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The air in the back of the ambulance was thick with the copper tang of blood. Spencer’s hands, shaking despite his best efforts to remain professional, were interlaced tightly with one of Aaron’s hands, his eyes staring at the bloodied gauze on the side of Aaron’s neck. Every time the vehicle came in contact with a bump, Spencer felt a sharp, sickening jolt in his chest.
“Stay with me, Aaron,” Spencer whispered, his voice cracking. He moved his gaze to Aaron’s face, which had lost all its usual composed severity, replaced by a ghastly, pale fragility. “Just breathe. The paramedics are doing everything they can. You’re going to be okay.”
Aaron’s eyes, usually sharp and calculating, were unfocused, tracking the rhythmic flashing of the overhead lights. His breath came in ragged, wet hitches that made Spencer’s own throat tight with panic.
“Spence,” Aaron rasped, the word barely a breath. A tremor went through his body, and his hand - the one not currently being held by Spencer’s - spasmed, fingers brushing weakly against Spencer’s face before falling limp.
“I’m here,” Spencer said quickly, leaning closer, ignoring the EMT who was busy stabilizing the fluid drip. “I’m right here. Don’t try to talk, save your strength.”
Aaron’s eyelids fluttered, a ghost of a frown creasing his brow as the medication began to take hold, turning his expression dazed and heavy. “Too much,” he mumbled, his head lolling slightly to the side. “It’s moving too fast- all of it… too fast.” a pause, “tell them… tell the team..”
“Tell them what?” Spencer asked, his heart hammering against his ribs as he gripped Aaron’s hand tighter.
Aaron’s gaze drifted, his pupils blown wide as the heavy sedatives began to pull him under. He looked up at Spencer, his expression softening into something devastatingly vulnerable.
“They don’t know,” Aaron murmured, a small, pained smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “They don’t know about us. About how much… how much I need you to stay, baby. Don’t let them… don’t let them take you away from me too.”
Spencer felt the blood drain from his face, the sound of the siren outside suddenly muffled by the roar of blood in his own ears. He glanced at the EMT, who was intensely focused on his monitor, but the secret - so carefully guarded for so long - felt like it was screaming in the small, confined space.
“Aaron, hush,” Spencer whispered, his voice trembling as he leaned down, his forehead almost touching Aaron’s. “Just focus on me. Just stay with me.”
-
The hospital waiting room was a sensory nightmare: the persistent, rhythmic hum of the HVAC system, the harsh fluorescent glare, and the suffocating scent of industrial-strength floor wax. Spencer paced the linoleum corridor, his movements jagged and restless. His right hand was buried deep in the pocket of his cardigan, his left hand was holding the cool circle of the silver engagement ring that hung on a chain around his neck.
The team had never known Spencer to wear a necklace. They couldn’t even see what he was holding so tightly that his knuckles were white. They were all sharing glances between each other.
Spencer couldn’t stand the way the team was sitting - huddled together in molded plastic chairs, their quiet, somber murmurs feeling like a pressing weight on his lungs. Every time Morgan glanced his way, or JJ offered a sympathetic, tight-lipped smile, a fresh spike of panic lanced through Spencer.
“Spencer, hey,” Dave said, his voice low and weary. He patted the empty seat next to him. “Sit down, kid. You’re going to wear a hole in the floor. Aaron’s in the best hands they’ve got; the surgeon said it was a clean exit, just a matter of stopping the internal bleeding. You need to breathe.”
Spencer stopped mid-stride. The suggestion felt like an accusation, a demand that he stop moving and actually feel the ground falling out from beneath him. His chest heaved, a sharp, ragged sound that drew immediate attention.
“I fucking can’t!” Spencer snapped, his voice brittle and sharper than he intended. The collective silence that followed was deafening. He saw the flicker of surprise on Emily’s face, the way Penelope’s hands stilled over her laptop.
