When Emily joins the BAU during Elle’s leave of absence, sparks fly, in several senses. Elle and Emily can’t seem to get along, while Emily and JJ find themselves drawn to each other even as JJ and Elle try to rekindle their relationship. Can the three of them learn to work together, or will the tension tear them all apart?
in today’s chapter: JJ spends the evening with Elle and has a not-date with Emily.
updates saturdays, ask to be added to the taglist!
“Please, call me JJ,” she said. This time the radiance of her smile was directed solely at Emily. It was almost too much to handle.
“Emily. It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” Emily replied, speaking mostly to JJ. There was something utterly captivating in the way she spoke, her words sweet but sincere. They had an undercurrent of weariness though, something that seemed all the more obvious when JJ’s smile dropped.
When Emily joins the BAU during Elle’s leave of absence, sparks fly, in several senses. Elle and Emily can’t seem to get along, while Emily and JJ find themselves drawn to each other even as JJ and Elle try to rekindle their relationship. Can the three of them learn to work together, or will the tension tear them all apart?
in today’s chapter: jj intervenes as things between emily and elle reach a boiling point
When Emily joins the BAU during Elle’s leave of absence, sparks fly, in several senses. Elle and Emily can’t seem to get along, while Emily and JJ find themselves drawn to each other even as JJ and Elle try to rekindle their relationship. Can the three of them learn to work together, or will the tension tear them all apart?
in today’s chapter: a day in the life of emily prentiss, from fighting with elle to doing her job to falling in love(?) with jj
updates saturdays, ask to be added to the taglist!
When Emily joins the BAU during Elle’s leave of absence, sparks fly, in several senses. Elle and Emily can’t seem to get along, while Emily and JJ find themselves drawn to each other even as JJ and Elle try to rekindle their relationship. Can the three of them learn to work together, or will the tension tear them all apart?
in today’s chapter: Elle returns to the BAU and discovers what’s changed in her absence, including the presence of one Emily Prentiss
updates saturdays, ask to be added to the taglist!
Pairing:Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary:After finally opening up to your therapist about why you haven’t had sex in so long, he suggests a few new exercises to help you face your fears. Category:SMUT (18+) Content:Themes and discussions of sexual trauma surrounding a painful sexual encounter, power dynamics, masturbation, dubious consent, voyeurism (unbeknownst to reader), Spencer is a perv. Word Count: 3.1k
NOTE:I feel like I haven’t posted anything in ages and I was getting really anxious about it for some reason, so I decided to cut this oneshot into two parts so that I could get something out. Plus, I know a lot of you have been pretty excited about it, so it seemed like a win! I’m not sure when Part 2 will be out, but I’ve been working on it in bits and pieces, so I hope you’ll stick around for it!
———
Waiting for Doctor Reid to show up is like waiting for Christmas Day.
Only, rather than being nine years old and excited to spend the morning opening up gifts, you find yourself on the other side of things. It’s very much like you’re the parent who knows what’s going to happen, spending every second dreading the inevitable moment where your child wakes you up at the ass-crack of dawn, when really, you’d rather be sleeping.
Your hands twiddle nervously in your lap as you wait in his office, that fateful conversation from last week’s session replaying on a loop in your brain.
Pairing:Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary:After finally opening up to your therapist about why you haven’t had sex in so long, he suggests a few new exercises to help you face your fears. Category:SMUT (18+) Content:Themes and discussions of sexual trauma surrounding a painful sexual encounter, power dynamics, masturbation, dubious consent, voyeurism (unbeknownst to reader), Spencer is a perv. Word Count: 3.1k
NOTE:I feel like I haven’t posted anything in ages and I was getting really anxious about it for some reason, so I decided to cut this oneshot into two parts so that I could get something out. Plus, I know a lot of you have been pretty excited about it, so it seemed like a win! I’m not sure when Part 2 will be out, but I’ve been working on it in bits and pieces, so I hope you’ll stick around for it!
———
Waiting for Doctor Reid to show up is like waiting for Christmas Day.
Only, rather than being nine years old and excited to spend the morning opening up gifts, you find yourself on the other side of things. It’s very much like you’re the parent who knows what’s going to happen, spending every second dreading the inevitable moment where your child wakes you up at the ass-crack of dawn, when really, you’d rather be sleeping.
Your hands twiddle nervously in your lap as you wait in his office, that fateful conversation from last week’s session replaying on a loop in your brain.
Pairing:Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary:After finally opening up to your therapist about why you haven’t had sex in so long, he suggests a few new exercises to help you face your fears. Category:SMUT (18+) Content:Themes and discussions of sexual trauma surrounding a painful sexual encounter, power dynamics, masturbation, dubious consent, voyeurism (unbeknownst to reader), Spencer is a perv. Word Count: 3.1k
NOTE:I feel like I haven’t posted anything in ages and I was getting really anxious about it for some reason, so I decided to cut this oneshot into two parts so that I could get something out. Plus, I know a lot of you have been pretty excited about it, so it seemed like a win! I’m not sure when Part 2 will be out, but I’ve been working on it in bits and pieces, so I hope you’ll stick around for it!
———
Waiting for Doctor Reid to show up is like waiting for Christmas Day.
Only, rather than being nine years old and excited to spend the morning opening up gifts, you find yourself on the other side of things. It’s very much like you’re the parent who knows what’s going to happen, spending every second dreading the inevitable moment where your child wakes you up at the ass-crack of dawn, when really, you’d rather be sleeping.
Your hands twiddle nervously in your lap as you wait in his office, that fateful conversation from last week’s session replaying on a loop in your brain.
“And what about your sexual relationships?”
You froze like a deer in headlights, unwilling to budge no matter how loud his horn was. Even as he asked again, your name a gentle coax on the surface of his tongue, you remained perfectly still.
“Did I… strike a nerve?” he asked.
“U—Um… I…”
“It’s important that you’re up-front about these things with me, Y/N… Of course it’s fine if you don’t feel like telling me everything right away. But if there’s something wrong, I’d like to know. That way we can at least find somewhere to start. Does that sound okay?”
“Um… Y—Yeah, I guess so…”
He asked again, and you found it extremely difficult to look him in the eye.
Or… to look at him in general.
You knew eventually you’d have to talk about your sex life, but in all honesty it was shoved deep into the back of your mind during the other sessions— You know, when you were laser-focused on literally anything else while trying not to think about how attractive you found your therapist and how fucked up that was.
Doctor Reid always made sure to speak slow and concisely, which, when combined with its smooth tone and the way he looked at you with his pensive, hypnotizing eyes, was fucking deadly. And you weren’t even going to mention his hands— the way they glided beautifully across the notepad he wrote in, or how they flexed and tapped on his knee or on his chin.
He was distracting from the get-go, which was dangerous. But now, on the topic of your sex life?
You couldn’t dare to look in his general direction.
So, with your eyes glued on your lap, you mindlessly counted the number of tiny flowers printed on your skirt and answered the best you could.
“I don’t… I don’t have frequent sexual relationships.”
You wondered if he would ask you to speak up, but he didn’t. Instead, he asked, “How frequent would you say they are?”
“Um… Well… I only ha—ad sex once.”
“Are you… embarrassed about that?”
“No.”
He paused. “That’s good. There’s no reason to be.” And after you didn’t say anything in response, he continued. “How long ago was the encounter?”
You hesitated a little longer, but he didn’t push it. Eventually, intimidated by the silence, you sighed and quickly blurted, “About a year ago.”
There was another pause, and you assumed he was writing something down. But then he asked, “And how did you find your experience?”
“I—I’m sorry?”
He cleared his throat. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
“I… I don’t… Why is that relevant?”
“You’re coming to me once a week for counselling because you said you’ve found yourself shying away from other people, where a year ago you were a normal adult with normal interests in socializing and being around others. Correct?”
“Yes…”
“Every session so far, we’ve gone through your upbringing, your family life, school, friends, your first jobs… All up until now. Everything is perfectly fine, and yet we still can’t seem to figure out why you’ve strayed from your habits. The only topic we haven’t discussed is your sexual and romantic relationships.”
You stayed silent, the flower pattern on your skirt suddenly becoming more like a dizzying optical illusion by the second.
Doctor Reid continued. “And judging your body language, I see that you haven’t looked me in the eye once since I brought up sex. My guess is that something happened during your first time that—”
“Look, honestly I don’t think that’s relevant to my situation, I haven’t had sex since then because I don’t want to, it has nothing to do with this.”
“It’s okay if it does,” Doctor Reid encouraged. He was gentle, and if you didn’t know any better, you would have thought he was amused. “That’s what I’m here for.”
You glanced up at him briefly, seeing a soft smile lighting the air between you. It filters some of the embarrassment you’re feeling, and with a sigh, you adjust in the chair and look off to the side.
“No. I didn’t enjoy myself.”
“Okay. We’re getting somewhere, that’s good. Do… you want to tell me why you didn’t enjoy yourself?”
You blinked, feeling your chest tighten and your stomach churn at the memory. “It’s stupid.”
“Y/N, I promise you it isn’t… We don’t have to discuss it now if you don’t want to, but it’s not stupid.”
Thankfully he let you mull it over in the silence for a while, giving you time to gather your emotions and thoughts. And still, without looking directly at him, you began to open up.
“He hurt me… I—It wasn’t… bad or anything, like he didn’t do anything I didn’t want to… I just… I—It hurt. Really bad. Like, I don’t think I’d ever felt that kind of pain before.”
“Did he, um… Go too hard? Do you think maybe that’s why it hurt you?”
You let out the loudest breath of air, embarrassment and exasperation filling your lungs with every breath you took. “Yeah, that was part of it, but like… He was also kinda big, and it didn’t feel good going in at all… And I know it’s supposed to not feel greatat first, and I thought it would get better, but… I—It just got worse, and worse, and I felt like I was getting torn apart from the inside out, I…”
Tears were steadily streaming down your face now, your throat incredibly tight and ears pounding as you tried to find the strength to say your words.
“I… I never want to do that again.”
A box of tissues was dropped into your lap after you’d gathered yourself a bit, and you mumbled a small ‘thank you’ as you wiped your face. Doctor Reid was more than glad to let you take your time, and you were thankful.
It was also great to know that it didn’t seem like he was embarrassed for you or ready to laugh. In fact, his tone was as smooth as ever, and incredibly warm as he spoke.
“Do you think that experience had an effect on the way you socialize somehow?”
“I… Maybe. Sure, I mean… I’m at that age where the people I hang out with all want to hook up, and if we’re not trying to go home with someone, then we’re not having a good time. It’s… It’s a lot of pressure, especially when I think about the fact that people like sex… I mean, like… That was awful, and people act like it’s the end-all-be-all to enjoyment, I… I don’t know…”
“Sure… You had a bad experience, and it’s normal to retreat after experiencing that kind of pain… But it wasonly one time. You never know, maybe your partner just wasn’t the right partner for you.”
You shook your head intently. “No. No, that’s not… No.”
There was a decent pause before Doctor Reid spoke again. “I want to ask you something… And this might be a bit personal, so I’m sorry if I push any boundaries…”
He waited for you to object, but you didn’t, silently giving him the go-ahead.
“Have you ever masturbated before?”
Dear God, you wanted to throw up. “What?”
“Well, before you had sex… Did you ever… Explore what you like on your own?”
“Um… Y—Yeah, I guess so…”
“You guess so?”
You sighed. “Yes.”
“Okay… In your exploration, did you ever try anything penetrative?”
“Do I actually have to answer that?”
“Of course you don’t. If you’re uncomfortable we can move on, but… I really do think this is going to help… Trust me.”
You sighed again, looking at his face once more to see him as he always was— sincere and pensive and understanding. And then you continued.
“No… I’ve… only ever done clitoral stimulation.”
“And what about after your sexual encounter? Have you masturbated since then?”
You paused. “No.”
And then he paused. And you were pretty sure you knew exactly what he was going to tell you.
Sure enough, he said, “Before I see you next week, I want you to try masturbating again. Maybe watch some porn or read some erotica… Whatever you think will get you more comfortable with your body and your sexuality… And we’ll see where you end up.”
“Do you reallythink this is going to help me get over my… fear of sex, or whatever this is?”
He smiled softly at you, and despite the bad relationship you’ve been having with sex, it brought a low simmer to the pit of your stomach. “It’s a good start.”
It’s a good start…
“It’s a good start,” you whispered when you got home that night, right before getting under the covers and turning to the collection of porn you’d had saved over a year ago.
It worked, too.
You’d expected it to take way longer than a week to get back any sliver of libido. And it was definitely hard at first, but by the time your next session with Doctor Reid came around, you’d been masturbating regularly every day.
Though, it seems his instruction may have worked a little toowell.
Once you were comfortable with your own body again, you couldn’t stop the images of his face as they danced in beautiful flashes behind your eyelids. Scenarios were acted out in your dreams, his presence melding with yours and replacing those you’d watched and read, and it created a new sense of nervousness once you realized that you’d have to see him again in a few days…
And now that you’re here, only seconds away from the moment he’d walk through the door, your stomach twists and your heart leaps.
You almost think maybe running out the door is a good option, but then he’s waltzing through it with that seasoned swiftness that only adds to his charm and makes you even more intimidated by him.
“Good afternoon, Y/N,” he greets with a warm smile, taking the seat in front of you.
“Hi, Doctor.”
“How was your week?”
After a pause, you clear your throat, obviously not very good at hiding anything. “Fine.”
“Just fine?”
“Yep.”
He only waits for you to continue. You hate when he does that…
Because it works, getting you to talk every damn time. “Still not inclined to do anything out of my normal social routine, but I’m… better.”
“How so?”
Feeling his gaze on you makes your heart lurch. “Um… I’m more… comfortable… with my body, I guess…”
“So you took my suggestion, then?”
You can only muster a nod, words dying in the back of your throat and evaporating into nothing.
“You still seem… shy.”
“Well, I’m talking to my therapist about my masturbation habits…”
Thankfully he seems to understand, nodding with a small laugh that aims to lighten the mood and make you more comfortable around the whole situation. After all, it is only the start of your session this week, and a whole hour and a half of awkwardness wouldn’t suffice.
Even still, what he says next doesn’t ease your mind much at all.
“Do you mind elaborating a little?”
“I don’t know how much more elaboration you need,” you half-scoff, clearly defensive over your privacy— And with every right to be so, considering most of your thoughts had been about him.
“Well, let’s start with how frequent you’ve been with it.”
That you could do. “Um… about every day for the past week?” And right before I left the house…
“Good. How many times a day?”
“Once.”Twice, sometimes three…
“Okay…” He writes things down, and then pauses before asking his next question. “Have you tried any new techniques?”
“I’m sorry?”
“I mean other than clitoral stimulation.”
“No. I—I thought this was just supposed to be a start—”
“Oh! It was. I didn’t mean to frighten you, I’m sorry. I don’t expect you to be ready to have sex or anything right away— You should always be allowed to go at your own pace, I hope you understand that.”
“Right…” There’s an awkward pause, but you want things to keep moving, so just to keep him talking, you continue, “So, um… What’s the next step then?”
By the look in his eyes, you realize it was probably the wrong question—and way—to ask. Even after just explaining that you could go at your own pace, the way you spoke to him could have easily been interpreted as a newfound confidence to push forward. In your case, had it been real, it would have been falseconfidence.
But even still, a dim light bulb still shines.
“We’re going to make sure you’ve actually been doing your homework. Come with me.”
———
There’s just something about you that Spencer can’t seem to understand. It’s something beautiful and alluring, and more than anything it’s incredibly wrong. Because he surely shouldn’t be taking you to a separate room in the building where they interview mental patients while others watch from behind one-way glass and take notes.
But here he is anyway, leading you into the room and trying desperately not to kiss or touch you…
“W—What do you want me to do, exactly?” you ask in that timid way of yours. It’s almost innocent, like you truly don’t understand why he’s brought you here rather than confirming your suspicions, and somehow that only makes him want you more.
“I want you to masturbate. This room is soundproof, it’s camera-free… Whatever you do in here will be completely private.”
“Why? I—Isn’t this like… This… I…”
Spencer reaches out and touches your shoulder, and when you look at him like a lost animal, he nearly crumbles to dust. “Look… It’s more than okay if you don’t want to, I understand… But I really do think this will help you. You’re completely safe here, I want you to know that.”
He’s speaking to you in that slow, collected way that always gets you to open up to him, and when you finally nod and agree to do his little assignment, he smiles, though his stomach inside is doing flips and he’s shooting off celebratory fireworks in his brain.
“What do I do when I’m done?” you ask.
He reaches into his pocket and gives you a pager. “You can page me with this. I’ll be in my office, so by the time I get to you, you should have enough time to get yourself situated. Is that okay?”
“You’re… Leaving me alone?”
The question almost knocks the wind out of him. To play it off though, he laughs a little. “What, you want me to watch?”
“That’s not what I meant! I… I just mean… Anyone could…”
“Like I said, this room is completely safe and soundproof. I’ve booked it for your session today, so no one is coming in to use it. There is a room right next door if you’d prefer I stay closer though, just in case.”
“Y—Yes, please…”
Spencer smiles and sets the pager on the other side of the room, on a small table in the corner. “Okay. Page me when you’re done, and I’ll give you a few minutes to collect yourself. Okay?”
“Okay,” you give with a nod and a small smile. Your nerves have calmed, and maybe this helps Spencer feel better about what he’s about to do, but in spite of his ulterior motives, he’s truly glad you’re making progress.
He leaves and shuts the door, locking it and making quick work of sliding into the small door next to it. After locking that one as well, he switches on the light and settles in, seeing that you’ve only just sat down on the small couch in the middle of the room.
You both lean back at about the same time, you into the couch cushions and Spencer in the spinning desk chair. It doesn’t take but a single movement of your hand down to the button of your jeans to make him hard, and now he’s determined to make you feel the same way about him that he does you.
It’s set in stone the moment you slide the denim down your legs and spread them wide, right in front of him. He watches as you take a deep breath and rub yourself through your panties, little pieces of your hesitation crumbling away by the second, and he just knows he’s going to fuck you properly.
When, he doesn’t know. But it will happen, that much he’s sure of.
In the meantime, he settles for fantasy. Spencer opens up his own pants and just loosens them enough to get his dick out, and all the while his eyes are trained solely on you.
He doesn’t start moving his hand until you slide your panties down as well, fluttering your eyes closed the moment your finger makes contact with your bare clit. In that moment, Spencer is glad for the soundproofing, because if you’d actually heard the way he groaned out just then, he would have been doomed. He spits on his hand and starts to glide it softly over himself, matching the speed of your own as it languidly explores your body.
All he can think about is how beautiful you are… He should be thinking about how wrong this is, or how you probably don’t feel the same attraction to him that he so obviously feels about you, and doing this is only making his crush worse…
Butdamn it, you’re just so captivating, he can’t stop.
And he doesn’t.
No, Spencer doesn’t even give a second thought to sighing out your name and imagining you in front of him—closer than you are now—with your head tilted up and your pretty eyes batting up at him while he fucks your throat. He mindlessly whispers praises in between low whines as his speed and pressure increases, and he’s so close to coming.
He can hold out, though. He can wait for you. In fact, he wants to wait for you. He wants to watch you come undone before he even thinks about getting there himself.
But of course, as they say, you don’t always get what you want.
It’s not like it’s his fault, though. You’re the one who’s losing yourself in a fantasy, using his name on your lips as a plea to aid you in the most intimate form of pleasure…
“Doctor Reid,” he can hear you whine as you squirm and bring yourself closer to bliss.
He can’t help it, then. His name falling off your tongue sets off the explosion that ripples through his insides. His hand falters, and he releases the most pathetic sound he’s ever made at the mercy of a sexual partner, right as he comes all over his hand. You’re calling his name again, in broken chants getting higher and higher in pitch until you’re incoherent, and he’s just a sticky, flustered mess.
He sits there and watches you reach your climax, still gently stroking his cock with a lip between his teeth. Your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth hangs open, and your legs, while still wide, are wavering and tensing. His eyes travel down to your hand as it aids you in pleasure, and he wishes more than anything that it was his.
In fact, the thought gives him an idea for your next session…
Your eyes open and immediately fall on Spencer’s sleeping form. His left hand holds onto yours tightly. The shining silver ring on his ring finger pulls your eyes towards it. You placed it there last night, in front of your family and friends while you vowed to love each other through the good and the bad.
Spencer Reid is your husband. It still seems so surreal. A smile breaks out and you’re about to laugh out loud from the happiness you feel inside. Luckily, you have some restraint left and are able to stop yourself so you don’t wake Spencer.
Spencer’s hair is so messy and yours, no doubt, looks like a bird nest. You’ve woken up next to each other numerous times, but this morning it’s different. You’re husband and wife.
Your right hand is itching to touch the man you love. Itching to follow the sharp line of his jawline before nestling itself behind his neck to pull him in for a kiss he won’t forget.
Before you get swept up in the feeling, Spencer opens his eyes slowly.
A lazy smile paints his lips as his eyes fall on your hands, holding each other tightly and his wedding ring shining in the ray of sunlight. He turns your left hand so he can look at the ring that’s adoring your finger. A tiny kiss finds its way onto your ring before he moves his eyes to meet yours and whispers: “Good morning, my wife.”
