Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Saturday mornings were supposed to be relaxing. 

Aaron Hotchner told himself that as the steady beat of his running shoes echoed against the pavement. The team had gotten home late from Colorado the previous evening, so Jack had stayed the night with Jessica, his laughter and small footsteps replaced by silence in their home. Aaron had needed to remind himself that he liked the quiet, and that he’d earned it, but truthfully he would have preferred to have his boy with him. Whenever the team was home Aaron tried to spend as much time with Jack as possible, never sure when they would next be called away.

Regardless, even though Aaron was an habitually early riser, it was still too early to pick Jack up, so the next hour had been put aside for himself.

Training helped, although the triathlon he had signed up for was just another commitment he wasn’t entirely sure he had time for. His days already belonged to the Bureau, his nights to Jack, and whatever scraps remained were usually swallowed by case files or exhaustion. Still, he had signed up anyway. Discipline had always been easier for him than idleness, during those rare moments when he had the option. 

He had always found running specifically to be therapeutic, though his thoughts inevitably circled back to the Bureau regardless. Today it was the paperwork waiting for him on his desk. He had been too exhausted to bother with it on the plane home. He regretted that lapse now. 

No matter where he was or what he was doing, duty clung to him like a second skin. 

The path ahead curved sharply and Aaron rounded it, momentum carrying him straight into another body. He jolted at the impact, hands shooting out instinctively to steady the tall, thin figure before either of them could stumble.

“Sorry, my fault,” Aaron said, breathing coming in sharp bursts from the exertion. He straightened, the warmth of contact registering for a brief moment before he released his grip, ready to move on. Then his eyes locked on the familiar face before him.

“Reid?”

The younger man looked almost out of place on the jogging path. His purple scarf was wound tightly around his throat despite the mild morning, and his chestnut hair was mussed, stubborn curls falling across his forehead haphazardly. A worn book was pressed close against his chest like a shield.

Recognition seemed to dawn on Reid in stages, and Aaron raised an amused eyebrow at the sight. 

“Oh. Hotch.” Spencer shifted his weight, adjusting his grip on the book with both hands. “Hi.” 

Aaron let out a quiet chuckle at the way the wide-eyed shock drained from Reid’s expression, replaced by an almost sheepish half-smile and a small, uncertain wave.

“Hi,” he replied, smiling lightly in hopes that Reid would relax a little. Aaron knew he’d never been the person Reid felt most at ease around. He understood why, although he would rather that wasn't the case. They'd worked together for almost a decade now, and Aaron had come to care about their youngest member a great deal. 

“You’re out early,” Reid said then, pulling Aaron from his thoughts. 

Aaron let out the faintest breath of amusement. He had actually let himself sleep for an extra twenty minutes this morning. “That was my line. I didn’t think you were a morning person.” 

Reid gave a half-shrug, eyes darting toward the ground. “I’m not. I mean, not usually.”

Aaron slowed his breathing and tipped his head slightly. He knew that evasive cadence, the way Reid folded in on himself when things got a little too close to personal. “Want to talk about it?” 

“Not really,” Reid replied wryly, shooting Aaron an apologetic grimace. 

Aaron wanted to press. The shadows under his eyes were evidence enough, and the half-shrug was too evasive to be convincing, but he refrained. There was a reason for the no inter-team profiling rule, and Reid gave pieces of himself sparingly, so Aaron wasn’t about to force the issue. If the man wanted to tell him, eventually he would. 

So instead, he nodded toward the book clutched to Reid’s chest. “What are you reading?”

Reid blinked at him, momentarily thrown by the change in subject, then loosened his grip enough to hold the book up. “Shakespeare. Sonnets.”

Aaron allowed the faintest smile to curve his mouth. “I would have expected you to have all of those memorized by now.”

“I do,” Reid admitted without hesitation. Then, “but sometimes I like rereading things in print anyway. It slows me down. Forces me to take it one word at a time instead of ten lines at once.”

Aaron found himself smiling at the confession, charmed by the rear glimpse into Reid’s fascinating mind. 

“Which one are you on?”

Reid hesitated only briefly before flipping the book open, smoothing the worn page with long fingers and indicating the passage to Aaron. However, when he spoke he was clearly reciting from memory, a lifetime of habit taking over. 

“Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken…”

His tone softened as he reached the final lines, hazel eyes lifting briefly to meet Aaron's dark ones. 

“If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.”

As Reid finished, Aaron felt a sudden tightness in his throat. He cleared it quickly, taking a deliberate breath and masking the reaction as best he could, a flicker of surprise running through him. He had been around Reid’s remarkable memory countless times, seen the younger man recite facts, passages, and details with that same intensity. Aaron thought he would have been used to the effect by now. 

“Sonnet 116,” he managed to say. “Is that right?” 

Reid nodded his assent. “That's right. You know you’re Shakespeare.” 

Aaron laughed. “I'd better. My introduction to Shakespeare wasn’t exactly inspiring. Junior year, my English teacher Mrs. Reynolds insisted on reading Romeo and Juliet aloud in a monotone so flat it could have put a hummingbird to sleep, but God help you if you didn't pass her class.”

Reid’s mouth twitched, as though he wanted to laugh but didn’t quite know if he was supposed to.

“I still remember the look on my classmates’ faces,” Aaron continued, tone dry. “We weren’t moved by the beauty of the verse, just counting how many times we could sneak yawns without getting detention.” 

That earned him a small, genuine laugh from Reid, who ducked his head quickly like he hadn’t meant for it to escape. 

Aaron smiled at the reaction and tilted his head, studying the other man for a moment. “Hearing it from you though, that’s something else entirely. You do it justice, Reid.”

Reid blinked. His ears turned faintly pink, the color creeping down into his cheeks. He shifted the book in his hands, gaze darting toward the path instead of Aaron’s eyes. “I, uh… thanks. It’s just memorization, really. Anyone could do it.”

“You should tell that to Mrs. Reynolds,” Aaron joked, watching Reid closely. 

Reid huffed another laugh, and for the first time since Aaron had run into him, his posture eased a little. He adjusted the scarf at his throat, then glanced toward the winding path. “Do you… want to keep walking?”

Aaron nodded. “Sure. Cool down can’t hurt.”

They fell into step together, the early morning quiet wrapping around them. The park was only beginning to stir, a jogger here and there, a dog pulling at a leash, the faint rustle of wind through branches.

After a stretch of silence, Reid spoke again. His voice was quieter as he did, as though sharing a secret. “I’ve been… walking a lot lately. Mornings, sometimes late at night.”

Aaron glanced at him, brow threading together in concern. “Trouble sleeping again?”

Reid’s mouth twitched into something that was almost a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Not nightmares, no, just good old fashioned insomnia. Nothing new, really. It’s just been worse lately.”

Aaron nodded slowly, though the admission sat heavy in his chest. He knew what that was like. The urge to press returned. He wanted to ask Reid if he knew why now, or if he could do anything to help, but instead he tempered the feeling with a faint attempt at levity. “So, with all that extra time you could take up a workout routine.”

That drew an actual laugh out of Reid, light and unguarded. “You know me better than that, Hotch.”

Aaron smiled at the sound. It felt like winning a small victory. 

Reid glanced at Aaron curiously then. “How’s Jack?”

Aaron’s own shoulders relax slightly, a small smile tugging at his mouth at the thought of his seven year old ball of energy. “He stayed the night with Jessica. We got back so late from Colorado that I figured it’d be better for him to sleep over there than try to catch up on sleep at home. I’m going to pick him up after this. He’s probably awake by now, bouncing around, excited for a weekend with dad.”

Reid’s eyebrows lifted. “What are your plans?”

Aaron laughed, shaking his head slightly. “Oh, everything he could think of in about five minutes when I called him yesterday before we boarded the plane. Museum in the morning, library after that, and pancakes for dinner. He’s very specific about the order, and insists we can’t skip any of it.”

Reid’s face lit up with a delighted smile. “That sounds wonderful. I take Henry to the museum sometimes. He’s… he’s the same way. He asks so many questions, I love it. It’s fun seeing him get excited about things you wouldn’t expect a kid to care about.”

Aaron grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “It must be brilliant to be a kid who loves learning, and to get to go to the museum with a real genius. Jack would be all over you.”

Reid’s cheeks flushed again at the compliment. He ducked his head quickly, fumbling with the edge of his scarf. “I… uh, thanks. I… I just like seeing the excitement, I guess.”

Aaron’s smile softened. “I get that. It’s the same with Jack. I just try to make sure I don’t miss any of it when I can.”

They kept walking, conversation weaving easily between them. Half-trivia, half-professor’s lecture; Reid’s mind, as always, was a fountain of knowledge. He slipped into tangents about Shakespeare’s sonnets, about how language patterns changed when read aloud versus silently, about circadian rhythms and how some people were genetically predisposed to short sleep cycles. How kids retain more information than adults, so it's best to teach them as much as possible while they are young. 

Aaron didn’t interrupt. He rarely did unless the team was on deadline. Too many times over the years he had seen the flicker of hurt cross Reid’s face when someone cut him off mid-thought. It cost Aaron nothing to listen, and truthfully, he enjoyed listening. Reid’s enthusiasm, his ability to tie together threads most people wouldn’t even see, was as delightful as it was fascinating. 

Every so often, Aaron added a dry comment, or asked a thoughtful question that nudged Reid into another tangent. The longer they walked, the lighter the younger man seemed to become. 

A few minutes later, a small coffee cart came into view, parked on the edge of the path near a cluster of benches. Reid’s eyes lit up slightly, and Aaron raised a brow.

“Coffee?” Reid asked, as though asking permission.

Aaron chuckled softly. “Seems like the natural next step. After you, Dr. Reid.”

Reid approached the cart with a shy sort of determination. “I’ll have my usual,” he told the barista. 

Aaron smirked, shaking his head. “An oversized cup with a ridiculous amount of sugar and creamer, I'm assuming,” he asked. “You do realize all that sugar is going to make you crash before lunch, right?”

Reid gave him a look that was half defiant, half amused. “Better a crash than a bland cup of coffee, Hotch.”

Aaron laughed, placing his own order—black, no sugar, as always—and fell into step beside Reid as he moved toward an empty bench. The morning sun was soft now, filtering through the trees, and Aaron found himself unusually content to let the rest of his run slide in favour of Reid’s company.

As they sipped their drinks, their conversation picked up exactly where it had left off. Reid spoke animatedly about learning styles in children, historical tidbits about the museum Aaron had mentioned, and comparisons of how people responded to stimuli differently. 

As he listened, Aaron’s gaze wandered despite himself. The morning sun caught Reid’s brown hair, turning it almost golden, and softened the sharp angles of his face, highlighting the delicate curve of his jaw. Then Aaron found himself noticing the long, elegant sweep of his eyelashes and the way his delicate fingers wrapped around the coffee cup.

There was a quiet intensity to Reid, an undercurrent of thoughtfulness that seemed to hum beneath the surface of every word. His brilliance was obvious, yes, but it was paired with an earnestness that made it endearing. Aaron could feel it pressing gently against the edges of his awareness. Reid wasn’t showy, which Aaron had always appreciated, having known so many intelligent people in his life. The Doctor’s brilliance never demanded attention or admiration, it simply existed, inherent and unassuming, and yet impossible to ignore.

It drew people in, although only certain people. Those capable of seeing beyond Reid’s awkward mannerisms and his rapid-fire tangents. People who understood that intelligence without empathy was hollow. Aaron had always known he was one of those people. He had recognized it years ago, back when Reid had first joined the team, and even then had felt the pull of it.

Now Aaron realized he had underestimated the depth of that pull. He was more intrigued by the younger man than he had ever registered before today. 

He noticed details he hadn’t before, or perhaps had simply ignored. The handful of lines on his otherwise eternally youthful face, the specific selfsoothing ways he fidgeted as he spoke, the barely-there dimple at the corner of his mouth when he smiled or laughed. 

