Archive of Our Own ^beta

"You know, Sheriff Ruiz sort of got it wrong," Reid said, flipping through his magazine. He was sitting across from Aaron on the jet home, his (mismatched) stocking feet propped on the seat next to Aaron's thigh. It felt cozy and comfortable, and Aaron was trying not to think about the fact that the team was watching them together. They all knew, and he didn't mind most of the time, but he preferred not to think about it. He was still settling into being more open about this while they weren't on a case.

"What do you mean?" Aaron asked absently.

"La Santa Muerte," Reid replied, not mangling the pronunciation as badly as he had earlier. "This says here that 'La Santa Muerte accepts you without judgment, no matter what your crimes.' That doesn't seem to me like someone who would go around cutting off people's heads." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Though it does say later that there are rumors that rituals for La Santa Muerte involve blood and human sacrifice."

In the seat across from them, Dave made a skeptical noise. "You know killer Satanic cults are a myth," he said. Next to him, Emily shifted and darted a sharp glance at him.

Aaron smiled. He remembered the way she had stuck her foot in her mouth during one of Dave's first cases back. They'd been dealing with the cannibal in Florida, Floyd Feylinn Ferell, and Emily had quoted one of Dave's books at him. He could see now, by the flush that rose on her cheeks, that it was a moment Dave hadn't let her forget.

"What are you reading, anyway?" Emily asked. Her voice was a little louder than usual, and Aaron made a mental note to send her to the doctor. He probably shouldn't have let her fly, but she'd insisted she was fine. Of all people, Aaron knew better.

"This month's National Geographic," Spencer said. "There's a whole story on the 'new' saints of Mexico whose cults are gaining in popularity. The author implies that it's more than mere coincidence that the cults of Santa Muerte, Jesus Malverde, and Saint Jude, are spreading along with the drug traffic."

Aaron made an interested noise. "Jude--the patron saint of police officers? Sheriff Ruiz mentioned him."

Emily and Dave both gave him odd looks that he couldn't interpret until Emily straightened and leaned across the aisle, tugging a delicate gold chain out of her shirt. "Saint Michael is the patron of police officers," she said, displaying a tiny, shield-shaped charm depicting a winged archangel wielding a sword.

Aaron's lips curled. "Dave, you're such a romantic," he said, and the grumpy noise Dave made in response told him that Dave had, indeed, bought the medal for Emily.

"Actually Saint Jude is a patron of police officers," Spencer said, lifting a finger. He was going into lecture mode. Aaron wondered how long the two Catholics would allow their resident agnostic to lecture on their holy figures. "Jude is typically seen as the patron of lost causes and desperate situations, which is why he has such a following in Mexico. But he is also the patron of the Chicago Police Department, Armenia, hospitals, and ibises."

"Ibises?" Emily blared, staring at Spencer. Further down the cabin Aaron saw Morgan's head turn towards them. Yes, Aaron would make Dave take her to the urgent care.

"I didn't realize ibises needed a patron saint either, Emily," Spencer said, perking up. "But did you know that--"

"Anyway," Dave interrupted, "Michael is still the more popularly called upon of police patrons. Maybe Sheriff Ruiz mentioned Jude because of his connection to the drug traffickers. In any case, sounds like an interesting article. Maybe you'd let me read it when you're done with the magazine."

Spencer blinked, then shrugged. "Oh, sure, here," he said, holding it out.

Aaron hid a smile. Dave didn't always have a lot of patience when it came to Spencer's intellectual tangents. He would try to remember to ask later about why the ibises might need a patron saint.

***

"That was like my own personal brand of hell today," Emily said. She was slumped in an uncomfortable chair in the waiting room of the urgent care. Every time she spoke other people looked at her funny, so she kept trying to lower her voice, but she couldn't really hear herself properly. There was a ringing in her ear that wouldn't go away.

"Listening to Reid mangle the traditions of the saints?" Dave asked. He was flipping through Reid's copy of National Geographic, looking at pictures of Mount St. Helens.

