#and i was like no my dads care taker is just leaving so i’m soaking up any rest time. i have a mental illness of over sharing so i don’t

[lilgynt]

my supervisor straight up yelled at my coworker/us by extension that is not how you should reprimand at all 😭😭

[whump-town]

I need hotch whump. Dad rossi being a total dad and the team helping hotch through his deep seated emotional trauma. Just the team helping hotch be emotionally open and maybe some crying and him getting hugs n shit?? And if you can, at least 3k words cuz hes sad and needs to use his words

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

(Fair warning, I feel like I couldn’t get Hotch’s script right. He has a unique way that he speaks and I just feel like I missed that. I hope I didn’t drop the ball but I’ve been working on this non-stop so I’ve kinda passed a point in my ability to tell. Bonus, this fits really well for a fix-it for this post that I made that hurt everyone. You can find that post here)

Word count: 5,452

He can feel himself falling apart. His thoughts are more than often filled with deterioration and self-deprecating harm. He knows it’s getting worse but he excuses it. If he can rationalize his thoughts, condone them, and recognize them then there’s no need to ask for help.

Especially, when he doesn’t deserve it.

The breath is kicked from his lungs as he opens the file in front of him. He’d gotten the call from the Dallas police department that morning and fielded the consult to himself. Normally, this would be the type of case JJ would handle but as soon as he heard the victims were blonde’s in their thirties he couldn’t let the case go to her. Except, a very important factor had been left out.

They were all mothers.

He finds himself looking down at half a dozen women who all look too much like Haley. 

Panic bubbles in his chest and a trembling hand pushes the case away. It’s not enough. He stands to his feet, leaning heavily on his desk to stop his knees from caving from beneath him. He’s paper left too long in the sun, warping. His print is no longer legible. His glue peeling away.

On the floor of his office, a step away from his desk, he falls to his knees. His breath is caught in his throat-- his tie an ever-tightening noose that leaves his mouth dry and his voice stuck. Logically, he can recognize his own symptoms. It’s a panic attack. Triggered because he’s never worked through his feelings. Never got over Haley. His incompetence. 

His failure. 

His brain can recognize that the pain in his chest shouldn’t kill him. His mind still draws the parallel to his own father. A chronic alcoholic who died in his office of a heart attack. An abuser. An asshole. 

What was that the team had said about him?

JJ had called him a bully.

Reid said he was a narcissist.

The hurt in Emily’s eyes as she deduced he doesn’t trust women as much as men.

Morgan said he’s a drill sergeant. 

So… maybe Hotch didn’t hit Jack. He’s never laid a hand on his son so he’s different from his father in that sole regard. He’s not a good father though. He’s not a good boss.

His team must loathe him.

Which means he’s not all that different from his father.

What does that leave? What does that make him besides a suit and tie? A terrified, sweat-soaked coward on an office floor. 

And there’s no wonder that he’s never made the time to work through his problems. Who is to talk to? Haley had known of his father. Enough to leave that subject alone. Even when he sat bolt upright in their bed, lost to his youth spent outrunning the hands of his father. She’d comforted him enough to get him back to sleep, holding him to her chest but never inquiring. Never pushing. 

The others have their own problems. Dave is a father without a son. Reid has a mother who’s taken care of for the better part of his whole life. Prentiss wants a child, a family so badly but she continues to have that torn from her grasp. JJ feels like she’s failed, Henry. Garcia is plagued by the images she sees daily. Morgan feels torn between his loyalty to this team and doing better for himself. 

So when should he fit in that time for himself? When does he silence them to talk about himself?

His phone vibrates on his desk. It’s a low, hollow sound but it snaps him to attention. The kind of sound that he could not ignore any more than a cry of pain from Jack. A case, more than likely. Maybe even an email from the Director or Strauss requesting his presence. 

His knees cave beneath him, a frustrated grunt leaving his mouth. He takes his fist and beats it into the carpet, hoping the pain that spikes up his arm will ground him. The world spins but he manages to stagger to his feet. Even if that means nearly losing his footing as the world dips suddenly. Curling that arm, pulling it protectively to his core, he manages to cross the room.

Except, there is no call to duty.

He’s greeted by a picture and an unknown number. 

It’s a newborn baby in the lap of someone but the important detail is the hospital bracelet on picture taker’s wrist and the distinct newness of the baby. The sight invokes a pang in his chest, reminding him of when Jack was that small. A youth blind to injustice and death. Before Hotch had gone and messed it all up.

A moment later, his phone goes off again. A single line of text but he knows immediately what it means.

“Learning how to smile again... I hope you are too.”

Elle.

He's not sure if he’s meant to respond so he doesn’t. It does spark a certain flame in his lungs-- he wouldn’t call it a breath of life but for once the inhale his raged lungs pull in doesn’t hurt. He falls into his desk chair, cradling his phone in his hand.

“You know,” JJ’s voice breaks through the silence of his office. She steps into the room with that blatant disregard that most of the team has. A mutual understanding that he’s given them-- as long as his door isn’t shut, they’re free to come in. 

As far as he sees, that openness is well understood by JJ, Morgan, and Garcia. He suspects their understanding comes from a creative source. A kind that Prentiss and Reid have taken their time in understanding.

He sees the way the two of them hesitate before knocking and announcing themselves. For what, he might ask if he did not already know the answer. The answer is on the tip of his tongue each morning as he shaves his face. It’s his last thought as he drifts off.

You don’t trust women as much as men.