All of it struck Aaron as unexpectedly… pretty? 

In recognizing this, Aaron felt a wave of discomfort. These thoughts reached far past the professional respect and intellectual admiration he had always felt for Spencer. He knew exactly where this line of thinking was heading, and what it meant if he allowed himself to linger on it. Aaron straightened in his seat, taking a slow breath as he mentally scolded himself. 

Focus. 

You’re not gay, and this is not appropriate. He’s your subordinate. He’s years younger. He’s… he’s Reid. He’s just Reid. 

Aaron gripped his cup a little tighter, willing his racing thoughts to realign themselves. He mentally ran through the list of the boundaries he maintained with the team. He had always kept a careful separation between personal and professional, and for good reason. These rigid structures ensured that he kept from ever letting anything like this from happening before. It was imperative that he never crossed those lines. 

You’re being ridiculous. He has a brilliant mind. Nothing else. He’s fascinating. That’s all.

But even as the voice of reason drilled into him, he couldn’t entirely erase the awareness of Reid’s presence next to him. The gentle tilt of his head as he listened to Aaron’s interjections, the way he gestured lightly when emphasizing a point, the subtle, nervous habits that betrayed the self-consciousness Aaron knew well. 

It was all frustratingly adorable. 

Guilt twisted like a knife, a feeling he knew more intimately than most people ever would. Even entertaining the thought felt like a betrayal. Haley’s face rose in his mind, her laughter, her warmth, her life cut short because of him and the choices he made. The darkness that had followed him home. What right did he have to be thinking these things, and about Reid of all people?

Focus. Enjoy the conversation. Appreciate his intellect. Don’t go there.

Aaron let out a slow, measured exhale, forcing his eyes back to the bench, and the coffee, and the conversation. Reid’s words continued to flow, rich with knowledge and careful reasoning. Aaron forced himself to focus on the substance of what was being said, instead of the cadence of his voice or the way the morning sun made his hazel eyes blaze emerald.

No matter how magnetic, or clever, or undeniably captivating Spencer Reid could be, Aaron reminded himself firmly that whatever this was couldn’t become anything more than a private appreciation. Curiosity, admiration, even fascination, those were safe words. They belonged in the realm of mentors and colleagues, even friends. Anything else was a path he had no business walking, and he forced himself to shore up his walls again, stone by stone, as Reid spoke on.

He shifted slightly, schooling his expression back into something measured and professional, the same one he wore in conference rooms and briefing halls. SSA Aaron Hotchner. It felt safer that way, as if the right posture and a steady grip on his coffee cup could keep him from sliding too far into dangerous thoughts. He wasn’t about to risk the balance of his team by entertaining the idea that this spark of intrigue could mean something more.

Focus, he told himself again, and this time he managed it. He pushed the rest aside and let himself do what he’d always done best: listen.

Reid was talking now about an upcoming seminar he’d been asked to give at The Academy next month, his words quick but his tone tinged with uncertainty. “I… I was thinking of covering trauma bonding. They probably know it as Stockholm Syndrome. It’s one of those topics that always gets simplified too much in popular culture, and I want the cadets to understand the psychological nuance of it.” He hesitated, shifting the cup in his hands, “but I’m not sure where to start. Do you think it’s better to lead with the theory, or with case studies? I want them to understand the humanity behind it without losing the clinical framework.”

Aaron was just about to answer, already thinking through the balance of pragmatism and empathy, about the way young agents absorbed material best, when his phone buzzed sharply against the wood of the bench, rattling beside his cup. His chest tightened instinctively.

Work.

The team was off for the weekend, but there hadn’t been a stand-down order. They could be called back at any moment, and although Aaron had made his peace with the unpredictability of the job, the thought of disappointing Jack made his stomach sink. He’d been looking forward to it almost as much as his son.

His hand hovered over the phone for a beat too long, and when he finally picked it up he felt Reid’s eyes on him. Aaron glanced over and Reid offered him a sympathetic look. Aaron gave a small, grateful smile in return before he finally answered the phone. 

“Hotchner.”

On the other end was not a panicked agent, a frantic local detective, or even Garcia, but the bland, nasal drone of Erin Strauss’ secretary. Aaron schooled his expression into neutrality, forcing down the flicker of surprise as the man spoke.

“Yes,” Aaron said. “He’s here with me.” His eyes flicked briefly to Reid, who was watching him with open curiosity and a small crease between his brows.

“Understood. We’ll be there within the hour.” Aaron ended the call and slid the phone back into his pocket, exhaling slowly through his nose.

Reid leaned forward slightly, clearly uncomfortable. “Hotch, what is it? Am I in trouble or something?”

Aaron shook his head quickly. “I'm sure it's nothing like that, Reid,” he reassured, but the truth was, he wasn’t entirely sure what it was yet. Strauss rarely reached out directly, and when she did, it was rarely good. Still, there had been no edge of urgency in the secretary’s voice, just instructions.

“But it was work?” Reid pressed. 

“Yes, it was,” Aaron sighed, guilt about having to break the news to Jack turning his stomach. He gathered his cup and stood, mustering up one more small smile for Reid’s sake. “Come on. They want both of us at Quantico.”

“Is the team meeting us there?” Reid asked, rising to his feet, still studying Aaron as though trying to read between the lines. 

Aaron gave a dry, humorless huff. “Apparently, not,” he said, causing Reid to look back at him with that same startled, wide eyed expression from earlier. Aaron shrugged apologetically and gestured toward the lot where he’d parked. “I’ll drive.”

Chapter Text

Spencer’s stomach was a knot of nerves as he sat in the passenger seat, watching the Virginia landscape blur past. The drive to Quantico felt unbearably long, though in reality it was only half an hour. He pressed his thumb against the edge of his satchel strap, rubbing it back and forth in a repetitive motion. 

He kept stealing glances at Hotch out of the corner of his eye, unsure whether it was the tension of their unusual summons or the conversation they’d shared over coffee that had him so unsettled. They hadn’t spoken much since leaving the park, and silence was something Spencer had never been good at.

Did I say anything that could give me away? he wondered, heart thumping in his chest. Did I show too much? 

He had spent the morning laughing with Hotch, walking alongside him like friends, and part of him worried that he’d accidentally let slip how pathetically, hopelessly and undeniably in love he was with the man. The idea that Hotch could have noticed made his palms sweat.

Spencer tried to focus on anything else. First he tried the rhythm of the tires on the asphalt, then the weight of the seatbelt across his chest, then the distant cry of a hawk overhead, but his mind kept straying back to Hotch’s profile. The serious set of his jaw, the calm authority in the way his hands held the wheel, the faint crease between his brows that always made him look like he was three steps ahead of the rest of the world.

Focus, Spencer. Get it together. 

There was no way Hotch could know. He’d kept his feelings hidden for five years, buried so deep under layers of professionalism and restraint that he sometimes wondered if he’d imagined them himself. He wasn’t careless or reckless. Not with this.

To Spencer’s surprise, Hotch’s voice eventually broke the silence. “You’re quiet.”

Spencer startled, blinking rapidly out of his thoughts. His mouth opened before his brain had time to filter. “Did you know the average person speaks about sixteen thousand words a day?” The fact tumbled out fast and awkward, causing him to cringe immediately. “Sorry, just… thinking.”

Hotch gave him a sidelong glance. “About what they want with us?”

“Yes, that,” Spencer said, his voice pitched a little higher than he intended. His ears burned, and he pushed the satchel strap hard against his thumb until it hurt.

“I’m sure it’s nothing, Reid,” Hotch said calmly. “If it were urgent, Strauss would have called the whole team in. We’ll hear her out and take it from there.”

Spencer nodded, clinging to the rationality in Hotch’s tone. “Right. That makes sense.”

“Whatever it is, we’ll handle it. We always do.”

When they arrived the usual sense of purpose that came with entering Quantico hit Spencer immediately, though it did little to calm the anxiety coiling in his chest. Why only him and Hotch? A private summons wasn’t unheard of, but it was unusual, and unusual almost always meant serious. His mind leapt ahead of him, running through every possibility at breakneck speed. Had he done something wrong? Was Hotch in trouble? Was the team? His thumb continued to run up and down the seam of his satchel, grounding himself with the familiar motion, but the question looped over itself with every step: What could they possibly want with just us?

As soon as they passed through security they were ushered directly into a private briefing room where Erin Strauss was already waiting. She wasted no time on small talk, offering only a brief nod and a curt “Good morning,” before she handed each of them a familiar manila folder and gestured for them to sit. 

“This is the BAU’s next case, and the assignment is sensitive,” she began, flipping open her own folder. “We’re looking at a series of murders tied to a so-called “Retreat and Therapy Center” in rural Louisiana. It’s known as Solace Springs and caters exclusively to queer couples. Since its opening two years ago, there have been repeated killings, one couple every few months, occurring after their return home. Four couples in all.”

Spencer’s fingers tapped nervously on the edge of his folder as he scanned the crime scene photos. All of the couples had been brutally eviscerated, specific attention having been paid to the private areas of their anatomy. He exchanged a glance with Hotch, who was also scanning the file in front of him, expression tight.

“Because the victims crossed state lines and were murdered at home, the connection was initially missed,” Strauss continued. “That is, until last week, when Jane and Emma Stilton were found murdered in their home shortly after leaving their stay at the center early. In Jane’s diary, which was recovered at the scene, she documented their uncomfortable experiences with the center’s founder, Daniel Bartlett. Bartlett is a psychologist and a self-described genius. He only works with four couples maximum at a time, each for a minimum of a month. Jane’s diary details discomfort with his methods. She wrote about things that made herself and her wife feel nervous and watched. Otherwise, the retreat receives generally positive reviews.”

Spencer flicked through his file to find a photocopy of the diary entry in question, reading the page in a matter of moments: 

“The retreat is beautiful. An old colonial estate tucked deep into the bayou. It looks like something out of a postcard when you first see it. Wide porches, tall columns, the kind of place you’d think would hold weddings, not therapy sessions. There’s Spanish moss hanging off the trees, and at night you can hear the water moving through the marsh. 

It’s practically idyllic… or it should be.

The sessions started the day after we arrived. We’ve only had a few with Dr. Bartlett so far, and I can’t explain it exactly, but something about them feels wrong. His questions aren’t just probing, they’re unsettling. No matter how I answer, it feels like I've said the wrong thing. I feel like we’re being measured against a standard he isn’t revealing to us. I leave every session feeling smaller, like I’ve failed a test I didn’t know I was taking.

And it’s not just in the sessions, either. I feel watched all the time. Even when we’re in our room, with the door locked, I can’t shake the sense that there’s someone just outside, listening. Emma says I’m being paranoid, but she’s admitted that she feels it too. Yesterday, we went walking along the edge of the property, and I caught a figure moving behind the trees. When I looked again, there was nothing there.

I told Emma tonight I want to leave. She agreed. We’re going to cut our stay short. 

When we mentioned it to Bartlett he didn’t take it well. He tried to convince us to stay. He asked us to reconsider, said leaving early would mean we’d ‘miss the real work.’ I don’t know what that means, but I didn't like the way he said it. 

I don't care that we can't get our money back, we’re leaving tomorrow.’

“I don't blame them for leaving early,” Spencer muttered, and he heard Hotch hum his accent. 

“So the pattern is pretty specific,” Hotch muttered, scanning the printed reviews of Solace Springs. “All the couples go through the retreat, seem fine to the outside world, then something happens once they’re home. The killings are definitely not random, someone is targeting them.”

Spencer nodded, trying to focus “Could it be Bartlett himself?” he asked, biting the inside of his cheek. “I mean, theoretically, he could have some… psychodynamic methods that escalate dangerously once the couples leave, but that seems indirect. It could also be someone else monitoring them. Someone with access to the center’s schedule.”

