4 - Thesis
Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader
Genre: fluff, slow burn
Summary: Gideon urgently pulls Hotch and you into a complex case, leading to a sleepless night of intense work discovering the unsub's fascination with a symbolic, twisted version of a note design. Despite exhaustion, your insights prove invaluable, strengthening your bond with Hotch as partners as something seems to shift. As Rossi and Gideon joke about their own partnership comparing it to your own with Hotch, it’s clear that a deeper connection is unfolding.
Warnings: Usual CM case stuff described in detail, Sapio intoxicating chemistry, Rossi going wild.
Word Count: 6.1k
Dado's Corner: Is it fair for me to say that I'm obsessed with the two of them? Like c'mon get together already. Note to self: never study for your history of architecture exam again while being obsessed with a crime show, even if this dream I had inspired this chapter. I am afraid of my own mind. Enjoy these bigger breadcrums while you can
previous part ; masterlist
Thesis - Hotch’s smile widened, his eyes crinkling in that way that had become increasingly familiar. “Maybe. But we make a strong duo, and I wouldn’t change that."
•
Gideon appeared in the doorway of his office, his usually calm demeanor slightly more tense, he scanned the room, his eyes settling first on Hotch, who was engrossed in a case file, and then on you. There was a look of deliberation on his face, as if he’d been weighing this decision for some time.
“Hotch, Y/N,” Gideon’s voice cut sharply through the bullpen, laced with urgency that left no room for hesitation. “I need you both at the train station in 30. Grab your go-bag, there’s no time.”
Hotch’s head snapped up, a flash of confusion in his eyes that matched your own. You exchanged a fleeting look, a mix of surprise and adrenaline sparking between you. It was only your second time being directly pulled into one of Gideon’s cases, and you couldn’t deny the rush of nerves mingling with excitement. This was what you had been working so hard for: to be trusted, to be out there on the field.
You didn’t waste a second. Hotch nodded at you, a silent agreement to move quickly, and the two of you scrambled to collect your go-bags, the weight of the situation palpable. Gideon was already halfway out the door, and you barely had time to sling your bag over your shoulder before sprinting after him, Hotch close on your heels.
The ride to the station was a blur, Gideon’s SUV tearing through traffic as if the urgency of the case had seeped into the very engine. The city whirled past in a smear of lights and noise, each stoplight feeling like an eternity as the clock ticked down.
“We’re cutting it close,” Hotch muttered under his breath, his gaze locked on the navugator as he calculated every second lost to traffic.
You glanced over at him, his usually calm demeanor strained by the pace. “We’ll make it,” you said, more to convince yourself than him, feeling the SUV lurch forward as Gideon pushed the gas harder.
The station finally loomed into view, the blare of train horns filling your ears, Gideon pulled to an abrupt stop, the SUV barely parked before you and Hotch were out the door, sprinting towards the platform.
“Which track?” you asked, your voice edged with urgency as you scanned the sea of people.
“Track 4,” Gideon called out, his tone clipped as he led the way, dodging through the crowd with a precision that only came from years in the field. Hotch was right behind him, his stride purposeful, and you kept up, adrenaline driving you forward.
Inside, Rossi was already seated scooted newt to the window, a wry smile tugging at his lips as he flipped through a stack of manila folders filled with crime scene photos. He looked up as you, Hotch, and Gideon rushed into the coach, sarcasm lacing his voice. “Well, well, look who decided to show up. Another minute later, and you’d have had to wait six hours to catch the next train by sheer coincidence.”
Gideon ignored the jab, his focus entirely on the case as he took the seat beside Rossi. Hotch gave you a quick, knowing glance, Rossi’s dark humor was just his way of dealing with the tension, and you both settled in, bracing for what was about to unfold.
Rossi slid thefolders toward you, each one packed with gruesome crime scene photos, autopsy reports, and detailed maps dotted with red marks. The images were laid out in stark, brutal clarity: victims of varying ages, genders, and backgrounds, each one more unsettling than the last. It was clear from the first glance that this was no ordinary case.