“You’ve ruined me for all future employers.” JJ continues. Unaware of the fact that her audience is a bit lost.

I choose Aaron Hotchner. He’s a classic narcissist. He thinks he’s better than everyone else on the team.

JJ moves closer, her arms falling from their defensive place across her chest. She smiles, her eyes dancing between his. There’s a flash there, of what she’s uncertain but as soon as it’s there it’s gone. She sees the bone-tired, ragged look of his large frame and she wonders when the last time he got a good night’s sleep was.

“You--” Hotch’s eyebrow’s knit together as he stutters to put together what she’s said. “I--I ruined you?” His brain is still reeling from the panic attack. He’s too exhausted to put together whatever trivial meaning her words are meant to have.

JJ chuckles lightly, perhaps she should have opened that better. “You didn’t ruin me, literally,” she explains with a smile. Honest, she loves him like a brother but he can be as thick as mud sometimes. For someone who’s entire job revolves around understanding people, Hotch often misses the point. 

Not that she minds explaining that to him. 

“I mean,” she says, sitting herself down in one of the chairs in front of his desk. She pulls her legs underneath herself, not afraid to take the time to get comfortable. “You’re too kind. You give so much to this team that if you ever leave I’m not sure how any of us will function without you.”

He blanches. This seems out of left field to him. 

She smiles at his reaction, reaching across his desk to squeeze his hand. “Hotch,” she reminds him softly, “yesterday you brought me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. You made it for me because you knew I hadn’t taken a break.”

He can hardly understand how making someone a peanut butter and jelly sandwich constitutes a pat on the back. He does it all the time for Jack. When he was making JJ one yesterday he’d ended up making one for Reid and Prentiss as well. The two of them poking and badgering him until he’d relented. 

“Bosses don’t do that,” JJ assures him. “Not normal ones anyway.” Sensing that he’s not really putting this together, she rises from her chair. Stepping into his personal space she can see just how awful he looks. With all the tenderness she can manage, she presses a kiss to his cheek. Encircling his shoulders in her arms, she realizes that he’s trembling. “I love and appreciate you and I’m just… None of them tell you how much you mean to us. I just want to make sure you remember that.”

It takes him a moment but he hugs her back. Where his body is stiff with tension, she’s warm and soft. He breaks for just a moment, allowing her words to warm his chest before resigning himself back to his darkness. To his self-hatred. 

JJ gives his back a quick rub before pulling away. “You need to take a nap,” she informs him. “You look like shit.”

He smiles, mustering up all his energy into convincing her that he’s not on the knife’s edge of falling over into darkness. “I’m fine,” he assures her. Besides, he motions to the file on his desk. “I’ll get some coffee and finish this consult. Then I’ll go home.” 

She looks at the file in question and decides to save him the trouble. She picks it up despite his anxiety-filled voice calling her name out. What she finds shocks her but not for the reason he’d thought. These women do look like her but their resemblance to Haley is… “Oh, Hotch…”

He can’t look at her. “They…” he clears his throat. “I didn’t want you to see it because I knew they were blonde and that kind of stuff really gets to you but--” He’s said too much. He’s admitting that he knows they look like Hailey. Maybe even that it bothered him as much as it’s bothering her.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about,” JJ whispers, her emotions getting the best of her. Of course, he looks like shit. He’d done something kind to spare her and ended up looking at dead mutilated women who look too much like Haley. “You’re too kind for your own good.” She tucks the file to her chest, where she knows he won’t make a quick grab for it. 

“JJ…”

She shakes her head. “Go home. Go get coffee. Take a nap. I don’t care what you do but you are not getting this file back because I promise that whatever seeing these women will do to me is going to be less damaging than seeing them is to you.” She doesn’t spare him a second more before leaving his office. Leaving him to do what he pleases just not allowing that file to be one of them. 

She turns in the doorway to his office, offering him a smile. “By the looks of you, I’d recommend taking that nap.” 

He doesn’t but her words stick with him for days. 

I love and appreciate you. It’s most unlike the voice in his head reminding him that he’s a bully. A narcissist. 

When he goes to bed, arms wrapped around his chest and tears threatening to spill down his face… he thinks about those four simple words. His cheek stings where she’d kissed him and for a moment his chest burns again with an unfamiliar light. 

He remembers these words over and over. 

He starts to believe them but that doesn’t mean he changes. 

Then a case sends him home. His hometown is hardly an hour away from Quantico. Standing in front of the team, his hands buried in his pockets to hide the way they tremble, he tells them they won’t need the jet or the GPS. He knows where they’re going. 

He knows it too well.

Prentiss doesn’t start second-guessing her boss until he pulls off the main road. Reid will testify, he second-guessed Hotch the minute the man told them he didn’t need a map and turned the GPS off. Neither says anything but Hotch is still aware of the weight of their silence. He doesn’t feel comfortable offering them the reassurance that he knows where he’s going so he chooses to say nothing. The whole car opts to not comment on how it is that he knows where he’s going.

“Detective Carter!” Garcia is the first person out of the second car jammed packed with the other members of the team.

In the second car, there was a lot of aired criticism. Ninety-eight percent of which came from Morgan but upon pulling into the station, thirty minutes before the GPS estimated arrival time, he can’t complain. It does leave him curious. It’s not often they drive to crime scenes from Quantico but they never stray from the GPS. 