He clutched the ring tighter, the metal biting into his palm. The secret, already leaking from Aaron’s lips back in the ambulance, felt like it was humming in his own blood.
“I’m sorry,” Spencer mumbled, his gaze fixed firmly on a random point on the wall. He couldn’t look at them - not yet, not while they were still waiting to see if Aaron would even wake up to deal with the fallout. “I… I just need some air. I can’t be in here.”
Without waiting for a response, he pivoted and walked toward the automatic doors, his shoulders hunched as he pushed his way out into the cool, biting night air, desperate to be anywhere else but under their observant eyes.
-
An hour had passed, and the silence from the surgery wing was becoming unbearable.
“He shouldn’t be out there alone,” JJ said, her brow furrowed as she looked toward the automatic sliding doors. She had been checking her watch every few minutes. “It’s cold, and he’s clearly in shock. He wasn’t even wearing a jacket when we got here.”
Derek stood up, his own anxiety mirroring hers. He had been trying to project an air of calm for the group, but his jaw was tight. “He’s been gone for a long time. I’m going to go check on him.”
“We all are,” Emily added, already on her feet.
As they walked toward the exit, they exchanged uneasy glances. It wasn’t like Spencer to be this unreachable, this volatile. They had seen him distressed before - they were a team that dealt with trauma daily - but this felt different. It was frantic, unnerving.
“Maybe he just needs space to process,” Dave murmured, though he didn’t look convinced. “Aaron is the unit chief. He’s the anchor. When the anchor is threatened, it’s understandable that the team feels the instability. But…” He trailed off, his gaze drifting toward the heavy glass doors. “Spencer is taking this harder than anyone. It’s almost like he’s mourning.”
They pushed through the doors into the night, the air outside sharp and biting. THey scanned the small patio area, and there he was.
Spencer was standing near the edge of the brick perimeter, his back to them. He wasn’t pacing anymore; he was perfectly still, staring out into the dark parking lot. His shoulders were pulled tight toward his ears, and even from a distance, they could see the jagged, uneven rise and fall of his chest.
Derek slowed his pace, his voice dropping to a gentle, cautious pitch. “Spence? Pretty Boy?”
Spencer didn’t turn around. He didn’t even flinch. He just stood there, his hand wrapped around the ring hanging from his neck, grounding himself in the only connection he had left to the man currently fighting for his life on an operating table.
“He’s going to make it, kid,” Derek said, stepping closer, though he kept a respectful distance. “You know how stubborn Hotch is. He wouldn’t dare leave us, especially now.”
Spencer finally turned, and the expression on his face shattered the team’s lingering confusion. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and filled with a raw, agonizing terror that went so far beyond professional concern. It was a grief so profound it seemed to vibrate in the air between them - a look of utter, singular devastation that it forced them all to stop dead in their tracks.
“He has to,” Spencer whispered, his voice sounding like broken glass. “He promised.” He tucked the ring back into his shirt.
It was the next day and everyone had gone to get rest by the time the sun had come up. Spencer had stayed right in the waiting room until he was allowed into Aaron’s room. Aaron was still sleeping, still under the effects of anesthesia, and Reid was determined to stay awake the entire time. Either until Aaron woke up or until the team arrived.
The hospital room was dim, illuminated only by the rhythmic, soft glow of the cardiac monitor and the harsh, sterile light bleeding in from the hallway. When the door finally creaked open, the team expected to find a sterile, clinical environment. What they found instead felt deeply, achingly domestic.
Spencer was curled up into a hard-backed plastic chair that had been dragged flush against the side of the hospital bed Aaron was sleeping on. His head was pillowed on the edge of the mattress near Aaron’s shoulder, his arms tucked firmly beneath him as if he were trying to occupy as little space as possible but refusing to be anywhere else. He was sound asleep, his breathing deep and synched with the slow, steady hum of the oxygen machine.
The team stood in the doorway, a group of weary, bruised, and confused people. They had been preparing for pacing, for frantic questions, for more of the raw, jagged grief they had seen 6 hours prior.