Hotch nodded, “External factor or staff member, potentially. We’ll need to map every staff member, visitor, and record of who enters and leaves. Cross-reference with the victims’ home lives.”

Spencer nodded as Hotch looked back to Strauss. The need to move was overwhelming, but he forced himself still.

“I'm confused, Erin,” Hotch said. “Why isn't the whole team here?”

Strauss’ eyes met his with an unwavering stare. “You and Dr. Reid have been selected to go undercover and fill the currently available spot at the retreat. Your mission is to determine who is targeting these couples, and why.”

Spencer froze for a moment, heart hammering as he connected the unspoken dots. “You mean undercover as… as a couple?” The words stumbled out, laced with both disbelief and dread. He glanced at Hotch, whose eyes had narrowed slightly, unnervingly alert to the tension in Spencer’s posture.

“Yes,” Strauss said calmly. “Your combined talents, experience, and skills make you the best pair to assess the psychological dynamics while maintaining procedural oversight. The genders, backgrounds, and strengths of the team were measured against the assignment. You two came out on top.”

Concern marred his boss’ dark brown eyes. 

“Is this appropriate?” Hotch asked. “Reid is my subordinate.”

Strauss’ reply was steady, firm, and unapologetic. “Dr. Reid’s analytical skills, psychological insight, and ability to observe without being obtrusive make him the most suitable agent for this assignment. His intellect will allow him to engage Bartlett directly, on his level, without raising suspicion, and more importantly—” she glanced between them, “—he has the kind of mind Bartlett will want to test. That makes him invaluable on the inside, but Reid cannot go alone. This assignment requires not only keen psychological observation, but also experience, restraint, and the ability to keep control of a delicate cover. Those are the qualities that will keep Bartlett from sensing what you’re really there to do. You are going to need each other.”

Hotch opened his mouth to speak, but clearly Strauss wasn't finished, because she carried on. 

“And let’s not ignore the practical considerations. We needed a pairing that would be believable. Two men, similar in professional background, a lawyer and academic that is, won't arouse suspicion. Both of you fit the profile of the couples who attend these retreats: accomplished, private, and—” she let the pause linger, almost deliberately, “—in need of… perspective.”

She folded her hands neatly on the table. “It has to be the two of you. Together, you are the best chance we have of infiltrating Bartlett’s retreat without drawing unwanted attention. I expect nothing less than the discretion and composure you’ve always demonstrated. The rest of your team will be briefed by yourselves later today. They will travel to Louisiana with you, but not to Solace Springs. We have liaised with the local PD and they have organised a space for operations.”

Spencer wasn't really listening by the end of Strauss’ speech, his mind racing as he read through the file again, scanning details about Bartlett, the retreat, the diary excerpts. He was fascinated by the case, but the personal dimension made him flush with embarrassment. Pretending to be Hotch’s partner? With his real feelings for the man just under the surface? He suddenly felt painfully aware of what every little nervous tick might reveal.

Hotch’s gaze softened as he watched Spencer fidget. “You okay with this?” he asked quietly, leaning slightly closer.

“I… I think so,” Spencer replied, trying to sound confident but feeling his chest tighten uncomfortably. In truth, he was terrified. His mind was running through every possible scenario at breakneck speed. Every possible misstep. Pretending to be in a romantic relationship with his boss was beyond awkward; it was a psychological minefield.

Hotch raised an eyebrow. “I need you to be sure,” he said.

Reid’s mouth opened, then closed again. He could say no. He could point out the obvious ethical complications, the risk of blurring lines that were already hard enough for him to keep clear in his own mind. He could insist someone else take his place.

He almost did, but then his gaze dropped back to the file spread open in front of him. The diary entry, Jane’s neat handwriting recounting how watched and judged she felt, how unnerved she and Emma had been by Bartlett. The grotesque CSI photographs of couples who had left the retreat only to be slaughtered weeks later.

Dr. Malcolm Bartlett. A man who proudly called himself a pioneer in psychodynamics and flaunted his supposed genius while there was a trail of broken lives leading right to his front door. Spencer felt his jaw tighten. Something about the arrogance in Bartlett’s published papers, which he had read while Strauss was speaking, was infuriating. 

And the victims were queer couples, targeted and destroyed after daring to seek help together.

Any thought of saying no dissolved. He couldn’t sit this one out. Risky as the cover might be, the case mattered too much. Whatsmore, undercover work wasn’t something the BAU was handed often. Spencer was too driven to simply pass up the kind of chance most agents would leap at.

So he drew a slow breath, pushed his nerves down, and nodded. “Yes, Sir,” he said, directly to Hotch. “I’m in.”

Hotch studied him carefully, but when Spencer didn’t look away, he gave a nod of approval. 

“Good,” Struss said, satisfied. “Glad to know this team is still occasionally capable of following orders.” 

Spencer attempted a respectful smile, but in truth he had never been good at following orders, so it came off more as a grimace. Thankfully, the Unit Chief was paying him little attention and didn't seem to notice. She slid another folder across the table. 

“This,” she said, her tone brooking no argument, “is your cover. Names, backgrounds, addresses, employment histories. Everything you’ll need to present yourselves convincingly. You’ll be a pair of professionals seeking to reconnect and realign after long work hours and demanding careers. I suggest you both read carefully. There can be no contradictions in your story.”

Hotch reached for the folder, flipping it open so that he and Spencer could both see. Inside were passports, driver’s licenses, employment records, even credit card statements. Spencer was sure that if he was to go through it carefully he would eventually find discrepancies, but most people would never notice.

“You have two hours here,” Strauss continued. “I expect you to use them wisely. Work together to establish a believable dynamic. Bartlett works with real couples daily, and the other guests at Solace Springs will be no less observant. If anyone doubts your relationship, it jeopardizes the entire operation.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, settling on Spencer. “This isn’t only an intellectual exercise, Dr. Reid. its performance. Every glance, every word, every touch has to feel genuine. Do you understand?”

Spencer’s face burned hot at the directive, but he nodded quickly, gripping his pen tightly and focusing on the sensory input it provided.

“After prep,” Strauss went on, addressing them both again, “you’ll head to the residence listed in your file. It’s been stocked and staged as your home. The rest of the team will meet you there to finalize operational details before departure. Agents Morgan and Prentiss will oversee logistics with the locals, while Rossi and Jareau manage communication protocols. The two of you—” she looked between Hotch and Spencer with deliberate weight “—will spend the night at the house. Notice everything, imagine what it would feel like to live there every day, and then remember those feelings. Tomorrow morning you fly to Louisiana. From the moment your separate cars leave the airstrip, your team leaves you behind, and you become Mr Aaron Miller and Dr. Spencer Everett, an engaged couple attending Solace Springs to strengthen your relationship. Understood?”

Hotch gave a single, sharp nod. “Understood.”

Spencer nodded obediently even as his nervous eyes flicked toward Hotch. 

Two hours. 

Only two hours in this room to figure out how to make being Hotch’s fiancé look natural. 

Strauss gathered the remaining papers on the table into a neat stack, her movements brisk and efficient. “Good,” she said, rising from her chair. “Then I’ll leave you both to it. Thank you for your cooperation, and good luck.”

She gave the faintest of nods, then swept out of the room, the sharp click of her sensible heels echoing against the walls until the door closed behind her.

For a moment, the silence was thick. Hotch let out a low sigh, his shoulders loosening slightly. The steel posture he always carried in her presence softened now that Strauss was gone. However, almost immediately the tension crept back in as he turned toward Spencer, eyes stern and serious.

“Reid,” Hotch said quietly, his voice stripped of its usual command. “I need to ask again. Are you sure about this? Really sure?”

The concern in his tone was unmistakable, and it startled Spencer almost more than Strauss’ blunt orders had. Hotch wasn’t worried about the case, he was worried about him. Spencer bit at his lip and tightened his grip on the pen. He could see the furrow in Hotch’s brow, the slight crease of his mouth, the way he was holding back like he was trying not to overstep.

“I know this isn’t a simple assignment,” Hotch added. “I don’t want you to feel pushed into something you’re not comfortable with. If you say the word, I’ll fight to pull you off this.”

Spencer swallowed, meeting his gaze directly. 

“I’m okay with this, really,” he said, managing to sound relatively convincing. “I want to do it. The case is important, and I can handle it.”

Hotch searched his face for a long moment, looking for any hint of hesitation in his microexpressions. Spencer was tempted to remind him about the inter-team profiling rule, but instead he schooled his features and forced himself not to look away. After a long moment Hotch nodded again, though the worry in his eyes lingered.

“Alright,” he said softly. “Then we do this together.”

Spencer let out the breath he had been holding, but instead of letting the silence settle he found himself blurting out: “What about you?”

Hotch’s brow raised in question.

“No one’s asked you if you’re okay with this,” Spencer elaborated, stumbling slightly over his words but insistent. “You’re just… expected to be fine.” He hesitated, twisting the pen in his fingers, “but that doesn’t mean you actually are. You get a say here too, you know?”

For a beat, Hotch didn’t respond. Spencer worried that he had over stepped, but then he thought he might have caught something close to appreciation flickering across the other man’s features. Likely at being asked the question no one else seemed to think he needed to answer. Then Hotch closed off again and Spencer didn't know what he was looking at anymore. 

“Yes,” Hotch said, decisive. “I’m okay with it if you are.”

Spencer tilted his head, unconvinced. The words were the right ones, said in the right way, but there was no telling if they were true. Hotch had perfected the balance of authority and composure that meant he had the ability to project exactly what people needed from him in the moment. It was part of what made him such an effective leader, but it also meant that Spencer was never quite sure if he was being truthful, especially about his own feelings and limits. 

Still, it wasn’t his place to challenge his boss. Not when Hotch had made it clear over the last decade that his word was final. 

Spencer forced himself to nod. “Okay,” he murmured, though he wasn’t entirely sure if he was agreeing with Hotch’s statement or resigning himself to the fact that he’d never get a more honest answer.

Hotch gave the smallest of smiles back, then reached for the cover file, opening it to the first page. “We should start going through this,” he said, his tone all business now. “Two hours isn’t much.”

Hotch spread the file between them, beginning to scan the documents line by line. Spencer, by contrast, had already skimmed half the stack before Hotch was through the first few pages. He tapped the pen against his notebook, forcing himself to wait, then went back to re-reading, cross-checking the addresses, the birthdates, the financial statements, making notes in his cramped, quick script. His leg bounced under the table.

This could work, he told himself. 

It had to work. 

And yet, even as he memorized bank routing numbers and car registrations, he couldn’t stop thinking about how absurd it all was. Him and Hotch, engaged. Pretending at something he wasn’t even sure he understood in practice, much less performance. The risk of failure didn’t just hum at the edges of his mind, it roared. If Bartlett or anyone else saw through them, the operation was over, and the danger was very real.

Hotch finally slid a credit card statement toward him. “Utilities and groceries are both in your name. That means you handle household accounts.”

Spencer nodded, jotting down a note. “And you handle the mortgage, according to this. I suppose that makes sense, you’re on a steady income and I’m an academic working part-time.”

“Fits,” Hotch agreed.

They continued like that, parsing the story the paperwork told. Spencer’s employment record at Georgetown, Hotch an attorney at a small firm in DC. They discussed timelines. When they supposedly met, when they moved in together, when they got engaged. Spencer kept pressing for detail, worrying that any small gap might unravel under scrutiny.

“These documents only give us a skeleton,” he said nervously, worrying at his lip again. “Names, dates, places, but that’s not enough. If someone asks which side of the bed we sleep on, or who makes the coffee, or what we did last weekend, none of that is here.”

Hotch nodded, leaning back slightly. “You’re right, the facts aren't enough. We need to decide what’s true for them. For us.”

Spencer felt his teeth break skin, copper filling his mouth, and he forced himself to leave his lip alone. “We could invent completely new habits, but that increases the risk of contradiction under stress. I think it would be smarter if we keep as much of ourselves as possible. It lowers the chance we’ll slip up.”

