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These last few months, Linda Hartford has been more acquiescent to his subpar paperwork. Aaron hopes he’s once again caught the HR specialist in a good enough mood that she’ll forward on the transfer paperwork.
Of all the agents that have come and gone, Aaron’s never had one transfer into a unit of their own making. To the State Department, to the Domestic Trafficking Task Force, to the Counter-Terrorism Division. To retirement.
He smiles to himself. Unit Chief Dick Grayson is not close to retirement.
The conversation was easy even if the emotions were hard. Aaron had more warning than most of his agents, writing a letter of recommendation.
That had been strangely rewarding, articulating all the things that make Grayson great and, more importantly, good.
He’d helped Grayson prepare for the interview, calling upon the questions he’d once answered over a decade ago.
In the two years that Aaron has served as Grayson’s supervisor and mentor, he’s tended to keep his distance, to allow Grayson to come to him on his own time.
He knows that Grayson has been burned by the people meant to have his back, meant to advocate for him, before. It’s not his nature to force a bond that requires more nurturing. Instead, when Grayson runs out of all other options, he’s there with a steady gaze and an attentive ear.
The last few months, his patience has paid off.
The timidness has been shed as the full force of Grayson’s trust has been opened to him. He’s been the recipient of many long rants regarding the Bureau’s policy treating metahumans as criminals. He’s been the beneficent of Grayson’s extending wisdom on meta rights. He’s been a sounding board regarding Bureau politics, a welcoming arm after a stonewalling meeting, and a constant source of encouragement as Grayson has grown bolder in his demands for change.
Aaron is proud of each of his agents, for all the circumstances they’ve overcome.
He’s proud of Dave for letting go of his rigid notions of how investigations ought to go. He’s proud of Morgan for how adeptly he lead the team when Aaron stepped down after Haley’s death. He’s proud of Prentiss for rebuilding the relationships he helped destroy in ensuring her safety from Doyle. Of Garcia for continuing to provide comfort for the survivors for whom they are so rarely able to support. Of Reid for learning to again trust himself despite his fears of relapsing and hallucinating. Of JJ for prioritizing her family over her work even as the pressure continues to build.
And he’s proud of Grayson. For redefining himself as someone who is loved just as much as someone who loves. For reaching for the team when he’d rather go at it alone. For opening his life to his father who has hurt him time and time again. For trusting himself, his intuition, his strength. For fighting for more than just him.
It was his honor to recommend Grayson to lead this taskforce.
It is his honor to transfer Grayson out of their unit. To look him in the eye as a fellow Unit Chief.
On Grayson’s last official day in the Behavioral Analysis Unit, he has a visitor.
This isn't traditional and it isn’t protocol to let civilians tour the FBI’s offices.
Aaron approves it because it is a milestone for his agent in a way the promotion to unit chief is not.
Bruce Wayne, in nice but average clothing, arrives like any other visitor. A little badge is clipped to his shirt. The desk agent that monitors entrances and exits to the academy building escorts him off the elevator.
In the bullpen below, his agents stop pretending to work and watch Wayne approach.
Garcia has been ‘helping’ Morgan with his computer for forty-five minutes now. She stands at her full, high heeled height and gives a steely look. Seated below her, Morgan crosses his arms and squares his jaw.
JJ is visiting this morning with baby Michael. She swivels in her seat to have a full view and smiles her media smile, calm, calculating over her two month old’s soft hair.
At the other collection of desks, Prentiss glares, not bothering to hide her disdain for the man when Grayson is behind her. Reid glances at Grayson, then the rest of the team, before tucking a handful of sticky notes into his desk drawer.
Dave steps out of his office just as Grayson stands. From his posture, it’s clear that Grayson is aware of his teammates’—his friends’—reactions. He shakes his head slightly, a bit of humor in the gesture. His fingers run through his hair, both fixing it and shaking it out.
“Hey, B,” he calls, crossing the bullpen in easy strides. Undaunted, pleased, even.
Dave nudges his arm. “We’re sure about this?”
Aaron looks at him in his periphery, most of his attention on the shielded surprise in Wayne’s face as Grayson embraces him. “He’s already here. Do you want Morgan to throw him out?”