A giddy giggle leaves your lips while you answer him: “Good morning, my husband.”
You didn’t know it was possible, but the smile on his lips gets even bigger.
“It’ll take time to get used to hear that, but it feels so right,” he says while he pulls you closer.
His right arm winds itself around your waist while his left hand caresses your cheek before pulling you into a passionate kiss.
“So. Damn. Right,” you answer him between pecks.
Spencer repositions himself on his back and like a magnet you’re pulled into his side and you rest your head on his chest. His arms circle themselves around you and he holds you tight.
When you walk through the door of yours and Aaron’s apartment, you immediately spot the man on the couch. It was rare for him to be home before you, but whenever it happened it was always on a day you really needed it. You’d had an awful day at work and the only thing getting you through the day was knowing you would get to cuddle Aaron all night long.
Seems like luck was on your side today, seeing as Aaron got home before you. You drop your bag by the door and hang up your coat. On your way to the couch you get rid of your shoes.
You plant yourself on the couch, right next to Aaron. His arm instinctively falls around your shoulders and boxes you into his side while he presses a kiss to your forehead. You let out a happy sigh and melt into him.
“Rough day at work,” he asks.
You nod while you intertwine your legs with his.
“Where’s Jack,” you ask, curious as to why the little boy hadn’t made an appearance yet.
“He’s with Jessica. I wanted to have a quiet night in with you. Looks like you need it too,” he whispers before winking at you.
“What do you have planned for this quiet night at home?”
He nuzzles your face with his nose before answering: “I thought we could start the night off with a nice warm bath. Then maybe a movie. And to end on a high note, a full night of sleep. Now, tell me that doesn’t sound appealing, Mrs. Hotchner.”
You make a thinking face, like you have to consider his plans thoughtfully. He looks offended that you even have to think about it.
You giggle at the face he makes and say: “You could make anything sound like a wonderful plan, Aaron. But we should start right now or I’m about to start with the last step in your plan.”
He laughs wholeheartedly before pulling you from the couch and guiding you towards the bathroom.
—–
Once the fake candles are placed around the bath, Aaron looks for some slow music. However, you can’t wait any longer so you already strip down and make yourself comfortable in the hot water. When Aaron turns around, he chuckles.
“Couldn’t wait, could you?”
You give him a cheeky grin and move a bit forward so he can sit behind you.
Once he’s settled, he pulls you into his chest and winds his arms around your waist. He presses a featherlight kiss on your shoulder before resting his chin there. You both let out a sigh of contentment, causing you to giggle. Your hands settle over his and you intertwine your fingers.
“Thank you,” you whisper to your husband.
“What for,” he asks, undoubtedly already knowing the answer.
“For this. For being home early. For…everything,” you softly say.
“There’s no need to thank me, sweetheart. I love you,” he quietly answers you.
“I love you too, Aaron.”
You turn around and press a deep kiss to his lips.
—–
You end up spending a lot of time in the bath so you and Aaron immediately skip to the last item on his list, a full night of sleep.
After you get comfortable on your pillow, Aaron crawls into your arms. You press a kiss to the crown of his head and tighten your arms around him. Sharing a mumbled: “I love you.” you drift off to sleep.
Flames dance behind his eyelids. Hotch sees a burning bush. He hears a deep thunderous voice calling out Moses! Moses! He sees a bush on fire but did not burn up. Take your son to the top of Moriah and kill your son there as a sacrifice to me. This must be Issac, your only son, the one you love. Use him as an offering–
He wakes with a jolt, his body broken out in a cold sweat. He watches a tree pass above him. His tinnitus is horrid, making his temples pulse in a rigid band. He hears Abel, like a preacher on the radio coming in and out of service. Static, ringing. Then a decisive sermon. He’s reciting Exodus. Moses leading his people from slavery.
“Abel?” his voice is weaker than he’s expecting but the sun beats down between the treetops and he’s dehydrated. “Abel, you have to–” He tries to sit up but quickly gives that idea up. His arms can’t hold his weight and his head spins dangerously. His stomach hurts so bad he can’t think straight.
“Aaron,” Abel breathes wistfully, speaking to the trees. “The brother of Moses.”
Hotch thinks Abel should begin in Genesis; And it came to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abraham his brother, and slew him. He’s stuck somewhere between compassion and loathing. His head aches fiercely, his stomach is tied into painful knots. His left shoe is gone and on some tarp, he’s being roughly pulled through the woods. Rocks hit his back. Sticks stab at him. And yet, he imagines the crime scene photos one more time. Imagines Abraham at the top of his mountain with his son and Abel lost in these woods. Both raise daggers to the throats of people they love. One Abraham is ready to kill his own son and another begs his brother to see reason.
Only one was saved.
He’s bleeding.
A bush leans down over him, leaves grazing skin. On its tilted edge, a drop of blood gathers and he watches it. He looks at the blood on that leaf until the colors blur together until that brush is lost amidst the others. Leaving a trail is good, even if blood isn’t.
He drops, suddenly. The tarp is released and no warning given. He can’t hold himself upright so he just falls down onto the ground. Left to stare hazily up at the tops of the trees.
Flames dance behind his eyelids. Hotch sees a burning bush. He hears a deep thunderous voice calling out Moses! Moses! He sees a bush on fire but did not burn up. Take your son to the top of Moriah and kill your son there as a sacrifice to me. This must be Issac, your only son, the one you love. Use him as an offering–
He wakes with a jolt, his body broken out in a cold sweat. He watches a tree pass above him. His tinnitus is horrid, making his temples pulse in a rigid band. He hears Abel, like a preacher on the radio coming in and out of service. Static, ringing. Then a decisive sermon. He’s reciting Exodus. Moses leading his people from slavery.
“Abel?” his voice is weaker than he’s expecting but the sun beats down between the treetops and he’s dehydrated. “Abel, you have to–” He tries to sit up but quickly gives that idea up. His arms can’t hold his weight and his head spins dangerously. His stomach hurts so bad he can’t think straight.
“Aaron,” Abel breathes wistfully, speaking to the trees. “The brother of Moses.”
Hotch thinks Abel should begin in Genesis; And it came to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abraham his brother, and slew him. He’s stuck somewhere between compassion and loathing. His head aches fiercely, his stomach is tied into painful knots. His left shoe is gone and on some tarp, he’s being roughly pulled through the woods. Rocks hit his back. Sticks stab at him. And yet, he imagines the crime scene photos one more time. Imagines Abraham at the top of his mountain with his son and Abel lost in these woods. Both raise daggers to the throats of people they love. One Abraham is ready to kill his own son and another begs his brother to see reason.
Only one was saved.
He’s bleeding.
A bush leans down over him, leaves grazing skin. On its tilted edge, a drop of blood gathers and he watches it. He looks at the blood on that leaf until the colors blur together until that brush is lost amidst the others. Leaving a trail is good, even if blood isn’t.
He drops, suddenly. The tarp is released and no warning given. He can’t hold himself upright so he just falls down onto the ground. Left to stare hazily up at the tops of the trees.
“Are you faithful, Aaron?”
Aaron. All he hears is his name – his ears conducting an intensely painful concert of forever ringing bells. Just trying to look at Abel hurts. The sun is too bright, even dulled by it’s passage through the trees. His head hurts. Faithful? He frowns, faithful? He doesn’t understand. It doesn’t make sense. He reaches for his phone but… His pockets are empty. That’s probably good a good thing? No wallet or keys or… gun. No gun. Damn. But these things must be discarded somewhere, a pile of proof to document the direction they’re headed.
“Aaron.” Abel crouches down by his side and pushes his thumb against the weeping wound against Aaron’s forehead. “I apologize,” he says. “I’m afraid I hit you much harder than I originally anticipated.” He frowns, he seems to mean it which is more confusing than anything else. “I was afraid and I over-reacted.”
The tarp wrinkles as Aaron moves his hand, he nods. The mud is cold. The sticks damp from a recent rain. He finds a rock, cold and hard. A rock. He curls his fingers around it and feels its weight in his palm.
“I hope you can forgive me.”
Breathing in slowly through his nose, Aaron swings his arm. His fingers end up pinched between the rock and Abel’s skull, an instant bloodied nailbed, but he can’t get further. Abel crumples, goes right down. Time is off the essence – he knows this somewhere in the back of his mind, it drives Aaron into movement. But he gets one sore shoulder to move, one aching arm up underneath him and his vision blackout. He gets nowhere.
The sun is lower.
Hotch’s first thought is Jack. The sun is too low. Jack needs to go to bed. He needs to..
He can’t remember.
Beside him Abel groans, shifting but staying where he’s fallen. Move.Something in him screams. Anxiety lances up his stomach and painfully sits hot and heavy. Move.He pushes himself up slowly, taking a moment to gasp between waves of nausea.
His knees buckle and he leans into a tree, grunting at the pain of leaning his body weight into thistles growing all around. More blood, that’s helpful. He needs to move. Move. Get out of here.
He kicks up dirt in that first step, rocks and acorns and sticks. His fucking shoe. His left shoe is gone, missing. Abel moans again and Hotch knows he’s got no more time.
[x.]
“And he just… disappeared?”
Calling in what happened was uneventful. Only a few seconds had passed since Hotch tore off into the woods and she thought she knew he’d come back out – a few more scrapes and bruises and his clothes dirty but UNSUB in cuffs and his scowl in place. Only Hotch didn’t come back out. He just disappeared. And as JJ was realizing this the SUVs came into sight. Brown and black trooper cars coming in a swarm behind them.
And Hotch was nowhere to be found.
JJ swallows nervously, eyes darting between the others. They’re in various stages of fury, all zeroed in on her. She’s confused about how this always happens to her. First Reid and now Hotch – and both with weird religious things going on? The odds of that have to be… impossible.
“You have to understand,” Derek says, crossing his arms, “this doesn’t make any sense.”
JJ shrugs, “he – he just ran into the woods, Morgan. He called for–for, Uhm, Abel? The brother of the victim.” She holds her arms to her chest, glances at Emily pleads with her to say something. For anyone to say something and stop just staring at her. “I called you as soon as it happened. But–But the guy had a gun. I don’t think he hit Hotch but he shot at us.” She’s already explained this. Twice. Some guy comes out of the woods. She didn’t see him. Hotch did. The gun is what she heard but only after it was fired. She told Hotch to go. She stayed with the old woman. There’s nothing more to be said.
Emily and Derek went into the woods to look, staying where they could be seen shouting out into the nothing and hearing nothing but their own voices in return. They know as well as she does, he’s just gone.
“Derek,” Emily finally warns, stepping in before Derek can make a complete ass of himself in the middle of his hopeless fear. “Leave her alone.” There’s a rogue stare-off. Derek already knows he’s in charge. The decision of next in command is Hotch’s and just a few short months ago that was Derek, leading them while Hotch took a step back. Pretended to unravel to give Foyet a show, a very convincing show. And Derek might be in-charge but Emily still has sway. It’s her advice that could sway any of Hotch’s decisions. Derek might be political, on paper in charge but they’ll listen to Emily just as quickly. Neither will win the silent battle of wits.
Dave comes steadily back down the driveway to them, shaking his head. He’d gone to talk to the widow – she’d be more help anyway than standing down here getting mad at JJ for something stupid Hotch did. “Our UNSUB is Abel Boseman.” He nods in the direction of the woods, “his mother says he’s been living in an abandoned house on the other side of the woods.” He holds up a piece of paper, “I got the address. We gonna keep standing here talking nonsense or are we going to go do our jobs?”
They’re good kids, Dave knows, but some days he’d like to smack Emily Prentiss and Derek Morgan upside their big heads. What good are the two of them against one another? Aaron needs them. And he needs them to have clear, level heads. Not heads shoved up each other’s asses.
Derek calls Penelope as they head up the old dirt road, all crammed into one SUV with Dave driving. It’s been a long time since any of them had to drive up a road in the state as this one is in. “What have you got baby girl?” It’s really just making them tenser but Garcia is always a lovely addition to the worst conversations. She’ll help.
Garcia doesn’t answer right away, she’s not even sure she should.
“Baby girl?”
She pulls in a shaky breath, “he’s going to be…” Tears gather in her eyes, she feels like she’s betraying Hotch. And she can’t stand it. Angry is the word that comes to mind but Hotch is never angry at them. He’s angry with things. Even when he is angry with them, he doesn’t take it out on them. But this… This might… “So I was looking at that the, ugh, that address Agent Rossi sent?” There’s a pause, dramatic and full of Garcia having no idea what the hell to do now. He’s going to be so upset with her and she can’t stand that thought. But they need to find him alive. Emotions are a symptom of life and he has to be alive to be upset with her. So she has to tell them. “It was owned by a Robert… Hotchner.” She clears her throat, “coincidentally… the same Robert Hotchner who, uhm, signed our Hotch’s birth certificate?”
The SUV is painfully silent. Emily gives the only reaction, she turns right to Dave. “His dad?” Hotch’s dad has been dead for as long as she’s known him – at twenty-something, scrawny and weighed down by the gun on his hip playing security around her mother’s house. She doesn’t even know that man. “So we’re going to his house?”
“Oh,” Garcia says, “my sweet raven-haired beauty you’re going to his childhood home. Where he grew up, where our Hotch started.” There is only such a tiny, itty-bitty little piece of her that is jealous. The rest is as scared as they are.
JJ clears her throat but says nothing, just stares hard at her hands. “I grew up a few miles from here. On the other side of those woods.” Hotch hadn’t lied. Of course, he wouldn’t, she shakes the thought away. Hotch is an enigma, a thousand-piece puzzle missing pieces but never the same pieces. Each time you open the box it’s a different piece that’s missing. Making it impossible to complete the damn thing.
“Can I–” Reid gets to the front steps and feels like he’s going to throw up. “Can I stay out here?” He’s not cut out for this job, not entirely. He’s a genius, they need him, but this part he’s no good at. That’s why he stays in the rooms with the maps. He spends all day doing math and creating a geographical profile. He’d be more use, even now, to sit out here and mess with his maps. Not in there. Not when they all know… No one says anything, they wouldn’t dare, but they have a good idea about the severity of what happened to Hotch in that house.
Derek and Dave speak over one another – of course andno, we need you inside.
Derek wins. “You have your map on you?”
Reid nods, face flushed. He doesn’t want to go inside and he doesn’t want Dave and Derek fighting about it either. He reaches a trembling hand behind him and pulls it out. “Yeah.”
Derek nods, “figure those woods for me? We gotta see how far he could have gone.”
“Okay.”
It’s probably better Reid didn’t come in, anyway, but at least JJ would have had some more company. She steps back because she knows Hotch very well but not like Derek, Dave, or Emily. He’s trusted the three of them with much more than he’s ever given her. So she just stands there in the doorway, horror gripping her chest tight and painful, as a cold chill runs up her spine.
The worst part is that it almost looks like a normal house.
She can imagine Hotch kicking his shoes off at the door, a habit he’s carried into adulthood. Kicking a ball around the front yard and riding his bike in the driveway. Children have lived here and that’s… that’s horrifying.
“Can’t imagine anyone living here,” Dave mumbles, shaking his head as he steps to the foot of the stairs. The banister has been nearly ripped from the walls at the top and Dave moves his eyes away. The chill of this house, not just this room, makes the skin on his arms ache with shivers. No love has ever seen the inside of these walls.
Emily steps behind him and looks up the stairs. “I don’t want to go up there,” she confesses, shaking her head at the sight above. She can’t imagine what they’ll find. What would her childhood home reveal about the interworkings of her mind? It certainly wouldn’t be fair. She’s torn, gripped by relief that it’s Hotch and not her being psychoanalyzed and still horrified they have to do this at all. To find Abel. To save Hotch.
“God this is–” JJ covers her hand with her mouth, standing in shock in the doorway of the room Derek takes them to. He’d only been in the house once, the year their mother died. He was Sean’s friend but he came down with Aaron as a helping hand. The three of them trying to get as much crap out as possible. They never went inside Aaron’s room. He did, he stepped in there once. Came back out pale as a ghost, blamed it on the heat, and spent an hour outside on the porch with a cold rag and a bucket to throw up in. His grip was too weak after that, he was shaking too hard to stand strong. So he took over folding up his mother’s clothes for donation. Derek never bothered to ask what really spooked him that bad.
It’s… a normal room. Ramsaked by time and likely Abel but bland.
He’s always been a little boring, God love him.
Derek steps into the room, frowning at the heavy dust clinging to everything. There’s a plain blue rug on the middle of the floor, about the only color or decoration in the room. Sean’s room had posters, Aaron’s walls are flat, no tacks were ever poked in the walls.
“Guess he’s always liked blue,” Emily mumbles, hesitantly looking around. Together, Derek and Emily say, “same color as his comforter at home.” They both immediately turn to each other, frowning in tight disgust at the train of thought they both assume. Derek knows Emily spent a lot of time with Hotch while he was recovering. He’d seen them sleeping together in Hotch’s bed many times. Just as Emily knows Derek returned Hotch home many times sore and limping from “runs”. They had both assumed the other was fucking the boss. They weren’t going to say anything, to him or each other. It was keeping Hotch alive, that was all they wanted.
They’re both wrong but neither clarifies.
Emily touches the furthest wall from the door and runs her finger over raised marks scratched into the wall. Tally marks. Endless tally marks. He was keeping track of something, she wants to know what.
“I hate you,” Dave reads out, stepping back to allow the others to see what he’s found. The words aren’t scratched, they’re engraved. Each one is meant. “Who do you think that’s to?” It’s entirely rhetorical and Emily hates him just a little bit for asking.
Derek pulls out his flashlight, eager to turn his attention elsewhere. Something about being in this room, thinking about Hotch like this is making him nauseous. And it only gets worse as he looks into Hotch’s closet. There’s nearly nothing inside, one moth-eaten black t-shirt barely hanging onto its hanger and a blanket folded up in the upper corner. Which makes sense. Sean told him Hotch packed for college in one night, was gone without saying goodbye. But it’s what he finds in the dark corner that makes him feel even sicker. “Here,” he calls out, stepping aside so Dave can see where he’s aimed his flashlight.
There’s a rusted razor stuck to the ground, Derek can’t move his eyes from it. It’s stuck to the floor, by a hardened, immobile substance. It’s not hard to guess which substance. Blood, Derek clears his throat, swallowing around the way his body attempts to rebel and heave his meager breakfast up. There’s gauze, what once was, at least. A toppled-over first-aid kid tossed beside it. Clearly knocked over. Never picked back up.
Emily just stares at it. Not a thought in her head. Just blank.
Dave grunts and turns away from it. Is it really that surprising? Aaron is a complicated man. Poor attachment style and while self-harm might not be on the table in any traditional sense nowadays, he lived out of an unpacked boxed and slept on a couch for over a year after his divorce. He’s carried these tendencies with him. They reared their ugly heads not that long ago.
Something about the way Derek just keeps staring at it that enrages Emily. It’s not surprising. She wants him to stop treating it like it is. As if this is news to them, like any of this is going to change how they view Hotch. They know he was abused and maybe self-harm is a little predictable but it’s not startling. Hotch is dark. This is the man that strips his vest to go into hostage situations. And then she remembers, suddenly, how Derek treated Hotch during everything with Foyet. “You don’t think we’re going to find him,” she says. Derek just doesn’t think he’ll be alive.
He says as much, “he’s had a hard year.” His flashlight still aimed at the corner. In one year he’s hardly recovered from the damage Foyet did to him. He’s taken, what, one day off in all that time? He’s not stripping his vest off and running into dangerous places like he was but there hasn’t been that much of an improvement. He wouldn’t qualify the situation as resolved.
“He’ll come back,” Emily seethes. Their eyes meet, Derek’s dulled by sadness and Emily’s bright with new hot anger.
Derek shakes his head, “you don’t know that.” He shrugs, finally looking away from the rusty razor and stepping away. Jack almost wasn’t enough a few months ago. What about now? Who says this isn’t too much? Everyone has their breaking point. “You can’t know that.”
[x.]
Hotch doesn’t remember falling.
It was just starting to drizzle. The muffled sounds drew his attention to trace the sounds of the raindrops hitting the leaves of the trees around him. Small drops pitter and patter as fat drops of rain made their way through the maze of leaves above his head. The humidity had grown, thickening until it could be felt seemingly pressing against him. The air like the packed streets of New York, knocking him this way and that until it felt nearly claustrophobic just to breathe.
It hadn’t taken long for the clouds to consume the light, his ability to see slowly being taken. He could hear Abel following him, quick, angry footsteps. Aaron!Follows him around every turn. Agent Hotchner! Cracks through the woods.
The rain started falling harder, hitting the leaves loudly and drowning out the shouts. Until the drops tore holes through the leaves, hitting too quickly, too heavily to remain captured by the many overlapping branches.
Somewhere, he falls.
The rain hits his face, enough to encourage him to shut his aching eyes again. Sleep is much safer. And he’s slept so little lately, it’s hard to fight the impulse now. So he doesn’t.