“Agreed,” Hotch said. “So, who makes the coffee?”

“I make the coffee, because I'm more particular about it than you are.” 

That made Hotch laugh, a sound Spencer hadn't heard since the park. He tried to hide how much he enjoyed being the reason for the sound. 

“Particular is one way to put it,” Hotch said, and Spencer blushed, but he didn't feel as if he was being made fun of. It was more like being gently teased. His lips twitched into a small, awkward grin. 

“Well, someone has to maintain standards,” he said. “I take my caffeine very seriously.” He paused, then added, “I mean, I could mainline it straight, but where’s the artistry in that?”

Hotch’s eyes wrinkled at the corners in mirth. “I think I've heard you make more jokes this morning than I have in the last year.” 

Spencer flushed. He contemplated how wise the response on the tip of his tongue was, then decided that this morning had been strange enough already and went for it. “You know I like a challenge, Hotch.” 

“Aaron.” 

“Pardon?” 

“You should start to get used to calling me Aaron,” Hotch explained, looking almost apologetic as he did. 

“Oh,” Spencer started. “Right. Of course. You know, I don't think I've ever heard you call me Spencer.” 

Aaron tilted his head at that, considering “Probably not,” he admitted after a moment. “You’ve always been ‘Reid.’”

Spencer fiddled with the corner of one of the forged utility bills, his fingers restless. “Feels strange, doesn’t it? Pretending to be people we’re not, even though technically, it’s still us.”

“Strange,” Aaron agreed, “but necessary.” He let the silence hang a moment, then tried it out, quietly: “Spencer.”

Spencer blinked at the sound, his stomach doing an odd flip. It was softer than he expected, the syllables drawn out in a way Hotch never used in the field, southern accent deepening.

“You might have to repeat it,” Spencer said quickly, half-joking, half-trying to cover the warmth rising in his cheeks. “You know, for practice.”

That earned him another amused crinkle at the corners of Aaron’s eyes. “Spencer,” he said again, and the effect wasn’t lessened in the slightest.

Spencer’s mouth quirked into a nervous smile. “Okay, that’s… surprisingly convincing.”

“Good,” Aaron replied, shifting the folder a little closer between them. “We’ll need convincing.” Then he turned back to the matter at hand. “What about mornings?”

Spencer blinked at him. “Mornings?”

“You wake early, because of the insomnia. I do too.” He hesitated, then added, “I run. You… don’t.”

“I read,” Spencer countered, tapping his pen against his notebook. “You go for a run, I’m reading at the table when you get back. That’s a normal people morning routine, right?”
“Right,” Aaron agreed. “What about weekends?” 

Spencer hesitated again. He didn’t have an answer. Weekends, to him, were case files and chess games and stacks of books, not couples’ activities. His mouth felt dry.

Aaron must have seen it, because he said, “Keep it simple. You read, grade papers. I catch up on work. Maybe sometimes we go out for dinner.”

Spencer nodded quickly, relief flooding through him. Maybe he was grateful that Aaron was the one on this assignment with him afterall. Few other people were as good at reading him.

They kept going, mapping out the rhythms of their supposed daily life. 

Who cooked (Spencer, sometimes; Aaron more often), who handled laundry (Spencer), how other chores were divided. Spencer noticed that Aaron steered them toward arrangements that aligned with their actual habits, cutting down the need for invention. It was efficient, practical, and yet eerily intimate. In his mind’s eye, Spencer could imagine his life like this, and it was everything he’d ever wanted. He pushed the image away. 

At one point, Spencer caught himself staring at Hotch’s hand as he annotated the margin of the file. His calloused broad fingers, controlled as they traced across the paper. Most people wouldn't be able to notice the small tremor in them, a result of Aaron destroying his hands in the act of taking Foyet’s life, but Spencer did. He wondered if it still hurt, like his leg sometimes did. Aaron must have felt eyes on him, because he looked up to Spencer, who looked away quickly. 

“Engaged couples,” Spencer murmured after a silence. “They… touch. Not constantly, I mean, but… there has to be some physical ease, or people will notice. Right? That's how it works?”

Aaron looked at him steadily. Spencer forced himself not to flinch under it.

“We’ll practice,” Aaron reassured. “We’ll start with what’s comfortable. A hand on your shoulder. Passing you something. Small things. If it feels natural, no one will question it.”

“Small things,” Spencer echoed, like repeating it might make the task less daunting. He shifted in his chair, then, before he could overthink, reached across the table. His fingers brushed Aaron’s wrist as he pushed a pen toward him. The touch lasted barely a second, but it felt like forever, Spencer’s every nerve alight with awareness.

Aaron looked down at where Spencer’s hand had been, then back up at him. His expression didn’t change much, but Spencer thought he caught the faintest flicker of warmth. “That’s fine,” he said quietly. “Natural.”

Spencer ducked his head, embarrassed but comforted. “Okay. Good.”

Aaron leaned back slightly, his gaze softening. “You’re overthinking this, Spencer. You do that when you’re nervous.”

Spencer gave a weak laugh. “You don’t say.”

Aaron’s lips curved into the smallest smile, and then he added, “We’ll be fine. We know how to trust each other already, and that’s half the battle. Everything else we’ll figure out.”

Spencer surprised himself by finding he believed the words. He met Aaron’s eyes again and smiled.

Another silence stretched, and when Aaron broke it his voice softer than usual. “It’s strange,” he admitted, “imagining a life that doesn’t include Jack. No matter what this cover says, I can’t picture myself without him.”

Spencer blinked, caught off guard by the honesty. He hesitated, then said carefully, “I don’t think anyone who knows you could. You and Jack are a set. I can’t imagine one without the other, either.”

Aaron’s eyes softened. “Thank you,” he murmured, and Spencer realized he meant it.

The warmth of the moment lingered as they went back to work, jotting down notes and cross-checking the timeline of their fake history. Eventually, the two hours slipped away and Aaron gathered the folders into a neat stack while Spencer shoved his pen into his satchel, trying not to fidget too much.

“Ready?” Aaron asked, standing.

Spencer nodded, though his stomach flipped over. Their next stop was the staged house where the team would be waiting. He imagined Derek’s grin, the teasing that would be merciless and unrelenting, and felt his throat dry out. He could practically hear the jokes already, “Pretty Boy playing house with the boss.”

“Yeah,” Spencer said, shouldering his bag. He glanced at Aaron, steady and certain as always, and forced himself to match the composure. “Ready.”

Aaron reached out a hand, and Spencer took it in his. 

Chapter Text

The drive to the house was quiet, except for the sound of paper shuffling. Reid—Spencer, Aaron reminded himself—had his nose buried in the thick file again, as if he hadn't already committed every fabricated detail to memory. His knee bounced restlessly against the glove compartment.

“Spencer,” Aaron said, eyes on the road. “You’re going to give yourself motion sickness.”

Spencer looked up, startled, then pressed his lips together. He closed the folder reluctantly, though his fingers still traced the edges of the paper. 

“You remembered," Spencer said after a moment. “About the motion sickness.” 

“Hard to forget all the paperwork I had to do to get that company car cleaned,” Aaron replied lightly. 

Spencer flushed in embarrassment at the memory. “We were on a time crunch.” 

“I know,” Aaron said, “but no one’s life is currently in immediate danger, so please spare my upholstery.” 

Spencer’s shoulders shook with quiet laughter at the gentle teasing. “Yes, Sir.” 

Aaron took his eyes off the road for a moment to shoot the other man a raised eyebrow. 

“Yes, Aaron,” Spencer amended a little shyly, a little cheekily. His voice caught faintly on the name, like he was still getting used to how it felt in his mouth.

Aaron suppressed a smile and tried not to focus on how good his Christian name sounded when spoken from Spencer’s lips. If this was what being engaged to Doctor Spencer Reid was going to be like, he was in for one hell of an education. 

“You’ll get used to it,” Aaron said.

Spencer tilted his head, studying him. “Used to what? Calling you Aaron?”

“Yes, and the pretending. All of it.”

Spencer hummed under his breath, thoughtful. “You’re good at compartmentalizing, I don’t think you’ll have any trouble. I, on the other hand…” He trailed off, fiddling with the closed file in his lap. “I’m not sure how believable I’ll be.”

“You’ll be fine,” Aaron said, privately hoping he was right. He had every faith in Spencer, trusted him with his life, but the younger man was right, this was objectively outside of his typical wheelhouse. “Better than fine. You know the cover inside and out, and you adapt faster than you think.”

Spencer smiled faintly. “That sounds dangerously close to praise.”

Aaron glanced at him through the rearview mirror, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Observation, not praise.”

Spencer’s eyebrows lifted, clearly unconvinced.

Aaron turned back to the road, thoughts racing. Truthfully, it was praise, though Aaron would rarely put it so plainly. He had never been that kind of boss, but Reid had a habit of underestimating himself, and Aaron knew better than anyone how dangerous that blind spot could be. If a little reassurance disguised as “observation” kept Spencer steady, he’d offer it again and again.

“Semantics,” Spencer muttered, but the faint smile on his lips gave him away.

For a while silence stretched between them again. The road narrowed into tree-lined streets, the city giving way to quiet suburbs that whispered of money and generational stability.

Aaron slowed the car as they turned onto a boulevard of Georgian-style brick houses, each one fronted with manicured lawns and wrought-iron fences that gleamed like polished jewelry in the early afternoon sun. The neighborhood looked like it had been curated for a glossy magazine spread, with impossibly clean sidewalks, cars so new they still glinted as if fresh off the lot, and houses with porches large enough for parties they’d never actually host.

Spencer glanced out the window. “This is… ostentatious.”

“That’s the point, I suppose,” Aaron said, pulling them into the designated driveway. “Appearances.”

Spencer gave a quiet huff of laughter. “I suppose nothing screams normalcy like living somewhere you could never actually afford.”

Aaron cut the engine when they arrived outside the house and looked at Spencer, his mouth twitching into the faintest smile. “Welcome home.”

The house itself was perfect. Too perfect, really. It reminded Aaron of the home he had lost. First in his divorce, and then again, irretrievably, with Haley’s life. The kind of home that he knew he was unlikely to ever find again. 

There were white shutters, a neatly trimmed hedge, a welcome mat that still looked factory-fresh. The inside was much the same. Neutral walls, clean lines, furniture that could’ve been pulled straight from a catalogue. It was the kind of house designed to project stability and warmth, yet somehow devoid of either.

It was everything the Bureau thought an aging lawyer and his eccentric fiancé should want. The picture-perfect life, airbrushed into existence. 

The team was already there. Aaron felt no surprise at the muffled laughter drifting through the open front door, voices overlapping in easy camaraderie. He let Spencer walk a half-step ahead, shoulders slightly hunched under the strap of his messenger bag. He looked like he was bracing for impact.

As soon as they stepped inside, Rossi came sweeping down the hall like a realtor in an overpriced suit, “and here we have the lovebirds!” he announced with a flourish. “Welcome to your new nest.”

Morgan leaned in the doorway of the living room, grinning like he’d been waiting all afternoon for this. “Man, I gotta say, you two have done well for yourselves. The place is great. Big windows, nice neighborhood. How’d you manage it?”

Prentiss followed close behind with her phone already raised, snapping pictures as they crossed the threshold. The shutter echoed loudly through the hall and Spencer’s eyes went wide. “Wait, what are you planning on doing with those?”

“Relax, boy genius. They’re only for posterity,” Prentiss said innocently, then winked at him.

Aaron caught the way Spencer’s blush climbed up his throat, and he had to angle his face away to hide the twitch of his mouth.

A mock tour commenced whether they wanted it to or not. 

Morgan and Prentiss provided running commentary like a pair of bad comedians, pointing out the “intimate reading nook” (a perfectly normal alcove near a window), the “his-and-his bathroom sinks” (plain doubles in the upstairs bath), and the “gourmet kitchen perfect for candlelit dinners.” 