His colleague snorts. “I’m not concerned about our capacity to show him the curb.” His hands flex in his pockets. “I’m wondering if it’s a bright idea to give that man guest access to Bureau offices.”
Aaron must mishear him, because for half a second, he swears Dave said bat man.
“He’s a civilian,” Aaron asserts, although the way the man’s eyes scan the room contradict the declaration. “And Grayson’s family.”
For half a second too long, Wayne’s eyes catch Aaron’s. A small demand passes between them. You will trust with him, they both tell the other.
Grayson tugs his adopted father toward the breakroom. With a look, Aaron sends the rest of his agents back to work.
Grayson takes his visitor through the breakroom, the bullpen, Garcia’s office, and the conference room. He moves with care, but not concern.
It’s a relief, with all Aaron has intuited about the man. Their two phone calls and Grayson’s indirect references to his unemotive to hostile nature make Aaron slow to trust the man. It’s why, when Dave asks to pick Grayson’s brain on the one case he wasn’t able to close out before transfer, Aaron invites Wayne into his office.
The socialite observes his space with an eye that Aaron usually only sees in the BAU. He adjusts the chair in a mirror of Grayson’s odd testing of its strength before sitting. His agent laughed it off as being around breakaway chairs in his circus days when JJ asked, but Aaron’s always suspected it’s something more recent or persistent.
Aaron waits until Wayne is seated before taking his own, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he goes. His lips craft into the dour look that Garcia likes to photoshop against Grumpy Cat memes. He doesn’t attempt to correct it.
“How can I help you, SSA Hotchner?” Wayne asks. His jovial look has diminished into something flat, inscrutable to most. He hasn’t shown an ounce of the frivolity or stupidity that makes the rounds in the press. He is serious in a way that betrays the importance of this visit.
It’s not lost on Aaron that over two years ago, before Grayson’s first day on the team, he spoke on the phone with a man who hadn’t been aware that Grayson had joined the Academy.
Air heavy in his chest, he leans back. “I’m sure you’re happy that Dick is moving closer to home.”
Further from the Bureau, where the people who built Grayson up these past few years reside. Prentiss’ job offer notwithstanding.
Aaron knows exactly how far New York City is from Quantico. He lugged the oak vanity up six flights of stairs last month, the final piece of furniture with which Beth couldn’t part. Jack’s asked after her twenty times.
There is a calculation behind Wayne’s eyes. It burns and cracks, the cadence of an organized serial killer and the passion of a state line crossing stalker. “I’m hopeful to see him more often. He’s indicated…” There’s a sigh ever present in his lungs. “That he would accept a visit.”
“He’s good at making people feel welcome.” Aaron’s hesitant to hire replacements, with Grayson leaving. He doesn’t think the team will be ready for someone who might come and go just as quick, not without the agent himself to ease the transition.
He’ll have to, he knows. JJ’s maternity leave, Emily’s Interpol promotion. Grayson isn’t the only one rapidly growing his life.
“He always has been.” Wayne bows his head, ever so slightly. A meaningful concession, when his eyes flick in the same paranoid pattern as Grayson’s. “It used to worry me, how trusting he is. I’d tell him he could get hurt, or taken advantage of. That not everyone is as good as him.”
And Aaron reads between the lines with ease. Bruce Wayne is not as good as Dick Grayson.
In honor of Grayson’s efforts, the biting words don’t snap out of his teeth. Instead, calmly, Aaron notes. “You’ve hurt him.”
His shoulders tense, muscles of a professional athlete on a man who shouldn’t even be a pencil pusher. “I’ve hurt him.” His eyes are dark, memories darting.
“I’ve been Grayson’s supervisor for nearly two and half years. He is a remarkable young man. Ambitious without being cutthroat. Compassionate without being pitying. Hopeful without being naïve. He has endured more than I’ll ever know, and I suspect that circumstances will continue to be cruel to him if given the chance.”
He hardens his gaze, forces his meaning to take root with the fury in his jaw.
