#Can anyone tell I hate Jason Gideon?

[auroralwriting]

the gun

spencer reid x genius!bau!reader

oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, they both reached for the gun, the gun, the gun…

"you just needed to prove to Spencer, once and for all, that you had all the skills to be the best agent, the best genius."

word count: 2.3k

warnings: cm violence, blood, enemies to lovers, kinda rushed im sorryyyy, fem reader slightly mentioned

a continuation of this story can be found here

Spencer and you always competed. He had an eidetic memory, you had a photographic.

The difference between you two was anything you ever saw, read, you held in long-term memory. Spencer’s, though, resided in short term. However, Spencer was also an autodidact, meaning he could teach himself anything. You also had a vast emotional intelligence. You had such strong empathy, you could detect any micro-detail anyone displayed, making you the perfect lie-detector one that even Hotch couldn’t evade.

Spencer was Jason Gideon’s special boy. Gideon helped Spencer make his way in the BAU. You were David Rossi’s special girl, him noticing your skills from a young age when he met you during a case. He guided you to make all the best choices, leading you to the BAU as well. It took a few years, timing and all, but you got there.

When Dave transferred to Quantico’s BAU, he requested your transfer as well. He thought you would mesh well with the team. More specifically, he assumed you and Spencer would become a genius duo; totally unstoppable.

Oh, how wrong he was. It was from the moment you’d corrected Spencer on some statistic he spewed, you both became enemies forced to co-exist on the same team. There was never a civil moment, always some fight. It was sad, too. You remembered the first time you saw him, you were struck by how cute he was. Too bad he decided to hate you before you got a chance.

Vividly, you remembered the most intense fight you both had.

“So someone with a medical degree,” Hotch muttered. “That’s got to be impossible.”

“It’s more likely that have a nursing degree.” Spencer replied. “We’d be looking at around one hundred eighty thousand people a year. If our unsub is a new graduate, that’s the numbers we’d be looking through.”

You shook your head, “It’s actually one hundred fifty seven thousand. Also, narrow it down to nursing degrees in New York, and you get around eight thousand. Eleven percent were men, so around six hundred. Lower it even more to those who don’t have any family members, most likely from group homes, you can get maybe seventy?”

oh, yes

Garcia clacked away at her keyboard, “My baby’s got it! Seventy two people. If we’re looking at NYU specifically, thirteen.”

Pride filled your system. It was fulfilling when you were able to get things right. Spencer, on the other hand, wasn’t too happy about that.

“You know, nobody asked your opinion.” He scoffed.

“It isn’t opinion, Reid. It’s purely fact, ones you should probably get right.” Your reply had Spencer clenching his fists.

How dare you insult his intelligence? His IQ was much larger than yours, you weren’t one to speak on that. “Maybe you should focus on the case instead of trying to be a people pleaser,” Spencer sneered your way.

His reply made you roll your eyes, “At least I can tell what people want. You’re oblivious, Reid.”

oh, yes

Slowly, the two of you began to go back and forth, your voices raising. Before the situation blew up, Hotch stepped in, trying to mediate. However, Spencer mumbled something under his breath, something you couldn’t just let go. It hurt, stung like a bee, and you weren’t going to let him walk away feeling victorious.

“At least my mentor didn’t up and leave me.” you snapped. “He’s still with me, he didn’t just vanish with a stupid little note as a dingy goodbye.”

Spencer had paused, face dropping. You read him like a book, you’d gone too far. He showed minuscule signs of distress, grief, sadness. The room was silent, no one quite knew what to say.

oh, yes

“Reid, I-”

“Save it.”

Spencer had walked away, leaving you to feel shameful of your words. Rossi just squeezed your shoulder. The man knew you didn’t mean it.

they both

Since then, it was like the two of you were on each other’s cases, constantly bickering and arguing. Now, you were almost subconsciously battling each other for the genius role of the team. Was there any need to? No, not at all, but your fights had become not a battle, but a war.

You stood outside the bank with your team. “They have hostages,” You identified, attempting to peer inside. “There’s no way we can go in. It’s a suicide-murder mission.”

oh, yes

“There’s gotta be a way,” JJ shook her head. “Maybe there’s another way in.”

“It doesn’t look like it,” Derek sighed.

After a few hours, Will made the decision to go inside. You had to help hold back JJ as he walked in. Hearing the bullets made you sick. You physically had to double over, holding back the tears. It suddenly hit you how dire the situation was. You went back to the van with the team. No one really knew what to say.

"Did you see where he was shot?" JJ asked. "Is he alive or dead, Garcia?"

Penelope's breath was shaky, "I don't know."

"He was wearing a vest." Emily reasoned. "He might be okay."

JJ gave a smile, but it was one of disbelief. "Might be," She muttered, shaking her head in reply.

It was then that the team decided to go in. You shoved your gun in your holster, "I'll take first point," You offered. "Check and see if Will's okay. I'll try and manipulate them into letting me go to him." Hotch nodded. With your knowledge of psychology and your emotional intelligence, Hotch knew you could do it.

they both

"L/n, it's too dangerous." You heard Spencer say over the phone. "Just wait for me to tell you where to go in."

You rolled your eyes, "Reid, I'm not stupid. I've handled multiple hostage situations."

Spencer didn't reply. You liked that. This was the first time you'd be able to prove yourself without Spencer's help. This was honestly just a way for you to prove you were the better of the two. Your actions were motivated by the desire to be the best; a classic narcissistic move. You weren't a narcissist, though. You just needed to prove to Spencer, once and for all, that you had all the skills to be the best agent, the best genius.

Oddly enough, hostages flooded out of the bank as you made your way back outside. Maybe Will was alive and managed to get them all out. Once none more came out, you and two other cops began to make your way inside stealthily.

Right as you got in the middle of the bank, you heard Rossi's panicked voice over your comms, "Abort, abort!"

oh, yes

There was no time to reply. It all happened so suddenly. You heard the explosion before you felt it. It was hard to breathe. You couldn't see, hear. It slowly registered that there was a bomb, and it went off.

they both reached for

You had no clue where you had been thrown to. Everything felt cold, really cold. A loud ringing filled your ears as you slowly sat up. You touched your head, pulling back to feel stickiness on your fingers. Your vision was blurry, but you knew it was blood. You had to get out of the building. You needed help, medics, your team. Was anyone else in your team inside yet?

they both reached for the gun

A grunt left your lips as you stood up. You felt your legs give out under you, and you went down again. The desire to live was stronger than your physical weakness, and you stood up again. It was so dusty and hazy that you couldn't see. You leaned on the nearest wall for support, slowly using it to try and find your way out of the building. All that you heard in your head was get out, survive, get out, survive.

After what felt like ages, you felt a breeze against your skin. You followed it, hoping it would lead out, and it did. The light was harsh on your eyes as you tried to scan the area. It was then you saw Spencer and Hotch-- what was Spencer doing here? He was still at the BAU last you'd checked. Maybe the blast knocked you out cold.

Trudging your way over, you weakly called out. "Aaron, Spencer,"

the gun

Spencer knew he heard his name. He looked up from the blueprints of the building to see you, blood covering different parts of your body, your skin covered in debris and dust. You had limp, and your eyes were blown out. "Oh my god," he muttered, running over to you.

the gun

The genius took your in his arms as you fell into him, "How'd you get here?" you asked. "What's for dinner?"

Spencer took notice of your confusion as he allowed you to lean on him. He took your face in his hands, "Y/n, look at me. Focus on me,"

the gun

You couldn't directly look at him. Your eyes darted all over the place. "Where's Rossi? Did he go in?"

"No, Rossi's okay." Spencer leaned over his shoulder, "We need a medic!" He yelled, quickly turning his attention back to you. "It's okay, you're okay."

oh, yes

"I can't feel anything," you breathed out, "That can't be normal. Is that normal? Spencer, am I dying?"

oh, yes

Spencer shook his head, "You're okay, it's okay."

"I can't die," You softly whimpered. "I'm sorry, Spencer. 'M so mean to you, I don't mean to be."

Deep down, Spencer knew you meant what you were saying. The fear of dying without getting your true feelings out always lead to admissions of the truth. "I know, I know," Spencer smoothed your hair. "I don't hate you, I don't. You're going to be okay." Spencer slowly became anxious as he noticed the amount of blood seeping from your head. "Look at me, please, keep talking to me."

"'M sorry," You muttered, feeling your eyes grow heavy. Spencer's face began to fade as you collapsed in his arms.

Spencer felt his breathing grow heavy as he held you tightly. "Medic! She's-- oh, god, Help!"

they both reached for the gun.

A steady beeping was the first thing you heard as you woke up. The light was a blinding white, and you let out a groan at it. Your body hurt like hell, and your head was pounding.

"Shh, shh. It's okay, here, let me just--"

The white lights went out and all that was left was the stream of daylight coming through the windows, along with a lamp that was a warmer light. It was much more comfortable that way. You quickly guessed you were in a hospital. The beeping, white lights, smell of rubbing alcohol that you just identified.

"How do you feel?"

Spencer. You turned your head to look at him. His face held deep concern. He was holding your hand. "I--" You paused, considering his question. "I feel like shit."

He let out a soft chuckle, "Yeah. You kind of got exploded." That's right, the bomb.

"Oh, Will, the team, are they okay?" You softly asked.

Spencer nodded, "Everyone's okay, we got the unsubs. It's all okay now."

You remembered Spencer's words. You should have waited to go in. If you had waited, maybe you wouldn't be in this situation right now. "I should've listened to you." You stated weakly. "You were right. I was being stupid."

"Hey, no," Spencer quickly interrupted. "You were doing your job."

"I wasn't," you shook your head. "I wanted to prove myself. I-I wanted.. to show that I didn't just do victimology and simple hostage relief situations. I wanted to prove myself like you have." You stopped, sucking in a pained breath. You felt your eyes become glassy. "I wanted to prove to everyone I was just as good as you."

Spencer felt his heart break at your words. You both knew overall, he was smarter. It never occurred to him that your constant bickering was to prove yourself, and not to prove him wrong. "You're better." Spencer decided to say. "I mean, I can't relate to our victims, hell, our unsubs the way you can."

"Spencer,"

"I'm serious." He continued. "You're so important to this team. You-you push us to be better." Spencer cleared his throat, "You push me to be better."

You stared at Spencer blankly for a moment, "I never told you that I like this haircut."

Spencer gave you a slightly surprised look. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," You hummed. "It makes you look, I don't know, less like Einstein and more like, uh, a really smart James Dean."

"James Dean," Spencer repeated, "I've never gotten that one before. Are those meds talking right now?"

You shook your head slowly, "Probably the clearest I've thought in a while." You replied, causing Spencer to smile. "Why did you stay with me?"

Spencer paused for a moment, "I wanted to make sure you were okay. I know we bicker a lot. Well, more than a lot. Probably several times a day, but I still care about you. I-I was.. really scared for you. I don't think I could forgive myself if I let you walk in there and you'd died."

"It wouldn't have been your fault," You tried. Spencer just shook his head.

"It would have been. I should've rationalized it with you. When I saw you, I just thought, 'What have I been doing this whole time? Have I really been wasting my breath arguing with you when we could've made the best team'? I remember when Rossi first introduced you, I was like, 'No way someone this pretty is doing this', when you should've been some model or something." Spencer rambled. He did that, paired with hand fidgeting, when he was nervous. He rambled as he played with your fingers.

You took a breath in, hoping for the best. "Hey, maybe we could, uh, go to one of those team based trivia nights at O'Keefe's?"

"Are-are you asking me out?" Spencer asked.

"Only if you're saying yes." You responded. "I, uh, maybe thought we could start over."

Spencer gave a chuckle, "Yeah, trivia night sounds good. I'd like a retry at this. Maybe we're, uh, meant to be more than just a team."

You smiled at him, knowing that a simple friendship wouldn't be highest point of your new relationship with the genius.

[andforthecoating]

► these things take time

also on ao3

Summary: 4 times Gideon stops Elle from calling him dad + 1 time he lets her

Relationships: Jason Gideon & Elle Greenaway, Elle Greenaway/Spencer Reid (pre-relationship), Elle Greenaway & Derek Morgan

Word count: 2490

i.

They’re on the phone the first time it happens. There’s a case, like most days, and Elle is stuck with Morgan. Which is also standard, because somehow, the team unanimously decided that he’s the one who can match her temper– or freak, if you asked anyone else.

They’re in the SUV which Morgan, for once, is not driving like he has nothing to live for. The car is filled with Tionne Watkins vocals–which it has been for the last twenty minutes– and Morgan’s humming along. The song changes, Elle thinks, though she can only tell because the music stops for a second. They all sound the same anyways, but this song she knows– even if it’s only because it’s the third time Waterfalls comes on. It’s obviously Morgan’s song for the week because, now that she’s been subjected to it repeatedly, she can tell he–and by proxy Penelope– has been humming the tune around the office for the last few days.

The phone rings the moment Elle catches herself humming along as Derek chants the chorus. She couldn’t be more relieved, though she just knows Morgan will tease her for it later. She can already hear his triumphant voice– “And you said you hated my music taste”.

Morgan pauses the music as Elle picks up the phone.

“Thank god you called. Morgan’s been torturing me– ”

“I know you were enjoying yourself, Greenaway,” he interrupts, smirk clear as day in the rearview mirror, “Don’t come at me when you loved every second.”

Gideon sighs on the other line but he apparently doesn’t think the conversation dignifies an acknowledgement.

“Are you at the crime scene yet?”

“We’ll be there in five,” she says, confirming it with Morgan as he nods. “Why are you calling?”

“I know I said there was no way the dumb fuck would come onto an active crime scene, but officer Jeffords had some new intel.” He pauses before barreling on. “Hotch thinks the unsub is still in the area.”

A warning, then. It doesn’t matter. They’ve taken on worse unsubs and just because this guy’s signature is shooting from secluded areas doesn’t mean she and Morgan won't be able to handle it.

She can hear Gideon breathing in and then, with a voice laced with worry, “Be careful.”

It’s not a particularly dangerous case, she thinks, but Elle can’t take the way he sounds so genuine– the way it makes something in her ache. She sighs exasperatedly and rolls her shoulders, satisfied when they make a small cracking noise.

“Yes, dad,” she mutters, knowing he can hear the sarcasm lacing the word.

“Not your dad, Greenaway.”

ii.

The cop cars’ sirens have long since been turned off and officers are filtering in and out of the crime scene now that it’s been secured. Elle’s sitting on the edge of an ambulance beside Reid. They’re both wrapped in blankets, which is ridiculous since neither of them are in shock. Reid’s shivering under his blanket, though and She resists the minute thought of reaching out. Neither of them are particularly badly off anyway.

Up until five minutes ago they had been sitting together in companionable silence, which had now been disturbed. The paramedic who had previously forgotten about her is on her like a hawk and insisting he take her to the hospital. She glowers at his back as he looks for a bandage in his bag. First few months on the job, she guesses, with the way his form is trembling slightly at the sight of the gash on her forehead. Sure, the blood is dripping down and getting in her eye every now and then, but it’s coagulating by now and not nearly horrible enough for a guy to take it this hard. She wipes the blood off and out of the corner of her eye she can see the troubled look Reid sends her way.

“I’m fine, Reid,” she says, turning toward him. The world spins a little with the motion. “You know, it’s just a cut.” She sends him a smile and if her heart stutters as his features soften, that’s literally no one’s business.

Elle’s not even lying. It really is just a cut. And a pounding headache. And possibly her ankle too, but she won't disclose any of that, because it is just a cut.

Reid squints his eyes at her. “Do you have a headache?”

“No.”

Elle feels a small sliver of hope as she spots Gideon walking up to them. If it were Hotch she wouldn’t even ask, but with Gideon, she thinks there might be some leeway there, and maybe he’ll let her go straight home. She can already picture her bed and the pillows she’d thrown on the floor when she got up.

She frowns defiantly and crosses her arms as Gideon’s gaze meets hers. “Gideon, will you please tell him that I don't need to go to the hospital?”

“Regulations are regulations.” He says sternly before looking her up and down. If Elle didn’t know better she’d say he looks concerned: “You're all right?”

Her head feels like cotton as she answers: “Yeah, I’m fine, dad.” And, god, didn’t that slip out a little too easily. She can feel Reid tensing beside her, trying to cover it by faking a small shiver.

Gideon is the one to break the silence that follows. “Elle?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t ever call me ‘dad’ again.” He says and promptly turns around.

As she watches his retreating back she turns to Reid, who’s stayed right next to her for the whole conversation, albeit a little awkwardly. She smiles a little, shakes her head, and deadpans. “How do you think he’d feel about ‘mom’?”

That earns her a lopsided smile.

“Let me know when you’re going to do that so I can uh- run.”

iii.

The team is getting briefed on a new case when it happens, though that sounds way too serious in a way she doesn’t like. It’s been a rough couple of days. They’d had a three-day child abduction case a few days ago and Elle knows the intensive hours are starting to take out their right.

She knows this because when Reid asked if she wanted sugar in her coffee this morning, she’d said yes. She might actually have a shot at beating his standing record of the amount of sugar in one cup of coffee. She and Morgan have been trying to one-up each other on that front for months, but she usually can’t take more than two sugars and Morgan never manages to finish his coffee when he tries. If she wasn’t so tired she’d be gloating by now. Definitely winning.

“Elle, you’re the lead on this case,” Hotch states and Elle looks up from her coffee, which she’s almost finished by now. She hasn’t grasped the whole case, zoning in and out throughout JJ’s briefing, but she knows they’re dealing with a serial rapist. She wonders if the others can pick up on her confusion.

“Officially it’s Hotch,” Gideon adds and the other man nods.

That answers that. Elle looks down at her coffee again, the spoon in her hand still swirling around in the cup. She shakes her head a few times to try and get rid of the fog in her head.

“Yes, dad-I mean… d-Jason!” Hotch raises an eyebrow, sending a glance Gideon’s way. “Gideon,” Elle amends, but it’s too late. Morgan’s snickering beside her, and Spencer– when did he become Spencer?– gives her a small, shy smile before he lets out a quiet giggle. Thank god JJ knows when not to comment, as she’s thankfully quiet.

“Just Gideon,” Gideon declares and just like that Morgan breaks, raising his hand to stifle his laugh.

Elle feels her mind clear at the sound, annoyance and mortification equally filling her. She slides down a few inches in her chair and stretches her legs, aiming to kick Spencer under the table. Elle doesn’t put any force into it. She’s just gauging for a reaction to distract herself and Morgan’s too far away. Spencer yelps as her foot connects with his calf, more in surprise than anything. She grins as Spencer looks down at the case file in front of him, glasses sliding down his nose.

vi.

Spencer is sitting in his desk chair, while Elle’s taken the liberty to sit on his desk. She’s dangling her legs off the edge. They brush Spencer’s The coffee cup his hands are wrapped around has ‘pretty high degree’ written on it in bold black letters. According to Elle, it’s the best cup they have in the office– and it’s definitely not because she had bought it specifically with him in mind.

Her phone rings, disturbing the peace and quiet– or as much of it you can get in the BAU. From across the room, she can hear Morgan whistling.

“Not a boyfriend,” and then, because she’s a tease and she loves to balance the scales “I’m interested in someone else, actually.”

Morgan’s eyebrows raise comically high as he wiggles them and she heaves a big sigh, feigning being overly exasperated at the action. She knows what he’s implying well enough, though she also knows it’s in the most unserious way possible.

”Get off it, Morgan. It’s not going to happen.” She rolls her eyes. ”He’s not interested:”

“It’s actually highly unlikely that he doesn’t have any interest for you,” Spencer chimes in. “It’s called reciprocal liking,” he continues, “If he thinks you like him, then he’ll start to like you even more. And some peo-”

“Reid,” she interrupts with laughter in her voice, “thank you. But I don’t want someone to be interested just because I am.” She pauses for a moment. “Besides, I’m pretty sure this guy doesn’t fall into the statistics.”

Spencer takes a sip of his, probably diabetic inducing, coffee and looks up at her.

“Most people do. That’s the point of statistics,” he deadpans and Elle almost snorts. She nods instead because, really, it’s kinda adorable how dead-set Spencer is on the importance of facts, not to mention his excited voice when he gets to list them.

“I guess so.” She doesn’t want to give them the opportunity to circle back to the subject of who she’s dating, even though she’d been the one to give Morgan the breadcrumbs.

Elle grabs the discarded cup beside her. She’s not running away but… ”I’m getting more coffee. Want some?”

“Please,” he says, reaching toward her to hand her his cup. Their fingers brush as she takes it from him, but he doesn’t drag them away as fast as she expected– germs and all.

Elle hops off the desk, thankful when she doesn’t upend the whole thing. She makes her way into the kitchen, and… it’s not that she cares what Spencer thinks, not really, but it’s also the fact that she does slightly care.

It’s all too confusing for 2pm so she settles for pouring the coffee from the coffee pot, trying to silence her thoughts. She’s taking out the creamer from the fridge, the container’s all sticky, when she feels someone’s presence behind her.

She turns around; Spencer’s cup in one hand, creamer in the other and the fridge door wide open.

“How are you?” Gideon asks and he sounds genuinely concerned in the way only he can– where it’s phrased like a throwaway question, and you can’t really see the tenderness behind it unless you know what to look for.

“I-“ she hasn’t realized she’s been choked up, but as she tries to answer him she is made acutely aware of the overwhelming something she feels. “I just don’t think Reid’s right, you know,” she settles for and takes a deep breath.

“He’s just trying to help.”

“I know,” she sighs and turns back to the coffee, closing the fridge door as she does so, and deeming the conversation to be over.

“And, Elle?” Gideon says and she looks over once again at where he’s standing in the arch-way to the kitchen, a knowing gleam in his eyes, “He likes you too.”

She swallows, shock probably written plainly across her face. Sure, they’re all profilers and Gideon’s been on the job the longest. Elle still can’t quite fathom how he got it right in the nose, because out of the whole team, she prides herself on being the best at hiding feelings she doesn’t want acknowledged by the others.

“You know any boy would be lucky to have you.” He says it like it’s an absolute truth.a

“Yeah, yeah.” Her elbow nudges his side as she walks up to him. “I know, dad.”

“Elle, I’ve told you not to call me that,” Gideon reprimands, but this time there’s no bite to it. They walk out of the kitchen closely behind each other.

It isn’t until she sets the cup down on Spencer’s desk and he looks up with a grateful smile that she realizes she forgot to top up her own.

+ i

Gideon stays behind in the hospital, even though he can feel his eyelids drooping. He wants to blame it on the lack of sleep but, if he’s honest with himself, it’s mostly because he knows Elle’s in there, fighting for her life. She’s out of surgery now but he’d insisted on being there until she’d woken.

People can say whatever they want about Gideon– old, naive, unconventional– and most of it would be right. At the end of the day he gets results, and the world is a better place for it.

He wishes he’d followed that version of himself on this one, not the version he thought would suit him best. Bravado could probably be added to the long list of attributes he’d rather forget he has.. Andersson wouldn’t know a gun even if it was pointed right at him, and he’d been trusted with her safety. A walking personification of idiocy in a suit. There are many of those in the bureau, to be fair.

An unsure voice permeates the deafening silence of the hospital room. “Dad?”

Gideon lifts his head from where it’s been resting against his hands and is met with an awakened Elle. The morphine is still in effect but her gaze is alert, darting between him and the IV she’s hooked up to.

Gideon takes her hand in his larger ones, almost hiding them from sight, and lets out a relieved sigh. She looks so, so fragile, as if she’ll flicker away any second. Her eyes are bloodshot as she looks up at him with unshed tears. He can see the bandages peeking through where her shirt has bundled up. He swallows at the sight.

She looks horrible but at least she’s alive. She’s alive and she will recover. That’s all that matters. At least he’ll tell himself that when he goes to sleep. He takes a steadying breath and squeezes her hands.

“I’m here Elle. You’re okay.”

[aswallowssong]

Second Child, Restless Child

Chapter 5 - The Devil in Me

@valkyrie-5583

Read on AO3

The second part of a gap fill for 1x13, Poison. TW for illness, hospitals, and drug mentions. Also super minor character death? 

After JJ, Reid, and Hotch learn a little more about Kit's family, the nurse-out-of-water feels the effects of the field crash over her. As she and Gideon continue to butt heads, she wonders how this is ever going to work. She's helpful in her own right, but if she can't get the respect and the support of the whole team, how will she ever belong?

The ride to the hotel was comfortable enough. Reid and Kit sat in the back while JJ sat in the passenger seat, and the communications liaison took her chance to pick and pry when Kit couldn’t escape her questions. She’d been trying since the moment Kit had been shuffled onto their team, but Kit had been able to avoid it thus far. She hated ‘get to know you’ questions, as they reminded her of terrible high school teachers and their lack-luster ice breakers.

“So, Kit, do you have siblings?”

Kit nodded, though the woman couldn't see her. She’d play along, of course, and this was an easy question. She loved talking about her siblings.

“Oh, yeah. There’s nine of us.”

Reid made a sound next to her that sounded like choking, but when she looked he wasn’t dying. He was instead, astonished.

“Nine?”

“Yeah,” she said easily, “nine.”

Hotch knew that, he’d read her file, but he asked anyway, “What number are you?”

“Five,” Kit said before smiling, “sort of? There’s Wash, and then Ginny and Seese. Ari, and Monty, and I. Then George, and Alex, and Lina’s the baby.”

“That puts you sixth,” Reid said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and Kit was suddenly ten years old.

Didn’t we just have a pseudo heart-to-heart about being treated like a child?

Kit tried not to roll her eyes before she remembered that the only one who knew about Ari and Monty was Morgan. And, probably Hotch, of course.

“Ari and Monty and I are triplets,” she said evenly, “and technically, I was born second of the three of us.”

“Wow,” JJ said, “triplets? I can’t imagine what that would be like.”

“It’s great, actually,” Kit assured, not being able to stop the spreading smile on her face. “We get along really well. Monty and I are actually monozygotic twins, which means-”

“Monozygotic twins, often called identical twins, are the result of one egg fertilized by one sperm that experiences postzygotic division.”

Reid’s voice was rougher than before, telling of the fact that the medicine she’d given him had worn off, as he effectively cut her off. She tried not to take offense at him interrupting her and telling her about her own fetal development. He’d interrupted others in several conversations. Regardless, she felt her lips tug into a frown.

“Exactly. My Gran used to say that Monty and I have twin souls, though my mam and dad have always said that Ari was one half of the soul, and we were the other half, you know, together.”

JJ turned all the way around in her seat, grinning as she listened to Kit speak of her family.

“So, Ari and Monty are nicknames, right?”

Kit nodded again, frown dissipating.

“Right. My parents immigrated from Ireland, and they spoke Irish, or Gaelic, better than English. They wanted to stick out less, or so they say, so they, well,” she thought for a moment before she couldn’t stop the small giggle forcing its way up her throat. “They thought it would be a really good idea to name their kids after the states. Like, literal American states.”

“Like Dakota,” Hotch offered, and Kit wrinkled her nose. 

“Yeah, like Dakota. My family all call me Kody, but I prefer Kit.”

“And Monty is, what? Montana?” JJ asked, now looking determined. As if it was some kind of game.

Kit nodded again, saying, “Exactly. The thing is that some states, like thankfully Dakota, are names. But some…” She shrugged lightly, “Not so much.”

“Can I guess?”

JJ, not surprising to Kit, was giving off a competitive energy that would rival the one she got off Morgan the few times they’d raced at the track.

“She could just tell us,” Reid offered, but JJ just scoffed.

“No way, Spence. You’re just afraid you’re going to lose.”

Reid narrowed his eyes at her, and though Kit could feel his slight trembling next to her, fever burning once again, she knew he wasn’t going to back down. He even gave her and JJ half a smirk before saying, “You’re on.”

In the end, it was Hotch that came up with a surprising upset. Reid was vehemently denying that ‘Seese’ was a nickname for Tennessee, and JJ was still upset that Reid won the “guess what number I’m thinking of” game and got to go first.

“No way that’s fair,” she’d complained when Reid gave a small, raspy noise of victory and guessed that Wash was short for Washington, obviously.

Hotch had gotten lucky and gone second, securing that George was actually Kit’s younger sister, Georgia, and had gotten that Lina was Carolina, the baby of their very large family.

“You went after Carolina right away, Hotch,” JJ said, laughing at Reid’s dejected mumbling. That was the second time he’d lost a game that day.

“Familiar territory.”

“Is that so?” Kit asked, raising an eyebrow at the stern man in the driver’s seat. “Did you work in their field office?”

“No, I worked in their Walmart,” he said simply, turning into the parking lot of their hotel. He didn’t add or give any more about it, and they didn’t pry, though Kit had to fight a grin at the idea that their stern unit chief could be secretly southern.

-----

Hotch checked in and passed them their keys, Kit taking hers with slightly wide eyes. She’d only stayed in a hotel a few times, and the idea that she was now left to her own devices in a hotel she’d never been in, in a state she didn’t know, really got her mind racing. She realized quickly that no one else was feeling the anxiety she was. They were all familiar with this, and it seemed to be easy for them to turn off the part of their brain that was working on the case.

Instead, she was running her brain, trying to think of anything she knew that could help them catch the unsub that was hurting these people. She dealt in people. People were her thing. People were the reason she had been assigned to the pilot position she was in. The reason she was in New Jersey when she could just as easily be home, getting ready for bed while she listened to Ari sing around their apartment as he got ready for his shift. 

They would give the profile. The team would give the profile and she would watch with JJ. She would try to help however she was asked, and she would keep an eye on Reid while being sensitive to not treat him like a child. 

She followed JJ and Reid up to their floor, Hotch having stayed to give the others their keys, and nodded and responded politely when JJ had wished her goodnight. Reid hadn’t done as much, though she had missed his attempt to get her attention before she’d closed her door behind her.

Once inside she drew what could have passed for her first real breath all day. Between Reid’s sniffling, apologizing to Morgan, the jet, the hospital, taking care of Reid without making him feel like a child, and tiptoeing around Gideon- Which didn’t even work! - Kit was stretched too thin. With the door shut, the only emotions she could pick up on were her own. Which, honestly, we’re never just her own.

Ari and Monty called them Big Feelings; them being the swelling and surging of her own emotions that were kept buried to grow as the day went on. She could tend to the needs of others and keep her own feelings in check, but the thing about Kit was that the more she dealt with others, the more the feelings being buried in her chest compounded. Try as she might, she couldn’t really differentiate between what she created herself and what she took from others. 

Most days were perfectly fine. It wasn’t like everyone around her was melting down simultaneously, every single day. But some days, when there’d been so much and there were so many people and so many situations, she absolutely crashed.

In retrospect, she held on for longer than she thought she would, the deep, even breaths she was drawing distracting her from the energy that built. Her fingers working to unzip her go bag. She pulled out her pajamas, shedding her jacket and cardigan before making her way to take a shower. 

She took out her contacts. Shed the rest of her clothes. Took her shower. Brushed her teeth. Braided her hair. 

She kept her breathing even through every motion, changing into her pajamas and settling cross legged on the bed. Her fingers of her right hand tapped lightly on her thigh while the fingers of her left pulled tightly at her braided, sopping wet hair. The right braid was dripping clean shower water onto her shoulder, the left sending a slow cascade of water down her arm. She sat for five minutes that way, breathing evenly, staring at the blurry white wall in front of her and willing herself not to crash. Not to crash. Not to crash.

And then, she crashed.

All at once, everything in her body felt like it was vibrating. Her breaths came in hitches that were shallow and choppy, her chest heaving sharply with each one. Nothing like the pace she’d been trying to keep for that last fifteen minutes. They sputtered and cut each other off, tears running down her cheeks and falling in large drops, adding to where her braids had already left dark wet spots on her pale yellow tee shirt. 

It wasn’t loud. It had never been loud, regardless of the way her mind seemed to be screaming. She was way too warm, warmer than she had been in the steaming water of the shower. Her chest ached with a flurry of feelings that flashed and passed so quickly she couldn’t hope to name them. It left her helpless, hands clenching and unclenching, fingers occasionally scratching up and down her arms or thighs. The emotional overload left her with internal mania and, other than her fingers roaming and tears flowing, external shutdown. She didn’t have to bury anymore. The emotional zombies of the last eighteen hours could come to light.

Ari always let her come down on her own time. Sometimes he held her tightly, and sometimes he left her to her own devices. Most of the time he stayed in the same space. On the couch opposite her. Sat at the kitchen table as she sat on the counter. Cross legged at the end of her bed.  He didn’t try to have her put the thoughts or emotions into words. He didn’t press her or tell her it would be okay. That she was okay, because really, she wasn’t. He just let it pass. 

She knew it could be as short as ten minutes or as long as forty five. One time, an hour, but that was the first time she’d lost a patient. The time didn’t matter as much to her. Ten or sixty, the number of minutes always felt like an eternity. She didn’t know how long it would take this time, sat in a New Jersey hotel room. Especially when on top of everything else, she felt so completely alone.

As far as Kit was aware, it could have been seven minutes or seven hours when the thing that finally grounded her back to the real world was a steady three-wrap knock at her door. Her hands stilled instantly, the deepest breath she’d taken since the wave crashed over her almost making her dizzy. 

Her head swiveled towards the door, and it was a moment before her mind could catch up. She was in her hotel room. Someone was knocking on the door.

Get up and open it. Come on, Kody. Stand up and open the door.

She swallowed thickly, wiping a shaking hand down her face. The bed was close to the door, and while she sat staring at the door, the knock came again. Three wraps in rapid succession. Her brain started to catch up, the distraction pulling her out of the waves she was drowning in.

Hotch? Could it be Hotch? Did someone actually get poisoned this late at night? Gideon was right, she shouldn’t have said anything. Now it was going to be her fault and there would be disappointment and anger and annoyance and-

Stop.

It took longer than it should have for her to pull herself off of the mattress, shaking her head quickly as if to expel the internal debate. Everything in her chest told her not to get up, but her head won and allowed her to quickly scramble from her spot and pad across the room. 

In hindsight, she should have checked to make sure she didn’t look like a complete disaster. She never had to worry about that at home, so it hadn’t crossed her mind how she might be perceived as she stood there; pajamas on, wet hair, flushed, tear tracks and red eyes against shaky pale skin. 

She squinted at the person on the other side of the door once she all but flung it open. Tall. Dark hair. Tee shirt. Skinny. To her untrained and straining eyes, she was unsure who she was looking at.

Before the other person could speak she held up her hand, still trembling, and turned to dig in her backpack. The glasses she pulled out were seldom used, but she had lost a contact on three separate occasions in the last year, and she wasn’t going to fly half-blind into a crisis. 

She turned, unceremoniously shoving the thin frames onto her face, and looked at her offender.

Spencer Reid. Pale as ever, clearly fever flushed, and looking at her with glassy-eyed concern.

“Are you crying?” is what he ended up asking before stifling a raspy coughing fit into his elbow. 

Kit narrowed her burning eyes at him, but there were no lasers in her stare. Confusion, and exasperation, but not the lasers she’d set on him all those hours before.

“Do you need something? I thought you went to bed.”

He cleared his throat and winced, swallowing as if it was physically painful before he came up with, “I did. I was. Um, I mean, I was try-trying to? I, um.” 

His hands came up to wring together at waist height, his eyes looking everywhere but at her. Uncomfortable. He was uncomfortable. Probably from having come into her personal space where she was very obviously having a very private meltdown.

“You were trying to… oh.” It took longer for her to piece together than it should have. Her mind was still foggy, trying to stay above the waves she’d just been so jarringly pulled from. “You were trying to sleep and you couldn’t.”

“Yes,” he supplied quickly, “Because, well,” he sighed, a hand going to run through his hair. He curled his arms over his chest then, clearing his throat again. “Because my head is pounding and I’m freezing and my throat hurts. And the stuff you had earlier helped. And I was… I was wondering if-”

She did cut him off now, having been careful not to up to that point, but she could feel his discomfort growing the longer he tried to explain himself. He was struggling to be vulnerable, and she wasn’t going to make it worse by allowing him to trip over himself longer than necessary.