Gideon broke the ice, addressing you all. “We’ve been tracking a series of murders across five states. Each one is escalating in both violence and complexity. The victims seem random: different ages, genders, backgrounds. But there’s a pattern here, one that’s been slipping through the cracks.” He pointed to a topographical map spread across the table, each crime scene marked by a pin as the locations created a road map of horrors that the unsub was crafting.
“We’re missing something,” Gideon continued, his eyes scanning the photos again. “And we need to find it before this turns into something even worse.”
Rossi leaned back, his eyes narrowing at the map as he considered the gruesome puzzle before them. “Hope you two are ready,” he added, his voice losing the sarcasm, now laced with a hint of urgency. “We’re running out of time, and this guy isn’t waiting around for us to catch up.”
Gideon continued: "This unsub is not just killing for the sake of it, he’s making a statement.”
Hotch studied the pictures in his file intently, his eyes narrowing as he analyzed the data. “What kind of statement?”
Rossi leaned forward, setting down the photos. “He’s treating these murders like a grand design, but what that is, we haven’t figured out yet. That’s why we need fresh eyes on this, someone who can see what we might be missing.”
Gideon’s gaze shifted between you and Hotch, and you could feel the unspoken pressure settle over you. “That’s why I’m bringing the two of you in on this, we need different perspectives: Hotch, your tactical and organizational expertise and Y/N, your philosophical insight. We believe this unsub’s actions are possibly influenced by a deeper intellectual motive, they are too calculated.”
Your heart quickened at the prospect of tackling a case of this magnitude. You had been itching to prove yourself on something more complex, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. Hotch, meanwhile, maintained his calm, analytical demeanor, though you could tell by the way he was already flipping through the photos, his fingers on his right hand fidgeting, that his mind was churning with possibilities.
“What do we know about the victims?” Hotch asked, breaking the silence.
Rossi clicked again, bringing up individual profiles of the victims: names, ages, occupations. “They range from college students to retired professionals, all abducted within a few miles of their homes and found in remote locations weeks later. Cause of death varies: strangulation, blunt force trauma, some even poisoned. The one constant is the way they’re buried: each positioned carefully, with their hands folded as if in a state of peace.”
Hotch glanced at you, his eyes flickering with a hint of something, was it respect, or perhaps curiosity? “What do you think, Y/N?”
You leaned in, your eyes scanning the screen as you absorbed the details. “This isn’t just about control. He’s performing, staging these bodies in a way that reflects some internal logic or belief system, making each victim part of a larger narrative.”
Hotch agreed, his voice firm. “We need to visit these sites. We can start with the most recent site. We need to get ahead of this guy before he escalates again.”
As you arrived to the police station, you immediately gathered your notes and headed out to the SUVs, your mind racing with theories and questions. The drive to the first burial site was tense, each of you lost in your thoughts. Hotch was focused, his eyes fixed on the road, while you sifted through the case file, trying to absorb every detail. When you finally arrived, the scene was breathtaking: a hillside with a clear view of the surrounding landscape, marked by the telltale signs of the unsub’s careful work.
You and Hotch began analyzing the site, marking the locations of the victims and sketching the layout. It was slow, painstaking work, but every detail mattered. The entire time, you felt Hotch’s eyes on you, analyzing your every move, testing your instincts. You overcompensated by diving into every bit of evidence, pushing yourself harder than usual. You wanted to show them that despite your academic background, you could handle the practical side of profiling just as well.
“What do you see?” he asked, crouching beside one of the markers. “Anything that stands out?”
You squinted at the slope, trying to piece together the bigger picture. The way the victims were positioned, the spacing between them: it wasn’t random.
“He’s not just picking random spots,” you said, more to yourself than to Hotch. “The bodies are placed with a purpose, almost like... coordinates on a map.”
Hotch looked up, intrigued. “Coordinates?”
