#aaron hotchner fanficton

[wilbur-rabbit]

Feelings

Life Changes series fic

Summary: Hotch realizes he has feelings for you

Paring: Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader

Word Count: 2655

Warnings: fluff, slight angst

Life Changes Masterlist

Main Masterlist

A/N: This one shot takes part before all of the other parts so far. I really wanted to write about Hotch realizing his feelings and I think he would realize this before the reader would and be self deprecating about it. also I can't seem to stop writing about coffee in this series. so if you don't like coffee my apologies.

I hope you enjoy! Please like and reblog!

Hotch was sitting in his office working on a seemingly endless amount of paperwork when there was a knock at his door.

“Come in,” he said, without looking up, his pen still scratching across the page.

When he heard the door open, he glanced up to see you walk in with two coffees in your hand. You smiled at him when the two of you locked eyes and Hotch’s chest warmed at your bright smile. He kept his face as neutral as he could even though a small smile pulled at his lips on their own accord. Your smiles had always been contagious.

“I tried out a new coffee shop this morning and they had your favorite coffee, so I thought I’d get you a cup,” you said as you stepped forward and set one of the coffees down on his desk.

Hotch stared at the cup for a second, his chest betraying him again and feeling fuzzy, before looking back up at you.

“How do you know my favorite coffee?” He asked you.

“Whenever we have Liberica beans in the office you always drink more of it, regardless of if you need the caffeine or not,” you said, with a shrug of a shoulder like you noticing something as little as that didn’t make his heart skip a beat.

“Thank you,” he said bringing the cup up to his lips and taking a sip. The nuttiness and slight bitterness swept over his tongue, and he hummed in satisfaction.

He saw the anticipation on your face when he looked back up at you and said, “It is very good,” your face lit up in another grin that he couldn’t help but return. “Thank you again. You didn’t have to do that.”

You waved him off like it wasn’t a big deal. “I wanted to. I’m glad you like it.” With another smile, you turned and walked out of his office.

He stared after you for a moment, wondering how lucky the team was to have you, how you seemed to light up the office ever since you started. Or maybe it just felt that way to him. He shook his head, cleared his thoughts, and got back to work, this time having a coffee to enjoy.

The next time Hotch went to a coffee shop, which ended up being later the same week, his first thought was you. He wanted to return the favor and get you a coffee you would like. He knew you favored espresso over regular coffee, he had heard you telling Prentiss about the espresso machine you used at home while on the jet coming back from a case. The conversation prompted Prentiss to go out and buy the exact one. She had raved to you about how much she liked it the next day in the office, and you had lit up when she told you. Hotch had quickly gone up the stairs to his office not wanting anyone to see him eavesdropping.

He stared at the menu in the shop, feeling slightly overwhelmed by all the options. The place had unique names for every drink, having specialty drinks as well as drinks you would find at other coffee shops. He only ever ordered black coffee so he was a little out of his element. As his eyes scanned over the menu his thoughts took him to a memory of a case not that long ago. The police station that the team was working in had a coffee machine that had been broken when the team arrived. Even though the team didn’t voice their disappointment when the police chief told them, he knew they would be grumbling about it soon. The team had a caffeine addiction that Hotch didn’t foresee going anywhere.

About a day into the case, you were put in charge of ordering food for the team. He should have known you would order coffee too. When the coffee arrived, you would have thought it was Christmas morning. As everyone grabbed their designated cup and the cream and sugar that was included, Hotch took a step over to you taking a sip of his coffee.

“I think you made their day,” he told you, leaning down slightly to your height.

You grinned up at him, “When I saw the coffee place downtown delivered, I knew I had to get us some. Our food budget might be surpassed on this case.”

He chuckled and took another sip of his drink, savoring the nuttiness. He watched you take a sip of your drink. You hummed and closed your eyes in satisfaction. He watched your eyelashes flutter softly against your cheeks and his grip tightened onto the coffee cup. He was having this reaction to you more and more. He tried not to think about what that could mean.

“What did you get?” he asked, needing to distract himself and curious as to what had brought that look onto your face.

You looked up at him, “It’s a caramel latte,” you replied, still smiling softly. “I got Prentiss one, too.”

“Next.”

Hotch was brought out of his thoughts and realized it was his turn to order. He decided on a caramel latte to go with his black coffee.

Once he got to the office he wondered if bringing you something was the right choice. What if you didn’t like it? He shook off the thought before he lost his nerves and remember the look on your face when you first sipped the coffee on the case. When he walked into the bullpen out of sheer luck, you were sitting at your desk and the rest of the team was nowhere to be found.

With a sigh of relief, he walked over to you and set the cup on your desk, where luckily you didn’t already have a coffee cup. You looked up at him with furrowed brows.

“I wanted to return the favor,” he said, rubbing his thumb over his index finger. “I saw that drink and thought you would like it.”

Your face brightened into a smile that warmed him through and he couldn’t help but smile back. You picked up the drink and took a sip. You let out a hum of pleasure and closed your eyes as you savored the drink. Hotch couldn’t help but admire the soft look on your face before you opened your eyes and looked up at him.

“This is delicious,” you took another sip. “And caramel is my favorite.” You said and he could hear the truth in your words. “I didn’t have time to make coffee this morning, so this was a pleasant surprise. Where did you get this? It is so good.”

He smiled and told you about the coffee shop and the drink he had gotten for you.

“I’m definitely going to have to start going there from now on,” you said. “Thank you for getting it for me. You really didn’t have to.”

Hotch was already shaking his head. “I wanted to,” he told you. “I’m glad you like it.” He paused for a moment and debated saying the words that were on the tip of his tongue. That the two of you should go together, so you could try all their flavors and he could see which ones you liked the most. He looked down away from your eyes, knowing he was less likely to blurt out his thoughts when he couldn’t see your open expression.

“How did you know caramel was my favorite?” You suddenly asked.

He looked back up at you, his heart thudding at the question.

“The case in San Francisco, when their coffee machine was broken, and you ordered coffee for the team. You got yourself a caramel latte, it was clear you really enjoyed it.” Hotch swore he saw your cheeks turning slightly pink but why would you blush at that? He was the one that felt slightly embarrassed for remembering the fact about you. He had to admit that he liked the pink tint to your cheeks though.

“Thank you,” you murmured again.

“You’re welcome,” he replied.

The two of you stared at each other for another moment. Hotch didn’t know what else to say, so he gave you a nod and went up to his office. With his back to you, he didn’t see how your eyes trailed after him until he made it into his office.

A couple of weeks later, Hotch decided to take a detour to work and head to the same coffee shop he had visited when he bought your drink. He has gotten up early enough to go for a run and coffee felt like the perfect addition to his morning.

When he walked through the door, he was surprised to see you, your back to the door looking up at the menu.

Hotch’s heart skipped a beat and he slowly walked up behind you, trying to think of something to say to you. Before he could come up with the words you turned slightly and looked behind your shoulder as if you could sense him behind you.

A smile crossed your face when you saw him and the happiness on your face warmed his chest.

“Great minds think alike,” you said in greeting.

A chuckle slipped through his lips, “It appears so. Are you going to try something new?”

“I will if you will,” you dared.

Hotch peered up at the menu feeling as lost as he did when trying to decide what to get you. You must have recognized the look on his face because a giggle slipped through your lips. His eyes shot back to yours and he swore his insides melted.

He knew the feelings had been experiencing towards you had a name, but he couldn’t let himself think it.

“Do you like lattes?” You asked, bringing out of his thoughts.

His eyebrows pulled together. “I don’t know if I have ever had one,” he said as the line moved slowly forward. The still had plenty of time to get to the office and he would take any time he could get with you outside of work.

You gasped in mock horror. “We have to get you one. Your life is about to change.”

Usually, he would argue and say that black coffee was fine but he was finding it hard to deny you. The thoughts of his feelings bubbled up to the surface again and he forcefully pushed them back down.

“What do you recommend?” He asked.

The line moved up again and you hummed, studying the menu, then turned to glance at Hotch as if the answer to his question was written across his face. He couldn’t help but smile as you turned back to the menu.

“Do you like cinnamon?” You asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay,” you said with an affirming nod. “You should get the cinnamon dolce latte. I haven’t had it here before, but I think you’ll like it.”

By this time the two of you had made it to the front of the time. The cashier greeted you both and asked for your orders. Hotch gestured for you to go ahead.

Once you had ordered, Hotch stepped forward, his arm almost brushing against yours, and ordered the latte you suggested. You gave him a curious look before the cashier gave the total and Hotch started handing over his card. Realization rushed through you, and you opened your mouth to protest your hand fishing for your wallet.

Hotch gave you a stern look, knowing what you were about to do, and murmured, “Don’t worry about it. I got it.”

You kept quiet as the cashier rung you two up and you stepped to the side.

“Thank you,” you said, Hotch’s eyes flashing to yours.

Hotch gave you a smile and a nod. “Of course.”

The two of you stood in comfortable silence while the barista made your drinks. Hotch kept stealing glances over at you as your eyes wandered around the coffee shop, taking in other people who needed a coffee fix for the morning. Hotch admired your profile, the fullness of your lips, the curve of your cheekbone, and the slope of your jaw. His heart again fluttered in his chest; the feelings that he tried so hard to control bubbling back towards the surface.

Hotch was pulled out of his thoughts when both of your names were called, and he turned to the counter. Once the two of you had your coffee in hand, you both headed towards the exit. Hotch held the door open for you letting you exit first before he followed behind you, a quiet “thank you” slipping past your lips.

Once you were both a few feet away, you turned and looked at him expectantly. For a moment he wasn’t sure why but then your eyes flickered towards his cup. His lips tugged into a smile; he couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled this much.

He took a sip from his cup, and you watched him closely as if you were looking for cues of his reaction. Your unwavering focus on him was something he wasn’t used to and even though he enjoyed having your attention, it also made his palms clammy.

The first sip of the coffee flooded his taste buds. A combination of creaminess from the milk, sweetness from the cinnamon, and slight bitterness from the espresso brought a satisfying hum to his lips. That seemed to be the right reaction because a bright smile stretched across your face.

“So, you like it?” you asked, still having not taken a drink of your coffee.

“Yes,” Hotch replied, he almost seemed surprised that he enjoyed it as much as he did. He took another sip. “It is delicious. Thank you for the recommendation.”

You a small fist pump in satisfaction. “I’m glad. Now we will have to try other ones to see what else you like.”

You finally took a sip of your drink and seemed satisfied with yours as well. Hotch could see your car parked along the street and the two of you started walking towards it. He was parked around the corner from you, and he was happy he could walk you to your car.

You turned to look up at him when you got to it, the sun creating a halo around your figure.

“Thank you again. You didn’t have to do that.”

“You’re welcome. And I wanted to,” Hotch responded.

Your eyes were soft as you gave him a small smile. “I’ll see you at work then.”

“I’ll see you there.”

Once you had taken off and Hotch had made it to his vehicle. He sat there for a second with his hands on the wheel, replaying the morning events. Before today he had known deep down what was brewing in his heart for you but after today, he didn’t know if he could ignore it any longer.

Throwing the car into drive, Hotch headed into work.

Once he arrived, coffee in hand, his eyes trailed to your desk on their own accord, and he found you looking at him. You smiled at him and lifted your cup in his direction. He mirrored your actions, giving you a smile in return before heading up to his office. He shut his door; his blinds already closed from a meeting he had with Strauss the day before and dropped heavily into his chair.

He placed his head in his hands, his elbows leaning against the desk, and sighed. He let the feelings he had been pushing down flood through him, realizing that he was too far gone. He had feelings for you, his subordinate who was significantly younger than himself. He couldn’t think of someone more off-limits to him, someone so unlikely to return his feelings even if the roadblocks weren’t in the way.

He had feelings for you, and he couldn’t, wouldn’t do anything about it.

If you would like to be tagged in any of my work, let me know!

tagged: @suhke3, @wanniiieeee, @kajjaka, @iwillmakeyoucraveme, @twilightlover2007, @alinasophie, @katieslotherford, @stiles-argent24, @myriaos, @nvttiara, @eternal-silvertongued-prince, @rousethemouse, @pandorasdreamings, @rosaliedepp, @jori21, @ssamorganhotchner, @hearteyesmotherclucker, @xoxo-mylove, @anxious-enby, @singhfae, @sunshinemunchkin, @hotchnerxo, @breadforhowl, @thenewnormalforensicator

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanficton #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotchner x bau!reader #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch x y/n #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x reader #hotch x y/n

[allysunny]

i hope everyone knows my fics can be read by everyone.

i write for EVERYONE.

the protagonists of my fics (aka y'all and y'all's ocs) have no distinguishable features. no specific skin tone, no specific hair lenght, no specific hair colour, no specific hair texture nor height or weight or whatever.

i want everyone to feel included so i try to be as vague as possible, even when writing about hobbies, likes or dislikes. i want everyone who reads my fics to be able to relate to the protagonist, and be happy while reading it. after all, y'all are the main character

you are all so loved by me!!!

everyone deserves to feel included <3

#༊*·˚ allysunny's antics #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #bale!bruce wayne #bale!bruce wayne x reader #kento nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #fanficton #fanfic writing

[pedrossl4t]

I’ve literally got like no followers but oh well , if my target audience sees this should I start writing mini stories if so send some suggestions (idek how to use tumblr😃)

#emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #spencer reid #smut #wattapad #fanfic #pedro x reader #pedro pascal #fanficton #fluff #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch fic #pedro is daddy

[jennahbreakers]

He carried his guilt like he carried his briefcase.

