The CPA And SSA- Part Three

The CPA and SSA- Part three

part one part two part three

Aaron Hotchner x accountant! reader

Summary- The case they're currently working on has gotten bad, the unsub has been stalking the team and they need a safe place to stay. Luckily, Aaron has a girlfriend in Arlington that he has yet to tell the team about. 

Contents/ warnings; description of cases, a little bit of hurt/comfort, established relationship, just overall kinda fluffy and sweet :) 

N/A- Sorry this took so long !! I am almost done with finals and will have a t o n of time to update and part 2 of S&M is coming soon!

Send me asks and requests! im happy to do blurbs on characters from CM and MCU :)

You silenced your watch buzzing against your wrist, opting for the vibration rather than an alarm in hopes of not waking the man holding you. You grumbled quietly and turned to face Aaron. This immediately erased your irritation from having to rise with the sun. For once, his brows were not furrowed and his face was completely relaxed. He looked 5 years younger with the worry washed away. You traced a finger along his jaw and pressed a kiss to his cheek. You struggled to wriggle out of his tight grasp, gently rolling the heavy sleeper over in order to finally escape. You stretched and then stood there watching him for another minute before going to the bathroom to get ready for the day 

Hotch rolled over to wrap his arms around you before feeling am empty space. He shot up before he heard the sink turn on and you humming along to the classical music playing quietly. He sighed with a smile and looked at his watch. 6:32 AM. Even though Jack wasn’t there, you kept to your routine of waking up earlier to take a little time to yourself to get ready before either of them woke up. He ran his fingers through his hair and rolled his shoulders back. You walked out as you were running a brush through your hair “I was just about to wake you up. Felt it was unfair to get you up at 6” you said, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him and kissing him on the cheek

“You know, I always wake up when you’re getting ready? I just don’t get out of bed so you can have your alone time” he mumbled, reaching out and pulling you into his chest “thank you” you rubbed his arm and tried to sit up “Aaron you're gonna wrinkle my work clothes” you squirmed “Hon, let me go!” you laughed as he squeezed tighter before letting you go, getting out of bed and helping you up 

“Do you have to go to work? Its honestly best if you don’t.” he said in a more serious tone. You looked at him for a second then huffed “should I really not go? Is it that serious?” 

He nodded “Please?” he added, giving a guilty smile, you reached around to run your fingers through the back of his hair, “I won’t go if it's that important to you. On one condition. You have to keep the shirt on until after breakfast.” you grinned, letting go of him and turning to look at the stupid shirt he had on. If you didn’t know any better you would have assumed he was like every other dad in DC, but Aaron was special. Different.

He groaned “Fine! Fine. I'll wear it.” he grumbled in defeat, running his fingers through his bedhead before leaning forward to put his head against your shoulder as a not-so-subtle way of smelling your perfume. Rhubarb, sandalwood, and gardenia flooded his senses. The scent that was so uniquely you. Like a warm spring morning after a storm, wandering through a farmers market in your rainboots. 

You let yourself take a moment and appreciate the sight in front of you. It was rare to see him so relaxed, even around you. Drowsiness radiating off of him, his shirt wrinkled from sleeping, slouching in order to be closer to you. Even though you couldnt see his face, you could feel him smile against your blouse.  “I’ll call out then.” you murmured, rubbing his back 

“it’ll give me a break from having to deal with interns”  you rolled your neck in a circle as an attempt to stretch out the crick in your neck from using Aaron’s arm as a pillow. You weren’t much of a cuddler before you had met aaron, preferring your space when you slept and claiming you just got too hot at night. But after the first night sharing a bed with Aaron you were hooked. He held you as if someone would steal you from him. When you would move away, he would find a way to always be touching you, even if it was just his hand on your back. 

“Good. They can find someone else.” He said, finally sitting up and pressing a kiss to your temple before going to the bathroom to brush his teeth. You go to the closet and trade your blouse for one of aarons FBI t-shirts and your slacks for shorts.

You looked back at the bathroom to see Aaron trying to smooth out the wrinkles in his shirt. You shook your head with a smile and walked down to the kitchen to start making breakfast for everyone. You heard heavy footsteps down your creaky stairs, not bothering to turn around to see who it was. The routine happens the same almost every day, with the exception of you being coerced into taking a sick day. After you preheated the oven, you poured a cup of black coffee into a cat-shaped mug and put a spoonful of honey in, leaving it on the edge of the counter for Aaron. He took the cup and replaced it with your phone and speaker, still playing the same classical music playlist you always had on. 

“You didn’t have to wake up, you’re no good in the kitchen” you hummed, reaching into the fridge to pull out a carton of eggs. 

“That may be true but if I didn’t wake up, I wouldn’t be able to watch you cook.” he said, leaning against the counter as he carefully took a sip of his coffee as to not burn his mouth.

“You’d think with how often you watch me, you’d learn a thing or two” you teased, cracking all the eggs into a bowl and handing it to Aaron to scramble.

“So snarky first thing in the morning.” he feigned offense as he grabbed a fork out of the cutlery drawer. You looked over at him with a grin, shaking your head “You wouldn’t be with me if I was agreeable.” you stated matter of factly, reaching around him to change the song. 

“That’s…true.” he chuckled, putting the bowl on the counter to watch you cut up some mushrooms and tomatoes. You put all the ingredients into a baking dish and stuck it in the oven before turning to face him. 

He put down his coffee and held out his hand. You took it as he pulled you into his chest, intertwining his fingers with yours and placing his open hand on your waist. You placed yours on his shoulder as he began to sway with you. He let go of your waist briefly to spin you with a downturned smile, leading you back to him to place a kiss on your forehead. 

Penelope got up out of Jack’s racecar bed and walked down into the hallway towards the kitchen, smelling the fresh coffee. She looked in the kitchen before halting her steps and going into the guest room. She shook Emily and JJ awake “you two get up right now and come see whats going on in the kitchen” 

“Garcia, is it really worth missing a little more sleep?” Emily groaned as JJ silently got up and stretched 

“Just get up, shes not gonna let you sleep any longer” JJ said before motioning for Penelope to lead the way. The two women followed her to the entryway of the kitchen, pointing at the two of you dancing.

The oven beeped and you went to let go of him in order to pull the frittata out of the oven. Before you could, he tightened his grip on you “C’mon, Ronnie. It’s gonna burn and I dont want to go out to get more food” You groaned 

“One more song, Pumpkin” he insisted, dipping you so you could not reach the stove. You squealed and swung your head back, letting you see what was behind you.

“Good morning ladies,” you said as Aaron put you back on your feet and went to grab the oven mitts silently. You covered your mouth to hide your laughter and mouthed “He is just embarrassed” silently to the girls. 

"Didn't know you were such a romantic, boss man" Emily snickered as you handed her a cup of coffee and went to set out cream and sugar for everyone

"I'm not" He grumbled, picking back up his coffee after he set the pan on the cooling rack.

"When you try to reprimand, your subordinates maybe don't be holding a cat mug, Hotch" JJ chimed

Once everyone was up and around the dining room table, you had gotten into a debate with Spencer about Pavlov's Dogs.

“I don't know how ethical that is…” Spencer muttered, you waved your hand in dismissal “No no. It’s for his own good. Every time he walks past me I give him a kiss and a sip of water. That way every time he walks past me he will get thirsty and want a drink of water. I'm forcefully hydrating him!” 

“You are evil, you know that right?” 

“I am fully aware. I already did this to my subordinates to get them to turn their spreadsheets in on time.” you grinned, grabbing Aaron's arm as he walked past you to get to the living room. You pulled him down and gave him a kiss on the cheek before holding up your water bottle “Water, honey?” you asked, looking up at him through your lashes.

He smiled and leaned over, taking a sip “Thank you, love.” he kissed your hand that clung to his wrist before slipping away and going to talk to Rossi.

“Wow.” Spencer chuckled and leaned back in his seat. “Honestly I am more shocked that he has not catched on”

You smiled and shrugged “Honestly? He probably has.”

the Tower

GIF by marauder-exe

Pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader Warnings: angst, fluff, happy ending, canon typical violence, mention of sexual assault, kinda Gideon slander sorry, tarot reading inaccuracies and u.s. gov inaccuracies. this took too long to write, and will also be VERY long. apologies

no use of Y/N or gendered pronouns, but reader wears skirts, dresses, was a cheerleader, got slut-shamed. not proofread or beta'd we die like disposable characters. part 2 of the Lovers

main masterlist // angel universe masterlist

summary: “Upright the Tower, wow. This is for radical, fundamental change. Aaron, I know you’re scared, but you don’t have to be. Sometimes, change is good, especially now you have a newfound understanding of love.”

2009, Funeral Home, VA

A million things can happen in a lifetime, and you know. 

One day you were a new student at a public high school in Virginia, sat next to the sunshine of a person named Haley Brooks in AP Chemistry; the next, you were staring at her freshly covered grave. There wasn't even a headstone yet.

“I'm sorry I'm late,” you whispered, ignoring the footsteps you heard approaching. “I'm so sorry, Haley.”

Aaron Hotchner stood next to where you sat on your knees. Your legs were starting to tingle, but you stayed there, fighting so hard to not look at him. 

This was about Haley.

But it tore your heart open like it had always been. And when Aaron Hotchner wrapped his jacket over your shoulders, you wanted to kick him in the face.

His hand lingered on your back as if he was unsure how to approach you. You didn't blame him. After everything, you were unsure how you felt about seeing him again either. 

“Angel–” he started, calling you by your old nickname. You shuddered involuntarily, and if he noticed, he didn't say it. “I–It was my fault.”

“Yes it was,” you agreed, looking up at him. Aaron's dark eyes were filled with sadness and regret, and your mouth tasted bitter immediately. “And it's mine too. I should've pushed you harder, I should’ve been there.”

When the Boston Reaper case came back under the Bureau's radar, Strauss had notified you. Even though you hadn't been a field agent, the Section Chief knew that that case was the one you had dissected over and over in the profiling classes you then taught at the Academy. 

You had begged Aaron for the files, but he turned you down with no explanation. It was then you found out that Aaron had to put Haley and Jack into witness protection, ripping away your chance of any sort of reconciliation. Then, when you tried to pry your way into the case, Strauss cast you out, saying you shouldn’t be caught in the crossfire. 

“What crossfire?” You had asked once. She didn’t reply, and now that it had unfolded, you knew what was coming: the scrutiny that would fall on Aaron Hotchner’s shoulders if he didn’t choose early retirement. 

