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hotchshands · 16 days ago

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such a beautiful work of art!

It's a Wonderful Life

“You’ve really had a wonderful life; don’t you see what a mistake it would be to throw it all away?” It’s a Wonderful Life, 1946.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader||Word Count: 16k

Tags/Warnings: canon-typical themes, angst, fluff, implied age-gap, Christmas, fade to black smut, mentions of Spencer and Sean's addiction, alluding to depression, hurt/comfort, proposal, happy ending, parallels to the movie It's a Wonderful Life (1946).

Sypnosis: Aaron Hotchner is given a profound glimpse into two alternate realities: one of love, family, and warmth with you by his side, and another of cold emptiness without you—forcing him to confront what truly makes life worth living and to fight for the future he never thought he could have.

The cold December air nipped at Aaron Hotchner’s face as he drove home in silence, his mind tangled in a storm of emotions. The Christmas lights twinkling from houses along the way blurred in his vision, unacknowledged. His hands gripped the steering wheel, tighter than they needed to be, the faint tremble in them betraying the turmoil he rarely allowed himself to feel.

It had started with a conversation over dinner, but it had ended in the first real fight the two of you had ever had.

Hotch leaned back in his chair earlier that evening; his suit jacket hung neatly over the back. You had joined him in the small nook of his office, where the two of you often had late-night dinners during busy weeks. The meal was simple, but it was warm and comforting, much like your presence had been since the moment you entered his life.

"I was offered a new position today," you had started, your voice tentative yet steady.

That alone had caught his attention. He set his fork down, eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity. "What kind of position?"

Your hands toyed with the edge of your napkin, betraying the nerves you were trying to suppress. "It's more administrative. I'd stay with the Bureau, but it’s a stable office job—better hours, better pay."

He froze. "You’d leave the BAU?"

The words came out sharper than he intended. His voice edged with disbelief and something deeper—something darker. The possibility of you leaving felt like the ground shifting beneath him and his control over the situation slipping through his fingers.

Your expression tightened, and you met his eyes with quiet resolve. "I’ve been thinking about the future, Aaron," you replied softly.

The future. The word hung in the air like a challenge, forcing him to confront the pieces of himself he kept buried. He leaned forward, his posture tense. "The future? This has always been your dream. You worked harder than anyone to get here. You’re one of the best agents I’ve ever seen—"

"I know." You cut him off gently, but your voice cracked. "And I’ve loved every second of it. But…"

"But what?"

You drew in a deep breath, the kind that signaled you were about to say something that might break you both. "I want a family, Aaron. I want marriage, a home, children. And with this job—our job—I don’t see how that’s possible. Time isn’t slowing down. I can’t keep pretending I don’t want those things."

His frown deepened, and an old, familiar fear crept into the back of his mind. He was losing control of the conversation—of the life he’d carefully pieced together after everything had fallen apart.

"We’re happy now, aren’t we?" he asked, his voice low but tinged with desperation. "What we have works."

You stared at him, hurt flickering across your face. "Maybe it works for you. But I can’t put my life on hold forever, hoping you’ll decide you’re ready for more."

The words struck him like a blow. He could see the pain in your expression, but all he could feel was confusion—and fear. His mind raced, spiraling into the memories he tried to avoid: Haley’s voice, full of hope and love, as she’d begged him to leave the BAU. Her laughter, distant now, overshadowed by the gunshot that had stolen her from him. The hollow ache of watching Jack’s childhood unfold in glimpses, between cases and fleeting moments of normalcy.

"Marriage? Kids?" he asked, his voice growing strained. "You know what happened last time. You’ve seen what this job does to families."

"And I know you’ve never let yourself believe that it could be different," you said, your voice rising slightly though it remained gentle, imploring. "I’ve been patient, Aaron. I’ve waited because I know how much you’ve been through, but I need to know if you see a future with me that includes those things. Because I do. I love you, and I love Jack, but this… this isn’t enough for me anymore."

Your confession shattered something inside him. He stood abruptly, pacing the room as he ran a hand over his face. "This isn’t just about me," he muttered. "The BAU… it’s who I am. It’s what I know."

The unspoken words clung to the air between you: It’s what I’m good at. The only thing I’m good at.

"And what am I to you?" you asked, your voice breaking now, laced with a pain that cut deeper than he could bear.

He stopped in his tracks, staring at you. "You’re everything to me," he said, quieter now, his tone weighted with sincerity.

"Then why does it feel like I’m the one compromising everything for us?"

The silence that followed was unbearable. Hotch’s heart hammered in his chest as he tried to form a response, but the words wouldn’t come. He had spent years convincing himself that sacrifice was inevitable, that his happiness would always come second to his duty. But now, standing before you, he was forced to confront the truth: he was afraid. Afraid to hope for more. Afraid to let himself believe that he could have the life you wanted without losing it all again.

Finally, you stood. "Maybe we need some time to figure this out," you said, the sadness in your voice like a knife.

He didn’t stop you as you grabbed your coat, nor did he stop himself from walking out shortly after.

As he drove aimlessly through the city, the weight of your words bore down on him. You’re everything to me. But was it enough? Could it be enough when he couldn’t see a way forward that didn’t end in failure?

He wasn’t sure. And that terrified him more than anything.

Now, as he pulled into his driveway, the emptiness of his home struck him in a way it hadn’t in years. Jack was with Jessica tonight, and the quiet was suffocating.

Hotch sank onto the couch, staring blankly at the darkened Christmas tree in the corner of the room. He thought about you—your laughter, the way your presence filled the spaces in his life he didn’t even realize were empty until you came along. He thought about how you made him feel younger, how you reminded him there was still a world outside of the job. And yet, he thought about the BAU—the cases, the purpose, the duty he had given everything to uphold.

The weight of Haley’s memory pressed down on him, the scars of his past bleeding into the uncertainty of his future. He had chosen the job before, and it had cost him everything. Now, he was faced with a similar crossroads, and he wasn’t sure if he could make a different choice.

You wanted more—deserved more—and he wasn’t sure if he could give it to you. The fear of failing again loomed large, and the thought of bringing another child into his chaotic world felt reckless.

But the thought of losing you?

That was unbearable.

Hotch leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. He wasn’t sure how to reconcile the life he had built with the life you wanted to build together. All he knew was that the person who had softened his edges, who had reminded him of life beyond his office, was slipping away.

Hotch sat alone in the quiet of his living room, the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree casting faint reflections on the window. His hands were clasped together, resting against his chin, as his gaze drifted to the photograph of Haley on the mantle. She was smiling—bright and full of life—in a way that felt like a distant memory.

"I don’t know what to do, Haley," he said, his voice low and gravelly, barely louder than a whisper. "If you can hear me… if you’re listening, I could really use a sign right now."

He waited, his heart heavy. There was no reply, of course. No flicker of the lights, no ghostly whisper. Just silence.

He huffed a bitter laugh and leaned back, dragging a hand down his face. "I don’t even know why I’m doing this," he muttered. "Talking to the air like it’s going to fix anything."

The quiet apartment seemed to mock him. Frustration bubbled to the surface. He stood abruptly, pacing in front of the mantle. "I’m trying here, Haley. But it’s… it’s hard. She wants things I’m not sure I can give her. Marriage, kids—a life I failed at before. And I’m scared. Scared of failing her like I failed you."

His voice cracked on the last word, and he stopped, gripping the back of the couch tightly. His head bowed, the weight of everything pressing down on him.

Still, there was no answer.

"Of course," he muttered to himself. "What was I expecting? Some magical solution?"

Resigned, Hotch made his way to bed, his mind a whirlwind of unresolved thoughts. He climbed under the covers…alone, the ache of the empty space beside him sharp and unyielding.

When Hotch woke, he was immediately aware that something was… off.

The bed was softer, warmer. And the room smelled different—clean and faintly floral. His eyes fluttered open, and he blinked, trying to make sense of his surroundings.

The room was beautiful. Cozy. The walls were painted a soft, calming color, adorned with family photos. The curtains were pulled back just enough for the morning sunlight to stream in. And beside him, nestled under the covers, was you.

Your hair was splayed out across the pillow, and your face was serene, framed by the soft glow of the light. You looked peaceful, utterly at ease, and Hotch’s breath caught in his throat.

He frowned. He hadn’t gone to bed with you—hadn’t even spoken to you since the fight.

Before Hotch could fully process what was happening, a burst of energy erupted into the room, breaking through his daze like a ray of sunlight piercing a cloudy sky.

"Daddy!"

The high-pitched, joyful voice startled him. A little girl—no older than six—bounded into the room with the kind of uninhibited enthusiasm that only a child could muster. Her curls bounced as she launched herself onto the bed, landing directly in his lap with a squeal of delight.

"Merry Christmas Eve!" she exclaimed, her bright eyes—so familiar and yet so new—peering up at him with unfiltered adoration.

Hotch froze. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at her, unable to reconcile what he was seeing. Her wide eyes mirrored his own, and her smile, so radiant and full of life, was unmistakably yours. She was a perfect blend of both of you, a living, breathing embodiment of the life he never dared to hope for.

"Daddy! It’s Christmas Eve, and you promised we’d bake cookies today!"

Her small hands tugged at his arm insistently, her excitement infectious despite the whirlwind of confusion clouding his mind.

"Daddy!" she repeated, her impatience tugging at his heart in a way that left him reeling.

Your soft, melodic laugh broke through his haze. "Give Daddy a second, sweetheart," you said, your voice warm and filled with the kind of love that always managed to center him. Propped up on one elbow, your face was still groggy with sleep, but your amusement at the scene before you was unmistakable.

Hotch’s gaze shifted to you, his heart lurching at the sight of the simple diamond ring on your finger, its match glinting on his own hand. His mind raced, trying to make sense of this impossibly vivid moment. This wasn’t his life—or at least, it hadn’t been the night before.