“If I had more.”

“Yes.” 

“Of course I do, sit down,” she supplied, gesturing awkwardly to the bed she’d just been sat on, taking a breath and straightening her shoulders. 

She never had to turn back on after she’d let herself shut down. It was always, always in times where she knew she could be either asleep or a zombie for the rest of the night, and she was trying to fight back to functioning as she dug through her backpack once more.

She heard him take a moment before settling down on the bed, sniffling a few times in a way that made Kit want to scream, but instead just caused her to dig more frantically. 

Blue pills. Blue pills. Come on, Dakota, where are they? Why is your bag such a mess? Why are you such a mess? Reid probably thinks you can’t handle this, and how he’s going to tell Gideon, and they’re going to tell Hotch, and-

“Are you okay?”

Her hands froze in between a wrist brace and a bottle of ibuprofen. 

“Yes,” she said evenly, though her whole body tensed, “Why do you ask?”

“Well,” he said quietly, “You’re breathing picked up, and when you answered the door, you were crying. And the longer you look through your backpack the more agitated you seem.”

It was quiet for a moment. Kit didn’t resume her digging, but instead turned to face Reid at his spot atop her bed. 

“What happened to not profiling one another?” She asked after a moment. 

His eyebrows pulled together, searching for a moment before his head tilted, tongue flicking over chapped lips before he offered, “It’s okay if this is hard. Gideon always says that-”

“It’s not,” she said, effectively cutting him off for the second time in the five minutes he’d been in her room. She didn’t care at all what Gideon always said.

He looked unconvinced, suspicion flooding off of him, in addition to the sick feeling he’d already been sending her way. 

She could feel her hands clenching, and she closed her eyes for a moment.

He has no idea. He has no idea so you can’t be upset with him. He doesn’t know anything about you. He probably thinks you’re just as incompetent as Gideon does. Don’t give him any fuel for the fire.

“It’s not hard,” she said, just a bit softer than before. “I’m perfectly capable, and I’m tired. Here.” 

She turned and pulled the blue blister pack out of her backpack, hand suddenly knowing exactly where it was.

Naturally.

“Take these. I’ll give you the other ones in the morning.”

Reid looked down at the pills for a moment before he worried at his lip, eyes nervous as he asked, “You’re really not going to tell Hotch?”

“No, Reid, I’m really not going to tell Hotch. And I won’t tell Gideon either. No one knows. Go to sleep.”

She watched as he took a moment before nodding at her, standing up and heading for the door. He was halfway through before he turned and shifted his weight on his feet.

“Dakota?”

I might kill this one. Just this one.

“Reid?”

“Thank you,” he said softly, “again. I’m sorry that I intruded.”

She watched him for a moment before she shook her head. She realized that the trembling had stopped, and she didn’t feel as foggy anymore. Having a distraction, even if the distraction sniffled and asked probing questions and used her first name, it had helped.

She let herself give him a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“It’s okay, that’s why I’m here. Get some sleep.”

He nodded gently, returning her half smile with one of his own.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

She watched as he closed the door, the room becoming isolated again. She settled back on the bed, only allowing herself to be lost for a moment before she shut the light out.

-----

“We believe whoever poisoned these people was motivated by revenge,” Hotch was saying. They’d met early to give the profile, but it was later than they’d wanted when they were finally able to gather all the officers. 

They were all pushed to one side of the room, sitting on various surfaces or standing in the middle where they could easily be seen. Kit had sat on top of the desk Reid was sitting in, wordlessly pressing a cup of tea into his slightly trembling hands. They’d found a moment when they weren’t being watched for her to slip the pills into his hand, but she’d only been able to find a drink just before Hotch had begun.

Morgan was continuing what Hotch had started, and Reid took the moment to slip the medication into his mouth, chasing it with a too-large sip of too-hot tea. Kit had to hold her snicker at the face he pulled.

“The randomness of the victimology - average people in an average-sized town... All points to a local resident.”

“We know that people who poison for the purpose of revenge primarily act alone,” Elle continued. 

“However,” Hotch added, “he may have manipulated someone close to him to assist him. The unsub usually disposes of these accomplices when they're of no further use to him.”

Kit listened as they bounced around, all taking a part of the profile to deliver. She paid attention as closely as she could, taking in everything that was being said, and wishing that she could be able to see what they all saw.

She focused on Reid saying, ”This individual was savvy enough to use rohypnol to obstruct our investigation, erasing the memories of the victims of how they were poisoned,” and she felt herself nodding along with him, listening closely to his voice and watching to see if anyone had picked up on what she’d been trying to help him mask. 

So far her efforts seemed successful, and she let herself feel good about that. She could take care of this team. Hotch’s faith was well placed.

She focused back on the profile again, her heart sinking when the emotions in the room shifted dramatically. Gideon had said that a lot of people could die, and everyone had flooded the room with varying levels of anxiety. 

A lot of people could die, and they had limited time to find him.

JJ came up behind them, drawing the attention of the profilers around her. She whispered quietly to Hotch, though it was quiet everywhere now, and her words caused quick movement in every body that filled the small room.

“We have a leak.”

The small television in the station was turned on immediately, grainy and nearly not loud enough for them all to hear. 

“That's right, Steve. Neighbors became aware something was wrong when a local Beechwood restaurant closed early. From inside sources, we learned that representatives of the CDC began testing food inside the restaurant.”

Gideon spoke over the woman for a moment, a wave of agitation flying off of him. “If you're gonna report the story, name the restaurant.”

“Unconfirmed, we were told that some of the food had been tainted with hallucinogenic drugs,” the reporter continued, and Kit understood exactly what Gideon meant. 

“Name the restaurant,” he said again, and Kit found herself standing from her spot atop the desk. Spencer raised an eyebrow at her, but she gravitated towards the TV wordlessly.

“Until we do confirm all of this, we will not release the name of the restaurant. We'll only say it's a Beechwood area favorite. This is Suzanne Whang reporting live from Beechwood. Back to you, Steve.”

“Damn it,” Kit said forcefully, surprising herself a bit at the venom in her words. She rarely swore in English, and she went a bit pink at the thought that Irish would have probably been a more appropriate choice. 

Gideon was glaring daggers at her, not really looking like he cared much what she had said, but that she’d spoken at all.

“They didn't name the restaurant,” JJ said, not paying attention to anyone else. She sounded dejected, but kept her tone more even than Kit had. 

“What is it?” Detective Hanover said, looking confused.

“Call the local hospital, make sure they know what's coming. Excuse me,” Gideon said. Kit started to move before she realized he had been talking to JJ. 

Heat welled inside of her. He was asking JJ to contact the hospital when she was standing right there. She understood, of course, that JJ’s job was communication, but she was the one that had been running point with the hospital. Especially the day before, when she and Reid had nearly spent the whole day there. The pink of her face flushed to red, and her hands clenched.

“Where do your 911 calls get routed?” Hotch asked Hanover. His calm determination set her straight back into the throws of what was happening. The restaurant. No name given. People were going to freak out, no doubt in her mind. 

“There's a county phone bank. They contact first responders, the fire department.”

“Alert them, too. They're going to need additional personnel and any other backup you've got. Auxiliary cops. You're going to have to call them.” 

“But, why?”

Though Hotch was stoic and calm, Kit could feel the tense energy he now had. It would be a mess to get everything under control once the storm hit. 

“Because we're going to have a heck of a time just calming people down and we really don't need the confusion to interfere with our investigation,” Hotch answered, calm never failing. 

“Do you want me to start making those calls?” An officer asked readily, and Kit watched as that set Hanover right off the edge. 

He moved to the center of the room and started yelling, hands in the air.

Here we go.

“No, no, no, no. Hey, hey! Everybody please shut up for a minute. Tell me what this is all about.” 

There was a moment where everything stopped. JJ stood with the phone at her ear. All eyes were on Hanover, mostly surprise and confusion around them. 

Then the phones started. They all rang, loud and overlapping, deafening almost everything else in the air. 

There was a moment before Gideon simply said, “Panic.”

It took a moment for there to be any sort of control. People were answering phones left and right, including Kit, who was back at the desk she and Reid had started in.

“We can’t comment at this time, thank you,” she said for at least the fifth time, hanging the phone up and looking at Reid.

“How are you doing?”

“I’ll be far better when this is over,” he said, taking a sip from the tea she knew was probably now lukewarm at best. He got up and they moved to where JJ and Hotch were, following the lead of Elle and Morgan. 

“I just got off with the hospital. They're swamped with over 50 potential poisonings from local restaurants, but no hallucinations,” JJ said, hanging up the phone and looking around.

“Another poisoning?” Morgan asked.

“Or maybe more hysteria,” Hotch

“We've looked into any civil or criminal complaints from employees, ex-employees, Suppliers, regulars at the cafe. Not one good lead,” Hanover said. 

He was dejected. The inability to control what was happening to his own town was what Kit guessed had him giving off such a feeling of hopelessness.

“There's got to be somebody connected to that cafe who pops as a suspect,” Gideon said, rifling through some papers.

“Morgan, you wanna go back there, see if we can find another angle?” Elle suggested.

“Couldn’t hurt,” he said. 

The two of them turned to leave, and Hotch looked at the three still standing there. “JJ, you, Colghain, and Reid go to the hospital. See if any of the poisonings seem legit.”

-----

When they got to the hospital, JJ and Reid both waited for a moment outside the door. Kit stopped in her tracks, following their lead. There was an awkward moment before she said,

“What are we waiting for? Is someone meeting us?”

JJ shook her head, giving Kit a small smile.

“We’re following you. I made contact with the hospital, but I’m not sure exactly who is the best point of contact in an ER overrun like this. I assumed you do.”

Kit couldn’t help but give a small smile at the warmth that flooded her chest at those words. She and JJ hadn’t talked a lot, but between their guessing game in the car the night before, and the even temper and apt social skills she showed, Kit really respected and liked her. She was good to work with, and clearly knew how to read a room.

“I do. Stay out of the way as best you can and stay close, there will definitely be gurneys going in and out.”

They walked in, flashing their badges as they crossed back into the busy ER. There were gurneys as Kit had predicted, and she was almost overwhelmed by the amount of panic flooding the small ER hallway they found themselves in. She could feel JJ and Reid close to her, and she stopped the first nurse she saw.

“Hi, I’m Nurse Colghain with the FBI,” she said quickly, using a different title than she normally would. The nurse was holding a file, she didn’t have the moment Kit needed to assure her competence.

“The FBI has nurses?” The young nurse said, clearly a little skeptical, but antsy as she glanced towards her assumed destination.

“Yes, ma’am,” Kit said, speaking as she would to any of her nurses back at the clinic. “Where can I find your Head?”

“Nurses’ Station. Nurse Leah. Tall, dark hair. Excuse me.” She scampered off, but Kit had all she needed.

She led JJ and Spencer to the Nurses’ Station and spotted a tall, dark haired woman who was exuding calm, though just beneath it was clear uncertainty. 

“That’s her,” she said to Reid and JJ without turning around. “Excuse me,” she said louder, “Nurse Leah?”

The woman turned, searching for a moment before she spotted the out-of-place agents.

“Yes? Who are you?”

“I’m Nurse Cloghain with the FBI. This is Agent Jareau and Doctor Reid. Can we have a minute?”

Nurse Leah shook her head quickly, scowling a bit as the three agents bellied up to the Nurse’ Station wall.

“I really can't talk right now. We just got hammered,” she said, starting to walk away.

“Listen,” Kit said, moving to follow her, “most of these food poisonings are probably psychosomatic.”

“What makes you think that?” Nurse Leah said, her attitude changing to one of skepticism and annoyance.

“A news broadcast just reported a local restaurant was poisoned. Now, it would be a huge coincidence if there was another poisoning right after that aired,” JJ said, her voice shifting from the friendliness she’s used outside the hospital door to the political tightness she used with reporters.

“So what do you want me to do?” Nurse Leah said, her eyes darting between them.

“Help us find out which cases, if any, are real,” Reid said, posture straight, not a tremble in sight. He either felt great, or he was masking incredibly well.

“People are coming in with all kinds of complaints,” she said, “But, there's at least one case that isn't psychosomatic. She's barely breathing.”

Reid’s eyebrows pulled together, “Can you take us to the doctor that's treating that patient?”

Nurse Leah nodded, moving to take them with her. Reid and Kit moved to follow, but JJ started to walk away.

“I'll call Hotch,” she assured, and the two others nodded, letting her disappear down the hallway.

The doctor they were passed off to took them down the hallway and towards the patient’s room, talking all the while.

“When the patient got here, she didn't remember anything about her day. And her speech was so slurred, I could barely understand her.” He said. His body language was favored toward Reid once he’d been introduced as “Doctor,” but they hadn’t gotten to clarify that he was not that kind of doctor. Still, Kit hoped his genius brain could make connections faster than her medically inclined one could.

“It sounds like rohypnol,” Reid said, “Did you test her?”

They walked into the patient's room and Kit’s eyes went wide. She was coughing desperately, the oxygen mask over her nose and mouth doing little to prevent it.

“She was positive for rohypnol, negative for LSD. But, we're running more tests because rohypnol alone doesn't explain her symptoms. She presented with nausea, difficulty swallowing, labored breathing. She was also having trouble moving her legs.”

“How long had she been sick?” JJ asked.

“She didn't know. I could barely understand her when she first got her. Now, she can't speak at all.”

“And she’d been coughing like that the whole time?” Kit asked, glancing to the bed. Her heart ached at the panic she felt coming from the ill woman.

“Yes, consistently.”

“Do you know any biological agents that have similar symptoms: Ricin, Sarin gas?” Reid asked quietly, his back turned to the bed.

“You think this is a biological attack?” The doctor said, keeping his expression even.

“We can't rule anything out,” Reid said, eyebrows raised and arms crossed firmly over his middle. 

The doctor took a moment before he said, “I'll order a few more tests.”

Hotch arrived not very long after, meeting Kit, Reid, and JJ outside of the patient, Lynn Dempsey’s room. They bounced around ideas, but nothing seemed to stick. At one point Kit used “finding the restroom” as an excuse to dig out more pills for Reid, and the two of them did a seamless pass off in front of the decrepit coffee machine. 

It wasn’t twenty minutes before there was a call for Hotch, the unit chief pulling the phone to his ear.

“Morgan, it's Hotch. What's up?”

JJ’s voice came out sharp, having been looking into Ms. Dempsey’s room. “Guys, I think she's trying to say something.”

The three of them flooded into her room, getting close to the bed as she leaned towards them.

“The en,” she said. Her voice carried almost no weight, though the urgency was obvious. 

“The end?” JJ asked, looking at Reid and Kit. Kit shook her head, and Reid leaned forward.

“She may be incoherent from the lack of oxygen,” he said, eyes scanning. Kit moved closer to the bed, leaning in just a bit.

“Can you say it again, Ms. Dempsey?” She said gently. The tone and pacing she used with patients came second-nature to her, and it didn’t take any effort to shift from self conscious BAU draft to Head Nurse. 

“It’s the en-” Ms. Dempsey tried again before being cut off by coughs that sounded as if they were already choking her. 

“Doctor!” JJ called quickly, panic flooding from her, and Kit turned towards the other two agents. 

“Give her some space,” she said, not allowing wiggle room in her tone. She started moving back herself, drawing the other two with her. “Here, let’s give some room.”

The doctor came in, setting down the new tox screen and working quickly over Ms. Dempsey. It was a few minutes before things calmed enough for Kit to ask calmly,

“Doctor, do you mind if I look at that?”

She gestured to the tox screen, to which he nodded quickly. Kit picked it up and started rifling through it, listening as JJ asked, “So, what are the chances that she's not poisoned, that maybe she just got some bad food?”

“Highly improbable. Chances are basically nil,” he said. 

Hotch came to stand beside Reid.

“What is the rate of survival?” Reid asked.

“This dose,” the doctor said, “without anti-toxin... Zero.” 

“What is it?” Hotch asked.

Kit’s voice came quickly and quietly, eyes darting up from the tox screen. “Botulism.”

There was a moment of quiet before a Nurse said with seriousness, “Doctor, her BP is dropping rapidly.”

“It's sepsis. Give another amp of epi,” he said.

“She's going into defib.”

“She's crashing! Get the paddles.”

Kit watched as the nurses and doctor worked over Ms. Dempsey. She’d been on her share of crash teams, but she’d never just watched and done nothing as a patient started to code right in front of her. They were paging a code blue, starting CPR, and everything in her screamed that she should be helping. She should be doing something. She should be moving, or speaking, or reading charts and screens and percentages. Something. Anything.

The problem was, she didn’t know if she was allowed. She had no idea what the rules were about jumping on a code in a hospital that wasn’t yours. She’d never had to. She’d never talked to Hotch about anything like that. Her job was with the BAU, only assisting on cases that were medical. 

This case was medical, but where was the line?

“The test run is over,” Reid said, swallowing hard and heading out of the room.

He jarred her from her thoughts, and her eyes went to follow him as he walked out.

JJ followed immediately, but Kit stood there for a few extra moments before she felt a hand on her shoulder.

She turned away from Reid’s receding frame, looking up to see Hotch. His eyes held the same soft kindness they always did, and he gestured over his shoulder wordlessly. 

Kit took one last look at Lynn Dempsey, the doctor and nurses performing CPR on her lifeless body, before turning and following Hotch out of the hospital room.

Kit tried not to think of Lynn Dempsey as a patient dying in a hospital. She tried to think of Lynn Dempsey as a person outside of oxygen masks and heart monitors and charge paddles. 

It wasn’t helping that they went back to the police station, where the profilers sifted through her life in an attempt to see if she was a murderer.

“Lynn Dempsey was an executive assistant. She has no expertise with chemicals. She doesn't fit the profile of the unsub,” Gideon said, leafing through some of Dempsey’s information.

Morgan didn’t quite agree. “But the CDC found both LSD and rohypnol in the candy she was replacing at the bank.”

“She must have been an accomplice,” Hotch said, “and when the unsub finished using her to further his attack, he killed her with botulism.”

“So, what does that tell us about the unsub?” Gideon said, finally looking up and around at the team.

Reid leaned forward on the desk, furthest away from them all. “He's far more sophisticated than we realized,” he offered. 

Elle was getting frustrated, and she looked at Reid as if she was lost. 

“Why is that?” 

Reid looked as if he was going to respond, but suddenly cleared his throat in a way that made Kit’s eyebrows pull together. It sounded to her like he was trying not to cough, a small bit of anxiety rolling off of him as she connected the dots.

“The botulism toxin is the deadliest substance known to man,” she said, biding time and giving every bit of information she knew about what exactly the toxin was. Maybe it would help somehow. If anything, it would buy Reid some time. “It blocks acetylcholine receptors, paralyzing the body until it’s essentially choked death.” She looked around, watching as all eyes were on her. Reid had gotten himself back under control, and she gave a small shrug before she ended her spiel. “Without an antitoxin, a lethal dose will kill you in thirty six hours.”

The quiet that followed her information was nearly choking to Kit herself, and she could feel the variety of reactions to her speaking up. Morgan was surprised, but that was all. There was nothing hostile there. Hotch and Elle were processing and spinning again, trying to connect it all together. Gideon was either annoyed or unimpressed, neither of which made her feel any better. 

But Reid was grateful, which helped.

“How many people have access to this stuff?” Elle asked seriously, looking at Kit with anticipation.

“I don't know,” Kit said, and she turned her eyes to Reid.

“In New Jersey, quite a few,” he said, “It's the pharmaceutical and chemical capital of the U.S., so that the toxin can be ordered in the form of botox through any chemical or biological lab or botox clinic. It has to be purified, but any chemist or lab assistant has that capability.” 

“So, we're looking for chemists and sophisticated lab assistants?” Elle asked.

Reid nodded. “Basically.”

Morgan spoke up from the side of their group. He was the closest to Kit, and she was thankful that he had taken station there. While she tried to stay one step away and isolate, taking as infrequently as she could, it was reassuring that Morgan would choose that spot and keep her in the loop.

“Okay, wait a minute. If the unsub is a chemist with access to the toxin, what'd he need Dempsey for?”

“Well, we don't know yet,” Gideon said, “But, she worked for a, she worked for a company, called, uh,” he started rifling through the papers, “Hitchcock Pharmaceuticals. I think there's a good chance the unsub worked there, too.”

Hotch nodded. “Well, let's start with people who fit the profile who've had a recent stressor.”

Morgan called Garcia, and she found them some names to work with. Kit tried to pay attention, but Reid had settled himself down in one of the desks again, fingers trembling slightly, but nothing else giving him away.

While the team spoke she found herself walking to make another cup of tea, eyes darting to her backpack as she steeped the bag. She retrieved what she was looking for quickly, the honey stick having been tucked in there by Monty as a “just in case” item. Kit had laughed at her then, but she was glad for it now. 

When she came back and set the tea down next to Reid, making sure the rest of the team was distracted by the case, Elle was saying, “All those innocent people at the bank.”

Gideon didn’t seem concerned, and that bothered Kit to no end. 

“They meant nothing to him. He'll take out anybody to forward his cause.”

There was a moment that Kit wasn’t in the precinct anymore. She was at the hospital, watching Lynn Dempsey die before her very eyes. Her chest constricted, like she was being squeezed in the grasp of a snake. Grieving a woman she had never known.

“Like Dempsey,” she said.

Gideon didn’t seem to feel the weight of her comment the way she did, continuing on as if she’d barely spoken. 

“Like Dempsey, and eventually, even himself. Until he finishes taking out his primary targets.”

“We have no idea where he's going to strike next,” Morgan said, expressing the frustration we all had, “For all we know, he could poison the local reservoir.”

“Elle, the local cops haven't gotten any leads out of Dempsey. Why don't you go to Hitchcock and see if you have any luck,” Hotch said, causing Elle to perk up a bit.

“Yeah,” she said, nodding and moving out of her seat.

-----

“This is my job!” 

Kit was not yelling. She was speaking to Hotchner with a whole lot of heat, hands clenched by her sides so they wouldn’t tap. Wouldn’t tug. Wouldn’t give away how frustrated she was.

“Colghain, this is going to end in arrest, or suicide. You aren’t needed on this takedown, the profile doesn’t state that he will do anything to hurt anyone but himself.”

“But what if you’re wrong?” she said, “What if the profile is wrong and something happens.”

“The profile isn’t wrong,” came a voice over her shoulder. 

Kit closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Gideon was not going to make her lose her cool. Not like in Delaware. She was having a conversation with Hotch, and Gideon could think anything he wanted, but she would ignore him if it meant keeping her words and tone relatively professional.

“I would never forgive myself if something happened to any of you.”

She meant it, and Hotch knew that. She knew he could see it in her. He was the best profiler of them all.

“Nothing is going to happen. I appreciate your dedication to your position, but this is my decision. We’ll have local SWAT with us, and we’re going in last. This will end in an arrest or a suicide.”

Hotch spoke as if to say “and that’s final” once he was done. His tone wasn’t demanding or forceful, but she knew he wasn’t going to give in. 

Her shoulders finally relaxed, one hand coming up to rub at her opposite bicep.

“Please be careful,” she said finally, to which Hotch nodded.

“We will. I’d like you to check in with Reid. He’s looking… off.”

“I already did,” she said simply, full intention to keep her promise. “He’s okay. Said he hasn’t been sleeping well.”

Hotch didn’t look convinced, but let that be her answer without more pushing.

“Alright, well, maybe check again. He won’t ask for help.”

“Don’t you have an unsub to go face without me?” She said, and though she was still frustrated, she allowed herself to push it down with the other emotions, giving him a small smile.

He nodded, turning on his heel and setting off down the hall. 

Kit took a moment to breathe before she turned back to the precinct. Gideon wasn’t standing behind her. She had no idea where he’d gone, actually.

Wonderful. He wants to be confrontational and Hotch isn’t here anymore. He didn’t let you go on the takedown. Did Gideon get to him? Does he not think I’m capable?

“What are you thinking about?”

“Cac!” Kit jumped, turning towards the slightly flushed assailant behind her. “Reid! That’s the third time you’ve done that.”

“What does that mean?” He asked, voice nasal. 

She tilted her head, pulling her eyebrows together as she thought about his question. It felt vaguely familiar.

“What?”

“What does that mean? You spoke Gaelic.”

“Oh,” she said, smoothing out her pants that were not wrinkled, and ignoring the fact that her tongue itched to correct him. Her parents called it Irish, and most people called it Gaelic, but she wasn’t going to get into linguistical nuances with Reid. “I don’t know what I said. You scared me, I reacted.”

“Cac.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, jaw dropping slightly. “What?”

“Cac, that’s what you said. You said ca-”

“Stop!” She all but yelled, her hands coming up in front of her as if to physically stop him from talking. “Okay, yes. I got it. That’s what I said. Please stop saying it.”

He looked confused by her outburst, sheepish even. “Tell me what it means.”

“It’s…” She trailed off, feeling the embarrassment creep across her face. “It’s rude. It’s a rude word.”

“Like a swear word?”

“No, a rude word. Like, that a child would say.”

“Are you trying to tell me that it’s a… bathroom word?” 

Kit watched as Reid’s face morphed into a smirk. Was he teasing her? Reid could tease? She hadn’t been involved in any kind of situation that would warrant Reid teasing her. Was he being friendly?

Don’t think too hard about it. He’s Gideon’s protégé, and Gideon doesn’t like you. 

“No more questions!” She snapped quickly, turning back into the precinct and stalking as far away as she could. Maybe she could find JJ and be of use somewhere with no Reid and no Gideon until the others got back.

-----

“He let us take him,” Hotch said. “He didn't kill himself. Doesn't fit the profile of a workplace killer.”

He, Gideon, Reid, and Kit were standing in the viewing portion of the interrogation room, the four of them staring through the glass at Hill. Kit hadn’t gotten a chance to ask Hotch why exactly she was needed. She figured Elle or Morgan would have been a much more appropriate choice.

“Sometimes you miss the mark,” Gideon said, hands pressed firmly on the top of the room’s table. “Let's be glad we did. He's our best chance at stopping the next attack.”

“Well, his lab had traces of botulinum toxin, but no clues as to what he's up to next,” Hanover said, walking in the room to stand near Gideon. He sounded listless, and Kit could feel the shift in the room when he entered. He was in over his head and he knew it.

Hotch didn’t look towards him, instead staying trained on Hill. “Our only chance is to make him tell us.”

Hanover didn’t seem convinced. “You think he will?”

“Once caught, these types usually do. They want the whole world to know about their brilliant plan to destroy their enemies,” Reid offered him, not sounding very impressed by Hill’s archetype. 

“In case he doesn't give it up, let's play every angle,” Gideon said, angling his body away from where Kit stood at the wall. He wasn’t talking to her, that much was very clear. “We need to re-examine everything we know about this guy.”

Reid shifted on his feet, pressing his hands into his pockets. “I'll check witness reports, forensic evidence, anything that might be a clue to this guy's plan.” 

Gideon nodded as Reid turned to him for approval. “A lot of lives could be at stake,” he said softly.

“I can help you,” Kit offered, keeping her voice level. She wanted to check her notebook for Reid’s medicinal distribution times more than she thought she would be helpful with his paperwork search, but she didn’t want to be in the room with Gideon anymore, and she wasn’t really doing anything just standing around.

“No,” Hotch said, now looking away from Hill and towards her isolated spot. “Colghain, I want you here while Gideon and I speak with Hill. Watch from this side of the glass. I’ll need your input when we’re done.”

“Hotch-”

“Sir-”

Gideon and Kit went to speak at the same time, causing Reid’s eyes to widen. He took his leave from the room quickly, and Hotch raised a hand to stop both Kit and Gideon before they could continue their grievance.

“Colghain will stay here and listen in while we interview Hill. Watch him closely.”

Kit hadn’t even been able to look at Hill during their short time on their side of the glass. He was a killer, and to her knowledge, she’d never been in the presence of one before. How one person could feel they were above so many others, that their feelings and their lives were more important, was lost to her, and she had no desire to look at him at all. Let alone watch him for the duration of his interview.

The room suddenly felt very cramped, though they had lost both Reid and Hanover in the moments of situational discomfort. Hotch’s eyes darted between Kit and Gideon, narrowing slightly as the physical tension in the far-too-small space between the two.

“Colghain,” Hotch said again, now gaining her attention more fully. “I want you at the window. Feel him out.”

She took a breath that seemed to catch in her chest, not able to get deep enough to make the feelings of discomfort go away. Her head nodded of its own accord, and her feet seemed to follow suit, moving towards the window and finally looking at the man sat there.

He wasn’t much. Not remarkable. He looked like a dad she would have seen at afternoon pick-up in grade school. 

But he isn’t a dad at school, Kody. This man hurt people. Killed two of them, and was trying to kill others. He was using drugs and toxins to harm people. What sort of sick person could do that? Not much of a person at all. 

The hatred sat like a weight in her gut, and while it was obvious Hotch and Gideon had no benevolent feelings for Hill, it didn’t belong to either of them. It was all her own. 

Her eyes narrowed through the glass, and she took a breath.

“Okay. Yes, sir,” she said. She heard even footsteps pad out the doorway. Her eyes didn’t move from Hill as she continued mumbling, now directly to Hill though the glass, even though he couldn’t hear her. “Go dtachtfadh an diabhal thú.”

“What did you say to him?”

Gideon.

“Sorry?” Kit said, eyes never moving from the window. She’d thought Gideon had left as well and was following Hotch, not staying behind to watch her.

“What did you say? To Hill.”

She took a breath and turned, eyes narrowing at the older man in front of her. He didn’t want her there anyway, she might as well tell him.

“Go dtachtfadh an diabhal thú,” she said, now louder. Each word was enunciated clearly, eyes not moving from Gideon’s. If he wanted to know, she’d tell him. “It’s something my Gran used to say to people with tattoos after she came to America.”

“And what does it mean?” He asked, mouth in a hard line, eyes searching her for an answer.

“May the devil choke you,” she said simply, voice never wavering. 

There was a moment of silence between them. Kit didn’t shift. She didn’t fidget or rock her weight. She didn’t move her eyes from his.

“Where’s yours?” He finally asked.

She raised an eyebrow at him, eyes never becoming less severe as she tried to gauge his question.

“My what?”

“Your tattoo? Where is it?”

She let out a breath, shaking her head. She hated the way Gideon felt so smug. How it seemed to circle in the air and choke her.

“There it is,” he said, not waiting any longer for her answer.

“There what is?” she responded, not able to keep the bite from her tone. 

“Trouble,” he said simply. His eyes never left hers.

For a moment she considered pushing. Considered defending herself, and telling him that she wasn’t trouble. That she was doing her job, and that he should just let her be.

She didn’t get the chance, though, as he turned on his heel and followed where Hotch had left the room.

Kit stood, staring at the spot Gideon had just been for a long while before she heard Hotch’s voice through the speaker. 

She turned back to the glass, watching now as Hotch and Gideon spoke to Hill. She took in his facial expressions. His body language. The feel of his emotions, though it wasn’t easy through the glass.

She did her job.

When they finished and reentered the room Kit was in, Hotch stood next to her, looking in at Hill.

“I called JJ. She, Morgan, and Elle are headed to the party now.” 

Kit nodded once, eyes still searching Hill as he sat across the glass.

“What did you notice?”

She took a breath, calmer now that Hotch was there, and that she’d had something productive to focus on. “He’s really… sweaty. That probably sounds stupid, but it’s strange to me. He didn’t give me a feeling of regret. He seemed sure of his decision, I guess, until you started to talk about taking his case. Then less sure, but he was sweating before that.” She waited for him to stop her, but he didn’t, so she continued. “He started fidgeting a lot there at the end. I don’t think it was guilt though. More like… discomfort. Like there was something else bothering him other than the two of you doing your interrogation.”

Hotch nodded, turning to look at her now. “He was sweating before we started?”

“Yeah,” she said, “I’m sure of it. That’s one of the things I look for when I’m watching for patients in distress.”

The three agents watched Hill for another minute before Hotch spoke to Gideon, saying, “What is it?”

“You're right,” Gideon said, “It doesn't make sense. Why didn't Hill take his own life when we had him surrounded?”

“Guys, I think we have a problem.”

Reid walked into the room as he spoke at a brisk pace, all sense that there was something wrong with his health pushed aside by his serious demeanor. “I've been looking over the victim reports. One of the victims that was originally dosed was severely diabetic.”

Kit’s eyes went wide, though Hotch didn’t seem to see the issue.

“And?” He asked.

“He wouldn't have taken any candy from the bowl at the bank,” Kit said, eyes flicking to her, and then back to Reid.

He nodded at her and said, “All of the victims were there. We know that, but how were they poisoned? I started looking at the security footage.”

He turned the laptop he was holding. On the screen was the film from the bank, in which Lynn Dempsey was meddling with the candy bowl.

“We know Lynn Dempsey replaced some candy from the bowl. Look how close that jar is to the deposit envelopes. Now, watch this.” He clicked a button, and the film zoomed in to show Lynn Dempsey’s hand on top of the stack of envelopes, right next to the candy bowl. “See that? Her hand is directly in the stack of envelopes.”

“So, you think the envelopes were poisoned as well as the candy?” Hotch asked. Kit took a step closer, eyes looking carefully at the picture.

Reid continued. “As Lynn Dempsey was dying, she kept saying something like "the end, the end." I think that what she was saying was "the envelopes." I mean, what was Hill actually testing? The rohypnol? The LSD?”

Gideon took a moment before saying, “The delivery system.”

“Exactly,” Reid said, “Botulinum toxin and LSD are the only two substances in the world toxic enough to be effective in doses as small as thousandths of a gram. Small enough to fit on the glue strip of an envelope.”

Kit found herself nodding, though no one was looking at her. She might have added more to Spencer’s finding, but Gideon’s words from earlier stopped her. 

Trouble. 

She wouldn’t prove him right.

“But, the CDC didn't find any evidence of poison on the envelopes,” Hotch said, face slightly scrunched in confusion. Grasping at straws, just like they all were.

“They wouldn't have. The envelopes were destroyed after the checks were deposited and processed,” Spencer explained. He started to sound a bit hoarse now, and Kit shifted her weight in sympathy of his discomfort.

“So,” Hotch said, clearly needing to process out loud at the speed he took his words. “like the rohypnol, Hill was using the candy to throw us off. To cover his tracks. To distract us from the fact that he was testing the envelopes.”

Reid was still working it over as well. “What I can't figure out is why would he poison the envelopes to test the punch?”

“Because the punch is a decoy just like the candy,” Hotch offered.

Kit turned to look at Hill. There was something they were missing. Something right there, but they just couldn't see it.

What could he still be hiding?

She watched for a moment as he started to go a bit red, Hill’s breathing seeming strained. She heard Gideon speak behind her.

“He's not finished.”

She felt her jaw go slack as she realized what was happening. Hill was choking. He’d dosed himself with the botulism toxin before he could be captured. That was why he didn’t kill himself. He’d already done it. He was dying.

He’s dying.

“Hotch!” She yelled, moving quickly out the door of the room and around the side. She was pretty sure she didn’t have the clearance to be doing whatever she was about to do, but she didn’t really care.

She heard Hotch call, “Gideon!” behind her, but she didn’t stop. 

She threw the door open, pulling desperately at the chair Hill was sitting in. The chair was heavy, and with Hill sitting on it she struggled.

Hotch came up behind her, helping pull the chair out.

“Get him down on the floor!” She called. She could feel Gideon behind her, trying to move into her space and take control.

“Get his head back!”

“Shut up!” She yelled, pulling at Hill’s arms to release the hold he had on himself as the toxin paralyzed his diaphragm. 

It only took a few seconds before Hill stopped breathing, tongue going slack inside his mouth as his life ended before their eyes. 