“I wouldn't have let you,” Aaron admitted. “I had to put Haley and Jack into witsec. I don't want to drag you into it too.”

“But I could've told you,” you argued. “I could've just consulted–I–I…”

“I'm sorry,” Aaron said when you couldn't find the words. 

You felt your tears streaming down your face. You wished you had made peace with Haley before that, before Aaron put her into witsec because you knew that you loved Haley like a sister, once. And you loved her more than you could ever hated Aaron. 

With a deep breath, you tried to climb up to stand, but it was a challenge with the way your legs were a little numb and the extra four-inch heeled boots you had on.

Aaron caught your arm as you stumbled, and you let him help you up. 

After a last look at her grave, you looked at the man who you loved all those years ago. Though sadder, his eyes stayed the same, those eyes broke your heart twice. 

“Me too,” you sighed. “For everything.”

1992, Georgetown, Washington DC

You weren’t supposed to be there. At least, not really. 

Your first choice was Yale, but when the FBI brass wanted to keep you close to the center of ViCAP, you complied. After all, you went where the money was. It was on you, really, to be so fascinated about violent criminals after David Rossi gave a presentation at Stanford that you chose that as your PhD thesis focus. The downside of a government grant was you couldn’t exactly choose where they wanted you. 

The first time you saw Aaron Hotchner after six years was during a class. Specifically, a class on applied psychology. Specifically, you were talking about precedence and its relation to criminal profiling. You showed tapes of your research interviews and compared them with ViCAP interviews from the Bureau.

He had come up to you afterward. “Maybe I should enroll in this class.”

“Thinking of making the jump from law to psychology, Hotchner?”

“If that’s what it takes to see you again.”

You snorted a laugh, finally finished packing up your bag, and gave him your full attention. He looked good, like really good. Time was his friend and you couldn’t help but get pulled into his eyes. Damn him. 

“How about you come and find me during office hours?”

“How about we get drinks right now?” Aaron countered, leaning against the podium.

You gave him an exaggerated gasp. “Aaron Hotchner, are you asking me out?”

“Only if you say yes.”

To say that you didn’t miss being around him would be a lie. To say that you were immune to his charm would also be a lie. But you were you and you weren’t some dumb sophomore who had a crush on him anymore. 

You walked around the desk and the podium, stopping in front of him. Your fingers reached the undone tie around his neck and you took your time to straighten it. “You’re a prosecutor at the DA office, right?”

“Uh-uh,” he said, gulping, eyes not leaving your hands.

“And you’re the lead on the Bernadette Finch case?”

His free hand was ghosting over your waist now and in his dazed look, his eyebrows furrowed. “How–how did you know?”

You smoothed the lapels of his suit jacket before taking a step back. “Because your boss has asked me to be their expert witness.”

That sobered him up. Aaron looked at you in surprise. “Are you serious?”

“Email just came in before class started,” you confirmed, turning away to grab your bag. “Don’t look so surprised, Hotch. My expertise is in female violent offenders.”

“No, I know, but–” Aaron sighed. “Does that mean I can’t see you until after the verdict?”

“Not in any personal capacity whatsoever.”

The trial dragged on for far too long, in both of your opinions, but the moment Bernadette Finch’s fate was decided (twenty years with parole and court-mandated therapy), Aaron Hotchner showed up in front of your door with six-pack beers and pizza. 

He was still in his courtroom attire, and you were in your pajamas. 

The night passes over shared conversation and stories, under the yellow light of your first DC apartment, Jeff Buckley playing from your record player.

“This is my last case in the DA office,” he blurted out after his second bottle of beer.

You turned to him, shocked. “What?”

Aaron took a deep breath before putting his almost-empty beer bottle on your coffee table. “Have you ever felt like maybe you're not doing enough? What you’re doing–what I’m doing right now, is it too little too late?”

“You feel that way?”

“I want to do good,” he explained. “But I can’t help feeling like every time those cases, like Finch, or Jackson Whitefield, come across my desk, it’s already too late, you know? There were already too many victims, too many people that got hurt and I wish I could’ve done more to help stop people like them.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I got the results of my Phase II yesterday,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “As in, FBI?”

Aaron nodded. “I start training in a couple of weeks.”

You would be lying if you said you weren’t disappointed. You just got him back after years and years, finally just him, without having to fight for his attention and affection, and now he was going to go train to be a fucking federal agent? Who knew where he’d end up being assigned? You wanted to be selfish, to ask him to stay (you think he would, if you just asked), but hey, you survived all these years without him.

So you’d be okay, you think.

“That’s great, Hotch,” you told him, genuinely proud and happy for him, pushing away the ugliness clawing up your throat. “Any specific divisions you're shooting for?”

“The BAU,” he answered without missing a beat. There was a small smile on his face that reminded you when he asked you to dance at his graduation party.

“Ah, David Rossi, I'm familiar,” you chuckled. You knew Rossi, of course, and you knew what he was like. You knew what the job took from him.

There was an ache in your heart–that small, unexplainable weight on your chest. But you knew, even then, that you'd be apart again. That was it. Reversed the Lovers. What did he stand for?

This: duty, justice. You only dread the consequences.

“Promise me something, Hotch,” you said.

“Anything.”

You reached out and curled your fingers around his, and instinctively, he tightened it. “That, whatever happens, you'll never let it consume you. That, you'll always come back to who you are.”

“I'll be fine,” he promised. “You know me. Besides, I'll call you to remind me.”

You hugged him goodbye at the airport, heading to his first assignment in the Seattle Field Office, and you returned to your position at Georgetown.

1982, Stanley Academy Boarding School, VA – Bethesda, MA

Aaron heard from Haley.

She had come to their (yours, hers, and his) spot at the corner of the library upset. He noticed that she had been crying. 

“It's her,” was all that she could muster.

“Angel?” He asked. Haley nodded. “What's wrong?”

“Aaron, she's been suspended,” Haley whispered. 

Aaron felt his blood run cold, and he swore his heart and his breathing stopped for a minute because his head started spinning.

“What do you mean?” 

Haley explained through hiccups. “Apparently she got into a fight with some football guy after cheer practice. I heard they’re talking about suspending her.”

Aaron understood, without having Haley to voice it, where her head went. It was a place his head found in the last three minutes. 

Lately, he hadn't seen you around as much, and as much as it pained him to admit it, he noticed. Nobody called him Hotch other than you, nobody called him out on his self-righteous rich boy bullshit (your words) during lunch whenever you went on your socialist rants (Haley's words).

He almost missed the way you flicked his forehead whenever he got too annoying.

“There's no excuse, is there?” He had said once about one of his teammates in the Debate Club who had run out before a speech. “You knew what you were getting into when you signed up.”

Haley had been sympathetic. You had reached across the cafeteria table and delivered a flick to his forehead. It hadn't hurt, just startling him, but he whined nonetheless.

“Give him a fucking break, Hotch,” you scolded. “Not everyone enjoys a power trip from giving condescending speeches playing devil's advocate.”

“It's the Debate Club,” Aaron argued. “Everything is about condescending speeches playing devil's advocate.”

You reached out and flicked him again. “Have you ever had a panic attack?”

“No.”

You rolled your eyes, and he hated that a part of him found it hot. When you reached out to flick him again, he grabbed your wrist midair before you could. 

“I hope you never do,” you said, shrugging. Taking your hand away from his grip, you added, “It'll do you some good to stop being a stuck up prick, you know.”

“Can we talk about something else?” Haley sighed. “I have two tickets to see Cats on tour this Saturday, will you come with me?”

Nobody answered. You were back focusing on your meal and Aaron was focused on you.

You looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. “She's talking to you, Hotch?”

Surprised, Aaron turned to Haley. “You want to take me?”

Haley nodded, smiling. Aaron's heart had skipped a beat, knowing that he finally was slowly but surely stepping out of the friendzone. He grinned at the blonde, “Okay.”

That was the last that he sat with you during lunch because for the next three days leading up to Haley crying in his arms, you'd been gone. 

Aaron consoled Haley as his mind was racing. Then, after he dropped her off at the girl's dorm building, he was set to find you.

The girl's locker room was empty when he got there, but Aaron knew you more than he let on. He didn’t want to admit it, but he had been as observant of you as he did with Haley. You had been a new constant of his life that he didn’t realize just how deep you were in his mind. He made a beeline for the bleachers, where you were laying down with a book and a walkman.

“Hey!” You protested when he took your headphones off of your ears. 

“Is it true?” He asked, face hovering over yours. 

“Is what true?” You tried to deflect.

“Don't bullshit me, Angel.”

You huffed, putting the book between your faces as a barrier. “Get out of my face, Hotch.”

He snatched the book away from your grasp.

“Give it back!” 

“Tell me the truth and I'll give it back.”

You pushed yourself off your back, standing up to look him in the eyes. You were angry and frustrated, he could tell by the tension on your body and the look of your eyes.

“What the fuck do you care?” And your tone. Definitely sold by your tone.

“Because!” He said, not really knowing why. His mind raced as he tried to come up with justifications. “This is bad! You can’t just go around punching people!”

“Again, Hotchner, that's my business.”

“How did this happen?”

He watched as you clammed up, eyes downcast and watery. You took a deep breath, looking away like you were ashamed of the details. “Doesn’t matter.”

“What are you going to do, huh?” He challenged. 

“Look,” you sat back down on the white rows of the bleachers, head in your hands. “They offered a choice: either I serve detention and get Gracie to apologize formally or I get suspended for three days.”

Aaron paused. It took him three seconds of silence before saying, “I’ll say that it was me.”

“What?” You said, head turning to look at him. Aaron didn’t want to admit it, but what he was saying surprised him too. He’d get a handful from his dad, but weighing out the consequences, it’d be a small price to pay compared to you having a detention or worse, suspension in your record. 

He shrugged, taking a seat next to you. “I’ll say that I punched Francis. It’ll be believable, anyway, guy’s a jackass.”

“Shut up!” You said, forceful. “Oh my god, you can't help it can you? You just have to come in and save the day. Look at me, I'm Aaron Hotchner, I'm sacrificing all my wealth and riches to save my girlfriend’s poor best friend! God, so fucking full of yourself!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He had grabbed your shoulders, turning your body to look at him. “I'm trying to help you!”

You broke away. “I don’t need your help, Aaron!”

Aaron’s offer shocked you to your core and it was affecting you more than you’d admit. As much as you’d like to entertain the idea, you knew you couldn’t. You had dreams and ambitions and you weren’t going to let anyone and anything come between that. You thought of Gracie, who picked you from a less-than-ideal foster home and you thought of your mother, who had you when she was eighteen. Detention would look better in your record than a suspension, all you had to do was apologize to Francis Wahlberg and his parents for punching him. That was it.

