#agent dave i hope you’re putting in a shift

[flyhighisco]

our number 4’s ✨

[masterwords]

the only light i ever saw

Summary: After a brutal few weeks on the job, Strauss gives the whole BAU a week off. Hotch & Morgan head up to a cabin in the woods for some time to reconnect. Like usual, things aren't quite as easy as they should be.

Words: 4.5k

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan

Warnings: mentions of canon-typical case stuff, minor injuries, sex (explicit but quick)

Notes: Inspired by Hotch keeping his bike in his office and a desperate need to write more Sean.

Read on AO3: the only light i ever saw

**

Sometimes things were slow. They worked Monday through Friday jobs, had weekends off, were home by dinner time. Other times things were so wild that they were more or less zombies wondering what it was like to sleep in their own beds (or sleep at all). There was usually some kind of balance to it all, if you looked at the big picture, but right now they were barely able to keep their eyes open. The big picture was nothing but a blur. They had cases stacked up, one after another, for weeks. Every time they arrived home it was time to hop back on the jet. Once they were even diverted mid-air to an Amber Alert. It was just that kind of a month. They all kind of lived for it, the adrenaline keeping them going when their bodies said stop. Take-out boxes piled up in hotel rooms and they took turns on laundromat duty when they stayed in places where the hotels didn’t take care of that for them. They would sleep in shifts when they could and hope that through it all, they didn’t make any mistakes.

A body in motion stays in motion, that’s what Derek liked to say when someone started dragging. “Come on, lazy bones. My grandmama could do this in her sleep.”

“At least she’d be asleep,” Reid snapped, dragging his unruly hair into a bun on top of his head for something to do with his hands. He was way past running out of steam, he barely remembered what steam was like. That was saying a lot for someone with a memory like Reid’s.

“You can sleep when you’re dead. Here, have some coffee.”

“Morgan my heart is about to explode from all the caffeine and sugar I’ve ingested in the last twenty four hours. I can’t have more coffee. I need a nap.”

Conversations were getting steadily worse as time wore on, until they finally boarded the jet and Strauss told them to go right home as soon as they landed. No ifs ands or buts. No more cases.

“Do not come back for a week,” she said, and she waited expectantly for a cheers or an enthusiastic thank you but was met with dead tired eyes and half-smiles from the people still awake. No one was particularly alert. “You’re welcome.”

“Thank you Erin,” Dave finally said when it was clear no one else was going to. “I think the rest of them are asleep with their eyes open.”

“David, please tell me you and Aaron let them sleep sometime during these outings. There are rules. Labor laws still apply to the BAU.”

“It was an Amber Alert, Erin. Those rules don’t apply and you know that. We haven’t slept in at least two days, some of us longer.” He indicated Aaron who was staring intently ahead into middle space, dead to the world but refusing to let himself be the first to drop off. He’d been awake the longest.

She huffed but there was nothing to be said. Dave was right. The regular rules didn’t apply to Amber Alerts, and simply put, she hadn’t ever been a Field Agent. She didn’t have much practical knowledge of how these things looked, barring a couple of exceptions wherein she felt more like she was in the way than helping. “Go home and sleep. All of you.”

At the tarmac, Aaron arranged for a car. None of them were safe to drive. Will picked JJ up and took Reid with them in their car, everyone else piled into an SUV and off they went. Most of them slept in the car with Anderson at the wheel.

They had a week off, but they couldn’t exactly go anywhere too wild...they were still technically on call. If an emergency happened they would be recalled. Always.

Still, there was no question what Aaron and Derek would do once they’d slept in their own beds for a full night. Haley’s parents had Jack for the weekend, spoiling him rotten at Disney World (they were still trying to make up for the divorce by giving in to his every childish whim, and while Aaron didn’t fully support this tactic, saying no to Jack was almost impossible.)

A cabin in the woods, more construction zone than relaxation but it belonged to them. Up there they had spotty cell phone reception (but a landline worked perfectly fine for emergency use only), no television and best of all...no people.

They loaded one bag stuffed with the bare necessities like prescriptions and undergarments and threw it into the back of the car, hooked their mountain bikes onto the roof rack and shoved Clooney into the back seat. They had this spur of the moment weekend getaway down to a science. They could stop at the grocery store on the way but they just needed to get on the road. There were clothes at the cabin, no need to pack much. It was like having a safe house minus the fear.

Once they were on the open highway, they were holding hands over the center console. Fingers slotted together, Aaron pressing a kiss to the back of Derek’s hand as they hurried out of town. Aaron always drove to the cabin, Derek always drove home. Even that was down to science.

Everything was going according to plan until they took the last switchback along the private dirt road that would end at their driveway and saw the glimmer of chrome in the distance. Upon closer inspection, Aaron knew with some certainty what it was and when he pulled into his usual spot it was confirmed. Beside the trash barn with a cigarette dangling from his lips and a book in his hand stood Sean, lost in the world of a Louis L’Amour with yellowed edges. Aaron knew exactly what the book would smell like, pages being turned by nicotine fingers. It was the smell of his childhood, of his grandfather who rolled his own cigarettes out on the back deck of this very cabin.

“Sean!” Derek shouted, leaping out of the vehicle. No matter how excited he was to have this time to themselves, he always loved seeing Sean.

“Sorry guys, I needed a place to crash.”

“You couldn’t call first?”

“You gave me a key and told me anytime...I needed to get away from the city for a while. Didn’t think anyone would be here.”

Aaron sighed but opened his arms for a hug nonetheless. Clooney could barely contain his excitement at seeing Sean because he meant playtime. He meant splashing in the water and going out on canoe rides and hikes on the other side of the lake. Sean spelled adventure for the dog.

“I’ll get out of your hair. You guys look like you were looking for a love nest.”

“No, stay. It’s fine. We just got a few days off from work and had to stay close in case we get recalled.”

“I’m gonna drop my phone in the lake,” Derek said with a smirk. Aaron elbowed him in the ribs.

“You’ll do no such thing. Sean would you help us load in?”

The switchback down the trail was long and steep, but Clooney bounded ahead of them. The lake expanded before their eyes, deep blacks and greens exploding in their vision. It was still early in the morning, the sun had barely begun cresting the trees in the east and every twig that snapped beneath their feet seemed to echo.

“How long are you staying?” Sean asked, hefting the bags of groceries up the side steps and into the kitchen.

“Four days.”

“Awesome. I’ve been messing around with a few recipes, you can be my test audience. I’ve got this catering gig coming up and if I nail it, I might get a shot at the head chef position at this new restaurant opening up in Atlantic City.”

Aaron frowned. He wasn’t looking for any culinary adventures during his few days off, but far be it for him to discourage Sean. “You’re willing to move to New Jersey?”

“Why not? It’s a cushy job. Atlantic City is closer to family, too.”

“Not by much…”

“Aaron,” Derek warned, shaking his head. “Stop. This is great news! I’m just excited not to have to cook for a few days.”

“Cool! I really think you guys are gonna love what I’m working on. Even my pickier than a toddler brother.”

The minute they were loaded in, Aaron was lacing up his running shoes, ready to blow off some steam for a few long, slow miles. Derek and Sean decided to stay close and take the paddle boards out on the glassy morning water while Clooney lay in the pooling rays of sun as it heated up the floating dock. They spent hours paddle boarding and swimming and lying on the pebbly sand. Aaron even got into the water when he finished his run, the sand sticking to his sore sweaty feet before he entered.

By lunch time, they were all standing waist deep in the cool water with beers, sun on their shoulders, squinting against the glittering waves.

“Why are you really here, Sean?” Aaron asked, wiggling his toes deeper into the sand while tiny little fish skimmed his legs.

“Shawnee broke up with me.”

“Shawnee? I thought your girlfriend’s name was April.”

“April moved to L.A. a year ago Aaron. I’ve been seeing this chick, Shawnee, for about three months. I thought things were going good but she went back to her shithead ex. He’s in this stupid AC/DC cover band. Such a loser.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Aaron offered with a wet-handed pat on Sean’s shoulder. “Break ups are never easy.”

“Sure the fuck not! We got a cat and she kept him. I miss Mr. Snarfles.”

“Mr what now?” Derek asked, cocking an eyebrow. “Say that one more time.”

“Mr. Snarfles. He’s this huge fat tomcat we adopted.”

“Did she happen to give you your balls back when she dumped your ass or did she keep them as a souvenir?”

“Oh ha ha, very funny asshole. You’ve got a lot of nerve talking to me like that when you’re getting your dick sucked by my brother…”

Aaron coughed and sputtered a little while Sean and Derek erupted in laughter.

“I know, I know. Sean, don’t talk like that. It’s rude.”

“Oh, that was a perfect impression. You sounded just like him.” Derek was already completely relaxed after only a few hours out of town. He’d always gotten along with Sean and the longer that Derek and Aaron were together, the more Aaron became a sort of third wheel. Aaron started toward the beach, too flustered to respond kindly. He didn’t want to argue or get his feathers ruffled during his much too short vacation but Sean knew exactly how to get under his skin and he was dragging Derek into it. Dropping into the water and gobbling up the space between them quickly, he splashed right up to Aaron and wrapped him in a wet bear hug. “No, no, don’t go pout I’m sorry. Don’t go.”

“I don’t appreciate,” he started but Derek cut him off with a kiss. And another kiss. And he swayed there in the gentle waves with Aaron in his arms for a minute, until he felt those coiled muscles relax again.

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Speak for yourself!” Sean called from where he still stood downing the rest of his beer happily.

The next day they took the boat out and ate lunch in the middle of the lake. Sean made a charcuterie board that Clooney couldn’t drag his attention away from. After they’d eaten their fill of cured meats and fruits and cheeses they swam and swam. Aaron had relaxed, Sean had eased up on the teasing, and they were all behaving like children unencumbered by the world. Clooney quickly began looking like the most responsible creature among them, lounging on the boat in the sunshine watching his people with something that looked a little like amusement.

After a lazy day on the boat relaxing, Aaron started feeling the itch to move. To be active and he decided it was time for a ride. It was something like tradition, he and Sean setting out on the winding dirt roads that would take them up up up the mountain – well, the oversized hill, anyway. As children they’d pretended to be Frodo and Sam on their way to Mount Doom, now they were just two middle aged men whose knees clicked and popped with every rotation of the wheels but the feeling of elation at the wind in their faces hadn’t changed. “You don’t mind?” Aaron asked Derek who was lounging on the couch with a book splayed open on his chest, a mug of coffee gone cold sitting on the floor beside him.

“Go on, have some fun. I’m gonna get some shut eye.”

The roads were familiar enough that Aaron could have traveled them in his sleep. The feeling of the dirt beneath his tires was freedom. When Sean was little, he would cling to Aaron’s back like a wild thing, strangling him with all his might. They didn’t make it much farther than the first switchback in those days but to them it felt like a thousand miles. By the time Sean had learned to ride without training wheels he could travel as far with Aaron as either of them wanted to go. They’d grown up together on those roads, had seen them go from game trails to gravel and finally settling at packed dirt that was easily traveled by car, bike or ATV. When the wild ones came out with their ATVs they dug up the roads, pitted it in places that were hard to see, made biking perilous.

Aaron, caught in a brief moment of wonder at an Eagle soaring overhead, managed to catch one particularly deep rut with his front wheel. Over the handlebars he flew into the brush, skidding to a halt among brambles and ground cover to the sound of Sean screaming his name.

“I’m okay,” he called when he heard the panic in Sean’s voice ringing through the trees. Sean calling his name like that trumped any pain he might be in, he had to get up, get back to the road, prove to Sean it was okay. He’d taken quick stock of himself and couldn’t detect any real injury (except maybe to his pride), so up he shot and walked briskly back out of the thicket before Sean could come in after him. He’d already dumped his bike on the side of the road and was running back at a frightening clip for a man who spent most of his adult life smoking a pack a day.

“Sit down!” Sean called, reaching his idiot brother and gasping for breath. “Seriously. Sit your ass down, my god. What is wrong with you?”

“I’m fine Sean.”

“You just flew over your handlebars, you need to sit before you pass out.”

Sean hollering in the middle of the serene woods did nothing to make him feel better about the situation, so to humor him, Aaron sat down on a fallen log that lay parallel with the road’s edge. His knees clicked loudly as he lowered himself onto the log and he felt a bolt of pain somewhere deep in his lower back. Sean began looking him over, brushing renegade chunks of sweaty blonde hair from his eyes every few seconds with a huff.

“Believe me yet Mr. Eagle Scout?” Aaron asked, a smile softening the edge of sarcasm in his voice. Sean just slid his backpack off of his shoulder and dropped it to the ground with a thud, unzipping it quickly. He was carrying the first aid kit and snacks, both of which he dumped out quickly onto the ground. An apple rolled into the rut Aaron’s bike lay in and Sean paid it no attention. He handed his brother a berry Capri Sun and watched as he struggled to get the straw into the foil before taking it from him and doing it himself. The cupboards were stocked with juice boxes and Capri Suns for Jack, but they made perfect quick little sugary drinks especially in an emergency.

Sean deemed this an emergency, whether his brother agreed or not.

“Drink it.”

“Sean…” Aaron protested weakly. He did feel lightheaded now that he was sitting down, now that his body was slowly easing itself down from the adrenaline rush. “Fine.”

“Does your neck hurt?”

“No.”

“Your back?”

“A little...I’m old Sean. My back always hurts.”

“You’ve got jokes.”

“Sean, I’m fine. A little sore but aside from my wounded pride I’m alright. Let’s just finish our ride okay?”

“You still want to ride?”

“It’s only a mile to the lookout. We came all this way to have lunch up there.”

Sean took in the sight of his brother, the already drying blood on his chin and the reassuring smile as he finished the last drop of his juice pouch. They could ride slow, eat their lunch, and if worst came to worst he could always call Derek to come get them in the car. They were in the middle of nowhere, but modern civilization had touched this tranquil place and they had cell phone reception. All in all, he didn’t feel good about it, but he would indulge his brother.

“For The Shire,” Sean said hesitantly. Aaron smiled and held out his hand for Sean to pull him upright. There was no way his body was doing that on its own.

“For The Shire.”

(x)

By the time they got back to the cabin, Aaron couldn’t hide his discomfort and didn’t really try. His back and shoulders were on fire and his head was pounding. He was a mess of scrapes and bruises, but they were both smiling and laughing as they dumped the bikes in the sand and kicked out of their sweaty, grimy shoes. Feet in the icy water, hands extended to accept ice cold beers. When Sean told Derek what happened he did it with an animated quality that made Aaron flush almost magenta before wading further into the water. The chill felt almost heavenly against his sore muscles.

“You’re a disaster magnet,” Derek muttered, taking in the sight of Aaron in the water. He would need a shower and some cleaning up, those skinned knees and the blood on his chin made him look like a child after a long hard summer day of adventuring. His hair stood up in messy, sweaty tufts where his helmet had smashed and mussed it. Reaching out, Derek pulled Aaron to him, eyes seeking the answer to a question he wasn’t going to ask.

“It was fun.”

“Yeah?”

Sean got the BBQ going out on the beach while Aaron napped off his afternoon excitement in the hammock with Clooney. He was beat and the unexpected flight had managed to finally catch up with him. The chill of the lake water had taken the edge off, and a nice shower afterward to clean himself up and bandage up the worse of it was all he needed to get himself back into full relax mode. A little worse for wear, but nothing he was concerned about.

His nap gave Derek and Sean time to drink beers and dig their feet in the sand and talk about heartache, just the two of them. Things were quiet, listening to the waves lapping against the shore, the sound of woodpeckers tapping at tree trunks, at leaves rustling beneath the gentle caress of the wind.

“I talk a lot of shit about you and my brother,” Sean said, half-drunk and lying all the way in the sand now. No towel or blanket, just his body in the sand. The smell of grilling meat was intoxicating but they still had time before it was done and he was well on his way to drunk after the stress of the day. After fearing the worst – how bad that wreck could have been, and how lucky they were that it wasn’t. That they got to finish their ride, enjoy each other’s company up there overlooking the lake and the trees. “But you guys seem really fucking happy. I’m jealous. I end up in all these shitty relationships and he gets lucky both times he tries.”

Derek smiled and sipped his beer. “Well, he did get divorced the first time around but point taken. I’ve been through my fair share of heart breaks and one night stands though. I get it. And you get that reputation for being a dirty dog but you’re just out there looking for something you can’t find...I hear you. You’ll find her.”

“You think you’re gonna marry him?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” came a weary, sleep sodden voice from somewhere close by. Wind skipped over the lake and the hammock rocked, disturbing Clooney. The dog made a pathetic warbling sound and stretched his legs before settling again. Aaron didn’t move, didn’t open his eyes.

“Depends,” Derek replied, not missing a beat. He never did.

“On what?”

“On whether or not you can get my mama’s peach cobbler right. Not hitchin’ my wagon to anyone who can’t whip up my favorite dessert.”

“Looks like you’re shit outta luck my friend,” Sean said with a laugh. He lit up a cigarette and watched it struggle to life against the wind, glowing orange in the dimming evening light. “He can’t cook for shit.”

“Ah well, he can do other things…” Derek mused while Sean made a disgusted noise and stood to go tend to the food. “I guess I can manage if there’s no cobbler.”

From where he lay still half asleep, Aaron smiled. He knew damn well he could make that cobbler.

(x)

Derek spent the night pouting while Aaron lay in bed reading. He maintained his insistence that he wasn’t injured, he was just sore. His body wasn’t exactly used to that kind of impact and he was far too old to bounce right back, injury or no. He could understand Derek’s dismal outlook and the way he moped around the room though. Usually they fucked for hours in the woods, anywhere and any time they wanted. He’d been looking forward to it after weeks of back to back cases and a forced celibacy spell. He didn’t regret that part, they wouldn’t cross that line while they were working, but it was supposed to be done now, and it wasn’t. Not because of the bike accident, either. No, it was worse than that. Derek pouted because Sean was there and Aaron simply wouldn’t do it with his brother in the bedroom beneath them.

“Sean thinks we’re up here fucking,” Derek protested, his erection painful in his boxers. “Why aren’t we?”

“He thinks we are, he doesn’t need to hear it.”

“Is it your back? You can just be honest...maybe we should go home and get you checked out.”

“My back is fine,” Aaron replied. And even if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t admit to that now that Derek was bringing it up. “I just don’t want Sean to hear the bed squealing. These springs are loud.”

“We can go out on the deck, or into the shower, or stand right there against the wall…”

It never took long for Derek to wear him down. He wanted to just as bad as Derek did most of the time, and even now. Even when his lower back felt tight and achy and he just wanted to sleep the feeling of being hit by a truck away. His quiet hesitation turned into a sly smile on Derek’s face, he knew he’d worn Aaron down. It wasn’t ever too hard. The fights he put up were flimsy at best.

“C’mere,” he said, holding out his hand and helping Aaron stand. That part felt natural, pulling him close. Sharing space. He could see the stiffness settling in already, just in the time since they’d been upstairs. His joints were rusting up and when his face scrunched into something that looked like pain when he was finally upright, Derek decided to try and lighten things up. “You’re gorgeous,” he whispered. “Never seen anyone look hotter with a tore up face.”

Aaron shook his head and smiled into a kiss, one leading to another as clothing dropped to the floor. “You’re full of lies,” he whispered against Derek’s lips. “Say it again…”

“Mmmm…” came the moan when Aaron’s hand circled Derek’s cock. “You smell so good…”

“That’s the menthol cream you rubbed on my back…” Aaron whispered, smirking. Derek grunted halfway between pleasure and annoyance, but he wasn’t lying. He fucking loved the smell of that stuff, and he loved with Aaron was in one of those moods. “You like that?”

“UGH! GOD! SHUT UP!” came Sean’s voice from the hallway and both of them stifled childish laughter.

“Fuck off Sean!” Derek shouted back, thrusting his hips to ensure that Aaron stayed with him. Focused on the task at hand. He only dipped out momentarily at the sound of his brother’s voice, but the sound of the front door slamming shut told the that they now had the cabin to themselves.

The rest was easy. Fast and quiet, breathless bursts of affection littered between kisses and moans of pleasure. They fell into a rhythm that felt like it could last forever, and under different circumstances it might have. But Derek could tell that Aaron seemed to be losing steam, or maybe his back was starting to hurt just a little too much because his motions started lagging and his breathing was getting shallow and strained. He pushed Aaron up against the wall and with one hand on his own cock, he dropped to his knees and took Aaron into his mouth, finishing them both off with an ease that never ceased to amaze Aaron no matter how many times he did it. It was like a sixth sense.

The shower after felt like a treat, hot water against flushed skin and more kisses that might lead right back to where they started on any other night. Not tonight, though. Aaron was stiff and moving slowly, shifting his weight from leg to leg as he brushed his teeth, and it was time for bed.

“We’re heading back home tomorrow,” Derek said, tangling himself up in Aaron’s limbs and tucking the blanket up around them. “You’re going to the doctor and then we’re gonna have some uninterrupted sex. A lot of it.”

“Or we could just tell Sean to get out…this is my cabin.” Aaron paused, a sly smile drifting over his tired features. "Our cabin."

It was hard for Derek to breathe after that, hard for him to think about much of anything outside of jumping on top of Aaron and making one more attempt at sex. But he held back, he could feel Aaron's slow pulse, his quiet almost asleep breath and he sighed. Reality seeped back in. “The guy’s heartbroken. He needs the lake. I need you to myself.”

“What if the doctor says I shouldn’t have sex for a while? You know...to recuperate…” he laid that last part on thick,still smiling into the dark. Maybe hoping Derek would change his mind about even going to the doctor, but Derek just huffed indignantly and kissed Aaron’s shoulder.

"Doctors don't know everything.”

[sequinsmile-x]

Serendipity

This was originally a prompt on here that I promised a follow up to, but got carried away.

The original prompt is in italics, so you can refresh yourselves on what it was!

Words: 3.6k 

Rating: Mature

Read over on ao3, or below the cut. 

Let me know what you think! 

It should never have happened. Emily hadn’t intended for it to, and she knew Aaron hadn’t either. They hadn’t meant to fuck at JJ’s wedding, hidden in Dave’s guest bathroom as Aaron’s girlfriend danced with his son downstairs.

Things shifted between them that night. The dance they had shared, his hand in hers and his breath against her neck had ignited her skin, set something on fire that she had tried to ignore. Emily had tried to walk away, to put some distance between them. Aaron had followed her, knocking softly on the bathroom door when she had been in there a little too long.

Emily wasn’t entirely sure who kissed who first, but she remembered him pressing her up against the counter. How it felt when he pushed her dress over her hips, her own hands not idle as she undid his shirt, wanting to feel his skin against hers.

The aftermath had been awkward, but that hadn’t stopped it from happening again the following day. Him coming to hers for the coffee they had promised each other, ending up on the couch instead, clothes shed and desperate hands palming against each other's skin.

She stiffened when he said he had broken up with Beth, the gentle hope in his voice breaking her heart. Emily still remembered the look on his face when she said she was still going to London, his cheek against her hand.

She had been in London for two months before she called him, lied and said she was in town for a consult. Aaron obviously didn’t believe her, but he came to her hotel room anyway. Emily realises she should have known it would be inevitable, that they would have sex again. She wants him as much as he wants her and she has spent so much of her life denying herself the things she wanted. It isn’t lost on her that this is the first time they have done this in a bed, and she sits up as he gets dressed, the silence in the room deafening. She pulls on one of the robes hung up in the wardrobe, pulling the tie tight around her waist.

“Aaron, we still need to talk.”

He looks at her, his face stern. “Are you staying?”

Emily opens her mouth, unsure how to even begin to answer that question, to say what she needs to say. Aaron takes her hesitance as an answer, shrugging on his jacket as he shakes his head at her.

“I should go.”

“Aaron, please.”

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t leave.” He says, his voice full of defeat and she hates that she's the one that put it there. That she caused the man who she cares for more than she should to feel anything other than happiness. Aaron turns to leave, his hand on the door of her hotel room and a heavy sigh escapes him. “See you next time you’re in town, Emily.”

Emily closes her eyes and wraps her arms around herself, pulling the robe she had put on tighter, as if it could hold her together in the soft material whilst she tells him what she came here to say. What she couldn’t bring herself to tell him on the phone.

“I’m pregnant.”

Aaron turns to look at her. Her eyes are fixed on the floor, her arms crossed tightly across her chest.

“Emily.”

She looks up at him, a small smile on her face. “I think it goes without saying it's yours.” She clears her throat awkwardly when he just stares at her, clearly trying to figure out what to say next. “We should sit down.”

She moves over to one of the armchairs in the corner of the room. She curls up into the chair, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Emily feels relief ease some of the tension in her chest when he joins her, sitting in the chair next to hers.

“Are you ok?” He asks, and it makes her smile. Any frustration he had aimed at her had melted away, replaced by confusion and something she couldn’t quite place.

“I’m ok.” She answers. “Although morning sickness is the most poorly named thing on the fucking planet.” He laughs at that, and it’s nervous, making her raise an eyebrow at him. “Are you ok?”

He nods. “I think we have a lot of things to discuss.”

“Yeah.” She replies, swallowing against the lump in her throat. “We do.” ____________

The flight back to London is rough. Her constant nausea makes the hours drag by, her desperation to just be on solid ground almost overwhelming her.

She’s never been more grateful to see her apartment, the place still not quite feeling like home yet. She sinks into her couch and groans when her cell phone immediately rings, rolling her eyes when she sees Clyde’s name on the screen before she answers.

“Do you track me or something? I’ve only just made it back.”

“That's for me to know and you to wonder about, darling.” Clyde says, smugness in his voice that made her smile despite herself. “How did our dear Agent Hotchner take the news that he’s going to be a father again.”

“Quite well given the circumstances.” Emily answers, unwilling to divulge anymore of her conversation with Aaron to her friend, knowing if there was one person on the planet he wouldn’t want her to talk to about this it would be Clyde Easter.

“You’re going to go back aren’t you?”

Emily laughs, frustrated that he could read her so well even over the phone. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“You always have a choice.”

“Not now.” She replies. She looks down at her abdomen, still flat with no indication of the life growing underneath her skin showing yet. “I can’t keep the baby from him, or him from the baby. He’s a great dad.”

“You left DC for a reason.”

Emily places her hand on her belly and smiles to herself. “And now I guess I have a reason to go back.” ____________

Aaron visits her a month later. His insistence on coming to London for a long weekend made her laugh. She feels nervous when she picks him up at the airport, but it fades away when she sees him.

It’s strange, having him there in her apartment, like two very distinct worlds were colliding. She liked it though, couldn’t help but smile as he walked around and made himself familiar with where she lived.

“I had a scan this morning.” She says, smiling at him nervously when he turns to look at her, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Would you like to see the picture?”

“Of course.”

She beams at him as she digs the scan photo out of her purse and hands it to him. “Everything looks good, even if I am a ‘geriatric mother.’’ She said, using air quotes as she spoke.

Aaron has the gall to laugh at her, which makes her raise her eyebrows at him. He steps towards her, ultrasound scan still in hand, and he hugs her. She hugs him back, breathes in the scent of his cologne. She pulls back enough to look at him, and before she can think better of it she leans forward and kisses him. It crosses the delicate line they hadn’t crossed since he had left her hotel room a month ago, still reeling from the life changing news he had told him. They’d been in contact every day since, exchanging texts and phone calls around both of their gruelling work schedules. They’d been acting like friends, nothing more, but her hands grasping the back of his head, pulling him closer to her, changed that.

“Wait.” He says against her lips, pulling away so he could look at her. “Is this a good idea?”

Emily heaves in a breath and licks her lips before looking at his. “Maybe not.” She presses another quick kiss to his lips. “But it’s not like you can knock me up again.”

He stares at her for a second before pulling her back into him, kissing her fiercely as she drags him to her bedroom. ____________

They don’t talk about anything important until the day he leaves, neither of them wanting to ruin the little bubble they had created in her apartment. It’s him that tentatively brings up her plans over the breakfast they had ordered in.

“When are you coming back?”

“In three months.” She says as she takes a sip of her tea. “That’s when my replacement can start here, and when the role at the DC Interpol office opens up.”

Aaron frowns at her. “The DC Interpol office?”

Emily nods. “It’s essentially what I’m doing now.” She senses his confusion and clears her throat as she sets her mug back down. “I was never going to be coming back to the bureau, Aaron.”

“It’s your choice, I just thought you would have mentioned it.”

Emily can feel her temper flaring, annoyance rising up in her before she can stop it. “We’re not in a relationship, Aaron. Just because we fucked a few times and accidentally made a baby doesn’t mean I have to run everything past you.”

He stares at her, a hard look on his face. It seems to take him a moment to speak, and the way he carefully chooses his words pisses her off even more. “Would you even be coming back if it wasn’t for the baby, Emily?”

She looks at him, her fury written all over her face. “No. I wouldn’t be.”

He leaves pretty quickly, claiming he needs to get to the airport even though his flight isn’t for another 12 hours.

____________

After that they speak less often. She updates him on the baby and he asks her how she is, how both of them are doing.

When she starts to show she takes a photo of her bump and sends it to him. The next day a package from Amazon arrives full of pregnancy skin care, a gift note from Aaron that tells her Haley had sworn by the bump cream. The tenderness of the gesture makes her cry, the affection she feels for him almost bursting out of her chest.

She calls him when she finds out they are having a boy, her enthusiasm seeping down the phone and filling his voice with wonder.

As she boards the plane to DC 3 months after she last saw him, all of her belongings shipped, she feels something a little bit like hope bloom in her chest. ____________

Aaron comes to visit her at her apartment almost as soon as she gets back, a smile on his face and a bag of takeout in his hand.

“Hi.” She says, almost shyly as she lets him in.

“Hi.” He kisses her cheek before he thinks about it, pulling her into a hug. He steps back and looks down at her abdomen. “Wow.”

Emily laughs, her hand landing on her belly. “Yeah, he’s getting big.” She takes the bag of food from him. “We should eat.”

They eat and make conversation, and it’s as if 3 months of awkward conversation between them hadn’t happened. He asks her about Sergio, and she says Penelope would be keeping him for now, but that she had full visitation rights.

Aaron clears up the plates, and she rolls her eyes at him as he tells her to put her feet up. She feels the awkwardness seep back in when he sits on the couch next to her, the unanswered questions hanging in the air.

“I’ll get you your own key.” Emily says, tearing her eyes from her lap to look at him. “It makes sense for you to just be able to come over, see the baby whenever.”

He nods, an awkward smile on his face. “I’ll get you one to my place too. Jack keeps asking when you’re coming over.”

“That’s sweet. I missed him.”

“He missed you. We both did.” It’s awkward again for a moment, and she can see the second he decides to simply say whatever he had been holding back for months. “What are we, Emily?”

She sighs. “I don’t know, Aaron.” She grabs his hand and squeezes it. “I care about you. So much. But if we hadn’t had sex at JJ’s wedding we wouldn’t even be here right now. How is that the foundation of a relationship?”

“By itself it might not be, but we have a lot more than that.” He cups her cheek. “We’ve known each other for years. I know I’m not the only one who has felt that there could be more between us.”

Emily closes her eyes and rests her forehead against his. “There is so much more at stake now.” She puts their joint hands on her bump. “We can’t mess anything up for him, or Jack.”

“Don’t we owe it to them, to us, to try?”

She pulls back enough for her nose to brush against his. Emily decides that she’s going to let herself have what she wants. She nods before she kisses him, sighing as they both lean further into it. She breaks off with a laugh when she feels the baby kick against their hands.

Aaron looks down at her stomach in wonder. “He’s kicking?”

She nods at him. “He’s kicking.”

For the first time since the test came back positive she genuinely feels like everything might work out. ____________

By the time she's 8 months pregnant she is spending the vast majority of her time at his apartment, even when he was away on a case, and she tries to ignore what that means. That she’s 2 months into a relationship with a man and practically living with him and his son. Whilst being pregnant with his second son.

Her mother had always told her that she didn’t do anything by half.

Emily is sitting on a park bench, watching Jack play on the swings, with her hand pressed into her belly when she feels it. The familiar feeling of being watched. She feels a shiver run down her spine, goosebumps raising over her body.

Her first instinct is that it’s Ian. All of her logical thoughts that he was dead, that she’d watched him die, being beaten by the anxiety coursing through her. Every reason she had left DC in the first place comes flooding back and she has to take several deep breaths. The feeling doesn’t go away, she looks around the park quickly. She can’t see him, can’t see anyone that looks like they’d be associated with him, but she feels like she needs to leave. Like she needs to get Jack, and her baby, back home as quickly as possible.

She’s about to walk over to Jack, make him leave his friends so she could take him home, when she hears a familiar voice.

“Emily?” She whips round to see Beth standing next to her, an awkward look on her face as she takes in Emily’s appearance. “I saw you from across the park, I thought it was you.”

“Beth. Hi.” She tries to smile. “How have you been?”

“Good.” She nods. She looks at her again, eyes landing on Emily’s bump. The unspoken understanding from the other woman that she was pregnant with Aaron’s child. “You look well.”

Emily’s smile falters. The last time she had seen Beth had been at JJ’s wedding, the night she’d had sex with Aaron when his girfriend was just downstairs. Beth would know that. Emily knew that Aaron was a good enough man to have told her everything when he broke up with her.

“I am really sorry, Beth. For how everything happened.”

Beth laughs and sits on the bench next to her. “That is almost exactly word for word what Aaron said when we got back to his place after JJ and Will’s wedding.” Beth looks over to where Jack is playing and smiles. “I knew something had happened, neither of you were very subtle.”

