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You weren’t sure how this case slipped from the team’s control so quickly, but somehow you were alone, on the floor with two black eyes and at least three broken ribs. It was hard to breathe, and something really didn’t feel right.
The unsub was unconscious beside you, felled by a well-placed kick to the jaw. You crawled to your cell phone. Slowly. Painfully.
The coughs that shuddered from your lungs were wet and heavy and you could barely see. You turned your phone on and called Penelope, falling unconscious before you could say anything. With any luck, she would be able to find you with just that much.
+++
Hotch’s knuckles were white where his fingers strangled the steering wheel. His only focus was the coordinates he just received. Ignored was Emily’s death grip on the handle above the door. Ignored was JJ leaning into the front over the center console, getting more tactical information from Derek, who was still at the precinct. Ignored was the ache in his clenched jaw.
The door to the house nearly fell off its hinges when Hotch kicked it open, the SUV forgotten on the lawn behind him. Emily followed, striding through the house and clearing every room before moving on.
Hotch made a beeline for the basement, the door carelessly left open. The lack of sound acutely disturbed him, and he pushed away images of Haley’s body, laying silent on the floor of their guest room.
Silence, he knew, often meant unpleasant surprises.
JJ’s light footsteps followed behind him as he descended. He saw the unsub right away, stirring at the foot of the stairs. JJ branched off, checking the unsub’s pulse before rolling him over and cuffing him. She called for Emily, but the rushing in Hotch’s ears made it hard to hear anything.
He knelt beside you, finding a pulse and rattling, labored breathing. There was blood weeping from wounds laced across your side, arm, and thigh. He put pressure on the worst of it, his white button-down a lost cause. stained red to the elbow.
Images of Haley and Kate flashed before his eyes, and blinked them away, violently shaking his head.
“Call medics! Now!” He lifted your head, supporting it in the crook of his arm as he did his best to cover your wounds with his bare hands.
You coughed, your consciousness returning for a moment, “Aaron.” and there was blood. “Aaron...”
“You’re okay, honey. It’s okay. I’m here. Medics are on their way, I promise. I love you. You’re okay. I love you.” He wanted that to be what you heard, so you weren’t scared, so you stayed awake.
So much blood.
+++
The waiting room was quiet. Hotch sat with his elbows on his knees, blood still spattered on his shirt, staining his hands, streaked across his face. He’d done his best to give the paramedics the space they needed to work, but it was hard to watch as you struggled for breath.
One of your ribs had punctured a lung, collapsing it. They said surgery would be a couple hours, but there was a good chance you’d make it. “A simple patch,” the nurse said.
Aaron stared into nothing, his eyes close to crossing as the tiles blurred in front of him. Belatedly, he realized the blur was tears.
A hand on his shoulder startled him. Dave.
“It’ll be alright, Aaron.”
He barked a quiet, humorless laugh. His voice was raw when he replied. “How can you know that?”
“Because I know you.” Dave paused. “And I know there’s more to it than what we all see in the office.”
A bag was dropped at Aaron’s feet, in front of a pair of boots.
“Hotch, you need to get cleaned up.” Derek’s voice was shockingly gentle.
Aaron looked up for the first time in what felt like hours. JJ, Spencer, and Emily stood a little off to the side. With a sigh, he heaved himself to his feet and snatched the bag from the floor.
It was hard for him to wash your blood from his hands and face. It felt like a piece of you, washing down the drain. His hands shook as he washed them over and over, well above his elbows.
As much as he hated to admit it, the soft grey cotton of his shirt felt much better against his skin than his sticky, stiff dress shirt. He mechanically slipped on a pair of worn jeans and sneakers, thankful he thought to pack them in the extra compartment of his go bag.
One of your sweatshirts was at the bottom of the duffle, probably from the last time you spent an unsanctioned night in his hotel room.
He held it to his face, your familiar smell overwhelming his senses. When he placed your sweatshirt back into his bag and packed away his soiled clothes, his hands weren’t shaking so much. His breath came easier.
The air conditioning felt cool against his bare arms when he finally left the bathroom, returning to the huddle in the corner of the waiting room. JJ was doing her best not to pace. She was seated, her leg bouncing and the inside of her cheek firmly planted between her teeth. She looked ready to jump to her feet at any moment, which probably explained –
Derek, sitting beside her, his arm looped through hers and his legs splayed out before him.
Dave sat with his head bowed, and Hotch was near-certain he was praying. Emily sat beside him, her head on his shoulder. Her eyes were closed, but she wasn’t sleeping. Her brows were far too drawn for that, her mouth too tense. She was picking at her nails. Again.
