them a slight smile as he passes them in the bullpen, and even those few seconds are enough for Derek to see that he hasn't been sleeping.

When Aaron sets his briefcase down, Spencer looks to him, nervous. Derek gives him a small smile, even though they all saw him as he entered. It's only been ten days since they last saw him, but his suits seem to hang from him more than before. Dave looks out at them, and Derek starts to count.

He counts to three hundred, and is immediately struck by just how fast time can go. Three hundred seconds is five minutes, and yet it feels like no time has passed. But when Hotch looks out at them, as he always does, everyday, without fail, ten days feels like a lifetime.

He is terrified as he stands, but he fights through the fear and goes up to his friend's office. The door is open, so he walks in without knocking. When Hotch looks at him, he closes both the door and the blinds. Hotch swallows as the sound of them closing fills the air.

"I don't want them profiling this conversation," he explains.

Aaron just nods. "Thank you."

"You don't need to pretend with me," Derek says.

Aaron looks away, and Foyet's presence, usually contained to the self-deprecating voice in his head telling him he's no better than his father, seems to fill the room. They both know why he doesn't pretend anymore.

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"You don't need to say anything. I don't expect you to tell me the truth, because I wouldn't, if I was you. I'd be too terrified. But I remember what it was like seeing Spencer and Emily. So if you do want to talk, then I'm here. Always. And I won't flinch."

Aaron knows this to be true. When they finally got back to Quantico after Jason's death, Derek found him sobbing in the men's bathroom, the barriers he had spent so long piecing together completely breaking when he opened his drawer and found a photo from the early days, where Jason looked happy and hopeful. He hadn't said anything. Just sat beside him, and offered a tissue. 

"I know you won't."

Derek sighs, not sure what he's meant to do. "Aaron-" he starts, not sure what he's going to see next.

"I can't trust myself. I- I don't know what's real, and I keep trying to do the grounding things that the bureau therapist said I need to, but I don't know if they're working. I have post-it notes all over the apartment and I have my five facts, and I have things I can touch, but Scratch knew so much, I can't- I feel like he's everywhere and he knows everything."

It is so honestly vulnerable that Derek wants nothing more than to flee, if only so he can cling to the Aaron that existed when he first joined the unit for just one more moment. But he made a promise. And he has no idea how he's meant to keep it, but he's going to.

He holds his hand out. When Aaron doesn't take it, he leans over the desk, gently linking their fingers. "I'm here. With you. Scratch can't get our body temperatures perfect. He can't know that I'm always slightly warmer and you're always colder. He can't know that twelve years ago, I called you darling because I didn't realise it was you."

Aaron chuckles slightly. "Derek."

"You don't need to say anything. I messed up after Foyet. I won't do that again."

He shakes his head, finally meeting his eyes, and the fire in them is almost enough to convince Derek that everything is going to be fine. Almost.

"You did everything you could after Foyet. If you had tried to do more, I would have stopped you. We both know that. You did everything right, everything perfectly right and you cannot feel like you failed because you didn't. Do you understand me?"

Derek swallows. “Yes. But you need to understand that if you need anything- and I mean anything, whether it’s for me to take the reins for a bit, an unofficial firearms certification, or even just to do the grounding techniques with you, I will.”

Aaron nods. “I know Derek. I know. Thank you.”

Derek gives him the most convincing smile he can, leaving the door open because Aaron hated having it closed. As he exits. Dave steps in, and he sees as Aaron morphs back into Hotch to be the man that Dave needs him to be. It hurts to see, but he understands why it happens.

He doesn’t believe in God. He hasn’t for a while. But he needs to do something other than stare at dead bodies, so he prays that the team remain grounded for a few days. Not for too long because then Aaron will get suspicious and realise that Derek had been forging Rossi’s signature in order to transfer their out of state cases to other teams, but long enough for him to get settled once more.

Or as settled as he would ever be.

It’s probably why, only minutes after Dave leaves Hotch’s office, smiling, whilst the other man just looks exhausted, JJ comes rushing into the bullpen. There are five files in her arms, and she looks frantic. 

“No,” Derek says.

“I’m sorry, but we need to go on this one. It came directly to me. It’s- just look.”

He doesn’t want to, but as JJ goes to give the files to Dave and Aaron, he does, if only so he can gauge how much support he will need. And as he opens it, he understands exactly why they’re going on this case. Why, even if JJ had tried to hide it from Hotch, he would’ve said they had a duty.

They have four victims. All blonde women. All mothers. All divorced. Killed by a single gunshot to the head. No evidence of sexual assault, but they were held captive and tortured for three days before being dumped in their home. All found by their ex-husbands, who were only there to drop the child off.

Hotch does not show an ounce of humanity during the journey there. It terrifies Derek. Hotch only refuses to show how human he is when he’s close to falling apart. Too close for anyone to feel comfortable. Instead, he keeps his tone detached and professional. Derek pretends to not notice the way Aaron pushes down on his stomach, over the biggest scar Foyet left. Aaron pretends he doesn’t see Derek watching him.

When they get to the station, Derek knows it’s going to be a long case. Him and Reid are sent to the coroner’s office, whilst JJ and Kate are tasked with searching through their victims history. Which means Hotch and Rossi are left to interview the husbands. JJ and Derek- the most attuned to Hotch and the thought behind his actions- make a silent agreement that they will do whatever it takes to make sure Rossi doesn’t go too far. Whatever that means.

They fail because they don’t get the chance to speak to him before they leave the precinct.

And when they return, Dave is nowhere to be seen, and Aaron is sat in the conference room, clenching his jaw and hyper focused on the details in the case files.

“Did you get anything from the husbands?” JJ asks, tone gentle.

Hotch shakes his head. “They’re grieving, and terrified for their children. But they’re not guilty. They all loved their wives.”

Nobody bothers to point out all four couples were divorced.

"Where's Rossi?" Reid asks.

The tension in Aaron's shoulders increases.

"Hotch," Kate says, the only one that can.

"He accused one of the father's of committing the crime," Hotch says.

JJ and Morgan give each other identical looks. Kate looks horrified, and Spencer is stunned speechless.

"What happened after?" she prompts.

Hotch doesn't speak. Kate sighs, then leads JJ away. As she passes Spencer, she asks him to follow her because Hotch and Morgan need to speak alone. He nods and leaves without another word.

"Aaron," Derek says.

"I ended the interrogation and dragged him out of the room. And then I punched him in the face because those women remind me of Haley and those fathers remind me of myself and every accusation he made reminded me of the months after her death and I couldn't do it."

Derek wants to punch Dave himself. He must have known what he was doing, and in some strange and obscure way thought his actions would help the situation. Clearly he couldn't have been more wrong.

"You didn't cause Haley's death," he says, for lack of any other words.

"I did. Maybe I didn't put the gun to her head and pull the trigger, but I did cause it. That's not what I'm scared about though."

"What are you scared of then?" Derek asks, well aware that they're in the middle of a police station where anyone could hear them, but needing to take advantage of Aaron's vulnerability before he let his mask slip back into place.

"Scratch. I punched Dave and it felt like Scratch was laughing at me, egging me on to hurt him more. The worst part is that I almost did. Punching him felt good, and then I panicked and now I don't know- I don't know whether the only thing I did was punch him or if I did something more."

Derek curses under his breath. "How long have you been feeling like that?"

Hotch shrugs. "I couldn't- I forgot what time it was when I stumbled back here. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he says, the words almost reflexive because of every apology Aaron has ever given him. "We just need to ground you."

He takes Aaron's hands, noting that the muscles are moving the way they should be. It's a small thing, but it's a good thing, because it means he's wearing the wrist support when he needs them and doing the physical therapy.

“Look at me,” he commands softly.

Aaron does so willingly. “Derek, we’re in a conference room.”

“That’s good. Can you give me four other facts that prove you’re here, in this moment with me?”

"My name is Aaron Hotchner. I am forty-four years old. We are in a police station. You are Derek Morgan. There is a door behind you and a window behind me- the window is locked, but the door is wide open. We can both see if someone walks in."

"Show off," Derek teases.

Aaron manages to smile slightly. “Thank you,” he whispers after a moment.

“You have nothing to thank me for,” Derek says. He means it.

This time, Aaron’s laugh is self-deprecating. “I’m a horrible person to look after.”

“Not to me you’re not. How do you feel now?”

He shrugs. “Better, I guess.”

“Drink some water. Slowly. I’ll go check on Dave.”

“Do you think he’s going to hate me?” Aaron asks.

“You’re the closest thing he has to a friend. Of course not,” Derek says. He keeps his tone light, but deep down he’s afraid that Dave will. Not forever, he could never do that, but for long enough that something else goes wrong.

