Archive of Our Own

"He who fights with monsters might take care, lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you." – Friedrich Nietzsche

The Reaper is gone. George Foyet is dead. Haley is…

Haley is…

Haley’s…

It’s his fault. All of it is his fault. Right now, it feels like  everything  is his fault.

It’s his fault that his team is under the microscope. They’re all being pulled from their duties to sit in a conference room, being picked apart and scrutinised by Erin Strauss. In his professional opinion, this is a gross waste of time and resources. There are killers and kidnappers and pure evil criminals all over the country doing heinous crimes and getting away with them because the FBI’s best and brightest are on administrative leave. That’s his fault, too. He’s the one who went apeshit on a serial killer and put all their jobs at risk.

It’s his fault that he hasn’t even seen his team in two weeks. It’s not like they haven’t reached out; he’s the one not answering texts or returning calls. He’s letting his relationships die off around. The same way he let Haley…

It’s not just his team that’s suffering. All his relationships are falling apart. Haley’s sister, Jess, has been calling every day. She’s offered support and comfort, babysitting for Jack, alcohol - everything. He can only blame himself for letting her fill up his answering machine without thinking to return a single call. He hasn’t spoken two words to her since the incident. Really, he hasn’t spoken to anyone other than his son. Not even Spencer.

Spencer. His beloved partner. He can’t face him. He wants to,  so badly he wants to , but he just can’t. Every time he tries to reach out, so much as reads Spencer’s name on his phone, he gets eaten with guilt. He hates himself for dating Spencer while Haley was still alive. She was hiding and fighting for her life, for  their son’s life,  and he was busy shacking up with the first person he could find. Maybe he’s just replacing Haley with Spencer; maybe he’s there to fill the void left by his failed marriage. And even if he isn’t, he’s still dating him in bad faith. Simply being with Aaron is enough to put him in danger. If Spencer dies - and he will, Aaron is sure he will - it’ll be all Aaron’s fault, too.

The worst thing, though, is how he’s failing his son. His son is suffering, too. Aaron can see it; He sees it, but he can’t do anything about it. He feels like he doesn’t even know Jack anymore. How much can a kid change in such a short time? Still, he has. That’s not Jack’s fault; kids grow, and they change, and it all slips away so fast. It’s Aaron’s fault he hadn’t even tried to savour the time. He’d let his work consume him. He let his son be ripped away from him and only fought for him when his mother had already died. It’s his own fault that his own child is as good as a stranger to him. He’s stuck, reaching for his child through the murky darkness of grief. And guess what?  He’s failing. 

He’s been trying to be a good father to Jack. He’s really trying. It’s not working. Everything he tries falls apart. 

He’s making breakfast. 

He’s  trying  to make breakfast. 

He’s  trying  and  failing  to make breakfast.

Jack is upstairs getting ready. He no longer needs his father’s help getting dressed, brushing his teeth, or combing his hair - he told Aaron that much himself. He can do it all by himself. All without Aaron. Jack can do everything Aaron could help him with alone. Jack  wants  to do everything Aaron could help him with alone. Not because he doesn’t need help - he clearly does - but because Aaron is bad at helping. He can’t do it like Mommy used to. So, instead of trying to do his job as a father, he’s making a feeble attempt at preparing breakfast.

Jack has been asking for French Toast for  days.  Apparently, he and his mother used to have French Toast in their pyjamas every Wednesday and Saturday while they were away. The French Toast has been more a part of Jack’s life than Aaron has for the last couple of months. Of course, he wants it. Why shouldn’t he? French Toast is important to him. French Toast has been keeping him company and watching him grow up. Of course, he’s feeling the absence of French Toast.

So Aaron is going to give French Toast Wednesday back to him. It’s the only thing he can do.

Except he  can’t.

Haley used to make amazing French Toast; Aaron remembers it. It was smooth and custardy and rich. She used to spend hours in the morning preparing it. Now, it’s the yardstick by which Jack measures all French Toast. Frozen French Toast sticks won’t do.

So Aaron is making it from scratch.

He’s  trying  to make it from scratch.

The pile of discarded eggshells mock him. The sickly, thin wisps of custard coating twist grotesquely in the bottom of the bowl, mirroring his anxious insides. He can smell burning toast and it’s not a stroke. He almost wishes it were a stroke. If he was having a stroke, at least he’d have an excuse for not being able to make his son breakfast.

He can hear Jack coming down the hall. He’s out of time.

He’s a terrible father. He’s a horrible person. He’s a waste of space and eggs and air and all things good. Jack only ever had one good parent; now he barely has one at all. 

Aaron takes a deep breath and tries to put on a brave face. Jack can’t see him fail. If he just smiles and pretends everything is all right, maybe it will be. He plasters on a smile and spins around to face Jack. 

He’s not quick enough. Jack has seen the mess that he’s made of their breakfast. He knows Aaron is a failure - he probably smelt that, coming down the stairs. He can see Jack’s eyes floating over to the plate of charred bread. His brow creases. Jack is disappointed. Aaron has disappointed him. It deflates him.

“Hey, buddy!” Chokes Aaron. He can hear the sadness thickening his words. Jack can probably hear it, too.

“Hi, Daddy,” Jack says simply.

Usually, Jack would ask him if breakfast is ready. Today he doesn’t. It’s very telling. Aaron has ruined it, again. Aaron can’t even look him in the eye; he turns back to the bench.

“Breakfast is almost ready,” he lies. 

He pushes the last piece of French Toast around in the pan and prays for a miracle. It doesn’t grant him one. Instead, it sizzles aggressively. Flipping it, he finds it to be as black and burnt as the rest of the stack.

Just another thing he’s ruined. All he knows how to do is destroy things. He destroyed Jack’s life, got his mom killed, and now he can’t even cook his favourite meal to make up for it. All he knows how to do is waste eggs, and time, and turn his kitchen into the scene of a massacre. 

He’s failing. He failed. Again. 

What hurts most is that Jack doesn’t even call him on his lie. He just stands there. 

“I could make you something else,” Aaron offers, grasping for straws, “There’s some yogurt in the fridge, or some oatmeal?” 

Jack shrugs. 

Aaron turns to him to say something but he can’t. It’s the first time that Aaron has really looked at him. Jack’s not just disappointed - he’s  resigned.  Resigned to Aaron’s repeated failures. It breaks his heart. Past his face, Aaron can see evidence that Jack dressed himself. His hair has been combed, but not at the back; his arms are too short to comfortably do the back himself. He picked his own clothes, too - a Spiderman shirt that Aaron suspects are pyjamas and some gym shorts. There’s a smudge of toothpaste down his front. He’s a bit of a mess. And Aaron, the monster he is, can’t find the energy to correct him.

“I’ll have cereal.” Jack says softly.

Aaron can only nod. He scrambles for a clean bowl and some milk, working around the French Toast crime scene to prepare some cereal. He keeps his eyes on his work and ignores the mess. The mess does not ignore him back. The French Toast stares him down, mocking him. It, like the rest of his life, is burnt with anger and soggy with grief. 

He hands Jack his breakfast. He doesn’t thank him for it. Aaron supposes he deserves that.

Frozen by his emotions, Aaron tries to gather the strength to throw away the not-French Toast. He can’t though. By the time he thinks might be able to stomach it, he doesn’t have time. He’s already dangerously close to being late. If there’s one thing he doesn’t need today, it’s to be late.

Today, he needs to present the image of a man who is coping. Men who are coping are not late. Men who are coping are not in their pyjamas. Men who are coping do not let their sons leave the house wearing pyjamas and covered in toothpaste. Men who are coping can make French Toast. 

One of those things he can’t fix. The rest he must. He must appear to be coping. He needs to build up an impenetrable wall, an unreadable mask to present the world. No one can know he isn’t coping. His  team  cannot see he isn’t coping. If they do, he hopes they’ll do the right thing and make sure Jack gets taken care of.

—

Spencer is buzzing, even before his coffee. He’s full of nervous energy. It bounces around in his chest. Weirdly, it has nothing to do with the interview. The interview he can handle. He’s nervous about seeing Aaron. 

Everything changed that day. Every single thing. There’s not a part of their lives that hasn’t been affected by this. The thing that seems to have changed the most for Spencer is their romantic relationship. He and Aaron haven’t even seen each other since. Before that, they were around each other almost constantly; now they haven’t even spoken in fourteen days.