His head hurts so bad, like someone’s palms are on his temples and they’re pressing their whole weight into his skull. Trying to push his head down into the dirt below him. It makes thinking impossible. His body feels disconnected from him, like a foggy extension he doesn’t know how to reach. He’s fairly certain all parts of him can still be accounted for. His left foot throbs – he stepped on something that felt like it snapped when he pressed his weight down. Whatever it is, it’s splintered up into his foot. It aches, and pulses with each pounding beat of his heart.
And then there’s this business with his side.
He can’t really remember why or where it would have happened. There are these little holes just torn right into his skin. They’re bleeding like crazy and that doesn’t make thinking or moving any easier. But that’s okay.
He turns his head, angles his cheek up towards the sky, and lets the rain pelt the side of his head.
He’s hungry.
[x.]
His food sits on the table.
Dave ordered him a sub out of reflex and it’s just sitting there. Mockingthem.Insultingthem.
Derek can’t stop staring at it.
They found Abel Boseman’s body. His skull was cracked by a rock, he was dead long before they got to him.
Which means going to that house was basically pointless. All they figured out anyway was that Abel planned to return and Hotch would end up somewhere but not here. It made no sense for him to go back to that house, even as it began to rain. Sean had told Derek once Aaron spent every day of his childhood out there, playing around in the woods. And now Abel is dead and still, no one knows where Hotch is.
“Do you really think…” Reid stays focused on the board. If he keeps re-angling, keeps crunching numbers then none of this is real. None of this is happening. “Do you really think he did it?” But Abel Boseman’s photo goes up and it’s hard to push what’s happening to the side. “That Hotch…”
They found blood and Abel Boseman’s body – enough was Hotch’s to not ease their concern about him but too much of it was Abel’s too. There was a struggle. It wasn’t much of a question, Hotch killed Abel. Maybe he didn’t mean to but he did. And that made two men dead by nothing more than Hotch’s hand in less than a year.
Derek rubs at his temples, unable to stifle his frustration. “Obviously, he did.” Reid immediately turns away from the heat in Derek’s gaze, the hatred in his voice.
They found Abel a mile away from where they found Hotch’s badge, gun, and phone dumped. Only ten yards from Hotch’s left shoe – hooked on a log. It was clear Abel had dragged Hotch through the woods on the tarp, the bottom shredded and the blue tarp stained by Hotch’s blood. An altercation occurred. Abel did not survive and Hotch… Well, it’s hard to tell. They have dogs out there, searching. That’s where Derek and Reid should be. Looking.
But Derek is benched for the time being.
The Sheriff made a comment as they zipped the body bag containing Abel Boseman. Derek hadn’t even heard the whole thing but he understood the message – Aaron Hotchner is a nobody and no badge could ever make him a somebody. And it made him snap. He’d just spent the day searching through that abandoned house. Thinking about that fucking razor. About Foyet. About Haley and Jack and that it was his badge that started everything. He couldn’t take it. He shouldn’t have been in the field anyway.
The Sheriff fucked off.
Derek was sent back to the station.
“The hounds picked up a scent,” Emily swings into the room, running in to grab more batteries for their flashlights and umbrellas. “They think they’re close. Dave wants everyone out there.”
[x.]
JJ hates the woods.
She hates the south.
The gravestones where people lay buried with names and dates of birth and death that no one ever seems to know. Once, someone will mumble, once the dates and name could be read. Dragging a finger across the uneven stone will allow that much to become obvious. No one ever knows the people who lay at rest here but standing near, stopping to stare will settle the most discomforting feeling in the pit of your stomach. Whatever the people do here you know, as the hairs on your neck raise and you shiver like there are cold fingers playing your spine like the keys of a piano, no one rests.
The woods are like that too. The eyes that follow you into the trees never blink, they are always watching.
Ahead of her, stomping through the underbrush with unsettled anger of a man having lost his temper multiple times today, Morgan pays JJ only as much attention as he has to. Enough to shout above the rain when he finds a particularly slick area of mud or to avoid thistles reaching out to snag against the skin.
Morgan isn’t taking it very well. He stomps and breaks the eerie calm of the woods with each foot he puts down – breaking twigs or rustling plants.
The people JJ had expected a riot out of took the news without blinking. Dave had nodded gravely with understanding, getting this glint in his eyes that read plainly he knew their likelihood of catching this unsub and finding Hotch alive seemed grim. Emily had taken a deep breath in and just shook her head, declared it bound to happen with a dismissive shrug. “It’s better that it’s him,” Emily promised her. “He knows the woods and… and he’s tough. He’ll come back.” But she was already considering how long it would take before their resources were cut. Before Strauss called and declared they would have to come home. Irrational but valid. What if Abel cracked his skull too? What if they never even find his body out there?
They’ve never left anyone behind before.
“Morgan?”
JJ comes up over a bit of a hill, mostly just rocks and roots twisted and covered in leaves. She’d been following Morgan, he’d slowed his place to allow her to get a little closer. But he was right here.
“Derek!”
Someone screams. The sound erupts from the ground, from through the trees or from under her feet. From behind her, she thinks but she can’t find a source. She can’t reason where it could have originated. Softer this time, her courage to scream into the darkness stolen from her throat. “Derek?” It’s raining, the water soaking through her hair and down into her eyes. She’s drenched. Lost. Laughter bursts out of her chest, tumbling up out of her chest in thick, tense bursts. Wherever Hotch is, chances are she’s going to end up in the same place. So at least there’s that, right? Maybe he’s alive but it’s unlikely he’ll be as happy to see her as she will be to see him.
“JJ?”
She turns around, whips around so fast the world is just a pitch of orange blur. Nothing. There’s no one. Just fire and mud.Her fingers stiffly curling over her radio but she’s not certain she’s actually turned the thing on. “This is – This is Jennifer J–” her radio isn’t working. The static doesn’t sound out. Depressing the button does nothing.
“Jennifer?”
She turns around, eyes searching along the trees to find absolutely nothing. Decaying leaves. Fallen tree branches. “Hotch.” He’s leaning against the trunk of one of the larger trees, holding himself up with the tight grip his fingers have on the dark bark. He’s soaked clean through, hair flat against his forehead, and clothes clinging to his skin. “You’re–” she steps towards him, eyes finally catching the smaller details of his stature. Rain isn’t what’s soaking his clothing through. “Oh my God.”
“Are you real?” he rasps.
There’s blood down the side of his face, coming from behind his ear somewhere. Or maybe out of his ear…
JJ nods, “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”
He squints, adamant. It’s hard to know what’s real and what’s not. “Can you…” he starts to tip forward and he hears the crunch of her footstep, the step she tries to make towards him. He stumbles back, hitting a tree hard. “No! No! Stop, stop, please.” He holds up a hand, holding her back. “Please,” he repeats. He holds his hand up as he breathes, focusing so hard on pulling air into his lungs. He has to think about it. Otherwise, he’ll forget to. “Can you…” he’s not even sure how to say what he means. “I don’t know what’s real.”
JJ just wanted to help him. He’d started to fall and he doesn’t look like he can really handle falling again. “Okay, okay, I can prove I’m real.” She smiles, “I know… Uhm, I know you like oatmeal raisin cookies? And – And blueberry muffins. You take your coffee black but only when someone else makes it for you. If you make it for yourself you like two creams and a sugar.” She’s not sure that’s enough but it’s what she thinks of first.
He nods, face pinching up as starts to cry. Tears fall down his face. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah.” He tries to stay standing up, “thank, God. I’m gonna – I think I’m gonna–"
JJ watches his eyes roll back, his entire body going limp as he falls to the side. “Hotch!”
Warnings: child abuse, bible nonsense, I’m pretty sacrilege but like really it’s just a funny word I’m only half sure of the meaning, and self-harm
Word count: 6 or 7,000? No pairings. All of them die single.
Here’s the bible shit you need to know only because Hotch knows: In Genesis, Cain killed his brother Abel. Also In Genesis, Abraham’s faith was tested by God telling him to take his only son, Issac, to the top of a mountain and offer him as a sacrifice. He is stopped before he delivers the killing strike and a goat is offered in Issac’s place. In Exodus, Moses saw a flaming bush and God instructed him to get the Israelites out of Egypt.
Now to the main show:
He goes to sleep with his window shut.
Dreams of the branches of the willow in the backyard creeping into his room. Long branches wrapped around his throat. A noose. He’s seen pictures in his history books. Black and white pictures of limp bodies. How bad would it really hurt? Worse than broken ribs? Worse than a fractured skull? He’s passed out before, a hand around his throat and another slamming into his stalled chest. That hurt. But suicide is a sin. The preacher on Sunday mornings, voice cracking through the mountain fog, looks right at Aaron as he breathes these words. It’s the worst sin. To kill the gift of life that God has so tenderly breathed into your lungs. Aaron looks away. He’s angry enough, scorned enough, not to care.
He wakes up and his window is open, leaves scattered on his carpet.
His mother tells him this too shall pass, holds his hand, and reads from the bible. She thinks that this is a trial, smiles, and tells him his father is just battling the devil. Aaron looks away from her, lets her hold his cold, thin wrist but refuses to sit with her. God is her comfort but not Aaron’s. If the devil is who his father battles, Aaron can’t imagine how small God must be. The devil is a bottle. So who is God?
Whiskey. The devil is whiskey, hellfire scorching Aaron’s face as his father holds him still. “Smartass,” his father jeers, thick fingers sunk into Aaron’s bottom jaw. “You never know when to shut the hell up, do you?” Aaron’s mouth hurts, his jaw grinding under the grip his father has on it. His lips are bleeding, split by the fat class ring on his father’s index finger. His blood is smeared on his cheek, dripping onto his nice shirt. Held still by his father’s crushing grip, looking into his wild, angry eyes only inches away from his own, Aaron survives by withdrawing. He sees nothing and feels nothing. Thinks about the willow in the backyard. He wouldn’t even need a rope. The branches are so thick– He’s shaken back to cognition, reflexively pulling back as his father’s face gets closer. “Are you listening to me, you little bastard?”
The fingers loosen just a fraction, he’s moving his other hand back to slap him, but Aaron sees it coming. He wrenches his face free, feels the sting of the slap, but runs. Throws the screen door open and runs. Doesn’t look back. Can’t look back.
“Come back here you stupid little prick!”
The woods welcome him. He is their child. His blood has spilled onto their foliage. He has laid in their safety. It is their life that has maintained his.
He stole a knife from the Brookes’ County Store, the owner the father of a girl he goes to school with. He’s a nice old man but Aaron doesn’t trust him. No matter how softly he speaks. Aaron’s not stupid. He’s not certain Roy Brookes would hurt him but he knows what happens when you trust adults. Two summers ago, Johnny Raylan was found drowned in the river. Lured there by his neighbor. A man he trusted, a man who loved him. Roy Brookes doesn’t even care about Aaron, so no, he doesn’t trust the man.
He stole a knife just because he knew Roy wouldn’t say anything and that made him feel big, powerful. Untouchable.
Mockingly, he carved into the bark of the oak in the middle of the woods. Taking out his pain and fear on old wood. Where no one would find his sacrilegious offense, he left “These trials will show your faith.” Aaron finds it easily and knows where to go. The woods are his home, these trees are just hallways. He comes to stand at the base of the oak tree, panting from his run. He presses his fingers into the jagged letters, feeling where the wood raises. From his back pocket, he pulls out his knife. He thumbs the blade experimentally. He sinks it into the tree, satisfied by the resistance but craving more. The knife shimmers in the sunlight, a wicked idea crosses his mind. How terribly fucked, he imagines, he must be to think such a thing. To hurt himself because he’s being hurt. How terribly unforgivable and immoral… He craves it nonetheless.
Warnings: child abuse, bible nonsense, I’m pretty sacrilege but like really it’s just a funny word I’m only half sure of the meaning, and self-harm
Word count: 6 or 7,000? No pairings. All of them die single.
Here’s the bible shit you need to know only because Hotch knows: In Genesis, Cain killed his brother Abel. Also In Genesis, Abraham’s faith was tested by God telling him to take his only son, Issac, to the top of a mountain and offer him as a sacrifice. He is stopped before he delivers the killing strike and a goat is offered in Issac’s place. In Exodus, Moses saw a flaming bush and God instructed him to get the Israelites out of Egypt.
Now to the main show:
He goes to sleep with his window shut.
Dreams of the branches of the willow in the backyard creeping into his room. Long branches wrapped around his throat. A noose. He’s seen pictures in his history books. Black and white pictures of limp bodies. How bad would it really hurt? Worse than broken ribs? Worse than a fractured skull? He’s passed out before, a hand around his throat and another slamming into his stalled chest. That hurt. But suicide is a sin. The preacher on Sunday mornings, voice cracking through the mountain fog, looks right at Aaron as he breathes these words. It’s the worst sin. To kill the gift of life that God has so tenderly breathed into your lungs. Aaron looks away. He’s angry enough, scorned enough, not to care.
He wakes up and his window is open, leaves scattered on his carpet.
His mother tells him this too shall pass, holds his hand, and reads from the bible. She thinks that this is a trial, smiles, and tells him his father is just battling the devil. Aaron looks away from her, lets her hold his cold, thin wrist but refuses to sit with her. God is her comfort but not Aaron’s. If the devil is who his father battles, Aaron can’t imagine how small God must be. The devil is a bottle. So who is God?
Whiskey. The devil is whiskey, hellfire scorching Aaron’s face as his father holds him still. “Smartass,” his father jeers, thick fingers sunk into Aaron’s bottom jaw. “You never know when to shut the hell up, do you?” Aaron’s mouth hurts, his jaw grinding under the grip his father has on it. His lips are bleeding, split by the fat class ring on his father’s index finger. His blood is smeared on his cheek, dripping onto his nice shirt. Held still by his father’s crushing grip, looking into his wild, angry eyes only inches away from his own, Aaron survives by withdrawing. He sees nothing and feels nothing. Thinks about the willow in the backyard. He wouldn’t even need a rope. The branches are so thick– He’s shaken back to cognition, reflexively pulling back as his father’s face gets closer. “Are you listening to me, you little bastard?”
The fingers loosen just a fraction, he’s moving his other hand back to slap him, but Aaron sees it coming. He wrenches his face free, feels the sting of the slap, but runs. Throws the screen door open and runs. Doesn’t look back. Can’t look back.
“Come back here you stupid little prick!”
The woods welcome him. He is their child. His blood has spilled onto their foliage. He has laid in their safety. It is their life that has maintained his.
He stole a knife from the Brookes’ County Store, the owner the father of a girl he goes to school with. He’s a nice old man but Aaron doesn’t trust him. No matter how softly he speaks. Aaron’s not stupid. He’s not certain Roy Brookes would hurt him but he knows what happens when you trust adults. Two summers ago, Johnny Raylan was found drowned in the river. Lured there by his neighbor. A man he trusted, a man who loved him. Roy Brookes doesn’t even care about Aaron, so no, he doesn’t trust the man.
He stole a knife just because he knew Roy wouldn’t say anything and that made him feel big, powerful. Untouchable.
Mockingly, he carved into the bark of the oak in the middle of the woods. Taking out his pain and fear on old wood. Where no one would find his sacrilegious offense, he left “These trials will show your faith.” Aaron finds it easily and knows where to go. The woods are his home, these trees are just hallways. He comes to stand at the base of the oak tree, panting from his run. He presses his fingers into the jagged letters, feeling where the wood raises. From his back pocket, he pulls out his knife. He thumbs the blade experimentally. He sinks it into the tree, satisfied by the resistance but craving more. The knife shimmers in the sunlight, a wicked idea crosses his mind. How terribly fucked, he imagines, he must be to think such a thing. To hurt himself because he’s being hurt. How terribly unforgivable and immoral… He craves it nonetheless.
His blades are one thing, sterile and thin. Pinched perfectly between his own fingers, the depth and length determined by him.
He presses the blade into his skin, the same way he would with a razor. He punctures the skin, grunting at the hot pain that lances up his arm. This is so different. It bleeds more. More than cutting and more than he’s expecting. He presses his wrist to the tree and guides the blood into the words. Forces his blood to take to the words. It looks written in his blood.
A blood sacrifice.
[x.]
A painter does not put brush to canvas without a reference, without some idea of what comes next in the process. And for that reason, Hotch could never imagine fatherhood. How do you raise a child as a man raised by his own hand? And as the living proof of his own handiwork, at his own success at raising a child, Hotch could not suggest that other people leave their children in his care. His well of understanding on how to raise a child was not just barren, it was dry. There had never once been water to pull from his well. He’d never seen successful, kind fatherhood. He had never felt it. So how could he do it? How could he be expected to love and care for a child when he had never known it himself? When he had never been able to show even himself that same kind of gentleness.
Yet…
Jack’s head rests on Hotch’s pillow. His hair is thin still, a youthful straw yellow he’ll grow out of before too soon and Hotch will miss just how young blond hair made Jack look. His little face is still pink with agitation but his breathing calmed. He’d woken up sobbing, as he often does these days. He’s too young still to understand exactly why Hotch can’t just go get Mommy, why she won’t come back no matter how much either of them cry or agree it would be better if she were here.
It’s soothing to watch Jack sleep.
His morning breath smells like pure rot but he’s terribly adorable taking up all of the bed with all of the three feet of his body. Hotch’s on the edge of the mattress, sleeping on his side – Jack’s razor-sharp elbows and harsh kicks having driven him to there. And as fit full as his own sleep had been, he smiles as Jack slowly works at waking up. He yawns and Hotch grimaces at the face full of his son’s morning breath. Hotch makes him brush his teeth every day but there is just something about the breath of little kids…
Jack is disjointed, moving his shoulders and hips in a way that would certainly cause Hotch’s to lock up painfully. Jack tries to stand up and Hotch smirks at the state of him. His little wisps of hair stick up in every direction but he smiles happily. “Morning!” Jack dizzily falls back down on the bed, aiming and landing right on Hotch’s side. Hotch grunts at the impact, sharp elbows meeting his ribs unforgivingly. “I’m hungry.”
“Morning,” Hotch kisses his forehead, soaking in the unexpected way Jack crawls up to him. “Did you sleep alright?” Jack lays down on his chest, yawning and nodding as a reply. “You ready to get up?” Hotch rubs his back, not surprised to find Jack’s back and hair slick with sleepy sweat. The kid sweats more than anyone else he knows. Jack shakes his head. Hotch hums, he’s not ready to get up yet either. The day holds so much to do and taking a shower and shaving does not hold up to sleepy cuddles. Neither does the meeting he has with Strauss at three this evening.
But they can only put off getting ready for the day for so long.
Jack sleeps while he showers, rolling over to claim the warm part of the mattress Hotch had been laying in. Hoarding the one part of the bed he hadn’t taken over earlier in his sleep. By the time Hotch is out of the shower, working a towel through his hair quickly and trying to get a shirt on while Jack’s frantic knocking begins to be accompanied by a loud, Daddy hurry! I’m gonna pee myself! The carpet is spared an accident and Jack scowls at him from the toilet seat. He’d much rather stand to pee but in the rush, Hotch had embarrassed him by just stripping him naked himself and plopping him down on the seat rather than watch Jack piss himself trying to get out of a pair of footie pajamas. It’s happened more than once. A pouty four-year-old is better than one standing in a puddle of his own urine, sobbing uncontrollably over an accident.
Jack recovers from his humiliation and is happy to be allowed to sit on the edge of the sink and watch Hotch shave. Yawning sleepily as he walks his fingers over his father’s ribs and up to his sternum. All until he falls forward and just lets Hotch hold him upright, little feet kicking off the counter.
Brushing his teeth is like torture. Jack can not brush them well enough to avoid cavities on his own so Hotch has to double back and Jack hates it. “If you let me brush your teeth,” Hotch barters, moving Jack’s toothbrush back so he can’t grab it, “I’ll let you brush my teeth.”
Jack squints skeptically at Hotch for a moment but that’s too good of an offer to refuse. “K.”
True to his word, Hotch does allow Jack to brush his teeth and he’s very rough on the gums. But Hotch smiles and tells him that he did such a good job anyway.
He has his morning cup of coffee and two or three spoonfuls of soggy cheerios. Jack eats all of his cereal soggy, a side-effect of not yet mastering the motor control it takes to wield a spoon. Most foods he eats end up all over him. They’re working on it. In the meantime, Hotch is force-fed bits of soggy cereal every morning. Bites he has to take because he’s pretty certain if he rejects his terribly adorable son’s offer he’s an awful father. And he does enough stupid shit throughout the day to be a bad dad, he needs the easy breaks where he can get them.
Unfortunately, he really fucking hates soggy cereal.
He has two more cups of coffee before he leaves the house and he realizes then that he is fighting a very unwinnable battle.
He hasn’t been sleeping well.
Or, at all.
The couch in his office was a gift from Dave in ‘98 when he got promoted. It was a complicated gift – Dave was retiring, leaving, and giving Hotch that shitty old couch felt like blood money. Not that Dave really cared, he just didn’t want to figure out how to get that couch out of the building or to pay for a U-Haul. And who better to pawn it off onto than Hotch? In the three years that the couch sat in Dave’s office, only Hotch had ever liked that ratty old thing. The cushions are thin and the fabric is very rough. Jason would rather stand through hour-long meetings than sit on it – springs digging into his ass and back were not as bad as just standing uncomfortably.
