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imaginesandinserts · 3 years

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Irreverent Drabbles: Perils of Realization

Title: Irreverent Drabbles: Perils of Realization Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: G Words: 6078

A/N: This takes place chronologically between chapters 28 and 29.

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You went on a date.

You realized that you were in love with Hotch, and your first instinct was to go on a date with someone else.

In all respects, it was a relatively good decision. Hotch was your boss and despite the close relationship you enjoyed with him, any romantic relationship between the two of you was impossible.

Miles Burton was a Senior White House Advisor whom you'd run into during your social obligations as a member of the Women in Service organization who had persistently flirted with you at the Griffiths fundraiser and had made it a point to say hello at the following two events you'd both been in attendance for.

Once you'd come to the fairly life-ruining conclusion that you were head-over-heels in love with Aaron Hotchner, you made sure to actually flirt back the next time you saw Miles Burton. That was how you found yourself on the date that had you questioning ever having harbored an attraction to men - dinner and drinks accompanied by a rendition of the 101 Life Accomplishments of Miles T. Burton.

This was hell.

After dinner, Miles had insisted on driving you home, and you cursed yourself for having taken a cab to dinner in order to avoid the lack of parking options in downtown. For some reason, he'd gotten it into his head that paying for dinner entitled him to having your mouth wrapped around his cock while he was parked in the street overlooking your house. You'd extracted yourself from the situation with as much contained outrage and dignity as you could muster, and having closed the front door, you find yourself leaning against it with only one thought in your head – Aaron Hotchner would never.

*------------*

"Rough night?"

You look over at Derek as he peers at you over his coffee mug, his eyes filling with amusement, no doubt having already taken in your slightly puffy face and the extra large cup of coffee you're carrying. After Miles had driven away - you'd watched from your window just in case - you'd needed a drink, which had turned into two drinks and ultimately falling asleep on the couch. You'd woken up late and having rushed out of the house - sans makeup - had arrived at work just in time. Hotch may no longer be upset at you being five minutes late, but he's still entirely stringent about punctuality and you hate to disappoint him.

"Bad date," you respond, dropping into your chair and whipping out the little compact and concealer from your bag so that no one else sees you looking like this.

Emily perks up at that, walking over to perch herself on your desk, the beginnings of a grin already forming on her face. "You finally went out with Burton?"

You look up at her, slightly shaking your head in disapproval at her glee. She'd warned you against him. Something about bad vibes, but since it hadn't been anything concrete, you'd impulsively gone against it. You should've known better. Emily's gut, when it came to men, was impeccably accurate.

Pursing your lips, you make sure your face no longer bears the telltale marks of having fallen asleep, drunk on your couch, before you look up at her and Derek once more. "He tried to Lewinsky me," you tell them ruefully, a scowl making its way onto your face as Emily unsuccessfully stifles a snort.

Derek's eyebrows rise in question. "It's fine, I'm okay," you assure him, before looking back at Emily. "You were right. He's an arrogant creep."

"I'm sorry," she tells you, scooching up further onto your desk and swiping up your coffee before you could stop her. "Everyday I continue to be attracted to men feels like a waste."

"Tell me about it," you mutter, careful to not allow your eyes to slip up to the landing where his office was.

"Oh come on, we're not all bad."

Both you and Emily turn to Derek with looks that say exactly what you think about that particular statement.

"Geez, tough crowd." He raises his hands in surrender, turning away from you both and back to his screen, no doubt to message Pen and fill her in on everything.

"I'd make a good lesbian."

You look up at Emily, who has a contemplative look on her face as she continues to take sips of your coffee. Your coffee. Your hot, perfectly sweetened and foamy latte.

"You would," you agree with her, reaching out for the cup, which she thankfully hands to you, before her eyes flit up to the landing. You turn and follow her gaze, eyes coming to rest on Hotch.

He's wearing the navy blue suit with the nice red patterned Gucci tie that you'd helped Jack pick out for him on Father's day. He has a folder on his hand and his brow is already furrowed, straining under the weight of the world far too early in the morning. His eyes move from the papers in his hand to all of you looking up at him, muscles tensed and breath held tight.

"Briefing. Now."

It takes only two words from him to get you all scrambling from your desks and rushing upstairs, his tone telling you everything you needed to know.

It was going to be a bad one.

*------------*

Five girls missing, three bodies found. Based on the pattern, it's already a foregone conclusion that the fourth girl was also dead. Not that you'd tell her parents that. Not until there was a body. All of your efforts were concentrated on girl number five.

You've felt the eyes of the entire team on you ever since the third body was found and Caroline Geller, lucky contestant number five, had been taken from the parking lot of a grocery store after work. All five girls were around the same age, pretty, low-risk, and had no connection to the unsub that you'd been able to work out.

You look up from the notes you'd taken while talking to Caroline's friends from work to see Hotch looking at you. When your eyes meet his, he's quick to look away, turning back towards the screen in front of him. You know why they're all concerned. While all of the girls are roughly the same age as you, Caroline Geller looked like you. Same hair color, similar features, comparable build – at first glance one might mistake her for you.

She taught ballet at the local dance school, volunteered at the soup kitchen every week, and had recently gotten engaged to her fiancé, a beautiful and heartbroken man who had planted himself on a bench outside the precinct and refused to leave his post.

You'd been at their home, combed through their life, seen the wedding invitation pinned to the refrigerator, held her pointe shoes in your hands as you looked around at everything left behind.

Your eyes stay fixed on Hotch's back as he continues to assess the screen of suspects and look at the evidence board, as though willing something to fall into place. He seems more affected by this case, this girl's disappearance, more than any other in recent memory. There's this childish, naïve part of you that's hoping against hope that it has something to do with you. Because she reminds him of you. More likely, it's the fact that he's had to walk past her fiancé, every time he's left the precinct. Hotch had been the one to speak with him, and the poor man had broken down into tears right in front of his eyes. It was enough to affect even the coldest of hearts and Hotch hardly fit the bill of a cold-hearted man, despite any misconceptions made based on his reticent exterior. Aaron Hotchner was one of the kindest and most sincere people you've ever met – devout father, responsible team leader. His very aura commanded the sort of respect reserved for those men, the kind of men everyone looked up to and knew they'd never be.

Somehow, he's permeated your entire life without you realizing it. Ever since the two of you had made up, it felt like things were back to normal, even more than before he'd left. You had dinner with them as often as possible. Both him and Jack slept over at least once a week when there wasn't a case going on. The sight of Hotch in pajamas, disappearing into your guest bedroom was becoming a familiar one. It's beyond normal coworkers, beyond a normal friendship – you can finally admit that to yourself.

How it had happened though - how the two of you had allowed it to happen - still remained a mystery. It had been innocuous enough in the beginning. Accompanying Jack and Hotch to the Zoo or the Smithsonian. Relieving Jess when Hotch couldn't get away and she had to go home to her own family. Keeping him company late nights at the office because you hated seeing him be the last one there.

You can feel a lump rise in your throat as your eyes stay on his frame, watching as he points out an additional factor for Reid to consider in his geographic profile. You didn't deserve him. You didn't deserve someone like him, even if he were to give you the time of day.

You've already thought through how it would go if you were to tell him. Blocked out what you'd say and how'd respond. The initial shock of your revelation would catch him off-guard. He'd falter ever so slightly. It would be quickly followed by a professional and kindhearted rejection. You were his subordinate. You were too young. He's sorry if he did or said anything that might have led you on. Of course, he understands if you need some time and space to gather yourself and make your peace with the matter. Of course you'd still see Jack, he'd never deny you his son again. And he wouldn't. He'd stay true to his word.

But you'd never be the same again. You'd never be able to look at him again and feel anything but the sting of that rejection. The confirmation – you weren't good enough. It didn't matter that you'd changed everything. It didn't matter that you'd tried and tried to atone. You weren't good enough. You never would be. Not for that. Not for him. Slowly, you'd start to withdraw. You wouldn't be able to help yourself. It would hurt too much, just being near him. Without meaning to, you'd lose him.

*------------*

Samuel Nolen, age 45, a landscaper who'd worked jobs around each of the women's workplaces in the weeks leading up to their disappearance. He'd been the only common link Garcia had been able to pinpoint and he fit the profile exactly. Older white male, non-threatening demeanor, rotating job that gave him the freedom to watch his victims uninterrupted. Grew up with a single father, mother left the family when he was nine years old and was never heard from again. Garcia had found out that she'd moved out to Vegas and had a relatively successful career as a cabaret dancer.

He was sat in the interrogation room with both Rossi and Reid talking to him while the rest of you watched from the other side. There was something almost gentle about how he held himself, how he shied away from Rossi and leaned more towards Reid, whom he perceived as non-threatening. The guess was that he'd lured in his victims under the guise of needing help, and based on the man in front of you, you could see how some women might fall for it. He seemed nice. If there's one thing this job has taught you, it's that men don't ask for help from women. If a man is asking you for help, run.

Neither Rossi nor Reid were having much success with him. You could all see the twitch in his fingers as they curled around something imaginary. All of the victims had died via strangulation. The hope was that you'd captured him before he'd managed to get back to Caroline and subject her to the same fate.

Derek and JJ had been the ones to pick him up, and as Derek had marched him past you, through the precinct, Samuel's eyes had caught yours and they'd lingered, sending a chill racing down your spine. He might be able to fake it long enough to lure those women to their deaths, but there was no hiding that look in his eyes. The look of a predator.

"I want to talk to the female agent. I'll only talk to her."

It was the first thing he'd said since the interrogation had started half an hour ago. You feel yourself tense, the eyes of the rest of the team on you immediately. None of you needed to ask which agent. From the corner of your eye you look at Hotch beside you. He isn't looking at you, still glaring at the unsub through the mirror, but you can see that his jaw is set tightly.

When Rossi and Reid exit, Rossi immediately looks to you before his eyes go over you and to Hotch. You don't have to turn to see that they're engaged in a wordless debate about the right next move.

You can't help but think of that lovely empty house. The despondent man still seated outside. Those satin shoes that had just been broken in. They deserved to be worn.

"Hotch," you turn to face him, making up your mind as you do. You're going in. You're going to get answers.

He's already looking at you and you can tell that he doesn't like it at all. His forehead is already wrinkled and you can literally see the dissent on his mouth. He's incredibly protective of the team and everyone knows that you're being asked for because you look most like the victim. His ritual has been interrupted and he's going to be eager to resume it. With you as proxy.

"I have to go in," you tell him, before he can say anything to dissuade you from the notion. There was no point in waiting. Every second you waited, your chances of finding Caroline worsened.

His eyes bore into you, silently speaking his every concern into existence. You didn't have to do this, there was always another way. You look so much like her. You look too much like her. If you go in there, he won't see you. He'll see her.

It is a tense minute as you and Hotch look at one another. He's giving you the chance to back out despite knowing that's the last thing you'd do. Finally, a nod comes from him.

"We still have the personal effects that were found in her car?" You're already walking out to the main office as you direct your question to Emily, who is quick to follow you. She guides you to a box of items, among which there's some pieces of clothing. Grabbing the box, you go back to the office overlooking the interrogation room. If he was going to think you were Caroline, then you'd play into it.

Quickly, you shuffle through the clothing in front of you, selecting a well-worn seeming crewneck with her alma mater on it. Slipping your blazer off, you pull the sweater over your head, adjusting so it hung off of you in a manner reminiscent of how Caroline wore it in the photos you'd seen. You shuck off your heels as well, finding a pair of low flats in the box, which you don instead.

Behind you, you can feel the eyes of the team on you as you slowly transform yourself. For the final touch, you take your hair out of your usually prim updo and let it down. Your hair was a little bit longer than Caroline's, but, as you part it down the left side just as she did, you figure it was close enough.

Turning finally to face the unsub, you take your first breath as Caroline Geller.

*------------*

Aaron watches, fists bunched tightly together, thumb itching to move, to do something that would accomplish something larger simply watching and waiting.

They all knew what you were doing - playing up the similarities between yourself and the victim to draw out whatever it was about these women that played to the unsub's compulsions. Prey on his weaknesses just as he'd preyed on them. It was a good tactic – one he could feel forming in your head as you'd searched through the evidence box in search of props for your scene.

You're good in the field, there's no doubt about it. But here, in the interrogation room, that's where you really shine. It was one of the hardest taught skills and it was the one that you had outperformed in beyond imagination from the very start. Your methods unpredictable and out of the box, but highly effective. Out of them all, you were always the best at getting inside the heads of the unsubs and finding that one little thing that made them break.

He's seen it before countless times now, been witness to each spoken word, well placed emphasis, timely pause. The interrogation room was a stage and you were always the star.

It had been the topic of some conversation between himself and Rossi – how you'd managed to convince some of the toughest unsubs to crack under the pressure of your presence. Aaron, personally, chalked it up to your childhood and upbringing. When your entire life was a performance, you know how to play your role.

Now, as he watches you, he sees how you've managed to mimic the mannerisms of Caroline Geller from the home videos you'd seen of her – the slight tilt of the head, the fiddling with the ends of your hair. Your voice has shifted as well, a slightly higher and happier pitch, more like what one might expect of a dance teacher with students in primary school. You've done your homework on this one, that one is easily clear. However, it's the slight pause you have as the Unsub addresses you as Caroline, the nearly imperceptible tension in your shoulders as the Unsub mocks Caroline's desolate fiancé whom Aaron hadn't the heart to look at. This one had gotten to you, and you wouldn't be able to deny it. Not to him.

At long last, you get what you're searching for. The docks by the east river.

The answer came at a price – twenty five long minutes with just you and the Unsub as he poked and prodded at your psyche just as you did to him.

The confirmation from Garcia, of a heat signature at the given location, comes within the minute and Aaron is quick to rap his knuckles against the glass, signaling your curtain call.

*------------*

You can't save them all. That's the one lesson every new agent learns at their own pace.

You can't save them all.

She'd suffocated before you could get to her. You'd been too late.

JJ hadn't let you see Caroline's body, dragging you back and away from the dock containers when Derek had emerged with a somber face, slowly shaking his head.

Your gun feels heavy in your hand, and it is only out of sheer rote habit that you manage to disarm and reholster the weapon. JJ stands with you as the flurry of people begin to process the scene, lit only by the red and blue flashing lights of the police cars.

You'd failed. You'd been too slow to extract the location, too slow to get there. You'd been too damn slow.

You've lost victims before. Everyone has. But you lived in this girl. You'd worn her clothes, her shoes, taken her name. You'd walked like her, changed your voice to mimic hers. It was as though, by pretending to be her, you'd taken in a part of her that now yearned to reunite with the rest of its whole, but it wasn't able to. So now a piece of Caroline Geller rattled inside of you, sobbing and crying out for the rest of itself.

Hotch and Emily finally emerge and you follow JJ to join them as Hotch assigns everyone their roles. One of the policemen interjects and informs him that Caroline's fiancé had insisted on coming along and was now waiting with a deputy by the barricades. You see Hotch nod, his eyes briefly moving towards the direction of the barricade, before refocusing on the team and instructing Reid to assist with the evidence logging.

As everyone starts to disperse, you can feel a lead ball drop into the pit of your stomach, knowing that Hotch now had the task of informing the fiancé that Caroline Geller was dead.

"Hotch," you begin, his name coming out full and heavy, sitting in your mouth like warm air.

He halts at your voice, turning back towards you. He'd already given you your assignment, so he has to be wondering what you could possibly have to say to him.

You look up at him. It's just you, him, and Emily left now, as she waits for you to help her with processing paperwork on the unsub that Hotch had tasked you both with. "I – ," you falter as you meet his eyes, and you can barely see a hint of him behind them. He'd already donned his mask to go face the fiancé.

"I'm sorry," you manage quickly, jaw tight and heart clenching at the awfulness of the job that he now has to do. The job he always has to do.

The only acknowledgement you receive that he had even heard what you said over the din of the police and ambulance sirens, was the barest of wrinkling to his forehead. The ever so slight slippage of the mask during which you thought you might get to catch a glimpse of him, but he catches it far too quickly and keeps it in place. As if it never happened. Not even nodding, he turns away and walks towards the barricade.

It's a miserable few hours for Emily afterwards, you're sure, as you monotonously follow her back to the police station and begin the task of coordinating with the local office to handle the case and subsequent prosecution.

Emily likes to talk while the two of you work together. Rarely ever do the two of you work without talking, however she seems to pick up on your mood fairly well and the two of you quietly go through all of the required processes.

"You know what your problem is?"

You look up at Emily, who had finally broken the silence, her sharp voice cutting through the small storage room that the two of you inhabited, gathering all of the files that would need to be sent off to the local office.

You swallow, bracing yourself for the worst. At your slight nod, she proceeds, her voice a calm fury like you'd never seen before. "Even after everything you've done, after everything you had to go through, you seem to harbor this delusion that you're not supposed to be here."

"What're you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you. Apologizing to Hotch. You think you don't belong here. That you aren't good enough. You think that girl dying today was your fault."

You scoff, shaking your head. "It was my fault," you retort, grabbing the box you'd just finished packing and making your way to the door before you're blocked by Emily, preventing your escape.

"No, it wasn't. The only person responsible for that girl's death is the guy who's going to rot in prison for the rest of his miserable, fucked up life."

You sigh, shuffling your weight from one foot to the other. "If I'd gotten – "

"You can't save everyone," she interrupts, barreling onwards. "We're going to try. We're going to try our best every single time. But we can't save everyone. None of us can. Not you, not me, not even Hotch. But that doesn't make it your fault."

Emily stares down at you, reaching out and grabbing the heavy box out of your hands and setting it down on the floor by your feet. You look away, up at the ceiling, tears pricking at your eyes, causing them to burn. Your chest feels tight and you take a shuddered breath. The lure of wanting to believe her was so very strong, struck against the waves of dissonance it posed in your head.

Emily softens her voice, reaching out towards you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders as she easily pulls you into her chest. "Hotch isn't blaming you. He doesn't think you have anything to be sorry for."

*------------*

The plane ride back was a somber affair, everyone on the team off on their own. Spencer was reading a new book whose title had caught your interest, Rossi was tucked away in a corner with his eyes closed but you're not sure if he's actually asleep. Both Emily and JJ were sitting close together, quietly sharing a bag of Cheetos while JJ worked on her presentation to Henry's class for Career Day and Emily bided the time alternating between reading the trashy romance she'd found left behind in her hotel room and staring out the window. Derek sat across from you with his headphones on, leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed. Across the way, you can see Hotch diligently working on his report for the case, the only sound emanating from his faint taps against the keyboard.

Emily's words still play in your head, now competing with that churning voice that you'd had in your head for the past few weeks – you would never be good enough for the likes of Aaron Hotchner. Her words were starting to put some minute cracks in the foundation of that particular statement, and you had no idea what to make of that.

You hear the tapping of the keyboard stop momentarily and watch as Hotch turns up to look at you, your eyes meeting for a long second, before he breaks his gaze, returning back to the screen in front of him. From your seat, you can barely make out a slight crinkling of his forehead as his hands hover above the keyboard, as though faltering in typing out his next words. You have to guess that he's arrived at the part of his statement around the interrogation. You turn away, following Emily's lead and staring out your own window, while unbeknownst to you, his eyes can't help but return to you countless times more.

It felt as though you'd thought of very little besides Hotch, since that day that your mother had visited. She'd left in the wake of one of the few times you'd seen him lose his cool with someone, and having it be done on your behalf, in your defense, had somehow unveiled this entirely ridiculous truth that you'd tried in vain to deny.

You were in love with Aaron Hotchner.

You had no idea what to do with that.

Dating other people hadn't worked out so well.

Trying to simply get over it had been an exercise in vain.

You've run miles in your own head, trying to make sense of it. The question begged itself – why Aaron Hotchner? If you merely wanted a husband and kids, you've no doubt you could have that with anyone you got along with well enough.

Your mind had briefly flitted back to that final date you'd had with Cedric Kensington. It had been highly promising, you'd finally felt it heading in a definite direction and you could see it. You could see yourself being with Cedric, marrying him, having children with him if you were so inclined. Had you not gotten the call from Garcia, informing you that Foyet was back on the grid, who knows what could have happened. Maybe you could've had that with Cedric. Having that perfect life with someone else was not entirely out of the realm of possibility.

You'd thought of John. How it had never been the right time when it came to the two of you. Then finally, when you could conceive being something real with him, you'd faltered. You couldn't go through with it. It hadn't been the right time to choose him. It hadn’t been the right time to choose anyone but yourself.

It had taken you some time but you think you've finally come to the right conclusion of why it was Hotch and no one else – the possibility of losing him was terrifying. Even when the two of you had been on the outs, you hadn't been able to leave, staying anchored to him despite being furious with him. Seeing him had been torture. Not seeing him had been so much worse, and you couldn't bring yourself to endure that again.

Given the absolute fact of the matter – you being in love with Hotch - there were really only two paths forward that you could see. Ignore it and hope it goes away, or tell him and pray you didn't lose him in the process.

The Pro/Con list to that second option had begun, unbidden, the week prior. Your mind going rogue and dreaming up ridiculous and absurd scenarios of you confessing your truth to him.

Pro: You're absolutely, unshakably, madly in love with him.

Con: There's a fairly good chance that he does not and will never reciprocate those feelings.

Pro: Aaron Hotchner was loyal to you. You had always felt he was, but your conversation a few weeks back had cemented that. He would do anything to help you, no matter what.

Con: He's twelve years older than you and has a kid.

Pro: You love his kid.

Con: Between the two of you, your past trauma could be its own wing in the Library of Congress.

Pro: You're both good at getting the other person to talk.

Con: You work together and workplace romances are frowned upon. He was your supervisor, and dating him would no doubt lead to rumors and malicious gossip, which would follow you the rest of your career at the Bureau. It could tarnish you entirely and it could also hurt him.

Con: You would not be alright if the two of you didn't work out. You know that you weren't even together, but the idea of ending things with Hotch, after knowing what it was to have him – that would break you entirely.

Con: He was going to say no, so it was all a moot point.

Towards the end, you'd run out of items for the Pros to balance out each Con, and as of now, the Cons were definitely in the lead.

*------------*

The two of you are once again the last two people in the office. Emily had been the last to leave, leaving her book from the plane on your desk, having already put sticky note bookmarks in all the right spots. She'd winked as she left, encouraging you to skip the rest of the book and skip straight to the good stuff. You had to smile at her attempts to cheer you up. Some friends bought you a drink. Emily Prentiss curated sex scenes that she thought you'd enjoy reading.

You glance up and see that Hotch's door is shut, the orange blush emanating through the glass windows, alluding to the fact that he'd given up on using the overhead lights. They were too bright for him and gave him headaches, so despite the strain on his eyes, he preferred to read by the glow of his desk lamp. With Jack away at sleepaway camp for Cub Scouts for the week, he's unlikely to leave early.

You grab your finished report and head up the stairs to his door, stopping and knocking before hearing his permission to enter. As you open the door, your eyes go immediately to his desk, however he's not seated behind it. Instead, you're greeted by a most unfamiliar sight.

Aaron Hotchner is seated on the brown leather couch in his office, a glass of amber liquid in his hands. You don't think you've ever seen Hotch not working in his office. Sure, he'll take a break here and there when you interrupt, but the image of him outright sitting on the couch, not a report in sight, was entirely foreign to you.

It feels as though you're intruding. Like you’ve stumbled upon something entirely private, because Hotch doesn’t strike you as the kind of guy that makes a habit out of drinking in his office by himself.

You could imagine this was something he did with Rossi on occasion, the two of them sharing a drink after a rough case or catching up and reminiscing about the so-called good old days, before the team had a plane on call.

"You can set that on the desk," he tells you, his voice deeper, made warm by the liquor. He doesn't look up from his glass, eyes fixed on something in the far off distance.

Unsure how to react to the sight in front of you, you quickly make your way across his office, setting your file on top of the already tall stack at the edge of his desk.

Turning around, you quickly walk back towards the door, eager to not bother him any longer than absolutely necessary. When you get to the door, you hesitate, turning back to face him. Before you can stop yourself, you can feel the words tumbling out of you. "Hotch, are you alright?"

He looks up in your direction, his expression entirely unreadable. He nods slowly, and you can see a deep sigh work its way through him, before he finally meets your eyes.

"It was a rough case. Telling the families isn't something I'll ever get used to, I think."

You nod sympathetically. It wasn't fair that it always fell on him.

"I'll be fine, though. Just need to be alone after some of them."

You nod again, not trusting yourself to say much. As you turn to leave, taking his words as your cue, he speaks again.

"You can stay."

You turn back, your head tilting in some confusion as you meet his eyes once more. He looks at you for a second longer, before reaching over to the side table and grabbing a second glass. He pours from the bottle of good scotch that Rossi had given him last Christmas while you watch him.

Proffering the glass in your direction, he beckons you forward. "You're easy to be alone with."

Somehow, in a slight daze, you manage to walk back towards the couch, reaching out and grasping the heavy crystal glass in your hand. He motions for you to join him and you sink into your usual spot, tucking your legs underneath yourself.

His eyes stay on you as you settle in and take a sip of the scotch, feeling it burn your lips, the tip of your tongue, before blooming into a subtle smoky sweetness in your mouth, settling into your stomach like dying embers.

"Are you alright?" he asks, watching you carefully.

You try not to squirm under his inspecting gaze, unable to offer much beyond a shrug. "I will be."

It's quiet for a moment as he continues to look at you and you distract yourself with a stray thread in the cushion stitching.

You hear him clear his throat, shifting slightly on the couch so that his leg bends at the knee as he turns his body to face you, arm stretched out on the back of the couch, fingers grazing the top of your shoulder. "You did everything you could."

You feel that heavy tug in your stomach, unable to look at him, knowing that your face would betray you entirely.

He says your name, soft on his lips, gentle with every part of you. He waits until you look up at him, meeting his brown eyes that held the warmth of an everlasting hearth.

"You did."

You nod slowly, because who were you to disagree with him. Because if Aaron Hotchner said you did everything you could, then maybe it was true.

Not much more is said that night, as the two of you sit side by side.

Pro: You could be alone with Aaron Hotchner.

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imaginesandinserts · 3 years

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Irreverent Pt. 58 - Golden Age

Title: Irreverent Pt. 58 - Golden Age

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~5K

Irreverent Series Masterlist

You stare at the closed door to McKinney's office, shifting once again in the seat. You'd been there for what felt like hours, though reasonably speaking it was closer to thirty minutes. Beside you, Aaron sat stoically calm, his shoulders pressed to the chair, back straight. He eyes you when you shift and reaches out, placing a hard on yours that was sat against the armrest. You meet his eyes for a second, knowing he was simply trying to calm the anxiety in your bones. It was no use – your gaze wanders back to the heavy closed oak door once more.

You'd arrived at McKinney's office early that morning, as directed to in the email sent by Gladys. Both Rossi and Aaron had received similar instructions and when you'd arrived, Gladys had waved Rossi into the room, stating that the Director would like to speak to him on his own first, and asked you and Aaron to take a seat.

You knew that McKinney and Rossi went way back. They'd done training together and worked in organized crime for a couple years before going their separate ways. You can only imagine that McKinney wanted Rossi's take on Pierce's take down and to perhaps run his ruling for you by someone whom he trusted and who would be able to comment on you personally. That was your hope, at the very least.

You knew Aaron thought the same as you, because he hadn't seemed put out by being told to wait. He too recognized that McKinney not delivering judgment against you in one fell swoop could only be a good thing. It meant he was thinking it over, getting other opinions. He'd had time to evaluate through the course of events and the idea was that he would see greater value in keeping you – see that everything you'd done had been strategic and purposeful.

Gladys had directed you both towards the coffee in the little waiting area outside the office, which you'd both politely declined. Now she was clattering away against the keyboard and fielding pretty much nonstop phone calls.

You turn your stare from the door, back to Aaron, whose eyes are fixed on you. He prompts you with a slight raise of his eyebrows, his hand still blanketing yours, thumb running back and forth soothingly.

"We should take another vacation," you whisper conspiratorially, speaking as though the idea of you two going on vacation together might scandalize someone listening in.

He bites back a smile but you can see the amusement dance across his eyes. He knows you're trying to distract yourself. Your shoulders are still taut and you've barely glanced away from McKinney's door since the two of you sat down. "Where'd you have in mind?" he asks, leaning down towards you and matching your covert tone. If a distraction was what you needed, then he'd play along.

"Bora Bora is nice this time of year. Hawaii maybe. Somewhere tropical with a childcare center," you joke, easily planting images of you and him on a beach by yourselves into Aaron's head.

"Better yet, an adults only resort," he smirks back, sitting straight once more, his eyes facing straight.

You're the one who has to bite back the smile now. He'd responded with barely a glance at you. Onlookers might've thought he'd commented on the weather. Only you could guess at the thoughts running through his mind right then – waves and sand, you in skimpy bathing suits, the two of you alone without having to worry about waking Jack up...

God it had been forever.

You can feel yourself become heated and have to stop that train of thought short, reminding yourself that you're still seated outside the Director's office, awaiting what is at best a disciplinary hearing and at worst a dismissal notice.

"We'll go," he promises, squeezing your hand gently.

You nod, leaning against his shoulder ever so slightly before straightening back up once more. Aaron had been quiet that morning, which you're chalking up to the solemnity of the occasion. The previous night had been quite a lot and you know that you're both still feeling a bit raw from it all. Better – in many ways. Stronger too. However that didn't mean that you expect everything to be washed away overnight. You imagine there's quite a few more conversations like that in your future. The work needed to help you both feel whole once more.

Already, you feel his eyes on you a lot more than ever before. Trained on you when you leave a room. Searching yours when you enter. Eyes trailing over the length of you. Ensuring that you're alright. Making sure that you're safe. Confirming that you're there.

*------------*

The door to McKinney's office opens and you both watch as Rossi exits. He turns to the both of you, obviously in attempt to speak, but before he can, he's directed by Gladys towards the door taking him outside of McKinney's lobby. Following her instructions, he walks out, nodding at both you and Aaron, his face betraying nothing.

"Agent Hotchner, the Director will see you now."

At Glady's instruction, Aaron stands rebuttoning the bottom button of his jacket, and with a quick, reassuring smile towards you, strides through the doors to McKinney's office, closing the door behind him.

"Agent Hotchner," Director McKinney stands to greet him, motioning towards the chair in front of his desk.

"Director."

Aaron takes a seat, sitting up incredibly straight, shoulders rigidly tense. He knows that McKinney asking to speak to him before he speaks to you has certain implications. Implications which, he fears, don't bode well if McKinney's goal is to prod at you choosing to reach out to him and the team rather than your direct supervisor on the project. If you would go around him once, chances are, you'd do it again.

Try as he might, Aaron hasn't been able to determine what exactly McKinney aims to get from speaking with him first. He hadn't been your superior on the assignment. Your personal relationship with him effectively negated anything Aaron could say in your favor.

"Aaron, I will cut straight to the chase." McKinney speaks authoritatively and plainly, his eyes focused on Aaron, betraying nothing of what he's thinking. Even to an experienced profiler such as himself. "Agent L/N broke numerous rules regarding the chain of command, defied security clearance protocols, and acted alone – entirely against Bureau training and procedure."

Aaron stays silent. McKinney hadn't said anything that wasn't true and they both knew it.

"However," McKinney continues, "I must concede that she drew results and ultimately is the reason why the threat to the Atlantis program was eliminated."

Aaron offers only a short nod in response, choosing to hold everything else close to his chest until required otherwise.

McKinney shuffles, placing his hands on the table and leaning in closer. "If this was one of your agents – and you did not share the personal relationship that you do in this situation – what would you do in my position?"

There it was.

Aaron would like to think that Director McKinney was being sincere in asking him. That asking him wasn't some sort of trick question, aimed towards discrediting you.

With a quiet shift, Aaron meets McKinney's gaze head on, and begins to speak slowly. "Director, I've made the mistake before of not trusting one of my agents. I vowed to never make that mistake again. Agent L/N, she's proven – time and again – that she makes the right decisions, no matter the complicated subject matter or the potential personal nature of the circumstances."

Aaron stops there. Less was more. He wanted to make sure whatever he said to McKinney would be impactful. Display the full breadth of his faith in you.

McKinney has a thoughtful look on his face as he contemplates Aaron's words.

In the silence that follows, Aaron's eye is drawn to the Director's American flag pin on the left jacket collar. He's never seen without it. While Directors in the past have worn the pin for formal events – public speeches, Congressional hearings, White House balls – McKinney is always seen with his. Aaron recalls in the early days, when McKinney had first taken the reins, the pin used to be different. It used to be a pin of the Bureau seal. Sometime after the events of September 11th, it had changed. Replaced by the American flag pin, proudly displayed no matter where he went.

Aaron sees McKinney's shoulders move up and then back down as the man releases a large breath, nodding as he does, seemingly having reached some sort of conclusion. Aaron is at a loss to determine which conclusion that might be.

He doesn't share his thoughts with Aaron.

"I've forwarded the video that Agent Garcia shared, on to the Director of Interpol," McKinney informs him. "They will be conducting an internal investigation. Agent Easter has already been stripped of all privileges and is currently on a suspension until further determinations regarding his negligence on the Atlantis case along with the results of the internal review can be made."

Aaron's glad to hear that Easter wouldn't be getting away entirely scot free. He has a strong feeling that, had things not happened exactly the way that they did, you wouldn't have reported Easter for what he did to you. Aaron – fortunately or unfortunately – knows you well enough to realize that there was a small part of you that considered what Easter had done, to be some sort of favor to you. Making you understand what was at stake. Preparing you for the worst. He doesn't need to hear you admit to it, in order to know that. Anything he said to the contrary would only result in you doubling down and insisting, that without him threatening Jack and Aaron, you might not have realized exactly how grave of a danger your role could pose to them.

You could be quite maddening in what you chose to direct your fury at. Easter lying to you was unforgiveable. Him torturing you – apparently par for the course.

"Thank you." Aaron nods his gratitude to McKinney, knowing that he is also being effectively dismissed as the Director moves to stand.

Standing as well, Aaron meets McKinney's outstretched hand across the table, shaking it quickly, before turning away and exiting the room.

*------------*

The door closes behind you with a heavy thud.

Aaron had nodded you in towards McKinney's office, electing to ignore Gladys's gesture to exit via the lobby and taking your recently vacated seat. He wasn't about to leave. He'd be there, waiting for you.

"Good morning Director." You offer a small smile and nod your greeting to McKinney, taking the seat in front of his desk.

Your shoulders are pulled back straight, you're meeting his unreadable gaze head on. Aaron hadn't been able to provide any insight into McKinney's thoughts before you were ushered in, so there you sat, awaiting the gauntlet.

You're fairly convinced McKinney will fire you. Aaron disagrees but you've had the unshakeable apprehension in your bones, that's grown into a nebula of dread. No matter your brave words to Aaron about saying no to Director Richards' offer and taking a break if you were indeed terminated, the actual thought of being dismissed is terrifying. What on earth would you even do? There were only so many bake sales to host and field trips to chaperone before you went postal.

"How are you doing?" he asks, leaning back in his chair and appraising you.

