Work Text:
You were so careful. So very careful.
It didn’t matter now.
You tried. You failed. Better women than you had found themselves in this exact position you’re in now. Shocked numb and staring at yourself in the mirror like you were a ghost, outside of your own body, a figment of your own imagination.
This couldn’t be real.
It had to be fake. A hoax. You were dreaming.
You had to be.
With trembling hands, with vision blurred by tears, with an ache behind your eyes, you manage to flush the toilet and then turn back around, gripping the edge of the counter for dear life. It hurts to breathe, to think, to exist.
This is the last thing you want to be thinking about right now.
“Honey? Are you almost done in there?” you hear his voice, his gentle knock at the door. “I left my shirt hanging. Can I come and get it?”
You shouldn’t have done this before work. You shouldn’t have done this at all.
But that’s stupid, too, isn’t it? What were you going to do? This wouldn’t have just gone away on its own if you ignored it.
Aaron calls your name and you can’t find your voice to respond. “Why aren’t you answering me? I’m coming in there.”
Oh shit oh shit oh shit.
There’s no way to hide from him that you just had a mental breakdown. Your face is puffy, your skin is blotchy and you’re still trembling like a wet dog.
So you do what’s ill-advised, trying to hide the obvious from a profiler, and you attempt to brush past him and exit the bathroom without him being able to get a look at your face.
Too late. He grabs your arm gently, pulling you back to face him.
“What’s wrong?” he asks you, looking at you with concern.
“Nothing,” you lie, swallowing thickly against the tightness in your throat.
“Something’s obviously wrong,” he murmurs, brushing your hair back and kissing the top of your head.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” you say, blinking away tears.
“Honey, we can’t go to work like this. I’m going to be worried sick all day. Please tell me.”
“Aaron… I… I can’t talk about it,” you say, squeezing your eyes shut so you don’t have to look at him.
He pulls you into an embrace, and you smell the freshness of his aftershave against his neck, the linen scent of the detergent on his plain white t-shirt, and you feel his warmth, his body heat. It serves to calm you some.
But then you look over his shoulder and you see it.
You can’t stay wrapped in his arms forever.
You have to handle this.
In the midst of your overwhelm you forgot to throw it out, trying to exit the bathroom as quickly as you could, and there it sat on the counter. Two angry pink lines screaming at you, still visible from where you stand now. Aaron’s back is turned to it. If you… if you just grabbed it… if he didn’t ever have to know, ever have to find out…
You shrug out of the hug and lean up and kiss him, trying to smile even though your stomach is turning. “Honey. I just need… I just need another minute alone. Can you please just…?”
You trail off. There’s no good reason why he can’t be in the bathroom with you when you’re washing your face or fixing your hair you had raked through thoroughly with your fingers.
Well.
There is.
But you can’t say it.
“You’re making me worried,” Aaron says, taking your hand in his and squeezing it gently, holding it with his against his chest.
“I know,” you admit hollowly, because you’re making yourself worried, too.
“So, tell me, honey. Whatever it is, we can face it together. Please,” he says, running his thumb over the engagement ring on your hand. The ring he put there. The ring you accepted.
Shouldn’t you want this, then? Shouldn’t you be happy? Why does this fill you with dread, and make you seize up with fear?
Why do you not want this?
How quickly ambivalence turns to fear.
“Aaron, please,” you sputter. “Please just let me be alone.”
He nods dejectedly, grabbing his shirt from where it hung on the side of the closet, but he follows your line of gaze to where you’re staring, transfixed.
Oh. Oh no.
“Honey, is that—"
“If you love me, Aaron, you’ll walk out of this room and pretend you didn’t see anything,” you say quickly, cutting him off, grabbing it off the counter so he can’t get a better look.
“I think that’s what I would do if I didn’t love you,” he says calmly.
“Aaron. Just let it slide. Forget about it.”
“Forget about it? You have a pregnancy test in your hand and you want me to forget about it? We’re getting married in a month. To each other. And you want me to forget about this?”
He said the words out loud. Made it real. Made it something that didn’t just exist in your head or your body.
Pregnancy.
That’s what it was.
There was no hiding anymore.