The first concussion Hotch got on the job he slept off on that couch, curled up like a baby, and almost unwilling to get up once Haley got there. It had taken Dave and Jason to get him back up off the couch – the only reason he left the safety of the shitty couch was with the promise of a peanut butter & jelly sandwich. The only person who ever liked that couch was Hotch but Dave was almost surprised to find Hotch had kept that old piece of junk for so long but then again, not really. Then again, Hotch was still packing PB&Js for lunch so nothing really changes.
That couch is every bit of twenty years old, it’s only redeemable quality is simply that Hotch loves it. The cushions are thin and the only way he can sleep on it is on his back but that couch does what nothing else can. He takes sleeping pills and he ends up having nightmares – sleep is futile to the body if it never has the chance to relax. And the nightmares are night terrors, dreams so intense he wakes up soaked in sweat. He takes sleeping pills and then sits up for four hours in the middle of the night waiting for anxiety medications to bring him down from whatever anxiety attack he manages to work himself into.
Penelope buys him tea and the only person that seems to work on is Jack. The smell of organic Chamomile tea steeping, even just the sound of water boiling, has Jack yawning and rubbing at his eyes. Penelope says honey will help the taste and dutifully, Hotch stirs a little into his mug, but he’s not sleeping.
Except for one that shitty old couch.
It’s not at a point where people are noticing, people being Emily, but someone’s noticing and that’s never any good. She doesn’t say anything to him or any of the others about it because when it comes to dealing with Hotch making public observations about him doesn’t blow over well. Noticing him is always a bad thing but it’s better to notice in private.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?”
Hotch sits up slowly, palms pressed into his eye sockets as he tries to encourage his brain to work. “I was,” he offers matter-of-factly. For someone else he might sit up, fake being more attentive and awake. Get right to business and distract from his just sleeping hair sticking up in every direction. But Emily’s seen him worse. Besides, she’s got her arms crossed over her chest and giving him this look that he knows is going to annoy him. He has no choice but to entertain it.
She’s sitting on the coffee table, her knees against his. She’s cornered him. “You’re being weird.”
He uses the side of the couch to stand, old knees protesting the deep movement. “I do believe that calling people names is rude.” His left leg is asleep and he limps to his desk, rubbing at his eyes as he moves blindly around his office. He knows exactly where everything is just as he knows Emily is watching his every movement.
Emily clicks her tongue, pleased that he’s still groggy from his nap. Enough to loosen his tongue, to give her what she wants. “Now you’re deflecting.” She has no questions to ask. If she should be worried, he’d tell her. If something were wrong, he’d tell her. They’ve worked hard at this trust, given up too much to suddenly start pulling back.
She caves, she doesn’t want to but he sits down at his desk and puts his head in his hands. He needs to drink more water and eat something. She brought him a muffin from downstairs, a little plastic-wrapped situation. Blueberry. Normally, she brings him the chocolate chip muffins because those are the ones she likes and he never finishes one on his own. So he’ll always give her half, it’s a win-win. They’re giant muffins, really. But he is acting weird. So she feels bad and he knows it. “Here,” she throws the muffin at him and he reads the vulnerability in her kindness easily. “Eat something.”
She got him the muffin he prefers.
“Thank you.”
She shrugs it off and makes a face at him that says more than she’s willing. A warning not to make this a weird thing and a careful avoidance of his eye contact, a clarification that he does matter to her. That his well-being is something she considers and cares about. “Eat it, JJ wants us at the round table. Got a case.”
He frowns, JJ didn’t say anything to him. “Where?”
“Winchester.”
Winchester.
Barefoot two a.m. runs down the road, tearing off in one direction for as long as his legs would carry him. Hoping, praying, that his father would be too drunk to be able to find him. Seeing headlights coming up behind him and bracing for the impact.
Squeezing between his mattress and the floor when the yelling got too much, hoping if he made himself scarce he’d suddenly be forgotten. Drunk hands swiping at him, trying to grab at an ankle or a wrist and pull him out. Coming into his room the next day to find his bedframe gone, his mattress on the floor.
The clawfoot tub in the bathroom, being held under the water by a strong grip on his hair. He could never do anything right. His fear of water was born one summer afternoon, the lawn hadn’t been mowed the right way, and his t-shirt was too dirty at the dinner table. He couldn’t breathe, didn’t think he ever would after that.
One short invaluable life measured out in quick, thundering heartbeats not certain things wouldn’t end right here. His head underwater. Headlights casting the shadow of his long skinny legs up the road.
Winchester.
“Hotch?” Emily is still standing in his office, watching him just pause – this vacant, horrified look in his eyes.
He clears his throat and lowers his eyes to his desk like he’s looking for something. “I’ll – I’ll be out in a second.” He opens the muffin but only to make her think he has any intention of eating it. He doesn’t.
Winchester.
In terms of relativity, is a big enough place. Logically, the odds are on his side that they run into no one that he knows. But he knows better than to hope that luck is aligned with that logistic.
JJ hands him the file and he opens it, holding his breath as his eyes scan the page. And, of course, he’s wrong. JJ doesn’t need prompting to start so with him standing she begins the case outline.
Abraham Boseman, thirty-four, was found in the woods at the base of an old dying oak tree. Laid out on a firewood prye, throat slit.
Under the table, Emily kicks his foot. Hard. No one else notices, Derek keeps on his worried path arguing with Dave about sacrilege. Reid is trying very hard to patiently wait them out. Lips pressed together to glue them shut and his entire body bounced with his leg.
“It looks like a sacrifice.”
Hotch can’t tear his eyes away from the pictures.
“What’s that written on the tree?”
The tree. He can’t think. The tree? He looks up and watches Emily flip to pictures forward. He does the same. The tree.
Solemnly, Derek reads, “these trails will show your faith.” His voice is steady and even, the opposite of Hotch’s beat skipping thundering heart. He can’t help but look up, search Derek’s face for some reaction to the thing that he is seeing. But Derek gives nothing. He just sighs and shakes his head. “Look at that tree, the coloration of the wood, the words?” He points the tip of his pen up at the board, “it’s dark. Aged. That was written there… years ago.” He shakes his head and looks back down at the photos in front of him. “So, either he chose these woods, this tree… or we’re missing years worth of bodies.”
Hotch wonders if they can see the pulse he can feel in his face.
Dave scoffs, “we don’t know that. Something like this?” They all look back at the photo, Hotch stares forward. “It upsets people. Southern, old people don’t sit well with sacrilege. They’d have called it in if there were more bodies or, at least, called in a priest.” Like an exterminator. Leave some traps to drag the pests out.
JJ sighs, “I meant, where’s the quote from?”
Spencer raises his hand, fingers poised in that thoughtful way he does as he thinks. “It’s 1st Peter, These trials will show that your faith is genuine. It is being tested as fire tests and purifies gold—though your faith is far more precious than mere gold. So when your faith remains strong through many trials, it will bring you much praise and glory and honor on the day when Jesus Christ is revealed to the whole world.”
Derek grunts, “so this is a sacrifice? For who, God? Kind of… grotesque.”
Spencer shakes his head, “no not really. Biblically, sacrifices are very common. From the Israelites, God asked for a ram. From Abraham, his son Jacob”. From Aaron–” Spencer’s eyes move involuntarily to Hotch “–Mose’s brother, a bull.”
Derek frowns, rolling his eyes, “animals are a totally different thing.”
Penelope gasps.
“Baby girl–”
Aaron clears his throat, his head throbbing as the attention in the room spins back to him. He feels immediately light-headed. “I think Dave’s right,” heknows, “but we won’t know for certain until we get to the scene.” It’s meant to be demissive, the sound of closing files following him out. They don’t but he’s also not going to stop for the meandering conversations that they’ll have once he’s gone. His residual presence in the room will make things awkward, they’re less open when he’s around. After all, he’s the boss, not their friend.
Emily noticed his unnoticeable dissociation. The way his eyes never left the photos JJ paperclipped to the file. She follows him out of the room, accusing his back, “you’re still being weird.”
Hotch keeps on his path and ignores the Emily that apparates at his heels. He does leave the door open when he steps into his office and lets her take the time to close it behind them. He tosses the file on the desk, and lets it thud punctuate his sentence. Gives things a theatric pause. “Do we need to talk about the hostile work environment you’re causing?” He leans back onto his desk, arms crossed. There is no malice in his tone. He collected coins as a child. Endured torture at home and in class. Weird is on the list but it’s not that harsh or even creative.
Narrowing her eyes, Emily crosses her own arms. “See?” She nods her chin at him, “now you’re being defensive.”
He opens his mouth nearly immediately but closes it and that’s nearly the same thing as answering her. At least this way he doesn’t arm her with words. Pushing himself off the desk he rounds the other side, puts the desk between them. Keeps being defensive. “Is there something I can do for you, Prentiss?”
She frowns at him, calculating the response she’ll get from anything that isn’t her departure. He’ll kick her out, he’s done it before. “Yeah,” she decides. “I gave you the muffin to eat.” She turns back to the door, “so eat it, you get real… moody when you’re blood sugar is low.”
“It’s not–” he shuts his mouth. He hates the way that she gets under his skin, and bothers him like no one else can. “Tell the others we’re heading out in thirty. I just need to call transport, get enough SUVs.” He smiles politely, already thinking about how he’ll send her in the same SUV as Penelope and Spencer. Payback.
“Yes, sir.”
It’s mocking and he knows it.
“Thank you.”
[x.]
It’s a forty-five-minute drive which is, truthfully, one of the more tame adventures they’ve endured in cramped SUVs. Not that Emily will forgive Hotch anytime soon for making her go with Derek, Penelope, and Spencer for it. Her head pulses to the beat of the song Derek and Penelope happily sing over, not even the wind from her downed window relieves the pressure. He’s a bastard and she stares at the SUV in front of them, trying to stare a hole into the tires. She wants him to have to change one on the side of the road. The sweltering sun beating down on his suit-clad shoulders. Make him get a weird pain in his back. Dirt all over his hands. He’s a rat bastard and she hates him.
They’re greeted into the city of Winchester by an old wooden sign, rustic in an authentic, rotting in the ground kind of way. Derek cringes. Small towns are the worst cases to work.
Immediately, something is off. The Sheriff is a little too stiff as he shakes JJ’s hand. But Emily can’t figure out why. She narrows down the oddities to age – no one younger than thirty eyes them oldy. The woman who works the front desk frowns at them and not even Dave’s nasty way of flirting with her eases that tight frown. It’s weird, Dave’s charming. It’s also nasty but he’s very good at it.
Leaning close to JJ, the only trustable person on this team, Emily asks, “Is it me or…” Emily frowns, “they’re acting weird.” All of the officers. It started with one or two, no reason she could wrap her head around. They don’t typically like having the team around but the reactions are… different. Too much whispering and side-eyes. Not the side-eye JJ gets or the kind Spencer gets.
JJ looks up from her work, because she’s doing work and not gossiping like Emily, and frowns. She looks over her shoulder, around the room, and then back to them. “I guess,” she shrugs. “Why?”
Emily sits down, shaking her head. “Hotch.” JJ frowns. “They haven’t even noticed Reid, you notice that? Everyone notices Reid. And Garcia? Same thing. Hotch asks for something, they get weird.” She taps her finger, thinking. “Nobody does that to Hotch.” He’s big. Not broad but long. Mean too. And angry looking. Hotch asks for something and people do it. Not here.
It started with the Sheriff, the old man’s face falling as quickly as Hotch’s had twisted into something unrecognizable. Something akin to fear or… at least recognition. Then a few of the older officers. They looked angry.
JJ shrugs, “people are weird.”
“Always,” Emily frowns. She leaves, suddenly, no warning.
JJ doesn’t bother overthinking that comment or even wonder what the hell that’s supposed to mean. She has no particular interest in paying them any more mind than she has to. Places like this create a certain type of man. Those who eye her as she walks past because they don’t care to be seen watching. That’s exactly why Hotch asks her to go out to visit the victim’s family with him. He doesn’t want to stay at the station any longer and he suspects JJ will have far less to say about everything than anyone else.
Her silence is valued and then it’s corrupting. She doesn’t play music in the car and he has entirely too much time to think.
His house of horrors was framed by woods on three sides, the front opening to a driveway connected to the end of a dirt road. As a boy, he’d rest his head on the fence in the backyard gazing out into the trees and imagining the life within them. His mother forbade this after one night he told her a story, one he’d come up with all on his own, about a deer with human teeth standing on the edge of the property. It stood on its hind legs and waved. He was, from then on, no longer allowed anywhere but the front yard. Which he thought peculiar given the front yard was where his story took place. His mother smoothed this over by making sure he understood to never tell that story again. His little head just got away from him sometimes, she said. He was a gifted storyteller with an overactive imagination.
Though, typically, overactive imagination is what she called rehearsing his lies with him. Dotting fleshy color back into reddened, painful skin. Her fingers were gentle where his father’s had been rough the night before. “How’d you hit your head, sweetheart?” And with crooked teeth, he’d smile, “fell off my bunk bed!”
He wasn’t sure he’d actually seen a deer do what he told his mother he’d seen it do until that very moment. This was the line between fiction and truth – his overactive imagination.
He never really wanted to play in the backyard after that anyway.
Not to say he’s scared of the woods. He’s a grown man, faced real demons in the daylight, not ones living under his bed and waving at him from the edge of the woods. But that’s not to say he can’t feel a cold sweat breaking out underneath his shirt as JJ drives them down winding backroads of another Virginia county he wishes to not recall the name of in a month. It makes him nauseous as well, hills upon hills and forever winding roads. It has nothing to do with the trees. Nothing to do with Spencer’s sudden interest in folklore or the older man who Derek questioned who smelt exactly like honeysuckles and moonshine. It’s the road. Long and winding.
“You’ve been awfully quiet,” JJ says, blinker keeping track of the pause that follows her comment. She looks down both sides of the road and turns left. The blinker stops with a click. He says nothing. She glances over at him again. Quiet is the polite way to put it. He let her drive. Aaron Hotchner doesn’t let anyone drive. He’s been acting oddly. Paranoid in the exact same way Spencer is – looking over his shoulder and sitting with his back to the wall. She thought he might just be ill. Hotch wears ailments like relapses in his PTSD. As if the flu brings George Foyet back to life and once again they are in an active manhunt. But she’s fairly certain he’s not sick.
JJ doesn’t want to test her luck, she’s planning on bragging to the others that he let her drive and it’s really salt in the wound if she gets to drive back to the precinct too. But she also just can’t let this go. “You grew up in the area, right?” she glances over at him. Finds a storm cloud in her passenger seat. Quickly, to throw the blame, she adds, “Emily said something about it.”
Head turned towards the window, he hides the eye roll he can’t really help.
Both Derek and Emily have said something about it to him. No sooner than he could pull his hand out of the Sheriff’s, offering the man a small, tight nod, as they walked side-by-side the Sheriff’s attention going anywhere but Hotch. Which is never the standard. Sheriffs usually like to talk to Hotch, not because they like him but just because he’s the easily identified guy in charge. This Sheriff goes to Derek. Even less normal.
Derek knew. Emily was only just starting to work it out. He might not know the name of the street Aaron grew up on or which backroad would take you there but he knew the county name and that look on Hotch’s face. The same one Sean gets when he’s had too many drinks and heads down a road Derek wishes he wouldn’t.
Seatbelts unbuckling, the rest of their car ride spent in complete silence, Hotch pauses a moment before opening his door. JJ sees his contemplation and waits. After a moment he offers, “I grew up a few miles from here. On the other side of those woods.” Then he opens his door and leaves the conversation. That’s all he’s willing to say on this matter.
JJ doesn’t look in the direction he vaguely nodded to until they’re walking towards the house. He grew up in a home, that much she knows for sure, but Hotch’s history is a patchwork of half-truths. This one she’s inclined to believe but she looks into those woods and can not imagine a boy. Knowing Jack, and loving him to pieces, she knows he’s entirely woven from Haley. JJ could never imagine such wide smiles coming from Hotch, such unashamed laughter. It’s heartbreaking.
Normally, Hotch would send Derek or Emily out to do this sort of work. He is better at it and yields better results faster but he’s usually preoccupied with sheriffs and deputies. Here those people would prefer he stay very far away from them and he couldn’t be happier to oblige. He leaves them to Dave and prays the older man doesn’t say too much.
They’re visiting a widow, the victim’s mother. She’s in her eighties, a very typical southern mother. It’s easy and Hotch is comforted by the idea of it. He plays fully into his southern charm, slipping into an accent occasionally guided by the older woman sitting across from them. “And your other son–?”
“Abel,” the old woman gushes. “Abraham, Abel, and Abigail.” She sips at her sweet tea, her smile never fading. “Two sons and a daughter and I couldn’t be happier. They make me very proud to be their mother.”
JJ smiles back, “three As, that’s impressive.” She’d never understood why parents are inclined to pick one letter of the alphabet and name all their children by its guide.
Without looking away from the fireplace Hotch adds, “Abel the good shepherd, Abraham the obedient, and Abigail cause of joy.” The old woman smiles and Hotch looks away. Gideon had called him a divining rod, the kindest way to say traumatized. Adapted. He always knew which family members would be helpful when investigating. Which fathers would curl their lips when questioned and which mothers would weep, would come undone and spell out generations of just the way things are done. Always knew just what to say.
Once she’s done giggling, prideful of his knowledge, the old woman asks, “you said your name was Agent Hotchner? You any kin to the Hotchner’s over thataway?”
Hotch steadies his attention and keeps his eyes on the older woman so he won’t glance at JJ. “No,” he lies, smoothly. Smiles too wide. Too much. Too forced. “I’m afraid it’s a very common last name where I’m from. More Northern.” He glances at JJ, shying from her gaze. His eyes aimed back at the creaking floorboards below.
The old woman shakes her head, “I’ll be damned if you don’t look exactly like that family, though. Could fit right in. Exactly like the daddy of that bunch, spitting image.” She shakes her head and turns to JJ. “Meaner than a snake, that ol’ bastard. ‘Bout beat the skin off his oldest more than once. Why if I had–”
Hotch clears his throat, and suddenly his collar is too tight. “Sorry,” he apologizes immediately. Old habits die hard. Sorrywas the first word he ever learned. “Did your boys know them?” He already knows the answers. Against his better judgment, despite everything he knows, he takes a sip of the sweet tea she poured him. Tries to wet his mouth. “You said that – You’ve been in the area for a while. Could they be involved?”
Heobviously knows the answer. Her sons are younger than Sean and no one knew anything more about Sean in this town than they did about him. The entire town decided the Hotchner boys were the only things to fear in those woods. Drugs and alcohol and screams. Besides, no one lives in that old house anymore.
“No, no,” the old woman says, decisively. Without a shred of doubt, he doesn’t ask for further proof. Doesn’t need to. “Them boys… I couldn’t tell you what they’re up to. Likely prison.” She shakes her head, looks at JJ again. They share a kinship of motherhood and she suspects JJ will agree with her. As if one of those boys isn’t staring a hole into the floor beneath their feet, avoiding her eye contact.
Prison makes the skin on Hotch’s arms stand. He thinks of Sean.
The bails he’s paid off.
The law he’s practiced long after his license expired.
The rehab stays.
“Neither one of them was worth a damn.” The old woman looks remorseful, shakes her head. “Not that their daddy ever let ‘em have the chance.” She looks off to the side, wistful. Imagines the thin, inky black-haired boy standing at the edge of her property. Picking blackberries tell his fingers bled with the juice.
Hotch takes another drink from his sweet tea and sits it down with an air of finality, a southern sort of dismissal. “Thank you,” he manages, “your hospitality has been welcoming but Agent Jareau and I really should get back to the station.” He extends JJ the same smile, never reaching his eyes, “JJ can leave you with a card to contact us.”
Aaron would be the final puzzle piece. His business card would be the damning piece of evidence and that’s a distracting conversation to have. It would destroy the relationship they’ve just built. She’d known in an instant. He is that little Hotchner boy, not worth a damn.
The air is not nearly that humid but it stirs his vision dangerously the second they step out onto the porch. JJ is right behind him, having another goodbye, so she doesn’t see his miss-step. She doesn’t see the man standing in the woods either.
“Who is that?”
The old woman said her oldest son had moved out of the county two years ago and started a family. Her daughter had done the same. The only kids who stay here are caught, if you know what’s good for you, you leave so Hotch hadn’t considered she’d lie.
“JJ!”
Shotgun pellets. His side stings.
“Go!” JJ has the old woman pinned to the house’s wall. “Go! I’ve got this!”
Abel and Cain. Guess he should have seen that one coming. A biblical retelling. All the wrong characters, the story jumbled. Close but not right.
It suddenly makes too much sense. Hotch wonders what they’d find in Abel’s house. He’d only heard stories, awful, crass retellings of the sort of things recovered in the bedrooms of men and women in fitful delusions. Mostly, he just gets twisted up. Abel killed Abraham. Dave will eat this up, it’s perfect book material. The twisted biblical stories. Not right but intricate and interesting.
