Chapter Text
The hotel room was sterile and quiet - not the peaceful, productive quiet of a library, but the kind of heavy, pressurized quiet that settles in when you’re acutely aware of the empty space beside you. The only lights in the room were coming through the blinds of the California suite.
There's no clouds in California
Spencer sat on the edge of the queen-sized bed, his phone clutched in his hand like a lifeline. He’d been staring at the darkened screen for twenty minutes, debating whether to call, though he knew better. Aaron was buried in bureaucracy back in Virginia, likely navigating the political minefield of the Director’s office or buried under a mountain of reports that Spencer usually helped him streamline.
He felt unnerved. For the past year, their routine had been constant - the shared hotel rooms, the quiet, low voiced debriefs while they prepped for bed, the simple, grounding presence of Aaron beside him in the dark. Without it, the vastness of the room felt suffocating.
And I can't wait to hear the rain
He stood up and paced the small space, his socks soundless on the carpet. He stopped at the window and pulled back the corner of the curtains. Down below, the city of Los Angeles moved with a frantic, lonely energy that didn’t match his own hollowed out feeling.
He moved back to the bed and sank down again, his gaze drifting to the empty pillow on the left side. He reached out, his fingers grazing the crisp, hotel-white cotton. It was cold. It lacked the warmth, the faint, familiar scent of Aaron - coffee, expensive soap, and the subtle, steady presence that had become his definition of safety.
He let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping. It was just a couple nights. He told himself that, over and over, his logical mind recited the facts of the assignment, the logistics of Aaron’s workload, and the necessity of their distance. But logic did nothing to dampen the sharp, persistent ache in his chest.
I changed the seasons waitin' for ya
He closed his eyes, trying to summon the sound of Aaron’s voice - the way it dropped into that low, gravelly tone when he was tired, the way he sounded when he was just speaking to Spencer, stripped of the Unit Chief’s armor. The memory was sharp, vivid, and entirely insufficient to bridge the gap. He was alone, and for the first time in a long time, the silence of the room wasn’t just quiet - it was deafening.
The local precinct was humming with the frantic, disjointed energy of an early morning. Phones were ringing off the hook, and the air was thick with the scent of cheap, burnt coffee and floor wax.
Spencer stood by the breakroom, clutching a styrofoam cup so tightly his knuckles were white. He looked like he’d been dragged through a hedge backward - hair sticking up in odd directions, dark circles under his eyes, and a sharp, biting irritability that made him snap at anyone who came within three feet of him.
I'm not the same as yesterday
Derek walked by, pausing when he noticed Spencer leaning heavily against the counter, staring into space with a look of pure, unadulterated misery.
“Damn, kid. You look like you went twelve rounds with a heavy bag and lost,” Derek remarked, grabbing a cup of his own. “What’s the deal? You up all night reading the entire Library of Congress?”
Spencer didn’t even look up; he just took a sharp, desperate gulp of the coffee, grimacing at the taste. “I didn’t sleep, Morgan. Not a second. The hotel mattress felt like it was stuffed with gravel, and the ambient city noise in L.A. is… it’s too much like Vegas.”
A two-for-one on anaesthesia
Derek raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe with a knowing, speculative look. “Right. Is that all? Because you’ve been acting like a bear with a torn in its paw since we got here. Usually, when we’re split up, you just get more… well, more ‘you.’ This feels personal.”
Spencer stiffened, his fingers tightening on the cup. “It’s not personal. It’s professional frustration. Our rhythm is off without the Unit Chief.”
I tense too much to feel the pain
“Sure,” Derek snickered, his voice dropping into that classic, teasing register. “Because Hotch being in Virginia is the only reason you’re cranky. Has nothing to do with the fact that he’s not here to, I don’t know, tell you to go to bed or fix your tie?”
“That’s a ridiculous assumption,” Spencer snapped, his voice sharper than he intended. He turned away, busying himself with a packet of sugar he didn’t need. “He’s doing administrative work. It’s a logistical necessity for the Bureau. My mood has nothing to do with his location.”
Across the room, Emily and JJ were huddled over a witness statement, but Emily’s gaze flicked toward them, sharp and observant. She caught Derek’s eye and gave a small, almost imperceptible tilt of her head - the kind of look that said she’d been noticing the same thing for months.