Yet here you were, here she was. A family.

"Daddy!" the little girl exclaimed again, her insistence pulling him back into the moment.

"I—uh, of course," he stammered, his voice unsteady as he tried to process the surreal joy of her presence.

You reached over, placing a gentle hand on her back. "Why don’t you go see if Jack is downstairs yet, and we’ll be down in a minute?"

She squealed in excitement, her tiny feet thudding against the floor as she dashed out of the room. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving a stillness in her absence that felt almost deafening.

Hotch stared after her, his heart pounding in his chest. His thoughts were a chaotic mix of amazement and disbelief. He had spent years learning to compartmentalize, to push through even the most harrowing moments with unwavering focus. But this? This left him utterly unmoored.

"You okay?" Your voice broke through the silence, soft and grounding.

Hotch turned to you, his throat dry. "Yeah," he said hoarsely, though the word felt like a lie. "I’m… fine."

You studied him with that quiet understanding that always managed to disarm him, your eyes searching his as though you could see right through to the heart of his turmoil. Before you could press further, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his movements abrupt.

"I just need a minute," he muttered, making his way to the bathroom.

Inside, he closed the door and leaned heavily against the sink, gripping its edge as though it might steady him. His reflection stared back at him, his face etched with the weariness of someone who had seen too much and felt too deeply.

Turning on the faucet, he splashed his face with cold water, the sharp chill cutting through the fog in his mind. He couldn’t shake the image of her—the little girl with her bouncing curls and infectious grin. His daughter. The thought felt foreign and overwhelming, yet undeniably right.

He had never imagined himself as a father again. After Haley, after everything, the idea had seemed impossibly distant. He knew too much about the weight a father carried in a daughter’s life—the psychology of those relationships, the influence he would have on her sense of self-worth, her view of the world. The responsibility of it loomed large, and yet…

Yet, in those few fleeting moments, he had felt something blooming inside him—something warm and tender and wholly unexpected. A fierce, overwhelming love that took root so quickly it left him breathless.

Hotch closed his eyes, his hands gripping the edge of the sink. The thought of this little girl, of being her father, filled him with a sense of wonder he hadn’t felt in years. She was so full of life, so utterly unguarded in her joy. And you—somehow, you had become the cornerstone of it all, the thread that tied this family together.

The possibility of this life—of mornings like this, of laughter and love and everything he had told himself he didn’t deserve—was almost too much to bear.

He took a deep breath, the cool air filling his lungs as he straightened. This wasn’t his reality—or at least, not the one he had known. But it was real enough to feel, to touch, to hope for. And as he stepped back into the room where you waited, he found himself wanting nothing more than to hold on to it for as long as he could.

The day began in earnest after breakfast, your daughter bounding into the living room, her tiny feet thudding excitedly against the wooden floor. "Daddy, we have to finish the tree!" she declared, her enthusiasm boundless.

Hotch found himself kneeling beside her at the tree, helping her carefully hang ornaments on the lower branches. She held out a fragile glass snowflake, her small hands trembling with excitement. "Like this, Daddy?"

"Just like that," Hotch said, his voice gentler than he expected. He steadied her hands, ensuring the ornament found its place without mishap. His heart clenched with an emotion so fierce it almost overwhelmed him. He barely knew this little girl—this version of her—but he loved her as though he had always known her, as though she had always been his.

Jack entered the room, taller and older than Hotch’s mind could quite reconcile. He carried the star meant for the top of the tree, a symbol of the role he now seemed to embody—a young man on the cusp of a bright future.

In this reality, all of Hotch’s doubts and fears of how Haley’s death, his job, Jack’s childhood would affect his outcome in life had disappeared.

"Careful with the star," you called from the kitchen, a knowing smile playing on your lips as you watched Jack move with ease and confidence. The two of you had always gotten along so well, but this dynamic…this closeness was different. New.

Jack smirked. "Relax, Mom," he teased, his tone playful yet affectionate.

Hotch froze. Mom.

Jack had said it so casually, as though you had always been that to him. Hotch’s gaze flicked to you, and his chest tightened. The idea of you as a mother to Jack—offering him the kind of love, guidance, and support that Haley once had—hit him harder than he could have imagined.

Hotch stood back, his arms crossed, as he watched Jack balance on a stepstool to place the star.

"See, Dad? No big deal," Jack said, stepping down with a grin that mirrored the boy Hotch remembered but now carried the self-assuredness of a man.

The word "Dad" hit Hotch with equal force. Jack had always called him Dad, but now it felt�� different. He was no longer the boy who had once clung to him for reassurance; he was a young man with dreams and a future Hotch hadn’t fully prepared himself to see.

Hotch swallowed hard as Jack turned and lifted his sister to place the final ornament. She squealed with joy, her arms wrapping around Jack’s neck as he set her back down. Hotch’s heart swelled with pride and something deeper—a realization of what this life meant for Jack.

Hotch stood with Jack on the porch, the crisp winter air biting at his skin, but he barely noticed. His hands worked mechanically, stringing lights along the railing, yet his focus was entirely on his son. Jack, taller and more self-assured than the boy he remembered, moved with an ease that struck Hotch as both familiar and achingly new.

Nearby, your daughter’s laughter rang out as she shaped clumsy snowballs, her giggles carrying over the yard like music. She was so full of life, so utterly free in her joy, and the sound of it tugged at something deep inside him.

"Jack," Hotch began, his voice low and hesitant. He wasn’t sure how to ask what he needed to know without giving himself away. "How’s school going?"

Jack paused, glancing at him with a small flicker of surprise. "Georgetown’s great, Dad," he said, his tone casual but tinged with pride. "Finals were rough, but it’s worth it. You’ve been saying since I was a kid that law school’s no walk in the park."

Hotch blinked, his throat tightening. Georgetown. Jack had done it. All the potential he had seen in his son as a boy had bloomed into reality. The weight of pride and relief settled heavily on his chest, threatening to overwhelm him.

"Mom helped with the personal statement, you know," Jack continued, adjusting a strand of lights with practiced ease. "She said it reminded her of one of your old cases."

Hotch’s hands stilled. "She did?"

Jack shrugged, his face lighting with a fond smile. "Yeah. She always gets me. You do too, of course, but… having her around has been good for both of us."

Hotch swallowed hard, his mind spinning. Mom. Jack said it so naturally, so easily, as though you had always been a part of their lives. The realization hit him with the force of a tidal wave.

Your presence, your influence—it was everywhere. In Jack’s confidence, in his steady demeanor, in the way he spoke about his future with such quiet determination. You had become part of the fabric of their lives in a way Hotch hadn’t fully appreciated until now.

"She always gets me." Jack’s words echoed in his mind, and with them came a flood of memories that felt almost like his own: you helping Jack with late-night study sessions, your hand on his shoulder as you reassured him before a big exam, the quiet way you encouraged him to dream bigger than he ever thought possible.

Hotch felt a sharp pang of shame for the doubts he’d harbored. He had spent so much of his life fearing he wouldn’t be enough for Jack, that his own failings would cast too long a shadow for his son to grow beyond. But here, in this version of reality, Jack was thriving—and it was clear that you had been an integral part of that.

"You know," Jack said, breaking the silence as he stepped back to admire their work, "she always says the same thing when I get stressed about school. ‘You’ve got this, Jack. Your dad taught you to handle anything.’" He glanced at Hotch, his expression earnest. "She believes in you a lot. So do I."

Hotch’s breath caught, the raw emotion of Jack��s words threatening to undo him. For years, he had carried the fear of failing his son, of not giving him the stability he deserved. But here, Jack was telling him—showing him—that those fears had no place in this life.

The weight of Jack’s confidence in him pressed down like a warm, grounding force. And more than that, the knowledge of your role in this, the way you had seamlessly woven yourself into their family and filled gaps he hadn’t even realized were there, left him in awe.

Hotch’s gaze drifted to the yard, where your daughter was now attempting to build a snowman, her tiny hands patting at the uneven mounds of snow. She glanced up at them and waved, her wide smile so radiant that it nearly took his breath away.

He turned back to Jack, his voice quieter now. "Having her around has been good for both of us," he echoed, the words thick with meaning.

Jack nodded, a grin tugging at his lips. "Yeah. She’s kind of the best, huh?"

Hotch let out a small, breathless laugh, his chest swelling with a combination of love, gratitude, and amazement. "She is," he agreed softly.

For the first time in years—maybe ever—Hotch let himself feel the full weight of his happiness. It was raw and visceral, a sense of completeness that filled every corner of his being. He had spent so much of his life bracing for loss, for failure, that he had almost forgotten what it felt like to simply be.

But here, on this porch, with Jack by his side and your laughter mingling with your daughter’s in the background, Hotch let himself believe in this life. He let himself marvel at the way you had become the glue holding them together, the way your love had transformed not just him but Jack, too.

Later inside, the house buzzed with quiet warmth, the kind of comfort that came from a life well-lived together. Hotch sat at the kitchen table, your daughter perched on her knees beside him as she smeared icing onto a gingerbread man. Her fingers were sticky with red and green frosting, and there were sprinkles everywhere—on the table, in her hair, and even on the floor.

"You’re doing great," Hotch said softly, his voice tinged with admiration.

She beamed up at him, her wide grin lighting up her entire face. "Thanks, Daddy!"

The word still struck him like a blow, even after hearing it several times that day. It wasn’t just the title—it was the way she said it, so full of trust and adoration, as though he had always been her safe place.

Her eyes, so much like his own, gleamed with pride as she held up the gingerbread man. "Look! He’s wearing a bow tie like Uncle Spencer!"

Hotch’s lips twitched into a rare smile, his heart aching at the love and joy this little girl brought into his life. He hadn’t gone to bed knowing her, and hadn’t prepared for the tidal wave of love and fierce protectiveness that now surged through him. The thought of her not existing in his old reality, of never hearing her laugh or seeing her mischievous grin, was unthinkable.

