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mrs-weasley-reid · 2 days

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and this love came back to me

Aaron Hotchner x (former) bau!reader

Summary: A friend's death brings you back to the loving arms of the BAU family. And like a high tide, it also brought back old feelings that Aaron finds difficult to control.

Warning: fluff! cursing, mentions of death, divorce, miscarriage (tell me if I forgot something)

A/N: this can be read as a stand alone but is a part 2 for you're too sweet for me. it's loosely inspired by This Love (Taylor's Version)

— ✦ — ✦ ✦ — ✦ ✦ ✦

The sight of you is like a dream.

Aaron thinks it might've been the haze of loss and woe that was making him see things, but it isn't. His breath hitched audibly. The sound causes David and Spencer to turn to Aaron, following his line of sight to where you stand at the front door.

As your eyes roam in the crowd of people clad in black, Aaron is the first you see. Your eyes are rimming with red heat and overflowing with tears. Your feet race to Aaron, snatching him into a tight hug like the calvary was out to get you, and he is your only lifeline. "Hotch..." Your voice cracks upon his name as you bury your face on his chest, soaking the fabric of his dress shirt like it hadn't been more than a decade since you saw him last.

Shock fills Aaron's chest, but his hands still remember your frame in his arms so well they wrap themselves around your waist like second nature. Lavender and chamomile. You smell just as he remembers. A mixture of solace and gaiety. Your sniffles sound the same. So distinct that his ears itch.

His mind questions whether seventeen years of his life were all a dream and he'd just woken up. Your embrace feels like a day has never gone by, and you two are young and stupid again. Okay, maybe not stupid. You were never stupid. Not a day in your life were you ever stupid. Aaron insists on the thought.

Right then, Aaron decides that you are real because no one else in his life has ever grabbed him into a bone-crushing hug the way you do. Arms wrapped around his neck like vines. Toes pointed at the earth so you could reach his insane height. He can only think of one other person who'd do that: Jack. But the boy could barely wrap his arms around Aaron's legs at the moment, so it was definitely you.

He closes his eyes, and tears quickly trickle down his face like he's been holding it in. He was. He is under the impression that with all the tearful sobs his team has wept, he should at least swallow his. As usual, he wanted to be a strong foundation for the others. A shoulder they can cry on. So, Aaron forbade himself to cry. At least not in front of everyone.

But then your hold is so tight the heartache finally explodes. You roll in with the reminder that he is permitted to cry, too. To feel the sorrow. To crumble like everyone else in the room.

"I came as soon as I heard," You muffle in his shirt, pulling away to wipe your bottomless tears with the back of your hand.

It takes all of Aaron not to hold you back when your body leaves his cold and empty. Your peripheral had caught David's familiar figure, prompting an automatic brain response to capture him into a hug.

Aaron watches as you exit out of David's embrace, forty-five seconds shorter than his. He doesn't let himself think too hard of it. Afraid that he is to get his hopes up for nothing.

David pats your back, "Glad to see you, kid."

There it is.

Your smile.

A smile so bright it blurs out your chapped lips and runny makeup, "I missed you."

Aaron swears he would've fainted if you'd said that to the Aaron Hotchner from seventeen years ago. The one who can't even pluck up the courage to tell you his feelings. As if he's got the prowess to do it now. As if he hasn't been feeling like a schoolgirl, giddy with any kind of affection you offer him in the past three minutes.

For a moment, Aaron let himself indulge in the delusion that you came for him and only him. His bubble burst into a sharp pop in an instant, though. Because then your eyes shift away from him, "I missed everyone." You reiterate with much clearer keywords.

A tug aches Aaron's chest. How can he forget? You are kind to everyone. You are a safe space for everyone. A light for everyone. So, as special as your embrace was for him, it was a normal thing for you.

Then the realization hits him. He was at a funeral, for Pete's sake. He beats himself up mentally. For letting his unrequited feelings for you go rogue like wild animals, hysterical.

Focus, Aaron. He scolds himself.

Your effect on him is still as rabid as ever. He hates it a bit. Blames your perfection in his eyes. Blames himself for still harboring feelings that should've withered years ago. How the love glowed in the darkest depths of his chest as soon as you'd said his name. How a glimpse of you revived every piece of shattered heart. How the high tide of your arrival brought in waves and waves of his feelings back. He claims you are being unfair. Considering the fact that you are oblivious and at no fault.

A cough cuts the reunion short.

Aaron's thoughts dissipate like a fog blown by a violent wind. He mentally thanks the person for bringing him back to reality.

The three of you turn to Derek Morgan. You don't know the man, but you offer him a soft smile—one with your lips closed but curvy enough to be friendly or display an apology—in hopes that he doesn't form the wrong impression of you.

Other faces come into view. Now you wonder who they might be and what special place they hold in Jason Gideon's loving memory. Was he a mentor, a boss, a friend, or a family? Because your senses have never let you down, feeling the capacity of their mourning through their sullen faces and glossy eyes.

Then again, it has been years since you stepped foot on American soil. You aren't sure how many people Jason Gideon made acquaintance with. Maybe you were smiling too widely that it offended people. It's his funeral after all.

Aaron doesn't let your thoughts wander too far, clearing his throat. As if he sensed your insecurities rattle in the pit of your stomach. If you were flushed by it, your puffy face hid it well. He stands between you and the group of people who watched him in detail.

"Everyone, I'd like you to meet an important vessel of the behavioral analysis unit..." Aaron introduces you with great renown. He says your first name with an undertone the team picks up but doesn't mention. "We worked on many cases together when the unit was too small to focus on one case at a time." He turns his entire body to face you. A hand makes its way to the lower of your back as if to tell you that the strangers are safe enough to be in close proximity with. "These are agents Derek Morgan, Jennifer Jareau, Kate Callahan, Dr. Spencer Reid, and tech analyst Penelope Garcia. The A team." He beams with pride like he'd just shown you his golden medals.

Your jaw drops, hands landing over your chest as a soft gasp escapes you. You look between Aaron and David to confirm, earning two series of nods. "This is the team? Like a team, team?" You can't help but tear up from the utter joy that rushed through your veins.

The said team found you overdramatic. They exchange looks between them. A silent conversation, judging whether they should let their eccentric impression of you stick or give you another chance to redeem yourself. They guessed that the death of a friend may have contributed to your screwy image.

Still, a woman with a kind smile and breathtaking beauty doesn't hesitate to approach you. "You can call me JJ," She starts and offers her hand. You shake it firmly like she's about to interview you for a job. "I used to work with Gideon as a liaison. I never imagined that I'd be one of the profilers who'd solve his case." An awkward smile laces atop her lips, also shock with the randomness of her last words.

Wonderment masked your face. The fact you were supposedly at a funeral was forgotten momentarily. You glance at David with twinkling eyes. "A liaison?" You squeal in a whisper.

"Wait until Penelope Garcia shakes your hand," David whispers back as he leans close to you.

You follow his subtle gaze at the other blonde woman across. Technical Analyst. You remind yourself. An amused scoff bounces off your throat.

Aaron chuckles and hands you a square cloth, "A lot has changed since you left. We have a floor to ourselves now." He is unaware of the team's watchful eyes, taking notes of his every motion next to you.

"Oh, I'm sorry," You take his handkerchief and blot your weepy face. "I must look crazy." A bright giggle roars out of you. "It's just... There were only four of us as a unit, and we had to share our workspace with other units. Cases took a lot more time to solve back in the day."

"How long?" Penelope curiously asks, as if it is the most important detail she has yet to hear. She is a sunshine. It takes one to know one. You swear she's glowing despite the dry mascara stain on her face from all the tears early on the day.

"Too long," You shake your head, trailing off as your face flashes a dreadful expression. "I'm just glad all of you were there to solve Jason's case. I really wanted to help, but I had important matters to take care of." You vaguely share. Your mind quickly shoves the thoughts that you deem irrelevant to the moment.

"You knew Gideon?" The tall boy with unruly hair asks with sorrowful eyes. Dr. Spencer Reid. He had a frown on his face.

"You're not the first genius Jason picked up," David quips, causing a chuckle to most except the young doctor.

Spencer throws his gaze somewhere else. He has been impacted by Jason's death more than anyone else on the team. The tear stains on his face had yet to fade. So, joking about Jason still made his heart ache.

You glance at Aaron, asking him all the questions in your head without letting it slip out of your mouth. Your connection never broke. He could hear your questions loud and clear just by meeting your eyes, and it felt euphoric. Still, he concentrates on your airy curiosity, nodding once.

Just like that, your attention drew to Spencer, "He used to beat me in chess." You state at random, making the group quiet.

Spencer offers you a tight-lipped, wistful smile, "Me too."

You walk closer to him with a soft smile and a "has he ever given you tickets?" The two of you took off to another part of the room, chatting, cheering him up just a bit.

Somehow, the small interaction between you and Spencer made Aaron explode in happiness. He doesn't know why exactly, but it felt fatherly. He wasn't too far older than Spencer, but he'd watched him grow into a great profiler. He knew Spencer like the back of his hand, even if bits of Spencer's life were swept under his palm. So, he knew that it wasn't easy for Spencer to be generously welcoming, especially when someone important to his life just died. And when you knew exactly what to say, understood what Aaron's nod meant, it made his heart swollen. You bonded with Spencer in mere seconds as if you were the one to give him life. Aaron adored it. He couldn't explain the reason, but he hoped that Spencer could find refuge with you.

The day wheels into the night. Fewer and fewer people scatter around Stephen Gideon's residence. You find yourself standing by the terrace with David and Aaron, reminiscing the old days, coddling a glass of whiskey.

Aaron is stunned by your choice of alcohol. He remembers you preferring a much sweeter drink.

"I've always liked whiskey," You correct him gently. A laugh forced its way out against the neat liquid sliding down your throat.

"That sounds wrong," Aaron chuckles, "I swear you even hated it with a passion."

You give him a weird look with a subtle grin, "You must be thinking of someone else because Jason and I like the same exact brand of whiskey. You're getting old, Hotchner." You tease, hiding the butterflies in your stomach.

Aaron's eyes widen as he points an accusatory finger at you, "Jason introduced me to whiskey! You're definitely lying!"

"Well, duh!" You roll your eyes, "It's Jason. He's practically our father." You state, straightening your back as you lean against the railing. The wind whips across your face.

"So, what? I was just a fly on the wall? I'm starting to regret calling you back home." David interjects, spreading his arms as he furrows his brows. He caters to his own glass in the comfort of a chair.

"You're mother bird. Everybody knows that," You grin. The urge to cry has finally stopped. Though, you suspect it was the jet lag and hunger from the ghastly flight.

The three of you fell into fits of laughter. Well, just you. Aaron and David only had wide grins on their faces. After all these years, they still refused to laugh loudly. You didn't mind it, though. Because you felt at home.

Aaron nudges your shoulder, "How'd you get here so fast? If I'm not mistaken, the flight from Paris to Virginia is at least nine hours long." He tries to sound casual, like he hadn't looked up the distance long ago and that, for some reason, he kept the knowledge tucked in one of the wrinkles in his brain.

A smug grin made its way to your face, "Does the BAU have a jet?" You brag, sipping your glass empty as you raise your chin with pride.

"You'd be surprised," David takes the liberty to respond, shaking his head while his brows raise in disbelief. A ring brings his attention to his phone on the table but continues to finish his thoughts out loud. "The team's filled with young people now, and suddenly, I'm ancient history. Hold on, you two. I need to take this." And he slips back inside the house to find a quieter space.

You and Aaron exchange looks.

A smile slowly lifted the ends of his lips. It was a handsome sight.

It felt like time had stopped.

You break from his gaze, "So? How's everything? How long has it been? Like, thirteen—"

"Seventeen," Aaron cuts you off, nonchalantly drowning his throat with liquor.

You blink, "That long?" He nods at the air. "Damn, Hotch. You're making me feel old." You nudge his side, though you barely caused any impact. Your brows are drawn as if you aren't certain whether to take it lightly or feel slightly offended.

He rolls his eyes. Had his team know how much of his expressive side had the habit of showing every time he was with you, they'd start a riot.

"You didn't age a day. You still look young." You still look beautiful.

"Flattery won't get you access to the French database, Hotch. You know that." You kid, playing with the ice cubes in your glass. The clinking sound makes you smile. You convince yourself it was the reason, at least.

"You caught me," Aaron says in a sarcastic tone. He lets the silence sink in for a moment, spoiling himself with your presence for a brief moment. Just for a second, he wants to keep the moment to himself. Just the two of you. Just you and him.

And when he felt satisfied enough, he brought his life into the mix, "I got married." He almost jumps from his spot at the sudden snap of your neck. You beam with excitement, encouraging him to say more. "Haley... she was a great woman, person. We have a son, Jack. He's nine years old."

You looked like a child listening to a fairytale. You pat his shoulder, "Hotch, that's so amazing! Are they here? Did you bring them with you?" You glance inside the sliding glass door, scanning the crowd.

He should've continued talking. "W-we... We got divorced, and... she died," Aaron's voice got lower with each syllable, completely soundless by the end of his sentence. He doesn't know why he feels shame. It has been years, and even if it still makes him sad sometimes, Aaron takes pride in the fact that Haley sacrificed her life.

"What?" The excitement plummets off your chest.

Aaron takes a big gulp. You'd missed so much it became difficult to tell you more. "She died. Five years ago." He clears his throat, "But I'm okay now. Jack and I are doing well on our own."

Your expression softens, and a hand unconsciously sits atop his hand, "I'm so sorry, Hotch." You squeeze his hand. Part of you felt guilty for feeling excited, for getting ahead of yourself like usual. You fear that your enthusiasm may have caused Aaron triple the heartache he is already feeling.

"It's a long time ago. I'm really fine. Jack's growing up like a spitting image of her. He's an amazing kid." He doesn't want to bring the mood down. He's honest when he says that he feels fine. "Enough about me. How about you? Do you have anyone waiting in France? Any kids?" If he can recall, you always told him how badly you wanted to have a family.

You lick your lower lip into a thin purse. You gaze at the evening view of the backyard with a heavy sigh, loosening your shoulders, "I was going to..." Aaron's brows scrunched at the way you phrased your response, but he didn't say anything. "Before I became the chief, I was part of the undercover agents. Days before my new assignment, I found out that I was pregnant. Louis wanted me to take a break from work, but I insisted that I work. The day I learned I was going to have a boy, I got caught in a crossfire. I tried to fight for him, but it was either me or him." You release a heavy sigh, "The doctors chose me. They chose wrong... Louis blamed me for losing our baby. I still do, too. We had a hard time bouncing back up after that. We just finalized our divorce yesterday." You smile weakly at Aaron, masking the hurt that pierced every inch of your heart. You quickly swipe the single drop of tear that managed to trail down your cheek.

Aaron glances at your intertwined hands. He feels guilty for liking it despite the dense atmosphere of your conversation. So, he lets go of it to snake an arm around your shoulders, giving you a tight side hug. "Don't say that, sweetheart..." The endearment rolls off his tongue like butter. He doesn't dwell on it, eager to lessen your pain. "I'm certain that he's glad you lived. He wouldn't have liked the world if he never got the chance to be raised by you." He starts to imagine how awful Louis looks and how much Aaron would make him look worse. He's barely known the guy, but he despises how horrible he's treated you at the time you needed a loving husband the most.

The next thirty minutes became quiet, and Aaron thought that maybe catching up wasn't such a great idea. He should've known that your lives weren't exactly on the greener side.

Then he wonders what life would've been if you hadn't left. He shakes his head. Despite the unrequited love he had for you, he still loved Haley with all his heart and would never change anything if it meant Jack being born. He assumes you'd think the same.

"I sometimes wish I came back here, you know." You blurt out as if you are reading straight from his mind like a book, breaking the silence. "I missed out on so much. Your wedding. You becoming a father. David's other weddings... Jason. I wish I was here for everything." You lean your head against him, letting his warmth spread on your skin. "I don't regret going to France or anything that happened in my life, but I wish I could've been in both places at the same time."

Aaron nods, "Yeah, it would've been nice to have you here." He thinks otherwise because he wishes you stayed. He hoped that despite his cowardness, he'd got you around the block and not a continent away.

He takes it up to himself to change the topic into a lighter tone.

He starts talking about Jack and the satisfying struggles of fatherhood. He shows you videos and photos from his phone. You are engaged in a heartbeat, laughing at the littlest humor he'd throw in. You adored his son. That made Aaron beam with pride. Granted, a lot of people have told him the same thing, but coming from you, it was like he'd received an accolade.

Somewhere in the evening, Stephen steals you from Aaron's company. You're easily filled with joy at the sight of an old friend, ignoring the fact that Jason's son used to have a childish crush on you. Other old acquaintances got a hold of you, too.

Aaron never got to see you again for the rest of the evening.

— ✦ — ✦ ✦ — ✦ ✦ ✦

It has been eleven months since Aaron last saw you when his peripheral caught your figure as soon as he stepped inside David's home.

"She's with the team," David announces casually.

Aaron's brows knit together as he brings his gaze back to David, "What's that?"

"I said she's with the team," David repeats, glancing down the hallway. "You better catch her before she leaves. I got lucky when I called her. She's about to take her flight back to France. This is why I set an arrival time—" Before he could finish his last sentence, Aaron was already halfway down.

Jack Hotchner watches as his father speedwalks inside David's house, "Is Dad okay?" He looks up at David with worried eyes.

"He's alright," David pats Jack's head. "See, kiddo. Your dad used to have a crush on someone before he married your mom."

"Is she pretty? Is she nice?" Jack queries.

David smiles, "How about you decide yourself?" He guides the young Hotchner toward the center of the celebration.

Meanwhile, you are in the middle of wishing Dr. Tara Lewis good luck for her new place in the BAU when Aaron calls your name. You pivot on your heels. A smile instantly brightens your face at the sight of Aaron, "Hotch!" You exclaim, engulfing him in a hug.

"You should've told me you were in the area." Aaron's grin is brighter than yours.

Unbeknownst to him, a couple of watchful profilers keep their eyes peeled at you and Aaron.

"Are they?" Tara trails off next to Penelope.

"They worked on many cases together," Penelope replies suggestively, wiggling her brows as she sips from her swirly straws.

JJ grins at the conversation, "He's like an entirely different person with her. Think of Spencer." She hides a grin behind her glass of wine.

Spencer furrows his brows as he looks at JJ. "Should I be offended?" He clutches the mug of eggnog close to his chest.

"No," JJ shakes her head defensively, elongating the last letter. The others erupt into silent chuckles.

Derek nudges Penelope while he's got an arm wrapped around Savannah, nodding towards you and Aaron's direction, "Look. Hotch is about to introduce Jack to her. How much are you betting he's trying to get Jack's approval? Will Jack even like her? She looked crazy at first—Ow!" He rubs the side Savannah just elbowed, wincing.

Jack shyly stands in front of his father as he looks up at you. You had no doubt he looked a lot like his mother now that you'd meet him in person. You don't forget about Aaron, though, because they had matching eyebrows that narrow every time they attempt to read someone intently.

You squat down to Jack's height, "Nice to meet you, Jack. Your dad has told me a lot of great things about you!" You rummage into your bag, fishing out a huge peppermint lollipop disk. "I didn't expect to meet you today, so I wasn't prepared to bring a gift you'd like, but you can have this if you want it."

Jack glances at his dad from behind him and then back to you. A wide smile spreads across his face as he takes the sweet from you, "I like this one, too! Thank you!" You almost stumble down when he launches to hug you.

"You're welcome!" Your giggle echoes in the entire house. You hadn't expected him to attack you with a hug, let alone a stranger you'd identify yourself as.

Aaron couldn't help but feel overjoyed. He doesn't know how to keep his heart from beating faster as you glance at him with a tooth-rottenly sweet smile while hugging his son.

You really were unfair to him.

He's hopeless. A lost cause. He should've known from years ago. Should've known that you'd leave a permanent mark on him.

"Dad," Jack gestures for Aaron to get down. He leans close as soon as his father oblige to his command, covering his mouth.