What surprised you the most was when you left campus on Saturday morning, fully prepared to take the bus to go home, Aaron was waiting for you, leaning against his blue Jeep. He didn’t say a word, just opened his passenger side door when he spotted you. 

You wanted to deck him in the face and you wanted to kiss him at the same time. 

His face was annoying. Even more annoying that he handed you a paper bag with a warm bagel inside. 

You wanted to ask what he was doing, when he was supposed to go with Haley, but you didn’t because deep down, you didn’t want to drive him away. Deep down, you wanted to cry. When did you ever receive unconditional support like this? When have you ever had someone, anyone, who cared about you this way? 

Aaron shifted next to you. “Can I ask you a question?” 

You scoffed. “You just did.”

“Why don’t you just tell everyone what happened?”

“You’re kidding, right?” You snorted. “It’s his word against mine.”

“So what?”

“What do I say? Yeah, the star football player tried to take advantage of me after practice so I broke his nose,” you mocked. “Thank you for suspending him instead of the poor scholarship girl, congratulations for losing thousands of dollars in tuition and good luck in the next games!”

Gracie’s house–your home, was a small one, painted in bright yellow and green with crystals and sun catchers hung from the porch. There were two outdoor seats with quilted covers, an ashtray filled with cigarette buts between them. 

You led Aaron (who, surprisingly, had followed you out his car) in the cramped living room that smelled like burnt sage and incense. He hit his head on the crystal curtains, opting to stay in the corner where nothing was hanging from the ceiling. 

Gracie had big hair, and you used to joke that she dressed like Stevie Nicks. She’d say that Stevie Nicks was the one copying her style. She brought out an herbal tea mix along with lavender flavored cookies.

“I’m not doing that,” she scoffed after you explained what was going on. “You can ask me to do anything, but that. I’ll make a hex bag just for that boy!”

You groaned, “Gracie!”

“Rigel, love, we can just withdraw you from the school,” Gracie said, squeezing your hand in hers. “We can have you go to Eastview, anything would be better than this.”

“It’s just a formal apology, Gracie, it won’t even take five minutes!”

“It’s a lie, that’s what it is. We may have nothing else but our heart and integrity, and we’d still have more than those rich brats,” she insisted. Then, she added, turning to Aaron. “No offense.”

She was right, of course. The thought of having to apologize to that bastard made your skin crawl. But you had to be pragmatic, didn’t you? That graduating from Stanley would give you better chances in getting into a good university. You had given your classes and extracurricular activities your all to pad up your resume, you couldn’t let one small incident get in the way of that. 

But then you had to ask, how many compromises would you make for success?

You understood then Gracie’s success was defined by her happiness, that as long as she had you, as long as she could still connect with her tarot and crystals and palm reading, she was happy. 

What about you?

Aaron raised his hands. “None taken, ma’am.”

You noticed the double take Gracie did as she saw his palm, watched as her lips quirked up and head cocked. 

Gracie insisted that you both stayed for lunch, and you did. It was a little jarring to see The Aaron Hotchner stuffing his face full of Gracie’s hearty chicken soup with rice noodles. It was more jarring that he asked Gracie about her stuff and actually listened to her explaining it all away. You had never seen him so at ease and comfortable.

“I like him,” she said as she hugged you goodbye. “You should bring him around more often.”

“Shut up, Gracie,” you chuckled. “He’s practically taken.”

“There isn’t anything wrong with loving someone, my dear. Love does not need to possess.”

You heard from Haley. 

Aaron got into a fight before lunch period. He punched a guy. He was facing suspension. You saw him and his mother stepping away from the Headmaster’s office as you walked in the administrator’s space, prepared to tell the Headmaster you and Gracie’s joint decision to withdraw from the school. 

It wasn’t hard to figure out why he punched Francis. You knew it was about you. What was difficult to figure out was why he punched Francis. Aaron was graduating in a year, aiming for GWU, and he just risked his application by assaulting the son of a department store chain owner. 

It also wasn’t hard to find him in empty bleachers. 

“Why?” You asked, handing him the coldest can of Diet Coke you managed to score from the lunch lady. 

Aaron took it gladly, pressing the cold metal to his steadily bruising jaw. “His dad is a client at my dad’s firm. It wasn’t hard to find a lot of incriminating stuff about him.”

“What did the Headmaster say?”

“That they’ll forget about everything and lift your punishment.”

“I meant for you,” you clarified. “What did your mom say?”

“She’s on my side, as always. I had to tell her, though. She also made a hefty donation to get me out of trouble.”

You rolled your eyes, but found relief and amusement at the ordeal nonetheless. “Of course she did.”

Aaron sighed, “You were really going to withdraw, weren’t you?”

You leaned on your elbows, facing up the cloudy sky. “My, uh, my biological dad, he would drink and he’d hit my mom and me. The car crash was her way of setting me free, in her own twisted way. I bounced around foster homes until Gracie took me in. My mom and Gracie gave me a chance. I owe it to them and to myself to give me a chance. Gracie was right, you know. I didn’t survive all this shit just to kneel at a white guy’s feet.”

There was a silence as Aaron contemplated your answer. You could feel his eyes on you, studying, searching for something. After a minute, he stood up. “Come on, we’re going to be late for the next period.”

You grabbed his uniform blazer, haphazardly thrown to the row behind you, and followed suit. Side by side, you both walked in silence back towards the campus. 

Your textbook said you were in a dissociative state, a protection mechanism your brain engaged in through trauma. It was understandable, and you somewhat agreed that maybe you weren't as torn by the events, but should you be?

Mostly you felt relieved. 

While yeah, you might hate most waking moments having to socialize with Virginia’s elites, your teachers were nice. You loved the elective classes at Georgetown they let you take. You loved the cheer team and their collective camaraderie that they’d take turns in paying whatever trips and camps you couldn’t afford. You loved being friends with Haley and sometimes, Aaron. 

Because walking side by side with him, in silence and in jest, there were flowers blooming in your chest. 

But he was Haley's, have always been, so you didn't say anything.

When you arrived in the building, you knew you had to take a diverging path. The thought saddened you unexpectedly. 

“Listen,” you started, turning to him. Your hand stretched out to hand him his jacket back. “Thank you, for everything.”

Aaron smiled with his teeth, taking his jacket back from you. “Does that mean you'll be nicer to me from now on?”

You shook your head. “Not a chance.”

Then, in a moment of bravery, you stepped up and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. Aaron tensed under your touch, and you didn't give him a chance to reciprocate before pulling away. 

The surprised smile on his face was so cute and adorable that you couldn't help yourself. You planted a kiss on his cheek, smiling in satisfaction as your gloss shined on his now pink-tinted skin.

“See you around, Hotchner.”

You turned around, failing to stop the slight skip on your step as you walked away.

1983, Stanley Academy Boarding School, VA

“Hey!” Haley caught up with you after you got out of, what you assumed, was Mr. Hotchner's office. You had snuck in to call yourself a cab. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” you answered, mostly because you didn't want her and Aaron to try and find you.

“Why?” You didn't answer her this time, just continued making a beeline for the front door. The cold night air bit on your exposed skin and you tried to conceal your shiver. You made it to the driveway until Haley took your shoulder and turned you around. “Hey, stop. Talk to me!”

“I can't, Hales!” 

“Why not?” 

“Because!” You sighed in frustration, hands running over your face. “Because you love him and he–” you struggled to find the words. Did he love you? Like you at least? He did try to kiss you. “–he shouldn't have to choose.”

Haley shook her head. “What are you talking about?”

“Aaron!” You said. “He likes you and you like him–love him–and there is no space for me in whatever that is.”

“That's ridiculous–”

“Did you sleep with him?” You asked. 

Haley paused, hesitating. It should be an answer enough for you, but you wanted to hear it from her.

“Did you?”

“Why does that matter?” she said. “You slept with half the boys in our year. Why does it matter that I sleep with him?”

She was right, of course. But you were still a teenager dealing with her first love.

“Because these past few months have been hell, Haley,” you told her. “Ever since your birthday party, ever since you knew that I have feelings for him, you have been rubbing it on my face! That picture you sent–the New York trip–Jesus.”

That was last month. A senior trip to New York that Haley had decidedly tagged along, accompanied by some of the other guy's girlfriends. You couldn't go, not only because you weren't invited but you couldn't ask Gracie for more money. She sent you a polaroid with him in Times Square, his hands around her shoulders, both smiling widely. He was looking at the camera, she was staring at him. 

“You did it first,” she argued. “He left me waiting at the theater that day for you.”

“This is stupid,” you declared, chest heaving like you couldn’t get enough air. You were crying, you think, but Haley definitely was. “He shouldn’t matter this much.” 

“I wanted you to fight me,” she confessed, shoulder shagging in relief of finally letting the secret out. “I wanted you to fight me for him. I wanted you to realize that you're allowed to want things and go after them.”

You stood there, shell shocked by the weight of her confession. She wanted you to fight a losing battle? She wanted you to throw away three years of friendship just to teach you a lesson? 

“You're insane,” you said, shaking your head. “You don't want to teach me about self worth, you're just feeding your own ego. You knew I'd lose. Is that why you're friends with me Haley? So you know you'll win every time? So you don't have to compete with anyone?”

Haley didn't answer, just stood there looking at you, at the ground, and back to the house. You followed her gaze to see Aaron standing on the porch. 

A horn cut through the night. It was your cab. 

“Have a nice life, Hales,” you sighed. “I really do hope you're happy.”

2007, Houston, TX – Arlington, VA – FBI Academy Quantico, VA

You were a terrible person. Terrible, terrible person.

If a person you had been dating for two years asked you to marry them, your first reaction shouldn’t be calling your old place of employment to help you solve three seemingly unconnected murder cases. If a person you had been dating for two years asked you to marry them, you shouldn’t have knowingly reached out to one Jennifer Jareau, the communication liaison you knew Aaron Hotchner hired after the Boston Bombing fiasco. 

Of course you kept up with them as much as you could, mostly because of the nature of your job. Mostly, also, because you missed them. 

Houston was never home, just a place where you had run away to when the pressure of expectation from Gideon and the pain of watching your adult self revert back to high school menial rivalry with Haley and the knowledge that you almost killed the man you loved became too much to bear. You were looking for reasons to go back. 