From across the room, you glanced over, wiping your hands on a dishtowel as you moved toward the table. "Looks like you two are making quite the mess," you teased gently, your voice warm and full of affection.

Hotch looked up, meeting your eyes. The soft smile you gave him sent an unexpected wave of emotion coursing through him. You leaned over, brushing your fingers lightly across his shoulder before pressing a kiss to the top of your daughter’s head.

"You’re going to need a bath after this," you told her, laughing softly as you ruffled her hair; it was dark like his.

"Mommy, I’m not that messy," she protested, though her giggles gave her away.

Hotch’s throat tightened. You moved through this life with such ease, your presence a calming force that seemed to anchor not only him but also Jack and your daughter. He could see the impact you had on Jack—a confidence and sense of belonging that had been missing in his early years after Haley’s death. And now, with this little girl, you had created something Hotch had never thought possible: a family that felt whole.

As you turned back toward the stove, you spoke casually over your shoulder. "The team is still planning to come by the day after Christmas. Emily was saying she’s bringing a new board game for everyone to play."

The mention of the team grounded Hotch further, the realization settling in that this life wasn’t an abandonment of his work. It wasn’t a replacement—it was an enhancement. The BAU was still intact, still part of who he was, but it wasn’t all of him anymore. He had a life here, too.

"Emily’s going to lose," Jack chimed in from the doorway, leaning casually against the frame with a mug of hot cocoa.

"She always does," you teased, grinning as you poured another cup. "And Spencer’s going to keep track of every rule she bends."

Hotch let out a quiet laugh, the first real laugh he’d felt in days. He could picture it—the team gathered around the living room, bickering over rules and strategies while your daughter insisted on being on Uncle Derek’s team because "he’s the strongest."

You crossed the room and placed a hand on Hotch’s shoulder as you set a fresh mug of cocoa in front of him. "You’re quiet," you observed, your tone soft and knowing.

He looked up at you, his eyes searching yours. He didn’t know how to put into words the storm of emotions inside him—the love he felt for you, the overwhelming awe at the life you’d built together, the sharp ache of fear at the thought of losing it all.

You seemed to sense it, your hand squeezing his shoulder gently before you kissed his temple. "You’re allowed to be happy, Aaron," you whispered, your voice so soft it was almost inaudible.

As the evening wound down, Hotch found himself alone with you in the living room. Jack had disappeared with your daughter to wrap last-minute gifts. The two of you sat side by side on the couch, the lights from the Christmas tree casting a warm glow around the room.

Looking around the house all day, the walls and surfaces filled with framed photographs. It warmed him to see a photo staring back at him of Haley--her spirit still alive in this universe. Then, beside it, a photo of his family here with Jess. How, somehow, in this reality, they seemed to make it all work.

"You make it look easy," Hotch said quietly, breaking the silence.

You tilted your head, looking at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"All of it," he said, gesturing vaguely. "The kids, the house, the balance."

Your smile was soft but tinged with understanding. "It’s not always easy, Aaron. But it’s worth it."

He nodded, his gaze dropping to his hands. The band shone with more than just light, but meaning on his finger. He wanted to say more, to tell you how much this life meant to him, even if he wasn’t entirely sure it was real. Instead, he reached over, taking your hand in his.

You squeezed his hand gently, leaning your head against his shoulder. "You’ve always been worth it, too," you said softly, your voice full of conviction.

That evening, after you had tucked your daughter into bed, Hotch lingered in the doorway of her room, unable to pull himself away. The soft glow of a nightlight illuminated her tiny face, peaceful in sleep. She was curled up beneath a blanket decorated with snowflakes, her little hand clutching a well-loved teddy bear that looked as though it had seen countless adventures.

Hotch’s chest tightened as he watched her breathe, the steady rise and fall of her chest oddly grounding. He was overwhelmed by how much love he felt for her—a little girl who hadn’t existed in the life he remembered but now felt as though she had always been a part of him.

How could he reconcile the intensity of these emotions? Hours ago, he hadn’t even known she existed. Now, the thought of waking up to a reality where she wasn’t here left him hollow.

"You okay?"

Your voice broke through his thoughts, soft and soothing as always. He turned, finding you standing in the doorway, your expression filled with quiet concern. You looked at him the way you always did—with that gentle understanding that both disarmed and anchored him.

He nodded, though his voice came out thick and unsteady. "She’s incredible."

You smiled, stepping closer until you were beside him. Your arms wrapped around him, pulling him into your warmth. "She adores you, Aaron," you said quietly. "You’re a wonderful father."

Hotch closed his eyes as your words settled over him. He wanted to believe them, wanted to hold on to the life he was seeing now, but his mind was a storm of doubt.

"I don’t feel like one," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

You pulled back slightly to look at him, your expression soft but resolute. "You are," you said firmly. "You’re everything she needs. You always have been."

Hotch swallowed hard, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He thought about Jack—how he had failed to give him the kind of stability he’d needed after Haley’s death. Jack had grown up too fast, forced to carry burdens no child should bear. But in this reality, things were different. You had been here, filling the gaps he couldn’t.

And this little girl… she had been given a life Jack never got.

"I don’t know how to do this," he said, his voice cracking. "I didn’t know how to do it with Jack, and I still don’t. What if I fail her?"

"You won’t," you said softly, your hand resting against his chest. "You’ve already given her more than you realize. You’re here, Aaron. That’s what matters."

He looked at you then, his heart aching with a mix of love and fear. You were his anchor, the person who had somehow made all of this possible. And as much as he wanted to let himself believe in this life, a small voice in the back of his mind kept whispering doubts.

"I don’t deserve this," he said finally, his voice raw.

You shook your head, stepping closer to cradle his face in your hands. "Aaron, you deserve every bit of happiness this world has to offer," you said, your voice trembling slightly. "And so does Jack, and so does she. We deserve you."

Your words hit him like a tidal wave, washing over the walls he had built to protect himself. He wanted to believe you, to believe that this life was real and that he was capable of keeping it.

As he held you tightly, he let himself imagine it—really imagine it. Waking up every morning in this house, hearing the sound of your laughter and your daughter’s giggles. Seeing Jack come home for the holidays, confident and thriving. Sharing in the messy, imperfect beauty of this life you had built together.

It was everything he hadn’t let himself hope for.

But with that hope came fear. What if it wasn’t real? What if he woke up tomorrow and it was gone?

Or worse—what if it was real, and he chose wrong?

You rested your head against his chest, your presence calming the storm inside him. "It’s okay to be scared," you murmured. "But we’ll figure it out. We always do.."

He closed his eyes, letting your words sink in. For the first time, he allowed himself to believe that this life—the one he had thought was impossible—wasn’t just a dream.

It was a choice.

And it was his to make.

Hotch tightened his arms around you, his hands instinctively finding the curve of your back, the warmth of your body grounding him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. You fit perfectly against him, as though you were made to be there. For the first time in what felt like forever, his mind wasn’t spinning with doubts or contingencies—just the steady thrum of your heartbeat against his chest and the soft rise and fall of your breath.

He let his eyes wander around the room, taking in the snapshots of the life he’d been too afraid to let himself imagine. A small, messy art project on the table in the corner. Your daughter’s drawings, taped proudly to the fridge. A framed photo of Jack, smiling wide in a Georgetown sweatshirt, arm slung around his little sister. This wasn’t just a house—it was a home, filled with love and joy and the kind of peace he’d convinced himself he didn’t deserve.

When he looked back down at you, his heart swelled with an emotion so overwhelming it almost frightened him. Your face was serene, your eyes soft as they met his, full of trust and a quiet knowing. You had always seen him—the man beneath the armor, the one who had carried so much and still kept moving forward. But now, he saw you too, in all your brilliance. The way you had carved a space for yourself in his heart and Jack’s life. The way you had somehow taken all his jagged edges and made them something beautiful.

"You amaze me," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Your lips curved into a gentle smile. "Do I?"

He nodded, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his thumb lingering on your cheek. "Every day. In ways I don’t think I’ll ever be able to put into words."

Your hand came up to rest over his, your touch light but steady. "You don’t have to," you murmured. "I feel it."

Hotch swallowed hard, his chest tightening. He felt the words bubbling up—words he hadn’t let himself say, even in the quiet of his own mind. I don’t deserve you. But for the first time, he didn’t want to give them power. Instead, he let the overwhelming gratitude he felt take their place.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened. It wasn’t hurried or desperate but filled with purpose—an unspoken promise, an acknowledgment of everything you’d built together and everything still to come. His hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer, while your fingers tangled in his hair, anchoring him to you.

When the kiss broke, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathless but smiling. The room felt warmer, more alive, and he knew it wasn’t just the glow of the fireplace or the soft hum of Christmas lights.

"Come with me," you whispered, your voice like a melody, and he followed without hesitation, your hand warm in his.

The soft light of the bedroom welcomed you both, and the moment shifted, taking on a deeper intimacy. Hotch watched as you turned to face him, your gaze steady and open, your lips slightly parted. His heart pounded as though it were the first time he had ever seen you, the first time he’d ever dared to imagine this life.

"You’re incredible," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

You smiled, stepping closer, your hands finding his chest, smoothing over the fabric of his shirt before slipping beneath it. "So are you," you replied, your tone teasing but filled with sincerity.

His hands found your waist, and he let himself marvel at the way you leaned into him, so effortlessly trusting, so fully his. Slowly, gently, he guided you to the bed, his movements unhurried, savoring every second. He wanted to memorize this—to commit every look, every touch, every sigh to memory.

When you were finally lying beside him, the world outside seemed to fade away. The only thing that mattered was you—your warmth, your laughter, the way you whispered his name like it was both a promise and a prayer.

