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Reid was in the hotel room shower while Hotch reviewed case files. The clock was pushing a grueling 3:00 AM, but Hotch was determined to see something they may have missed.
Seven young gay men were all killed down the street from a gay bar. It started off with exactly three months in between each kill. Then it was two. Then one. With that pattern and the time it took for the case to find them, they had a mere five days before the next kill.
They had gone to the hotel first, having landed at midnight. They would head to the police station first thing in the morning.
Hotch and Reid had been sharing a room on cases for nearly a year and no one on the team seemed to mind - or notice. For a group of the best profilers in the country, they certainly were blind to Reid and Hotch.
The two had thought the group would catch on to their relationship only a month in, but no one did. No one noticed a thing. Their one year anniversary was this week and they decided they would start pushing their team in the right direction. They were just going to plain tell them at one point, but they decided against it. They thought it would be fun to let the team find out on their own.
“Hey, Sweetheart,” Hotch smiled at Reid who was drying his hair with a towel near the bed. Hotch was sitting at the desk in the corner of the room with the lamp on. Reid tossed his towel towards the bathroom door and walked over to Hotch, slotting himself onto his boyfriend’s lap, looking at the files on the desk. One of Hotch’s hands dropped to hold Reid’s waist and keep him steady, seeing as he was balancing on one of Hotch’s thighs.
“The intervals are decreasing geometrically," Reid murmured, his fingers tracing the line of text on the file in front of them. He shifted slightly, the movement casual yet intimate, his thigh pressing firmly against Hotch’s. “If we assume the killer is accelerating the timeline based on the previous gaps - three months, two months, one month - we aren’t just looking at five days, Hotch. We’re looking at a compulsion that’s feeding on the anticipation.”
Hotch sighed, the sound low and steady, a grounding vibration beneath Reid. He didn’t look up from the report immediately, his hand tightening just enough on Reid’s waist to draw him an inch closer. Reid leaned back into Hotch’s chest.
“He wants the pressure,” Hotch replied, his voice dropping into the familiar, authoritative rasp he usually reserved for briefings. “He knows we’re coming. In fact, he’s probably counting on it. He’s not hiding the pattern anymore; he’s flaunting it.”
Reid looked back at Hotch, catching the way his brow was furrowed - a tell-tale sign of the wheel turning. He leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper that felt like a shared secret in the dark. “If we go to the station tomorrow and present this, they’ll want to set up a perimeter around the bar. That’s what he wants, isn’t it? To watch us scramble while he chooses a target in the chaos.”
Hotch finally broke his gaze from the files to meet Reid’s. For a second, the analytical distance of the BAU agent faded, replaced by something much warmer, much more possessive. “Then we don’t play by his rules. We don’t go to the station first.” He reached up, his thumb brushing Reid’s cheekbone. “We go to the scene,” Hotch continued, his eyes locked on Reid’s. “We look for the cracks he hasn’t accounted for. And Spence?”
“Yeah?”
“Let’s dial things up now,” Hotch’s smile was small, barely there, but it reached his eyes. “Tomorrow evening, at the precinct, I’m not going to bother sitting on the opposite side of the table during the briefing.”
Reid felt a flush creep up his neck, a thrill that had nothing to do with the case and everything to do with the man holding him. “The team is going to be incredibly confused,” he noted, though he was already leaning into Hotch’s touch.
“Let them be,” Hotch murmured, pulling Reid just a bit closer until space between them was non-existent. “It’s about time they start paying attention.”
-
The sharp rhythmic rap of knuckles against the hotel door cut through the quiet, morning air of the room.
Hotch, back seated at the desk after only managing an hour of sleep, stiffened. He glanced toward the bed, where Reid had just begun to stir, his eyes blinking open, hazy with sleep. The movement was a stark reminder of their reality: the single, king-sized bed that had been the focal point of the room, and the fact that they hadn’t bothered to request a second.
“Aaron? Kid? You in there? It’s 7:00,” Rossi’s voice drifted through the wood, muffled but unmistakably impatient. “We’ve got to get to the scene.”
