Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“our ambition should be to rule ourselves, the true kingdom for each one of us; and true progress is to know more, and be more, and to do more”
oscar wilde

july 23rd, 2007 - september 26th, 2007

+++

“Director Shepard?” 

You approach her, feeling very young, with a question and a smile. 

She turns, returning your smile with a soft one of her own. “Yes?”

Her lecture was immaculate. She covered a broad swath of topics, including her experience as the first female director of NCIS, her history in international relations and liaison work with British and Israeli intelligence. It all paves a bit of a roadmap for success in federal law enforcement. 

You introduce yourself and shake her hand. “I’ve gotta tell you it was a challenge to choose between agencies in my applications. I admire your work both as an agent and director of NCIS and I was wondering…” 

You lose your nerve a bit, but steel yourself again and ask. 

“... Would you be willing to meet with me and talk about your career trajectory a little more?”

There’s a light in her eyes as she studies you with a kind of supreme benevolence and gentleness. “I would.” 

+++

“Alright,” she says, setting her napkin in her lap. “What do you want to know?” 

You laugh a little, “Is everything a good place to start?”

She laughs, and you’re immediately drawn to her warmth. There’s a kind of fire in her, and it doesn’t just come from her hair. “I’ll see what I can do. Though I’ll give you some unsolicited advice now, to save some time. Find someone you can follow, someone you can learn from.”

She goes on to tell you about her mentor, still on the Major Case Response Team under her purview at NCIS. Though she’s his boss now, she tells you that she still goes to him for advice, for friendship. 

“Trusting the people you work with always comes first. It’s not always possible, but when you can manage it. It makes everything better. Always protect them where you can and don’t ignore the politics”

You do everything except take notes as she tells more stories, how she’s switched from probie to Agent Shepard to Ambassador Shepard to Director Shepard, before she turns back to you. 

“Do you know which unit you’re interested in, yet?” 

You shake your head. “Not yet. I’m hoping I’ll have a better idea when the Quantico and D.C. unit chiefs start coming in to lecture. I’m hoping one of them will catch my interest.”

“Great idea. When one of them does, give me a call. I think any unit could benefit from someone like you.”

+++

Agents Hotchner, Morgan, and Gideon have your attention the moment they step into the room. They’re confident, with a sharp kind of intelligence you admire. 

The world of the BAU is fascinating. Serial killers, sex criminals, the very worst of depraved humanity is their everyday. While it sounds somewhat horrifying, it compels you. 

Agent Hotchner especially catches your attention. He’s confident in a kind of serious, bladed way. Clearly intelligent, he commands the attention of everyone in the room and effortlessly wields his authority among curious students and his fellow agents. 

You’d think Agent Gideon would be the obvious leader, what with all his years of experience and seniority, but even with his firm, nuanced grasp of a field he shaped, he doesn’t hold a candle to Hotchner. 

With your half-hour-old knowledge, you put together a quick profile of the remaining figure. 

Agent Morgan, while strong and clearly an alpha male, brings a skepticism with him. It hangs in the air around him and seems to apply to both of his colleagues. There’s something about Agent Gideon that makes him uneasy, distrustful. He tends to shift his weight away from him when they get too close to each other. 

He’s not overt about his skepticism regarding Agent Hotchner, but you get the idea there’s more under the surface you couldn’t possibly know just by studying his behavior in a lecture hall. 

This is fun. 

You hide your smile in your notebook, jotting down a couple of notes as Agent Gideon continues his “brief overview of profile-driven serial killer arrests.” 

+++ 

“Director Shepard’s office.”

“Hi Cynthia,” you greet her secretary. “Is Director Shepard in?”

She connects you, and you ask about the BAU. 

“Is Jason Gideon still the unit chief over there?” She asks. You can already hear her typing and you’re more than a little concerned about her tenacity in this moment. 

“No, ma’am, it’s Agent Hotchner, now.”

“Perfect.”

+++

To: [email protected]
CC: [email protected], [email protected]
Subject: NAT File for Review

Aaron, 

I hope you're well. I want to thank you again for your help with the endless consults my MCRT agents send to your unit. 

I have a somewhat odd request for you. If you have the time, I'd appreciate it if you reviewed the attached personnel file from a NAT at the FBI Academy. I think this young agent has a lot of promise and would be a perfect candidate for your unit if you and SSA Radner wanted to take on the challenge of collaborating on an unorthodox academy assignment. 

Let me know what you think. I look forward to hearing from you and you can always contact me at my direct line below. I'll tell Cynthia to send you right through. 

I'll keep in touch regarding possible joint cases - we've had some strange happenings lately. 

Take care, and give your family all my love!

Thanks, 
Jenny

Jennifer A. Shepard, M.A.
Director, Naval Criminal Investigative Service
Quantico, VA

+++

To: [email protected]
CC: [email protected], [email protected]
Subject: RE: NAT File for Review

Thanks for sending this over, Jen. I'll be in touch. 

Best, 
Hotch

S.S.A. Aaron Hotchner, J.D.
Unit Chief, Behavioral Analysis Unit
Federal Bureau of Investigation
Quantico, VA

+++

You’re called into SSA Radner’s office the following Monday to “discuss some changes to your academy courses.” 

That doesn’t sound good. 

SSA Radner, an imposing and intimidating woman, is the SAC in charge of your NAT class. When you think about it, she's really the person in charge of your collective fates.

No pressure. 

She opens the door when you knock, gesturing to the chair on the other side of her desk. “Please, have a seat.” 

You chuckle nervously. “Thanks, Agent Radner.” You note her little smile as she sits at her desk, and chance a question. “Have I done something, I dunno, wrong? We don’t seem to find much good news in the SAC’s office at my rank.” 

That pulls a laugh from her. “I wouldn't worry too much. I have a proposition for you. It’s...unusual, but not unheard of.” 

Your brow crumples a little and she exhales. 

“It might actually be better if - yeah. Hold on.” She clicks her intercom and her assistant chirps from the other side. 

“Yes ma’am?”

“Please send them in. I’d like to do a joint briefing.” 

Joint briefing? What is this, the third invasion of Iraq?

The door opens behind you and you whip around, finding Agent Hotchner and IOS Section Chief Erin Strauss. 

What the fuck? 

Either you’ve done something terrible or insane and you’re not sure which. 

Chief Strauss addresses you first, shaking your hand. You introduce yourself for good measure but have a feeling she already knows who you are. 

“It’s come to our attention that you have ambitious interests and are taking exceptional steps to make the most of your education and training at the academy. Is this a fair assessment?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Agent Hotchner steps forward, sort of looming over you with something that isn’t quite a stern look. You take his hand when he offers, introducing yourself and ignoring the jolt of energy that shoots up your arm at his touch. 

His handshake is firm, his hands dry and warm. He looks different up close, younger, maybe. There’s the barest touch of grey at his temples, the beginnings of lines around his mouth and eyes. 

Not what I expected.

What did you expect? 

How old could he be? Thirty-five, maybe? 

Shut up. 

He’s handsome. 

Your eyes drop to his left hand, finding a wedding ring. 

Shut up!

His face relaxes a little bit before he speaks. “Director Shepard, a close professional colleague, has been a staunch advocate for you and your talents. She approached me about taking you on, giving you case hours in lieu of some coursework.” 

“You’d have some catching up to do, as it’s already three weeks into your twenty, and we’d transfer you into the profiling classes,” Agent Radner adds. “But with your diligence, I doubt you’ll have trouble with the added workload.” 

“No, ma’am. That should be fine. But,” you look between the three of them, “what does ‘case hours in lieu of some coursework’ mean, exactly?” 

“You’d be on assignment with the BAU until you received your formal assignment following successful completion of the academy, with the possibility of assignment with the BAU as a full-fledged agent.” Chief Strauss rattles off the information as if it’s the thousandth time she’s said it. 

It might be. 

You can’t even fathom how much effort and time must have gone into this decision. The realization leaves you speechless. 

She prompts you again. “Does that sound like an opportunity in which you’d be interested?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am.” You feel a little stupid, but you’re rewarded with a proud smile from Agent Radner. 

You could also swear you saw a twitch of Agent Hotchner’s lips, but he doesn’t seem to be a man who smiles much. 

+++

“So this’ll be your desk,” Agent Jennifer-but-my-friends-call-me-JJ Jareau says, pointing to one of the many desks in the bullpen. 

You set your bag down with a little smile, feeling more than a little overwhelmed. 

Agent Morgan pats your shoulder as he passes your desk. “You’ll do just fine, kid. Ready for a case briefing in ten?” 

“Sure.”

His blinding smile eats up his whole face and you like him already. He’s different than you thought he’d be, but you still don’t think your preliminary profile was too far off.

Agent Gideon, still holed up in his office, has yet to acknowledge you. 

Your eyes keep wandering to the open blinds, behind which Agent Hotchner and a woman you understand to be his wife have a quiet, apparently heated argument on either side of his desk. Except for the tight set of her mouth and the angry glint in her eye, she seems lovely. 

Derek follows your gaze. “Wasn’t always like that.” 

You look at him, a little furrow in your brow. 

Should he be telling me this?

“She’s not always here either, but their son, Jack, has been sick, so it’s been… tense.” Derek shakes his head. “You wouldn’t catch me married in this job, not once.” 

That pulls a laugh from you. 

Emily, sitting at the desk beside you, turns in her chair. “Remind me to drink to that later.” 

Derek snorts and picks up a couple of files, headed up to the round table room. 

+++

Your first case briefing is, well...brief. The case seems fairly straightforward and you run through relevant vocabulary while JJ outlines the case details. 

Preferential offender, keeps his victims for no more than three days, victims found in public places. 

He wants them found, and fast. 

Need-based, maybe? What are his priors? 

You’re all dismissed with a brisk, “Wheels up in thirty.” 

You pack your things a little slower than probably called for. Hotch disappears into his office again, closing the door behind him. When you pass the window, his wife’s head tucks neatly under his chin. 

Hotch’s eyes flicker to yours and you quickly train your gaze on the floor, hustling down the stairs. 

+++

You land next to each other when you board the plane. You do your best to avoid taking anyone's assigned seat. 

With a team of this size, you can only assume they have such things.

And they do. 

Gideon, Spencer, Morgan, and Prentiss take a seat at the table while JJ perches on the arm of the couch. 

Hotch settles at the informal “head” of the table, leaning on the chairs across the aisle. You take a seat in one of the chairs in the row next to him, trying to stay out of the way. 

“C’mere, kid,” Derek says, beckoning you forward. “You’re on this team.” 

You shuffle forward in your seat, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees and case file open in your hands. “I’m ready.” 

JJ smiles at you, and you almost feel comfortable. 

+++

You end up alone with Hotch in the precinct conference room after you land, unboxing files and sorting them for Spencer. Until you know enough to make yourself useful, you’ve made it your mission to handle the tedious and the clerical. 

Hotch pauses every once in a while as if he wants to say something. You continue on your way. When he’s ready, he’ll stop you. 

“I’m sorry about earlier. My wife, Haley, she -” 

You look up, waving him off with a little smile. “It’s okay, Hotch. It’s none of my business.” 

He looks at you for a minute, studying your face with a bit of a squint. “You mean that.” 

It’s not a question. 

You’re confused. 

“Of course.” A nervous laugh leaves you. “I mean, you’re welcome to tell me if you want, but it’s nothing I need to speculate or gossip about or, God forbid, profile. ” 

The shock and relief war on his face until it settles back into something that looks like his usual severity, but a little softer. He doesn't say anything else, but you have the sneaking suspicion you passed a test neither one of you prepared for. 

Spencer and Emily return from their trip to the medical examiner’s office. 

“Who organized these?” Spencer asks, pointing at the neat piles you made. 

“Me.” You look up from another box you’re working on. “Would it be helpful if they’re sorted another way? I went chronologically and then by number and type of offenses, with preferential offenders that match the M.O. on top, when possible.” 

Emily, Hotch, and Spencer freeze, staring at you like you grew another head in front of them. 

You’re suddenly and violently self-conscious. “What?”

Spencer snaps out of it first, shaking his head and picking up a stack. “Nothing that’s just...um…”

“Exactly right,” Emily supplies. She glances at Hotch before looking back at you. “Thanks.” 

“No problem.” 

Hotch is the last to break, but the curious little glances he keeps throwing your way always linger a little too long. 

To your credit, you ignore them. 

+++

“So, how are you liking it so far?” Derek slides into the driver’s seat and rolls out of the parking lot. 

You’re headed to another witness’s house under direct orders to observe and ask a few (carefully directed) questions. Derek insisted on bringing you himself while the others keep busy with something else. 

“I’m liking it,” you reply. 

He laughs. “Coulda fooled me.” 

You screw up your face and look over at him. “What do you mean?” 

“Well,” he says through a laugh, “when you’re not making yourself ridiculously useful, you look terrified.” 

“I am terrified.” 

“Nothin’ to be scared of as long as you keep asking questions,” he says. 

It’s almost like he doesn’t know how ridiculous he sounds. 

“You’re joking, right?” You turn to face him, shifting in your seat. “Agent Morgan -” 

He cuts you off. You’re pretty sure that’s just how he is - he interrupts the other members of the team frequently and fearlessly. “- Derek. Or Morgan.” 

“Fine. Morgan, you have to know that your team is legendary. I don’t even know why -”

“- Don’t say it.” He flags his hand before putting it back on the wheel. “You’re here for a reason, and none of us are going to let you fall so hard you can’t pick yourself up, okay?” He glances over, meeting your eyes. “We’ve got your back.” 

You quirk a smile. “Thanks.” 

“And,” he adds, “Hotch seems to like you alright. That’s half the battle.” 

“What’s the other half?” 

He snorts. “Gideon. And local law enforcement.” 

+++

You settle in a little easier after that. JJ’s your next target as you help her make some calls to the D.A.’s office. 

You hang up and take a breath, slumping back in your chair. It’s been a long day already and it’s not even lunchtime. 

“Hanging in there?” JJ asks, smiling at you over her files. 

You nod. “Yeah. Just a… different kind of energy than the academy, I think.” 

“I felt that way when I got here, too. Gideon was unit chief back then and Spence had just started, too.” She huffs a laugh. “It was a little easier when there were more newbies, but then…” Her face clouds over and she shakes her head. 

“Then...what?” 

She looks up at you and her mouth twists. “Boston.” 

+++

“Hey, Derek?” 

“Yeah?” He keeps his eyes on the road, but he can hear the trepidation in your voice. 

The dark interior of the car feels safe in the early hours of the morning, headed back to the hotel. “You said I could ask you anything, right?” 

His eyebrows pinch. “Shoot.”

“What happened in Boston?” 

Derek takes a breath and lets it out in a whoosh. “I wasn’t there. I was supposed to be there.” 

You wait on him, watching him watch the road. 

“Unsub holed himself up in a massive warehouse. Gideon called in all the support he could - A Team, B Team, SWAT, the whole nine. JJ was dealing with the media, Hotch was running point from mobile command, Reid was working with the analysts. I was visiting my mom in Chicago for her birthday like I do every year.” 

He stops at a red light, and you take a moment to look past him into the adjacent SUV, where Emily and Hotch’s profiles rest in a statuesque silhouette, backlit by the streetlamp. 

“It was a trap from the start. Everyone pushed in on Gideon’s order and the whole thing just…” He tosses his hand up and it lands with a smack on the leather steering wheel. “It just went up. Boom. Six of eight BAU agents in our unit - dead, just like that. Had to rebuild from scratch.” 

You shiver, though the car is warm. “I’m so sorry, Derek.” 

He shrugs. “Gideon took six months off, Hotch took over. Gideon came back, Hotch stayed up front.” He smiles a little. “Haley wasn’t happy, but that’s the job.” 

Why does it always come back to Haley? To Hotch? 

Because he’s the unit chief. 

I know but…

Don’t read into it. 

You decide to push, just because it’s Derek, because he seems to know, because you feel safe with him, because it might be a mistake. “Is that what you meant?”

“Hm?” His head turns just a little toward you, his brow furrowed. 

“You told me on my first day ‘It wasn’t always like this.’ Is that what you meant?”

“No sane man would take on the unit chief position with a wife and baby on the way.” He shrugs and with a secret little smile says, “But nobody ever accused Hotch of being sane.” 

+++

To: [email protected]
CC: 
Subject: Assignment Feedback

Aaron, 

Just wanted to check in - I'm meeting with __________ at the end of the week prior to the first round of exams. If you have any feedback you prefer to come through me, send it over. 

Thanks,
Mel

S.S.A. Melanie Radner
Supervising Agent, FBI Academy
Quantico, VA

Aaron sits in front of his computer, the end of his pen tapping on the glossy wood of his desk. 

Does he have feedback? He’s not sure. 

Even with your limited knowledge, you’ve managed to optimize most of the administrative bullshit and political nonsense that clogs most local investigations. You bounce between acting as his shadow and JJ’s, making friends and soothing hurts when toes inevitably get stepped on. 

You’ve immediately adapted to his style of criticism and correction, using Derek and Spencer as guide-rails when you’re not sure where you’re going. 

There’s nothing to complain about. But then again…

Feedback isn’t just about the negative. 

If he’s honest with himself, he knows he won’t shower you in the glowing praise you deserve. Gideon never did for him or anyone that came after. 

It’s not in their nature, or his. 

He starts to type. 

To: [email protected]
CC: 
Subject: RE: Assignment Feedback

Mel, 

I don't have any specific feedback to offer at this time. However, BAU operations have been positively impacted by ________'s work and I look forward to coordinating wtih you and academy instructors to find more time for direct field world. 

Let's touch base after the joint-SAC meeting on Tuesday. 

Hotch

S.S.A. Aaron Hotchner, 
Unit Chief, Behavioral Analysis Unit
Federal Bureau of Investigation
Quantico, VA

Glancing out his office window, his eyes find you hunched over your desk, poring over one of Spencer’s notebooks, a pinch in his brow as deep as the Grand Canyon as he studies you. 

You work hard, impossibly hard. You throw everything you have at your work in the field while managing your courses and keeping up with your classmates. 

That in mind, he drafts an email to Jenny. 

To: [email protected]
CC: 
Subject: RE: NAT File for Review

Jen, 

Thank you for your recommendation. Agent Radner and I are impressed. 

Let me know if you'd be available for coffee sometime this week. We can discuss updates and go over any interagency case opportunities. 

Best, 

Aaron

S.S.A. Aaron Hotchner, 
Unit Chief, Behavioral Analysis Unit
Federal Bureau of Investigation
Quantico, VA

With a sigh, he sends it.

He’s still thinking of what you said on the last case, the genuine truth of it, and how many times he has done his best to preempt the gossip that plagues this office, no matter who it’s about. 

This unit, as much of a family as it may be, constantly wraps itself in the business of everyone else. To know you couldn’t give less of a shit about his marriage when the rest of the team (save Gideon) probably has money on when Haley calls it quits is, admittedly, refreshing. 

+++

After being in the field, classes take on a new kind of banality. You’re keeping up well enough, but watching Gideon and Derek quarrel over the details of a profile beats diving into the techniques - you guessed it - Gideon developed from cases past. 

Hotch and Garcia were gracious enough to CC you on emails while you were grounded at the academy, but it wasn’t the same. 

It was hard not to feel left behind, like the last kid chosen for dodgeball in PE class, watching the rest of the unit leave the office. You hung back in the bullpen as long as you could find something to do this morning, making it to class at the very last minute. 

Even after lectures, your classmates want nothing more than your attention. You’re suddenly consulting on three different practicals and never have a lunch to yourself.

Most afternoons, you sneak into the bullpen just for some peace and quiet. 

You hear your last name and look up, finding Erin Strauss approaching you. You stand. “Ma’am.”

“What are you working on?”

You look down at your desk, finding practical and theoretical exam notes shuffled around next to mock consults and other nonsense Hotch dropped on his way to the jet earlier in the week. “Course work, mostly. It’s nice to… get away every once in a while.”

Erin nods with a little smile. “I’d imagine you’ve been pretty popular lately.”

You shrug, a little facetious. “You could say that.”

She pays your shoulder in a surprisingly maternal gesture, before wishing you luck and leaving you to your work. 

At this point, you can’t even imagine just being an FBI agent. 

+++

You’ve just closed your burning, tired eyes when your phone rings. 

You answer, your last name a grumble into the mic. 

“It’s Hotch.”

You sit up straight in bed, immediately awake. “Sorry, sir, I -“

“I should apologize. I don’t mean to interrupt your studying or wake you but I think I could use your opinion on this profile.”

You frown in the dark, flipping your desk lamp on. “ My help, sir?”

“Yeah.”  He heaves a sigh and you can almost see the fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been looking at it too long.”

“Maybe Derek, can -“

“No. You. Here, listen -“

He rattles off the details of the case and you snatch your notebook and pen off the desk, jotting things down as Hotch continues through the case. 

“Have you identified and contacted local individuals who fit the victimology, taken steps to protect them? He’s a preferential offender with a predictable cooling-off period, right?” 

For some reason, this isn’t half as exhausting as the practical exam practice you’d been working on for the last five hours. You may or may not have written those exact questions about fifteen times, but it’s far less exhausting when directed at Hotch. 

“Yeah. Two high-risk victims are in protective custody and JJ’s been in touch since this morning.”

You go through a few more basic questions, getting your feet under you, before asking the one you’re really after. 

“Sir, why did you call me?”

“I needed another set of eyes.”

You huff a laugh. “No, I gathered that, but why did you call me? I’m in the middle of learning about something you’ve been doing for…” You search for a number, but your brain is fried. 

“Too long,” he supplies. 

“Sure. But my point stands.”

“That it does.” Something creaks in the background and you imagine he’s leaned back in his chair. 

“Did I help?” You’re happy he can’t see your dubious, if not entirely doubtful, expression. 

He’s happy you can’t see the little fond smile on his face. “Yes, actually. You did.”

+++

“Wheels up in thirty.” 

You all stand from the table and start your routines. Emily and Spencer make a beeline for the coffee machine while JJ jets back to her office for contact sheets and files and all manner of coordinating materials. 

Derek’s routine is simple enough - he already has his coffee and his go bag, so he’s answering a few emails before wheels up. 

You never really know what to do during this liminal space, so you stick to classwork. 

Much to your surprise, you’ve shot ahead in your classes on the shoulders of Derek and Spencer. They’ve been monumentally helpful with the history and application of profiling techniques (though much of Derek’s advice has been ‘just watch Gideon.’ You’re not sure how to watch a process that takes place entirely inside the man’s head). 

You ride with Hotch to the airstrip, looking out the window most of the way. It’s only a five minute drive, but the tree-lined roads around Quantico are always lovely this time of the morning. 

As always, you do your best to stay out of the way on the plane, taking up residence on Hotch’s right with your notebook and case file. 

You offer some thoughts here and there, not pushing too much or saying enough to make an ass of yourself. 

When Hotch calls break, the rest of the team scatters to their respective corners. 

Gideon turns to you, gesturing with one finger. “Hey, ah…” 

Spencer chirps your last name from across the cabin and you shoot him a grateful smile. 

“Good job in the briefing, today.” 

And with that, he disappears to the far side of the cabin, leaving you and Hotch alone by the table. 

“Wow,” you say with a little smile. “I didn’t know he was aware of my existence.” 

Hotch doesn’t say anything, but his lips twitch. 

Success. 

+++

“Welcome back, kiddo!” Derek offers you fist and you bump your knuckles against his on your way back to your desk. “How’d those exams go?”

You huff, playing at defeat. “Oh, you know.” 

“Don’t worry about it. There’s always next time.” 

Hotch, returning from a meeting with Strauss, hardly looks up from the file in his hand when he says, “Well done on your exams. SSA Radner threatened to hang your marksmanship targets on her wall.” 

You hide a smile. “Thanks, Hotch.” 

“Not fair!” Spencer says, tossing another Tums in his mouth. “I never passed those.” 

“Then how on earth do you have that, Reid?” You point at his six-shooter, still clipped to his hip. 

“Wait wait wait,” JJ says, dropping her files and crossing her arms. “You haven’t heard that story?” 

Your eyes flicker from Derek, to JJ, to Spencer, and back. “...No.”

JJ settles in, regaling you with a wild tale of an L.D.S.K. - 

“You remember what that stands for, right?” Derek points at you and you have a feeling this is about to become some kind of pop quiz. 

“Yeah. Long-Distance Serial Killer.” 

“Good. Famous unsubs include…?” 

You sit back in your chair with a little smirk on your face. “D.C. Snipers Muhammad and Malvo, active October 2002, seventeen victims total. Apprehended by agents from the FBI Baltimore field office -” 

Derek holds up a finger. “And?”

“- and the BAU and the Maryland State Police.” 

“Good.” 

JJ waits for Derek to nod at her and she continues what you imagine to be a rather embellished version of a story in which Hotch and Reid save the day.

“...And then Hotch just starts kicking the shit out of Spencer -” 

Hotch’s office door shuts and he sails down the stairs with one of those little secret smiles. “This one ends with Reid stealing my sidearm and shooting the unsub in the head.” He taps right between his eyebrows in the barest of pauses on his way out of the bullpen. “Dead center.” 

Derek and JJ groan, both whining about how he ruined the punchline before devolving into a fit of giggles. You can almost see the smirk on his face as he pushes through the glass door and turns the corner. 

You join in the mirth, ruffling Reid’s hair. He smiles widely at you. 

Maybe you could just get used to this place.   

+++

The second round of classes on top of added case hours (you’re traveling with the unit more often than not) nearly brings you to the brink. 

On the plane back to Quantico, you realize you can’t remember the last time you actually had a full night of sleep. 

The rest of the unit is out cold, curled into themselves, or stretched out under blankets, save for Hotch and Gideon. 

Gideon’s writing in that wretched notebook again, entirely focused on his work under the weak reading light. 

Aaron sits beside you on the other side of the cabin, looking over a few files before returning home. You watch him check his watch, sigh, shrug, and pull out his phone. To your surprise, he doesn’t move to give himself space as he calls his wife. 

“Hey, honey, it’s me… Yeah, we’re on the plane. Should be back within the next hour and a half...“ 

He sighs and tightly closes his eyes. “Haley, please… Yes, I know Jack’s already asleep… Are you implying I didn’t do my damnedest to - Then what’s your point?...” 

His voice never once rises above a low murmur. It’s impressive.

“I’ll be home as soon as I can… No, I won’t pass ‘Go’ or collect two-hundred dollars or step foot into my office… Yes. Plane. Tarmac. Car. Home… Yeah… Love you too.” 

He snaps his phone shut and leans back, tipping his head against the headrest.  

You stay quiet, continuing your review of SSA Bailey’s course on, ironically, conflict de-escalation. 

Hotch takes a talking breath and you look over at him, keeping a kind of soft understanding on your face - really, shooting for anything that isn’t curiosity. 

“I appreciate your…” He looks for a word. “Discretion.” 

You laugh a little down your nose. “How many times do I have to tell you it’s none of my business?”

“How many times do I have to imply that a phrase like that isn’t in the vocabulary of this team, usually?” He shifts a little, and you notice his thumb, running along his forefinger like he’s searching for bone. 

“Is it really that bad?”

Hotch raises his eyebrows, and you relent. 

“Fine.” You drop your voice. “Do you want to know what I’ve seen?”

He shrugs. “An outside perspective might be nice.” 

You keep your eyes on your book as you speak, keeping your volume low and your tone as neutral as you can. 

“I’ve seen how Emily worries about fitting in - I can’t help but relate. This team is a family and it’s… hard to break through that sort-of-wall to the outside world.” 

The prickly feeling of his eyes on you isn’t altogether unpleasant, but you still haven’t grown used to it. 

“Derek and Spencer are worried about Gideon and,” you glance at him briefly, “so are you. Everyone seems to want to know why , but I don't think that’s always useful.” 

Hotch hums once, maybe in agreement - you’re not too sure. 

You are sure, though, that this was a test. 

“How’d I do, Counselor?”

It’s never too early to invoke the J.D. hanging in a frame behind his desk. It was the first thing you noticed and suddenly, a lot more about him made sense. 

You’re rewarded with a small smile. “Not bad. Though you did forget to drop in the little bit about my marriage.” 

“I didn’t forget,” you assure him.

“No?” 

“No. I figure if you have something to say, you seem like the kind of person who’d just say it. At least,” you shrug, “that’s my impression.” 

He’s quiet for a minute before he squints and looks over your shoulder at your reading. His brown eyes track down the page before returning to yours. He’s close to you, but you’re not uncomfortable. 

Hotch is...safe. Somehow. 

“There’s a reason you’re the exception. Not sure what it is yet,” he says. “But there’s a reason.” 

“What?” 

He leans back, a cryptic little smile on his face, and says nothing else for the rest of the flight.

+++

“Hotch, are you sure it’s not a trick question?” 

“The questions aren’t designed to trick you,” comes a voice from the doorway. To your surprise, it’s Gideon. “They’re designed to stretch and reveal your instincts. No right answer.” The corners of his mouth turn down while his eyebrows rise in that kind of halfway-encouraging look he sometimes gets. “Just go with your gut.” 

He disappears and you turn back to Hotch, scribbling away in a file. 

“He’s right.” 

Your brain feels less and less bound to your body as the days pass. “Am I nuts, or is that the most words he’s strung together since I got here, combined?” 

What you now know to be a smile twitches at Hotch’s mouth. “You’re not nuts.” 

You sigh and turn your attention back to your mock exam, twiddling your pencil between your fingers. “I’m sorry to keep bugging you with homework - it feels like cheating.” 

He pulls his phone from his pocket. “Resourcefulness is not cheating. If it was, I’d have to go back and get my J.D. out of a Cracker Jack box.” 

You muffle a laugh.

He checks his watch. “I have a check-in with the budget office in five minutes. You’re welcome to stay right where you are, but it’ll be boring and I plan to do a lot of pacing.” 

You hold your hands up in surrender and settle in. 

Friday afternoons in the office feel a lot like Saturdays in the office - which is to say, nothing happens at all. The rest of the team is catching up on paperwork while Gideon walks laps with his little notebook. 

Not three minutes into his conversation, Hotch stands and begins to pace, as promised. 

"No, we can't cut the technology budget... Because if the BAU gets called to a remote region, we need to have immediate access to satellite phones and our technical analyst… Yes… Send the budget to the Director, and I'm certain it'll come back approved without changes… The arrest and prosecution rate of this unit is -” 

His desk phone rings and he gestures for you to pick it up. 

“Agent Hotchner’s office,” you say with more than a little trepidation. You’re definitely not qualified to answer the unit chief’s phone. 

“Goddamn it, Aaron why can’t you -” She pauses. “Wait. Sorry. Who is this?” 

You introduce yourself. “I’m currently on assignment with the unit. It’s… unconventional.” 

“Hm. Why are you answering Aaron’s phone?” Her tone isn’t accusatory - it’s more curious than that. You’d imagine this doesn’t happen all that often. He’s either at his desk, or he’s not at his desk. 

She calls him Aaron. 

You’re not sure why that surprises you. They’re married, and he has a first name. 

Taking a look across the room, you watch Hotch’s profile as he continues to defend the budget he submitted. 

Aaron. 

You make an attempt to see the man behind the suit, the man who goes home to his wife and son when he can. 

“I’m using his office to study for my academy exams. I’ll see if I can reach Agent Hotchner for you. Just a second.”

She snorts something that could be a laugh if it wasn’t so sharp. “Thanks.” 

Hotch looks over and squints at you, mouthing, Who is it? 

You put her on hold and answer in a stage whisper. “It’s your wife.”

Hotch freezes for just a second - it almost looks like he’s rebooting. 

He blinks three times in rapid succession before he pulls the phone away from his mouth. “Tell her I’m in a meeting. I’ll call her back.” You move to reach for the phone but he holds up a finger and you freeze. “Wait two minutes.”

You follow instructions, taking the time to answer a few more mock exam questions. You try not to think too hard about his avoidance. This doesn’t seem like a particularly pressing phone call - Hotch is in budget meetings all the time. 

None of your business. 

After about a minute and a half, you pick up the phone again. 

Before you can say anything, she’s already back on her mini-rampage. About twenty seconds in, she pauses. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m still not talking to my husband, am I?”

De-escalate. Disarm. Establish rapport. 

You can do this. 

You channel Derek, using a softer tone designed to distract. Maybe you’ll sneak some humor in there, if you can manage it. 

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hotchner, he’s not available.” 

With a defeated sigh, she asks, flatly, “Where is he?” 

Humor. Play off her disappointment. 

“I assume he’s in a meeting or something - he likes to think he’s very important - but I can’t find him.” 

To your surprise, she laughs a little. 

You check with Hotch across the room. He rolls his eyes at you but continues his bickering. 

Success. 

“Can you just… I don’t know… Tell him I called, or something?” 

You try not to think too hard about the defeat in her tone. “I promise I’ll badger him to call you back as soon as he’s back at his desk, ma’am.”

“Wow.” She sounds impressed, and you’re not sure why. You’re not left in suspense for long. She continues. “You’re a way better liar than JJ. Also - please don’t call me ma’am. Makes me feel old. Haley’s just fine.” 

“Of course.” 

“You know what…” She asks for your cell number and you give it to her, throwing a glance at Hotch for good measure. He’s still pacing. 

He presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose, but can’t say anything to you before he’s forced to respond to the poor budget clerk who drew the short straw. “No we can’t start sharing hotel rooms…”

Haley interrupts your momentary space-out. “Thanks, again. If he doesn’t have a chance to call me back, can you let him know I’m going to my sister’s for the weekend? With Jack?” 

“Sure.”

That’s another question I’m not going to ask. 

You hang up the phone and get back to your exam, trying not to feel comforted by the lull of familiarity in the room. 

+++

For some reason, you keep finding yourself alone in police precincts in the middle of nowhere with Hotch sitting across the table from you. 

“Hey,” he says. 

You look up. 

“Haley, she…” He heaves a sigh and trails off for a minute, frowning at a spot above your head. “I don’t know why I’m asking, what I’m asking.” 

You keep your eyes on him. “Shoot.” 

He takes another breath. “I don’t know how to make her happy anymore.” 

This is above my pay grade. 

“Everything I do seems to irritate her - trying, not trying, just surviving. I don’t know.” He shakes his head at your somewhat bewildered expression. “Sorry, I -” 

“No, no, Hotch. It’s fine.” You search for his eyes. “What can I do?” 

He shakes his head. “Any advice?” 

Any advice? Definitely above my pay grade. 

You also feel for him - he wouldn’t be asking if he wasn’t desperate. 

Besides that, it almost makes sense he’s asking you rather than anyone else on the team. They’ve all known him too long, have been too close, to see his struggles clearly. They need to see him as an authority, separate from petty squabbles. 

Separate from the things that make him human. 

He needs to be a superhero for this team, and then go home and be a superhero for his family. Both parts of his life exist with a wall between them - Agent Hotchner can’t be a husband and a father in the field, and Mr. Haley Hotchner can’t be an agent at home. 

It must be lonely. 

Everyone else knows about and ignores that necessary separation. He trusts them as his colleagues, people he can rely on professionally, but perhaps not personally. 

Well, maybe not Emily. 

You get the feeling that he doesn’t completely trust Emily yet, but you’re not sure why. That’s another thing to figure out about the walking enigma sitting across from you. 

“Well… I’ve never been married, I don’t have kids, but I think…” You search for words. 

It’s none of my business , is what you want to say. Instead, you offer, “Why don’t you just ask her?” 

His brow crumples. “What?”

“Ask her. You don’t know how to, I dunno, do it right on your own, it sounds like. But you’re a team, right? Just ask her.”  You duck down to your work, getting the feeling he’d rather not be observed as he processes. There’s a part of you that wonders whether his preference for privacy masks his fear. 

Another part of you already knows the answer. 

+++

Derek and Emily walk back into the precinct, spotting the pair of you right where they left you. 

Hotch still watches you with a soft, curious frown on his face, like there’s a puzzle there he can’t quite solve. You diligently work away, sticking flags and post-its on cold cases for the board. 

“What’s with that?” 

Emily looks up from her phone. “What’s with what?”

Derek nudges his chin toward the conference room. “That.”

Emily’s brow pinches a little. “They seem to be getting along well.” Her mouth twists. “I didn’t think he’d warm up so easily. He didn’t with me.” 

“He gets like that. He’s getting better, though, ever since you called him out.” 

She snorts. “You’re kidding. I didn’t think he actually listened - I barely meant it.” 

“No, you didn’t.” Derek raises his eyebrows and searches for her eyes. “And he heard you.” 

Emily shifts her attention back to you, her posture softening. “Oh.” 

“C’mon,” Derek says, tapping her upper back with a good deal of affection. “Let’s regroup and see what we’ve got.”

+++

Aaron sits up in bed, the harsh light from the hotel table lamp illuminating the ugly wallpaper and the casefiles on the equally ugly bedspread. 

His fingers hover restlessly over the keys as he drafts his email, warring with himself.

To: [email protected]
CC: [email protected]
Subject: RE: Assignment Feedback

Agent Radner, 

Please consider this a formal request to assign __________ ___________ to the Behavioral Analysis Unit at the Quantico, VA field office upon successful graduation from the FBI Academy. 

Let me know if you require more information or documentation. 

Best, 

S.S.A. Aaron Hotchner, 
Unit Chief, Behavioral Analysis Unit
Federal Bureau of Investigation
Quantico, VA 

Does he want you on the team? Permanently? He’s already shown too much of his hand, revealed too much of himself, grew too comfortable too quickly. 

He’s not sure what it is about you that forced his guard down. 

You’re not the first person he’s asked about Haley, though he must admit that Gideon was next to no help. Spencer’s offered him unsolicited statistics about marital strife on three separate occasions in the past three months. 

Aaron presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. 

I live in a circus. 

He opens his eyes and reads over the email again. 

Fuck it. 

His cursor hovers over Send for just a moment before he clicks. The little whooshing sound seals his fate. 

+++

You land in Arizona and Gideon’s already on edge. There’s already another crime scene by the time you get off the plane

“This one’s going to be bad, isn’t it?” 

Derek sighs. “You’ve got good instincts. Stay close.” 

You elect yourself Derek’s shadow at the crime scene, taking notes for him while he circles and observes the body. Leaning close to him, you ask, “Isn’t the body positioning a sign of remorse?” 

He looks over at you with a little smile. “Yeah. Good work.” He looks across the street to Hotch, speaking with the detective. “Do yourself a favor and note that to Hotch. Make sure Gideon hears you.” 

+++

This time, you’re alone with Emily in the conference room, helping her pin and organize the board. 

“Hey,” she says, something like hesitation in her voice. 

You turn. “Yeah?” 

“Did Strauss ever…” She trails off and looks over her shoulder as Hotch, Gideon, and Derek come back in from the Arizona heat. They’re on their way to the conference room. 

“Did she ever what?” 

Emily shakes her head and forces a smile, waving you off. “Nevermind.” 

You’re not sure you get the confused look off of your face before your colleagues walk through the door. 

+++

“Where are they?” Hotch watches the monitor, his eyes flickering, searching for Derek and Emily. 

You’re frozen, watching over his shoulder as the woman stabs the unsub, and then herself. Without knowing why, your mind wanders to that question Emily almost asked you the day before. 

This isn’t good . 

+++

The plane ride home is quiet, tense. 

You sit next to Hotch again. There’s not much you can do, but you shoot a text to Haley. 

5:42pm We’re flying back. Should be wheels down in Quantico in about four hours. 

She texts back after a minute. 

5:43pm Thanks. 

There’s something off - you don’t like the look of that period, but you try not to read into it too much. You’re all feeling a little unsettled after that case. Your eyes wander across the cabin. 

JJ’s bottom lip is firmly planted between her teeth as she stares out the window. 

Spencer’s sitting across from Gideon with a huge book in his lap, but he’s looking at Gideon more than he’s reading. 

Gideon, for once, doesn’t have his journal in his hand. He, like JJ, stares out the window, his mouth pinched. 

Emily’s eyes are restless, her breathing somewhat irregular. She’s picking at her nails. 

“Emily.” 

She looks up at you, and you tap the back of your hand with a finger. She looks down, finding her thumb and index finger close to bleeding. “Thanks.” She looks away from you again. 

If you didn’t know better, you’d think the view out the window was the most captivating sight in history. 

You know better. It’s just clouds. 

Your phone buzzes in your hand. Jenny. 

5:58pm How’s it going? 

You huff a little laugh down your nose. 

5:58pm Rough day. 

Hotch breaks his gaze from the window. “What’s up?” 

“Just Jenny. She’s checking in.” 

He shakes his head and you can hear the sarcasm in his tone. “Good day for it.” 

6:01pm If you’re up to it, I’ll be in my office late if you want to swing by and talk about it.
6:02pm I also have booze. 

You look up to find Hotch reading over your shoulder. He backs off. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to -” 

“No, it’s fine.” 

“You should go, if she’s offering.” 

You snort. “Should I be job-searching already?” 

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” he says with a little smile. “Jenny’s seen a lot. She’s a good resource.” 

+++

The Navy yard is quiet as you drive across the campus. The NCIS building isn’t hard to find, but it’s still unfamiliar territory. 