It makes sense. Aaron’s priorities have shifted. His son has unexpectedly moved back in with him. His whole world has been thrown into chaos. He probably hasn’t had time to think about Spencer, about their relationship, and about how they are going to make this work. Spencer understands that. He respects that. Thinking about how to traverse their still-kinda-new relationship is too much right now. Not to mention, Aaron’s son doesn’t even know about their relationship.

So, Spencer is giving him his space.

Spencer is desperate to talk to Aaron. He just wants to hear his voice. It’s been so long. He’s worried, though. He doesn’t know what sort of state Aaron is in. He can’t imagine it’s going to be good. That scares him. It scares him that his boyfriend could have spent the last two weeks grieving and unravelling alone.

The weight of the sentiment is lost momentarily as he fixates on one word.  Boyfriend.  Before all of this, boyfriend had been the right word. Spencer had been giddy with puppy love. His stomach swooped every time he got a text from his  boyfriend.  Aaron had lived up to that title - he was young and affectionate and happy and in love. He was everything a boyfriend should be. Now though? Spencer isn’t sure that title will fit. Boyfriends have rarely beaten men to death, are rarely the widower of their high-school sweetheart, and are rarely the subject of FBI conduct enquiries. He supposes, given the circumstances,  partner  might be a better word. That is if Aaron still wants to be his partner after everything that’s happened.

He doesn’t get much time to unpack that thought. Aaron walks in. 

Before him stands the man he loves - the man he  still  loves, not just in spite of but because of his choices. His Aaron. Mostly, at least. The man before him looks like his partner; he’s made up of all the same parts. He’s just slightly wrong. It’s almost as if someone recreated him completely from memory. The bones are there, but the heart is not. 

The body of Aaron Hotchner is wearing his signature suit. It’s as finely ironed and tailored as always, however, it hangs off him. It creases in strange places. He’s  slouching,  ever so slightly. Aaron doesn’t slouch. He didn’t use to slouch. The timid, retreating slope of his spine isn’t the only change. Aaron’s skin is sallow. Sure, he’s always pale - the curse of the office worker - never this pale, though. This paleness speaks of missed sleep and missed meals. It’s pale all the way down his neck until it disappears into his shirt, tucked in behind a perfectly-aligned tie. The tie is one of Aaron’s favourites, one of the ones he treats with care. That usual care is gone. It’s got wet patches in the silk as if tied hurriedly with undried fingers. 

He looks like himself, except for any bit of him that is genuinely human. It’s Aaron’s body. Aaron’s soul has been left behind - where, exactly, is anyone’s guess.

Jack looks as if he’s fairing better. A cute kid, and remarkably happy. He’s almost as exactly as Spencer expected him to be. Not much has changed except his height - he’s much bigger than Spencer remembered. The kid has shot up like a weed. It speaks to how many months it’s been since Spencer really saw the kid - long enough to notice the growth that must have happened gradually. The height change must have been a shock to Aaron, too, judging by how ill-fitting his clothes are. His jeans are too short, and his buttoned shirt is too tight. 

There’s no more time for Spencer to observe them. The room erupted with greetings for them both. Jack smiles and waves and scrambles to give each of them a hug; Aaron barely nods. It’s very telling. Aaron is trapped in his own mind, his own world. He can’t spare so much as a breath for the others. He just sits, soaking in his misery in perfect silence.

It only makes Spencer more desperate to talk to him. 

He can’t. This is not the time. They’re stressed. They’re preoccupied. They’re surrounded by coworkers and Jack. No matter how much he wants to talk, it’s not happening now. Even if he tried, it wouldn’t happen. Aaron would probably just look right through him and maintain his perfect, silent stare. Spencer couldn’t handle that right now. No, now isn’t the right time.

Erin Strauss rounds the corner and it becomes, if possible, even more not the right time.

—

The air in the interview room is crisp. It’s isolated and intimidating and cold. Deadly cold. Deliberately cold. It’s clear from the whole set-up of the room that has been chosen to unnerve them. If JJ were a lesser woman, she might be affected. She’s not, though. She can’t be shaken by big, empty tables and a chill in the air. She’s here to do her job. No amount of bureaucratic power playing can sway her from that.

“Please say your name and rank for the record.” Strauss directs. It’s so forthright it’s almost clinical.

“Supervisory Special Agent Jennifer Jareau, Communications Liaison for the Behavioural Analysis Unit in Quantico, Virginia.” She replies, matching Strauss’s energy smoothly.

“And how long have you been a member of the BAU?”

“Six years.”

Strauss gives her a derisive look. “Could you speak up, please?”

JJ knows full well that she was matching Strauss’s volume. She’s being heard. This is just a power play. 

She clears her throat, trying not to sound irritated. “Sorry. Six years.”

“And have you worked under Agent Hotchner the entire time?”

It’s a crafty question. It’s almost irrelevant. It only serves to drive the narrative that the FBI is trying to push - the one where Aaron Hotchner is solely at fault for this incident and should, therefore, be stepped down. This question is leading her to a certain answer. It’s not an answer she likes. Sadly, she can’t avoid it. 

“No ma’am,” she says, “I currently report to Acting Unit Chief Derek Morgan.”

Strauss cuts in too quick, “Who took over the unit because Aaron Hotchner’s ability to lead the team had become compromised.”

It’s bait. She knows it.

“I… I don’t believe that’s the reason.”

“You have a different opinion?”

The hook is right there. She bites anyway. “It’s not just an opinion.”

“You have a different understanding?”

“SSA Hotchner voluntarily stepped down so we could continue to do our jobs unhindered.”

That was true at the time. It must have been true, at least partly. Aaron had chosen to step down to convince Foyet he was unravelling; now it’s become somewhat of a self-fulfilling prophecy. Aaron  has  unravelled since he stepped down. He’s no longer capable of being unit chief. She’s almost relieved that he stepped down when he did. She feels sick to her stomach thinking about it, guilty too, but she can’t help it. Aaron is compromised. He’s not what the unit needs right now.

That’s not his fault; she doesn’t blame him for any of this. Aaron has been put through hell for the sake of Foyet’s sick game. If she were in his shoes… she can’t imagine how she would feel. The agony of losing her partner coupled with the pressure of raising their child alone - it’s unthinkable. 

Aaron deserves time to recover. He’ll get back on his feet; when he does, he deserves to have his job back. That’s the simple truth. JJ just needs to convince Strauss of that. 

She refocuses on the interview.

“How would you describe Agent Hotchner’s recent behaviour?”

JJ wonders if she’s referring to before or after hearing Haley die. She errs on the former. She refuses to lie to Strauss, but she also refuses to let herself be twisted into a tool for Strauss’s agenda.

“Driven.” She replies. Safe. True. Untwistable.

“Driven,” Strauss all but huffs. “Agent Jareau, your entire team is on the line. If I cannot reconcile an adequate account of Agent Hotchner’s investigation into George Foyet…”

There’s the bait again. Strauss didn’t get the answer she wanted by leading her, so now she’s threatening. She’s not even covering it well - or at all. JJ isn’t going to let herself be bullied.

“We were all investigating The Reaper. SSA Hotchner was not the only one,” JJ corrects. “Especially after he sent us that calling card.”

It’s clear that Strauss doesn’t have even an iota of the information she needs to make an informed ruling on this case - evidenced by her curiosity about the previously unknown piece of information.

“The newspaper articles he mailed to Karl Arnold. Two letter from two different locations. They ramped us all back up.”

Strauss can’t respond. There’s nothing in JJ’s answer she can use to bury SSA Hotchner. She just sits, half listening, and waits for JJ to continue. 

It’s infuriating, but JJ is determined not to let it phase her. All she has to do is stand her ground and get through this interview. Aaron can’t afford to lose his wife and his job at the same time. If her testimony can save him, that’s enough. So no matter what Strauss does, she needs to keep focused.

“I should just start at the beginning.”

—

Penelope hates all of this. 

The idea of all her favourite people being questioned like criminals makes her feel icky. These are  good people.  They don’t deserve this. Every time Strauss comes for one of them, she feels gross all over - like she was watching them being led away to slaughter. They disappear into the conference alone. Away from her. It’s just yucky.

It’s not Erin Strauss’s fault. She’s just doing her job. In Penelope’s experience, Strauss is a stoic professional, hardworking and sober. She isn’t heartless, though. Still, right now all Penelope can see when she looks at her is some sort of predatory sea witch singing her team away from her. 

She just hates this. The whole situation - Foyet, Haley, the interviews - it’s no good. Foyet was a bastard and he deserved what was coming to him; it still hurts her that a human being lost their life without a fair trial. On the other hand, there’s Haley - god, what a remarkable woman. Hearing her die was one of the hardest moments of Penelope’s life. She’s not keen to relive it. She’s especially not keen to relive it given how it’s being used against Aaron. She’s not comfortable picking apart the life of one of the best men she’s ever known.