Hotch’s eyes locked onto Reid’s, a silent question passing between them. Reid pushed himself up, his hair a mess of unruly curls, and gave a small nod.
Hotch stood up, smoothing his shirt, and strode to the door. He swung it open, his expression carefully composed, though his pulse was drumming a frantic, betraying rhythm against his ribs.
David Rossi stood in the hallway, clutching a lukewarm cup of hotel coffee. His eyes flickered past Hotch, tracking into the room - straight to the single bed.
Rossi’s gaze lingered for a heartbeat - just a fraction of a second too long - before he snapped his focus back to Hotch’s face. A slow, knowing tilt of his mouth suggested he was piecing together a three year-old puzzle that had finally clicked into place.
“One bed, Aaron?” Rossi asked, his voice deceptively smooth, holding none of the usual urgency of the morning briefing. “I thought you were a stickler for protocol.”
Hotch didn’t flinch, standing firm in the doorway. “We made do, Dave.”
Rossi chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that didn’t quite reach his eyes, which were still dancing with a mix of surprise and a sudden, sharp clarity. “Right. ‘Made do.’ Well, stop dragging your feet. Reid looks like he needs about three more espressos before he’s ready to profile a sociopath.”
He turned on his heel and started walking toward the elevators, calling back over his shoulder, “And tell him to hurry up. I don’t want to be the one to explain to the local sheriff why the BAU’s lead profilers are late.”
Reid emerged from the room a moment later, catching the tail end of the interaction, stepping into Hotch’s space. “Do you think he knows?” There was a smile tugging at both of their mouths. Maybe this would be easier than they thought.
Hotch closed the door, his hand finding the small of Reid’s back for a fleeting, grounding moment before they began their walk toward the elevators. He’s the best profiler on the team, Spence. He definitely knows.”
-
The crime scene was a chaotic blend of police tape, flashing blue lights, and the heavy scent of rain hitting the asphalt. The team was spread out, but Hotch and Reid remained a fixed point in the center of the activity.
It was almost imperceptible to the untrained eye, but it was there - a gravity that kept them anchored to one another. When Hotch shifted to look at a piece of evidence, Reid automatically stepped into the space Hotch vacated, anticipating his movement before it happened. When Reid frowned at a blood spatter pattern, Hotch didn’t need to ask; he simply leaned in, murmuring a low-voiced question that had Reid nodding in immediate, shorthand understanding.
Derek Morgan stood a few yards away, his arms crossed over his chest, watching the scene unfold. His brow knit together as he caught a look that passed between them - something softer, more private than the standard professional deference he was used to seeing.
“Reid,” Hotch called out, his voice cutting through the ambient noise of the street. He didn’t look back, already walking toward the outskirts of the scene where the shadows were deeper. “Walk with me.”
Reid moved instantly, falling into step beside him. They didn’t walk like partners; they walked like two halves of a whole, their shoulders brushing with a familiarity that made Morgan’s eyes narrow.
As they moved away, talking in low, quick bursts of dialogue, Morgan didn’t turn back to the evidence. Instead, he tracked the way Hotch held his hand hovering near the small of Reid’s back, not quite touching, but close enough to be protective. He watched the way Reid angled his body entirely toward Hotch, shutting out the rest of the world.
Morgan’s jaw tightened, a slow dawning realization hitting him with the force of a physical blow. He looked over toward the command center, where Rossi was standing. Rossi met his gaze, and for a split second, the older man’s expression was unreadable - then, he gave a tiny, almost invisible shrug, as if to say, finally.
Morgan turned back to look at the two men disappearing into the darkness of the alleyway, his mind racing to reconcile the image of his stoic, buttoned-up brilliant doctor acting like… well, like they were in a world of their own.
“Son of a…” Morgan muttered under his breath, his eyes wide, watching the spot where they vanished, his perspective on the entire team dynamic shifting in real time.
Morgan didn’t wait for them to finish their circle back to the main group. He caught Rossi by the arm, steering him a few paces away toward a cluster of parked squad cars, out of earshot of the younger agents.
