codename-mom

[codename-mom]

Good news

Summary: Kate has learnt that she is pregnant with Chris' child and she now has to tell her superior. But she has no idea how he would react to the news.

Characters: Kate Callahan, Aaron Hotchner, JJ and Derek Morgan

Contents: TW well, pregnancy and that's all, I guess

This is a text written for the KidFic CM challenge organized by @imagining-in-the-margins.

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

Kate had learned the day before that she was pregnant with Chris' child. After years of fruitless efforts, their unions were finally successful. It didn't necessarily come at the best of times, since she'd just joined the BAU, but she couldn't help rejoicing at the news. Except that this was accompanied by an obligatory step that she was somewhat dreading: she had to tell her superior. And if there was one thing she was unable to determine at this hour, it was how he would react to her statement. She would have liked to ask JJ, but that would have tipped her off and she preferred to do things in order: first her boss, then the rest of the team.

She stood in front of his office door – still open – and knocked timidly, sticking her head through the crack. As usual, the giant was immersed in reading a file as if he'd been there for hours – which was probably the case.

“Hello, Hotch.”

“Hello, Kate,” he answered, rising his head.

“May I bother you for a moment?”

“Of course,” he said, shuting the pouch and inviting her to come closer.

She took a deep breath and entered the room before moving towards the desk under the inquisitive eye of the tenant. She did her best to hide her concern, but it was hard to escape the sharp gaze of an experienced profiler.

“I don't like that expression, he said, frowning. What’s going on?”

She took advantage of the time she spent sitting in the chair to breathe deeply and calm her panicked heartbeat. She kept telling herself that he wasn't going to eat her alive.

“I… I've got something to tell you,” she stammered, still in awe of the titan in the suit.

“Good news, I hope?”

“Well, it depends on your reaction.”

He took in the reflection with an even more perplexed air.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m pregnant.”

She had decided to get straight to the point so as not to get lost in a long, pointless speech and prolong this stressful moment. The bomb had now been dropped, and Hotch's attitude reassured her on the spot. His scowl immediately gave way to a discreet but sincere smile.

“Is it true?” he asked, his face completely relaxed.

“Yes,” she confirmed, feeling all her muscular tension disappear.

She was relieved to see him take it so well. 

“Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” she said, her cheeks reddening.

But his eyebrows furrowed again:

“Why should I have taken it the wrong way?”

“Because at some point I'm going to have to leave. Even momentarily, she argued, aware that her remark might have been hurtful. And that means you'll have to find a replacement for me, which means more work for you.”

“If that's all, I'm used to it, he retorted in a harmless tone. No, really, congratulations again to you and Chris.”

“I have to admit that it's come at us out of the blue, but it's great news.”

They had more or less made up their minds about the possibility of one day becoming parents, and now the miracle had happened. Discreetly, without making a fuss, the planets had aligned, and the process was now underway. She now prayed that no incident would tarnish their happiness.

“Does Meg know?” continued Hotch, apparently curious.

Kate's smile suddenly tightened.

“Uh… yes.”

“I have a feeling she didn't appreciate it.”

She sighed, unmasked. She hadn't set out to discuss the only shadow in the picture, but figured this was ultimately the perfect opportunity to open on the subject. As her opposite is a family man himself, he might be able to advise her on the right course of action.

“Not really, no. She knows she's not our biological child; we've never hidden that from her. She is “only” my niece. The arrival of this baby is…”

“She fears being replaced.”

It wasn't even a question, as the answer was so obvious.

“Yes, she asserted all the same. But this is absurd! I've always looked after her as if she were my own daughter. Yes, I didn't carry her in my belly or give birth to her, but I'd take a bullet for her without the slightest hesitation.”

She meant it. Ever since she'd adopted her, Meg had been everything to her. She loved her deeply and would show her fangs as soon as someone dared to hurt her, as if she were completely of her blood. But the teenager didn't see it that way, and Kate was worried about this epidermal rejection. 

“It's true that we'll probably spend more time with the baby, but not because we'll love her any less.  It's just that they won't be self-sufficient while she's thirteen, she said, unraveling her thoughts aloud. That doesn't mean we're going to kick her out.”

“Did you tell her all this?”

“She didn't give me the opportunity to do so. She braced herself right away and refuses to listen to me.”

She had just had time to make the announcement before the girl had leapt from her chair and gone to lock herself in her bedroom. She had then rebuffed all her attempts to approach her until she no longer responded at all to her calls through the door. This morning, she'd burst into the kitchen with her face closed and dodged their embrace to prepare breakfast in her own corner. She had glared at them when they tried to resume the dialogue, stopping them dead in their tracks. It was Chris who had taken charge of driving her to school, and he'd been no luckier on the journey. Contact had obviously broken down between them. 

“How long has she known?”

“Since yesterday.”

“Give her time to digest, Hotch calmly recommended. Even so, she's just learned that she's going to have to share all the attention she's received so far from you two, with a miniature human being.”

Kate completely knew why her niece reacted the way she did, but she found it hard to accept. Without knowing why, she had imagined that she would join them in rejoicing at this expansion of the family. Instead, she clammed up in silence, rejecting all their proposals for concerted action. A behavior that both saddened and hurt her. Meg was as important to her as her unborn child and losing her was inconceivable.

“Perhaps you could advise me on what I could do or say to her?”

“Oh, I'm afraid I'm in no position for that exercise,” objected the director immediately.

“Why?”

She knew he wasn't an only child and had hoped that his experience as the eldest sibling could guide her in finding the right words. It was intriguing that he should certify that he couldn't support her.

“Due to a chaotic family context, I took the arrival of my little brother very badly, he began justifying himself; and it's extremely unlikely that Jack will ever have a little brother or sister.”

“Oh. Yes, indeed, she understood better. We'll have to think about it some more then.”

“Sorry,” he apologized frankly.

Kate swayed her head to let him know it didn't matter. At least, she tried.

“Uh… can I ask you a favor?” she continued, a little hesitantly.

“Go on.”

“Would you mind not telling the others for the time being? I would like to tell them myself.”

It was news so dear to her heart that she wanted to share it with her colleagues as soon as possible, without any intermediaries. After her protégée's negative reaction, she needed positive feedback from other people who mattered to her to counterbalance it.

“No problem, agreed Hotch without struggling. A word of advice: tell Garcia last, or she'll tell the whole floor for you.”

“Noted,” she said with a smile.

And, as expected, she had alerted the rest of the team shortly afterwards as they crowded into the meeting room to discuss a new case. The agents congratulated her warmly and hugged her, joy lighting up their faces. She had felt a surge of energy rise within her, galvanized by these embraces and comforting words. So, she looked radiant as she sat in the back of the SUV on its way to the airport. Morgan took the wheel and JJ sat next to him.

“By the way, how come Hotch let me go with you?” she suddenly realized.

“What did you expect? Being tied to a chair?” joked Derek, looking at her through the center mirror.

“No, but he could prohibit me from going out into the field and confine me to administrative tasks.”

It was what she'd expected from him, anyway.

“He's already tried it and I think he's caught that you can't fight a pregnant woman. Especially when armed,” added the ex-policeman, hilariously.

“He tried with who?”

“Me, JJ logically denounced herself. I was on the team when I got pregnant with Henry and, as you said, initially he wanted me to stay at Quantico. But I managed to make him understand that I wasn't disabled, but pregnant, and that I'd be able to judge for myself what limits I shouldn't cross.”

The wiry blonde had quite a temper, so she immediately imagined the tug-of-war that must have taken place between the two that day.

“And he agreed?”

“He was a little grumpy for a few hours…”

“A few days,” corrected the driver.

“… but he agreed.”

That was nice to hear. She herself had no desire to sit behind a desk while her counterparts went out into the field.

“Well, I also think I was helped by the fact that I was a liaison officer at the time, so not necessarily on the front line. But he has been relatively cool.”

“By Hotchian standards,” said Morgan, mockingly.

Which wasn't automatically good news. The agency head may have been very forthcoming about some things, but he was uncompromising about others, and negotiation was impossible. He stuck to his guns and turned a deaf ear to everything he was told, no matter how strong the arguments.  

“That's reassuring,” she commented, disconcerted.

“But be careful, JJ challenged her, because in terms of protective instinct, he's going to the next level with you.”

Kate widened her eyelids in surprise.

“Because there is a next level?”

“Oh, yes!” trumpeted the pair, in chorus.

She soon realized that, behind his cantankerous exterior, Hotch hid a man who was particularly attentive to the well-being of his troops. He watched over them like a lioness protects her cubs, regularly checking on their health and spirits. She'd been very unsettled at first, but then, when she saw that her peers weren't paying any more attention than that, she realized that he was used to it. And even though he and Derek often went to each other’s throat, in truth he made no distinction of age or gender. All profilers were within his reach and deserved the same attention. She had, however, noticed a slight bias towards Spencer and Penelope, whom he brooded over even more than the others.

“How does it work?" she wanted to know, intrigued.

“If you don't want paramedic to arrive, avoid sneezing when he's around.”

Kate opened her mouth to retort to JJ's statement, unable to decide whether she was exaggerating or not, but found nothing to object to and burst out laughing in unison with her teammates.

___

And this is my last entry for the KidFic CM challenge. /o/

Actually, I have written another text, a pretty long one, but I'm not fond of the result and don't have time for translation right now. So, it's all set.

I don't write much thing about Kate era to be honest, so I hope I had the character well.

Enjoy!

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #hotch #agent hotchner #criminal minds fanfic #code name mom #derek morgan #morgan #agent morgan #jj #jennifer jareau #agent jareau #kate callahan

[codename-mom]

Cookie jar

Summary: The team is on the field without Hotch who's on a leave for some days, but they have to call him anyway. Suddenly, something happens and everybody worry about Jack.

Characters: BAU team and Jack Hotchner

Contents: TW a child is hurt (but everything is fine) and a tiny bit of angst because can't be anything else but anxious.

This is a text written for the KidFic CM challenge organized by @imagining-in-the-margins.

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

The team had gathered in the room the police had assigned them – a cubbyhole, so to speak, cluttered with cardboard boxes and mops – and Derek dialed Hotch's cell phone number. The latter was on leave for a few days. His men were reluctant to call him when he did, so that he could enjoy his time away from Quantico to the full, but they had no choice. The first clues found in the field echoed those of an old case the director and Jason Gideon had worked on in the past. As the latter had vanished into thin air, they could only contact the former.

He picked up after several rings.

“Hotch?”

“One moment, he stopped him on the spot. Jack, I said no. I’m coming back.”

Morgan had put his phone on speaker so that everyone could follow the conversation, and so they all heard the TV gradually fading away, until it was almost muffled. They imagined he must have gone to his bedroom, or some other room where he could close the door behind him.

“What's the matter?” he asked, in an annoyed tone.

“Sorry to bother you,” apologized Emily, trying to appease him.

It wasn't certain that this impromptu call was the cause of his irritation, but if in doubt, it was best to try and smooth things over.

“Tell me,” he ordered, his intonation unchanged.

“We've potentially got a resurrected serial killer,” the ex-policeman attested.

“If I tell you: branding on the shoulder, chains on the ankles and whipping. Does it speak to you?” went on Dave, next to him.

A silence passed, during which he had to return to his memories.

“… Yes, but the culprit was sentenced to life.”

“Actually, he passed away last month, Derek clarified. But the last victim was killed on Monday.”

“His accomplice was released for good behavior last year, but his file disappeared, Prentiss explained from across the table. Can you remember his name?”

“I imagine you've already searched the digital archives for this information.”

“Affirmative, confirmed Penelope, who had come with them for the occasion. And there’s nothing. The guy just disappeared.”

The agency manager fell silent again. For a long time. The profilers stared at each other, tense.

“Hotch?” impatiently asked Morgan.

“Just a moment, I'm trying to remember, thundered his superior. His name was… De…”

A loud crash and a breaking glass could be heard in the background, and everyone froze as the giant shouted:

“Jack!”

A door opened and footsteps moved away from the handset. Clearly, the giant had left his phone behind. Tension gripped the whole group, their senses on the alert and their hearts pounding against their ribs. 

“Did we kill tiny-Hotch?” moaned Garcia, on the verge of tears.

In the distance, the voice of the father calling his son made them fear the worst. Then the little boy started screaming at the top of his lungs, and everyone shuddered.

“Apparently not,” ironized Emily, who wasn't putting up much more of a fight than her colleagues.

“What do I do? wondered Derek, unsettled by the situation. I hang up?”

“Maybe he'll come back to us,” Spencer stated uncomfortably.

“I don't think so,” objected JJ, listening intently to the distant din.

“Why?”

“This is clearly the cry of a child in real pain.”

As the only mother in the unit, they trusted her judgment without a hesitation.

“Well, maybe I'll hang up now,” voiced Morgan, ready to press the button.

“Wait,” advised Rossi.

Jack was still crying loudly, perhaps a little quieter than a few moments earlier, but more importantly, they noticed that the sound was now moving. And he grew weaker and weaker until he disappeared completely.

“It sounded a lot like a door slamming,” Prentiss claimed, her eyebrows furrowing.

“You can hang up now,” Dave confirmed.

Derek obeyed sighing. He hadn't expected such a turn of events and now felt guilty about what had just happened. He knew the kid a little and he was always delighted to see him, his eyes shining with admiration every time. Like his counterparts, he didn't know what had occurred, but feared that something grave had happened, which would leave neither the child nor its progenitor unscathed.

“It could have been worse,” pointed out JJ.

Everyone looked at her, bewildered.

“Are you kidding? Retorted the brunette. I don't know what’s going on, but it's serious enough that Hotch left with him.”

“Yes, but Jack was crying.”

“So what?” inquired Morgan, confused.

“That means he was conscious,” Reid attested confidently.

The man who had taken over the leadership of the team when Aaron was absent took a long breath and ordered his peers to get back to work in spite of everything. They worked with this question in the back of their minds: how was Jack doing? Based on the thin clue left by their superior, they searched, groped, and modified their profile until they found a certain Denis Porter, who turned out to be their unsub. All this in record time. Since they were in the neighboring state, they returned to the Quantico offices while it was still daylight. Immediately, the worry that had been nagging them all came back to mind, and synchronously, they looked at their phones. None of them had received a message, which didn't reassure them at all.

“Penelope, do you have any way of knowing which hospital he was admitted to?” inquired JJ.

“Why do you ask? teased her colleague, who immediately took to her keyboard. I'll do it right away, my little ones.”

She typed the toddler's first and last names into her search engine and the result appeared almost instantly on her screen. All gathered around the analyst in her colorful lair, they read the information at the same time.

“Let's go,” commanded Emily, leading the way.

A few minutes later, they jumped in two Bureau SUVs and headed for downtown Washington DC, following the itinerary on their GPS. They parked quickly and hurried to the reception desk. The nurse behind the counter was somewhat surprised to see the herd arrive, armed and determined, but was reassured to see Derek's warm smile. She directed them to the pediatric emergency room on the other side of the building. Together, they made their way through the corridors until they reached another admissions department, where they were given the room number.

They shared a similar fear at this moment. They dreaded discovering the state of the youngster and prayed the titan wasn’t ready to drop again. He'd already suffered enough; he didn't deserve to be in even worse shape. Morgan didn't have the courage to knock on the door, which was ajar but not wide enough for them to see what was going on inside. Rossi did it for him.

“Knock, knock!”

“Come in,” Hotch reacted, in his usual tone.

They took a few steps and saw the boy lying on a bed, in a hospital gown, his head turbaned, but grinning from ear to ear. His father was sitting in a chair on the other side of the bed, and a brief chuckle lifted the corner of his lips. Relieved, all the agents took Jack in their arms one after the other – except Spencer, who simply banged his fist against his. The girls added a kiss on his cheek and told him he was very brave. The effusive reunion over, Aaron declared:

“Denis Porter.”

“Yes, we found him,” Dave replied, squeezing his shoulder.

“Good.”

He didn't have the expression of someone satisfied with their work. He still looked distressed.

“What happened?” said JJ, asking aloud the question they'd all been asking themselves.

“Mister wanted a cookie. I pointed out to him that it wasn't the right time, but he waited until my back was turned to take one.”

“And?” bounced Prentiss.

“Well, he had his cookie. A lot of cookies. And the jar itself.”

The adults' gaze swiveled towards the injured boy, who gave them his best little rascal smile. He had no regrets about what he'd done. Some of the visitors felt sorry for him, once again showering him with hugs, while the others shook their heads in disappointment.

“Concussion?” continued JJ.

“It’s what we’re waiting to see. He has been under observation since 3:30 p.m.”

They reflexively glanced at their watches. He had been here for almost three hours.

“He looks okay, Derek remarked as he sat down on the bed next to him. Right, buddy?”

“Yeah.”

“Tomorrow you'll be a hero at school,” affirmed Rossi, leaning against the bedposts.

“Yeah!” exulted Jack, proudly.

“Because he took a cookie jar to the forehead?” judged Emily, eyebrows furrowed.

“Scars,” Reid whispered, in a tone of obviousness.

“… Guys...” sighed the three women in unison, as they saw the same victorious expression on the faces of their male comrades.

Someone knocked on the door and a nurse entered, a little disconcerted to see so many people in the room.

“Mr. Hotchner?”

“Yes,” responded the interested party, rising to his feet.

“Can you come with me for a moment?”

Instinctively, he turned to his offspring and met his irises.

“We'll look after him, Hotch, Penelope reassured him, having grasped the source of his apprehension. Go.”

His teammates nodded in support, and Aaron very gently kissed his son on his bandaged forehead before leaving the room. Without them needing to ask, the hero of the day began to tell them all about his adventures, dwelling on unimportant details, forgetting the end of some of his sentences to go back and move on to something else, and surely exaggerating certain facts. All this with boundless energy and plenty of grand gestures that definitely appeased them about his state of health.

However, Morgan saw the nurse pass by again in the other direction out of the corner of his eye and was puzzled not to see Hotch reappear immediately afterwards. He waited a little longer, in vain. He apologized to his fellows and returned to the corridor. He discovered the giant a few yards away, leaning against the wall, a document in his hand. His pupils turned towards the ground, he seemed lost. Derek felt a vise tighten around his throat. What if…?

“Trouble?”

“What? gasped the manager, rudely jolted from his thoughts. No. This is the exit voucher. Everything is fine.”

The former policeman relaxed.

“So why the long face?”

The agency head lowered his nose, dodging his gaze, before sighing. Then he lifted his chin and turned his dark irises on him.

“… How did your mother do it?”

“To what?” he reacted, taken aback by this private question.

“To raise three children on her own into perfect adults.”

He couldn't help but burst out laughing, even though his interlocutor had spoken very seriously. At least he understood why he looked so downcast when all the indicators were green. As usual, the ex-prosecutor scourged himself for not having been able to protect a loved one, when there was no reason to do so.

“I'm not sure she'd say that,” he joked to lighten the mood.

“You arrest serial killers and, from what I've seen, your sisters don't seem to be into organized crime.”

Seen like that, indeed, his mother had done a very good job of keeping them on the straight and narrow. But that didn't mean the road wasn't full of bumps.

“Hotch, what happened was an accident, as it happens in every family in the world. I did the same stunt when I was a kid and, obviously, I'm fine.”

It was the truth. He himself had taken a tin of candy on the corner of his skull when he was a little older than the director's son. He had climbed onto a chair and then onto the kitchen counter before stretching out to grab the object of his desire, which his mother had placed as high up in the room as possible. In the end, he found himself in the emergency room with a huge lump on his forehead. The images were no longer so clear in his mind, but he still remembered his mother's concern as she brought him unconscious to the hospital. The same expression of anguish and guilt appeared on his neighbor's face.

“Hotch, Jack's moving, he's talking, and he's got clearance to get out of here. So, everything is okay.”

“Then why do I feel like the worst father in the world?” he retorted, not daring to look up.

He almost replied that it was because he had very low self-esteem, but restrained himself to give him a more consensual, but no less correct answer.

“You were scared for him, it’s normal.”

“But it's not just that, he despaired, peeling himself away from the wall to walk down the corridor. I constantly asking for help. To Jessica, to Haley’s mother, to my own mother… even JJ. I’m incapable of taking care of him all by myself.”

Morgan was touched despite himself by the disarray of his opposite, who was still struggling to adapt to his new life as a single father. Not being in his situation, he couldn't really give him advice, but could always try to make him see reason.

“Hotch, I think all parents ask other people for help. My mother would ask other women in the neighborhood for advice, and some of them would even babysit us. Your mother must have done the same thing, JJ does and I'm pretty sure Haley did too. You're no more incapable than anyone else.”

He and his sisters had spent entire afternoons and weekends at their aunts' so that their mother could work or simply have time for herself, and none of her children had had the audacity to reproach her in any way.

“… I wish I could be as sure as you are.”

Derek rolled his eyes and held back from kicking his butt. His propensity for only seeing the glass as half empty annoyed him to no end, but he tempered his urge to strangle him by reminding himself that the context wasn't helping either. So, he chose a gentler method.

“Does Jack smile?”

“What?” exclaimed Aaron, raising his nose.

“Do you see Jack smiling?”

“Yes.”

“Laugh?”

“Yes.”

“Does he tell you he loves you? Without you having to tell him beforehand or giving him something he wanted?”

“Yes.”

“So, everything is good.”

The giant analyzed the exchange they had just had, and his subordinate saw his features gradually relax. He fixed his gaze in his again and, with a pale smile, said:

“… Thank you.”

Morgan's lips stretched warmly, and he laid a hand on his shoulder in return. The two men then went to the little boy's room, where his father told him the good news.

___

This idea jumped in my head after my first watch of season 5 and this dialogue between Derek and Hotch, where Derek has decided to write his own report to leave more free time for him to take care of Jack (because he knows what it is to be a single parent).

That scene was so cute, that I needed to imagine another peaceful moments between the two of them. Because we all know that they appreciate each other more than they will confess it. Because boys are boys...

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #hotch #agent hotchner #criminal minds fanfic #code name mom #agent garcia #garcia #agent morgan #david rossi #penelope garcia #derek morgan #morgan #agent rossi #rossi #emily prentiss #prentiss #agent prentiss #spencer reid #reid #doctor reid #jack hotchner #bau team #jj #jennifer jareau #agent jareau

[codename-mom]

Is Hotch autistic?

Well, if you take into account the official material, the answer is: no. Or, at least, he’s never shown like that, and it’s never mentioned that he could be.

Now, if the question is: do I think Hotch is autistic? The answer is: yes.

Why do I think that?

First of all, I want to precise that my knowledges in that domain are limited, so there will be inconsistencies and imprecisions in the text below. I’m sorry if I hurt some of you doing so, it wasn’t the purpose of it (feel free to correct me, with manners please). And, on the other hand, it’s a very personal point of view. As so, this post is in no way canon.

TW: mention of child/domestic abuse, anxiety, CM violence

The first two aspects of his personality which might fit with the autistic Hotch hypothesis, and which are pretty obvious are:

His lack of expressiveness

Hotch is able to smile, we saw it in a few episodes, to laugh, to cry and even to be very angry (do I need to specify which episode I’m referring to?); so he feels emotions like anyone else, but his ability to express them is far below how JJ, Derek, Dave or Emily does. Most of the time, the character appears stoic, eyebrows furrowed, straight mouth, no matter what’s going on around or other protagonist reaction.

Yet, we know that he has empathy (he’s moved when Foyet killed seven innocents people in the bus, he’s about to fall in tears with that burnt woman (S02E19) and he cried when he accompany that man who has to watch his son’s death (S07E10)), we know that he’s careful about his men (he reassured Penelope after he was harsh with her, he took Spencer in his arms after they freed him from Tobias Hankel, he worried (a lot) about Emily when she was with Cyrus, etc.) and we know that he’s sensitive to what people say or don’t say to him (he returned Derek’s words about his defaults (S03E02) and he’s hurt when he realizes that JJ hide her pregnancy to him) BUT he doesn’t show it.

We can argue that he was trained for that purpose, but it’s supposed to apply when he is with witnesses, victims, or suspects; not when he’s with his men or his relatives. And he’s not especially expressive with Jack, for example.

(Look how happy he is! /o/)

He is, however, more with Haley and Beth, but not that much.

What are the reasons for this difficulty in expressing emotions?

If, like we can suspect it by listening to his dialogue with Vincent (S01E08), his father was violent (to him, to his mother or both), he could have learnt to hide his emotions to survive. Now a grown-up, he doesn’t know how to express them the right way.

Or he is shy/introvert. I already talked about that in a previous post, but Aaron is a shy guy, who pull himself away, who avoid spotlights and who don’t want to disturb people around with his problems. Laughing out loud, ranting loudly or shouting out of rage, it’s not his temper (for the last point, we can flatten it because we know that he’s able to yell to be the bad cop (S04E13), because something touched him personally (the husband who beat his wife in Alaska) or because we’re stepping on his toes (he’s mad at Jordan because she defied his authority in front of everyone and she lied to witnesses to obtain information, two things he doesn’t like at all)).

Or he doesn’t simply know how to express them. He’s not able to identify them clearly, so he adopts a neutral expression, which cracks when he’s feeling the strongest emotions (joy, sadness, or anger). And that is closed to autistic’s features. 

He stares at people

It’s impossible to not note that point. Spencer himself said at the beginning of season 5 that he had never seen Hotch blink since his arrival at the BAU.

Neurotypical people don’t do that. During a conversation, gaze moves all the time: it could stay put for a moment, but it’ll move when the person will try to remember something, think to what they’re going to say, watch at something around or be attracted by a movement somewhere near. It’s not what Hotch do: he stares continuously at the person who he’s talking to or who’s talking to him. He looks away when he estimates that the conversation is over. And no matter the status of the one in front of him.

And autists are known for having trouble with how they’re supposed to place their gaze during a conversation: they can stare at everything else but the people in front of them (that’s what Spencer do), or they do like Hotch. In an episode of L&O: CI, Goren and Eames faced an autistic suspect who has learnt to not stare at people after a certain amount of time. Well, it’s not a reliable source (far from it), but we find again the fact that autists can stare intensely at people.

And, as a shy person, I can assure you that we don’t do such thing (on a contrary, we’d rather look away to not be perceived as intrusive or aggressive).

Now, let’s talk about his less obvious features that can attest his neuro-divergency.

Proprioception issues

What proprioception is first? To make the thing simple, it’s all the nervous messages continuously sent by every part of our body to our brain and which it uses then to manage our moves and actions. To give you an example: thanks to our proprioception we are able to know that we’re falling and then our brain can order us to rise our arms or to move our foot so we won’t be hurt much, or we will stay standing up. It’s also thanks to our proprioception that we know that we’re hungry, thirsty, cold, hot, sleepy, or hurt.

Autistic people have trouble with their proprioception because they don’t recognize their internal sensations: they can be hurt and don’t notice or suffer from sunstroke without being conscious of it.

And we can see many times Hotch being hurt and still continues to act like everything is fine. In New York, despite is ripped eardrum and his many wounds, he runs everywhere like a young puppy (adrenaline can do the trick however). When he stops that unsub provoking a car crash, he’s stunned but still ready to chase him (S04E23). When his ear bleeds again, still in New York, he doesn’t pay attention (but, again, adrenaline can have anesthetic effects). 

We can counterargue underlying that he may pretends to not worry his men (because he’s shy, remember), but in Route 66 episode, he suffers from internal bleeding without him to notice anything. He realizes that he’s not okay a few seconds before he passes out (so hours after the beginning of the problem). And that, it can’t be allocate to his will to not disturb people around (the “excuse me” can be, cf. my previous post).

We can also add that, very often, we see all the other characters drinking coffee and eating, when he doesn’t. He does when everyone is around a table at the end of a mission (Las Vegas, in that Mexican restaurant, etc.), but it could be led by a group effect: he’s not specifically hungry, he just follows his subordinates.