It all just feels so wrong to her.

Aaron is hurting right now. He doesn’t need to be rough in front of the firing squad. He needs help. Can’t all this wait until he’s better? The scrutiny of all of it can’t be good for him right now. He doesn’t need bureaucracy. He needs rest. He needs support. He needs to find the sunshine in his life again. 

Penelope can usually be that sunshine. She’s always there, the hopeful light at the end of the dark of the cases they work. Not this time. She can’t reach him now. No one can. Not even Spencer, the man’s own boyfriend - yes, Penelope’s figured that one out, it doesn’t take a profiler. If Spencer can’t reach him, no one can.

She can’t help him right now. So, she settles for doing what she must. What she must do is this interview. It doesn’t make her any more comfortable with it.

“Would you like some water?” Strauss asks her, drawing her out of her nervous spiral.

“No, thank you, ma’am.”

“Are you all right?”

She’s not. She feels bad saying that - she’s meant to be bright and bubbly and happy all the team. Still, Strauss had asked. She wants to know the answer. And Penelope’s on the record, it’s not like she can lie.

“I… I’m just not, uh, comfortable with any of this. It’s not okay.”

“What do you mean?”

“In my opinion, everyone is asking the wrong questions. Doesn’t anyone care about what The Reaper did to them? How many people he hurt? All anyone seems to care about is…”  Hurting Hotch.  She can’t bring herself to say it. “This just isn’t right.”

Strauss considers all this. Then she promptly ignores it and goes back to asking the wrong questions.

“Do you think that Agent Hotchner was acting… agitated or unreasonable?”

Penelope feels even sicker.

“He…”

Aaron is a good man. He’s done a bad thing, but he’s still inherently good. He’s still the best person to lead this team. She wants to tell Strauss that; unfortunately, she can’t figure out how to say it. She is scared that if she admits that the thing Aaron did was bad and reprehensible, or that she doesn’t support that course of action, she’s as good as signing his death warrant. 

She can’t do that. So, she says the best thing she can.

“No, no, he… He was freaked out about his family - which, considering what happened, I’d say was perfectly reasonable.”

It’s the truth. Better than that, it’s the truth told in a way that can’t hurt Aaron. 

—

David hates a lot of things. Los Angeles. Football. Snakes. However, the thing he hates the most is bureaucracy.

This whole charade is stupid. The higher-ups don’t care about the truth. They just want to parade around and find a head to hang this debacle on. It’s pointless. All the paperwork and the interviews accomplish nothing. The worst part is, David thinks the Bureau knows this. Yet, they’re all still expected to partake. They all have to front up and let the Bureau pretend that with enough careful prodding they’ll uncover the secret to preventing this situation in the future. 

They couldn’t have prevented it. They can’t prevent it in future. The only thing they can prevent, that they can even  influence,  is the untimely departure of Aaron Hotchner from their midst. If the Bureau thinks they can tell him anything different, well…

“Once the team located George Foyet’s potential apartment, why didn’t the BAU enter immediately?”

She’s very easy to ignore. Even if she wasn’t, David was sure he’d find a way.

He taps away on his phone, doing precisely nothing.

“Agent Rossi?”

“Hmm?”

“I asked you a question.” She says, like he doesn’t know that already. Unluckily for her, he isn’t feeling in the mood to answer it.

“Gold is still going up, but knowing when to get out, that’s the trick.”

She gives him a dry, grating look of irritation. It’s incredibly satisfying. She flicks off the recorder. That’s even more satisfying.

“What are you doing?”

He thinks that’s fairly obvious.

“What’s the point of all this, Erin?” He asks. “Why?”

“So this never happens again.” 

That is the difference between the two of them - Strauss somehow still believes that life is a beast that can be tamed. David knows better.

“There is nothing a bureaucrat can do to make sure that something like this never happens again.”

She’s not impressed by the answer. Strauss is rarely impressed by the truth.

“So we just wait for the next bloodbath?” She presses.

Practically, they should. In all his years in this job, this sort of thing has only happened once. Trying to prepare for the next time it happens seems to be an unreasonable waste of time. It’ll get them nowhere. Worse, it distracts them from dealing with things that they could fix, namely: helping Aaron Hotchner with his clear mental health crisis.

That’s where he would like to focus his efforts. Aaron is as good as a son to him. He wants to protect him, to help in any way he can. Aaron needs guidance. He needs unconditional love and support while he’s vulnerable. David can give that. Sure, Aaron isn’t a kid with a scraped knee - he needs more than a bandaid and a hug - but David still thinks he can help. He wants to help. He’ll find a way. 

It pains him that he can’t just protect Aaron from the grief. If only it were that simple. If you could just shield yourself with friends and family, create a wall of love to block out the grief. Unfortunately, grief comes for you no matter who is watching out. Fortunately, even though the grief has come, David and the team will be here to ensure it won’t stay and consume. 

Well, they  will,  just as soon as they conclude these stupid interviews.

“Why did you wait so long before going to Foyet’s apartment?”

“We had to be sure he was there. If we went in and he wasn’t…” He’s sure even someone as dense and fanciful as Strauss can decipher the meaning of his inference. He elaborates, just in case. “He would know we found him. Of course, the longer we waited, The more time he had to… It was an impossible decision.”

“So who made it?”

If he survives this stupid meeting, that is.

—

“You left for Marshal Kassmeyer’s house immediately?”

Spencer thought she would probably know the answer to that. It’s in all of their statements. He assumed she would have read them in advance of the meeting. He wants to tell her that, however, David warned him that she was already pissed after his lacklustre interview; he errs on the side of civil.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Wouldn’t this be a job for a tactical team?”

“We felt that it would take too much time to get authorisation for another operation.”

“We?” She asks - as if to say  ‘not just Agent Hotchner?’ 

It’s an insult. Aaron had given this everything he had. He fought the good fight. He tracked and neutralised a serial killer. Now the bureaucracy is trying to write off his actions as insane or unprovoked. It’s disgusting. They’re wrong about Aaron, and his motivations. No one overseeing this could’ve or would’ve done any differently; they definitely couldn’t have done better. 

He wants to go David’s route and boycott this whole thing. If only he could. Instead, he sits up straight and behaves. He gives them the facts.

“All of us.”

“Don’t you mean Agent Hotchner wanted that?”

He’s not surprised she’s needling him about this. JJ had warned him that she would try and turn everything around and blame Aaron.

“No, I mean all us wanted that.” He corrects her. “I know what you’re thinking, and I agree, it would be easy for us to blame him.”

“Easy?”

“Yeah. Why not just say it’s his fault and then we can all just forget about it?”

Strauss seems surprised. It irks him.

Spencer is struck again by the weight of it all. Aaron has given the FBI his health, his relationships, and the safety of his family - albeit reluctantly. He has nothing left to give. If they take his job now, he’ll be ruined. Spencer refuses to contribute to that. So, he gives Strauss the answers, whether she wants them or not.

“But, uh, the problem is, I have an eidetic memory and that’s not what happened.”

He’ll give everything it takes to save Aaron’s job. If he can save their relationship, too, then he’ll die happy. If not, he’ll just be happy to have Aaron alive.

—

“Agent Prentiss.”

“Ma’am.”

Bureaucracy and grief don’t play well together. She knows this all too well. The FBI pushes them to make heat-of-the-moment decisions to save lives and later crucifies them for doing that. They have a way of blaming people for doing the best they could. 

She’s been burnt by it before. Ops have gone sideways, and people have been left grieving; in the middle of it all, the FBI looks for someone to blame - usually, whoever’s hurting the most. Blame and grief don’t play well either. Right now, Aaron doesn’t need to add blame to his plate of problems.

Emily knows, somewhat unhelpfully right now, that law enforcement officials are frequently not held accountable for their actions. It’s one of the biggest failings of their criminal justice system. She also knows that Aaron’s actions could (and probably should) be treated as police brutality. There are too many bad apples left in the system because of a disregard for protocols in this sort of case. Hence, interviews. She knows why they have to happen. Furthermore, she knows it’s the right thing to do.

Doesn’t make it good or tolerable.

So, she’s not giving them anything more than they need. She knows Aaron is one of the good ones. He doesn’t deserve all the heat; any punishment earned has been more than taken care of by Foyet. She’s not allowed to say that. Instead, she presents herself in a way that makes it clear who she’s standing with. 

