honeypiehotchner

[honeypiehotchner]

lying in front of the street cleaner

[honeypiehotchner]

SHAKING YOUUUU omg the contact picture with Aaron killed meee AND HIM REALIZING WE TRIED TO CALL HIM!!! 🤧😫😭‼️THE BEATLES PLAYING ON THE CAR RADIO AT THE END⁉️‼️

I KNOW ANON!!! I KNOWWWWWW!!! 😭😭😭😭😭

[honeypiehotchner]

as an update to this: i hope y'all are ready for some kinktober fics of porn WITH plot because for the life of me i can't write no plot. something has to be happening. there has to be reason for the fucking

have been so ill the last few days but trust i see your kinktober requests coming in and i am cooking 👩‍🍳👩‍🍳

[honeypiehotchner]

have been so ill the last few days but trust i see your kinktober requests coming in and i am cooking 👩‍🍳👩‍🍳

[honeypiehotchner]

"SUPERMAN" (2025) dir. James Gunn

[honeypiehotchner]

I KNOWWWWWW 😭😭😭😭

even when they're going through literal hell these two are so paralleled and i love it 😭🫶🏻

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part thirty-eight

For some reason I've had to rewrite this chapter (and the next couple) because they didn't feel right so here's to hoping that I got it right with this draft 😭

Warnings: another motherload of angst so sorry, drugging (that is probs not accurate but oh well), Hotch's ever-growing guilt

You’re barely sitting in the driver’s seat of the bureau vehicle for two minutes when the passenger door opens and someone slides inside. You expect it to be Hotch. It’s not.

“Officer Robinson,” you say, keeping your gaze straight ahead, though you glance in the mirrors. All around you, officers are still peeling out of the parking lot to go on patrol -- likely to look for him. It’s no coincidence Robinson just got in your car, in civilian clothes, right at this moment. You crank the engine. “Joining me to the airport?”

“Thought you might need an escort,” he says. “And someone to drive the car back to the precinct.” Sunglasses don his face and he has a baseball cap pulled over his head. Just like that day in the car with Hotch, when he chased the two of you down that long stretch of road. “Drive.”

You do. You’re not an idiot. You need to be careful about this. You need to think about your next move, so as not to risk angering him and having a gun pressed to your temple.

“Saw you storm out of there pretty angry,” Robinson says while you drive, heading toward the airport. “Was it that guy again?”

“What guy?”

“Your boss,” he chuckles. “Agent Hotchner.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah. We don’t get along.”

“Not what I hear.”

“And what do you hear, Andrew?”

“Oh, we’re on a first name basis, are we?”

“Might as well be,” you reply, drumming your fingers on the wheel. You wait a few seconds before feigning forgetfulness, raising one hand and smacking the wheel. “Shit. I’ve gotta call the pilot.”

“What?” 

“It’s fine,” you wave him off, hitting Garcia’s speed dial before he can stop you. “The pilot isn’t just living on the jet, you know. We have to actually get somebody to call him before we fly.”

“Right,” Andrew scoffs, but he’s getting antsy already. You can see it in the way his left leg bounces, the way his jaw twitches.

“Oracle of all things knowledgeable, hello gorgeous,” Garcia’s sweet voice rings out. “What can I do you for?”

“Hi Pen,” you chuckle. “Can you do me a favor and call the pilot? I’m heading back to Quantico, looks like I’ll be keeping you company in the bat cave.”

She hesitates for a moment before replying, and that’s when you know she’s picked up on your tone and weird wording. Because she’s Penelope Garcia, and no matter what she says or thinks, in your eyes, she’s as much a profiler as the rest of the team. 

“Wonderful news, my sweet!”

“Officer Robinson and I are heading to the airport now, be sure to let Aaron know.”

“Will do, my angel. Is Officer Robinson flying with you, so I can let the pilot know how many will be on board?”

You glance at Andrew from the corner of your eye. He’s chewing on his fingernails. “Nope, just me.”

“Alright, see you soon!”

“Thanks Garcia,” you say, hanging up with a sweet, sweet smile.

If you know Pen, and you do, then she’s calling Hotch right now, telling him something is off about you. All you need to do is get somewhere safe and wait. The police cars and other bureau vehicles will fly into the lot within minutes.

“Mind if we stop for gas?” you ask, looking over at Andrew. “And grab some snacks. It’s a long plane ride.”

“They don’t have snacks on that fancy jet of yours?”

“None that I like,” you scrunch up your nose, already getting into the turn lane for the gas station. “I need something from here, you know. Something that tastes like home.”

That clearly strikes a nerve, and if Andrew didn’t know before that you know his little secret, then he definitely knows now.

You pull into the gas station, an old rundown Shell, and you hope it’s one where you have to go inside to pay, but it isn’t. You don’t let that deter you, though, as you park and pull out the BAU credit card from your wallet.

“I’ll just be a sec,” you tell him. “Did you want any snacks?” He says nothing, just stares straight ahead. “Suit yourself.”

You step out of the car and insert the card into the reader, typing in the zipcode. The car does actually need gas, which works in your favor, buys you more time.

Just as you’re about to grip the nozzle, Andrew’s hand beats you to it. “Where are my manners?” he says. “A lady never pumps her own gas. Go have a seat.”

You shake your head. “These cars can be a little funny,” you say, a lie. “You’ve gotta watch the gauge.”

“Then I will,” he smiles.

“Fine,” you mutter. “But I’m staying right here.”

“Suit yourself,” he mimics you from a moment ago, switching places with you so he’s closer to the gas tank. 

You lean back against the car door, watching the numbers go up as gas fills the tank. You try to discreetly glance around the empty lot, hoping someone will be coming soon, hoping Garcia has traced your phone or the car and told them exactly where to go. But you don’t even hear any sirens yet. You cross your arms over your chest, watching the numbers again as they climb. You’re running out of time.

The gas pump clunks as it stops and you flinch, earning a raised eyebrow from Andrew. He leans over to glance inside the car at the dash, and when he pulls back, you feel the tiniest of pricks on the side of your neck.

You hiss and immediately step away, your hand flying up to your neck.

“What’s the matter?” he asks, shaking the nozzle before replacing it. “Get stung by somethin’?”

“I hope not,” you reply with an irritated glare.

“Why don’t I drive?” he says, pressing the button for no receipt. “Since I’m just dropping you off.”

You don’t have it in you to argue with him as you walk around the hood of the car, hopefully in full view of the security cameras at the traffic light. You hold onto the car as you walk, your footsteps growing slower with each one. The air begins to feel…thick. 

You nearly trip with your next step, almost falling over entirely if it weren’t for the door right there. Somewhere in your panicked, sluggish state you managed to dig your phone out of your pocket, your hands working on autopilot to press one of the speed dial numbers. Aaron’s. Because he’ll help. Aaron will know what to do. You just need Aaron to get here.

“You won’t be needing that anymore,” Andrew’s voice swims in your ears as your vision blurs. You reach for the passenger seat, but it’s so far away now. Your phone leaves your hand easily, your muscles all lax.

You blink slowly, just barely registering the sound of your phone hitting the sides of the metal trash can. You try to climb away from the car, but Andrew lifts you up and hauls you into the backseat, flicking the child lock before slamming the door on you.

He’s a blurry streak as you watch him walk around to the driver’s side. Your hands shake as you reach for your gun on your hip, aiming it at him when he sits behind the wheel. But in your drugged state, you forget to flick off the safety. It takes nothing for Andrew to lift the gun from your fingers and tuck it between his knees.

“Just lay down, sis,” he says, adjusting the rearview. “We’re going for a drive.”

+++

When Deputy Laneman’s car comes flying into the Shell parking lot, the store clerk comes outside, hands waving. A few officers’ cars are already around, lights flashing and turning people away when they try to turn into the lot.

Laneman skids the car to a stop between two pumps and Hotch jumps out before the engine even shuts off, JJ not far behind him.

“Hey!” the clerk yells. “What the hell is going on?”

“Mike, did you see a woman here with a man, another officer?” Laneman asks.

“No,” Mike says. “Just your men tearing up my drive like it’s the damn Indy 500.”

“Think, Mike,” Laneman urges. “Did you see Andrew?”

“Andrew?” Mike pauses, looking skyward. “Yeah, actually, I think it was him. Had his sunglasses on, but he was with a woman. Not unusual for him, though, you know how that kid is.”

“We don’t care about his sex life,” Hotch interjects harshly. “Do you have cameras?”

“One, it ain’t great,” Mike says. “What’s this about?”

“We need to see that footage,” Laneman says. “Now.”

“Alright, come on back. You’ll have better luck with the traffic camera, I’m telling you.”

“You go ahead and look at the footage with the deputy, JJ. I’ll call Garcia and get her to look at the traffic camera,” Hotch says, already pressing his phone to his ear.

But he’s not calling Garcia, not yet. She said your phone was still here. So where the hell is it?

He pulls his phone away from his ear as it rings, trying to listen for yours. His ears lead him to the trash can at pump three, and when he looks down into it, he sees it. His face, lit up on your screen.

Something wretched tugs at his heartstrings, seeing that photo. It’s a close up that you took of him the first time you met, ten years ago. He expects his name in your phone to be what it used to be: Hotch (BAU). But it’s not. You’ve changed it.

Aaron is all it says. He reaches in and grasps your phone, pulling it out. He goes to your call log, sees your call with Garcia, but sees something else, too. Something else that makes it feel like his chest is ripping open.

You tried to call him. It must’ve only rang once, or barely began to, because he didn’t receive the call on his end. But you tried. You’re in trouble, and you called for him.

Tears sting his eyes as he pockets your phone, returning to his previous task. “Penelope, I need you to look at the traffic camera outside the gas station,” he instructs once she picks up, having no time for pleasantries.

“One step ahead, boss, I am just about to get my hands on that footage.”

Hotch’s smile is watery. “Thank you.”

He waits for her confirmation that she’s got it, and while he is, the rest of the team comes screeching into the lot, the cars practically on two wheels.

“She was here,” Hotch relays the information to Reid, Morgan, Rossi, and Prentiss. He pats his suit pocket. “I have her phone, he tossed it in the trash, probably when she tried calling me. I didn’t get the call, but it’s on the log, so she definitely tried. Garcia’s getting the footage from the traffic cam--” His words stop short when he hears Garcia gasp loudly on the other end. “Penelope?”

“Sorry sir, I’ll…I’ll send the footage, but it’s--”

“What is it, Garcia?”

Hotch can hear the emotion in Garcia’s voice as she speaks, “Oh my god, I think he drugged her.”

Morgan pulls the footage up on his phone just as Hotch turns around, pinching the bridge of his nose to stop the tears from escaping. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. You were supposed to be in Quantico. Safe. Away from all of this. 

Instead, by telling you to go, Hotch might as well have handed you over to the unsub himself.

He inhales shakily, hanging up on Garcia and taking a walk to the far end of the lot. Distantly, he hears one of his team members’ phones ringing, Garcia probably calling one of them instead.

With his back to his team and the officers, Aaron can’t keep the tears at bay, and they flow heavy and warm down his cheeks, despite how hard he bites into his knuckles to keep himself grounded.

How could he do this to you? Why couldn’t he have just listened? Why couldn’t he have just kept you by his side until they brought the unsub in? Why did he have to push you away?

Why did he let you walk away?

It’s going to haunt him for the rest of his life, this guilt. He knows it. It’s going to follow him around like a soul-sucking shadow, always curled around his shoulders.

“Aaron.”

“Not now, Dave,” Aaron bites out, voice weak and broken. He waves his hand over his shoulder at his well meaning friend. “Just-- Give me a second.”

Dave doesn’t listen. He rounds on Aaron and stands face-to-face with him, a frown settling into his features.

“It’s not your fault,” Dave says.

Dave is wrong this time. Aaron knows it. But he doesn’t say it.

Instead, he says, “I told her to go.”

“That doesn’t make this your fault,” Dave argues. “You had no way of knowing--”

“But I told her to go,” Aaron cries, shaking his fist at Dave, as if anything is going to make him understand this feeling. “I should’ve told her to stay. She didn’t want to go. But I told her she had to. I told her it wasn’t safe here, but I should’ve never let her go, I should’ve-- I should’ve gone with her.”

“Aaron,” Dave tries. “Aaron, we will find her.”

Aaron has no doubt about that. Because he doesn’t know what the hell he’ll do with himself if they don’t find you. But as for what shape they’ll find you in, he doesn’t know. Carter didn’t hurt you when you were a kid, but that doesn’t mean he won’t now. The circumstances are different this time around. 

He feels like his ribcage is being forced open, like his own heart is trying to escape because it’s ashamed of his actions, ashamed that he would tell you to go when his heart was screaming that you should stay.

“Garcia is tracing the GPS in the car,” Dave says. “We’re not going to stop until we find her. We need you to help us do that.”

“I know,” Aaron nods, sniffling, wiping his nose on his arm. “I know.”

Dave shakes his head, offering a comforting hand on Aaron’s shoulder.

“God,” Aaron chuckles, but it turns into more of a sob. “She’s never going to forgive me for this.”

All Dave can offer then is a frown, his hand squeezing Aaron’s arm.

After a few deep breaths and wiping his face, Aaron steels himself enough to return to the team where they’ve huddled near the gas pump where you and Andrew Robinson were last seen.

“They went north,” Morgan says, pointing toward the road. “Garcia has tracked them as far as the state line, but she isn’t getting anything anymore.”

“He probably figured out how to disable the GPS,” Reid says.

“Or he ditched the vehicle,” Prentiss adds.

“Morgan, take Prentiss and JJ and drive to where Garcia last traced them. Knowing our unsub, he probably switched vehicles. Call the local police and have them meet you there, we don’t know what you’ll find,” Hotch instructs. “JJ, I want an APB out on the vehicle and Robinson. If he’s not taking backroads, someone has definitely seen him.”

“On it,” she nods, stepping away with Morgan and Prentiss, already typing on her phone as the three of them jog toward the car.

Hotch pulls out his phone and starts dialling.

“What are we doing?” Reid asks, sharing a glance with Rossi.

“We’re flying to Tennessee,” Hotch says while it rings, his previous distraught tone being replaced with one much more lethal. “Doug hasn’t been answering his phone and I’m tired of waiting.”

+++

When you peel your eyes open, the car is still moving, and you have an awful twinge in your neck from where your head is half hanging off the backseat. Not to mention, your head is absolutely pounding.

But when you try to move your limbs, you can’t.

Panic immediately sets in, just as quickly as the realization does. Andrew is driving you God knows where, and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it because you can’t move. You can’t even make any noise, not that he’d hear you, because he has the radio blasting.

An old Beatles’ song comes on, and you don’t know the name of it, but part of you is glad it plays. It makes you think of Aaron, and the image of his face is enough to make you not panic as your eyelids slam shut again.

[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part thirty-eight

For some reason I've had to rewrite this chapter (and the next couple) because they didn't feel right so here's to hoping that I got it right with this draft 😭

Warnings: another motherload of angst so sorry, drugging (that is probs not accurate but oh well), Hotch's ever-growing guilt

You’re barely sitting in the driver’s seat of the bureau vehicle for two minutes when the passenger door opens and someone slides inside. You expect it to be Hotch. It’s not.

“Officer Robinson,” you say, keeping your gaze straight ahead, though you glance in the mirrors. All around you, officers are still peeling out of the parking lot to go on patrol -- likely to look for him. It’s no coincidence Robinson just got in your car, in civilian clothes, right at this moment. You crank the engine. “Joining me to the airport?”

“Thought you might need an escort,” he says. “And someone to drive the car back to the precinct.” Sunglasses don his face and he has a baseball cap pulled over his head. Just like that day in the car with Hotch, when he chased the two of you down that long stretch of road. “Drive.”

You do. You’re not an idiot. You need to be careful about this. You need to think about your next move, so as not to risk angering him and having a gun pressed to your temple.

“Saw you storm out of there pretty angry,” Robinson says while you drive, heading toward the airport. “Was it that guy again?”

“What guy?”

“Your boss,” he chuckles. “Agent Hotchner.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah. We don’t get along.”

“Not what I hear.”

“And what do you hear, Andrew?”

“Oh, we’re on a first name basis, are we?”

“Might as well be,” you reply, drumming your fingers on the wheel. You wait a few seconds before feigning forgetfulness, raising one hand and smacking the wheel. “Shit. I’ve gotta call the pilot.”

“What?” 

“It’s fine,” you wave him off, hitting Garcia’s speed dial before he can stop you. “The pilot isn’t just living on the jet, you know. We have to actually get somebody to call him before we fly.”

“Right,” Andrew scoffs, but he’s getting antsy already. You can see it in the way his left leg bounces, the way his jaw twitches.

“Oracle of all things knowledgeable, hello gorgeous,” Garcia’s sweet voice rings out. “What can I do you for?”

“Hi Pen,” you chuckle. “Can you do me a favor and call the pilot? I’m heading back to Quantico, looks like I’ll be keeping you company in the bat cave.”

She hesitates for a moment before replying, and that’s when you know she’s picked up on your tone and weird wording. Because she’s Penelope Garcia, and no matter what she says or thinks, in your eyes, she’s as much a profiler as the rest of the team. 

“Wonderful news, my sweet!”

“Officer Robinson and I are heading to the airport now, be sure to let Aaron know.”

“Will do, my angel. Is Officer Robinson flying with you, so I can let the pilot know how many will be on board?”

You glance at Andrew from the corner of your eye. He’s chewing on his fingernails. “Nope, just me.”

“Alright, see you soon!”

“Thanks Garcia,” you say, hanging up with a sweet, sweet smile.

If you know Pen, and you do, then she’s calling Hotch right now, telling him something is off about you. All you need to do is get somewhere safe and wait. The police cars and other bureau vehicles will fly into the lot within minutes.

“Mind if we stop for gas?” you ask, looking over at Andrew. “And grab some snacks. It’s a long plane ride.”

“They don’t have snacks on that fancy jet of yours?”

“None that I like,” you scrunch up your nose, already getting into the turn lane for the gas station. “I need something from here, you know. Something that tastes like home.”

That clearly strikes a nerve, and if Andrew didn’t know before that you know his little secret, then he definitely knows now.

You pull into the gas station, an old rundown Shell, and you hope it’s one where you have to go inside to pay, but it isn’t. You don’t let that deter you, though, as you park and pull out the BAU credit card from your wallet.

“I’ll just be a sec,” you tell him. “Did you want any snacks?” He says nothing, just stares straight ahead. “Suit yourself.”

You step out of the car and insert the card into the reader, typing in the zipcode. The car does actually need gas, which works in your favor, buys you more time.

Just as you’re about to grip the nozzle, Andrew’s hand beats you to it. “Where are my manners?” he says. “A lady never pumps her own gas. Go have a seat.”