“Okay, okay,” Derek said, holding his hands up in surrender, though his grin didn’t falter. “I’m just saying, it’s a long time to be apart. Even for you two.”
There's a thrift around the corner
Spencer felt the heat climb up the back of his neck. He knew the team noticed they were closer than most partners - the way they moved in sync, the way they stood just a little too close, the way their conversations often trailed off when someone else walked into the room - but they never said anything. They just watched, their speculative silence acting like a magnifying glass.
“We’re work partners, Morgan,” Spencer said, forcing his voice into a calm, clinical tone that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We rely on each other. When the team dynamic is disrupted, it affects efficiency. That’s all.”
That laundry bag was all in vain
Derek just patted his shoulder, a little too hard. “Right. Efficiency. If you say so, kid. But maybe grab a double espresso before the briefing. You’re scaring the locals.”
As Derek walked away, Emily caught Spencer’s eye, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips before she turned back to her work. Spencer slumped back against the counter, closing his eyes. He hated the speculation, but he hated the distance even more. And as much as he tried to keep his exhaustion purely about the case, he knew he wasn’t fooling anyone - least of all himself.
The office of the Assistant Director was suffocatingly quiet, a stark contrast to the chaotic energy of the field. Erin Strauss sat behind her mahogany desk, her expression as unreadable and sharp as a razor blade. She didn’t look up when Aaron entered, merely gesturing to the chair opposite of her.
“Sit, Agent Hotchner.”
You're right, I'm not cut out for the big time
Aaron sat, his posture rigid. The team had been gone for forty-eight hours and the heavy file sitting between him and Erin told the true story of why he stayed. It contained the formal paperwork to declare his relationship with Spencer Reid - a move required by Bureau policy now that the line between partner and partner-in-life had blurred.
“This is not a casual matter, Aaron,” Erin began, finally looking up. Her eyes were piercing. “The Bureau had strict regulations regarding romantic entanglements within a direct chain of command. If we authorize this, the oversight will be… exhaustive.”
“I’m aware of the policy,” Aaron replied, his voice steady.
Sit tight, I'm not far out from you tonight
“Are you?” Erin leaned forward, her hands interlaced. “We have to be certain this isn’t a lapse in judgement. Or worse. Given the disparity in your rank and the nature of the field work you undertake together, I have to ask: Is this relationship consensual? Did you utilize your position as a Unit Chief to coerce, influence, or manipulate Agent Reid into this arrangement? We will be asking him these questions when he returns, as well, so it’s best to be honest.”
Aaron felt a flash of something cold and sharp in his chest, but he kept his face a mask. He thought of the year they’d spent in hotel rooms, the quiet, unspoken moments that had grown into something solid, and the truth of how it began. He thought of the times Spencer would come over, sometimes to show Jack some new cool science project. Sometimes to spend the night with Aaron.
“There was no coercion,” Aaron said, his voice low, his tone brooking no argument. “Spencer has never been pressured by me. In point of fact, the initiation of this relationship - the shift from professional to personal - was entirely his own doing. He chose it. I simply accepted.”
I'm just a man, so what's the plan?
Erin studied him for a long, uncomfortable moment, searching for a crack in his armor. Finding none, she made a notation in the file.
“It is a significant liability, Agent Hotchner. If there is even a hint of preferential treatment or a compromise in operational integrity, the investigation will be swift and final for both of you.”
“I am aware,” Aaron repeated, his jaw tightening. ‘Spencer is the most capable profiler I have ever worked with. My feelings for him do not cloud my judgement; they are a testament to the person he is.”
Erin closed the file with a decisive thud. “I will require a detailed history of your interactions for the HR review. David Rossi will be taking over as Spencer’s supervisor. And be advised, Aaron: the Bureau doesn’t look kindly on blurring the lines. You are putting his career, and your own, in a very precarious position.”
The rain won't stop me now
“I know what I’m risking,” Aaron said, standing up. His mind was miles away, back in a California hotel room where Spencer was likely waking up, tired and frustrated and completely unaware that the man he loved was fighting the Bureau’s entire administrative machine just to keep them together. “And I would choose to do it again.”