He finds Dave in the bathroom. 

“Hotch told me what happened,” he says.

“And what? You’re here to tell me that I shouldn’t have pushed because he’s fragile and hurting? Did you tell him that he shouldn’t have fucking punched me in the face because of something I said to a suspect?”

“Those men were not suspects and you know that,” Derek snaps. He sighs. “I wasn’t coming here to tell you that you shouldn’t have pushed. I came to see whether or not you were okay.”

Dave raises an eyebrow. Derek sighs, again.

“He saw Scratch when he punched you. Now he’s worried. And he’s falling back into old patterns. I told him he didn’t kill Haley and not only did he not believe me, he flat out disagreed and said he did.”

“What do you want me to do?” Dave asks. He doesn’t sound angry, just tired. Derek wants to shout at him. He may be tired after this one event, but he’s not been the one picking up the pieces and gluing their fragile leader back together for the past few years. Dave doesn’t get to be tired. Not whilst Derek is still the only one able to do anything.

“I don’t know Dave. You’ve known him the longest. It was you that found him in the immediate aftermath. You took the gun from him- rather poetic given the last time an unsub targeted him, you told him to take yours- and got him to speak.”

Dave blinks a few times. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I thought being hard on him would bring him back, but I was wrong.”

“It’s okay. You just need to correct yourself now,” Derek says, for lack of any other words.

“I just want him to be the boy he was when he first joined the unit,” Dave whispers.

Derek did not know the boy his friend was then, but he does know the Aaron that existed before Boston. The Aaron that held a baby Jack in their arms like that one small child was enough to remove every piece of darkness to exist. The Aaron that had grabbed Haley’s hand and taken her dancing so they could spend a bit of time together.

"We all do. But he's gone now. The only thing we can do is try to save whatever pieces of him live in the Aaron that is sat in the conference room, beating himself up over something that was not his fault because of your misplaced comment," Derek says. They have a killer to catch. There's no time to entertain this.

"I know. Thank you. For doing what the rest of us are too afraid to," Dave replies. Derek shifts uncomfortably under the weight of his gaze. 

Something about the dynamic between the two men has changed, and everybody has noticed.

"Somebody has to," is all he can say, before he leaves Rossi to wash his hands and search for the man that had promised Aaron everything he could ever want, all those years ago when he first recruited him for the BAU.

There's an empty glass of water beside Hotch when Derek returns, and he's silently thankful that for once in his life, Aaron listened. He's deep in conversation with one of the police officers, so he refrains from making any comments, but when Aaron turns back towards the table, he goes over without a second thought.

He tells himself it's because he wants to know what happened just then. Because he wants to know whether or not they have any more information that can be used to their advantage. He tells himself it has nothing to do with the fact that learning about the case means he doesn't have to focus on the minute tremble of Hotch's hands. Doesn't have to see the hollow look in his eyes- a look of a man so defeated that he has no reason to try anymore.

The problem with being a profiler is that you rarely fall for anyone's bullshit- including your own.

“Did the officer have some additional information?” Derek asks.

Hotch hears him, obviously, but does not respond.

“Hotch,” he repeats.

“No. He didn’t. He wanted to know why you were holding my hands.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “And what did you say?”

“That ten days a man that managed to turn people that would never dare hurt another person into horrific killers drugged me, causing me to hallucinate the deaths of the same people that are solving his case for him, and as a result, I cannot always tell when things are real,” Aaron deadpans.

For a moment, Derek honestly can’t tell whether or not he’s joking. Then Aaron gives him the smallest smile, and he relaxes slightly. The last thing they need happening is officers spreading even more rumours about the types of cases the BAU work on.

He starts to reply with a joke of his own, then sees Aaron’s smile fade away like it was never there. He wonders how instinctive the action is- how many times was that little boy told he was too much, and how many times did he fade into the background like he didn’t even exist?

Without turning, he knows it’s Dave.

“I’m going to see if Spencer needs any help,” Derek says.

For a moment, it seems like Aaron is going to beg him to stay. But like most of his displays of humanity, it passes in a second, and then he simply nods, not even trying to fight.

“Aaron,” Dave says, walking over with purpose.

“Rossi don’t. Please,” Aaron pleads.

“What you did was stupid. But my actions were also uncalled for,” he says. It’s the closest he’ll ever get to a proper apology. Aaron accepts it because there’s not much else he can do. Dave pretends it’s going to fix everything because it’s the only thing that will get him through the case.

“Do you seriously think the fathers are to blame?” Hotch asks.

Rossi shakes his head. “Not anymore. I just needed to be sure.” He also needed to be sure that Aaron was fine, and given his response to Rossi’s accusation, he can’t say he’s convinced.

"Good," Aaron says, and the smile he gives Dave is so small and subtle, but so full of love, that for a single moment, the older profiler is able to convince himself that the fragile collection of skin and bones in front of him is still the hopeful boy that joined the unit. But then the moment passes and he's left feeling worse than before.

When the team come back, picking up on the cues that both Hotch and Rossi laid down, they go back to acting like nothing is wrong. Like the women in the photos are victims that deserve justice, and not the mirror of the same light they failed to save five years ago.

There are no breaks in the case, and they return to the hotel defeated and miserable. Budget problems mean they're doubling up. Part of Derek wants to switch rooms with Dave so he can keep an eye on Aaron, but the bigger part of him knows it would be a terrible idea, so he texts him saying that if he needs anything, no matter what time it is, he'll be available.

Aaron mouths the words thank you once he's read the message. Derek counts it as a win, and he tries to remain calm when Dave texts him saying that when he entered the shower- after Hotch- although the water dial was set to be normal, the water ran hot. Too hot.

He refrains from commenting the next morning, when Aaron clasps his glass of freezing water like a lifeline. In some ways, it is. And he knows what it's a sign of. He isn't sure whether it's caused by something in particular, or if he's just overwhelmed, but the hotel dining area- where Kate and Spencer would both hear- isn't the place to ask.

They get to the precinct, and it becomes clear that nobody there has slept. Another woman was found dead a few minutes before they got there. The father and son are sitting in the same conference room the BAU were working out of. For a moment, Aaron looks like he's going to kill the person that sent them there. The lead on the case quickly intercepts, saying they moved the boards and evidence files, and he relaxes slightly.

But before anyone can sleep, he removes his blazer and tie, before unbuttoning his top button and rolling his sleeves up. And then he walks into the conference room. Derek blinks, then it clicks. Aaron looks like a father. Someone both people sat in the room can trust. JJ hands him the information on the file, and his breathing stops for a moment.

The father and son could have been Aaron and Jack. If Aaron's eyes were darker and Jack's hair lighter, they would be the boys smiling in the photo provided with the file. He wants to take over the conversation Hotch must be having, but he finds himself rooted to the spot. How many cases are going to hit too close to home before Aaron gives up? Before it feels like every victim wears Haley's face? 

How many more times can Aaron Hotchner look into the darkest parts of humanity before his hands stop going cold at crime scenes and Derek Morgan needs to take his place in some weird parallel of the events that occurred after Boston? 

When the father and son leave the room, he jumps out of his chair and runs over.

"We will catch this man. And if you need anything, please don't hesitate to contact me," he hears Aaron say.

He sighs to himself.

The father shakes his hand and leaves, guiding his son with nothing more than a gentle hand to the back of his head. He sees Aaron swallow. 

"You know you can't promise things like that," he chastises, not truly meaning it.

"It wasn't a promise. It was a guarantee," Hotch snaps.

Morgan simply raises an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry."

"Want to tell me about it?"

"I told him about Haley, and how I found her. And about how Jack was just down the hallway in my office- the one place in our home that my work touched, even if he never found it- so now he can't be alone on New Years or Independence Day. I only said it because he told me I didn't understand what it was like. To have to do that."

No amount of surgery is ever going to fix the hole in Aaron's heart that Haley's death created. They could plant seeds of love and watch them blossom into flowers of acceptance and fearlessness in every other part of his body, but that one area could never be touched.

Derek knows this. He's seen it before.So he doesn't offer any words, because there are none. Instead, he takes Aaron's arm and he squeezes the elbow. It is Aaron's non-verbal method of saying thank you. So in that moment, it can also be his.

Aaron isn't entirely sure why Derek is thanking him, but he learnt long ago that when someone said something, you didn't push. You accepted their words- whether they were kind declarations of love or as sharp as knives- and you moved on.

When Derek lets go of him, he walks back over to the team, feeling slightly lighter and infinitely more grounded.