The father’s eyes shut and the first true emotion breaks across the bridge of his nose. Regret. “I know,” Wayne promises, voice hushed. “All I’ve ever wanted was to bring the best out of him.”
Aaron thinks of Jack stumbling through spelling lists and soccer practice and fresh gravestones.
He thinks of all the ways he’s failed his son. His absence, his exhaustion, his endangerment. He thinks of all the ways he’s tried to make up for it. Bedtime stories told over the phone and late flights to get him in town just in time for talent shows.
It isn’t enough, he isn’t enough. Jack deserves so much more than Aaron can provide, but he keeps trying because that is his son. That is the boy he chose to dedicate his life to, to raise, to cherish, to support into his absolute best.
“Is that an excuse?” The words all but a growl.
Wayne swallows. “No.” He shakes his head as if the whole world will reorder with that motion. “No.
“Dick is… I wasn’t living for many years before I met him. It was the worst day of his life, and I knew it because I had lived that same worst day and I thought-” He looks across the desk as if Aaron has any say in his absolution. “I thought I could make him feel just a little less alone. But it was the opposite. In any way that I thought I was improving his life, it was him improving mine and I took him for granted, I pushed him to be great and he was and- I wasn’t prepared for Dick Grayson’s best.”
“Dick Grayson’s best is remarkable,” Aaron states. “If he hasn’t achieved it here, then it is extraordinary.”
This is the absolute truth. Aaron has trained hundreds of agents. He’s personally mentored dozens. He knows the whole spectrum of intelligence, of intuition, of strength. He’s witnessed Grayson redefine the peak of each dimension several times over.
The man isn’t perfect. He has hard days, more than Aaron is privy to. He makes wrong assumptions, he leads cases in dangerous directions. He values every life more than his own, he can be too quick to act, too determined to succeed where others have failed.
He is guided by a core morality that is slow to change.
Not every person he interacts with is better for it, but enough that it’s noticeable.
Grayson is reaching for better every day. He is reaching for something impossible every day. Because Bruce Wayne never acknowledged that he is enough exactly as he is.
Aaron sits up straight. “I’m going to be frank.”
Wayne nods, brow still troubled.
“I do not believe your presence in Grayson’s life is in his best interest.”
The father opens his mouth but Aaron ignores the attempted interruption.
“I do not believe all between you and Grayson can be healed. I don’t know if it should be. I don’t know most of the hurt that exists. But I know this.” He squares his shoulders. “Grayson allowing you back in his life is a gift. He has made efforts that few have and accepted you in ways that are potentially ill-advised.”
He remembers learning that Grayson had finally been adopted by the man that had guided and derailed his life for so many years. The way his gut had clenched with worry. It hadn’t felt like an overreaction, his concern that Grayson had attached himself back to a man who had caused him so much strife and collapsed a potential route of escape.
He forges that same worry into resolve. “If I learn that his efforts, his gift, are not being treated with the respect, reverence, and earnestness he deserves, I will be there. If you hurt him, intentionally or not, physically or not, I will be there. I have lived a life cutting short the freedom of those who would abuse others. I will not allow that young man to wither from the same cruelty he’s dedicated his life to stop. Are we clear, Mr. Wayne?”
Wayne firms his jaw, a look of death in his eyes as he regards Aaron. He does not take the threat idly, nor does he immediately grovel. Aaron is not the one to grant forgiveness. He is the one to enforce it.
“I understand,” Wayne agrees, solemn and aching. He hesitates, something Aaron recognizes as a rarity. “From one father to another?”
Aaron inclines his head.
“It can feel easier to push them away than to let them grow out of needing you. But there’s nothing worse than the final shove out of the nest.”
He lets his gaze take on the predator quality he employs when whittling away confidence in the interrogation room. “Don’t mistake our surface level similarities for fundamental tendencies.”
“Of course not.”
They let their mutual weighty distrust sink through the carpet, unblinking until a knock of the door forces them to dissipate the animosity.
“Come in,” Aaron calls.
Grayson opens the door, a hesitant smile on his lips.
“Hey, chum,” Wayne greets, dispelling the shroud of guilt Aaron has cast over him. “Ready to go?”