-
The phone vibrated against the nightstand, the sound harsh and jarring in the quiet, sterile room. Spencer snatched it up, his thumb hovering over the screen.
“Aaron,” Spencer said, his voice coming out soft, a mixture of surprise and profound relief. He curled onto his side, pulling the hotel blanket tighter around his shoulders as if that could somehow replace the warmth he was missing.
I can't stop from cannonballing
“Spence,” Aaron’s voice came through the speaker, low and gravelly. It was a familiar, grounding tether that cut through the exhaustion clinging to Spencer’s bones. “I know it’s late. I just… I needed to hear your voice.”
“I was just sitting here,” Spencer admitted, his eyes fixed on the dim light of the bedside lamp. He didn’t ask what Aaron had been doing in D.C. or why he was working so late. He just let the sound of Aaron’s breathing, steady and rhythmic on the other end, wash over him. “It’s deafeningly quiet here, love. The silence has a physical weight to it.”
“I know,” Aaron murmured. The background noise on his end was muted - the hum of a quiet house, the absence of office bustle. “I’m in bed, but I can’t sleep either. I keep turning over, and…” He trailed off, the silence between them thick with the shared understanding of what was missing.
Down the stairs towards the bay
Spencer closed his eyes, his fingers tracing the pattern on the hotel bedspread, a desperate yearning curling in his stomach. He wanted to be there. He wanted to move past the screen, past the thousands of miles, and just be in the same room. He wanted to feel the solid, steady pressure of Aaron’s arm around him, the way Aaron’s presence always managed to make the world feel right again.
“I miss you,” Spencer whispered, the words honest and vulnerable, devoid of any professional pretense. “I miss having you here at night.”
“I miss you too,” Aaron replied, his voice dropping into that intimate, private register he saved only for Spencer. “More than I can say.”
“It’s not just the quiet,” Spencer continued, his voice trembling slightly. “It’s everything. I’m tired of the empty hotel rooms, Aaron. I’m tired of the phone calls. I just want to be where you are.”
I scrape the green off every morning
He heard Aaron take a slow, shaky breath. “I’m working on it, Sweetheart. As soon as the case is finished and everything is settled here… you won’t have to spend another night alone.”
Spencer shifted, pressing his cheek against the pillow. He could almost feel the phantom weight of Aaron’s touch - the way his hand would usually cup his jaw, the way he would lean in to press his lips against Spencer’s - and the ache for it was almost unbearable.
“I don’t just want to talk to you,” Spencer murmured, a desperate, longing edge to his voice. “I want you to be here. I want to feel your hands on me. I want you to kiss me until we fall asleep.” a pause, “and… you have nightmares when you sleep alone.”
There was a long, heavy silence on the other end and Spencer could almost imagine Aaron’s expression - the way his eyes would go dark, the way his jaw would tighten.
Just too late to kiss your face
“I’m going to kiss you until you forget what silence sounds like,” Aaron promised and Spencer’s breath caught in his throat. “Just hold on for a few more days, Spence. I’ll be waiting here for you to come home.”
Spencer sat hunched over a folding table that felt like it was shrinking under the weight of the sprawling, chaotic case files.
Across from him, Dave was methodically sifting through the latest reports, his presence a steady, quiet anchor. Spencer had a fresh coffee next to him - his fourth one since 6:00 am - but it felt useless. His mind, usually a high-speed engine of associative connections and lightening fast deductions, felt like it was wading through thick concrete.
You're right, I'm not cut out for the big time
He stared at the map pinned to the whiteboard, his eyes tracking the red strings that connected the crime scenes, but the pattern refused to resolve. The data was there - the temporal anomalies, the geographic markers, the suspect’s preferred methodology - but the why was slipping through his fingers like sand.
“Spencer,” Dave said, his voice gentle but firm, pulling Spencer out of a trance that had lasted a full minute. “You’ve been staring at the same intersection on the map for ten minutes. Talk to me. What are you seeing?”