Kate tells him another woman had been taken, and the weight he thought he'd been able to let go off settles on his chest like a death threat. There is a single moment where she worries that this will be the thing that causes him to fall off the edge of the cliff he's been standing on for far too long, but then he stands up properly and it's like nothing ever happened.

He doesn't sleep, instead pouring over the case file whilst Rossi gently snores beside him. If Jason had been with the team. he would've somehow realised that Hotch was still awake, and told him to go to sleep. And Hotch would've obeyed. But Jason wasn't with the team. He was dead. And sometimes that knowledge knocked Aaron off guard, so he stopped focusing on that and started concentrating on the woman.

Their break comes the next morning.

Garcia hasn't slept either, and between the two of them, they have a name and a location. Everyone piles into the cars, vests on and weapons ready, because even though nobody had said it, there was no way this is ending without at least one shot being fired.

The door to the building is unlocked, and they have their unsub surrounded within seconds. Hotch suddenly feels like a bucket of ice has been poured over him, causing him to freeze, and the blood to start pounding in his ears. Nothing feels real to him. He tightens the grip on his gun.

His name is Aaron Hotchner.

He is forty-four years old.

He is holding a gun because he is on a case.

The unsub is holding a knife to a woman's throat.

The woman looks just like Haley- no. He cannot think that. Not now. 

"Let her go," JJ commands softly.

"No," their unsub says.

What is his name? And why can Aaron not remember his name?

"If you put that knife down, and let her go, we can tell the courts that you cooperated with us. That'll be nice, won't it?" Kate adds. Her tone is completely level. Calming in a way that it shouldn't be.

The unsub grins, then presses the knife even closer to his victim's throat. She lets out a terrified whimper and closes her eyes. He yanks her hair, forcing her to open then, and he seems pleased with himself.

"I don't care about the courts. I care about the man I'm doing all of this for. He's going to be great, and he's going to make me great too. Just you wait and see."

This wasn't part of the profile. There was never meant to be a more dominant partner. The control Aaron has been clinging to in order to get through this case is slowly slipping away with each piece of information he either cannot remember or is introduced to him. 

"He? Who is he?" Spencer asks.

The man cocks his head. "Is it not obvious?"

Spencer shakes his head. "We're not like you. We need you to explain."

He nicks the skin slightly. Blood pools at the tip of the blade. Another digression from the previous pattern. No knives were ever used to cut the skin. The kills had been quick and clean. Why was everything changing?"

"I won't."

"The only way you get out of this alive is if you explain everything to us. Because this man, he won't make you great. Whoever he is, he only cares about himself. Not you. Certainly not your life. But we care about you. Just set the knife down," Derek says.

Aaron knows he needs to contribute, but he just can't do it. His tongue is like a useless knot in his mouth that he can't undo because his brain is twisted too.

"No," the man says, bringing it dangerously close to the woman's pulse.

"Aaron!" Derek shouts. "You're the only one with a clear shot. You need to take it. Or do something. Do you hear me? You are the only one that can do this. If he moves that knife, take the shot."

Aaron turns in the sound of the voice. Derek is telling him that he needs to take the shot, and he can see why. With the way they're stood, he is the only one that can possibly avoid hitting either the woman or another team member. 

He raises his hands, ignoring how they tremble. Front sight. Trigger press. Follow through. Three steps that he has been following since his days at the Academy. Three steps that mean he has never missed. Never failed.

The man smirks.

Aaron turns to make sure nobody else will get hurt, or can take the shot. But when he looks at Derek, it's not Derek.

It's Peter Lewis.

"No," he whispers, but in the silence of the room, he may as well have shouted at the top of his voice.

He turns to look at the man, and he sees that he is about to shoot Derek Morgan. The one person that has never been afraid of him. The one man that is still good and undamaged by his hands. The one man that can and has led the team without any sort of assistance with him.

"Aaron!" Derek's voice exclaims, but he still wears Mr Scratch's face.

Aaron does not know what is real anymore, but he knows he needs to minimise the damage. The gun falls from his hands, with the safety off. It lands on the floor with a clatter that is too loud to his ears.

Their unsub laughs, once, and slits the woman's throat. She falls to the ground, dead by the time she hits the ground. Derek- real Derek, whose hands have always been warmer than his- fires his gun once. The unsub also falls to the ground with a shout.

Aaron closes his eyes.

He hears his name.

He tastes copper.

He touches his own hand, startled by the coldness.

He sees Derek's terrified face.

He smells sage.

He smells sage.

He smells sage. And then the world goes black.

When he comes round, he does not know where he is. He does not know where the team is. He cannot ground himself in the moment or come up with five facts that prove his surroundings are real. 

He opens his eyes. The team is gone.

And he is covered in blood.

[spooks-and-tea]

Entangled (Spencer Reid x femReader) [Ch.11] The Final Chapter.

Summary: You don’t know how it happened. One moment you were watching Criminal Minds, and the next moment you were literally in the show. Can Spencer be the key to helping you find your way back home?

Warnings: minor character death, mentions of su*cide, bad explanations of quantum mechanics, bad words, sexual situations (some non-con), the usual criminal minds-type content

A/N: Some big bad interrogation Spencer vibes. Thanks for reading. This chapter was short, so I just decided 2 chapter posts in one day. Let me know what you thought of the story~Pleeeeease no one repost on other sites without my permission.

Word Count: 2,015

Chapter 1.  Chapter 2.  Chapter 3.  Chapter 4. Chapter 5.  Chapter 6.  Chapter 7.  Chapter 8.  Chapter 9.  Chapter 10.  Chapter 11.  

************************************************************************After Spencer had disappeared, JJ was surprised, to say the least.

She held the unsub by the cuffs as he angrily spoke about Spencer's big genius brain solving an equation in 2 minutes which had taken himself a lifetime of work to figure out. She asked him where the machine had taken Spencer and he replied with all of this talk about quantum mechanics, particle waves, split dimensions, and voids. Stuff that Spencer had been info-dumping about for months, regarding the case.

All JJ cared to know about was if Spencer was safe, and to that the unsub just shrugged.

The first thing the team did when you all returned to the BAU was throw the unsub into an interrogation room.

Spencer was quick to volunteer as the only interrogator in the room, he argued this unsub would react the strongest to him.

The rest of the team were still flustered from all of this inter-dimensional information that Spencer had gone on about on the ride back. You had backed him up wholeheartedly and you were seemingly in great health after being gone for 5 months.

"Alright Reid, you seem to be the only one of us that has a good idea of what's going on. We'll watch from here, and if he gets too aggressive, we'll send someone else in," Hotch agreed.

You watched from the double sided mirror, the unsub was looking at it as if he could see you. You clenched your fists. He was the reason you'd nearly lost Spencer. He was the reason that Spencer looked sick from overworking and you had nightmares for 5 months straight.

"Hey, will you be okay in here?" Spencer lowered his voice to ask you. You had refused to stop holding his hand since you got here. He noticed your fist clenching tighter.

"I don't want him to take you away from me again," you replied.

"He's in handcuffs, and his machine is being collected for evidence. He isn't a wizard, he needs that machine like Nikola Tesla needs an inductor. He can't hurt us anymore," Spencer tried to comfort you, using the soft tone he knew you loved.

"Just don't take too long in there, and give him hell for me, alright?" You stood on your toes and kissed him.

He gave you a small smile and nodded.

You slowly slid your hand from his as he turned to walk out.

When he entered the interrogation room, he was no longer soft-Spencer.

The unsub didn't even turn to look at him, he was fixated on the double mirror. His eyes unnerved you.

You crossed your hands over your chest and leaned against the wall, deciding to keep your eyes steadily on Spencer.

"We know who you are." Spencer spoke. You smiled, recognizing that Spencer was turning the unsub's words to you against him.

Was Spencer purposefully trying to make you happy while he was in the middle of an interrogation?

"I know who you are as well, Dr. Reid," his gritty voice made your skin crawl.

"Good, then you should know that I understand the significance of the science experiments you've been conducting, Dr. Arnold Lynch. You've been labeled as a dangerous person to the entire world; a mad scientist." Spencer sat in a chair, his arms crossed.

"Now they listen." Lynch, rolled his eyes, finally looking at Spencer. His unimpressed gaze trailed up and down, sizing him up.

"I was like you once. Young, an impressive mind; maybe if I had found her sooner she would have loved me." Lynch added. He looked back to the mirror, you tasted bile at the back of your throat.

Spencer leaned forward in his chair, putting his elbows on the table.

"You're trying to change the subject." Spencer pointed out. "Tell me how all of this started. Tell me where your partner, Dr. Deborah Tryst, is hiding and how she helped you."

Lynch's eyes widened. "We were colleagues. She helped me build the machine, and I wrote the equations that made it work. We went in together, the first time."