You nodded, pointing to the markers. “Think of it like a blueprint. He’s not just killing; he’s mapping something out. The hill, the elevation, even the orientation of the bodies, they all look like elements of a larger design.”
Hotch studied the scene, his expression intense. “A design that only he understands.”
You stood side by side, feeling the weight of the case settling over you both. And as you exchanged a look with Hotch, you realized that whatever this unsub was building, you were determined to tear it down, together, even if this was only the beginning.
By the time you returned to the accommodation that night, you were beyond exhausted, but rest wasn’t an option. The case had drained not only your energy but also the BAU’s humble budget, most of the funds had gone to buying last-minute train tickets to get the team out there as fast as possible, leaving little room for comfort. Rossi’s expectation of privacy had taken another hit, and at that point you were convinced the Bureau was skimping on accommodations just to see how long it would take for him to snap. At this rate, if they kept pushing, being aware of Rossi’s sassy side, you were sure he’d threaten to leave the BAU over it.
“You’ll be sharing with Hotch,” Gideon had said without much ceremony as you stood in the cramped hallway, barely keeping your eyes open. “Rossi and I have the other room.”
You exchanged a quick, knowing look with Hotch, both of you too worn out to even joke about the fresh material handed to you on a silver platter: Rossi and Gideon sharing a room yet again, practically married at that point. But the urgency of the case weighed heavily on everyone’s shoulders, and you didn’t have the energy to tease, not when the job ahead was still so daunting. You both simply nodded, both of you being aware that it wasn’t the best time to make light of the situation. Hopefully there would be time for that later, if you ever got a chance to catch your breath.
When you and Hotch arrived at the room, he carried himself with the same cool composure he always did. "You can take the bed by the window," he said, setting his go-bag down on the other bed. "I don’t mind."
"Thanks," you muttered, grateful for the small gesture. You unpacked your things in silence, acutely aware of every sound, every movement as the daunting images of the day still haunted your mind. Hotch didn’t seem bothered at all, which you found almost impressive. He had this remarkable ability to compartmentalize everything, to keep his personal and professional lives neatly separated, while you were still trying to learn that.
The night stretched on, but sleep remained elusive. You and Hotch sat in the dimly lit hotel room, the hum of the overhead lamp the only sound besides the steady scratching of pen on paper as you pored over the case files. The victims’ faces stared back at you from the photographs, haunting in their stillness, each one a piece of the gruesome puzzle you were trying to solve.
"We need to reconsider the pattern of these burial sites," Hotch said, his voice low, as though speaking too loudly might disturb the dead. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, his eyes tired but focused. "There's something deliberate here."
You nodded, flipping through the photos. "It’s too precise to be random."
Hotch spread out the map on the desk, meticulously marking the locations where each body had been found, his movements precise and controlled. “If we can figure out the geographical connection, we’ll be closer to understanding the unsub’s mindset. He’s organized, methodical. This guy sees himself as superior, smarter than everyone else. But it’s not just about the killing. He’s making a statement, flashing his intellect.”
You studied the photos and map intently, feeling a strange pull as you tried to make sense of the unsub’s pattern. “It’s intellectual arrogance,” you said, your voice edged with conviction. “He’s not just trying to get away with it; he’s challenging us to keep up. He wants us to see how clever he is.”
Hotch glanced at you, he could sense you were onto something, something that went beyond the surface details.
Meanwhile, your focus returned to the crime scene photos, and your attention locked onto the contours of the hill where the bodies had been buried. The arrangement was far from random, there was a disturbing intentionality in the layout, as if every placement had been meticulously planned.
“The hill’s shape,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Hotch. “It’s not just any hill. There’s an intentional pattern here. It’s like he’s using the terrain itself to say something.”
Hotch leaned in, catching the shift in your tone. He was intrigued, but he knew better than to interrupt your thought process. “What are you thinking?” he asked, his voice low, patient, almost coaxing you to continue.