Spencer blinked, the overhead lights stinging his eyes. He reached up, rubbing his temples hard, trying to force the headache behind his eyes to subside. “I… I don’t know, Rossi. Everything is.. It’s just blurry. I have the facts, I just can’t-”
Sit tight, I'm not far out from you tonight
He broke off, a wave of bitter frustration rising in his throat. He looked down at the files, the letters blurring on the page. “My brain is just lagging behind,” he muttered, his voice tight. “It’s ridiculous. The link between the second and third site is right there, I can feel it, but I can’t.. I can’t catch it.”
He pushed the files away, a sharp, uncharacteristic gesture that sent a pen off the side of the table. He gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white. “I’m sorry. I should have it by now. If I could just… If I could just focus, I would have it.”
He sounded brittle, his voice betraying the exhaustion that had been gnawing at him for three days. He hated this - the feeling of his own intellect failing him, the sense that he was a liability rather than an asset. He felt like a hollowed out version of himself, someone who couldn’t even manage the basic requirements of his job without some sleep.
The time we've lost watching from the inside
Dave watched him, his expression one of calm, experienced patience. He reached out and gently moved the coffee cup away from the edge of the table. “Spencer, you’re human. You’ve been running on fumes for seventy-two hours. You’re not failing, you’re just empty.”
“Empty isn’t good enough,” Spencer snapped, his frustration boiling over. He stood up abruptly. “The unsub doesn’t care if I’m tired. I need to be better than this.”
He walked a few steps away, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the floor. He felt the weight of the distance - the nightmares probably haunting Aaron at night, the silence of the hotel room - pressing in on him, making it harder to stay upright. He wanted to go home, to sleep for a week, but the image of the victim’s faces forced him to turn back around.
I'm just a man, so what's the plan?
“I’m fine,” he lied, his voice sounding thin, even to his own ears as he sat back down and grabbed a fresh file. “Let’s start from the beginning. Maybe I missed something.”
The fluorescent light of the HR wing buzzed with a low, headache-inducing frequency that seemed to vibrate through Aaron’s teeth. He sat in a hard-backed chair in office 4B, facing a woman named Sarah Miller. She was younger than Erin, with a polished, neutral demeanor that somehow managed to feel more interrogative than Erin’s bluntness.
She didn’t have a file - she had a tablet, and she kept her eyes on it more than she kept them on him.
“Agent Hotchner,” she began, her voice crisp. “I’m reviewing the initial intake notes from Director Strauss regarding the request for formal recognition of your relationship with Dr. Reid. My role is to perform a behavioral and professional impact assessment.”
Aaron kept his hands flat on his thighs, his posture perfectly still. “Understood.”
“Let’s start with the operational baseline,” she said, tapping the screen. “You have been a direct supervisor to Spencer for numerous years. The Bureau is concerned with potential decision making bias during high-stakes deployments.”
She finally looked up, her gaze clinical. “In the field, when Dr. Reid is in danger, how do you intend to differentiate between your duty to the team and your personal prioritization of his survival? Be specific.”
Aaron didn’t flinch. He had spent his entire career justifying his tactical decisions, but this felt different - it felt like a dissection of the thing he guarded most fiercely.
“My duty to the team is predicated on the effectiveness of its members,” Aaron said, his voice steady and devoid of inflection. “Dr. Reid is not just a member of my team; he is a specialist whose survival is essential to our success. My tactical decisions are based on objective threat assessment, not emotional response. If I were unable to separate the two, I would have removed myself from the field long ago.”
Sarah didn’t look convinced, she typed something into her tablet. “That is the standard answer, Agent Hotchner. But we are looking for psychological nuance. When you are under duress, the amygdala overrides the prefrontal cortex. Are you suggesting that your biological responses are somehow suppressed.”
“I am suggesting that my training, and my commitment to this agency, overrides my personal inclinations,” Aaron replied, his jaw tight. “I have never allowed my relationship with Dr. Reid to compromise an investigation, and I never will.”
She made another notation, her expression unreadable. “We will see. The data suggests that professional partners who are also romantic partners show a marked decrease in objective risk assessment over time. We will be reviewing your past eighteen months of field reports with that specific metric in mind.”
“Do what you have to do,” Aaron said, his voice dropping an octave. “But I assure you, you won’t find what you’re looking for.”