"She tested the machine with you?" Spencer asked.

"Yes, we experimented. We tried to study the void space for years. Then, one day, a crack formed. Through that crack I saw her." The unsub looked towards you, seemingly locking eyes with you through the one-way glass.

"Y/N?" Spencer clarified.

"Correct. She was spectacular, the girl from a parallel dimension. We didn't know why the crack revealed her at first, but then we saw the string. It was barely noticeable, like a fishing line. It led from her dimensional crack to ours. All it took was a tug on that wire to know who the other end of that line connected to."

He was watching me? What a sick creep!

"Who?"

"Don't play stupid with me Doctor, I know you feel it."

Spencer swallowed, his eyes flicking to you for a moment.

"I should have gotten rid of you when I had the chance. My colleague thought differently. Now that the cracks were open, she observed you both, she knew you both would feel-" he sighed, "-incomplete until you were in the same space. She decided to play matchmaker and ruin everything. I loved Y/N first. Y/N was mine and she was a beacon, a magnificent anomaly! I took her back so she could be my pet; so she would never be yours!" He angrily spat, slamming his fists onto the table. Spencer stood, seething. You felt similarly.

"You had no right!" Spencer's voice was deep and angry. You'd never heard him so angry, other than in the show.

"No, Tryst had no right bringing her to you in the first place!"

"Y/N wants to be here. This is her decision. If you're so convinced you love her, you would want what is best for her."

"What's best for her Dr. Reid, or what's best for you? Is she any better off fighting criminals for the BAU? A job she isn't trained for." He cruelly laughed. "Is putting her in danger just so you can fuck her every once in a while off-duty not selfish? You think I'm the selfish one, look at yourself. You're just expecting her to be the lawful Bonnie to your Clyde, how long until you drive her into a hail of bullets?" Lynch smirked.

Spencer's eyes widened and he gripped the table.

No Spence, don't let him get to you.

"That's it, I'm going in there." Morgan spoke up next to you.

Hotch held his hand up to block him; his eyes on Spencer. "Wait, let Spencer speak. He's getting the unsub to talk, and that's good."

Spencer quickly collected himself, his expression going blank.

"Where is Dr. Deborah Tryst?" Spencer asked.

"Ooh, did I strike a chord, Doctor?" Lynch chuckled, leaning back in his chair.

"Where is Dr. Deborah Tryst?" Spencer repeated, angrier.

"Probably playing matchmaker. There are an infinite amount of dimensions for her to play with." Lynch shrugged.

"She's still in the void?"

"Yup, she's the reason the crack sealed when you two went through. She trapped herself in there and made sure I could never go back. Whatever she's doing, we'll never know for sure because it is impossible to recreate the initial crack. You should know just how improbable it was to create one in the first place, Dr. Reid."

"So there is no further possibility of danger?"

"Not cosmically, but, for our impossible girl over there, who knows what kind of dangerous situations you will put her in." Lynch nodded to the double mirror.

"She is not yours and she will never be yours. We're putting you in a maximum security prison where you will never see her again. So you can sit in your cell for the rest of your life and remember that she's with me, not you." Spencer's eyes darkened. You wanted to end this fight and get him out of there. He was only getting angrier.

Hotch walked through the interrogation room door, holding it open. "Reid," was all he said.

That was it, Spencer had gotten a lengthy confession from the unsub. The details would come up during his trial.

Spencer stood up, not caring about the wobbling chair as he did so. He walked out of the room and you went to the hallway to meet him. You met him as he was stomping down the hall away from you. "Spencer!" You called, hurrying to follow him.

He made his way inside an empty meeting space and you quickly slipped in behind him; closing the door.

He loosened his tie and ran his hands through his hair. You let him cool off for a few moments.

"He's right. I am selfish." He sounded beyond angry, even guilty.

He leaned forward on the meeting table, clenching his fists against the wood.

"He was just trying to get the last word in. Don't pay his words any more attention." You spoke, softly; placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"You shouldn't work here. You're not properly trained for the high-intensity, high-risk situations."

"Then I can train. Anyways, I doubt Hotch is going to let me work here now that he knows," you said, sadly. You loved working here. You loved helping people and being with your BAU family. You loved Spencer's daily teasing.

"Being with me puts you in enough danger. I couldn't protect you. What's stopping something from happening to you again?" He looked up at you, though he was still hunched over the table.

"All the other times you protected me." You gave him a small smile. "When Chris threatened me, you confronted him. When I jumped into the lake, you stopped me from drowning. When I was stuck in my dimension, you rescued me from a life of being absolutely miserable without you. When the unsub first encountered us, you stood in front of me even though you couldn't see him. You've protected me far more times than you are choosing to acknowledge. I trust you with my life, Spence."

Spencer's shoulders fell as his breath evened out.

"I love you Y/N, I just don't want you to get hurt." Spencer whispered, his grip on the table loosening. He slowly stood up straight to look at you.

"We aren't some alternate justice-duo, Bonnie and Clyde. We're perfectly capable of protecting each other, and we aren't some crazy serial-killing, bank-robbing couple. We're Spencer and Y/N, the BAU's hottest couple." You spoke with exaggeration and winked.

Spencer gave you a small smile. His hair was a mess, his clothing was wrinkled, and his tie was undone.

"It's been a long day. Take me home?" You asked, giving him your best doe-eyes as you reached up to fix his tie.

"Oh. About that- you're apartment and all your money and assets are sorta gone now. You were presumed dead."

"I'm not talking about that place." You rolled your eyes; unaffected by the news.

You were used to being dirt poor anyways and that house was nothing but an empty shell.

"Home, with you," you explained.

"Oh."

Spencer broke out into a large grin. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into a kiss. His coffee and woodsy-vanilla scent enveloped you like a warm hug. When he pulled away, he held his hand out to you.

"Come on then, I'll take you home."

Home, it was a strange concept. Your now-empty apartment in your dimension was once your home. You'd once almost drowned yourself to try to get back to that place.

Then you fell in love with Spencer, and living with him made you discover what a home truly was. It wasn't where you were from, it was the place you loved to be; the place you felt most comfortable, the most yourself.

Your home was in Spencer's dimension, Spencer's apartment, Spencer's arms, Spencer's everyday gestures, Spencer's smile, Spencer's late night chess games, Spencer's "I love you's," Spencer's raspy morning voice, Spencer's unruly hair, Spencer's hand kisses, Spencer's scrunched nose ticks, Spencer's info-dumps, Spencer's everything.

It was the most improbable circumstance and the one thing you were most thankful for. You got to spend your new life with Spencer.

In the end, Spencer Reid kept his promise; he did help you find your way home. Your way home to him.

[aswallowssong]

Second Child, Restless Child

Chapter 7 - The World Outside Calling Me

@valkyrie-5583​

Read on AO3

Y’all, it happened. We’re finally updating. It would not have happened if @themetaphorgirl​ had talked me off the ledge so thank you Caitlin. Also thanks to my sweet little duckling of a sister, @starstwinkleplanetsshine​, for always reading my drafts, from like, the start of time. OKAY SO

Section Chief Ramos is the least helpful person on the planet, Kit and Hotch have a ridiculously uncomfortable conversation, and Gideon finally confronts nobody's favorite liaison/nurse.

or

In which Kit feels really lost, really sad, and really unsure of her job. 

She would have rather been anywhere else. She would have rather been in Gideon’s office being chewed out for speaking out of turn, or back in the ER during flu season, or facing down an unsub without Morgan.

Anywhere but in front of Section Chief Ramos’s office door, tapping her foot and clenching and unclenching her fingers. She needed to stop messing with the seams on her scrub pants - they were starting to wear - but she didn’t want him to open the door and see her pulling at her hair. She did a good job of masking her quirks and outlets for her pent up energy in the clinic with everything moving at such a rapid pace, but standing in front of the door, waiting for it to open? That was torture. Regardless of the fact that Ramos chose her to represent the clinic, and therefore the health department, as part of the Health Liaison trial run, she knew he didn’t like her very much. 

Ramos didn’t like anyone very much.

He let her stand like that for seven minutes before the door opened. Ramos wasn’t exactly a large man. He had nothing on Hotch, who towered like a giant over her and gave off every vibe you would expect from someone in the FBI. Instead, his entire intimidating demeanor was in his eyes. Eyes that were glaring right at her.

“Nurse Colghain,” he said. There was no hint of kindness about him. “Come in.”

She followed him into the room and sat where he directed. His office was more clinical than Hotch’s, which she guessed made sense considering he was the Health Department/Academy Clinic’s Section Chief, but still. He could use some pictures of the wife he was rumored to have. Instead, he had plaques and other achievements around. Egotistical. Narcissistic. She gave a minute shake of her head to will the thoughts away.

