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Today would have been a year. I want him back. It physically hurts to be here without him and this Scotch is doing nothing to burn away the pain. Only a year and yet every fibre of my being seems to depend on him. If I was being honest with myself, then I would admit that this has been going on a lot longer than the year but being honest with myself is just too uncomfortable. I can’t admit even in my own mind how long I’ve been watching him. A year. More like three or four. Since before the separation. Since before Jack. Where did it all start? I don’t know but it had taken root too deeply or perhaps I just didn’t want to back away. Maybe he wasn’t lying. Maybe I am a typical narcissist. I thrived on those fawning glances. I wanted him to idolise me. Walking back again and again seemingly to answer those questions about Gideon, something about calling him Dr. Reid, but really I just wanted those puppy eyes turned on me. I wanted that smile to be mine. He was mine and now I’ve lost him.
I want him back. Today would have been a year. I should be happy. It was a year I never thought I would have. A stupid crush on your boss, I told myself again and again at night when my thoughts and hands would drift from my book to fantasies about dark eyes boring into mine. Imagining those hard planes of muscle pressed against me like at the shooting range but not correcting my stance so I could fire straight, and really how was I meant to hit any target when all I could think about was his hot breath on my neck, strong arms encircling me, holding me down, taking me. I had a year. I should be happy. It should be enough. It was more than my wildest fantasies and yet I’m back to a hand down my pants and it’s still him.
I never fantasised. Never. At least, not consciously. Sure, I dreamt about him. Hot, fervid dreams of bending him over my desk. Sometimes I could barely take my eyes off him but he was so young, so innocent and I was so married. That birthday party stirred confusing feelings of desperate longing to debauch and a fatherly need to protect but I could easily delegate that to Gideon. What was that he said about imagining how much Reid will know by the time he’s fifty? Horrible, prophetic words. There’s so much I wish I could’ve protected Spencer from, so much that I wish he never had to know. The pain of torture, the pain of addiction, the pain killing a man he will always see as innocent. He said that Tobias’ hands were steeped in blood but his conscience was clean. Can I say the same thing about my own? Have I not inflicted more pain on him? Is he not better off without me? And yet, I want him back.
That family annihilator case when he was begging on the phone for Hayley to wake Jack up just so he could hear his voice. I would have given anything to have dropped to my knees in front of him, on the jet, in front of everyone, and offer him whatever comfort he wanted. We all knew he was hurting but I heard him confide in Morgan. I heard his voice crack as he finally admitted that his world was falling apart around him. Elle once told me that his solution to the impossible tug-of-war between the BAU and family was to give 100% of himself to both. He never realised that was unfeasible. Maybe, I didn’t give him 100%. Maybe I just wasn’t enough. It hurts so badly loving someone and yet I want him back. Love is a powerful drug and Hotch is as clean-cut as hospital heroine. My drug of choice. Once an addict; always an addict.
I let him down so badly. I wasn’t there to comfort him when he needed it the most. No one nursed him through his addiction. We just expected him to get over it and I naively thought that protecting him from any repercussions at work was enough. At least, that’s what I told myself to soothe my aching conscience when faced with his shaking hands and dark-ringed eyes. Really, I was just too caught up with my own failing marriage to really care. Now this has failed too. And what am I doing about it? Sitting here thinking about the past. Thinking about how I used to watch him and hope that maybe he was watching me too. I used to pretend that he didn’t have a crush on JJ or that actress in LA and that he wasn’t into little blondes. Hell, I was meant to be into little blondes too but there I was thinking about long fingers and soft lips bringing me to climax behind my desk. So, maybe I did fantasise, sometimes. But now I know the reality and I need it so badly.
Trying to convince myself that I would never have his strong, calloused hands tracing patterns on my skin was so much easier if I focused on his antithesis. That date with JJ was a disaster and Lila was just a distraction. Pretty little blondes seemed like a safe bet when tall, dark, brooding men were off-limits in every way. I knew he was hurting but it wasn’t my place to help him. We are all islands and Aaron Hotchner is particularly remote. Still, I got through to him. He understood me, as I knew he would, when no one else got the message. He was waiting to save me when all seemed lost and I couldn’t help but collapse into his arms even for the briefest of moments. I had him. And now I’m alone again and it hurts. I want him back.
I want him back in my arms. I almost didn’t let him go as we stood over the grave-that-was-to-be-his in Georgia. I shouldn’t have let him go. Still, he’s stronger than any of us. He’s been through so much and still be believes in people. He still believes in me after all the mistakes I’ve made but I don’t believe I deserve it. Too old. Too tired. Too hung up on my ex-wife to realise what I had in front of me and now he’s gone. Today would have been a year. I want him back. I’ll do anything to get him back but sometimes anything and everything just isn’t enough. It wasn’t enough for Hayley but then I wasn’t willing to give her everything. I am my job. He understood that. He’s the BAU as much as I am. Still, it wasn’t enough. Today would have been a year. It’s the little moments that I miss. The moments that let me fall into his arms after Chester Hardwick. He let me fall and still made me feel as if I was holding him up. So strong. Always so strong, my Spencer. He’s no longer mine. I want him back.
I want him back but what if he no longer wants me?