And we can’t count the number of time where he’s awake late at night. In fact, the simple fact that he’s at Quantico very early in the morning and very late at night induces that he doesn’t sleep much. JJ and Emily both have remarks about it: first one saying that he stays as much as she does (S03E09) and the second one asking when he slept.

All that can be signs of his autism.

Hyper-fixation

Hyper-fixation is not only to be interested by a subject to the point to collect everything about it and to do deep research about it. Any music band, movie or TV shows fan could fit in that box. No, hyper-fixation designates the fact that the person who suffers from it deep dives so much into their task that they forget to answer their most basic needs of their body, like eating, drinking, going to restrooms, cleaning themselves, or sleeping. It’s not harmless, far from it.

And Hotch is a master to stay late at night without sleeping (I won’t do the list of every episode where he’s the only one left on the sixth floor or where he’s working in his bedroom when all the other sleep). And to think that he also forgets to eat and to drink, there’s only one step to do.

We can put that on the fact that he’s not especially motivated to go back to his place after his divorce, but he was already doing it when he was married (to Haley’s dismay) and he’s still doing it when his son is waiting for him (and it’s very kind of his ex-sister-in-law to take care of him in his place).

And for his hotel insomnia, we can suggest that his (extreme) professional conscience pushes him to continue to work far after the usual schedule. But the others are not less conscientious, and they sleep.

So, it’s possible that in addition to the fact that he doesn’t feel his body calls, he can also lose notion of time and space regularly. And that fits with the autistic Hotch hypothesis.

Change issues

Autists can have difficulties to apprehend and handle changes in their daily routine. We can see it with Spencer who is very disturbed by Gideon and Blake’s departure, who are two people with who he had a strong connection.

And we can see it also with Hotch who shows difficulties to adapt to changes. First, he’s always wearing the same outfit, even when it’s not necessary (we see it with the others: suit and tie are not mandatory), which means that he’s following a daily routine.

Then, when JJ has to leave the first time, he expresses his discomfort multiple times: he doesn’t appreciate the news of her pregnancy first (S03E20), he underlines that they’re going to be lost without her (S04E06?) and, most of all, he struggles a lot to accept Jordan Todd’s presence in his team. Some will say that it’s because he’s sexist and racist, but it’s forgotten that JJ is a woman, that Derek is a POC and that, later, he’ll hire Tara willingly.

We don’t have many elements on the way he adapts to Jack’s presence in his daily life after Haley’s death (we only know that Jessica takes care of him most of the time, but he taught him to read and he and JJ clearly help themselves to drive their children to school), so it’s difficult to dig more in this feature. Moreover, that this aspect is reduced, then muted in the following seasons.

No social life

Unlike all the other members of his team who interact with people who are not federal agents (JJ and Spencer with their mother, Derek with his mother, his sisters and his aunt, Emily and her childhood friends, Penelope and her brothers, and Dave with his ex-wives, his daughter, his grandson and a certain amount of acquaintances), Hotch has no interaction with someone else but his team and other federal agents (curiously, mostly women). Outside of them, he interacts only with Jack and Jessica. Even Spencer is seen with former classmates (S02E18, S07E11).

There are several explanations for this.

It may be a hole in the script because the writers didn’t want to dig into this aspect of the character (we already see him a lot on the screen, the others need some space too). So, he has friends, but we don’t know them.

Or he doesn’t have any. Because he never succeeded to make some or because he wasn’t able to keep contact with them through time. In any case, it can be relevant of the fact that, like many autists, social interactions are landmine field for him. He can’t analyze emotions of people around him, as he can’t analyze his, so he avoids interacting with strangers or, when he does, he doesn’t act the right way and people run away from him.

Knowing that he is a profiler, it makes this suggestion absurd, unless if you think that he’s only able to identify specific behavior from sociopaths and everything else is just nonsense for him. We see multiple times that his reactions or replies provoke astonishment for the people who are not part of his team.

But it can also fit with the shyness theory. When you are shy and/or introvert, talking to stranger is hard as hell. As so, shy people don’t have many friends and/or acquaintances.   

[Well, yes, I forgot: he has his brother - and they don't appreciate each other - and his former father-in-law - who hates him deeply.]

Tactless

I don’t think any of you will contradict me on that point, but Hotch can be very direct. And he doesn’t hesitate, and he doesn’t seem to care about the consequences of his words on his target’s hubris or self-esteem.

And, for someone who studies to become a lawyer/prosecutor, it’s quite peculiar: he’s supposed to be eloquent, to know how to handle the verb, and to be able to reel people; instead, he humiliates a lawyer in front of the Court underlying his too short pants, his low-cost clothes, and his habits of (bad) gambler. He could have used statistics to make his point but preferred this brutal method.

And he acts like that many times during the show: he says to Strauss that she’s a bad mother, he scolds Prentiss at the beginning of their cohabitation, he is harsh multiple times with Derek, Penelope, Jordan, and with police officers and others… well, many examples. The guy is upfront, and he doesn’t care about good manners. He says what he thinks.  

By the way, we can remark that politics and him don’t match. Every time he has to play a political game, he refuses, or he fails in the end (S02E11, S02E16, S04E16). To lie, to be a hypocrite, bowing, it’s not his thing. Which means that he’s more the frank type.

If we add to this that it’s more than obvious that he was doing well with Kate Joyner who was also the frank type, we can suppose that he appreciates honest and direct people, like him. Why? Maybe because he doesn’t get innuendo, unspoken, pretense… that are, I think, difficult to catch for autists.

However, we can’t totally discard the fact that he is also the provocative type. We know that he has a juvenile record and that he can be very sarcastic, which means that behind his good manners and his controlled speech, he has a rebellious temper and a real issue with authority. The fact that he wasn’t much expressive can’t help us determine when he voluntarily speaks frankly to have a reaction or when he hurts people by mistake.  

Rigidity

Hotch is stiff. And I don’t say that because is as straight as a chopstick. No, he’s mentally stiff. Derek says that he is a drill-sergeant and JJ, a bully, which means that their boss is quite uncompromising. About what? We don’t really know, but as he read/write all the reports of his team members, that he asks Emily for a missing piece in her report and that he tramples on Derek when he did the correction of his draft (when Derek noticed that they don’t have enough for a profile), we can suggest that he’s uber fussy about that.

Seeing how he’s mad at Jordan when he catches her lying to the family of a victim, we understand that he hates that. As much as he hates when his men play solo (Spencer, Seaver, Derek) putting themselves in danger and/or putting all the team in danger – notice that HE can. He also hates when people give nicknames to serial killers.

Maybe this is going to be a headcanon, but I think that Hotch is typically the kind of person who is incapable of breaking rules; rules made by society/the institution he works for (ex: driving above the speed limits/having an intimate relationship with one of his subordinates) or rules made by himself (ex: not lying to witnesses during an investigation). To break these rules asks him a real effort and he’s immediately uncomfortable with it. And when he sees people around breaking them, he’s as much uncomfortable (he’s tolerating Kevin around Penelope in the limits he has made).

This struggle can come from his autism.  

Anxiety

First of all, it’s important to say that if autists suffer of anxiety (because of everything above), it doesn’t mean that every anxious people are autistic nor that every autist is anxious. But it’s part of the many symptoms of autism.

This said, let’s go back to Hotch who is with no doubt an anxious guy. We see him regularly expressing nervous tics when he’s in an uneasy situation for him: he presses his fingers into his fists, he digs his nails into his skin, he bites his lips, etc.

The fact that he’s always wearing the same outfit and that he sticks to a daily routine is typical of anxious people, because it’s a way for them to soothe their anguish. The shyness is also a factor of anxiety and, we see it, that outside of a professional context, Aaron is not the coolest person ever: he’s clumsy with Jack, he’s clumsy with Beth, he’s clumsy with this woman Dave pushes into his arms, etc. Actually, he’s uneasy every time he’s not protected anymore by his suit and his FBI badge. He’s uneasy when he has to go out of his comfort zone and when he’s facing random events he can’t control.

Besides, Hotch says to Derek that he’s writing his subordinates’ reports for them. He adds that it’s to give his agents more free time – it’s probably the official reason he gives to himself – but, for real, it’s because, as an anxious guy, it reassures him.  

Peculiar sense of humor

When Hotch tried to motivate his men to throw at him his worst defaults, he started saying he has no sense of humor.

But, for real, he has one. His humor is really dry: he says his humorous lines with the same monochord tone as usual and his face shows no sign that could help people around to guess that it’s supposed to be fun. So, you really need to know him well to catch that.

Hotch: "I'm wearing it [his cape]"

But he clearly has a sense of humor: we can see it with JJ, with Beth, with Spencer, with Dave, etc. Haley asked him, as her last words, to show their son how funny he can be, how he was able to make her laugh. He can also be very sarcastic, which is another form of humor.

He’s able to understand puns too because we can see him smile and laugh multiple times, but we can also notice that sometimes he takes the lines right to the letter (S04E07).

And autistic people don’t necessarily have the same sense of humor than neurotypical people: they can laugh on something that won’t be funny for neurotypicals or not laugh on something that will make other people laugh (ex: the remark about the flowers in the middle of a crime scene).

Huge knowledges

It’s a point I put very low on the list because as he always avoids the light, Hotch doesn’t expose his real knowledge (on the reverse, Spencer talks a lot about what he knows, not necessarily at the best time). But we can guess, paying very attention, that the guy is quite clever.

First of all, we hear him quoting books or recognizing quotes, exactly like Spencer. Which means that he memorized precisely what he has read. Which is not easy at all (try to quote me a book you love you’ve read ten years ago. Difficult, isn’t it?).

Then, we catch from one spare line here and there that he has many knowledges: he collected pennies when he was a kid, he knows the meaning of tarot card, he recognizes the scale model of a James Bond car, he knows theatre (even if he was a poor actor), etc.; it’s quite an heterogenous knowledge but he can spill it anytime it’s needed.

And we can’t forget that he was in law school to become a federal prosecutor, which induce that he studied for years and that he has to remember a ton of laws for all the country.

Ability to understand autistic people

Hotch is, at multiple times, the only one able to follow Spencer complicate reasonings. Now, Spencer is undoubtedly autistic (and if you think he’s not, I invite you to rewatch the show). What can make us think that he can understand him because he has the same way of thinking.

---

With all this, we can add his singular way of speaking (monochord tone, polished language), the fact that he doesn’t talk about his feelings to his relatives (there was clearly a communication issue between him and Haley), and his huge empathy for his subordinates (about whom he worries a lot all the time).

Actually, you have to keep in mind that a good part of this troubles can be explained by his rough childhood he seems to have had (“seems” because the only real thing we know is that his father was unfaithful, period), his anxiety, and his natural shyness too.

But, for me, he’s autistic and he doesn’t know it. It’s not the reason why I felt for him (this point of view hit me way after I started to write about him) and it doesn’t make him any sexy-er or something, it’s just a part of his character I add to the pile of the many aspects of his personality. It’ll be briefly treated in my main CM fanfic: “Code Name: Mom”, but deeply treated in my two Hotchniss fanfics. So, don’t be surprised if you read from time-to-time innuendos about his neuro-divergency, it’s on purpose.

And happy autism acceptance month everyone! 😊

(And remember, this is a personal point of view, you perfectly have the right to think differently. ;) )

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #hotch #agent hotchner #autism

[codename-mom]

Around an ice cream

Summary: Jessica went to the park with Jack when Hotch was working and the little boy has a curious reaction when he saw her with an ice cream too.

Characters: Jack Hotchner and Jessica Brooks (and a tiny bit of Hotch in the end)

Contents: TW this text is really, really angsty but there is an happy ending. Indeed, Jessica is explaining what grief and guilt are to her five years old nephew, so it's not funny at all

This is a text written for the KidFic CM challenge organized by @imagining-in-the-margins.

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

“You get an ice cream?”

Jessica was caught off guard by Jack's questioning. His small hand in hers, her nephew looked at her as if she'd done something exceptional. At five years old, he still had a lot to learn, but the query was still surprising.

“Yes. Adults like ice cream too, you know.”

Taking care of the little one in place of his father – who worked all week from very early in the morning to very late at night – she had taken advantage of the fine weather to take him out for some fresh air. The sight of the ice-cream truck had prompted her to offer one to the toddler, whose eyes lit up as he retrieved his cone. At the same time, she had decided to treat herself too, and had set her sights on a coffee ball. 

“Dad, when we go to the park together, he never takes ice cream,” continued the boy, intrigued.

“Really?” she reacted with a twinge of sadness.

“Yes.”

A dizziness seized her furtively and she breathed in hard to keep from wavering. She knew that, despite his fake smile, her ex-brother-in-law wasn't well, but she didn't know it was this bad. However, she felt the child was far too young to know any better. So, she opted for a white lie:

“… Maybe he doesn’t like that. Some people prefer to eat salty foods rather than sweet ones.”

“But…”

His fine eyebrows furrowed as he pondered what to say while giving his chocolate ball a lick.

“Dad, when we do groceries together, he always asks me what I want and he never takes things that he wants.”

Which didn't surprise her in the least. For as long as she'd known him, she'd consistently seen Aaron bend to the desires of others and wish for nothing for himself. What he needed had always been the last of his priorities, but she had the feeling that it went further than usual. But, once again, she evaded the question so as not to worry the cherub any further.

“He just wants to please you, it’s normal.”

“Why?” bounced the youngster, licking his ice cream again.

“Because it’s what daddies do. They look after their children before themselves.”

“Why?”

“It’s to show them that they love them. And your dad loves you very much.”

She had absolutely no doubt about it but was aware that it wasn't really for this reason that Aaron was ignoring his desires.

“But I also want him to eat things he wants to eat, moaned her little neighbor. It’s always things that I want to eat he eats.”

Jack had inherited the generous, benevolent nature of both his parents, and his father's lack of impulses obviously unsettled him greatly. She understood his concern and wondered whether she shouldn't discuss it with the giant face to face, but quickly realized that he would agree to reassure her without changing his behavior. He was, yet, in no emotional state to give himself a break. At least, it was obvious that her words wouldn't reach him, even if she was right. But if…

“… Have you told him yet?”

“No.”

“Maybe you should tell him.”

He opened his eyes wide, completely forgetting his ice cream melting on his sleeve, and suggested, hesitantly:

“Can’t you tell him?”

“I think it'll work better if you tell him.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

She took his hand again and smiled to calm him, then they walked to a shady bench. Jack ate his ice cream almost reflexively. He wasn't at all enjoying this pleasure his aunt had wanted to give him. A reaction that gripped her heart. She would have liked some levity in the daily life of this little boy who had just undergone a terrible ordeal, but the mini wheels of his developing brain cluttered his mind with a multitude of questions, and it was her duty as an adult to answer them.

“What's the matter, sweetie?” she asked, not without some trepidation.

“Why does he do that?” he reacted right away, raising his hazel eyes to her.

“Why does he do what?”

“He always does what I want, he clarified, his small legs swinging in the air. When we play a game, I always choose.”

She could already see what he was getting at, and an answer immediately formed in her head, but she pushed it away with all her might. It was inconceivable to discuss such things with a toddler barely five years old.

“Games for adults are too complicated for you to understand, darling.”

“I also choose the evening movies.”

“You wouldn't be able to see the movies he can. They're too violent or too complex for a child your age.”

“On weekends, when we do an activity, it's always an activity for me. Never for him.”

“But you'd be bored in an adult activity, dear.”

Jessica crossed her fingers that this would be enough to make him think that everything was fine, that his father was simply adapting his behavior in the presence of his offspring.

“But... hiccupped the latter, his eyebrows furrowed; he could go with some friends of his and I'd go to your place, or Grandma Ada's, or Grandma Helen's.”

It was a failure. Clearly, Jack had also inherited his father's foresight and propensity for not wanting to disturb those closest to him. If he was allowed to do things and have fun with other children, then it was only right that his sire should be allowed to do the same. Which he didn’t. And she knew why. But explaining it to someone so young without frightening, shocking or saddening them was a daunting task. But she had already realized that she wouldn't be able to ignore it completely, as this inquiry had been burrowing into her nephew's mind for too long.

She then took a deep breath and, swallowing to try and get rid of the knot in her throat, she launched herself into her own words:

“… Okay. Have you ever felt that unpleasant sensation in your body when you know you've done bad things, but nobody knows it yet?”

“Yes,” he admitted, shaking his head.

“Well, it’s what we call guilt. And your daddy, he feels that a... – she couldn't bring herself to say: "all the time", even though it was the truth – very often.”

Jack stared at her with an attention that required her to concentrate harder than ever to conceal her emotions. She didn't have Aaron's mastery of this exercise and felt she would struggle to get to the end of her talk without letting out a tear. She was very attached to her ex-brother-in-law despite everything that had happened, and knowing he was in such pain crushed her insides. 

“Why? Does he do bad things?”

“Actually, he doesn't, but he thinks he does.”

“I don't get it,” confessed her nephew, pouting.

Which was hardly surprising. Even for the people around him, it was a phenomenon difficult to understand. But the fact was, that's exactly what it was: he blamed himself for things no one blamed him for. There must surely be a technical term for this, except that she didn't know what it was. The people around him who were aware of this aspect of his personality downplayed his fears – perhaps with the idea of appeasing him and getting him to move on to another subject – or made fun of them without investigating the origin of this negative attitude. She wasn't an expert on the subject, but she'd been around the giant long enough to be able to claim to have a pretty good grasp of the character. And what her sister's son told her worried her greatly.

“It’s… it's a bit complicated to explain, sweetheart,” she declared, hoping this would encourage him to give up the game.

“Just explain it in words for small ones.”

“What?” she croaked, surprised.

“That's how Dad explains things to me. With words for little ones,” he said, dipping his tongue into the cone to retrieve the melted ice.

She could add stubbornness to the list of things he'd inherited from his parents, Haley and Aaron having been and being quite stubborn on certain points, never wanting to budge despite an informed counterargument. Jessica sighed and tried to organize her thoughts, putting the darkest ones at the bottom of the list, and hoping she wouldn't need to pull them out. 

“…Your dad feels guilty because he's not there to take care of you.”

“He is. He was here last night, affirmed the youngster, before continuing. And the night before. And the weekend before. And many other days before too.”

She couldn't help smiling at the simplicity of the boy's reasoning. He didn't see his father every day, but he had no problem with that. If only Aaron could see it that way...

“Yes, but he thinks he should be with you all the time.”

“But he can't, he has to work. He's got to catch the bad guys,” Jack objected in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Yes, but in his head, he thinks he should take care of you first before dealing with the bad guys. And… - she hesitated, aware that she was venturing onto a slippery slope - he thinks I mind taking care of you.”

Anxiety took shape on the spot on the little boy's very expressive face, with chocolate all around his mouth and even on the tip of his nose.

“You mind?”

“Not at all, angel, she reassured him immediately. I love taking care of you. You’re my nephew, it’ll never bother me.”

It would have been a lie to say it wasn't a heavy load, but she had no children of her own and, with Haley gone, she was left with only her descendant to deal with this early and brutal grief. Jack was the glimmer of joy that encouraged her to get up every morning and showed her the way. He still had so much to learn and so much to discover that she didn't care how much energy she had to expend to accomplish her mission. She was happy to be there, by his side, at every new step he took in his life as a human being. Seeing him smile and hearing him laugh nourished her body with new strength every day.

“So why does Dad think it bothers you?”

“Because that's the way he thinks. He thinks he's annoying everyone; she attested as a vise tightened around her ribcage. He… he thinks he is a bad father.”

And she hadn't had to guess, since he'd told her so openly. Multiple times.

“No! It’s not true!” shouted Jack, outraged.

“I know. I never cease to tell him, but… he doesn’t listen much.”

He didn’t listen at all. This was one of the subjects on which his obstinacy made him deaf to any attempt to make him return to other feelings.

“Why?”

The young woman felt tears welling up in her eyes as she realized she had no other option but to get to the heart of the matter. From her point of view, it was too much for the toddler to grasp, but it was the key to understanding the strangeness of his father's behavior. It was up to her to find the wording least offensive to him. 

“…You know, your dad blames himself a lot for what happened to your mom.”

“He didn't hurt her!” the boy defended him on the spot.

“I know, and deep down he knows it too, but he still thinks he's the reason why you don't have a mom anymore. He…”

She had to stop to take a deep breath and push back the pain that was crushing her ribs. The tragedy had burned a hole in her memory, and just thinking about it again, however briefly, was torture. She couldn't imagine what it was like for someone who had experienced it from the inside.

“The bad man who did this was someone his team was looking for, she managed to resume. They found him, put him in prison, but he escaped. And because he was so angry with your dad, he decided to hurt him. And… and that's how it all happened,” she abbreviated, both for him and for herself.

She struggled to breathe and could no longer bear the steady gaze of her miniature interlocutor, stressed by seeing her in such a state. But she has to go on. Getting to the bottom of her explanation, with all the emotional burden that entailed.

“So, your dad thinks that... without him... you'd... you'd still have your mom.”

The tears overflowed and ran down her cheeks at full speed. She didn't even have the reflex to chase them away, hurt by her own words.

“And he… - she sniffed, her voice trembling beyond her control – he often thinks that... that he would have preferred that... that your mom was still alive, and him, not.”

“NO! No! exclaimed her nephew, starting to cry in his turn. No, I don’t want! I want Dad! I’m sad for Mom, but I want Dad!”

Jessica immediately put her arms around him to reassure him. He nestled his little head against her chest and his fingers clung to her blouse.

“Of course, sweetheart, she said, blowing kisses into his hair. But… that's why he doesn't want anything for himself. He… he thinks he doesn’t deserve it.”

“It's so sad!” moaned the toddler, his face still buried between her breasts.

“Yes, it is. You know, your dad loved your mom very, very much. For him, it's very hard to go on without her.”

It had already been very difficult for him to accept the request for divorce – he had seemed thinner every time he rang her doorbell to see his son –, so losing her forever seemed like an interminable ordeal for him.

“Did Mom love Dad very, very much, too?” inquired Jack, looking up at her.

She noticed the chocolate stains lining her top but decided not to hold it against the culprit. The question he had just asked required her to weigh her words. Love stories in cartoons were always very simple, but reality was far more complex.

“… In the past, yes. Then, one day, she stopped loving him and, as you may not remember, they ceased living in the same house.”

Barely two years old at the time, he had moved from one home to another, before returning to the first, always with the familiar presence of his mother by his side. His father's absence hadn't troubled him any more than that. For Haley, this had been further proof of Aaron's lack of involvement. Jessica had put it down more to his age, which didn't allow him to grasp that having only one parent wasn't necessarily the norm. According to her, he was satisfied with the mere fact that someone was providing for him, without worrying about who was doing it. But maybe it was a combination of both.

“Why did she stop loving him?” the little boy wanted to know, chewing his cone.

“That’s just the way things are. For years, you love something and then, one day, you stop loving it. It’s life.”

“But I don't want to stop loving Dad, he whimpered, panicking at the prospect. And I don't want to stop loving you.”

She was touched by his words and felt the vise loosen its grip around her torso.

“Don't worry, you'll always love him, I'll always love you and we'll always love you, she assured him, kissing him on the forehead. It's just for people who don't know each other before that it happens. But know this: if your mom stopped loving your dad, it had nothing to do with you.”

This was the most important detail he had to remember about their separation. It wasn’t his fault. His arrival had only brought to light the dissensions that had already existed between them for several years. Sooner or later, with or without him, they would rise to the surface and drive them apart, despite all the love he still had for her.

“… Is it because of what happened to Mom that he never laughs?” Jack noted, rubbing his hands full of crumbs on his pants. 

“Yes, she nodded. But, with time, it will come back. He’ll laugh again.”

“I can’t wait.”

“We all can’t wait, she revealed with a smile, before bouncing back. You know what?”

“What?”

“You should tell him right away, as soon as you see him, that you want him to eat things he wants to eat. It should speed things up.”

“You think so?”

“Yes.”

The boy's mouth stretched from ear to ear. The idea of making his dad happy again seemed to give him the courage to face him, and he pulled her arm most of the way home. And they were surprised to discover that the giant was there, back from Quantico. Not long, since he was still wearing almost everything in his suit, only his jacket having been hung on the back of a chair. He held the mail in his hand and immediately looked up when the door opened.

“DADDY!”

A shy smile appeared on the narrow face of the owner of the premises, who knelt to welcome his son as he should have done:

“Hey! Hi, champ!”

Jack jumped into his arms and Aaron gave him a kiss on the temple. In return, the toddler gave him a peck on the cheek and clung to his neck. The BAU director got to his feet without letting go, as if he weighed no more than a feather. 

“You were at the park?”

“Yes. We even had ice cream,” his son told him with undeniable pride.

“That’s good. Do you like it?”

“Yes, he said before he screamed into his ear. Dad!”

“Yes?” he replied, suppressing a grimace.

“Next time we go to the park together, I want you to have an ice cream too.”

The injunction obviously baffled his progenitor, who watched him, eyebrows furrowed.

“… Why?”

“Because you deserve an ice cream too.”

Unsettled by the determined look on his face, he turned his attention to Jessica, who shrugged her shoulders in feigned ignorance. For the subterfuge to work, it was preferable that he didn't know that the plan had been drawn up by her.

“O… okay, I'll have an ice cream then,” he announced, still puzzled.

“Deal?” insisted his descendant, staring intently at him.

Aaron cast a brief, frightened glance in the direction of his ex-sister-in-law, who pretended to wait for his reply, then returned to his budding inquisitor.

“… Deal.”

“Yeah!” exulted Jack, brandishing both fists skyward.

His aunt smiled, relieved. A small step had been taken, now all the others remained to be done.

___

I had this idea when, doing groceries, I heard a young boy saying to his father that: "it doesn't matter". I didn't know what they were talking about but this young kid telling his (single?) father that it was okay, made me think about the relationship between Jack and his father.

Because Jack does care about his father a lot (the way his father does care about his team) and we all know that scene where he won't talk about his mother because it makes Aaron sad.

So, Jack worrying about the fact his father doesn't want anything for himself could be thing too. Then here it is. :)

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #hotch #agent hotchner #criminal minds fanfic #code name mom #jack hotchner #jessica brooks

[codename-mom]

Arm wrestling on a couch

Summary: Post S04E01 (Mayhem). JJ has revealed her pregnancy to her coworkers and Hotch didn't seem to appreciate. She needs to have a discussion with him to clear the things up and to make some points. So she went to his apartment without warning him.

Characters: JJ and Hotch (her point of view)

Contents: TW mentions of what's happened in New York, of Hotch wound and there's a tiny bit of angst

This is a text written for the KidFic CM challenge organized by @imagining-in-the-margins.

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

JJ stood in front of the door but didn't dare knock yet. After the events in New York, which had shaken the whole team, they had all gave themselves a few days off to recover from their emotions. She had taken three and decided to use the second one to clarify a few points. A lot had happened there, and among them was the announcement of her pregnancy to her superior. She hadn't planned for it to play out this way at all – she'd envisaged doing it calmly and by the book, coming to sit in his office to tell him the whole truth. Instead, she'd delivered the information on the spur of the moment in a hotel lobby while everyone around them was bustling like an anthill, and she could tell he didn't appreciate it. Worse, she'd felt as if she'd hurt him.

She hadn't understood his reaction and had told herself that once the investigation was over, she'd come back to him to discuss it, but circumstances had somewhat thwarted her plans.  Hotch hadn't returned by jet and had made the journey back his own way, out of her reach. She was now keeping her fingers crossed that he was at home and not in hospital for further tests. Which was a possibility, given that he had almost died in the explosion of his SUV. Her heart was pounding against her ribs. The giant's behavior was so unpredictable at times that she didn't really know where to start with this confrontation. Did he disapprove of this impromptu pregnancy? Should she have told him she was thinking of starting a family with Will? She didn’t know. But she was determined to get to the bottom of all this and set a few conditions for the coming months too. She'd probably have to fight hard, but she'd know how to hold her ground.

That's how she pressed the doorbell button for the first time. Nothing moved. She pressed a second and then a third time until a voice, muffled by the thickness of the ingress, exclaimed:

“I’m coming! Stop ringing, please.”