You shake your head. “These cars can be a little funny,” you say, a lie. “You’ve gotta watch the gauge.”

“Then I will,” he smiles.

“Fine,” you mutter. “But I’m staying right here.”

“Suit yourself,” he mimics you from a moment ago, switching places with you so he’s closer to the gas tank. 

You lean back against the car door, watching the numbers go up as gas fills the tank. You try to discreetly glance around the empty lot, hoping someone will be coming soon, hoping Garcia has traced your phone or the car and told them exactly where to go. But you don’t even hear any sirens yet. You cross your arms over your chest, watching the numbers again as they climb. You’re running out of time.

The gas pump clunks as it stops and you flinch, earning a raised eyebrow from Andrew. He leans over to glance inside the car at the dash, and when he pulls back, you feel the tiniest of pricks on the side of your neck.

You hiss and immediately step away, your hand flying up to your neck.

“What’s the matter?” he asks, shaking the nozzle before replacing it. “Get stung by somethin’?”

“I hope not,” you reply with an irritated glare.

“Why don’t I drive?” he says, pressing the button for no receipt. “Since I’m just dropping you off.”

You don’t have it in you to argue with him as you walk around the hood of the car, hopefully in full view of the security cameras at the traffic light. You hold onto the car as you walk, your footsteps growing slower with each one. The air begins to feel…thick. 

You nearly trip with your next step, almost falling over entirely if it weren’t for the door right there. Somewhere in your panicked, sluggish state you managed to dig your phone out of your pocket, your hands working on autopilot to press one of the speed dial numbers. Aaron’s. Because he’ll help. Aaron will know what to do. You just need Aaron to get here.

“You won’t be needing that anymore,” Andrew’s voice swims in your ears as your vision blurs. You reach for the passenger seat, but it’s so far away now. Your phone leaves your hand easily, your muscles all lax.

You blink slowly, just barely registering the sound of your phone hitting the sides of the metal trash can. You try to climb away from the car, but Andrew lifts you up and hauls you into the backseat, flicking the child lock before slamming the door on you.

He’s a blurry streak as you watch him walk around to the driver’s side. Your hands shake as you reach for your gun on your hip, aiming it at him when he sits behind the wheel. But in your drugged state, you forget to flick off the safety. It takes nothing for Andrew to lift the gun from your fingers and tuck it between his knees.

“Just lay down, sis,” he says, adjusting the rearview. “We’re going for a drive.”

+++

When Deputy Laneman’s car comes flying into the Shell parking lot, the store clerk comes outside, hands waving. A few officers’ cars are already around, lights flashing and turning people away when they try to turn into the lot.

Laneman skids the car to a stop between two pumps and Hotch jumps out before the engine even shuts off, JJ not far behind him.

“Hey!” the clerk yells. “What the hell is going on?”

“Mike, did you see a woman here with a man, another officer?” Laneman asks.

“No,” Mike says. “Just your men tearing up my drive like it’s the damn Indy 500.”

“Think, Mike,” Laneman urges. “Did you see Andrew?”

“Andrew?” Mike pauses, looking skyward. “Yeah, actually, I think it was him. Had his sunglasses on, but he was with a woman. Not unusual for him, though, you know how that kid is.”

“We don’t care about his sex life,” Hotch interjects harshly. “Do you have cameras?”

“One, it ain’t great,” Mike says. “What’s this about?”

“We need to see that footage,” Laneman says. “Now.”

“Alright, come on back. You’ll have better luck with the traffic camera, I’m telling you.”

“You go ahead and look at the footage with the deputy, JJ. I’ll call Garcia and get her to look at the traffic camera,” Hotch says, already pressing his phone to his ear.

But he’s not calling Garcia, not yet. She said your phone was still here. So where the hell is it?

He pulls his phone away from his ear as it rings, trying to listen for yours. His ears lead him to the trash can at pump three, and when he looks down into it, he sees it. His face, lit up on your screen.

Something wretched tugs at his heartstrings, seeing that photo. It’s a close up that you took of him the first time you met, ten years ago. He expects his name in your phone to be what it used to be: Hotch (BAU). But it’s not. You’ve changed it.

Aaron is all it says. He reaches in and grasps your phone, pulling it out. He goes to your call log, sees your call with Garcia, but sees something else, too. Something else that makes it feel like his chest is ripping open.

You tried to call him. It must’ve only rang once, or barely began to, because he didn’t receive the call on his end. But you tried. You’re in trouble, and you called for him.

Tears sting his eyes as he pockets your phone, returning to his previous task. “Penelope, I need you to look at the traffic camera outside the gas station,” he instructs once she picks up, having no time for pleasantries.

“One step ahead, boss, I am just about to get my hands on that footage.”

Hotch’s smile is watery. “Thank you.”

He waits for her confirmation that she’s got it, and while he is, the rest of the team comes screeching into the lot, the cars practically on two wheels.

“She was here,” Hotch relays the information to Reid, Morgan, Rossi, and Prentiss. He pats his suit pocket. “I have her phone, he tossed it in the trash, probably when she tried calling me. I didn’t get the call, but it’s on the log, so she definitely tried. Garcia’s getting the footage from the traffic cam--” His words stop short when he hears Garcia gasp loudly on the other end. “Penelope?”

“Sorry sir, I’ll…I’ll send the footage, but it’s--”

“What is it, Garcia?”

Hotch can hear the emotion in Garcia’s voice as she speaks, “Oh my god, I think he drugged her.”

Morgan pulls the footage up on his phone just as Hotch turns around, pinching the bridge of his nose to stop the tears from escaping. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. You were supposed to be in Quantico. Safe. Away from all of this. 

Instead, by telling you to go, Hotch might as well have handed you over to the unsub himself.

He inhales shakily, hanging up on Garcia and taking a walk to the far end of the lot. Distantly, he hears one of his team members’ phones ringing, Garcia probably calling one of them instead.

With his back to his team and the officers, Aaron can’t keep the tears at bay, and they flow heavy and warm down his cheeks, despite how hard he bites into his knuckles to keep himself grounded.

How could he do this to you? Why couldn’t he have just listened? Why couldn’t he have just kept you by his side until they brought the unsub in? Why did he have to push you away?

Why did he let you walk away?

It’s going to haunt him for the rest of his life, this guilt. He knows it. It’s going to follow him around like a soul-sucking shadow, always curled around his shoulders.

“Aaron.”

“Not now, Dave,” Aaron bites out, voice weak and broken. He waves his hand over his shoulder at his well meaning friend. “Just-- Give me a second.”

Dave doesn’t listen. He rounds on Aaron and stands face-to-face with him, a frown settling into his features.

“It’s not your fault,” Dave says.

Dave is wrong this time. Aaron knows it. But he doesn’t say it.

Instead, he says, “I told her to go.”

“That doesn’t make this your fault,” Dave argues. “You had no way of knowing--”

“But I told her to go,” Aaron cries, shaking his fist at Dave, as if anything is going to make him understand this feeling. “I should’ve told her to stay. She didn’t want to go. But I told her she had to. I told her it wasn’t safe here, but I should’ve never let her go, I should’ve-- I should’ve gone with her.”

“Aaron,” Dave tries. “Aaron, we will find her.”

Aaron has no doubt about that. Because he doesn’t know what the hell he’ll do with himself if they don’t find you. But as for what shape they’ll find you in, he doesn’t know. Carter didn’t hurt you when you were a kid, but that doesn’t mean he won’t now. The circumstances are different this time around. 

He feels like his ribcage is being forced open, like his own heart is trying to escape because it’s ashamed of his actions, ashamed that he would tell you to go when his heart was screaming that you should stay.

“Garcia is tracing the GPS in the car,” Dave says. “We’re not going to stop until we find her. We need you to help us do that.”

“I know,” Aaron nods, sniffling, wiping his nose on his arm. “I know.”

Dave shakes his head, offering a comforting hand on Aaron’s shoulder.

“God,” Aaron chuckles, but it turns into more of a sob. “She’s never going to forgive me for this.”

All Dave can offer then is a frown, his hand squeezing Aaron’s arm.

After a few deep breaths and wiping his face, Aaron steels himself enough to return to the team where they’ve huddled near the gas pump where you and Andrew Robinson were last seen.

“They went north,” Morgan says, pointing toward the road. “Garcia has tracked them as far as the state line, but she isn’t getting anything anymore.”

“He probably figured out how to disable the GPS,” Reid says.

“Or he ditched the vehicle,” Prentiss adds.

“Morgan, take Prentiss and JJ and drive to where Garcia last traced them. Knowing our unsub, he probably switched vehicles. Call the local police and have them meet you there, we don’t know what you’ll find,” Hotch instructs. “JJ, I want an APB out on the vehicle and Robinson. If he’s not taking backroads, someone has definitely seen him.”

“On it,” she nods, stepping away with Morgan and Prentiss, already typing on her phone as the three of them jog toward the car.

Hotch pulls out his phone and starts dialling.

“What are we doing?” Reid asks, sharing a glance with Rossi.

“We’re flying to Tennessee,” Hotch says while it rings, his previous distraught tone being replaced with one much more lethal. “Doug hasn’t been answering his phone and I’m tired of waiting.”

+++

When you peel your eyes open, the car is still moving, and you have an awful twinge in your neck from where your head is half hanging off the backseat. Not to mention, your head is absolutely pounding.

But when you try to move your limbs, you can’t.

Panic immediately sets in, just as quickly as the realization does. Andrew is driving you God knows where, and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it because you can’t move. You can’t even make any noise, not that he’d hear you, because he has the radio blasting.

An old Beatles’ song comes on, and you don’t know the name of it, but part of you is glad it plays. It makes you think of Aaron, and the image of his face is enough to make you not panic as your eyelids slam shut again.

[honeypiehotchner]

I SWORE I reblogged this to reply to you but I guess I only did it in my head omg!!!

Have been laughing so hard over you saying I am holding the threads of your sanity, that is so poetic and has had me giggling all week 🤭🤭🫶🏻🫶🏻

I promise not to tangle them too much more!!! Maybe it’s a spoiler but for peace of mind this gets resolved very quickly…but not without some pain

ANYWAY new chapter tomorrow!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part thirty-seven

I am soooo sorry for what you're about to read. Genuinely so sorry

Warnings: the motherload of all angst tbh, if you're conflicted abt whose side to take (reader vs hotch) good bc me too, everything will be fine I promise!!!

Dave takes one of the bureau SUVs back to the hotel to grab the rest of the team. Aaron tucks you into the passenger seat of the other and takes you for a drive to help you calm down, and because he’s at a loss for what to do next. You want to go to the precinct, but he’s not sure you’re ready yet. 

Or maybe he’s not ready. Maybe all he wants to do is drive straight to the airstrip, call the pilot on the way, and take you home-- back to Quantico.

He wants you somewhere safe, and right now it seems like the safest place is the BAU offices. He wants you there, working with Garcia, in a protected federal building. He wants you far from here, far from whatever caused you to sob so hard you couldn’t stand.

But he doesn’t think you’ll agree to do that, especially not with this new piece of information -- that still isn’t entirely clear to him because you’ve only just begun to calm down. He wants to wait for your breathing to even out before he tries to ask another probing question about what happened in the diner with Darlene.

He takes another left turn, driving in circles at this point, his brain doing the same. Eventually, you take one last shuddering inhale before your breathing smooths out. Your hand reaches for his and he takes it with a small smile, glancing over to make sure you’re okay. Your response is a drained, barely-there smile.

“Can we head to the precinct now?” you ask, sniffling once, but your breaths remain calm and steady. “We need to try to reach him.”

Aaron’s heart clenches. “Reach who, honey?”

“Officer Robinson,” you reply, eyebrows furrowing like you’re not quite registering what you have and haven’t told Aaron yet. “I need to talk to him. I think he’s…”

The pieces click together in Aaron’s mind, the fragmented words you were crying through earlier. “Your brother?”

You nod slowly. “Darlene said she wasn’t sure because no one ever saw a paternity test, but it was one of the rumors around town that was…too specific to be just a rumor. Too much of it lined up.”

Aaron squeezes his hand. He doesn’t like how shaken up you were when you came out of that diner, and he definitely doesn’t like that it was because of something Darlene said. After yesterday, he doesn’t trust what that woman says, but for some reason you do, and for the life of him, Aaron can’t wrap his head around it. 

But he doesn’t want to say anything about it right now and risk sending you into another panicked state so quickly.

“Okay,” he says instead, turning to head back to the precinct. “We’ll talk more about it at the station.”

You nod and settle down into the seat, pulling his hand closer to you, curling around his arm as little as you can.

+++

You’re feeling slightly more yourself when you enter the precinct, albeit absolutely exhausted from being awake since five and then your emotional whiplash talk with Darlene.

The team is waiting for you and Hotch in the small conference room. You’re not sure how much Rossi has told them, but judging by some of their expressions, you can assume he told them enough.

“Here, why don’t you sit?” Hotch moves to pull a chair out for you.

“I’m fine,” you wave him off, but you don’t miss the concern that flashes in his eyes before he relents. You stand up by the board, by the letter the unsub wrote to you and left on Richard’s body, by the bracelet of childish charms that now make perfect sense. “Do we know where Officer Robinson is?”

No one answers. You turn your head and meet Rossi’s eyes, expectant.

“I’ll go ask the deputy,” he nods, disappearing from the room.

“Doug’s son isn’t his -- biologically,” you begin, looking up and tapping the Doug’s Deli newspaper clipping you tacked up yesterday. “But he treated him like his own. And Doug never married Laura Robinson, but they did have plans to elope, until Doug found out about her affair. They had been living together and trying for a baby when Carter -- Officer Robinson’s first name -- came along. Doug figured out the kid wasn’t his, but he was willing to look past it -- the lies, the infidelity -- when he found out who the real father was. But Laura didn’t want to.” You pause, crossing your arms over your chest, some futile protective gesture. “She moved back to Georgia and took Carter with her. Except that Carter sometimes spent weekends with Doug, and no one could understand why Laura let him do that, until Darlene figured out one day who Laura was coming to see.” You inhale sharply. “My father.”

Morgan is the first to blurt out “What?”

Emily is next with “Wait.”

“So Robinson is your…half-brother?” Reid says slowly, and skeptically.

You open your mouth to respond, but you don’t get a chance before Rossi is returning with the deputy in tow.

“Can I ask what all this is about?” Deputy Laneman asks with a tick of his jaw.

Hotch speaks up. “Deputy, we just need to speak with Officer Robinson and ask him some questions.”

“About?”

Hotch levels his gaze, clearly irritated already with how defensive Laneman is. “This case. Richard Monroe’s death. Officer Robinson called it in, did he not?”

“He was on patrol that night, I scheduled him myself, he wasn’t anywhere he wasn’t supposed to be.”

“Be that as it may, deputy, new information has come to light, and we need to speak with him,” Hotch says. “And if you continue to keep us from doing so, I might start to think you’re the one who needs to be questioned next.”

Laneman works his jaw. “Fine. Robinson’s off today. I’ll call him.”

“Have officers go to his house,” Hotch says. “We need to speak with him urgently, and I don’t want to risk him not seeing his phone.”

Laneman looks ready to spit fire, but he agrees. “Fine. I’ll send some men out to his house.”

When the deputy leaves the room, Hotch watches him go, narrows his eyes. He waits a beat.

“Morgan, Prentiss, go with the officers to see if Robinson is at home,” he instructs quietly. “Rossi, take Reid and join the officers on the patrol, look for Robinson’s car, anything around the area at any restaurants, stores, gas stations, the gym-- just find him. JJ, get ahead of the press if you can, I don’t know that I trust this to not get out with how Laneman is acting.”

You’re not surprised to find that this leaves you with Hotch -- and JJ, though she steps out into the hall to handle phone calls, and to speak with the remaining officers about keeping this under wraps.

You finally sit down, leaning your head onto one of your hands. “This is-- If this is true, Hotch.”

“I know,” he sighs, sitting down next to you, reaching for your free hand. “Let’s just find Officer Robinson first and ask him some questions.”

“What if what Darlene said is true?” you whisper. “What if he is my brother?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he says, squeezing your hand. “We don’t know that it’s true. We know Laura is his mother, that he was raised in Georgia, but we don’t know for sure yet that he--”

“But everything she said, it--” You shake your head, pulling your hand from his, and a stricken expression crosses his face as you start to pace the length of the room. “It makes sense. And I-I remember him. I remember a young boy. Laura used to live here and date Doug, had an affair with my father, and-- They were friends! He was friends with Doug, yet he had sex with Laura and ruined their friendship, a child comes of it and he tells her she can’t stay here, not with a kid now too, because my dad had met my mom by then, and they were engaged by then. So he kept going to Georgia to see Laura, and she kept coming here, and he was-- I don’t know, was he murdering the women in Atlanta because he felt…guilty? Do you think he felt guilty about having an affair? Is that why he went after sex workers? He saw them as a representation of his own infidelity and killed them for it.”

You spin around to find Hotch still sitting, and his expression is pained. His eyes narrowed in concern, a frown set deep in his lips.

“What?” you nearly snap. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Sit down, please,” he whispers, gesturing to the chair you were just in.

“No,” you murmur, shifting your weight on your feet. “Because I feel like whatever you’re about to say is just going to make me stand up and pace again, so. What is it?”

He sighs, but he remains sitting, not challenging you. “I think you should go back to Quantico and work on the case from there with Garcia -- if you feel comfortable continuing to work on it.”

You stare at him. And stare. And stare.

When you don’t speak, Aaron stands slowly like you’re a frightened animal that he’s worried he’ll spook. “I think you need to take a break. This case is wearing on you. You couldn’t walk earlier, honey--”

“Don’t call me that right now,” you snap.

He nods, but continues. “I think you want what Darlene says to be true because you want to be able to trust someone from your past. You want to have someone like her in your life, someone who remembers your past and can give you the answers you need, but I’m not certain that she’s a reliable source. I think she’s harming you more than she’s helping--”

You ignore the fact that he’s profiling you within an inch of your life and instead take a jab at him. “So you’re just sending me away? That’s it? That’s your solution?”

“That’s not-- It’s not about me sending you away, it’s about keeping you sane, and keeping you safe.” He gestures at you. “You’re exhausted.”

“And no one else is?”

“No one else on this team is hunting for their kidnapper,” he says, “or brother.”

You glare at him. “So you do believe Darlene? Or you don’t? Which is it?”

“I think what she says holds some truth,” he admits, albeit reluctantly. “We just need to figure out how much truth before we jump to any conclusions.”

“Like sending me away.”

He sighs. He looks away from you. “I have been thinking of broaching this subject since we got here. That first night when you had a panic attack and couldn’t read the letter.”