Hopefully, it will get this all over quickly. A quick resolution ensures that they can keep the Bureau’s hateful eyes off Aaron when he needs to collapse. He’s only just holding together right now. The hearings mean it’s not safe for him to let go; it would devastate his career if he fell apart now before they’ve had a chance to get his version of events. If he falls now, Strauss will have all she needs to pin the incident on him without so much as a word. When it’s over, though, he’ll be safe. Safe to grieve. For this reason -  only  this reason - Emily agrees to speak to Strauss.

“We understand that Agent Hotchner managed to seperate himself from the rest of the team.”

“He didn’t ‘manage’ to do that.” Emily counters.  Crafty bitch.  “When Marshal Kassmeyer was in the ambulance…”

“Agent Hotchner volunteered to ride along.” Strauss interjects craftily.

“To get answers before he lost consciousness.” Emily continues, with no small amount of bristling.

“Why didn’t you go with him?”

How exactly do you think four fully grown adults will fit in the back of an ambulance and still leave room for paramedics to work?

“It didn’t seem necessary.”

“Did he tell you that?”

She can hold her tongue no longer. “Is that what you’re looking for? A way to blame this on him?” She says, failing to mask her shock and disgust. “What good could that possibly do?”

Strauss looks at her with scorn and warning. “Agent Hotchner was looking for an opportunity to separate himself from the team and he found one.”

The worst thing about that statement is that she clearly believes it.

“That isn’t true.”

“He was desperate,” Strauss presses, “and he didn’t want someone with a clear head to stop him.”

If you like making up stuff up so much, you should become a novelist. There is a time and a place for storytelling - this is neither. 

“Is there a question in there somewhere?”

The answer is evidently  ‘no,’  judging by how the next thing out of Strauss’s mouth is an order.

“Tell me what happened while Agent Hotchner was in the ambulance.”

Read the statements.  “We contacted the US Marshals.” She grinds out. “They said Haley was in the wind. She had dumped her cellphone, so there was no way to track her.”

“And how did Agent Hotchner react to that news?” She asks - like it’s relevant.

Emily wants to reach across the table and kill her for her stubborn boldness. She doesn’t though - it would lead to more hearings. She breathes through. She tells Strauss every single detail she wants. She puts up with her insane questions and inappropriate interruptions. She puts up with it all for Aaron.

—

Derek was warned by everyone and he still wasn’t prepared. Strauss is vicious. She spends the whole interview trying to rewrite the story to fit her narrative. Derek spends his whole interview resisting that. She pulled this with Emily, and she didn’t take a second of this. He’s not going to either.

“And you still didn’t know where Foyet was?”

“The phone belonged to a US Marshal,” he reminds, having already outlined this in his report. “It was designed to bounce between towers, so we could not pinpoint his location.”

“And Agent Hotchner was driving around aimlessly.” 

It’s barely a question.

“No, he wasn’t. We had Foyet’s profile and we knew if we followed, we wold know where he took Hotch’s family.”

Derek tells her the truth, plain and simple. It’s what he’s meant to do. He’s cooperating. He’s telling them the truth, and only the truth, and only the relevant truth.

He doesn’t tell her about the aftermath of it all. He doesn’t think it’s relevant. He also doesn’t think she deserves to know it. No, she doesn’t need to know how he had to pry Aaron away from Haley’s body. How he could barely get a firm grip on him because of how hard he was shaking. How he tried to get him clean. How he had to practically drag him to the bathroom. 

“Hotch, we’ve gotta get you clean.” He had goaded.

Aaron didn’t respond. He just stared at his bloodied hands, as if he isn’t standing by the sink with everything he needs to fix them.

Derek remembers intervening. He turned the water on and waited for it to heat. Still, Aaron hadn’t moved.

“C’mon man. Jack can’t see you like this. Get yourself cleaned up. Okay?”

He didn’t. He just stood and stared. The blood was soaking into all the lines and creases in his hands - little red rivers and trails up to his forearms. 

“Hotch?”

No response.

Derek took matters into his own hands. He washed Aaron’s hands for him. Aaron just let him. It was as if he didn’t have the strength for it, or he didn’t know how. He just stared at the water going down the drain. 

Derek cleaned all of the surface grime away with no comment or cooperation from Aaron. When Derek reached for a brush to get the slime out from under his nails, though, Aaron uttered his first word.

“No,”

“What?” Derek had asked. “I’d hardly call that clean.”

Aaron tried to pull his hand away.

“If we leave the rest it, you’ll get sick. At the very least, it’ll start to smell. Just let me get it.”

“Please, don’t,” Aaron had whispered.

“What, why?”

“I don’t deserve it.”

“Hotch, that’s bullshit. No one deserves to walk around covered in blood, give me that.”

He held his hands away from Derek.

“It’s all I’ve got left of her. Please, just…”

No, Strauss doesn’t need to know that. She’d only use it to crucify Aaron. Besides, Strauss doesn’t seem to care much about the aftermath of the event; if she did, they wouldn’t be here.

—

The pressure cooker that is the waiting room is fit to burst by the time Aaron gets called into his interview. With nothing left to do, everyone is keen to focus on their real concerns - namely: helping Aaron.

It’s the first moment they’ve had together to talk about it with nothing in the way. They’re desperate to get it underway. Nothing is standing in their way - no interviews, no Aaron in the room. They can finally talk. Well, actually, no. Aaron’s not here, but his son is. They don’t want to talk about this in front of Jack. He’s too young. They don’t want to worry him. Still, they can’t exactly send him to another room. 

They’re painted into a corner. Spencer is crawling through his mind trying to figure out a workaround. However, it’s the brilliant Penelope Garcia who pioneers a solution. A chorus of pings, dings and buzzes fills the room.

Penelope Garcia created a group. 

Penelope Garcia added Jennifer Jareau, Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, Spencer Reid & David Rossi.

Penelope Garcia renamed the group ‘Aaron Hotchner Intervention Committee <3.’

Immediately, the chat starts buzzing with excitement.

Penelope: did anyone else notice that Hotch is only wearing one sock?

Emily: Yep. Do you think he knows?

Derek: Don’t you think he would’ve fixed it if he knew?

Spencer: only if he noticed it while he still had access to more socks. If he noticed when he arrived he wouldn’t have been able to.

David: our first opportunity to talk about hotch without him overhearing and you numbskulls want to discuss his socks??

Spencer: Sock. There’s only one.

David:  ಠ _ ಠ

David: anyway

Jennifer: Rossi’s right - what r we gonna do about hotch?

Penelope: has anyone talked to him since Foyet?

David: no

Derek: No

Emily: Nope

Jennifer: No

Penelope: Spencer?

Spencer: No, I haven’t. Why would I have?

Emily: Let’s not go there. 

Emily: So no one knows how he’s doing? 

David: he’s wearing one sock. I think we know how he’s doing

Emily: Not helpful. But, yes, he’s clearly grieving. 

Derek: So what does he need

Spencer: Judging by his behaviour today, it appears that Aaron might be suffering from acute grief. His skin tint and prominent bruising under the eyes suggest sleep disturbances. Also, his apparent lack of interest in conversation, hygiene and self-care are all indicative of a depressed mindset. 

Jennifer: No shit, Sherlock

Jennifer: But what can we do about it?

David: people experiencing grief often feel overwhelmed by everyday life. we should assume that he needs helps with household chores

Derek: So what do we do? Head over to Hotch’s apartment and start sweeping floors?

David: basically

Penelope: yayyy working bee  🐝🥰  

Emily: I think you all forgot something

Jennifer: ?

Emily: Hotch will never accept help in front of Jack. He won’t want to look weak.

David: good point

David: how exactly do we get rid of jack though

David: it’s not like we can send him to his mom’s

Spencer: I could call his aunt? See if she can take him for a few days?

Penelope: do u need me to get her number for u??

Spencer: No, I’ve got it.

Jennifer: How?

Spencer doesn’t really have a good answer. The truth is that Jess is the only person who knows about their dating. He can’t just say that, though. That would just complicate things. He could lie. He could tell them that Aaron wanted someone to have it in case of emergencies, and Spencer was the only one who didn’t need to write it down. The thought of lying to them makes him feel sit to his stomach.

Thankfully, David saves him.

David: who cares

David: spencer go call jack’s aunt

Spencer shoots up from the table so fast he knocks his knees on it. It startles Jack.

“Are you okay, Doctor Reid?” He asks.

“Yeah, uh,” Spencer stumbles, “bathroom.”

He doesn’t stay to see if Jack accepts his lie. Instead, he jogs down the hall and punches the number into the landline.