It was off to a bad start; she'd obviously just annoyed him by drawing his attention to her presence outside his home. He opened the door shortly afterwards and his scowl immediately turned to surprise.

“JJ?”

She herself was caught off guard by her opposite’s attire. She'd always seen him in a suit, but now she discovered him in jeans, T-shirt, and socks. And he obviously hadn't shaved since returning from the Big Apple. 

“Hello, Aaron,” she said, pulling herself together.

She gave him a smile that she hoped would make up for the inappropriateness of this improvised visit.

“Hello, he answered, eyebrows furrowed. What are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to check if everything was all right for you.”

“Well, it was fine until you rang the bell,” he rumbled, all warmth gone from his voice.

“Thank you…”

He sighed, dropping his shoulders, and indicated that she could enter.

“It's not you, it's the doorbell, he explained, more pleasantly. The slightest sound that's a little loud splits my head in two.”

She hadn't thought of this detail when she arrived here, but as the agency head's eardrum had been seriously damaged by the blast, his entire hearing apparatus was now exposed and no longer protected from shrill noises such as the entrance bell. She imagined it was the same for anything that exceeded the usual decibels of a conversation.

“Okay. I'll pass the word on to the next one,” she declared with a compromising pout.

“Tell them to stop calling me too, he bounced, closing the portal behind her. They have to do like Spencer. He understands, he sends me messages.”

“You can put it on vibrate too,” she pointed out, a little offended by his reproving tone.

Listening to him – with the exception of the agency's youngest agent – they were all acting like idiots, making phone calls to ask about his health. What he didn't realize was that it wasn't so easy to take into account all the ins and outs of his new condition. Not everyone had the brilliant intelligence of the multi-graduate. However, she excused his unpleasant attitude by attributing it to the pain that must have been coursing through his skull at this hour.  

“No, because then I might not be able to hear it. And I know a few people who'd call SWAT if I didn't answer.”

He had a point but didn't exult. He encouraged her to take a seat on the sofa and she obeyed, smiling. He headed for the kitchen and asked:

“Do you want to drink something? I’ve got water… and water.”

“Water will be fine,” she assured, amused.

“Fresh or at temperature?”

“At temperature, please. My digestive system has been sensitive enough lately.”

He returned to her and handed her a large, generously filled glass. He himself had one in his hand.

“Here. If I'd known you were coming by, I'd have bought some crackers. Haley ate whole packs of them when she was expecting for Jack.”

“Thank you,” she said as she picked up her order.

Then he sat down on the couch, next to her, but without occupying all the remaining space. Even with his unusual size, he managed to adapt so as not to jostle the people around him or encroach on their living space. She appreciated the attention, but wondered what was behind it. Her profiling colleagues would surely have had an answer for her.

They each took a sip, aware that the rest of the discussion might not be so light. They had to clear the air, and the likelihood of them raising their voice was high.

“When were you going to tell me?” he threw, staring at her with his dark eyes.

“When I've had no choice,” she retorted on the spot.

She and Will had talked at length about their respective visions of family and had agreed that children would be an essential part of their lives. However, they didn't expect their wish to be granted so quickly. But as soon as she'd known, she'd also realized that this announcement would make waves in her superior's square organization. He was capable of adapting to many things – especially because the agents under his command left him no option but to accept their sometimes hasty decisions anyway – but she wasn't sure he knew how to modulate his routine following such a change.

When she'd been hired, she'd made no secret of the fact that she was just starting out in the business, and that her previous positions hadn't been as crucial as the one he was planning to give her. This didn't seem to bother him in the least, and he gradually shifted some of his duties to her, taking the time to answer her questions and train her as he had been trained before her. More than once, she'd had the sensation of asking silly questions whose answers were perfectly obvious, but he'd never raised the slightest remark. Then she began to stand on her own two feet, detaching herself more and more from him to carry out her missions alone. But just when she thought she'd lightened his load, she soon realized that he still had just as much work to do and was continuing to rack up the overtime hours. Because the unit was growing. Because the BAU’s good results were bearing fruit, and more and more people were asking for their help.

The agency's good reputation had its downside, and until this moment, it was its director who had paid the highest price. Guided by a heightened professional conscience, he had forgotten the most important thing, and the penalty had fallen. Haley had slammed the door, taking their son and the pedestal on which the giant had always relied to stand. The fall had been brutal and destructive, and the damage seemed irreparable. As usual, he hid his emotions behind this icy expression, but his subordinates weren't completely fooled. He was sinking deeper and deeper into his work, having no interest in going home anymore and ignoring the needs of his body. Every day, he closed in on himself a little more, despite the team's attempts to draw him into the light.

This was the first reason why she hadn't dared tell him about this development in her private life. She had been afraid. Afraid of burying him further under work. And afraid, too, of breaking the few pieces he had painstakingly put back together. But clearly, it was her silence that had hurt him the most.

“Why didn't you tell me?” he insisted, more pained than angry.

“Why is it so important for you to know?” she asked, adjusting her thoughts so as not to do any more damage than she already had.

“Because I'm responsible for your lives, JJ.”

And now came the second reason why she had preferred to remain silent.

“I'm no more in danger pregnant than not.”

“Except that in addition to your life, I have that of your unborn child to consider, he pointed out, annoyed. And over there, in New York, you were both in danger.”

“So did Spencer, Emily, Penelope, Dave, and Derek. We were all in danger.”

All of them could have been in the SUV that had been targeted by the terrorists. All of them could have taken those bullets that the New York officer paired with Prentiss had received. They could all have suffered the blast of that second bomb if Morgan hadn't led the ambulance out of the hospital. In fact, he was probably the most endangered member of the team, tied with the unit leader. The latter must have realized this because he lowered his nose for a moment. His hands twitched nervously, as they did every time he was consumed by anxiety.

“You should have told me before we left,” he continued, in a softer but less assured tone.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't want any special treatment.”

If there was one thing Hotch couldn't be faulted for, it was his attention to his men. He was constantly worried about their state of health, both mental and physical, and his anxiety went through the roof whenever one of them felt out of sorts. Most of the time, he curbed the ardor of his protective temperament – aware that a simple cut wasn't worth rousing all the rescue services in DC – or deferred the task of looking after the ailing element to one of them, but sometimes the overflow ran over and he showed an excess of empathy. And if, as she thought, he intended to restrict her to a purely administrative position for the next seven months, that didn't suit her at all.

“…What?” he croaked, taken aback.

“I’m not disabled, I’m pregnant. And just because I am doesn't mean I have to hide behind a desk while you all put yourselves in danger,” she hammered, glaring at him.

Eyes wide with surprise, he watched her wordlessly, confused. His pupils turned to the side for a moment, then came back to rest on her. Her heart was beating fiercely against her ribs. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then said:

“… JJ, whether you like it or not, being pregnant isn't trivial. Your whole body undergoes changes for nine months. It's stressful enough as it is, you can't add the stress of our job to it.”

“I'll be the judge of that, she objected, continuing the argument she'd prepared before leaving home. I am the one who is pregnant, not you. I'm in the best position to understand how I feel.”

Unsettled by her firm tone, he turned his head away from those bluish irises and plunged into silent reflection, rubbing his lower face with his hand. She would have given anything to witness the battle that must have been going on in his brain at that hour. She understood his fears, but he had to learn to deal with his employees' wishes too.

“… No, I’m sorry, I… I can't let you do that, he declared, half stammering. I… I can't take responsibility for you having a miscarriage or giving birth to a disabled child who won't have grown up peacefully.”

“Aaron, if you try to keep me out of the field, I'll resign.”

He received this reply like a slap in the face, blinking several times. It was the last argument she had in her pocket, and she had hoped not to have to use it, as she suspected the pain it would inflict. She clearly wasn't making it easy for him by backing him into a corner, but she couldn't think of a better way to make him see reason. He no longer dared look at her. His arms trembled and she saw tears forming at the edges of his eyes. She had to restrain herself from hugging him to reassure him.

“… O… okay, he stuttered after a long silence. Let’s make a deal. I… I'll let you go out into the field and face the reporters, just like you've been doing up until now, but the second you feel something's wrong, or if you're told you need to take it easy, or if you need a breather, a rest, a sit-down, ... anything, I want to know about it, he demanded, meeting her gaze again. Then we'll decide together what to do next.”

She in turn pondered this proposal. She was well aware that his intention was always to pin her down so that nothing untoward happened – to her or her baby – but he was offering her the chance to express her opinion before he made a decision. She was the first agent whose pregnancy he had to deal with, and he undoubtedly didn't know what to do to ensure that everything went smoothly, both for the mother-to-be and for the agency. The only personal example he had was that of his ex-wife, who had had to stay in bed for the last few months before Jack was born, so he had to fear more than ever that this situation would turn into a catastrophe. He wanted her to have the best possible experience, but he didn't want to lose her either. And the culmination of his reflections was this compromise, which allowed her to continue to follow the team outside Quantico, but also promised other potential tussles with him. She sighed.

“…Okay,” she conceded, realizing that she probably wouldn't get much more than that.

She reassured herself thinking that, when he saw that everything was going well, he'd let go and give her more freedom.

“Thank you,” he said with a shy smile.

JJ looked up but smiled back. She then took a sip of water under the watchful eye of her neighbor. He stared at her as if she were about to turn into a mystical creature at any moment.

“Otherwise, is everything all right?”

“I don't know, you're the one with the torn eardrum,” she teased him back.

“Apart from the fact that I feel like I'm living in the middle of an orchestra, I'm fine.”

The liaison officer laughed briefly and took another swig. All that tension had made her thirsty. He didn't touch his glass on the coffee table. Out of the corner of her eye, she detailed the damage caused by the bomb that had sent him tumbling like a piece of straw. He, a six-foot giant, had vanished like a blade of grass when the explosive went off. She could still see the CCTV images of the building next to which the vehicle had been parked and felt the anguish that had gripped her when she realized that he might no longer be with them. Events had proved her wrong, and she'd been relieved to see him back on his feet and in full possession of his senses, but all that had left its mark. His face was peppered with small cuts and a bandage covered his right ear. Which wasn't much, considering how close he'd come to death.

“Does Haley know?”

“Haley?” he raised an eyebrow, confused.

“Yes, your son's mother,” she reminded him, worrying that he might have lost his memory in the battle.

“I know who she is. Why should I tell her?”

His features had hardened. His interlocutor was taken aback that he would dare ask such a question but made the effort to remind him of the obvious.

“You almost died in a bomb attack, you're the father of her child, she's probably a little concerned, isn't she?”

“No.”

“Aaron!”

She was outraged that he would knowingly dismiss the woman with whom he had shared his life for twenty-five years when he had just suffered such a serious accident. True, the divorce papers had been signed, but that didn't mean all communication had to be cut off between him and her. Her own parents had separated when she was a child, and they kept in touch even afterwards, exchanging information about each other's health.

“Believe me, she couldn't care less,” he assured, his face closed.

“Don’t say that.”

“As long as I keep paying alimony, I can lose both my arms and legs, she won't care.”

She understood that the couple's split hadn't been amicable, far from it. Why? She didn't know and probably wouldn't since he never discussed his private life with members of his team. Still, she found it hard to believe that Jack's mother could be so dismissive of her ex-husband. Unless you were a sociopath, you didn't erase so many years of life together from your heart and head with a snap of your fingers. There were bound to be memories left, and even snatches of attachment, if the other hadn't behaved like the most foul of partners. And since she doubted that Hotch could have been violent or demeaning towards her, it was unlikely that she would dislike him so much. However, JJ remembered the last call she had received from her, and her eardrum had suffered greatly. What could have happened between the two of them for things to escalate this way? It was a mystery to which she would never have the answer.

“… I see, she commented, for want of a better rebound. What about your mother?”

JJ had already had Ada Hotchner on the phone several times when her son was deliberately dodging her calls, and she had only met her once. She'd made a strong impression on the whole team, this little lady with a strong character capable of shaking the customary stoicism of the giant in the suit. When she'd burst onto Quantico's sixth floor unannounced, she'd made the director lose all control without even having to open her mouth.

“Oh, I didn't need to tell her. The minute she heard about the bombing at the foot of the federal building in New York, she teleported to my house.”

“Reminds me of someone,” she murmured, recognizing this trait in her neighbor.

“What?”

“No, nothing, she booted out. Why she isn’t here then?”

“Because I made her get that I didn't need her.”

Unlike many men who loved to be pampered when they were sick or injured, Aaron shunned anyone who tried to help him. He'd rather agonize in his corner than ask for support. An attitude he didn't appreciate from those closest to him, as if he alone had the right to play hardball and to toil alone to accomplish a task that would go twice as fast if done in pairs or teams.

“She’s worried about you.”

“She practically implied that it was my fault that the bomb went off.”

The young woman burst out laughing in spite of herself. Like all mothers, Ada wasn't bothered in the least by the fact that her offspring was three heads taller than she was, and so indulged in reflections about him – sometimes in front of him – that none of them would ever have dared to make. And she didn't mince her words against him, expressing out loud what many must be thinking down low. JJ suddenly realized that this must surely be why Hotch had such low self-esteem and then found this outing much less funny.

The landline phone on the dresser began to ring at that moment and he immediately winced, bringing his hand to his ear in a vain attempt to muffle the sound. He struggled to reach the handset and noted the number on the screen.

“It’s… it's one of my aunts, he revealed awkwardly. It’ll take hours…”

“Okay. I’ll leave you to her.”

She got to her feet after putting the glass on the table.

“Sorry.”

“See you soon, she said, grabbing his shoulder to calm him down. And take care of yourself.”

“You too.”

JJ left the apartment with a strange feeling in her gut. She'd won her case – sort of – but was worried about her superior's well-being. Maybe they'd have to go back to the plan of action they'd put in place right after his divorce, and invite themselves back to his place without warning so he wouldn't cogitate too much in his drab little apartment.

___

Second entry for CM KidFic Challenge! /o/

This time, with JJ's point of view.

That was one of the text I wrote to explain the obvious complicity between Hotch and her. It wasn't really explain into the show, but JJ and Hotch shared a special bond that he doesn't have with the other agents (she's the only one, with Dave, to call him by his first name and, in French, she's the only one (again with Dave) to use the unformal "you" with him).

Maybe because they were both (for a very long time) the only parents of the team and as so, they knew how it is difficult to juggle between their work and their family. We can think that Jack went to JJ's house many times to play with Henry and, later, Mickael. But it's never shown.

So I wrote some texts, here and there, with just the two of them.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #hotch #agent hotchner #criminal minds fanfic #code name mom #jj #jennifer jareau #agent jareau

[codename-mom]

Waterproof

Summary: All the team wheels up for a new case, except Hotch who has to take his leaves. But the team needs his advice about a law point and tries to join him on a phone. The conversation will be... special

Characters: BAU team + Jack

Contents: fluff! /o/

This is a text written for the KidFic CM challenge organized by @imagining-in-the-margins.

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

The whole team had gathered in the meeting room of the police station where the BAU had been dispatched. The local police had found themselves baffled by a sudden spate of murders in their jurisdiction, so the commissioner had called in the FBI to help identify the perpetrator of these sordid crimes. The profilers took off promptly and began their inquiry as usual. Or almost since they weren't all there. The HR department had forced Hotch to use up some of the leave he'd been piling up for months without ever touching it, so the manager was missing. Which wasn't really a problem in itself, since the group knew how to function without him, the task of coordination falling to Morgan, who had taken over during Foyet's hunt.

Except that a legal point now stood in the way, and the point of view of the ex-prosecutor was essential for the proper management of the case. Crowded around the room's telephone, the federal agents listened impatiently to the dial tone. They were anxious to get his opinion so they could continue their investigations. But was he even available?

“Hello?” came a deep voice they immediately identified.

“Hello Hotch, said Derek, speaking before the others. So…

“DAAAAD!”

They all winced in unison; their eardrums shattered by the high-pitched little voice that had just screamed into the handset. A strange reverberation could be heard at the other end of the line.

“Don't shout, Jack, I'm right there,” his sire's voice calmly retorted.

“Is Jack with you?” Emily frowned, intrigued.

“Yes, he’s taking his bath, so I stay with him.”

Everyone instantly pictured the giant sitting on the bathroom floor, watching over his offspring as he frolicked in the water.

“Who's that?" asked the little boy, curious.

JJ smiled, recognizing the typical behavior of children who abandon all their activities the half-second they see their parents on the phone.

“It’s the team, they’re on a case.”

“Oh! Can I say hi to them?” he demanded with a burst of enthusiasm.

The toddler adored the men and women who worked under his father, whom he considered members of his family, just like his Aunt Jessica or Grandma Ada. Interacting with them always made him extremely happy.

“Yes. Hold on, I'll put you on speaker, Aaron declared before pressing a button. Now, go on.”

“HELLO!” he exclaimed, startling the ex-policeman standing closest to the sound source.

Altogether, with smiles on their faces, the investigators replied:

“Hello, Jack! Hi, buddy! Hello, my sugar paste bear! Hey, kiddo!”

“And I'm taking you off speakerphone because I imagine you're calling to talk about the case in progress,” resumed the head of the agency, whose voice suddenly became clearer.

“You've got it all figured out,” Dave responded, amused by the rambling conversation.

In the background, we could still hear lapping noises and lively onomatopoeia.

“Okay. Give me a quick report and then ask me your question.”

“So, that's it, began Morgan, indifferent to this unusual commotion; the Delaware police called us because this is the third time they've found a body that…”

“Dad! interrupted the youngster, unaware of the stakes in the discussion his father was trying to maintain. Can you shampoo my hair?”

Derek rolled his eyes, annoyed; the others were hilarious, enlivened by this unexpected interlude.

“You already got one yesterday. You don’t need one every day, you know.”

“But I want you to mix my head.”

“What...? Hiccupped the titan before he got what he was talking about. Oh, okay. Hold on, because I need both hands. A moment.”

They then heard some rubbing against the microphone – he must have been trying to wedge the cell phone between his ear and his shoulder – and then his voice resurfaced, a little distorted.

“Turn around. That’s it. Go on.”

As he had spoken all these words in the same tone, Morgan was slow to realize that the last part was addressed to them.

“… Uh… So, I was saying that this is the third time they've found a body, of a homeless person, who…”

“It's too good!” Jack commented blissfully.

JJ and Emily held back their laughter at their colleague's discomfited expression.

“Looks like it. Well, finish rinsing and then you’ll go out. You’re getting cold.”

“No, it's not true!” objected the bather, obviously pounding his fists in the water.

“Your lips are blue, pointed out the seasoned negotiator. Come on, the sooner you get out, the sooner you can watch a movie.”

“CARS!”

“If… if you want.”

Hotch didn't sound like someone delighted to see the production in question. The other parent on the team suspected that the kid had been fixated on this Pixar Studios work for weeks – or longer – and that it must have been playing on a loop every night since the day his descendant first laid eyes on it. Having herself endured a hundred viewings of Winnie-the-Pooh, she could understand his reluctance to see it for the umpteenth time.

“I want!” shouted vigorously Jack.

“Well, rinse then.”

“Can… can I start again?” dared Derek, taken aback by the turn of this phone call.

“Yes, sorry, Morgan. Go on.”

“All the victims, then, live on the streets, and all the injuries recorded on their bodies seem to have been caused by...”

“Wait, cut in his superior, I've got to help Jack out of the tub and dry him off. I’ll be right back.”

He must have put his phone down somewhere nearby because his subordinates could hear what was going on without having to strain their ears too much. The Chicago native sat on a nearby chair, scowling. Rossi patted him on the shoulder to offer some semblance of compassion, but he wore the same playful smile as the other three. Penelope, who was videoconferencing with them, was ecstatic.

“Let’s go! We raise our arms. And then we rub, rub, rub.”

“Rub, rub, rub,” repeated the boy in the same tone.

“Okay. Go get your pajama and bring it here.”

Footsteps scurried away.

“I’m there, go.”

“I've sent you the autopsy report to give you an idea of the problem,” announced the analyst, who nevertheless tried to simplify things.

“Well, hold on, I look at it.”

“Here, Dad! Here is the pajama!”

Morgan, arms folded, tilted his head on the back of his seat with a grunt of exasperation. The girls had to concentrate harder than ever to hold back their hilarity.

“… Are you aware that this top and this bottom don’t fit together?”

“Yes, but I wanted these two,” replied the little boy with a certain determination.

“Okay, abdicated his progenitor with a smile in his voice. Take off your robe, we'll put on the pants first. One leg first. Here. And the second one. Perfect. Hands up now.”

“Like the bad guys,” laughed the kid.

“That’s it, like the bad guys. Watch your ears. One arm after the other. Great! You’re almost all set. Go get your slippers.”

Again, they heard someone leaving in a hurry.

“What kind of pajamas did he wear?” inquired Spencer, very attentive to this singular intrusion into the agency manager's daily life.

“Reid!” exploded Derek, outraged to realize that he was finally the only one who cared about the mission's progress.

“What?” croaked the youngest member of the unit innocently.

“He has a Spiderman top and a bottom with lots of dinosaurs.”

“Isn't there a comic book where Spiderman goes back in time to Prehistory?” Prentiss noted, eyebrows furrowed.

Her colleague glared at her, but she smirked back. She didn't want the investigation to continue any less than he did, but it was hard to fight the disturbing element in this conversation. She had therefore taken a step back from the situation and, like her companions, was enjoying this joyfully suspended moment.

“There!” exclaimed Jack as he returned.

“Well, that's the whole panoply, remarked his father, with amusement mixed with a hint of weariness. Sit so I can put your slippers on. Hop! And hop! You’re handsome that way. Wait, I’ll take a picture for the team. Go ahead, strike a pose. Wonderful! Go to the living room now, I’ll be right there.”

And the child sets sail for the third time. Morgan hoped that was for good.

“And here's the star!” announced Hotch, picking up his phone again.

Everyone received a message a few seconds later and everyone – even Derek – rushed to admire the snapshot. They discovered the toddler, hair a mess, grinning from ear to ear, wearing a Spiderman pajama top, a stocking studded with prehistoric saurian and bright red Flash McQueen slippers. He arched his chest with pride, his little fists resting on his hips.

“Oooooh! He's so cute! raved Penelope, safe in her Quantico lair. Can I print it large enough to make a poster?”

“Agreed,” nodded her boss, who wasn't that far from her after all.

“That's all very sweet, but we've got an investigation to conduct and always a question to ask,” grumbled Morgan, who was nervously tapping away on the table.

“What are you waiting for to ask it?”

“Ha, ha. Very funny,” he grumbled as his neighbors laughed.

“You’d better hurry before…”

“DAD!”

Derek left the room.

___

I think this is the shortest CM fanfic I've ever writen and as it's full fluffiness, that was relaxing. I love to imagine moments between Hotch and his son. They can be so cute together. X3

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #hotch #agent hotchner #criminal minds fanfic #code name mom #agent garcia #garcia #agent morgan #david rossi #jj #emily prentiss #spencer reid #agent rossi #rossi #agent prentiss #prentiss #doctor reid #reid #bau team #jack hotchner #penelope garcia #derek morgan #agent jareau #jennifer jareau

[codename-mom]

Hello everyone! /o/

Here is the next CM writing challenge I'll go for it.

At first, I thought that I'd only one draft compatible with this topic. Then, I did realise that I've got thousands of them (at least). XD

Well, I won't write them all (I won't have the time nor the strenght for it knowing that I have translation to do every time), but I'll do my best. The more I write, the more I'll approach my goal to end Code Name: Mom for the end of the year.

Now, if there is fellow writters around, feel free to jump in too! ^_^

🎀 CM KidFic Challenge 🧸

Hey everyone, I’m back with another monthly challenge! For the months of March AND April, I am formally challenging any willing writer to take a stab at writing fanfiction including children, babies, or pregnancy (biological, adoptive, animal, etc.) using their choice of Criminal Minds characters! Reader, Original Character, Character/Character ships, Gen/Platonic fics are allowed! Please check out the Rules below the Keep Reading.

(**This is NOT a request list for me—this is a prompt list of other writers! Feel free to request from someone else, and be sure to let them know about the challenge!)

Prompts

Child says their first word(s)

Child becomes an older sibling

Character stands up for their child

The couple enjoys trying for a baby

Characters are fantastic platonic co-parents

Child is starting to act a lot like their parent(s)

The couple announces their pregnancy to everyone

The couple fosters a teenager preparing for college

The couple takes their child to college/their own place

The couple thinks they’re having twins… but it’s triplets

Character runs into their ex who has a child that looks just like them

The couple realizes how different things are the second, third, etc. time

Character needs reassurance about the fact they don’t enjoy being pregnant

Character finds that being around Child helps them heal their own inner child

The couple babysits together, which leads to a conversation about their future

Character struggles with the fact that their teenage kid has their first partner

Character is very attentive to their pregnant partner... almost irritatingly so

Character witnesses a quiet moment with their partner and their baby during a night feeding

Character, chronically single, asks their best friend if they’d be open to having a child with them

Child realizes that not every kid has two moms/two dads and they have a lot of questions about it

The couple takes Child to daycare for the first time but they can’t make themselves leave the parking lot

Child is having a hard time at school, so Character picks them up from school for a day of quality time together

Pregnancy cravings lead to a very dramatic late-night grocery store trip that makes Character fall more in love

Anything else you can imagine!

Childfree/Pregnancy-Free prompts below + Create your own!

Childfree/Pregnancy-Free Prompts

Character is the fun uncle/aunt

The couple adopts a pet together

Character gets to meet their partner’s (judgmental) pet

Character reveals that they don't want to have children and their partner's reaction surprises them

A child the BAU saved comes back years later to thank them and show what they’ve done with their life

The couple decides to give up on becoming parents and they learn how to have a fulfilled life without a child

Rules

The fic can be a Reader insert, an Original Character, a character/character ship, a platonic ship, or a Gen fic. It can feature any Criminal Minds character. AUs and crossovers are more than welcome.

Tag me in the fic, or send the link to me in a Direct Message. It can be already written, or you can write it for the challenge - I’m collecting both! You can also tag it “#mentioningmargins” which is a tag I track.

The fic can be any genre, but ONLY send me smut if your bio states you are 18+. I DO NOT WANT smut written by minors. Ever. At all. I will check.Platonic ships and pure, fluffy fics are 100% allowed.

Please include Content Warnings and a one-sentence Summary of the fic in your post.

Have fun!

The Masterlist of fics will be posted around May 1. If you finish after that, no problem - just send me the fic once you’re done and I’ll add it after-the-fact!

Feel free to message me if you want help developing a plot, have any questions, or just want to gush about your fic. I’m happy to help, and I’m happy you’re here ❤️

Happy Writing!

#criminal minds challenge #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic

[codename-mom]

And here are all the entries for the New Beginnings CM Challenge! /o/

You're up to hours/days of great stories! ^_^

CM New Beginnings Fics

Hey everyone! Thank you so much to everyone who participated. I am so happy to share everyone’s hard work. If you have a oneshot or masterlist you’d like me to add, please send me a message - new additions are always welcome.

First, check out @emberfrostlovesloki 's 🌈 Masterlist of Entries ☀️: This lovely prolific writer has entered several fics, which include Hotch, Emily, and Spencer fics! Check out their page for even more!

🌼 SFW S.R./Reader Entries 🌼

Play Dates by me: [GN] Reader finds out Spencer hasn’t had many dates and offers several Play Dates.

Distance Makes the Heart Grow Fonder by @foxy-eva: [GN] Spencer was the right person at the wrong time, no doubt about it. When Reader is finally back in town, they're ready for a fresh start. 

You're Gonna Go Far, Love by @writer-in-theory: [GN] After relapsing, Spencer takes the first flight with no plan other than to get a fresh start.

Love Like the Sea by @rynwritesreid: [GN] After Spencer lost Maeve, he swore of love, until Reader came around.

Cowboy Like Me by @foxy-eva: [Fem] Spencer decides to fulfill a childhood dream to become a cowboy.