Without responding directly, you grabbed a blank sheet of paper and laid it flat on the desk. Hotch watched as you began sketching an axonometric view of the hill, marking each burial site with quick, deliberate strokes. His brow furrowed as you connected the dots, each line revealing something more intricate.
“You’re mapping it topographically?” Hotch asked, leaning closer, the shift in his body language showing his growing interest. “Like a three-dimensional geographical profile?”
You nodded, the thrill of discovery pushing you forward. “Yes. The placements aren’t just random; they’re about the shape of the land. Look here.” You pointed at the locations marked on your sketch. “If you connect the burial sites, they form a spiral, a descending path down the hill.”
Hotch’s gaze sharpened as he traced the spiral with his eyes. “A spiral… That’s deliberate. It’s not a shape we see often in criminal cases. It suggests precision, control, narcissism. He’s not just killing, he’s orchestrating a narrative. He’s not just above everyone but also he’s putting himself on display, like an artist with his masterpiece.”
You nodded, and a familiar philosophical concept began to take shape in your mind. “This isn’t just about his ego—it’s about his worldview. It reminds me of Hegel’s dialectics, which are often geometrically visualized as a spiral. Think of it like climbing a mountain: each step forward, the thesis, faces resistance - the antithesis - and then finds a way forward, the synthesis. The journey isn’t linear. It’s about overcoming obstacles, each one contributing to a higher level of understanding.”
Hotch’s expression tightened, understanding where you were going with this. “But he’s twisting that. Instead of climbing, he’s descending. He’s turning the idea of progress on its head. This isn’t evolution; it’s devolution. He’s rewriting the narrative, making his own rules.”
You paused, something clicking into place as you stared at the drawing. You turned the page slightly, looking at it from a new angle. “But why a spiral? Why this particular hill?” you murmured, almost thinking aloud.
Hotch watched you closely, seeing the wheels turning in your mind. “What do you see?”
You flipped the drawing around, angling it from his perspective. Your pulse quickened as the shape of the spiral took on a new form, one that tugged at your memory. “Look at it upside-down.”
Hotch tilted his head, his eyes following yours as the spiral transformed before him. It wasn’t just a path on a hill—it was something far more deliberate and grandiose.
“This hill…” You traced the lines again, pointing out the specific angles, the calculated precision. “The way the bodies are arranged, the proportions between the hight and the width of each turn, the precise slope that the path follows. The way each of these elements have been designed in a human scale"
"It's architectural, something grand and of cultural importance, like a temple, a church, a museum..." Hotch finally understands.
"Yes, you're right! Wait, what if it resembled the structure of the Guggenheim Museum in New York? Wright designed the volume of the main exhibition hall as an inverted hollow truncated cone, the distribution corresponds to a ramp spiraling upward. But our unsub has flipped that idea on its head.”
Hotch’s brows shot up, surprise flashing across his face. “The Guggenheim? You’re saying he’s mimicking Frank Lloyd Wright’s design?”
“Not exactly,” you replied, your excitement spilling over. “It’s not a copy, but it’s inspired. Think about it: the Guggenheim is all about ascension, showcasing art as you move upward. But here, the unsub’s using the land to create a reverse. The bodies are placed almost like the artworks displayed on the walls of the museum, but instead of ascending, they’re spiraling down, each one a grotesque ‘exhibit’ in his twisted gallery.”
Hotch looked at you, a rare smile tugging at his lips, something warmer than his usual stoic demeanor. “Are you sure you secretaly also don't have an architecture degree?”
You laughed, caught off guard by his sudden lightness, you teased him starting an over the top philosophical rant “Nope, just psycology, linguistics and philosophy. Although architecture and philosophy aren’t so different. For Hegel, architecture represents humanity’s attempt to impose order on the natural world, creating structures that embody collective meaning. It’s not just about function, but about revealing the spirit of a specific time, showing how men connect with their environment through design and symbolism.”
