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krirebr · 6 months

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We Are Vain & We Are Blind

Pairing: Dark!Ransom Drysdale x f!Reader

Word Count: ~9.7k

Summary: When you move back in with your parents after a broken engagement, a drunken dare to visit the scary house on the edge of town changes everything for you. Forever.

Warnings: Please note, these warnings are broad to avoid spoilers. Proceed with caution. Horror, psychological horror (including but not limited to: general mind fuckery, memory loss, nightmares) noncon/dubcon, gore, death (see prompt), violence (mostly offscreen), explicit language, oral sex (f!receiving), me wildly picking and choosing from hundreds of years of {redacted} mythology, All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @saradika

Masterlist

A/N: This is my entry for @the-slumberparty All Hallow’s Tropes challenge. My tropes were The house from all the scary stories; Caught trespassing on private property; and A string of unexplained deaths. I had so much fun writing this one. Thanks so much for hosting Navy and Roo!

I tried out a lot of new things here. Horror! Smut! A ridiculous length! I’d really appreciate hearing what you think, so please drop a comment or reblog if you read it. Or come screech at me about this or anything else in my asks! Thank you for reading lovelies!

Driving through your hometown, you were surrounded by fall colors. It was comforting, in its own way. Just as the seasons changed, so could you. You liked the sound of that, of this being a good change. You needed it. You were ready for it.

You pulled off of the main street and drove the few short blocks to your parents' house, parking on the side of the road. The house was something that hadn’t changed, everything exactly as it always had been. Your eyes drifted to the neighbor’s house, a piece of police tape hanging off the front door. Your brow furrowed in concern. You hoped everything was alright.

You grabbed your duffle from the backseat, deciding that you could wait to bring in everything else. Your entire life fit into your small sedan. You tried not to let that make you sad. This was good. Change was good.

You let yourself in with the key you'd had since you were a child. “Mom? Dad? I’m here,” you called into the house.

Your mom met you in the entryway with a big hug. “We’re so happy you’re here, honey.” She took a step back to look at you, concern all over your face. “I could kill Andy for what he did to you.”

You sighed, “I’m fine, Mom, really.”

“You didn’t deserve to be treated that way.”

“I know, Mom,” you said, softly, both touched by her concern and a little annoyed that she was making you talk about it. You shrugged, “It’s over now.” Trying to change the subject, you asked, “What happened next door?”

Her face fell, “Oh, our poor neighbor died. They found him in the alley behind the American Legion. There was a whole investigation, but the coroner finally concluded that it was anemia.”

“I didn’t know you could die of that,” you said. Wasn’t it fairly controllable?

“I guess you can,” she shrugged, “if it’s bad enough and goes untreated.”

“Oh. Well, he must have been really sick then.”

She shrugged again, “Not that I ever saw, but how much can you ever know about someone you just say hello to at the mailbox? He was a nice young man, though.” She gave you another scrutinizing look, then gently patted your cheek. “Andy never deserved you,” she said and then made her way back down the hall towards the kitchen. “Your dad’s in his den,” she called over her shoulder.

You put your duffle down next to the stairs that led up to the bedrooms and moved through the house to find your dad. You found him in his den, sitting on the worn leather couch they’d had your entire life, baseball on the TV. You sat down next to him and he put his arm around you in a half hug. “It’s nice to have you home, sweetheart,” he said, not taking his eyes off the game.

“Thanks, Dad,” you said, appreciating the distance he was allowing you. The past month had been so hard. All the concern in everyone’s eyes, since it had all blown up with Andy, had become really difficult to take. You were happy to just sit here and watch baseball with your dad in silence.

At the next commercial break, he asked, “We have you for the whole night, or are you already making plans?”

You smiled. “I’m getting drinks with Tineka and David after dinner.”

“That’ll be nice,” he said. “Make sure you say hi for us.”

You got to the bar a little late. Your mom hadn’t wanted to give you up so easily, even though you’d be living with them and working from their house for the foreseeable future. You’d been to this bar a few times before, the nights before Thanksgiving when you were home from college, and drinking legally was still so novel. But not in ages, maybe a decade. You made your way through the Saturday night crowd, searching for Tineka before you found her set up in a booth in the back with her husband David, and someone you hadn’t seen in a very long time.

Tineka climbed over David to tackle you with a hug. “Oh my god! It’s been so long. I can’t believe you’re here!”

You returned the hug a little harder than she probably expected. Longer, too. She pulled back and examined you carefully, concern in her eyes. You just shook your head and smiled. “I’m really happy to see you,” you said.

She beamed back at you and then gestured to the last person at the table. “Look who we ran into!”

“Robbie, hey,” you said with a little wave. Gosh, you hadn’t seen him since graduation. You’d been decent friends your senior year and had even gone to Prom together when neither of you had been able to get another date. You’d lost touch when you’d gone away to school, and he’d stayed home to learn the family business.

“We mentioned that we were on our way to see you, and he wanted to tag along!” Tineka enthused, raising her eyebrows at you significantly. You struggled not to roll your eyes at her; it had been the tiniest crush, and that was so many years ago.

“Welcome home,” he said, sliding over to let you onto the bench seat.

You poured yourself a beer from the pitcher on the table, and you all quickly got into all the customary ‘nice to see you again’ questions. Was it weird to be back in town? Did you miss Boston? Did you know this teacher had retired? Or that that store had closed?

The pitchers multiplied, and when you’d lost track of whose turn it was to cover the next one, Tineka leaned forward excitedly, “Oh, here’s some good town gossip! Someone’s moved into the old Thrombey house!”

“What??” you yelled, louder than you meant to. “No way! I don’t believe it.”

“Wait, what’s the Thrombey House?” David asked. He didn’t grow up here with you, only moving here after he and Tineka got engaged, and she decided this was where she wanted to raise a family.

“It’s this old, abandoned house on the edge of town,” she told him. “There used to be this big, rich family that lived there. This was back in, like, the 70s. It was this old, super-rich guy and all his kids and in-laws and everybody. One night, one of his kids–”

“Grandkid,” you interrupted.

“Yeah, one of his grandkids, he just loses it and sets fire to the house, with everyone inside. They all die, and Hugh Drysdale, the grandkid, just disappears. No one ever sees him again.”

You nod seriously across from her. “And weird shit starts happening on the property. Like animal carcasses thrown onto what’s left of the porch. Or that psychic that went there when we were kids. She said all she felt was pain, and whatever spirits were there had a desperate warning, but she couldn’t get anything beyond that. And then our senior year, that freshman that disappeared around there. And no one’s ever been able to do anything with it. It just stands there, a burnt-out husk. There’s absolutely no way someone’s moved into it.”

Tineka was nodding furiously, but Robbie leaned forward and butted in. “Here’s what actually happened,” he told David. “There was an electrical fire. Everyone died, probably including Hugh.” Tineka took a breath, and Robbie put up his finger to stop her. “They never found his remains because he was burned to a crisp, and there wasn’t enough to identify.” He raised another finger, “It was abandoned long enough that animals moved in and left their prey lying around.” A third finger went up, “All these stupid stories and rumors have made it a beacon for the unwell and scam artists.” Another finger, “That kid disappeared because it’s where all you dumbasses would go to party, and he was drunk and wandered into the woods and got lost or fell or something.” He raised the last finger on his hand, “And whoever’s owned the property over the years probably doesn’t want to be responsible for the cost of demolition, so they’ve just done the bare minimum to keep the city off their backs.”

You turned to look at him, mildly annoyed, “I don’t remember you being this boring in high school.” He just rolled his eyes at you. “Whatever,” you said and turned back toward Tineka. “I still can’t believe someone’s moved in there. They’d have to gut the whole building!”

“All I know,” she said, slurring a bit, “is that someone’s been coming and going, and sometimes there’s a car parked there.”

“What? Have you been staking it out? Says who?”

“People!” she shouted, throwing her hands up in exasperation. Then her face lit up dangerously. “I know! We should go out there right now so I can prove it to you!”

You shook your head. “I walked here from my parents’ house, and I,” you placed both hands on the table to steady yourself, “definitely can’t drive.”

“Robbie can!” You could tell, now that Tineka had the idea in her head, she wasn’t going to let it go. “Right? Please, Robbie!” she whined.

Robbie, who’d switched to water after his second beer, who knows how long ago, looked to David, who shrugged, and then to you. All you could do was grin at him and nod. You hadn’t done something stupid like this in such a long time. The feeling was a little thrilling.

“This is such a bad idea,” Robbie said. “It’s so dark out. You won’t be able to see anything anyway.” He looked around the table again and then slumped in defeat. “Fine,” he gritted. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be out there too long.”

Robbie pulled up to the entrance of the lane leading up to the old Thrombey house and parked the car. Tineka leaned forward from her place in the back seat and lightly slapped your arm. “Alright!” she said, “this is where you get out! Good luck.”

“Wait,” you turned to face her, “I’m going on my own?”

“Yup! That’s how dares work.”

“When did this become a dare?” you asked, starting to get an uneasy feeling in your gut. “What if I get shot for trespassing?!”

“I thought no one could possibly live there,” she taunted.

You tried to look to David for help, but he’d fallen asleep next to his wife. Robbie just gave you a shrug. “Fine,” you said, somewhat angrily. “But if I’m not back in 10 minutes, you better come find my body.” You got out of the car, slammed the door closed, and started your walk down the path.

The lane was surrounded by dense trees, and it wasn’t long before you couldn’t see the car behind you. The wind had picked up, blowing leaves in front of you, and you wrapped your cardigan around you as tightly as you could. A few minutes later, the house appeared before you.

The outside had remained mostly intact, but you knew that it was basically a husk now. Still, it was large and foreboding. Most of the glass in the windows was cracked, and ivy had overtaken much of the siding. As you got closer, you could see that there was, in fact, a vintage beamer tucked against the side of the house. Damn it, Tineka was right. You were about to admit your defeat and go back to your friends when the front door opened. You froze as a man carefully walked out onto the decaying porch.

You could have sworn that a moonbeam suddenly appeared where there wasn’t one before to light him directly. He was dressed in a sweater and slacks underneath a long camel overcoat with a colorful scarf. He looked right at you even though you were sure that the area you were in was too dark to be spotted. “This is private property. You’re trespassing,” he said. Something about his deep voice and insistent stare had you pinned to your spot.

“Um,” you said, trying to look away, but there was something about him that had you transfixed. “Uh, sorry, I just– um, I didn’t think anyone lived here. How– how do you live here?��

He didn’t say anything, just raised an eyebrow at you. Everything had gone completely quiet. In the moonlight, his skin glowed, looked so pale it was almost translucent, and you felt completely hypnotized. He might have been the most beautiful person you’d ever seen.

“Sorry,” you said again, or maybe just breathed it. “We were just– we were drunk and–” You didn’t know how to finish that sentence. Why were you here?

He looked you up and down. “Hmm,” he hummed. “Not tonight then.”

“What?” you asked, even though you were pretty sure he was talking to himself more than to you.

“Not tonight,” he repeated, grinning a little meanly. “I don’t have much of a taste for cheap booze.”

What a strange thing to say. It’s not like you were inviting him for a drink. What did he mean?

His focus shifted to somewhere behind you, and it was like you suddenly found yourself back on earth. The sounds of the forest filtered back in, and you didn’t feel held in place anymore. As you tried to adjust to the sudden onslaught of your senses, you slowly processed that you could hear Tineka calling for you, and the sounds of Robbie’s car quickly approaching.

“Better run, little rabbit,” the man said. “You don’t want to keep them waiting.”

You turned around to see the car pull up, and Tineka hopped out without waiting for it to stop fully. “Holy shit, you scared the shit out of us! You didn’t come back! This was so dumb, I’m so sorry.”

You turned back to the house, to say what, you weren’t sure. But the man was gone. Maybe he’d never even been there? Maybe you were even drunker than you thought. “I’m not sure what happened,” you said, in a daze, as you let Tineka and Robbie herd you back into the car.

You were awoken the next morning by a knock on your bedroom door. Your mom let herself in without waiting for a response. She was carrying a large vase filled with roses so deep red, they were practically black.

“What are those?” you mumbled, barely awake.

“How am I supposed to know?” she asked as she placed them on your dresser. “Someone left them for you.”

“Wha?” It was too early for this. You rolled over to look at the digital clock on the bedside table. Oh. It was 11 AM. Fuck. You didn’t think you’d had that much to drink the night before, but you felt incredibly hungover. This was drinking in your thirties, you guessed. “Is there a card?” You finally mustered the awareness to say.

“Not that I saw.”

“Then how do you know they’re for me?”

She looked around theatrically. “Who else could they be for? Your father?”

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks for bringing them in, Mom. I’ll be down in a bit.”

She nodded and left.

You got up and examined the bouquet. They were beautiful, but… dark. There was something about them that made you feel a little unsettled. The vase looked old. Vintage. Expensive. No card. No sign of where they came from.

You opened your phone and pulled up the contact you’d made for Robbie the night before. You wrote out the text and hit send before you could think better of it.

Hey, weird question. And please know that I’m embarrassed to even ask it, especially if you say no, but. Did you send me flowers?

His response was immediate.

Nope, not me. Aren’t you popular

You cringed and tossed the phone on the bed to create some distance. You hadn’t even been back 24 hours yet. Who could they possibly be from?

Late that night, you were wandering through the grocery store aisles, making your way towards the freezer section. Your mom didn’t keep snacks in the house, and you’d had a sudden craving for ice cream. Just as you were coming up on your prey, someone stepped right in front of you and turned around to face you.

“Well, if it isn’t the little trespasser,” the man from the Thrombey house said. It was startling to see him in the middle of the grocery store. He seemed so out of place, wearing his same overcoat and scarf, which from this distance you could now see was silk. Everything about him seemed expensive, even his smirk, and here you were in yoga pants and a too-large sweatshirt. How did he even recognize you? It’d been so dark that night.

“Uh, yeah,” you said, somewhat bashfully, “sorry again.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, with a cold smirk that you were starting to think was just the permanent state of his face. “I kind of liked the novelty of it. It’s not very often that your kind comes right to me, instead of the other way around.”

What the fuck did that mean? Did he mean not wealthy people? Well, you weren’t the one living in a house that was about to fall down. This man was so strange. “Well, anyway,” you said, “I’ll let you get back to your evening.” You tried to step around him to get to the ice cream case, but he followed you there.

“What’s your poison?” he asked. You grabbed a carton of Moose Tracks and showed him, before trying to walk away again.

He kept pace with you. “What’s your name?” he asked. He stepped in front of you again and looked you right in the eye. “C’mon, tell me your name.”

It fell past your lips without you ever making the conscious decision to tell him. He smiled. All of his smiles were a little mean. “You can call me Ransom,” he said.

You’d arrived at the self-checkout. You were so ready to get out of there. “Well, okay, Ransom. It was nice meeting you, but I’m gonna check out now. And let you get back to your shopping.” You noticed for the first time that he didn’t have a cart or basket with him. And he wasn’t holding any items in his hands. He could have just gotten there, not started shopping yet, but something in your gut told you it wasn’t right.

He paused at the opening of the aisle opposite you. “Yeah, I think I’ve found what I was looking for,” he winked, and then turned around and finally walked away.

You tried to suppress the shiver that coursed through you. There was something not right about him. It didn’t matter. He was gone. You paid for your ice cream and walked out the automatic doors–

You were sitting in your car. Something niggled at your brain. You couldn’t remember the walk through the parking lot. That was strange, but you were probably just on autopilot. Plus, you were tired. Exhausted, really. You hadn’t realized just how exhausted you were. There was a twinge in your neck. You tried to stretch it out but the skin pulled a little painfully. You looked at the clock. It was later than you realized. You needed to get home, eat this ice cream, and go to bed.

That night, you dreamt of a river of blood and you were drowning in it. You woke up choking on nothing.

In the morning, you still felt tired, but you could hear your parents moving around downstairs, so you got up and got dressed. You put on a T-shirt and jeans, a cardigan, and then found an old scarf that you looped around your neck a few times.

When you got downstairs, your mom was scrambling eggs at the stove, while your dad read the paper at the kitchen table. He smiled and wished you a good morning, then nodded at your chest. “Is that your passive-aggressive way of telling me to turn the heat up?” He laughed at himself.

“Huh?” you asked and looked down. Oh. The scarf. Was it odd? Now that you thought about it, you weren’t even sure why you’d put it on. It had just felt… important. You didn’t know why. But you also couldn’t take it off. You curled in on yourself, a bit defensively. “I just liked it with this outfit.”

Your mom came over to the table. “Leave her alone, you,” she said to your dad as she set a plate of breakfast in front of each of you. “I think it looks nice, honey,” she said to you as she sat down with her own plate. “Although, maybe a little warm. It’s cooling down, but it’s not winter yet.”

You fingered the fringe of the scarf self-consciously. “I just like it,” you said, quietly. It was just a scarf. You didn’t know why everyone cared so much.

Your dad was the one to finally change the subject. He shook out his paper as he asked you, “Didn't you go to school with Shannon McCready?”

“Uh, yeah,” you said around a bite of eggs, “She was a real bitch. What? She get arrested or something?”

Your mom grumbled unhappily next to you about your language, but you barely even noticed because the next thing your dad said was “No, she died a few days ago.”

You couldn’t say what or why, but something inside of you reacted to that. A frisson of fear crawled up your spine. "What?"

"Mhmm, the obituary doesn't say exactly, but it seems like it was sudden."

"Does it say how?"

He shrugs, "Just says natural causes."

"Natural causes? She was thirty-two!"

He shrugged again and went back to his paper. Your mom blithely ate her breakfast beside you. You couldn't explain why you were so unnerved by this, but something deep inside of you was screaming that it wasn't right. You took a deep breath and tried to ignore it. You barely even knew her. You needed to get logged into work. Focus on something else.

The workday was long and hard. Your exhaustion only built as the day went on and your mind was all over the place. But you finally made it to the end and triumphantly logged off.

You met Tineka for dinner, just the two of you, at a little place right off Main Street. After you’d gotten settled and your drinks had arrived, she’d looked at you carefully. “I didn’t want to bring it up the other night with David and Robbie there, but how are you doing with everything? Really?”

You sighed. “Uh,” you said, “better than I thought I’d be? I mean, everything feels kind of strange, because I was living this whole life, and I just don’t really have any of it anymore? I mean, I was living in Boston with Andy. We had an apartment, a community. We were gonna get married. And now none of those things are true anymore. None of that is mine. That’s strange. But, maybe not bad. I’m realizing that I was kind of unhappy there. More than kind of. But I couldn’t see it until I was outside of it. And, like, moving back in with my parents, it isn’t ideal, but it doesn’t feel bad right now. If feels OK. If that makes sense.”