In Sickness and In Health by @pathologicalreid: [Fem] Minutes before Reader's wedding is supposed to start, Spencer gets cold feet.

Maybe We Found Love Right Where We Are by @andiebeaword: [Fem] Spencer just got engaged to Maeve on Valentine’s Day. Finding out his best friend’s heart will be broken changes things. 

More ratings and pairings below!

🌼 Other Pairings/Gen SFW Fics 🌼

Silent Demon by @angellsell: [Derek/Fem!Reader] Reader celebrates a month milestone of sobriety, but she isn't very proud of it.

Hearts on Our Sleeves by @angellsell: [Hotch/Fem!Reader] Aaron and Reader decide to give a try at a new relationship after a long dry spell.

Good Fortune by @reasonablerodents: [Hotchreid] Spencer and Aaron are the only ones without a partner for a New Year's Kiss.

And When Dawn Came by @snarkylinda: [Gen] Spencer calls Emily the night that Cat has the baby he decided to adopt.

The Date by @codename-mom: [Gen] Jessica didn't expect what her former brother-in-law was going to ask her.

Last Recruit by @/codename-mom: [Gen] There's a new agent at the BAU eager to start her new life. Her name is Penelope Garcia.

First Steps by @/codename-mom: [Gen] Rossi found a young agent named Aaron Hotchner who could be a good new recruit for the BAU.

First Day at School by @/codename-mom: [Gen] Jack is now old enough to go at school and his father has trouble to deal with this very special day.

🌼 NSFW Entries (S.R./Fem!R) 🌼

Second Time's a Charm by @foxy-eva: Back in college Spencer Reid and Fem!Reader left many things unsaid. Years later they give it another try.

It’s Too Cliché by me: Reader and Spencer are the worst at friends with benefits. After an exchange of gifts & nasty words, the two reunite on a very eventful NYE.

For the Love of Lace by @reidmotif: Reader decides she doesn't want to pine for her best friend anymore but needs his help deciding what lingerie to wear for her date.

Sweet Agony by @incognit0slut: After tragedy, Reader believed she was unworthy of love. Spencer proves her wrong.

Co-Creator Bonus List

🌼 SFW S.R./Fem!R Fics 🌼

The Only Hoax I Believe In by Foxy: Spencer struggles with his addiction after prison until Reader is determined to help him, no matter the cost.

The Perfect Plan by me: Reader has a question for Spencer, but things don’t go according to plan.

Impromptu by me: Reader learns some shocking news when a case lands her in the hospital.

Defining Family by me: Spencer finds out he’s a dad… to a twelve year old girl. Your twelve year old girl, who just broke into the FBI.

Clean Shaven by me: Reader helps Spencer shave after prison.

Drunk Dial by me: It’s been years since Reader talked to Spencer, but after a bunch of drinks it seems like a really good idea.

Repentance by me: Spencer is confronted with his second chance at life, finding it full of regrets. Reader tries to talk him through it.

Happy Hydrangea by me: TransMan!Reader. JJ is corrected in finding out Spencer has had a boyfriend for a while now.

🌼 NSFW S.R./Fem!R Fics 🌼

Lily of the Valley (Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3) by me: Unsub!Reid. Spencer was found guilty but mentally ill after the torture and murder of several men. He finds solace in his psychiatrist at the institution.

Duet by Foxy: Letting the love of his life get away was Spencer’s biggest regret, so he decides to go after her.

Honeymoon by Foxy: Spencer and his wife are excited about their future (and their honeymoon).

To Have and To Hold by me: Reader is trying to save her marriage, but Spencer seems resigned to its failure.

Stork Song by me: Spencer and Reader try to find intimacy again following a terrible loss.

Domesticity by me: Reader gets worked up watching Spencer with kids. He notices.

Different Kind of Daddy by me: After a rough day, Reader has good news for her husband.

🌼 Other SFW Pairings 🌼

Till Death Do Us Part by Foxy: [Emily/GN!Reader] Reader didn't expect grief to linger after Emily came back from the dead.

Motherhood by Foxy: [Tara/Emily] Emily and Tara finally become mothers.

Happy Reading!

P.S. If I missed your fic or you have a new one to add, feel free to send me a message. I would love to add it!

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds challenge

[codename-mom]

First day at school

Summary: Jack is now old enough to go at school and his father has trouble to deal with this very special day.

Characters: Mostly Jack and Hotch (but some BAU members appear)

Contents: TW well, as Hotch is the king of anxiety, the text is quite angsty (mention of grief and of what Foyet did to him), but I tried to make it a little bit fluffy too.

This is a text written for the New Beginings CM challenge organized by @imagining-in-the-margins.

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

Hotch stopped in front of JJ's desk, absorbed in her mission report, and saw her flinch when she realized he was standing right next to her. He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

“JJ. Tomorrow I'm going to be very late, he announced, looking a little embarrassed. Check with Morgan which file we need to work on and give me a summary of the briefing when I arrive.”

“Okay, she nodded, eyebrows furrowed. Is there a problem?”

“First day at school.”

“Ouch! She winced immediately. I’m weeping in anticipation. Good luck.”

“Thank you, he answered with a shy smile. See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow, Hotch.”

Yes, the fateful date had arrived: Jack was now old enough to start school. An event that represented both a form of relief – for Jessica and Ada, who would no longer need to put their respective lives on hold to raise a child that wasn't even theirs – and a source of terrible anguish for the agency director.

He still couldn't believe how much his son had grown since the day he regained custody. He still had the impression of holding his tiny body in the palm of his hands, watching him stagger around the living room in search of his balance, and witnessing his chaotic attempts to learn to eat on his own. And tomorrow, he would go to school.

Tomorrow, he'd leave the nest to mingle with other kids his age, with whom he'd discover the world in all its aspects. Tomorrow, he'd be meeting human beings who wouldn't necessarily be at his feet, let alone in his pocket, with whom he'd have to negotiate, argue, discuss, and exchange to make himself heard or win his case. Tomorrow, he'd realize that life in society required bending even more rules than he'd ever known before, that obeying them wouldn't be easy, and that disobeying them would be even more damaging. Tomorrow, the cocoon in which he'd been enclosed until then would be torn apart, and his father wouldn't be there to fly to his rescue.

Aaron was unable to suppress the panic that had gripped him for two weeks now. He'd done all he could to soften it up, planning this day down to the last detail, but nothing had helped. Jack's schoolbag was ready, as were his clothes; the breakfast table was set, the car refueled, the itinerary marked, and the documents requested by the school completed. But his heart continued to drum far too hard against his ribs as he sought sleep. What he was afraid of? To be lost? It was a stone’s throw from the apartment. To be late? Even if an unexpected traffic jam came up, they could always get there on foot if need be. For not giving his offspring the keys to get by? It was a possibility, but his aunt and grandmother had had to make up for his shortcomings. That Jack has had a bad experience and never wants to go back?

A silence passed in his head as the vise tightened around his lungs. This plunge into the deep end of the pool was no small step in a toddler's life. It was almost the equivalent of a parachute jump for an adult: even with the best possible precautions, there was always a chance – tiny sometimes – that things could go wrong. He tried in vain to remember what he had experienced and felt that day, but his brain ignored his request, content to amplify the feeling of malaise that had assailed him for the past fortnight. And even if he could remember his own back-to-school experience, his descendant wasn't him. Far from it. The difficulties he had potentially encountered would not be those he would encounter. And conversely, the facilities he'd had would, logically, not be those he'd have. And he had no way of preparing him to overcome these obstacles. He had no choice but to push him into the arena and pray for the best.

An action he lived as a betrayal of the flesh of his flesh – for all he knew – and one he'd never forgive himself for if the day took a turn for the worse. He felt guilty even before anything had happened and seeing it didn't make him feel any better. Especially as another feeling wandered in his gut. He was sad. He'd imagined that moment so differently that he couldn't erase the projection he'd mentalized years earlier to update it with their current situation. At the time, he had thought that someone would be at his side to endure this heartbreak with him. That he'd have a hand to hold to help suppress his anxiety. That he would have a smile to cross to lighten the weight on his shoulders. That he would have an ear to confide his worries and questions to. But there was no one.

Tomorrow, he'd be on his own to deal with whatever came his way, and it was totally out of the question for Jack to see the stress that was devouring him by the hour. He had to put on a good show, through and through, as long as he was still in his son's field of vision. Smiling and being reassuring were the guidelines he should absolutely follow. And if he felt like screaming or running away with him in his arms, he'd have to contain himself and triple lock his emotions. Like he was doing at Quantico. Not for nothing was he nicknamed "The Iceberg" by the other unit heads. So why did it now seem so impossible?

“Put your shoes on, Jack, while I finish packing your bag,” he ordered as the kid finished pulling on his hooded sweatshirt.

The profiler hadn't slept all night, and the look on his face had given him the shivers in the mirror, but he had gone through his usual routine before waking the little boy. He, seemed to have had an excellent night's sleep and was up and about, swallowing his meal as if it were just another day. He then went to the bathroom, washed his face, brushed his teeth, and quickly ran a comb through his fine hair, before returning to his room. He had ignored his father's suggestion of an outfit and chosen a more... Jurassic one, then gone back outside to give his sire a whole bunch of odds and ends he insisted he expressly needed. He then left to finish dressing, leaving Aaron with a light-up yo-yo, three marbles, a Playmobil, a Spiderman pencil, and an Elastic Man figurine. The giant sighed and reached for the boy's schoolbag to slip in all those treasures that would give him peace of mind if need be.

“Okay,” said Jack, taking a seat by the shoe rack.

“Both the same, please.”

“…Yes, Dad,” he grumbled, annoyed at not being able to carry out his Machiavellian plan.

Since he'd learned to put his sneakers on by himself, he'd taken great pleasure in combining the elements of the four pairs he had in any way he could. Hotch wasn't sure how long he'd been doing it, since he'd suddenly realized it in the park when his shoelaces were untied, and he had a waffle in his hands. His progenitor's expression of surprise had made the youngster laugh out loud, and obviously the frown that always escaped his control when Aaron discovered he'd repeated his forfeit delighted him just as much. By now, the director was getting used to it, but he didn't want to be given a bad label on the first meeting. He had been officially declared negligent to his wife, if he could avoid being so to his son, it would take a thorn out of his side.

“Are you all set?” he asked his son as he zipped up his coat.

“Yes,” he declared with pride.

“Ready for the big day?”

“Yes,” he repeated, with the same determination.

The titan knelt down to be level with the boy's face and took one of his hands.

“Don’t worry, everything is going to be fine. You'll make lots of new friends and learn lots of new stuff.”

“I know. You told me yesterday. And the day before. And the day before before…”

“Okay, he interrupted before he could go any further. Well, maybe we’ll go then. It'll save me having to tell you again.”

Jack's smile stretched from ear to ear, mocking. Father and son were currently living on two different planets, the first as anxious as the second was serene. The profiler could have rejoiced that the kid had obviously taken everything from his mother – both in physical appearance and in mind – but mostly he felt particularly foolish. He swallowed to try and get the knot out of his throat, without success. The duo left the scene, found the car, and climbed in. Hotch started up shortly afterwards and took to the road. Sitting in his booster seat, Jack observed the building facades, nodding his head in harmony with the music playing on the car radio.

“Try not to lose your things, please,” said his father when he stopped at the first red light.

“Why would I lose them?” questioned a puzzled Jack.

“Because when I was your age, I was always losing things. Every day, I came home from school with something missing, he revealed, as he suddenly reminded this detail. It drove you grand-mother crazy. So, if you take after me a little, it's likely to happen to you.”

He also remembered that he had absolutely no explanation to give his mother every time. He'd put them in a corner and when he came back to them, everything was gone. Of course, he didn't realize the financial impact his air headedness was having, and only thought that a new pair of gloves or a new beanie would fall right into his lap the following week. But now that he was on the other side of the fence, he understood better the dark looks Ada had once given him. His brain also reminded him of the consequences for herself, but Jack's voice short-circuited this plunge into the abyss of his memory.

“So, it’s no big deal.”

“What?” he croaked, surprised by the kid's reflection.

“You're saying I'm going to lose my stuff like you did. So that means it’s normal. So it’s no big deal.”

Aaron squinted, analyzing his son's reasoning. His train of thought was a bit far-fetched, but made sense, nonetheless. However, this wasn't going his way, so he resumed:

“…Yes, except I wish you wouldn't do what I did. Because I won’t be able to buy it all back. Okay?”

The little boy wore a worried expression that struck him right in the heart. He had never intended to stress him out and regretted imposing this rule on him from the outset when the day was already going to be rich enough in new information.

“Okay. It won't be a big deal, but just try to be careful, he recommended, diplomatically. Understand?”

Jack nodded, looking concerned.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes, Dad,” he replied cheerlessly.

The sadness on his face aroused his father's natural guilt, and he mentally reproached himself for this dispensable outburst of severity. He had to defuse the situation so that his offspring didn't arrive at school looking so down. The boy possessed an innate joie de vivre that regularly lifted his sire's spirits, and he was keen that his future classmates should see this aspect of his personality first and foremost. So, at the next traffic light, Hotch reached behind him to tickle the toddler's belly, who immediately began to squirm to dodge the attack. His mouth twisted, stretching into an amused smile before a burst of laughter crossed his lips. His assailant rapidly regained his good humor and started up again. A few minutes later, he parked in the school parking lot.

“Here we are.”

The federal agent got out of the car, walked around the vehicle and unfastened the seatbelt. He helped Jack onto dry land, and the latter immediately slipped his hand into the adult’s while he retrieved his bag. Then the pair joined the flow of other parent-child pairs making their way towards the headmistress. She greeted them with a broad smile when it was their turn.

“Good morning, gentlemen, she trumpeted cheerfully. Olivia Simmons, I’m the school director.”

“Hello. Aaron Hotchner and this is my son,” he answered shaking her hand.

“And what's this big boy's name?” she asked, leaning towards him.

“Jack, ma’am,” he confided, suddenly shy.

He tried to hide behind his father's legs, all of sudden much less at ease in this unfamiliar environment.

“You can call me Olivia, she said reassuringly. Welcome. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask me. Okay?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he did, clinging to Aaron's fingers.

“Come on. You can join your comrades over there.”

She pointed to a group of schoolchildren, all displaying the same nervousness. Those who had been there all along were just beginning to relax enough to meet the newcomers. Jack looked up at his ascendant, his eyes shining. He was scared. Hotch crouched instantly in front of him, while the headmistress moved away to address other parents. He could feel the trembling of the kid, who had snuggled into his arms as soon as possible and clung to his jacket like a lifeline. An irrepressible urge to take him away from all this arose in him that he had to fight fiercely. The moment was heartbreaking for both of them, but it was a necessary step in their life together. Soon – he was praying for it – that day would be a distant memory, leaving only a faint trace in the boy's mind.

“Are you picking me up tonight?” he questioned him, his little knuckles closed around his tie.

“I don’t know yet, Jack. Maybe it'll be Jessica,” he asserted, quickly realizing that he'd been so focused on the start of the new school year that he'd forgotten to think about when classes would end.

“I'd rather it be you, Jack confessed, turning his eyes on him. Then I could tell you everything I did today.”

He could hear the boy's plea, but all his professional responsibilities came to the fore and there was clearly no room for a mid-afternoon return to the area. Even less so if a file requiring travel was to fall on his team.

“I'll call you if I have to leave, he declared before emphasizing, Jessica will take very good care of you.”

“But it's not the same,” moaned the youngster, on the verge of tears.

Aaron felt his throat tighten, his insides liquefy, and his muscles tense in unison. This reaction was exactly what he'd been dreading, and dismay overwhelmed him. His thoughts raced through his head. They bumped, piled up, and disintegrated until they formed an unintelligible mass of words and sensations that didn't help him at all to get out of this trap. But the boy's tremors called for a response from him, and only one possibility was open to him.

“…I'll try to be there,” he said in the end.

Jack’s smile reappeared on the spot.

“But I can’t promise anything. Okay?”

“…Okay,” he replied, without quite losing his new-found good humor.

“I love you, buddy,” he confided, placing a kiss on his temple.

His offspring embraced him and said:

“I love you, Dad.”

Then Hotch kissed him on the forehead and encouraged the boy to take the first step. Reassured, he headed for the group of children, one of whom immediately approached him. The agency head was too far away to hear what was being said, but the tone seemed friendly. He got to his feet and sighed heavily to ease the tension in his muscles. Having completed the first stage, he now had to tackle the second. In two steps, he reached the director.

“Mrs. Simmons.”

“Mr. Hotchner,” she reacted, smiling.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

“If it’s about allergies, we have a form to fill out for that,” she anticipated, pointing to the table set up nearby, on which several documents had been made available to parents.

“No. No, everything is fine from this side.”

“Perfect. What’s the issue then?”

He felt the cold take possession of his body and a knot formed in his windpipe. What he had to reveal was already painful in thought, it would be even more so when he had to say it out loud. Months and months had passed since the events, but he still had the feeling that it had just happened or, sometimes, that it had just been a bad dream from which he was finally waking up. The euphoria that followed disappeared as soon as he stepped into the living room and saw the portrait on the dresser, the only two plates on the dining table or the toys scattered on the carpet.

“… His mother died, he announced, his voice breaking, before adding: a year ago.”

“Oh. I'm sorry for your loss,” bounced the forty-year-old, genuinely moved.

“Thank you.”

Then he saw her frowning, puzzled.

“Excuse-me but… do I know you?”

A shiver ran down his spine and he swallowed his saliva, uneasy.

“… I hope not. Why?”

“Your face looks familiar, she admitted, before pulling herself together. Well, never mind. Go on.”

“Normally, he has understood that she won’t coming back, but it's possible that his mind is sometimes elsewhere. He may also resent being reminded by his peers that he has only one parent left.”

Even though he had coped much better with the disappearance of the woman who had given him life than he had, he occasionally caught him standing motionless in the middle of his toys, mute and with a low expression on his face, obviously prey to some questioning. It was a fleeting state that faded as soon as Jessica, he or another family member entered his field of vision, but Aaron always paid close attention. In the same way, he had noticed his envious look at the park as he watched the other children interact with their mother. He appreciated his father's presence, but missed Haley's gentleness and positivity.

“Yes, I understand, nodded the headmistress, adopting a soothing expression. Look, Mr. Hotchner, Jack isn't the first child we've taken in who's already lost his mother, so we should be able to manage.”

“Okay. If… if there's any problem, I've written my cell phone number on his card, he insisted, handing her the document. You can call me anytime.”

“It’ll be fine, I assure you.”

He was sure she was convinced by her words – and she probably had all the skills to handle this type of case – but couldn't stop his anxiety galloping through his veins. He was already ready to jump out of his chair, get back in his car, and drive to school to put his son's mind at rest. This reminded him that he hadn’t told her everything.

“One more thing. It is… – he hesitated, conscious of the image this would give of him – probable that I won't be able to pick him up tonight. Only two people are allowed to pick him up. Here is, Jessica, his aunt, and Ada, his grandmother.”

He presented her with snapshots of the two women and she retrieved them, squinting.

“Wait, aren't you the FBI agent who was stabbed to death in his home a little over... – her enthusiasm waned as her memory delivered the rest of the information – a year ago? Oh, my God! Is it… Whoever did this to you is...?”

Hotch cursed Strauss for allowing this reporter to publish this article in the Arlington daily, complete with his photo portrait and far too many details about his assault. Several neighbors had been worried for their lives, and he had had to do some explaining to get them to dare leave their homes again. Fear had reigned over the neighborhood for several weeks, before being gradually dispelled by other news. But some people hadn't completely forgotten, and his interlocutor was now shocked by his mere presence. Completely unsettled, she stared at him as if he were on his deathbed. He had to cut short this situation, which was as embarrassing for him as it was for her.

“If you don’t mind, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Sure! Of course. Excuse me, she went on, distraught. I get that… Photos. Thank you. We… we’ll take good care of Jack.”

She no longer dared to look at him.

“I’ve got to go.”

“Okay. Very good. Good… Have a good day.”

“I hope so.”

He tried to give her a reassuring smile, but her state of shock prevented her from seeing it. He climbed back into his car and drove towards Quantico. He reached the sixth floor just as JJ was settling down in front of her screen. She looked up at him and asked, curious:

“So?”

“He's surprisingly quick to forget my existence,” he observed, as the boy had ignored the last greeting he'd tried to give him.

Absorbed in a conversation with two other boys, he had obliterated his father's tall silhouette from his surroundings.

“Oops! Grinned JJ, feeling sorry for him. Are you okay?”

“It'll be tough, but I'll get through it, he joked without much conviction. What do we have?”

His heart was still pounding under his skull and his muscles were still tense from the tension built up over the last few days. He needed to take his mind off the latent anguish compressing his ribcage.

“Three men found in a river in a small Wyoming town.”

“Locals?”

“No. They were all just passing through, JJ pointed out, handing him the folder. The sheriff is under pressure; tourism is what sustains the locals.”

Reflexively, he opened the cover, but his eyes fell on the scene of the tragedy. His son's words echoed in his head.

“A problem?” inquired JJ, aware of his trouble.

“Jack would like me to pick him up from school tonight.”

“I see. What’s the plan?”

“I'm still thinking about it, he confessed, unable to make a definite decision at this hour. Let’s go.”

Within minutes, the whole team was gathered around the briefing room table, and JJ gave them a brief description of the case and the latest advances in Garcia’s research. The profilers did a series of hypotheses and deductions, concluding that an on-site presence was essential.

“Off we go,” Morgan said, determined.

Everyone left their chairs and collected the papers spread out in front of them, except Aaron, who did not move from his seat. To the surprise of his flock.

“Hotch?” Derek raised an eyebrow, concerned.

His brain was still weighing up the pros and cons of whether or not to accompany his men into the field. While his neighbors were quoting on the proposed case, he had drawn up a comparative table in his head in order to make his decision. So he hadn't listened too much of what had been said, but finally knew what he was going to do.

“Go without me. I have an imponderable here that requires my presence. But I'll be available most of the day and tonight if necessary.”

“Most of?” repeated Prentiss, baffled.

“Not between 3 and 7 PM,” he clarified, rising to his feet.

With the exception of JJ, all the agents looked at each other, equally confused. It wasn't the first time he hadn't followed them in their investigations – his layoff, his most serious injuries and the loss of his ex-wife had kept him at home – but the specificity of this time slot was surprising. They waited for further information, which their superior did not give them, considering it none of their business. He and the liaison officer exchanged glances and agreed that he wouldn't take it badly if she revealed why he'd had to forfeit this time.

“… Okay. See… see you later,” Morgan stammered before leaving the room.

“Good luck.”

Soon he found himself alone with Penelope, who questioned him in silence, unsettled by this sudden change in protocol. He reassured her with a smile and urged her to return to her post to support her colleagues already on the way. He returned to his office and stayed there for most of the day, answering calls from subordinates and others seeking the BAU’s help, relieving the workload of the team's only mother so that she could devote herself fully to the case. One thing led to another, and his employees untangled all the knots in the story, uncovering the culprit's identity in record time. Hotch had already left his office and was driving towards downtown DC when he received a message from Derek that the suspect was under arrest. At the first red light, he sent a congratulatory message to each member of his team, and then continued on to the school, a little more appeased.

                When he pulled into the nearby parking lot, the gates were still closed and only two or three parents were present. He got out of his vehicle but didn't approach them any further, not daring to disturb them or impose unwanted greetings. Anyway, his mind was entirely focused on the imminent arrival of his son. He kept his fingers crossed that everything had gone well and that all he wanted to do was go back. He hoped his master or mistress would be friendly, that he would have learned lots of things that piqued his interest, and that he would even have made some friends. In short, he prayed that he wouldn't be so angry at him for throwing him into the lion's den, with the intention of repeating the gesture.

                The bell went off somewhere within the walls of the building, and less than a minute later, two people came to open the doors to the street. Many more mothers and fathers had appeared since then, and they had all stiffened at the sound of the chirping. In the end, they were all moved by the same concern, which somewhat reassured Aaron, who had often been criticized for overreacting to innocuous subjects. A handful of children emerged from the corridor and rushed towards their targets at full speed. A second wave soon followed, and more pairs and trios were formed. The director felt his heart quicken as his neurons began to imagine all sorts of contingencies that could explain this absence. At the third salvo, a familiar face stood out from the crowd and was immediately spotted. Jack galloped toward him with a smile running from ear to ear, and he threw himself into his arms with a blissful expression that annihilated all apprehensions of this very special day.

___

In the original draft, there's a dialogue between the BAU team members after they left Quantico. JJ told them the truth and as Emily was asking out loud why he didn't say it to them, Derek explained that he just couldn't (because: "Boys...", you know. XD).

I cut it because it's written with Hotch's point of view, so he can't hear them. And I wanted a cuddle between the two Hotchner's boys. X3

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #agent hotchner #code name mom #criminal minds fanfic #jack hotchner #jj #jennifer jareau #agent jareau #father #son

[codename-mom]

In name of Spencer

Summary: Post-S08E12. Maeve has been killed and Spencer is at his lowest. Hotch wants to cheer up the youngest member of his team, but the task is not easy, even more when his superior search for explanation

Characters: David Rossi, Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan, JJ, Alex Blake + Erin Strauss

Contents: this text is part of no challenge. I just wanted to write something about how Hotch deals with Reid's pain.

TW: mention of what's happened during Zugzwang episode, and pain, grief, etc.

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

“Did you call me?” inquired Dave, on the threshold of the next office.

Aaron looked up from his screen immediately.

“Yes. Did you know that starfishes have eyes at the end of their arms?”

“What?” gasped the BAU co-founder, completely baffled by this strange question.

“Did you know or not?” insisted his cadet, nervously.

“Yes. I’ve already been to the aquarium.”

“Darn! It means he knows it too.”

Disappointed, the giant turned his attention back to his computer and wondered what new query he could put into his search engine. For his part, his opposite squinted, puzzled. When he had seen his supervisor's e-mail, he had expected to answer a few interrogations about a past or current investigation, not to be tested on his knowledge of marine biology.

“… What are you up to?” he asked logically.

“I’m trying to find a fact that Reid doesn’t know.”

“Good luck. Why?”

Hotch sighed and pushed away his keyboard. Empty-headed, he had no idea how to continue the quest he had been on for several days. But maybe his mentor could give him some inspiration.

“Because… After Haley's death, Spencer would regularly send me messages about all kinds of incredible things that, of course, I didn’t know, he confessed, dodging his interlocutor's gaze. He did it not to show off, but to divert my attention.”

“And you'd like to return the favor by diverting his.”

“Beth thinks it might be a good idea.”

“And I agree with her.”

It had now been just over a week since the tragedy, and Aaron's youngest subordinate was bearing the full brunt of the consequences. Holed up at home, he didn't answer calls or messages sent to him, just as he ignored people knocking on his door. Guided by his instinct, the agency manager knew he was still alive, but imagined him curled up in an armchair, staring into space, or dragging his feet limply from one room to another, tears rolling down his unshaven cheeks. He himself didn't expect any response from him to this potential anecdote, content with the simple fact that it may have eased the young man's pain for a time.

“The thing is that I can't find anything that lives up to the fact that the northern lights are the sun's spittoons.”

“What?”

“That's it in a nutshell, but that's about it. He had written this message with a link to a very interesting video on the origin of the northern lights. We watched it together, Jack and I.”

He still remembered the moment of confusion that had seized him when he had read the SMS with this premise. Then, his curiosity piqued despite the vice that was crushing his insides at the time, he clicked on the link. And for a little less than a quarter of an hour, he had forgotten the pain that haunted him from morning to night, fascinated by this impromptu talk. He then showed it to his son, who couldn't miss a bit of it, his eyes wide at the discovery. Thirteen minutes and twenty-two seconds seemed like a drop in the ocean compared to a lifetime; but in this context, it had represented a point of light in the darkness that was devouring him. A star in the night that had relieved him. And there had been plenty more after that one, which, he was sure, had kept him from getting lost in the dark. If only he could do the same for Reid…

“And how many years do you think it will take you to find it?” ironized his guest, who would certainly never have embarked on such an ambitious project.