You give in, give up, give it to him. Hand him the test.
Aaron stares at it without saying a word for a few moments and you never particularly want to spend time in his head, but right now you’d like to get in there if only for a second to know what was running through it. What did he think about you? Shouldn’t you be happy? Was he happy? You wish he would give you something, any hint of a reaction, but he doesn’t say anything.
“How do you feel?” he asks quietly, finally breaking the silence.
“How do I feel?” you ask, your voice coming out in a hysterical shriek, contrast to his cool, calm demeanor. “Look at me. Take a guess.”
Putting the test back on the counter he nods, wrapping his arms around you, squeezing you tightly. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Okay? Aaron, how can you say that?”
“Because we’re going to get through this. We don’t have a choice.”
“I just got promoted. Neither of us are ever home. Either one of us quits or… or this child doesn’t have parents,” you say. “I’m not going to get through this. I’m going to have a psychotic break.”
“Hey. Hey. Shh. I need you to breathe. Okay? Shh,” he says, smoothing your hair with the palm of his hand.
“Aaron. Don’t tell me to calm down right now,” you sob.
“I’m not. I need you to breathe, though. Okay? Good. Just like that,” he says gingerly, breathing slowly himself in an attempt to get you to stop hyperventilating.
Son of a bitch. Always meeting your hysterics with peace, even when you wanted nothing more than to fight against it. “Let’s go sit down and talk about this on the couch. Okay? I’ll make you a tea.”
“We have to be in the office—"
“We’re both supervisors, now. We get a little leeway,” he grins, kissing the top of your head. “We may as well use it. We need to talk about this. I don’t know about you, but I can’t go into work until we have a game plan here.”
You nod, swallowing, blinking away tears.
You were meant to be the hot power couple, the Hotchners, who get gossiped about behind closed doors throughout departments, “Hey, did you hear who’s heading the BAU together?” Not that you were doing this all for recognition, but the last thing you wanted people to say about you was, “Well, I guess she gave it all up to raise children instead. Just like women when you put a ring on their finger.”
Not that that’s a bad thing. It’s a noble pursuit.
But it’s not something you think you can handle. Giving up the position you just received for a child you didn’t plan to have?
You sit on the couch alone, hearing Aaron in the kitchen, and you’re glad to be away from the tangibility, the pregnancy test left in the bathroom on the counter, out of sight but not forgotten.
“Here you go, honey,” Aaron says, handing you the hot mug of tea that you accept gratefully.
“What are we going to do?” you ask hollowly.
“What do you think is the best course of action, here?”
“How do you feel?”
“Honey, it’s not my decision to make.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit. You’re half the reason that test is positive,” you say. “Tell me what you want.”
“I… I’m in support either way.”
“Don’t give me a bullshit answer. Do you want another kid or not?”
Aaron shrugs, runs his hand over his face, and sighs. “It’s not a bullshit answer. And it isn’t my decision to make. I don’t want to sway you and make you do something you don’t want to do for me.”
“Aaron. Yes or no. Simple,” you say curtly.
He exhales heavily again, placing his hand on your knee. “Honey. You know you don’t have to do this, right? You’re not a bad person if this isn’t something you want. I didn’t ask you to marry me because I wanted you to have my children. I already have Jack, and I knew this was something you weren’t sure if you wanted. I wouldn’t have asked you to marry me if I knew that having kids was going to be a dealbreaker for us. I’d be happy if we had a child but I’m just as happy with you if we don’t.”
“But if… if we did this, how would it work?” you ask quietly, pursing your lips as you blow on the cup of tea and sip at it.
“I don’t know, honey,” he admits. “You know how I feel about Jack. How I feel like I’ve been failing him since he was born. It’s not… it isn’t easy, with this job to raise kids, and it’ll be even harder with both of us working this job. It’s something I’m willing to try if this is what you want. But it’s going to be stressful. It’s going to be difficult. We’re both likely going to have to take time off, swap off cases, be single parents when the other person is away. We wouldn’t see each other often. It’s going to be a strain. It was a strain with Jack and it was just me in this position.”
It ended his marriage.
He doesn’t say that out loud. But it ended his marriage.