I need to spend less time with the profilers.

“This is your monthly review,” he said, jarring her from her thoughts. She nodded, unsure of what else to do. When he didn’t continue right away she awkwardly nodded again. “Yes, sir.”

“You began the pilot Health and Wellness Liaison position on January tenth. Today’s date is February twenty second. In this meeting we will review position requirements, health meeting reviews, and you will give a report of duties and activities you have been able to complete in this time, as well as any other pertinent information to assess the validity of this pilot position. Do you understand the purpose of this meeting?”

She raised an eyebrow at him, looking down to see a small device with a red light blinking sitting right next to his hand.

Ah.

He was recording it. Ramos was formal, but not that formal. She wondered who would hear what she was about to say.

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“Good. Let’s begin.”

The first part was easy. Just reviewing her position requirements, which she’d long since memorized for both her Head position, and her position at the BAU. Normally they had quarterly reviews, but because of the infancy of her position, Kit had been notified they would be monthly “until further notice.” She assumed that would mean they would be more like a check-in. Shorter.

She was so incredibly mistaken.

After the first part Ramos leaned back in his chair, something shifting in his eyes and the atmosphere in the room. He was smug. As if he’d caught her in a trap. 

“Nurse Colghain,” he said with a little too much confidence. Not Agent Colghain, like Hotch would have said. Nurse. Which, while it was a title she was proud of, he didn’t even call her Head Nurse. Just nurse. One of nearly fifty on staff. Insignificant. Replaceable.

“Please tell me how many Health and Wellness meetings you are required to give a month.”

“Two, sir,” she answered easily. “Every other week, if cases allow, but two a month.”

Ramos nodded, something like mirth cutting across his face. “Then tell me, Nurse Colghain, why have you only held one meeting in nearly six weeks?”

She stared at him for a moment before blinking. “As I said, sir,” she started cautiously. She was being recorded. She would defend herself professionally. “Every other week, if cases allow. As we said before, I’m required to travel for cases related to medical, as well as others, in order to be present for twenty-five percent of out of town cases.”

“And those cases made it impossible for two health meetings to happen over a six week period?”

He was right. She could have made it work, but between Gideon and them going on cases without her, it was hard to find the courage to force the BAU team to sit down and listen to her harp on diet for any length of time. They were busy. She’d seen first hand how their cases wore on them. She’d experienced the wear herself. 

“It wasn’t practical based on the number of cases over the last six weeks to take time away from either reports or research for a meeting about one of the approved health topics.”

“Wasn’t practical?”

“No, sir,” She said, voice becoming quieter and more timid as Ramos’s presence in the room seemed to increase. A hand ran over the outside seam on the leg of her scrubs. It itched to tug gently at her braid, but she didn’t dare. 

He let there be silence for a moment before he leaned forward towards her. His eyes had narrowed. “Twenty-five percent of cases, Nurse Colghain. That leaves seventy-five percent of your time free to plan and execute the required health meetings.”

She shook her head. “Sir, it’s twenty-five percent of out of town cases. My original duties stated I was to be a part of all in town cases.”

He scoffed. “And what percentage of your time would you say is taken up by cases, in general?”

“Thirty seven percent.”

Ramos looked stunned, and Kit gave herself one moment to be glad she’d been listening to Reid the Friday before when he was rattling off percentages for her. She’d asked because she was worried she would be under the twenty five percent minimum, and was pleasantly surprised to learn she was over. 

“That leaves-”

“Plus,” she continued, not letting him get ahead of her, “My team travels on cases without me, too. They were gone another thirty seven percent of the days in the last six weeks, which means that even if I was preparing for a meeting, they weren’t there for me to give it. And we spent three days working on a consultation, which was medical related, and filling out reports for a poisoning case in New Jersey. That’s what, fifteen, sixteen percent? And SSA Hotchner was out one day, which only leaves five-”

“Nurse Colghain,” he warned, “I believe you are far too comfortable. Throwing around percentages as if I am unaware of how you spend your time based on the reports you submit to me.”

She blinked at him for a moment, deflating. The confidence she had spouting numbers withered away under his glare. “But, you- you asked for the percentage.”

“For one. I don’t need a math lesson from a clinic nurse.”

Ouch.

She crossed her arms over her chest, staring down at her knees and staying quiet. She wanted out of Ramos’s office. Back to the clinic where she knew she wouldn’t be questioned. 

“This month, I expect three meetings.”

Her eyes snapped up, jaw falling open. “Sir?”

“Three, Nurse Colghain.”

“But-”

“Full reports and reviews. Understood?”

She stared at him for a moment before nodding her head in submission. She wasn’t going to win an argument with Ramos without getting written up, and it wasn’t worth it to aggravate an already aggressive situation.

“Understood?” He repeated with a little more force, and she found her resolve buckling under his harsh tone.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Let’s talk about the meeting you were able to have.”

Let’s talk about literally anything else. Let’s go back to arguing over correct percentages and health meetings that haven’t happened yet. Let me, I don’t know, punch myself in the face repeatedly instead.

Íosa Críost, Kody. Dramatic much?

“The Health and Wellness meeting regarding sleep, sir?” She asked tentatively. Ramos wrote for a while before he addressed her again, setting his pen down and pulling out seven forms from a manila folder. The review surveys filled out by the BAU team.

“Yes. I have the reviews here, written by the Behavioral Analysis Unit, and I will be honest in telling you that the director was… surprised by the results.”

Her heart sank. Surprised couldn’t be good and with the way she’d slammed the forms onto the table in front of them all and stormed off without a word. It hadn’t quite been a week, and they had gone on a case without her on Sunday afternoon. She hadn’t seen them since the Friday after it had happened.

She’d kept to herself, too, and had chickened out of talking to Gideon, telling herself she had meetings to plan and case reports to finish. Morgan had been the only one to try to talk to her, even offering to go to Gideon with her, but she’d declined, and the only reason she’d spoken to Reid was to get the percentages that Ramos had just ostracized her for.

Her tantrum of sorts was embarrassing at best, and after she worked a whole clinic shift, did a full set with her cúpla at the bar, and slept on it, she wasn’t really ready to face him. Any of them. It had been a relief when she’d shown up to the office and found that they’d flown off to Middle-of-Nowhere, Nebraska, population five dead girls and a terrified town.

Kit sat forward in her chair, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Surprised, sir?”

Ramos nodded, face morphing as he gave off a wave of annoyance. “Yes, pleasantly surprised. It isn’t often that a meeting ends with a positivity rating of one hundred percent.”

Kit’s eyebrows pulled together as her jaw went slack, eyes blinking rapidly as she tried to process what he’d said. One hundred percent positivity rating. How was that possible?

“I don’t understand, sir,” she finally said, “All of them? They were all positive?”

He nodded, though looked as if it truly pained him to do so. “Yes. All seven reviews were positive regarding your content and professionalism. Some more positive than others, of course, but all positive.”

“Even Gideon’s?” She said before she could stop herself, not believing what she was hearing. There was no way that Gideon had given her a positive review. There was no way that anyone had given her a positive review. She’d argued with him. She’d slammed the surveys into the round table and abruptly finished their meeting before stomping out. She had to be missing something. Or, being punked. Did the FBI punk people?

Ramos raised an eyebrow at her. “I cannot show you the reports, as it’s a matter of confidentiality, but yes. SSA Gideon is a part of the BAU team, which would mean that his review survey of your meeting was positive.”

It should have made her feel better. It should have made her feel good to hear that Gideon, who she was sure without a doubt hated her, gave her a positive meeting review. Especially considering the fact that he was the one she had been arguing with before she so ceremoniously took her leave. She should have been settled, and put at peace over it.

It should have made her feel better.

It didn’t.

It pissed her off. 

Lying to fit the mold didn’t seem to be Gideon’s style, and the fact that he’d done it, to her, made her furious.

“Are we done here?” She spouted without thinking. She suddenly felt like she was vibrating, and she needed out of Ramos’s clinical office and the uncomfortable chair she was sitting in. 

He sighed, setting down the review surveys and folding his hands on top of them.

“I have one last thing.”

She shifted in the chair, but stayed quiet. The longer she was quiet and listened, the faster she could probably leave. Anger pulsed through her chest, and she knew exactly where it was going once she was done listening to whatever annoying thing Ramos wanted to finish with.

“Before, you said my team in reference to the BAU.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Yes, sir.”

“They are not your team. You are not a part of their team.”

She watched as his eyes went hard, his voice slow and simple as if he was explaining something to a child. Some of the ice that had hardened over her heart started to melt, her anger ebbing slightly as her chest started to swim in the melting slurry. 