“I’m Penelope,” she explains to the older man. It’s clear the detective is taken aback by the sight of Garcia but the old man just smiles and takes her hand. Kindly he smiles and Garcia only beams that much more. “These are the agents I told you about.” She turns back to the others, lined up like a kindergarten class rather than a ragtag group of highly trained professionals. “JJ, Dr. Reid, SSAs Prentiss, Rossi, Morgan, and our prestigious and very handsome leader-”

“Aaron?”

Prentiss had noticed Hotch’s hesitation the moment he put the car in park. He masterfully hid anything that might have given her a why but she’d still seen his stress become gradually more apartment as he got closer to the precinct.

“Jesus,” the detective shakes his head. He doesn’t give Hotch the opportunity to step away or even get a word out. The mood shifts as Hotch can’t hide the way he flinches as the man pulls him into a hug. “You were fifty pounds soaking wet the last time I saw you,” the detective admits.

Hotch can’t look at the detective and he can’t look at his team. 

Mercifully, Prentiss calls out to the older man. “I hate to push here,” she lies, “I would like to get working as soon as possible. I’m not sure how many more dead girls I can stand to see.” There are a few mumbled responses from the team, all agreeing with Prentiss. 

Hotch doesn’t notice. He stands in the spot the detective left him in. Eyes on the gravel, he’s struggling but he pushes it down. He has a job and the job has always come before physical comfort. 

He hangs his head and he gets through the day knowing that he’ll be allotted his personal time in a hotel room soon enough. He can break down there.

And he does. 

And then he has a nightmare that wakes up the entire team. 

He’s shaking so badly when he finally opens his door that he can’t even play it off. They know. 

“Let it out son,” Rossi whispers, holding Hotch tight to his chest. “It’s alright, it’s okay.” He rubs his hand down Hotch’s back. Something in his chest locking tight and stiff at the way Hotch melts, unable to even stand. Dave has always known, in one way or another, that Hotch’s childhood was a litany of things done wrong.

He’d seen the kid’s back, the crisscrossing pattern he’d only ever seen on dead people. Scars. Someone had hit Hotch so hard as a child to leave marks on his body into adulthood. If Dave had to guess, he’d say a belt. Given Hotch’s soft accent and tendencies, Dave knows he’d probably be right. Belts are loved by Southerners. 

Beat the sin out of your children. 

See if they ever come home. 

Rossi looks at Hotch, the man struggling to pull himself back together. Sometimes they do come home and that’s worse.

“This place,” Hotch whispers, eyes falling to the carpet. “This town is…” His eyes move to the window on the adjacent wall. If the sun were up, he would be able to see the house he spent his youth in. The drive-way where his father bounced his head off the gravel for dropping a can of green beans. The window by the main door that his father broke smacking his mother against it. “It’s an awful place and I-- I will be glad when we’re able to leave it.” 

Reid, of all people, is the first person to offer a condolence, a way out. He clears his throat, anxiously moving from foot to foot. “You could go back home,” he offers. “It’s not a long drive, you would be back with Jack before the sun even comes up.” Seeing that his idea isn’t being torn down but rather the others seem to agree this is actually a perfectly good solution, he continues. “You could work from the office with Garcia. We’ve all done it. I certainly wouldn’t think differently of you if you went home.” 

Reid sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, stepping forward and sitting on the edge of Hotch’s bed. “This town gives me the heebie-jeebies, anyway.” His small shiver lightens something in Hotch’s chest because not even Hotch can twist the genius’s actions. Reid is being sincere and Hotch hasn’t messed up. They don’t hate him. They don’t think he’s weak. 

“It does, doesn’t it?” Dave speaks up, shaking his head. “I feel it creeping into my bones.”

There seems to be a unanimous decision made in that immediate moment that no one’s going to push him. They’re not frustrated about being woken up in the middle of the night by his terrified screams. No one is going to force him to tell them about the detective. 

They solve the case and rescue the last girl from the clutches of their UNSUB. This time, Detective Carter does his job. He doesn’t send an obviously beaten and abused boy back home to his father. 

They save the girl the way no one ever saved Hotch but he doesn’t consider himself irreparable anymore.

He closes his eyes and remembers what it felt like when Dave held him.

Son.

I love and appreciate you.

I wouldn’t think differently of you.

He starts to feel loved and he’s so broken-- there’s something in his mind that just equates their affection for a need for him to be better-- he decides he has to prove he’s worth it. 

JJ has formed a habit of squeezing his elbow when she passes him. 

Rossi pulls him into one-armed hugs.

Reid brings him a coffee and smiles shyly when they pass one another in the halls.

But he can’t do anything right.

“Prentiss!” 

He doesn’t clear the second room properly as they raid a house and all he can do is put himself between her and the danger. There’s only a split second to think about it. She’s a head shorter than him. So the shot that would take her head off hits him center mass. 

There’s a sickening crack that rings through the room as he hits the wall behind them. His head bouncing off the wall. He doesn’t hear her cry his name out.

Prentiss’s hands shake but her own shot hits its mark. The UNSUB falls limply to the ground just as Hotch had. Despite every fiber of her wanting to double back and make sure Hotch isn’t dead, she moves forward. She can see her bullet embedded in the opposing wall. The hole in the UNSUB’s head is visible proof but she can’t walk away from him until she finds no pulse and moves his gun away.

“Agent down,” she calls shakily. Her knees almost give out from beneath her when she turns to see him. 

All six feet of her boss is crumpled into a limp pile. His neck is bent, chin resting against his sternum. She can’t tell if he’s even breathing, the vest strapped to his chest swallows any movement that might or might not be there. “Hotch?” She calls, hoping that he'll stir. That he’ll make a noise or something.

She sees blood.