Instead, they saw the Unit Chief - the man who usually held himself with rigid, armor-plated control - looking impossibly small in the oversized hospital gown with oxygen being supplied through his nose. And there was Spencer, one of his hands reaching up to rest lightly, almost instinctively, on the fabric covering Aaron’s chest.
“He’s been here the whole time,” Penelope whispered, her hand flying to her mouth, her eyes shimmering.
Derek stepped forward, his boots making no sound. He stopped a few feet from the bed, his brow furrowing as he took in the sight. He had expected Spencer to be on the verge of a breakdown, but there was something about the way the younger man was anchored to Aaron - the way his fingers were splayed possessively over the rise and fall of Aaron’s chest - that felt less like grief and more like a tether.
Dave stood slightly behind them, his gaze sharp, sweeping over the scene. He noted the way Aaron’s own hand, though bandaged and IV-laden, was tucked near the mattress edge, as if he had been reaching for Spencer even in his semi-conscious state.
“He’s exhausted,” Emily murmured, her voice tight. “He hasn’t slept in nearly seventy-two hours.”
They moved closer, a collective, silent decision to respect the boundary that had been drawn in the center of the room. The air was heavy, not with the sterile smell of the hospital, but with a quiet, suffocating intensity they didn’t have names for yet.
Spencer shifted in his sleep, a soft, involuntary sound escaping him - a sigh that sounded like relief. He didn’t wake up, but he pressed his cheek closer to the mattress, his fingers tightening just a fraction against Aaron’s gown.
The team exchanged a series of lingering, baffled looks. They were looking at a puzzle with missing pieces, a scene that defied their understanding of both men. No one spoke. They simply stood there in the quiet dark, keeping vigil over the two of them, unsure where the team’s boundaries ended and something else began.
Aaron’s eyes snapped open, his pupils blown wide and unfocused as the haze of the heavy sedatives fought against a surging, instinctual panic. He thrashed slightly, the hospital bed groaning under his movement, the monitors beginning to chime a frantic warning as his heart rate spiked.
“Aaron, hey, look at me!” Dave was the first to move, stepping into Aaron’s line of sight, his hands raised in a calming gesture.
Aaron’s gaze was frantic, darting wildly from Dave to JJ, then to Emily, his breath coming in shallow, wet gasps. He didn’t seem to recognize them; his entire demeanor was locked in a state of high-alert survival, his fingers clawing weakly at the hospital sheets.
“Where…” Aaron rasped, his voice sounding like gravel. “Where- did they- did they take him? Is he-”
“We’re here, Hotch. Everyone is here. You’re safe,” Emily said, her voice steady despite the visible tremor in her hands.
But Aaron wasn’t listening. His head lolled to the side, his eyes scanning the outskirts of the room with a desperate, singular focus until they landed on the figure slumped in the chair beside him.
Spencer stirred at the commotion, his eyes fluttering open, disoriented and bleary. He blinked a few times, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and the moment he locked eyes with Aaron, the entire room seemed to hold its breath.
The frantic, jagged tension in Aaron’s shoulders evaporated instantly. The panic that had been radiating off him like heat vanished, replaced by a profound, drugged-out sense of relief. He didn’t look at the team; he didn’t even acknowledge their presence. He reached out, his hand shaking violently, and fumbled until he found Spencer’s knuckles.
“Baby,” Aaron murmured, his voice slurring heavily, his eyelids drooping as the anesthesia began to drag him back under. A small, contented sigh escaped him, and he tilted his head toward Spencer, nuzzling into the hand he was holding. “Thought… thought they took you… too.”
The silence that descended upon the room was absolute.
The team stood frozen, their expressions a mixture of shock, confusion, and dawning realization. Derek looked at Dave, his mouth slightly parted, his eyebrows drawn together. JJ’s hand hovered near her throat, her eyes wide, darting between the two men who were currently tethered together by a grip that felt like a lifeline.