Aaron's eyes subtly widen. His ears burn into a beet-red blush. He clears his throat, "How about you say hi to the others? Play with Henry and Reid, okay?" He dismisses, ignoring the innocent words that rang in his ears. He gently pushes Jack toward the team's direction.

"He's such a sweetheart," You say as you get back on your feet. You glance at Aaron, "You're doing amazing. He's lucky to have you." You turn to the team. Laughters passed between one another. "They're all lucky to have you." You add, crossing your arms on your chest.

"She's good," Savannah nods in amazement. She's only heard of you from Derek but can finally see the difference in Aaron's demeanor the moment he caught a glimpse of you.

"Who randomly has a giant lollipop in their bag?" Derek states in disbelief, the total opposite of how Savannah reacted. He hands JJ a ten-dollar bill, though.

Spencer shrugs, "I would've been way nicer to her if she offered me one last time." He pouts at the sight of Jack waving the lollipop like a taunt.

JJ and Tara laugh.

"Oh, shoot!" You exclaim, twisting your wrist to glimpse at the time. "I still have to pass by somewhere before my flight. Say bye to Dave for me, yeah?" The rush makes you quite frantic, pulling Aaron in. You leave a peck on his cheek, patting his shoulders like it's tradition. "Merry Christmas, Aaron." You bid farewell with a smile and began to walk.

"Wait—" Aaron grabs your wrist. It's so small in his hand. He makes sure he held you tight in a gentle grip. The last thing he wants is to break your wrist.

Your body recoils a few steps back to him as a product of his pull. "Yes?" Anticipation sparks in your eyes as you wait for his response. You must've drank wine too fast because electricity surged through veins, all coming from his firm hold.

A huge lump forms in his throat. "I—" Suddenly, Aaron is tongue-tied.

I want you to stay.

He fights hard to swallow the rock that kept him from talking and clearing his throat. "I'll walk with you," He wishes the ground would swallow him whole. But he suspects that even the devil himself is too embarrassed for him to let him in.

"Oh..." You don't know why you felt disappointed. What were you even expecting in the first place? You flash a smile, though. "Sure."

— ✦ — ✦ ✦ — ✦ ✦ ✦

Aaron stays at David's for two more hours before he decides that Jack needs to catch up on some sleep before they leave for Jessica's place in the morning. So, he drives through the light traffic, listening to Jack sing along the radio.

Jingle Bell Rock had just ended, and the DJ interjects for an update about the evening traffic during the transition to the next song when Jack asks a question. "Where did your crush go, Dad?" He inquires all too nonchalantly.

"What did you say?" It takes everything in Aaron to will his eyes to stay on the road and his hands to keep complete control of the wheel. He glances at Jack from the rearview mirror.

"The pretty, nice lady who gave me this," Jack hoists the lollipop in his hand like a wand. He takes a taste of it and adds, "You think she likes Christmas movies? Can we invite her?"

Aaron blinks fast. He couldn't believe how much Jack had grown fond of you in only minutes of interacting with him. He ponders whether you're some kind of a witch. He clears his throat in an obvious fake cough, "I'm sure she'd love to, buddy."

"Can you call her to come back? We can invite her for hot cocoa!"

"Sorry, buddy," Aaron feels bad. He doesn't even know your phone number, even if he could get it within seconds from Penelope. "She had to go and do some work. Maybe n-next time." He isn't sure why he was stuttering in front of his child.

"You didn't ask her to stay?"

It felt like a freezing wave of water filled with ice washed over Aaron. Then, for a moment, he feels proud to know that Jack's innocence has given him the bravery Aaron couldn't even muster.

"No, bud... I didn't." He admits more melancholy to a nine-year-old than he intended to.

Jack sighs, "Aww. Yeah, maybe next time, Dad. I'm sure she'll like to hang out with you if you give her a lollipop. She'll think you're nice. It worked for me. I think she's really nice." He stares at the molded sugar in his hand.

Aaron couldn't believe his son was talking some sense into him. Where did the time go? Jack sounds more mature than Aaron has ever felt for months since he's seen you after years. He tightens his grip on the wheel, clenching his jaw from the sudden torrent of courage that blazes his chest.

"Jack, would you mind passing by somewhere before we go home?"

The boy shakes his head, "It's okay as long as you're okay with me staying past my bed time." Jack giggles.

Aaron chuckles, "I'll let it slide this time," He jests, then turns the wheel and heads to the airport.

You come back from the restroom, looking for a place to sit and wait, when a small figure wraps his arms around your torso, "Jack? What are you doing here? Are you by yourself? Are you okay?" You quickly scan him from head to toe. You could barely move from the way he held you.

He's okay. You tell yourself. Had he been hurt you weren't sure how to face his father.

"I found her, Dad!" Jack shouts, earning looks from exhausted patrons. He leans backwards but still tangled around your legs like his life depended on it.

You panic for a second. Unsure what to make out of his statement. You look around first to mutter an apology on behalf of the boy, but somewhere along the lines you felt like you were a mother denying her child.

"Great job, Jack." You hear a voice so familiar you needn't have to look up to confirm your guess. Aaron walks closer to the two of you out of breath. He tries to play it out but the rise and drop of his shoulders didn't pass your gaze.

You lift your vision up and meet with Aaron's heaving self. "Hotch? What's going on? Is everything okay?" You coax like you aren't sure if he's going to tell you the truth.

Aaron tucks a portion of his lower lip. Fuck. He ran out of courage. His throat is tight. His brain is frozen. His body is stiff.

Jack takes his father's hand and pulls him closer to where you stood. He looks up at you, "Dad has a crush on you. I also think you're nice. Can you watch Christmas movies and drink hot cocoa with us, please?" He says intelligently like he's tired of his father freezing on the spot whenever he faces you.

Your brows knit together, but a huge grin raises the ends of your lips. "He what?" You meet Aaron's blushing gaze. You've never seen his neck, face, and ears glow in rosy red except that one time during an undercover case.

Aaron melts into a chuckle, lowering his head. "I, uh..." He scoffs a laugh, "I can't believe you heard it from Jack first." He meets your eye once more, "Would you mind staying for a bit?" It's clear he has no idea what he was doing. He thinks he's about looking idiotic in front of many people and, most importantly, his son.

You hear your name from below, looking down at Jack as he gestures for you to go down. You do as he says, leaning close when he moves next to your ear, "Dad is very shy, but he really likes you. He smiles when he talks to you. I think he would be happy if you hang out with us." Jack whispers so well Aaron is left to wonder.

"You really think so?" You ask audibly for the sake of Aaron's sanity. You ruffle Jack's hair as he nods eagerly. "I don't mind at all," You smile at Aaron so sweet he feels euphoric.

All three of you leave the airport. The traffic then has grown more difficult to maneuver into, and by the time Aaron parks his car in the driveway, Jack is already ten minutes in his sleep.

You chuckle as you both turn to the backseat, "I stand corrected," You smirk, "I think you're lucky to have him."

"Yeah," Aaron titters, "He's a lot braver than me." He adds gently, reaching out to fix Jack's hair.

A comfortable silence basks the two of you. Jack's soft breathing faintly rings in the background as if both of you had to make sure he's there.

Aaron looks at you, though. He relishes the way the dim light from outside casts a shadow on your face. He loves the way your soft features are still visible despite the dark. "Stay," He blurts out.

"Sure, I'll stay 'til I find another flight—"

"No, I meant..." He struggles to swallow the saliva in his mouth. "I want you to stay. Here... with me." Aaron shifts his eyes down on the gearstick. "I'm not saying that I never loved Haley, but I never stopped loving you." He's sure that no normal person would declare their love the way he just did. He hoped that some foreign spaceship would open the roof of his car and take him away. "I don't know if I make sense. I'm certain that I'm ruining my chances the more I speak, but I want you to stay. I should've asked you to stay a long time ago."

Your gaze sinks into Aaron's eyes. You tuck your lips. Then, you smile. "I agree," You acknowledge, moving your eyes on his lips for a milisecond.

Aaron straightens his back, "I know it's been years," He babbles a laugh, moving his hands as he speaks. "It's okay if you don't— wait—" He blinks once or twice. "Did you just agree? To what exactly?" Only you can make him stumble on his own thoughts.

"I'll stay," You declare, biting the inside of your lower lip. You scoff a silent laugh, "I should've done this a long time ago."

"Done what?" Aaron narrows his brows.

Your gaze jumps between his eyes and his lips, "This," You cup his face with both your hands, clashing your lips like he's in need of saving from a true love's kiss.

Aaron melts into your hold. Not long does he track his hands up your shoulders. Then, to your back, pulling you closer. His hands travel all over you, exploring every inch.

All his life he's seen you as some idea of sweet poison. But as his lips dance with yours, he couldn't ignore the lingering bitter taste of whiskey. He laughs into the kiss. He's been ignorant, wrapped in a saccharine image of you. Was he so wrong for that.

He claims you're still too sweet for him, but was he so glad you came back to him.

Jack moves in his sleep. You both freeze on the spot, lightly pushing Aaron to create space between you.

A soft giggle echoes from your lips, leaning your forehead against his shoulder, "We should bring him upstairs."

"I think that's a good idea," Aaron quips. He unbuckles his seatbelt and opens his door, but before he gets out, he steals another peck on your lips.

#aaron hotchner #ssa aaron hotchner #fem!reader #criminalminds #criminal minds #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #hotch #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch x reader

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heaven4lostgirls · 4 hours

Text

I deserve better (A.H)

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader

warning: angst, breakups, mentions of haley's death, reader is compared to haley, breakdowns, aaron has healing to do</3

summary: aaron comes home from a hard case with his decision already made, he's in for a very rude awakening when reader sees right through his bs.

word count: 1.5k

There was a loneliness in the air that felt almost palpable after your breakup with Aaron. It felt like an amalgamation of every broken promise and empty silences you both sat in, trying to grasp onto invisible strings surrounding your love. If you thought hard enough, you could almost clearly imagine what used to be his breathing when he used to lie on the now cold side of the bed. His presence haunted every empty corner of your now prodigious apartment.

You closed your eyes in the dark as your mind unwillingly drifted to the conversation with your now ex-boyfriend. The sound of the door opening to Aaron’s home made you look away from the television as you waited with bated breath and a smile to see your boyfriend, only the expression he held on his face when your gazes met was one you knew you would commit to memory. Guilt, anguish. Probably worse if you had bothered to push deeper but you knew that you couldn’t do that yourself.

“Aaron?” your voice echoes in the living room and all he can do is hesitate, you watch as his hands shake as he places his badge, gun and bag down before making his way to you, his steps purposeful yet cautious and deep down you knew that whatever he was going to say was going to change the trajectory of your relationship.

“Hey” he whispers as he sits on the opposite end of the couch which only cements your worries, maybe he’s finally decided that him and Jack didn’t need another addition to their family, maybe he’s decided he’s had enough of you. “We need to talk” he starts, and your only response is a small nod as your underlying anxiety bubbles under your skin like a festering wound.

“This- This case, it really made me realise something.” He starts and you can already feel your expression shifting from worry to confusion, he must recognise your own emotions as you do his as he continues swiftly. “The unsub mentioned you when we caught him, he knew your name” he says harshly and you look at him shocked, why hadn’t he told you any of this when you’d called him after he had wrapped up the case? “I promised myself when Haley passed away that I would never put someone I cared about in the position to be used against me” he says and your heart drops.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask out of genuine curiosity. He closes his eyes and clenches his hands into fists, “I think you know.” He croaks out and you scoff which only causes him to look at you in confusion, “You’re being selfish” you bite out and he looks alarmed at the harsh words. “You’re not even letting me choose what I want to do about my OWN safety?” you ask harshly but soft enough as to not wake Jack up.

He’s shaking his head before you can even finish your sentence, “you don’t get it!” he insists as he implores you understand what he’s saying. “you-you’ve never had to hold your d-dead wife’s body in your hands, wishing for her to come back, wishing you could tell her how much she means to you” he insists as his eyes well with tears and your heart drops at his confession.

“And I hope I never have to feel that, but Aaron you can’t keep taking your grief out on our relationship, I know it hurts, but how am I supposed to think you’re ending this for me when you’re putting Haley first even in death?” you whisper and against your own better judgement, you feel a few tears fall from your eyes.

“That-That is NOT what is happening.” He says again and you can see the frustration boiling over for him, “That’s not fair to me Aaron, you know that” you say, and you watch as confusion shifts on his features, “Wait no hold on, I didn’t mean it like that-”

“You didn’t have to. I always thought you’d meant in a constructive way for me, consistently telling me when I make Jack’s meals that it’s not the way Haley would’ve made it, when you tell me not to buy certain perfumes and body washes because it reminded you too much of Haley. But now I realise that you’ve been carrying this dead weight after her death, and it’s not fair for me to be carrying it with you. I will never replace Haley, but I do know that I deserve a lot more than being compared to her everyday just because you haven’t dealt with your grief.”

“Honey, hold on, just wait please-”

“I was going to fight for you Aaron , truly. I came into this conversation thinking of ways to help you not give up on us, but I can’t do that when the one thing pushing you is a woman I can never compete with.”

Aaron looks distraught and your heart feels simultaneously lighter and broken at the same time, His healing needed to take priority and you knew that his journey didn’t necessarily have space for you. And that was okay, at the end of the day the one thing you had always wished was to see Aaron Hotchner happy, and if that meant he had to do it without you, you would deal.

“I love you” he says, his eyes begging you to believe him, and your lips lift at his statement, as they’ve done a million times before, a force of habit. You shift closer to him and grasp his hand in yours as you place your other one on his face. His eyes close at the contact and he starts shaking his head, “Don’t- don’t do this right now. Please don’t do this Y/N.” his voice cracks.

Your lips quivers and you attempt to move your hand to smother the sob building in your chest but as your hand lifts off of his cheek his eyes are open wide, alarmed to feel you slipping away and he grasps you closer to him, looking into your eyes wildly as you look into his eyes, hoping all of your love is shining through them. “You know I have to.” You whisper and his expression is pained as he feels your hands run through his hair.

“I can’t do this without you” he confesses as he chokes on his tears, his hands grasping to your hips and arms as though you’d disappear if he looked away. “You’re going to be just fine, I promise” you say, and he shakes his head before the sobs escape him and he leans his head into your body as sobs wrack through his body. Warbled cries of “I’m sorry” flood from him and all you can do is hold him through it, hoping it brings him some form of comfort.

You console him until he tires himself out, he looks so much more peaceful when he’s asleep, his furrowed brow is smoothed out and if not for the tear tracks running down his cheeks you would never be able to know how much pain he was just in. You manoeuvre him to lay on the couch, a suitable enough pillow under his head and a soft blanket covering him. Your hand still lays outstretched in his grip, and you bite your lip as you try to let him let go.

As soon as your hand leaves his grip, he’s whimpering and grasping for some form of contact from you, you quickly snatch one of Jack’s teddy bears from the floor and you place it within his grasp, he grasps it almost immediately and holds it close to his chest. Your eyes mist over and you take a few minutes to breathe deeply and once calm, you quickly plan.

You take an old overnight bag you used to use before you started staying for weekends, such as this one. You pack the clothes you use the most and some work essentials before packing up your toiletries and everything else that can fit in your car. Everything looks so immensely empty when all your stuff is gone, with a quick little kiss to Jack’s cheek, you switch on your car, and you drive the route to your apartment.

In the silence and solace of your car, you allow yourself to break, sobs wrack through your body and your scream and cry as you make the drive to your place. You break again when you see the emptiness and coldness of your apartment, there’s none of Jack’s drawings on the fridge, none of Aarons past case files on the dining table, none of their shoes at the entrance and none of everything of what you loved and missed dearly.

Which brings you to now, in your bed, unable to look at the other side usually occupied by an Aaron sized lump. You don’t sleep, when the sun starts rising and coming through your room, you don’t move. When your alarm goes off at 7AM, you don’t move. When Aaron’s name flashes on your screen with multiple unanswered calls, you don’t move. You eventually get up to go to work and exist throughout the day.

Nobody asks you what’s wrong and you don’t divulge, you know it will take you a long time to feel okay enough to even see Aaron again but for now, you can mourn and think of what could have been as you learn how to live without half of yourself.

#juliwrites #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds angst #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch #aaron hotch hotchner #hotch x reader #hotch angst

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dudeitiskarev · 4 hours

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there's something about the back of his head

#i just #SEASON 8 HOTCH MAKES ME WANT TO SCREAM #i want to trace random lines on the back of his neck while he sleeps #like that one fleabag scene #Aaron Hotchner #Hotch

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codename-mom · 1 day

Text

Cookie jar

Summary: The team is on the field without Hotch who's on a leave for some days, but they have to call him anyway. Suddenly, something happens and everybody worry about Jack.

Characters: BAU team and Jack Hotchner

Contents: TW a child is hurt (but everything is fine) and a tiny bit of angst because can't be anything else but anxious.

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

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

___

The team had gathered in the room the police had assigned them – a cubbyhole, so to speak, cluttered with cardboard boxes and mops – and Derek dialed Hotch's cell phone number. The latter was on leave for a few days. His men were reluctant to call him when he did, so that he could enjoy his time away from Quantico to the full, but they had no choice. The first clues found in the field echoed those of an old case the director and Jason Gideon had worked on in the past. As the latter had vanished into thin air, they could only contact the former.

He picked up after several rings.

“Hotch?”

“One moment, he stopped him on the spot. Jack, I said no. I’m coming back.”

Morgan had put his phone on speaker so that everyone could follow the conversation, and so they all heard the TV gradually fading away, until it was almost muffled. They imagined he must have gone to his bedroom, or some other room where he could close the door behind him.

“What's the matter?” he asked, in an annoyed tone.

“Sorry to bother you,” apologized Emily, trying to appease him.

It wasn't certain that this impromptu call was the cause of his irritation, but if in doubt, it was best to try and smooth things over.

“Tell me,” he ordered, his intonation unchanged.

“We've potentially got a resurrected serial killer,” the ex-policeman attested.

“If I tell you: branding on the shoulder, chains on the ankles and whipping. Does it speak to you?” went on Dave, next to him.

A silence passed, during which he had to return to his memories.

“… Yes, but the culprit was sentenced to life.”

“Actually, he passed away last month, Derek clarified. But the last victim was killed on Monday.”

“His accomplice was released for good behavior last year, but his file disappeared, Prentiss explained from across the table. Can you remember his name?”

“I imagine you've already searched the digital archives for this information.”

“Affirmative, confirmed Penelope, who had come with them for the occasion. And there’s nothing. The guy just disappeared.”

The agency manager fell silent again. For a long time. The profilers stared at each other, tense.

“Hotch?” impatiently asked Morgan.

“Just a moment, I'm trying to remember, thundered his superior. His name was… De…”

A loud crash and a breaking glass could be heard in the background, and everyone froze as the giant shouted:

“Jack!”

A door opened and footsteps moved away from the handset. Clearly, the giant had left his phone behind. Tension gripped the whole group, their senses on the alert and their hearts pounding against their ribs.

“Did we kill tiny-Hotch?” moaned Garcia, on the verge of tears.

In the distance, the voice of the father calling his son made them fear the worst. Then the little boy started screaming at the top of his lungs, and everyone shuddered.

“Apparently not,” ironized Emily, who wasn't putting up much more of a fight than her colleagues.

“What do I do? wondered Derek, unsettled by the situation. I hang up?”

“Maybe he'll come back to us,” Spencer stated uncomfortably.

“I don't think so,” objected JJ, listening intently to the distant din.

“Why?”

“This is clearly the cry of a child in real pain.”

As the only mother in the unit, they trusted her judgment without a hesitation.

“Well, maybe I'll hang up now,” voiced Morgan, ready to press the button.

“Wait,” advised Rossi.

Jack was still crying loudly, perhaps a little quieter than a few moments earlier, but more importantly, they noticed that the sound was now moving. And he grew weaker and weaker until he disappeared completely.

“It sounded a lot like a door slamming,” Prentiss claimed, her eyebrows furrowing.