—

While Spencer is out of the room, the rest of the team divides up the responsibilities.

Emily: Rossi, you’ll have to cook - the rest of us are dogshit at it.

She’s right. He planned to offer anyway. 

Nourishing the body is one of the tasks with grief that robs you of energy for. He remembers the death of his mother - the one member of his family he truly grieved. The emptiness of her absence had left him weak. He hadn’t the strength to cook anything at all. Even the microwave had seemed too much effort. By the fourth day, he barely had the strength to stand. Eating was more of a challenge than he could face. Yet, he needed food. He had, regrettably, eaten some week-old deli cold cuts whilst sitting on the floor of his kitchen, holding them over the bin to drizzle mayonnaise on them. It was fine for a single man - but a single man Aaron Hotchner was not. Dave wants to make sure that Jack will see a vegetable on his plate sometime in the next week.

Jennifer: If Jack is anything like Henry then hotch probably has a heap of laundry backed up from the last two weeks

Jennifer: Not to mention, there are probably toys everywhere

Having had a child of her own, JJ recognises how overwhelming house chores can get. A toddler can wreck a clean house in half an hour - less if they have the right tools. If Aaron isn’t keeping up with his own needs, he’s likely falling behind on Jack’s. She’s pretty sure they’ll need all hands on deck to fix it.

Thankfully, their team has a lot of hands. Everyone offers to come around and chip in. That’s as solid as the plan gets - they won’t be able to organise anything concrete until they know if Jess can take Jack.

—

She picks up on the second ring.

“What’s happened to Aaron?” She asks, no greeting, no bullshit.

“What? I mean, he’s fine?”

“Really? So he hasn’t returned any of my calls or brought my nephew to see me in fourteen days because he’s totally fine?”

“Well…”

“Look, not important. Why are you calling?”

“Aaron is… um, not fine? We think he might be on the verge of a mental breakdown, but is just trying to hold it together for Jack, and we were wondering-”

“-I’ll swing by and get him.”

“Thank you,” Spencer breathes. That was, admittedly, much easier than he thought it would be.

“Tell Jackie I’m on my way.”

“Will do.”

“And Spencer?” She adds. “Take care of Aaron for me.”

She hangs up before he can respond.

—

It’s been a strange day for Jack.

Daddy was acting strange. He was really sad and quiet when he thought Jack wasn’t looking, but really happy when he saw Jack. That happiness isn’t real, though. Jack can tell. It’s like how Mommy used to be when they were away. It’s making him kinda nervous.

When they came into Daddy’s work, all Daddy’s friends were acting the same. They think he doesn’t notice, but he does. They look scared. They keep texting each other even though they’re in the exact same room and could just talk. 

Even Doctor Reid was acting funny. 

It’s like everyone is lying to him. Like there’s some big secret that he’s being left out of. It doesn’t feel nice. Jack just wishes everyone would tell him what’s going on. He knows they won’t. Not even if he asks them nicely.

All except one.

“Miss Jareau?” He asks.

“Yeah, Jack? What is it?” She says brightly, looking up from her phone.

“I’m hungry.”

It’s a lie. He doesn’t feel bad, though. Mommy said to treat people how you want to be treated; if they want to lie to him, he’s going to lie back. It seems fair.

“How about we go to the vending machine and see if there’s some chocolate?”

He nods, and follows her out and down the stairs to the vending machine.

“Do you want M&Ms or a candy bar?” She asks, smiling a fake smile.

“Is Daddy okay?” He says, cutting to the chase.

It must surprise her. She looks shocked - really shocked, not pretending. For a moment, it’s as if she can’t figure out what to tell him.

“Is that what you’ve been texting about? And why Doctor Reid ran out earlier?”

She smiles with tight, sad lips. “I should’ve known you’d figure us out. You’re just so clever.”

She doesn’t answer his questions, though. So, he waits. Sometimes if you just wait, people will fill the silence.

“Your daddy is dealing with something very hard. We think he might be struggling to do that, though. And instead of asking for help, he’s trying to do everything the way he normally would so he can pretend to be alright.”

“Why?”

“I’m honestly not sure,” Miss Jareau confesses, “he might not even realise he’s doing it. But the important thing is that we - all of your Daddy’s friends - want to help him. That’s what we were texting about.”

“Why didn’t you just talk about it?”

“Because we thought if we talked about it in front of you, we might scare you. It seems we did that anyway. I’m sorry. We should have just told you what was going on. Can you forgive me?”

Jack nods. 

“Thank you. Now, is there anything else you want to know?”

“Can I help you help Daddy?” He asks. 

“You are such a sweet little boy.” Miss Jareau smiles. “Actually, there is one thing. We think your daddy might need some space right now. Doctor Reid called your Aunt Jessica earlier to see if you could stay over at her house for a few days. Would you be okay with that?” Jack nods again. “Can you help us tell your daddy that?”

“Yep,” he agrees.

“Thank you, Jack.”

He feels better now. He doesn’t have to wonder what’s going on  and  he gets to help them help Daddy. It’s a good feeling. There’s only one thing that would make this moment better.

“Can I have M&Ms  and  a candy bar, please?”

Miss Jareau laughs. “Just this once - don’t tell your dad.”

—

Aaron returns from his interview. He thinks it might have gone well - he’s too numb to contemplate it any further, though. He only has one thing on his mind now. Home. All he needs to do is get his son and get out of there without having to talk to anyone.

Apparently, Jack has other plans.

“Ready to go home, kiddo?” He asks, reaching to pick Jack up.

His son squirms. “No!” He smiles.

“What?” He asks, laughing with confusion. The smile battles valiantly to be genuine but fails.

Before Jack can answer, another voice answers from behind him.

“Actually, I think Jack is waiting to come home with me.”

He whips around to find Jessica. He never noticed how alike she and Haley look - at least, he hadn’t noticed until now. The realisation kills whatever he would’ve said, replacing it with a lump in his throat.

“Hello to you too,” she teases.

“What are you doing here?”

“If you ever answered your phone, you’d know.” 

She’s right to say it. Doesn’t make it any easier for him to find a good excuse. Thankfully, she doesn’t make him try.

“I’m here to take Jack for a couple of days. Give you a break for a while.”

“Why?”

She just smiles, as if he should know why. That said, he supposes he does know why. He just doesn’t know why she knows why. 

Jack squirms to get down. He’s excited. He’s happy and bubbly and like himself for the first time in  days.  So he lets him down. Jack runs over to Jess and hugs her wildly.

“You ready?” She asks him. He nods. “Okay, junior. Let’s get out of here!”

Jack nods but doubles back. He runs back to Aaron for a hug. It soothes him. Jack is okay. Jack is happy. That’s all that matters. He pulls him in for a goodbye hug.

“Too tight, Daddy.” Jack says, patting his arm.

That stings him to his core. Unknowingly, Jack had sent him back in time. Back to that day. Haley’s hug to Jack had been too tight, too. Haley’s last hug. It sends a chill through him. What if Jack is trying to tell him something? What if this is the last time he’ll ever hug his son? He’s not dying. Maybe it’s worse than that - maybe Jack thinks Aaron will abandon him. Maybe they’re giving Jess full custody so that Jack doesn’t grow up to be a monster like him. 

It hurts. He agrees with them, though. He’s no good for Jack. They should take him away. Send him with Jess - she’s as close as he can get to have his mother back. Still, if they’re taking him away, shouldn’t they just tell Aaron that?

It takes everything in him to pull away from the hug. 

“Bye, Jack,” he whispers. 

“Why are you sad?” Jack asks. 

It makes Aaron weak in the chest. He loves this boy so much. He hopes, distantly, that he’ll be allowed to see him. 

“I’m okay.” He lies. “Go with your aunt.”

“I’ll bring him back in a few days.” She promises him. Curse him, but he struggles to believe her.

They leave, hand in hand. Aaron watches them all the way down the hall, fighting the urge to run after him. It’s okay. Jack will come back. They’ll be okay. 

He doesn’t even notice that he’s crying until the tears are streaming down his face.

—

Spencer has to get help just to get Aaron into the car. He was shaking and crying so badly he couldn’t even see. His strength was gone. His son was gone. The dam finally broke. He sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. It took three of them - quickly, so Strauss didn’t see - out of the office and into the carpark. All Aaron could do was go limp and pliable and let himself be manoeuvred. 

David and Derek had helped Aaron into the passenger seat and coaxed him to get strapped in. He shuddered, blinked, and abruptly stopped crying. For all the crying he did in the conference room, it’s a wonder he’d been able to stop at all. It was the last noise he had made.