“Hotch is down,” she cries over the radio. “Hotch is down and we need medics.” She pulls at his tie, swallowing down her own need to cry. To sob as her friend’s blood covers her skin. “It’s a--a-” she pulls the tie around his neck free and the blood starts to flow twice as fast. “Fuck,” she places her hand over the wound. Her hot tears stinging her eyes. “It’s a neck wound.”

A death sentence. 

She can feel his pulse against her palm. Each beat a little fainter than the last.

“Don’t you die,” she rasps. Her emotions are bubbling to the surface as her panic and adrenaline get worse. “Come on you stubborn bastard,” but her insults are laced with worry. “Hotch,” she pats his pale cheek. Attempting and failing to rouse him. On his cheek, her hand is left perfectly preserved by his crimson blood. 

“Agent,” the medics come in. Someone puts a hand on her shoulder but she can’t pull away. She can’t let him bleed out. “Agent we’ve got it.” 

I love and appreciate you.

Those words are the last thing Hotch thinks before his head hits the wall. He just has to hope she meant it. 

“Hey.”

She has to wait days to wring him out. To give him a proper piece of her mind. They are supposed to be passed this. They did pass this a long time ago. Time and time again he’s proven that he does trust her. After Foyet, they’d become the semblance of friends. She considers him family. 

Instead of offering him the immediate bitchfest he’s more than deserved, she offers him a passing-- “Hey, yourself.” Seeing him awake settles her but she has to be mad with him. She is mad with him. Even if she wants to hug him. He is her friend and she values him. It hurts to see him in pain.

After a moment, she looks up from the book she’s reading. Paying him just enough attention that she notices how uneasy he is. It makes her question her chosen silent treatment. It’s clearly not helping and the last thing she wants is to stress him out more. So she reaches between them and takes his hand. “You’re life isn’t less important than mine.” 

Her words take him by surprise. She can see the words make their impact. His brows furrow in confusion but he doesn’t say anything. Not for a long moment. He’s stalling. “I didn’t say that,” is what he settles on. 

She looks up at him and she’s disappointed. They’re profilers and he settles on deflection. She can’t say she’s surprised, he always chooses deflection. She’s just as stubborn as him though and she’s not afraid to push a little. “Your actions did.”

“Prentiss, I couldn’t--”

She lets go of his hand. For a moment, her anger gets the better of her. He gets the message and stops talking but the damage has been done. Of course, he’s not going to say that his life has less value than hers. He’s not stupid. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t think it.

“We’re partners, right?” She sits forward in the chair. “You trust me?” She already knows the answers. She knows everything he’s going to do. 

Hie scowls and he opens his mouth before he shuts it. He shakes his head as he says, “of course.”

She reaches back out to him, taking his hand again. His fingers are cold, his body still not fully recovered from the blood transfusions he needed. She needs something like this to never occur again. “Then it’s your job,” she tells him. “To cover my ass when I mess up and it’s my job to cover yours.” 

He doesn’t look at her. He can’t. He could have gotten her killed. Can’t she understand that? She should be furious at him for putting her life at risk. Not trying to go over protocol. He understands, though, that she’s trying to make a point so he nods his understanding. 

“I trust you with my life,” she whispers, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Why don’t you trust yourself with it?”

She’s right of course. If there was time for him to step in the way, there was time for her to move out of the way. A thousand things could have happened and, in the end, his actions weren’t warranted. This hits his chest in a tight, painful bundle. He has to look away from her. Clenching his teeth against the tears threatening to sting his eyes.

“Hotch, you gave me a family.” She squeezes his fingers, feeling her own emotions bubbling right back to the surface. It’s out of character, she can recognize that but something happened in that house during the raid. Something she never wants to happen again. “You are a part of my family, whether you like that or not.”

He turns to look at her, his mouth unable to tell her that he knows and he does like it but that’s okay. They’ve always been able to understand passing glancing. He offers her a lopsided, forced smile when she rubs her thumb over his rough hands. 

“I love you,” she says with a roll of her eyes because she’s Emily Prentiss and she can’t take herself seriously for too long. She stands from the chair at his side and knocks the back of her hand against his shoulder. “And,” she adds, “don’t take any bullets to the neck for me, alright? I’m starting to feel like I owe you.”

He nods his understanding, still not trusting his voice.

Just as JJ did, she presses a kiss to his cheek. 

Prentiss feels pretty safe at that moment. He’s high as balls and she doubts he’s capable of anything more than a grumbled complaint. 

He’s full of grumbled complaints but this time he doesn’t offer her one. 

He doesn’t spare Morgan the same courtesy. 

“Hotch,” Morgan manages, taking a deep breath to stop himself from losing his cool. “I love you, man. You know I do but if you don’t stand still--” Honest, Morgan’s seen Henry and Jack behave better. The soft corrector does the job though and Hotch lets Morgan shoulder some of his weight. Leaning into Morgan as they walk.

He knows he asked Hotch to lean into him. He said it would be okay but to feel the way Hotch trusts him, the way he stiffens in pain instead of masking it… Morgan has to clear his throat. “Hotch?”

Hotch is limping the whole way. Getting shot in the neck sucks but hitting a wall and breaking ribs isn’t any better. Through gritted teeth, he replies, “yes.”

“Don’t scare us like that again, alright?” Morgan keeps the pace going, forcing Hotch to keep moving even when he pauses as Morgan’s words take him by surprise. Morgan’s on a roll, though, and he’s got to get it off his chest. He can’t let Hotch think that Morgan wants this. “I can’t… This team…” it’s harder than he wants to admit. “I’m not ready to lead this team. I don’t… I don’t want to, man.”