She gave him a thin, tight-lipped smile. “We’ll be the judge of that, Agent Hotchner. That will be all for today. Please be prepared for a more… personal line of questioning with our behavioral consultant in your next session.”
The rain won't stop me now
Aaron stood, the movement sharp and controlled. He left the room without another word, the weight of the next three meetings already pressing down on him like a physical burden. He had three more to go, and each one felt like a deliberate attempt to strip away the only thing he had left that felt real besides Jack.
-
The second door opened into an office that felt significantly different. The lighting was warmer, the desk was cluttered with personal effects, and the woman sitting behind it, Dr. Aris, had a soft, inquisitive gaze.
She didn’t look at a tablet. She looked at Aaron.
“Agent Hotchner,” she said, her voice melodic and unhurried. “Please, sit. Forget the HR protocol for a moment. We’re here to talk about the interpersonal dynamic.”
Aaron sat, his posture as impeccable as ever, his hands resting on his knees. “I’m here to answer your questions, Doctor.”
“I’m sure you are,” she said, leaning back. “But I’m interested in the evolution. You and Dr. Reid have worked together for years. You’ve faced trauma, near death experiences, and the kind of isolation that breaks most people. Tell me, when did the professional boundary stop being a boundary and start being a limitation?”
Aaron’s jaw tightened, just a fraction. He had expected the clinical questions, not the probing into the why of his feelings. “That isn’t something I can define with a timestamp, Doctor. It was a gradual shift, rooted in mutual respect and shared experience.”
“And yet,” she countered, her voice gentle, “it ended up in a commitment. You’re asking the Bureau to validate a relationship that involves a direct subordinate. That requires a level of vulnerability that is, frankly, the opposite of the persona you’ve cultivated in this building. Does Dr. Reid know that you’re sitting in this chair, justifying the way you feel about him?”
“He knows I am doing what is necessary to ensure our future,” Aaron replied, his tone remaining perfectly level. “My personal life is not a tactical error to be corrected. It is a decision I made with full awareness of the consequences.”
Dr. Aris leaned forward, her eyes searching his. “Is it a decision born of love, or a decision born of necessity? Does he provide you with a sense of stability that you can’t achieve on your own? Are you using this relationship as a psychological crutch to cope with the loss of your wife?”
The question was a direct strike, cold and invasive. Aaron’s heart rate didn’t spike; he didn’t blink. He simply stared at her, his expression as unyielding as stone.
“My feelings for Dr. Reid are entirely independent of my past,” Aaron said, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous quiet that signaled the end of his patience. “He is an exceptional man, a brilliant agent, and he is his own person. To suggest that I am using him to fill a void is not only professional misconduct, it is a gross mischaracterization of the man he is. I don’t need a crutch. I chose to be with him because he improved my quality of life.”
Dr. Aris held his gaze for a long moment, watching for a tremor in his hands, a shadow in his eyes. When she found nothing, she picked up a pen and made a slow, deliberate note on her notepad.
“You are very disciplined, Agent Hotchner,” she murmured. “But you are also very guarded. I wonder what Dr. Reid sees when you finally let the armor down. I wonder if he’s even seen the man who is sitting in this chair right now.”
The rain won't stop me now
“That,” Aaron said, standing up, his tone final, “is between him and I.”
He walked out of the office, his movements precise and controlled. His heart was hammering a steady, angry rhythm against his ribs, but his face remained a mask of perfect, professional indifference, Two down. Two to go. ‘
-
Aaron slipped into his office and locked the door, drawing the blinds closed. He leaned against his desk, his heart rate elevated. The sharp, invasive nature of the last two hours clinging to him like ash. He pulled his phone from his pocket, his thumb hovering over Spencer’s contact before he finally pressed call.
“Aaron?” Spencer answered on the first ring. His voice was thick with exhaustion, but it brightened instantly at the sound of Aaron’s voice. “Is everything okay? You didn’t answer my text earlier.”
“I’m sorry, Spence,” Aaron said, his voice coming out tighter than intended. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling the strain of the HR meetings radiating behind his eyes. “Ive been…. Tied up. A series of meetings that are taking longer - and are more complicated - than I anticipated.”