You feel McKinney's eyes run over you in an inspecting manner, lingering on your face. You know him well enough to recognize this as genuine concern on his behalf. Garcia had mentioned that she'd sent him the video they'd all seen of what Clyde had done to you. You're aware that McKinney would shoulder some of the blame for that on himself.

"Better," you answer cautiously, figuring that was close enough to the truth without being a mere perfunctory response.

He eyes you once more, letting the quiet wash over you both, forcing you to linger in that awkward tension of being examined by him. The seconds go by, marked by the loud click of the seconds hand on the clock mounted to the wall.

Deciding that he'd made you suffer long enough, McKinney leans in again, fingers interlaced on top of the desk carefully, deep set eyes focused on you alone. "So, you have a job offer from Artie?"

Who the hell was Artie?!

At the confused look on your face, he clarifies, "Director Richards – Arthur and I go back. Did you know that?"

You can see the suppressed smirk hidden beneath a veneer of professionalism as McKinney leans back in the chair once more, having left you to silently ponder at the incredulity of anyone referring to Director Richards as Artie and the sheer surprise at McKinney knowing about the job offer. When you'd considered them speaking, you hadn't thought that Richards would mention that. Though, it made sense. Tell your current boss that you have another offer. Make you look bad to McKinney, as though you'd been soliciting an offer from the CIA. Ensure that you'd want to leave for the Agency instead, by souring your relationship with McKinney.

"You call Director Richards…Artie?" It was the only thing you could think of to say, at a loss for much else.

"You think you're the only one he takes to fancy French restaurants?" This time, McKinney's words are accompanied by a real smile, one that you can't help but return.

*------------*

Aaron starts when the door to McKinney's office reopens and you exit. He'd had his gaze locked on the door ever since you disappeared behind it, anxiously awaiting the final decision. Despite his relatively good meeting with the Director, he didn't know what to expect as the outcome.

Your eyes lock with his, your expression entirely unreadable. Silently, you motion towards the exit with your eyes, the message clear. Whatever happened, you two wouldn't be discussing it there.

Aaron quickly stands, nodding towards McKinney's assistant when she looks up at the movement. He's quick to follow you as you make your way down the hallway, deftly moving past anyone in the hallways. He's loathe to ask what happened. The journey from McKinney's office has his heart beating fast, as he reckons with what news could have led to you moving through the hallways at such a pace, him struggling to keep up as you maneuver through a break room full of people, finally arriving at an unused office, into which you slip with him close behind.

You wait for him to enter, before shutting the door while he turns to look towards you. You've turned as well, back pressed against the door when Aaron finally has the chance to assess you properly.

Your eyes dart around the room, not meeting his. Your lips are pressed together.

Aaron feels the pit in his stomach tighten into a lead ball, weighing him down. It would be alright, he reminds himself. He had known you being let go was a possibility. The two of you have planned for this.

He releases a deep breath before he speaks. "What did McKinney say?"

Your tongue peaks out, running over your lips as you tilt your head to meet his eyes finally. Apprehension exuding from you as you nervously fidget with your hands. He sees you force yourself to swallow before you reply.

"He told me that I can hand in my official resignation from the BAU to you."

Aaron closes his eyes. He had thought, after his conversation with McKinney, that the Director had no intention of letting you go. He'd never been quite so off on reading someone.

Opening his eyes, he looks deep into yours. "Alright," he nods, attempting to reassure you as well as himself. "We knew this could happen." Already a thousand different scenarios are playing in his head – telling the team, next steps for you, what you're going to want to do after you grow tired of the break, maybe he needs to take a step back as well…

"We can appeal it, sweetheart," he reminds you. The two of you had discussed that as a possible option as well. He walks towards you, wanting nothing more than to hold you close to him again. "We can appeal – Rossi, Morgan, hell even Strauss would put in a good word for you. McKinney's word isn't final, and – "

Aaron breaks off his mile a minute speech, distracted at the sight of a smile twitching at your lips. Why were you smiling?

"He told me to hand in my letter of resignation to the BAU," you repeat yourself as he falters, trying to understand what you're saying. He asked you to give him the letter of resignation from the BAU…

"I'm getting my own team, Aaron," you whisper, as if you could scarcely believe it yourself.

You were getting your own team. You were getting…your own team.

"You're getting – " His mouth can't seem to quite get the words out as he watches your face split into a grin that his is slow to mirror.

Of all the possibilities that you'd considered, this had hardly been one of them.

"I'm getting my own team," you repeat, eyes focused fully on him. You have the largest smile he's ever seen on your face. He can feel that pit replaced by this bouncy feeling in his chest as he looks at your face –the bubble of the moment broken by the laughter and squeal that follows as he sweeps you into his arms.

This was good.

You were happy.

*------------*

"I think this is the last box," Aaron says, striding into your office, eyeing you cautiously as you're balanced atop your chair, trying to hang up some of the frames with your certificates on the wall.

You mutter a quick thank you, concentrating on hammering the nail in without hurting yourself by falling off of the wheeled chair. Aaron moves to start putting the books he'd brought up into the bookshelves, hovering close to you in case you did end up slipping.

It had been a week since McKinney had offered you your own team as a counter to Richards' offer from the CIA. Turns out, as long as you get results, the government tends to look the other way when you break any number of clearance regulations. Your conversation with McKinney in his office that day had been entirely centered around what he could do to ensure that you stay with the Bureau.

Intelligence and Threat Assessment, or the ITA, was a group within the Bureau that examined any number of domestic and international threats, analyzed changing political spheres, and partnered with the Justice Department, Congress, and external organizations to spearhead the American democratic manifesto. In short, that was the group that determined who was and wasn't an enemy.

McKinney had offered you your own team within that umbrella to tackle special cases that rose to the level of further assessment by or direct involvement of the Bureau. The sight of your name, followed by the words Unit Chief would never get old.

You'd had a busy week, settling back into regular life, catching up with everyone, and ensuring that you were spending time with Jack and Aaron once more. In that time, you'd also put out the word that you were building a new team and connected with the Bureau Human Resources department. Interviews were being set up. Thankfully you had one team member picked out – from your office, you can see the bullpen where your team will sit, Anderson's desk the only one occupied so far.

"So Strauss is retiring," Aaron comments idly, opening yet another box of items for you to decorate your office with.

You hum, encouraging him to continue, as you carefully get off the chair and grab one of the boxes, setting it on your desk. You'd long shed your blazer and the heels had come off ten minutes ago when Aaron had left to grab the last of the boxes. It was late anyways and you two were the last ones left, as you'd insisted on wanting to be all moved in so you could get a head start the following Monday. As soon as the two of you were done moving you into your new office, you couldn't wait to get home and sink into the tub.

"Rossi thinks it'll happen by the end of the month," he continues, handing you the box cutter you'd been searching for.

"Well, your only real competition could be external," you remark, handing him back the box cutter. You know that Aaron wouldn't have commented on Strauss's retirement if he wasn't considering the Section Chief position. With your new role keeping you closer to home a majority of the time, it would make your home life a lot more stable.

He makes a disbelieving sort of noise at your comment that has you smiling and rolling your eyes.

"Oh hush," you chide him, continuing to move things off of the box and into the shelf. "Now, if we have to consider the hiring committee for the position, then it'll be Wilson and Shaw – both of whom already like you – "

Aaron smiles as you start to lay out all the details for a role he's only mentioned in passing, but he knows that you will take entirely seriously. It's what you did. You planned and you executed and you achieved at a rate that was entirely remarkable.

" – Adams is a total pushover, and Rossi can probably help you out there –"

He smiles, nodding along to your strategizing, knowing you'd have Dave over for dinner soon enough and run Aaron's odds for getting the position by him and ensure that Dave would throw his weight around as needed.

"Davidson is the only one on the committee that'll pose any real issue, I suppose. I'm guessing you two haven't made nice yet after the Atlanta case?" You quirk a brow in his direction, asking a question that you already know the answer to. Really, it's your way of making sure he feels like he's part of the process, despite you being full systems ahead from the get go.

Aaron's forehead crinkles as he shakes his head.

"Yeah, I figured. Well, it's nothing to worry about. I heard from Lisa from research that he has a new girlfriend – one that drives his ex-wife entirely insane. Garcia can do some additional digging and get some more dirt."

He makes a face at you, which you elect to ignore, continuing on with your plan for targeted subterfuge.

"We can have them both over for dinner. I just got that new shipment from the Napa winery and we can ask Eric to cook for us again. He can make that dessert, and based on what Garcia manages to find, Davidson shouldn't be terribly difficult to persuade. After all, how could anyone not love you." You throw him a coquettish smile and wink, your arms laden with books that you'd lifted out of the box.

Aaron can feel himself grow warm – you tend to have that effect on him with only the smallest of gestures. The ever faithful butterflies, his constant companions in the early days of the two of you entering into this relationship, have infiltrated his stomach with a vengeance.

"Once you're Section Chief, we can figure out Department Chief next. Carlton won't be around forever," you forge ahead, intent now on your plan to launch his career to the next phase and the next after that. Pretty soon you'd be planning world domination with him by your side. You'd manage to convince him that it was alright because he'd be the one in charge and he makes good decisions so why wouldn't the entire world simply bow to his will. No matter how ridiculous the notion or how bizarre the proposition, your faith in him was unyielding.

Aaron reaches into his pocket, feeling the sharp edges of the box there. It's been on hand this entire week since your return, just waiting for him to find the right time. His heartrate picks up, his hand grasping the box tight.

Your back is still turned to him as you continue to arrange the books on your shelf in order of subject and size, going up on the tip of your toes to reach the top shelf as your voice carries on. Something regarding convincing Carlton that he would be well suited for a jump to the West Coast offices, leaving the pathway wide open for Aaron's surge to the top.

"Do you remember," he interrupts, watching you carefully, "a while back, you said something to me. Something along the lines of, Director Hotchner has a nice ring to it?" He does his best to keep his voice casual, regulate his breath as he speaks.

You pause, the memory of that afternoon flitting into your mind. So early in your relationship, back when you'd thought that maybe, that would be something appealing to a man like Aaron – ambitious and righteous, wanting to protect and serve at the highest of levels. That had been before – before you'd known, that for him, the BAU was the chance to put away monsters. It was a personal mandate that he couldn't disconnect himself from. Contending with the bureaucracy and politics that came with truly running the entire Bureau was not something that he found at all appealing. Despite all of your planning and machinations, you knew already that the best you could hope for with him would be Section Chief. He'd never leave the team further than that, no matter the number of steak dinners you served up.

"Yeah, what about it?" you ask, a bemused smile playing at your lips, wondering why he'd ask you that. He'd shot it down then, and you knew for a fact that it wasn't something he was about to begin entertaining now, despite the Section Chief role being a shift away from the BAU directly.

"I can't help but agree with you."

His voice was closer than it had been before, you can feel him right behind you. There's a prickling at the back of your neck, your brows furrowing in confusion as you attempt to decipher the meaning behind his cryptic words.

You turn, eyes widening at the sight in front of you.

Bent down on one knee, with the most beautiful ring in his hand. The gold in his eyes warm and sparkling for you. A hopeful smile on his face as he watches yours.

You could scarcely believe it as you struggle to meet his eyes, trying to string together something that sounded vaguely intelligible, while your lungs struggled to pull in enough air to keep you standing.

Your mouth feels dry and you have to force yourself to take a deep breath, licking your lips as you do. You push away the first question that comes to your mind – Are you sure? Of course he was. There was no doubting it. No doubting him.

When your eyes finally do meet his, your breath hitches, overwhelmed by the surrounding quiet, only the sound of your breath and your heart and the wondrous, exuberant buzzing of the sparks surrounding you in anticipation of the inevitable.

"You really think I'm going to be Director one day?" Your question is accompanied by an incredulous sort of laugh, the kind that causes his heart to skip a beat at the mere sound.

"I really do, sweetheart." His words carried with them a promise – he was pledging himself to you and anything you set out to achieve.

You feel yourself bound towards a feeling you haven't felt much as of late. Elation – that euphoric ecstasy that courses through your veins and causes your chest to beat wildly. You can do nothing but smile big and nod hard, for once, words completely failing you.

Aaron needs no further encouragement besides the sparkling note of your laugh, the effervescent joy of your nod as you reach for him and he rises. He's quick to slip the ring on your finger before his mouth meets yours, hands winding around his neck and pulling him as close as possible.

Hearts beating jubilantly in sync at the feel of his lips against yours and his arms around you, yours around him, and that persistent and everlasting feeling of belonging to one another in every manner possible.

When the two of you finally break apart, breathless, matching grins on both your faces, you can't help but ask. "How long has Jack known?"

He smiles, his eyes twinkling. "Since Paris."

You let out a breathless, short laugh. You can scarcely believe he'd been able to keep it from you that long. Though, looking back, a number of instances with Jack made a lot more sense now. The faint memory a shopping trip with him, sometime after Paris, when Jack had been quite taken with the window display of a wedding store.

"We might have to do a reenactment for him," Aaron jokes, keeping you close to him. He weaves his fingers through yours, admiring how the ring sits perfectly on your hand, sparkling just right in the light.

You laugh, tightening your hand in his. "Let's go home then."

Everything else could wait.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #irreverentseries #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds reader insert #hotch x you #hotch x reader

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imaginesandinserts · 3 years

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Irreverent Pt. 60 - Epilogue

Title: Irreverent Pt. 60 - Epilogue

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~2K

Status: Complete

A/N: That’s all folks. Chapters 59 and 60 coming out together today.

For J - For being the reason I finish this.

Irreverent Series Masterlist

Aaron's been seated in his new office for the past hour, going over the new certification and training requirements for the BAU with Dave. Technically, it should've been Prentiss he was meeting with, but she'd happily passed along that piece of her new responsibilities, stating that the grouchy old men would do a much better job at it than she ever could.

From across the way, he can see through the glass walls into his old office which Prentiss now occupies. Both Garcia and JJ are sat across from her, no doubt convening there before they all fly out for your bachelorette party. It was a bit unbelievable to think he was only a week away from officially marrying you.

That is, if you survived this weekend, as you'd commented apprehensively earlier that morning. You've been terrified about what Emily had planned, especially given how his bachelor party had gone a few weeks prior. Dave had lured him away with the promise of good steaks and cigars, and then ambushed him with private dancers. He'd even gone out of his way to find one that held an uncanny resemblance to you. John had been sure to give that one a wide berth, making a beeline for the other corner of the room and staunchly avoiding any sort of eye contact with Aaron, much to his amusement. The night had culminated in a panicked text from Aaron to you, begging to be rescued. You'd arrived – his knight in shining armor – and taken him, a terrified Reid who'd been on the phone texting his girlfriend half the night, and a reluctant John who had finally relaxed enough to enjoy the company of the other dancer when you'd arrived and fixed him with an unamused regard that had the poor guy following the rest of you out with quick goodbyes to Dave and Morgan.

"You talk to Morgan recently?" Dave asks idly, sifting through the files in search of the old requirements documentation.

"Yes, he seems to be liking the transition to the academy," Aaron remarks, flipping through the file in front of him in search of the same. "We grabbed lunch last week when I did the Profiling and Prosecution seminar."

Dave smiles with a contemplative nod, and Aaron can only imagine what was going through his friend's head. Things were changing around them slowly – you'd left the team and had built your own, Prentiss was running the BAU, Morgan had retired to spend more time with his wife and soon to arrive son. Aaron himself had taken on the mantle of Section Chief, a role to which he was taking to far better than previously anticipated. Though, he supposed it helped that this time, he was only doing the Section Chief job and not also running the BAU.

It had been the right decision – for him, for you, for Jack. Both of you were home for dinner more nights than not. The three of you had settled into a routine that felt comfortable, and while he missed being directly in the field, he could see the change in him, his body. At his last doctor's visit, Dr. Robbins had commented that his stress levels appeared to be lowered and having a job that wasn't quite so hard on his body was a great help in that.

John was over every few weekends, very much a part of that routine you'd created, and the three of you had flown to New York a handful of times as well, taking Jack to a Yankees game (which he enjoyed thoroughly) and taking him on the subway (which he didn't care for). Dave had asked him half a dozen times, how he felt about John's presence in your lives. Aaron was incredibly alright with it – he hadn't been the only one who thought he'd lost you.

If he was being truly honest with himself, he was far more comfortable with John than he'd ever allowed himself to be around anyone that wasn't you or Haley. He's had time to think about it, about why that was the case. He figures it's because John is possibly the only other person in the world who understands the importance of you, the impact of you. For Aaron, in many ways, John also felt like an extension of you. The same biting humor, the forced humbleness – the way neither one of you could see anything wrong with spoiling Jack entirely.

Aaron could still easily recall the day he'd made an offhand remark about him not wanting Jack to grow up with a silver spoon in his mouth. John had grown quiet, eyes fixed towards where you were finishing making lunch. Jack was sat on the countertop, mixing together a bowl of cookie dough for you, to be baked for after lunch. Aaron had followed his gaze, his heart warming gently at the sight. It was so familiar, Jack always loved helping you in the kitchen. Aaron's mouth involuntarily turns into a smile as you laugh at something Jack had said, your head falling back easily, the musical notes of your laughter making the room feel brighter.

When John had turned back, he had a far away look in his eyes. "You're right," he'd said, clearing his throat, his voice a little heavier than before. "At the end of the day you want to be sure of only one thing – that he feels immensely loved. Because kids who aren't fed love by a silver spoon, they tend to lick it off of knives."

Aaron knew, without being told, that John was referring to Julian. He found himself incredibly grateful that his son got to be fed by you, wielding a platinum spoon. With John in your lives, that love in Jack's life only increased.

*------------*

You stood at the door of Aaron's office, having walked down from your own, on the way to Emily's so that you and the girls could fly off to a weekend of controlled (hopefully) fun. Who were you kidding? Emily Prentiss was in charge of your bachelorette party. You'd be lucky if you made it back in time to meet Aaron at the altar.

It takes a few seconds for them to notice your presence. A few seconds during which you get to admire the late afternoon sun hitting Aaron's frame just right, the golden hues turning his hair a lighter brown – it made him seem younger than his age, and the white flecks (which he blamed almost entirely on you and your disappearance) would suggest. The pronounced furrowed brow that seemed to be a permanent fixture for him while he was in the office, the warm eyes turned seriously down towards the papers in front of him, the pink lips that had spent a fair amount of time between your legs the night prior, causing you to shatter around him. That had resulted in John making a few crude remarks at breakfast that morning, which thankfully flew over Jack's head. Your son was far too excited to have an entire weekend with just his dad and favorite Uncle for a "Boys Only Weekend" to make up for you missing his soccer game on Saturday.

Aaron shifts, noticing your presence, head tilting up and eyes meeting your own. At the sight of you, they imbue warmth and familiarity, sparkling against the reflected sunlight. You're struck for a moment. Your husband-to-be was remarkably beautiful.

"Hey, how's it going?" You smile at both Aaron and Dave, entering quickly to meet Aaron on his side of the desk. Both of them turn to look at you.

"You still have no idea where Emily is taking you?" Rossi's face betrays his glee at your misfortune. He's been cross with you ever since you kidnapped Aaron from his own bachelor party. In your defense, the man had practically begged you to.

"No, she won't tell me." You sigh, your voice coming out almost in a whine.

Rossi's lip twitches, though he does a good enough job at not laughing outright.

You perched on the arm of Aaron's chair, placing a quick kiss to his cheek. "Harvey sent these over," you tell him, placing the envelope you had been carrying on his desk, your hand returning to play with the ring on your finger around as you were prone to do nowadays. "Would you please sign them and make sure they get to his office before Monday? He wants them finalized before the wedding."

Aaron nods, noting how your delicate fingers caress the stone of the ring that's sat on your hand and made him – quite literally – the luckiest man alive.

He's been expecting some paperwork coming his way in light of your upcoming ceremony. He'd lightly brought up the idea of a pre-nuptial agreement with you early on – for your sake – and had been laughed out of the room. You did however, feel it necessary to make him aware of exactly what assets he'd have access to, and thus your lawyer had been busy creating a summary for him to look over and acknowledge. Apparently, it had taken a full staff to do the entire work up, over the course of a month. If the thud the envelope had made when you'd set on his desk was any indication, he was in for a long night of reading.

"Alright, I should go." You heave off of his chair and the two of you look at each other and then Rossi, who takes a hint and looks away, leaving you to bend down and capture his lips against yours. You feel his arm winding around your waist and tightening into your side briefly, before you withdraw, your tongue peaking out to lick your lips. Aaron looks just barely flushed as Rossi turns back, his lips twitching in amusement as you fix yourself and take your leave.

*------------*

The door closes behind you, Aaron's eyes following your walk across the floor towards Emily's office.

"Is that what I think it is?" Dave asks, drawing his attention back to the envelope you'd dropped off for him. There's something oddly familiar about this – the two of them in his office, an envelope related to you dropped off at his desk. Though this time, under far less confusing and much happier conditions.

Aaron nods, doing his best to hide the smile threatening to break through at his friend's curiosity. Ever since New York, Dave had been very interested in learning exactly how much richer than him you were.

Reaching for the envelope, Aaron opens it up and withdraws the large stack of papers, and flips to the first page. Disclosure of Assets – the name of the document hardly did justice to the summary that followed. Properties across the U.S., Europe, South America, and the Caymans. A plethora of divided up Swiss bank accounts, each with a balance more staggering than the last. A stock portfolio rivaling Buffets. The number at the bottom of the page takes his breath away entirely.

Aaron turns once more to look towards his old office – he can see you gathered there with the rest of the girls, laughing about something. Given the piece of paper in his hand, he has to hand it to you in that moment. You lived far below your means. To think that someone your age had access to that kind of money – that kind of freedom – and still chose to do what you did. He didn't think there were many others who would.

Before Aaron can react, Dave has reached across the table and yanked the piece of paper right out of his hands.

The noise of complete shock that leaves his friend's body was not one that Aaron was likely to forget anytime soon. He watches as Dave reads the same summary he just had, his eyebrows moving further and further into his hairline as he goes down the page.

When he finally looks back at Aaron it's with a look that couldn't quite be described – surprise, awe, a hint of envy. Aaron can viscerally see the same thought he had moments ago regarding you and your work at the Bureau flit through Dave's head as he too turns to assess you across the floor.

Quietly, he hands the documents back to Aaron. Shifting in his chair, Dave clears his throat. "You do know that you're going to be picking up the tab every time now, right?"

Aaron chuckles, nodding. He'd assumed as much.

He turns back to you, only to catch you looking towards him as well through the glass walls. Your mouth turns up into a smile as your eyes meet his. Eyes like the sunrise colliding with his, causing his stomach to flip in that torturously delicious manner that only you seem to invoke. Eyes that meet his and stay. Eyes that have followed him, mirrored his, since the moment the two of you met. Eyes that betrayed you both when you looked at one another, the sheer intensity of the emotion behind them giving you away entirely. It didn't matter what distance, what time, what circumstance separated you from one another – somehow his eyes knew to always find their companion in yours.

Aaron might have fallen first, but he is forever grateful that you'd followed.

#irreverentseries #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds reader insert #hotch x you #hotch x reader

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imaginesandinserts · 3 years

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Irreverent Pt. 56 - Calm of Night

Title: Irreverent Pt. 56 - Calm of Night

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~9K

A/N: My weekly posting schedule has become more like biweekly because of work. Sorry!

Irreverent Series Masterlist

You're seated in Pierce's office, dressed in a suit from the bag that had been dropped off by an Interpol agent a few hours back, returning your belongings that had sat in a safe house in Philadelphia the past few days. Upon receiving the bag, you'd dumped out everything and gone through your belongings with a fine tooth comb, searching for any surveillance or tampering. Knowing everything you did now about Clyde and his long and twisted history of watching you – well, it only felt appropriate. Derek had raised an eyebrow at you while Emily helped you sift through everything.

With the suspicion that Pierce was the mole, firmly in place, Garcia had been able to look over all of Pierce's properties and holdings in more detail and there was already a team, led by Derek and Rossi that was deployed to his country home, after satellite imaging revealed some odd structures in the back lot. Anderson had updated you when Pierce left his home and had alerted you that he was on his way in.

The team had already worked out the best way to confront him. Pierce wasn't privy to the day to day of Jansen's operation, however it was safe to assume that he knew of a potential connection to you. You'd only met the man personally once, and it had been entirely unremarkable at the time. In hindsight, you'd looked at his appraisal of you standing next to McKinney during a project update with new eyes, taking note of the way his eyes had brushed by you entirely in a way that, to be quite frank, you weren't used to.

You're used to unwanted attention from men. No attention, not even a casual look up and down, that was hardly cause for concern at the time. Looking back, it had stood out, however, and ultimately helped seal the deal for you when you'd concluded that he was the best fit for the profile. When you'd told the team this, they'd all agreed with you, knowing from experience that child predators were unlikely to be interested in appropriately aged women.

So here you sat, awaiting Pierce while the team watched from another room, having already set up cameras and recording devices in the room.

"Testing, confirm you can hear." Aaron's voice comes in through the comms piece in your ear, and you nod and reply in the affirmative. It felt really good to be working a case with him again. With him, you never had to worry.

From the operations room, Aaron watches the screens in front of him, John seated in the chair beside him while Reid kept a line of communication open with Dave and Morgan, working with them to oversee the mission into Pierce's other home. Reid was in prime form, easily directing Morgan towards anything that might be on interest, and Aaron notes how much more at ease he was, leading from afar. He makes a mental note to explore that with Reid during their next conversation.

On his other side, Garcia is keeping tech running for both operations, though he can tell she's far more concerned with your piece despite you still being in the building. She'd obviously felt awful for bringing up the video to you in her excitement at having you back, not having realized that you didn't know what they'd seen yet. He knows it was his fault for not warning you. Having you back, the last thing he'd wanted was to cause you any more distress, but he should've known better. Had it not been Garcia, it would've been someone else.

He could see how much of a toll watching you go through that, had on the team. Already, he'd seen how much more careful Morgan was with you. The casual jostling and elbowing – a dynamic you'd attempted to fit back into with him, was strained. Sure, he'd laughed along, but he didn't dare shove back at you, for fear that he'd hurt you. It was a long road ahead before any of them started to treat you with anything less than kid gloves.

Prentiss and JJ are standing and watching the other cameras, awaiting any sign of Pierce. For him, it should feel like a regular day walking into the office. They both have their headsets on and are leaned back, waiting for Garcia to alert them to Pierce's entrance into the building.

Beside him, John appears far more at home amongst the team than any detective they've worked with over the years. He has a headset on as well, eyes trained on you on the screen in front. From what he's been able to glean thus far, John appears to be a D.A. from the same mold as him – incredibly hands on. He hasn't hesitated or been thrown by any of the research or surveillance activities that the team has embarked on, showing an easy familiarity with the terminology and procedure.

"He just badged in," Garcia alerts them, Prentiss and JJ both turning to their screens as they watched Pierce go through the gates and then to the elevators towards his office.

On the screen, you start, following along to JJ's play by play of Pierce's location. With a moment's beat, you stand up from the chair you'd been sat in across from his and smooth out your suit.

"What is she doing?" Prentiss asks from behind, as they all watch you walk around the desk, and then place a hand on Pierce's chair to swivel it around to face the back wall. You find one of the cameras that was in the room and throw a quick wink towards them that has Aaron shaking his head as he realizes what you're doing. You sit down in Pierce's own chair facing the back wall, awaiting his arrival.

From beside him, John mutters, "You always have to be dramatic, don't you?", rolling his eyes.

His words have your mouth twisting into a smirk, eyes shining with mirth. "Admit it, you'd be bored if I wasn't."

John shakes his head, his mouth unwillingly turning up into a fond smile as he watches you settle in and cross one leg over the other, tugging at your suit jacket until it sits in place. He's aware of Aaron next to him, and there's a part of him that's nearly waiting for things to be awkward or uncomfortable with you three. John's been around jealous boyfriends before and Aaron is nothing like those guys. Those guys would be rankled by their girlfriends' ex teasing them. They'd be bothered by how easily you and him move around one another, hands grazing casually – soft and familiar touches that come naturally to you both. Without being told, John knows that you and Aaron had some sort of deep understanding when it came to him, because Aaron is entirely unphased despite seeing and noticing everything.

"Incoming." JJ's crackles onto the mic right as you hear the door open to Pierce's office.

You hear footsteps and you can feel someone else in the room as Pierce enters and then shuts the door behind him, not having noticed your presence yet. On the screen, the team sees him turn and walk towards the desk, the high back of his chair preventing him from seeing you immediately.

It's then that you turn, the chair swiveling around slowly to face him, your face set – emotionless and unyielding.

"Hello Alexander."

The hint of a Russian accent seeps into your voice as you greet him, hard eyes trained on the man in front of you, who had startled at your movement, his briefcase nearly falling from his grasp before his hand goes to his gun holster and then pauses as he sees who it is. Eyes widening, he withdraws his hand from the holster and walks closer to the desk, watching you apprehensively as you sit in his chair like its your throne.

"Have a seat."

Your voice left no room for argument as Pierce lowers himself cautiously into one of the chairs on the other side of the desk. You give him a moment to draw his wits about him. Pierce wasn't stupid. He had to know – or at least think he knew – why you were here.

From the room, Aaron watches, enraptured as he always is when you go undercover or into an interrogation room. You're a wonderful profiler, no doubt. However there is something about you when you're confronting someone that plays to your strengths in the best of ways. You thrive on knowing the power you hold, leaning into your role. It's never quite Good Cop/Bad Cop with you. No, you do best when you merely play yourself – compelling, mysterious, alluring. Unsubs – especially men – lower their guard around you without meaning to. The darkening eyes and curve of your mouth as you smile at them with an all-knowing regard. You draw out a near primal need to perform for you, please you, show off for you.

Aaron can see it here now as Pierce sits straight in the chair across from you, the shock of walking into his office with you waiting for him starting to wear off. He adjusts and unbuttons the bottom button on his jacket, easing into the chair as though he hadn't nearly wet his pants at the sight of you mere seconds prior.

"How can I help you?" he asks, the hint of cockiness bleeding into his tone. This was a man who had actively provided information on intelligence agents in exchange for children. The thought alone was enough to draw revulsion.

You appraise him quietly, allowing the seconds to tick by. In the surveillance room, no one breathes, allowing you your silence. After a few seconds have ticked by, there's the flicker of uncertainty that passes over Pierce's face. That's what you'd been waiting for.

"I spoke with Jansen," you say, the barest hint of a smile on your face. "You'll be reporting directly to me, from here on out." You're banking on Pierce being removed enough from the day to day operations, as to not know that Jansen had a bullet in his head, courtesy of a certain unit chief. The goal was simple: get him to admit to it all.

Pierce appears to think for a moment before speaking. "Is there any particular reason for the change in procedure?" he asks, trying to maintain an air of casual ease.

"I've decided to take on a more active role within the organization." You don't offer any further explanation. Simply wait for Pierce to nod that he understands, before you continue. "Obviously, I can't have anything traced back to me. I've invested a significant amount of time and effort into this cover," you tell him with a motion towards your own badge. Most everyone also knows that you're with Aaron - the dissolution agreement was strictly on paper alone and hadn't had enough time to become anything more. Strauss was many things, but she certainly was not a gossip.

"What is your current process for delivering the intel?" you ask, your tone all business. "I might want to make modifications."

"I obtain the information into the program from Eric Seaborn, the Marshalls' liaison," Pierce tells you, being far more forthcoming than you would've been in his position. He'd already provided you another name to go after. In your ear, you can hear Aaron directing Garcia to look into Seaborn and put out a warrant for him to be brought in immediately. With any luck, he'd be the root of the leak. "I then contact Jansen via the online forum and we set up a time and place for the drop."

You nod at his explanation, making a show of thinking it over. "What about the payment?"

At this, Pierce pauses and looks at you critically. Jansen might have given into his payment requirements. You – well, you might not be as accommodating. "Will that be a problem?" he asks, being purposefully vague.

You shake your head slowly. "No. I merely wish to ensure that we are both satisfied with the arrangement. To that end, packages should continue uninterrupted," you assure him, being just as vague as he was.

"We need him to admit to the kids," Aaron reminds you, sharing a look at Prentiss, the two of them knowing that without proof of the kids at Pierce's country home, a full on confession was the only thing that would get him convicted. That, and possibly anything Seaborn would cop to.

Knowing that Pierce might be just a little uncomfortable with you – a woman – than he was with Jansen, you loosen up a little, dropping your shoulders and settling into the chair just a little more as you allow an easy smile to appear on your face. "I have to say," you start, your eyes fixed on Pierce, "I definitely appreciated that we don't have to worry about a paper trail with you. I cannot tell you how much of a pain that can be, especially with agencies like the Bureau getting better and better with tracking down the finances," you share, with the hope that confiding in Pierce and making some small talk will force him to mimic your demeanor around the subject.

He eyes you carefully for a moment before mirroring your stance and smile. "Well, lets just say that this is a mutually beneficial arrangement," he offers, his words and tone drawing a shiver through you that you force yourself to suppress. In the comms channel you can hear Garcia and JJ both commenting on how entirely creepy Pierce sounded.

You give it a beat, before you decide to stand, making as if you were done and wanted to leave. Pierce stands with you and watches as you come around the table. On a whim, you smile and walk up to him carefully, mindful to make sure that the mic underneath his desk would catch your next words.

"Out of curiosity, what do you do with them?" you ask, betting on the one piece of the predator profile that was the most debated amongst the team. Predators like to show off. They like other people to know what they do to their victims. It gives them a power rush. However, it was a 50/50 when it came down to it – some of them act ashamed given how their actions are perceived in society. However, due to how blatant Pierce is regarding his proclivities, you reckon he is anything but shameful. He'll take pride it. Brag.

"I take care of them," he answers. "Little girls need someone to care for them and I ensure that they are – taken care of."

From the comms line, you hear Aaron's voice. "We have enough."

"You mean, you rape them. Is that how you take care of them?" you press, ignoring Aaron.

Pierce's eyes flash angrily at your accusation.

Before he can say anything in response, you continue. "Did you know, that if you are being charged for treason, they pretty much do away with due process?"

"What do you mean?" he asks, despite your severe face leaving nothing to question. You hadn't stuttered.

Your mouth twists into a dark sneer as you respond. "I mean, if you think they don't like child predators in prison, you can only imagine what they do with them in Gitmo."

At that, the door to Pierce's office opens once more and you see Aaron and Emily entering, not giving Pierce the opportunity to respond or retaliate as you walk past him, your heels clicking against the floor.

*------------*

There was seemingly no end to the confidentiality paperwork the Bureau was insisting John sign due to his involvement with everything. You were sat in the bullpen with the team, while John and Aaron went through it all upstairs in Aaron's office.

"So, Hawthorne," Emily begins, the curl of her lips hinting at how much she'd likely held back all of her choice commentary on John and Aaron and you – that whole dynamic. The fact that, out of everyone, she's still the only one calling John by his last name, does not escape your notice. You file that away to explore with her at a later date.

You bite your lip to prevent the smile that threatened to break at her predictability as the rest of them moved in closer as though Aaron or John might overhear from all the way upstairs.