#book lines #WIP #fanficton #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch fanfiction #ao3 #archiveofourown #archive of our own

[masterwords]

To Counteract Distance (PART ONE)

Warnings:  Not really any.  Whump, of course, and some swearing.

Notes:  This takes place sometime after Hotch returns to his position as Unit Chief...and that’s basically it.  It was supposed to be a one-shot but it has completely gotten away from me...classic.  It will either be two or three parts, we’ll see how tomorrow goes! 

“May I make a suggestion?” Rossi asked, pulling Aaron aside.  They stood in the corner of a very small, very cold building that called itself Coolin City Hall, but was essentially a converted house that also served a number of other roles, including flea market in the summer time.  Currently, and for the last week, it was the BAU headquarters as they hunted a killer through the northern panhandle of Idaho.  

“Of course,” Aaron whispered, looking around to see that no one was eavesdropping.  It was such a small room that it would be difficult for anyone not to hear, but he was hopeful.  

“I think instead of sending Prentiss out with Morgan to check out the sighting around mile marker eleven, perhaps you should go with him.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“You and Morgan seem to be...having some challenges figuring out how you work together again since you've resumed your role as our Unit Chief.”

“He's having the challenges,” Aaron muttered, a little indignantly. Rossi raised an eyebrow at his friend, almost accusatory.  

“I seem to remember you finding it difficult when you stepped down, not knowing where you fit in after leading the team for so long.  I'm just saying that maybe he's finding himself in that same boat, figuring out his place again. You piled a lot of responsibility on his shoulders and now you’ve taken it back.  It might do you both some good to spend some one on one time together to work it out.”  

Aaron considered the statement for a moment, forgetting his own desire to put Morgan into his place, and sighed.  

“Thanks, Dave,” was what he said, which translated roughly into an admission that Dave was, in fact, correct and what would Aaron do without him. Dave smiled, because he knew all of that already.  Aaron hurried out to the SUV and caught Prentiss in time to send her back inside and partner up with Rossi instead and he climbed into the passenger seat, hardly dressed to head out into the snow but there wasn't time to waste.  

“You wanna babysit me now?” Morgan asked, forcing the SUV into drive and pulling out onto the icy highway toward the winding lake road and up into the mountain.  

“Dave suggested you and I might need to work some things out, and I don't think he was wrong.  Do you?”

Morgan considered the question silently for a moment, slowing into a long curve and then another.  The road would have been dangerous in the dead of summer, but in the winter slick with snowbanks on one side and a frozen lake on the other, it was another story.  

“I guess not,” Morgan said finally.  “He's right.”  

“Look,” Aaron began, instinctively bracing himself against the door every time they took a turn.  He'd been on enough backwoods roads to fear them, just a little.  “When you took over as Unit Chief - “

“HOTCH!” Morgan shouted, pulling the vehicle to the side of the road and pointing up at a dark figure on the hillside, near a cabin.  “It's him!”  He was instantly recognizable, and he was alone.  Morgan and Aaron shot out of the car as quickly as they could and climbed the snowbank, up the hill, using the trees to pull themselves along.  The unsub hadn't seen them yet, or perhaps he had and was just taunting them – he knew the woods like the back of his hand, if he was there, he was waiting for them.  When they got close enough that Morgan could pull out his gun, the unsub took off running at a surprising clip for someone knee deep in snow.  Aaron's thin suit pants were soaking, his socks wet inside of his dress shoes and he was instantly regretting his decision not to take a few extra minutes to change.  Morgan was in insulated pants and winter boots, he was able to move easier and quicker as they pursued the unsub further into the woods so Aaron spent more time making sure he marked their path back to the SUV.  There was a moment when Aaron thought Morgan had him, and then all of a sudden the man was gone.  Just vanished into thin air.

“Morgan!” Aaron shouted, looking up through the mottled evergreen canopy to see large, billowy snowflakes begin falling.  “Morgan it's snowing and we've got a long way to go to get back to the SUV.  We're losing daylight fast!”  Morgan turned around, frantically searching the woods for the unsub, knowing the man couldn't have just vanished. “Morgan!  We have to go back!” Aaron shouted again, frustrated. He was about ready to pull rank if he had to tell Morgan again, but thankfully it didn't come to that, Morgan stalked back toward him through the snow.  

“We almost had that fucker,” he grumbled, not looking at his boss.  He was angry, fuming, and he stomped through the snow all the way back to the SUV.  When they got back, it was already twilight, the sun streaking pink and purple and gold through the winter blues and whites and greens of the mountainside.  They could just barely make out the majesty of the frozen lake beyond, impossibly huge and impossibly deep, frozen over, hiding living worlds beneath the ice waiting for the late spring thaw.  It was snowing harder, wind whipping through the trees, howling at them as they dusted the snow off of themselves the best they could before getting back into the vehicle.  Aaron was freezing and soaked, he turned the heat all the way up, turning as many fans as he could toward himself when Morgan indicated he was fine.

“We'll get him,” Aaron said, hopefully.  “There are road blocks everywhere he could pop out from here to the Canadian border.  We'll get him, or he'll freeze to death out there.”  He wasn't entirely convinced the man didn't have knowledge of some hunter's cabin, or that he wouldn't hole up in one of the mansions along the lake that wouldn't see its owners again until June, but that couldn't be helped.  They couldn't pursue him into the Rocky Mountains on foot tonight, just the two of them. Morgan was tense, Aaron could feel it from where he sat, and he knew he was to blame for almost all of it.  

“I almost had him,” Morgan spat, taking the turns a little faster than he should have in the conditions, but he was a good driver and Aaron trusted him even if he was sitting rather stiff, bracing himself against the door, his feet firmly planted against the floor.  

“You did,” Aaron said quietly, calmly.  He needed to diffuse the situation.  “You almost had him, but he knows these woods better than we do Morgan.  There was nothing we could have done.”  

“We could have kept trying!” Morgan shouted, and at the same moment he saw a deer leap out into the road in front of him and he swerved to miss it.  Everything happened too quickly after that, the SUV spun in a circle and went flying down an embankment toward the lake nose first, slamming into a fallen tree trunk at the base of the hillside. With a crash, the sound of metal crunching and steam hissing and liquids draining, they came to a stop, both men breathing heavily, glad to be alive.  Aaron was overcome with a sickening pain in his knee, almost unable to think of anything else for entire minutes after the car came to a stop – every movement, every breath sent him into near hysteria over the intensity of the pain.  

“Hotch?” Morgan asked, his voice pained and quiet.  “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he said, because that was what he did.  He was not alright but he wasn't going to die, that was his logic.  No one had ever died from a knee injury that he knew of, and if they had, he didn't want to know about it just then.  “You?”

“Yeah,” Morgan replied, and he was lying too.  He could feel a deep, immobilizing pain in his shoulder, he knew it was dislocated, but he was fine otherwise.  “I'm good.”  There was an intense silence between them for a few minutes wherein they both were just struggling to regain some level of composure because each of them had it in them that they needed to be in charge of all situations, and weakness wasn't on the menu.  The pain in Aaron's knee, though, finally got the better of him because he couldn't move, not even a little and eventually Morgan would have discovered his lie.  

“You're lying,” Aaron muttered, sucking in a deep breath and turning his head toward Morgan.  “I know that because I'm also lying.  Can we agree to be honest?”

“Yeah...” Morgan said, admitting defeat.  “I'm pretty sure my shoulder is dislocated.  I think I'm okay otherwise...you?”

Aaron sighed.  “I don't know.  My knee is...” he started, but he didn't know what to say.  “It hurts.  I can't move it.  I'm okay otherwise, whatever that's worth.”  

“Okay. We need to stay in the vehicle, it doesn't look like any of the windows broke thankfully.  We gotta get into the back, though, we can't sleep up here.  If you can do me a solid and just slam my shoulder back into place, I can help get you into the back.  Sound good, boss?”

Aaron listened intently, constantly impressed with Morgan's leadership ability and composure under duress.  “Sounds good.”  A few hours ago, he probably would have told Morgan to stay in his lane, that he was in charge, but he was okay taking a backseat on this one.  Morgan braced himself and suddenly Aaron was taken back to another case, over a decade prior, when he'd had to do this very same thing while they were out on the road.  He'd popped Morgan's shoulder back into place more than once, and his own as well, he knew what he was doing even if he hated it.  Holding his breath as he leaned forward, ignoring the screaming pain in his leg, he reached out and worked as quickly as possible, maneuvering it back into the socket.  Morgan grunted only once when Aaron pushed too hard, and then it was over and Aaron leaned back in his seat and let out the long, pained breath he'd been holding.  

“Your turn,” Morgan sighed, leaning back, taking a moment to collect himself.  He grasped his shoulder with his good hand, rubbing at the angry muscles and clenched his fist a few times, lifted it and set it down, making sure he still had range of motion.  “I think it would be best if we did it outside.  Get you out, around the car and then into the back.”

“I'm already soaking wet and freezing, Morgan,” Aaron said softly, closing his eyes.  “Can we do it inside?”

“You think you can climb over the seats if I'm helping?”

“I'd like to try.”  

Morgan shrugged and shook his head.  He didn't think it was the best idea, but he wasn't the one it was going to hurt – this way would probably be easier on his own injury, anyway.  

“You lay your seat down, recline it all the way.  I think I can pull you into the backseat that way, and I can figure it out from there.”

It took everything in Morgan to pull Aaron over the seat with his painful shoulder, but he knew Aaron felt worse so he put his head down and he just pushed through.  The sooner they were in the back, the sooner they could figure out how to just get through the night and hope that a rescue party would be sent out in the morning.  They both knew that no one would be looking for them at night in a snowstorm, and neither of them had cell phone service.  They got into the backseat and stopped for a moment, Aaron's body almost entirely on top of Morgan's and he was doing everything in his power to downplay the amount of pain he was in, gasping and squeezing his eyes shut every time he moved.  Morgan played with the lever on the side of the seat, trying to get it to recline, but it was jammed.  He pressed harder and harder, raging at it until he felt the plastic snap and splinter to the floor.

“Shit,” he muttered.  

“Hmm?” Aaron hummed, unable to form words for the moment.  

“We're going to have to go outside, I'm sorry, I just broke the damn lever. It'll be quick, I promise.  I can’t drag you over the seat while it’s up man.”  

Aaron sighed and nodded, and it wasn't long before the two of them were out in the snow, Aaron draped over Morgan's shoulder, unable to bear weight on his leg.  Morgan kicked snow out of their way as they stepped around the SUV, trying to clear the path as best he could. He hadn't realized how unprepared Aaron had been to be out in the snow and he felt awful for yelling at him earlier about spending more time in pursuit now.  Morgan lifted the back gate and started to help Aaron inside when the other man stopped him.

“Morgan look up,” Aaron muttered, turning his eyes up at the crystalline indigo sky dotted with diamond stars, layers and layers of stars, visible constellations, not a cloud in sight.  They hadn't even realized the storm had passed and left them with the clearest mountain sky either of them had ever witnessed.  Morgan paused in silent reverie, feeling the weight of the other man against him and suddenly overcome with the feeling of being very, very small and insignificant.  They stood there for a moment, until Morgan felt a shiver run through the man beside him and he was reminded that Aaron was not dressed to be out in the snow so he broke the trance and began moving the other man up and into the vehicle before jumping in himself and shutting the gate behind them.  In the back they found boxes of case files and a well stocked emergency kit with a few blankets stuffed inside thanks to JJ insisting that anyone going out into the mountains in a vehicle needed to be prepared.  She was no stranger to mountains and snow. 

“We gotta get you out of those clothes,” Morgan muttered, and he'd probably never said more uncomfortable words in his life.  Aaron could attest to having never been more uncomfortable, but he nodded anyway because embarrassing or not, Morgan was right.  His pants were soaked to the knee, his socks were wet and none of it was helping. Morgan didn't watch as Aaron unbuckled his belt and tried to slip his pants down, but at a certain point Aaron's mobility was lost and Morgan helped him finish the job, followed by the removal of his socks and shoes.  Morgan had never been more glad in his life that boxer shorts existed, it made the whole thing just a little more bearable.  Even in the deepening darkness he could see the gory bruising and swelling around Aaron's knee and he knew the other man was toughing out an incredible amount of pain.  His legs felt like ice and he hugged his coat around himself, shivering while he watched Morgan throw case files into all of the windows with some bits of tape to insulate them.  It wasn't pretty but as the temperature dropped, it would do the job.  Once he was satisfied with the window coverage, he came back and unpacked the lanterns and flashlights, checking the batteries and handing a few over to Aaron to check as well.  They were able to illuminate the interior fairly well and Morgan dug through the emergency kit some more, uncovering trail mix and granola bars, tossing some of them into Aaron's lap.  Aaron handed the trail mix back, shaking his head.  

“I'm allergic to cashews,” he muttered, and Morgan looked at him as if he was speaking another language.  

“For real?”

“Yep. Pistachios, pecans and hazelnuts too.  I just avoid them all, easier that way.”  

“Shit, I had no idea.”