It was an unfortunate incident that the guy Georgetown hired after your resignation died of a heart attack two weeks earlier and they wanted you back to take over his position and classes for the next semester. You had to see for yourself that if you came back to DC, would they welcome you with open arms or would you be an outsider? 

So when Fuller asked you for help for a series of murder in the Third Ward, you told him you’d bring the cavalry.

Someone calling you by your last name and title shouldn't have stopped you in your tracks but you froze anyway. You had set up shop, facing the case board after putting up pictures and the map of the area. “My name is Jennifer Jareau, we spoke on the phone.”

“Thank you, but you can call me–”

“Doctor Angel?” A familiar voice called. Only one person in the whole wide world would call you that. Sure enough, Spencer Reid entered the conference room, followed by a woman with dark hair.

“What did I say about that nickname, Doctor Reid?” You said, trying to insert humor in your sentence, testing the waters.

“Either call you by your title or your nickname, never both,” he recited, attention immediately taken by the map behind you. “Is that the Fifth Ward map?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, noting the inherent coldness in his attitude. Not that you didn't expect the hostility, but Reid was the one you hoped would be civil. After all, you kept in touch if only through research papers and academic discussion.

“Yeah, knock yourself out,” you said. You wanted to dig deeper, but the man you were both dreading and excited to see strolled into the room and you couldn't help but stare at him. It was good to see him alive and kicking. It wasn't great that his face was clouded with coldness and stoicism. “Hotch.”

The man didn't falter, but you didn't miss the slight backwards step of his left foot. 

Okay. You turned your attention back towards the other two agents, extending your hand. “You must be Emily Prentiss.”

“Looking forward to working with you, ma'am,” Agent Prentiss said, taking your hand. 

“Please don't call me that,” you grimaced. “And I'm afraid this is the extent of my involvement in the case. Detective Fuller was a friend, when he came to me about the murders, I knew the BAU should take the lead.”

You handed a file of your preliminary findings, making it a point to talk to Agent Jareau and Prentiss, leaving Reid to his own devices and Hotch, well, standing there like a statue.

“Tell Gideon and Morgan I said–”

“You should stay.”

It was Aaron, and by the way Jareau’s and Prentiss’ heads whipped towards their Unit Chief, it was surprising for them, too.

Aaron faltered, clearing his throat. He shifted to stand a little taller, eyes cocking to the side to mask his true reaction. “Stay and work the case with us. We can use your expertise.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, lips quirking to show your confusion. “You have twice as many people in this team than when we first started. I don't think it's necessary.”

“Actually it's one point seven five times,” corrected Reid, though his focus was still on the map.

Aaron took the file from Prentiss’ hands, holding out in front of you like a bait, a challenge, his eyes never leaving yours. When he spoke, his voice was a taunt, luring you in. This was the familiar Hotch who would butt heads with you in boarding school. That could mean one of two things.

“You should present this to Gideon yourself, don't you think?”

You noticed three things about Aaron then: the fire in his eyes, the ring on his finger, and the lack of distance between you. This was it, you think, the day Aaron Hotchner would finally end you. Not because he was angry, or pissed at you for leaving, but because he was finally married to Haley and you knew he'd use that against you.

But you took the file and you stayed anyway.

There was a sense of familiarity as you worked with the team, even with Prentiss and JJ. Gideon had seen you and gave you a handshake, didn't push you or corner you. You gave him the same grace by not bringing up the Boston bomber case. 

The team noticed, though, past the coldness, the challenge you and Aaron gave each other. Though there were snide comments, no one ever questioned each other’s judgment and abilities. There was a seamlessness, a kind of intimacy as you both worked. You gave him the good coffee, he gave you fresh copies of files because he knew you liked how warm they were. He opened the passenger car doors for you, you took the pickles off of his lunch.

If Spencer Reid wasn't so high out of his mind, he would've seen it too. If he wasn't so mean, you wouldn't have seen it too.

You cornered him in the breakroom as he chugged his third cup of coffee. “Reid, are you okay?”

He had jumped at your voice, scoffing. “No offense, Doctor, but if I needed a shrink I would have made an appointment.”

His reaction didn’t faze you. After working in disadvantaged communities with different vulnerable communities, you had an inkling of what was going on. It wasn’t hard to miss the irritability, agitation, his inattention to everyone and everything around him, so much so that he missed the construction work around him. “So why haven’t you?”

Spencer paused, setting his cup on the counter as he turned to you. “You think I’m being difficult? Acting crazy? Uncharacteristic?”

“I wouldn’t use those words,” you snorted. “But yes, actually.”

“Maybe I changed four years ago, you know, when you left?” He bit. “Respectfully, you lost your privilege to my utmost inner thoughts that day in Gideon’s office.”

“Fine,” you conceded. You stepped closer to him, reaching out to touch his elbow. It wouldn’t mean much to anyone else watching, but you knew he understood. “Whatever happened to you, Spencer, I’m sorry you have to go through it alone. When you’re ready, give me a call.”

He yanked his arm out of your grip, and you raised your hands in surrender before leaving. Spencer didn’t talk to you again after that, opting to ignore you under the pretense of focusing on the case. In the ‘tolerating you’ scale, he was way down there with Aaron.

“You’re not going in the field with them?” JJ asked when she found you in the women’s restrooms. 

The case was falling into place with the unsub identified, Dana Woodridge sat in the conference room, eyes hollow and scared. Spencer and Prentiss monitored the coms, waiting for news. 

You shook your head. “No, I don’t go out in the field anymore.”

“Why not?” She questioned, and your surprised face must have caused her to backtrack. “I just meant, you were a legend in the Bureau. I studied your case reports, you basically wrote the guidelines I use to triage cases.”

Tilting your head curiously, you prompted: “Did Gideon or Hotch ever talk about me?”

“No,” she said. “Spencer and Derek mentioned you in passing.”

You nodded your head, expecting nothing more. “I don’t like guns. Ironic, I know, but I just can’t watch when they inevitably gun him down.”

“You think Gideon’s incapable of talking him down?”

There was a bitter scoff coming from you, mind thinking back to the last time you ever went to the field during an active case. “I think there are a lot of variables in the field. Even someone as good as Gideon won’t be able to control those.”

You had been right, of course, but there was no pleasure in the knowledge.

It was Derek Morgan who visited you at the Houston field office first. You were wrapping up with a patient (a senior agent going through a divorce) when he poked his head in front of the see-through window of your office.

“What can I do for you, Agent Morgan?” You asked, letting him in as you let your patient out. You fought the urge to yawn, the days in the field catching up to you. Morgan didn’t take the seat you offered, standing there in your small office. 

He changed, you gave him that. No more trying to fit in with the bureaucratic nature of Hotch, or the controlled chaos of Gideon. Gone was the suit, replaced by raglan tees and a pair of sunglasses hanging from his collar. You were glad, really, the more he was comfortable with himself, the better of a profiler he was. 

There was also an implicit declaration of trust to his teammates, something you didn’t see when you did his evaluation back then. 

“You remember when I was just starting out and I came to you about nightmares?” 

He had come to you in your office in Georgetown, struggling to talk and get the words out. You had taken him back home to help you paint your newly renovated spare bedroom. It wasn’t hard to get him to talk after that.

You paused, “Have they been happening again?”

“No, nothing like that,” he admitted. “I'm just saying that between Gideon and Hotch, I can say that you are greatly missed.”

“Did Gideon put you up to this?” You asked, eyes narrowed. 

Morgan laughed. “No, no. It’s just that lately, with things that are happening in the team, I sometimes wish I can talk to you about it, I know you’ll know what to do.”

“Are you talking about Reid?”

A sardonic laugh. “Amongst other things.”

“Derek.” you said gently. “Whenever you need to talk, you can reach me anytime.”

“I know,” he said, giving you a quick hug goodbye. “Thanks.”

The second one who visited you was Gideon. You were waiting for another appointment, another agent who just went through a personal loss, when Gideon came barging in. 

“Hope you don’t mind that I told the other guy to reschedule,” He said, not waiting for your permission to enter. 

You groaned. “I do, actually. I do mind.”

“I’m not here to ask you to come back.”

“Of course you won’t.”

“Just—” your former unit chief tilted his head, questioning. “Why did you run?”

You stared up at him from the chair behind your desk, heels clicking on the floor to ground you with its repetitive motion. “Does it matter? You have a new protege.”

Gideon just stared at you, eyes studying you like he would look at suspects from behind the two-way mirror before coming in to interrogate them. He tilted his head, then you saw it. He wasn’t watching you like he would a suspect. He was watching you like he would a bird. 

It was you who broke the silence. “I guess I’m not strong enough for the job and its consequences. I just don’t have what it takes.”

“How do you figure?” He asked. You narrowed your eyes.

“Are you asking for you, or for Reid?” when he didn’t answer, you said, “Just because I stopped searching for your approval, doesn’t mean he will. Look at Aaron, he hasn’t stopped. Look where it got him. It’s not on you, Jason. Well, maybe a little bit, but ultimately, it is his choice, my choice.”

You saw it when you first got into the team during your two semester sabbatical Gideon wanted you to get. You saw it in Aaron because you recognize it yourself: the way tear himself apart to not disappoint Gideon was the same way you almost disintegrated trying to keep Haley happy during high school. And at that party, you decided enough was enough.

But it was easy to slip back to old habits. Your training was what saved you, you think, from devoting your life to the BAU and to Gideon. When you were there, you tried your best to keep Aaron away from working more than he needed to by taking him to parks and the movies when you could. You could only do so much, though, with dividing between your time consulting for the BAU and your teachings in Georgetown. 

You could only do so much to work against his ambition. You could only imagine how he got after you left. 

Gideon left shortly after that, promising a steak dinner when you were in DC. The reopening of old wounds overwhelmed you, however, so that when the third person to visit you came knocking, you were hiding under your desk to deprive your senses for a little bit. 

“Listen, there is this thing called making an appointment—”

“I won’t be here long enough for that.”

The voice made you jump, causing you to bump your head on the edge of your desk as you tried to get up. Your hand was rubbing the point of impact on your scalp as you climbed out. Sure enough, the guy who saw you in your moment of humiliation was Aaron Hotchner.

“I might start charging you guys for this drop-by therapy session,” you huffed, busying yourself with rearranging your desk to avoid looking at him. 

Aaron didn’t respond to your attempt at humor. He walked further into your office, standing close to your desk. His face was stern, unimpressed.

You gestured your hand up to his face. “See, I’ve been meaning to ask about this whole thing. Since when did you become such a grump?”