The soon to be unit chief glances between them, not a wrinkle of emotion unnoticed on their blank faces. “Could you wait down in the lobby, B? I was hoping to talk to Hotch about one last thing before we go.”
When the door shuts again, Grayson motions to the blinds. “Mind if I close these?”
The request is a brief shock of surprise. Aaron keeps them open to ensure Grayson feels comfortable being alone in his office with him. It’s hard to recognize the anxious probie in this surefooted leader.
It’s late enough in the day that the rest of the team is packing up below. JJ left a while ago. In the bullpen, Morgan raises an eyebrow as he sees the clear view disappearing. Reid leans across his desk to whisper something to Prentiss.
“How can I help you, Grayson?” He gestures his welcome as Grayson picks his usual seat.
His agent pulls something from his pocket, fiddles with it, and sets it on Aaron’s desk. It’s a sleek black box that Aaron mistakes for a phone.
Grayson closes his eyes briefly, taking a centering breath. When he looks at Aaron again, there is a clarity and a trust deeper than anything he’s ever seen from his agent.
“I wanted to tell you something. And I wanted to thank you.”
Aaron cedes the floor, matching the serious, earnest tone.
Still, his agent struggles for words. Finally, he nods to himself. “I was in a really rough place when I joined the team. I know it’s not lost on you that I was… wary of being around you and you never made me feel bad for that. This is the first team I’ve felt comfortable on since I was a teenager, and you were a big part of that.” He catches Aaron’s eye. “Thank you.
“I’m not used to being a follower or a mentee. I’m not used to letting someone else make the tough calls. I’m not used to asking for help. You made all of it easier than it’s been since- God, since I was a kid. Thank you.
“I want to tell you something that might complicate our relationship. I understand if you would prefer us to stay as fellow unit chiefs. I’m looking forward to being your colleague.” There’s a genuine joy in Grayson’s tone at being Aaron’s equal. Or, maybe, at being the one leading the charge to justice.
His speech has been a little strange, melancholic. He seems to be referring to more than his time as a detective. Than his time undercover.
Aaron recalls the whispers among his agents that have ended once he’s come near. The looks that they exchange when Grayson says something particularly vague about his past experience. Even Dave has been cagier since the case in Blüdhaven.
If this is related to that, even remotely, Aaron wants to know. The moment Grayson leaves his office, the young agent will no longer be his responsibility. He will miss him. He will continue to bolster him. But he won’t be connected to Grayson in a way that could be as incriminating as Grayson makes it sound.
“Anything you’d like to tell me, I’m here to listen. I care about you more than any façade of a professional relationship,” Aaron promises. Their team can play professional, but they prefer to be family.
Grayson observes him carefully. He decides Aaron means it.
“The day I joined the Academy is the day I stopped being Nightwing.”
“Come again?” Because his agent isn’t- But he is. There is a severity to his face.
There is a gentleness to his eyes.
Special Agent Dick Grayson, soon to be Unit Chief of the Taskforce On Metahuman Victims, was once a vigilante. Blüdhaven’s protector. The leader of the Titans.
His gaze remains steady, not giving Aaron time to recover as he continues. “And before that, I was Robin.”
Aaron’s stomach twists. “No.” Because Robin has never been older than sixteen years old. “When?”
“I was eight when I started training. I was nine when I officially hit the streets.”
God, Jack is eight. Aaron can’t imagine, can’t imagine, allowing his son anywhere near even the pettiest of crimes. He can’t imagine missing his son running off.
“How did your- How did Wayne not know?” It’s the only question he can get out without his voice shaking in sadness. Instead, it shakes with rage.
Grayson smiles wanly. “Who do you think stopped me when I was going out unofficially?” His eyes catch on the black box. “At least when I was Robin, someone had my back.”
Regret and anger and nostalgia race across his features.
Unwittingly, pieces are put together. All the anguish rolled out over years of slowly built trust now cast in a new light. A new shadow.
“I respect you, Hotch.” He lets the weight in his shoulders dissipate, for just a moment. “The rest of the team have had more chances to figure it out. No one’s asked, but I think they’ve all made me. I didn’t want you to be left out because I was skittish of stern supervisors when I started here.