Another shot is fired, this one aimed at his head. He falls down in the driveway, scrapes his knees up but doesn’t get shot. “Abel!” he shouts, following the back of the man in front of him. The bushes at the mouth of the woods have been beaten into a path of sorts, thistles pushed aside. They reach for his pants, tear at his clothing. “FBI! Abel, you need to stop running!”
His side pulses, hot and angry, and he comes to a fumbled stop. He searches the woods for a moment, hearing nothing but the sound of his breath. Then white-hot pain blossoms across the back of his head. He falls back, sticks and rocks digging into his back.
“I did what was asked of me!” Hotch pitches forward, gasping and spitting up vomit. His vision swims dangerously until his head is suddenly grabbed. Two hands hold his face still, forcing his eyes to meet the man in front of him. “I did what was asked of me,” Abel repeats. “You must understand. Who am I to disobey God?” A second time, more frantically, he repeats, “God!”
Hotch tries to open his mouth, to encourage Abel to let him go or to find the right thing to say. But he just can’t think of any words. He just can’t feel anything. His eyes roll back into his head, his lips meeting in a soundless last attempt to stay alive.
Another mess is not finished, you’re lucky it stops where it does because the OG idea was much much much worse. This way you can decide what comes next.
I really only like the first part but I wrote a second part too so might as well keep it
Another mess is not finished, you’re lucky it stops where it does because the OG idea was much much much worse. This way you can decide what comes next.
Squatting down at the mouth of the alley, street lights still pouring damply into his line of sight, Hotch tugs at the thighs of his dress slacks. His knees protest the deep crouch but he’s stalling, taking a very out-of-character indulgent moment to just be enraptured by a stray cat. A cute little tabby that looks about as friendly as Emily before her second-morning coffee – like it wants to claw his eyes out but something keeps it just interested enough to stay within his line of sight.
“Agent Hotchner?”
He looks over his shoulder, catches the glint of the badge on the officer’s shoulder, and uses the edge of the dumpster to stand. It’s probably best not to touch something that smells so foul but his knees are about two decades too old to be picking him up without a little aide. “Officer,” he greets with a nod. He remains passive, completely caught off guard, tilting his head innocently, curiously. “I thought you all were dispatched to the south quadrant.” His fingers itch close to his belt, ready to draw his gun. All officers report to South and Washington, he remembers it word for word. It swayed his final decision on how to split the team-up.
“Oh?” The officer shakes his head, “not all of us, I guess.”
It would be incorrect to say he can remember a whole lot about how it feels to be stabbed and he’s certainly got the resume builder to back up any experience he says he has, but he really can’t. Snippets, moments all tied together by wet blood or a moment of panic between breathes when he anticipates this one thin inhale as his last. The weight of Foyet across his hips, how cold he felt but was unable to shiver. Sweaty and cold.
The blade slips beneath his vest, an upward punching motion easily executed with a thin boxcutter. Two more, so quick he can’t process them, but he feels them. A sharp sting and deep, deep pain far below the surface of the sting. The pain is what he processes last. First and forevermore is this weird deja vu. The way the knife first takes his breath and then there’s nothing just a silent, panicked fueled moment as his face gets hot and then drains completely of blood. Sweat stinging his temples. Shock.
He falls down to his knees, hands too uncoordinated to work at getting his gun out of the hostler. Slick with sweat and likely blood he can’t do anything.
He’s pulled upright, neck craned back by a sharp grasp on his hair. His breathing has already quickened, dragging his adam’s apple up and down as his pants. This is it and prepares for the sharp tingle of the blade across his throat. Jack – imagines the little boy waiting for him at home. All the times Haley told him he’d loose them both in the end and, finally, finally, she is right. He’ll lose it all. He’ll never see his son again. Or his friends. They’ll see him, though. Throat a gaping wound, his bloody, lifeless body left in an alleyway.
The tabby cat long gone.
–––––––––
One little red dot has stopped moving.
Penelope frowns at it, turning to listen to the hard breathing coming through the radio at her left. Six tired agents running around downtown, trying to find their escaped UNSUB. She knows it’s not a mechanical error because she created this system herself and she doubts it’s a matter of handler error because she set up each tracker herself. Placed them and secured them herself. Each one. Which leaves so few other answers she taps her computer screen, willing it into motion with an encouraging little tap.
It remains stationary.
With a hum, she contemplates doing what she knows has to be done. “Morgan?” concern immediately seeps into her tone and she curses her own carelessness. Not that Derek wouldn’t have immediately known something was wrong if she’s calling. His little red dot stops moving, his breathing coming harshly through the phone.
“What is it, baby girl?” Derek leans against a street lamp, blinking sweat from his eyes as he looks around him. Trying to keep an eye out even as he takes a moment to rest, you can never be too careful. Virginia in August is one of the many reasons he contemplates moving back to the North East. The humidity makes the air impossible, even after the sun has sunk below the mountains, its harsh rays hidden, the heat permeates like steam from a pressure cooker.
His dot stops and she frowns, he’s too far away from her unmoving dot. She pulls up her programming, manually trying to find where an error might have occurred. “Have you seen JJ?” Her mind naturally fills in concern, not a matter of favorites but, rather, survival skills. It wouldn’t cross her mind to check on either Emily or Hotch first, the things those two are capable of are beyond her ability to comprehend – mostly because she doesn’t want to think about the things that have happened to them. That’s not to say she doubts JJ or Reid couldn’t handle themselves, it’s just that Emily and Hotch have both buried the men who tried to kill them.
Well, Reid did too but–
“Why?” Derek pulls himself back upright, on high alert as his heart pounds with a new fever. A new motivation. “Is she alright?”
Penelope chews her lip, “one of my trackers has stopped moving. It’s by itself.” There’s no technical error, nothing wrong with her coding. Each tracker was securely placed. Top-of-the-line utensils. It didn’t just fall off. “I – I can’t tell who it is, which is why I called you…”
Derek nods nervously brushing his palm over his head. “When and where did it stop moving? I saw Reid and JJ not that long ago.”
“Two minutes ago, nearly three now.” She moves the map around, switches screens, “uhm… It’s Maple Street. It’s stopped at Maple Street.”
“Nah, can’t be them, then. Saw JJ and Reid just a second ago,” Derek looks over his shoulder, trying to think quickly about what to do. Maple isn’t on this half, he thinks, but he’s not got an eidetic memory. He could be wrong. “Alright, listen to me,” they split up, easier to cover more ground. “Call Rossi, old man’s probably taking a breather right now anyways. He’s bound to be with either Emily or Hotch.” They wouldn’t leave him out here uncovered, one of them stayed. Actually, she should have started there. He’d say without a shred of doubt it’s Emily or Hotch. Anyone else would be far too afraid to get an earful from Hotch but Emily is invulnerable to them. And no one bothers to chew Hotch out like Hotch would chew them out. No one else would have ventured off alone.
That’s kind of a relief, if it’s stopped then it just had to have fallen off.
The radios to her left start to pick up on one another, too many people using the same frequency at once. She listens only for the sound of the team’s voices, pleased to hear Reid telling JJ he’s waiting for her a street over. They have one another’s backs. They’ll keep each other safe.
One of the lines crackles, half of what the officer says is lost to poor connection. Amidst the crackling, what isn’t lost to the man’s thick southern accent she hears Maple Street. Her chest aches with sudden pressure, her pulse light and jumpy as she turns back to her computer screen to double-check what she already knows. “Suspect spotted on Maple Street!”
Maple Street.
“I’m on Fourth, headed toward Maple Street.” It’s Emily. Penelope holds her breath and stares at the screen as Emily moves toward her stationary dot. “Someone’s approaching,” Emily’s radio cuts out, and Penelope can’t hear her.
Emily told Hotch she’d be fine, they split up all the time. He was worried about her but he wouldn’t say it, wouldn’t dare, but they could cover more ground apart than together. She’s wished him around on lonely trips, would prefer to sit in his silent company rather than her own, but never before had she wished he’d just show up. Annoyingly stepping from the shadows without a sound, just coming to her side. “Someone’s walking towards me right now,” Emily says and curses, her radiofrequency cutting in and out. “Fuck me,” she raises her gun, fear gripping her sternum. There’s something wrong. They’re tall and hunched over themselves, walking zombie-like with animalistic lurches. Her heart pounds but her hands remain steady. “FBI!” She keeps walking, “stop right there.”
The figure steps under a light and her breath catches. Long spikey bangs plastered to his forehead Hotch looks back at her, he staggers suddenly to the right and catches himself on the lamp post.
“Hotch?”
He falls down onto his knees.
Emily runs towards him, shouts his name again but he’s too out of it. “Hotch!” She falls down to the ground beside him, pulling him down against her. “What the hell happened?” She’d seen him not even half an hour ago. Grouchy, sure, but fine. He lays limply in her arms, quick, sudden breathes that make her chest hurt just to listen to. “Hey,” she tries to rouse him. Her normally pale skin is dark in contrast to his colorless face. His eyes open but they look over her shoulder, off to the side.
Emily fights to get to her radio, stuttering out, “it’s Hotch. The UNSUB isn’t on Maple Street. The suspect was Hotch. Send – Send help. Officer down. Something’s–” She looks down at him, the blood seeping into her pants. He’s covered in blood.
There’s blood on the inside of his mouth, slipped between his teeth. “He’s – He’s dressed like an officer,” Hotch suddenly pants. What, she hisses. His breath is short and quick. He grabs hold of her shirt, grip firm. His fingers gripping her blouse tightly, knuckles bloodless. “He has a – a uniform. A gun. He has a – he has a –” A chill bites up his arms and his mouth goes suddenly dry. His eyes roll up, vision blackening out. All he can hear is ringing in his ears, the warmth of Emily’s hand on his neck makes him shiver. She pushes his head towards her, and makes his head roll so he’s tilted back looking up at her. He can’t make out what she’s saying.
“Hotch?” she asks, tapping uselessly against his cold skin. “Hotch please.” This night has gone badly enough. She wished him here and now he’s gone, weakly shuddering in her lap.
He only got up off that alley floor with this in mind. The need to find a phone booth or run into another person. The UNSUB had stripped him of both of his guns, and taken his radio and his vest too. He needed to warn them, tell them that the UNSUB was dressed like one of them.
@masterwords has the right idea about clearing out our wips, spring cleaning. I’ve been holding onto this one for so long. There’s really no point. I have no ending in mind.
Hotch is dying so thereis that and it’s pretty bad I’m not gonna lie
Emily sees the second that his face falls.
Chin turned towards the rain-splattered window, lips colorless and parted as his breathing labors on. The oxygen canal under his nose no longer relieves the breathless pressure from across his chest. His fingers twitch, his pain increasing so quickly his body starts to tremble. His eyes move back and forth under his eyelids, the quality of his breathing taking a wheezing haggard sound. Shuddering chest movements sound the alarm, his oxygen dropping down to 88. They can’t do anything to help him.
The very first thing he did was sign a DNR. His lower lip quivered just enough to betray how charged this decision was for him. He’s known them all entirely too long to know that they don’t know how to let go and it felt good to have the power of his life back in his hands. To take care of them one last time.
Emily stands. A month ago this might have scared her a little more, had her hands shaking and her voice hoarse. “Derek went to get a wheelchair,” she tells him, brushing his hair back with her fingers. It’s slick with sweat, his pain today has been very high. Nothing can touch it when it’s this bad. She presses the back of her hand to his forehead with a hum, his skin chilled. “Are you cold?” she asks, anticipating no answer. She pulls his blanket up over his arms, moving his thin wrist gently to rest more comfortably. “Derek wants to go on a walk, he’s so antsy.”
Derek can’t stand to see him like this.
Yesterday was such a good day. Held gently between them, Jessica holding his head and his body leaning back into Emily, Derek had shaved his face. He smiled at them, recognized their voices, and responded. He laughed. A sound they hadn’t heard in so long. Weak and wispy but a laugh. A smile. Derek had even brought him a chocolate bar. Aaron hasn’t had solid food in months but Derek had swiped the smallest bits of melted chocolate onto his tongue, kissing his happy, loose smiles.
“It’s a little chilly in here,” she whispers, pulling a hat over his ears. It’s hard to tell what bothers him and what doesn’t but she’d rather keep the list of bothers short than ignore something. She can’t imagine how hard this is for them. Emily misses her best friends. Aaron Hotchner’s famous glares from across the room and nights at Dave’s curled on the couch sharing a glass of wine. He’s right here. She can feel the breaths that he takes under her hand. But so much of him is gone. He hasn’t got the energy to even be himself. To answer her. To open his eyes. She can’t imagine how this feels for Derek.
She runs a sponge along his dry lips but he doesn’t respond to it.
His oxygen drops down to 85.
“Oh,” Emily smirks, her sense of humor is one of the only things she’s managed to maintain during this. “Feeling dramatic today?” She worries her thumb over the back of his hand, soothing herself. He smiles. It’s not a smile but his lip twitches up, it’s a smile. She lets out a tense huff, “dick.”
He sleeps. Sleep feels like such an antagonizing word but it’s close, adjacent to the truth. He wakes periodically, never manages to rest just wanes in and out of consciousness. His heart starts to feel a little the strain from his weak breathing and Emily can’t help how suddenly anxious, how suddenly insecure and small, she feels watching so many numbers begin to fall at once. People come and go. The doctor presses his stethoscope to Aaron’s chest, running the cold metal along his protruding ribs and between his shoulder blades. Emily could count his vertebrae but she distracts herself with Aaron’s open eyes. Hues of happy brown are much nicer than bruised skin.
He doesn’t see her.
As this entire affair has gone, little things have slipped away bit by bit.
It began even before the diagnosis. A late night at Dave’s, Aaron sleeping on Derek’s shoulder and Emily trying to get there herself if Derek would just stop whining. Aaron’s shoulder is thin, her ear resting on bone. She doesn’t think anything of it. He is always exhausted, Derek said after a long time. They brushed it off. He’s retired. The headaches seemed like nothing. Aaron stopped drinking coffee after a fifty-year love affair, his head is going to hurt. It’s harder to explain the weakness in his left hand. The mugs that shatter at his feet when he can’t make his fingers wrap around a mug. His involuntary silence, the way he struggles to speak like he can’t even remember how.
And then after the diagnosis. They offered Hotch a brace and sling for his arm, keeping it pinned to his chest could at least keep him from running it into things. Protect the nerves and bone in some hopeful preservation. Protect it for what? And pain medications. Before his chronic pain had been met with narrowed eyes, doctors looking him up and down and asked if he exercised enough or had he tried physical therapy, perhaps. To pain-medicated naps on the couch, out of his mind.
He stopped walking after a few months. A slow, agonizing process. At first, he just needed to go a little slower, and then having Derek’s hand in his could get him through it. Spencer lent him canes, everyone still able to smile then at the stickers Jack and Henry had decorated them with any time they saw them. Added character to Aaron’s attire. Little by little his mobility was eaten away. Walks cut shorter. Strategic plans were made beforehand whenever they went anywhere. Finding all the benches. Until Derek built a ramp and they brought home the wheelchair. Then no more walking.
Then hospice.
Then the hospital.
His vision just went. No warning.
They were in the garden, Derek rambling about hummingbirds’ hearts and something about Spencer being exactly like one of them. It was the last walk Aaron had, slow and agonizing but he needed it. And Derek could never deny Aaron anything. Derek finally fell into silence and Aaron cleared his throat. I can’t see very well. There was nothing to be done. Not very well was actually nothing. All of his vision went in a single instant.
Derek was the last thing he saw.
“This is it.”
Emily had kissed Aaron’s temple as she stepped into the hall with the doctor, whispering in his ear that she’d be right back. She’d watched him slide his hand to the edge of the bed, wrist hanging over the mattress knowing the second she came back she would take his hand back. And now she’s imagining his hand still. Long thin fingers and his bruised and scarred skin.
“What – I don’t understand what you mean–”
The doctor clears his throat, “his oxygen saturation has been low all morning. I’m afraid at the rate which he’s declining… Miss Prentiss, I do not see a strong likelihood in him making it through the night. Not at this rate. Not like this.”
He’s in more pain. She could tell. Yesterday he smiled and he was there but it was only for them. Derek had laid with him all night, and stayed up gently trying to move him into more comfortable positions. Lifting his legs and repositioned his arms. And this morning it had taken him longer to react to them. She just thought… she just thought it was a bad day.
“Oh, um, okay. I have to–” she has to tell Derek. Call Jess. Tell the others.
He stopped recognizing the others. Without his vision, things got worse. He didn’t know who Spencer was but he still had his wits about him, ever the gentlemen waiting until everyone had left to softly tell Derek. He didn’t know who Spencer was but he did know he should, he felt bad that he didn’t. Then he forgot Penelope. And JJ. He remembers Dave, through it all, he does remember Dave but Dave keeps a bit of distance. Comes and goes less frequently. Briefly.
It’s okay, they understand.
They said their goodbyes a long time ago.
He moves his chapped lips when she comes back in, breathing stuttering as she picks his hand up. “Shh,” she soothes, rubbing the worry from his brow with her thumb. “What is it?” she whispers, “what is it?” He manages to say nothing, hasn’t had the strength to do so in weeks. She stays there, head bent close to his so he can feel how close she is. He falls unconscious again, oxygen still dropping.
Tonight.
Jessica finds Derek on her way in. His face falls when he sees the mascara smeared under her eyes. In the beginning, it was nothing to see tears. Everything seemed like such a big deal and now, in the end, there isn’t as much crying as Derek thought there would be. Seeing Jessica, the rock, crying makes his chest ache. His stomach knotted up. “What’s–”
“It’s Aaron.”
Derek frowns, “what do you mean–” He knows exactly what she means. They’ve been counting down for months now. Measuring their time out in accomplishments and inaccuraracies. In the way, Aaron had brushed off his headaches, told them not to wait on hand and foot because as long as he could walk and talk for himself he didn’t need them hovering like they had. Asking if he’d eaten or how well he slept. Then he gave coy answers, toyed with them. He pretended to slip on a sheet of ice in December just to make Derek panic, to feel his heartbeat racing against his ribs. And Aaron got what he wanted, Derek pulling him painfully close. His mouth open and breathing quickly. Careful,he was tender and soft until Aaron’s smile had betrayed him.
And then… seeing him through painful seizures and not sleeping for days at a time. Headaches that medicine could not touch. Pain that Derek could do nothing to help. This final hospitalization. The tears in Derek’s eyes for the pain Aaron could not communicate verbally, only writhe and turn around from.
“No,” Derek says, decisive about something that he has no power over. “He’s fine, Jess. I was with him this morning.” They’re going for a walk at lunch. The garden isn’t open, it’s far too cold for a walk like that, but around a few wards will do the same trick. See the babies on the fourth floor and the pediatric unit on five. That’s what they’re doing. They’re going on a walk today.
“Derek–”
No. No. They’re going on a walk.
“Derek!” Jessica yells after him, “Derek, please!”
Emily knows it’s not his fault. She’s mourned a friend who still lives, a friend right beside her now. But she hates Derek for putting him through this. For the way Aaron lays here gasping, fighting because he can’t let go without Derek. And she hates Derek for that. For Aaron’s restlessness. For his pain.
She holds his hand, fingers twitching against her palm. “He’ll come.”
It’s nonsense, don’t think about it too hard. Just enjoy me beingslightly nice.
It’s a… smallbomb.
Emily gets up almost immediately, dizzily leaning on the wall and coughing Derek’s name out into the slowly settling debris around them. She groans as she checks herself for quick injuries and runs her fingers along her shirt to find blood. The right side is cut open, her bra visible from the side and already wet with blood. “Oh yuck.” She wipes the blood off on her pants, temper flaring even worse when she realizes she’s just ruined two articles of clothing. “Oh fuck me,” she groans. “Derek! Hotch!” Her throat starts to tickle and she has to hold her side, knees buckling at the force of the coughs seizing her lungs. It makes her face hot, her grip on the wall slipping. She stumbles two more steps forward, forcing herself upright. “Derek!” she barely chokes his name out, he certainly won’t hear her like that. She goes a little further and stops, hitting her knees as her lungs seize up. The force of it makes her gag and she spits what gathers in her mouth out onto the floor with a cringe.
“You good?”
Emily wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and pushes herself up. “No. I just threw up,” she bites out, shooting Derek a dirty look. He should know better, trying to be cute and funny when the situation is not cute or funny. She manages to sit up a little better, working herself up back onto her feet. Standing she’s able to take in her surroundings a little better, thinking past the sharp sting in her side. Emily gets her first good look at Hotch and cringes, “what’s wrong with him?”
Hotch, unmoved by even the mention of his name, is holding the back of Derek’s sleeve. His gaze is somewhere to the left of them, vacant but focused. Despite standing still he rocks as though moved by waves, a force washing over him so gently. Trying to push him back, keeping him unsteady on his feet. What really caught her eyes is the blood soaking the entire left side of his face. There’s a large laceration under his hairline, it’s going to need a few stitches. It’s ghastly, large, and ugly. The blood is drying but still very fresh, bleeding less now than it had before. It’s caked into his eyebrows and seeped in between his lips. He looks like a nightmare.