You fume silently. Clearly he’s already made up his mind and nothing you say will change his decision. He can’t exactly force you onto the plane, but if he doesn’t want you here, why try to stay?

“Why are you pushing me away?” you ask outright, unable to keep it in. It sounds ridiculous and you know it does, but here you are.

You’re already walking a thin, vulnerable line after finding out the man who kidnapped you when you were younger might actually be your half-brother, and that his motives maybe weren’t as sinister as you had always been told to believe. But in fact, they were the actions of a neglected child begging to be seen by his father -- something that, God help you, you can relate to. 

But to have Aaron suggesting this, wanting you to go back to Virginia, all under the guise of thinking it’s safer, well. You don’t know what to make of it. Other than the fact that it hurts.

“I’m not,” he says quietly. “I’m not pushing you away.”

“Then why does it feel like it?” you protest, angry tears beginning to break. “It just feels like that night at Dave’s house all over again.”

Aaron tilts his head, completely lost now. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, every time we get close, you just--” You wave your hand. “Something happens. The ‘racoons,’ if those were even real, and now, the day after we have sex, you want me gone?”

“The racoons were real! But-- You’re the one who snuck out last night,” he reminds you. “I’m the one who woke up to an empty bed.”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t have agreed to let me speak to Darlene again!” you cry. “Because I knew you wouldn’t have let me go alone! And you still didn’t.”

“And I’m glad I didn’t!” he fires back. “Because you couldn’t even walk when you got out of there!”

“I would’ve been fine!” you protest. “I’ve dealt with this without you before, I would’ve been fine this time!”

Aaron watches you, tears brimming his own eyes, and you have no idea why. He’s the one telling you to go. He’s the one doing this to the two of you. He’s the one ripping the two of you apart.

“I don’t want to go back to Quantico,” you say quietly, sniffling. “But if you tell me to go, I’ll leave.” Leave, quit, resign, walk away. They’re all the same. Aaron knows it just as well as you do. “So?”

He doesn’t want to say it. You can see it all over his face. All he has to do is say stay here, don’t go.

But he doesn’t.

“Please,” he says, voice quiet, broken, the syllables all jagged. “Go back to Quantico. It’s safer for you there.”

You nod once. That’s that, then.

“I can drive you,” he offers.

“No,” you’re quick to reject it. “No, if you’re forcing me to go, I can drive myself.”

“I’ll call the pilot--”

“I can do that myself, too.”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please. I’m not doing this to slight you, or-- or to punish you. Please tell me you understand that.”

“I’ll head to the hotel and grab my things,” you mutter, ignoring his pleas as you head for the door. “Then head straight to the airport.”

“Let me know when you land in Quantico, at least. Please.”

You laugh, a bitter sound as you twist the handle. “Sure. Let me know when you find my brother.”

+++

Aaron sits in the conference room, the resounding slam of the door from when you left ringing in his ears. He wants to give you space. He told you to leave. He knew you wouldn’t like it. He doesn’t even like it. But it’s for the better.

But the look on your face, when he told you to go. It’s going to haunt him for years.

He waits a few more moments before following your path out of the room and into the bullpen. He glances around, but he doesn’t spot you anywhere, so he heads outside.

After scanning the parking lot, he curses under his breath. The other bureau vehicle is gone, which means you’ve already left for the airport. Alone.

Aaron had hoped to find you still sitting in the driver’s seat of the car, so maybe he could’ve tried to apologize, at least tried to mend some of this before you left, but he’s too late. He waited all of three minutes, and he’s too late.

He knows if he tries to call you right now, you’ll just send him to voicemail. And if he goes to the hotel to intercept you there, he risks making this worse and losing you forever. All he can do is wait for you to tell him that you’ve reached Quantico. 

He heads back inside, passing JJ and asking her to call the pilot and let him know he’s needed soon. Just in case it slips your mind, but really it’s Aaron wanting to help. To take one more thing off your plate, even if he knows it’ll upset you when he finds out JJ called the pilot. 

Still, Aaron tries to let it go. He goes back to the conference room, pacing in front of the board just like you had, and glancing at his phone every five seconds, looking for text messages from you that won’t appear.

He caves about fifteen minutes later and tries to call you, but the line is busy. You’re probably talking to Garcia, telling her you’re heading to Quantico and talking shit about him in the same breath. If you are, he doesn’t blame you. He waits.

Aaron waits, and waits, and wishes he knew what he was doing. Wishes he knew exactly where you were.

JJ comes into the conference room, eyebrows furrowed down at her phone.

Hotch looks up. “What is it?”

“The pilot,” JJ shakes her head. “I gave him an ETA for her based on when she left, but he said she still hasn’t shown up at the airstrip. Have you talked to her?”

“No,” Hotch says regretfully. “She was angry with me when she left, so she’s not speaking to me.”

“I’m trying to call her now,” JJ nods, phone pressed to her ear. But she pulls it away all too quickly. “Voicemail.” She tries again, and gets the same outcome.

Hotch, against his better judgement, and fueled by some delusion thinking you’d send JJ to voicemail but answer him, tries to call you. It cuts out, goes to voicemail.

His phone starts ringing a second later, and he jumps, thinking it’s you, but it’s not. “Garcia,” he answers.

“Hey boss,” she says, sounding concerned. “I was just-- She told me to call you and let you know that they’re on the way to the airport.”

Hotch’s spine straightens. “They?” He puts the phone on speaker, placing it on the table between him and JJ. “Penelope, who is they?”

“She said, ‘Officer Robinson and I are headed to the airport, be sure to let Aaron know.’ She sounded like she was reading off a script, Hotch, it was creepy. I don’t like whatever this is--”

“Penelope,” he says slowly, trying to keep his own composure as JJ’s eyes widen. “I need you to trace her phone for me.”

“Oh, trust me, I started doing that as soon as she started speaking, I knew something was off,” Garcia says, keyboard already clacking, and Hotch has never loved her more than he does in this moment. “I’ve been digging into Andrew Robinson some more too, I know we ruled him out initially because he wasn’t raised there, but I’ve just been looking around. His real name is Carter, though, and get this, he spent a lot of time in that town with--”

“Doug, we know,” Aaron interjects, not unkindly, just fucking stressed. “Doug treated him like a son because he was in a relationship with Robinson’s mom before he found out about the affair, but he wanted to look past it.”

“Woah. But I can’t find anything on Carter’s real father, it’s like the guy doesn’t even exist--”

“It’s Carson Adkins,” Hotch sighs. “Or Darlene thinks it is, and I’m starting to think she’s right. Garcia, do you have eyes on her?”

“Her phone says she’s at a gas station not far from you. They must be getting gas or something, they haven’t moved.”

“Thank you,” Hotch exhales, grabbing his phone and leaving the conference room, heading straight for Deputy Laneman’s office. “I’ll call you with updates.”

“Be safe, sir.”

“Thank you,” he says, hanging up as he opens Deputy Laneman’s door without even knocking.

“My men just spotted Officer Robinson at the Shell on Hickory,” Laneman says, already standing and setting the phone down. “He’s--”

“With one of my agents, that I just sent home,” Hotch finishes, giving Laneman no room to question him on it. “She’s in trouble.”

Laneman grabs his hat. “I’ll drive.”

[honeypiehotchner]

Hi do you have a number of chapters in mind for the gambit or are you just going with the flow? Curious to see how many chapters it will be. Love your work!

hi anon!!! i’m going with the flow, but also, i’m thinking it’ll be 41-42 chapters in total + a sweet sweet epilogue to tie it all together and give us some much needed fluff to end such a crazy story!!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

(with that being said, i’m planning to have it finished and fully posted before the end of september! so that way my blog is all clear and ready to go for kinktober 🤭🤭)

[honeypiehotchner]

Girl me too 😭😭😭😭😭😭

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part thirty-seven

I am soooo sorry for what you're about to read. Genuinely so sorry

Warnings: the motherload of all angst tbh, if you're conflicted abt whose side to take (reader vs hotch) good bc me too, everything will be fine I promise!!!

Dave takes one of the bureau SUVs back to the hotel to grab the rest of the team. Aaron tucks you into the passenger seat of the other and takes you for a drive to help you calm down, and because he’s at a loss for what to do next. You want to go to the precinct, but he’s not sure you’re ready yet. 

Or maybe he’s not ready. Maybe all he wants to do is drive straight to the airstrip, call the pilot on the way, and take you home-- back to Quantico.

He wants you somewhere safe, and right now it seems like the safest place is the BAU offices. He wants you there, working with Garcia, in a protected federal building. He wants you far from here, far from whatever caused you to sob so hard you couldn’t stand.

But he doesn’t think you’ll agree to do that, especially not with this new piece of information -- that still isn’t entirely clear to him because you’ve only just begun to calm down. He wants to wait for your breathing to even out before he tries to ask another probing question about what happened in the diner with Darlene.

He takes another left turn, driving in circles at this point, his brain doing the same. Eventually, you take one last shuddering inhale before your breathing smooths out. Your hand reaches for his and he takes it with a small smile, glancing over to make sure you’re okay. Your response is a drained, barely-there smile.

“Can we head to the precinct now?” you ask, sniffling once, but your breaths remain calm and steady. “We need to try to reach him.”

Aaron’s heart clenches. “Reach who, honey?”

“Officer Robinson,” you reply, eyebrows furrowing like you’re not quite registering what you have and haven’t told Aaron yet. “I need to talk to him. I think he’s…”

The pieces click together in Aaron’s mind, the fragmented words you were crying through earlier. “Your brother?”

You nod slowly. “Darlene said she wasn’t sure because no one ever saw a paternity test, but it was one of the rumors around town that was…too specific to be just a rumor. Too much of it lined up.”

Aaron squeezes his hand. He doesn’t like how shaken up you were when you came out of that diner, and he definitely doesn’t like that it was because of something Darlene said. After yesterday, he doesn’t trust what that woman says, but for some reason you do, and for the life of him, Aaron can’t wrap his head around it. 

But he doesn’t want to say anything about it right now and risk sending you into another panicked state so quickly.

“Okay,” he says instead, turning to head back to the precinct. “We’ll talk more about it at the station.”

You nod and settle down into the seat, pulling his hand closer to you, curling around his arm as little as you can.

+++

You’re feeling slightly more yourself when you enter the precinct, albeit absolutely exhausted from being awake since five and then your emotional whiplash talk with Darlene.

The team is waiting for you and Hotch in the small conference room. You’re not sure how much Rossi has told them, but judging by some of their expressions, you can assume he told them enough.

“Here, why don’t you sit?” Hotch moves to pull a chair out for you.

“I’m fine,” you wave him off, but you don’t miss the concern that flashes in his eyes before he relents. You stand up by the board, by the letter the unsub wrote to you and left on Richard’s body, by the bracelet of childish charms that now make perfect sense. “Do we know where Officer Robinson is?”

No one answers. You turn your head and meet Rossi’s eyes, expectant.

“I’ll go ask the deputy,” he nods, disappearing from the room.

“Doug’s son isn’t his -- biologically,” you begin, looking up and tapping the Doug’s Deli newspaper clipping you tacked up yesterday. “But he treated him like his own. And Doug never married Laura Robinson, but they did have plans to elope, until Doug found out about her affair. They had been living together and trying for a baby when Carter -- Officer Robinson’s first name -- came along. Doug figured out the kid wasn’t his, but he was willing to look past it -- the lies, the infidelity -- when he found out who the real father was. But Laura didn’t want to.” You pause, crossing your arms over your chest, some futile protective gesture. “She moved back to Georgia and took Carter with her. Except that Carter sometimes spent weekends with Doug, and no one could understand why Laura let him do that, until Darlene figured out one day who Laura was coming to see.” You inhale sharply. “My father.”

Morgan is the first to blurt out “What?”

Emily is next with “Wait.”

“So Robinson is your…half-brother?” Reid says slowly, and skeptically.

You open your mouth to respond, but you don’t get a chance before Rossi is returning with the deputy in tow.

“Can I ask what all this is about?” Deputy Laneman asks with a tick of his jaw.

Hotch speaks up. “Deputy, we just need to speak with Officer Robinson and ask him some questions.”

“About?”

Hotch levels his gaze, clearly irritated already with how defensive Laneman is. “This case. Richard Monroe’s death. Officer Robinson called it in, did he not?”

“He was on patrol that night, I scheduled him myself, he wasn’t anywhere he wasn’t supposed to be.”

“Be that as it may, deputy, new information has come to light, and we need to speak with him,” Hotch says. “And if you continue to keep us from doing so, I might start to think you’re the one who needs to be questioned next.”

Laneman works his jaw. “Fine. Robinson’s off today. I’ll call him.”

“Have officers go to his house,” Hotch says. “We need to speak with him urgently, and I don’t want to risk him not seeing his phone.”

Laneman looks ready to spit fire, but he agrees. “Fine. I’ll send some men out to his house.”

When the deputy leaves the room, Hotch watches him go, narrows his eyes. He waits a beat.

“Morgan, Prentiss, go with the officers to see if Robinson is at home,” he instructs quietly. “Rossi, take Reid and join the officers on the patrol, look for Robinson’s car, anything around the area at any restaurants, stores, gas stations, the gym-- just find him. JJ, get ahead of the press if you can, I don’t know that I trust this to not get out with how Laneman is acting.”

You’re not surprised to find that this leaves you with Hotch -- and JJ, though she steps out into the hall to handle phone calls, and to speak with the remaining officers about keeping this under wraps.

You finally sit down, leaning your head onto one of your hands. “This is-- If this is true, Hotch.”

“I know,” he sighs, sitting down next to you, reaching for your free hand. “Let’s just find Officer Robinson first and ask him some questions.”

“What if what Darlene said is true?” you whisper. “What if he is my brother?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he says, squeezing your hand. “We don’t know that it’s true. We know Laura is his mother, that he was raised in Georgia, but we don’t know for sure yet that he--”

“But everything she said, it--” You shake your head, pulling your hand from his, and a stricken expression crosses his face as you start to pace the length of the room. “It makes sense. And I-I remember him. I remember a young boy. Laura used to live here and date Doug, had an affair with my father, and-- They were friends! He was friends with Doug, yet he had sex with Laura and ruined their friendship, a child comes of it and he tells her she can’t stay here, not with a kid now too, because my dad had met my mom by then, and they were engaged by then. So he kept going to Georgia to see Laura, and she kept coming here, and he was-- I don’t know, was he murdering the women in Atlanta because he felt…guilty? Do you think he felt guilty about having an affair? Is that why he went after sex workers? He saw them as a representation of his own infidelity and killed them for it.”

You spin around to find Hotch still sitting, and his expression is pained. His eyes narrowed in concern, a frown set deep in his lips.

“What?” you nearly snap. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Sit down, please,” he whispers, gesturing to the chair you were just in.

“No,” you murmur, shifting your weight on your feet. “Because I feel like whatever you’re about to say is just going to make me stand up and pace again, so. What is it?”

He sighs, but he remains sitting, not challenging you. “I think you should go back to Quantico and work on the case from there with Garcia -- if you feel comfortable continuing to work on it.”

You stare at him. And stare. And stare.

When you don’t speak, Aaron stands slowly like you’re a frightened animal that he’s worried he’ll spook. “I think you need to take a break. This case is wearing on you. You couldn’t walk earlier, honey--”

“Don’t call me that right now,” you snap.

He nods, but continues. “I think you want what Darlene says to be true because you want to be able to trust someone from your past. You want to have someone like her in your life, someone who remembers your past and can give you the answers you need, but I’m not certain that she’s a reliable source. I think she’s harming you more than she’s helping--”

You ignore the fact that he’s profiling you within an inch of your life and instead take a jab at him. “So you’re just sending me away? That’s it? That’s your solution?”

“That’s not-- It’s not about me sending you away, it’s about keeping you sane, and keeping you safe.” He gestures at you. “You’re exhausted.”

“And no one else is?”

“No one else on this team is hunting for their kidnapper,” he says, “or brother.”

You glare at him. “So you do believe Darlene? Or you don’t? Which is it?”

“I think what she says holds some truth,” he admits, albeit reluctantly. “We just need to figure out how much truth before we jump to any conclusions.”

“Like sending me away.”

He sighs. He looks away from you. “I have been thinking of broaching this subject since we got here. That first night when you had a panic attack and couldn’t read the letter.”

You fume silently. Clearly he’s already made up his mind and nothing you say will change his decision. He can’t exactly force you onto the plane, but if he doesn’t want you here, why try to stay?

“Why are you pushing me away?” you ask outright, unable to keep it in. It sounds ridiculous and you know it does, but here you are.

You’re already walking a thin, vulnerable line after finding out the man who kidnapped you when you were younger might actually be your half-brother, and that his motives maybe weren’t as sinister as you had always been told to believe. But in fact, they were the actions of a neglected child begging to be seen by his father -- something that, God help you, you can relate to. 

But to have Aaron suggesting this, wanting you to go back to Virginia, all under the guise of thinking it’s safer, well. You don’t know what to make of it. Other than the fact that it hurts.

“I’m not,” he says quietly. “I’m not pushing you away.”

“Then why does it feel like it?” you protest, angry tears beginning to break. “It just feels like that night at Dave’s house all over again.”

Aaron tilts his head, completely lost now. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, every time we get close, you just--” You wave your hand. “Something happens. The ‘racoons,’ if those were even real, and now, the day after we have sex, you want me gone?”

“The racoons were real! But-- You’re the one who snuck out last night,” he reminds you. “I’m the one who woke up to an empty bed.”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t have agreed to let me speak to Darlene again!” you cry. “Because I knew you wouldn’t have let me go alone! And you still didn’t.”

“And I’m glad I didn’t!” he fires back. “Because you couldn’t even walk when you got out of there!”

“I would’ve been fine!” you protest. “I’ve dealt with this without you before, I would’ve been fine this time!”

Aaron watches you, tears brimming his own eyes, and you have no idea why. He’s the one telling you to go. He’s the one doing this to the two of you. He’s the one ripping the two of you apart.

“I don’t want to go back to Quantico,” you say quietly, sniffling. “But if you tell me to go, I’ll leave.” Leave, quit, resign, walk away. They’re all the same. Aaron knows it just as well as you do. “So?”

He doesn’t want to say it. You can see it all over his face. All he has to do is say stay here, don’t go.

But he doesn’t.

“Please,” he says, voice quiet, broken, the syllables all jagged. “Go back to Quantico. It’s safer for you there.”

You nod once. That’s that, then.

“I can drive you,” he offers.

“No,” you’re quick to reject it. “No, if you’re forcing me to go, I can drive myself.”

“I’ll call the pilot--”

“I can do that myself, too.”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please. I’m not doing this to slight you, or-- or to punish you. Please tell me you understand that.”

