Work Text:
“(Y/n), did you hear me? Dad died last night, his funeral is next Saturday.” Your brother stated over the phone. You had been dreading this phone call since your brother sustained a back injury keeping him from bull riding for the rest of his life. You knew your time was limited before it was your time to fulfill your family legacy of picking up where your father left off since your brother couldn’t now. “Yeah sorry, I’ll be there, text me the information and I’ll be on the first plane out.” You stated before hanging up. Asking off wouldn’t be a problem due to your accumulated time off that you never use. The issue was figuring out how to explain to your unit chief that you needed time off for longer than the weekend. After filling out the required paperwork, you made your way through the bullpen up to Hotch’s office where he sat at his desk looking over the most recent case. You lightly knocked on the door making yourself known to which he replied with a soft “come in”. “Hey,” you stated, “I know this is very last minute but I need to use my time off for a while.” Hotch looked up from his desk, concerned as he held his hand out for your paperwork he asked if everything was okay. “My father died last night, I’ve already booked a flight back home for tomorrow, the only problem is I’ll have to stay longer than just the funeral.” You said as you fidgeted with the bracelet your father gave you before you joined the academy. “Are you sure you will be okay to travel alone?” Hotch asked as he signed off on the request. “I’m not sure, it’s all so sudden. I haven’t talked to my family since the academy, let alone my brother since the accident.” You say as you sit down in one of the chairs across from his desk. Hotch and the team knew about your brother's accident. What they didn’t know about was your family legacy. When you started at the BAU, you thought it was your way out. A way to escape your father’s dream for you. But unbeknownst to you, your luck ran out a long time ago. “Would you like the team to come for support?” He asks after a minute or so of thinking. You slowly mull it over. You know your father’s will clearly states you will be in the first rodeo after his funeral, which, thankfully isn’t until a week later, and you know the team will be gone before then. Surely they will be on their way home by then. “Only if the team wants to. I don’t want them to feel obligated to.” You state as you get up to leave. “(Y/l/n), I’m sure it won’t be a problem. Go home, take the rest of the day off,” Hotch says as he gets back to filling out the paperwork on his desk.
You wake up the next day with the worst headache. You know it’s from lack of sleep and stress. Slowly you start to prepare for the hour-and-a-half flight back home. Normally you’d drive, but before you started at the BAU, your vehicle gave out due to an accident causing you to have to leave it with your family for repairs. Since then you’ve just used Uber or Lyft to get around since you lived so close to your job. After calling a ride and getting your luggage packed you were off. After a 30-minute ride to the airport and an hour of making it to the airport, you finally made it to your terminal. There waiting was your Unit Chief and team, all standing waiting for you. “You guys, you didn’t have to come.” You stated through teary eyes as you hugged every one of them. “ We couldn’t let you go by yourself,” Prentiss stated as she hugged you. “Now you know I couldn’t let a pretty woman like yourself ride on a plane without some protection,” Morgan added as he kissed you on the forehead.
The plane ride was uneventful. Everyone had bought their tickets later than you leaving them to sit off in a group separated from where you sat. The only things you were left with were your thoughts and music. Putting in your AirPods, you turned on your playlist full of Zach Bryan songs and dozed off as the plane took off. Hoping for just a little bit of sleep before you landed back home. An hour and a half later, the pilot came over the intercom saying the plane would land shortly, giving you enough time to put away your things and collect yourself before everyone departed. After exiting the plane with your team, you saw your brother waiting at the terminal, dressed in a black button-up, wrangler blue jeans, a pair of tattered boots, and a black Justin cowboy hat. “Hey, Luke.” You stated as you embraced him in a hug. “Hey, little sis. Who are all your friends?” He asked as he grabbed your luggage and started to head towards the exit. “This is my team Aaron Hotchner, Emily Prentiss, Dereck Morgan, Spencer Reid, David Rossi, and Jenifer Jareau, or JJ for short.” You said as you tried to catch up. “You're lucky I had Justin follow me in Ol’ Betty for ya,” your brother said as he made his way to the two vehicles parked out front. Excitedly, you dropped your bag and ran to your truck. You hadn’t seen her since you wrecked her before you left and unbeknownst to you, all the repairs had been finished making her look good as new. “When did y’all finish fixin’ her” you asked as Luke threw you the keys. “Not too long after you left. Dad stayed up many of nights gettin her fixed for when ya came home. But ya never did. She’s been sittin’ in the garage ever since. He’d take her out every Saturday to make sure she ran though. He never lost hope that you’d come back.” Your brother said as he started to get in his truck. As you stood there at a loss for words, the group decided that Reid, Morgan, and JJ would ride with your brother and Justin while Rossi, Prentiss, and Hotch rode with you. After everyone had loaded up their things and gotten into a vehicle, you were off, headed to a little town in the middle of nowhere.