At your nod, she continues. "I am going to charitably bypass the freakish similarities between the two of them," she says, smirking at you while Penelope nods along eagerly, "and focus on the fact that he is way more than just some guy I used to see." Emily's allusion to how you'd initially described John way back when has a grin appearing on Derek's face too, while both JJ and Spencer sport matching teasing smiles.

You shrug. There wasn't much to really say. Of course you had been friends with them all back then, but that didn't mean you were about to disclose your entire relationship to the team on the way back from a case. You didn't talk about John. It had been easier to not talk about him.

"We like him," Derek admits in the wake of your silence. "Guy dropped everything and came as soon as Hotch called him." Anyone who'd do that for you was alright in his book.

"Not to mention the fact that he's a total babe!" Penelope gushes, her voice breaking into a squeal that has Derek scowling in distaste.

You chuckle at his reaction. "Oh come on Derek. You know you're still her number one."

He shakes his head at you, though his mouth moves into a small smile despite himself.

"Yeah, you're still my favorite hunk of chocolate," she reassures him with a caress of his bicep, before turning back to you excitedly. "But really though, that's still the best ass I've ever seen."

"Squats," you respond sagely, remembering the number of times John managed to drag you with him to his far too long gym sessions. You'd end up collapsing on the side halfway through and just watch him finish up on his own. He did always buy you ice cream after to make up for it, though.

"Huh," she comments, an almost dreamy look on her voice before she continues on, her voice taking on a comically floaty quality. "You know, if we all got together – entirely objectively – as like, a country, and voted on best ass, I think he'd win. We can't all agree on one guy for president but that ass – that ass is America's ass."

The laughter around you felt like you'd never left. Emily and JJ were supporting each other from falling over, both of them clutching their stomachs as they watched Derek and Penelope debate the semantics of the entire country voting on some guy's ass, while Spencer chimed in with possible logistical solutions to get around the current voting technology being behind the times when it came to properly allowing voters to compare the merits of one ass versus another.

As you wipe a tear that has escaped you as your giggles subsided, you all see Anderson making his way towards you.

"Pierce is finished being processed," he informs you as he approaches. Everyone nods at Anderson. They'd all been surprised at how much you'd leveraged Anderson on the ground, as he'd never once made it seem like he was too busy to help the rest of them or hinted that he was on the special assignment with you.

"Thank you," you nod at him, watching as he goes to his desk to grab his stuff before making his way back to you. "I told them they can wait for your signature on the paperwork till Monday. Pierce can hang out in holding till then."

You smile at that before nodding once again. Anderson hesitates slightly, as though there was something more. "What else?" you prompt, figuring you might as well hear it all.

"Agent Easter also sent a request for on the ground support from the Bureau to help with the clean up of your base of operations outside of Philadelphia, now that Interpol has retracted all of its support. I took the liberty of informing him that the Bureau was far too overextended to be of much assistance to him. Now or at anytime in the future."

It was clear to see that Anderson's stoically calm words hid the fury of a thousand suns behind them when it came to Easter. You felt your heart clench ever so slightly at that, not having expected this protective streak from him.

"Thank you Grant."

He nods at you a soft smile on his face, pausing slightly with some hesitation, before leaning down and brushing a quick kiss to your cheek, pulling back quickly. "I'll see you all on Monday," he says to the group, slightly flustered, before making his way to the elevators.

"So Interpol already backed away from Easter, huh?"

You look up at Derek with a shrug. "Sure seems like it."

"Good."

From behind you, you hear a throat being cleared and turn to see both John and Aaron standing at the landing.

Aaron meets your eyes, and behind them you can see the sheer exhaustion that has caught up with him. "Let's go home."

*------------*

You, John, and Aaron were sat at the dining table with the remnants of a pizza in the middle. Mrs. Avery had had to drop Jack off with Jessica due to a preplanned family event that she was attending. While you'd been disappointed to come home to find he was gone, Aaron had reasoned that it might be best if you slept a little bit and were able to cover up some of the bruises and scrapes before you saw Jack. Unfortunately, he wasn't entirely wrong about that.

John had indeed kept a ledger of every single one of his and Julian's bets and you'd been forced to write him a check for the amount, which had amused Aaron to no end. You and John had just finished telling him the story behind another bet in the book – one which had ended with both John and Julian being picked up by the local sheriff's office for drowning the Dean's vintage Jaguar to the bottom of the school pool. Suffice to say, neither of your parents had been amused at having to write the Dean a hefty check in recompense.

As the three of you sober up, you see John look up oddly and try to catch Aaron's attention, the two of them having a nonverbal exchange that you weren't privy to, before they both turn to you, the mood significantly more somber than a moment prior.

"What's up?" you ask them both apprehensively, taking another bite of the slice of pizza in front of you. It was getting cold fast, the dough and cheese felt like a lump in your mouth, but you force yourself to swallow knowing that Aaron wanted to be sure you ate something at least.

It appeared they'd decided that John would ask, because he's the one to speak up. "What's the deal with you and Richards?" he inquires, Aaron nodding along to the question, his hair flopping down onto his forehead.

You roll your eyes good naturedly, surprised they'd gone even this long without bringing it up. Though, given that interaction between them just then, they'd obviously discussed it with another.

"Remember the Peterson Accords?" you ask Aaron, who had just taken another bite of his own, so he nods in response.

The Peterson Accords had been a snafu the CIA had been involved in a year or so ago. One that was entirely avoidable, had they been more forthcoming with information with other agencies.

"Well, when I first started working with McKinney, he had me tag along to a meeting at Langley. Somehow, the accords came up and I ended up offering Richards an entirely unsolicited opinion on it."

Aaron chokes slightly, realizing the implication of what you meant. At John's confused look, he takes a drink of water, washing down the bite before explaining. "The Agency messed up and there was a big PR issue with the Peterson Accords. Mostly the Bureau just avoids talking about it even though we all know that had the CIA just been upfront, the entire problem wouldn't have happened at all."

John snorts. "Let me guess, you told him as much?"

"Yeah," you admit, coloring ever so slightly at the memory of your nervous outburst. "McKinney wasn't thrilled. But Richards thought I had balls. A week later he asked me to drinks. It was the same day that Jack fell and broke his wrist," you tell Aaron, effectively explaining why mentioning this to him had slipped your mind. You'd been thoroughly panicked – if Aaron had thought you were overbearing when he'd been in the hospital, that had been nothing in comparison to how you'd been when it was Jack.

"I thought that would be it. Drinks only lasted like forty minutes before I got the call about Jack. But then a couple months ago, he caught up with me in Paris and asked me to dinner. Said he wanted to mentor me and help me develop further – offered me the job."

"Will you tell McKinney that?" Aaron asks, appraising you carefully from above the rim of the can of soda that's half way to his mouth.

You shake your head. "No. If he wants to fire me, let him. I'm not going to influence that decision with this. I'd rather not work for him if the only reason he keeps me is to prevent me from working for Richards instead."

"Where did he take you to dinner?" John asks, having caught something when you'd quickly mentioned Richards asking you to dinner in Paris.

Your eyes flash up at him, as you silently curse the fact that he knows you far too well and sometimes it was simply annoying.

"Benoit."

John snorts while Aaron merely looks puzzled.

"Benoit is like the most expensive and romantic Parisian restaurant," John explains in response to Aaron's raised eyebrow. "It took me six months to get a reservation there for Cece's birthday. Of course the Director of the CIA can just waltz in," he grouches, an amused expression catching him midway as Aaron processes Richards having taken you out to Benoit – the man had been trying to woo you in the most impressive of ways.

"Should I be threatened?" Aaron asks, a light teasing note in his voice as he looks back at you, finding the thought of the CIA Director taking you out for what – on the surface – reads as a romantic dinner date, highly amusing and frankly, not at all out of character. The man should be so lucky.

You smile, shaking your head once more. "We have a dinner invite with Director and Mrs. Richards whenever we're both next available. He's eager to meet you as well."

*------------*

You've just finished getting ready for bed, both John and Aaron having insisted on cleaning up what little mess there was. You'd agreed, if only because you'd missed the water pressure in the shower at home. After exiting the shower, you're quick to pull on pajamas and head back to the bedroom, allowing yourself to finally slip fully into the comfort of being home.

You're still reeling somewhat from the turn of events of the last two days, Clyde's betrayal still fresh in your mind. However, despite Clyde's accusations and Pierce's involvement, the most staggering thing is still the bizarrely civil – almost friendly – manner in which both John and Aaron seem to comport themselves around one another. Emily had commented on it briefly, filling you in on how the two of them had worked incredibly well together. How quickly Aaron had called John in, not wasting a second when he realized that would be the best way forward.

Sitting up on the bed, you grab the lotion from the nightstand drawer and start to slowly work it into your skin, the muscles aching still despite the hot water earlier. Dinner had been surprisingly nice. Rossi had offered to cook for everyone at his place, and while you'd appreciated the offer, Aaron could tell you just wanted to go home and had politely declined on your behalf.

You hear a shuffling at the door and look up to see John, walking up to the entrance, having already changed into pajamas. From outside, you can hear the rattling of the garbage cans as Aaron makes to move them to the curb, no doubt. At least one of you had remembered that tomorrow was trash day.

"Hey," you smile and beckon John in, scooching inwards to the bed and patting the spot next to you.

He walks in, settling down at the edge, his nose crinkling at the familiar scent of lavender – you'd brought him the same lotion back when he'd been having trouble falling asleep and while he'd been skeptical at first, gingerly rubbing it into his hands that first night, he'd slept like a baby and been a convert ever since.

"So," he starts, leaning forward and grabbing some of the lotion for himself, "you actually gonna marry this one?"

You roll your eyes lightly, used to this question from pretty much everyone. Penelope couldn't wait to see you and Aaron properly hitched as she put it. "What makes you think he's even going to ask?" you counter.

"I think I'm uniquely qualified to know what a man looks like when he wants to marry you," he quips back, the hint of a tease in his voice letting you know that he was mostly joking.

You laugh lightly, handing him the container of lotion to set on the nightstand beside him. You suppose he would be uniquely qualified for that. He'd been there for Matthew's proposal, and while you had no concrete evidence, you'd also spent an afternoon with Aunt Vivian, going through her vault of Hawthorne family jewels, as she had you try on every ring imaginable, paying extra close attention to the ones you liked and fit you well.

You sigh, settling in against the pillows propped up in front of the headboard. "I don't know."

John's brow furrows at your expression. "Why?"

You sigh once more, unsure how to quite explain this feeling you had. You're never able to articulate it very well and thus you've stopped trying, letting most people simply think what they may. "He's…been there…done that. It didn't work out," you tell him, the hint of sadness seeping into your voice before you can catch it. "Don't get me wrong, I think if I asked, he'd say yes," you're quick to assure him. Aaron wouldn't deny you anything, especially not if he knew how badly you wanted it.

"So why don't you?" John asks. You were hardly a stranger to going after what you want.

You know why you don't bring it up, despite everything. It's the one thing you've never broached with him. Planning a future together, talking about kids, being Jack's guardian in the event something happens to him – all things the two of you have talked about fairly easily. However, marriage, somehow you've skipped over that entirely. You know why, really. On some level it feels like a foregone conclusion. The two of you are as good as married. You've bought real estate with the man. Signing a piece of paper with your names side by side wasn't exactly a foreign concept to the two of you. But, how can you explain to John that you don't truly care to marry Aaron just for the sake of marrying him. Because of course you'd love to marry Aaron but as it stands, marriage – a government document stating that he was yours and you were his, till death do you part – it would hardly change anything for the two of you. It would, however, change things with Jack. Make things easier. Being married to Aaron would mean you no longer would have to introduce yourself to Jack's teachers as his father's girlfriend. All they saw when you told them that was a tarted up younger woman, poaching one of the few hot single dads. They thought you were temporary. You still remember the time Jack's teacher had called Aaron regarding a permission slip that you'd signed, saying she was calling to verify, because typically they only allow parents to sign those. Aaron had brushed it off, and not that you'd ever admit it to him, but it had stung. You'd made sure that Jack only ever got his father to sign forms after that.

You can feel John watching you while you think through what exactly you should say to him. You look up, meeting his deep blue eyes, filled with so much love and concern, it was nearly suffocating to maintain eye contact with him. "Because," you mumble, fidgeting with the corner of the pillowcase, "I want him to marry me, because it's what he wants. Not because he thinks it's what will make me happy."

John looks at you, and you know he's suppressing some choice words before deciding on his next ones. "Tell me this," he starts, shifting to better face you, "You were engaged before and that didn't work out. Will that really keep you from saying yes to him when he asks?"

You feel your throat fill with emotion, your heartstrings tightening painfully at the thought – the image – of Aaron bent down on one knee in front of you. You ignore John's lack of use of the hypothetical – when he asks. Not if. When.

"No, of course not."

John smiles at your heavier voice and gently drags your hand into his, weaving your fingers together. "Exactly. Just because it didn't work out with one person, doesn't stop you from believing it'll work out with him. Plus, I don't really know the guy all that well but he's pretty gone for you. Don't think I saw him crack a single smile till after we got you back. I was just glad he knew how."

You release a small breath of a laugh, tucking yourself closer to him. You can feel yourself get lighter, the longer he's around. "I forget you're actually smart sometimes," you joke, poking at his stomach.

"You know what, Harvard…," the rest of his sentence is lost in your combined laughter.

*------------*

Aaron finishes cleaning up the downstairs, and after putting the garbage cans outside for trash collection, heads upstairs to go to bed. He's glad that John had decided to stick around for a bit once everything had wrapped up, if only to keep an eye on you a little while longer. You seem softer around him, more playful. He knows that you're far more serious with him than you are with everyone else, but it was nice to see John bring out the younger, more fun side of you that he gets only glimpses of here and there. Even John had commented on it, in a roundabout way. How you seem like you've grown up quite a bit in the past few years.

As he arrives to the entrance to the bedroom, he can see John half laid back against the headboard, legs splayed out in front of him. You're tucked into his side, with a death grip on his arm, eyes closed shut. You look peaceful for the first time since he'd got you back.

At Aaron's arrival, John starts slightly, careful to not move too suddenly for fear of waking you. He mouths a quick apology at Aaron, then makes to extract himself from your hold. As he tries to delicately remove your fingers from where they're clutching at his arm, you begin to shift, grumbling lightly in your sleep, and Aaron is quick to halt John, shaking his head to stop him.

John looks at him quizzically as Aaron warily makes his way past the bed and into the bathroom. When Aaron reemerges, having changed into his pajamas as well, John is waiting for him, eyes fixed on the door where Aaron stands.

Aaron can see how entirely peaceful you seem – untroubled, tucked in your own bed once more. He looks up from you, to meet John's puzzled look, both men at a loss at what to do next without disturbing you. Neither one of them wanted to be the one to wake you. Not after everything.

While Aaron hadn't thoroughly thought through signaling John to stay, he was now forced to contend with it. He wasn't going to ask John to move for fear of waking you. On the other hand, he wasn't about to leave and go sleep in the guest bedroom while John slept in your bed beside you. It was out of the question. With minimal options available, he quietly walks over to the other side of the bed, merely shaking his head at John's continued perplexed countenance as he cautiously pulls the blankets over himself. Without speaking, he reaches for the remote on the nightstand by his side of the bed, flipping the television on to some late night infomercial at a low volume.

You're still tucked into John, nearly hanging off of him like a koala bear. Aaron's waiting – waiting for that flicker of jealousy. The tight clench of his heart that he feels whenever someone flirts with you, touches you. He's self aware enough to know that he hasn't evolved past jealousy. He's been waiting for it pretty much since the moment you and John were first reunited. It hadn't come then, and he'd chalked it up to the external circumstances of the moment, with Garcia accidentally spilling that they'd all seen the video. There had been more pressing matters than your ex lover hugging you. Then, however, he's seen the two of you joke and do that teasing thing that feels friendly rather than flirty, but if he were being honest with himself, that had never kept him from feeling a flare of envy here and there when you and Morgan bantered with one another in the same manner. He'd spent a dinner with just you and John, without the rest of the team there as a buffer, while John poured you a glass of water and you handed him a napkin to get the bit of sauce at the corner of his mouth. Nothing. Now, here you were, practically straddling the man, and yet, while he hadn't quite felt comfortable simply leaving the two of you alone in the room all night, he's not jealous per se. No, instead he thinks you look quite adorable and it's the first time he's seen John look calm since the moment he'd arrived.

So yeah, maybe it was weird. He knows it is weird. If it wasn't, him and John would talk instead of facing the television, the both of them pretending to be fascinated by the many capabilities of the NutriBullet. Yet, as you sleepily mumble something, Aaron can't help but feel the barest of smiles upon his face as he settles in further into the pillows. He doesn't have to look over to know that John has a similar expression on his face.

*------------*

You wake to the sound of voices as your head is tucked against Aaron's chest, arms wrapped around his waist, the smell of Irish Spring surrounding you. The sun is beginning to peak in through the curtains, casting the room in a golden glow. You don't want to get up yet. This is the most rested you've felt in what must be months. You don't want to get up. Not yet. Now if only he could be quiet and let you sleep.

At your softly slurred shut up you feel Aaron's chest rumble against you, his large hand leaving your back to come play with your hair, his attempt at lulling you back into sleep. You let him, relishing in the feel of his fingers brushing through you hair, his warmth all around you. Your mind begins to drift once more, eyes still shut tight as you press your lips to his chest in thanks. You're just on the verge of falling back asleep, when something stops you. You'd heard voices. Not just Aaron. It had certainly not been the television, unless Aaron had begun having conversations with Oprah to keep himself entertained. No…

You're suddenly very aware that the legs which you've got yours tangled with – the legs you'd thought were Aaron's – are not in front of you where he is, but behind you. Which meant that there was someone –

You blink awake, barely suppressing a moan at the feel of Aaron's fingers dancing through your hair, turning in his arms, and meeting exceedingly sparkly blue eyes, peering over at you and growing wider as they meet yours.

He'd stayed.

He'd stayed to make sure you were alright.

He'd stayed – in your bed. With Aaron, also in your bed. Aaron had…let him stay.

"Hey." His voice is still cloudy with sleep as he blinks at you from across the way.

You can't help how your eyes fill up at the sight. At his voice.

You'd missed John. You'd missed him.

"Hey," you respond, your own voice coming out rough as you clear your throat, shifting so that your legs move away from him and you and Aaron are both on your side, facing John, with your body half propped up against Aaron's as he wraps an arm around your waist. You're quick to drape your arm over his own, both of your hands coming to rest across your stomach, fingers intertwined together.

You're still warm and sweet, the haze of early morning floating around you. You reach out with your other and find John's arm, needing some form of confirmation that he's really there.

It's quiet, the only sound coming from the birds starting to wake, chirping outside. The house settles around you, the groan of nineteenth century wood beams shifting awake with the dawn.

You close your eyes, trying to savor this. You can feel Aaron, solid as ever behind you, holding up half your weight as though it were nothing. Your fingers, woven together with his, the drag of his thumb against your skin, moving back and forth soothingly. You know your dreams had been less than pleasant during the night by the way his arm keeps you close to him, you know he's already aware of the terror you will face for many more nights to come. John stays laid on his back, arm stretched out towards you. Through the fabric of his shirt, you can feel the heat coming off of him, the slight twitch of his muscle under your hand, his head turned towards you. The blanket still covers all three of you, and nestled in your bed with both of them there, you can feel a sense of calm wash over you. You already know this will never happen again.

You're the one to break the silence, knowing that they were waiting for you to speak. "What time is Jack's game?" you ask Aaron after clearing your throat to remove some of the fullness there.

You feel him squeeze you painstakingly tenderly. He's been incredibly careful with you. He still hasn't said anything about the bruises he'd undoubtedly seen, spanning your entire body while the two of you had showered together, merely helping you get clean as gently as he could. You can sense his hesitation, that slight pause he has before he puts a hand on you, an arm across you. You've had to initiate every kiss. If he'd really seen that entire video, part of you understands. The other part tries to quell the small fear that he'd heard something, learned something, that now gave him some amount of pause. Some little barrier that maybe now existed after he'd learned about –

"At eleven," he answers, lips brushing the shell of your ear, causing a flutter in your stomach.

You nod, nearly forgetting that John was still there, reminded only by the sight of him in front of you, a small, knowing smile on his face.

"You should meet Jack," you tell him. You want him to stay.

He nods, allowing the three of you to fall back into a fuzzy silence.

You're trying to decide how odd this is. You wager Aaron feels at least somewhat awkward. John too. Now that you're starting to emerge from the fog of sleep, you find it more amusing than anything else. You've woken up between the boys before. Ambrose didn't consider a night out successful unless it resulted in either him bedding someone, or in the four of you passed out in one bed together, far too gone to make it back to your individual apartments. But John and Aaron – you would've never bet on waking up between the two of them. For a guy that didn't share…well, you'd have to ask him later on how exactly this happened. Last thing you remembered was sitting up in bed while John talked about his move to the DA's office.

John can see the small grin gracing your face, the humor dancing in your eyes as you slowly come to terms that this was indeed how you'd woken up that morning.

"What?" he asks, narrowing his eyes and already groaning internally because he regrets asking. He doesn't have to hear what you're going to say. The look in your eyes had said it all.

You hum, the small grin breaking out into a full faced one as your nose crinkles with amusement at the situation. "Oh nothing," you say, your voice laced with that sing song quality that has Aaron paying closer attention. "Just that, pretty sure I've had a dream like this before," you joke, your eyes flitting from Aaron to John and back again, the intention behind your words incredibly clear.

"Aaaand that's my cue."

You watch, the giggles overtaking you as John hauls himself out of bed and walks out the door without a look back, shaking his head and muttering something that sounded suspiciously like you just had to ask.

You turn to face Aaron, his brow scrunched, pulling his forehead together, an entirely unamused expression on his face, in stark contrast to the wide smirk adorning yours.

"A dream?" His tone implies that he didn't find the notion nearly as funny as you did.

Luckily, you had a solution for that as you move in closer, covering his lips with your own, any thoughts regarding you and him and John in a bed together, dream or reality, long forgotten.

*------------*

By the time you and Aaron shower and get dressed, John was already downstairs in the kitchen, having made himself useful by making breakfast. The smell of chocolate chip pancakes wafts through the air as the two of you enter to John flipping the last of the stack onto a plate.

"You have no food in this house," he informs you, pointing his spatula in your direction. "You expect to keep a man with an unstocked pantry?"

"Looks like you managed to make do," you retort, grabbing plates for all three of you while John settles into a chair at the island and Aaron heads over to grab coffees for you and him. John already had a mug in his hand.

You take a seat at the chair kitty corner to John while Aaron grabs the seat on his other side after placing your mug in front of you. Breakfast was a relatively quiet affair while you all ate, the TV playing the news with a report of the findings from the Philadelphia investigation. You share a look with Aaron, knowing that's something you'll no doubt be dragged into the second you're back at work. There would be some PR spin about the Bureau catching the parties responsible, ensuring the safety of the republic once more.

"Why don't you go with Aaron and grab Jack," you ask John, grabbing all of your plates despite their protests. They'd cleaned up yesterday. "I'll run to the grocery store. Make sure I can manage to keep a man." While you might have wanted to go grab Jack yourself, you're still figuring out how this thing with the three of you works. You weren't sure groceries was a two man job and a part of you felt slightly odd about Aaron going to get Jack by himself while you ran to the store with John. You want to play this right.

With a chuckle, John nods, going upstairs to grab a jacket, leaving you and Aaron to share a quick kiss goodbye as he points you to the grocery list you'd written last time you'd been home. You grab the list, quietly wondering what it was still doing there, before adding a few more items to the end.

*------------*

It was a long drive to Aaron's sister-in-law's place, the beginning of which had gone by fairly quickly, with the two of them chatting about Jack and what positions he liked to play on the soccer team.

"I'm thinking I might coach next season," Aaron reveals, a tender sort of smile on his face that reminds John of his own father. His father might not have coached the soccer team, but growing up he'd always been present for all of his games, which was a far cry from Julian's parents. It was only as an adult that John had a true appreciation for how much more his parents had been around compared to yours.

"I think that's a good idea," John agrees. "I know I always liked having parents that were involved more. Makes more of a difference than we think it does."

Aaron nods, allowing the conversation to fall into a comfortable silence while he fidgets with the CD player. A familiar song comes on, one that John faintly recalls blaring from your room many a time while he'd been over to hang out with Julian.

Clearing his throat, John gets Aaron's attention, who looks at him briefly before facing the road once more. There's the latent hesitation that lingers in the back of his mind lending credence to his doubts about voicing this, however, steeling himself, he barrels on. He can't not ask and this might be one of his last few chances. "What video was Penelope talking about?"

Aaron's knuckles go white around the steering wheel, his jaw tightening and John almost regrets asking. Almost.

Nearly thirty seconds pass in silence while John watches Aaron work through exactly how to answer him. He can see the turmoil his question had caused, no doubt bringing to surface the memory of what that video had been exactly. John has a hint – Penelope had mentioned Easter and waterboarding and torture and you. He knows it was bad. He needs to know how bad, because he's not sure that letting Easter just get away as easily as you had, was good enough.

After a while, Aaron explains from the beginning. How they'd all stumbled across the video in their search for you. How Easter's lackeys had hurt you, tortured you, beat you. John can tell he's getting the CliffsNotes version, Aaron being careful to not be too graphic or too detailed and John resists the urge to ask for everything.

"She was pregnant." The whispered words leaving Aaron's mouth have his heart in his throat. You'd been pregnant.

"She'd miscarried before – before they took her."

John can hear the conflict in Aaron's voice – the dissonance between grief and anger, both wrapped together tightly with the strings of love that were so very evident to anyone who saw you and Aaron together.

"She's not going to want to talk about it," he infers, knowing that if past experience is anything to go by, you'll do your best to pretend it never happened, while simultaneously blaming yourself.

Aaron nods. He knows you just as well, if not better in many capacities.

"Don't let her get away with that. It might work for the time being, but it'll mess with her later. You're allowed to grieve too. She owes you that."

Aaron looks briefly over at him once more – for the first time since he'd begun to explain everything that had transpired in that video – and John can see the sheen of unshed tears in his eyes. A quick, curt nod. That was it.

"Did you know about van Doren?" Aaron asks, his eyes trained fast on the road ahead.

"Not for sure. She'd never confirm it. But I had an idea."

Aaron nods once more. He doesn't have to ask John to not say anything to you about this. It goes unsaid.

As he pulls into the driveway, John can see a beautiful blond haired boy bounding out the door. Aaron parks quickly, getting out of the car and grabbing Jack into a hug before bringing him around to John.

"Jack, this is Uncle John."

John's widen slightly at how easily Aaron bestowed him the title. He feels his stomach flip as he kneels down to get to Jack's eye level.

"How's it going dude?" He offers up his fist and Jack is quick to bump it with his own, paired with a smile that feels awfully like yours.

*------------*

The drive back to your home was quick enough, Jack chattering in the back about the upcoming field trip, where he wanted to go for lunch after the game, and asking John who his favorite Avenger was. They both decided that Captain America was obviously the best one. First is best.

They walk into the house to see you putting away the groceries, and Jack breaks into a run towards you. John watches as you drop down to your knees, immediately swooping the little boy into your arms and hugging tight.

"Oh I missed you baby." Your words are lost against Jack's ear as you hold his little body close to yours. You can feel your heart beating rapidly in your chest. There had been a very real part of you that had feared you might never see him again. His mumbled I missed you too settles into your ribs and feeds your soul.

"Alright, let's get you ready to kick some butt at the game, huh?"

John watches as you keep Jack in your arms and he allows you to baby him a little, wrapping himself around you as the two of you make your way upstairs, laughing all the way up the stairs. He'd always known you'd be a good mother, but it was a whole another thing to see it manifested in front of his eyes. He's heard both you and Aaron refer to Jack as your kid, but seeing it live was something else altogether. There was no doubting anymore – you were that kid's mom.

As he settles into the couch with Aaron, awaiting your return, he can't help but be in some awe at his surroundings. The house, adorned with some of the last of Julian's water color series. The man seated beside him, whose eyes shone only when you were in the room. The kid whose excited voice trailed all the way downstairs. This was your home. This was your life. It was real. It was yours.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch x y/n #Criminal Minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds reader insert #spencer reid #emily prentiss #derek morgan #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfiction #irreverentseries

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imaginesandinserts · 3 years

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Irreverent Pt. 55 - Utter Fixation

Title: Irreverent Pt. 55 - Utter Fixation

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~14K

A/N: This one is a doozy lols. Solnyshko is Russian for sunshine.

Men of Irreverent: Casting

Irreverent Series Masterlist

"Nice shot." You hug Spencer, his bony frame shaking just slightly as he laughs at your comment. "Bet you don't make fun of my marksmanship again, huh?" he jostles you as the two of you stand off to the side while Derek and Aaron wrap up with the SWAT team leader and ensure that both Novak and Cavanaugh are set on their way to the hospital, with appropriate protection in place while they await their CIA handler. "Yeah, that's not gonna happen," you smirk, before looping your arm through Spencer's as he leads you out to the car. As you pass by Agent Novak in a gurney, he nods at you in thanks. You offer a smile back, trudging through the field surrounding the warehouse. Spencer doesn't say much else and you know he's trying his best not to overwhelm you. You'd seemed shell shocked when Derek had gotten to you and it was only now, when the adrenaline was seeping out of your system, that you felt more capable. You lean against the car with Spencer, your mind fogging up as you careen through everything that had happened. You hadn't seen Clyde yet, so you imagine he's at Quantico. You'll have to ask Aaron about that. It's a wonder they'd managed to actually find you, but you'd never really doubted the team, no matter how much the odds had been stacked against them. Aaron had been the one to take out Ramos. He hadn't trusted any of the SWAT guys to do it. Not when it came to you. He wouldn't trust anyone else with that. Not that he had told you, but you had known even before you got to him. You see Derek and Aaron walking towards you, Derek pulling you into a quick hug before getting into the front driver's side. You expect Aaron to go around to ride shotgun, but he follows you in as you enter the back of the car, leaving Spencer to go sit up front. When you're buckled in, you look over to him. His eyes can't seem to leave you and you're struck by the thought: he'd been genuinely scared. The car rumbles to life as Derek pulls off onto the road and with one quick glance forward to ensure that neither Derek nor Spencer are paying you much mind, you close the distance between you and Aaron in the back. You press up against him and claim his mouth, a silent reassurance that you are indeed alright. He knows what you're doing and he lets you kiss him, the silent ambient noises of the car drowning out the two of you in the back. If Morgan or Reid noticed, they wisely kept their mouths shut and their eyes trained on the road in front. He can taste you – taste your apology, your regret. He feels your shoulders relax under his touch as his hand comes around to hold you to him. As you withdraw for a breath, he can't help the curve of his mouth from slipping into a small smile. "Does this mean we're back together?" he murmurs against your lips. He's not expecting a response beyond a laugh or agreement, but instead he sees confusion flicker onto your face as you move back to look at him properly. "What are you talking about?" He explains then. How Strauss had come to his office with the paperwork. How he'd seen your signature on the first page and she had expected he would sign the second. How he had indeed signed it, trusting that you had your reasons.

You feel your breath leave your lungs in utter disbelief. He'd thought…he'd thought you'd ended it. Just like that. He had signed it out of sheer faith and then gone home to Jack and pretended like nothing had happened. You can feel the pinprick tears in your eyes as you come to understand some of what he too must have gone through in the last couple weeks. You shake your head in disbelief, your mouth dry as you sniffle and clear your throat. "I – I didn't know," you tell him softly, your hand grasping his in the darkness. You'd never known he would have to sign something too. You'd only been shown that first page. You thought that would be it. That just you telling Strauss would be enough. Had you known – "Oh honey, I am so sorry." Your whispered apology is followed by your mouth on his once more, lips ghosting over his face, pressing to his skin. Physical atonement for the agitation and concern and worry you had no doubt caused him. Had you known that he too would have had to sign something, you would've spoken to him. Would've forced yourself to explain what was going on, as much as you could've. Perhaps you should've known better but back then, fresh after the day Clyde had taken you, your mind had been in disarray and you'd acted on instinct alone, doing your best to shield both him and Jack against any blowback from your assignment. You'd acted out of fear. Aaron only nods, drawing you in closer, tucked so close to him, you're practically in his lap. He's reacting to it a lot more calmly than you'd expected. No berating at you not thinking things through, because of course he would have to sign something too, and why wouldn't you just talk to him. Maybe, implicitly, he understood how much of a mess you'd been back then, trying to do whatever you could to remove the trail leading from you to him and Jack. Making sure that if anyone were to come after you, they would be safe.