Derek glances back at Hotch and sighs, “hit his head. Took me forever to get him to come with me.” He’s worried it’s a brain bleed, Hotch was too confused when Derek got to him. But now isn’t the time to be speculating worst-case scenarios. If it’s a brain bleed… Derek looks back at Hotch… there isn’t anything he or Emily can do to save him anyway.
Derek offers his other hand out to Emily, “you ready to go?”
She can’t stop looking at Hotch but she nods, grabbing his hand. “Let’s get the hell out of here.” It’s… funny? She watches from the wall, still needing its support to stay upright, as Derek gently convinces Hotch to start moving again. It’s not that hard, Derek speaks to him like a child. Gentle and slow. It’s both funny and very alarming. “What’d he hit his head against?” Now standing, and with Hotch’s guard so thrown, she can get close to the wound. “It’s a good thing we keep you around for your brains and not your looks,” she makes a sympathetic grunt, shaking her head. He’s going to need a good few stitches to get this closed up.
Hotch blinks.
It’s not that hard to getaway. Outside frantic shouts of their names guide them through the smoke and haze of concussions. One blinding flashlight aimed right at Derek’s face nearly floors the three of them. As the adrenaline fades, his brain accepts this as safe so long as Emily remains closely pressed to him and Hotch’s lurching, unsteady steps keep causing its continuous predictable tug on his sleeve. His knees give a little warning, fear of impending doom settling on his chest.
“Derek?”
They stop too suddenly and Hotch walks right into Derek’s back, only steadied by Emily’s sudden ability to hold herself upright. She’d nearly fallen just a moment before, floored by another bought of impromptu sickness. Hotch had laid the most gentle hand on her shoulder as she gagged and choked up nothing but spit onto her shoes. It was the first voluntary movement he’d shown, the only way he’d managed to fight through the fog in his head.
“Come on.” Dave severs the connection between Derek and Hotch, trying to apply reason and gentle guidance where Hotch needs much more. Hotch groans, walking where he’s pulled but his feet are suddenly far less steady. He drags them, unwilling to go politely as he turns his head back, watching Derek and Emily separate as well. “Hotch,” Dave calls, stopping a moment and trying to step into his line of sight. “Aaron, come with me–”
Losing consciousness gets him one guaranteed night in the hospital. Dave isn’t sure the image will leave his head anytime soon. The way he just dropped. The way Derek’s voice carried over the sounds of sirens and the shuttering, pained noises Hotch made as his body seized up. The spit in Hotch’s mouth foamed up, turning pink with the blood in and around his mouth. The seizure lasted only a few seconds, thirty-nine agonizing seconds.
Derek stood in shock, immobilized by suddenly too much proof that he was right. Hotch had been bleeding into his brain the entire time.
Three men down on a seven-person team, one of those persons still in Quantico means that Dave has to leave the hospital. He checks in first, with all of them. He finds Hotch a juice box he’ll actually drink and makes Emily promise she’ll be on her best behavior. Derek is banged up, his shoulder in a sling, but he’s cleared. No concussion and minimal smoke inhalation. They turn him loose. Emily signs out AMA – the second the last stitch gets placed she tells them as much and there’s not a thing they can do about it. And Dave isn’t around to do a thing about it. Hotch should stay for another twelve hours at least, and be monitored closely because of the extent of his injuries but he’s very convincing.
“Five stitches,” Emily says, in way of a greeting. No thank god you weren’t bleeding into your brain this entire time orit’s good to see you alive because I thought you were dead the moment you left my sight. She tugs her shirt up and shows Hotch and Derek her side. “Five,” she repeats proudly. “How much did that bad boy cost ‘ya?”
A lot of the blood has been cleaned from Hotch’s face but a sponge can’t erase the damage. His face is flushed, his breathing has picked up in the hours he’s been cooped up here from the nearly too slow, too shallow pace he’d maintained in the ambulance ride over. He’s hyperventilating, pulling in the shuddering breathes of a child just post a nuclear melt-down. His cheeks are rosy and his eyes alert. He smirks but his mouth is a little too hard to make work. “Stitches and staples,” he whispers, voice hoarse and wobbly.
She narrows her eyes at him, competitive even now but he’s not going to put up a fun fight. She’s won because he’s already distracted, eyes attempting to close. “Hey,” she taps his arm and he hums. “You wanna go home?”
He swallows, eyes coming back to her. “Jack?”
He sounds so… hopeful. Clarity snaps back so quickly, he looks eager. Like he could just stand up and walk away if she said yes, she’d take him home to Jack. “No,” she says gently, regretting her word choice. “No, the hotel. We’ll take you to the hotel and then home.” He nods somberly, attention drifting away. Heartbroken. “We can call Jack,” she offers.
Hotch closes his eyes and hums.
“I’m sorry,” she offers lamely.
Derek opens the curtained area, stress written all across his face. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do. Hotch wants to go, he’s sat through one saline bag and they’ve taken him off oxygen. All they’re going to do here is monitor him. They said themselves he shouldn’t have another seizure, it was a stress thing. Smoke inhalation. The body can only handle so much, Hotch met his limit. Derek is just afraid he’ll meet it again. But Hotch will leave, either Derek can safely take him or he can fight his way there.
Derek smiles despite this fear, “Ready?”
_____________
Losing friends is always a possibility with this job and Reid knows that he’s lost friends to this job, but today he nearly lost three of them. Not any three. Perhaps it’s juvenile but it’s shaken him. It’s scary and one awful nightmare of a day is finally coming to a close and all Reid wants to do is go to bed. It’s a shitty bed but it’s been a shitty day, all he needs is to lay down.
Except his bed is taken.
Reid and Derek split the room closest to the stairs, just the luck of the draw. Given the day’s events, Reid is fully expecting to walk into his room and find no one but the heavy hum of an air conditioner left on high all day. The air conditioner is on high but his bed is not empty. There’s a… well, something really fucking big laying on his bed. Heart pounding, hands trying to start trembling, he reaches for the light switch.
He sees Emily first. She’s curled onto her side in a large t-shirt, excess fabric concealing her wounded side. It’s not her own, a borrowed and never to be returned item from Derek. He hadn’t expected she’d give it back when he offered it to her, based alone on her pleased smile. Derek sleeps against the wall, also on his side. He’s facing her but his sleep is lighter, he’s anticipating the need to be able to be awake and alert.
Derek has one arm over Hotch’s hips. The bed is far too small so the three of them overlap. Hotch’s head on Derek’s shoulder, Emily’s arm over Hotch’s stomach. They criss-cross, each seeking a connection. Derek’s fingers rest across Hotch’s wrist – every handful of minutes he wakes and checks for a pulse. Groggy, there are a few seconds where Derek fears he can’t find one at all. Sleeping, Hotch’s breathing has slowed. So for one whole minute every hour, Derek thinks Hotch is dead and then his fingers will find that little hollow place in his wrist, and Hotch will pull in a little breath. He’s still alive. Slumbering on.
“Reid?” Derek sits up carefully. Hotch is lightly jostled but he no more than groans, tucks his face into the pillow, and settles again. Emily stirs only lightly, giving Hotch’s stomach a little pat as if to soothe him the same way you might a small baby. Derek yawns, “you okay?”
Reid can’t think. He’s just standing there gawking at this weirdness. Emily is pretty affectionate, all things considered. He’s gotten a hug from her but Hotch is pretty distant. He’s known the man for so long and only hugged him once. Yet they’re all sleeping in one bed. Emily is hugging Hotch and Hotch is letting her. They’re cuddling.
“Reid.”
He startles.
“Come on, man. Cut the lights,” Derek motions to the light switch. “Stop standing around.”
Reid nods. Navigating in the dark is a little complicated but he uses the bed and eases his way around the side. The other bed’s springs groan as Derek lays back down. Reid almost expects something from them. For Emily to come to life in that way she does, bragging about being a badass or, at least, offering Reid the comfort that she’s okay. For Hotch, even, to stand suddenly and leave. To just be okay no matter what that stark white gauze around his head suggested.
He lays awake for another hour, turning onto his side and watching them.
What a peculiar once in a lifetime thing to witness, Reid almost can’t be certain it’s real.
Summary: Milburn Correctional Facility is a tough place to find hope in. But when Spencer Reid stumbles upon a GED class, led by a teacher with kind words and a smile that breaks through the dark, he thinks it might not be so hopeless after all. Spencer Reid x Reader. Set in Season 12. Prison!Reid
Content Warnings for discussion of prison/incarceration, correctional conditions, abuse, etc. Note that this story will feature a lot of real-life prison things. Reid and other characters may at times speak in a derogatory or judgmental manner regarding incarcerated folks, but those statements do notreflect my personal views (xoxo, your friendly neighborhood abolitionist fanfic writer).
STORY
Part I: In which Spencer Reid stumbles upon a GED class at Milburn and feels something like hope for the first time in weeks.
Part II:In which the Reader tries not to lecture Spencer before the lecture, and Spencer gets a nickname.
Part III:In which Spencer gets a visitor and the Reader’s kindness is repaid with a surprise connection.
Part IV: In which Spencer finds sugar bittersweet, and the Reader finds the same sentiment in her work when a student is hurt.
Part V:In which nothing is beautiful and everything hurts.
Part VI:In which Reid and the Reader both find themselves at the center of problems they just can’t fix… and the stakes are higher than ever.
Part VII: In which Reid finds himself in solitary confinement, and the Reader is simply trying to find him.
Part VIII:In which being free is harder than Reid expected and the Reader has an unexpected reunion.
Part IX:In which Reid realizes he might not be the only one falling, and the Reader has an important question to answer.
Part X: ✨✨ In which some statements are only true for so long, and Reid and the Reader get closer and… closer.
Part XI:In which Reid and the Reader finally say what needs to be said, and the Reader finds she has something in common with the BAU. aka, The End.
Epilogue: In which Spencer invites the Reader to make a move and the Reader starts a new chapter.
A little reminder that if you want some prison!Reid reading but with a twist, I’ve got 11 chapters (plus an epilogue) all ready and waiting for your enjoyment!
Hotch let out a sigh. Just looking at the case remarks by the higher ups at the Bureau irritated him. Why on earth should people who have never stepped foot in the field get a say? Regardless of the fact that he got to work less than an hour ago, he was feeling sluggish, but when did mass piles of paperwork not exhaust him? Just then a knock on his door gladly interrupted the monotony of his paperwork filled morning.
Hotch looked up and paused for a minute to take in the woman in burgundy before him. He had never seen her before and while she was younger than him, she was definitely not fresh out of the academy.
She definitely cared about her appearance. Not a hair out of place on her very recently dyed head, not a highlight grown out. Her long sleeved blouse was perfectly tucked into her skirt, not a crease in sight. Her gait and stance making clear she had a thigh holster, which stirred something within. She extended a hand, showing off her expertly manicured fingernails as Hotch took note of the lack of a ring.
As he introduced himself, he took note of the softness of her skin as well as some faint marker, making it obvious she either had children or was close to someone who had kids.
Her unique sense of humor shone through during her introduction to the team. She was clearly a friendly and extroverted person. When they sat down for the briefing, she chose the seat next to him, the light scent of rose and vanilla permeating his nose. Preventing him from focusing on much else, let alone the case. He unknowingly angled his seat closer towards her, his senses on overdrive.
Throughout the case she made it clear and very obvious as to why she had made it onto the BAU, her intelligence and wit shining through.
But the moment he truly knew was done for was when she was sitting across from him on the plane, after the case. Just the simple act of bringing him coffee and making him laugh after a difficult day had his heart racing. And it never really seemed to stop, at least not while he was with her.
A/N:I have some blurbs about Hotch and Maya’s first impressions of the other. They’re going to be posted soon! Also yay for me bc I don’t have COVID! But I did catch a bug from one of the kids at work so that’s why this chapter is up later than normal.
“Knock Knock”, said Maya before entering Hotch’s office.
“Good morning Bose, what can I do for you?”, asked Hotch.
“You can accept these cookies and come over for dinner this weekend as an apology for my daughter’s behavior”, said Maya.
“You don’t need to do that. Kids will be kids”, replied Hotch.
“I know, but Mira is a whole different breed this most”, said Maya.
“She’ll turn out great. Just look at who she has to look up to”, responded Aaron.
“Who? A deadbeat dad, a single mom who’s barely keeping it together, and grandparents who outwardly hate her mom. She won family of the year”, huffed out Maya.
Aaron’s eyes softened, looking at Maya with a warmheartedly.
“Enough about me. We insist! And bring Jack. They’ll have loads of fun”, said Maya placing a fresh cup of coffee and the chocolate chip cookies that had been baked the night before.
“We’ll come but only if we can bring dessert”, replied Aaron.
“Sounds like a plan. Saturday at 7:30 work for you?”, asked Maya.
“Sounds good. And thank you for the cookies”, said Hotch.
“No problem Hotch! And before I leave, any allergies or deep dislikes I need to know about?”, asked Maya.
“Nope, Any requests for dessert?”, questioned Aaron.
“How about ice cream? You can’t go wrong there”, said Maya.
Hotch smiled and said “got it” before Maya left the room.
***
Maya rushed around the townhouse, getting ready for the Hotchners who should be arriving any second now. The smell of freshly baked bread permeated throughout. The autumnal candles burning, and Mira watching Dragon Tales filled the small home the two had made for themselves.
The doorbell rang, Maya took off her apron and quickly inspected her white sweater for any food stains before heading downstairs to get the door. “Come on in you two. It’s pretty chilly outside for early November”, said Maya, ushering the two in.
Aaron and Jack walked into the foyer, the nervous smile on Jack’s face melted her heart.
“And you must be the famous Jack Hotcher I’ve heard so much about”, said Maya crouching down to the small child tightly gripping his father’s hand.
Jack nodded and said, “yes Ma’am”.
Smiling at the adorable kid Maya said, “you don’t need to call me Ma’am, just Maya will do. How about I show you to the living room where Mira is playing with Legos and watching tv?”.
Jack nodded his head eagerly before pausing to look up at his father.
“Go! You don’t need to ask me for permission here”, said Hotch with a nod of his head.
Jack ran up the stairs, heading for the television.
“You sure do make cute kids Hotch”, said Maya before blushing as she realized what she said.
“I mean…uhm. I didn’t mean that”, stuttered out Maya.
A blushing Hotch said, “don’t worry about it”.
After a very hearty meal of seafood bisque (with a tomato and basil option for the kids), freshly baked bread, and salad, the group made their way to the sofa.
“Ma, can we play Candyland?”, asked Mira.
“What do you say Jack, you wanna play Candyland?”, asked Maya looking towards the younger of the Hotchner men.
“Yes please!”, piped out the young boy.
“Okay, you all set it up while I go get dessert”, said Maya.
“Do you need any help?”, asked Aaron.
“Sure, let the kids set up the game. You can help me with the coffee.”, replied Maya.
The two walked into the kitchen where Maya took out the coffee mugs.
“Here you go. I’ll go get the ice cream for the kids” said Maya, handing Hotch the mugs.
“Thanks, and what water do you normally use?”, questioned Hotch.
“Filtered please!”, responded Maya, pointing to the Brita by the sink.
Hotch set to making the coffee as Maya waited for the ice cream to thaw and become more scoopable.
“So how have you been liking being on the team”, asked Hotch.
“In all honesty, It’s been an adjustment. Working with people who have created their own family while being an outsider is difficult. And not only that but you all are the most perceptive group of people I have ever worked with”, sighed out Maya.
Hotch’s face held a look of understanding.
“I remember what it was like when I first got here. I know it can be tough, especially for people who like keeping some semblance of privacy”, said Aaron.
“Exactly. I love being a part of the team. It’s been what I’ve wanted for years. But you all tell eachother everything. And while I am open with certain parts of my life, there are other parts of me that nobody outside of like 4 people know”, replied Maya fiddling with the ice cream scoop.
“They’re nosy. I’ll give you that. But they’re just trying to help. All the team wants is for everyone to feel like they can be open and talk about their life and any problems they may have”, said Aaron.
“I guess it’s just a personal thing. I never really had anyone these past 10 years or so that I felt I could truly confide in so I don’t feel comfortable opening up to people anymore. But I mean that’s how abusers want you to feel, right? That you’re all alone so that you don’t ever leave”.
A sorrow look appeared on Aaron’s face as he reached his hand out to hold Maya’s.
“Maya, if you ever need anything you know you can come to us, right?”
Maya’s heart fluttered as she said, “I know Hotch, but honestly he’s the reason Mira is in my life. So he did something good, right??”.
“Absolutely, Mira might be a handful just like her mother but we wouldn’t trade you for the world, just like you wouldn’t trade her”, said Aaron truthfully.
Maya smiled, a twinkle in her eye, as the oven beeped.
She opened the oven, the warmth of both the oven and smell of cinnamon permeated.
“Maya, we were in charge of dessert. What did you do?”, asked Hotch as he poured the prepared coffee into the 2 mugs.
“Calm down Hotch. Nothing goes better with ice cream than freshly baked apple pie”, said Maya with a smile.
“You keep feeding us like this and Jack will never want to leave”, replied Hotch.
“And what about you?”, asked Maya.
“What about me?”, questioned Hotch.
“Don’t play dumb with me Agent, it’s not very becoming. Would you want to leave?”, reiterated Maya.
Looking at Maya intently with his smoldering eyes, Hotch said, “No, I wouldn’t want to leave either”, before taking the cups of coffee to the living room.
As he walked away, Maya couldn’t help but notice his back muscles rippling underneath his sweater as he took each step.
“Get yourself under control. His wife died mere months ago”, muttered Maya before she brought the dessert out to everyone.
As the two Hotchner’s left for the evening after a riveting game of Candyland, Maya couldn’t help but wonder whether her and Hotch’s flirty banter was just that or whether they meant he held actual feelings for her.
***
Maya was filling up yet another cup of coffee before she went back to her desk to finish up her last report from the case when Hotch walked in.
“Jack has been talking about how cool Maya is recently”, said Hotch.
“Well, I am cool. So you’ve got a smart kid there”, said Maya smiling as she took a sip.
“We want to have you over and return the favor. And the kids get along great. So come on over this Saturday”, replied Hotch.
“Will do, want me to bring anything?”, asked Maya.
“Just yourself and Mira. After last time, I don’t trust you”, said Hotch.
“You do realize that I’ll bring something anyways”, said Maya with a grin.
Hotch smiled as he shook his head and headed back to his office.
***
“So what’s this Saturday?”, asked Emily.
“I don’t know, your neighbor’s dog’s baptism?”, asked Maya.
JJ snorted and Penelope was so very glad she had waited before taking a sip of her hot tea.
“No it’s your second date with Hotch!”, exclaimed Emily.
“No it’s not! We’re not dating!”, replied Maya loudly.
“But you want to be”, said Em.
Scoffing, Maya rolled her eyes.
“Wait, so what’s happening here?”, asked a confused Penny.
“Notching. I invited Jack and Hotch over as an apology dinner for the diarrheahead fiasco. And Jack and Mira seem to get along well so we’re having dinner at their place on Saturday”, replied Maya.
“And you’re not attracted to the man at all?”, questioned JJ.
“No! Absolutely not! And Hayley just died, what kind of monster do you take me for?”, asked Maya.
“It’s almost been a year Maya”, said JJ at the same time as Emily said, “a monster with eyes”.
“Okay, he might be nice to look at, but I am not into him at all”, stated Maya firmly.
“I don’t know about you guys but, methinks the lady doth protest too much”, said Penelope.
A/N: Mira is pronounced Mee-rah, Mama is pronounce mum-ah. Also please note that the “racist comment” against Hispanics is something that all Desi moms do so I included it solely for that purpose. I do not condone racism, but I wanted to make it accurate to what life is like for a lot of desi women, including myself.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” yelled out Hrishaan.
“I’m sorry, but this is what I want”, said Maya.
“What the hell are you sorry for? We aren’t splitting up. We’re going to live our lives and grow old just like our parents”, spit out Hrishaan.
“But we don’t love each other!”, exclaimed Maya.
To which Hrishaan replied, “Who the hell fucking cares?”.
“I care Hrishaan! I can take the abuse. But I will not be raising a child in this environment. So yes, we will be getting a divorce”, replied Maya, raising her voice.
“You got pregnant? How could you be so fucking careless?”.
“Me? What about you? Did I ask to be raped all those nights? Did you hear me say, ‘yes Hrishaan, please continue to penetrate me as I cry and tell you to stop’”, cried out Maya.
“Don’t talk back to me with all your feminist bullshit. You are not leaving this marriage”, responded Hrishaan.
“Well sadly, I am not living in whatever fantasy medieval world you live in where a woman has no autonomy. So I am leaving” said Maya before she continues to say, “I am tired of this”, her voice breaking as she goes back to packing her suitcase.
Hrishaan reached out and grabbed her wrist in an attempt to stop her, squeezing hard enough to cut off blood flow.
“Let go of me!”, cried out Maya.
“No! If you’re going to act like a petulant child, I’ll treat you like one”, said Hrishaan, his veins bulging out of anger.