The drive was silent except for your playlist of music that you had started when you left the airport. “I think Rossi’s jaw hit the ground when he saw you own a truck, (Y/l/n),” Prentiss stated after a while. “This ol’ thing? My father co-signed after my 18th birthday for me to get it. Said I’d need a reliable vehicle if I was gonna follow in his and my grandfather's footsteps. I named her Ol’ Betty with the help of my brother but when she’s causin’ trouble it’s shit box.” You said as you laughed as you recalled a memory of you and your brother working on the truck after taking it mud-bogging one summer and cracking the subframe. “I was half expecting you to drive a Suburban or a Tahoe, definitely not a truck. Especially one this size, what all have you done to it.” Rossi asked as he leaned forward in his seat. “Not as much as I’d like to. Besides the toolbox in the bed and the bull bar on the front, I and my father added a two-inch lift kit, LED lights for late-night field work, and a wench to the front.” You replied, not trying to bore them with the details. Hotch stayed quiet the whole time just listening, now and then Rossi and Prentiss would ask a question and you’d give a short reply. After driving for an hour you were finally back in your hometown. Everything is still the same as you left it. “Welcome to Pearisburg.” You stated as you pulled into the long gravel driveway of your childhood home. Waiting on the front porch stood your mother and grandmother. As you and your team started to unload everything your grandmother came up to hug you. “Hi sweetheart, how have you been?” She asked. “Good Meemaw, I’ve missed you, how’s mom holding up.” You asked as you motioned to where she stood. “Heartbroken, but she’ll be okay. The only thing that can heal a broken heart is time. You know we are going to have to talk later about some things your father had set in place for you before he died, right?” She asked as she slowly made her way towards where your mother stood. “Yeah, I know. Look, I haven’t told everyone I work with yet about this, would it be possible to talk after everyone’s headed to bed?” You ask as you follow closely behind her, hoping that no one else heard. Your grandmother only gave you a look as she shook her head yes. You knew it would only be a matter of time now before everyone found out. To some, it wouldn’t seem like such a big deal, whereas to others, it meant everything. As you stood on the porch making small talk with your grandmother, your mother finally spoke up, “ As much as I hate the circumstances, it’s good to see you honey, who are all your friends that you brought with you?” Looking back behind you to your team, you responded “Mom, this is my team Aaron Hotchner, Emily Prentiss, Dereck Morgan, Spencer Reid, David Rossi, and Jenifer Jareau, or JJ for short. They came to give their support and condolences. I hope you don’t mind.” Your mom then thanked everyone and began showing them to their rooms. Thankfully you lived in a big ranch house growing up, giving enough space for everyone to double up in a room.
As you started to unpack in your old childhood room, every folded sweater and dusty picture frame felt like it carried a heartbeat of its own. The pale yellow walls were still lined with faint pinholes from posters you’d taken down years ago. Your trophies sat untouched on the shelf, a thin layer of dust softening their shine. The quilt on your bed—stitched by your grandmother’s careful hands—still smelled faintly of lavender and cedar.
And just like that, the memories came rushing in.
Saturday mornings with your dad flipping pancakes in the kitchen, flour on his cheek. The way he’d cheer the loudest at every school event, even when you told him not to embarrass you. The way his laugh used to echo down this very hallway, deep and warm and impossibly safe. Growing up had felt like standing in the sun—constant, steady, certain.
Now the house felt dimmer.
Overwhelmed, your chest tightened until you could hardly breathe. Tears blurred your vision as you sank onto the edge of the bed. You didn’t know how you were supposed to wake up tomorrow, walk into that church, and accept that he wouldn’t be there. That you’d never hear his boots on the porch again. That the world would just… keep going.
A quiet knock sounded at your door.
“Yeah,” you managed, swiping at your cheeks. “Come in, Hotch.”
Aaron Hotchner stepped inside carefully, as though entering sacred ground. His eyes softened the moment he saw you, taking in the tear-streaked face you were trying so hard to compose.
“I just—” Your voice trembled despite your effort to steady it. “There’s something you and the team are going to find out tomorrow. When they read my father’s will at the funeral.” You clasped your hands together in your lap, knuckles turning white. “It won’t seem like a big deal to everyone else. But to my family… it’s everything.”