“I don’t know,” he said, still in a deadpan tone. “Maybe because my best friend left without saying goodbye when I was in a hospital recovering from two gunshot wounds.”

You rolled your eyes, you couldn’t help it, it was the muscle memory for every stupid thing he had said, even back then. You still wouldn’t look at him, you busy your hand by toying with your computer instead of reaching up and flicking his forehead. 

When it was too long of a pause for an answer, his composure cracked. Aaron scoffed, hand running through his hair in frustration. In a swift motion, his hands gripped the edge of your desk as he leaned over you. As you looked up, you came onto his face, inches away from yours, eyes blazing, nostrils flaring. 

You sighed, as a sign of relenting and a way to calm your beating heart. So maybe you had compared everyone you met to him. So maybe you were waiting for the other shoe to drop anyway. Maybe the someone you needed was him all this time. But you caught the glint of sunlight on his gold wedding band and you gave yourself a hard slap back to reality. 

“Because of me,” you whispered. 

He faltered. “What?”

“You got shot because of me,” you said. “Because I can’t protect myself.”

“What?” He scoffed. “That’s the most ridiculous thing—”

“You almost got suspended because of me, too,” you whispered. “And Haley told me what happened after, with your dad.”

Aaron laughed in disbelief. “Is this what it’s about? Some sick, twisted version of your insecurity that you hurt everyone who cares about you?”

“Do you actually care or is it because you just have to be a hero?” you asked. It was a low blow, you knew, but you just wanted him out of your space. 

“Don’t give me that.”

You looked away for a second, swallowing. “It’s not just you, you know. I can’t keep up with Gideon’s expectations, unlike you. I can’t turn my emotions off or have that sense of duty. It was poisoning me from the inside, throwing people’s vulnerabilities to attack them instead of helping them.”

Aaron sighed, and with a breath came, the tension was released. His knuckles lessened their grip, understanding filled his eyes. “You could’ve said goodbye.”

“Would you have let me go?” You asked, looking into his eyes now. “I stayed as long as I did because of you, Aaron, and if you asked me to stay, I would have. If I had gotten you killed, I—I wouldn’t know what I’d do.”

 It was a miracle that Rowan walked in when they did because you didn’t know what you’d have done in that moment, either. Not without Aaron looking at you like that, the same way he did when you sat on his windowsill during his graduation party. The same way he did in Gracie’s engagement party. 

You have always wondered what it would be like to kiss Aaron Hotchner, but you knew you would never find out. It took you years to grieve the life you wanted with him. It took you more to grieve the love you have to bury for him. 

“Is this a bad time?” Rowan called from the gap in your office door. 

Rowan, your long term boyfriend (ex-boyfriend?) who asked you to marry him just three days ago. Rowan, whose heart you broke by saying you’d think about it. Rowan, who hadn’t called or texted in three days and had asked to go to dinner that night to talk things through. 

Rowan, who saved you from being a homewrecker and Aaron from being a cheater. 

“No,” you told him. You turned to Aaron, “You have a flight to catch.”

“I do,” he said, voice hoarse. 

“I’ll call you.”

“Okay.”

It wouldn’t be until August that you saw Aaron again. 

After Gideon took a sabbatical from teaching to focus on his cases, you filled in his position in the Academy. It was an inevitability that you’d run into each other. (You started hanging out with Spencer way earlier than that) (You had put him in an observation room as he went through withdrawal and set him up with a colleague to keep him off dilaudid) (You never mentioned it to anyone). Since then, you’d often get roped in nights out with the team, and eventually, Haley. 

It was jarring that she had pulled you into a hug and apologized for her outburst at that hospital in Baltimore. You couldn’t really do anything but patted her back and apologized for not making it to the wedding. 

You might not be best friends with her anymore, but you understood. There was no use in holding against old wounds. 

You knew your place in their relationship, you promised. You limited any interactions with either of them outside of a group setting, outside of the office. So, it was alarming that you had shown up at their house in Arlington during Aaron’s suspension. 

“Strauss wants me to be acting unit chief of the BAU,” you blurted out the moment he opened his front door.

“Hello to you too, Angel,” Haley greeted, poking her head from behind Aaron’s body. 

You sighed. “Sorry, I can’t reach Gideon. I don’t know who else to go to about this.”

“Come in,” he said, opening the door wider for you. He sat down on an armchair, gesturing you to sit on the couch in front of him, but you shook your head.

“Look, I won’t stay long, I just need to tell you—where’s Jack?” you asked, distracted by the lack of babbling from the toddler. 

Haley sat on the arms of the chair Aaron was sitting on. You pretended not to notice the possessive arm on his shoulder. “The park, with Jess.”

“Right,” you said, taking a deep breath. “I don’t appreciate being used as a pawn in a political game. I like my post now, I like teaching. If I become unit chief, I’ll have to leave Georgetown again and I’d rather claw my fucking eyes out.”

Aaron averted his eyes to the hardwood floor, finger fiddling with his wedding band. “It’s out of my hands.”

“No, it’s not,” you protested, starting to pace around their living room. “We know what happened in Flagstaff was Gideon’s fault. The team will back you up, let him take the fall for once and then you can come back and I can go back to the academy—”

“I can’t do that,” he said, eyes still not meeting yours. 

You stopped pacing and turned to him. Haley’s grip on his shoulder tightened, she also wouldn’t look at you. “What?”

“I’m not going to throw Jason under the bus for this,” Aaron clarified. Not only that it surprised you, you could tell it disappointed Haley, too. Her face fell as she rubbed her own arms. 

“Hales?” You called out as she walked out of the living room, into the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

Aaron ignored your question. “I can’t let Gideon take the fall because it’ll end his career, especially after Boston, you know that.”

“So you’re going to lose everything you’ve worked for, for him?”

“Not just for him,” he confessed, fingers playing with his wedding band again. “It’s not just for Gideon.”

You understood, then, the tension between them that you picked up sometimes. It wasn’t your place to question it, so you didn’t. You thought it was because of you, partially, but apparently it was because of his absence. His ambition, his need for the job that trumps his love for Haley even if he didn’t want to admit it. 

Haley wanted a white-picket fence life with her true love. Aaron wanted the thrill, the chase, and the sense of accomplishment that catching killers gave him.  

Of course. Reversed the Lovers. 

“Good luck with that,” you snorted before you could stop yourself.

His eyes lifted up to you. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I know you, Hotch,” you said. “I know you try to separate this role of husband, father, and agent. I know you try and give your all in those roles. The only problem is, you’re burning on every end until there’s nothing left.”

What do you stand for, Aaron Hotchner?

With that, you left his house and went straight to Quantico. You passed by Emily Prentiss, straight to Strauss’ office. You told her what you said to Aaron, and you told her to fuck off. 

This, you thought. Duty, protection, hero. 

Haley came to your office when the team was still in Milwaukee.

JJ had notified you about the case, asking for help since they were down three members. You wanted to, you swore, but you knew that if you filled in, your promotion to Unit Chief would basically be a done deal. It would be a confirmation that you were the only choice for now, until you could train Derek more so he could replace you. 

That would mean losing at the very least two years of your academic career. 

“You just have to be so selfish, don’t you?” Her voice made you jump. “You won’t even do this for us?”

“Haley–”

“He left,” she continued, sniffling. “Just go ahead, say it. Say that you told me so.”

Well. That pissed you off. It was always her blaming you for his choices, like you were pulling his strings. Like he didn’t make the conscious act to choose. 

“Okay,” you gave in. “I fucking told you so.”

Haley’s face crumpled, she collapsed to one side of the sofa you kept for your patients. 

“Does that help?” You sighed, rubbing your eyes with your thumb and index fingers. When he didn’t reply, you crossed the room, from your desk to the sofa where she sat. Wrapping your arms around her, you murmured. “I’m sorry, Hales. I’m so sorry, everything is going to be okay.”

Little did you know, it would be the last time you ever saw and talked to her. 

2011, Alexandria, VA

The second week after Haley filed for divorce, he had come to your office in the Academy armed with whiskey. You sighed when you saw him, pulling out two paper cups meant for the communal water dispenser and two granola bars.

“Do you think if I just made the right choices, I would be able to salvage this?” Aaron asked after his second glass of liquor. 

You threw back the last bit of the liquid in your glass. “I'm not answering that. If you want a therapy session, you should've booked an appointment without alcohol.”

“Yeah but,” the man in front of you sighed, running a hand on his face. “As my friend, as Haley's friend, what do you think?”

You hesitated. “And you want the truth?”

“Yeah.”

“You won't tell Haley I said this?”

His eyes narrowed at you. “No.”

“Haley's stupid for believing she can change you,” you said. “And you're stupid for promising her that, expecting Haley to do all the domestic labor while you go off galavanting with your cavalry.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

His tone irked you, so you reached out and flicked his forehead. He barely reacted. “People need different things. They fulfill these needs by being in relationships, but it's unrealistic to expect one person to fulfill all your needs. You look for what Haley can't give you in the job, in the team. But Haley doesn't have that luxury.”

You took the empty glass from his hand, throwing it in the bin next to your desk. Aaron just sat there, contemplating, so you continued.

“What she needs is a husband and the father to her kid who'd put them first,” you told him. “And you? You can't do all three because you're already so fucking burnt out trying.”

You called him and yourself separate cabs to get home. The next morning, an apology fruit basket perched on your desk.

You didn’t take pleasure in their misery, if anything, you feel sorry for both of them, but especially Jack. In times like whenever Aaron would come to your office, you couldn’t help but recall a conversation you had with Haley back in 2002.

“Why don’t you let him take you out?” she asked when you both were getting coffee together. 

“What?”

“He said he asked you out multiple times but you said no,” she elaborated. “You don’t think he’s still in love with me, do you?”

You snorted, shaking your head. “He goes to a different place, when he works. He’s there but he’s so single minded. It’s a place neither of us are allowed to. He’s just getting started, Hales. I know I’ll come second to the job, even if he doesn’t mean to.”

Haley had laughed then, and you knew what that laugh meant. That laugh meant that she was different, that if Aaron was with her, she’d be his number one priority forever no matter what. That laugh meant she’d do better than you, be better in every way.

You still thought about her sometimes, especially whenever you went to the park with Aaron and Jack because you were back to being friends. 

After JJ left for State, you took it upon yourself to train Penelope Garcia to triage cases, even helped her train the algorithm she used to make everything more seamless. She used it to assign consultation cases to different agents, and you couldn’t hide how impressed you were with her genius. 