You can feel his lips at your hairline as you push closer into him, running your fingers down his back, finding that pressure point that has him relaxing entirely under your touch as he holds you. The silent understanding that this – the two of you – was unshakeable. You'd left him and trusted him to find you. He'd let you go and trusted you to return. *------------* Clyde thought you were the mole. That you've been planted at the Bureau under your father's orders. Aaron and the others had filled you in on that as you'd neared Quantico, with Aaron still fretting that you needed sleep and rest before dealing with any of this. If it were up to him, he'd have you hooked up to an I.V. and put on bedrest. As it stood, it was not up to him, so now you're sat in a glass conference room, awaiting the rest of the team. The second you had arrived back at the Bureau, a couple agents had met you all in the parking garage and the four of you had been led past McKinney's office and to this room. You imagine the rest of the team will be joining you shortly, as you all had been the closest. It's really starting to sink in – Clyde thinks you're the mole, he'd talked to McKinney, you were escorted here by agents. You'd tried to protest when they'd met you in the garage, but one look from Aaron had you silent. He wants you to go along with this and not cause problems as long as possible. Buy time to figure out what was going on and what Clyde's angle was. It's only been a minute since you all were let into the room, Morgan and Reid were sat in chairs around the large table while Aaron stood leaned against it. He watches as you look out the glass walls, your eyes squinting, and he can tell you're thinking through what to do next. Aaron finds himself uncharacteristically calm regarding the situation – now that you're back, it shouldn't take much to convince McKinney just how ridiculous the entire notion of you being a mole really was. He isn't being naïve. He's aware that Easter potentially could have a case, given everything you've told him about your deal with your father. However, as it stands, he knows without a shadow of a doubt that it isn't the truth, and he can't imagine any proof that would show otherwise. "Can I borrow your phone?" Aaron starts at your sharp voice, your hand reaching out towards him almost impatiently. Brow furrowing in confusion, he's about to ask why, but the urgency on your face has him handing the device over before he can. He watches as you move away to the opposite side of the room, unable to step outside with two agents still standing guard. He shares a look with Morgan, who only shrugs as the two of them await the end of the call. With your head turned away to prevent Reid from watching, there isn't much more that they can do. You wrap up your call quickly, unsure how much time you have before Clyde and McKinney arrive, when you hear the door opening behind you. "Hey Cap." Your heart stops. No. It wasn't – You turn slowly, eyes widening as you see him standing in the doorway, a smile on his face, eyes crinkled at the corners. A soft gasp escapes you as you take him in. Then before you know it, you've barreled over to him, arms wrapped tight around his waist as his encircle your shoulders, tucking your head into his chest. Only one word comes to your mind, making its way down through you and settling against your ribs – Solnyshko. John presses a kiss to your hairline and you can feel the tears threatening to fall. Because if Aaron's arms were home, then John's were the lake house growing up. The one you think of fondly with the rose tinged glasses of nostalgia. Back to warm summers and too much sticky sweet ice cream dripping down your hands. To the thrill of jumping off the pier, scared and screaming and thrilled all at once. To the soft touches and gentle kisses shared on the patio with boys whom you would move on from but always remember. To the child you were, wide eyed and curious, wanting to have it all. He's a different kind of home. "We thought we could use an extra hand." You turn around at Aaron's deep voice coming from behind you, and there's a smile on his face that you're not sure how to interpret just yet. You can feel tears clouding your vision as you look at him, John's warmth still surrounding you, his arm still holding you near as he keeps you by his side. He'd called him. He'd called John. For you. Of course he had. Thank you, you mouth at him, catching just the hint of a second smile on his face before you're tackled by Penelope, who shoves John to the side. Behind her, you can make out Emily, JJ, and Rossi entering the room as well. "Oh my goodness, sugar! You're alright! I mean of course you are. We knew you'd be alright. We never doubted it, did we?" she asks Derek frenetically, whom you assume is behind you, but doesn't wait for a response before continuing her frenzied inspection, her hands running over your arms and hair, making sure nothing was out of place. "But you're alright, right? I mean when we saw what Easter did to you on that video – so, so awful. Who would waterboard someone? I mean, sure, you can learn anything on the internet, but that is still abhorrent. But don't you worry because I'm hunting down the other guys that were there with him, so we'll take care of them and of course the Director already knows, because Hotch showed him, and – " You break away from Penelope, trying to keep pace with her mile a minute voice, trying to understand everything she'd just said, trying to figure out what video… There's a sharp inhale that you hadn't realized was your own. Your lip quivers, eyes wide as the sinking, dreadful realization reaches you. In the background you can just barely make out John's voice asking what video she's talking about. You can't do anything but shake your head in horror. No. No. That's not. No. Aaron. No no no no no. He's looking at you and you know. He knows. No. You can't breathe. You can feel the air leaving your lungs but none seems to be making its way back in. Through the din you can make out Penelope and Derek moving towards you to make sure you're alright. John is still standing right where he'd landed when Penelope had pushed past him. Aaron. He'd seen. He knows. Oh God. Behind you, the door opens once more. You don't turn around to see who it is. Not yet. Aaron watches silently as you freeze, your shoulders tensing. He'd stopped himself from grabbing you right as the door opened, not wanting to give any visual to McKinney and Easter alluding to yours and his personal relationship. He knows better and he allows the part of him that knows the political play here, to overrule the part begging him to go to you. To seize you into his arms and draw you away from this room, this building. Take you home where none of this could touch you. No one could hurt you. Instinctively, your hands graze over your stomach, stopping momentarily before continuing up to your face and wiping away at the tears that had fallen. He sees you take a deep breath. Then another. Lips pressed tightly. Hands made into fists. It's like watching a metamorphosis in reverse – the unbridled, frantic panic and fury slip away, replaced by a cocooned version of you, held tight and wound together, guarding your soft spots within. "If everyone could please take a seat." Director McKinney enters the room after Easter who had already made himself at home near the front, a stack of folders and a tablet in his hands, his eyes curiously looking over the lot of you inside. You, still turned around and facing the other way, and every other person in that room, holding their breath and waiting for you to turn back. At the sound of McKinney's voice, you push through, forcing your mind to shut out the pieces of information that were not helpful in the moment. Aaron had already talked to you on the way up about not doing anything to get on McKinney's bad side right then, and you know that refusing to acknowledge his presence while you had a breakdown in the corner wouldn't earn you any brownie points. So, simply put, you didn't have the luxury to absorb it all. You couldn't think about the fact that they knew – that Aaron knew – about what Clyde did, why you had gone to Strauss, the baby. Your baby. His baby. Your baby. You didn't have the time to let it sink in, to take him aside, to give you both the time to fall apart. You couldn't. Not now. Later. First this. Later. With that, the steel trap clamps down, caging it all away. Turning, you grab the first chair in front of you, while everyone else who had been crowded near the doorway shuffles in. Aaron quickly settles down to your left, a brush of his hand to your shoulder and a softly muttered Later that was meant for your ears alone, but was caught by John as he claims the chair to your right. As you look up, you see Gladys trotting in after McKinney, a righteous look on her face as she carries what looks like a bundle of cloth and a mug into the room right behind her boss, and walks over to set both items down in front of you. With a quick motherly brush of your hair, she leaves as quickly as she came in, defiantly avoiding McKinney's eyes. It's quiet as everyone settles in, the shuffling of clothing and people, accompanied by the groan of government budget issued chairs. You reach out for the bunched up fabric on the table in front of you and unravel it to reveal a regulation F.B.I. crewneck. You're quick to slip out of the stiff leather jacket you still had on from a day prior, revealing a strappy top beneath, which you cover up, basking in the warmth the sweater provided. Gladys had also brought you a mug of hot chocolate from the kitchens and you reach for it gratefully, taking a quick sip, the hot liquid burning a molten streak down your throat in the best of ways.

From the corner of your eye you can see the regret in Aaron's posture as he sees you enjoy the most basic of comforts offered by someone else. Something he should've considered. You're able to offer him only the slightest of assurance with your eyes – he'd found you, that's what was truly important. *------------* "Who is this?" McKinney asks, gesturing towards John once everyone was seated and Clyde was preparing to speak at the front. You exchange a look with Aaron and John both, realizing that perhaps John's presence wasn't entirely Bureau approved. "I am exercising my right to retain private counsel," you speak up before either one of them could. "That –," McKinney begins, only to be interrupted by Spencer, " – is allowed per Section 56 Code 19 of the Employee Handbook. All agents retain the right to employ private counsel in the event of accusations levied against their person as a function of their role within the Bureau." Reid rattles it all off quickly and not for the first time, you find yourself jealous of his eidetic memory. Yours was good, but not nearly like his. You shoot Spencer a grateful smile, before meeting McKinney's eyes once more. "You're paying him?" The question comes from Clyde, eyebrow raised, in a tone so derisive that you have to wonder if he had ever liked you at all, or if the man had spent the past number of months that you two worked together, silently seething at your very existence. You don't have to look at Aaron to know that he's already pulled out his wallet, when he hands you a twenty dollar bill. You slide it across the table, over to John, never once turning away from Clyde's critical look, your own unwavering under his scrutiny. He had no idea who he was going to war with. McKinney looks between you and Clyde, before sighing and nodding his okay. "Very well." He turns towards Clyde to give him the floor. Your eyes narrow as you take a sip of the hot chocolate again, careful to not show any discomfort outwards. Beneath the table, you can feel Aaron's hand resting against your thigh, the heat of it reminding you that you aren't alone. McKinney had let you have them all here with you, likely in reaction to that video, if Aaron had indeed showed it to him. He had the kindness to not make you be alone with the man who had tortured you. If Clyde was going to be accusing you of anything, he'd have to do it front of everyone. On your other side, you feel John shift, his knee skimming against yours before settling down to be right against it, a silent pledge – he's there too, and he isn't leaving. *------------* "I believe we all know why we are here," McKinney starts, his hands interlaced together on the table, a serious set to his brow. He's doing his best to keep this entire procedure civil. You know he's doing you a favor by allowing you to be there when Clyde offers up his accusation formally. He's offering you the opportunity for rebuttal before any of it is written down and documented. Saving you, potentially, from an entire formal review. Part of you wonders who that is meant to protect however – you, Clyde, or McKinney himself? You nod to indicate that you understand, meeting McKinney's eyes. Walter McKinney – as you'd come to learn – was a fair man and his rise in the Bureau had been no fluke. He knows that the reason you'd brought in the BAU at all was because you hadn't trusted anyone – not even him. You have to believe that when the two of you do eventually speak alone, that he would understand why. Clyde clears his throat, turning everyone's attention to him and the screen. Him, you were extremely wary of. You had been immediately after he'd tortured you, of course. However, he'd managed to convince you, that for him, that had been standard operating procedure. He'd been able to use your own fear and insecurities to convince you to go along with it. Were he not sitting across a table, gearing up to accuse you of treason, you might have allowed that one act to pass – he had simply been trying to make sure you were prepared for the worst. Not anymore. "I would've preferred this meeting be held behind closed doors," he begins, tilting back in his chair and keeping one eye trained on you at all times as though he thought you'd try and pull a disappearing act, "However, no matter. I will be walking through the evidence gathered against Agent L/N, proving that she has been a plant working against the Bureau since the very beginning." His declaration is followed by silence from everyone else in the room, and were it not for the seriousness of the accusation, you might've laughed. The screen at the front of the room flickers on, and a black and white surveillance quality photo of an airstrip appears. You're disembarking with your father at your side. You're eighteen, your hair up in a ponytail, John's Columbia Law School hoodie, rumpled from far too many hours on an airplane. Beside you, you feel him tense as he too realizes exactly how old this photograph is. How young you were in that. It's from that summer, so very long ago. When he and Julian had gone on that trip, just the two of them. You'd gone with your father. There's a man standing by a car at the foot of the steps leading down from the plane. For the first time in over seven years, you set eyes on Volkov again. "For those of you who may not be aware, the man in the photo is Alexander Volkov. Volkov is wanted by many Eastern European governments, and is notoriously on the books for the Russian government, despite no official ties. If you recall the bombing in Sokovia, five years ago, you're looking at the man responsible." Easter had been part of Olympus. He hasn't confirmed it, but that was the only thing that made sense. You look around and know that at least both Aaron and Emily had reached a similar conclusion. Nothing else would explain him having surveillance photos of you from a decade ago. In the wake of Clyde's explanation, you can feel Aaron's eyes on you from your left, but you don't dare look at him. The rest of the team is taking his lead and not saying anything in response either, for fear they might say the wrong thing. Ultimately, it's John who speaks up. "She's eighteen there, practically a child. What exactly is the purpose of showing us this?" Clyde's eyes narrow as he realizes that this won't be quite as easy as anticipated. If he'd expected Aaron or the others to display any shock or revulsion at his revelation…well, he really didn't know your team that well, did he? "It sets the foundation," Clyde counters, his hand once more on the controller. "A pattern of behavior, indicative of less than honorable intentions, bad company, and plenty of opportunity." With that, he clicks a button on the remote, replacing the photo with another one. This one is of just you, exiting a building on Harvard's campus. You have to be in your second year – your hair is dyed because Matthew liked it better that way and you'd given in to his request. You're carrying books in your hand as you walk, hair whipping around in the wind. It's you, but it looks nothing like you. With a deep internal sigh, you sink in further into your chair. You had a better idea now of where this was going. "This was taken outside the Lowell Lecture Hall. You were seen entering and exiting the building the entirety of the Fall semester, right in time for the Math 55 lecture," Clyde announces, his eyes issuing a challenge at you to explain this away. Unfortunately for him, his jab doesn't quite land with the audience, as Rossi raises an eyebrow at him. "What does a Math class have anything to do with this?" However, instead of Clyde, it is Reid who answers him. "Harvard, oddly enough isn't known for its advanced math program but it is known for one particular class," Reid explains quickly, his eyes flitting over you with some curiosity. "When you're good at math - good enough to get into Harvard - you take a math class called "Math 15". When you're better than that you take "Math 25", but when you're the best, the absolute best, you take "Math 55": Honors Advanced Calculus and Linear Algebra. Graduates are immediately employed by the U.S. Government because they're too dangerous to work anywhere else. More specifically, they're employed at the NSA." Reid's spiel is met with mixed reactions. Rossi shifts back in his seat, hands crossed in front of him, an oddly smug look on his face. The rest of the team looks mildly surprised as they process what Reid had said. Aaron sits beside you, unshaken, and John of course had already known you had attended the class. Clyde clears his throat, shifting forward in his seat. "Thank you, Agent Reid," he says to Spencer in a clipped tone that has you bristling in reaction. "Doctor." He looks up at your interruption, brow quirked in question. "It's not Agent. It's Dr. Reid," you clarify, your lips pursed, jaw tight. "You took this class?" McKinney asks, finally breaking his silence since Clyde had begun. You swallow, meeting his eyes. He was still your mentor. What he thought about you, still mattered. You can feel the attitude you'd just given Clyde waning ever so slightly. "I audited it. For all anyone knows, I would've flunked out." "No, you wouldn't," McKinney replies quietly, his gaze appraising. His dark eyes holding all the knowledge on you that he'd amassed in the past year of being your closest supervisor within the Bureau. He has no doubts when it comes to your capabilities. "Why didn't you just enroll in it?" You shrug nonchalantly, the large crewneck shifting off your shoulders slightly as you do. "It's a large commitment. I didn't want to be beholden to every assignment. I already had a lot on my plate." It wasn't a lie. Not exactly anyways. McKinney looks like he doesn't quite believe you. You thrive with having too much to do. "Is that the only reason?" he digs, his eyes firmly on you, watching for anything, any sign. You let out a short breath of exasperation which you manage to disguise, deciding to just give them what they wanted. "I didn't exactly want to be on a list of people considered dangerous by the US government. I wouldn't have said yes to working for the NSA. I wanted to be a lawyer." Your eyes cut to John and he meets them, because you both know – you had wanted to be a lawyer because he was. It had been part of the plan. Your plan with him. Your justification is met with some more silence and you can tell, that for McKinney, the deck is slowly starting to stack against you. He now viewed you as intentionally deceptive regarding your abilities and usefulness to the government. As ex military, to him, that was on par with avoiding the draft. "Attending closed session classes that you weren't actually enrolled in wasn't the only thing you did in college. You also made quite a few friends, didn't you? You aren't exactly a stranger to relationships of convenience." As Clyde speaks, the screen changes once more behind him and a photo from the ill fated engagement shoot that Matthew's mother had insisted on pops up. Your hair is curled, you're wearing a long burgundy gown, standing beside Matthew in front of Lippman House, where the two of you had first met. You're smiling, both of you. On your hand sits an incredibly prominent ring, the stone shining brilliantly in the sunlight. This time, both John and Aaron tense, and your mind, unwanted, goes back to the video that he'd seen. There's a chance – if they'd caught what you said to Clyde's lackey towards the end. There's a chance that Aaron knows about Matthew. About what he'd done. You can't look at him. Instead, you look across to Derek, who's shifted forward in his chair, his fists tightly balled up on the table in front of him, his brow furrowed and body tense as he looks from the screen, to you, and then to Aaron beside you, before meeting your eyes again. He doesn't have to say it. The way his eyes go from Aaron and then you and back to Aaron, says it all. Fuck. "My personal relationships are not up for discussion," you assert slowly, the feeling of all eyes on you causing your skin to break out with goosebumps. "You don't get to decide what is and isn't relevant here," Clyde rebuts, venom in his voice. "Is this how things are done at Interpol? Because in polite society, we don't simply ambush people." John's tone might be light but his posture spoke to how much he was holding back in making just that small comment. You know, that if you gave the go ahead, he would obliterate Clyde. "Don't worry Mr. Hawthorne," Clyde smirks. "I'm certain over the course of this discussion, we will arrive at the matter of you as well. Pretty sure I saw some your face in the stack as well. Or, is your objection to the fact that you were never anything official – just used and tossed aside when it was convenient?" This bastard. The fury you feel at him talking to John in that way. For him to insinuate that he knew anything about you and John. For him to talk down to John like that. You open your mouth to tell him off, but before you can, you feel the dig of John's fingers at your thigh and you look up to see him shake his head. He knows that you wouldn't let something like that about him simply pass. He's telling you that he knows what you were, and that Clyde – well, Clyde could go fuck himself. John didn't want you tossing your cards down just for him. Hold on to them. You're going to need them. You press your lips together tight and bite your tongue, your hand reaching for his under the table, fingers intertwining with his. He squeezes your hand gently – once, twice, thrice – just how he used to, before letting go. Aaron watches the interaction between you and John, before turning his attention back to Easter, who waits for a beat more, trying to bait you into lashing out, before he moves on. The screen changes once more, to be replaced with a photograph of you with three boys. You're on what appears to be a yacht, the blue ocean spanning out endlessly behind you. You're seated on the shoulders of a tall man with short, dark hair and light brown skin, his hands wrapped around your thighs to hold you steady atop him. Your hair is back to its natural shade and it cascades past your shoulders, hitting the top of your bikini clad breasts, your white bathing suit stark against your sun-kissed skin. Beside the two of you, are two other men – one with darker hair, standing nearly as tall at the first while the other – a stocky blond – sits atop his shoulders. The four of you are grinning, smiles carefree and happy as can be. The kind of loose joy that is really only found amongst college students indulging in spring break a little too much. "You know, Clyde, just because you don't have friends of your own for show and tell, doesn't mean you can use mine." The smartass comment is out of your mouth before you could hold it back and you know you'll pay for it later as Clyde elects to ignore it in the moment. From your left you feel Aaron's eyes on you briefly before darting back to the front. Well, you were definitely going to pay for it in one way at least. "Patrick Kane," Easter's laser points to the stocky blond man, before the screen changes to reveal just a photo of him. "His father is part of the Irish mob and runs their international businesses out of Europe. He himself now owns leadership of the faction out of London." Kane was going to love that he had been part of your indictment with the Bureau. He was sure to get a particular kick out of it, considering the number of times he got in trouble because you and Ricky decided to burst into his classes and stage a kidnapping. But well, it was usually warranted. Impromptu trips to the Hamptons took precedence over Psych 101.

From the corner of your eye you can see Penelope appraising Kane with some interest and you have a feeling you're going to be talking to her about all the boys afterwards. The screen changes again to reveal Ambrose Hastings - Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome himself. However this time, the photo of him is shown only briefly before its replaced with another one that has your breath catching. Hastings is seated with you in his lap, your lips slotted against his, a large hand wrapped around your back, holding you close to him. "Ambrose Hastings and his father own the largest weapons contracts internationally, for those of you who many not know. Just friends, huh? " Clyde's taunt has your eyes flashing with rage. How on earth had he gotten this photograph?! You know for a fact that this wasn't posted anywhere. It's from the trip to Monte Carlo for your twenty first birthday. You're wearing the black dress with the deep slit up one side, a tiara sitting at the crown of your head. Ambrose's large hands splayed across your thigh and his lips keeping yours warm, as was your pattern anytime you and Matthew were on a break. John has come to the same realization as you. This is not a photograph that you or anyone in the group would've leaked. Which meant that Easter had acquired it himself. There's a grim set to his shoulders as the two of you exchange a look, before he speaks. "What did you do, pay off the waitstaff for that?" When Clyde doesn't say anything in response, you have your answer. He had. He had set up someone on the yacht to get anything they could on you. The feeling of revulsion that crawls through you at that realization – he had been watching you, even in spaces where you should have had the assumption of privacy. "This is a cheap ploy," John continues, now that he had the confirmation on exactly how far Easter had gone to gather his so-called evidence against you. "You think you can slander Agent L/N and make inappropriate digs to provoke Agent Hotchner. However all you've accomplished thus far is displaying your inappropriate invasion of privacy into the life of a young woman, which would normally be grounds for a harassment suit." The barely veiled threat is in John's words. If Clyde doesn't have anything real to share, and soon, he will bury him. Before Clyde has a chance to say anything more, there's a knock at the door, and Gladys peaks her head in to interrupt. "Excuse me," she starts, her hand against the door to hold it ajar ever so slightly, "There is a call from Director Richards." "See if I can return the call later today," McKinney tells her quickly, before turning back to the table to continue the discussion. "Actually sir, the call is for Agent L/N," she clarifies, her eyes meeting McKinney's firmly before shifting over to you. You can feel the sharpness of McKinney's gaze on you as he wonders why Richards is calling you directly. With a quick look around, you stand with a nod towards Gladys. "I'll take it outside, thank you." With that, you quickly walk around the table and out the door, following her to McKinney's office, where she's routed the call for you. In the wake of your departure, the room is quiet. John turns to Aaron, one eyebrow raised in question. "Director Richards, as in – ?" Aaron looks quickly towards McKinney, whose eyes are fixed on the door where you'd left, before he nods at John in confirmation. Director Richards, as in, the director of the CIA, had called and asked for you personally. *------------* You're gone for ten minutes which might as well have been an hour, for as long as it stretched out. Easter tried to engage McKinney into a side conversation twice, before giving up and sulking at the front. Prentiss and JJ's eyes flit from the door, to Easter, and then one another, the two of them engaged in a silent conversation he wasn't privy to. On his right, Aaron can see John and Garcia engaged in a hushed conversation as she types away at her laptop, seemingly looking up something for him. Aaron meets Rossi and Morgan's eyes, both of them carrying the same question that was in McKinney's stalwart gaze that had locked on the door you'd left through and not wavered in the ten minutes since. Why on earth was the director of the CIA calling you right now? How did he even know you? Despite your offer from the CIA, Aaron can hardly imagine that the Director himself would be involved, so even that kernel of knowledge that he has over the others doesn't offer any clarity in the moment. At just past ten minutes, you can be seen making your way back, quickly bypassing the two agents still standing guard, one of them opening the door to let you in. You're met with McKinney's pointed look as soon as you enter, demanding some sort of explanation. You clear your throat and offer a polite smile. "Both Agents Novak and Cavanaugh are recovering well," you reveal, standing demurely in front of Director McKinney, who eyes you with a guarded look, no doubt simmering at the notion of one of his peers deigning to circumvent him and go directly to one of his agents. "Director Richards asked that I pass on his gratitude for the Bureau's role in the rescue and recovery of his agents. He will be reaching out to you again, later, in order to thank you properly." McKinney nods slowly, giving you permission to return to your seat, despite knowing that that had hardly been everything Richards had spoken to you about. A thank you did not take ten minutes. A mere thank you, would not have gone to you directly. Not if you didn't have some sort of personal relationship with Richards that he wasn't privy to. There is a palpable shift in the room as you reclaim your seat, making a show of taking your time to settle back in properly, leaning forward to grab a bottle of water from the center of the table and then unhurriedly opening it, taking a delicate sip, closing it, and then setting it back on the table before shifting in your seat to where your elbow rests on the arm of the chair closest to Aaron. Your posture is slouched, where before you had been a stiff board. As you lean closer to him, deliberately tilting your head to appear that much more near him, Aaron gets a whiff of that smell that is undoubtedly you. You, without a proper shower, but still you. Yes, it is quite obvious that you and Director Richards had spoken far beyond a simple exchange of gratitude. The tides have changed. *------------* Easter attempts to continue as though nothing had transpired, resuming his position at the helm, the image of you and Hastings kissing – which Aaron had carefully avoided looking at for the past ten minutes, because far be it from to judge you on your past, no matter who it was with – replaced by one of the final boy. "Ricky Costello, part of the Costello family. Son of Frank Costello." Easter doesn't bother expanding further. There wasn't an agent on the eastern seaboard that wasn't familiar with the Costello family. So this was the kid who had punched van Doren in the face. Aaron liked this one. He liked him a fair amount more than Hastings, that was for sure. Across the way, he sees Rossi's eyebrows raise with some surprise, a glint of recognition in his eyes. He isn't entirely surprised by that. He'd always known that Rossi had ties with the Italian crime families. Easter clicks another button and a series of surveillance photos replaces Costello. They are all black and white, with the date on the corner indicating that they are all from last year. You're getting into your car, with Costello helping you in, the two of you smiling at one another. "Would you like to explain what you were doing, speaking with Ricky Costello last year? This was after you started working on Atlantis." You remain nonchalant, taking another sip of the hot chocolate that was bound to be cold by now, but you'd never deny yourself chocolate in any form. You casually smirk up at Easter's question, answering it only with a shrug. "Were you giving Costello information regarding Atlantis?" Easter probes, his frustration with your changed demeanor highly evident. He had preferred when you were at least somewhat taking this seriously. "Is a connection with the Costello family all it takes to accuse someone of treason nowadays?" you drawl, eyeing Easter from behind the rim of your mug, before leaning forward and setting it down on the table. "In that case, there might be some other people you want to have a talk with." Aaron is fully expecting you to be hinting at Rossi with that line, though why you'd throw him under the bus was a mystery. However, he watches as you stare resolutely ahead. Except, you aren't looking at Easter. You definitely aren't looking at Rossi. No, you're looking at McKinney. McKinney who, if Aaron isn't mistaken, looks just the slightest bit uncomfortable in the wake of your statement. McKinney who shifts in his chair ever so slightly, his eyes darting down and to the left imperceptibly quickly – something that might have gone unnoticed otherwise, but unfortunately for him, he happened to be seated in a room full of profilers. Huh. "Let's move on, shall we," McKinney instructs Easter, avoiding your eyes and everyone else's in the room. Easter's mouth falls open in disbelief at the turn of events. Your presence, which you'd kept buttoned up for the first half of this meeting, now permeated the room, and Aaron is reminded all over again of your interview. How he had initially sat back, waiting for you to stumble. How you'd gone one by one, getting to or through to each of them. How you'd called out even his bluff. You were commanding, charming, and serene all at once, and he'd marveled at how one person could possibly embody all those things at the same time. "You shot me!" Easter accuses, grasping for something, provoked by your calm attitude, and believing that to be his hole in one. The one thing that could not be denied. His one piece of evidence against you that couldn't be brushed aside, threatened away, or dismissed. "Yes, you got me there," you chuckle lightly, and Aaron almost feels bad for Easter. Almost. Across the way, Morgan has a smirk on his face that likely matches his own. You shift forward, placing your hands on the table in front of you, your eyes trained critically on Easter and Easter alone. "I shot you twice, actually. Once, two centimeters above the center of the heart and another to the left, one centimeter below the fifth rib. Both shots take advantage of the portions of the vest designed to be thickest and also are far enough away from any major arteries to avoid you bleeding out to death in the event that the vest isn't enough. Even if both shots had made it to their destination, you would have had at least thirty five to forty minutes, at minimum, before you were in any real danger of not recovering. If you don't believe me, I suggest you ask a doctor." With that, you lean back once more, giving both Easter and McKinney the opportunity to offer a response in opposition. After a few seconds, when neither one is forthcoming, you sit up straight once more. "Why were you dismissed from Project Olympus?" *------------* You watch, your eyes directly on Clyde as he falters under your gaze. You can tell that your question had caught McKinney by surprise as well. McKinney, who had looked at you differently ever since the call with Richards. You would have to thank the man later. His call could not have come at a more opportune time. With Clyde unable to answer the question, you decide to answer it for him. "Is it because you wasted resources and defied orders by continuing surveillance on me because you were convinced that I had something to do with my father's business?"

“How would you know that?” McKinney asks, though his eyes say that he already knows. He is merely confirming in order to have your answer on the record.

“Director Richards was on Olympus as well,” you answer. “He was highly surprised when he learned that Agent Easter was overseeing the investigation into the Atlantis disappearances.”

McKinney nods, having expected that, you’re sure. You already know he’s trying his best to piece together what little he could about your conversation with Richards. No doubt, it’s something he’ll question you about in more detail when it’s just the two of you later on.

You both turn back to Clyde expectantly, still waiting for him to chime in with an explanation. Director Richards’ word would be taken at face value and McKinney wouldn’t question it. Not for this. "Anyone who paid the slightest bit of attention – every single person on that assignment – they should've seen what I saw,” Clyde seethed, pushing up from the table and standing up, his body trembling with caged fury. “He took you along to meetings. He introduced you to his contacts. You were being initiated, tested. Of course I kept an eye on you! It would have been negligent not to." You shake your head in disbelief at exactly how unhinged he sounded. How incensed. This wasn’t a man who had proof. This was a man who had believed his theory for a long time, and was unwilling to part ways with it. "And what did you see?" you ask, crossing your arms across your chest. "I saw a girl who was making connections - with everyone. Sons of the mob, the mafia, and the cartels. Saudi princes and daughters of Russian tycoons. Up and coming Chinese heiresses. If there was a single person with even the slightest of pull on that campus, they knew your name. They considered you a friend. You're telling me that's the move of someone who wasn't establishing themselves to take over the reins?" "What can I say? I'm a friendly person."

It wasn’t clear to just you. It was clear to everyone that Clyde didn’t have proof. None to speak of. "If you'd spent even half as much time and effort into watching her father that you did into watching her, maybe you would have learned enough about him to know that he would have never made her his plant in the Bureau. A plant is someone dispensable. You don't put what is potentially your best asset in the hands of the enemy. Far too much danger of them turning," John declared, his face betraying how astonished he felt at Clyde’s obsession with you. Of all people, he’s had some experience in men who become unhealthily attached to you. It never ends well for them. "Not to mention the fact that you cannot possibly think very highly of me,” you continue from where John left off. “If you think my grand plan was to bide my time within a faction of the Bureau with minimal ties to core operations, wait four years to enter into a relationship with a Unit Chief, compared to whom, my clearance level is actually significantly higher,” you state, before turning to place a hand on Aaron’s arm. “No offense honey.”

Aaron barely conceals his amused snort at that, the smirk that had taken residence on his face ever since you flipped the tables on Easter, firmly in place. "That's true,” John agrees, and you can tell that he’s enjoying the return to your typical repartee that the two of you have always had. The one that most outsiders find intimidating to keep up with. “If you'd wanted to infiltrate the Bureau, that role in White Collar was much better suited.” "You’re right,” you nod. “And it would've taken me only a couple of months to get everything I need. Agent Barton would've been an easy mark. I'm just his type."

Aaron watches as Easter appears to regroup and the Director looks deep in thought as he works his way through the quick back and forth performance you and John had put forward. From the corner of his eye, he sees John lean in to you, hiding his mouth behind his hand as he whispers something into your ear. You lean back sharply, your face the picture of disbelief as you think through whatever it was that he’d said to you.

Clearing your throat, you nod towards Garcia. “Agent Garcia, could you please pull up the first case I ever logged? It would have been during the third month that I was a trainee.”

From the front of the room both McKinney and Easter’ brows furrow, along with the rest of theirs, wondering what you were getting at. It’s Morgan who voices what they were all thinking. “What does your first case logged have to do with this?”

Your eyes flit from Morgan to Easter, barely stopping at McKinney, before you wordlessly direct Garcia to proceed with pulling up the case. “My third month while I was a trainee, someone broke into my apartment. Nothing was taken, but I could tell that someone had been there, so I dusted for prints and logged it. I ran it against the system but it didn’t turn up with anything then. The thing is, trainees only have access to the domestic IAFIS database.”

At that, your eyes flash dangerously towards Easter and the implication of what you’re saying has Aaron’s hackles raised. Easter sits straighter, just the slightest bit tense as Garcia pulls up the case and then runs them against Easter’s fingerprints.

The blaring negative result for a match has your jaw tightening and Easter sporting a smug smile that Aaron truly can’t wait to have wiped off of his face forever.

You take a breath, knowing that running it against the entire system would take far too long. Eyes narrowed, you look towards Easter once more. “You don’t really like getting your hands dirty yourself, do you?” you muse, your voice low and contemplative as you appraise Easter’s reaction to your conjecture.

“Garcia, compare the prints against Eli Black, Harold Woodshire, and Stefan Dupont.”

Garcia starts to pull up the prints of the Interpol agents you’d provided, when McKinney jumps in. “Agent L/N, don’t you think you are perhaps being just a little paranoid?”

Garcia looks between you and McKinney, the two of you engaged in a standoff that he was unlikely to win.

“Run it,” you instruct, knowing that Garcia’s loyalty to you far outweighed anything that McKinney could say to her in that moment.

The entire room waits with bated breath as Garcia runs the prints against the names provided. It’s tense as Easter’s eyes flit nervously between the screen that Garcia had commandeered away from him, and both you and McKinney, still looking at one another, your gaze staunchly defiant.

The system blares, stopping at Eli Black – a 100% match. They all look to the screen and Aaron’s stomach clenches as they look at the face of the man who had beaten you and strapped you down in the video, his eyes just as pale and emotionless in his Interpol I.D. photograph as they’d been when he’d put his hands on you.

There’s a tight smile on your face, your eyes shifting away from McKinney’s without comment, fixed on Easter once more. “I didn’t actually go to law school, but we happen to have two lawyers in the room right now. Remind me,” you say, a quirk of your eyebrow in John’s direction, “what’s the fourth amendment, again?”

John has a dark smirk on his face as he realizes you’re finally giving him full permission to do whatever he wants to, and in that moment, Aaron can quite easily see how he had the highest conviction rate in the entire New York state D.A.’s office. “The Fourth Amendment strictly prohibits unreasonable searches and seizures,” he states, the forced calm of his voice just barely masking the thundering rage that was coming off of him in waves, his chest expanding as he sits at his full height, towering over the table.

“How much you want to bet, that wasn’t a sanctioned search?” you quip, mirroring his expression, your tone hinting that this wasn’t the first time the two of you had paired up to dress someone down in prime fashion.

“Easy enough to find out. All we’d have to do is pull up the logs on warrants,” John replies, his eyes locked on Easter, daring him to say or do anything to further paint himself into a corner.

There’s a beat while Clyde seems to process everything that had just happened. Absorb how the script had been flipped around on him. McKinney was looking at him with a great deal of concern and you know that Clyde can see it on the Director’s face as well – any credibility that Clyde might have had with him was quickly dissipating. The combination of that video and everything that had come forward, along with the lack of concrete proof and now this, had McKinney finally arriving at a decision regarding the validity of Clyde’s accusation. "Then why?” Clyde asks, sounding as though he couldn’t quite believe anything that had transpired. “Why would someone of your pedigree and connections ever deign to be a federal agent?”

You close your eyes for a moment, having put together the final piece that had always plagued you. You don’t have to guess at whether or not you’re right. You know you are.

“Because you knew. People like you, knew. You knew that he murdered Julian and you chose to look the other way. Pinning him for killing some kid didn’t matter to you. Not when you could potentially be the people to bring down him and his empire. Why settle? Because you knew, and the second he decided to turn on me, you’d let him get away with that too. Because I refused to be yet another casualty of my father’s greed.”

You can feel the tears glistening in your eyes and you’re quick to blink them away while Aaron finds your hand on the table and grasps it firmly in his, his thumb caressing your palm comfortingly. He hadn't known that you'd truly feared this level of retaliation from your father, and your desperation to get onto the team takes on a new layer of meaning for him.

You clear your throat before continuing, taking stock of every single person seated around that table that was here because of you. JJ, smiling at you kindly while throwing her dirtiest looks at Clyde. Spencer, who had chimed in repeatedly and who you knew was about to pester you about Math 55’s coursework endlessly afterwards – after all, there had been a reason you’d never told him about it. Rossi, smugly claiming you as his own, his gaze proud as can be. Penelope, who was still wordlessly apologizing for bringing up that video earlier, and who you knew was going to ruin those guys’ lives because of what they had done to you. Emily, who was glaring daggers at Clyde and likely planning out the various ways she could torture him right back. Derek, who would have your back in any situation, any circumstance, no matter what. Aaron, whose hand was warm against yours and who had let you handle this yourself because that was your guys’ agreement. At work, you were your own person and he would allow you to navigate and deal with everything by yourself, until you asked for his help. Aaron, who would go out of his way to do anything for you at home, who would go to the ends of the earth to make sure you were alright.