He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t press. He simply crossed the room and sat beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours. Then, without a word, he pulled you gently into a side hug.
And you broke.
All the fear, the anger, the guilt, the helplessness you’d been holding in spilled out between uneven breaths. You told him about the pressure. About the expectations. About how heavy it all felt sitting on your chest. He listened the way he always did—fully, attentively, like nothing else in the world mattered in that moment but you.
His hand rested steady against your arm, warm and grounding. A silent promise: You’re not alone.
Exhaustion eventually won. The past two days had drained you completely, grief clawing at every corner of your mind. Your words grew softer, slower, until they faded into sleep against his shoulder.
Hotch stayed still for a long moment, listening to the rhythm of your breathing even out. Carefully, he eased you down onto the pillow and pulled the quilt up around you. He brushed a stray tear from your cheek with more tenderness than he allowed himself to show.
You had been through so much. And he worried about you more than he should have. More than he’d worried about anyone in a long time.
Since Haley.
The realization unsettled him, but it didn’t push him away. If anything, it made him more certain of one thing: he would protect you from whatever tomorrow brought.
After turning off the light, he closed the door quietly behind him, leaving it cracked open just in case.
You woke hours later with your throat dry as cotton and your eyes still swollen from crying. For a moment, you forgot. Then the ache in your chest reminded you.
The house was hushed except for the low murmur of your mother and grandmother’s voices drifting from the kitchen. The clock on the wall ticked too loudly in the silence.
You padded down the hallway, the wood floor cool beneath your feet. The kitchen light glowed warm and golden, illuminating the two women who had always been your foundation.
“Oh sweetie, we were just talking about you!” your mother said softly, setting down her coffee cup. Her eyes were rimmed red too.
You sat between them at the table, like you had a thousand times growing up. Only this time, it felt like sitting at the edge of something irreversible.
“Momma… Meemaw…” Your fingers twisted together in your lap. “About Dad’s will. Are y’all sure there’s no loophole? Nothing I can do to get out of this?”
Your grandmother’s expression didn’t waver. “Honey, you should feel honored. Your father chose you. He talked about it every single day up until the end.”
That made your chest tighten more.
You knew the truth. It should have been your brother. As the only son, it had always been meant for him. From the time he turned five and Grandpa whispered about it being a rite of passage into manhood, it had lived in his heart like a promise.
Until the accident.
Until the doctor said he would never ride again.
Your father had masked his disappointment well, pretending he’d always intended for you to carry it instead. But you’d seen the way your brother’s smile dimmed. The way something in him fractured quietly.
And now the weight had shifted to you.
To him, it had been a legacy. A dream. A birthright.
To you, it felt like a death sentence wrapped in tradition.
You stood slowly, heart pounding. “If that’s so… I guess I need to make sure my gear still fits.” Your voice felt strangely calm. “Is it still packed up in the barn?”
Your mother nodded, her lips pressed together as if holding back tears. She looked at you like she was memorizing your face. Like she was already grieving something that hadn’t happened yet.
That hurt more than anything.
You swallowed hard and excused yourself, the hallway seeming longer than before. Tomorrow would come too fast. The funeral. The reading of the will. The eyes of everyone in town watching you.
And somewhere down the hall, in a guest room with the door cracked open, was a man who had chosen to stand beside you whether you realized it or not.
As you slipped back under the quilt, you let yourself hold onto that small, steady comfort.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
But tonight, you weren’t facing it alone.