“Rossi,” Morgan hissed, his eyes flicking back toward Hotch and Reid. “Tell me I’m losing my mind. Tell me I’ve spent too much time in the field and I’m seeing things.”
Rossi didn’t even look in the direction Morgan was pointing. He just crossed his arms, leaning comfortably against the side of a cruiser, his expression smug. “And what exactly do you think you’re seeing, Morgan?”
“They way they’re looking at each other! The way they move… it’s like they’re magnets.” Morgan ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I saw the hotel room this morning. One bed, Rossi. One. And now this? They aren’t just partners. It’s.. it’s everything.”
Rossi finally let out a soft, knowing laugh. He patted Morgan on the shoulder, his tone patronizing in that way only Rossi could pull off.
“You’re a little late to the party, kid,” Rossi said calmly.
Morgan’s jaw dropped. “You knew? How long? And why the hell didn’t you say anything?”
“Because it’s not my story to tell,” Rossi replied, though his eyes sparkled with amusement. “I had to take over as Reid’s supervisor a while back when they first started dating.” A pause, “And watching the two of them try to keep their ‘professional’ masks on while they’re practicality vibrating with domesticity is the most entertainment I’ve had on a case in years.” But Morgan thinks that they aren’t trying to hide it. Not anymore at least. This domesticity they shared started only today and seemed to have come out of nowhere.
Rossi pushed himself off the car, heading back toward the center of the crime scene as the team began to pack up. He tossed one last comment over his shoulder, his voice dropping just enough to make it sound like a secret arrangement.
“If you want the full breakdown, Morgan, we can talk back in our hotel room later.”
Morgan stood frozen for a second, watching Rossi walk away, his mind still reeling. He looked back toward Reid and Hotch, who were now walking toward the SUVs. For the first time, he wasn’t looking at them as his boss and his teammate; he was looking at them as two men in love, and the realization made the rest of the world seem suddenly very quiet.
Garcia had a secret she wasn’t allowed to share. And she was not good with keeping secrets from her BAU family. It was her job to keep them safe via surveillance and she took that job very seriously. But that also means that she stumbled onto a video feed she ended up erasing five months prior.
Reid had his hand wrapped delicately around Hotch’s wrist as he pulled the taller man into an alleyway. Both of them glanced around their surroundings for a moment as Hotch was slowly back into the wall, Reid caging him in. Entering his space. Cupping his jaw. Hotch had slotted his hands over Reid’s waist, gripping them firmly as Reid smashed their lips together.
Garcia shut the tape off after that and just deleted an hour's worth of footage, deciding to never speak a word of what she saw. The two of them were just so professional at work, it made her heart hurt for them. That they felt like they couldn’t toss out an occasional flirt or even sit next to each other.
She watched them now, through the precinct's camera feed on one of her side monitors. She saw the way Hotch’s hand barely grazed Reid’s shoulder as he leaned in to whisper something, and how Reid didn’t even flinch, just tilted his head in perfect, unconscious sync.
They aren’t hiding, she realizes and cracks a wide smile. They’re done.
A surge of protective, maternal warmth filled her. She pulled up a secure, private communication line, her fingers flying across the keys to create a digital ‘dead zone’ around their next few hours. If they were finally going to be ‘them’ in the light, she was going to be the one to make sure no one else - no curious local police or prying eyes - stumbled onto it until they were ready.
She brought up the hotel floor plan on her main screen, her eyes narrowing as she mentally mapped out the security blind spots for the rest of their stay. She was their guardian, their secret-keeper, and if they were finally stepping out of the shadows, she would be the first one to clear the path.
She leaned back in her chair, a mischievous twinkle in her eye, and whispered to her screens, “About time, you two.”
The station was thick with the scent of stale coffee and desperation. Two more bodies had been found - the killer hadn’t just accelerated the timeline; he had doubled his efficiency, turning the geometric progression into a chaotic, lethal spike.
Sheriff Miller was pacing the bullpen, his face a molted, angry red. When he caught sight of the team, he didn’t head for Hotch, his usual point of contact. Instead, he made a beeline for Reid, who was standing near a whiteboard, his marker hovering over a sequence of numbers he’d been analyzing for the last twenty minutes.