When you park and get cleared for access and up the elevator, most of the lights are off on the Major Case Response floor. There are still agents present, working under the warm light of their desk lamps. 

A team of four takes up the middle of the bullpen, but they barely look up as you pass them and climb the stairs. 

Cynthia isn’t at her desk - gone for the night - and Jenny’s office door is open. She also has her overhead lights turned off, giving her office a cozy, lived-in feel. 

“Hey, you,” she says, looking up with a little smile. “Just got the scuttlebutt on that Arizona case. Definitely not ideal, I hear.”

You shake your head, collapsing into a chair on the other side of her desk. “Not ideal is a good way to put it.” 

She stands and crosses the office, pouring two small glasses of some amber liquid you know is gonna burn like hell. 

You take what she offers and hold it in both of your hands, not really interested in drinking it, and follow her to the couch. 

“What happened?” 

You heave a breath. “Got the call - three murders already. Clearly a preferential offender. All the women were students, brunette, similar features. We already had another crime scene by the time we landed. We used the profile, got the guy.” 

Jenny’s brow pinches. “Then?” 

“Copycat. Even came with a note exonerating the suspect we had in custody. We had to let him go without a lead on the second suspect.” 

She sighs and takes a sip of her bourbon. “Been there.” 

“We were surveilling him, waiting for him to do something stupid - we knew he would. The copycat confronted him… She was suicidal. Stabbed him, then herself. We were too late.” 

“Oh, my God.” 

You level her with an exhausted look. “Yeah.” 

“How’s your team?” 

“Tired, mostly.” You offer a humorless laugh. “Maybe in a more existential way than a physical way, not that any of us have slept…” 

The two of you chat into the early hours of the morning. She’s had more than one day like this, in more than one country. 

“It’s days like this that make you question whether you’ve chosen the right line of work.” She looks over at a picture of herself in front of the Eiffel Tower, resting on her bookshelf. “But the good days…”

“They make it worth it, don’t they?” 

The corner of her mouth tips up in a smile. “Yeah. They do.” 

+++

You find a text from Haley when you get back into the car, not realizing you left it in the center console cup holder. 

10:38pm Thanks for getting him home safe. Get some sleep.

+++

When you come in the next morning almost embarrassingly late, Gideon’s office is still dark. 

You’re not even really sure you should be here in the first place, what with the major fuckup hanging over everyone’s heads. The last thing you want to do is go home to your room, back to those four tiny walls and textbooks, even after everything. The bullpen, this team, has become your safety net. 

They should all be here, but there’s only one absence striking you as particularly odd. “Where’s Gideon?” 

Spencer shrugs, spinning half-circles in his desk chair. He looks despondent, staring at the carpet. You don’t see Emily or Derek, but you assume they’re somewhere. 

Weird. 

You set your things down and head up the stairs, knocking twice on Hotch’s door. 

“Yeah?” He looks up and sees you, relaxing a little. 

You take a little breath. “Should I be here today?” 

“Do you want to be here today?” There’s something behind his voice you can’t quite place. It almost sounds like insecurity, like he’s worried he’s scared you off. 

Far from it. 

“I do, sir. I want to be here.” You think of Jenny, and hope he can hear the things you’re not willing to say. “It’s worth it.” 

You think maybe you’re figuring him out a little more. He smiles more often than you’d think, but you have to know what it looks like. This look - the softening of his eyes and the corners of his mouth, the slight crease at the corners of his eye, the threat of a dimple - is just as big a smile for him as Morgan’s human-sunshine smile. 

“Then stick around. I’ll have you work on some mock consults with Reid and Prentiss - you’ll be doing a lot of those in the next few months until you’re ready to take them on by yourself.” 

“I’ll go pick them up from JJ. They’re in her office, right?” 

He nods and you turn to leave, but you’re stopped by the sound of your name before you can get through the door. “Yeah?”

“You’ve performed remarkably well, no matter what happens after this.” 

The side of your mouth twists. “Thank you, sir.”

Chapter Text

“i prefer to be true to myself, even at the hazard of incurring the ridicule of others, rather than to be false, and to incur my own abhorrence."
frederick douglass

september 30th, 2007 - december 13th, 2007

3x01-3x11 doubt-birthright

+++

“Respectfully, ma’am, I’m not comfortable with that.” 

Strauss snorts. “You can’t possibly believe you’ll get anywhere in the bureau if you choose to remain loyal to Aaron Hotchner.”

“All due respect, I understand that my career here is in its infancy. That said, I don’t need to get anywhere, ma’am. I need to have the trust and respect of the people I work with.” You stand straight, and resist the urge to reach for your back pocket for your temporary academy credentials. Theatrics won’t do you any good right now. “I would understand if you reassigned me to another unit for the duration of my case hours.” 

Erin sighs, and puts her glasses back on her nose. “That’s all. Thank you.” It didn’t take profiling training to hear the lack of gratitude in her tone. 

You duck out of the office and smooth your hands over your slacks. You highly doubt there will ever be a day where you considered selling out your unit chief for a promotion - today, at least, is not that day. 

It was almost disquieting how fast your hackles rose when Erin threatened Hotch’s career. It wasn’t your future you were worried about in that moment at all, until she mentioned it. Even now, you aren’t concerned. You know you’re doing the right thing, consequences be damned.

Even if you end up in Ohio working tax fraud after your training hours are up, Aaron would stay right where he belonged. In Quantico, in the BAU, with his wife and his son. 

You pass Aaron’s office, the door ajar, on your way back to the bullpen, and he calls your name from inside. 

You turn on your heel and lean up against the side of the door. “Yeah?”

Aaron looks at you from under his brow, noting your tense demeanor. “Everything okay?”

Adrenaline flushes through your system, but you smile through your reply. You hate lying to him, but the last thing you want to do is stress him out. “Yes, sir. Section Chief Strauss just wanted to speak with me about the remainder of my case hours.” It’s the truth. Almost. So why are you out of breath? 

An almost-smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Not leaving us so soon, I hope.” 

You shake your head, your smile morphing into something a little more genuine. “No, sir. I’m planning to be here for a while yet, if that’s alright by you.” 

“You won’t hear an argument from me.” He picks up his pen, twiddling it between his fingers. “How are those mock consults going?” 

You nod quickly, assuring him, “They’re going well. I can’t say Gideon has been exactly patient with me...but Morgan and Spencer have been very generous with their time.” 

A huff of laughter falls out of his nose. “I’m glad to hear you found help somewhere. You can always come to me as well, should you need an extra pair of eyes.” 

“I would hate to bother you.” 

He shrugs and his lips tip up. Before he opens his mouth again, his phone starts ringing. You can tell he was planning to say something else, but cut himself short. “It’s no bother,” he says as he reaches across the desk. “Oh, and please, close the door behind you?”

That’s your dismissal, and you take it with a smile and a wave, shutting the door (as instructed) behind you, hearing “Hotchner.” just before you do so. 

+++

“Suspended?!” You stand in the doorway as Hotch packs his briefcase, headed home after blustering back to his office from a meeting with Erin. 

“Two weeks.” 

You flounder. “But that’s such bullshit.” He looks up at you, and you shut your mouth and revise. “Sorry. I just think that’s completely unreasonable.” 

He pauses, his hands on his desk. “You’ll all be fine without me.” 

You shake your head. “No, we won’t.” 

Without another word, he brushes past you, flies down the stairs and into the elevator. 

You can’t do anything but stand there, your hand on the cool metal of the doorframe. Derek looks up at you, and you shrug, shaking your head. You are completely at a loss, and you can’t help but feel it’s your fault. 

When your eyes stray to Emily, she looks rather pale, leaning heavily on her desk. Her eyes flicker up to yours, and it feels a little like looking in a mirror. She has that same haunted guilt coloring her eyes that you feel in your own. 

You know the screwup on the last case was Gideon’s fault. You know Strauss blames Hotch. You know if you walk into Gideon’s office right now and let him have it like you wanted to you would be booted off this team without a second look, and he would still have his head in that goddamn journal. 

+++

Derek smacks his pen down on the case file. “This room just keeps getting smaller and smaller, doesn’t it?” 

“Should we wait fifteen minutes?” You can hear the notes of anxiety in Spencer’s voice. Gideon’s absence wears on him the most, Emily’s on Derek, and Hotch’s on yours. JJ is at her limit from all sides, and you can’t help but feel almost entirely useless as a barely-trained, last-resort limb holding this team aloft. 

You yawn, covering your mouth with your hand. Sleep had been hard-won the last two weeks. Steady institutional ground under your feet will surely improve your efforts, but it looks like the ground was still moving, shaking, and altogether unstable. 

“We can brief them on the plane.” JJ starts the debrief, and you automatically flip through the file in front of you. You swallow, the images on the screen getting to you a little more than normal. 

The team’s questions float past you, your mind wandering a little. 

Spencer squints. “How do we know it’s the same killer?” 

Your eyes stray to the doorway, searching in vain for someone who won’t be there. You try to convince yourself it’s Gideon you’re looking for, but it doesn’t work.

+++

“...It’s been a privilege.” Hotch shakes Derek’s hand and lightly claps him on the shoulder, leaving him dumbfounded in the hallway. 

Your eyes track Aaron as he crosses the bullpen, and you rise as he passes you at your desk. “Hotch.” 

He ignores you and continues toward the steps, with you hot on his heels. 

“Hotch you can’t transfer. We need you.” There’s a note of something in your voice. Anxiety? Desperation? Grief? You aren’t sure. 

He huffs, and you continue. 

“You’re the best unit chief I’ve ever known -”

“I’m the only unit chief you’ve ever known.” He talks over you, but you forge ahead anyway. 

“- and you’re the best person - the only person - to lead this team.” You follow him into his office as he sets his things down and stares at his desk, palms pressed to the wood. “Hotch - Aaron - we can’t do this without you.” 

He finally turns, and his eyes find yours. “You might have to.” 

You open your mouth to speak again, but his eyes flicker just past your elbow. You whirl, and find Erin Strauss sitting on the (deeply uncomfortable) couch on the far side of Hotch’s office. 

“Ma’am. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you were here. I’ll just -” you look at Hotch and nod once, crisply. “Sir.” You look back at Erin, “Ma’am.” 

You step out of Hotch’s office as Emily climbs the stairs. You linger for a moment, and hear Emily inform them both of her resignation, effective immediately. Cold falls down to your fingertips, leaving you tingling and stunned. 

“But sir, it’s good to see you back. The team needs you.” With that, Emily brushes past you, and you follow her down the steps as the quiet voices of Strauss and Hotch dissolve behind you. 

Everything is falling apart, and there is nothing you can do. You’re just a NAT, not even out of the academy, watching your team splinter to pieces. 

They’re not your team. 

It’s not like you could have done anything differently. If you’d given in to Strauss, you could have pushed her back for so long, but you are certain the result would be the same, no matter your efforts. 

You sit at your desk, pretending to pack up for the flight as Emily pulls a box of effects from her desk. Hotch descends the steps the same way he always does - as if his feet never touch the ground. 

+++

Milwaukee sucks. You can’t look Strauss in the face once, for fear you’d let your simmering anger get the better of you. She damaged the relationship between you and the local police department almost immediately, and you did your best to help JJ recover some trust and mutual respect in the aftermath. 

You’re sorting through files at the precinct with JJ while Morgan is outside the room on the phone, looking more distressed by the moment. “Jayje, this sucks.” 

She snorts. “Yeah. You can say that again.” She passes you a file, and you open it, only halfway processing the content (enough to know that it’s irrelevant) before stacking it neatly beside you, lying in wait for the next one. 

“JJ?” 

She looks over at you again. “Yeah?”

“This sucks.” 

That pulls an almost-smile from her, but it’s cut by the truth of your very simple words. You miss Aaron and Emily. You even find yourself missing Gideon , for God’s sake. The team is stretched so thin, you feel like a rubber band about to snap. 

Morgan still looks increasingly frustrated from his place on the other side of the window. His voice is muffled, but you think you hear Aaron’s name in passing.

Without him, without Gideon, without Emily, everything feels wrong. It’s unsettling, especially with only five of you actually working. Strauss definitely doesn’t count, as she is only ever in the way. 

It’s only day two, and every single member of the team present had already stepped in it with her one way or another. (Your first strike came when you shut the car door before she got in, completely out of habit. You’d apologized, sure, but Strauss didn’t seem like the kind of person to be forgiving.) 

Morgan returns, and says entirely without prompting or preamble, “We need Hotch here.” His hands are on his hips, and you belatedly realize he has the most seniority of anyone except Erin. For all intents and purposes, Derek was in charge. 

You figure it’s not a bad thing - he’s strong, decisive, and assertive. 

Hotch’s voice echoes through your head. Impulsive, reactive, loyal yet defensive. 

Strauss looks at Derek from over her nose. “Agent Hotchner has been suspended.” 

He takes a breath, and you can see the tension in his shoulder as he fights back a scoff, eye roll, or both. “Ma’am, I understand that, but this is a critical case, and more people are going to die if we don’t have the full use of our team. I don’t know about you, ma’am, but I think that’s unacceptable.” 

She adjusts her reading glasses and returns to whatever it is in front of her. “You all are the best and brightest in the bureau, I’m sure you’ll be able to operate efficiently regardless of the circumstances.” 

You grit your teeth until you can feel the ache deep in the back of your head. Derek leaves the room, leaving the door open behind him. You recognize JJ’s calming, slow, temper-managing breath beside you. When you glance over at her, she keeps her head ducked down, writing a statement for the press. Her knuckles are white around her pen.

Spencer has his back to the room, studying and re-organizing the budding geographic profile. The tightness in his shoulders is clear to both you and JJ. You wish you could do something, anything. 

Maybe you can. 

You stand, measured and deliberate. Taking your cup of coffee, you step out of the conference room and shut the door behind you. You look around for a moment, until you just decide to walk outside altogether. 

Without thinking about it too much, you dial Penelope. 

“You have reached the deep, deep well of all knowledge. Hit me.” 

Her predictability is a balm, and you almost thank her, but time is of the essence. “You have to do something.” 

“I’ve been doing somethings all morning, sugar, you’re going to have to give me a little better than that.” There’s humor in her voice, and something hidden that you can’t quite place. You latch onto it and lower your voice. 

“You have to do something about Hotch and Prentiss.” 

Much like she’s reading from a script, she recites, “I am not authorized to modify or otherwise obstruct the operations of human resources.”

You smile. “Thanks, Garcia. You’re the best.” 

You can hear the thinly-veiled humor in her voice. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

And with that, she hangs up. You dial Hotch’s home number, seeing as he is there instead of here, scouring the files for anything of use to the team. You have half a mind to tease him about backseat driving, but you know you would hand him the wheel even if he was locked in the trunk, blindfolded. 

“Hello?” It’s Haley, and your heart skipped around a little bit. 

“Hey, Haley, it’s me. Is Hotch around?”

She sighs noisily, and says “Yeah, just a second.” 

There is some kind of scuffle - you assume it’s Haley’s hand over the receiver. You hear your name, and something that sounds like “...this isn’t just curiosity, Aaron. You are not working this case. This is ridiculous.” 

You chew at your lower lip. Maybe the home number was a bad idea. 

You hear Aaron’s low, calm voice garble through the phone in response. There’s another scuffle, and then Aaron’s voice comes through. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“Have you found anything new?”

He sighs, and he starts to say something, but he’s interrupted. “Hold on. Morgan’s calling me.” A pause. “Wait, where are - nevermind. Can I call you back?”

“No need, I just...had to step out for a second. I’ll check in with Morgan. Thanks, Hotch.” 

“Yeah.” He hangs up, and you hold your phone in your hand for a moment. 

Morgan’s on the phone again when you return. 

+++

After a few hours fluttering around the precinct and the crime scene with Morgan, you return to the table with JJ, this time with two empty coffee cups and one full, but lukewarm at best. 

Emily and Aaron breeze into the room. You can’t help the smile that breaks across your face. 

“How fast can you get us up to speed?” Emily sounds a little out of breath, and she pulls up a chair as JJ passes her the file. 

“How fast can you sit down?” JJ says, laughing a little despite herself. 

Strauss walks in, and the room freezes. Something happens between her and Aaron as they stare at each other. 

“We’re only here to help.” Emily’s firm assurance only adds to the bands of tension constricting the room. 

“We’ll deal with this later.”

Aaron wishes you a quick hello as he stands beside you, leaning over with his palms pressed to the table. You pass over the case file and start speaking quickly and quietly, bringing him up to speed while suppressing the alarming magnitude of your joy at having him back in the field. Your head buzzes, thoughts overlapping as you continue to fire information at him. 

Why are you so excited? The entirely rational side of your brain seems to ask, over and over again. 

Unfortunately, irrationality has both a rationalization and some supplementary additions. He’s super capable and the best team lead and he’s handsome and smells good - 

Stop. He’s suspended, he’s married, and he’s at least a decade your senior.

So? 

A decade and a half...or, just a little less. Anyway, quit!

“...and that’s all we have so far.” 

You look at him as he frowns down at the photos. He looks exhausted, and you know it isn’t just the flight. Something’s happened, but you have no idea where to begin, or even how to ask. 

Emily and JJ are across the table, with JJ mirroring you as you flipped through the photos and hand Hotch some more relevant information.

Soon, you’re on the road, alone with him in the car on the way to yet another crime scene. Aaron is tense and quiet beside you, but it seems to run deeper than just the stress of the case, his imminent transfer, and his quasi-unauthorized presence on site. 

“What’s gotcha, Hotch?” 

He shakes his head, still staring at the road. 

You fight the thought that tells you not to push him too hard. “It’s Haley, isn't it?”

The tightness in his jaw tells you everything you need to know. 

You heave a sigh. “She’s the reason you requested a transfer, isn’t she?”

His brown eyes stay dutifully trained on the road, without wavering, but his grip on the wheel tightens. “It’s complicated.” 

“I don’t think it is.” 

He huffs. “I really don’t want to get into this right now.” 

You back off, sitting back in your seat and pressing your hand briefly to his shoulder. You squeeze once, and drop your hand back to your lap. “Sorry.” Whether you’re apologizing for your prodding or his circumstances, you aren’t sure. 

He’s quiet for a moment before speaking again. “I know Strauss asked you to report back on my mistakes and instances of poor judgment in exchange for an ideal and lucrative assignment out of the academy.” A flash of cold shudders through you - completely unwarranted panic for something you didn’t do. “I also know you unilaterally refused, and likely damaged your own career prospects in the process.” 

“Anyone would have done the same.” Your voice is quiet, and surprisingly even. 

“You know that’s not true.” His eyes finally stray from the road and he looks over to you before looking back at the road. 

You swallow. He’s right. You nod.

“Thank you.” He glances over at you again. “And if you risk your career for me again I’ll send you back to remedial training myself.” 

Your mouth quirks up in a smile. “You’d never.” 

“Try me.” 

There’s a moment where the two of you are able to smile a little, even with the stress weighing on your shoulders. Something passes over his face, and the smile drops from it. He puts his sunglasses on, and you can see the pull of his brow as he looks out at the road. 

Something that feels like pride rushes through you. Even if short-lived. Nobody can make him smile like you can. At least, not that you’ve seen so far. 

Strauss loses it again at the crime scene, but you watch as Aaron handles her gently and deftly. You stand just off his shoulder, watching Strauss break down in near-tears for a second before she recovers and steps away from the team. He is so kind to her, even while she’s actively trying to fuck him over. 

Aaron Hotchner is a good man, and you are proud to be under his leadership, however temporary it may be.

+++

The team jumps out of the cars and starts scoping out the house. Derek organizes supplementary agents around the back of the house, returning to the cars after a few tense, quiet minutes. 

There is discussion of probable cause and other ridiculous semantics about the rules and what you are and are not allowed to do. 

Emily speaks up. “Let me go in alone.” 

Blood rushes through your ears, covering the rest of her rationale. You gear up, throwing on your kevlar with everyone else. 

Well, that is, everyone except Emily. Derek offers her his sidearm. 

You wordlessly pass yours to Aaron and pull your backup from your ankle holster. As you check the magazines and release the safety, you feel Aaron’s eyes on you. 

“What?” You say, a little more defensive than was necessary. “It’s a good idea.” 

And one you’d picked up from him, at that. The number of hours you spent at the range perfecting your unholster, prepare, fire, follow through with that thing is almost embarrassing. 

The huff that leaves him very nearly turns into a laugh. He shakes his head and begins directing the newly-arrived SWAT team to block out the staging. 

“We wait for Emily’s signal, and we breach. Is that clear?” His voice, though strategically quiet, is clear and authoritative. 

The Glock 42 you gave him looks positively minuscule in his hand but packs just as much of a punch as his 17. The Beretta Pico molded-grip you have in your hand is an absurd choice for him, and the trigger pull is way lighter. Thus, you get your own backup. 

Not a bad trade, if you had a moment to think about it critically. (Which you don’t.)

Hotch prefers more weight in the trigger and a standard grip. With a small frown, you remember that the 42 doesn’t have an ambidextrous slide release, so he can’t use his left thumb to reload - it's always his preference, but he can adapt quickly, even if his extra magazines are on the wrong side of his belt.

That’s a weird thing to notice.

Shut up. 

Alright, fine. What gun does Morgan use?

Sig Sauer. Next. 

Model? Reload preferences? Grip choice? Extended mags or standard?

Fuck. 

“Good. Standby to breach, and keep in mind we may have an agent in distress. Watch your fire.” 

He meets your eyes last, and you nod, cocking your Beretta. The silence is deafening, everyone braced. 

There’s a page signal in your ear and Hotch’s “Go!” resounds across the property. 

You breach, taking Derek’s six as you clear the rest of the house. You get to the basement and watch as Aaron coaxes the gun from the boy - David. 

Hotch takes the weapon, still live and loaded, and extends his arm behind him. 

You take it, spit out the magazine, and engage the safety, getting out of his way as he lifts David and takes him out of the house. 

The duality of man. 

What? 

Oh you know, the barking drill sergeant versus the man who can take a gun from an eight year old and then pick him up with the tenderness he’d show his own son?

Oh, shut up. 

+++

“God, he hit you hard.” You huff a laugh as you lean against the ambulance, watching Emily get patched up. 

She laughs. “Yeah, I guess he did, but I’ll live.” She looks up at you. “Is it weird that I’m glad to be back?”

“I’ll make sure it stays official,” Hotch says, coming up behind you. 

You flash Emily a smile and pat Hotch’s shoulder as you turn back toward the car. Things don’t feel quite so out of place, anymore. 

Derek beckons you over, and you stand beside him as they delegate tasks to the rest of the agents. The last thing you want to be is in the way. 

You overhear the conversation between Hotch and Strauss, looking over at JJ. A flash of hope lights up your chest, and you try to keep it from your face. 

“You mean that?” Derek asks. “You’re not leaving us?”

Took the words right out of my mouth, Morgan. 

“I don’t know. I’ll have to talk to Haley.” 

+++

It’s not until a few days later in the office with Aaron, finishing up some late-night paperwork, that you realize something is wrong. 

Haley hasn’t called, and it’s far past midnight. She usually calls twice by now, first to check in and the second to get more than a little upset. You’d always liked her - consider her a friend, really - but she’s nothing if not predictable, and it’s notably odd that she’s straying from her pattern. 

The only sounds are the scratching of your pens against the case reports. The pattern deviance is eating at you. You know he can feel the wheels turning in your head. 

“Hotch?” 

“Mhmm?”

You put your pen down in front of his nameplate, deciding how to frame the question. Your eyes trace the letters of his name as you work and rework the question in your head.

H...O...T....C Your wife walked out didn’t she? ...H... Are you and Haley getting divorced? ...N… Is this any of my business? (No.) ...E...R… What’s going on with you and Haley? ...A....A...R

He doesn’t look up at you when he says, “You can ask.” 

“Haley left, didn’t she? After Milwaukee?” You decide spitting it out is your best option. it's decidedly one of the more inelegant versions you’d come up with, but something is better than nothing. 

Aaron sighs and sits back in his chair. He isn’t really looking at anything, but he isn’t absent either. It seems to be more of a pensive posture than anything else, his eyes fixed on the back wall of his office. 

He doesn’t ask you how you know and you are grateful. You don’t mean to profile him, but a pattern is a pattern. In fairness, you aren’t profiling Aaron, just Haley. 

“She did...with Jack.” His lips press into a thin line for a moment. “And I’m not sure if she’s coming back.” 

Your shoulders drop, feeling defeated by the death of a marriage that isn’t even yours. The words that leave you are quiet, full of something you can't name. “I’m so sorry.”

He nods once, eyes flickering to yours for a half-second, and gets back to the report. His neat letters evenly fill every box, precise and legible. You sigh and follow his lead.

But then again, when don’t you? 

+++

“What creeps you out about it?” Emily sounds skeptical at best, and Derek stays relaxed in his chair. 

“I dunno. People wearing masks. I don't like folks in disguises.” 

You snort, and he looks at you, exasperated. 

“Well,” Spencer says, his voice ticking up. “That’s the best thing about Halloween. You can be anything you want to be.” 

“Yeah, I’m pretty good just being me.” Derek pretends to look through paperwork, but you know he’s just staying busy to avoid scrutiny. You suppress a smile as you rest your chin in your palm, extremely engaged in the discourse. 

“Yeah, why is it that neither of those points of view surprise me?”

You grin, adding, “Yeah, Derek. Why is that?”

“You know what though, on the flip side, it does provide a reason to cozy up with a scary flick and get a little Halloween honey.” He winks and clicks his tongue behind his teeth. 

Emily rolls her eyes, and you simultaneously react. Her “Ew. Halloween honey...now I’m creeped out.” overlapped your editorial. 

“You always ruin it, don’t you?

Spencer looks up. “Guys...he’s here.” 

Alarmingly obvious for a room of well-trained profilers (and you), everyone turns to the door, where Strauss and a man you don’t recognize enter and cross the bullpen. Spencer pulls the mask from his head, and the man smiles at...something. You’re not sure if it's Spencer, the staring, or the costumes, but...something.

You watch as they climb the stairs and go into Hotch’s office. A smile touches your lips when you see Hotch’s face break out into a rare grin as he embraces the man. 

They speak for a minute, and you catch JJ’s eye on the breezeway. You hop quickly up the stairs in front of Gideon’s old office to meet her. With a hand on her arm, you ask, “Who is that?”

She glances toward the open door as Strauss leaves. “David Rossi. BAU legend.”

Your brow furrows. “Is he staying?”

“Wanna find out?”

You laugh and follow her in, hanging back in the doorway as she informs Hotch she’s ready to give the briefing. 

“Agent Jareau, this is Agent Rossi.”

Her smile is charming and her handshake warm when she addresses Agent Rossi. “Hi. Everyone calls me JJ. It is such an honor to meet you, sir. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Thank you.” 

Hotch gestures back at you as he introduces you, too. You slip past him and shake Rossi’s hand. “A pleasure.” 

He steps back and evaluates JJ and you. “What are your functions, here?”

JJ pipes in first. “I'm the communications coordinator and liaison. Pretty much the go-between for the team and the rest of the world.” She looks to you. 

“I’m a NAT who’s completing case hours for academy training,” you say, succinct and to the point. Your function in the room at the moment is entirely superfluous, and you suddenly feel a little out of place. 

“So I’ll gather everyone?” JJ saves you from the questions forming on Rossi’s lips, and you take a deep breath, communicating your thanks. 

“We’ll be right there.” Hotch offers you both a small smile as you turn and leave the room. 

When you’re out of earshot, Rossi says, “Wow. We didn’t have that ten years ago.” 

A shot of something phenomenally uncomfortable shoots through Hotch's chest. He’s maybe a little too defensive when he asks. “What do you mean?”

“Communications coordinators and academy NATs.” 

“Right.” Hotch nods. “A lot has changed. Come meet the team.” 

+++

“Hopefully by playing on his anger…” Hotch trails off and looks at the television. His face falls into a tilt that screams ‘I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.’ “JJ... how’d they get that?” He watches as the news outlines their findings regarding the mask and the unsub's possible impotency, and the flare of ire grows in his chest. 

JJ stands straight, brushing your sleeve as she does so. You tend to hover around JJ or Spencer out in the field, trying to stay as out of the way as possible. “Not from me. I -” she changes directions. “Hotch, I called all the local police departments and I stressed withholding the mask.”

Rossi walks in, his little notebook in his hand. “I called them.”

Everyone has identical looks of confusion on their faces. You look over to Hotch for any kind of cue, and he is deeply unhappy. Your lower lip disappears into your mouth. 

“What?” Hotch’s question is flat, and you shiver. 

Cold as ice. You know, like the Foreigner song?

Shut up, already, would you?

David continues, not acknowledging Hotch’s obvious frustration. “I said the FBI thinks the masks mean he’s impotent.”

Emily’s jaw drops, and you imagine you don’t look much different. 

He did what? Can he do that? Who is this guy?

You keep your eyes trained on Hotch. Waiting for something. For what, you’re not sure. 

“Can I speak to you for a second?”

There it is. 

They’re gone for a long while, and when he returns, Hotch pulls JJ aside and reads her into the plan now that Rossi has decided to make decisions on his own. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen Hotch this frustrated. With everything else going on, this is the last thing he needs.

+++

“I don’t need useless NATs with minimal training in my way while I’m trying to solve this case, Aaron. A communications liaison might work for you, but it feels like an unnecessary step for me.” Rossi’s voice rises above both the extent of the soundproofing in the conference room, as well as the whir of the air conditioning.

“ You are not solving this case. We are solving this case…”

This conversation is one of many, but the specific callout makes your eyes sting. Derek puts an arm around your shoulder and pushes you out the front door. 

“C’mon kid, let’s go for a walk.” 

As soon as you’re outside, your face crumples. Derek hugs you and you cling pathetically to his shirt. 

“Hey, now.” He leans back and puts his hands on your shoulders. “You know how valuable you are to this team. You are not in our way. You are not useless.” 

You throw your arms up into the air and wipe your face with your sleeve. You’re sure you’re all puffy at this point, and your eyes must be red. “Is he wrong though?”

Your mini-tirade drowns out Derek’s exasperated “Yes!” 

“I don’t have formal training, I am barely twenty-five -”

“Reid got here at twenty-two and you pay more attention than any of us combined.” He crosses his arms. You were both just talking over each other at this point, neither one of you choosing to acknowledge the other. 

“- I am constantly underfoot -” 

“You’re not.”

“- I don’t contribute at all, Morgan! You can’t say that I do.” You huff, and wipe your face again. You will need a good long minute before you go back in, if only for the sake of your pride. 

You hear the door open behind you, and Morgan’s head snaps up. He nods once, and then walks past you. You don’t turn around. 

“I’m sorry you heard that. It wasn’t appropriate and it won’t happen again.” Hotch’s voice floats to you from over your right shoulder. “Dave is…” he searches for a word, “old-school.” 

You laugh a sharp little toneless laugh. “Right.”

Something annoying and altogether too warm flutters in your chest when he calls your name. 

You turn, reluctant in the extreme, and face him. He steps up to you and rests his hands on your upper arms like Derek did, only Hotch searches your face. Very evenly and gently he says, “You are a very valued and capable member of this team, and I am very proud of the progress you’ve made in this unit. When you’re ready, I’d like for you to join us in the conference room. I don’t believe I’ve heard your thoughts about this unsub, and I’m sure you’ve seen something we haven’t.”

+++

The call wakes you from a dead sleep. It’s Hotch, and you shoot out of bed. 

“When?...Oh my god. How bad?...Okay. I’m getting in the car now I’ll be right there.” You hang up and throw on a pair of jeans and the first shirt you find, tossing a sweatshirt into your bag. You throw your shoes on, grab your keys, and fly out the door. 

The cold night air follows you into the waiting room, where you find JJ with her head in her hands and Spencer pacing in front of her. Emily appears seemingly out of nowhere, looking the part of JJ’s shadow. 

Your eyes scan the room, and find Hotch approaching from the back of the room. He looks relieved to see you, and he is. “You got here fast.” 

“Of course I did.” 

Spencer shakes his head, looking stunned. “This is crazy.” 

Rossi blusters in, and it startles you. “What do we know?”

Hotch comes around you, pressing three fingers around your elbow - a soothing, reassuring gesture. “Police think it was a botched robbery.” 

Emily steps up as you all form a loose huddle. “Where’s Morgan?”

You look at Hotch. Did you call him? 

He nods ( Of course ) and defers to JJ, who says. “He’s not answering his cell.” 

“I’ll call him again.” Spencer walks away, already dialing. 

Dave steps up close to Hotch, and you find yourself just outside of their quiet conversation. “What aren’t you saying?”

He glances at you and you nod once. You can take it. He crosses his arms over his chest and lowers his voice. “I spoke to one of the paramedics who brought her in. It doesn’t look good.” 

You inhale sharply and look over his shoulder, distracted by movement. JJ approaches at the same time Spencer walks back in. 

“They can’t give me an update.” 

“Morgan’s phone just keeps going straight to voicemail.” 

You heave a shaky breath and sit down. Spencer absentmindedly pats your shoulder, standing right beside you. 

You hear Emily ask, “Where the hell is he?”

Eventually, everyone stops pacing. JJ and Emily sit together, holding hands. They’ve both bitten their nails to the quick, staring into space. Spencer moved across from you, leaning his head against the wall. Hotch stands beside you, his arms crossed and face hard, sighing every once and a while - it's usually around the same time he checks his watch. 

Your head is down, your hands resting on the crown of your head as if to protect you from something yet unseen. A warm hand covers yours, picking it up off your hair and holding it in his own. 

There’s no subtext, no suggestion. Just an anchor. Just a lifeline. Tears prick at your eyes again, and your breath catches. It feels like all you’ve been doing is crying. You squeeze Aaron’s hand once, and he squeezes back. 

Morgan walks in a little while later, and everyone jumps to their feet, yourself included. Hotch drops your hand and you immediately mourn the warmth. Nevertheless, you swipe at your eyes and join the huddle around Morgan. 

“She’s been in surgery a couple of hours,” JJ says, sounding just as tired as she looks. 

Morgan flounders. “I was in church. My phone was off.” 

You resist the urge to look at Aaron. Church? Regardless, you halfway listen as Hotch fills him in, parroting hours-old information, rote. 

“Penelope Garcia?”

Your heads all snap to the doctor, who’s holding a clipboard. You can’t read the look on his face. Every single one of you says, “Yes,” or a variation thereof. 

You listen as the surgeon relays the information about Penelope’s condition, and you’re not sure if your fresh tears are from fear or relief. “...she could actually walk out of here in a couple of days, and I’d say that’s a minor miracle.” 

After he leaves, you see Hotch drop into Unit Chief mode. “Dave and I will go to the scene. I think the rest of you should be here when she wakes up. I don’t care about protocol, I don’t care whether we’re working this officially or not. We are not touching any new cases until we find out who did this.” 

He and Dave leave the rest of you alone, and you tuck yourself into Derek. You can hear and feel his uneven breath, the loose way his fingertips rest against your upper back. 

+++

When you all file into the room, JJ channels all your love into a kiss pressed to Penelope’s cheek. How you could ever leave this team and survive it was beyond you, but you still had a lot of life to live, a lot to see, a lot to experience. Who knows? Maybe there are lots of units like this. 

Even you can’t swallow that lie. 

You listen as she recounts and answers questions, taking mental notes. 

Emily sighs, seeming to already regret the request before it leaves her mouth. “We need a name.”

“James Colby Baylor.” 

You all file back out, and you hear Penelope ask JJ to stay. You trail behind Derek, who is clearly and understandably distraught. He smacks the whiteboard in the hallway, and you jump. 

You reach for Spencer, but don’t make it to his sleeve before he says, “You need to stay calm.” 

Morgan turns on him, pointing. “Don’t tell me what to be.”

You walk out into the waiting room, needing fresh air. Emily’s there, on the phone with Hotch. She looks at you and swallows. She pulls the receiver away from her mouth. “He wants to talk to you.” 

Nodding, you hold your hand out for the phone. “Hey, Hotch.” 

“Hey, can you do me a favor?”

“Of course.” 

“Can you keep an eye on Morgan?” he delivers the question casually, but you can hear the concern, the tension, the insecurity in it. You know he worries he’s overbearing with everyone - but with Morgan it’s amplified into something you don’t quite understand, yet. 

You take a breath. “Yeah. He’s in really bad shape, but he’s in with her now.” 

“Well…I would be too.” There’s a pause, and something unsaid hangs between you. “Thank you.” 

“Of course, sir.” 

+++

A few weeks pass before you find your footing in the new normal. Between Hotch’s separation, Rossi’s arrival, and Penelope’s recovery, there are many adjustments to account for. Penelope, you know, is going to be fine. She is already back to her chipper self, buzzing around only slightly slower than normal. 

The rest? Still weird. Rossi was adjusting to the team little by little, and you find yourself kind of liking him sometimes. 

That change is slower, more deliberate than the last one, which seems to have tumbled out of control all at once. Haley usually shot you a text to check in with you or JJ during cases when she couldn’t get a hold of her husband.

Now, you never hear from her at all. 

Your late nights in the office are quiet for hours at a time. it's a little eerie, if you’re honest. If it wasn’t for Hotch’s calls to see Jack, you wouldn’t be sure she still existed. 

You actually get a bit of a laugh out of him tonight as you all walk out of the bullpen, but it dissolves when you see the man standing before the glass doors, a legal-sized envelope in his hands. 

“Agent Hotchner?”

Aaron takes a deep breath and accepts the envelope, signing his name quickly. 

You hear someone ask what it is, and Aaron looks down at it as he answers. “Haley’s filing for divorce. I’ve been served.” Hotch turns and retreats to his office, closing the door behind him. You all watch as his desk lamp clicked on, and he bows over his desk once more. 

Part of you had known his marriage was really over, but hearing it from his mouth almost knocks the breath out of you. Haley and Aaron had been together almost as long as you’d been alive. 

You startle a little as you realize she sent them here on purpose, instead of the house. While statistically a smart move, it still makes your stomach roll. 

What would it be like , you think, to have someone know all your weaknesses? To know you well enough to make an elegant, brutal point without lifting a finger? 

The rest of the team still leaves the bullpen somewhat reluctantly. Derek stands beside you as you pack your things. You hesitate for a moment, and say, “Go on ahead without me, I’ll catch up.” 

He places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “We don’t deserve you, kid. You know that?”

You give him half of a smile, and cover his hand with yours, squeezing once before letting go. He leaves you then, his jacket slung over his shoulder. 

You stall at your desk for another few minutes, picking up some files before stepping up the stairs and knocking lightly on the door. 

“Come in.” 

You slip inside, closing the door behind you. “Hotch…”

He shakes his head, exhaling heavily. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” 

“I know,” you say simply, walking toward his desk. “I just - um - can I do my paperwork up here with you, instead of down there in the dark?” 

Aaron huffs a laugh, surprised. “Sure.” He clears a space for you across from him. 

The summons are in front of him, heavily marked-up. You get organized as Hotch continues annotating what you assume is a letter from Haley’s lawyer. His quick, decisive notes remind you he is a prosecutor first, and almost everything else second. 

You dive into your own paperwork, matching Aaron’s swift pace. You aren’t eager to get home yourself, but you knew you had a better chance of getting Aaron home at a decent hour if he saw you leaving, too.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” 

You look up at him, startled. “Do what?”

“Stay. Check on me. You’re supposed to learn from us. I - We - are supposed to be the ones taking care of you, making sure you’re alright.” His pen twirls between his fingers as he speaks - restless.

You look at him. Really look at him. “I don’t do it out of obligation. I do it because I care about this team.” Your eyes fall to the half-finished file in front of you. “I just want you to be okay.”

“I’m alright.”

A small, humorless smile pulls at your lips. “No, you’re not.” Before he can argue, you continue. “And that’s okay. You’re not alone.” Your tone isn’t too heavy, and you let the truth of your words speak for themselves. 

He looks at you for a long time as you start your work again. 

+++

Five nights later, he finally signs the divorce papers. They’d been staring at him in that benign manila envelope the whole time. He had resisted the urge to throw them in a drawer, letting them sit there and smirk at him as he tried to ignore them. 

That night, he leaves his office door cracked, inviting any excuse to avoid the unpleasant task of addressing them and putting them in the mailbox. 

You’re down at your desk, goofing around with Morgan. You both want to get ahead on the next week’s consults so you’d have more real time on your short holiday break, but it's safe to say you’re doing very little work. 

“What’s your deal, chocolate thunder? No hot dates on this cold December evening?”

He smiles that gorgeous smile and shakes his head. “You’re not getting anything out of me.” 

You sit back in your chair, your pen still in your hand. “Really, now?”

“Really, really.” 

Laughter echoes around the empty bullpen, and Aaron looks out his open blinds. Derek goes for your file, likely to unfairly critique you until you cried uncle. You fight him off bravely, getting trapped between his massive arms only a few times before throwing him off. 

Aaron pulls a piece of paper from under a file on his desk. It reads: New Agent Trainee Performance Review

He looks out the window again, watching your comfort and ease with Derek that has become the hallmark of your tenure with the BAU. The unit has rapidly become your home. 