Aaron shrugged.  “No need to advertise it.”  

“Emily and I eat cashews almost every day at our desk,” Morgan said, a little concerned at how very little he seemed to know about the man beside him.  “We've brought them to the round table.  And on the plane!  Reid drinks hazelnut lattes almost every day.  Hotch!”

“What? I'm not dead am I?”  

“Damn,” Morgan sighed, shaking his head.  “Well there's a lot of nuts in here.  It's mostly nuts.  There's a few beef sticks and some jerky, some dried fruit, but mostly nuts.  Hopefully we'll be out of here tomorrow morning and we won't have to worry about you going into anaphylaxis on top of everything else.”  Morgan packed up all of the nut containing items and tossed them into the front seat so he wouldn't be tempted to open them near the other man.  “Does anyone know about you and nuts?”

Aaron regarded the question for a moment and smiled.  “Gideon figured it out a long time ago,” he said softly.  “We were down in Georgia and we were talking with a victim's family.  The matriarch of the family, she offered us some pecan pie, made using the pecans from the tree in her backyard.  I'd been feeling a little off while I was walking around back there, lightheaded and I was clearing my throat I remember, and hadn't even realized that was what the trees were – I'd guess I had never seen pecan trees before.  Gideon leaned over to me and just said “You better decline, the nearest ER is an hour away” and you know, even after working with he and Dave and Max for nearly a year at that point...I was still genuinely shocked.”  

Morgan bellowed with laughter.  “You're ridiculous, man.  You know that right?”

“So I've been told.”  

Morgan was busying himself with the blankets now, wrapping Aaron in one and wrapping one around himself as well.  There were a couple left over, thinner ones, that he would pull out when they were ready to sleep.  

“I hate this outdoorsy shit,” Morgan muttered softly, mostly to himself.  Hotch smiled.

“I tried to like it.  My mom put me in Boy Scouts, mostly as a way to get me out of the house...” he paused for a moment, his demeanor changing just slightly in a flash to something darker before he righted himself.  “I wasn't good at it, though.  I mean I did alright for someone who didn't want to be there.  My brother made it all the way to Eagle Scouts though.  He loves it.”  

“Yeah, he tried to get me to go on some backpacking trip through the Appalachians years ago.  I've never laughed so hard in my life.”  

“He's wild,” Aaron muttered, shaking his head.  “Sometimes I forget you two are friends.”

“Yeah,” Morgan said softly, reading between the lines.  He knew a lot more about Aaron's childhood than he let on, Sean liked to drink and when he drank he liked to talk and talk and talk.  He was a storyteller, and many of his stories portrayed some pretty dark subject matter that he really shouldn't have been sharing.  Morgan just tried not to think too much about it, because he hoped that Aaron would do the same for him.  They talked some more, sharing stories about Sean, about outdoor experiences that went wrong, Aaron's intense knowledge of The Donner Party which Morgan found extremely disturbing, and at a moment of silence they heard something outside of the vehicle scratching around.  “What's that?”

“Sounds big, probably a cougar,” Aaron said softly, listening intently.  “I was reading at the city hall about the cougars in the area.  Sounds like they see them a lot, there were newspaper clippings tacked up on every bulletin board.”  

“Great,” Morgan said softly.  Aaron smiled.

“Won't bother us, probably just a concerned citizen out on neighborhood watch.”  

Morgan noticed that Aaron's voice sounded a little off, his teeth were chattering now, and he reached over and pulled another blanket out, draping it over the other man's bare legs.  “You're gonna freeze to death.”  

“I'm okay.  I'm always cold.”  They talked some more quietly until they both agreed it would be best to try and get some sleep and hope that they'd be rescued the next day.  Morgan helped Aaron get comfortable, tucking his blankets around him before he took his place a little ways away, huddled in a ball to conserve his heat.  He was plenty warm, his pants were insulated and so were his boots, so he gave Aaron the extra blankets.  Before long, they were both asleep.  

Next Chapter ->

#criminal minds #fanficton #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #david rossi #aaron hotchner whump #derek morgan whump

[myheartrevealedocs]

Untouchable- Ch 2: The Offer

Summary: A Spencer Reid x OC fanfic that retells select episodes, starting in season 1, from the point of view of Lydia Ambers, a forensic scientist.

Warnings: swearing, discussion about death and illegal activity (but like, at half the normal Criminal Minds level)

Ch 1 | Ch 3 | About Lydia

~ ~ ~

“You got it all sorted out?” Gideon asked Hotch as he walked into his office. It had been a month since their case in Santa Cruz and Gideon had been on Hotch’s ass about this since they got back.

“It’s… not a job…” Hotch started. “I talked to Strauss and she said that there was no proof that a forensic scientist would be of any benefit to the team. Police departments provide them and local forensic scientists have access to scenes sooner.”

“Police departments can also have media liaisons and tech analysts, but we bring in our own,” he argued. “I spoke to some of Lydia’s old professors and they said that she’s not only a good crime scene investigator, but her major was chemistry and she’s fit to get a job in DNA analysis or toxicology.”

“Gideon, what did I say about not getting involved? Strauss needs proof that she is an asset to the team before paying her a salary. So, I got her to agree to let Lydia work here as an intern under your supervision.”

“Done,” Gideon said. “By the end of the month, she’ll have proven worthy of a spot on this team.”

“No, there’s more,” Hotch told him, frustrated. “She only gets to work jobs that we clearly need her on and she gets no more than two cases every 50 days.”

“Fine, fine,” Gideon replied, which did nothing to ease Hotch’s worry. He, too, had been impressed by Lydia during the Jonathan Carrey case, but there were parameters on hiring people into the FBI and Gideon acted like those meant nothing.

He’d been the same way about Reid after he first spoke to him, but Reid was cut out to be a profiler from day one and they had an opening for him. Gideon wanted Hotch to simply create a brand new job title and salary for Lydia and he couldn’t do that.

“Should I call her and tell her to pack up her things and move to DC?”

Hotch blinked. “You haven’t already told her about the possibility of a job, have you?”

“No,” Gideon laughed. “I can’t promise her a job when I don't have the jurisdiction to hire anybody.”

That was a relief, but Hotch was still afraid Gideon had let on too much. He had just admitted to calling her professors to learn more about her abilities. So, he replied, “You can tell her that we have an internship position that she might be interested in and ask her about her ability to leave California. That is all.”

~ ~ ~

“Agent Hotchner. Agent Gideon,” Lydia greeted as she entered the BAU. It was crazy enough to be in Virginia, seeing as she’d never left California, but FBI headquarters?

She shuffled around nervously and adjusted her glasses numerous times despite the fact they were already as far up her nose as they could go.

“Lydia,” Gideon greeted, warmly. “How was your flight?”

“It was alright. Exciting. I’ve never been on an airplane before.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. No one should have to go through airport security for their first time alone,” Hotch said. “Why don’t we step into my office?”

He and Gideon led the way into the bullpen and around to his office. Lydia’s eyes darted around, seeing Morgan, Elle, and Reid at their desks, engrossed in their work. She wondered if any of them would even recognize her if she caught their eye. She was surprised enough when Gideon called.

“I assume you’ve been considering my offer?” Gideon asked, closing the door behind her.

“Considering, yes. But it would be… difficult, to say the least. I’d love to hear it from your mouths… the offer, that is.”

Hotch sat down at his desk and gestured for her to do the same.

“Agent Gideon and I would like to offer you an internship here at the BAU as a forensic science technician. When we took you on as a consultant in Santa Cruz, you proved to have inspiring potential. You would only be called out for occasional cases, once every month or so. Agent Gideon would be your supervisor.”

“And this would mean moving to DC?”

“Eventually, yes. We can’t exactly fly you out to every new scene from California. It would be easier to have you here, getting briefed with us, taking the jet, etcetera. You’ll also need to go through a training period here and likely will be asked to work in the office, even when you aren’t on a case. How big of a problem would that be? Do you have a lot of family there?”

“No, not family. I mean, it’s just me and my sister and she’s been doing just fine on her own while I’ve been at college, so we’ll manage the distance. The issue is I’m set to start a masters program next semester. I’m just… unsure how I feel about dropping out of school. I know this is a crazy opportunity, but it’s not a full-time job. And if I don’t do well and you guys decide not to keep me, I’m poor and stuck in DC.”

Gideon, who’d been hovering in the back of the room stepped forward. “If we fire you for some reason, I promise to personally pay for your flight back to California.” It was a joke, but in all seriousness, a flight wasn’t even half of it.

“You wouldn’t have to drop out,” Hotch added. “Many schools nearby would be happy to have you and the Bureau rarely has problems with schools refusing to work around our interns schedules. And even if that’s too difficult, this experience will likely open up many opportunities in the future. I’d be happy to write you a million letters of recommendation should you decide to find work elsewhere.”

“I, uh-”

“Hey Hotch?” A familiar voice called, knocking on the door.

He apologized to her momentarily, before saying, “Come in, Reid.”

The door swung open and the boy looked right over Lydia’s head to his boss. “JJ wanted me to tell you that she…”

He trailed off as he felt more pairs of eyes on him. He glanced at Gideon before finally landing on Lydia.

She decided to make the first move, seeing as he was stunned into silence. “Dr. Reid, how nice to see you again.” She stood up to greet him, a smile gracing her features.

“Lydia, I uh… Sorry, to interrupt I really had no- Oh! And it’s nice to see you, too,” he fumbled. “I’ll… I can talk to Hotch later. Sorry, again for interrupting.” And with that he shut the door and was gone.

“Sorry about that. I figured it might have been important, that’s why I invited him in. What were you going to say?”

Lydia froze, her mind drifting elsewhere. “Does the team know? That you are offering an internship into the team?”

Hotch shook his head. “We aren’t offering an internship into the team. We’re offering you an internship into the team. We were waiting to see if you agreed to it.”

“Well, I don’t want to force them to work with someone super under experienced. They aren’t paid to be teachers.”

“The only one who’s going to be teaching you anything is me,” Gideon reassured her. “You are more than capable of holding your own with them. I trust you.”

Lydia felt her throat close up. It was all set up. A job she couldn’t even dream of and here they were, offering it up on a silver platter. “So, this is all… serious. I move to DC and just… work for the FBI all of a sudden?”

“If that’s what you want, then yes. That’s our offer.”

Lydia looked Hotch over, as if trying to profile whether or not he was lying. And finally, she said, “I would like that. Thank you.”

~ ~ ~

“You’ll need to fill out some legal release forms, medical history forms, and I’ll get to work on setting you up for your training period and psychological assessment,” a charming girl named Penelope Garcia explained. Gideon had introduced her as the BAU’s technical analyst.

Her office was brightly decorated and she handed Lydia all the information she needed with a huge smile.

“I’m going to be asked to do a thorough background check on you, as well. But that information goes straight to Hotch and Gideon, no one else.”

Lydia chuckled slightly. “I don’t think I have any secrets, but thanks for the warning.”

“Of course!” she replied.

“No secrets?” Gideon asked. “If I remember correctly, you refused to explain anything about yourself that didn’t pertain to the case when I first met you.”

Lydia hesitated slightly. “Well, what do you want to know?”

“What were you trying to hide?” he countered. “If you’re such an open book, you can tell me.”

“I was just angry!” she argued. “It isn’t about hiding, it’s just that after my mom died, I really believed that I was explosive and so I avoid any topics that bring out my stronger emotions. And you were trying to push all my buttons. I was stressed!”

She wasn't sure if Gideon was just an attentive listener or if he was simply interested in her background, but his eyes longed for her to go on. “Explosive?”

“That’s how I got this limp.”

Normally, nothing anyone could say would prompt her to give away more information than necessary. She always tried to excuse it as ‘no one asked’ rather than blatantly avoiding certain topics, but it was pretty obvious to just about anyone she’d met that Lydia was not proud of her past. So whatever it was about Gideon that convinced her to add that comment was something pretty special.

“How?” It was Garcia this time.

The young girl laughed. “When I was 16, I was having some issues and one day I was trying to calm myself down… I often did this by physically getting my energy out so I was punching pillows and throwing things and I kicked something that was heavier than I expected and broke my foot.” She nodded, like she was remembering it fondly, but the other two could tell that it was a cover for her uncomfort. “And then, I was mad because I hadn’t solved my problem and I’d rendered myself useless, so I started walking on it before it was healed. I did dumb shit. I felt like I deserved the pain for being so uncontained and brash. And then the arch of my foot healed wrong and I had to live with a more… permanent reminder of my attitude.”

“Sixteen,” Gideon mumbled. “Is that when your father died?”

Garcia looked shocked that her superior would even say such a thing but Lydia was just intrigued, “What makes you say that?”

He shrugged. “You said that your only family is your sister. So, I figure both your parents are far out of the picture. You said your mom died when you were little, which triggered your outbursts. So, I figured that perhaps you lost your dad as well and if you were having major anger issues at 16, could be due to the loss of your second parent. Brings up old scars.”

She paused, a somewhat sad smirk gracing her face. “My dad’s not dead, but you’re pretty close. When I was 16, my father was sent to prison.”

Garcia and Gideon’s faces read with immediate regret. So, Lydia played it off quickly.

“Don’t stress about it. He’s not a murderer or anything and it’s not… important.”

She hesitated to explain what he did. She figured they were bound to find out soon enough and she really would rather not say it outloud, so she changed the subject.