The moments that followed were a blur of soft touches and quiet gasps, of whispered words and stolen glances. It wasn’t just about the passion—though that was undeniable—it was about the connection, the unspoken understanding that this was where he was meant to be. With you.

As the night deepened, you rested against him, your fingers lazily tracing patterns on his chest. He stared at the ceiling, his mind replaying the day’s events, the stark contrast of the alternate realities he’d glimpsed.

He pressed a kiss to your hair, the scent of you filling his senses. "Thank you," he whispered.

"For what?" you asked, your voice thick with contentment.

"For this," he said simply, his hand resting over yours. "For being everything I didn’t know I needed."

You lifted your head to look at him, your smile soft but knowing. "I love you, Aaron."

He closed his eyes, letting the words wash over him, before opening them again and meeting your gaze. "I love you too," he said, his voice steady but full of emotion.

As sleep began to claim you both, Hotch let himself drift, the sound of your steady breathing lulling him. For the first time in years—maybe ever—he felt truly at peace. And for the first time, he let himself believe that this life, this love, wasn’t just a dream.

It was his reality. And he would do whatever it took to hold onto it.

Hotch woke with a start, his breath catching in his throat as he sat up abruptly. The soft warmth of the bed, the cozy house, the sound of your laughter—all of it was gone. The room was cold and dark, the bed empty--his sparsely decorated apartment feeling emptier than ever.

His head spun as he tried to reconcile the vivid life he had just experienced with the stark reality before him. Was it a dream? A vision? His heart ached with the loss of it already, the memory of your touch, your voice, your presence slipping through his fingers like sand.

The shrill ring of his phone broke the silence, and he reached for it on instinct.

"Derek?" His voice was groggy, but the name left his lips with a hope he couldn’t quite place. Maybe Derek could make some sense of this.

"Hotch," Derek’s tone was clipped, almost irritated. "You coming in or what?"

Hotch frowned, glancing at the clock. It was Christmas Eve…again, yet there was no warmth or camaraderie in Derek’s voice. "I’ll be there soon," Hotch replied, the unease in his chest growing.

He hung up and stood, pausing by Jack’s room as he passed. Pushing the door open, he found his son—a young man now, just like in the other reality—but the scene before him was starkly different.

Jack was sprawled across the bed, his room messy and cluttered with discarded clothes and fast food containers. The blinds were drawn, and the air was stale. Hotch’s chest tightened as he took it in.

"Jack?" he said softly, stepping inside.

Jack stirred but didn’t wake, his face a reflection of someone weighed down by something invisible but heavy. Hotch’s heart sank. This wasn’t the confident, thriving young man from the other reality. This Jack seemed lost, unmoored, and aimless.

The sight of him broke something in Hotch. He thought of the pride he’d felt watching Jack lift his sister to place the star on the Christmas tree, the warmth of Jack calling you "Mom." That version of his son had been supported, loved, and encouraged.

But this Jack had none of that.

Hotch arrived at the BAU with a growing sense of dread. The bullpen was unusually quiet, the festive atmosphere of the season nowhere to be found. The team sat at their desks, their expressions strained and tired.

Derek was pacing near his desk, his jaw tight. Emily and JJ were in a heated discussion across the room, their voices low but tense. Penelope’s office was empty. Rossi sat at a desk, rubbing his temples as though trying to stave off a headache. The energy was fractured, the harmony that had once defined their team completely absent.

Hotch scanned the room, his heart sinking further when he didn’t see you.

"Where’s Y/N?" he asked, his voice betraying the urgency he felt.

Derek looked at him sharply. "Y/N?" he repeated, as though the name itself was foreign. "You’re really asking that? Are you okay, man?" Derek asked, but less of a caring way and more of a what the actual fuck, way.

Hotch frowned, confused by the response. He didn’t push, instead retreating to his office.

Later, as the team gathered for an impromptu briefing, the team’s comments throughout were surprising for him to hear. The complaints of spending the holiday together weighed heavily on Hotch with guilt. It did suck when they had to spend time away from their loved ones, but usually, they toughed it out--now, it felt like an inconvenience to be together.

During a break in the briefing, Rossi, uncharacteristically frustrated, spoke up. "Hotch, any idea what Jack’s plans are? I heard he got fired from that last job."

Hotch stiffened, his jaw clenching. "He’s… figuring things out," he said curtly, though the words felt hollow even as they left his mouth.

"Like Sean, huh?" Rossi muttered under his breath, the sting of the comparison sharp and deliberate. His tone carried an edge of judgment—something uncharacteristic for Rossi and yet cuttingly clear now.

The words hit Hotch like a blow to the chest. His jaw tightened as he fought to keep his composure, but the comparison to his younger brother twisted in his gut. Rossi's words echoed the fear he had buried deep inside for years: that Jack would follow the same troubled path Sean had.

Hotch said nothing, his mind racing. Jack had always been a bright, curious boy, full of potential. But in this reality, all of that seemed to have withered away. The son he had once seen as a reflection of his hopes and dreams was now a reflection of his deepest fears.

Without you—without the love, warmth, and stability you had brought into their lives—Jack was floundering. Hotch’s mind raced with fragments of information he’d tried to ignore or rationalize: Jack had dropped out of college after struggling to keep up with coursework, citing stress and disinterest. A string of failed relationships followed, each one leaving Jack more withdrawn and disillusioned. And then there were the whispers Hotch had overheard about Jack spending nights out at bars, drinking heavily, maybe dabbling in something stronger.

The thought alone made Hotch’s stomach churn. Jack had avoided talking to him about any of it, brushing off questions or deflecting with sarcasm. The distance between them felt like a canyon, wide and impossible to bridge.

Hotch thought of Sean, of all the ways he had failed his younger brother, and the memories burned like acid. Sean’s struggles with addiction, his inability to find direction, his resentment toward Hotch for being the "golden child"—all of it had haunted him for years. And now, seeing the same patterns emerging in Jack, he felt paralyzed.

His worst nightmare was coming true.

Rossi’s voice snapped him back to the moment. "You’ve gotta do something, Aaron," he said, his frustration simmering just below the surface. "Before it’s too late."

Hotch looked at Rossi, his expression carefully blank, but inside he was panicking. What could he do? Jack wouldn’t listen to him now—he was too angry, too bitter. And in truth, Hotch couldn’t blame him. In this cold, fractured reality, he had been too consumed by work, too emotionally unavailable, too afraid of repeating his past mistakes to see how much Jack needed him.

"Thanks for the insight, Dave," Hotch said tersely, his tone dismissive. But as he turned back to the case file in front of him, his hands trembled.

He had failed his son.

The thought burrowed into his mind, heavy and unrelenting. Jack was slipping further away, and Hotch didn’t know how to reach him. His choices had created this reality, this version of their lives where Jack was lost, where he had no anchor, no role model, no sense of security. Without you, the person who had brought balance and warmth to their family, Hotch couldn’t even begin to imagine how to fix it.

Later, alone in his office, Hotch sat staring at the framed photo of Jack as a young boy—his bright smile, his mischievous eyes. He had once believed Jack’s future was limitless, that he could be anything he wanted to be. But now, that future felt precarious, teetering on the edge of a cliff.

It wasn’t just the loss of Jack’s potential that gutted him—it was the loss of connection, of trust, of love. Jack didn’t look up to him anymore. He didn’t confide in him or seek his advice. And Hotch had no one to blame but himself.

He closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair as the weight of it all pressed down on him. He had been so focused on protecting Jack from the pain of his own failures—his divorce from Haley, the trauma of losing her, the grueling demands of the BAU—that he had failed to see how his fear had driven a wedge between them.

Jack didn’t need perfection. He needed a father who was present, who cared, who listened. And in this reality, Hotch hadn’t been that father.

The sharp pang of guilt twisted in his chest as he thought of you. In the "better" reality, you had been the glue that held their family together. Your warmth and insight had softened his edges, and your unwavering belief in Jack had given the boy the confidence to thrive. But here, without you, everything had unraveled.

Hotch buried his face in his hands, his mind a chaotic swirl of guilt, regret, and desperation. How had he let it come to this? How had he become the father he had always feared he would be—the one who failed to protect his child, to guide him, to give him a sense of purpose?

The answer was painfully clear: he had pushed away the one person who could have helped him build something better. And now, without you, his life was as cold and hollow as the winter wind outside.

And Jack? Jack was paying the price.

Hotch sat in the silence of his office, the weight of his choices crushing him. He had lost you. He was losing Jack. And for the first time in years, he didn’t know if he could find a way back.

As the day dragged on, Hotch found himself alone with Spencer. The younger man’s nervous energy was a welcome distraction, but Hotch’s mind kept circling back to you.

"Spencer," Hotch said abruptly, breaking the silence. "How’s Y/N?"

Spencer froze, his eyes wide with shock. "Why are you asking about her?"

Hotch frowned, the unease in his chest growing. Spencer's voice had almost a protectiveness, cluing Hotch into the fact that he really hurt you.

"Just… curious."

Spencer hesitated before answering. "Y/N left the Bureau years ago, Hotch. After… after you two split."

Hotch’s breath hitched. "She left?"

Spencer nodded, his tone cautious, looking at Hotch a little confused. "It was bad. For both of you. She took some lower-paying office job, and last I heard, she cut contact with the team completely."

Hotch’s heart sank. He couldn’t imagine you—so full of life and passion—confined to a life that stifled you. He couldn’t imagine you not talking to Emily, Penelope, or JJ. He couldn’t imagine you blowing off your conversations with Spencer, Derek, or Rossi.

"And you," Spencer continued hesitantly, "haven’t been the same since after she left years ago. You shut everyone out. Even Jack."

Hotch stared at him, the words hitting like a physical blow. The reality he was seeing now was starkly clear. Without you, everything fell apart.

As the day wore on, Hotch couldn’t shake the ache in his chest. He thought of you constantly—the warmth of your smile, the sound of your laughter, the way you had brought balance to his life.