Emily gave him a dark look, but he took several moments to stop flipping pages and look up at her over the tops of his reading glasses. She felt a shiver of desire go through her despite her annoyance. God, she loved those glasses.

"Driving up to that barn knowing you and Hotch were under fire," she said. "Wondering if I was going to lose you before we even had the chance to get married."

Expression softening, Dave lowered the magazine and took her hand. "It's a chance we take every day, Em," he said. "You know I have those same fears. I hate that you're in danger as often as I am. But I wouldn't have you be anyone other than who you are." He squeezed her hand. "We just have to call it an acceptable risk."

She pressed her lips together. "Doesn't make it any easier," she grumbled.

"Emily Prentiss?" A nurse was standing at the door to the exam rooms, a clipboard in her hand. Emily sighed and stood.

***

"Dave said you tried to get yourself shot today," Spencer said, watching as Aaron dunked his tea bag repeatedly into the hot water. It had charmed him for years that Aaron did that, despite the urge he always got to tell Aaron it wouldn't make the tea brew any faster.

Aaron sighed. "He's better with a rifle. I went in first because I had him to cover me." He made a face. "And we didn't exactly get very far before Boyd started shooting."

Spencer gave him a flat look. "You were SWAT."

"That was back at the Seattle field office," Aaron reminded him, "which has been over a decade ago now."

"You're still a better shot than Dave." Spencer rummaged in the fridge, looking for something to snack on. They'd eaten dinner earlier, but he was still hungry.

Aaron chuckled. "That's debatable, but I appreciate your loyalty." He came up behind Spencer to look over his shoulder. "There's ice cream in the freezer."

"Don't tell Jack," Spencer said automatically. He turned his head to brush a kiss against Aaron's cheek. "I know we put ourselves in danger every day," he murmured, leaning back against his lover's solid frame and letting the refrigerator door shut. "But would you please stop keeping me safe while you risk yourself?"

Aaron sighed and wrapped an arm around Spencer's waist. "I'll try," he said. "But I'm not promising anything. I want to protect everyone on the team, but I force myself to use everyone where they're strongest. You happen to be strongest in the office, coordinating everything."

Spencer sighed too, though he couldn't argue. He spent hours at the shooting range every month, honing his skill with the revolver, but he would never be the shot Dave or Emily were. His knee had recovered from being shot, but he wasn't the sort of agent who tackled people like Morgan, or shoved them into walls like Rossi.

"Stop that." Aaron's fingers stroked through his hair. "You're essential to this team and you know it."

Spencer did know it. And he didn't even mind, most of the time, the way Aaron used him on cases. But it stung, knowing that Aaron had been in danger and Spencer hadn't been there to protect him.

"Why don't you feed me some of that ice cream in bed?" he suggested.

The press of Aaron's lips against his neck told him that was a good idea.

***

"Ew!" Emily leaned over the sink and spit out the sip of milk she'd taken. "It's bad," she informed Dave, who was standing in front of the stove, staring at her in disbelief.

He laughed, shaking his head. "I can't believe you didn't sniff it first," he remarked. "Okay, plan B. What else can we make?"

She glared at him. "Sure, laugh it up. My smelling and hearing have already been violated today. Why not go for another of the five senses?"

Dave couldn't help it. He laughed again. Then he slid an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, kissing her forehead. "Tell you what," he said. "Let's order a pizza and eat it in the hot tub."

"Ooh. Good idea," she agreed. She lifted her head and kissed his jaw. "But I'll warn you right now that I don't know if I'm in the mood for much. My head hurts."

"You know, Aaron and I had already agreed not to fire the MP-5 in the car," Dave said. He rolled his eyes. "Apparently Morgan's jealous of that cocky British bastard's toys."

Emily snorted. "Go call for the pizza, Dave. And when you get to the tub, I'll be waiting for you." She kissed him slowly and then pulled away. Grinning, she pulled her shirt off over her head, then turned to walk away.

Dave pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. If they were quick, they'd have time for some fun before the pizza arrived.