“He's dead,” Hotch said simply. 

Gideon was quick to respond. “He killed himself before we even got to him.”

Kit stood to her feet, slamming her hand onto the table, “Damn it!” She yelled, rounding on Gideon. “What the hell is wrong with you?! What the hell-” she slammed her hand on the table again, “-do you think I’m doing here?!”

“Colghain-” Hotch started, but Kit was already making her way out the door.

“I’m calling EMS!” She yelled angrily over her shoulder, pushing past a dumbfounded Reid standing in the hallway, and leaving all three agents in her wake.

Kit was pacing in the hallway once she finished the call. She expected Hotch to reprimand her, or Gideon to be angry with her. Reid hadn’t even said anything, though by the look of him after his revelation about Lynn Dempsey, he was exhausted and didn’t have the energy to try to unpack what had happened.

She considered trying to help him some more. Pump him full of cold medicine and send him to bed. She didn’t. She just continued to pace, infuriated by the way Gideon had tried to take over. He had no respect for her, that much was clear.

Why am I even here? Why am I here with these people who think I’m a joke? Who have no respect for my job or for me? They don’t care about what I’m doing or who I am. They’re stiffs. They’re all stiffs.

“Colghain, come on.”

She looked up to see Gideon and Reid already setting off down the hallway, Hotch in their wake. Gideon’s body language suggested he was frustrated, but Kit genuinely couldn’t have cared less.

“The victims need to ingest the anti-toxin within four hours of the time they were poisoned,” Reid was saying. 

Kit caught up to Hotch, right at his heels. They were moving in a way that suggested action, and she couldn’t pace and fume in the hallway anymore.

“You found the real targets?”

“They’re in the woods.”

“Do we know where in the woods?”

The SUV flew down the highway, and when they got there they were out of their seats in seconds. The four of them vaulted the wall between the car and the campsite, and Kit only slowed when she saw Reid nearly topple over. Was he dizzy? She’d have to check later.

They got to the officers waiting there out of breath, but entirely focused. Nothing but the victims mattered.

“These guys are in bad shape and getting worse by the minute,” the officer that greeted them said.

Hotch almost didn’t let the officer finish before he was asking, “Who's the sickest?”

“That one over there,” the man said.

Gideon didn’t let the officer finish before he was already yelling. “Medic!”

“He’s having trouble breathing. Hyperventilating, I think,” the officer continued, and they moved quickly. 

“What time did he lick the envelopes?” Reid asked, just behind where Kit was walking. Gideon and Hotch were already near the man that was sweating heavily, his breaths wheezing with exertion.

“They said around 12:30,” the officer assured.

Kit let out a breath. They had time. They would be okay. 

She came upon them as Gideon was starting to speak to the man. His tone was gentle and understanding. Not at all anything like he’d ever used towards her. 

The tone she associated with him was scathing. Questioning. When he spoke to the victim, she could have confused him with one of her clinic nurses.

“I’m a federal agent. You're going to be fine. This is gonna make you feel a hundred percent. Relax and breathe. You're gonna be fine.”

“Thank you,” the man said, his voice weak, but the panic flooding off of him reduced to worry. 

Kit moved to another one of the executives, speaking softly and assuringly as they were administered the antitoxin. She wished she could be of more help, but the EMS workers had it covered. That was their job. At that moment, she was a federal agent. Just like Gideon.

She settled in the seat across from Morgan on the jet. He put on his headphones and crashed almost immediately, and Kit envied his ability to sleep so easily. 

Her mind kept drifting to Hill. To the way he died on the floor of the interrogation room. To Gideon trying to get in her way, or take her job as she attempted to help the dying man. To the way she’d yelled at him.

Ari and Monty would never believe it if she told them she’d lost her temper that way. Monty was their spitfire, at least at work. In the clinic there wasn’t a cooler head than Kit’s. But something about the way Gideon treated not only her, but those all around him, bothered her deep in her gut. She watched as he was gentle with Reid, and people he didn’t know, but never with other members of the team.

Now, she figured he probably didn’t tell everyone else they were trouble. She was trouble. Just her.

Her hands moved to help tuck her legs under her, brushing gently on the tattoo just higher than her ankle. A sprig of holly. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right. 

She waited a moment before pulling her backpack onto the seat with her. She grabbed the blue pills from where she’d purposefully stashed them that morning, and then sat up taller, leaning over the back of her seat to where Reid had all but thrown himself.

Gideon was sleeping across from him, but she could see that their youngest wasn’t asleep at all.

“Reid,” she said quietly.

He opened his eyes and blinked up at her. “Um, yes?” His voice was rough again, sounding almost congested.

“Here. Before Hotch finishes making his coffee.” She passed over the pills and a bottle of water she’d snagged from the nurses station at the hospital the day before. She’d saved it for this exact purpose.

Reid looked surprised for a moment before sitting up, sniffling before accepting the offering. “Thanks.”

“Mhm,” she hummed, turning back to sit in her seat correctly without another word.

She wasn’t mad at Reid. She was mad at Gideon. He made her feel small, and unimportant, and stupid. That wasn’t Reid’s fault.

But Gideon was Reid’s mentor, and she had no room in her emotional baggage to be friends with the pseudo son of her antagonizer. 

She scratched down the medication in her notebook before shoving it back into place in her bag. A moment passed before she heaved a sigh, glancing to Morgan and pulling out her own iPod. It wasn’t a long flight. Soon she would be back in her apartment, maybe even before Ari left for the day, and she could process about Gideon. She could process about Reid. She could process about Lynn Dempsey, coding in her hospital bed. She could process about Hill dying on the floor, right in front of her.

-----

Kit got to the metro station in record time. The redline had only three minutes until it was supposed to pick up for the night, and Kit pulled her coat tighter around herself. She’d left quickly, only going up to the sixth floor to grab her thermos from two mornings before. She’d wash it before she was due to be in the BAU the next morning, and Hotch had even told them they could have a soft start, since they got in so late.

She was wondering if she should have given Reid the nighttime version of the medication she offered. She didn’t really think about him having to drive home, and drowsy was probably not the best choice for driving across DC on a Tuesday night. 

“Do you have any more water?”

“Cac!” 

Kit spun around, hands at the ready, only to find Reid standing two feet behind her. His eyes were wide, nose bright red, and fever flush covering his cheeks. 

“Reid! What the hell!”

“I thought you said that was a rude word,” he rasped. No one had really spoken after they got off the jet, and Reid definitely sounded worse for wear.

“What?” She said, eyes narrowing. “It is. What are you doing here?”

A wave of confusion came off of him at that. “Um, what do you mean?”

She raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the metro tracks. “What are you doing here at my metro stop?” She scoffed quietly, not letting him have the chance to lie to her. “You can tell Gideon that I take the metro just like any other person. Monty and Ari and I share a car, and normally I’m leaving the office before eleven. You don’t have to, like, spy on me.”

She watched as his eyebrows hit his hairline. He was confused, but she didn’t care. She was tired and her emotions were starting to creep back up on her. She wasn’t going to meltdown on the metro, and she was not going to meltdown in front of Reid. 

Not after what he’d already seen.

“You… what?”

“Yeah, I know exactly what you’re doing,” she continued. Thankfully, the metro pulled up at that moment. She stepped onto the train and turned to face him again, gesturing to his general being. “Also, you look terrible. Don’t come in to work tomorrow.”

“Wait, no, Dakota-”

“Stop.” She said, putting every bit of force into her words, but making sure she didn’t sound aggravated enough for someone around them to try and jump in. The last thing she needed was a good samaritan to misunderstand their situation. “Just stop. Goodnight, Reid.”

He didn’t get a chance to reply before Kit moved away from the door and took a seat. She put her face in her hands and took a deep breath. 

She didn’t notice him step through a door farther down, sinking into his own train seat, fevered forehead pressed against the cold redline glass as the train pulled away from the now empty stop.

[criminalmindzjunkie]

Avoidance

masterlist

part two

Summary: Reader doesn’t know what she did to make Spencer hate her so much.

A/N: This fic is just a reminder that sub!Spencer lives rent free in my head at all times. Also, if anyone would like to be on a taglist for one shots like these, let me know! I’m going to work on getting one started.

Pairing: sub!Spencer/femdom! reader

Content Warnings: honestly way too much swearing, sexual harassment, slapping, hands free orgasm, oral sex (male and female receiving), hand job, orgasm denial, edging, unprotected sex, vaginal penetration, degradation, femdom 

Word Count: 8.2k

           I have absolutely no idea what I’ve done to make Spencer Reid hate me.

           Usually, when someone despises a person to the point of complete and total avoidance, there’s a reason. No one just wakes up and decides to resent another person for the hell of it – right? Wrong.

           Because Spencer Reid positively loathes me – and I have no idea why.

           It all started on my first day at the BAU. I had somehow landed the highly coveted job of media liaison after the previous one had decided to complete the training to be a profiler. For reasons unbeknownst to me, they thought a twenty-four-year-old fresh out of college with no prior job experience was the best fit for the position. I didn’t understand it, but I also wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

           To say that I had been terrified the first time I set foot into the bullpen would be the understatement of the century. After a very formal and very intimidating orientation with the unit chief, my predecessor, a beautiful blonde named Jennifer, offered herself up to be my personal tour guide. Jennifer introduced me to the other members of the team, and with every smiling face I came in contact with, my fears of being the odd man out were assuaged. I could tell that Penelope Garcia, tech analyst extraordinaire, would most likely be my biggest ally – and it was abundantly clear that Derek Morgan and I would probably get into a fair amount of mischief together. Elle Greenaway seemed like the obvious choice for a future drinking buddy, and Jason Gideon – well, he merely grunted at me in acknowledgment before retreating back to his office. I figured three out of four wasn’t so bad.

           I didn’t meet Doctor Spencer Reid until after lunch. Jennifer mentioned something about him guest lecturing at a local university, which surprised me considering she mentioned him being a year younger than me. Apparently, the kid was an actual genius, which was more than a little bit intimidating, but Jennifer assured me that Spencer was a sweetheart.

           “He’s a little quirky, but I’m sure you’ll love him. Just don’t be surprised if he tries to talk your ear off,” Jennifer laughs. “Last week I asked him about the weather and he went off on a tangent about climate change that lasted nearly an hour.”

           By the time Spencer strolled into the bullpen at exactly one in the evening, I was sitting perched atop Jennifer’s desk, thoroughly engrossed as she told me about their latest case. When she stops talking midsentence in favor of smiling at someone behind me, I half expect that Morgan is attempting to sneak up on me, when:

           “Hey, look who’s back,” Jennifer greets, prompting me to turn around excitedly. I was eager to put a face to the man I’d heard so much about.

           And when I turn, my eyes land on the prettiest man I’ve ever seen.

           Sharp cheekbones and a chiseled jawline are framed by shaggy brown hair, complete with beautiful brown eyes and soft, pillowy lips. As if his good looks weren’t enough, he’s dressed in the most adorably nerdy sweater vest and a pair of thin framed glasses. He’s absolutely precious – a fact that Jennifer had conveniently left out.

           “How was the lecture?” Jennifer asks him as he places his satchel on the desk adjacent to hers. Spencer perks up at this, smiling excitedly from across the divider.

           “I think it went really good, actually. I incorporated this really cool joke that I heard about quantum physics. Do you want to-”

           He stops abruptly when he realizes Jennifer isn’t his only spectator, and those lovely brown eyes go almost comically wide when they settle on me.

           “Spencer, this is Y/N Y/L/N. She’s the new media liaison. Y/N, this is Doctor Spencer Reid.”

           I give him my best smile, tacking on a small wave for good measure.

           “It’s nice to meet you, Doctor Reid. Jennifer’s told me a lot about you.”

           “Uh, y-yeah. It’s n-nice to meet you, too,” Spencer stutters. He looks positively stricken and I’m fairly sure he hasn’t blinked in over a minute. I cast a glance at Jennifer, who seems just as confused as I am.

           Well, she had mentioned that he was a tad strange.

           “I’d like to hear the joke,” I offer, only to immediately regret it when I see him tense up.

           “N-No, that’s o-okay,” he chokes out as he struggles to gather the files on his desk. “It’s n-not that good, anyways.”

           And just as quickly as he came, Spencer leaves in a flurry of crumpled papers, leaving Jennifer and I wondering what the fuck just happened.

--

           Things didn’t get better with time. In fact, they got much worse.

           In the six months that I had been working for the BAU, I could count my interactions with Spencer Reid on one hand. It wasn’t for lack of trying on my part – in my desperation to figure out what I’d done to make him avoid me, I sought out the young genius every chance I got. But every time I got within ten feet of him, it’s like an alarm would sound in his head and he’d make up some excuse to leave the room.

           The others had noticed his strange behavior, too. It seemed they all had made a sort of game out of it – calling Spencer into rooms that I was in just to see him panic, or asking me to personally deliver files to his desk. At first, I played into it, hoping that their teasing would help to diffuse some of the tension.

           After a month of being on the receiving end of Spencer’s cold shoulder, I started avoiding him, too.

           I tried to act indifferent – like it didn’t hurt me as badly as it did. I no longer sought him out, and by month two, we had a sort of understanding. I didn’t go near him, and he didn’t go near me, and that’s how it went on for four miserable months.

           Until today.

           “Reid, Y/L/N, you’re in 202.”

           I damn near drop my bag on the floor. This was bound to happen at some point or another, but I hadn’t planned on that day being today, and I was not prepared. After nine hours of running around the local police department, my body was weighed down from fatigue and I was downright grumpy. Not to mention I had picked the worst possible day to try and break in a new pair of heels, and my feet were throbbing.

           Needless to say, I was in no mood to deal with Spencer Reid’s bullshit.

           “Uh, Hotch? Could I maybe room with Elle?” I ask, sending a glare in Morgan’s direction when he snorts out a laugh. Hotch raises an eyebrow at me.

           “Why? Is there a problem?”

           Yes, sir, there certainly is. And your guess is as good as mine as to what that problem is.

           “No, but I just think that-”

           “Good. Then you should be fine to share a room with him.”

           Right.

           I spare a brief glance at Spencer, who, in the last thirty seconds, has turned the color of a tomato. I pray that he’ll speak up and voice his discomfort, but just like always, he stays silent.

           Hotch doles out the room keys and I begin the trek down the hallway, my poor aching feet groaning in protest with every step. I’m vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps behind me, and it’s not until I swipe the key into the key card that Spencer speaks.

           But not to me – no, never to me.

           “Derek, please, I’m begging you. Just switch with me this one time, and – and I’ll do your reports for a month!”

           After six months of dealing with Spencer’s aversion to me, his words should come as no surprise. And really, I’d expected as much - but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.

           “Not happening, kid. This is the perfect opportunity for you to get over whatever problem you have with Y/N. I bet you’ll even end up liking her. She’s not going to be rude to you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

           “… T-That’s not what I’m worried abo-”

           I don’t wait around to hear the rest of his sentence. I push open the door to the room, not bothering to wait for Spencer before closing it. I kick off my heels as soon as the door clicks shut, letting out a half relieved, half frustrated  groan.

           After claiming the bed nearest the air conditioner as my own, I pluck my pajamas and toiletry bag out from my suitcase and shuffle over to the bathroom. The way I see it, the quicker I get a shower and can go to sleep, the faster the night will pass. Before I know it, this unfortunate situation will be a thing of the past.

           After drawing out the shower for as long as I possibly could, I exit the bathroom clad in a tank top and a pair of shorts, hair dripping wet and skin freshly scrubbed clean. Spencer’s sitting on his bed, book in hand and tie loosened. He doesn’t look up at me when I walk by - not that I’d expected him to. A thick silence hangs in the air as I pull a bottle of lotion out from my suitcase, and I debate turning on the TV just to make things slightly less awkward. In the end I decide against it, because I doubt even that could make this situation better.

           I prop a leg up on the bed and begin to lather my legs in cherry scented lotion, paying special care to my aching feet before moving on. It’s not until both of my legs have been thoroughly massaged and coated in lotion that I look up.

           Spencer’s eyes are locked on me, mouth hanging open and chest heaving up and down. His knuckles are white from how hard they’re clutching the book in his hands, but despite that I can still see the way they’re trembling. When he realizes I've caught him staring, he closes his mouth and gulps hard.

           I straighten up and raise an eyebrow in a silent question, and that’s enough for Spencer to snap his book shut and scramble off of the bed. He’s clumsy as he moves to his suitcase, dropping his bottle of travel shampoo twice before he reaches the bathroom. If I wasn’t so off put by whatever the hell had just happened, I might have thought it cute.

--

           As if the universe thought my current predicament wasn’t enough to deal with, the next morning I was dealt another shitty hand. This time, my distress came in the form of a young cop who couldn’t pick up on social cues to save his life. After an entire morning of dodging sleazy advances, I finally managed to shake him when his superior sent him out to go and actually do his fucking job.

           Or so I thought.

           I’m standing in the breakroom, pouring my fourth (or is it my fifth?) cup of coffee when I hear the sound of footsteps in the hall. I don’t know if I’ve developed a sixth sense about these things, or if I’m just particularly on edge today, but I know it’s the young officer before he can even cross the threshold.

           And when he does, and he sees that he has me cornered, a saccharine smile stretches across his lips.

           “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he drawls in an accent that could probably be attractive if he wasn’t so damn skeevy.

           “Might wanna get your eyes checked,” I mutter, refusing to look in his direction as I stir my coffee.

           “Pretty and feisty. Just how I like my women.”

           “I am not your anything,” I seethe, and instead of backing off like any respectful human being would, he just chuckles and begins to saunter towards me.

           “C’mon baby, you don’t have to be that way. You don’t have to act all professional with me.”

           “Don’t call me that.” I look at him now, and the smug, self-righteous smile on his face makes my blood boil.

           “You don’t like baby? That’s fine – I’m sure I can think of lots of other things to call you,” he murmurs. He’s closer now, so close that I can practically feel his breath against my neck.

           “I’m going to tell you to stop one more time, and it would be in your best interest to listen,” I growl.

           “Or what?” he taunts. “I’d like to see you try to stop me.”

           I jolt forward when a hand comes down hard on my ass, squeezing me harshly through the material of my skirt.

           Oh, fuck no.

           I’m whirling around faster than I ever thought possible, and then a harsh crack sounds throughout the room as my hand comes in contact with his face.

           My hand stings from the contact, but the pain is welcome because he flies backwards, stumbling and grasping as his already reddening cheek.

           “What the fuck?” he roars, eyes flashing with unbridled fury. I take several steps towards him, and to my utmost delight he nearly trips over himself in his hurry to put distance between us. I stop when his back hits the wall and I lean in until our faces are only inches apart.

           “Listen here, you limp dick fuck,” I snarl. “I’m getting real sick and fucking tired of pathetic pieces of shit like you thinking they can put their hands on women. What’s your problem? Are you so fucking tactless that you can’t get anyone to fuck you?” I punctuate my question by jabbing my pointer finger into his chest and cocking my head to the side. “Are you so unappealing that the only way you can get your hands on a woman is to wait until she’s alone and try to corner her?

           Or is it a power thing? You’ve got the gun and the badge so you think you’re entitled to just take what you want, don’t you? You think no one can stop you because you’re in a position of power. Well, I have some news for you – I outrank you, and you just assaulted a federal agent. I will not stop until I ruin your fucking career, and if you even think of trying to lie your way out of this, I’ll do a helluva lot fucking worse. After the week I’m having, I am just looking for an excuse to kick your fucking dick into the dirt. Do you understand?”

           By the time I finish speaking, my chest is heaving up and down and my eyes are narrowed into slits. The officer is so angry that he’s shaking, hands balled up to fists at his sides. For a moment, I think he’ll try to hit me, but then his hard-exterior cracks and the anger gives way to fear.

           “You – You can’t tell anyone about this,” he says, trying his best to sound menacing. But his voice wavers, and I can tell he’s losing his grip. “It’ll r-ruin my career.”

           I raise my hand up to his cheek, placing my palm over the red imprint I had left on his skin. And then I flash him the sweetest goddamn smile that ever there was.

           “I’d like to see you try to stop me.”

           I give him a pat on the cheek before turning around and heading for the door, only to stop halfway when I see that I have an audience of one.

           Spencer stands in the doorway, a coffee mug gripped tightly in one hand, mouth agape and eyes wide. He’s standing stock still, eyes darting in between the police officer and me. I let out an exasperated sigh because of-fucking-course it would be Spencer that would happen to walk in on whatever that just was.

           “Close your mouth, Reid. That’s how you catch flies,” I deadpan, prompting Spencer to snap his mouth shut.

           Without another word, I brush past him and leave the break room.

--

           I suppose the universe had decided to finally give me a break, because that afternoon we were able to apprehend the unsub. But my good fortune only went so far, because Hotch announced that we would be leaving first thing in the morning – which meant another night alone with Spencer Reid.

           He didn’t mention what he walked in on when the two of us arrived back at our room, and I didn’t expect him to. The two of us went about the motions of unwinding from the day in complete and utter silence, and by the time I emerge from the shower I decide that I’ve had enough.

           “I’m gonna go stay with Elle and Derek,” I murmur as I zip up my suitcase and slip on my shoes.

           “Oh. O-Okay.”

           And that was that.

           It’s about an hour later when my phone is on four percent that I realize I hadn’t remembered to bring my charger with me. I contemplate just letting it die, but the idea of sitting through a seven-hour jet ride tomorrow without it sounds excruciating. Then again, so does the idea of having to suffer through an interaction with Spencer.

           The phone wins out in the end, and with Derek and Elle still snoring softly in their respective beds, I slip out of the room and into the hallway. With any luck, Spencer will be in a similar state and I’ll be able to sneak in and out without him waking up.

           I think thank my lucky stars when I slowly crack open the door to Spencer’s room and see that the lights are off. I take special care to close the door as quietly as possible before tiptoeing across the carpeted floors, feeling my way around in the dark so that I don’t trip over anything.

I make it halfway across the room when I hear it – it’s quiet, and if the air conditioner had been on, I wouldn’t have even heard it at all. It’s faint, so faint that I wonder if I’d imagined it, but then that same sound breaks through the silence and I know it’s not a product of my imagination.

I hear the covers rustle, and then a low moan followed by the distinct sound of skin on skin. My blood runs cold as the moans grow louder and more frequent, rolling off Spencer’s lips in rapid succession. There’s heavy breathing and whimpering and holy fuck I just walked in on Spencer Reid masturbating.

Spencer cries out a particularly load moan, one that sounds so pornographic that it shoots straight to my core. It’s sexy and dirty and he sounds absolutely wrecked, and the part of my brain that is still capable of logical thinking is screaming get out! Get out, now!

I begin to slowly backtrack, moving at one tenth of the speed that I had coming in because the possibility of being caught is absolutely not an option. If Spencer hates me now, he’d really hate me if he found out I snuck into his room at night and heard… that.

I’m about five feet away from the door when:

“O-Oh my God, yes! Y/N, please - fuck!”

I think then that I certainly have to be dreaming, because there’s no way I’d just heard him correctly. There’s no way that Spencer – the same Spencer that scurried out of the room when I walked in – was moaning my name while he touched himself. Absolutely not.

But then it happens again and again and again – my name falling from his lips incessantly like some kind of debauched chant.

It feels like my skin is on fire – my mind a befuddled mess – and before my brain can tell me what a terrible idea it is, my feet are carrying me back into the room and I’m coming to a stop at the foot of Spencer’s bed.

Bathed in the glow of the moonlight shining through the window, Spencer looks ethereal. There’s a thin line of sweat beading on his forehead, and his usually meticulously slicked back hair is fanned out on the pillow like some sort of halo. His teeth are nestled into his bottom lip now, and all that can be heard are tiny whimpers as his hand slides up and down underneath the bed sheets. Spencer’s always beautiful, almost painfully so. But the way he looks now, shadows dancing across his face as he works himself to orgasm, is infinitely more breathtaking than words can express.

It doesn’t take long for Spencer to release his lip from beneath his teeth, and when he does my name is flying out of his mouth once more.

I take that as my invitation to speak.

“I don’t think I’ve heard you say my name before.”

Spencer’s entire body stills and his eyes fly open to reveal two dark pools full of sheer panic.

“I-I can explain,” he stammers, moving to clutch the comforter to his chest in an attempt to cover himself.

I let out a hum and sit down on the edge of the bed.

“Please do. I’m very interested in hearing about just what you were picturing me doing.”

Spencer sucks in a harsh breath. I can practically see the wheels in his brain turning -desperately trying to concoct some kind of reasonable explanation.

“I-I… I don’t… I’m s-sorry,” he stutters, and it’s so adorable how he’s squirming underneath my gaze that I decide to help him out.

“Was I sucking you off? Or were you fucking me?” I wonder aloud. He tries to hide it, thinking the covers will mask the way that his hips buck up, but I definitely see it.

“I-I…”

“Which was it, Spencer? Was I taking you down my throat or were you fucking my pussy? Or maybe I was coming undone on your face – was that it?”

Spencer lets out a low groan, and if my patience hadn’t been running so fucking thin, I probably would’ve left it at that. But after the hell he’d put me through for the last six months, I feel like he deserved to squirm a little.

“Fucking answer me.”

“Y-You were, um… r-riding me. And you s-slapped m-me.”

Oh.

This just got a lot more interesting.

I raise an eyebrow at him and I can see the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he gulps.

“So, you liked what you saw today, did you?”

Spencer nods so fervently that I have to bite down on my tongue to suppress a laugh.

“Words, baby. Use them.”

“I-I liked it. A lot.”

“Apparently so, seeing as you were moaning for it like a desperate little slut,” I breeze, my tone cool and indifferent. “Have you done this before, Doctor? Touched yourself to the thought of me, that is.”

“… Y-Yes. I’m s-sorry. I didn’t m-mean to. It just kind of happened one night, and once I started, I couldn’t s-stop.”

I reach out a hand and brush away the hair that had fallen into his face, tucking it back behind his ear before continuing.

“Why the cold shoulder, then? And here I thought you hated me,” I muse, before pausing and cocking my head to the side. “Do you hate me, Doctor?” I ask, and just when I thought he couldn’t look more guilty, he proves me wrong.

“No! I just… couldn’t be around you. I felt so b-bad. You were so nice, and I was using you to g-get off,” Spencer explains. “I couldn’t look you in the eye. Not after picturing you… like that.”

I let out a sigh. Knowing that Spencer didn’t actually hate me for the last six months was a relief. Knowing that Spencer was secretly rubbing one out to me was something else entirely. Whatever was I to do with this information?

“So, you want to fuck me, then?” I reiterate. “Why not tell me this sooner?”

“The probability of you responding positively to me telling you that I, uh, m-masturbate to you was very l-low. And after what I saw today, I think I was wise for keeping that from you,” Spencer says, the last part coming out in a rush. I can’t help but let out a low laugh.

“Yes, but the guy that was coming on to me today wasn’t someone I find attractive. He was pompous and crass and pushy - and you, Doctor Reid, are none of those things.”

“R-Really? You think I’m attractive?”

I hum.

“Very much so, Doctor. But I’m afraid you may have waited too long, and now I don’t feel as inclined to be nice,” I murmur, allowing my hand to trail down from his shoulder to his collar bones before lightly grazing his nipple with my thumb.

“O-Oh my… God,” Spencer whimpers, eyes fluttering shut as my fingers continue to dance across his skin.

“But then again, I don’t think you really want me to be nice to you. I think you want me to treat you like my little play thing.” I stop my hand just below his navel and I thumb across the light layer of hair that makes up his happy trail. “You want to be my dirty boy - don’t you, Doctor Reid?”

“P-Please,” Spencer chokes out, hips jerking up when I allow my thumb to graze a little lower.

“Please what?”

Spencer lets out a frustrated groan.

“Please, I-I want you to u-use me. However you want, just as l-long as you just do-don’t stop touching me,” he rambles. He’s shuddering underneath me, his breaths coming out in harsh pants as my hand wanders lower and lower until I abruptly pull away. “W-Why did you stop?”

“Because I don’t think you deserve to be touched just yet. You’ve got six months to make up to me, after all. I think I want you on your knees for me first,” I say, and from the way his eyes seem to dilate even further, I don’t think he has any objections. “Are you familiar with the color system?”

Spencer nods.

“Green for good, yellow means slow down, and red means stop now.”

“Do you have a safe word?”

“I… I’ve never really, uh. Done t-this.”

Oh. Oh.

I withdraw my hand from its place on his leg and Spencer lets out a distressed whine. “No, please! Don’t go. I’m not a complete virgin, I promise. I got a h-hand job once,” he argues. “And I think I’ve done enough, uh, research, and I really want to try to make you cum. I want to be good for you. Please let me try.”

Spencer looks like he’s about two seconds away from crying, and I can feel my argument dying before it even leaves my mouth.

“Oh, baby, I know you’d be so good,” I coo, and just like that Spencer’s leaning towards me, desperate to have the contact. I indulge him, placing my hand on his cheek, and he relaxes into the touch. “Are you sure you want to do this with me? I’m not what anyone would call vanilla, and I don’t think you know what you’re getting into.”

“I trust you. I wouldn’t want it to be anyone else,” Spencer whispers, and he sounds so damn sincere that I feel my resolve crumbling.

“You’ll let me know if at any point you want to stop?”

“Yes. Absolutely!”

Enthusiastic little shit.

“Safe word?”

“Um… Tolstoy?”

I let out a snort.

“Alright, smarty pants. We’re going to start now, okay?”

“Yes, Miss,” Spencer pants out.

Fuck me running. He clearly has been doing his research.

“Get on your knees for me, baby. I wanna see just how eager to please you are,” I instruct as I stand up and shimmy out of my shorts. I discard my shirt, too, absentmindedly throwing it somewhere across the room. Spencer lets out a startled squeak when he sees that I’m now completely naked, aside from my underwear.

“Y-You’re so pretty,” Spencer breathes out. “Even better than I imagined.”

The sentiment tugs at my heart, really, it does, but I specifically requested that he get on his knees and he seems a lot more content to just sit and stare.

“On your knees,” I command, and Spencer jumps up almost comically fast.

“S-Sorry, Miss,” he apologizes as he lowers himself down. I seat myself on the edge of the bed and spread my legs for him.

“Don’t apologize, just do as I ask of you, okay baby?”

Spencer nods.

“C-Can I kiss you? Like on the lips first?” Spencer asks as he looks up at me with big doe eyes. It’s a beautiful thing, the image of Spencer Reid sitting in between my legs, cheeks flushed and chest rapidly rising and falling. I give Spencer a sweet smile and lean forward, and the excitement radiating off of him is practically palpable. He leans forward, too eager to wait for me to close the gap, and the action makes my chest swell in adoration.

Just as our lips are about to meet, I pause, and Spencer barely has the time to look confused before my palm connects with the side of his face. The moan it draws out of him is obscene and his hips jolt forward, desperate for some kind of friction. His dick rests painfully hard between his legs, flushed red with precum beading at the tip.

I waste no time in taking his chin in my hand and tilting his head upwards.

“Did I say you could kiss me?” I ask him, voice sugary sweet, contrasting starkly with my actions.

“N-No, Miss. I’m sorry,” Spencer pants out. His hand twitches at his side and I can see how desperately he wants to touch himself, but his desire to please keeps him still.  

“Then the answer is no. Maybe if you can prove to me that you aren’t completely incompetent at eating pussy, I’ll consider it,” I allow a moment for my words to sink in. “Color?”

“Green. So fucking green,” Spencer whines.

“Good boy,” I praise him, and the effects of my words are instantaneous. Spencer rests his cheek against the skin of my thigh and then he’s nuzzling his face against me in a silent plea for permission. After a moment, his pleas become a lot less silent.

“Wanna be your good boy - please let me,” Spencer begs as his nose brushes against my skin. “I want to make you feel good. S’all I ever think about, since the first time I saw you.”

His words send a jolt of pleasure to my core and I reward his brazen honesty with a tender smile and a nod.

“Go ahead, baby. Let me see what that pretty mouth of yours can do.”

The words barely have time to leave my mouth before Spencer is reaching out and hooking a finger underneath the waistband of my panties. I raise up off the bed just enough for him to slide them down my legs, and before I even manage to settle back down onto the bed, Spencer literally dives in. He starts with one long lick, and by the time he reaches my clit he’s crying out lewd moans against me. The feel of the vibrations mixed with the feel of his mouth on me is maddening in the best possible way, and my eyelids threaten to flutter closed under the weight of my pleasure.

“Fuck, baby – you’re doing so good,” I sigh as I lift my hand up and card my fingers through his hair. “You look so pretty on your knees for me.”

Spencer’s movements stutter when he feels my hand tangle itself into his hair, and I let out a light chuckle. I grab hold of the roots and give an experimental tug. My actions cause his hips to jolt forward violently.

“O-Oh my…” Spencer keens, raising his glossy, lust filled eyes to mine. “H-Harder, please.”

I oblige, and Spencer lets out a particularly filthy groan before lapping at my pussy like a man possessed. His hands come to wrap around my thighs and he pulls me closer to him, causing me to let out a gasp when his nose nudges against my clit. The sound only spurs him on further – Spencer begins assaulting my clit, alternating between short, kitten licks and light sucking. The control I had so adamantly been asserting over him began to slip from my fingertips the longer he worked his mouth against me, and quiet, breathy moans started falling from my lips.

“Such a good boy, Spence,” I moan as I scratch my fingernails against his scalp. “You’re making me feel so good, baby. Love that dirty little mouth of yours.”

Spencer thrives on the praise – that much is made obvious by the way he whimpers and tightens his grip on my thighs. He’s completely submitted himself to the act of getting me off, only stopping long enough to cry out when my hands give a particularly harsh tug on his hair.

“Add a finger, baby,” I tell him, allowing my hand to drift down the side of his face, caressing the sharp angles of his cheekbones.

Spencer releases my thigh from his hold and tentatively raises a hand to my entrance, eyes raising to meet mine.

“You’ll tell me if I do something wrong?” he asks, and his concern is so endearing that I tilt his chin upwards and lean forward until my lips meet his.

Spencer gasps into the kiss, shocked, but it doesn’t take him long before his lips are moving against mine fervently. His lips are slick with my arousal, and I dart my tongue out just long enough to swipe it across his bottom lip.

           “D’you like how I taste, baby?” I murmur against his lips, pulling back slightly when Spencer tries to bring his lips down against mine.

           “S-So much,” he whispers, before letting out a frustrated groan when I tease him with the slightest brush of my lips before pulling away again. “P-Please, kiss me again.”

           I bump my nose against his before I reach down and grab his hand in mine.

           “Don’t be a greedy boy, Spencer. Greedy boys don’t get to cum,” I chastise him as I raise his hand up to my mouth. I trace my bottom lip with his pointer finger as Spencer watches on in rapt fascination, before taking the digit into my mouth and sucking. Spencer chokes out a pathetic cry and his hips hopelessly buck into the air as I swirl my tongue around the pad of his finger, taking special care to coat it with spit before releasing it from my mouth.

           I guide his hand back down to my pussy, gasping when the tip of his finger brushes across my entrance.

           “Just take it slow, baby. Start with one and move up to two once you get the hang of it.”

           Spencer nods, eyes alternating between my face and my entrance as he slowly slides his finger in me.

           “You’re so warm, oh my God,” Spencer breathes out, tentatively pulling out his finger before inserting it back in. I hum appreciatively as he begins to move faster, eyelids fluttering shut when he lowers his head and begins languidly licking my clit.

           “Feels so nice, Spence. I fucking love your fingers. Knew that they’d feel like this. I can only imagine how good your cock will feel,” I ramble, one hand fisted in the sheets and the other tugging on his honey brown hair.

           I groan as he inserts a second finger, reveling in the way he’s stretching me out.

           “Curl your fingers when you – fuck! Just like that, baby. Gonna make me cum if you keep doing t-that.”