Spencer didn’t move. He didn’t pull his hand away, nor did he offer any explanation. He simply leaned forward, his face pale and unreadable, and let his fingers interlace with Aaron’s.
“I’m here,” Spencer said, his voice quiet but steady, cutting through the thick, suffocating silence of the room. “I’m not going anywhere. Go back to sleep, Aaron.”
Aaron’s grip loosened, his eyes closing as the medication pulled him under, but his fingers remained curled firmly around Spencer’s. As the monitor’s alarm settled into a steady, rhythmic beep, the team stood in the middle of the room, anchored by the sight of their Unit Chief - the most disciplined, guarded man they knew - holding onto Spencer as if he were the only solid thing left in the world.
-
When Aaron drifted back to the surface a half an hour later, the atmosphere in the room had shifted from a high-stakes emergency to a bizarre, quiet kind of normalcy. The team had pulled up chairs, their conversation aimless and low - discussing the department’s backlog, Penelope’s latest coffee-machine-related grievance, and some minor administrative trivia - all in a deliberate effort to keep things grounded.
But Aaron was, quite literally, not himself.
The heavy influence of the medication had stripped away every layer of his usual professional armor. He didn’t look at the team with his customary, calculating authority. Instead, his gaze was soft, unfocused, and entirely, exclusively pinned on Spencer.
“You’re very pretty when you’re worried,” Aaron murmured, the words tumbling out slightly slurred. He shifted, his bandaged hand still firmly clamped over Spencer’s, and gave it a weak squeeze. “Did you know that?”
Spencer felt the heat flare up the back of his neck, his face turning a brilliant shade of crimson. He glanced around the room, desperately hoping for a distraction, but he was met only with the team’s wide-eyed, fascinated silence.
“Aaron,” Spencer hissed, trying to reclaim some semblance of composure while his heart hammered against his ribs. “You’re on heavy meds. You’re just talking nonsense.”
“It’s not nonsense,” Aaron countered, his voice earnest and gooey. He let out a soft, breathy laugh, his head lolling back against the pillow as he stared up at Spencer with an open, vulnerable adoration that made the rest of the room feel like they were eavesdropping on something sacred. “It’s the truth. You’re the best part of everything. Why are you sitting so far away?”
“I’m sitting right here, Aaron,” Spencer said, his voice tight with acute embarrassment. He glanced at Derek, who was trying - and failing - to hide a smirk behind a cup of lukewarm vending machine coffee.
“Not close enough,” Aaron grumbled, his brow furrowing in a pout that looked entirely wrong on the stoic Unit Chief’s face. He tugged at Spencer’s hand, pulling it closer until Spencer was forced to lean over the edge of the bed to keep his balance. “Come here. Just… stay close.”
“He’s staying, Hotch,” JJ offered, her voice gentle, though her eyes were darting between the two men with a look of stunned curiosity. She exchanged a glance with Emily, whose eyebrows were nearly disappearing into her hairline.
Aaron ignored her, his thumb brushing slowly over Spencer’s knuckles. “My favorite genius,” he whispered, his eyes fluttering closed again, only to snap back open to make sure Spencer hadn’t moved. “Don’t leave. The team can wait. You stay.”
Spencer could feel the weight of everyone’s gaze on his back. He didn’t have the heart to pull away, even though every part of him wanted to crawl into a hole. He just sighed, a sound caught between frustration and profound, aching tenderness, and squeezed Aaron’s hand back.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Spencer whispered, tucking his head down to avoid the team’s observant eyes, his face burning. “Just… try to rest, okay?”
“Okay,” Aaron agreed, sounding perfectly content, his grip never loosening. “But only if you stay right there. Promise?”
“I promise,” Spencer whispered.
In the corner, Penelope let out a quiet, strangled sound, her hand pressed over her heart, while Dave leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable as he watched the two of them, the pieces of a puzzle he hadn’t known existed slowly clicking into place.