Hotch remains silent. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to say but he’s exhausted and he’s not sure he’s got it in him to tell Morgan that won’t happen. It might. 

“We left you the couch,” Morgan changes the subject. He steers Hotch through the opening of the jet, forcing him in the direction of the couch. As soon as Hotch is seated, Morgan excuses himself. He ducks away, taking his own seat and putting his music on. 

A proper distraction from the emotions burning his throat.

David Rossi knew the moment he met Aaron Hotchner that he would take the world by storm. Through the years, Rossi watched that rip him apart. Being unyielding and selfless is good in measure but too often Rossi found himself holding the younger man together. His hands interlaced over a bullet wound, holding him upright as his lungs rebel from smoke inhalation, and, on more than one occasion, watching him push himself past the point of no return.

David Rossi also knew Aaron Hotchner was going to be a problem child. Unlike the other interns, Hotch was married, had gone to law school, and had a successful career. A state attorney turned federal agent… Rossi was initially skeptical. He got a wise-crack, no-nonsense, hot-headed nerd dressed in mediocre suits but, Rosis had to hand it to him, the kid had spunk. So Rossi put in the time. 

He trained a prodigy and he watched that prodigy fail and break. 

But Hotch never quit.

Not after Gideon and the bomb that killed nearly their whole team. 

The Fisher King and Elle Greenaway.

Tobias Hankle.

New York and Kate Joyner.

Strauss.

Foyet… 

On the jet’s couch, some twenty-- hell, maybe thirty-- years after their initial meeting David Rossi is gently combing his fingers through that bull-headed new kid’s hair. His thoughts are actively drifting away. Back to times when he was the Unit Chief and Hotch was a lanky kid. Prone to accidents of spilled coffee stains on crisp white dress shirts and knocking files off his desk with his elbows. Dave and Jason had an ongoing joke that the poor kid should have come with a warning label sewed into the ass of his suits. 

He cracks an eye open, aware of a shifting presence. Emily. He offers her a small smile, “anything I can help you with, bella?” His voice is deep, bothered with exhaustion, and tinged with an unsettled sadness. 

But that’s all part of the job.

They get the bad guys and stop them from hurting people. Only, sometimes they become the hurt-- the victims. 

Hotch just added his name to another serial killer’s list of victims. His name is starting to appear a lot these days. 

Prentiss shakes her head. She’d been sitting on the other side of the jet and for a moment it occurred to her that from her vantage point she couldn’t tell if Hotch was breathing or not. Panic struck her center mass and she’d risen to her feet, clearing half the jet to get to him. To be close enough to see his chest is rising. To see if he's still breathing.

“I thought he wasn’t breathing,” she tells Rossi. “I just… it freaked me out.”

Rossi nods his understanding and shakes his head sympathetically, but not for Emily. 

He’s not sure what Garcia has planned but he’d put money down on the fact that Hotch isn’t ready for it.

Hotch is not even through the glass doors at BAU when the sound of heels prefaces Penelope Garcia shouting down the hall. He takes a step back, glancing at the others in confusion as they chuckle. Like they know what’s about to happen. He moves back to the hall, nodding his head at a rapidly approaching Garcia. 

“Sir!”

He raises an eyebrow, “Garcia.”

She comes to a stuttering halt, taking a deep breath as she steadies herself. 

Something about it, he can’t explain it, strikes him as humorous. He shakes his head and smiles. Next thing he knows she’s thrown her arms around him. Hotch raises an eyebrow, his confusion not muffling the smile still spread across his face. “Whatever was that for?” He wouldn’t lie by stating the feelings he has at this moment are anything other than happily surprised. 

Garcia’s smile is a twisted happy smile laced with sadness being overtaken. “You stopped smiling for so long, I-- It just made me so happy to see you happy.”

And he realizes she’s right. 

He hasn’t smiled in a long time but… slowly, his team has wormed their way into breaking that. 

Son.

I love and appreciate you.

I wouldn’t think differently of you.

You’re a part of my family. 

I love you, man.

"Please, " Garcia says softly. "Don't ever do that again, okay? You scared me--" she sucks in a breath and it sounds so much like an approaching sob that he reaches out and pulls her back into a hug. 

"I'll be more careful, " he promises. "No more close calls." 

She squeezes him gently, aware of his ribs. "Good, " she whispers, "because I'm tired of losing people I love."

And he remembers that next time he sinks. He reminds himself constantly. 

Aaron Hotchner is loved. He has a family to come home to. They need him. 

And he doesn't always have to be the strong one.

[superspookywombat]

Falling {j.h}

First chapter done :)

Warnings: blood, slight mentions of anxiety

“I just don’t understand why she can’t sleep on the couch!” Bella yells. You stab at your dinner with your fork, the metal scratching at the cheap plastic plates. You shove your plate away, your appetite suddenly gone. Getting up from the table, you grab your plate and start scrubbing at it in the sink. 

“She’s your sister! She’s not just some guest who’s visiting for a few days, she lives here just as much as you do!” Charlie’s voice raises. You flinch, not liking to hear him upset. Submerging your hands in the soapy warm water, you search around in the water for more dishes to do. You don’t usually like to do chores, who does, but you were looking for anything to delay your suitcase that needed unpacking up in Bella’s room. 