“You can hang up now,” Dave confirmed.

Derek obeyed sighing. He hadn't expected such a turn of events and now felt guilty about what had just happened. He knew the kid a little and he was always delighted to see him, his eyes shining with admiration every time. Like his counterparts, he didn't know what had occurred, but feared that something grave had happened, which would leave neither the child nor its progenitor unscathed.

“It could have been worse,” pointed out JJ.

Everyone looked at her, bewildered.

“Are you kidding? Retorted the brunette. I don't know what’s going on, but it's serious enough that Hotch left with him.”

“Yes, but Jack was crying.”

“So what?” inquired Morgan, confused.

“That means he was conscious,” Reid attested confidently.

The man who had taken over the leadership of the team when Aaron was absent took a long breath and ordered his peers to get back to work in spite of everything. They worked with this question in the back of their minds: how was Jack doing? Based on the thin clue left by their superior, they searched, groped, and modified their profile until they found a certain Denis Porter, who turned out to be their unsub. All this in record time. Since they were in the neighboring state, they returned to the Quantico offices while it was still daylight. Immediately, the worry that had been nagging them all came back to mind, and synchronously, they looked at their phones. None of them had received a message, which didn't reassure them at all.

“Penelope, do you have any way of knowing which hospital he was admitted to?” inquired JJ.

“Why do you ask? teased her colleague, who immediately took to her keyboard. I'll do it right away, my little ones.”

She typed the toddler's first and last names into her search engine and the result appeared almost instantly on her screen. All gathered around the analyst in her colorful lair, they read the information at the same time.

“Let's go,” commanded Emily, leading the way.

A few minutes later, they jumped in two Bureau SUVs and headed for downtown Washington DC, following the itinerary on their GPS. They parked quickly and hurried to the reception desk. The nurse behind the counter was somewhat surprised to see the herd arrive, armed and determined, but was reassured to see Derek's warm smile. She directed them to the pediatric emergency room on the other side of the building. Together, they made their way through the corridors until they reached another admissions department, where they were given the room number.

They shared a similar fear at this moment. They dreaded discovering the state of the youngster and prayed the titan wasn’t ready to drop again. He'd already suffered enough; he didn't deserve to be in even worse shape. Morgan didn't have the courage to knock on the door, which was ajar but not wide enough for them to see what was going on inside. Rossi did it for him.

“Knock, knock!”

“Come in,” Hotch reacted, in his usual tone.

They took a few steps and saw the boy lying on a bed, in a hospital gown, his head turbaned, but grinning from ear to ear. His father was sitting in a chair on the other side of the bed, and a brief chuckle lifted the corner of his lips. Relieved, all the agents took Jack in their arms one after the other – except Spencer, who simply banged his fist against his. The girls added a kiss on his cheek and told him he was very brave. The effusive reunion over, Aaron declared:

“Denis Porter.”

“Yes, we found him,” Dave replied, squeezing his shoulder.

“Good.”

He didn't have the expression of someone satisfied with their work. He still looked distressed.

“What happened?” said JJ, asking aloud the question they'd all been asking themselves.

“Mister wanted a cookie. I pointed out to him that it wasn't the right time, but he waited until my back was turned to take one.”

“And?” bounced Prentiss.

“Well, he had his cookie. A lot of cookies. And the jar itself.”

The adults' gaze swiveled towards the injured boy, who gave them his best little rascal smile. He had no regrets about what he'd done. Some of the visitors felt sorry for him, once again showering him with hugs, while the others shook their heads in disappointment.

“Concussion?” continued JJ.

“It’s what we’re waiting to see. He has been under observation since 3:30 p.m.”

They reflexively glanced at their watches. He had been here for almost three hours.

“He looks okay, Derek remarked as he sat down on the bed next to him. Right, buddy?”

“Yeah.”

“Tomorrow you'll be a hero at school,” affirmed Rossi, leaning against the bedposts.

“Yeah!” exulted Jack, proudly.

“Because he took a cookie jar to the forehead?” judged Emily, eyebrows furrowed.

“Scars,” Reid whispered, in a tone of obviousness.

“… Guys...” sighed the three women in unison, as they saw the same victorious expression on the faces of their male comrades.

Someone knocked on the door and a nurse entered, a little disconcerted to see so many people in the room.

“Mr. Hotchner?”

“Yes,” responded the interested party, rising to his feet.

“Can you come with me for a moment?”

Instinctively, he turned to his offspring and met his irises.

“We'll look after him, Hotch, Penelope reassured him, having grasped the source of his apprehension. Go.”

His teammates nodded in support, and Aaron very gently kissed his son on his bandaged forehead before leaving the room. Without them needing to ask, the hero of the day began to tell them all about his adventures, dwelling on unimportant details, forgetting the end of some of his sentences to go back and move on to something else, and surely exaggerating certain facts. All this with boundless energy and plenty of grand gestures that definitely appeased them about his state of health.

However, Morgan saw the nurse pass by again in the other direction out of the corner of his eye and was puzzled not to see Hotch reappear immediately afterwards. He waited a little longer, in vain. He apologized to his fellows and returned to the corridor. He discovered the giant a few yards away, leaning against the wall, a document in his hand. His pupils turned towards the ground, he seemed lost. Derek felt a vise tighten around his throat. What if…?

“Trouble?”

“What? gasped the manager, rudely jolted from his thoughts. No. This is the exit voucher. Everything is fine.”

The former policeman relaxed.

“So why the long face?”

The agency head lowered his nose, dodging his gaze, before sighing. Then he lifted his chin and turned his dark irises on him.

“… How did your mother do it?”

“To what?” he reacted, taken aback by this private question.

“To raise three children on her own into perfect adults.”

He couldn't help but burst out laughing, even though his interlocutor had spoken very seriously. At least he understood why he looked so downcast when all the indicators were green. As usual, the ex-prosecutor scourged himself for not having been able to protect a loved one, when there was no reason to do so.

“I'm not sure she'd say that,” he joked to lighten the mood.

“You arrest serial killers and, from what I've seen, your sisters don't seem to be into organized crime.”

Seen like that, indeed, his mother had done a very good job of keeping them on the straight and narrow. But that didn't mean the road wasn't full of bumps.

“Hotch, what happened was an accident, as it happens in every family in the world. I did the same stunt when I was a kid and, obviously, I'm fine.”

It was the truth. He himself had taken a tin of candy on the corner of his skull when he was a little older than the director's son. He had climbed onto a chair and then onto the kitchen counter before stretching out to grab the object of his desire, which his mother had placed as high up in the room as possible. In the end, he found himself in the emergency room with a huge lump on his forehead. The images were no longer so clear in his mind, but he still remembered his mother's concern as she brought him unconscious to the hospital. The same expression of anguish and guilt appeared on his neighbor's face.

“Hotch, Jack's moving, he's talking, and he's got clearance to get out of here. So, everything is okay.”

“Then why do I feel like the worst father in the world?” he retorted, not daring to look up.

He almost replied that it was because he had very low self-esteem, but restrained himself to give him a more consensual, but no less correct answer.

“You were scared for him, it’s normal.”

“But it's not just that, he despaired, peeling himself away from the wall to walk down the corridor. I constantly asking for help. To Jessica, to Haley’s mother, to my own mother… even JJ. I’m incapable of taking care of him all by myself.”

Morgan was touched despite himself by the disarray of his opposite, who was still struggling to adapt to his new life as a single father. Not being in his situation, he couldn't really give him advice, but could always try to make him see reason.

“Hotch, I think all parents ask other people for help. My mother would ask other women in the neighborhood for advice, and some of them would even babysit us. Your mother must have done the same thing, JJ does and I'm pretty sure Haley did too. You're no more incapable than anyone else.”

He and his sisters had spent entire afternoons and weekends at their aunts' so that their mother could work or simply have time for herself, and none of her children had had the audacity to reproach her in any way.

“… I wish I could be as sure as you are.”

Derek rolled his eyes and held back from kicking his butt. His propensity for only seeing the glass as half empty annoyed him to no end, but he tempered his urge to strangle him by reminding himself that the context wasn't helping either. So, he chose a gentler method.

“Does Jack smile?”

“What?” exclaimed Aaron, raising his nose.

“Do you see Jack smiling?”

“Yes.”

“Laugh?”

“Yes.”

“Does he tell you he loves you? Without you having to tell him beforehand or giving him something he wanted?”

“Yes.”

“So, everything is good.”

The giant analyzed the exchange they had just had, and his subordinate saw his features gradually relax. He fixed his gaze in his again and, with a pale smile, said:

“… Thank you.”

Morgan's lips stretched warmly, and he laid a hand on his shoulder in return. The two men then went to the little boy's room, where his father told him the good news.

___

This idea jumped in my head after my first watch of season 5 and this dialogue between Derek and Hotch, where Derek has decided to write his own report to leave more free time for him to take care of Jack (because he knows what it is to be a single parent).

That scene was so cute, that I needed to imagine another peaceful moments between the two of them. Because we all know that they appreciate each other more than they will confess it. Because boys are boys...

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irndad · 1 month

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won't you be my sunshine-a.h.

a/n: runner!hotch x sunshine!reader !! sooooo fluffy, first hotch fic of mine so be gentle with me! lots of pining and happy end <3 happy to continue with these two in an au!

Aaron Hotchner is not a particularly emotive man.

This is a skill he has honed, a cherished quality that was not born of luck or of natural ability, but a skill that he has honed down to a fine tip point. He needs to be, in this job. It’s cost him things, of course, but for the most part, Aaron is happy with his choices. He takes a firm line with people he works with, and does not always let up in his personal life.

The only time this sometimes causes a hitch, is in his romantic life.

Which isn’t to say that he has one.

There is a woman who reads in the park every morning. Aaron affectionately thinks of this bench as her bench, as it is marked by wisterias and hyacinths on either end of it. It’s something of a ritual, after his runs, that they talk.

It’s fun. He doesn’t have a lot of space for fun. He’d collapsed on the bench one day after siphoning his anger at a particular case into a difficult run. He’d crashed onto the bench, sweaty and exhausted and hadn’t even seen her there. Which is a bit impressive, as she’s hard to miss the sight of. It is also in equal measure embarrassing. It’s not every day you collapse in front of a gorgeous woman, disturbing her from what is likely a lovely afternoon in the park.

That’s how it started, anyway. She doesn’t run, so each break is punctuated by her company. He’s actually not sure if they’re flirting. He’s not very good at that- the last time he has to he was 17 and so full of unearned confidence, he lucked into a partnership.

Now, he’s a bit older and a lot more scarred. She’s younger than him, not by much. She laughs with her whole chest at his dry, glib humor- and this is something Aaron had forgotten. The joy of a beautiful, wonderful woman’s company beside you.

He feels a little out of place next to her. Romance is not something he does. Ever thought he’d do again, really. That’s not to say that this is romance. Their romance is almost entirely hypothetical. He thinks of her at work, which is a monumental development in and of itself.

“So, how was the paperwork? I know you’ve been taking a little more on since your colleague had a baby. It’s so kind of you to do it.” She asks him on a beautiful August morning.

He fights off a blush that she remembers what he’s done for JJ. He’s not big on mentioning his own good deeds. Aaron believes that this would cancel it out. Still, her praise is a warm balm to the exhaustion that plagues him. It’s hedonistic, the way he wants her to say more about him. He wonders absentmindedly if she knew everything about him that’s hard to love, she’d still paint him with such a light and warm glance. She’s bright enough, he’s tempted to tell her everything about him just because she asks.

“It was…alright. My team is excellent. I’m lucky to work with people like them, it makes the process better. I couldn’t ask for more.”

She giggles a little at this, and there’s that roar of affection.

He feels a sense of ease around her, one that is suspicious for him. He tries not to romanticize, but this connection is hard not to. She’s beautiful- this is obvious to anyone who meets her, a simple truth of her. But Aaron is trained to notice things little factors that show the truth of someone.

He likes to watch her- it’s a pleasant thing, getting to be in her presence. It’s a little addicting, the way she looks at him. It makes him feel like all of the things he knows to be true of himself- his relative failures, the closed-off nature of his demeanor- are things that not only can be overlooked, but don’t seem to be in her line of sight at all. It’s an honor, to have her doe eyes rake over the sight of him, to meet him with gentle conversation.

He tries not to notice that she is gorgeous. Aaron has been around beautiful women, of course- this is not something that should surprise him. But there’s something effervescent about her, something that his him wondering if it’s possible that she might feel the same way about him. He knows that he used to be a more attractive man, but now. Well, he’s a bit bruised, both metaphorically and physically.

It feels odd to even think of this happening. She’s just got a warm, sweet tone and he replays what it’s like when she greets him. She smiles her brilliant grin and sometimes hugs him. It’s embarrassing how much he likes the feeling of it- soft curves against hard muscle and scarred skin. She always smells wonderful, and he wonders how nice it would be to have more of this.

“I like your new shirt, by the way.” She smiles at him, and his heart jumps. It feels juvenile, but- she’s wearing a new lipstick, it seems. Her beautiful pout looks awfully tempting.

“I like the lip color,” he tries to compliment back amenably, but that doesn’t stick. Instead, it comes out too earnest. He’s hyper aware of the fact that she’s right by him. She flushes, and Aaron feels a surge of pride.

“Thank you,” she says, voice softer and flattered, and isn’t that a pretty sound? He’d love to do that for her, make her feel seen, make her feel like she’s as beautiful as she is, “I thought you might like it.”

It’s her directiveness that breaks the seal, he supposes looking back. Because she wore the lipstick for him. That’s just about the only thing it can mean, and he is struck with a particularly sensory fantasy of what it would be like to slot his mouth against hers- he gets the feeling it might be worth it even if he gets the color on his mouth.

He’s a gentleman, though, he decides after a decidedly ungentlemanly amount of time spend staring at the gorgeous curve of her lips.

“Would you want to get dinner with me?” He hears himself say it before he’s processed it, and then it’s out into the world. His heart is hammering and he’s blaming on the run, when god, it’s absolutely about how breathtaking she looks, the sunlight reflecting off her hair like a halo. When she beams back at him, she looks particularly angelic.

It’s then, she leans over and kisses him on the cheek.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

(Months later, when she is sitting on his kitchen counter and he is standing between her legs, gazing down at her with unabated fondness because he is entitled to that, he reflects on this moment and thinks god, how lucky am I, that I ran past that bench?)

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greg-montgomery · 1 month

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Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader ♡ (boyfriend’s dad!hotch) - 18+ minors dni

summary: part 2 to this.

your bf cheated on you? fuck his dad!

cw: uhmm a little bit of choking? age gap.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

“Put your phone away.”

Mark stared at his father for a moment without even lifting his head, and then continued to type on his phone.

“You’re being rude,” Aaron said.

“What’s your problem?”

“Your brother has been talking about this dinner all week. When Jack sits at the table, that thing better not be in your hands. Understood?”

“Understood,” Mark said, and placed the phone right next to his plate harsh enough to make Aaron wonder if the screen cracked.

Despite his annoyed appearance, Mark kept his promise and stayed engaged in the conversation with Jack. His little brother admired him and Aaron would do anything to protect his son’s feelings - even from someone who shared the same blood as him.

Still, Aaron had no complaints; Jack seemed happy and that was more than he could have asked for.

Sadly his feelings quickly changed, when after dinner he accidently overheard Mark talking on the phone. Aaron was a profiler, but any regular person could easily understand he was flirting with a girl. The only problem though, was that the name he had called said girl, was not yours.

Mark made his way outside the kitchen only to be stopped by his dad with a hand on his chest.

“Who were you talking to?”

“What the hell is wrong with you today?”

“Who were you talking to?” Aaron repeated, determined not to give him an easy way out.

Mark raised his eyebrow at him. “Don’t you think I’m a little too old to be asked questions like this by my dad?”

“Are you cheating on Y/N?”

“Why are you so fucking obsessed with her?” he snapped. “Why do you even care?”

“I didn’t raise a cheater.”

“No, you don’t give a fuck about me. It’s her you care about.” He smirked, and Aaron was worried his next words would be exactly what he was afraid of.

Mark confirmed his fears. “You think I don’t see the way you look at her? You wanna fuck my girlfriend and then be the one who teaches me about ethics?”

Aaron stood there frozen watching him walk away, too stunned to stop Mark from leaving without saying good night to his little brother.

Ethics.

His son was right. There was nothing ethical about the way he looked at you. There was nothing ethical about the way he wanted to steal you from Mark. And there was definitely nothing ethical about the way he had fucked his fist in the shower to the thought of you that same night you had asked for his help.

But Mark didn’t treat you right, he knew that. You deserved better and Aaron could be that for you.

He’d hold you in his arms, keep you safe from the rest of the world, let you know how beautiful and precious you were. Then he’d sit you in all fours and take you until you forgot your own name.

“This is so wrong,” you sighed, rolling your hips forward and the word ‘wrong’ went straight to his dick.

“That’s why it feels so fucking good, baby,” he said staring at your lips and you leaned in to kiss his open mouth.

How did he get there? In any empty parking lot, and his son’s girlfriend riding his cock?

- -

It all started with a sweet “Mr. Hotchner?” when he picked up his phone in the middle of the night.

Then those two beautiful eyes he’d do anything for, looking at him like he was their hero.

“You said you’ll always be here. That’s why I called you,” you said when you were inside his car. Your cheeks were smudged with mascara and he wanted to murder the reason behind your tears. Only the reason was of course no other than his own son.

“You did well, sweetheart.” He cupped your cheek rubbing it with his thumb, and you nuzzled his hand. “You can trust me.”

“I do.”

It was impossible for him to keep his hands away or not to leave a soft kiss on your forehead.

“It’s over,” you sniffled. “This is the second time he cheats on me. I’ve had enough.”

“He never deserved you, honey. I’m sorry he hurt you.”

“Don’t be. You’re nothing like him,” you whispered. “How are you two even related?”

Your hand found his and your fingers naturally intertwined.

The kisses on your forehead soon turned into kisses on your cheeks and then on the corners of your mouth. He couldn’t stop and the way you were trembling against him was an invitation to touch you more.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he muttered against the skin of your neck and you pulled his hair softly. He shouldn’t be doing that, but he’d rather take his last breath at that moment than let you go.

“I know. But I need you so bad,” you whined.

“Take off your panties and come to my lap.”

Aaron watched the fabric move all the way down your legs and pulled you into his lap. Before he had the chance to lift up your dress, you started rubbing yourself against him. He took your chin between his fingers and made you look at him. “Aren’t you a desperate little thing?”

“I wanted you to fuck me from the day we met.”

“I know.”

The feeling of your wet pussy against his slacks and the sound of your little moans drove him crazy. He bit your right nipple through your dress and you finally called him ‘Aaron’.

“Say my name again.”

“Aaron, Aaron, Aaron,” you moaned, moving desperately against him.

“Baby, I need to be inside you,” he said.

Once he was buried in you, his hands went on your hips, guiding you, showing you the pace he needed you at.

You were so good; such a good learner.

“This is so wrong.”

“That’s why it feels so fucking good, baby.”

You leaned in to kiss him and Aaron took the opportunity to wrap his hand around your neck. He noticed you failing to bite back a loud moan.

“You like that, huh?”

“Mhm…”

“Want me to rub your little clit too? Will that make you cum faster, sweetie?”

“Fuck, yes.”

He did as promised, moving his free hand between your legs, touching you softly and slowly. He loved the tortured expression on your face.

“Faster, please,” you begged him.

“You’re so fucking desperate,” he moaned, and picked up his pace.

It didn’t take much longer for you to cum, and he followed right after you.

You didn’t leave his lap. Aaron wrapped his arms around you protectively and pulled you so close to him, it was hard to tell where his body ended and yours started.

“What now?” you whispered, your face hidden in the crook of his neck.

“Now you’re mine.”

tags : @hotchhner @sabage101 @yurfavmommy @mrs-ssa-hotch @justarandommom @m4gn3ziu @rosaliedepp @indigosamsblog

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch #boyfriend's dad!hotch #hotch 🪐#nsfw.