“I’m sorry?” She asked.

“You are not a part of their team. You are a part of the health department. The clinic staff.”

“But,” she started, “Hotch said-”

“SSA Hotchner is your point of contact for the BAU. He isn’t your supervisor. I am. You report to me. And you, Nurse Colghain, are separate. A liaison. A connecting point. Not a part of the disorganized, ridiculous mess the Behavioral Analysis Unit has become.”

“The BAU is full of incredibly talented people.”

Morgan. Elle. Hotch. Reid.

She’d seen them work first hand, many times in her six weeks with them, and she was always confused as to why people didn’t seem to understand the magnificence of what they did. She could read people’s emotions, sure, and very well. She’d give herself that. But what they did? What each one of them did? It impressed her to no end. Even Gideon, when he wasn’t pissing her off, was an incredible profiler to watch.

“The BAU worries about finding maniacs,” Ramos said dismissively. “You worry about keeping people alive.”

She shook her head, sitting straight up in her chair. “Profiling keeps people alive.”

Ramos shrugged, clicking off the recorder before looking her dead in the eyes. “And you are not a profiler, Nurse Colghain. You are a nurse. Right now, you’re splitting two positions, and not doing one incredibly well. A questionable liaison. Arguably, a decent nurse.”

Questionable. Arguably decent.

“They are a team,” he continued. “You are a clinic nurse, and you will never be more than that. Do I make myself clear?”

Kit let her eyes hold his for a moment. Every bit of her icy anger had melted, leaving her feeling upset, and sloshy, and confused. Hotch assured her all the time that she was a part of their team, but Ramos was her supervisor. He was in charge of her position, and he told her she wasn’t a part of the BAU team. She never would be. She didn’t belong.

She didn’t feel like she belonged in the clinic anymore, either. Between only being there three days a week, once on the weekend when she’d never worked that rotation before, and the traveling for cases that sometimes took more than one day, she had lost some of the “home” feeling she associated with the clinic and her nurses.

I don’t belong much of anywhere.

“Yes, sir.”

She finished her clinic shift quietly. That wasn’t necessarily unusual. Unlike the last six weeks in the BAU, the clinic was never something new. Always something different, but never anything that was surprising or particularly stressful. She could spend days upon days quietly directing with very few words, saving the most gentle and caring ones for younger academy cadets that were very far away from home and either sick or broken. Something about nursing softened her. It always had.

The BAU did the opposite. Somehow, in only six weeks, it had brought a part of her out that she hadn’t known for a long time. The part that smoked cigarettes under the bleachers during study hall and complained loud and long about music lessons and stepdance, though she secretly loved both. That wore dark lipstick so she wouldn’t look just like Monty. Who had more detentions than both her cúpla, though both Ari and Monty had their fair share. 

The BAU brought out the part of her that argued. That fidgeted and got frustrated and stood up for herself. The part of her that was confident. The part of her that was trouble.

While her rebellious nature had taken time to soften all those years ago, Ramos had stripped her of its reprise in an hour's time. She stood for far too long after her shift was over, staring at the outside of the locker she shared with Monty. She’d dodged her twin by hiding in the bathroom until five o’clock had come and gone. The chipped paint of their shared space was partially covered by the plastic name plate that sat in the top middle, reading, “D. Colghain / M. Colghain.” 

They’d requested to share a locker, and now three days a week, it was empty when Monty came. They didn’t get to meet in the break room and exchange quips back and forth before Monty had to work, and Kit had to go home without having seen her other half, the fire to her ice, before she figured out something for Ari and her to eat, plunging into sleep before he could ask her about the things she saw with the BAU.

So, after her meeting with Ramos, and the rest of her shift, Kit had been sure to clear out long before Monty was there. She didn’t want to talk to Monty, because Monty didn’t get it. No one really could. She was in a strange position that not one person had been in before, and all Monty would do was remind her that the clinic was her home, like Ramos had, even though the clinic didn’t feel entirely like home anymore.

She didn’t belong at the BAU. She never would. Ramos made it very clear she wasn’t supposed to let herself.

What the hell am I doing? What am I supposed to do? 

You could talk to Hotch, Kody. He has kind eyes. He’s nothing like Ramos.

Ramos’s words echoed in her ears.

SSA Hotchner is your point of contact for the BAU. He isn’t your supervisor. I am. You report to me. And you, Nurse Colghain, are separate.

“What the hell am I going to do?” she mumbled in her mother tongue, staring at the locker a few minutes longer before she started for the metro station.

-----

Kit stood outside the glass doors the next morning earlier than she normally would. Instead of the anger she felt the day before in Ramos’s office, anxiety lived in her chest. She’d popped her fingers so many times the night before that they were sore, and she was thankful it was still February so she could wear a thick sweater that covered the red marks she’d scratched into her forearms. She hadn’t realized she’d been doing it, and while it hadn’t gone on enough to draw blood, they’d stung in the shower and looked much more angry than they felt. She usually pushed up the sleeves of her sweaters and cardigans, because she hated the way the cuffs felt around her wrists, but she had already mentally prepared herself to leave them down and deal with the annoyance all day.

Time passed faster than she thought it would, and when she was grabbed gently by the shoulder she jolted, turning and shifting into a defensive position without having to think. It didn’t reach her that she was fairly unlikely to be attacked on the sixth floor of their FBI building, but Hotch was clearly unphased by her reaction, hands up in front of him to signal his intent.

“Sorry, I called your name twice,” he said evenly. “I could tell you weren’t quite grounded.”

She took a breath before relaxing, hands coming not down to her sides, but to settle on top of her backpack straps. Her hands clutched tightly around them, and she took another breath before saying, “I um. I wasn’t. Thanks.”

Hotch nodded, picking up his briefcase from the ground and nodding towards the double doors she had just been staring at. She followed behind him as he walked through the door. “How was your meeting with Ramos?” He asked, clearly attempting to be casual. While it should have made her feel good, and included, it just made the weight that had been vibrating around her chest settle deeper.

You aren’t included, Kody. You’re separate.

“It was informative.” 

“Anything I need to know?” he asked as they walked. The casual, conversational tone of his voice sounded less forced than before, and it made her chest feel tighter and tighter as their steps synced. Six weeks didn’t seem like a long time, but she felt like she’d been splitting with the BAU a lot longer. 

She needed to force that all down and away.

“No, Agent Hotchner. Though, I will be required to give three talks by the end of March. We were short last month, and Section Chief Ramos made it very clear that it’s unacceptable.”

Hotch stopped short, turning and raising an eyebrow at her. She didn’t call him Agent Hotchner, she hadn’t in six weeks. The confusion and concern coming off of him set the weight in her chest even deeper, and she worried at her lip between her bottom teeth as she waited for him to affirm her request.

“Of course,” he finally said, “Though that should be on me. It was a busy month, but I should have made time.”

“No, Chief Ramos made it very clear that it’s my responsibility. I’d like to do one this week, if possible. Friday, if your team isn’t on a case.”

Hotch looked at her with searching eyes, and she could tell he was profiling her. She didn’t need to ask, she knew the look by then. They all had one, and this was Hotch’s.

There’s no inter-team profiling. Even he agrees with Ramos.

“Is there something bothering you, Colghain?” He asked finally, both of them stopped in their tracks. “Something Ramos said?”

She shook her head quickly. If she said something, she would probably get in trouble. She reported to Ramos, not Hotch, and it was clear she was on thin ice.

“No, sir. I just want to do my job well.”

“Is it Gideon?” He continued, dropping his voice though there was no one else in the bullpen. It was too early. “I spoke with him about the meeting last week. He said he would talk to you once we got back, but if you need me to-”

“No,” she said quickly. There was more force behind her words than she intended, and she watched as Hotch shifted from offensive, to defensive. “No, thank you,” she tried again, softening both her tongue and her body language. “It’s nothing. Really.”

“If Ramos made you uncomfortable-”

“Stop.”

Kit shook her head too quickly at him, watching the miniscule shift in his face. He’d flooded the space around them with a level of concern she couldn’t handle. She couldn’t have him care about her.

He shouldn’t care about her. She wasn’t one of his to worry about.

She fiddled with her fingers, letting her hands tug at her sleeves, but not push them up. “Listen, Agent Hotchner, I appreciate your assurance that I’m a part of this team, but I’d like you to stop telling me that.”

His eyebrows came together, eyes softening. “Kit, you are a member of my team.”

“But I’m not. I’m a liaison from the health department.” 

He shrugged at her, shaking his head and gesturing towards JJ’s empty office. “JJ is a liaison from the communications department.”