“I’ll head to the hotel and grab my things,” you mutter, ignoring his pleas as you head for the door. “Then head straight to the airport.”

“Let me know when you land in Quantico, at least. Please.”

You laugh, a bitter sound as you twist the handle. “Sure. Let me know when you find my brother.”

+++

Aaron sits in the conference room, the resounding slam of the door from when you left ringing in his ears. He wants to give you space. He told you to leave. He knew you wouldn’t like it. He doesn’t even like it. But it’s for the better.

But the look on your face, when he told you to go. It’s going to haunt him for years.

He waits a few more moments before following your path out of the room and into the bullpen. He glances around, but he doesn’t spot you anywhere, so he heads outside.

After scanning the parking lot, he curses under his breath. The other bureau vehicle is gone, which means you’ve already left for the airport. Alone.

Aaron had hoped to find you still sitting in the driver’s seat of the car, so maybe he could’ve tried to apologize, at least tried to mend some of this before you left, but he’s too late. He waited all of three minutes, and he’s too late.

He knows if he tries to call you right now, you’ll just send him to voicemail. And if he goes to the hotel to intercept you there, he risks making this worse and losing you forever. All he can do is wait for you to tell him that you’ve reached Quantico. 

He heads back inside, passing JJ and asking her to call the pilot and let him know he’s needed soon. Just in case it slips your mind, but really it’s Aaron wanting to help. To take one more thing off your plate, even if he knows it’ll upset you when he finds out JJ called the pilot. 

Still, Aaron tries to let it go. He goes back to the conference room, pacing in front of the board just like you had, and glancing at his phone every five seconds, looking for text messages from you that won’t appear.

He caves about fifteen minutes later and tries to call you, but the line is busy. You’re probably talking to Garcia, telling her you’re heading to Quantico and talking shit about him in the same breath. If you are, he doesn’t blame you. He waits.

Aaron waits, and waits, and wishes he knew what he was doing. Wishes he knew exactly where you were.

JJ comes into the conference room, eyebrows furrowed down at her phone.

Hotch looks up. “What is it?”

“The pilot,” JJ shakes her head. “I gave him an ETA for her based on when she left, but he said she still hasn’t shown up at the airstrip. Have you talked to her?”

“No,” Hotch says regretfully. “She was angry with me when she left, so she’s not speaking to me.”

“I’m trying to call her now,” JJ nods, phone pressed to her ear. But she pulls it away all too quickly. “Voicemail.” She tries again, and gets the same outcome.

Hotch, against his better judgement, and fueled by some delusion thinking you’d send JJ to voicemail but answer him, tries to call you. It cuts out, goes to voicemail.

His phone starts ringing a second later, and he jumps, thinking it’s you, but it’s not. “Garcia,” he answers.

“Hey boss,” she says, sounding concerned. “I was just-- She told me to call you and let you know that they’re on the way to the airport.”

Hotch’s spine straightens. “They?” He puts the phone on speaker, placing it on the table between him and JJ. “Penelope, who is they?”

“She said, ‘Officer Robinson and I are headed to the airport, be sure to let Aaron know.’ She sounded like she was reading off a script, Hotch, it was creepy. I don’t like whatever this is--”

“Penelope,” he says slowly, trying to keep his own composure as JJ’s eyes widen. “I need you to trace her phone for me.”

“Oh, trust me, I started doing that as soon as she started speaking, I knew something was off,” Garcia says, keyboard already clacking, and Hotch has never loved her more than he does in this moment. “I’ve been digging into Andrew Robinson some more too, I know we ruled him out initially because he wasn’t raised there, but I’ve just been looking around. His real name is Carter, though, and get this, he spent a lot of time in that town with--”

“Doug, we know,” Aaron interjects, not unkindly, just fucking stressed. “Doug treated him like a son because he was in a relationship with Robinson’s mom before he found out about the affair, but he wanted to look past it.”

“Woah. But I can’t find anything on Carter’s real father, it’s like the guy doesn’t even exist--”

“It’s Carson Adkins,” Hotch sighs. “Or Darlene thinks it is, and I’m starting to think she’s right. Garcia, do you have eyes on her?”

“Her phone says she’s at a gas station not far from you. They must be getting gas or something, they haven’t moved.”

“Thank you,” Hotch exhales, grabbing his phone and leaving the conference room, heading straight for Deputy Laneman’s office. “I’ll call you with updates.”

“Be safe, sir.”

“Thank you,” he says, hanging up as he opens Deputy Laneman’s door without even knocking.

“My men just spotted Officer Robinson at the Shell on Hickory,” Laneman says, already standing and setting the phone down. “He’s--”

“With one of my agents, that I just sent home,” Hotch finishes, giving Laneman no room to question him on it. “She’s in trouble.”

Laneman grabs his hat. “I’ll drive.”

[honeypiehotchner]

have i seen or played tlou? no. did i read every bit of this like a woman starved? yes 🫶🏻

this angst is just perfect and i love when it isn’t magically fixed, it takes time and it’s messy and the pay off is so so good when things do finally lighten up a little 😭😭😭😭

“POKE THE BEAR” part 1

Grumpy!Joel Miller x Sunshine!Reader

Summary: You’re too bubbly, too chatty, too cheerful for Joel’s liking. Always rambling about dreams or tossing out random facts no one asked for. And sometimes… Joel just wants a little silence.

Joel’s Masterlist Join the tag list Part 2

WC: 11.4k

Warning/Tags: Angst, eventual smut (not in this part), kind of slowburn, undisclosed age gap, f!reader, Joel is a grumpy and mean old man, and ofc he sucks at feelings.

“Hey partner, you’re late.” Joel heard you call out, your voice far too bright for this early in the morning, too damn cheerful for seven a.m. “Looks like it’s you and me from now on, huh?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. He just gave a grunt, adjusted the rifle on his shoulder, and kept walking toward the stables.

He liked patrol, always had. It kept him sharp, reminded him of what still lingered beyond the gates of Jackson, reminded him of the shit people were too comfortable forgetting. The warm beds and hot meals were nice, but it was comfort that made people soft, and being soft gets you killed. He also liked patrolling with Tommy, it had always made the hours go easier. They understood each other without needing to say much, they knew when to speak, when to let the silence stretch between them, and when to crack a joke. But last week Tommy had come to Joel, said he needed to cut patrol for a while. "Just a few weeks," he promised. Said he needed his mornings free to supervice some work being done on the hydric plant. "Don´t worry, I'll reassign someone with you."

And now here you were, bright-eyed, full of questions, talking like you were hosting a radio show. You always had something to say, too much to say. You never knew when to shut up, it was like you didn’t realize how loud your voice could get, how damn annoying it was for the people who had to listen to you, as if the words “shut the hell up” had never been directed your way in your entire life. And maybe it’d be easier for Joel if you were just useless. If you couldn’t shoot for shit or kept forgetting to check your blind spots, then he’d have a reason to complain, a reason to go to Tommy and say, “Take this girl off patrol. She can’t do a damn thing right.” But that wasn’t the case, you were sharp and you knew how to handle yourself. You were a survivor just like him.

And that pissed him off even more, he didn’t like you not because you were loud, or bright, or talked too much, sure, those things annoyed the shit out of him, but it was because somehow, despite everything this broken world had thrown at you, you still looked around and saw something good, you still looked at him and saw something good. And he didn’t know what the hell to do with that.

Joel didn’t say out loud how annoying he found you, but he thought it constantly, every time he got saddled with you on patrol. You, with your sunshine voice and those eyes full of stupid, stubborn hope, like you hadn’t noticed the world ended twenty years ago, like you still thought it could be fixed somehow, or that beautiful things still existed. He’d sit through entire shifts in stiff, seething silence, grunting when you spoke, or straight-up ignoring you altogether, hoping you’d eventually catch the drift. That maybe, just maybe, you’d realize he didn’t give a damn about whatever weird dream you had last night, or your favorite color growing up, or some useless fact about bees, or whales, or whatever the hell it was today.

It was a cold morning. Joel pulled his coat tighter as he trudged through the morning snow, boots crunching over the frozen ground. You were just behind him, your constant stream of chatter following him.

“…and did you know lizards can drop their tails when they’re in danger? Like, it just… boom, falls off, to distract predators. Imagine if we could do that, being chased by a runner and suddenly your ass just drops off behind you like ‘see ya!’ Of course, we wouldn’t be able to grow it back like lizards, but still. I think that’d be kinda cool, right?”

Joel didn’t answer, he never did, but that never stopped you. “I read that in a book, I mean, it was a children’s book, but it was still really interesting. Did you know that female goats don’t live with the male goats—”

“Bucks and does,” Joel cut in. You blinked, surprised, because that was the first thing he’d said to you all morning.

“Huh?”

“Female goats are called does. Males are bucks.”

“Oh. Right.” You nodded thoughtfully. “Well, when the female goats—does—have babies, if the babies turn out to be male, once they grow up, the moms kick them out. Make them go live with the other mal— bucks. I think goats are smart. We should raise some here at Jackson, and we could even make some goat cheese with their milk. Oh, I’ve never tried goat cheese, but I’m guessing it’s probably really good. Have you ever tried it, Joel?”

Joel only grunted, a gruff sound that you couldn’t even tell if it was a yes or a no.

You told him next about the deer you’d seen near the river, about the weird dream you had three nights ago where the moon exploded but it turned out the moon was made of cheese, so everyone at Jackson was happy and celebrated by eating moon-cheese pizzas.

“Hey, Joel,” you called again, as if you were clueless about how much you were annoying him, your voice muffled behind your scarf. “Can I ask you something?”

“No.”

You snorted. “Okay, well, I’m gonna ask anyway.” He rolled his eyes where you couldn’t see. “If you could be an animal, what would you choose?”

He didn’t turn around. “You’re gonna get yourself killed someday, talkin’ ‘stead of payin’ attention.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He sighed heavily, like your words were physically weighing him down. Still, he said nothing, the crunch of snow under your boots filled the silence.

“I think I’d be a butterfly,” you said, your voice light as the snow crunched beneath your boots. “It’d be nice to fly, go wherever I wanted. Plus, they’re cute. People like butterflies, they get the pretty treatment, you know? Everyone’s like, ‘aww, look at that butterfly, it’s so pretty!’ But if you’re, like, a moth or something? People just wanna kill you. Instantly. Life’s so unfair, don’t you think?”

Joel blinked. What the hell were you even on about? He didn’t get how your brain worked, how you even got to these thoughts. Butterflies and moths? Did you just think things and say them out loud with no filter, no sense of direction? He didn’t say a word, just kept walking, praying internally that you’d finally run out of things to say, that the endless stream of chatter would dry up, that you’d burn through every thought in that strange little head of yours and, God willing, just shut the fuck up already.

“Or maybe I’d wanna be a chicken,” you mused, your voice louder than necessary, resonating through the woods. “They always look so clueless, right? Like, what’s going on in their heads? Are they secretly scheming some evil plan, or is it just… static in there?”

Joel didn’t respond, not that you expected him to, so you just kept going. “Did you know roosters don’t just crow in the morning? They cackle, too. It’s a totally different sound. Like, they cackle when they wanna mate, or when they find food and wanna tell the others. Imagine being a chicken and hearing your husband cackle, you’d have to figure out if he wants to do it or if he just found a worm.” You laughed at your own joke, your head tipping back like it was the funniest thing you’d ever come up with. “Like, ’Is he trying to make a baby or is dinner ready?’ That’s gotta be so confusing.”

Joel grunted, just a short, low sound, but from him, it might as well have been a full monologue. You grinned, proud of yourself, that was something, at least you’d managed to pull a reaction out of him.

Shoving your hands deeper into your coat pockets, you added, “Y’know, I think if you were an animal, you’d be a bear. You totally give ‘hibernate for six months just to avoid people’ vibes. Or maybe… a lone wolf. Yeah. All moody and broody and with a tragic past. Definitely a lone wolf.”

Joel didn’t say a word. The woods go quiet again, and Joel dares to hope, for a moment, that maybe that was it, maybe you’d finally run out of things to say, that you were done, and he could have what he wanted most: silence. The trees stand tall and bare, branches black against the pale morning sky, Joel walks ahead, the rifle slung over his shoulder doesn’t sway.

You glance up. “I had a dream last night about—”

Joel stops short. You nearly crash into him, your boots skidding a little on the snow-packed path. He doesn’t turn fully, he just speaks.

“Y’know,” he mutters, eyes still forward, “you ain’t gotta fill every second with talk.”

“Oh.”

He turns just enough to glance at you, not all the way, just enough that you catch a piece of his face in profile, of his mouth pressed into a hard line. He doesn’t look angry, not exactly, be just looks… worn, maybe a little annoyed.

“Jus’ sayin’,” he adds after a beat. “You could let the woods do some of the talkin’.”

You nod. “Right. Of course. Sorry.”

He starts walking again, crunching through the snow like nothing happened, and you stay quiet… for almost twenty whole seconds, until you suddenly saw a rabbit hopping through the woods, and Joel knew another goddamn animal fact was coming.

“Did you know rabbits have like three or four pregnancies every single year? How insane is that? I mean, I guess that’s where the whole ‘doing it like rabbits’ thing came from. It’s crazy how biology works, don’t they get tired of popping out babies? Poor things.”

Joel exhales sharply through his nose, and you smile like you’ve just won something. “You ever shut up?”

You grin, he was just kidding, right? He actually loved hearing your rumbles, didn’t he? “Nope.”

He mutters something under his breath that might be Jesus Christ, might be kill me now. It’s hard to tell.

“God, this weather’s perfect,” you chirped, dragging your boot through the fresh blanket of snow. “Crisp, but not too cold, you know what I mean? And the trees look so beautiful like this, like they got powdered sugar on them.” You glanced over, squinting at Joel’s profile. “You like snow, Joel? You seem like a winter guy. Definitely winter-coded.”

No answer, not even a grunt. You didn’t take it personal, you were used to that with Joel. The silence didn’t bother you anymore. You just… filled it, that’s what you did. You filled space, filled time, filled quiet, because the world was already heavy enough, and talking made it lighter, at least for you. But Joel wasn’t having it today, maybe because he’d had a shitty night, because he hadn’t slept. He was even moodier and grumpier than usual, which was saying something.

“So I was thinking,” you went on, undeterred, “what if we organized a karaoke night at Jackson?”

Still nothing from him.

“I bet you’d kill some old country song. You’ve got that deep, grumbly voice, you could totally pull off a Johnny Cash. Or, like… wait, do you like country music? I kind of assume everyone from Texas does cause I don’t remember much from before and that’s what comes to my mind when I think about Texas... did you use to go places on a horse? Did you have a cowboy hat? I feel like you must’ve had a cowboy hat. Sorry if the whole stereotyping is offensive, by the way.”

Nothing, not a sound came out of his mouth, but you didn’t let that stop you. “Anyway, do you even like Johnny Cash? You could totally sing something from him, I bet you’d crush it.”

He didn’t answer, not even a little grunt this time. You grinned and nudged his arm lightly with your elbow. “Come on, Joel. Give me something. A sigh? A groan? One of those little annoyed huffs you’re so good at?”

His steps halted, you blinked and looked up at him. “What’s wro—”

“I swear to God,” he snapped, turning on you fast, “if you don’t shut the hell up for five goddamn minutes, ’m gonna lose my fuckin’ mind.”

You froze, the breath caught in your throat, you were used to Joel being grumpy, you were used to his silence, the annoyed grunts, the glares, but you’d never heard him like this, never heard him snap.

You let out a weak, awkward laugh, trying to lighten the sudden weight in the air. “Talking’s kind of my thing, Joel. You know that.”

He shook his head hard, like he was trying to shake you right out of it. “You think every moment of silence is a goddamn invitation. Like you have to talk, like people need to hear every damn thought that crosses your mind. Well, we don’t. I don’t.”

Your voice came quieter now, a little stung. “I was just trying to make conversation.”

“Well, I couldn’t give two shits bout what the snow reminds you of. I don’t give a fuck about what you think I’d sing. And I don’t care if you think ’m a fuckin’ winter guy.” He took a step closer, looming now. “You treat every patrol like it’s some goddamn field trip. And some days... some days, I can’t take it, you’re too much. So do me a favor, ’nd top talkin’. Just… stop.”

He didn’t even blink when he said it: “’Cause I can’t stand the sound of your voice. And believe me, I don’t give a damn about anythin’ that comes out of your mouth.”

You didn’t speak, which was rare, Joel had finally done what he’d wanted for weeks now… he’d shut you up, you didn’t even know what to say, it felt like someone had reached into your throat and ripped the words out, like even if you wanted to speak, your mouth wouldn’t know how to shape the sound.

Joel’s chest rose and fell, hard, like he’d just spat out something he’d been choking on, like it was a relief to finally say it, but the silence that followed wasn’t peaceful or restful. It was cold, unpleasantly cold. And maybe that was the point, maybe he’d meant it to be, maybe this was what it took to finally make you shut up, right? He’d tried subtle hints, hadn’t he? Polite nudges, short replies, walking faster to get ahead of you, that one time he said maybe you should “save your breath for the hike.” But you never got it, you never listened, so maybe this was necessary, maybe cruelty was the only language you understood. At least, that’s what he tried to tell himself.

You took a single step back, your boots crunching in the snow. “Okay,” you said lowly. “Got it.” You didn’t look at him, you just turned, and started walking ahead, in silence now, just like he wanted.

The next hour dragged and you didn’t say a word. Your mind buzzed with a thousand thoughts, stories, questions, stray facts desperate to spill out, but none of them made it past your lips. You fought the urge to tell him about the time you’d built a snow fort as a kid and nearly froze your fingers off. You stopped yourself from asking him about his favorite food, or who he liked the least in Jackson, or whether he knew horses can’t physically vomit.

You were quiet, gave him exactly what he wanted, but somehow, it didn’t feel like a win. Joel had spent so long wishing for this, some goddamn peace and quiet. And now that he had it, now that you’d finally shut up… it didn’t feel right, didn’t feel good. It felt wrong. The silence settled between you two and guilt slowly crawled up his spine, making him feel like a dick for saying that to you, gnawing at the edges of his pride until all that was left was the sharp echo of what he’d said and the miserable quiet that followed.

You stopped by a frozen stream, crouching to sip from your canteen. Joel stepped up beside you, but he kept a careful distance, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed closer anymore. You could feel him watching you, but you didn’t look back.

“Wasn’t tryin’ to be mean,” he muttered, keeping his eyes on the snow.

You glanced sideways, but didn’t dare to meet his gaze. “Didn’t sound like it.”