“Hey Garcia? Do you think you could help me work on transferring schools? Agent Gideon suggested that I apply for online courses rather than continuing to learn on campus and I’m still not sure if I can reapply for everything so late. And I know your job isn’t navigating college websites or anything, but you are good at tech and I’d love some help.”

She brightened almost immediately. “Sure, sweetheart!”

#criminal minds #cm #spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds oc #cm fanfiction #cm fanfic #cm oc #spencer reid fanficton #spencer reid fanfic #untouchable #untouchable ch2 #fanfiction #fanfic #oc #lydia ambers #jason gideon #aaron hotchner #penelope garcia

[deanwinchestersgirl87]

#fanficton #tumblur #criminal minds #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #derek morgan stories #books #stories

[wilbur-rabbit]

Update

Chapter 2 of We are Soulmates my Criminal Minds/Suoernatural cross over coming tomorrow!

Catch up below!

Chapter 1

Chapter 1- Sam/Dean/Cas’ POV

#aaron hotchner fanficton #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #supernatural #sam winchester #dean winchester #castiel #spencer reid

[wilbur-rabbit]

I’ll be posting the short story of what happens during ‘We are Soulmates’ from Sam and Deans POV today.

If you haven’t read my story ‘We are Soulmates’ go check it out below!

#aaron hotchner fanficton #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #supernatural #sam winchester #dean winchester

[masterwords]

Blaze Like Meteors (Part Two)

Warnings: Alcohol, drugged drink, vomit, graphic violence, sexual harassment - all pretty canon-typical stuff.

Notes: I'm kind of sorry, Anon with the beautiful ask, but I've taken this to a dark place. ~2700 words here, folks, and we're not finished yet. (Suspend your disbelief, I fiddled with my own timeline for this one.)

Previously On: The Ask, PART ONE

“So your plan is to send two of your officers in as bait?” Morgan asked, perched atop Hotch's desk like he owned the place. Rossi watched from a chair a few feet away, already seeing the writing on the wall. “How many people in that bar would know your guys?”

“All of 'em,” came the voice on the other end of the line and Morgan rolled his eyes, nodded and shot a glance at Hotch. Rossi opened his mouth to protest, leaned forward, but Hotch raised his hand in a silent command to stop, shook his head and let Morgan continue. This was his consult. He'd asked them to sit in, to make sure he wasn't being irrational about involving the team, but in the end it was his call. Morgan was the Unit Chief now and they were all still getting used to things in their own way. Hotch trusted his judgement, but he didn't seem to entirely trust his own, so here he sat, day after day, second guessing himself while Hotch just sat back and encouraged him. In truth, there were many ways he hadn't relinquished the job at all, he was so settled in his routines and his ways, but he was trying, just like Morgan was. At the end of the day, they both just hoped it would all end soon and they could slip back into their own roles, their own lives.

“You can't send your guys in there. We'll go, we've worked this angle before. Our team can be there in about two hours, that'll give us plenty of time to get down to the bar and catch someone's attention.”

It was settled. Morgan ended the call and glanced at Hotch who just shrugged and wondered how quickly he could acquire any clothes that might help him fit in at a townie bar in rural North Carolina (or any bar, really). Rossi stood up, grabbed his coffee and walked toward the door silently fuming, shaking his head.

“Dave,” Hotch called, but Rossi just turned around and shot him a look that told him everything he needed to know so he let his friend go, knew he'd be back around later anyway once he'd cooled off. No way he wasn't going to try and talk them out of it.

“You ready to get back in the saddle?” Morgan asked, ignoring Rossi's silent temper tantrum. He looked a little concerned, but it was Hotch and he was trying desperately to remember that Hotch was still Hotch, capable and efficient, and he'd never doubted heading into a job like this before with that man by his side. Hotch just nodded slowly, leaning back in his chair.

“It's been awhile,” he replied, a little skeptical that he still had it in him. A lot had changed in his life since he last played that part alongside Morgan, a lot had hardened him and he couldn't be hard out there, his job was to be approachable, to smile, to get attention. It had always been challenging for him, stepping so far outside of his comfort zone, but now it was more than comfort, it was who he was. Serious faced and unapproachable, scarred beyond recognition even to his own eyes. He hadn't been touched since Foyet's attack, it was still fresh, 63 days since he met Foyet's knife and the scars still screamed at him through his dreams and he would have to let Morgan touch him, at the very least. Probably a stranger or two, most likely a serial killer. Wouldn't it be ironic if the first real touch he had since Foyet had straddled him on his own carpet was another psycho with a knife and a God complex? Maybe he had a type.

The slightly larger of the mountain men was bending himself over Hotch again, his thick sausage fingers pressing into his hips, into scars that cried out to their creator, singing an opera of shame in Hotch's ears. The fingers were under his shirt, against the new flesh, slick and pink beneath those ham hocks. He blinked and glanced up at Morgan whose muscles were spring loaded, ready to step in, to call an end to it all, and he shook his head just slightly to let Morgan know to hang back, he was fine. He could hang. He narrowed his eyes and bit into his lip, made his shot with another gut jab in the process but the man didn't back up this time. Hotch slipped out of his grip like a snake shedding its skin, retreating to Morgan's arms, soaking up the brief moment of safety, maybe the last one he'd get. James approached him with another shot of whiskey, and with a quick glance at Morgan that said Heaven help me, he poured the whiskey down his throat and hissed at the smokey burn that followed. If Morgan knew half of the mess of medications Hotch was taking in the aftermath of Foyet's attack, most of which practically got on their knees and begged the user to avoid alcohol, he'd be livid, he would fly off the handle at his friend's reckless behavior. Better he didn't know.

The way James was looking at him told him all he needed to know, he was waiting patiently for the first signs. He looked up at Morgan, leaned in and whispered in his ear.

“There was something in my drink,” he whispered, lips tickling the soft flesh of Morgan's ear, speaking directly to both he and Garcia now. He wanted to say more, but he leaned heavily into Morgan to keep upright and his lips were tingling so he stopped, he couldn't remember the code word. Didn't matter, he wasn't planning to use it anyway. Why bother? They needed their unsubs, and he was the ticket, they had nothing yet. He had nothing and no one to go home to, no reason to back out now so long as it was only him in any real danger. Morgan seemed fine, the rest of the team were in a van down the road. He swayed and felt the first wave of nausea hit him, rocking from his belly to his mouth and back down again and he slipped his arms around Morgan's waist, felt Morgan hold him there tight against him while he spoke to one of the mountain men, made casual jokes like nothing was happening.

“I'll do it,” Reid chimed in as Morgan gave them all the rundown in the round table room. Morgan raised an eyebrow, pursing his lips.

“You, pretty boy? No offense, you're on crutches and,” he began, but Hotch cleared his throat and looked at Reid. Morgan settled a little in his seat, glanced down quietly at the case file again, peering up only to see the elated look on Reid's face at Hotch's order. He may not have been the leader anymore, but he still held authority in Reid's book and always would.

“I want you in my ear, Reid,” he said softly, hoping to smooth over whatever it was that Morgan was bristling about. “Meet me in my office, we'll go through what I need from you.”

Hotch's office was colder than usual when Reid made his way in, and Hotch indicated for him to have a seat on the couch, a slightly less formal place for them to talk. Hotch sat beside him, both for a play at some kind of intimacy and a reason not to have to make direct eye contact, he was about to get a little vulnerable with the younger man and it was easier when he didn't have to look at him directly.

“I'm not sure if you know this about me,” Hotch began, pressing his hands together flat in his lap to stop himself from fidgeting. “But bars are not really my forte. I get a little anxious...and I get tunnel vision. Gideon used to put himself in my ear piece, he'd be watching my camera and talking to me, helping me see things I missed and it helped. I can't think of anyone I'd rather have do that for me than you.”

“Excuse me,” Hotch whispered, pushing away from Morgan, heading toward the bathroom on unsteady legs. He was going to be sick. He could hear Reid in his ear but it was just noise, floaty fizzy noise. He stumbled until he felt an arm around him, glanced to the side and saw that it was James helping him to the bathroom and the buzzing sound in his ear became softer, more transparent, a sweet disembodied voice just telling him to stay calm, he wasn't alone. He heard the voice in brief intervals as he lost every drop of alcohol he'd consumed that night into the toilet, heard it as he gagged on his own bile, dry heaved when nothing else would come. His eyes watered, his nose burned, but the voice was still there so soft and gentle.

You're not alone, I'm still here, you're okay Hotch just keep your eyes open. One word and we'll come get you, just say the word. On your order, Hotch, we're ready. You're not alone, just call us in.

Morgan stepped toward the bathroom, to follow Hotch, but his path was blocked by both of the mountain men now, pinning him to the wall.

“He's being taken care of,” said one and the other nodded, like they'd been thinking the same thought. They both smiled in unison and a shiver ran down Morgan's spine. “Your turn.”

“I gotta go check on him,” Morgan pleaded, always so good at playing the part of the protector. He felt the men press in on him, their large bellies butted up against him, pinning him in place.

“No need. Take your shot, darlin'.”

With one final worried glance at the bathroom, Morgan sighed and nodded, resigning himself to taking his next shot. He was leading the game, wiping the table with them, but it had ceased to be fun hours ago. Now it was just playing into their hand, and he could feel his skin going electric beneath his clothes, itching to draw his weapons and end it all. He could shoot the mountain men, save Hotch and kill James all without even flinching, and yeah, maybe he'd get in trouble because they didn't even know the mountain men's names or whether they were actually involved in anything (or James for that matter)...they could all just be run of the mill creeps, not the men they were after. But it didn't matter, the things he was imagining in that bathroom were killing him slowly. Imagination could be far worse than reality sometimes, he knew.

“So...” Garcia said, softly. “You just want me to listen. And tell you things...like what?”

“Like their names. You'll have a camera feed too. Facial recognition, look up police records, everything, you gotta do it all. You and Reid are running point on this whole operation while we're in there, baby girl. You can do this. And if Hotch and I are both compromised, if anything happens, you've gotta be the one who gets the team in there. I'm sorry to put that on you but...I trust you.”

“What...no. I'm not...no. NO.”

“I know this is above your pay grade or whatever witty thing you like to say but there is no one I'd rather put my life in the hands of. No one, you hear me?”

“Copy that.”

"Great. Now we'll have a word that'll mean come in immediately I'm in danger, and we'll have a word that tells you to stay out, we're still okay. Once Hotch and I decide those words, you and Reid will be the only people who know them, for security. No matter what happens, Garcia, you guys wait for those words."

The bathroom door was locked, that much Hotch knew for sure. Not that it made any difference to him, he didn't want anyone busting in, seeing him heaving into a filthy toilet. This was no place for a highly respected FBI Agent, former prosecutor with ties that ran deep through the underbelly of the government. This was no place for anyone, for that matter. He was on his knees, fingers desperately gripping the toilet bowl like it may try to fly away from him, deprive him of the only thing grounding him to the entire planet. There was blood in the toilet now, and he saw with some satisfaction that James looked a little worried at that. Maybe all wasn't lost, he could still scare serial killers.

“You okay, man?” James asked, crouching beside Hotch. He nodded, pushing himself upward, to standing, his back now planted firm against the cool tile wall.

“I'm a lightweight,” he lied. He knew what James had done, but it wouldn't do him any good to throw around suspicions at a time like this. That door was locked, he was trapped and he was swimming in his own mind, the soft voice in his ear the only thing holding any comfort for him. He focused in hard on the voice, desperately struggling to hold on to the name. It wasn't just a voice, it was Spencer. Hand chosen for his role, Spencer Reid. The only person he'd want in his ear right now. Watching the footage, the footage he would have to apologize for later if he got the chance because Spencer just saw the height of disgusting and Hotch hoped he turned away, had the decency not to watch but he knew somehow that his friend had watched it all, every moment in case some split second meant something. He heaved a deep breath, his lungs desperately filling inside his chest, and he closed his eyes, just trying to find his center of gravity, remember that while the Earth was spinning and he along with it, he did not have to feel it, he had that luxury. When he breathed out, when he opened his eyes, he saw James, felt him move in close, nose to nose. They were breathing the same air now, and James pressed his whiskey stained mouth against Hotch's, hard enough that it hurt and he could hear Spencer telling him to move away, to push him off, to move. For a moment, he was convinced it had worked, he'd pushed James back, turned his face away, shut his eyes again and listened to Spencer telling him how to fight back over and over again.

And then he felt hands on his shoulders and a knee in his groin, splintering pain in his pelvis, and his knees gave way, then he was on the ground, cheek flat against the wet, sticky tile floor. James was in front of him, shouting something he couldn't understand into a phone, kicking him in the stomach, in the pelvis, anywhere he could land a blow with his steel toe boots. Hotch curled around himself and Spencer pleaded with him in his ear to please say the word, he didn't want to disobey orders but please say the word, let them help. The trouble was, he couldn't remember the word, and anyway, maybe he deserved this. He shut his eyes, tuned Spencer out, heard his father shouting scripture at him instead, as if invoking the name of the Lord somehow absolved him of his sins. The way those boots connected with his ribs, taking the air from him, those words swirling through his head, it brought him back to a time he considered his own worth on the planet. In some way, he knew he must have deserved the pain, grew to accept it as a part of himself, his penance for whatever he'd done or would do. James landed a blow just above his hip bone, splitting him at the seams, he felt Foyet's magnum opus spread wide open and sing loud and clear, conducting its music through his nerves. He cried out, try as he might to stifle it. James smiled at that, moved in close.