“I can’t say. For now, I’m searching and asking people if they know.”

“And?”

“And then, not only do I not find it, but I look like an idiot.”

The novelist burst into laughter. Aaron frowned.

“It’s not funny, Dave, he scolded, annoyed. This kid is at the bottom of the abyss, and I've got nothing to help him get back up.”

Rossi raised his hands to temper his anger and, still smiling, came to sit on the chair opposite him.

“Have you thought about what he doesn't know?”

“He knows everything.”

That’s where the issue was. The young agent had several doctorates in his pocket, plus everything he'd read since he'd learned to do it. For a thirty-year-old with a passion for reading and for discovering new things, this meant that he had a wealth of wisdom that was hard to fault.

“Everyone has an Achilles heel, even him.”

“I only know one, but I’m pretty sure that it’s not the right time to talk about it.”

Formidably intelligent but completely inept in terms of social relations, Reid's love life could be compared to a very long desert crossing. In fact, his knowledge of hanks was limited to theoretical principles and all the possible deviations he had picked up in his criminology lessons. The boy was a blank page in this field who had come very close to be covered by his first story.

“… What about cooking? Bounced Dave. He doesn’t strike me as a cookery specialist.”

“True. But he’ll know that it’ll come from you. I’m not a cook myself.”

Far from it. Besides, the longer he stayed away from stoves and knives, the better it was for those around him. Unlike Rossi, who was a born chef and whose dishes delighted the agents' taste buds.

“Does it really matter where the tips comes from? After all, you don't seem to be a starfish specialist either.”

The BAU’s eldest scored a point. Spencer had surely told him things he'd learned on his own during his young life, instead of, like him, seeking information on subjects that were ultimately of little interest to him. Which didn’t do his business any favors.

“… I’ll ask the others, he announced after a sigh. They must know more than I do about what he's not good at.”

Although often on the road with his team, his subordinates were nevertheless closer to each other than he was to them. And they had all more or less taken the youngest of the gang under their wing, helping him gradually to emerge from his cocoon. Leaving his chair, Aaron made his way to the bull-pen area where Morgan, JJ and Blake were chatting over a cup of coffee. They stiffened as he lunged in their direction, but relaxed when he explained what he expected of them. The trio immediately began to think.

“Surprisingly, he's lacking in popular cinema, declared the ex-liaison officer. Or in literature for teenagers.”

“Why?” her superior raised an eyebrow, not seeing what she was referring to.

“He doesn’t know who Edward Cullen is.”

It took Hotch a few seconds to put his finger on the vaguely familiar name. The image of a sallow, unkempt teenager popped into his mind, along with all the criticisms he'd heard about the cinematic work that concerned him.

“I'd like to say it's not a big loss, he commented, raising his eyebrows, but it's mostly that he's not going to be interested in it at all. The idea is to bait him into doing further research and get him thinking about something else.”

“Sure, it's not a good idea to burden his mind with a vampire who looks like a disco ball,” agreed Derek, half-seriously.

Putting aside all thoughts of novels for young readers and their big-screen adaptations, the group fell into silence. It had to be said that the task was an arduous one, but everyone was motivated to help their colleague out of his slump.

“There's also video games, which I'm obviously better at than he is,” Dave remarked with a certain pride.

Despite his attraction to popular culture, particularly in terms of films and TV shows, Reid stayed far away from anything that resembled modern technology: computers, cell phones and games consoles. In contrast, the eldest of the BAU enjoyed his free time with controller in hand, challenging anyone who wanted to try his luck. Jack, the unit's oldest child, had already had the opportunity to confront him on several occasions, with varying degrees of success.

“I don't want to underline his ignorance either. We have to cheer him up, not shoot him in his back.”

“But we could encourage him to join an online game, with Emily for example,” suggested JJ, who had kept in touch with the current head of Interpol's London agency via Internet Scrabble games during her French run from Doyle.

“Hotchner!” suddenly exclaimed a voice from behind.

He didn't even flinch, but he didn't turn around either. Instead, he remained in position and continued:

“She’ll ask him questions and he’ll be embarrassed to answer them. She should be briefed beforehand.”

“Agent Hotchner! Are you deaf?”

Furious, Erin, who had just emerged from the elevator, circled around his imposing frame to plant herself right under his nose, forcing him to stop ignoring her.

“Chief Strauss, I didn't hear you come in,” said Aaron, in an even tone.

“Don’t push your luck, she scolded, wrinkling her eyelids. In my office.

“With all my due respect, I’ve got work to do.”

“Me too, she snapped, snarling. In. My. Office.”

Without waiting for an answer from him, she went back the way she came and frantically pressed the call button. Hotch, who suspected the reason for her anger but had no desire to discuss it, took a deep breath and followed in her footsteps, not without slipping a final instruction to his men:

“… Keep thinking.”

Without exchanging a single word, the two managers made their way upstairs to a large, dark-tinted office. Strauss took her seat and indicated the chair opposite her with a wave of her hand. Aaron settled down slowly, raised his head and, in the most innocent tone possible, said:

“Is there a problem?”

“Yes, you could say that, squeaked the section chief, her clear eyes focused on him. Why did you grant Agent Reid unlimited leave?”

“Dr. Reid.”

“I beg your pardon?” she retorted, caught off guard by this outburst.

“Spencer Reid has five doctorates.”

“He’s an FBI employee.”

“He prefers to be called that way.”

The woman in her fifties gave him a disillusioned look. The two agents hated each other cordially and did everything in their power to make each other's lives miserable at most. Hotch, who had less power than his interlocutor, played the groping more than necessary simply to destabilize her. He wasn't unaware of how important these diplomas were to Spencer, but as it stood, they weren't the reason for this summit call. Erin pouted, supporting the fixed irises of her unruly staff member, then sighed:

“Fine. Why this unlimited leave?”

“Because I’m more generous than you are.”

“What?” she reacted, outraged by this ill-timed attack.

“He has just lost someone very dear to him. His girlfriend, to be more precise.”

Strauss widened her eyelids in surprise, then frowned. Her thoughts became confused for a few moments. Should she put him in his place for his unfair reflection on the number of days off she'd given him after his ex-wife's death? She had followed protocol and offered him early retirement so that he could devote his full attention to his son. But he refused her offer and returned to his post once the time had elapsed, without making any further demands. For her, this meant that he hadn't needed much more to assimilate what had happened and reorganize his new life. And, on the other hand, this story of a girlfriend for the BAU’s youngest agent intrigued her.

“When?”

“Saturday.”

“What’s happened?”

“I don’t know the details.”

“Really?” she doubted, trying to break through the stoic mask the director was presenting to her.

“I respect my men’s private life.”

Hotch saw his superior’s jaws tighten. She didn't believe for a moment what he’d said but knew that raising her voice would lead to nothing but even higher barriers between him and her. If she wanted to get at the truth, she was going to have to play it smart.

“Good. Then explain to me why your technical analyst's computers were activated on Saturday, as were your business phones and car GPS units.”

“… Another team may have used them,” suggested Aaron after a minute’s thought.

“I received an invoice from the SWAT to your name.”

“I’ve lost my apartment keys.”

A wave of fury overwhelmed the tenant's good intentions.

“Hotch! Don’t take me for an idiot! What have you been up to again?”

“Why?” he asked coldly.

“What do you mean by ‘why?’? I end up with a weekend crew using FBI equipment and an agent on leave until 2099. I demand an explanation!”

“I couldn’t go any further.”

“What...? She hiccupped before understanding what he had meant. Aaron, pissing me off won't make this conversation any more pleasant. What did you do?”

“What are you planning to do?”

Determined not to give up any information until he was certain that nothing would happen to his team, the giant walled himself up in the smoothest possible attitude, leaving his adversary of the day nothing to hang on to. Strauss knew this behavior all too well, and it irritated her to no end. Blowing out a breath to soothe her irritation, she changed her tune.

“… Look, I understand that you're trying to protect your men, but the Committee is demanding explanations, and at this time I can't give them any.”

“I can talk to them.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“It won’t be a first.”

“Yes, and they don't have very fond memories of your unit.”

In order to justify the outrageous expenses incurred by the BAU in faking the disappearance of one of their own in the eyes of an international terrorist, Hotch and his crew had to appear before the top brass of the Bureau. Fiercely arguing to defend their every move, none of them had shown an ounce of remorse or commiseration in front of this jury of the first rank. On the contrary, they stuck to their guns as if they'd been in the right from start to finish. This arrogance displeased management, who decided to take a harder line and keep a close eye on their movements.

“Don't you understand that if I don't have anything in my hands, I can't defend them and you with them?”

“I didn’t know you were concerned about us.”

“Aaron, I know appearances are against me, but I'm not your enemy. I need to know.”

She couldn't have been more right, her subordinate thought. When Gideon and Rossi had left him in charge of the unit, he had immediately gone up to the section chief to present his vision of things. And he had literally seen her change color when he had explained the scope of the project. FBI headquarters had authorized the BAU to expand following its good results, but not to the extent he had imagined. Going from two agents to six – including a technical analyst demanding expensive computer equipment – and a private jet, had given Strauss cold sweats. However, unable at the time to counter the young director's rock-solid argument, she had capitulated. Which she now regretted more than ever, given the financial sinkhole this agency had become some days. And Hotch couldn't count the number of times she'd pointed out Spencer's ineptitude, Jason's and then Dave's great age, Derek and Emily's impulsiveness, or the fact that he could handle JJ's duties just fine.

So, no, he didn't believe her when she said she was on his side. Worse still, he knew full well that he and his men had acted totally out of line, and had made countless mistakes, right up to the tragic end. In fact, confessing to her was a bit like pushing the whole team off a cliff. However, he wasn’t fooled. This insistent request didn't come from her directly, but from her superiors, who were still reeling from their defeat in the Doyle affair. And as long as they didn't get an answer to this new and costly mystery, they'd keep her on a short leash and, by extension, she'd never stop pestering him. A burden he didn’t feel like carrying around.

“… Okay. On one condition.”

“Which one?”

“I want to be held solely accountable.”

“Why am I not surprised? She sighed, shaking her head in disappointment. Go on.”

She understood that he wouldn't incriminate any of his men but gave in because she would at least know what had happened.

“Reid called me late Saturday afternoon, Hotch began. He urgently needed to see me. He was under a lot of stress and had trouble speaking. I tried to find out what was going on and postpone our interview until Monday, but he then confessed that his girlfriend had disappeared.”

“I didn’t know he was dating someone.”

“Welcome to the club, he tossed out evenly. It was very recent, even though they had been communicating for just over three months.”

Strauss frowned, unsettled.

“’They had been communicating’? What that supposed to mean? They’ve never met?”

The section chief’s surprise was justified. He himself had thought he had misheard when Blake had revealed the strangeness of this relationship. However, while he had initially blamed this modus operandi on Reid's sociability difficulties, the reality was quite different.

“No. For a good reason. This woman was a victim of a stalker. A female stalker,” he added immediately.

“It exists?”

“It’s uncommon, but yes. These women often suffer from erotomania or are simply jealous. Maliciously jealous, emphasized the profiler in order to make her hear how dangerous this woman was. In our case, it’s the second option. Reid's girlfriend, Maeve, was a rather gifted geneticist. Her stalker had sent her a thesis, which she rejected on purely scientific grounds. But for this woman, it was the trigger that made Maeve's life a living hell.”

Aaron was pouring out this flood of information without taking the time to breathe, and his interlocutor had to stop him to clarify a point.

“Wait, did you discover all this during your investigation or did Dr. Reid tell you?”

“No, we found out on Saturday when we were doing our research.”

“This type of investigation does not fall within your jurisdiction, so why didn't you entrust it to local authorities?”

“Reid asked for our help.”

“So what? You know the laws better than anyone, Hotch. You knew you were doing it illegally.”

A former federal prosecutor, the director of the BAU continued to keep abreast of developments in American law whenever his overloaded schedule allowed him a little free time. In fact, he was well aware that the case he and his team had been following over the weekend did not fall within their remit. Diane Turner, though unbalanced, had not killed anyone before that day, and the police, who were unaware of the scientist's disappearance, had not asked for their help in solving the harassment that had degenerated. They had knowingly encroached on a territory that was not theirs, in defiance of all the laws that existed and that governed the tasks of both parties in normal times.

“Yes, but Reid would never have trusted anyone but us, and we couldn't have found Maeve without him.”

“Did he help you with the investigation? Realized Erin, flabbergasted. Despite his proximity to the victim? You know how quickly this can turn into a procedural error.”

“Yes. But we had no other option. Maeve was on the run, in hiding; she had become a ghost to escape her stalker. The only one who knew her and could therefore give us clues as to how to find her was him.”

“That’s why you conducted this operation undercover. To hide the fact that you've been working hand-in-hand with someone far too emotionally involved. Am I right?”

“Yes.”

The director gave him a look that spoke volumes about what she thought of this way of doing things. But he did not flinch. He didn't turn his head away or blink, proving that he was fully aware of his choices. A long stream of air escaped his superior's nostrils and she continued, as calmly as possible.

“What happened?”

“We discovered that the stalker was nothing less than the new girlfriend of Maeve's ex-fiancé. She broke off their engagement to steal her lover. To get what she had, he added, trying to get her to understand the young woman's psychology as best he could. Except she found out about Reid and Maeve. She then realized that the ex-fiancé was no longer of any use to her.”

“Did she kill him?”

The section leader may not have been a profiler, let alone a field agent, but that didn't stop her from knowing how to add two and two together. With the few crumbs her employee had deigned to throw her, she had been able to make the necessary deductions, and denying the truth would have been quite pointless.

“Unfortunately, agreed Hotch. Maeve was next on the list, but Reid suggested an exchange. Him in place of her. His plan was to present himself to the stalker and make her believe that it was she he loved after all, rather than Maeve.”

“For what purpose?” asked Strauss, eyebrows furrowed.

“Give her what she wanted: the recognition of an intelligent being. A very intelligent being.”

It may seem a trivial detail at first, but the crux of the problem lay in this aspect of the personalities of the protagonists of this sad story. All Diane had asked for was for a great mind – by her own standards – to endorse her and prove that she was not just another grain of sand in the universe. Unable to be content with her simple condition as one human among billions, she had made this quest her obsession, not hesitating for a moment to eliminate anyone in her path.

“Did she accept?”

“To meet him, yes. Alone, without gun and bulletproof vest. “

“You didn't let him?" she said, suddenly concerned.

“I did.”

“But…”

“I know it sounds absurd, but unarmed and unprotected, you seem much less aggressive, which can create a much calmer climate for dialogue.”

It was a dangerous maneuver, one that could turn into a sudden execution at the slightest change of tone or ill-chosen word, and one that only skilled negotiators were expected to carry out; however, circumstances had meant that Spencer had been the one and only potential candidate for the task. And, at this hour, knowing the outcome of this face-to-face encounter, he remained convinced that if Dave, he, or any other member of the BAU had come forward, things would not have gone any better; indeed, the death toll would have been even higher.

“And where were you?”

“Outside. With the rest of the team.”

“You left that kid alone, facing a hysterical, armed woman?”

“This plan could work; I had faith in him.”

Erin couldn’t believe it. From the outset, she had resented the presence of this tall, gangly teenager, who could barely hold a revolver and ran out of steam after only a few yards, in this unit that hunted down the dregs of humanity. In fact, she was quick to remind the man who had welcomed him that she had only agreed to validate his hiring because he should have been sitting behind his desk. And now she discovered that he had been thrown into the lion's den without even the means to defend himself. The absurdity of the situation immediately gave her a headache.

“What went wrong?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t there, admitted Hotch. We heard a gunshot and went in.”

“Had she killed Maeve?”

“No. She had shot Reid in the arm.”

Better and better, Strauss thought, repressing her urge to scream.

“Please tell me you've put her out of action.”

“No. Reid still felt he could negotiate with her. His life for Maeve’s…”

The giant fell silent as images of the scene flooded back from his memory. Like his colleagues, he replayed that evening over and over again, trying to find the moment when everything had changed. Trying to understand where the mistake had been made, so that it would never be repeated.

“But things didn't turn out as planned, did they?”

“No, he admitted, lowering his nose. Understanding how important Maeve was to Reid – unlike her – she killed two birds with one stone.”

A shiver ran down the section chief’s spine.

“… Meaning?”

“She held Maeve close to her. She aligned her head with Maeve's and pulled the trigger.”

What her imagination drew in her mind immediately made her nauseous. Within seconds, she felt as if all her blood had drained from her extremities. Although more often seated in a chair than pounding the countryside, like the man in front of her, the director knew the terrible damage a firearm could do to a human skull. Witnessing this horrific spectacle live left an indelible mark.

“… D… Dr. Reid was there?”

“Yes. We were all there.”

“And… none of you…?”

“We didn't have time to react, confessed the unit manager, not very proud of this error of judgement. We knew she had suicidal thoughts and was in danger of ending her life before our very eyes, but we didn't anticipate that she would take her target with her.”

He didn't know what it was like for his agents, but he'd clearly underestimated the extent of her neurosis. He hadn't imagined that her anger and hatred would be so great that they would combine at the last minute with her self-destructive impulses. But the mistake he'd made was surely to have let Spencer lead the conversation from start to finish, when he wouldn't have been sure himself – with the hindsight he had at the moment – of preventing her from pulling the trigger. He might have been able to save Maeve, but Diane’s frustration was far too deep-rooted in her veins for her to have listened to reason. And he was an experienced negotiator, unlike the young man who was just starting out in this field.

“… So, to sum up, Strauss resumed, fighting back her desire to raise her voice, three people died while you were unofficially investigating the whereabouts of one of them, involving an agent who was somehow intimately involved with her.”

Hotch nodded without opening his mouth. The section chief hoped this meant he realized the breaches of protocol this whole affair concealed, as well as their consequences. But to be absolutely sure she decided to emphasize the irresponsibility he'd shown over the weekend.

“Do you get that these three deceased people could have been members of your own team? You knowingly put them in danger to find someone Dr. Reid had never even seen! You're a branch manager, you're responsible for the lives of each and every one of your agents; you're not supposed to push them off the rails!”

“They volunteered,” said the profiler calmly.

“What?”

“Once Spencer had finished explaining the problem, I told them we'd have to work under the radar. I gave them the choice of leaving or staying, he explained, before adding: They chose to stay with full knowledge of the facts.”

“Of course, they stayed. You’re as close as the fingers on a hand. Your suggestion was purely rhetorical.”

Although she wasn't around the BAU agents very often, she had studied many of their mission reports and had read a lot of the information between the lines about their group dynamics. With their disparate temperaments, they were nonetheless ready to do anything to protect their peers or come to their aid if need be. A relationship that is more friendly than professional, which management could have welcomed if their actions had not flouted the established rules. She could easily imagine that they hadn't hesitated for a moment to follow their superior's plan, without even considering the possible repercussions on their careers. And she was convinced that Hotch knew it, even before offering them a way out.

“So what? What are you going to do? Cancel Reid’s leave? He doesn't even come out of his home,” he revealed, disguising his concern as best he could.

“I want a report,” she spat in an unapologetic tone.

“No. No way.”

Erin wasn’t surprised by this rebuff. She had even expected it, as well as the battle ahead. The director of the Behavioral Analysis Unit may have adopted an icy demeanor on a daily basis, but he protected the men and women who worked under him with an almost maternal ferocity. His superior had lost count of the number of times she had argued with him for long minutes – or even longer – without succeeding in obtaining the name of the culprit(s) in his team. Failing that, she'd had to fall back on him, except that he didn't seem to mind in the least. But this time, she was determined to win this face-to-face encounter, even more so now that she knew the details of this sordid story.

“Hotch, I want a mission report about this case.”

“If I do this, the others will have to do one too and everyone will pay for it.”

In fact, according to established protocol, each agent quoted in his brief was required to write his or her own version of the facts, so that all aspects of the case would be known to the higher-ups. As a result, if the file showed that mistakes had been made, the competent authorities only had to bend down to pick out the names of the culprits and punish them as they saw fit.

“You don’t have to put any names.”

“Please, no one up there will believe that I conducted this investigation alone or with complete strangers. And even less that I've managed to analyze data here, while being elsewhere.”

He had a point, but she hadn't said her last word.

“The Committee won't let me go until they really know what happened.”

“I refuse to sacrifice my team because they wanted to save someone in defiance of a sacrosanct protocol established by bureaucrats.”

“Aaron, you can't use FBI equipment for personal purposes!”

“That woman was in danger!”

Silence fell over the office following these sudden outbursts, and the two fighters stared at each other for a long moment, concentrating to keep from blinking. Strauss sighed.

“Hotch, like it or not, I need something official, in writing, to present to the Committee. Something that could justify turning on your analyst's computers, moving your vehicles, using your phones, and giving Dr. Reid unlimited time off. Without the bait, you know exactly who the piranhas are going to pounce on.”

Indeed, he could see perfectly well who was going to suffer the brunt of this backlash. That said, he knew that the result would be more or less the same whether he wrote something or not. Right now, the Bureau's top brass didn't know who was responsible for all this unauthorized activity, so their wrath could fall on anyone. However, being no fools, they would logically turn their attention to the usual owners of said equipment, summoning the unit manager as a matter of priority to get to the bottom of the whole affair. And if he gave them his report, even if he omitted the identity of those present, the brass would come down on him and demand clarification. He wouldn't supply them, of course, but this first step forward, a sign of goodwill on his part, would perhaps mitigate their desire to remove him from office.

“… How soon do you need it?”

“First thing in the morning.”

“My report is likely to be very concise.”

“Do your best.”

Without another word, she indicated the exit with her chin. Accustomed to this stinginess in politeness, he got up and headed for the closed door.

“Aaron,” she called out as he put his hand on the handle.

Without saying a word, he slowly turned around, wondering what else she wanted from him.

“How is he doing?”

Hotch frowned, unsettled. His superior rarely worried about his flock, even though she knew how difficult their mission was and what they had been through. For all he knew, she'd done nothing for JJ when she'd nearly been eaten alive by rabid dogs, nor for Derek when he'd come within a hair's breadth of exploding in a New York ambulance, nor for Penelope after she'd been shot in the chest. Why she was asking him? What did she really wanted to know? Impossible to determine as it stands, he concluded in his mind. He didn't have enough information to answer these questions and didn't intend to linger in the office any longer. What's more, even if the probability was low, it was possible that the section chief might actually be on their side this time, smoothing things over with the bigwigs at FBI headquarters. And so, he decided to play fair.

“Like a teenager who's lost the love of his life.”

___

Not my best work imo, but I like some lines here and there. :)

Hope you'll like it better.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #agent hotchner #code name mom #criminal minds fanfic #agent morgan #david rossi #derek morgan #morgan #agent rossi #rossi #jj #jennifer jareau #agent jareau #alex blake #agent blake #blake #bau team #erin strauss

[codename-mom]

First steps

Summary: Rossi found a young agent working on Yates' case who could be a good new recruit for the BAU. He's eager to see the reaction of his co-worker and friend, Jason Gideon.

Characters: David Rossi, Aaron Hotchner and Jason Gideon

Contents: TW mentions of Yates' case, but they mostly talk about other things.

This text was originally thought for the Meet Cute CM challenge, but it also suits the New Beginings CM challenge organized by @imagining-in-the-margins. So, it's a mix-up of both of them. XD

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

San Francisco, 1997

David Rossi was tidying up the last of the documents relating to the Womb Raider case that he had scattered over the previous few days. Beside him, the federal agent who had accompanied him all along was watching him with a disappointed look.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, sheepishly.

“It’s not your fault. It's not the first time he's disappeared after being reported on by journalists. All we can do now is wait for him to kill again, unfortunately.”

It was the truth. Five years earlier, when the profiler had first come face to face with this singular serial killer, he had stopped moving as soon as the local reporters had set their sights on him. Back then, he didn't have that silly nickname – and ill-advised, according to Dave’s opinion – because he was content to savagely stab his victims. He had appeared in Seattle and, for some obscure reason, reappeared further down the West Coast after several years of silence. Then, as soon as the cameras turned on him, he vanished again into thin air. This erratic behavior was the result of the suspect's thoughts, and his alone. His pursuers were not responsible for his escape. However, this new disappearance didn't help Rossi, and he had no choice but to pack up and wait for his target to be found guilty of a fifth murder.

“Do you really think he stops killing all this time?”

He looked up at the young man, who was standing straight as an I a few steps away, scrutinizing him without batting an eyelid.

“You doubt it?”

His cadet swallowed, briefly dodged his gaze, then launched out:

“I… I've read a few books and articles about sociopaths like him, and they all agree that these people behave like drug addicts. The only way they can feel good, even for a moment, is to kill again and again, he unpacked at full speed, his dark irises focused on him. In fact, it seems strange to me that he could hold back for five or ten years before taking his dose again.”

“And yet the facts are there,” Dave pointed out, closing his satchel.

“Yes and no.”

The forty-year-old frowned. In the few days they'd been together, he'd noticed that his temporary partner's behavior was surprising, to say the least. If he excluded the fact that obviously no one had told him that staring at someone could be poorly perceived, he had noticed above all that his vision of things was far from fitting into the usual boxes of his peers. In spite of his youth – which could have led him to follow in the footsteps of his elders without question – he valiantly walked outside the lines and didn't hesitate to correct older – and more experienced – people about their working methods. On several occasions, Rossi had caught glimpses of the latter's furious looks, to which his partner had paid absolutely no attention. He had been afraid of being dragged along by a fussy, overly protocol-driven paper-pusher, but had found a curious ally who was very attentive to his thoughts and lacked the usual blinkers of his fellows. In fact, he was very interested in tasting the mixture that his brain had concocted in silence.

“… Tell me more.”

“You're only aware of what's reported to you, but there are plenty of unsolved crimes that aren't passed on to the FBI, he began without hesitation. Either because the victim is a prostitute, drug addict or has no family. Either because the bodies were never found. And if the suspect killed the first victim in one state and the next in another, the information doesn't get out because local authorities don't communicate with each other. It's hard enough in the same state sometimes, so imagine between two states who aren't side by side.”

Dave took in the stream of words and carefully digested the information. The kid was right. And since "his" killer always started by going after one party girl before moving on to the next, how many of them had crossed his path in the intervening five years that no one had seen fit to pass on the news to Quantico? And if he had buried the second – the only victim likely to attract the attention of the police – then he could have acted with impunity all this time. A momentary dizziness seized the profiler, which he concealed behind a puzzled mask.

“Tell me your name again?”

“Aaron Hotchner,” he replied immediately, without seeming in the least perturbed by the fact that after weeks of teamwork, he hadn't remembered his identity.

“You’re… a federal prosecutor, that’s it?”

“Yes, he confirmed, eyebrows furrowed. Why?”

With a friend and colleague, Jason Gideon, Rossi had set up a pseudo-agency within the FBI with the aim of tracking down all the sociopaths in the country more efficiently using the profiling method. The higher-ups openly laughed in their faces but gave them some time to prove themselves. With the results coming in, they had been offered the chance to expand their unit, which was an unhoped-for opportunity for the overworked duo. And this guy seemed to have a good predisposition for the job.

“You're smart,” he said, observing his interlocutor’s reactions carefully.

“… Thank you, he answered, unease. I guess.”

“Do you like your job?”

“… Yes.”

“Hmm.”

He had hesitated. A good sign from Dave's point of view, who saw it as a breach through which he could slip in.

“Are you offering me a job as a profiler?” questioned the young man, perplexed.

“You have the capacity for.”

“Really?”

His question was surprisingly sincere. Clearly, he was unaware of his abilities in this area, although he had no trouble following his elder's reasoning throughout the investigation. To establish a suspect's profile, it was necessary to draw on both a more or less in-depth knowledge of human psychology and a consequent theoretical knowledge of statistics. Added to this were logic, a little common sense, and a certain open-mindedness that many people lacked. Qualities that this Aaron undeniably possessed.