“Really? Do sisters avoid you when you almost die? Do sisters ignore your emails? Phone calls? That woman in there is not my sister!” Bella answers. Her response, slightly surprising but also expected, makes the hole rip just a little bit more. A door slams and you jump, your hand involuntarily spasming. You don’t feel it at first, but when you look down and see that the once white, foamy water is now red, a fiery pain shoots through your hand. Footsteps thump down the stairs, causing you to look over and make eye contact with a fuming Bella. Your dad is quick to follow, his footsteps much louder and heavier on the wooden steps. Bella looks away, then moves to grab her jacket and keys from the couch. 

“Dad I-” You start, your hand still clutching your other. His eyes don’t leave Bella, who is now walking opening the front door. 

“Just- hold on,” He says, stepping forward to come face to face with Bella. “Where do you think you’re going?” 

“Out.” She replies, slamming the door shut behind her. Charlie turns to you, his face paleing when he sees the thick red dripping down your arm and onto the floor. 

“It was an accident, I just- I- there was a knife and I didn’t know that it was there and-” You ramble.

Charlie rushes into the kitchen and grabs a dish towel. He presses it into your good hand and pats down his pockets, looking for something. “Put pressure on it, I’m going to go get my keys.” 

“Dad I’m fine!” You protest, but the blood pumping out of your wound says otherwise. The words that had come out of your sister’s mouth had almost stung more than the gash. You and Bella never fought before moving apart. It was almost weird. You could understand what the other was saying with a quick glance and some eye contact. You weren’t leaving much behind in Phoenix. Before Bella left, you guys stuck to yourself, mostly. There was once when a boy had come between you two, but it didn’t last long after he took you on a date and felt you up even though you had said ‘no.’ He dropped you off at your house that night, and came to school the next day with a broken nose. Bella didn’t have to say anything for you to know that she had approached him before class, the bruises blooming on her knuckles saying it all. The memory causes a small smile on your face. You and her had once been inseparable. Charlie stumbles down the stairs, grabbing his jacket and slinging it over his shoulder. 

“Alright, come on.” He says. You follow him out the door, and Bella’s truck is nowhere to be seen. He opens the passenger door for you and you climb in, using your free hand to buckle up. Charlie starts the cruiser, then peels down the driveway. He races down the road, his eyes flickering between your hand and the pavement.

“Dad, slow down. The police chief going 45 in a 25 doesn’t send the best message.” You say calmly. He flicks a switch and suddenly a loud siren radiates through the cold car. 

“There,” He says, his voice slightly quivering. “Problem solved.” He looks down at the red-soaked cloth around your hand, then lets out a shuddered breath.

“Are you okay? You don’t look so good.” Your voice thick with concern. He lets out a humorless chuckle.

“Am I okay? You’re the one with a hole in your hand.” He answers. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Really? I haven’t noticed.” You say. Him being worried causes your anxiety to flare up. You knew it was going to be okay, but you didn’t like seeing him like this.

“Sorry, I just- I don’t like when you girls get hurt.” He says, his fingers tapping rapidly on the steering wheel.

“You’re the one that raised not one, but two klutzes.” You scoff. The humor and lack of worry in your voice calming him a little. He doesn’t answer, but a small smile stretches on his face. Charlie pulls into the parking lot of the hospital, parking in a no-park spot. You roll your eyes, knowing that if you pointed it out he wouldn’t move. He hovered his hand over the small of your back after draping his coat over your shoulders. Herding you into the ER, his eyes rake over the crowded waiting room. There’s a stomach bug going around according to the local news station. You take a seat as Charlie talks to the guy at the desk, no doubt name dropping that he’s the chief. You sigh, your hand throbbing. 

“Y/n Swan?” A nurse pokes her head through a door. You stand up and follow your dad to the lady, a short, black haired woman. 

“That must be a record time.” You tell Charlie, he doesn’t answer, too busy being greeted by passing staff. A clock on the wall says that it’s a little past noon. Most ER visits landed you in an uncomfortable hospital bed for most of the day, so you could kiss your plans goodbye. You had planned on using Bella leaving to your advantage, a chance to unpack, or even just take a nap. But now by the time you’d get back, she’d probably be home again. There wasn’t much you and her had in common, you thrived in the chilly atmosphere of Forks, she couldn’t care less for it. You both loved to read, but she had always gotten along better with Renee, whereas your parent of choice was Charlie. You both were accident prone, but you had always been a risk taker, leaving her to play it safe and talk you down from all of your crazy ideas. She was antisocial because she was a loner, but you were antisocial because of your anxiety. Like Bella, you were pale too, but your hair was (h/c). A phone ringing pulled you out of your thoughts. 

“Chief Swan.” Your dad answered. You knew who was calling when he used his ‘authority voice.’ His eyes flickered to you, your face pale and your shirt covered in blood. “Is there anyone else who can- no, yeah. I understand. I’ll be there in ten.”

“Go, I’ll be fine.” You reassure him, hoping he can’t sense the anxiety bubbling up in your throat. He gives you a small smile, then awkwardly pats your shoulder. 

“Call me if you need me, okay kiddo? I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He says. You grimace at his use of ‘kiddo,’ but return his smile nonetheless. He closes the curtain behind him, then walks away. You lay back and close your eyes, trying to focus on anything but the burning in your hand. Tomorrow is your first day of school, and you’re going to show up with a stitched hand like some sort of freak. Your mind wandered until someone pulled open the curtains, making them screech. You looked at the doctor, then wondered if you had bled out and gone to heaven, because the man in front of you had to be an angel. His blond hair almost blended in with his strikingly pale skin, his Topaz eyes seemingly piercing into your soul. Breathe- You remind yourself. The doctor holds out his hand for you to shake, and the moment your skin touches his you flinch at the surprisingly iciness of it. 