Tineka nodded. “I think that makes a lot of sense. And for what it’s worth, Andy was a piece of shit and I’m glad you’re rid of him.” She reached forward, cocktail in hand, to clink your glasses together. All you could do was smile. You really had missed her.

Your seat faced the window, and as you chatted, you watched the sun set over the colorful trees outside. It really was pretty here. This wasn’t a bad place to spend the season.

As you were finishing your entrees, you frowned when you saw Ransom walk in. He noticed you too, and, waving the hostess away, made a beeline for your table.

“We just keep running into each other,” he said, once he got to you, that perma-smirk firmly in place.

"It's a small town," you said, nervously. You couldn't explain why this man triggered your fight-or-flight instincts so terribly. You were being ridiculous. He hadn’t done anything. “Oh, uh, sorry. Ransom, this is my friend Tineka. Tineka, Ransom.”

Tineka looked between the two of you, open curiosity on her face. “How do you know each other?” she asked.

“New friends,” Ransom supplied. “We just can’t help bumping into each other.”

He didn’t seem to want to talk about where you’d met. That was his business, so you just nodded along.

He stood there for a moment, in a way that was too confident to be awkward, but still had you feeling a little uncomfortable. Tineka, bless her, had the social skills you just couldn’t pull together at that moment. “It’s packed tonight,” she said. “You’re welcome to sit down with us, although we’re probably leaving soon,” she gestured to your nearly empty plates.

“Thank you,” he said, “I think I’ll take you up on that.” He winked at you as he took the empty chair next to you. Something about it, about him, made you have to look away, focusing on your plate.

“So,” Tineka started, and oh no, that was her casual interrogation tone, “are you from around here? This town is small enough that I’m always surprised when I don’t already know someone.”

Ransom chuckled. “Sort of. I used to have family here, but I haven’t been back in ages. Just in town to collect some things and then I’ll probably be on my way again.”

You could feel him looking at you. His attention was always so much.

“Well, that’s too bad,” Tineka said, giving you a sideways glance you knew meant trouble. “We’re only just getting to know you.”

He laughed. “Well, I’ll admit, I’ve found more here than I expected.” He stretched his arm out and briefly rested it against your chair back. His fingers brushed you between your shoulder blades and you couldn’t help the way you shivered. He dropped his arm back into his lap. When you turned to him, he was looking at Tineka, but you could feel his attention still on you.

“You said your family’s no longer in the area?” Tineka kept probing.

“No, they all passed a while ago.”

“I’m sorry,” you said softly.

“Don’t be,” he said. “It was no great loss, trust me.” There was a darkness in his eyes when he said that that had you swallowing nervously.

“I guess it’s the season for homecomings,” Tineka said, then pointed at you, “she just moved back too.”

He grinned knowingly at you. “Is that so?”

“Mhmm,” she said, pointedly. “Recovering from a shitty ex.”

“Tineka!” you hissed, but all she did was laugh.

“Well,” he said, working his jaw, and you would swear it almost came out as a growl, “I bet he’ll live to regret that.” You couldn’t explain it, but at that moment, it felt like a threat. Which didn’t make any sense. He didn’t know Andy. He barely knew you. But the most disturbing thing was the little thrill that rushed through you at the thought.

While you were having your mini-crisis, he stood up abruptly. “You know,” he said, “it really is busy in here. I’m probably better off getting dinner somewhere else. And I’ve intruded on girls’ night enough.” He then looked right at you and said, “I’ll be seeing you.” That, too, felt like a threat.

As he left, Tineka looked at you excitedly. “He’s hot!” she said, too loudly considering he hadn’t actually exited the restaurant yet. You hissed at her, but she batted it away. “And he’s clearly into you. Seems like the perfect opportunity to fuck Andy out of your system.”

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed and looked to the front to make sure he’d left. “You don’t think there’s something kind of unsettling about him?”

“What do you mean?”

You paused to figure out how to put it into words. “I don’t know, sometimes, just the way he looks at me, I get this chill down my spine.”

She laughed, delightedly. “Yeah, that’s called ‘he wants to fuck you!’ Seriously, this is good. Great, even!”

“I don’t know,” you said. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going on that you just didn’t understand.

She sobered and looked at you seriously. “Listen, you deserve this. After all that shit Andy put you through – the women. It’s time for you to get yours. I don’t care if it’s Ransom, or Robbie, or whoever, but you deserve this.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s definitely not going to be Robbie.” You couldn’t even imagine that.

“Ok, fine!” she said, throwing her hands up. “Then it should be Ransom!”

You laughed. “Ok, Tineka. Sure.”

A little while later, you left the restaurant together. On the sidewalk, Tineka asked, “Did you walk here?” You nodded. “Do you want a ride home?”

You shook your head. “No, it’s not far. I’m good.”

“Are you sure? It’s just so dark.”

“Unless this town really changed while I was gone, I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine. Thanks, but I want to walk.”

“Ok,” she said, but she seemed hesitant.

You rolled your eyes and she backed down. “Hey,” you said, pulling her into a hug. “This was really fun. I love you.”

“Love you too,” she said and pulled away, starting to head back to her car. “Think about what I said about Ransom!” she threw over her shoulder.

You laughed and started walking in the opposite direction, back to your parents' house.

A few blocks later, when you were off the main street, you stopped when you heard a noise behind you–

You were half a block further down now. You looked around, confused. What just happened? How– The pain in your neck was back. It was on the other side now, and worse. You were so tired. A little dizzy. You walked as quickly as you could the rest of the way home.

You dreamt again that night. In this one, you sat in the middle of a large field. The sun shone down on you but you were sobbing uncontrollably. Your tears were made of blood.

You slept through your alarm the next morning, only waking when your mom came in and shook you. You were exhausted still, even though you’d slept a solid nine hours. Maybe you were coming down with something. Even though you had no other symptoms.

You went through your dresser three times until you found your one turtleneck. It seemed important.

Work felt impossible. Your focus was non-existent. You just wanted to lie down.

Late that afternoon, when Robbie texted to see if you wanted to grab a coffee, you logged out early. You weren’t going to get anything else done anyway. Caffeine sounded helpful.

When you met outside the coffee shop, he asked, “Is coffee still ok? I know it’s getting kind of late in the day. We could do beer instead.”

You shook your head. “No, coffee’s good. I’m trying to cut down on how much I drink.” You stopped. You were? When did you decide that? Why? You shoved down the not-right feeling that was crawling up your throat. It was fine. It was good. Healthy. It was fine.

Robbie raised his eyebrows when you ordered a triple espresso, but didn’t say anything. It helped some, but you still felt sluggish. And you struggled to focus on the conversation.

“Are you doing okay?” he asked after about half an hour.

“Yeah, sorry,” you said, trying to shake your head clear. “I’ve just been a little off the past few days. Probably just everything that’s happened catching up with me.”

He nodded. “I heard about all that. I’m so sorry. I’m here to listen if you ever need it.”

You gave him a genuine smile. “I’m fine, really,” you said, “but I appreciate it.”

A few minutes later, as you were trying to decide if you’d been there long enough to politely make your excuses and go home, he said, “Oh, do you remember Alex Higgins?”

“Uh, I don’t think so?” The name didn’t ring a bell, but you weren’t sure if that was because you didn’t know them or whatever was going on with you.

“He was a few years ahead of us? Friends with my brother?”

You shrugged and shook your head.

“Well, this won’t mean much to you, then,” he said, “but he died a few days ago.”

Not right not right not right, your gut said. “How… how did he die?” you asked, terrified of the answer without knowing why.

“They don’t know yet. They haven’t been able to find anything wrong with him. They just found him collapsed outside, I guess.”

You white-knuckled it through the rest of your coffee.

Afterward, you lost over half of your walk home. When you arrived, there was another bouquet of almost black roses on your front porch.

Things began to disintegrate quickly from there.

Over the next week, you kept losing time. Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes, sometimes even more. Once you started paying attention, you realized it was only after the sun went down. But knowing that didn’t seem to help.

There were more nightmares too. There was the one where you were being chased through the woods by something unseen, under a blood-red moon and the trees came alive to trap you. Or the one where you were back at the Thrombey house and it was on fire. The skies opened up, but instead of rain, the clouds poured down blood. The strangest one had Ransom in it. Blood flowed from his mouth as he choked you with his scarf. They all started to blend together after that. Blood. Pain. Terror.

Even with the nightmares, you slept like the dead. But that didn’t stop you from waking up exhausted every morning. You called in sick to work multiple days. You stopped seeing Tineka or Robbie. What would have been the point? You couldn’t concentrate on anything. You could barely stay awake. And every time you went for a walk in the evening, to try to get some exercise and clear your head, you lost time. Something was very wrong and you didn’t know what to do.

The one person you did see was Ransom. He often seemed to be out and about at the same time you were. The fear you felt for him was still there, but you couldn’t deny that you were drawn to him, too. When he was near. you could feel the chaos that had taken you over the last week finally quiet down. You still lost time with him, but it didn't seem to matter as much. Nothing seemed to matter as much when you were with him. Even if you still felt the instinctual urge to turn around and run away whenever you saw him.

Compounding your troubles, the roses just kept coming. Every few days, another bouquet appeared on your porch. You still had no idea who was sending them. It had occurred to you that maybe it was Andy, trying to fuck with you. As much as you hated him now, that just didn’t seem like him. But you couldn’t think of anyone else who would do it either. You barely even knew anyone in town anymore.

For a reason you couldn’t articulate, you didn’t say anything about any of this to your parents. You couldn’t hide it from them though. They may not have known exactly what was going on, but they knew there was something. You overheard them one night as you came down the stairs to get a glass of water, their low tones coming from the living room.

“She is not okay,” your dad was saying, “and we need to stop acting like she is.”

“She’s been through a lot,” your mom said. “If she wants space–”

“Look at her!” your dad said, trying to keep his voice quiet, but the emotion still came through. “The time for space is over. I think we need to start talking about professional help.”

As quietly as you could, you ran back up the stairs. You weren’t that thirsty.

You spent the next two days in bed. When your mom came in to check on you, you told her you had the flu.

On the third day, you woke up feeling clear-headed for the first time in ages. You were rested. You hadn’t had any nightmares. The fog seemed to have cleared from your brain. When you bounced downstairs and greeted your parents, the relief on their faces made you want to cry. Your work day was the most productive you’d had since you’d arrived at your parents’ house. You finally felt like things were going to be ok.

That night after dinner, you decided to celebrate your good mood with snacks. You got in your car and started driving to the grocery store.

When you parked, you looked up. You weren’t at the grocery store. You were in front of the Thrombey house. You burst into tears. No no no. How had you gotten here? Why was this happening to you? As you were about to put the car in reverse and go back home, the front door opened and Ransom came out. So instead, you got out of the car.

“Trespassing again?” he asked, that smirk always on his lips. Like there was a joke that only he knew about.

“I’m sorry,” you cried. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how I got here, I don’t know what’s happening!”

He came down off the porch and walked over to you. He gently brushed a tear off your cheek and looked you in the eye. “Poor little rabb–

You were sitting in your car, parked in front of your parents’ house. The sun was coming up. How? The last thing you remembered, it was evening. It’d been hours. So many hours. The entire night. You let out a frustrated, guttural cry. You checked your phone, certain there must be so many panicked calls and texts from your parents, but there was nothing. Looking further, you found a text from yourself to your mom, telling her that you were spending the night with Tineka. Had you? Was that where you’d been? You thought about calling Tineka to check but one of two things would happen. She’d be confused as to why you couldn’t remember that you’d just left her house. Or, she’d tell you that she hadn’t seen you in days. Both options seemed equally awful and impossible to deal with. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, and looked up at the front door. In front of it, was an ornate, vintage vase, filled with roses, so deep red they were practically black. No. Absolutely not. You started your car again and pulled back out onto the road in a flurry. This was one mystery you might actually be able to solve and you were going to do it.

The only dedicated floral shop in town didn’t open for another two hours. That was fine. You could wait. You sat in your car as long as you could stand it, and then when you grew too antsy to bear, you got out and paced in front of the storefront.

As soon as the door was unlocked, you were inside the shop, frantically looking through all of the roses.

“Can I help you?” an employee cautiously asked from behind you.

You spun around. “I’m looking for black roses.”

“Oh, uh, so, roses don’t actually come in true black. The closest is a really dark red that looks almo–”

“Yes, I know that!” You interrupted. “That’s what I’m looking for!”

“Well,” they said, a professional curtness in their tone now, “we don’t carry them. You’d have to do a special order.”

That was actually good news. It’d narrow down possibilities considerably. “Can you tell me who’s been ordering them?”

They looked confused. “Like, ever?”

“No! Just in the past two weeks!”

They took a step back. “We haven’t had anyone order them recently.”

You shook your head wildly, desperation taking over. “No, that’s not true! You’ve been delivering them to my house! I just want to know who’s sending them.”

Another employee came out from the back and eyed you carefully.

“Please,” you said, sounding pathetic even to your own ears. “You have to tell me who it is. I have to know.”

“We haven’t had any orders like that,” the first employee said firmly.

“No!” you shouted. “Please just tell me. You have to tell me!”

“Ma’am,” the second employee finally spoke up. “I think it’s time for you to go.”

You stopped and looked around yourself. Another customer had come in. They stood by the door and stared at you. Everyone stared at you.

“Oh my god,” you whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The first employee looked deeply uncomfortable, but the second just folded their arms and gave you a hard look.

“You’re sure?” you asked. “You really haven’t had any special orders?” You felt a few tears fall down your cheeks.

“Ma’am, if you don’t leave, we’ll have to call the cops.”

You took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You left as quickly as you could, trying not to look anyone in the eye.

Once outside and away from the floral shop, you found a bench and sunk down on it, trying to pull yourself together. What was happening? What was wrong with you?

You heard someone across the street call your name and you looked up to see Robbie rushing toward you. He dodged a few cars and then stepped up onto the sidewalk. “What’s wrong? Are you ok?” You started sobbing at that, unable to hold anything in any longer. He sat down on the bench next to you and tentatively put his hand on your back. He said your name again, softly. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

You shook your head. “I think I’m losing my mind,” you choked out. “I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He was rubbing gentle circles now. “Tell me what’s happening. Maybe I can help.”

So you did. You told him about losing time and saying things you didn’t understand, being so tired all the time you could barely get out of bed, the nightmares. He listened quietly to everything and when you were done he just nodded for a moment, then said, “First thing, I think, is that you need to see a doctor.”

You shook your head. “No, I can’t.”

“Listen, I know it’s scary, but I don’t think this is going to go away on its own. This could be a brain tumor or something. You really need to get it checked out.”

“You’re not listening to me,” you growled out, surprised by how upset you were, and how quickly your mood had changed. “I can’t.”

“Ok,” he said, putting his hands up in front of him. “I’m sorry. I’m listening. Why can’t you?”

“I just can’t!” you said, standing up. You were jittery. You needed to move.

Robbie reached out a hand, and quietly said your name again, clearly trying to calm you down.

You couldn’t stop shaking your head. “I just can’t, okay? I just can’t. I can’t. I’m not allowed!”

You both froze. “What–” Robbie stopped then tried again, shock clear on his face. “What do you mean you’re not allowed?”

You didn’t know, exactly. You just knew it was true. No doctors. Absolutely not. “I have to go,” you said and turned abruptly to race back to where you’d parked your car. Robbie called after you the whole way.

Your phone buzzed at you the whole drive home. Robbie. He wouldn’t stop. It continued all day. He was worried about you, his texts and voicemails told you. What you said had really freaked him out. Was someone hurting you? He just wanted to help. You hid in your bedroom and buried your phone in your laundry hamper. You could still hear it buzzing away, but it made it easier to pretend that you couldn’t. Finally, sometime after dark, it stopped.

It started ringing again in the morning, just as insistent as before. You dug it out of your dirty clothes, ready to tell Robbie to just forget what happened and leave you alone when you saw that it was Tineka, and she was calling for the third time.

When you answered, at first you just heard her crying. “Tineka?” you asked. “Are you there? What’s going on?”

“Robbie,” she sobbed, and for a moment you thought maybe he’d talked to her, told her who knows what, but then she continued. “Oh god, Robbie. Robbie’s dead.”

A chill whipped through your entire body. “What?” you breathed. Just yesterday– No. Your mind went to all the people you’d heard about since you’d gotten here. The vague reasons, the shrugs given as cause of death. A pattern you’d refused to see until this moment. You had to know if he was part of it. “Tineka, how did he die?”

“Oh god,” she sobbed, “It’s so awful. I can’t– His throat. It was ripped out.”

You felt time stop. Distantly, you could hear Tineka still talking. Going on about animal attacks, coyotes and bobcats, maybe something escaped from a sanctuary or private owner. You couldn’t explain it, you didn’t know why – you obviously didn’t know anything – but you knew deep down in your being that this was because of you. Something was happening.

Without saying anything, you ended the call and left your phone on your bed. You didn’t get dressed, still in the leggings and oversized t-shirt you always slept in. You moved through the house as quickly and quietly as you could, not bothering to stop to look for your parents. The only things you grabbed on your way out were your coat and your car keys.

As you started driving away, you didn't really have a destination in mind, but once you were about halfway there, you realized that you did in fact know where you were going now. Of course, you did. There was only one place to go. One person to see.

As you pulled up in front of the Thrombey house, it struck you that you’d never seen it in daylight before. The way the sun shone down on it almost made it more eerie. It should not be here, in this daylight world. It was a relic of the night. You shook your head at yourself. Your thoughts had become so strange lately.

You waited in your car. He always heard you and came out, but this time, nothing. You looked to the little driveway at the side. The beamer was there. So where was Ransom? After several minutes of waiting, you got out. You went up to the house, ready to pound on the door until he came out, but stopped at the porch. You could clearly see now how the wood was rotting, the holes that were already there. You couldn’t risk taking a single step onto it. You didn’t know how he came in and out this way.

You looked around, there must be another way in, maybe on the side of the house. As you walked around the corner, you came up short. Lining this side of the house, hidden from the front, was a beautiful, neat row of rose bushes, in such a deep red they were practically black. No. No no no. It couldn’t be. But of course, it was. You were so stupid. So blind. You fell to your knees beside them. It had all started here, at this house. You could clearly see that now, finally. Whatever end came, that would be here too, so you laid down, and you waited. There was nothing else to do.