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avis-writeshq · 22 days

Text

hello 😘 aaron hotchner drabble request!

anything with jealousy and possessiveness but in a natural normal way not a joe goldberg way haha

and also - aaron sees you wearing his hoodie/shirt drabble!

thank you and your work is amazing!

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!fem!reader genre: established relationship, aaron is a little (a lot) upset warnings: misogynistic moron >:( reader wears a skirt, if you get the reference ily a/n: i wrote it and the more i wrote the more i realised that it... really isn't the same at all :( if you want me to redo it, please send me an ask !! thank you lovely <3 wc: 631

“You would think that he would know by now,” Emily hums, her tone disapproving and mostly disappointed as she watches from a distance as Captain Pembroke attempts to chat you up.

“He’s a captain?” Spencer asks in genuine amazement.

“For NYPD’s major crime unit,” JJ confirms, her arms crossed over her chest. “He tried to hit on Emily a couple days ago, and on Amy from the fourth floor. I wouldn’t be surprised it he has some sort of sealed file on him.”

Emily scoffs a little, rolling her eyes. “Sounds like a charmer.”

“The bigger question is, does Hotch know?” Derek pipes up as he glances in your direction.

“Well…” JJ lets out a nervous laugh. “I kind of hope he doesn’t.”

You offer a curt smile in Pembroke’s direction, doing everything in your power to subtly signal that you really should be leaving. Fiddling with the loose threads of your shirt, averting eye contact, taking tiny steps away in hopes that he’ll somehow get the message. It isn’t surprising that he doesn’t.

“I beat my PR yesterday, you know,” he brags, flexing his muscles. You think you’re about to throw up as he continues, “129. Impressive, right, hun?”

“The average amount of pounds an untrained man can lift is 135,” you respond dismissively in an attempt to lean into Spencer’s way of getting people to leave him alone, but Pembroke doesn’t seem to hear you.

“You know, sweets, I don’t think you should even be in this job. You’re far too foxy,” he says with a wink, “You’d be better in a different job. I mean, women aren’t fit for these types of roles. They get too emotional.”

You refrain from punching his face as it will only prove his point. “Listen, Ken–”

“It’s Keith–”

“Kyle,” you amend with a sickly smile. “I do need to get these files to Agent Rossi, so if you’ll excuse me…”

“Aw, come on, it was only a joke,” Pembroke says with a laugh. “It’ll be fine–”

“There you are.”

You don’t think you’ve ever felt more relieved in your life. Aaron’s hand rests flat against your back, dangerously close to the waistband of your skirt and he stands behind you. Aaron is a good couple of inches taller than Pembroke, especially when he stands at his full height, his dark eyed narrowed and his jaw clenched.

“Did you need something from my agent, Captain?” He asks lowly.

“Just pleasant conversation,” Pembroke responds dismissively.

Aaron raises an eyebrow, his gaze shifting from your uncomfortable frown to the captain’s smug face. “We have three missing women and you are disturbing an investigation by disrupting my agents. I suggest you get your act together before I report you to your superiors for harassment.”

He doesn’t bother waiting for a response, guiding you by the small of your back towards his makeshift office in the New York Police Office. He doesn’t say a word until the door is firmly closed and the blinds are drawn.

“Are you alright?” He asks softly, taking a step towards you and curling his fingers by your cheekbone. “I heard what he said. Do you want me to report it?”

“I’ve dealt with worse.” You don’t mean to sound so honest when you say it and his frown deepens.

“That’s not okay, honey.” Aaron presses a kiss to your forehead. “I’ll report it. You know how it is with cases like these; someone just has to put the first step forward.”

You smile at that, poking at his cheeks. “I thought you were going to hit him.”

“I thought you would’ve beat me to it,” he admits through a quiet laugh, giving you a proper kiss. “We shouldn’t make this into a habit.”

“Tell that to Kimberly.”

“That isn’t even close.”

reblogs are always appreciated!

events page

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch x reader #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x reader fluff #golden : a milestone event #hotch x reader fluff #criminal minds x reader fluff #hotch #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader angst #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds aaron hotchner #thomas gibson x reader #thomas gibson #thomas gibson fluff #thomas gibson x reader fluff

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erwinsvow · 6 months

Text

𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞, 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤, 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐬

summary: aaron hotchner is a lot of things. in love with you is one that you never saw coming.

word count: 7.1k

author's note: bau!reader + hotch is my favorite combo ever. i haven't written and posted in, like, two years so please be nice :) i've written so many other versions of hotch but this one just wrote itself. inspired by the amazing @luveline and so many breathtaking hotch stories and isabel (alisdas on ao3, not on here anymore i think :( ) who wrote of terrible coffee and late-night rides which i think started all of this and my immense aaron brain rot when i read that fic, like, three years ago. enjoy!

This was wrong, Aaron thought to himself. He seldom committed acts that others might say were wrong, or argue they could potentially be wrong, but this was different. Aaron felt wrong, a feeling he was not used to.

“I’m worried about you, that’s all,” you had said quietly on the jet early one morning. You two were sitting across from each other on the flight back from the team’s latest solved case, an excruciating long ride home from the coast of Oregon.

Your book laid open on your lap, unread and a bookmark tucked between the earlier pages. The spine was cracked, like you’d read it a hundred times before. He knew that wasn’t true though, it was just a used novel probably from the thrift store around the corner of your apartment.

You had told him once, back when you first started—back when he was still married and you were less affected by this job—that you liked finding used (pre-loved, you call it) books and picking the most worn out ones to take home. You said it means that someone used to love this book.

It felt wrong because you were too young for him, and too innocent to be mixed up in his life. What could you know about his thoughts? About the love of his life that divorced him and his son he only sees once in a while.

The rest of the team makes jokes with you, in particular JJ and Penelope. He’s even heard Emily pitch in, about your not-so-secret fondness for your boss. For him.

Back when you had first started, it was nothing. Passing glances, working extra hard to please him and earn his praise—which was never given out generously. He hadn’t even taken the time to notice, never paid more attention than any other member of the team. What he did notice was your work ethic.

Being among the youngest of the team had instilled a drive in you to prove your worth. You always stayed an hour extra, came early, and spent nights working the case even when you were yawning every few minutes. The most attention he’d given you back then was commenting that you’d had a good insight into the unsub, commending you on well-written reports and briefs, and offering you a cup of coffee when it was just you and him left in the sheriff’s office. He’d be rereading seemingly endless pages of the case reports and you’d be diving headfirst into the victim’s lives.

Your specialty was always understanding why the victims did what they did, figuring out their routines and ascertaining important details from their personal belongings. He was used to you flicking through diaries and boxes of mementos that were once treasured by another young girl, not so much older than yourself.

He’d be lying if he hadn’t thought it was impacting you—reading through the journals of dead women who had been very similar to yourself, with similar hopes and dreams. It was depressing, he knew, and yet if you were bothered by it, you didn’t show it in the slightest. At least not to him.

And back then, he’d never notice the sweet smile that always graced your face when he was asking you if you’d like coffee. You’d shake your head no, and take sips of water between your yawns. You didn’t even tell him that you don’t drink coffee until a few months later, after he asked if you’d ever like a cup when he offered. He can remember it clearly even now.

“Actually, Hotch, I don’t drink coffee.” Your cheeks were tinged with color like you were embarrassed to even be admitting this to him.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner? I would have stopped asking three months ago.” If he sounded stern, he didn't mean to. The burning on your face deepened.

“I didn’t want to be rude. I drink tea though, but I didn’t think to mention it. It’s not as easy to make.”

“Well, let me know if you need a cup of hot water then.”

You had smiled at that, and he had turned around to take another picture on the bulletin board. He smiled a little too.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” he said, maybe a little too gruffly. He didn’t mean it, again, but it just came out that way. He thinks some part of him is trying to warn you to stay away before you get too close.

“We’re all worried. You went through something really big and didn’t tell any of us and even if you don’t care about us like that, I care about you. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Aaron’s gaze casts around the rest of the jet. Derek has his headphones in, staring out the window and trying to resist sleep. JJ and Emily are playing cards—they should be sleeping, but they had a little too much espresso a few hours before. They’re too far away to hear you and Aaron speaking, but he notices JJ’s eyes darting over every once in a while. Spence is asleep, and he realizes that’s why it’s so quiet. Dave is reading a book, too, but he’ll stop and interject into JJ and Emily’s conversation.

He looks back at you, sleepy-eyed and wrapped in a warm, boxy pullover from your alma mater. He thinks a little bit too much about you these days, and he can’t get it to stop. He shouldn’t profile anyone on the team, they have a strict moratorium on that, but especially not you.

You, who never fails to try to make anyone feel better when they’re down. You, who doesn’t make it seem like you’re analyzing their behavior, but rather observing and offering comfort in hard times. You remember everything the team tells you about their likes and dislikes, never forgetting a birthday or special occasion. He can distinctly recall fresh chocolate chip cookies on Derek’s birthday, carrot cake from the Italian bakery Rossi loves to celebrate when his latest book became a bestseller, and a new knick knack for Penelope’s office after a particularly brutal case.

You say it’s all in passing, but he knows it’s not. You’re trying your hardest to keep the team together in the little ways, strengthening bonds that extend beyond coworkers. You want to fit in and be accepted, and you worry so much that you won’t. This is your way of trying to show that you’re a part of this team too, not just the new girl and one of the young ones.

Aaron blinks twice. You’re looking at him expectantly, and he wishes you wouldn’t. All he’ll do is disappoint you.

“You don’t need to worry,” he repeats. “I’ll be fine.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say that. Why is it so bad for us to worry about you?” You look like you’re starting to get upset—it hurts Aaron more than he realized it would. It’s not bad for the others to worry, it’s bad for you. If you get attached, if he lets this get unprofessional, he doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive himself. Hurting himself is one thing; hurting you is another entirely.

“Let it go, Agent. Try to get some rest.” He looks out the window. He can see the sun coming up, and realizes he hasn’t slept since the night before last. He still needs to drive home—not really home, he remembers sadly, his empty apartment— and work on reports before he can even see Jack. He doesn’t think resting now is a good idea, and yet his body is so tired.

When he looks back, you’re reading your book again but your eyes are really paying attention to the words on the page. You’re just skimming, and blinking rapidly, and he realizes then he’s made you tear up.

His phone goes off—Haley, and he feels guilt building up in his chest, almost overwhelming him. He steps away to answer and talks quietly. He doesn’t want you to overhear and worry even more. When he comes back to his seat, you’ve fallen asleep. He takes the book from your hands gently and puts the bookmark in, closing it and resting it on the seat beside you. He watches you sleep and wonders if he’s making a mistake trying to hide from you. He thinks, and not for the first time, that you see right through him.

The plane lands an hour and a half later, and everyone is beyond exhausted. Even Spencer, who normally doesn’t need much energy or caffeine to start talking fast about something interesting he noticed about this case and this unsub, is unusually quiet. They’re all running on fumes, staying up two nights in a row profiling and then catching the unsub with the latest victim at one in the morning, and then boarding the jet soon after.

Aaron makes a decision, everyone can work on their notes from home and the report is due no later than day after next. Derek pats him on the shoulder and says no one is to call him for the next twenty-four hours. JJ and Emily exchange a laugh. Y

ou, he notices, though he wishes he wouldn’t, go up to Spencer and talk with him quietly. When you’re done, he beams at you and you at him. He wonders what you two talked about when they’re all heading out, listening to Spencer ramble about how the unsub’s use of his childhood spots as disposal sites offers insight into the abuse of his youth. Prentiss tells him to save it for the report.

He and Rossi are walking back to their cars when Dave speaks up for the first time.

“You’re wondering what she said to him, aren’t you?”

Aaron stops for a moment.

“You should know better than to profile me.”

“Oh, I’m not profiling. This is just me being observant. You should stop fiddling with your ring finger when you talk to her. It’s a dead giveaway.”

“Dave, I don’t need to tell you that this conversation—“

“I know, I know. I won’t mention it again if you don’t want me to.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“See you tomorrow, Aaron. And by the way, she offered to write his notes for him if he wanted. He said it’s hard for him to write about unsubs with schizophrenic tendencies and she said she can try to help, if he wants. That’s all. Let me know when you’re ready to talk about this.”

Aaron gets in his car and doesn’t stop thinking about you the entire ride home.

You wish you could make it stop. The way you feel about your boss. It started so long ago, it’s almost a part of you now. Aaron is stern and his disposition is frightening, to the say the least. But only at first, you’ve realized, after so many late evenings spent discussing the case with him, breaking down the tiniest details, and him paying attention to your every word when you discuss the victim’s demeanor and behavior to try to figure out what had really happened.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, you thought. You had gone to the overpopulated state school with the hopes of entering the medical field. You were a true empath, and there was no one’s suffering you couldn’t relate to, no one that you wouldn’t try to make feel better. All your life, people cried on your shoulder while you offered up words of comfort. And because of this, everyone thought you were a shoo-in for nursing or medical school, where you could help people through the worst days of their life.

All it took was a few days at the hospital where you had been working, a string of murder victims being wheeled in one after another, for you to reconsider your life’s work. None had survived the incident, but the killer let them live just long enough to be seen by the doctor, who then had to declare them legally dead.

Something about the victims seemed familiar to you, how they’d all come from wealthy families and were sliced up in their expensive clothing, expensive jewelry and watches smashed to bits instead of being stolen. You mentioned it to one of the officiers, who told someone else, and somewhere in that chain of events, your insight helped them catch the killer.

It was then, you thought, that maybe you should be working on the other side of these situations. Stopping the killer before it ever got to this.

Then you’d done a one-hundred and eighty degree spin on your career, electing to pursue becoming an agent. You had been young, and motivated, and you chose to overlook when everyone told you this job might become your whole life, leaving no time for a husband and kids and a family.

You had ignored it all, working your way up from the local field office to child crimes in just a year and a half. The transition out of sex crimes to homicide was disturbingly hard, because at least before you’d had a victim to interview. You were no expert, not yet, but a unique asset altogether, combining a true mission to uncover the best in each victim, and figuring out their behavior patterns from bedrooms and diaries.

It was a unique skill-set, acquired mostly because a lot of traumatized children didn’t offer much to go off of. You had to turn to their childhood homes, toys, and scribbles to figure out what had been going on in the first place.

You reflect often on why you decided to leave child homicide when news spread that the BAU had an opening for one more agent. Truthfully, you hadn’t considered it at all, since you were more than happy with your current position and coworkers. You were solving cases, delivering justice, and bringing whatever comfort you could bring to grieving families.

In fact, you had been requested specifically. You, out of a hundred or more well-established, intelligent agents that could be a huge asset to the team. You were never special, and you didn’t like to think of yourself in that way either, but you couldn’t deny how good it felt to hear that the team wanted you.

And when you transferred over, everyone was so nice. The team was inviting, they respected your opinion, and especially in cases with younger victims, they revered your knowledge. You felt included, and invaluable, and as hard as you worked, you wanted to work even harder.

Your boss was a brilliant agent and profiler, and so hardworking that you wanted to do anything you could to make his workload a little easier. You wrote the most detailed reports, so he would have to edit them as much.. You offered to pick up extra briefs, so he took home a couple less papers. And no matter what you did, acknowledged or not, you knew you were making the kind of difference you’d always dreamed you would.

Aaron—he was only ever Aaron in your head, and Hotch the rest of the time—liked you as an agent, and it made you happy. A little happier than you should be, considering he was happily married with a toddler and a perfect life outside of work. It was almost wrong, but it didn’t stop you from trying to impress him with your work ethic.

You always put aside your other feelings and focused on the team, and somehow in all of that, you felt like you were finally making your difference. You were close with the team and close enough with Aaron, that you hadn’t been worried to start that conversation on the jet now that all these circumstances were changing. Haley had asked for a divorce and he hadn’t muttered a word of it to anyone.

He’s so tired, you can see. You wonder if everyone else notices it too, or if it’s just you observing so closely. He has dark circles now, because he never sleeps, always working, and the furrows on his forehead are seemingly etched in and permanent. He misses his wife and his son, and you know it, and maybe it’s wrong to care about your boss so much that your heart hurts when you see him glancing at the framed photos of his family on his desk, or the tiny polaroids in his wallet, but you do. You think you’re in love with Aaron Hotchner, and you don’t know how to make it stop.

You’re gonna get hurt, you remind yourself every now and then.

Aaron and Spence have just come back from the prison, where they had an encounter with Chester Hardwick that they won’t really talk about. You’d been with the rest of the team in Indiana, and then two days later in Oregon.

Aaron and Haley were divorcing, and it hurt him so much, you knew, because it wasn't for a lack of love. It was a lack of time, a shortness of hours in the day. He couldn’t be the husband Haley wanted and the father he thought Jack needed while being an agent for eighteen hours a day. It hurt you too, seeing him like this. You wish he felt better.

The days and weeks seemed to blend into months. Somewhere in between Hotch’s divorce and JJ’s pregnancy, you had become complacent with your relationship with Aaron. Walking in together from the parking lot, leaving together at the end of a long day—usually alone and sometimes joined by Emily or David. Sometimes you’d have a frothy drink from a nearby coffee shop in your hand—to which you always hear, “My coffee’s not better than that stuff?”

“It’s not coffee, remember-”

“I know, you don’t drink coffee. That stuff is full of sugar. I don’t need you bouncing off the walls like Reid and Garcia too.”

You laugh, and then you wonder if it’s because he really cares or if it was just a passing comment. You share a lot of little moments like that.

When his eardrum was nearly blown out after New York, you almost offered to drive back with him from Ohio to Virginia. It was instinct, because you just didn’t want him to be alone. You had exchanged a glance when he handed you the plate of brownies from the victim’s mother, and you knew he had read your mind. But he didn’t say anything, and you left it at that. You’re not nearly stupid enough to think that your boss reciprocates your feelings for him. Hell, most days you don’t even know what feelings you have for him.

Your seats on the jet are almost permanently fixed; near the coffee machine towards the cockpit. You sit across from each other, and sometimes you don’t even speak. He’ll bring you a cup of hot water, and he doesn’t ask if you need a tea bag from the make-shift coffee station, because knows they’re in your go-bag.

When it’s his weekend with Jack after two weeks of back-to-back cases, Aaron is always working on the reports on the jet. It’s because he’s trying to reduce how much work he has to do at home, and even when everyone’s fallen asleep and your eyes are close to shutting, you get up and make him a cup of coffee. He’s never once told you how he takes it, and he doesn’t know if you’ve seen him make it either, but somehow you know, and it’s always right. When you offer him the steaming paper cup, he looks up at you with an entirely new look—something you’ve never seen before. You two don’t exchange so many words.

He says it all with his eyes, sometimes, even when you’re not looking. It’s gratitude. (When you get off the jet a few hours later, you tease Morgan about his snoring. Derek asks you where his cup of coffee is, and you shove his arm so hard he almost drops his bag.

In the end, it was you who had figured out there was something wrong with the Reaper’s last few victims.

“Why would a nineteen year old girl date her teaching assistant?” You had questioned, looking through a file that everyone’s eyes had already seen. “An honors student, a freshman, I mean, none of this points to an illicit affair with faculty. She knew it was against the rules and her roommates said she’s never so much as skipped class.”

“That could have been because she wants to see him,” Derek interjects. “If they were truly in love like Foyet said, she’d take every opportunity to be with him.”

“But in an environment where no one can know you two are together? I mean, if she was in love and close to getting engaged, wouldn’t she tell her best friends? Her parents? How many teenage girls keep something like that just to themselves?”

The pieces of the puzzle that had once fit together so nicely were coming undone. It felt like the blink of an eye, from catching Foyet to him escaping. Everyone was on edge, no one more than Aaron, and your empathy still knew no bounds. Where you had once been able to focus on work and dedicate all your thoughts to the cases, you now were distracted and distant. Every other thought was about Aaron, as wrong as that might be.

Canada had been something else entirely. It was difficult for the entire team to fathom, but nearly impossible for you. You had lost your temper twice—something you’d never done before— and thrown up when the team discovered all the shoes. JJ had run after you but in the end, Aaron was the one who found you outside.