You don’t want this to have a death sentence before it even starts.
As much as he loved Haley, as much as he loved Jack, they couldn’t make it work as a family. Granted, Jack wasn’t the main issue, how could you blame an innocent child for all your marital strife? They were on the rocks before he was conceived. But you know having Jack didn’t make anything better, made it strain until it bent, until it snapped under the pressure.
It doesn’t help shake the guilt you feel. How you know there are women that would kill to be in your position, women who wanted to have kids but couldn’t, women who tried so hard to do what you did by accident.
“I just… isn’t it selfish? I mean, we’re getting married. We’re financially secure. If it were ever the right time…”
“If we both keep having to take time off of work our financial situation is going to change,” he points out. “And… I don’t know if I agree with you. You’re adjusting to your supervisory role. The team is adjusting to taking orders from you, too. Getting married is a change, too. It’s good stress, but it’s still stressful. If we added a child… that’s three huge changes in your life at once.”
“Do you think we could make it work?” you ask, looking him in the eyes, searching for a reaction.
“We could. I believe that. But it’s a sacrifice. And just because we could make it work doesn’t mean we have to if it’s something you don’t want,” he assures you, squeezing your knee. “Whatever you decide is no judgment on your character. I’m still going to love you just the same. I’m still going to be waiting for you to walk down that aisle to me a month from now.”
“It should be… our decision.”
“It is. I’m in full support of whatever you decide. Like I said.”
“But that’s a cop-out.”
“No. I’m telling you the truth, honey, and I need you to accept that. I’m allowed to not feel as strongly as you either way. That’s what being a man in this situation is. Stepping back, here. Even if I break my back trying to make my share of the burden equal to yours… I’ll never be able to do it. It’s something you have to want more than anything else. It’s nine months. It’s months where toward the end you might be on bed rest and I might be away. Months of being sick. Months of not being cleared for field work once you get further along.”
“Well. That sounds terrible.”
“It does. It would break my heart to be away when you would need me. But it’s the reality. And then it’s another eighteen years of sacrifices upon sacrifices.”
You don’t say anything. You drink your tea. You breathe through your nose. In. Out. Through. Deep.
“Did I ever tell you about when I had Jack?” he offers, moving his hand from your knee to take your hand in his.
“No. Not really.”
“I… I didn’t want to be a father. Haley always wanted to be a mother and we had been together for a long time before we started trying because I kept trying to get her to move on. I felt like after what I endured with my own father… I didn’t want to have that responsibility, the potential to screw somebody up for the rest of their lives. And I was busy, too, working, and I knew I wasn’t going to be there like I should be. I knew I was going to fail him before he was even born. She felt like it was what was going to make or break our marriage. Which… she was right, she just didn’t know… but, anyway, when he was born, when I fully realized that that was my own flesh and blood… it’s something I can’t explain. It changes everything. How you see the world, how you interact with people, how you decide to manage your time, and your sense of identity. It’s… I would say it’s something I think everyone should experience, but given our line of work it’s very clear some people should not.”
“Do you… do you regret it? I know that sounds awful, but I…” You trail off as if stopping your sentence will make what said have less weight.
Aaron sighs. “No. It’s something about what I said, the way it shifts your whole worldview to the left a little bit. It prevents you from regretting it entirely. Jack is… it’s unconditional love, and I don’t think you understand that until you have kids, because then you feel that. You know there’s nothing they can do wrong that would prevent you from loving them. I’m always…sorry that I didn’t prevent Haley from doing this, that I didn’t fight with her enough, that I didn’t look her in the eyes and tell her bringing a child into an already failing marriage wasn’t going to fix it. It wasn’t going to make me come home and stay home. But I’ll always be grateful that I have Jack, even if he was born from unfortunate circumstances. I mean, it’s the way of the world, right? I’d been married for years, and it’s the expectation for a married couple to have children. It was always family members asking her if she was having infertility struggles, asking me if I really loved her if I wasn’t willing to make her a mother. Just because the expectation is there doesn’t mean we have to fulfill it if it’s something you don’t want to do.”