You didn’t know how much time had passed. You were pretty sure you’d dozed in and out. But at some point, the sun had gone down. Once it was fully hidden beneath the horizon, you heard the front door open and footsteps come around the side of the house.

Ransom crouched down next to your head, his hand gently brushing the hair out of your face. “So you know now,” he said.

It wasn’t a question, but you still shook your head. “No,” you said. “I don’t know anything. I don’t understand.”

He nodded and stood up. You sat up, almost like there was a string in your chest, connected to his. “You know,” he said, looking up at the house. “Ransom is my middle name. I’ve always gone by it, but when they reported on everything that happened here, they used my first name, so that’s the one everyone remembers.”

Of course. “Hugh,” you breathed. “You’re Hugh Drysdale.” You were as sure of it as you’d ever been of anything. Nothing made sense. Everything made sense. He nodded, pleased. “How?” you asked. Hugh had been roughly your age when the fire had happened and he’d disappeared. Almost 50 years ago. The man standing in front of you didn’t look a day over 35.

He crouched down again, so that he was level with you, so that you could clearly see his face in the moonlight. So that you had a perfect view of the fangs that dropped down.

You gasped, wanting to scoot away on your hands, but you stayed pinned in your spot. “No, that’s not– You can’t–” You took a deep breath and gave yourself the courage to say the word. “Vampires aren’t real.”

He threw his head back and laughed. It was wild and loud and cruel. “Come on now,” he said, “I know you aren’t that stupid, sweetheart.”

As you tried to process this, you realized it didn’t actually matter how any of this could be real. There was only one question you actually needed an answer to. “Why did you do this to me?”

He grinned at you, mean as ever. “Because you came right to me, little rabbit. How could I resist an offering like that?” Tears started to run down your face, and he cooed at you, collecting a few with his finger. “I’ll admit, at first, I’d just planned to drain you, leave your body beside the grocery store for some teenage employee to find the next day.” He smiled at the thought. “But that first taste. You have no idea how good you taste, baby. It couldn’t just be a one-and-done. It was as easy as anything to put you under a little thrall. Compel you to forget when I fed on you, make sure you didn’t let anyone else know. The plan was to snack on you while I was here, and once I had everything I needed, I’d bring you with me, keep you as a little pet blood bag until I was bored and done with you. And torturing you was so fun. It made having to be here so much more bearable. But as I broke you down, brought you to your weakest, it made me realize that I’m desperate to see you at your strongest. See you surging with power.”

There was something in his words, in his eyes, that filled you with panic. But also something else. Want, you were terrified to admit. “What does that mean?” you whispered.

“It means you’re mine, baby, and I’m going to keep you. Claim you. Forever.”

It was the last word you fixated on. That was the word that meant everything. That really said what he meant. You took a deep breath, trying to get the crying under control. “And if I let you do that, this will all stop? I’ll be ok again?”

He chuckled. “Sure, honey. If you ‘let’ me do it, it’ll all stop. You’ll get your mind back. The thrall will lift.”

“And if I don’t?”

He tilted his head to the side. “If you don’t, you’ll still be mine. I’ll just make it hurt. Your friend Tineka sure has a pretty neck. Maybe I’ll rip it out, just like I did to your other little friend. Or your parents. Blood is kind of like wine, you know, gets better with age.”

“No, no, please,” you begged.

“Then give yourself to me, right now.” He leaned forward into your space and you fought the dual urges to pull away and to close the distance completely.

You took a deep breath and blinked the tears away. Your torment would stop. Things would be better. Your family would be safe. “Okay,” you whispered, “please. Please, Ransom.”

Without further ado, he pulled you into a bruising kiss, both hands tightly gripping your face, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. He gave you no choice but to sink into it, his fangs still dropped, occasionally nipping into your lips. When he pulled away, you were left gasping for breath.

You had no time to recover before he was pushing back on your shoulders and then slipping his hands under your knees to tip you onto your back. You held yourself up, as much as you could, on your forearms, unable to look away from him. Mesmerized by him, as always. He pulled on your leggings until they ripped in two and tossed them away. He crawled between your knees and then did the same to your panties. You cried out at the sting of the elastic breaking. He smoothed a hand over you, fingers moving through the thatch of soft curls, and growled “Just perfect.” Then he lowered his face to your cunt and slowly dragged his tongue along the length of it. You finally gave in and let your upper body fall back, tossing your head to the side, your hands grasping for purchase in the dry grass beneath you, as he worked you over with his mouth. Little mewls escaped you, beyond your control. You wanted to deny how good it felt; he was a literal monster. He had killed countless people. His own family, in this exact spot where he now defiled you. But you couldn’t think about that right now. You couldn’t think about anything other than his mouth on you, the rising heat in your core, the grass under your hands, the twigs poking into your back. The one thing outside of this exact moment that your brain briefly flashed to was Andy. How he had never felt like this. Never given you this. In his own way, he too, had wanted to drain you dry and then he’d left you with nothing to show for it. His promise of forever had turned out to be empty. With Ransom, you knew that word meant something different. Meant something more. Something real.

Your mewls had turned into soft little chants of “Please,” and “Ransom,” over and over. As you reached your peak and were just about to go over it, he removed his mouth from you. You cried out in frustration and lifted your head just in time to see him turn his and sink his teeth into your thigh. You screamed at the pain. The way it mingled with the intense pleasure you were already experiencing, along with the constant fear you’d been in for the past weeks had you hurtling over the edge. You came harder than you ever had before, your body spasming through it, tears rushing down your face, wetness pooling between your legs. Ransom drank from you all through your orgasm and the aftershocks. As you were finally coming down, he released your thigh, quickly licking up the blood that had dripped down your leg. He reached up to your face and grabbed your chin, forcing eye contact as he viciously bit into his own wrist. He brought his other hand to the back of your head, grasping it firmly, and then pushed his bloody wrist into your mouth. You flailed, instinctively trying to get away, but his hard grip wouldn’t let you move. You choked as his blood filled your mouth. Your eyes were wide, hands wildly trying to release his hold on you.

“Just drink,” his voice filled your consciousness. “Drink. Take it all, sweetheart.” At some point, your body gave in, no longer struggling, trying to dislodge him. You took what he gave you and swallowed. “Good girl,” he cooed as you continued to drink. “Good girl.” You grasped his wrist, latching on with your mouth, suddenly desperate for more. Blackness was gathering at the edges of your vision. It started gradually and then quickly overtook you. The last thing you heard before you slipped into the darkness was Ransom’s chuckle.

You gasped for breath as you rocketed up to a sitting position. You could hear everything. The birds on the roof of the house. The wind moving in the trees. The ants in the ground beneath you. You could feel everything. The hair on your arms, standing straight up. The grass growing in the ground. The electricity in the air. The one thing you couldn’t feel was your blood flowing through your veins. It was still. You knew it was. But something was pumping through you. Power. You gasped again to feel it. You could do anything now. You were sure of it. You’d been so weak before. But now. Now nothing could beat you. With that power was also the most intense hunger you’d ever felt. You needed something, right now. You needed everything. You needed to feed, you needed to fuck, you needed to drink.

A familiar chuckle interrupted your thoughts. You looked up to see Ransom standing above you. That mean smirk that was always on his face. “Oh little rabbit,” he said, “we are going to have so much fun.”

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this, there's a follow-up! 💜

Don't Touch Me, I'm a Real Live Wire

#ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom drysdale #dark!ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x female reader #dark fic #knives out #ransom drysdale #horror fiction #chris evans fanfiction #navy and roo's sleepover #kris wrote something #fanfic #we are vain & we are blind

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confused-pyramid · 3 months

Text

Tell Me Some Things Last | s3

pairing: aaron hotchner x childhood bsf!reader

summary: Hotch and his childhood best friend working together at the BAU: a slow burn across the seasons.

word count: 23.1k

warnings: canon!typical violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of death, specific episodes mentioned in this part are 3x01, 3x02, 3x03, 3x06, 3x08, 3x09, 3x14, 3x16, 3x17, 3x19, and 3x20

a/n: season 3! The slow burn continues:) This was really fun to write, so I hope you enjoy it! (and I promise the chapters won't keep getting longer, this one just got out of hand LMAO) Title is from Heal by Tom Odell

series masterlist

"Excuse me?"

Section Chief Strauss doesn't falter. "You can't expect me to believe you think Agent Hotchner has done an effective job leading this unit."

"You can't expect me to believe that you think I'd willing spy on my unit chief for you."

She sighs and you want to throttle her. "Agent L/N, I know you two share a history, but this is bigger than that. People have died on his watch."

You have been trying to remain neutral since you were called into her office, but every word that comes out of her mouth makes you see red. Yes, this past year has been tough, but none of it was in his control.

"I think you know my answer," you say coldly, straightening your back in her chair. "I have to go, we have a case in Arizona."

She holds your gaze for a second, before nodding and turning back to her computer. You stand up and leave her office without another word, hastening your pace to a light jog the moment you're out of her line of sight.

You want to talk to Hotch as soon as possible, but by the time you get back to the bullpen, the whole team and their go-bags are gone. Grabbing your own bag, you rush over to the airstrip where everyone is settled inside the jet.

He glances up with a thin smile when you take a seat across from him, and you return it, not wanting to raise his concern when everyone is around.

The Flagstaff police meet you at the airport when you land, and everyone jumps into the awaiting SUVs to get to the crime scene as soon as possible.

The victim is another brunette woman on the college campus, but luckily her body was found after curfew, so students aren't milling around.

You step closer to examine the woman's body as JJ glances down at her hand. "She had her Mace out, but she didn't use it?"

Morgan nods, looking around. "And it's well-lit. He's not afraid of being seen."

A bus stop sign catches your attention and you turn to Detective Griffith. "How often do the shuttles run?"

He answers immediately. "Every 10 minutes."

"Were all the other victims posed like this?" Reid asks, bending over to get a better look. "With their arms crossed."

Griffith frowns. "Yeah. Why?"

"It's a classic sign of remorse," Morgan responds, stepping in to take over the explanation. "The unsub kills the victim then immediately feels bad about it, so he poses them like this, so they'll rest in peace."

"You can tell that just by the arms?"

"It's why you called us here. To build a psychological profile of your killer."

After inspecting the crime scene, Gideon and Morgan leave to talk to the dean of the school, and JJ and Reid go to meet with the students living in the victim's dorm. Hotch is still back at the station, and you haven't gotten a chance to talk to him since meeting with Strauss, but you push it out of your mind as you accompany Emily to the coroner's office.

You're so lost in thought that the drive over is entirely silent, and it's not until you've parked that you realize she didn't say a word either.

When the coroner leads you to the victim's body, you notice how much clearer each of the markings and cuts are. Hotch doesn't assign you to speak with the coroners very often, usually sending Prentiss, because of her incredible attention to detail, but not that you're here, you appreciate the second chance to examine the victim.

"Did the other victims have this much overkill?" she asks, pulling out her camera as you flip open your notebook.

"Death was caused by a single, very forceful stab wound to the heart," the coroner confirms.

You lean in closer to see the insertion point and notice the lumpy discoloring on the victim's chest. "Yeah, it looks like he broke through the breastbone."

"And after that he just lashed out at random," he adds.

Emily hums in agreement before snapping a couple of photos. "Well, no defensive wounds. She didn't even hold her hands up to fight him off."

"The first two victims were the same."

A shudder runs through you as the two of you leave the cold room and emerge into the warm sunlight. "Why is it almost harder to look at the victims when they're cleaned up and no longer covered in blood?"

Emily considers your question for a moment. "Maybe it's because they look less human that way."

You remember Jeff's funeral, how lifeless he seemed in his casket, and how you could barely look at him during the proceedings. It was somehow worse than seeing him at the crime scene, blood everywhere. At least then, you could still see the warmth in his skin. Later, he just looked cold.

"I think you're right," you tell her just as her phone chirps with a call.

She stiffens imperceptibly when she sees the number, but you only notice because of how hyper-vigilant you have been about your own tells since speaking with Strauss. "I need to take this. Give me a second."

She walks away from you and answers the call, her tone hushed so that you can't hear her. You know it could easily just be a personal call about something private in her life, but there's something almost familiar about the look in her eyes when she saw the number.

"Everything okay?" you ask her when she returns, but she just sighs and starts walking to the SUV. "It's nothing."

You haven't known her for as long as the other members of the team, but it's not hard to tell that she's hiding something. She looks distracted as she avoids making eye contact, and when you remember how you did the same with Hotch on the plane, the pieces fall into place.

If Strauss gave her the same assignment she tried to give you, then you need to keep an eye on her. You don't believe that she would sell out the team, but you also know how terrifying you thought Strauss was when you first joined the bureau.

***

The profile leads you to take Nathan Tubbs, one of the campus security guards, into custody, and while Gideon interrogates him, you walk with Reid, JJ, and Emily through the quad to get back to the station.

"Everyone is so much younger than I remember being," JJ says, as you all pass through a crowded part of campus. Word must have spread that the team arrested someone, because you can't imagine why else there would be so many students hanging outside after dark.

"Yeah, it's a weird age," Emily chuckles. "You want to be treated like an adult, but you're still used to someone else solving your problems for you."

"All I remember is trying to figure out who I was."

That makes you laugh. "I had no idea what I wanted to do when I was in college."

"Didn't you go to college with Hotch?" JJ asks, her eyes twinkling. You expect she's hoping for an embarrassing, or at least interesting, story from those years, but your past with him feels almost like sacred territory: something you can't breach when he's not around.

"Not college," you correct, "just everything else before and after."

"What was he like then?" Emily asks, genuine curiosity in her tone. You still can't believe that she would spy for Strauss, but you also can't help your suspicions.

"He was completely different, but also the same." You smile as you think back to the early years of your friendship. "He was kind of a cool kid in high school, but he was just as focused and determined as he is now."

"Hotch was popular?" Reid asks in disbelief.

JJ snorts. "Why can't I imagine that at all."

"He was trustworthy," you shrug, "and kind. Even when people weren't kind to him."

The three of them go silent, and you suddenly feel extremely self-conscious, but you're saved when your phone rings with a call from Derek. "Hey."

"There's been another murder."

***

The case ends in a murder-suicide that a part of you believes Gideon should've seen coming. JJ calls the jet to take off at first light, and everyone looks exhausted when you arrive at the airport. You sleep most of the flight back, but when you step into the field office again, you know you can't ignore the talk you've been avoiding all day.

You go to his office in the hopes of having this conversation privately, but he isn't inside when you look through the open door. You turn back with a frown and are about to head down the stairs again when you see him leaving Strauss's office across the hall.

He spots you immediately, and before you can say anything, he says, "I just got suspended."

Your mouth falls open. "What?"

"Two weeks."

You blanche as you follow him into his office, where he immediately starts packing up his essentials into his briefcase. "Hotch...I have to tell you something. Something I should have mentioned yesterday."

"What is it?" he asks, his voice slightly distracted.

"StraussaskedmetospyonyouandIthinkshealsoaskedEmily!"

He blinks. "Can you say that again?"

You press your lips together, before trying again, slower this time. "Strauss asked me to spy on you, and I think she also asked Emily."

He closes his eyes for a beat, but it feels like years. You can feel the disappointment wafting off of him, but he doesn't say anything, giving you the time to explain in more detail.

"She asked me right before we flew to Arizona," you tell him, your chest aching at the defeated look on his face. "I told her I wouldn't do it, of course, and that you are the perfect leader for this team. But I was watching Emily the whole time we were there, and I think Strauss might have threatened her or made her some kind of offer."

His hands pause their packing and for a moment, you're worried that he's going to be angry you didn't come to him sooner, but then he just sighs, a deeply dejected sound. "I figured she would. It's basically in the FBI playbook."

"You knew?" you say, your voice almost like a gasp.

"I didn't know for sure," he amends, "but I believed so. And I'm usually right about these kinds of things. Anyway, it doesn't matter now. You guys will be fine without me."

You want to shake him; to reach forward and rattle his shoulders until he realizes that this is it. This is exactly why he makes such a great unit chief.

He doesn't get angry, even when he may have cause to be. He trusts his team so wholeheartedly that even under the suspicion of spying to the higher-ups, he still treats everyone the same. He puts the team above himself in almost every aspect, and the intermittent calls you get from Haley when you're in the middle of a long case prove that it may be to his own detriment, but he still does it. Because he cares so deeply, about each of you, and about each victim, and about catching each killer.

"We need you," you say, emphasizing your words as though that will make him understand you better.

"Morgan and Prentiss will be fine," he says pointedly, as though trying to prove a point. "I'm sure they'll even be better off. And Reid and JJ can look to you for guidance. It's practically what they do already."

"Fine," you sigh, throwing your hands up in exasperation. "They'll be okay. But what if I need you?"

He looks at you then, and there's a sadness behind the stern set of his eyes. "You'll be okay."

***

You have to drag yourself out of the house the next morning. The knowledge that Hotch (and most likely Gideon) won't be at the office sucks the motivation out of you, especially because you have no idea what will happen once the team is given another case. Will they assign you a new unit chief? Will they temporarily promote someone on the team?

You push your questions out of your mind as you mindlessly get through security and flop down at your desk. There's a palpable difference with half the team gone, especially since Emily doesn't seem to be anywhere in sight either, and the emptiness of the office somehow feels more claustrophobic.

You finished all of your paperwork the night before, because you couldn't sleep after hearing of Hotch's suspension, so sitting at your desk now, you have nothing to do until a new case arrives.

Reid and Morgan dive into their own paperwork the minute they sit down, and they don't look up except to grab a new pen or refill their mugs.

You can see the tension lining everyone's shoulders, the stress about the future of this team, with its two senior-most members gone.

When you can't take the lack of work anymore, you head over to JJ's office, where she is poring over a stack of case files so tall that you can't see her face until you step in front of her desk. "Hey, JJ."

"Oh, hey," she says, looking up at you. "It's been really quiet out there."

You nod, dropping onto the sofa across from her. "Half the team's gone. It doesn't feel the same."

"I wish I could come out there and sit with you guys, but I have so many new case files to look over."

"Need any help?"

She looks up in surprise. "Actually, that would be great. Can I leave you with a few of them? There's a checklist for what I need you to note down at the top of that stack."

"Of course," you say before she hands you a thick stack of files. "I'll get them back to you soon."

"Take your time," she says, waving you away. "I have like a billion more to go through anyway."