The case, too overwhelming to solve for the BAU, a defeat Hotch was not used to facing. By the casualness in his team members, apparently, this was the norm for the last few years. The BAU had lost all credibility. Penelope, having left the unit shortly after you, he found in the system, citing differences as her reasoning.

Throughout conversations, he learned that the job had put a major strain on JJ’s marriage. She and Will are currently separated. Rossi is weathered and aged, threatening to leave almost every day. Derek was not the pillar of strength he once was. Spencer struggled with staying sober without the stability of the team and purpose here. Emily was bitter and callous. And you…far from here.

This life—cold, strained, and broken—was unbearable. Jack resented him. The team resented him. And he resented himself.

As night fell, Hotch sat alone in his office, staring at the small, untouched Christmas tree in the corner. He thought of you and the life he could have had—the little girl with his eyes and your smile—the family he had let slip away.

Breaking from the defeated BAU, Hotch did some investigating into where you currently lived. All he could think about on the way over is that a messy day like today, the only thing he could think that would make him feel better was you.

By the time Hotch reached your apartment, the December air had turned bitterly cold, but he barely noticed. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, each one colliding with the next. The memory of Spencer’s words—of how devastated you had been after the breakup—clawed at his chest. He couldn’t fathom it, couldn’t reconcile the image of you as you had been—vibrant, loving, full of life—with the bleak picture Spencer had painted.

He hesitated at your door, his breath visible in the icy air. From outside, he could see faint light through the curtains, but no Christmas decorations adorned the windows, and no festive wreath hung on the door. It was jarringly unlike you.

For a moment, he considered leaving. But the thought of not knowing—of letting this version of reality remain unexamined—pushed him to knock.

The door opened slowly, and there you stood.

Hotch’s breath caught. You looked so different from the woman he remembered. The light in your eyes was gone, replaced by something hardened and distant. Your face was drawn, your expression wary.

Your eyes widened slightly when you saw him, but whatever flicker of emotion appeared was quickly replaced by a cold, guarded look.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, your voice sharp and brittle.

Hotch hesitated, his throat dry. "I… wanted to see you."

"Why?" you snapped, your tone cutting through him like a knife. "Haven’t you done enough?"

The words hit him hard, but he forced himself to stay calm. "I know it’s Christmas Eve, and I don’t want to disturb you. I just…" He trailed off, unsure how to explain what he was doing there when he barely understood it himself.

Your laugh was bitter, devoid of the warmth he remembered. "You’ve already ruined it, Aaron. It’s been years. Just say what you came to say and leave."

His chest tightened as he took in the room behind you. The apartment was bare, no sign of the festive spirit you used to pour into your home. The absence of it felt like a glaring void, an unspoken testament to the way your life had changed.

"Y/N…" he began softly, but you cut him off.

"Don’t," you said sharply, stepping back and crossing your arms as though physically shielding yourself from him. "After everything you said the last time we spoke, you have no right to be here."

Hotch swallowed hard, shame washing over him. "What did I say?"

Your expression darkened, pain flickering across your face. "You really don’t remember, do you?"

He shook his head, and the movement seemed to snap something in you.

"You told me I was asking too much," you said, your voice trembling with anger and hurt. "You said I was selfish for wanting a life you couldn’t give me. That I didn’t understand what it meant to love someone like you."

Hotch flinched, the weight of your words landing heavily on his chest. He could hear the pain in your voice, see it in the way your shoulders tensed and your hands clenched.

"And then you left," you continued, your voice rising. "You didn’t even give me a chance to fight for us. You just decided it was over and walked away."

Hotch opened his mouth to speak, but you weren’t finished.

"You broke me, Aaron," you said, tears welling in your eyes. "I’ve spent years trying to put myself back together, and now you show up here--on Christmas Eve, nonetheless, like none of it ever happened?"

"I didn’t mean to hurt you," he said quietly, his voice thick with regret.

"But you did!" you snapped, the tears spilling over now. "And you don’t get to come here and pretend to care now. You don’t get to ruin this for me, too."

Hotch stepped back, his heart pounding. The raw pain on your face was unbearable, and he hated himself for being the cause of it. He had always prided himself on protecting the people he cared about, but in this reality, he had done the exact opposite.

"I’m sorry," he said softly, his voice barely audible.

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. "Just go, Aaron. Please. I don’t want to see you ever again."

The finality in your voice was like a dagger to his heart, but he nodded, knowing he had no right to stay.

As he walked away, the cold biting at his skin, Hotch felt the full weight of this reality settle over him. Without you, his life was fractured, unbalanced, and cold. Jack was lost, the team was falling apart, and he was a hollow version of himself.

But worse than any of that was the knowledge that he had done this to you—that his choices had robbed you of the light and joy that had once defined you.

And as he stepped into the night, the memory of your daughter—the little girl who didn’t exist in this reality—flashed through his mind. Her laugh, her smile, the way she had looked at him with so much love and trust.

He couldn’t choose this.

He wouldn’t choose this.

Hotch returned to his dim apartment, the silence pressing against him like a suffocating shroud. The small Christmas tree in the corner stood dark and undecorated, a glaring reminder of how hollow this reality was. Here, there were no lively photos of the team, his family…even photos of Haley were gone. It was impersonal and cold. He instinctively glanced at Jack’s room, but it was empty.

"Jack?" he called, his voice echoing in the stillness. No response.

Hotch pulled out his phone, dialing his son. The line rang for an agonizingly long moment before Jack answered, his voice sharp and irritated.

"What?" Jack snapped.

Hotch inhaled deeply, trying to keep his frustration in check. "Where are you? It’s Christmas Eve, Jack."

"I’m out," Jack replied curtly.

"You’re out? It’s late, and it’s Christmas Eve. You should be home."

Jack let out a bitter laugh. "Home? What home, Dad? The one where you bark orders and don’t listen? The one where I’m just a failure in your eyes?" Jack scoffed, “You spent the last five Christmasses working anyways, all of the sudden you’re looking for me?”

"Jack," Hotch said, his voice firm, though his heart ached at the accusation. "You’re not a failure. But you need to take responsibility for your actions. I’ve been trying to help you—"

"Help me?" Jack interrupted, his tone venomous. "You’ve done nothing but push me away. You didn’t even notice when I needed you."

"Jack, listen to me—"

"No, you listen," Jack snapped. "I don’t need this right now. Just… don’t bother calling again."

The line went dead.

Hotch stood frozen, the phone still pressed to his ear as the dial tone hummed in his ear. Jack’s words stung, but what hurt more was the truth behind them. In this reality, he hadn’t been there for his son. He hadn’t given Jack the support he needed, the stability he deserved.

Hotch set the phone down slowly, his chest tight. The memory of Jack in the other reality—thriving, confident, and happy—burned in his mind. This version of his son, lost and angry, was a painful reminder of everything he had lost.

He moved to the couch, sitting heavily as his thoughts spiraled. The day had been a relentless barrage of heartbreak, from the fractured BAU to the devastating encounter with you. Now, even his relationship with Jack was slipping through his fingers.

Hotch closed his eyes and whispered, "Haley."

He hadn’t called her name in years, not like this. Not with desperation lacing his voice. "I don’t know if you can hear me," he said, his voice low and trembling. "But I need… something. A sign. Anything."

The room remained silent, the emptiness almost mocking.

Hotch exhaled shakily and rose, his body heavy with exhaustion. He climbed into bed, staring at the ceiling as the events of the day replayed in his mind. The image of your face, twisted with pain and anger, was the last thing he saw before he drifted into a restless sleep.

He woke Christmas morning to the same cold, empty apartment. For a moment, he hoped—prayed—that the nightmare of the previous day had been just that. But as he looked around, reality settled over him like a weight he couldn’t shake.

Jack’s door was still open, and the room was still empty. The small tree remained dark and lifeless.

Hotch felt panic rising in his chest. He reached for his phone again, dialing Jack. It went straight to voicemail. He tried Spencer next, but the call rang out unanswered.

The hours crawled by as Hotch moved through the day in a haze. He paced the apartment, his mind racing with thoughts of the life he had glimpsed—your laughter, the warmth of the home you had built together, the joy in your daughter’s eyes.

By mid-afternoon, he couldn’t take it anymore. He sat down on the edge of his bed, his hands trembling as he clasped them together.

"Haley," he said again, his voice breaking. "Please. I don’t know what to do."

The room felt impossibly silent, but he pressed on, his words spilling out like a dam breaking. "I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought… I thought I couldn’t handle it—marriage, kids, everything. But I was wrong. I was so wrong."

He dragged a hand through his hair, his chest heaving with the weight of his emotions. "I need her, Haley. She makes everything better—me, Jack, the team… she makes life better. And now she’s gone, and Jack’s gone, and everything is falling apart."

His voice cracked as he whispered, "Please let me go back. Let me make a different choice. I’ll do anything. Just… let me go back."

The tears came then, unbidden and unstoppable, as he buried his face in his hands. For years, he had carried his pain silently, locking it away where no one could see. But now, it overwhelmed him, spilling out in the form of desperate, broken pleas to a woman who could no longer answer him.

As the day wore on, the weight of the world pressed heavier on Aaron Hotchner’s shoulders. The image of you—the way your eyes had brimmed with pain when you saw him—haunted him. The memory of Jack’s angry words burned like a brand.

And through it all, he clung to one hope: that somehow, he would wake up to a chance to make it right. To choose you. To choose the life he now knew he couldn’t live without.

The knock at the door startled Hotch from his restless thoughts. He stood slowly, brushing a hand through his disheveled hair before crossing the room. When he opened the door, Jess stood there, bundled against the cold, holding a casserole dish wrapped in foil.

"Jess," he said, his voice tinged with surprise.

"Merry Christmas," she said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. She moved past him, her presence filling the otherwise empty apartment.