“Hrishaan, let go. I can’t feel my wrist, you’re hurting me!” said Maya, her eyes welling up with pain.
“If you even think of telling our parents about this nonsensical idea, I will kill you. Don’t think I won’t”, screamed Hrishaan, furious at his wife’s actions.
“Tell them what? That you’re a narcissistic, abusive asshole?” spit out Maya, tugging her arm away.
“You bitch”, yelled Hrishaan letting go of Maya, the sudden act causing Maya to launch forwards and hit her head against the dresser.
Letting out a yelp, Maya slowly got up.
“Kill me all you want. At least I won’t have to live here with you”, yelled out Maya.
She walked towards the front door, her bags forgotten and blood dripping down her face, as she walked to her car to head to the solace of her cousins home.
She jerked awake to see the whole team staring at her in concern, startled she sat up straight in her seat.
“What’s up guys?” asked Maya.
“Are you okay?”, questioned David.
“Shouldn’t y'all be asking Spencer that? He’s the injured one!”, exclaimed Maya.
“Well from what it sounded like you were being injured as well”, said Derek.
“What do you mean?” asked Maya, cautiously.
“You kept on saying, ‘let go you’re hurting me’ and muttering words while fidgeting. Sounded like you were reliving some pretty nasty stuff”, said Emily.
“Guy, I’m fine. And we’ve all lived through some nasty stuff. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go to the bathroom”, replied Maya, before walking into the tiny airplane bathroom.
She stared into the mirror, willing her heart rate to slow back down.
You are not married to him anymore.
You are safe.
You have Mira.
She is your world.
With her breathing and heart rate slowing down, Maya blotted off the sweat from her face, washed her hands, and left the small airplane bathroom. She headed back towards her seat and saw a cup of coffee prepared just to her liking. She mouthed the words “thank you” to Emily who was sitting across the aisle with her own fresh cup of coffee.
It was then that Penelope’s face appeared on the screen.
“Maya, when were you gonna tell us about your hot doctor cousin?”, asked Penny.
“What? How do you know what my cousin looks like?”, questioned Maya.
“He just dropped off your absolutely precious daughter and told me to tell you to and I quote pick up that damn cell phone of yours”, replied Pen.
Rolling her eyes she said, “and he just left his niece with someone he doesn’t know? What an idiot".
“Hey, but you know me! I can take care of her for a couple of hours!”, exclaimed Pen.
“I know you can Pen! Just remember no sweets and she’s allergic to strawberries and cashews?”, said Maya.
“Got it. Don’t worry about us my love. I will take great care of your daughter. Catch ya on the flip”, said Pen before she hung up.
Maya groaned at the thought of a total stranger, to Mira that is, taking care of her daughter.
“So tell us about this handsome doctor cousin of yours?” says Emily wiggling her eyebrows.
“Handsome my ass. Penelope just got confused because he’s like the one Indian man who is both tall and does not have a unibrow”, said Maya rolling her eyes.
The rest of the team smiles.
“Wait, so you’re Indian? How did we not know that about you?, asked Derek.
“Dude, my last name is Bose. How did you not know that about me?, asked Maya.
Derek just looked confused.
“Bose is the last name of a famous Indian engineer who invented the technology that made the Bose speaker and headphone brand possible. He was on Forbes 400 a couple years ago”, said Spencer.
“See, thank you Spence. Besides, where did you think I was from?”, asked Maya.
“Uh, well you spoke fluent Spanish. So somewhere that spoke Spanish”, replied Derek.
“Huh, my mom always told me I was mistaken for being Hispanic because I was fat. That’ll tell her”, said Maya.
The rest of the team rolled their eyes at what they assumed was yet another self-deprecating joke.
***
“Ma! I missed you”, screeched Mira, running towards her mom.
“Mira baby, I missed you too”, said Maya, squatting down to give her daughter a hug.
“I helped Ms. Penelope do a background check on Jordan!” said Mira with a look of glee on her face.
“You did what?! Penelope you helped my daughter do a background check on the little boy from pre-k she has a crush on!”, exclaimed Maya.
“Mama, he’s my boyfriend! We’re getting married tomorrow at recess!” cried out Mira.
“See, who was I to let her marry a complete stranger?”, asked Penelope, justifying her actions.
“I told y’all she was a handful”, said Maya as the rest of the team smiled.
“Mama, I’m hungry. I want some chocolate chip cookies”, whines Mira.
“We can make some tonight Mir, but I’m not sure I have any food with me”, said Maya.
“But mummy, I’m starving. I need food”, responded Mira.
“I know baby”, said Maya as she began looking through her desk before Mira threw yet another famous temper tantrum.
“Here, I have a granola bar I never ate”, said Hotch, handing Mira the bar.
“I don’t accept food from strangers Mr. Diarrheahead”, yelled Mira, throwing the bar on the ground.
“Mira, apologize now”, yelled Maya.
“I’m sorry Mr. Diarrheahead”, muttered Mira.
“His name is Mr. Hotchner not Diarrheahead, Mira Ananya Bose. And you better remember that”, said Maya sternly.
“I’m sorry Mr. Hotchner. I shouldn’t have called you that. But you could have been trying to poison me, I don’t know you!”, claimed Mira.
The others were just laughing, while Hotch had a smile on his face and Maya’s face carried an expression of both fury and embarrassment.
“Let’s go before you get Mommy fired”, said Maya.
The two said their goodbyes and left but not before Mira had the chance to say, “goodbye Mr. Diarrheahead”, as she waved with a cheeky smile on her face.
That morning began like any other. Well, that was not true. It was a chaotic freakin’ mess. At least it seemed to be, but that was on brand for the Bose family.
Mira Bose was annoyingly just like her mother. Sarcastic, stubborn, and anal retentive, but cute. However, the most important trait the 5 year old got from her mother was her absolute love of sleep. The girl could fall asleep regardless of what she was doing or where she was (like when she fell asleep while potty training and fell off of the toilet which led to her very first trip to the hospital and a bright pink cast). But for some god forsaken reason, Mira had chosen the day before her mother’s first day at her dream job to decide she would develop insomnia. Maya ultimately at 4 o’ clock decided to give her daughter some Benadryl in the hopes of getting at least a 30 minute nap before her first day of work.
And that was how she wound up here. In an overcrowded elevator at 7:08 am, late for her very first day. That was definitely bound to go over great with her new boss, thought Maya with a grimace on her face. At least her daughter was having a better time she thought, wishing that she herself could have been experiencing a Benadryl induced coma.
The elevator doors opened, and Maya rushed out flattening her burgundy skirt, getting out all the nonexistent wrinkles, as she headed towards the doors which held her future. She could feel prying eyes on her frame as she made her way up the stairs to the Special Agent in Charge’s office, Aaron Hotchner. She knocked on the open door and waited for him to look up.
Aaron stood up and walked around his desk.
“You must be Maya, our new agent”, said Aaron, shaking her hand.
“Yes sir, it is a pleasure to meet you”, replied Maya.
“Now I know you already got all of your paperwork out of the way last week, so let’s head out to meet the rest of the team”, responded Aaron, leading Maya out of his office.
The two walked to the round table where everyone was crowded murmuring about what Maya assumed was the new pig out to slaughter. A silence came over the group as the two got closer.
“Everyone, this is Special Agent Maya Bose. Maya, this is everyone”, introduced Hotch.
“Oh my precious Maya, it is so good to see you again”, said Penelope hugging Maya.
“Lovely to see you as well Pen”, smiled Maya.
“And wait, let me guess. Penny told me all about ya’ll”, said Maya.
Her eyes took in the rest of the team before continuing to say, “This has got to be Penny’s chocolate thunder and god from above Derek Morgan”, Derek smiled and winked at Penelope.
“And you are Ms. Emily boobs Prentiss who loves to both sin and win”, Emily chuckled.
“This must be communications liaison extraordinaire and discount finding queen, Jennifer Jureau”, JJ smiles.
“We can’t forget David Rigatoni Rossi; lover of pasta, cigars, and the finer things in life”, David lets out a boisterous laugh.
“And I’m sorry. Penelope didn’t mention you, you are?” questioned Maya, looking at Spencer.
A look of insult and confusion filled Spencer’s face.
Maya grins at his reaction.
“I’m just kidding. This is the amazing Dr. Spencer Reid. Resident genius on…well everything, including something called physics magic”, said Maya.
A look of relief appears on Spencer’s face as the rest of the team chuckles.
“Oh Hotch. I got distracted, but we have a case”, said JJ.
“How bad is it?”, questioned David.
“Florida”, responded JJ with a grimace.
The team let out a collective sigh which confused Maya.
“Well, I hope you are ready, Special Agent Bose”, said Hotch as the team sat down while JJ passed around the tablets containing the case files.
“Three trans women, all brunettes in their early 30’s. All had cigarette burns and were brutally sodomized. All were left in or around dumpsters in downtown Miami. And all the women had their…um breasts cut off”, winced JJ.
“Well the trash is a sign of dehumanizing. The unsub clearly views these women as garbage”, said Derek.
“He might have been slighted or rejected by a trans woman or he himself is battling with his own gender identity and views himself as an abomination for feeling this way”, added Maya.
The team all had various looks of respect and reverence on their faces.
“Okay, wheels up in 20”, said Hotch.
***
“Okay, now that you’ve gotten a moment to breathe, tell us about yourself”, asks Emily.
“You just want to know if I think the boobs live up to Penelope’s description”, smirked Maya.
Emily smiles at the new agent.
“Come on mama, tell us a little bit about yourself”, pushed Derek.
“Down boy”, smiled Maya.
“If you must know…my name is Maya, obviously. I was born and raised in Maryland. I married young, and it did not end well at all. But I did receive the best gift ever from that asshole, my daughter Mira. She’s 5 years old and an absolute pain in my ass. But she’s a literal carbon copy of myself, so I’ve got no one to blame. And um a fun fact, caffeine doesn’t work on me so I am looking forward to these long hours”, continued Maya.
“Hotch also has a 5 year old boy, his name is Jack”, said JJ smiling.
“Well if he’s anything like you Hotch, he must be a lot easier to parent”, said Maya.
“He’s pretty great, but Mira can’t be that bad”, replied Hotch, a smile on his face as he talked about Jack.
“When I was potty training her, she fell asleep on the toilet and fell off. She broke her arm so we went to the hospital. She was asking for ice cream, and I said not now but we can pick some up on our way home. She got so upset that when I left to fill out some paperwork she told the nurses I hurt her. And that got CPS and police involved. And CPS still comes around every now and then. Trust me, she can be bad”, said Maya.
Various snorts of laughter escaped the team.
“Well you said she’s just like you so we should be ever so lucky to have you join us”, said Dave.
“I am most definitely a handful, that’s for sure”, replied Maya.
***
Maya sat down across from her boss and handed him a cup of coffee.
“Thanks, you did good today Bose”, said Aaron.
“Oh, I know” said Maya with a grin on her face.
“It’ll be good to have you on the team. We need someone who can joke around and get along with the worst of people”, replied Hotch.
Maya grinned before saying, “I knew my mom was wrong. I am good for something”.
“You know Hotch, you never did ask me what Penelope said to describe you”, said Maya questioningly.
“What did she say?”, asked Hotch.
“She said that you were the strong, silent leader who gets stuff done. Oh, and that you put the Hot in Hotchner. And well…she wasn’t wrong”, said Maya, looking over Hotch and grinning as she winked, before walking back to her seat. Leaving behind a distracted and blushing Hotch, with a slight grin that couldn’t help but escape as he watched Maya walk away.
“second chances are not given to make things right. but are given to prove that we could be better even after we fall”
Maya Bose can be described in many words, but trusting will never be one of them. After suffering more heartbreak and hurt one deserves before the age of 26, Maya goes back to school in order to turn her life back around. Along the way she ends up at the BAU, where her strict “work is for work, not friendship” policy gets tested. But soon life shows her that, maybe, second chances do exist.
Summary: It’s valentine’s day, but the team just got back from a though case were Aaron’s daughter got kidnapped. Spencer tries his best to help her feel better during the day of love.
Category: little angsty, fluff.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader (Hotchner’s daughter)
Word Count: 3.2K
Warnings: age gabe between consenting adults (24/32), mentions of kidnapping and bruises, talks about drug abuse, short mentions of death and previous unsub (canon), kissing, use of nicknames (plum cake, pretty boy and junior), confession of love.
February 14th. Valentine’s Day. The day of love. A day that was celebrated by couples and friends around the world. It was supposed to be a romantic day but for you, Spencer and the rest of the BAU team, today was anything but romantic. Or happy for that matter.
You and the team had just wrapped up a hard case, involving you getting kidnapped, both Derek and your dad, Aaron, fought to get you back safely. Spencer did too, but everyone wanted him to focus on how to get through to the unsub so they could save you.
Luckily they found you and the unsub in a basement of an abandoned house together with two dead bodies. Now the team was on the jet on your way home to Quantico. It was dead silent except for the faint music from Derek’s headphones and some snores.
“How does she do it?” Emily asked Aaron who looked out at the window where the sun was rising from the horizon.
“Who does what?” he asked back, looking at Emily.
“Your daughter. How can she pretend she’s fine after all she’s been through?”
“She claims she’s not pretending but I and everyone else knows how much she’s struggling.” he said with a sad broken tone in his voice.
“Does she have someone to talk to about this?” Emily asked, looking concerned.
“She talks a lot with Morgan and Reid about all of it but she needs to talk to a professional about it.”
Emily nodded and looked out of the window. She didn’t know what to respond with. It was a hard subject to talk about, even when you are an experienced agent and profiler.
You and Spencer were sitting beside each other sleeping deeply. Your head was resting against his chest, while his arm was around your shoulders tugging you closer in his light sleep.
Spencer’s free hand had found one of yours and he held it tightly. Anyone could see your intertwined hands and fingers when they passed by the seats you were sitting in.
“She’s a fighter. But she doesn’t get enough credit for it.” Aaron said out of the blue to Emily.
“I believe she knows. Everyone on the team praises her for her amazing skills and work.” Emily said and drank some of the tea she just had maked. “But Hotch, do you tell her how well she’s doing on this job?”
Hotch became silent. He didn’t really praise you for your hard work, meaning that you didn’t feel praised enough for your work. It bothered you a lot but you didn’t have the nerve to tell him the truth.
—
Spencer was the one driving you home. Your dad had asked him to keep an eye out on you, just to make sure you would be okay.
In the car there was a comfortable silence. Normally you and Spencer would talk both of your ears off, but due to the trauma you just had gotten through, you didn’t talk.
“I know you like the silence but do you feel okay?” Spencer asked and kept his eyes on the road.
“It’s… hard to explain…” you said and looked out of the window.
“Well, try. To start off a conversation like this, I’ve been through a drug addiction and it took me some time to get clean.” Spencer said as he took a left turn.
“What were you addicted to?” You asked with a low voice and looked down at your hands that still had some skin damage to them.
“Dilaudid. A painkiller drug that creates the same high as heroin does. But I’m good now and can say I’m proud to be clean.”
“I heard that you actually died but the unsub, Tobias, revived you.” You said quietly.
“And I’m thankful that he did. Otherwise I wouldn’t have met you.” He said with a smile and looked over at you.
Spencer immediately noticed you didn’t smile or react to his words. He figured something like that must have happened to you, since you were so quiet about it but he decided not to ask further about it.
When you and Spencer arrived back at his apartment, you looked confused at him.
“I thought you drove me back to my own apartment.” you said and looked at him with a confused expression on your face.
“It was my plan but I figured my place would be better.” Spencer explained and opened his door to get out. He went over to your side and opened the door to help you out of the car.
He pulled out his hand for you to take. You placed your right bruised one in his soft left hand. When you stepped out of the car and down at the ground you felt your legs getting wobbly.
Spencer was quick to grab you. “You alright?”
You just nodded and grabbed his shoulders for balance. As you and Spencer walked up to his apartment, Spencer could feel that you wanted to ask him something
“What’s on your mind?” he asked calmly and got out his keys for
“It’s weird that today is the day of love and we just got home from a very bad case where I got abducted and we talk about trauma, when we were supposed to celebrate our love for each other.” you said with a chuckle and looked down at your bruised hands.
“Can you do me a favor and close your eyes?” Spencer asked and unlocked his front door.
You did as he said and closed your eyes. “I hope it’s something exciting.” you added.
“I promise you’re going to love it.” Spencer said and opened his door. He then walked behind you and placed his large hands over your eyes to make sure you wouldn’t peek.
He led you inside of his apartment and into his bedroom. On the way he made sure to close and lock his front door and open his bedroom door.
When you stood in the doorway to his bedroom you felt his hands getting placed on your shoulders, as your eyes were closed still.
“You may now open your eyes.” Spencer whispers in your ear and squeezed your shoulders.
When you opened your eyes, Spencer’s bed was filled with pillows, blankets, boxes with chocolate, rose petals and a bouquet of white lilies and red roses.
“Spencer. Wow..” you said as you took a step forward to look at it properly.
“Since we are coming close to an anniversary I thought you would like a romantic night when we got home from the case, so I prepared and I asked Garcia to help me.” He blabbered and went over to the bed to sit down.
“It’s amazing. Thank you.” You said with a small smile.
Everything was perfect. He really knew how to be romantic, with some help from Garcia.
“Come here.” Spencer said and reached out for you to come over to him.
You slowly walked over to him, still feeling weak, and grabbed his hands when you were close enough. Spencer placed your hands on his shoulders and placed his on your clothed covered waist.
“Do you feel okay?” He asked softly.
“Mhm.” You nodded and looked down at him. “Just tired. Mentally and physically.” You said and ran your fingers through his hair.
“So I’m guessing you just wanna relax and not have amazing take away dinner and kisses from your boyfriend?” Spencer asked with a mischievous smile on his face as his hands moved from your waist and down to your bum.
“I just said I was tired. I didn’t say we should cancel your plans. I’m just saying I’m really tired.” you said and looked into his dark chocolate brown eyes.
Spencer looked back into your clear eyes. “So how about you take a shower, I get dinner going and we just relax here?” he suggested and gave your bum a squeeze.
“Sounds like a good plan.. but can you do me a favor?” You asked with a quiet voice.
“Anything.”
“Help me shower…” you looked away from his gaze and tucked on his hair, getting a little nervous.
Spencer nodded looking up at you. “Anything for you to feel better.”
“Thank you.” You said and pulled away from the embrace.
Spencer stood up and went out to his bathroom to turn on the shower to get it nice and warm for you. While he did that you slowly opened the button and the zipper of your pants, slit them down and stepped out of them.
“I found this body scrub you left last time you visited and I figured you would like-“ Spencer stopped and looked at your half naked body.
There you stood. Only in a sweater that was too big for your body and in pink panties. Your makeup did you take off on the plane.
“What?” You asked nervously, looking down at your body to see if there was anything wrong, other than some bruises on your legs.
Spencer smiled and let out a chuckle. “You look amazing. Uhm,” he chuckled again. “I’m just amazed.”
You smiled softly at his words, getting a little shy.
“The… the shower is ready when you are.” Spencer stuttered and stepped closer to you.
“Can you help me get out of my sweater?” You asked, looking at him with pleading eyes.
He nodded once again. Spencer stepped closer to your body and placed his hands on your waist by the hem of your sweater.
You lifted your arms above your head so he could pull the sweater off. Spencer hesitated to do so. He just stood there and admired you, even though your left cheek had a bruise on it, he only saw beauty.
“Spence?”
“Hmm?”
“I can’t keep my arms up all day long.” You giggled and looked at him with begging eyes.
“Do you have a lot of bruises on your stomach?” He asked and slowly pulled the sweater up.
“I don’t know.” You admitted and looked away from his gaze.
Spencer pulled your sweater off, leaving you in only your panties and a bralette that just covered your chest. Your stomach was filled with dark marks and bruises that indicated that you’ve been hit and kicked, your arms had defense wounds that had been wrapped in some bindings and small cuts and your chest was covered in red and blue marks.
He also noticed that your arms had smaller poking holes where your veins were.
“What drug did he use?” Spencer asked and pulled down the strands of your bralette.
“He started with heroin, but then he moved onto meth, the liquid form. He also used some ordinary pain meds to help my body relax.” You said as he opened the bra clasp and let it fall to the ground.
“And you feel okay?” He asked and began to kiss your neck with sloppy kisses.
“Mhm. Just tired.” You said as your hands found his that were on your hips.
“Then let’s get you in the shower and wash away these memories.” He said as he kissed your shoulder.
“That sounds good.” You whimpered as his hands started to pull down your panties.
He kneeled down in front of you and pulled down your panties along your bruised legs. Spencer left small kisses along your stomach, hips and your thighs.
“Spence..” you whispered and grabbed some of his curls.
Spencer stood up and looked at you with cute loving eyes while his hands ran up and down your sides. Even though your body was covered in scratches and bruises, Spencer was so in love that he didn’t see the bruising. He saw beauty.
“Let’s get you into the shower.” He smiled and kissed your forehead.
—
You got woken up by the sun shining through Spencer’s sheer curtains. When you rolled over to Spencer’s side of the bed, it was empty, but his pillow was fluffed and he had made his bed as good as he could.