“Because, you’ve seen what this team does in order to protect our own. Joining them ensured that I couldn’t just disappear.”

*------------* There’s a long silence, during which all you’re really aware of is the seconds hand on the clock ticking away. Clyde isn’t looking at anyone. McKinney is switching between looking at you and Clyde both and you can feel him assessing everything said and shown. Weighing the proof or lack thereof. Thinking through the implications of Richards offering up the information on Clyde’s dismissal to you personally.

Beside you, Aaron has shifted and dragged your hand back with his, placing both in his lap so he can hold onto yours tighter. You can’t help but feel your heart tremble ever so much as his thumb drags itself back and forth over your palm, paying extra special attention to the deep indentations that have been left over the past couple of days, and especially the past half hour.

When you’d said that this team protects its own, what you’d really meant was Aaron. Of course the rest of them would protect you too, in a heartbeat. But Aaron protects differently. He does what needs to be done. Not what you ask him to do. Maybe at the time, you’d resented him for lying about Emily’s death. Over time, you’ve come to realize that he had done whatever needed to be done to make sure that she would be safe. He’d known the team would hate him for it and he’d done it anyways, because who cared if you were upset with him or not talking to him as long as it also meant that Emily was safe and alive.

To your other side, John has shifted so he’s leaning closer to you, his elbow on the arm of your chair, and you know that he – out of them all – had known how truly afraid you’d been in New York. How you’d lived in constant fear of your father finding out what you and him were doing and turning the full brunt of his fury towards you. You wouldn’t have survived that. Not then.

After a few more minutes, McKinney stands, and you know he’s arrived at a decision. “There remains the matter of the actual mole,” he states, bypassing any discussion on anything you or Clyde had said. With that one statement, he was declaring your innocence while electing to ignore everything else. You shouldn’t have expected any different from him. For him, all that mattered was ensuring the sanctity of the Bureau.

You squeeze Aaron’s hand before your hand away, back to the table, and with a nod at McKinney, turn to Clyde. “Where’s my locket?”

However, instead of Clyde, it’s Aaron who answers you. “I have it.”

You turn back towards him and watch as he shifts to bring out the chain and pendant from the inside pocket of his jacket and set it on the table in front of you gently.

Why Aaron had the locket instead of Clyde, was something you’d have to ask him later. For the time being, you focused on answering the Director’s question.

“When I was with Jansen, he revealed some details regarding the mole which were enough for me to create a preliminary profile,” you divulge, reaching and picking up the locket. “Rossi, can I see your wallet?”

Rossi gives you an odd look, but leans into his pants pocket and retrieves the wallet, tossing it to you from across the table.

You flip it open and search though, looking for the thick metal card, while everyone’s eyes are on you. When you find what you’re looking for, you fish it out.

“I just need to double check a couple of details, but if I’m not mistaken, I think I know who in the Bureau is the mole,” you say, as you latch the metal card into the bottom two prongs of the pendant, and with some leverage from the table, manage to flip them open.

Aaron looks at you and you mutter a quick Sorry, honey to him, before sliding the stone out of the setting to reveal a black memory card behind it.

Everyone watches as the memory card is taken out of the base of the pendant, having sat there behind the deep emerald stone, unbeknownst to them all. You slide it over to Garcia, who eagerly takes it off your hand.

“When we started looking at everyone on the project team for Atlantis,” you start again while Garcia is working on getting the information in the chip loaded to her computer, “we tracked financial statements primarily, to see who was receiving or had funds available to them which they shouldn’t. Additionally, I did an assessment of assets – mostly real estate and artwork – as that is often used to hide illegal assets. Most people checked out, others had some assets that were questionable but nothing that rose to the threshold that we were using for our assessment. However, during my conversation with Jansen, he told me that the mole in the Bureau was effective because he didn’t take monetary payment.”

“What kind of payment does he take?” McKinney asks curiously, now leaning in across the table. He’d seemed mildly taken aback when you’d broken the pendant to take out the microchip you’d hidden, and now that you were being forthcoming about your suspicions, seemed more than willing to listen to what you had to say.

Clyde sat sulking at the front.

You clear your throat, a grimace taking form as you recall your conversation with Jansen. “Apparently, little girls make for compelling payment.”

JJ has a sharp inhale and Garcia momentarily stops typing as your words sink in.

“Once Agent Garcia is able to fully read in the data, we can reassess the real estate holdings. We’ll be looking for property which could be used to easily conceal the presence of children.”

When Jansen had told you how his plant was paid, you’d had the bone chilling realization that your late night excursions over a month and a half ago had not been a mere coincidence. What you’d feared had come to fruition. The smell of smoke still lingers in your brain.

“Who do you think it is?” Rossi asks as you toss his wallet back to him.

“Alexander Pierce. He’s the only one that fits the profile of a child molester.”

McKinney appears beyond shocked. Pierce was at the level directly below him. He’s the favorite to take the reins of the entire Bureau in the upcoming decade. They’ve worked together for years and are at least friendly. Yet, he doesn’t question you. He doesn’t tell you that you might be wrong. Instead, he turns resolutely towards Rossi.

“Dave, due to the changed circumstances, I ask that you oversee the investigation and if warranted, subsequent arrest of Agent Pierce.”

Rossi nods, so McKinney continues as he sweeps up his files from the table and stands, buttoning his jacket as he does, effectively drawing your indictment to a close.

“Agent Easter, I will be speaking with the Interpol Director regarding your actions and composure on this assignment. I believe the three of us will have much to discuss together. Agent L/N, you have the entirety of the BAU, with Agent Rossi, to assist you in closing this out. Ideally, the two of us will sit down on Monday and discuss your role in all of this as well, beginning with the disclosure of classified information to outside parties without requisite clearance.”

You sigh internally, squeezing Aaron’s hand once more as he opens his mouth to likely speak up against McKinney still trying to read you the riot act. You’d expected as much. He wasn’t the type to let that slide – especially not with you rubbing his nose in Richards calling you directly.

"Yes sir," you nod.

Having said all he had to say, all of you watch as McKinney takes his leave with a sweep of the room, the door shutting behind him.

*------------*

In McKinney’s wake, everyone looks at Easter, who appears incredibly uncomfortable and looked to be assessing whether or not he was meant to stay. He seemed to have reached a conclusion, as he stands and makes his way towards the door.

“You know,” you speak up as Easter approaches the door, and Aaron watches as you break the man down with your gaze alone. “For someone who thinks I’m capable of any number of atrocious things, you sure didn’t seem to have a problem with pissing me off.”

Your words are said with a casual overtone as you remain seated, the perfect air of ease about you, designed to draw a rise out of Easter, who had one hand on the doorknob, having turned around at the sound of your voice.

At your words, he scoffs. “What is that supposed to be? A threat?” He raises an eyebrow at you and tilts back into his quietly assured self.

Your lips purse ever so slightly and your eyes flash, before your mouth widens into a smile. The kind of smile that would have grown men running for the hills. “No. That wasn’t a threat,” you clarify, shifting to sit up straight once again. “This is. You come near me or mine again, and you will find out exactly how much I learned from my father.”

Easter looks like he’s ready to dismiss your threats, rolling his eyes and turning around.

“Передай от меня привет Даниэлю.”

He turns sharply, his face paling at whatever you’d said to him. His eyes search yours for any doubt, any hesitation. He appears to have seen the staunch truth in them, as he only swallows, his Adam’s apple protruding, and if Aaron wasn’t mistaken there was a slight tremor in his hand as he once again opens the door, and this time, manages to exit the room.

You close your eyes, your shoulder slumping, a deep sigh workings its way through your body. When you open them, all eyes are on you.

“Pen, once the files are available, you’ll want to start with Pierce’s properties in the countryside,” you instruct softly. “Anderson is already watching him,” your eyes cut to Aaron and he realizes who that phone call you’d made earlier had been to. You had asked Anderson to go and watch Pierce while you dealt with Easter and McKinney, knowing you needed to reestablish your credibility with the Director before you could make any accusations of your own.

Garcia nods and the rest of them remain silent as you turn to Rossi. “Can I have twenty minutes?” you ask, the fullness of your voice hinting at just how exhausted you must be.

At Rossi’s nod, you push up from the table, and with a squeeze to John’s shoulder, make your way out of the room with Aaron at your heels. He knew to go with you. You didn’t have to ask. Not with him.

*------------*

As the team watches you and Hotch leave, Morgan turns to Emily, eyebrow raised. “That was Russian, wasn’t it?”

She nods, however Hawthorne also agrees with a quiet Yes.

At that, her eyebrows raised at him in some surprise. He was a New York State District Attorney. Language skills weren’t exactly a part of the job description. “You know Russian,” she asks, the lilt in her voice hinting at her surprise.

He chuckles, a smirk on his face as he looks up at her with those ocean blue eyes, amusement dancing in them. “Who do you think taught her?” All at once, Emily can entirely see how you and him had once worked so very well together. It had been clear since the moment they'd entered the room, Hawthorne wrapping you up in his arms. There was a quiet electricity to your interactions with him – a palpable connection which easily transcended everything else. There was a casual ease to your demeanor with Hawthorne that you and Hotch rarely allowed yourselves while at work, and Emily has to once again admire how well Hotch had maintained himself throughout the entirety of the meeting. He'd allowed you and Hawthorne the lead in retaliation against Clyde, knowing that drawing any additional attention to you and him wouldn't help your case. He'd bided his time, biting back any number of choice words he must've had for Clyde, letting you take the reins on it all, because it was your meeting, your case, your indictment. Anything she might have believed about Hotch when it came to him being controlling and overbearing had fallen apart, having witnessed exactly how well he took a backseat when it was important for you that he do so.

“So what did she say to Easter,” Rossi asks, drawing both of their attention away from one another.

Emily takes it upon herself, even though she had no idea what your words had actually meant. “Say hello to Daniel for me.”

“Who’s Daniel?” Morgan asks, his brow crinkling, gaze fixed on where you’d sat next to Hawthorne.

They both shrug.

“So um,” Garcia starts, shifting everyone’s attention to her as she looks hesitantly between Rossi and Morgan, who raises his appraising look at her next, compelling her to just spit it out.

“When John and I were looking into that other location – the one that burned down with the triple homicide – I saw that the same night, three kids were left outside the Philadelphia precinct. All three were young girls around eight to ten years old and they said they were being held somewhere by bad men.”

At Emily’s prompting, she continues, “The thing is, when asked how they got away, the kids said that they heard some fighting and then some lady came and got them and dropped them off near the police station. All of their descriptions of the person who saved them...they match Y/N.”

There’s a stunned silence before Morgan decides to speak up. “Baby girl, are you saying she took down three guys all by herself, snuck those kids out, and then burned the entire place down without leaving a single strand of DNA or anything else behind?”

Garcia shrugs, an uncertain expression on her face. However, they can all tell that that is exactly what she believes happened. “If anyone could…,” she trails off as they all look at one another before turning to face Rossi.

Rossi sighs, his face torn for a momentarily, before arriving at a decision. “Well, like you said, the Philadelphia police already called it a case of gang violence and shut it down. I don't suppose it is our place to go and create problems where none exist."

At his words, Emily meets Morgan and Hawthorne’s eyes, realizing that perhaps out of everyone in the world outside of herself, Hotch, and Morgan, Hawthorne was the one most likely to understand that you could and would do exactly that, and get away with it.

*------------*

You make your way down the stairs with Aaron at your side. You just needed twenty minutes. Twenty minutes. That was it. Aaron knows not to say anything. You don’t want to talk. Not then.

You make your way down to the locker rooms before you turn and speak. “You mentioned you’d brought my other bag.”

“Yeah, it’s in my locker,” he confirms, watching you with apprehensive, yet loving eyes.

There was no one else in the locker rooms owing to the lateness of the hour. With a quick look around, you begin to take off your shoes, undoing the buckles on the boots and toeing them off, before sliding the pants off of your hips and then quickly removing the sweatshirt along with the rest of your clothing.

Aaron is quick to shuck off his own clothes as you walk into the shower and turn it all the way to the left. He can already see the steam rising off of your skin when he slips in behind you, picking up the shampoo bottle from the ledge in the corner and dumping some out into his hands.

The hot water felt like baptism by fire, but it was the only thing helping you feel clean, as two days worth of dirt and grime slid off of you and swirled its way down the drain. You can feel Aaron behind you as his bare chest rubs against your back when he leans for the shampoo and then works it into suds in your hair, allowing you to simply be.

The slip and slide of his hands, as he takes soap and scrubs against your skin. His large hands gliding against your shoulders and back, down your legs, making sure to get every inch of you clean. You let him. You can feel the exhaustion seeping through you as your mind slips into a fog, leaving you aware only of the heat of the steam, the water, and him.

Once Aaron has ensured that you’re as clean as can be, he shifts so you’re fully under the stream, the last of the shampoo leaving your hair. That’s when you finally feel the weight in the pit of your stomach turn to lead.

You allow that steel trap to open ever so slightly as you lean back against him. The fact that he'd had to see you go through that, had to find out from a video of you being tortured, that you'd been pregnant and lost the baby. It was far too much for him to have gone through on his own. Your heart breaks at the thought of him sitting with the rest of them and watching that. Having them all find out at the same time as him, when he should've been the first and only one to know.

Your tears mingle with the water from the shower, your shoulders shake and your body quakes and slumps, held up by his arms alone, holding you tight across your chest and waist, tight to him as the sobs wrack your body. You can feel his lips against your shoulder as he dips his head down to slot his face against yours. He’s hard and warm and all around you, the only thing standing between you and total collapse.

*------------*

The two of you had gotten dressed slowly, taking far longer than the twenty minutes you’d asked Rossi for. Your eyes are red rimmed and glassy still, your hair falling to your shoulders in damp tendrils as you grasp his hand and the two of you make your way back upstairs using the elevators.

“There’s a chance McKinney still fires me,” you mumble, leaned against him and the back of the Elevator wall both to hold yourself up.

Aaron shakes his head, looking down at you with his warm brown eyes. “He isn’t going to fire you,” he insists, despite not fully believing it himself. He too had caught what McKinney had said to you prior to his departure.

You aren’t appeased by his words, but he hadn’t expected you to be. The elevator continues to climb back up the floors slowly. Right before it reaches its destination, you worm your way away from him and hit the emergency stop button, halting the elevator and plunging it into darkness.

“What’re you doing?” he asks, feeling his way around the elevator until he finds you again.

“If I’m getting fired on Monday,” you whisper, leaning up so your mouth is right against his ear, drawing a shiver through his entire body, “then there’s something I’ve always wanted to do.”

With that, your lips find his, insistent and soft, begging his open with your tongue running along the seam of his mouth. With a moan, he gives in, hands finding your waist and pulling you up further against him. He can feel the smile in your mouth, mixed with everything else – the fear and fury, the regret and pain undercutting everything else.

If this is what you wanted before you were potentially fired – then well, of course he’d give it to you.

*------------*

By the time the two of you make it back to the conference room, the team is well situated, with Rossi and Morgan engaged in conversation while the rest of them crowd around Garcia. John was in the corner, just getting off of a phone call and Reid had managed to find some pretzels it seemed like – or he merely always had them on him – because he was munching away, leading to Aaron becoming incredibly aware that none of them had eaten since that sandwich the day prior. Hell, he wasn’t sure when the last time you’d eaten at all. His eyes must’ve lingered on the pretzels for a while too long, because JJ had leaned into her bag and lobbed a package of chips towards him.

Aware of your return now, the team turns to you and Aaron, with John being the one to break the silence with a soft smile. “Mom says hi” he says quietly, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

Aaron can see the flash of guilt in your eyes. "I'll call her," you promise. When you'd left John, he hadn't been the only one you'd left.

He smiles and nods. "She'd like that."

With a glance around, and with no one else saying anything else, he continues, his smile morphing into a wicked grin. "So, you and Hastings, huh?" His voice teasing in that manner that only truly good old friends can get away with.

"Matthew and I were on a break," you clarify primly, shoving at his arm. His grin remains unchanged, causing your eyes to narrow, before a realization seems to hit you as you groan and slump back into your chair. “Don’t tell me you and Julian had a bet on that too,” you grumble, though Aaron can tell you aren’t really annoyed. You’re merely playing along.

“I won, if you must know,” John grins wider. “Seeing as you’re his next of kin, you owe me twenty.”

You scoff. “This better be written down somewhere. I’m not signing off twenty thousand to you just because you said so.”

Behind John, Aaron can see Morgan and Garcia’s jaws drop as they realize that twenty dollar bets were not the norm in your circles. You played for much higher stakes. Always had.

“Oh you’ll get your proof,” John winks at Prentiss, hinting at some sort of inside joke between the two of them while you and him both settle in, you stealing some chips from the bag in his hands, before swiping the bag entirely with a sweet smile that he was in no condition to refuse, ever.

“Hey,” Prentiss asks, drawing your attention away from John, “who’s Daniel?”

Aaron watches as your face turns dark ever so slightly, your eyes hardening as you meet Prentiss’s gaze, and Aaron realizes that the quietly enunciated Danielyu that he’d caught when you’d spoken to Easter in Russian had meant something more.

“Mr. Have-No-Attachments has a son,” you tell her, your jaw tight.

They’re all quiet as your revelation sinks in. You’d brought up Easter’s son while –

“You threatened his kid?” JJ asks, slight surprise on her face as she looks at you, her eyes flashing with the concern that they all always had. Their children being dragged into danger because of their line of work.

“He threatened mine.” Your retort is quick and to the point and if Aaron was being honest, he really really didn’t care that you’d threatened a child at this moment, because you were right. He had threatened yours.

When no one says anything further, you nod at Rossi and then turn to Garcia. “Let’s get to work.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch #hotch x reader #hotch x you #aaron hotch x reader #Criminal Minds #spencer reid #irreverentseries #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x y/n

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imaginesandinserts · 3 years

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Watching Criminal Minds with my father is very awkward now because whenever Aaron Hotchner comes on screen I want to be like “omg my baby 🥺😍” except Hotch is older than my dad so...

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds reader insert #irreverentseries #hotch x you #hotch x reader

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imaginesandinserts · 3 years

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Irreverent Pt. 54 - Anchor

Title: Irreverent Pt. 54 - Anchor

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~6K

A/N: Whoops on the posting schedule. Had a wedding, etc. and things just got away from me.

Irreverent Series Masterlist

It's cold in the warehouse, the drafty chill causing goosebumps to erupt under the leather jacket you still had on. You're seated in one of the metal chairs, eyes trained on the door. Your companion had his to the other side, watching the windows.

It had been over a day since you and Clyde had been taken outside the jazz club. In hindsight, it had been impulsive of you both to go along with the change in plan, and yet the fact that the club had blown up mere seconds after you stepped outside, had you feeling rather alright about your rashness. The two of you hadn't had a chance to recover from the blowback of the explosion, when you were being shoved and pushed at gunpoint into the back of a van, cloth covers thrown over both your heads.

They shouldn't have known that the two of you were undercover agents. But they had. You'd arrived and been led into another building and when the cloth had been torn off of your head, the face in front of you had your head reeling. It had been as though every fear you'd had about the assignment had suddenly manifested itself and you regretted having kept all of your suspicions from Clyde.

Erasmus Jansen had been an associate of your father's whom you'd met on a handful of occasions while traveling with him, at your home growing up, and then once more when your father had agreed to bring you in formally. In a split second decision, you called him Uncle Erasmus – banking on your father's relationship to him to offer you some protection, buy you some time and trust, imploring him to see the little girl who had ran into her father's office eager to show off her working Grand Adage, and not the federal agent who had been sent to stop him.

Your voice had harkened him to pause as recognition flitted into his eyes. Your eyes and the set of your mouth, so very much a reminder of your father. He'd brisked you away into another room where you had continued to bank on your father's reputation. You allowed Jansen to do most of the talking, as he revealed to you that your father had confided in him that he was working on getting agents into the higher echelons of each governmental agency. He had simply never guessed that one of those agents would be his own daughter. You thought it best not to dissuade him of that notion.

Things had progressed quickly after that as you acted almost entirely on instinct, working to ingratiate yourself to him and earn his trust. You'd shot Clyde, wordlessly imploring him to understand what you were doing and why, careful to aim for the thickest parts of the vest and avoid any critical areas.

You'd had to play along. For both of your sakes.

You still had a job to do.

All of your doubts and fears regarding this assignment were coming to life, and there were still two CIA operatives unaccounted for. Jansen had said that your father had been cultivating agents on the inside - that was confirmation enough for you that you and Clyde had been correct. There was a mole still somewhere within the Bureau. Someone who had been watching and waiting, feeding them information for years. Jansen had to know the identity of whomever it was, since he had assumed you were a mole who had never been utilized by your father. It wouldn't have been any surprise to you if your father had indeed even played into the idea that you were a plant. That you were his to command. That he owned you.

Now here you sat, waiting in the outer chamber of a warehouse in the outskirts of Philadelphia. The drive there had seemed vaguely familiar and as you'd driven past an old diner by the road, you're reminded of a trip you'd taken out here with John during your first year of training. Wind rushing around you, your hair tucked safely beneath a helmet, arms wrapped tightly around the firm torso in front of you as your fingers clung to the worn leather jacket. You'd stopped for food at that diner on the way back, after scoping out the property. It had been one of several on a list that you were working through on the weekends you both could spare. Ocean blue eyes and cherry pie. Milkshakes - chocolate for you and strawberry for him. Finding a song on the jukebox that had his shoulders moving along. Your laughter - both yours and his - lighting up that dusty old diner by the side of the road. It felt like a lifetime ago. A person ago.

The clanging of the door separating the outer chamber from the inner maze has you jolting towards it, as both you and Jansen's associate - whose name you'd come to learn was Ramos - moved forward to enter as Jansen's hand beckoned on in. It takes a second for your eyes to adjust to the lowered lighting as you look around. They'd established a temporary base here it seemed. You can see the outline of the ladder that you'd climbed down during your first visit, nearly six years prior. It had rattled and shook, the two of you shushing one another in the following silence. What had then been an empty space was now equipped with weapons. In the center you can see a cage – metal bars separating you from two shapes within. It is all so familiar. You should've known. You should've known then. You shouldn't have written it off as too horrific to be true.

As you draw closer, one of the two shapes moves. You watch, silently accepting the chair that Jansen had drawn out for you as he seated himself in the other one. It is only by the dim lighting inside and the beginnings of moonlight peaking through the high shutters that you can make out the shape as it moves closer. White knuckles gripping tightly onto the metal bars. A scuffed pant leg just barely visible in the darkness. You look up to meet the pale, glassy eyes of Agent Dean Novak, CIA.

*------------*

Emily watches from the corner of her eye as Hotch and Hawthorne pour over the documents they'd grabbed from the storage unit. The team had relocated to the office now that McKinney was aware they were working the case.

Hawthorne had arrived pretty quickly after Hotch had stepped out of the storage unit to call him. He'd been nice and polite to all of them, remembering their names despite her having a vague recollection of you never having gotten around to actually introducing them to him that night at the bar. Though she supposed her memory of that night was far from reliable.

None of them had known that Hotch really knew this guy and now here they were, sitting across from one another at the conference table, quietly comparing notes on anything of interest. It made sense that Hotch had called him in. He'd explained to them all, prior to Hawthorne's arrival, that the two of you had been researching your father's businesses together around the time you joined the Bureau. None of them had been surprised to hear that. Hotch had decided to call in the guy who knew all of this as well as you did. They could certainly use the help. The fact that he was also the closest thing you had to an ex besides Matthew, seemed not to matter.

"He called him Aaron," JJ whispers from beside her, catching Garcia's attention as well. Before Hawthorne had arrived, Garcia had already looked up everything there was to know about the guy. Clean record, upstanding citizen, wealthy family with dubious connections, but that wasn't exactly a surprise. Derek had been the one who knew the most about him, and even he knew very little. However, it didn't take a profiler to see that Hotch and Hawthorne had known each other beyond that casual hello at the bar with the rest of them. They'd shaken hands quickly when Hawthorne had arrived, all windswept hair and perfectly fitted suit, before Hotch had introduced him to the rest of the team.

Garcia had already declared him one of the most attractive human beings to ever exist within five minutes of his arrival, having blushed when he'd smiled at her in greeting, much to Morgan's annoyance. He'd shook all of their hands incredibly politely – soft, but not timid in the least. Confident in that self-assured manner where he had nothing to prove to anyone. He'd quickly rolled up his sleeves and dived in. His familiarity with your organizational system immediately paying off as he quickly reduced the number of boxes they had to sift through from the forty nine they'd carried out of the storage facility, down to merely ten. When asked how the two of you had had time to do all of this research in addition to your day jobs – him, logging over sixty hours a week at a major New York law firm, and you being in round the clock training – he'd merely shrugged. Somehow, the two of you had found the time. From that, Emily gathered that neither of you had had much of a life beyond this and each other throughout those two years.

The cavalry seated around the room, all of them searching for any way to find you. Emily knows that that hadn't been the case when she had been presumed dead. Instead, from subsequent conversations with Rossi and Morgan, she'd come to learn that her cavalry had consisted of exactly one, you. You, who had dedicated every spare moment to finding Doyle, avenging her death. Learning that hadn't exactly been a surprise. She'd known that Hotch was away and JJ reassigned. Morgan was busy running the team and Rossi was trying to keep everyone's head above water. You'd been all alone in your vengeance. It had led credence to the number of times she'd come close to dialing your number while hiding out in Paris. Out of everyone, you'd be the person to never stop.

Her eyes wander over once more to the two men seated at the adjacent table. Morgan was working through something with Garcia. Reid and JJ were still sifting through their respective boxes. Hotch and Hawthorne had split a box between them, both of them taking notes as they went through in long yellow legal pads. Both of their heads were bent in concentration, suit jackets long shed in favor of comfort. There was a half eaten sandwich in front of them both, which they'd only acquiesced to partake in under JJ's watchful eye – both abandoned once her back was turned. Hawthorne’s fingers tapped rhythmically against the table as he flipped through a thick folder. Hotch's thumb rubbed the outer edge of his index finger. Both of their legs bounced, the only outlet for the coiled energy within, kept hardly at bay.

Not for the first time, Emily finds herself praying – to who knew what – that they'd find you. If only so that she could see your reaction to these two men co-existing here, because of you.

*------------*

You and Jansen walk back into the outer chamber, leaving Ramos to guard over Novak and Cavanaugh, relieving one of the earlier guards to go walk the perimeter.

"They're the ones you and that other agent wanted to buy. I still have contacts with the Chinese if we want to get them off of our hands this week," he tells you, coming around to sit in one of the chairs off to the side.

You know he trusts you minimally at best right now. Shooting Clyde had been a test that you'd passed, having quickly walked over to him before Ramos could, pressing down into the part of the armpit that would help mimic a lack of pulse when checked. Ramos didn't know enough to ward against that, and Jansen had been busy taking a call. You'd willed Clyde to be passed out long enough from the force of the gunshots for you to get away with the first deception.

"Why the Chinese? Our Russian contacts have always been stronger and more responsive," you counter, tracking back to everything you'd learned from your father years prior. Jansen had to feel like you had a stake in this. You allow yourself to slip back into your old fate, just this once.

"Volkov died last year. It weakened our position with them and we haven't been able to make a new contact that's trustworthy enough."

You sigh, leaning back in the and forcing an air of ease about you. Jansen had to see you assume the role your father had once held in his life. It wouldn't be easy. Only once before had he seen you actually in the business prior to Julian's death. That too, alongside your father. However, your distinct advantage here, ironically, would be your last name. Jansen might have attempted to take over from your father, but your family name still carried weight. A certain respect in these circles that was earned by virtue of swift and calculated brutality.

"Who had been feeding you the names on the inside if it wasn't me?" you ask, side stepping the land mine that was Alexander Volkov. Jansen brought him up only due to your personal relationship with Volkov. After all, your father hadn't been able to brag enough about how you'd cultivated that particular contact for him as your first real project on the job. No one had made strides with the Russians the way you had. You'd spent the first part of your winter break senior year, in the Balkans, being firsthand witness to Volkov's methods. You'd shown no fear, however, and he'd respected that, agreeing to sit down and talk. Even now, the mere thought of the burly, intimidating Russian had your insides churning. It was no wonder that Jansen wouldn't take on any successor to Volkov. Successors in that business were created only through conquest.

"He's up in the Bureau. Sits in on the project meetings," Jansen answers, taking a swig from the flask he still carried with him. He offers it to you, but you shake your head. He wasn't giving you a name exactly, but that alright. If you got enough details, you could figure it out.

"What's in it for him?"

Jansen's face takes on a sinister quality as he takes another sip from the flask, his lips curling into a menacing grin that has your skin crawling. You're not about to like whatever he tells you next.

*------------*

Erasmus Jansen was the name that Garcia had been trying to hunt down in vain since they'd learned that he'd been the one to take you and Easter. Her computer dings, once more turning up empty. With a groan, she looks back at Emily in defeat.

"I can't do this," she wails. "He's mentioned in the Atlantis files and in some older CIA files on Y/N's father, but beyond that, on his own, there's nothing. No bank account, no physical address, not even a MySpace account. The man is a ghost."

Emily nods in sympathy before turning back to Hawthorne who was poring over yet another folder of real estate investments. "You're sure you don't remember anything at all about this guy?"

Hawthorne looks up apologetically, a frown marring his otherwise perfect face. Emily was pretty sure his was the face DaVinci had envisioned when he spoke of the golden ratio. "Sorry, no. Only met him while I was a kid and that too only in passing. Cap spent more time with her dad than Julian did so she knew all the players better." He sighs and comes around to where Emily and Garcia are sat, brainstorming through ways of potentially tracking you or Jansen. He leans against Garcia's table, one leg crossed over the other, arms holding up the rest of his weight against the table, and from her vantage point right in front of him, Emily can tell he's mentally combing through absolutely anything that could help. "The only thing she ever said about Jansen was that while he was great at execution, he wouldn't innovate. He'd rather have someone else in charge, which was why he stuck around her father for so long. On his own, he tends to flounder."

"We might be able to use that," Emily offers. "He'll stick to whatever is familiar and uncompromised."

Hawthorne nods, slowly agreeing with her. "Older properties that had other uses in the past. Places he feels comfortable." He's already walking back over to the files, sifting through until he finds one he's looking for. "Can you get aerial views of these?" He pushes a piece of paper with an address on it towards Garcia, who lights up at the opportunity to be able to do something she knows she can deliver on.

"Can I get an aerial shot?" Garcia scoffs as she types furiously, pounding at the keyboard with renewed fervor. "Give me a minute and I can get you a lot more than whatever Google Earth can manage."

Looking up, Emily can see a grin on Hawthorne's face as he watches Garcia continue her rant on exactly how much more she can find, how much better she is, could he please give her a real challenge next time because this ask was elementary at best.

Across the way, Hotch was talking to Rossi and Morgan about a profile they were creating for Jansen, leveraging the details of the Philadelphia bombing and what little Hawthorne had been able to add on. Emily's been surprised by how well Hotch had put himself back together after the video they'd all seen. The video that would likely haunt her for quite some time. Ever since Easter told him you were alive, the man had been single minded in finding you. While Rossi had mentioned looking into Easter's accusation – not out of any belief in it, but merely as a precautionary measure so they could be prepared – Hotch had brushed it aside, saying that would come later. Right then, he didn't want a single resource dedicated to anything besides getting you back. If she had ever doubted Hotch's dedication to you – which she never really had – the thought had no leg to stand on ever since he'd called in Hawthorne.

Hotch catches her gaze and quirks an eyebrow up in question – Do you have something? Emily shakes her head but offers him a small smile that he manages to return somehow. They were going to find you. No matter what.

*------------*

Jansen wanted to move both Novak and Cavanaugh to a secondary location. His paranoia was starting to catch up with him since no other buyers besides you and Clyde had reached out for the purchase, his calls to the Chinese going unanswered. Unbeknownst to him, you'd shut down his website prior to your meeting and he was now reaching out into the void, towards nothing.

He's been teetering a bit and you can see his natural instinct to follow your orders go up against that same paranoia that tells him to not trust you fully yet. You've tried to stall and calm him down and it has worked a bit but you're unsure how much longer you can continue to quell his instincts from working against you.

Your eyes meet Agent Novak's once again as you continue your silent attempt to communicate to him that you were safe. That you were there to help. Dot Dot Dash Dot. Dash Dot Dot Dot. Dot Dot. Aaron had forced you to learn morse code early on in your time with the team. He had told you it could come in handy at the most opportune of times. You'd spent a few weekends with him and Jack, learning the alphabet. Afterwards, you'd talked him into showing you some complicated knots, which he would only let you out of once you correctly tapped out your request to be released. In hindsight, you briefly wondered if he'd liked you even back then and gotten something more out of tying you up. Something to follow up on later.

You keep repeating your light taps, hoping that Agent Novak – the former Ranger – knew as much morse code as your Eagle Scout boyfriend and his equally nerdy and endearing son.

Dot Dot Dash Dot. Dash Dot Dot Dot. Dot Dot.

F. B. I.

Dot Dot Dash Dot. Dash Dot Dot Dot. Dot Dot.

By now, your email would have triggered the send to Penelope. With Clyde safe, you can only hope that Garcia would, given the circumstances, think to reach out to him. Jansen ordering you to shoot him had been the confirmation you had needed, to know that Easter himself wasn't the mole. Clyde might stand a chance at finding you on his own if Jansen and his lot weren't covering their internet traffic well enough, however you had far more faith in Garcia, despite the mere breadcrumbs you'd left behind. You hadn't known enough to leave behind more. However, together, the two parties should know enough to find you – Clyde had the profile you'd built on Jansen and his operation. Given everything you'd left for Garcia, the team would have all of the access to your old research. They would be able to isolate to local properties once they found the right folders that you'd left on top, and they'd be able to find you.

Aaron would be worried sick. You're already anticipating the lecture you're about to receive when you get back home. All about being more clear about your intentions and not leaving cryptic messages behind. It wouldn't matter that you'd try and fail to explain how you couldn't afford to be more clear for fear that someone else might also catch on. It wouldn't matter what you said to defend yourself. All he would see – all he would reiterate again and again – was that you left yourself open and vulnerable. He'd scoff at you insisting that you had faith in him, in the team. He'd rage against your insistence that this was the best way. The safest way.

Despite everything, in your head you don't hear the drum of your own doubts. Only his encouragement. His voice, which drowns out all of your fears. Reassurances that, soon, this too shall pass and you'll see him once again. He'd find you, no matter how enigmatic your clues might be. He'd find you.

He'd better find you before Jansen decided to ignore you and move.

*------------*

There's a gun in your hand once more. Thrust into it at the beginnings of sound from outside. Jansen's paranoia had kicked into full gear and Ramos had been deployed to scope out the perimeter. Nothing you said placated him any longer and you were wary of pushing your luck. He takes hold of Agent Cavanaugh, entrusting Novak to you. Both of their hands are wrapped behind their back, despite which, either one stood a decent chance at overpowering you had they been in a prime state. As it stood, Jansen had been pumping them both with something that made their reflexes slower and responses sluggish.