There was a pause, and he could hear the sharp, perceptive intake of breath on the other end/ “You sound awful, Aaron. Your voice… are you okay? Is it the Bureau?”
“I can’t talk about it,” Aaron murmured, his hand tightening around the phone. “Noty yet. But I will. I promise.”
He closed his eyes, trying to focus on the cadence of Spencer’s breathing, but then he caught the subtle, telltale pauses in Spencer’s side of the conversation - the way he was slurring just a fraction of a syllable, the sheer, crushing weight of fatigue in his tone.
Aaron’s professional mask cracked, just for a second. The image of Spencer, hunched over files, running on nothing but caffeine and desperation, made his chest ache.
“Spence,” Aaron said, his voice dropping into that tone - the one that brooked no argument, but was laced with a desperate, underlying tenderness. “How long have you been at the precinct?”
‘Since six,” Spencer said, sounding small. “Rossi and I are trying to-”
“Go back to the hotel,” Aaron interrupted, his command gentle but absolute. “That’s an order, Reid. You’re no good to the case in that state, and you’re no good to yourself.”
“But I haven’t found the link yet, and if I just-”
“Spence,” Aaron said, softer this time, his heart breaking at the sheer, raw exhaustion in his partner’s voice. “The link will still be there in a few hours. You won’t be if you don’t sleep. Please. Go back, lock the door, and get some rest.”
A long silence followed, Aaron could almost see Spencer fighting the logic, fighting the urge to be the genius, the hero, the indispensable asset.
“Okay,” Spencer whispered, the word barely audible. “Okay. I’m going.”
“Thank you,” Aaron said, a wave of relief washing over him. “I’ll call you when I can, my next meeting is in five hours. Just… sleep, Sweetheart.”
He ended the call, the silence of the supply closet returning, but the crushing weight of the day felt ever so slightly lighter. He had two more meetings to survive, but at least for now, Spencer was safe and finally resting.
The third office was small, cluttered, and occupied by a man who seemed to take a sadistic pleasure in the power balance. He leaned back in his chair, tapping a pen against his chin, his eyes tracking Aaron with a look of condescension.
“Agent Hotchner,” he began, not waiting for a greeting. “Let’s discuss the communication protocols between you and Agent Reid.”
Aaron’s spine straightened a fraction. His expression remained a blank, professional slate, though the muscles in his jaw locked. “It is Dr. Reid.”
The man didn’t blink. He simply nodded once, dismissively, and went back to his notes. “Right. So, regarding Agent Reid’s recent reports…”
Aaron’s hand, resting on his knee, curled into a tight, controlled fist for a fleeting second before he forced his fingers to relax. “Dr. Reid’s reports are categorized by his specific area of expertise. If you are referring to the L.A. case file, I suggest you look at Dr. Reid’s supplemental notes.”
“It’s just that Agent Reid has a habit of getting… verbose.” the man continued, circling a paragraph on a printed sheet with a heavy, red ink pen. “It’s inefficient. Do you find that you have to spend an inordinate amount of time editing Agent Reid’s work to fit the Bureau’s standards.”
Aaron felt the heat of pure, cold indignation simmering beneath his skin. It was deliberate. The man was baiting him, looking for the flash of protective anger, the moment where the Unit Chief would break character and show the lover beneath.
“Dr. Reid is one of the most thorough and articulate agents in this building,” Aaron said, his voice quiet, steady, and utterly devoid of anything other than calm professionalism. “His work requires no editing. It requires only an appreciation for the nuance he provides. If you find his reports ‘verbose,’ perhaps it is a limitation of the reader, not the writer.”
The man let out a sharp, mocking chuckle. “A bit defensive, aren’t we? It's a simple observation regarding Agent Reid’s performance metrics.”
Aaron watched him, his gaze heavy and unyielding. He didn’t rise to the jab. He didn’t shift his posture. He remained a statue of bureaucratic compliance, even as every fiber of his being wanted to reach across the desk and force the man to acknowledge the title he was so pointedly omitting.
“I am merely clarifying the facts of Dr. Reid’s contributions,” Aaron replied, his tone smooth as polished glass. “Is there anything else regarding these reports, or are we finished?”