“You,” Miller barked, slamming a hand down on the desk next to Reid. “You’re the ‘genius’, right? The kid with the fancy degrees who’s supposed to be able to predict the future?”
Reid didn’t flinch, though his grip on the marker tightened. “I’m a profiler, Sheriff. I interpret behavioral patterns. I don’t predict the future.”
“Is that a fact?” Miller sneered, stepping into Reid’s personal space. He gestured aggressively toward the map behind him, marked with red pins. “Because all I see is a map full of dead kids while you sit there playing with numbers. What good is that big brain of yours if it can’t tell us where the next one drops? Maybe you’re not as smart as you think. Maybe this is all just a game for you, isn’t it? A little puzzle to solve while real people bleed out.”
The bullpen went silent. JJ stopped typing; Prentiss looked up from her files, her expression sharpening into something dangerous.
Reid stood his ground, his voice cool and steady, though a faint pulse throbbed at his temple. “The pattern changed because the unsub is losing control, Sheriff. He’s reacting to our presence. If you’d let us finish the analysis instead of interfering-”
“Don’t you talk to me about interference!” Miller roared, his finger jabbing at Reid’s chest. “I’m the one who has to answer to families. I’m the one who has to watch this town tear itself apart. I don’t need a boy in a suit acting like he’s the smartest guy in the room when he clearly hasn’t gotten a clue!”
Before Reid could reply - before the tension in the room could reach a breaking point - a shadow fell over the desk.
Aaron Hotchner stepped into the space between them. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t even look at the Sheriff at first. He simply placed a firm, immovable hand on the back of Reid’s chair, pulling the younger man a fraction of an inch behind him.
The movement was subtle, but the implication was absolute: Touch him again, and you’ll have to go through me.
Hotch turned his gaze to Miller. It wasn’t his ‘agent’ look; it was a look of a man who had reached the absolute limit. His eyes were cold, devoid of the professional distance he usually maintained.
“Sheriff,” Hotch said, his voice dropping into a register that was deathly quiet. “Dr. Reid is the most capable profiler in this building. He is currently the only reason we are even close to catching this man.”
Hotch took a slow, deliberate step forward, forcing the Sheriff to retreat. “If you ever speak to him - or anyone on my team - with that kind of disrespect again, you will find yourself answering to the FBI Director about why you obstructed a federal investigation. Am I clear?”
Miller blinked, his bravado momentarily shattered by the sheer, unyielding weight of Hotch’s authority. He looked at the two of them - at Reid, who had stepped out from behind Hotch but remained close enough that their shoulders were nearly touching, and at Hotch, whose hand remained possessively, protectively, on the back of Reid’s chair.
The Sheriff grunted, scowled, and turned on his heel, muttering under his breath as he stomped toward his office.
Reid let out a slow breath as he looked up at Hotch, finding his boyfriend’s jaw set in a hard line. Reid wanted to run a finger along his stubble to smooth the tension.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Reid whispered, though he didn’t move away.
Hotch’s eyes softened, his thumb brushing against Reid’s wrist, his touch lingering. “Yes,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only Reid could hear it. “I did.”
JJ’s heels clicked sharply against the floor as she navigated the space, her eyes never leaving Morgan and Rossi. They were standing near the evidence board, completely still, observing the aftermath of the scene with an air of calm that was, quite frankly, unsettling.
She slipped into their orbit, pulling a folder tight against her chest as a prop. “I have no idea what just happened,” she whispered, keeping her voice low. “I mean, I know the Sheriff was being a jerk, but Hotch? He doesn’t lose his cool like that. He’s the king of de-escalation, and he just… tore that guy a new one.”
She glanced over at the two men in question. Hotch was now standing by the coffee station, his back to the room, while Reid was near the printer. They were positioned in a way to always be able to see each other out of their peripheral vision.
JJ turned her gaze back to Morgan and Rossi, her brows furrowing. “You guys don’t look surprised. At all.”