“You're meticulous, organized, intelligent and attentive to detail, affirmed Rossi, before continuing. You're not afraid to keep learning and you seem to be able to see beyond the box.”

He deliberately ignored the few shortcomings he had noted over the past few days, believing they would not affect his efficiency. But, contrary to what he had expected, the prosecutor didn't seem the least bit flattered by this portrait. Very subtly, he folded in on himself and, for the first time, looked away for a moment. He raised his eyes only to stutter out:

“… Uh… Well, it’s just that… I have to talk to my fiancée first.”

The federal agent who had just spoken was not a teenager or even a young adult; he was already over thirty years old. And yet, this line revealed an obvious immaturity that was in stark contrast to the speeches he had been able to deliver up to that point. Dave added this information to the list of things he and Jason should keep an eye on. In the meantime, he smiled and, shaking his head, declared:

“… Indeed, it’s wiser.”

Three weeks later, Rossi returned from the Quantico underworld to pick up Hotchner at the reception desk. The former prosecutor had passed all the admission tests with flying colors and would be discovering his new working environment today. His recruiter shook his hand with a smile and invited him to head for the elevators.

“Has your fiancée finally agreed to let you change jobs?” remarked the Italian American, trying to soften the ironic tone of his question.

“Yes,” soberly reacted his now colleague.

Since their last face-to-face meeting, the two men had spoken at length by e-mail and telephone in order to finalize all the details of this unexpected arrival and had therefore had time to get to know each other better. At the same time, Dave was able to glean further information about the Manassas native. Rather shy and very protective when it came to his private life, he hadn't let on anything more than the fact that his father had died many years earlier and that he'd known his girlfriend since he was eighteen. Next to that, Aaron was a tomb that would have to be worked over to discover its secrets.

“Did you explain to her that you wouldn't be home every night?” pursued Rossi, pressing the -2 button.

“Yes.”

“And it doesn’t bother her?”

His neighbor lowered his eyes again and stammered:

“She… she told me to take care of myself.”

A roundabout way of telling him that her tolerance of his absences had its limits. The question was whether the groom-to-be had grasped the implication, for, notwithstanding his clear-sightedness on some subjects, Agent Hotchner struggled on others. So it would be up to him and Jason to take care of it for him, so that this marriage in the making didn't fall apart before it even happened.

“What's her name?” he asked as the elevator doors opened onto a gloomy corridor.

“Haley.”

“Say ‘hi’ to her from me. Follow me and don’t pay attention to the mess.”

Dave entered the corridor cluttered with cardboard boxes and wobbly shelves. To express their disdain for profiling, management had given the pair permission to set up their offices in a single location: in the basement of Quantico. Where everyone piled up everything that was good for the dumpster or waiting to be repaired, sometimes for years in the case of certain items. And the newcomer didn't seem to really understand what they were doing here.

“I’m sure you imagined it differently.”

“Uh… To be honest, yes,” he confessed, stepping over a three-legged coffee table.

“You’ll get used to it.”

Then they came to a yellowish door on which a homemade sign had been stuck, admittedly a little crooked. Rossi had left his partner in charge while he left on a new business deal, and when he returned, he could only see that the damage had already been done. In some ways, Gideon reminded him a lot of the man who followed him: insanely uncompromising when it came to his work, but totally uncoordinated when it came to involving a personal part of himself in a task. He was even willing to bet that, like his long-time comrade, he'd have to use a crowbar to get him off his files when it was time to eat or go to bed. He couldn't wait for these two UFOs to contact each other.

Shortly afterwards, Hotchner entered a blind room with two cluttered desks, a blackboard covered with annotations on one of the walls – a few documents had escaped the frame, taped, or pinned to the dull paint of the high walls – and everywhere, boxes overflowing with papers. A dozen or so of them were gradually spread across the floor as the air flowed or the tenants moved about.

“Aaron, let me introduce you, Jason Gideon.”

“The child prodigy, at last!” exclaimed the latter with a smile, getting rid of his file and coming over to the rookie.

“Uh... nice to meet you,” he pronounced, snapping out of his observation.

“Welcome. Sit where you can.”

The brown irises groped around, looking for a support able to bear the weight of their owner, who stood at over six feet tall.

“Coffee?” David suggested before he had time to make a decision.

“Uh… yes. Thank you,” he said, clearly confused by the sudden appearance of the coffee pot.

His host handed him a cup and poured a generous glassful of the dark, full-bodied liquid. Italian by birth, Rossi liked his coffee strong. He requested family members living in Italy to send him regular shipments, as the product sold in the United States was not to his taste buds' liking.

“Impressed?” his colleague inquired their guest, who continued to scan the surroundings.

“… Surprised, overall. There’s just the two of you?”

“Yes.”

“For all the country?”

“Yes,” replied Dave, placing the coffee pot back on its base.

The ex-prosecutor raised an eyebrow.

“How… how is it possible?”

“The problem is that this isn’t really possible.”

“We have to make choices. And work on several files at the same time,” explained Gideon, his own mug in hand.

“Do you succeed?”

“Depends on the day,” Rossi conceded.

The territory to be covered was so vast that it was difficult for them to respond to all the requests. Every day, they took an hour or two to dive into the pile of calls for help from the country's various authorities and sorted them out. Some cases could be solved by sending an e-mail or two, while others required a visit to the site and a bit of hands-on work. The latter represented the majority, but it was undeniable that they couldn't be everywhere at once and that, here again, they had to apply a drastic selection process. An activity they disliked all the more for its disregard for human life. But with a third man at their side, their chances of saving more innocents increased.

And the candidate stood before them, searching the space with his eyes, indifferent to the wisps of caffeine rising beneath his nose. Dave, sitting next to his colleague on the edge of his desk, watched him with a wry smile. And Jason seemed to find the situation just as amusing.

“Dave told me you had some suggestions for improving our techniques.”

“What? Hotchner gasped, jumping up. Uh… no, I… I simply pointed out that not all the information was being passed on to us. Which, in Yates' case, prevents us from spotting him during his periods of silence.”

The smiles on the faces of the two companions widened as they heard the newcomer adopt the “us” form. Barely had he discovered the place when he had already become part of the team.

“Aaron thinks he's not stopping, just flying under the radar.”

“Which isn't entirely absurd, admitted his neighbor, before turning to their cadet. And what do you think can be done about that?”

The young agent swallowed, bringing the cup closer to his chest in a feeble attempt to protect himself from this impromptu offensive.

“Kid, we can see the cogs turning in your brain from here, so spit it,” shoved Dave, as curious as his fellow galley dweller.

“Okay. Uh… - he placed what he had in his hands on the only portion of the nearest desk free of paperwork. We need someone who can track down all unsolved cases, all murders with even partial similarities to the suspect's modus operandi, and all disappearances matching the killer's targets, throughout the country and over several years.”

A silence answered him, which aggravated his unease. Instinctively, he began to play with his fingers, scraping his nails with the horn of his other hand. But what he took for disapproval was in fact reflection, as the two profilers analyzed what these words could represent, in concrete terms.

“It's a colossal job,” stressed Jason, also getting rid of his container.

“Yes. But procedures are becoming increasingly computerized. With the right tools, it should be possible to extract data more quickly than by opening boxes.”

“And at what point do you request authorization from the relevant authorities?” bounced Rossi, perplexed.

“Theoretically, as part of a federal investigation, we don't need to, retorted his opposite, who was gradually gaining in confidence. The only time we won't have a choice is when we need to access paper archives.”

“… Theoretically?” Gideon frowned.

“I've checked and, for the moment, there's a legal vacuum on the issue; the laws were written before computers existed.”

Which wouldn't last much longer, Dave mused silently. With the advent of information technology, and above all the Internet, many companies and other administrative bodies began to demand that the law take a closer look at their data access rights, particularly in terms of finance and human resources. And it would be the same for police, marshal, and army archives afterwards. Even if they were to create a common base for the whole country, it would ultimately be accessible only to the police and military. Federal agents would have to be friendly and perhaps even make a few concessions in order to win their case. An unquestionable waste of time, for everyone in the end.

“Who could fill such a position?”

“Someone with remarkable computer skills who knows how to bypass firewalls and passwords.”

“A hacker, in short,” Jason deduced with a certain stiffness.

“I know it may seem like a bit of a stretch, but once we're assured of their loyalty, it would be our most valuable asset. At present, we lack information, and the administrative machinery is time-consuming.”

Gideon and Rossi looked at each other for a moment, the second one trying to assess what the former thought of this presentation and of the person who had given it.

“What?” worried the latter.

“You were right. He’s a smart boy.”

“Told you.”

When he'd returned from San Francisco, he'd spent hours going on and on about his temporary sidekick in an attempt to convince the agency's co-founder to lend him a sympathetic ear. Jason didn't seem convinced by his arguments at first, but gradually gave way until he granted him this interview. But Dave remained convinced that, up until that moment, he hadn't believed a word of his rave review. Nevertheless, his reflection indicated that his state of mind had evolved.

“What else are you hiding in your hood?” he asked, fixing his gaze on the newcomer in turn.

“… Uh…”

“Go on, kiddo. We are all ears.”

Aaron, who was now ploughing the pad of his thumb with his fingernails, turned his gaze to the side for two seconds before returning to focus it on Gideon. The fact that the latter stared at him without batting an eyelid didn't seem to bother him too much; his nervousness stemmed more from the prospect of having to reveal his ramblings to two more experienced agents when he'd only just arrived.

“Okay. I… I found out that you each work in your own corner.”

“Let's just say we share the work,” ironized Rossi.

“To cover more ground, I understand, said the new recruit in all seriousness. But I think a team would be more efficient. Several pairs of eyes are always useful for spotting more details. Not to mention the fact that everyone's experience can give them a different view of things.”

And he added, after a brief inspiration:

“And then, women should be included.”

The pair cast a discreet glance at each other, eyebrows furrowed in unison.

“… Why women specifically?” inquired Jason, intrigued.

Dave knew the reason for this questioning. At that time, the female federal agents who went into the field were minors within the FBI. The vast majority of the women who worked for the Bureau were in administrative positions where the only danger they had to face was a fall down the stairs or a hot cup of coffee. The few who ventured outside the walls of Quantico or the Washington DC-based headquarters usually had a double hat that made their presence outside useful: doctor, teacher, linguist, etc. But it was obvious that Hotchner wanted to see profilers of the fairer sex on the payroll and at the same hierarchical level as the others. Why, was an excellent question.

“Because they have a different view of the world, a different knowledge base and a different way of thinking than we do.”

“It's a dangerous job where you have to keep your emotions in check.”

“Which they're very good at, contrary to what you might think, he countered. As for danger, the fact that women have less physical strength often leads them to be more cautious than men.”

“Your arguments are interesting, objected Gideon, doubtful, but...”

“I knew you'd be reluctant, he cut him off, before dipping into the bag slung over his shoulder. So take a look at this and tell me what it is.”

He then held up a photograph and handed it to them. The object, a hollow white cylinder, lay on a bloodstained carpet tile. The duo leaned over to get a better look at the picture and, with a quick glance to the side, Dave realized that his teammate didn't know any more than he did about the identity of what they were looking at.

“You don't know, do you?” Aaron remarked with a discreet smirk.

“I give up, indeed.”

“Well, I didn't know either, he confessed, taking back his property. It was my fiancée who told me what it was when she saw the picture. And I couldn't have known because it's definitely not something we men use.”

“Did it help you solve the case?”

“Yes. And, in the same way, I managed to catch a suspect as soon as my mother pointed out that a man couldn't have written a letter like that! I've been chasing a man for days, when the attacker was the next-door female neighbor, who seemed quite shocked to learn that her neighbor had died in the night.”

“Okay, I think we've got it, Romeo, interjected Jason, before he followed up with another example. What else?”

The thirty-year-old paused for a moment, then continued:

“We… we certainly need someone from the police force.”

As he might have expected, the two men facing him instinctively winced. Undaunted, he moved his pawns forward.

“I mean, intelligent people who know how to think outside the box are to be found elsewhere than at the FBI. And having a former police officer in our ranks will undoubtedly help us to better understand the reactions of local authorities, and even to cooperate with them.”

“Cooperate?” repeated Dave, giving him a dismayed look.

“Yes. If it's so difficult to get information these days, it's also because the police, sheriffs and rangers don't appreciate our arrogant cowboy attitude. By working with them, we will be able to benefit from their knowledge of the area, its inhabitants and the files that are underway or that have been closed. This memory is indispensable, but we can only get it by being pleasant.”

Gideon sighed without any discretion. He and Rossi had always had relative confidence in the police and other law enforcement agencies. And for good reason: they often had their own protocols, sprinkled with more or less harmless – but always illegal – tricks, to which was added a powerful code of silence that slowed down their investigations. Not all of them were dirty cops, of course, but having to juggle some people's sense of superiority with everything else was exhausting and unpleasant, to say the least. In fact, they had taken to dodging them as much as possible so that they could work at their leisure. So, the idea of rubbing shoulders with them again – although not meaningless when presented in this way – didn't enchant them at all.

“And how do you plan to do that?” retorted Jason, in a tone that didn't hide his reticence.

“Well, in addition to a former policeman, we need a liaison officer. Someone who is in contact with all the country's authorities, who has their trust. Someone they can turn to without hesitation.”

“A liaison officer?”

“Yes. He or she will also be in contact with the press. Most sociopaths pay close attention to what is said about them on TV, radio or in the newspapers. Some people get angry about what's been said and commit murders that could have been avoided. And others, like Yates, vanish into thin air because they get scared. We must control what journalists say.”

The duo looked at each other again with the same circumspection. This kid had ambition and concepts to spare which – Dave had to admit – were not uninteresting. In fact, there was something enticing and, needless to say, innovative about them. The Italian American was amused to imagine the faces of the big shots if he were to say the same thing to them. However, it was obvious that the youngest had left something out of the equation.

“Anything else?” tossed Gideon, his mouth twisted into a sneer.

“Uh… no. For now.”

“So, resumed Rossi, listen, son. I think Jason and I are actually thinking the same thing about all this.”

“It’s absurd?”

“Not at all, reassured the other BAU co-founder. But you may have noticed that our resources are quite limited.”

Aaron observed the scenery once more, as if it might have changed during their conversation.

“… Yes.”

“We're the team with the fewest funds in the United States.”

“Why?” replied the confused rookie innocently.

“Because up there, continued Jason, pointing to the upper floors, they think profiling is all smoke and mirrors. A simple sleight-of-hand.”

“But... no, hiccupped the groom-to-be; it's a science based on facts, on behavioral and medical studies, on... on probabilities too, but...”

“Aaron, we know, Dave cut him off, sensing that he was going to go on and on for many more minutes. We'll discuss it with the steering committee, but don't expect a miracle.”

To tell the truth, the answer was so obvious that he wondered whether it was worth mentioning the agency's new formula at all. The newcomer must have read his mind, for he added:

“But what does it take for them to accept?”

“Prove our efficiency,” declared Jason, as if it were self-evident.

“With the means we have here,” Hotchner figured out, his eyebrows more furrowed than ever.

“Yes.”

The look of despondency on the young man's face was equal to the mountain the three of them were about to climb. Rossi approached him and grabbed his shoulder.

“Welcome aboard, sailor.”

___

And this is the first chapter of Code Name: Mom! /o/

(Yes, I'm working in no order but I've got hope to put all those chapters altogether one day. :D)

It's the first time I wrote with Dave's point of view. He's way less anxious than Hotch, it's refreshing. XD

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #agent hotchner #code name mom #criminal minds fanfic #david rossi #agent rossi #rossi #jason gideon #agent gideon #gideon #bau team

[codename-mom]

Aaron's family

I wanted to make this post for quite some times now, and finally took the time to finish it.

When I love a character, I love to deep dive into his story and if there is a room for it, I love to imagine all his relatives. And as in a sequel of Code Name: Mom a certain character have to meet all Aaron’s family, I immediately tried to figure out how does it look like.

I always have in mind that he has a huge family spreading all over the country and I have quite some fun to introduce them here and there in my fanfic (hope, you’ll meet them some day). As so, I had to figure out what their job is, if they have a partner, their name, their eventual children, and the name of them. Love that! :D

Let’s start. For a better comprehension, all the name you see means that the character appears or is mentioned in one of my fanfics. “Fille” = daugther and “fils” = son.

Well, the things you’ve got to know about Aaron’s family is that it’s a totally matriarchal one. It all comes from a great-great mother who gave birth to two kids: a girl and a boy. The first one had three girls and the second one, three boys and one girl; but it’s the three first girls that lead the way.

Let’s take a look to the mother side of his family. Ada is the oldest of the three girls, followed by Martha and then, Sarah. They had a very strong connection and there’s no week where they didn’t stay in touch with each other. As being the first one, she’s the first to give birth too with Aaron. Martha was the second one, twice before Sarah became a mother two. The numbers in parenthesis are the age of each characters (knowing that this family tree is constructed on the basis that Jack is sixteen).

On the other side, there are way less children for some reasons and they are younger. The great-father was older than Ada, Martha and Sarah’s mother, but he wasn’t eager to have kids. As so, the youngest daughter has almost the same age as Aaron when he’s supposed to be part of the generation after.

Then here come the great and great-great children! XD

From his great-mother side:

From his great-uncle side:

Actually, they don’t really make any difference between the ones from the great-great mother side and from the great-great uncle side. They are all uncles, aunts and cousins no matter what and they are pretty closed from each other, as they spent holidays altogether and enjoy every occasion to be reunited again.

And here is how they are deployed all over the country:

The green states are the ones with family members from his mother side. The orange one is a state where there are members of his family from his father side, people he barely knows because Stanley has cut the ropes with his family after his wedding with Ada and never talked about them then. To make it short, they’re strangers for Aaron.

The question marks are there because I want some of his cousins to live in Vermont, but don’t figure out which ones. And there is someone in New Mexico, but I can’t tell you who they are. :D

And about their jobs, all I can say is that, for now, we’ve got:

a geneticist

a dentist

a forensic pathologist

a ranch-hotel owner

a teacher

two workmen

And that’s all folks! ^^

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #agent hotchner #code name mom #headcanon

[codename-mom]

Last recruit

Summary: There's a new agent at the BAU, a very special analyst who's eager to start her new life. Her name is Penelope Garcia.

Characters: Mostly Penelope and Hotch (but you may recognize three other people)

Contents: TW a little bit of anxiety because, well, someone is starting a new job, but the text is fun and fluff most of the time. :)

This is a text written for the New Beginings CM challenge organized by @imagining-in-the-margins.

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

This Monday was a big day for Penelope. She was finally entering the world of work in earnest, and not just anywhere, as she had just signed a contract with the no less prestigious FBI. And, more precisely, she was going to work in one of the agencies based in Quantico, on the banks of the Potomac. No more crime, no more job insecurity and no more constant fear of being caught by the authorities. Although she had loved what she had done over the years, she was tired of having to hug the walls and found it increasingly difficult to look at herself in the mirror lately. So she did what was necessary to get the federal agents to get hold of her. It was a real gamble because she didn't know where she would end up – prison could have been a possibility – but luck had been on her side.

A tall guy in a suit with the expressiveness of a frying pan had offered her a job in his unit, as a computer data analyst. A job right up her alley. He had warned her that her tasks would be psychologically demanding, but she felt ready to lift mountains. She had dressed in her least flashy outfit, chosen her most classic earrings, and put on her simplest glasses, then sped off to the austere rectangular building complex.

At the reception desk, the orderly raised an eyebrow when he saw her and obviously held back a remark when she told him where she had to go. Having obtained her badge, she passed through the portals and then slipped into an elevator under the curious gaze of the agents present. Her tight pale pink dress with blue flowers stood out against the straight grey fabrics worn by all. The manager who had hired her had told her that there was no dress code to follow, but she suddenly felt very uncomfortable. She pulled at the hem of her dress to conceal her butterfly tights as best she could, but it was all in vain. And that elevator that took forever to climb to the sixth floor...

When she reached her destination, she was confronted by a immense glass double-door on which enormous Bureau logos had been glued. Behind them, small desks stood side by side, men and women gravitating around them, looking concentrated. To her right, the corridor disappeared around a bend, and to her left, it seemed to go on forever. Frozen at the crossroads, she clutched her bag, worried about taking one step too many. On the other side of the glass, no one had noticed her presence. With her heart pounding against her ribs, she dared to approach, her irises searching for a doorbell or any means of communicating with the people inside.

“’Behavioral Analysis Unit’? she read on the door, confused. What kind of unit is this?”

“A profiler’s one.”

Miraculously, she suppressed a scream when the warm voice burst from behind her. She turned around, crossing her fingers so that the man standing there didn't notice how terrified she looked. It was the relatively cold giant who had agreed to take her into his service.

“Agent Hotchner?”

“Call me Hotch, he intimated calmly. Follow me.”

He smiled shyly and Penelope felt her heartbeat settle. He pointed to the path on the right, and she followed in his footsteps, intrigued.

“… Where… where are we going?”

“I’ll show you your office.”

She wondered why she was being kept away from her future colleagues but understood as soon as he dialed an encrypted code on a keypad locking a solid door. He quickly explained to her that the rest of the floor was occupied by other agencies who were not to have access to their data under any circumstances, and that as soon as she had determined the actual combination of the lock, she should make sure to always close it behind her. A feeling of greatness warmed her chest. She felt like the guardian of a priceless treasure, which, for an orphan with a criminal record, meant a lot.

He pushed the door open further, turned on the light and invited her in.

“This is your workplace.”

“Oh!... oh.”

The girl's satisfied expression faded slightly. The room was dark, its bare, gray-painted walls muffling the efforts of the light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Leaning against a corner, a small table with a corded telephone, a keyboard, a mouse and two screens. The tower had been installed on the ground, leaving the vital minimum space for the wheelchair. On the opposite side, an ordinary cupboard where she guessed she could store her belongings. And nothing more.

“Is there a problem?” inquired her neighbor, apparently touched by her lack of enthusiasm.

“It… it’s just that…”

She hesitated. This more-than-sketchy arrangement made it abundantly clear that her employer had no idea what equipment she needed for her tasks. But she also wondered if this thought wasn't simply guided by the blandness of the place, which made her want to run away.

“Tell me.”

He stared at her with unnerving intensity, but she understood that she could express herself freely.

“Permission to be honest?” she asked cautiously.

“Yes.”

“From what I can see, there's barely enough room to do a Google search while watching a YouTube video at the same time, she confided before continuing. If you really want me to process a lot of data in real time, I'm going to need something a little more robust. Way more robust.”

The tall agent turned his gaze to the two screens that were still off, then remained silent for a few moments, before his dark irises came to hang up on hers.

“… Have you got any idea of what you need?”

“It's possible that things will change once I start working, but yes,” she said, reassured that he's taking it all in stride.

“Okay. Give me a list and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Oh. Thank you, sir.”

“Hotch,” he corrected immediately.

“… Ho… tch.”

A discreet sneer tugged at the corner of his lips. Then his cell phone rang, and he stepped out of the room to answer it, but not without giving her an apologetic wave of his hand. The heavy armored door closed behind him. Penelope found herself alone in this dark, windowless room. She doubted for a brief moment whether she'd made the right choice, then realized that no one had given her the slightest reproach so far, and her suggestions had even been listened to, notwithstanding the fact that she'd just arrived. Immediately more confident, she exclaimed to herself:

“Well. Time to get down to business.”

She opened the cupboard and a string of empty shelves appeared before her. Placing her bag on one of them, her coat on the clothes hook magnetized to the metal cabinet, she took her place on the chair. As it was much too high, she operated the handle underneath to reach exactly the right level. Then she got up to fetch her notebook from her bag and borrowed one of the two pens lying beside the keyboard. Inspired, she wrote down everything she needed, from the indispensable to the trivial, such as a pencil cup or a desk lamp.

Half an hour later, she emerged from her lair and trotted up to the large glass doors. She stopped in front of it, suddenly anxious at the thought of plunging into the deep end, took a breath and gently pushed open one of the slammer. All the staff behind looked terribly serious, and she feared a vehement remark from them. But while one of them briefly looked up from his file, all the others carried on as if nothing had happened. They chatted in hushed tones, anxious not to disturb their neighbors, so much so that she even found it difficult to understand the words of the man on the phone less than two steps from her.

None of them, however, matched the man she was looking for. So when a young, wiry blonde woman came down the ramp to the upper gallery, she took the liberty of stopping her.

“Ex… excuse me, I… I’m searching for the agent Hotchner’s office.”

“In the crow's nest up there,” she replied, pointing to the office she'd just left.

The newcomer thanked her, and her interlocutor gave her a warm smile, before entering the corridor, her papers in hand. Penelope looked up at her destination, her heart pounding at her temples. The door was wide open and, although daylight seemed to illuminate the room, the interior seemed to be much darker than the rest of the bullpen. What's more, from her vantage point below, she couldn't see the occupant of the premises. Taking another gulp of air, she began her ascent, praying not to fall at an inopportune moment. Head down, avoiding looking in the direction of the people around her, she reached the threshold of her target's lair. She heard the titan's soft voice and realized he was on the phone. Trembling, she raised her head, and the director immediately turned his attention to her. Without interrupting his conversation, he motioned to her to place the document on his desk. She hopped over to him, dropped the document where she could without disturbing his organization, then ran off as fast as she could. She walked back to her place in half the time.

“Breathe, Penelope, you're still alive,” she soothed, pressed against the closed gate of her chamber.

Recovering from her emotions, she resumed her seat in the chair and switched on her computer to see what this machine was really capable of. The icons were still appearing on the federal wallpaper when her supervisor stormed in behind her. She flinched for the second time that day, but he obviously didn't notice.

“What's this?” he questioned, his eyebrows furrowed.

The intonation of his voice didn't match the expression on his face, and she couldn't determine whether he was angry or asking in curiosity.

“… It’s… You asked for a list.”

“Yes, indeed, but I should have told you that the size of this room won't change. We don't have the budget to break down walls,” he threw out without a trace of sarcasm or irony.

All her enthusiasm had just been brutally dampened.

“But... she began, swallowing, tears threatening to roll down her cheeks; I won't be able to work properly if I don't have all this...”

“I'm not sure the purchasing department will let me pay you for three keyboards. As far as I know, you still only have two arms.”

“Yes, but it’s because…”

Controlling the anguish in her throat, she realized that he didn't understand the point of everything she'd written. Thrust into the project that had taken shape in her head, she had forgotten that this man in a suit knew nothing about technology. So she had to present things from a different angle.

“Hold on.”

She got up to retrieve her bag, rummaged through it and pulled out sheets of paper and a fuchsia-pink feathered pen. The colossus made no comment, watching her scribble frantically, her tongue protruding from her painted lips. In the silence of the place, she drew lines in all directions to materialize on paper what her neurons had envisioned.

“Look. Come closer. Here’s how I see the installation.”

Obediently, he bent over to lean nearby the sheet. She showed him the three L-shaped desks on which sat three keyboards and a series of screens, all connected to a trio of towers on the floor. At the same time, she detailed the use of each of these accessories, explaining that each computer would have a specific function, such as audio-video analysis for one, searches in official databases for the second and the main PC, which would be used for all other requests made by the team. All in her own words and with unbridled gusto.

“Do you understand now why I need all this?”

The agent opened his mouth and nodded subtly, before regaining his sense of speech.

“… I didn't get half of what you just said, but... could you add to this drawing all the explanations you've given me? With this, I could more easily convince the purchasing department than with your list alone.”

“Oh, sure! She exclaimed, delighted. In fact, I… Well, this engine is from another age, but I think I can come up with a schematic that looks a bit more like something, with all the necessary captions.”

“Do it.”

“Thanks, sir.”

“Hotch,” he corrected before straightening up and leaving the room.