The man looked disappointed that he hadn’t gotten a rise out of him. He tossed his pen onto the desk with a clatter. “No. That’s all for now. Your next meeting is in four hours, at 9:00 pm, we’ll be in touch.”
The rain won't stop me now
Aaron stood, adjusted his cuffs, and gave a stiff, polite nod. “Good day.”
He walked out of the office, his movements precise and measured, his face a mask of iron. He didn’t let himself breathe until he was back in the hallway, the cool air of the corridor hitting his face. He’d navigate the minefield without stepping on a single wire.
Three down. One to go. And he’d be damned if he let any of them touch he saw, or named, the man he loved.
The final office was stark, lit by a harsh, overhead hum that seemed to vibrate against Aaron’s skull. The representative, a woman with iron-gray hair and eyes that seemed to look right through the polished veneer of his professional demeanor, didn’t offer a seat immediately. She stood by the window, watching the D.C. night, before turning back to him.
“You’ve been through a rigorous process, Agent Hotchner,” she said, her voice devoid of any pretense of warmth. “And we’ve been thorough. We’ve examined your field reports, your psychological evaluations, and your professional conduct under pressure.”
Aaron didn’t shift. He stood at attention, his face an immoveable mask, even as his heart hammered a frantic, hidden rhythm against his ribs. This was it. The final hurdle.
“I’ve done what was required,” Aaron replied.
She walked over to her desk, picking up a thick, stapled file - the result of four grueling sessions - and slid it across the surface toward him. “The Bureau has reviewed your petition. Your history with Dr. Reid, your mutual performance record, and your personal affirmations have been cross-referenced. We have reached a determination.”
The silence in the room was absolute, a vacuum that seemed to suck the air from Aaron's lungs. He reached out, his hand steady, and placed his fingers on the file.
“The relationship is authorized,” she stated, her gaze unwavering. “We have found no evidence of coercion, and your operational integrity remains, for now, within acceptable parameters. However, let this be clear: the Bureau is now documenting your dynamic as a protected, yet highly scrutinized, partnership. We will be conducting a follow-up interview with Dr. Reid upon his return. Everything hinges on his narrative aligning with yours. If it does, you are clear to proceed.”
The rain won't stop me
A wave of relief so intense it felt like a physical bow washed over him, but Aaron didn’t show it. He simply dipped his head in a formal, controlled nod. “Understood. Thank you.”
He didn’t wait for her to dismiss him. He turned and walked out of the office, his pace deliberate, his heart finally beginning to slow to a steady beat. He was free, Or, as free as he could be.
He moved through the quiet corridors of the Bureau, his mind already shifting from the claustrophobic air of HR to the reality of the team. As he rounded the corner into the bullpen, he stopped dead.
The lights were low, the hum of the computers a familiar lullaby, and there, sitting at his desk, was Spencer. He was hunched over, his hair a mess, looking utterly shattered by the exhaustion of the trip, but he was there. The rest of the team was drifting in, exhausted and weary, but safe.
There's no clouds in California
Spencer looked up, his eyes meeting Aaron’s across the distance of the bullpen. For a fleeting second, the professional distance they were so used to maintaining slipped. A small, genuine flicker of warmth touched Spencer’s tired face.
Aaron had won. Spencer was home.
“Reid. My office. Now.”
The tone was sharp, clipped, and devoid of its usual warmth. Not on purpose. The weight of the HR meetings was too heavy on his tired bones. A hush fell over the bullpen. JJ and Emily exchanged worried glances, and even Derek paused mid-sentence, his brow furrowed with concern. The assumption was clear: they thought Spencer was in trouble.
Spencer was startled by the tone, eyes scanning over Aaron to profile him for a moment. His tone may have been sharp, but his posture was relaxed and his jaw wasn’t pulled tight. His eyes had a sparkle in them and he was, uncharacteristically, fidgeting with the cuff of his shirt. Spencer quickly gathered his notepad and stood, following Aaron into the office. The moment he crossed the threshold, Aaron slammed the door shut and flicked the vertical blinds closed, sealing them off from the prying eyes of the team.