That meant you were working closely with the BAU again, but you knew it wouldn’t last. As much as you loved bringing Aaron coffee in the morning, taking away half his pile of paperwork, and being the emotional sounding board for the entire team (they would drop by your office some days) (and complain about the most menial things to the most sickening, horrifying trauma a human being can endure) (they’d walk away feeling lighter with a lollipop in their hand) you knew you were meant to do something else. 

“I think this is going to be my last year at the Bureau,” you told Aaron one Saturday morning. “This initiative that a couple of colleagues are starting, it’s a free clinic and resource center for victims of gender-based violence. I can’t do that and be at the FBI at the same time.”

Aaron watched as Jack climbed on the monkey bars, and you were ready to repeat yourself, thinking that he hadn’t heard you. But he took a deep breath, eyes on his shoes before turning to look at you. “I can’t even be mad at you for that.”

(Little did you know that the team didn’t stop talking to you, only now dropping by Georgetown in groups, taking turns.)

You snorted, reaching your arm to flick his forehead. “You can’t be mad at me for anything!”

“I know,” he smiled. God, you missed that smile, the smile that you had rarely seen lately so you collect it like a dragon collecting gold coins every time it comes out. “Doesn’t mean I'm not going to miss you.”

“Don't worry, between the team and Jack, you won't have time to,” you laughed.

“That's ridiculous,” he said. “I've missed you for almost thirty years, Angel, I think I'm getting the hang of it by now.”

Aaron said it like a throwaway line, so nonchalantly, like it didn't shift your whole world. 

You'd tell him, you think, before you leave. You wondered if it'd kill him. You knew it'd kill you. But then you remembered the whole reason he sought you out in the first place.

The whole ‘I met someone and I don't know how to introduce her to Jack’. 

You didn’t let your heartbreak show. The one time you didn't come with him to train for the triathlon, he met someone. But the feeling wasn't unfamiliar, so you embraced it like an old friend.

2013, Baltimore, MA – Quantico, VA

Gracie's funeral was held in the Whitefield Residence in Baltimore. 

As per her request, it was a tree planting procession, her ashes were spread over the ground where Jackson and his mother planted a Camellia tree on. 

Aaron was there, as he had been when Gracie was still undergoing chemotherapy. As he had been when she decided to stop. As he had been when her health quickly deteriorated. You made peace with it a long time ago, but it didn't mean you would stop grieving any time soon.

When Valentina asked you to give an eulogy, you told her you couldn't do it, but Jackson convinced you anyway.

So there you were, in a black dress and puffy eyes, one dangling star earring as your only accessories.

“Gracie said that our meeting was written in the stars,” you started, hand subconsciously touching the dangling stars from your ears. “She gave me this when she picked me up from that foster home. She called me different names of stars, Rigel was her favorite. And I–I–” a sob cut through your speech, and you forced yourself to take a deep breath. “Oh God, sorry, I can't see what I've written because it’s so blurry.”

Valentina chuckled next to you, she reached out and held your hand, grounding you through it.

Your eyes cleared just enough to see Aaron across from you, an encouraging smile on his face, and you found your footing again. But you discarded what you wrote on that piece of paper, and instead, let a memory play out in your head.

“Gracie told me once that love isn't selfish,” you continued, eyes not breaking away from Aaron. “That love doesn't need to possess,” you looked away from Aaron towards the newly planted tree. “To live a life rooted in compassion and kindness, to give love freely without demands, that's her. That's what she taught me. So Gracie, even if I don't have you here with me, I have my love for you, and that's enough.”

Three days later, Aaron greeted you at his apartment in a navy quarter zip, smiling softly as he let you in. You didn't question his weird choice of wardrobe, considering it was in the middle of July. 

You were holding a box of Gracie's things that Valentina had given you and you couldn't bring yourself to go through it alone. You had called Aaron immediately, and he told you he'd be home.

“Jess has Jack for a bit, they're going to the zoo,” he explained, answering your silent questioning of the unusually silent apartment.

You sat on the floor of his living room, back leaning against the sofa, the cardboard box in front of you. Aaron came back from the kitchen with two bottles of beer.

“I thought something familiar might be comforting,” he said, handing you a bottle.

You smiled, grateful. “Thanks.”

And, as you took a swig, knees crossed under you, his brain screamed that he loved you. Aaron Hotchner had realized he loved you more times than he could count. 

The first time was when he went to a football game Stanley was playing against Eastview in junior year. It would be two months after he met Haley and consequently, started to get to know you. He first thought you were Haley's annoying little sidekick who constantly cockblocked him, that was until he saw you on that field

Haley had ditched him to have dinner with her theater friends instead, leaving him stuck with his classmates, bored out of his mind. Then, he saw you get thrown into the air and it felt like he couldn't breathe, not until your friends caught you, then sprung you back up to stand on someone's shoulder.

He didn't dare repeat the things his classmates said about you, but he did replayed the moment your eyes caught him. You smiled at him in acknowledgement, one pom-pom in the air and just before you fell back, you gave him a wink.

His heart fluttered as he watched your every move in awe. The boys sitting around him thought that little stunt was for them, but Aaron knew. Though, he was still sixteen going on seventeen, so he chalked it up to teenage hormones.

The second time was the first time you flicked his forehead for saying something stupid. He didn't even remember what he had said to warrant your annoyance (knowing you then, it could just be something along the lines of ‘my brother's stupid’), but he remembered being stunned when he felt you touch him for the first time.

A flick on the forehead. It wasn't even affectionate but he was hooked from the start. He'd say stupid shit to get a reaction out of you, especially that reaction.

When he found out you might withdraw from Stanley, he thought his world was ending.

He ditched Haley to drive you to Gracie's house in Bethesda because he was making sure you'd still be around. When Gracie brought up withdrawing, he felt like he could pass out, maybe throw a tantrum. It was an easy decision to slam Francis’ face to the boys lockers after P.E. 

Then you kissed him. You kissed him on the cheek and he was never the same.

Aaron loved Haley, he truly did, but sometimes he couldn't help but wonder if he had kissed you that night in his room. He was so bound with his commitment to Haley, dead set on proving his dad wrong about her, and trying to do the right thing. Haley was the right thing.

But you? You were always out of reach. 

Then it was every day whenever he’d see you in the BAU, working side by side with him, having his back whenever, taking him to the Smithsonian during the weekends. You let him take you out for drinks, sending him home just after he got a little too touchy, always with a smile and a teasing remark. 

And he was a terrible person, he knew that, because he went on four dates with Beth and realized he was still in love with you. 

Aaron was still on his way back from the case in Atlanta the day before his scheduled triathlon, and Jess was out of town for a job, so in desperation, he called you to take care of Jack when he was away. Both you and Jack were enthusiastic, and he didn’t realize just how much until he received a video on his phone of you and Jack. 

Of you, playing KISS’ “I Was Made For Lovin’ You” in Guitar Hero as Jack held his water bottle in front of him like a mic. You gave Jack a sunglasses and a boa as you kneel on the floor in front of him, playing the plastic guitar like you were doing a stadium tour. 

He chose the song, I swear was the caption you wrote when you sent it to him.

“It’s sickening how in love you are,” Dave said, noticing the smile on Aaron’s face as the video looped. The older man raised his hand in surrender as Aaron gave him a sharp glance. “I know, I’m just saying, Aaron, you’ve been making heart eyes at them back in ‘98. It’s not fair for Beth to compete with that.”

“I tried, Dave,” Aaron confessed. “For four years I tried to get them to go on a date with me and they always said no.”

“That was ten, twelve years ago!”

“They always said, maybe when you’re where you want to be,” he recalled. “I didn’t understand it then, but I know now it was about the job.”

“The job doesn’t change,” David said. “You did.”

He wasn’t proud of how he ended things with Beth–through a phone call when he landed–but he knew it was the right thing to do.

Aaron found you cuddled up with Jack on the kid’s bed, wearing his old GWU sweatshirt. And he knew. He spent two years proving that his relationship with the job had changed for the better, for you. 

You pulled out a small box of Gracie’s tarot desk, showing it up to him. “Oh, I haven’t touched one of these in decades!”

Aaron did, however, touch Gracie’s deck a year before she died. You had been with Valentina, talking to the doctors when Gracie patted the spot on the foot of her hospital bed, her deck of tarot cards in her hands. 

“Come on, Aaron,” she beckoned. “Indulge the wish of a dying woman.”

He had mirrored her laugh, complying with her request. She laid out all the cards in front of her with expert accuracy, not one was out of place, compared to your clumsy spread thirty years ago. Absent-mindedly, with a little bit of flair to indulge Gracie, he picked three cards. 

“Come on, what’s the diagnosis, madame?”

Gracie reached and opened one of them. “Upright the Tower, wow. This is for radical, fundamental change. Aaron, I know you’re scared, but you don’t have to be. Sometimes, change is good, especially now you have a newfound understanding of love.”

Aaron looked away, focusing his gaze on the dripping fluids from the IV bottle. He had been scared, fearing that he might not make it out alive after Haley’s death. But change was what he welcomed the most, and he wouldn’t have been if you weren’t at his side this whole time. 

“Ten of cups, upright, too,” Gracie said. “Congratulations, Aaron, you will find what you’re searching for. Contentment, peace, happiness–the stars have spoken, my dear. All the pain you’ve been through, you’ll find a reprieve. And lastly–” Gracie turned the last one. “Reversed three of swords.”

Aaron held his breath. 

Gracie chuckled at his expression. “Don’t worry, my dear, it’s not as scary as it looks. I envy you, Aaron, that you’ll move on and finally grow from the pain, that you’ll either earn forgiveness or you’ll learn it.”

You came in three minutes after Gracie gave him a hug, crying tears of relief that he’d finally taste his own happiness. 

“Why?” He asked you, out of curiosity. 

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Because I lost mine. I don’t remember how, but Gracie believes that you can only have one deck for life, you know? That the bond between a witch and her cards is sacred, and that no two decks are the same.”

“So you never picked up a new one?”

“No,” you shook your head. “I thought me and this just weren’t meant to be.”

Aaron bit his lip, contemplating, suddenly nervous about your reaction. In a split second, he decided, he’d lay it out for you, and give the ball back to your court. 

He got up from his position next to you and went to his room. You looked at him quizzically as he did, even more so when he came back with an old storage box. 

“What’s that, Hotch?” you asked.

Aaron put the box down and took off the lid. Inside, you could see an old tarot deck kept together by a rubber band and a velvet jewelry box. 