Spencer speeds up both the onslaught of his fingers and his mouth at my admission, tongue working figure eights on my clit while his fingers brush up against my g-spot. A familiar warmth starts to spread in my lower belly, and with every swipe of Spencer’s tongue against my clit, the coil in my stomach winds tighter and tighter until, finally:

“O-Oh, fuck, Spence!”

The coil snaps, sending jolts of pleasure straight through my core. I can feel the way my walls tighten around Spencer’s fingers as my orgasm rips through me, never stopping their ministrations in an attempt to help me ride out my high. Vibrations ripple across my clit when Spencer lets out a cry of his own before his movements halt completely as shudders wrack his body.

I know he didn’t just…

           I allow myself a moment to recover before I lean forward and drag my eyes down Spencer’s slender frame – and sure enough, his tummy is covered in white ropes of cum and his now softening cock is hanging limply between his legs.

           Spencer’s eyes reluctantly open when his shudders cease, and one look at my pissy expression is enough to send him into a fit.

           “I-I didn’t mean to cum! I’m so sorry, Miss. It’s j-just that you looked so pretty when you came, and you taste so good! And you were pulling my hair, and you called me a good boy and I just couldn’t do it anymo-”

           “Shut up,” I seethe, voice cold and laced with annoyance. Spencer’s mouth snaps shut and he gulps. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t remember saying that you were allowed to come. Am I mistaken?”            “N-No, Miss.”

           “Mm, that’s what I thought,” I hum. “Stand up.”

           “B-But I want to make you cum again! Can I plea-”

           “Shut the fuck up and stand up, Spencer.”

           Spencer rushes to his feet, stumbling a bit when his legs begin to shake. He corrects himself, standing perfectly still in front of me with a shameful look on his face. I scoot back on the bed and fix him with a stony look.

           “I want you to lay on your stomach across my lap. Can you do that, Doctor Reid, or are you too stupid to follow simple directions?”

           Spencer adamantly shakes his head, scrambling to splay out across my bare thighs. Once he’s comfortable, I raise a palm to his bare ass cheek and smooth my hand across the skin.

           “Color?”

           “G-Green,” Spencer stutters out.

           “Wonderful. Since you’ve decided to be a greedy little slut and cum before I gave you permission, I’m going to punish you. Do you remember your safe word, baby?”

           “Tolstoy.”

           “Good boy. I’m going to give you ten, and I want you to count them out for me. One for every month you held out on me, and four because you’re an insolent little whore who can’t do as he’s told. Does that sound fair to you?”

           “Y-Yes, Miss. P-Please.”

           A harsh smack sounds throughout the room, and Spencer lets out a whorish moan that’s bound to wake the people in the neighboring rooms. The pale skin of his ass transforms to red, and I rub my palm across it soothingly.

           “O-One,” Spencer says through gritted teeth as he rocks his hips against my legs.

           “You okay, baby?”

           “Y-Yes, Miss. Please don’t stop. I deserve it. P-Punish me, please.”

           My palm comes down across his ass four more times, and with each strike I watch Spencer fall apart right before my eyes. Tears are gliding down his flushed cheeks, and his cock is now painfully hard against my legs.

           “Five more to go, baby. Keep counting for me, my pretty boy.”

           By the time my hand comes down against his flesh for the final time, Spencer has devolved into a mess of pathetic whimpers. His cock is smearing precum across my thighs as he rocks against me, and his ass is covered in a litany of bright red marks. Incomprehensible pleas are falling from his lips, and his hands are tightly fisted in the sheets.

           I lean forward and place a gentle kiss to each of his battered cheeks.

           “T-Thank you, Miss. Thank you, thank you, thank you…”

           “You’re welcome, baby. Can you go lay in the center of the bed for me?”

           Spencer gives a feeble nod and crawls to the center of the bed, carefully laying himself down and letting out a low hiss when his ass came in contact with the mattress.

           I let him rest against the sheets before I roll over and settle in between his legs.

           Spencer’s cock, painfully hard and leaking precum, sits against his belly. Spencer watches as I trace lithe fingers up his thigh, his chest rising and falling quickly as I get closer to where he demands my attention.

           A garbled groan rips from his throat when my hand grasps his cock, and I have to place my other hand on his hip and force him back down onto the bed when he tries to buck up.

           “Stay still, baby,” I tut as I drag my fist up and down at an agonizingly slow pace.

           “S-Sorry, M-Miss,” Spencer stutters. His brows are drawn together and his eyes are heavy lidded. “Need m-more, please.”

           “Mm, I don’t think you need more. You just want more. Dumb little greedy baby,” I tease as my thumb swipes across his head.

           “Oh… G-God, please!” Spencer mewls.

           “Is what I’m giving you not good enough?”

           “N-No, it’s just-”

           I raise an eyebrow at him and halt my movements.

           “No, it isn’t good enough?”

           Spencer lets out a frustrated groan and his fists clench the sheets.

           “P-Please, Miss! I’ll be your good boy, I promise. Just let me cum, please, I want it so bad!”

           Thoroughly pleased by his shameless begging, I start moving my hand again.

           “Let me know when you’re about to cum, baby.”

           That moment comes when, not thirty seconds later, the muscles in Spencer’s abdomen start to spasm – telltale signs of an impending orgasm. Spencer is so lost in the way my hand is moving against his cock that he makes no move to warn me, and just as I see his eyes start to flutter shut, I withdraw my hand.

           “W-Why did yo-”

           “You didn’t tell me you were about to cum. I thought you said you were going to be a good boy, Spencer? You sure aren’t acting like someone who wants to cum.”

           “S-Sorry, please, just… fuck!”

           Spencer’s whole-body folds in on itself when my mouth wraps around the head of his cock. I swirl my tongue around the tip, lapping up the precum that had gathered before I pull away.

           “You’ve got such a pretty cock, baby. Can’t believe nobody’s had you in their mouth yet,” I murmur, pausing to drag my tongue along the veiny underside of his erection. “Let me hear you, baby. Wanna know how much you like when I use my mouth on you.”

           “Love it so much, oh God… Feels so warm and wet. Thank you so much, Miss. God, it feels perfect,” Spencer keens as I take him into my mouth again. Mumbled praises fall from his lips as I take him deeper, and the second my nose hits the soft skin of his belly, Spencer’s hand comes up and begins to tap incessantly on my shoulder.

           “S-Stop! I-I’m close – Jesus Christ, I’m so fucking close and I really want to cum inside you, i-if that’s okay with you,” Spencer babbles, eyes wide and pleading. I smile up at him.

           “Do you think you deserve to cum in my pussy?”

           “H-Honestly, no, but I’m hoping you’ll let me anyways,” Spencer says, shooting me an adorably shy smile that has my heart doing somersaults in my chest. I let out a light laugh and shake my head, moving to straddle his lap.

           “Are you sure you want to do this, Spence?” I murmur as I caress the side of his face with my hands. “This can stop right here, if you want it to.”

           “Please, Miss. I want this. I want you,” Spencer reiterates, eyes shining and filled to the brim with adoration.

           “Want you, too, baby. You can call me my name now, if you want,” I say as I place a gentle kiss on his lips. I move to pull away, but Spencer’s hand is quick to grasp the back of my neck and pull me back in.

           While our lips move together, frenzied and desperate, I sneak a hand in between our bodies and grab Spencer’s cock. He gasps into my mouth as I drag his head in between my folds.

           “I-I won’t last long,” Spencer chokes out, eyes trained on where I’m rubbing him against me. “I’ll try my b-best, but I’m sorry if I c-cum too fast.”

           I sink down just enough that his head is the only thing inside me, watching as his face contorts beautifully as a result.

           “Don’t worry about me, baby. Tonight’s all about you.”

           With one last, chaste kiss to his lips, I slowly begin to lower myself down onto his length. The sound of our moans fill the room as Spencer clings desperately to me, hands finally finding purchase on my hips.

           “Y/N, fuck, you feel so good,” Spencer whimpers as I begin to slowly rock against him. “I-I knew it would feel good, but oh my God. I-I can’t… I’m gonna cum, soon. M’so sorry.”

           His admission prompts me to move faster, raising my hips until he’s almost completely out of me before I’m slamming back down.

           “Spence, you feel so good. Such a good boy – my good boy.”

           “Yes, yes, I’m all yours! Only yours, please!” Spencer whines. I lean forward, and the change of angle is enough for both of us to cry out.

           “Are you gonna be a good boy and cum for me, Spence?” I murmur into his ear, biting lightly against his earlobe. “I want you to cum in me, baby. Don’t you want to be my good boy?” I punctuate my words by lightly wrapping my hand around this throat and squeezing, and that’s all it takes for Spencer to completely fall apart underneath me. 

           “Y/N - fuck!”

           Spencer’s grip on my hips tightens as he bucks up into me, painting the inside of my pussy with his cum as he yells out strangled exclamations of my name. He presses his face into my shoulder as I ride him through his orgasm, whispering quiet thank yous and pressing open mouthed kisses to my skin as the euphoria floods through his body.

             I place a kiss to his forehead before I crawl off of him, having every intention of getting up and procuring a wet washrag. But Spencer reaches out to grip my arm, and his eyes look so sad that I stop in my tracks.

           “C-Can you stay? Please?”

           The insecurity in his voice tugs at my heart.

           “Of course, I’m staying. Was just gonna get a wet washrag for us. M’not gonna leave you, Spence,” I murmur. Spencer visibly untenses, but his grip on my arm doesn’t lessen.

           “Could you just stay here a little bit longer?”

           “Sure thing, baby,” I say, prompting Spencer’s lips to pull up into a pleased smile. I crawl back into the bed and lay on my back, and Spencer instantly plasters himself to my side. He hums contentedly as he wraps his arms around me, and I let out a light laugh when I catch him stealing glances at me.

           “What is it, baby?”

           A rosy blush spreads across his cheeks.

           “Can I kiss you?”

           After everything we just did, he still feels the need to ask permission to kiss me. What a sweet boy.

           My answer comes in the form of me pressing my lips to his, and that’s how we stay until he pulls away.

           “I have another question,” he says shyly.

           “Lay it on me, baby.”

           The blush on his cheeks gets significantly more pronounced.

           “It’s just that, uh, you didn’t get to cum again. And I really want you to, because you took such good care of me,” Spencer pauses, and his fingertips lightly graze the inside of my thigh. “C-Could I please eat you out again?” Another pause, and he retracts his hand. “I-It’s okay if not. I understand if you just wanted this to be… a one-time thing. I guess I was just kind of hoping that it w-wouldn’t be. But that’s silly – you were just doing me a favor. I’m sorry I asked.”

           Spencer cringes as he finishes speaking, not even giving me a chance to reply before he’s trying to pull away. I tighten my grip on his arm, and Spencer gives me a weary look.

           “First of all, I don’t think I would ever say no to being eaten out – especially if you’re the one offering. Second, this is definitely not a one off. I have lots of plans for you, pretty boy,” I explain, and the relief that radiates off of Spencer is almost palpable.

           “Thank God,” he sighs, and then he’s scooting down the bed and settling in between my legs.

--

           And if the rest of the team notices the way Spencer starts following me around like a lost puppy - well, they’re all kind enough not to point it out.

[spectaclespencer]

P.H. // Part 1; Alone

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

A/N; Here’s the first chapter! Let me know what you think <3 this is based off of this request I got. Any and all feedback is appreciated. Please know I know this theme/part has little to nothing to do with the actual meaning of the song, but some lines work if you ignore the rest 😅

Summary; After Gideon leaves, Reader takes up chess to comfort Spencer through the difficult time.

Category; Fluff, Angst(?), Hurt/Comfort

Content Warnings; Sad Spencer otherwise none!

Word Count; 3.5k

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Next

It started when I found Spencer one morning. He had fallen asleep on a chair at the bau, and he explained to me that he’d been waiting for Gideon because he promised to play chess with Spencer that night.

“Is Hotch in yet?”

“No, he will be soon. We have a case, JJ is gonna brief us and we leave in 30.”

He thanked me and left the room, with his head down. He kept the same mood during the briefing, he kept drifting off as JJ was talking. Spencer was known to be stuck in his head often, but this was far more unusual behaviour. I figured maybe he slept wrong, or maybe just was simply looking forward to playing chess with Gideon. That was their usual routine, to have a game or two after cases to relax. It was understandable to see him on edge after not hearing from him all night.

As we got on the jet he didn’t sit with me on the couch right away as he usually did, instead he walked over to Hotch in the back corner. I craned my neck to try and see what he was doing and hear what he was saying. He spoke in soft whispers, seemingly asking questions I assumed were about Gideon’s presence. I saw Hotch shake his head, to which Spencer’s expression dropped. He thanked him, then made his way over to the couch beside me.

“You okay?” I asked.

He gave me a quick nod -- yet didn’t meet my eyes -- then curled up at the end of the couch to presumably take a nap before we landed.

We were all worried about Gideon, none of us had heard from him since the last case. We figured he just needed a break from the chaos; having a loved one die would take a toll on any of us. It was logical really, any one of the team would need time to recover when presented with that situation.

Spencer remained more quiet throughout the case, not engaging in conversation when it wasn’t crucial to the work. We ended up sharing rooms but even then he didn’t budge. He mostly sat in the corner and played chess against himself, often zoning out and staring at the wall. It was hard to see, and even harder to sit back and let him try to get through it. I could tell he was fighting himself in his head, probably going over scenarios on Gideon’s whereabouts. I imagine the stress was affecting him heavily -- or at least it was clear with the way his forehead had been creased all night.

Chess. Nobody on the team had a fair shot at him besides Gideon. Sitting there staring at the pieces probably wasn’t doing him too good, only making him worry more.

It wasn’t that I didn’t care because I did, but when it comes to certain things Spencer can be defensive and refuse help, so I wanted to give him a chance to get better. It wasn’t unlike him to refuse help, and I didn’t want to make the situation worse by opening my mouth. Instead, I opted to ask, “Mind if I join in for a game?”

“What? Uh- no it’s fine. I mean, okay yes. Sure,” Spencer stuttered, spooked by my sudden appearance beside him.

“Stop slouching, you’re gonna make your posture even worse,” I chuckled lightly, patting his shoulder to remind him. He shot me a small smile, watching as I rounded the table to sit across from him. I wasn’t too good of a player, but I wanted to make Spencer feel just a little less alone.

“Do you even know how to play?”

“Ouch,” I mocked offense, slapping a hand over my heart. “So cruel, Spencer.”

He raised his eyebrows in a form of asking again, to which I replied with, “Kind of. I haven’t played for years but I’ve observed you.”

“Y-you’ve observed me?” Spencer questioned, resetting the chess pieces on the board.

“Well, yeah. Kind of hard not to. You’re a pretty interesting guy.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

I smiled when he finally made eye contact with me. He looked tired -- more so than usual -- with his eyebags a deeper shade than they were normally.

The game didn’t last long. In only seven minutes, he managed to beat me. I groaned at my loss, lips pulled into a tight line. Spencer didn’t react, however.

“Okay that’s enough for me,” I said, heading over to the bathroom to brush my teeth before bed. “Goodnight Spence. Get some sleep. No offense but you look like you need it.”

He hummed at me, cleaning up the table before he climbed into his own bed.

I could tell he didn’t sleep much that night, as he kept a lamp on and littered his bed with various books. He looked cute, all swaddled up in the blanket he brings with him on every case for a sense of stability. His glasses were perched on his nose, and he was chewing his fingernails -- a habit I’ve tried to get him to kick over the past two years.

We didn’t talk during the night, but we both knew that each other were awake. I was kept up by my thoughts, trying to figure out how to get Spencer out of his slump. Re-learning how to play chess seemed like a decent enough idea -- yet one that would take some time. I was proved tonight that my skill needed to be greatly improved. It was nice in the moment, but realistically it would take a few weeks, if not more, to get the hang of.

The next day at the precinct I was stationed at the map, trying to figure out our geographical profile. I heard faint chattering coming from outside, and looked over my shoulder to see Spencer and Derek talking. I couldn’t hear much, but I did get that Spencer mumbled about calling Gideon, to which Derek answered that he might’ve just missed the call. It was possible, but likely deeper than that.

“Six times? Six calls? Something’s wrong,” Spencer sighed, rubbing his eyes.

I didn’t intervene with the conversation, instead deciding to finally speak to him about it after the case had ended.

On the last day, we all headed to our rooms after grabbing some dinner, to get a good rest before we took off early the next morning.

“Hey Spence, you awake?”

He hummed in response, and I could hear the rustle of the sheets as he rolled over in his bed to face me.

“I know you’re worried about Gideon. How about when we get back tomorrow I’ll drive you down to his cabin? We can go check on him.

“Would you really?” he asked softly. I couldn’t see him fully in the darkness, but I could sense he was looking at me with pleading eyes.

“Of course. I don’t like seeing you this stressed and down. I want to help.”

“Thanks ____, goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Spencer.”

After our conversation it was like a blanket of grey was lifted over his head. He settled in more, drifting off to sleep within minutes. I hated seeing him sad, and I did my best to try and fix his mood whenever I could. Spencer didn’t like change, I knew that, and the team knows that. A part of me had a sneaking suspicion that Gideon wasn’t coming back, and I had fear for what that would mean for Spencer.

-----

“Do you want me to come in with you?” I asked, pulling up in front of the cabin and turning off the engine. The only sounds were the faint hum of rain outside, splattering against the windows.

Spencer shook his head and took a deep breath, before unbuckling himself and opening his door. He mumbled something about being right back, as he headed off towards the building. It wasn’t dark yet -- only being four pm -- but it wasn’t too light either.

It looked as if the lights inside the cabin were off, and I could just hardly see Spencer as he knocked on the door. He waited on the porch for a moment, waiting to see if anyone would come to the door.

Nobody did.

It was hard to just sit there and watch, as his desperation grew stronger by the millisecond.

-----

I took deep breaths, trying to even out my intake of air and remain calm. When nobody answered the fifth time that I knocked, I reluctantly grabbed a hold of the knob and turned it. Much to my surprise the door opened, creaking inch by inch as I stood there unmoving.

“Gideon?” I called into the home, taking one step inside. “Jason?”

I wasn’t greeted with an answer, he didn’t come to the door and thank me for coming to visit. It was eerily quiet -- so quiet I took a few more steps inside to create some sort of volume.

“Hello?” I spoke again, louder this time. Shutting the door behind me I took off my jacket and hung it on the coat rack next to the entrance.

The place had been mainly cleared out, there weren’t many personal items behind. I stalked over to the kitchen, to see if there was any trace of someone within the last few days. It’s been officially a week and a half since anyone had last heard from him that I was aware of. I thought someone must have eaten, or at least left a bit of a mess behind them that would signal a presence.

As I turned the corner to enter the new room I noticed something on the table. I stopped in my tracks, leaning down to take a closer look.

Gideon’s badge, gun, and an envelope.

I swallowed thickly, walking around the table and took a seat in front of the items. When I saw the envelope had my name on it, my heart dropped. With shaky hands I picked up the paper and opened it, seeing there was a letter inside.

Spencer,

I knew it would be you who came to the cabin to check on me.

You must be frightened, I apologize for that. I never meant to cause you any pain. But then I also never envisioned writing this letter. I’ve searched for a satisfactory explanation for what I’m doing, all I’ve come up with is: a profiler needs to have solid footing. I- I don’t think I do anymore. The world confuses me. The cruelty, indifference, tragedy.

I stopped there, my eyesight becoming blurry from tears. I shoved the letter in my pocket, not caring at the moment if it got crumpled or not.

I was out of the cabin in no time -- choosing not to stay there and sulk in a deeper sadness.

-----

Waiting in the car for Spencer felt like torture. It was difficult, letting him go in there alone to be met with possibly no answers. I was thrown out of my thoughts by the sound of the cabin door slamming shut, Spencer jogging over to the car.

“Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?” I asked, red flags hanging immediately as he climbed in the car, tear soaked face pointed down towards his lap. It took me a moment to realize he was crying -- the rain had completely soaked through his top layer of clothes. He didn’t reply with words, instead reaching into his pants pocket to retrieve a piece of paper. He handed it over to me, still not meeting my eyes.

I unfolded it and began to read -- it was hard, through the tear stains smudging the ink across the page.

“Oh, Spence…” I whispered and stopped after the first few sentences, leaving the rest for him. I didn’t know what to say, how to comfort him.

“He’s gone,” Spencer sniffled, wiping his eyes on the sleeves of his nearly drenched jacket. “He just left. He didn’t say goodbye. He left me a note,” he froze, taking a few deep breaths. “Just like my dad did when I was a kid.”

“It’ll be okay. Wherever he is, I’m sure he’s okay,” I assured him. “You know he cares about you, right?”

“I know he is. It’s just-” he started, trying to find the right words between his gasping for more air. “Can you just take me home, please.”

I nodded, while turning the car back on to drive away. Spencer kept his gaze towards the window, refusing to let me see his face. I’m selfishly almost glad for it, because I don’t know if seeing his heartbreak is something I could handle.

It was a long, quiet drive, taking around an hour and a half to finally reach his apartment. He scrambled out of the car fast, but I still walked him up as I usually did. He got to the door before me, thanking me for driving him home. He shut the door just as I got fully up the stairs, leaving me standing with my mouth open.

‘Baby, when you fought me at the door

Kinda hard to force what's natural

Maybe you don't want what you need most’

-----

The next day when he came over after work he was almost back to normal. It was weird to see, to see such a shift in his behaviour after less than twenty-four hours. As much as he tried to hide it, I could tell just how hard it was for him. The sudden change didn’t go well with anyone, we’d all been informed that Gideon wouldn’t be returning and that he’d moved on from the BAU. It was especially hard on Spencer too, since Elle had just left not too long ago, and then Emily joined the team. First he loses a friend, someone who truly understood him as I did, and then someone he considered a father figure.

And neither of them had said goodbye to his face. It was scary, knowing a member of your team could walk out and never return before you know it.

We were seated on the couch, a game of chess displayed on the middle cushion between us.

It wasn’t anywhere near a fair game -- Spencer’s skills were still far ahead of mine. However I noticed it made him smile, and that’s all I wanted. For him to feel loved, and secured. It was a sense of grounding, a routine that was regular in his life. I still wasn’t very good -- not having played since high school and that night on the last case. But I downloaded an audiobook and several player’s guides for the plane ride home to study, because I wanted to learn for Spencer’s sake. However I soon realized it was easier to watch Spencer and how he plays, and to ask him questions. He seemed to enjoy it, having someone else in his life to play with.. And he loved to teach, to help people learn. He was so good at it too, his big brain being used to help people no matter the context.

Eventually he won the game as usual, causing me to groan in frustration..

“You bastard.”

“Not my fault you kinda suck,” he laughed bashfully, lips curling up into a small smile. It was nice to see a bit of happiness on his face, no matter how temporary.

“You’re so rude to me,” I joked, moving the board to the coffee table. “I thought we were friends.”

It was silent for a few moments, with me figuring out what I was going to say next.

“Spencer I know you haven’t wanted my help, but please tell me what I can do for you. Tell me how you feel, at least?”

‘Maybe you don't want what you need most’

“It’s nothing, ____,” he breathed, looking away from me and instead at the wall the couch was facing. He could see our reflection on the blank tv, and instead opted to just look down at his lap. “I’m better now.”

‘You ain't even there for me

Now you're scared to be alone’

“Respectfully, that’s bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh come on. I know you don’t want to talk about this but at least give me something. Don’t keep it all in. It’s not healthy.”

His face screwed up at my words, eyebrows furrowed and lips twitching. I could tell he knew I was right, as much as he hated it.

“I’m just- I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t want you to leave,” Spencer whispered, barely loud enough for me to hear.

‘Got me thinkin' that you scared of yourself, not me’

It all made sense -- the way he’d been distancing himself lately. It took me promising candy and Star Trek for him to come over tonight, and even then he almost declined. Too many blows to the heart made him afraid to get attached. He didn’t want anyone else from his life to disappear in a flash.

“Look at me,” I said, and he snapped his head to face me. “I’m not going anywhere. I can’t claim to be far in the future, but right now? I’m here. You’re stuck with me for a while, Spencer.”

He smiled, closing his eyes as a stray tear graced across his cheek. I used my thumb to wipe it away, and pulled him into a tight hug. He relaxed against me, I felt the tensions in his shoulders deflate as I held him.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. His breath shuddered, and he wrapped his arms around my middle tighter, pushing his face into my shoulder to muffle his crying.

We sat for a while, my hands tracing patterns along his back. It took a few minutes for his cries to calm down, but eventually his breathing evened out with only a few hiccups here and there. He was practically sitting in my lap with his legs flung over mine, suddenly not caring about his personal space. I couldn’t blame him -- the boy was so touch starved he so clearly craved all contact he consented to.

“Do you want to spend the night?” I asked, quietly so I didn’t scare him with the sudden sound.

“Could I please?”

“Of course,” I smiled, pulling away. He still held on tight, not wanting to let go.

We made our way to my bedroom, repeating our usual routine. This wasn’t the first time we’d had a sleepover, and it won’t be the last I’m sure. Sometimes after particularly harder cases he would spend the night, just to be close to someone.

I went into the bathroom to change, giving him the opportunity to do the same. When I returned, he was dressed in a t-shirt and flannel pants he left at my place for sleepovers like this. He was already in bed, and when he saw that I was done in the bathroom he lifted the side of the blanket to welcome me in.

I joined him, grinning as he scooted over and pressed his back to my chest. I felt him breathing softly, my right arm slung over his torso to bring him in closer. He held onto my hand, and didn’t let me drift away. I was happy to comply, happy to feel his body warmth radiate through me.

“Thank you, ____. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight Spence.”

From that day on for the foreseeable future, I swore to myself to have check-ins with Spencer whenever it seemed necessary. Whether it was in the form of words, sleepovers, movie nights, or chess.

His smile got brighter everyday, and eventually he no longer felt as much weight on himself a few weeks down the road. He still cried to me about how he missed Gideon, but it had gotten less frequent. And I was always there for him, offering my shoulder and the promise of my embrace. I knew he appreciated it too.

After a few months since our first game, I beat him in a game of chess. We were on the jet on the way to Montana for a case, and Derek was sitting beside Spencer. He kept annoying him, doing little things like twisting his hair and fanning him with files. Spencer kept shrieking quietly -- trying not to alert Hotch of the bickering.

“Checkmate,” I said, biting back a smile.

“What?!” Spencer froze, arm raised in what looked like to be a poor attempt of whacking Derek’s head.

“Awe, pretty boy. You’ll get her next time,” Derek threw his head back in laughter.

“What?” Spencer repeated quieter, eyes darting across the board, likely running calculations in his head.

“Better luck next time,” I smirked, tilting my head to the side. I wiggled my eyebrows, my small victory boosting my ego.

Spencer tried to keep a neutral face, but I could see by the tension in his cheekbones that he was happy. He was enjoying it.

-----

Please tell me your thoughts on this chapter here!

You can also send me an ask to join this series’ taglist.

permanent taglist; @spencerscumrag @spenxerslut

[thesiriusmoon]

Criminal Minds characters as muppets!

❀ ❀ ❀

Aaron Hotchner as Kermit The Frog

Icon of Hotch credit - @spookyreid

They’re both natural born leader

They care a lot about their team

I just know Hotch enjoys musicals

They have hot wives (Haley and Miss Piggy)

Many members of their teams look up to them

The responsible one

Probably drink a lot of tea

Protective over their work, friends, and family

Can be very serious

Gets where they need to be and gets what they need done

Great dads

Iconic to say the least

Can be intimidating when needed

Calm but when they explode they really explode

Will argue with higher authority without a problem

Spencer Reid as Walter

Icon of Spencer credit - @hrmiongrngr

The baby of the group

Very enthusiastic and loves to help

Looks up to Hotch/Kermit

Has saved the day on many occasions

Cuties

Well read

Struggles to interact socially

Awkward

Nerd

They both love Halloween

Intelligent

Love sweaters

Emily Prentiss as Red Fraggle

Icon of Emily credit - @lokisoftieking

Best girls

They’re competitive in a fun sense

They don’t let anyone get them down

They do what they want, when they want

Cool and funky

Will beat a bitch up

Isn’t afraid of anything

They hate making mistakes

Makes friends easily

Life of the party

Keeps the energy high

Very supportive of all their friends

Is a protective person

Derek Morgan as Pepe The King Prawn

Icon of Derek credit - @swccessful

They’re very flirtatious

Tough guys (even though Pepe is tiny)

Cocky attitude but we love that

Full of swag

Unintentionally comedic

High egos

Both make tasty snacks (haha get it?)

They just vibe through life

Kings (get it again?)

Isn’t afraid to fight someone bigger than them

Good cooks

Unbuttoned Hawaiian shirts are their thing

Love the beach

Penelope Garcia as Mokey Fraggle

Icon of Penelope credit - none

The dreamers

They like making their own clothes and jewellery

Worries a lot about their friends and families well-being

Does everything they can to make people happy

They would read you a bedtime story if you asked

Wouldn’t hurt a fly

Are good bakers

Great with children

Problem solvers

Knows everyone’s birthday

They’re sweethearts

You can go to them for comfort

Loves plants and colourful things

Full of love to give to everyone

They definitely carry around tissues, plasters, water bottles, and other materials in their bag at all times like a mum

Elle Greenaway as Miss Piggy

Icon of Elle credit - @tenelvez

Bad ass

Hot and knows it

Won’t let a man disrespect them for a second

Sassy

Both great fighters

Knows how to use a gun and WILL use it if they want to

Won’t hesitate to punch someone

Everyone has a crush on them

Confident

Stands up for themselves and others

Will be aggressively supportive of you

Gaslight gatekeep girlboss

Jennifer Jareau as Janice

Icon of JJ credit - @rweditz

Mainly because they look alike-

They’re laid back

Can have an attitude (when needed)

Confident in front of cameras

Pretty blondes

They both start with J which is cool

Is like an older sister

Is brutally honest

Gets on well with everyone

Good at giving gifts

Likes parties

Many hidden talents

Always looking their best

David Rossi as Statler

Icon of Rossi credit - none

This is one of my fave ones

Tell me they don’t look alike I dare you

But Rossi is attractive-

Sarcastic and witty

Will stand their ground

Banters with the rest of the team

Always knows what’s going on

Has fun in thinking they’re better than everyone

Likes wine

Jason Gideon as Waldorf

Icon of Gideon credit - none

Him and David are literally Waldorf and Statler

Sarcastic and witty

They don’t look so much alike, but the vibe is there

Likes old stuff

Banters with the team

Him and David would have got on well

Old school

Would love some peace and quiet

Loves puns

Laughs at most things

❀ ❀ ❀

I hope you enjoyed this! It was really fun to make and gave me quite the giggle. I love the muppets and love criminal minds so I thought, why not do this?

Feel free to add any others that you think match well in the comments <3

[boldlyvoid]

Intro to Criminal Minds: Why They Did It

Criminal Minds x Mindhunter AU

Spencer Reid x Peggy Carr (OC) Part 2: The Case

Summary: Spencer is teaching a 7-week seminar on the most interesting criminal cases, explaining their actions to understand why they took place. Only, not everyone in the audience is a student.

warnings: strangers to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn! flirting, fluff, eventual smut, idiots in love, OC is Wendy Carr and Jason Gideon's biological daughter. mentions of rape and murder (typical canon violence)

word count: 2.2K

ao3

P1

He’s not expecting her to roll out a full map after the waitress clears the food from their table. They’ve been in the booth for barely 20 minutes. Having mindless conversations about their day and small get to know each other questions while they ate.

“So, I brought all this to my dad,” she explained, dropping 33 files on the table as well as 2 spiral notebooks and a handful of pens. “He thinks I have a case, but he’s refusing to look at the evidence because he’s still triggered by it, which I get, but he said you’d be the best at helping me because I really just need a geo-profile consult.”

“How is he doing?”

She’s been waiting for him to ask but she still didn’t know how to answer, no matter how much time she had to prep, “uh, he’s good. He talks about you every time I see him, how often do you talk?”

“We haven’t talked since he almost died, 6 years ago now… yes, it was in 2015,” Spencer says it like it’s nothing serious.

“Oh,” she’s confused about it all. Her father talks about him more than anyone else, always remembering a case or a conversation that he just had to tell her about.

Spencer was his buddy in her eyes. “Here I was thinking he liked you more than me like you’re his favourite kid.”

“I’m not his kid,” his eyes widen at the insinuation that they’re somehow siblings in any sense.

It makes her laugh, she knows he’s interested in her a small amount. She was hoping he would, she’s heard so many wonderful things about him and she remembers just how cute he was back in 2005. Now he’s a man and a mighty fine one at that…

“I take it you’re an only child?” He changes the subject, “you can’t handle the idea of your father having relationships with people your age when you hardly know him?”

“How about you tell me who you think I am and I’ll tell you where you went wrong?” She challenges him rather than answering, she knows he’s good but she wants to see it in action.

Spencer raised his brow, “if I get it right, you’re paying for lunch.”

“Deal.”

He opens her notebook and takes a look at her notes, flipping through the pages reading the words just as fast as her father said he could. It was incomprehensible, but he didn’t read far… he keeps going back to her drawings, studying the pressure and how her mind worked.

“Your mom travelled a lot when you were a kid, and you always went with her. I’m thinking you have a few degrees, at least 3…” he pauses to watch her microexpressions, trailing her skin with his eyes as he looks for anything out of the ordinary. “There’s a doctorate in there but you hate being called Dr. Carr because that’s your mother’s name and it reminds you too much of people asking about her instead of how you’re doing.”

It cuts deep, but he hits the nail on the head and she just blinks. The simplest microexpression that shows him he got it right, his smile is awkward and he’s sorry for it.

“You were homeschooled so you don’t trust people very easily. You have issues with your father that you can’t place because you still don’t think you know him well enough to really have an opinion, and you’re jealous of me because you wish you knew how he brags about you when you’re not around, but he doesn’t talk about you because you told him not to.”

“I specifically told him I wanted to be left out of his life to stay safe, so it’s really my fault that he can’t brag about me. But I still wish someone would,” she admits with a soft smile. “And I think it’s not really jealousy. I’m not jealous of how he brags about his time with you. If anything, I really admire you now.”

He blushes a little, “alright, your turn.”

“You’ve never had a girlfriend before have you?” She calls him out right away. “You can’t take a compliment seriously because no one has loved you deep enough yet for you to believe them. I already know about your parents, I know that you’re scared of forgetting and that’s why you won't stop learning. I think you probably have a bucket list, you’re desperate for something exciting to happen and that’s why you like me already.”

He blinks right back, “touché.”

“I’ll still buy your lunch,” she smiled, and he smiled right back. “And I do have 3 degrees.”

“I do too.”

“I know,” she reminded him. “You’ve been working on that 4th one for the last 16 years.”

“I haven’t had the time.”

She shakes her head as she laughs, teasing him as if she’s better than him because she knows he finds her interesting already, “I had my Ph.D. by 17, as well 2 masters by the time I was 21.”

“3 Ph.D.’s by 22,” he bragged right back.

It had suddenly become a staring contest, “when exactly did your dad walk out on you?”

“I was 10.” Spencer answers. “When was the last time your mom said she was proud of you?”

“Oh, we're going that far, I see,” she laughed, hurt just a little that he dug that deep, “what happened to yours recently?”

“Alzheimer’s.”

“I’m really sorry, I knew about the schizophrenia already because of the fisher king case, that one is the one that still has my dad all fucked up,” she can’t help but rant as she apologizes, placing her hands on his in the centre of the table and he interlocks their fingers like they’ve known each other for years.

“Boston?” He asks her, changing the topic back to getting to know each other without letting go of her hands.

She nods, “Vegas?”

“You knew that already,” he catches her.

“Maybe so,” she blushes at the embarrassment of him picking up on her crush.

“How’d he describe me at chess?” There’s a cockiness behind it that she admires, smiling in response she just shakes her head.

