Work Text:
Ring, ring.
Hotch’s phone dinged pleasantly on the counter next to the toaster, but it went unnoticed. It was Jack’s first long weekend with his father in a long time, and they were mid-pillow fort while the phone rang.
Ring, ring.
From inside the fort, both Hotchners heard the phone ring. Aaron sighed, but thought better of going to answer it. If it was important, whoever needed him would call back.
When a few minutes passed and no further rings came from the kitchen counter, Aaron thought nothing more of it.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
However, a few miles away, things were not so pleasant.
You’d come back from the most recent case to find your apartment building surrounded by people in HAZMAT suits. Your neighbor explained that someone had found asbestos in the basement of the building, and everyone had been kicked out until it could be fixed. Exhausted from your flight, and unwilling to ask one of your teammates for lodging, as they were just as worn out as you, you’d called your parents. It wasn’t your first option, but at the time, it seemed to be your only one.
Now, two days later, you were regretting it immensely. It had been years since you’d seen or heard from either of them, and you’d gone in hoping that the time apart had made things better. Unfortunately, as soon as you settled in, cleaned up, and slept, things went back to exactly how they were before you moved out and essentially cut them off. They lived close, so you had cursory contact with them to keep lines of contact open, but nothing more than was absolutely necessary.
Everything was just as it was when you were forced to live with them, only now you’d had a taste of life without it, so it seemed magnified. Today after dinner, you’d quietly made your way up to your old room and locked the door. Your parents had yet to notice, so you’d taken the opportunity to call for help. Your first instinct was to call Morgan, but you knew if he were privy to what was going on, he would come with his gun out and cocked. Instead, you called Hotch, ignoring the guilt you felt over knowingly trying to interrupt a weekend with Jack.
After the first two unanswered calls, you paused, tears running down your cheeks. Once you’d composed yourself, you tried again, vowing to leave a message this time if you were again ignored.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Unfortunately, Hotch genuinely didn’t hear the third call. His phone twinkled after the rings to signify the new message, but from Jack’s room, it went unnoticed.
Thirty minutes later, when Hotch came back downstairs from putting Jack to bed, he noticed the voicemail. Confused as to why you’d be calling him on a Sunday night, he listened to it.
Hi, Aaron, um, I’m so sorry to call you tonight; I know you never get this much uninterrupted time with Jack. But I, uh, I think I need your help.
He frowned when he heard your voice start to shake.
See, um, my apartment building was shut down because of something toxic, or something, and I ended up asking my parents for a place to stay until it got fixed or we have a case, and, um, just call me back, okay?
The message ended as your voice broke, but Aaron heard everything he needed to. Knowing you’d be by the phone, and probably not wanting to talk, he sent you a text instead.
Got your message. I’m on my way over.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Since you’d left the message, your father had come up and insisted you join them for “quality family time.” You were sitting on the couch trying to keep from crying in front of them when your phone lit up.
1 new message: Aaron Hotchner
You couldn’t help but smile when you read it. It gave you a renewed burst of energy, and you redirected so your parents would think the smile was for them.
You rode the hopeful energy just long enough—ten minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Your mother went to answer it, and you did your best to appear nonplussed.
A few moments later, your mother came back to the family room. “Y/N, there’s a man named Aaron at the door, he says he needs you for work. Why didn’t you tell me you worked with such a handsome man? It’s no wonder you don’t have a husband yet—you’re probably pining over him.”
You glared at her as you rose from the couch and made for the door, playing into the façade Aaron had started. “Good evening, sir. We have a case?”
He nodded. “Bring your go bag. We’re leaving as soon as everyone comes in.”
As calmly as you could muster, you hurried upstairs to retrieve your bag, which was already packed. You gave a perfunctory, dismissive thanks to your parents for allowing you to stay with them. As you left the house, breathing a sigh of relief, you heard your father’s voice, growing angry, from the couch: “How did he know she was here? She didn’t tell him, did she??”
Aaron took your bag and tossed it in the back, encouraging you to get in the car quickly. You understood his urgency when you noticed your father lumbering out towards the driveway, looking very displeased.
You stared at your lap as the Suburban squealed out of the driveway, but Aaron stared your father down. It wasn’t until you’d pulled your bag from the backseat once in Aaron’s driveway that he said anything.
“Y/N, thank you for reaching out to me.”
You nodded, shifting your weight between your feet. “Thank you for coming. I don’t want to spoil your time with Jack, you know, I could go to a hotel, or—”
“You’re not an imposition. I’m happy to help, and Jack always loves meeting people from the team. He thinks we’re superheroes.”
Biting back grateful tears, with moderate success, you nodded, not trusting your voice. You put your bag down and wrapped your arms around Aaron, burying your face in his chest and hoping he wouldn’t notice tear marks on his FBI sweatshirt. He simply hugged you back, rubbing a hand across your back until you were ready to go inside.