Hotch chuckled softly, the sound low and unexpected, and it made you smile wider. “Keep talking like this, and I might have to suggest you take up teaching. You’ve got the lecture style nailed.”
Feigning mock offense, you shot back, “Careful, Hotch, or I’ll end up rewriting your whole syllabus."
Hotch’s eyes softened, a playful glint flashing in them, something uncharacteristic but welcome. “You rewrite my syllabus, and I’ll make sure to audit your classes. Fair trade?”
You shared a brief moment, the light banter cutting through the tension that had weighed on you both throughout the case. It was quick, but it left a lingering warmth, a connection that felt deeper than the job itself, a quiet intimacy that spoke volumes without needing any more words.
You cleared your throat, bringing the focus back. “We need to verify this before we present it. I need to check the actual measurements of the Guggenheim floors, just to be sure we're not reading too much into this.”
Hotch glanced at his watch, calculating the remaining hours of the night. “There’s a library a few miles from here. If we hurry, we can make it before it closes.” He grabbed his jacket, already moving toward the door, pausing only to look back at you with a determined expression. “I’ll drive.”
You smirked, brushing past him as he held the door open. “You always do.”
It was nothing grand, just a small, familiar gesture in the stillness of the night, but it carried a weight that lingered in the air between you, subtle yet undeniable.
Walking side by side, you couldn’t quite pinpoint the shift, but it was there, a quiet, unspoken connection that felt like uncharted territory. This case, and whatever was unfolding between you and Hotch, was leading you somewhere neither of you expected.
The drive to the library was filled with a comfortable silence, Hotch’s expression still carefully composed, but there was a softness in his features now, a slight relaxation in his usually tense posture. It was a small change, almost imperceptible, but you noticed, and though neither of you would acknowledge it, something was shifting.
Arriving at the library, you quickly located a book on modern American architecture and flipped to the section on the Guggenheim. You traced the diagrams and floor heights, your finger running over the details as you compared them to your axonometric drawing of the hill. But as you scanned the measurements, your heart sank, the pieces not fitting the way you’d hoped.
“The measurements don’t match,” you murmured, the weight of disappointment settling in. “We were wrong.”
Hotch stood beside you, close enough that you could feel his presence, grounding you. He didn’t seem fazed by your frustration, instead, he studied the diagrams with calm determination, his brow furrowing slightly. “Wait,” he said, his voice steady. “What if the unsub isn’t using American measurements? What if he’s thinking in meters instead of feet?”
You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his as the realization clicked. There was a spark of something that passed between you, lingering longer than it should. “Of course. If he’s from a country that uses the metric system, he’d think in meters.”
Your fingers moved quickly, recalculating the heights and converting them into meters. As the numbers shifted, everything started to fall into place: the spiral, the Guggenheim, the inverted truncated cone. It all made sense. The measurements lined up perfectly with the victims’ positions on the hill, validating the theory that had seemed so impossible just moments before.
“We were right,” you whispered, relief and amazement flooding through you. “He must have studied or lived in a country that uses the metric system. His entire design is based on that.”
Hotch’s eyes met yours, a rare warmth flickering there as he gave a small nod of approval. “Good work,” he said softly, his voice carrying a note of pride that sent a flutter through your chest. “We’ve got the final piece.”
As you left the library, the first light of dawn painted the sky in soft hues, a quiet promise of a new day. You and Hotch exchanged a glance, something unspoken passing between you. The night had been long and exhausting, but the shared victory left a sweet spark lingering in the early morning air. Neither of you could put a name to it, not yet, and neither of you seemed ready to let go of whatever was unfolding.
As you and Hotch entered the hotel lobby, Rossi and Gideon were waiting, both looking ready for the day’s briefing despite the early hour. Rossi leaned against the reception desk, watching the two of you with a bemused expression.
Gideon glanced at his watch and then back at you both, his eyebrow lifting in mock surprise. “Did you two even sleep, or are you trying to set a new BAU record for consecutive hours worked?”