Aaron realizes, with a start, that he will miss you if you aren't around. 

Eventually, you just grab your files and run, making laps around the bullpen as he chases you. “Morgan! Stop!”

“Why are you running? I’m trying to help.” 

“Yeah, you help me just as much as gasoline helps a house fire, idiot.” 

Aaron slides the paper back to where it came from and stands up from his desk. He steps up to the window and crosses his arms over his chest, a small smile on his face. It feels good to smile. He hasn’t done it in a while, and the feeling admittedly feels a little foreign. 

Derek stops in his tracks, hands on his hips. “Kid, you’re gonna have to give it to me for review anyways. Hand it over.” 

You hide the file behind your back, absolutely delirious with exhaustion and having way too much fun. He launches himself over the desk and you sprint up the stairs and turn toward the conference room, breathless with laughter. 

“Oh, kid, that’s the worst idea you’ve had all day,” Derek crows.  

You run past Hotch’s window, but stop short when Derek switches tactics, going for the corner stairs in front of Gideon’s (former?) office. 

Spinning on your heel, you trot to Aaron’s office door, knock twice and enter without stopping, and close it behind you. You lean on it heavily, still laughing, with your case file pressed to your chest. 

Aaron watches you with a bemused smile. “Having fun?”

“Hey,” you say, pointing at him, “you said I could ask for your help anytime.”

He relents. “That I did.” 

You catch your breath a little and straighten, the image of professionalism. “Help me?” A smile breaks through, too tired to maintain the bit. 

Derek peers through the window and shakes his head, throwing you a rude gesture and returning to his desk. 

Your smile sticks to your face a little longer than is entirely appropriate, but it’s hard to stop grinning when Hotch has that soft kind of joy painted on his face. 

“You’re smiling,” you point out, uselessly. 

He shrugs. “It’s been known to happen.” A finger points to the file in your hands. “That for me?”

“Only if you have time. I don’t want to -“

“It’s no problem.” He steps up to you and gently takes it from your hands. You trail behind him as he crosses back to his desk. 

He sits with you for close to two hours, meticulously picking through your mock consult. It's only a copy of one - Spencer took care of the real case earlier today - but it's always good to get the practice and feedback. 

His criticism is fair and delivered neutrally. You never once feel like a fuckup or a failure, and he’s excellent at articulating exactly how to avoid repeating the same mistake more than once. 

“I should come to you more often. You’re much more thorough than Derek.” You laugh, and the last part of your thought comes at the tail end of a surprise yawn. “Please don’t tell him I said that.”

“Trust me. I won’t.”

You look over, seeing the divorce papers set off to the side. You see his gaze snap from the paper in front of him to your face, and you quickly avert your eyes. 

Hotch heaves a sigh and sits back in his chair. Unprompted, he tells you, “Haley says if I don’t contest the terms she’ll let me see Jack whenever I want.”

You stay quiet. Watching. Waiting. 

“It’s smart, seeing as she’d very likely get full custody if we went to the judge with it. I’m not home enough,” his voice is bitter, resentful, “and I’m hardly a father as it is.”

“Hotch -“. 

He cuts your admonishment short. “She said something to me the other day.” He looks at you and the mask drops off his face. You can see the grief and shame plain as day. It makes your chest hurt. 

“She said it would work out better this way, seeing as I could be a parent on my own terms, whenever it suited me. Just how I like it.” His eyes flicker to the window, hiding from you. There is quiet for a long moment. You’re both still, the only sounds your breath, the clock, and the ominous whir that seems to permeate every room in that damn building. 

“Sir?”

Nothing. 

“Hotch?”

…

“Aaron.”

He looks at you. The light of his desk lamp shines in his eyes, and you realize he’s more than misty.

“You are a really good husband.” It’s true. Haley’s doing what she needs to do, and he’s giving her all the rein in the world to do so. That is love. That is partnership. Though not ideal by any means and a failure by some, he’s doing the best thing he can with what he has left.

A scoff leaves him. 

“No, I’m serious.” You lean forward, resting your elbows on the desk. “You love her so well. You’re giving her just what she asks for, even when it really hurts. Not fighting her on this is the most loving thing you could ever do.” Your voice gets a little louder and you startle yourself. You sit back, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean -“

“It’s alright.” He turns his gaze back out the window, but he looks decidedly less tortured. He repeats himself in a whisper. “It’s alright.”

After a moment of quiet, you stand and push your chair in. “Thank you for helping me with that consult tonight. I really appreciate it.”

His mouth twitches, and you think it could be a smile. “You’re welcome.” He stands, turning his desk lamp off and picking up the papers. “How are you getting home?”

“Oh,” you say with an embarrassed laugh. You follow him out of the office and shut the door behind you. “I’m taking a cab. Emily gave me a ride today and I forgot my car was in the shop until about an hour ago.”

“Can I give you a ride home? I’d feel much more comfortable if I knew you were home safe, and you don’t need to spend that kind of money.” He presses the button for the elevator. 

Wanna come in?

Shut up. 

What? He’s offering a ride home. 

He’s got divorce papers in his hand, stupid!

Shit. 

Your internal debate doesn’t appear on your face. Or...at least you hope it doesn’t. “Only if it would make you feel better.”

His profile reveals a half-smile, and a rather smug one, at that. “It would.” 

+++

Of course, you don’t end up inviting him in for a drink or a cup of coffee, but he does catch your arm as you leave the car. 

“Yeah?” Your brows pull, concerned. 

“Your care for us does not go unnoticed, and it is appreciated.” 

You swallow, your throat suddenly tight. “Thank you, sir.” 

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow and drop you off at your car. Is eight o’clock okay?” His tone leaves no room for discussion, and your throat gets even tighter. 

You’re pleased when your voice doesn’t break. “That would be great.” 

“Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight, Hotch. Drive safe.” 

+++

Of all the mornings, it had to be this one. 

Aaron is out for the morning, taking a half-day for a “series of incredibly tedious, unfortunately mandatory, meetings.” Before he comes back, you make sure there is enough fresh coffee, and you’d coveted one of the remaining banana nut muffins you shared with the team that morning, placing it on your desk.

Banana muffins solve a great number of ills, incredibly tedious and mandatory meetings included. 

Everyone’s in the bullpen, save for your absent fearless leader and Rossi, who’s holed up in his office.

It's very possible that this is your last day with the BAU. With the imminent graduation from basic training at the academy, you will receive your new unit assignment by the end of the day. There are over fifty field offices to choose from, a seemingly infinite number of units in each. The odds of staying with the BAU are slim to none. 

Thus, your desk has been prepared for packing. You lined your drawers with boxes so they are easy to pull, and everything that isn’t of immediate use is already home, shoved under your bed until you have the guts to acknowledge your disappointment. 

You try to soak it in as much as you can without looking too mournful or pathetic. Even then, you’re really going to miss this team, and it shows. 

You’re sitting on Emily’s desk as she works on a consult, looking as attentive as you can. She’s the best about letting you look over her shoulder, and she often narrates her profile builds so you can see how she approaches them compared to Derek, Hotch, etc.

“You look jumpy, over there, kid.” Derek’s observation comes with a mouthful of banana muffin. “What’s goin’ on with you?” 

“Nothing,” you assure him. “I’m fine.” 

Spencer chimes in. “Academy grads get their assignments today.” 

“Oh, there’s no way Hotch is going to let you have an assignment somewhere else.” Emily waves the thought away with her hand. “You know too much.”

“Who’s getting an assignment somewhere else?” JJ approaches behind Derek, looking rather concerned. 

You start to explain more thoroughly. “I get my unit assignment by the end of the day -” 

Spencer interrupts you, again. “ - I think it’s here.”

You look, and Hotch walks through the door with an envelope in his hand. It's addressed to you. Though you squint at him, his face gives nothing away. 

With hands that only shake a little, you take the envelope from him and set it on your desk, resolving to deal with its contents when you are alone. 

“Open it!” Emily cries. “Let’s see!” 

You huff. “I’d rather not subject you to bad news this early in the afternoon.” 

JJ rolls her eyes. “You can’t be certain it’s bad news.” 

“It has to be at least fifty-fifty. Spencer,” you turn to boy genius. “Help me out here.” 

“Actually, based on your improvement and adherence to high-performance criteria, the good news is nearly 40% more likely than the bad news. The variable here isn’t your performance, but the distribution of the new agents.” 

Even though he disagrees with your assessment, it makes you feel better. You pick up the envelope, and look at Hotch. 

“Go ahead.” 

You slip your finger under the flap and tear it neatly along the seam. The letter inside is addressed to you, with your NAT number, permanent address, and other relevant identifying information. 

Scanning the page, you throw a hand over your mouth, reaching the line you’re looking for.

Congratulations! The Department of Justice is pleased to inform you of your graduation from the Federal Bureau of Investigation Special Agent Selection process hosted at the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia. 

Your unit assignment details are as follows: 

Field Office Assignment: Quantico, VA
Section Chief: Erin Strauss, Investigation and Operational Support Section Chief
Unit Assignment: Behavioral Analysist Unit (Major Case Response)
Unit Chief: Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Benjamin Hotchner

Report for duty in Building C, Room 613 at 10am Eastern Standard Time on Monday, December 17th, 2007. 

Please see below for additional relocation resources and assistance, as needed. 

The assistant director’s signature blurs, and you realize you are crying a little. You hadn’t yet said a word, and everyone (except Hotch, of course) fears the worst. 

“Oh, no. No, no, no.” JJ rushes over and wraps an arm around your shoulders, reading. “Wait.” She reaches the same lines you did, and lets out a loud, relieved laugh. “You get to stay?”

You come out of your shock and look up at Hotch, who pulls your brand-new Special Agent badge, identification, and credentials out of his pocket. You reach out for them, hesitating. He places your badge and credentials into your palm with purpose and very carefully pins your ID tag to the hem of your blazer. 

“Congratulations, Agent.”

Chapter Text

“do not act as if you were going to live ten thousand years. death hangs over you. while you live, while it is in your power, be good.”
marcus aurelius

december 14th, 2007

+++

The day is finally here. The day you officially graduate from the academy. 

Only a week after Hotch handed you your unit assignment at your now-permanent desk, you’re sitting among your classmates, listening to the director praise you all for your work. 

“I now have the very special privilege of introducing a guest to present the Director’s Leadership Award,” the director says. “As this year’s award recipient has had unique experiences while in attendance at the FBI Academy, the directorate felt that it would be appropriate to select an agent to present this award. 

“Without further ado, I’d like to invite Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, to the stage.” 

Surprise pulls at your brow. He didn’t tell you he was speaking.

Aaron begins the long journey from the back of the auditorium to the front, while the director continues. 

“Agent Hotchner was a recipient of this award in his academy class and has an exemplary record within the bureau - reflective of his dedication and loyalty to this agency and his unit. In his relatively short tenure as Unit Chief, he has continued the work of his predecessors - building the Behavioral Analysis Unit into one of the most effective task forces in federal law enforcement.” He gestures to Aaron, who climbs the stairs with his usual steady, even gait. “Agents, trainees, friends, family - Agent Hotchner.” 

Aaron reaches the stage and shakes the director’s hand with a small smile. Applause echoes through the auditorium and quiets as he takes the podium. He pulls a small piece of paper from his inside pocket. You can’t help the proud smile on your face as you watch him.

Twisting in your seat, you spot the rest of the unit lined up against the back wall. JJ waves at you and you swear you see Derek wink. To your surprise, Haley’s beside Dave with Jack on her hip. You toss her a smile that she returns, only a little tense, before you turn back toward the front. Aaron catches your eye as he starts talking. 

The pull of his lips seems knowing somehow, but then again you’re sure he almost always looks like he knows something he shouldn’t. 

“Thank you, Director. It’s an honor to present this award on your behalf. A recipient of this award myself, I know how much work it takes to catch the attention of your superiors, to set yourself apart from your classmates.” He pauses, swallowing and wetting his lips. “The individual chosen for this award has done all of that and more. They have taken it upon themselves to break tradition, supersede expectations, and overcome any and all obstacles they encountered during their tenure at the academy.” 

He looks out over the crowd, checking in with the unit before returning to his notes. You’ve always known Hotch had public speaking chops, but seeing him in action outside of the field and the classroom is really something else. You’re not sure, but he seems to be fighting something as he talks - almost emotional, but tightly controlled. 

“This individual represents the best of this agency, conducting themselves with fidelity, bravery, and integrity in all they do. My own life has been touched by this individual and their dedication to their work.” 

A spike of adrenaline shoots through you, but you attempt to calm yourself down. 

He guest lectures all the time. Hell, you’ve been to one. 

“In my own letter of recommendation -” Another thrill flies through you, but you squash it again. “- I noted that this new agent has an insatiable curiosity, a gift for meeting the needs of those around them, and a knack for, as my colleague SSA Rossi says,” Aaron gestures to Dave at the back of the room, “taking the ball and running with it.” 

That gets a laugh, as all of the academy graduates had more than one lecture with Dave this year. You turn around again with about half the room, just in time to see Dave wave and take a bow. 

“So,” Aaron says, and the room turns back to him, “it is my honor to present the Director’s Leadership Award to…” 

He pauses for a moment, meets your eyes, and says your name. 

The rushing in your ears makes it impossible to move. Your classmates are all but attacking you - there are hands everywhere: your head, shoulders, arms, knees - and you find yourself lifted to your feet. 

There’s a path cleared for you as you scoot out of the row and into the aisle, smoothing your hands over your slacks. The shouts of your unit follow you all the way there, Derek’s deafening whistles keeping your feet firmly planted on the floor. Your ears are still rushing, your heart in your throat, and it’s a wonder you make it to the stage. 

Aaron’s there, his hand outstretched to guide you up the stairs, and you manage to meet his eyes. He’s beaming at you, pride shining in his gaze. You take his hand and he shepherds you to the Director, who’s holding an envelope. 

You release Aaron and shake the director’s hand with your right while taking the award with your left. Absently, you realize you’re being photographed, and smile at a camera that flashes before disappearing. 

“Congratulations, Agent,” he says. 

“Thank you, sir. It’s an honor.” 

He gestures to the podium, but you shake your head. You can hardly formulate a thought, nevertheless make a speech. With a smile, the director sends you back toward Aaron who, much to your surprise, wraps you in a hug.

“I’m so proud of you,” he says, his lips almost touching your ear. 

There are tears in your eyes and in your voice when you reply. “Thank you, Hotch.” 

He releases you, keeping a hand on your upper arm as you walk down the stairs together. As you go, he leans close to you. “If you want, you can stand back there with us.” 

You nod, unwilling to crawl over your classmates to take your seat back in the middle of the row. 

After another long walk back, you’re finally back with your family. Dave kisses you on both cheeks and Derek pulls you tight to his chest. 

“You’ve more than earned it.” 

All you can do is grin at him. JJ and Spencer tackle you next, followed by Emily and Penelope. 

Haley stands by, offering you a shy smile when the rest of the unit is finished with their demonstrative nonsense. 

“Congratulations.” 

You smile. “Thanks, Mrs. Hotchner.”

“Haley’s fine, I promise. ‘Mrs. Hotchner’ makes me feel like I’m substitute teaching again.” She leans closer. “And I think we’re past the Mrs. Hotchner point, don’t you?”  

Your smile turns into a grateful one. You would think that the surprises were through for the day, but she leans forward and loops her free arm around your shoulder. Returning her hug, you place a hand on her back and the other on Jack’s head. When you pull back, you ruffle his hair. 

To your delight, he giggles. 

Haley raises her eyebrows at you. “Want to hold him? He likes you.” 

“Sure.” You roll up your sleeves, realizing that the award has already left your hands in the commotion. When you look, you find it tucked into Spencer’s messenger bag, his hand resting protectively over it. 

Haley passes Jack to you, and you take a second to grin at him. He returns it. 

He looks just like Aaron…

But that’s Haley’s smile, through and through. 

Haley returns to the wall, shaking out her arm. You’re not sure how long she’s been carting him around. As much as you like Jack on his own, the opportunity to lend a hand to Haley is a welcome one. 

You turn back to the stage, and Jack lays his head on your shoulder, playing with the buttons on your shirt. There’s a smile on your face as you press your cheek into his hair, listening as one of the deputy directors asks you all to stand for the oath. 

Shifting Jack to your left hip, you raise your right hand and wave Aaron off when he tries to help. You recite the oath with your class, pride swelling in your chest. 

The deputy director officially declares you all agents and sends you off into the arms of your friends and family. He sends you off into your future. 

With Jack’s weight resting comfortably in your arms, your unit around you, and Hotch watching you with an unreadable, warm expression on his face, you realize something. 

You’re already there. 

Chapter Text

“hope is a waking dream.”
aristotle

may 6th, 2008

+++

You startle awake on the plane, feeling sweaty and more than a little flustered. 

I hope I didn’t make any noise. 

Fuck. 

You run a shaking hand over your face, avoiding Emily’s curious, concerned eyes. 

“You okay?” She asks. 

Nodding, you reply. “Yeah. Just a dream.”

Just a dream my ass. 

You dreamt of Hotch - well, more specifically - Hotch’s mouth . Doing things. Talented things. Things that make your face heat and toes curl and shoot heat through you just thinking about them. 

Your heartbeat is present in more places than it should be, throbbing and aching between your legs. Shifting a little, you lean forward and rest your head in your hands. 

Cool off cool off cool off cool off -

Aaron stirs beside you, roused by your abrupt transition to wakefulness. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?” 

His questions are the smallest bit slurred, and you can’t help the way your heart melts at seeing him so sleepy and adorable. He takes a deep breath as he straightens, rolling his shoulders out and letting the smallest of ‘I’m stretching’ squeaks escape him. 

That’ll be fodder for another dream for sure. 

Imagine waking up next to that. 

Shut up. I mean it. This is your fucking fault. 

What, that you had a sex dream about your boss while in the open presence of your coworkers?

Yes!

You didn’t get off, but got damn close, startled awake by your own subconscious before you could finish.

That’s one good thing. Could have been way worse.

But you weren’t done yet!

It doesn’t matter! 

You shake your head, still resting on the heels of your hands. “I’m done - fine.” You quickly correct, hoping he didn’t notice your slip-up. “Just a dream.”

“Anything I can do?” He’s more awake now. You can’t see his hand hovering over your shoulder, but Emily can.

Everything about you, you’re sure, screams guilt or sex or both. “Nope.” You lift your hand in a thumbs-up over your head. “I’m good.” 

After a second, you stand (but diligently avoid Aaron’s eyes) on a mission to splash your face with the ice cold water from the bathroom tap. You’ve always hated it before, but today, you’re grateful. 

Hotch looks at Emily, hoping for a bit more than ‘I’m fine.’

“What happened?”

She shakes her head. “I dunno. There was a lot of twitching - shaking, really, and then a pretty violent startle.”

He hums with a pensive look on his face, watching you shut yourself into the bathroom. 

+++

Your hands continue to shake violently as you turn on the tap, running the frigid water over your wrists. 

Cool off cool off cool off cool off cool off

You splash some water onto your face, feeling like a fucking animal in heat or something. The urge to rub yourself against the counter is one you have to fight. You roll your eyes. 

Get over it. 

But I had a sex dream about Hotch.

So what? He’s attractive -

He’s my boss. And I don’t even have a crush on him. 

That draws you up short, realizing your denial of any feelings basically confirms them. 

It’ll pass. A lot of people have crushes on Hotch.

Then, your profiling brain finally wakes, finally making itself useful. 

It’s normal to have a strong attraction to authority figures when they demonstrate special interest in you. Especially if they’re older than you or - 

— devastatingly handsome?

Shut up. 

You lean heavily on the counter for a second before there’s a tap on the door. 

Drying your hands quickly, you throw the door open and find Derek on the other side. 

“You alright, kid?” 

You offer him an approximation of a smile, pushing away the urge to look at your feet instead of meeting his eyes. “Yeah. Just fine.” 

You try to slip past him, but you’re stopped by a hand on your shoulder. “Nightmares are really normal. You should find someone to talk to about them, and it doesn’t have to be one of us, but we all get them.”

You nod, touched by the gesture even though it has absolutely no relevance to your present unease. “Thanks, Derek.”

“I’m serious.”

A little smile, a real one, tugs at your lips. “I’ll take you up on that sometime.”

He squeezes your shoulder and releases you, giving you room to bump him affectionately as you return to your seats. 

You still avoid Hotch’s eyes as you sit - the ache at the apex of your legs hasn’t dulled at all, despite the cold water. You suspect there’s only one thing that’ll really help, and he’s sitting next to you, watching you with concern. Emily’s returned to her book - she’s been on a Steinbeck kick all week - tearing through them so fast you think she’s cheating. 

How do you cheat in reading?

You become Spencer, that’s how. 

You remember the way Spencer spends less than a second on each page, drawing his finger down the center of the text exactly once before flipping to the next. 

Yeah. That’s cheating. 

You turn your head toward Hotch, not meeting his eyes, but rather studying the pleat of his slacks at his knee. “I’m fine, Hotch.”

He didn’t ask, but he wanted to.

“Okay.” He knows you’re lying, but knows you’ll come to him with whatever it is when you’re ready. “This whole team is here for you - you know that.”

The tight smile you offer him is genuine. “I know.” Then, after another moment, “Thanks.”

Aaron, you have no idea. 

Chapter Text

“ignorance of the law excuses no man - from practicing it.”
addison mizner

may 14th, 2008

3x19 tabula rasa

+++

You all settle into one row. Aaron’s on the end beside you, looking very sharp in a crisp black suit, his favorite Rolex, and a settled kind of confidence you’ve only seen in him a few times. It’s like he’s in his natural habitat. 

Aaron’s record as a federal prosecutor speaks for itself, of course, but you’ve never seen him in action. As often as they can, the bureau’s leadership sends him in as an expert witness. This time, the case happens to be one of yours. The judge hasn’t required a sequestration for Aaron, so you get the treat of sitting together in the courtroom. 

He’s scoffed and mumbled snide remarks under his breath all morning. You’re just itching to see him get up on the stand and give this joker an education. 

Emily leans over, whispering in your ear. “I promise you’ve never seen anything like this before. Hotch is going to rip this clown to shreds.” 

You stifle a laugh and look over at Aaron. He heard her. Leaning toward you, he murmurs, “All my JD does is collect dust. When I use it, I’d like to enjoy it.” 

“Your Honor, the prosecution would like to call our expert witness, Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, to the stand.” 

He takes a breath and rises, buttoning his suit jacket and crossing the courtroom. His presence commands respect and everyone in the courtroom seems to shrink before him. 

The prosecution’s questions go over smoothly, and the defense attorney stands with an unreasonable amount of confidence. 

Emily leans over. “He thinks he can get Hotch with at least one of these questions, and he might. But just watch.” 

You nod, taking everything in. 

“So you’ve stated that it was your profile of the killer that led you and the police to my clients door that night.” 

“Behavioral analysis was a factor in our investigation, yes.” 

Without hesitation, the attorney follows up. “And was behavioral analysis also a factor in the Olympic Park bombings case in Atlanta?” 

“Yes, it was.” Aaron’s eyes and tone never waver, no hint of arrogance or cheek. 

“And was that suspect you identified,” the attorney asks, far too aggressively, “Richard Jewell, ever convicted of the bombings?”

The prosecution objects, and you watch Aaron. Every part of him observes the proceedings with an outwardly detached interest, but his eyes are alive - strategizing and anticipating. It’s like you can see the wheels turning as the lawyers bicker. 

 The judge ends the squabble. “I’ll allow it.”

Aaron, now with permission, answers simply, “No, he was not convicted.”

“Because he was innocent. Your profile led you to the wrong man.” 

Oh, give me a break. It takes everything in you not to scoff and you can feel Emily’s eye roll.

“Jewell was not the perpetrator, but if you look at the real Olympic Park Bomber, Eric Rudolph, you’ll see that our profile was dead-on.” 

Dead-on indeed, Aaron. 

“Well, how about we look at the Baton Rouge Killer? Your unit said that he was white and living in the city. He was Black and from the suburbs.”

Aaron’s eyes narrow and you feel Spencer shift beside you. Emily shakes her head. “Don’t worry,” she whispers. “He always recovers, never in the way you’d expect.” 

“How do you know?”

Emily’s face pulls into a little smile. “I’ve read the transcripts. Hotch is terribly clever.” 

“You said that Dennis Rader, the B.T.K. Killer,” the attorney continues, “was divorced and impotent. He turned out to be married with two kids.” 

JJ huffs, and you hear her whisper to Spencer, “Can we quit with the sermon?” 

His lips turn up. “Just wait.”

Dave leans over and stares them down over Derek. Stop talking. 

All of you look down at your hands like chastised children, but your gaze floats back to Aaron right away. 

The prosecution objects again, this time on the grounds of preaching. The judge forces a question, and the attorney turns back on Aaron.

 “Having been wrong on those cases, isn’t it possible that you were wrong about Brian Matloff?” 

“No.” 

Your chest squeezes. He’s completely firm in his denial. 

How does he do that?

“Fact is,” the attorney continues like Aaron didn’t speak at all, “behavioral analysis is really just intellectual guesswork. You probably couldn’t tell me the color of my socks with any greater accuracy than a carnival psychic.” 

“Objection!” 

The prosecution’s outburst is unnecessary. Aaron has a plan. His eyes track to you as if to check in. 

Are you paying attention? 

If you weren’t watching before, you’re certainly watching now.

Always. 

“Withdrawn.” 

“Charcoal grey.” His flat assertion makes you gasp and you immediately cover your mouth with your hand to stifle the sound. 

The attorney turns around. “Well, look at that,” he exposes his socks to the court, and they are, in fact, charcoal grey. “He got one right.”

Aaron’s not finished. “You match them to the color of your suit to appear taller. You also wear lifts and you’ve had the soles of your shoes replaced. One might think you’re frugal, but in fact, you’re having financial difficulties.” 

You do your best to school your expression and remove your hand from your mouth. Checking down the row, you see six smirks watching the witness box. 

“You wear a fake Rolex…”

And you’d know, Hotch. 

“...because you pawned the real one to pay your debts. My guess would be to a bookie.” 

Is he smiling?

“I took this case pro bono.” There’s tension in Mr. Charcoal Grey’s voice. You can hear it behind the false confidence and it pulls a smile from you. “I am one of the most successful criminal attorneys in the state.”

Hotch continues, completely bypassing him. “Your vice is horses.” There’s definitely a little smile on his face now. “Your Blackberry’s been buzzing on the table every twenty minutes, which happens to be the average time between posts from Colonial Downs. You’re getting race results.” Your smile gets wider, and Emily grabs your hand. 

“Just watch.”

“And every time you do, it affects your mood in court, and you’re not having a very good day.” There’s something that looks almost like concern on Aaron’s face, but you know it’s nothing if not facetious. He’s ripping this poor man to shreds without changing a single thing about his presentation.

I love - 

Don’t finish that thought. 

Why not?

Remember how he’s freshly divorced?

I know, but have you seen him?

“That’s because you pick horses the same way you practice law -” 

You lean forward and Emily follows, her thumbnail between her teeth. 

The final blow. 

“- by always taking the long shot.” 

If this was any other setting, you’re sure the entire team would be on their feet, shouting and jeering. But alas, you’re in court, so you settle for a wide smile and a suppressed laugh. Amused brown eyes meet yours from across the room and you shake your head just the tiniest bit. I can’t believe you.

His lips twitch. 

“Well, you spin a very good yarn, Agent, but as usual, you’ve proven nothing.” He’s just trying to recover something, anything left of his dignity. He fails, miserably. 

“If I’m not mistaken,” Aaron says, his eyebrows raised just a little, “the results from the fifth race should be coming through any minute.”

Just then, the attorney’s Blackberry buzzes on the defense table. “Why don’t you tell us if your luck has changed?”

You raise your hands to your face to cool the rising heat in your cheeks. 

“Your honor, this is - “

The judge takes matters into his own hands. “What do you want me to do? Either show us your Blackberry or cut him loose, counselor.”

Hotch and the defense attorney share a loaded look. It’s a battle of wills. 

Aaron wins. 

“Nothing further.”

+++

When you all leave the courthouse, you practically latch onto Aaron’s arm, completely floored. 

“How did you do that?”

He laughs and Derek jumps up beside him, shaking his shoulders. “Come on Hotch. That was incredible.” 

“Why have a law degree if you aren’t going to use it?”

+++

He offers you a ride home later that evening and you take him up on it. You’re both still in the car, idling in front of your house. 

“That really was impressive today,” you admit, your eyes on your hands.

You can feel his soft smile rather than see it. “Thanks. I know it didn’t quite go the way we wanted as far as the case itself, but there’s more to come.” 

“It’s never as bad as it looks in the first couple of days.” 

“Exactly.” He sighs. “Thanks again for being there today. It’s…” his lips twist as he thinks, “nice to have the team around.” 

You reach out, squeezing his forearm before immediately letting him go. “Of course. We’ll always be there for you. Plus, there’s nothing better than watching you tear blowhard lawyers to shreds in a court of law.” 

“I’m not sure that’s exactly how it went.” 

“You’re kidding!” You laugh. “That’s just what happened. The man left without half his soul! You absolutely tore it from his body.”

The pair of you quiet, and you move to get out of the car. He stops you with a hand over yours as you unclip your seatbelt. “Really. Thanks for being there today.” 

“I can’t emphasize this enough - it was my pleasure.” 

Enough of a pleasure as it was, his smile in the dark of the car is the best part of your day.

Chapter Text

“best way to keep a secret? keep it to yourself. second best? tell one other person. there is no third best.”
rule #4

may 19th - may 25th, 2008

+++

Your scheduled Tuesday lunch with Jenny has turned into a Whenever-We’re-Available scheduled lunch with Jenny, but you finally get to see her after a few weeks of postponements. 

“I’m glad I caught you,” she says. “I can’t believe how busy we’ve both been.”

You laugh. “Yeah, well, unfortunately, serial killers don’t abide my schedule.” 

“If only it were that easy.” There’s something hiding behind the quip, the smile on her face. 

You narrow your eyes a little, studying her. She looks so tired. “Are you alright, Jen?”

She knows she’s caught, but takes a moment before she speaks. “I’m not sharing this with anyone else. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” The gravity of her tone demands the formality, and you lean forward, your elbows on the table, your brows low over your eyes. 

“I’m dying.” Her voice is solemn, but absent sentimentality. “Brain cancer. I thought it fair you should know. You’ll be my last protege, so you have to carry the line from here on out.”

It doesn’t hit you right away. You just stare at her for a moment, your mouth a little slack. 

“My team need not bother themselves with it,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s a matter of…” She searches for a word. 

“Familiarity?” You offer, still a little numb.

She takes it. “Familiarity. They know me too well. They’ll treat me differently. And I know you won’t.” She pauses. “Can I ask a favor of you?” 

“Of course.”

“Can we meet for lunch like this as often as possible? I’m going to want a… cognitive benchmark as this progresses and I can’t -” She takes a breath, and you understand. 

“I’d love to.” 

She smiles at you, the corners of her lips just pulling up the barest amount. “Thank you. And, I know this goes without saying, but please -” 

“Keep this from Hotch?” 

“Please. He was on my protection detail for a gala a number of years ago and I don’t think he’s quite kicked the habit. Gideon was punishing him for something, but he was very, shall we say, committed to the task.” 

You share a subdued laugh and pick up your menus, the devastation of the imminent future momentarily forgotten. 

+++

Aaron gets a call on his personal cell as the sun sets over the base, only a week or so later. 

“Hotchner.” 

He’s quiet, but he takes one small, sharp breath in through his mouth, which pinches as he looks past you, up and over your shoulder. 

“When?” The question is flat and your heart falls to your toes. 

Something terrible has happened. 

“Do you - Yeah.” Aaron closes his eyes and rests his forehead on his hand. “Understood. I’ll see what I can do… I know. Quiet.” 

There’s a pause. 

“Gibbs, I’m -” He sighs and hangs up, his eyes downcast toward his desk. 

You stand opposite him, clutching files to your chest like a shield. “What happened?” 

He looks up at you. “Director Shepard died. This morning.”

Your breath gets caught in your closed throat and you take a ragged breath. 

Jenny. 

You shake your head, tears already falling. “I thought we had more time.” 

“What?” Aaron looks at you, confused, as he stands from his desk. “What do you mean?” 

Wait. 

“How did she die?”

There’s a cautious, searching look in Aaron’s eyes, like he’s concerned you’re going to combust or something. With a certain degree of hesitation, he tells you, “She was murdered. Firefight in the Mojave.” 

All your breath leaves you and you lean heavily on the back of the chair in front of you. “Oh.” 

“I’ve been asked to quietly assist in the investigation. Apparently, there was a blown op in Europe about fifteen years ago. We’ll have to take a look at that before we can do anything else. I’ll have Garcia and Prentiss...”

He continues speaking, but your head is foggy, buzzing with the unreality of it all. 

I thought there was time. We had time. 

A hand on your arm pulls you from your swirling thoughts. You meet Aaron’s brown eyes, full of his grief and yours. 

“I’m so sorry.”

+++

“...the fire is believed to be at the home of the director of a federal agency here in Washington. The alarm was raised by a passerby, who heard an explosion and saw smoke billowing from a downstairs window. By the time fire trucks arrived, the townhouse was fully engulfed in flames. There has been no word yet if anyone was inside the house at the time the fire started. Fire officials are confident -” 

Aaron turns off the television in his office. His shoulders pinch your fingers as he sits back, wrapped around the back of his chair. You don’t move them. “So they went with a fire,” he says.

“Less surviving evidence means fewer questions.” 

He sighs. “Vance is smart. Still not right, but smart.” 

+++

Jenny’s service is subdued and elegant, much like she was. You and Aaron stand close to the back, with Strauss and the brass from the Quantico and Washington offices. Emily started on one side but joined you soon enough, leaving her mother and other dignitaries as soon as she’d done her due diligence. 

As always for an agency funeral, you’re dressed in back, your badge pinned over your heart. 

A few people speak, mostly people from her professional life. Her father is long-dead and she never really mentioned her mother. To your surprise, no member of the NCIS Major Case Response Team rises to say anything, even given a colorful, storied, history shared between Jenny and Gibbs. 

You study these people - these agents and a Mossad officer - you’ve heard about through Jenny’s eyes over the past nine months. They’re a bit like you anticipated, but you can’t see the mirth in Tony’s eyes, the curiosity in McGee’s, or the hawklike observation in Ziva’s. 

They just look sad. 

When it’s over, directors trade handshakes and you follow Aaron and Emily to the MCRT, introducing yourself and expressing your condolences. 

Emily and Ziva trade three cheek kisses in the European tradition, and Emily murmurs something to her in Hebrew. From what you can understand, Ziva responds with what sounds like a customary response and her thanks. 

The side of Tony’s mouth lifts when he shakes Aaron’s hand. “Hotch.” 

“DiNozzo. Good to see you.” 

“You too. Family holding up alright?”

Aaron nods. “They’re well. I’m sorry for your loss.” 

Tony ducks his head and steps back. “Thanks.” 

Gibbs doesn’t say anything by way of greeting, and neither does Aaron. They simply shake hands and something passes between them. 

Maybe in time, you’ll understand.

Chapter Text

“knowing when to fight is just as important as knowing how.”
terry goodkind, faith of the fallen

may 26th, 2008

3x20 lo-fi & 4x01 mayhem

+++

“Don’t get comfortable. There will be time to debrief on the plane.” Hotch’s eyes are trained on the monitor, where grainy security footage plays and replays an exceedingly casual murder in an underground subway station. 

Reid, entering behind you, squints at the monitor. “Where are we headed?”

“New York.”

Rossi advances on the monitor. “Five shootings in two weeks. It’s about time we got the call.” 

You watch as Hotch replays the tape again. “Why the delay?”

Aaron doesn’t answer you, but rather addresses Derek. “I want to take Garcia with us. Hopefully, they’ll give us access to their surveillance systems.”

He’s distracted, almost absent-minded. It’s odd. 

“What do we know?” You try again with another question and Emily dips her chin - she had the same one. 

Hotch pauses the video, turning toward the rest of you - loosely circled around the table. “All the killings are mid-day. Single gunshot to the head with a .22.”

“Any witnesses?” As always, JJ looks for somewhere to go as soon as wheels are down. 

She really doesn’t get paid enough. 

There’s something odd in her voice and temperament this morning, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. Now that you’re really awake and looking around, everyone's a little jumpy this morning. It doesn't help that the two most grounded people on the team are the most absent-minded of you all. 

“No.” 

Spencer pipes up. “.22-caliber pistol’s only 152 decibels. New York streets and subways are routinely well over a hundred.”

“So,” you ask, “could it be such that possible witnesses don’t even clock it before the unsub’s already on their way?”

Spencer nods. 

Derek shifts beside you. “They sound like mob hits.” 

Aaron dips his chin, but says, “Except none of them have ties to organized crime.”

The rest of the facts and questions fly past you - no connection between victims, no communication or contact, surveillance footage that shows next to nothing, an establishment that the unsub is bold and well-trained. 

Seems completely random. 

Spencer voices your next thought. “Son of Sam all over again.”

The grim look on Aaron’s face tells you all you need to know. 

+++

Derek, Penelope, and Emily shoot the shit as they get on the plane, but you notice JJ staring forlornly out the window. You resolve to discover what that’s about as soon as possible. Having her down was odd…

...But she has been acting strange lately, not just today.  

You sit beside Hotch, across from Reid as Rossi flips through photos of the victims. 

Spencer makes astute observations about the continued pattern of, well, no pattern at all, while Hotch provides some remarks here and there. 

One of them catches your attention. “It’s a joint FBI-NYPD taskforce?” 

Yeah, because those always go over so well. 

“Kate Joyner heads up the New York field office. She’s running point on the case and called me directly.” He calls out to JJ, who then informs the pilot you’re all ready to get wheels up. “Kate’s starting to butt heads with the local detectives and wanted a fresh set of eyes.” 

There’s something in his voice you can’t place. History, maybe? 

“Joyner, I know her,” Derek says. “She’s a Brit, right?” 

Hotch shrugs. “Well, dual citizenship. Her father’s British, her mother’s American. She was a big deal at Scotland Yard before coming to the Bureau.”

You look over at him. 

That’s a ridiculous amount of knowledge for someone who doesn’t work in the same state, Aaron. 

“I heard she can be a little bit of a pain in the ass.” It’s a test. The defiant tip of Derek’s chin tells you as much. 

Hotch takes the bait. “I didn’t think so.”

You can’t help it. “You know her?”

“We liaised when she was still at Scotland Yard.”

You look at Emily, who shrugs. 

“And she’s good?” You wouldn’t call Dave’s tone skeptical, but if you didn’t know any better, you’d say it was another test. He’s a lot subtler than Morgan. 

Hotch looks back at Dave. “I think we’re lucky to have her.” 

+++

You all step out of the elevator, and you stay closest to JJ. Her absent-mindedness had yet to leave her, and as the person closest to her age, you were doing your best to support her with your presence alone. 

JJ leans toward you as you approach the center of the office. “Is it just me or does she look -”

“- exactly like Haley?” You finish JJ’s thought. “Yeah.”

There’s a little smile you can see on Aaron’s face, just touching his profile. Agent Joyner has one too, and it makes you feel...something. 

Whatever it is, it isn’t comfortable. 

“Kate.”

“Aaron. How’ve you been?”

You take another glance at JJ. She seems to have the same thought as you. 

First name basis? How close are they?

“Well, thank you. This is my team.” He introduces you all one by one, and you attempt to plaster a polite smile on your face, just like everyone else. Derek’s the only one who doesn’t make an effort, and you tap the side of his shoe with your foot. 

Penelope gets settled right away, and the NYPD detectives approach shortly after that. Of course, they start with a snide remark at Spencer. Your hackles rise, and you take a little huff of a breath. 

Calm down. 

Kate introduces Detectives Brustin and Cooper. Dave gets right to the point, doing his best to establish baseline rapport. 

It doesn’t work. 

You don’t notice that you’ve crept closer to Aaron throughout the proceedings, now standing just off his shoulder, next to Emily, until Kate leans into him. “Can I have a word with you in private?”

The crumpling of your brow is quick, and you hope nobody noticed. Emily’s head, whirling around to look at Derek, is far less subtle. 

“Sure.”

Emily tracks back to JJ, who looks confused. In a hushed and suggestive tone, she tells her, “They...liaised when she was at Scotland Yard.”

You hide your laugh in your shoulder, covering your movement with an attempt to adjust your backpack. 

Derek steps up behind you. “Let me get that for you, kiddo.” 

You look up at him, hard-pressed to keep your mirth to yourself. A little smile plays at the edge of his lips as well. He turns you around when he’s done pretending to be helpful, holding you in the little huddle that develops between the rest of you and the NYPD detectives. 

Derek’s eyes keep flickering to Kate’s office, where she and Hotch chat informally and perhaps even fondly, to an extent. Heat rises in your cheeks. 

Get over yourself. 

+++

You attempt to ignore the sheer amount of time Aaron spends looking over Kate’s shoulder behind her desk. Tearing your eyes from her office window, you return to your task. 