"You didn’t have to come," he said, watching as she set the casserole down on the counter.

She looked back at him, her expression soft but knowing. "I figured you wouldn’t have much of a Christmas meal planned."

He wanted to argue, but the truth of her statement stung too much. "Thank you," he said quietly, the words feeling hollow in the vast emptiness of his apartment.

Jess turned to him, studying his face for a long moment. "What’s wrong, Aaron?"

He hesitated, his instinct to guard his emotions kicking in. But the weight of the past day—the haunting reality of what his life had become—pressed down on him, and the words slipped out before he could stop them.

"I don’t know where I went wrong," he said, his voice heavy with regret. "I’ve been thinking about… everything. About Jack, the team, Y/N… and I just—" He stopped, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "I couldn’t let myself want it. A life with her. Marriage. More kids. I told myself it was better this way, safer. But it wasn’t."

Jess tilted her head, her eyes filled with quiet understanding. "Aaron, what makes you think you couldn’t have had those things?"

He laughed bitterly, the sound harsh in the quiet room. "Because I wasn’t enough, Jess. I couldn’t make it work with Haley. You sure as hell saw that first-hand. I couldn’t be the father Jack needed me to be. And with Y/N… I couldn’t even let myself try."

Jess’s expression softened, but there was steel beneath her empathy. "Aaron, you’re not the same man you were when you were with Haley. You’ve grown. You’ve learned. And you don’t give yourself nearly enough credit for that."

Hotch shook his head, the self-loathing bubbling to the surface. "But it wasn’t enough. Jack’s lost, the team’s falling apart, and Y/N..." His voice broke. "I hurt her, Jess. I pushed her away because I was too scared to let myself believe I could be good enough for her."

Jess stepped closer, her voice firm but gentle. "Aaron, let me ask you something. Do you remember what it was like when Y/N was around? How Jack was with her?"

He blinked, surprised by the question. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Jess said, her tone softening, "I’ve never seen Jack as happy as he was when Y/N was in his life. He opened up more. He smiled more. He trusted more. And you…" She paused, giving him a knowing look. "You were lighter with her, Aaron. I’ve known you for years, and even with Haley, I don’t think I ever saw you as carefree as you were with Y/N."

Hotch swallowed hard, her words stirring memories he’d tried to bury. Nights spent laughing over takeout, Jack tugging Y/N’s hand to show her his latest drawing, the quiet moments of comfort and understanding that had made his world feel less heavy.

"She brought something into your life that you didn’t even realize you needed," Jess continued. "She brought balance. Joy. And Jack? He thrived because of her. Not just because she cared about him but because she loved you. And he saw that."

Hotch looked away, his chest tightening. "I failed her, Jess. I failed both of them. I couldn’t let myself hope for something more because I was too afraid of losing it."

Jess sighed, her tone taking on a sharper edge. "Aaron, do you think Y/N didn’t know what she was getting into when she chose you? She knew your past, your fears, your baggage—and she still chose you. She didn’t need you to be perfect. She needed you to let her in."

He shook his head, his voice barely audible. "She deserved better."

"She deserved love," Jess countered, her voice steady. "And you had it to give, Aaron. You still do."

Hotch felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes but blinked them back, the weight of her words pressing down on him. "I don’t know if I can fix it," he admitted, his voice trembling. "Jack… he’s slipping away, and Y/N… I don’t even know if she’d want me back after everything I’ve done."

Jess placed a hand on his arm, grounding him. "Aaron, you’re not the man you think you are. You’re not some cold, unfeeling workaholic who’s incapable of love. You’re a man who’s been hurt, who’s been scared, but who still shows up for the people he cares about. You’ve made mistakes, sure, but that doesn’t erase the good you’ve done."

He looked at her, his expression raw. "What if I could go back? What if I could choose differently?"

Jess tilted her head, her gaze steady. "Then what would you do?"

Hotch didn’t hesitate this time. "I’d choose her. I’d choose Jack. I’d choose… all of it. The mess, the risk, the uncertainty. I’d take it all because life without it… without her… it’s unbearable."

Jess smiled faintly, her hand squeezing his arm. "Then maybe it’s not too late."

Her words hung in the air, a quiet challenge that made his chest tighten. For the first time in years, he felt a flicker of hope—a small, fragile spark that whispered of the possibility of something more.

"You’ve always had a way of making things right when it mattered most, Aaron," Jess said, her voice softer now. "And if anyone can do it again, it’s you."

As Jess turned to leave, the warmth of her presence lingering in the room, Hotch found himself holding onto that spark with everything he had. For Jack. For Y/N. For the life he’d almost let slip away.

Hotch woke with a sharp intake of breath, his heart racing as though he’d been running. The room was warm, filled with the soft light of morning creeping through the curtains. He sat up abruptly, his eyes darting around. The cold, lifeless apartment from the nightmare reality was gone.

This was his room. His reality.

He threw off the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed, barely able to contain the flood of relief coursing through him. It was Christmas Eve again—he was back.

Hotch ran a hand over his face, trying to steady himself. The vivid memories of what he had seen—Jack’s messy, unmotivated life, the disjointed team, your pain—lingered like ghosts. But so, too, did the warmth of the life he could have with you: the laughter, the home, the little girl with your smile.

He wasn’t going to waste this chance.

Hotch padded down the hall, pausing outside Jack’s room. Pushing the door open quietly, he found his son still tucked under the blankets, his face peaceful in sleep. Jack as young as he remembered leaving him before being faced with those polarizing realities.

"Jack," Hotch said softly, leaning down to ruffle his hair.

Jack stirred, blinking groggily. "Dad?"

"It’s Christmas Eve," Hotch said, his voice unusually warm and full of excitement.

Jack sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. "Already?"

Hotch chuckled. "Already." He hesitated for a moment before sitting on the edge of the bed. "Hey, I was thinking… what would you say to inviting Y/N over tonight?"

Jack’s face lit up instantly, all traces of sleep vanishing. "Really? She’s coming over?"

"If she’s free," Hotch said, his heart swelling at Jack’s enthusiasm.

Jack grinned, his excitement contagious. "I like when she’s here. She’s really nice. And funny."

Hotch’s chest tightened. The innocence in Jack’s words—the simple, childlike joy of wanting you around—was a reminder of just how much you had already become a part of their lives, even if Hotch hadn’t let himself fully realize it before.

Jack tilted his head, his expression suddenly thoughtful. "Do you think Santa can bring her presents here too?"

Hotch smiled, his heart aching with affection for his son. "I think that can be arranged."

Jack nodded, satisfied. Then, after a moment, he looked at Hotch with wide, curious eyes. "Do you think she could come over more? Like, all the time?"

The question hung in the air, and Hotch felt his pulse quicken. He hadn’t planned to bring this up—not yet—but the moment felt too perfect to let slip away.

"What would you think," Hotch began carefully, "if Y/N became… a bigger part of our family?"

Jack frowned, clearly trying to process the question. "Like… she’d come over every day?"

"Something like that," Hotch said, his voice soft.

Jack’s face brightened again, a wide smile spreading across his face. "That’d be awesome! She makes you smile more."

Hotch felt a lump rise in his throat, his son’s simple observation cutting straight to his heart. "She makes me happy," he admitted, his voice steady but full of emotion.

"Then you should tell her," Jack said confidently, his innocence making the words feel like undeniable truth.

Hotch chuckled, leaning over to kiss the top of Jack’s head. "You’re a smart kid, you know that?"

Jack grinned. "I know."

As Hotch stood, his heart felt lighter than it had in years. He wasn’t going to waste this second chance. He was going to make the call, invite you over, and start building the life he now knew he wanted more than anything.

The life he couldn’t wait to share with you.

The familiar hum of the bullpen greeted Hotch as he stepped into the BAU office, his mind steady and clear in a way it hadn’t been in a long time. The vivid memories of his nightmare reality lingered, but they had only sharpened his resolve. He wasn’t going to let this life—the people who mattered most—slip through his fingers.

The team was scattered about, their chatter softer than usual with the holidays approaching. Hotch spotted Penelope first, her bright cardigan and infectious energy standing out even amidst the quiet hum of activity. She was leaning over Spencer’s desk, gesturing animatedly as Spencer nodded, his brow furrowed in focus.

Derek was nearby, arms crossed, wearing a knowing smirk as he watched the two of them.

"Hey, boss man," Derek called out as Hotch approached. "What brings you in on Christmas Eve? Thought you’d be at home, sipping hot cocoa with Jack."

Hotch smiled faintly, something he didn’t do nearly enough. "Jack’s with Jess for the afternoon. I wanted to check in."

Penelope looked up, her face lighting up when she saw him. "You’re here! Is there a case? Please tell me there’s not a case. I swear, if you’re here to ruin Christmas, I’ll…" She paused, narrowing her eyes. "I’ll do something very un-holiday-spirited."

Hotch raised a hand, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. "No cases. I’m here to promise that we’re shutting everything down for the rest of the week. No emergencies, no files—nothing. Go home, spend time with your families, and regroup. There will always be people to save, but we can’t help them if we don’t take care of ourselves first."

The room went quiet as his words sank in. Penelope’s eyes widened, her face softening with gratitude. "Did you just… tell us to go home and take care of ourselves? Who are you, and what have you done with Aaron Hotchner?"

Spencer smiled faintly, glancing at Derek, who gave a low whistle. "Man, it’s about time. Thanks, Hotch."

Before Hotch could reply, Penelope stepped forward and hugged him tightly, catching him off guard. "I don’t know what inspired this, but I’m so grateful. Thank you, sir."

Hotch hesitated for a moment before patting her shoulder gently. "You’ve earned it, all of you."

As Penelope pulled back, Derek crossed his arms, tilting his head. "So, Hotch," he said, his tone teasing, "what’d you get Y/N for Christmas? I know you’ve got something good planned."