Your heart beats rapidly within your chest as you follow Jansen, with him leading Cavanaugh at gunpoint. Your hand is wrapped around Novak's arm, fingers tapping once more at that familiar pattern, regardless of whether or not the message is getting through. It is only as you turn the corner and meet Novak's eye, that you see that the glassy veneer to his eyes has lifted. Meeting yours, he offers an imperceptible nod – a flash of understanding. You're about to switch gears and take action, when Ramos rejoins the group and offers confirmation that there was indeed some movement outside. You're outgunned once more.

*------------*

Derek leads the group through the dark, his hand at the back of a SWAT agent. Hotch had put a tactical team on deck as soon as they'd made some leeway on potential locations you and two CIA operatives could be taken. This warehouse had been one of three locations isolated by Hawthorne as nearby options where someone could reasonably be held and were around back in the day. Prentiss, JJ, and Rossi were leading another team to an abandoned building in Virginia, while him, Reid, and Hotch had come to this other one on the outskirts of Philadelphia.

The third location had been ruled out – Garcia had determined that it had been the subject of an arson and triple homicide case from only a few weeks back. Local detectives had written it off as gang violence. None of them quite believed that given the circumstances, and so Garcia and Hawthorne were digging into it.

If anyone were to ask Derek what he thought of your ex paramour, he'd lie and say he hadn't much of an opinion. However, truth was, the guy had grown on Derek the last day or so. He'd come as soon as Hotch had called, likely having dropped whatever else he had going on. As a DA for the state of NY, Derek reckoned that hadn't been easy. He'd come quickly and while, yes, Derek was just a little annoyed at how Penelope blushed every single time the guy even looked her way, let alone called her Agent Garcia all nice and sweet, and asked her to look something up for him, Derek had to concede that he'd been helpful. He'd known exactly what to look for and all of them had been surprised by the sheer amount of research and area the two of you had covered in two years of looking into your father's businesses. Unfortunately, if Hawthorne was to be believed, the two of you had managed to only scratched the surface.

Regardless, as it stood, Derek could see how you and Hawthorne had worked, and he's a little relieved that not all of your exes were entirely trash. Even Hotch liked him. He might not have said anything, but Hotch had been a lot friendlier with the dude in only a day of working with him, than he'd been with Derek the entire first year. Prentiss had already chalked that up to you having a type – Older. Lawyer. Smart. Ambitious. You could be sure that Prentiss would give you crap for that later, though Derek had seen her eyes rake over Hawthorne about half a dozen times too.

In his ear, he can hear both Hotch and Reid taking their respective positions, with Reid just a few agents behind him. The infrared scanner had already revealed there were people inside - four men circling the perimeter with another five people closer to the center. One of those bodies was far smaller than the others, which led them to assume it was you.

*------------*

The sounds of gunfire have both Jansen and Ramos barreling quickly towards the back exit, Jansen leading and Ramos right behind you. You had no opportunity to duck away and take Agent Novak with you. You had to continue to bide your time and hope that whoever it was –the team or Clyde – would look carefully before they shot.

Down one hallway and the next. Through one door and then another. Quickly and quickly. Feet pounding against the concrete. Gun still weighing down your hand, the other still holding on to Agent Novak. Neither him nor Cavanaugh have put up much of a struggle, liking leaving it to you to take the lead. You pray that you'd about to run into a SWAT team. Once you're out in the open and you don't have Ramos right behind you. Maybe then. Then you'd have your chance.

"F.B.I. Stop where you are!"

Jansen comes to a screeching halt right in front of you, the pathway in front blocked by a tactical team. You recognized that voice. You'd recognize it anywhere.

From behind Agent Novak, you make eye contact with Derek and he wordlessly asks if you're alright. You offer him only a perfunctory acknowledgement, eyes trained quickly once more on Jansen and Ramos. Your main priority was ensuring that both Agents Novak and Cavanaugh were alright.

"Jansen, give it up. You're surrounded," Derek proclaims, gun trained at the man. From beside him, four SWAT agents and Reid emerge, all guns pointed towards the five of you in the center. Your eyes search for Aaron.

Jansen turns back towards you, his eyes wild like a caged animal. "Shoot him," he orders, his gun pressing harshly into Agent Cavanaugh's back.

You don't move. You don't say anything.

"Shoot him," he repeats himself. "Now." He shoves Cavanaugh aside, who stumbles and falls to the ground in his drugged state. Jansen's gun is now pointed past Novak and right at you. He hadn't failed to notice your hesitation to follow his orders.

Your eyes flit up to Agent Novak and then back towards Derek before landing on Jansen's crazed expression once more. You can tell then, that if you don't do as he says, he'll shoot you.

Derek and the SWAT agents will follow protocol. They won't try to take him down while he's got a gun trained on both you and Novak. No sudden movements from the group.

"Jansen. Give it up man. There's no way out for you here. Don't make things worse for yourself." Derek speaks calmly, making a show of lowering his weapon slowly. Behind you, you become aware of Ramos's presence, his gun is trained on you as well, both him and his boss watching you intensely as you continue to defy his direct order.

"I'm not going to shoot a federal agent in front of the F.B.I." you tell him, shaking your head, your heart leaping into your throat as you felt the jut of Ramos's rifle at your back. His boss had given him the order. If you turn out to be not what you claim, shoot her. Shoot her and worry about the rest later.

Your hand holds the gun firmly still, the other still anchored to Agent Novak, ready to shove him to the ground in case of gunfire.

Out of the corner of your eye you can make out Reid from behind the SWAT guys, his gun trained on Jansen. You know what he's thinking. He's assessed the room the same as you. Ramos's view was slightly obstructed as he was still behind you and Novak. If it was timed right and Reid took down Jansen before Ramos had the chance to react, you had the ghost of a possibility to shove both yourself and Novak to the ground while SWAT got Ramos. It had to be Jansen first. Jansen had a clear view of you all and Ramos going down wouldn't allow you enough time. It's the only play.

You feel your body coil, ready to move, waiting for Reid's shot.

Jansen's maniacal eyes are still trained on you. You can feel the nudge of Ramos's gun to your back, imploring you to follow orders.

From the corner of your eye, you catch a beam of red light bouncing off the wall right behind Ramos's head. Assurance that they have him. They have him if you can move fast enough.

Each second that the standoff lasts seems to last a lifetime. You become highly aware – of your own heartbeat, of Agent Novak's muscles tensing under your touch, of Reid's shoulders, tensed and ready to take the shot. You're waiting. Waiting for that telltale sign as his right shoulder will flex just barely. That sign that tells you that his finger is ready to pull the trigger. That's what you're waiting for.

One second.

Jansen shifts from one foot to the other.

Two seconds.

Ramos's gun catches the zipper on the back of your jacket.

Three seconds.

Derek opens his mouth to say something again.

Four seconds.

The beam of red flits across your eyes once more.

Five seconds.

You go down.

Your ears ring from the aftermath of the loud gunshots as you lie on top of Agent Novak on the concrete flooring. In front of you, Jansen was dead, having been hit by two shots, one to the back and another to the chest, his gun slipping from his hand and clattering to the floor. Behind you, Ramos had fallen – single gunshot to the head.

You're aware just barely of Derek helping up both you and Novak, taking the gun from your hands and reengaging the safety. You feel his hands on your arms and his eyes looking you over to make sure you're alright. There's some SWAT guys and paramedics around, making sure both CIA agents are doing well. Reid is still standing where he was when he'd shot Jansen, his arms hanging by his side. You're half expecting to see a shell shocked look on his face, but when you look past Derek and meet his eye, he only smiles at you and you know he's alright.

"Hey, you sure you're okay, Princess? You gotta talk to me here," Derek implores, shaking you just slightly to draw your attention back towards him.

"Yeah," you respond shakily. "Yeah I'm – " You break off, as you look beyond his shoulder and see a far too familiar figure making its way down the ladder, a rifle slung behind its back.

The world stops.

Next thing you know, you've broken away from Derek and taken off in a run. Through the haze of people in the space, past Reid, until you collide into Aaron's chest, his arms wrapping tight around you as he manages to lift you fully off the ground, your legs wrapping around his haphazardly.

Home. You're home.

Aaron can scarcely believe he's holding you, breathing you in – you're here, in his arms. You're real.

The familiar weight of you in his arms feels like a totem, his anchor to reality. It was his reward for never quite believing anything had happened to you. His grace for holding true to his faith in you.

His hand curls behind your back and to your neck, lifting your head that's buried into his shoulder. He needs to see your face. He needs to know he isn't imagining this.

You tilt back to meet his gaze and he can see your panic and relief mixed together, the honeysuckle sweetness of your reunion coating and soothing over the acrid burnt taste left behind by your long absence and the past few days of torment and uncertainty. He can feel the tears slipping down his face as he holds you tighter, closer, your body trembling in his arms, a deep sob working its way through, streaks of tears painting lines down your cheeks.

But you're here. You're here and he has you and that's all that matters as he feels your lips against his, causing his heart to wobble, your hands in his hair and around his shoulders, the wetness of your tears mixing together, no awareness of the surrounding world or the people awaiting the two of you. Screw people. People could wait.

You're here.

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imaginesandinserts · 3 years

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Irreverent Pt. 59 - Through the Looking Glass

Title: Irreverent Pt. 59 - Through the Looking Glass

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~3K

Irreverent Series Masterlist

The sun feels warm despite the light breeze rustling the leaves as you tilt your head up, propping it against the back of the bench and close your eyes. You can pick up the sounds of children playing nearby, the distant noise of the road half a mile away, and the movement of the trees as you bask in the moment of peace.

When you finally sit up straight once more, you can see Aaron and Jack still standing at the side of the lake, feeding the ducks. You'd taken it in turns, staying with him as he went through the two loaves of bread. You wouldn't be surprised to wake up tomorrow and find ducks sitting in your front lawn, having followed your far too generous son home.

From beside you, you hear a low rumbling laugh as Jack chases after some of the more aloof birds, trying to get them to partake in his offering as well. Smiling easily, you look up and meet John's eye briefly before you both return to watching Jack terrorize one of the swans in his insistence on feeding it. Must be on a low carb diet.

Satisfied that he was still occupied and Aaron didn't seem to need to tap either of you in, you turn back to your bench companion, fixing him with a pointed look.

He rolls his eyes good naturedly at you, before slumping back and wordlessly giving you permission to ask what you'd been dying to know ever since he'd arrived earlier that morning.

"So, how's it going with Denise?" You draw out the girl's name, a teasing smile on your face. You know that whatever happened must be good. When you'd asked him that, first thing at his arrival, only to be interrupted by Jack's excited voice at his Uncle's arrival, John had merely muttered that he'd tell you later. If he didn't want Jack overhearing, it had to be good.

John shifts, turning and leaning his side against the back of the bench so that he can face you better, leg bent up onto the seat. At the look of bated glee on your face, he shakes his head, quickly dissuading you of any positive sentiments regarding what he was about to reveal.

"I ended it," he admits with a sigh, watching your face crumple in disappointment.

"Why, what happened?" you prod, clearly displeased. You'd thought things with him and Denise were going well. They'd been on three dates already and based on what John had told you and Aaron last time, she was promising. Far more promising than Heather from two months ago. He'd brought that one along to Emily's birthday party that you'd hosted at your new place, and from the moment she'd opened her mouth and made a comment about how Instagrammable your foyer was, it had been downhill.

John's face morphs into a rueful sort of smile. "Honestly? She was a little too freaky for me."

You let his words sink in, the incredulous pull of your eyebrows betraying exactly how ridiculous you found his statement.

"Yeah, yeah, I know." He knows how that sounds to you, especially coming from him. He runs a hand through his hair, glancing around once more to make sure that Jack isn't about to walk in on anything he shouldn't overhear. "Let's just say we weren't compatible?"

You scoff, but let him get away with just that. Maybe later, after dinner and drinks, he'd be more forthcoming around the details. Though what this girl could've possibly done that was too freaky was beyond you. John wasn't exactly a prude.

"Well, we'll just have to keep trying. Maeve has a few friends that work with her at the lab. I can ask her to see if any of them are single. Cece might know some people she'd be willing to hook you up with – none of her friends, of course. Or, maybe we try online dating? Though it's an abhorrent cesspool of the worst society has to offer, but who knows, maybe someone will emerge as a good candidate."

John smiles at your hopeful tone, allowing you to continue chatting about the various ways he could go about snagging a girlfriend. He knows a large part of your insistence on finding someone for him stems from guilt. He and Aaron had talked about it, with your persistence in finding him a girl growing in magnitude and intensity the closer it got to your impending nuptials. It was as though you were scared that him seeing you marry someone, without having someone by his side, would tear him apart. He's been stalling having that conversation with you. He's not about to crumble at the sight of you marrying someone that isn't him. Hell, even Cece wasn't worried about him anymore. The last time he'd seen her and her kids for brunch, she'd actually given him her own bill of health to attend your wedding. Aaron was right – he had to talk to you about it soon.

" – and well of course we'd get Pen to run a background check because who knows with the internet really. Should try to avoid the catfishers or the crazy serial killers with a vendetta against beautiful blond men – "

Your tirade is interrupted by someone calling your name, causing both you and John to start, breaking away from your conversation to look in the direction the voice had come from.

"Cedric!" Your face turns up at the sight of the man making his way towards the two of you, bearing a smile that could light up any room. John's eyebrows rise, recognizing the name from a few weekends back when he'd been over.

You pointedly ignore his expression as the both you stand to greet Cedric as he approaches, looking wonderfully windswept in jogging clothes. Of course he jogs on a Saturday morning.

The only reason John even knew about Cedric was because he'd been around for the Great Champagne Debacle of 2012. After yet another delivered case of Dom Pérignon, Aaron had had an entirely uncharacteristic breakdown, insisting that you communicate with Cedric Kensington and inform him that you were very much taken and did not need him or his champagne.

"If it's about getting the shipment, I'll get you a monthly shipment," he'd protested in the face of your refusal to go out of your way to call someone you'd briefly dated to inform them that you were taken, thank you very much. You'd told him that it wasn't as if Cedric was placing the order himself. More than likely, he had asked his assistant to do it once and had simply forgotten to tell her to stop once the two of you had ended.

It had been entirely bizarre to see Aaron so worked up over something seemingly small, and you refused to placate whatever insecurity was behind it. Annoyingly, John had been on Aaron's side of it all and the two of them had drank a little too much and added Cedric's name to the mailing list for wedding invitations. Cedric Kensington was a complete class act. The shipment after that was accompanied by balloons and a giant Congratulations sign, much to both of their shame and your complete amusement. It wasn't Cedric's fault that the men in your life were incapable of understanding when someone was kind and giving without expecting a single thing in return.

"It's good to see you again," he greets you with a quick peck to your cheek before turning to the man beside you. "This must be Aaron, congratulations man." He sticks his hand out towards John to shake.

"Thankfully, no," John responds, meeting Cedric's outstretched hand, a smirk on his face as he looks at you to clarify. This was hardly the first time someone had made that particular mistake, especially given that both Jack and John had light hair compared to Aaron's darker locks. You suppose you could see how people made that particular mistake, and the three of you were starting to get a sense of humor about it. Some joke about sister wives had made the rounds one time too many, resulting in you pelting the two of them with pillows with Jack as your second in command.

"Cedric, this is John," you clarify, trying and almost succeeding at hiding your exasperation with him. "He's a friend. But Aaron is actually –" You break off to look around, spotting him and Jack a little further away from where they'd been the last time. You'd really like for your husband-to-be, to meet the man whose champagne him and his new best friend had gotten drunk off of. The story of how John had earned that title had resulted in more than one person upset with Aaron. Namely, you, who had to corral the two of them back home – a feat that was remarkable and which you did not get nearly enough credit for accomplishing on your own – and David Rossi, who until that moment had considered himself to be Aaron's best friend and had not taken kindly to being dethroned. Aaron was still making it up to Dave.

"I'll send him over," John says, nodding at Cedric before walking towards the lake to trade spots with Aaron. Jack still had some bread left to go.

"How're you?" you ask, turning back to Cedric. Of all the men you'd dated between John and Aaron, he was hands down the favorite.

Cedric fills you in on how the business was doing and in turn you were able to share an abridged version of how you were doing as well, as the two of you waited for Aaron to make his way over.

"With the consolidation, I think I'm going to be in DC a lot more," he shares, unknowingly planting a seed in your head.

Right then, you feel Aaron walking up behind you, and turning, in the distance you can make out John chasing after Jack as he races to feed that one difficult swan.

"You must be Aaron," Cedric stands straighter and meets Aaron's eyes, reaching a hand out towards him. "Congratulations, you're a lucky man."

Aaron smiles at that. "Oh, I know."

You watch as the two of them smile and shake hands, exchanging pleasantries. If you didn't know better, you wouldn't have been able to tell that your fiancé had been incredibly bothered by this man only a few weeks back. You can only imagine what John had said to him when he'd gone over to send him your way.

"Hope we'll be seeing you at the wedding," Aaron remarks, an arm winding around your waist.

Cedric smiles and nods. "It's already on my calendar."

"Good!" you exclaim. "There's someone I want you to meet."

He chuckles and agrees, no doubt knowing you're about to set him up with someone.

As Cedric takes his leave, Aaron turns to you slightly bashful, his eyes finding yours with the hint of an apology in them. "He seems like a nice guy."

Your elbow meets the soft part of his stomach as you duck out from his hold. "He is a nice guy. Honestly," you huff, shaking your head. "You and John need to cool it."

"Hey, I'm not the one who added his name to the list," Aaron protests, unwittingly bringing up an argument that was only freshly buried. He hurries to catch up with you as you make your way towards the lake.

"Yeah, but you didn't exactly stop the guy who did, now did you?" You try to keep your face severe in an attempt to get him to grovel just a little bit more, but your amusement at the entire turn of events ends up betraying you.

With a soft laugh and a shrug in apology, he moves his hand down to hold yours as the two of you continue to walk towards where Jack has now managed to talk John into carrying him around atop his shoulders so he can feed (terrorize) the birds attempting to fly past.

"You want him to meet Garcia?" he guesses, brow quirking up in some interest.

You nod. Elliot Greenberg and Penelope had broken up a few months back, citing irreconcilable differences on both their parts and they'd both been rather hush hush about the matter. You figure setting her up with Cedric – well renowned tech tycoon – might help cheer her up. Plus, he was obviously looking to settle down. Who knows, it could work out.

As you approach, both Jack and John turn towards the two of you.

"Mom! Uncle John said we can go to the Zoo tomorrow. Can we?" Jack's cherubic cheeks and hopeful smile look down at you from atop John's shoulders, eyes pleading with you to take him to the Zoo once more so he could sit in front of the giraffe habitat for an hour.

No matter how long it's been since he started calling you Mom, it still tugs at your heartstrings. However, that didn't mean you were about to take that kid to the Zoo for the third time in as many months.

You raise a disapproving eyebrow at John, as Aaron goes to help Jack off of his shoulders. "Sorry buddy, Mom and I have an appointment with the wedding planner tomorrow," Aaron tells him, setting Jack down with an exaggerated groan. "But, you know, I bet Uncle John would love to take you on his own."

You meet Aaron's eyes with a matching smirk, knowing he had no intention of going to the Zoo tomorrow either. If the two of you could wrangle John into free babysitting for the day, then all the better. You were sure the two of you could manage to find some way to occupy yourselves.

Jack's hopeful gaze turns up to John who rolls his eyes at both you and Aaron before telling Jack that Of course he'd take him to the Zoo.

The four of you walk back towards the parking lot, John and Jack racing up ahead while you and Aaron bring up the rear hand in hand. On the drive back, Jack manages to convince you to stop and pick up ice cream and a DVD for the night. Sometime during the latter half of the movie, nestled against Aaron's chest, your eye wanders over to Jack and John on the other couch. Jack's splayed out all across John's space, feet wedged in underneath John's thigh. You can tell he's about seconds from passing out and you weren't too far behind. Your eyes meet John's, sinking into a quick, easy smile before he turns his attention back towards the screen. You end up staring a moment longer, taking in the sight of him and Jack being close in a manner you wouldn't have thought possible even six months ago.

From behind you, Aaron shifts, adjusting you in his arms and cradling your head against his shoulder. You look up to see his deep brown eyes tracing your features, having long forgotten the movie on the screen. It's like he knows exactly what you'd been thinking, his eyes flickering momentarily to the other couch before returning to yours, a peaceful smile gracing his face. With a quick squeeze to his arm, you shuffle closer to him, allowing his warmth to lull you to sleep.

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imaginesandinserts · 3 years

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Irreverent Pt. 53 - In the Shadows

Title: Irreverent Pt. 53 - In the Shadows

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~6K

A/N: It’s been so long. Sorry, life happened. Hoping to get back to a more regular posting schedule.

Irreverent Series Masterlist

Derek watches Hotch out of the corner of his eye as he drives as quickly as possible towards Quantico. The news that Easter had resurfaced was the best news they'd had about you and they'd all felt that collective rush of what felt vaguely like hope, flicker through them. It didn't say anything about how you were, and yet, you'd been seated right next to Easter moments before the bomb had gone off. It would stand to reason that if he had survived it, then so had you.

Hotch was staring out the window while Derek storms through traffic, his mind still reeling from everything that they'd all seen. This was worse than Prentiss and Doyle. The image of you, strapped down to a table and begging with them to let you go – that was going to haunt him forever. He could only imagine what it was doing to Hotch. Hotch who, it seemed hadn't taken a real breath since they'd all seen the bomb go off the day before. Who had already been looking worse and was distracted when the two of them had worked out during the last week or so. Whose barometer for handling stressful situations was the highest Derek had ever seen, and yet the past 24 hours had shaken him beyond belief.

Derek had seen the light leave his eyes when the video of the bomb and turned black. Had watched as he tried in vain to get answers as to your whereabouts. Though one thing had bothered him – why hadn't Hotch just asked someone higher up. McKinney had to have some way of getting in touch with you or Easter even if the two of you were working a deep cover. It was only after, at the house when Hotch had left to go sit outside, that he'd voiced his question and Rossi had told him that you'd broken it off. That you hadn't warned Hotch at all, and Strauss had dropped off the paperwork at his desk. Derek had felt himself blanch at that. With the added context of everything Easter had put you through, it made some sense what you'd been trying to do. But Hotch hadn't known that. Not then. The man had spent the last couple weeks living in a house that was a shrine to the two of you, thinking that you'd just ended everything. Derek's not sure how he would take something like that. Would he have the faith to believe it had nothing to do with the two of you? Wait it out until you were back and could explain? He's not sure he'd be cut out for something like that.

He meets Prentiss's eye in the rearview mirror as she's seated in the backseat with Rossi. JJ, Reid, and Garcia had stayed behind to continue digging into the Atlantis files and see what they could find. Garcia was convinced that if you'd left them the email how you had, then there had to be more. You must've left them something else to help them find you.

Prentiss's gaze slips from him, over to Hotch who's seated in the passenger seat, dead quiet ever since he'd informed him that Easter had turned up. Derek doesn't have to ask to know what she's thinking. They're all worried about him. The man was an enigma in the best of times. Now? All bets were off.

Now, after having seen everything that they had, Derek can only imagine the various scenes playing in Hotch's head. The numerous ways he has to be considering just killing Easter with his bare hands. If they didn't need Easter to find you, Derek would help. He had a few ways of his own to help Easter experience even half the amount of suffering he'd made you endure. However, be that as it may, the fact remained that right then, they needed Easter. They couldn't afford to piss him off if they were going to get answers. They couldn't afford to get thrown out of the Bureau or arrested for assaulting him unprovoked.

Derek knows what he would do if something happened to Savannah and he's acutely aware of the depth of what Hotch feels for you. The man smiled around you – had ever since you'd joined. When they'd all worried that he'd become a complete loner and even surlier after the divorce, somehow you'd prevented that from happening. When Haley had died – you'd still been that person for him to go to. Derek knew that in that time, both Hotch and his son had become familiar with the spare rooms at your place. If Derek hadn't known you better, he would've thought the two of you were hooking up a long time ago.

None of them needed to know what the two of you talked about – what you saw in a guy over a decade older than you whose idea of a good time was filling out a case report probably. All they needed to know was that there was something about you that kept Hotch from becoming the worst version of himself. When the two of you had finally gotten together, it had felt like some sort of inevitability to the rest of them. Maybe you hadn't known, but they always had in some way. Even when you were dating other dudes and even when you and Hotch were just friends, they'd all known to some extent.

Derek clears his throat as he pulls into the parking garage leaning back, and turns to Hotch with a concerned expression on his face. "Hotch, you know you can't kill Easter, right? I know you want to, man. Hell, we all do. But you can't. Yeah?" He raises his chin up, confirming if Hotch understood what he was asking, hands gripped tightly to the steering wheel.

Hotch's hands are tightly balled fists on his thighs and Derek exchanges another worried glance with both Prentiss and Rossi as he turns the car off and the four of them exit the vehicle. Hotch still hasn't said anything.

Derek knows that he has to step up. Hotch can't be the one to deal with all of this and still be the guy in charge. As Hotch rounds the car, Derek quickly grabs his arms and lightly pushes him against it to stop him. He meets Hotch's impassive look, as though he wasn't even really bothered by Derek manhandling him like that. "Hotch, I know you want to beat the ever living crap out of that asshole, but he's the best lead we have to her right now. He's the last person we know that saw her. We need to get him to tell us everything that he knows and we need him to help us. You get that, right?" Derek's eyes search Hotch's for understanding, still holding him tight against the car. Behind him, Derek knows that both Rossi and Prentiss are watching, their breath held tight. They all need to know that he understands. It's quiet and tense for a few seconds. Derek watches as he swallows, a harsh breath leaving him as he nods to assure them all that he understands. That he'll keep it together and not commit murder inside a federal building.

Derek looks at him for another beat before releasing him with a quick nod, and the four of them briskly continue towards the elevators and straight up to the floor that McKinney's office is on. Garcia was tracking his visitor badge and had informed them that that was where he had headed only moments before.

*------------*

Derek walks behind Hotch and Rossi, keeping pace with Prentiss as the four of them exited the elevators and headed towards Director McKinney's office. He has an eye on Hotch – they all do.

Rossi brushes them all past McKinney's assistant – Derek remembers you mentioning that her name was Gladys when you'd been searching for a snow globe for her at the airport in New York – despite her protests, insisting that the Director was in a meeting. They knew exactly what meeting he was in. Prentiss takes the assistant aside deftly, explaining that it was an emergency situation and that the Director would surely understand the interruption. Looking past where Prentiss was talking to the woman, Derek sees the mini snow globes lining the shelves on the wall behind her desk. He can just barely pick out the small red one you'd picked out for her, the empire state building and a yellow taxicab at the center. Neither Hotch nor Rossi spare a glance to the assistant as Rossi knocks and then doesn't bother waiting for an answer, quickly opening the door. Both Derek and Prentiss are quick to walk in behind them, before the door shuts in Gladys's disgruntled face.

McKinney looks up from behind his desk, startled at the intrusion. He stands quickly. "What is going on?"

Easter stands too and Derek watches Hotch tensing even more, as if he wasn't wound tight as it were. He shares a quick look with Prentiss, looking around at the room. Neither of them had ever been inside McKinney's office before.

"Walter," Rossi starts, deciding it was best for him to take the lead, "I believe we need to be part of this conversation between you and Agent Easter." He turns towards Easter before continuing. "Where is she? Is she alright?"

Easter stays quiet, deferring to McKinney to intervene.

Director McKinney looks between Easter and the rest of them, his brow furrowing in question. "Dave, I don't know why the BAU is barging in on this meeting – "

"Is she alive?" Hotch interrupts, his eyes focused solely on Easter, who is leaned back on his heels, an odd expression on his face,.

He shrugs in response to Hotch, far too casually for any of their liking. "As far as I know, yeah. She's alive." His posture and tone suggesting that he could care less whether or not you're alive.

"How do we know you don't have her locked up somewhere?" Derek speaks up then. He can't believe anything that came out of Easter's mouth. Not anymore. Not after everything they'd seen.

Easter's eyes narrow at the question but he appears appropriately taken aback. "Why would you think I would have her?" he asks carefully, looking around at all of them, his back straightening ever so much more.

"Because it wouldn't be the first time you locked her up somewhere," Emily retorts, walking up closer to him, past both Rossi and Hotch, her eyes narrowed with barely held hatred and rage. She's looking at her old boss with entirely new eyes.

McKinney seems surprised at that, alerting them to the possibility that he might not be privy to Easter's preferred methods of testing his coworkers. "Agent Prentiss, that is a serious accusation."

"Which can be backed up with proof, Walter." Rossi looks at his former friend who had risen far beyond him from their early days starting out in Bureau training together. Wordlessly imploring him to rely on their shared history and trust him in that moment. The two of them look at one another as McKinney takes stock of the situation at hand. He looks at the four agents standing in front of him and then looks at Easter, whose stance has become far more guarded in the past minute, as though ready to defend himself against any one of them.

McKinney clears his throat and addresses the four of them once again. "Agent Easter was just about to begin briefing me on the most recent developments regarding the assignment that Agent L/N was on. However, the details of the assignment – "

"Director, with all due respect, we are all aware of the details of Project Atlantis. I'm sure that's something we can address at a later point, however I think it might be best if we all speak candidly to understand what exactly is going on here," Hotch interjects, effectively cutting off McKinney's attempt at brushing them all away.

McKinney's eyebrows raise as he's met with the Hotch that Derek is used to. He was in usual form now, after having learned that - at the very least - you're alive. His shoulders are back, he's standing tall, his jaw is tensed – he's in control once more. That was the boss he was used to having in his corner.

McKinney appraises them all once more, all thoughts and feelings on the matter hidden behind an impassive mask. He wasn't the Director of the FBI for no reason. He had to be fuming at how easily Hotch had admitted to them all knowing everything about Atlantis – despite them being warned off from it. Hell, Garcia had nearly been charged with treason for breaking into the files. Now here Hotch was, just admitting they knew all about it.

"Given that my current priority is to ensure that Agent L/N is brought back safe," – McKinney comes out from behind his desk and walks towards the larger conference table at one side of the large room – "I will allow you to stay for Agent Easter's report."

Easter makes a noise of dissent at that, but he's quickly silenced with a look from McKinney, who gestures them all to the table.

"Agent Easter, we have limited resources to spare given the events in Philadelphia. If the BAU is offering itself as a resource, then I believe you would be wise to take them up on it." McKinney stares down Easter as they all grab chairs around the table, Hotch seating himself directly across from McKinney while both Emily and Rossi made sure that Easter couldn't grab a chair beside Hotch.

Easter has a deeply pissed off expression on his face as he looks at them all seated around the table. It was plainly obvious that he'd been counting on having this conversation with McKinney on his won.

However, after a few more seconds and with a deep breath, Easter pulls out a file and puts two photographs – a man and a woman – side by side. "These are Agents Cavanaugh and Novak of the CIA. Their work history is classified, however they both retired and settled down in the east coast under new identities under the charter of Project Atlantis. Last week, they both disappeared and their new identities popped up in a missing persons' report, which was flagged by our systems. L/N and I have been following similar cases across Europe with ex MI6, DGSE, and Interpol agents also under the protectorate of Atlantis. These agents typically end up being sold as counter-intelligence assets to the Chinese, the Russians, you name it. We had been working to figure out how their acquisition and sale was being handled and we were at the jazz club, posing as potential buyers."

Derek shares a look with Emily as they process everything Easter just said. It definitely explained a lot about the level of secrecy around the project and the subsequent reaction to the files being hacked by Garcia. It also implied that the case they had been working on was somehow linked to this, but that was a secondary problem.

At McKinney's nod, Easter continues. "We received a text message asking us to meet outside, which was a change in the original plan. However, we made a calculated decision to comply, and as soon as we stepped out into the back alley, the restaurant blew up and they'd been waiting for us outside."

"Why blow up the restaurant? What does that achieve?" Rossi asks, his fingers interlaced together as he looks at Easter, his forehead knitted together.

Easter offers a vague shrug and grimace. "Not entirely sure. There's a few options – either it was to show us how serious they are. That they don't mind collateral damage nor are they worried about repercussions. Or it was a way to make it seem – "

" – as though you're dead," Emily finishes, following where he was leading.

Easter nods.

"What would that accomplish? Do you think your cover was blown?"

Easter sighs, before looking once more at McKinney, and they all tense, realizing that whatever came next was likely the reason he hadn't wanted them there during this conversation with the Director.

Ignoring Emily's question, Easter continues. "They covered our heads and next thing I know we're tied up somewhere. She was next to me and we were both trying to get out, but not being able to see, we weren't sure what we could do. A man came in and he – he spoke to them, in Greek, I believe. Couldn't understand him. Next thing I know, I can hear them undoing her bindings and taking off the bag on her head."

"But not yours?" Derek questions, a growing feeling on unease creeping in.

Easter shakes his head. "He knew her. She recognized him – called him Uncle Erasmus."

"Erasmus Jansen?" McKinney's eyebrows rise up while the rest of them look on, confused.

"Yes." Easter turns back to the rest of them after answering McKinney's question. "The CIA confirmed, during its investigation, that Jansen was part of her father's organization – he was probably third or fourth in command."

Derek's bad feeling was confirmed and he can see Hotch tensing at that.

"What happened after that?" McKinney asks, giving Easter his utmost attention now.

"Not sure. They left the room. Next thing I know, she's back. Some other guy took the bag off of my head and she was standing in front of me with a gun in her hand."

"They gave her a gun?" Rossi's surprise was plain to hear in his voice.

"Yes. And she shot me. Twice."

The stunned silence in the room was deafening. Derek looks up and meets Hotch's eye, knowing they're both thinking the same thing. You'd shot him. You'd shot him twice. Yet, Easter sat there looking perfectly fine. Not a scratch on him. You don't miss - not if you'd meant to kill.

"You were wearing a vest?" Emily asks, finally breaking the silence.

"Yeah, a thin one. She didn't know I was wearing a vest. She shot me dead center. Knocked me out. By the time I came to, the entire place was cleared out, as if no one had been there at all."

"What are you trying to say, Agent Easter?" McKinney asks, his voice low as he appraises the man seated beside him. His posture has changed, any relaxed manner from earlier gone.

"I'm saying, Agent L/N is the mole. She's been her father's plant from the very beginning."

*------------*

It is pin drop silent in the room after Easter's accusation had thundered through. Derek squares his shoulders and tilts backwards from the table with a silent scoff, his incredulity mirrored by both Rossi and Prentiss. Hotch just seems shocked, as though he couldn't quite believe the turn this entire conversation had taken.

The Director, however, was leaning in towards Easter with a great deal of interest and both Derek and Prentiss note that, exchanging worried looks. Hotch wasn't making eye contact with any of them, still looking just past Easter.

"You believe that Agent L/N has been undercover for the entirety of her tenure with the Bureau?" McKinney's hands are knitted together and placed on the table, his lips pressed tight as he appraises Easter's assertion.

"Everything points towards that, yes. Her family background. The fact that she was recognized by the people who took us. That she shot me at their instruction and left me for dead." Easter's delivery was cool and detached. It almost sounded like he expected you to have been the mole.

"You're alive though," Prentiss reminds him. "She had to have known you were wearing a vest."