The room went deathly quiet. Aaron, seemingly unaware of anything but the warmth of Spencer’s hand, kept his gaze fixed on Spencer’s left hand, his thumb tracing the skin where a ring should have been.
“Spence?” Aaron murmured, his voice thick and sluggish. “Where is it? You took it off. You shouldn’t have taken it off.”
Spencer froze. His heart stuttered, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead as he felt the intense, concentrated weight of the team’s collective- gaze. He looked at Morgan, whose jaw was slack, then at JJ, whose eyes were wide with a mix of shock and dawning clarity.
“Aaron, not here,” Spencer whispered, his voice frantic. Pleading.
But Aaron was past the point of social filters. He looked up, his brow furrowed, confused by the sudden, heavy silence in the room. He reached out with his other hand, fumbling blindly until he found the chain resting against Spencer’s collarbone. With a shaky, uncoordinated motion, he pulled it out, revealing the silver band dangling against Spencer’s sternum.
“It’s right there,” Spencer said quickly, his voice tight with embarrassment. “I’m at work, Aaron. I can’t wear it on my finger. You know that. It’s for safety.” It was stashed on the chain in his go bag whenever he went out into the field for extra security measures. He put it back on when JJ brought his go bag to the hospital when the team all arrived after the take down. He wore it on his finger only at home.
Aaron’s eyes drifted back to Spencer, his expression softening into a look of pure, unadulterated affection that made Spencer want to sink into the floor.
“Right,” Aaron breathed, a small, dopey smile tugging at his mouth. “Safety. Of course. But, Spence… Sweetheart…” He shifted, “When is the party? The one we're going to throw? We have to tell them, right? It’s time they knew the good news… that we’re getting married.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and absolute, shattering the last of the team’s confusion.
Aaron’s eyes suddenly widened as his brain - foggy and slow as it was - finally registered the rest of the room. He blinked, seeing the team lined up in their chairs: Derek, his mouth slightly parted; Penelope, who had stopped breathing entirely; Dave, leaning forward with an unreadable, intense focus; and JJ and Emily, both frozen in place.
Aaron looked back at Spencer, his eyes blinking slowly, the realization of what he’d just let slip, finally sinking in behind the heavy weight of the sedation. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he just looked at his team, then back at Spencer, and gave a faint, sheepish shrug, his grip on Spencer’s hand tightening as if to say, well, there it is.
The room seemed to tilt on its axis, but instead of the cold, crushing weight of judgement, the air suddenly felt… warmer.
Derek was the first to move, letting out a long, loud breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh - a mix of relief and genuine, startled joy. He stepped forward, clapping a hand firmly on Spencer’s shoulder, his expression losing its shock and settling into a warm, crinkled-eye grin.
“You son of a gun,” Derek chuckled, shaking his head. “A wedding? Man, you two really kept the ultimate secret under wraps. How long has this been going on?”
Before Spencer could stammer out an answer, Penelope was already there, her usual whirlwind of energy momentarily silenced before she let out a delighted, tearful shriek. She bypassed the bed entirely and wrapped both men in a chaotic, careful hug.
“Oh, my stars! My brilliant, beautiful, secretive loves!” she exclaimed, pulling back to look at them with shining eyes. “Do you have an idea what this means? The logistics! The colors! The sheer unadulterated joy of it all!” She turned to the rest of the room, her voice rising with infectious excitement. “Listen, you guys can forget about boring hospital follow-ups being the only thing on the calendar. Once Bossman is out of here and officially back on his feet, I am taking charge. I am throwing an engagement party for the ages, and there will be no objections!”
JJ stepped forward then, a soft, misty smile playing on her lips. She reached out and squeezed Spencer’s free hand. “We aren’t mad, Spence,” she said, her voice steady and warm. “We’re just… amazed. And incredibly happy for you both. You’ve been through hell, and honestly? Seeing you two like this… it makes sense. It makes so much sense.”