You woke up the next day at 7:30, just as the sun started to shine through your old bedroom window. After convincing yourself to leave the warmth and comfort of your bed, you made your way to the bathroom across the hall. The rest of the team wasn’t up yet meaning you could take a little longer than normal. Turning the shower to as hot as you could you stepped into the shower. The service wasn’t until 10 am but as soon as it finished at 11 am the reading of the will would begin, followed by lunch for everyone back at the house. You knew If worst came to worse, you could just take the truck out to the barn and drink the evening away. Your father always kept a bottle of Jack Danial’s in his spare work boots in the saddle/tack room. After standing in the shower longer than intended, you decided to start getting ready, going through your morning list of shower, clothes, hair, and makeup. You had picked out a knee-high length black dress with a pair of black square-toe cowgirl boots with a little bit of heel and a red rose for design. You decided to curl your hair to frame your face along with some natural makeup. After finally getting ready you looked at your phone and saw it was only 8:30. Making your way to the kitchen, you poured yourself some coffee and made your way to the front porch of the house. Your brother, mother, and grandmother had already left to attend to unfinished matters at the funeral home while you were getting ready. Your brother had texted you shortly after leaving saying the spare key to the truck was on the coffee table by the door for your team to use if needed and not to wreck it. After an hour of waiting, the rest of the team was finally ready. You all piled into separate vehicles and drove to the funeral home. The service was lovely, exactly how your dad would have wanted it. Nothing sad, but rather a calibration of life. Shortly after the ceremony ended, a man in a suit made his way toward the front with you father’s will in hand. As he stood there he began to read “To my lovely wife, I leave the house and farm, for I know you take such great care of everything. To my only son, I leave the garage and my truck for he has worked hard all his life for this. And lastly, to my only daughter, I leave my legacy. The first rodeo after my funeral, she will ride on To-Hell-I-Go’s calf.” At that you walked out, not quite ready to face everyone. Why is this the only thing he left me with? Why is it that everyone else gets something physical and yet all I get is something intangible? You thought as you stood outside of the funeral home. Morgan was the first one out behind you shortly followed by the rest of the team. “What the hell was that? What does he mean by my legacy!?” Morgan yelled as everyone else looked at you with the same question. Sighing you began to tell them, “ My family comes from a long line of rodeo stars. Once the man of the household dies, it’s their son’s responsibility to pick up where they left off. Due to Luke’s accident though, he can’t, therefore it’s my responsibility to. Come Wednesday night, I’ll be riding To-Hell-I-Go’s calf, Devil Dog at the fairgrounds.” None of them understood what was happening. They couldn’t understand the dangers of Bull riding or the toll it took on not just your body but your mind.
The ride back to the house was silent, your team wouldn't talk to you, either mad or confused why you didn’t tell them. You’re family though was excited, they wanted you to start practicing as soon as you got home. They had already laid out all of your old gear for you in the barn. As soon as you got home that’s where you headed determined to get it over with. Your brother waited for you at the bucking shoot where a bull was already waiting. You went to the barn to put your gear on, as you exited your team stood there staring at you. You looked at your brother and asked “What’s his highest score?” “ 45 points,” Your brother said as he started to walk over to help with your gear. That’s when Reid spoke up “Y/N, what does a score have to do with riding him?”. “ Oh Spence, When a bull rider succeeds in staying on the bull for at least eight seconds, a Professional Championship Bull riders panel of judges issues a score for both rider and animal. Judges consider factors like spin, directional changes, kicks, drops, and body rolls. The more of these actions the bull performs during the ride, the judges rate a higher level of difficulty. The ride is scored from 0–100 points. Both the rider and the bull are awarded points. There are usually two judges, each judge scoring the bull from 0–50 points, and the rider from 0–50 points. The combined point totals from both judges make up the final score for the ride. His score is 45 meaning he has almost a perfect score.” You said as you climbed the arena to mount the bull in question. Slowly you start to wrap the remaining rope on top of the bull. “ Suicide wrap, good choice.” your brother says as he leans over the shoot. “SUICIDE WRAP?!” Derek yells, but it is too late, you have already motioned for your brother to open the gate. You knew this wasn’t going to be easy the bull started to buck but soon found that didn’t knock you off. Immediately the bull started to drop and body roll. You yelled out in pain as you felt your ankle roll under the weight of the bull. Still holding on to the rope, the bull started to get up. Once up, you slowly fell off, done and with no more fight, the bull ran to the other side of the coral leaving you lying there in the dirt. Your brother ran over helping you up and over toward the shoot. “You stayed on for 4.35 seconds,” your brother started to say “I’ll get the bull loaded up and you can ride again.” He then began to walk away. “I can’t watch this, she’s going to get herself killed,” Derek said behind the gate. “It’s not like she has any choice, it’s in her father’s will,” JJ said trying to defend you. “Look, all of us are supposed to leave tomorrow, but I think someone should stay and watch after her. Make sure she doesn’t kill herself Wednesday trying to do this.” Prentiss finally said after a long pause. You couldn’t hear anymore though as they all started to walk back to the house. As soon as they left your brother came back over to tell you to get ready and that they were about to load up bull back into the bucking shoot. The rest of the afternoon was filled with practice, bruises, and sweat. By the time you and your brother walked into the house, everyone had gone to sleep except Hotch who sat at the kitchen table. “I’ll leave you two alone.” Your brother said as he walked to the bathroom beside his room. “Look, I don’t know if this would be overstaying my welcome, but the team and I have decided that everyone will be heading home tomorrow. Everyone but me, I’ll stay and support you on Wednesday night.” “ I don’t need a babysitter Hotch, I’ll be fine.” You argued as you laid your chaps and vest on a spare seat beside him. “(Y/n) This could seriously injure you or worse, you could die.” He said in anger as he began to stand up. You just got up and moved to the couch, grabbing a DVD off the bookshelf by the TV. You showed it to Hotch before putting it in and saying “Sit down, I wanna show you this.” As you turned it on and hit play, your father came on the screen and he began to say “(Y/n), by the time you get this, I’ll have passed away. I can hear the bulls are coming to claim what they've been huntin'.