Kit shook her head, giving a sad smile and waving him off. “It’s different.”

She didn't want to tell him about Ramos. It would be like tattling, and they were FBI agents, not kindergarteners. As far as she knew, Hotch was JJ’s supervisor. She was a part of them. Kit was separate.

“I don’t see how it’s different,” he said, “but if you really feel that way, know that it isn’t on our end. By isolating yourself, you’re creating a barrier.”

“I thought we didn’t profile one another,” she said, feeling annoyance start to dance inside her chest. He didn’t understand. He didn’t know what Ramos had said.

What if Ramos is full of shit?

What if Hotch is full of shit?

He simply raised an eyebrow. 

“The rule is on inter-team profiling. Did you not just say you weren’t a part of my team?”

She stared him straight in the eyes for a moment. The air around him had settled into the feeling she probably hated most of all.

Pity.

She latched her hands to the backpack straps over her shoulders to keep herself from pulling down hard on her twin braids.

“I need to prepare for the health meeting on Friday. We’ll do one in the afternoon. I’ll see you at the morning briefing.”

She turned away from him and walked to her desk without letting him respond to her, and she knew it was petty, but she didn’t need Hotch’s pity. She didn’t need anyone’s pity.

She could do grief, and anger, and fear all day. She could handle trauma, and regret, and incredible sadness. Illness. Confusion and skepticism.

She hated pity.

She didn't need anyone to pity her. The middle child of nine. The rebel. The decent nurse. 

Trouble.

She didn't need it. Not from Hotch.

And she didn't need him to see the tears of frustration and self loathing pooling on her lashline.

She’d clearly gotten too big for her britches, and Ramos had helped bring her back down to earth. She wasn’t a stiff. She was a nurse. That’s all she’d ever be.

-----

“Colghain.”

Kit looked up from the papers in front of her to Gideon’s even voice. He was looking at her with the same intensity he always wore, beckoning at her with one of his hands before walking back into his office without another word.

She raised an eyebrow, significant anxiety flooding into her chest. She didn’t want to deal with it. She’d already had a conversation with Hotch that she didn’t want to have. She’d had a conversation with Ramos the day before that left her upset and self-loathing and desperate to feel like she belonged somewhere she most certainly did not belong, and never could, and never would.

And, Kit had avoided having a conversation with Gideon at every turn. She’d perfected it, as far as she was concerned. Hotch had tried to make them talk, and they’d either argued, or she’d avoided it completely. She didn’t want to have an actual conversation with Gideon. She hated Gideon. He hated her. 

Why would he ever want to actually confront the issue?

“You better go, Lep,” Morgan said casually, flipping through a file. He looked exhausted. They all did.

“I don’t want to talk to him.”

“What happened to the girl that was like, ‘oh yeah, I’ll talk to him tomorrow,’ like, a week ago? Scared?” He teased, swapping his voice to a higher pitch in an imitation of her.

Despite the frustration she’d found with Hotch that morning, and the dread that flooded through her at the realization that she shouldn’t be getting close to anyone on the BAU team, she found herself smiling and rolling her eyes at the man in front of her. Morgan was different. He’d said it himself that they were friends, and Kit didn’t think that meant just at work. After all, they trained together on mornings she worked her clinic shifts, too.

“Oh, belt it, Morgan. I saw that you didn’t get a flu shot this year, are you scared of something? Needles?”

She’d been waiting on that one, but he just chuckled and shook his head. “No, that’s pretty ricky over there. I don’t need a flu shot. Immune system of a champion.”

Kit had to bite her tongue in order to keep from calling him “Antibiotics Guy” out loud, settling for rolling her own eyes and standing up from her chair. 

“Sure, Morgan. We’ll see. Will you back me up if you hear screaming?” She asked, the nervous energy never leaving her as she stood to face the music. Maybe they’d fight and she’d get fired. It would sure make being a part of just the clinic an easier feat. 

She’d never worried about getting fired this often in her life, even when she was nineteen years old and working trauma in the ER. It surprised her how calmly she considered it as her weeks with the BAU added up.

He chuckled and nodded at her, turning back to his file and speaking with his eyes on the page in front of him. “Sure thing. Hey, can I have your desk space if he roasts you to a fine crisp? I like to spread out.”

“Oh, múchadh, Der.”

“I don’t know what that means!” He taunted, but she didn’t turn back around. She was already steeling herself for battle.

Gideon was sitting at his desk, glasses on, and didn’t look up when she entered his office. She stood there for a moment before she knocked on the door frame.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yeah, sit down,” he mumbled, scribbling something in his notebook.

As bad as she wanted to tell him no, she would definitely not sit down, she could hear Hotch’s voice echoing in her mind.

I spoke with him about the meeting last week. He said he would talk to you once we got back.

The BAU team was back, and now, she needed to sit and listen to whatever it was that Gideon had to say.

You’re just a nurse after all. You should be the one apologizing.

“Gideon-”

“Colghain, I’m going to be honest, I don’t like that you’re here.”

Wow.

“Okay?” she said, dejected confusion on her tongue. Gideon wasn’t oozing annoyance or frustration like he usually was, but she couldn’t read him. He was almost apathetic. He wasn't even looking at her.

“The bureau forcing a new position like this says that they don’t trust units to manage themselves.”

Kit thought about that for a moment. She’d heard that from Morgan, and she understood why he would feel that way. He was a senior agent. He’d come back into the field after being on medical leave. She’d actually been one of the nurses that had read over his file before they would clear him to go back to work. Gideon had been in the BAU since its conception, and it made sense that he didn't like change.

"What about JJ?"

"Pardon?"

He looked up then, the tendrils of his confusion tugging at her skin.

Kit kept her train of thought. "JJ came from the communications department. She was a new position at some point, but you seem to get along with her just fine. You trust her."

"JJ isn't interested in anything but her position," he said simply. "And she’s proven that she does it very well."

"I'm not interested in anything but my position, either," she said. She felt like she was gaining some footing. “And, as of the last six weeks, I feel like I’ve shown that I can do my position well. Or at least, I can when I’m being allowed to do it.”

“Your position as a babysitter?”

“My position as an expert in my field.”

Their eyes were locked now; Gideon’s unwavering, Kit’s challenging. 

“My job is to keep the team healthy, inform you all about healthful practices, go on takedowns, and give my input on cases that need it.”

“Reid knows anything your input could give us.”

“Not when he’s running a fever and trying to think straight while masking from you all.”

Gideon’s face shifted for a fraction of a second, but the concern that flooded the room told her she had the upper hand.

Good, asshole.

“Which you didn’t know, did you? In New Jersey. Not only was I reading tox screens and dealing with pushback at every turn, from you, on a case that was medically mine. I was also managing the symptoms of your protégé, who if you hadn’t noticed, has the constitution of a wet piece of cardboard.”

Gideon was on the defensive now, standing up from his chair. “We had an unsub to worry about. Reid can take care of himself.”

Kit stood from her seat to match him. She didn’t report to Gideon. She wasn’t on his team. He was on Hotch’s, and as far as she was concerned, she didn’t have to give in to him. They weren’t on the same team at all.

“And while on that case, regardless of you trying to step in and do my job regarding Hill, I still managed to take care of Reid, give valuable information about botulism and rohypnol, and get our foot in the door at the hospital.”

Gideon didn’t respond for a moment, and while it probably wasn’t a good idea, Kit kept going.

“And, just so you know, I don’t appreciate you lying for me on official documents. I’m a professional, and I’m damn good at my job.” All the things she’d talked to Morgan about were flooding back.

You just told me, so tell him.

That’s what he’d said.

Maybe she would.

She laughed once. “I’m good at my job. I proved it to the Health Department. My siblings and I are the youngest Head Nurses the clinic’s ever seen. We were the youngest in the history of the hospital we were at before that. Hell, the Director sees my files directly, and was on the team that selected me for this position. Me, not either of my cúpla.”

She watched him for a moment before she added, venom on her tongue, “I’ve proved myself again and again. I don’t have to prove it anymore. Not to you.”

“I didn’t lie,” was all he said, though his apathy had melted. There was something else there. Something she couldn’t place.

“What?”

“I didn’t lie on any official documents. Never have.”

She blinked at him for a moment. 

The survey, you idiot.

“You gave me a positive review of my health meeting. The one you very specifically stopped before I was done to tell me I was wrong, and then argued with Hotch that I was wasting your time.”

He shrugged, pacing to the window and peering into the February air. “My personal feelings about the necessity, or existence, of your health meeting on sleep don’t change my opinion of your delivery. During the meeting, until I interrupted and jibbed, you were incredibly knowledgeable and professional. You were concise.” He shrugged again. “It was the best delivered health meeting I’ve been a part of during my time with the bureau.”