Joel exhaled, a frustrated sigh more at himself than at you. “I just—”

“You don’t have to explain,” you cut in quickly, with a smile that didn’t even pretend to reach your eyes. “Really. I get it. Some people like quiet. Some people like noise. You like quiet. I’ll be quiet.”

He shifted his weight. “It’s not like that, I—”

“Sure it is,” you said, your voice light in that careful way that hurt more than yelling ever could. “Lesson learned, Joel. Don’t poke the bear.”

You were waiting at the stables when Joel arrived. You had your coat on and your hair tucked into your hat. You looked like you always did, a little too pretty for patrol, the soft curve of your cheeks pink from the cold, but something was missing… your usual charm, your cheerful voice greeting him, your bright smile. You just nodded when you saw him appear at the stables. No “good morning,” no snow commentary, no teasing about how slow he always was, just a nod. He looked at you for a second longer than usual, then walked past to saddle up his horse.

“Ready?” he asked.

You didn’t say anything, just climbed up in silence and rode. The first hour passed without a single word, and it felt so unnatural, so uncomfortable. You used to fill the air do naturally, but now it was just the wind and hooves and the sound of your breathing. Your silence was sharp and uncharacteristic, the girl who used to talk about snow and song lyrics and dream dinners with celebrities was now just… trying not to breathe too loud, scared that would annoy him too.

By the time you reached the crossing path at the river, Joel had tried to say something three different times. The first time, he opened his mouth and closed it, his jaw working like he had to chew the words before they came out. The second, he cleared his throat and muttered, “Watch your step,” as you crossed a patch of ice. You nodded and that was it, no smile, no playful “Yes, Dad.” Just a nod. The third, he almost said your name, just to test it, to see if you’d say anything back, but he didn’t, too scared you wouldn’t reply.

At one point, you saw a deer sprint across the path, his cute little white tail flashing through the trees. Normally, you’d make a joke, say something like, “Think he had somewhere to be? Maybe a hot date?” but today, you just watched it go by, didn’t even crack a smile, just breathed in slowly and let the moment pass. Joel followed your line of sight, then glanced at you again, you didn’t look back, didn’t even seem to notice him. He couldn’t stand it, the silence didn’t suit you, it looked wrong on you, like watching a bird forget how to sing.

And the worst part was that you weren’t pouting, you weren’t dramatic about it, weren’t even trying to punish him. You were just… quiet, just deeply hurt by what he’d said, and it was all his fault alone. It echoed in his head, louder now than it had sounded in the moment, he still saw it, too clearly: the way you’d stepped back that day, the way your smile had dropped, the way you’d said, “Lesson learned. Don’t poke the bear.”

By the time the sun dipped low, you kept ahead of him on the path back, not out of spite, but because you didn’t feel like walking beside someone who didn’t want to hear you. Except… he did. He realized that now, too late, maybe—but still, he missed your dumb jokes, your questions, your weird little facts. He missed the way you made the world feel softer, he hadn’t deserved any of that, but you’d given it freely, and he’d crushed it with one goddamn outburst. Crushed something warm and rare and good.

Snow fell over your wool hat. It was another patrol morning with Joel, but you were still quiet, you weren’t speaking, and Joel hated it. He wouldn’t admit that, of course, not out loud, but he did. You rode a few feet ahead of him, not too far, not enough to be rude, but far enough that he didn’t have to pretend not to look at you. And he did look. Often, in short, guilty glances when you weren’t watching.

The silence was driving him crazy, by the time you passed the old bridge, Joel was clenching his jaw so tight it ached. “So… Ellie’s got this book,” he says. “Full of jokes. Real bad ones. Think you’d like it.”

Your posture didn’t change, you didn’t turn your head, didn’t soften your shoulders, didn’t give him anything, didn’t offer him the comfort of your voice.

“She told me one the other day. Uh… lemme think…” He frowns under his breath, tugging on the reins slightly. “Why did the scarecrow get a promotion?”

No response.

“Because he was outstandin’ in his field.”

Fine, it was a good joke, you probably would’ve laughed until you fell off your horse, if your chest didn’t still ache from all the things he’d said. You still said nothing, not even a breath of amusement. The silence that followed felt louder than the punchline.

“Get it?”

You nod, but it’s cold and mechanical, a hollow gesture. He exhales and scratches the back of his neck, a nervous tell. Joel Miller doesn’t fidget, doesn’t tell jokes, doesn’t try to ramble, but for some reason, you’d gotten him trying now. And somehow, that made it worse, because he’d only started trying after he broke something.

Another hour passes like that, the only sound was a hawk criying in the distance.Joel kicks at a rock as he walks next to his horse, it skitters off the path and disappears into the trees. “You’d have a fact about hawks, I bet,” he says. “Prob’ly somethin’ real weird, like how they mate midair or scream to scare prey. Somethin’ strange like that.”

He says it like a joke, but his voice is low, almost uncertain. Still no answer from you, you don’t even look at him, not once. His attempts at small talk were pathetic, really. Painfully awkward, it was obvious how much he sucked at trying to make light conversation, the words didn’t flow, it didn’t come naturally to him like it did to you. Joel wasn’t built for that, he was built for silence, for scowls and short commands.

He’s grasping now, and he knows it, but he keeps going anyway. “Or frogs. You always liked frogs, right? Ain’t heard a goddamn frog fact in days. ’M startin’ to worry.”

Still nothing, just the steady rhythm of the horse’s hoofs in the snow, your silence tucked tight around you like your coat.

You eat lunch in silence by a half-frozen stream. Joel sits across from you, he tries not to stare, but fails. Your head is down, shoulders hunched a little from the cold, or maybe from something else. You chew on a protein bar and look out at the trees, Joel doesn’t even bother unpacking his own food.

And suddenly, he was starting to get pissed at your silence. Why were you acting like this? Like a little girl throwing a tantrum. That’s what it felt like, that’s what he wanted to call it, but it wasn’t, he knew it wasn’t. Still, the frustration built. Yes, maybe he’d said something a little cruel, maybe he hadn’t meant it to sound like that, maybe he didn’t know how to say things right, but goddamn, did you have to stay so quiet? Did you have to make him feel like this? Like every second you didn’t speak was a punishment he couldn’t bear.

“Alright, enough.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You proved your point,” he said gruffly. His tone was sharp, like he was the one who’d been wronged. “You’re mad. I get it.”

“I’m not mad,” you said, and God, your voice was quiet and so empty.

“So you’re just gonna stay quiet this whole damn time?” he muttered, the words sounding more bitter than he intended.

You glanced over at him. Not angry, just… tired. “Figured you’d like that.”

He scowled. “Didn’t say that.”

He was so stubborn he couldn’t even own the words that came out of his mouth just a few days ago. Couldn’t admit them.

“You did, actually. You told me to shut the hell up, remember?” you said, glancing ahead again. Your voice didn’t shake, you weren’t accusing him, just repeating the facts, it was the truth, he’d said that. “Said you couldn’t stand the sound of my voice. So I’m doing you a favor.”

Joel muttered something under his breath, it sounded like a curse, or maybe it was your name. You didn’t know, didn’t catch it, and sure as hell didn’t ask him to repeat it. You weren’t being dramatic. You weren’t sulking or giving him the cold shoulder on purpose. You were just… sad, quiet in the way people get when they’ve decided they’re not allowed to take up space anymore, like you’d tucked yourself into some small corner of the world, somewhere less inconvenient. And Joel had done that to you, he still remembered exactly how you’d looked when he snapped, the flicker behind your eyes, that small, tight smile, how fast you’d folded yourself in.

“Y’know I didn’t mean it,” he muttered eventually, like he didn’t really want to hear himself say it.

You didn’t look at him. “Yeah, you did.”

“I was just—”

“Tired. I know. Had a bad day or whatever other excuse, didn’t want to hear me rambling.” You didn’t say it bitterly, just plainly, like a fact you’d finally accepted. You didn’t care about any excuse he might have for treating you like that. Honestly, it’d be easier if he just owned it, if he admitted outright that he hated you. That was the part that hurt the most, how honest he’d sounded. Because you liked hanging around Joel, even if he never said much, you still enjoyed taking up the same space as he did, telling him about your dreams, about your past, and knowing he couldn’t even stand being around you completely broke you.

Joel exhaled hard through his nose. “You’re twistin’ it.”

“No,” you said calmly. “You were clear. And I listened.” You didn’t want an apology, you didn’t want to fight, you just wanted to believe your voice mattered again. You stood again, shouldering your bag. “Let’s keep moving. I wanna get home soon.”

“Just lemme know if you ever get tired of bein’ mad at me.”

You stopped in your tracks and looked him full in the face “I’m not mad, Joel.” He blinked. “I’m just… not interested anymore.”

And that hurt him more than any yelling ever could.

You waited until just after noon, when the patrol rosters were still being finalized and Tommy was alone. He looked up when you knocked on the door frame.

“Hey,” he greeted. “Can I help you with anythin’?”

You nodded, stepping inside. Your boots felt heavier than usual, like every step toward that desk was one you didn’t really want to take. “Can I talk to you?”

“‘Course.” He sat up straighter. “What’s goin’ on?”

You hesitated, just for a second, but you knew it was the right choice to make, even if it stung, even if it felt like giving up. Then: “I want to switch partners. On patrol.”

You’d thought about it, a lot, and even though it hurt, deep inside you knew it was the right call. Being out with Joel hurt, you couldn’t stop thinking about the things he’d said to you, the look in his eyes that day, as if you were just… an inconvenience to him, something loud and annoying and in the way, something he had to tolerate, not someone he wanted to have around.

Tommy blinked. “You were with Joel, right?” His voice was careful and measured, but he wasn’t dumb, he already knew the answer. And he also knew his brother was a complicated man, especially around people. He didn’t find it difficult to imagine Joel acting like an asshole around someone like you, not when your personalities were complete opposites.

“Mhm.”

“Sure you wanna change?”

You nodded, quick, and it felt like ripping off a bandage. If you hesitated, even a second, you knew you’d unravel.

He studied your face, the way it looked down for someone who was always chatty and cheerful. Someone who used to talk so much she barely paused to breathe.

“Did Joel… said… or do somethin’?”

“No,” you said quickly, and suddenly you were trying to fight the tears back from your face. Your throat tightened, and it took everything not to blink too fast, not to wipe your face, not to let it show. “He didn’t. He just…” You shrugged. “I just think it’s not working between us.”

Tommy frowned. “Not workin’ how?”

You exhaled. “I don’t know. We’re just… really different and… I think we’d both benefit if we get assigned to different people.”

You didn’t say anything else, you didn’t trash Joel. Didn’t tell him how it felt to offer up every little spark of joy you had, only to watch it die in silence. You didn’t explain what it felt like to give joy to someone who never once gave any back. Didn’t say how it hollowed you out, how it started to feel pathetic. You didn’t explain how he had made you feel like you were too much, like you were unlovable. Like your kindness was annoying. Like your voice didn’t deserve to fill the air. You just stood there and waited for Tommy to speak.

Tommy rubbed his jaw. That soft, thoughtful gesture of his when he was trying to work through something, trying to find the right thing to say. He didn’t usually do favors for people wanting different patrol partners or better routes, he was a fair man, through and through. But there was something in the way you looked that made him relent. He felt responsible for the big asshole his brother was. And so, against his usual rules, he agreed.

“Well,” he said, standing. “I’ve got Javi lookin’ for a partner for the east routes. Bit longer than the ones you’re used to, but if you don’t mind… I’ll talk to him. You okay with that?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, that works for me. Thanks, Tommy.” Your voice was polite, practiced, the kind of tone you used when you didn’t want anyone to ask follow-up questions.

Tommy gave you a quiet smile. “Joel can be... complicated. Don’t take anythin’ too personal.”

“I know.” You looked down, then away, but you didn’t believe it, not really. Joel wasn’t just complicated, and you were tired of people excusing a grown-ass man for acting like a dick.

Joel found out about the change the next morning. He walked into the stables expecting to see you there, same as always, but the space where you usually stood was empty. He slowed to a stop, frowning. “…Where is she?” he muttered, mostly to himself.

Hector, a man in his forties Joel didn’t know well, just a face from around town, appeared from behind one of the stalls. “She’s with Javi today. East patrol.”

Joel turned, shocked by this new information. “What?”

“Got reassigned yesterday,” Hector said, tightening a saddle strap without looking up. “Tommy said she asked for it. I’m with you now.”

Joel stared, feeling how his stomach dropped. Had you really gone to Tommy asking for a new partner? What had you even said? “Joel is mean and he hurt my delicate feelings, I want a new partner.” He could almost hear it in your voice, except not really, because you wouldn’t say it like that, you wouldn’t be petty. Had you really been that immature? Or was it that he’d hurt you so much you couldn’t even stand to be around him anymore? That possibility stung the worst. He’d seen the pain in your eyes, but he never thought you’d come this far, never thought you’d actually pull away for good, thought maybe you’d get past it soon enough, start talking like before, start babbling about the clouds or chickens, and Joel would once again beg for you to shut up.

“She asked for it?”

Hector finally looked up and shrugged. “That’s what I heard.”

Joel said nothing, did nothing, just stood there, in the cold morning air, until Hector called his name and forced him to move.

“What the hell, Tommy?” Joel said as soon as he came back from patrol with Hector, stepping inside his brother’s house like it was his own.

Tommy looked up from where he was peeling an apple at the counter. “What you on bout, big brother?”

“You just rearranged patrol ‘cause she asked you to? Like she’s a spoiled girl? You can’t pull that shit.” Joel’s voice was rough, irritated, and maybe a little defensive too.

“Look, Joel—” Tommy tried to explain, this reaction from Joel surprised him, why did he care so much about you changing partners? He’d assumed Joel couldn’t stand being around you.

“No. Who does she even think she is? She comes here and asks for a different partner and everyone just does what she wants like she’s—”

“Like she’s what?” Tommy asked, quieter now, with a warning in his voice.

Joel paused, he didn’t finish the sentence, didn’t want to say something he couldn’t take back.

“Look,” Tommy said again, slower this time. “I dunno what the hell went down between you two. I don’t know what you said or did to that poor girl. That’s your business.” He dropped the knife down on the cutting board with a soft clack. “But she came to me tryin’ to hide the tears in her eyes. Asked for a new partner real quiet. Wouldn’t say much, just kept lookin’ down.” He shrugged. “Javi needed one after Mikey split his ankle, so I offered her.”

Joel just shook his head and scoffed, a bitter sound, one that tried too hard to cover up the sinking guilt that had started curling in his gut.

Weeks stretched by. You liked having patrol with Javi, he was a funny guy, easy going, warm. He didn’t seem to mind how much you spoke, in fact, he always followed your conversation, he cracked jokes back at you, he’d answer all your questions with real enthusiasm, and he’d tell you about his dreams too. Made you feel like your voice wasn’t a burden, like it mattered, and it was exaclt what you needed after Joel’s words broke your spirit.

Joel saw you once, across the market, laughing softly at something Ellie said. It caught him off guard, that sound… your laugh. It was the first time he’d heard your voice in days. Another time, in the dining hall, he almost didn’t see you there, but you were sitting at a table near the back, listening to Javi talk while your eyes stayed fixed on the window. And once, the hardest of all, at the gates, you were loading your patrol pack, and Joel couldn’t help but remember, and also miss, his mornings patrolling with you.

You’d reached out again and again and again, with light and warmth and endless words, trying to pull something out of him, and all he’d ever done was push you away.

One night, he sat on his porch with a half-drained glass of whiskey and no coat on, the cold didn’t bother him, it couldn’t reach somewhere already frozen through. He stared at the street, at the place where your silhouette used to pass by some evenings, humming, talking to yourself, but now you were gone. He missed it, he missed you… And it was too late to take it all back.

The gates were already open when the horses came in. It was late, and the watch lights had already been turned on, casting long yellow shadows over the ground. Joel was just walking by, just passing through, he’d just… wandered this way. Thought maybe he’d say hi to Tommy, that was the lie he told himself, he was definitely trying to run into you after your patrol shift, to look at you even if it was from afar. But when he heard the hooves, saw the horses trot in through the gate… and saw you, slouched in your saddle, with blood down your sleeve, he went still.

You weren’t crying, you weren’t panicking, but your shirt sleeve was ripped off, and there was red streaked from your bicep to your knuckles. Javi was beside you, talking, too animated, too casual, his hands moved while he spoke, like this was just another story, like you weren’t bleeding, like Joel wasn’t standing there ready to rip someone’s throat out.

Joel’s blood ran hot, his fists curled and his chest burned, something primal slammed into his ribs, roaring to life. He started moving before he knew why, his eyes locked on you like you were the only goddamn person that existed. You dismounted with a slow wince, your wound wasn’t anything life-threatening, not visibly at least, but there was a long, jagged cut along your arm.

Joel pushed past two people who were in his way, his shoulders slamming without apology, and stormed straight for Javi like he was seconds away from ripping his head off his body.

“The fuck happened out there?” he snapped, looking at him like he wanted to eat him alive.

Javi turned, surprised by Joel’s outburst. “I don’t know man, we were cool and suddenly there’s like a dozen runners coming out of nowhere. It was siiiick.”

Joel’s chest rose and fell like he’d just run a marathon. “She’s bleedin’.” He pointed at you like it physically hurt, like the blood on your arm was on his hands. “What the fuck happened?” He said again, as if Javi’s explanation hadn’t been good enough.

“I told you, some runners attacked us,” Javi said, frowning at Joel’s insistence. “She tripped and cut her arm with some glass from a broken window. She’s fine.”

“She ain’t fine!” Joel’s voice cracked through the air and people turned. The guards, the stablehands, two kids passing by with a bucket of feed. Even you stopped, still holding your reins. Joel wasn’t a man known for yelling, not like this, not unless someone was already dead or dying. And yet here he was, vibrating with fury, his eyes locked on Javi like he was seconds from breaking something… or someone.

Joel stepped closer to him. “You’re s’posed to watch her,” he said darkly. Pissed at Javi but also pissed at himself for not being there to protect you. “That’s your goddamn job. Makin’ sure she’s okay.”

Javi scowled, Joel was really getting on his nerves with all this complaining, trying to put the blame on him for an accident that was not out of the ordinary during patrol rounds. “Hey. Don’t come at me like that, man. She’s not a damn child. She can protect herself too.”

Joel’s face twisted in anger. He hates Javi for not doing something more to help you, but he also hated him more for being the one taking the place Joel used to have next to you. “Maybe, but she ain’t you. She’s not built like a fuckin’ tank. She’s small. You should’ve had her back.”

Javi took a step forward. “You weren’t there, man. You don’t know what the hell went down. She handled herself just fine.”

“Then why the hell is she the one comin’ home bleedin’ ‘stead of you?”