Rossi smirked, shaking his head as he took in the sight of you and Hotch, the unspoken exhaustion clear in both of your eyes. “I’m starting to think you two don’t even know what a bed looks like. Or maybe you’re just having too much fun playing detective all night?”
You and Hotch exchanged a knowing look, a silent acknowledgment of the sleepless night. The bond between you had been growing steadily, marked by subtle shifts and stolen moments, and while neither of you would admit it, you were becoming more in tune with each other’s rhythms, especially when it came to the job.
“Not exactly,” Hotch replied, his tone dry and laced with just the faintest hint of a smile. You couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, the way he carried himself: focused, determined, and maybe just a touch lighter in your company. “But we cracked the code.”
Rossi chuckled, crossing his arms. “Next time you two decide to pull an all-nighter, let me know. I could use your room and finally get some privacy around here.”
Gideon’s usual sternness softened slightly at Rossi’s jab about the lack of personal space, though his focus remained sharp. “So, what’s the breakthrough? You’ve been at this all night.”
You and Hotch launched into your explanation, laying out the theory behind the inverted spiral, the Guggenheim, and the unsub’s likely academic background. As you spoke, you couldn’t help but steal glances at him, noticing the way there was a certain intensity about him when he spoke, an underlying passion that only surfaced when the pieces of a case started to align.
Hotch continued, drawing the connections between the spiral and the unsub’s obsession. “We read at the library that Frank Lloyd Wright’s designs are not just architectural; they’re philosophical. Wright didn’t just build structures, he crafted experiences, integrating his work with nature in a way that transcended the ordinary. Our unsub is attempting something similar, but in a twisted, lethal manner.”
Rossi leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “So, he sees himself as an architect of death. He’s not just killing, he’s designing each murder, making it a part of a grand, dark statement.”
“Exactly,” Hotch agreed, his voice steady yet charged with conviction. “He believes he’s creating something monumental. The spiral is his signature, an artistic flourish that he believes sets him apart. And the use of the metric system? That narrows our pool of suspects significantly. He’s likely foreign or has spent a significant amount of time studying abroad, probably in Europe where Wright’s influence still holds sway.”
You nodded, and as your attention drifted to Hotch, you couldn’t help but notice something captivating; Every time his gaze shifted toward Rossi, standing in front of the window with the morning light filtering in, the usual dark intensity of Hotch’s eyes softened, revealing an unexpected depth. What you had always thought of as a near-black now transformed into a rich, warm chestnut, flecks of amber catching the light. It was a subtle shift, but one that unveiled an unexpected beauty you hadn’t fully appreciated until now.
As your mind kept wandering, another thought emerged - one that eroded the edges of your consciousness. “There’s one more thing,” you said, your tone laced with urgency. “If the unsub is using the spiral as a symbol of his intellect and superiority, he’s not finished. He’s building toward something, a final project. If we can figure out what that is, we can anticipate his next move.”
Hotch exchanged a look with you, as if you stole the words that still hadn't left his mouth yet, a flicker of shared understanding passing between you both. You had spent enough time working together that night you could read his thoughts before he spoke, and he could anticipate yours.
“We need to revisit the burial site” Hotch said, his tone thoughtful yet precise. “Pay close attention to any symbolic references, especially those linked to architecture. He’s not just mimicking Wright’s designs; he’s embracing Wright’s philosophy. Y/N pointed out that Wright believed architecture was an extension of the self, an embodiment of personal ideals. This unsub sees his work the same way.”
“Wright’s designs were about breaking the mold,” you said, adding to Hotch’s theory. “Wright was a revolutionary who viewed his designs as more than just buildings, they were personal expressions, challenges to traditional norms, and a reflection of his unique vision of the world. He wanted to create spaces that defied conventional expectations. Our unsub has a similar mindset: a desire to be seen as intellectually superior, someone whose ‘work’ can’t be understood by the average person.”