Spencer, of course, was reading, but he couldn’t sit still. He shifted and shuffled every few minutes.
+++
“Goddamn it.”
Hotch smacked the vending machine with the heel of his hand. It had already eaten five dollars, and his patience was admittedly running thin. It was the fourth hour of your surgery, and he was feeling the weary weight of constant vigilance.
“Hey. Hotch.” Emily trotted up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Let me.”
She gently fed another bill into the machine, and a bag of chips met their match and landed at the bottom. She handed the bag to Aaron and guided him to a nearby bench.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you two, or should I take a guess?”
Aaron sighed and pulled a hand down his face. “Do we have to do this right now?”
“It’s as good a time as any. Neither one of us are going anywhere.”
“Prentiss...” He trailed off, not sure where to start. He looked over at her. “Emily.”
She shuffled closer to him and mirrored his posture, her elbows resting on her knees, fingers loosely laced. “Just start from the beginning.”
So he did.
He told her about meeting you in the elevator for the first time.
He told her about the way you tripped up the stairs just outside the entrance to the office the second time you saw each other, your files scattering on the snow-dusted concrete.
He told her about the way you made him laugh.
He told her about your first date a few months later, and how he couldn’t get you out of his head.
He told her how you were with Jack, how often his son asked to see you and the way you always gave him your full attention.
He told her about your transfer into the unit, the dichotomy between the joy of having you beside him and the fear for your safety in the field.
He told her that he loved you, in so many words.
“I feel alive,” he said. “I can’t lose –“ He cut himself off and swallowed thickly.
“That’s not gonna happen. It’s not. You’ll both go home at the end of this.” She bumped his shoulder playfully. “And I am the authority on near-death experiences, here.”
Aaron gave her a small smile in spite of himself.
Emily stood and brushed imaginary crumbs from her pants in an authoritative and decisive fashion. “Now, I’m getting you some coffee. Eat your chips, Hotch. Try to taste them, too.”
She’d only taken three steps, when -
“Hey, Emily?”
She turned over her shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
+++
You opened your eyes to the image of Derek sitting next to your bed, peering at you.
“Jesus Christ, Morgan.” You couldn’t help but jump a little, and your ribs twinged. “You scared the shit out of me.”
He grinned at you. “So. You and Hotch?”
You rolled your eyes, and even that hurt. “Seriously? How long have you been sitting there waiting to ask me that?”
“Three and a half hours.”
You opened your mouth to retort, but Aaron stepped in before you could draw breath. You watched him as he crossed the room with purpose and set his coffee down.
Ignoring Derek entirely, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to your lips, then your forehead. He took your hands in his and pressed kisses to those, too.
“Feeling better?” He asked. The transformation of the man who walked through the door and the man that held your hands was stark. His eyes were softer, brighter, his shoulders lower.
You nodded, smiling fondly at him. “Much better, now.”
A noisy sigh erupted behind you. “Guys...c’mon.”
You looked back over at Derek with a smile, the shadow of Aaron looming over your shoulder.
+++
At the end of it, you were fine. Your lung was repaired (for the most part), your wounds mended. The hardest part was taking time off, and the physical therapy.
Physical therapy sucked.
Most afternoons found you spending time with Jack at the apartment. As soon as your arm was strong enough to manage a controller again, you spent hours playing his favorite games with him while the team was away on cases.
Your office at home had become essentially a satellite BAU hub. The team phoned you in to almost every case, and you took a great amount of joy curating maps and profiles from your office. The display was rather beautiful, at the end of it. Notes and photos and maps all over the walls.
There were footsteps behind you as you finished pinning a post it to the board. “Hi, jet-setter.” You turned around and quirked a smile at him, admiring him in one of his new suits. He walked toward you, leaving his briefcase at the door.
He framed your face with his hands and you leaned into him. He kissed you gently, and you slid your hands under his suit jacket. The light, spicy scent of his cologne hit your nose and you smiled against his mouth.
“I missed you out there,” he said, his lips traveling down your neck and jaw.
You huffed a laugh, and you planted your hands in his hair. “I was on video with Penelope the whole time.”
He hummed into your skin. “Not the same and you know it.” He pulled back, running his hands over your upper arms.
You watched him take stock of you, his eyes tracing over the scars on your forearm, your pinkie that wouldn’t quite sit straight anymore, and the nebulizer on your desk behind you. “I’m alright, Aaron.”
He kissed your cheek and wrapped his arms around you, holding you to his chest. “I know.” Your hands curled around the fabric of his dress shirt at his sides. He tucked his head and pressed his lips to your skin. “I know.”