“I don’t play chess, but he says that other than Agent Prentiss, you’re the only person who has come close to beating him.”

“Prentiss?” He looks almost offended at the fact he didn’t know that story.

“You were asleep on the jet, it was right after the trip to Azkaban,” she reminds him.

“Azkaban?” He repeats. “You mean Guantanamo?”

She’s only slightly embarrassed by the slip-up, blushing a deep red as she presses her lips together and squeezes his hand. “My mom calls it Azkaban, she hates it. If it wasn’t for the BAU, she would have never joined the bureau or the government in any way, she’s against the criminal justice system too, so…”

“She’s a woman of science and empathy, I’ve never met her, but I’ve read all her work.”

“So have I,” she’s full of butterflies for some reason as she thinks about him knowing everything that she does, she’s suddenly excited at the prospect of future conversations with him like this isn’t a one-time thing.

He’s still holding her hands over the map, both of them leaning in slightly as they kept talking, it felt overly intimate for a discussion of a case— and they haven’t even started yet.

She takes her hands out of his grip and flattens them over the map, “so I found a pattern, I was asked to look into the rape and murder of a friends sister, and now I’ve found 32 matching cases all over America going in alphabetical order by state, 2 a year since 2005.”

“Are you serious?”

She nods softly, “I’m a private investigator. I hated the academy and simply being in the BAU almost killed both of my parents so I’m not really fond of it, but I need help.”

“How did VICAP not pick this up?” Spencer’s still caught up on the fact this has been happening during his entire career and he had no way of helping. It was very clear by the look on his face.

“Because they’re college-age women getting raped in their dorms, 1 in each state, and men don’t care enough to dig a little deeper when it’s just a little girl who was probably asking for it anyway, right?”

He looks furious, but with her… not at her.

Not like most men, that’s actually exactly what any other guy would have said to her. ‘Not most men,’ they only said that if they were offended; when they knew that they were the exact type of man she was referring to.

He started opening case files then, flipping through everything as she watched carefully, “he always does it the exact same way. It’s every March and November between the 6th and 12th, he’s gotten to the O’s, which means the next hit should be in Oklahoma in exactly 2 months' time.”

“Has there been evidence?” Spencer asks, avoiding eye contact as he both listens and absorbs.

“1 footprint and some random fingerprints at the first few, other than that it’s like he was never there,” she sighs. “This is where I need your help; I’m unsure if he’s attacking randomly or if it’s planned ahead of time, so I brought the map to see if you can make any connection.”

“Alright,” he closes the folder and hands them to her so he can get a better look at everything. “I’m going to need the exact address of each one.”

“I have 32 mini maps,” she says, opening her book bag and handing him yet another folder.

“I’ve noticed they’re in every capital, and it’s always on the east side of the city,” she adds as he spreads them out on the table.

He takes his phone out of his pocket and turns on the flash, turning it face down and holding the sheets of paper over it, “If you look at them over each other, there might be a pattern. We should call my friend Penelope, she’ll be able to digitally do this and find something.”

“Okay,” Peggy nods along, “I really need to know within the week because I’m moving to Oklahoma.”

“What?” He looks overly worried.

“He’s interested in college-age brunettes,” she points at herself. “I’m going to rent an apartment with a sliding door in the kill zone, and I’m going to wait it out. I’ll make sure everyone knows I live alone, I won't make friends, I’ll keep the windows open when I go to the store, I’ll make myself a victim.”

“No, we can get the bureau to send in a team, you don’t need to be in harm's way,” he protests, “I won’t help if I know you’re throwing yourself in the middle of all this. I refuse.”

There’s an underlying panic that she doesn’t quite understand. He’s almost shaking as he thinks about her playing the victim, they stare back and forth at each other softly, eyes flickering over the other’s expression as he also reads her.

“Fine,” she agrees, finally. “But if you’re getting the team involved, I want to be able to have some say in the investigation. I don’t want to be kicked out for just being a PI.”

“On one condition,” Spencer smirks. “You have to teach the BTK seminar with me.”

“Deal,” she smiled. “But I have some conditions too.”

“Anything?”

He was going to regret that.

“We can’t sleep together until we catch the guy— don’t look at me like that!” she catches the way his jaw drops and his eyes glisten.

He’s in complete shock, trying to say words and failing miserably as she stares at him knowingly. “I only said that because I need rules for myself too. We can’t care more about each other than the victims. Solve the case with me and then I’ll have a crush on you, okay?”

“Okay,” he finally finds the words to agree. “Was it that obvious?”

“We held hands for 5 minutes, I’ve thought you were cute since you were 23 and that seminar was a; 'my horse is bigger than your horse' flirting match,” she calls it all out, “I’m just as into you as you are into me already, if not more so because I know way too much about you thanks to my dad and uncle Rossi.”

“Dave knew about you too?” He’s more upset than she expected.

She nods, “yeah, so that I’d be taken care of if anything happened to my dad.”

He is a little upset and she can’t figure out why from what she knows already, “why?”

“You’re so interesting, you and I could have been friends for the last 15 years and things could have been so interesting but you were a secret,” he whispers.

“I was right wasn’t I?”

He nods again, “Gideon doesn’t know about Maeve, but I had a girlfriend who died in front of me before I could tell her I loved her and it broke me.”

Everything makes sense now. The stares, the stuttering, the defensiveness at the idea of her being in harm's way after only knowing her for a few hours. He was desperately looking for someone like himself to prove that he wasn’t going to be alone forever, and he wanted that to be found in her.

“Solve the case with me, then you can learn what it’s like to love someone who loves you back.”

taglist:

@g0lden-cth @doctorspenceryeet @samuel-de-champagne-problems @reiding-recs @ssavanessa22 @spookyspence @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria@reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @jswessie187 @k-k0129 @calm-and-doctor @blanchardsbk

[imagineaworlds]

I Love You (Part Fifty-Seven) -- Aaron Hotchner

Written By: @desperately-bisexual

Request: None.

Warnings: SMUT!! Cursing. Unprotected sex. Wrap it before you tap it, ladies, gentlemen, and nonbinary sibs. Dom/sub relationship. Mild edging. Impregnation kink. The reader does go by they/them pronouns, however, Hotch refers to them as female when saying “good girl”.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Greenaway!Reader

Word Count: 8391

Timeline: A few days after part fifty-six.

Criminal Minds Discord Server

November 2nd. Aaron Christopher Hotchner’s birthday only came a few days after Halloween, which just meant more sugar for the kids. Between the cookies on Halloween and the birthday cake on Hotch’s birthday, those kids were spoiled rotten. Not that I ever complained. I loved celebrating Hotch’s birthday, as much as he hated it, and I loved dedicating the whole day to him—again, even though he hated it. He disliked the idea of celebrating himself. Not to mention that celebrating his birthday just made him think of his mother, who was horrible to him, and that would lead him to remember his father, who was even worse. That was why over the past couple of years, I had been trying to turn that day into his day, and not his parents’. It was okay for him to be selfish. Aaron really struggled with thinking highly of himself, or even thinking anything about himself. He preferred the idea of just spending his time and energy on me, the kids, and work. Between all of that, there was hardly any time for himself. On his birthday, however, it was all about him, and I was going to make him love his birthday one of these days.

However, my plans seemed to be canon-balled in the side by my parents. They surprised me and Hotch with a call shortly after Halloween to let us know that they had decided to get back together, and that they had moved in together again. When I asked when this happened, my mom said a couple of months ago. So… they had been keeping that from me all this time? Them and Hotch with the fucking secrets. I let it slide, though, considering I always knew that they still loved each other and that they only split up in the first place because of work, but now that was all in the past. Now, they could just be them. In fact, that was why my parents called in the first place. They asked if they could have the kids for the day, and when I tried to argue that it was Hotch’s birthday so we wanted the kids home with us, my mom interrupted with: “Oh, perfect! We’ll take the kids for the day, then you guys can come over for a birthday dinner!”

Ugh…

The thing about my mom was that she was never really… there… when Elle and I were growing up. Because she worked for the CIA, she was gone a lot, the same way that Hotch and I were away from Scar and Jack so much. With her traveling so much, she hardly settled to do “motherly” things like learning to cook. Elle and I loved her dearly, okay. We did. But her cooking was like eating acid. For Hotch’s birthday, I was imagining something a little more special than battery acid. Yet, I couldn’t talk them out of it.

Hotch had sing-songed in my ear, “We’ll have the whole house to ourselves for the day…” which made me ultimately give in. Then, when I hung up on them, he said, “Who knows, maybe the kids’ll like your parents.”

I groaned. “Who ever likes their grandparents?”

“Celia and Ken are good people, baby. They’re fun, and they love you and Elle more than anything in the world. I’m sure they’ll be good with the kids.”

I squinted at him. “Fine.”

My dad picked up the kids early in the morning since he spent the night working at the Academy anyhow. They lived about an hour away from our house, so by the time they were gone, we only had lunch, the afternoon, and about an hour of the evening before we had to leave. What was supposed to be a day of fucking in every reasonable room of the house turned into us just staring at our bedroom ceiling, counting the minutes until we had to get ready. I was dreading dinner. Not only was the drive going to be unbearably long, but dinner itself was going to be complicated.

There were a thousand things from my past that Hotch didn’t know about, and I would’ve kept it that way, but knowing my parents, they were going to unknowingly spill the beans, and I was going to have to explain a thousand things after the fact. Great. I mean, it wasn’t that I was actively keeping it all a secret from him. It just never came up. I was sure that there was stuff in his own past that he didn’t bring up because he couldn’t remember at the time or because there was no point in mentioning it. But my parents were the embarrassing type. I thought that by dating an older guy, and kind of rushing our relationship, we could skip that whole “embarrassing dinner with the parents” spiel, yet there we were. Hence, why I was staring at the ceiling with him all day rather than running around the house naked.

While in the car, Hotch and I were extremely handsy with one another. He was trying to focus on the road, but I kept messing with his hair, or playing with the wedding ring on his finger as we held hands; meanwhile, he was kneading my thigh every so often, or caressing my cheek with his thumb, or brushing my hair out of my face. I wanted my attention to be on him. The whole day was supposed to be dedicated to him, yet I couldn’t think straight. Going home after years and years of not being there was just making me appreciate how far I had come, and now my mind was racing with memories, good and bad.

I had the love of my life, the job I always wanted, and I had an amazing, beautiful, nuclear family. My stepson loved me as his own mother. My daughter was perfect in every way. Just as I always anticipated, she lit up a room just with her very presence, and it was most obvious whenever she was around Reid or Morgan. My best friends, and one of them was the godfather of my child. My life was perfect. Going home, however, was just a reminder of a time when things weren’t perfect. I didn’t need that bringing me down right now.

“What’s wrong?” Hotch asked me when he took notice of how quiet I was.

I glanced over at him and sighed. “I love them, my parents. You know I do.”

“I know.”

“But I just don’t want to do this…”

“It’s too late.”

Silence hung in the air for another minute as I returned to deep thinking about what they could possibly say in front of Hotch that could upset either of us.

“What are you thinking about now?” he spoke up again.

“The past.”

He raised a brow. “Care to share with the class?”

I smiled and shuffled to face him. “Well, I was just thinking about how different I used to be before I joined the BAU and met you, and before we started dating. Even when we first started going out, we were so different than how we are now.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Not at all.” I rested my elbow on the arm rest between us and stared up at him. “I used to work a shitty desk job, only dreaming about being where I am today. I had no friends, I didn’t talk to my parents or my sister, I hated my job, I lived in a one bedroom apartment in the city, and I didn’t have anyone I loved or who loved me back. I was entirely alone. And then everything changed when I met Jason Gideon and I solved the Footpath Killer problem faster than anyone else. So, I joined the BAU, thinking ‘What have I got to lose?’. Joined the team, made a friend or two, reconnected with my sister, and met a guy who was… well… my boss. He wouldn't leave me alone unless I went with him to dinner.” I poked Hotch’s dimple lightly when he smiled in response to my joke.

We both knew that he hadn’t chased after me. He wanted to. He really, truly wanted to chase after me, but he kept his distance because he thought that it would protect me, spare the team confusion, and spare himself potential heartache. But, eventually, he budged, and he asked me out. And by budged, I mean that I forced his hand. But it was cute to think that he would’ve chased after me if things had been slightly different. Maybe if I didn’t join the BAU, the chase would’ve happened naturally. Or maybe we would’ve continued staring and smiling at each other from a distance and nothing would ever happen because we were both cowards who didn’t know how to jump headfirst into a real relationship since we had been hurt one too many times before.

“And I guess he was cute, and I guess he was sweet…” I leaned in close and whispered in his ear, “And I guess he was good in bed…”

Hotch turned quickly and pressed a kiss to my lips before I could pull away from him. I smiled and pushed him back. “Tease,” he muttered under his breath.

“Shh,” I insisted. “I’m telling a story.” I sat back in my seat, swinging my legs over the arm rest between us so that my feet were on his thigh.

“That’s dangerous,” he warned.

“I trust you. Now, my story.” I hummed to myself, thinking about where I left off. “I gave up my life for a better part of a year for him and our relationship. So, I'm starting to think that this maybe might work, and the second it entered my head, he starts lying to me—”

“I didn’t lie—”

“No? What would you call what you did in Cincinnati, then?” I raised a playful brow. Hotch didn’t respond. He only licked his teeth and fell silent again so that I could continue my story. “Anyhow, he starts lying to me, yet I can’t stop thinking to myself that he’s the one, that I love him more than anything, and I’d die without him.” Hotch tore one of his hands off the wheel so that he could run his thumb over the inside of my left ankle. “And I know that I love him the way he is— even when he thinks that lying to me is the right thing to do.” Hotch squeezed my calf lightly to warn me away from accusing him of lying again. “I wanted to tell him, ‘You don't have to always be there; you don't have to change your habits… Just love me. You don't have to put the seat down; you don't have to eat avocado toast; you don't have to change a thing— Just stay with me.’ So, I try to tell him, ‘I want you— nothing but you.’ Because you take me in your arms, and suddenly everything in my life makes sense. For a moment, I forget just how dark and cold the world can get. It feels like my life led right to your side and will keep me there from now on.” I leaned forward again, pressing my palm against his cheek. He continued to watch the road, though I knew he was desperate to look at me, too. “Now I wanna hold you close— I don't ever wanna have to let you go. I don't wanna go back to the lonely life. Can we do that?”

Hotch moved to kiss my palm. “Of course.”

“Listen, when we get to my house, take a look at that town, take a look at how far I've come. I will never go back, never look back anymore. Everything bad that happened in my life stems from that place. I was missing what was perfect in my life—you and our family—but now I have you, and I never, ever want to let that go. Does that make sense?”

Hotch shrugged.

I brushed his hair back out of his face. I needed him to understand exactly what I meant, so I had to put it into terms that he could understand. “Just think about what you wanted. Think about what could be. Think about how I love you. Think of what's great about me and you. Think of the bullshit we've both been through. Think about how we’ve come so far together, and how we’ve overcome every single obstacle, no matter how tough they seemed at times. That’s not by chance, Aaron.” I gently curled my fingers around a fistful of his hair. “That’s effort that my parents never put in. That’s learning from our experiences—learning from where we came from and choosing to be better. Going back to my hometown and seeing my old life is like taking steps back on Candyland—” He chuckled at my simile. “I’m serious!” He shook off his laugh as we turned into my neighborhood and he started looking at the house numbers to figure out which one was mine. “You can’t let me stay here,” I said once I saw it at the end of the cul-de-sac. “Please, Aaron.”

“You’re being a little overdramatic, baby girl.”

“Just wait.”

I knew that once he would spend the evening with my parents, learning about my past and how spoiled and annoying I was as a kid, he would understand what I meant. I never thought in a million years I would be back there. I never thought that my parents would somehow manage to convince me to come back. Yet, as Hotch pulled into the driveway, I realized just how fucked this was.

“Mom! Dad!”

I looked over my shoulder and out my window to see Jack and Scarlet running out of the house, speeding onto the front lawn, and dashing towards our car. I smiled lightly. At least I had them. My little man and my lil’ bug. They made this trip worth it, and the upcoming dinner was going to be unbearable, but I could just hold Scarlet in my arms if I ever got upset or bored, and I would feel at home again.

Did Hotch realize how grateful I was? I mean, to be honest, I did most of the work, but the beginning was a team effort… if you catch my drift. I was so thankful that he gave me my lil’ bug Scarlet, and that he looked after us shortly after she was born, and that he was so hands on with her. I mean, he was close with Jack. He dedicated everything to his son when he was born, and even more so after Haley’s death; but Hotch was vastly different with Scarlet. With Jack, there was a level of protection that he had because of Foyet; because he didn’t want Jack to experience anything traumatic ever again. On the other hand, Scarlet hadn’t been through anything yet, and Hotch was working tirelessly to make sure it stayed that way. I would say that Scarlet was a daddy’s girl, too, which only encouraged Hotch to coddle her. I didn’t care anymore. It used to irk me that he was too overbearing with her, but since our lives had continued to turn upside down because of work, I actually appreciated Hotch’s caution with our daughter. Jack had been hurt once before, and between Hotch and I, we had been hurt over a hundred times—if I were being generous. At the very least, as her parents, we could protect Scarlet from ever enduring what the three of us had.

I swung my feet off of Hotch’s thighs so that we could both get out of the car. As I opened my door, Jack immediately jumped up, his arms sprawled so that I could catch him. I laughed as I barely made it on time. “Oh, boy!” I groaned while standing and hugging him tightly.

He was too big now to lift, and it pissed me off, but what was I supposed to do? Hurt my back more just to try to pick him up? No… As much as I missed holding him on my hip and hugging him so tight that neither of us could breathe, trying to lift him now would have been futile and simply hurtful for the two of us.

“Daddy!” Scarlet cheered as she jumped into Hotch’s arms. Like I said, daddy’s girl.

He kissed her cheeks over and over again until she pushed him away because it tickled too much. “How was your day, Ms. Scarlet?”

She poked at his cheekbones. “Good. Grandpa and Grandma played soccer with us.”

“Did you win?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s not true!” Jack argued. “I won!”

I kissed his hair. “I’m sure you did, little man.”

“How was the drive?” Dad asked as he and Mom came to meet us outside, too. Hotch and I turned to face them. We told them that it was long, but nice. “Did ya work up an appetite?”

“Dad—”

“You know it,” Hotch answered over me, sending me a quick glance that begged that I would be polite.

“Good. Good.” Dad patted Hotch on the back before ushering us inside. “Celia’s been cooking up a storm all day. Hope you like steak.”

“Nothing sounds better.”

----

Dinner was ready almost immediately. The family gathered in the dining room, the kids at the end so that they could draw in a coloring book that Scarlet brought with her while the adults talked on the other end. Hotch and I sat side by side, my parents across from us. This was the first time we had a chance to talk with my parents since the wedding nearly three years ago. Not that the distance was on purpose. It was just that we never had the chance to sit down like this ever. The first time they met Hotch was practically just after he proposed, but then we were called away to work. It happened like that every time. Our jobs called us out to different states all the time, my mom’s job called her out to different countries, and my dad’s job required him to be at the Academy practically 24/7. It was a miracle that we could get all four of us in the same room for Hotch’s birthday.

Not that I necessarily saw it as a miracle. Considering we had never done this before, like I said, so therefore, Hotch never really got to know them, and vice versa. What were we supposed to do if they ended up hating them? I knew I was bitching about this all day, but that was only because I was nervous. If this went awry, I wouldn’t be able to choose between my parents and my husband. I knew what my decision would be, but that was heartbreaking to even consider.

Hotch put a hand on my knee to stop it from bouncing anxiously. My attention snapped to him to see that he was sending me a look that asked if I was alright or if I needed a break. I sent him a look that said I was alright. I was just thinking… Again…

Dad cut through his slice of birthday cake that Mom made for after dinner while talking with Hotch about Cody, the Director of the FBI. For dinner, my mom made steak—which was edible—and mashed potatoes and green beans, which were there. She tried her best. Dessert was probably the best part. Hotch didn’t exactly like anything “unhealthy” since he liked to stay so fit for the field; but I made him try some of the cake on my plate, and once he did, he was convinced into having a slice of his own.

“Have you been in contact with anyone from your high school?” Mom asked me. “I heard there was some kind of class reunion a month or so ago.”

I chuckled behind my cup. “Who would I be in contact with?” I took a sip.

“I don’t know… Oh— What about Steven Teller?”

I nearly spat my drink out. “What—”

“You know! Steven!” Mom hit Dad’s shoulder, “Where did he end up going for college?”

Dad started thinking. “Hmm… Wasn’t it… Tulane?” He snapped in eureka. “Yes! That was it! Tulane. His dad told me after he graduated that he got a job working for some prestigious law firm.” My dad pointed at me, “You must have a thing for lawyers.”

Hotch leaned to the side, pulling me towards him somewhat. “Steven Teller? Isn’t that—”

I stopped him with a glare. When he fell silent, we both sat back up straight in our seats. I looked at my parents. “No, I haven’t talked to Steven. I haven’t talked to anyone. And, honestly, I don’t want to.”

“What about Tess—"

I cleared my throat. “It’s getting kind of late,” I said, checking my watch. “I want to show Aaron around before we leave. You know, brag about some old memories and stuff.”

My parents took note of the change in tone in my voice, and the way the room suddenly grew uncomfortable. They recognized that they touched some kind of nerve. They fucked up, though they weren’t sure how, and they weren’t going to pry or stop me from talking to Hotch about it all privately—which was clearly what I wanted to do. So, they let us go.

I grabbed Hotch’s hand and started pulling him towards the stairs. He hurried after me, trying to keep up with how fast I was leading him along, and even trying to tug back on me to get me to slow down, but I didn’t. We skipped up the steps and hurried down to the last room on the left. My bedroom. It hadn’t been touched or bothered since high school. It was so weird. It was like some kind of time capsule that should’ve been burned down years ago. This wasn’t who I was anymore. I had grown up so much since leaving home. Like I told Hotch, I left this place and I never looked back, and I was fine with how my life turned out. I just didn’t think my parents would keep mine and Elle’s rooms untouched like this— like they were shrines of a better past or something.

“Steven Teller. I know that name,” Hotch said, closing the door behind me. “It’s been churning in my head for six years, Y/N. How do your parents not know?”

“I’ve told you before, I didn’t tell anyone. And I’ve also told you before that I would’ve never told you or Elle if the Fisher King hadn’t let the cat out of the bag. He took pictures of it, Aaron, and then he used them to black mail me. How could I tell people that? I got those pictures back, I hid them away, and I left this place for as long as I could.”

Hotch stepped closer to me. He put his hands on my biceps and sighed. “I’d kill him if I could.”

George Foyet and the Hawai’i gang had seen up close and person how far Hotch was willing to go to get revenge on those who hurt his family. If Steven Teller were there in front of us, I had no doubts in my mind that Hotch would’ve been willing to get locked up just for the sake of putting him six feet underground.

“Remember, I told you to take a look at how far I’ve come. I told you to remember that this isn’t who I am anymore— that none of this matters to me now. What matters is being in your arms. Being with you helps me forget.” I reached up to hold his face in my hands. “It was so long ago. Aaron, I need you to believe me when I tell you that it doesn’t matter. I mean— I— It does matter… But I don’t let it define me. I don’t let it distract me from what makes me happy. You, Jack, and Scarlet make me happy. That’s all that matters. I don’t care about him. I don’t think about him. Every bad memory I have of him has been forgotten and replaced by my happy memories of you.”

Hotch wrapped his arms around my waist and he lifted me up slightly so that my toes were barely tangling over the carpet, but my face was even with his. He kissed me. After a moment, he set me back down on my feet and he let go of me.

“So, what was Y/N Greenaway into when they were in high school?” His change of topic caught me off guard, but I appreciated it. He knew that I didn’t want to talk about this because, to me, it didn’t fucking matter. And if it didn’t matter to me, it didn’t matter to him. What mattered was that I promised to show him around. He was in my old bedroom, and he wanted to finally get to know everything I never told him. “You have any fun stories to tell me about all of this?” he teased while spinning around to get a look at everything around him. He stopped when he noticed my box of vinyls. “If there isn’t a single good record in here, I’m leaving.”

I snickered. “Well, your definition of good music is definitely older than mine.”

He grinned at me while running a finger over the titles. “Are you calling me old right now?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m only one year older now, not ten.”

“Still old.”

He picked out one of the records. “Brat.” He admired the cover of A Night at the Opera by Queen. “So, this is where your love for Queen began. Who’s old now?”

“That record’s older than me.”

“So, you like old things, then. Who would’ve known?” he questioned sarcastically. I rolled my eyes and sat down on the bed. “Oh,” Hotch smiled to himself, “look what we have here.”

I watched as he reached for something at the bottom of my bookshelf. I cocked a brow, figuring that he was just grabbing an old kiddie book that we could take home for Scarlet, but what I saw in his hands when he turned around absolutely mortified me. “No—” I insisted quickly, pushing myself to my knees on the mattress. “Aaron Hotchner, you put that back!”

Hotch’s wicked smile brightened as he meandered over to the bed, flipping the book open to the front page. “I always wondered when I’d get the chance to see this.”

“Aaron—” I reached out, trying to swipe the book from him, but he caught my wrist and held me steady. “I swear—”

“Behave yourself,” he narrowed his eyes, still smiling, though. He released my hand, allowing me to sit back down obediently. As he turned to the next page, he sat down next to me so that I could watch what he was doing. “Do you remember how we went through my old yearbook the night you first told me you love me?” I was going to kill him, I swear. He had to know that I would do it, and I knew how to get away with it. “And you told me that I would never, ever get to see your yearbooks.” With that snide, calculated comment that was supposed to tease me, I tried to grab the book from him again, though I knew I shouldn’t have. “Look at you, you were adorable!” I tried again. “If you don’t stop that, I will tie you to the headboard.”

“I wasn’t adorable,” I told him as I gave up trying to take the yearbook away from him. “I was nerdy and dorky. Elle was always the cool one. She knew how to play the system so that she could be popular, meanwhile, I was just focused on getting to the Academy.”

“Sounds like a fun childhood,” he teased with sarcasm hiding behind his words.

“Hey!” I punched his arm lightly. “I had fun!”

“Mhm,” he nodded sarcastically. “Was that between studying and playing D&D, or was that after you volunteered at the senior center?” He pointed to all the different pictures of me on the community service pages. 

“I’ll have you know,” I grinned, recalling a memory that would definitely get under his skin, “that it happened after the homecoming game junior year.”

He looked up at me with wide, shocked, yet still angry eyes, just as I predicted. “Please tell me it wasn’t in his car, at least.”

“Her bedroom,” I corrected. “She lived just a block away from the school, so we snuck out of the game and walked to her place. Elle never even knew I was gone.”

Hotch’s eyes dilated slightly as his mind raced with every possibility of what happened that night. “And what about your room?” he asked while looking around in order to avoid eye contact with me so that he was harder to profile.

“Her birthday the following week,” I answered, now using the same kind of smirk that he had plastered to his face only moments ago. He thought that he could get to me by looking through the yearbook and stirring up old memories, but what he failed to recognize was that I would do anything to get the upper hand on this situation again.

Hotch cleared his throat as he turned another page of the yearbook. “Oh, look!” He was trying to change the subject again, despite how obvious it was that he was thinking about what happened on that bed in high school. “It’s a picture of you and Elle.” He turned the book slightly towards me again, but I didn’t look down at it.

I leaned against him, shifting around on my knees as I got closer. When my hand brushed against his pants, Hotch cleared his throat again and nearly slammed the book shut, yet he still managed to somehow hold together his composure. “You know,” I whispered into his ear, “birthday sex is a lot of fun.”

“Was this your move in high school?” he asked me with a raspy, breathless tone.

I knew I got him, now it was just a matter of breaking him. “No.” I shook my head. “This was.” I grabbed the book, knowing that he wasn’t paying attention to it anymore, and I threw it to the floor. His hands were desperate to hold onto something now, so they immediately found my hips as I straddled him. “And then it went a little something like this…” I whispered in his ear as I started slowly unbuttoning his shirt.

“Your parents are downstairs,” he whispered back.

“Just like high school.” I smiled.

He laughed as he leaned in to kiss me. “You would have been bad news for me back in high school, Y/N.”

“I’m still bad news for you.” I finally got his shirt open and I quickly pushed it off his arms. His arms snaked around my waist once they were free of his blue silk shirt. “You remember Valentine’s?” He nodded before pulling me in for another kiss. I pushed him away. “Round two?”

He shook his head. “I just want you. Please.”

“Whatever the birthday boy wants…”

Hotch moaned as I lowered my hips, grinding my panties against his trousers. When he was least expecting it, I parted from our endless kisses and pushed a hand to his chest with enough force to give him the idea that he should lay back on the width of the bed. Hotch listened, his arms falling from hugging me to grabbing my hips as he laid back calmly. He stared up at me with his brown eyes dilated that were turning pure black with lust. He licked his lips, trying to forget about how nice it was to kiss me and how he wanted to do it again.

I used my hand on his chest to balance myself as I dragged my hips up towards his chest slowly, feeling the outline of his erection passing over my covered slit. As I pushed myself back down, I felt his tip hit my clit, both of us letting out an unexpected moan in response.

When I realized what happened, I put my other hand over his mouth. “You have to be quiet,” I whispered, moving my hips forwards and backwards against him. He groaned against my hand, the vibrations of his pleasure running through my hand before coursing through the rest of my body.

“Fuck me,” he begged against my hand.

I sat up entirely, moving down his thighs somewhat so that I could fidget with his pants. He groaned quietly every time my fingers accidentally passed over his throbbing length as I struggled to get his pants off as fast as possible. I wanted him just as badly as he wanted me, and there was only so much time we had before my parents or Jack would come looking for us. All I knew was that I wanted to fuck him and call him mine for his birthday.

We worked together to discard the rest of our clothes. While I fidgeted with his pants, his hands crumbled up the skirt of my dress, and he made a move to lift it over my head, but while he was still laying under me, he couldn’t make the aggressive move he wanted. So, he had to wait. I pulled his belt out of all of the loops, then tossed it to the side. Without hesitation, I undid his pants, my palms brushing over his erection so often he was moaning and bucking. I lifted my hips so that I could push down his pants and underwear to his ankles, and when I sat back down, I made sure that I was right over his erection.

“Baby, please. Your dress.” He tugged at the skirt of it lightly. I nodded, raising my arms over my head. He whimpered a “thank you” and sat up slightly so that he could pull my dress off my body entirely, and afterwards, he unclasped my bra with expertise. “So precious, baby girl…” he exhaled through his nose lightly before kissing my bra strap. As my fingers tangled themselves in his hair and pulled, Hotch’s cold fingers slowly started pushing my bra straps off my shoulders. The more my bra fell, the more he kissed my bare body, making his way down to my nipples. “I love you,” he whispered to me as my bra fell to the floor and he wrapped his lips around my left nipple.

I moaned, throwing my head back. “I love you, too.”

He released my left nipple and slowly went to suck on the other one, making my stomach twist in pleasure. While he was preoccupied and I was desperate for him, I reached between us so that I could take his length in my hand. He hissed quietly. When I bucked my hips up slightly, running my clothed slit up every inch of him, I felt him twitch in my hand with excitement. He wanted me, of course. I wanted him, too, but this was all about pleasing him. I was going to take my time making sure that he was served and happy.

Hotch nibbled on my nipple gently when I ran my thumb over his tip. I heard him whimper a few quiet times. So, I did it again. He released my nipple so that he could moan into my chest. I smirked and did it again.

“Baby, please—” he gasped breathlessly. “Just fuck me. Please.”

“You wanna cum for me?” I asked him before kissing his hair.

He nodded. “Yes. Please. Fuck—”

As I lifted my hips, Hotch reached between us to push my panties to the side. “Do you want to cum in me?” I teased his tip at my entrance.

“Baby girl, I want to fill you so bad…” He tried pushing my hips down, but I held steady. “You—” He gasped against my shoulder as I rolled my hips slightly. “You promised— For my—For my birthday—”

“I know, baby,” I whispered. “I know.” I just loved hearing his pleas and whimpers too much to not pry them out of him. But now that he had given himself to me and his whimpers blessed my ears, I could finally give in for him. “I’m sorry.” I started lowering myself onto every inch of him. We both let out quiet moans that filled the room. Hotch wrapped his arms around my entire body, pressing my chest against his. “I love you.”

“I love you—” He groaned and threw his head back as I settled at the base of his cock. “You treat me so well, baby girl. Thank you.”

“Shhh…” I cooed. “Fuck…”

As I started rolling my hips around him and slowly moving up and down his length, I felt myself get more worked up, encouraging me to only go faster and harder. We held each other close as I did so. He was so hard, every inch of him was throbbing inside of me, hitting exactly where I needed him most. But then there was the added stimulation of my clit grinding on his pubic bone. It made me melt.

“I fucking love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too.”

Slowly, but surely, my back started to tense up. The muscle that had been injured the worst during the bank explosion over a year ago was starting to act up again, which wasn’t unusual in these cases. For the most part, I was healed since then, to the point that I could participate in cases in the field without issue, and Hotch and I could have intense scenes with only minimal aches. But from time to time, I would feel it to the point that it felt like my back was screaming at me: “Please, do anything else but this!” So, I gave in. I listened to the way my body was angry at me, and I tried to shift around somewhat to calm down, but it wasn’t working.

“You okay?” Hotch asked after noticing how my pace had slowed.

I nodded slightly before cringing again. “My back…” I finally admitted. This was the worst fucking time for it to hurt. “I’m sorry, baby.”

He shook his head and sat up. “Don’t be.” He hugged me and stood, giving me time to wrap my legs around his waist. We moaned into each other’s mouths in response to the way he moved inside of me. He turned around and started carefully laying me on the bed with him still buried inside me.

“That’s a talent,” I mumbled against his lips. He chuckled. “I like being under you better, anyhow.”

Hotch leaned up to stop me from continuing my endless string of kisses. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

I nodded and bucked my hips up to encourage him. Hotch caught the hint, so he planted his feet on the ground and slowly started pulling his length out of me. When his tip was all I had inside of me, we kissed, then he thrust into me with a little more power. I moaned loudly. Hotch quickly put his hand over my mouth to keep me quiet. I pressed a kiss against his palm to let him know that I understood that I had to be quiet, but he didn’t release me because now he was on top, and my mild bratty attitude hadn’t gone unnoticed by him. He was in Dom space now. I could see it in his eyes. Melting in with the lust and love that filled his dark eyes was a red tint that screamed: “You’re mine.” And I loved it. I loved it and I let that tint put me in my place.

He snapped his hips back and forth again a few more times. With every thrust that passed, he increased his speed and power to the point that I was a moaning mess under his hand. Everything was so muffled, but he understood that I would’ve been screaming for him if I could. I loved him. I loved how he fit in me perfectly—that it didn’t matter that we had been together nearly six years because I was still so tight for him and only him. I was his. He was mine. We were us, and that was what mattered. Being back at home, reliving a few bad memories, talking about some people I would’ve rather forget about, none of that mattered while he was towering over me.

He leaned in close and let out a shuddered breath in my ear because he was close to moaning loudly, too. “I’m gonna cum,” he warned. I nodded against his hand, letting him know that I was close, too. “Fuck…” He started attacking my neck with his lips, leaving a mild hickey that hopefully wouldn’t start forming until we were gone. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” There was his tell. “Y/N—” Before he could say anything else, my walls tightened around him as I tipped over the edge, encouraging him to cum, too. “Fuck!” he hissed against my skin.

“Sir,” I moaned against his hand. I bucked my hips to make sure both of us worked out our entire orgasms before slowing down and giving up. “Shit…” I slumped back, my body going limp.

He slowly pulled out of me and removed his hand from my mouth. “You okay?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Your back?”

“I’m okay, baby, I promise.” I patted his chest. “Happy birthday, my love.”