Rossi insisted on taking point when they reached the master bedroom.

“With great pleasure,” he said smugly, yanking the door open, “here we have the romantic master suite. Try not to scandalize the neighbors.”

Spencer promptly choked on air. Aaron pressed his lips into a thin, refusing to dignify Rossi with a reaction as he patted the younger man's back.

JJ, ever the peacekeeper, swept into the room before Spencer expired entirely. “Don’t listen to them, Spence. They’re just winding you up.”

“Yeah, just winding you up,” Morgan laughed. “Though I gotta say, I never thought I’d see the day. Reid, playing house?”

Spencer made a strangled sound somewhere between indignation and embarrassment. “It’s—it’s not like that—”

“Sure it isn’t,” Prentiss cut in, camera clicking again.

When the laughter finally ebbed, Aaron cleared his throat. “Alright, that’s enough. Let’s go over the case.”

They made their way down the wide staircase toward the dining room. The teasing tapering off into easy chatter. Regardless of the ribbing, Aaron knew his team and he could tell that everyone was on the same page. This was work, it was theatre, and they’d both be taken care of.

Then Aaron passed Morgan in a doorway and the other man’s easy grin hardened for the briefest of beats. His eyes snagged on Aaron’s, and the smile dropped away until only a hard line remained. It was a look Aaron knew well, the look Morgan gave when the banter stopped being funny and someone needed protection. It said loud and clear, “this is the job, but if you hurt him somehow, you will regret it.”

Aaron didn't doubt it. 

The weight of the look was like a physical nudge. He gave Morgan a fraction of a nod, intentionally small and nonchalant while he kept his face composed, but the warning landed anyway. 

The memory of the park that morning tugged at him, how easy it had been to forget himself. The thought made the back of his neck prickle. He could not let that happen again. Especially not while on this case. If he screwed this up, Morgan’s fists would be the least of his problems.

As they reached the ground floor Aaron noticed JJ slip in beside Spencer. She put a hand on his arm, not condescendingly, more utterly maternal in the way only JJ could be. Her voice dropped to a careful murmur, but Aaron heard her words anyway. “Spence, are you okay with this?” 

Spencer nodded without hesitation, but Aaron caught the slight tremor in his hand as he continued to rub his thumb up and down the seam of his messenger bag, the same stim he had been doing all day. The palpable nervous energy rolling off their youngest member almost made Aaron want to pull the plug right then, but had no right to make that call when Spencer had been so insistent all afternoon that he wanted to do this, so he let it lie. 

For now. 

The team entered the dining room, each taking a seat around a long polished table that looked better suited for a staged photo than a meal. 

The light chatter ebbed into something more focused as they prepared to go over the case, though it was clearly not entirely gone. Rossi still looked like a cat who’d gotten into the cream, and Prentiss was scrolling through her photos with palpable satisfaction. 

Aaron reached over and powered up the laptop sitting at the head of the table. 

Soon enough Garcia’s smiling face filled the screen, her cheerful voice spilling into the room. “Alright, my favorite fake couple! I have the full rundown on your new pretend domestic bliss,” she sang. “Your utilities are all in order: electric, gas, water, all automated. Trash goes out Thursdays, recycling every other Friday, the nearest grocery store is a fifteen-minute drive away. You have one neighbor on the left, Mrs. Caldwell, who is seventy-two and will absolutely notice if you don’t wave. The house on the right is currently up for sale, but before that it was a young family named the Hewitts with four year old twin girls who moved to upstate New York last month. Your magazine subscriptions are… well, a fascinating study in opposites.”

Spencer scribbled notes furiously, pen skidding across his pad. Aaron kept his eyes on the screen, committing details to memory. 

“Is all that detail necessary?” JJ asked. 

“For our usual undercover operations, no, but this is bigger than that,” Aaron clarified for the table. “We aren't just going into a bar to try to seduce an unsub. Reid and I will likely be in multiple therapy sessions with Bartlett, we need to cover all our bases to make sure we appear realistic.”

Garcia grinned. “Exactly, bossman. Oh, and you two apparently share a Costco membership, which may be the most romantic part of all this.”

That earned a round of snickers. Aaron ignored them, but he noted how Spencer’s pen slipped on his page.

“While you two are off playing house,” JJ explained, “we’ll be stationed at the police station in town. It’s about a twenty-minute drive from the compound. We’ll have comms to your earpieces, which you should turn on for therapy sessions and any other time it feels appropriate, but you’ll mostly be on your own. We smuggled a firearm into the lining of Hotch’s luggage, but otherwise—” she lifted her brows pointedly at Aaron—“no weapons. Too risky. Guests are confined to the estate for the entirety of their stay, so you won’t see us once we part at the airport tomorrow until you call us in, or decide we are barking up the wrong tree and leave. Whichever comes first.”

“Or until they finish their month-long therapy session,” Rossi added with a lazy smirk, “and frankly, I think you two could benefit from a little radical honesty.”

Aaron shot him a glare. “I don't imagine we will be there for that long, Dave, but thank you for your own radical honesty.” 

Rossi’s grin deepened. “Anytime, Aaron.” 

Aaron sighed and carried on with the briefing. “Reid and I will rely on non-verbal cues during sessions; hand placement, tone, body language. The code for calling you in is if either of us mention the dinner we shared at the italian place on Balmoral road last week. If one of us signals, move in. Understood?”

Everyone nodded their understanding as Aaron caught Morgan and Prentiss exchanging a conspiratorial look across the table. Twin grins bloomed as they turned back to Spencer and Aaron. 

“Pop quiz time,” Prentiss announced, like she was about to unveil a game show.

Spencer let out a strangled noise that might’ve been protest, but Aaron noted the determined set to his jaw as he turned back to face the firing squad. Even flushed and fidgeting, he leaned forward like a student ready to ace his exam. Aaron had to glance down to his file to suppress a smile. Classic Dr. Reid.

“So,” Morgan leaned forward with a wicked grin. “What’s your anniversary?”

“October twelfth,” Spencer said instantly.

Prentiss didn’t miss a beat. “Who said ‘I love you’ first?”

Spencer faltered for a fraction of a second before answering, “Aaron did.”

That earned a chorus of “ooohs.” Rossi chuckled into his water glass. Spencer’s ears went crimson.

“Most annoying habit?” Morgan fired.

“He leaves books open face-down on tables, which breaks the spines,” Aaron said dryly. 

Spencer whipped around, scandalized. “That’s not—”

“And,” Aaron continued, “he talks in his sleep.”

Spencer’s face flamed scarlet as the table erupted again. Both of those facts were true, and they all knew it.

“Dont worry, Reid,” Prentiss crooned, entirely unhelpful. “You’re adorable.”

Spencer swatted at her halfheartedly as Rossi chuckled, his eyes glinting as he turned to Aaron. “You know, Hotch, you’ve always been married to the job. I suppose this is the next logical step.”

Aaron kept his expression flat, but the jab hit closer than he liked. “We’ll do what needs to be done,” he said evenly.

That only earned a satisfied hum from Rossi and another flustered glance from Spencer.

The grilling didn’t stop. They came in relentless waves from every direction now. Favorite movies, pet names, first vacation, Christmas and New Year traditions. Spencer fielded most of them like rapid-fire test questions, words tumbling out fast and precise. Aaron filled in when needed, surprised at how easily they fell into a rhythm together. It reminded him of the LDSK case years ago. Spencer’s blush remained stubborn, but he never faltered for long.

By the time Garcia cheerfully piped, “alright, muffin muffins, ready for your cover passports and lovebird IDs?” Spencer looked exhausted but determined, his pages of notes stacked neatly in front of him. Aaron found himself wanting to give him a moment to breathe. 

“I think that’s enough,” he announced as the IDs were handed out. “The cover is as air tight as we can make it on such short notice.” He slid a copy of the case file toward the middle of the table. “Victumology. We know four couples were murdered some time after returning from this retreat. The first three were murdered within a month of returning, but the most recent, Jane and Emma, were killed within forty eight hours. All middle-to-upper class, all long-term relationships under strain. The kills themselves are vicious, but the planning and process taken to enact them was detailed and prepared. No evidence left, no break ins, no leads. The perfect crime. I believe that puts our unsub—or unsubs—as organized, methodical, with control of the environment, regardless of their kill style.”

He looked toward Spencer, giving him the floor.

He picked it up smoothly, tapping his pen against the table. “Assuming that Solace Springs is the connection, the therapy angle is deliberate, maybe even integral to the process. Couples therapy is an intimate environment. It requires vulnerability, trust, disclosure. If the unsub is Bartlett, or someone else somehow involved in sessions, that would give them direct access to weaknesses, patterns of dependency, or power imbalances they could exploit.” His voice grew faster and more animated as he spoke. “If it is someone else connected to the estate it's likely that they are hunting down this type of couple for a specific reason, be that sexuality, religion or something else.”

Aaron nodded in a way that he hoped read as encouraging to Spencer, satisfied with his work. 

“Thank you for your time everyone,” he said. “Go home and try to get a full night’s sleep in your own beds. This case could stretch longer than they typically do, and we need you sharp in the morning.”

Rossi arched a brow. “Parental dismissal. Haven’t had one of those in years.”

“Goodnight, Dave,” Aaron deadpanned, already stacking papers.

The team rose with varying levels of protest and good humor. Garcia wished them luck and the laptop went dark. Prentiss stretched like a cat, tucking her phone away at last. “Don’t get too comfortable, you two. The jet leaves bright and early.”

“We’ll see you in the morning,” JJ promised, touching Spencer’s shoulder on her way past.

Morgan lingered by the doorway, grinning wide. “You kids behave. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Spencer choked on a laugh, pink creeping back up his neck. Aaron shot Morgan a flat stare that only earned him a chuckle and a clap on the arm.

One by one, they filtered out, their banter carrying down the hall as Aaron and Spencer walked them out. The team bundled into various cars, their muffled laughter and the sound of engines starting drifting through the evening air. Aaron stood at the threshold with Spencer at his side, watching taillights disappear down the perfect suburban street.

The silence that followed rang in Aaron's ears. Spencer exhaled softly beside him, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and back again. “Well,” he said, with a little sigh. “I suppose it's just us now.”

Aaron nodded once, quietly shutting the door and enclosing them in the unfamiliar space. “I suppose it is.” 

He set the files down on the entryway table and glanced toward Spencer, who was fiddling with a stray third on his sweater, gaze darting between the living room and kitchen like he wasn’t sure where he was allowed to go.

Aaron cleared his throat. “Why don’t I make dinner?”

Spencer blinked, startled. “Oh—I could help—”

“We already discussed this,” Aaron said, not unkindly, and the faintest ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth when Spencer huffed at him. “It’ll be good practice. Go pick a book. I saw a shelf in the living room.”

That seemed to settle him. Spencer disappeared into the next room while Aaron loosened his tie, rolled up his sleeves, and began to familiarize himself with the staged kitchen. Everything was immaculate. Pans unused, knives sharpened but untouched, fridge stocked with a week’s worth of groceries that likely would never get eaten. It was eerie in its perfection, but it was serviceable.

He set water to boil, pulled out vegetables and chicken for something simple, grounding himself in the rhythm of chopping, stirring, moving between counters. By the time the faint scent of garlic and herbs filled the house, the atmosphere had softened.

When Aaron glanced toward the living room, Spencer was curled in an armchair, already halfway through a thick hardback. A second book sat open across his knee. His lips moved faintly as he skimmed, brow furrowed in thought.

Two books in less than forty minutes. Aaron shook his head, amused despite knowing that the young genius could likely have gotten through double that if he wanted to.

Spencer looked up when the clatter of plates broke his concentration. “Smells good,” he said, rising. He closed one book with a decisive snap and carried the other with him, setting it gently on the counter before setting about the task of laying the table with a brisk, domestic efficiency.