The rest of the drive was done in silence. 

Spencer wanted to speak. He did. Yet, Aaron has that look in his eyes - the hollow one that he had earlier in the conference room. He won’t hear Spencer if he speaks. Aaron isn’t here. Wherever he is, he stays there even when they pull into Aaron’s garage.

“Aaron?” Spencer asks. 

Aaron flinches and returns. He seems confused, looking to Spencer for answers. 

“We’re home.” Spencer whispers, scared to speak any louder. Scared of what, he doesn’t know. 

Aaron nods. He steps out of the car and walks into the house. It’s somewhat jarring - moments ago, he was a million miles away; now he’s wandering into his home like he owns the place. He does own it, but that’s not relevant. He’s confident. It’s strange. Still, Spencer follows, keen to see what the apartment looks like. 

He breathes a mouthful of stale house air as he enters. It hasn’t been opened up in days. There’s light coming in; the shutters are open. That’s as far as Aaron’s gotten with it, it seems. Spencer even wonders if it wasn’t Aaron - the man seems to be surprised by the presence of light in the room. If he’d opened it himself, that reaction wouldn’t be present. Someone else did it. Jack did it. The evidence suggests this - Jack would have been able to open the drapes, but wouldn’t have been able to reach the window locks. 

The light catches on a whiskey glass. It’s overturned on the floor. It’s one of many dishes on the floor. Spencer scans over them. Three glasses. Two mugs. A handful of plastic cups, plates and cutlery. Aaron is always meticulous about dishes going in the dishwasher. Aaron  used to be  meticulous about it, at least. 

There’s also a small pile of dirty socks on the floor. Aaron often strips off his socks when settling in for the night; he picks them up on the way to bed. That, combined with the suspiciously curled blanket of the couch, indicates that Aaron has been sleeping on the couch. Spencer has no doubt about that. He’d also bet money that Aaron’s been doing so to punish himself.

He can see into the kitchen from his position - it’s like a bomb went off. There’s a plate on the counter, containing something severely burnt. He can’t see the rest of the space, but he imagines it’s in a similar state. 

The whole place is so unlike Aaron. It’s shocking. It’s sad. Spencer is glad he came. He can tell that Aaron needs him, now more than ever.

—

Aaron watches Spencer survey his apartment. 

He’s keeping his face perfectly neutral. He scans from one pile to the next - eyes passing passively over laundry and dishes alike, not even stopping for a moment to examine the suspicious red stains by the couch. He just takes it all in. 

Aaron takes him in. He tries not to be distracted by Spencer’s beauty. It’s tough; he’s incredibly beautiful. However, it’s not his beauty Aaron is trying to examine. It’s his emotions. He’s searching him for any sign of how he feels about the mess. How he feels about Aaron’s mess.

He can’t be sure, but he thinks he sees disgust. Spencer is disgusted - by the smell, the mess, or by Aaron himself, he doesn’t know. It’s probably with Aaron. He wonders if this might be the last time he’ll see Spencer, too. He’s held on this long; maybe seeing how gross Aaron has let his living space become is the final straw. He may be so disgusted that he’ll never speak to Aaron again.

He’s wrong. 

“Hotch?” Asks Spencer.

He’s filled with cool elation at the word. Spencer wants to speak to him; maybe all hope is not lost.

“Yes,” he says, only just biting back a pet name. Just because Spencer wants to speak to him, doesn’t mean he still wants to be with him. It wouldn’t be appropriate to assume. Pet names are a privilege of the good. He’s a murderer. He doesn’t deserve to call Spencer his sweetheart.

He realises that Spencer is talking.

“-ows a decreased interest in cleanliness by comparison to previous visits.” Spencer rattles. “A lack of interest in household tasks and personal hygiene can be indicators of fatigue or general disinterest of completing tasks, along with feelings of hopelessness, or being overwhelmed and fatigued. These are key indicators that you could be experiencing a major depressive episode.”

“Oh,” Aaron says. “I’m sorry.”

He moves to pick up a mug that’s lying on the floor. He remembers it falling. He couldn’t even move to right it. It seems so silly now. It took more effort to walk around it for three days than it would’ve to just put it on the coffee table. How could he let this happen?

“Why are you sorry?” Spencer asks, genuinely curious.

“You have to see me like this. I’m sorry I’m disgusting you.”

“Hotch, no that’s - I worried about you. This space in this condition isn’t healthy for you and I fear it’s already having an affect on you. If it wasn’t hurting you, I wouldn’t care about it at all. I’m not disgusted, I’m concerned.”

Aaron wonders how that could even be true. He’s disgusted with himself. How could Spencer not be? Although, Spencer is a better man than him. He’s patient. He’s non-judgemental. Maybe he really was just concerned.

“Oh.”

He can feel Spencer’s eyes on him. When he finally meets his eye, all he can see is the compassion in his expression.

“I want to help you fix this.” Spencer says decisively. 

“Why?”

“Because I love you, and because I can’t fix anything else that’s happening, but I can do this. I want to because it’s the right thing to do. I want to because you deserve it - and when you are more in your right mind you’ll see that, too. I also want to. I want to help you fix it, just because that’s who I am.”

It twists Aaron’s heart in a way that’s both nice and unbearable. It’s nice because Spencer cares. After everything, he still wants to make it all better. He wants the best for Aaron. It’s unbearable because he doesn’t think he deserves it. He’s tainted. He’s bad. 

Spencer mustn’t think so. He thinks Aaron still deserves to have a nice, clean living space. If Spencer thinks it, it might just be true. Spencer is good. He sees the good in the world. He must be with Aaron for a reason - maybe he sees some good in him that he can’t see himself. 

It’s a chance. It’s a slim chance. Not too slim, though. It’s enough of a chance that he’s willing to take it.

“Can I help?” Asks Aaron. “Help you, I mean, to fix it.”

Spencer flashes him a blindingly brilliant smile.

“I’d like that.”

He touches Aaron’s arm. His thumb brushes back and forth. It’s so gentle, so soft and loving. For a moment, the world feels peaceful and right. They can do this. They can fix it. It’s fixable.

“Would you be okay with it if I got the rest of the team to come help too?”

“Why?” Aaron asks, for the umpteenth time that day.

“I think it’s more than we can do alone. And because they care about you. They want to help, too.”

It feels like a lie but Spencer’s face speaks nothing but the truth. Maybe it could be true. The team is full of good people. They always help out where and how they can. 

“Okay.” 

“Great,” Spencer smiles. “Thank you.”

Suddenly, Spencer has his rarely-used cellphone in hand. He’s clearly on his way to call the team. Aaron lets him go, mourning the loss of his touch. Before he can miss it too much, though, Spencer turns back to him. He walks right up into Aaron’s personal space. He hovers, waits, and hesitates. Aaron thinks he’s about to faint or withdraw, but he doesn’t. He plants a warm kiss on Aaron’s cheek.

“Back in five,” he whispers sweetly in Aaron’s ear. 

Then he’s gone, off to call the team.

—

Aaron isn’t sure what Spencer said to the team, but they’ve all come. He’s ducked into his bathroom for a shower - the first in days - and some fresh clothes. When he comes back, Penelope is with Spencer in the living room. Then David comes. Then JJ and Emily. Finally, within the space of a quarter of an hour, Derek’s there too. They’re all here. With him. Here to help.

For the first time since Haley’s death, Aaron is forced to wonder if they are all here because they still love him. It seems like a possibility. Until now, he hasn’t let himself consider it. How could it be possible? He’s a broken man, a criminal even. If they ever loved him wouldn’t it surely be gone now? Still, they must. Why else would they be here? 

They are here, though. Here, in his greasy, disgusting apartment.

He’s struck with a wave of disgust. Seeing them all sitting on his couch, among his mess, wakes something up. He sees the mess around them for the first time. Sure, he knows it’s messy. He’s been looking through it, around it, over it for  days.  He hasn’t registered it. Not ’til now at least. He sees it for the first time with fresh eyes. He’s nauseated by the sight of it. He can’t even imagine how he could let anyone see it. 

He almost sends them away. Almost tells them to leave and not come back until he’s had a chance to clean it. He wants to. He can’t. He’s tired and wrung out. In this state, he’ll never get it clean enough. He supposes that’s what they came for.

He’s vaguely aware of how overwhelmed he feels. This has all been too much. It’s dizzying. It must show on his face; David interjects, drawing everyone’s focus to something else.

“What’s a man gotta do to get a drink around here?” He asks.