“Thank you.” He sat up by pushing his hands on my hips, then he let go of me so that he could pull his pants up. “I don’t think we can use a towel…” he joked.

I rolled my eyes at him. “Ha. Ha.”

“Where the fuck did you throw my shirt?” he questioned while spinning in a circle to try and spot it. I giggled and reached over my head to retrieve it from the floor. I threw it at his face. “Brat,” he hissed after catching it. I smirked.

Hotch held his hand out for me, and when I took it, he carefully helped me up, keeping his eye on me to make sure that I wouldn’t break. I was still a bit sore, but it was manageable. I figured that since he was right about the towel thing, I’d have to make my way to the bathroom down the hall, and I would just grab a Motrin or something there, too.

After Hotch slid his arms back through his dark dress shirt, he moved to start buttoning it up, but I beat him to it by shooing his hands away and grabbing ahold of the hem of his shirt. As I reached the top button, my pinkie passed over the purple mark I made on his neck that was getting more and more obvious as the seconds flew by. I blushed and looked away. Hotch chuckled and lifted my chin by trapping it between his thumb and his curled index finger. My gaze met his again.

“Are you shy, baby?”

I nodded. He grinned and gripped my jaw hard. I gulped before biting my lip and feeling the way my legs gave out somewhat.

“Why, though? Weren’t you the one to mark Sir?”

I whimpered. “Yes, Sir.”

He brought me close to his lips, then lingered for a second, as if he were daring me to act out by kissing him quickly, but I obeyed by waiting. Maybe five years ago I would have given in, but now… with my parents and the kids downstairs… There wasn’t really any time, and our priorities were different. So, I waited for him to kiss me first. He smirked at my compliance, then slowly leaned in to press his lips against mine, barely even touching me at all before he pulled away.

“We should head home,” he whispered.

I whimpered. “I hate you…”

He grabbed my jaw harder. “Go clean yourself up.” He kissed me again, this time a little more passionately, then he turned to walk out and start wrangling the kids downstairs.

I let out a shaky breath as the room fell silent again. That was certainly one way to celebrate…

Once I cleaned myself up in the bathroom, downed a pain killer, then got dressed, I headed downstairs to see Hotch holding a passed out Scarlet in his arms. She was resting her chin on his shoulder while sucking on her thumb—a habit I thought we kicked about six months ago. Jack, on the other hand, was sitting on the floor in the living room while playing with Red and some of his other favorite toys. As I passed him, I kissed the top of his head. I asked if he was ready to go yet, and he nodded. I could tell that he was getting tired, and I knew that by the time we had him and Scar loaded up in the car, the two of them would be dead asleep for the whole drive home.

“Alright,” I began wrapping up the conversation Hotch was having with my parents, “I think it’s time to get them home.” Hotch agreed shortly before my parents gave in. “Thank you, guys, for looking after them today.”

“They were perfect,” my dad said.

“We’d love to have them back soon,” my mom added.

Please, no, I thought to myself, even though I was smiling and conceding. Hotch stood with Scarlet in his arms, and I kissed her temple while petting her hair. It was a miracle she lasted this long. I honestly thought that she was either going to pass out before dessert, or that dessert was going to give her a sugar high that would keep her up for the rest of the night. However, I had not anticipated that she would eat dessert and still be exhausted. I guess we got lucky.

“Oh, wait, I almost forgot!” Mom jumped to her feet and ran to the kitchen to grab something. I prayed that it wasn’t leftovers. When she returned, she was holding a wrapped gift in her hands. “Ken and I got this for you, Aaron.” She held it out for him.

Since his hands were full, he couldn’t necessarily accept it, so I offered to take Scarlet from him carefully to make sure that she wouldn’t wake up. When his hands were free, he took the gift. I watched as he eyed me for a second before starting to unwrap it.

“You guys didn’t have to do this,” he insisted politely. My mom and dad shook their heads like it was no big deal. As the wrapping fell apart, he found a black leather box in his hands. He found the zipper on the side and pulled it open. Hotch chuckled to himself. “You guys seriously didn’t have to do this.”

I peeked over his shoulder to see what it was that they got for him. It was a fancy travel-size shaving kit. It had an electric shaver, with the charging chord, it had a handheld shaver in case there was no plug-in sight, it had a full tube of shaving cream, moisturizer, aftershave, and so on. It was completely unnecessary. Like, ostentatious for no fucking reason. I almost wanted to chuckle, but it would’ve been rude, so I bit my lip and held back the urge.

“We know what it’s like to have to travel all the time for your job, so we just wanted to make sure you had a way to make sure that beard of yours never grows back,” my dad joked.

I finally let out a chuckle. “I miss the beard.”

“I don’t,” Hotch said, smiling. “Thank you both,” he said to them while zipping up the kit. “It means a lot.”

“Can we go home now?” Jack questioned, slowly stumbling into the room, rubbing his eyes with his fists.

“Yeah, buddy. You wanna say goodnight to Grandma and Grandpa?”

Jack shuffled another few steps towards my parents, and he hugged their hips lightly. After they hugged him back, he meandered towards his dad who kneeled down to let Jack crawl onto his back to carry him the same way JJ liked to carry Henry. Jack slumped against Hotch. He flung his arms around his dad’s neck and trapped his legs around his waist. When he was steady, Hotch stood up straight.

“Seriously, thank you both for tonight. We had a lovely time,” Hotch said to my parents.

“We’ll call you guys in a couple of days to see if you want to do this again,” I offered. Scarlet started fussing in my arms. “Okay, okay, we’re going.” Hotch and I slowly started making our way to the front door. Dad skipped around us so that he could hold the door open for us since we were a little pre-occupied. “I love you,” I said while passing him and kissing his cheek. He kissed mine, too.

“Drive safe,” he begged.

“We will.”

Hotch headed down the front steps, then turned to make sure I could navigate them safely while not being able to see around Scarlet. When I made it down, we walked side by side to the car. Since Scarlet was certainly smaller than Jack, I was able to balance her in one arm long enough to open the backseat to put her down and buckle her in quietly, then run around to the other side to help Hotch get Jack in since he passed out on our way to the car, too. When they were settled, I chuckled. They were still so young and innocent. I almost envied their ability to fall asleep so quickly and in such uncomfortable positions.

Hotch sighed and snaked his arms around my waist. “I love you.”

I rested my head back on his shoulder. “I love you, too.” I slowly spun around. “Happy birthday, baby.”

He kissed me. “Probably my best birthday yet.”

“Suck up.”

“I try.” He kissed me again until we both melted and smiled against each other’s lips.

-----

criminal minds family: @peggy1999​ @gorgeousdarkangel​ @alex--awesome--22​ @oceaneblu​​ @brithedemonspawn​​ @absolutemarveltrash​​ @bshelley322​​ @rousethemouse​ @sunshinepower17​ @weexinling​​ @pettttyyyc​​ @Braty-angel  @braxdix

[hotchley]

like blood underneath your fingernails

Honestly, I’m quite proud of this one. It’s been in the works for a while, and I finally have a title (from Looking Too Closely- Fink) and I both did those flashcards and emptied the dishwasher, so it’s here now. It’s been proofread!! Once. In the car.

The writers (according to the internet) did not deal with the aftermath of Scratch’s initial... thing. So I took it upon myself to write the case after. It got dark, but I had fun writing it. And it has low-key Mortch vibes... a lot of other amazing writers have also written fics linked to this, so you need to read those too because they’re just the best

OH!! This is not a Rossi-friendly fic. I have tried to explain why he responds the way he does, but it does come off as Rossi bashing, so if you reallllly love him and think he was a great friend to Hotch... skip on this one.

Trigger Warnings: dissociation, aftermath of torture, a slight reference to suicide and child death, canon-typical violence, cases involving kidnappings and murder, blood, dark themes, other canon-typical darkness, hallucinations

read on ao3!

He cannot close his eyes.

Because when he closes his eyes, he sees one of them, falling to the ground as the light leaves their eyes and the life leaves their body because his worst fear has never been his own death. It has always been the death of the family he is meant to protect- whether that was Sean, or Haley or the team. 

He hears the fear in JJ's voice as Spencer, her little brother, the boy that has always been too young, the man that he has never succeeded in saving, falls to the ground, eyes never opening again. 

He tastes the horrifying and coppery tang of blood as Derek is shot right in front of his eyes, the blood splattering onto his cheek and every sentence Reid has ever spoken about the bacteria and pathogens in blood springing to the forefront of his mind.

He smells the bitter and disgusting sage that Peter Lewis uses to torment people and turn them into brutal murderers that cannot stand the sight of their own hands or wrap their heads around their actions because they had always been normal and good, and it hurts because he's already a killer, never once normal or good.

He touches the knife that was slid towards him, the metal cool against his warm hand and the weight a comforting thing that make him feel like he could regain control of the situation he was in, despite the thoughts of George Foyet that fill his mind, and he wonders whether Scratch is impotent.

He closes his eyes and he no longer knows what is real.

It is why he is returning to work only ten days after the case. He had wanted to take the usual five, terrified even of that small number because he couldn't trust himself. The doctors that assessed him in the hospital wanted him to take thirty. Ten, and a passed psychological evaluation, had been the compromise.

He wonders if the team knows how he lied. They must do. They aren't stupid. He wonders if anyone will call him out on it, or if they'll once again be so terrified of the humanity he wants nothing more than to cling to that they will simply watch and wait until he shatters again.

The steady ticking of the clock is the only noise in the otherwise silent apartment. When he flicks the light on, he sees there are still five hours until he needs to wake up. For a single moment, he closes his eyes, contemplating whether or not attempting to sleep is a pointless exercise. He swears he can still taste sage and opens his eyes again.

A silent house is not necessarily a bad thing. It means Jack is sleeping through the night, no nightmares about the gunshots haunting him. And it means the extra locks on the door, the obsessive way he checks every window is locked as soon as the sun goes down, are doing their job at keeping the monsters out of the only home Jack has real memories of.

Aaron creeps out of bed, grabbing the jumper that was folded at the foot of his bed. Once he's put it on, he sighs to himself and counts to five. For each number, he tells himself a fact that cannot be disputed. That grounds him.

His name is Aaron Hotchner.

He is forty-four years old. 

He is standing inside his bedroom, in his apartment, which is located in Virginia.

The windows of that apartment are locked from the inside.

Just down the hallway, his son is sleeping peacefully, untouched by the monsters that strangle his father every single day.

He creeps down that hallway, taking comfort when the same floorboard that always creaks does just that. Normally he would avoid it. But lately he's been finding every opportunity to do something that Peter Lewis would have no knowledge of, if only so he can convince himself he's fine.

Jack's door is slightly open, allowing some light to enter. Aaron nudges it gently, making sure he doesn't wake Jack. The door doesn't make a sound, and his son carries on sleeping. He never looks so similar to his mother as he does when he sleeps. Haley slept on her left side, a slight smile on her face, and Jack does the same, unless he has a bad dream.

But even then, he is so much like his mother that his tears can be turned into something beautiful. Aaron was the exception of their little family, having always expressed his emotions so honestly, the few times he let himself do that, that there was no way it could be anything but ugly and human.

He's too big for the chair in front of Jack's desk, but he sits in it anyways, turning it so he can face Jack's bed. On the table is his latest art project- a collage of things that remind him of the people he loves- and Aaron finds it difficult to look at. Because his son has painted his mother as a perfect angel, and his father a superhero.

One day, Jack will realise his father is the furthest thing from the superhero and he will hate him for destroying his childhood and taking his mother from him before he was old enough to understand that people were mortal. Aaron is mentally preparing for that day- there are already so many letters that will never excuse or justify what he did hidden in his office drawer- but until then. he will allow himself this one good thing.

He will allow himself to sit, and take comfort in the steady rise and fall of Jack's chest. He ends up staying there until sunlight starts to stream through the window, and then he takes his leave. 

Seeing Jack, sleeping so calmly and normally, reminds him of why he's going back to work. Because if he hurts the wrong person there, the team won't hesitate and they'll do it. If he hurts Jack- and he knows he's weaker than the man that refused to harm his son, knows that it will be Jack- there will be nobody there to end his pain and suffering. He'll be forced to live with it.

A minute before his alarm is set to go, he turns it off, and then he goes about morning like it is any other day. 

He doesn't feel like himself till he puts the watch Dave got him when became lead profiler on, tightening the strap till it mirrors the feeling of holding the knife. And he wonders whether the team are discussing his return to duty the same way they had six years ago. 

They are. Aaron's absence meant more paperwork for the rest of them, as there is no way the team are going to let him handle it when he comes back, so every single one of them are in an hour earlier. It also means his return will be as smooth as it can be.

Even if they don't all approve.

"It's only been ten days," Derek says. "He needs more time."

"Does he? He came back thirty-four days after George Foyet stabbed him in his apartment and his wife and son were sent into Witness Protection, and he was fine. This is like child's play compared to that," Dave says, fiddling with a paperclip.

"Ex-wife," Reid corrects quietly. 

The three of them are sitting in the bullpen, looking towards the elevator every few minutes. Kate pretends she's not listening, and Derek pretends he believes her.

"Was he fine? He looked us in the eye and asked why a man that had lost his wife and child was still alive. He walked into a hostage situation unarmed. We all pretended he was fine because we needed Foyet to strike, but I'm not making that mistake again. Not after what happened when he did end up striking," Derek snaps.

Spencer swallows. Dave just raises an eyebrow. It's almost funny. Spencer views Aaron as a father, Dave as a son. Either way, they both believe he is perfect. Able to come back from anything and everything with nothing more than a broken ego. But Derek remembers what Foyet's body looked like, and he remembers how Aaron had shattered in his arms for those few seconds.

"If you want to ruin his first day back, then be my guest. But you need to trust him the same way he trusts us. After all, you care more about him than you do your job," Dave says, annoyance bleeding into his tone.

And Derek gets it. He really does. He had wanted to believe Gideon was invincible when he came back after Boston. Everyone had. So they hadn't done anything, and he had just gotten more and more reckless with his actions until innocent people ended up dead and Hotch got suspended. And then he ran. 

He isn't going to let that happen again.

"This isn't about not trusting him. This is about keeping him safe. And you're right. I do care about him more, because the last time I didn't, he almost retired. So we either do the opposite of what we did last time, or we let history repeat itself."

"Derek, you can't force him into anything. He passed his psych eval, so Cruz can't do anything either," Spencer says. 

Derek softens as he turns to him. "I know pretty boy. It's not about forcing him into anything. It's about making sure he knows that we're here if he needs more time, or if he needs a break. And don't get me started on that psych eval. I saw his answers. They're too perfect. He's lying."

"So what are you going to do?" Dave challenges, and not for the first time, Derek wonders how Aaron kept his sanity working with him, Jason Gideon and Max Ryan at the same time without any of the other members to meet his eyes with the same exasperated look every time one of them reverted to the old fashioned way of doing things.

"Be the friend he trusts me to be," Derek says. It's his own challenge. Dave prides himself on being the only one to call him Aaron. To people outside the team, Rossi seems to be the only one that Aaron trusts enough to be vulnerable with. 

But Derek knows better. Aaron will never be completely open with anyone, but he still feels like he has a duty to be the hopeful and undamaged boy that thought he could save the world that Dave recruited. He still has a duty to be the father that Spencer never had and thought he'd found in Gideon. It is only with Derek that he allows himself to do his own type of falling apart: one that is contained and messy and ugly. Somehow both terrifying and anticlimactic

It was Derek that stopped him from running into a burning building all those years ago. It was Derek that was voluntarily told about Haley leaving. It was Derek that stepped up as Unit Chief and pulled him off Foyet's dead body. Not Dave and certainly not Spencer. So he won't let them influence his actions. Not this time.

Hotch does blink. But only when he thinks nobody will see him do it.

Dave keeps eye contact for a few more moments, but this time, Derek does not break it. Eventually the older man turns around and heads to his office. Derek sighs, knowing fully well that Aaron is going to end up doing the paperwork anyways.

"Is he going to be okay?" Spencer asks, sounding so painfully young that Derek has to look at him to remember he wasn't the new recruit anymore.

"Dave? Yeah, he'll be annoyed, we'll get a case and then everything will be fine," Derek says, smiling so Reid doesn't worry.

"No I meant Hotch. Will he be okay?"

Derek can't tell him the truth. "Of course he will. He's Hotch."

"Why are you lying to me?"

He knows there's no point in trying to deny it. "I'm not trying to patronise you or keep you in the dark. It's not that. It's just- I don't know. It's stupid, but I want to shield you from his mortality and flaws and imperfections for as long as is humanly possible. You are always going to have a different relationship with Hotch because of how much younger you are, and I just don't want to be the one that ruins it."

"So you want to protect me?"

Derek nods. "I guess."

"Thank you. Nobody ever did that when I was younger," Spencer says.

Kate breaks the ensuing silence by asking for Spencer's opinion on her consult, and Derek starts watching the elevator doors again. They don't open until precisely nine, when Hotch steps off, dressed in the same suit and tie he wears every second Monday of the month, carrying his briefcase and acting like nothing happened.

He gives them a slight smile as he passes them in the bullpen, and even those few seconds are enough for Derek to see that he hasn't been sleeping.

When Aaron sets his briefcase down, Spencer looks to him, nervous. Derek gives him a small smile, even though they all saw him as he entered. It's only been ten days since they last saw him, but his suits seem to hang from him more than before. Dave looks out at them, and Derek starts to count.

He counts to three hundred, and is immediately struck by just how fast time can go. Three hundred seconds is five minutes, and yet it feels like no time has passed. But when Hotch looks out at them, as he always does, everyday, without fail, ten days feels like a lifetime.

He is terrified as he stands, but he fights through the fear and goes up to his friend's office. The door is open, so he walks in without knocking. When Hotch looks at him, he closes both the door and the blinds. Hotch swallows as the sound of them closing fills the air.

"I don't want them profiling this conversation," he explains.

Aaron just nods. "Thank you."

"You don't need to pretend with me," Derek says.

Aaron looks away, and Foyet's presence, usually contained to the self-deprecating voice in his head telling him he's no better than his father, seems to fill the room. They both know why he doesn't pretend anymore.

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"You don't need to say anything. I don't expect you to tell me the truth, because I wouldn't, if I was you. I'd be too terrified. But I remember what it was like seeing Spencer and Emily. So if you do want to talk, then I'm here. Always. And I won't flinch."

Aaron knows this to be true. When they finally got back to Quantico after Jason's death, Derek found him sobbing in the men's bathroom, the barriers he had spent so long piecing together completely breaking when he opened his drawer and found a photo from the early days, where Jason looked happy and hopeful. He hadn't said anything. Just sat beside him, and offered a tissue. 

"I know you won't."

Derek sighs, not sure what he's meant to do. "Aaron-" he starts, not sure what he's going to see next.

"I can't trust myself. I- I don't know what's real, and I keep trying to do the grounding things that the bureau therapist said I need to, but I don't know if they're working. I have post-it notes all over the apartment and I have my five facts, and I have things I can touch, but Scratch knew so much, I can't- I feel like he's everywhere and he knows everything."

It is so honestly vulnerable that Derek wants nothing more than to flee, if only so he can cling to the Aaron that existed when he first joined the unit for just one more moment. But he made a promise. And he has no idea how he's meant to keep it, but he's going to.

He holds his hand out. When Aaron doesn't take it, he leans over the desk, gently linking their fingers. "I'm here. With you. Scratch can't get our body temperatures perfect. He can't know that I'm always slightly warmer and you're always colder. He can't know that twelve years ago, I called you darling because I didn't realise it was you."

Aaron chuckles slightly. "Derek."

"You don't need to say anything. I messed up after Foyet. I won't do that again."

He shakes his head, finally meeting his eyes, and the fire in them is almost enough to convince Derek that everything is going to be fine. Almost.

"You did everything you could after Foyet. If you had tried to do more, I would have stopped you. We both know that. You did everything right, everything perfectly right and you cannot feel like you failed because you didn't. Do you understand me?"

Derek swallows. “Yes. But you need to understand that if you need anything- and I mean anything, whether it’s for me to take the reins for a bit, an unofficial firearms certification, or even just to do the grounding techniques with you, I will.”

Aaron nods. “I know Derek. I know. Thank you.”

Derek gives him the most convincing smile he can, leaving the door open because Aaron hated having it closed. As he exits. Dave steps in, and he sees as Aaron morphs back into Hotch to be the man that Dave needs him to be. It hurts to see, but he understands why it happens.

He doesn’t believe in God. He hasn’t for a while. But he needs to do something other than stare at dead bodies, so he prays that the team remain grounded for a few days. Not for too long because then Aaron will get suspicious and realise that Derek had been forging Rossi’s signature in order to transfer their out of state cases to other teams, but long enough for him to get settled once more.

Or as settled as he would ever be.

It’s probably why, only minutes after Dave leaves Hotch’s office, smiling, whilst the other man just looks exhausted, JJ comes rushing into the bullpen. There are five files in her arms, and she looks frantic. 

“No,” Derek says.

“I’m sorry, but we need to go on this one. It came directly to me. It’s- just look.”

He doesn’t want to, but as JJ goes to give the files to Dave and Aaron, he does, if only so he can gauge how much support he will need. And as he opens it, he understands exactly why they’re going on this case. Why, even if JJ had tried to hide it from Hotch, he would’ve said they had a duty.

They have four victims. All blonde women. All mothers. All divorced. Killed by a single gunshot to the head. No evidence of sexual assault, but they were held captive and tortured for three days before being dumped in their home. All found by their ex-husbands, who were only there to drop the child off.

Hotch does not show an ounce of humanity during the journey there. It terrifies Derek. Hotch only refuses to show how human he is when he’s close to falling apart. Too close for anyone to feel comfortable. Instead, he keeps his tone detached and professional. Derek pretends to not notice the way Aaron pushes down on his stomach, over the biggest scar Foyet left. Aaron pretends he doesn’t see Derek watching him.

When they get to the station, Derek knows it’s going to be a long case. Him and Reid are sent to the coroner’s office, whilst JJ and Kate are tasked with searching through their victims history. Which means Hotch and Rossi are left to interview the husbands. JJ and Derek- the most attuned to Hotch and the thought behind his actions- make a silent agreement that they will do whatever it takes to make sure Rossi doesn’t go too far. Whatever that means.

They fail because they don’t get the chance to speak to him before they leave the precinct.

And when they return, Dave is nowhere to be seen, and Aaron is sat in the conference room, clenching his jaw and hyper focused on the details in the case files.

“Did you get anything from the husbands?” JJ asks, tone gentle.

Hotch shakes his head. “They’re grieving, and terrified for their children. But they’re not guilty. They all loved their wives.”

Nobody bothers to point out all four couples were divorced.

"Where's Rossi?" Reid asks.

The tension in Aaron's shoulders increases.

"Hotch," Kate says, the only one that can.

"He accused one of the father's of committing the crime," Hotch says.

JJ and Morgan give each other identical looks. Kate looks horrified, and Spencer is stunned speechless.

"What happened after?" she prompts.

Hotch doesn't speak. Kate sighs, then leads JJ away. As she passes Spencer, she asks him to follow her because Hotch and Morgan need to speak alone. He nods and leaves without another word.

"Aaron," Derek says.

"I ended the interrogation and dragged him out of the room. And then I punched him in the face because those women remind me of Haley and those fathers remind me of myself and every accusation he made reminded me of the months after her death and I couldn't do it."

Derek wants to punch Dave himself. He must have known what he was doing, and in some strange and obscure way thought his actions would help the situation. Clearly he couldn't have been more wrong.

"You didn't cause Haley's death," he says, for lack of any other words.

"I did. Maybe I didn't put the gun to her head and pull the trigger, but I did cause it. That's not what I'm scared about though."

"What are you scared of then?" Derek asks, well aware that they're in the middle of a police station where anyone could hear them, but needing to take advantage of Aaron's vulnerability before he let his mask slip back into place.

"Scratch. I punched Dave and it felt like Scratch was laughing at me, egging me on to hurt him more. The worst part is that I almost did. Punching him felt good, and then I panicked and now I don't know- I don't know whether the only thing I did was punch him or if I did something more."

Derek curses under his breath. "How long have you been feeling like that?"

Hotch shrugs. "I couldn't- I forgot what time it was when I stumbled back here. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he says, the words almost reflexive because of every apology Aaron has ever given him. "We just need to ground you."

He takes Aaron's hands, noting that the muscles are moving the way they should be. It's a small thing, but it's a good thing, because it means he's wearing the wrist support when he needs them and doing the physical therapy.

“Look at me,” he commands softly.

Aaron does so willingly. “Derek, we’re in a conference room.”

“That’s good. Can you give me four other facts that prove you’re here, in this moment with me?”

"My name is Aaron Hotchner. I am forty-four years old. We are in a police station. You are Derek Morgan. There is a door behind you and a window behind me- the window is locked, but the door is wide open. We can both see if someone walks in."

"Show off," Derek teases.

Aaron manages to smile slightly. “Thank you,” he whispers after a moment.

“You have nothing to thank me for,” Derek says. He means it.

This time, Aaron’s laugh is self-deprecating. “I’m a horrible person to look after.”

“Not to me you’re not. How do you feel now?”

He shrugs. “Better, I guess.”

“Drink some water. Slowly. I’ll go check on Dave.”

“Do you think he’s going to hate me?” Aaron asks.

“You’re the closest thing he has to a friend. Of course not,” Derek says. He keeps his tone light, but deep down he’s afraid that Dave will. Not forever, he could never do that, but for long enough that something else goes wrong.

He finds Dave in the bathroom. 

“Hotch told me what happened,” he says.

“And what? You’re here to tell me that I shouldn’t have pushed because he’s fragile and hurting? Did you tell him that he shouldn’t have fucking punched me in the face because of something I said to a suspect?”

“Those men were not suspects and you know that,” Derek snaps. He sighs. “I wasn’t coming here to tell you that you shouldn’t have pushed. I came to see whether or not you were okay.”

Dave raises an eyebrow. Derek sighs, again.

“He saw Scratch when he punched you. Now he’s worried. And he’s falling back into old patterns. I told him he didn’t kill Haley and not only did he not believe me, he flat out disagreed and said he did.”

“What do you want me to do?” Dave asks. He doesn’t sound angry, just tired. Derek wants to shout at him. He may be tired after this one event, but he’s not been the one picking up the pieces and gluing their fragile leader back together for the past few years. Dave doesn’t get to be tired. Not whilst Derek is still the only one able to do anything.

“I don’t know Dave. You’ve known him the longest. It was you that found him in the immediate aftermath. You took the gun from him- rather poetic given the last time an unsub targeted him, you told him to take yours- and got him to speak.”

Dave blinks a few times. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I thought being hard on him would bring him back, but I was wrong.”

“It’s okay. You just need to correct yourself now,” Derek says, for lack of any other words.

“I just want him to be the boy he was when he first joined the unit,” Dave whispers.

Derek did not know the boy his friend was then, but he does know the Aaron that existed before Boston. The Aaron that held a baby Jack in their arms like that one small child was enough to remove every piece of darkness to exist. The Aaron that had grabbed Haley’s hand and taken her dancing so they could spend a bit of time together.

"We all do. But he's gone now. The only thing we can do is try to save whatever pieces of him live in the Aaron that is sat in the conference room, beating himself up over something that was not his fault because of your misplaced comment," Derek says. They have a killer to catch. There's no time to entertain this.

"I know. Thank you. For doing what the rest of us are too afraid to," Dave replies. Derek shifts uncomfortably under the weight of his gaze. 

Something about the dynamic between the two men has changed, and everybody has noticed.

"Somebody has to," is all he can say, before he leaves Rossi to wash his hands and search for the man that had promised Aaron everything he could ever want, all those years ago when he first recruited him for the BAU.

There's an empty glass of water beside Hotch when Derek returns, and he's silently thankful that for once in his life, Aaron listened. He's deep in conversation with one of the police officers, so he refrains from making any comments, but when Aaron turns back towards the table, he goes over without a second thought.

He tells himself it's because he wants to know what happened just then. Because he wants to know whether or not they have any more information that can be used to their advantage. He tells himself it has nothing to do with the fact that learning about the case means he doesn't have to focus on the minute tremble of Hotch's hands. Doesn't have to see the hollow look in his eyes- a look of a man so defeated that he has no reason to try anymore.

The problem with being a profiler is that you rarely fall for anyone's bullshit- including your own.

“Did the officer have some additional information?” Derek asks.

Hotch hears him, obviously, but does not respond.

“Hotch,” he repeats.

“No. He didn’t. He wanted to know why you were holding my hands.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “And what did you say?”

“That ten days a man that managed to turn people that would never dare hurt another person into horrific killers drugged me, causing me to hallucinate the deaths of the same people that are solving his case for him, and as a result, I cannot always tell when things are real,” Aaron deadpans.

For a moment, Derek honestly can’t tell whether or not he’s joking. Then Aaron gives him the smallest smile, and he relaxes slightly. The last thing they need happening is officers spreading even more rumours about the types of cases the BAU work on.

He starts to reply with a joke of his own, then sees Aaron’s smile fade away like it was never there. He wonders how instinctive the action is- how many times was that little boy told he was too much, and how many times did he fade into the background like he didn’t even exist?

Without turning, he knows it’s Dave.

“I’m going to see if Spencer needs any help,” Derek says.

For a moment, it seems like Aaron is going to beg him to stay. But like most of his displays of humanity, it passes in a second, and then he simply nods, not even trying to fight.

“Aaron,” Dave says, walking over with purpose.

“Rossi don’t. Please,” Aaron pleads.

“What you did was stupid. But my actions were also uncalled for,” he says. It’s the closest he’ll ever get to a proper apology. Aaron accepts it because there’s not much else he can do. Dave pretends it’s going to fix everything because it’s the only thing that will get him through the case.

“Do you seriously think the fathers are to blame?” Hotch asks.

Rossi shakes his head. “Not anymore. I just needed to be sure.” He also needed to be sure that Aaron was fine, and given his response to Rossi’s accusation, he can’t say he’s convinced.

"Good," Aaron says, and the smile he gives Dave is so small and subtle, but so full of love, that for a single moment, the older profiler is able to convince himself that the fragile collection of skin and bones in front of him is still the hopeful boy that joined the unit. But then the moment passes and he's left feeling worse than before.

When the team come back, picking up on the cues that both Hotch and Rossi laid down, they go back to acting like nothing is wrong. Like the women in the photos are victims that deserve justice, and not the mirror of the same light they failed to save five years ago.

There are no breaks in the case, and they return to the hotel defeated and miserable. Budget problems mean they're doubling up. Part of Derek wants to switch rooms with Dave so he can keep an eye on Aaron, but the bigger part of him knows it would be a terrible idea, so he texts him saying that if he needs anything, no matter what time it is, he'll be available.

Aaron mouths the words thank you once he's read the message. Derek counts it as a win, and he tries to remain calm when Dave texts him saying that when he entered the shower- after Hotch- although the water dial was set to be normal, the water ran hot. Too hot.

He refrains from commenting the next morning, when Aaron clasps his glass of freezing water like a lifeline. In some ways, it is. And he knows what it's a sign of. He isn't sure whether it's caused by something in particular, or if he's just overwhelmed, but the hotel dining area- where Kate and Spencer would both hear- isn't the place to ask.

They get to the precinct, and it becomes clear that nobody there has slept. Another woman was found dead a few minutes before they got there. The father and son are sitting in the same conference room the BAU were working out of. For a moment, Aaron looks like he's going to kill the person that sent them there. The lead on the case quickly intercepts, saying they moved the boards and evidence files, and he relaxes slightly.

But before anyone can sleep, he removes his blazer and tie, before unbuttoning his top button and rolling his sleeves up. And then he walks into the conference room. Derek blinks, then it clicks. Aaron looks like a father. Someone both people sat in the room can trust. JJ hands him the information on the file, and his breathing stops for a moment.

The father and son could have been Aaron and Jack. If Aaron's eyes were darker and Jack's hair lighter, they would be the boys smiling in the photo provided with the file. He wants to take over the conversation Hotch must be having, but he finds himself rooted to the spot. How many cases are going to hit too close to home before Aaron gives up? Before it feels like every victim wears Haley's face? 

How many more times can Aaron Hotchner look into the darkest parts of humanity before his hands stop going cold at crime scenes and Derek Morgan needs to take his place in some weird parallel of the events that occurred after Boston? 

When the father and son leave the room, he jumps out of his chair and runs over.

"We will catch this man. And if you need anything, please don't hesitate to contact me," he hears Aaron say.

He sighs to himself.

The father shakes his hand and leaves, guiding his son with nothing more than a gentle hand to the back of his head. He sees Aaron swallow. 

"You know you can't promise things like that," he chastises, not truly meaning it.

"It wasn't a promise. It was a guarantee," Hotch snaps.

Morgan simply raises an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry."

"Want to tell me about it?"

"I told him about Haley, and how I found her. And about how Jack was just down the hallway in my office- the one place in our home that my work touched, even if he never found it- so now he can't be alone on New Years or Independence Day. I only said it because he told me I didn't understand what it was like. To have to do that."

No amount of surgery is ever going to fix the hole in Aaron's heart that Haley's death created. They could plant seeds of love and watch them blossom into flowers of acceptance and fearlessness in every other part of his body, but that one area could never be touched.

Derek knows this. He's seen it before.So he doesn't offer any words, because there are none. Instead, he takes Aaron's arm and he squeezes the elbow. It is Aaron's non-verbal method of saying thank you. So in that moment, it can also be his.

Aaron isn't entirely sure why Derek is thanking him, but he learnt long ago that when someone said something, you didn't push. You accepted their words- whether they were kind declarations of love or as sharp as knives- and you moved on.

When Derek lets go of him, he walks back over to the team, feeling slightly lighter and infinitely more grounded.

Kate tells him another woman had been taken, and the weight he thought he'd been able to let go off settles on his chest like a death threat. There is a single moment where she worries that this will be the thing that causes him to fall off the edge of the cliff he's been standing on for far too long, but then he stands up properly and it's like nothing ever happened.

He doesn't sleep, instead pouring over the case file whilst Rossi gently snores beside him. If Jason had been with the team. he would've somehow realised that Hotch was still awake, and told him to go to sleep. And Hotch would've obeyed. But Jason wasn't with the team. He was dead. And sometimes that knowledge knocked Aaron off guard, so he stopped focusing on that and started concentrating on the woman.

Their break comes the next morning.

Garcia hasn't slept either, and between the two of them, they have a name and a location. Everyone piles into the cars, vests on and weapons ready, because even though nobody had said it, there was no way this is ending without at least one shot being fired.

The door to the building is unlocked, and they have their unsub surrounded within seconds. Hotch suddenly feels like a bucket of ice has been poured over him, causing him to freeze, and the blood to start pounding in his ears. Nothing feels real to him. He tightens the grip on his gun.

His name is Aaron Hotchner.

He is forty-four years old.

He is holding a gun because he is on a case.

The unsub is holding a knife to a woman's throat.

The woman looks just like Haley- no. He cannot think that. Not now. 

"Let her go," JJ commands softly.

"No," their unsub says.

What is his name? And why can Aaron not remember his name?

"If you put that knife down, and let her go, we can tell the courts that you cooperated with us. That'll be nice, won't it?" Kate adds. Her tone is completely level. Calming in a way that it shouldn't be.

The unsub grins, then presses the knife even closer to his victim's throat. She lets out a terrified whimper and closes her eyes. He yanks her hair, forcing her to open then, and he seems pleased with himself.

"I don't care about the courts. I care about the man I'm doing all of this for. He's going to be great, and he's going to make me great too. Just you wait and see."

This wasn't part of the profile. There was never meant to be a more dominant partner. The control Aaron has been clinging to in order to get through this case is slowly slipping away with each piece of information he either cannot remember or is introduced to him. 

"He? Who is he?" Spencer asks.