Emily feels her baby roll in her belly and she presses her hand to it, hoping the gentle circles soothe her son as well as herself.

“I...I guess saying we didn’t mean for it to happen won’t mean much.”

“It doesn’t.” Beth says, a wry smile on her face as she turns back to Emily. “But are you both happy?”

Emily doesn’t even have to think about it. “Yeah. We are.”

“Then maybe it was all worth it.” Beth says as she stands. “I should get going, tell Jack and Aaron I said hi.”

“You should say hi to Jack.”

“It’s ok. I don’t want to confuse him.” Beth smiles at Emily one last time. “Tell Aaron I’m glad he’s happy.” ____________

Aaron gets back to his apartment, the case he had been on two days too long for his liking, to find Emily fast asleep on the couch, wearing one of his shirts and a pair of leggings, with her hand pressed into her stomach. He smiles as he hangs up his keys and sets the alarm, setting his briefcase down on the side. He walks over to the couch and sits on the edge of it, gently waking her. She opens her eyes and looks at him.

“You’re home.” She murmurs, the roughness to her voice giving away that she’s been asleep for a while.

He hums in his throat as he strokes his hand over her head. “Why are you on the couch, you know it doesn’t do your back any good.”

“I was waiting up for you.” She sits up slowly, accepting his help to get her upright. Emily leans against his side as he sits next to her, smiling when he puts one of his palms on her belly and kisses the top of her head. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too.” He tilts her head and kisses her properly, feeling her smile against his lips as the baby rolls in her stomach. “How are you?”

“Good.” Emily answers. “My entire body is sore. But good.”

He hums his sympathy and rubs his hand over her stomach, the baby forever active in a way he knew had caused Emily to lose sleep.

“I’d like to take you on a date.” He says, smiling as Emily pulls back from him, a look of curiosity on her face. “I realised today that I've never taken you on one.”

“Aaron.” She replies, a smile on her face. “I’m 8 months pregnant with your son, I think we’re a little past dating.”

“True, but you have only just agreed to be my girlfriend.” He laughs when she scrunches her nose at him, leaning down to kiss the tip of it. “What?”

“The word ‘girlfriend’ makes it sound like I’m 14, not in my 40s.”

Aaron smiles at her again and kisses her, smiling against her lips. “Well, I’d propose to you so you could call me your fiancée, but I worry that would send you running back to London.”

Emily laughs, kissing him again quickly. “I wouldn’t run away, but I might check if you were feeling ok.” She rests her head against him again. “I saw Beth today.”

He stiffens, his arms tightening around her. “How was that?”

“Awkward.” She answers, turning her head to kiss his shoulder through his shirt. “But she was very nice. Nicer than I might have been in her shoes.”

“I’m glad.” He kisses the top of her head. “What else?”

“What do you mean?”

“What else happened?”

She scoffs. “Can’t keep anything from you.” She sighs. “I could tell someone was watching me, and before Beth came over I thought it was Ian.” He doesn’t say anything, and it spurs her on. “I know he’s dead, that I don’t have to be afraid anymore, but I was for so long.” She feels her emotions rise in her chest, tears flooding at her eyes as she was at the mercy of her hormones. “And I have so much more to lose now.” She wipes her face. “You, Jack. The baby.”

He kisses the top of her head again, then her temple, holding her impossibly tighter. “You aren’t going to lose any of us, sweetheart.” He tilts her chin so he can kiss her properly. “This is it now. Forever.”

She ignores the voice in her head that tells her he can’t promise her that, and she nods.

“If that’s a proposal I’m leaving.” She jokes and it makes him laugh, his forehead pressed against hers.

“Trust me, baby. You’ll know when I’m proposing.” ____________

He takes her on a date the following week. She lets him take her to a restaurant and spoil her, and he doesn’t make any comments when she orders enough food for at least 3 people for herself.

He takes her for ice cream after, going into the store and getting it himself so she doesn’t have to get back out the car, her ankles sore and swollen.

That night they lay in his bed, the one she really knows is theirs, and as he runs his fingers up and down her bare spine she drifts off to sleep.

“I love you.” She whispers into the room, the first time she has said it to him.

She stays awake long enough to hear him say it back. ____________

It should never have happened, but when their son, Benjamin, is born three weeks later Emily is so glad it did.

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

WIP Wednesday

Title: Extraordinary

Pairings: HotchReid (more to come)

Summary: League of Extraordinary Gentleman/Vampire AU;

Within the FBI there is a specialized team full of an elite selection of people. Unique individuals with very particular skill sets. And their job is to take the unusual cases: the ones that need to not only be solved, but are undetermined if the unsub is human, or something else entirely.

In a world filled with Vampires, non-human creatures, and subspecies unknown, there is only enough information to have them vaguely regulated. Rules that are so easily, and violently broken, all while hidden in plain sight among the unsuspecting public. Unrivaled for eons.

That’s where the BAU comes in.

Official Posting Date: October 2021

Links: (Masterpost) (Snippet 01) (Snippet 02) (Snippet 03) (Snippet 04)

(TW/CW: dead body/crime scene, blood and bite wounds talked about in detail, hypnosis/compelling someone to do something against their will, overall discussion of murder (basically what we see in every episode of the show))

(the story so far/what you need to know for this clip at least: Absolutely nothing you don’t already know, this is legit from the first chapter. Hotch is a Vampire (although the LEOs don’t really know that), Rossi is a priest, Morgan is so empathetically telepathic he can touch the auras in the air, and Reid is Reid. I know I’ve been giving you the juicy HotchReid stuff but here have some case stuff too, to see what you’re in for with the plot and everything. This is FIRST DRAFT so it’s terribly unpolished, first part is generalized POV (hence the more professional titles) and the second is within the team dynamics so they get more familiar. idk my first drafts are messy and indecisive, enjoy anyway. 💕)

–

They approach the body and Rainer shoos away his pestering, hovering officers and --- winces once again at the sight of the bloodied woman. “This is the third body in two days; a jogger found her about 6 am. Coroner says she thinks she’s been dead for about 6 hours; killed in the middle of the night, just like the others.” 

“Closer to five hours, I think,” Dr. Reid says, crouching down to look closer. All long legs and his gun looking too big on his belt next to his FBI badge. “Could still be within the Witching Hour, though.”

“Do you have accurate time of death estimates for the other two bodies?” Agent Morgan adds on, already picking up the train of thought Dr. Reid has started on. The detective pulls out an old-school flip notebook book and looks through it before answering.

“3:15am the first night, 9:30pm last night and now this.”

“Well that rules out hex, sacrifice, and spell gone wrong,” he concludes, as the other agents surround the body to inspect it from all angles. “So what are we thinking?”

“It’s a frenzied bite,” Agent Hotchner points out, looking from where he stands and not having to get as close as Dr. Reid to inspect it accurately. His eyesight is better than any microscope. “Shows multiple entries, it couldn’t get a good enough hold to rip her throat. Or she struggled, so it wasn’t strong enough to keep her pinned down.”

“The boys think it’s a Vamp,” Detective Rainer points out. “Maybe a baby one, still learning the ropes?”

“Vampire changes are regulated and no sire would allow whoever they turned to do this,” Agent Hotchner says, a colder flint to his voice that matches the way his dark stare cuts up to the detective. “No one has been turned in the United States in the past twelve years.”

“It’s not a Vampire bite,” Dr. Reid agrees, putting on latex gloves to further inspect the body and test the bite radius. “And it’s not a werewolf bite, either.”

“...Werewolf?” the detective says with a winded sound, eyes wide and looking to the three agents who didn’t even blink at the word. “There’s -- there’s such thing as werewolves?” 

“Detective, I think you should let my team and I work, we will come to you with our findings and then help you track down your killer.” Agent Hotchner doesn’t leave room for argument, his dark brown eyes looking pitch black in the early morning light, and Detective Rainer… suddenly feels the overwhelming urge to walk away. Like he can’t breathe if he doesn’t comply; he fights it, tries to fight it, and feels his will crumble beneath him like a sand bank giving way under his feet. He turns, even that small gesture lessening the pressure crushing his chest, and takes a step away from the group, air swept into his lungs like a riptide. He makes a hasty retreat after that, winded as if he just ran up a flight of stairs and the sweet taste of oxygen being his only reprieve. He doesn’t know what happened, and wouldn’t upon further inspection until much, much later.

-

“That wasn’t very nice, Hotch,” Rossi points out with a look of glib reprimand towards their team leader. “I thought compelling feeble minded beat cops was for those who have no skills to avoid it.”

“My patience was running thin, and we need to move faster on this case before our unsub kills again. He’s escalating.” That much is obvious, by the timeline alone, but Father Rossi still gives him a side-ways glance that says he finds far too much amusement in the undead’s antics. “Reid, are you sure it’s not a werewolf bite? It would explain the lack of control and precision.”

“I’m sure,” Reid says with finality, and no one makes a mention on why. He had done more research than any human possibly could in the past few months on werewolf transformation and the after effects of attacks. With what happened to one of their former agents mere months ago, no one doubted his newly learned expertise. “It’s also not a shifter, or a ghoul. We can rule out ghost and poltergeist as well, no residue or temperature shifts.” 

“Demon possession?” Morgan asks, looking to Rossi just as he does his customary Sign of the Cross at the mere mention. Can’t help the gesture, after his own past experiences. Giving anything the power of a name, even arbitrary, can be a dangerous thing. 

“We can’t rule it out,” he admits. “The teeth marks are human, someone possessed would still have a hard time biting that deep and doing that much damage. Cannibalism is only reserved for the amusements of level three demons, however they aren’t usually powerful enough to reach the mortal plane or take possession of someone’s body. They would need help.” 

“You really think someone would weaponize a demon like that?” 

“We’ve seen people do worse things, as has history, but I’d like to hope it wouldn’t happen in my lifetime.” 

“We need more information,” Hotch concludes, arms crossed and watching as Reid stands up and removes the blood stained gloves. “Morgan,” his gaze cuts to the tall man in his deep blue suit. “Can you walk the scene, tell us what you see?”

“Not with this many people around,” Morgan shakes his head, eyes glancing to every person within a twenty foot radius. “Too many readings, the aura field here looks like an oil spill. The only thing I can latch onto is…” his gaze is back on the ground, hovering over the dead woman, who would have no aura to speak of at all and therefore a blank canvas. He replaces Reid’s space, crouching down to touch the air over the bite wound. Fingers spread wide, less than a foot from her but not touching, palm suddenly curving as if over an invisible shoulder, the place where someone had once been not so long ago. It could have been the coroner, or the crime scene photographer, but with it being so close to the body -- chances were it was the unsub.

“They were crouched down, half on the ground, no… human thoughts that I can hear,” he says, closing his eyes and letting his hand glide through the air a little more, following the curve of someone’s spine and up their neck, resting where the head would be. “They have a fever burning them up, hot as a furnace--” he keeps his hand there too long, suddenly jerks it back as if it had physically burned him, then stands up again. Shaking off the aura reading still sticking to his fingers and the forefront of his mind. “Sound like anything you’ve heard of, pretty boy?” 

Reid shakes his head, sharing a glance with Father Rossi. “We might have to go through some of your demonology books.” The older man grins wide.

“You just want to get your hands on them, at this rate you’ll have them memorized by next week.” 

“Dave --” Hotch says slow, a reprimand of his own.

“Fine, fine, I’ll have Garcia send us some scans. If the Vatican knew I was putting a book like that in his hands they’d strip me of all my titles.”

“Didn’t they already do that?” Morgan teases with a grin.

“Ex-communicated. I got to keep the dog collar, the honorifics, bless the holy water, you know -- the party tricks.” 

–

((if you want to be apart of the taglist just hit me up via comment, reblog tag, DMs or asks 💕))

[bludemons]

Hi! Could I request a Emily x fem (she/her) reader blurb? Basically it takes the evernts from season 14 ep:7. After the case Emily and the reader go visit Andrew in the hospital and Andrew try’s to hit on Emily and the reader gets all jealous. Just major fluff! Ty:)

27 minutes of jealousy (Emily Prentiss x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Y/N is jealous and Emily surprises her (don't wanna give to much away)

Warnings: case talk (s14 e7), a bit of angst, jealousy, fluff

Word count: 1770

A/N: This was requested by an anon and I tried my best. I guess it's a bit longer than it's supposed to be and a lil bit different but I really hope that you like it anon and thank again for requesting

This case was a hometown one. A pair of brothers, which you and the team had already profiled, were on a manslaughter spree, harming people with a machete. Dave, Penelope, Tara, Luke and you were stuck in the bareau as Luke was still in desk duty after what happened previously and you because your girlfriend, also known as Emily Prentiss, the Unit Chief of the BAU, said that she didn't need you out in the field. But was that really the reason why you were stuck at the office?

You thought about that a lot even though you tried to focus on the case. Emily and another FBI agent, called Andrew Mendoza, delivered the profile and of course you and your colleagues watched it live. You couldn't take your eyes off of your girlfriend but you also noticed how dangerously close she was standing besides Andrew. His eyes looked over to her every now and then, basically just checking her out, which of course made you angry but you couldn't do anything about it.

But when Emily actually called Luke, Luke who was still on desk duty, while you definitely weren't, to go out in the field to investigate with Spencer and JJ, you couldn't control your anger anymore. You slammed the file you were currently holding onto the desk in the conference room which caused Tara and Dave to look at you. "I can't believe her. I actually can't. He's still on fucking desk duty and she calls him to go out in the field. What's her problem? Am I not good enough or does she not want me to see her and Mendoza together?", you said as you started to breathe faster and more exaggerated.

Tara stood up and carefully put her hand on your upper arm, in a manner to calm you down, which didn't help at all. "Why don't we two go and grab some coffee?", she suggested and you agreed, maybe a cup of coffee would help your nerves to calm down.

About 45 minutes later, when Luke was already back at the office, he and Tara were called to go back into the field, together with Emily, Matt and Andrew. You knew you were acting against Emily's orders when you decided to drive with Luke and Tara. And to say that your girlfriend wasn't pleased with the situation was an understatement, she was mad, like really mad. She ordered you to stay behind at the cars with some other officers and the medics. You weren't happy with that decision but you also knew that it wouldn't end well if you didn't follow her orders again.

You were talking to one of the officers when you heard the screams of students but you still didn't move and waited for your Unit Chief to give you the permission. You didn't hear her say anything until she checked in with everyone else, trying to figure out what happened and then your earpiece went silent again. A few minutes later you heard her call for medics and you didn't hesitate to run with them, you just needed to know that Emily was alright. As soon as you arrived you saw her talking with Tara but you didn't hesitate running into her arms, almost tackling her down to the ground. She steadied you both and put her arms around you while you kept repeating that she's okay.

But Emily only held you for a few seconds before she removed her arms and went over to Andrew who was already laying on a gurney, talking to him. She didn't even say a single word to you, just leaving you standing there and talking to someone she just met. After the medics told both, Andrew and Emily, that he needs to go to the hospital now, she went back to you. "C'mon let's go with them. I wanna see how he's doing and he wanted to talk to me", she said as she walked towards the car. You stood there, in total disbelief, looking at her before you started to love towards the car too.

You settled down on the passenger seat, watching the landscape pass by, not saying a single word. Emily noticed that something was wrong with you but she decided to talk about that when you were back home. The moment your girlfriend parked the car, you went out and straight into the hospital, keeping as much distance to her as possible. Emily was fast to walk after you, keeping her tracks close behind you. Andrew had already texted her in which room he was. She walked there straight and again, not saying a single word. You heard a quiet 'yes' after Emily knocked, she opened the door and you both walked into the room. Andrew laid in the bed, shirt open and with a bandage around his lower abdomen.

"Hey you, how are you holding up in here?", Emily asked him while you just stood beside her, awkwardly staring at your feet. You felt utterly uncomfortable because you felt the tension between the other two people in the room. "I'm okay, the meds are pretty strong", Andrew laughed as he carefully held this stomach. "Well that's good. When do you get out of here? Cause I think you owe me a drink since I saved your life", Emily laughed as well, but you froze beside her.

Did she really just say that? You weren't sure if you heard the right thing, but as soon as Andrew answered her, you knew you heard it right. "Oh yeah, of course. Maybe even more than just a drink, maybe dinner too", he spoke more to himself than to Emily. That was enough for you, you lifted your head, shot Emily a glare and left the room without a word, maybe closing the door a bit too loud.

You had this feeling the entire day and now you knew that you weren't overreacting. Maybe you really weren't enough for her. Maybe she wanted a man and not you in her life. And maybe that man way Andrew. You slid down one of the walls with your eyes closed, burying your head in your hands. You entirely drowned out your surroundings until you felt a hand on your shoulder. It made you look up at the person standing in front of you, being surprised when you saw your girlfriend.

"Wanna tell me what's up with you?", she asked as she bent down to be at the same height as you. "It's nothing, it's stupid", you whispered, your gaze shifting back to your feet. Emily's hand reached for your chin, softly lifting your head causing you to look at her. "Something's bothering you, I know that and I've noticed that for some time now and whatever it is I wanna make it better. Did I do something wrong?", Emily sat down beside you, her hand now on your knee.

"Do you wanna go out with him? Do you wanna be with him and not me?", your voice was so quiet that she had trouble understanding what you were saying, but she still did. "Of course not, how could you think that? Yes, I did think about going out on a drink but not without you. You're my girlfriend and the love of my life, so please tell me how you could think that I want to go out with him", her words were genuine, she said the truth. A few tears found their way down on your cheeks. "You…", you sighed, "you didn't want me in the field today, even called Luke out to investigate while he's still on desk duty. And you delivered the profile with Andrew while he was basically checking you out in front of the whole city. Plus you barely talked to me and when Matt arrested the unsub and I was clinging in your arms, glad that nothing happened to you, all you cared about was him."

Emily's eyes softened immediately."Baby", her voice was the softest it's been all day, "I didn't want you out in the field because I know how you are, you do everything to keep everyone safe except yourself, and there were two unsubs with machetes on the streets. I just didn't want you to get hurt. And I know that this is not a reason to keep you out of the field, I really do know that but I especially didn't want you to get hurt today." You were barely able to make out what her last sentence was saying but you still could. "Why today? What is so special about this day?", you asked her.

"Because…", it was her time to sigh, "because I wanted to make today, the temporary, best day of your life. Well, not only yours but mine too", she grinned slightly. "Emily, what are you talking about? I really don't get it", you looked at her, noticeably confused. She looked at you for a second before she roomed around in her bag, getting out a small box.

No, no, no, no, no. This couldn't be true. This couldn't be happening. You had closed your eyes but when your girlfriend asked you to open them, you did what she asked you to. You opened your eyes, looking into hers, not daring to look down to the box in her hand. "I planned something completely different, a bath, dinner and a long speech but I think I can pass that now", she laughed. "I thought about this for a while, well more than just a while now, and I was waiting for the perfect moment to ask you but I guess there will never be this specific moment. So I'm just gonna do it here, in a hospital, on the floor. But, Y/N, you're the love of my life, my soul mate, you're the person I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to have a family with you. So I'm just gonna ask you now", she chuckled nervously, "do you wanna marry me? Do you wanna become another Mrs. Prentiss?"

You looked at her, tears brimming in your eyes again, finally looking down into her hands, seeing the most perfect ring you've ever seen. You looked back up to her, the tears falling down on your cheeks while you nodded. "Yes, yes, yes, of course I want to", you tried to keep your voice as quiet as possible, still sitting on the hospital floor. She grinned, placing a quick kiss onto your lips before she literally put the ring on your finger.

[whump-town]

Into Your Arms

@genevievedarcygranger this one’s for you (I would have done more but the other’s sucked ass)

Various ways Aaron Hotchner stumbles his way into his loved ones arms only to give them heart attacks because he’s a drama queen with awful timing (and inspired by this post)

(1) Haley

He tells her everything that he can when he gets home each night. A second debrief where he sits on the couch, anxiously rubbing at her fingers, and is allowed to feel the impact of what occurred. She knows it’s just the honeymoon phase, that’s why he still greets each day with a smile and promises her it’s not that bad. He’s still got that look in his eyes like he can save the world or eat it whole like he hasn’t decided but when he does...

She thinks that if there was ever a man who could succeed, it’s going to him. His background is so drastically different from everyone else there. Not the son of a politician, hardly the son of a lawyer. Aaron has dragged himself here bleeding, nothing more than roadkill to these men. He might not have been able to pour himself into these cases as they had, doesn’t have the experience, but he’s lived many of them. Felt abuse and escaped his monster’s hands. Maybe she’d just needed him to be different. Safe for once. 

But isn’t that what all those other men had wanted too?

It’s midnight when he gets home. She’s already in bed when she hears him fighting his bike into the door, the loud clatter of the pedals and the handles refusing to fit. All before he shouts angered and explosive and not nearly under his breath-- “fuck”-- before he gives up and throws it out onto the porch. Desperate with those thoughts that tell him everything is out to get him, that’s he’s alone in his misery.

She jumps when he slams the door, not expecting the sound from her typically very timid, soft-spoken husband. The man who will drop a dish or a pot and comes to find her to make sure he didn’t scare her. She’s known him for nearly all her life and she’s heard him utter maybe five curse words. It’s how she knows that what greets her downstairs will not be her Aaron but something broken, something like the boy who feverishly tried to convince her that his bruises and scars were something of her active imagination. The boy killing himself to save everyone else. 

“Aaron?” She comes down the stairs, making sure to hit every creaky board so that he can hear her coming. He’s not in the living room. None of the lights are on but with the street lights pouring in she can make out just enough, and he’s not there. She searches it twice, making sure her eyes don’t deceive her but he’s not there. “Aaron?” she comes around the side of the room and stops.

He’s standing in the kitchen, shoulders shaking. She can hear his soft intakes of breath, the way he presses his hands into his face to muffle the sounds of his sobs. “Oh, baby.” She comes around him, keeping her distance until she’s standing in front of him. Watching as he wipes at his face, jaw quivering as he fails to hide the tears streaming down his face. “Aaron,” she hesitates to touch him, waits until she’s certain he’s calmed down enough not to flinch at the contact. 

She starts with a hand on his shoulder-- this is the hardest part about loving him. No matter how many years she’s been here, no matter how long it’s been since he’s seen or talked to or been hurt by his father every time is like the first time. Like he’s still just a kid standing in his kitchen waiting to get beaten for something beyond his control. 

He lets her get closer, anxiety growing but he wants her there. Knows it won’t get better until she’s got both arms around him so he wills his body to remain stationary. He whimpers when she touches his back but she keeps going until their chest touch and there is, he’s right there. She wraps him as tight as she can. Feels his heart beat against her chest.

“Okay, okay--” she’s not ready for how quickly his knees give out from beneath him. She pulls him back when it startles him, holding his arms with her own, willing herself stronger to keep him down. “You’re okay.”

He shakes his head, bowing in until his face is in her shoulder. “No,” he rasps. “She was right there,” he cries. “I had her in my arms, Haley. I felt--” he chokes on his own words. Chest heaving. “She died and I held her, she wasn’t alone but I couldn’t do anything.” 

She hates the pain in his voice, the way he shakes nearly feverishly against her. 

“She was seven,” he cries, “and I held her the entire time, I promise I did. I tried but she just kept bleeding. She was so tiny, I don’t even know how she had so much blood. I hurt her, Haley. She cried when I put pressure on her wounds. She was scared and all I did was hurt her.” He’s frantic, trying to make her see his reasoning. See him for what he sees, the thing he flinches from in mirrors. 

She just holds him and waits for morning.

(2) David Rossi

Dave is going to put a tracker in the kid’s boxers. He’s fairly certain Haley might hate him but she might okay this idea, so long as nothing like this happens again.

“He’s like ten feet tall,” Max grunts, “how the hell did you lose him?”

Dave shoots him a glare in the rearview mirror. “I didn’t lose him!” He presses on the gas pedal, the old car groaning as it accelerates. There’s nothing David Rossi likes more than playing Mr. Cool & Collected and there’s nothing that Aaron freaking Hotchner has accomplished more than making Dave feel like the frantic father to a toddler that can’t just stand still in the store. It’s kind of ruining the badass vibe thing he claims so feverishly. It’s hard to be a hot FBI agent when he looks like those dads in the store, running up and down the aisle calling out for their child.

“Alright,” Jason soothes, reaching over to squeeze Dave’s elbow. He looks at the picture of calm but he can feel his own fears rising as the gauge climbs steadily over seventy miles per hour. “Easy, Dave. Have some faith in him, okay? You’ve put in the time, he’s a smart kid.” A blind hope sort of faith but all things considered (with the exclusion of the fact that Aaron is like a fire-bug and seems to not understand that you run from danger not to it) he’s has a good head on his shoulders.

“Right,” Dave mumbles. God, he should have left Aaron in Seattle.

They find him in a field and when Dave hears the deputy calling in his description-- early thirties, dark hair, slender build-- his breath catches in his throat. He’s expecting the kid from Seattle, whose gangly height had made Jason wince and Max laugh. Who drinks too much coffee and trips over everything to be brought back to him on a stretcher. A sheet thrown over his body. Suddenly all those jokes, the way Max pointed out Aaron’s ankles hang off stretchers, would fall bitter.

But instead, he sees that ten-foot-tall, 99% all-leg toddler that he hired and his throat dries.

There are deep, dark circles around his eyes. Too many cuts to count on his face, some actively dropping blood onto his dress shirt, but he still smiles. Still raises a hand to wave when Jason shakes his head and huffs out “that kid is a piece of work”. He leans heavily on the deputy at his side, wincing and limping but he’s upright and alive.

Dave gets to him first. Tearing through the tall grass to end up, chest heaving from the run, right in front of Aaron. He points a finger up at him, anger melting at the sight of just how tired he looks. How young he really is and Dave hates himself for bringing him into this stupid mess.  “Don’t you ever do something like that again, do you understand me?” Is this what it feels like to finally find your kid in the endless aisles of Walmart? Because he’s livid but he wants to pull this big oaf into a hug and never let him go. “You could have been killed. Do you know how much paperwork that is?”

Aaron smirks, tilting just a bit and wincing when he puts pressure on broken ribs.

“Come here,” Dave says far too angrily to make it clear he’s on the verge of tears here. He pulls Aaron down, cupping the back of his head closer and wrapping his other arm across his back. “Big old idiot,” he chides sniffling to keep his tears at bay. Dave can feel him shaking, shivering despite the humidity looming over them thickly. Making even the air nearly unbreathable it’s so thick.

Aaron grunts, shifting in Dave’s arms but not away. Just trying to be comfortable but his ribs light up like a match has been struck inside him. “Rossi,” is all the warning he can get out, knees rolling out from beneath him. He hits the ground with a thud, Dave grunting to keep him from falling completely.

Dave grabs him, wincing when Aaron’s eyes roll back into his head and his mouth slacks open. Body jerking.

“It’s a seizure,” the deputy drawls. Dave is too shocked to fight as the deputy eases Aaron to the ground, rolling him onto his back, and holding him on his side. “You have to time it.” Dave looks down at his watch but he’s unable to think-- unable to breath as he hears Aaron moan in pain, crying softly as his body jerks beyond his control.

The deputy rubs Aaron’s chest, whispering something softly until Aaron’s eyes peel back open. His choked breathes easing into breathless pants, confused mumbles leaving his mouth. He doesn’t pull away from their touch, if anything Dave thinks he might actually press his face into Dave’s leg. Holding on a little tighter to Dave’s hand. “My son used to have them,” he tells them both. “You’ll be tired for a while but you’ll probably be fine.”

Unless it’s a brain bleed or a severe concussion or brain damage or a thousand other things.

“Da--Dave?”

He leans closer, squeezing Aaron’s hand and rubbing at his back. “I’m right here, you’re okay.”

Aaron peels an eye open, that signature scowl slipping into place. He looks like himself for a few moment as he looks around and artfully deducts, “I’m laying in the mud.” Leave it to Aaron. “It’s cold.”

Dave thinks again to the sweat pouring down everyone else’s backs. To the humidity so thick it should be considered a solid at this point, defying all laws of matter. “Shut up,” he says entirely too softly to be taken as it should be. A jab, a taunt. “You’re always cold.”

The crunching of grass betrays the medics coming in behind them but Dave doesn’t leave Aaron’s side. He hears the deputy tell them about the seizure. He smiles down at Aaron, brushing back a strand of hair. “I’m putting a tracker in your underwear. Gonna handcuff you to me next time we go anywhere.” And as Aaron’s eyes slip closed, loosing his battle with fighting his body, he smiles.

Dave already complains that he walks too fast, how would handcuffing them together solve anything?

(3) Penelope Garcia

They entrusted him in her care. She’d seen the hesitation in Emily’s eyes, watched her move back to Aaron’s side twice before averting her eyes and going to stand back by Dave. As if physically putting distance between them would solve the gut-rotting feeling Emily has that she’s abandoning him. That they’re all awful for leaving him but there are no other options. They leave him and they go solve this case and they can come right back as soon as it’s over.

“I’ll watch him,” Garcia promises. “We’ll be okay.”

And it’s relieving to know that it’s Garcia who will be here. It’s unspoken the connection between Garcia and Hotch. No need to review the ways he won’t even behave for Emily or Dave, he will succumb to Garcia’s nurturing ways. Let her tuck blankets around him and fuss with him about resting when he wants to sign himself out. He’s far more hesitant to hurt her. He loves her just a little bit more.

“Call if you need anything,” Derek reminds her again, as he stalls at the door. Looking back between Garcia and Hotch, convinced there is no way this goes over smoothly. No way Hotch doesn’t burn her trying to self-destruct and he’s afraid of what that will do to both of them. Garcia has ever right to be wounded by the daggers Hotch throws when he’s down-- a wounded animal cornered, snapping and teeth barred fighting with all he has left. But if Hotch sees the blood, sees the way that he hurts them… He doesn’t need any help placing those knives in his chest,  prying his ribs open to see his heart. Trying to convince himself, as his blood flows freely over his hands, that his human. 

They’re all terrified of what will happen this time. As they are every time he goes down. How much longer until the next time? How close will he let them get? How much blood is it going to take? 

“We’ll be okay,” Garcia says again because she’s still trying to believe it herself. 

But she knows that when he wakes up, he will be someone else entirely. An animal biting it’s leg off to escape, unaware that is leaves that mutilated limb behind that they will never get free. A few feet. Maybe a mile. Blood loss and infection will set in and they will die alone. Panting but free. 

Aaron never cares about what he has to loose, he  just has to get free. 

The drugs hold him back for a day. She sits there, expecting every little hitch in his breathing to be the start, but the next inhale comes and all she has is a pained groan or a soft sigh. 

She falls asleep, laptop precariously tipping off her hips, when he wakes. He doesn’t make a sound, just peels his eyes back and takes in his surroundings. He’s panicked, on the edge, and he sees her but he can’t say a word. He’s too tired, too drugged to even try to make the great escape he’s already formulating in his mind. 

She hears the monitors pick up, something shifting in the room. “Sir,” she gasps but she’s a little too late. He’s already sitting up, hunched down and over himself. “Are you okay? Should I--” 

The door is thrown open, startling them both with the bright lights from the hall into the dark room. 

“Hotch are you okay?” she stays right beside him, trying to get him to say something. Anything.

The nurses buzz around him, not as frantic as she feels just quick practiced movements. She watches them give up trying to move Hotch’s arms, raising the sleeve of his gown up and plunging something into his arm. They step back, going to the machines.

“Hotch?” she tries again, softer. 

He turns his head, eyes darting between hers.

“Are you okay?” she touches his shoulder and nearly jumps in surprise when he leans into her. She hesitates for only a second-- mind racing to understand what’s happening right now. Hotch who avoids hugs and hates attention, leaning into her. Seeking out comfort. “It’s okay,” she whispers, pulling his shoulders closer to her. “You’re okay.” 

She can feel him deflating, all of him now against her. Head on her shoulder and his other arm, not the one pinned between their bodies, trying to reach closer. His breaths even out, no longer quick and shallow as they had been before. 

“It was a sedative,” one of the nurses assures her. “He’s okay. He just needs to rest.”

Garcia nods and tries to pretend like that idea doesn’t terrify her. She’ll call Derek or maybe Dave just someone later and tell them about this. How quickly Hotch had just gone limp in her arms, unable to hold his body up. She’ll cry in the shower and probably every night after this-- is that how desperately he needs a hug? Should she have really been listening to him all these years and skipping him while showering the others in affection? 

She doesn’t fall back asleep, she sits up with him. Listening to his breathing and calming him back down before he can wake up or work himself into a nightmare. She’ll make up for when she wasn’t there and vow that once he’s back on his feet, she’s going to pull him down into a hug and she’s never going to let go.

[libraryofloveletters]

Hi! Totally in love with everything you write! I was wondering if I could request something fluff with Hotch and the prompt #14. You can decide what to do with it. I just really need some fluff with Aaron. I understand if you don't want to write it tho. Thank you so much! :)

Midnight Dances 

Aaron Hotchner x Reader 

Prompt 14: “I can’t believe... you're actually wearing my clothes” 

Request #2: “Can you do a hotch imagine where the reader is making dinner and hotch comes up and wants to dance”

Warnings: None

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 700 

Author’s Note: Thank you! <3 also I added in a request that I got earlier into this as well since you said write it as I please. I hope you like it! I'm sorry it’s so short :( 

----

You were in the kitchen making dinner, it was just you at home tonight. Aaron had promised to be home for dinner today, he had returned from a case earlier in the day and had some reports to go through at the office before coming home. It was almost midnight and yes, you were making dinner now because you had worked a late shift. You were filling water into the pot when your phone buzzed.