Her joy renewed, she immediately set to work, typing at top speed on the dark keys. Two hours later, she emerged from her den with a clean, precise schematic drawing, and galloped back to the open space. There he found the unit leader in conversation with two men who couldn't be more dissimilar. The first – whom she'd already seen at her job interview – was muscular, well-dressed, and short-haired. The second was huge – even taller than the agency manager – skinny, gangly and she suspected he'd left home without combing his hair. The problem was that their interlocutor's back was to the entrance, so he hadn't seen Penelope's irruption. The handsome man was chatting with him in earnest and monopolizing all his attention. The young woman didn't dare interrupt them and resigned herself to waiting, her gaze gliding over the grey carpet that stretched across the entire floor. But the long hair man's brown irises swiftly turned towards her.

“Hotch, there's... someone who seems to want to talk to you,” he informed him, pointing at her.

The interested party faced her and approached her.

“Do you have it?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, handing him the paper.

“Fine, he commented as he picked it up. I have a meeting right now. Have you seen the office on the way to yours?”

“Yes.”

Not far from her own, she saw a door opening onto another office, isolated from the others, with windows on this one. But it had been empty when they had passed it, so she didn't know who occupied it.

“Here you’ll find agent Jareau. She's very nice, he said as he saw her frown. She'll introduce you to the rest of the team and provide you with everything you need in terms of office supplies. As for the rest, I'll take care of all the formalities.”

“Thank you.”

“They haven't said 'yes' yet,” he stressed seriously.

“Do… do you think… How long will it take to get an answer? She finally rephrased. I… I'd like to be up and running as soon as possible, sir.”

“I will see them later. If they agree, you'll have everything you need by next week.”

“I can’t wait, sir.”

“Hotch.”

She merely nodded, looking thrilled, and retraced her steps. After a night of worrying about what she was going to be eaten with, she was relieved that things had gone so well. She was so afraid of having to fit into a narrow, artificial mold, light-years away from her true personality, that she was delighted not to have been subjected to any unpleasant remarks, hurtful reproaches, or exclusionary reflections. And if she already considered the suit-and-tie giant a valuable ally, she was confident that the other agents in the unit would be just as welcoming. That all this was the start of a long and beautiful adventure with wonderful people.

___

This is the first entry for this challenge. The second is a text already published and I planned to write a third one (that can be part of this challenge and the Meet Cute one too), but real life was quite rough right now, so I had some trouble to find time and energy to write.

So, wait and see.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #agent hotchner #criminal minds fanfic #code name mom #agent garcia #garcia #penelope garcia

[codename-mom]

A noticeable absence... or maybe not

Summary: Post-S05E01. Hotch has been stabbed by Foyet and is now back to work. But it seems that the team has something to say to him.

Characters: BAU team

Contents: this text is part of a self-challenge on the theme "It's cute but...". So, it's supposed to be funny and/or cute with a slice of bitterswitness. Hope you'll enjoy it!

TW: mention of pain, wounds and anxiety.

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

Hotch mechanically raised his hand to his side as a flash of pain crossed his chest. The unpleasant sensation quickly dissipated and he was able to breathe normally again. Picking up his mouse again to reach the shortcut he was interested in, his gaze was drawn to a movement at the edge of his field of vision. Dave had stepped into his office and knocked on the open door.

“Aaron?”

“I'm listening,” he affirmed, taking his eyes off the screen and settling back into his seat.

A new twinge sheared through his abdomen, but he suppressed a grimace. His long-time sidekick, who wore an indecipherable expression, took a few steps into the room before declaring:

“Kids have something to tell you.”

His supervisor felt like reminding him that he was not related in any way to the agents working under him, but the ex-retiree was far too amused by the appellation to refrain from using it, even though he'd get the boot every time.

“About what?” he questioned.

“They’re in the meeting room.”

And he said nothing more to him, turning around and leaving the premises under the puzzled gaze of the tenant. Intrigued, the BAU director locked his computer and rose from his chair, taking care not to make any false movements. Indeed, although his wounds were apparently healed – but still visible – every stretch of skin or muscle on his torso produced painful spikes that forced him to freeze for a moment. He had been assured that he would regain full mobility as soon as the epidermal and muscular tissue had regained its elasticity, but this was clearly not yet the case. Fortunately, he could still breathe and walk without difficulty, and so joined his colleagues without having to hide his feelings. The whole team was waiting for him, and they looked more worried than ever. What was going on?

“Dave told me that you’ve got something to say.”

“Yes, er... Prentiss ventured, before looking to her peers for support. We… we would like to apologize.”

He widened his eyes in surprise. He didn't see why his agents would need to be forgiven. From his point of view, they had done nothing wrong.

“Apologize? For what?”

“For betraying your trust,” replied Penelope, her voice strangled.

“For not being up to scratch,” declared Spencer, lowering his nose.

“For showing ourselves unworthy of you,” added JJ, embarrassed.

The giant heard the words of his employees but was unable to relate them to a known situation.

“Do you understand anything?” he asked to Rossi, sitting quietly in the nearest chair.

“I know what they’re talking about, if that’s your question, and they know what I think about all this, but ask yourself.”

So he turned back to the agents.

“What are you talking about?”

“The fact that none of us were worried about you, even though you're the first to sound the red alert when one of us doesn't respond,” said Garcia, her eyes shining.

“True, retorted the liaison officer. We've all tried to call you at one time or another, we've left you messages, but none of us thought that maybe something went wrong.”

“Even I, when I rang your doorbell, only expected to find you half-asleep," revealed Emily, looking flustered.

“Which would have made sense given the very short night we all had, Reid pointed out in a flash. But the fact that you were the only one absent should have tipped us off.”

“That's it," punctuated the unit's analyst.

Aaron took in this flood of information and digested it for a long minute, leaving a heavy silence hanging over the assembly. Gradually, he put the pieces back in the right order and discovered what has taken place far from his field of perception. At the same time, however, he noticed that the people in front of him – who were obviously particularly embarrassed by the situation – were omitting an important detail in the chronology of events.

“… Do you realize that I was unconscious all this time?”

“That's exactly what I told them,” Dave sighed.

“But you were a complete stranger for over twelve hours!” burst out the luscious blonde, apparently outraged by her own attitude during that day.

“Because Foyet had taken my papers and, I repeat, I was unconscious, he reminded them, not understanding what the problem was. I wasn’t aware of anything and, when I opened my eyes, Prentiss was there.”

“But if Foyet hadn't taken you to hospital…”

“I would have died, he concluded abruptly, but not because of you. I was dropped off in San Sebastian at 4 a.m. You were probably all asleep.”

After an emotionally taxing case not far from the Canadian border, the team had returned to Virginia in the dead of night, and everyone had gone home to collapse in bed. Although the adrenalin must still have been pumping through their veins on their return, physical and mental fatigue must have quickly taken over, sending them into the arms of Morpheus without even giving them a chance to cogitate. He hadn't been so lucky, for a surprise guest had emerged from the half-light of his apartment to make him pay for his lack of consideration. A guest who had been kind enough – and well-advised – to dump him on the hospital sidewalk once he'd done what he'd set out to do.

“But...” hiccupped the ambassador's daughter, ready to argue vehemently.

“Listen, he interrupted her immediately, I understand that you've been affected by what's happened, but you're not responsible and I don't blame you for pursuing the investigation you had to manage. On a contrary.”

As fate would have it, the BAU was summoned to help local authorities a few hours later to track down a man threatening the lives of a doctor and his son. Barely recovered from their emotions and their minds still clouded by lack of sleep, the agents set about their task without reluctance, converting the crumbs of energy they had left to complete the job as soon as possible. And they had succeeded with flying colors, preserving the existence of their two intended targets, while juggling with the sudden disappearance of their hierarchical superior. That they acted as if everything was fine in the face of the police and the people concerned was perfectly normal from his point of view.

“But you'd never let a situation like this occur,” Penelope moaned, frowning.

“And it comforts me to see that you're not as stressed as I am about each other's health.”

“How's that supposed to be a good thing?” Morgan raised an eyebrow, mute until then.

“Because you really think it would be a good thing to be like me? He replied, perplexed. I'm on your back so much that you call me "Mom".”

He'd probably never admit it, but every time one of his team members left his field of vision during an investigation, his blood pressure soared and only subsided when the agent reappeared in front of him, conscious and in one piece. And he sincerely hoped he was the only one living in this permanent state of fear.

“Are you sure you don't have a grudge against us?” inquired Garcia, still pained.

“No, not at all. To be honest, until you mentioned it today, I hadn't even thought about it.”

He had enough of his own pain and the consequences of this attack to deal with to have noticed that the Earth had continued to rotate during his absence. The team, however, looked at him with a puppy dog expression – with the exception of Dave, who observed the scene with a certain detachment – and Aaron had to offer a few more reassuring words.

“Everything is fine. I was taken care of by the hospital service, you were there when I woke up and... I'm standing here with you today. So take a breath and smile.”

Frozen, pathetic smiles stretched the agents' lips.

“Forget it.”

Penelope timidly raised a trembling hand, ready to make a request. He guessed right away what she had in mind.

“No, Garcia, no hug. I've been stabbed a dozen times, the last thing I need is to be compressed by all of you.”

“A restaurant, then?” Suggested Emily in return.

He was going to refuse – hunger being the last emotion he felt at the moment and his desire for worldliness being lower than ever – but the hopeful expressions of the people standing in front of him hindered his action. He was in pain and down in the dumps, but he didn't have the mental strength to push them away completely.

“… Okay. Let’s go for a restaurant.”

The whole gang was immediately smiling again. They then scattered happily back to their respective offices, while Rossi remained in the room with him.

“You could have told them it didn't matter, scolded the unit manager. That I knew very well it... it didn't mean they didn't care about me.”

“I tried, Aaron. But you know them, when they have an idea in mind, they don't have it anywhere else.”

“Unfortunately,” he sighed.

“Look on the bright side, you've won a restaurant," declared his eldest, patting him on the shoulder.

The giant nodded silently and shuffled off to his den, hoping he wouldn't have to deal with any more twists and turns this day. This single confrontation seemed to have drained all his strengths.

___

Short one before the next post who will be an entry for the current CM fanfic challenge. :D

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #agent hotchner #criminal minds fanfic #code name mom #agent garcia #garcia #agent morgan #derek morgan #penelope garcia #morgan #david rossi #agent rossi #rossi #spencer reid #doctor reid #reid #emily prentiss #prentiss #agent prentiss #jj #agent jareau #jennifer jareau #bau team

[codename-mom]

The boiler breakdown

Summary: It's winter, the boiler in Hotch's appartment is down and there is no repairman available. Jack has to sleep with his father and as a sleep-talker, he has an interesting point of view on all the members of the BAU team

Characters: BAU team (Blake era) and Jack

Contents: this text is part of a self-challenge on the theme "It's cute but...". So, it's supposed to be funny and/or cute with a slice of bitterswitness. Hope you'll enjoy it!

TW: well, I think it's just fluff on this one. :)

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

“I'm cold!" moaned Jack, curled up in a ball under his comforter.

He gave his father, kneeling beside his bed, a pleading look, surely hoping that this would be enough to solve the problem that was plaguing him. Aaron stroked his hair tenderly, his heart aching to see his son shivering under his nose.

“I know, buddy, but the repairmen aren't available right now.”

The day before, the apartment's boiler had failed, leaving all its tenants at the mercy of winter's torments. Outside, the snowflakes were falling merrily on the sidewalks or crashing into the windows of homes. A time that the child would have loved under normal circumstances, if the temperature in the home hadn't dropped drastically during the previous night. Warm at school, he had spent the evening glued to his sire, sniffing loudly to remind him how cold it was. The BAU director, for his part, had taken advantage of his office hours to try to contact specialists, but had been offered appointments on unlikely dates, when he had only managed to reach someone.

“Why don’t you do the repairs?”

“Because I don't know how to do that, he confessed. I never learnt. It’s a very specific job. But I can bring you another blanket if you like.”

“No. It won't be enough," decreed the boy, tears welling up in his eyes.

Hotch couldn't decide whether he was really that cold, despite the thickness of his blanket, or whether he was just putting on an act to get his point across. He admitted that it wasn't exactly heated within these walls, but the sweater on his back did the trick for the time being. However, he also knew that children cooled down faster than adults, so it was quite possible that he was really struggling to warm up.

“Okay, he sighed, defeated. Come with me.”

“Where are we going?" Jack asked right away, looking much less unhappy.

“In my bedroom.”

“Is it hotter?”

“No, but you'll be less cold if you sleep with me.”

“Okay.”

The kid flung himself into his arms, a smile up to his ears, and Aaron got up to take him to his own bed. As soon as his little feet were on the quilt, the boy made a strategic withdrawal underneath it and pulled as much fabric as possible back to him. His father watched the strange caterpillar form its synthetic cocoon with unabashed amusement but remained standing by the bed base. Then Jack's disheveled head popped up from the soft mass and saw Hotch's fleeing movement.

“Where are you going?”

“I've got to start the dishwasher, prepare the breakfast table, your schoolbag and a couple of other things," he said as he read the time on the clock radio.

It wasn't even half-past ten yet, so he was a long way from being finished for the evening. In addition to the necessary tasks, he hoped to be able to take advantage of his son's absence around him to manage chores that required a bit of calm.

“Okay, agreed the toddler, very serious. But come back soon.”

“I’m in a hurry.”

He turned his back on him and left the room just after, leaving the door slightly ajar to let in a trickle of light. Despite being seven years old, Jack still needed his nightlight to fall asleep, and would wake up immediately if you had the misfortune to turn it off. Hotch heard some parents boasting that their offspring, sometimes younger, were already sleeping in the dark, "like grown-ups"; but he wasn't the least bit concerned. He knew plenty of adults who wouldn't fall asleep without a light source in their room, and a number of people he'd put behind bars had been forcibly locked in the dark. A punishment that had bruised the shaky psyches of these fragile children. It was out of the question for him to deprive his son of this source of comfort, even if he preferred to sleep in the dark. And he wouldn't push him to follow so-called societal norms that still too often did more harm than good. As long as it didn't endanger his health, he did everything in his power not to traumatize him any more than he already had been through his own fault.

                Back in the living room, he did as he said he would, trying to make as little noise as possible, then took a few moments to himself before brushing his teeth and putting on a T-shirt and pajama pants. A shiver ran down his spine. Without the thick mesh, the cold of the place was more biting. He left the bathroom, checked that all the doors and windows were closed and that the lights were off, then returned to the darkness of the bedroom. A comforter ball stood motionless in the middle of the mattress. The traffic on the nearby road made it impossible for him to hear Jack's breathing and determine whether or not he was already asleep. Reassembling the box spring on his side, he lifted the still-accessible eiderdown and slid underneath. The creature next to him unfurled at once and little hands pounced on his shirt. Clinging to his arm and torso, Jack shivered.

“You’re still cold?”

“Yes.”

“You'll be fine in a few minutes, reassured his father, placing a kiss on his wild hair. Now close your eyes and try to sleep.”

“Good night, Dad.”

“Good night, champ.”

As expected, the child drifted off to sleep less than a quarter of an hour later, gradually loosening his grip on his top. Pacified by his descendant's slow breathing, Hotch fell asleep soon afterwards. Silence fell on the icy apartment. After two hours, the silence was broken by Jack's high-pitched voice.

“Dad?”

Aaron's eyelids opened almost on the spot, and his attention promptly focused on the little being beside him. However, he soon realized that the boy's breathing was still that of a drowsy person, and the glow of the nightlight – which he had brought from the next room – allowed him to see that his eyes were closed. He smiled. He hadn't had much opportunity to welcome his son into his home after his separation from his mother, but the latter – once they'd mended their differences – had confirmed that their creation was the talkative type, even if unconscious. And since taking care of it himself, he had witnessed more than once the curious but harmless phenomenon of nocturnal logorrhea.

“Yes, Jack," he answered without raising his voice too much.

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too.”

“Can ‘ have a cookie?”

The FBI agent held back a burst of laughter that could have snapped his son out of his trance and took a few breaths to quell his hilarity. It wasn't the first time he'd had a conversation of this kind with Jack, but their dialogues had always taken an unexpected turn. Tonight was no exception to the rule. Recovering from his emotions, Aaron hilariously replied:

“Sure. Here.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

The child closed his mouth to chew his imaginary cake and quietly went on with his night, as if nothing had happened. Hotch, amused, shook his head, and soon went back to sleep.

                A few days later, the team was called to the other side of the country for a new investigation. In the jet, the agents proceeded as usual, discussing the details of the case in hand and the deployment of each of them once on site. But this time, a smile split Aaron’s usually impassive and serious mask as he completed the casting.

“What are you smiling at? This case isn't particularly amusing,” pointed out a puzzled Morgan.

“It isn't, indeed, he confirmed, before confessing; I was just thinking about something.”

“Something funny, obviously, stressed JJ, curious. May we know what it is?”

“It’s… it’s a thing Jack did.”

“Is he all right?” immediately worried Garcia, who had stayed on the line to ask Spencer something.

“Yes, yes, he reassured her on the spot. It's just that, currently, the apartment's boiler is on the blink.”

Unwilling to open up normally about his private life, Hotch nonetheless threw himself into it, because the cause of his temporary elation was, in truth, the people sitting around him.

“Is that supposed to be funny?” Blake raised an eyebrow, confused.

“Of course not. It's freezing cold in the apartment, but I can't find a technician available, he complained wearily. The first slot I've been offered is in March. It's almost as if all the boilers in Virginia broke down at the same time.”

“Remind us when this is supposed to be fun,” the former liaison agent turned profiler asked, a mocking eyebrow raised in his direction.

“I’ll be there. Jack is too cold in his room, so he sleeps in mine while we wait.”

“Is it warmer there?” said Reid, wide-eyed.

“No. But he's apparently too small to generate enough heat to keep himself warm in bed. Which is paradoxical because it's a real hot water bottle.”

“You must have restless nights," laughed the blonde in a cross-legged dress.

Three years earlier, just after the tragedy, Jack had spent more than one night sleeping in his father's bed, and the latter had had to deal with the little boy's boundless energy in his sleep. Although barely a third of his size, the kid took up a considerable amount of space under and on the comforter, alternating every conceivable position without ever worrying about the presence of his sire beside him. Aaron soon stopped counting the number of times he had been savagely dragged from his dreams by a slap, an uppercut or a kick from his little roommate.

“Well, he wiggles less than he did a few years ago, he noted with some relief, but he still talks in his sleep. And here’s where it gets fun.”

Early on, he and Haley had noticed that Jack made sounds in his sleep. What sounded like gurgles at first became more and more intelligible as the boy learned to articulate words.

“They say people who talk in their sleep can't lie," announced Spencer.

“It’s true, said his superior with a smirk. Which makes for interesting conversations.”

Hotch had remarked that these unconscious gibberish were neither systematic nor very sensed when he let the boy rant on his own, but the situation changed completely when someone came into communication with him at that moment. The child was then curiously able to respond to solicitations in a rather clear manner.

“Like what?” wanted to know the former police officer, intrigued.

“The first night, he started saying that he was loving me.”

“It’s cute!”

“Wait for it, the giant tempered. I tell him I love him too, and he follows up by asking me for a cookie.”

“It wasn't interested at all,” JJ realized while the others laughed.

“Not at all.”

“What did you do?” inquired the youngest of the group, very attentive.

“I said, "Sure, here." He thanked me and went on with his night.”

A good part of the group burst out laughing as they imagined the scene. Others simply smiled.

“You pretended to give him a cookie?" said Derek, a hint of reproach in his voice.

“Obviously, he had one in his dream.”

“It's cute and, at the same time, a bit devious.”

Penelope had a special affection for her supervisor’s son – the BAU’s first-born – and the latter had to curb her ardor regularly to prevent her from literally drowning Jack in gifts. In fact, he understood that she was less appreciative than the others of the trick he had played on his offspring.

“And what else does he say?" continued Alex with her usual serenity.

“As Reid pointed out, people who talk in their sleep can't lie. So, out of curiosity, I asked him for his opinion on each of you.”

“You did that?”

“Don't worry, Morgan, he said you were a cool big brother with great muscles and that when he grew up, he wanted the same arms as you.”

This time, the hilarity was general.

“The arms still need a bit of work.”

“A little bit, yes, smiled Derek, who regularly maintained his musculature. But I’m fine with that.”

“Me? Me?” leapt the analyst from behind her webcam.

“Then he said, "I love Penelope so much! She's so funny, she's so the best and the superhero of the BAU."”

“Oooooh! Is it possible to have this engraved on a plaque that I can hang on my door?”

Her colleagues laughed heartily, and Hotch imagined how Strauss, his superior, would look if he agreed to her request. Already criticizing him for letting the young woman flood her office with toys and photographs, each less professional than the last, he couldn't imagine what she'd say if she came across a sign engraved with this quote. In the back of his mind, however, he noted that it might serve as a gift idea for her, perhaps in the form of a T-shirt.

“In case we haven't already told you, your son is an angel, sir. And I love him so much too.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“What about me? What did he say about me?" said Reid impatiently.

Despite his lack of social skills and aversion to physical contact, the doctor of criminology and other fields got on quite well with children. Surely helped by his still childish mind on many subjects, he had no difficulty talking to them and they naturally trusted him. Jack was no exception. In his own way.

“Spencer, he looks like a giant noodle, but with brain like no other!”

Morgan, Garcia and JJ immediately chuckled, while Blake and Rossi smiled in unison. Aaron tried to hide his when he saw the annoyed look on Reid’s face.

“A noodle?” he repeated, obviously disappointed.

“With a brain like no other," Dave reminded him, not quite able to regain his composure.

“I didn’t say it was always grandiloquent. Or positive.”

He kept to himself the fact that he found the description rather realistic. The young agent was taller than he was, which wasn't noticeable at first glance, since he was usually stooped or lanky, his arms and legs undulating around his scrawny torso. That was for the noodle side. For the rest, those five doctorates and his eidetic memory spoke for themselves.

“Did he say anything about me?" pursued Alex, sitting on the bench next to the square.

Blake had recently joined the BAU, replacing Emily Prentiss, who had left to join Interpol's London branch. The newcomer taught forensic linguistics, but her instinct and natural clairvoyance made her an excellent profiler. Gentle and caring, she quickly took the youngest member of the unit under her wing, and the two got on wonderfully well. An understanding that was echoed by the other members of the team, who rapidly made room for her among them. Hotch, who was very close to her own age, liked her very much and had already spoken to Jack about her, showing him shots of her with the rest of the group.

“He doesn't know you very well, but he said you had a good air. And that you had a pixie side.”

“Pixie?”

“In his vocabulary, that means "mischievous".”

“Perceptive," she said with a wry smile.

“Not that much, I hope.”

The teacher added nothing more, contenting herself with a mysterious pout that did nothing to reassure her supervisor. Apart from Rossi, who was older than him, all the other agents under his command were between ten and twenty years younger than him, and some days their mental age seemed to decrease so much that he felt he was running a day-care center. By hiring someone from his own generation, he had hoped that this new recruit would give him a chance to catch his breath. But that might not be the case.

“What did he say about Dave?”

“Ah, Uncle Dave, Aaron sighed, repeating the nickname Jack always attributed to his mentor. He said, and I quote, "I'd like him to come every day and cook, because with you it's no good."”

This time, eyes widened and mouths dropped open in amazement at the little boy's reflection. Hotch guessed the giggles that threatened to cross some people's lips.

“I admit, it's a double-edged sword, he confessed, remembering that he'd had the same reaction that evening. And he’s not completely wrong, to be honest.”

Indeed, the agency director may have been good at many things, very useful for his work, but he had the peculiar gift of being unable to make anything remotely edible when he tried to cook. It wasn't for want of spending hours listening to his mother explain how to make this or that preparation, but nothing helped. Regularly, he tried his luck again, as soon as something clicked during the night, but to no avail. Jack was clearly doing better than his seven-year-old self.

“I'll make you some boxes," said the novelist pityingly.

“Thank you.”

“And JJ?" went on Derek, who had just remembered that one of the team hadn't yet gone through the toddler's sieve.

“I fear the worst.”

“No, it’s okay, announced Aaron. He said you'd make a great model for Kung Fu Barbie.”

Caught off-guard, everyone hesitated for a moment before laughter erupted from all sides. Evidently, the father had told his son that the slender blonde trained regularly in the martial arts and had no trouble knocking down men of her stature, if not more.

“Oh, my God…” JJ hiccupped, crushing a tear in the corner of her eye.

“If I find one in a shop, I’ll buy it for you.”

“I can’t wait.”

The hilarity began again, then gradually subsided as everyone caught their breath.

“Does he remember anything about the next day?” Blake questioned, concerned.

“Absolutely not. I, on the other hand, remember, he said, before adding. Yesterday, he pointed out that I was no good at DIY, but that he loved me all the same.”

“Honor is safe," joked Rossi as the giggles resumed.

“You know what?”

“What?” answered Morgan.

“I wish all briefings were like this. You have to admit, it's a lot nicer.”

Everyone abounded or nodded in agreement, and the flight continued unhurriedly, the cabin for once bathed in a light, festive atmosphere.

___

An happy new year to all of you! /o/

Thanks a lot for the attention you give to my works. Don't hesitate to leave a comment, I'll be more than pleased to answer it.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #agent hotchner #criminal minds fanfic #code name mom #agent garcia #garcia #agent morgan #derek morgan #penelope garcia #morgan #spencer reid #reid #doctor reid #david rossi #rossi #agent rossi #jj #jennifer jareau #agent jareau #alex blake #agent blake #blake #jack hotchner

[codename-mom]

Next challenge in sight! /o/

Feel free to participate too, every entry is more than welcome. :)

New Beginnings CM Challenge 🌱

Hey everyone, I’m back with another monthly challenge! For the months of January AND February, I am formally challenging any willing writer to take a stab at writing fanfiction including the theme of New Beginnings (see prompts for examples) using their choice of Criminal Minds characters! Reader, Original Character, Character/Character ships, Gen/Platonic fics are allowed! Please check out the Rules below the Keep Reading.

(**This is NOT a request list for me—this is a prompt list of other writers! Feel free to request from someone else, and be sure to let them know about the challenge!)

🌧 Prompts 🌱

Describe Character's first day at the BAU

Character celebrates a milestone of sobriety

Characters are getting the hang of being new parents

Character goes overboard with New Year’s Resolutions

Character decides to try something new in the bedroom

Character is entering the dating scene again after their divorce

Character decides to change career paths with a very different job

Character introduces their new partner to their kid for the first time

Character comes out as trans and introduces themselves to everyone

Character finally agrees to get set up with a date after a long dry spell

Character learns to navigate their everyday life after a traumatic event

Character escapes an abusive relationship and the recovery is harder than they thought

Character swears that this year they will definitely fulfill all their New Year's resolutions

Character just came out as LGB/A and goes on their first date with someone of the same sex

Character decides to cut off a member(s) of their family, and the team reminds them that they still have a whole lot of (found) family left

Character lost a partner and swore they would never love like that again... but that hasn't stopped them from falling in love in a different way

Character got a pet for the first time and they realize how much easier it is to take care of themselves when someone else is counting on them

Character had previously come out as something, but then realized they were something else... coming out is even more daunting the second time

More prompts below + Make your own!

🌤 Dialogue Prompts🌻

"The time will pass anyway." (Earl Nightingale quote)

"If you jump, I jump with you."

"I can't wait to see who you become."

"I love every possible iteration of you."

"To be brave, you must first be afraid." (Bear Grylls quote)

"You aren't alone in this. None of us are." (from Baldur's Gate 3)

"Is it too late to go back?" "Don't you dare."

"This is all new to me." "What?" "Being happy."

"I don't know what I'm doing." "No one does. That's life."