The son of a cowboy who can't claim his daddy's right. Now I know your mother has been cryin' at the thought of me dyin'. She knows there's no stopping a man and his foolish pride. But I ain't never feared nothing that was four-legged and buckin'. I always used to say that if you throw me on a hurricane I'll ride it to the coast. But here you are coming to do what your father should've done on a summer day a long time ago, top a bull named To-hell-I-go. Here to prove that you’re better than your father was, and where he came from, too. And I know that my daughter will do what her father should've done and that you’ll make me proud.” With that, the screen went black. Hotch hadn’t said anything since the TV turned off, just sitting there thinking of the right words to say. With that, you got up and went to your room ready to get the next few days over with so you could get back to your life.
You were a nervous wreck come Wednesday morning, checking your phone constantly for any update from your brother about details for that night. You were due at the fairgrounds at noon to get everything set up and in motion for the show at 5 pm. Everyone member of the team except for Hotch had left for back home early Monday morning. Monday afternoon and all of Tuesday were spent practicing and training. You were a nervous wreck, to say the least. You stood outside the house loading everything up in your truck. Hotch gave you a long look but you just stood there, looking back at him.
“This is ridiculous,” he whispered. “It would be if I had decided to do this of my own free will but I didn’t, so it is perfectly sane,” you muttered. He looked away from you, letting out a sigh of exhaustion. “I don’t know why I agreed to go with you. I should’ve stayed home so I won’t have to witness you getting hurt. ” he said. You shrugged, pointing your plastic coffee cup at the truck you were standing by. “You are more than welcome to leave. I had no choice in the matter of who stayed to babysit me. You chose to stay so I wouldn’t have to go alone,” you told him. He gave you a small smirk but you pretended to not notice it, instead gazing at the gear laid out in front of you still needing to go in the truck. You knew why Hotch chose to be the one who stayed. You were close, but you tried to keep your distance as to not mess up the relationship you had in your job. You’d had a crush on him since your first day at the BAU. You were a BAU Agent for better or worse and you couldn’t give that up, even for a chance with Hotch. So you distanced yourself to save yourself from the possibility of getting hurt on a chance that maybe he felt the same way. “You want me to get some coffee before we head out?” he asked in a whisper, breaking the silence. It had already been a long morning and to add to it, you had to stay together till Friday when the next available flight back home was. You were just glad it was him and not Morgan because sometimes his overprotectiveness wasn’t something you preferred. “If you could,” you said, looking over at him. He turned around and started his walk down the sidewalk back to the house. You watched him go, shivering in the mid-morning air. You went back to packing the truck. Soon after you finished, Hotch came down the sidewalk to where you stood leaning against the truck. “You ready?” He says as he hands you your coffee. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” You say as you get into the truck, ready to head out. While driving down the road, your phone began to ring, answering it, “They want you to give a speech before they kick off the rodeo.” your brother muttered unsure of how you would react. “Why the hell would I do that,” you seethed. He managed out a laugh at that, the fact he thought you would willingly agree due to your father being a rodeo legend where you’re from. “Fine, I’ll do it. But only because it’s what dad would have wanted,” you whispered. At that you hung up the phone, throwing it in the cup holder beside you. “What was that about.” Hotch asked as he adjusted in his seat to look at you better. “They want me to give a speech before they kick off everything for the rodeo.” You sigh out in frustration, not even sure of what you’re going to say. Hotch just nodded as he stared at you, unsure of the right words to say. The rest of the ride was in silence neither of you knew what to say to the other. When you arrive at the fairgrounds. Your brother met you to help unpack everything. Even though you were early, there was much that needed to get done. By the time you were finished, it was 4 pm and you were needed on the stage to give your speech. As you walked up the steps to where the microphone was placed, you started to put your hands on your chaps, sweaty from your nervousness. You grabbed the microphone and began, “Thank you everyone for coming out today. Not only for my father, but for my family as well. As some of you know, my father is a bit of a legend around here whether it be from his bull riding days, or because he was well known by the community he helped build. Today, I will be riding in remembrance of him. So with that, open the gates, I'm here to prove I’m better than my father was and where he came from, too. I'm here to ride, To-Hell-I-Go’s