“Joel,” you said, sharp now, feeling like you needed to intervene before this got out of hand. Your voice cut the air like a knife. “Stop.”

Joel fully ignored you, just kept looking at Javi. “Maybe if this asshole—“

“Hey!” Javi barked, who the fuck Joel Miller thought he was to talk to him like that? “Back the fuck off. You don’t talk to me like that.”

“No, you listen to me, you little—”

“What the fuck is your problem, dude? There was nothing I could do.” Javi tried to explain himself again, trying to get that old stubborn man to understand it.

“THERE’S ALWAYS SOMETHIN’ YOU CAN DO.” Joel straight-up yelled, it wasn’t just anger now, it was fear. Fury and guilt and panic, all knotted together.

The shouting echoed, everyone was staring now, a dozen half-frozen faces looking between them like something might snap, like they were about to watch some street fight. And they almost did, Joel’s shoulders were tight, his fists trembling at his sides, Javi was standing his ground, his chest puffed, ready to throw the first punch if he needed to.

And you? You stepped forward, planting yourself between them like a barrier between the two big man. “Come on, Javi,” you said firmly, not leaving any room for argument. “Let’s go.”

Joel’s jaw clenched like it might crack any second now. Where you really siding with Javi on this? With the guy that was supposed to protect you but failed? “You don’t have to leave with him.”

You turned to him. “Yes. I do.” Your voice didn’t rise, it was just flat and final.

Joel stared at you, at your pale cheeks, at the cut at your temple and the blood on your arm. Blood he hadn’t cleaned, wound he hadn’t checked, wound that was there because he hadn’t been around to protect you. There was so much anger in your eyes, like you couldn’t believe he had the nerve to care now. You were already walking away with your head high, Javi gave Joel a final glare and followed you, his presence behind you was loud and loyal, like a dog who knew where home was.

And Joel stood there, fists still curled, chest heaving, surrounded by silence, staring at the empty space you’d just walked out of. No one spoke, no one dared, not with the way Joel’s hands were shaking. Not until Tommy came walking up from the far side of the barn and muttered under his breath, “Jesus Christ. What the hell’s goin’ on with you?”

"It's goddamn Javi. He's an idiot, he—"

“Don’t bullshit me, Joel. What was that? That wasn’t about Javi.”

“Yes. It sure was. Stupid kid can’t watch his flank. He’s gonna end up gettin’ someone killed.”

“Joel, you can’t lie to me. I know it’s about her.”

“It ain’t about her. She’s got nothin’ to do with—” He tried to lie, but Tommy knew him too well, he could tell when his brother was lying.

Tommy stepped closer, it felt familiar in the way only someone who’s known Joel his whole life can be. “Listen, man. I get it. She’s bright. She talks a lot. Got that energy that makes people wanna stay near her.” Joel’s jaw flexed, a muscle twitching from holding back too much, too many feelings, too many emotions he’d tried hard for years to suppress, but now they were coming out all at once. “But whatever’s goin’ on,” Tommy continued calmly, annoyingly gentle even, “you gotta figure it out. ‘Cause this whole hot-cold act? It’s not workin’. Not for you. Not for her.”

“Ain’t an act.” Joel tried to excuse himself, almost defensively. The words tasted strange in his mouth, hell, he didn’t even know what this was all about. He thought he hated you, he’d told himself that, over and over. Repeated it like a prayer every single morning he had to spend patrolling with you, he’d convinced himself that he’d rather have a clicker come and bite him in the neck than listen to another second of your voice… your voice that never shut up, your voice that filled the silence with sunshine and facts and nonsense and life. But now? Now he was dying to hear your voice again, now he was starting to think that maybe… maybe he liked you. Maybe he liked the way your nose scrunched up when you talked about animals, maybe he liked the way you laughed at your own bad jokes, maybe he liked the way you made everything feel less cold. Maybe he’d just been a goddamn coward.

Tommy didn’t flinch. “Then that’s worse.” The silence that followed was thick. “What is it? Between her and you. Be real.”

Joel looked away again, like it physically hurt him to say it. He couldn’t even admit it to his own brother, hell, he couldn’t even admit it to himself, couldn’t even say the words: ‘I like her’ out loud. “It’s nothin’.”

Tommy stared, Joel was too much of a stubborn, emotionally-constipated man than he even remembered him being. “You gonna stand here and lie to my face?”

“There ain’t no goddamn deal,” Joel snapped, angry at the world for trying so hard to get him to admit his feeling for you. “I patrolled with her a few times. Thassit.”

Tommy was not buying a single word. “You don’t scream at someone’s partner like that after they get hurt unless there’s a reason behind it, Joel.”

“I didn’t scream—”

“You lost your goddamn mind.”

Joel looked down at his hands. They were clenched, he realized, like he’d been bracing for a punch that never came. “I am…” he exhaled roughly, and almost inaudible said, “upset.” That was as close as he could get to talk about his feelings out loud.

“Right. And ’m the Pope.” Tommy moved closer now, like approaching a wounded animal. “Y’like her. Don’tcha?” Joel didn’t respond, he let the silence be the confirmation of his feelings toward you. “You care bout her. You ever told her that?”

Joel gave a bitter little laugh. “You think she’d wanna hear that from me?”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “You ever ask?”

“Believe me, she don’t want anythin’ to do with me.”

“Maybe cause you act like an asshole every time she gets close.” Tommy said, Joel didn’t flinch, he’d been expecting that one, he deserved worse after how goddamn cruel he’d been with you. “You pushed her away, Joel. And then you got pissed when she let go.”

Joel ran a hand through his hair, the gesture was restless, almost violent, like he was trying to rip the thought of you out of his skull. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far.”

“Well, it did,” Tommy said. “She asked to stop patrollin’ with you. That’s a big step. That girl didn’t seem the type to give up on people.” Joel swallowed hard and Tommy sighed. “So ’m gonna ask one more time. Not as your brother, as someone who watched you lose your goddamn mind when you saw her come back bleedin’.”

Joel looked up at that, Tommy met his eyes. “What’s the deal with her?”

Joel exhaled slowly, like it cost him something. “I dunno,” he said. “I don’t know what it is. I just…” His voice tightened. “She was always talkin’. Always smilin’. Like it didn’t matter how cold it was, like she didn’t know the world we live in.” Tommy waited, Joel rubbed at the back of his neck. “I didn’t know what to do with that,” he admitted. “Didn’t think I deserved to have it pointed at me.”

“You mean her attention?”

“I mean her.” It was the most honest thing Joel had said in months.

Tommy’s gaze softened. “Joel…”

“She was better off. With someone who could…” Joel shook his head. “Smile back.” He couldn’t even picture it, himself smiling at you like you did at him, like he meant it, like he deserved it.

They stood in silence, and Tommy let out a long breath. “Well, she ain’t smilin’ much these days.” Joel didn’t move or speak, just stared at the dirt like he could dig a hole and bury this whole damn mess. Tommy clapped a hand on his shoulder. ��You don’t gotta fix it all at once. But maybe stop pretendin’ it don’t exist.”

That night, you sat on your bed. The room was quiet, too quiet, Javi had offered to walk you home, but you told him you were fine, and you weren’t lying, not really. It wasn’t the pain that hurt, not the cut, not the dull throbbing in your arm or the tender spot blooming purple on your ribs. It was the sound of Joel’s voice cracking through the cold like it suddenly mattered, like your well-being was important now that the damage wasn’t his fault. Where was that fire when you’d gone mute for days? When your eyes welled up mid-patrol and you turned away so he wouldn’t see? Where was that protectiveness when you’d been swallowed by quiet and too afraid to speak again? Where was he? Not when you needed him. He couldn’t protect you from a wound he’d already made, and no amount of yelling at Javi would change that. He could shout all he wanted now, full of heat and anger, but it was too late. The damage was done in the stillness, in the look he didn’t give you, in the joke he tried to tell when you were already fading. You didn’t need him to defend you now, you needed him then.

Joel didn’t sleep. He sat at the window with a half-empty bottle, watching the streets go dar, watching the world turn quiet while something inside his brain stayed loud. Not because you were hurt, not even because of Javi, but because for one brief second, when he saw the blood on your skin, his heart stopped, and then it shattered. It wasn’t the cut, it was you, with blood on your face and standing on your own two feet, not needing him, not even looking at him. And the aching realization that he didn’t know you anymore, that he’d pushed you away, bit by bit, and word by cold word. And now? Someone else got to stand beside you, someone else got your trust, your time. Someone else got to see you bruised and brave and trying, and Joel just watched from the damn gate like a stranger, like someone who used to matter.

The Tipsy Bison was loud on the night of your birthday. One of your friends had brought a guitar, someone else was dancing badly after too many shots, and there was a small cake waiting on the table. You were in the center of the room, halfway through a funny story, your hands flying as you animated something absurd, probably patrol-related, probably exaggerated, probably funny as hell because everyone around you was howling. At least that was what Joel thought. He’d come for one drink, maybe two, say hi to a few people, show his face so Tommy would stop nagging him about not leaving his house. That was what the night was supposed to be like, but then he walked in, and he saw you, and everything stopped.

Javi was doubled over, your friend Annie had her hand on your shoulder, laughing so hard she spilled beer down her sleeve, someone at the next table leaned in just to hear more of your story. And you? You were shining. Your mouth was open wide with laughter, your cheeks were flushed from whiskey and heat, your voice bouncing through the bar like music. That fire Joel thought he’d snuffed out was back.

He watched from the far corner of the room, you wore a deep green sweater that made your eyes too bright, and your hair was half-tucked behind your ear, messy from dancing. There was a thin scar just beneath your cheekbone now, probably from the bad patrol a few weeks back, but it only made you look prettier. And Joel hated how long it had been since he saw you like this, he hated that you could glow again and he wasn’t part of it.

Someone toasted you. You rolled your eyes but raised your glass anyway.

“To her loud mouth,” one of your friend said.

“To her bad jokes,” someone else added.

You laughed and clinked your glass against theirs. “To being a pain in the ass for one more year.”

The whole table cheered and Joel’s chest hurt, because there was nothing in this world he desired more than to be there celebrating next to you.

You stood to stretch at one point, hands over your head, grinning as the music shifted. Javi grabbed your hand and spun you clumsily in place, it wasn’t a real dance, just a drunken sway. You laughed and shoved him off, swatting his shoulder. And Joel gripped the edge of the bar like it might keep him grounded, that used to be his spot beside you. His partner, his patrol, his quiet moments in the woods, listening to you ramble. He threw it away, and now you were spinning, tipsy and bright and surrounded by people who wanted you. People who didn’t flinch when you reached out, who didn’t push you away.

“Y’alright?” the bartender asked him. Joel blinked, realized his glass was still full, he nodded stiffly. “Birthday crowd,” the guy said. “She bring the whole damn town in with her.”

Joel didn’t respond. Didn’t say: She used to talk to just me for hours, she used to walk beside me and hum under her breath, she used to ask me questions just to fill the silence... and now she laughs like I was never there at all. He just gave a tight nod and turned away from the bar. You didn’t see him, not at all. You were too busy dancing, talking, drinking… too busy living.

Joel was walking home, hands in his coat pockets. He’d tried to finish his drink but couldn’t, and seeing you there having fun with your friends had become unbearable, so he decided to call it a night. But then he saw you, alone, laughing softly at nothing. You were half a block ahead of him, your coat was open, you had a half-empty bottle in one hand while your arms stretched out like you were trying to balance on an invisible beam. You were talking to yourself, to the moon up in the sky, maybe to some cricket you’d encounter along the way. To him, when you turned and saw him in the middle of the street.

“Ohhh my god,” you said, grinning. “Look everyone! It’s Joel Miller.”

He blinked. “You drunk?” What an stupid question. He already knew the answer.

“Extremely.” You walked toward him with uneven steps. “What are you doing out? You stalking me? Bit forward for you, cowboy.”

Joel sighed. “Jesus.”

You stopped in front of him and squinted. “Good evening to you too, Mr. Miller. You look awfully serious tonight.”

“I always look serious.”

You nodded solemnly. “True. That’s your whole vibe. You should try smiling more often, you got nice lips. Not that I noticed, of course.”

Joel looked at you, really looked, for the first time in what felt like months. You were flushed from the cold night breeze and the whiskey, and your eyes looked brighter than usual, your lips pink and chapped from the wind. “It’s your birthday,” he said softly.

“OH MY GOD, you’re right. It’s my birthday!” You grinned, as if you’d forgotten it after too many drinks. “Wait, how did you know?”

“Saw you and your friends at the bar.”

You took another swig from the bottle. “I’m a year older now. Can you believe that? I made it this far. How crazy is that?” He didn’t respond. “I used to think I’d die young,” you said casually. “Something poetic. Falling off a roof trying to rescue a cat or some shit.”

Joel frowned. “That ain’t poetic. That’s stupid.”

You burst out laughing. “Okay, fair. But you get the idea.” He sighed, and you rocked back on your heels. “Anyway. Happy birthday to me.”

“Happy birthday,” he murmured.

You smiled, wide and tired. “Well, thank you very much, Joel Miller.” Your started walking again, slow and wobbly, and Joel moved to follow. “You don’t gotta walk me home,” you said.

“I know.”

“Let me guess… you’re gonna anyway.”

He didn’t respond, but you talked the whole walk, like the old times, probably because you were too drunk to remember, or to care, that you were still angry and hurt. You talked about the music at the Tipsy Bison, about how your friend Annie cheated at darts, about how someone made you a cake with candles, actual candles, and you cried for like six seconds over it. Joel just listened, he didn’t speak unless you asked him something, he didn’t interrupt you, just walked beside you in the dark, feeling blessed to hear your voice once again. You tripped on a rock at one point and he reached for your elbow, you let him touch you just for a second, then kept walking.

“I missed you,” you said suddenly. Joel looked at you but you didn’t look back. “I mean,” you continued, “not that we were ever, like, friends. Or whatever. I know you’re not exactly a fan of… people. Pretty sure you hate me.” Joel stayed quiet. “But still, I missed you. It was weird not talking to you.”

Joel swallowed. “You stopped talkin’ to me.”

“You told me my voice annoyed you. And that you didn’t care about anything I said,” you said without any anger behind your voice. “What was I supposed to do, Joel?”

He didn’t answer, you stopped walking and he stopped too. You looked up at him, suddenly a little less drunk, like the chill had sobered you. “Why did you say that?” you asked quietly.

Joel blinked. “Say what?”

“That I talk too much. That I was annoying. That I wasn’t… enough… Was I really that insufferable?”

He frowned, fuck, you were kicking him while he was on the ground. “I didn’t say you weren’t enough.”

“You said worse.”

He inhaled sharply. “You were pushin’. Always askin’ things I didn’t want to answer. Talkin’ when I needed quiet. I tried givin’ you signals but you didn’t know how to stop.”

“I didn’t want to stop,” you said. “That’s the difference. I didn’t want to stop cause I enjoyed talking to you” Joel stared, but you looked away, ashamed, and for the first time, your voice dropped. “I spent my whole life being told I was too much. Too loud. Too happy. Too intense. I always thought… maybe the right person wouldn’t mind it.”

Joel’s throat went dry. Did you really think he was the right person? Him? An old, grumpy, broken-down man? That was what you saw for yourself? That was what you aspired to? You, with your bright eyes and all that goddamn sunshine in your voice, thought he was it? You couldn’t be serious.

“I liked you,” you added softly. “I didn’t think you’d like me back or anything,” you continued. “But I thought you didn’t hate me. I thought you… tolerated me. Cared a little, maybe.”

He took a step toward you. “I did—”

You held up your hand to stop him there. “And then you snapped. Like I was a burden. Like I was some stupid, useless little thing you had to drag around on your boot like mud.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“But that’s how it felt. I wasn’t pissed,” you said. “I was hurt. Maybe you thought it was the same thing cause you have the emotional range of a teaspoon. But it’s not the same thing.”

There was a big silence, just the wind in the trees was heard. And Joel, stuck between wanting to apologize and not knowing how. “’M sorry,” he said finally. “I shouldn’t have said those things,” he continued. “Not like that. Not to you.”

This time it was you who didn’t answer.

“I was… mean. For no reason. You didn’t deserve that.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You were the first person in a long time who—” He paused. “Who made me forget. How bad things were. Just for a minute.” Joel exhaled. “I didn’t know what to do with that. And for the record, I don’t hate you, I never did.”

“I don’t need you to explain,” you said. “You already did the damage. And I already survived it. It’s all good, Joel. No hard feelings."

Joel looked like he’d been hit. You turned, started walking again and he followed. You didn’t say another word the rest of the way until you stopped in front of your porch, one foot on the bottom step, swaying a little, maybe from the alcohol in your body.

“I should go to bed,” you said, and Joel nodded. “Thanks for walking me.”

He gave a tight nod again. “Yeah. Don’t mention it.”

You turned, made it up two steps, then paused. Without looking back, you said: “You know I never wanted you to like me back, right?”

Joel blinked. “What?”

“I didn’t expect that. I wasn’t asking for anything. I just… liked the way it felt, being around you, making you smile sometimes... even if it was just a grunt. And when that stopped… that hurt worse than a bullet. And I got shot once, so I know what I’m talking about. I’d tell you the story but I doubt you’d be interested.”

You should’ve gone inside, the door was already open, you could feel the heat of your living room escaping into the cold night. Your limbs were buzzing with too much whiskey and too many words said, but Joel was still standing there, and your body was still turned toward him.

He shifted on his feet and glanced up at you with a slight squint. “How,” he said with caution, asking the question that had been killing him inside. “How’s patrol goin’ with Javi?”

You blinked and then snorted. Oh, he had some nerve asking that. You leaned against the railing, smiling just enough to hurt him. “It’s great. Javi doesn’t complain when I talk too much, and he doesn’t tell me to shut the hell up. So that makes him a better partner than you already.”

Joel winced, and you let him suffer for a bit. He nodded once, and then, after a long moment, his voice came out carefully neutral. “You and Javi…?”

“Me and Javi what?” you asked him, arching your brows.

“Are you two a thing or…?” he said, trying to appear unfazed, like he didn’t care about the answer, even if internally, he was praying you’d say no. His voice was tight, casual in the way someone pretends not to be holding their breath.

“A thing? What do you mean?” you asked, genuinely confused.

“Y’know what ’m talkin’ about,” he muttered, eyes flicking to the side like he wished he hadn’t opened his mouth.

Then sudden realization hit you. Your eyes went wide. “OH MY GOD, NO!” He blinked startled, and you smiled wider. “Javi’s gay. Like, suuuper gay.”

You watched it happen in real time, the way his jaw relaxed just slightly, the way his shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch, like a thread pulled too tight had finally been cut.

“Oh,” he said.