“You won’t be upset if you don’t have a child with me? At all?” you ask softly. “Because… I don’t know, Aaron. I guess sometimes you don’t know the answer until it’s happening. I don’t know if I can ever do this.”
“I’m perfectly fine with that, honey,” he assures you. “I’m already a father. It would… it would be an honor to father your children. But it’s truly, honestly enough for me to be your husband in a month, and it’s just as much of an honor for you to wear my ring on my finger.”
“Do you think I’ll regret this?”
“If you find that you do, we can always try again when things are calmer,” he says, leaning over and kissing your temple. “You’re still young. It doesn’t have to be right now because it happened right now.”
“You don’t… you don’t think I’m being selfish?” you ask, desperate for reassurance.
“No. No. I think it’s more selfish to bring a child into the world when you’re expecting them to fix something before they’re even born. If you were to go through with this… why? What would your reasons be?”
“Because I feel guilty,” you say instantly, getting it off your chest.
“And that’s selfish. To bring a child into this world in an attempt to resolve your own guilt. And… it won’t work, honey. Because you’ll feel guilty all your life, anyway. Guilty when you miss birthdays, holidays, their first day of school,” Aaron says, swallowing audibly, and you hear him sniffle. You avert your gaze to him and take his face in your hands.
“Are you crying?” you ask, but you don’t need to. You see the tear he sheds before he wipes it away quickly.
You can’t put him through the trials and tribulations of self-imposed penitence for another eighteen years.
More importantly, you can’t put yourself through that. You realize for the first time, for all the good Jack has given him, he’s also given him equal amounts of pain.
And you don’t need any more agony, anxiety, or tension in your life.
Neither of you do.
This is going to hurt.
But eighteen years of failing to live up to expectations is going to hurt a lot more.
“I’m in full support of whatever you decide, honey,” he says again, rubbing your back.
“I… I need to do this, then. I need to get an abortion,” you say, with strengthened resolve, with the knowledge this is the best option for the two of you in this moment, with the way your lives are set up right now.
Abortion.
A so-called shameful, dirty word, when it was just a healthcare procedure. How many victims had the two of you encountered that you encouraged to go through with this, so they wouldn’t have to carry a monster’s baby to term?
It wasn’t just for that. It wasn’t always a decision brought about by evil men who rape innocent women, or poverty, or adultery. Sometimes it was a decision made with the utmost devotion and care, by a couple that loves each other and knows their limits.
“Okay,” Aaron agrees, pressing his mouth to your temple again. “We can make an appointment right now. You can’t be far along. You may be able to get the pill and do it here.”
“Is this what you wanted?” you ask. “Be honest.”
“It is,” he admits. “But more for your sake. I think you could handle it. You could handle anything. You’re strong and capable. But I think it would stretch you. It would take all you have. You wouldn’t be happy. And I want you to be happy.”
Aaron calls in and says the two of you are taking the day off due to a family emergency, and that comforts you, that the two of you can be considered a family unit together, just the two of you, soon-to-be husband and wife. While he calls in, you call for an appointment at the nearest clinic, and you’re eternally grateful they can get you in this afternoon for the consultation and blood work.
Aaron takes you out to brunch and you try to calm your nerves over coffee and pancakes. But looking at him, changed into cargo shorts and his plain white t-shirt, looking as casual as he’d ever look if he wasn’t running… you feel okay. Like he was right to meet your whirlwind of emotions with a blanket of tranquility.
Predictably, when you get there, there are protesters with signs with misconstrued Bible verses scrawled in large capital letters, and your stomach churns again at the thought of walking past them.
“I can clear them out,” he says quietly, judging your silence for fear.
“No. We don’t need to go in guns blazing. I’ll be okay,” you say, giving him a small smile, and he leans over and presses his mouth to it.
“I love you, honey. I love you. And I want you to know how brave I think you are, in this moment, for taking your needs into consideration and account,” Aaron tells you, kissing the side of your mouth gently.
“I love you, too, Aaron,” you reply, kissing him back and squeezing his hand, the fingers that you would slip a ring on weeks from now. “Don’t they have anything better to do?” you ask, shaking your head. “I mean. It’s sweltering out here.”