From Aaron: On my way now, do you need anything ? 

To Aaron: No, I'm all good. Be safe

Your house was ridiculously hot for an autumn night and Aaron hated when you opened the windows during the night, especially if you were home alone. Most of your clothes were in the laundry bin waiting to be put away, you just didn’t bother so you wore one of Aaron’s button ups and a pair of black shorts.  The shirt was a bit big on you, it shifted and ended up being off one of your shoulders. 

You went into the dinner room to reset the needle on your vinyl. Dave had gotten you and Aaron a record player as a housewarming gift after seeing your vinyl record, he thought it was impressive but not as impressive as his. 

You hummed along to the song as you walked into the kitchen. You were stirring the pasta in the pot when something banged by the entryway. You thought it was the door but you didn’t pay much attention, you were too busy swaying along to the beat of the song. 

“Surprise” 

Aaron whispered in your ear as he grabbed your hips pulling you closer to him. You jumped, his voice startling you for a second. You heard something but it didn’t occur to you that someone would be in the house. “Jesus Aaron! you scared me”  he laughed. 

“How many times did I tell you that you that you need to pay more attention ?” he kissed your temple 

“Uh huh” 

“I can’t believe it” he mumbled as he leaned against the wall. You weren’t in the mood for one of his lectures right now. “What is it ?” you asked, not making eye contact with him. “I can’t believe... you’re actually wearing my clothes”  he smiled at you, this made you smile too. 

“Best believe it then agent” 

He gave you a quick kiss before telling you about his case. He starts to sound quiet as he spoke, you turned around to see an empty kitchen. He went to change his clothes and was now shouting from the bedroom. 

You stopped listening when he started giving details of the gory murder stuff. When he came back, the vinyl switched to one of his favourites. You smiled at the sound of the song, whenever you heard it, you thought of Aaron even if he wasn’t with you at the moment. 

Aaron was humming along to the song as he walked over to you. His arms wrapped around you, your back against his chest. You turned off the stove, leaving the pot on the stove. He swayed to the beat, his chin was perched up on your shoulder as he whisper to you,

“Dance with me” 

“Always” 

You turned around to face Aaron. The two of you were wrapped in each other, his hands on your waist and yours arms around his neck. Your face was buried in his chest as he towered over you. 

These were the moments you loved. 

The quiet nights when it felt like the world came to a stop. 

When it was only you and Aaron, 

In love and at peace. 

[sodone-withlife]

one sentence

i saw sumayyah‘s answer to an anon’s ask (so all credit for this idea goes to them) about that scene in Omnivore where Rossi is offering Hotch his gun and this thing pretty much wrote itself (which is exceedingly rare lmao), so here is something that i thought would be just a few hundred words but ended up being a really long interpretation of the Foyet arc with hurt/minimal comfort with a good amount of pre-Mortch (or you can see them as platonic, i think it’s up for interpretation). 

also, just a quick heads up, i love Papa Rossi, but for the purposes of this fic, it might seem a little bash-y towards him

warnings: quite a bit of suicidal ideation, (almost) attempted suicide, implied/referenced suicide, canon-typical violence, canonical character death

word count: 7.9k words

The highlighted words stared back at Hotch as Shaunessy’s words echoed in his mind.

A deal with the devil.

“Yes, that’s exactly right,” he told Garcia.

“Because I found it, do I get to know what it’s about?” the analyst asked, unrepentantly curious. Hotch sent her a look.

Might as well. Shaunessy’s not going to last much longer, and we’ll be called in…  “The Reaper,” he said simply.

“Like—the Boston Reaper?” Garcia lowered her voice as she named the notorious killer. Hotch nodded. “I didn’t even know the BAU worked on that case,” she remarked. 

“1998,” Hotch informed her, remembering caffeine-fueled sleepless nights and the palpable fear on the streets. “It was my first case for the BAU as lead profiler.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but we don’t have a profile for the Reaper in the system, do we?”

Not in the system, no. “That’ll be all Penelope, you can go home now,” Hotch told Garcia, turning to the bottom drawer of the shelf behind his desk as the analyst nodded and left. Pulling out a worn folder bursting with papers and photos, he placed the newspaper clipping and the evidence bag protecting the contract into it. He left it to the side and refocused on the folder in front of him filled with sheets of old handwritten notes filled with annotations and crossed-out sections. 

There will be no sleeping tonight.

Early September, 1998

“You’re sending me?” Hotch was sitting ramrod straight in surprise, blindsided by Gideon’s sudden decision.

“Yeah,” Gideon answered simply, leaning back in his chair as much as he could in the cramped space and looking supremely unperturbed. “Do you not want to go?”

Hotch shook herself out of his shocked state, scrambling to gather his wits. “No—I mean, I’ll go, but—”

“But?”

Hotch carefully evaluated his words. “I’ve only been here a few months, and you’re sending me to Boston—alone—to help with the Reaper case? The case that has been going on for three years, longer than I’ve even been an agent, involving a killer that could probably put the Zodiac to shame?” 

The older agent shrugged. “I have to stay and hold down the fort since we are severely understaffed, but I’ll always be a phone call away, and you’re mainly there just to act as eyes for the both of us. You’re not working on this alone.”

Hotch stiffened as a sudden—but careful—warm touch on his hand pulled him out of the spiral of self-doubt he had been teetering over and grounded him. He brought his eyes back to Gideon and was surprised to see complete openness and no signs of deception or maliciousness that he had been forced to learn long ago at the hands of his father. 

“I’m not Dave,” Gideon began seriously, “I wasn’t the one who pulled you over here or the one you started out shadowing under, but I do talk to people. I know about your record in prosecution, in Seattle, and in SWAT, and it is very telling. You never doubted yourself before, and I have no doubt that you can handle yourself, so why are you starting now?” 

He leaned back, clearly done with the impromptu pep talk that Hotch, still frozen, figured happened once in a blue moon based on what Rossi had told him about the unit before he retired. The cramped room was silent as Hotch felt Gideon watching him struggling with internal strife. Slowly, he released some of the tension that was coiled within him, and Gideon turned back to his stack of consults with an air of satisfaction. 

“Start packing, Agent Hotchner. Boston awaits your presence.”

Late November, 1998

“Do you know what the hell is going on?” Hotch immediately asked when the call went through, pacing around his hotel room.

“And a good evening to you too.”

“Gideon.”

“What is it, Hotch?” his tone changed from dry to worried in a heartbeat, hearing the uncharacteristic urgency in his agent’s voice and the lack of nervousness that usually showed his agent’s discomfort towards using the less-formal form of address.

“Shaunessy, the lead detective,” Hotch spat out, throwing the case file that was in his hand on the bed. “He closed the case.”

“And that warrants a phone call at eleven PM, why?”

Hotch bit back a sharp retort, letting out a sharp breath. “You know I’ve been re-interviewing the victims’ friends and family, going through everything they had and lines of investigation that may have been dropped, working the profile along the way, but there have been no viable suspects, even with the accelerated killings,” he said quickly, a mess of emotions swirling inside him. “Gideon, no arrests have been made but he closed the case, just like that.”

“Remind me, when was the last victim?”

“Just over six weeks ago, a month after I got here. I know what you’re thinking,” Hotch said when Gideon didn’t respond, “that the case just went cold, but there were still things I had people following up on. It’s not cold,” he insisted.

“Well, there’s nothing you can do about it, Hotch. I know you don’t like it, but the locals have point on this.”

Hotch sighed, but it did nothing to calm him down. “I know,” he said, annoyed. “I’m catching an early train back to DC, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

January 2003

“The Reaper?”

Hotch slammed the folder shut and looked up from his desk, startled. He sent Gideon a glare, glad that no one else was there to see his composure slip, but he only looked vaguely concerned. 

“It’s been just over four years,” Gideon commented neutrally. “You’ve had that folder at the bottom of your third drawer, and you’ve pulled it out at least forty different times since ‘98.”

Hotch stared up at him in a challenge. “Is there something wrong with that?”