“And I’d like to leave here more honestly than I arrived. I’d like to be able to call on you without all the obfuscation. I want you to be able to trust me as much as I trust you.”
All the whirling confusion narrows down into that small request. “I do,” Aaron promises. “I trust you. No matter what you once did, no matter who you used to be.”
“I made the world better. I’m going to keep doing that, just, you know,” he chuckles. “More legally.”
The admission breaks through the confusion. “A Blüdhaven matter is out of my jurisdiction,” he hedges. “But an admission of a crime in a federal building…”
“Don’t worry about it.” Grayson nods to the box. “Any eavesdroppers have been kindly earmuffed.”
It remains an unassuming black bit of plastic, but if what Grayson is saying is true—and there’s no reason why it wouldn’t be—then he doesn’t doubt that it is an impressive piece of technology. In line with the strange face snatching devices that Grayson whispered about on a case involving an unsub with an obsession of fear and identity.
“Grayson. Dick,” he allows. It won’t be much longer that Grayson is his agent to hold at arm’s length, just close enough to grasp onto if the danger grows insurmountable. “Thank you for trusting me. And…”
Aaron’s made many difficult decisions in his career. Welcoming both Jason and Dave back onto the team, introducing both an uncomfortable hierarchy and risk related to their ages and trauma. Navigating Elle’s decision to kill the man who assaulted her. He’s allowed every member of the team opportunities to work cases to which they’re far too emotionally connected to not have a conflict of interest. He’s come close to perjuring himself before Congress.
Here, he is faced with another one. Fulfill his duty as an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation or his duty as a confidant of Dick Grayson.
He remembers Garcia’s admission that she’d been inappropriately flagging cases to bring justice for her support group. The difficulty of getting Morgan to recuse himself from personal cases. How hard JJ fought to keep Jack and Will safe during the bank robberies. The weight Dave takes on after an unsuccessful hostage negotiation. Inviting Prentiss back from Europe only to thrust her deep in another Doyle investigation. The amount of covering he did for Reid after he learned of his agent’s addiction.
It is Aaron’s duty to uphold to law. It is his honor to support his team. It is his pride to navigate the way those two creeds struggle against each other.
“Know that this will remain between us.”
Dick’s face cracks into an elated smile. He knew the risk, he’d prepared for one final rejection.
Aaron spoke honestly when he promised Wayne that he will be there. Not just for days of sorrow, not just for the dangerous precipices. He will be there as joy rises, as trust flourishes. Like Dick, he does not back down and he does not compromise. Not when it comes to the people he loves.
And Dick Grayson has long been one of his the way every other member of the team undeniably is.
Their goodbye that afternoon is nothing more than a see you later.
Standing at the top of the stairs, Aaron overlooks the bullpen. Besides him, Garcia vibrates with more excitement than she’s held in the weeks since Dick transitioned fully into his unit chief role.
“We’ve got a case,” he calls down to the team below.
Dave steps out of his office while JJ, Morgan, Reid, and Prentiss all look up at him.
“Briefing here?” Prentiss asks.
Aaron inclines his head. “Yes. We’re getting a consult from another department, they should be here soon.”
Down below, Prentiss makes a face at having to cooperate with a stranger. Reid slumps then straightens, slight-of-handing away his fidget cube. Morgan sighs loudly, tugging on his suit jacket and JJ rolls her shoulders back as she prepares to smooth over introductions.
With a small smirk, Aaron chides, “Don’t be like that. I think you’ll like who they sent.”
The elevator dings and out walks Unit Chief Dick Grayson, sleeves rolled up as he strides into the BAU, ready to take down the unsub targeting metahumans. Behind him is a young woman, glasses slipping down her nose as she struggles to keep several packets of information in her arms. Her eyes flash almost silver as she takes in the room. Next to her is a man possibly two decades Grayson's senior. Green scaly skin and thick muscles. He smiles uncomfortably at the team before him.
Grayson steps forward, leading his team further into the bullpen. His smile as he sees the team is bright and genuine. “Let’s get to work.”