There's a silent standoff between the two of them while Derek watches Hotch, processing the gravity of what Easter was implying. If what he was saying was true, then that meant that you had been a plant from the very beginning. That you'd duped them all into picking you to be on the team. That you'd become friends with all of them, been their confidante. Hell, you were in a relationship with their Unit Chief. You slept in his bed. Shared his home. You'd infiltrated all of their lives, all as a front for your father and his business. That was what Easter was insinuating.

Derek was perhaps the only person in the world who had eyewitness testimony to exactly how untrue that was. How unlikely it was that you would ever do anything for your father. How implausible the suggestion of you choosing to do that man's bidding. However, he couldn't exactly share that the sole reason your father was buried six feet under with a bullet in his brain was because of you. You and your raw, unfettered hatred for the man. They'd all kept that under wraps for a reason and now wasn't the time to start blurting out that particular truth.

"The facts are," Easter finally breaks the silence, "she is friendly with the guys that blew up an entire restaurant. She was recognized by them. She was released by them. Instead of helping me and getting us both out, she shot me in the chest. I think it's fair to say that whatever she's doing, her plan isn't to come back."

"If her plan was to not come back, she would've made sure that you were dead," Derek counters, his shoulders set and tone confident. "It doesn't help her to have you running around saying she's the mole. It would've been better if she just killed you and came back the hero that escaped. Keep the cover in place."

If you had wanted Easter dead, there'd be a bullet in his head and not conveniently lodged in the vest he just so happened to be wearing.

"Maybe there was a wrench thrown in their plans. Fact is, she's not here."

McKinney looks at Hotch and the rest of them, contemplating their stance as well as Easter's accusation in tandem. Derek knows that the Director was looking at Hotch differently - putting their whole team under the microscope on the off chance that Easter's accusation was right. Because if it was, it meant that a mole had infiltrated the FBI, right under the noses of the Bureau's top profilers. The idea was ridiculous. No one could pull off a deception like that - not to the degree that Easter was accusing you of. Hell, even Prentiss had only lasted a year as Doyle's fake girlfriend.

"Y/N is not a mole," Hotch asserts quietly to McKinney, speaking up for the first time since Easter's preposterous accusation. Derek can feel the restraint in his tone, the calm sureness of his statement. It radiated sincerity and that he has to admire that. In the face of this kind of scrutiny, when you'd given him nothing to hold onto, he still had that kind of faith in you. "I can guarantee that."

McKinney looks carefully at Hotch, and it's plain to see that he's weighing both sides carefully – Easter's accusation brought out of months of working together, only to be shot by you. Or so he claimed. Or his own team of profilers with an excellent history of being right. Derek can just begin to see McKinney start to nod, when Easter decides to inject his opinion in.

"Well, let's just say I'm not comfortable taking the word of the guy whose dick she's been wetting this whole time," Easter jabbed with an eyeroll, his face contorted with derision.

Derek was on his feet in an instant. "Watch your mouth!" Both Prentiss and Rossi had retorted as well, their words drowned out as Derek turned to look at Hotch again, who had remained seated. His jaw was tensed completely, a tick there the only evidence that he'd heard what Easter had said. The restraint on that man was unreal.

McKinney quiets everyone quickly and gives a warning to Easter, his expression uncertain as he looks between the two groups. Derek sees him take a deep breath and lean in towards them, and knows that he's come to a decision. He can only hope it is one that allows them the time to find you.

"The BAU knows Agent L/N well and I still think they would be helpful in bringing her back. Any judgments regarding her culpability shall be made after she's brought in. Agent Easter, you will work with – "

Easter cuts him off. "I'll have my own team work on this. They can work it too, but you'll understand if I don't exactly trust them to bring her in properly."

McKinney's expression is marred with displeasure at his instructions being ignored, however he nods, allowing it for the time being.

Easter stands, ready to take his leave. As he comes around to the table, he takes something out of his pocket. "She's not coming back, mate. Pretty sure she left this for you." With that, he sets something down with a thunk on to the table right in front of Hotch, before striding out.

Derek recognizes the chain and locket that sat on the table in front of Hotch, the emerald shining brilliantly in the sunlight. You'd worn it every single day since Hotch had given it to you. He remembers you telling them it had been a birthday present, your fingers curling around it as you spoke, your eyes admiring it while your face broke out into a relaxed grin. He watches Hotch as the man reaches out to grab it. For the first time, Derek sees something akin to hope fill his eyes.

*------------*

"We think we have a lead."

Those were the first words out of Garcia's mouth when Morgan had called in to ask for updates. The four of them in the car quickly exchange a look before Morgan gives Garcia the go ahead.

"Spencer remembered something that Y/N said to him while we were in New York," JJ begins quickly.

"When we were in New York, Y/N was on the phone and she asked me to remember an address for her, and said she'd ask me for it later. I had assumed it was related to the case at the time, and since she didn't have a pen on her, she just wanted me to remember it." Reid's frantic explanation squawks through the speakers on the phone.

Rossi notes Aaron's agitated state before turning back to the phone. "The point, kid."

"It's to a storage facility here in Virginia. Garcia pulled up the manifest of storage owners and there's a name on there – "

"Blare Sky Hoo," Garcia interjects

"It's an anagram – " Reid continues "– for Haley Brooks."

Aaron feels his heart beat pick up. That sounded exactly like something you'd do if you were leaving clues meant specifically for them – for him. You were leading them to you. The knowledge that you'd relied on Reid's ability to remember an offhand address that you'd told him months prior was something he chose not to focus on at the time being. After he finds you, then he was going to have a talk with you about over relying on Reid. It also doesn't escape his notice that you'd told Reid this in New York. Started building your failsafe months prior. In hindsight, it explained so much – how tired and spent you seemed anytime you were home. All of this had to have been weighing heavily on your mind. For months now. You knew – even back then – that there was a chance everything could go wrong. You'd planned accordingly.

"Another thing we found is a folder in the partition of the drive that only Y/N owned. It's an empty folder with nothing in it, titled Lady L."

"Does that mean anything?" Morgan asks, his confused glance matching Aaron's.

"Well," Reid answers, "Lady L is likely a reference to Lady Lazarus. It's a poem by Sylvia Plath – Y/N and I have discussed her work at length. Plath wrote this poem only two months prior to her suicide. It's a reference to Lazarus, who in the Gospel of John, was raised from the dead by Jesus – the main theme being one of resurrection."

"An empty folder, huh." Rossi looks at Aaron and Morgan before they all turn to look at Prentiss.

She meets their eyes for a second before turning back towards the phone. "You think it has something to do with me?"

"It would stand to reason," Reid says. "The empty folder. Your empty coffin. The resurrection from the dead."

"She helped your mom pick out the headstone," Morgan recalls. Aaron can see the guilt from that flitting across Prentiss's face briefly.

"In New York, she said – " Prentiss's voice cracks as she meets Aaron's eyes "– she said I only get one. One funeral. After the fire."

Aaron manages to offer her a look of commiseration, as Morgan instructs Garcia to send over the address to the storage facility. They'd stop at the cemetery on the way.

As Morgan pulls out of the parking garage, Aaron's fingers latch on to the chain sitting in his pocket, the metal cool beneath his fingertips, his thumb rubbing against the stone of the locket. Easter was wrong. That necklace didn't mean that you'd left. His mind flits back to that day at the airport when the three of you had been on your way to Paris. Your soft voice, lips turned upwards into a flirty, sweet smile that set his heart aflutter. Your words echoed in his head. Hang on to that, will you? I'll come back for it.

*------------*

It had taken them an hour or so to drive from Quantico, to the cemetery, and they now stood outside the storage unit that Garcia had directed them to. In Morgan's hand was a key that had been wedged into a slot in Prentiss's headstone that still stood there. Aaron has a feeling you'd spent quite a bit of time there during his mission in Pakistan. The thought of you going and sitting by Prentiss's grave after he'd abandoned you has a ripple of guilt rolling through him.

"There's a second lock," Prentiss points out as Morgan goes to unlock the one towards the right with the key.

Aaron looks to the other side and sees a four digit combination lock. Before Morgan has a chance to dial up Garcia and Reid to get them to start running through possible combinations, on a whim, he leans down and enters the passcode from the safe at home. His fingers roll the metal wheels and get each of the numbers aligned, and he pulls. No luck.

There's a quick flash of smooth skin and elegant black script in his head – delicate flesh that his fingers have brushed over countless times. Ink that his lips have hovered over, caressed. Numbers traced by his tongue, with only the faint morning sunlight to help guide the path.

Quickly, he tries again, shifting the metal wheels once more and realigning those four numbers with the arrows. With a click, it falls open.

He looks up to see the rest of them looking at him and he simply shrugs, before both him and Morgan hoist up the door by the handles, the action causing the metal to clang and echo down the hallways.

Prentiss has her flashlight out and Morgan is quick to find the light switch, bathing the 10x15 room in yellow light. In front of them are boxes and boxes, the room filled to the ceiling. They each grab a box. Prentiss manages to find one that had been sitting near the top that had been left in slight disarray and she focuses on that one. Beside Aaron, both Rossi and Morgan have grabbed a box each as well.

It's quiet for a little bit as the four of them look for anything that could be helpful. Aaron finds himself looking up frequently. You had to have had this stuff for years now, likely only having changed the name on the roster recently. This room held a lot of your past from before the two of you had met. In one corner, he can see the motorcycle you'd told him about from your training years, the handles jutting out from underneath the blue tarp covering. There's another large crate that they haven't gotten to yet, since they'd need a crowbar to get it open.

"I think it's research," Prentiss suggests, her eyes still reading through the paperwork in her hand. "Research on her father and his businesses."

Aaron nods. That made sense – you might've abandoned your revenge against him, but you'd kept everything you'd found. Based on what they'd learned from Easter, that your father's friend was involved, it must've jogged something in your memory while you'd been working on this case. Something had to have felt familiar to you.

"Yeah, this has a lot of stuff on shell corporations and property that's registered under each of them," Morgan adds, pointing to the box that he had been looking over.

Rossi stands from his crouched position, dusting off his pants before placing his hands on his hips and surveying the landscape in front of them. "Y/N wouldn't have led us here for no reason. If her father was involved and she had information like this on him, then there's a chance that the people he used to work with still own and use those properties. Somewhere in these boxes is the answer to where she might be right now"

Rossi was right, but it was starting to feel overwhelming. They were never going to make it through it all. There had to be over fifty boxes in there. Even with Reid's ability to read at the speed of light, they'd never make it through quickly enough or know what mattered enough.

Mind made up in an instant, Aaron stands straight, drawing the attention of the rest of them. Dialing Garcia, he puts the phone on speaker so that the rest of them can hear as well.

Garcia picks up immediately with a quick - for her - greeting and asks what he needs. "Garcia, can you please get me information on Johnathan Hawthorne?"

Morgan's eyebrows raise as Prentiss's brow crinkles, the both of them having stopped their perusal of their share of the boxes and waiting to hear back from Garcia. He can hear the tapping of the keyboard as she quickly looks up everything she could.

After a minute or so, her voice is back with a crackle. "Johnathan Hawthorne, 35. Resides in Midtown Manhattan. Columbia law school - he clerked for Supreme Court Justice McGuire. Left a lucrative partnership at Bain & Ross three and a half years ago and has been with the New York state's District Attorney's office ever since. Highest conviction rate of any ADA there," she rattles off quickly.

Aaron starts - both at the McGuire clerkship as well as at the news that John was now an ADA. He doesn't have the time to process that the change had followed yours and John's final time together by a mere six months. You'd broken it off and six months later the guy had changed his entire life. He doesn't have the time to wonder at the implication of that.

"Garcia, get me his direct line. Now."

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imaginesandinserts · 3 years

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Hey there! I have a cold and it got me thinking, how do Hotch and Reader deal with sickness? How do they help each other and how do they help Jack?

Oof, I am so sorry. I hope you feel better soon!!! Sending lots of good wishes for a quick recovery.

Also...this is almost 2K words of an answer. I got a tad carried away.

*SPOILER ALERT for Irreverent*

Hotch

Aaron will not admit that he is sick. Ever. The man would literally rather collapse on the job than admit that he's sick and get some rest.

She didn't know this about him until she sees him sick for the first time during her first couple of years with the team. He'd gone and caught a cold and was nursing a cough and sniffles that he was trying to hide in vain during a case. His nose is all red and worn dry from the hotel tissues he's using that are stuffed into his jacket pockets and the man is running purely on coffee. It wouldn't occur to him to go and get medicine for himself. That's time away from the case.

Everyone on the team noticed - it was hard not to. However, they're all trying not to say anything because he's Hotch and it would likely be wasted breath. Rossi tells him to go rest once and is ignored so he lets it go because Aaron is a grown man.

She makes Morgan stop at a pharmacy on the way back to the precinct from witness interviews, saying she needs some girl items and buys the Day Time and Night Time cough syrup, cough drops, the nice tissues with the lotion so his nose won't be all dried out, and some cans of soup because they're in the middle of nowhere on this case and she wouldn't trust the local restaurants much.

They get back to the precinct and its late so the team is wrapping up for the night and they all head back to the hotel. Hotch is a little surprised to see her following him to his room instead of going to hers and asks what she's doing. She just says she needs to talk to him about something, knowing he'd protest at her trying to take care of him, especially in front of other people.

They get into his room and he'd really just been looking forward to a hot shower and going to bed, so he's actually a little annoyed that she wants to talk about something right now, especially as he can feel a migraine coming on.

She tosses everything out onto the bed and practically orders him to go shower and tells him if he wants her to leave, he's going to have to do it himself, because she won't leave on her own until she's seen him take the meds and have some soup that she's already pouring out into a bowl and heating up for him.

Hotch isn't quite used to this level of aggressively being taken care of and is ready to tell her off but she's looking at him so entirely defiantly, as though daring him to even try, and she's doing it because she cares and it's nice. She's doing something nice. Also like yeah, soup sounds kind of good…

So he goes and showers and comes back to a hot bowl of soup that she watches him finish, while pretending not to be and acting like she's just looking at something on her phone. She knows he doesn't really want to talk right then and the silence with Hotch isn't really awkward silence so they just sit there while he drinks soup and she sits on top of the desk and pretends she's ignoring him with the TV on in the background. He's letting the soup warm him up and tuning out the news anchor while wondering why she can't sit on normal surfaces - like what is that even about? Would it kill her to use a chair or just sit on the bed like why is it on top of the goddamn desk? He has half a mind to ask her about that but that sounds like it's going to turn into some sort of argument and he hasn't the energy for it.

"I'm done," he'd say, showing off his empty bowl of soup for her inspection. She tells him good job and it gives him an odd fuzzy feeling inside even though he tells himself she was only saying it jokingly. Except her tone wasn't joking and why did it feel good to have her say that to him? He didn't need her approval. She worked for him, not the other way around. He's a little too out of it to really think more about that particular thing though.

She pours out the Night Time cough syrup for him, way past the line on the little plastic cup and hands it to him to take. He's too tired to question it and allows himself to be essentially roofied into a deep sleep. The last thing he hears before he knocks out is her whispered "Good night Hotch" before she slips out the door. He ends up having a bit of a lie in the next morning and wakes up to a blueberry muffin on his nightstand and a poured out dosage of the orange colored Day Time syrup along with a note telling him that the team went ahead and when he's ready, to give her a call so she can come pick him up.

After that, he knows better than to try hiding that he's sick from her, but he'll pretty much only let her baby him a bit, while still being scary boss man around everyone else. He also will now only buy the tissues she got because wow the lotion really did make a difference and there's a couple of the travel pack versions that sit in his go bag always, just in case.

Babying him became a whole lot easier once they were actually together and after that Aaron really does openly just tell her that he's sick because she'll brush her fingers through his hair and just make him all comfy and cozy as much as possible and yeah he doesn't like other people doing stuff for him, but she does it so well and she really truly enjoys taking care of it and will get mad at him if he tries to hide it from her, so really its just easier to be upfront about it. Or at least that's what he tells himself.

Reader

She hardly ever does get sick, but when she does it's awful. She's miserable and she'll be the whiniest little baby about it, falling asleep on just about anyone. She doesn't want to be coddled and she doesn't want soup. She just wants to sleep the sickness away.

Before they were together, she was sick during a case once - it has literally only happened one time that she's been sick while actively on a case and it was after their fight and subsequent resolution but prior to them getting together.

Unlike Hotch, she's not resistant to medication and is more than willing to just drug herself and knock out and she recovers much faster than he does because she'll start taking the medications immediately.

Hotch was seriously concerned that she had narcolepsy, from the number of times he found her simply passed out when she didn't actively have something to do. He kept her with him at the precinct the entire time, deciding (wisely) that maybe handling a firearm in the field wasn't the best thing for her or anyone else at the moment.

She's a lot more touchy than he is, even prior to them dating and especially after they make up, they were so far along in their relationship as just friends that her simply sleeping leaned against him just does not phase him anymore (mind you, this is after they basically spent a night on his couch together - after that nothing much could phase him).

The team comes back to the conference room with Hotch sitting on the couch that's there, and her laying down with her head in his lap and his one hand playing with her hair as his other is holding one of the case files. He's painfully aware of how intimate it all looks and she's asleep so only he has to deal with everyone's reactions, so before they can say anything, he quickly shushes all of them and tells them to only talk if they have something important to share. He suffers through all of their little whispers and snide comments and side glances while she sleeps peacefully, blissfully unaware.

The team as a whole has this odd agreement to not mention any of this to her. They all know - they can tell how easy it is for her and Hotch around one another. However, they all think she needs to come to the realization herself. Hotch wouldn't appreciate the meddling and she's still the baby of the group so they're all just a little protective - Hotch is great and they all trust him but she's also young and they're careful to not push her towards something that maybe wouldn't occur to her otherwise. She's not the kind of person to pine and sit on information of that nature if she's aware of it, so they all know that she doesn't even know yet. This is evident by how quickly she initiates after the realization does hit her. She definitely goes after what she wants.

Jack

Jack loves sick days because that means one of them will stay home with him and coddle him and he's a kid that loves to cuddle so he'll easily climb into either of their laps and just snuggle because that feels safest when he's not feeling great.

Aaron is the exact opposite with Jack than he is for himself. He's very much like her taking care of him - all the meds and tissue and soup. Aaron handles it all wonderfully and makes sure that Jack is comfy and recovering well.

If Jack is lucky, he gets them both in which case Aaron runs logistics and she cuddles him and they'll read together or watch movies. If it's just Aaron on his own, Jack is a little clingier and will want to go with him to the kitchen and stuff while the soup is made and when he was younger, Aaron would balance him on one hip while handling everything else with the other hand. Once he's older, he's set on the island and watched carefully to make sure he finishes his food and if his symptoms show any signs of changing.

Much like her, Jack doesn't need much while he's sick, content to just doze off to something gentle while sprawled across either his father's chest or her lap.

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imaginesandinserts · 3 years

Text

Question: I have some drafts for Irreverent prequels and thoughts around Irreverent AUs where things go just a little bit differently and seeing how that pans out. Is this something that anyone is interested in?

#irreverentseries #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds reader insert #aaron hotch x reader #criminal minds imagine #hotch x you #hotch x reader

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imaginesandinserts · 3 years

Text

Irreverent Pt. 48 - Strings that Bind

Title: Irreverent Pt. 48 - Strings that Bind

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~9K

Irreverent Series Masterlist

Every part of you ached as you walked towards your bedroom, past Jack's door, down the long hallway. Your clothes clung to you as you clumsily made your way to the room. There was a shooting pain on your left side from where you'd taken a spill earlier. Your body screamed its protest at your insistence on pushing it to keep moving despite the hell it had endured, yet you force yourself to continue on through the pain. Your brain felt numb and like it had overheated in exertion at the same time. Finally so much made sense and yet, nothing really did. What the hell had you gotten yourself into?

As you entered, the room was dark save for the light streaming in from the hallway. You hadn't bothered turning it on yet. The dark felt better. You'd arrived home to a quiet house - Jack asleep already and Mrs. Avery leaving with a quick goodbye, seemingly sensing your desire to not speak much. She was good like that - perceptive, unobtrusive. In a way she reminded you of Mrs. Hernandez from when you were younger. In hindsight, you had more memories of her than you ever did of your own mother, despite her being let go after only a year. Your mother never did manage to keep a nanny around for too long. It wasn't that you were a troublesome child. She simply hated seeing you or Julian growing attached to any of them in particular, and thus kept a revolving door of nannies in and out of the house.

She'd hated that you insisted on calling her Mother. Never Mom or anything else softer - more personal, less clinical. Julian had tried to please her. He'd call her Mom to her face and revert to Mother otherwise. You wouldn't deign to give her that comfort. Participation trophies should be limited to children on soccer fields.

You shuffle into the room, trying to move quietly, peeling the jacket off and letting it fall out of your grasp and onto the floor. You glance over at the empty bed - Aaron was still away on a case. For the best, really. If he saw you right now, he would be able to tell that something was amiss. You reach up to swipe away at the tears that had formed as you'd trudged up the stairs, smearing eyeliner and dirt in your wake. You should go take a shower, clean up the dirt and soot that's coating you like a film. Instead you find yourself lowering against the side of the bed, feet planted to the floor as the tears take over, despite your attempts to keep yourself in check. Hot and wet, running down your cheeks in vain as you think back over the past twelve hours. How had everything gone to shit so fast?

You look up when you hear a shuffling outside your room, only to see Jack standing in the doorway, illuminated by the golden light outside, rubbing at his eyes. You feel a sting of guilt go through you as you realize you must've been loud enough on your way in to have woken him up. It was far too late for him to be awake.

"H–Hello." His voice comes out soft and groggy as he pushes open the door to your bedroom and makes his way inside, forcing more light to fall upon you.

He reaches you before you're able to force yourself to stand. You don't want him to see you like this but it is a little too late for that. Quickly wiping away any remnant tears with the sleeves of your shirt, you look up at his face. "Hey Bud, what're you doing up?"

Jack shrugs as if to say I don't know, just because before settling down in front of you on the floor and crossing his legs. He looks up at you from there and you feel yourself being appraised in a manner eerily similar to Aaron. Between the two of you, you'd raised a kid that was a little too perceptive and observant for his own good.

"Are you okay?" he asks, moving in closer and putting his smaller hand on yours in a way you're quite certain he's seen Aaron do before.

You can feel your heart swell at the care and concern behind his question. You sniff and nod, before forcing a watery smile on your face. "I just miss your dad," you tell him, knowing that at least it wasn't a lie, even if it wasn't the entire truth.

Jack watches you for a moment, head tilted to the side as if in deep thought. How deep could a six year old's thoughts even be?

"When I miss you or Daddy, I cuddle with Theo," he says finally, as if he's a little doctor prescribing the medicine to your ailment. You could imagine Jack on the nights neither you nor Aaron is at home, padding over to the shelf where his stuffed toys sit, and reaching over to grab the brown teddy bear that you'd gotten him after Haley passed away. Over the years the bear had been through quite a bit, getting dragged to playdates and the park early on, before retiring to a spot of prominence on the stuffed toy shelf. You'd done your best to keep him clean through all that time but despite that, Theo had gone through quite a few bows – a different color each time. If you weren't mistaken, it was a blue colored bow at the moment.

You smile at him, dragging him closer to you while making sure you aren't getting him dirty in the process. "Does it help?"

He nods. "A little. Then you're both back and I don't miss you anymore. Daddy will be back soon. He promised."

In that moment, you're so grateful that he has Aaron's eyes, because Aaron's eyes are whiskey and Aaron's eyes are honey and they are the first drip of coffee in the morning, helping you warm up and feel safe and at home always. Jack's eyes hold all of his father's heart and comfort but lack the sadness that life has flecked Aaron's with. It makes them better in a way. You could almost imagine it's what Aaron's had once been like.

You have to force yourself to take a deep breath in lieu of doing what you actually want to do, which is simply hold Jack like your own personal teddy bear and rock back and forth while crying. That might freak him out more than he likely already is.

"You wanna be my little cuddle bug for the night? Sleep here?" you ask, standing and lifting him with you as you go.

Jack nods enthusiastically, already moving to climb up onto the bed on Aaron's side. You watch as he makes himself comfortable, before you go get cleaned up.

By the time you emerge, Jack has already fallen back asleep and the only sound is from his gentle breathing. For a split second, you debate running down and grabbing your gun to keep by the bed, just in case. However, you remind yourself that the alarm system is in place and having the gun nearby has a much higher chance of hurting you or Jack than helping.

With that thought squared away, you gingerly lift the covers on your side, before slipping in carefully, so as to not disrupt the sleeping little boy next to you.

You lie awake for a while as you sift through everything that you've learned recently and how that changes things going forward. Tonight had been reckless on your part, and yet absolutely necessary. You couldn't even imagine what might've happened if you'd hesitated or not gone out there. You're once again thankful that Aaron is safely working a case in South Dakota, because you are nowhere ready to talk about everything just then. Nor could you, really. You couldn't actually tell him even if you wanted to – that was the worst part of all.

You're just about to drift away, when you feel Jack shift next to you, rolling over in his sleep to be closer, seeking you out with all of his limbs until you shift to be right next to him. He sighs in his sleep, causing the soft hair that had fallen into his face to flutter up with the next breath. He could use a haircut.

"Mama"

His lips had scarcely moved, eyelids fluttering barely. A single, heavenly word. A whisper into which he breathed life. You freeze as he unconsciously shuffles closer, seeking out your body heat even under the covers. His little fingers tightening into the material of your shirt. You couldn't look away from him if you tried – eyes glued to his sleeping form, his long eyelashes, his angelic face. Your heart thumped and rattled against your ribs before settling in your throat. You didn't dare move. Didn't dare breathe. Just watched him. Watched as he clung to you even in his sleep.

*------------*

The team has been working on a case locally in Maryland, so Aaron has been able to spend the last few nights at home with Jack. He'd come back from South Dakota, in the evening to Jack and Mrs. Avery, having just missed you. The two of you had caught one another on a phone call as he drove to the airport a few states away and you drove to the airport, off to Europe once more. You'd sounded just a little subdued during the short call the two of you share, more so exchanging logistical information regarding Jack and his schedule rather than anything else.

You're supposed to arrive back tomorrow and the three of you have tickets to opening night for the ballet season which Jack has actually been looking forward to quite a bit. He'd already modeled his new outfit for the occasion for his father and when Aaron had looked in his closet, he'd seen a new suit for himself along with a tie matching Jack's bowtie. When you'd found the time to do all that along with preparing a few days' worth of meals and leaving a tray of tiramisu for him in the fridge, was entirely beyond him. As far as he knew, you were only back home with Jack for two days. Two very productive days it seemed like. He had a feeling that meant you hadn't slept much, if at all.

Aaron shifts as he continues to look over the paperwork he was catching up on. Despite an active case going on, it appears the cooling off period for this Unsub was fairly long, and so while the rest of the team ran down some leads, Garcia was digging deeper to see what she could unearth about the case. It left Aaron with a couple of free hours to start logging the ongoing paperwork for this case and catch up on the nearly thirty emails from Strauss around getting JJ recertified for fieldwork, as she had recently returned from her maternity leave (over far too quickly, as he'd been sure to tell her). The two of you had met baby Michael briefly, soon after his birth, going along with the rest of the team to JJ's home, laden with presents. Seeing you hold the baby with the utmost care, cradling him in your arms and softly cooing to him as he made himself at home in your embrace – it had stirred something within Aaron. You'd looked beautiful, your face glowing as you looked down at Michael, your eyes sparkling when you'd looked up and met his. He wanted that. He really wanted that with you.

He looks up then at the framed photo of the two of you on his desk and his heart fills with affection – it was the picture from New York, the two of you kissing on that red carpet. Dave had gone and gifted a framed copy to everyone on the team for Christmas, as a memento of that visit, and both of yours sat on your respective desks. Dave's copy had joined the slew of frames that sat on the counter running behind the desk in his office. Garcia's was the same for her own lair. JJ had taken her copy home and he's fairly confident it joined the scrapbook album she maintained as her art therapy – she said it kept her hands busy and her mind empty, best of both worlds. He's unsure where Morgan's copy ended up but he hasn't seen it around. Likely shoved to the back of the bottom drawer of his desk. Reid too had forgone the frame and Aaron had seen him use an oddly folded copy of the picture as a bookmark, whilst they'd been on the plane. Reid had gone to some effort to fold it in a manner so that your face was folded inwards – a difficult task indeed when one considered that the two of you had your lips locked together and he'd dipped you backwards. However it was Prentiss's copy which had truly caught his attention. It sat on her desk, in the same frame Dave had gifted it in. At first, Aaron had found this to be odd, because why would Prentiss want a framed photo of her coworkers kissing on her own desk. However, late one evening, when he was the last to vacate the premises, he'd walked by and upon closer inspection saw exactly why she kept it on her desk. She'd vandalized it. In true homage to her teenage rebel self, she'd gone and taken a sharpie, drawing a vastly exaggerated handlebar mustache on Aaron's face and a small tiara on your head. He would rather die than admit that it had drawn a small laugh out of him, as he'd put the frame back exactly where he picked it up from and walked his way towards the elevators.

Aaron shifts in the chair, rolling his shoulder back, still sore from the workout he'd had with Morgan earlier that morning, before turning back towards the form he was in the midst of filling out. His hands move with rote familiarity, filling in the details from the case thus far. He'd started to have an odd feeling about this case a couple days ago. Something about the victims had started to feel off and running it by Morgan, his feeling had been corroborated. As a result, Garcia was running a more thorough investigation on linking all of the victims together.

The working out with Morgan was a new thing, borne out of him asking you why you never chose to work out with him, with you opting to go spar with Morgan instead. You'd confessed that since your exit from the team, you didn't get much time with Morgan. Working out together was a way for the two of you to still have some of that one on one time. You'd been sure to add on that there were quite a few workouts you'd want to engage in with Aaron alone, and those were all clothing optional.

All joking aside, you did seem to actually get a lot out of working out with Morgan, and so Aaron had thought that maybe it would be nice for him to do the same. Morgan had been quick to agree and the two of them had started with just running and lifting weights in the gym downstairs. It was easy to see why you enjoyed this time with Morgan, just the two of you. In the field he was a colleague who always had someone's back. In the gym, he put on more of the coaching hat and would walk through drills and steps with a calm and serene tone that was entirely approachable. Over the past few weeks, Aaron had easily bridged several subjects that neither him nor Morgan had touched over a decade of working together. It was primarily Aaron letting down his guard and allowing himself to vocalize his concerns regarding you and how much you'd taken on recently. Morgan, in turn, had conveyed his appreciation for Aaron's role leading the team, and had confided in him that it was highly unlikely he'd ever want to be unit chief again himself. If anything, taking on the mantle in Aaron's absence had convinced him of quite the opposite, and with him and Savannah getting married and thinking of starting a family, there was a high chance he might want to shift his career towards one that allowed a semblance of a family life. Knowing what he did now, Aaron could do nothing but wholeheartedly support that decision.

"Hotch."

Aaron looks up at the call of his name, to see Morgan standing in his doorway, looking agitated.

"What's going on?" Aaron's already standing, making his way towards the door.

"Garcia found something last night, but we just got interrupted," Morgan explains, already turning away and walking towards the conference room where the team was set up to work on the case together. Aaron is quick to follow, his shoulders tensing and his brow furrowing as they both make their way to the room.

The sight that greets Aaron is odd, to say the least. Reid is stood near the whiteboard in the corner marker still in hand, Rossi has his arms crossed and is glaring towards the center of the room, and both JJ and Prentiss are stood like female lions, set to pounce on any threat to their cub. The cub in question - Garcia - was stood in the center at the round table, defiantly glaring up at Anderson, who it appeared, had stopped her from proceeding with her work. He was standing with one hand on her laptop and the other on the back of her chair, effectively preventing her from working any further.

"Agent Anderson, would you please mind explaining what is going on here?" Aaron squares his shoulders and fixes Anderson with a firm look, not at all appreciating how he's cornered Garcia and invaded her space.

However, before Anderson has a chance to explain, the door to the conference room opens and Aaron turns to see you standing there. His heart quickly fills with warm affection at the sight of you. He hadn't expected you home for another couple of days, so this was a pleasant, albeit untimely surprise.

He assumes you'd come looking for him, however he needs to deal with the situation at hand first, despite how much he'd rather just usher you away to his office and keep you to himself for say, the next hour or so, at least.

Aaron smiles at you quickly to acknowledge your presence and sees the others relaxing ever so slgihtly as well. "Hi sweetheart, if you want to wait in my office, you can. I can meet you there. Just have to deal with something first."

Instead of acknowledging him and leaving, however, you enter and close the door behind you, before quickly approaching Anderson and Garcia. "Agent Anderson, would you mind stepping outside, please?" you ask, your order soft but assertive. Anderson is quick to nod and do just as you asked without question. He releases the laptop and nods at Aaron before turning towards the door.

Aaron watches, confused, as Anderson closes the door behind him. What on earth was going on and how were you involved? Since when did Anderson take orders from you? It is obvious from the looks on everyone else's faces, that their thoughts mirror his own.

"Penelope," you turn now to Garcia, who was still at the table, hovering over her computer. "I need you to explain to me how you gained access to the file on Project Titan."

There's a tense silence as the team looks between you and Garcia, piecing together that the interruption to Garcia's work was linked to your current assignment. The name of the project was unfamiliar to Aaron. It wasn't in any internal briefing packets or any departmental meetings. That could only mean it was classified to the maximum degree.

Garcia's brow furrows deeper as she looks at you in surprise, and she shakes her head, her colorful earrings bouncing as she does, before she even speaks the words. "I can't do that, Y/N You know I can't."

Your lips press together in annoyance at the answer you receive. You wanted this to be easier. You hadn't expected pushback. Aaron finally snaps out of his confusion and recognizes that he has to take control of the situation before anything spirals out further. "Y/N, what is going on?"

You look up sharply, meeting his eyes only for a second, during which Aaron can immediately tell that you are incredibly tired. Worn out almost. He detects more makeup than normal, likely covering up dark circles underneath your eyes. If he's not mistaken, it would appear that your clothes are hanging just the slightest bit looser on your frame, as though you'd lost some weight in the two weeks since he'd last seen you. There's a look in your eyes that gives him great pause – it's not fear exactly, but perhaps fear mixed with resignation. An acceptance for what needs to come next.

You scan the room as you speak, taking in the piles of files and the work on the whiteboard. "The BAU is no longer to investigate the Busch murder or any other affiliated crime." Your eyes come back to land on the computer sitting in front of Garcia. That's your sole objective right now. It's the only thing that matters.

The air in the room changes immediately, from tense to downright confrontational. Aaron knows that the rest of the team is looking to him, barely breathing. They're trusting him to handle whatever is going on, because he's the boss. None of them would risk speaking up and saying the wrong thing. They've been through this before countless times with other adversaries in the field - overzealous prosecutors, territorial detectives, politicians high on their own power. However it's you now. You're the person on the other side.

"You do not have the authority to tell the BAU which cases we can or cannot take," he says quickly, hoping to keep the conversation to a minimum and resolve whatever is going, alone with you back in his office. He tries to gesture at you to follow him out of the room, but his efforts are rebuffed once more.