Aaron pulled out a bottle of wine from a cupboard and raised his brows at him.

“Are we allowed to drink on the job?” Spencer asked.

“Not usually,” Aaron admitted, pouring two glasses, “but I'm not sure this current moment technically counts as ‘on the job’.”

Spencer chuckled and took the offered glass. 

The meal came together easily, and to Aaron’s faint surprise, the conversation did too. They ate at the glossy wooden table, talking quietly between bites. The edges of earlier awkwardness faded into something closer to the companionable rhythm they’d found that morning in the park. 

Spencer drifted onto tangents about the books on the shelf, about the strange eclecticism of the staged library, about how even the choice of novels might have been designed to project a certain kind of couple. Aaron listened, interjecting dry remarks here and there, watching color warm Spencer’s face as he spoke.

It was… nice. Calmer than Aaron had expected.

They’d just settled into the pause that came after the last bite when Spencer set his fork down and asked quietly, “What are you going to tell Jack?”

Aaron stilled for a moment, wine glass halfway to his lips. He set it down carefully. “I texted Jessica earlier to tell her I’d be busy all day. I’ll call them after dinner to explain.”

Spencer nodded, accepting Aaron’s words without pressing.

After the table was cleared, Spencer insisted on doing the dishes, turning on the tap while Aaron lingered by the doorway. “Go,” Spencer said without looking up, his voice firm but gentle. “Phone them. I’ll finish here.”

Aaron hesitated, surprisingly reluctant to leave the quiet peace of the kitchen, but eventually inclined his head and retreated to the living room with his phone.

Jessica answered quickly, her voice laced with the fatigue of someone disappointed but unsurprised. He explained the situation as best he could, careful to leave out the ugliest details. She sighed, sad but understanding. “He’ll be alright, Aaron. He misses you, but he knows.”

Jack’s small voice came on the line a moment later and it squeezed something deep in Aaron’s chest. “Hi, Dad.”

“Hey, buddy.” Aaron sat on the edge of the sofa, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry I missed our plans today.”

“That’s okay,” Jack said softly. “Aunt Jess told me you’re catching bad guys again.”

Aaron’s throat tightened. “That’s right. I wish I could be there with you, but this is important.”

“I know.” There was a pause, a faint rustle from the other line. “I just… I miss you, but I’m okay. Promise.”

Jack’s words were steady, remarkably well-behaved for nine, and yet Aaron heard the way his son was swallowing down disappointment to be brave for him. 

“I miss you too, Jack,” he replied regretfully, and forced himself to do what needed to be done. “Now listen carefully, because I need to tell you something important, okay? I don’t know exactly when I’ll be back. It might be a little longer than usual this time.”

There was silence, then Jack asked hesitantly, “what’s different this time?”

Aaron blinked, surprised. Jack almost never asked. He usually accepted Aaron’s work as “grown-up business.”

“It’s… complicated,” Aaron said slowly, trying to frame it in nine-year-old terms. “Dr. Reid and I are pretending to be someone else, in a house, to watch a bad guy who might come around. We’re trying to make sure no one gets hurt.”

“You’re pretending?” Jack’s voice brightened, latching onto the part that sounded like a game.

Aaron let out a breath, smiling faintly despite himself. “Something like that. We have to act like we’re supposed to be there so the bad guy doesn’t get suspicious.”

There was a quick gasp, then a rush of excitement. “Dr. Reid’s with you?”

“He is.”

“That’s so cool! He knows everything. Does he like museum stuff? Can we still go when you come back? I know we couldn't go today but… maybe we could go when you’re home, and Dr. Reid can come too!”

Aaron’s chest caught somewhere between laughter and heartbreak. “Maybe,” he said gently. “We’ll see. I think he’d like that.”

There was a satisfied hum on the other end. “Okay.”

Aaron closed his eyes, willing his voice not to crack. “I’m proud of you, Jack. Be good for Aunt Jess, alright? And don’t forget to do your homework.”

“I won’t,” Jack promised. “Night, Dad.”

“Goodnight, buddy. Sweet dreams.”

The line went quiet for a moment as Jack handed the phone back over, then Jessica came back on the line. “Listen… you’ll be wheels up tomorrow, right?”

“First thing in the morning.”

“Why don’t I bring Jack by before you leave? Even if it’s just for a few minutes. He’ll feel better if he can see you, and…” she hesitated, “I think you will too.”

Aaron shut his eyes, swallowing against the grateful lump in his throat. “Thank you, Jess. I’d appreciate that.”

Aaron gave Jessica the details, then they said their goodbyes. The line cut off and he was left staring at the dark screen in his hand with the familiar ache curling tight in his chest. He scrubbed a hand over his face, exhaling slowly, before he glanced up.

Spencer was there, framed in the doorway, shoulder leaning against the wood, sleeves still rolled up from the dishes. The glow from the lamp in the corner softened his features, catching in his hair, making him look at once too young and impossibly weary. Aaron worried that he was somehow at least partly at fault for both. 

He shoved the thought down as quickly as it surfaced, jolted from it when Spencer tilted his head and asked gently, “how’s Jack?”

Aaron straightened. “He’s alright. He misses me. Asked about the case, which he almost never does.”

Spencer’s brows lifted, curiosity flickering, but he didn’t interrupt, so Aaron continued. “I explained it in simple terms. Told him we were pretending, keeping watch. I think he thought it sounded like a game. He got… excited when I said you were with me.”

The now familiar flush crept back across Spencer’s cheekbones, though his mouth curved into a small, startled smile. “He did?”

“He did,” Aaron confirmed, faint amusement threading through his voice at Spencer’s pleased response. “He asked if we could still go to the museum when I get back, and if you could come with us.”

Spencer’s eyes widened, then softened almost instantly. “I—” He cleared his throat, fumbling for composure, though the pleased glint in his eyes betrayed him. “I’d love to. If… if that’s alright with you?”

Aaron’s lips tugged into a smile. “I think I’d like that too.”

The rest of the evening was surprisingly peaceful, and Aaron tried to enjoy it while it lasted. The  two men would need to be on high alert for the foreseeable future. 

Spencer returned to his books, curled in an armchair with his legs tucked up like a cat, while Aaron cleaned the wine glasses and stacked the remaining dishes to dry. It wasn’t until Aaron checked his watch and noticed how late it had gotten that he finally cleared his throat and said, “we should probably get some sleep.”

Spencer looked up from his book, blinking like he’d been somewhere else entirely. “Right. Sleep.” He slipped a scrap of paper into the pages, closed it carefully, and rose.

They drifted up to the master bedroom hesitantly. The room was overwhelmingly large and uncomfortably pristine. Aaron glanced at the broad bed, then at the adjoining guest room door across the hall, and cleared his throat.

“I’ll take the guest room,” he offered. “There’s no need—”

Spencer cut him off quickly. “No, it’s fine. We should… you know, practice, right? For the cover.” His hands fluttered briefly before he stuffed them into his pockets. “We’ll have to share a bed at the retreat. Better to get used to it now than risk looking awkward later.”

Aaron studied him for a long moment. Spencer’s shoulders were tight, his voice a little higher than usual, but his logic was sound. He hated how much sense it made. Hated more that he didn’t entirely mind the idea.

“You’re right,” Aaron said finally. “It makes sense.”

Spencer blinked, like he hadn’t expected to win the argument, then nodded with a small, relieved smile.

They both stood by the bed for a moment, neither man seemingly knowing how to proceed. Eventually Spencer cleared his throat. “Do you… have a side you prefer?”

Aaron almost smiled at the earnestness in his tone. “Closest to the door,” he said simply. 

Spencer relaxed, a flicker of relief crossing his features. “Good. I prefer the other side anyway.”

It was surprisingly easy, then, to fall into a routine. They changed separately, Aaron in the bathroom while Spencer slipped into sleep clothes in the bedroom. When Aaron emerged, Spencer was already under the covers, sitting propped up with a book in his hands, glasses perched on his nose. 

He looked… adorable. 

The thought hit Aaron like a punch to the ribs.

Aaron slid into the opposite side, the mattress dipping under his weight. For a beat they both lay there in silence, the only sounds the faint thud of Spencer placing his book on the nightstand and the steady tick of a clock on the wall.

“Goodnight, Aaron,” Spencer said eventually, sounding shy.

Aaron turned his head slightly, studying the faint outline of him in the lamplight, and forced his voice to remain steady. “Goodnight, Spencer.”

Spencer reached out to flick off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

Aaron lay rigid for a long while, feeling the rise and fall of the comforter coming from Spencer’s slight fidgeting beside him. Aaron told himself that what he was thinking and feeling was only a byproduct of proximity, the case, necessity. That he didn't really enjoy the warmth of someone else in the bed. That he didn't really enjoy the comfort of sharing space after so long without it.

Except, he did, and that guilt sat heavy in his chest even as the sound of Spencer’s rhythmic breathing pulled him slowly toward sleep.

Chapter Text

Spencer woke to warmth.

A soft, steady warmth was pressed against his side. He could feel a heartbeat accompanied by the weight, and smell the faint scent of soap and cologne. For a long, bewildered moment he couldn’t place where he was or why his cheek was buried in a recently purchased pillowcase that smelled faintly of cedar. 

Then his eyes opened, and everything came flooding back.

The house. The cover. The case.

Aaron.

He froze, every muscle going taut as realization settled in. Sometime during the night, he’d rolled over, or maybe Aaron had, and now they were facing each other. Aaron’s left arm was draped lazily across Spencer’s waist, anchoring him in place. He wasn't being held tightly, just enough that he could feel the weight of his boss’ strong muscles through the comforter and thin fabric of his t-shirt. Their legs were close, almost touching, and their breath mingled in the small space between them.

Spencer didn’t dare move. He didn’t dare breathe.

Because this was—

This was—

Oh, God.

A wave of mortification and a dangerous heat rushed through him. This was bad. He should move. He had to move. He should want to move. 

He didn't move. 

There was a kind of aching sweetness in the half light and the illusion that this was normal. As if waking up next to Aaron Hotchner like this could ever be anything other than a mistake.

He swallowed hard and forced his brain to restart. Carefully, painstakingly, he peeled Aaron’s arm from around his waist, inch by inch, until he was free. Aaron made a faint sound, something between a sigh and a murmur, and Spencer froze again, heart hammering, before slipping out of bed entirely.

The man didn't wake.

The shower was a relief. The hot water and steam managed to ground him a little in reality, instead of the confusing swirl of emotions that had followed him from the bed. He braced his palms against the cool tile and let the spray run over him. 

He needed to focus. To think about the case.

Not him.

Not the warmth of that bed, or the way it had felt. Impossibly safe, too easy to sink into. That kind of distraction was dangerous. It didn’t belong in their line of work. If he couldn’t keep his head straight, people could get hurt. He could miss a detail. Misread a sign. 

Make a mistake that cost someone their life. 

Maybe even Aaron’s.

The thought made his stomach lurch.

He’d seen what happened when agents lost focus. How quickly everything could go wrong in the field. A second’s hesitation or a fraction of doubt, and it was over. They didn’t get second chances out here. If he couldn’t stop thinking about Aaron long enough to do his job, he’d be putting them both at risk.

He took a steadying breath. This could very well be life and death, and he had no right to let something as ridiculous and impossible as a crush interfere with that.

Spencer was smarter than that. 

He hoped so anyway, but he could memorize entire behavioral profiles in moments, and yet pretending with Aaron was proving just as difficult as he had feared. 

Aaron kept saying he had faith in him, that he trusted him to handle this, but what if that wasn’t true? What if Aaron was just being kind, or worse, professional? 

What if he made a mistake that ruined everything?

He turned the water hotter, chasing the doubt away with scalding steam.

By the time he returned to their room, Aaron was still asleep, one arm flung over the now-empty side of the bed. Spencer hesitated, eyes flicking briefly over him. The crease between his brows had evened out with the softness that came only when he was at rest. It made something twist in Spencer’s chest, and he tore his gaze away, crossing to the wardrobe instead.