When you're back at your desk, you set down the stack with a small thud and open the first file. You're bombarded with gory images of men who have been brutally stabbed to death, and you read over the case history quickly before opening the next one. This time, the images are of live women, all of whom share a skin tone and hair color, and have been kidnapped in the last week.

You slam the file shut and close your eyes in an effort to keep your head from spinning. You don't understand how anyone could classify these cases. How they could decide that one of these unsubs is worse than another. But there aren't enough teams like yours to cover every case that comes through the door, so someone has to.

You glance up at Hotch's office again, a force of habit, and the darkness in his doorway reminds you of the emptiness in the office. It's the same with Gideon's office, and Emily's desk.

You miss them all.

***

The first week of Hotch's suspension is hell. Gideon still hasn't turned up, and you can see his absence clawing at Spencer, who hasn't gone more than an hour without glancing at his office since he left. Derek doesn't admit it, but you can tell he misses Hotch's leadership over the team.

Strauss has come by periodically to "check in" on your team's work, but with the other units available to take on any new cases, she hasn't assigned you anything. You know she doesn't trust your team, but you're surprised that even with Hotch gone, she's still treating all of you like extensions of him. Not that she's wrong about that.

Without getting called in, you stay at home for the first few days, and even get some use out of your Peloton for once. You've been missing him all week, but it's not until the following Monday that you decide to actually do something about it.

Grabbing the files JJ gave you to look over, you stuff them in your bag and drive up to his house. Both cars are in the driveway when you arrive, and you belatedly realize that you should have called first.

You knock on the door hesitantly, and are surprised to see Jack in Haley's arms when she opens the door. She looks excited to see you, but you still feel bad about just showing up. "I'm sorry, I should have called."

"Not at all," she says, opening the door wider for you to enter. "You know I love seeing you."

"Y/N's here," Haley announces as she leads you into the kitchen and sets Jack back into his high chair. She shoots you a pointed look. "And she's not here to talk about work."

"Of course not," you say with a laugh. "I just wanted to see how the suspension was going. The team really misses you."

He acknowledges you with a small nod, and you take a seat opposite him at the table, where he is feeding Jack his cereal.

"I miss everyone, too," he says, "but it's also been nice to have some extra time at home."

"This suspension has been a blessing in disguise," Haley jumps in, ruffling Jack's hair. You don't miss the way Hotch's jaw twitches.

You aren't sure what to say to that, but Haley just pulls Jack out of his chair and turns to the doorway. "I'm gonna put him down for his nap. It was nice seeing you, Y/N."

"You too, Hales," you say earnestly, before smiling at Jack. "Bye, buddy."

When she's out of the room, you shoot Hotch a look that makes him lean back with a frown. "What?"

"You miss work, don't you."

He huffs, and you take that as an admission. "I've loved being home," he says, his words slightly more emphasized than necessary.

You can hear the candor in his voice. You don't doubt that he loves spending time with his family, you just also know the pull of the job. The fulfillment of saving people from unimaginable horrors, and the desolate ache that comes when you know you aren't doing everything you can.

"You can feel both things," you whisper as he exasperatedly runs his hand through his hair. He got a haircut.

The thought pops into your head against your will, and you glance up at his hair as you realize this is the shortest it's been in a long time. It suits him, but it also emphasizes the hard furrow of his brow.

"Haley doesn't understand that," he says simply, no ill intention in his tone, "but I can't expect her to. I barely understand it, and it's what I'm feeling."

To the outside listener, his words could be construed as complaints, but there's nothing but deep empathy in his voice. He loves her so much, and even though they're having differences about his work life, she loves him too.

You spend the next half hour talking him through each of the cases that JJ left you with, and when Haley returns to the kitchen after putting Jack down for his nap, you pull out a chair for her and tuck the files away.

"We need to have you over for dinner sometime soon," she says as soon as she takes a seat. "I can't believe we haven't done it yet." She looks to Hotch with an earnest sigh. "I guess Jack has been kind of a handful, but I can't believe this is your first time coming to the house since he was born."

"It's been too long," he agrees, draping an arm over the back of her chair. The sight of their casual intimacy is a reminder of what you once had, but the usual mistiness doesn't come when you think about Jeff. Your chest just fills with a liquid-y warmth that feels like melted chocolate and syrup.

"Likewise," you smile, patting Haley's hand. "I don't know if I can handle another night out, even with the mid-evening interruption."

She laughs heartily, and you see Hotch's lips curve up involuntarily. "I think I'm partied out for the year."

His arm slips down to rest against her waist, but she doesn't lean into him like she usually does. You avert your eyes, glancing up at their kitchen wall clock and faking a gasp. "I've taken up too much of your family time. I should go."

"It's okay," Hotch assuages at the same time that Haley says, "I'll walk you out."

They share a small glance, and you suddenly feel intrusive in their home. "I'll see you in a week."

He nods and you follow Haley to the door, where she gives you a quick squeeze and another promise to have you over for dinner soon. The sun starts to set as you drive home, and before you can second guess yourself, you're turning into a local farmer's market that is about to shut down for the night.

You rush through the stalls and stop in front of the flower shop, where you buy a dozen pink carnations. The vendor ties the bouquet with a silky ribbon and you hold the flowers close to your heart as you walk back to your car and start driving.

This time, you're more aware of the direction you're headed. You don't stop your car until you're in the parking lot and you don't stop moving until you're past the front gates and up the grassy hill where Jeff's headstone sits stoically under the waning sunlight.

You take a deep breath as you sink down to your knees, blissfully unaware of the grass stains coloring your slacks. You set the flowers down in front of his headstone, which you haven't seen in months.

Jeff Adler

Beloved Son, Husband, Brother

Until we meet again

The carnations look bright against the gray stone, and you arrange them neatly so that they don't get blown away.

He loved flowers. He knew they were impermanent and likely a waste of money, but he still loved all of the different emotions they symbolized, and how beautiful they could be for as long as they lasted.

He brought you a bouquet of heliotrope almost every week after you got married, and when you asked him what it meant, he insisted that it was something you had to find out in your own time. That time came a quick Google search later, and when the words 'eternal love' flashed on your screen, you knew you had picked the right man.

You brush your finger against the petals of the pink carnations you brought, remembering the rest of what the search yielded. Angelica for inspiration, calla lily for beauty, and pink carnation for gratitude.

You're so grateful you met him. So grateful he loved you as much as you loved him.

"I love you," you whisper, suddenly needing to say the words out loud. There's no one around, and the sun has set far enough that there's barely enough light to see, but your words feel strong as they come out of your mouth. "Thank you for coming into my life. Thank you for giving me 10 beautiful years."

You wipe away the tear that falls from the corner of your eye. "Goodbye."

***

He takes his time as he walks through the halls of the Virginia field office on Monday morning. He hasn't been inside in two weeks, and after he and Haley agreed that he should request a transfer, he likely won't be back again for a very long time.

When he walks past the glass doors of the bullpen, he spots you at your desk, pointing out something to Morgan in a case file. He hastens his pace so you don't see him. He still doesn't know how to tell you that he isn't coming back.

"Good morning, ma'am," he says when Strauss beckons him into her office.

"I was hoping you'd do the right thing," she says, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Have you given any thought to what department you'll request?"

He shakes his head. "I was under the impression that if I left the BAU, I'd have my choice of posts."

"Well, I'll consider it after I fully complete my investigation."

She pauses before looking at him again. "You were a prosecutor. What about heading up a white-collar crime task force? That'll get you home at night at a reasonable hour."

That sounds like exactly what Haley wants for them. They spent hours over the last week discussing what the best path forward would be post-suspension, and after countless late-night arguments, they finally agreed on a transfer. It would be best for the team, and best for his family. So why does he feel so guilty?

"Sorry to interrupt."

Prentiss barges into the office, as though she had an appointment. She glances over at him, and he can't read her expression. "Sir, I've decided to resign from the FBI, effective immediately."

"I don't understand," he frowns, taking in her rigid posture. He remembers your suspicions, as well as his own, but this can't be where it ends.

"I'm taking the foreign service exam. With my connections, I'd stand a good chance of landing in the State Department."

"Prentiss," he urges, trying to convey his understanding in his tone. "I think that's a mistake."

She shakes her head with a sigh. "Well, don't try to talk me out of it. Garcia saw my name on the list, and she already tried."

That makes him pause. "If she can't talk someone out of doing something, no one can."

"Sorry for the interruption, but, sir, it's good to see you back." She turns her gaze to Strauss, even as she continues speaking to him. "The team needs you."

She stalks out of the room after a quick "Ma'am", leaving him alone with Strauss, who looks like she's up to her last nerve. "I'll be overseeing this next case until I can assign your replacement."

"You don't have any field experience, do you?" He doesn't mean for the words to come out so critically, but his emotions are a jumbled mess that he can't decipher well enough to fix his mood right now.

"My job is to protect the Bureau. If I have to hold the team's hand for one case, so be it."

Hold the team's hand. He can't imagine that Strauss will be of much help in the field, but he keeps his mouth shut. He's been around enough authority figures to know when to keep his criticisms to himself.

"Ma'am," he says gently, hoping he can turn his thoughts into useful advice. "In order to function effectively, this team needs stability."

She clasps her hands together on her desk, and he knows it's done. There's nothing he can do to fix this for the team, at least not on this case. "The BAU has some very talented people, and they're Bureau assets, and I believe it's time that they were out from underneath the leadership of you and Jason Gideon."

***

Hotch was supposed to come back today. It's not until you're on the plane that Derek informs the team that he's requesting a transfer.

"What?" you burst out, unable to keep your composure even with Strauss seated a few rows behind you.

"He didn't tell you?"

You shake your head with a forlorn frown, and Derek jumps back in quickly to remediate the situation. "I only found out because I ran into him on the way to the jet. He didn't seem like he was in the mood for talking."

But he tells you everything. At least you thought he did.

"It's okay," you say, forcing your face into a neutral expression. "This isn't about me. I just can't believe he's leaving."

"Yeah," JJ grimaces, "and I can't believe we're stuck with her now. You know, from this angle, she looks almost human."

You all glance behind you, but thankfully, her face is still buried in the case file.

"Emily didn't come in today, either," you point out, turning to the empty seat next to you. "We're down two agents, and Gideon's MIA."

Reid blinks, and you curse yourself for being so cavalier. You know how hard Gideon's absence has been on him.

He recovers quickly and leans in to the center console with a raised eyebrow. "Has Strauss ever even been out of the-"

A chorus of shushes come from Derek and JJ and he shuts up as Strauss walks down the aisle and sits across from you all. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe it's protocol to brief everyone before we arrive at the crime scene?"

JJ turns red and she nods hastily, opening her file. "Yes, ma'am."

Strauss has only been here for ten minutes and you already want to strangle her. JJ explains the case details succinctly, and when the plane lands, you all head over to the crime scene to find Detective Wolynski, who called your team in when the murders got out of hand.

Within minutes of meeting them, Strauss manages to ruin your relationship with the local police by questioning their decision to wait so long to call in the BAU. JJ immediately takes matters into her own hands as she explains that we have to work with them if we want to be included in the investigation at all, but she doesn't seem to care.

You get a call from Penelope as you're heading back to the SUVs, and you step aside to get out of Strauss's earshot. "What's up, Pen?"

"I tried everything I could," she wails. You can hear the distinct clicking of her keyboard in the background. "I tried to convince him to stay, but he's so stubborn."

You sigh, glancing over at the scene, where Strauss looks positively nauseous. You can empathize with her emotions, because you know how hard it was for you to see your first crime scene in person, but this just further proves how unfit she is to understand what being on this team really means. "If he made up his mind, there's gonna be no changing it, unless he changes it himself."

She huffs, before audibly perking up. "I gave him the Milwaukee case file before he went home, and I also, uh, saw that his transfer hasn't passed through the system yet."

You're almost certain she had something to do with that, but your mind immediately starts going through the possibilities of what this could mean. If his transfer isn't in the system, then that means he technically still works on this team...which means him not being here is in dereliction of duty. If there's anything that can convince Hotch to show up, it's duty.

"You've been more help than you know," you tell her, before hanging up and hopping into the SUV.

***

When he arrived at his house with the case file Garcia gave him, he immediately stuffed it in his bag and tossed it onto the floor. He definitely didn't think about reading it the entire time he was changing out of his suit, and making a quick lunch for Haley and himself. When she went upstairs to put Jack down for his nap, he couldn't help himself any longer.

Reaching into his bag, he pulls out the file and flips it open slowly, being careful to angle the gruesome photos away from the stairs in case Haley came down without him noticing. Women taken in the afternoons and killed. Bodies dumped in the morning. Hearts cut out of their chests. The words pop out at him as he skims the page, and he's so engrossed in the material that he doesn't hear her until she's standing over him. "I thought this was over."

"It is," he sighs, closing the file. "I'm just curious." He doesn't know when he started lying to his wife, but he doesn't like it. The bitter taste of it in his mouth.

He can see her gearing up for a fight when their home phone rings. He picks it up and clicks the button to answer, but even after saying 'hello' a couple of times, no one responds. For a split second, his mind flashes back a year to the Fisher King and the secret message left on his home phone, but he pushes the thought away.

He clicks the phone off, looking up at Haley again, but then a shrill ringing sound starts again, this time from her purse across the living room.

An unfamiliar queasiness fills his stomach, and he maintains eye contact with her as her eyes flicker back and forth a couple of times. He promised himself he would never profile his family, but the analyses come before he can shut off that part of his brain. Shifting eyes. Rigid posture. All indications of lying and shame.

"What did the Section Chief say?" she asks, her hands going to her hips. Stance of power to overcompensate for-

He shakes the line of thinking from his head. "She suggested that I transfer to a white-collar-crime task force."

"Would you have to travel?"

"No, I'd have a nine-to-five life."

She nods, and he can see the finality in her stance. "Then, it's a no-brainer."

***

You haven't been able to focus as well as you'd like to with the knowledge that Hotch isn't coming back hanging over your head. When you get a spare moment at the station, you step out of the conference room where all of the evidence has been scattered around and press the first number on your speed dial.

"Hello?" It's Haley.

You stumble over your words as you say 'hello' back. You weren't expecting it to be her who answered. She clearly wasn't expecting you either, because she sighs dramatically when she hears your voice and you hear a quiet "It's Y/N" before the phone is handed over.

You can understand where she's coming from. When Jeff was about to start his undercover assignment, you were so angry at him for choosing to be away from you for so long. But then rationality won over, and you remembered why he was doing it...for the same reason you are.

"Hey."

He sounds guilty. You can imagine.

"Hey," you say simply, waiting for him to fill in the gaps. He owes you at least that much.

"I'm sorry," he says after a long pause, "but you knew this was coming. You know Haley hates what this job turns me into, and you know sometimes I hate it too."

That wasn't really the explanation you were expecting. Not willing to let him off the hook, you turn your face away from the conference room windows to hide your expression and lower your voice. "You should have told me, and you know it. That's why you're hiding behind this false justification...but I guess you know that too."

There's a small rustling sound over the receiver and you can imagine him running his hands through his newly cropped hair. "This doesn't change the fact that I'm leaving."

Sometimes you forget that he was once a young boy with an alarmingly developed moral compass that didn't always point in your direction. It's times like this that remind you.

"Fine." You feel like an irritable teenager again, but you can't contain yourself around him. Even when you want to hide a part of yourself, you can't.

"How's the case going?" he asks finally. His voice has gotten softer and you know he feels bad about how this call has been going, but with neither of you willing to concede, you decide to ignore it for now.

"Well, Strauss just offended the lead detective 45 seconds into her first crime scene."

He chuckles softly. "I'm not surprised."

"This isn't about to get any better, is it?" you ask, huffing out a forlorn sigh.

"I doubt it," he agrees. "I'll keep looking at the file from my end. Any idea how he's getting control of these women? Is he blitzing them or coercing them?"

"So far, we're coming up blank," you admit, glancing back at Morgan and Reid, who appear to be in a productive debate.

"All right. Keep me posted."

***

Another victim turns up and you're not any closer to figuring out who the unsub is. Derek steps away from the group a few minutes after you and you see him pacing the halls of the precinct, his phone pressed to his ear.

A break in the case comes when Garcia identifies school records of children who exhibit signs of perfectionism and co-dependence, leading you to a profile for the unsub. You're all listening to Garcia as she reads off the records when the door opens, with two figures standing in the entrance.

"Look who's here," Morgan grins, shaking Hotch's hand. Emily looks sheepish as she glances over at Strauss, who is downright fuming.

"How fast can you get us up to speed?" Hotch asks without another greeting.

Morgan scoffs. "How fast can you sit down?"

Strauss opens her mouth to say something, but Hotch beats her to it as he takes a seat next to you. You ignore the gesture. "We're only here to help."

She sighs. "We'll deal with this later."

With two more members back on the team, at least for the time being, the SUVs are split more evenly, and you join Emily, JJ, and Strauss in the first one as you head to the crime scene. Strauss is the first one to walk up to the scene, but the moment she sees the mangled body, she breaks down, her face contorting into a sob that she tries and fails to hold in.

You make a move to go and help her, but you're surprised when Hotch is the first to step in. "If you need a second, take a second. This is what it is. Just don't let the public see you break down."

He's so kind to her, even though she's the reason for all of his professional stress. You suppose she's not the only reason, but that isn't something you get to have an opinion on.

The devolution of the dump sites leads to an update of the profile, which gets you an address for a young boy who left school early with the nurse on duty. It doesn't take long to get to the house, and Derek and JJ coordinate some of the local police and SWAT as you strap on your kevlar vests.

After an initial argument about the probable cause of entering a house you don't know is dangerous, Emily pipes up with an idea. "Let me go in alone."

"Wait..." you start but she steamrolls over you, clearly needing to compensate for not being here before. "The boy's in the family room. He's looking for female authority figures. If he lets me in, I can signal as soon as I see anything that gives us cause."

"Technically, you're not even in the FBI," Reid points out.

She nods. "All the better."

Strauss steps in with a frown, to no one's surprise. "She's interfering with a federal investigation."

"Well, if I'm no longer in the FBI, then you have no authority over me." Emily shrugs and turns to Hotch for the approval she actually wants. "I'm just a civilian knocking on a little boy's door."

He nods and she pulls her hair back into a ponytail. Derek hands her his gun, and you suddenly remember that Hotch doesn't have his gun either. Reaching into your other side holster, you pull out your second firearm and hand it to him without a word. He doesn't lift his hand at first, but then he nods at you and takes the gun, his eyes filled with an earnest gratitude, and you know you've forgiven him.