Gideon shook his head. “Just be careful. Don’t get too drawn into the chase.”

~~~

Sighing as he rubbed the familiar ache on the back of his neck that always appeared during paperwork days and especially stressful cases, Hotch closed his battered folder of notes and opened it back up again. It was almost compulsive at this point, repeating every twenty minutes and each time with the hope something new would catch his attention.

Hotch shifted, the bedsheets suddenly feeling unbearably scratchy and coarse even through his slacks. The case details buzzed around his head incessantly, distracting him from feeling the physical exhaustion and strain caused by the lack of proper sustenance and the stress of a day filled with dead ends.

The sudden ringing shattered the silence of the room, knocking him from his focus. He got up from the bed and warily walked over to the source, picking up the hotel phone and bringing it up to his ear. 

“Hotchner,” he said out of habit, only to freeze as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up in reaction to the sudden, heavy breathing. “Who is this?” he demanded, throwing the folder he was still holding back on the bed with dread rising within him. 

“If you stop hunting me, I’ll stop hunting them.” His question about the caller’s identity went unanswered, though the cursed words of the contract spoken by the same distorted voice that was heard on the 911 calls from ten years ago was confirmation enough.

Anger flared inside him at the audacity, and he snapped back, “You think I’d take that?”

“It’s a good deal,” the Reaper replied flatly.

“I’ve misjudged you,” he said, some distant part of him wondering how Shaunessy felt when he himself got the offer ten years ago. “I thought you were smarter than this,” he was unable to help the derisive tone.

The silence was long enough for him to wonder how much he had caught him unawares with his response. 

“You should take it.” 

“And you’ve misjudged me.”

“This is your last chance,” he warned.

Hotch didn’t hesitate. “I don’t make deals. I’m the woman who hunts guys like you.” That got the reaction he was hoping for.

“There are no guys like me,” the killer growled, anger bleeding into his tone.

He scoffed. “You all think that.”

“You’ll regret this,” he warned.

It was said with such certainty that a chill shot down his spine, but it was overshadowed by his anger. “I’ll see you soon,” he promised, promptly hanging up without another word. He walked back around the bed, feeling a sudden need to put as much distance between him and the phone as possible. It was with some hysterical hilarity that he wondered if the next people to stay in this room would know about what had just happened—that a serial killer tried to threaten an FBI agent into surrendering in this room.

Those feelings faded away when a terrible feeling suddenly came over Hotch as he realized the Reaper knew which hotel—which room—he was staying in.

It wasn’t unusual during their cases for an unsub to contact another person in the midst of their crimes, but the memories of Elle in the hospital bed and Morgan in the interrogation room had been seared into his brain. 

Both times, unsubs directly went after members of the team.

Unable to remain in the room any longer, he went around unceremoniously throwing his things inside his bags before leaving the hotel room. Paranoia quickly crept back into his consciousness as he quickly made his way down to the parking garage with a hand near his gun, intent on heading straight to the field office.

Only half an hour later, Hotch was staring at the glinting gold ring on the bus driver’s hand, feeling oddly detached from the situation as he was confronted with the consequences of that cursed phone call.

“6 bodies, not including the driver,” Rossi said from the back of the bus. “He put them down with a gun—or, more likely, guns—and finished them off with his knife.” 

The call had come straight to the field office, just minutes after Hotch walked into the empty conference room that the team had taken command of. A beat cop had heard a series of gunshots and went to investigate, only to see the macabre painting of blood on the side of the bus with its occupants slumped over inside, unmoving. “Arthur Lanessa’s wedding ring,” Hotch heard himself say for the other agent’s benefit.

“What’d he take?” Rossi made his way down to him in the front. 

He snapped back into the present with a sudden surge of anger. “Does it matter?” he asked bitingly, turning and storming away from the crime scene for the relative privacy of a nearby alley.

“Hey,” Rossi called in worry, taken aback by the brash response. “What’s going on with you?”

Hotch stopped some way into the alley and took a deep breath, taking his time before turning to Rossi, who had followed closely behind. “He called me tonight at my hotel room and offered me the deal.” 

“What did you say?”

“I hung up on him,” his eyes burned with the sting of tears—whether out of anger at the Reaper or himself, he wasn’t sure. “And then he does this.”

“So you think this is your fault?”

How could it be anything but? He looked away, trying to hide just how shaken he was. “It is.”

The familiar sound of the safety of a gun being released pulled his attention back to the man in front of him. “Well, here, use mine,” Rossi said, holding out his gun to him. “You convinced me. No, no, you hung up on him,” he pushed as he waved him off, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You practically killed them yourself—”

You practically killed them yourself.

You practically killed them yourself.

Killed them yourself.

Killed them. 

Yourself.

You.

You did this.

You should have made the deal

Hotch flinched away from the touch of cold metal against his head only to freeze in his place, ice settling in his bones as he processed what was happening. Barely seeing the horror on Rossi’s face, he stared at the other man’s empty hand before he focused in on the gun that was resting against his own head, tilted at an angle. There were five things he knew:

I have a finger on the trigger. 

My hand is trembling. 

I am still one of the best shots of the agents that are not in a tactical team.

Make one move, fire the gun, only the hearing in my right ear will be gone and the darkness continues to creep towards me.

Make a different move, fire the gun, I’ll leave Jack the legacy of a coward and Haley the knowledge that her efforts back in high school and college were for naught.

You did this, a malicious voice in his head said, sounding oddly like his father. And suddenly, he recalled the memory of the blood droplets hitting him and the ringing in his ears the first time he witnessed a gun go off when he was nine.

Slowly, deliberately, Hotch met Rossi’s horrified and guilt-filled expression and lowered the gun from his head. Carefully measuring his steps, he moved forward and pressed the gun into the older agent’s hand, which dropped down to the side, the weight of the gun now accompanied by something unseen, something much heavier.

Not sparing him another glance, Hotch turned and walked back out of the alley.

This isn’t the time nor place to break. 

But in the end, he didn’t have a choice. 

“Foyet escaped.”

Hotch’s blood ran cold as he processed JJ’s words before he roughly placed his mug onto the desk and stood up from his chair, following JJ outside to the bullpen that was full of noise and movement.

“Guards found him in his cell vomiting blood and convulsing, they rushed him to the prison hospital,” JJ explained quickly as they made their way down the catwalk. Hotch twitched as he heard Rossi’s office door open behind him, the man coming out to see what the commotion was about.

“Get me the US Marshal’s Office,” Hotch ordered, making the executive decision to ignore the older agent in favor of getting down to business. 

“I already called Don Reilly. I offered our assistance, he said they’d call us if they needed it.”

Prentiss rushed to the trio, holding a phone up to her ear. “The Boston field office just identified documents from Foyet’s house,” she reported.

Reid approached the agents gathered in the middle of the room, holding out a printout of what looked to be a set of blueprints. “They’re schematics for the electrical, heating, and water ducts of the East Woburn Correctional Facility.”

Hotch looked at him blankly. “He had the schematics.”

“And not just for Woburn—for every jail, prison, and courthouse in Massachusetts.”

“And ten years to plan,” Rossi added, a heavy silence following as everyone turned to the TV.

Finally, Garcia turned around. “They’re going to find him, right?” she asked worriedly.

Eyes still trained on Foyet's mugshot on the TV, Hotch was completely certain in his answer. “No, they’re not,” he said, just as the memory of Foyet’s words rose to the forefront of his mind, unbidden.

If you know me so well, how come so many had to die to bring you here?

I’m going to be more famous than you realize.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, trying to get a hold of the wave of nausea that suddenly overcame him. He brushed past the team, purposely heading out of the bullpen for one of the bathrooms that was further away for the sake of keeping the team and their concern off his back.

Within minutes he was throwing up bile and the small amount of alcohol he had drank back in his office into the sink, thanking the god he never believed in that the bathroom was rather secluded so there wouldn’t be anyone catching him in this moment of weakness. His eyes burned for the second time in less than twenty-four hours—only this time, a few traitorous tears managed to escape from underneath his eyelids. 

The taste of bile was strong as he turned on the tap and splashed his face with cold water, stiffening when he heard the door swing open and closed. Looking up to the mirror, he was both relieved and unsurprised to see Morgan locking the door behind him. 

“You’ve been avoiding Rossi,” Morgan commented quietly. Hotch huffed a sardonic laugh, straightening up and turning around to face him, leaning against the sink for support. It was a familiar situation, one first started years ago when it was just them and Gideon, and stopped after the team started growing. Then New York happened and Hotch had to de-stress in a gas station they stopped at on the drive back to Quantico, and their secret rendezvous started happening again, when cases hit too close to home for either of them.

Somehow he always knows what the root problem is. “Was I that obvious?”

Morgan shook his head. “You know you hide it well. I’ve just known you far longer than any of the others, besides Rossi, of course.” He didn’t go on, waiting on the other to decide the direction the conversation would go. 

Deciding to go for complete honesty, Hotch swallowed, tilting his head up and avoiding Morgan’s eyes. “He called me at my hotel room and offered me the deal.”

To his credit, Morgan only stepped closer, face creased in concern and a hint of knowing. “I said no, and he shot up a bus,” Hotch continued tonelessly. “I lost it in an alley near the crime scene. Dave had pulled out his gun and was trying to make a point about self-flagellation, but—” he cut himself off and shook his head frustratedly.

“I don’t know what happened. One moment I was just angry, and the next moment I was aiming a gun at my head,” he met Morgan’s eyes desperately, stern facade completely gone. “I don’t know what I wanted to do—I don’t,” his voice cracked as he sagged against the sink and his trembling became more pronounced. He quickly covered his mouth as a sob tried to escape his throat, prompting Morgan to move.

It was surprising to both him and Morgan how willingly he melted into Morgan’s body when the man reached out to stabilize him, but the sensation of the embrace was oddly calming for both of them. Neither spoke as they stood in the bathroom, not even as Morgan felt his shirt getting wet from the tears that Hotch finally let fall, and not even as the crying became more audible. 

Now, they would stay in the bathroom and soak up the comfort that they offered each other. They would talk about Foyet’s taunts and what Hotch confessed later. 

But later never came, because life never waits, and neither do unsubs.

Soon, they were racing against the clock as Reid got infected with an engineered strain of anthrax

Soon, they were investigating one of the worst, stomach-turning crimes they had seen. 

When they got back from the pig farm, Hotch only asked the team for a bare-bones report of the investigation and let them leave to the comfort of their homes while he stayed behind and dealt with the rest of the paperwork and red tape that was involved because of their foray into Canadian jurisdiction. 

It was past midnight when Hotch finally left the office and entered his apartment with the intent of pulling out a glass of scotch and staying on his couch with a book, knowing there was no way he was going to fall asleep that night.  

But Foyet was waiting, and Hotch was weakened by the exhaustion and stress of two all-nighters in a row.  

That night, as his team was sleeping in their beds, dead to the world while he was slowly bleeding out and floating in and out of consciousness in his own apartment, he could only take comfort in the fact that his death sealed Foyet’s fate. There was no way Morgan the team—hell, even Strauss, or anyone in the bureau—would stop hunting his killer to exact their revenge. 

He faded into unconsciousness with the expectation that that was it.

He slowly regained consciousness to the sharp smell of antiseptic and the unpleasantly familiar beeping of a heart monitor. Fatigue settling heavily over his whole body was the next sensation that registered in his foggy mind, and then the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Where am I?” he forced out through a dry throat, eyes still closed.

“In the hospital,” Rossi, his mind told him. He opened his eyes only to close them again when he was met with blindingly bright lights, letting out a pained breath. 

“How did I get here?”

“Foyet drove you.”

Morgan. He drew in a shaky breath as dull, pulsing pain finally made itself known through the painkillers.

“Can you remember what happened?”

That’s Prentiss.

He vaguely felt his head loll to the side before the memories rushed back into the forefront of his mind. Foyet’s words, the same exact words he remembered thinking back in that alley echoed unpleasantly,

You should have made the deal.

Hotch swallowed again and forced his eyes open through the heavy fatigue. “What did he take?” he asked quietly, unwilling to delve deep into what he remembered and deciding to mentally run through the details about the Reaper case instead.

“What do you mean?” Rossi asked, uncomprehending.

“The Reaper always takes something from his victims.” you’re one of his victims now—shut up and think about that later “Do we know what he took?” 

“There was a page missing from your day planner,” his eyes flew open and he looked over at Prentiss as she continued talking, “in the address section, the Bs.” 

No— “What did he leave?” Hotch asked, eyes slipping shut as a trickle of fear went down his spine and his brain screamed out in denial. 

“I don't know,” Prentiss said, floundering.

“He also leaves something with his victims,” he trailed off in a breathless whisper, unable to sustain the volume he had been speaking at as the throbbing grew stronger.

“I looked over your whole apartment,” Prentiss told him helplessly. “Nothing felt out of place.”

A thought came to him. “Where are my clothes?” Hotch asked, slowly trying to force his eyes open again. He turned his head, watching Prentiss bring a plastic bag over to the hospital bed. Careful to avoid looking directly at his bloodied clothes, Hotch managed to pull the bulging manila envelope closer to him on his chest. 

His hands froze as his credentials slipped out and he noticed a folded paper tucked inside. Slowly, shakily, Hotch pulled them out of the envelope and carefully flipped it open. 

He sank deeper into the bed as the breath he had been holding was almost punched out of him by the sheer terror that pulsed through him, the treasured picture of Haley and Jack staring back at him tauntingly. That’s my blood, he thought blankly, staring at the red streak he knew was deliberately painted over his family’s smiling faces.

“Haley’s maiden name is Brooks,” he finally said, almost numb to the implications. “I always listed her in the Bs in my personal information in case it fell into the wrong hands.” 

Some kind of precaution it turned out to be. 

“He knows where they live.”

And that was that. As Hotch was stuck in flashbacks and lied to Prentiss about what happened, Morgan led the SWAT team in sweeping Hotch’s old house and picked Jack up from his playdate. As Hotch talked with Haley and failed to not think about that night in the alley with the cold metal against his head, Morgan played with Jack outside and failed to not think about Foyet using his credentials so he could continue to torture his friend boss. As Hotch remained confined to the hospital bed, Morgan watched through an upper-story window as Haley and Jack were driven off into the distance to a location unknown to anyone but a select few in the Marshals service. 

Nine stab wounds, thirty minutes down time, and six days in the cursed hospital.

The numbers circled through Hotch’s mind when he stepped back into his apartment and had to work through the panic that rose within as he stared towards the place where he knew Foyet had been hiding. 

In the end, what brought him back from the edge was when his eyes caught the new security panel that had been installed over where he knew the bullet had made a hole and the sticky note with what he recognized as Morgan’s handwriting that was stuck over it, concisely written instructions on how to use it. If he looked around carefully enough for other signs of Morgan’s presence, he could see where the section of bloodstained carpet had been replaced, and that was only because there was the tiniest spot that had been missed. 

The tiniest reminder was enough to send Hotch into a panic, but he knew there was no way he could tell Morgan about it. 

Is this what you felt like, Elle? Unsafe in your own home, having to sweep each room for fear of another one of the monsters we hunt lurking in the shadows?

Slowly, numbly, Hotch worked his way through medical leave and physiotherapy, during which everyone in his team came over at least twice, Prentiss and Morgan the most often to help change his bandages. He knew they worried, but he couldn’t summon the will to care nor the words to thank them for keeping him company and preventing the darkness in his mind from taking over. 

And maybe it was a good thing, because there were things they didn’t know, things that he lied to them about. He lied and he lied, and he knew that if he had the words, they would all come tumbling out, and what little of himself that he had left would be exposed for all to see. 

Even if Morgan had tried to take everything he might be able to use, there was still his mind, and so if he had the words, they would all know how many times he envisioned holding cold metal against his head just as he had back in that alley.

On the thirty-fifth day after he was discharged from the hospital, when they were discussing Darren Call on the plane, they came close to finding out. 

So why hasn’t he killed himself yet? Sprees usually end in suicide. If he's got nothing to live for, why hasn't he ended it?

It was much later, after a day of being on the receiving end of careful, worried glances, and overhearing Morgan’s firm declaration from inside his office that he realized his slip. 

“I’m not going to stand by and watch this man kill himself,” Hotch had heard Morgan snap towards Rossi. Moments later, Morgan passed in front of his office window and made eye contact with him, making it clear that his choice of words was deliberate. 

Suddenly Hotch was back in the alleyway with the gun pressed to his head and managed to talk himself off the ledge he didn’t know he was standing on while Rossi stood there, frozen and horrified that his brazen attempt at making a point had backfired so disastrously. His own words on the plane came back to him, then thought about what others would have seen when he walked into that house unarmed, and he understood. 

He hadn’t been thinking at all when he went in to try and talk Darren Call down, but though he didn’t have a background in psychology, there were some things that didn’t need expert opinion to be said, and so he knew exactly his action could be classified as. 

Don’t lie to yourself, you know exactly what that was.

Hotch swallowed convulsively and broke eye contact with Morgan, turning back to stare at paperwork until the other man walked back to his desk in the empty bullpen. As much as he tried, he couldn’t forget Morgan’s impassioned exclamation nor the depth of the worry that was present in his eyes when they made eye contact through the window.

Maybe that was the day when things shifted. It wasn’t a complete change—the team still hovered around Hotch in uncertain worry, his thoughts never completely disappeared, and he nearly broke down in the bathroom the day Jack turned four in witness protection after seeing what footage of his child on a playground Garcia could enhance. 

There was, however, a different air to his and Morgan’s interactions after that case. Perhaps it was a long time coming, stemming from the painful understanding that was formed that day in the secluded bathroom when they found comfort in each other.

It wasn’t news that the higher-ups were watching him again, but then he walked back to his office after helping JJ triage consult requests to see Strauss fixing him with a stern stare. The next few days he spent trying to work through the frustration of recording and justifying every decision while trying and failing not to antagonize Morgan. And so while he waited for Morgan to come into his office, he could only hope that he hadn’t managed to destroy the strange friendship that had been built between them based on their shared knowledge of just how close he was to the ledge sometimes.

I should give him more credit, I don’t know how he puts up with me sometimes, and he has more than enough reason to report me to Strauss.

“Come on, Hotch, nobody's gonna replace you,” Morgan said, incredulous at the notion of Hotch getting replaced. “Fight Strauss. I'll go to the mat for you, so will everybody else. You know that.” 

“Morgan, it won't work,” Hotch spoke over him, trying to get him to understand. “Decisions like this have their own momentum. Unless I step down—”

“Step down? What are you talking about?”

A foreign feeling Hotch recognized with some surprise as amusement wriggled its way into his consciousness as he anticipated Morgan’s reaction to his coming announcement, “I'm resigning as unit chief at the end of the week”

“What? No!” Hotch couldn’t stop his mouth from twitching as his feeling of amusement grew slightly stronger at the visceral reaction. “Hotch, look, yeah, ok, sometimes your actions, I may disagree with them, but it's not enough for you to leave this team.”

“I'm not leaving the team, I'm just no longer in charge,” Hotch corrected, continuing before Morgan could get in a word. “You are.”

He watched as Morgan’s jaw dropped in shock, before finally asking, “Me?” Detecting no deception from Hotch who had nodded, he continued. “Look, I had the chance to be unit chief in New York, and I said no. I turned it down because I like this team. Strauss can't just fire you like this.”

“She can reassign me, and we can avoid that if I promote internally.”

Unable to come up with a counterargument, Morgan was silent for a moment. “This is wrong,” he finally said. 

A strange thrill went through Hotch at the confidence Morgan had in him—their relationship, while slightly different now, ultimately had been built on unstated respect and the ease with which both were able to call each other out on their bullshit; it wasn’t built on such blatant declarations of trust and confidence. Hotch opened his hands, shrugging helplessly. “It's the only way to keep the team together.”

Morgan nodded consideringly before carefully eyeing Hotch. “So all of this,” he gestured between them, bringing up the tension that had built up between them in the last case, “this is why you've been pushing me so hard, huh?”

“I haven't been pushing you that hard,” Hotch denied, only to get a disbelieving look from the other man. He let out a faint smile before regarding the other with a serious look again. “Morgan, I need to know right now. Will you do this?”

He couldn’t articulate the relief he felt when Morgan finally agreed and continued to feel for the rest of the night as he introduced Morgan to the other parts of the job. Just like every other positive emotion he had felt over the past few years, however, it was short-lived, as Hotch had freed up time to dedicate to the hunt, even as he often stayed later to help Morgan get adjusted. Within months, they were called into a family annihilator case and Hotch was confronting Karl Arnold, one of the few unsubs that had continued to haunt him even after the case was closed and they were killed or incarcerated.

Of course, Arnold had to get in the last word, and oh, did he get it in. 

The cursed eye of providence, now drawn over a newspaper article about the attack months ago, never failed to create a surge of anger and fear within him, but never had it created such a storm of emotions before now. One torturous night of waiting as the envelope the taunts were sent in went through the lab, and the whole team was in the throes of the hunt, and in the process, fell victim to tunnel vision.

What if they had slowed down and remembered that Foyet worked with computers? Would they have managed to catch him at the apartment unawares? Would they have been better prepared for what Foyet had planned to do?

But there wasn’t anything Hotch could do except try and talk Foyet out of going through with his plans while trying to maintain as level of a head as possible.

“Your mother tried to protect you from your father, but she wasn’t strong enough, and you hated her for that, didn’t you? So, you decided that all women were weak,” Hotch suddenly brought up, hoping to catch him off guard as he vaguely wondered if the team was on the line, listening. 

“Those are your words, not mine,” came the grating, annoyingly blasé reply.

“What were you, nine when you killed them?

“It was a car accident. And, now that I think about it, our childhoods are eerily similar, don’t you think?” 

Caught unawares, Hotch jerked the steering wheel, barely managing to avoid crashing the car as Foyet continued. “But it was only your father who died, whereas your mother remarried.”

How—? He turned cold at the show of Foyet’s obsession, which was clearly much deeper than he or anyone in the team could have predicted.

“No response?” the killer taunted.

“My father swallowed a bullet because he couldn’t live with his self loathing or the cancer,” Hotch finally snapped, quickly directing the subject back towards Foyet. Even with the pit in his stomach growing as it became clearer that he was being toyed with, he couldn’t help but use every negotiation tactic he knew and taught at the Academy, desperately but futilely trying to dissuade the killer. 

“Haven't you gotten what you wanted?” Hotch tried, somehow having regained his composure after the unpleasant bombshell. “You've set yourself apart from anybody we've ever dealt with. You're not just a famous serial killer, you're the Reaper. We're going to study you and your methods for years and years.”

“You know what I've been thinking?” Foyet finally asked after a few moments of silence, his next words sending his heart pounding in fear. “Haley looks really good with dark hair. She’s lost some weight. Must be all the stress you caused her. Where's the little man?” No, don’t you dare— “Oh. There he is. Does he like Captain America because of you?” 

Hotch gripped his phone tightly as he heard the ringing of another phone. “That's your wife. Hold, please—Mrs. Hotchner,” Foyet took on an accent, tone turning jovial. “Open the gate and I'll drive in.”

Open the gate? That son of a—of course.

“Aaron?” the malicious glee was back, cutting right to Hotch’s core. “I really gotta go.”

Almost frozen with fear, he pushed the car faster, heading straight towards the old house and praying to whatever deity he could think of that he could get there in time. He wasn’t sure how long had passed when he got Morgan’s call, which was confirmation that the team had indeed been listening. He didn’t dwell on it and only continued to push the car, disregarding speed limits and almost hysterically glad that it was the middle of the day and the streets were relatively empty. 

When his phone rang, it was with numb, mechanical movements that he answered, fully prepared to beg and bargain for his family’s life if he had to, only to sharply inhale at Haley’s dearly missed voice, which turned shaky with fear when she realized the danger she was in. As Foyet undercut their exchange with his maliciously satisfied taunts, telling Haley all that he could never bring himself to confess about the case, Hotch could only think about how he was just too far away, Haley, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry for lying to you about everything, I’ll never forgive myself—

But then Jack was on the phone, and the pure innocence and eagerness with which his son greeted him after months of no contact was enough to send a fresh wave of tears coursing down his face.

“Is George a bad guy?”

“Yes, he is,” Hotch answered, wanting to scream at him to just run away, get as far away from him as you can when an old memory was suddenly brought forth from his subconscious. “Jack, I need you on this case with me. Do you understand?” he tried to keep his voice steady, hoping with his whole being that his son would remember. “I need you to work the case with me.”

“Ok, Daddy.”

“Jack, hug your mom for me,” he requested, voice cracking and desperately trying to contain the sobs that were steadily building. He could only imagine the warmth his son was feeling from his mother now, potentially the last memory he would ever have of her. Hearing his son’s too-inquisitive question about his mother’s mood left him viciously biting down on his bottom lip, trying to maintain some modicum of control over himself.

“Is he gone?” Hotch finally asked, nausea joining the storm of emotions within him at the nickname Foyet had given his son.

“Yes,” Haley confirmed, letting her fear shine through now that Jack wasn’t there to see it. 

Each shaking breath was a stab straight to his core.“You’re so strong, Haley, you’re stronger than I ever was.”

Her response nearly sent him shattering into the pieces she had so carefully helped him put back together back in high school after his stepfather died.

“You’ll hurry, right?”

I can’t lie, I’m so sorry, Haley. I can’t lie to you. Not after everything I’ve already done, “I know you didn’t sign on for this.”

“Neither did you.”

Why does it have to be now that we finally talk about what caused the divorce?

“I’m sorry for everything.”

There was a short pause as Haley inhaled sharply, before leveling out into shaky breaths. “Promise me that you will tell him how we met and how you used to make me laugh.”

No, please— “Haley,” Hotch trailed off, unable to continue and almost paralyzed at the knowledge that these might be her last words because he’s too far away, I’m not going to—

“He needs to know that you weren't always so serious, Aaron. He needs to believe in love, because it is the most important thing, but you need to show him. Promise me,” she ordered him forcefully.

“I promise.”

The sound of three gunshots tore straight into his soul. 

And then he was finding Haley’s body, trying not to let the seams break when renewed rage roared to life within him at the extinguishing of the light that had been inside her and lit up every room she walked in. Minutes later, he was straddling the demon that had haunted him for over a decade, the demon that he finally caught up to but at a terrible cost and then he was punching—

I’m going to kill that bastard son of yours and I’m going to tell him it was all your fault— 

and punching—

You practically killed them yourself—

and punching—

You should have made the deal—

someone yelled his name—

Promise me.

“—dead. He’s dead,” someone was shouting as Hotch tried to lunge forward away from the person pulling him back and towards the man who killed my wife HE KILLED HALEY—

But all the fight that had been inside him suddenly disappeared, and he was left staggering backward, mouth open in a silent, rage-filled scream as someone—it’s Derek—kept a careful grip on his body, holding his shattered pieces together just long enough for him to gather his tattered seams close to his chest and fling himself away towards the stairs. 

Hotch collapsed to his knees in front of the chest, seeing no indication of any taunting messages and daring to hope that his son was—

And the sight of his son, unharmed and blinking at the sudden change in brightness, nearly sent him into a mess of relieved tears that were also tears of unadulterated grief because I got his mother killed—

He held himself together and lifted his son out of the chest, seeing all the features he got from Haley—her his hair, her his eyes, her his inquisitiveness—and struggling to maintain his weakening control as he told Jack to go to Ms. Jareau, who was waiting with open arms in the doorway to the room that had once been his office. 

Hearing their footsteps fade away and shaking with suppressed sobs, he slowly stood up, injuries that he sustained in the fight finally making themselves known as he made his way across the hall to the room he knew Haley was lying in—

He saw Morgan taking her pulse and for a moment he couldn’t help but hope that she was still—

But Morgan was pulling back and he was gently placing Haley’s right arm back on the ground and he wasn’t yelling for medics and—

“I’m so sorry, Aaron,” Morgan said softly as Hotch knelt down, his trembling becoming more palpable by the moment. 

If he looked past the unseeing eyes and the blood that pooled everywhere and her lying on the floor and—

He could almost convince himself that she was sleeping. For a moment, he was almost afraid to touch her, afraid to disturb her in her sleep, but in the next moment—

He was pulling her cooling body close to his chest and burying his face into the crook of her neck, gut wrenching sobs escaping his lips as a wave of grief shattered the flimsy show of control he had put up for Jack’s sake, his son who just lost his mother because his father was addicted to the chase and I broke my promise, Haley, I’m so sorry—

She’s gone. 

The solemn silence weighed heavily on the team as they waited for Hotch to finish testifying before Strauss and the brass. They had all expressed their outrage when they got the orders to come in for their statements, only two days after their leader nearly lost everything, but there was nothing they could do.

It had been painful to watch the man who had been a protector for so long, since childhood through his teenage years and into adulthood, try to maintain the post, disregarding his own health in favor of being the earliest in the office and last to leave, spending every free moment trying to get rid of the threat to his family. It was worse having to listen over the phone as his control started to slip while he tried so desperately to save his family from a madman. 

With the sight of him savagely beating Foyet’s dead body into the ground, all vestiges of the infamous controlled facade gone, they all hoped for Hotch’s sake that Jack had found safety and were beyond relieved to see him in JJ’s arms. Reality caught up to them, however, when they watched as Morgan had to physically wrestle Hotch away from Haley’s body so she could be transported to the ME’s office.

When they got the full autopsy, they could only be glad that Hotch wasn’t there to find out all that Foyet did to his first love.

And within a year, Hotch’s family had been ruthlessly snatched from his desperate, flailing grip and torn into broken pieces before being shoved back at him, misshapen with pieces missing. 

The faint sound of a door swinging closed had them all straightening up in their seats, turning to look into the bullpen where Hotch was walking up the stairs in front of his office, only to freeze right in front of the door with his hand just in front of the door knob. 

They watched worriedly as he let his outstretched hand fall back to his side and slowly backed up from the door, almost as if he were in a trance and startled when Morgan suddenly jumped up and ran out of the room and through the bullpen towards the man.

Their confusion cleared up when they realized that Hotch wasn’t stopping as he backed up, somehow unaware that the stairs were right behind him and stumbled, only barely catching himself on the railing. For Jack’s sake, they forced themselves to stay seated but watched out of the corner of their eyes as he tried to stand back up, only for his knees to buckle underneath him. 

Before he could hit the ground, Morgan quickly grabbed onto his arms, almost collapsing himself under his dead weight but managing to lower them both onto the ground, holding onto him in a way eerily reminiscent of what he had done when he pulled Hotch off of the barely-recognizable body of George Foyet. 

Hotch was still staring at his office door as if he had seen a ghost, and it was with heartbreak that Morgan realized what it represented to him—it was the source of so much passion and temptation that had gotten the love of his life killed. Looking back at the conference room and seeing the eyes focused on the two men, Morgan carefully pulled Hotch up from the ground and slowly guided him out of the bullpen, knowing that the team had Jack taken care of.

They walked through the winding hallways and into the bathroom that he followed Hotch into the night it all started to go horribly wrong. This time, it was different and yet the exact same, and after Morgan locked the door behind them, he pulled Hotch towards him, mindful of his bruised ribs. 

Surrounded by the four walls that heard so many of their small talks and witnessed their vulnerabilities, it wasn’t long before Hotch’s eyes began to burn as he finally melted into Morgan’s protective hold when the dam finally broke, letting out a wave of pain and anguish that was only made the slightest bit more bearable by the warmth of Morgan’s his friend’s care.

But even that couldn’t make that one sentence disappear.

You practically killed them yourself.

[juniorgman187]

Luck of the Universe (Spencer Reid Screenplay)

Season 9 Reid deserves more recognition. Definitely one of my fav looks/seasons. So I wrote about it :) 

Summary: Years after Spencer saves Maggie’s life, they reunite unexpectedly. Maggie thinks it’s fate; Spencer does not. She challenges him and says they’ll meet again, even without intending to. They do meet again, but not under favorable circumstances. Maggie’s life is in danger and Spencer must save her . . . again. 

Couple: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Category: Angst, Fluff, Screenplay Content Warning: Profanity, pregnancy, miscarriage, abduction, violence, death Word Count: 10.5k

DISCLAIMER: This was originally a screenplay but was adapted to have a more cohesive appearance on Tumblr. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

Spencer Reid sits outside a cafe to enjoy his beachside view from a coffee shop. Foreign to California’s sun, Spencer has aloe and sunscreen packed with him. He even wears sunglasses wherever he goes. While he patiently waits for the arrival of his coffee, he reads The Narrative of John Smith. The exact copy that Maeve gave him over a year ago. 

Serving his coffee is Maggie. This event will single handedly change both of their lives forever. 

MAGGIE: Let me know if I can get you anything else. 

As she sets down the cup, Reid thanks her, and out of politeness, he tilts his head forward ever so slightly so that his glasses will shift to the bridge of his nose. This way she can see his eyes. And when she does see his eyes, they are so familiar to her, but she can’t place where she remembers them from. Spencer notices her looking at him.

MAGGIE: Oh sorry, you just looked really familiar. 

SPENCER: Actually we have met before. I’m the agent that, um, saved you.   

Maggie stands there for a moment in complete disbelief. 

MAGGIE: Oh my God, yes! No, I totally remember you now. Wow. Forgive me for not introducing myself sooner I’m -

SPENCER: Maggie. 

Maggie peers down at her name tag and gives him a funny look.

SPENCER: No, I genuinely do remember you, and I didn’t just read your name tag. Um I have what’s called an eidetic memory. I’m able to recall things with high precision, even if it was a brief period of time on one occasion. 

MAGGIE: Really? That’s incredible. I wish I could say the same. All I could remember after being resuscitated was your eyes. I meant to thank you, by the way, for saving me, but at the time I was too in shock. I went to the police department the next day trying to find you, but you weren’t there. And as it turns out, it’s not so easy searching for a pair of hazel eyes. 

Spencer smiles. 

SPENCER: I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. I’m a Supervisory Special Agent with the Behavior Analysis Unit in Quantico, Virginia.

Hearing his name completely changes her. She says it to herself in disbelief. For years she’s wondered who he was, and now she knows.

MAGGIE: So what brings you back to California? 

SPENCER: We finished a case here earlier. I’m just killing time until I go back by reading.

MAGGIE: May I?

Maggie extends her hand to ask for the book politely. Spencer hands it to Maggie. She recognizes it almost immediately. 

MAGGIE: Oh, I love Arthur Conan Doyle. This is just one of those novels I wish I could read again for the first time. 

Spencer doesn’t respond, he’s just so enamored by the way she thinks and speaks. She misinterprets his silence as a sign that he’d rather not keep talking. 

MAGGIE: I should probably let you get back to reading. I wouldn’t want to keep you from the opinionated Everyman John Smith. I hope you have a safe travel home.

Maggie begins to get up from her chair.

SPENCER: Wait um, I don’t normally ask this, but I still have a few hours until my flight and I’d really love to keep talking with you so do you think maybe we could go somewhere or -

MAGGIE: I would love to, but I’m working until the closing shift tonight. 

SPENCER: Oh okay. 

Maggie is conflicted. Against her better judgement, she agrees. 

MAGGIE: You know what? I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere. 

Excitement rises in Spencer. When Maggie goes into the coffee shop, he tries to contain himself. He fixes his hair and straightens out his cardigan and tie. Maggie comes back out. 

MAGGIE: Ever been to the pier?

. . . 

Maggie and Spencer are looking out onto the ocean from the pier. It’s one of the rare times that they aren’t being swallowed by a huge crowd. It’s just them, a few other people, and the sunset. An ocean breeze blows through, making Maggie shiver and bump into Spencer. 

MAGGIE: My bad. Sorry. 

SPENCER: Do you want my - 

MAGGIE: No, no I’m fine. 

Spencer ignores her statement and drapes his cardigan around her. Though she would never admit it, it sort of smells like him - and it’s the most comforting smell in the world. 

MAGGIE: It’s beautiful isn’t it?

Maggie says while looking out to the sunset.

SPENCER: Yeah, it is. 

He says while looking at her. 

After a couple seconds, she notices him staring, looks at him, smiles, and nudges him. 

MAGGIE: It’s getting late. We should head back. 

Spencer follows close behind as Maggie leads the way. 

MAGGIE: I wish we could’ve hung out longer, but I don’t want to leave Tony running the shop alone for too long and I wouldn’t want you to miss your flight. 

SPENCER: For what it’s worth, I enjoyed the little time we did spend together. 

MAGGIE: I did, too. 

SPENCER: So maybe, when I’m back here, we could make plans. 