The whiteboard marker in your hand is seeing lots of use as you follow Spencer’s instructions, tracing lines between key points, making notes, etc. Cooper’s banter with Emily puts a little smile on your face. 

“Anti-geographical profiling? Now you wonder why we’re so skeptical?” Cooper’s voice is full of play, but there’s a very real concern behind it. 

Emily laughs, but then explains, “This unsub’s organized. He strikes at the same time of day, he knows where the cameras are placed. That means he’s doing his own surveillance.”

You offer your two cents in support of Spencer, who outlines the difference between need-motivated killers and organized killers. Cooper looks a little impressed by the time you add, “So, essentially, we need to look everywhere this unsub isn’t to find where he lives. He has a comfort zone, and we just have to find it.” 

“What are we finding?” Hotch and Kate roll out of her office, and he settles beside you, peering at the map.

You look over your shoulder at him. “He’s organized, so we’ve redirected to an anti-geographical profile.” 

“Keep looking.” He turns on his heel and walks out the door, Kate trailing behind him with a confidence that tightens your jaw. 

Maybe Derek was right. Maybe she is a pain in the ass. 

+++

You keep your eyes up as Rossi and Hotch inspect the body on the busy New York street. Your mind wanders to a lecture at the academy, the voice of the late Jennifer Shepard echoing through your head. 

“Always watch the watchers.” 

But then again, she’d always backed it up with another story about “the man with all the rules” to undermine the rules in question. The stories did more than make you laugh - they helped you remember. 

“See anything?” Hotch looks up, not at you, but you know you have his attention. 

You shake your head, your eyes still on the crowd. “Nothing obvious.” 

He hums, and tunes back in as Derek says, “From the placement of that camera, odds are the only view they’re gonna get is the back of his head.”

“Let’s not be too quick to decide what we do or don’t have.” Kate meets Derek’s eyes and stares him down. You bristle, but Hotch turns just the smallest bit toward you, reminding you to behave. 

The detective makes another snide remark as Kate brushes past the rest of you. 

Derek turns toward Hotch, and you step back, giving them the illusion of privacy. “You mind telling me why I’m catching attitude from her?”

Because you’re better at your job? Because you don’t have a chip on your shoulder the size of the Atlantic? Because you probably haven’t maybe slept with our unit chief, maybe?

“FBI brass has made it clear to her that if she doesn’t bring this case home, she’s gonna be reassigned. And you are at the top of the list to replace her.” 

“You’re kidding me.” 

Aaron squints a little, but his words are deeply genuine. “Why should you be surprised? You’re good at your job. People notice that.” 

He’s right. 

“What happened to the Bureau patting itself on the back from stealing her away from Scotland Yard?” 

Hotch shakes his head and sighs. “I don’t know. Politics here are different. And you can see she doesn’t pull punches.” He walks away, and Derek looks over his shoulder at you. 

With a little smile, you say, “He’s right, you know.” 

“You’re a terrible ass-kisser, kid.” 

Nevertheless, he taps your shoulder with his knuckle and you both make your way to Rossi, examining a tarot card. 

+++

“We’ve got more than one unsub.” Hotch’s tone is more than defeated, and you peer further over his shoulder, your fingers pressing lightly into the back of his arm for balance. 

Rossi circles the desk. “So, we have more than one unsub. What does that tell us?”

“Most teams stick together,” Spencer says. “Ng and Lake. The Krays. Bittaker and Norris. They don’t usually kill separately.” 

Derek is next, offering, “Could be some kind of gang initiation.” 

Emily and JJ volley about gang operations and local task forces for a moment before Kate asks. “Do you think we have enough for a working profile?”

You startle a little. She’s closer than you thought, on the other side of Hotch. You lean around him, the soft wool of his suit sleeve still under your fingers. “Broad strokes, maybe. Nothing specific, yet.”

Hotch makes a few assignments, but you’re focused on Derek. As you suspected, he has an idea. “I think we should get out on the streets.”

Also unsurprising, Kate has an immediate rebuttal. “I brought you here to create a profile.” 

“Which we can give in the morning, and they can share it with the afternoon shift.” 

She huffs. “We’ve allocated every extra man we have.” You don’t miss the warning glance Hotch shoots Derek or the way Derek ignores it. “This is New York City. It’s not like adding a few more people is gonna blanket the city.” 

“I understand it’s a long shot. But these guys, they hit at mid-day. We could target ingress and egress to particular neighborhoods. Position us near express stops - 14th, 42nd, 59th -”

“Morgan. It’s not your call.” Hotch’s rebuke is sharp, surprising. 

You inhale sharply and tuck your lip between your teeth, retracting your hand. 

This is gonna be a long case. 

+++

Thankfully, you’re all headed back to the hotel in fairly short order. Hotch has all but ordered Kate to bed, and you try not to let your thoughts stray too far in response. 

Spencer’s eyes wander up, and you follow them. “JJ -” 

Will?

You’d only met him once but like him well enough. He was polite, pleasant, and even funny. Seeing as you hadn’t heard much about him in the last few months, you assumed JJ had broken it off. 

Guess not. 

She turns. “Will.” 

“Hey,” he says, “took a shot and flew to D.C. but it didn’t work. I figured I’d train up to New York - only a few more hours.” 

Hotch looks a little surprised, which probably means you do too. He extends his hand. “Detective.” 

Will takes it. “I’m sorry for showing up like this. I know you’re working. But, um…” He drops his voice. “I can’t stand you being on this case and me not being here - not with what’s going on.” 

You look at JJ, who looks a little uncomfortable, and then Hotch, who looks a little confused. Aaron’s the first one to speak, and you’re more than a little touched by the concern in his voice as he addresses JJ and JJ alone. “Is there a problem?”

Will dips his head, and you know he’s disappointed. 

What the hell is going on? 

She turns toward the team. With a little laugh, she says, “I’m pregnant.”

Hotch freezes, and you step close to him as Emily congratulates her. Will extends his hand and Hotch shakes it again. “I’ve asked JJ to marry me.” 

JJ whirls around, and there’s a warning in her voice. “Will.”

“We’re, ah, working out some kinks.” 

“We’ll, um” Aaron says, coming back to himself, “give you both some privacy.” He nods and steps away. You follow close behind him, but you fall back as JJ hops after him. 

“Hotch -”

There’s something in his voice you’ve never heard before when he replies. “JJ, you could have told me.” He almost sounds...hurt? Your brow crumples, and you try to stay out of his eye line as they chat. 

Pin that for later...

“I know.” 

“I understand if you need to take some time.” 

“No, I want to be here.” She’s firm in her conviction, and you can’t say you’d be any different if you were in any similar situation - injury, illness, otherwise. 

“Okay. Seven AM.” 

She nods and turns back to Will while Hotch continues toward the elevators. The rest of the team passes ahead of you, leaping into the open lift. Aaron hangs back and you follow his lead, letting the doors close. 

“Are you okay?” 

He sighs. “Yeah. Just unexpected.” 

Taking a little leap, you step close to him in a show of camaraderie. He’d never let on, but he needs contact sometimes. You might even go so far as to say the poor man is touch-starved. 

He wraps his arm around you, and you bite back a pleased smile, feeling more than a little chuffed. You examine his profile. “What’s on your mind?”

His shrug says many things. His sigh says more. 

“Yeah,” you say. “I know.”

+++

“We’re not having that discussion, right now.” Hotch’s cutoff is flat, and it shoots irritation through you.

Your brow furrows, and you sputter for a second before turning on him. “What’s with you? That’s like the sixth time you’ve shut me down today.” 

Hotch opens his mouth to reply, but before he can, Kate’s voice chirps from behind you. 

“Are all your younger agents this insubordinate, Aaron, or is it limited to this one?”

You grit your teeth, and blatantly ignore the apology blossoming in Hotch’s eyes as you say, “Excuse me, sir.” You turn your head, not quite looking at Kate. “Agent Joyner.” You brush past Hotch, almost shoulder-checking him, and leave the room. The door shuts loudly behind you. 

Derek looks up, and you wave him off as he rises to follow. 

Throwing the stairway door open, you fly down two flights of stairs before sitting heavily upon the landing. You throw your blazer off, the heat under the fabric only fueling your anger. 

Your hands cover your face and you manage three deep breaths before tears press in at your eyes. Molten humiliation courses through you, your face hot and hands shaking. 

It’s not fair to expect Kate to understand the rapport you have with Hotch, why you can push him inexplicably further than the rest of your team. It’s not fair, but you still feel betrayed by Hotch’s accommodation of her insecurity and Kate’s own ridiculousness. 

The lack of sleep doesn’t help.

A few relevant thoughts regarding the profile float through your head and you pin them for later. 

The door opens two floors above, and you hear Aaron’s familiar footsteps hesitate before they slowly descend to your level. You keep your face pressed into your hands as he sits beside you, resting his arms on his knees. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been so hard on you today.”

You sniff, but don’t answer. He waits for you, a few minutes passing in silence, but you don’t have anything to say. 

“I’ve done my best to make Kate feel supported, but I -” he huffs, and you know he’s working hard to properly articulate his feelings. You appreciate it. “I’ve failed both you and Morgan in the process. I’ve explained the situation to him, but I didn’t speak to you before I…” He trails off. “For that, I’m sorry.” 

You drop your hands from your face, wiping at the evidence of your anger. “Just...remember who’s on your team, would you?”

“I do.” 

“Then -” You throw your arms up and huff at him, his response inspiring a new wave of irritation in your chest. “Then why the fuck are you riding my ass about this shit today? You haven’t taken a single one of my ideas, and all but one has been really good.” 

He sighs. “I know. I also know that you can take it. I trust you to be resilient in difficult political situations such as this one. I don’t have that same trust in Kate right now.” He pauses and you watch his left thumb worry a track back and forth over the knuckle of his middle finger. Your eyes wander to the barely-noticeable tan line where his wedding ring used to sit. With a start, you realize you didn’t notice its absence and you don’t know when he took it off. When he speaks again, your eyes snap back to your feet. “Your ability to step away instead of rightfully lashing out at Kate speaks to your excellence and professionalism in your role, and shows me my faith is not misplaced.” 

You look at him, finding his brown eyes soft and apologetic. “Thanks.” 

He grabs your blazer off the ground and stands. He straightens his suit jacket, offering you a hand. You take it and rise, using the back of your other hand to rid yourself entirely of tears. 

With gentle hands, he slips your blazer over your shoulders, fixing the collar and brushing debris off the back. You let him fuss, knowing all the while his concern is another apology. 

“It’s far too organized to be just organized crime, by the way,” you inform him casually, as if remarking on the weather. 

He looks almost startled. “What?”

You tug on his arm and take the stairs two at a time back up to Kate’s floor. “Look.” He follows you as you burst back through both sets of doors into the conference room, stepping in front of Kate for access to the map. “We have more than one unsub. They’ve attacked different neighborhoods across Manhattan - all different demographic and socio-economic backgrounds. They’re trying to send a message, and each attack is a play to build their audience. If anything, our presence tells them that it’s working.” 

A look of realization crosses Hotch’s face, and he presses a hand to your shoulder, his fingertips squeezing just a little before he lets go. “Well done.” He turns to Kate. “We’re ready to update the working profile.” 

You keep your eyes trained on Aaron, but Kate’s clenched jaw doesn’t escape your notice. 

+++

“ Focused? From where I’m standing, your focus is on her .” 

It’s finally come to a head. Derek has absolutely lost it, rightfully so, in the middle of the federal building, while Hotch tries to keep the peace, and Kate looks appropriately chastised. 

You reach for Derek’s elbow with gentle fingers, but he shakes you off. 

“Take a walk. Now.” Aaron’s tone is nothing to trifle with, and it sends a shiver down your spine. 

Fuck. 

“Derek. C’mon.” You yank once on his sleeve and lead him out the doors. He’s pissed, almost vibrating with energy. 

You look over your shoulder exactly once to check on Aaron, who leans heavily over a desk. When he looks up, you turn your head before he can meet your gaze. 

Yes, it’s a punishment. Yes, he knows it. He'll get your attention once he’s earned it again. 

Derek cools off a little once you get outside, and he leads the way to the hotel bar. You’re sure you'd be better off returning to your post upstairs, but he needs you more than anyone else right now. 

You also don’t trust yourself to be in the same room as Aaron - the likelihood of losing your usually-endless patience with him is dangerously high. At this rate, you’d get yourself a first-class ticket to Suspension City - at worst ending with your removal from the unit. 

There was no way on this green earth that you’d end up off the unit of Hotch had any say, but your exhausted brain was only giving you the worst-case scenario at the moment. 

He sits heavily on a barstool and orders a Stella. You don’t comment on his choice to drink while on the clock. You take a water, and wait for him to speak. He doesn’t touch his beer. 

“Thanks for coming with me.” 

“Of course.” 

“You should go back.” 

Looking up, you see Rossi watching through the doors. “Alright, but you’re not getting out of anything.” By the time you’ve finished, Dave is at Derek’s other side, getting comfortable. You press a hand to Derek’s shoulder, leaving them alone. 

You take a few deep breaths before returning to the proper floor. Kate is in her office with Hotch over her shoulder. 

He looks up when you walk in. How’s Morgan?

“He’ll be back.” 

+++

You reach Emily with Derek and JJ, and she looks flustered. 

“Are you okay?” Derek takes stock of Emily, but you figure out there’s nothing to know about Cooper. 

Emily walks through the moments before and during the shooting, growing increasingly intense. You watch her as Derek digs and digs - finding the right questions for the answers she wants to share. 

“Wait,” you ask. “You think he deliberately shot someone where he could be caught?”

“What if he did?” Her eyes are wild, angry. “What if they chose this spot because we were here?”

“What are you thinking?” Derek leans forward, searching her face for answers.

She enumerates her points. “He had no ID on him. He waited until we caught up to him. He was strangely calm- it’s almost like suicide by cop.”

“Why?” You hear yourself ask. “Why would he do that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe to make us think everything was finished.” 

You look at Derek. He looks back at you. 

“We need to walk back through this profile.”

Just then, Aaron and Kate dip under the police tape and make a beeline for Rossi and Reid. Dave looks grim and you can’t hear what they’re saying, but you’re sure they’ve come to the same conclusion as you. 

Terrorism. 

+++

“So much for theory.” Dave uncrosses his arms and the room leaps into action. 

Kate grabs her blazer and looks at Aaron. “We need to hit the ground running.” 

“I'm gonna head to the hospital,” Emily says, already headed for the door. “I'll check on Cooper and brief detective Brustin.” 

“Good.” Aaron makes the rest of the assignments. “Dave, will you go talk to the commissioner.” He assigns you and Derek to Homeland Security for a briefing, and you grab your things. You will be Derek’s shadow for the duration, and you’re more than happy you’re with him. 

So why does something feel...wrong?

You look at Aaron, and his brow is furrowed. He meets your eyes. What’s wrong?

I don’t know . 

His mouth presses into a thin line. This first, then that. 

You nod, and he starts talking again. “Kate and I will go talk to the mayor And we'll meet back here As soon as possible.”

“One advantage That we have right now is that they don't know we know they're watching.”

For once, you agree with Kate. 

It’s about damn time. 

+++

You get into the car with Derek and head toward the DHS field office. 

“I’m proud of you, kid. You’ve done well.” 

Smiling a little, you thank him. “Though I do think we’ve pushed Hotch to the absolute limit this week, between the two of us.” 

He rolls his eyes, speeding down the shockingly barren New York streets. “If one of us isn’t, who is?”

“Rossi.” 

You both freeze as an explosion goes off. You don’t know where it is, but Derek turns around with a spectacular screech of tires. 

“Derek… What -”

“We’re going back. That’s not good. Let’s go.” He guns the engine, and you’re on your way back to the federal building with sirens blaring. 

His phone rings and he checks the caller ID as he answers. “Yeah. I'm still here.” He looks at you. “We’re still here.” 

“Yes, you are. Thank God.”

Garcia. 

“I'm almost back at the federal building. What the hell's going on?” 

“Alright, we're going over the closed-circuit footage right now.” You can hear her faintly through the phone, and he puts her on speaker. 

“Who else have you checked on?”

“You're the first. Rossi and Reid called me.”

“All right. Keep me on the line while you check on everyone else.” 

Emily picks up next. “Is everyone ok?”

Garcia tells her she’s got the both of you on the line, and she’s already spoken to Rossi and Reid. 

Your body is almost completely bowed toward Derek, twisted in the passenger seat. “Emily, where are you?” 

“I'm following detective Brustin to one of the NYPD’s Critical Incident Command Posts.”

“One of them?” Garcia’s confusion is only a little frantic, and you more than sympathize with her tangent. Anything is a better thought than the one you’re all sharing at this very moment. 

Derek explains the decentralization of the CICP’s following 9/11 - too many eggs in one basket. 

Garcia cuts him off, getting back on track. “Has anyone talked to JJ?”

Emily answers her. “She was headed back to the hotel.” 

“In an SUV? 

“I think so. Stay with me a minute. I'll dial her mobile.” 

JJ’s voicemail rings through Derek’s phone, and your heart sinks. “This is Agent Jareau, Communications Director for the FBI’s Behavioral--” It cuts off.

You lean over the center console. “What was that? What happened?”

Garcia’s voice is flustered when she answers, “It went dead mid-message.”

“Try her again. She's probably back at--” You lose Emily. 

You lose all of them in the middle of a sentence, and all the blood drains out of your face. Derek drops his phone into one of the cupholders and reaches out. You grab his hand, holding it in both of yours. 

This is a nightmare. 

Derek keeps driving, and you find a police barricade on your way back to the federal building. Derek throws the car into park and you both leap out of the car, flashing your badges at anyone who will look. You find the man in charge, but he tells you to get back to the federal building. 

Hot anger flies through you. 

Who does he think he is? 

You stick close to Derek, but startle when you hear Hotch cry out. Pressing along the barricade, you call across the block. “Aaron! Aaron! We’re here!” 

You get leave to go, and you and Derek sprint toward Aaron and Kate. He’s covered in blood, both his and Kate’s, and you get on one side of him while Derek crouches on the other side of Kate. Your hands flutter over him for a moment, one of them landing on the nape of his neck. The softness of his hair is the same as it’s always been, and it grounds you. 

“Aaron -” 

He’s not looking at you. “Morgan, we've got to get her out of here.” 

Derek throws his arm out to the side, outlining the situation. “They're not letting any ambulances down here till they clear the scene.” He turns to the man beside him. “Kid, you gotta get behind the barricades. Let's go. Go!”

“Go, Sam.”

“Good luck.” The kid sprints off, and Derek draws Hotch’s focus again. 

“Talk to me. Can we carry her?” He leans further over Kate, into Aaron’s eye line. “Hotch, can we carry her?”

“No, I tried. Morgan, she's gonna bleed to death if we don't get her out of here. We gotta do something.” The ache in his voice is horrible. You reach out, brushing some hair off Kate’s forehead. She’s cold to the touch, and you press your hand to the side of her face, willing your warmth into her. 

“C’mon Kate.” You whisper to yourself. She’s still not your favorite person, but Aaron’s agony as he literally holds her body together tears your heart in two.

Derek’s phone rings, and it’s Penelope. “Garcia, I got Hotch. But listen to me. You gotta get somebody down here right away, you hear me? Right now... What? You're absolutely sure?” Derek looks up, finding the kid standing by the shelled remains of the car. “Hotch. The kid. He's the bomber.” 

“Go.” Aaron’s voice is defeated, and you hesitate as your body coils to chase after Derek. Aaron looks at you. “Please. Stay.” 

You nod, and tuck in close to him, keeping one hand on his arm and another on Kate’s cheek. An ambulance pulls up, and you’re more than relieved. 

Hotch briefs the paramedic. “She's got an arterial bleed in her back and I'm doing my best to hold it closed.”

“You ok?”

Isn’t that the question of the hour? 

“I just want to get her out of here.”

That’s not a fucking answer, Aaron. 

You let it go, for now. He’s a mess, but he’s alive and he’s conscious. That’s what’s important right now. You tune back in. 

“You were calling for help and I couldn't listen anymore. My partner was too afraid to come in here with me.” 

Aaron leans into Kate, and your heart pulls again. “Kate, we're gonna get you out of here. We're on our way out of here.”

You help as much as you can, following instructions and making sure Kate’s stable. 

+++

When you’re all finished, you get into the passenger seat of the ambulance. Hotch is on autopilot and he shouldn’t be driving, but you’re ready to take over at a moment’s notice. 

When you’re stopped at the emergency room entrance, you flash your credentials as Hotch explains the situation as clearly as he can. The Secret Service agent reluctantly waves you through. Kate’s crashing in the back, and Aaron’s agitation flies through the roof. 

It’s a blur, but you finally end up in the hospital, shadowing Aaron. He collapses, and you cry out for help, holding his hands as he hits the ground. 

Everything's happening so fast. 

When will it end?

+++

“Kiddo, where’s Hotch?” Derek comes flying through the doors of the ER, and you throw yourself into him. 

“He’s fine. Massive trauma to his right ear and a shrapnel wound. Kate’s in surgery.” 

There’s a commotion from behind the open door, and you both rush in when you hear Hotch’s voice.

You get in between Hotch and the attending, doing your best to calm him down. “Aaron, Hotch. Calm down. Slow down. You’re really hurt.” 

“Where’s Kate?” 

You press your hands into his wrists, and he twists his arms, surprising you by gripping your forearms. “She’s in surgery. Your go-bag is on its way. Nothing’s happened since the first blast.” 

He looks somewhat placated but looks over at Derek. “Sam?”

“He’s dead.” 

Hotch releases you. “Morgan, the profile's wrong. Call JJ.” 

+++

“Are you ok?”

Yeah. I just want to understand why I'm still alive.” You help him with his vest, minding his shoulder. You’re not sure what’s wrong with it, but he’s favoring one over the other. He looks at you, and there are thanks in his brown eyes. You offer him a quick, soft smile but continue with your task, gently tightening the vest around his tender ribs, smoothing over the velcro with even pressure. 

You’re listening as they go along, talking signatures and bomb-making and all manner of horrific precedent. You pass two pieces of fresh cotton to Hotch, who immediately replaces the bloodied cotton in his right ear. He shakes his head with two deep blinks.

His ears are ringing something stupid right now, I bet.  

I wish I could do more . 

Just be here. Do your job. That’s what you can do. 

All at once, you figure out that the ambulance is the bomb. You spot Hotch as he moves (way too fast) down the hallway. 

Goddamn it, Aaron. 

+++

The bastard slit his throat. 

Fuck.  

The look on Aaron’s face is nothing short of disgust, and you’re sure yours matches. 

+++

You’re waiting for him when he walks out of the operating room. His eyes are hollow and they seem to look through you rather than at you. 

“Hotch - Aaron - I’m so sorry.” 

You didn’t particularly like Kate, but you know how much he cared for her. His pain often feels like yours - even more frequently, you can't parse his from yours. While you didn’t expect to mourn her, you find that weight in your belly anyway. Your eyes mist up against your will, your breath hitching in your throat. 

He doesn’t say anything, and your voice is almost desperate when you ask, “What can I do?”

Brown eyes flicker around the room. He looks more like a caged animal in this moment than in any other you’ve ever seen. You approach him slowly, and you’re not sure if he heard you. There’s still blood on his neck from his ear, and you’re terrified he’s lost his hearing for good. 

“Aaron?”

He finally acknowledges you when you’re close enough to him to take his hand. You catch him as he wilts, pressing a hand to the back of his head as he tucks his head into your neck. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Aaron.” 

He mumbles something into your shoulder, and you lean back, holding him up with your hands on his biceps. 

“What?”

“Call Haley. Tell her, please. They got along really well. She’d want to know.” 

You nod and guide him to a chair. He sits heavily, tilting his head against the wall. Pulling your phone from your belt, you ask, “Do you want me to stay here?”

He nods, his eyes closed. 

You dial the familiar number and hold the phone to your ear, settling down on his left so he can hear. 

Haley answers the phone, a question at the end of your name. 

“Yeah, Haley, it’s me. Hi.” 

“Hi. Is everything okay?”

You look at Aaron, who’s still and quiet beside you. “Not really.” 

“I heard about the bombing in New York, the murders...Is everyone alright?”

“We’re alright. Aaron’s fine - some mild injuries but nothing serious.” 

“Okay?” You hear the unspoken question. Then why are you calling?

“I was told you’d - um.” You take a deep breath, and it catches. Aaron flips his hand palm-up on his knee, and you take it. “I was told you were close with Kate Joyner, from the New York field office. She used to be at Scotland Yard?”

“Oh, yes, of course!” Her voice falters. “Wait. Oh, God…”

“Haley I’m so sorry.” You swallow some tears. “I’m so sorry, but she was killed in the bombing.” 

You hear a shaky breath on the other side of the line. “Oh.” There’s a pause, and you suspect she has more to say. You’re right. “Aaron told you to call, didn’t he?”

“Yes.” 

She sighs. “Can I talk to him?”

You look over and he nods, releasing your hand and holding it out. “Yeah, he’s right here.” She says something else, and you put the phone back to your ear. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I just wanted to thank you. Thank you for telling me.” 

You nod to yourself. “Of course. Here’s Aaron.” 

He takes the phone from you. An exhausted, “Hi,” leaves him. 

“Oh my God, I’m so glad you’re alright.” 

A little smile pulls at his lips. “I’m alright. How’re you?”

Her bright laugh echoes faintly through the phone, but there’s a solemn edge to it. “You’re asking me how I am?”

His eyebrows rise, his eyes still closed. “Isn’t that polite?”

You can almost see her suppressed smile. “It is. I’m fine. Jessica and I just finished dinner and put Jack down for the night.” 

“How’s Jack?”

You tune out, the exhaustion taking over. Aaron pats the seat on his other side and you shuffle around, tucking yourself under his open arm. Leaning against his shoulder, you close your eyes, letting the voices of two divorced people who love each other very much lull you into something that feels a little like sleep. 

Chapter Text

“in addition to unfinished business, some ghosts haunt so that they will be remembered.”
donna lynn hope

june 28th, 2008

4x02 the angel maker

+++

“The Angel Maker. I remember the case.” 

It’s a fairly normal start to the week, with a case packed and ready for you at 10am. Aaron was out of the field for a week or so with his injuries, but his presence at the round table and the go bag you spotted beside his desk this morning warms you. 

He’s back. Not completely, but that’s better than not at all. 

“They caught that guy.” Reid’s flipping through the case file, but you know he’s got one ear open. 

Rossi’s on the same page, and finishes Reid’s thought. “And executed him.” 

“That’s right,” JJ says. “He was put to death by lethal injection a year ago yesterday.” 

You release a little breath you were holding. “Yesterday?”

That’s a clear enough trigger for a fanatic. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen something like this, either with your tenure at the BAU or in previous case studies at the academy. It was always a little shocking - the lengths people go to complete the work of the devil they romanticize...

Derek throws a finger at you as if to say Exactly. “So we’re looking for a copycat.” 

“Honoring the anniversary of his hero’s death.” Dave sits back in his chair, almost satisfied. You smile a little. 

The confidence of a seasoned profiler. 

Aaron catches your smile, and his lips pull just the barest amount. You shake your head, suppressing a wider grin. 

Funny, isn’t it?

His brows tug. What?

It’s so...normal. And so predictable. You sit back, peering at Aaron over your copy of the file. He huffs (you recognize it as a laugh, though the rest of his face remains exactly the same) and turns his attention toward Reid, who’s still flipping through the file. 

“It says here they found semen at the crime scene. Perhaps locals will get a DNA match through VICAP?” When you follow Aaron’s gaze to Spencer, you’re not surprised to see him already absorbed in the latter half of the report. 

“See, that’s where things get weird.” Her face screws up. “They already ran it, and got a match.” She throws the file toward you, and you open it. 

“If they already have a name, why’d they call us?” Emily’s confusion is swallowed up in your own. 

“You’ve got to be kidding.” You look over at Hotch, who takes the file from your hands. “The match they got back on the DNA is to Courtland Bryce Ryan -” 

Hotch lets out a sharp huff. “The Angel Maker.” You meet his gaze again. 

This is going to be a weird one. 

“Wheels up in thirty.” 

+++

You lean against the back of Hotch’s chair, peering over his shoulder as ideas bounce around the cabin. He’s focused on Reid along with the rest of you as the younger agent spins a theory. 

Derek’s the first one to question his particularly amusing line of thought. “Reid, you’re not seriously floating the idea of an evil twin, are you?”

“No. I’m floating the idea of an eviler twin.” Reid looks dead serious, and Hotch glances up at you. You shake your head a little, and he shrugs before restoring his attention. “Traditionally the concept is good twin and an evil twin. But in this case, it’s evil twin, eviler twin.” 

You swallow a laugh as both Derek and Emily look at him like he’s grown three extra heads all at once. 

Before any of you can say anything, Aaron’s hand rises to his forehead and his face scrunches up in pain. You place a hand on his shoulder from over the seat, patting him for his attention. “Hotch?” 

He hums something that sounds like, “Yeah?”

“Are you cleared to fly?”

He sucks in a breath to cover a wince, and you take that as a no. 

You sink your hands into his hair as he tips his head back against the seat with his eyes closed. The tips of your fingers find the little pressure points around his head, and you lean forward, keeping your voice soft. “Does that help?”

He nods, just a little, and you’re satisfied. You look at Derek over Hotch’s head, and he looks just as concerned as you feel. 

+++

“I give you a legacy. A breath of life from the Angel Maker himself. Those who prayed to forget me will one day see my face and shrink in fear.” Reid recites aloud from the letter, and you listen with your head propped on your hand. 

The sheriff sighs and crosses his arms. “That’s the last thing people need right now.” 

“Reid, how does that compare with the original correspondence?” Derek ignores the sheriff, redirecting his attention to the letter and the genius holding it. 

You jump on Derek’s line of thinking. “It can’t be authentic, can it?” You drop your hand from your chin and lean toward Spencer, feeling Aaron hover over your shoulder. 

“They share some compelling characteristics. I’d obviously like to look at it under a magnification under a better light…”

Obviously.

Hotch’s voice almost startles you, right by your ear. “Best guess, Reid?”

“I’d say it’s authentic.” Rather than looking at Hotch, he looks at you. Your furrowed brow speaks for everyone present. 

“How can it be authentic if the guy’s been dead for over a year?” Looking over at Hotch, you hope he has something better than paranormal speculation. 

He doesn’t disappoint. “It could be an elaborate forgery.” 

“Or,” Reid adds, “it could be a genuine article, just written before his death.” 

You hum. “That's my favorite of the theories so far.” 

The sheriff shakes his head, coming up on your other side. It’s almost comical the way you’re all crowded around the letter. “Mail here isn’t that slow.” 

Derek’s the only one who hasn’t joined you. He’s still happily posted up at the desk, leaning against it with his arms crossed. You glance at him before offering, “Could have been released through an intermediary.”

“You mean the copycat?” Reid asks. 

Nodding, you suggest, “He could be buried in those visitor logs - we’re checking them out now to see who visited Ryan and how often.” 

Derek finally joins you. “That’ll narrow the suspect pool.”

Hotch flinches again and his fingers press to his brow as the front door opens, allowing the rush of a truck to sound through the room. 

“Hotch?”

He waves you off. “I’m fine.” 

Liar. 

There’s nothing you can do. 

+++

You’re with Derek in one of the interrogation rooms, going through letter upon letter from Ryan’s time in prison. “What happens if Hotch actually loses his hearing?” You can’t help the overwhelming notes of concern coloring your voice. “I mean, what are we going to say to Strauss? ‘Excuse me ma’am, if our unit chief goes deaf because he won’t fucking slow down, can he still be our unit chief?’ I mean - “

You shut your mouth as Hotch walks into the room. Shame floods through you. It was more than unkind to talk about him behind his back as it was, and here you were - broadcasting your worst fears about his condition to one of your closest mutual friends. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean -” 

Aaron once again waves you off. “It’s alright.” He comes to rest beside you, and you reach for his arm in apology. 

“How are you feeling?”

He shakes his head, and Derek leaves the two of you alone, closing the door behind him. Hotch looks over his shoulder, satisfied that you’re on your own. 

“Dizzy. Nauseated. Tired.” It’s like a checklist - matter-of-fact and without bias. 

You take stock of him. The cuts on his face are healing nicely, and the bruise on his cheek is fading. The bags under his eyes, though, betray the lack of sleep. “What can I do?”

He shakes his head with something that isn’t a smile if you don’t know him. “Nothing. Just keep doing good work.” 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt. “I didn’t mean to be insensitive earlier.” 

“I know.” 

“I’m just worried, is all.” Your voice tapers off at the end of your thought, just a little embarrassed. 

A little breath leaves his nose, and you know it’s sort of a laugh. “I know.” He presses a hand to your shoulder for a moment before diving into one of the boxes himself.

+++

Hotch walks quickly, and you keep up as best you can as he informs the sheriff, “I have to advise against this.” 

“All due respect, this isn’t your town. I have to convince them that Courtland Ryan is dead and buried.” 

Hotch glances back at you, and you shrug. 

Small towns. Serial killers. What are you gonna do?

The cemetery is relatively quiet, the sleepy town waiting for something to happen with bated breath. It’s not like anyone would be taking late-night walks anytime soon. 

His head tips, and you know he agrees. Nevertheless, he turns back toward the sheriff. “You’re indulging the killer by perpetuating the ruse he’s created.” 

Nice. Five dollar words for the two-bit sheriff. 

“He’s right. It may embolden him. Prompt more murders.” Emily says, watching the proceedings with a discerning eye. You can only agree. 

The sheriff shakes his head. “Celia lost her only daughter to that murdering bastard. We met when I was working the case and had gotten close. I thought we were past all this, but...I guess I was kidding myself.” 

The crane starts up, and there’s a sinking feeling that you’ve forgotten about something as the chains tighten and begin to lift the coffin. All at once, you remember and turn as Hotch steps away, his hand over his ear and the other pressed against his brow again. 

You hover beside him, not sure what to do. Pressing your hands to his forearms, you do your best to shield him from some of the sound with your body. 

He makes a weak attempt to wave you off, but his voice startles you. It’s so small as he insists, “I’m alright. I’m fine. Just -”

“Hotch -”

“I’m okay I’m okay I’m okay. Yeah.” 

You don’t believe him for a second, but as the noise decreases, so does his agony. He removes his hands from his ears for a moment. He’s blinking rapidly, looking simultaneously dazed and far too aware. 

“Aaron…”

He shakes his head. “Don’t. I’m fine. I’m okay.” 

Your lips press into a thin line and you remove your hands from his arms. “Take it easy. I can’t make your life hell if you can’t hear me, alright?”

Your teasing has the intended effect, and he levels you with his signature glare that’s only halfway playful. 

+++

“The victim is Maxine Chandler. The neighbors say she’s lived here her whole life. All twenty-eight years of it.” 

The house is infused with the presence of children - play structures, toys, the whole nine. Aaron voices your thoughts. “How many kids does she have?” 

“None of her own. She runs a daycare. The guy who called 911 came here to drop off his toddler and found Maxine in her bedroom.”

That’s an eventful morning. 

“Well,” you note, “now that we have more than one victim, we can compare victimology.” 

Hotch nods, and you meet his eyes for a moment. “Different data points should help us significantly narrow the profile.” 

“I’ll get JJ to bring us the files on the first victim.” Morgan says, his phone already in his hand. 

“What did you find?” 

The coroner runs you through his findings, and they’re not much different from the first murder, but there is one notable difference. 

“Nine puncture wounds,” Emily notes, her dark eyes roaming over the body. 

You’re close to Hotch, watching them bounce off each other. It’s always inspiring to watch them. As close as you and Aaron are, you were deeply impressed but his professional relationship with Emily. There’s part of you that chalks it up to your age - they are only two years apart. They form their own little age bracket on the team while you, JJ, and Spencer make up the younger strata. 

More often than not, the three of you were able to keep up with each other just like Emily and Aaron. 

“Can I have your pen?” Emily asks.

“Yeah.” Hotch pulls the pen from his inside pocket, handing it over into her eager hands. “What is it?” 

You wait as she doodles something into her notepad before her head whips up. “She did this.” 

“What do you mean?” You’re not following, and you can tell Hotch isn’t either. 

“The unsub. She made this before she made the puncture wounds.” 

Hotch tips his chin, understanding. “That’s why the coroner found paper in the wounds.” 

“It was a template. The Angel Maker did it from memory, but she needed a guide to get it right.” 

You pull your phone out, already dialing Reid as Hotch says. “We need to go back and re-examine each of the patterns. Where’s Reid?” 

“Spence. Hey. We have something for you.” You pass the phone and a little smile to Hotch, who takes both with a grateful look. 

Emily watches the exchange, feeling suddenly like an outsider - almost an intruder. There’s something between you two, always has been, but this moment is such a clean-cut outline of it. You’re constantly anticipating the needs of the other, ready with a warmth and fondness at a moment’s notice. 

She sees it again when he presses your phone back into your waiting hand. You take it and brush past him as he turns over his shoulder to follow you out the door. It almost looks choreographed. In fairness, you’d both done it what feels like thousands of times before. 

When you pause in the living room, both turning at the same time when Derek calls for Hotch, a shadow of a thought crosses her mind. It’s gone before it’s truly there, and she lets it go. 

+++

Reid’s finally cracked it, and you’re all crowded around him again as he explains what he’s found. He profiled the author, figured out the cipher used by the Aryan Brotherhood, and generally made use of his insane brain. 

You find a smile breaking out over your face as you listen to Spencer spin. Hotch leans over and whispers, “He hasn’t let loose in a while, has he?” You’re standing on his left, of course, just in case. 

Shaking your head, you laugh a little. Emily’s looking at Spencer like he’s from another planet. She pokes him and voices the thought you’ve all had at least once. “He’s so lifelike.”

Her comment gets a laugh out of you and a smile out of Aaron. You’re warmed by it. 

+++

You clear and search Chloe Kelcher’s house, staying firmly attached to Aaron’s seven o’clock position, right off his left shoulder. 

“Alright. We all know what the endgame is. She’s looking for her final victim. She may have already chosen one.” Hotch looks around, suggesting assignments with the flicker of his eyes around the house. “Let’s tear this place apart, look for anything that might tell us who she’s targeted.”

You follow Hotch and Derek into the nursery, noting the stars on the ceiling. The crib captures your attention - the carefully placed onesie indicating the pain of a woman in denial. Your brow crumples, and Aaron steps up beside you, nudging a couple of stuffed animals out of the way as a cursory search. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just...thinking.” The trigger is as clear as a neon sign, and you’re sure much saner people would break down like this at the loss of a child. There’s a silent prompting as he stands beside you, waiting for you to elaborate. “I dunno. I can just see how someone close to reasonable would be in bad enough shape, not to mention someone as unstable as our unsub.” 

He sighs. “It must have devastated her to think that she could hold on to Ryan by having his child and then lose the baby.” 

Derek hums from across the room, joining the conversation. “Completing his murders became the only way she could hold onto him. 

Something strikes Aaron then - something intangible. He turns and opens the trunk in the corner of the room. It’s contents pull at your upper lip. 

“Not the only way.” 

Derek raises his eyebrows. “Guess that answers that.” 

+++

You reach the final victim’s house, and you can only hope you’ve made it in time. Hotch immediately assumes authority, leading collaboration between the BAU and local law enforcement. He assigns Derek to find an opening into the house, while he directs the sheriff to bring all the cars to the front, no lights. 

He finds a megaphone for Emily, and you take your place at his left side, crouched to take the low firing point through the car’s open window. 

“Hit the lights.” 

All at once, it’s bright - nearly daylight. Emily starts talking, and you’re singularly focused on the front of the house. The windows, the door, and the curtains are all within your purview. You glance up at Hotch, who glances down at you. He unholsters his weapon, and you bump his hip with your elbow and return your attention to the front of the house

“Go into the pouch next to my extra magazines.” 

You can sense rather than see his frown. 

“Just trust me. Open it.” 

His hand finds your belt while he continues to scan the area, unclipping the pouch. You hear a huff of laughter as he finds what you left for him. 

“Put one in your right ear and don’t argue with me.” Your voice is still low, but you dropped into the tone you learned from him, only half-joking. 

He rolls his eyes and stuffs the foam earplug in his bad ear before unholstering his weapon. 

“Door.” 

“Chloe. Drop the gun.” Aaron’s voice is heavy with authority, and the sheriff backs him up. 

The world slows down when she raises the gun toward you all, and the sheriff fires. Despite the earplug, he immediately collapses, dropping his service weapon at your feet and covering his ears with his hand. You holster your weapon and turn toward him on sheer instinct. 

You retrieve the gun, checking the safety and slipping it into your waistband. When you return your attention to him, he’s almost folded completely into himself, pained groans leaving him. Rossi beat you to him, half-holding him up, but he shifts Aaron to you when you reach them both. 

“Aaron.” You wrap him in your arms and he takes some of his weight as his feet get back under him. He leans into you, and you do your best to support him. “Hotch, are you okay?”