“That's the spot, huh?” he asked, his hand reaching out now to touch Hotch's cheek, drift back into his hair. “I'm going to help you. Gonna make you better.”

“Yeah?” Hotch stammered, spitting out a mouthful of warm, foamy blood. It ran down his chin and rested on the floor, pooling beneath his cheek. He smiled, and it was a little deranged and he was glad it was only for James. “I hope you're really good because you've got your work cut out for you.”

Next Chapter ->

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #mortch #hotchgan #aaron hotchner whump #fanficton #spencer reid #george foyet #penelope garcia #david rossi

[masterwords]

The Years Burn

Summary: Hotch stops at his father’s grave and sleeps at his mom’s house as he heads home alone from Ohio.  (Coda to The Angel Maker 04x02)

Warnings: child abuse (past)

Pairings: None

Words: 2.8k

**

It wasn't raining, exactly.  Drizzling wasn't quite right either.  There was a quiet mist blowing through the air, coating the skin but not soaking it.  He felt sticky.  Aaron couldn't remember stranger weather but it was somehow fitting.  

“Why do I come here?” he asked no one in particular, laying out his blanket beside a rotting headstone.  No one came by to pull the weeds back with any regularity, no one freshened up flowers, it was just there with crumbling edges and moss in the cracks.  Somehow fitting. His blanket was worn, Army issue wool with small holes letting blades of grass peek through and he picked at them mindlessly while he sat. Once a year, he sat here, not on any particular day – any day would do.  He needed to remind himself, to sit with the past and he couldn't tell you when it had happened but one year, the anger ceased.  He would come to this spot and he would rage inwardly at the man buried beneath his feet, he would lay blame or weep and throw all of his torment at the dusty old bones below.  And then one year, the rage melted away, leaving only a bitter sadness in it's wake as he remembered the good times mixed into the bad times.  This year, he was on his way back from Lower Canaan, Ohio to Quantico, driving by himself and somehow he'd just ended up here.  He'd done what Rossi suggested, stretched it out a few days, but he was pretty sure that visiting his father's grave hadn't been exactly what his friend meant.  He'd never been great at following directions.  

“Do you remember when you taught me to ride my bike?” As if the bones were listening, he spoke.  His voice was quiet, serious as the grave. “You took me to Jake's Bar, to the parking lot because there weren't any paved roads around our house at that time.  Back and forth for hours, you ran with me, pushed me, watched me go.  You wiped my skinned knees on your shirt and told me how tough I was. How proud you were.  When Jake showed up and opened the bar, you went inside for a beer and pretty soon all of your friends were outside cheering me on as I rode by myself around and around that parking lot.  I was on top of the world.”

He paused, and the small smile that had formed at the memory faded, his face went serious.  “I forgave you for leaving me out there, you know.  When you went inside with them and didn't come back out and I had to use my brand new skills to ride my bike down the dirt roads back home, I wasn't mad at you.  I showed up with my knees and elbows bleeding everywhere and mom had to pick gravel out of my scrapes and my clothes were ruined but I was so proud of myself that I made it all the way back.  Mom said what you did was wrong, but you showed me early on that I was capable of taking care of myself.  It was worth something in the end.”  

The clouds gathered overhead and started turning the mist into small water droplets.  Aaron slipped his jacket back on and pulled the hood up.  “Do you get cold all the time like I do?  Mom always runs hot, talking about turning off the heat and wearing tank tops and wishing she lived somewhere cold like Alaska.  Sean is just like her, he loves the snow in New York, tells me I should come visit and I'd love it but I don't think I would.  I always wondered if you had cold hands like me.”  

The sun was dropping low over the trees now, and the rain had stopped as quickly as it started.  He stood, arched his back, stretched his aching joints and began folding up the blanket.  There was a little motel down the road with a diner in the parking lot calling his name, he was chilled to the bone and there was nothing but a steaming carafe of roadside coffee that could take the edge off.  

The diner was nearly empty, the calm before the dinner crowd storm he figured.  Whatever that looked like way out here anyway.  He ordered his coffee and some sourdough toast with strawberry jam, asked the waitress to leave the pot for him after filling his mug.  He'd go through all of it before he touched his toast.  The idea of visiting his mother was floating through his mind, but he hadn't done that in so long, and not ever in his adult life without Sean by his side, acting as a buffer.  He wasn't sure he'd even be welcome without his brother.  Or if he'd even know how to talk to his mother.  He'd stay in the motel and give it some thought.  There was no rush, he had approval from Strauss for an open ended leave – the least she could do after he'd been in an explosion and watched his friend die, he figured.  She may not have liked him much, but she wasn't heartless, and more than that, she almost always listened to Dave and Aaron knew his friend was back at Quantico pulling strings. It paid to have David Rossi in your corner.  

“You come here often?”  Aaron startled at a familiar voice behind him and turned to see the face of his brother.  He hadn’t even heard the door chime, hadn’t heard his brother approach the table, though that shouldn’t have surprised him.  He couldn’t hear much over the constant ringing.  

“What are you doing here?” he asked, watching Sean slide into the booth opposite him and grab the toast, mowing through it without even asking.  Aaron raised an eyebrow and shook his head – he had been planning to eat that, at some point anyway.  

“That friend of yours, Rossi?  He told me he thought you'd be heading this way.  Said you might need some company.”  

“So you drove down from New York?”

“No, he flew me down.  You know that guy is loaded?  You know how to choose your friends.  Mom picked me up from the airport a few hours ago.  We saw you at dad's grave, she wanted to stop but I told her not to.  Figured you already had all the company you wanted.”

Aaron nodded.  “Thanks.”  They sat in silence while Sean finished off all of his brother's toast and ordered more.  

“You staying at the motel?”

“That was my plan.”

“Mom will have a fit, you know that right?  Come on, stay at the house with me.”

He hated staying there.  His bedroom still gave him nightmares, he couldn't seem to battle that demon and win.  He'd devoted his entire life to defeating monsters, but when it came to his own, he was powerless.   There was also the simple understanding that their mother would not, in fact, have a fit if he didn't stay there.  She might feel slighted, but she didn't look at him the same way she did at Sean.  He was sure she loved him, but when she looked at him she saw her own pain mirrored, their pasts twisted together through shared trauma and she couldn't bear it.  He understood, he just wished one time she could remember that he'd been a child through all of it.  Not an adult who could rationalize, had a support system of friends, but a child.  He didn’t have a book club or PTA meetings or any of the ways out she had, he just had his bedroom door that came so easily off of its hinges.  Until Sean came along, he was alone.  

“Come on, one night,” Sean said, mowing through the second order of toast.  “Mom's making pot roast.”

“I hate pot roast,” Aaron muttered.  Sean grinned.  

“I know.”  

In the car, Aaron's hands were trembling, not from fear but from the sheer amount of coffee he'd managed to consume without any food.  He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten, he just kept dumping coffee into his stomach like it was a gas tank and hoping to make it a few miles further without needing to sleep.  The nightmares had been intense since the bomb, and waking up from them was painful and disorienting.  It had been 32 hours since he'd last slept, and it hadn't been good sleep at that.  

“You good?  Want me to drive?” Sean asked, watching his brother carefully.  “You don't look too hot.”

“Thanks,” Aaron muttered, sighing.  “I could drive this with my eyes closed.”

“Is that what you're doing?”

“Sean,” Aaron pleaded quietly.  “Shut up.”  

In the house, it smelled like pot roast and coffee, always coffee.  There was never a time that there wasn't a full pot on, always ready for guests to pop in.  Aaron grabbed a cookie from the jar beside the pot and poured himself a cup while his mother busied herself over dishing up plates for them.  

“You'll ruin your appetite,” she scolded without even turning her back.  He popped the cookie into his mouth and shrugged.  

“Doubtful,” he muttered, sitting down at the table with his coffee.  I’d have to have an appetite in the first place, he thought bitterly.  His mother put a heaping plate of food before him, huge chunks of meat with mushy round potatoes and overcooked carrots, the smell of which turned his already very iffy stomach.  “I'm not feeling great, mom, I don't think I can eat all of this.”

“Nonsense. You look too thin.”  She pulled out the blender and tossed in the meat juices and some flour, not exactly a conventional way to throw together gravy but it was how she'd always done it.  It came out lumpy and thick, sometimes you'd bite into an entire chunk of flour, part of why Aaron hated the entire meal.  He was busy looking at his plate when she turned the blender on, and he instantly cowered, throwing his hands up over his ears as the unexpected pain ricocheted through his skull.  He thought he was past this, but here it was, bad as ever.  He groaned and scooted away from the table, trying to will himself to his feet, to get out of the room, but before he was able to move the sound stopped and he was left wide open, vulnerable and utterly exposed at the table.  Sean stared, mouth agape, and then he understood.  Aaron didn't look up, just tried to will the pounding to stop, the ringing and the pain to go away, he was oblivious to anyone or anything else.  

“Hey mom,” Sean called,  and while she fiddled with the blender, he switched out his smaller plate with Aaron's, winking.  “Did Aaron tell you he was in an explosion a few days ago?”  Aaron wanted to ask his brother to stop, beg him to let it be, but he was frozen in place, unable to speak.    

“An explosion?” she asked, turning around with the blender in her hand, ready to pour the congealed mess over their plates.  She regarded her eldest son suspiciously for a moment, saw the obvious pain on his face and looked suddenly stricken and like she actually cared.  

“I'm fine,” his classic response, though he was fooling no one.  Sean and his mother looked at each other and then back at him.  

“You most certainly are not,” she said finally, sitting down beside him, forgetting about the gravy for the moment.  She looked at him, into his eyes, for the first time maybe ever.  He couldn't remember being this close to her, her actually seeing him.  “You look awful.  Go take a shower, sweetheart.  I'll make you some tea, I think you've had enough coffee.”

Sean was staring now, neither of them knew how to react.  It was the first time either of them had seen her behave this way with him.  Aaron felt a tightness in his chest and he nodded, standing up and leaving the table before he lost it completely.   He was glad not to have to eat the pot roast, at least.  

There was silence in the shower.   His head was still pounding, his ears ringing, but it wasn't getting worse.  He could breathe.  The steam filled his lungs, forced them to expand further to pull in air.  As the hot water beat down on his back, he closed his eyes and he saw the explosion, Kate's face, and for the first time since that day he cried.  He slid down the wall, resting heavily beneath the spray and wept quietly – for the pain in his head that was never ending, for the way the world sounded under water, for the way his mother had finally looked at him, for Kate, for his failed marriage, for his son.  He cried until the water went from hot to cold, and when he shut it off, the tears stopped.  He shivered and stepped out of the shower, into a waiting threadbare towel colored with swirling greens and golds and browns, a relic of his past.  It should have been thrown out years ago but his mother didn't like to get rid of things if they still had use – to her credit, though, she didn't buy new things either.  She just existed in this space like it was a museum.  

When he shuffled down the stairs, wearing his sweatpants and a tattered old Led Zeppelin t-shirt from highschool that somehow still fit him, his mother and Sean were watching Jeopardy quietly.  He plopped himself down beside the roaring wood stove and hugged his knees to his chest to get rid of the shiver he'd acquired when his shower went cold.  

“Your father was always cold,” his mother said softly, and her tone was almost sweet as she watched her eldest son sit as close to the stove as he could manage without burning himself.  “When you were a baby, I would pop into town for some groceries and come back to see you two sleeping on a blanket beside a roaring fire and the house would be so hot I couldn't stand it.”  Now he knew, though he supposed he always had.  “He almost took a job in Arizona just for the weather, before you kids came along.  Oh I couldn't have managed that at all.”  

“Mom,” Sean said, shooting Aaron a cautious glance.  “Let's...” he began, but she shook her head and wiped a tear from her eye.  

“I'm sorry, I know.  I’m not supposed to...I just...things were just so good for a long time, I try to remember those times...” her voice went faraway, and Aaron was thankful that he couldn't hear much of anything through the ringing and the pounding.  

“It's okay mom...remember those times,” Aaron said softly, resting his head on his arms.  He was exhausted, his eyelids were heavy.  It wasn't long before he'd excused himself to go to bed, leaving his mom and brother downstairs. He lay down on his bed, burrowed down inside of sheets that smelled like detergent and dust and drifted off to sleep almost immediately. It took hours of dead sleep before the nightmares crept in, slowly at first, but they were relentless and then he was awake in a cold sweat, his ears ringing mercilessly.  He groaned and rolled onto his side, hugging his knees to his chest, burying his face in the blankets and tried to will himself back to sleep where the pain couldn't follow but it was no use.  