The man cocks his head. "Is it not obvious?"

Spencer shakes his head. "We're not like you. We need you to explain."

He nicks the skin slightly. Blood pools at the tip of the blade. Another digression from the previous pattern. No knives were ever used to cut the skin. The kills had been quick and clean. Why was everything changing?"

"I won't."

"The only way you get out of this alive is if you explain everything to us. Because this man, he won't make you great. Whoever he is, he only cares about himself. Not you. Certainly not your life. But we care about you. Just set the knife down," Derek says.

Aaron knows he needs to contribute, but he just can't do it. His tongue is like a useless knot in his mouth that he can't undo because his brain is twisted too.

"No," the man says, bringing it dangerously close to the woman's pulse.

"Aaron!" Derek shouts. "You're the only one with a clear shot. You need to take it. Or do something. Do you hear me? You are the only one that can do this. If he moves that knife, take the shot."

Aaron turns in the sound of the voice. Derek is telling him that he needs to take the shot, and he can see why. With the way they're stood, he is the only one that can possibly avoid hitting either the woman or another team member. 

He raises his hands, ignoring how they tremble. Front sight. Trigger press. Follow through. Three steps that he has been following since his days at the Academy. Three steps that mean he has never missed. Never failed.

The man smirks.

Aaron turns to make sure nobody else will get hurt, or can take the shot. But when he looks at Derek, it's not Derek.

It's Peter Lewis.

"No," he whispers, but in the silence of the room, he may as well have shouted at the top of his voice.

He turns to look at the man, and he sees that he is about to shoot Derek Morgan. The one person that has never been afraid of him. The one man that is still good and undamaged by his hands. The one man that can and has led the team without any sort of assistance with him.

"Aaron!" Derek's voice exclaims, but he still wears Mr Scratch's face.

Aaron does not know what is real anymore, but he knows he needs to minimise the damage. The gun falls from his hands, with the safety off. It lands on the floor with a clatter that is too loud to his ears.

Their unsub laughs, once, and slits the woman's throat. She falls to the ground, dead by the time she hits the ground. Derek- real Derek, whose hands have always been warmer than his- fires his gun once. The unsub also falls to the ground with a shout.

Aaron closes his eyes.

He hears his name.

He tastes copper.

He touches his own hand, startled by the coldness.

He sees Derek's terrified face.

He smells sage.

He smells sage.

He smells sage. And then the world goes black.

When he comes round, he does not know where he is. He does not know where the team is. He cannot ground himself in the moment or come up with five facts that prove his surroundings are real. 

He opens his eyes. The team is gone.

And he is covered in blood.

[satchels-and-socks]

The Jet ride

Warnings: cussing, two hot girls kissing on the jet, betting, and fluff

Ship: Jelle JJ×Elle

Preview: what happens on jet doesn't always stay on the jet.

The team had just gotten done with a very long and gurgling case. It would appear that everyone was asleep that is except for Elle and JJ.

Spencer was asleep leaning on Derek's right shoulder and Penelope was leaning on Derek's left shoulder. Derek fell asleep with both of them on his shoulders and his head was laid back.

Gideon fell asleep spread out on the little couch.

Finally Aaron was asleep laying back in one of the seats.

"Hey there princess since everyone is asleep do you want to know a secret?" JJ asked with a smirk and a wink looking at Elle.

Elle raised an eyebrow at JJ tilting her head.

"Sure JJ what's up?" Elle looked at JJ raising an eyebrow.

JJ crawled into Elle's lap wrapping her arms and legs around the brunette placing her lips softly on to the other's giving her a feather soft kiss.

"I'm not complaining but what brought this on?" Elle smirked watching the blonde intently.

Aaron was faking being asleep he had a small smile creeping on to his face. The agent kept quite to see what happens next.

"I mean actually I've been wanting to reveal it for a long time. But I've been kind of afraid to tell you and then this case here involving the young couples got me thinking that something could happen to one of us. I guess what I'm trying to say is I love you Elle Greenaway with all of my heart." JJ smiled kissing the brunette again only this time crashing her lips more forcefully into the other's nibbling on her bottom lip pulling back slowly.

"It's about damn time, you two have been pining over each other for months. But, the way you've been looking at each other the past couple of days on this case Derek and I knew today one of you would crack and finally admit your feelings for the other." Aaron smirked as he slowly set up, he carefully pushed Derek in the chest to wake him up but not disturb Spencer or Penelope.

"What Hotch wait oh..." Derek stopped mid sentence smiling like an idiot ear to ear as the agent saw JJ on Elle's lap.

"I mean don't be too happy because you owe me twenty bucks. Because JJ admitted it first." Aaron smirked and laughed when he saw Elle was flipping them off.

"Hotch and Morgan! You guys had a bet going on involving us! I mean Morgan I can see I mean I love that man like a brother I really do but, this is exactly the kind of idiotic thing he would do! But, I thought you were above that." JJ was trying her best to pretend to be mad.

But, the beautiful blonde couldn't keep the creeping smile off of her face. The smile made her face glow bright like the sun.

"Come on pretty lady don't be so loud I got two sleeping babies on me. The one she ain't use to traveling with us but with all the technical aspects of this case she got her chance. Don't be too hard on Hotch pretty lady we got very bored. I didn't expect little Pennsylvania petite to be the one that let her feelings out first though I must say JJ you really shocked me." Derek raised an amused eyebrow as he ran his fingers through the hair of sleeping Spencer.

"I mean I saw it coming Morgan. Mainly because Greenway much like Hotch is very stubborn and closed off when it comes to her feelings. JJ on the other hand although she is the type to take charge there are times when she knows that if she don't let her feelings out and let her heart take control nothing's going to come out of it. " Jason had a big smile on his face as he sit up on the couch. "Morgan you owe me fifty bucks by the way but, I would settle for a nice dinner and an apple pie." Gideon smirked.

"Come on guys really? First betting on us now profiling us? This is why I don't open up and this is why I both love and hate you guys." Elle scoffed wrinkling up her nose before giggling and snorting.

"Morgan I absolutely hate your ass right now you know that right?" JJ giggled and snorted laying feather light kisses on Elle's face.

"You love me blonde princess and you know it." Derek smirked as he relaxed in his seat best he could as he was still being a pillow for Penelope and Spencer.

The two agents spent the rest of the jet ride in each other's arms. It wasn't perfect but to Elle and JJ it was pretty damn close.

Nina George once said: "We cannot decide to love. We cannot compel anyone to love us. There's no secret recipe, only love itself. And we are at its mercy there's nothing we can do."

The end.....

_________________________________________

@transpenelope @davidrossiismydad @emilysblackturtleneck @makaylajadewrites @drspencerreidshands @combeferre-the-mothman @hotchsbabygirl @hotchseyebrows @penemily @gubetube @90spumkin @ssa-hotchner-whipped @moreidsdaughter

@mrs-dr-reid

[stxrrywildflower]

out of the old (1)

pairing - spencer reid x reader

summary - you think about quitting the bau

warning - cursing, mentions of case

series masterlist

everyone in the bau had their breaking point.

for some, such as former agents jason gideon and elle greenway, they snapped and left the organization as a whole. for others, such as emily prentiss and aaron hotchner, they had taken a leave of absence before returning and relying on their bau family.

but you, you had no idea where you were. all you knew is that you had reached your own personal breaking point.

ever since you were a little kid, you know that you wanted to be apart of the fbi. you knew the hard work it would take and personal strains of moving from california to washington d.c. but you had enrolled in the academy and gone from there.

director erin strauss had immediately taken a disliking to you. your superiors at the acadamy had only spoken good things about your work and strauss had to meet you in person. you almost wished you hadn’t agreed to seeing her because that’s where everything fell apart.

after meeting her, your superiors began to expect more from you and the pressure grew. you had ultimately discovered that strauss had told them to be harder on you, but not for good reasons. she wanted to see you crack as if you weren’t meant for the fbi.

once graduating top of your class, you were recruited onto the bau team. from there, you made fast friends and the team had taken a strong liking to you. they loved how you fit within the team and your personality as a whole.

erin strauss, however, was less than thrilled. every moment you messed up in the slightest, you were in her office being scolded. most of the time, you had received a warning. after a rookie cop had almost gotten you killed, you were the one being yelled at, not him. and finally, when strauss heard that you and spencer were dating back almost a year ago, she had pulled you into her office instead of spencer. he didn’t even get a look in his direction from her. she had threatened to suspend you if hotch hadn’t stepped in.

there was a strong bias against you by strauss and everyone on the team knew it.

the last case was the final straw for you. the team had been sent to pheonix and had remained there for almost two weeks. the outcome wasn’t exactly ideal but the positives outweighed the negatives.

it had come down to you and the final unsub. the others had been taken in as well as the victims saved. however, in the middle of you attempting to talk the unsub down, he had put his gun to his throat and pulled the trigger, killing himself instantly.

the whole ordeal had left you a little bit shocked, both at what you had witnessed and how you knew strauss would react. after a long flight, which everyone had slept on, the bau team made their way back to the office. everyone needed to get their stuff and paperwork before being allowed to go hone.

walking in, spencer held your hand tightly. you then let go and made your way to your desk, tossing your bag on the floor next to it. as you went to sit down, you heard a recognizable voice behind you.

“i would suggest you remain from sitting down, agent y/n. my office, now,” strauss demanded, her tone harsh. she walked out of the doors and you had no choice but to follow. you glanced back one more time at your team who all gave you pity looks.

once entering strauss’ office, you stood hands behind your back and looking straight on. strauss however, sat down out her desk and pulled it the most recent case file.

“i assume your know why you are here,” strauss started. you nodded to her words, trying not to give her the satisfaction of you looking scared. “i’m going to be a little nice here. i’ll let you go free tonight but know that i expect to see you in my office tomorrow morning at nine am sharp so we can discuss this,” she spoke, motioning to the graphic case photos. you once again nodded and turned around, walking out and back towards the bullpen.

on your way in, you encountered rossi and j.j. who were leaving to head home. you knew that j.j. was desperate to get home to see will and henry so you didn’t want to hold her up. however, rossi shot you a comforting smile as j.j. squeezed your shoulder.

spencer was there to greet you when you walked in. you shrugged his hand off of your shoulder and ignored derek and emily’s concerned looks. instead, you grabbed your bags and exited the building without another word.

strauss was making you hate your job and there wasn’t anything that could be done that would benefit you.

____

the following day, wednesday morning, you stepped into the bau. you first walked up to hotch’s office, tossing your report from the case on his desk with sad eyes.

“good luck,” hotch spoke to you as you walked out. you slightly smiled before making your way to strauss’ office.

this time, she motioned for you to sit down. you did just that and placed your hands in your lap.

“i don’t know what i’m going to do with you agent y/n. over the past few months you have made countless mistakes. you were placed in the bau team for a reason even if i was strongly against it. personally, i don’t think your profiling skills are up to par but you get one more chance. the next mistake you make, i will have no choice but to suspend you,” strauss informed you.

anger slowly bubbled up inside you. thankfully, you kept your shaking hands in your lap and kept yourself from lashing out. “suspend me? with all due respect ma’am, others on my team have made mistakes but they haven’t been called into your office,” you responded politely.

strauss suddenly threw the case file down and glared slightly at you. “oh so now you’re throwing your team under the bus? this further proves my suspicions of you not fitting in and not working well with them. don’t get me started on your relationship with dr. reid. furthermore, agent hotchner will be hearing about your behavior agent y/n. you are dismissed.”

with that you took a sharp breath and did everything in your power to not storm out of the office. the first thing you did when you re-entered the bullpen was go straight up to hotch’s office. the door was open so you entered and closed it behind you. your boss’s eyes looked to you, a concerned look forming when he saw your state.

“i can’t do it anymore hotch, i really can’t,” you spoke, voice incredibly shaky.

“do what?” hotch responded as he finished scribbling down a few things on a file. you rubbed your eyes as tears began to form.

“be on this team. next time i make the simplest mistake even if it’s suggesting the wrong thing, i’ll be suspended. i can’t remain on this team knowing that i’ll have to walk on eggshells for an unknown time. i know strauss doesn’t want me in the fbi anymore, she told me herself. i just can’t be here anymore,” you revealed, getting choked up in the end.

hotch stopped writing and placed his pen down. “she said that?” he asked. you nodded with a frown. “she told me that my profile skills are not up to par and i shouldn’t be at the bau.”

with that, you realized just how mentally exhausted you were. ever since you got to the bau, you’ve had to constantly prove yourself and after all this time you still seem to not do your job right. you just wanted it to stop.

“and there’s nothing i can do about strauss. so, i would like to request a resignation form,” you concluded.

hotch’s eyes widened at your request. “is there anyway i can convince you to take the rest of the week off to think about it? you can let me know monday morning,” your boss tried to convince you. you thought about it for a slight moment before agreeing.

“i’ll let you know monday morning,” you confirmed. once exiting the office, you noticed your entire team in the bullpen including garcia who was sitting with derek. you ignored them as you grabbed your work bag that had yet to be unpacked and your go bag. you pressed your lips together and rolled your eyes sarcastically as you looked at your name plate. ‘ssa y/n y/l/n’ it read. you flicked it down before leaving the building without another word. 

rossi, who had stepped out of his office just in time to see you leaving, looked at his team who were all sporting confused expressions. he then walked down the catwalk and into hotch’s office.

“what’s going on with y/n?” rossi asked.

hotch motioned to close the door and then sit down. rossi sat across the younger man who then sighed.

“she’s reached a breaking point with strauss’s harassment. and dave, from what she’s told me it’s never been this bad. she requested a resignation form,” hotch revealed causing rossi’s eyes to widen.

“she’s quitting?” he asked shocked.

hotch shook his head, “i managed to convince her to take the rest of the week off to think about it. i just don’t know where she’s going to go. and i mean what is there to do about strauss. nothing we could even discuss in a work setting.”

“we can do a team meeting at my house tonight. send a text using the personal numbers. oh and tell garcia to bring her computer,” rossi suggested before exiting to room to avoid suspicion.

spencer looked out confused as his girlfriend exited the bau abrubtly, bags in hand and tears in your eyes. he knew he could go after you but had realized you probably wanted to be alone.

a buzz from his personal phone broke him out of his thoughts. judging by the rest of the teams expressions, they had received one too. it was a simple message from hitch.

“team meeting at rossi’s at 7pm. do not mention it to anyone outside of the team. garcia bring your laptop.”

he looked towards emily who simply shrugged. they had no doubt that it was most likely about your sudden exit.

____

meanwhile, once exiting the bau, you quickly drove home as fast as traffic and the speed limit let you. you then stepped in your apartment, thankful at that moment that you didn’t share with anyone.

the first thing you did was pack your bags. you left your work bag at the table and packed a backpack with personal items such as a few books and electronics. then, you packed a suitcase full of clothes. finally, you changed out of your work attire and into sweatpants and a t-shirt which was obviously much more comfortable.

you sat on your couch, opening up your laptop to american airlines. after finding a flight that was leaving in an hour and a half, you booked it before putting your laptop back into your backpack and standing up.

before you left, you placed your gun on your table. this wasn’t a flight with the bau so you couldn’t bring your gun for obvious reasons. your badge remained in your coat pocket just in case. as you looked back at your apartment, you sighed.

there was only one thought that crossed your mind; spencer. your boyfriend obviously wouldn’t react well to you just getting up and leaving so suddenly. well, no one would, but, you didn’t want to leave him in the dust. you knew he would come to your apartment after work so a note was the easiest option. you quickly grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and began writing.

spencer,

“goodbyes are bittersweet. but it’s not the end, i’ll see your face again”

i know it’s cliche to put a song lyric but i figured it was fitting. i really just need to get away for awhile and clear my head. text me and let me know you’re alright, okay?

i love you,

y/n

you folded it up before neatly printing your boyfriends name on the front. with that, you were out your front door and on the way to the airport.

close to seven hours later, you arrived in san diego. the warm heat of the city welcomed you as you felt your nerves seemingly melt away. after taking a cab, you arrived to your families home.

you first knocked timidly on the door before stepping back. moments later, a figure appeared before the door swung open.

“hi mom,” you spoke with a small smile.

[whump-town]

Aversions

Hotch is less than dealing with the events of Foyet’s attack.

Warnings: alcohol abuse, child abuse, drug abuse, graphic depictions of violence & stabbing, self-destructive behavior, crying, self harm, mentions of suicide, suicidal ideations, violence with guns, and maybe some out of character Hotch and Emily.

Not sure how I feel about this fic... but I guess, we’re going in with both feet so 

“You cannot save people, you can only love them.” --Anais Nin

Aaron Hotchner has never been good with words. Not the right ones, anyway.

But actions can speak louder than words.

He’ll spin Garcia around the dance floor when they go out for drinks. Hands placed just where they should be and he’ll laugh softly when she makes a thinly-veiled dirty joke. And she’ll remember those nights for her whole life. The way he smiled at her as the lights shimmered overhead. The way he blushed when she refused to dance with anyone else, stating she needed a real gentleman.

There are nights at Dave’s. Weekends that he gets to keep Jack, uninterrupted by cases, and they go to visit Pop’s; Jack’s third favorite person (mommy and daddy of course being one and two). It’s the sound of Jack’s happy feet running up and down the hall, Hotch’s thundering voice as he he-ho-hums and chases him along. Dave watching the youth bleed into that scrawny, spunky recruit from some twenty years ago. And Jack always runs into Dave’s arms and in one fell-sweep proclaims him the only safety he can get from his daddy. His giggling face turned into Dave’s shoulder as he shouts, “get him Pops, get him!”

Those memories were just weeks ago.

It’s been two weeks since Dave’s house was filled with Jack and Hotch, smiling and happy and… fuck just healthy.

Aaron Hotchner wakes up dizzy and sore. The pain ebbing into the numb, dull ache of whatever’s being steadily fed into the line disappearing into the pale flesh of his hand. For a moment, he just watches the ceiling spin. An all too familiar sinking feeling in the pit of his gut. Anxiety spreading its claws out to take root but he… he can’t seem to remember why.

Realization floods his chilled limbs with a shudder, the memories hitting his sternum. He leans his head back into the pillows, limp and stiff and cold and so fucking hot-- The stiff tug of the stitches in his abdomen force him to come to an altogether too swift descent. There’s a hissing sound that comes before his right-hand aches, something cold and heavy spreading up his arm and into his chest.

“Good to see you awake,” a nurse greets.

He’s too far gone to say anything.

By the time Emily finds him, he’s had one minor run-in with the staff. A doctor stops Emily in the hall, her tone laced with annoyance and apprehension that bleeds into her threat to restrain Hotch if that becomes necessary. Emily leaves with a nod and promises to keep an eye on him but she leaves with this tight bundle of uncertainty forming in her chest.

He wakes as she settles down in the visitor’s chair.

The stitches along his hip are tight, leaving him immobile despite his foggy brain wanting nothing more than to curl onto his side and sleep just a little longer. But the scent of the antiseptics burn his nose and he can still feel Foyet--

The tip of the knife slowly dragging down his chest. There’s no threat of a scratch or blemish out of place. Aaron’s breathing having long ago turned ragged and shallow. “Have you ever read the reports,” Foyet asks, keeping his slow purposeful movement going. “Tell me, Aaron, have you read what David Rossi and Jason Gideon had to say about you? Young Aaron…”

Foyet smirks as he stops, shifting as he presses weight into the stab. It’s slow and agonizing but, Hotch realizes with a shudder, he’s too cold and weak to even really feel it. His body slowly falling away.

“Not so young anymore,” Foyet comments. He takes a moment to watch the knife’s slow pull from Hotch’s body, smiling when Hotch’s chest catches and he falls silent and breathless. Not even the sound of his ragged wheezes filling the air. “I can see how they’re right, you know?” Foyet lays the knife down on the side, pulling himself up and away from Hotch. “I wonder what’s going to get you killed faster, your loyalty, or your stubbornness?”

His eyes peel open slowly. Uncoordinated and sluggish he raises his left hand to scratch at the dried blood on the side of his face. His fingers manage to clumsy hook the canal running his nose and he pulls it crooked on his face.

Her voice quiet, afraid any sudden movement from her or too sudden a loud sound, might startle him, she calls his name. “Hotch,” she rises from the chair. She hates how her voice wavers. The shift that takes place between them. Any semblance of friendship they might have must be cast aside because… he’s a material witness and a victim. One that she can set off. One she might break.

Stepping into his field of vision, she can see his shoulders relax. Just having someone else close. Someone he knows. “You…” she’s stuck between Emily and Prentiss. Between her role as his friend and his coworker and even her role as an agent. But he’s always commended her undercover work. She’s got a spark for thinking on her feet. “I’m going to fix the oxygen canal, okay? It’s going to agitate your skin otherwise.”

Through slow, coordinated, and purposeful movements she keeps her hands where his darting bloodshot eyes can see. She hesitates when he sucks in a panicked breath but something in the back of her mind says pausing is only going to make it worse so she pulls the canal into place. Her fingers just hardly graze his cheek but she can still his body flinch at the contact.

And all she can think is fuck.

“That’s better, huh?” Her eyes dart to the heart monitor, uncertain if she’s convinced herself that it’s beating erratically fast or if it’s just a fragment of her mind. More than anything else, she makes herself aware of her body. The way that she moves so as not to startle him or, as she’s quickly putting together, touch him.

She steps back to the side, fully aware of the way that his eyes don’t break away from her. “Get some sleep, boss.” There’s something familiar and light about the way she calls him that and she can only pray that gets them through.

He suspects that he’s finally gone and done it. A part of him is relieved to find that fourteen-year-old Aaron Hotchner, a boy clutching to life with bloodied hands, was so wrong. The flash of heat and the open sting of his father’s belt against his back isn’t what finally makes him snap. Forces and pries his tight hold from reality. It’s nine, precise stab wounds and an awful cocktail of drugs that he can’t see his way out of. That’s what breaks him. Then again, it’s so much more than that.

Derek Morgan. His dark blue shirt fitted tightly over his back, the edge of the back tucked into his black pants. Tight muscles shifting under his skin as he stands with his back facing Hotch. His tattoos, body art Hotch had never really cared to mind, staring back at him now. Those tattoos are the only sensible thing about the world as his body is pulled back down.

He blinks owlishly at JJ. Her cold, tiny hand squeezing his and trying so valiantly to get him to talk to her. A question, something pressing, something important but he can’t…

Garcia with her tear-stained cheeks and the mascara running down her cheeks in pools. She says his name, he doesn’t hear but he sees her mouth form the word. He thinks that she might sit by his side and read. He’s got the faintest in and outs of The Hunger Games plot stuck in his brain.

There’s a fuzzy, half memory of Reid. Even in the present, he’s not sure it’s actually happening. A hallucination, maybe, but as he’s looking the young genius over he’s not sure why he’d hallucinate Reid. Then again, who else is left? There’s this look in his eyes, it makes Hotch feel guilty. Wrong. He doesn’t dwell on that feeling for very long. One sluggish blink later and he’s gone… maybe he was a hallucination.

Somewhere between hugging Jack and Dave standing in the doorway to his room, Hotch feels a very deep, uncomfortable weight settle across his chest. A realization on the tip of his tongue-- he wishes that Foyet had just killed him.

Waking with only the weak light of the hall outside, he realizes that he has no idea how much time has passed. Days or hours or even time. Just that the room is dark and there’s a light glow from the machines behind him. The morphine’s going to kill him. He needs to be more alert but the edges of the world are blurry and he’s already succumbing to the warm sting spreading over his body.

His hips ache and he makes the mistake of shifting. It’s just a small movement, sleepy and hazed he’s not capable of too much more. Still, his body is on fire.

“Careful,” Emily whispers from the dark.

He can see her, out of the very corner of his eye, rustling as she moves out from under the mountain of a blanket and uncurls her legs. He watches, silent, as those legs seem to go on forever. Reality melting into the heat of his body, the flames licking up him. And her touch is the water he so desperately craves but he’s lost his sense. There is no up or down or reprieve from the heat.

“Easy,” she breathes across him, the flames succumbing to her. To her will. “Just breath.”

He’s sinking back under the haze, mouth full of cotton and jaw slacked open but he can’t find the words. He can’t seem to remember how to speak. “Prentiss,” he rasps, eyes sliding shut but his hand closes around hers. Begging, pleading that she understands.

“I’m right here,” she promises. “Sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

A week later, she finds him tripping over himself he’s so drunk. Making a mess of himself and everything around him but… that’s all he’s ever been good for anyway. She doesn’t say anything. There isn’t any disappointment in her eyes, despite what he’s expecting.

Haley always hated seeing him drunk. He gets sloppy.

Where Haley had seen only Mr. Hotchner, a broken old bastard, in her husband, Emily just sees a man begging for normalcy. For the pain to numb and for things to return to normal.

Emily just takes the bottle out of his hand. Taking a chug out of the bitter, dark liquid she grunts as she swallows. It burns and she supposed that’s half of the appeal to him. “Come watch the History channel with me,” she says, taking his hand and guiding him to the couch. He goes easily. She knows he likes the History channel and she also knows that he just needs some stability. Something solid. So she leans into his side and holds his hand. Reminds him that he’s not as alone as he thinks that he is.

But even that’s not enough.

“Hotch! Hotch, that’s enough! He’s dead, man,” Morgan falls to his knees, pulling Hotch from Foyet’s body. “He’s dead.”

Emily watches Hotch’s trembling body. The split skin of his knuckles and the way that two of his fingers crookedly bend into his palm. Rough ragged sobs tear through the room, breathless words passing Hotch’s lips. He’s shaking uncontrollably. She watches, his bowed back, snap. His attention, that hawk-like, eerie attention, is moved. It’s changed.

He pulls himself from Morgan’s arms.

Morgan having drawn Hotch to his chest. Bent their bodies to mold them into a folded backward hug. Their heads pressed together. Morgan can’t help his own tears. The abject horror washing over his body at the sight of the mess before him. Great arching sprays of blood and the thick scent of blood looming over them. And George Foyet… a blooded lifeless body before them.

And Hotch…

He stumbles to his feet, pulling his body from where he’d fallen into Morgan. Where he’d allowed himself just a moment's embrace. He takes three, four large steps on shaking legs.

Emily steps forward but Dave catches her elbow. He stops her from moving to Hotch.

He’s not in his right mind. Dave’s only protecting her. Protecting them. Aaron is hardly going to survive today, he doesn’t need to accidentally hurt Emily. He is a live wire and he’ll take them all out in the explosion.

George Foyet arches against his wires and they’re standing right there when his anger boils over and he screams into the nothing. Holding Haley’s body in his arms so delicate and broken. They’re both just broken dolls, their cords cut and the curtain comes tumbling down. One last final blow-- his job really did take everything from.

Jack isn’t enough to save him.

He blows up. It’s not nuclear but it’s unhinged and raw and there’s something about his eyes that makes Emily finally draw the line. He’s hurting but there has to be a line. A place where one of them steps in and says that it’s enough. That he’s got to pull himself together before he sucks them all into the black hole of his chest. And she’s quickly realizing, she’s the only one strong enough to do the job.

She finds him on a bender. He can hardly stand and the light mirth she’d once admired about his quizzical eyebrow raises is gone. The man standing before is a mess and she’s not sure if she hates herself or him more for letting it get this bad. For not finding that line sooner.

“Jesus,” she whispers.

He knows disgust when he sees it. A childhood spent curled into his father’s shoe, cracked ribs, and broken arms, he knows disgust all right. And now, a fully grown man, he just laughs. There’s nothing light about the sound. It’s morbid and twisted in his throat. A hollow sound. She’s disgusted by him.

“You need a shower,” she informs him with a curl of her nose. She steps past him, ignoring the frown she shoots her. She knows that he doesn't want her here but what he wants isn’t really a priority right now. He hasn’t got to tell her. She can see it in his eyes and smell it on his breath. He wants to crawl into a dark hole and die. She’s here to drag his sorry ass out.

Looking around his apartment, the first priority is getting rid of all the bottles. “Where are the trash bags,” she asks, heading to his kitchen. He’s already shaking his head, running his hands through his thick greasy hair. She finds the bags on her own, right where she’d assumed they’d be. Under the sink. “Where’s Jack?”

He falls onto the couch with a huff. “Jessica,” he grunts.

Good, she thinks, for him. Jack doesn’t need to see his father like this. Hell, no one does but… someone has to. At the same time, if Jack were here, Aaron wouldn’t have let himself get this bad.

“He probably misses you,” she says, starting in on tossing his garbage. There’s an astounding lack of food but it’s also not entirely surprising that without one of them hovering over him and forcing him to eat that he hasn’t tried. The word suicidal may not have come out of their mouths but they watch him. They see him. Sometimes you don’t have to speak a truth for it to be true.

And Aaron Hotchner is a coward. They are all. It’s why they haven’t taken his guns and it’s why he hasn’t put one to his mouth.

There are three guns in his home.

Two service weapons that he wouldn’t stain with his own blood. He took a vow and those weapons are not meant for this. It’s a disgrace to the only thing that’s ever made him mean anything.

The third is a gun his father had given him.

He was sixteen.

The words had poured out of his mouth. An aching truth he hadn’t even realized was true until the words were spoken. He did want to kill himself. The abuse was never going to end. He could see no end in sight and his father consumed his every action and thought and even his self-image.

He was tired of his reflection.

His father had grabbed the bottom of his jaw, large fingers digging into his flesh as he’d pulled Hotch’s mouth open. Hotch had shaken, frozen in place, as his father pressed the barrel of his gun to the roof of his mouth. Gunpowder and cold metal.

Sometimes, Hotch can still taste it.

He’d been afraid to die then but now, he longs for it. There is a darkness in his veins, murky and thick, that he needs to spill out. To watch the crimson drip down his flesh so that he can see, so that he can know that beneath this shell he is alive. That there is only a part of his sum that is broken and dead. He is alive.

His ribcage expands with life.

His heart beats with purpose.

But his mind… it has rotted. Desolate and afraid.

His father had beaten him senseless that night but that made it no different than any other night.

And the very gun that had once been pressed between his lips now rests in the safe in his office. Untainted and calling out so wistfully to him. He can hear it now, as Emily calmly collects his empty bottles of alcohol. His throne of glass shattering beneath him. He can always hear it. How simple it would be to get it now. To just end all of this.

“Aaron?”

He looks up suddenly, eyes unfocused and glazed.

“Aaron!”

The bile hits the back of his throat and is thrown out on his hands and knees, expelling the contents of his stomach into the porcelain of the toilet. His head throbs as Emily follows him, turning on the lights. He’s been sitting in the dark for so long, he’d forgotten the sting of the light.

“Just leave me alone,” he grunts, spits falling over his bottom lip as his stomach aches on. Rolling and churning. He’s put nothing in it for the last forty-eight hours other than Scotch, Oxy, and two shitty beers from when he first moved into this shit-stained apartment. He groans as his stomach clenches, leaning his forehead against the cold porcelain.

Emily’s seen enough. She’s tired of this little performance he’s putting on. “No,” she steps to the sink and drenches a rag in the shockingly cold water. Wringing it out only slightly before slapping over the back of his neck. “This bullshit, it ends tonight, do you understand me?”

He grunts as the rag meets his skin, trembling muscles protesting at the temperature difference of his overheated body. Even if he could think of something to say in protest, he’s not sure it would make it past his lips without being accented by more drug-laced regurgitated booze. Besides, he knows she's right. Deep, deep down. Beneath the self-loathing heat and even farther down beneath the frayed parts of him that never survived childhood. He knows. He knows that even if it’s not for him, he has to stop. For the team and his son.

“First,” she whispers kneeling down beside him. “We need to get you sober.” She draws a clean rag over his face, wiping the vomit from his lips. “What have you taken?”

He shakes his head. Can’t meet her eyes. He’s ashamed and he should be.

She reaches out to touch him but he flinches, looking between her hand and her face. As if he’s expecting her to hit him. “Aaron,” she softens her voice. Moving slowly until she’s cupping his cheek. His eyes water, chest hitching as his breathing grows unsteady with the emotions boiling to the surface. “I just want you to get better.”

A tear falls down his cheek and he turns his cheek, trying and failing to hide it from her. He wants to get better.

Tears are falling down his face when he turns his face back to her and pulls in a stuttering breath. He pulls his sleeve up. He shows her the hesitantly made cuts on his forearm. “I-- I don’t…” he pulls away from the hand she reaches out to him with. But when she tries again, he lets her hold his wrist in her hand. Her finger ghosts over the scabs. He hadn’t known what he was doing and he hadn’t liked the blood. He’d just wanted the hurt.

It was too much like Foyet. The knife and the razor and the blood on his white t-shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

She shakes her head. No, this is-- this is his fault. These cuts were made by his hand but they never should have let him get so low. They should have done more.

Pulling her eyes from his arm she steadies herself. He isn’t hopeless. He's a fighter and he’s stronger than she is. He’s got more to lose than he realizes.

“I took the oxy,” he admits. “It’s-- It wasn’t enough.” He’s shaking now, coming down from his anger and submitting to the pain. “You need to…” a part of his broken mind screams. It screams to fall silent. That he needs the gun and that he’s just supposed to be distracting her now so that he can follow through with the plan he’s been making for weeks--

The office and the gun. Spinning in the leather-bound chair that Haley had gotten him as a wedding gift and biting the bullet. The letters are written and waiting on his desk. The chamber is full. The gun calls for him.

“There’s a gun,” he whispers. “In my office, you need to-- you have to get it or I’ll…”

She nods her understanding.

He can’t see around the tears pooling in his eyes, “uhm... “ He’s trying to think, what else? What else is left? He couldn’t stomach the thought of slitting his wrist. Never had the nerve to draw a bath and just to sink into warmth… that’s too gentle. He’d needed a bang. A mess and more disgust. More hurt.

And now he can feel the panic of his options being taken away.

“Aaron,” she squeezes his hand. He meets her eyes and feels a fraction of warmth. “Just-- Just--” she wants to tell him to let her in. She wants to tell him that all this is going to pass in time and this awful moment will just be a cruel memory one day. But she’s looking at him and seeing her own reflection. Two people broken by time and unable to trust another human being. She can’t be certain why she does it.

Her mind screams that he’s neither trustworthy nor in the right mind but she wraps her around him and pulls him into a hug. “I love you,” she tells him, hugging him tightly. Feeling his tension and apprehension. Slowly, he lifts his arms and hugs her back. He clings to her. Squeezing her tight but she’s not going anywhere.

He’s vaguely aware of the fabric of her soft cotton shirt getting wet against his face. Her hand comes up and brushes his hair down and he finds that he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that he’s sobbing in the arms of the very woman who was once hired to end his career. He doesn’t care because he feels the pain and for once, he can breathe.

Emily holds him tighter. Neither is speaking. They just cling together in the storm and Emily hopes that she can drag him out of this mess. That he can come back here, to her arms instead of into the bottle. And she’ll get his gun. She’ll throw out all of the alcohol and call Jessica in three or four days when he’s mopped up and dry and tell her that Hotch needs to see Jack.

And maybe one day they’ll think back to this moment and it won’t hurt as much. But for today, for this moment, they just hold one another.

[aswallowssong]

OWP Day 9 - Phones

We’ll catch up, I swear.

Read on AO3

-----

She’d benched Hotch ten minutes before they were supposed to get on the jet and fly to Nebraska. In his defense, he’d done everything right. He was playing it very cool, and hadn’t done one thing to tip her off to the fact that he was sick. 

When she’d gotten the text from Haley, she’d been none the wiser. When she shoved Hotch by his shoulder to sit on the couch, jamming a thermometer in his ear and scolding him about the importance of leading by example - again - he hadn’t seen it coming. 

And when Gideon was the one left in charge after she sent Hotch home and told him to get some sleep for once in his life, she’d been completely blindsided.