Rossi let out a dry, knowing huff, his gaze lingering on the way Hotch was watching Reid from across the room. He didn’t look at JJ directly, instead focusing on the coffee machine as if it were the most interesting thing in the room. “Surprise implies something unexpecting, Jennifer.”
Morgan just leaned back against the wall, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He looked at JJ, then back at his boss, his expression shifting into something softer, almost proud.
“Let’s just say,” Morgan murmured, his voice barely a breath, “that the ‘internal dynamic’ of this team has been undergoing some… structural renovations lately.”
JJ’s eyes widened, her sharp profiler’s mind finally connecting the dots - the hotel arrangements, the shared glances, the uncharacteristic protectiveness. “Renovations?” she repeated, her voice dropping to a shocker whisper. “You’re kidding. Them? The whole time?”
“They’ve been a lot more careful than you think,” Rossi added, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. “But even the best of us hit a breaking point where the mask just gets too heavy to carry.”
JJ looked back at Hotch and Reid. The silence between them felt different now - not empty, but full. “How long?”
“Long enough,” Morgan said, pushing off the wall. “And honestly? Watching the way he just stood up for the kid? It’s about time.”
JJ stood frozen, the realization washing over her. She looked at her two most senior teammates, then back to the couple. “Wait,” she breathed, a sudden realization hitting her. “Is this why you two have been so weirdly quiet about this?”
Rossi just winked, turning to walk toward his temporary desk space. “Some of us enjoy the show, Jennifer. You’ll catch up.”
They were spread out in a calculated grid, a net woven of federal badges and local law enforcement, but it was the quiet coordination of the team that finally tightened the noose.
Hotch and Reid had synchronized their movements perfectly with the rest of the unit. JJ and Prentiss held the northern perimeter, their eyes scanning the dark, flooded alleyways, while Morgan and Rossi moved in from the south, their presence forcing the unsub toward the very trap Hotch had predicted.
“He’s running,” Morgan signaled over the comms, his voice sharp. “He’s heading toward the maintenance tunnel.”
“He’s not,” Reid’s voice chimed in, calm and analytical. “He’s trapped. The maintenance gate is locked from the inside. He’ll double back to the secondary exit.”
Hotch, standing near that very exit, didn’t hesitate. He gestured for the team to tighten the formation, not giving a single direct order that would expose their personal dynamic, just the standard, efficient flow of a well-oiled machine.
When the unsub bolted from the shadows of the power station, it wasn’t just Hotch who emerged - it was the whole team. Prentiss and JJ blocked his path, their weapons drawn, forcing him to pivot right into Morgan’s reach. The struggle was short and brutal, a flurry of motion ending in the unsub pinned to the wet concrete by Morgan, while Rossi secured the scene.
Hotch walked over, his face a mask of professional stoicism, and took over the suspect, his movements brisk and detached. He didn’t look at Reid. He didn’t acknowledge him beyond a quick, tactical nod that could have been directed at anyone.
Reid, standing a few feet back, kept his focus on his tablet, logging the time and location of the arrest, his expression as neutral as his supervisor’s. They didn’t want local police to know they were together before their whole team did. And they were starting to suspect a few of them knew already but didn’t want to speak up. They’d laugh about this later in Hotch’s bed once they jet home.
As the local police arrived to take custody, the team began to pack up. There were no shared glances, no subtle touches. They were the BAU - the best, the most professional, and apparently, the most impenetrable team in the Bureau.
“Good work today,” Hotch said, his voice carrying just enough for the team to hear. He turned toward the SUV, leaving enough space for Rossi to walk beside him, effectively breaking any potential proximity between himself and Reid.
Morgan stood by the passenger door, watching the two of them. He saw the way Reid lingered for a split second, a flicker of something in his eyes - a brief moment of connection that was instantly shuttered.
It was almost painful to watch.
Emily Prentiss stepped through the doorway of the plane, expecting the familiar, bustling energy of the team preparing for takeoff. Instead, the cabin was eerily quiet.
Her eyes drifted to the leather sofa at the rear of the cabin. Reid was stretched out, his head resting against his folded up cardigan, his eyes closed in exhaustion - the kind of bone-deep fatigue that only came after seventy-two hours of chasing a killer.