“Good afternoon, Ms. Swan. I’m doctor Cullen.” 

[jboitmbd-blog]

Hydroid Prime Bio

Hydroid Prime:

Mother always told us not to venture out past the mooring docks. Her reasoning was primarily attributed to the constant traffic of ships in the area. There hadn't been any fatalities from them yet, but she was never the risk taker. She wouldn't have chosen our father if she had been. Life on Neptune was not the most glamorous, but it was inherently safe. I remember my granddad telling me stories about how the planet used to be made of nothing but gas, but thanks to the efforts of people like my father, it was transformed into an oceanic planet. We received all of our supplies from afar, making us extremely dependent upon others. This made me question my mother's intuition, that is until I found out about her little secret.

She had another child, a "mermaid" as my uncle had told me before he left for the last trek with my father. He lived deep in the ocean and rarely came up, except to see my mother. I had my doubts at first, but one night I decided to spy on her after my bedtime. I saw her creeping out over the same mooring docks she had forbidden me from exploring. She sat there staring at the water's edge for nearly an hour before standing up and leaving quickly. I waited for her to pass through the gates to our house, then I moved to investigate the area she had so intensely studied. The water reflected a vibrant teal in the floodlights. I looked on in amazement at the vast sea of green and blue in front of me. It was belittling. Terrifying. I never once felt scared in my young life, but this was truly frightening. The great unknown force before me commanded only the most dire of authority. I slowly reached out my hand as if to show it some form of respect. A strong wave brushed against the dock, drenching me in bone-chilling water.

Soaked and unamused, I got up to leave. While standing I noticed a strong beam of light erupt from the water. It cut up into the dark sky and grew in intensity as the waters sloshed violently. I felt the entire dock being thrashed about; the sound of metal scraping against itself was overbearing. I had to stick my index fingers in my ears just to maintain consciousness. The metal boards began to rip apart as a great metallic beast of a machine broke through the dock. The lights were beyond blinding. I curled up into a ball and tried to calm my breath while the machine settled in place. I looked up using my elbow to block out most of the light and could make out the shape of the hull. It looked like a submarine, but one that was built to withstand extreme pressures. The front of the machine was fitted with a vicious set of boring drills and two large pincer-like struts jutting from the side. The lights suddenly black out and I can hear a hatch burst open from the upper region of the vessel.

My mind began clearing as the waves calmed down and the ringing in my ears subsided. I surveyed the area to see who, or what had exited the ship. After a few moments I carefully stood up, my knees were bloody from multiple scrapes. I began limping slightly while I made my way towards the gate. Strangely enough I didn't see my mother. I didn't see anyone really. Almost like no-one lived here. Just as I reached the gate I felt a presence nearby. I look behind myself and see a figure staring back at me. Their tall and slender body matching the dark background with deadly precision. I could tell that they were wearing some kind of suit, but it was hard to see in the dim light. They produced a small stick, grasping both sides and turned it in opposite directions to produce a light source. The green glow illuminated the entire area. I could see the stranger was female. She removed her mask and threw it to me.

"Put that on," she said with a hasty tone.

I picked up the mask. It reminded me of the fireflies that we used to see on Summer nights, floating just above the water's surface. I heeded her advice and placed the mask on. The mask had a brace for my head and wrapped tightly around my neck. I could see extremely well in the dark setting. The woman approached me and gave me a small overcoat that hooked up to the mask. She lifted me up, looking me straight in my eyes. Her face was similar to my mother's, strong and subtle, her eyes were a calm green.

"I hope your brother takes care of you," she said with a strain on her voice.

She lifted me up a little higher and threw me into the water. I panicked as the icy water enveloped my body. My toes went numb immediately and I could feel my lungs forcing breaths in and out of me. Looking up I could see the twilight slowly escape my field of vision. My muscles were completely locked in place, and my heartbeat began to equalize while I sank deeper into the abyss. Suddenly I felt a jolt of electricity as a great stream of energy shot past my body. I was swept in the current and carried to the surface. I was suspended on a giant wave, the entirety of the dock village was beneath me. I saw the large submarine still moored in the metal wreckage. A large slough of water wrapped around the machination and lifted it up before tossing it aside angrily. I was carried further, above my home and I watched in horror as the waves obliterated our village. From wave to tsunami, the water leveled the entire barge that I had called home. I was left staring at the same teal reflection that had frightened me only a short time ago. My fears confirmed, my innocence stripped. I began sobbing. My mother, my family was revoked from our humble existence.

I looked to my left for whatever reason and saw a young boy looking at me with intrigue. He emanated a warmth that I had not felt since my father had left. He showed me a great compassion, but also a great distaste. I descended onto a piece of flotsam, my body unharmed from the great display of destruction. The boy, still suspended in the water observed me for a few more minutes before receding into the deep ocean. He smiled at me softly before disappearing into the abyss. I looked around and saw nothing in my field of vision. Complete and utter isolation, except for a small ray of moonlight reflecting off the water's edge.

"What happened next, Gramma?"

"I just sat there and waited for someone to come get me. Thankfully my dad came to my rescue the next day," I said, a small smile forming on my old, weathered lips.

"Did your brother call him?"

"No. No. He was due for a visit. He embraced me greatly when he found me."

"What about your momma?"

"I never saw her again."

My grandson looked out the window at the moving water.