Having Gideon as acting Unit Chief was basically her worst nightmare. He couldn’t stand her. She couldn’t stand him. They weren’t exactly in a great place to be in a working relationship without Hotch around. She’d even volunteered to take Hotch home and sit the case out as well,  but Hotch had vetoed her. It was a case where she should be useful, and their numbers for that month were already down. She had to be on twenty-five percent of their traveled cases, and according to Reid and his never ending babbling, she’d only been on eighteen percent for the month. 

So, instead of staying with Garcia, who over time she was coming to adore, she was on the jet, as close to Morgan and far from Gideon as she could be without looking like an asshole. Gideon was short with them, all of them, but most of all her. The fact that they couldn’t stand one another was the BAU’s worst kept secret, and even Grant Anderson had asked her once in passing about her feud with the older, well seasoned man. She’d glared at him until he walked away.

It was when Gideon started to assign tasks that things really got out of hand. Kit had been silently protesting the entire way thus far, causing both Reid and JJ to ask if she was alright, and Elle to poke her in the side really hard to elicit some sort of response. She knew that giving the cold shoulder was childish, but she could do her job in silence. Gideon himself did it all the time.

“And, Colghain. Call every flower shop in the city until you find one that sells aconitum. Garcia can figure out who’s buying it. Can you handle that?”

He’s making me a secretary? 

She could help herself from saying, “What?” Her eyes looking up at Gideon with the sort of distaste and disrespect she’d been trying to stay away from the entire morning.

“It’s commonly called Wolf’s Bane-”

“I know what kind of flower it is, Reid!” She interrupted, tone harsh and eyes not even turning to look at him. Her gaze was still trying to bore a hole in Gideon’s forehead. “I’m not here to be your secretary. I should be going to look at the tox screens again with Reid. You know, my job?”

“Reid can handle the tox screens,” he said dismissively. “I’m sure you know how to make a professional phone call.”

Her fists clenched, and she almost moved forward towards him before a hand came down on her shoulder.

“She’s got it,” Morgan said. Squeezing her shoulder tightly. “Are we going to the latest scene or not?”

Gideon nodded, not looking phased in the slightest by Kit’s anger or annoyance before turning and walking away. Reid looked at her for a moment while shifting his weight before Gideon called his name, and we went scampering at the older man’s heels. Elle was already off talking to the latest victim’s family, and JJ was speaking with the local police chief, which left Kit to round on Morgan.

“What the hell, Morgan? What was that?”

“That,” he said, voice and tone direct, “Was me not letting you make a scene in front of the entire Hastings PD.”

She shook her head quickly, fingers clenching and unclenching as she tried to calm herself back down. “This isn’t why I’m here. I could be making stupid phone calls all day long from Quantico. These people were poisoned, and last time I checked, that’s my wheelhouse. Hotch would never-”

“Hotch isn’t here. You benched him.” He sighed, running a hand down his face. “Just play nice on this one. When we get back to Quantico, you can talk to Hotch about it. But right now there’s four dead girls and one flower that’s being used to kill them.” Morgan slid one of the precinct phones over towards her before giving her a hard look. “Find who’s selling it.”

“No, ma’am, I don’t need to know about the marigolds you’re selling. Do you, or do you not, sell aconitum? Wolf’s Bane?”

She was really close to slamming the phone down in frustration. The precinct wouldn’t take kindly to her smashing their equipment, though, and she was trying to be as professional as she could.

“Oh, Wolf’s Bane? No, we don’t sell that here. It’s toxic. What about some daisies-”

“Thank you so much, ma’am. Have a great day,” she said before hanging up the receiver. That was her sixth call, and she still hadn’t found a single shop selling the flower they were looking for. Where was the unsub getting the Wolf’s Bane if not from a shop? He could be growing it himself, but the way the flowers left at the scene looked, they’d been professionally cut.

She thought for a few seconds before pulling out her own phone pushing the one from the precinct as far away from her on the desk as she could. Her fingers hesitated before hitting the speed dial, guilt coursing around her.

When he answered he sounded groggy, like he’d been woken up by the ringing. “Hello?” he mumbled. Not “Hotch.” Not “Hotchner.”

Maybe this was a bad idea.

“Hotch, it’s Colghain.”

“Kit?”

“Yeah. How are you feeling?”

There was shuffling on the other end, like sheets being untangled from legs, and Kit worried at her bottom lip.

Definitely a bad idea.

“Uh,” he cleared his throat, “like I was hit by a bus, actually. What’s wrong?”

She took a breath. “I need some help. Gideon has me calling flower shops to find the flower that was used to poison these women, but there doesn’t seem to be a single one in the city that sells it.”

Hotch’s voice was more alert when he answered quickly. “Are they homegrown?”

“Elle said that the clipping on the stems left at the scene suggests a professional did them. I’m at the precinct, and I’ve been on the phone, so I didn’t see them myself, but I trust what she said.”

“You’re on the phone?” Hotch said, confusion in his voice. He cleared his throat again. “This is one of the cases under your jurisdiction. You should be reading tox reports or going through medical records.”

She scoffed quietly, crossing her free arm over her chest. “Well, Gideon has me playing secretary. Apparently I can’t mess anything up if I’m on the phone. At least with everyone but…” she shuffled the papers on the table. “Stacey Wright. She was super rude to me, and I didn’t even say I was FBI.”

“One of the florists?” He asked.

“Yeah. She was really dismissive.”

“Why?” Hotch said, but his voice gave something away. Almost like he was testing her.

“I don’t,” Kit started to say before it all began to click into place. “Wait. Just because the florist doesn’t sell it doesn’t mean they don’t have it. And she was the only one that didn’t find it odd that I was trying to find a toxic flower.”

“You know who the unsub is. Call Morgan. Have them grab you before they go for the takedown. That’s an order from me.”

Kit nodded frantically, though Hotch couldn’t see her. “Yes, sir.” There was a moment before she said, more quietly, “And thank you.”

“I wasn’t a lot of help. You figured it out.”

“But you let me,” she insisted. “And you never have me play secretary instead of doing my job, so, thank you.”

There was quiet on his side of the line for a moment, and Kit almost thought he’d hung up or fallen asleep before he said, “Of course. You’re good at what you do. Have you thought anymore about starting the profiler courses?”

“Not in your lifetime, Hotch. I’ll see you on Thursday.”

[angelswithcigarettes]

“A new trust”

Summary: After Gideon leaves Morgan is left with picking up the pieces. But he doesn't have to do it alone.

Series: The journey of finding a home [Part 2]

Warnings: Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-Con

Relevant Tags: Autistic Spencer Reid

Pairing: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid

Word Count: 8613

First Chapter:

[If you haven’t read the first part you probably won’t get this]

The reason why this works. Why Spencer can do this job. Why Spencer can be on the team, why he is this good is because Gideon does everything else.

Getting him up in the morning if he isn't already, getting him to work, making sure he knows what to do, making sure he has everything he needs, communicating for him with the others if he does need something, making sure he doesn't forget to eat and drink, getting him home, getting him to bed and doing the same things over and over and over again no matter were there are no matter what they are doing,the plans need to be changed in the exact way that it won't upset him and if it does he needs to find a way to tell him why this needs to be done and why this is not a thing that is bad.

But now, the letter addressed to Spencer already found, Hotch and Morgan are standing in Hotch's office trying to make some sense out of everything while JJ got Spencer to calm down for a while. It had been four days of an absolute chaos leaving not only Spencer but also the others exhausted.

Spencer always had a firm hand to guide him eventhough it was not a kind one for 19 years it was still someone who told him exactly what to do and Gideon tried to make him more independent but it had always been a constant.

"Gideon can I do this?"

"Gideon can I eat?"

"Gideon can I go to the bathroom?" "Gideon can I take my jacket off?" And now he doesn't know how to ask or who to ask.

"You spend a lot of time with him you need to know this."

"It's up at six, shower, coffee, gideon comes into the apartment at seven, eating at least one toast, shoes on, jacket on out of the apartment."

"You need to know more than this." Hotch's nerves are working overtime right now. Strauss his breathing down his neck for a replacement, he has to do interviews and on top he has to take care of this.

They owe Spencer that much.

His eyes traile back onto Spencer's book. It was an attempt to make him speak more with the team, but he wasn't really bothered and more frustrated by it so Gideon was always keeping it with him but it was almost never used.

What used was was Spencer's notebook were he writes everything down he wants to say when he can't.

The last words looking at Hotch, burning itself into his mind. "Gideon left" It was written under something completely irrelevant but these two words were the foundation of talking to Spencer over the last days. "I want to see Gideon now."

"Kid you can't see him."

"It's 8pm. Gideon comes for dinner."

"He doesn't today. What does your notebook say?" Morgan had been kneeling down in front of him pointing on the two words.

"Gideon left."

"That's right. What does leave your conclusion for the evening with?"

"No Gideon. Gideon left."

"That's right so we are going to eat dinner alone."

"Yes. With Gideon. Gideon steps by at 8PM."

They haven't even found out what happened until both of them didn't show up to work and Morgan drove to their apartments to check on them finding Spencer sitting on his kitchen table. The empty coffee cup in front of him. "What's going on kid? You are suppose to be at work now."

"I am waiting for Gideon." He points at his chart at the wall. "Gideon will come by at 7am" He reads.

"Do you know were he is?"

"Gideon left."

"He left?"

"Yes."

"What happened? Why did he leave?"

"It's in the letter."

"In the letter?"

"Yes in the letter. I am waiting for Gideon. We eat breakfast together next." Confused and with a tight throat Morgan grabs the envelope reading everything that was written and knowing that this was going to be hell for every single one of them.

"We are going to drive to the office now."

"I am waiting for Gideon."

"No Gideon today, I will take you." Nervously he grabs Spencer's shoes and gets him into them while Spencer is visibly confused by why Morgan was doing this. "It's gonna be okay" He takes Spencer foot and places it on his thigh tying the shoelaces. He collects Spencer's note book and checks Spencer's jacket if he has his stim toys in them and when he sees he doesn't he walks into the kitchen to get one. "Alright it's warm we will just take the jacket for precaution." Spencer hates going anyway without a jacket a jacket provides pockets were he can keep his stuff and something he can feel safe in. He likes the blue FBI jacket, the summer one the most but he can only were them on duty so Gideon got him one without the emblem. Careful Morgan holds his hand out for Spencer to take it and he does,his cold long finger grabbing Morgan's and then following out of the apartment like a scared child.

"You spend your free time with him-"

"And that's it. Me interfering in any of the routines was never something Spencer allowed. I could be there for breakfast or when he goes to bed but I was never allowed to do anything that Gideon did and we tried to talk to him about it but he just wouldn't understand it that someone else would do those things without wanting something in return."

They had been an evening were Morgan tried getting the night routine done with him because Gideon wasn't in town because of a family emergency and Morgan had promised him it would work out just fine he can leave Spencer with him.

Eating dinner,getting into the bathroom, encouraging him to shower, blow drying his hair, pyjamas on, making sure he brushes his teeth and then into bed with him letting him ramble if he needs to and then going out of the apartment when he says goodnight.

But everything after getting him into the bathroom was a disaster. Getting undressed wasn't a problem for Spencer, since he never felt like he had the right to hide his body from anyone anyways but Morgan felt uncomfortable until reminding himself that this is not hurting Spencer.

But showering needed a whole more motivating, first the temperature wasn't right and until he was finally in the bathtub with shower head they had passed the twenty minute mark and Spencer was crying,sitting down while Morgan washes his hair out. "What am I doing wrong? Please tell me." He had begged and then had to bite back his own tears just continuing with what Gideon had told him to do and then finally he was laying in bed, Morgan on the chair next to bed and he felt like he cheated death a couple of times that night.

"Okay everything like before I will help you. Morning and night routine like Jason did." Hotch's last thing he wants is to make this even more traumatic than it is already is for him.

"I got this."

More on Ao3:

[myheartrevealedocs]

Untouchable Ch 15- Help

Warnings: swearing, drugs

Ch 14 | Ch 16

~ ~ ~

Another few weeks of silence. Lydia got a few calls from the team during the first week, but slowly they thinned out and disappeared.

She dropped herself onto the couch after her shift at a nearby coffee shop. It wasn’t the ideal job, but she needed some form of income to pay rent until she was out of school.

Her professor and her were discussing getting her teaching credentials and getting experience as a student teacher before she retired. The plan was to have her prepared by the upcoming spring semester, still 10 months away.

That was it. She was going to be a teacher. It was a fine career path, especially for someone of her age. And she had time to do something else if it truly didn’t suit her.

Lydia’s eyes grew heavy and she was just thinking about leaving her grad school work for another day, when someone knocked on her door.

Huffing, she picked herself up once more and checked the peephole. Gideon was hovering outside.

“Did Garcia give you my address?” Lydia asked bluntly, not even fully opening up the door,

“Yes.” He looked relieved to see her and Lydia wondered for a moment if Hotch had actually told the team she died. “May I come in?”

She rolled her eyes, but swung the door open, walking back to her couch. “Feel free to sit. I’ve got nowhere to be.”

“Thank you.”

There was a chair beside the couch, which he quickly took advantage of. And then he watched her, closely. He watched her close up her computer, pull her legs underneath her, and wait patiently for him to say something. He watched her for some sort of sign that she was happy, upset, or confused to see him there. But she just looked bored.

“You didn’t tell me that you were leaving,” he began, his voice soft.

Lydia shrugged. “You weren’t my boss. Hotch was.”

“That’s not why I care.” He leaned forward resting his forearms on his knees. “Did you think I was going to try to convince you to stay?”

“Were you?”

“Would you have stayed if I had?”

She looked away, shutting her eyes briefly. “I should hope I know what’s better for me than you do.”

“People love things that aren’t good for them,” he argued. “No one at the BAU enjoys their job. There’s… something else about it that keeps us there.”

“There’s nothing to keep me there anymore. Enough said.”

He paused again, watching her posture. It had tightened, but still she gave up nothing.

“You’re such a good actress. If I didn’t know you so well, I wouldn’t be able to tell that you were scared.”

“Scared?” she demanded, biting back a chuckle. Normally Jason frightened her with how well he did his job. But saying she was scared? No way.

“Of course.” His responses were so nonchalant, that she couldn’t bring herself to argue until she knew what had him so convinced. “Hotch told me that something happened between you and Reid. I’m sorry. I know you two were close. But I also know that the only time you back away from something is when you know you aren’t emotionally ready for it. Not because you’re afraid of anyone else, but because you are scared of yourself. You think you’re a naturally violent person, Lydia. When you and Reid had a fight, you thought you might go too far and someone would get hurt.”

“Amazing job,” she said sarcastically. “Stellar profile. Except that if I was going to quit anyway, why hold back?”

“There’s something more to it. You're not worried about those consequences. There must be other consequences. Does he have something on you?”

Did he? He knew more about her than anyone on the team. Was she actually afraid of anything she told him?

“Sure. He has my trust and I don’t have his. I thought I did, but he made it abundantly clear that I mean nothing to him. So yes... sure… I left because Reid made me feel unwelcome. And yes, I’m afraid that if I become too involved in the team again, he might threaten me or ruin my relationship with the other agents. But maybe, in the end, I quit because I realized that there might be better things out there. Better people.”

“Reid cares about you so much. You probably are the person he trusts the most on the team… That’s why I need your help.”

Help? Was he joking?

Lydia laughed though she was in no way amused by the prospect. “With him? Why? Is he being an asshole to you, too? Maybe everyone on the team should consider leaving him to his own devices. You did say once that if we compared our skills to Reid, he’d run the team on his own. Why not let him?”

“Lydia, Reid’s not an asshole. He’s a genuinely good person. But he’s acting out emotionally because he feels abandoned by the team. Tell me that you can’t understand that.”

Shit. He was right about that. That sounded just like her when her father got arrested. Lashing out, driving others away, demanding justice. Maybe she was the asshole here… But there was no way she could bring herself to admit that.

“I’m not seeking out someone who’s only going to hurt me. Maybe he does need help. But I’m not his mother. I have my own life to lead.”

He sighed, audibly. Knowing him, it was probably all part of his act. Gideon taught her well to manipulate suspects. “I just came here because I thought… I wanted you to understand him a bit better.”

“Well, thanks.” Lydia stood up from her couch, headed towards the door to not-so-subtly tell him to leave. “Now I can know that he hates my guts and feel like an asshole for not being the first person to try and make up. Goodbye, Gideon.”

When he got up, he just stared at her for a moment, not wanting to leave on such a bad note. “Please… please talk to me soon, okay?”

Not wanting to look like he’d caused her to feel as conflicted as she did, she rolled her eyes and said, “Yeah… Sure I’ll do that,” before walking him out.

~ ~ ~

“-and Beck claims she’s close to committing a murder.”

“She used to find it endearing,” Lydia replied, laughing with Sonia. “Lydie and Becky. She thought the rhyming was cute.”

“That’s because they always said it together. Now they run around the house yelling ‘Becky! Becky!’ and she screams ‘Don’t call me that!’”

Lydia could hear her sister complaining from across the country. She never liked being called Becky until the twins came along. To everyone else it was Beck or Rebecca. That was how Lydia and Sonia knew she liked them. She put up with it for them.

And then, they turned eight.

“She insists they’re doing it on purpose. She says she can just tell by their tone of voice that they’re mocking her.”

“To be honest, who’s to say they’re not?”

Sonia chuckled. “Yeah, they’re kind of a lot. Why did I agree to take in twins?”

“Because you’re a good person,” Lydia said.

It was true. The foster care system wasn’t kind to siblings. Especially older siblings, who struggled to get adopted. Sonia took in her and Rebecca knowing that they would be separated otherwise. And then, she was told about the twins, two toddlers, and her heart just couldn’t let them lose one another.

There was a soft knocking at Lydia’s door. She figured it was Gideon again, here to check up on her, so she decided to say her goodbyes.

“Make sure they know that their gifts are on the way! Sorry I fell so far behind!”

“Take care of yourself, honey. They aren’t even worried about the gifts they were so excited to get to talk to you on the phone.”

“Miss you all loads!”

As she put her phone down, there was another knock, this time, somehow, even more timid.

Standing, she peaked out the peephole and almost shrieked in surprise, throwing the door open before she could think better of it.

“Spencer…?” Lydia did a quick sweep of the hallway for anyone else. “Can I help you?”

His head was hung low, occasionally glancing up at her before dropping it again. “Yeah, I… May I come in?”

That’s what set off the alarms in her mind. His voice was a hoarse mirror of it’s usual self and the fact that he wouldn’t look at her made her think he’d been crying. Whatever caused him to show up here, it wasn’t about their relationship. This was about him.

He needed someone. And although, after everything, she wasn’t sure why he’d come here, she stepped out of the way and let him in.

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

She saw him shuffle over to the couch, then made over to her kitchen to get him some water. She didn’t know what was wrong with him. She doubted he’d be so inclined to tell her. But obviously he’d been through a lot and she knew the basics of how to handle someone in this state: water, blanket, patience, distraction.

He didn’t speak as she handed the glass to him. His mouth moved as if to thank her, but if he did, it wasn’t audible. He was frightened, it seemed.

Maybe something had happened on a case. Someone had gotten hurt. Maybe it was just nightmares from the kidnapping over a month ago. She didn’t even consider the thing he might be scared of was her. Speaking to her.

“Spencer, if you need me to talk you off some ledge, I’ll do it,” she started. “I’ll stand there and hold you up before you step away from the drop willingly. But I’m not sure what to say.”

His eyes were wet. Not full tears yet, but it terrified Lydia to know what he wanted to tell her.

“I’m- I’m not… Lydia, I’ve done-“ He fumbled desperately for the right way to say this to Lydia, but came up empty. There was no way to say this. Frustrated, he reached for his sleeve and ripped it up at high as it would go.

Lydia felt sick as she recognized what was afflicting him. There were red needle markings and bruises inside his elbow.

“Oh my god, Spencer. What is it?”

“You know that I wouldn’t have-“

“No! God no, Spencer! You don’t have to defend yourself!” she cried. “It doesn’t matter to me. I’m here to help you, not judge you. But you have to tell me what it is.”

Her fingers ghosted over the abused skin. He wanted more than anything for there to be another reason he was here. With her. He wished he’d had some other excuse to come see her. For her to hold him.

But he’s gotten himself into this whole fucking mess and there wasn’t another reason. He was here because he needed help and she was only agreeing because that’s the kind of person she was.

“Dilaudid.”

She bit down on her bottom lip. Fuck. “Okay. And Spencer? Are you here to get help or because you need to get it off your chest? I’m glad you told me, I really am, but if you aren’t planning to stop, I think you should find comfort elsewhere.”

It felt so harsh that she regretted it the instant the words left her mouth. But it was true. If Spencer wasn’t committed to getting clean, he wouldn’t be able to. And she wasn’t going to waste her energy on someone who wasn’t trying to be better.

“I need help. I thought I could figure this out by myself, but I… I don’t know anymore. I lose my will and I feel helpless and I thought you might… I thought you might understand. I know that’s horrible to assume, but with your family history I thought-”

“You aren’t assuming anything, Spencer,” she informed him. “You’re right. I know a lot about addiction and drugs and your brain chemistry right now. So, I’m going to be completely honest with you. I will help you, no questions asked. I won’t tell anyone unless absolutely necessary. And you don’t need to apologize or explain yourself. But if I feel you stop caring about getting clean or if I find out you’re using me for sympathy, that all goes away. I can’t help someone without… determination.”

He grabbed her hand suddenly. “I promise I’m determined. So determined. Please… Please fix me.”

Her heart tore to shreds. He was begging. Desperate. He truly felt alone.

But at least she was sure he’d get through this.

“You’re going to stay here for the next few days, at least,” she ordered. “The nights are going to be the most difficult right after going sober. If you can call in sick with Hotch, do that. Because the next few days are going to be hell if you don’t have any time to yourself.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I’ll, uh… I’ll tell Hotch that I can’t come in for the next few days.”

“Good.” She sighed. “Once you’re sober, we can work through how to deal with the cravings. But for now, I want you to keep track of your symptoms and let me know what’s going on so I can help. Even if it’s just a hot flash in the middle of the night, I want you to tell me immediately.”

“Lydia, I…”

She paused her rambling, waiting for him to tell her she was overwhelming him. She felt overwhelmed herself, but then again, this was not how she expected her night to go.

“...thank you.”

Her heart missed a beat, but she pulled herself back onto track, rolling her eyes. “What did you think? I was going to send you away because you were mean to me? We aren’t children, Reid. I’m willing to-”

“I was on it then, too,” he whispered. “The dilaudid. Tobias gave it to me to help me deal with the torture. That’s why I got mad at you… It wasn’t because I thought you had abandoned me. Or because I thought you didn’t care. I was just… I knew I was messed up. That I wasn’t going to get over this. And I wanted to keep it away from you. I know that it doesn’t work like that, but I wanted you to know now that none of that anger stemmed from something you had done. It was on me. All me.”

“It wasn’t… totally your fault.” Lydia started to categorize her thoughts. What had really happened that night?

She had felt guilty for leaving him and going back to California. She was terrified after hearing he’d been taken hostage by a dangerous unsub. And the stress of leaving Sonia, if only for a few days, had her stomach in knots.

And from Spencer’s perspective, he was overcome by guilt. He’d felt indebted to Tobias, who went against his father (or the version of his father that he inhabited)’s wishes in order to save his life. And in return, Spencer had to kill him. Throw into the mix an intense craving for heroin and he wasn’t exactly in the mood for calm debate.

“I’m so sorry that I was insensitive to your feelings,” Lydia apologized. “At the time I wasn’t prepared to hear what you had to say and I reacted harshly… We’re too stubborn, you and I.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, more than said. “Either way, I can’t believe what I said to you. And I don’t deserve your forgiveness or help. I just… I couldn’t tell the team and you were the only other person I trusted with this stuff.”

“You’re already forgiven, Spencer. Don’t worry. I know what these… things do to people. I’ve said worse to my sister and my father and my foster mom. Believe me, you get a pass for this one.”

She smiled at him and he hesitantly returned it.

“So… I think we should start by having you grab some stuff from your place, because I wasn’t kidding. While we get you sober, I want you to stay here.”

“Okay… Yeah, let’s do that.”

“And you’re going to call Hotch?’

“Yeah. I’ll tell him I’ve got the flu.”

The trip was quick and before she knew it, Lydia was back in her own apartment. Her and Spencer spent the rest of the evening talking about the cases he worked while she was gone and what she was up to in California. Lydia was glad they could fall back into being comfortable with one another. Friendly, even.

She still avoided her conversation with her father, not sure how to bring up his imprisonment to Spencer, especially now that Spencer had his own problems.

It was growing later, the two of them having drifted off into their own minds on the couch.

“You were too good for me, Lydia,” he said out of the blue. “I couldn’t stand not feeling worthy of you anymore.”

“‘We accept the love we think we deserve,’” she quoted.

“That was profound,” he muttered.

“It’s Stephen Chbosky,” she explained. “The Perks of Being a Wallflower.”

“I don’t know it.”

She gasped loudly. “You don’t know The Perks of Being a Wallflower? But Reid, it’s a classic!” She held up a hand quickly. “-And I don’t want to argue about the definition of ‘classic’ right now. Just trust me, it’s good… I think I brought my copy with me.”

Lydia got up, wandering into her room to look for the small novel. It sat in the middle of a stack of books on her bedside table. Smiling, she slipped it out, flipping through the pages fondly.

A thought struck her and she walked back to the door of her room to speak with him again.

“Get in the bed.”

Spencer blinked up at her, looking shocked. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

“No,” she chuckled. “I’m going to read you to sleep, doctor. Get into bed.”

He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, his cheeks tinted pink. “I was going to sleep on the couch…”

“Have you seen your legs?” she demanded. “You wouldn’t fit on the couch with your knees touching your chin. Just sleep in my bed and stop whining. You asked for my help and now you can’t escape me.”

“Clearly,” he replied, but there was amusement in his eyes.

He grabbed his things and went to get changed into something more comfortable for sleep. Then, he slowly crawled underneath the covers beside her.

At first, he sat up against the headboard with her, but Lydia shook her head. “You aren’t going to sleep like that.”

“This feels wrong, Lydia. We aren’t dating.”

“Do you think I’m going to take advantage of you,” she joked. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll sleep on the couch, but you are sleeping here, and that’s final. Now then, lay down.”

He did as she asked, sliding down so that he was fully horizontal. “I won’t be able to sleep,” he complained. “When I’m listening to something I give it all of my focus. I’ve never been able to sleep when my mom read to me.”

“Alright. We’ll read a little bit. A few pages, that’s all. And then we can both try to get some sleep. Will you finally stop your whining so I can begin?”

He looked a little startled by her insistence, but finally nodded for her to continue.

“‘August 25, 1991,’” she read. “‘Dear friend, I am writing to you because she said you listen and understand and didn’t try to sleep with that person at that party even though you could have. Please don’t try and figure out who she is because then you might figure out who I am, and I really don’t want you to do that…’”

~ ~ ~

The first two days were the hardest. Spencer didn’t get any sleep the first night, shaking and sweating fitfully. It had just hit the afternoon the next day when the nausea started. He stayed in the bathroom for most of the day. Lydia wrapped a blanket around him and brought him cold glasses of water and warm tea to help relax him.

At one point, she found him crying from the stomach cramps, his arms wrapped around himself protectively.

But after another day, his withdrawal symptoms had peaked and the rest was just cravings and an underlying uncomfortable feeling. Every night, she read him a few of the letters in The Perks of Being a Wallflower.

He didn’t understand it. Not really. The main character, Charlie, contradicted himself a lot and danced around explaining hard topics, but Spencer still listened to her intently. She read it the same way she talked about her family. Her eyes glazed over slightly, her voice hesitant, fitting for the character.

After the first two days, he had to go back into work. Lydia sent him with a ton of painkillers to get him through the day without his brain exploding. And once he was done for the day, he’d end up right back at her door.

“Now that you’re sober,” Lydia had told him, “the biggest challenge will be the cravings. It’s really common for people to relapse. If you feel like relapsing, no matter the place or time, I want you to call me. And even if you do relapse, don’t be afraid to tell me. I’m here to help, remember?”

And she was. She was helping so much.

...and he was starting to reach a point where he wished she wasn’t.

He missed her. He missed her like hell. He missed walking around the park with her. He missed her ordering ice cream for them so that he didn’t have to interact with the cashiers. He missed the way she tousled his hair after kissing him. He even missed working with her.

“I didn’t just leave for you,” she had tried to assure him. “When I went back home, I realized that working for the FBI caused me to miss a lot. I didn’t mind at the time, missing a Christmas or birthday with them. But they deserve more from me.”

“I wish you would come back,” he admitted.

She just laughed. “You told me to pursue this opportunity to become a professor. It’s a good job. I’m excited for it.”

Every moment he was with her, he missed her more.

Asking her out now wasn’t fair to her. She might feel compelled to agree because of the fragile state he was in.

After coming back from his first case since getting sober, he went to stay with her again, excusing it as the stress of the job making him want company just in case. But he was simply in denial about the fact that he still loved her.

Or perhaps denial wasn’t the right word.

Lydia was reading to him that evening, the two of them almost done with the novel, when she realized how tired he was. She wanted to finish up on some grad school work before she went to sleep, so she told him to get some rest and started to go when he called her back.

“Yes?”

“I just… I love you, Lydia,” he mumbled sleepily.

Her whole body froze, her stomach tightening uncomfortably. “Spencer?”

He smiled, his eyes still shut. “Yeah?”

Maybe she’d misheard him? He was far too tired to be thinking sensibly. She shook her head and started to leave, but he peeked an eye open.

“Aren’t you going to say it back?” he asked.

Fuck… was he actually on something? He was acting drunk, but she didn’t think so. He hadn’t been acting weird when he got there so he’d probably just gotten… really, really tired.

“Say what?”

“That you love me? Don’t you… love me?”

It was actually sort of pathetic to hear from him in his distant state. But something possessed her to respond honestly.

“Spencer, I love you so much,” she told him, walking over to where he lay and kneeling beside him. “But you aren’t thinking straight and I don’t want you to say something you regret.”

He shook his head childishly. “I could never regret telling you how I feel unless you don’t love me back.”

Lydia gave him her softest smile and kissed him on the forehead. “We can talk about your feelings tomorrow, all right? Go to bed.”

He hadn’t meant to do it. His exhaustion had won over his common sense. And there was no way to take it back.

But did she mean it?

~ ~ ~

Lydia smiled, hearing Spencer leave the bedroom the next morning. She’d been anxious all night about having this conversation with him, but now that the time was there, a part of her felt relieved to be able to put it all out on the table.

“Do you ever feel like we got together too fast?” she inquired, not looking at him, instead relaxing on the couch.

She could hear him clear his throat awkwardly, probably far more afraid to speak with her than she was.

“No…?” he responded, shyly. “We’d known each other for almost a year when I asked you out. I’ve known people to get married in less time.”

“Not what I meant… Also, can we really call what you did ‘asking me out’?”

“I was the one to ask if you wanted food,” he argued.

“Yeah, and when I asked if it was a date, you got all awkward and said no. I think I asked you, more than you asked me.”

“That’s not fair!” he cried, walking around the couch to face her. “All you did was insist that it was a date!”

She laughed, seeing him all flustered. “Alright, alright. I call it a team effort. How about you?”

He rolled his eyes. “Sure, whatever.”

“Anyways, I don’t mean that we didn’t know each other long enough. I just… were we ready? You spent the whole time fretting about me being in the field and I was so worried about keeping your secret that I didn’t tell my family-- who live in California-- about you! A healthy relationship isn’t built on fear and that’s all we made ours. Fear.”

“I didn’t mean to make you scared,” he worried. “I just couldn’t stand the whole… the whole conversation. The whole ‘we’re dating: Here’s a look into our personal lives’ thing.”

“I respect that!” she said, quickly. “I didn’t need the team to know. But after we broke up, all I could think about was how much wanting to make you happy affected me. I know better now. If you weren’t happy around me being myself, it wouldn’t be a good relationship. Haven’t you learned anything?”

“Don’t yell at your girlfriend?” he tried. “Don’t tell me that worrying about you was wrong, because I’m always going to worry. It’s who I am.”

“I guess my point is, if we were together, would you let me keep working in the field? Would you be comfortable with that? Because when we got together, I thought that was part of the deal. I wouldn’t expect you to risk or stop yourself from doing your job for me and I expected the same. And yet, every time I got back from something dangerous, you would act as if I was being stupid and I should never do it again-”

“No! No, no.” He began repeating himself, his fingers tugging at his hair by the roots. “I never wanted you to- It’s just that this job is… I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”

She smiled at him, standing up to meet him at… well almost at eye level.

“That’s all I want, Spencer. I want us to be happy. Not afraid of our relationship. I want to be me and not worry about how to make you happy, because you already are. I mean, I’m so happy with you. You just being you.”

“Does this mean… you’re serious? You actually want to get back together?”

“Unless you have a compelling reason not to,” she teased.

Lydia was so distracted by the look of excitement in his eyes, she barely even noticed him getting closer until his lips were pressed against hers.

“Woah,” she mumbled, barely pulling away an inch. “Right to it, then?”

“I’ve wanted to do that for two months,” he admitted. “I really missed you.”

She gave him another peck. “I missed you, too, dumbass.”

~ ~ ~

Tags: @kris-stuff​, @wooya1224, @spencerelds​, @anotherr-fine-mess​

[prettybillycore]

Criminal Minds Hogwarts Headcanons

In my opinion

Derek Morgan is...

a Gryffindor

- big half-wit energy

- seriously where is his brain sometimes

- would die for his friends

- wants to do what is right

- protective older brother

- wish he was my brother tbh

- defo a quidditch player, probably a beater

Spencer Reid is...

a Ravenclaw

- I mean duh

- he is the definition of a ravenclaw

- his rants are so cute no one can tell me otherwise >:(

- would prefer to read than hangout with u

- but would teach you how to play wizard’s chest if you asked

- the only person I would trust to help with Potions homework

Penelope Garcia is...

dating Derek don’t @ me

in all seriousness she’s a Hufflepuff

- she’s literally just so sweet

- brings all her friends cookies

- terrible at potions, but she’s amazing at transfigurations

- she’s an animagus and she’s the cute cat you’ve ever seen

- spends most of her time in the hufflepuff common room or with derek in the courtyard

Emily Prentiss is...

a Slytherin

- badass bitch, but super kind to her good friends

- makes a lot of inappropriate jokes

- raging lesbian

- has dropkicked at least one Malfoy

- loves her house, hate the rep it gets

- would slap anyone who picks on Spencer or Penelope

- mom is high up in the Ministry of Magic

Aaron Hotchner is...

a Gryffindor

- more half-wit energy

- where do these boys store their brains?

- leader of the group

- dad friend

- mediocre at his classes, but is always trying his best

- wants to be the Minister of Magic

David Rossi is...

a Ravenclaw

- fake it til u make it

- is smart, but plays it off a lot

- loves to cook the muggle way so his got him counter top appliances

- hates dorm life

- wants to be DADA professor when he is done with school

Jennifer "JJ" Jareau is...

a Gryffindor

- badass that always stands up for her friends

- total sweetheart

- everyone’s favorite bisexual

- gryffindor’s keeper in quidditch

- skips practice sometimes to go on dates to hogsmeade with Emily

Elle Greenaway is...

a Slytherin

- follows her moral compass above all else

- doesn’t have a lot of close companions, but likes to spend time with Spencer and Aaron

- decides not to come back to hogwarts after 5th year

- something to do with the forbidden forest, no one really knows

Jason Gideon is...

a surprising Gryffindor

- 100% a hat stall

- the whole room got bored 

- it was bad

Erin Strauss is...

a Slytherin

- looks out for herself first, but does really care about others

- a bit of a loner

- Aaron and her bond toward the end of her time at Hogwarts and she starts to work out some of her issues

- her parents were death eaters

___________

Gif not mine! please check out the original poster!

___________

want to see me do this with other fandoms? request here