“Aaron?” Sean asked, standing in the darkened doorway.  Aaron peeked his head out from under the blankets, staring at his brother, wondering what time it was.  “Come on,” he said softly, indicating for his brother to follow him.  Aaron slid out of his bed and shuffled out of the room in his thick wool socks, following his brother like he'd done so many times years ago.  It was so easy to fall back into routines, even ones you'd spent decades forgetting.  With a body so exhausted his knees threatened to give way, Aaron moved in a trance, stepping around Sean's bed and saw it like it hadn't ever been anywhere else – a pile of blankets on the floor that looked like a nest, and he crawled into it and was instantly consumed by the heat from the wood stove directly below.  It was his favorite place in the entire house – protected from the doorway by Sean's bed, warmed from the stove, not a single creaking floorboard so he could crawl into it silently night after night when he had bad nights.  His heart was heavy, his body weak and exhausted, but there was some small comfort in knowing that his brother was still, forever and always, in his corner, even if he had difficulty showing it.  Neither of them were perfect, he supposed.  

#criminal minds #fanficton #aaron hotchner #hotch angst #hotch whump #aaron hotchner needs a hug #sean hotchner

[masterwords]

Clothes Pins and Tension (PART TWO)

Pairings: N/A (But always with the Hossi vibes)

Notes: A little more lighthearted in places, building up to some serious emotional and physical whump in Part Three.  Enjoy your reprieve.  ;)

Previously On:  PART ONE

Dave was a natural story teller, and there was something about a loved one being in the hospital that made people want to tell stories about them.  To dredge up memories, comfort themselves with stories of a life lived, just in case.  While Aaron was taken in for his third in a long string of surgeries, the team sat around a table in the noisy cafeteria, eating dubious hospital food, hanging on Dave's every word.  They were, by all accounts, planning to suck him dry of stories about Gideon and Hotch and the old days, none of which any of them knew because Gideon and Hotch were absolutely not natural story tellers.  

“Picture this – we're in Oklahoma, in the dead of August.  Aaron's been with us about six months at this point, he's not brand new anymore but he's still trying too hard to impress us.  I'm wearing a t-shirt and jeans, Jason and Max are too.  Aaron shows up in a suit and tie, because that's who he is.  It's gotta be over a hundred degrees out there, and we've got a dead prostitute to go and look at outside, no shade.  The a/c in the car we're in was broken, we drove with the windows down the whole way and sucked down all of the water we'd brought with us before we even got to the dumpsite.  Aaron is drenched in sweat, but he won't say a word to any of us, just goes about his job.  Max is clueless, he doesn't do people, but Jason and I, we were watching him carefully.  He started to get pale, his hands were shaking when he'd pick things up or point at things, so I started hanging a little closer to him.  I was convinced he was going to pass out without ever saying a word to us, it wouldn't have been the first time.  Max thought the scene was making him sick, thought he couldn't handle the sight of the girl, told him to go take a walk. He was offended, but he obliged.  I trailed him for a minute, hanging just far enough back that he wouldn't think I was trying to baby him, and I watched as he found this little creek that was running through the property.  He doesn't even hesitate, he rolls his pants up, takes his jacket and shoes and socks off, and just rushes into that water.  He's wobbling around on slimy rocks, but instantly he looked better,” Dave paused, listening to the team laughing at the image being painted in their minds now.  “Now I'm jealous, so I copy him and go splashing into this tiny little creek.  Instant relief.  I've never felt so good in my life.  Pretty soon, here come Max and Jason, and then we're all four standing there in water almost up to our knees, sweating buckets and laughing.”  

JJ pushed her hair away from her face and shook her head, laughing.  “I have a hard time picturing all of you, standing there in the water when you're supposed to be looking at a victim.”

“Oh, it gets better,” Dave said, popping a tater tot into his mouth. “Jason feels something slide against his leg, and then I see it – this big oily looking black snake, so we all rush for the bank quickly, not sure what kind of snake it was and not wanting to take any chances.  Aaron, not very sure footed because he had been on the verge of passing out just minutes before, slips on the rocks and lands hard in the water.  Soaked head to toe in a gray suit.  Bangs his knee good on a big rock, ends up sopping wet and limping around the rest of the day.  He's a trooper though, he never complained, even when the local PD made jokes about him.  Those guys were relentless, Gideon finally stepped in and asked them to stop and focus on the case.”  

Even Penelope laughed, now.  It made her feel lighter.  Derek shook his head, sighing.  

“That sounds about right,” he muttered, finishing off his salad and tossing the paper plate toward the nearby trashcan.  

“More!” Emily shouted, clapping, wildly amused by the entire conversation. She didn't know any of this, it was all new to her.  Truth be told, she didn't know any of them very well yet, but she was getting there with everyone save for him – he was easily the hardest person she'd ever come across when it came to actually getting to know them.  Dave settled back into his chair, folding his arms over his chest, searching for another good story – one that wouldn't expose his friend too much, but might help them all pass the time.  

“One more, one more,” he agreed, smiling.  “Florida, he'd been with the team about a year, loosened up a little.  He was still overworking himself, of course, but he's clearly not stopped that habit.  We all went out to dinner at this little Cuban place, and he didn't bother to tell anyone that he was allergic to shrimp.  Max and Jason order this ceviche for the table, it's incredible.  Fresh caught fish and shrimp in this lime and orange cumin sauce, to die for.  Almost literally for Aaron.  Max insisted that he try some, he politely declined, then Jason and I joined in – oh, Aaron, you have to try this, it's so good!  Just piling on him, not having any idea of course, and never ONCE does he say no, I have an allergy but thank you, like a normal person.  He finally gives in and picks out a piece of the fish with a hunk of lime on it, I remember how he dug through the bowl until he found it, and I thought my God he's a picky eater.  Not ten minutes later, he's excusing himself from the table to go to the restroom, he looked a little off but we kept drinking our beers and chatting.  Jason mentioned he'd been gone a while and asked me to go check on him, because Aaron and I were already closer than the rest of them I suppose, and you all know Jason struggled with...people...sometimes. I get to the bathroom, he's in there just throwing up everything he's eaten for the last year it sounds like.  His skin was bright red, his lips were swollen and his hands and arms were covered in these huge hives.  It was awful, he was humiliated, and that's when he decides to tell me he's got a shellfish allergy and could I please take him to the ER because he doesn't have his epi pens on him.   Luckily I got him there in time, they gave him an IV of epinephrine and Benadryl, and that was the first of many times I had the pleasure of sitting in the hospital with him for hours on end.”

“He's never told me he was allergic to shellfish...” JJ said softly, and they all glanced at each other, shaking their heads in agreement. “No one knew?”  No one knew.  No one was surprised at that.

When Aaron was back in his room, it was Dave who the nurses asked to come back first.  He entered the room, quietly taking in the chill in the air, the smell of antiseptic and blood emanating from his friend, the quiet way he stared at the ceiling, clearly just trying to keep his grip on whatever composure he had.  He didn't look at the door when Dave entered.  

“It's just me,” Dave offered, and he instantly saw his friend seem to relax, just a little.  His shoulders released tension, and his face went from grim to almost sad, vulnerable.  He let the persona drop, made a soft, almost helpless sound that made Dave's heart stop beating for a moment, made his skin go hot.  Slowly, he approached the bed and grabbed the paper thin blankets folded at Aaron's feet and draped them over his friend gently, tucking them in around his shoulders.  He went to the corner he'd stashed the personal bag in and grabbed the blanket he'd packed inside, spreading it over Aaron gently, eliciting a small half smile from his friend.  

“I don't deserve you,” Aaron whispered, settling himself into the warmth of the blanket that smelled like home.  Dave smirked.  

“No you do not.”  

Aaron shivered and slid down deeper into the blanket, until it sat up near his chin, and groaned at the movement.  “Did the...they...did they leave?”  He was struggling to focus on words, and Dave just lay his hand on top of Aaron's chest, shaking his head.  

“They're all still here, don't worry about them.  I'm telling them all sorts of fun stories about you,” Dave said quietly, a devilish twinkle in his eyes.  Aaron shifted until he was looking at Dave, brows furrowed in a scowl.

“Wh...what stories?”

“Nothing too personal, just...something to pass the time.  You have a way of coming off as larger than life, I'm just...knocking you down a few pegs.  Making you seem more human.  Don't worry about it.”

“Don't wanna be human...” Aaron whimpered, tensing up, shifting uncomfortably.  “Human hurts.”

“Mmhmmm. Any recommendations?”

“Th...the time...you wrecked our car...got us stuck in that swamp in New Orleans...that's a good one...” Aaron mumbled, gritting his teeth through another wave of pain.  Dave regarded him with a sour look and shook his head.  

“I meant about you, not me,” he said, but it was in jest.  It was a fun story and he'd love to tell it.  “How about the time you tripped and fell over one body and landed on the other one in Salem?  Wasn't that at Halloween?  And Max, of all people, tried to catch you?”

“N...not...funny...” Aaron protested.  “Broke my hand.  Haley yelled at you.”

“It was hilarious,” Dave argued.  “She was furious because you were supposed to do anniversary photos and they were going to be ruined by your cast.  I told her it would add an element of realism to the portraits...she didn't speak to me for weeks after that.”

The room seemed to get colder as they sat talking, Dave doing his self-appointed job of distracting Aaron from his pain with ease.  He could make Aaron laugh faster than anyone.  

“You call Haley?” Aaron asked after a while, his face going several shades of serious.  Dave nodded, a shadow falling over his features. “She's not coming?”

“No, she's not coming.”  Aaron nodded, he understood.  He figured as much, but that didn't mean he hadn't been holding out some kind of hope that she'd come and at least smile at him.  She'd hadn't filed for divorce yet, and stupid as he knew it was, he was still hopeful that she'd come back.  “I'll try calling her again, maybe I'll talk to Jessica.”  

“No...you don't...you don't have to.  It's okay.”  

After a week of surgeries, Aaron was moved out of the ICU and into a step-down unit, and another few days lead him to the main floor admitting.  He still had a long stay ahead of him, but not being in the ICU did wonders for him and everyone else.  Dave was able to stay with him at night, and the team cycled through coming to sit with him when they could during the day.  They'd all returned to work, but Strauss promised she'd do her best to keep them in Quantico for the time being and she kept her word for longer than any of them had imagined she would.  

“The case in Albuquerque needs you,” she told Dave, standing over him at his desk.  He leaned back in his chair, wholly unimpressed by her – a move not many at the BAU would even attempt.  “Everyone else is busy, and even Agent Jareau agreed that your team would be the best to send.  I understand you're all worried about Agent Hotchner, but at a certain point you all need to realize that he's going to be out of commission for months, and the fact of the matter is that he may never return in the capacity you are all hoping.  You'll have to forge ahead without him.”  

“Do you know something we don't know?” Dave asked, leaning forward and resting his hands on his desk.  

“Our Bureau team has been in touch with his physicians, and they're not convinced his recovery will include him ever being a field agent again.  The possibility exists, of course, but the odds are not in his favor.  His injuries were rather severe and I think it would be in all of your best interests if you accepted that and thought about what that might look like for your team going forward.”  She folded her arms across her chest and leveled her gaze at Dave.  “I'm sorry to have to be the bearer of bad news, especially so soon after your return to the BAU, but facts are facts David.  Round up your team and get to Albuquerque, I'll have Agent Jareau tell them you'll be there today.  You'll act in a leadership role in the interim.”

“No, I don't want it,” Dave replied, standing up now.  She couldn't power play him when he looked her directly in the eye, she wouldn't dare.  “Give it to Agent Morgan.  He's got his eye on a promotion, I can see it.  Give him a chance to prove himself.”  

She nodded, and without another word, swept out of his office.  He was sure he felt it warm up by at least ten degrees once she'd gone. Down in the bullpen, he could hear JJ telling them about the case, he could hear their irritation and disgust with the way this was being handled.  They were still grumbling when Dave called Derek up into his office and shut the door.

“What's this about?” Derek asked, leaning against the wall.  

“You're the lead now,” Dave replied with a shrug.  “This is your team for a while.”

“Why not you?” Derek replied, walking toward Dave now, confusion written on his features.  “You have more experience than me, you outrank me.  What's she playing at?”

“It was my call.  I don't want it, and I think you do.  Am I wrong?”  

Derek regarded the other man suspiciously for a moment before shrugging. “I dunno.  I've tossed the idea of Unit Chief around for a while, but this isn't how I want to get it, man.”

“Aaron will be back, mark my words. I know there is a lot of doubt right now, but I have faith.  And if he doesn't come back in a way that allows him to maintain his position, there isn't anyone he'd rather see lead this team, I can tell you that right now.”

Telling Aaron about Albuquerque was harder than Dave thought it would be.  He took it too well, that was part of the problem.  He was taking all of this too well.  

“It's fine, Dave,” he said softly, shifting in order to get comfortable. He'd already learned by now that it wasn't possible to get comfortable but that didn't stop him from trying.  Therapy was coming up, and after that would be worse pain, so he tried to enjoy the reprieve while he had it.  “They need you more than I do.”  

“Strauss said,” Dave began, narrowing his eyes a little at his friend.  “She told me that they're not sure you'll return to the field.  She sounded pretty serious about that. What are you not telling me?” Aaron swallowed hard and turned his eyes up at the ceiling, his fingers playing with the bandage at his hip beneath the blanket.  

“Dave,” Aaron began in a voice that had no fight in it, none of the usual Hotchner flare.  “I think you already know.  The chance that I'll ever be able to walk unassisted again is slim, and if I can't...” his voice broke, he couldn't hold it together.  “If I can't do that...”  

“You will do it,” Dave said, rather sternly, placing himself beside his friend.  “I know you will.”  Aaron looked at him now, and there was a brokenness in his eyes that chilled Dave to the bone.  That was a side of Aaron he didn't know, the side that was willing to admit defeat.  