The closet was full (half for Aaron, half for him) and meticulously arranged. It was kind of eerie, how right it all looked. His side was lined with jumpers, cardigans, pressed shirts, trousers in muted colors. Whoever had prepared this had done their homework. He found himself wondering who. JJ, maybe? Surely it couldn't have been just any agent.

He was standing there, still in nothing but a towel around his waist, when movement behind him made him start.

Aaron was awake.

Their gazes met across the room. Aaron’s hair was mussed from sleep, his expression soft and just a little unfocused. For a second, neither of them said anything. Spencer became acutely aware of the fact that he was half-naked.

“Oh—uh—sorry,” he stammered, immediately stepping backward and nearly tripping over his own shoes. “I didn’t—I was just—”

Aaron’s mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “You’re fine, Spencer. Take your time.”

“I’ll, um—just—closet,” he muttered, fleeing into the walk-in like it was a bunker. He shut the door behind him and leaned his forehead against it, cheeks burning.

A few moments later he could hear Aaron moving around the room. Drawers opening, the soft rustle of fabric, and then Aaron’s voice. “I’ll use the bathroom. See you downstairs for breakfast.”

“Right. Yes. Breakfast.”

The water started running again a moment later, and Spencer exhaled in relief, letting himself breathe properly. He got dressed quickly, trying not to think too much about the way Aaron had looked when only half-awake, or the way his voice had gone just a little rough with sleep.

It was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous.

He was ridiculous.

By the time he walked downstairs, he’d managed to mostly compose himself. The kitchen was sunlit and warm, but far too quiet compared to his intercity apartment, so he busied himself the only way he knew how: overcompensating. 

Within ten minutes, the table looked like a continental breakfast buffet. Every cereal box was open. Toasted bread stacked beside bowls of fruit, half a dozen yogurts, and three different kinds of jam.

He was just arranging the honey when Aaron walked in. 

Spencer looked up, and immediately forgot how to speak.

Aaron was dressed down, but only slightly. Donning dark jeans and a soft gray henley, he looked every bit the upper middle class single father all the mothers fawned over. His sleeves were pushed up, revealing an expensive watch on his toned forearm, and his hair was still damp from the shower.

He paused at the foot of the table, lips curving faintly. “That’s… quite a spread.”

Spencer straightened, flushing. “I didn’t know what you’d want.”

Aaron smiled, small but genuine. “It looks great. Thank you, Spencer.”

Aaron stepped in close, hand settling at the small of Spencer’s back to brace himself as he reached past him for the toast rack. The touch caught Spencer off guard, a spark shooting straight up his spine before he could think.

His breath hitched. 

The faint drag of Aaron’s palm against the strip of skin where his jumper had ridden up made his stomach tighten. Spencer froze, short-circuiting for a fraction of a second, every coherent thought scattering. He could feel Aaron’s breath close to his ear, hear the faint shift of fabric as he straightened.

“Sorry,” Aaron murmured, and Spencer heard a hint of that Southern twang again. “Didn’t mean to crowd you.”

Spencer shook his head quickly. “You’re not. It’s fine. I mean, you’re fine.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow at Spencer, then hummed softly and moved to sit down. Spencer followed a beat later, trying to pretend his pulse wasn’t racing. 

They ate quietly, in comfortable silence. The morning light caught on the edges of the tableware, warming the scene into something that reminded Spencer of his early childhood, before it got bad. Dust motes floated lazily around their heads and strawberry jam perfumed the air.

Between bites of toast and fruit, Aaron’s hand brushed Spencer’s when they reached for the same nectarine. Neither pulled away immediately.

“Sorry,” Aaron said again, voice softer this time.

Spencer managed a half-smile. “We should probably… get used to that.”

“Probably,” Aaron agreed, and there was something more deliberate in the next brushes of contact. A touch to Spencer’s wrist as he passed the butter, a light press of fingers against his when Aaron reached for the coffee pot.

When they finished eating they lingered at the table, Aaron watching Spencer with a small smile that never quite reached his eyes. 

They’d have to leave soon. Head to Virginia, then the jet, then Louisiana. Spencer wondered what they would encounter there. He wasn’t usually anxious before a case. There was always anticipation, of course. The familiar drive to understand and profile. Mostly a need to help, but this one felt different. This one hurt. 

The unsubs were targeting gay couples. They’d been watching them like prey. That alone made his stomach twist. Soon, he would be in that house pretending to be one of those couples, and for all intents and purposes, he was. It didn't matter that Spencer and Aaron were not really together, because he felt that way about him anyway. Spencer was Bi and already his case felt incredibly personal. This monster was hunting people just like him. 

Anger rose at the thought, and Spencer knew he did stupid things on cases when he let his infamously hothead take over. He couldn't let that happen this time, because they were going to be alone. No team. No backup until the worst happened. Those cases historically never went well, and what's more, they didn't know for how long. A week, maybe? More? Trapped in a house designed for couples with Aaron, pretending to be partners. 

Therapy sessions. Discussions about emotions and intimacy. Relationships. 

He’d never… he’d never done that kind of work on himself before. He had always railed against therapy, secretly terrified that the person sitting across from him would see something in him that would put him where his Mother was right now. He talked practiced circles around the mandated psychologists at work. 

The idea of someone dissecting him, questioning him about things he didn’t fully understand…

And what if it triggered him? What if the questions, or exercises, or fabricated closeness of pretending with Aaron brought things up he wasn’t ready to face?

He felt heat creep into his cheeks, and his chest tightened. He was more than worried, he was scared, and that scared him more than anything else. He wasn’t supposed to be scared. Not in the field. He was supposed to be collected, precise, brilliant, and capable. Not a quivering mess at the thought of a week in a house talking about his feelings.

He took a shaky breath and tried to push the spiral back down, but his mind kept spinning back on itself. The isolation, the case, the way Aaron moved, the way Aaron had looked at him that morning…

Spencer didn’t notice Aaron moving until his knee was brushing against the side of his chair. He had been staring at the edge of the table, practically seeing through his breakfast plate, trapped in a whirlwind of fear and anger and heat that had nothing to do with food.

“Spence,” Aaron said softly, kneeling beside him. His hand came down over Spencer’s, warm and steady, holding it lightly. 

Spencer startled, blinking down at him. Aaron had never called Spencer that before. He found that he liked the way it sounded even as he shook himself from his thoughts. 

“I—I’m fine,” he said, but the words felt empty. He knew Aaron wasn’t buying it.

“You’re not,” Aaron said quietly. “Talk to me. Even a little. Whatever it is, just… say some of it out loud.”

Spencer’s throat tightened. He wanted to resist, to curl inward and retreat into himself, but the warmth of Aaron’s palm, the steady pressure of his knee at Spencer’s side, and the way his mesmerising dark eyes met Spencer’s muddy hazel ones, made it impossible to stay shut off. He exhaled shakily and let a fragment of the spiral slip out.

“I… it’s just… this case…” he began shakily. “The therapy aspect makes me nervous and we’re going to be so isolated. No team. Just—just you and me, and I trust you more than anyone else, but a lot can go wrong, and… they’re targeting couples like us, I mean, like… people like me.” He swallowed, knowing he was rambling now but being unable to stop. “I’ve never… I’ve never… told anyone on the team this, but I’m… I’m bisexual. I've never made it official or anything. I've never needed to, but it’s…  this feels personal, and…” His words faltered, the shame and the heat rising again, but Aaron didn’t flinch.

“You’re allowed to be scared,” Aaron murmured. “Honestly, I would be more worried about you if you weren't.” 

Spencer managed a small, slightly pathetic sounding laugh. “You never are.” 

Aaron huffed out a quiet breath that could have been a laugh, but wasn’t. 

“That’s not true,” he said after a moment. His thumb brushed absently over Spencer’s knuckles. “I get scared all the time.”

Spencer blinked, unsure if he’d heard right. 

Aaron’s gaze dropped to their joined hands for a second before he continued. “Not always. Experience helps. You learn how to function through it and manage your emotions, but I’d be lying if I said it goes away completely. It doesn’t.”

Spencer didn’t speak. He just watched the way Aaron’s jaw worked as he spoke, how his eyes softened when he looked up again.

“When Jack was born,” Aaron said quietly. “I was terrified that eventually I wouldn’t come home one night. Then, after Haley…” His voice caught, and he took a slow breath. “After she died, it got far worse. He had already lost one parent to my job, and I willingly decided to walk back into it every day, despite knowing how dangerous it is. I need this job, but that decision is constantly running the risk of making my baby an orphan. I’m still scared that I might, but making sure that Jack has a father who is doing something he cares about is important to me too.”

He shook his head. “You learn to live with it. You learn that fear doesn’t make you weak. It just means you care about surviving, and caring about surviving is what will keep you alive.”

Spencer swallowed hard. 

“I just… I hate that it’s hitting me like this,” he admitted. “It’s stupid. I should be able to separate myself.”

Aaron squeezed his hand gently. “It’s not stupid. You don’t get to choose which cases hit you harder, Spencer. You just deal with them as best you can, and you’re already doing that.”

Spencer wanted to argue, to insist he wasn’t, but Aaron seemed so certain that he found he couldn't.

Aaron tilted his head slightly. “And the therapy part?”

Spencer looked away, cheeks heating again. “That’s… complicated.”

“I figured,” Aaron said. “You don’t have to tell me everything, but I think… maybe it won’t be as bad as you’re imagining. We’ll be in it together.”

That last part made Spencer’s chest tighten in a different way. Together.

“And…” he muttered, deciding that he was in for a penny now. “What if I mess up? What if I say the wrong thing? Or do something stupid because I’m scared or angry?”

Aaron’s thumb brushed back across the back of his hand. “Then we adjust. We adapt, and we keep moving. That’s all we ever do. You’re not alone, Spencer. Not while I’m here… and,” Aaron’s mouth quirked and his voice dipped into something lighter. “If you lose your temper, I’ve handled worse. You’ve seen me negotiate with serial killers, remember?”

Spencer let out a startled laugh, the sound bubbling up before he could stop it. Aaron’s grin widened a fraction, the teasing warmth in his eyes pulling Spencer back from the edge.

“I’m serious,” Aaron added, though the smirk didn’t fade entirely. “I know how you work. You get frustrated, your mouth runs ahead of your brain, and then you feel guilty about it for three days, but I also know you’re self-aware enough to stop before it does any real damage. So, if we’re going to be partners for this case…” He gave Spencer’s hand another light squeeze. “I think I can handle you.”

Spencer’s cheeks went warm, a mix of embarrassment, relief, and attraction rushing through him. “You make me sound like a science experiment,” he mumbleled through an awkward laugh.

Aaron chuckled softly. “You kind of are. Just one I happen to know pretty well.”

That earned him another small laugh. The room felt lighter now, the air easier to breathe. They sat there for a moment. Aaron kneeling beside him, close enough that Spencer could see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes.

Then Aaron spoke again, quieter this time. “And… thank you,” he said. “For telling me about your sexuality. You didn’t have to share that. I know what it costs to put that kind of trust in someone, especially in our line of work.”

Spencer blinked, caught off guard by the gravity in his voice. “I—It didn’t feel like a big thing,” he said honestly, fumbling for the right words. “It just… came out.”

Aaron shook his head slightly. “It is a big thing,” he said softly, “and I’m honoured you trusted me with it.”

The sincerity in his voice made Spencer’s pulse skip. Aaron wasn’t looking at him like a boss, or even a friend. There was something almost reverent in his gaze that made Spencer’s throat go dry. He felt the heat rush up the back of his neck and into his cheeks, and he had to look away for a second, pretending to adjust his sleeve. 

“You, um… you make it easy to talk to you,” he said finally, voice coming out quieter than he intended.