You saw a note laying on the bedside table. You sat up on the bed and leaned over to grab it. Spencer had written you a note. It was sometimes hard to read his handwriting when he was rushing but you managed to figure it out.
Your dad called and told me to get in. I told him you took a few days off.
Love you, S
“Such a cutie.” You smiled and put the note down.
You grabbed your phone to see what time it was. 11 a.m. your phone showed. It has been a while since you slept in so late. Normally on your days off you slept till around 9.30 a.m. maybe 10 if you needed, but never really longer than that.
You decided to get up and go to the headquarters in Quantico, even though Spencer had told your dad you were taking some days off to get better, you still had a lot of reports that needed to get done before deadlines.
You decided to put on some of your clean clothes you had in your go-bag. But you didn’t realize that you needed to pack a new one
“Jeans, socks and a t-shirt. It’s freezing out, I can’t wear this.” You said to yourself and looked around Spencer’s bedroom to see if there was something you could wear to stay warm during the day.
You noticed one of Spencer’s cardigans laying around. It was one of his purple ones that he really liked and it smelled freshly washed.
You decided to put it on together with your denim jeans, black t-shirt and your socks. Once you were dressed you put on some makeup to cover a few bruises you had on your neck and face.
When you arrived at the BAU people looked in your direction as you walked through the glass doors. The first thing you saw was a large bouquet with white lilies and roses on your desk. You walked over to your desk and saw a small box of your favorite candy with a note on it.
“Hello there plum cake.” You heard Derek say.
You turned around and saw Derek holding his mug with a smirk on his face.
“Hey, where are the others?” You asked and sat down to read the note.
“In the conference room. We just got a new case…” Derek said and drank some coffee. “Pretty boy told us you were taking some days off, so why are you here?”
“Uhm… reports. I’ve got some reports I need to finish before the deadlines.” You explained and read the note.
“What does it say?” Derek asked.
“To my beloved partner, lover and best friend. Happy late Valentine’s Day. Hope you like the flowers and the candy. Love, S” you said out loud while a blush came on your face.
“Let me guess. S is Spencer?” Derek chuckled and sat down on the edge of your desk.
“How’d you know?”
“Let me just say that you and pretty boy aren’t good at hiding each other’s feelings and I know a certain someone who can’t keep their mouth shut.” Derek said with a smirk and drank more of his coffee.
“Penelope. Wait.. yesterday he told me that she helped him get flowers and chocolate. Do you think she helped with this too?” You asked and smelled the flowers.
“Why don’t you ask him yourself, plum cake?” Derek asked and pointed towards Spencer who was walking in your direction.
You looked towards Spencer who had a large smile on his face. When he almost reached you, you stood up with a small smile on his face.
“Hi, Spence.” You smiled more widely.
Spencer didn’t say anything back, but he wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you off the ground a little bit in a large hug. You wrapped confusingly your arms around his shoulders and neck.
“What are you doing?” You asked once he put you down and pulled away from the hug.
“Happy late Valentine’s Day.” Spencer smiled widely.
“Ha-, happy valentines.” You stammered and looked around to find a distraction.
“I’ll leave you two alone.” Derek said and walked into the conference room.
“What did I say about keeping a low profile?” You almost whispered to Spencer.
“Want the exact words or?” He asked jokingly and went to grab your hand but decided not to do it.
“I don’t want to exact words but I thought we should keep our relationship private.” You said and stood a little closer to him.
“We were but I wanted to give you a gift and celebrate the day of love.” He said and leaned closer to you.
“I-, I understand that but my dad and-“ Spencer leaned down and captured your lips in a passionate kiss.
Spencer’s hands went down to your hips and gave them a tight squeeze while yours went up to his cheeks. When you parted you felt rather happy being in his arms. You could sense the fireworks between you and Spencer. It felt like you’ve fallen in love again.
“Did Penelope help you with this setup as well?” You smiled softly and ran your thumbs over his defined cheekbones.
“She did and I’m really grateful for that.” Spencer smiled and tucked you closer to his body.
“Reid?” You heard your dad say.
You quickly pushed Spencer away from you and bit your lip trying not to feel too embarrassed about what your dad might have seen.
“Yes, sir?” Spencer said with an innocent expression on his face.
“Come see me in the office. Same with you, junior.” You dad said and walked back to his office.
You let out a huge frustrated sigh and looked away from Spencer. You were the first one of the two of you to walk back to your dad’s office.
You were the first to sit down in one of your dad’s chairs. Spencer came in right after.
“Reid, close the door please.” You dad said when Spencer stepped inside.
Spencer did what he got asked to do and closed the door. When he sat down on the other empty chair a heavy awkward silence came to the small room.
“Care to explain the situation out there?” Your dad asked you and Spencer.
“Uhm..” you started. “Well the thing is..”
“Your daughter and I are dating.” Spencer said boldly.
“Well…” your dad started and looked between both you and Spencer. “Are you happy?”
You and Spencer nodded.
“Junior, does he make you feel protected?” He asked you.
“He- he does.” You stammered and kept your face low.
“And Reid, can I trust you to keep her protected?” Your dad asked.
“I’ll protect her with my life.” Spencer said with confidence.
“Then I’m happy. As long as you two are happy I can’t see why you shouldn’t be together. Also as long as you do your jobs, I can’t see why it shouldn’t work.” Your dad said with a small smile.
“Wait, you approve of our relationship?” You asked confusingly and looked at your dad then at Spencer.
“I do. Well I’ve been suspicious about it and when Garcia told me that Reid was getting flowers for you I figured it out. I’ve never been against it.”
“Garcia really needs to learn how to keep quiet.” Spencer said and looked at you.
“And when will I learn that profilers know everything?” You chuckled and looked out the windows.
These are some of my fic recs from May 20th, 2022 to May 27th, 2022!
Signed, Sealed, Deliveredby@highwayfiftyeight, M, WIP, Luke Alvez/Spencer Reid, Romance, Fluff, Established Relationship, Babies, Surrogacy, Pregnancy, Domestic Fluff, Post-Canon, Post-Prison Spencer Reid, Friendship, Angst, Past Drug Use, Anxiety, Parenthood, Coming Out, Gay dads
Spencer never really thought he would have a shot at domestic bliss. After Maeve, he’d simply filed that future away and tried to forget about it. Until he found Luke. Or rather, Luke found him.
Luke never really thought he would find the time for things like marriage, kids, a house in the suburbs. He was always too busy hunting down bad guys. Until he noticed Spencer needed more. And he finally felt ready to give it.
After six months of secretly dating behind the BAU’s back, Luke has a question for Spencer.
Hotch and Will at a bayou cabin. It’s just vibes, no plot. And Hotch is very itchy.
A Song of Rose Petals and Stardustbyberrybluefae, T, WIP, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Fluff and Angst, Period-Typical Homophobia, No beta readers we die like GOT, Additional Warnings In Author’s Notes
Theirs was a love affair on which songs were based. Born in regions that were generational rivals yet with parents willing to look past it all for the greater good of the realm. It blossomed from a friendship which in time sparked a love that would change both of their lives. The Seventh Kingdoms has many great romances. Herein lies the story of Ser Derrick Dayne, Sword of the Morning, and Lord Spencer Tyrell, heir to Highgarden.
❤️Teaching & Teasingby@foxy-eva, M, 4.4k, Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader, 18+, minors DNI! Virgin!Spencer, mild D/S undertones (Sub!Spencer, Dom!Reader), teasing, male masturbation, handjob, oral (fem receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, premature ejaculation, loss of virginity, religious symbolism
While being stuck in a room with his coworker, Spencer Reid is eager to learn everything she is willing to teach him.
Spencer Reid is stunned when he is abruptly kidnapped in Nevada. Will the BAU find him in time, before death or something even worse takes him? (Reid-centric, with other POVs sprinkled in between).
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These are some of my fic recs from May 14th, 2022 to May 21th, 2022! I forgot to post on Friday again but shhhh.
You Reap What You Sowby@oliocelottafanfics, M, WIP, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Grimm crossover, Case Fic, Spencer Reid is a Grimm, Wesen characters, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, I wrote this for me but I hope you can enjoy it too
With JJ on maternity leave, the team brings in their newest addition - SSA Alex Blake. She’s barely been introduced to the team when someone decides to kick things off with a bang.
Bodies are turning up all over the state of Virginia with no clear signs connecting them beyond their age and gory cause of death: beheadings. With minimal evidence to create a proper profile, some members of the team must become a little more open minded than usual to find their unsub.
❤️ Get Stuffedbythehotterhotchner, E, WIP, Emily Prentiss/Spencer Reid, Jennifer “JJ” Jareau/Emily Prentiss, Jennifer “JJ” Jareau/Spencer Reid, Jennifer “JJ” Jareau/Emily Prentiss/Spencer Reid, smut, 18+ tags, it’s funny!!! and sexyyyyy, implied jemily, Power Bottom Emily Prentiss, Top JJ, Spencer is just happy to be there lmao, blowjob, Oral Sex, handjob, Fingering, Anal Sex, Anal, Pegging, Threesome, Voyeurism, Strap-On, Just friends being friends
Emily offers to teach Spencer about sex and take his virginity. JJ thinks it’s hilarious until Emily tells her that she’s Spencer’s final exam.
The Perfect Manby@gaelic-symphony, T, 1k, Emily Prentiss & Sergio the cat, Emily being cute, she is amazing, Emily is a cat lesbian, Criminal Minds Bingo, Brief mentions of alcohol and canon violence (Ao3 Link)
Emily makes a feline friend.
❤️ Sprinting to a Dead Endby@artdecodyke,goobzoop, E, WIP, Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dubious Consent, omegas as property, Collars, Leashes, Possessive Alphas, Possession, Knotting, Mpreg, Omega Spencer, Alpha Aaron, Angst, Mating Bites, Mean Alpha Hotch
Masquerading as beta always gave Spencer the freedom to pursue a comfortable, uncomplicated life. But when a new law took effect demoting all Omegas to the property of Alphas, he was suddenly faced with his worst fear.
And so he did the only thing there was left to do: Run.
I’ve no language left to say itbycat_enthusiast, G, 1.8k, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Established Relationship, Relationship Reveal, Oblivious Team, oblivious Penelope, love these FOOLS, Penelope finds out
“Listen, listen, I don’t think they know Der"
Morgan frowned, confused, “know what?”
“About us!”
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summary: aaron is very familiar with the toll being an agent takes on a person, so he does his best to help you relax when he can tell how exhausted you are.
includes: post bau hotch; not specified, but dad bod <3; fluff; explicit language; oral sex (fem receiving); unprotected sex; 18+ minors dni
a/n: a wip that I forgot about and finally got around to editing. enjoy sweet and sexy aaron <3
If a bullet wasn’t going to be the thing to kill you, the hours you worked at the BAU was certainly going to do it.
For the last few months, the team had been going on more back-to-back cases than was considered normal. Usually, they’d be spread apart with paperwork days scattered in between, but you’ve barely even had time to eat or sleep.
Being gone so much meant you hadn’t gotten to see your boyfriend and you missed him more than anything. As the days dragged on, it only got worse. This was the longest you’d been away from him since you started seeing each other. When he was the unit chief, you were around him nearly every minute of every day and even after he retired, you still got to see him at least twice a week.
Now, you were lucky to see him twice a month.
So, when your phone vibrated with a text from JJ on your way to his place, you almost turned back around, programmed to assume it meant another case.
Mandatory three days off, per Cruz’s orders, her text read and you sighed in relief.
Your heart thrummed in your chest the rest of the way and as you waited outside his door, you shifted nervously on your feet. You didn’t even know why you were nervous, but you didn’t have to think about it for long before the door opened to reveal the man you’d been missing the most.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Aaron greeted with a small smile, opening his arms to you for a hug.
Without a second thought, you wrapped your arms around his middle and pressed your face into his neck, inhaling his scent. He kissed the top of your head softly, letting his lips stay there as he held you close, knowing you probably needed it. Having only been retired for a year, he remembered how rough those seemingly never ending cases were.
When you pulled away, Aaron could see the exhaustion written all over your face and the tension in your body and the only thing he wanted to do was help you relax.
“Come on, baby,” he murmured and grabbed your hand, guiding you into the apartment.
Aaron helped you out of your jacket, kissing the exposed skin of your shoulders as he did, and carried your bag into his bedroom. You were already sitting on the couch when he returned, your head resting against the back of it with your eyes closed. He sighed, understanding that feeling more than he’d like to.
Carefully, he kneeled down in front of you, rubbing a gentle hand over your thigh. “I’m going to take your shoes off, okay? Just relax, my love.”
You nodded and melted further into the couch, letting out a soft and satisfied groan once your shoes were off.
He sat next to you and tugged you into his side, resting his cheek on the top of your head. You curled up even closer to him, craving his comfort and touch after going without it for so long. Sometimes, it scared you how much you depended on him, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world.
“Do you want to change into something more comfortable?” Aaron asked after a few minutes.
You lifted your head - with great effort - to look at him, smiling at how sweet and cuddly he looked. There was something so special about Aaron dressed in his pajamas with his hair slightly a mess. Nothing could make your heart swoon more.
“I do, but I don’t,” you said and he snorted.
“Why not?”
“Because,” you exhaled dramatically. “I don’t want to get up.”
Aaron grinned and tucked some hair behind your ear, his eyes filled with so much love and pride it nearly made you cry. “I can carry you into the room and give you a massage. I’m sure your neck and shoulders need it.”
You hummed in agreement, bringing him in for a kiss. “Can you do my back too? It’s been bothering me.”
“Sure, baby.”
He stood first and lifted you into his arms, carrying you just like he said and you clung onto him tight. First, he helped you out of your clothes, then asked you to lay down on your stomach. He gave you a pillow to put under your head and draped a towel over your bottom to cover you up. The last thing he needed was a view of you naked in front of him.
The bed dipped behind you before Aaron straddled your legs and leaned over to press a kiss between your shoulder blades. He put some lotion into his hands, rubbing them together to warm it up.
You sighed heavily when he pressed his thumbs into the base of your neck, starting off gentle.
“How does that feel?”
“Really good,” you mumbled and he smiled, continuing his movements softly and gradually increasing the pressure before heading down to your shoulders.
That’s where you held the most tension and your body flinched when he went too hard, receiving an immediate apology. Despite that, it felt so unbelievably good that you were already on the verge of falling asleep.
His big, warm hands were so comforting and you wanted this to last forever. Especially when he found a particular spot that made you groan into the pillow.
Eventually, Aaron shifted to give himself more room to give your lower back some attention too, wanting to make sure he didn’t leave any part of you unloved. When he did, the towel moved with him and your bare ass was right there for him to see. You were too relaxed - which was a good thing - to notice and he cleared his throat, averting his gaze as best as he could.
However, he was a man who was incredibly sexually attracted to the woman laying naked before him. Nobody would blame him for looking.
The fabric of his pants started to get tighter around his crotch the longer he stared and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. When doing so, his hands stopped moving and with his luck, you noticed that.
“Everything okay?” you asked sleepily, lifting your head up.
Aaron swallowed thickly, nodding. “Yeah, baby.”
Satisfied, you laid back down, sighing when his hands ran along your spine and groaning when he found another tension knot. All the little sounds you let out made keeping his erection at bay impossible. It quickly got to the point where he couldn’t take it anymore. Too painfully hard to ignore.
“Y/N, sweetheart,” he said quietly and you only hummed in response. “Are you okay if I stop?”
You whined in protest and wiggled your bottom. “Massage my butt too.”
“Baby…”
“Please?” you begged, the smile spreading across your lips telling him you knew exactly what you were doing.
He’d been banking on the fact that you were too drained to notice how turned on he was for you, but now, he was aware of what a terrible job he was doing of hiding it.
Unable to resist any longer, he relented and smoothed his hands over the soft skin of your ass, massaging it just like you asked - or more like squeezing it. This time, you moaned much louder than before, clearly trying to get him riled up and it was working.
Aaron felt himself twitch in his pants when he moved lower to spread you apart, seeing your lips glistening beautifully. He lifted your hips up to give himself an even better view, running one of his hands down your back.
“Fuck,” he said breathily, spitting on your hole and watching it slide down to your pussy. “So fucking pretty. Can I taste you, my love?”
You whimpered at his words - thoroughly turned on - and nodded eagerly, your cheek pressed against the pillow as you turned your head to watch him. He bent over and licked a thick stripe up your folds, collecting his spit and swirling his tongue over your clit a few times. The moan you let out was soft, quiet expletives falling from your lips as you arched your back.
Even though he had eaten you out before, this felt entirely new to you. Your mind was foggy, coherent thoughts nonviable at this point. The only thing you could focus on was his hands and mouth working effortlessly over your heat, tasting you like it was the first time.
“Mmm, just like that,” you encouraged, rocking your hips against his mouth to maximize your pleasure.
He groaned into you, the vibrations coursing through your body and making you tremble. His lips then attached to your clit, sucking harshly and you cried out, warmth spreading throughout your belly.
“That’s my girl,” Aaron praised, tongue still moving over your pussy to drink up every ounce of your orgasm.
You had no energy left to hold yourself up after that and dropped back onto the bed. Behind you, you could hear and feel him shuffling to take his pants off and you swear you started to get worked up all over again just from the anticipation of feeling him inside of you.
Aaron used his fingers to collect some of your arousal and stroked himself with it a few times, dropping a kiss to your back. “Are you too tired for me to fuck you, sweetheart?”
There was only concern in his voice - never wanting to make you do something you didn’t want to - and you shook your head, but you should’ve known better than that. He was the type of man who needed to hear you give him permission.
“Words, baby,” he reminded you.
“Not too tired.”
“Okay. Tell me if it gets to be too much,” he requested, although it was more of a gentle demand.
“I will.”
He kissed you again. “Good girl. Now just lay there and relax. I’ll do all the work.”
When he finally eased into you, your hands fisted the bed sheets as you gasped at the feel of him stretching you. Aaron was tender and gentle, whispering sweet words into your ear as he wrapped his hand around your throat and pressed his hips flush against your ass, every single inch of him inside of you.
The sounds of his breathy groans above you once he started to move sent waves of pleasure through you, the pulse between your legs growing. Somehow, he was rough and tender all at the same time.
“Baby,” you whimpered and he grabbed the flesh of your hip with his other hand, bringing you back into his thrusts.
“You feel so good, my love,” he murmured into your ear, brushing the hair off of your neck to kiss along the side, nibbling and sucking in between.
Everything about Aaron on any day was intoxicating, but with his entire body pressed against your back like this - your senses consumed by him - there was nothing you could do but just lay there and take it. Feel him move in and out of you with a rhythmic pace that makes your head spin.
The snap of his hips were harsh, filling the room with the sound of his skin hitting yours and his deep, visceral groans. He leaned back to spread you apart again, watching his cock penetrate you over and over, your slick coating him. It was an erotic sight that he could stare at forever, but now he wanted to watch you. See your gorgeous face twist up in pleasure while he pounded into you.
“Let’s get you on your back, sweetheart. I want to look at you.”
He assisted you in flipping over, running his hands over your thighs as they fell open. Your bottom lip disappeared between your teeth as you waited, squirming at the way his eyes scanned your body and his tongue wet his lips before pushing into you again.
The position allowed for him to hit much deeper than you thought was possible, continuously kissing that spot within you with every stroke.
“Oh, fuck,” you choked out, lungs beginning to burn for oxygen. “You’re so deep.”
Aaron grunted at your words and placed his hand over your lower belly, feeling himself inside of you and hammered into you faster than before. You cried out and your hands curled into the sheets as your walls fluttered around him, your orgasm approaching quickly.
As much as his eyes wanted to close from his hard you were squeezing him, he kept them open, too fixated on you to do anything else. You were so breathtaking like this, falling apart under him while his cock split you open.
“You take me so well, my love. So perfect just like the fucking rest of you.”
He braced himself with his hands on the headboard - his knuckles turning white - and put the rest of his energy into fucking you like you deserved.
Before either of you knew it, you were coming within seconds of each other, and he grunted and groaned as he filled you up, not holding back. He wanted you to know how good you made him feel, how much he loved feeling you so warm and wet around him.
“My good girl,” he praised gruffly, the raspiness of his voice making you shutter.
When Aaron pulled out, he watched his cum leak out of you slowly, letting it trail down your slit before licking you clean. You squirmed from how sensitive you were and how sexy it was that he was eating his own cum out of you.
Your jaw dropped open immediately when he hovered over you and he let it fall onto your tongue before kissing you deeply.
“Are you trying to kill me? That was the hottest thing you’ve ever done,” you panted through a laugh.
Aaron chuckled, kissing you once more before laying down beside you, his skin shining with a thin layer of sweat. You shifted onto your side to look at him because he truly was the most handsome man you’d ever seen. He did the same, love and adoration swirling in his eyes as he blinked tiredly when you brushed your fingers through his hair.
“I love you,” you said softly, heart swarming at his answering smile. “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me, my love. That’s what I’m here for,” he reminded you and nudged your nose with his. “Plus, I’m sure I had just as good of a time as you did.”
You giggled and kissed him, cupping the side of his face. “I’m sure you did.”