He reaches out, finding your arm and gripping tight. You stay steady, almost in tears. It’s agonizing to see him in pain. 

“I’m okay. I’m okay.”

+++

The next day, it’s decided he’ll drive one of the cars home, instead of taking the plane. 

You laugh as Derek throws the keys at Spencer. Hotch steps up beside you, throwing his go bag in one of the cars. Going out on a bit of a limb, you ask, “Want any company?” You keep your voice low, just in case anyone’s listening. First of all, you don’t want to out yourself in front of your colleagues - they all know how much you care about him and you don’t want them getting any ideas. Second of all, you know how Hotch gets when he’s alone too long. 

He raises his eyebrows for a second, but Dave interrupts his thought before he can share it with you. “Why don’t you two drive together? It’ll be a better trip with some company and you can’t stand the rest of us for more than three hours at a time.” 

Hotch snorts. “Fine.” He looks over at you and you shrug and throw your go bag in the backseat with his. 

“I’m good with that. What are you thinkin? Straight through, or are we taking a couple of days?”

Dave pipes in again. “I think a couple of days could do you both some good. It’s been a long couple of weeks.” 

You and Hotch look at each other. You look back at Dave. “Good idea. See you Tuesday?”

He nods and joins the rest of the team in the other car, slipping into the passenger seat. 

+++

The car is quiet for the first half-hour or so. You’re driving - it’s the only way Aaron can hear you in the car, so you’ll probably nap or post up in the backseat when it’s his turn. 

You glance over at him before you hit the state line. “You’re thinking very loudly over there.” 

A smile pulls at his lips. The heel of his hand supports his cheekbone as his elbow rests on the window ledge. “Am I?”

“Mhmm.” 

He shrugs a little. “It’s weird not driving.” 

“Ah. So that’s why you’ve been silent for the last…” you check the clock on the dash, “thirty-nine minutes.” 

There’s silence, and you wait for him. It’s another thing you’ve learned about him in the last year. Sometimes he’s quiet, but he never forgets the question. 

“I’m thinking about Kate.” 

There he is. 

You prompt him a little, intrinsically knowing he needs a direction. “Did she have family?”

He nods. “A sister. She’s flying in from London for the service, but their parents are gone and she wasn’t married, so...That’s it.” 

Still looking at the road, you reach out, wrapping your fingers around his forearm. “I’m so sorry, Aaron.” 

His hand covers yours for just a second. “Thanks.”

You pull back, adjusting your grip on the wheel. A question pushes at your lips, but you roll it around in your head before you really consider asking it aloud. 

“You can ask.” 

Your head whips toward him for just a second in surprise. “What?”

“You can ask,” he repeats, the shadow of a smile crossing his face. “I know you want to.”

You concede with a little chuff. “Fine. What...happened between you and Kate?” 

“In what sense?” He’s totally fucking with you, and you shove at his shoulder. 

“You know exactly what I mean.” 

He shakes his head. “Alright, fine. There was…” he searches, “a moment when she and I were working together on the Scotland Yard case that something...happened.” 

“Something?”

“Well,” he amends, “nothing actually happened, but let’s just say she had a couple too many and made her intentions very clear.” 

Can’t blame her for that one. 

Yeah, and that’s why we don’t get drunk with everyone else. Shit happens. 

You glanced at him, suppressing a smile. “So what happened?”

“Obviously, she was pretty out of it, so I took her back to her place and made sure she was settled for the night with a glass of water and some aspirin.” A smile cuts through his huff of laughter. You’re not surprised to hear mourning in it, too. “She was miserable in the morning, and called me to ask what happened the night before. I may have... very loosely implied that something happened, just to save her the embarrassment.” 

He pauses, and you know he’s a little reluctant to be this vulnerable - you’re almost sure he never expected to tell this story to anyone, let alone you. 

“The attraction was mutual, so I didn’t feel too bad about omitting her…” he searches for a word again, “forwardness. It was - is - something I respect about her both personally and professionally.” 

“Did you ever tell Haley?”

He shakes his head. “I told her the truth - that she needed some help getting home, I set her up for the night, and came right back. She wasn’t thrilled, but she and Kate got on well enough that she didn’t mind after a little while. I think she was more annoyed that I got home so late when I didn’t have to stay out, now that I’m thinking about it.” 

You laugh a little. “That sounds like her.” 

“She wasn't always like this, you know.” His voice takes on something a little more pensive, and you settle deeper into your seat to let him know you’re listening, even if your eyes hardly stray from the road. “We had a ridiculous amount of fun together when we were younger - first married, I was fresh out of law school, everything ahead of us and all that.” He heaves a sigh. “It’s really only since Jack was born that things got...bad. 

He pauses, thinking for a moment. “I wish I could explain the work to her - I sometimes wish she could see it, even though I never want her to see the things we see every day.”

“I get that. It can’t be easy knowing that we’re your family, too, and even that’s difficult to explain.” 

There’s silence, and you know there’s a tacit agreement in it. 

His next comment comes a little from left field, but it makes you smile. “She likes you, by the way. She really does.” 

“Good.” You glance over at him. “I’m glad.” 

There’s something he wants to say, and you raise your eyebrows expectantly, knowing he can see it in your profile. 

“Would you want to come over sometime and spend some time with Jack? I -” he exhales and tries again. “It’s sometimes...weird to have him all to myself.” He laughs a little. “I almost don’t know what to do with him all day.” 

A real smile breaks across your face. “I’d love to.” 

He nods, satisfied with himself. “It’ll be nice for Haley to see you as well. I know she feels a little cut off these days.” 

“Understandable.” 

Another bout of silence fills the car. It’s comfortable. Safe. 

“Thank you,” he says, after a long while. 

You look over, letting your eyes wander down his profile for a moment. “Of course.” 

+++

You stay at a little motel off the highway, pulling over after about four hours on the road. It’s only a little ways back to Fairfax, where you’ll drop him off at home before returning the car to Quantico, but Rossi’s right - it’s nice to take some time. 

In two separate double beds across the room from each other, you wish each other good night in the dark. 

Chapter Text

“le vrai est trop simple, il faut y arriver toujours par le compliqué."
( "the truth is too simple: one must always get there by a complicated route.")
george sand, correspondence

june 30th, 2008

+++

The beds are across from each other, not too far. Just enough space to make it feel deliberate. You’re tucked into the far one, the lamp clicked off with a satisfying snap, leaving only the dim gold of the bathroom night light spilling through the cracked door.

Aaron's already lying down. One arm folded under his head. His body still.

“Good night,” he says, voice low.

“Good night,” you echo.

The silence is immediate. Whole. Like something settling between you rather than stretching.

You stare at the ceiling. It would be easy to fall asleep like this. Safe. Steady. Tired down to the bones. But neither of you does. Not yet.

A minute passes. Maybe more.

Then, softly, “Thank you.”

You turn your head on the pillow. “You already said that.”

“I meant it both times.”

You smile to yourself in the dark. “You’re welcome. Both times.”

Another pause. Then, quieter, he says, “You startled me a little.”

You glance toward the faint shape of him. “At the house?”

“At the cemetery,” he clarifies. “When it got loud. When I—” He doesn’t finish it.

You do. “Folded.”

A beat. “Yeah.”

You nod against the pillow. “You can still hear. That’s what matters.”

You hear him shift slightly. The creak of sheets. Then nothing.

Eventually, he murmurs, “Thank you. I didn't expect you to do that.”

You’re still. Not because you’re surprised. But because you know what it costs him to say it out loud. “I didn’t think," you assure him. "I just...did it.”

“I know,” he says. “That’s why.”

The silence after that is longer. Fuller.

You breathe in once, slow. Out again. And you say the only thing you can. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He doesn’t answer right away. But you feel the weight of his agreement in the dark.

Not a vow. Not a confession. Just a shared truth, resting between two beds.

And then, finally, his voice again—barely audible. “Sleep well.”

“You too.”

And this time, you both mean it.

+++

It’s a rare thing, waking up warm and rested. The sheets are cheap and over-bleached, the bed isn’t yours, and the window unit hums like it’s been running since 1997. But none of that seems to matter. Your body feels like it slept —all the way through, no jolts, no middle-of-the-night startles.

Across the room, Aaron is still in bed, one arm folded under his head, the blanket askew. He’s already awake. You can tell by the shape of his breathing. Slow, steady. Quietly observant.

You don’t say anything.

You just sit up and stretch, rubbing your eyes. He shifts slightly, and the mattress creaks.

“Morning,” you murmur.

He nods once. “Morning.”

There’s a peaceful silence, and then, from your side of the room, “I slept like the dead.”

That gets a real sound out of him—something between a laugh and a hum. “Me too.”

You look at him. “Seriously?”

He sits up, slow, presses a hand to the back of his neck. “That hasn’t happened in...months.”

You can’t help but watch him in the streaky light from the window, only half-covered by the curtain. His hair is floppy, the t-shirt he wears almost an entirely foreign sight. 

You shake your head. “Me either.”

It’s a simple thing, but it feels like a win. Something unremarkable and quietly extraordinary.

+++

The motel lobby smells like burnt coffee and powdered eggs, but it’s warm and quiet. A rack of individually wrapped muffins sits beside a plastic bin of apples that all look a little bruised. There’s one waffle maker.

Aaron hands you a styrofoam cup and lifts a brow. Coffee?

You nod. “Absolutely.”

You sit across from each other at a two-top tucked into the corner of the room. His hair is still damp from a quick shower, and he’s wearing a soft long-sleeve shirt and jeans that make him look more like a dad on a road trip than your unit chief.

You poke at your yogurt container. “Do you think it’s suspicious when breakfast is served exclusively in plastic and foil?”

Aaron raises his cup. “Only if you’re expecting it to be good.”

You grin. “Fair.”

He takes a bite of an oatmeal bar and watches you for a beat, quiet. Thoughtful.

“You seem better today,” he says. “Less stressed.”

You nod, surprised by the honesty of your answer. “I feel better today.”

He tilts his head. “Because the case is over? Or because you slept?”

“Because you let me keep you company.”

He blinks. Not because he’s startled—but because he’s processing it, letting it settle where it belongs.

“You’re not used to people saying that,” you note.

“I’m not used to people meaning it,” he says.

You shrug. “Well. Get used to it.”

+++

You refill your coffee before heading out. He warms up the car. You stand beside him at the trunk, go bags tossed back in place. The morning, mountain air is crisp, even in the summer sunshine. 

He starts the engine as you slide into the passenger seat. Glances at you.

“You good?”

You fasten your seatbelt. “Better than good.”

He nods. Puts the car in drive. And you pull out of the lot like you didn’t just sleep the sleep of the dead across from one of the few men you trust with your whole life.

Because today’s a driving day.

But it doesn’t feel like a return to the real world.

Not yet. Not with the road ahead still quiet and open.

+++

The windows are down. The road curves gently, climbing along the ridge as the two of you go out of your way for the views, and the air smells like pine and sunlight. His sleeve’s rolled up. Neither of you’s said much since you left the last gas station, and it hasn’t felt strange at all.

Aaron’s left hand rests loosely at the top of the wheel. His sunglasses are on, but you can tell he’s not focused entirely on the road. Not distracted—just thinking.

You glance over. “Talk to me.”

He doesn’t look at you, but he does speak. “You ever have one of those days where your body’s tired, but your brain’s finally...quiet?”

You hum. “Yeah. Feels rare.”

He nods once. “That’s what today feels like.”

The next pull-off comes up fast—a gravel arc jutting out from the road, with a narrow view down into the valley and a sky so blue, the clouds so wispy, it almost looks painted.

Aaron signals without thinking and turns off.

You wait until he cuts the engine before speaking. “Didn’t have you pegged as a scenic overlook kind of guy.”

He finally looks at you. “I don’t stop enough.”

You smile. “We’ll work on that.”

+++

The gravel crunches beneath your boots as you step out. It’s warm, but not hot—the kind of mountain summer day that feels earned. Like the reward for surviving a cold winter and a wet spring.

Aaron circles around to the front of the SUV, glancing over the ridge, then back at the hood.

You eye it too. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

He raises an eyebrow. “That you’re going to dent the government vehicle?”

You hop up lightly, settling near the edge of the hood with your legs crossed. “Please. This thing’s seen worse.”

He hesitates for half a second—then joins you, moving slowly, his placement careful and purposeful. But he ends up next to you, his sneakers resting on the front bumper.

The sun’s on your skin. It’s so quiet.

You tilt your face to the sky. “This is what I want more of.”

Aaron glances sideways. “Sunshine?”

You shake your head. “Stillness.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment.

Then, softly, “Yeah.”

You study his profile. “You said you and Haley used to come out here?”

He nods. “Once or twice. Before Jack. Haley packed this huge picnic. Way too much food. She said, ‘It’s not about what we need , it’s about what we might want .’”

You smile. “That sounds like her.”

He looks down. “She was lighter. Back then.”

You nudge him gently with your shoulder. “I hear you were, too.”

He huffs. “Do you now?”

You nod. “I think so. I see it sometimes. Sneaks in.”

His voice goes quiet. “I’d like to be that way. When I can.”

You both go quiet again. The wind picks up. A bird calls out somewhere in the trees.

After a while, you say, “You’re really different outside the office.”

He turns to you, a dimple appearing. “So are you.”

You shrug. “We wear masks. At least in the beginning.”

“Still?”

You meet his gaze. “Less now. No longer on my best behavior, and all that.”

Aaron looks out over the mountains again, his dimple deeper than before.

You stay like that for a while. Quiet. Sun-warmed. Open in a way neither of you usually are.

And somewhere between minute fifteen and twenty, the distance between colleagues who must trust each other and people who care gets just a little bit smaller.

The heat of the hood bleeds through the fabric of your jeans as you lean back on your palms, soaking in the sun like it’s something you haven’t felt in months. Aaron’s still beside you, sitting straighter, elbows on his knees, hands folded loosely in front of him.

You don’t speak for a long time.

The birds are busy in the trees below. A hawk cuts silently across the sky. The wind smells like pine needles and distant running water—damp soil and ferns.

Eventually, he says, “I don’t think I’ve done this since Jack was a baby.”

You tilt your head, looking over. “What? Sat still?”

He almost smiles. “Stopped somewhere without a plan.”

You hum. “Well. Technically, this is federal land. So we’re still on the clock.”

That gets a low, genuine laugh out of him. It surprises you—not because he doesn’t laugh, but because it’s so real. So easy. You glance at him from the corner of your eye.

He’s looking at the horizon. But then, slowly, his gaze shifts.

To you.

You’re still angled toward the sun, eyes closed now, lips parted just slightly, like the day has melted your guard a little. There’s a calm on your face he’s never seen at Quantico. Not in a briefing room. Not on a jet. This version of you belongs only to the open road and the heat of the hood and the sky that never seems to end.

Aaron watches you for just a second longer than he should.

There’s something about the curve of your cheek in the sunlight. The way your lashes catch it. The way your foot brushes the bumper like you’re fully settled here, like you’ve belonged in this moment all along and he’s just lucky to have caught it.

He looks away before you open your eyes.

But you catch it. Or maybe just feel it.

You look over at him, smiling, a little squint in your eyes from the glare. “What?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. Sorry.”

You nudge his knee with yours. “Liar.”

He gives a slow shrug. “Just... thinking.”

You don’t press him. You never do.

But you do keep your eyes on him a little longer than necessary before tilting your face back to the sky.

“I like this version of you,” you say.

He glances sideways.

You add, with a smile, “The one that takes the detour.”

+++

Eventually, the light shifts. The shadows grow long across the gravel. You both know it’s time to keep moving, but neither of you rush it. You didn’t expect to sit out here all afternoon. You’ve practically meditated the whole time. 

Aaron’s the first to slide off the hood, his boots crunching softly as he lands. He offers you a hand.

You take it without hesitation, fingers curling into his, your weight in his hand only until your feet hit the ground.

+++

Later, after a pit stop and a granola bar from a gas station, you’re back on the road and Aaron’s telling you about his first argument in federal court.

“He tried to have me removed from the courtroom.”

“Who did? The judge?” you ask, crinkling your granola wrapper.

“Defense counsel. Claimed I hadn’t passed the bar. Thought I was the intern.”

You blink. “What did the judge say?”

“She looked at him, then at me, then said, ‘Mr. Hotchner has made more convincing arguments on paper than you have in person, counselor. Proceed.’”

You’re laughing now. “Oh my God. Can I embroider that on a pillow?”

“Not if you plan on giving it to anyone else.”

+++

Later still, with the sun starting to shift golden behind your visors and the trees, he tells you about his first lost case. You ask what happened, expecting a mistake. A misread. Something painful.

“Guy represented himself,” he says instead. “Securities fraud. Called himself a patriot . Said he was liberating the funds. Swore the Founding Fathers would’ve laundered money too. Cited the Constitution and Declaration of Independence several times.”

You blink at him.

“The jury bought it,” he says. “Acquitted him. He hugged the bailiff on his way out.”

You let out an incredulous bark of a laugh. “Ah. I see. You’ve been chasing justice ever since.”

“Chasing sanity,” he corrects. “Justice is a bonus.”

+++

One more story, just before the Sperryville exits.

“This reminds me of the case I tried near here,” he says. “I decided to use a PowerPoint. Thought it would help the jury follow the case law.”

You raise a brow.

He sighs. “The projector broke. Half the jury couldn’t see it. The other half fell asleep.”

You smile. “You PowerPointed them into a coma.”

“I was twenty-seven and very committed to clean design.” He pauses. “It was, however, the nineties and Microsoft Office left something to be desired.”

You lean back in your seat, still laughing. “Hotch, you’re perfect.”

He shakes his head, but he’s smiling. Really smiling.

And not for the first time, you realize how rare that is.

Chapter Text

“sometimes divorce is the best thing that can happen to marriage”
bangambiki habyarimana, the great pearl of wisdom

october 7th, 2008

jack's third birthday

+++

“So, how do you know the Hotchners?” A handsome man, probably just a little younger than Aaron (but significantly shorter), asks, filling his plate beside you.

“I work with Hotch - Aaron - Jack’s Dad - at the DoJ.” You keep your tone neutral, polite. There’s something off about him - he’s a little overeager, a little too comfortable in the Hotchner house. 

“Ah,” he says. “A profiler.” 

With a little laugh in your voice, you ask, “Are you familiar with the field?”

“Haley’s told me a little bit, but I wouldn’t call myself an expert, no.”

“I see. Do you know Haley well?”

“Yeah, my son is in Jack’s preschool class.” There’s still something he’s not telling you, but nevertheless, he sticks his hand out and you shuffle your plate to take it. “I’m Joseph. It’s nice to meet you.” 

Joseph. Not Joe. 

What happens if you call him Joe? 

Pin that for later. 

You introduce yourself and continue to make small talk for another few minutes, noting that he’s filled a second plate - you can only assume it’s for someone else. 

Let’s keep an eye on this one…

+++

“I’m so happy you all could make it.” 

You jolt back into your body after zoning out for a couple of minutes, finding yourself alone at one of the patio tables with Haley. A smile breaks across your face. “Me too.”

She snacks on a chip, delicately covering her mouth as she asks, “Is there anything exciting you’re all working on right now?”

Since when is Haley interested in cases? 

“Kind of. I head out to Colorado with Emily and Spencer tomorrow to go visit a religious cult on a compound in the mountains.” She laughs, and you follow suit. “So, it’s the little things, I guess.” 

“Very few things have changed, then?”

You nod, a knowing smile on your face. “Exactly.” 

There’s quiet for a moment and your eyes wander across the yard out of habit, taking stock of all the preschoolers running around, their parents at the perimeter. 

“Oh!” She sits forward, pulling her knee to her chest and propping her heel on the edge of her chair. 

You look back at her expectantly. 

“Did you like the book? Catch-22 is one of Aaron’s favorites. I think I wrote that in the note, but…” She gestures vaguely. “I thought it would be helpful.” 

Smacking your hand to your forehead, you laugh a little. “Oh, it was! I completely forgot to send a thank-you note, Haley, I’m sorry.” You lean forward conspiratorially. “I loved it. It was such a thoughtful birthday present. Thank you” 

Her nose scrunches up as she smiles. It’s adorable. “Good. I’m so glad.” 

+++

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Dave sidles up to you, eating a piece of cake. 

You follow his gaze, where Haley, Joseph, and their boys are kicking a soccer ball around. Haley’s full of laughter and unnecessary touches, but that’s not a new observation. 

You’ve had Joseph-not-Joe’s number since he first spoke with you. He seemed far too interested in getting to know the people close to Haley to be without ulterior motive. 

“I’m seeing something. I’m not sure what it is, yet.” You take a sip of your drink, letting your eyes wander. 

“Not for nothing,” Dave says, “and, of course, this stays between us -” 

“Of course.” 

“- But Aaron thought Haley was seeing someone before they got divorced, in the spring before you joined the team.” 

You hum. “Interesting. Do you think this is the guy?”

This is definitely the guy. 

“Well, there’s more to their relationship than ‘our kids go to preschool together,’ don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I do.” Your eyes wander to Aaron, who’s chatting with a couple of the parents, Emily at his side. He’s distracted, also focused on Haley and Joseph with the boys on the other side of the yard. “Give me a second, would you, Dave?” You absently hand him your drink as you cross over to the small cluster. 

“Hey, Hotch,” you put a hand on his shoulder with an apologetic smile to the mom you just interrupted. “I think we have a little bit of a crisis in the kitchen. Can I steal you for a minute?”

With a grateful look only you and Emily pick up on, he says, “Sure.” With a rueful smile and wave to the other parents, he leaves Emily to her own devices. Much to her (and your) relief, JJ and Will are on their way, ready to save her from the inane conversation. 

“What’s up?” Aaron asks, his brow just a little furrowed. 

Triple checking that the house is empty, you lead him into the kitchen and lean against the counter, crossing your arms. “What’s going on with you?” 

His eyes flicker around the room before settling back on you and his jaw is tight. Somehow, he’s still trying to avoid you when you’ve made it impossible. “What do you mean?” 

You level him with a Really? look. “Tell me.” 

“Fine.” He leans back and mirrors you, crossing his arms. With only a little bit of reluctance, he shares, “This is the first big event…thing since the divorce and I -” He huffs. “I don’t know how to be a divorced parent when I’m…in front of people? I don’t know.” 

You cross the kitchen and lean against the counter beside him, the heels of your hands resting on the marble. “You’re not alone. We’re here with you and nobody expects you to be perfect.” You laugh lightly. “There are at least seven divorced couples out in your yard right now. Weirdly, it’s normal.” 

He shrugs. “I guess.” His eyes wander to the window, where Haley and Joseph are still visible with some of the other parents, seated around one of the patio tables. Joseph’s arm rests casually on the back of Haley’s chair. 

That’s it. 

“What’s going on with those two?” You pointedly match his focus and Aaron sighs. 

“Did I ever tell you I thought Haley was seeing someone before we were divorced?” 

You shake your head, only a little thrilled he’s choosing to share this with you so soon after Dave read you into the secret. 

“I think that’s the guy.” 

“I was wondering about him, myself. He seemed a little…eager,” you say with a laugh. 

Aaron rolls his eyes. “He thinks he’s subtle, but I’d also imagine it’s rough to be the mistress when the ex is an FBI profiler.” 

You snort. “True.” 

Aaron’s hand covers yours and you look down, the contact shooting a spark through your arm and down your spine. 

Isn’t that the biggest cliche on the planet? 

“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you for being here.”

You look up again, meeting his eyes. “You’re welcome.” With a smile, you add, “I’ll always be here to save you from suburban moms and your ex-wife’s boyfriends.” 

The smile you get in return warms you from your scalp to your toes. 

+++

A couple of hours have passed, and Aaron settles into his role as the birthday boy’s dad. He’s been particularly demonstrative with Jack, but it’s all genuine. He chased him around the yard, threw him over his shoulder, covered him in kisses, and just generally lavished him in all the love of which he’s bereft while away on cases. 

It’s simultaneously weird and very normal to see him with that face-splitting grin. It looks at home there, and you wish you had the pleasure of seeing it more often. 

Watching father and son together is something special. The resemblance is often uncanny, even more so now as Aaron has Jack propped on his hip, chatting away, almost nose-to-nose. You’re only aware of the soft smile on your face when Jessica, Haley’s sister, plops down beside you. 

“Those two are something else, aren’t they?” She says with a little smile. 

You nod. “Two peas in a pod, for sure.” 

You’re both quiet for a moment, watching Haley jog up to the two of them, her cheeks flushed in the autumn chill. She lays a hand on Aaron’s arm as she speaks, her other hand rising to Jack’s face to rub some frosting off his cheek. 

“How’s it been on his end? Being apart?” 

You look over at Jess. “It’s been alright. He stays even later in the office, if you can believe it -”

“Is that even possible?”

“You’d be surprised,” you laugh. “I’ve been thinking about getting him a shock collar or something so I can train him to be home by eleven.” 

She snorts. “That would be a sight, wouldn’t it?”

The two of you share a raucous bout of laughter, drawing the attention of both Aaron and Haley. Their confused looks only make you laugh harder, and pretty soon you and Jess are clutching each other for dear life. 

You don’t know her well, but you imagine you’ll jump that hurdle. You’re already halfway there. 

In fact, the original thought isn’t even that funny anymore - you’re just laughing for the sake of it. It feels good.

+++

You find yourself next to Haley as the cleanup proceedings begin. She’s got a little smile on her face, and you take a moment to admire just how lovely she is. 

Haley, you think, is a bit like the sun. She’s bright, but will burn the shit out of you if you’re not careful. 

She glances up at you, blue eyes warm in the waning October sunshine. “Thank you.”

You hold up handfuls of wrapping paper and shrug. “No problem. Happy to help.”

“No,” she laughs. “I mean thank you for looking out for Aaron.” She lowers her voice and leans in toward you. “I know he’s not always cooperative.” 

You suppress a rueful smile. “Haley, I don’t -”

She lays a hand on your arm. “I know. Just…” Her eyes wander across the yard, where Aaron’s passing (a very pregnant) JJ a glass of water. “Thank you.” 

“I wish I could say it was my pleasure but…” you pull a yikes face and it makes her laugh again. 

+++

You end up spending much of your time together as she thanks guests and people start to go home. There’s a kind of camaraderie that develops between you and it feels like you’ve known each other for years. 

Her temperament tells you a lot about Aaron. The way they must have functioned together through the years. They’re so different, complementary, but you can see how things could get heated fast between them (good or bad).

She’s surprisingly affectionate by nature, her fingers glancing over your shoulder to direct you to tasks you’ve offered to help with, pressing a kiss to her sister’s temple as she passed her on the porch, holding onto Aaron’s forearm when she’s talking to him, and most notably, embracing Joseph by his car as he leaves, lingering only a little longer than she should. 

Nevertheless, you’re almost impressed by their restraint. You haven’t caught them on anything major, and it’s been close to eight hours since he arrived. You’re sure you haven’t seen the last of Joseph-not-Joe. 

Haley wears her emotions on her face. She can’t hide a thing. It’s refreshing. 

+++

You lean on the porch railing, enjoying the crispness of the early autumn evening. Dave stands beside you for a while in silence. When he’s had his fill of your tacit company, he kisses you on the cheek and bugs out with Spencer. 

Will takes JJ home a few minutes later. There’s a little smile on your face as you watch her take his arm down the front path, leaning on him. 

They’ll do well together. 

Soon, everyone else is gone, and you’re only a little concerned you’ve overstayed your welcome. Jess tells you you’re being ridiculous as you rearrange the fridge for leftovers. 

“When has my sister ever kicked anyone out of her house while they’re still of use?”

You take a moment, fighting a smile. “Thanks, Jess.” 

“As far as I’m concerned, the BAU is part of my extended family.” She bumps your shoulder. “And family is always welcome in a Brooks house.” 

+++

Even when it’s time for you to go home, it isn’t. 

Jack almost breaks down in tears when you kneel to hug him goodbye, so you’re trapped. It’s not like you can leave him, right? Not when he holds you hostage with those big brown eyes. 

Identical to Aaron’s. 

Funny enough, you can’t deny him anything either. 

Oh, that’s enough. 

Haley catches you by the forearm as Jack runs back to his dad, who gently launches him onto the couch. “You can sneak out, if you want to go home. I’ll distract Jack.” 

You raise your eyebrows. “And leave you without your buffer? Not a chance.” 

You’re rewarded with another laugh and she lets you go, shaking her head. She can’t say you’re wrong. As much as she and Aaron can fitfully coexist on their own, it’s much more comfortable with you around. 

Haley might love him, but she doesn’t always like him. You, for some reason, make it easier to like him.

She resolves to think a little more about that, for future reference. 

About twenty minutes later, you assume your role as the buffer and land between Haley and Aaron on the couch, with Jessica on her other side. Jack’s stretched out across all of you, his head in his mom’s lap and his little arm hanging off the edge. You managed to find a movie he actually wanted to watch, but you suspect he’ll be long asleep by the time it’s over.  

Aaron’s phone buzzes and he maneuvers it out of his pocket. Being nosy, you peer over him without disturbing Jack. 

Strauss.  

He answers it, quietly. “Hotchner.”

You can feel Haley’s disappointment and residual resentment without even looking at her. 

He continues to speak in hushed tones, drawing little patterns on the back of Jack’s calves as he does so. “Ma’am, I’ll take care of that when I’m back in the office…No ma’am, I’m with my family at the moment…Yes…Thank you, ma’am…You too.” Aaron takes a second and silences his phone, stretching a little to set it on the end table. 

You’re sure the rest of you are wearing matching expressions of shock. 

“It can wait.” He shrugs like it’s nothing and turns his attention back to the screen.

Turning to look at Haley, you find her staring at Aaron with a kind of soft surprise and pride in her eyes. You feel a little like an intruder, so you drop your eyes to the back of Jack’s t-shirt under your fingertips. 

In the rapidly-approaching darkness, Haley reaches for your hand and you take it, your hands landing on Jack’s little shoulder blade. You drop your head onto Aaron’s shoulder, leaning into the casual familiarity of the moment.

It’s nice to feel like family. 

“Thank you,” he says. It’s hardly a breath, let alone speech. 

You nod once. Anytime. 

If either one of them asked, you’d keep them from tearing their heads off forever. It’s not a far reach from your everyday responsibilities, you already do it for Aaron and Derek. Trading out one temper for another is almost easy. 

Aaron looks down the line when the credits start to roll, finding Jess and Haley with their eyes closed, leaning against each other. You’ve been out for a little while, now tucked under his arm where it’s stretched across the back of the couch. One of your hands still loosely holds Haley’s while the other rests on the middle of Jack’s back. His lips twitch up into a smile as he rests his head against the back of the couch. 

Maybe it will be alright.

Chapter Text

“faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens.”
j.r.r. tolkien, the fellowship of the ring

  october 8th, 2008

4x03 minimal loss

+++

“Everyone just stay calm!” 

Nancy - the child advocate traveling with you, Emily and Spencer, turns, assuring you with a naive and placating smile, “I’m state police. I’m an officer of the state.” 

Stupid. Stupid!

“Well, there’s nothing we can do right now.” Emily, ever the voice of reason, assures from behind you. 

“We just have to calm down.” Your useless attempt at de-escalation is overrun by gunfire. 

“I can talk to him.” Lunde turns to go, and you reach for the back of her shirt, trying to pull her back. 

You manage to get past the goons in the front, while they stop Emily. There’s only one chance. “No, Nancy! Wait.” 

As you run after her out of the tunnel to the main level, you give her more and more space. The noise and smoke is a little overwhelming and you almost lose her in your confusion and distraction. Cyrus shouts to cease fire, but it’s in vain. The gunfire echoes around you, and you can’t help but think of Aaron. 

What if I don’t come home? 

She rushes to the front of the building, by the window, and addresses Benjamin. “Mr. Cyrus, let me talk to them.” 

You catch up to here in the chapel, reaching for her arm to pull her back to safety when something stops you. You can’t feel it at first, but when you watch Lunde drop to the ground, you know. 

Fuck. 

Hitting the deck right away, you put pressure on the gunshot wound that’s torn through your left shoulder. You breathe deeply, fighting the panic you know will only hurt you more. The shock still numbs the pain and when you look, it seems through and through. The back of your blazer is ripped through, and there’s a hole in the wall behind you. 

That’s a comfort. 

The last thing you needed was a .223 round bouncing around in your chest. You’re grateful enough it didn’t tear your arm off entirely.

You crawl around the corner and press yourself against the wall. With a groan, you remove your blazer and tie it around your shoulder as best you can. You chance a glance at Nancy, but she’s already gone - unseeing eyes turned toward the ceiling, her hand limp on the carpet, blood blossoming across the chest of her teal blouse.

Damn it.

Cyrus’s men shout around you, and it feels more and more like an active warzone with every passing second  

“Man down, man down! We can’t stay here!” 

“Hold your fire!” 

You breathe as deeply as you can, tucking your arm to your belly and closing your eyes. The gunfire slowly ceases, the movement around you becoming only a little less frantic. 

Aaron will know. He’ll find us. We’ll be okay. 

Your shoulder twinges. The adrenaline is starting to wear off, and you only hope you go into shock soon for the sake of your pain tolerance. 

Aaron, please. Please hurry. 

+++

“Morgan.” JJ bursts through the glass doors and unmutes the television in the corner. 

“What’s up?” 

She increases the volume, and they hear, “… a routine question and answers meeting by Colorado Child Services has turned into a violent and deadly standoff between Colorado authorities and a fringe religious group known as the Septarian Sect.” 

Morgan stands, ready to leap into action. “JJ…That’s not the ranch were -”

“They’re still inside.” 

Derek’s voice rockets across the office as he calls for Hotch, who immediately ends his call and leaves his office, leaning heavily on the banister. Derek tells him you’re still in there, with Reid and Prentiss. 

“…at least three child services members are still trapped inside the compound.” 

No. 

Aaron swallows heavily, 

Keep your head, Hotcher. It’ll be okay. 

Phones start ringing all at once. Everyone looks to Aaron, and he’s already back in his office, grabbing his things. He flies back out, blazer slung over his shoulder and go bag in-hand. “Wheels up. Now.” 

+++

You watch as they haul Lunde’s body out of the way. Someone helps you to your feet. You’re feeling pretty dizzy. 

“Can I have some water? Please?” You know for certain you’re in shock now, and keeping your blood pressure and volume high enough is the only way you’ll make it out alright.

“We’ll get you what you need after we take you back to your people.” 

There’s always been a little part of you that believes in the nugget of humanity in people. Today, it might just save your life.

Emily rushes to you as you step down into the basement. Reid hovers, nervous and watchful. Emily’s voice is steady. “We need water and medical attention.” 

“First aid kit is in the corner.” Cyrus points and Reid jets off to grab it while Cyrus continues giving direction. Someone hands her three bottles of water, and she sets them by your side.

Emily’s hand flutters over your forehead as if checking you for fever. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Through and through. Just gotta stop the bleeding.” You know you’re slurring your words a little bit, but it’s not as bad as it could be. 

“I prayed this day would never come, but it has.” Cyrus shoulders a rifle. “God will see us through.”

Fuck. 

Cyrus’s eyes linger on you and Emily a little longer than is comfortable, but that’s the least of your worries. Spencer returns with the kit, pulling out packing gauze and wrapping. 

Emily helps you with your blazer and shirt, leaving your shoulder exposed to the mountain air. Spencer packs your wound while Emily starts wrapping the gauze around your ribs and shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay.” 

You put a hand on her arm. “I know. Thanks.”

+++

Hotch comes to a screaming stop in the SUV, his suit jacket long gone in the Colorado heat. He immediately makes assignments. “Dave, I’m making you lead negotiator.”

“Me?” Dave asks. 

“Why go to the students when I have the teacher?” Aaron’s eyes are probing and hold all the respect in the world for his dear friend. 

“Because the teacher is emotionally involved!” Dave cants his head toward the compound, and Aaron’s eyes follow, as if searching for you. Dave’s eyes stay steady on Aaron - watching him look for you. “And so is the Agent in Charge.”

With a defeated sigh, Aaron cops to it. “I know I am. This is a unique situation.” At Dave’s squint, he continues. “We have three agents who could affect the outcome on the inside.” His voice is low and riddled with tension. The concern radiates off of him in waves, and he can only hope it passes as concern for the whole team. 

In truth, it’s almost all for you. He can’t explain it, but he knows something isn’t right.

“I can’t be objective. I know them too well.” Dave does everything he can to pull Aaron from direct control, but he knows it’s a lost cause. More than one part of him knows why. 

Aaron’s jaw tightens, and he’s more intense than before when he replies, “This outcome depends as much on our ability to predict the moves of our team as Cyrus. That’s why you’re the best man for the job.” 

“Assuming they’re still in a position to make moves.” 

The thought is near-unbearable. He softens, taking another approach. 

“I know how bad this is. That’s why I want you doing the talking.”

“Alright.” 

Aaron claps Dave on the shoulder, and it’s a silent thanks. Before they can move, there’s more commotion around the back of the FBI staging area. 

Goddamn it. What now?

“…I’m sorry sir, I’m under direct orders from the FBI.” 

Dave and Aaron share a glance, and Aaron leads the way to the argument. 

“I’m the Attorney General of this state.” 

He can’t help it. A smirk crosses Aaron’s face. 

Lawyers. Alright. I can do lawyers. 

There’s also a part of him relieved that he can offload some of this stress into some kind of altercation. An opportunity to flex his Juris Doctorate never hurts. 

“I demand to know why I wasn’t told that the FBI was sending undercover agents into the Septarian Ranch -”

Alright. That’s it. 

Aaron turns, an insulting kind of disbelief on his face. Steadily and without haste, he approaches. “The only thing that you’re in the position to demand is a lawyer.” A spike of anger strikes his chest. 

He knew about this raid. He knew and he failed to tell us. 

And now his people are in trouble. 

You are in trouble. 

“Who the hell are you?” The overblown AG turns on Aaron. 

Big mistake. 

“I’m Aaron Hotchner. Unit Chief. I’m the guy who’s gonna tell the Attorney General of the United States whether to charge you with obstructing a federal investigation or negligent homicide.” 

And it’s not an empty threat, dipshit. 

“You can’t talk to me like that.” Was that a smug smile on his face? 

Aaron steps up to him, nearly nose to nose. The adrenaline and anger and fear flood through him and leak through his words. “Get off my crime scene.” 

Hard brown eyes stare down weak blue ones. Aaron wins. 

+++

“Then leave us alone.” Cyrus’s voice belies no tension as he paces. Your eyes follow him, much more alert now that much of the bleeding has stopped and you have some water in you. Emily strapped ice to your shoulder about twenty minutes ago. You might end up with a little nerve damage, but it’s better than bleeding to death. 

Cyrus is close enough that you can hear both sides of the conversation. 

“I’m afraid we can’t do that, Benjamin.” Dave takes a breath, delivering the information steadily. “One of the police bled out on the way to the hospital. So let’s just stop this before things get worse.”

Aaron’s brows, already low, get even lower. Derek, hovering behind Rossi, takes note. The tension in his unit chief is different and he doesn’t know what it is. 

“Please,” Dave continues, “just put down your guns and come out.”

A buzzing takes over Aaron’s senses for a moment, and he shakes his head to rid himself of it. He reaches down for a bottle of water, downing half of it before he puts it back down. 

“Now, the four child service workers…” That catches Aaron’s attention, and he snaps to. “One of them is dead. It wasn’t us.” 

You bite your lip, watching Benjamin pace near the door. That phrasing will do nothing but panic your team, and you know it. Tipping your head against the wall behind you, you throw out anything you can. 

I’m alright, Aaron. We’re okay. 

Aaron’s head drops and he wets his lips. He closes his eyes, doing his best to keep himself from running straight for the compound. 

No. Please. I’ll get what I get for wishing it’s someone else, but please let it be someone else. Anyone else.

What if it was Prentiss?

What if it was Reid? 

Guilt floods him and he pushes the thoughts aside. 

Dave keeps his voice clear and even. The depth of Aaron’s gratitude and respect is ineffable. There’s nobody better for the job. “I need a name to inform the family.”

“Her name was Nancy Lunde.” 

Aaron nearly collapses in relief, pushing away the guilt as it rises in his sternum. 

“One service worker was shot in the same altercation, but we have provided medical care and the wound is non-lethal.” 

Say my name. Say my name, please. 

He doesn’t, and you grind your teeth together. 

Dave nods, glancing at Aaron. “Okay. Now, please, Benjamin, send out your wounded, including the injured service worker. I promise they’ll be taken care of.”

“With enough supplies, we can tend to our own.” 

“Okay, I’ll need a few hours to put them together. I’ll bring them up myself at first light.”

You can’t hear what Dave says on the other end of the line, but Cyrus’s lack of reaction can only be a good thing. 

“You should get some sleep.” Emily, sitting next to you, checks over your wound again. Spencer’s on your other side with his eyes closed, but you know he’s not sleeping either. 

Closing your eyes, you reply, “I can’t.” Nevertheless, you reach for her hand. She slips her fingers into your palm. “Mm. Your hands are warm.” 