Aaron smiled at that. Slow, genuine, and warm enough to undo him completely.

“I’m glad,” Aaron murmured. “That’s what partners do.”

The tension in Spencer’s shoulders eased. He drew in a careful breath, exhaled slowly, and squeezed Aaron’s hand in silent thanks. The gesture felt underwhelmingly small, but he hoped Aaron understood the weight behind it. 

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, eyes locked as if the rest of the world had slipped out of focus. 

Aaron’s gaze held his like he was trying to memorize every detail. The way Spencer’s breath caught, the faint tremor in his fingers, the light cutting across his face from the kitchen window. Spencer tried not to think about how vulnerable it felt to be seen like that, and how dangerous it was to want to stay in that moment just a little longer.

Is this what really being Aaron’s partner would be like?

The thought came uninvited, but once it surfaced, it refused to fade. 

Would it always be like this? Aaron calm and solid beside him, his voice steadying the rush of Spencer’s thoughts before they could spiral completely out of control? The gentleness that most people never saw, the way he could listen without judgment or flinching?

A knock sounded from the front door.

Aaron blinked first, his expression hardening slightly into something closer to normal. “That’ll be Jessica with Jack,” he said. “She offered to bring him by to say goodbye, since we aren't sure when we’ll be back and I haven't seen him since before Colorado.” 

Spencer felt his eyebrows rise in surprise, and then a genuine smile spread across his face. He was glad that Aaron was going to have the opportunity for a proper goodbye, something that didn't always happen. That would be good for him. 

Aaron rose smoothly to his feet but didn’t release Spencer’s hand. Instead, he tugged lightly, pulling him up from the chair with an ease that felt completely natural, as if they’d done it a hundred times before. Spencer’s fingers intertwined with his automatically, the warmth of Aaron’s palm radiating up his arm as they moved toward the hallway.

Through the fogged glass of the front door, Spencer could make out two shapes blurred by the morning light. One tall and slim, the other smaller, bouncing on his heels impatiently. Spencer caught Aaron’s face softening at the sight.

The hand in Spencer’s squeezed hand once, firm and wordless, before carefully letting go. The warmth lingered long after his fingers slipped away and Spencer felt the loss immediately, like stepping from sunlight into shadow. 

He curled his own hand loosely against his palm, as if to hold the fading trace of contact a little longer, and told himself it was fine. Necessary, even. Jack seeing his father holding his colleague’s hand would raise too many complicated questions for a nine year old. Spencer would have no idea how to answer any of them, and that made him nervous. 

He watched as Aaron reached for the door, paused with his hand on the latch, and then gave Spencer a quick, almost imperceptible glance over his shoulder.

It wasn’t a question really. More of a silent check-in. 

You okay?

Spencer nodded and managed an encouraging smile.

Then the door opened, and the outside world rushed in. A wash of cold air, the smell of morning dew, and Jack’s voice, bright and cheerful.

“Dad!”

Aaron’s face split into a smile immediately. He dropped to one knee as Jack barreled into him, wrapping his arms tight around the boy’s small frame. “Hey buddy.”

Jessica stood just behind, offering Spencer a polite nod. “Morning, Dr. Reid. Sorry for the early stop-by.”

Spencer shook his head firmly. “No apology necessary. I think it’s a good thing.”

Aaron smiled at Spencer over Jack’s shoulder, and Spencer felt his face flush slightly. 

Then Jack noticed him.

“Dr. Reid!” the boy chirped, wriggling out of his father’s arms. Before Spencer could say anything, Jack threw his arms around his waist, squeezing tightly. Spencer froze for half a second, caught completely off guard, then awkwardly patted his back, a soft laugh escaping him.

“Hey, Jack,” he managed, voice light with surprise. “That’s quite the hug.”

Jack pulled back, grinning up at him. “Dad said you were here!”

Spencer smiled, crouching slightly so they were closer to eye level. “Sure am,” he said. “We’re heading out for work soon.”

Jack’s eyes went wide, as if remembering something. “I finished my science project!” he announced proudly. “It’s about volcanoes! I made one that actually erupts. You should’ve seen it, it went everywhere.”

“Oh really?” Spencer said, slipping effortlessly into the tone he used when someone brought him an unsolved equation. “Was it a vinegar and baking soda model, or did you use something more volatile?”

Jack blinked, considering. “Vinegar and soda,” he said seriously, “but I thought about using Mentos and Coke.”

“An excellent alternative hypothesis,” Spencer said, nodding solemnly. “Though your chosen method has a much more consistent reaction rate. Very sound science.”

Jack beamed like he’d just been handed an award.

Behind them, Jessica let out a quiet laugh, and Aaron’s mouth curved into a fond smile. 

Jack kept talking, fast and animated, explaining every tiny detail of his project while Spencer listened like it was the most important paper he’d ever heard presented. He asked thoughtful questions, and Jack glowed under the attention.

Privately, Spencer was stunned. Most kids didn’t take to him like this. Henry was the rare exception, but beyond that, Spencer had long since accepted that children often found him awkward or intimidating. He spoke too fast, knew too much, and couldn’t quite find the right tone for small talk. 

He wondered if it had become a self-fulfilling prophecy. He expected them to pull back, so he did first.

Jack wasn’t pulling back at all. 

The kid clearly thought he was funny, and smart, and apparently safe enough to hug without hesitation. Spencer’s chest felt strangely full.

“Dr. Reid?” Jack said again, still grinning.

“You know, Jack,” Spencer said. “You can call me Spencer, if you want. We’re friends, right?”

Jack’s grin widened. “Yes, okay! Can I see the magic, Spencer?”

“You want to see the magic?” Spencer asked, reaching into his pocket. “Really?”

Jack nodded eagerly.

Spencer held up a coin, turning it over in his fingers once, twice, and then, with a flick, it vanished. Jack’s delighted laugh filled the hall. When Spencer opened his hand to reveal the coin behind Jack’s ear, the boy giggled so hard he nearly fell over.

Jessica smiled. “He never gets tired of that one.”

Aaron’s gaze met Spencer’s again, proud in a way that made heat crawl up Spencer’s neck and he had to force himself to turn his attention back to the kid.

As Jack babbled excitedly, demanding to know how he’d done it, Spencer considered this development. Maybe he’d made more of an impact on Jack than he’d realised. After all, aside from Aaron and Jessica, the BAU were the adults who shaped most of Jack’s world. 

He decided then, that when they got back, if Aaron was okay with it, he wanted to make more of an effort with Jack, like he did with Henry. He could help with homework, or babysit sometimes. Jack deserved that kind of consistency, and Spencer… well, he thought he might actually enjoy it.

Aaron’s voice broke softly through his thoughts. “You’ve made his day,” he said quietly, and the warmth in his tone made Spencer’s chest ache in the best possible way.

The conversation shifted back toward goodbyes. Spencer was just about to excuse himself to give the father and son space when Jack’s attention snagged on something behind him.

“Hey,” the boy said, frowning slightly. “Why are there pictures of you guys here?”

Spencer turned, and his stomach sank.

Lining the hallway were half a dozen framed photos. Him and Aaron at the beach. At dinner. Sitting together on a couch, his head tilted toward Aaron’s shoulder, both of them smiling in a way that was alarmingly convincing. Spencer had seen them yesterday when they’d arrived, and even then he had thought they were overkill. Apparently, he’d been right. 

If Garcia was behind this, as he assumed she was, he was going to have to come up with an inspired way to get revenge. 

Now Jack was squinting up at one of them, brow furrowed. “Dad,” he said, voice full of earnest curiosity, “why are you in these pictures with Spencer? It looks like you live here! Are you guys on vacation? Or—” His head tilted. “Wait, what’s going on?”

Spencer froze.

Aaron’s mouth opened, then closed again. Jessica raised her brows, looking like she’d just realized she was standing in the middle of a minefield. Spencer felt heat crawl up his neck. He wanted to look anywhere but at Aaron or Jack, whose wide, innocent stare made it all so much worse.

He’d had enough experience with interrogation to know when to shut up. He folded his arms loosely, trying to appear relaxed, and silently begged Aaron to say something. Anything.

Aaron crouched down beside his son. “Hey, buddy,” he said gently. “Those pictures are for work. Dr. Reid and I are pretending to be partners for a case.”

Jack blinked. “Partners like… at work?”

“Kind of,” Aaron said, keeping his voice even. “More like we’re pretending to be a couple. You know how your friend Amy’s parents are both moms?”

Jack nodded, brow still furrowed.

“It’s like that,” Aaron continued. “Except for work. We’re going undercover, and the people we’re investigating think Dr. Reid and I are… together.”

Spencer couldn’t help admiring how seamlessly Aaron handled it. Straight forward, age-appropriate, matter-of-fact. There was no awkwardness or hesitation, just honesty. His childhood had been nothing like that. 

Jack’s frown deepened as he looked between them. “But… if you’re pretending,” he said slowly, “how do you know how to act like you’re in love?”

The question landed like a grenade with the pin pulled.

Aaron hesitated. For once, the man with a thousand answers looked caught off guard.

Spencer could feel his pulse in his throat. He saw Aaron start to open his mouth and stop, clearly calculating how to translate something complex and adult into something that Jack could understand. 

Spencer spoke before he could overthink it.

“You don’t,” he said quietly. Jack turned toward him immediately. “You just… try to imagine what it might feel like. How you’d want the person you loved to look at you. How you’d want them to listen when you talk. You notice the things that they would want from you in return.” He swallowed, throat tight, “and you hope you get it right.”

For a beat, no one said anything.

Jack seemed to think about that, eyes darting briefly toward the photos again. “So it’s kind of like acting,” he said finally.

Spencer nodded. “Exactly like that.”

Aaron’s appreciative gaze met his across the space between them and Spencer smiled back. He must have gotten at least part of that right, because Aaron didn't appear angry with him. 

Jack, satisfied with the answer, brightened again. “Okay. That makes sense.” He looked back up at the photos. “You guys look good together.”

Jessica stifled a laugh. Aaron ran a hand down his face.

Spencer laughed faintly. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Garcia’s very talented.”

Jessica cleared her throat gently. “Jack, honey, it’s time to go.”

Jack’s bright eyes reluctantly left the photos, and he looked at his dad, lingering. Aaron scooped him up into a tight hug, holding him close for a long moment, forehead resting against Jack’s hair. “I’ll see you soon, buddy,” he murmured.

“Love you, Dad.” 

“I love you too, Jack. Be good for your Aunt.” 

Jack wiggled slightly as he was deposited back on his feet, then turned toward Spencer. His small arms wrapped around Spencer’s waist in another surprisingly firm hug. Spencer hugged him back, careful not to crush him.

“Wait,” Jack whispered as he pulled back just a little. “Show me the magic one more time?”

Spencer smiled softly and knelt to meet his eyes. He dug a small coin from his pocket, flipped it through his fingers, and with a quiet flick, it vanished again. Jack’s laugh rang out, just as delighted as before. Spencer produced it from behind Jack’s ear and handed it to him. “A little goodbye present,” he said.

Jack’s grin widened, and he tucked the coin into his pocket like a treasure. Then, his voice dropping to a whisper, he added, “take care of my dad, okay?”

“I promise,” Spencer whispered back. 

Jack nodded, satisfied, and ran off toward Jessica.

“Bye, Spencer!” Jack called over his shoulder. “Bye, Dad!”

Jessica and Jack climbed into the waiting car, and the hallway was suddenly quiet. Spencer straightened, and turned to Aaron.

“I don't think The Reid Effect affects Jack much,” Aaron said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re really good with him. Thank you, Spencer.”

Spencer felt heat rush to his cheeks. “Oh,” he managed, voice flustered. “That's okay. He’s a smart kid.”

Aaron’s smile deepened. Spencer could feel it settling over him like sunlight.

“Come on,” Aaron said after a moment. “Let’s get our stuff and head out. Solace Springs is expecting us."