Hotch’s lips quirked in a rare moment of playfulness. "You’ll have to wait and see, Morgan."

Derek chuckled. "Fair enough. But if you need any tips, you know where to find me."

Hotch shook his head, amused, before glancing around. "Where is Y/N?" he asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

Spencer gestured toward Hotch’s office. "She said she’d be waiting for you in there."

Hotch’s heart skipped a beat, the thought of seeing you stirring something warm and steady within him. Without another word, he turned and headed for his office, the memories of the past days pushing him forward.

He couldn’t wait to see you, to start making things right, to build the life he knew he wanted—with you by his side.

Hotch ascended the stairs to his office with a purposeful stride, his heart pounding harder with each step. The memories of their fight haunted him, but they also fueled him. He wouldn’t waste another moment. This was his chance to make things right, to choose you, to choose them.

When he reached his office, he pushed the door open quickly, almost bursting through it in his haste.

You were standing by the couch by the window, your posture calm but reserved, a soft smile playing on your lips as you looked up at him. Too calm, he thought. He could see the quiet hurt lingering behind your gentle demeanor, the way you were preparing yourself to make sacrifices—again—for him. For them.

It was so you, and it broke his heart.

"Aaron," you began, your voice steady but careful. "I’ve been thinking about us. About everything."

He crossed the room in an instant, his determination cutting through the air. Before you could say another word, he reached you, cupping your face in his hands with a kind of tenderness that caught you off guard.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t a gentle, cautious kiss. It was deep, consuming, and filled with all the emotion he had bottled up for too long. It was an apology, a promise, a plea for you to feel everything he couldn’t quite put into words yet.

You gasped softly against his lips, surprised, but you melted into him almost immediately, your hands finding their way to his chest. When he pulled back, both of you were breathless, your wide eyes searching his for answers.

"Don’t talk," he said, his voice low and firm but so full of emotion it nearly cracked. "Please. Not yet."

You blinked, stunned into silence.

"I’m sorry," he continued, his thumb brushing gently along your cheek. "I’m so sorry for everything I said. For not seeing what was right in front of me. For not choosing you when I should have."

You opened your mouth to respond, but he shook his head slightly, stopping you.

"Tonight," he said, his voice softening, "we’ll talk. I’ll say everything I should have said before, and I’ll listen to you the way I should have. But right now, I need you to do something for me."

Your brow furrowed slightly, confusion flickering across your face. "What is it?"

Hotch’s lips quirked into a faint smile. "Go tell the director you’re taking the role."

Your eyes widened. "Aaron, I—"

"Don’t argue," he said gently but firmly. "This is what you want. And you’re not giving it up for me. Not this time."

Your hand covered his, resting on your cheek, and he felt the warmth of your skin beneath his palm. "Are you sure?" you whispered, your voice trembling slightly.

"I’ve never been more sure of anything," he said, his voice steady. "We’ll make this work. I’ll make this work. You deserve this, and I’m not going to stand in your way. Not anymore."

Tears welled in your eyes, but the smile that broke across your face was radiant. "I love you," you said softly.

Hotch leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. "I love you, too," he whispered, his voice full of quiet conviction.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his own reflecting the resolve he felt deep in his heart. "Go tell them," he said. "And then come back to me."

You nodded, your smile widening as you stood, your steps lighter than they had been in days.

As you left the office, Hotch watched you go, his chest tight with a mixture of love and determination. This was the life he wanted—the life he was going to fight for. And this time, he wouldn’t let anything get in the way.

Later, Hotch leaned against the counter in his kitchen; the phone pressed to his ear as he listened to your soft, melodic voice on the other end. It had been a whirlwind of a day, but as soon as the office had emptied out for the holidays, his thoughts had turned to you.

"Spend Christmas Eve and Day with us," he said, the words steady but laced with an unusual vulnerability. He wasn’t used to asking for things—not like this—but he wanted you there. Needed you there.

There was a pause, and he could almost hear the wheels turning in your mind. "Are you sure, Aaron? I don’t want to intrude—"

"You’re not intruding," he interrupted gently. "Jack and I want you here. I want you here."

The hesitation in your voice melted, replaced by a quiet warmth. "Okay," you said softly. "I’d love to."

As he hung up, Hotch let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. For the past few Christmases, you had always been part of the day—but always slipped out before nighttime on Christmas Eve. You had insisted on leaving early, not wanting to intrude on the traditions he and Jack had shared since Haley’s passing.

But this year, he wanted you to stay. To be part of everything.

Hotch thought back to the Christmases you’d spent together as a couple, moments that had somehow always felt brighter because of you. Whether it was the way you’d join Jack in decorating cookies—laughing as he piled on too many sprinkles—or the small, thoughtful gifts you’d slip under the tree for both of them, your presence had become the quiet heartbeat of the holiday.

He smiled faintly at the memory of last Christmas when you’d handed Jack a small, carefully wrapped package. Inside was a book he’d mentioned only once in passing during a conversation Hotch himself had almost forgotten. Jack’s face had lit up with pure joy, and Hotch had been struck by your attentiveness—not just to Jack’s words, but to the things that mattered most to him.

You didn’t just listen—you understood.

But then, as bedtime approached, you’d always reach for your coat, pressing a soft kiss to Hotch’s cheek before leaving.

"This is your time with Jack," you’d say, your smile warm but knowing. "I don’t want to take that from you."

It had been so thoughtful, so perfectly you. And every year, Hotch let you go, telling himself it was the right thing to do. But this year, everything felt different.

This year, he couldn’t imagine the night without you.

Before heading to pick Jack up from Jess’s, Hotch made a quiet but resolute decision. He took a detour, parking outside a small jewelry store adorned with festive lights. The shop was bustling with last-minute shoppers, the air thick with anticipation and cheer.

As he stepped inside, he felt an unusual sense of calm wash over him. This wasn’t a frantic, spur-of-the-moment decision. It was something he’d been carrying in his heart for far longer than he’d realized.

While waiting for the jeweler’s attention, his mind wandered to all the moments that had brought him here—not just the life they’d built together, but the stark contrast of the two alternate realities he’d seen.

He thought of the warm, bustling home from the first dream—the little girl with your smile and his eyes, Jack’s confidence and joy, the harmony of a life shared with you. That vision had awakened something in him: hope. It was everything he hadn’t let himself believe he could have but now knew he wanted more than anything.

Then, the second reality—the cold, fractured life without you—rushed back into his mind like a knife twisting in his chest. Jack had been lost, unmotivated, mirroring the mistakes Hotch had always feared for him. The BAU had been broken, and he had been a hollow version of himself, unable to connect, unable to truly live.

The thought of facing that kind of pain again was unbearable.

But it was more than that. It wasn’t just about avoiding regret or fear of what could go wrong. It was about embracing what was right in front of him—the way you fit so perfectly into his life and Jack’s, not as a replacement but as someone who made them whole in a way he hadn’t thought possible.

He thought of the first time Jack had asked if you could come to his school play, the innocent joy in his voice as he said, "It’s more fun when she’s there." He thought of the quiet nights when your hand had instinctively reached for his, grounding him when the weight of the job became too much. He thought of your laugh—the way it softened the hardest of days, the way it had a way of filling the cracks he hadn’t even known were there.

"She’s always been the one," he murmured under his breath, the realization landing softly but powerfully.

The jeweler’s voice broke through his thoughts. "How can I help you?"

Hotch met her gaze, a rare but genuine smile pulling at his lips. "I need something special," he said, his voice steady and certain. "For someone who means everything to me."

As he browsed, each piece felt like a step closer to a promise he’d been too afraid to make until now. By the time he left the store, the small box tucked securely in his pocket, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders.

This wasn’t about a grand gesture or a sudden realization—it was the culmination of everything he’d known deep down, even when he couldn’t admit it.

You were the one. For him, for Jack, for the life he wanted to build.

And this Christmas, he was ready to take the first step toward forever.

The apartment was alive in a way it had never been on Christmas Eve. The faint strains of a classic holiday tune floated through the air, mingling with the warm glow of twinkling lights from the tree. A Christmas movie played softly on the television, its cheerful narration adding to the cozy atmosphere. The scent of dinner lingered in the room, mingling with the faint pine of the tree.

Hotch sat on the couch, his gaze drifting to you and Jack, who were laughing together over something you’d said. The sound of Jack’s laughter—light, unguarded, happy—was the greatest gift Hotch could have asked for.

You caught his eye and smiled, a soft, knowing look that told him you were as content as he was in this moment. There would be time for the two of you to talk later, once Jack was off to bed, filled with anticipation for Santa’s arrival. For now, though, this was perfect.

As the evening wound down, you leaned over to grab a small, carefully wrapped package from your bag. "Jack," you said, your voice warm, "I have something for you to open tonight. I thought it might be nice to add to your Christmas Eve tradition."

Jack’s eyes lit up, his excitement palpable as he took the gift. "Really?"

"Really," you said with a grin.

Jack tore into the wrapping paper, revealing a small but beautifully crafted ornament. It was shaped like a book, gilded in silver, with his name inscribed on the cover. His eyes widened, his fingers tracing the delicate engraving.

"It’s for the tree," you explained gently. "Something just for you. I thought you might like to have your own ornament to put up every year."

Jack looked up at you, his expression a mixture of awe and appreciation. "This is… really cool," he said, his voice quiet but full of sincerity.

Then, after a moment, he added, "You always think of the best stuff. Thanks for being here. I hope you’re always here."

Hotch’s chest tightened as he watched the exchange, the simplicity of Jack’s words carrying a weight that made his throat ache.

"Thank you, Jack," you said softly, your voice trembling slightly as you smiled at him.

Jack rose, holding the ornament delicately as he approached the tree. He carefully hung it on a branch near the top, stepping back to admire his work.

Hotch’s hand moved almost unconsciously, reaching for yours. As soon as his fingers brushed against your palm, you intertwined them with a gentle squeeze.