“I’m sorry, JJ, I’ll be fine—I-I just need a minute,” you breath out, chest heaving and tears brimming.

“It’s okay,” Aaron says, “take your time.”

You turn around so fast, your breath catching, and you hate this situation. You could never hate Aaron but you hate this, you hate that he followed you and that he’s seeing you like this. You look weak, after two and a half years of trying to prove to him that you’re strong—strong enough to handle this job, do what needs to be done, and not cry at a crime scene.

“I-I’m sorry, I-”

“Why are you apologizing?” He doesn’t sound mad, or like he’s belittling you, and you don’t know why that’s what you expected. This is Aaron, your Aaron, and even though he’s not really yours it doesn't seem to matter much right now.

“I’m making a scene. I-I shouldn’t be throwing up on the job or screaming at those unsubs or anything else-”

“It’s okay. It happens.” Aaron says it so concisely, you almost feel better for a second. Isn’t this what it’s always come down to? You need Aaron like air, and somehow he always knows what you need to hear. He doesn’t treat you any differently compared to the others but it feels different today. You can’t describe it in words. If JJ or Morgan had followed you out here, you would have said the same things, but you wouldn’t have felt this way. Like if you crumble here today, Aaron will be there to pick you up.

“Take your time, please,” he repeats. “I know you think you have something to prove to me, but you don’t. You’ve proven it already, to all of us. Admitting that all of this gets to you isn’t a bad thing. That’s what separates us from them.”

At that moment, a dam bursts. Tears flow down your face like they haven’t in so long, as long as you can remember. You think you should feel embarrassed, crying in front of your boss, but Aaron takes you into his arms and you can’t remember the last time you felt this safe. Cheesy, you think, but this is everything I thought it would be and more.

You’re not sure how long he holds you there, but eventually once the front of his shirt is covered in your tears and he offers you a tissue (Does he just carry this around waiting for one of us to cry?) and you head back together. This is the embarrassing part, you think, bracing yourself and biting your inner cheek. But if the team is judging you at this moment, they certainly don’t show it.

You join JJ and Emily inside the house, who ask you if you’re okay when you sniffle for the last time. Spencer asks you later, on the way home. Derek tells you to call him if you need anything. Dave tells you, “You’ll be okay, kid,” and somehow, you believe him. Penelope texts you once on your phone, checking in and promising a distracting, gossip filled girl’s night out soon.

Aaron walks you to your car, and says goodnight. You’re delusional, you think, once you're back at home. You’ve taken the longest, hottest shower imaginable and your record player is emitting the scratchy sound of your favorite Beatles album. You’re in a big shirt that’s getting wet while you brush your freshly cleaned hair and all you can think about is how it felt to be wrapped in Aaron’s arms a couple hours ago.

You are delusional, you remind yourself. You’re checking your phone every couple minutes like a love-sick teenager. You think Aaron’s going to call you to check in, you almost feel it in your bones. You leave the ringer on incase he calls later—maybe he showered and sat down to work on some reports before sleeping. You fall asleep thirty minutes later, exhausted down to your bones, and wake up startled by your phone going off. In your sleepy delirium, you answer without looking who it is—assuming it’s Aaron.

“Hotch?”

“Hey, sorry it’s JJ. We have another case, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, JJ, um, okay, I-I’ll be there in ten. Text the address, okay?” Your cheeks burn at the slip.

“I sent it just now. Listen, I’m sorry, but can you try Hotch’s cell? I called and texted and he’s not answering.” You feel your stomach turn, first because Aaron isn’t answering and he always answers, and second because JJ thinks he’ll answer if you call.

“I’ll try him now. I’ll call you back.”

You try him twice while changing and another time in the car. Your only explanation is that maybe he went to see Jack and put his phone away, but even that doesn’t check out.

When you get to the scene, you inform the others about Aaron not answering.

“Alright, let’s split up for now and I’ll keep trying Hotch,” Derek says. They don’t seem that worried, and maybe that lulls you into not worrying either. After all, they’ve known him a lot longer than you have.

You end up with Spencer and Emily at the doctor’s house, combing through patient files Garcia sent over. There’s tens of dozens, and even though you want to go with Emily to Aaron’s place to get him, you know your experience with kids and in the hospital is vital. You and Spencer start working, but something feels off. You just can’t place it.

In the end, you attribute it to your nerves from the last case. Your fear of embarrassing yourself carried into today, and even though you know no one judged you for losing it in Canada, the feeling lingers. Spencer answers the phone from Emily and says that Hotch was busy with something at the bureau that now requires Emily too. In the end, you and Spence figure it out just in time. Your body is so tired, it hurts, and then on top of that, Spencer gets hurt. You can barely process what’s happening, and you don’t feel better until the doctor says it’s through-and-through.

“God, Spencer, never do that again,” you say, your hands wet with the blood from his wound. You wipe it on your clothes, thinking you’ll change soon.

“Guys, guys listen to me, something’s happened to Hotch.” The blood drains from your face and your breath stops in your throat.

“What?”

“Emily told me not to say anything until we got the unsub, but he’s in the hospital.”

The next hour is a blur. You all show up to the hospital, and Emily is talking to a bunch of agents. Their faces are blurred because you can hardly think straight.

“Em? Is he okay?” your words must be coming out frantically because everyone’s looking at you like you’re about to crumble.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t say anything because I knew we wouldn’t be able to think straight about the case, I know it’s wrong but-”

“Is he okay?” You didn’t mean to cut her off, it just happened like that. Your mind is so clouded right now with a petrifying vision of Aaron dying alone on the floor of his new apartment that he hates so much, while you were waiting for a call for him.

“He-he hasn’t woken up yet.”

You sit on a chair by Aaron’s bed. He looks like he’s sleeping, and a part of you had always wanted to see him like this. It would be comforting, if he actually was sleeping. You’d imagined it a little differently—you thought for sure he snores and sleeps on his side. You always notice sleep lines only on one arm when you guys have just woken up and continue working on the case. You stare extra hard when he rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt on particularly hot days. Everyone would moan and groan about another case in the heat of Texas or Arizona, but not you.

It seems like those memories were a million years ago.

When he wakes up, everyone pours in and it distracts you for a few heartbeats. When they realize what Foyet is actually after, the terror is apparent on everyone's faces. You realize how long it’s been since you last saw Haley and Jack when they finally step into the room. You and Emily leave to give them privacy.

Later that night, you’re back in that chair. Aaron wakes up for a few minutes at a time, and when he finally stays awake, he notices you.

“How long have I been out?”

“Thirty minutes. Give or take.”

“Is there water?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You scramble up to get the pitcher and pour him a glass. There’s a straw too, which you put in the cup and hold still for a second so he can drink.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah.” He can see all your emotions on your face. It doesn’t take him long at all, not anymore. You’ve been crying and your clothes have blood on them. He’s alarmed again.

“Is that your blood?” he asks, swallowing hard.

“No, no, Hotch. We had a case, the-the unsub shot Spence. He’s okay though, it just got on me and I haven’t been back home to change yet.”

“Why don’t you? Go home?”

“I didn’t want to leave you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I let you go home alone yesterday and look what happened.” You smile meekly at your own joke, hoping he appreciates it. He lies still though, not smiling.

“I think you should go home. Get some rest after everything.”

“You know, Hotch, only you would tell me to go home and rest up when you’re the one who’s currently in the hospital.”

“I just think-”

“Do you want me to leave? If you do, I will. I swear.” There’s silence between you two for a moment.

“No.”

“Good, because I wasn’t going to.” The corners of his mouth turn up a little. You barely even notice it. “I can’t leave now. I don’t want you to sit alone here.” You should stop talking, you think to yourself. But you don’t. “You know yesterday, I got home and the whole time I sat there wondering if you were gonna call my cell. I even turned the ringer up all the way so I didn’t miss it. And I know that’s stupid because why would you call me? But I had this feeling. And now all I can think is why didn’t I call you?”

“Don’t think like-”

“Don’t think like that? Yeah, I knew you would say that. But if I had called you like I wanted to, and asked you to come over like I wanted to, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. But I didn’t because I was scared and I don’t want to be scared anymore. And I know this is the last thing you need to hear right now, but I guess I can’t hold it in any longer.”

You want to clamp your hand over your mouth. Your favorite cheesy rom-coms have infiltrated your brain, and you can’t fathom how stupid you must sound right now to Aaron. He’s just almost died and the kid who was the last to join his team is declaring love for him on his hospital bed. But it won’t stop coming out.

“Can I tell you something Aaron? I mean, more than I already have? Emily said she didn’t tell me you were hurt because she knew I wouldn’t be able to think straight about the case anymore. About anything, anymore, if I knew you were missing or that you were hurt or dead. And I’ve been trying to hide it for so long, because I know you don’t need any more complications in your life right now, but, I think I have feelings for you, Aaron.” Hot tears stream down your face. You try to stop them but you can’t. They’ve been building up for two years.

“Please don’t cry. I don’t have a tissue for you this time.” You smile through your tears, but your entire body is still tense. It’s because you’re still expecting bad news, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Do you want me to leave? I can call Emily, she’ll sit with you if you don’t want to be alone.”

“I don’t want you to leave. And you don’t have to tell me these things, I already knew them.” Another few tears drip down your face. Aaron’s chest hurts more than it has ever before. He thinks back to your conversation on the jet that day, when you told him you cared about him and he hadn’t said much of anything at all. “I hope you know that I have feelings for you, too.”

“You mean you care about me and the team?” you question half-heartedly. You think you’ve already gotten your answer. “I mean I care about the team a lot. And I care about you more than I should, more than what’s right. More than a superior should care about one of their agents. And I think if this hadn’t happened, I would have called you last night. Not because of the case, because of you. Because I need to make sure you’re okay.”

Your heart thumps uncomfortably in your chest. Aaron reaches out his hand a little, and you take it into yours. You sit like that for a long time, and you know there’s so much else going on, but a small part of you sighs in relief. Aaron is okay, and he feels about you how you do about him, and maybe everything will be okay in the end.

The months after Haley’s funeral are tough for everyone. It’s weird going to work and not seeing Aaron. Sometimes you inadvertently make a cup of coffee how he likes it and have no one to give it to. You started drinking some, even though it tastes bitter and terrible, it makes you feel close to him.

How stupid is that, you wonder one day, sipping the coffee and looking over files with JJ. If the rest of the team thinks you're stupid, they haven’t shown any signs of it yet. You’re sure they mostly feel bad for you and your pathetic behavior. You’ve gotten sloppy because you can’t stop thinking about how Aaron is doing.

You and the team will go visit him and Jack at his new place. You make cookies, snickerdoodle for Aaron and oatmeal raisin for Jack.

“What kind of a kid are you?” you questioned, helping Jack scribble in his Captain America coloring book. He’s munching on a cookie while you try to figure out what part of the shield is blue and what part is red. “I mean, who likes oatmeal raisin cookies at the tender age of 5?”

“I did,” Spencer says, taking another one out of the tin.

“You don’t count, genius,” Morgan says, and then directs his gaze at you. “And I mean come on, no chocolate chip for me? None at all? That hurts.”

“I made you some like two weeks ago! I have a job, you know,” you fire back. Aaron laughs, eating the snickerdoodle after dipping it in milk. It’s so domestic, you feel yourself staring. You only turn away when he catches you looking.

When he comes back, you wonder if it’ll ever feel normal again. That silly routine you two had, the chairs on the jet near the coffee machine that you still sit in, walks to your car.

At first, it just feels strange. So much has changed yet the team’s dynamic remains the same. You get through cases with the same ferocity you had when you first started, eager to prove your worth again. Your reports detail every detail and then some, and you stay even later than Aaron some nights. You need something to focus on, and your cases seem like the best option. The other option is to have another conversation with Aaron about your feelings and you think you might die if that happens.

When it finally does happen, it’s plenty embarrassing. You were so sure about your theory about this unsub, so sure that he would confess if he was confronted about his crimes and reminded of the humanity of his victims—three little kids, all under ten. Maybe that’s why it bothered you so much, and that’s why you stormed into the residence even though the rest of the team was screaming at you not to. In the end, you talk him down, but Aaron runs in behind you anyways and nearly spooks the unsub into suicide.

“You do not have the authorization to make calls like that,” Aaron yells at you, and though you had once thought you would die if he yelled at you, it’s all too easy to yell back.

In that moment, when you had known what would happen, dealing with your area of expertise, he stormed in and questioned you and your abilities as an agent and as a profiler.

“I don’t need authorization, I knew what would happen, and I knew how to talk him down without this ending in gunfire—”

“I don’t care what you think you knew. This is a team, and we don’t make decisions that jeopardize a case without agreeing on it!” “You mean you have to agree with every decision I make? I had it handled, Hotch, you almost blew that whole thing up because you didn’t believe in me!”

“That’s not what this is about,” he fires back, and it feels strange to be yelling at you. He can’t recall the last time he’s ever done this. The rest of the team is just packing up in the police station, trying not to overhear but not really having any choice in the matter.

“Yes it is! You don’t trust me! Not to make decisions for this team and for our cases, or for anything. You just proved that back there. You don’t trust me.” It’s happening again. Tears brew in your eyes. They spill down before you can stop it. Aaron softens before your very eyes at the sight of them. “Stop! Stop feeling bad just because now I’m crying, they’re not tears for you, they’re angry tears and I can’t control it-”

“Of course, I trust you.” His voice has dropped from a yell to just above a whisper. “How could you think that I don’t?”

“I’m not stupid, Aaron. I know what I’m doing. My plan was going to work and you shot me down in front of everyone because you didn’t believe in me,” you say between tears. “Nothing’s changed.”

“And what do you think would happen if you stormed in there and I lost you too?” His voice is gentle. You hadn’t noticed that he was so close to you now. You can see the eyelash on his cheek and feel the heat radiating from his body.

“That’s not what this is about.”

“That is exactly what this is about. You think I don’t trust you, so I won’t let you walk into a confrontation alone? That I think you don’t know how to profile, how to handle these unsubs, so I get into a screaming match outside a crime scene? Tell me, does that check with any of my behavior in the years I’ve known you?”

“I don’t know, Hotch, I don’t profile you.”

“You call me Hotch in front of everyone, and especially when you’re upset with me. When it’s just us you use Aaron. You know how I take my coffee even though I’ve never told you, because you pay attention even when no one else is looking. Cases with children affect you the most, especially when it takes us longer to work them, because you think you should be quicker and figure out the unsub faster since you worked with kids before joining the team. You remember the little things everyone says because you don’t want them to think you’re not paying attention to them. You cry about cases when you feel like there’s something more you should have done, even though there’s nothing else any of us can do. And you cry about me the most of all, that time on the jet, in the hospital, and just now because you think I don’t share your feelings. You think I know all this because I’m profiling you, but it’s not. It’s because I pay attention to those whom I love.”

Shell shocked. You are shell shocked at Aaron’s speech, eyes wide and mouth open. You’re sure the rest of the team, hidden behind a bulletin board and the conference table is much the same.

“I’m going to kiss you now. And that’s the end of the conversation about me not trusting you, okay?” You nod dumbly. Aaron’s lips are sweet and taste like his coffee—black, with two sugars. You feel another tear falling but it’s only because you hadn’t expected any of that.

“That took long enough,” David says from behind the partition.

and voila <3

#spent my sunday writing this while rewatching season 3 #putting off prep for my grad school interview b/c this is so much better <3 #hope everyone likes it #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotcher imagine #hotch #hotch imagine #aaron hotch fanfiction

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luveline · 7 months

Note

hi, i have a request for hotch if that's okay with you :)

when they're on the jet, yn is smiling a lot at her phone so the team starts to tease her because the think that she has a mysterious boyfriend. and she does, but he's sitting right next to her and he's also wondering who's making her smile like that since it's clearly not him

tysm!

Hotch is trying hard to award you your privacy, but your smile makes it difficult. You're actually squared away from him despite sitting in the seat beside him of your own free will, your phone to your chest, a huge smile curved across your cute mouth. 'Cute mouth', Hotch thinks to himself with derision. He's thoroughly whipped for you. It might not work out.

You've been secretive and strange on your phone for an hour now. With nothing left to do but wait for the jet to touch down, you can watch whatever or text whenever you want. Hotch just wishes it wasn't so distracting. Who are you texting? He feels ill.

"Who's that?"

The dam finally breaks. As soon as Morgan asks, Emily pipes up, "Yeah, who is it?" as Rossi laughs and declares, "I know that look. Young Y/N's in love."

You side eye Hotch. "Workplace harassment," you say.

"Who is it?" Hotch asks.

You gawp but laugh at his unprofessional questioning, pressing your phone screen tight to your chest. "Hotch, it's–"

"Your not-so-secret boyfriend? Come on, we all know you have one," Morgan says.

"I know you know, you're like sharks," you say, giving them all a great long look.

For weeks now, you've glowed. This overzealous smiling and laughing is the straw that breaks the camel's back. Your nosy coworkers can't hold back their curiosity any longer. Hotch was stupid enough to think that your secretive dates and nights spent curled in on one another might be the reason behind your new hopped up sprightliness, but apparently not.

"So you admit it!" Emily cheers.

"Maybe. But it's not what's happening on my phone."

"Well, what is it?" Spencer asks.

They've leaned in on you, a circle of eager faces. Your sudden decision to admit you —maybe— have a boyfriend is as much as anyone's gotten out of you in weeks. If anyone could tease the truth from you, of course it's Hotch, and so the team looks to their leader pleadingly.

He's not sure he wants to know. "They won't leave you alone otherwise," he says, hoping that his expression shows his leniency. Your secrets are your own if you want to keep them.

You smile at him. Again, he thinks you have a cute mouth, and that he's biassed but you definitely smile sweeter at him than anyone else. You and Hotch know something the others don't, amusement like light behind your irises. "I'll show you," you say smugly, "and only you, Hotch."

"Typical," Morgan murmurs, sitting back on the couch.

Hotch clenches his sweaty palms beneath the table. "Alright."

You lean in against his shoulder. Your phone turns on, and he's taking deep breaths as you click to your photo app, and then an album labelled with a simple, '<3'.

It's photos of him. Most he knows you took, sitting across from you in dark restaurants or kneeling in your apartment putting together a new set of drawers. Your giggles begin in earnest as you swipe through them to a more recent photograph. You couldn't have taken it more than a week ago, when he'd stayed the night with you by accident, too tired to leave. His face is slack in sleep. He realises it's a video when you click a button and the sound of crinkling fabric plays from your speaker. In the video, you unbutton the tight collar of his shirt, stroking his neck briefly with a loving knuckle. The video moves down to frame his arm, his hand clinging to your other one like a sucker.

Hotch looks up from the video and blinks at you. Your hand on his sleeping neck, the sound of your tired laughter —he can't not smile. "Oh. That's…"

"What did you show him?" Morgan asks, his voice coloured with both amusement and frustration. The team echo his question.

"I can't kiss and tell," you say, still tucked up by his side.

"I think it's best if you don't, L/N," Hotch agrees.

He'd lose all credibility.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

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littlecarmine · 3 months

Text

AARON HOTCHNER + JACKET OFF

CRIMINAL MINDS (2005 — PRESENT) | 10.05 “BOXED IN”

#tw: flashing #cw: flashing #cmedit #criminalmindsedit #.gif #hotch #aaron hotchner #thomas gibson #aaron hotchner edit #aaronhotchneredit #aaron hotchner gifs #cm 10x05 #criminal minds 10x05 #criminal minds #cm #television #dad bod hotch #for the hotchgirls for being so patient during my hotchatius <3 #qp

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mrs-weasley-reid · 22 days

Text

Suit Jacket

Aaron Hotchner x bau!reader

part 2 | Invitation Letter

Summary: Aaron Hotchner seems to love his suit jacket on you.

Warning: Nothing besides a few curses (I think)

A/N: not my gif, ctto! This was also sitting on my drafts for almost a year and barely proofread, so I apologize for the errors.