Once she goes inside, you all wait in silence for the signal to breach the home. It takes almost too long, but eventually your earpieces fill with a loud beeping, and Derek yells "Go!"

You find her in a back room, where she's on the floor, her forehead bleeding from a thick gash. You enter just in time to see Hotch leap forward and take Emily's weapon from the little boy, before lifting him up and carrying him out of the house.

"I can't officially approve of how that transpired," Strauss says when you all come outside. You sit next to Emily and squeeze her hand as the paramedics patch up her forehead.

Hotch shakes his head, clearly done with the bureau politics. "The arrest was clean. It would be a mistake to break up this team."

She looks at him pointedly. "None of you will ever move up the chain of command, you know that."

"Why would I ever want to leave the BAU?"

You almost believe him. It's not that you don't think he wants to stay. You know he does. You just also know how much his family means to him, and how thin Haley's patience has worn.

Morgan asks if he means it, and he gives a vague answer that you expect, before turning to look at you.

"Here." He reaches into his waistband and pulls out your gun. "Thanks, I appreciate it."

His hand brushes yours when you take it back, and the warmth of his skin makes you shiver against the slight breeze. "You're welcome."

***

When he gets home, the lights are off.

"Haley?" he calls out into the empty silence. He tries to convince himself that he didn't see this coming, but after her last words to him before he left, it's a futile exercise.

"Make sure to give your son a kiss before you leave."

He left, even when she begged him not to. Now his wife has left, and she took their son with her, and once again, he is utterly alone.

***

Gideon's resignation comes through and you find yourself missing him more than you thought you would. If Hotch is the backbone of the team, he was the stoic foundation. He formed the roots of the BAU as a unit altogether, and you owe your life's work to his intelligence and foresight. But more than that, you can't help but remember the fact that out of all the members on the team, Gideon knew Jeff the best.

He attended countless lectures about past unsubs that Gideon put on at the academy, because he believed understanding why people do things was just as important as knowing how or what they were doing. He even went to Gideon's home for the occasional dinner, and he brought you along once after you got married.

You're not sure what the team will look like without his guiding hand, but you don't have to wait long to find out when JJ calls you with the notice that you're going to Portland.

Spencer is reading a piece of paper over and over again when you get to the office, and when you peek over his shoulder, you see the familiar scrawl of Gideon's handwriting.

Taking a deep breath, you reach forward to put your hand on his shoulder for a moment of comfort, but think better of it and pull back at the last second. Derek sees your indecision and cocks his head towards him.

You walk over to his desk and perch on its edge with a sigh. "I can't believe he would leave just like that."

"I can," Morgan shrugs, his eyes hard with contempt. When you shoot him a look, he softens. "I just mean that he's been showing signs of withdrawal for a while now. It still sucks for the kid, though."

You both look up at Reid across the aisle, where he is still scanning the letter. "At least he got a letter." You try to bring humor into your tone, but it doesn't work.

"It's not about us," Derek says gently, in a show of empathy for the older agent that is unfamiliar coming from him. "He did what he had to do to keep himself sane. We just have to let him."

You nod, just as JJ emerges from the hallway with Hotch on her heels. "We're starting the briefing."

***

"You must be the BAU."

A handsome man with a thick East Coast accent comes forward to introduce himself when you all enter the Portland field office. "Special Agent Bill Calvert."

"Hi, Jennifer Jareau," JJ smiles, extending her hand. "This is SSA Aaron Hotchner. This is Dr. Reid and Agents Morgan, Prentiss and L/N."

He smiles at each of you but his eyes linger on yours for a moment before he takes JJ's hand. "I appreciate your help on this case."

"You're from Boston?" you ask, trying to place his accent after having heard nothing like it since you landed.

"The accent's kind of hard to miss in Oregon, right?" he grins, before reaching his hand out to you. "Agent L/N, was it?"

You shake his hand, shooting him a thin smile. You can already see Emily and JJ's smirks behind your back.

"We'd like to take a look around Jenny Wittman's apartment," Hotch steps in, moving forward to stand beside you.

Calvert nods. "I'd take you myself, but I'm waiting to meet her family, so I'll have another agent drive you."

"Thank you." Hotch rushes off with Reid and Morgan, and you stay back with JJ and Prentiss to work the victimology.

"Can we set up in here?" you ask Calvert as you start moving the boxes of case files and evidence onto the conference room table.

"Of course," he says, before leaving the three of you alone.

The first ten minutes of looking through the evidence is silent, and for a second, you nearly let yourself believe the other women won't bring up the elephant in the room, but then JJ lets out an involuntary giggle and they pounce.

"He's definitely into you," she says, making no effort to hide her gaze as she unabashedly stares at Calvert through the window. You want to retort immediately, but after seeing her check her phone about a dozen more times a day than she usually does, you suspect she may actually know what she's talking about when it comes to love these days.

Emily nods, biting her lip. "He couldn't stop looking at you."

"You're profilers," you argue, tossing the file in your hand onto the table. "You notice all kinds of insignificant stuff."

"So are you," JJ points out. "What do you think, then?"

They have you boxed in, and you can't think of any answer that would sufficiently appease them so you just groan.

"She's into it, too," JJ grins at Emily, who replies with, "I can't believe Y/N's gonna date someone from Portland."

Without thinking, you huff. "He's from Boston." All three pairs of eyes widen as you realize your slip in not denying her statement.

Emily laughs. "Ohh, it's so happening!"

***

When the men return from Jenny Wittman's apartment, Hotch instructs JJ to televise a statement warning possible future victims who fit the unsub's victimology. When Emily and Derek later find an ad hung up in a local laundromat that suggests he's been killing for longer than you'd previously thought, you decide to head back to the trail where the first bodies were found.

When you arrive on the scene, a dozen new bodies have been found further down the trail and near the water.

"How did we miss this before?" you think out loud, not realizing that Calvert has come up behind you.

"The trail's 40 miles long."

You jump when you hear his voice, and he apologizes after a small chuckle. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"Special Agent Calvert," you say, your voice slightly airy as you catch your breath. "No need to apologize."

"Okay," he smiles, turning to stand in front of you, "and you can call me Bill."

He's a good looking man, and you don't dislike the feeling of someone showing interest in you, especially as clearly intelligent and qualified as him.

"Sure," you say, returning the smile. "I'm Y/N, btw."

"That's a pretty name," he says, his eyes glinting with mischievousness, before he turns back to the scene before you. "They dug up eight new graves before you got here."

You frown. "So the unsub didn't stick to the pattern."

"Guy had a busy year."

You nod, pondering what this change in M.O. could mean, when Bill interrupts your thoughts. "I'm interested to hear more about how this profiling thing goes."

You give him a quizzical smile, and his lips quirk up. "I took a class in criminal psychology in college, but I don't remember enough to be useful in this area."

"We observe human behavior," you explain, ignoring the subtle smirk Emily is flashing you from behind his back. "Profiling is about making connections and predicting future actions based on history, victimology, and behavior."

He takes a moment to digest your words before huffing out a laugh. "Sounds to me like we called in the right team."

When another agent comes by to ask him about the crime scene procedure, you take your leave and walk up the hill of mulch by the open graves. You are nearly to the SUV when you spot Morgan beelining towards you.

"Not you too," you sigh, rolling your eyes dramatically as you stalk away from him.

He catches up to you easily and throws an arm over your shoulders with a grin. "I'm not gonna give you the giggly girl talk that JJ and Prentiss clearly have covered. I just wanted to say one thing."

You look at him expectantly and he brings you both to a stop by the cars. "You're a catch, L/N." You start to roll your eyes again, but he shakes his head. "You are, so if you want to have a little no-strings-fun, then I'll have your back through and through."

You have no idea what no-strings-fun would look like, but you glance back at Bill, who is speaking animatedly with another agent about the change in digging patterns of the graves.

"I don't know what I want," you admit as Derek drops his arm and turns to face you.

"That's okay," he says, before the corner of his mouth quirks up into a smirk. "But figuring that out can be just as much fun too."

***

He would be lying if he said he hasn't noticed you talking to the Special Agent on the case. Calvert, he remembers as he thinks back to the capture and subsequent suicide of the unsub from the roof of his old therapist office.

They were able to find the final victim before she died, so even with the unsub's death, the case feels like a victory, and the whole team looks light on the way back to the jet.

He has been trying to keep himself light too, but every time he gets a moment to himself, his mind reverts back to the silent darkness of his home after he returned from the last case. The reminder that he hasn't seen Haley or Jack in days.

When he reaches the tarmac, he spots you talking to Calvert again, but the conversation looks different than before. The special agent looks nervous, and he tries to gauge whether you seem comfortable, before realizing how relaxed you look.

When he gets closer, he catches the end of a question that likely started with "Can I have your number?" You smile at the man, and he turns away, trying not to eavesdrop.

He can't tell what he wants you to say. He knows it's been enough time since Jeff's death that real dating isn't out of the question, but he can't reconcile the protective instinct flickering in his gut.

Regardless of the distance he tried putting between you and himself, your voice carries over the tarmac, and he hears you say, "I'm sorry." before the rest of the sentence gets jumbled in the breeze. Something that feels alarmingly like relief settles in his chest and he frowns at the foreign feeling of it coursing through his veins.

He boards the plane and purposefully chooses a seat with an empty spot next to it, knowing you'll choose to sit beside him after he practically ignored you all day. He really wasn't trying to shut you out, he just doesn't know how to broach the topic of separation with anyone, let alone someone who had as stable a marriage as you did.

When you board the jet and take your seat next to him, he glances over at you sheepishly and murmurs, "I overheard the end."

He's surprised when you laugh lightly. "It's okay. Everyone was going to find out soon enough, especially with how excited Prentiss and JJ were about it."

He nods, glad that you aren't angry about his invasion of your privacy. Then, before he can stop himself, he looks at you and asks, "You didn't want to see him again?"

"I don't think I'm looking to just date for dating's sake anymore," you explain, your eyes flitting around the cabin at the sleeping forms of the rest of the team. "I had a true love...I don't want to settle down again for anything less."

He understands that completely, but he can tell there's something else bothering you, and not just because of the rhythmic bouncing of your knee that you don't seemed to have noticed. "What else?"

You shrug, not meeting his eye. "I used to have my usual excuse, but I can't really say it's too soon anymore, can I?"

He frowns as he notices the visible strain on you that this burden has caused. "You get to decide that for yourself."

"I know," you sigh, rubbing your eye with a loose fist. "I just worry sometimes that I use Jeff as an excuse to keep myself closed off." Your knee stills, and Hotch scoots closer, even with the armrest in the way.

"You don't seem closed off to me."

Your eyes crinkle with laughter. "I'm not sure if that means much coming from you. You're not exactly the picture of openness, Hotch."

He knows you're mostly joking, but your read punches him in the gut in a way he doesn't expect. You must see the shock on his face, because you immediately lean in closer. "What is it?"

He shakes his head, trying to delay for as long as he can. If he doesn't say it out loud, maybe he can pretend that he's still a happily married man. That he didn't fail his wife and son by being as absent as he had wished his father had been, early in his life.

"It's not about Gideon leaving, is it?" You scrutinize him for a moment before shaking your head. "No. Hotch, what's the matter?"

"We agreed not to profile each other," he sighs, gritting his teeth against the pain of having to vocalize one of the lowest moments in his life.

"Aaron," you whisper. Your voice is soft and gentle, and he breaks.

"Haley left."

Your mouth parts in surprise, and he looks down at his lap, taking a deep breath. "And I don't know if she's coming back."

***

You've been waiting in the arrivals lot of the airport for almost an hour. You're assuming his flight got delayed, and you're grateful for the time to get yourself ready to see him, but the wait hasn't made your jitters any better.

You haven't seen Hotch since you left for college last year, and with his pre-law internship that he somehow snagged as a first year, it was a lonely summer.

When he called you last week with profuse apologies for not staying more in touch and a somber tone that had to be about more than his regrettable phone habits, you had told him that you would love to see him, but your winter break doesn't start for another month. After a few hushed breaths and a second of thinking, he told you that he had bought a plane ticket out to California for the following weekend.

That's why it's Friday afternoon, and you're still waiting for his familiar mop of dark hair to appear through the exit doors. A boy walks out right then, with the same raven hair and fit stature, and your heart rate hastens for a split second, before you realize it's not him.

You look down at your car's radio and twist the dial to change the station. It's been playing the same Madonna song nonstop, and you shut off the volume when the other stations are no different. Your shift in focus takes your attention away from the airport exit, so you jump in your seat when a quiet knock sounds at your passenger side window.

He's here. Your lips curve up into a bright smile and you unlock the door, letting him get in.

"Hi," you say, your voice weaker than you'd like.

"Hey, Y//N," he replies, pushing his long hair back from his face. The simple motion sets off butterflies in your stomach and you turn back to your steering wheel to keep your emotions off your face. He could always read you so easily. "It's good to see you."

He grins at you and leans forward to give you a quick, awkward hug over the center console. You involuntarily inhale as he pulls back, and the scent of his natural musk mixed with whatever new cologne he's been wearing smells dreamy on him.

You said you were over it, you tell yourself in your head. He has a girlfriend who he's going to marry, and you are his best friend. At least you were.

You don't really know where things stand between you two now. A year is a long time to go without seeing someone, and you're sure college has changed him in similar ways that it has changed you.

"I have one more class today," you say quickly as you pull your car out of the lot. "It's criminal psychology, so I figured you wouldn't mind coming to the lecture with me."

"Sounds fun," he says, before leaning his cheek against the window to watch the scenery that zips by. "God, the weather here is crazy."

"It's definitely warmer than I'm used to," you agree, struggling not to glance over at him. "We never had 70 degree winters growing up."

"Which do you prefer?"

You grin. "Home, of course."

"Of course."

You look at him then, and his expression is one you don't understand. It's the same look he gets when he's in the library and he finds a book he's been looking for.

The drive doesn't take long, and you bring him to your lecture, where he proceeds to pay more attention to the information being presented than you do. The class usually feels too short for you, but today, the time ticks by, because you can't focus.

It's been so long since you've sat next to him in a class, and the sight of him jotting down notes on a scrap piece of paper takes you back to high school, when he was still the more attentive one.

After the lecture, you both grab a quick dinner in the dining hall and settle back into your double dorm room, which you painstakingly cleaned up before he arrived.

"So, how long have you guys been friends?" your roommate, Katy, asks him as he drops into your desk chair. You've been watching her ogle him since he arrived, and if he's still as perceptive as he was in high school, it hasn't escaped his notice either.

"Forever," he says, looking at you with a grin. "We met when we were eight. When she judged my taste in The Beatles, it was over for me."

You can't help the heat that flames in your cheeks, even though you know this story by heart. Katy keeps glancing over at you as he explains how you guys met, and eventually she gets up and flops down onto your bed next to you. "You're bringing him to the party tonight, right?"

Your eyes widen as you remember that was today. "Oh, I don't know. We might just stay in."

"You have to come!" she squeals, shaking your arm. She turns to him with a pointed look. "We already have outfits picked out."

"I guess we gotta go, then," he smiles at her, before looking at me with a small raise of his eyebrow. You okay with that?

You dip your chin into a nod, and he stands up. "I'll head out for a walk as you guys get ready."

"Sounds good!" Katy says, grabbing your hand and sliding off the bed. "We'll see you in an hour."

Once the door closes behind him, Katy turns to you, her mouth agape. "You never told me how cute he is."

"What?" you sputter, your cheeks turning a bright shade of pink.

"You also didn't tell me you're, like, in love with him."

You scoff involuntarily, your usual diversion technique when someone brings up a topic you want to evade. "What are you talking about?"

"Okay," she shrugs, reaching into your closet and tossing you the dress you were planning to wear. "If that's how you want to play it."

You go into your attached bathroom to change into your outfit, but after seeing Hotch, the mini sundress you picked out feels like too much. You hate how much you're overthinking something as stupid as an outfit for a party.

You turn away from the mirror and go back into your dorm, where Katy is applying her signature shade of red lipstick in her little mirror stand.

"He has a serious girlfriend," you whisper, almost too quiet for her to hear you. But she is more perceptive than you give her credit for. "Like eventual marriage-serious."

"Oh, honey," she coos, patting the bench seat next to her. You scoot in until you're side by side and she wraps an arm around your shoulders. "I'm sorry I brought it up."

"It's okay," you shake your head, leaning on her shoulder. "I just need to get over it. It's a stupid crush that I've had since high school, but it's time. Maybe this party will help."

"Yes, exactly!" she grins, turning her head to look at you. "Nothing that a little music and a few shots can't fix."

"A few shots?" you laugh.

She nods. "Each."

You down another shot of whiskey before tossing your cup onto the table and following Katy onto the dance floor. She grinds against her boyfriend as you dance beside them, moving your hips side to side with the rhythm of the music.

Being in Los Angeles, the temperature outside is already warmer than it should be in November, but inside the house, your dress is sticking to your skin from the sweat and body heat surrounding you.

You're feeling the alcohol enough to have a good time even in the sweaty throng of bodies around you, and you throw your head back as you close your eyes and feel the thump of the music vibrating the floor boards.

Meanwhile, Hotch can't find you anywhere. He's drunk enough already that he knows he won't be able to find you himself, but he doesn't know anyone else here, so he grabs a half empty bottle from the drinks table and makes his way to the dance floor, where the life of the party seems to be centered.

He's usually a lot more fun at parties, but lately he hasn't felt like himself. Ever since you left for school across the country, it has felt like something in his life was wrong, like he was missing a limb. Then, things started looking up with Haley, and he pushed you away in the hopes that he would forget about any of the doubts he had, but it didn't work. The more he missed you, the worse things got in his relationship, and suddenly he wasn't sure what his life was supposed to look like anymore.

He takes another swig from the bottle and leans back against the counter as he watches people dance against each other in the dim light of the house. His eyes flicker over the mess of bodies until they catch on someone he almost doesn't recognize.

Your eyes are closed and your hands are in the air as you move to the beat. It's not exactly graceful music, but you have managed to find some semblance of a rhythm as you slide your hands down your thin dress, which is sticking to your body in a way he can't take his eyes off of.

He doesn't realize he has lifted the bottle to his lips again until the liquid is burning his throat, and he tears his eyes away from you as his head starts to spin. Maybe he's had enough for tonight. He puts the bottle down just as your roommate spots him. Katy, he thinks, or is it Sadie?

"Aaron!" she calls, stumbling over to him as a man holds her up with an arm around her waist. "Where's Y/N?"

"Not sure," he lies easily, barely conscious of the way his words have started to slur together. "I may head out soon."