The touch grounded him, but it also brought with it a flood of emotion. For a brief moment, he was back in that alternate reality—decorating the tree with you, an older Jack, and your daughter. He could almost hear her laughter, see her small hands reaching for ornaments as you steadied her.

The memory of that life, so vivid and so possible, filled him with a quiet, overwhelming certainty.

You glanced at him, your expression softening as you squeezed his hand again, a silent reassurance that you were here, now, and ready for whatever came next.

Hotch didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. This moment—this warmth, this love—was everything he needed to know that he was on the right path.

The night had begun to wind down, the once-bustling apartment now quieter, filled with the warm glow of twinkling lights and the soft hum of contentment. After leaving out milk and cookies for Santa, Jack had dashed to his room, his excitement bubbling over as he prepared for bed.

Hotch followed, glancing over his shoulder at you. "We’ll be out in a bit," he said gently.

You nodded with a soft smile. "Take your time," you replied, moving toward the living room to give them their privacy.

In Jack’s room, Hotch helped him settle under the covers, pulling the blankets snugly around him. The boy’s face was lit with anticipation, his cheeks slightly flushed from the excitement of the evening.

"Okay," Hotch said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "What’s the request for tonight?"

Jack grinned. "The Night Before Christmas. It has to be that one tonight, right?"

Hotch smiled, reaching for the well-worn book on Jack’s nightstand. "Good choice."

As he opened the cover, Jack’s eyes darted to the door. "Wait!"

Hotch paused, frowning slightly. "What’s wrong?"

"Can Y/N come in too?" Jack asked, his voice filled with earnestness. "I want her to hear it too."

Hotch’s chest tightened, a wave of warmth spreading through him at Jack’s request. He reached out to ruffle his son’s hair. "Of course," he said, his voice soft.

He called your name, and you peeked into the room, a questioning look on your face.

"Jack wants you to join us," Hotch explained, his tone gentle but encouraging.

Your brows lifted in surprise, but the warmth in your smile was immediate. "Are you sure?"

"Very sure," Hotch said, gesturing for you to come in.

You stepped inside hesitantly, but Jack’s enthusiastic patting of the bed beside him quickly put you at ease. You sat down, and Jack scooted closer to make room, his small hand tugging at the blanket to share with you.

Hotch’s heart swelled as he watched the two of you. You were a natural fit here, as though you’d always been part of this family.

He began to read, his deep voice steady and calm as he brought the familiar words to life.

"'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house…"

Jack listened intently, his head leaning lightly against your arm. Every so often, Hotch glanced up, catching the serene expression on your face as you followed along. Your hand rested lightly on Jack’s back, your presence grounding him in a way that felt perfectly natural.

As the story progressed, Hotch’s voice softened, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around the three of you like a warm blanket. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so at peace—so connected.

When he reached the final line, "'Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night,'" Jack let out a soft sigh of contentment.

"That was perfect," Jack murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

Hotch set the book aside, leaning down to press a kiss to Jack’s forehead. "Goodnight, buddy," he said softly.

Jack blinked up at both of you, his small hand reaching out to take yours and Hotch’s at the same time. "I’m glad you’re here," he said to you, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, your eyes glistening with emotion. "Me too, Jack."

Hotch’s chest tightened, the weight of the moment nearly overwhelming. He squeezed Jack’s hand, his gaze flicking to you. The tenderness in your eyes was everything he hadn’t let himself believe he could have, and now that it was here, he knew he would do anything to keep it.

As Jack’s eyes drifted shut, you and Hotch exchanged a quiet, knowing look, the unspoken promise between you as strong as the love filling the room.

This was family. And it was perfect.

After tucking Jack in and ensuring his dreams of Santa were safe and secure, you and Hotch returned to the quiet living room. The faint glow of the Christmas tree lights reflected off the window, casting the room in a soft, magical warmth.

You sat beside him on the couch, your presence calming and steady. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the unspoken weight of everything left unsaid lingering in the air.

Then, softly, you broke the silence. "Aaron," you said, your voice careful but earnest, "are you ready to talk? Not just about the job but… about everything."

He turned to you, his heart clenching at the concern in your eyes.

"I never wanted to pressure you," you continued, your hands folded nervously in your lap. "I don’t want you to feel like you have to make a decision just because of me. I would never want you to want something you’ll regret or resent… or not want altogether."

Hotch’s throat tightened as he listened to you. Your words were so you—selfless, thoughtful, and so in tune with his feelings that it made his chest ache.

He reached for your hands, covering them with his. "This isn’t pressure," he said, his voice firm but filled with emotion. "It’s clarity. This is everything. You’re everything."

Your brows furrowed slightly in confusion, and he took a steadying breath. "I’ve been too blind to see it. Too afraid to let myself hope for more, to believe I could have this—us. But I know now."

His voice grew quieter, a tremor betraying the emotion behind his words. "I’ve seen what life could be like without you, and I can’t… I won’t go back to that. You’ve given me and Jack so much—more than I even realized until now. I can’t imagine a life without you in it."

You tilted your head, your soft smile returning. "What’s gotten into you?" you asked, your tone light but filled with love.

Hotch chuckled softly, his grip on your hands tightening slightly. "Let’s just say I had some time to think. And I’ve realized… I’ve been so afraid of failing you that I didn’t see what was right in front of me. I was scared I’d ruin this, ruin us. That I couldn’t live up to what you deserved."

Your eyes softened, and you shifted closer. "Aaron," you said, your voice steady and filled with quiet conviction, "you could never fail me. Not once. You’ve shown me more love and care than I ever thought possible. You’ve already given me so much."

Hotch’s heart swelled at your words, and for a moment, he simply looked at you, his mind flashing to the alternate reality he had glimpsed. The memory of your laughter, your daughter’s joy, Jack’s success, and the harmony of a life shared with you filled his mind.

He reached into his pocket, his fingers brushing against the small box he had been carrying all day. When he looked at you again, his resolve was clear.

"You deserve something grand," he said softly, his voice trembling slightly. "A big moment, a big gesture. But I can’t think of a better time to start forever than right now."

Your eyes widened as he slipped from the couch to one knee, the movement fluid and filled with purpose. He opened the box, revealing the delicate, sparkling ring inside.

"Y/N," he began, his voice steady despite the emotion coursing through him, "you are the best part of my life. You’ve brought light to places I thought would stay dark forever. You’ve made me believe in love, in family, in a future I didn’t think I could have. And I don’t want to spend another day without knowing you’ll be by my side."

Tears welled in your eyes as you listened, your hand flying to your mouth.

"You’ve already shown me what it means to love someone with your whole heart," he continued. "And I want to spend the rest of my life doing the same for you. For Jack. For the life I know we can build together."

Hotch’s voice softened, the faintest crack breaking through his calm exterior. "I’m not afraid anymore, because I know now. You’re it for me, Y/N. Will you marry me?"

For a moment, you were silent, your emotions catching up with you. Then you nodded, your tears spilling over as you whispered, "Yes. Of course, yes."

Hotch let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, slipping the ring onto your finger with trembling hands. You pulled him to his feet, your arms wrapping around his neck as you kissed him, the world falling away in that moment.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, and you smiled through your tears. "I love you," you said softly.

Hotch smiled, the weight of his fears finally lifting. "I love you too," he replied, his voice filled with quiet certainty.

This was the beginning of the life he had seen in his dreams. And this time, he wasn’t letting it slip away.

The house was quiet now, save for the faint hum of the Christmas tree lights and the soft rhythm of your breathing as you rested your head against Hotch’s shoulder. Jack had been tucked in long ago, dreaming of Santa and the treasures Christmas morning would bring. But Hotch’s mind was far from sleep.

He gazed down at you, his fiancée now, the weight of the ring on your finger feeling almost as tangible as the warmth of your hand in his. He hadn’t thought it possible to feel this complete, this content. Yet here he was, in the glow of the holidays, with you beside him and the promise of forever ahead.

It was as if the universe had given him a glimpse into the consequences of his choices; in those alternate realities he’d seen, the message had been clear: the choices we make ripple outward, shaping not only our own lives but the lives of everyone we touch.

He thought of the cold, lonely life he had witnessed without you. Jack, floundering without direction. The team, fractured and disjointed. Himself, hollow and lost.

And then, the other life—the one with the warmth of a shared home, your laughter filling the rooms, Jack thriving with confidence, and the little girl with your smile and his eyes.

It was all so vivid still, a testament to what could have been—but also what could still be.

"You’re quiet," you murmured, lifting your head to look at him. Your smile was soft and understanding, as always.

Hotch shook his head, a small, rueful smile tugging at his lips. "Just thinking about how lucky I am," he said, his voice steady but full of emotion.

You tilted your head, a playful glint in your eyes. "Lucky? You did all the work tonight."

He chuckled, his arm tightening around you. "It’s more than that," he said softly. "I’ve spent so much time thinking I had to do everything alone—that I couldn’t let anyone else in because it was safer that way. But I was wrong."

You rested your hand on his chest, your touch grounding him. "You’re not alone anymore, Aaron," you said gently. "You never have to be again."

That moment he understood that his life, messy and imperfect as it was, was wonderful because of the people who shared it with him.

"I almost didn’t see it," Hotch admitted, his voice quieter now. "How much you mean to me. To Jack. How much better everything is with you in it."

Your smile softened, your hand brushing lightly against his cheek. "You’ve always had it in you," you said. "To love, to build something beautiful. You just needed time to see it."

Hotch let out a breath, his chest filling with gratitude.

No man is a failure who has love.

And he had that now—in abundance.

As the Christmas tree lights flickered softly, casting shadows across the room, Hotch leaned down to kiss you gently, his heart full in a way it hadn’t been in years.

This was his life. Messy, imperfect, but so profoundly his.

And for the first time, he truly believed that it was wonderful.