calf, Devil Dog with my daddy by my side.” With that, you stepped off the stage as everyone clapped. You felt tears gather in your eyes as you made your way off the stage down to where the bucking shoot was. You were the first one to ride that night. You glanced at Hotch. You expected a smile with his eyes glistening, or even a raised eyebrow. But his face stayed unchanged. His lips only curled upwards lightly. How did you get to this moment? How is it that you let it get this far without telling him? You had joined the BAU only a couple of years ago and yet you became instant best friends. You had been there when Jack was born, when Haley divorced him, as well as when she died. You had been there as he rebuilt himself. You had been there when he met Beth. Yet you never told him. Wanting to spare your feelings from the possibility of getting hurt. You had so much time. So much perfect time to just tell him but you didn't. What about now? What about right now? He would be pissed. You could ruin your friendship or even your career. All to tell him how you feel about him. It seemed so stupid. "You okay?" Hotch asked as you climbed the bucking shoot. "Um, y-yeah." You smiled weakly at him, but he saw straight through it. He gave you a sad smile and squeezed your hand. Suddenly those words, that three word sentence was running through your head over and over until it was finally spoken. "I love you." You spoke. You felt a weight lift off of not just your shoulders but your heart as well. But you weren't done yet."I know, trust me I know this is terrible timing."You turned to look at him better. "And I am so so sorry. But Hotch, I'm in love with you and I have waited way too long to say that." Tears were falling slowly down your face. "I just, need to know if you feel the same. If not, and I just ruined this for you, I'm so sorry and I will put in a transfer as soon as we get home. But I need to know." Hotch stood there, shock evident on his face. You knew there were so many noises going on at that moment but yet somehow It was dead silent when you looked at him. He didn’t dare move, speak, or do anything for what felt like hours, but was only a couple of minutes. His face changed into one of determination and he took two long strides before he was pulling you off the bucking shoot and taking you in his arms. Your lips pressed together in a passionate embrace. He kissed you for the first time, and it was breathtaking. His hands rested on your hips, while yours rested on the nape of his neck. Gently you pulled away, your eyes fluttering open. He looked at you, taking in your face before saying, "I love you too. Now go, get this over with so we can go home." At that you pulled yourself up the bucking shoot and got on the bull that was waiting for you, already pissed off and ready to do his job. You looked at your brother who would be manning the gate, after suicide wrapping the flat braided rope around your hand, you nodded your head and said to your brother “Open the gate.” At that, the chute gate swung open and the bull exploded into the arena. He immediately darted to the left, then to the right, and then reared back. When that didn’t get you off, he switched tactics and started to jump and kick in a straight line. Your hand started to slip from the flat braided rope between your hands. The bull then dropped and rolled on you, as he was going down, he struck you in your gut with his right horn. Causing you to let go and yell out in pain. The bull then got up and raced to the other end of the arena where he was herded out but the rodeo clowns working the event. Several cowboys rushed in where you were lying. Two of them picked you up and carried you out, you then passed out, not even worried about how long you stayed on. Paramedics met you outside where you were loaded up and rushed to the hospital. Hotch, not even listening to the paramedics jumped in the back right behind you. You had sustained severe injuries from the crushing weight of the bull and his horn striking you in the gut.
“(Y/N)?” your name seemed heavy on his tongue like it had never before. He leaned down and pressed his hands into the surface of the gurney as if to hold himself up. “(Y/N), I’m here.” Hotch pressed one of his hands to his mouth, tears already streaming down his face. “(Y/N), please. You have to be okay…” he said, the words leaving his mouth in a terrified rush. “Aaron,” you said, the hurt in your voice and the fact that you used his first name and it seemed as if Hotch had been slapped. “Aaron?” your voice sounded again, much more softly this time. Hotch pressed the palm of his hand on your cheek. “You’re gonna be okay…” your silence was unbearable and his voice died in his throat, tears blurring his vision and falling on the table. “I shouldn’t have let you go in there.” “You know I would have gone anyway. I lost, it’s part of the ride. But I’ll be okay.” You said as you grabbed his hand. “(Y/N)…” he whispered. “I know,” you said, and it made him go silent again. “I know” you repeated and he was able to hear the change in your voice when you started to cry. “I’m going to miss you, Aaron. God, I already do” you said as your vision went black. The flatline cut through the back of the ambulance like a blade.