MAGGIE: I’ll look forward to your return then. 

Maggie and Spencer walk a little longer in a comfortable silence, until finally they’re back at the coffee shop. 

MAGGIE: Do you have a pen?

Spencer hesitates for a moment, but ultimately, has to place his hand on Maggie’s hip to retrieve the pen inside the pocket. This gesture startles her and causes her to remember that she was wearing his cardigan. 

MAGGIE: Oh sorry, I forgot that I was wearing this.

SPENCER: No keep it. It looks better on you anyway. Consider it an early birthday gift. September 8 right?

MAGGIE: How did you- Oh right. Eidetic memory. 

Spencer hands her the pen and Maggie reaches for a napkin from the table and writes her number on it.

MAGGIE: So if you’re ever insanely bored at 3 a.m. or you’re not busy saving someone’s life, call me. 

Spencer takes the napkin. 

SPENCER: Will do.

He tries to mask how excited he really is. 

Maggie heads back inside, but stops herself at the door. She turns back to Spencer.

MAGGIE: (genuinely asking) Do you know how often people reconnect without intending to after years of not seeing each other?

SPENCER: Not very often I suppose. 

MAGGIE: This could very well just be a huge coincidence, but it really feels like some luck of the universe that I’m talking to you right now. And I think we’ll be seeing each other soon again. 

Spencer’s intrigued. As a doctor, he’s pragmatic. Romantic notions such as destiny and luck - he wasn’t a believer of. Even God, he was skeptical of. But he wanted to see Maggie again, even if that meant he had to agree that it was fate after all.

SPENCER: And if we don’t?

Maggie pauses to answer his question. 

MAGGIE: Then we will eventually. 

Before Maggie opens the door, she notices Spencer pulling money out of his pocket to pay for his coffee. She stops him.

MAGGIE: It’s on the house. 

She says with a small smile that’s returned with a grin that creeps upon Spencer’s face. When she fully enters the cafe, Spencer is left alone with his thoughts. 

. . .

It’s the next day. The BAU is seated at the round table. Penelope is presenting the case. Reid’s momentarily distracted. He plays with the napkin in his book. It’s the napkin with Maggie’s number on it. His fixation lasts for so long that he misses the presentation entirely. It’s only when JJ asks him a question directly does he tune in and snap out of his trance. 

REID: What was the question?

Reid shifts in his seat uncomfortably and tries to hide his confusion by opening up the case file. 

ROSSI: You’ve been awfully quiet this morning. A little too quiet. Care to share?

REID: Nothing. Just thinking. 

He’s lying and they all know it. The team exchanges suspicious glances.

REID: Sorry, Garcia, could you repeat it one more time?

GARCIA: Why of course! Anything for you, Boy Wonder. A week ago, Brynn Dryer disappeared from her home late at night. 48 hours after she was reported missing, a couple jogging past a lake found her body. In the M.E’s report, there was a terrifyingly large amount of evidence that she was brutally beaten and clubbed. The official C.O.D was blunt force trauma to the head and the lake was nothing more than a disposal site. Less than a day later, Eliza O’ Hara went missing after someone invaded her home. Yesterday local P.D found her in the middle of a  field by the highway. Same M.O. The police department is anticipating that when you land, another girl will go missing. 

Spencer notices something. 

REID: Wait, can you put their pictures side by side?

Garcia does so. Spencer makes a connection. 

JJ: What is it, Spence?

REID: The similarities between the two victims are uncanny. Notice the eye color, skin tone, hair style, even down to the freckles they have.  

BLAKE: Alright so he’s got an aggression toward brown eyed, tan brunettes with bangs and freckles. 

ROSSI: And I have an aggression toward telemarketers but you don’t see me clubbing them to death. 

HOTCH: The cooling off period between kills is getting shorter. He’s escalating and we’re going to put a stop to this before he hits his stride. Garcia, you’re coming with us. Wheels up in 30.

The team is leaving the round table. 

. . .

The team is on the flight. 

HOTCH: JJ, as soon as we land, I need you setting up a press conference to let the women in the area know to be vigilant. After that, we’ll interview the family’s of Eliza and Brynn. I need Blake and Reid working on the geographical profile. Dave, you and Morgan will take a closer look at the bodies and see if you can’t gather more information. And Garcia, 

GARCIA: Yes, sir?

HOTCH: Find as many more connections between these women as you can, and contact any other women who fit the victimology. 

GARCIA: Yes, sir. 

ROSSI: Apparently, it'll be 101 degrees when we land. Remind me again why people live in California?

Reid perks up. He didn’t even know he was going back to California. But now that he does, he’s even more on edge. 

. . .

Reid works on the geographical profile, while Blake assists from her chair. There’s something off about Reid, and she’s about to find out what. 

BLAKE: Hey, you alright, Reid? You seem like you’re a million miles away. 

Reid stops working on the map. He turns around to face Blake. 

REID: I met this girl yesterday. She was actually a former victim I resuscitated. And before I left, she said she had a feeling we would see each other again soon.

Spencer pauses and purses his lips. 

SPENCER: She looks just like the other victims.

BLAKE: So you’re worried that when you see her again, it’ll be because of this case. 

REID: Do . . . do you think I could call her? To let her know. 

BLAKE: I’m not saying I wouldn’t want to break the rules if I were you, but I can’t, in good conscience, advise you to let her know what’s happening. By doing so, you’re giving her an advantage other people don’t have. If she tunes into JJ’s press conference, I’m sure she’ll be safe. 

REID: I thought Maeve was gonna be safe too. Look how that turned out.  

Blake is at a loss for words. Here she is, the linguist, and yet she can’t find the right words to tell Reid to comfort him. 

. . .

JJ sits beside Garcia as Garcia sets up her system. 

JJ: Spence has been acting really weird today. 

GARCIA: So it’s not just me! I knew something must’ve been wrong because earlier on the flight, I asked if he wanted to play online chess with me and he said no. Can you believe that? I know he’s all anti-tech and everything, but he’s never passed up a game of chess. So that’s why I’ve already done some digging.

JJ gives Garcia the face of “You shouldn’t have done that.” 

GARCIA: Okay, but before you say I shouldn’t have, you should see this. 

Garcia pulls up a small window on her computer to show to JJ. JJ is shocked. 

JJ: A three hour call with his mom last night? Could’ve just been his regular check in.

GARCIA: See that’s what I thought, too, but look. 

Garcia scrolls further up the call list. 

JJ: He hasn’t called his mom in months. 

GARCIA: We all know Reid tells everything to his mom. Something must’ve happened yesterday. 

Unbeknownst to Garcia and JJ, Reid walks in. 

REID: Hey, guys - what’re you looking at?

It’s too late now. Reid’s already seen it.

REID: You’re keeping tabs on me now? How long have you been monitoring me? Huh?

Anger possesses Reid. 

GARCIA: Just since this morning. I only looked at your call history briefly. 

REID: Unbelievable. 

JJ: We were just worried about you. We all are. There’s obviously something going on. 

REID: So then ask me about it. Ever thought of that? 

JJ: We’re sorry. 

REID: Yeah no, I’m fine, thanks for asking. 

Reid storms off from JJ and Garcia. 

. . .

Hotch, Rossi, and Morgan all meet Garcia, JJ, and Blake before delivering the profile. Spencer’s missing.

MORGAN: Where’s Pretty boy?

BLAKE: I thought he was going to talk to Jennifer and Garcia.

GARCIA: He did, but something happened . . . he was upset and left. I thought maybe he went back to working on the geo-profile.

HOTCH: Garcia, when did you last speak to him? 

GARCIA: Oh, I don’t know, sir, um, maybe fifteen minutes ago?

HOTCH: Morgan, go find Reid. We’ll deliver the profile. 

MORGAN: Where should I be looking?

BLAKE: He went to a coffee shop yesterday. I’m not sure which one, but it’s a start.

. . .

Reid is frantically entering the coffee shop. He scans the room for Maggie but doesn’t see her. 

TONY: Hey, what can I get for you?

SPENCER: Is Maggie here?

TONY: Who’s asking?

SPENCER: (flashing his badge) I’m Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI. Let me ask you again, where’s Maggie?

TONY: Didn’t show up today. 

SPENCER: Did she call in sick?

TONY: Nope.

SPENCER: When was the last time you saw her?

TONY: Last night when we were working the closing shift.  

SPENCER: Do you know how she got home?

TONY: She walked. I tried to offer her a ride, but she said she likes to walk. Something about clearing the mind. 

SPENCER: Did she walk alone?

TONY: Mhm. 

Spencer’s mind swirls. He is living his worst nightmare all over again. When he turns around and sees Derek pulling up. Reid rushes out of the coffee shop and hops into the passenger seat immediately. Derek doesn’t even question it. 

REID: Drive. I need Garcia on the phone. 

Derek dials her.

GARCIA: Did you find Rei-

REID: (cutting her off) Garcia, I need you to look up Magnolia Tate. Get me her address. 

MORGAN: What is it, Reid?

REID: She didn’t show up to work today. Her coworker said the last time he saw her was when she was walking home. She fits the victimology. Garcia, the address? 

GARCIA: 178 Citrus Boulevard. Be safe. 

REID: Thank you, Garcia. 

GARCIA: Of course. And, Reid?

REID: Yeah?

GARCIA: I’m really super-duper sorry about earlier. 

REID: It’s fine. I know you guys were just looking out for me. 

Reid can sense Garcia smiling through the phone so he promptly hangs up knowing their business is resolved. 

MORGAN: Reid, there is a good chance this could just be a coincidence. 

REID: I’m telling you - nothing with this girl is just a coincidence.

MORGAN: Well, have you called her yet?

REID: No.

MORGAN: Then call her now, Reid. 

REID: I can’t. 

MORGAN: Yes, you can. 

REID: I can’t. 

MORGAN: Why not?

REID: I’m scared that if I call her, I won’t be able to stop, and I’ll want to keep talking to her, but I can’t do that. Not when I know what it’s like loving something death can touch.

MORGAN: Is this about Maeve?

REID: It’s always about Maeve! Morgan, I watched her die in front of me. And just knowing that right now I could be in the same position -

MORGAN: Listen, I know how guilty you feel about Maeve. Man, I feel guilty about her, too, but you gotta understand that if this is connected to our case, you’re gonna save her. Trust me on this. 

REID: Yeah, okay. 

MORGAN: So how do you two know each other?

REID: She was actually a previous victim of ours. Nearly a decade ago, I performed CPR after her ex-boyfriend pushed her off the boat, bound and gagged. They were out on the lake watching the Fourth of July firework show, but a witness recognized her from the news, which ultimately saved her life. Prior to that, he killed practically all of her next of kin because he believed they were responsible for the restraining order she filed against him. 

MORGAN: Why’d he risk taking her out in public?

REID: He was recreating their first date. How do you not remember this? 

MORGAN: Actually, now that you mention it, I do remember the case. Cause you made that stupid joke that he was trying to reignite a spark.

Reid makes an offended/sad face. Morgan smiles.

REID: You know, taking into consideration how much emotional trauma we’ve been through combined, there is a very real possibility that our relationship would be, for lack of a better word, doomed. She has no parents, my mom has schizophrenia. We’ve both been held hostage. I’ve been hospitalized, and she’s potentially been abducted for a second time. 

MORGAN: Seems like the perfect fit to me. 

REID: I’m being serious. 

MORGAN: I am, too. 

REID: Statistically, 40% of all long distance relationships end up failing in some way, including relationships where the partners are married. And of that 40%, 70% of these failures occur because of unplanned circumstances that happen to one of the participants in a relationship. Unplanned circumstances are practically a part of our line of work. Not to mention, most long distance relationships survive on two in-person visits per month. But relying on getting two cases in California per month is completely unrealistic. 

MORGAN: Kid, you can give me all the statistics and numbers to convince me why you shouldn’t be together, but the one thing you haven’t said is that you don’t like her. 

REID: Fine, I don’t like her. 

MORGAN: Then why am I driving to her house?

Reid pauses, not ready to admit he’s wrong. 

REID: Because this could be a lead on the case. 

MORGAN: Whatever you say, Pretty Boy. 

After a long period of time, Reid finally speaks.

REID: At first, I only noticed her because she looked like Maeve. Even when we were talking, it felt like I was talking to Maeve again. But then, she surprised me. She said that seeing me again felt like a “luck of the universe.” That’s when I realized, she’s not a girl who reminds me of Maeve. She’s her own person. She’s Maggie.

MORGAN: See that wasn’t so hard now was it?

REID: I will crush you.

. . .

Morgan and Reid are walking up the flight of stairs to get to Maggie’s apartment. 

MORGAN: Remind me again of the plan. Because realistically, she could just be playing hooky or be out somewhere else. 

REID: Once we get to her apartment, if she’s not there, I’ll call. 

MORGAN: Have we thought about what we’re gonna say if she is there? Oh sorry ma’am, we thought you were kidnapped.

REID: I’ll figure it out. 

Reid and Morgan are in her hallway. Morgan knocks on her door, but the door moves when he knocks on it. It’s open. Morgan and Reid exchange glances. Morgan reaches for his gun as he cautiously opens the door wider to enter. When they do, there’s no one inside. But there was an obvious sign of a struggle. A glass vase has been smashed.

REID: Call Hotch. I’ll call her. 

Morgan goes to the side to let Hotch know.

REID: (to himself) Please pick up. Please pick up.

MAGGIE: (her voicemail) Hey, it’s Mags. Sorry I couldn’t get to the phone right now, but if you leave a message I’ll call you back when I can. 

Hearing Maggie’s voice almost makes him want to break down in tears, but he composes himself. 

MORGAN: Reid, we gotta go. Garcia found something. 

. . .

Hotch, JJ, Blake, Rossi, and Garcia are all together in the conference room while on the phone with Reid and Morgan. 

MORGAN: What’d you find, Baby Girl?

GARCIA: Well after doing some digging, I unearthed Marcus Linden and Toby Forthword. Who are they you may ask? Good question. They are Eliza O’Hara and Brynn Dryer’s sons. And you’re probably thinking, they have children? Yes indeedio they do. The reason I didn’t find this earlier was because when Brynn and Eliza were teen moms, they set up closed adoptions for their sons before they were born. I’ve been trying to find any contact they might’ve made with the agency or their kids since the adoptions, but I haven’t been able to. I thought that was weird, but I started searching for other women that fit the criteria, and would you believe - there was one. 

The pause Garcia takes before saying it, tells Reid it’s Maggie. 

GARCIA: Magnolia Tate.

Reid is at a loss for words. His mind is trying to wrap about what he’s hearing, but it’s all so much. 

HOTCH: Could you find any more connections?

GARCIA: A week before the abductions, all three of them went to a clinic for women who were pregnant or planning to be. 

Reid bites his lips as he tries to grasp it all. 

REID: Is she pregnant? 

All of them know who he’s referring to. 

JJ: Spence . . . they all were.

If Reid’s jaw could be on the floor, it would. Even Morgan winced as JJ revealed the news. A moment of silence falls over the group as they all feel for Spencer. Hotch is the first to speak after nearly a minute of not.

HOTCH: Apply those precedents to teen mothers in the early 2000s and cross it with women that gave birth to sons who ended up in the system instead of being adopted. 

MORGAN: Baby girl, look at kids that are around 18-20 now. He would’ve been recently freed from the system. He’ll most likely have a history of anger management issues or disciplinary issues. 

ROSSI: The mother might also be recently deceased. 

JJ: There’s your stressor.

BLAKE: With the death of his biological mother, he wouldn’t get the answers he wanted. He’d look for them from the women that his mother is similar to. Brynn, Eliza, and Magnolia all serve as surrogates. Garcia, he’d be aiming to work in the system. Not only would he want to prevent other kids from going through what he did, but it would also explain how he found them. 

JJ: You know the fact that all three women were pregnant could account for his anger. To him, that’s the ultimate form of betrayal. Giving their son up, only to have another child in the future to keep.

GARCIA: Got it. 

Spencer is still trying to process. He stays quiet as he fiddles with the napkin. It almost appears as though he might tear it.

. . .

Maggie’s balled up in a corner, hugging her knees. She’s badly beaten. She’s bleeding, her eyes are swollen from crying and she’s looking down at her stomach. The unsub is standing, watching this.

UNSUB: Don’t cry, Magnolia. I wouldn’t have done that if you just answered me. 

MAGGIE: You killed my baby!

UNSUB: And I’ll do more if you don’t answer me!

MAGGIE: Please . . . I can’t give you the answers you want. I’m not your mother. 

UNSUB: If you don’t answer me, I’ll hurt your little boy. I’ve been watching him very closely. His name is Elijah Martin, cute kid by the way. Quite the over-achieving 12 year old. He’s in soccer and track and field. Wanna see his school picture?

Maggie closes her eyes and turns her head so she doesn’t have to see. 

UNSUB: See, Magnolia, what you’re going through right now, is only a fraction of what I had to go through in my foster homes. I was tortured, bullied, abused. All because that old hag didn’t want to make the sacrifice to be a mother. So answer me this, how could you give him up?

MAGGIE: I may not have made the sacrifice to be a mother, but I did make a sacrifice the day I chose not to be his. I wanted to keep him. I cried when I watched him leave with that other family. But I couldn’t be the mother he needed.

UNSUB: Why haven’t you called him? Or tried to get him back?

MAGGIE: Reaching out would’ve done more harm than good. Not knowing who I am, or who his father was, meant that we could never stand in the way of his future. He can reach his fullest potential - free of mine or Charlie’s hindrance. 

The unsub understands Maggie. She’s gotten through to him. But he still carries anger. He groans in frustration and grabs Maggie by the collar of her shirt.

UNSUB: We’re gonna take a little trip.

. . . 

The BAU is at the local Police Department. Garcia is reading to them what she’s found. 

GARCIA: I know a textbook serial killer when I see one. His name is Ray Lewis-Fernandez. Throughout his time in foster care, he was a troublemaker. He never stayed for more than a month in a group home. Quite a Dennis the Menace, according to his foster families. It also says here that he got caught on multiple occasions trying to get his file so he could find his mother. Her name was Shawna Heights, and I say “was” because she passed away exactly two weeks before he was emancipated. 

MORGAN: So this guy is finally able to find his mother on his own, only to realize he missed her by two weeks. 

GARCIA: Talk about bad luck. But that isn’t even the worst of it. If Ray did do some digging after his emancipation, he would’ve discovered that Shawna had two sons and a daughter only a few years after he was born. 

JJ: Did he try to contact them?

GARCIA: No, but that’s the surprising part. I profiled him wanting to reach out and be one big ol’ happy family, but then I remembered I’m not a profiler.

REID: Wait, that might actually be it.

Everyone is shocked to hear Spencer speak up. 

GARCIA: Wait, I’m right?

REID: Foster families mentioned he’d been trying to find his mother but at the core of its meaning - he’s trying to find family. If his mission is to find family, he wouldn’t stay away unless he had to. Garcia, check if there’s a restraining order on Ray. 

GARCIA: Bingo, Boy Wonder! Malcolm, Shawna’s husband, filed it against him just days after Shawna’s funeral. 

REID: The restraining order means he can’t come within a certain distance of the kids, right? So he wouldn’t risk it all just to have lunch with them or send a letter. Think about it - high risk, high reward. Ray would only violate the order, if he could have them completely. But in order to not get caught, he’ll use maternal figures to lure them. They just lost their mother and seeing or talking to someone so similar to Shawna would make them that much more susceptible. But Brynn and Eliza are both mothers who have given up their sons. This means they know what inadequate guardians look like. They’re aware the kids are better off with Malcolm, and they won’t be responsible for abducting them and placing them under Ray’s care. It would completely go against their own reasoning for giving away their children. Their refusal to help him execute the plan angers him to the point of murder. He isn’t just killing because they’re surrogates for his rage, but because they refuse to help him achieve his goal. 

ROSSI: The kids are his endgame. 

BLAKE: All he’s wanted is a family. Now that he knows he has one that hasn’t already betrayed him, he’ll stop at nothing to have them.

HOTCH: What’s the address, Garcia?

GARCIA: Already sent it, sir. 

The BAU rushes out of the conference room. 

. . .

Maggie and Ray are sitting in his car. They’re watching the three children play - staking them out. Malcolm - their father, is nowhere to be seen. We’re to assume he’s at work while they’re at home. 

RAY: You see the boy with the red hoodie? That’s Malcolm Jr. He’s the oldest. Same age as your boy. Then Evan is the middle child. He’s eight. But the baby - she’s my favorite. Her name is Ariel cause of her red hair. She’s six. 

Maggie smiles for a split second before frowning. 

MAGGIE: You don’t have to do this. 

RAY: And I’m not. Because you will. 

Maggie breaks her gaze from the children to look at Ray with shock. 

MAGGIE: No, no, no I’m not kidnapping them. I won’t do it.

Ray retrieves his gun and points it at her stomach. 

RAY: You had a chance to have your family with Elijah. But you gave him up. Now that I have a chance, you’re gonna help me. 

MAGGIE: What if I don’t?

RAY: You’re smart. Figure it out.

MAGGIE: I will not be taunted with death if I don’t help you take someone else’s babies away. So go ahead, kill me. I’ve got nothing left to live for anyway. 

A gunshot. 

Standing in front of the car, is Malcom with his shotgun. The windshield is shattered by a single bullet that penetrated it. Malcolm fired a shot right through Ray’s head. Maggie is alive and in complete and total shock. Once Malcolm knows he’s dead he rushes to her door to help her. 

MALCOM: You have to unlock it. 

Maggie is forced to reach over Ray’s dead body and unlock the car. When she does, Malcolm helps her exit the vehicle. Maggie’s seen putting pressure on her stomach to stop the bleeding. 

Within seconds of escaping, police SUV’s arrive. Spencer is the first to run out of the car. 

Relief overcomes Maggie. 

MAGGIE: Spencer!

She stops him before he can hug her.

MAGGIE: No wait! I’m bleeding. 

Spencer ignores this and embraces her. Maggie sobs hysterically when he does. 

MAGGIE: He . . . he killed my -

SPENCER: Shh, I know. I know. I’m here now, okay?

Neither of them pull away. 

MAGGIE: Oh my god. I can’t believe you’re here. I knew I’d see you again. 

SPENCER: Yeah, you did. You were right Mags. 

These words make Maggie shut her eyes and smile. 

Hotch approaches the pair from behind. 

HOTCH: Miss Tate, there’s an ambulance here for you. Let’s get you to a hospital.

Maggie nods as Spencer helps her limp to a stretcher. 

When she situates herself and is lifted into the back of the ambulance, Spencer turns to Hotch. 

SPENCER: Can I - 

HOTCH: Yes, yes, go. We’ll meet you there. 

Spencer enters the back of the ambulance and sits beside Maggie as they ride to the hospital together. 

MAGGIE: You’re coming?

Spencer nods and gives a small reassuring smile. 

Another tear escapes her eyes as she smiles through the oxygen mask to thank him. 

. . .

The entire team is seated in a waiting room. Spencer is standing up and pacing as he waits for the doctor. 

A doctor soon enters. 

DOCTOR: Is there a Spencer Reid?

Spencer comes over quickly. 

SPENCER: That’s me.

DOCTOR: Come with me, sir. 

Spencer follows the Doctor. 

DOCTOR: Luckily, the lacerations didn’t travel far enough to do a significant amount of damage that would require surgery, but we did have to perform a blood transfusion due to the amount of blood she lost. 

SPENCER: How’s the baby?

DOCTOR: It was too early to tell the sex of the baby before she miscarried. She’s awake now and has been asking for you. 

SPENCER: Thanks. 

The doctor leaves as soon as Spencer knocks on the door. 

SPENCER: (quietly) Maggie?

Maggie’s face lights up when she sees him. 

MAGGIE: Hey you. 

Spencer pulls a chair closer to Maggie’s bedside to take her hand and kiss the back of it. She smiles as he does this. 

SPENCER: How are you feeling?

MAGGIE: Is it possible to feel incredibly lucky and incredibly lucky at the same time?

Spencer gives her that small reassuring smile. 

MAGGIE: I’ll be okay.

SPENCER: Good.

MAGGIE: I’m starting to regret not letting Tony take me home. 

Maggie and Spencer share a laugh. 

SPENCER: Yeah, I think you should let him drive you from now on. 

MAGGIE: Yeah, you’re probably right, but I don't think I want to work there anymore. Or even live here for that matter. 

SPENCER: I don’t blame you. 

MAGGIE: I grew up here, but it doesn’t feel like home anymore. 

SPENCER: Where are you thinking of going?

MAGGIE: Well, I completed my bachelor’s degree to become an English teacher, but I never applied to any schools. I think in my gut I knew I didn’t want a job to tie me down here, otherwise I’d never leave California - no matter how much I should. So realistically anywhere that’s offering positions to English teachers is ideal. 

Hearing Maggie’s an English major doesn’t surprise Spencer. 

SPENCER: You know, when I go back to D.C, I can find open teaching positions for you. Moving there would be a big change, but I think you’d feel safer at least.

MAGGIE: I think I would too. And I wouldn’t mind the change. Getting a couple thousand miles closer to you doesn’t sound so bad.

Spencer cheekily grins. 

SPENCER: Yeah?

Maggie nods. 

Hotch enters the room.

HOTCH: It’s time. 

Reid nods and turns back to Maggie. 

SPENCER: I’ll see you soon.

MAGGIE: Can’t wait. 

SPENCER: Goodbye, Maggie. 

He sits up and kisses her forehead. For a moment, he rests his forehead on hers. Maggie smiles when he does this little gesture. 

MAGGIE: Thank you. 

Spencer nods and shuts the door behind him when he leaves. 

With a heavy heart, Spencer leaves the hospital. 

. . .

On the plane back, everyone is asleep besides Spencer and Hotch. 

HOTCH: How is she?

SPENCER: She’ll be okay, but I can’t seem to figure out why. I thought she’d be broken. And I think deep down she is, but when she smiles, she isn’t faking it. 

HOTCH: “Sometimes the ones who have the brightest smiles are the ones who have known and endured deep darkness.”

SPENCER: Dodinsky. (the author of the quote)

. . .

It’s been a week since Spencer has visited Maggie, but he’s back now. Maggie is lying on her hospital bed, with Spencer entering her room. He hides something behind his back.

SPENCER: Knock! Knock! I brought you something.

MAGGIE: Oooh, fun!  

Spencer pulls out headbands with the words “Fourth of July” in block letters. 

SPENCER: Here. 

He slides one on top of her head and puts the other on himself. 

MAGGIE: What’s this for?

SPENCER: Sometimes when we go through something traumatic, we subconsciously link the tragic event with the date it happened on. It happens most often with death anniversaries, birthdays, or in your case, holidays. But I want to make the Fourth of July a good holiday again. So earlier, I asked the doctors if I could take you up to the roof to watch the fireworks. 

MAGGIE: Spencer . . .

SPENCER: Humor me. 

Maggie’s reluctant but she still reaches out her arms to have Spencer help her out of bed anyway. He wheels over the wheelchair to her and she groans. 

MAGGIE: Are you actually gonna make me use that?

SPENCER: I mean, you’re welcome to walk around the hospital with your backless patient gown.

Maggie laughs and complies. Spencer begins to wheel Maggie out of her room and into the elevator that goes up to the roof. When they finally get there, Maggie’s face lights up. There’s a whole picnic set out for the two of them. A blanket with small fixings is laid out for them. 

Maggie rises from the wheelchair and turns around to engulf Spencer in the biggest hug. 

MAGGIE: Thank you. This is like the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me. 

Spencer hugs her back even tighter. His hand is on the small of her back, and for a second he can feel her smooth skin, but like the gentleman he is, he tightly wraps Maggie’s hospital gown to cover her exposed skin. A small gesture that to Maggie, does not go unnoticed. 

. . . 

Maggie and Spencer's backs are lying flat against the blanket. They’re in the middle of a conversation where each of them are smiling.

SPENCER: JJ said that Henry wanted to dress up as his favorite profiler, and he came into the office as me. I even gave him my badge.  

MAGGIE: That is adorable! I can’t wait to have kids and celebrate Halloween with them. 

Spencer goes quiet, making Maggie realize what she said. 

MAGGIE: Oh, gosh, sorry I did not mean for that to take a dark turn. 

SPENCER: Do you want to talk about it? 

Maggie pauses. 

MAGGIE: Um, I mean, sometimes I get sad, but for the most part I’m okay. I think I’ve finally accepted that it happened. You know, I’m actually sort of relieved that I didn’t carry the baby full term, because could you imagine how complicated that would be? Yeah, it’s . . . it’s better this way. And I’ve always wanted a family, but if I had that sperm donor’s baby, I wouldn’t have a family, it’d just be me and the baby. But I want my child to grow up with a father, you know?

Yes, Reid does know. He wishes his father was around. 

SPENCER: Yeah, I do. 

MAGGIE: What about you? Do you want kids?

SPENCER: Absolutely. It’s funny because I always say that I could never picture myself leaving my job and I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. But if I had kids, they’d be the exception. I, uh, 

Spencer lightly laughs and looks down. 

SPENCER: Yeah, I don’t know, I just really want to be a dad one day. 

MAGGIE: You’d be a really good dad. I mean that. 

Originally, Maggie and Spencer were both looking up at the sky, but after Spencer turned his head and Maggie turned hers, their faces were only inches away. Spencer licks his lips as he contemplates kissing her. But he pivots. He smiles and kisses her forehead. 

Simultaneously, a firework goes off, startling the duo. Maggie laughs in excitement. 

SPENCER: Did you know that at MIT, one of the lessons they taught students earning their degree in chemistry was how to make a firework?

MAGGIE: You know how to make one? What do they use to make the colors?

SPENCER: Good question. To create certain colors, different physical elements are used. Magnesium creates a bright white light, like that one right there. While strontium and lithium each showcase a different shade of red, like the first one we saw. But the most dangerous colors to form, blues and greens, are formed from barium and copper. 

Spencer’s explanation continues for a little longer. The view above the pair zooms out. They’re just two small people on the roof of the hospital. 

. . .

Spencer is in his apartment. He’s on the phone with Maggie. 

MAGGIE: So I’m looking at an apartment in Manassas right now. It’s only half an hour away from the school and it’s a 45 minute drive from your apartment. 

SPENCER: You’re not very good at changing the subject, Maggie. Even now, I can read your body language. 

MAGGIE: I’m not changing the subject. I’m just mentioning my other options that are unrelated to the one you proposed. 

SPENCER: Wow, is the idea of living with me really that bad?

MAGGIE: No! I would love to live with you. 

SPENCER: But?

MAGGIE: But you’ve already done so much. You’ve saved my life twice, visited me every week I’ve been in the hospital, made the Fourth of July fun again, and helped me find a great teaching job over there. So I am sincerely grateful, but moving in with you would feel like taking advantage of your good heart. You’ve done a lot for me already, okay? I can take care of myself from now on. 

SPENCER: Okay, think of it instead as a mutualistic relationship. We both receive net benefits from moving in. You wouldn’t be taking advantage of me because I’d be gaining something from it, too. I’d have a roommate and my rent would dichotomize. And for you, you’ll only be driving 15 minutes to work instead of 30. 

MAGGIE: Did you ever consider being a lawyer? You’re quite convincing. 

SPENCER: So is that a yes?

MAGGIE: It’s a “Yes I’ll move in with you but only if Plan A doesn’t pan out.”

SPENCER: Promise me you’ll think about it. 

MAGGIE: Okay, fine. I’ll think about it. 

SPENCER: Say it. 

MAGGIE: I promise. 

Spencer yawns. Maggie hears it. 

MAGGIE: What time is it over there?

SPENCER: 11:54. 

MAGGIE: Spencer! Why didn’t you tell me? You should’ve been asleep like two hours ago.

SPENCER: I’ll be fine. I don’t have to be at work until 7.

MAGGIE: You of all people know how bad it is to get less than 8 hours of sleep. I’m gonna hang up now so you can at least get 6. 

SPENCER: Then I’ll call back.

MAGGIE: Then I’ll decline. 

SPENCER: Fine, if I go to sleep, you have to agree to consider living with me as more than a Plan B.

MAGGIE: I already said I would! 

SPENCER: Mmm no. I’m not really feeling it. You have to say it nicely.  

MAGGIE: If you sleep now, I’ll consider living with you as more than a backup plan. 

SPENCER: Music to my ears. Sleep well, Maggie. 

MAGGIE: Sweet dreams, Spencer. 

Spencer lets Maggie hang up. Let it be known, that he has never once ended a call. 

. . .

It’s a few weeks later. Maggie’s finally out of the hospital. It’s official that she has the teacher job - no interview required thanks to Garcia. Currently, she and Spencer are packing the last of her things away into boxes in preparation for the cross country move she’s making tomorrow. 

MAGGIE: I know I’m still a little fragile, but the doctor said I’m all clear to resume normal activities. So would you please let me help you with the boxes?

SPENCER: Mmm, I don’t think so. 

MAGGIE: Need I remind you that I’ve been through worse than packing?

SPENCER: That would violate our designated jobs! I pack the boxes - you label them, remember? 

Spencer picks up a book from her shelf and reads the spine of it. From the looks of how empty the bookshelf is, he’s been packing away the books this entire time they’ve been packing.

SPENCER: By the way, I love your book collection. Very diverse. But the way you’ve organized them is peculiar, though. 

MAGGIE: What do you mean? Each shelf is categorized by genre. 

SPENCER: No, I figured that out, but why not in alphabetical order? Cause, see, you have several books from Dickens, but they’re sporadic on your shelves. And again with Austen and Steinbeck, you have several of their books, so organizing by last name means that all the books by the same author would be together. 

MAGGIE: Alright then, when I move, you can organize my bookshelf. 

SPENCER: Sweet!

MAGGIE: I was joki-

Maggie notices that Spencer actually takes pleasure in organizing her books, so she refrains from saying she’s joking. 

MAGGIE: Can I see a box? I forgot I have stuff on my fridge still to take down. 

SPENCER: Here. 

Spencer hands Maggie a box. Maggie begins to fill the box with her fridge magnets, postcards, and small reminders she put on her fridge. Only one picture is left on the fridge - a sonogram picture. Maggie had completely forgotten it was even there. But she drops the box immediately and pulls it off, placing it close to her chest. 

SPENCER: You okay?

Maggie pauses for a moment cherishing the picture. 

MAGGIE: Yeah.

SPENCER: What is it?

Spencer comes over. 

MAGGIE: I thought I threw this away, but I guess I didn’t. It was my first sonogram. 

SPENCER: Oh, from a few weeks ago?

MAGGIE: No - years ago. This is Elijah’s. 

Maggie smiles when she sees the picture. 

SPENCER: I think you should keep it - the picture I mean.

MAGGIE: Yeah, I think I might. I mean, if it’s stayed with me all these years, no sense in throwing it away now. 

Maggie puts the picture at the top of the pile in the box. 

. . . 

Maggie and Spencer are on the plane heading to Virginia. Reid’s reading and Maggie is sorting through some papers with an earbud in one ear.

MAGGIE: Before we left, I contacted the landlord for that apartment in Manassas weeks ago, but he never got back to me. 

SPENCER: I guess it’s a good thing you have a Plan B then. 

Spencer smirks. 

MAGGIE: Remind me again that we mutually benefit so I don’t feel so guilty that you’re constantly helping me but I can never find the opportunity to pay you back. 

SPENCER: Stop it, okay. I want you to move in with me. 

MAGGIE: I snore really loudly. 

SPENCER: Completely okay. 

MAGGIE: I take long showers. 

SPENCER: Not a problem. 

MAGGIE: Late at night, I’ll get random bursts of energy and get really hyper and bothersome. 

SPENCER: So do I. 

Maggie groans in frustration. 

MAGGIE: I feel like you know the reason why I don’t want to move in with you, but even I don’t know why. 

SPENCER: It’s quite simple actually. You’ve spent nearly a decade living alone. And because of that, you think you prefer isolation over having company. But in reality, you’re just scared. Because the last time you were surrounded by a lot of people, they eventually died, essentially abandoning you. And it might not seem like it, but I know exactly what that feels like. To be scared of abandonment. 

MAGGIE: Really?

SPENCER: When I was three, my dad left me and my mom. And a year ago, my girlfriend was shot in front of me.

Maggie’s speechless. 

SPENCER: You and I - we’re scared to let people in and get attached to them. The reason is because we’re afraid to suffer or let go. So, we think, in order to protect ourselves, we have to stay away from the people we’re getting attached to - which is hard because it is equivalent to avoiding the privilege of becoming happy. So we’re caught in the middle of which pain we’d rather endure - the pain caused by unhappiness and loneliness, or the pain that we know, nobody will ever be strong enough to stand against - the pain of letting go. 

Maggie’s astonished. 

MAGGIE: If our love could’ve saved them, they would’ve lived forever. 

A tear rolls down Maggie’s cheek. Spencer uses the pad of his thumb to brush it away. 

. . .

Maggie and Spencer are at the baggage claim of the Virginia Airport. Maggie yawns and leans into Spencer, who puts his arm around her and comfortingly rubs her. 

SPENCER: Tired?

MAGGIE: Extremely. 

SPENCER: We can get coffee on the way home. 

MAGGIE: Are you reading my mind right now?

Spencer laughs.

Maggie sees her suitcase come through on the conveyor belt. Maggie lifts her baggage up, and they begin to exit the airport. 

. . .

Spencer is driving and Maggie is in the passenger seat, trying to fight her sleepiness. 

SPENCER: Tell me about your parents. 

Maggie’s surprised by not unwilling. 

MAGGIE: My mom’s name was Amina. She met my dad, Sonny, in college, and had me when she was 24, but he took off when she got pregnant. At first, I didn’t mind it just being the two of us, but when I was seven, there was a father-daughter dance at my school. I wrote him a letter inviting him to it. He didn’t show up, of course. Not that I really expected him to, but ever since then, I’ve resented him. My mom used to say that he was the reason why I dated Charlie. She said that I never got to see an example of what a good man looks like or how a girl should be treated. In hindsight, she was totally right. 

SPENCER: How did she react to your pregnancy?

MAGGIE: Well, at first she said she was gonna slap Charlie, but she wasn’t even really mad at me. Instead, she just said that if I wanted to have a future and if I wanted the baby to have a good future, I should set up an adoption. Later that same year, she helped me file a restraining order on Charlie. My mom was always looking out for me. It felt like she always knew what the right choice was.

SPENCER: She sounds like a really good person. 

MAGGIE: And she was. I just wish I told her that more often. Growing up, I thought one day I’d get a job and become rich enough to support the both of us. I’d even buy her a range rover - it was a car she wanted since forever. I never got to do that for her, but she used to say to me, “Some people are so poor, all they have is money.” And I think about that everyday. I was never spoiled or born with a golden spoon, but we were so rich in love. She loved me so much, that she’s the reason I wanted to have a baby. Just days after her death anniversary, I visited the clinic. It’s silly, but I just wanted to be half as good a mother as she was.

SPENCER: I feel the same way about my mom. I wanted to grow up and create a cure for schizophrenia by the time I was 29. And even though I’m far from doing so, I’m not giving up hope that I still can. 

MAGGIE: Does she live here?

SPENCER: She’s in a facility in Vegas. 

MAGGIE: Well, if I ever find myself in Nevada, I’d really like to thank her for raising the perfect son. 

Spencer gaily smiles.

SPENCER: Would you maybe want to visit her with me one day?

Maggie nods.

SPENCER: You two would have a lot to talk about. She was a former professor of 15th century literature. 

MAGGIE: Does she still hold lectures?

SPENCER: She does. I attended one of them years ago. It completely changed my perspective. I realized that I owe all of who I am today to her. 

MAGGIE: Then we have to attend one of her lectures when we visit.

SPENCER: She’ll be so happy when I let her know. 

Maggie and Spencer continue to talk about literature. 

. . .

Now in a coffee shop, Maggie and Spencer are nursing their drinks at a table in the corner of the cafe. 

MAGGIE: Earlier, we were talking about your mom a lot, but on the plane, we spoke about your dad leaving when you were really little.

SPENCER: Yeah, um, eventually he wrote a letter saying that he just didn’t know how to be a dad to me anymore. That and he couldn’t deal with my mom’s paranoid schizophrenia anymore. 

MAGGIE: I’m sorry to hear that. I know it’s not easy growing up without a dad. 

SPENCER: He’s partly the reason I want to have kids. I want to be the dad mine never was.

Maggie nods. 

SPENCER: I’m not as mad as I used to be about it. Over time, I slowly stopped caring about him. 

MAGGIE: As you should. 

SPENCER: Um, we still have an hour before we’re home so-

MAGGIE: Yeah, no of course. Lemme just use the bathroom really quick before we go. 

Maggie leaves her phone and her coffee cup at the table. Spencer sips from his drink but stops when he sees Maggie’s phone ringing. The call’s number has a familiar area code. Spencer instantly recognizes it from Manassas. He realizes that the caller is the landlord from the apartment in Manassas that Maggie said hadn’t gotten back to her. He looks at the bathroom and sees Maggie isn’t back yet, so he declines and deletes the call. 

He wants Maggie to live with him, and knowing the landlord called her back would ruin any chances of that happening. And Spencer wasn’t taking any chances. 

. . . 

Maggie and Spencer are finally at his apartment. They’re climbing the flight of stairs, with Spencer carrying Maggie’s backpack for her - like a gentleman. When they reach his door, Spencer unlocks it and opens it for her to walk through first. In that same breath, confetti comes flying. 