"Don't leave without her," she instructs, her voice suddenly getting serious. "I'm staying with him tonight." She pats the man's arm. "So I won't be going back with her."

He nods with a resigned sigh, and slumps down on a couch in the next room, leaning his head back to stop the room from spinning.

When you tire of dancing, you push to the back of the crowd and look around to find any familiar face. You can't see Katy or her boyfriend anywhere, but after exiting the room, you spot Hotch asleep on the couch.

You walk forward with a slanted smile and put your hand on his shoulder to shake him awake. "Hotch, get up."

He groans, peeling his eyes open slowly. "I'm awake. Just resting my eyes."

"Yeah, yeah," you tease, looping your arm through his to help him up. "How much did you drink?"

He shrugs and you wrap your arm around his waist to hold him upright as he stumbles forward. "Whoa there. Okay, let's get you back."

You manage to get him out of the house, and once the fresh air hits, he can almost stand up straight on his own. You keep your arm around him just in case, trying to ignore the way his tee shirt is slowly riding up around his waistband.

You make the walk back in silence, and he falls back onto your bed as you lock the door behind you.

"I'm sorry," he whispers when you perch on the edge of the bed next to him.

"It's okay," you say, huffing out a laugh. He looks so young with his hair falling onto his face, and you resist the urge to push it back off his forehead. "Happens to the best of us."

"No, not that." He rolls over with a groan, flopping onto his back and scooting back so he can lay on your pillow. "I'm sorry I stopped calling."

Your heart skips a beat and you tuck your hair behind your ear, needing to occupy your hands somehow as your mind races with a million questions. "It's my fault too."

"No, it's not."

He isn't slurring his words anymore, but you can still hear the earnestness that only comes when one's filter is completely shattered. He was never one to hide things from you, but you also know how truthful people can get when alcohol takes their mask away.

"Haley and I have been having problems for a while," he mutters, making you sigh. So that's why he flew here in the middle of the school year. "We haven't been seeing eye to eye on a lot of things, and we decided to take a break, but I haven't told anyone, because the only person I wanted to tell was you."

You can't look at him. His gaze is too much, his eyes too full of truth and intensity. "Hotch-"

"I miss you so much," he says, cutting you off. "You're the only person I've ever really been able to talk to, but you know that, don't you? It's the same for you, it has to be."

You don't say anything. The air feels thick with tension, and you're afraid that if you say something, the room will explode.

"She's the perfect girlfriend," he says wistfully, his voice tight with an emotion you can't decipher. "I know it's me who's fucking it up, and I hate myself for it, because she's trying so hard to make this work. But every time it feels perfect, and I think I've finally gotten what I wanted, I just remember-"

"Aaron."

You look at him and his eyes are already staring into yours. You have wanted him to love you the way you loved him for years, but not like this. Never like this.

"You can't fuck this up," you whisper, your voice stronger than you expect it to be. "Call Haley tomorrow morning. Tell her you're sorry, and that you love her, because you do. You know you do."

"I love her," he nods as sleep pulls his eyelids down. "Tomorrow..I'll call her."

You watch him as his limbs relax and his breathing evens out, but you don't fall asleep until the sun starts to rise and you physically can't keep your eyes open anymore.

***

"Happy All Hallow's Eve, folks."

Reid pulls his mask off as Derek looks at him with a frightened frown.

"Are you scared of Halloween?" you ask him, trying to keep the grin off your face.

"I didn't say I was scared," he corrects, glancing over at Reid, who drops his mask on his desk and pushes his hair back from his face, "I said I was creeped out."

"What creeps you out about it?" Emily asks, before grinning at you.

"I bet it's the candy," you joke. "Those muscles probably cower at the sight of anything that isn't meat or protein powder."

Emily snorts and Derek frowns at both of you. "It's the masks. I don't like people in disguises."

"That's the best thing about Halloween," Reid chimes in. "You can be anyone you want to be."

Derek grins. "No, I'm pretty good just being me."

You and Emily share a look. "Yeah, why is it that neither of those points of view surprise me?"

"Guys," Reid suddenly calls out, his voice hushed. "He's here."

You turn around to see Hotch walking down the stairs, accompanied by Agent David Rossi, who you've heard a lot about in your years at the bureau. He was one of the founding members of the BAU, and you can't help but wonder what made him want to come back.

JJ introduces him to everyone, before Reid starts spouting off a list of facts from one of the old cases he solved when he was the chief of the unit.

"Reid, slow down," Hotch says with an uncharacteristic smile. "He'll be here for a while. Catch up with him later."

He nods. "Right, sorry."

Agent Rossi doesn't seem fazed. "No problem, Doctor."

This pleasantly surprises you. It's all too often that new people who meet Spencer don't immediately treat him with the respect he deserves.

"Let's start the briefing."

***

The flight back from Texas is hushed. The case went about as well as you could hope, with them catching the unsub and saving the final victim, but the way Rossi went rogue over and over again has rubbed you the wrong way.

You watch him across the cabin as he pores over his little notebook, and you wish you could peek inside his head. You know that the team aspect of the BAU is a newer addition to the unit, but you don't understand how he can keep all of his thoughts to himself.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Gah," you fright, jumping in your seat. "When did you sit next to me?"

Hotch shrugs, his lip quirking up. "A few minutes ago."

"Well, you should really wear a bell or something, god."

"Y/N," he says, giving you a pointed look. He doesn't let you use your evasion tactics anymore. Given your penchant for aimless talking, you suppose that's a good thing.

"I was just thinking about Rossi," you sigh, glancing up at him again. "Lying to the press to get a reaction from the unsub? Taking over that phone call? I don't like how he works, Hotch."

"He's from a different time," he says, even though you can hear the agreement in his voice, "but he worked with Gideon, and if you remember, it took you a while to warm up to him too."

You heave out a breath but it's the only concession you're willing to give in this moment.

"He's used to an older way of doing things, but he's a great agent."

"He clearly has good ideas," you whisper, "but I just worry that you'll have to work over time to keep him under control."

Hotch ponders this, and you think that maybe he knows you're right. Your eyes shift up and you realize his hair has been shorter for a while now, but you're still not used to seeing so much of his forehead. Not that there's anything wrong with his forehead. It's a fine forehead.

"He was the team leader before he retired," Hotch says suddenly. "He may be tough as a subordinate now, but I'm still glad he's back. We needed someone to fill Gideon's spot, we were low on hands."

"Speaking of, why do you think he's back."

He looks at you with a quizzical frown. "Is it really so hard to believe that he may just want to help us out?"

You think for a second, before shrugging. He laughs.

"I don't know," you concede, with a small chuckle. "I think I'm just expecting things from him that aren't fair."

He turns his body to face you. "Like what?"

You press your lips together, trying to formulate your words properly, so you can clearly articulate the tornado of thoughts in your brain. "I know Gideon wasn't a father figure exactly, but he was someone that Reid and Elle latched onto."

Hotch exhales. "I don't know if Gideon is someone I'd want as a father."

You let out a surprised laugh. "Fair enough."

"How is your father doing, by the way?"

You blink in surprise. It's not that he doesn't talk about your family, it's just that the timing is uncanny. You haven't spoken to him in months. After your mom died, you two were almost inseparable, but then you left for school, and you realized how much bigger the world could be when you weren't always bogged down by your grief. "I haven't called him in a while."

"What did he say after Golconda?" he asks, his voice gentle. After Frank, he means.

You close your eyes, guilt flooding your body. "I never told him."

"What?" You don't look at him, but you can see the shock in the stiff line of his posture. "Did something happen between you two?"

You shake your head, your protectiveness over your family flaring up at the concern in his eyes. "Nothing happened. I just didn't want to worry him."

"That's his job," Hotch stresses, scooting his leg over so his knee bumps yours. "If something like that had happened to Jack, I wouldn't know what to do with myself."

"That's what I'm scared of," you tell him, your eyes flitting over to the window, where the clouds are dancing across the horizon. Sometimes, when you're on the jet, you like to pretend that the time up here isn't real. That as long as the world looks like a series of splotches and blinking lights, nothing can really hurt you. "My mom's death nearly killed him. I learned to cook when I was ten, because he couldn't leave his room for a month." Hotch knows all of this already, but he lets you vocalize your thoughts, obviously knowing how badly you need reassurance for the guilt you're feeling. "Then, when Jeff died, I stayed with him for a few weeks to have some company, but...but.. I was so glad when I left, because then I could finally let myself fall apart."

He reaches under the armrest and clasps your hand in his, extending the comfort you didn't know you needed.

"I've never told anyone that," you whisper, feeling your voice tighten with tears. "I love my dad, I love him so much, but I just needed the chance to recover on my own."

"He loves you too," Hotch says, finally breaking his silence. "You know he loves you. I still remember the themed sandwich baggies that he packed your lunch with all through middle school."

You choke out a laugh. "You would always steal the Spiderman ones."

He smiles, squeezing your hand once. "Maybe you just need to give him another chance to be who you want him to be. He might just surprise you."

You know he's right. Somehow, he's always right.

You nod, flashing him a small smile, and lean your head on his shoulder as the clouds float past your window.

***

He glances at his watch for the tenth time since he sat down in his office. The plane landed just over an hour ago, and he sent you home immediately with the instruction to get some rest. He probably should have gone home too, but ever since he got his new apartment, home hasn't felt the same.

He used to be able to look around any corner and see a memory: the couch where he and Haley made love on their first night at home, the soft carpet where Jack took his first steps, the doorframe where he measured his height on his first birthday as Haley held him up by the arms. He also remembers that he wasn't there to see Jack's first steps; he was in Pittsburgh, working a case and thanking his lucky stars that Haley had had the foresight to take a photo as his son stood upright all by himself.

He lifts the picture frame from the edge of his desk, running his fingers over the cool glass and looking at the blue drawing underneath. Jack had drawn his favorite cartoon character and left it for him on the kitchen table, a few nights before his suspension went into effect.

Putting it back down, he looks at the photograph of him holding onto Haley as she clutches newborn Jack to her chest in the hospital. He still has the photo of just him and her on their wedding, but he pushed it to the back, behind the pictures of Jack, and the one of you and him at law school graduation.

A knock sounds at his door and he looks up to see Dave standing in his doorway. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," he says, waving him in. He doesn't sit down, so Hotch stands up too, unsure of how he feels about the power imbalance in the room. "What can I do for you?"

"You said out there, 'The team shares everything.'"

He nods. "That's right."

"There is no 'I'?"

He nods again, not liking where this may be going.

Dave glances down at his desk, where his phone sits next to the picture frame of his family. "Seems a big thing to withhold. Separating from your wife, your child."

He freezes, unconsciously looking at the door to see if anyone heard. "What are you talking about?"

"You used to call Haley 10 times a day," Dave says, his voice not unkind. "We've been together 48 hours and I haven't seen you call her once. You haven't mentioned her, and you're not going home now."

He frowns, feeling his brow settle into place like it's a uniform he wears whenever he's at the office. "What's your point?"

"I guess you're just not used to sharing."

He doesn't say anything, but Rossi seems to interpret this the wrong way. "Or maybe it's something else." He looks out the window at the empty bullpen, but the implication is still clear. "Was it because of...?"

"What?" He doesn't know where this is coming from, but he can't stop the anger that rumbles through him at the connotation. Unable to help it, he looks down at your desk, and Dave tuts.

"I won't say anything."

"Dave," he shakes his head, trying to remain calm. "You have it all wrong. She's my best friend...since we were children. It isn't like that. It was never-"

It was never like that. That's what he's about to say, but that wouldn't be true. Rossi is a good enough profiler that he would be able to spot a lie from a mile away, so he shuts his mouth and shakes his head again. "It's not like that."

"Okay," he accepts, lifting his hands in surrender. "My mistake."

Hotch nods, and Dave leaves his office, but he can't get their conversation out of his head until later that night when his head hits his pillow and his eyes finally fall shut.

***

"Hey, Dad."

You called him when you got home from work that night, and he answered on the second ring. "Hi, sweetheart."

"How are you?" you ask, clutching the phone to your ear as you sink down onto the couch in your living room.

He doesn't answer for a moment, and you can hear him taking a breath. "I'm good, Y/N, how are you? Is work going well?"

"It's good," you tell him. "Really good. We were able to save a woman today, before the unsub could kill her."

"Unsub?"

"Unknown subject," you explain, quickly realizing just how long it's been since you've spoken to him. "It's what we call the bad guy before we know who he is."

"Right," he says, and you can practically see him rubbing a hand over his face, his nervous tic. "I knew that. Anyway, how is everything in your life? Do you still work with Aaron?"

"Yeah, I do," you say with a laugh. "He was actually asking about you earlier today."

"That's nice of him," your dad says, his voice brightening slightly. "He was always a good friend to you."

You tell him about your most recent case, and about Gideon and Elle leaving the team, but eventually you can't evade the topic you've been trying to avoid all night.

You're okay, you think to yourself. Frank can't hurt you anymore.

"Dad," you whisper, closing your eyes as you take a deep breath. In 1, 2, 3. Out 1, 2, 3. "I have something to tell you."

Then you tell him everything, and he just listens, exactly like you hoped he would.

***

"I met this guy." You didn't even see Penelope approach you, but here she is, looking at you like she's about to say something dirty.

"Hell yeah," you grin, trying to match her energy. "Where?"

"A coffee shop," she smirks. "He was having trouble with his computer, so I fixed it for him, and then he asked for my number."

"Look at you," you joke, giving her a side squeeze, "putting your technical analyst skills to good use."

"Thank you," she huffs, throwing an annoyed glance over her shoulder. "That's more of the response I was looking for."

"What do you mean?"

"Derek," she says simply, and you nod, already knowing where she's going with this. You know they have an uncommon relationship, so you're not surprised that he didn't react exactly how she hoped he would.

"He's an idiot," you tell her, patting her arm.

She laughs. "You don't even know what he did."

"Uh, yeah," you say, turning around to face the bullpen, "I definitely do."

***

The case takes the team to Florida, where an unsub has been feeding women their fingers, killing them, and then carving pentagrams in their skin.

The pentagrams suggest a religious element, so you go with JJ, Morgan, and Rossi to the local church to meet with the priest.

"Rossi, do me a favor," Morgan says just before you walk inside. "You talk to the priest, all right?"

You remember his agitation on the jet when Reid prodded him about his beliefs, and given the cruelty of his childhood, a crisis of faith wouldn't surprise you.

"Hi, Father Marks," JJ greets the priest when you enter the church. She introduces all of you to him, before shaking his hand. "We're sorry we have to be here under these circumstances."

"It's good of you to come," he says, greeting all of you. "Abbey's parents are upstairs in my office."

"We'll go up," Rossi says with a nod, "but Agent Morgan actually has some questions for you."

Your eyes flash to Rossi, but he doesn't return your gaze.

"I have some questions too," you offer, and Derek nods gratefully.

The priest answers the few questions Derek spits out at him, and you watch as his eyes wander around the hall, his shoulders raised with tension. You insert a few of your own questions before heading outside with him to wait for JJ and Rossi to finish up with the victim's parents.

"What happened in there?" you ask when he doesn't meet your eye. "Being rude to Father Marks? That wasn't like you."

"You know what happened to me, L/N," he says angrily, kicking his foot out at a loose stone on the pavement. "I went to church everyday, and I prayed for it to stop, but you know what God did? Nothing."

"I know what a crisis of faith looks like, Derek." You stand in front of him, forcing him to look at you. "But Father Marks doesn't know your story. He's not judging you, he's just showing his faith how he knows best."

His shoulders are still tense as his jaw twitches. "Who does Rossi think he is, throwing me under the bus like that?"

"He's an instigator," you shrug, letting the topic slide for the time being. You'll talk to him again later if he still needs it.

"I didn't love the way Gideon did things either," Derek says, his posture going from agitation to annoyance, "but Rossi might just take the cake. Even if he is better with the victim's families."

"I can't help you there," you almost laugh. "I had the same conversation with Hotch after the case in Texas, and he managed to convince me to give the guy a chance. So...if you can't bring yourself to trust him, just think of it as putting your trust in Hotch."

Derek hums, bumping your shoulder with his. "I guess I can do that."

***

The search party for Tracey Lambert only leads to the unsub taking another woman, and suddenly the ticking clock gets a lot louder. By the time you find his lair and the bodies he has been cannibalizing for years, you're already struggling to keep down even the water you've been drinking. When he reveals where Tracey actually is, you feel so sick, you can't breathe.

When the jet lands back in Virginia, you go home immediately, desperately needing some peace and quiet away from the team for the first time in a while. But that doesn't last long.

You're awoken by the shrill ringing of your home phone. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you check the number and answer the phone. "Is this payback for the last time I called you past midnight?"

"Y/N...it's Garcia."

You shoot up into a sitting position as Hotch explains what happened. "How bad is it?"

"I don't know."

"I'm on my way."

You change into a sweater and a pair of loose jeans before grabbing your keys and flying out the door.

"She's in surgery," JJ tells you when you find them in the waiting room. She pulls you into a hug before returning to her hunched position in an uncomfortable vinyl chair.

"There's no other word," Hotch adds, giving you a quick hug as well. With his cheek pressed against your temple, he whispers, "Police think it may have been a botched robbery."

"Where's Morgan?" Emily asks, standing up from her chair.

"He's not answering his cell."

Reid nods, stepping away. "I'll call him again."

He squeezes your hand before he exits the waiting area, and you glance down at JJ again. Her eyes are red from crying, and her chin is pressed into her palm as she stares at the floor. You watch as Emily sits next to her and pats her hand, before clasping it in hers.

You don't realize you've been staring at the same spot on the floor until Hotch stands next to you and nudges your shoulder. You okay?

"I will be," you say out loud, barely registering that he didn't actually ask you anything. "As soon as she's out of surgery." When you got the call that Penelope was shot, you had been hit by an intense feeling of deja vu. Only this time, the call didn't come from bureau leadership, because she wasn't killed at the scene. Because she's going to make it.

He doesn't seem fazed as he checks his watch again, his frown lines deepening. "It shouldn't take this long to get an update."

"Where have you been?" Reid asks suddenly. You look up to see Derek walking into the waiting room, his eyes wide with panic.

"I was in church. My phone was off."

"There's nothing you could have been doing here," Rossi assures him, before nodding at Hotch and pulling him aside to discuss something with the deputies outside. You use the momentary lull to approach Derek, putting your hand on his arm as an initial test. When he doesn't jerk back, you pull him into a hug that he returns gratefully.