For a split second, no one moved.
Then everything moved at once.
“Clear!” one of the paramedics shouted as they pushed Aaron back. He stumbled against the metal cabinets, your blood still warm on his hands. The world narrowed to the frantic rhythm of CPR, the smell of antiseptic, the violent sway of the speeding ambulance.
Aaron Hotchner had seen death more times than he could count. He had profiled it, predicted it, stood in its shadow and stared it down.
But this?
This was different.
This was you.
“Charging to 200. Clear!”
Your body jolted under the shock. Aaron flinched as if the electricity ran through him instead. The monitor flickered—flat, then a trembling blip.
“Again!”
Another shock. Another jolt. Another desperate second stretching into eternity.
And then—
A beat.
Small. Weak.
But there.
“I’ve got a pulse!”
The words barely registered before Aaron was at your side again, gripping your hand as they rushed you the rest of the way to the hospital in Pearisburg. Your skin was pale beneath the arena dust, your lips tinged blue.
“Stay with me,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to your knuckles. “You don’t get to leave me too.”
The waiting room lights buzzed overhead.
Luke sat hunched forward, elbows on his knees, hat twisted in his hands. Your mother wept softly against your grandmother’s shoulder. The rodeo had emptied out in stunned silence once word spread.
Aaron stood apart from them, hands in his pockets, jaw tight. He hadn’t changed out of his blood-streaked shirt.
He could still hear you saying it.
I love you.
He had waited too long to say it back.
When the surgeon finally emerged, everyone stood at once.
“She’s alive,” the doctor said carefully. “But it was close. The horn punctured her abdomen. Severe internal bleeding. We’ve stabilized her, repaired what we could. The next twenty-four hours are critical.”
Your mother sobbed in relief. Luke closed his eyes and exhaled a shaky breath.
Aaron didn’t breathe at all until he was allowed into your room.Machines surrounded you now, steady beeping replacing the chaos of the ambulance. Tubes, wires, bandages wrapped around your midsection. Aaron pulled a chair close and sat. “You’re not allowed to scare me like that,” he murmured. He wasn’t Unit Chief Hotchner here. He wasn’t composed or controlled. He was just a man who almost lost the woman he loved. He reached for your hand carefully, avoiding IV lines.
“I’ve buried too many people,” he said quietly. “I won’t bury you.” For hours he sat there. Luke came and went. Your mother kissed your forehead and whispered prayers. But Aaron stayed.
Around 3 a.m., your fingers twitched.
His head snapped up. Your eyelids fluttered slowly, heavy, confused. “Aaron?” you croaked. He leaned forward instantly. “I’m here.”
“You look… terrible,” you whispered weakly.
A laugh broke out of him—half sob, half disbelief. “You flatlined,” he said hoarsely. “You don’t get to insult me right now.”
Memory flickered across your face. The bull. The horn. The pain.
“The ride,” you breathed. “Did I—”
“You lasted seven-point-nine seconds,” Luke’s voice said from the doorway.
You turned your head slightly. He stood there, eyes red but smiling.
“One more blink and you’d have had eight,” he added softly. You let out a faint huff of air. “Figures.” Aaron squeezed your hand.
“You don’t owe anyone anything anymore,” he said firmly. “Not your father. Not that legacy.” Your gaze shifted to him. “He wanted me to prove I was better.”
“You don’t prove that by dying,” Aaron replied. “You prove it by choosing your own life.” The words settled between you.
For the first time since the will was read, something inside you loosened.
The team returned the moment they heard.
Derek Morgan stormed into the hospital room first, stopping short when he saw how small you looked in the bed.
“You trying to give me gray hair, Pretty Girl?” he muttered, voice thick.
Spencer Reid launched into a rambling explanation about survival statistics for traumatic abdominal injuries before Jennifer Jareau gently elbowed him quiet.
Emily Prentiss kissed your temple. David Rossi stood at the foot of your bed, eyes suspiciously glossy.
“You should’ve told us,” Emily said softly.
“I know,” you admitted.
Aaron stood behind them, steady and silent—but this time, his hand never left yours.