Hotch was there, crouched on the floor in front of the couch, his frame blocking the aisle. He was leaning in close, his voice a low, rhythmic murmur that didn’t carry, his hand resting securely on Reid’s ankle as if to anchor him to the spot. It was a domestic picture, intimate and unguarded, that felt entirely out of place in the sterile environment of the government jet.
Prentiss froze for a heartbeat. Her breath hitched, not from surprise, but from the sudden, sharp clarity of what she was witnessing. She didn’t look away, but she didn’t step closer, either. She just moved to the row behind them, sliding into her seat with practiced, quiet grace.
A moment later, as the others started filing into the plane, Hotch stood up. He didn’t glance around to see if anyone had been watching; he simply smoothed his tie, his expression returning to the calm, impenetrable mask of the unit chief. He walked past her, his gaze meeting hers for a fraction of a second - a cool, steady acknowledgement - before he took his own seat nearby.
He didn’t speak. He just sat, his hands folded in his lap, his eyes fixed on the blank screen of his tablet. But Prentiss noticed the way he shifted his position, angling himself just enough so that he could keep a clear line of sight on Reid, ensuring he remained undisturbed while he slept.
The secret hadn’t been voiced, but it was sitting right there in the cabin, heavy and undeniable. She leaned her head back against the seat, a small, knowing smile touching her lips. Well, she thought, that explains everything.
-
Hotch jolted awake, his heart hammering against his ribs in the familiar rhythm of a combat reflex. For a split second, he was disoriented, his senses primed for a threat that didn’t exist. He braced himself, his hands instinctively pushing off the floor, before the familiar hum of the jet’s engine and the sight of the empty seats grounded him.
Then, he felt the weight of them.
The entire team - Morgan, JJ, Prentiss, and Rossi - was sitting in the forward rows, their heads turned back toward the couch. The silence was absolute. No one was typing, no one was reading; they were all simply watching.
Hotch’s gaze dropped. His back was pressed against the leather of the couch, and just above him, tucked into the curve of his shoulder, was Reid. Reid was deeply asleep, his breathing soft and even, completely oblivious to the fact that he had been resting his head on Hotch’s shoulder for the duration of the flight.
Hotch’s jacket, which he clearly removed and draped over Reid to ward off the chill of the cabin, had slipped slightly, revealing the way Reid had curled his fingers into the fabric of Hotch’s shirt. They were huddled together in the tight, cramped space between the couch and the floor, a picture of domesticity that was impossible to misinterpret. Mission accomplished.
Hotch didn’t pull away. He didn’t jump up. He simply froze, his eyes scanning the faces of the team.
Morgan had a wide grin plastered on his face. Prentiss looked less like she had discovered a secret and more like she was watching a movie she’d been waiting for the ending of. JJ’s eyes were wide, darting from Reid to Hotch. While Rossi sat with his legs crossed, his arms folded, wearing the same smug, knowing look he’d had at the crime scene.
Hotch looked down at Reid again. His hand, which had been resting on his own knee, instinctively shifted to brush a stray curl away from Reid’s forehead. It was a reflex, tender and entirely too intimate for the Unit Chief to display in front of his subordinates.
Hotch cleared his throat, his voice raspy from sleep but steady. He didn’t try to move, didn’t try to pretend he hadn’t been acting as a human pillow for the last six hours.
“How long have we been on the ground?” he asked, his voice calm, even as a faint, tell-tale flush climbed his neck. The team had been asleep when he migrated to the floor, figuring he would wake up first like always. But he supposes there was no better way to do this than let them catch him and Reid acting as a couple.
Rossi was the one to break the silence, his voice dripping with amusement as he leaned back. “Long enough, Aaron. Long enough.”
Hotch lay against the headboard, his bare chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. Reid was tucked against him, his head resting squarely over Hotch’s heart. His fingers were splayed across Hotch’s torso, tracing the line of his ribs, a habit he’d developed over the last year, even when they were trying so hard to keep their hands to themselves.