— ✦ — ✦ ✦ — ✦ ✦ ✦

Sunday, March 11, 2:04 AM

"Thanks, unibrow." You grinned drunkenly, smiling at your boss, SSA Aaron Hotchner, as you collapsed in the cab's backseat. His suit jacket kept you cozy and covered like a cocoon while you comfortably giggled at the applied inside joke of his new nickname.

With Penelope's constant peer pressure, your inhibition has reached rock bottom eleven shots, five cocktails, and two whiskey glasses ago. You downed liquor like water, easing your stiff shoulders.

Aaron only stared at you with the same impassive face he had and shut the door before the cold caught you. He hunched in front of the driver's window, "This woman is a federal agent, and if something happens to her, I'll hunt you down. Please, drive her home safely." He straightened back up, casually tapping the vehicle's roof.

The cab took you away only after Aaron snapped a picture of the cab's plate number. He sighed as the vehicle slowly disappeared from his line of sight. He twisted on the balls of his feet, met by his other children, agents drunkenly calling his name.

Tuesday, March 27, 10:14 AM

You scurried out of the elevator, weaving through the sea of agents in the bullpen and then to the conference room where everybody was already settled in.

"So sorry! There was this son of a b—" You closed your eyes and breathed deeply, clenching your fists. Then, you exhaled profoundly with a calm smile at the end. "I got in a car accident. Go on, Pen. Sorry for interrupting." You took a seat between Aaron and JJ.

JJ turned to you, "Are you okay?" Her hand gently landed on one of yours, giving you a worried squeeze.

You gathered a smile and raised a thumb, "Thick skull and strong bones. Nothing can break me, not even this unsub... whoa—" Your eyes widened a bit.

How ironic for your case to be about an unsub who performed a craniotomy on the victims. You smiled awkwardly, the similar tight-lipped smile that Spencer would always plaster on his face.

The other agents coughed a chuckle at your reaction while Penelope continued the debrief with the same horrified look.

Upon listening to the case details, you slowly felt colder, subtly rubbing the sides of your shoulders. You were so caught up in your anger towards the guy that rear-ended you you could've sworn your body was overheating. You left your blazer somewhere and were sure it wasn't in your wrecked car.

"Alright, wheels up in 30," Aaron announced, sending everyone to get out of their seats and grab their go bags and snapping you off your trance in the process.

You rushed to collect your file copy and headed for the door but halted when Aaron called you. You pivoted on your heels, "Yes?"

He was taking off his jacket, handing it to you as soon as it peeled off his body.

"I don't think dry cleaning your suit is part of my job description, Sir." You kidded as you stared at his black jacket.

Aaron rolled his eyes. It was so rare that you had to blink twice to ensure you didn't have a concussion from your minor car accident. "You're cold." He wasn't asking, plainly stating your slight predicament.

Your eyebrows knitted, mouth slightly opened. And as if the universe was mocking you, a sudden draft slapped you in a shiver. You snatched his jacket and mumbled a small thank you.

As you walked out of the conference room, teasing eyes bore holes into your being. Each BAU team member's narrowed brows held you captive, and their loud thoughts rang in your ears. You ignored all of it, though, taming your anxiety with the warmth of Aaron's jacket.

Wednesday, April 13, 1:37 PM

"Garcia, look for old cases with one young boy as a survivor." Aaron started, listing each task that everyone was to complete.

You were so focused on the case that your next movement caught you off guard.

Your back snapped straight from the slap of Minnesota air. It was brief. An officer merely opened and closed the door, but your body was nowhere near as warm as it was a few seconds ago.

The warmth of cotton fabric soon hugged your shoulders, along with the momentary weight of Aaron's hands, before he fully let go of his suit jacket.

He continued talking as if what he had just done was normal or anything close to casualty, "Morgan and Reid, try speaking with the victim's family one more time."

Emily exchanged looks with JJ, conversing silently while you obliviously sipped your coffee.

Friday, May 2, 5:04PM

"Capital O-M-G!" Penelope squealed, drumming on your shoulders as soon as she came close.

"Garcia, breathe," JJ gently placed her hands on Penelope's shoulders, modeling a regular breathing pattern.

Emily gave you a look as she sipped her coffee, which you returned with a shrug. Penelope was ever so eccentric. You've gotten used to it over the years you've been with the team.

"Okay, okay, okay. I'm good. Just that— I was— Ugh! Look!" Penelope shoved her phone in your face.

You saw a blinding blur, forcing out a sarcastic, "Wow! I can definitely see."

Luckily, JJ took it to herself to pull Penelope's phone away from messing up your eyesight and looked at the image plastered on the screen. A smirk immediately covered her lips, "Oh."

"What is it? Let me see—" Emily walked behind JJ. Her jaw dropped not long after. "Anything you want to tell us?" She cooed as she gave you the widest grin she had ever flashed, at least for that morning.

Your eyebrows clashed, and your forehead creased, "Whatever are you on about?"

"You're telling us nothing's happening between you and a guy?" Emily's grin only widened. You wondered how wide it could get, terrifying you in the process.

JJ flipped the phone to your end. The brightness of the screen stung your eyes a bit. "Want to explain this?"

Photo: It looked like the picture was cropped because you saw Derek's arm around you, but he was nowhere to be found in the image. Aaron's jacket was around your shoulders while he was behind you, glaring at Derek's arm.

"What about it?" The confusion was solid in your voice. However, you had a bit of an idea of what the three of them were insinuating.

Penelope stepped closer to you, "Uhuh, sure," she started as she zoomed in on the picture. "You're telling me you can't see Hotch's jacket on your shoulders, let alone Hotch glaring at my chocolate thunder?"

"He let me borrow his jacket because I was cold. Doesn't he always do that with everyone?" You innocently asked, looking at each one of them.

"Still doesn't explain him glaring at Derek." Emily chimed in a teasing tone, wiggling her eyebrows.

Your eyes widened, "You think Hotch was mad at me because I took it? He offered it to me, and I was cold. You think he was just being polite or?"

Penelope rolled her eyes and aimed her fluffy pen at you, "You oblivious profiler! He's jealous!"

"Uh-no," You chuckled.

"You don't believe me? Look at this."

Photo: This photo was older than the first one and might've been your third or fourth year with the BAU team. It seemed like all of you had just ended a case. You were snuggled on the couch on the jet. Aaron was draping his jacket over you.

"Who took that picture?" You queried.

Penelope raised her hand, "I was going to check in on everyone, then the camera spotted it, and I took a screenshot because I couldn't help myself. I was going to tease you about it but forgot for a very, very, very, very long time until I saw that picture from our last team night out." She wiggled her eyebrows, a playful smile on her lips.

"Looks like our boss has a favorite," JJ sang softly, looking at you with a knowing smile.

Emily nudged you, noticing the blush on your face. "You've gotta admit that's very sweet of Hotch. I think he likes you wearing his jacket." She teased, poking your sides.

"He does that to everyone, though," You reasoned. If you recall, he had offered his jacket to many people before.

"Nope, no!" Penelope shook her head vigorously with a tight lip. "He offers it to some but gives it to you."

"We had a case where it was biting cold outside. Hotch offered to help me if I needed a jacket. I said no because of politeness and shit, but he didn't insist. He didn't even offer his jacket. He offered to give me time to return to my room and grab my jacket." Emily grimaced, obviously still holding a grudge regarding the incident.

"I've known Hotch for years. Giving out his jacket was only for emergencies. If it's the only choice he had. We've had cases where a victim was a little too exposed, and his solution was to wrap them with the newspaper he conveniently found." JJ exclaimed, sorting the manila folders on her chest.

You gave it some thought and considered every possibility, but you shook your head. "He's just being nice because he's my boss. Plus, I'm still a bit tense around the team." You straightened yourself, fixing your top.

Emily cackled, "Getting flat-out drunk with us is definitely you still a bit tense around us."

"You know what I mean," You defended, blushing.

The three exchanged looks and shrugged. If you wanted to turn a blind eye, then it was your choice. But they had a perfect theory and tried to test it out.

Aaron was heading to the elevator as you exited the bullpen. The three of them grinned.

"Going for girls night?" Aaron quipped, raising his eyebrows.

JJ frowned, "We were, but she's feeling sick. I think the cold's getting to her." She gave you a pitiful hug.

Your eyes blew wide, jerking your head behind you where the other two stood with maniac grins. You knew what JJ was doing. It didn't take a second for you to figure it out. And as if luck was on their side, the elevator dinged.

You followed their figures as they piled in in the lift. You glared at them, but Emily focused on the man beside you.

You gazed at Aaron and were met with his jacket stretched out to you. Your mouth fell open, unable to breathe.

"It's cold outside this time of night. You'll feel worse if you don't layer up." Aaron cleared his throat, "Take it."

You reached for his jacket so slowly that he took it in himself to wrap it around your shoulders. "Thank you," Your voice quivered, hesitantly stepping inside the elevator.

He followed, standing beside you. You could feel the three devils behind you, preparing yourself for their constant teasing.

Unbeknownst to any of you, Aaron was holding his breath in the hopes that none of you would notice his blushing ears.

Monday, May 16, 8:12PM

The entire day has been a drag. Besides the unsub being disgustingly great at hiding his tracks in the safety of your local area, your stomach had been giving you the worst time of your life.

Later in the evening, in Aaron's orders, everyone was sent home to get some rest and start fresh the next day.

You were thankful. You needed to rest from all the stomach-emptying vomit you did in the restroom. Your acid reflux was having a field day and didn't let you get a breath. You practically lived in the toilet. You even had to call Derek and ask him to put you on speaker so you could contribute to finding the unsub. Luckily, they didn't question it.

Emily retracted away as she exited your hug, "Are you sure you don't want me to give you a ride home? We practically live in this building. I don't think they'd mind you leaving your car here for a night."

A warm smile brightened your drained face, "Yes, I'm sure. Thanks for the offer." You bid her one last goodbye before heading to your own car.

Your head was down as the day's exhaustion finally caught up. Your senses were off. You walked as if time stopped. You wondered if you should've taken advantage of Emily's offer.

With your loud thoughts and vulnerable senses, a heart attack almost killed you when a sudden cage of warmth engulfed your body. For a moment, your body wanted to fight, but it didn't take long for you to remember the familiarity of this warmth.

"What took you so long?" His voice was gentle and comforting enough to put you to sleep immediately.

You looked up at Aaron, who refused to unwrap his arms around you, "I didn't know you were waiting. I thought you went home already. Isn't Jack waiting for you? It's movie night."

Aaron smiled, "I'm taking you to the hospital to get checked. Captain Jack's orders."

You couldn't help but smile as well. He held the door for the passenger seat before jumping to the driver's seat. As you watched him go around, you noticed his scent lingered on your shoulders.

Aaron placed his jacket on yours.

"You ought to be careful," A chuckle passed your lips, "The gals are onto you."

"Why?" Aaron looked at you with a confused expression. His face made you giggle. The genuineness of his expression made you wonder his reaction if you had said the same thing two years ago.

A grin glistened on your face, "They say Agent Hotchner has a crush on me." Your voice danced with playfulness.

Aaron copied your grin and shrugged, "I'm surprised they haven't figured it out after all these years." He turned his body to face you, "So? Do you like him back?"

If only the BAU team knew how their unit chief, the SSA Aaron Hotchner, was a lot friskier than they perceived him to be, Aaron wouldn't last a day from all the teasing.

Then you wondered how the BAU team would react if they found out you and Aaron have been dating for the past two years and successfully kept it a secret from everyone except Strauss and Rossi.

Or the number of questions you'd be bombarded with when they learn that you recently moved in together with Aaron and Jack. You knew well enough that the ladies would be interrogating you like a serial killer.

You shrugged, "I heard he's got a fiancée." You fished the necklace well hidden under your shirt. A golden ring band shaped like vines with an oval-cut blue moon diamond dangled on the chain.

"Yeah..." Aaron held your hand and placed a soft kiss on the back of it, "You wouldn't want to be in the way of that." He smiled widely, an ever-loving expression you indulged yourself with for the past two years and soon... for a lifetime.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch x you #criminal minds #criminalminds #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch imagine #cm #ssa aaron hotchner #ssa hotchner #fem!reader #x reader #x female reader #character x reader #hotch #aaron hotch fluff

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confused-pyramid · 3 months

Text

Coming Up For Air | s1

pairing: aaron hotchner x childhood bsf!reader

summary: Hotch and his childhood best friend working together at the BAU: a slow burn across the seasons.

word count: 10.4k

warnings: canon!typical violence, mentions of abuse, death of a spouse, slow slow slow burn, specific episodes mentioned in this part are 1x01, 1x06, 1x07, 1x08, 1x15, 1x16, and 1x22

a/n: I started rewatching Criminal Minds from the beginning, and this is what came out of it heh. This is the first part in a little series I'm starting that follows Hotch and his childhood best friend in the BAU, beginning with the pilot. If all goes well, this will continue through the rest of the show, with ~1 part per season :) Title is from Coming up for air by Signals in Smoke

series masterlist

You haven't used your oven in over a year. It's not that you don't like cooking - because you do - you just haven't had the time. If you could, you would blame it on the extra hours you have had to put in after starting at the BAU, but that wouldn't be fair. Your transfer to the unit was the only thing that got you through his death at all.

After your husband was shot and killed in action while tailing a kingpin of one of the New York mobs, you couldn't bear to be in this house at all. You had gone back home to stay with your father for a couple of months, but eventually you had to get back to your real life. With a month remaining on your bureau-mandated leave, you returned to the home you had shared, before one of the lower-level mob soldiers misfired -

You didn't let yourself think about it for almost a year, but time heals all wounds. The poets were right. At least you hope they are.

Even back at home, you still couldn't bear to be there alone, other than when you were sleeping. That's why your peloton was gathering dust and your kitchen went untouched, until just now.

So, of course, the call from the office comes when you're making dinner. It takes five minutes to change into slacks and a button-up, and two more to toss your half-cooked vegetables in the trash, before driving down to headquarters.

A fourth girl has been taken in Seattle, and the local PD only now decided to invite your team. You know the BAU isn't well-liked by the other departments, but that doesn't mean you aren't effective.

When you enter the building, you rush through the I.D. check and jog over to the lecture hall, where Morgan and Reid are standing outside of a neighboring office like children waiting for their father to come and get them.

Shooting them both a thin-lipped smile, you step inside just as they finish discussing the unsub's pattern.

"They want you back in the saddle," Hotch says to the man beside him after greeting you with a nod.

Your eyes are so immediately drawn to Hotch that it takes you a moment to realize that you recognize the man standing next to him. You haven't seen him since the day you were assigned to the BAU, mostly because you were technically transferred to this unit because of his extended leave.

What was supposed to be one month became six, before Hotch informed you that your temporary placement would be permanent, if you were willing to stay in Virginia.

It was a no-brainer.

You turn your gaze to Jason Gideon as everyone in the room stares at him expectantly. He looks self-assured, but you're sure the confidence is a front. "They sure they want me?"

"The order came from the director," Hotch says simply.

"Well," Gideon states, "we'd better get started, then."

Hotch glances over at you as everyone files out of the room and you raise your eyebrows momentarily, a quick check-in between the two of you. He nods imperceptibly and it's enough for now. He didn't tell you Gideon was coming back today, but now isn't the time to give him hell for that.

***

Hotch is the last to board the plane, and he takes his usual seat beside you, this time in the aisle, a few rows away from the rest of the team.

"I was going to tell you," he says as soon as you close the case file in your hands. "The section chief wants me to evaluate him to see if he's ready to return to the team."

"That's a lot of pressure." They have to know that Gideon will be able to smell him out within the day. "You sure it won't get in the way?"

Hotch makes that face you hate, the one that says he knows you're deflecting. "I was going to tell you."

It doesn't take much for you to forgive him. It helps that you trust him completely, especially after everything he has done for you.

"Still," you smile, bumping his shoulder with yours, "it would have been nice to know about the sudden change to my job security."

You're mostly joking, but his frown is genuine. "Don't be silly. You'll always have a place on this team."

He takes everything so seriously these days. You suppose it's only fair, given the files he has to sort through on a daily basis. Picking which case deserves the team's attention the most.

But he wasn't always like this. You're the newest member of the team, but you've known Hotch longer than any of them.

You still remember the first time you met him, at eight years old. He was your first real friend at school, and you became inseparable easily. Your shared love for The Beatles and Law and Order made you fast friends, and as you grew older, your interests shifted in tandem.

Sometimes when you look at him, you still see that little boy who knew too much, but still managed to always make you laugh.

***

The team disperses soon after you land in Seattle. You've never had to come up with a profile in one afternoon, but it's also been a long time since your ticking clock to find the victim was just over a day.

When Gideon and Morgan head to the latest crime scene, you join Hotch and Reid to interview the victim's brother. The moment the three of you step into his house, his dog, Sandy, starts barking up a storm.

"It's what we call the Reid effect," Hotch smiles, walking over to pet her. "Happens with children, too."

You can't help but smile as well, peering over at Spencer, who looks about as uncomfortable as he usually does.

It doesn't escape your notice that the brother looks looser now. Hotch has a way with people that traces back to his childhood self. He was always wiser than his years, something you chalk up to his need to grow up faster than he should have, but his paternal instinct comes from practically raising his brother, Sean, after his dad's untimely death.

The casual interview reveals enough about the victimology that when you head back to the station, Gideon calls the officers in to explain the profile.

You can feel Morgan's agitation wafting off of him as he watches Gideon state his assumptions with startling clarity and confidence. Hotch, on the other hand, looks contemplative, which reminds you that he's been tasked with the returning agent's evaluation.

He can see your furtive glances in his direction, even as you try to remain secretive about your interest in his demeanor. He presses his lips together to keep from smiling as he thinks about how lucky you are that you went into profiling and not covert operations.

You have never been especially good at keeping your own thoughts or intentions to yourself around him. While some would call that a weakness in this field, he sees it as your greatest strength, because it clearly shows how much he can trust you.

As a kid, you were outspoken about every idea you had, and you used your strength and willpower to look out for him when he needed it. It took him a long time to admit how much he used to need you (maybe too long), but you always knew.

***

Gideon's profile leads to the arrest of Richard Slessman and Tim Vogel, and Elle manages to save the last girl while she's still alive. You catch your breath for the first time in 36 hours as you stand with Hotch in the shipyard, watching the paramedics and local police clear the scene.

"What are you going to tell them?" you ask under your breath as his gaze turns to Gideon, who is getting patched up in the back of an ambulance.

He had goaded the unsub into shooting him instead of the girl, but your mind can't seem to focus on the silver lining.

Hotch sighs, crossing his arms over his chest, as though to hold his coat closed against the breeze. "They want to know if he's fit to be a field agent again."

Normally, you would give him shit for using that tactic. Avoiding a question by providing more information. This time, you know he's just thinking out loud.

"What would you say?" Hotch asks as Morgan walks over and sits on a barrel next to you.

"Gideon saved her life," Derek shrugs, his eyes flashing to you for a moment. "That's good enough for me."

Hotch seems to ponder this for a second. "Do you know what Gideon means in Hebrew?"

"Mighty warrior," Reid interjects, popping in to the conversation with the subtlety of a tiger.

You're confused at first, but then you remember the baby names book that was sitting in Hotch's living room the last time you visited him. "You cannot let Haley name your child Gideon."

Hotch laughs suddenly, and you can tell you surprised it out of him. Your chest warms comfortably as he smiles, his cheeks flushing softly in the chill air.

He looks over at Gideon again, deciding in real time that he's going to recommend him to come back to the team. He would never admit it to you or anyone, but he knows that if your position on the team was in jeopardy from Gideon's return, he wouldn't have been able to complete his evaluation fairly.

It was Hotch who recommended you for the open position after he was promoted into Gideon's role as unit chief. You deserved the spot, of course, but Jeff's death had still been fresh and he knew better than most how much the job can take one's mind off of the other aspects of their life.

While Hotch watches Gideon, you watch him. You can tell from the look on his face that it's a done deal. Jason's coming back to the team. It will be a change of pace for everyone, but that doesn't mean it won't be good.