“No way,” you laughed in disbelief, taking the deck from the box. “You have this all these time?”

“Yeah,” he said. He took the jewelry box, handing it to you with a slight shake of his hand. “And this.”

Inside was the other half of your dangling stars earring, one that you thought you lost a long time ago. Your memory came back to you, then, about the party, the cards, and Haley. “Hotch–”

“Finders keepers,” he joked, trying to mask the crack in his voice. 

“Did it happen?” You asked, then. “The tarots you pulled ten years ago.”

“Oh, man, oh man. I–” Aaron smiled, then shook his head. He looked down, debating the answer to your question. “Yeah, it did.”

“Oh,” you said, noticing the light and airy feel of nostalgia evaporating from the room. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I’m sorry–”

“I pivoted my career from a prosecutor to the FBI, that’s the fool, right?” he answered. “Then, it was my dad. He died of lung cancer, third year of law school. You know, the three of swords. It’s funny, because I thought at first it was you I lost.”

You reached out and held his hand, letting him squeeze it for comfort. 

“And I think–” he gulped. “I think you know the rest.”

You knew he thought of Haley, the consequences of his choices, his commitments. You couldn’t help but notice how close the two of you were sitting. Sides pressed up against each other, backs on your couch as you both made yourselves comfortable on your living room floor. 

What do you stand for, Aaron Hotchner?

Aaron took the earring in one hand, fingers running along the small chains, the stars hanging off them. “Remember what you told me, when you found me in the bleachers after I punched Francis? You said, your mom and Gracie–”

“–gave me a chance. I owe it to them and to myself to give me a chance,” you recited. “Is that why you became a prosecutor instead of working at your dad’s firm?”

Aaron nodded, sighing. He leaned his head back, turning it to the side so he could look at you. His lips stretched into a smile, his features soft. “That’s what I stand for. You–you gave me so much more than you realized.”

When you looked at him, you thought about how it'd feel to kiss him. There was always this love you held for him that you didn’t think you had a big enough heart to store it all up. You dated other people, fell in love with other people, but never like this. Nothing compares to the feeling of loving Aaron Hotchner. It consumed you back then, feelings boiling up, bubbling over the surface.

It was a simmer for a while now, expanding bigger and further. For his team, for his son. 

He was better, wasn’t he? The weight on his shoulders were the same but he carried it better. You think you’d love to take some of that weight off for him. 

“You have to stop looking at me like that,” he said, voice soft and bashful.

“Like what, Hotch?”

His face moved closer, eyes dragging you down to him. “Please, Angel.”

“Please, what?”

“Please.”

Your hand reached up, stroking his cheek. You watched as he took a deep breath, his own hand held yours in place. “Aaron.”

His relief was visible: his shoulders dropped, and so did his head. His fingers gripped your wrist tighter, his lips kissed your palm.

Aaron's eyes found yours, then your lips. 

“Let me do this right,” he said. “Just give me one date, Angel.”

You wanted to. God, you truly wanted to. You’d give every part of you for him, you think. But there was a piece of you still scared, still unsure. What proof was there that Aaron Hotchner wanted you the same way you wanted him?

“Let me have you pull a card,” you bargained. “If the upright the Lovers come out, I’ll do it.”

“I can’t do that,” he confessed. 

“Why not?”

“Because that particular card is in my office, top drawer.”

The admission shocked you. Your lips parted in surprise, “What?”

“Angel,” he called. “You read criminals like a book and you can read me like a magazine. Surely you know how I feel about you? That everything I did, I did it for you? It’s the one thing I allow myself to–”

You closed the gap. Your hand gripped his jaw firmer and you pulled him into you, lips crashing with his. 

It was like the rush of water when the flood gates opened. The dam broke and the band snapped into two. There was nothing that could stop it. 

So this is what it feels like, you thought, to kiss Aaron Hotchner. 

All-consuming, all-igniting. 

You never wanted to kiss anyone else ever again. Why would you, when you knew it would never feel like this? It wouldn't even get close to feeling like this?

You didn’t know–was this how it felt like to be brought to life? To breathe on the surface for the first time? To see constellations behind your eyelids, to experience a supernova in your heart? Gracie might call you with the names of different stars, but this, this is the big bang. 

Aaron pulled you closer, hands cradling your head now, and you let him move you onto his lap, straddling him. He pressed to you closer, like he couldn’t get enough. 

“Slow down,” you laughed. 

“I can’t,” he confessed breathily, lips finding you again. “I can’t let go now that I know how your lips tasted.”

So you didn’t stop him. You let him kiss you on his couch and make love to you on his bed. You let him love you and you let yourself love him. 

For the first time, you were truly free. For the first time, you knew, neither of you were going anywhere. 

“I love you, Angel,” he said, holding you close. You had your head on his chest, his lips on your hairline. “I never got to say it before but I will say it every day.”

“I’ve been in love with you for thirty years, Aaron,” you told him. “I’ll say it every day for the next three hundred.”

---

70 percent of mistresses quit when he's just about to dump his spouse

---

Love, Guilt and Other Wounds

Aaron Hotchner x female reader

When Aaron and his partner are taken hostage, he has to break her heart to save her life.

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, a little bit of domestic fluff, mention of blood, injury (non-graphic), hostage situation, knives, cannon-compliant themes of violence, non-detailed discussion about religion (Christianity), themes of childhood abuse, please let me know if you want me to add anything else.

Word count: (less than I expected, sorry) 3.7k  Request here! | Masterlist

"Of course, I’ll hurt you. Of course, you’ll hurt me. Of course, we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence". - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Aaron isn't sure if he believes in a God or a higher power. He was taught to read scripture; and spent Sunday mornings perfecting his posture in church pews-- starched shirts and neckties pulled too tight. The preacher's sermons left him wanting-- wondering how this man of God could stand over his congregation preaching every week, and not see all the lies they were holding back. How could he not see the secrets Aaron seemed to read so clearly? At just fourteen Aaron knew who was having an affair and with whom. He could see which children feared their fathers. Every pew had another story, another family growing together, or falling apart. The hypocrisy of it all drove him mad, and he imagined standing from his seat to shout it, overwhelmed as he realized he had unintentionally become the keeper of everyone's secrets. He learned that everyone in that church was a liar in their own right, and he hated it. But, when he left for college, his mother called to ask if he was still going to church on Sundays, and he lied and said yes. 

He should have paid more attention. Maybe then he'd understand how he ended up here. Perhaps it's some sick retribution. A cosmic evening of the scales; his penance for his sins. He just wishes you weren't here with him. How dare he think he could love someone when all he's ever done is punish those who love him? His hands are stained with blood; he taints everything he touches. 

Very early on in his career, Aaron learned he couldn’t take cases personally. As devastating as it was to have another victim show up while hunting a killer, it wasn’t a personal failure. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He repeated the process again and again. Logically he knows that he is not responsible for the actions of the aggressive sociopath who is now holding the two of you hostage; but, he blames himself for not keeping you safer, for bringing you with him, and for putting you in harm's way. He knows he will not recover if you don’t make it out of here. He won’t forgive himself. 

The profile said this man would be anti-social. Physically, he’d be small in stature. It was clear he’d been sneaking up on his victims. He had been taking couples, knocking out the men with a blow to the back of the head, and then the women. It’s a method that the team had seen before, common for UNSUBs without the social ability to lure their victims, or the physical strength or confidence to attack head-on. But they had not profiled that he would escalate to taking out his targets with a taser. 

After six days in San Diego, the team finally had a lead on two rental properties in the UNSUB’s comfort zone. One was an old tyre factory, listed as a multipurpose warehouse and storage space; the other was a large storage facility in an industrial neighbourhood. Both units had been paid for in cash, both offered the privacy and space required to hold and torture two people for days at a time. The team split up, Hotch and you arranged to meet the owner of the factory space to find out more about who the renter was and gain access to the property. With no response from the owner of the second property, Morgan, Prentiss, and Rossi headed over to check it out. 

The two of you had only been on the property for five minutes before Aaron had been incapacitated and taken out. He had foolishly made his way into the building while you ran back to the SUV to grab your jacket. Out cold, there was nothing Aaron could do to stop you from meeting the same fate. 

It’s not his fault. But he feels like it is as he watches you shiver from across the room. He can’t be certain how much time has passed, but it feels like hours. He can only hope that you’re being kept in the building you were attacked in, that the team will connect the dots and come and get you, but until then you’re stuck. He watches, nauseated as your eyes flutter open, and then shut again. You’re concussed, he doesn’t need to be a doctor to know that. His ears are ringing, and he’s sure the blow he took to the head has at the very least temporarily worsened his hearing. 

“Doesn’t the FBI have rules against fraternization?” The UNSUB wonders out loud, waving a knife around as he walks towards you. 

“What makes you think we’re a couple?” Hotch asks, as he tries to work his hands free from the rope that binds them behind his back, “She’s just a colleague”. 

It’s a lie. But it needs to be said. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. Buy time, shift the UNSUB’s interest away from the two of you. Ruin the fantasy.

“I think I’ve been doing this long enough to know a couple when I see a couple, Aaron,” the man taunts, obviously proud of himself. He’s feeling emboldened having taken two FBI agents, but that works in your favour. He’s getting cocky, too full of himself. It’s a level of confidence he isn’t used to having, it just gives him a higher height to fall from. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. “I think it’s time we wake your girlfriend up,” the man says, his hand gripping tightly at your hair, your head tugged back without remorse. 

Aaron resists the urge to cringe as he hears you groan, your face twisted with obvious pain as you’re rudely awakened. “She’s pretty. What’s she doing with you?” 

“I told you. She’s a colleague”. 

Your eyes are unfocused, scanning the room trying to make sense of what is going on. 

The man raises the knife, holding it to your throat. This time Aaron blinks, desperate to control his expressions and micro-expressions. In this scenario, the less he cares about you, the safer you are. 

It’s the burden of being tied to him. Time after time his love destroys people. 

The blade presses closer to your throat. Aaron controls his breathing. 

“Impressive agent Hotchner. But I’m still not convinced,” the UNSUB moves the blade but pulls your head back further. Your eyes meet Aaron’s, “Do what you’re going to do, he doesn’t care,” you say. You’re speaking to the man with the knife in his hand as much as you’re speaking to Aaron. He weighs his options, his heart pounding as he watches you hold your breath, willing the tears to leave your eyes. It’s the permission he needs but doesn’t want.  Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He knows you’re doing the same, telling him to break your heart to save your life. 

“Please, Hotc--”. 