The doctor walks in a few minutes later and explains that Penelope will be fine, but she needs to rest until the morning.

"David and I will go to the scene," Hotch informs, his eyes fixing each of you with an empathetic look. "I think the rest of you should be here when she wakes up. I don't care about protocol. I don't care whether we're working this officially, or not. We don't touch any new cases until we find out who did this."

When they leave, you pull Derek down into the chair next to you and lean your head onto his shoulder. After a beat, he relaxes in his seat, and lets out a long sigh. "She's okay."

***

Early the next morning, the doctor shakes you all awake with the notice that Penelope's up, so you rush into her room, trying not to crowd her as she blinks awake.

"Hi," she says softly, her voice small. She looks so innocent, laying in her hospital bed with her blonde hair a halo around her head. You can't imagine how anyone would want to hurt someone like her.

"No tears," she smiles as you swallow down your anger. "I'm afraid if I start crying, I'll come unstapled."

JJ presses a kiss to her cheek, before Derek and Emily start gently plying her with the usual questions. When it comes out that the man who shot her was the same man who asked her out at the coffee shop, your anger turns to anguish, and you reach forward to squeeze Penelope's hand in an effort to comfort her.

"I just thought he liked me," she whispers, the pain in her voice breaking your heart.

"We need a name," Emily asks abruptly. You can see her mentally kicking herself at how serious her words came out, but you know Penelope understands the gravity of this situation.

"James Colby Baylor."

She asks you and JJ to stay back for a second as the rest of the team leaves to investigate Baylor.

"What's up, honey?" you ask, smiling at her sweetly as she uses her other hand to take JJ's.

"I feel so stupid," she sighs, her breath turning into a gasp as tears fill her eyes. "Maybe Derek was right about all of it."

"No," JJ says sternly, reaching forward to brush some of her hair behind her ear. "None of this is on you."

"What she said," you echo, nodding at JJ, "and don't listen to Morgan. He loves you, and he's very protective over you, but he's also a man."

She sniffles out a laugh, before pressing her lips together. "One last thing."

JJ blinks. "Anything."

"Please don't talk about me like I'm a victim."

***

The case wraps up back at the office, where Baylor, whose real name is Deputy Battle, was shot in the head by JJ, who doesn't seem as plussed by the situation as you would expect. You tried to talk to her afterwards, but after telling you she was fine, she put all of her attention on Penelope, who has spent the last week recovering at home.

Now, you're sitting in the break room stirring your black coffee, just for something to do. Hotch finds you in there and walks inside, shutting the door behind him.

"It's been a long week," he grumbles, looking longingly at the spot next to you on the worn couch.

You lift your cup and nod your head at the full coffee pot. "That's what caffeine's for."

"We really should sleep at some point," he says, filling up a paper cup and carefully dropping into the spot beside you. The couch you chose is small enough that his thigh presses against yours when he spreads his legs even the slightest bit.

You snort. "Sleep's overrated."

You both sip your steaming coffees in silence as you watch the other agents shuffle back and forth across the bullpen, unaware of your watchful eyes. The break room is the one place in the office to go for a little bit of privacy, but the unobstructed view of everyone's desks isn't unpleasant either. You imagine this is how Hotch feels when he looks out his office window.

Your eye catches on the stapled wood planks that are currently replacing the broken glass door that leads into the bullpen. He must be looking at the same thing, because he breaks the silence and says, "I think we may need to get JJ out into the field more."

His tone catches you off guard and you crack a small smile. "She does seem remarkably well-adjusted, given that it was her first time."

He nods, turning his head to look at you. "Do you remember your first time?" Killing someone, is the part he doesn't say out loud.

"Of course." You take a deep breath and gulp back more coffee. "He was a serial rapist in Texas. One shot to the heart. I wasn't trying to kill him, he just ran at the last second."

"Serial killer in Florida," he responds simply. "Headshot. He died instantly."

"That was your first year at the BAU, right?" He nods and you sink back into the cushions. "I wasn't even in the field then."

He hums, a low sound that you feel as vibrations on your skin. "I worry that I brought you in here too early. Jeff had just died, and I assumed that getting you out of the house and in the field would take your mind off of things, but I wonder sometimes if I made the wrong call."

"You didn't," you assure him, turning your body to face his, even as he doesn't meet your eye. "First of all, you brought me in six months after he died, and by then, I definitely needed an excuse to leave my bedroom."

He sighs, a small concession, and you continue. "The first case I went into the field for after he died, I could barely hold my gun. Every time I pulled it on someone, I would imagine his body...with all of those bullet holes...and I would just freeze up. It took me months to pass my firearm certification again, but I still don't regret it."

"You sure?" he asks, his voice almost timid.

"Positive," you smile, nudging your thigh against his. "Besides, I didn't realize it until later, but it wasn't getting out into the field that helped me through my grief...it was meeting the team. These people became my family in the moment that I needed one most."

You turn back to your coffee and sip it again, though it's no longer as hot as you'd like it to be.

"How are you doing, by the way?" he asks suddenly. "With Garcia, I mean."

An involuntary shudder runs through you as you remember her pale face in her hospital bed last week, but the warmth of the coffee cup in your hands makes it pass quickly. "I'll never get used to it. But she's okay now, so hopefully it'll be easier this time."

***

You're jotting down notes in the margins of a new case file JJ asked you to look over when your cell phone rings. Hotch and Reid are at a nearby prison, interviewing a serial killer on death row for the Criminal Personality Research Project, so you're not expecting a call from either of them. The rest of the team, except for Rossi, is scattered around the bullpen, but you don't expect him to call you either.

After finishing the line you were writing, you check your phone and see a name you haven't spoken to in weeks.

"Haley," you answer after clicking open your cell. "Is everything okay?"

"I know you're busy," she sighs, her voice tight with what you can only decipher as irritation, "but I didn't know who else to call. Aaron hasn't been answering my phone calls."

You get up from your desk and step out into the hallway to get some privacy. "He and Dr. Reid are at a prison right now, interviewing a criminal for this research project. There likely isn't any cell service out there."

"It's not just today, Y/N," she says, her tone getting colder as she inadvertently directs her anger towards the only person she can get ahold of. "He hasn't been taking my calls for days."

"I can talk to him," you suggest, trying to keep your tone light in an effort to keep this conversation from derailing. "I'll tell him to give you a call."

"I appreciate that," she sighs, losing her steam. "I'm sorry for involving you, I just really need to speak with him about something."

"Is everything alright with you and Jack?" you ask her quickly, wanting to make sure that you aren't making the wrong assumptions about why she's calling.

"Oh!" she inhales sharply. "Yes, of course, we're doing great. Well, great maybe isn't the right word, I didn't mean- I just-" She sighs. "You know what I mean."

"I do," you assure her as your heart twists at the sound of her shallow breathing. You know how hard the separation has been on Hotch, but you know Haley too, and she has always been better at hiding her pain that she seems. "Where have you been staying?"

"With Jess," she says, her voice brightening considerably at the mention of her sister. "She's been a godsend. I feel terrible taking up so much of her space, but she doesn't seem to mind."

You smile, remembering the few times you met Jessica Brooks while Haley and Hotch were together. "She definitely doesn't mind. She always loved children. I bet she's already scheming on how to steal Jack from you."

Haley laughs, and the sound is like wind chimes twinkling in your ear. "She totally is."

Her laughter slowly fades, and you both stay on the line for a few moments in comfortable silence.

"I'll tell him to call you," you promise.

"I know," she sighs. "Thank you."

***

The prison was a bust, but Reid got a chance to use his intelligence to get them out of a tough spot without anyone getting hurt, so the day wasn't a total loss.

He is sitting in his office, drafting an email to the project coordinator, when you walk inside and take a seat in front of his desk.

"Thanks for knocking," he says sarcastically before finishing up the sentence he was working on. Once it's done, he saves the draft and turns off his computer. "How was Indianapolis?"

"Good," you say, leaning back in the chair. "Great, actually. Rossi got to close up the case that's been haunting him for a decade, and the three kids are finally safe."

"I'm surprised he wasn't more excited when he got back," he notes, watching your body language. You look wired, but not about this. Something else is bothering you.

"The unsub wasn't exactly the most gratifying arrest," you sigh, rubbing a hand over your temple. "We don't even think he committed the murders intentionally."

He frowns, shaking his head. "Those are the worst kind."

You're silent for a moment before you sit up straighter and look at him. "Haley called me this morning. While you were at the prison."

"Oh?" Something that feels like ice slithers down his spine even though he can probably guess exactly how the conversation went.

All week, he has felt an enormous weight on his chest in the form of a stack of divorce papers that Haley served him with. She had called him right after, with the explanation that they both should have seen this coming, but he really hadn't. He was a profiler, whose entire job was to notice and analyze human behavior, and he truly hadn't been able to let himself believe that this could be a possibility. That his marriage could actually be over.

"She said you've been ignoring her calls."

He had been ignoring them. He knew she would just tell him to sign the papers, and he couldn't bear to hear her say it again. Once was enough.

He reaches into his desk and pulls out the manila folder that he hasn't opened since his initial read-through. He suspects you already know what he's about to tell you, but he also knows that it won't feel real until he says it out loud. And it's about time he came to terms with what his life would be from now on. "Haley wants me to sign the divorce papers, uncontested."

"She doesn't want to involve a lawyer?" you ask, your voice delicate as you walk him through the explanation with clarifying questions. It's the technique they use when interviewing the families of victims, to help them feel comfortable as they talk about the hardest thing they've ever gone through. He's surprised at how reassuring it feels coming from you.

He shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair. It has grown out a bit since he last cut it, but he doesn't think he minds. Haley wanted him to cut it short when Jack was in his grabbing and teething phase, but now, he likes how he can push it back when he wants. "I don't want to sign, of course, but she's adamant that we get this done soon."

"You'll be okay," you say, and he looks up in surprise. "You're a good man, Aaron."

"I'm not," he whispers, heaving out a sigh. "I'm not doing anything right. At home, I was an awful husband and an absent father, and at work, Strauss would replace me if she had even the slightest bit more ammunition. I can't focus in either place. Maybe Haley's right, maybe I'm just selfish."

You lean forward and grab his hand, even as he doesn't look at you. "You're not selfish. You're the farthest thing from selfish. You don't want to sign, but you will. You're giving her what she wants, even though it's the last thing you want."

He nods, but his heart isn't in it. He glances down at the folder again and takes a deep breath as you give him a small smile and stand up.

"I'll see you tomorrow, boss?"

He nods again. "See you tomorrow."

When the door shuts behind you, he flips open the folder, faster than he meant to, but he's afraid if he doesn't do this quickly he'll lose his nerve. Grabbing a random pen from the mug on his desk, he uncaps it and scrawls out his initials on all of the earmarked lines throughout the stack.

When he finishes the last page, he shuts the folder and leans back in his chair, letting out a long exhale. He did it. He supposes he should feel some sort of severing away of his old life, maybe an audible snap as the ties to his marriage get cut, but there's just silence.

His office suddenly feels stifling, and he loosens his tie before reaching forward and lifting the picture frame with him and Haley on their wedding day. Her smile still looks beautiful to him, and his content expression as he gazes at her doesn't make him feel anything different. Their marriage may be over, but he still loved her.

He runs his thumb over the smooth edge of the frame, and then opens his desk drawer, before sticking it inside and pushing it closed.

***

"Thank you for watching him," Hotch says, his voice slightly muffled over the phone.

"Of course," you smile, sitting down on your couch with the pasta you made for dinner. "It was my pleasure. Jack's a total sweetheart."

Jess was out of town for a couple of days, so he had asked you to watch Jack while he and Haley met up to finalize the divorce in front of an attorney. She had been adamant about finishing the process over the phone, but he wanted to ensure that she and Jack would be taken care of after the papers went through.

"Did he eat lunch?"

"Kind of," you say, quickly swallowing the bite you took. "He didn't want a full meal, but I got him to eat some fruit and bread with cheese."

"I'll make him a snack soon," he says quietly, but you can tell he's just thinking out loud. "Alright, I'll see you at the office. Thanks again."

"Always," you tell him, genuinely. "See you."

The phone clicks off and you scarf down the rest of your pasta before doing your dirty dishes and cleaning up your kitchen. You're considering whether to change into your workout clothes so you can crank out a few miles on your Peloton, but then you hear a knock on your door.

You're not expecting anyone, and with Hotch watching Jack, it can't be him. You peek around the corner into your foyer to see who's at the door, and relax when you spot a familiar mop of brown hair.

"I'm sorry I didn't call first," Spencer says when you open the door, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his book bag. "I just didn't know how to ask you this over the phone."

"Spence, what is it?" you ask, opening the door further to let him in. He doesn't step forward, and a pinprick of anxiety enters your system.

"If I come inside, I won't be able to do this," he says vaguely, before reaching into his bag and pulling out a flyer. He hands it to you and you read the title, the tension seeping from your body as the words sink in: Narcotics Anonymous for Law Enforcement.

"I know it's a lot to ask," he whispers, "but would you drive me to the meeting tonight?"

Your heart feels like it's about to crack open. Only a boy who was never looked after, never given the love and care he deserved, would think that something like this was too much to ask.

"It's not too much," you tell him, glancing down at the address. "I'll get my keys."

When he's settled in your passenger seat, you pull out of the driveway, not commenting on the fact that his car is parked on the street beside your sidewalk. You understand the need for company more than most people.

The drive to the rec center where the meeting is being held is mostly silent, but you don't press him. He stares down at his hands for most of the ride, and when you stop in front of the entrance, he unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to you. "Thank you."

"Of course," you smile. "I can wait, if you'd like."

He gives you a thin-lipped smile. "It's okay."

"You sure?"

He presses his lips together and looks at you, his eyes reflecting the question in yours.

"Go on," you say, patting his arm. "I'll be here."

He nods and steps out of your car, and you pull into a parking space to wait in while he's in the meeting. You turn on the radio and it's the same song they've been playing for the last week, so you turn the volume down low and close your eyes for a few peaceful moments.

You must have fallen asleep, because you're jarred awake by the chirping sound of your cell phone ringing. It's a bureau number, so you clear your throat and answer the call. "L/N."

"Hey, Y/N." It's JJ, and she sounds tired. "We have a case. It's urgent, so we're flying to Texas tonight."

You sigh louder than you meant to. "I can be there in 20."

"See you soon."

The line clicks off and you rub the sleep from your eyes. A quick check of your watch tells you that you were only asleep for about a half hour, but that's just half of the meeting time. You know Spencer will come back when he gets the call, so you turn the radio off and sit up in your seat.

A few minutes later, he returns to the car. You saw him just over 30 minutes ago, but he already looks lighter than he did when he got to your house.

"I'm proud of you, Spence," you tell him as you start the car.

He nods, a quick thanks. "This federal agent gave me his one year medallion after I left the meeting. I've only been clean for 10 months, but he still gave it to me."

"He believes in you," you say simply, glancing over at his confused expression.

"He doesn't even know me."

You shrug. "You don't have to really know someone to care about them, Spencer. You just have to see something of yourself in them."

"Is that what you see in me?" he asks, finally looking at you.

You consider this for a moment. Is that why you feel so protective over him?

"I don't know," you say eventually, not wanting to lie, even by accident. "I definitely wasn't as smart as you were, or as focused. I wasn't all that driven in high school at all, to be honest. I was lucky to have Hotch. He gave me the push I needed to get out there and focus on school."

He's silent for a minute and you worry you may have said something wrong. Then: "I didn't have anyone in school." He pauses for a beat, before speaking again, his voice quieter this time. "I was in the library one day, and this girl comes up to me, and she tells me that Alexa Isben wants to meet me behind the field house. Alexa Isben was, like...easily the prettiest girl in school."

You frown, already not liking where this story is going. "Did she not show up?"

"No, she was there." His voice sounds almost resigned, but there's a note of something darker underneath. Something raw and painful, that likely still hurts after all these years. "But so was the entire football team. They stripped me naked and tied me to a goal post. So many kids were there, you know, just watching."

"No one stopped them?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

"I begged them to, but they just...they just watched. Then finally they got bored and they left." He clears his throat, and the sound is small, like a little boy's. "It was like midnight when I finally got home. And my mom didn't...Mom was having one of her episodes, so she didn't even realize I was late."

"You never told her what happened?"

He shakes his head. "I never told anybody. I thought it was one of those things that I thought if I didn't talk about it, I'd just forget. But I remember it like it was yesterday."

"You don't need an eidetic memory for that, Spence," you whisper, trying to stay focused on the road even as his words swirl into your memories and create an agonizing hurricane of emotions. "I was only ten years old when my mom was killed, but I can still remember every moment of her funeral."

The field office comes into view and you push forward as you scan your badge and slide into a parking spot below the upper garage. When the car is in park, you undo your seatbelt and turn to him. "I know how hard it can be to push away the painful memories, but there's something more important that I need you to remember."

"Remember what?"

He looks at you then, and you reach forward to squeeze his hand. "You're not alone anymore."

***

"Is it always this hot?" You look up at the beating sun through your shaded sunglasses and fan your face with both of your hands.

"Every day, all day," Emily huffs, running her fingers through her bangs to unstick them from her forehead.

Everyone is sweltering in the Miami heat, but then Derek gets off the plane with a wide grin, his skin glistening in the sun, and you resist the urge to throw your bag at him. "South Beach, baby."

He immediately shuts up when he spots the stunning Miami PD detective who called your team in for the recent string of murders. JJ shoots you a smirk before introducing her to the team. "Detective Lopez. We spoke on the phone."

"Tina," she corrects, before shaking her hand. "Thank you for coming down so quickly."

"Hey," Emily says from beside you, making you turn to see what she's looking at. "Isn't that..."

You spot the person she's referring to, and your face splits into a big smile. "Detective LaMontagne!"

"He's here to ID the cop they pulled from the bay last night," Tina explains.

You don't miss the flush in JJ's cheeks as she shakes his hand. "Detective, good to see you."

"How are you?" you ask, giving him a quick hug that he returns.

"Yeah, Charlie Luvet and I worked together for seven years."

Derek frowns. "Sorry for your loss, man."

Tina looks confused, and you don't blame her. "So, you all know each other?"

"Professionally," JJ is quick to add. Will whips around to look at her, and you turn to Emily with an eyebrow raise, feeling like you're intruding on a private moment. You aren't sure why she won't just admit that they've been together since New Orleans, but that's her business.

***

You join JJ and Will at the IDing of Officer Luvet, and you keep your distance as he glances down at the body and affirms the report.

"Yeah, that's him."