Rossi leaned back, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Did he work on residential projects or did some urban planning of his has been realised by any means?"
You understood where Rossi was going “What about the Usonian Houses project?" You turned to Hotch, eager to know if he thought the same thing as well.
He nodded, his focus sharp as he continued explaining to the seasoned profilers. “Usonian Houses were Wright’s vision of the future, simple yet sophisticated homes designed to revolutionize American living. Each one was crafted with meticulous attention to detail, they weren’t just houses; they were statements. Wright designed each to be unique, tailored to the landscape and the needs of the homeowner. If our unsub idolizes Wright this deeply, it’s likely he lives in one of these homes himself. To him, it would embody everything he values: elegance, meticulous control, and the feeling of being distinctly set apart from everyone else.”
As Hotch spoke, his voice steady and assured, you couldn’t help but be drawn in, not just by his words but by the way he delivered them. There was a quiet passion in his explanation, Hotch’s understanding of Wright’s philosophy wasn’t just an analytical connection; it was something he seemed to grasp on a deeper level, and as you listened, you couldn’t help but feel captivated by when he hit on something that truly fascinated him.
“He’s not just living in a house,” Hotch continued, his gaze flicking to you for a brief moment before returning to the team. “He’s living in a symbol of his superiority. A Usonian House would be his sanctuary, a place where he can manipulate, control, and perfect every detail, just like he’s doing with his crimes.”
You watched him as he spoke, noting the way his hands gestured slightly when he was particularly engaged. It was easy to get lost in his presence, to feel the pull of his passion for the subject as much as the pull of the case itself.
The realization struck you like a jolt of electricity. “And the Usonian Houses were Wright’s vision of perfection. Our unsub is killing according to those values. His admiration for Wright is more than just an interest, it’s a driving force in his crimes.”
Gideon, who had been listening intently, chimed in. “Then that’s where we start. We need to find any Usonian Houses in the area. Let's also focus on finding previous owners, or people curating them.”
The team moved swiftly, sifting through public records and historical registries. It didn’t take long for Hotch to uncover a promising lead: a privately owned Usonian House on the outskirts of a nearby town, linked to a man who fit the unsub’s profile perfectly. He was a reclusive former adjunct professor of architectural history, Victor Langley, with a history of erratic behavior and academic conflicts.
Rossi scanned the details, his eyes narrowing. “Victor Langley. Let go from his teaching position two years ago for increasingly bizarre behavior and clashes with his colleagues. Neighbors say he’s practically a ghost, only seen when he’s making strange modifications to his house.”
Gideon hung up the phone, his expression grave. “He’s barely seen outside. This house isn’t just where he lives, it’s his world, where he feels in total control.”
Hotch glanced at the three of you, his gaze intense, his determination unmistakable. You noticed the set of his jaw, the unwavering focus that drew you in every time he spoke. “This is his base, where he plans everything. Just like Wright used his designs to reshape the world, Langley is using his house to orchestrate his murders, and that’s where we’re going to find him.”
As Hotch turned to you, his eyes locked on yours with a newfound intensity. The nature of the sudden shift you had on him was becoming impossible to ignore, but for now, there was a job to finish before you could tackle it with some healthy dose of introspection.
The team mobilized quickly, setting up a perimeter around the property. As you approached, the Usonian House loomed in the distance, its low-slung roof and natural stone walls blending into the landscape. It was a beautiful, breathtaking reminder of Wright’s genius, but now, a testament to Langley’s horrors.
Rossi led the team as you breached the property, moving swiftly and silently. The house was meticulously kept, with architectural books stacked neatly on shelves, blueprints scattered on a large oak desk, and walls adorned with sketches of spirals and complex designs.
As you watched Langley being taken away, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of finality. The case had been riddled with the unsub’s twisted interpretations, but you had seen through his façade, piecing together the puzzle of his mind in a way that Wright himself might have appreciated, if only for the sheer madness of it all.