Emily nodded in agreement, leaning against the foot of the bed with a look of genuine, relaxed fondness. ‘She’s right. The way you look at each other? It’s been there all along. We were just too busy looking for unsubs to see what was right in front of us.”
Even Dave Rossi, who stayed quiet, stepped forward with a slow, knowing smirk. He looked from Aaron’s slightly dazed, possessive grip to Spencer’s flushed, relieved face. “Well,” he murmured, crossing his arms over his chest. “I think the team is officially off the hook for worrying about the team’s anchor. Seems like he’s in very good hands.”
Spencer felt the last of the ice in his veins melt. The shame he’d been bracing for never materialized; in its place was a chorus of genuine, overwhelming support. He looked down at Aaron, who was blinking slowly, his thumb still tracing lazy, contented circles on Spencer’s hand, entirely unbothered by the commotion.
“See?” Aaron mumbled, his voice dropping into a low, sleepy hum, his eyes drifting shut. “Told you… they’d be happy.”
Spencer leaned his forehead against the mattress, a shaky, relieved laugh escaping him as he looked up at his family - his team - who were already debating whether or not champagne would be appropriate for an engagement party at the BAU bullpen or if they should just host the party at Dave’s mansion.
“Yeah,” Spencer whispered, his voice thick with a new, grounding kind of emotion. “I guess you were right.”
The silence of their shared apartment felt like a luxury - a soft, healing contrast to the sterile, echoing halls of the hospital. Outside, the city hummed, but here, the only sounds were the steady rhythm of their breathing and the occasional soft rustle of sheets.
Aaron was laying on his side, his movements careful and measured. The fog of the anesthesia had long since dissipated, leaving him sharp, present, and painfully aware of everything. He was watching Spencer, who was curled into his space, eyes closed, seemingly drifting between sleep and a state of quiet, profound peace.
Spencer’s hand was resting on Aaron’s chest, resting over his heart - a silent, constant check that Aaron was still there, still grounded, still him. And on Spencer’s finger, the silver engagement ring caught the silver of moonlight filtering through the blinds, casting a tiny, brilliant spark against the dark fabric of the duvet.
Aaron shifted, slowly bringing his own hand up to cover Spencer’s, his fingers interlacing with his partner’s. He didn’t say anything; he didn’t need to. The chaotic, desperate fear that had driven him to confess to the team - the terror that he might lose Spencer - had settled into a quiet, immovable certainty.
Spencer stirred, his eyelashes fluttering before his eyes opened. He blinked, this disorientation of waking up in their own bed fading into a soft smile when he saw Aaron looking at him.
“You’re staring,” Spencer whispered, his voice raspy and sleep-heavy.
“I’m looking,” Aaron corrected, his voice firm, devoid of the slurring fatigue from the hospital. He brought Spencer’s hand up, pressing a lingering kiss to his ring, his gaze never leaving Spencer’s face. “It’s different, being home. It feels… realer.”
Spencer felt a flush creep up his neck, just as it had in the hospital, but it was warmer now, more settled. He moved closer, tucking his head under Aaron’s chin. “It is real,” he murmured against Aaron’s shoulder. “We’re home. We’re safe.”
Aaron let out a long, contented breath, closing his eyes as he pulled Spencer flush against him, his arm draped possessively over the younger man’s waist. The vulnerability he’d exposed to the team felt like a lifetime ago, a distant, hazy memory. Now, there was just the weight of Spencer against him, the steady, rhythmic beat of their hearts, and the promise of a future that, for the first time in a long time, felt entirely theirs to claim.
“Stay right here,” Aaron murmured, his lips brushing against Spencer’s hair. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Spencer chuckled softly, shifting to press a kiss to Aaron’s jawline. “I’m not going anywhere, love. I’m right here.” Spencer’s grip tightened on the shirt over Aaron’s heart. Aaron wouldn’t be going anywhere either.