"There are always a million reasons not to do something." (from The Office)

🌒Character Specific Prompts🌲

Spencer's life after prison is nothing like before

Spencer decides to pursue his dream of being a cowboy/rancher

Spencer becomes dedicated to turning his life around after relapsing

Spencer doesn't think about Maeve on a special occasion for the first time

Hotch finally stops wearing his old wedding ring

Hotch embraces his role as a single dad

JJ's children are almost grown, and she struggles to reconnect with who she was before she was their mother

Penelope realizes she doesn’t like the person she’s become after leaving the BAU, so she decides to change it

Lauren Reynolds is dead... it's time Emily start acting like it

Rossi struggles with suddenly becoming a (grand)father

🍂Rules🍃

The fic can be a Reader insert, an Original Character, a character/character ship, a platonic ship, or a Gen fic. It can feature any Criminal Minds character. AUs and crossovers are more than welcome.

Tag me in the fic, or send the link to me in a Direct Message. It can be already written, or you can write it for the challenge - I’m collecting both! You can also tag it “#mentioningmargins” which is a tag I track.

The fic can be any genre, but ONLY send me smut if your bio states you are 18+. I DO NOT WANT smut written by minors. Ever. At all. I will check. Platonic ships and pure, fluffy fics are 100% allowed.

Please include Content Warnings and a one-sentence Summary of the fic in your post.

Have fun!

The Masterlist of fics will be posted around March 1. If you finish after that, no problem - just send me the fic once you’re done and I’ll add it after-the-fact!

Feel free to message me if you want help developing a plot, have any questions, or just want to gush about your fic. I’m happy to help, and I’m happy you’re here ❤️

Happy Writing!

#cm challenge #cm writing challenge

[codename-mom]

The sweater case

Summary: The FBI organizes a gala with all the agency directors of the country. Hotch is invited but doesn't really want to go. But the gift Penelop gives him may changes his mind.

Characters: BAU team (Pentagone JJ's era) and Jack, Jessica, Will and Henry

Contents: TW a little bit of anxiety because that's the way Hotch is, but the text is fun and fluff most of the time (and silliness). :)

This is a text written for the CM Office Party challenge organized by @imagining-in-the-margins.

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

PPS: you better read "It's a piece of cake" before to understand one dialogue here, but it's still comprehensible.

___

Hotch was rereading the report of one of the BAU agents when there was a knock on his office door. He looked up from his screen to see Penelope at the entrance to the room, with a bag slung over her arm. She smiled shyly, asking permission to venture further into his territory.

“Come in, Garcia.”

She obeyed immediately, trotting to her desk, each step making her earrings and multicolored bracelets jangle.

“I hope I’m not coming at the wrong time.”

“No, don’t worry. What’s going on?”

“Here it is.”

She handed him a package encircled in silver wrapping paper and fastened with a green and red ribbon. From what he could make out, its contents were imposing but slack – it fell on either side of the redhead's manicured hands. He quickly went down memory lane and realized that she had already given him something for his birthday. In fact, he didn't know what the occasion was.

“Wh… what is it?”

“A present. For you.”

He almost answered that he understood that perfectly, but instead replied:

“Why?”

“I heard you were going to the FBI gala.”

The unit leader nodded subtly in agreement. A few weeks earlier, he had received an invitation from the communications department to participate in a party attended by all the country's branch managers. Section chiefs and other bigwigs were also present, and it was made clear to him that a negative response was not acceptable, even though he had no desire to go.

“Let's just say I wasn't given much choice, he stressed, repressing the urge to roll his eyes. And then the families are admitted, and Jack wants to see the FBI headquarters.”

“Yes, that's what I heard too, and that's why I made this for him.”

She placed the first package on his desk and rummaged in the tote bag from which she'd taken it to reveal a second, smaller, but still flimsy one.

“What's in here?" he asked, suddenly worried by this profusion of gifts for an event to which she wasn't invited.

“Open it and you’ll see.”

Taking a deep breath to calm his galloping heart rate, Aaron retrieved the most imposing package and brought it closer to him, pushing his keyboard aside. Stripping off the Bolduc, which was barely hanging on, he peeled off the few pieces of star tape that had been applied here and there and spread the strips of paper. A shiver ran down his back. Feeling the analyst's gaze fixed on him, he unfolded the pile of wool that now lay on his desk and discovered a Christmas-colored sweater, crisscrossed with golden threads, from which tiny light bulbs protruded. One of the handles weighed more than the other, so he deduced that the ignition control must be located there.

“It’s…”

“I did it! She cut him off ecstatically. Just for you. And there is another one for Jack.”

His dark irises returned to the patterns in the center of the garment, and a strange emotion rose in his stomach.

“And… you want me to wear it for the party?”

“Yes, I saw that it was allowed to come with a Christmas sweater. And then, even if we're not invited, there'll be a bit of us with you.”

One of the reasons he wanted to skip this evening was that only federal agents with managerial functions were accepted. His team was not allowed to set foot on the site. He knew a number of people who should be there but could count on the fingers of one hand those with whom he got on well. As for the others, either he didn't even know their first names, or he'd come across them many times before and didn't keep a good memory of them. Some of them were behind the icy nickname given to him for his lack of expressiveness: The Iceberg. When they weren't using a far more pejorative one.

He was then convinced that he wasn't really going to enjoy the party and was already drawing up a list of pretexts for escaping as quickly as possible. However, a sudden urge to call in sick rose in him as he lingered again over the appearance of this homemade sweater. For if there was one thing that saved him from being completely ostracized from the upper echelons of society, it was his appearance. But this creation would undoubtedly destroy his last remaining asset.

“… It’s… it’s true,” he added, feverishly folding the brightly colored top.

“What? Don’t you like it?”

“I do! He objected at once. Yes… of course. You… you did a wonderful job.”

He mentally forgave himself for this half-lie, noting that he wouldn't have been able to do even a quarter of what she'd managed to achieve.

“Thank you! I'm so glad you like it, she rejoiced, looking relieved. I was afraid it might be too much for you.”

“No, it’s… it’s perfect,” affirmed the giant trying to smile.

“Great! I let you work now.”

“Yes. Thanks again.”

The former hacker hopped out of the office, not noticing her superior's discomfited expression. He had dug his own grave. Many photos will be taken during this gala, and they will be easily accessible to an expert such as the young woman. If he broke his promise, she'd know and wouldn't appreciate the obvious betrayal.

As evening fell, Aaron returned home with a low expression on his face. But he put on a more serene visage before opening the door.

“Dad!” cried out Jack, rushing to him.

“Good evening, son.”

He took the little boy in his pajamas in his arms and placed a kiss on his forehead. He smelled of shower gel and shampoo, a sign that he'd just got out of the bath. In the kitchen, a familiar figure leaned against the dining table.

“Good evening, Jess.”

“Evening, Aaron,” greeted his ex-sister-in-law with a smile.

The little boy was still clinging to his father's neck, so happy to see him before he went to bed.

“I've got a present for you from Penelope," announced his sire, managing to free himself from this human vice.

He opened his satchel and took out the small silver package his employee had brought him. The boy grabbed it briskly and felt around the shapeless container, trying to determine its contents.

“What’s this?” he finally asked.

“Open it and you’ll see.”

He himself didn't know what Garcia's second work looked like and was curious to see what she had made for the toddler. Jack tore the paper open, revealing a second sweater, this one red and blue.

“Oh! It’s so cool!” exclaimed the kid, showing his aunt his gift before presenting it to his father.

Hotch found himself faced with a tangle of wool just like the top of Spiderman's suit. The young woman had even gone so far as to slip black threads into the red areas to represent spider webs and knit a dark arachnid right in the middle of the torso. Scarlet gloves with black stripes were attached to the ends of the sleeves, and the hood attached to the shoulders bore large white almond-shaped eyes hemmed in black.

“Actually, it's true," remarked the titan, blown away by the finesse of the realization.

Jack, ecstatic, watched it from every angle, no longer paying attention to the adults around him.

“Why do you say that?" questioned Haley's sister, back on their level.

As an observer, she must have noticed the hint of bitterness that emanated from his few words.

“Because she knitted a sweater for me too and... it doesn’t look alike, at all," he replied, rising to his feet.

“She knitted a sweater for you too. Why?”

“For the FBI gala. She saw that we were allowed to wear Christmas sweaters.”

“Dad! Can I try it on?" shouted Jack, tugging at his shirt.

“Yes, sure.”

The child didn't think twice and pulled on his superhero outfit in no time, putting on gloves and hood without a moment's hesitation.

“Look, Dad!”

“You're so classy!" his father remarked sincerely, thinking that, what's more, the proportions were right.

“See? See that, Jess?”

“Yes. You look great," commented his aunt, delighted.

She dared a glance in the direction of her ex-brother-in-law and guessed without difficulty that his level of spite had risen yet another notch.

“Do you have a Penelope sweater too, Dad?”

“Yes, and he was about to show it to me," Jessica smiled mischievously, eager to see what had gotten him into such a state.

“Yeah! Show us.”

His bluff called, Aaron leaned back into his bag and pulled out the other marvel created by the computer specialist. Taking off his suit jacket, he poked his head through the green and red striped collar, rolled up each poppy sleeve until his hands were exposed to the air, tugged on the bottle-green trim to cover his belt, pressed the concealed switch at his right wrist and looked up to see the spectators' reactions.

“Awesome!” raved his son, grinning from ear to ear.

Behind him, Jessica was holding back a giggle.

“It’s… it's very Penelope," she succeeded to articulate without managing to keep a straight face.

“That's the way it goes," Hotch grunted, trying to ignore the light flashing on his left shoulder.

“Dad! Could I wear it at the FBI party?”

“Yes. It was made for it.”

“Cool!” he replied with pride. Are you going to wear your sweater too?”

“… Yes.”

“Yeah!”

Without asking, Jack galloped back to his room to play for a while before sitting down to dinner. Her mother's sister didn't hold back any longer and cracked up, held onto the back of the sofa.

“Laugh it up, Aaron grumbled in disgust. Can you seriously imagine me showing up in front of every agency director in the country with this?”

“It’s not that horrible," she argued, squashing a tear from the corner of her eye.

“She has knitted people I can’t identify. Is that Spencer here or Dave?”

She burst out laughing again as her interlocutor tried to name the characters modeled on his torso. But if he'd already had trouble recognizing them head-on, the task was proving impossible from above.

“She tried to pay tribute to the BAU," Jessica remarked as she caught her breath.

“Yes, I know, but I'm just going to look like a clown. And, next to that, Jack has a great sweater.”

“Wait, you're jealous of your son's sweater?" the young woman frowned, surprised.

“Yes. I want a Spiderman sweater too. Rather than a blinking sweater with strange characters dancing on it.”

In retrospect, he got that his plea was not particularly in keeping with his age or profession. Jack suddenly seemed more mature than his six-year-old self. But the fact was, he found his offspring's gift far more beautiful than the one he'd received, and a lump of anxiety choked his throat at the thought of going to FBI headquarters with it on his back.

“Why don't you tell her?” Jessica resumed, serious again.

“Whose?” he retorted, hastily turning off the light bulb that was beginning to drive him mad.

“Penelope.”

“I could never do that,” he confessed without thinking.

He didn't need to do it, since he knew it was beyond his strength. Facing her gaze, her disappointment, her sadness, even her anger, was the last thing he felt able to do. Especially on such a trivial subject.

“Why?”

“Because I'd have to explain to her why I don't want this one.”

“And not wanting to make a fool of the BAU in front of all the bigwigs, isn't that excuse enough?”

“No. It’s the worst thing I could say to her. She is extremely proud of this work and to tell her that I feel ridiculous with it implies that I find it ugly. While I said that I liked it. She'll know I've lied and wonder how many times I've lied to her before. And…”

“Okay, okay, I get it, she stopped him, grabbing his arm to prevent him from pacing under her nose. Why not tell her you'd like a slightly more sober sweater for the party?”

“She won’t have the time to make another sweater by then.”

“How do you know? Do you know how much time it takes to make a sweater?”

He was about to throw out a random answer to justify his reluctance to embark on this procedure, before realizing that he was only running away from a possible resolution to his problem.

“… No.”

“So, ask her then. And if she ever tells you it would take too long, tell her you'll wear the sweater on another occasion.”

“Like the BAU Christmas party she's going to throw at her place?" he suggested, remembering that other invitation he was more inclined to honor, this one.

“For example. And for the gala, you'll go in one of your suits and everything will be fine.”

The proposal was so tempting that he felt like signing up immediately. Then he became conscious of what this meant, and his mind raced back.

“… I could never do that.”

“Aaron...” Jessica sighed, her eyebrows furrowing.

“I can’t lie. I can’t lie to her. She'll understand straight away that I don't like what she's done and… I don’t want to make her feel sad.”

“Okay. So don't complain if you look like an idiot in front of all the other agency directors.”

Caught between plague and cholera, he muttered:

“… I hate social events.”

Even more so when he knew he was in for a bad time.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, he pushed her away, everyone's going to think you're Jack's mother and... I'm already going to have to explain that – he said, pointing to the Penelope creation he was still wearing – If, on top of that, I have to explain that you're, in fact, my ex-sister-in-law and we're just friends... well, let's simplify things if you don't mind.”

He could see from here the incredulous expressions of his colleagues, who wouldn't believe for a moment in this long-standing friendship with his ex-wife's sister – a friendship that would endure beyond her death, for which he was responsible – and would surely think it hadn't taken him long to get back on saddle. He already didn't have a very good reputation, so it was out of the question to sully it further by feeding shameless and erroneous rumors.

“As you wish, said Jessica, shrugging her shoulders. By the way, is that Emily or you, there?”

She pointed to a dark-haired figure, obviously in a suit, who could fit either of these two roles.

“It looks like bangs, so I'd say Emily. But I can’t guarantee it a hundred percent. And I don’t know why there is a cat.”

“Because the unicorn, yes?”

In the background of the group, against the snowy backdrop, a white horse with a sequined mane and a long, fuchsia-pink horn on its forehead strolled merrily along. A "detail" in the decor that didn't shock him that much.

“Yes, Penelope loves unicorns so…”

He wrinkled his eyelids as his brain recalled a cognizance from the depths of his memory.

“Hold on, I heard the girls talking about a Sergio. I thought it was a guy Emily was dating, but... maybe it's him, the cat.”

Much later, Hotch was struggling to concentrate on the e-mail he had just received. It must have been the third time he'd reread the same line without being able to understand its meaning. He recognized the words independently of each other, but the meaning of their sequence remained unclear. His mind was elsewhere, focused on the next day's appointment, which would probably ruin his career. As soon as he stopped using them, his fingers intertwined nervously, his thumb pressing the knuckles of its neighbors. He didn't realize it, but he could perfectly hear his heart beating in his temples.

Someone knocked on his door and he turned his attention away from the incomprehensible lines of text.

“Garcia?”

The young woman was once again standing on the threshold of his office, holding a package in her hand. This time it was made of kraft paper, and a simple midnight-blue ribbon encircled it.

“I've got something for you," she declared, moving over to the chair opposite him.

“… For… for me?”

“Yes. Here it is.”

As he had expected, she handed him what she was carrying, and he delicately retrieved it. The analyst's attitude differed from the ordinary. She stood quietly in front of him, a shy smile on her lips, and looked uncomfortable.

“… Penelope, you already offered me something three weeks ago,” he reminded her, confused.

“I know, she said cheerlessly, but this one's for tomorrow. For the party.”

The giant understood less and less what was happening.

“… But it was already the case for the other, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but a little birdie told me that you'd prefer something more... sober, to meet the other agency directors. That’s it.”

“A little birdie told you…?”

A block of ice fell into his gut.

“Penelope, there’s only one person I’ve ever talked to about this, and…”

A terrible feeling of shame fell over him.

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way. I… I didn’t mean to offend you. It… it’s just that…”

“Next time, give it to me straight. Like with pineapple," she added, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at him.

The leader’s eyes widened in bewilderment. Jessica knew that he and Jack hated the fruit, but he hadn't told her about what had happened during the boy's second birthday. So, how…? Unless, of course, it was his own son who had blurted it out, as he liked to tell anyone who would listen about everything he experienced in minute detail.

“Wh… who told you about this?” he wanted to know, puzzled.

“JJ. Girl’s night. She was a bit tipsy and, as we were talking about things we loved that were hated by others, she revealed that you hated pineapple.”

His embarrassment rose several notches in the blink of an eye, and continued to rise as he met the dark gaze of the bespectacled ginger. He hesitated to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't having a nightmare, but the technician resumed, in a dry tone:

“Tell me, is Jessica really allergic to pineapple?”

He swallowed a bitter saliva that was hard to get through. But, taking a breath, he decided to put his cards on the table. Now that his lies were out in the open, he could be honest to the end.

“… No. Not at all. She likes it actually. I imagine she would have loved your cake if I'd brought her your recipe.”

Penelope's brown irises turned black, and her fine eyebrows drew dangerously close under her light bangs. Arms crossed over her chest, her mouth twisted to express her disapproval, but she didn't say a word, seeming to wait for a reaction from him.

“Sorry,” he said, feeling his ears grow hot.

He felt like he was five or six years old again and had been surprised by his grandmother after the umpteenth mistake. He wished to disappear under his desk. But his employee took a deep breath before sighing heavily, letting her arms fall back on either side of her body, swaddled in a yellow and blue dress. She raised her eyes to the sky, then moved a little closer.

“Hotch, I don't want you to apologize, I want you to talk, she explained, in a much softer tone. To express what’s on your mind.”

“But I didn’t want to bother you. You’ve got enough work to do right now.”

“And I don't want you to feel ridiculous in front of the other supervisors. I want you to feel good. So, open this package and tell me what you think.”

He hadn't thought of it that way, but now that she mentioned it, it was obvious. The computer scientist's outfits were too extravagant for the FBI's internal regulations, but they suited her character and she felt more comfortable in them than in a classic suit. And she had never forced anyone on the team to adopt her style of dress. In fact, if she'd loved knitting this sweater for him, it certainly wasn't to fail him. His ex-sister-in-law was probably right: she only wanted to pay tribute to the agency he ran.

                So, still embarrassed by the exposure of his deceptions, he did as she asked. A new sweater was neatly folded inside the package, in a seemingly plain electric blue. But when he picked it up by the sleeves, he saw that a seal had been drawn in its center. Surrounded by red on a yellow background, a large H stood in the middle of the chest. And the back of the sweater was in fact entirely red. The reference to a superhero was obvious and a smile stretched his lips.

“So?”

“… Much better, he affirmed, reassured. Much sober, indeed.”

“Will you wear it for the gala?”

“Yes. And… and I’ll wear the other one during our little party.”

“Really?”

“Yes, there's no reason why you should have done it for nothing.”

Joy returned to Garcia's round face.

“Do you mean it?”

“Yes, yes. I really like it. Thank you.”

His whole body was overcome by relief, and he relaxed to the point where he was once again able to read the messages that continued to populate his inbox. In the end, there might have been a chance that the celebration wouldn't have gone so badly.

The next day, as agreed and as promised, Aaron, in his Super-Hotchner sweater, reached the FBI headquarters building in the company of Jack, as overexcited by the idea of visiting this illustrious building as he was by the wool suit he proudly wore. As soon as he saw the other children present, he rushed over to show them his one-of-a-kind sweater. Keeping an eye on him from afar, his father shook all the hands he was duty-bound to shake and exchanged a few formal words with some of his peers – those who dared to come out to meet him.

He noted the looks on his outfit but did not pay attention to most of them. He only reacted when friendly faces came up to him. Like when he found the father of one of the toddlers – a blond boy a little older than Jack, called Parker, and wearing a Grinch knit to rival Penelope's – with whom he chatted serenely for a long time. The agent was younger than him and reminded him, in certain aspects of his temperament, of Morgan, but he had always got on well with him. His frank, honest side was a big part of the equation, as it allowed Hotch to be more natural himself.

But the man had to return to other activities and took his descendant in his wake. Jack, who had an appetizer in each hand and the end of a third in his mouth, followed his own father into the crowd of managers. One of them came to meet them as the BAU director wiped the miniature Spiderman's greasy fingers with a towel, before he got it everywhere.

“Good evening, Hotchner.”

“Good evening, Rollins, he greeted, rising to his feet. Let me introduce you my son, Jack.”

“Good evening, young man,” he smiled debonairly.

“Good evening, mister!”

Hector Rollins ran a branch in the north of the country. Beneath his good-natured exterior lay a rather brittle leader, who had led to the resignation or transfer of more than one agent since his induction. He almost crushed his counterpart's hand when he presented his own, but the BAU chief showed no sign of impropriety. He had already had to work alongside him on a complex investigation when Derek and Spencer were his only subordinates, and he had had to fight hard to be able to operate as he wished. The culprit had been tracked down, but the two team leaders didn't part on very good terms.

                The worry was that Rollins had many more friends and acquaintances in the Bureau hierarchy than he did, so he knew that offending him was the last sensed thing to do. He was aware, however, that the pot-bellied, half-bald, red-faced man in front of him had already sown a few insidious seeds designed to tarnish the image of profilers. Aaron kept his guard up, fighting the urge to throw the contents of his glass in his face.

“That's a nice sweater you've got there," he remarked, leaning back on his knees to bring himself up to the toddler's level.

“Yeah. It’s awesome!”

A toothy grin split his crimson face, and he straightened up with a pained sneer. Rollins was about twenty years older than Hotch and hadn't been in the field for a long time. His main activity consisted of sitting on his chair and sending incendiary e-mails to his flock for minor details. Probably to compensate for an authority he lacked at home.

“Where did you buy it?”

Or to vent his frustration at the failure of his marriage – his wedding ring had left his ring finger. The memory of a remark he'd made at the gala held the year he and Haley separated made the corner of Hotch's lips curl up again.

“I’m afraid I can’t give you that information.”

“Why?”

“It’s classified.”

Rollins had children close in age to Jack's, and obviously wanted a copy of this creation to win the favor of one of them, but Aaron curiously had no desire to accede to his request. All the more so as it was unlikely that Penelope would embark on an industrial production of her works. And, most of all, he didn’t want anyone else but every members of his team to enjoy her creations.

“And… your sweater is classified too?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, before walking away with a satisfied look on his face.

The following week, Hotch and Jack hurried upstairs to Garcia's apartment. Despite the cramped conditions, the analyst was keen to invite the whole team, as well as JJ, Will and her son. With the former liaison officer off to the Pentagon, opportunities to cross paths were few and far between. Christmas had served as an excuse to get everyone together, and the young couple had accepted the invitation immediately.

“At last! I thought you'd never arrive,” revealed their hostess as she opened the door.

“Sorry. We were looking for a twin of Jack's sock,” explained the agency manager.

“I wanted the socks with the gingerbread men,” said the little boy, pouting.

He had particularly insisted on putting on this pair and not another but, conveniently, the duplicate underwear was not in the drawer with the first. And so began a long treasure hunt throughout the apartment, which gradually nibbled away at any lead the giant thought he'd gained.

“Did you find it?”

“No. So I told him he could put on others.”

“So, I have a gingerbread sock and a snowman sock.”

The skunk proudly displayed his ankles adorned with mismatched patterns. This subversion – which didn't bother his progenitor in the slightest – appealed enormously to Reid, who had meanwhile moved closer to greet them.

“Awesome! Look at mine!”

He pulled on his pants and showed a ski-loving bear on his right and a forest of Christmas trees on his left.

“Oh! So great!” exclaimed Jack, delighted to find a galley companion.

Aaron overlooked the fact that this wasn't the first time the PhDs owner had indulged in this kind of extravagance, let alone that it was, in fact, a daily habit. The two fantasists moved away to say hello to the rest of the group, while the titan stayed close to Penelope. He turned to warn her:

“I’m sorry, but he didn’t put your sweater back on today. He loves it, but his grandmother knitted him one, so he wanted to wear it tonight.”

“A Christmas sweater?”

“Yes. Look. Jack!”

The little head turned sharply in their direction and, as his father waved, he came running back, smiling.

“Take off your coat, you’ll be too hot.”

“Okay.”

He opened his zipper and extended his arm towards Hotch. Without exchanging a word, the latter grabbed the sleeve of the down jacket and the boy spun around to disentangle himself from its thickness. He appeared in a white sweater with a large green brachiosaurus and a red cap with a pompom on their head. The dinosaur looked as happy as the child wearing the jersey.

“Oh! I love your sweater!”

“Grandma Ada made it. It’s so good!”

And off he went, Morgan baiting him with a glass of juice. The luscious redhead smiled, then raised an eyebrow.

“I… I thought you don’t celebrate Christmas?”

Although he didn't dwell on the subject, the unit manager had to mention on occasion that this celebration was not part of his traditions. Born of Jewish parents, he was not a practicing Jew, nor did he believe in any divinity, but he followed the customs of his relatives, for whom the twenty-fourth of December was a day like any other.

“Not me. Well, not my family, he confirmed. But my mother knows that Jack celebrates Christmas, so she's adapted.”

On the other hand, Haley had been a Christian and this date was very important to her. Until his divorce, Aaron had celebrated both Hanukkah and the Nativity, and his son had been immersed in this dual culture from birth. Removing the second on the pretext that his mother was no longer of this world was something his sire refused to do, especially as it was also an opportunity for the boy to see his maternal grandparents. A decision that his family accepted without hesitation.

“I understand better,” nodded the mistress of the premises.

“I see you're making a beautiful Christmas tree.”

Indeed, the young woman was wearing a bright green sweater with a black stripe around it, embellished with variegated decorations in the shape of gifts, candy canes, snowflakes and other shooting stars that bounced around with her every move. A few light bulbs were also scattered here and there. To complete the picture, she had placed a fir-green bonnet on her head, topped by a little reindeer with a red nose.

“Hold on, look at that.”

She contorted her body for a brief moment, then all the lights came on, illuminating her shoulders, arms, stomach and hips. The ungulate’s nose lit up likewise. A delighted smile played on the computer scientist's pink lips.

“Did you knit it?” asked her superior, amused.

“Uh… no. But I added the bulbs and homemade baubles.”

“Ah, I thought so.”

The original version of the knit must have lacked a bit of madness, Hotch mused, impressed by the work accomplished in spite of everything.

“And you?”

“A promise made; a promise kept.”

He undid the first button of his coat and continued with the next ones all the way down, under the impatient gaze of his subordinate, untied his scarf – knitted by his aunt – and undressed to reveal the sweater he should have originally worn to the gala.

“It suits you so well!" rejoiced Penelope, clapping her hands.

“And wait…”

Grabbing the switch tucked into his sleeve, he made all the bulbs on the garment glow, and they immediately began to blink.

“Oh, it’s perfect! Look everyone!”

The group redirected its attention to them, then approached to admire their hostess's other creation. Aaron calmed the rhythmic beating of his heart by reminding himself that he wasn't the attraction, but the sweater he'd put on. The comments were dithyrambic, though all pronounced with an equivocal smile.

“Is it supposed to be us?" asked Derek, his natural mockery unable to pass up such an opportunity.

“What do you mean, "supposed"?! the author erupted right away. That’s us!”

“Yes, look, intervened Dave. Spencer is clearly recognizable with his horn in the middle of his forehead.”

Everyone laughed, except Reid and Garcia, but not for the same reasons.

“No, I'm here," corrected the multi-graduate, very seriously.

He pointed to the tallest man in the group, thinner than the others, whose brown hair looked like it had been blown off by an explosion.

“Ah! Thanks, Spence! Finally, someone who recognizes my talent.”

More laughter fused and the seamstress calmed down.

“Sergio is very well done, in any case," remarked Emily, pointing to the small dark animal that stood in the center of the woolen fresco, erect on its spindly legs.

“Hey, I applied myself," informed her colleague, puffing out her chest.

They broke into congratulations and Penelope flushed.

“Mom, can I have the same sweater?" asked Henry, fascinated by the flashing bulbs that peeked out from the thick knit fabric.

“Ah, I think you have a new order," noted the boy's mother.

“It's as good as done," declared the analyst, mimicking a curtsy.

In the end, the sweater wasn't all that bad.

___

I didn't know how to finish this text (I rewrote the last lines of dialogue several times), but I hope you have enjoyed your ride. ^_^

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