“Well, yeah. I didn’t get shot today.” She’d usually jostle you with a jab like that, but she knows better - obviously. 

+++

When first light comes, you open your eyes. You’re not sure, but it was likely you got at least a couple of hours of sleep. There’s a lot you don’t remember from the night before, but you know they shuffled you up to the chapel at some point. 

Probably a good thing. 

The ice has melted and your arm is all wet. You check your dressings and find them working well enough. They’ll still have to be changed, but you can’t deny the effectiveness of Emily’s instruction and handiwork. 

A car door closes outside. Emily stirs, immediately reaching for a nearby bottle of water. She hands it to you after she takes a couple of sips. Shuffling around Spencer, you take it with your good arm and drink as much as you can. 

Wait. Didn’t Spencer say you could do a transfusion with coconut water?

Do I even need a transfusion? 

Yes. 

Oh. Thanks. 

A knock on the door startles you out of your half-delirious thoughts. You’re grateful for the distraction. The feeling increases tenfold when Dave walks into the chapel.

Aaron’s nearby. It’ll be okay. He probably put Dave on this himself. 

“The children, and our guests.” Cyrus gestures to you, proving to Dave that everyone is in fact, relatively, alright. 

You turn your head (ouch) and meet Dave’s eyes. Looking back down, you’re satisfied he knows you’re alive. 

“I was hoping you’d let me take the children,” Dave says. 

Benjamin shakes his head. “Nah. They’re our protection.” 

We are, too, dumbass. 

The two men chat for a moment. Your heart feels like it grows three sizes as you listen to Dave do what he does best. 

It’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. 

You have to believe it. 

After Dave leaves, they make the three of you stand off to the side while they pour wine for everyone present. Emily starts whispering, and you know she’s profiling the adults. It’s probably smart, but all your energy is focused on remaining upright and ignoring the throbbing ache in your shoulder. 

+++

Dave jogs back up to the staging area and assures them you’re all okay. He relays your condition to Aaron, “…but it looks alright. Well-dressed and not bleeding through.” 

Aaron nods. So that’s what the feeling was. You’re alright, but it’s still wrong. He shoves down something else that scares him a little. 

That’s a problem for another time. 

Is it a problem, though?

Yes. 

“He’s too calm. It’s - It’s like he was waiting for this to happen and now that it has, he feels vindicated.” 

Aaron rounds the table and comes to rest at Dave’s side. They’re in full strategy mode. The opportunity to stretch their abilities is welcome, but they both wish it was under better circumstances with lower stakes. 

His hands flutter uselessly at his sides. Restless energy still rockets around his limbs and he hates it. He hates feeling so deeply out of control. 

“I have a signal!” 

Derek, Dave, and Aaron flock to their headphones, tuning in just in time to hear Cyrus inform the congregation they have all ingested the poison together. 

+++

Emily’s eyes shoot around the room, and you know what she’s thinking. 

The profile didn’t indicate mass suicide…

This doesn’t fit.

He continues to deliver his sermon and you tune out, focused on the faces of Cyrus’s followers. Right now, they’re more revealing than he’ll ever be. 

+++

“This doesn’t fit.” 

Dave voices Aaron’s thoughts exactly. It quickly devolves into discussion of a breach, and Aaron brings a hand to his forehead. He’s ready to go. 

“If we go in there, people are going to die.” 

Aaron’s hand flies out to the side. “People are already dying.”

Rossi’s eyebrows raise, and Aaron tries to keep his hackles down.

+++

“What do we do?” Emily whispers. 

Spencer shakes his head. “Nothing.” 

“We have to do something,” you hiss. “These people just took poison.” 

Spencer shakes his head. “Cyrus just told them he did and I think he’s bluffing.” 

Emily’s brow crumples. “Why do you think that?”

Spencer’s following observations make sense - the notes, the watching armed bystanders. It’s strategically sound for Cyrus to weed out the weak in his congregation. 

After a moment, Cyrus admits it was a test of faith. “…Watch each other for signs of weakness. You are your brother’s keeper.”

+++

Frustrated, Aaron runs his hands through his hair. “Tell ‘em to stand down.” 

The tension is getting to him, as is the lack of sleep. Dave made him lay down overnight, but he never once closed his eyes. He was worried about Prentiss. He was worried about Reid. 

He was worried about you. 

I almost got all of them killed. 

Step it up, Hotchner. You chose Dave for a reason. 

Listen to him. 

+++

“…well into its second day, the standoff at the Septarian Sept ranch has now been taken over by the FBI. There was much speculation in regard to hostages…”

Aaron hovers behind JJ, completely tuned in to the news. This could be disastrous. 

“…But anonymous sources inside the state attorney general’s office have told us there is an undercover FBI agent currently being held inside the Septarian Sect ranch.” 

This is disastrous. 

Everyone reacts, but Aaron walks away. He can’t face this right now. There’s too much to do, too much to think about. 

Don’t do anything stupid. 

He only hopes you can hear him, somehow. 

Please don’t be a hero. 

+++

Cyrus enters, all bluster and confidence. 

Shit. Something happened. 

“Which one of you is it?”

You all just stare at him. He pulls a gun from his waistband and you jump a little. The movement twinges your shoulder, and you let out a small wince. 

“Which one of you is the FBI agent?”

Spencer is the first to speak. “Why do you think one of us is an FBI agent?”

Yikes, Spence. Question for a question. 

Wait. Maybe it will work. 

Something in you tells you to keep your mouth shut, and you do. The last thing you want is to screw up whatever Spencer’s cooking up. His brain moves a lot faster than yours. 

Don’t do anything stupid. 

“God will forgive me for what I must do.” 

You can feel your eyes widen as Cyrus raises the gun to Spencer’s head. You’re completely frozen, as if something’s physically holding you in place. 

Don’t be a hero.

You’ve been shot, idiot. Your shock response is all over the place. 

No, it’s different. 

Yeah. Sure. 

You roll your eyes at yourself, but quickly cover it by crinkling your face up in what you hope looks like confusion. 

“I - I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Cyrus looks at you and you shake your head, doing your best to look like a deer in headlights. “One of you does,” he says. “Who is it?”

Before you can open your mouth, Emily jumps in without hesitation. “Me. It’s me.” 

Spencer looks at her like she’s grown a second head. Cyrus lowers the gun and you take a breath. You don’t have much time to recover, though, as Cyrus snatches Emily by the hair and drags her out of the room. 

Your breath catches and you leap to your feet with Spencer. The dizziness doesn’t phase you, but your concern for Emily certainly does. 

Don’t cry. 

Don’t be a hero. 

There’s a gun to your head and you do your best to relax. You raise your good arm into the air, as if you could be a threat with a half-inch hole through your shoulder. 

Shit. 

+++

Between your gunshot wound and now listening to Emily getting the shit beat out of her, this is a bad day for Aaron. 

Someone else hauls you by your bad arm into another room, and you can’t help but yelp. They need to listen to Emily now, so you do your best to stifle the urge to cry out. You’ll answer all the questions as quietly as possible. 

They need to hear Emily. 

Aaron, please have ears in there. 

+++

Aaron very nearly throws the headphones off. He’d know your voice anywhere, even raised in pain. The overlapping cacophony of anguish breaks his chest wide open. 

“We gotta go in.” He stands and removes his headphones, unable to listen any longer. 

Rossi shakes his head, still tuned in. “We’d be risking the lives of everyone in there.” 

+++

You can hear Emily through the wall, and you bite your tongue until it bleeds. The man (who still has a hold on your arm), throws you into a chair. You let out a small wail, but cover your mouth with your good hand before speaking. “Please, I -”

“Did you know?”

“No. No.” They need to hear Emily. 

“Tribulation breeds resilience,” the man says, dropping close to you. His thumb digs into your wound. It’s too much and you internally apologize to Aaron as you let out a sob. “God rewards the resilient. He rewards those who cleanse themselves of evil.”

“Please -” 

He shakes you and man does it hurt. The pain shoots from your shoulder to your fingertips and zings all the way down your back. You’re hot and cold at the same time and don’t have the energy to fight it anymore. You break down, and sound falls from your mouth as the man continues to preach at you, all the while tweaking and twisting and squeezing your shoulder. 

+++

“He’s got them both.” Aaron stands, his palms pressed flat to the table. Hearing you in that kind of pain ignites something white-hot in his chest. He hurts for Emily, too, but at least she’s still able to talk. 

“I can take it.” Emily’s voice rings clear through the headphones, and they all freeze.

“Wait - Wait. Listen to what she’s saying.” Dave gestures to Aaron, who reluctantly tunes back in. 

“I can take it.” 

Derek scoffs. “She’s antagonizing him.”

“She’s not talking to him.” Rossi remains firm. 

Aaron’s hands get lost in his hair, restless and frustrated and useless. He takes a breath and ignores the sting behind his eyes. “She’s talking to us. She’s telling us not to come in.” 

He knows Emily. She’s just as smart as she is strong and wouldn’t antagonize Benjamin on her own. 

There’s a particularly vicious commotion and Emily falls to the ground with a sharp groan and a cough. 

That’s it for Derek. He throws his headphones off and starts to pace. Aaron’s the only one who leaves the headphones on. Even then, his eyes mist up and his jaw is so tight he’s almost afraid his teeth will shatter. 

+++

You slump back against the chair. “I’m sorry she lied to you. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” The words choke out of you with a gasp. Your shoulder screams and the pain is truly breathtaking. 

Emily will forgive you for throwing her under the bus - you know you’d forgive her if the situation was reversed. 

Cyrus throws the door open. “The agent’s going upstairs. The other two are clean.” He looks at you with a certain degree of contempt and you keep your eyes on the floor. 

Don’t do anything stupid. 

Don’t be a hero. 

Why those two phrases keep echoing around in your head, you have no idea. Nevertheless, they’re both good reminders. 

You’re returned to Spencer and slide into a chair. You tip your head back against the wall and listen to Cyrus question him. 

Why didn’t Spencer get beat up?

Not that you wanted Spencer to get beat up, of course, but it all seemed a little inequitable. You’d already been shot - isn’t that enough excitement for one day?

“On the next call, you should test them.” 

Oh, how I love you, Spencer Reid. 

He continues. “Test the negotiator. Make him prove he isn’t a liar.” 

This would only work if they had ears in the building. If Spencer has faith, so do you. Tears prick at your eyes and you think of Aaron. 

Please tell me he didn’t hear me. Please tell me they only had ears on Emily. 

You’re still the baby of the team, the newest, the youngest. You know that’s why Aaron watches out for you so carefully. He’s just protecting you. 

At least, that’s what you choose to believe. The other option is ridiculous, absurd, and nothing but wishful thinking. 

Don’t be a child. 

Spencer has Cyrus right where he wants him. You suppress a smile and hope it passes as a grimace. 

“What about you?” Cyrus turns on you and you’re proud when you don’t flinch. “What do you think?”

You shrug with your one good shoulder. “It’s a good idea, and the offer to exchange a child for information is a show of good faith. I’m sure they’ll appreciate that.” 

+++

Dave and Aaron share a glance. 

“They’ve got him.” 

A swell of pride crashes through Aaron’s chest. It’s just because you’re his youngest agent - the most time, the most potential. He has to keep you safe, he reasons. It’s the right thing to do. 

That’s not the only reason. 

He shakes his head, but the thought has its claws dug in deep. 

+++

As Cyrus reads the list of names, Emily appears at your side again. 

She looks awful - half her face painted with red and purple bruises, with more blossoming under her collar. You almost laugh aloud when she asks, “Are you okay?”

“Emily, you’re asking me if I’m okay?”

She huffs. “I didn’t get shot. Just a little beat up. We’re good. It’s not as bad as it looks.” 

Spencer’s mouth presses into a thin line. You both know she’s lying. “I’m so sorry.” Moments later, he relays the information for both your ears and your team outside. 

Cyrus looks at you, and you almost think he’s going to let you go, but his gaze slides past you. Spencer approaches him and they speak in hushed tones. 

When they’re through, Cyrus gestures to Emily and a pair of goons. “Take her back.”  

Emily looks only the slightest bit alarmed as she’s taken back upstairs by the arm. If Spencer’s in, and Emily’s out, where does that leave you?

You elect yourself Reid’s shadow, silent and always right off his shoulder. Cyrus doesn’t seem to mind too much and if he does, he doesn’t show it. 

+++

“Drugging the food isn’t an option because of the children. We’ll have to go in.” The whiteboard marker twirls between Aaron’s fingers as he thinks. 

“Indeed.” Rossi, from his place in the corner, says, “The best time to hit them is when they’re least mentally prepared.”

“3am. Biorhythms are at their low point, then.”

“We need a diversion,” Derek notes. “Something that plays into his expectations.” 

Humvees, then, are clearly on the docket. As are bright lights and all the flash and glamour of federal law enforcement. 

Hotch and Morgan begin to volley, both men processing and paying close attention. 

“The plan depends on our people separating the diehards from the followers -” 

Derek interrupts, finishing Aaron’s thought. “And delaying Cyrus’s diehards from reacting to our assault.” 

“No, that’s not my main concern. They know what they need to do.” 

“So what is your concern?”

“Letting them know when we’re coming. The whole thing hinges on them being ready for us at 3am.” A thought comes to him then, and he reaches for a sharpie and a lid. Maybe your weird understanding of each other will come in handy, or Spencer will be looking for those signs he alluded to with Cyrus. 

Either way, it’s the only option. 

+++

Downstairs with Spencer, something catches your eye. 

Wait a minute. 

You’d know that blocky, left-hand-slanted lettering anywhere. Aaron. 

Spencer sees it, too, and you share a glance. You offer him a little smile, and he nods, understanding you completely. This might just work. 

“I know what you’re thinking.” Cyrus startles you a little, and you step closer to Spencer. Your wound dressing has yet to be changed today, and the heat radiating off your shoulder has made you a little jumpy.

Just my luck to survive all of this and die of an entirely treatable infection like a sickly Victorian child. 

“You don’t have to be a part of this. You can go.” He addresses the both of you, and you bite your tongue again. You have to trust Spencer’s plan, and you know he has one. 

As you suspected, Spencer says, “I would prefer to stay. Somebody needs to tell your story.” 

“I’m glad it will be you.” Cyrus turns his gaze to you, and you nod. 

“I’ll stay.” 

He softens a little and calls someone over. In what feels like seconds, you’re sitting down while gentle hands clean and re-dress your wound. It hurts like all hell, but you’d rather do this than throw the whole damn arm out. 

As you sit, Cyrus’s plan becomes clear. Explosives seem to pass from hand to hand without hesitation. 

Where’s Emily? 

+++

Aaron has no idea how long he’s been staring at the compound. He’s wound tighter than a spring, his body all straight lines of stress as Rossi approaches him. 

Finally, Aaron says, “I know I can’t go in there.” There’s too much at stake, too much on the line, too many emotions. He knows, somewhere in the back of his mind in a place he won’t acknowledge, that he would prioritize you. 

So, he can’t go in there. 

Dave nods. “I’m going.”

“If something happens to Prentiss or Reid or…” he trails off, unable to speak the thought aloud. “I - I don’t know.”

Dave looks over at him, understanding all the things he can and can’t say. “You’re not alone.”

+++

You can feel a shift in the air as 3am creeps nearer and nearer. Outside, inside, it’s all alive with activity and anxiety. You hug your arm to your chest, nursing a bottle of water. With fresh dressings, you feel a little cleaner, a little safer, but you know it’s an illusion. 

“Something’s wrong.” The goon’s observation brings Cyrus to the front window, and even over his shoulder, you can see the humvees advancing on the compound. 

Nice work, team. 

“They lied to us.” He whispers something to his shadow. While Cyrus grabs his firearm, the shadow opens the door. The gunfire startles you, and you look to Spencer. 

Tell me it’s gonna be okay. 

His eyes are steady on yours and he nods almost imperceptibly. We’re going to be fine. 

Some of the lights go out and your eyes dance around the room. 

Aaron, this better be part of your plan. 

“It came from inside the building.” 

“Check the fuses.” 

The rapid discussions fly around you, but you keep your eyes on Spencer as much as you can. He’s spitting verses at the men around Cyrus, stalling. Luckily, Spencer could talk about nothing and everything forever. 

You knew that would come in handy one day, even if it drives you up the wall outside of life-or-death hostage situations. 

“…I did not come to bring peace, but a sword.” Cyrus smacks Spencer with the butt of his rifle, and Spencer doubles over. You can’t help him - not with one arm and certainly not without a weapon of your own. 

“You cannot convert my brothers.” Cyrus hits him again, and Spencer drops to the floor, and you crouch beside him, the very picture of fear. Oddly, you’re less afraid right now than you were before. “No one had to follow. God could have stopped me.”

There’s a breach, and you cover Spencer with your body as bullets fly past you from all sides. Cyrus goes down, and so does the detonator. 

“He just did.” 

You almost snort as you rise, but you rapidly remember time is of the essence. 

“You alright, kid?” You’re not sure if Derek’s talking to you or Spencer, but you nod anyway. 

Spencer, too, responds in kind. “Fine. Where’s Emily?”

“We got her out of here.” 

The breath you’ve been holding since she disappeared again leaves you, but a heavy throb of your shoulder replaces it. 

The girl you’re here for in the first place, Jessica, rounds the corner and you have a sinking feeling you know exactly what she’s going to do.

Nevertheless, Derek calls out to her. “Sweetheart, come with me. We need to get you out of here. Come on. Let’s go, right now.” 

You snag Spencer’s sweater in your hand and follow him to the door. You watch as Jessica takes in Cyrus’s body, clocks the detonator, and then reaches for it. Spencer leaves your grasp.

You’re hot on his heels and it’s only then you have another fleeting thought of not making it back home. 

“Run!”

Derek’s behind you. You only hope it’s enough time. 

The explosion rocks you to your core and for a moment you’re not sure whether you’re alive or dead. When the ringing in your ears cools off, Derek has his arm around you. The smoke covers everything. Your eyes burn, coughs rattling through your chest and wracking your shoulder. 

You feel a sudden rush of empathy for Aaron and his poor right ear. 

You hear your last name, as well as Derek’s and Spencer’s. It’s Emily. 

She’s scared. 

Derek helps you straighten, and guides you down the steps. “We’re alright!”

You still can’t talk for your coughing, but you hear Emily’s relieved, “Oh, God.” 

She meets you in the middle while Aaron waits at the bottom of the stairs. He’s watching you. Emily touches the side of your face and you lean into it. You’re a little on the outside as she gathers Spencer into her arms. 

There’s something going on by Aaron, but you can’t quite hear it yet. Whatever it is, it’s over before Aaron’s hand is extended toward you. When your fingers meet his palm, he brings you close, careful of your shoulder. His hand meets the back of your head, and you press your face into his neck, blocking out as much as you can.

You don’t exchange words. There’s no need. Your eyes still sting behind your lids.

He tucks you under his arm and you pass Jessica’s mother, watching the burning compound with bewildered eyes. 

+++

You sleep on the plane, your head resting against the window. Just as you suspected, you developed a small infection on the last day in the compound, but it’s nothing two weeks’ worth of antibiotics can’t fix. 

Hotch sits beside you, pretending to read something or another. His eyes keep tracking the same line over and over again. The moments where he thought he’d lost all three of you to the explosion play back in his mind again and again and again. 

You can hear him thinking and you crack an eyelid. “Hotch.”

He immediately turns his head, ready to get whatever you need. Frankly, you look miserable. “Yeah?”

“We’re fine.” 

An eyebrow raises. 

“Fine. I’m shot and Emily’s beat to hell, but we’re alive.” You reach for his sleeve, running your fingers over the fabric. “I think you saved my ass, by the way.”

You pull your hand back. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Something in me kept telling me ‘Don’t do anything stupid!’ ‘Don’t be a hero!’ and I’m certain it can be attributed to your undue influence on me.”

The corners of his lips turn up just the tiniest amount. “Maybe so.” He slips his blazer off and drapes it over you. “Sleep. You need it.” He sees you about to interrupt him and cuts you off. “If I see you in the office at all before next week…” The empty threat speaks for itself. 

“Trust me. After my near-death experience, the last thing I want to be looking at is you.” 

Liar. 

“The feeling is mutual. You look terrible.” He smiles for real this time and you return it. A whisper passes through his head, and he pretends he doesn’t notice. 

Liar

Chapter Text

“what is that unforgettable line?”
samuel beckett

november 6th, 2008

+++

“Has Aaron ever told you how we met?” 

“I know you two met in high school, but that’s about the extent of it.” 

Haley laughs and puts her drink down. “You’re in for a real treat, then. Come with me.” 

It’s one of those afternoons in which Aaron’s taken Jack to go have some fun for a little while, leaving you and Haley at the house. It’s been nice to rest while your shoulder slowly knits together again, nice to chat and channel surf. Really, it’s been nice to have a friend at all. 

She leads you to the garage, where built-ins support stacked boxes all the way to the rafters. There’s so much stuff. A few boxes are on the floor, packed with a few George Washington University sweatshirts, a law textbook, and a few framed photos of Jack. 

You’d hazard a guess that’s close to the last box Aaron has here. 

Haley bypasses it in favor of a more aged box on the back. She becomes you over and unearths it, opening it. You are by no means prepared for what awaits you. 

The box is full of faded framed photos and stacked scrapbooks, some with Haley’s handwriting on the front and others with typeset. Haley pulls one scrapbook in particular, the pages warped with age and stuffed with various momentos. 

“This is the first one I ever made, starting the spring of my freshman year of high school. Aaron shows up…” She flips through the pages. They crackle under her fingers. “...here.” 

She turns the book and you take it in your hand, balancing the bottom while she bears the weight. As always, her thoughtful conscientiousness almost brings a smile to your face. 

In the scrapbook, little polaroids litter one side, while the other has a playbill cover. A “Players” page is pasted in, with two names left uncovered by doodles. 

Haley Renee Brooks

Aaron Hotchner 

One of the photos catches your eye. “Is that…?” 

“Aaron in tights and a pirate hat? Yes.” 

This is gold. 

You bring the book closer to you and flip through it carefully with Haley’s help, finding more evidence of Aaron’s brief stint as a thespian. He’s undeniably adorable as a teenager. He looks different, of course, but between the hair and the eyes - 

And that smile 

You recognize the man you’ve come to know. 

Haley, of course, is also adorable. The mid-eighties look cute on her. She looks mostly the same as she does now. Her jawline is more defined, the beginnings of smile lines starting to form around her eyes and mouth, but those are only indicators of the twenty-five years between the photo and the woman before you. 

“If you tell him I showed you this, no I didn’t.” 

You laugh, passing the book back to her. “Scout’s Honor. Total silence. I will, however, require copies of these for blackmail purposes.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Over my dead body, darling.” 

You look around for a moment before asking. “So… what exactly does that have to do with how you met?” 

“I prefer the way he tells it,” she says, “because when I tell it I look like I’m padding my ego, but…”

Her blue eyes wander as she tells you about the boy who landed in the wrong classroom on August 20th, 1985 at 2:13pm, as if she’s seeing it as she’s telling the story. Maybe she is. 

The nameless senior was tall, lanky, and looked rather brittle. He hadn’t grown into his limbs yet and there’s a hawkish look in his eye. He met Haley’s curious gaze. She smiled at him. 

It’s only a moment before the boy leaves for the right classroom. 

“He had the building number wrong. It’s no surprise, really. Our schedules were copied by hand, as copy machines were expensive. The guidance counselor’s handwriting was nearly illegible, but it sealed our fates.” 

She goes on to tell you that the boy came back the next day, enrolled in the class for the duration of the semester. 

“He then, bravely, became the worst third pirate in the history of theatre just to impress me.” She pauses, a little pensive. “He told me a couple of years ago that the day came into the wrong classroom was the same day he knew he was going to marry me.” 

The admission brings a flush to her cheeks and a fond smile to her lips. You can see the affection written all over her as she recalls the memory. She shakes her head and puts the scrapbook back, closing the box and leading you out of the garage. 

“We started dating when the show closed. It was silly, of course, and very high school, as relationships went. We only kept going because he was so close for college - just over the bridge into the district.” 

You follow her back into the house. “Did you guys ever break up?” 

She snorts. “ All the time.” 

That makes you laugh. You can hardly picture it. 

“I’m sure you can imagine how rational and reasonable I was at sixteen,” she says, her voice full of jest. “I put him through hell, but Aaron was always impossibly patient with me, even and especially when I didn’t deserve it.” 

“Really?”

“Really. I know he’s probably...not that way at work, but even through all of this -” she gestures vaguely to the air around you and you know she means the divorce. “- he’s always been that way with me.” 

You’ve seen Hotch at home now more than a few times and it’s been illuminating to see the changes in him as he crosses the threshold. Reconciling those differences in him, knowing Haley better, all paints a layered, detailed portrait of someone you already care about. 

Haley catches your attention again when she speaks. “I’m glad he has people watching out for him.” There’s a strange, almost sad, smile on her face. “He gets lonely.” 

+++

When Aaron pulls up in the driveway, you and Haley are stuck watching whatever movie you landed on when you got to talking, too attached to give it up. 

The door opens and Aaron sets Jack on his feet, helping him with the tiny zipper on his coat before attending to his own. 

“How was your day, boys?” Haley gets up and goes to the kitchen, where you know a little tupperware full of cut fruit waits for Jack.

You offer him a little wave as he catches sight of you and processes your presence. Hey . 

“Well,” he says. “How was your day, Jack? Want to tell Mom about it?” 

The pass-off is funny to you, but you suspect Aaron doesn’t want to oversell it. 

“So fun!” He runs and jumps onto the couch as Haley rounds the corner. 

Her eyes are bright, animated, when she asks, “What did you and Daddy do?” She sits next to her son, her feet pulled under her as she leans on the back of the couch. 

As Jack relays the events of the afternoon, there’s an odd moment when Aaron catches himself. He reaches down to ruffle Haley’s hair but freezes with his hand outstretched. You can see the wheels turning in his head and you almost feel bad for catching him at all. 

His hand closes and he shoves it into his pocket before he sits down in the armchair beside your end of the couch with a sigh. You pretend to be completely focused on Jack, so as to not embarrass him. 

“So,” he asks you. You turn. “How was your day?” 

There’s a moment where you share a little look, maybe even a laugh. 

“Good. My day was good.” 

“Good.”

Chapter Text

"boys do not grow up gradually. they move forward in spurts like the hands of clocks in railway stations."
cyril connolly

november 10th, 2008

+++

“Alright, buddy, it’s past my bedtime and I gotta get home.” 

Jack looks betrayed, his head whipping around to check in with his mother. 

Haley stands in the kitchen archway with one of her little sideways smiles. “It’s true, baby. You gotta get to bed too - you have one of your preschool days tomorrow.” 

You stand and grab your bag, slinging it over your good shoulder while Aaron picks Jack up off the couch and starts to carry him around the corner to the hall bathroom. Before they can get there, though, Jack squirms and starts to cry, calling out for you. 

With a look over your shoulder at Haley, who shakes her head with a fond smile, you set your bag down, take off your sling, and trot to Aaron and Jack. It’s far too early to quit your sling - you’re supposed to wear it all the time when you’re awake, but you will suffer a great many things for Jack Hotchner. 

Aaron passes the toddler over to you. Ignoring the sharp ache in your shoulder, you take Jack in your good arm and wipe his tears away until his cheeks are dry. 

“What can I do for you, my love?” 

He sniffs. “Don’t go.” 

You smile at him. “How about this. Do you want to brush teeth together and then I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Jack nods, appeased, and you take him down the hallway without a second glance toward Aaron or Haley. 

As promised, you lean on the counter as Jack brushes his teeth, helping him when he gets caught up in his flossing routine. You comb through his fine, light hair until it’s fluffy and soft, pinching his chin between your fingers when he’s done. 

With a little giggle, he reaches for you and you pick him up again, bringing him into his room. Haley’s there, at the end of the bed with a book. 

You sit cross-legged on the floor while he picks out some pajamas, and then tuck him in with a kiss to his forehead. 

“Alright, baby. Are you okay to read with momma and then I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

Maybe, just maybe, if you double down on your promise he’ll settle down. 

It works. 

“That would be alright,” he says, quite matter-of-fact for a boy of three (and sounding alarmingly like his father). 

“Good.” You press another kiss to his forehead and cross the room, hanging onto the doorframe with your good arm. 

Aaron’s in the living room with another cup of tea, chatting quietly with Jess. She looks up at you before he does, a little smile on her face. “Did he go down okay?” 

You nod. “Only if I promised to come back tomorrow.” 

She laughs. “He’s been very concerned about your shoulder. He wouldn’t leave the store the other day without getting you extra bandaids.” 

You do, indeed, have Spider-Man bandaids on your arm and the back of your hand. 

“That is so cute.” You tap Aaron’s shoulder with your knuckle. “You’ve got a cute kid, Hotchner.” 

“Thank you,” he says, drily. “I had nothing to do with it.” 

Jess reaches over the table and smacks his forearm. “You’re at least… a quarter responsible.” 

He rolls his eyes and takes another sip of his tea, muttering something into his cup. You don’t give him the satisfaction of asking after his commentary, swiping your sling from the couch. 

“Goodnight you wayward two. I’ve promised a three-year-old a park date in the morning, so I really must be going.” 

Jess stands and gingerly hugs you, mindful of your shoulder. “Sleep well, and we’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

Aaron doesn’t rise, but offers you a warm twitch of his lips. “I’ve got to, ah -” 

“Don’t you have that meeting with Strauss and the IG tomorrow about that B Team altercation?” 

He nods. “Unfortunately. And it’s at the DC office, of course, so -”

“ - So, I’ll see you in ten years. Gotcha.” You grin at him and walk to the door, your bag back over your good shoulder. “Goodnight. Tell Haley I love her and all that.” 

Jess nods. “Of course.” 

You close the door behind you. 

There are worse things, you decide, than being loved by a toddler and his family.

Chapter Text

“i would always rather be happy than dignified.”
charlotte brontë, jane eyre

november 23rd, 2008

4x08 masterpiece

+++

As you slip past Derek, you overhear the end of his conversation with Jordan’s visitor. 

This won’t be good. 

You don’t know Jordan well, but you’ve figured out that her pride knows no bounds. She’ll do anything to keep herself in a position of authority, to exercise power, to take matters into her own hands. 

That might be good for counterterrorism - in fact, you’re sure it’s good for counterterrorism - but it won’t work here. 

One of the first things anyone learns in the BAU is to accept help and work as part of the team. 

In your mind, Derek’s comment and de-escalation was kind and completely within bounds as a senior member of the team. On the off-chance Jordan agreed with you, there’d be nothing to see anyway. On the flip side…

You hear her boots click on the floor behind you and you quicken your pace, almost jogging into the bullpen. Your shoulder screams with the jolt of your increased pace, but you ignore it. 

Emily looks puzzled, standing at her desk. You silently tell her to hold on. 

This is gonna get good. 

You leap up the stairs, swinging into Hotch’s office, using your good hand for balance. “Incoming.”

You hardly process the look of utter confusion on his face before you dip back out, hurrying over to Dave’s office. Finding a seat on the other side of his desk, you plop yourself down and try to maneuver to see farther down the bridge. 

Addressing the raised eyebrow, you tell him, your eyes still trained on the bullpen, “Morgan just pissed Todd off by being himself and it should get pretty interesting.” 

“Ah,” He says. 

Much less subtle than you, he walks to the doorway and observes Jordan as she flies into Hotch’s office. You follow him after a second, holding onto the doorway for balance as you strain to hear. 

After a second of fruitless eavesdropping, you snag a random file from Dave’s desk and post up at the railing outside Hotch’s window. It’s not subtle, especially seeing as you only have one functioning arm, but you can finally hear their exchange. 

You would, however, give anything to see the look on Hotch’s face right now. 

“Has my job performance been to your satisfaction, sir?” Her tone is still aggressive, deeply annoyed and you might go so far as to say bitter. 

Aaron, as steady as always, replies, “It seems fine.” 

“And if it weren't to your satisfaction, you'd tell me?” 

Boy, would he ever. 

You’ve been on the receiving end of one of those ‘I’m very disappointed by your work today’ conversations. They aren’t fun. 

“I can promise you that.” 

Yes he can. 

“Because I can do this job,” Jordan insists. It sounds like she’s trying to convince herself as well as Hotch. You’re not sure why.  

“I'm sorry, has somebody suggested that you can't?” 

There it is. 

The barest touch of sarcasm undercuts what you imagine to be genuine curiosity in his voice. While you still wish you could see his face, you’re fairly certain you already know what it looks like.  

Jordan doubles down. “Have they?”

“Not to me.” 

“Thank you, sir.”

Without another word, she flies past you and into the round table room, likely looking for an excuse to keep her hands busy. Emily’s at the top of the stairs, her eyes wide as Jordan leaves a tornado of frustration in her wake. 

Emily throws her hands up in surrender, and you slip into Hotch’s office in front of her. 

He looks up. “Thanks for the warning.” 

“Sure.” You offer him a wry smile. “I didn’t have much myself.” 

“What happened?” 

You sigh and shake your head. “She used a poor choice of words when speaking to someone about a case in her office and Derek saved her ass and de-escalated. She got upset. I think her pride was hurt by her own mistake and how quick he was to successfully fix it.” 

“Ah.” He sighs and re-arranges the files on his desk. As you suspected, he changes the subject. “Can you send Emily in here, please? I need that coroner’s supplemental report on the third victim from the Houston case.” 

You snort. “You’re already through that? Did you even go home last night?” 

He waves you off. “Not important. Can you -” 

“Yeah.” You tap the doorframe on your way out. “I gotcha.” 

You miss his little smile on the way out. He misses yours. 

Returning to your desk, you find an email from Strauss. 

To: [email protected]
CC:
SUbject: See me. 

Please stop by my office today. I am available until noon. 

 

Erin Strauss
Section Chief, Investigation and Operations Support Northeast
Federal Bureau of Investigation
Quantico, VA

You sigh and stand, closing out your email to save it from prying eyes. You pass Derek on your way out, patting his shoulder in a tacit reminder that he’s appreciated. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him shake his head with a fond smile. 

Mission accomplished. 

While the elevator rises to the eighth floor, you chew on your lower lip. You can count the number of times you’ve been up here on one hand. Your fingers, trapped in your sling, tap restlessly against your ribs.

On two fingers, actually. 

You greet Strauss’s assistant and she sends you right into the office. 

“Good morning, ma’am.” 

“Good morning.” She stands and directs you into one of the chairs in front of her desk. “How’s your shoulder doing?”

You sit. “It’s healing well, but I have a feeling that’s not what you called me here to discuss.”

One of her tense little smiles crosses her face. “Yes, well. You’d be right.” With another breath, “There is currently an opening in a counterterrorism unit in Los Angeles. Your name has come up a number of times, as they’d like to bring in an agent rather than recruiting from the academy.” 

You stare at her. You’ve learned in your years to wait for a question with Erin. Nothing’s worse than trying to pre-empt her and then ending up in a hole. 

Didn’t bring a ladder. 

As expected, she continues. “I’ve spoken to Agent Hotchner about a transfer out of the BAU and into the Los Angeles unit.” At your furrowed brow, she adds, “It would come with a promotion to SSA, as you would be the lead agent on a team. As you know, that comes with a significant pay increase and a bureau-assisted relocation to Los Angeles.” 

She pauses, steepling her fingers. “Would you be interested in that opportunity? Agent Hotchner assured me you wouldn’t be interested in leaving the BAU here in Quantico, but I know that his judgment can be… clouded when it comes to his team. You have absolutely demonstrated your capabilities.” 

You choose to ignore her snide comment about Aaron’s judgment. Even then, it doesn’t take long. 

“No, ma’am. I would like to remain with the BAU here in Quantico.” 

She squints at you but surprisingly doesn’t argue. You know that’s a look of disappointment on her face, but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

“Thank you, Agent. I’ll pass that along.” 

“Thank you, ma’am, for the opportunity.” 

+++

Your step is significantly lighter as you step out onto the sixth floor again. The rest of the team is in the round table room, and you run up the stairs to join them with a breathless, “Sorry I’m late.” 

“Everything alright?” Hotch asks. 

You meet his curious, concerned eyes with a smile. “Just fine.” 

He nods once. “Let’s get started.”

Chapter Text

“yes, i can understand that a man might go to gambling table - when he sees that all that lies between himself and death is his last crown”
honoré de balzac, the wild ass's skin

november 26th, 2008

4x09 52 pickup

+++

You’re happy to be back in your usual plane seat, just to the left of Aaron, with your notes in your lap. With your arm in the sling, you were relegated to the table, in Derek’s usual spot beside Rossi, to discourage you from slouching. It was Hotch who suggested it, of course, but that didn’t help your pride. 

Though your sling is gone and you’re back where you belong, your shoulder still twinges a little from time to time. 

As it happens, a twinge hits you right as Rossi asks, “How does our unsub go from loser of the year to Don Juan?”

While Spencer answers him, Hotch glances over at you. You wave him off. I’m fine, Hotch. 

He sighs and you both tune back in to Spencer. “…Don Juan was an ironic reversal of sex roles and when -” Spencer looks at Hotch, finding something in his face that usually made you laugh, but stops Spencer in his tracks. “Th-That’s about it.” 

You suppress your smile as Hotch refocuses the group. “Something must have happened between the last prostitute and Vanessa Holden, making him change his victimology.” 

“Could the unsub have known Vanessa?” Jordan’s question almost surprises you. She’s still settling in, but you’re learning she doesn’t hesitate to freely share her opinion. 

Hotch hesitates as if waiting for someone else to answer. You oblige him, leaning around Dave a bit to see her better. “It’s unlikely.” 

Derek picks up your thought. “Yeah, sexual sadists attack anonymously”

“They have to sever a personal connection and see their victims as objects to perpetuate this level of torture.” Spencer softens your quick rebukes with a little closed-mouth smile. 

You spare a glance for Hotch and he raises his eyebrows for a split second before they drop back down. Your elbow makes contact with his arm, and you press into him for a second. Be nice. 

He huffs a light breath through his nose as Prentiss and Rossi bounce off each other. I am being nice. 

Then, as though your silent sidebar never existed, he jumps back in. “The victimology is so different, we’ll treat them as separate unsubs and see what overlaps.” He makes assignments, finally rounding out by assigning Derek, you, Jordan, and himself to the victim’s family. 

+++

Todd’s initiative continues to take you by surprise long after you land. She takes command of the situation at the precinct, and there are a couple of times where you can feel Hotch shift his weight. 

He’s uncomfortable. 

When Jordan leaves the room, you turn to the side and he leans in. “If you’re going to pull her, do it quietly. Something tells me she’s averse to public criticism.” 

He nods, just a little, and you return to your former posture. 

The house is where things get really sticky. 

“Mrs. Holden,” she says, “we can’t begin to fathom the loss you’ve suffered.” 

You nudge Hotch with your shoulder (ouch) and he uncrosses his arms. Loosen up for a minute, would you?

“No, that’s right. You can’t.” Mrs. Holden’s tone is sharp, and you can’t help but feel for her - the stuff Garcia sent over was awful. A daughter, dead, and forums full of people saying you had it coming. Ugh. 

“But, um…” Jordan steps up, and you narrow your eyes a little. 

What is she doing? 

“I lost my older sister in a car crash.” You can feel Derek’s brow furrow as he checks in with Hotch. Aaron has yet to move and, as usual, his face gives nothing away to anyone except you. Something’s wrong. “And it was really hard on our family because she was the responsible one. She was the one that my mother always counted on to watch over us.” 

Your eyes flicker to Hotch’s profile, and you find his mouth a touch tighter, his eyes infinitesimally narrower.

Uh oh. 

We know that look. 

Again, what is she doing? 

“And when she died , my mother wouldn’t let the police in. If she didn’t let them in, then my sister wasn’t really dead.” 

Jordan leans in closer as if her next words are a secret. “This man is a monster,” 

Aaron straightens with an inhale, and you feel yourself wind tighter and tighter as he does. You have no idea what you’re upset about yet, but you’re sure it’s something. 

“…and we can catch him, but we need your daughter’s help.”

The mother turns on Derek in an outburst of pre-emptive anger. He very kindly de-escalates the situation, ever the voice of reason and empathy. Hotch takes another breath as Mrs. Holden turns to invite you further into the house. Jordan checks in with Derek before following her, almost smug. 

Aaron’s brows are drawn when you look at him again. Derek asks the question you’ve been waiting for. “Did you know that about Jordan?”

“No,” he says. “And neither did she. According to her file, she’s an only child.” Hotch walks away immediately, letting his implicit accusation hang in the air between you. 

You share a look with Derek . 

+++

“The information about Vanessa Holden being the responsible sister, where did you get that?”

You try to stay a little ahead of them, but Derek has no qualms about openly eavesdropping, turning over his shoulder. 

Her tone is matter-of-fact. “Some of it was online, and some of it was just an educated guess based on birth order.”

Still facing forward, you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, as if bracing yourself for impact. 

“A guess.” Hotch’s question is flat and hardly a question at all. You almost cringe. Derek hops up beside you, much less interested in snooping now. 

Shit. You’re in it now, kid. 