It lightens the room. He hears murmurs of supposed thirst among his colleagues. He’s sure none of them is actually looking for a drink - they’re simply joining in the charade for his comfort. It’s love in action.

“C’mon,” David continues, “tell me your orders and Hotch I will get them started.”

He misses everything they say. He focuses instead on their compassion. It’s like a warm blanket around his battered heart. He feels better than he has in days.

David drags him into the kitchen to prepare drinks.

It takes them an embarrassing amount of time to find enough clean mugs to make eight cups of tea or coffee. Usually, there’s a whole cupboard full of them - if not, there’s a stack in the dishwasher. Right now, every piece of crockery he owns is on the living room floor. He’s so embarrassed he could cry. He almost does.

“Don’t let it get to you, kid.” David tells him.

“How could I not?”

“By remembering what’s going on here.” 

“Which is?”

David smiles at him. “You’re grieving. Grief is a vulnerable, heartbreaking state. You’ve lost something that no one can give you back. And worse for you is that it was taken from you at a time where you weren’t able to intervene. I know you know this. I know you know everything about grief. What you don’t know is how to overcome it all on your own. Am I right?”

It only pushes him closer to tears. He tries to speak, but it gets stuck in his throat again. He clears it a few times. It only pushes a tear down his throat.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Aaron croaks an affirmative. He can’t help it. His worst fear has just been put into words in front of him: he’s afraid that he’s going to be a burden at the time he feels he least deserves to be.

“You want me to tell you the big secret?”

“Please.”

“You can’t do it alone. It’s not possible. And if you try, you only get worse.”

David is a wise, forthright man. He knows grief as well as he knows profiling. He must be right. Aaron’s been so dead-focused doing this by himself, he’s sure he would’ve figured out how to do it alone if it were possible. He hasn’t. He’s just been spiralling downwards and getting worse. It’s evidence of David’s point if nothing else.

“You must be right.”

“Of course I’m right. So, you going to let us help you?”

“Yes,” Aaron sighs, “I think I will.”

“That’s what I like to hear!”

David pats him firmly on the back. It’s sweet and paternal. Next to the kiss from Spencer earlier, it’s one of the first positive touches he’s had in days. It loosens more tears from his eyes and a sob from his throat. 

Unlike earlier, now that he’s started crying, he can’t seem to stop.

“Hey,” David smiles sadly. “You’re okay.”

He’s decidedly not. He can’t argue, though. He cries.

“Come here.” 

And he folds Aaron into his arms and lets him cry. Aaron, to his credit, goes easily. He’s not sure why, really. His sensible mind - the bit of him that holds all his decorum - screams at him not to go crying on another grown man’s shoulder. He doesn’t listen to that part. Some other part insists that David is warm and safe and good. He’s listening. He’s holding him as a good father would. So Aaron accepts it. 

They stay for a good long while. The tea is done steeping. It’s time for this moment to end. Aaron pulls away reluctantly. The hug is replaced by a warm mug.

“The first step to all of this is to sit down, drink this tea, and take a quiet moment to yourself. I’ll go hand out the rest of the mugs, and then I’ll come join you. We won’t rush into the next thing. We’ll just do this.”

It sounds good. It sounds nicer than anything else he’s been doing. It’s better than he deserves, at least. Still, David thinks it’s good for him, and David always has his best at heart. He lets him lead him out to the balcony and sits him down. He takes in the cool afternoon air. He sips his tea. And he basks in the gentle loneliness that accompanies the end of this wave of tears. It’s serene, if heartbreaking. 

He just lets it be. Until David gets back, at least. 

—

There’s a hell of a lot to do. Thankfully, the BAU are professionals when it comes to compartmentalising. Everyone takes a room and a mug and gets started. 

Spencer takes his chai and heads to the master bedroom. He’s the only one in the team who’s actually been in there - there’s no use pretending he’s not. He’s also the only one Aaron would be comfortable having in that space. Door shut, windows open. He starts righting the place.

JJ takes a decaf coffee and heads for Jack’s room. She’s used to kid stuff and gratuitous mess. Just like in her own home, she liberates a laundry basket, perches it on one hip and does laps of the house. She picks up every toy and item of kid clothing she can find. Sure, it’s not her area, but what does it matter? She’s making it cleaner. She’s helping out.

Once a path is cleared and his long black completed, Derek takes the entryway. There’s not much to do there. He mostly chooses it so he can set up the new security system that’s lying in the corner. Safety is important for Aaron, now more than ever. Derek wants to give him that security back. Aaron’s family is safe now. Derek wants to prove that to him.

Penelope brings her chai and helps him with the wiring. The new system is high-tech. She sets up all the wireless aspects while Derek secures those units. And when that’s done, she hits the living room. She buzzes around like a cleaning bee. Cushions? Back on couches. Rug? Vacuumed and spot cleaned. Clutter? De-cluttered. She brings life and zen back to the living room.

Emily downs her coffee and starts running. She grabs a host of cleaning supplies and stares down her targets: the bathroom and the laundry. Both areas have multi-step tasks; she’s quick and flexible, ready for switching back and forth. She zigzags back and forth. Laundry in for pre-soaking. Sink for surface cleaning. Clothes in the washing machine. Shower for a scrub. Dryer. Toilet. Back and forth like a cable car.

All that leaves is the kitchen. David’s domain. He likes that just fine. He cleans up the disaster left by breakfast. He throws every single piece of kitchen equipment Aaron owns into the dishwasher. While they wash, he ducks out for groceries. When returns - to his clean dishes and fresh produce - he does what he does best: David cooks.

—

Aaron savours his cup of tea. He tries to feel guilty about it; it’s very hard to do. The tea is sweet and well-steeped, milky and brilliant. It’s warm - a nice contrast to the cool evening air. He sits and sips his tea and watches the sunset. 

The whole moment is pure good. He hasn’t felt that in a long time.

He steals a few more seconds after his final sip before slipping back into the house. The noise hits him as soon as he re-enters. The balcony had been so quiet he had almost forgotten the noise exists. His knees buckle. Everywhere, everyone is making some sort of clatter as they clean and sort and repair. 

It’s the sound of triumph. It’s also ear-piercing. Still, once he adjusts, he joins right in.

David shuffles him over to a pile of potatoes. 

“Peel those for me?” He asks.

Aaron nods. He can’t do much, but potatoes he can do.

“Atta boy,” David says, patting him on the back.

He rinses. He peels. He rinses, then peels, then rinses again. He takes all the little brown spuds and turns them into white, naked spuds. He does this over and over. He does this until his fingers are wrinkled. He’s getting sick of the texture of potatoes. Thankfully, there’s none left. David pats him on the back and pushes him to the living room.

Derek and Penelope flag him down. His new security system - the needlessly complicated one that the FBI insisted on - is up and running. He’s been procrastinating putting it up. Now, he doesn’t have to worry. It’s up. All he has to do is tell Penelope what he wants his passcode to be for accessing the footage. Then they shuffle him to Spencer.

JJ finds him on the way.

“Good, second pair of hands.” She says, pulling him to Jack’s room.

They remake Jack’s bed together. Finally, Aaron feels like he’s fulfilling his duties as a parent. Jack has a fresh, clean place to sleep. He doesn’t get long to admire it, though. JJ bundles the old sheets into his arms. 

He makes his way to Spencer.

Spencer smiles at him and his heart almost stops. That’s the man he loves. Not only that, it’s the man that loves him. He’s spent his time getting Aaron’s bedroom into its usual state. 

“Help me make the bed?” Spencer asks sweetly. Aaron wonders if he wanted to say  ‘our bed.’  Aaron certainly wanted him to.

He helps. Together they remake the bed. He feels strangely giddy at the thought of a fresh sheet. To him, they symbolise a fresh start. All this work is good for him. He no longer feels so useless. He’s busy. He’s doing things he’s been putting off for so long. It’s reinvigorating. He gathers up all the dirty sheets together and heads for the laundry.

He trades his dirty sheets for a basket of clean, dry clothes. Emily has taken care of the lot. For the first time in days, everything he handles smells clean. He could practically hug Emily. Instead, he carries the lot to the living room. From there, it becomes a working bee. 

He, JJ and Penelope work together sorting and folding the clothes. Well, it’s mostly JJ and Penelope. He’s starting to run out of steam; this is more work than he’s done for a while. He moves from folding to sitting by and watching the folding. They don’t seem to mind - JJ simply hands him a pile of shirts to hold.

The folding goes by in a flash. Before he knows it, Penelope is bustling him into the kitchen to make another round of hot drinks. The bubbling of the kettle is soothing. It gives him time to reflect.