The shift was instant. The authoritarian set of Aaron’s shoulders collapsed. He let out a long, ragged breath, his hands coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose before he reached out and pulled Spencer into a fierce, grounding embrace.
Spencer stumbled into him, exhaling a shaky breath as he buried his face in Aaron’s neck, the exhaustion finally hitting him now that the safety of Aaron’s arms was there to catch him.
“You’re okay,” Aaron murmured, his voice thick with a relief that was entirely un-professional. He held Spencer tight, his hands rubbing soothing circles on his back. “You’re safe.” Aaron seemed to be reassuring himself more than Spencer.
And I can't wait to hear the rain
Spencer pulled back just enough to look at him, his brow furrowed. “Aaron? What is going on? Everyone thinks-”
“I know,” Aaron interrupted, offering a small, tired smile that reached his eyes for the first time in days. He didn’t let go, instead leading Spencer over to the desk. He sat in his chair and Spencer jumped up onto the desk, sitting facing Aaron. Aaron rested his hands on Spencer’s thighs to keep them connected. “I’m sorry, Spence. I had to maintain professionalism until we were secure.”
“Secure?” Spencer asked, his voice soft.
“I’ve spent the last three days - mostly today though - in back-to-back meetings with HR,” Aaron explained, his tone low and honest. “They were vetting us. Vetting me. They went through everything - our history, our field reports, our tactical decisions. It was an interrogation.”
Spencer’s eyes widened, his hands resting on Aaron’s. “They were investigating us? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want you worrying about the Bureau while you were trying to solve a case,” Aaron said, brushing a stray lock of hair away from Spencer’s forehead. “I needed you focused. I wanted to be the one to deal with the fallout.”
Spencer leaned forward so their foreheads were touching. “But it’s over. The authorization is officially approved on my end. They just need to speak with you to ensure our accounts align, and then we’re… we’re in the clear. We can stop hiding. We can stop pretending.”
I changed the seasons waitin' for ya
Spencer let out a shaky laugh, the tension that had been locked in his muscles for days finally beginning to bleed away. “They approved it? Just like that?”
“It wasn’t ‘just like that,’” Aaron said, a shadow of the last few days passing over his features. “But it’s done. I’m done.”
I'm not the same as yesterday
He leaned in, his lips brushing against Spencer’s in a soft, lingering promise. “You’re home, Spencer. And we made it. I love you so much.”
“And I love you.”
Bonus
Aaron lay on his side, his arm acting as a steady, solid anchor across Spencer’s waist. He was still wearing his undershirt, the fabric soft against his skin, and he could feel the slow, steady rhythm he had memorized in the dark, a silent pulse that confirmed everything he had fought for was still there.
Spencer was curled into him, his head tucked firmly under Aaron’s chin, his breathing evening out into the deep pattern of true, undisturbed sleep. He looked younger in the dark, the lines of exhaustion around his eyes softened by the dim light, his long fingers loosely clutching Aaron’s shirt.
Aaron didn’t move. He just lay there, watching the way the moonlight caught the sharp angle of Spencer’s jaw. He traced the line of Spencer’s shoulder with his thumb, a small, grounding motion that reminded him that they weren’t in an office, they weren’t under a magnifying glass, and they weren’t in danger of being pulled apart.
He thought of the look on Spencer’s face when he’d finally realized the danger was over - the way his whole body had gone limp with relief, the way he’d let out a shaky, broken laugh. He thought of the distance, the silence of separate rooms, and the sheer, brutal necessity of keeping his feelings locked behind a wall of cold professionalism.
He shifted slightly, and Spencer hummed in his sleep, pressing closer, his hand coming up to rest over Aaron’s heart. The contact sent a jolt of warmth through Aaron, a reminder that, for all the complexity, the Bureau, and the risks, this was the only thing that mattered.
“Sleep,” Aaron whispered, his voice barely a breath against Spencer’s hair.
“Nightmare?” Spencer's voice was slurred and quiet.
“Not with you here,” Aaron pressed a gentle kiss to Spencer’s head and Spencer easily drifted back off.
Aaron closed his own eyes, letting the crushing weight of the last few days finally slide away. He was home. Spencer was safe. And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, there was nowhere else he needed to be.