He shrugs but then both of you see it. A girl, walking through this crowd alone. Couldn’t be older than 16, and you guessed she was probably younger than that. She was thin, red curly hair frizzed up in the humidity, thin enough you could see the slight swell of her stomach under her tank top. Granted, it wasn’t a large group of people, but it was enough to intimidate somebody, more women than men, some children, and they start screaming at her, trying to hand her pamphlets.
“Maybe we will have to go in guns blazing,” you say through gritted teeth, opening the car door and trying not to slam it in your haste.
You’re walking quickly, too quick for Aaron to catch up immediately, and you don’t say anything, just walk up and walk through, two middle fingers up at the two lines of protesters.
“Oh, nice, what a nice example you’re setting for this young lady,” one of the women says, and you turn to her, scoffing.
“No better than you,” you retort. “By the way. Exodus 21 22-25. Take a look at it someday, will you? Funny how the Bible says only a fine is owed if you cause a miscarriage, but it’s a life for a life if you kill somebody. Funny, hm? Makes you think. Come on, honey,” you say, putting your arm around this girl’s shoulder as you walk into the building, just in time for Aaron to catch up with you and catch your other hand.
“How did you know that?” he asks.
“Reid,” you respond and grin. “I pay attention to him. It comes in handy.”
Aaron chuckles, shaking his head and kissing the top of yours. “I love you.”
You let the girl sign in at the front first, wondering where she was getting the strength to do this alone at her age.
Well.
You suppose either way, for her, she would be alone.
Still. You’re eternally grateful for Aaron in this moment.
He should be here. He was half of the reason this was needed. Any man whose partner wants an abortion should be with them. But looking around… you see most of the women are alone, one other couple there besides you and Aaron.
Granted, this clinic provided other services besides abortions. But it’s so often seen as a woman’s solitary affair, something she “has to take care of” alone, in secret, terrified. How many mistresses drive here alone, paying for it with their own money while their lover kisses his wife good morning? How many teenagers like this girl have to scrape up the funds, try to avoid the suspicion of their parents, and do this alone?
“Thank you,” the girl says quietly, as you sit down with Aaron across from her. She’s bouncing her knee at a rapid pace, crossing her arms over her belly.
“You’re welcome, honey. Any time,” you respond. “What’s your name?”
“Deana,” she answers, looking nervously between you and Aaron.
You introduce yourself to her, shaking her sweaty hand.
“Are you… are you here for the same reason?” she asks.
“I think so.”
“I’m afraid,” she admits, not that she needed to, all wide-eyed and trembling like you were hours ago. “Are you? Aren’t you scared?”
“Yes,” you admit. “But you will get past this.”
“How do you know? Have you done this before?”
“No,” you say, shaking your head. “No. But I know, honey.”
You can’t and shouldn’t credit Aaron with all your growth over the years you’ve known him. You’ve done a lot of work yourself. You’re still prone to heightened emotions, anxiety, even depression at times. Aaron isn’t medication, he isn’t therapy, no, but he does serve to help, some.
He makes you better, because he loves you, and you make him better, too. You make him happier. You make his iron grip on life a little looser. You help him feel younger, lighter on his feet.
Even if it’s when he knows just his presence is needed. He’s helping. Like here. He’s quiet, listening to you and Deana talk while you wait for the nurse. Deana’s a high school student, predictably. A sophomore. She had a fake ID made to be able to get the procedure without parental consent. (This she whispered in your ear lest there were eavesdropping receptionists). She slept with the senior quarterback. Lost her virginity at a party. Trusted the pullout method. Didn’t have the money to get this until now.
“I’ve been wearing sweatshirts all summer,” she says, finally smiling. “I’ll be glad for that to be over.”
“You’re very brave,” you tell her, and you mean it. You can’t imagine being in her position.
Not that you could have imagined being in yours even a day ago.
But this is what women do. You push through or you won’t make it. You make the best decision you can at the time. It’s one foot after another.
You shoot her a reassuring smile as the nurse calls her in. She takes a deep breath, finds her resolve, and she walks with her.
Aaron turns to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, his body heat welcome what with the air condition blasting. “You were good with her.”
“She’s so young,” you murmur. “I feel bad for her.”