"What about your brother?"

I looked out at the same teal reflection that haunted me so, and I saw a small ray of light break through the surface as a whale-like creature surfaced. My face transformed into a stoic, and blatant yearning form.

"I'm sure I'll see him again."

All rights reserved to Julio J. Ramirez (ramirezjj72195)

[mille-at-home]

Dentists, hygienists, children & a hot tub?!

Ahh the weekend of madness seemed to pass in a blur which left me entertaining two children of quite awkward ages to myself. Erin seems to have taken on Cory’s old role of bickering with Dad when he’s home, I don’t understand what this stuff is all about and I didn’t with Cory but I am pleased to say, that stage has passed for him, but; Erin seems to have fitted right in where he left off?! This makes for stressy weekends again where I seem to want all three of my darlings to shut the fook up! I still need that week in Mauritius! Any takers? Insert begging emoji. (If there is one, if there isn’t, there needs to be!).

Anyway, Dad safely back to base and I have Cory’s best mate over for a sleepover. Two 14 year old lads are pretty easy to entertain, just give them food and a TV, where they watched some very important wrestling tournaments and they were happy, made their own beds up and just needed a prompt to clean their teeth following all the sugar that had consumed. The lads even let Erin watch some matches and a few Xbox games. Easy.

The next day Erin has a friend over and ye gods us girls are a different kettle of fish indeed ‘can we go out?’ 'Can we have a water fight?’ 'Can we have the wifi password for musically?’ 'Can we make some cakes?’ Seriously?! Girls are bloody hard work. A few hours and a lemon cake later I drop other little angel home and send Erin off to shower whilst I tidy up and contemplate my soak in the bath after she has finished. Once I get into my bath, I can’t tell you how angry I was that she has used the last shampoo and conditioner and I am resigned to fooking Lynx Africa again; but not only that, she has also used my face wash as her bloody 'slide’ grrrrr she is 10years old?! For how long do I need to keep all this stuff out of reach? It’s ridiculous and yes; perfect parents out there - I can assure you I have told her until I’m blue in the bloody face?! I am not quite sure what possesses this daughter of mine sometimes! Bang goes the calm bath anyway and I am trying to stay strong for tomorrow’s dental appointment! (Mauritius please?!).

It’s the Easter holidays and I have agreed a 9am dental hygienist appointment?! But, as I have said before - you get what you’re given in this NHS dental malarkey. I of course anticipate a long appointment where I am bad, bad, parent (even badder than the previous bad) and Erin and I wait for the hygienist to call us in. 9am and out comes this smiley, lovely friendly little (5ft ish) lady? Now this was quite unexpected and we follow her through to this little room where she chats to Erin the whole way? Flip, this is totally unexpected and coupled with that, Erin is answering and giggling with her?! We sit down and she tells Erin that 'Iv have read your notes sweetheart and you don’t like us dental people much do you?’ Erin shakes her head and they both giggle where hygienist agrees that she doesn’t either but….and in the loveliest, gentlest way, without patronising Erin, or indeed me! She gets Erin to talk about why she is scared. Erin is at ease and just does everything this lovely lady asks without hesitation - even a tiny little poky brush went in her mouth to brush on blue dye to see how well she brushes! Well, doesn’t it show that if you treat someone with compassion and understanding you can get through the biggest barriers?! Not rocket science is it? Erin can be very particular and if someone treats her with contempt then she is very liable to shunt them. (Can’t imagine who she takes after?!).

Anyway after such a successful dental day we set off happily to karate, when I got home there was a message on my answer machine from Mum it went “Hello, Mille I’m leaving a message as I am very worried. I have been really unwell and my breathing is slow and I have no pulse, can you call me back to tell me what you think?” Now, even the children are giggling at this one; I desperately try not to show my giggles in front of them but, we can all see the funny side to this one. Of course I send children to get ready for bed, text the husband the funny side and then call Mum. I do feel I disappointed her greatly by not training as a GP but alas I just didn’t have the brain for it; however I find myself calmly telling her what any good GP without a clue might say “it’s probably just viral” and I tell her I will call the care staff and ask them to pop up. She was scared she might die in the night and no one would know…bless her. After half an hour I get through to a lovely sounding care assistant - shame we never really meet the night teams in these places. She promises to go straight up and see her.

I take Erin with me the next day, (I have no choice) but Mum seems a little frailer than usual. I take her pulse to reassure her but I think it’s a little erratic for my liking, (ongoing problem) but I of course tell her 'it’s fine’ she is more concerned that she has no milk and 'bits’ so I say Erin and I will ponder up to the precinct and get some essentials for her. Oh my days, out comes a list as long as my arm and I decide to take the car as I will not manage to carry all of this alone with Erin! Oh and by the way I asked if Jane had been to see her last night and she said 'Oh was that her name? She was so lovely, I’ve never seen her before but she made me a decaf coffee and I must have settled to sleep’ (I know these care staff are good). Anyway onto half an hours shopping to get what I must observe was a lot of bloody ice cream and then another hour and her flatlet thing, cleaned and hoovered with all the shopping put away I ask the staff if they could also check her pulse as I thought it was erratic. I left it in their capable hands. She had a hospital appointment this Monday but I can’t take her so it has been rearranged for the following week, coupled with Erin’s orthodontics appointment and here’s me wondering why it’s difficult to remember anything?!

That said, this week should see calmness in my world returned as the husband comes home today and we are set on a little hot tub and summer house project! #haterbackoff

Have a lovely weekend all. Mille xx