‘Kid.’ Gimme a break she’s like…two years younger than you.

Yeah, but on this team, it’s dog years. The divorce alone had to be at least a decade.

“And in the process, you lied.” 

There it is. 

“That mother was shut down. I needed to salvage some rapport.” The note of defensiveness in Jordan’s tone pulls a sigh from you, and you can almost anticipate Hotch’s response. If pressed, you could recite it verbatim. 

“I don’t know how you did things in counter-terrorism, but we don’t make it a habit to lie to get the job done.” They stop walking, but you don’t, pulling Derek by the sleeve of his Henley before he can hesitate. 

“Let’s wait by the car,” you tell him. He gives you an expression that only says yikes . You reply with one of your own. 

As you approach the back door, you hear, “I got you in the door, didn’t I?” from Jordan.

Oh, babe. Put the shovel down. This hole you’re digging for yourself is becoming unmanageable, and we’re all going to have to deal with his grumpy ass for the rest of the afternoon if you don’t quit. 

Derek leans against the door of the car, and you follow his lead, leaning against the back bumper. 

“Not only do you represent the FBI, you represent this team - ”

Ah, so it’s the “representing the team with integrity” speech today.

  “ - to the press, the police, and to the families who are struggling with some of the hardest times of their lives. If you get caught in a lie, the trust we depend on to help solve these crimes disappears.” You inhale, sharp. It’s been a minute since you’ve heard that tone. “Do I make myself clear?” 

Yikes. 

Jordan, looking significantly chastised, answers, “It won’t happen again.” 

“No, it won’t.” 

Alright, that one pulls a smile from you and you do your best to bite back your laugh. Derek’s in the same boat. You both hope to recover by the time they get back to the car. A fit of giggles will do you absolutely no good at this point. 

“When we get back, I want you to prepare a press release about the unsub. Do not release it.” His phone rings, and he reaches for it, adding “From now on, everything goes through me.”

He passes you without meeting your eye, talking to Rossi over the phone. Jordan approaches you, and asks, “So how bad did I just screw up?”

You take a breath before answering. “Well, Derek would tell you on a normal scale of one to ten, probably about a six.” 

“I have a feeling that’s not the scale we’re using.”

You shake your head and open the door. “On Hotch’s, that was about an eleven.” 

The three of you slide into the car. You take the seat behind Derek, sparing Aaron from having Jordan in his peripheral vision while he’s trying to focus on not crashing the car. 

+++

“Hotch,” Emily says, getting your attention and Aaron’s. You both turn. “Of the self-described pickup artist classes in the area, there’s only one guy who encourages his students to dress like, uh..” she searches for a word for a second, “space cowboys.” 

A laugh escapes you, but you recover quickly. You glance at Hotch, an apology in your eyes.

Emily’s tone matches your mirth. “Are you ready to meet Viper?”

+++

The four of you lurk at the back of the room, listening to Viper’s sermon while trying not to laugh out loud again. 

“…and women, while they won’t admit it, want to be hunted. They need it.” 

You look up at Hotch. You’ve got to be kidding me. 

He doesn’t look at you, but the twitch of his mouth gives him away. 

You turn your attention back to Viper, whose assertions are so far gone from reality you can’t even believe people paid for this. He goes on and on about the ideal mate, what women want, etc., etc., etc. 

This guy has never gotten laid in his life. 

Hotch nudges you with his shoulder as if he can hear you thinking, and you drop your eyebrows, setting your mouth in a tight line that could give him a run for his money. 

Emily’s losing it beside you, too. She and Derek have shared more than a few glances, and there’s no hiding the incredulous look on her face. 

“If you are smarter and more interesting, you will be a better predator -”

You keep your face from screwing up in a wince, but only just. Poor choice of words, there. 

“- because this is the jungle, my friends, and your prey wants to be caught.”

Derek doesn’t shift his gaze as he asks, quietly, “Would you listen to that language?”

You lean around Emily, whispering, “He’s training serial killers.” 

“Great,” Emily says. “We’re dealing with a rampant narcissist and misogynist who’s turned himself into a snake oil salesman.” 

Yeah, that about sums it up. 

You both look at Hotch, who’s still watching carefully. “Just one more thing he has in common with our unsub.” 

At the end of the lecture, you all stay where you are: four dark and intimidating figures irresistible to someone with an ego as big as Viper’s.

When he inevitably advances on you, Aaron introduces the team present and explains the situation in an even, measured tone. He doesn’t have to change a single thing about his presentation for the Viper to size him up and compensate accordingly. He doesn’t even acknowledge you or Emily in his futile effort to make Aaron feel small, counting on his own peacocking to do the job. 

That was your first mistake .

“Do you think this - what did you call him - unsub took my class?”

With one hand in his pocket and another on his belt, Aaron replies. “He copied your ‘the camera adds ten pounds’ routine verbatim.” 

Viper has the audacity to look pleased. “Yeah. That’s a good gag.”

“If you could just give us your attendance lists, it might help us find him,” Emily says. 

You nod. “Any information you can provide would be helpful.”

“No.” 

Your eyebrows shoot to your hairline, and Emily beats you to a response, her tone appalled. “No?”

He’s decidedly smug now. You’ve never seen a face so well-suited for a punch. “My clients expect a certain amount of confidentiality. I won’t compromise that.” 

“We can come back with a warrant.” Aaron’s quick, flat rebuttal almost makes you smile. Viper ignores him, shifting his slimy attention to you.

You watch Viper take you in from head to toe, resisting the urge to squirm under his gaze. With a deep breath, you straighten your shoulders and ever so slightly put more weight on your right foot, keying you into Aaron. When Viper meets your gaze again, he looks more than a little annoyed. 

“Be my guest, but keep in mind, the money I make doesn’t just pay for my fabulous lifestyle,” he turns to Emily again, “it also keeps very expensive lawyers on retainer.”

You redirect, hoping to catch him off guard. “What club did you go to last night?”

It doesn’t work. He eyes you up and down again. It’s disgusting. 

“It’s a legitimate question,” Derek says. “You seem to know a lot about our investigation.”

He turns on Derek, and you settle in for the show. “Two things to learn about me. First, I outwit alpha males like you for fun and sometimes profit.” You snort, but he doesn’t spare a glance at you. “How often do you have to rely on your badge to score, baldy?”

Aaron huffs a laugh, and it’s so quiet you’re almost sure you made it up. 

“Second,” he continues, turning to Emily again. “Last night, I was at Club Aqua and I have a stack of tax-deductible drink receipts to back up my story.” 

She shrugs, unimpressed. 

Emily Prentiss, you are my hero. 

You really tune in when his gaze finds Aaron, still standing a good two or three inches taller than Viper in far more expensive shoes. “Now, you might not want to believe that my style works.” You can tell Aaron’s trying to keep from smiling, his head tilted down at a condescending angle. “And here, in this harsh light, you have the advantage.” 

He has the advantage in every light. 

Shut up. 

It’s true, isn’t it?

Viper steps up to you, uncomfortably close, and you do what you can to keep the grimace off your face. “But meet me on my turf…” He laughs a little and turns to Emily. It’s revolting. “The things I could make you do.”

The things Aaron could do on any turf, any time, any light -

Quit! Focus! 

Aaron steps between you and Viper. You gladly take advantage of the distance, moving just off Aaron’s shoulder. “If you have any questions, give us a call.” 

Viper’s eyes don’t move from Emily as he takes Aaron’s card. She sizes him up for a moment before turning around, still completely unimpressed. 

Down the hallway, she keeps pace with Hotch. “Please tell me we’re not giving up on that guy.” 

“We’re just getting started.” 

You can tell he’s irritated and tense, but there’s an air of smug amusement that colors his countenance. The lawyer has tricks up his sleeve, it seems. 

When you leave the building, you turn on Derek. 

“What the fuck was that?”

To everyone’s surprise, Aaron, putting his sunglasses on, answers. “Compensation.”

You try not to dwell on that implication for too long, barking a laugh with Emily.

+++

“Hey, Hotch.” You turn around, exposing your half-unzipped dress and bare upper back. “Can you zip me up?” He crosses the room and zips your dress, doing his best to avoid savoring the warmth of your skin under his fingers as he links the hook-and-eye closed. “Thanks.” You turn and he’s a little closer than you expected, looking at you with a peculiar, unreadable expression in his eyes. 

There’s silence for a moment and neither one of you moves. No matter how often it occurred, close proximity to Aaron always did weird things to your heart rate. You take a deep breath to steady yourself and return to the locker for a set of loud silver bracelets. 

“You’d tell me if you were uncomfortable with this, right?”

You clasp two of the bracelets around your wrist and turn back toward him. A little laugh leaves you. “I’m fine, Hotch.” You wordlessly hold your last two bracelets out, unable to secure them with your non-dominant hand. With a fond sigh, he crosses over to you and takes your wrist.

“Emily told me you’d both be alright and she’s handled people like this before, but this guy…” He trails off with a bit of sigh. 

“I’ve handled worse than him. Guys like Viper were a dime a dozen in college,” You shrug, watching him deftly handle the tiny clasps in his large hands. “Plus, you’ll be in my ear the whole time.” He reaches past you for your necklace and you turn around so he can put it on. He smells incredible and you can’t help but close your eyes for a moment. 

“I have a good feeling we’ll be able to get somewhere tonight.”

You turn around again, smiling up at him. “I agree.” Thinking for just a second, you add, “Hotch, did you consider putting Jordan on this?”

“I did,” he says, his fingers reaching for the bridge of his nose. “Emily suggested it as well. I’m just not confident in her ability to complete surveillance in such a high-risk environment.” 

“Because of her mistake today?” You pass him and close the door to the room, ensuring the exclusion of prying eyes and ears. 

He removes his hand from his face and looks at you, playing at exhaustion. Of course.

You let all your breath out through your nose and you carry on as if you were explaining to a child. “She can’t recover if you don’t give her an opportunity.” You lighten up, adding, “Do you remember how many times I screwed up my first couple of months?” A wry smile crosses your face. 

He huffs and crosses his arms. “That’s different.” 

“Why? Because I was a NAT?” 

“No, you -” He takes a second to collect his thoughts, his brow furrowed. He gestures with a sharp, open hand as he speaks. “You made mistakes, but you never misrepresented yourself. I’m concerned about her conduct in the field.” 

“Send her out with us tonight.” Your appeal is casual, easy. “Emily and I will keep an eye on her and make sure she keeps her nose clean.” All things considered, Jordan isn’t much of an issue. She’s just green and (you’re sure) accustomed to a decidedly less-upright unit chief. 

“Are you comfortable with that?”

“Of course. Give her a chance, Hotch. We’ll be fine.” 

He nods, ready to leave the room, but then looks down at your wrist with a small, almost amused, frown. “Is that…?”

“The Dead Man’s Hand? Yeah.” You turn your wrist, revealing a pair of eights and aces - both clubs and spades, with the queen of hearts between them - inlaid in the silver. “I figured it was appropriate, if not entirely tasteless.” 

“Clever.” 

+++

You can tell Jordan’s forgotten about the comm in her ear when she leans over and whispers, “How do you do it?”

“Do what?” You keep your eyes on the crowd, lips barely moving as you keep a demure smile on your face. A guy without a chance in hell catches your eye and you break him with just a quick softening of your eyes and a wider smile. Luckily, he’s so flustered he doesn’t think to approach you.

She takes a fake sip of her drink. “You and Hotch get along really well, and I haven’t managed to get on his good side once since I’ve been here. How do you do it?”

“I have no idea.” There’s a small crackle in your ear, and you know Aaron tuned into your private channel to hear you better and talk to you alone. For his benefit, you add, “I’m not sure he has a good side if that helps.” 

You hear a scoff and have to hide your laugh in your drink. 

Jordan shakes her head. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What?”

“He definitely has a good side -” 

“Thank you,” Hotch says into your ear. You cough to hide another laugh. 

“- and you’re on it.” 

You open your mouth to reply, but catch the eye of someone who looks unfortunately familiar. “You’ve got to be joking.”

Hotch’s chuckle in your ear warms you, and you hear a crackle as he switches back to the team channel. “20 on Viper,” he says. “Keep an eye out for our unsub.” 

Emily wilts beside you, and you can’t help but laugh. You pull Jordan a little off to the side so you’re able to hear Viper, but he doesn’t feel closed in. “You always want to give guys like this an out - if they’re backed into a corner and feel trapped, they close off and get defensive.” 

A crackle in your ear. “Is that so?”

Jordan nods and you can’t reply to Hotch with any degree of subtlety, so you settle for rolling your eyes. 

“Well.” You hear Viper from over your shoulder. Jordan cringes, and your brow pulls in a question. “Lucky me.”

She answers, narrating through a squint. “He just put his finger in his mouth and pulled it out a little too slow.” 

“Ugh.” You take a fake sip of your drink. “I hate this guy.” 

“I thought you said you could handle him?” Aaron’s voice in your ear almost makes you jump, and you almost turn around to smack him before realizing he’s not even there. 

Bastard. 

Emily sends some sort of wisecrack flying over Viper’s head. She’s so charming, you can’t blame him for immediately falling head-over-dick for her. 

“…So, affection, sex, emotional commitment, it’s all just for fun?”

Against your will, your thoughts wander. You’re still listening, tuned in to his linguistic profile - the pattern, the rhetoric, the cadence, sure - but your heart pulls when you hear Emily list those three things. A sigh leaves you and of course, you’re thinking of Aaron. 

You’re such a child. Don’t be an idiot. 

“You okay?” 

Of course, he’s asking. 

You turn away from Jordan, looking out on the rest of the club so you can answer. “I’m fine.” 

“Need a break?”

You are feeling a little boxed-in, and as long as he’s offering… “Yeah, actually. That would be great. I just need some air.” You turn back to Jordan. “I’ll be right back - stay with Emily.” 

“But wait,” she says, holding your arm with gentle fingers, “we shouldn’t split up.”

“I just need a minute outside, Jordan, I’ll be alright.” You smile at her, small and warm, and escape her grasp. Slipping out one of the side doors, you prop it with a doorstop and lean against the wall. Your eyes fall closed, and you take a minute to breathe in the cold air. 

You hear your name in your ear, and you yank your earwig out. It’s still close enough for you to hear the team if anyone needed you, but Aaron’s voice in your ear at this very moment isn’t helping with the whole “take a minute” thing. 

“Hey, I’m talking to you.” 

I thought I took that damn thing out - oh. 

Aaron rounds the corner and leans on the wall beside you. “You okay?”

You nod. “Fine. My shoulder’s just bugging me a little.” 

“Any more lies you want to share before I call you on them?” 

“No.” In fairness, your shoulder was bothering you, but it wasn’t the thing bothering you. That thing, in fact, was standing beside you with his kevlar on, waiting patiently for you to continue. “I’m just out of shape, is all.” You tilt your head a little. “And my shoulder really does hurt.” 

He guides you off the wall so you’re standing in front of him, your back to him. “What have you been doing in PT?”

“Muscle work, mostly. Keeping things loose so it heals without limiting my mobility.” You roll your shoulder, ignoring the flood of pain that zings down your fingertips. 

Warm hands find their way to your shoulder over the fabric of your dress. You picked something long-sleeved and high-necked, figuring the angry scarring from your still-healing gunshot wound would adversely affect your objective. You take deep breaths as he works at the muscle, releasing the little knots that built up through the day. He finds a bit of scar tissue, and a little yelp leaves you before you can stop it. 

His hands soften, but don’t stop. “Hang in there. Just a little more and it’ll take some pressure off the nerve.” He trades his thumbs for the tips of his fingers, walking over the knots with a methodical practicality that pulls at your chest.

You nod, knowing he’s right. Lo and behold, a few seconds later, the knot releases, sending a flood of warmth, followed by pins and needles down your arm. You flex and contract your hand in and out of a fist a couple of times, hoping to rid yourself of the sensation. 

“It’ll stop in a second.” He rubs his hands together, warming them up with the friction before passing over the back of your shoulder with firm, steady pressure, all the way down your arm to your fingers. The heat of his hands really does help - your nerves calm almost immediately, and you can feel your pinkie for the first time in days. 

A little laugh leaves you. “I dunno why I keep going to PT when you’re right here.” You turn and offer him a soft smile. “Thank you.”

“Feeling better?”

No. 

“Much.” 

He offers you a small smile in return. “Good.” 

+++

You’re changing back into your work clothes with Emily and Jordan, pleased to find them full of laughter. 

“When you asked him if he practices his routine on a sex doll, I almost lost it.” Jordan looks over her shoulder at Emily as she clips her holster back onto her belt. 

“I did lose it, are you kidding?” You laugh. “I can’t believe I missed it!” 

Emily shakes her head, smiling. “You know, as much as I hate what that guy stands for, I still read ‘five ways to get noticed’ in Cosmo magazine.”

“Because it makes sense.” You look at Jordan, waiting for an explanation. She redeemed herself tonight, and you’re actually looking forward to hearing what she has to say. Though she doesn’t explain what she means, she does thank you both for vouching for her. 

“Absolutely.” Emily looks past Jordan, at you, and you nod in agreement. 

“Of course.” 

A knock sounds and Aaron’s voice shoots around the corner. “I need you all out here, the unsub’s kidnapped another victim.” 

Shit. 

+++

You’re on Aaron’s six, waiting for the go. He calls the first team into position and holds up his hand. When he drops it, you fall into step, just off his right shoulder. Derek breaches first, tackling the unsub to the floor. 

Aaron kicks down the front door, and you breach from the other side of the house. There’s shouting everywhere, but Aaron’s presence centers you, giving you a mission and a focus. 

Keep him safe. 

He releases you with a wave, and you drop down next to Spencer on the floor. You cut the tape holding Austin’s hands together. She falls into Spencer, still terrified and sobbing. He looks at you and you nod, spotting her as he helps her to her feet. 

Tracking back to Aaron, you shadow Rossi as they finish clearing the rest of the house. You hover by the final door as Dave and Aaron reassure the unsub’s mother that she’ll be taken care of as they clear the room for hidden threats. 

In fact, there’s nothing except a sick woman and the machine keeping her alive.

“It’s a dialysis pump…It was issued ten months ago.” Dave looks back at you, and your lips press into a thin line. 

You look at Aaron. “Our secondary trigger.” 

+++

Jordan climbs the stairs to Aaron’s office, and you attempt to hide your interest as she knocks on the door and steps in. Of course, you can’t hear them, but you watch him call her back after she hands in her report. 

You recognize the look on his face - it’s an expression you’re rewarded with when you’ve done something right. In fairness, it doesn’t look much different from the one you get when you’ve done something wrong, but you’ve learned to pick up on the subtle differences.

Jordan leaves his office with a little smile. When she passes you, you offer her a, “Well done,” as you stand and climb the stairs yourself. 

With a knock on Aaron’s door, he beckons you in without looking. You stand a respectable distance away from his desk, waiting for him to finish whatever he’s working on. He knows it’s you and has no issue keeping you waiting.

The composition of his desk has changed in the months since the divorce. Haley no longer smiles at him from the frame by his pen cup. That frame sits on the low shelf by his law volumes, the white veil over Haley’s face unable to mask her joy even from across the room. 

There are more pictures of Jack than before, both old and new. 

Eventually, he looks up, and you hand him your report. A smile plays at your lips, and another dances around the corner of his eyes. 

“That was kind of you, Hotch.” 

He shrugs. “You vouched for her work.” 

“Is that all it takes to win your approval, these days? My good word?” Your voice is laden with fond amusement. He rises to it, and if you didn’t know better you’d think he wasn’t smiling. When he answers, his tone is light, almost playful. 

“Yes.”

Chapter Text

“i know we are miles and miles away from one another, but i always believed that as long as our souls are connected to each other, the flame of our love will burn forever.”
abdul'rauf hashmi

december 12, 2008

+++

“Drop it, Joseph. I’m done discussing this.” 

You look up, turning the volume down on the TV. 

“I’m serious, Haley. You need to lay down some boundaries.” 

A flash of cold shoots through you, but you’re too intrigued to politely remove yourself. Aaron’s still in the bedroom with Jack, likely watching him sleep. 

Haley’s voice drops, but you can hear her keys in her hand and her shoes on the porch through the door. “If you have an issue with the way I conduct myself around the father of my son, then maybe you should rethink dating people with children .” 

Ouch. 

You hear a door close quietly in the hall and Aaron appears. His brow furrows. 

“What’s going on?” He asks, his voice low. 

You tip your head toward the door. “They’re outside. I think they’re arguing about you.” 

He sighs, resigned. “I’ll head to the kitchen, just in case.” 

You nod, pretending to focus on the movie again. 

“Alright, sue me. Maybe I am tired of playing second fiddle to Hotch .” Aaron’s moniker is acid in Joseph’s mouth. It makes you bristle. “How about this,” he continues. “How about you let me know when you’re ready to take your foot out of the door.” 

Haley scoffs. “Just because you hate your ex doesn’t mean the rest of us have to.” 

“I’m not saying that.” You hear a sigh, a shift of weight. “It’s just - I… ugh. Haley, it’s so clear you’re not over him.” 

You turn, looking behind you into the kitchen. Aaron hovers in the doorway, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“It’s not about being over him. You know that. And if that’s what you’re waiting for, you’re gonna be disappointed. I was married to Aaron for eighteen years. I’ve known him since I was fifteen. He’s part of me, Joseph.” 

She pauses. 

“So, yeah, I guess it is clear that I’m not over him. And if you can’t handle that - can’t handle that I’m capable of caring deeply about both of you, being angry at the both of you, at the same time…” She chuffs in that sardonic, cold way you’ve heard before. “You need to get a grip.” 

“I don’t understand why you care, all of a sudden.” His voice isn’t loud, but it’s sharp enough to pinch your brow. 

Her voice is low, almost dark, and sharp. “What?”

Oh, he just stepped in deep shit. 

“You didn't seem to care much about his feelings two years ago. Now, you’re divorced. You’re allowed . And now you care about his feelings? Damn, Haley. That’s cold.” 

There’s a key in the door, but she doesn’t step through right away. You scurry into the kitchen, busying yourself with opening a bottle of her favorite wine. 

“Goodnight,” she says. It’s not a friendly dismissal. “Get home safe.” 

The door opens and shuts. Haley leans against it, staring into space while Joe pulls away from the house. She presses the heels of her hands into her eyes, rubbing roughly before looking up. The delicate skin around her eyes is red, like she’s going to cry.

“Surprised you two didn’t grab the popcorn.” She laughs but there’s no humor in it. 

You pour her a generous glass of wine and wordlessly hold it out to her. She pushes off the door and crosses the foyer, taking it from your hand. “Thanks.” 

“Sure.” 

She looks around you, where Aaron’s leaning against the counter. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair for you to hear.” 

He shrugs. “Wasn’t fair of me to listen.” 

“Still.” She takes a sip of her wine. 

There’s silence for a moment. It’s not awkward by any stretch. You could go so far as to say it’s thoughtful. 

“What movie’s playing in there?” Haley says, breaking the bubble. 

Aaron unfreezes, opening the fridge for another beer. “Casino Royale.” 

“Really?” 

His voice climbs an octave, playfully defensive. “What?” 

“I thought you’d get enough James Bond at work,” she says, laughing. 

“He has to know what he looks like if he hopes to continue looking cool and serious,” you tell her. 

She shakes her head and turns on her heel, throwing herself down on the couch as soon as she gets back to the living room. You linger in the kitchen for a second, checking in. 

“You okay?” 

Aaron nods. “Fine.” 

You're not sure if you believe him.

You join Haley on the couch, Aaron’s hand ghosting over your back as he lets you take the lead out of the kitchen. 

“Alright, Mr. Bond,” Haley says, tossing him the remote. “From the top, if you will.” 

He catches it easily, starting the DVD from the top. You reach over and turn off the light. It’s cozy. 

Aaron laughs when the opening vamp of the James Bond theme startles you.

Chapter Text

“be at war with your vices, at peace with your neighbors, and let every new year find you a better man.”
benjamin franklin

new year’s eve 2008

+++

Aaron looks up from his place at the kitchen island. You’re not sure what he knows or what he sees, but he looks concerned. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask. 

He shakes his head. “Just a second.” Catching sight of something, he puts his drink down and sighs. “Haley’s melting. This happens right around drink three and half, which is...” He checks his watch. “Now.”

You follow him down the hall, where Haley’s sniffling, curled up on the floor. Joseph’s crouched beside her, but he clears out when Aaron gets close, hovering off to the side. 

He crouches in front of her, placing one single finger on the hands laced between her knees. “What’s goin’ on, honey?” 

She wipes her nose with the back of one of her hands. “I drank too much.” 

Aaron’s fond smile sets off butterflies in your stomach. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Alright.” He offers her a hand and she takes it. You can see his arm flex, bearing the vast majority of her weight as she rises, still a little wilty and weepy. “Want to go clean up a little bit and then come back when you’re ready?” 

She nods and turns to you, holding out a hand. You take it, and she drags you down the hall. You look over your shoulder, but both Aaron and Joseph give you looks that scream, You’re on your own.

+++

She sniffles, curled up on the floor with her back to the tub. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.” 

You pause, turning off the faucet. You wring out the washcloth and drop to the floor with her, gently wiping at her reddened cheeks. “What do you mean?” 

“I didn’t mean to take it as far as I -” Her breath catches and more tears fall. 

You have a sinking suspicion you know exactly what she’s talking about. 

“It just… happened. It was the summer before Gideon left and there was a case and the boys were asleep in Jack’s room and…” She shakes her head. “I didn’t want to hurt Aaron. I didn’t mean to hurt Aaron. I love him.” 

Now you know you know exactly what she’s talking about. You sit all the way down and pass her the washcloth and she worries it between her hands. 

“Joseph’s just so - He’s so normal and boring and he’s...he’s here. ” She sighs and wipes her nose. “And Aaron knew. He always knew and he never said anything. He never brought it up when we fought or held it over my head even when he knew .” 

“He’s a good guy.” 

She laughs, a watery, mournful, genuine sound. “The best, yeah.” 

+++

Eventually, you get her tidied up and you leave the bathroom looking no worse for wear. 

Much to your surprise, Haley makes a beeline for Aaron, wrapping her arms around his waist and tucking into his chest. His hand makes contact with the back of her head, the other running up and down her back. 

“You okay?” You hear him ask. 

She nods. “Thank you.” She burrows even further into him. “I love you.” 

He looks a little confused but holds her a little tighter. “I love you, too. You gonna make it to midnight?” 

She leans back, taking a decisive breath. “Yes. I am.” 

+++

And make it she does. She doesn’t drink much more, mostly carries around a glass of champagne. 

At midnight, she kisses Joseph with a little smile and Aaron averts his eyes, taking a sip of his beer. When Haley and Joseph separate, she looks over her shoulder, glaring at Aaron and pointedly looking at you. 

With a sigh, Aaron turns toward you. “May I?” 

You’re not quite sure what he’s planning, but you nod. “Sure.” Hopefully a brief answer will hide the rattling in your kneecaps and the trembling of every muscle in your body. 

He leans toward you, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek, dangerously close to the corner of your mouth. There’s an unreadable expression on his face when he pulls back. 

You smile at him. “Happy New Year, Hotch.” 

The corner of his mouth lifts. “Happy New Year.” 

+++

You find him out on the back porch a little while later. You bundle your coat a little against the chill and stand next to him. “It’s a little cold out here, don’t you think?” 

He snorts. “Guess so.” 

The two of you stand in silence for a little while.

“It was about Joseph, right? Haley’s meltdown?” 

A flash of cold panic flushes through your system, right down to your toes. You find your throat a little tight as you move to answer, so you know there’s no point. “I don’t know how to answer that.” 

“I know they started seeing each other sometime in May, maybe April, before the divorce. I said I wasn't sure, but I knew.” He laughs a little. “I know when she’s lying.” 

“It would be weird if you didn’t. You’re a profiler.” 

He shakes his head. “It has more to do with knowing her since she was fifteen.”

It’s something you knew, but a little surprised hum leaves you nevertheless. “That’s a long time.” 

“It is.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Quite a start to the new year, isn’t it?” 

You look out on the yard, feeling the cold leaching into your toes. You look at him. He meets your gaze. “It is.”

Chapter Text

“tell me and i forget, teach me and i may remember, involve me and i learn.”
benjamin franklin

january 7th, 2009 - january 17th, 2009

+++

You’re in Hotch’s office, going over some last-minute corrections from the Atlanta case. Viper’s lawyer, for some reason, sent over a cease and desist letter earlier this morning. For what, however, you have no idea. 

“If there’s nothing to cease and desist, do we have to respond?”

Hotch sighs. “No, but this could get sticky if we want the DA to call him in to testify. The letter addresses harassment and abuse of power, so his people could tie us up and force a subpoena.”

“Is that our problem though?” You ask, leaning over the desk to get a better look. You’d reach for it, but you’re in your sling - a last-minute request from your physical therapist as you work through the last of your intensive rehab. 

“No. It’s Atlanta DA’s problem. I’ll give her a call today and give her a heads up.” He mutters something else, and it sounds like, “What an absurd person,” but you're not sure.

Jordan knocks on the open door and you turn around. 

“Hotch?” She asks. “We have a case.”

+++

“Earlier this evening, the Phoenix police force lost two of our own. Sergeant Manuel Rodriguez and Officer Thomas Kayser were killed in the line of duty.” 

Jordan pauses the recorded news briefing. “That's three officers in the past four days. After the first shooting, the Phoenix Police Department assumed gang involvement.” 

“Pretty reasonable assumption,” you say. “Isn’t it almost thirty percent, Spence?” 

Spencer wavers for a second but ultimately agrees. “Technically it's closer to forty. If a cop isn't killed during a commission of a crime, gang involvement is highly likely. Usually -“ 

Jordan interrupts him. “Actually, their precinct commander believes it may be a serial and has asked for our help.”

That’s odd. 

“What makes him doubt the gang theory?” You ask. 

“A couple of things. Last night's victims were killed exactly the same way as the first.” 

Hotch flips through the preliminary report. “Shot in the neck.” 

“Something that the press didn't release,” Jordan notes.  

Emily puts the file down with a frown. “Well, now, wait. There could still be a gang behind this. Killers working together could establish the same M.O. and -"

Jordan interrupts her. "- And Commander Marks hasn't ruled it out, but there's another detail - trophies.”

Dave sighs. “The killer took their badges.” 

“Gang members don't usually take trophies,” Derek says. “They don't need to. This is an unsub with something to prove. And he's got the entire city on edge.” 

+++

Garcia gives you all the rundown of the most recent killing - that of an Officer Jason Kessinger at a DUI checkpoint on a Friday night. Thankfully, nobody’s fussing over you as you take your usual place at Aaron’s side. 

“So,” Dave says, “the unsub planned ahead, used the DUI stop to set his trap, and then lured the officer to his death. It could have been personal.” 

Emily glances over the file as she speaks, engaged. ”The unsub might have had a problem with these particular officers.” 

 ”Or with law enforcement in general.” Hotch shrugs. “He's sending a message.” 

Spencer leans forward and gets into the frame for Penelope on the other side of the monitor. ”Criminals, gang members, academy washouts, security, rent a cops, Teenagers, and that's just a start. I mean, the list of people who have a problem with police officers is a long one.”

”The victims were shot in the neck,” you note, glancing at Spencer, “so the unsub knew they'd be wearing body armor.” 

Spencer nods. ”And he used a DUI checkpoint. I mean, both incidents show an active understanding of police procedure.” 

Derek huffs a little laugh. ”Which narrows it down to anybody who watches television.” 

“We need to cover victimology.” Aaron looks over at the monitor, checking in. “Garcia, find out everything you can about the officers killed. See what they had in common besides their uniforms.” 

“Will do,” she chirps. “But, I should warn you, it will not be cake because I have been on the phone with these guys all morning and pulling files from them has been like pulling molars.” 

You look up at Aaron, a pull between your eyebrows. 

His look mirrors yours. “Is there a problem?” 

“You know, aside from the obvious grief for their fallen compadres, and their fear of being used as target practice, I get the distinct impression from their crabby behavior, they are none too pleased their boss is outsourcing this investigation to the FBI, so… be prepared to hit a blue wall of resistance.”

Ah yes. Blue walls of resistance. My least favorite kind. 

+++

“Commander Marks, I'm SSA Hotchner.” He introduces you and the rest of the team.  “Thank you for inviting us.”

“And thank you all for coming. Although I'd like to have a word if you don't mind.” 

There’s the barest hint of confusion on Aaron’s face, but you wouldn’t know it was there unless you knew him well. “Of course.” 

The commander calls over a lieutenant from across the precinct. The man in question chats with a family, but nods in acknowledgment. Turning back to you, Commander Marks explains, “Lieutenant Evans will answer any questions the rest of you may have.” 

Weird. 

Marks gestures to Hotch, who follows him to the office. “This way.” 

After a few seconds of awkward silence, Evans finally joins you. “Sorry, that was Officer Kayser's wife. They'd only been married a couple of months.” 

There’s a peculiar little look in his eye, but you can’t quite place it. For better or worse, his next words clear that up for you, clouded as they are with sarcasm. “She seems to think that the FBI is here to save the day. Is that what you're going to do, agents?” 

Jordan moves to open her mouth, but you speak before she has a chance. She may be the interim liaison, but her history doesn’t always support her saying the right thing at the right time. 

“We’re just here to help, sir. Can you show us where we can set up?” 

Evans squints at you but doesn’t say anything. 

+++

Your hotel room is quiet as you and Derek work together in silence. He’s in his sweatpants and you’ve put away your sling for the night - with the promise you’d keep your arm close to your side and do your exercises before bed. 

There’s something nagging at you about the case, but you can’t articulate it until you realize something impossibly, obviously basic. 

“Derek.” 

He looks up at you. 

“Cops are… challenging targets. I know we’ve established that there may be more murders beyond this one, but there have to be more. You don’t jump to big game like this overnight.” 

He nods. “Text Hotch - he’ll have Garcia look into it.” A little smile pulls at his mouth. “Good catch, kid.” 

+++

You end up out on an errand with Jordan. You’re not sure how, but Spencer managed to wiggle his way out of it by making one observation you’d already made (He was louder and had more confidence,). All things considered, it’s not so bad, but you could imagine a better errand partner. 

“What’s Derek’s deal?” Jordan asks. 

You look over at her, keeping your good hand on the top of the steering wheel and resting your other hand on the bottom, easily in reach. “What do you mean?” 

“Why does he always have to be right?” 

You laugh out loud, quickly apologizing. “Sorry. It’s just…” You sigh and look back at the road. “Jordan - we’re a team. We work together. Sometimes we step in it and fuck up, but we will always protect each other. It’s not about being right.” 

She’s quiet, so you continue. 

“I overheard what he said in your office the other day. He didn’t mean to overstep or make you look like an idiot. He was trying to save your ass.” 

She’s still quiet, but it seems reflective. “I… I want to do this job right.” 

“And you are.” 

She shoots you a withering look. “Yeah, right. You all hate me.” 

“Trust me. There’s no way to do this right. You can only do it your way.” A little smile crosses your face. “And we don’t hate you.” 

+++

There’s some commotion at the front of the station, and you follow Hotch as he goes to investigate. The rest of the team present follows on your heels. 

“Commander,” Aaron asks. “What's going on?”

The commander sighs and puts his hands on his hips. “What's going on is my officers are being shot in the streets and crucified by the press. That's what's going on.” 

Aaron isn’t amused. “So you've arrested the wrong person?”

“I brought in a viable suspect for questioning. I had to do something.”

“Commander, I understand the pressure you're under, but doing this could undermine the investigation.” The undercurrent of stress in his voice is clear to you, but you’re sure Commander Marks doesn’t understand the urgency.

You step into the commander’s eye line, doubling down on Hotch’s insistence. “Bringing in another suspect draws attention away from the real unsub. If he starts to feel inadequate, he may strike sooner just to prove himself, putting more of your officers in danger.”

“It's also possible accusing one of their members could antagonize local gangs,” Dave adds, “which is the last thing your officers need to be worrying about right now.” 

Looking rather hassled, Marks relents. “Alright, look. I told you guys I was out on a limb here, so unless you have a suspect…” 

“Hotch,” Derek says. “Since we've got this guy, why don't we see if we can use him?” Aaron nods and Derek turns to Commander Marks. “You mind if I talk to him?” 

The man shrugs. “Be my guest.” 

He moves to walk away, but Aaron follows him. “Commander, I appreciate your letting Agent Morgan join the interrogation, but I promise you, this is not our unsub. The real killer's still out there.”

Commander Marks only shrugs him off. He looks back at you and you shrug with your good shoulder. 

Penelope was right. 

+++

Hotch stops you as you get out of Derek’s car, headed to investigate another tip. “Stay here.” 

You chuff, indignant. “What?” 

“We have an armed suspect and you’re not cleared for heavy fieldwork as it is.” He huffs. “I don’t even know how you got as far as the car.” 

You look over at Derek, who shrugs. 

“Morgan, get back to the precinct. Prentiss and I have this covered.” 

Derek nods and hustles you back into the passenger seat. You glare at Aaron through the window as Derek shuts your door, but he doesn’t seem to be too intimidated. 

+++

You’re finally back at the station when your phone rings. You find yourself almost immediately in the middle of a rather hectic conference call, and you try to identify the individual players as everyone seems to speak at the same time. You quickly put your phone on speaker, Spencer and Derek crowding around to hear better.

“What the hell happened in there?” 

“Daws said it's a blitz attack.” 

“It's a different M.O.”

“Yeah, and this was done in broad daylight. It's not our guy.” That’s Aaron, surely. “Morgan, what have you got?”

Derek replies as prompted. “Well, Playboy's lieutenant was shot in the neck with a .357 magnum. Could have been our guy.”

“All right, I want you to stay on it.” 

You sputter, finally getting a word in edgewise. “Hotch, what's going on?”

“Nothing good.”

Shit. 

+++

“Hotch...This is a bad idea.” 

There’s a horrible feeling in your gut, one that makes you anxious. You’re sure you’d be just as anxious if this was any other member of your team, but you also know that’s a lie. Your fingers play with the strap of your sling, twisting and untwisting it. 

He snorts. “No. It’s a good idea.” 

“This unsub is shooting people in the neck. Entirely missing their vests. Unless you’re in bomb disposal gear, you’re…” 

He steps up to you, smoothing the strap of your sling over your shoulder so it lays flat. “Hey. We’ll get him.” 

+++

“Hey, you! What’s gone wrong now?”

You snort. “Oh, nothing too out of the ordinary. Just letting you know if Hotch comes back home in a body bag, it was a good idea , so don’t worry.” 

You can almost see her roll her eyes. “You’re kidding.” 

“Nope.” 

She snorts, and you hear Jess in the background, asking after something. You hear, faintly, “Apparently Aaron’s going to get himself killed for the sake of a good idea.” 

Then, a little clearer from Jess - “Yeah, that sounds right.” 

The conference room door opens behind you, and you turn. “Alright, Hales, I gotta go protect your son’s father from making a goddamn fool of himself.” 

“Good luck with that. It’s a full-time job and I’m retired. You’re on your own.”

Aaron rolls his eyes and shuts the door again. 

+++

“Earlier today, the Phoenix Police announced the suspect responsible for the deaths of five Phoenix officers had been caught. That is not the case. The killer is still at large.” 

You chew on your lower lip while Hotch gives the press conference, standing off to the side out of the view of the camera with your good arm’s thumb hooked in your sling. You’ve found it gives a similar impression to crossed arms without the effort. 

“You okay?” Emily asks. 

You nod. “Yeah. Just nervous. I don’t like using bait.” 

She sighs but doesn’t say anything more. She doesn’t have to. 

“...We encourage anyone with any information about the shooter to contact us immediately.”

+++

You sit on a nearby desk while you deliver the profile, happy to support where necessary. 

Spencer gestures wildly as he talks, almost painting with his hands. “By pretending to take over the investigation, we've put ourselves above the local police, thus suggesting that we're tougher to take out, and issuing the unsub a challenge that he won't be able to ignore.” 

You try to keep the snark out of your tone as you add, “And painting a target directly on Agent Hotchner's back.”

+++

“Derek, please give me a position.” 

He eyes your arm, but you threw your sling off before the profile delivery, leaving it on the conference room table. 

You pull your FBI windbreaker higher on your shoulders, zipping it halfway. “Come on. Please.” 

With a sigh, he leans over the drawings again and you join him. 

+++

You return to the parking lot outside the police station after the false tip, feeling jittery. You know what you have to do, but you don’t like it. 

Hotch gets out of the car first, and you walk in the opposite direction, toward Derek’s SUV. Tracking Hotch, you, Emily, and Derek trail behind, watching the unsub stalk him across the parking lot. 

You keep your breath even and steady, sneaking back across the parking lot on Hotch’s six. The unsub’s gaining on him. You ignore the twinge in your shoulder. 

The unsub moves to ambush Aaron on the other side of the van, but Aaron falls back and you fall in beside him with a nod. You split then, rounding the front of the car and staying low. 

When the unsub looks over his shoulder, he’s met with the barrel of Aaron’s Glock. 