Having joined the team right after the bombing, you saw exactly how Gideon changed after getting the profile wrong, but so did everyone else. What people didn't talk about was how Aaron changed too. Rising into the rank. Growing to fill the hole that Gideon left in the unit, but somehow also shrinking into himself at the same time, because that's what this job does to you...it takes and it takes and it takes until you have nothing left to give.

But sometimes that's what you need: to give something up so you know you aren't losing everything.

***

Gideon settles into the team faster than you anticipated, and soon it's almost like he never left. Even though you can see the vein on Morgan's neck pulsate every time he hijacks a profile, you can't help but appreciate the support he gives to Spencer and Elle, both of whom are becoming incredible profilers before your very eyes.

That's also why you find yourself a little worried when Hotch tells you that Reid failed his weapons recertification.

"I thought you said you were helping him practice," you say as the two of you walk past security and toward the bullpen.

"I was," he emphasizes, before correcting himself, "I did. I'm sure he was just nervous."

You nod, pushing open the doors and spotting Reid sitting quietly at his desk. "He can test again in two weeks. He'll be fine."

When Morgan hands him a whistle with a quippy joke, you sigh into your coffee tumbler, but don't bother stepping in. He's being childish, but if you try to intervene, it'll just embarrass Spencer more.

"Okay," JJ starts, "Franklin Park, Des Plaines. Yesterday afternoon."

She dives into the case, but you have already read the file (and you know Reid has too) so you scoot your chair over to his desk and lean forward so only he can hear you. "I failed my first weapons certification at the bureau too."

Spencer looks up immediately, his face colored with surprise. "Really? You're one of the best shots I know."

You smile with a shrug. "The tests aren't real life. When it comes down to it, I get the job done. Just like you will."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, but then his lips curve up into a small smile. You both turn your attention back to the front just as JJ finishes explaining the case details.

"Wheels up in 30."

The flight to Illinois is filled with heated discussions about the bureau's fruitless history of trying to profile long distance serial killers.

"L. D. S. K.s are so rare, we haven't been able to build a standard profile," Hotch explains as the jet reaches cruising altitude.

Gideon chimes in immediately. "Here's what we do know: they're always male, and they frequently have law enforcement or military experience, and they always contact the police or the media."

Elle looks confused and you echo her sentiment as you lean your hip against her armrest. "To take credit or relive the experience?"

"Both," he says simply. "All serial killers attempt to relive the ecstasy they get from their killings. Some use souvenirs taken from the victims, and others return to the dump site to interact with the body. Both modes require contact with the victim, contact which, by definition, long distance serial killers don't have."

"Our unsub hasn't contacted anybody," you point out. "What do we do until then?"

"Sometimes it's not what the unsub does that reveals the profile. Sometimes it is what they do not do."

Reid glances up from the file in his lap, and you notice that he looks at Gideon first. "He doesn't kill his victims."

"Underkill's a unique signature," Hotch ponders, standing up and walking along the cabin. He only paces when he's deep in thought. "The question is, does he shoot them in the stomach intentionally just to wound them, or is he just aiming at the biggest part of the target?"

The team is silent as you take in this new analysis. You're not surprised when Gideon is the first to speak up. "Specifically, does the unsub lack the skill to make the head shot, or simply the will to take it?"

When the plane lands, you check out the last crime scene before spending the day talking to the local police and the victims' surgeons at the nearby hospital.

That night, when you check into your hotel room, the click of the door lock closing behind you is a welcome relief from the tension of the day. Many of the Des Plaines police officers were unhappy with the team's initial assessment, because it heavily implied that the unsub may have been a law enforcement official himself.

You wash your face and change into a tee shirt and a comfortable pair of sweatpants, before climbing into bed and opening the case file back up again. The rest of the team has also gone to their own rooms, but you can't help but wish you had another set of eyes looking at this with you.

As though reading your mind, a knock thuds on your door and you stand up quickly, in case it's an emergency. When you check the peephole, you see Hotch standing way too close to the door.

Unlocking it slowly so you don't startle him, you open the door to find him in still in a full suit.

"Is there a problem?" you ask immediately. "Do I need to get dressed?"

He shakes his head, glancing around the hallway so quickly that you almost miss it. "I was just looking over the profile and I wanted your opinion on some thoughts I had."

The corner of your mouth twitches and you open the door further to let him in. He doesn't miss a beat as he takes a seat on the armchair in front of your bed and flips open his notepad.

"I was thinking about the bullet we recovered on the scene," he says slowly, like he's thinking through every word he's saying.

You nod, sitting on top of the bed covers and crossing your legs under you. "Garcia called after you left the station. The bullet was a .223 fired from the M-4 variant of the M-16."

"That means he's military," Hotch says, reaching his hand out without taking his eyes off his notepad. You close the case file you had laid out and hand it to him. "M-4 is a shorter barrel than the M-16, so it's less accurate and a lot harder to fire, especially at these distances."

"This level of skill indicates specialized training. That means..."

"It means the underkill was on purpose," Hotch says, finishing your thought. "What is he trying to prove?"

You purse your lips as he sits up in the chair to give himself room to remove his jacket. His pinstriped button-down is slightly crinkled under his arms, but you can tell it was freshly ironed this morning.

"Maybe he's in a fast-paced occupation," you suggest, "which would fit with the profile that he has a big ego."

"Then we're back to law enforcement."

You lean forward, your eyes following his hands as they fidget with his cuffs and undo the buttons, one at a time. You've always been attune to every one of his movements, but maybe it's just because you've spent so much time around him.

"Hotch," you whisper-yell, snagging his attention from your case file, which he tosses back to you.

He hums and you take that as an invitation to continue speaking. "Be careful tomorrow, when you're giving the profile."

One of his eyebrows lifts and you can tell he's holding back a smile. "It's just in front of the Des Planes PD. You'll be there too."

"It's not that," you sigh, shaking your head. "Everything about this profile points to the shooter being either current or former law enforcement. I'd be surprised if they didn't take it personally."

His eyes flit up to yours, his brow furrowing. "I can handle myself."

"I'm sure you can, Hotch," you say with a breathy laugh. "Doesn't mean I don't still look out for you."

He pauses and it's like his whole body takes a beat. "I know."

***

You're talking to Dr. Landman with Derek, Elle, and Jason the next day when a gunshot rings out through the hospital. Last you checked, Hotch and Reid were in the E.R., but you haven't heard from them since you arrived.

"It's Phillip Dowd," a nurse informs you when you meet with local police outside the closed E.R. door.

After a quick call to Penelope, the profile becomes clear.

"He joined the army at 18," Gideon recites, pacing around the room in a vaguely reminiscent manner, "went to ranger school, did 6 years before being dishonorably discharged in '95 for conduct unbecoming. Obviously lied about it, joined the Arlington P. D."

"You were right," the police captain sighs. "He was a cop."

His hopeless tone is disheartening, and you find yourself upset for not the first time that your team was correct in their assessment.

After the initial commotion, the E.R. is silent except for a few muffled voices. You can't hear what's being said, but the lack of gunshots or loud noises is all that's keeping you from falling apart.

"It'll be okay," you hear whispered from next to you. You turn to see Derek, who presses his shoulder to yours briefly. "Hotch will know what to do."

You know there's nothing you can do from out here, especially with how precarious the situation inside is, but doing nothing has never been your strong suit.

"I know," you tell him, echoing your thoughts. "I just wish we could help."

Derek cocks his head at the S.W.A.T. team readying themselves to break the door down. "We can help. We need to give Hotch and the kid time to wear Dowd down."

His tone is light and you feel yourself laugh, ignoring the thickness that swells in your throat. "That shouldn't take long."

Derek bumps your arm again in a silent extension of comfort, and you mouth a silent thank you.

You can feel Gideon losing patience as he reasons with the captain, but he eventually buys them three minutes to do what they can. When the final five second countdown starts, you unconsciously hold your breath, only to be released when Hotch's voice calls through the door.

"Hold your fire!"

Your breath comes out like a gasp and you squeeze Derek's arm before rushing forward. Hotch stumbles past you with a murmur that sounds obscurely like "help Reid", so you push your way through the throng of civilians moving to escape until you see him.

"Spencer," you gasp, crouching down to help him into a standing position. You would never admit it to him, but ever since he joined the team, he's been something of a little brother to you. "What happened in here? Are you okay?"

"You were right," he says with a surprising steadiness to his voice. "I got the job done."

You don't ask what he means, knowing that Hotch will fill you in when the time is right. Instead, you decide not to fight the vaguely maternal urge rising within you and you pull him into a tight hug. It's more of a quick squeeze, because you don't want to push past his physical boundaries, but he doesn't complain, instead looking over at you with a small smile that's more than enough for now.

***

You find Hotch where the departed ambulance that patched Reid up was parked. All of the hustle and bustle of the paramedics and local police officers and bureau agents comes to a standstill as you walk over to where he's sitting on the edge of the curb.

"I heard what happened," you say as a way to announce your presence. "Can I sit?"

He nods without looking up, and you crouch down next to him, settling on the curb with your shoulder pressed to his. You can feel the tension in his muscles as he grips the sidewalk, his palms digging into the concrete like he could break through if he pressed hard enough. "Reid.."

"..is fine," you whisper, nudging him so he looks up to where Spencer and Jason are chattering excitedly. "He's more proud than anything."

He doesn't say anything, so you bump your knee against his. "I guess all of the physical training classes you made him take at the academy paid off."

He knows you know exactly what is running through his mind, so he doesn't bother trying to articulate it. Instead, he lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding, and looks over at you. "Do you remember that self-defense class we took before law school?"

You're not expecting this question, and you almost laugh. "You mean the singular self-defense class you dragged me to before dawn in the summer before we started at Georgetown?"

He levels you with a look that you would think is serious if you didn't know him so well. "You don't regret it, though."

"No," you smile, your eyes blurring with emotion. That's where you met Jeff. "I don't."

He was your instructor that day. He only taught that class twice a week, between lectures at Georgetown Law, and it doesn't escape your mind that you so easily could've missed him. One day earlier or later and you never would've met him, never would've been his girlfriend, or his wife, or his widow.

Hotch remembers meeting him that day too. He had to literally come to your apartment and drag you out of bed to make the seven AM class that he had signed you both up for, and you had been grumpy the whole drive over.

There wasn't much, other than coffee, that could get you alert before eight in the morning, but the moment you walked into that gym, it was like you were wide awake. He spent the rest of the class trying not to look as the man he would later come to know as Agent Adler kept coming over to give you extra pointers, and he pretended that the coil of ice slithering up his spine was there just because he was watching out for you.

When he found out the two of you had started dating, he continued to pretend the nausea rising in his stomach was from the day-old sandwich he had had for lunch, because it wasn't fair. Especially since he was with Haley, and he was happier than he had ever been, even if the new law school course load was making it harder to see her as often as he wanted to.

But eventually, your happiness with him overpowered every protective urge he felt, and he realized that even if there was a feeling in his gut that he didn't recognize when he saw you two together, Jeff was perfectly suited for you.

***

"He's so gorgeous!" JJ coos, her hands twitching at her sides like she's trying not to reach forward and take the baby out of Haley's hands.

She brought Jack, their newborn son, in to work today to show the team, and Hotch looks prouder than you've ever seen him. "Thank you."

"If you find baldness and wrinkles attractive."

"Reid!" you chastise, swatting at him. He dodges your hands without even looking.

"Look at his widdy biddy nose," Garcia squeals, before turning to Morgan with an inquisitive look. "Don't you want one of these?"

He just laughs as he rests his chin on her shoulder. "Mm, I'll stick to practicing."

"Congratulations," Elle chimes in before returning to Gideon's side to continue discussing the new case that came in. She's always on top of things, and it's something you respect greatly about her.

"Thanks," Hotch smiles, his gaze returning to Jack after looking away for only a moment. Jack is like a siren, the way each of his little sounds or movements holds Hotch's attention so steadily. He's the most focused of all of you, but you've still never seen him this enamored. "She's amazing. I'm a little terrified."

"You're glowing," you tell Haley as the rest of the team heads to the briefing room. "How is it that you had a baby just a few weeks ago?"

"You're sweet," she smiles, before tilting her head forward. "Do you want to hold him? You're practically his aunt."

You gasp quietly, so as not to wake little Jack. "That is a title I will carry proudly. And yes, I would love to hold him."

Haley hands him to you slowly, and you make sure to support his head carefully as you cup your arms around him. He looks so much like Haley that you almost make a joke about Hotch's genes not even putting up a fight, but that nose...that nose has Hotch written all over it.

When you glance back to where the team left from, you see him turn back at the same moment and offer you an encouraging smile.

"How are you holding up?" you ask Haley, barely able to focus on your surroundings with a newborn in your arms. Maybe there is something to the siren thing.

"Jack's been incredible. He barely cries, it's kind of a godsend...but I do wish Aaron could take time off with me."

You give her what you hope is your most comforting smile. "We've been super swamped with cases here, but in all my years working with him, I have never seen him so eager to leave every night."

She laughs, a pretty sound you remember from your youth. "I know. I feel so unfair when I complain about these things, but I appreciate you humoring me."

"Not at all," you assure her, glancing back down at Jack, who is mid-yawn. "I understand completely. If I had one of these little guys, I wouldn't be able to think about anything else."

You hear her breath catch and you open your mouth to reassure her that it's fine, but she is already reaching forward to squeeze your arm. "You and Jeff would have made amazing parents."

When you both joined the bureau, you were so busy with work that kids weren't on your mind at all. It wasn't until you got settled at the BAU, and Jeff found his place with organized crime, that you even started talking about it.

You want kids, don't you?

Only a few. Maybe four or five. Yeah, five's a good number.

"I should get back to the team," you say softly, blinking away the memories.

Haley sees your face and she smiles sadly as she takes Jack back from your arms. "I'll see you soon. Tell him I'm heading home, will you?"

You nod and watch the elevator doors close in front of her, before joining the team.

***

"I can't believe you went bar hopping without me," Derek shakes his head, feigning offense as he leans so far back in his chair you're afraid it may tip over.

"I think hopping is kind of a strong word," you say, glancing over at Elle, who is perched on the edge of your desk. "We only had one bar in mind, but it closed earlier than we thought, so we went somewhere else after."

"This was a much needed girl's night," Elle grins, patting Morgan on the shoulder as he continues to pout. "We'll invite you next time."

"How was your weekend, Dr. Reid?" you ask, turning around to face him.

Spencer doesn't look up from his crossword.

You say his name again, recalling the attention of Derek and Elle, who had started talking about some trip they've been planning for what feels like months.

When he still doesn't look up, you pick up one of the BAU-provided pens on your desk and chuck it at him, just hard enough to bridge the gap between your desks, but not so hard that it hurts on impact.

"Ow!" Spencer yelps anyway, glancing up with a look that's somewhere between confusion and indignation. He picks the pen up off the ground and turns it over to see the tiny insignia on the cap. "This is FBI property."

"How was your weekend, Spencer?" you ask again, ignoring him. "Didn't you say you had some fun stuff planned?"

"I did," he lights up, instantly forgetting about the pen incident. "My local movie theater was showing reruns of the first season of the original Star Trek, so I got to experience it on the big screen."

Derek laughs and walks back over to his desk next to yours. "We have very different definitions of fun weekend plans, kid."

You're about to tell Derek that no one wants to hear what his idea of fun is when the office door upstairs flies open and Hotch and Gideon walk out.

Reid hands you back your pen, and Derek sits up in his chair so fast it's almost comical.

"We have another case," Hotch announces before coming to a stop.

Gideon takes it away. "Our unsub is male, intelligent, organized and methodical. He has the confidence of a man who's been killing for a long time."

"Only victim removed from the scene is Freddy Condore indicating some tie to him."

Hotch turns to you. "You, Elle, and Reid stay on Condore's background with Garcia. The rest of us will head to the crime scene."

You nod before standing up. "Let's go, kids."

Penelope's lair is just as eccentric as you remember it.

"Take a seat," she instructs before logging into her computer and opening up her criminal history database. "Just don't get too comfortable."

Your lips quirk up as Elle flashes her eyes at you, and you nod your head at the empty chair on Garcia's opposite side. Reid is already sitting on a desk chair by the back, spinning in aimless circles as he rattles off a list of markers to search for.

After a minute, Penelope stops typing. "Credit card receipts show Freddy loved crab cakes, preferred light beer and used to spend his Thursday nights with a woman in Fells Point."

You pick up a stress toy shaped like a tomato from one of her shelves and bounce it in your palm, just for something to occupy your hands.

"What about his associates?" Elle asks, grabbing a pen with a pom-pom on the end and poking it at Spencer's knee.

"Most of them have criminal records."

Elle glances up. "That much I guessed."

Penelope frowns, and looks pointedly at the pen in her hand.

"She's holding the tomato!" Elle complains, throwing a finger at you.

You lift up your hands in surrender, dropping the stress toy. "Thanks a lot, Greenaway."

"Anyway," Reid interrupts, to everyone's surprise, "One of these guys is particularly interesting. Pull up James Baker's rap sheet."

Penelope turns back to her computer as Spencer reads over her shoulder. "He spent time in juvenile detention for attempted murder, was released at age 21, and then subsequently arrested for, and this is in order, armed robbery, petty theft, burglary, narcotics sales, and rapе."

"What's so interesting about that?"

"When it comes to psychological behavior, anything is possible but this criminal history? It just isn't probable."

Elle nods in agreement. "I mean, as a minor, he began with attempted murder and then devolved into pettier crimes?"

"It's the criminal history of a fractured schizophrenic with multiple personality disorder," you sigh. "It just does not make sense."

***

Hotch calls you into his office when he and Morgan return from Baker's address. You can tell something is off before you even step through the door, so you shut it behind you and take a seat in front of his desk.

"What's going on?" you ask, your eyes glancing over his face to see if his micro-expressions can give you a hint. "What's wrong?"

He looks up with a sigh, his hands clasped on his desk. "Baker's place was an artificial dwelling, and the weapon we recovered on the scene was standard law enforcement issue."

It takes you a few seconds to comprehend what he's trying to say - a few seconds longer than usual - and your breath stutters in your throat. "He was undercover?"

"That's what it looks like," Hotch agrees. "I wanted to inform you before telling the rest of the team."

You nod, pressing your eyes closed for a beat.

He missed his pick-up, Mrs. Adler.

We'll call you as soon as we know more.

The memories start to flood back in and you squeeze your eyes shut tighter before opening them. Hotch looks blurry for a moment until your eyes adjust to the light again.

"Does organized crime know where he is?" you ask, desperately needing to fill the silence.

He looks down at the case file. "We assume so, but it's not like they would tell us. They weren't too happy that we were taking on this case at all, and now we know why."

"Maybe they'll talk to me," you suggest, even though the idea of talking to Josh Cramer makes you taste bile. You haven't seen him since a month after the funeral. It's not for his lack of trying, you just couldn't stomach looking at any of them after what happened. One missed call turned to ten and eventually they stopped trying.

There's a piercing pain behind your eyes and you squeeze them shut for a momentary relief. "It was only supposed to be three months."

Hotch's brow furrows and you don't look up at him just yet. You can already picture his expression, the anguish you know he feels for you whenever you bring up Jeff.

"It was a three month operation," you continue, knowing you won't be able to discuss it later if you stop talking now. "That's all we signed up for. Three months away from me and then he was on leave for the rest of the year, so that we could focus on us again. Maybe even start a family."

Your voice cracks on the last word and you tilt your head down to hide your face. He hates it when you cry, but that's not fair. He knows how important it is to get your emotions out, so they don't pile up inside of you, but if he had his way, you would never have had a reason to cry in the first place.

"I hadn't seen him in over a month when he was..."

He can hear the tightness in your voice and he resists the overwhelming urge to reach his hand out and take yours. You're sitting a foot back from the desk, and it's not he could reach you from here anyway, but his fingers still ache.