Weeks later, once you were strong enough to walk without help, you insisted on one stop before flying back to Quantico.
The barn.
Dust floated in golden afternoon light. Your gear still hung where you’d left it—chaps, vest, helmet.
Luke leaned against the stall door.
“You don’t have to prove anything,” he said quietly.
“I know,” you replied.
You walked to the tack room, reaching into your father’s old spare work boots. The hidden bottle of Jack Daniel’s was still there.
You stared at it.
Then you set it back.
“I think,” you said slowly, “it’s time the legacy changes.”
Luke studied you. “What does that mean?”
“It means we sell To-Hell-I-Go’s line. Use the money for something better. Scholarships. Youth programs. Something that doesn’t end in ambulances.”
He smiled faintly. “Dad would argue.”
“Dad isn’t here,” you said gently. “And I almost wasn’t either.”
A strong hand slid into yours.
Aaron.
“You ready to go home?” he asked.
You looked around the barn one last time.
Pearisburg would always be part of you. The dirt. The danger. The pride.
But it wasn’t your future.
“Yeah,” you said, squeezing his hand. “I am.”
Physical therapy was brutal. Desk duty nearly drove you insane. Aaron hovered more than you liked—but you secretly loved it.
One evening, as you sat on his couch in silence, he finally spoke.
“I meant what I said,” he told you.
“About what?”
“You don’t owe the past your life.”
You studied him.
“And you?” you asked softly. “You still afraid to love someone in this job?”
He considered that.
“Yes,” he admitted. “But I’m more afraid of not loving you.”
This time, when he kissed you, there were no bulls. No wills. No impending disaster.
Just choice.
The next summer, you returned to Pearisburg—not to ride.
Not to hear the clang of the chute gate.
Not to feel the restless thunder of a bull beneath you.
Not to chase eight seconds.
You came back for something steadier for you and Arron.
The sun still baked the red dirt the same way it always had. The bleachers still creaked. The wind still carried the scent of hay and leather and summer sweat. But this time, when you stepped onto the fairgrounds, your boots didn’t feel heavy with expectation. They felt grounded.
You were there to open the first annual youth scholarship in your father’s name—a program dedicated to ranch safety and education. Not glory. Not trophies. Safety. Knowledge. The things he used to preach between long days and longer nights.
You stood at a simple wooden podium near the arena fence. The same fence you once leaned against as a kid, watching riders nod for the gate. Only now, the crowd wasn’t waiting for a buzzer. They were waiting for you.
Your mother cried before you even began speaking. Quiet tears at first—then the kind she didn’t bother hiding. Your grandmother squeezed your hand proudly, her fingers still strong despite the years. Luke stood just off to the side, hat tipped back, clapping you on the shoulder like he always had—steady, wordless support. And then there was Arron looking at you with nothing but admiration.
You cleared your throat.
You talked about your father—not just the rider, but the man. The one who double-checked saddle straps. The one who stayed late to teach kids how to read the mood of an animal before ever climbing on. The one who believed that toughness meant coming home in one piece.
You told them strength isn’t just hanging on.
It’s knowing when to let go.
The scholarship would fund safety clinics. Proper equipment. Mentorship programs. It would give young riders something you hadn’t always had—permission to value their lives as much as their courage.
When you finished, the applause didn’t roar like rodeo crowds do.
It rose warm and full and lasting.
Later, as the sun dipped low and the arena lights flickered on, someone nudged you with a grin and asked, “So… you ever gonna ride again?” There stood Arron dressed in blue jeans, a red button up, and dirty boots.
You looked out at the chute gates. At the restless animals shifting in their pens. At the dust lifting in soft spirals across the ground.
And you smiled.
“I already did,” you said.
Because eight seconds was never the measure of your strength.
It wasn’t the buckle.
It wasn’t the crowd.
It wasn’t the fall.
Surviving was.
Walking away when your bones ached for something familiar—that was strength.
Building something that would outlast applause—that was strength.
Choosing love over legacy. Safety over spectacle. Family over fear—that was strength.
The announcer’s voice carried across the arena. A bull rider nodded for the gate. The buzzer sounded eight seconds later, and the crowd erupted.
But you didn’t flinch.
You stood beside your mother. Your grandmother. Luke. As well as your Boyfriend. The new family you had built—through pain, through loss, through choice.
The dust still rose.
The gate still swung open.
The world still spun wild and dangerous.
But this time—
You chose to stay.
And that was the bravest ride of all.