“Yeah, like reeeaally into guys. I mean, like, if we were both naked he’d probably be checking you out and ignoring me,” you chuckled, amused now, watching color bloom subtly in his cheeks. Joel didn’t say anything, he just felt relieved, so stupidly relieved it made his chest ache. “Your gay-dar is super off, Joel. You should get it checked,” you teased with a grin.

He didn’t respond, just grunted, shifting his weight, clearly trying not to smile. You tilted your head. “Why did you ask?”

Joel didn’t answer, he didn’t need to. You could see it all in his face… the question he didn’t ask, the way his eyes flicked over you like he couldn’t help it, like he was trying to memorize you before he lost his nerve.

You took a step closer and Joel didn’t move, or look away. Your voice was soft now. “Did you think he was my type?”

Joel’s voice came slow. “I didn’t know if you had a type.”

You smiled. “I didn’t either.” Another pause. “But now I think I might have a thing for older guys. The grumpy type. The ones who break your heart without even meaning to.”

You leaned against the porch railing again, closer now, and Joel stepped up. His hand came to rest on the railing beside you, not touching you yet, but near. You looked up at him, and found his eyes already on you. You stared at each other, and then he moved, not fast or clumsy, he just leaned in, slowly, like a man who’d been thinking about it for weeks, like a man who didn’t believe he’d ever get a second chance if he didn’t act now.

And when his mouth met yours? It was quiet and warm, like he was apologizing for all the things he said with that same mouth before... that mouth who’d hurt you in the past was now trying to put the pieces of you back together. You didn’t pull back or freeze, you just let it happen, let your eyes slip closed, let your hands curl against his flannel shirt… let yourself feel him.

It wasn’t rushed, it wasn’t needy or desperate, it was gentle like he was terrified he might break you, and maybe that was the part that undid you most, that this man, this gruff, stubborn, often infuriating man, was finally treating you like something precious. His hand came up slow, fingers brushing along your jaw before sliding to the back of your neck, you felt his thumb at your pulse point, like he was grounding himself in the fact that you were real, that this was happening.

When he finally pulled back, just inches in between you two, his voice was the softest it had ever been.

“Goodnight, birthday girl.”

You looked up at him, dazed. He stepped back and walked off your porch without another word, and you stood there like you’d been struck, watching him walk away, still swaying slightly from the whiskey, still buzzing from the feel of his mouth on yours, still trying to catch your breath. Joel Miller was already halfway down the walk. You watched him go, one step, two, three.

“HEY!” you shouted.

He didn’t stop walking, just turned back over his shoulder, eyes catching yours for a second, that big-ass smile stretched across his face.

“Joel Miller, you can’t do that!”

He slowed, but kept walking away anyway. “Already did it.”

“No! You can’t— You can’t do that and walk away!” Your voice cracked, but there was no real anger behind it, just amusement, and maybe a little frustration, because he’d left you hungry for more. “You can’t kiss me and run away like a coward!”

“Sweet dreams, birthday girl.” He replied teasingly with that same grin still painted on his face. The street was empty, the windows all dark, it was just you and him and the sound of your own heart thudding against your ribs.

“You better come back here and finish what you started, Joel Miller.” You tried to sound dangerous and commanding, but the look of a schoolgirl in love on your face wasn’t helping you.

He offered you one last smile before turning around and walking away. It was faint, like he didn’t have the right to give you more than that. Maybe this was all that was meant to happen tonight, but it sure as hell meant something for both of you. He felt it in his chest as he walked away, you felt it in your throat as you watched him go. And you wondered what would happen the next time you saw him, if he’d pretend nothing happened, or if he’d look at you the way he did when he had his lips on yours.

READ PART 2 HERE

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A/N: Wraaaah, I’ve had this idea bouncing around in my head for a while, and I finally sat down and wrote the first chapter! Please, please, please let me know what you think🥹 I’m writing a second part soon (with some smut in it😮‍💨).

This is one of the fics I’ve poured the most love into, I swear I’ve edited it a thousand times to make sure it’s the best it can be. I have so many more ideas for these two in the future, so please, I’d really love to know what you think!

As always, a huge thank you for your support🩷

tags: @unforgivemn @puduvallee @gorzelnia-blog @conrzd @applebloom928 @glitterspark @imjustaprettyyprincess @mani-pedro @jettia @sunnyssimming @sethell @thescxrpio @cowboylikejoha @dugiioh @crimsonxcobra @twigleektribute23 @alexxavicry @thievin-stealing @tearsweetenedtea @serenity-1221 @lover-of-books-and-tea @joelsgoodgirl @nightbornangel @millersweetheart @spacemooi @bbyanarchist @nixiaw @dlwrish @yeswhale456 @mxyjailer @uncassettodiricordi @looking1016 @Ghostlover19 @sofisweb @lanasdolll @smvtwitchmiller @bolitadesol

dividers by: @/thecutestgrotto

[honeypiehotchner]

ME TOO 😭😭 (says the author)

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part thirty-seven

I am soooo sorry for what you're about to read. Genuinely so sorry

Warnings: the motherload of all angst tbh, if you're conflicted abt whose side to take (reader vs hotch) good bc me too, everything will be fine I promise!!!

Dave takes one of the bureau SUVs back to the hotel to grab the rest of the team. Aaron tucks you into the passenger seat of the other and takes you for a drive to help you calm down, and because he’s at a loss for what to do next. You want to go to the precinct, but he’s not sure you’re ready yet. 

Or maybe he’s not ready. Maybe all he wants to do is drive straight to the airstrip, call the pilot on the way, and take you home-- back to Quantico.

He wants you somewhere safe, and right now it seems like the safest place is the BAU offices. He wants you there, working with Garcia, in a protected federal building. He wants you far from here, far from whatever caused you to sob so hard you couldn’t stand.

But he doesn’t think you’ll agree to do that, especially not with this new piece of information -- that still isn’t entirely clear to him because you’ve only just begun to calm down. He wants to wait for your breathing to even out before he tries to ask another probing question about what happened in the diner with Darlene.

He takes another left turn, driving in circles at this point, his brain doing the same. Eventually, you take one last shuddering inhale before your breathing smooths out. Your hand reaches for his and he takes it with a small smile, glancing over to make sure you’re okay. Your response is a drained, barely-there smile.

“Can we head to the precinct now?” you ask, sniffling once, but your breaths remain calm and steady. “We need to try to reach him.”

Aaron’s heart clenches. “Reach who, honey?”

“Officer Robinson,” you reply, eyebrows furrowing like you’re not quite registering what you have and haven’t told Aaron yet. “I need to talk to him. I think he’s…”

The pieces click together in Aaron’s mind, the fragmented words you were crying through earlier. “Your brother?”

You nod slowly. “Darlene said she wasn’t sure because no one ever saw a paternity test, but it was one of the rumors around town that was…too specific to be just a rumor. Too much of it lined up.”

Aaron squeezes his hand. He doesn’t like how shaken up you were when you came out of that diner, and he definitely doesn’t like that it was because of something Darlene said. After yesterday, he doesn’t trust what that woman says, but for some reason you do, and for the life of him, Aaron can’t wrap his head around it. 

But he doesn’t want to say anything about it right now and risk sending you into another panicked state so quickly.

“Okay,” he says instead, turning to head back to the precinct. “We’ll talk more about it at the station.”

You nod and settle down into the seat, pulling his hand closer to you, curling around his arm as little as you can.

+++

You’re feeling slightly more yourself when you enter the precinct, albeit absolutely exhausted from being awake since five and then your emotional whiplash talk with Darlene.

The team is waiting for you and Hotch in the small conference room. You’re not sure how much Rossi has told them, but judging by some of their expressions, you can assume he told them enough.

“Here, why don’t you sit?” Hotch moves to pull a chair out for you.

“I’m fine,” you wave him off, but you don’t miss the concern that flashes in his eyes before he relents. You stand up by the board, by the letter the unsub wrote to you and left on Richard’s body, by the bracelet of childish charms that now make perfect sense. “Do we know where Officer Robinson is?”

No one answers. You turn your head and meet Rossi’s eyes, expectant.

“I’ll go ask the deputy,” he nods, disappearing from the room.

“Doug’s son isn’t his -- biologically,” you begin, looking up and tapping the Doug’s Deli newspaper clipping you tacked up yesterday. “But he treated him like his own. And Doug never married Laura Robinson, but they did have plans to elope, until Doug found out about her affair. They had been living together and trying for a baby when Carter -- Officer Robinson’s first name -- came along. Doug figured out the kid wasn’t his, but he was willing to look past it -- the lies, the infidelity -- when he found out who the real father was. But Laura didn’t want to.” You pause, crossing your arms over your chest, some futile protective gesture. “She moved back to Georgia and took Carter with her. Except that Carter sometimes spent weekends with Doug, and no one could understand why Laura let him do that, until Darlene figured out one day who Laura was coming to see.” You inhale sharply. “My father.”

Morgan is the first to blurt out “What?”

Emily is next with “Wait.”

“So Robinson is your…half-brother?” Reid says slowly, and skeptically.

You open your mouth to respond, but you don’t get a chance before Rossi is returning with the deputy in tow.

“Can I ask what all this is about?” Deputy Laneman asks with a tick of his jaw.

Hotch speaks up. “Deputy, we just need to speak with Officer Robinson and ask him some questions.”

“About?”

Hotch levels his gaze, clearly irritated already with how defensive Laneman is. “This case. Richard Monroe’s death. Officer Robinson called it in, did he not?”

“He was on patrol that night, I scheduled him myself, he wasn’t anywhere he wasn’t supposed to be.”

“Be that as it may, deputy, new information has come to light, and we need to speak with him,” Hotch says. “And if you continue to keep us from doing so, I might start to think you’re the one who needs to be questioned next.”

Laneman works his jaw. “Fine. Robinson’s off today. I’ll call him.”

“Have officers go to his house,” Hotch says. “We need to speak with him urgently, and I don’t want to risk him not seeing his phone.”

Laneman looks ready to spit fire, but he agrees. “Fine. I’ll send some men out to his house.”

When the deputy leaves the room, Hotch watches him go, narrows his eyes. He waits a beat.

“Morgan, Prentiss, go with the officers to see if Robinson is at home,” he instructs quietly. “Rossi, take Reid and join the officers on the patrol, look for Robinson’s car, anything around the area at any restaurants, stores, gas stations, the gym-- just find him. JJ, get ahead of the press if you can, I don’t know that I trust this to not get out with how Laneman is acting.”

You’re not surprised to find that this leaves you with Hotch -- and JJ, though she steps out into the hall to handle phone calls, and to speak with the remaining officers about keeping this under wraps.

You finally sit down, leaning your head onto one of your hands. “This is-- If this is true, Hotch.”

“I know,” he sighs, sitting down next to you, reaching for your free hand. “Let’s just find Officer Robinson first and ask him some questions.”

“What if what Darlene said is true?” you whisper. “What if he is my brother?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he says, squeezing your hand. “We don’t know that it’s true. We know Laura is his mother, that he was raised in Georgia, but we don’t know for sure yet that he--”

“But everything she said, it--” You shake your head, pulling your hand from his, and a stricken expression crosses his face as you start to pace the length of the room. “It makes sense. And I-I remember him. I remember a young boy. Laura used to live here and date Doug, had an affair with my father, and-- They were friends! He was friends with Doug, yet he had sex with Laura and ruined their friendship, a child comes of it and he tells her she can’t stay here, not with a kid now too, because my dad had met my mom by then, and they were engaged by then. So he kept going to Georgia to see Laura, and she kept coming here, and he was-- I don’t know, was he murdering the women in Atlanta because he felt…guilty? Do you think he felt guilty about having an affair? Is that why he went after sex workers? He saw them as a representation of his own infidelity and killed them for it.”

You spin around to find Hotch still sitting, and his expression is pained. His eyes narrowed in concern, a frown set deep in his lips.

“What?” you nearly snap. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Sit down, please,” he whispers, gesturing to the chair you were just in.

“No,” you murmur, shifting your weight on your feet. “Because I feel like whatever you’re about to say is just going to make me stand up and pace again, so. What is it?”

He sighs, but he remains sitting, not challenging you. “I think you should go back to Quantico and work on the case from there with Garcia -- if you feel comfortable continuing to work on it.”

You stare at him. And stare. And stare.

When you don’t speak, Aaron stands slowly like you’re a frightened animal that he’s worried he’ll spook. “I think you need to take a break. This case is wearing on you. You couldn’t walk earlier, honey--”

“Don’t call me that right now,” you snap.

He nods, but continues. “I think you want what Darlene says to be true because you want to be able to trust someone from your past. You want to have someone like her in your life, someone who remembers your past and can give you the answers you need, but I’m not certain that she’s a reliable source. I think she’s harming you more than she’s helping--”

You ignore the fact that he’s profiling you within an inch of your life and instead take a jab at him. “So you’re just sending me away? That’s it? That’s your solution?”

“That’s not-- It’s not about me sending you away, it’s about keeping you sane, and keeping you safe.” He gestures at you. “You’re exhausted.”

“And no one else is?”

“No one else on this team is hunting for their kidnapper,” he says, “or brother.”

You glare at him. “So you do believe Darlene? Or you don’t? Which is it?”

“I think what she says holds some truth,” he admits, albeit reluctantly. “We just need to figure out how much truth before we jump to any conclusions.”

“Like sending me away.”

He sighs. He looks away from you. “I have been thinking of broaching this subject since we got here. That first night when you had a panic attack and couldn’t read the letter.”

You fume silently. Clearly he’s already made up his mind and nothing you say will change his decision. He can’t exactly force you onto the plane, but if he doesn’t want you here, why try to stay?

“Why are you pushing me away?” you ask outright, unable to keep it in. It sounds ridiculous and you know it does, but here you are.

You’re already walking a thin, vulnerable line after finding out the man who kidnapped you when you were younger might actually be your half-brother, and that his motives maybe weren’t as sinister as you had always been told to believe. But in fact, they were the actions of a neglected child begging to be seen by his father -- something that, God help you, you can relate to. 

But to have Aaron suggesting this, wanting you to go back to Virginia, all under the guise of thinking it’s safer, well. You don’t know what to make of it. Other than the fact that it hurts.

“I’m not,” he says quietly. “I’m not pushing you away.”

“Then why does it feel like it?” you protest, angry tears beginning to break. “It just feels like that night at Dave’s house all over again.”

Aaron tilts his head, completely lost now. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, every time we get close, you just--” You wave your hand. “Something happens. The ‘racoons,’ if those were even real, and now, the day after we have sex, you want me gone?”

“The racoons were real! But-- You’re the one who snuck out last night,” he reminds you. “I’m the one who woke up to an empty bed.”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t have agreed to let me speak to Darlene again!” you cry. “Because I knew you wouldn’t have let me go alone! And you still didn’t.”

“And I’m glad I didn’t!” he fires back. “Because you couldn’t even walk when you got out of there!”

“I would’ve been fine!” you protest. “I’ve dealt with this without you before, I would’ve been fine this time!”

Aaron watches you, tears brimming his own eyes, and you have no idea why. He’s the one telling you to go. He’s the one doing this to the two of you. He’s the one ripping the two of you apart.

“I don’t want to go back to Quantico,” you say quietly, sniffling. “But if you tell me to go, I’ll leave.” Leave, quit, resign, walk away. They’re all the same. Aaron knows it just as well as you do. “So?”

He doesn’t want to say it. You can see it all over his face. All he has to do is say stay here, don’t go.

But he doesn’t.

“Please,” he says, voice quiet, broken, the syllables all jagged. “Go back to Quantico. It’s safer for you there.”

You nod once. That’s that, then.

“I can drive you,” he offers.

“No,” you’re quick to reject it. “No, if you’re forcing me to go, I can drive myself.”

“I’ll call the pilot--”

“I can do that myself, too.”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please. I’m not doing this to slight you, or-- or to punish you. Please tell me you understand that.”

“I’ll head to the hotel and grab my things,” you mutter, ignoring his pleas as you head for the door. “Then head straight to the airport.”

“Let me know when you land in Quantico, at least. Please.”

You laugh, a bitter sound as you twist the handle. “Sure. Let me know when you find my brother.”

+++

Aaron sits in the conference room, the resounding slam of the door from when you left ringing in his ears. He wants to give you space. He told you to leave. He knew you wouldn’t like it. He doesn’t even like it. But it’s for the better.

But the look on your face, when he told you to go. It’s going to haunt him for years.

He waits a few more moments before following your path out of the room and into the bullpen. He glances around, but he doesn’t spot you anywhere, so he heads outside.

After scanning the parking lot, he curses under his breath. The other bureau vehicle is gone, which means you’ve already left for the airport. Alone.

Aaron had hoped to find you still sitting in the driver’s seat of the car, so maybe he could’ve tried to apologize, at least tried to mend some of this before you left, but he’s too late. He waited all of three minutes, and he’s too late.

He knows if he tries to call you right now, you’ll just send him to voicemail. And if he goes to the hotel to intercept you there, he risks making this worse and losing you forever. All he can do is wait for you to tell him that you’ve reached Quantico. 

He heads back inside, passing JJ and asking her to call the pilot and let him know he’s needed soon. Just in case it slips your mind, but really it’s Aaron wanting to help. To take one more thing off your plate, even if he knows it’ll upset you when he finds out JJ called the pilot. 

Still, Aaron tries to let it go. He goes back to the conference room, pacing in front of the board just like you had, and glancing at his phone every five seconds, looking for text messages from you that won’t appear.

He caves about fifteen minutes later and tries to call you, but the line is busy. You’re probably talking to Garcia, telling her you’re heading to Quantico and talking shit about him in the same breath. If you are, he doesn’t blame you. He waits.

Aaron waits, and waits, and wishes he knew what he was doing. Wishes he knew exactly where you were.

JJ comes into the conference room, eyebrows furrowed down at her phone.

Hotch looks up. “What is it?”

“The pilot,” JJ shakes her head. “I gave him an ETA for her based on when she left, but he said she still hasn’t shown up at the airstrip. Have you talked to her?”

“No,” Hotch says regretfully. “She was angry with me when she left, so she’s not speaking to me.”

“I’m trying to call her now,” JJ nods, phone pressed to her ear. But she pulls it away all too quickly. “Voicemail.” She tries again, and gets the same outcome.

Hotch, against his better judgement, and fueled by some delusion thinking you’d send JJ to voicemail but answer him, tries to call you. It cuts out, goes to voicemail.

His phone starts ringing a second later, and he jumps, thinking it’s you, but it’s not. “Garcia,” he answers.

“Hey boss,” she says, sounding concerned. “I was just-- She told me to call you and let you know that they’re on the way to the airport.”

