Work Text:
You've been awake for over 36 hours. You're cold, tired, and still shaking from the adrenaline as the paramedics check you over. You've mostly tuned out the activity around you – the police officers and agents still milling around processing the crime scene after the UnSub was captured and taken away, the lights, the sirens, the press. Everything seems distant, muffled, like you're watching it from underwater.
Hotch is speaking to one of the paramedics. You're not really processing the words that are being said, but you manage to catch, "Thank you, I'll take it from here," just before he approaches you.
"Hey," he says softly, trying to get your attention without startling you. You slowly raise your head to look at him, your expression still glazed and far away. "I'm going to take you home, okay? Can you stand?"
When you don't react, he holds a hand out to you. You stare at it for a moment, then reach out to take it. He helps you to your feet, letting you lean against him as he leads you to his car.
The radio plays quietly in the background as you stare out of the window the whole drive home. The streets are practically empty at this time of night, the wet asphalt shining under the light of the streetlamps. They go past in a blur.
When you arrive, Hotch opens the door for you, and you step through into your living room. You stand there for a moment, unmoving, in the silence of your empty house, the only sound the click of the door shutting behind you. Then, the tears begin to fall, hot and wet and salty, staining your cheeks. You barely have time to register what's happening before Hotch pulls you into a tight hug, his hand on the back of your head holding you steady.
"It's alright," he murmurs. "I'm here. You're safe now."
You cling to him as the sobs wrack your body, his presence solid and comforting. He encourages you to take some deep breaths, and you begin to calm down.
He sits you down on the couch, leaving you for a moment to fetch a glass of water, which you drink gratefully. Once empty, you place the glass on the coffee table, folding your hands into your lap.
Hotch kneels in front of you. "I'm going to take your shoes off. Is that okay?"
You nod.
He gently removes your shoes from your feet, handling you with the care normally reserved for fragile pottery. When he starts to get up to put them away, you stop him with a hand on his shoulder, not wanting him to leave you again. One glance at your face tells him exactly what you're thinking. His expression softens, and he puts the shoes down with a simple nod of acknowledgement, instead choosing to place a reassuring hand on your knee to ground you.
"How are you feeling?" he asks, watching you carefully. It seems he can never fully turn off his profiler instincts, especially when someone he cares about is suffering.
You rub a hand over your eye. "Tired."
"Not surprising, given what you've been through." He offers you the tiniest of smiles. "Do you want me to help you get ready for bed?"
"Okay."
He accompanies you to the bathroom, prompting you to brush your teeth and wash your face, offering gentle encouragement when you need it. He finds you some comfortable clothes and leaves you for a moment to change in privacy, promising that he'll be right outside. When you come out of the bathroom, you crawl straight into bed, curling into a foetal position as you stare at the wall in front of you. Hotch hovers in the doorway, and you can feel his eyes on you.
"Aaron?" Your voice comes out small and vulnerable.
"Yeah?"
"Will you stay? Just... Just until I fall asleep?"
"Of course," he says, as if his answer could never be anything else. "I'll stay all night if you need me to. Whatever helps."
He takes off his jacket and tie and slips into bed beside you, his face just inches from yours. You can feel the exhaustion closing in on you, but you can't fall asleep. Not yet. Your nervous system just won't shut itself off.
You reach out for Hotch's hand, and he offers it immediately, letting you pull it up to your face, pressing it against your cheek as your eyes fall closed in relief.
"I feel safer when you're touching me," you whisper. A slight heat of embarrassment rises in your cheeks, but you ignore it, keeping your eyes shut to avoid looking at Hotch's face.
A beat of silence. Hotch runs a thumb over your cheek. He sighs. "Then come here."
Suddenly, he is enveloping you, shielding you from the world with his body. He tucks your head under his chin, his arms wrapping around your back to pull you in closer, his legs entangling with yours. For the first time since you were rescued, the tension in your muscles melts away.
"That's it, there you go," he hums. "I've got you. Just relax."
You press your ear to his chest, letting the rhythm of his heart lull you to sleep.
Hotch listens as your breathing slows, leaving your vulnerable, unconscious form entirely under his protection. He tightens his grip instinctively, and you nuzzle further into his chest, sighing contentedly in your sleep.
He doesn't think about the fact that you couldn't relax until you were in his arms. Nor does he think about the fact that being near him clearly makes you feel safe, or that you trust him to watch over your sleeping form even after everything you've been through. And he definitely doesn't think about how all of that makes him feel. He's just had a very stressful day, that's all. One of his agents was kidnapped, someone he cares about, someone he feels responsible for. And now that person is safe, and he's relieved. Of course he is. This glowing ball of warmth in his chest is just relief that his friend is safe. The fluttering in his stomach is just leftover adrenaline making its way out of his system.
That's all.
Nothing more to it.
He takes a deep breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth.
Relax, Hotchner. The nightmare is over.
He looks down at the sleeping figure in his arms. You look so peaceful, completely at ease. You're safe. He has you, and you're safe. He's not going to let anything else happen to you tonight. He's not going to let anything happen to you ever again if he can help it.
His own eyes begin to droop, the warmth of your body against his and the sound of your steady breathing reassuring him that everything is okay, that he can stand down, that he can finally relax now that you are here with him. He smiles, pressing his nose into your hair as he pulls you impossibly closer still, and drifts into sleep.