"I don't want to blame them, Aaron," you sigh. Your words sound watery, and he pulls a handkerchief out of his inside jacket pocket and hands it to you. He's almost surprised when you accept the gesture, pressing the cloth square under your eyes to catch the tears leaking out. You were so self-reliant as a kid, never wanting or needing anyone else's help. "I don't want to blame them, but I do. I can't help it, I just do."

Someone else would have consoled you. They would have assured you that feeling this way was natural, and that no one could blame you for feeling what you do, but that isn't who you two are. "Jeff wouldn't."

His name is like a dagger to your heart. You practically wince as Hotch digs further. "That team was his family, just like we are yours. He wouldn't blame them, not for this. Not for something he chose."

Something he chose. This is why you don't let yourself remember that day. This is why you kept that day - the day you got that horrible call - locked up inside your brain, where not even you could reach it. Because if you let yourself think about it and remember, then you will remember that it wasn't really Cramer or his unit or the bureau that you blamed. It was him.

For choosing to miss his pick-up. For choosing to go undercover. For choosing to join organized crime.

You take a deep breath and re-adjust yourself in the uncomfortable chair Hotch refuses to replace, even though it's literally splitting at the seams. Something about your tax dollars hard at work. "What are you going to do about Baker?"

He lets you change the subject. "We have to contact Agent Cramer before-

"What the hell is wrong with you people?"

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

"Sorry?" Hotch frowns, both of you standing up immediately.

Cramer doesn't take his eyes off Hotch as he seethes with anger. "I told you, this is my case! You ran my agent through IBIS?"

"Because I wanted to know who he worked for and now that I do, I'd like to talk to him."

"You don't have him?"

You can hear your heartbeat in your skull.

Hotch looks at you then, and finally Cramer notices your presence. "Y/N...it's been a while."

Your lips press into a thin line. "Almost two years." The anger you've been trying to avoid seeps into your voice against your will and you sigh, returning to the investigation. "How long has Baker been missing?"

"About 12 hours."

"You think he ran?" you ask, watching Cramer closely as his jaw ticks.

"No, Jimmy's too experienced to run without contact."

He realizes his misstep immediately and his shoulders fall. To his credit, he doesn't break eye contact, even as his expression softens. "That's not what I meant. All I'm saying is that I think someone's keeping Jimmy from calling in."

You can feel Aaron looking at you, but you avoid his line of sight. If you're going to have to interact with organized crime, you might as well make yourself useful. "We all want the same thing, Cramer: to get Baker back to his family."

You wait outside as he explains the situation in more detail to Hotch and Gideon, and you're surprised when he's the first to leave. "Can we talk?"

Hotch comes out behind him and raises his eyebrow for a fraction of a second, a check-in. Swallowing thickly, you nod your head and follow him down the hall to the top of the stairs.

"I'm sorry I haven't reached out recently," he says as soon as you're out of earshot of the others. "You know Jeff was one of our top guys."

Your eyes shut at his name, as though someone clapped their hands too close to your face. It's almost laughable how sure you were that you were past your grief. You passed the bureau's psych evaluation after your six month leave with flying colors (because your team practically wrote the answers yourselves), and as each new day passed and you weren't so debilitated by just the thought of him, you thought it meant you were fine. Because time heals all wounds. At least it's supposed to.

"I know," you whisper scratchily, before clearing your throat. "I know that. And it's okay. We've all been busy." You look down at the bustling bullpen where his agents are interacting with your team. "Clearly."

Then you remember you're job here in the first place. "We really are just trying to help. It wouldn't hurt to keep us involved."

Cramer sighs and you know he won't refuse. "We'll loop you in."

***

James Baker is found and Vincent Perotta gets taken into custody, but you can still hear the end of the interrogation ringing in your ears.

"You were just responding to what you learned, Vincent.

When you grow up in an environment like that, an extremely abusive and violent household... it's not surprising that some people grow up to become killers.

And some people grow up to catch them."

You can't pinpoint exactly what you're feeling, but if you had to guess, it would be sorrow. Sorrow for that little boy who got dealt the worst hand you can imagine, and still turned into the best version of who he could've been.

Hotch can't get the interrogation out of his mind either. He had grabbed his briefcase and headed out to the elevators as soon as Perotta was taken away, in the hopes of avoiding everybody. He's about to let out his breath when a hand reaches between the doors and sends them flying open again.

Normally your appearance is a welcome sight, but tonight, he's had enough talking. Perotta took everything he had to give, and then some, and he doesn't know if he has the strength to go through the proceedings again with you.

"I just want to get home," he says as you stand next to him without a word and face the doors. To my family.

You don't say anything as the little fluorescent floor number ticks down - has it always been this slow - and he feels his nerves tighten with agitation. You're never silent, especially not about something like this.

Just before the elevator reaches the second floor, you reach forward and pull the emergency stop button. He whispers your name, half irritated half relieved, and you step in front of him, focusing your eyes on his. It's a classic profiler technique, both to mentally establish trust and to physically block him from the keypad.

"You're a great father, Aaron."

His mind flashes back 25 years, but he squeezes the hand in his pocket into a fist to keep himself from succumbing to the memories. "I'm trying."

He knows what you're doing, and he would normally be open to a healthy exchange between two adults, but tonight he just can't. It's too fresh.

You seem to understand at least a fraction of what he's trying to convey. Your next words are gentle. "That already makes you a thousand times better than him."

That almost makes him smile. "You can say his name, you know."

You shrug, looking at him with a glint in your eye. "Honestly, I don't think I can. I'm afraid I'll turn into a pile of ash, with the fury your father instills in me."

That's what gets him. He coughs out a laugh that echoes around the elevator, and you return to his side, giving him a moment to breathe on his own.

This time, when his mind spirals back to his childhood, he's not as equipped to block it. The memories come in flashes, a blackening bruise on his abdomen, a split lip explained away through roughhousing in the backyard, the thin scars on his hands and elbows as he finally started to fight back. He would've taken it all forever if he had to, if it meant that he could keep the horrors away from the people he loved. "I really should go."

"Yeah." You push the emergency stop back into place and the elevator hits the ground floor in no time. "I'll see you tomorrow, Hotch."

He steps out, half expecting you to follow him. Instead, the doors close and he's by himself again, and he suddenly can't remember why he wanted to be alone in the first place.

***

When the Keystone Killer is finally caught after 18 years of inactivity, he finds himself expecting for there to be some sort of celebration, either in the form of a commendation, or a much-needed break. Instead, what he gets is a mountain of paperwork.

He usually doesn't mind the paperwork that comes after a long case. It's a helpful way for him to sort through his thoughts on what went down, and to learn from mistakes that were made along the way, whether in the profile or in the capture of the unsub.

Lately, paperwork has felt like an added torture to the long hours he already spends at work. It's not that he wasn't excited about going home before, but ever since Jack was born, he hasn't been able to get out of the office fast enough. But being the unit chief of the BAU has its responsibilities, and this is one of them.

He's drowning in consultation files and case reports when you knock on his door, two coffees in hand.

"Thought that was you," he says, finishing the sentence he was writing.

You frown, setting one steaming cup down on his desk. He hasn't even looked up yet. "How'd you know? Or do you just say that to everyone who walks in here?"

His lip twitches and he puts his pen down. "I could smell the coffee. It always smells the same when you make it."

"Oh?" You weren't aware you had a method. "And how's that?"

"Burnt."

You take the lid off your cup and chuck it at him with surprising accuracy. It would have thwacked him in the forehead if he hadn't swatted it aside with his stupid catlike reflexes.

"What are you working on?" you ask after taking a scalding sip of perfectly brewed coffee.

He looks up for a beat before diving back into the file he was skimming. "Paperwork for the Keystone Killer case."

"But we just finished that," you point out before reaching forward and taking the file out from under his nose.

He huffs. "I was...looking at that."

"This is a report on what happened a couple of hours ago," you say, ignoring his remark. "You can easily do this tomorrow, or later this week."

"It's fresh in my mind now. I don't want to forget any details."

You shrug in a motion that says 'fair enough'. "Or, you could actually go home before midnight for once."

You slide another file off the top of his pile and flip it open, reading over the notes Hotch has scribbled in the margins. He's so meticulous about his job that you almost forget he was promoted just a little over a year ago. He became unit chief at the same time that you joined the team, so you didn't get to see him in his early days, but looking at him now, you almost can't imagine it. It's like he's built for this, for taking responsibility and leading people with kindness and respect.

"Elle said something on the plane today," he says suddenly, jerking you from your thoughts.

You close the file and look up as he runs a hand over his head, pushing his thick hair back just for it to bounce forward again. "She said that she's scared she's going to look up and see that her life has passed her by while she was chasing monsters."

Something cold runs through your veins and you sit up straighter in your chair. "And what did you say?"

"I told her the truth."

You smile in an effort to keep your eyes from shining. "What, that we're all doomed?"

He looks at you candidly. "That this job will eat you up if you let it." Your smile falls and he continues. "You just can't let it."

"I'm sure Elle loved hearing that."

He shrugs. "She was surprisingly receptive."

That gets a laugh out of you, even if the good humor doesn't last long. "I don't know how you do it."

"Do what?"

"This job, while also being a husband, and a father." You sigh, and you can almost feel the weight of the air as it leaves your body. "When I go home, I don't have to be anything to anyone. Most of the time it feels awful, but sometimes, after an especially bad case, I'm almost relieved when I can go home and just check out."

You aren't talking about him anymore, and he can tell. He doesn't mind, if this is what it will take for you to work through your emotions.

"We were gonna start trying for a baby."

That surprises him. Not that you wanted to be a mother - he knows that - but that he didn't know you were already thinking about it, especially because of how you grew up. You don't talk about it often, but after losing your mother to a drunk driver when you were ten, you almost transformed into her, becoming the emotional support for your family when there was no one else to fill that role.

You press your lips into a thin line and take a deep breath, your coffee cold and forgotten on the desk in front of you. "We had been talking about it for years, but with the paths our careers were taking, there just wasn't enough time before then." Your eyes look far away, and you don't seem to notice that your lips have unconsciously curved up into a reminiscent smile. "Jeff wanted five kids. Five. God, can you imagine?"

He can, but he doesn't say anything, because he knows you aren't looking for a response. Just for someone to listen.

"I'm an only child," you say with a laugh. "I don't even know what it's like to have one sibling, let alone four." But Jeff had come from a huge family, and he had wanted you to experience that. He loved how full his home always felt growing up, never without someone to talk to. Now you won't ever get to experience that. "I guess I just wish sometimes that we had tried earlier."

"You'll have it someday," Hotch says simply, practically reading your mind. "If that's what you want, you'll have it."

"I waited so long," you whisper, closing your eyes for a long moment. "I was just so afraid that I wouldn't do it right, because I didn't have my mother anymore to help me."

"You would've been a great mother," he assures you, his voice confident. "One day, you will be."

Your breath comes out like a gasp and you clear your throat to keep the tears at bay. "How do you know?"

"I just know."

***

When you push through the doors to the bullpen the next morning, you are greeted by a familiar head of blonde hair.

"Sean?"

He turns around slowly, clearly recognizing your voice, and pulls his lips up into a smile that you return. "Hey, Y/N, how's it going?"

You weren't close to him as a kid, mostly because of the age gap between him and Hotch. You had tried to make more of an effort after graduating college, but Sean was fierce in his convictions, and there were a lot of things he didn't understand about his childhood that you certainly weren't going to explain to him now.

"Good, good," you say, leading him away from the throng of staring women. You shoot them a look that makes them disperse. "You here for your brother? He's upstairs."

He nods, glancing up at the closed office door. You start to lead him to the stairwell when he stops in his tracks and turns to you. "What mood's he in?"

"Why?" you ask, your brow furrowing. "You got bad news? Nothing I need to worry about, I hope."

Sean shakes his head, glancing up at the closed door again. "Nothing like that. I'll just go up."

You let him walk up on his own, knowing he doesn't want you getting involved in whatever he's thinking about. Before you have a moment to catch your breath, the three women return to your side.

"That's Hotch's brother?" Penelope asks, standing so close you can feel her breath on your ear.

"Maybe Hotch is adopted."

"What do you mean?" you ask, unconsciously glancing up the stairs. "They're honestly pretty similar." You're only half joking. They don't look anything alike, but that Hotchner brand of righteousness runs deep.

JJ frowns. "I don't see it."

"Yeah, he looks...like that," Penelope murmurs, before looking at you. "Did you know him when you were younger? Was he hot then too?"

You choke on your own spit. "He was nine years old when I left for college, so...no."

Her eyes widen and she lifts her hands in surrender.

"Ooh, here he comes."

You look up to see Sean storming down the stairs, Hotch hot on his heels.

"Sean, listen to me."

He turns so fast, you're afraid they're going to crash into each other. "Don't profile me, Aaron."

Sean stomps out of the bullpen while Hotch watches him leave, and you can't get the striking feeling of deja vu out of your head. Two boys, 15 years younger than they are now, standing in the same positions, with the same looks on their faces.

You imagine that you and Hotch probably act the same way around each other as when you first met, at eight years old.

The memory comes easily, even with more than two decades of time standing in the way. The little boy with dark hair who had sat next to you on the school bus, just because there were no other empty seats available that day.

You hadn't said anything for the first few stops, just watched him out of the corner of your eye as he nodded his head unconsciously to the music coming out of his large headphones. Eventually, curiosity got the better of you and you tapped on his shoulder. "What are you listening to?"

He had taken his headphones off quickly, as though caught in the act. "What?"

You repeated your question before leveling him with a pointed stare that meant 'there is a correct answer'. You were a feisty kid, and you weren't always the best at making first impressions, so his steady response impressed you. "Beatles. Revolver album."

"I love that one!" you had gushed, leaning in closer without a warning to press your ear to one of the speakers on his headphones. "Is this Yellow Submarine?"

He had nodded, the confusion in his eyes slowly transforming into delight. "You know their stuff?"

"Of course. My favorite's Eleanor Rigby."

He had frowned then. "That one's too sad."

You weren't surprised by his opinion. You had yet to find a boy your age who could appreciate serious music, but liking The Beatles was a start, at least.

"I'm Y/N," you had said, extending your hand like you were starting a business meeting.

He shook your hand furtively. "Aaron."

"Maybe I'll see you around."

The school bus had stopped at your street then, and you had gotten up without another word to this boy, who would one day become your best friend in the world.

Luckily, the next day, Aaron chose to sit next to you again, this time with a second pair of headphones to attach to his compact cassette deck. Two days turned to three, and before long, you had a new friend.

***

"I can't imagine what two weeks away from this place is gonna feel like," you sigh, packing some essentials into your bag and snapping it shut. "I might actually miss you guys."

"Not me," Morgan grins, before pressing a kiss to your cheek as he zips around you. "Two weeks of pure heaven with nothing but young, beautiful adults looking to make vacation memories."

"Your friend's resort better be as nice as you say it is," Elle says sternly as she wiggles her finger at Derek, who is busy inviting Reid to join their vacation.

"Thanks, but I'm going home," he says quickly, without looking at any of you. "Have a good one, guys."

"I'll head out too," you announce, grabbing your things and following him to the elevators. "Wait up, Spence."

He doesn't seem to hear you, but you slip through the doors just before they close. "You okay?"

"Huh?" he says, finally looking up. "Oh, yeah. I'm just not looking forward to the Nevada heat."

You can tell he's lying, but you don't want to press him right before the long break. "You can always call me if you need anything. Seriously."

"Yeah," he nods. "I know."

You wave goodbye to him in the parking lot, and you're back in the silence of your home by the end of the hour.

The rest of your day is spent lazing around the house, and you're asleep when you hear a knock at your door. After Jeff's death, you started keeping your gun in your nightstand, more out of a general sense of security than any specific acute fear, but its proximity during late night calls has given you the peace of mind you needed to finally sleep through the night.

Lifting it from the drawer, you hold it behind your back as you tiptoe to your front door and look through the peephole. When you don't see anyone, you carefully pull the door open, only to find a small packet sitting on your welcome mat with your name scrawled on the top.

After bringing it inside the house and locking the door again, you pry open the seal and extract a large piece of paper covered in a series of numbers and dots.

That's when the phone rings.

***

"How's it going?" you ask Reid and Morgan as you enter the conference room where all of the Fisher King's clues have been laid out. Neither of them have taken their eyes off the paper you brought in since you tacked it up on the board.

As expected, Reid doesn't look up. "The answer to what book we need has to be in here."

"Yeah," Derek sighs, glancing over at you, "but we sure as hell can't see it."

"Yet."

You look at the numbers again, hoping that your short walk to the coffee station and back would have been enough to unlock something new in your brain. Nothing. "The answer has to be based on specific details of each person's clue." A small sound turns your attention to the couch, where Elle is lying on her side. "Is Elle asleep?"

"I'm awake!" she starts, sitting up lethargically.

At the outburst, Hotch walks into the room and points at her bags. "I'm sending you home. You need to get some rest."

"No-"

"We won't do anything without you, I promise."

"Elle, seriously, we're not any closer than we were."

She nods, her lack of sleep seeming to dawn on her as she yawns again.

"Anderson," Hotch calls out, before you stop him. "What is it?"

"I can take her home," you suggest, looking over your shoulder as she lugs her bags down the hall with bleary eyes. He looks like he wants to protest, so you speak up before he has the chance. "She barely knows Anderson. I'll make sure she's settled, and then you can send him to watch her house, so I can come back here."

"I don't know if that's a good idea," he sighs, his eyes still trained on Elle's silhouette lingering by the elevator. "We may need you here."

You cock your head at Reid and Morgan, who have been sitting in the same positions for so long, you're surprised their necks haven't locked. "It's like they said. We haven't made any progress in over an hour. I'm not helping here."

He still looks unsure, but you know it's just worry. He'll always worry about you. "Okay, go. Call me in an hour to check-in."

You dip your head in a nod and jog through the bullpen to catch Elle as she's heading out.

"So you're my bodyguard, huh?"

You laugh, pressing the button for the ground floor. "Something like that."

"Good," Elle says, trying and failing to stifle a yawn, "you're much more fun than Anderson."

"Prettier, too."

The car ride to her house starts off silent, but eventually you break your internal promise to let her come to you. "How are you feeling after last night?"

She just shrugs. "It was more annoying than anything. I'm just glad I got to enjoy at least some of my vacation."

"I heard there was blood all over your room," you point out lightly, trying to broach the subject in a delicate manner. "That can't have been fun to wake up to."

"It was all on the outside. That's part of why they weren't able to hold me. That, and Hotch's lawyer chops."

You raise an eyebrow, glancing over at her as you pull over to the sidewalk. "His lawyer chops?" You know he used to be a prosecutor before joining the bureau, but you never got to see his skills in action.

"Yeah," Elle gushes, her face brightening considerably, "you should have seen the way he walked in there. Those beat cops had no idea what hit 'em. He was in full prosecutor mode, went all rainmaker on them until they released me."

You can imagine it. If any of you were in trouble, he wouldn't let anything get between him and your safety. "I wish I could've seen that."

When you put the car in park, you help Elle with her bags and walk her up to her door, where she insists that she'll be fine on her own.

"I promised I would wait with you until another agent could come and relieve me," you emphasize, instinctively scanning the vicinity around her home as she walks inside and drops her things on the floor.

"In about thirty seconds, I'll be passed out on this couch right here," she points at the window seat behind her, "so you'll just be watching me sleep for an hour."

You open your mouth to argue but she cuts you off. "Y/N, I'll be fine."

If there's one word to describe Elle, it's stubborn, so you let her shut the door behind her and you walk back to your car. Even if she won't let you sit with her inside, you still can't bring yourself to start the ignition, so you lean your seat back halfway and close your eyes, just for a few moments.

You haven't gotten much sleep either, and you're about to doze off when you hear a loud thud from outside the car. Jerking up, you undo the clasp of your holster and push open the car door. The world is silent, except for the rustling of leaves in the wind, but you start making your way up the drive, just to be sure. There's another thud, quieter this time, and you reach for your sidearm as you ascend her porch steps. Then comes a gunshot.

You start running.

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