“You should go, you have a plane to catch.”

“Don't you dare,” Dave warned, scowling.  “Don't you give up on me. This isn't over.  When I get back from Albuquerque, we resume this conversation.”

“You know where to find me...” Aaron replied softly, closing his eyes and letting the tears he'd been fiercely holding back fall down his cheeks.  

While the team was away, Dave left Penelope explicit instructions to spend as much time as she could with Aaron, which stressed her out to no end.  She hadn't been back in his room since her breakdown, she just couldn't do it.  He'd asked for her to come, told Morgan to have her come, texted and called but she just couldn't.  Every time she walked down that hallway, working up the courage to look him in the eye, she ended up turning back around, riddled with guilt and panic.   Now that the team were halfway across the country, she had no choice – it was either that, or he was all alone, and somehow that was worse.

“Penelope...” Aaron said softly, his voice thick with sleep and drugs.  Therapy had been particularly challenging that day and his pain was more difficult to manage as he became more mobile.  “Come in, please.” She shuffled in slowly, arms full of a stuffed animal that he couldn't recognize in his fog but it didn't look like any bear he'd ever seen, flowers and a bag of take out.  

“Good morning, sir,” she squeaked, setting the takeout down on a chair and nestling her flowers down among the many other arrangements dotting the room.  The stuffed animal, she handed directly to him. “It's...it's a wolverine, sir.  It reminded me of you.  Because you aren't always the biggest or the toughest out there, but you're always the bravest, you never back down and you always win.”  

Aaron smiled, examining the animal, holding it before his face with weak hands.  “Thank you,” he whispered.  He didn't feel at all like the person she described, but it made him feel good anyway.

“I'm so...so...SO...” she began, but he shook his head.  

“Don't apologize,” he muttered.  “Not your fault.”

“No, sir, it is my fault and I know it.  I made a lot of mistakes and I know I didn't shoot you and I totally get that but I did mess up big time and he would never have been there in the BAU at all if I hadn't...I'm just so sorry.”

“I forgive you,” Aaron said softly, and he meant it.  He didn't hold her responsible for it, not even a little.  She was trying to help people, she'd made a mistake and already owned up to her role in it, but there was nothing she could have done to stop Battle from doing what he did.  He was a serial killer, and Aaron was certain that they would eventually have been involved in his story anyway.  She nodded and set her glasses down, wiping the tears desperately from her eyes before her makeup ran all over her face.  She took a deep breath and cleared her throat, heading for the bag of food.  

“Are you hungry, sir?” she asked, pulling out Styrofoam containers filled with waffles covered in berries and whipped cream from his favorite diner.  “Agent Rossi told me that you like waffles.” Aaron smiled and nodded.  

“I do,” he replied, eyeing one covered in blueberries with a dash of cinnamon on top, exactly the way he would have ordered it.  She grinned ear to ear and handed him the container and a fork, then seated herself with the other.   “I hear Agent Rossi has been telling you guys a lot about me...”

Penelope nodded, her blonde curls bobbing as she frantically chewed her food. “Yes.  He has.  Is that...okay?”

Aaron shrugged and hummed a little, shifting to take weight off of his painful hip.  “I trust his judgment.”   To Penelope, that meant he didn't like it and it wasn't sanctioned, but there wasn't any point in being upset about something that had already happened.  She finished her waffle before he'd touched even half of his, which concerned her a little, but she didn't say it.  

“For what it's worth,” she began, throwing her empty container in the garbage.  “It's been really fun hearing stories about you and Gideon and Rossi all working together.  I'm sorry I missed that.”  

“Me too,” he replied, pushing a fork full of whipped cream and berries into his mouth. He hadn't eaten this much food in weeks now and it wasn't sitting well, but he didn't want to stop – it tasted divine, and would probably break her heart if he let on that he was full or feeling ill.  He'd already upset her enough, and wasn't keen to do it again.  Instead, he just slowed down.  “You would have made our lives a lot easier.”

“Sir,” she said, a little sadly as she stood up and smoothed out her skirt. “I have to get back to work but I promise I'll be back later with dinner.  I know you get your meals taken care of here but they're garbage and I can't let you eat that.  Any requests?”

“No.” Food was low on his list of needs or wants, what he really wanted was to see Haley, to be in his own bed, to walk.  Even just to have a moment without pain.  All things he couldn't have.  “Bring whatever sounds good to you.”  

Albuquerque was hot and the case was challenging, the unsub was in his cooling off phase and the team found themselves at a dead end, just moving in circles trying to figure out how to get ahead of him instead of waiting for another body.  It was dinner time, and everyone had gone out, but Dave decided to hang around the hotel, he just wanted some quiet.  As he paced his hotel room, glancing at crime scene photos and maps every so often, he was struck with an urge to make a phone call.  He tried to ignore it, knew it was probably a mistake to act on it, but in the end, he dialed.  

“Haley,” he said calmly into the phone.  He heard her sigh.  “Please hear me out.”  

“I told you I can't,” she pleaded, and he could hear the weakness in her voice.  She was less sure of herself now.  

“I know, and I get it.  I do.  I've been divorced enough times to see the writing on the wall.  But they're saying he may never walk unassisted again and Haley, the look in his eyes...I have no right to ask this of you, I know, but could you just...go to him?  One last time.  As his friend, something you've always been and should continue to be even once your marriage is over.”

“Our marriage is over. What about you?  Will you be there?” she asked, and he sighed.  

“I'm in New Mexico, we were sent out on a case and he's alone.  Take Jessica with you if you're not comfortable being alone with him.  I'm sorry to put you in this position Haley, I am...”

“Fine. Okay.  We'll take Jack to see him tomorrow morning, but I can't promise anything after that.”  

“I'll take what I can get.  I know this is hard for you, but please know...you're helping.”

“Yeah. Isn't that always the way?  He needs help so we run to him, but where is he the rest of the time?  I've been rushing to his side my whole life, chasing after him, but I'm always left standing alone once the dust settles.”

“Haley...” Dave started, but she took a deep breath and quickly interrupted him.

“I'm filing for divorce.  If you think my going to him tomorrow is going to change anything, it won't.  The papers are being drafted as we speak.”

Dave nodded.  He'd already known.  “Understood.”  Divorce.  The bane of his existence.  Marriage could be so enchanting, loving someone so completely that you devote your life to them, and when it failed, as it always did with him, it was soul crushing.  Every time.  Every one of them had taken more than belongings and money with them, they'd taken a piece of him too.  The idea that his friend was walking that lonely road now was almost more than he could bear.  He wondered if Aaron would ever have called him, had he not returned to the BAU, but he didn't need to wonder long – he already knew.  

“Garcia, how is he?” Dave asked, now lying on his bed with a tray of room service in his lap.  His room was quiet, the television silently airing the evening news, the only sound coming from the humming and rattling of the air conditioner.  

“I just got home.  We had dinner, I brought him soup, he seemed...so sad, sir.  I don't think I'm much help.”

“You are, I promise.  Thank you for spending time with him.  We are going to be awhile here, I'm afraid, so please keep it up.  And...keep me in the loop if you see anything out of the ordinary coming through from Strauss, if you catch my drift.”

She nodded.  “Of course, Agent Rossi.”    

Next Chapter ->

#criminal minds #fanficton #aaron hotchner #david rossi #hossi #derek morgan #aaron hotchner whump #hotch needs a hug

[masterwords]

Ice Castles (Part Three)

Pairing: Hotch & Rossi Warnings:  Angst & some fluff & more whumping poor sweet Hotch

Here we are, Part Three!  I’ve got a few more installments before this story is done.  This is late in the day for me, I’ll have Part Four up earlier tomorrow I hope. Thank you for all of the reblogs and comments and likes!  

 …...............................................Part Three......................................................

The cinnamon rolls were huge and a little dry, but the frosting was thick and if you dipped it into your coffee it was almost like taking a bite out of heaven, especially if you were badly enough sleep deprived.  Rossi's eyes were tired and burned for sleep and he yawned violently between bites of his too sweet breakfast.  He couldn't really have told you why he'd come to this meeting.  He supposed, as he took his seat at the back of the small conference room, that the thought that Hotch might be different had him worried, a fear he'd never experienced before.  It wasn't a worry born in selfish needs, if he needed to retire and spend the rest of his days taking care of Hotch, he was all in, lord knows he was ready to retire again.  He'd do it right this minute if he could. So tired, tired of things like this happening to people he loved. This job took too much.  

“Would anyone like to start us off?” Shirley asked, snapping Rossi from his thoughts.  He sipped his coffee, which now tasted like barely even lukewarm battery acid, and settled down further into his chair. The vinyl squeaked and squealed under him, causing a few sideways glances in his direction.  So much for flying under the radar.  Shirley saw him and gave him a warm smile and a small wave, to which he inclined his head in a small nod. A man stood up a few seats away and began speaking about his wife who had been in a car accident, followed by another man who spoke about his son who had been injured playing football at school.  Rossi listened intently to their stories, some of them were up against everything – anything that could go wrong did, while others seemed to be dealing with just day to day difficulties and emotions.  By the time it was done, he felt raw and hopeless, not exactly what the doctor had intended he was sure, but then the doctor didn't know Hotch.  

Back in the ICU, Rossi found the team seated in the lounge, taking up the entire place.  It was a good thing that Hotch was the only patient currently in residence.  They were spread out with laptops and case files, working diligently to get through the paperwork before they flew back home.  Rossi knew they'd have to leave sooner rather than later and at that precise moment, he wasn't overly hopeful that he and Hotch would be on the plane with them.  

“Rossi!” JJ shouted, covering her mouth quickly when she realized how loud it had come out.  She vaulted up out of her chair to hug him, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing tight.  So tight.  He leaned into the hug, letting her hold on as long as she needed.  Pretty soon they were all on their feet, waiting their turns, and by the end Rossi felt touched out but pleased.  These, for better or worse, were his people.  He'd barely liked them at first, and they him, but he wasn't sure he could live without them now.    

“So he was awake last night?” JJ asked, still standing so close to Rossi.  She couldn't seem to pull herself away.  “How was he?”

Rossi glanced at the clock on the wall and knew it would be a while yet before they brought Hotch back upstairs, he had time to talk.  He hesitated for a moment before asking them all to have a seat.  Emily picked up her laptop and shut it, making room for Rossi to have a seat beside her.  

“He's not,” Rossi began, pausing for a moment to collect himself.  Without Hotch, it was up to him to be the one who could wheel and deal in bad news like it was the funny pages, casting their worry and doubts away.  He wasn't quite sure how Hotch did it every day, but he was the only one who really got to see the toll it took after hours.  The ticking of the clock was deafening, the silence stretching out uncomfortably between them.  He looked around into all of their expectant faces, he so desperately wanted to tell them everything was good.  Clearing his throat, he continued.  

“It's not good.  He was better this morning, the doctor sounded pleased with his progress.  He can't remember anything that happened, and even after I told him, he didn't seem to really understand.”

“What about...” Emily began, wanting to ask about that look, that terror on his face, but she didn't know how.  It had haunted her all night.  Rossi nodded, he knew.  He'd dreamed of that look, it had stirred him more than once from his sleep.  

“He's confused and scared, he's having trouble regulating some things right now.  They're doing some imaging right now and they should have some answers for us in a while.”

“You weren’t here when we got here.  Where were you?” Reid asked, hugging the book he'd been reading to his chest.  They hadn't let him do his own paperwork, Morgan insisted on taking it on after Reid's heroism.  Reid wasn't one to complain about not having to do his files, he'd accepted gratefully and brought along his raggedy old copy of Moby Dick, a book he'd read countless times (no, not countless, he knew exactly how many but preferred not to say because it scared people).  It was more of a comfort thing, the soft worn corners and the yellowed pages that felt like velvet under his fingertips.  He ran his fingers up and down the spine, feeling the places he'd stitched back up himself, and waited like a child hugging its teddy bear.  

“I was,” Rossi began, sighing.  He couldn't seem to finish sentences today.  His brain was glitching out, short circuiting.  “His doctor asked me to attend a support group for families of people with traumatic brain injury.”

“Wait,” Morgan stopped him, his glare icy and piercing.  “Do they think he's got permanent damage?”

Rossi just met Morgan's hard glare with his soft, sad eyes.   He was out of steam.  Running on fumes.  Morgan could be so rough and brash, but Rossi knew it came from a place of love and was fed by fear, so he tried to meet him there.  

“There is a strong probability that some things will just...be different.  They're cautiously hopeful. His injury is considered mild thanks to you guys and everything you did out there, but the brain doesn't regenerate and heal itself like other organs. It just doesn't work that way.  He may make a full recovery, but if he doesn't...we should all prepare ourselves for what that looks like.”

It took a lot for all of them to be silent at once, but that was it.  Rossi had just figured out what it took.  The idea that Hotch might not be Hotch anymore was enough to shock the words right out of them.  The silence stretched on as they considered what all of this meant, for Hotch, for Jack, for the team, for Rossi.  

“Oh Rossi,” Emily said softly, leaning her head on his shoulder, and Rossi just had to smile – it wasn't easy to get a moment of real emotion out of Emily Prentiss. The woman kept herself as well guarded as Hotch, sometimes even better.  He slipped his arm around her shoulder and held her close, and there they all sat in stunned silence, listening to the endless chattering of the clock on the wall.  