Maggie is startled by this, but comes to realize that the entire BAU is in his apartment. A banner hangs behind the team saying “Welcome!”

She laughs and goes to greet each of them.

JJ: I’m JJ. 

Maggie shakes her hand. 

MAGGIE: Maggie Tate. Nice to meet you. 

MORGAN: Derek Morgan. I’ve heard a lot about you. 

MAGGIE: All good things I hope. 

HOTCH: Aaron Hotchner. 

MAGGIE: Right of course. I remember you from the day you guys found me. 

BLAKE: Alex Blake. Nice to finally meet you. 

MAGGIE: Likewise.

ROSSI: David Rossi. Spencer’s Italian grandpa. 

Maggie laughs and Rossi greets her by kissing each of her cheeks. 

ROSSI: Got any Italian blood in you?

MAGGIE: Oh, I wish. Half Filipino, half Mexican. 

ROSSI: A beautiful mix nonetheless. 

Finally, Maggie meets Penelope. Before Maggie can even say anything, Penelope envelopes her in a huge hug. 

MAGGIE: You must be Penelope!

She pulls away.

GARCIA: At your service. 

MAGGIE: I really like your glasses. Cool color. 

GARCIA: (to Spencer) I love her already. 

Maggie returns to Spencer after all the greetings.  

MAGGIE: Did you know they were gonna do this?

SPENCER: I might’ve. 

Maggie turns back to everyone.

MAGGIE: I wish I would’ve known I was meeting you all, I would’ve worn something nicer than leggings and jet lag. 

They laugh and tell her that it’s not a problem. 

GARCIA: So we thought you guys might be hungry, so there’s chips and guac as well as other little snacks. 

MAGGIE: It’s crazy, because I was craving just that.

Penelope gasps and smiles. She extends her arm for Maggie to wrap her arm around. 

GARCIA: Well then let’s dig in. 

Garcia leads Maggie arm in arm to the food. While Spencer draws back to set her things down. JJ waits up for him. 

JJ: She’s pretty. 

SPENCER: She is, isn't she? And she’s more than that, too. Everytime we talk, she never fails to surprise me with her wit or mind. She reminds me a lot of you. 

JJ smiles as Spencer and her rejoin the group. 

. . .

It’s almost the evening now, and Maggie and Spencer are bidding each guest goodbye. The last one to leave is of course Penelope. But when she does, Spencer and Maggie are alone again. Spencer shuts the door behind Garcia, and turns and presses his back to it and sighs. Maggie exhales too. 

SPENCER: I’m sorry about that. I didn’t think this would last for as long as it did. 

MAGGIE: No, no don’t apologize. I like spending time with them. I’m pretty sure Garcia’s energy cured my jet lag. 

Spencer laughs and walks back to Maggie.

MAGGIE: I think I’m gonna go shower now. Try to wash off the flight from me. 

Spencer nods and leads her to the bathroom. 

SPENCER: Just turn this knob to the left if you want it hotter, and to the right if you want cold water. When you’re done just press down on this. 

Spencer presses on the little knob, and when he does, the shower sprays him with water and sprays Maggie, too. She squeals and begins to laugh when she sees Spencer’s hair is drenched. It’s all stringy and in his face, so she pushes it back to see his smiling face. She leaves her hands around his cheeks, cupping his face. 

MAGGIE: Well that’s one way to get wet!

SPENCER: Oh yeah? What’s the other?

The delivery of his innuedo is so subtly seductive. Maggie dismisses it and laughs instead. 

MAGGIE: Um, just tell me where the towels are and I can bring you one to dry your hair. 

He points her in the direction and Maggie promptly leaves the bathroom. When she does, Spencer sees himself in the mirror and realizes just how ridiculous he looks. But on the inside, he feels doubly ridiculous. He’s so embarrassed from what he just said that his cheeks turn red. 

. . . 

Spencer is cleaning up what was left of the welcoming party. He’s in the kitchen, when he hears Maggie exit the shower. Her hair is damp and stringy, and she’s drying it with a towel. Spencer notices the clothes she’s wearing. She has on sweatpants and to his surprise, his shirt. 

MAGGIE: I forgot my pajamas were with the moving truck. I hope you don’t mind. 

SPENCER: Not at all. 

Maggie thanks him with a smile and walks a little more into the living room. She notices that the couch has a blanket and pillows on it. 

MAGGIE: What is this?

SPENCER: What do you mean?

MAGGIE: Are you gonna sleep out here?

SPENCER: Yeah, why?

MAGGIE: No. 

SPENCER: No what?

MAGGIE: No, you’re not sleeping on your couch in your own apartment. I won’t let you. 

SPENCER: It’s fine really. I’ve slept on it before. 

MAGGIE: Do you not want to share a bed?

SPENCER: No, it’s not about that. I just want you to have the bed to yourself. 

MAGGIE: If anything, I should be sleeping on the couch because I’m a guest.

SPENCER: No, I’m serious. I’ll sleep out here. 

MAGGIE: Okay fine. 

Maggie dramatically flops onto the couch. 

MAGGIE: Then I’ll join you. 

Spencer sighs and shakes his head. 

SPENCER: You’re really gonna sleep on the couch with me?

MAGGIE: Mhm. 

SPENCER: Why are you being so stubborn?

MAGGIE: Why are you being so stubborn?

SPENCER: Are you just gonna repeat what I’m saying?

MAGGIE: Are you just gonna repeat what I’m saying?

SPENCER: You’re acting childish. 

Spencer comes over to Maggie. He stands in front of her, towering over her small figure. 

MAGGIE: You’re acting childish. 

SPENCER: Stop repeating what I’m saying.

MAGGIE: Stop repeating what I’m saying. 

SPENCER: I mean it, Maggie!

She shoots up from the couch and makes a grumpy face to imitate Spencer. Their bodies are so close. 

MAGGIE: I mean it, Maggie!

Spencer takes the opportunity of their closeness and uses it to put his arms behind her back and swoop her up - bridal style. Maggie squeals and tries to squirm out of his arms, but he resists and carries her all the way into the bedroom. He tosses her onto the bed and starts to tickle at her sides. 

MAGGIE: Stop! Stop!

Maggie’s laughing so hard, she’s breathless. 

SPENCER: Not until you agree to sleep in the bed. 

MAGGIE: I want to sleep on the couch with you!

SPENCER: Well I guess I’m gonna keep tickling you then. 

Maggie laughs so hard she’s almost in tears. Suddenly, she sees a window of opportunity to escape. When she does she runs out into the living room. Spencer chases after her through the apartment. Maggie dodges some of his attempts to capture her, but is ultimately outrun by him. He gets her to fall flat on the couch as he hovers above her. Both of them are smiling and breathless. 

SPENCER: You’re not gonna give this up are you?

Maggie shakes her head no. 

SPENCER: Alright, I surrender. But if in the morning, you wake up and find that you’ve magically teleported to the bed after falling asleep on the couch, it wasn’t me. 

MAGGIE: Deal. 

. . .

It’s sometime late at night and Spencer has finished showering. Maggie’s traveling through his apartment and looking at everything closer. She notices he has a record player. And all the records are classical music.

MAGGIE: Interesting record collection. Beethoven, Mozart, and Bach. Why am I not surprised?

SPENCER: Am I that predictable?

MAGGIE: Just a little. Care if I try to expand your music taste? 

Maggie pulls out her phone. After some scrolling and typing, she begins to play “The Night We Met” by Lord Huron. Spencer is unfamiliar with this song, but it’s abundantly clear Maggie loves it. 

MAGGIE: Do you dance?

SPENCER: Oh, no, no. 

MAGGIE: Just dance with me. I’ll teach you. 

The song plays in the background as Spencer shyly approaches Maggie. Maggie puts one arm out and Spencer takes her hand. Then he timidly puts his hand on her back, but with confidence, Maggie slides his hand down to her waist. Maggie puts her hand on his shoulder. Promptly, Spencer and Maggie both peer down at their feet as Maggie leads the dance. She does the classic box step, and after fidgeting around, Spencer gets it. 

MAGGIE: There you go. You got it!

They dance a little more. 

MAGGIE: Do you think you can lead?

Spencer nods, and Maggie lets him lead. As the song reaches the chorus, Spencer finally gets his confidence. He doesn’t have to look down at his feet anymore. He finally looks at Maggie. To her surprise, Spencer spins her and dips her. They stay put in this position. Neither of them break eye contact.

MAGGIE: You sure you don’t dance?

Spencer sheepishly smiles and shakes his head. He brings her up from the dip. Maggie’s flustered from the thrill of dancing with him, so much so that she pulls away.

MAGGIE: So, did you um, did you like the song?

SPENCER: Yeah, I did. 

MAGGIE: You know, that, that could be like our song. 

SPENCER: Our song. Yeah, okay. 

. . . 

It’s the middle of the night now. Maggie is sprawled across the couch, asleep. Spencer is at the table reading. He only has one dim light on so as not to make it harder for Maggie to sleep with a bigger light on. He peers over the couch and sees that she’s sleeping so he picks her up and carries her bridal style again. When he lays her in the bed, she stirs and mumbles. 

MAGGIE: (quietly) Spencer?

SPENCER: (whispering) Sorry, I was trying not to wake you. 

MAGGIE: Can you just sleep in the bed? I don’t want you on the couch. 

SPENCER: Yeah, yeah. I’ll sleep on the bed. I’ll sleep soon, but I’m just gonna be outside reading. Goodnight, Maggie. 

Maggie’s already fallen fast asleep again. Spencer leaves the room, shutting the door behind her. 

As Spencer approaches the table, his reading material can be visibly seen. A thick stack of papers within a manila folder labeled “CONFIDENTIAL.” He opens it to resume reading the contents. On the very front, a scanned picture of a man’s driver’s license is paperclipped to another paper. The name on the driver’s license reads, “S.J Glover.” a.k.a Sonny Jr. Maggie’s dad. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

[hotchscotchh]

Reimained; Chapter 7 - Chad Brown

Hey y’all! I’m sorry this took so long to get out, I needed a little break from being so serious. This chapter is much less serious than previous ones. Anyway, I posted two other oneshots in the meantime, one hotchreid and one moreid. They’re posted in my masterlist which you can find in my pinned post! I hope you enjoy this chapter <3

Summary: Aaron and Spencer are surprisingly close in the aftermath of the anthrax case and some of the team begins to suspect their recently found friendship might be something more.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Spencer Reid

Warnings: Mentions of poison, hospital setting

Word count: 2k

Read on AO3

Chapter 6 --- Chapter 8

Based on 4x24 Amplification

The team had been sitting with Reid in shifts, unwilling to let him wake up alone in a hospital room, but still needing to get back to the local precinct and get their paperwork wrapped up. Morgan ended up being the lucky one that got to see him wake up for the first time. Morgan couldn’t help the intense wave of relief that washed over him at the sight of Spencer Reid’s eyes opening. He also couldn’t help the laugh he let out when the kid’s first barely understandable words were to ask for Jell-o. After their small interaction, Spencer asked Moran to call Hotch, saying he knew Hotch would want to know as soon as he woke up. Morgan was surprised by that; Spencer had never said anything like that when waking up in the hospital before. Obviously, their supervisor needed to know that he was awake, but Derek couldn’t help but be surprised that Spencer asked for it.

Morgan was even more surprised when Hotch turned up way faster than he should’ve. He wondered how many traffic laws the man had to have broken to get there that fast. Hotch ordered Morgan back to the police station, saying he would take the rest of Morgan’s shift and the next, which was already his. Morgan tried to fight him on this but was immediately silenced by the Hotchner Glare™. He was confused by the interaction the entire way back to the police station but placed it in the back of his mind to think about later. They needed to get the paperwork done so they could all be with Spencer.

Meanwhile, at the hospital, Hotch was holding Reid’s hand and very close to tears.

“Baby, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I let this hap-”

“Aaron, please don’t take this the wrong way, but shut the hell up. This was in no way your fault. I knew there was a possibility of something being in that room and I went anyway. You weren’t even there.” Reid finished his rant by bringing Aaron’s hand up to his mouth and giving it a small kiss. “I’m fine. For the most part. But I do need water, my throat is really scratchy.”

“Of course, Spence, anything,” Aaron said, standing up and rushing out of the room to find water.  

While he was gone, Spencer pressed the call nurse button on his bedside remote. He figured they should probably know he was awake, and he needed to know if he had been given narcotics. He knew the antidote had been administered soon enough to have prevented cuts in his skin and it was unlikely that he had been given pain medicine at all, but he needed to know. He didn’t feel high, so that was a good sign, but it didn’t really mean anything at the moment.

The nurse came into the room at the same time that Aaron returned with his water.

“Hi Spencer, I’m glad to see you awake. My name is Maria, I’m one of the nurses on duty for the next few hours. If you need anything, just press your call button and myself or one of my colleagues will be back to assist you as soon as possible. Dr. Kimura will be back to see you as soon as she can. How are you feeling?” the nurse asked.

“Fine, my throat is scratchy but that’s to be expected after being unconscious. Aaron already got some water for me. I know it’s unlikely that I was administered any pain medication, but I need confirmation that I was not given any narcotics,” Spencer replied, slightly winded as he had said it all in one breath, wanting to get the question out as quickly as possible.

“Of course, sir,” the nurse said with a smile. “Let me check your chart.” After a brief, but tense, pause, the nurse turned back to him and said, “As far as I can tell, you weren’t given any medication other than the antidote for the poison you ingested, but Dr. Kimura will confirm that when she comes to see you. Now, is there anything else that I can do for you? A dinner tray will be sent up in about half an hour.”

“I just have one question,” Spencer said, the tension draining from the air. “Can I shower?”

That made both Maria and Aaron laugh. Spencer had almost forgotten the man was standing there and jumped at the sound of his voice. “Absolutely, but you’ll need help. Let me just get this I.V. out. You’ve been given a liter of fluid, but as long as you keep drinking you should be okay without it.”

Spencer nodded, even more relieved now. “Good thing you’re here instead of Morgan, Aaron. Let’s do this now, I’m sure the team will be here soon.”

Maria smiled again, looking between the pair, and left the room. Aaron helped Spencer drink some water before assisting him out of the bed. Spencer was glad the nurse had warned him he’d need help. His knees buckled under his weight, but since they had been warned, Aaron was there to hold him up. “I don’t think I can walk there, Aaron. My legs are too shaky.”

“Of course, Spence,” Aaron said, snaking an arm under Spencer’s and bending down to hook the other around the bend in Spencer’s knees. He straightened up with the man in his arms and Spencer wrapped his own around Aaron’s neck, burying his face there too.

“Do you have any idea how disappointing it was to see Morgan sitting there instead of you when I woke up?” Spencer said, teasingly, his voice muffled by Aaron’s shoulder.

Aaron chuckled. “I’m sorry, hon, but the team insisted on taking shifts waiting for you to wake up. It would’ve been suspicious if I pushed staying. I think Dave is starting to suspect something anyway.”

“Of course he is,” Spencer answered with a weak laugh.

Aaron gently set him on his feet in front of the sink in the bathroom. He opened the curtain and found some travel sized shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, and a chair sat in the middle. “Do you want to sit in the chair or would you rather I helped you stand?”

“Do you mind heling me stand? I’ll be able to wash my hair better that way,” Spencer replied, almost shyly.

“Do you think I would have offered if I didn’t want to, Spence,” Aaron shot back, humor in his voice.

Spencer ducked his head and made quick work of undoing the ties on his hospital gown, letting it fall to the floor and finding he had nothing on underneath, while Aaron turned the water on and adjusted the temperature. He reached out to grab Aaron’s arm and let himself be guided into the shower. He had a little difficulty getting over the lip on the edge, but they figured it out without incident. Aaron closed the curtain most of the way and turned around, leaving his arm available for Spencer to grab, in an effort to give the man some semblance of privacy.

It took Spencer longer than normal to clean himself, given his lethargic state, but when Aaron heard the water tun off he opened the curtain again and unfolded a towel to hold out for him. Spencer dried himself off and Aaron guided him to sit down on the toilet. Aaron went back to the main part of the hospital room to get some clothes for Spencer so he wouldn’t have to put the hospital gown back on, only to find Dr. Kimura waiting for him there.

“Hello, Agent Hotchner, I have a fresh gown here for Spencer. I’d love to let him put his regular clothes on, but we need to do one more x-ray of his lungs to make sure the antidote worked fully,” the woman said. She gestured to the wheelchair next to her that had a gown sitting in it. “I thought this might make it a little easier. Maria tells me he is very weak.”

“He is, thank you,” Aaron responded. “I’ll get him dressed. It’ll only be a few minutes.” Dr. Kimura nodded and turned back to what she was working on. Aaron took hold of the wheelchair and maneuvered it into the bathroom, only to find Spencer half asleep on the toilet. “Spence,” he whispered, hoping to startle the man as little as possible.

Spencer jumped. “Aaron! You scared me. What’s that for?”

“Dr. Kimura brought it for you. I was going to get regular clothes for you, but they need to do one more x-ray of your lungs.”

Spencer nodded and reached for the gown. Aaron handed it over and had settled leaning against the sink when his phone chimed. He took it out and quickly read over the text that had come from JJ. “The rest of the team is going to be here in about fifteen minutes. They just finished.”

Spencer just nodded again. He looked thoroughly exhausted. “Let’s get you in this wheelchair and out to the x-ray so you can get back here and rest.”

----

Half an hour later, the team and Spencer’s dinner tray had arrived (Aaron had requested extra Jell-o, obviously) and they were just waiting on Spencer to come back from his x-ray. The door opened and conversation stopped. Dr. Kimura wheeled Spencer in and the man looked like he was about to fall asleep. He looked up at the team and gave a small smile. “Hey, guys.”

JJ stepped up first, leaning down to give him a brief hug. “Hey, Spence, I’m so glad you’re okay.”  There was a chorus of agreement following that statement.

“Let’s get you into bed and fed so you can get some sleep, Reid,” Hotch said, slipping back into his unit chief persona. Spencer looked at him for a few moments, confused by the use of his last name, before remembering why and nodding.

Morgan immediately moved to help him, and Hotch let him. Once Spencer was seated and comfortable, his dinner tray was brought over, and Dr. Kimura started speaking. “Okay, Dr. Reid. Your x-ray looked great. You can expect shortness of breath for a week or two, but I’m not noticing any lasting affects of aphasia or any other cognitive abilities. I can also confirm that you were not given any narcotics.”

Reid nodded and mumbled a “thank you” around a mouthful of food. Dr. Kimura gave a smile and a wave and backed out of the room.

Emily spoke up once she had left. “Well, I think it would be best if we all headed back to the hotel and let our strong doctor here get some sleep. Did you want someone to stay with you, Spencer?”

Spencer looked up and yawned before turning to Hotch and nodding his way. “Please?”

“Of course, Reid. You guys go ahead back to the hotel. We’ll be okay here.”

In the past weeks, they team had noticed the pair getting closer. They had assumed it was just as friends, but after that request if had a few of them (Morgan, Rossi, and Prentiss) wondering if it wasn’t more. Usually, Reid would’ve asked for Morgan or JJ to stay with him, they never expected him to ask for Hotch.

But they went with it, leaving the two in the hotel room to get at least a sorry excuse for rest.

As soon as Aaron finished ushering the team out of the room, Spencer reached for him and quietly requested “lay with me?” Aaron nodded and made his way over to lay next to Spencer, pulling the man close to his chest. Sleep took over both of them easily that night.

Taglist: @wheelsup​ @endingsbeginnings​

[reidingandwriting]

Home

Word Count: ~4,100 words

Ship: Emily Prentiss x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mention of injury (concussion), drinking (all characters of legal age)

A/N: Since there are quite a few flashbacks, and some of them are long, I’ve set off the flashbacks in dashes (------) instead of having big blocks of texts in italics. I might change them to italics depending on how they read!

Emily Prentiss didn’t believe in soulmates. Well, she didn’t believe she had one. Except for the occasional fling, Emily’s love life was practically non-existent. Maybe it was for the better that way. She was a strong and independent woman, thank you very much, and she didn’t need a man or a woman to complete her. Besides, she could always get a cat.

Y/N Y/L/N was a hopeless romantic. You loved the idea of having a soulmate, someone who was made for you, someone who just gets you. You hadn’t met your soulmate yet, but you were a strong believer in fate. When the universe was ready for you to meet your soulmate, you’d meet them. God, you hoped you’d meet them soon. But it’s not like your soulmate was the only thing on your mind. You had gotten your masters degree before you applied for the FBI Academy. You then were assigned to work in the Violent Crimes Against Children department, where you worked your ass off until you got the news you had been waiting for since you graduated from college: you were joining the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. 

Working with the BAU was a dream come true for you. The cases were hard and long, the criminals involved really made you question if there was any good in humanity at times. But the good moments? You would never forget them. 

------

You laid back in your seat on the plane and closed your eyes with a sigh. You had just finished your first case and you were on the flight back to headquarters. You couldn’t wait to see your bed again. You opened one of your eyes when you heard someone sit beside you but closed it again when you saw Derek.

“Hey, pretty girl. How do you feel?” You dragged your hand over your face and looked up at the man you would soon grow close to. 

“Exhausted. Happy the case is over and that we saved the last victim. I wish we could have saved the others.” You sighed. “But at least the families of the missing women have closure now.” 

“Unfortunately we can’t save everyone. But with everybody we save, it makes the job easier. You did great, kid. And you’ll get better with every case.” You smiled at Derek’s words and leaned your head against his shoulder. 

“Thanks, Morgan.” You felt your eyes grow heavy and you yawned. “I’m using you as a pillow now, hope you weren’t planning on moving anytime soon.” Derek’s shoulder shook with laughter, and he rested his head against yours. 

“Rest up, Y/L/N. You’ve earned it.”

------

Over the last eighteen months, you had grown close to the team you now considered your family. There were many lows and many highs during your career, as well as many unexpected twists. The best unexpected part? Meeting Agent Emily Prentiss. You had just gotten back to headquarters when you met her.

------

“Hey, Y/N. Garcia, JJ, Reid, and I are going to Freddy’s for dinner. We’ve got room for one more if you want to come.” Derek asked as he gathered his things from his desk. You were seated at your own desk, papers strewn across the space. 

“I think I’m gonna head home once I handle,” you gestured to the mess, “all this.” Derek chuckled and put his jacket on.

“Don’t stay too late, we don’t need two people living here.” Derek nodded up towards Hotch’s office. You looked up and your brows furrowed when you saw two silhouettes in the office.  

“I’ll head out soon. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” You and Derek exchanged goodbyes, your gaze not leaving the window as you heard everyone leave. You shook your head to clear your thoughts and began to organize your desk. You strained to decipher the muffled voices coming from your boss’s office and perked up when you heard an unfamiliar woman’s voice.

“I promise you won’t regret this.” You heard her footsteps as she walked out of Hotch’s office and you looked up as she walked down the stairs. Your eyes traveled up her body until you saw the box in her hands and then met her eyes. Her beautiful brown eyes. Her dark hair fell to her shoulders, and there was a smile on her face. She looked proud, but also relieved, and she tried to appear neutral. You didn’t know how long you had been watching her before she spoke to you. “Hi. I’m Emily Prentiss.” Emily shifted the box in her hands to prop it against her hip and held her hand out. You stood up, shook her hand, and offered a polite smile.

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N. Oh! You can set your things on my desk.” Emily smiled gratefully at you and set the box down. “Facilities management has probably left already, they won’t be back until morning. You’re more than welcome to keep everything here if you want, they’ll be safe. Unless you have coffee stashed away in there, then I might have to charge a storage fee.” Emily’s laughter filled your ears and your heart skipped a beat at the sound. New life goal, make this gorgeous woman laugh as much as you can. “The coffee here is less than appealing, so I recommend buying your own. There’s a shop across the street, they make amazing lattes. I’m sorry, I’m rambling, and you probably have places to be.”

“You’re fine, I promise.” Emily reassured and her phone buzzed in her pocket. “But I do need to take this.”

“And I should head out. I can hear my bed calling my name from here.” You picked at the sleeve of your shirt subconsciously, which of course Emily noticed. Gotta love profilers. “I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow?” 

“Bright and early.”

“Don’t remind me.” You groaned before you grabbed your bag from your chair. “Goodnight, Prentiss.”

“Goodnight.” And if you came to work the next morning with a cup of coffee on your desk, that was no one’s business except for yours and Emily’s. Little did either of you know that you had met your soulmate. You were getting ready for a run the first time you noticed something was off.

------

“Yes, Derek. I’ll be in the lobby in five minutes. You know, you’re really impatient.” You teased as you walked to your closet to grab a pair of shoes. 

“And you’re late.”

“Am not! You said we’d meet at six, I still have a few minutes.” As you bent down to grab your running shoes, your brows furrowed when you noticed a red tank top on the floor. “Huh.”

“Everything okay?” Derek asked.

“Yeah, yeah. I just found something I forgot I bought. I’ll be down in a minute, and I’ll buy smoothies after. Since I’m so late.” 

“Chop, chop, pretty girl.” Derek hung up and you grabbed the shirt from the floor and examined it. It had been worn quite often, so you knew it wasn’t yours. Or was it? You shrugged but tossed the shirt towards your laundry hamper. That was a problem for another day. You quickly slid your shoes on and left your apartment. You made your way downstairs, Derek and you being the only ones in the lobby at the time. 

“I’m here, I’m here. Sorry, late start.” You said as you walked over. “Our usual path?”

“Lead the way, Y/L/N.”

------

You brushed off the shirt as simply being forgetful. You had bought a lot of clothes when you moved for your job, it must have been forgotten in the back of your closet. You figured it was a one time thing, and the possibility of soulmates never even crossed your mind. It had been nearly a month since the red shirt incident, and nothing else odd had happened since. Until…

------

“That’s a new necklace. Where’d you get it?” Penelope asked as you both stepped off the elevator. 

“I honestly can’t remember buying it.” You shrugged. “I must have gotten it a while ago, but I don’t remember wearing it before.” As you walked towards the conference room, Prentiss walked out of the mini kitchen with JJ. 

“Yeah, I don’t know what happened to it. I thought I had it on my nightstand, but I went to put it on this morning, and it was gone.” Emily said and ran her hand through her hair.

“We can go to my favorite store to look for a replacement tonight if we aren’t on a new case.” Jennifer offered. Emily smiled gratefully at her as the pair walked towards the conference room. Rossi left his office and walked towards the stairs. As he reached the stairs, he met Aaron who stepped into sync with him. 

“What are you thinking about?” Hotch asked as he looked at Dave. 

“Oh, not much. Just wondering who we’ll be chasing on our next case.” Rossi said. Just the fact two of our profilers are oblivious soulmates, he thought.

------

Over the next couple of weeks, you and Emily both found little things scattered across your homes. It sounded weird to admit, but it made Emily’s days better when she found something of her soulmate’s in her apartment. Everything you had lost helped her understand you more- she really felt like she was getting to know you. Emily smiled when she found (your favorite book) in her room, and she couldn’t help but read the book with a dopey smile on her face. God, she couldn’t wait to meet you, whoever you were. Little did either of you know, that day would come closer than you thought.

*Baddies of the BAU group chat*

Pen: girls!!!

Pen: it’s someone’s birthday monday

Pen: @ Y/N

Jayje: our baby’s turning 30! 

Jayje: all grown up

Em<3: we’re celebrating, right?

Y/N: i’d honestly be happy with the weekend off

Y/N: or some of rossi’s scotch

Pen: i can’t promise that, but i can promise you a night of drinks

Pen: our usual time and place tonight?

Jayje: i’ll be there!

Em<3: so will i. Y/N?

Y/N: how could i say no?

Y/N: see you tonight my loves!

*End of chat*

“Derek, I need a favor.” Emily said as she paced across her apartment. Derek’s brows furrowed as he heard all the noise in the background. 

“Of course. Is everything okay?”

“No.” Emily groaned. “Well, yeah, just… shit. I can’t find my keys. And yeah, I could call an Uber, but-”

“I’ll give you a ride. Wonder if your soulmate found your keys.” Emily could hear the smirk in Derek’s voice, and she rolled her eyes.

“With my luck, they’re an ocean away. Thanks, Morgan.”

-

“Spence, what are the odds of me actually meeting my soulmate?”

“Statistically,” Spencer trailed off, “not the greatest. Soulmates aren’t guaranteed to be living in the same geographical area as you, not even the same timeline really. There’s theories about past lives, it’s actually really fascinating.” A pause. “Sorry, that wasn’t an answer. There’s a 3.7 percent chance of you meeting your soulmate. An even lower chance you actually make the connection that they are your soulmate.” “So the chance of me living in the same city as my soulmate and knowing who they are is practically impossible.” You said as you held a familiar keychain in your hand. A keychain that was nearly identical to yours. You had thought it was yours, absentmindedly grabbing the set of keys from your coffee table as you started to leave, until you tried to lock your door. 

“You know who they are?”

“Uh huh.”

“Are you going to say anything to them?”

“Oh yeah.” You tucked the keys into your bag before you grabbed yours. “Sooner than later.”

------

You were seated next to Rossi, talking to Penelope from across the table, and you laughed when Rossi chimed in, agreeing with you. You rested your hand on his shoulder and Penelope grumbled something about favoritism under her breath while JJ laughed.

“You’re my favorite person, Pen.” JJ said, which then caused Reid to protest from his seat. Hotch shook his head, but everyone saw the fond smile on his lips. The energy at the table was light and carefree, something that didn’t happen often enough.

“Got room for two more?” You looked up and smiled when you saw Derek walk in, Emily a few steps behind him. 

“Hmm, I think we’ll take you. If you get our first round.” Derek playfully sighed.

“Deal. Only because you’re the birthday girl. Almost the birthday girl.” He ruffled your hair before he walked towards the bar, and Rossi stood up. 

“I’ll go help him carry everything. Take a seat.” Dave patted Emily’s shoulder as he walked past her to help Morgan. Emily took a seat beside you, and it didn’t take a profiler to notice the change in your demeanor. She noticed how your movements were more calculated and thought out. Any other time you wouldn’t be afraid to be handsy with her, your shoulders would brush together a little more often than necessary, your legs against each other’s. But today, there was distance. Not enough to be noticeable to anyone who didn’t know the dynamic between the two women, but to Emily, you might as well have been worlds apart. After a few drinks, Hotch and Rossi had made their way to the bar, and they watched their ‘children’. Morgan and Garcia were dancing together, Reid in between the pair, much to his protesting. 

“Come on, boy wonder, we aren’t leaving until you’ve danced at least once.” Garcia had said as she pulled Spencer to the floor. You stirred your drink as you leaned against the upholstered booth, Emily and JJ on the other side of the dance floor. You smiled at everyone and didn’t notice Dave walk up behind you.

“You can’t avoid her all night.” You jumped at the sound of his voice and looked back towards him. “I’m not the best person to give advice on love, but I have been married a few times. So I know a little something.”

“I’m not avoiding her- wait, how did you know?” “I watched. And she happens to be missing the necklace you wore tonight.” You felt your cheeks heat up and you looked back towards Emily.

“I didn’t know it was her. Not until I found this.” You pulled the keychain  out of your bag. 

“I’m guessing there’s a story I’m missing.” Rossi took a seat beside you, and you began to explain. 

“It started when we had a case take us to Los Angeles.”

------

“I hate how my first trip to L.A. had to be when we’re chasing a serial killer.” You sighed as you opened the case file. 

“We’ve been to Los Angeles on a case before. It was your third case with us.” Spencer said absentmindedly as he read, eyes darting rapidly across the paper. 

“My second trip, my bad.” You rolled your eyes, but there was a fond smile on your lips. “But we stayed at the hotel, police department, and crime scenes. Not a second of time off.”

“What’s time off?” Gideon asked and you chuckled. 

“I really want to go one day, not as an agent, but as a tourist. Maybe when I retire.” As soon as the conversation started, it ended as Garcia popped up on screen to further discuss the case. 

-

“You would be fine if you flew, but it’s up to you ultimately. It is a long drive back, though.” The EMT spoke, and you were seated on the back of the ambulance with Hotch standing beside you. 

“Could she fly tomorrow? If she feels up to it, of course.” Aaron asked, and there was an emotion in his eyes that you couldn’t quite decipher. 

“As long as her symptoms continue to get better as time passes, she’s clear to fly. It’s all preference at this point. Just be sure to follow the instructions we gave you, and you should start feeling better soon.”

“Thank you.” The EMT dismissed herself to go check on the injured victim, and Hotch turned to you. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I ran into a wall.” You chuckled then winced. “I’ve had worse. The medicine will help, and I’ll feel better after some sleep tonight.”

“I’ll have Prentiss drive you back to the hotel so you can rest.” Aaron paused. “There’s a few tourist-y spots near our hotel, but they’ll be crowded until later tonight. There’s a restaurant on Fifth just a few minutes from where we’re staying, not many tourists know about it. I can send you the address if you want it.” You blushed as you looked up at Hotch. 

“Thank you, sir. Uh, how did you…?”

“You said you wanted to visit the city as a tourist, and for the Prentiss part? Let’s call it intuition.”

-

“Remind me to thank Hotch for sending us to that restaurant. That was the best dinner I’ve ever had.” Emily said and you hummed in agreement. 

“If I got this treatment every time I got injured on the field, I’d let our unsubs pistol-whip me more often.” You laughed as she shot a playful glare at you. “Easy, Prentiss. I do not enjoy any restaurant enough to have another concussion.”

“How is your head feeling? We can go back to the hotel if you’re ready.” Emily paused. “Unless you feel up for another adventure.”

“Please, take me anywhere but the hotel.” And in that moment, the whole city seemed to brighten when Emily smiled. 

“I’ve got a few places in mind.” 

By the end of the night, you had walked down the Hollywood Walk of Fame (and took countless pictures), stopped by the Kodak Theatre (“Em, it’s like we’re a part of the Academy Awards!”), and now you were in a gift shop. 

“I remember when I was younger.” You spoke, your voice soft as you looked at a display rack. “I was on a trip to New York, my high school journalism class took the entire group of us up to the city. We went to a little gift shop before we came back home. All the girls went off together, bought those little matching keychains that ‘best friends’ had, except for me. I know it’s stupid to be upset about now, but fifteen year old me felt so lonely. I just joined the school my sophomore year, everyone else had made their group of friends. And I had no one.” 

“Look at you now.” Emily said as she wrapped her arm around your shoulders and neither of you mentioned it when you automatically leaned into her touch. “You’re a profiler for the FBI, and we have some pretty amazing people we’re working with. I think it’s safe to say you’ll never have to worry about being lonely again.” Emily reached forward and grabbed a pair of keychains from the rack. “And now, you can show off your glamorous ‘I survived my trip to L.A.’ keychain to everyone.”

“Look, you can even get the back engraved. We can get something matching, we’ll be the best friends of the BAU.” You teased and Emily gasped. 

“You, Y/L/N, are a genius.”

------

You thumbed over the engraving and read it out loud. “If you ever feel alone, you can always run home.” And in the bottom corner, yours and Emily’s initials were engraved. “We promised each other. No matter how crazy this job gets, if either of us leave, if we just need a break… We can always go to each other, go ‘home.’” You let your eyes wander over to Emily, who was now dancing with Reid. The smiles on both of their faces made you smile before you turned towards Rossi. “I don’t want to mess everything up.”

“Bella,” Dave smiled sympathetically and rested a hand on your shoulder, “I haven’t ever seen someone look at each other the way you and Emily do. If anyone in the world are soulmates, it’s you two.” You stood up and wrapped your arms around him and hugged him tight. 

“Thank you for everything.” You whispered and Rossi returned your tight hug. The man was affectionately nicknamed the dad of the group, while the rest of you (with the exception of Hotch) were his children. But the role of “Papa” Rossi applied especially to you. You two had formed a bond over the months Rossi had been on the team. You were often paired together, your personalities meshing well while working on the field and during interrogations. You often went to him for advice, and Rossi was sure to offer the best hospitality possible. You’d drink the best wine and help him cook dinner while the two of you joked around and talked, Tony Bennett playing over vinyl in the background. 

“Go get her, bella.” You smiled before you stepped away from Rossi and walked over to Emily, keys now tucked into your pocket. 

“Hey, pretty girl! Look who decided to join us.” Derek said as he saw you walking over, causing Emily to look over at you. 

“I will in a minute, you better have saved me a dance. But first, um. Em, can I talk to you?” Emily’s brows furrowed but she nodded. 

���Let’s step outside, get some fresh air.” You nodded and walked out with Emily, and you chewed your lip nervously. This is it. As you walked out the door of the bar, the cool autumn air hit your face, and you took a deep breath. 

“You know, I had this big speech planned. I dreamed of the day I’d be able to meet someone, and tell them all about how I had been waiting for this day for years. And even though there’s the smallest, microscopic chance of me meeting them, I finally did. I met them. My soulmate.” You pulled the set of keys out of your pocket. “I believe these are yours. As is my necklace, according to Rossi.”

“So the extra remote I found in my living room, that was yours.” 

“That’s where it went! I really went out and had to buy a new remote, that was so annoying.” You two laughed and a comfortable silence fell over you. 

“Y/N-“

“Emily-“

“You first.” You smiled. 

“If I were to ask you on a date, let’s say for tomorrow, would you say yes?”

“I like to think I’m a pretty good cook, props to Rossi for the recipes he taught me. And I’ve finally got my Wi-Fi fixed. Dinner and a movie?” You stepped closer to her. “And maybe,” you gripped Emily’s jacket and pulled her to you. Your eyes flicked down to her lips then back to her eyes. Emily nodded and suddenly your lips were on hers. 

You always heard about that first kiss soulmates shared. How it felt like two became one, how in that moment you knew you were where you belonged. Your kiss with Emily? God, it was so much better than that. Neither you or Emily would ever forget this kiss for the rest of your lives. 

———

Some time later….

“Move over, Serg. Pretty sure she’s my girlfriend, not yours.” You settled onto the couch, balancing a bowl of popcorn, careful of the black cat taking over the couch. “Diva.” You tapped the cat’s nose lightly, and Sergio swatted at your hand before he jumped off the couch and wandered off. 

“You can’t be mean to my child, it’s against the rules.” You shot a playful glare at Emily and covered your body in a blanket, the bowl in your lap. 

“Your child? Excuse me, he’s ours.”

“Too bad he likes me more.” There was a taunting tone to her voice and you huffed.

“Alright, Prentiss. You just lost popcorn privileges because of that comment.” Emily wrapped her arms around your waist and pulled you into her, and you squealed before laughing. “Get off me!”

“Oh, you love me.” 

“I tolerate you.” You buried yourself into Emily’s side, tucked in between her and the couch, the bowl now in front of her. Emily poked your side and you giggled softly. “What’s tonight’s movie, Em?”

“50 First Dates. Penelope acted like I insulted her personally whenever I told her I haven’t seen it.” 

“Well we can’t disappoint our girl much longer. Press play, birthday girl.” 

By the end of the movie, Emily had fallen asleep. Sergio was curled up at the end of the couch, and Emily’s back was pressed to your chest. You pressed a gentle kiss to her neck before you laid back and closed your eyes. 

“Goodnight, lover. Happy birthday.”

Taglist for CM: @spidey-reids-2003​ and @ssa-sugar-tits​  ❤ If you’d like to be removed/added to a taglist, let me know!! Requests are open but may take a minute, my midterms start soon!

[b0n-chann]

Can I request 119 for Marcus? I saw your preview of your upcoming fic for him and I can’t wait for it to come out! 🥺