The apartment is immaculate. There’s light and energy in every room. Importantly, it’s clean. He feels better - lighter, somehow. He hadn’t realised he was feeling bad. He hadn’t noticed how the mess was weighing him down. It’s funny - his grief has clouded his understanding of his world and his place in it. All because of his family.

His family, who have spent their free afternoon cleaning his house. They didn’t have to; they did it anyway. They did it just because they care about him. It’s more than he knows what to do with right now. He feels that he owes them something in exchange for this. He knows better, though. His family doesn’t keep debts. All they want for this is for him to get better.

He’s doing his best at that. He feels better and less lonely than he has in days. 

He’s out of time to think about it, though. The drinks are made, distributed, and well on their way to completion. He’s ready for his next task.

David calls him over for a hand with the pasta. More than a hand actually - two arms. David has him stand with his arms out straight and drapes him with endless noodles of fresh-made fettuccine. He wonders if David didn’t really need him, just wanted to make him feel needed. He’s grateful either way. 

He uses this strategy with Jack - giving him little jobs, ultimately useless, just to have him nearby. It’s strange to have it turned back on him. He feels taken care of. He’s not helping, he’s not hindering - he’s just hanging out. It’s nice.

It’s even nicer when David starts telling him about his Nonna. It’s just jabbering. Still, he feels like he’s being brought into David’s family’s history. That, and David’s fatherly smile comforts him. He’s at home. He’s at home with his family. Nothing could be better. He settles in and accepts more pasta draping over his arms.

Spencer ducks into the kitchen and finds him like that. His stunned silence bursts into peels of adoring laughter. He rushes out of the room. Before Aaron can call after him, he returns, brandishing a digital camera. The rest of the team follows him in. Aaron smiles half-heartedly as they snap silly pictures of him in his old Georgetown tee, tasselled with pasta and smeared with flour. He blushes a soft red. Surprisingly for him, he laughs for the first time in days. A real laugh. He floods with the first faint burst of real happiness.

He thinks Haley would’ve liked to see him like this. It’s exactly the sort of frivolity that made her fall in love with him. She’d be so happy. She’d want Jack to see it; Aaron wants him to see it, too. Suddenly, he remembers his promise to Haley on the phone. Jack needs to see him like this, away from all his seriousness.

Choking around the sudden lump in his throat, Aaron locks eyes with Spencer.

“Can you send a copy of that to Jessica? For Jack?”

He must understand why. He nods vaguely, shuffling the camera to Penelope. She’s better at those sorts of things. Again, his family is to his rescue. He smiles. Bittersweet as the prompt, it’s perfect for the moment. He cherishes it.

Thankfully, before he can get deeper into himself, David interjects.

“Give me that, my water’s boiling.” He deftly shakes the pasta onto his own arms. “Go get into something less floury for dinner.”

—

It’s an impressive spread. 

David has pulled together two weeks' worth of meals, not including tonight’s meal. They’re all shoved into Aaron’s fridge. There’s no room for a single other Tupperware, jar or plate in either. He hopes, vaguely, that tonight’s meal won’t have any leftovers.

That leaves him laughing. He’s with his team. They can put away more food than anyone he’s ever met. No, there won’t be leftovers. He’s even worried that there might not be enough.

He’s made an army’s worth of pasta. It’s a simple sauce, smooth and creamy and comforting. Alongside this, he’s brought in all his team's favourite side dishes. Garlic bread. Garlic knots. Meatballs - and some meatless ones, for Penelope. He’s even done a cheeseboard. There’s not an inch of that dining table that could house another dish. It’s practically creaking under the weight.

It’s ready to gather everyone up for dinner. He draws a breath - readying to call  dinner’s ready!  To the hungry crowd like a sitcom housewife. 

He doesn’t need to.

Filing in, with freshly washed hands and hungry bellies, are the BAU. Apparently, the smell of food was call enough. They take plates and seats and start working on the food. David rushes to take his seat; he has to duck under a tray of garlic knots just to get there. He tucks in, not wanting to miss out.

The table is alive with happiness. Everyone is smiling. They’ve been missing those expressions for weeks. It’s different. It’s good. It’s a good different. Even Aaron is smiling. It’s soft, a little sad. It’s an improvement nonetheless. That harrowing, grief-ridden look is gone. He’s soft. He seems at home - both in location and in spirit. He’s back to being alive.

They don’t talk much. Instead, everyone just soaks in the feeling of family. 

David’s favourite thing is that everything feels normal. It’s like every other team dinner. It’s perfect. Aaron needs that normalcy right now. This moment of unmitigated goodness will remind him that although he’s hurting right now, it’s temporary. The weight of this grief won’t be this heavy forever. 

Watching him, with sauce on the corner of his smile, David thinks Aaron might know it.

—

Aaron can hardly believe the night they’ve had. The interviews are over - the matter is settled. His house is actually clean. He’s eaten a home-cooked meal with most of his remaining family. He even enjoyed himself. He  laughed.  It’s left him full of life and beautiful memories. He’ll cherish the night for years to come. It’s just what Haley would’ve wanted.

He’s exhausted. Even still, he wishes the evening wasn’t over. The food’s long gone, which is quite an achievement. They’ve even cleaned off some after-dinner mints from the back of the pantry. Rounds of tea and light conversation followed dinner. They’d even stayed to wash the dinner dishes by hand. There’s nothing left to do.

Hugs and kiddos and wishes of goodnight fill the entryway. One by one, his team - his family - make their way out the door. All but one. All but Spencer.

The door shuts behind David, leaving them alone. The apartment feels somehow more crowded with just the two of them. With the others, there was no avoidance. There was no space for intimacy. Faced with Spencer, he isn’t sure what to say. Thankfully, Spencer is a better man than he is in so many ways.

“Can we talk?”

“Yes, please. I think we should.”

Spencer nods. “I want to stay here tonight. With you. In your bed. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable though, so-”

“Why?”

Spencer shoots him an off smile. “Why what?”

“Why do you still want to stay with me?” Aaron asks.

“Do you mean to ask ‘why do you want to stay with me for the night’ or ‘why do you want to stay wish me  at all?’ ”

His silence is enough of a response.

“Aaron,” Spencer whispers, tears in his eyes. “I want to stay with you - tonight, tomorrow, forever. Nothing has changed.”

“I’ve changed.”

“Not to me.”

“I killed someone.”

“You stopped a murderer from hurting your son.” Spencer corrects.

“But not Haley.”

There’s that sweet, wet smile again. “She doesn’t blame you for that any more than I do.”

He’s right, too. Haley would’ve hated seeing him like this. She also would’ve had his hide for letting this one choice ruin his other relationships. She believed in love and commitment. She’d want him happy. She’d want her son to see him going after the things that would make him happiest. She’d want him to throw himself into Spencer’s arms.

“Touche,” he smiles.

Spencer chuckles. “I love you, Aaron; this hasn’t changed anything - nor will it ever.”

“I love you, too.”

For the first time in weeks, Aaron feels the confidence to lean in and kiss his partner. He steps in, fully signalling his intentions. Spencer has plenty of time to change his mind, and pull away. He doesn’t. He inches closer. Aaron takes the hint. 

He pulls him into a sweet kiss. The warmth and familiarity of Spencer’s lips moving against him seal their discussion. They’re still them. They haven’t changed. Spencer still loves him.

“Come to bed with me?” Aaron whispers between kisses.

“Always.”

—

Things get better after that.

Aaron still grieves Haley; maybe he always will. David was right about that - grief is a permanent affliction. However, when it overwhelms him, he knows what to do. He leans on his family. They rise to the occasion. There’s always an extra pair of hands to guide his way.

It’s good. It’s even better than Aaron could ever have hoped. 

By the first anniversary of Haley’s death, Aaron can face going to her grave. It’ll be the first time, which Aaron regrets. Still, it’s progress. He takes Jack. They get flowers and a card - purple flowers and butterfly motifs on both, her favourites.

They make a day of the trip. Spencer joins them; so does the rest of the team. They pay their respects. Then, as Haley would’ve wished, they make their way across the road for a picnic. They celebrate her life with pink lemonade and a kick-around.

And it’s good. It’s perfect.

Best of all, Aaron isn’t haunted but the weight of that day. It still hits him, sometimes, but less than it used to. He feels well again. He’s himself. He’s back.

All with a little help from his family.

Poet Haniel Long said, "So much of what is best in us is bound up in our love of family that it remains the measure of our stability because it measures our sense of loyalty."