JJ looks like she wants to comfort him, but instead she sticks to the professional approach. "If you need help making arrangements, liaising with families is part of what I do."

Will nods, his voice choking up slightly. "I might just take you up on that. Excuse me, I'll be outside."

When he steps outside of the coroner's office, you can't help but notice the longing look on JJ's face as she watches him go.

"Let's go," she says to you softly, her eyes still on the door. You follow her outside, but by then Will is nowhere to be found.

"It's okay, you know," you blurt out. You weren't really planning on talking to her about this, but sometimes your mouth takes over before your brain can catch up. "I know you worry that being around a band of profilers all the time makes you vulnerable."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," she says simply, not quite meeting your eye.

"JJ," you say seriously, trying to convey your pure intentions. "If you keep trying to hide it, you'll lose him."

She purses her lips, and you squeeze her forearm, hoping you aren't pushing past her boundaries. The whole team is sparing with details about their personal lives, but you like to think that you're someone people feel comfortable sharing things with.

"I know you, hon." You flash her a knowing smile, feeling a shot of satisfaction as her lip twitches. "I know that it's enough for you to know that you care about something, but it's not enough for everyone."

She exhales, tucking her hair behind her ears. "He's upset with me, but I don't know what to do. I'm still scared."

You sigh, understanding her predicament, but still wanting her to push past it. "You can let yourself be happy, JJ. You won't always get hurt."

She nods before glancing around the room again, searching for Will even though he's long gone. It's an instinct you recognize.

Later, when JJ finally acknowledges their relationship by pulling him in for a kiss at the police station, you can't help but take it as a win.

***

Your house feels emptier than usual when you get back from Miami. Seeing JJ and Will find each other again reminded you of how much you miss having someone to share your life with.

Deciding to take a night to yourself, you pop open a bottle of red, and pour yourself a glass, which you swirl around before taking a sip. It's drier than you tend to go for, and when you check the label, you realize that's because you didn't buy it.

How can you drink this stuff?

It makes me feel sophisticated.

Jeff would break out the fancy glassware every chance he got, because he didn't believe in special occasions. He used to say that people waste precious moments of their life waiting for the right occasion to come around.

The memory feels warm in the back of your mind, and you take another sip of wine before walking over to your cupboard and grabbing the fanciest wine glass you can find. You pour the rest of your wine into the new glass and place the other in the sink, before swirling it around again. No time like the present.

You bring the glass to the couch with you, where you turn on the television and skip through the first few channels. As the wine in your glass depletes, the loneliness sets back in. You're about to pour yourself another pity glass when your phone buzzes with a call from Hotch.

"Do your television channels suck as much as mine do?"

You smile, muting the television and pressing the phone to your ear. "Definitely not."

He chuffs. "I guess I'm not used to the new tv controls."

Right, his new apartment. After the papers were finalized, he gave the house to Haley and moved into a new place ten minutes away.

"We can share mine," you say, listening to the sounds of his breath over the receiver. "I also have wine."

That gets a laugh. "I'll be there in 15."

You hear a knock on your door exactly 14 minutes later. When you open it, you're greeted with the sight of Hotch in a tee shirt and jeans. "A little underdressed, aren't we?"

He snorts, taking the wine glasses from your hands and following you into the family room. "What are we watching?"

"You're the one with the broken tv," you grin, flopping down on the couch and taking your glass from him. "What do you want to watch?"

He thinks for a minute, before his eyes sparkle with an idea. You cut him off before he can suggest what you already know he will. "We are not watching Top Gun again, Hotch!"

"You asked," he shrugs, hiding his smile behind a sip of wine. "What do you want to watch, then?"

You can see him watching you over the rim of his glass, so you blurt out the first name that comes to your mind. "Footloose."

He looks at you blankly for a moment, before his brow twitches, and your jaw drops. "You haven't seen Footloose?!"

"It came out when we were in high school," he groans, taking one of the throw pillows off the couch and stuffing it behind his back. "Terminator and Dune came out that same year. I remember because you tried to get me to watch it then too."

"It's an amazing movie!" you exclaim, standing up to go dig through your movie cabinet. "We're watching it right now."

He groans and sinks back into the pillows as you find the DVD and start the movie. You've seen it at least a dozen times, mostly because it makes you nostalgic for your teenage years, but the opening still gets you excited.

As the movie plays, you keep glancing over at Hotch, trying to see if he's enjoying the scenes just as much as you did on your first watch. To his credit, he watches the movie faithfully, without checking his phone or straying from the television screen.

"Enough," he grumbles suddenly, startling you.

"What?" you question, whipping your head around to face the screen.

"I'm watching the movie," he huffs, fixing you with a pointed look. "You don't have to keep checking."

You frown, hugging a pillow to your chest. "I wasn't checking, I just like seeing people's reactions to my favorite movies."

"Either way."

You groan, reaching out to thwack his arm.

"Eyes on the screen," he berates you, pointing at the TV. "The dance scene is starting."

You sip your wine bitterly as you try to resist the urge to glance over at him. Eventually, the movie takes over your attention and soon it's the final town council scene where Kevin Bacon gives a speech to the whole town.

"'There was a time for this law'," you quote along with the movie, "'but not anymore.'"

The movie comes to an end, and you click the remote to turn off the television. When you turn to Hotch with an excited grin, you're surprised to see that he has fallen asleep.

His head has fallen to the side, resting on the armrest, and he looks so peaceful with his expression completely neutral. His characteristic frown is nowhere to be seen as he snores quietly through his nose.

Your lips curve into a smile as you stand up and grab a blanket from a basket beside the couch. You drape it over his body, being careful not to wake him, and take the wine glasses to the sink before heading up for bed.

***

"That's because you pick horses the same way you practice law."

You hold your breath as he glances into the crowd for a brief second.

"...by always taking the long shot."

Emily snickers under her breath, and you see even Reid crack a smile as the lawyer starts floundering. The rest of the day in court goes by quickly and you all wait for Hotch in the hallway of the courthouse as he finishes up inside.

"That was impressive," you grin, nudging his shoulder as he walks alongside you. "I can't believe that was my first time seeing you in full prosecutor mode."

"Hardly," he says, rolling his eyes lightly. "I was called to give testimony, it's very different."

"I'm just surprised that prosecutor is still walking after how hard you hit him." He shoots you a look and you raise your hands in surrender. "Metaphorically, of course."

"That was a straight knock out." Derek comes up behind you and throws an arm around your shoulder as he spins you both to face Hotch. "The crowd practically cheered when you cleaned the floor with him."

"Thank you," he concedes, flashing his eyes at you. "Now let's get back to work. We still have to get more evidence for the rest of the trial."

And just like that, everyone switches back into work mode. Derek drops his arm and jogs forward to catch up to Rossi and Spencer, while Emily calls Garcia to get the latest update.

Using the moment of solitude, you bump his shoulder again. "Do you ever wish you were still a prosecutor? Your life would certainly be a lot simpler."

He shakes his head, the answer coming quickly and firmly. "I couldn't do it then, and I still couldn't now. Seeing the murderers come in after they've finished killing...I needed to know I could stop them before they were done."

His sentiment sounds familiar. Your mind flashes back to the little boy who took matters into his own hands, because no one could stop the pain for him.

You blink and it's present day again. You loved your best friend who fought his own battles without asking for help, and, even though he's vastly different, you love your best friend as he is now.

***

"Five shootings in two weeks."

"It's about time we got the call."

The whole team, plus Garcia, flies up to New York, where an unsub has been shooting people around the city, seemingly at random.

"Kate Joyner heads up the New York field office," Hotch explains, glancing down at his cell phone. "She's running point on the case and called me directly."

You have heard of her, which isn't too surprising, but all you know is that she's British and seems to be very good at her job.

"You know her?" Morgan asks him, echoing your thoughts.

Hotch nods. "We liaised when she was still at Scotland Yard."

They liaised. You don't know what that implies, but you also know that he and Haley didn't take a single break during their relationship after graduating college, so it can't be anything too personal.

JJ and Emily share a look, but you don't engage with them, instead looking back at the case file and trying to focus on any of the words that aren't 'Kate Joyner'.

***

"Kate."

A pretty blonde woman approaches you all with a smile only for Hotch. "Aaron. How have you been?"

He nods. "Well, thank you. This is my team." He introduces each of you to her, but you don't miss how her eyes linger on you when he mentions your name.

"Thanks for being here," she says, before walking you all through the background of the case. Shootings in different precincts, seemingly random, FBI only brought in after the fourth murder.

After explaining the details and introducing you to the local detectives on the case, she pulls Hotch aside for a private word in her office. You turn back to the team, trying not to let your gaze linger on them as they walk away.

The NYPD doesn't seem happy that SSA Joyner has taken over their case, but even though she comes off as a bit brusque, you can tell she cares about catching this unsub just as much as they do.

"What's your partner's problem?" Reid asks Detective Cooper, the only local officer who has made an effort to meet any of you.

"We're glad the FBI was brought in," he explains with a heavy sigh, "but all of a sudden Joyner's taking meetings with the mayor and calling in you all without us knowing anything about it."

You can understand his hesitation, but you also need his cooperation if you're going to get anything done here.

"We're only here to help," Emily tells him as you turn around to find JJ.

"Has Garcia gotten settled in with the New York tech analyst?" you ask once you find her staring at a map of the various boroughs. She doesn't answer immediately, so you nudge her shoulder. "JJ?"

"Huh?" she startles. "Oh, sorry, yeah. She called a few minutes ago, she's all good."

JJ is usually the focused one who brings you back on track, so you're surprised by how distracted she seems. You nod in acknowledgement, scrutinizing her expression for another second, before heading back to the team. Your eyes involuntarily dart over to Kate's office, and you notice how close together she and Hotch are. You're about to avert your eyes when their body language becomes a bit clearer: each time she leans in to say something, he subtly pulls back.

The dynamic of their relationship is suddenly apparent, and you mentally kick yourself for daring to assume the worst when he first mentioned her. You can't say the same for your opinion of her, though. He's still wearing his ring, for God's sake. Based on how little you've heard about her from him (nothing, you mean), you doubt she even knows about the divorce yet.

Derek and JJ head out with the detectives to check out the last crime scene, while you stay back with Emily and Spencer to build the anti-geographical profile. When another victim is shot, you head to the new scene to see if you can build a working profile.

"It's a different borough again," you sigh after getting out of the SUV and joining Hotch, Kate, Derek, and JJ in front of the body. "Prentiss and Reid are back at the office still working the profile from a geographical angle. We're starting to think maybe we should get officers out onto the high-traffic intersections, and maybe even get some of us out there too."

"Uniforms are rounding up witnesses," Kate jumps in, ignoring you. "It doesn't seem like anyone got a clean look."

You see Derek glance at you out of the corner of your eye, but you don't entertain the look. If she has some issue with you that you aren't aware of, you won't give her the satisfaction of letting her get to you. "The unsub's probably gone before anyone even realizes it's happening,"

Hotch nods, turning to face Kate. "Is this what it felt like during the Son of Sam."

She returns his gaze. "First we realized that if the violence was truly random, there was almost no way of stopping it. Seems like these people have figured that out."

You look up, trying to see if there's anything in the vicinity you can use to ID the unsub. Your eyes catch on a security camera outside one of the delis directly behind you. "From the placement of that camera, odds are the only view they're going to get is the back of his head."

She frowns. "Let's not be too quick to decide what we do or don't have."

This time it's both Derek and JJ that glance at you, but you turn to Hotch, who is avoiding meeting your eyes. Kate steps away to speak with the detectives at the scene, so you grab his arm and pull him aside. "What is her problem?"

He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. "FBI brass has made it clear to her that if she doesn't bring this case home, she's going to be reassigned. And you are at the top of the list to replace her."

"Replace her?" you echo, trying to process what he's saying. "I haven't even been in the BAU that long."

"It's not about field experience," he says, angling his body so that you're separated from the others. "You've been with the bureau longer than I have, and your work speaks for itself. It's not a surprise that they'd want to promote you."

You still can't wrap your head around the fact that you could be leading a unit yourself, or that you may have to leave the team you love, so you focus on what you do know. "I thought the bureau was proud of the fact that they stole her from Scotland Yard."

"I don't know," he shrugs, glancing back at her. "Politics here are different."

***

After finishing up at the crime scene, the whole team heads to the hotel to get some rest for the night. You feel more alert than you usually do after a long day of building a profile, and you adjust your bag strap on your shoulder as you dig around the side pockets for your room key. You don't plan on going to bed for at least a few more hours, and you might as well use the time to work on the case, but you need your key if you're going to get any sleep at all.

When your fingers finally catch on the thin plastic card, you look up to see a familiar face that you've been seeing more often than not, as of late. "Wait, isn't that..."

JJ looks up with a start, and she doesn't look distracted for the first time all day. "Will."

He gets up from the lobby chair he was lounging in and approaches her. "Hey, I took a shot and flew to D.C., but when it didn't work, I figured a train ride to New York was only a few more hours."

"Detective." Hotch reaches out and shakes his hand, before glancing at you with a frown that says, Did you know he was coming?

You shake your head imperceptibly and turn back to Will as he looks longingly at JJ. "Look, I'm sorry for showing up like this. I know you're working, but I can't stand you being on this case and me not being near." He pauses for a beat. "Not with what's going on."

That makes you frown too.

Hotch echoes your thoughts. "Is there a problem?"

JJ takes a deep breath and turns around to face all of you. "I'm pregnant."

Oh my God.

"Oh, my God," Emily exclaims, pulling her into a hug, the first of you to regain her bearings after hearing the news. "JJ, congratulations."

"That's amazing, JJ," you grin, hugging her next.

You don't miss how stiff Hotch is as Will shakes his hand. "I've asked JJ to marry me."

"Will," JJ says tightly, a warning in her voice.

He chuckles. "Well, we're working out some kinks."

"We'll give you both some privacy." Hotch turns away from them, his face falling the moment she can't see him anymore. You know he's hurt that she didn't trust him with this information, but you're surprised by just how downtrodden he seems.

JJ rushes after him. "Hotch-"

"JJ, you could have told me," he says softly, his voice both confused and stung.

She looks down. "I know."

"Because I understand if you need to take some time."

"No," she shakes her head, without a look back. "I want to be here."

"Okay," he nods, not looking at any of you. "7:00 AM."

You try to catch his arm as he walks off, but he either ignores it, or he doesn't feel you reaching for him. You choose to believe it's the latter.

***

You all deliver the working profile to the police officers first thing the next morning. While you're explaining an alternate possibility, Garcia calls with an update that a possible unsub was caught on camera shooting someone on a subway platform at one of the intersections you suggested that your team patrol yesterday.

"We could have had that guy," you say, your voice fuming with anger as you turn to Kate with a glare you haven't used in ages.

She doesn't falter. "Even if we were on that platform, odds are he would have moved onto someone isolated."

"Maybe, but it was worth taking a shot."

She fixes you with a stare. "I had every available man on the street."

"And I suggested to you that you use this team." You can't believe that her decision to ignore your advice yesterday might have just cost someone else their life. You can see the rest of the team looking at you with some blend of concern or indignation on your behalf, but you don't care. You just need Hotch to back you up.

Instead he just looks at you. "L/N, second-guessing doesn't do us any good right now."

You're so angry, you can barely see straight. Emily reaches for your arm, but you shake her off. "Hotch, how are we supposed to look these cops in the eye and tell them that we're actually here to help them, if she won't let us do our job?"

"We're here to present a profile," he says simply, not quite meeting your eye. "That's what we need to do."

You gape at him, your back straightening as you get ready to stand your ground. You don't disagree on things like this often, but when you do, it's usually a civil conversation that gets resolved quickly. You've never felt this angry about his handling of a case before, but then again, he's never not had your back before. "We've got seven bodies, Hotch."

He looks at you then, and you can't discern anything from his expression. It's a blank slate that sends a shiver down your spine. "It's not your place to have this discussion."

"Screw you."

You spin around, shoving away Derek and Emily as they try to talk you down. You stalk past them and out of the field office, where the cool evening air fills your sinuses and clears your head for a moment of silence. You stand on the sidewalk for a few seconds, waiting, and when he doesn't follow you out, you just manage to convince yourself that you're not disappointed, but relieved.

***

You're sitting at the hotel bar when Rossi finally finds you. You only ordered a lemon water, still feeling like you're on the clock, even if there's a good chance Hotch won't let you back into the investigation.

"I know," you huff when he takes a seat beside you. "I was out of line."

"You got too emotionally involved," he says, turning to face you. "I know you and Hotch are friends, but that doesn't mean you get to be unprofessional."

You sigh, your body deflating as all the fight leaves you. "I just felt like he was taking her side. Like he didn't have my back."

"There are no sides here."

You nod. "I know."

"And he does have your back." You look at him then, and he flashes you a small smile. "That man will always have your back. Right now, he's just worried about how Kate is holding up, with the word on the street."

That surprises you. "You know about the promotion?"

He nods. "People talk. But if she were to get fired, it would be because we didn't solve this case."

You frown, lifting your hand in defense. "Rossi, I hope you're not saying you think I want her to fail."

"Of course not," he shakes his head. "I just hope you know what you're doing."

"I lost my head for a second," you acknowledge, taking a sip of water. "I think I just needed a minute."

"And you got it," he says simply. "But right now, I see someone who wants to get back on the job. Or is there another reason why you ordered a glass of water at a bar?"

You set your glass down, letting out a surprised chuckle. "Where is everyone now?"

You both stand up, and he leads you out of the lobby. "Joyner took your advice. We're spreading out across the city."

***

"Emily, what happened?"

You rush forward to where she is standing over the dead body of a young man. Detective Cooper was taken in an ambulance to a nearby hospital after getting shot, and you only just arrived on the scene.

"He was strangely calm," she whispers as Derek and JJ come up behind her. "It's almost like suicide by cop."

"Why?" JJ thinks out loud. "Why would he do that?"

Derek looks at you. "We need to walk back through this profile."

Hundreds of thoughts are swirling through your brain, but based on the look on everyone's faces, you can tell they're thinking the same thing you are: terrorism.

After the crime scene officials arrive, you head over to your SUV to get back to the field office. Derek heads out to brief Homeland Security, and Reid leaves to talk to the Port Authority police, while Hotch and Kate call with the update that they will be going to speak with the mayor's office.

You start your SUV and pull out into the street when a loud explosion goes off a few streets behind you, the plume of smoke and fire large enough that you catch the high end of it in your rearview mirror.

You screech to a stop, just as your phone starts to ring.

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