“I do, too. But she’s got a good head on her shoulders. She’ll be okay.”
And.
Just like that.
You hear your name called.
It’s your turn.
And he gets up to go with you. Holds your hand physically. The burden, he's shouldering as much as he can. Metaphorically.
——————
“How are you feeling?”
“Okay,” you say, holding the heating pad to your abdomen, laying horizontally on the couch.
The cramps don’t feel amazing. But. Again. You were glad to have Aaron here. Glad he took the same amount of time you had to take the pills and let it run its course at home.
And he’s so good. Making sure you’re staying hydrated. Cooking you meals. Getting you ibuprofen and ice cream. Being present. Making sacrifices.
It makes you wonder if maybe… maybe you could’ve done this, had the baby. But one day isn’t eighteen years. He’s great right now, he can do right now, but he can’t call out for eighteen years anymore than you can.
When you both return to the office, there are questions. Of course there are questions. “Are you both okay? Is there anything I can do? Do you want to talk about it?”
Yes. No. Absolutely not.
——————
You don’t think about it as much until your wedding day, when you’re wondering if your dress would have had to have been altered. If you would’ve been sick with more than just nerves. If you would’ve regretted it.
You don’t regret a thing now, popping a bottle of champagne maybe a little too early with your mother, just a glass to soothe the wedding jitters.
“He seems like he really loves you,” your mom says. “Too bad I’ll never see you if you decide to have children.”
You nearly spit out your champagne, and you struggle not to let her see your reaction. “I don’t think you’ll need to worry about that, Mom. We have Jack.”
“Not yours.”
You shrug. “In a way, he is. I’m marrying his father.”
“Maybe you’ll surprise me. I never thought you’d tolerate a man enough to walk down the aisle. Or that a man would tolerate you enough, to be quite honest,” she says, grinning at your scowl.
It’s a small wedding, only close family, friends, and the team, really. No big declarations of love when you say your vows. It’s delightfully understated. Because you don’t need words to prove what’s already palpable.
Even your first dance, the song you chose, “Indian Summer” by The Doors, is beautiful in its simplicity.
I love you
The best
Better than all
The rest.
Clear. Concise. To the point.
“I had other vows,” he confesses to you as Jim Morrison continues to croon on. “I just didn’t want to say them in front of everyone else.”
“Then say them to me now,” you whisper as he sways you around the room.
“Remember what I said about unconditional love? It’s not just… it isn’t just that any wrongdoing would be forgiven, that you’d still love them just the same. It’s that you would love them, no matter what. Even if they don’t love you anymore. And… that’s how I feel about you. No matter what.”
“Aaron. I just married you,” you tease. “I love you. I don’t think I’m leaving.”
“You… you don’t… see, this is why I didn’t want to say them in front of everybody,” he sputters, a blush creeping across his cheeks. “It’s… it’s that I know I would. If anything happened… I would still love you. Always. I thought… I thought it was reserved for children, and that was why I didn’t feel that way in my first marriage. But…. I don’t know. I’m happy to report that that is not the case. It’s a different kind of love, of course, but it’s still unconditional. We… we just went through something that tests even the strongest of couples and we handled it without any issues.”
“We did,” you agree.
“It was almost… romantic."
"Well, let's make sure we hit all the abortion clinics on the way to our honeymoon," you say, smiling at him teasingly.
Aaron scoffs. "Not what I meant. I mean, when I was younger, I never would have thought that could be something that would prove you love somebody. It's treated as a cop-out, a last resort, something you do if the relationship itself isn't going to work out... but for us, it was the right thing. The brave thing. And we did it together. That I could be there for you, in ways I couldn't have been if we had gone through with it. And... that's what makes it romantic. Right?"
You don't really have any eloquent words to say in response. You just love this man. For understanding. For knowing you. For not wanting you to jeopardize your career for something unplanned. For letting you take the reigns.
"Right," you agree, and you kiss him, letting him deepen the kiss, listening to Morgan whistle in the background.
"Yeah, Hotchners! Get a room next time."
"I think we can fire him if we join forces," you say, grinning when he laughs.
I love you the best
Better than all the rest