He doesn’t let you finish, “Just shut up for once. Please,” he thinks the words cut through him more than they cut through you. Knowing his cruelty is a lie does little to soften the blow, and it breaks his heart to be the one throwing it. 

But this is all he’s good for, isn’t it? Letting people down. Surely it’s not just coincidence that so many of those who have dared to love him end up damaged. One way or another he destroys people. Who is he to say that he’s the one who is suffering when it’s he who does all the damage? 

Even as a child, he couldn’t help it. He thinks perhaps he inherited his sharpened tongue and lack of patience from his mother. She loved him in her own way but could never show it without first tearing him apart. Her biting words, and regular beatings. Prentiss had been right when she once said he was distrustful of women-- unfairly so. Not all women carry the hateful, spiteful heart his mother had. Very few had ever turned their rage at the world and their shortcomings into a personal and violent rage against him. He grew weary nonetheless. Better safe than sorry.

 At a young age, it became clear to him that there were few things, if anything, as important to his mother than appearances. On Sundays, she fussed over his clothes and his posture. She lectured him on table manners from the moment he could hold a fork. His room had to be spotless. His grades had to surpass average. Long before his brother was ever born, he learned how to live up to her expectations. But still, there was always something she could find him lacking in, an excuse to take her open fist or wooden spoon to his skin, a reason to send him to bed without dinner. He remembers crashing into the china cabinet trying to escape her one night. She was mortified on Monday when he had to walk into school on Monday with a cast around his arm. “Make sure they know this was your fault,” she told him. Perhaps I was built to fail, he had thought. She loves me and I embarrass her. I will only ever let her down. God, how disappointed she would be to see him now.  

Seconds feel like hours as the UNSUB leers expectantly. The man's mouth twists into a smile when he sees the tears forming in your waterline again. Aaron watches your fist clench presumably to distract yourself from the migraine that matches the pounding in his head, just as much as it is to pull your attention away from the hurtful lies he's about to weave. 

“You were supposed to have my back,” Arron spits with faux vitriol. “You had one job and couldn't even manage to do that”. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. 

“From the moment you showed up I knew you'd be a problem”. 

He continues to try to work his hands out from the binds. He can feel the knot loosening as he continues to buy the two of you time. “Aaron,” you beg, tears slipping down your cheeks now. 

“Following me around with some school girl crush. Look where we are now,” Aaron breathes. 

He can feel his father’s rage resting on his shoulders, as heavy as his hands were when he used to pat him on the back. It’s a quiet burning, far more silent than his mother’s anger, but it’s there and threatening him all the same. A silent shame; a fear induced by the knowledge that he’s failing but not being able to stop it. His father lived like a ghost in their home, just as Aaron has learned to haunt his life. He only ever raised his voice when he drank, but even then his hatred was self-directed. A sorrowful self-pity. A cry for help. The affairs, the gambling, the drinking; the man punished himself, stumbling home to a house with a vengeful wife, a silent boy, and a crying baby. It was a heart attack that finally killed him, but Aaron never doubted his father had stopped living long before that. 

Aaron breaks his own heart as he delivers each verbal blow. He hopes you understand. He prays that just maybe your concussion might leave the memories of this moment blurry. Selfishly, he begs you to forgive him, because he won’t forgive himself. 

He can see the way your wrists strain against your restraints. The UNSUB adjusts his grip on your hair as you struggle to distance yourself from him. Your eyelids flutter and he knows your vision must be swimming but you don’t give up. With a sadistic grin, the UNSUB wipes at the tear stain on your cheek with fake sympathy, grasping your jaw roughly he forces you to look straight at Aaron, “Poor girl… guess boss man doesn’t care about you after all. What a waste,” he sighs his breath heavy against your cheek, as he moves to hold the knife to your throat again, “She’s so pretty,” he directs his commentary at Aaron this time. 

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’ve slept with her. How couldn’t I when she was practically throwing herself at me?” The words taste bitter on his tongue as he speaks them. His stomach churns as he continues, “But what we have certainly isn’t love”. 

It couldn’t be further from the truth. Aaron grounds himself choosing to remember the quiet morning you two had shared only a few days earlier. Waking up without an alarm but with Jack sneaking in to jump up on the bed. As he watches you cry now he recalls how you had smiled so brightly at the little boy, ruffling his hair and cuddling Jack into your side. He had watched with a smile of his own as you bargained with his son, promising pancakes in exchange for ten more minutes of sleep on your shared day off. 

You crept into his heart so slowly he had hardly noticed. Until one day, he looked up from the bright pink sticky note you'd left on your recent report, reminding him not to work too hard; he knew, without a doubt, he was in love with you. 

For so much of his life, Aaron conditioned himself to expect a fight around every corner. He learned to make sacrifices from his happiness in fruitless attempts to keep peace. For the first time in forever he's been feeling like maybe, just maybe, he's enough. You’ve been more than patient with him; understanding his hesitance to open up to people again. You don't get upset with him for working late, but you scold him for not getting enough sleep and skipping meals. 

He smiles more. He cracks jokes the way he used to. You've helped him see the forest from the trees--  healed parts of him he didn’t know needed mending. He's tried to do the same for you. He's watched you open up and trust the team more. He's seen the way your confidence has grown and he can't take credit for your growth, but he's enamoured by the transformation just the same. 

You deserve better. You deserve better. You deserve better. The thought echoes in his head the same as it does most days. But now, it’s louder. The voice in his head matches the volume of the ringing in his ears, and the rushing sound of his pounding heart. Compartmentalize. Use logic. Move forward. He fights to remind himself, but the UNSUB is laughing now. Taunting you and your emotions, and there’s nothing Aaron can do but sit there and watch. He struggles to feign indifference, watching as you continue to make yourself smaller. It’s only then that he notices that you too are working your hands out of the rope that restrains you. The UNSUB was stupid enough to tie your wrist in front of you.

Aaron’s eyes focus on the bandaid wrapped around your index finger. You cut yourself making dinner last week. He could have sworn his heart melted when you turned to him holding your hand out, blood beading already. “Aaron, where do you keep your first aid kit?” you’d asked. Your brows furrowed, and your lips pouted. “In the bathroom, the cabinet under the sink,” he’d answered with no intention of letting you go off and tend to your wound alone. Instead, he guided you down the hall, his left hand looped in a gentle hold around your wrist, his other hand on your waist. 

Once you were sat on the countertop he took great care, making sure the wound was cleaned before he bandaged it. “My hero,” you teased, leaning in for a kiss. 

A simple cut he could manage to fix. Jack promised you could use as many of his Star Wars bandaids as you wanted while you healed as well. A little love and patience could make it better, a philosophy he adopted to heal Jack’s scraped knees, and schoolyard bruises. But the sight before him now is far worse than any kitchen mishap could be. 

Your nose is still bleeding. Bruises have already begun to form, red marks turning deep purple with every passing minute. He knows that your concussion is something you'll recover from. The contact burns from where the taser touched your skin will become new skin someday soon. The cuts and scrapes will scab over and then disappear. 

Aaron worries the damage he's done can never truly be ameliorated. Your compassion is unmatched. It’s what makes you a good agent, a good partner, and someone Jack can turn to. You are forgiving. God knows you've excused enough of his behaviour. But, he doesn't deserve to be absolved of this guilt. He will carry this day around in the darkest corner of his heart; the same place he holds the memory of Haley and how he failed her. The words “what we have certainly isn't love,” will linger uneffaced by time or kind words. 

The squeak of an old door opening piques Aaron's interest. The UNSUB doesn't react. Seemingly only interested in tracing the tear tracks on your cheeks. Your eyes are closing again. It's over now, he wants to tell you. He wants to hold you; comfort you; to apologise because you deserve to hear it anyway.

“Paul Simpson. FBI,” Morgan’s voice booms, “drop the knife and put your hands where I can see them”. Prentiss and Dave come to stand next to Morgan, their guns trained on the newly identified perpetrator. Aaron bites his tongue so hard he can taste blood-- it's all he can do to stop himself from bursting into a fit of bitter laughter. We win, he wants to say. 

Disarmed and handcuffed, Paul is escorted outside by Morgan and two members of the local police. Prentiss and Rossi make quick work of untying you and Aaron. 

“Aaron?” he can hear you mutter, breathy and quiet. 

“Yeah, I’m right here,” he promises kneeling at your side. Your eyes are glazed and unfocused as you nod and tip forward. Unconscious, your entire body falls forward into Prentiss’ arms. Aaron’s voice joins Rossi in calling for a paramedic. 

The doctors assure him that you’ll wake up soon. They dealt with his injuries quickly. Bruised ribs are the worst of his injuries. A cut at the back of his head and the taser burns were patched in only a few minutes, though he’ll readily admit he was far from a good patient. Too anxious to keep still much to the nurse’s dismay. 

You’re still asleep. A major concussion will have you out of the field for much longer than he knows you’ll be happy with. He makes a mental note to start setting aside some extra paperwork for when you inevitably start hounding him for something to do. With the lights in the room dimmed, and a comfortable silence settling he allows himself to indulge in the illusion that everything might be alright between you. 

With your hand in his, he breathes deeply trying to focus. He prays to a God he’s not sure he believes in. And when the quiet starts to get to him, he speaks out loud, as silly as he thinks he may look. He tells you about the phone call he had with Jack earlier and lets you know that Jack has a new painting he can’t wait to show you when you get home. Your hand squeezes his, encouraging him to keep talking.

“Aaron?” your eyelids flutter as you adjust to the light. The nurse had them turned to the dimmest setting but it’s still far more than you feel immediately capable of coping with. 

“Yeah, honey,” he affirms. You release the breath you’re holding your brow relaxing.  

“I love you,” you tell him. Your voice is steady and steadfast. Your resolve is impressive, unwavering and determined as you focus on making eye contact with him. “It’s not your fault,” you promise. He’s sure you don’t expect the weight on his shoulders to lighten instantaneously. You’ll tell him every day that he’s not to blame; intent on chiselling away at his guilt, shrinking it down before it manages to consume him. 

“I love you,” he swears. He knows it won’t squash any of the doubt he’s planted. Aaron knows there will soon be days that the niggling insecurity threatens to break what you’ve managed to build together; when the worry that you aren’t enough seems louder than it ever has before. He won’t blame you if you decide it isn’t worth the pain of staying with him. But, he’s hell-bent on loving you through it. He can only hope that it’s enough. 

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Seline Burn (Swiss, 1995) - Rosy Gloom (2022)

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"someone who allows you to rest" is the relationship dynamic of all time

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