“They really didn’t know,” Reid murmured, his voice thick with sleep and wonder. He tilted his head back, looking up at Hotch. “For a group of the best profilers in the country, they really were incredibly oblivious.”
Hotch chuckled, a low vibration that Reid felt more than heard. He shifted, his arm tightening around Reid’s shoulders to pull him closer, his chin resting on top of the younger man’s head.
“I think ‘oblivious’ is a generous term,” Hotch countered, his voice teasing. “I think they just couldn’t imagine the Unit Chief and Boy Wonder as anything other than colleagues- friends at best. We played out parts too well.”
Reid let out a soft, huffed laugh, snuggling deeper into the crook of Hotch’s arm. “Morgan’s face when he realized, though. I think that was worth a year of hiding. It was like watching his entire worldview shift in real-time.”
“He was the most vocal,” Hotch agreed, tracing slow, comforting circles on Reid’s arm with his thumb. “But did you see Dave? He’s been waiting for us to stop dancing around it since we started.”
“It feels different, though,” Reid said, his tone turning serious, contemplative. “It feels… lighter. Knowing we don’t have to walk five feet apart in the halls anymore. Knowing I don’t have to pretend I’m not worried about you when we’re out in the field.”
Hotch paused, his hand moving to cup the back of Reid’s neck, his touch possessive and grounding. He leaned down, brushing his lips against Reid’s temple.
“We don’t have to pretend anymore,” Hotch affirmed, his voice dropping into that quiet, intimate rasp he saved only for these moments. “The secret is out. Now, we just get to be us. We filed the appropriate paperwork when we first started dating. The team officially knows…”
Reid turned his head, looking into Hotch’s eyes, a shy, genuine smile spreading across his face. He felt the warmth of Hotch’s skin against his own, the absence of the walls they had maintained for so long.
“I think I like this,” Reid whispered, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to Hotch’s jaw. “I think I like this a lot.”
Hotch pulled the covers up, shielding them from the cooling night air, and pulled Reid into his chest, effectively ending the conversation. “Good,” he murmured, closing his eyes. “Because I don't plan on going back to the way it was.”
The office felt warmer than usual, the heavy blinds drawn tight against the fluorescent glare of the bullpen. When JJ knocked and stepped inside, the usual brisk, professional chill she associated with Hotch’s sanctuary was entirely absent.
She stopped mid-stride, a small, knowing smile pulling at the corners of her mouth as the scene registered.
Reid was sitting on the edge of the mahogany desk, his long legs folded criss-cross, completely at ease. He was mid-laugh, holding a pair of chopsticks, while Hotch - who had clearly abandoned his usual structured posture - was leaned back in his chair, a container of Thai takeout balanced on his own lap. They looked domestic, unhurried, and blissfully unaware of the outside world.
When the door clicked, both men looked up. There was no scramble to straighten ties, no hurried move to put distance between them. They just looked at her, their expressions relaxed.
“Sorry to interrupt,” JJ said, her voice soft, not wanting to break the gentle atmosphere. She held up a file in her hand. “But I have a new case that isn’t going to wait. It’s a string of disappearances in Seattle - three in the last two weeks, all matching a specific profile.”
Hotch set his food aside, his hand lingering for a heartbeat on Reid’s knee before he stood up, his professional mask sliding back into place, though the warmth in his eyes remained. “Seattle,” he repeated, his tone focused and efficient.
Reid slid off the desk, his movements fluid, falling into step beside Hotch as they both turned their attention to the file JJ held.
“I’ll start pulling the regional reports,” Reid said, his mind already shifting gears.
As they huddled together over the desk, reviewing the initial details, JJ felt a surge of genuine affection for them. They were still the best team in the bureau, but now, they had the added benefit of being a team that actually looked happy.
“I’ll have the jet prepped for departure in an hour,” JJ added, turning to head back out. She paused at the door, glancing back. “And, for what it’s worth… I’m glad you two aren’t hiding it anymore.”
She didn’t wait for a response, stepping out into the bullpen and letting the door click shut behind her leaving them to their work - to each other.