Ahh yes!! I haven’t done a request in a while and it feels great to do them again!

Requests are open if you’d like to ask for a prompt! Working through this list but I’m open for anything.

Warnings: none, all cute stuff here. Slightly jealous Marcus (if that’s a warning)

119. “Just one moment…” - “What are you doing?” - “Well, I suppose I’m going to kiss you. I hope that’s alright.”

———————

“Good morning, Dave,” You chime to a customer walking though the door of your small café. He’s a new regular; nice, cute, but a little talkative. You’re glad for the business though. “What can I get for you?” You ask as he steps up towards the counter.

“Oh, just the usual,” he says with a soft smile before picking up the newspaper and handing you his credit card. “How have you been?” He asks as you run his order. He leans over the counter just a little too much and brushes his hand against yours and you drop his card back into his hand quickly.

“I’ve been great,” you tell him, trying to be nice but not too friendly. He doesn’t seem to take the hint though.

“Hey listen, if you’re free...” the man in front of you starts to say but you cut him off.

“I’ll send you food over to you when it’s ready, okay?” You leave the counter and walk back into the kitchen before he can respond.

“He’s back, huh?” One of your workers and good friend, Amy, asks. You give her a look and she laughs. “I could hear your eyes rolling into the back of your head out there. You’re too nice! I’d have already told him off by now.”

You just shrug. “He hasn’t done anything out of line and who knows, maybe he’s just friendly?” You cringe, hearing your own words. “I’ll say something if I ever need to,” you assure her and she nods her head, satisfied with your reply. Amy walks to the front, taking your place as the cashier as you start on the order you just took.

You hum to yourself as you pour coffee out into the cups in front of you as you think about how your little café has grown in the two years you’ve opened. You love getting to know your regulars and they love the sweet, homey shop you put together. Lost in your thoughts, you don’t hear the jingle of the front door as another guest walks in.

“Oh, hey, Marcus!” Amy says as she leans over the counter to wave at the man walking in. It’s been an unreasonably cold morning, the gray skies giving way to intermittent rain, but the warmth coming from the store is enough for him to remove his long coat. Tucking it into his arm, Marcus reveals his business clothes underneath while walking to the counter. A quick plan forms in her head.

“Good morning, Amy,” Marcus says warmly, peering past the woman and into the kitchen.

“Can’t keep your eyes off her, huh?” She asks, a Cheshire cat grin erupting on her face. “She’s putting some orders together,” she starts and looks back, noticing you’re not paying attention. “You’ve got some competition by the way,” Amy whispers while jabbing her thumb in the direction of a man sitting near the window.

Marcus looks over, sizing him up. He’s never considered himself to be a jealous man but he’s in a mood this morning. The case he’s been on has had him working overtime for the last few days; starting early and working late and he hasn’t been able to see you in what feels like ages.

Amy laughs at the agent’s hardened stare. “So the usual for you, Then?” He grunts in response. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she chuckles as she shakes her head. She almost feels bad for what she’s done. Almost.

Satisfied with the breakfast sandwich and coffee you prepared, you place it on your tray to take. Glancing up, one of the many pictures on the wall catches your eye and you smile at the couple in it before heading out to the front. You head straight towards Dave, not noticing the man hanging around the counter.

“Order’s ready,” you say softly, trying not to interrupt the man as he reads the newspaper. He perks up as he hears your voice but immediately frowns as he looks behind you.

“Everything okay?” You ask, tilting your head slightly but before anything else can be said you feel a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist.

“Good morning, baby,” a warm voice says behind you and your cheeks flush.

“Marcus, hi,” you say breathlessly as you try to turn back around. He presses his nose into your hair and you try your best not to shiver at the contact.

“I missed you this morning,” he says into your ear, but loud enough for the poor man in front of you to hear who seems to disappear further and further behind his newspaper. “You left your ring on the bathroom counter.” He tucks his hand into his front shirt pocket and takes the solitaire ring out. He kisses your left hand before placing the ring on your ring finger.

“You looked so tired, I didn’t want to wake you,” you whisper. Your face heats up even more when you realize the position he’s put you both in.

“Sorry, Dave, can you give me just one moment?” You take Marcus’ hand and drag him into the kitchen. You barely turn the corner and Marcus is on you again. He buries his face into your neck, breathing you in deeply.

“Marcus,” you say somewhere between a whimper and a whine as his hands travel across your waist, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. “What are you doing?”

“Well, I suppose I’m going to kiss you. I hope that’s alright, fiancée?” He gives you a pleading look that you can’t help but roll your eyes at but you oblige him. He tilts your chin up and gives you one, two, three sweet kisses before rubbing his nose against yours. Good morning kisses, he calls them.

“If I didn’t know any better, Agent Pike, I’d say you were jealous.” You raise your eyebrow at him in suspicion. He lets out a huff and gives you a curt nod.

“You better believe I was jealous,” he scoffs as he grabs your left hand and plays with the ring on your finger. “Had to teach that kid a lesson.”

You laugh at your fiancé and tug him closer by his tie. “Oh? And what lesson was that?”

“That the beautiful owner of the café he frequents is going to be married in...” he trails off and takes a look at the date on his watch, “in two weeks.”

“I don’t know how much of a lesson that is, baby, but you’re cute when you’re jealous.” You shake you head and try to escape his grasp but you both end up in a fit of giggles as he traps you in his arms again.

Marcus rests his head on top of yours and sighs, enjoying the feel of you in his arms. “Sorry I’ve been working such late hours,” he apologizes, “we live together and I feel like I haven’t seen you all week. I miss you.” By the time Marcus gets out of the office he races home only to find you fast asleep in bed. You’ve been covering the morning shift lately since one of your employees has been out on maternity leave so you’ve been leaving the house before he gets up.

“I miss you too, but it’s okay,” you say as you ghost your fingers over the dark circles under his eyes. “You haven’t been sleeping well,” you note.

“Just miss you is all,” he repeats. He looks up and you see a small smile creep up on his face. “These are new,” he jerks his chin at your small collage of photos.

You turn to look at the collage of photos and nod your head. “Yes! I got them the other day. You look so handsome I had to put some up.” A few of your engagement photos decorate the walls. You and Marcus weren’t planning on doing anything formal but one of your friends insisted to take photos of you two and you’re glad that you did. The particular photo you’re both looking at is your favorite. Your friend had told you both to look at the camera, and while you are, Marcus is looking down adoringly at you.

“You’re beautiful, Mrs. Pike,” he teases you with your future name.

“Two weeks,” you insist. “But if I had it my way, I would have been Mrs. Pike when you proposed months ago,” you pout. And it’s true, you had wanted to get married the day after Marcus proposed but he reasoned with you, knowing how important it was for you to have your friends and family there. You ultimately agreed, knowing he was right.

Marcus grabs a muffin from the counter and pours himself a cup of coffee before the both of you walk back to the front.

“You owe me five dollars,” Amy says, holding her hand out in front of Marcus. He chuckles and slaps the money into her hand.

“What happened?” You ask.

“I bet Marcus that guy was going to leave right after you guys disappeared. Marcus thought he’d at least finish his breakfast. Poor guy high tailed it out of here and forgot his umbrella.” Amy shrugged as she walked over to clear the table.

“You guys!” You chastise as you shake your head.

“Hey,” Marcus says with his hands up pleading innocence. “At least I thought he’d stay a while.”

“My goodness,” you say exasperated but smile at him, letting him know you weren’t mad. “You two are insufferable.”

“And that’s why you love us,” Amy resolves. “Well, that’s why you love me, anyway. Still trying to figure out why you’re marrying that one.”

You catch Marcus making a face at her and you just shake your head. Marcus tugs your hand lightly and leads you to the front door.

“I’m hoping I get out on time today, we’re just wrapping things up,” he shares as he wraps his arms around you in one more embrace. You inhale deeply, allowing the smell of his cologne and rain invade your senses.

“Don’t work yourself too hard, I’d like to marry my fiancé soon. Alive and well, preferably,” you tease. “I’m taking the day off tomorrow so I’ll be able to wait up,” you give him a wink and he grabs your waist a little tighter.

“Promise?” He asks, hopeful. A boyish grin appears on his face, his single dimple becoming prominent and he brings out his pinky between you.

You wrap your own pinky around his before bringing your hands to your lips for a kiss.

“Promise.”

Tag list:

@momc95 @electricprincess888 @maia-hocane @lamnothome @highonsoundwaves @tedpicklez @renreypoe @mabelleen @cryptkeepersoul @holamor @mando-vibes @lustriix @katialvi @spookyold-saintjm @sarcasm-n-insomnia @awesomefandomsunited @sentimental-ghost @mrsparknuts @oloreaa @sunkissed-winter @tiffdawg @keeper0fthestars @randomness501

And tagging @pedropascalito, @songsformonkeys and @ryleyrooroo because I thought you guys might like this :)

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or taken off this list!

[princesssarcastia]

yes, ghosts CAN time travel, actually, don’t be such a Richard, Klaus

titled “frozen time between hearses and caskets” in my fic folder, aka idea #3 from my poll two weeks ago on which Umbrella Academy Season 2 fic I should write.  vague vibes also from this poem which I adore; “I AM TIRED OF RE-WRITING TRAGEDY WITHOUT CHANGE. LET THEM LIVE. LET THEM LEARN. LET THEM LOVE.”  Because let people grow, goddammit.

this mess to follow is dedicated to @levhach, the only respondent to my poll.  I hope you enjoy!  also dedicated to Klaus’ genuine kindness and empathy for others in season 1, may it rest in peace.

                                        —————————

“Well, unfortunately, ghosts can’t time travel,” Klaus says, playing at exasperated and put-upon.

“Klaus, don’t be an asshole,” Ben intones from the corner of the room, but Klaus can hear the edge of desperation in his voice. 

It’s been years since either of them could even lay eyes on their siblings, let alone speak to them. When Allison appeared at the edge of that pool, it was like heroin; that kind of emotional high could be addictive, if he let it, and he would know.  Seeing and being seen are kind of important, apparently.

Nobody ever sees Ben but Klaus.

Except for three years ago, in Vanya’s theater.

Klaus heaves a sigh, letting his shoulders rise and fall.  “Oh, fine, you big baby.” He throws up his hands as they take on a distinctly blue hue.

And the whole room…stops.

“Ben,” someone says, or maybe they all say it, and then Diego is in front of their dead teenaged brother and clutching desperately at his stupid leather jacket, and Ben is clutching back and crying. 

He sighs again, for real this time, and lets them have this moment.  Even Five seems swept up in the emotion of it all, hovering just on the edge of the crowd with his hands stuffed in his pockets and a constipated look on his face.

“So that’s our brother?” Vanya says from right behind him, jesus christ!

“God, we should have put a bell on you,” Klaus says.  “Yeah, that’s Ben.”

“Ben,” Vanya draws out his name, like she’s trying it out, and Klaus glances back at her.  There’s a hint of some je ne sais quoi, a glimmer of confused grief, in her eyes—like she wants to cry with no idea why, or how.

Vanya, who got teary when they stepped on ants as kids, went berserk and killed the whole world…and then conveniently forgot all about it.  Hmm. Klaus has some ideas about that, personally, but he sees no need to share with the class; in his experience, people will remember terrible shit in their own time.  Trying to force it will only set her off again.

Plus, he’s not nearly drunk enough for that conversation, even after a morning of margaritas with Allison, who’s turned into a wonderful enabler.

Ben finds him briefly from the center of their little gaggle of siblings, seemingly content with more attention than he’s had in decades.

“I missed you all,” he hears Ben say, and watches their dead brother look at Vanya with grief that isn’t confused at all.

—

They stumble out of Allison’s house, away from her lovely husband—really, Klaus can’t even begin to explain how hard it is to find a partner willing to hide a body for you—and straight into the car Klaus sped over here in.  Diego, of course, insists on driving, but Allison is still upset over Raymond and Klaus can’t be bothered, so it works out.

Ben calls shotgun and Klaus automatically pulls Allison into the backseat with him.

“I just,” Allison clears her throat, “Vanya?”

“Again?  What are the odds, am I right?”  Klaus jibes, and flinches dramatically away from Allison when she elbows him.

“Last time, it was Luther and the rest of you morons that set her off.  But none of us have seen her since she left after the dinner from hell, so it couldn’t have been one of us.”

“What is she even doing in the federal building in the first place?”  Ben asks.

Klaus hums, “good point, Ben,” and relays it to the others.

He can hear the leather steering wheel creak as Diego tightens his grip.  “I don’t—I’m not sure, I was moving pretty quickly to avoid getting caught at Headquarters.”

“But?”  Allison prompts when he doesn’t continue.

“But,” Diego’s jaw tightens, “I think she got arrested.  By the FBI?”

“The FBI?” Klaus screws up his face.  “Who the hell—Allison, did you get her involved with the SJCC in the, what, ten minutes we were all together?”

“No, no I didn’t.  But…I mean, someone named Vanya with memory loss in 1963 when the president is in town…” Allison trails off, like the words she emphasized will make some sort of sense when put together.

“They think she’s a communist spy,” Diego says flatly.

“Oh!”  Klaus exclaims.  “Oh,” he repeats, when that sinks in.  “Oh, that—that won’t be good.”

“No, it won’t,” Ben agrees.

Silence fills the car like Agent Orange, and Klaus is just choking on all the implications.

—

His ears haven’t rung like this since helicopters and machine guns and Dave and medic!  I need a fucking medic!, but Klaus foists the memory back into the arms of his subconscious because now’s not the time for a panic attack, goddammit. 

Allison and Diego are saying something, but he can’t quite hear them; it’s hard to focus with wave after wave of energy flowing into him and into him, into that terrible void he doesn’t like to think about and in fact has spent his whole life drowning out. The energy Vanya is pulsating through the federal building feels like nails on the chalkboard of his soul. 

“Question, guys,” he interrupts, “Who are we trying to save Vanya from, again?”

“The FBI,” Diego, Allison, and Ben all say together, and in the same you’re-an-idiot-Klaus tone of voice, too, isn’t that adorable.

Joke’s on them, he’s about to say something relevant. “But if they’re all sucking ceiling right now, why hasn’t she stopped?”

All the bodies scattered about with their eyes burnt out of their skulls is a pretty graphic kind of horrific, even for Klaus, who’s seen pretty much every kind of dead body there is.

Actually…

Klaus waves to get Ben’s attention.  The others turn to look at him and Klaus ignores them.  “Why aren’t there any ghosts?” He shouts, hands still tight around his ears.

Not Ben, though.  He’s just standing there, arms at his sides, like Vanya’s energy isn’t on quite the same wavelength for him as it is for the rest of them.  “I don’t,” he frowns, “yeah, that is weird.  Can’t you feel that, though?”

Klaus hesitates, then nods back, refusing to explain to Allison and Diego when they make encouraging gestures.  There’s no way to articulate it to them, anyway, not in time for them to understand what it means that Vanya can affect his connection with Ben.  That Vanya can, apparently, banish the other ghosts, the ones Klaus isn’t anchoring here in the land of the living.

Pressure is building in too-tight air, like a balloon pushed to the brink of bursting.  According to Diego, Vanya will defrost the Cold War in another fifteen, maybe twenty minutes or so. 

“Can Ben go find out what’s going on with her, then?”  Diego shouts at him, and Klaus looks at Ben, who nods and strolls down the hallway more easily than they could, but it feels…weird.  Something in his chest tightens, in that same place Vanya’s reaching and Klaus doesn’t like to be aware of it the way he’s forced to be right now.

God, he wants a drink.

It takes almost five minutes for Ben to get there and back, and Klaus feels the blood drain out of his face when he gets a look at Ben’s expression.

“They hooked her up to some kind of generator.  Klaus, the readout says it’s up to a thousand volts,” Ben says quickly.  “She’s seizing pretty violently; I don’t think she even knows what she’s doing.”

Klaus lets out a blistering string of curses, the kind Sarge would be proud of—come to think of it, Klaus probably learned it from Sarge. 

“What, what is it?” Allison shouts, leaning in and trying to look where he’s looking, where Ben stands, intangible and desperate.

“They’re torturing her!” Klaus shouts back.

“So, this is some kind of defense mechanism?” Diego adds his two cents, though Klaus doesn’t think the what of this is really relevant right now.

“We have to go turn it off,” Klaus darts to look at Allison and Diego and then back at Ben.  Pressure keeps building in his ears, against his skin, in his brain, in his soul.  How the hell are we going to get back there?  He’s pretty sure they won’t even be able to stand, let alone walk a hundred and fifty feet.  They’ll pop like grapes before they reach the halfway point.

Allison and Diego are shouting something else, now, but it doesn’t matter, because Klaus is looking at Ben and Ben is looking at him and Vanya is reaching that point inside him that anchors Ben, even from all the way back here, and Vanya’s going to blow up this building with them inside it and start World War III and they can’t reach her but Ben can.

Ben can.

He shivers.

Seventeen plus years together means Klaus knows exactly what Ben is thinking, because he’s thinking it, too.

“Are you sure?” He leans into Ben’s space, and Ben crouches down so they’re eye to eye.

“I’m sure,” Ben says easily, like this is easy, god, what a prick.

Something twists in his chest, and he can’t tell if it’s Vanya or his own stupid feelings.  “No take-back-sies this time, mein bruder. If we do this—”

“We?” Ben raises his eyebrows and smirks.

“Oh, please, this is at least forty percent me and you know it,” Klaus narrows his eyes petulantly. 

His brother shifts weight he doesn’t have back onto his heels, freeing his hands to rise in front of him, palms toward Klaus.  “You remember the first time we tried this?”

“We?” Klaus mocks, but takes his own hands off his ears and presses them into Ben’s, letting that peculiar shade of blue envelop both their hands.  Not quite visible, not quite tangible, but it’s power.  Parts of Klaus flow into Ben like Vanya’s energy waves are crashing into everything around him, twining with the anchor between them until it’s a constant stream Ben can feed off of.

He sucks in a shuddery breath and blows out a shaky one.  Allison and Diego are staring at him, wide-eyed, but he keeps ignoring them in favor of Ben.

“Do you think she’ll remember me this time?” Ben asks, smiling at him in that soft way Klaus thought they’d agreed to stop doing years ago.  Rude!

Oh, what the hell. 

Klaus quirks a real smile at Ben and squeezes his hands.  “She’d better.”

—

“I remember everything.”

“Tell Klaus something for me, would you?”

—

fin.

[whump-town]

Family Fic

Kind of? I can’t seem to finish this and that kinda sucks so the ending is very abrupt but I just can’t with this fic for some reason. I don’t know where to end it. I can’t envision an ending. It kinda sucks but I do like certain parts so I don’t want it to just sit in my drafts so here you go:

“No.” Emily Prentiss and Aaron Hotchner are standing in front of a house that is very on fire. The house their UNSUB was supposed to be in. “Aaron,” her tone is a mix of a whine and an exhausted plea to leave this one stone unturned. “Please--” her shoulders drop as his eyes move away from hers and she knows what he’s going to do. “I hate this fucking--” the heat is like a punch to the face.

She loses him to the smoke the second she enters the house. Her lungs crack and burn, she can’t hear him bent over exhaling the smoke in thick coughs, but she can hear her own wheezing coughs. The smoke stings her eyes, and every instinct she possesses screams for her to get out.

“Hotch!” Despite her training-- everything she’s learned as a profiler and a spy--, she’s panicking. She can’t hear anything over the roaring flames around her, and while she is no immediate danger while she stands, it worries her more not to know what kind of situation Hotch has put himself into as well.

God Garcia is going to kill them.

She hears something hit a wall, it’s a very distinct noise. 

A Hotch noise.

She shouts his name but her voice is lost to her own ears. Pushing past the fear weighing down her chest, she steps closer to the sound. It takes a moment to work through the smoke but she finds the door to the other room and makes out two figures. One of the figures, long and slimmer than the other, falls and hits the ground. The bigger one, wide shoulders and biceps the size of her head, leans down over the other, and starts hitting it. 

It takes her a moment to realize Hotch is a pretty big guy but he’s got a runner’s thin frame. There’s no way he’s the man on the top doing the punching.

“Hey!” She raises her gun, the metal burning her palms. Her brain is going a mile a minute. Will her gun blow up in her hands? Is it too hot? “Hey--” she realizes it’s either she stands and watches as Hotch is beaten to death or she risks whatever the heat has down to her gun. 

Well… the good news, the gun doesn’t blow up in her face.

The bad news?

Hotch is a heavy son of a bitch.

With her fingers hooked underneath his vest, she pulls with all her might. The air is thin and each breath she pulls in is exhaled in quick, wheezing coughs. Hotch owes her so badly. They’re past a coffee or a breakfast muffin. The man owes her his firstborn child. Actually, she does love Jack. Right now, she loves Jack way more than she loves this limp pretty eyed, high cheekbone having--

Get a grip, Emily. 

Right. 

When she hits the door, she pulls with all her might and collapses onto the porch. On her back, wheezing as she looks up at the sky she really hopes Hotch made a call to the others. She has a faint memory of him radioing in to inform Dave and the others that the entire house was on fire but she also thought she saw her dad standing at the door a moment ago so she’s not sure she can trust her brain at the moment. 

“Hotch?” She doesn’t get up, just vaguely kicks at where she’d dropped him. She connects with his chest, she can feel his vest take the brunt of her kick. “Hotch, next time you run into a burning building… I promise you, I’m leaving you in there.”

Her reply is a pained grunt as he sits up and vomits on the porch.

She remains on her back, eyes closed, and shakes her head. Reaching up, blindly, she pats his back. “Let it out, big guy.” She grimaces as he gags more, swaying as he empties his stomach. After a minute, she starts to get a little worried. He just keeps puking. 

She sits up, fighting a hitch in her own stomach at the sudden movement. “Are you still--” aside from the queasy feeling that settles over her, she’s filled with immediate unease. “That’s not good.” 

Hotch looks over at her, on his hands and knees and sweat dripping down his brow and rolls his eyes. “You don’t say,” he grumbles, coughing into his elbow. “Did you call the others?” 

She shakes her head, “you didn’t call them before?”

Hotch spits, trying and failing to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth. With a grunt, he lays down beside her. Sighing, he closes his eyes. “They’re on their way,” he says, “I called them before I-- Well before I ran into the house.” Admittedly, that was a bad call on his part. 

Emily shakes her head, “I can’t believe you did that. Did you at least warn them about your bad idea or are they going to be as surprised as I was?”

Hotch grimaces. World Worst Boss. “If it makes you feel any better,” he turns to look at her, “my right shoulder is out of the socket and I can’t feel my fingers.”

She scowls at him, “no.” She sits up, “no, of course, that doesn’t make me feel better!” From her new vantage point, she can now see the storm of cars making their steady advancement towards them. “Shit,” she mumbles. “You have to get up. We have to get off this porch before Dave sees us.”

Dave.

Damn, he’d forgotten about Dave.

They get up-- he staggers and Emily catches him against her body. It takes all of her strength to keep them both on their feet but with a moment’s time, he rights himself once again. Entangled, both leaning heavily into the other, they face David Rossi Italian wrath.

“I-I don’t--” Hotch doesn’t dare raise his voice above a whisper as Dave gets closer. 

He’s laying into them, that much is clear. However, Hotch knows a handful of Italian phrases, and besides the obvious “stupid” and what Hotch thinks is the Italian equivalent of a jackass he’s completely lost. 

They stand and wait out the anger knowing that he’ll be quick to forgive once he realizes they’re both a little worn down. 

“You do realize you’re not fireproof, right?” The sudden switch to English is startling but it prompts Hotch back to the present. The black swarming his vision falls away for a moment and he’s able to see Dave. 

Dave keeps talking but Emily is aware of the Hotch’s unsteady swaying has turned to a dangerous lean. “Hotch,” her attention completely leaves Dave and the older man makes an annoyed huff before seeing what Emily does. “Hotch!”

She just… she knows right before his knees give out from beneath him. 

Desperation. She feels hopeless as she kneels on the ground beside him.

“Hotch?” His cheek is clammy against the palm of her hand. Cold when it should be hot. They just ran out of a burning building. She just pulled him out of fire, he should be hot. Warm to the touch. “Hotch, please answer me!” 

Arms wrap around her shoulders and she’s lifted to her feet, physically moved away from him. She recognizes the arms, knows it’s Morgan, but she still fights with everything she’s got to get away from him. “No!” She kicks out but she doesn’t land a solid blow. 

“No, Morgan!” Her fight dies as the paramedics load Hotch onto a stretcher. He’s too still but she can see his breath fogging up the oxygen mask on his face. He’s limp but he’s alive. “Morgan, please.” She’s pulled him out of a fire, the least they can let her do is go with him.

At the door of the ambulance, just as Emily’s becoming desperate, the paramedics turn and motion her to them. “She needs to get checked out.”

She has the whole ride to think about her actions. What they mean. What they looked like. 

It’s a distraction, a way to push her mind away from Hotch’s worsening breathing and the way he writhes on the bed. Out of his mind in pain they haven’t identified a single source to. 

He reaches for her.

She pulls away. 

“Garcia is going to be so mad at you,” she deflects. If that’s not the understatement of the year… She wants to be cross with him. More than anything, she wants to look at him right now and feel something other than the intense desire to pull him into her arms and not let go. Which seems pretty… non-platonic despite her best attempts to be strictly friends.

So, she tells herself that she feels nothing.

Nothing. 

She feels nothing.

Underneath the oxygen mask that he keeps getting dirty looks for talking off, he hoarsely replies, “if I manage to get home. Dave’s likely to kill me first.” He shuts his eyes, body tensing as the gurney he’s laid out on moves and jostles his dislocated shoulder. His skin is cold and clammy and he’s certain that if they don’t knock him out soon he’s just going to pass out.

A nurse notes his obvious distress and places her hand on his good shoulder. “Agent Hotchner,” she calls until he manages to open his eyes. “Just a little while longer, sweetheart.” They just need to get him through the x-rays and she can get a line of saline and painkillers pumping into his system. She just needs him to hold out a little while longer.

He makes a sound, a congested wet sound. “His oxygen is falling,” the nurse notes. Her tone doesn’t give away the urgency of her statement. Emily can feel the urgency shift. Before they were just federal agents. The scuffling shoes all moving along pick up speed and Emily’s stomach ties itself into an awful knot.

Hotch’s lips pale as his wheezes grow in intensity. He writhes on the bed, blinking rapidly. 

“Hotch,” Emily calls, letting her fear get the better of her. This time she takes his hand but he’s limp. “Aaron!”

The last thing she hears as he’s pushed away is a cry of distress.

“We’ve lost his airway!”

--------------------------

He spends three days in the hospital.

She doesn’t see him once.

“He’s been asking for you,” Dave informs her from behind a well placed magazine. The pages obscure his face, leaving her with only his judging tone. His implication. “Funny,” he adds, “he stopped once they took him off the heavy stuff.” 

Emily huffs at that. She knows exactly why that might be-- drugs cloud the part of Hotch’s brain that makes him afraid of the comfort he seeks. She keeps that to herself. “I wonder why,” she plays off cooly, sitting herself down beside Dave.

He turns his head, frowning at her, but doesn’t say anything. It’s a very “dad” kind of frown and she takes the hint that he, also, knows exactly why it is that Hotch would ask for her, of all people. Then again, if he hasn’t got the balls to call her out on it. She’s not going to tell him.

“Hey, princess,” Morgan greets as he makes his way down the hall. He smiles at her before turning his attention to Rossi. “They’re fighting him into a wheelchair right now,” he informs Rossi. “I figured it would be better to come get you. He’s less likely to…”

Emily smirks, “be a raging asshole to Dave?” 

Morgan smiles and nods, “essentially.”

Rossi huffs at that, shaking his head. It’s true. David Rossi has poured that kid-- well, not a kid anymore-- into more hospital wheelchairs than he cares to count. Hotch has been a trouble magnet since the day he joined the BAU. However, while he knows exactly how to navigate the ‘tude that Hotch is going to send his way he also knows one person who will get substantially less. “Send Emily.”

Morgan and Emily’s head both snap towards him, their smiles replaced by confused frowns.

Dave goes back to the magazine, “he’s going to be an ass either way. So long as we don’t send Derek in there, it doesn’t matter who goes in.” He shrugs, “besides, I don’t want to.”

Morgan huffs a little, looking at Emily like ‘can you believe this?’. Except, she can. Of course, she can.

“I guess it’s gotta be you then princess.”

Great. 

She hasn’t seen him in three days but he still looks the same. Actually, he’s strangely more attractive. 

His facial hair has grown out, leaving a peppered half-beard on his face. His light brown eyes are bloodshot, it’s hard to tell if that’s from his lack of sleep or the smoke. But he’s whole and he’s breathing on his own. 

“You look like shit,” she informs him, crossing her arms and leaning back against the wall opposite of him. They’ve taken his shoes (probably Morgan), leaving him to wear the socks the hospital provided. They’re an ugly beige color but she knows they’re comfortable. It’s a perk of the job how many hospital socks they get. 

He grunts, not looking up from where he’s bent his body to lean his forehead into his palm. His elbow resting on the wheelchairs arm. He rubs once more along his temples before looking up, a grimace pulling his lips down. Whatever pain meds they’ve got him on aren’t doing the job. “I see you’ve come with your best attitude, Agent Prentiss.”

She pushes herself away from the wall, rolling her eyes. “I pull your heavy ass out of a burning building and I get Agent Prentiss?” She positions herself behind him, kicking the locks on the back. “How was your visit, Agent Hotchner? Did any hot nurses give you a sponge bath?”

He huffs a chuckle, it tapers at the end a hiss of discomfort at his arms curls around his sore ribs.

She’s leaning over the wheelchair to push him, her nose close to the back of his head. He still smells like smoke and not at all like his cologne. It makes a nasty feeling swirl in her stomach-- her mind wandering to the sight of him on the gurney. Struggling to breath. 

“You alright,” she asks, softly. They’re not in the hall yet so there’s a good chance he might tell her the truth.

Slowly, he lets out a soft pained grunt and leans back into the wheelchair. One arm pinned to his chest by a sling, the other remains protectively held to his side. “I’m okay,” he manages after a second, even a nod. “I just… I want to go home.”

With a grunt she pushes him forward, “I couldn’t agree more.”

It takes two hours to get loaded onto the jet. 

She spends the car ride to the airport listening to Hotch and Morgan argue over whether or not it’s going to be “physically demanding” for Hotch to put on a pair of shoes. Hotch refuses to walk around in socks. Morgan only makes it worse by insinuating that without his help Hotch isn’t going to be getting much of anywhere. 

Fortunately, the two end the argument with childish huffs and turn away from one another. Emily was at the brink of pulling the car over and yelling at the both of them. 

From then on, there seems to be an unspoken understanding that Emily is to dictate things between Hotch and the other’s. 

“Give him the shoes,” she says, arms crossed and a perfect scowl placed on her face. She raises an eyebrow, daring Morgan to say anything. 

With his shoes, Hotch is far less combative. 

“Let Morgan help you,” Emily asks. “The last thing we need is to send you back to the hospital because you got a concussion bouncing your head off of asphalt.” She keeps her frown in place, knowing it’s what keeps her at the top of their alpha-male food chain. Besides, she likes to think they’re a little afraid of her.

“You’re a natural,” JJ comments, both of them watching the men limp their way up the stairs to the jet.

Emily rolls her eyes, “I’m just really good at dealing with dumbas-- HEY!” She points her fingers at the pair, “Derek stop being an ass and Hotch stop being a baby and let him help.” With a shake of her head she looks back to JJ. She rolls her eyes, “men.”

It takes everything she has to convince Hotch to sleep on the jet and to leave the paperwork for another time. Which really means she takes the paperwork from him and tells Reid that if Hotch gets his hands on the pens she’s hiding in his messenger bag it’s Reid’s ass. She doesn’t push it by making him lay on the couch, where he would be more comfortable. He does fall asleep though. His head crammed between the headrest of his chair and wall but he’s out enough that she’s able to wrap a blanket around his shoulders.

He’s asleep when Garcia calls to give him a proper tongue lashing. Her anger melts quickly at the sight of him. 

How is she supposed to be mad when he’s bundled up like a grumpy burrito?

He wakes up once or twice, mostly just to squint around him and grumble nonsense to himself. Each time Emily looks up from her book and pats his thigh or his arm until he settles back down. Just like a baby. He’s still groggy when they land making it much easier to pack him into her car and take him home. 

She feels weird about leaving him at his apartment. All alone. “Are you sure--” she doesn’t want to push him but she doesn’t want him to overexert himself either.

Hotch shakes his head, “I’ll take the elevator.” He looks up at the building, “and Jack will probably end up sleeping in my bed, tonight. I won’t be alone.”

She frowns, she can’t exactly argue against that. “Okay but you’ll text if you need anything?”

He nods. Jack knows what to do if anything happens. Besides, she’s his speed dial so it’s no problem. 

“Okay,” she relents. “Don’t do anything stupid?”

He smirks, “like run into a burning building?”

She nods, “exactly like that.” 

He hesitates to shut the door, mouth open but he’s not sure what he wants to say so he offers her a tight smile before shutting the door behind him. He takes off towards the building, knowing she’s going to wait for him to disappear into it before pulling off. 

He just can’t wait to be home. 

Hotch closes his eyes the second the apartment door behind him slides shut. The faint smell of Johnson’s baby lotion greets him with the familiarity of a warm hug. When he opens his eyes, he’s got something even better waiting. Standing in front of him, their toes lined up, Jack is squirming with the anticipation of his father’s attention. 

“Hey daddy,” the toddler greets with a toothy grin.

He’s exhausted. Good and proper he can barely stand exhausted. He kicks his shoes off at the door, smiling when Jack reaches between them and grabs his suit sleeve. “I’m not going anywhere, buddy,” he rasps, voice still recovering from the smoke inhalation. “I promise.”

Jack nods his understanding but doesn’t release Hotch. His little grip stays firm as Hotch sets his go-bag down and attempts to get out of his jacket. Adamantly, Jack lets go of his sleeve and grabs hold of the belt loop of his pants. Hotch understands that tonight is going to be a clingy night, probably spent with the two of them in his bed. 

“Will you watch toons with me?”

Honestly, he couldn’t think of a better plan himself. “Yeah,” he smiles, “let’s watch some toons.” He stops to toss some pills into his mouth, most are for infection and muscle something but at least one is supposed to be the pain he’s trying very hard to not let ruin his mood. 

When he gets to the couch, all he wants is to curl up and sleep. He can’t be certain why but he doesn’t even think twice. Hotch lays his head in Jack’s lap, looking up his son. Jack’s attention is on the cartoons on the TV, reruns of MickeyMouse ClubHouse Hotch let him save to the DVR last winter. One of his little hands is in Hotch’s hair, softly patting it down the way Hotch does to put Jack to sleep. The other hand is holding Hotch’s shirt, keeping him there. 

After a moment, Jack frowns down at him, “you stink.”

Hotch huffs a laugh. Jack’s often brutal when it comes to the truth. Rossi always reminds him that there’s really only one person he could have gotten that from. With a smile he repeats, “I… stink?” He’d suffered through the humiliation of a sponge bath the day before and he’s wearing deodorant so he doubts it’s that bad.

Jack nods, “yeah.” He leans down, eyes still on the TV, and sniffs Hotch’s hair. He crinkles his little nose, “smell funny.”

“Oh,” Hotch mumbles. “I smell funny?”

Jack nods and turns his attention back to the cartoon. Hotch just lays and watches his son smile at the TV. Jack keeps playing with Hotch’s hair. Occasionally, he looks down and pulls the thick strands into weird directions. 

“Aaron?” Jessica comes into the living room, he’d forgotten about her. She smiles at the sight of them, leaning down to kiss both their foreheads. “You boys okay or should I stay the night?” She’s already collected her things, purse in hand. 

Hotch shakes his head, “we’ll be okay, won’t be Jack?”

Jack nods, he wraps both his arms around his father’s head. “I’ll protect us,” he reassures Jessica with a nod of his head. 

Both adults share a laugh before Jessica taps Hotch’s shoulder. “I wonder where he’d get that from?” They share a soft smile… both thinking of Haley. “Well, be good Aaron. I don’t want any phone calls from Jack telling me you’ve been misbehaving.”

Jack gets a kick out of this idea, “yeah daddy.”

Hotch smiles, “I’ll be on my best behavior.” Jessica’s just shut the door behind herself when Hotch’s phone goes off. Jack tenses but Hotch ignores the call for a moment to reassure Jack that he’s not leaving. The team might be called out but there’s no way a doctor is letting him anywhere near the field right now.

“Look,” he shows Jack the contact photo. “It’s just Pops, you wanna answer it?”

Jack eagerly takes the phone, “Pops!”

Hotch looks up, watching.

“Jack!” Rossi greets. “Is your daddy around?”

“Uh-huh! We’re watching toons!” Jack smiles down at Hotch and Hotch smiles back. “Mickey!”

Rossi hums, “oh you’re watching MickeyMouse? Well, I’m sorry to have interrupted that.”

Jack keeps grinning, “ ‘s okay because daddy promised he wouldn’t leave.”

“Oh did he?” Rossi 

--------------------------

Jack Hotchner spent his afternoon being chased around the back yard by Uncle Derek. His happy laughter blending in with Henry’s, the other boy’s equal excitement coming from his Godfather’s endless magic tricks. The boys gorged on hotdogs, watermelon, Capri-suns, and ice cream- all provided by their Papa. Who, as of last time either Hotch or JJ inquired, was their favorite person ever.

“Hey, buddy.” 

Judging by the little tears swelling up in Jack’s eyes right now, Hotch makes the safe assumption that he has found himself at the bottom of the list of Jack’s favorite people. He bends down, squatting so that he’s the same height as the five-year-old. “Buddy,” he cups his son’s cheek, wiping away his fat tears with his thumb. “What’s wrong?”

Jack sniffles, miserably, taking his little fist and rubbing at his tired eyes. “You lefted me,” he sobs, batting Hotch’s hand away so that he can step closer. Jack leans into Hotch’s chest, pressing his face into his father’s neck and wrapping his arms around him. 

Hotch scoops him up, smiling tightly to JJ and Prentiss who’s attention Jack’s soft hiccups have drawn in. He doesn’t have to say it for them to know why Jack is clingy. Besides being exhausted from a hard day of play, there’s still a small part of Jack that remembers George. The man that hurt daddy and killed mommy. 

He lowers his gaze, flush creeping up his neck. He can remember, vividly, the night Jack told him about the sound of the gun going off. That he’d known, somehow, that mommy was dead but that it was okay because he knew daddy was coming to the rescue.

“He remembers Dave.” His breath came in quick, rapid session over the phone. He had to tell someone, to make this helpless feeling go away. “Fuck,” his chest ached and, voice no louder than a whisper, Dave could hear the panic laced into his tone. “He heard it. He heard Foyet-”

But that was back when they, rightfully, thought he was coming unhinged. Losing his grasps on life… 

He’s… better now. There’s no other options available. 

He’s better now. He may not be the best at this single dad thing but he’s doing better than his own father. Even if that means sitting up all night when storms roll in because thunder and lightning sound like gunshots to five-year-olds. Every year explaining to Jack’s teacher’s that Hotch’s family is not in their lives and that Haley’s own doesn’t extend past an aunt and a grandfather. 