“Dave?” came Shirley's voice from the hallway outside the ICU, and he looked up from his own lost thoughts.  How long had they all been sitting there lost?  She motioned for him to join her and he uncurled himself from around Emily and stood, his stiff muscles protesting the movement.  They entered the hallway together and closed the door to the ICU, walking down toward the staff elevator at the far wall, away from anyone who might overhear.  

“They've nearly finished with imaging, he should be back up here soon, they'll bring him on this elevator.  I can't give you any real information until Doctor Chavez and the Radiologist have finished reading the scans but I will say that you should probably make arrangements to stay a few more days.“

Rossi nodded, half listening, knowing he was still putting off making some important phone calls.  Maybe he'd find the courage to make them while the team shuffled through Hotch's room, keeping him company.  He needed to call Strauss to begin filing the injury reports, but what did he say?  He didn't know.  And Jessica, oh God he needed to talk to Jessica, but he just couldn't find the courage for that one.  The last thing he wanted to do was tell Jessica anything that would have to be passed on to Jack before running it by his father first.  Shirley peered across at Rossi, her face the picture of empathy – he knew from her own sharing at the support group that her husband had suffered a stroke.  

“I'm glad you came to group this morning,” she said softly, toying with the stethoscope hanging around her neck.  Something to do with her hands, Rossi knew.  She was nervous, she felt bad for him.  “We do it Monday through Thursday in the mornings for anyone who wants to come, some people come every day, some only once in a while, when they really need it. If you'd like to come back, or if any of your friends want to come, everyone is welcome.  Tomorrow Dr. C is leading the group, and he hates those dusty old cinnamon rolls the kitchen sends up so we'll have fruit and muffins, its a real treat.”

“Thank you,” Rossi sighed, leaning back against the wall.  Was this his new life?  Being excited about the free food at a support group?  She eyed him carefully for a moment before reaching out and grabbing him by the hand, giving it a light squeeze.

“I know this all seems scary right now, but he's going to be okay because he's got you.  No matter what his recovery looks like, he's going to be okay.”

“He has a son,” Rossi choked.  It had erupted out of nowhere, but it was all he could think about. Jack's face, the face of a child who had already lost so much.  How could he lose more?  “A young son.  He's a single father.  His wife passed some years ago.”  He stopped himself before delving into specifics, the last thing this poor woman needed to know was how brutal and ugly Haley's passing had been.  Still was.  None of them would ever put that behind them, what happened that day.  

“Oh,” she began, not quite knowing what to say.  “That's terrible.  I'm so sorry.  But you two...”

“Yes.  We are.  We don't live together, though.”  

“Oh, oh, I just assumed...” she was cut off before she could finish by the sound of the elevator's chimes.  They stepped out of the way and watched as the radiology tech wheeled Hotch's bed into the ICU.  Shirley gave him a nod and they walked along behind the tech with the bed, watching as he got Hotch back into place in the room.  It wasn't long before Shirley had him hooked back up to all of his IVs and monitors, checking his vitals.  The gentle beeping of the machines was oddly comforting to Rossi, soothing his frayed nerves.  He felt profoundly sad, standing there, sad and sick but at peace.  

“Dave,” came a hoarse, dry voice from the bed, and Rossi smiled.  He just couldn't help it, it was the only reaction his body could muster at the sound of that voice.  

“I'm here,” he whispered, leaning over the bed.  “Just like I promised.”

“Thank you,” his voice was so soft, almost ghostly.  He swallowed hard and looked up at the ceiling, studying the lines and spots, trying to focus his mind.    

“How do you feel?” Rossi asked, pulling his chair up now, seating his tired bones.  Hotch turned his head to the side, wincing at the motion.  He was so stiff, so slow.  

“I don't know,” he replied softly, almost listlessly.  “I'm not sure.”

“That's alright, Aaron.”  Rossi could feel something twisting inside of him, and all he could do was hope the doctor would make an appearance soon so they could get some answers.  “It's okay.”

“Dave,” Hotch began, coughing.  It was ragged and wet sounding.  “Is...is Haley...”  Dave felt his stomach lurch, he thought he was going to be sick.  He didn't want to hear the end of that question.  “Did I...”

“Aaron, I don't think we should talk about this now,” Rossi choked out.  Hotch narrowed his eyes, like he was trying desperately to focus, like he hadn't heard Rossi, like thinking was painful but he couldn’t stop.  Everything flashed so quickly and felt like a diesel trail slamming through his skull.  He was grasping, trying to hold onto anything that felt real.  

“She's...” he tried, but he just couldn't find the words.  It wasn't that he couldn't remember, not really, but it was all foggy.  Out of order.  Wrong.  He remembered the blood, so much blood, and Morgan's arms...but everything was strange flashes of light and pain and faces and blood.  “And...”

“Ahhh, how are we feeling?” asked Doctor Chavez, breaking the tension of the room and entering quickly. He hadn't bothered with formalities, just waltzed right in and Rossi was glad for it, even if he felt the cinnamon roll rising into his throat, sure he was going to be sick.  Hotch just stared straight ahead, didn't answer, didn't move, like he hadn't even noticed the intrusion.  The doctor nodded, pursing his lips, and took his seat opposite Rossi.  He folded his hands in his lap and looked from one to the other expectantly.

“Not so good as when we all last met I see.  Tell me,” he started, leaning back in his chair, twisting his legs up around themselves again.  “What are we talking about?”

“I can't remember,” Hotch began, closing his eyes.  His ears were ringing and his head was pounding. He couldn't place why it hurt so bad, why the pain wouldn't stop. “My wife.  Something happened to her and I can't figure it out.  How could I forget?”

“To over-simplify a very complex situation, your brain is injured.  If you broke your leg, you'd need time to heal before you could walk again.  This is somewhat similar. You'll need to allow yourself some time.  We didn't see anything on the scans to indicate that you should experience permanent memory loss...that's good news, isn't it?  We'll just need to go slow, work through piecing things back together.  Your memories should all be in tact, they're just scattered right now, is that how it feels?”

“Yes.”

“Your friends and family will help you piece things back together when you need.  It will happen naturally, too, some days you'll wake up and everything will be clear, others foggy, but the clear days should get more and more frequent as you heal.  You are more likely to struggle with short term memory, things that are happening since your injury.  Dave, perhaps we can start where we're at right now, with the memories he's looking for.  Can you help?”

“Doctor, I don't know if...” Dave began, but the doctor shook his head.  

“It may be unpleasant, but it belongs to him.  I know your instinct is to protect him, but withholding these things can lead to resentment and distrust, like you’re trying to hide things.  In the interest of openness and honesty, if he wants it, I think we should try.”

“With all due respect, doctor, you don't know what you're asking me to do.  It isn't just unpleasant, it's horrific.” Rossi looked over at Hotch sadly, feeling that day like it was happening all over again, the phone call, the shot that bound all of them together in that moment forever.  People could come and go, wonderful amazing profilers could join them and leave them, but if you asked Rossi why this team, this team that sat here at the hospital today was THE one, it was simply that shot.  They'd all been there, it had ripped through all of them, stitched them together.  

“Are you sure you want to know, Aaron?” the doctor asked, and Rossi watched as Hotch nodded, mouthed a silent yes.   Rossi's shoulders sagged, he felt the sick threatening again.  He almost wished he could just get it over with, get that cinnamon roll out of there, have an excuse not to say anything.  

“She was murdered,” Rossi whispered, unable to conjure more of his voice.  “Murdered by George Foyet.  Do you remember him Aaron?  What he...what he did to you?  To Morgan?  To all those people?  And Jack hid in your office, Aaron, he was safe.  You still have Jack.”  He hoped that would be enough.  He didn't want to tell Hotch what he'd done, but as he watched tears spill down his friend's cheeks, somehow he knew that the memories were finding their places, filling in those vacant spots with their inky darkness.  This was what they wanted, right?  To fix the problem?  It just looked like torture to Rossi, and he wanted no part in it.  He looked over at the doctor, and Rossi noted with some grim satisfaction that he looked remorseful, like he wished he'd not pushed so hard.  

“That's,” the doctor began, clearing his throat uncomfortably.  “That's a start.  Let's talk about those scans, shall we?”

Rossi kept his eyes on Hotch who wasn't responding now, wasn't moving save for the labored rise and fall of his chest and the tremor in his hands that hadn't gone away.  He reached up and put his hand on Hotch's, squeezing lightly, wishing he could take it back.    

“Aaron?” he asked softly, so softly.  Hotch turned his eyes toward Rossi and in them he could see it all, the profound grief of losing his wife for a second time, the shame and horror at what he'd done to Foyet, he could see it all. “Aaron, stay with me here.  Please.”  

“The scans,” the doctor interrupted, quietly, “indicated some residual swelling near the temporal lobe region, including both the amygdala and hippocampus, which would explain the difficulties surrounding memory, emotion and disorientation.  The swelling should subside with time, it has decreased considerably on its own since your arrival.”  He paused for a moment, eyes darting back and forth between the two men before continuing.  “We are cautiously optimistic that it should continue without further need for intervention, but we will remain vigilant. There are some long term concerns over oxygen loss, but knowing that you were not without oxygen for more than a few minutes is encouraging. There were some small spots we found on the occipital lobe and cerebellum, caused most likely by the blunt force trauma.  These are slightly more concerning.  We'll have you meet with our physical therapists and our ophthalmologists for evaluation and treatment plans. Shirley is arranging those appointments now, hopefully for this afternoon.  Overall, I'm encouraged by the pictures we got.”

“And the other scans?” Rossi asked, still holding Hotch's hand tight.  Maybe too tight, he didn't know. Hotch wasn't moving, just trying to listen.  He was struggling to focus.  

“Yes, the chest scans.  We didn't see any damage to the heart, which is very encouraging, but there is some indication of pulmonary edema.  That tightness, trouble breathing and coughing you're seeing, many people refer to it as secondary drowning.  That's a little dramatic for what we're seeing, though, so I'd rather you didn't start thinking of it that way.  We're monitoring it – usually the body can sort it out without intervention, which is always the goal.  However, if it doesn't, it could lead to infection which I don't need to tell you would be bad, huh?  We'll just continue to keep an eye on it.  The good news is that we're only planning to keep you in the ICU one more night, after which we'll admit you to The Floor.  You'll have a little more freedom down there.”

“How long do I have to stay?” Hotch asked, furrowing his brow.  Doctor Chavez smiled, glad to hear the man speak finally.  

“Probably a couple more days, at least until the swelling is gone.  You take it easy, get a lot of sleep and you'll see faster results.  It isn't recommended that you fly within ten days of a minor TBI, so that may be something to consider as you make plans to head home.  Do you have any other questions?”

“No.”  

“Alright.  Shirley will be back soon to talk about your appointments, but in the meantime, I'd suggest you get some sleep.  You've had a busy morning.  If you'd like to have visitors, they can come in one at a time and so long as stimulation is kept at a minimum, Mister Rossi, I'll make sure the nurses station knows you may stay in the room while the visitors make their way through.  In general we only allow one person at a time but we’ll make an exception today.”

As the doctor left, Rossi just stared at Hotch, a little afraid of what the other man was thinking. He didn't know how to do this, how to navigate these waters.  

“Aaron?” Rossi asked softly, leaning in closer, trying to catch a glimpse of something to hold onto.  He could see silent distress in the other man's eyes.  “Talk to me.  Anything.”

“It hurts,” he whimpered, his face twisting in pain.  “I can't think.  It's not - “ he started, stuttering a few times, like his mouth just wouldn't work.  As the pain worsened, so did his scrambled thoughts, and with it his stuttering.   “It's not that I c-c-can't remember things, I just can't...I can't think straight, it hurts.”    

Rossi tried to mask his alarm behind false calm, tried to smile reassuringly.  It wasn't at all like Hotch to admit when he wasn't okay, this was throwing him for a loop.  He was finally getting what he'd wanted for years – Hotch was talking to him, telling him when he was hurt or sad or scared, all of these things he'd been wishing for, and now that it was happening, he realized he couldn't do a single damn thing to help.  To make it stop.  He had no power here.

“I'll call the nurses,” he began, but Aaron reached out with his shaking hand and grabbed at him desperately, eyes pleading.  

“No, no please no more morphine.  It's not helping, it's just making me f-f-feel sick...”

“Okay, okay, shhh...” Rossi whispered, rising so that he could sit on the edge of his partner's bed, resting his weight gently against the other man's leg.  “How about you try to sleep?  I'll stay right here, right next to you if you want.”  Hotch nodded slightly, swallowing a painful lump in his throat.  Rossi reached out with the toe of his boot and pulled his chair closer, propping his feet up so he was more comfortable teetering there on the edge of the bed.  He watched as his friend drifted off to sleep, his breathing slowing until it was nearly imperceptible, soft and gentle.  He would eventually have to move, have to make some calls, have to let the team in here to see their friend but right now, he was content just to sit and watch the man he loved sleep, praying over him everything he could think to pray, over and over.  

Next Chapter ->

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #david rossi #aaron hotchner whump #tw brain injury #hossi #i'm so sorry hotch #i'll make it up to you with a nice fluffy happy fic soon #fanficton #someone hug hotch