Hotch’s spine straightens. “They?” He puts the phone on speaker, placing it on the table between him and JJ. “Penelope, who is they?”

“She said, ‘Officer Robinson and I are headed to the airport, be sure to let Aaron know.’ She sounded like she was reading off a script, Hotch, it was creepy. I don’t like whatever this is--”

“Penelope,” he says slowly, trying to keep his own composure as JJ’s eyes widen. “I need you to trace her phone for me.”

“Oh, trust me, I started doing that as soon as she started speaking, I knew something was off,” Garcia says, keyboard already clacking, and Hotch has never loved her more than he does in this moment. “I’ve been digging into Andrew Robinson some more too, I know we ruled him out initially because he wasn’t raised there, but I’ve just been looking around. His real name is Carter, though, and get this, he spent a lot of time in that town with--”

“Doug, we know,” Aaron interjects, not unkindly, just fucking stressed. “Doug treated him like a son because he was in a relationship with Robinson’s mom before he found out about the affair, but he wanted to look past it.”

“Woah. But I can’t find anything on Carter’s real father, it’s like the guy doesn’t even exist--”

“It’s Carson Adkins,” Hotch sighs. “Or Darlene thinks it is, and I’m starting to think she’s right. Garcia, do you have eyes on her?”

“Her phone says she’s at a gas station not far from you. They must be getting gas or something, they haven’t moved.”

“Thank you,” Hotch exhales, grabbing his phone and leaving the conference room, heading straight for Deputy Laneman’s office. “I’ll call you with updates.”

“Be safe, sir.”

“Thank you,” he says, hanging up as he opens Deputy Laneman’s door without even knocking.

“My men just spotted Officer Robinson at the Shell on Hickory,” Laneman says, already standing and setting the phone down. “He’s--”

“With one of my agents, that I just sent home,” Hotch finishes, giving Laneman no room to question him on it. “She’s in trouble.”

Laneman grabs his hat. “I’ll drive.”

[honeypiehotchner]

these two were literally always up in each other’s business before even kissing it is hilarious

Uh…if they’re not checking each other out, I’m slightly uncomfortable with their intimate eye contact

[honeypiehotchner]

Hi, cnc anon again, this might be like a big hear me out, but hear me out on this one. Hotch. The two have rules, of course, and just really need that release of power that comes with cnc. I really hope that makes sense. Ignore me if it sounds weird 😅

okay but waitttt I didn’t see it at first but now I’m getting an Ideaaaa 👀👀 thank you so much for this anon 🤭🤭

[honeypiehotchner]

mmmm i’m thinking blowjob under aaron’s desk for kinktober 🤤 could be doing it as a brat if he’s on a phone call… could be doing it to relieve his stress. you pick 🤭

Now THISSSSS IS AN IDEA 🤓

[honeypiehotchner]

Quick question, you said dub-con is a maybe. For kinktober, would you be willing to write cnc?

I’m open to it! I think with the right character it makes sense, what are you thinking anon 👀👀

[honeypiehotchner]

Nooooo it’s completely fine and there is no need to worry 😀😀😀😀😀😀

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part thirty-seven

I am soooo sorry for what you're about to read. Genuinely so sorry

Warnings: the motherload of all angst tbh, if you're conflicted abt whose side to take (reader vs hotch) good bc me too, everything will be fine I promise!!!

Dave takes one of the bureau SUVs back to the hotel to grab the rest of the team. Aaron tucks you into the passenger seat of the other and takes you for a drive to help you calm down, and because he’s at a loss for what to do next. You want to go to the precinct, but he’s not sure you’re ready yet. 

Or maybe he’s not ready. Maybe all he wants to do is drive straight to the airstrip, call the pilot on the way, and take you home-- back to Quantico.

He wants you somewhere safe, and right now it seems like the safest place is the BAU offices. He wants you there, working with Garcia, in a protected federal building. He wants you far from here, far from whatever caused you to sob so hard you couldn’t stand.

But he doesn’t think you’ll agree to do that, especially not with this new piece of information -- that still isn’t entirely clear to him because you’ve only just begun to calm down. He wants to wait for your breathing to even out before he tries to ask another probing question about what happened in the diner with Darlene.

He takes another left turn, driving in circles at this point, his brain doing the same. Eventually, you take one last shuddering inhale before your breathing smooths out. Your hand reaches for his and he takes it with a small smile, glancing over to make sure you’re okay. Your response is a drained, barely-there smile.

“Can we head to the precinct now?” you ask, sniffling once, but your breaths remain calm and steady. “We need to try to reach him.”

Aaron’s heart clenches. “Reach who, honey?”

“Officer Robinson,” you reply, eyebrows furrowing like you’re not quite registering what you have and haven’t told Aaron yet. “I need to talk to him. I think he’s…”

The pieces click together in Aaron’s mind, the fragmented words you were crying through earlier. “Your brother?”

You nod slowly. “Darlene said she wasn’t sure because no one ever saw a paternity test, but it was one of the rumors around town that was…too specific to be just a rumor. Too much of it lined up.”

Aaron squeezes his hand. He doesn’t like how shaken up you were when you came out of that diner, and he definitely doesn’t like that it was because of something Darlene said. After yesterday, he doesn’t trust what that woman says, but for some reason you do, and for the life of him, Aaron can’t wrap his head around it. 

But he doesn’t want to say anything about it right now and risk sending you into another panicked state so quickly.

“Okay,” he says instead, turning to head back to the precinct. “We’ll talk more about it at the station.”

You nod and settle down into the seat, pulling his hand closer to you, curling around his arm as little as you can.

+++

You’re feeling slightly more yourself when you enter the precinct, albeit absolutely exhausted from being awake since five and then your emotional whiplash talk with Darlene.

The team is waiting for you and Hotch in the small conference room. You’re not sure how much Rossi has told them, but judging by some of their expressions, you can assume he told them enough.

“Here, why don’t you sit?” Hotch moves to pull a chair out for you.

“I’m fine,” you wave him off, but you don’t miss the concern that flashes in his eyes before he relents. You stand up by the board, by the letter the unsub wrote to you and left on Richard’s body, by the bracelet of childish charms that now make perfect sense. “Do we know where Officer Robinson is?”

No one answers. You turn your head and meet Rossi’s eyes, expectant.

“I’ll go ask the deputy,” he nods, disappearing from the room.

“Doug’s son isn’t his -- biologically,” you begin, looking up and tapping the Doug’s Deli newspaper clipping you tacked up yesterday. “But he treated him like his own. And Doug never married Laura Robinson, but they did have plans to elope, until Doug found out about her affair. They had been living together and trying for a baby when Carter -- Officer Robinson’s first name -- came along. Doug figured out the kid wasn’t his, but he was willing to look past it -- the lies, the infidelity -- when he found out who the real father was. But Laura didn’t want to.” You pause, crossing your arms over your chest, some futile protective gesture. “She moved back to Georgia and took Carter with her. Except that Carter sometimes spent weekends with Doug, and no one could understand why Laura let him do that, until Darlene figured out one day who Laura was coming to see.” You inhale sharply. “My father.”

Morgan is the first to blurt out “What?”

Emily is next with “Wait.”

“So Robinson is your…half-brother?” Reid says slowly, and skeptically.

You open your mouth to respond, but you don’t get a chance before Rossi is returning with the deputy in tow.

“Can I ask what all this is about?” Deputy Laneman asks with a tick of his jaw.

Hotch speaks up. “Deputy, we just need to speak with Officer Robinson and ask him some questions.”

“About?”

Hotch levels his gaze, clearly irritated already with how defensive Laneman is. “This case. Richard Monroe’s death. Officer Robinson called it in, did he not?”

“He was on patrol that night, I scheduled him myself, he wasn’t anywhere he wasn’t supposed to be.”

“Be that as it may, deputy, new information has come to light, and we need to speak with him,” Hotch says. “And if you continue to keep us from doing so, I might start to think you’re the one who needs to be questioned next.”

Laneman works his jaw. “Fine. Robinson’s off today. I’ll call him.”

“Have officers go to his house,” Hotch says. “We need to speak with him urgently, and I don’t want to risk him not seeing his phone.”

Laneman looks ready to spit fire, but he agrees. “Fine. I’ll send some men out to his house.”

When the deputy leaves the room, Hotch watches him go, narrows his eyes. He waits a beat.

“Morgan, Prentiss, go with the officers to see if Robinson is at home,” he instructs quietly. “Rossi, take Reid and join the officers on the patrol, look for Robinson’s car, anything around the area at any restaurants, stores, gas stations, the gym-- just find him. JJ, get ahead of the press if you can, I don’t know that I trust this to not get out with how Laneman is acting.”

You’re not surprised to find that this leaves you with Hotch -- and JJ, though she steps out into the hall to handle phone calls, and to speak with the remaining officers about keeping this under wraps.

You finally sit down, leaning your head onto one of your hands. “This is-- If this is true, Hotch.”

“I know,” he sighs, sitting down next to you, reaching for your free hand. “Let’s just find Officer Robinson first and ask him some questions.”

“What if what Darlene said is true?” you whisper. “What if he is my brother?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he says, squeezing your hand. “We don’t know that it’s true. We know Laura is his mother, that he was raised in Georgia, but we don’t know for sure yet that he--”

“But everything she said, it--” You shake your head, pulling your hand from his, and a stricken expression crosses his face as you start to pace the length of the room. “It makes sense. And I-I remember him. I remember a young boy. Laura used to live here and date Doug, had an affair with my father, and-- They were friends! He was friends with Doug, yet he had sex with Laura and ruined their friendship, a child comes of it and he tells her she can’t stay here, not with a kid now too, because my dad had met my mom by then, and they were engaged by then. So he kept going to Georgia to see Laura, and she kept coming here, and he was-- I don’t know, was he murdering the women in Atlanta because he felt…guilty? Do you think he felt guilty about having an affair? Is that why he went after sex workers? He saw them as a representation of his own infidelity and killed them for it.”

You spin around to find Hotch still sitting, and his expression is pained. His eyes narrowed in concern, a frown set deep in his lips.

“What?” you nearly snap. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Sit down, please,” he whispers, gesturing to the chair you were just in.

“No,” you murmur, shifting your weight on your feet. “Because I feel like whatever you’re about to say is just going to make me stand up and pace again, so. What is it?”

He sighs, but he remains sitting, not challenging you. “I think you should go back to Quantico and work on the case from there with Garcia -- if you feel comfortable continuing to work on it.”

You stare at him. And stare. And stare.

When you don’t speak, Aaron stands slowly like you’re a frightened animal that he’s worried he’ll spook. “I think you need to take a break. This case is wearing on you. You couldn’t walk earlier, honey--”

“Don’t call me that right now,” you snap.

He nods, but continues. “I think you want what Darlene says to be true because you want to be able to trust someone from your past. You want to have someone like her in your life, someone who remembers your past and can give you the answers you need, but I’m not certain that she’s a reliable source. I think she’s harming you more than she’s helping--”

You ignore the fact that he’s profiling you within an inch of your life and instead take a jab at him. “So you’re just sending me away? That’s it? That’s your solution?”

“That’s not-- It’s not about me sending you away, it’s about keeping you sane, and keeping you safe.” He gestures at you. “You’re exhausted.”

“And no one else is?”

“No one else on this team is hunting for their kidnapper,” he says, “or brother.”

You glare at him. “So you do believe Darlene? Or you don’t? Which is it?”

“I think what she says holds some truth,” he admits, albeit reluctantly. “We just need to figure out how much truth before we jump to any conclusions.”

“Like sending me away.”

He sighs. He looks away from you. “I have been thinking of broaching this subject since we got here. That first night when you had a panic attack and couldn’t read the letter.”

You fume silently. Clearly he’s already made up his mind and nothing you say will change his decision. He can’t exactly force you onto the plane, but if he doesn’t want you here, why try to stay?

“Why are you pushing me away?” you ask outright, unable to keep it in. It sounds ridiculous and you know it does, but here you are.

You’re already walking a thin, vulnerable line after finding out the man who kidnapped you when you were younger might actually be your half-brother, and that his motives maybe weren’t as sinister as you had always been told to believe. But in fact, they were the actions of a neglected child begging to be seen by his father -- something that, God help you, you can relate to. 

But to have Aaron suggesting this, wanting you to go back to Virginia, all under the guise of thinking it’s safer, well. You don’t know what to make of it. Other than the fact that it hurts.

“I’m not,” he says quietly. “I’m not pushing you away.”

“Then why does it feel like it?” you protest, angry tears beginning to break. “It just feels like that night at Dave’s house all over again.”

Aaron tilts his head, completely lost now. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, every time we get close, you just--” You wave your hand. “Something happens. The ‘racoons,’ if those were even real, and now, the day after we have sex, you want me gone?”

“The racoons were real! But-- You’re the one who snuck out last night,” he reminds you. “I’m the one who woke up to an empty bed.”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t have agreed to let me speak to Darlene again!” you cry. “Because I knew you wouldn’t have let me go alone! And you still didn’t.”

“And I’m glad I didn’t!” he fires back. “Because you couldn’t even walk when you got out of there!”

“I would’ve been fine!” you protest. “I’ve dealt with this without you before, I would’ve been fine this time!”

Aaron watches you, tears brimming his own eyes, and you have no idea why. He’s the one telling you to go. He’s the one doing this to the two of you. He’s the one ripping the two of you apart.

“I don’t want to go back to Quantico,” you say quietly, sniffling. “But if you tell me to go, I’ll leave.” Leave, quit, resign, walk away. They’re all the same. Aaron knows it just as well as you do. “So?”

He doesn’t want to say it. You can see it all over his face. All he has to do is say stay here, don’t go.

But he doesn’t.

“Please,” he says, voice quiet, broken, the syllables all jagged. “Go back to Quantico. It’s safer for you there.”

You nod once. That’s that, then.

“I can drive you,” he offers.

“No,” you’re quick to reject it. “No, if you’re forcing me to go, I can drive myself.”

“I’ll call the pilot--”

“I can do that myself, too.”

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please. I’m not doing this to slight you, or-- or to punish you. Please tell me you understand that.”

“I’ll head to the hotel and grab my things,” you mutter, ignoring his pleas as you head for the door. “Then head straight to the airport.”

“Let me know when you land in Quantico, at least. Please.”

You laugh, a bitter sound as you twist the handle. “Sure. Let me know when you find my brother.”

+++

Aaron sits in the conference room, the resounding slam of the door from when you left ringing in his ears. He wants to give you space. He told you to leave. He knew you wouldn’t like it. He doesn’t even like it. But it’s for the better.

But the look on your face, when he told you to go. It’s going to haunt him for years.

He waits a few more moments before following your path out of the room and into the bullpen. He glances around, but he doesn’t spot you anywhere, so he heads outside.

After scanning the parking lot, he curses under his breath. The other bureau vehicle is gone, which means you’ve already left for the airport. Alone.

Aaron had hoped to find you still sitting in the driver’s seat of the car, so maybe he could’ve tried to apologize, at least tried to mend some of this before you left, but he’s too late. He waited all of three minutes, and he’s too late.

He knows if he tries to call you right now, you’ll just send him to voicemail. And if he goes to the hotel to intercept you there, he risks making this worse and losing you forever. All he can do is wait for you to tell him that you’ve reached Quantico. 

He heads back inside, passing JJ and asking her to call the pilot and let him know he’s needed soon. Just in case it slips your mind, but really it’s Aaron wanting to help. To take one more thing off your plate, even if he knows it’ll upset you when he finds out JJ called the pilot. 

Still, Aaron tries to let it go. He goes back to the conference room, pacing in front of the board just like you had, and glancing at his phone every five seconds, looking for text messages from you that won’t appear.

He caves about fifteen minutes later and tries to call you, but the line is busy. You’re probably talking to Garcia, telling her you’re heading to Quantico and talking shit about him in the same breath. If you are, he doesn’t blame you. He waits.

Aaron waits, and waits, and wishes he knew what he was doing. Wishes he knew exactly where you were.

JJ comes into the conference room, eyebrows furrowed down at her phone.

Hotch looks up. “What is it?”

“The pilot,” JJ shakes her head. “I gave him an ETA for her based on when she left, but he said she still hasn’t shown up at the airstrip. Have you talked to her?”

“No,” Hotch says regretfully. “She was angry with me when she left, so she’s not speaking to me.”

“I’m trying to call her now,” JJ nods, phone pressed to her ear. But she pulls it away all too quickly. “Voicemail.” She tries again, and gets the same outcome.

Hotch, against his better judgement, and fueled by some delusion thinking you’d send JJ to voicemail but answer him, tries to call you. It cuts out, goes to voicemail.

His phone starts ringing a second later, and he jumps, thinking it’s you, but it’s not. “Garcia,” he answers.

“Hey boss,” she says, sounding concerned. “I was just-- She told me to call you and let you know that they’re on the way to the airport.”

Hotch’s spine straightens. “They?” He puts the phone on speaker, placing it on the table between him and JJ. “Penelope, who is they?”

“She said, ‘Officer Robinson and I are headed to the airport, be sure to let Aaron know.’ She sounded like she was reading off a script, Hotch, it was creepy. I don’t like whatever this is--”

“Penelope,” he says slowly, trying to keep his own composure as JJ’s eyes widen. “I need you to trace her phone for me.”

“Oh, trust me, I started doing that as soon as she started speaking, I knew something was off,” Garcia says, keyboard already clacking, and Hotch has never loved her more than he does in this moment. “I’ve been digging into Andrew Robinson some more too, I know we ruled him out initially because he wasn’t raised there, but I’ve just been looking around. His real name is Carter, though, and get this, he spent a lot of time in that town with--”

“Doug, we know,” Aaron interjects, not unkindly, just fucking stressed. “Doug treated him like a son because he was in a relationship with Robinson’s mom before he found out about the affair, but he wanted to look past it.”

“Woah. But I can’t find anything on Carter’s real father, it’s like the guy doesn’t even exist--”

“It’s Carson Adkins,” Hotch sighs. “Or Darlene thinks it is, and I’m starting to think she’s right. Garcia, do you have eyes on her?”

“Her phone says she’s at a gas station not far from you. They must be getting gas or something, they haven’t moved.”

“Thank you,” Hotch exhales, grabbing his phone and leaving the conference room, heading straight for Deputy Laneman’s office. “I’ll call you with updates.”

“Be safe, sir.”

“Thank you,” he says, hanging up as he opens Deputy Laneman’s door without even knocking.

“My men just spotted Officer Robinson at the Shell on Hickory,” Laneman says, already standing and setting the phone down. “He’s--”

“With one of my agents, that I just sent home,” Hotch finishes, giving Laneman no room to question him on it. “She’s in trouble.”

Laneman grabs his hat. “I’ll drive.”