“Did daddy leave you,” Dave steps up. His cigar snuffed out but his chilled drink sloshing around in his left hand. He makes an exaggerated sad face when Jack nods with a pouty little frown, not out of mockery but empathy. To win the boy over. “Come to papa,” he offers, opening his arms to take Jack. 

Hotch does have a family, one that’s very present in his son’s life. Jack has papa, Aunt JJ, Aunt Penny, Uncle Weed, Miss Emily, and Uncle Derek. They’re just by no means conventional.

“It’s alright, Jack.” Emily comes up to play along too. She soothes a finger over his cheek, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Daddy is a big ol’ meany sometimes.” She shakes her head, fingers running through Jack’s soft hair. She’s not sure what Hotch uses on this boy’s head but he’s always had the softest hair. “We still love him though, don’t we?”

Jack peeks up over Rossi’s shoulder. He has this habit of playing with Hotch’s hair, the lower part near the base of his head. He takes the small strands and twists them in between his thumb and forefinger. He’s done since he was a baby. He does it now to Rossi’s hair, his eyes half-lidded. “Uh-huh.” 

Rossi rubs Jack’s back, a smirk on his lips. It’s crazy to think about the sheer number of times he’s had to convince Hotch that he’s a good dad. That all kids have tantrums, get grumpy, and need constant reassurance- just like Hotch, Rossi notes. Just like everyone. “Come on, bambino.” Rossi presses a kiss to Jack’s head, “Aunt Penny is making smores. What do you say, should we join her?”

“Hotch?” Will has the cooler open, offering Hotch a beer. Will had brought a six-pack of Heineken, knowing that Hotch wouldn’t bring any and that he wouldn’t drink unless pressured. JJ had made sure to remind both Derek and Will to attempt to at least get Hotch to drink two beers before the night’s end. Because they’re all supposed to be having fun and he needs to loosen up a bit.

Will raises that second beer up Hotch is torn. He can see the attention snap to him. 

“Sir,” Garcia calls from behind him. She’s not wearing heels so there’s no signature tap-tapping to give her rapid approach any warning. Just the hardly discernible sound of bare feet on the deck. “Lighten up,” she asks, with just the hint of sadness. She takes the back of her hand and lightly taps his shoulder. “Take the beer. Live a little. You deserve to have a good time too.”

Hotch swallows thickly. He doesn’t want to take the beer. Honestly, he’d rather drink a Capri-sun or one of those obnoxiously colored drinks Rossi kept steadily supplying Jack and Henry. Besides, Capri-suns won’t upset his stomach when he has to take his pain pills later. Not that he wants to but Emily had described them in great detail to Jack so he would know be very sad if Hotch doesn’t take them

“Do you all have no shame?” Emily comes up from behind them, having just made her way from the pool. Most likely seeking refreshments that aren’t alcohol. Her arm slings around Garcia’s neck and settling on them an unsurprised but nonetheless happy smile. She glances at Hotch, he earns a sympathetic smile. “Dave told them to leave you alone,” she informs him. 

Hotch looks sheepishly to the ground. To be fair, he didn’t want to come anyway. He’s got fair skin that stays hidden under a suit all day. As far as sunburns go, there’s nearly no way he’s getting off the beach without an intense burn. Not to mention he’s still pretty uncomfortable from the smoke inhalation, dislocated shoulder, and messed up ribs.

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: This isn’t a rom-com 8/17

Author’s note: Here we go people. I finally have a total of chapters for this and we’re just a little over half of this fic. I hope you’re all enjoying it and as always, feedback is greatly appreciated.

Wordcount: 3015

Warnings: some cursing; mentions and depiction of alcohol, drugs and inebriation.

Part 1 Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7

As Thursday approached, Keanu felt a mix of excitement and anxiety. It felt like this thing with Lilah had reached a breaking point where they would finally get some kind of definition. And maybe that was for the best because Keanu couldn’t deal with not knowing where he stood anymore. Every time he thought he knew what was going on between them, something would happen to throw him in a loop.

He had been so sure at first that Lilah didn’t see him as more than a friend, but all their conversations for the last couple of weeks had turned too flirty for Keanu to ignore. He knew he was partially responsible because he couldn’t help himself, but Lilah had started to respond to it more and more. And that kiss goodbye the other day? Dangerously close to his own lips. And after she had just paraded in front of him in only a towel? There wasn’t something you did when you were ‘just friends’ with someone.

Sure, Keanu knew she didn’t walk in front of him in a towel on purpose. The way she deliberately kept her gaze away from him as she pretty much dashed from the bathroom to her room told him as much, but it had been hard to ignore.

Keanu tried his best not to look, respect her privacy, but he was only human, and she took him by surprise. So he did get a very good look at all that gorgeous skin, still flushed from the shower and the way the towel barely covered her ass, before he could force himself to look away, his jeans suddenly a little tighter than before.

If only his problem was the physical attraction he felt towards him, Keanu would have been a happy man. Because he could deal with that and push it aside. Being actually in love with her was a lot harder to ignore. And if he was being completely honest with himself, Keanu wasn’t so sure if he wanted to. Even if ignoring it was probably the wise thing to do.

For a while now Keanu had played safe when it came to his personal life. A stark contrast to the man he had been in his twenties and early thirties. Back then, he had been a very impulsive guy. He saw something or someone he liked, and he would go after it and damn all the consequences.

Keanu still did that for his professional life. Picked projects that his agent advised against for being weird or outside the genre he was better known for and that didn’t really help his career. But Keanu would still do it just because he could. He hadn’t really done the same for his personal life in a while though and he had been mostly alright with that.

Sure, every once in awhile, it felt like something was missing, but Keanu had become quite good at turning a blind eye to it because he knew the moment he opened his heart to someone disaster would follow.

And maybe he was being irrational, but after everything he went through, Keanu really believed that it was wiser to tread carefully in the romantic aspect of his life. Keep his relationships short and light so no one could get hurt.

This really was the first time in a long time that he didn’t want to that. He didn’t want to ignore the ever-growing feeling in his chest; to push it aside and forget about i. Because Keanu was happy. Really happy. He was working on a project he loved, and he was spending time with someone that he really… And maybe it was a bad idea, but he wanted this so much that he was willing to be impulsive and reckless again. Just this once.

“You should tell her,” Kim declared after Keanu told her everything.

He had managed to avoid this conversation for a few days, but Kim had a way of catching him off guard and he ended up spilling his guts. There was a reason why she was his best friend after all.

“Kim…” Keanu trailed off with a sigh, because what excuse did he actually have not to do it at this point? “What if she’s not interested?”

“Then you’ll know and can move on. Either way, you have to know.”

Keanu rubbed his face, leaning his head back against the couch. He was still on his costume, even if they had wrapped up shooting for the day. He should be taking the suit back to Luca and heading out to meet Lilah, but he was hesitating, a little terrified of how this was going to go. But Kim was right. He needed to know.

“I gotta go.”

“Call me tomorrow. I want to know how it went.”

Keanu agreed before hanging up and finally going through the motions of showering and changing into his own clothes before heading out, running into Chad and Dave in the parking lot.

“Hey, we’re off to get a drink and discuss a few scenes. You’re up for it?” Dave invited.

“I can’t,” Keanu admitted with an embarrassed wince. “I-uh have a thing.”

Chad narrowed his eyes at him, lips drawing into a smirk.

“Does this ‘thing’ involve Lilah?” he asked, and Keanu could feel his nape getting warm. So were the tip of his ears. Chad snorted. “I fucking knew it! Where are you taking her?”

“I’m lost. Who’s Lilah?” Dave asked, looking from Chad to Keanu.

“This girl he’s being seeing,” Chad said before Keanu could even think about speaking. “Never wondered why he keeps grinning like an idiot every time his phone rings?”

“I don’t…” Keanu trailed off with a headshake because it was pointless to argue with Chad sometimes. Dave flashed a wide, knowing smile.

“Then have fun,” he said, walking backward toward their car. “Just don’t tire yourself out, ok? We need you in one-piece tomorrow morning bright and early.”

“Fuck you!” Keanu called out with a smile that was half-embarrassed, half-amused as he put on his helmet and took off for Brooklyn.

Keanu had never seen Novelsy this packed with some many people dressed in so many outrageous costumes, but from what Lilah had shared about the financial troubles the bookstore had been experiencing, this was probably a good sign.

It still made him uncomfortable because he really didn’t want to be recognized so he pushed his sunglasses up his nose, keeping his head down as he moved through the familiar aisles, searching for a glimpse of Lilah, but he hand no idea what she looked like since she didn’t really tell what her costume was.

He spotted Jean first, dressed in a regal medieval dress, her dark hair falling in elegant curls around her shoulders, her green eyes sparkled when she saw him, lips twisting into a smirk.

“What? No costume?”

“I’m dressed as a tired actor,” he joked, and she snorted. “Is Lilah here?”

“Yes.” There was a long pause and Keanu realized Jean wasn’t about to tell him where. “You’ll understand.” It was all she said before she took off to help a customer.

Keanu pulled out his phone and called Lilah, but the call was ignored and a second later he got a text with a photo, the cover of Romeo and Juliet. Grinning, Keanu headed down to classics, where he knew he would find the book. As soon as he reached the right aisle, his phone beeped again with a second picture. This time it was Scanner Darkly.

As he headed for the sci-fi and fantasy aisle he realized he was heading deeper into the bookstore and away from the rest of the public. Once again, as soon as he arrived at the right place, a new message arrived. This time it was a picture of The Shining.

He wasn’t sure if there was a horror section in Novelsy so that one took him a while longer to figure out, but he finally found it all the way in the back and there was where Lilah stood in a red overcoat, a yellow scarf around her neck and a red fedora hat.

“Where in the world is Carmen Sandiego?” he asked with a grin, moving closer to her and Lilah looked up with a wide smile and a faint color on her cheeks.

“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

“Don’t worry,” he said still towering over her despite her heels and Lilah had to tilt her face up to look at him. “I don’t mind chasing you.”

There was so much meaning behind those words and Keanu could see the way her eyes widened in surprise before Lilah drew in a deep breath and stepped even closer, her hand resting on his chest.

“But you caught me,” she whispered, her eyes bright and open and maybe a little hesitant but Keanu had no doubt what he was seeing on them. “So now what?”

Keanu caught her lips in a kiss. It was soft and slow and tentative. Just lips pressed together, but damn if it didn’t feel good. Her hand moved to his hair, fingers scratching his scalp gently and he sighed against her lips. He felt her smile before she tilted her head a little for a better angle, her fedora falling off, but neither of them cared.

Lilah pressed her tongue against his lips and Keanu parted them for her, letting her explore his mouth, enjoying how she tasted sweet and minty, before pushing forward too and she sighed contently against his mouth. His hands found their way to her back, pulling Lilah to him until their bodies were flushed together as the kiss turned a little more heated. As Keanu nipped teasingly on her bottom lip Lilah groaned softly, her grip on his hair tightening a little and he grunted, feeling arousal burning on the pit of his stomach.

They were so lost in themselves that the sound of someone clearing their throat made them jump apart like naughty children caught doing something wrong. Keanu glanced at the man standing there watching them both with a raised eyebrow and a barely contained smirk. Panic overtook Keanu for a second before he recognized Isaac under the heavy makeup, wig, and tight black corset.

“Unless you two want to be on the front page of every tabloid and gossip site in this city, maybe move this upstairs?” he asked, his gaze shifting from Lilah to Keanu.

Keanu glanced at her, noticing her swollen lips and the flush in her cheeks and he could only imagine how he must look like. They were lucky it was Isaac that caught him and not someone else.

Before they could reply, Isaac took off again leaving them behind to share a guilty look before laughter erupted from them.  Lilah covered her mouth with her hands, her eyes glowing with mirth and affection and Keanu didn’t think he had felt this happy in a long time.

“Maybe we should follow his advice,” Keanu said grinning and pulling her into his arms. Lilah wrapped hers around his neck but let out a small resigned sigh.

“I’d love to but I promised Jean I’d help out today.” She looked up at him through her lashes and it was the kind of gaze that promised so many unspeakable things and made Keanu want to have her against the nearest surface. “To be continued later?”

“Yes,” he agreed, stealing another hungry kiss before he stepped away from her keeping his back turned because he couldn’t be trusted to keep his hands to himself if he was looking at her.

To his frustration, later seemed didn’t seem to be coming anytime soon. At first, Lilah was busy helping customers and managing the costume contest with Jean. When that was finally over and Keanu thought they could head back to her apartment, Lilah reminded him of the Rocky Horror Picture Show singalong he agreed to go with her.

So instead of being alone with her like he really wanted Keanu was stuck in a bar in Brooklyn with bad lighting, peeling wallpaper, too-loud pop music and a crowd that was dangerously close to indecent exposure with their costumes.

He retreated to a table in the back as soon as they arrived, but he still had a good view of the stage and the main area of the bar as he nursed his beer and watched as people gathered in the dance floor, grinding against each other to music with too much autotune. For a moment he felt so damn old and wondered what the hell he was doing there. Then Lilah slid on the booth next to him, out of breath, cheeks flushed from alcohol and dancing and a bright, wide smile that he couldn’t help but return.

“They’re setting everything up,” she announced, voice a little slurred as she stole his beer and took a sip. “It’s gonna be terrible.”

“And that’s good?” he asked with a frown and Lilah giggled and nodded.

“For this terrible is the best.”

She settled a little more comfortably, pulling his arm around her shoulders, her back pressed against his side and Keanu smiled, kissing the top of her head. It was almost as if their kiss had lifted that unspoken barrier that existed between them until then and now Lilah felt comfortable with touching and hugging him all she wanted. Keanu had to admit he liked that very much.

When the singalong finally started, Keanu began to understand why terrible was great. He could tell everyone was wasted or high or both. They stumbled over the words and dance steps but just didn’t care. He found himself laughing and cringing along with Lilah as she sang to herself very offkey.

When the first notes of Time Warp started, she jumped to her feet and joined the group, dancing as uncoordinated as everyone else, but for some reason, it looked completely adorable to him the way Lilah moved completely off-beat regardless of Jean’s attempts of getting her into the right rhythm.

She stayed through I Can Make You a Man and Hot Patootie, but seemed ready to return to the table when Touch-a Touch-a, Touch Me started, but Jean caught her by the hand, pulling Lilah back and closer.

They sang and danced together, Lilah’s back pressed against Jean’s chest, as the pair ground together, Jean’s hands sliding down Lilah’s waist and hips, guiding her movement. It was intimate and sensuous, and Keanu felt suddenly out of breath, the room way too hot for his comfort.

He headed to the back exit, needing a moment to collect himself. Leaning against the wall of the alley he lit a cigarette, closed his eyes and breathed out shakily, trying will his arousal away, but the sight of Lilah was still seared into his brain. A moment later he heard the door creaking and when he turned his head to look, there was Lilah.

“You’re ok?” she asked. Even in the dim light of the alley, he could see her flushed cheeks and sweaty skin making her hair stick to her neck

“Yeah, just…” he showed her his cigarette and Lilah nodded, moving closer with unsteady steps. “How about you?”

“Just a little too hot,” she replied, gathering her hair up and exposing her nape to the cool night air.

Keanu pulled her closer to him so he could bend his head and blow on her heated skin, making Lilah shudder and giggle. She looked up at him, eyes hooded, bottom lip caught between her teeth as she gave him a heated look. Before his reasonable side could talk him out of it, Keanu kissed her.

He could feel Lilah grinning as he pressed into her mouth, tasting alcohol and lime in her tongue. Her hands came up his back, under his shirt, raking her nails up his spine and making him groan. All Keanu wanted was get lost in this, but his publicist would kill him if he was caught making out on a dark alley like he was back in his twenties.

Besides, Keanu wanted Lilah completely sober when they had sex so she could enjoy every second of it. He pulled back, chuckling when she tried to chase his lips.

“Let’s get you home,” he said and Lilah grinned wide.

“Good idea.”

“To sleep, Lilah,” he said, grinning at her pout. “You’re too drunk for this, sweetheart.”

She was still pouting when Keanu led the way back into the bar so he could gather their things and pay the tab, before leading her out again, through the main doors this time and hailed a cab. Her apartment was just a ten-minute walk, but between the heels and her inebriation, Keanu didn’t think it was wise to let Lilah walk.

As soon as she was on the backseat of the car, Lilah cuddled against his side, face buried on his chest as she mumbled something in Portuguese that he didn’t understand. Keanu chuckled affectionately at how clingy she was while drunk, hugging her close until the taxi pulled up in front of Novelsy.

Keanu carried her up the stairs and into the apartment and bedroom, not wanting to wake her up when she looked so peaceful. She didn’t even stir when he dropped her on the bed very ungracefully or when he took off her shoes and helped her out of the overcoat and scarf. He had no idea what had happened to her hat.

Lilah only showed signs of consciousness when he pressed a kiss on her forehead as he was getting ready to leave. She caught his hand, making Keanu pause and look at her.

“Stay,” she mumbled, her eyes barely open.

Keanu only hesitated for a second before he kicked off his boots, took off his wallet, phone and keys putting them on the bedside table and climbed in bed with Lilah. She shifted towards him, once again cuddling his side and mumbling those same words she said on the cab, making Keanu wonder that they might mean.

tbc

Go to part 9

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[hookedontaronfics]

Last Call - Part 2

Rating: Mature/Explicit Pairing: Taron x Reader Warnings: Cursing, Plenty of smut [Oral, Unprotected Sex] Find the first part HERE. A/N: Multiple readers requested a second part to my one-shot Last Call, so here it is! I truly hope you enjoy it! x

It hadn’t been a mistake, but you sure as hell regretted it. He hadn’t exactly been your first one-night stand, but the problem remained; you’d always been able to walk away before without much thought. Sleeping with Taron had been an entirely different experience. The problem, of course, was that you now couldn’t get him off your mind.

His charming smile was everywhere you looked, reflecting back to you in car windows as you passed them by on I-5, in the storefront windows as you hurried toward the Paramount, in every cute brown-haired, bright-eyed boy who tried to catch your eye. None of them were Taron, of course; you knew where he was at that very minute, still at the WaMu Convention Center, making his fans happy. You needed desperately hard to figure out a way to not miss him; that he’d gotten under your skin felt both dangerous and dizzying. You couldn’t, wouldn’t be seeing him again, so getting a grip on this little fascination of yours was of utmost importance.

You once again nodded your hellos to your hotel co-workers before taking your place at the bar. Your boss was thankfully not working tonight; you were grateful you’d be working with Dave because he’d not only keep things light-hearted and fun but he was also very gay - no temptations there. Still, since no one was at the bar at the moment, you pulled out your phone and started scrolling through the Taron Twitter feed. Most of what you saw there you regretted seeing; why anyone in their right minds would tweet some of that stuff was beyond you, but there was also a large cadre of respectful fans who had made it their mission to spread Taron’s merits far and wide. 

You were lost in the myriad of pictures when someone tapped you lightly on the shoulder; you nearly jumped out of your skin and banged your shin against the dishwasher. “Owww!” you groaned, rubbing it as you turned to greet your very tan, blonde-tipped co-worker. Dave could have been a California surfer for all his looks, but here he was in Seattle making drinks for the elites. He always said he stuck around because Seattle actually celebrated the LGBTQ lifestyle but personally, you figured he stuck around for his perpetually on again-off again relationship with Joe, the next-door cafe barista.

“Who’s that fine piece?” he asked, having looked over your shoulder at your phone as you’d been scrolling.

“He’s an actor,” you said a bit dismissively, but Dave just kept going on.

“Strong jawline, kind eyes, adorable smile, broad chest,” Dave said, before snapping his fingers. “Mmm, he’s that Kingsman kid, isn’t he? All grown up and ready to -”

“Dave!” you cut in. “Jesus. I get it, he’s hot as hell,” you laughed, your cheeks turning pink against your will.

“Noooo,” Dave said, his eyes going wide. “You slept with him?” he squealed, clapping his hands together.

“Oh my god, we’re not having this conversation right now,” you groaned. “How’d you know?”

“You have a tell, sweetheart, everyone does, it’s totally fine. We’ve only worked together for five years,” he smirked as you covered your face with your hands. “So how’d that happen?” he asked, wanting you to dish on the details. And normally you would, but something about this felt different, so you just mumbled something about helping an overly friendly drunk person up to his room and, well, straight into bed. 

Well, technically against the couch, but who was keeping score? You blushed again at the thought of last night, the sounds he’d made, the way he’d felt inside you- … you had to stop thinking that way or you were going to have a very uncomfortable shift being horny half the night.

“Anyways, Dave, he was drunk, he probably didn’t even remember it, and I’ll never see him again, so…” you trailed off as he looked at you sympathetically.

“Oh, honey, you liked this one, didn’t you?” he asked, and you nodded. There was no point in lying - it was probably written all over your face.

“Yes. No. I don’t know, Dave. He stood up to our shitty boss for me and was kind and thoughtful and he had absolutely no need to be any of those things to me,” you said, getting a far-off look in your eyes. “But it doesn’t matter!” you insisted again. “Let’s just get this work day over with,” you said, needing to focus on anything other than Taron.

Sundays always seemed to bring an interesting mix of clients, and the evenings were usually more laid-back too, so you let yourself ease into the flow of it, and truly enjoyed working with Dave, especially as he rattled on about his weekly sexploits, as he called them; there really was nothing TMI with Dave, but you didn’t mind. Your secrets were always safe with him, and he would always have your back.

“Oh, honey, don’t look now, but there is an absolute dreamboat at 9 o’clock,” Dave whispered in your ear as you were polishing water spots off a clean glass. Of course you were going to look, so you grabbed a rag and moved to that part of the counter, trying to look like you were inspecting a stain as you raised your gaze up - and nearly choked on your own spit when you saw Taron standing in the bar’s doorway, so obviously looking for you. You gave Dave a look and he gestured to you to “deal with it” before going to check up on your clients for you.

“Holy shit,” you said as Taron spotted you and started walking over, the cutest damn smile growing on his face. For just one moment you allowed yourself to get lost in that smile, the way it made his eyes scrunch up. He was dressed simply in black jeans and a black tee, the shirt sleeves tight around his biceps and highlighting them just so perfectly. Oh, he could hold you down with those muscles, you thought, before cringing slightly at that. Thinking those things would only get you hot and bothered with no way to remedy the situation.

“What are you doing here?” you asked when Taron finally got to the bar. He looked slightly confused at your cold reception; it wasn’t your proudest moment.

“You left me last night,” he said, not even a question, and you felt his gaze on you as you dropped yours down to the floor. “I woke up alone and I thought I could deal with that. But the thing is, I couldn’t stop thinking about you at all. You were on my mind all day. I took hundreds of pictures with other girls, but y/n, they weren’t you. I needed to see you again.”

“Well, here I am,” you said, holding out your arms before letting them drop to your side. “I don’t know what you want from me. You’re going back to London, I live here. This isn’t a romance,” you said quietly.

“Romance doesn’t have to last a lifetime. It can be just for a single day,” he replied. You looked up at him leaning against the bar, his gaze so earnest and vulnerable it took your breath away. “Why don’t you say we give it a chance?”

“I’m kinda at work…” you trailed off as Dave swung by you.

“No you’re not. It’s a slow night and I’ve got your tables. I’ll even hold your tips for you,” he said with a wink. “So go on,” he grinned, fairly pushing you out from behind the bar. “Go have the night of your life!” Everyone really should have a Dave in their life, you thought as you found yourself walking out of the bar with Taron in a complete change of events. You noticed vaguely that he was toting his suitcase with him; he must have already checked out of his hotel room. Just then his phone started ringing and he looked at it, wincing slightly before silencing it and pocketing it again.

“What was that?” you asked him, a bit suspiciously.

“Nothing,” he said quickly but you wouldn’t let it go. “I missed my flight. My agent is livid,” he said but with a grin. “He’ll deal and I’ll book another flight,” he added with a nonchalant shrug. Of course booking another flight was no big deal to him, considering where he’d been put up last night, you thought. Still, despite being obviously loaded, he remained humble and unassuming, and you really liked that he didn’t flaunt his status, even if he was wearing a watch that probably cost more than your month’s rent.

“So where are we going, then?” you laughed as you both stood there on the sidewalk outside the hotel.

“I kind of didn’t already have a plan. I figured I’d just have to wait for you at the bar half the night, which I mean, you know I would have done for you,” he grinned. “Having time with you sooner is a pleasant surprise.”

“Well,” you said, running your fingers through your hair. “We can just grab a bite to eat,” you said, smiling at him.

“Perfect. And then after that, I’ll take you all the way up there,” he said cutely, pointing to the top of the Space Needle. A part of you wanted to tell him it was just a really expensive and over-glorified elevator ride, but his excitement over it was infectious and you weren’t about to dash his hopes.

You both quickly walked back to your car; you got to drive since Taron had just been chauffeured around Seattle and didn’t have a rental of his own. You kept having to remind yourself that he wasn’t even on your level.

“Pardon the mess,” you said as you quickly cleared the front passenger seat of its accumulation of empty water bottles and discarded receipts. He didn’t seem to care about the state of your car as you dug around the back for an extra shirt you knew you had stashed amongst the various bags and boxes of random stuff. You clambered into the backseat and tried your best to hide from passersby. 

“Close your eyes,” you giggled to Taron as you shucked off your work vest and button-down, even though he’d technically already seen you in a far more undressed state. You exchanged those for a light blue frilly blouse, let down your hair from its clip and touched up your makeup quickly, all in about five minutes’ space, before climbing over the middle console into the front seat. You’d had plenty of practice with quick changes in your car.

“Can I open them now?” Taron giggled lightly, his eyes still actually squeezed shut, and you laughed at that. You had to appreciate his sense of chivalry, that was for sure.

“Of course,” you grinned at him as he looked over at you, his eyes roaming over your body as he looked clearly impressed at your transformation.

“Like what you see?” you asked a bit cheekily.

“Very much so,” he smirked back, sending a thrill through you. You clamped your legs together, fully aware of how much skin your skirt showed off as he licked his lips slightly. But you both kept your hands to yourselves or you wouldn’t be making it to dinner at all.

You both pulled up Google on your phones and tried to decide on a place; finally, you suggested a restaurant called The Walrus and The Carpenter that you had always wanted to try. It offered the right mix of fresh seafood and American tapas, as well as specialty cocktails, and once Taron agreed it sounded like a good choice, you made the drive uptown. You were able to snag a table with only a little wait time, and found the food to be even better than you had imagined. The drinks were enjoyable and the company even more so, and soon you had both filled yourselves to the brim with fresh oysters, small plates of peppers, beets, kohlrabi and cheese, and finished it all off with marionberry cake.

Taron paid the tab without a second thought, and soon you both were off to the Space Needle. You’d only been up once before; the views really were pretty, and the few clouds hugging the horizon as the sun was close to setting would probably set off a spectacular view. “What are you thinking?” Taron’s voice broke through your thoughts; you hadn’t even realized that you’d been smiling a bit dreamily while you drove.

“How this has been one of the most pleasant evenings I’ve ever had,” you said honestly, looking over at him briefly, his lovely green eyes focused on you.

“It’s been much the same for me,” Taron grinned, reaching over and taking one of your hands in his. You couldn’t help it; you squealed a little bit inside. You knew that this couldn’t last but you told yourself there was no harm in living the dream for today.

You parked and Taron once again paid, even though you had offered to cover your ticket. You took the ride up, Taron keeping his hand at the small of your back in a sweet manner. No one else in the elevator seemed to pay you any mind. Once you arrived at the top, the views did not disappoint. You both spent some time just gawking at the sunset, the water, the city stretched out below, taking cute pictures together and just having fun. At one point he had his arms wrapped around you and his chin resting on your shoulder, his warm body pressed against you, and you couldn’t stop the racy thoughts rolling through your mind.

Almost as if he could hear your thoughts, Taron cleared his throat and asked “Shall we go then?”

“Sure,” you said a bit breathlessly. You could only imagine where this night was going to end up. Once you were safely seated back in your car, Taron pulled you in close to him.

“Been waiting to do this all damn day,” he whispered before pulling your mouth to his. You closed your eyes and savored the feeling as he kissed you, soft and slow and sweetly at first. But as you returned his kisses, they deepened, becoming needier, hungrier. One of his hands wrapped around behind your head as the other ran along your bare thigh, sliding up under the hemline of your skirt. You moaned slightly and gave his fingers access to your core, already growing wet in anticipation of his touch.

But then he pulled away, both of you panting, leaving you hot and definitely bothered, but you knew you were still parked in a very public space and getting arrested for indecency wasn’t high on your list of life accomplishments.

“Should we go book a hotel room somewhere?” Taron asked, fidgeting slightly and you were all too aware of the tent in his pants.

“No, I have a better idea,” you grinned, putting the car in gear and pulling out as quickly, but safely, as possible. He’d left his hand on your thigh, but didn’t make a move to distract you any further. Seattle traffic could get scary at times, and you did your best to take the backways you knew to avoid the worst of it, grateful when you finally pulled into the lot of your red brick apartment building on Rainier Avenue.

Taron raised an eyebrow at you once you were parked. “No one has to know a thing here,” you grinned back at him as he fairly attacked you with kisses again, peppering your face with them until you shrieked with laughter at it.

“You are bloody brilliant,” he grinned at you as you both got out of the car. You told him to haul his suitcase up because you had a feeling he wouldn’t be sneaking out at night the way you had left him in the hotel. You led him up to your second-floor apartment, mentally walking through it and hoping there wasn’t anything too embarrassing left out, but despite how you treated your car, your apartment was usually in pretty orderly shape.

“Well this is cute,” he grinned as you let yourselves inside and he looked about him. “It reflects you,” he grinned, pulling your hips into his and making you gasp slightly. “Now… Where were we?” he asked, his voice a low murmur that went straight to your groin. He crashed his lips against yours, no longer worried about seeming needy, and you could feel his erection growing even more, pressing against your leg as he trailed his kisses across your jawline and down your neck, finding a spot that made you weak in the knees and nipping your skin with his teeth.

“Taron,” you whined slightly, but he seemed absolutely determined to take his slow time with you, to make you feel every bit of what he could do to you. You could only shiver in anticipation as his fingers trailed along your waist. He gripped your shirt and slowly pulled it off you, and you were grateful you’d chosen a cute lacy black bra over the boring nude one that morning. His eyes grew dark as he took in the sight, his fingers brushing over the swell of your breasts in the bra.

“I didn’t get to appreciate this last night,” he smirked at you, making your breath catch in your throat a bit as he dropped those heated kisses down to your chest, leaving your nerves on fire wherever his lips traveled over your skin. He reached around you and unhooked your bra, letting it drop to the floor before taking one of your pert nipples in his mouth, rolling his tongue over it and making you moan loudly. He pinched the other one gently with his fingers, causing you just enough pain to be pleasurable as he sucked at your breast greedily before moving down your stomach, nipping and sucking spots on your skin.

You never wanted him to stop, and voiced your displeasure when he pulled away for a moment. “Patience,” he smirked, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward your bedroom, but then must have changed his mind because he tugged you toward the bathroom instead.

“Only one place for a dirty girl like you,” he spoke, as you both stepped into the small cramped space. He wrestled with the tub handle, making you laugh as it totally broke the mood.

“It’s tricky,” you giggled, turning the water on to warm up and stepping out of your skirt, standing there in only your panties as Taron rid himself of his shirt and pants pretty quickly too. He pulled you in for more kisses again, before noticing the dark bruises along your hips from the night before.

“Oh God, I did that to you?” he said, brushing his fingers over your hips so delicately it nearly tickled.

“It doesn’t hurt, and don’t you dare apologize for giving me the best night of my life,” you said firmly, as another one of those breathtaking smiles lit up his face.

“Best night of your life, eh?” he asked. “I think I can do better,” he said gruffly, and you moaned again at the thought as you stood there and admired his physique. He was built, but not overly so, and it gave him a sort of everyman quality that could put anyone at ease.

“God, you’re beautiful,” you breathed, and your comment seemed to have caught him slightly off-guard. He tried to bluff his way out of the compliment but you put your hand on his chest and shook your head. “I can’t believe you don’t see it, but you are. Let me help you feel it, at least,” you whispered as you ran your hand over his still-clothed bulge. The groan that rumbled in his chest was enough to set you aflame. You pulled his boxer-briefs down and sat back on the edge of the tub, running your fingers along the shaft of his cock, appreciating what was right in front of you as your mouth salivated for him.

You pulled him close so he was standing between your outstretched legs and leaned in, placing some teasing kisses along his hip bones and down the trail of hair before finally placing a kiss on the tip of his engorged cock. “Holy fuck,” he hissed, his hands tangling in your hair as you licked the vein on the underside. He tried to buck into your mouth but you held him back, smirking at the power you had over him in that moment. There was nothing sexier than seeing a man like this, head thrown back and in the throes of the pleasure you were giving him.

Finally you gave him what he wanted, taking his cock in your mouth, sucking hard as you moved, your fingers digging into his butt cheeks as you let him thrust into your mouth, trying to avoid gagging around him as he sought his high. You could tell he was close when his groans gave way to grunts and you let him slip out of your mouth with a pop, earning you a slight yank of your hair that he still had a hold of and making your eyes water slightly.

“I want you to cum inside me,” you said, your panties thoroughly soaked by this point. You needed him, and you needed him now.

“I like a woman who knows what she wants,” Taron said, still a bit breathless as you stood up and he helped you out of your panties. You stepped into the tub and pulled the diverter valve for the shower, feeling the hot water against your skin as Taron followed you in and pushed you against the wall, biting your lip slightly as his hips pressed against yours. You were all too happy to lift a leg around his waist as he grabbed his cock and stroked it a few times before pressing into you. You’d nearly forgotten how full he made you feel, and you had to hold onto him to keep from sliding down. He had his hands flat against the wall to steady you both as he slowly started to pull out and push back in, gazing at you fully the entire time. It was probably the single most intimate sex you’d ever shared with anyone.

He couldn’t resist kissing you again, swallowing your moans and adding his own as beads of water glistened on his skin. You held onto him tightly, fully overwhelmed as he picked up his rhythm; the angle meant he was hitting you in the most delicious place. You could feel the edges of your orgasm drawing together already as Taron fairly started to pound into you, losing his composure as he barreled quickly toward his climax, desperate for it now. Suddenly and all at once powerfully, your orgasm tore through you, the waves of pleasure making you forget time and place as you screamed Taron’s name out loud. He was barely ten seconds behind you, grunting in your ear as he spilled into you, both of you overwhelmed by the feeling of it as he held you there for a few moments, both of you trying to come down together.

When he was sure you could stand on your own he finally pulled away, spent and totally exhausted but also really, stupidly happy. You would never get tired of seeing that dopey grin on his face. Neither of you said much as you slowly got yourselves clean before the hot water ran out. You had taken a few moments to run the soapy loofah over his chest, wanting to stretch out this time as long as you possibly could before it would all be over.

Eventually you both stepped out of the shower, wrapping yourselves in towels and having to leave the bathroom as the amount of steam that had built up in there was making it hard to breathe. You both dried off and got dressed in pajamas, and Taron pulled you cutely onto your bed with him, having to displace several stuffed animals to fit, which made him chuckle. You laid side-by-side, nearly forehead to forehead with each other, just gazing at each other, still in that post-sex glow. He reached over and caressed your cheek sweetly. You could have stayed like that forever with him.

“Come with me to London,” he said softly, and it took you a moment to process what he had said.

“What?” you asked, a bit in disbelief.

“You don’t seem happy here,” he said, and he was right about that. “Quit your job. Leave your shitty boss behind. You could find work anywhere in London,” he fairly pleaded.

“Taron, I- … That’s not even realistic,” you replied, feeling your heart beginning to race. “I have bills to pay, and just, things I need to take care of here.”

“I could help you with the bills, and I’d be patient. But we could make it happen,” he said in such a vulnerable way that it hurt your heart a bit to deny him again.

“I couldn’t ever ask you to do that,” you shook your head.

“Then call it a loan, if you must. You could pay me rent to stay in my flat with me, for all I cared. I just want you with me. Nothing is impossible. Just imagine it, just try, you and me in London.”

“You are so sweet, Taron, but I hardly know you,” you said, brushing his still-damp hair back. He looked a bit crestfallen until you added, “But maybe we could date for a little bit first, do the long-distance thing.”

“And then you’d consider it?” he asked hopefully.

“Sure, babe, I’d consider it,” you said as he hugged you close and buried his face against your chest. You smiled at that and let him hold onto you, feeling emotions you weren’t used to feeling. It made you both anxious and elated as the night enveloped you both. As you started sliding headlong toward sleep, you wondered how this green-eyed stranger had managed to get so far under your defenses. And the real truth of it was that your last call had suddenly made you hope for a forever.

Keep reading! A third part has been added HERE.