He lifts his arm, but you’re already there, twisting his wrist and forcing him to drop his gun. “Not this time. You're done. Let's go.”

After you cuff him, you pass him off to Derek. When you turn back toward Aaron, he’s holding your sling out. 

With a little laugh, you take it from him. “Thanks.” 

“Don’t thank me.”

+++

Your next case takes you to Orange County, California, with a highly volatile suspect, and ticking clock, and an increasingly-unpredictable Jordan. You’re thankful you’ve been cleared for full fieldwork - with warnings of permanent damage ringing in your ears. 

Don’t push it.  

There are more than a few times you find yourself side-eyeing Jordan, but the worst is after another double murder, mere minutes after her press conference. 

You watch as Jordan advances on Hotch with a biting kind of haste. She looks pissed. “Did you know?” 

“Excuse me.” He stops her with a shock-lined sternness. “This is not the time or the place. You gonna do this in front of the press?” 

She presses further. “He killed those people because of something I said.” 

“No,” he rebukes her. “When we talk to the public, it's always a possibility. That is part of the job. Tell me now if you can do it or not.” 

“Damn right. I can do this job.”

“Good. You're about to give another press conference.”

He walks away, leaving you relatively alone with Jordan. “It’s the best shot we’ve got. Are you okay?” 

She nods. “I’m good.” 

You’re not convinced. 

+++

There’s nothing redeemable about what you find at the house. Derek, Spencer, and Emily take the chase - they’ve got it well in hand - and you’re relieved they aren’t here to see this. 

Your face screws up at the smell as you walk through the garage door. It’s awful. Jordan can’t help but cover her nose. 

Aaron takes the hallway, his hand on his sidearm. The house seems to be empty, and with the chase in progress, it’s unlikely your unsub is here at all. 

But it’s always good to be vigilant. 

He holsters his weapon after he sees what’s behind the door. All the breath leaves him in a soft huff, and he immediately turns over his shoulder. You make the mistake of looking in the room yourself. 

When you turn back over your shoulder, Aaron’s watching you. 

Are you okay?

You nod. “Yeah. Fine.” 

For good measure, you clear the rest of the rooms and call the county coroner’s office. It’s technically Jordan’s job, but you can’t find her. 

+++

You find Jordan on the front lawn, kneeling in the grass with her head in her hands. Dave stands beside her, bent over with his hands on his knees. 

“This isn’t your fault, Jordan.” You kneel beside her and lay a hand on her shoulder. 

She looks over at you, her breath catching and tears in her eyes. “How do you do it? How do you do this, see this? All the time?” 

“I don’t know.”

+++

“Hey,” Emily says as you all step into the bullpen, “you guys ever notice how the trip home always seems to go so much faster?” 

Spencer, always well-intentioned (and literal), notes, “That's because the tailwinds are in our favor.” 

“No, I meant 'cause -” She cuts herself off with a shake of her head, taking the loss. “Anybody want to get something to eat?” 

Derek shakes his head. “Not really.” He looks over his shoulder. “You?” 

“No,” you say. “Not really.”

It’s only the middle of the afternoon but it feels much later.  

Spencer’s eyes wander, finding a figure on the other side of the upstairs window. “There's someone in the BAU room, guys.” 

You let Spencer lead the way into the roundtable room. When you reach the door and see the figure inside he says, “What are you doing here?” 

Emily’s face breaks out into a grin. “JJ!” 

JJ smiles, glancing down at the bundle in her arms. “Garcia said you guys were on your way back tonight. I thought you could use a surprise.” 

“I thought I gave you strict orders to get this place out of your head for a while.” Aaron approaches from behind you, but he’s overrun by Penelope.  

“My bad. I couldn't help myself.” She reaches JJ and hands her the bottle. “Here. I heated it up. Room temp. Right?” 

JJ nods and meets your eyes one by one. “I just realized, with all that we do and see in this room, we never smile. I wanted at least one good memory to hold on to.”

Derek slips past you, “Excuse me, kid.” He puts a hand on Spencer’s shoulder and makes his way through the little crowd. 

He reaches JJ, holding his hands out. “Um, JJ, uh... Can I?” 

“Ye - Yeah. Of course.” She seems surprised, but there’s a wide smile on her face. 

A chorus of worried women micromanages him as he takes the baby in his arms. 

“Ok, you gotta hold his head up.” 

“Careful, careful.” 

“I got it, I got it. I got it.” He smiles as their critiques roll off his back. 

Penelope persists, fluttering her hands. “No, you don't got it. You're smothering him.”

“Look, what's he doing?” He bounces Henry, still grinning from ear to ear. “What's he doing? He is smiling at Derek Morgan.”

Penelope and Emily look at each other, deciding simultaneously, “Gas.”

“Give me that,” Derek huffs and snatches the bottle from Penelope’s hand, coaxing it into Henry’s mouth. “Hey, little man.” 

There’s a moment where you all watch Derek and Henry smile at each other. It draws a softness from all of you, like you can take a deep breath again. 

Maybe the ride home does go faster than the ride there. 

“You're smiling,” JJ says, looking up at Hotch. 

Lo and behold, the smallest of smiles sits at the corners of his mouth. 

Never one to admit vulnerability, he deadpans his explanation. “Gas.” 

JJ looks over him and smiles at you. You return it and share a little laugh. 

“We miss you,” he says. You know it’s not for your ears, but you agree.

+++

There are a couple of quiet days in the middle of the week, giving you all time to clear the files from your desk and take a breath. 

“It always makes me a little nervous when it’s quiet for this long,” you admit to Aaron on the elevator down to your cars. “I feel like we’re missing something.” 

He sighs. “We are.” 

+++

Lo and behold, the next morning finds you in a high-priority briefing as soon as you walk through the door.

“Two girls between the ages of eighteen and twenty have gone missing and turned up dead in Sarasota, Florida in two weeks.” Jordan reveals their smiling faces on the flatscreen before clicking through to crime scene photos of their bodies. 

You glance over at Aaron. He’s in the middle of a sigh. 

Always missing something. 

“Why are we getting the call now?” You ask. 

“The local police have hit a dead-end and asked for your - our,” she amends, “assistance.”

Always too late. 

+++

“So, we know that the most recent victim is Patricia Osmund, who was found dead yesterday morning. However , another girl was reported missing this morning - Sarah Rhodes.” 

“That’s faster than the last one, much shorter cooling-off period,” you say, checking the dates again. 

The preliminary profile develops around you as you work. There’s not much to go on, save for some signs of torture, ligature marks, and sexual assault. No DNA present at the scene, either.

“Forensic countermeasure,” Aaron notes. “Shows that the unsub is sophisticated and probably has priors. Garcia, can you -” 

“Already running a search through VICAP, sir.”

His mouth twitches a little. 

As usual, Aaron makes the assignments before you land. You and Jordan will accompany him to meet Detective Linden, the head investigator on the case, while Spencer and Derek head to the medical examiner, which leaves Dave and Emily to the latest crime scene. 

+++

Unfortunately, you find Sarah dead three days later, without any new leads. It’s clear she’s a victim of the same unsub - the M.O. is identical - but the body doesn’t give you anything new, even after a visit to the M.E.

“Time of death?” You ask. 

“Between seven and ten last night,” Reid supplies. “Lividity suggests she was moved post-mortem.” 

You glance at Jordan, whose face is a little pinched in places. She’s exhausted and you can tell. With a sigh, she asks, “Are we any closer to catching this guy?” 

Glancing over at Aaron, he meets your eyes and shakes his head the barest amount before answering her. “Every piece helps.” 

+++

“We’ve got another one.” 

Detective Linden walks into the conference room and tosses several copies of a file onto the table. “Missy Dewald was due to meet her parents for dinner. Didn’t show up.” 

You take a copy and flip through. “Anyone of interest at the abduction sites?” 

“We have a witness who can place William Harris at the mall where Missy was due to meet her family.” 

Spencer’s brow wrinkles. “He was at the last one too…” Hotch clicks into Garcia’s line and Spencer raises his voice again so she can hear him. “Garcia, can you go deeper on William Harris? We need everything you’ve got.” 

+++

You roll up on the Harris home and jump out of the car with Dave, Emily, and Aaron. 

“What are you doing?” Hotch asks, advancing on Detective Linden, who’s directing his officers from one place to another. 

“Got tired of waiting,” he says. He’s got that kind of sharpness in his tone you’ve come to expect from local police officers. It’s exhausting. 

Emily’s brow pinches. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Aaron keeps his composure. “You can look all you want. Missy Dewald isn’t here.”

+++

Aaron leaves you when you arrive back at the precinct, probably ready to tear into the police chief for the impromptu change of plans. You, however, follow Derek and Dave into observation, where you can see William Harris on the other side of the glass. 

It’s hard to hide your frustration and disappointment, but you’re going to need to get over it sooner rather than later. 

“All week, you’ve been saying he needed privacy and time. You told me he wouldn’t keep her on his property.” Detective Linden shakes his head. “I wouldn’t listen.”

No, you wouldn’t. Dipshit. 

“Detective, we have a witness who can place him at the abduction site,” Derek says, likely trying to make him feel better. It’s a noble effort, and if you weren’t so pissed (or at least absorbing some of Aaron’s anger) you would think it a good idea. “He has a history of similar offences, where he did use the same M.O. in Atlanta.”

“He fits the profile,” Dave adds. “A high-functioning successful family man, living and working in the area.”

Finally, you jump in, dropping your arms where they’re crossed over your chest. “You had probable cause to make the arrest.”

“We just don’t have enough to prosecute him, yet.”

Derek’s right - it was stupid to move so quickly. With most cases going to preliminary hearings within two weeks, it was imperative they had enough for an indictment before an arrest or even a detainment. That ship has sailed. 

Detective Linden nods and you get the sense he’s acutely aware of his own mistakes. “What’s our next move?”

“The key to finding her could be in his house,” Derek replies, “so we’re gonna need to dig through all there is of his life –”

“ - Family, work, his friends.” You finish for him. 

Dave nods. “Agent Morgan and I will interrogate him.” 

“He holds his victims for two days before he kills them, and -”

“- Missy disappeared yesterday.” It’s Derek’s turn to interrupt you. “So as long as he stays in custody, there’s a good chance she could still be alive.”

The cooperative overlap in your conversations is what makes you and Derek so efficient in the field. With cases like these, Detective Linden has very little choice but to listen to the two of you (and Dave), as you hardly let him get a word in edgewise. Putting all three of you together tends to have that effect on local law enforcement. 

Good call, Aaron. 

You turn toward the window again while Dave gives some instruction to Linden, who you imagine is looking for a task to clear his conscience. “Talk to the detective that arrested him for the Atlanta rapes. Find out what went right and what went wrong with their approach.” 

You’ve already read over the Atlanta files after Aaron privately asked you to review them, just in case. You suspect he had an idea that the detective would go rogue, and you thank whatever higher power for his intuition and experience. 

You turn to the detective and move to leave the room. “I’ll give you a hand with the Atlanta case, detective. Hopefully, we’ll find the answer to your question somewhere in there, or at least give ourselves a roadmap.”

+++

You head into the main bullpen of the station, the Atlanta files already set up and ready for your eyes. The detective takes a seat next to you, and you dive in. 

Aaron catches your eye as he walks out of the conference room, looking hassled and harried. 

It’s gonna be okay. 

He nods minutely, the Florida humidity slinking across the floor as he leaves through the double doors. You follow him. 

+++

You accompany Aaron and Emily to the Harris house, expecting nothing but resistance once you arrive. 

“Would you prefer to do this alone?” Emily asks. 

“This may be too disturbing for your daughter.” You glance at Andrea, who looks defensive and on edge. You don’t blame her. 

“It’s okay,” Mrs. Harris replies. “We have no secrets.”

I somehow doubt that.  

Hotch gets straight to the point, asking, “Can you account for William’s whereabouts for the last twenty-four hours?”

Andrea responds promptly. “My dad was at home with us.”

“The whole time?” You add. 

Her mother jumps in before Andrea can respond again, contributing to the ever-growing wall between this family and your investigation. “He may have ran out for about an hour or so, I really don’t remember.” 

“Three girls have been murdered, Mrs. Harris,” Emily reminds her, not unkindly. “Missy Dewald is missing now. And she’s running out of time.”

“That’s not my fault.” Mrs. Harris insists. 

You can’t help but ask, “How would you feel if someone was hurting Andrea?” 

They’re silent. You almost wonder if they’ll ask you to sit down, but you don’t expect much hospitality. 

Aaron redirects. “Why did you move to Florida six months ago?

“My dad got a better offer with another firm.” 

“It had nothing to do with the rape charges in Atlanta?” This time, he directs his question to Sharon, whose mouth is set in a defiant posture that runs deeper than the implicit accusation in Aaron’s tone. 

To your surprise, Andrea answers again. “Those charges were dropped.”

She’s been well-trained. 

Poor thing. 

Emily continues questioning Sharon, seemingly unperturbed by the lack of cooperation. “Do you really think it’s a coincidence your husband’s been a suspect twice?”

“It was a mistake,” Sharon spits. “Just like this.”

+++

Spencer starts talking as soon as Derek, Dave, and Detective Linden join you in the conference room. “Garcia’s been digging through William’s computer.  She found an encrypted link to a web page.”

“Where’d it take you?” Derek asks. 

“An unsearchable, untraceable blog with tons of journal entries. It’s like some sort of diary.”

Dave looks at Spencer, impressed. “You find anything incriminating?”

“I was able to differentiate between two distinct voices - two authors,” Spencer explains. “I found various idiosyncratic words, phrases, punctuation and orthography within the blog entries consistent with each separate person – words like ‘soda’ and ‘pop.’ One guy uses dashes while the other uses ellipses.” The observation prompts a little laugh from him, and you can’t help but smile. He looks at you, and you reach out and tug on his sleeve in a small show of affection. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Linden lean toward Dave. “Where’d you find this kid?”

“He was left in a basket on the steps of the FBI.” 

You smother your laugh with a cough, and Hotch wordlessly hands you your bottle of water. You glare at him and very nearly miss the nanoscopic smile that flashes across his face. 

“One side of the discourse,” Spencer continues, “made a reference to the devil’s strip.”

Detective Linden can’t help himself. “What the hell’s that?”

“It’s a small patch of grass that separates the sidewalk from the street,” you supply helpfully.

“How do you know that?” Derek asks, his brow pinching. 

You take a pointed look at Spencer. Derek almost smiles but remembers place and time at the last moment. 

Spencer re-engages. “Now, that term is only used in central Ohio. William lived in Atlanta for twenty years, but he grew up in Columbus. The other guy uses words like ‘turnpike’ and ‘filling the gas tank -’” 

“ - Both specific regionalisms for Florida,” you add. 

Derek turns to Spencer. “Kid, are you sure about this?”

Spencer just stares at him. Derek turns to you, and you imagine your expression is fairly similar to Spencer’s. 

Derek tips his head, relenting. “Right.” 

+++

You and Hotch stand on the other side of the glass, watching carefully. Harris sits on the table, looking altogether far too relaxed for your comfort. 

Dave reads from the piece of paper in his hand. “‘Can’t remember the last time I smiled for so long that it hurt. I’ve never felt like this before.’ Sounds like you’re bored at home. Having an affair?”

“I told you, I’m happily married.”

Dave tosses the journal pages onto the table beside Harris, playing at arrogance. “Does your wife know about your secret diary? I bet she’d like to know how good you are at keeping secrets.” 

“I’m not sure what you think you’ve found, but you’ve gone from completely wrong to completely insane.”

“You’re hiding something, William,” Derek says, flat. 

William smiles, a cold, sardonic thing. “No jury will convict me because somebody saw me at the mall. And you think I’m talking with someone other than my wife.”

Just then, Detective Linden passes the two of you and opens the door before you can stop him. 

“We found Missy.”

Harris’s smug expression somehow hardens into something icy and horrible. “Told you so.”

“You son of a bitch.”

Detective Linden throws himself at Harris and Derek grabs onto him, wrestling him out of the room while your apparently-exonerated suspect looks on with a reptilian little smile. 

Fuck. 

+++

“That’s her. That’s Missy. I looked her father in the eye and swore I’d find her alive.”

That’s why we don’t make those promises, detective. 

The frustration leaks out of your tone, nearly eight days of exhaustion pulling at your voice. “So since we’ve been here, this girl’s gone missing and now turned up dead.” 

“Do you think he dumped the body before he was picked up?” Emily asks. 

“The M.E. estimates she was killed several hours ago,” Dave says, returning from that very conversation. 

“But we’ve had William Harris in custody,” Detective Linden insists, sounding rather uncertain. He turns to Hotch.“You think we have the wrong guy?”

Dave shakes his head “I don’t think so. He’s communicating with someone. He’s confident they won’t turn against him.” He looks over at Aaron, whose eyes narrow. “I don’t think he’s having an affair.”

“He has a partner,” Aaron says. 

You sigh. “And that partner’s doing everything he can to get Harris out of jail.” 

And it’s working. 

+++

“The partner is a biter,” Emily says, walking in ahead of you to brief Derek and Spencer. “We found marks on Missy Dewald.” 

“They never did that before,” Derek says. 

Hotch tips his head. “Well, with William out of the picture, he’s changed his behavior.” 

“Maybe the partner went back to something that’s comfortable,” you note. “Something he’s done before.” You turn to Aaron, who’s already watching you. “Can you have Garcia check dental records?” 

He nods. “Already on it.” 

+++

Penelope gets back to you with a match sooner than you expected. “It turns out there’s a lot of sick pups in central Florida. Today’s dental records do not match William Harris, but do match a reported rape in Manatee County earlier this year.” 

“I can’t believe you got a match so fast,” you say, leaning into the frame. 

“Yeah, the teeth belong to the same person, but they’ve never been arrested –”

“ - So you can’t cross-reference.” 

She snaps her fingers. “Exactly.” 

“What about the victim?” Aaron asks. 

“Connie Mayers. She still lives in the area.”

Aaron thanks her and hangs up. After a second, he looks over at you. “Want to take a drive?”

+++

Connie arranges some flowers outside the shop, looking furtively over her shoulder. “They’re gonna ask who you are. They don’t know.” 

Aaron is quick to assure her, “We’re just buying flowers.” They don’t need to know. 

“Those daisies are nice,” you say, circling to create a barrier between Connie and her employer. “In your report, it says your attacker knew what he wanted, that he was confident.”

“More like a control freak,” she admits. “He wore a mask, but I could tell he was white. He choked me. Took a long time for the bruises to go away. I swear when the light’s right, I can still see his hand right here.” Her hand rises to the hollow of her throat and it sends a chill down your spine. 

Poor thing. 

Aaron’s brow pulls and he looks over an arrangement of wildflowers. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not as bad as the bite marks. I mean, they’re scars now. I haven’t been with anyone since, so I haven’t had to explain...” She trails off and picks up the wildflowers and glances at Hotch, then you. “Let me wrap these for you.”

“Thank you.” 

You follow her inside as she wraps the flowers in crisp brown paper, tying it off with a yellow ribbon. 

+++

You return to the Harris home with Hotch and Emily. She takes Andrea onto the back porch while you and Hotch sit at the dining room table with Sharon. The line of questioning doesn’t get too far. 

“We’ve been here for six months, still got boxes to unpack. Suggesting that William’s found time to bond with someone?” She scoffs, letting the question answer itself. 

“You know,” Aaron says. “We think we know the ones we love, but everybody can keep secrets.”

Speaking from experience, Aaron?

“We made a deal after Atlanta. There wouldn’t be a chance for misunderstandings.”

“And how’s that working out for you?” You don’t mean to be unkind, but her naivete is starting to get on your nerves now, especially with the presence of another body and an abduction imminent, based on their previous timeline. 

+++

Derek walks around Harris to take a seat at the table. “‘It’s been so long, my heart aches. I need to see that face again soon.’” He looks up, finishing his recitation. “Wow. I mean, it’s pretty obvious there’s an emotional connection between you two, huh? Can’t deny that.” 

You, Hotch, and Detective Linden stand in observation with your arms crossed, watching Derek try in vain to get anything out of this clown. 

Derek leans forward. “But you know William, doesn’t really sound like two buddies to me. Sounds more like two men in love with each other.”

William’s demeanor isn’t shaken, “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re right. I have absolutely no idea what it’s like to be in love with another man.”

“You know, everyone who goes into law enforcement -” William adopts this tone of superiority with a clearing of his throat. “- has this air of moral superiority. You... it seeps out of every single pore.”

You huff, and the whole gesture screams irritation. Aaron shifts his weight to the left, landing infinitesimally closer to you. Your right arm ripples with goosebumps. 

“Black cop in the FBI. You got a big chip on your shoulder, lot to prove.”

Derek brushes it off with a chuckle, “Now who’s the one who has no idea what he’s talking about?

“We’re not so different, you and I,” William says, “the games we play, we chose because they make us feel powerful. So what do you have, Special Agent Morgan? Prove beyond a reasonable doubt that I have broken the law, but don’t you sit there with that smug look on your face and judge me, boy.”

Derek’s eyes narrow, and you can feel the nearly-contained anger in his voice through the glass. “First of all, I am not your boy. And this look on my face is a look of contempt because you disgust me. You and I are nothing alike. When we do find this friend of yours -” He taps the printed paper. “- there isn’t a jury out there who won’t find you guilty.”

Derek exits the interrogation room and stands next to you. You know he’s alright. Stuff like this usually rolls off his back without much fuss. 

“How’s it going in there?” Detective Linden asks. 

Derek shrugs. “We’re just trading punches. He’s watching the clock, waiting for his bail to be posted. “

+++

A few cogent observations from Reid send you all spiraling toward an answer - the time they met, the song - everything clicks together. 

Penelope works as you all volley back and forth, giving her more and more parameters. 

“Steven Baleman.” 

+++

The next hour or so is chaotic, to say the least. Andrea’s gone missing, Sharon doesn’t post bail, and William realizes he’s screwed. 

Derek puts on the pressure, using William’s own words against him as he presses for Andrea’s whereabouts. 

Disbelief seeps into Detective Linden’s tone from where he stands between you and Hotch on the other side of the glass. “I can’t believe he sold out his daughter to protect his partner.”

The fact comes as no surprise to you. “He’s protecting himself.” 

“The minute he says anything,” Hotch reminds him, “he’s guilty.” 

+++

The pressure works. 

“He got wired just to see his partner again.” Detective Linden watches a few of his officers shove both men into the back of separate cars. 

You remember, not for the first time, that this whole concept - psychopaths and serial murder - is usually foreign. Most detectives will go their whole careers without a serial. 

It’s your every day. 

Dave sighs.  “They needed to say goodbye.”

“Those two had everything figured out,” Derek adds. 

Andrea and her mother leave the scene, clinging desperately to each other. Your heart aches for them. 

“Except how it would end.”

Chapter Text

“you live and learn. at any rate, you live.”
douglas adams, mostly harmless

january 18th, 2009 - january 31st, 2009

+++

Hotch exits his office with Jordan in tow. “Dave.”

You, Emily, and Dave look up, hearing the grounded urgency in his tone. 

Hotch approaches you, a file in his hand. “We got a missing ten-year-old girl, home invasion. Parents were killed in their sleep.”

Yikes. 

Where’s the clock? 

Before you can ask, Dave takes the words out of your mouth. “Where’s our clock?”

“Eight hours and counting.”

Emily picks up her go-bag from under her desk. “I’ll find Morgan and Reid and tell them we’re on the move.”

“Good. Wheels up in thirty.” Aaron looks at you and nods once. 

You turn towards your desk, finding Jordan, motionless.  “You need your go-bag. Jordan?”

She comes back to the present with a quick shake of her head, “Right. Right.”

+++

You’re all scattered around the jet reading files, making notes, when Jordan gets up from her seat and heads to the center table. Aaron’s voice echoes in your head.

Let’s get started.

Jordan, however, begins the briefing without warning or preamble. “This is Geoff and Nancy Hale. Both their throats were cut.”

“Any evidence of abuse?” Derek asks.

Jordan shakes her head, “Nothing.”

Spencer approaches the chair next to Derek, leaning forward to get a better look. “Slitting someone’s throat is quick and efficient.”

“That’s because the real target was down the hall.” Emily glances up at Spencer, who shifts his attention to the file in her hand. 

“She has a name.”

Your head whips up, staring at Jordan. Her sharp tone and the tightness around her mouth suggest...something. You’re not sure what it is, but it’s not ideal. You glance at Aaron, who’s still watching her. 

Emily looks a little stunned, much like the rest of you. “What?”

“She’s not ‘the target.’ Her name’s Cate. She’s ten years old.” Jordan’s tone remains sharp. 

Emily concedes, probably knowing this is not the time to pick a fight. “Alright.” She glances at Hotch for good measure, and he shakes his head ever so slightly before looking back down at his file. His squint, however, is a little deeper than it was before. 

Dave brings everyone back. “Amber alert in effect?”

Jordan looks at the computer screen when she answers, “Since seven this morning.”

“With the unsub’s head start,” Hotch says, “he could be anywhere within a four hundred mile radius. Make sure that they’re casting a wide enough net.”

Jordan nods, making a note. “Got it.”

You lean towards the table., “Who discovered the bodies?”

“Jim Scheuren.” Jordan answers. “Cate’s biological father. He was supposed to take her for the weekend. The police don’t consider him a suspect.”

“We’ll want to talk to him anyway,” Aaron says. 

Emily, Derek, and Spencer pile on the to-do items, gently reminding Jordan of her responsibilities once you all get to the ground. She’s been alright the past couple of days, but things still tend to fall through the cracks if someone doesn’t ask for them specifically.

You find yourself missing JJ, not for the first time. 

+++

“Do you think Jordan’s alright?” 

Aaron sighs, his eyes on the road. “I think she can keep it together. This unit isn’t for everyone.” 

“Clearly.” you try to keep the judgment out of your voice, but it doesn’t quite get there. 

He glances at you. “You seem to do alright.” 

“I had a good teacher.”

+++

You walk a little off of Aaron’s shoulder as Mr. Scheuren exits the room and meanders down the hall. “The doctor told me that if the paramedics hadn't been alerted to her epilepsy, she might not have made it,” Aaron says. “You helped save her life.” 

“You seen this kind of thing before?” Mr. Scheuren looks at you. You can smell the alcohol on his breath, but there’s real concern for his daughter in his eyes.  

You nod. “Unfortunately.”

“And kids come out of it okay?”

You don’t want to give him false hope, so you offer a gentle reminder. “It'll take time. And patience.” 

“She's going to need you,” Aaron adds. 

Mr. Scheuren nods and sighs. “Yesterday would have been the first time I'd seen her in a month and a half.” 

Aaron hesitates for a moment, and you reach for your phone, playing at receiving a message from your team. Stepping away, you overhear, “A colleague of mine asked me the other day how my son was enjoying the Christmas present he got for him, and I had to make up an answer because I didn't know.” 

There’s silence for a moment. 

“I think I'll get that cup of coffee now.”

+++

The walk back to Cate’s hospital room is relatively quiet, “You know you never have to lie to me about Jack’s Christmas presents, right?”

He snorts, “I was talking about Amanda from HR, but yes, I know.” He glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “I know you’ll just go around me, I mean.”

You smirk, “Why would I talk to you when there’s someone smarter than you?”

His eye roll is so pronounced you can almost hear it. “Alright. Sure.”

You hang back as Emily speaks quietly with Cate’s father. Just as you get there, Emily steps out and gives Mr. Scheuren some reassurance.

Emily turns to you and Hotch, lowering her voice. “She was taken by a family.”

Hotch’s confusion is all over his face. “A family?”

“Parents and a little boy about her age. They took her from her house in a car and then into an RV. A short ride on a road and then into a wooded area.”

Your curiosity gets to you. “Did she say anything else?”

Emily thinks for a moment. “She said the mother called the boy puyule , which I think is a Romanian term of endearment. I know I used to hear it when my mom was posted overseas.”

“Emily,” Aaron directs, “Get Rossi and Morgan on the closest RV parks.”

“Okay.”

You follow them out of the hospital.  “What are we looking at here?”

As Hotch puts his phone to his ear he answers, “I have no idea.”

+++

“Garcia, you still there?” Derek asks. He beckons you all further inside, having pulled you from the profile delivery for some urgent developments out of the bat cave. 

“Present.”

Derek prompts her to continue now that the rest of you are there. “Explain what you got.”

“Okay, I went ahead and went further back looking for similar cases and I made the search national.”

There’s disbelief seeping into Dave’s tone as he looks at her findings. “All these are hits?”

Penelope is nervous, yet confident in her reply, “Yeah, there’s thirty of them. They go as far back as 1909. Rapid City, South Dakota. Taos, New Mexico. Gary, Indiana. My map is lit up like a Christmas tree.”

Even Hotch is baffled. “All these girls were abducted and had their parents killed?”

“The time between the kills was long enough and the regions of the country so spread out that it never showed up as serial,” Spencer says. 

That’s one hell of a countermeasure. 

You look at all the missing persons’ reports on the table. “What the hell is this?”

“I don’t know,” Derek says, “but it looks like it’s been going on for generations.”

+++

Derek walks out of the house toward the group. “You aren't going to believe this.”

“What’s wrong?” Jordan asks, her brow pinched. 

“I think I know what they are doing with the girls.” He rounds the car, going in for the stack of files left on the backseat. “Garcia got a hit on a hair fiber in the blanket the unsubs used to wrap Cate Hale.” 

Dave shrugs. “So what’s the problem?”

“It belonged to Kathy Gray.”

The sheriff is a little confused when he asks, “Why does that name sound familiar?”

You help him out. “She went missing in nineteen seventy-one after her parents were murdered.”

“So you’re telling me this little girl is now one of our unsubs?” Jordan doesn’t sound convinced, but it feels more like she doesn’t want to believe it, rather than not believing it at all. 

“That’s what it looks like.”

“Call Hotch.” Dave turns to you. “Tell him and Prentiss not to come here and to meet us at the station.”

You nod and follow Jordan, who looks like she’s about to throw up. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I just need to build a tougher skin.” She sounds determined, but there’s a waver in her voice. 

You squeeze her shoulder, “You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to. You understand?”

“I’ve got to call Hotch.”

Well, it was worth a try. 

+++

You canvas the mall with Derek, briefing passersby and keeping your heads on a swivel. There’s an alarm from the level above you, and you and Derek break out into a sprint, skipping steps on the escalator. When you reach the store, Kathy Gray has surrendered. 

Hotch doesn’t look happy and neither do you. The sheriff picks up on your lack of enthusiasm. 

“What’s wrong?”

You watch the officers take Kathy, your jaw tight. “They’ve been stealing for years and they never get caught.”

Hotch looks grim when he adds “This was too easy.”

+++

You stand on the other side of the glass, watching the masters at their craft. Emily and Aaron play good-cop-bad-cop like no other pair you’ve seen. 

They should teach the class. 

Emily scoffs at him as he fires another barb at Kathy from across the room. “Oh, come on, you know she’s not responsible for this.”

“I know we have a string of bodies,” he says, turning to Kathy, “and she knows where her husband and son are.”

Emily blocks Kathy with her body, reaching a hand out flat on the table. “You are the victim here.”

“No, she’s not. She killed innocent people.”

“Her family was murdered.” She sighs, talking over him as he mumbles something else. “Kathy, this is not your fault.”

Kathy is quick to refute that statement, “My name isn’t Kathy. It’s Sylvia.”

“No, it isn't.” Emily pauses, reaching for a file. “Your name is Kathy Grey. And you were a beautiful little girl. Your mom and dad were murdered and you were kidnapped.” She slides a photo across the table. “Do you recognize yourself there? You see?”

Aaron slams his hands on the table, startling you and drawing a gasp from your chest. “I'm sick of this!” 

“Then leave us alone!” Emily’s rebuttal is overrun by Aaron’s heavy-handed play at bad cop. 

“Where are your husband and son?!”

Emily tries to ally with Kathy, extending a hand and creating a barrier with her body. “Look at me, Kathy. Don't listen to him.” Kathy’s eyes flicker to Aaron’s stormy, shadowy presence at the other side of the table. You have to admit - he looks volatile, dangerous. 

You shiver, and you try to play it off as a consequence of the air conditioning. 

“They stole your life,” Emily says. “Let me help you get it back.” 

Kathy’s voice is sharp, almost a hiss. “That little girl is better off with my son than any man she could meet in your society.” 

“I'm sure you raised him very well. Tell me about your own mother.”  

“I've already told you everything.” She faces Hotch. “I killed them, all by myself.” 

Dave and the others walk into observation. “How's it going so far?” 

“They're trying to crack her by reminding her of the girl she used to be,” you tell him, your eyes glued to the other room. 

“I hope this good cop-bad cop routine works,” Jordan says. “If her family gets away, we've lost that little girl forever.” 

Hotch circles her - a gesture meant to intimidate. “You're lying. Kathy -”

“My name isn't Kathy!” Her explosive response tells you they’re reaching a breaking point with her. They’re close. 

“Yes, it is,” Emily insists, still gentle. “Your name is Kathy Gray. You're from Vienna, Virginia.” She taps a couple of the photos on the table, ones of Kathy with her family. “Tell me where your husband and son are so I can help you get your life back.” 

“Want to see what you did?” Hotch asks, as if Emily hadn’t said anything at all. He starts to shuffle through the folders, spreading gruesome crime scene photos over the table.

“Hey,” Emily chastises, “don't show her those.” 

“If she killed them herself, she can see it again. Serial killers like to relive their crimes.” He looks at Kathy, his brown eyes hard and unforgiving. “Did you know that?” 

He pulls one photo in front of her and points as he speaks. “This is Geoff Hale. He died from a strong, decisive cut. I think that was your husband.” Another photo. “Nancy Hale, her wound was more tentative. This was your son, right?” His eyes narrow. “I'm sure by the time he teaches his own son how to kill, his hand will be steady.” 

“Ok, stop -” 

Aaron talks over Emily. “This is the Robillard family.” 

“Kathy, you don't have to look at that.” 

“Do you want to see some more?” 

They’re so good at this. 

You find yourself taking mental notes throughout, dedicating the routine to memory. Emily’s strategic pleas and interruptions act as benchmarkers for Aaron to change directions without subtlety - essentially acting as a distraction to trial-and-error different trigger points until they find something that sticks. 

“I don't know what that is,” Kathy said. 

“Then look closer!” Aaron, in a surprisingly aggressive move that startles you again, throws Kathy’s chair forward, forcing her body to bow over the table. “You don't recognize your own mother and father?” 

The chair settles and Kathy’s eyes are wild with fear. You place a hand over your mouth to cover your reaction. Hopefully, your blown pupils can be written off by the darkness of the observation room and not the embarrassing jolt of heat that flew up your belly from between your legs. 

“What is…?” She asks.

“See?” Hotch interrupts her. His tone is blunted, not as sharp, but his words cut through just the same. “This is the tentative cut your future husband made while he slit your mother's throat. Where are your husband and son?” 

Kathy doesn’t answer, but Aaron and Emily check in with each other for a moment before Emily takes the lead again, gentle and searching. “Cate Hale is only alive because of you, Kathy. Isn't that right? Your - your husband wanted to kill her, and you didn't.” 

Kathy’s face crumples. “No.”

They’ve got her. 

“How does that make you feel? To know that he was willing to kill that little girl? That he would have been willing to kill you, too?” Emily reaches out, her palm flat against the table. It’s the illusion of a peace offering, of protection. “They murdered your family, Kathy, and they took you in, but you were never really one of them.” 

Kathy shakes her head again. “No.” You’re not sure if her denial is in support or rebuff of Emily’s assertion. 

“You were just a breeder.” 

“I won't betray my family.” 

"Your little boy is only ten," Emily says. "There is a chance he could get out of custody when he's eighteen, but that's only if we get to him."

"I love my family."

"Then tell us where your son is."

“She's ready,” Dave says. He hands you a list, quietly instructing, “Just read it. One by one. Slow and neutral. Follow Aaron’s lead.” 

You nod, taking the list with steady hands and opening the door. 

“ - And we can all help him together.” 

You stand opposite Emily, forming a three-point offensive around Kathy. “Scott Woodland, Zander Blanchard…” 

“Okay, come on, give her a second.” 

You glance at Aaron for the barest of seconds. He shakes his head and you continue. “Max Estep. Chip Jackson.” 

“I don't know who those people are,” Kathy says. 

Aaron’s hand twitches and you pause. “It's a list of every known fence in Huntsville,” he says. “And you're gonna tell us who your husband took the goods to.” His hand relaxes. 

“Coles Rudzinski,” you read, your tone unchanging. “Pete Shernit -”

“Come on,” Emily says. “Give her a minute to do the right thing.” 

“Matt Thorne. Brent Woodhouse.”

“Okay, I can't stop them both, Kathy.” Emily leans forward. “This is it. This is your last chance to make things right.” 

You keep Aaron’s hand in your peripheral as you continue, droning, “Kevin Everson. Mike Fenner. Morris Collins -” 

“Stop!” Kathy slams her hands on the table and stands, shoving her hands in her hair. 

You look up to the two-sided mirror, repeating. “Morris Collins.” 

“I won't tell you,” Kathy says, breathless. 

Aaron’s tight jaw and crossed arms underline his unimpressed deadpan. “You just did.”

+++

When you and Aaron end up alone in the interrogation room, tidying and re-ordering the photos, he pauses and looks over at you. 

“Good work.” 

You snort and a corner of your mouth lifts. “I just read off a list, Hotch.” 

“No,” he says. “You listened. You watched. It’s not easy to come into such a delicate interrogation and enmesh yourself in a dynamic so successfully.” 

You hide your smile, looking down as you continue your task. “Thank you.” 

+++

The case wraps neatly. Lynn and Cate will find homes with members of their family, which makes you feel better even though their lives won’t ever be the same. 

+++

You sit back, relaxed in a chair with your feet up on the far corner of Aaron’s desk, reading over a recent addendum to the Bittaker and Norris profile prepared by the man sitting across from you. 

“Does it bother you that I don’t show much emotion?” 

There’s something about the lonely quiet of the office this late at night - almost like an abandoned place of worship. Odd lights cast odd shadows, and things seem to echo where they don’t in the daytime. 

You find that the space often inspires something in Hotch - he tends to ask strange, if not difficult, questions of you at this time of night. They aren’t, however, usually about him. 

You look up with a bit of a frown. Hotch looks pensive, looking somewhere past your left elbow. 

“No,” you tell him. “Why? Did someone say something?” 

He shakes his head. “No, I just -” He stops himself, his mouth pressing into a thin line. “Just curious.” 

Returning to his paperwork, his pen hovers over the paper. He doesn’t start writing again. You keep your eyes on him, studying the little microexpressions that fly over his face. 

As you suspected, he’s not finished. “You don’t feel...pressured to be invulnerable?”

“I’m not sure I understand the question.” You do, but know the very act of clarifying will reveal more than he intended. 

“Jordan said something -“

The corner of your mouth tips up. 

Knew it. 

“- She said this team is a family, and like with most families they take on the traits of their leaders. And -“

Let’s just ignore Jordan’s implication that Hotch is the team’s father. Freud would have a field day. 

You stop him, sitting up and pressing a hand flat on the report in front of him. “Hotch - I never feel like I have to hide from you, or this team. We - or, maybe I - understand that your…”

Serious, reserved, conservative, tactic nature... 

Hm. Go a different direction. 

“... firm boundaries regarding your own emotions don’t implicitly or explicitly extend to us.” Your mouth quirks. “I don’t keep things from you, emotional or otherwise if I can help it.”

You withdraw your hand and pick up your folder. Before you can dive back into the familiar narrative voice of Aaron’s analytics, he asks another question.

“You don’t feel that I take you for granted, do you?”

“Never.” You don’t hesitate for a second. 

He almost laughs. “You answered that terribly quickly.”

“Didn’t need to think about it.” You think for a second, but choose to share against your better judgment. “Strauss tried to transfer me to Los Angeles - for the counterterrorism unit there - but I know you wouldn’t let her. I think you’re acutely aware of how easily you can lose us - to another assignment or otherwise. If you’re acutely aware of how easy it would be for us to leave, why would you take us for granted?”

You ignore his shock and continue. 

“We all know how important we are to this team, and I can only speak for myself, but my work and contribution always feel valuable.”

There’s a shadow of doubt behind his eyes. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah,” you say through a little laugh. “Yeah, I’m sure. Where is this coming from, anyway? I feel like there’s more to it than Jordan.”

He shrugs and sighs. “Not really. Her comment just got me thinking, is all.” 

“That’s a dangerous pastime,” you tell him, a little smile on your face. 

He takes that with a tip of his chin. “That’s what they tell me.” 

Chapter Text

“i believe that sex is one of the most beautiful, natural, wholesome things that money can buy.”
steve martin.

february 25th, 2009

4x16 pleasure is my business

+++

You rap twice on the office door before pushing it open with your fingertips, peering inside while ready to retreat at a moment’s notice.

There’s no need. Aaron’s alone. 

“You’re here early,” he says, his eyes still on his paperwork. 

You snort. “So are you.” 

He looks at you over his nose. “Can I help you with something?”