Back at the precinct, the team gathered for the debriefing, dissecting every detail of Langley’s motives and the psychological profile that had driven him down such a twisted path. As each member contributed their insights, you found your gaze drifting toward Hotch more than once, catching the subtle way he absorbed every detail, his mind always one step ahead. As the meeting wrapped up, Hotch made his way over to you, his usual stoic expression softening as he nodded in approval.
“You did very well on this one” Hotch said, his voice low but carrying a rare warmth.
You felt a flicker of pride, buoyed by his words, and met his gaze with a smile. “Thanks, Hotch. But honestly, I was amazed at how much you knew about Wright. The way you absorbed everything at the library and explained it with such passion… it was impressive.”
Hotch’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile, one that made his eyes light up in a way you couldn’t help but notice. “Guess I’m a quick study, or maybe I had a great teacher last night” he replied, the faintest trace of humor in his voice.
Before either of you could linger too long in the moment, Rossi strolled over, wearing a teasing grin. “You two are becoming quite the dynamic duo. But if you keep pulling these all-nighters, it’s gonna be the death of you both. I’m starting to think you two might need separate rooms next time.”
Gideon joined in, smirking as he gave you both a knowing look. “You work well together. Almost too well, if we’re not careful. The sleepless nights aren’t exactly in the job description.”
Hotch glanced at you, a glimmer of humor in his eyes as he replied, “Guess we’ll just have to be careful not to wear each other out.”
Rossi walked by, overhearing just enough to join in on the banter. “You two keep up these all-nighters, and one of you is bound to keel over. I’m starting to think you two might need separate rooms next time, I don’t think the Bureau’s budget covers whatever happens if you both get too lost in academic theories.”
Gideon, passing by with a knowing grin, chimed in. “Or we’ll have to start charging for private architecture lectures. Next time, just tell us before you decide to pull an impromptu masterclass, you work well together. Almost too well, if we’re not careful. The sleepless nights aren’t exactly in the job description.”
You laughed, sharing a quick look with Hotch that spoke volumes about the night spent working side by side, both of you pushing the boundaries of professional detachment. “Yeah, I guess we need to make it a rule: no more overnight research sessions unless we’re getting hazard pay.”
Hotch shook his head, a soft laugh escaping as he tucked his hands into his pockets, the moment light but undeniably intimate. "I’m starting to think we’re a bad influence on each other.” You affirmed
Hotch’s smile widened, his eyes crinkling in that way that had become increasingly familiar. “Maybe. But we make a strong duo, and I wouldn’t change that.”
The words hung between you, and as the team dispersed, you and Hotch headed to a quiet room to finish filing the last reports. The precinct buzzed with the usual post-case atmosphere, but as you worked side by side, the world seemed a little quieter, the connection between you both impossible to ignore.
Meanwhile, back in the main room, Gideon leaned against the wall, his eyes fixed on you and Hotch through the glass. A faint smile crossed his lips as he watched the two of you working seamlessly together. “They remind me of us, don’t they?”
Rossi glanced up, following Gideon’s gaze, and let out a low chuckle. “Oh, absolutely. But let’s get one thing straight: I might love you, Jason, but I promise I’m never going to end up jumping your bones. That’s where the similarities end.”
Gideon rolled his eyes, unable to hold back his laughter. “Relax, Dave. I think we’re safe there.”
Rossi clapped him on the back, still grinning. “But hey, they’re young and still full of energy. Let’s hope their late nights together work out better than ours ever did.”
As you and Hotch finished up in the other room, you both instinctively glanced over your shoulders, catching the tail end of Rossi and Gideon’s playful banter. Almost at the same moment, you felt the warmth of Hotch’s chestnut eyes searching for yours, a silent connection sparking between you. Without saying a word, you both knew exactly how the next five minutes would unfold - the lingering of your inside joke used as a comfortable distraction to brush aside the undeniable chemistry that was quietly growing between you.
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