She stared at him for a moment, face working through a plethora of emotions before she settled on annoyance. “Then why in the hell,” she started, “would you have interrupted me?”

“Principle,” he said simply. “Understand, Colghain, I have an issue with your position. I also have an issue with the fact that you profile as a reformed rebel, and the sort of restless trouble that lies behind your eyes tells me you never really left it in your past. You’ve repressed it. You’ve buried it. You mask it in the clinic, and you’ve tried, unsuccessfully, to mask it around this team.” 

What the hell sort of inter-team profiling is that?

You’re not on his team. You aren’t on the same team at all.

“As a person,” he said finally, sitting down in his chair, “I don’t mind you. Elle is a rebel in her own right, and I think it helps her in this job. As a position, yours is one I don’t care for, and don’t anticipate lasting very long. Hotch would like us to get along better, which I’m not opposed to. If you stay out of the way of the profilers, I have no issue with you being here. As a member of the team, I worry that you’re in over your head. Mind your temper.”

“I’m not a member of the team,” she said automatically, though she didn’t sit to match him. “I’m separate.”

“Even better,” he agreed, picking back up his notebook and gesturing towards the door. “That’s it. You can go.”

Is he… dismissing me?

The likeness to her high school principal ignited in her chest like heartburn, and shook her head. “If you stay out of the way of my duties and contributions, I have no issue with you, either.” 

She stood for a few seconds before turning towards the door. 

“And Colghain?” She turned to face him, but his eyes weren’t on her anymore. Almost like they never were. “Yes?”

“Be nice to Reid. He cares about what others think more than he’d let on.”

Kit stood and blinked at him for a moment before she found herself rolling her eyes. “I thought Reid could take care of himself.”

Gideon scoffed before shaking his head, dismissing her again as he mumbled under his breath. “Trouble.”

“Jaded,” she said simply, striding out the door without another look back.

Did that help? Did that even help at all?

Of course it did, Kody. There was an agreement in there somewhere. Stay out of each other’s way, and everything will be fine. Hotch will be happy to hear it.

Kit walked quickly back to her desk, sliding into her seat and placing her head in her hands. She wished the day was over, but it was barely two, and she needed the next three hours to prepare her meeting for Friday. Two days to prepare wasn’t optimal, and she wondered if she’d need to stay late at her desk. They were supposed to play another set the next night, and she didn’t want to cancel on her cúpla like she had for five straight weeks after starting her position.

“Are you okay?”

She considered leaving her face in her hands and pretending she didn’t hear him, but Gideon’s words, to her great distaste, rang in her ears.

Be nice to Reid. He cares about what others think more than he’d let on.

She sighed and sat up, directing her eyes to the sheepish looking doctor to her right and nodding. “Yeah, I’m okay,” she said. Morgan had disappeared, which she didn’t notice at first, and Elle was nowhere to be found.

“Did you talk with Gideon?”

“Yeah.”

“Was it… good?”

Kit watched his body position shift as his discomfort increased.

He probably thinks you’re going to snap at him, or tell him it’s none of his business. Good job, Kody. Great. You’ve given him anxiety.

She nodded, giving him a small smile. “I guess it was,” she decided. She wasn’t sure, but that’s where she settled. “Thanks for asking.”

“Yeah. Yeah, um, sure. I just know that things have been weird and that you don’t really get along, but I told him that you know a lot of things and you’ve got a lot to add to the team. Actually-” He stopped himself suddenly, eyes lowering and hands fidgeting before he shook his head. “Sorry. I was rambling, I’m sure you have things to do.”

She watched him for a moment before she found herself shaking her head. Reid, she was learning, was largely harmless. Plus, she could use his overflowing memory to her advantage.

“Actually, how much paperwork do you have to do? I could use some help with something.”

He looked back up at her and took a second before grinning. “Oh, my paperwork is done.”

“Great,” she said, settling back into her seat and picking up her pen. “What can you tell me about physical activity in adults between the ages of twenty and sixty?”

His grin shifted into a full smile. “Tons.”

“Perfect,” she said, leaning towards him to show she was engaged and ready. “Tell me everything.”

[heamaybe]

July 2020

The Alpha’s Warlock by Eliot Grayson: I started this book because the synopsis had a Sterek vibe and honestly it ended up being funny and cute. The end battle was not cute and the ending felt a bit rushed but considering I had no expectations beyond lol sounds like Sterek, this was better than I thought.

A Wizard of Earthsea by Ursula K. Leguin: My understanding of the story is that a wizard was on a journey and met a lot of people. I think there were a couple fights but mostly they just talked. There was a dragon. I’m not sure what the point was because I was listening to this on audiobook and the voice of the reader was so calming and deep I kept dropping out of the story and just listened to the voice.

Rough Canvas by Joey W. Hill: Oh boy did this piss me off. I’ve calmed some since, but I still wish I had never started this book. On top of all my smaller annoyances I think the biggest reason I hated this so much was the other main character’s relationship with his family. And this is not an isolated situation with only this book, this is a thing that will make me hate a book so fast if it’s not properly handled. Basically, the family took him for granted and I would call the mother abusive with the way she treated him. And he felt like he had a duty to them, that he needed to give up everything to take care of them and forgive all the shit they did. And I am not here for that. I do not believe in unconditional family love, if they treat you like shit, cut them out of your life. 

Boyfriend Material by Alexis Hall: After that rant, I forgave this book so much because this could have done that and it didn’t. I thought the main character was a bit of an asshole to be honest, but maybe because he was like that, he actually cut ties with shitty family. I wasn’t a huge fan of any of the characters but the story had it’s moments. I don’t remember much so I wouldn’t call this memorable except for that first point because it seems to be too rare and I need more of that.

Heated Rivalry by Rachel Reid: What even happened in this? It was cute but less cheesy than the first book in this series. I don’t actually think there was all that much plot, just big hockey stars fucking, I guess they fell in love since it is a romance book. I may have a thing for sports stars falling in love...

Hat Trick by Eden Finley: ...since this kind of continues that trend too. Though this had the problem of the other party being a rock star and that’s such a meh for me. I didn’t really care for him in the previous books in the series and this didn’t make me care either. However, it’s totally a me thing so I can’t call this book bad based on it, especially when I’ve liked the previous ones and this isn’t any worse, it’s just the musician thing. Also the endings for these books are so cheesy. I use that word too much I’m sorry, I don’t have a better one in English.

The Deep by Rivers Solomon: The concept of this is super interesting and I liked the book a lot. It’s a pretty short book and I’m kinda glad it is because the subject was a lot heavier than what I normally read and I’m not sure I could have given it the level of focus it required and deserved all through if it had been longer. 

The Old Guard by Greg Rucka: This was ok. I mean I like the concept and the story but the art isn’t my favorite. I kind of preferred the movie version, the story was mostly the same with a couple changes and there was Charlize Theron.

Haltiain verta (The Witcher: Blood of Elves, Finnish translation) by Andrzej Sapkowski: Ok here we go. I liked this surprisingly much. I wasn’t sure what to expect after the two short story collections. This doesn’t have that much plot to be honest, there are people plotting a war and Ciri training. The thing is, I really like the female characters and their scenes make the book so much better, as they did in the previous ones. I especially like Triss and Yen is awesome too. I kinda really dislike Jaskier a lot, to the point I have trouble understanding why he got so popular after the Netflix show even though I KNOW his character in the show is very different, for a good reason.

Not Your Villain by C.B. Lee: Yeah so, here’s the thing: I really do not care about teenage love trouble. I appreciate the diversity and it was great for parents to be present in a YA book and I’m sure if I was 15+ years younger I would have liked this a lot. The plot is just very basic for someone who has been reading superhero stories for over 10 years and while the parents were there, it kind of killed the purpose when the kids decided the adults weren’t doing enough and that as true teenagers they obviously know better.

Someday Someday by Emma Scott: Back to the forgiving abusive family thing I hate but level it up a bit. It took me ages to finish this and I was so close to not finishing at all, but I have yet to learn how to give up on any book no matter how much I hate it. It’s a problem. At least I liked the main couple fine enough. This could have been a very cute hurt/comfort story, but it was a bit too heavy on the hurt for me. I guess someone who likes angsty stories and can overlook the family thing would like this.

Silver in the Wood by Emily Tesh: This was lovely. The concept was lovely. The story was lovely. It was a bit weird and super short so I was a bit lost a couple of times about what was real and what was happening, but I didn’t feel like it in anyway ruined the story for me. I don’t mind being a bit lost. As I’m writing this I’ve also read the sequel and it cleared up a couple questions I was left with too.