"Actually I – I can," you falter just barely as you turn back to him, lips pressed together and shoulders hunched ever so slightly, your lips worn as though you'd been biting them in frustration. You don't want to be doing this – that much is quite obvious to Aaron. "This comes straight from the top. This case has been tagged as classified and this team is no longer authorized to work it." Your voice is detached, as though deliberately trying to avoid any of your obvious ties to the team you're speaking of. Your team.

"Garcia," you turn once more to face her, "it is of the utmost importance that you tell me how you got to the Titan files. It has grave security implications around the project," you repeat your earlier request to Garcia, this time with an attempt at persuasion, hoping to appeal to her innate desire to help you in particular. Aaron can acknowledge that that is exactly what you're doing in that moment. Trying to leverage your relationship to Garcia while simultaneously distancing yourself from the team. He has to acknowledge. He does not have to like it.

Garcia shakes her head again at your question, looking up and meeting Aaron's eyes. She's scared and her eyes are wide with fear, yet brimming with defiance still. She's awaiting his instruction on how she should proceed. This was such a bizarre situation. You have to know very well that Garcia had done what she usually does – employ a slightly dubious manner of obtaining any information asked of her. Usually that is perfectly fine. Usually no one stops her. Usually she doesn't have friends on both sides – one asking her not to speak while the other implores her to give herself up.

You turn and follow Garcia's eyesight, only to see Aaron shaking his head almost imperceptibly. He's indicating to her to not speak at all. Saying nothing is far better than saying something in this case, he's decided. Saying anything at all could cause a ripple effect of consequences that they have no visibility to yet.

"Y/N, why don't we take this to my office?" He is intent on moving this discussion so that the two of you can speak more freely and get to the root of whatever is happening here.

You look at him once more, apology in your eyes as you let out a sigh. Shit. He can feel the tense coil in his stomach grow tighter. He's not used to seeing you like this. So very obviously doing someone else's bidding. He didn't even know yet what Garcia had stumbled upon, but if it had to do with your project – from what little he knows of it – it wasn't good. It simultaneously raises the stakes for the string of murders the team had been investigating, as well as effectively shuts them out. As it stands, your clearance level is actually higher than his. Higher than Strauss's even.

Ignoring Aaron's request another time, you pull your shoulders back and stand to the full extent of your height, back completely straight. Even then you barely are able to look Penelope head on. "Agent Garcia," your voice is clipped as though you're reading from a script, and Garcia immediately takes a small unconscious step back at your words. "I need you to hand over the laptop to me and if I have to ask again, it will be in an interrogation room and I will recommend that you retain a lawyer."

A loud silence rings through the room at the threat you'd issued. You'd run the gamut for your patience with the situation and you're prepared to see this through to a bitter end if need be. Aaron knows that wasn't you at all and he also knows that whoever was puppeteering you at that moment had enough pull for you to do this at all. Meaning this was the nicest possible version of whatever the original threat had been, watered down at your insistence. There was no way you would let someone just threaten Penelope without a fight.

He meets Morgan's gaze and then turns to Rossi. The three of them have a silent exchange before Aaron turns once more to Garcia, who was now clutching the laptop to her chest as though her life depended on it.

You look between him and Garcia, carefully avoiding looking at Morgan or Prentiss. Your eyes urge him to comply, because you can't promise that the situation won't escalate otherwise. He knows that. He knows that you're trying to resolve this in as easy of a manner as possible with minimal blowback to the team. Trusting that you know what you're doing, he nods at Garcia, giving her the go ahead to hand over the laptop. Whatever happens next, they'll deal with it.

You nod your thanks at Aaron for not putting up more of a challenge. "Thank you." Squaring up once more, you swallow, your tongue peeking out briefly to lick your lips and Aaron can see that the hand that isn't holding on to the laptop is clenched tightly. No doubt there will be red indented crescents in your soft palms momentarily.

Thinking that was the end of it, Aaron is about to usher you into his office if he can, however as you turn once more to Garcia, your next words shock him to the core. "Effective immediately, you are suspended, pending further notice."

There is an immediate outcry. Morgan asks you what you think you're doing. Prentiss is quick to move closer to Garcia. JJ informs you that you cannot do that. However it is Garcia who appears entirely stupefied and paralyzed. The hurt look on her face, accompanied by the sharp gasp had forced you to turn away from her, avoiding the betrayal tinged tears in her eyes.

You continue on, however, ignoring everyone but Aaron now. "The BAU needs to hand over any material on the case thus far. You are not to investigate it further. You are not to disseminate this information to anyone else. You are not to speak of it to one another. Any violation of these terms will result in an immediate suspension for all involved parties, pending internal review."

With that, you walk past your old teammates, past Aaron, and open the door to Anderson waiting outside. "Agent Anderson, will you please escort Agent Garcia to her office to grab any personal belongings and then follow her to her home. Any Bureau issued devices must be confiscated from there as well."

Anderson nods and looks expectantly at Garcia, who is standing in the midst of the rest of the others, Morgan's hand on her back, rubbing in soothing circles.

She gives a shaky nod before moving away from everyone and walking towards the door. As she approaches you, Aaron sees you reach out and grab her arm before leaning in and whispering something into her ear, imperceptibly low. He turns immediately to Reid, hoping he was able to discern whatever you had said, and Reid nods as they all watch Anderson escort Garcia away. You'd angled yourself at an angle optimal for him to be able to read your lips.

You scan the room once more, a dissatisfied grimace on your face, before your eyes land finally on Aaron once more. He has no words for you, unsure of what to say or what to do without knowing more. You nod once more at him, and he takes that to mean that the two of you will discuss whatever just happened later at home that night.

Turning, you closing the door behind you as you go, the laptop clutched in your hands and he watches you walk down the stairs, teetering in the heels you were wearing, and through the bullpen towards the exit. He can just barely make out you calling the elevator, and instead of going down, you go up. He can only imagine which floor you're headed to.

He turns back to face the team, finding them all looking at him.

Reid looks up meeting Aaron's eyes, his own giving away how shaken he was with the events that had just transpired.

"Reid, what did Y/N say to Garcia?"

Reid swallows, looking around the room at the rest of the team – Morgan who still looks furious, JJ and Prentiss who both seem to be processing the strange turn of events, and Rossi, whose normally stoic outlook was marred by a grim expression.

"Be careful. They'll be watching."

*------------*

By the time you arrive back home, it is very late and the house appears to be dark, save for the light emanating from the small lamp in the study. You stop outside the door, keys in one hand and bag in the other, and take a deep breath. Today had been absolute shit. From the rushed plane ride back ,to the conversation with McKinney, to having to actually be the one to issue Garcia's suspension notice – this day would make the top worst days on the job hall of fame. Who would've thought you'd ever go toe to toe with the Director of the FBI and live to tell the tale?

You feel dead tired on your feet and you genuinely could not remember the last time you'd slept, having asked the flight attendant for an energy drink an hour prior to landing, and having chugged another one on the walk over from McKinney's office to the BAU conference room. It was a wonder your heart hadn't given out right then, thrumming inside as fast as a hummingbird's when you'd entered that conference room to see Anderson having followed your instructions to impede Garcia from digging any further into the files.

A deep sigh leaves you as you unlock the door and enter quietly, quickly removing your heels before turning towards the study. You knew to expect Aaron there, and there he was. He was at the desk, surrounded by paperwork, and looking up at your entrance. You'd figured he would stay up no matter what. He'd been the worst part of today. Having to go over his head. In front of the team. You could only imagine how that might have made him feel. It had definitely made you feel like the absolute worst person on the planet.

You walk to the doorway of the study, stopping at the entrance. He meets your gaze head on, and you're happy to note that he actually looks well despite everything. The past few days at home seem to have done him some good. He has a healthy glow about him, his hair flopping on his forehead, his white t-shirt stretched across his chest. If you're not mistaken, he looks just a little more filled out, in the best of ways – his typically lean body packed with slightly more definition. Something you'd learned to notice through Derek.

"Hi." His voice is softer than you'd anticipated considering your actions from earlier in the day.

You offer him a small, quick smile in response. "Hey."

It's quiet as the two of you look at one another, both unsure how exactly to proceed. You look at your watch, and noting the hour, know you need to move this along despite wanting to linger and explain everything. You don't have that luxury. "Can we talk while I pack? I'm sorry," you sigh. "I have another flight out in a few hours."

Aaron's brows knits together, reminding you that he doesn't know of the change to your schedule yet. However, he nods, knowing you'll explain further. Standing, he walks over to you, wordlessly reaching for your bag, and together you both head upstairs to the bedroom, not wanting to make too much noise while Jack was asleep.

You enter first and walk towards the bathroom and through to the closet, Aaron walking in behind you and closing the door before following. He watches quietly as you quickly change into clothes you'd be more comfortable in during the flight, and in lieu of having nothing else to do, occupies himself with emptying your bag and dumping the clothes into the laundry basket, before busying himself with replenishing your toiletry kit with practiced ease. Anything to make this easier on you. He's tempted to ask if you'd eaten today but he's worried he won't like that answer and he doesn't want to agitate you further with whatever his own reaction would be. He trusts you'll eat on the plane once you're able.

"I'm sorry for today." You've started to pick out a new set of clothes for the next trip, not entirely sure how many days you should pack for. Clyde hadn't been too clear. You decide to err on the side of overpacking, grabbing a few outfits for a professional setting and many others for casual casework, before dumping the entirety of your underwear drawer into a packing cube.

"Let me guess, you can't say anything." Aaron's finished replacing anything you'd run out of, even making more to make a few more pads and tampons for you from underneath the sink, knowing you're about due for your period soon. He'd had the entire evening to think through the events of earlier and he knows his hands are tied and so are yours. He doesn't want to shoot the messenger – he knows that was what you'd been forced into being today. None of that was your call.

You smile your thanks as he hands you a fully loaded toiletry kit, trusting him to have done it perfectly as he has countless times before. "Not much, I'm afraid. But understand that that was the best possible outcome for the time being. There were talks of a treason charge that – well let's just say that depending on what is found on the computer, there's a chance I won't have a job by tomorrow morning."

Aaron halts at that as you continue to fold and put clothing into the bag. He'd suspected as much, but to actually hear that you'd put your own job on the line for Garcia – needless to say he isn't surprised. If anything, it makes it so that he trusts that you did your absolute best to ensure that no harm would come from the backlash, to either Garcia or the rest of the team. His respect for you increases tenfold. He's not so much worried about solving some highly classified murder cases as he is about ensuring that nothing happens to the team or you.

"Are you alright?" He makes sure to catch your gaze as you move around, so that he'll know if you aren't being entirely honest as you answer that particular question.

It had been a while since anyone had actually asked you that, and really you don't have it in you to lie to Aaron. You pause to look at him directly, your shoulders dropping as you release a deep sigh. "No. I just can't do anything about it yet."

He hates this. He hates that you feel entirely vulnerable and exposed and entirely helpless to change that. He hates that he can't do anything to make it better. You shouldn't have to feel like this while he's around. You shouldn't have to look at him and feel like you can't ask anything of him. How is he supposed to be the person you turn to if you aren't even permitted to tell him what you're dealing with?

Sighing, he runs a hand over his face tiredly as you finish packing and zip up the bag, hoisting it up by the handle, only for him to reach forward and grab it from you once more before the two of you exit to the bedroom. There, he sets the bag down and grabs your arm – the first true physical contact the two of you have had in two weeks and you can feel your resolve to keep it together waver just at that alone.

Aaron pulls you in, hugging you tight, his arms encasing you fully. You can feel the warmth seeping through him, feel his heart beating in his chest as you rest your cheek against it, allowing yourself this moment of respite. You sniffle slightly, holding the tears at bay. It was so easy to let yourself open up to him, and yet you truly couldn't afford to breakdown then. Later, you tell yourself. After this is over.

You reluctantly pull away, knowing there's at least one more thing you need to discuss with him tonight before you have to leave. He looks down at you in question, having noted the sudden tensing of your jaw as you look up at him. You bite your lip and he resists the urge to lean down and soothe the ache there – kiss over all the places you'd bitten raw until they're better.

"Today sucked, Aaron," you confess, your voice hushed and your throat heavy with held back emotion, still standing in the circle of his arms. "The worst part was going over your head though. I know you aren't saying it, because you're far too noble to say anything about it, but I know that sucked for you too."

Aaron takes in a deep breath, thinking over your acknowledgement, knowing you're opening the floor to have that conversation further. However right then, you superseding his authority is the least of his concerns. He's not bothered by it in the same manner you appear to be.

"Can you handle me doing this job, knowing that this could happen again?" You look up at him with worry in your eyes, watching his reaction carefully.

At your question, he tenses. His mind goes to the worst of places and his breath comes out shallow as he looks down at you, a storm brewing behind his molten eyes. "What does that mean?"

Your brow furrows, appraising his question and his reaction in tandem, before realizing exactly where his head went at that. "Hey, relax, it's alright." You reach out and softly brush your hands down his arms before reaching up to cup his jaw softly, thumb caressing lightly back and forth across his cheek. "This isn't you and Haley, Aaron," you remind him. "I'm not you and you are definitely not Haley."

He nods, though his posture remains tense despite his face eagerly tilting and allowing the comfort you offered with your touch.

"I have a job offer," you continue, "from the CIA. I haven't responded to it yet – told them I'm actively working a case and can't give them an answer yet. But, if this, us – if we are going to have issues running into each other at work, then there are other options."

This is news to Aaron. He hadn't known you were being sought out by the Agency and while he isn't surprised that they'd reach out to you – you're brilliant, of course they would – he's surprised that you're entertaining it. He's familiar with your disdain for the CIA, still holding somewhat of a grudge from your initial rejection. However, to know that you'd consider working somewhere you don't like, for the sake of preserving your relationship with him – that's not something he would ever ask of you. He was an adult and so were you. Professional disagreements did not have to bleed into your personal life, especially with him knowing exactly how much you'd risked today for Garcia's sake.

"I can handle it," he's quick to reassure you, moving his head to kiss your palm, his hand reaching up to grab yours, squeezing gently.

You pause, assessing his answer, before nodding. "Okay, offer still stands if you reconsider. I have until this wraps up to decide."

You reach for your bag but he beats you to it, grabbing it once more as the two of you make your way out of the room and down the hallway. You pause briefly outside of Jack's room, wanting to see him but decide against it. You don't want to risk waking him up and getting him all excited.

Aaron notes your pause and with you leaving once again despite there being ballet tickets booked for Saturday, he knows you're going to have to disappoint Jack on that front. He meets your eyes and smiles softly, understanding in his eyes. You don't usually make promises you can't keep with Jack. That's always been more so his thing.

The two of you reach the foyer once more and you turn around and grab the bag from Aaron's hands. The driver is still waiting for you outside.

"Kiss him for me? I'll call as soon as I can."

He nods. "Of course sweetheart."

You lean up quickly, a quick brush of your lips against his that he's quick to reciprocate. His arms wind around your back, lips greedily moving against yours. He'll make the most of any opportunity he has with you right now. He won't squander a single second. Not when every kiss like this leads to your extended absence each time. Not when every kiss is only a reminder of all the kisses the two of you have missed out on lately. Not when neither of you are ever sure which kiss could be the last.

You move away, your eyes sparkling once more in a way that is so familiar to him that it causes a pang in his chest just to have a glimpse of them like this, if only for a moment. If only even as you're leaving. He'll take it. He'll take whatever you can give. Anything. Everything.

Then you're out the door and he watches the driver exit and take your bag for you. You wave quickly, urging him to go back inside. Then you're gone. Just like that, you're gone.

*------------*

The team had moved on to another case after being banned from the Busch murder investigation. As it stood, the official party line was that they were deferring to the will of the higher ups. Rossi had even brought the matter to Strauss's attention, and while she had been surprised by what had transpired, she'd told them both that it was entirely out of her hands. The decision had come down from McKinney directly and there was no changing his mind.

It had been about a week since he'd seen you off, during which you'd called once to apologize to Jack for having to miss the ballet. Jack had taken it well enough, and you'd promised that you were going to do your best to make it up him. You'd already lined up Prentiss to fill in for you, knowing Jack would appreciate having Auntie Emily to spoil him for the evening. Aaron had spoken with you then, and you'd told him that you would do your best to figure out the Garcia situation. The team was struggling working with Kevin Lynch; he simply lacked Garcia's natural talents.

Aaron, however, finds himself far more concerned about you. He knows that ultimately Garcia would be fine. He'd already submitted a request to have her reinstated and even Strauss was supporting him in getting her back as soon as possible. However, with you, he feels entirely helpless. Obviously the assignment with Interpol had you run ragged and you'd even confessed that not everything was alright, but with your differing levels of clearance at the moment, there wasn't much he could say or do to be of any assistance. As a result, your conversations together are brief – soft exchanges where he reminds you that he's there when you need him, whispered acknowledgements from you riddled with a pain that makes his heart ache for you. He knows too well how difficult it is to keep anything secret between the two of you, and this is something that you so obviously want to share with him, that it is painful for him to watch you struggle through it without being able to do just that.

Having just landed the night before from a case in Milwaukee, Aaron is busy reading through everyone's reports, his eyes glazing over Reid's – he expects nothing but the utmost thoroughness there. Looking it over is a formality at best. Not that he'd admit that to anyone else. Morgan, however, had confided in Aaron that whilst he'd been unit chief, he'd given up reviewing Reid's reports altogether. Aaron had to think he was getting soft with age – or maybe it was due to the kinder friendship he shared with Morgan nowadays. His only reaction had been a light chuckle, much to Morgan's surprise.

There's a knock at his door, interrupting his perusal, to which he grants entrance.

Looking up, he sees you standing there, a plain black suit hanging off of you, matching the dark circles that are plainly visible on your face. Your hair is pulled away from your face and tied up professionally and, surprisingly, you're wearing flat shoes. He can't remember ever seeing you wear flat shoes around the office, almost always opting for something with at least a slight heel. It's as though all pretense has left you, leaving behind only you in the rawest form – unable to pretend to be alright any longer.

"Hi." You walk in, forcing a slight smile. The smile doesn't manage to reach your eyes.

He's about to stand so he can walk around to greet you, but you interrupt him with a quick shake of your head, raising your hand to stop him. "It's alright. I just came to drop this off."

You place a piece of paper on his desk, which he's quick to reach for, fingers brushing against yours. You pull back quickly. He doesn't say anything, unsure what to make of that. Maybe he'd imagined it.

They're reinstatement papers for Garcia. Her suspension was over.

"Thank you," he says quietly, looking up to meet your eyes. You blink and look down. He doesn't think he's ever seen you look quite so…frail. It makes all of his worries from the past week compound, and he's once again making to stand so he can greet you properly.

"It's alri–"

He's reached you before you can stop him again and as he reaches out for you he detects a nearly imperceptible flinch as his hand reaches up towards your arm. He stops, his stomach lurching. You don't flinch away from him. Ever.

"Sweetheart, are you sure you're alright?" he asks, making sure his voice is low and soft, as unthreatening as possible.

You look up to meet his eyes and you just look so entirely defeated. As if someone had stolen what little hope you might've had that this – whatever this was – would turn out alright.

"Um – yeah. It's fine. Don – don't worry about it." You take a deep breath and he can see you donning the mask once more. The mask that would allow you to walk out of his office. The one that had likely slipped in his presence out of habit, despite any attempts to keep it in place. Keep whatever was going on, hidden from him too. He's at once heartened to realize that you can't fake it in front of him if you tried, and terrified that you'd tried at all.

"Y/N – "

You're shaking your head, so he stops. He doesn't know what to do. How to help.

"I'm going to be off the grid for a bit," you inform him matter-of-factly, your voice clear and concise once more. "Might be hard to reach me, but if you need something, you should be able to go through McKinney."

You've turned around and are already walking away.

"Hey, wait."

His voice stops you at the door and you turn around towards him, eyebrow raised in question.

There's nothing more he can say at this moment. Nothing to convince you to stay or let go of this assignment. It would be futile and he knows it. Whatever it is that you're working through, he trusts that you'd tell him if you possibly could. Without that, the only thing he can do is hope and pray that this is over soon. That you come back to him safe and sound. So he says the only thing he can say.

"I love you."

You take a shallow, shuddered breath, your jaw clenching as you meet his worried gaze. There's a moment where he thinks that maybe you're about to simply give in – throw caution to the wind and tell him everything, consequences be damned. It passes as quickly as it appeared, however. You offer him the barest of smiles that's gone before he can truly bask in its arrival.

"I know."

With that, you're gone. He watches as you walk down the stairs, steps slowing down slightly behind Prentiss and Morgan's desks. Neither of them look up towards you. You continue on towards the elevators and then you're gone.

*------------*

Dave was coming for dinner that evening, and Aaron had just filled him in on your quick appearance earlier that afternoon. He's packing up his belongings while Dave waits for him, when Strauss peaks her head in to his office.

"Heading out?" she asks, looking from him to Dave.

Aaron nods.

Dave smiles and gestures her in. "I have a dinner date with a six year old. Aaron is chaperoning."

She lets out a light laugh and Aaron can't help but think that it's an odd sound coming from her. He's never going to get used to Strauss and Dave being a thing. He's almost grateful that you aren't there, as the last couple of times the two of you have seen Dave interacting with Strauss, you've gone out of your way to whisper the most disgustingly inappropriate things to him about the two of them and their supposed debauched sex lives. He could do without those particular nightmares.

"Aaron, I just wanted to drop off this paperwork for you. Agent L/N has already signed it, so it just requires your signature. Feel free to drop it off tomorrow." She hands him an envelope before breezing out of the room and wishing them both a good evening.

Aaron looks up to find Dave's face reflecting his own curiosity. What required yours and his signatures? The paperwork for your designation change had gone through a while ago.

He opens up the envelope and looks at the header. His vision starts to blur around the edges and he might have stumbled slightly, alarming Dave in the process, who marches forward and helps steady him, before grabbing the papers from Aaron's hands.

"Dissolution of Consensual Relationship Agreement?" Dave's words echo through the room and yet to Aaron it is as though he hears them from underwater. The big block lettering. Your signature on the line. Your delicate script outlining your name.

His heartbeat has sped up quite a bit. His hands feel clammy, his breath coming in short spurts. The ringing in his ears – always present in the background and easily ignored – is a high pitched whine as blood rushes madly through his veins.

"Aaron, look at me."

He looks up at Dave, who appears stunned despite his calm and direct voice. Aaron just feels numb. He surpassed shock within the first second. He's strictly at numbness now. His mouth feels dry as though there was a cotton ball in there. He blinks repeatedly as he tries to focus on Dave's face.

"Aaron, do you truly believe Y/N would ever end things with you in this way? Really?"

Would you? He has to think you wouldn't. There would be a conversation. Nothing had happened. Well, obviously something had happened, but nothing had happened between the two of you. Your things were still at home. You hadn't uttered a single word of this to him today, despite having come by to drop off Garcia's paperwork. Sure, that interaction hadn't been wonderful. It had left him with a deep concern that had occupied much of his thoughts the rest of the afternoon. But truly, no. Nothing was wrong with the two of you. At least, nothing that he knew of.

He slowly shakes his head.

"Exactly. She wouldn't. Look, something is obviously going on, but it boils down to one question. Do you trust her?"

He nods. Yes. Of course he trusts you. There is no one he trusts more.

"Alright, then let's not overreact. Once she's back, I'm sure there's some sort of reasonable explanation for this."

Dave's right. Aaron knows that he's right.

Even if he isn't, he's going to choose to believe him for now. The alternative would crush him entirely. He can't afford that. Not yet. Not until he's seen you and you confirm it one way or the other.

He takes a deep breath, looking from Dave to the papers that are still in his hand. Leaning forward, he grabs a pen from the cup on his desk. He knows what he has to do.

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imaginesandinserts · 3 years

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Irreverent Spoilers: 3x14 Tie Scene

We all agree that Hotch ripping off the tie scene is just hot. So...see under the cut, lols.

Title: Irreverent

Irreverent Series Masterlist

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Rating: M

So I just saw this scene (bless tiktok, truly) and of course it got me going a little, as I imagine Reid telling Reader about this at some point. I imagine it’s on the plane and they’re talking about the worst serial killers they’ve ever encountered themselves. Hotch and her are seated by the window, facing one another. Reid is next to Hotch. Emily is seated beside Y/N.

Spencer is describing how they’d been stuck in there, with Hardwick threatening to kill them both. How Hotch had calmly taken off his jacket and tie, getting ready to protect both himself and Reid. Hotch is definitely uncomfortable with this retelling. He’d acted rashly and had escalated the situation rather than work with Reid to de-escalate.

The entire time he just seems distressed and is shaking his head. Mumbling at Reid to stop, but now both girls are just like, “No, shush, we need to hear this.”

They aren’t together yet and for the most part she views Hotch as her unfailingly perfect boss and her constant weekend companion along with Jack.

As Spencer wraps up the story, both Y/N and Emily just look at each other in awe. Y/N can’t look at Hotch without bashfully looking away, biting her lip.

Hotch, losing his patience with all three of them, just asks in an exasperated tone, “What?”

“I mean that was...,” Emily begins, blinking and looking at him with new eyes.

“...kind of hot.” Y/N finishes, still unable to make eye contact with Hotch.

He’s quiet as he looks at them both. Looks at Reid, who just shrugs. Looks back at them both, head tilted slightly. “Threatening to kill a serial killer with my bare hands, is hot?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

“Kinda, yeah,” Emily responds with a shrug of her own.

Hotch only has eyes for Y/N as he gauges her reaction. There’s a pretty color to her face. Her lips glisten from how much she’s bitten it. When she finally looks up to meet his gaze, he can see that her pupils are ever so dilated. She’s turned on.

He clears his throat and adjusts in his seat. “I suppose I’ll have to do it more often, then.”

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imaginesandinserts · 3 years

Text

Irreverent Pt. 47 - Seven Devils

Title: Irreverent Pt. 47 - Seven Devils

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~11K

Irreverent Series Masterlist

You'd just arrived at the airport when you got the call from Clyde informing you that there was a terror alert across the EU and flights were being grounded. He'd coordinate agents on the ground but there wasn't much you could do from the States, so you were off the hook until things got figured out.

Great, now what? *------------* Aaron walked towards the plane with the rest of the team, with Reid already spouting facts around unsubs who preferred to shoot their victims from a distance rather than up close. He climbs up the steps and turning, is greeted by you, seated in your usual chair. "Hey, what're you doing here?" He walks up towards you, the rest of the team following close behind, equally surprised to see you. "EU terror alert," you explain while he stashes his luggage away, nodding hello to everyone else. "Clyde said I'm free for the time being and I was already at the airport. Garcia read me in." "Well, it'll be good to have you, kid." Rossi takes a seat in the aisle across from you guys. "Seems like an all hands on deck sort of situation." Everyone settles in and you can't help but notice the small smile that seems to linger on Aaron ever since he saw you. The two of you had only had the past three days together and throughout that, you'd had a soccer match for Jack, a birthday party for one of his friends, and you'd spent Saturday night with the girls; needless to say, it had been tough to get time together for just the two of you. "Was Jack okay?" you ask, turning to Aaron after everyone had finished talking through some of the case details and started to build a preliminary profile on the Unsub. Aaron nods, but your question catches JJ's attention, who looks to you with her eyebrows raised, the puzzled expression on her face imploring you to explain. You're unable to help the smirk that plays at your lips as you do. "We had a - um - staff meeting this morning that Jack wasn't invited to. He wasn't too happy that the door was locked," you explain, biting your lip and barely stifling your giggles. "A staff meeting?" Emily raises her eyebrows at you and you can just imagine the dirty thoughts running through her mind along with the Wow Y/N only soccer moms call getting railed a staff meeting. You meet Aaron's eye and you can see the soft blush to his cheeks that only you would notice. "I simultaneously regret and appreciate my choice of words there," you murmur to him as he shakes his head in amused disapproval. Derek barks out a laugh in reaction to Emily. "Uh huh. Was it a successful meeting?" he asks, wagging his eyebrows at you, toeing the line at ribbing Aaron as well. "I think both parties were pleased with the outcome. At least according to my notes." You turned to look at Aaron, mirth flitting into your gaze. "Would you concur?" He has a small smirk on his face mirroring yours, no doubt thinking back to the fifteen minutes the two of you had caught together before you had to get ready to leave for the airport - once against the aforementioned locked bedroom door and a second in the shower, before you begged him to relent, otherwise you'd be late. He'd been intent on a third. "Some good points were made. However, we might have to do a follow up to ensure we're still aligned," he drawls, getting far too much enjoyment out of the effect his words and low voice would have on you. You lose it at that, unable to keep a straight face. Follow up indeed. "Gross. I feel like I just watched my parents flirting." JJ groans, pushing up from her seat to go rummage around for snacks in the back. She was due anytime now and would be gone on maternity leave starting the following week. She was already mostly out of the field, staying in the precinct and managing the team from there. You knew, that as a result of that, Aaron was actually out in the field a lot more because he trusted JJ to handle the emotions and politics of local officials far better than anyone else. "Morgan, could you check if we're stocked on the M4 ammunition?" Aaron switches gears towards preparing for the landing, a quick brush of his hand to your thigh in promise that there would indeed be a follow up to this morning's activities. Derek nods and gets up, checking on the rifles stock that was brought along. With an Unsub like this, the team would need to be equally equipped to handle any situations that might arise, especially in a sprawling Texas city where guns were aplenty. "Guys," Spencer pipes up, "I don't think I'm actually allowed to use those." He glances around at the rest of the team apprehensively, as Derek and Aaron share a calculated look at his admission. "You're not," they both tell him almost simultaneously, drawing a snort from both you and Emily while Rossi merely smiles and shakes his head, turning his head back to his notes. Reid looks offended and turns on you at that. "Are you certified to shoot those?" His tone implied that he highly doubted you. "I've been shooting since I was six years old," you inform him, a superior look on your face. "I actually set the Academy record for most weapons certifications earned by a trainee." Aaron presses his lips together to keep from smiling while Emily shakes her head with a laugh at you goading Reid. "I didn't know six year olds were allowed to handle guns." "If you're rich in Connecticut, you can do pretty much anything. Just look at the Kennedys." "Touché."

Spencer grumbles to himself a bit more, slouching into his chair. It was his one weak point and he was getting better at it, really. On pretty much everything else, you're sure he'd have you beat.

You turn towards the research you'd been conducting on your own case with Clyde, in your downtime. Things were starting to fit together in an unexpected manner, and you'd had to bend a few rules to start putting all the different pieces in, but you were finally making some headway. It would definitely be faster and easier if you could enlist Garcia's help or bounce ideas off of Aaron, but your hands were unfortunately tied due to the high level of clearance you'd had to obtain to work this case in the first place.

Aaron watches as your head is bent in concentration, his own focus flickering away from the case ahead. You'd only been home for three days but you'd mentioned that your assignment at last had an end in sight. He's hopeful that that means things will be calming down - the two of you would be around one another more again. While Jack had so far done a good job of keeping the secret, he also gave his father a very telling, excited look anytime he saw you, and Aaron could often see Jack's eyes going to your hand where he hoped a ring would soon sit.

*------------*

All of the bodies thus far had been found at the grounds of various places of worship around the city - a few Churches, a Temple, and a Mosque. It would appear most of the actual killings had happened at a different location and the bodies were then moved and left to be found the next morning by unsuspecting worshippers, children, and groundskeepers. The Unsub was an equal opportunity killer - no discrimination in the religious leanings of his victims.

So far the victimology was all over the board - a college student, a local politician, a priest, a housewife, and a video game developer were the five victims so far. It read like the beginnings of a bad joke. A rabbi, a priest, and a horse walk into a bar…

The Unsub had left the bodies of each victim at their chosen place of worship. That, in itself, felt highly personal so there was a chance that the Unsub personally knew each of their victims. This was supported by the methodology - killing the victims from afar was easier on this particular Unsub's constitution.

The team had been spitballing; attempting to establish a connection between the victims. Reid and JJ were working on the geographic profile. Well, Spencer was at least. JJ kept having to leave to go to the restroom every five minutes. In that moment, you definitely did not envy pregnant women. Bearing children wrecked one's body.

The obvious religious themes were all in scope. The theory at the forefront was that each of the victims was being punished for a perceived sin, and Garcia was doing a deeper dive into their finances and online history while the rest of you got to know the families and the victims personally to wrangle out the truth. This was the most difficult part usually - even if someone was an awful person whilst alive, most people became reluctant to speak ill of the dead.

Trusting JJ to handle the centralized headquarters that the team had set up, Aaron left with you to do one set of the interviews. He wanted to speak to the parishioners of the church where the priest had been found, his body jutting out of the confessional booth. You both noted that it was on the opposite side from where the priests would typically sit, symbolically speaking to the fact that the Unsub considered the priest to be a sinner.

"I mean, he's a priest in a Catholic church," you said as the two of you walked up the pathway to the entrance. "The obvious definitely comes to mind."

Aaron agrees with a grimace. Father Patrick had led a youth group and had been doing so for the past decade. There was a high chance the Unsub could be a current or prior victim of sexual assault at his hands. He could also be someone whom a potential victim had confided in, so your suspect list was pretty wide open for the time being.

As suspected, every conversation you had - with church docents and members alike - was highly complimentary to Father Patrick. He was good with the children, kind to the female staff, had a fairly middle ground interpretation of the Bible; an all-around pillar of the community.

"Hopefully Morgan and Prentiss have better luck."

You nod, buckling in your seatbelt and commandeering the music, electing to actually play the White Album for once, drawing a smile from Aaron. He pulls out of the parking space and heads back towards the precinct. You smile to yourself as Aaron's deep voice croons along to Dear Prudence, his fingers tapping along to the beat against the steering wheel while you look out the window at the twilight Texas sky.

*------------*

"So, the girl, Rachel - total know-it-all, not unlike someone else we know…"

Reid glares at Emily as she trails off with a smirk. Her and Derek had gone to do another set of the interviews at the local university and had talked to classmates and professors to learn more about the first victim.

"We all have our suspicions about Father Patrick, but nothing conclusive there. The Councilwoman was taking bribes to block the legislation around the city's free internet policy per Garcia's research. That leaves Mrs. Abad and Ryan Cohen, the designer. We can't tell what their secret might've been, besides some high balances on a credit card for Mrs. Abad."

The team nods at Hotch, confirming his summary of the case so far.

"JJ and I have narrowed down the field to three epicenters across the city." You're surprised that Spencer gave JJ any credit at all for the work they'd done together. JJ had confided in you upon your return, that she'd told Spencer she was going to the bathroom and had instead taken a twenty minute power nap in a supply closet. Her maternity leave could not start soon enough, and you're glad that she's handling this pregnancy in a much more relaxed manner than the first, allowing herself the time off properly.

"Based on the current cadence, we could have another victim in the next couple of days." Rossi looks around the room grimly. You're all well aware that the window to catch the Unsub before another victim materializes is closing quickly. It also usually tends to speed up once the team arrives on the scene. Makes Unsubs nervous. Eager to finish the job faster.

"Would you say Councilwoman Crane was guilty of the sin of greed?" Derek's brow is furrowed, the beginnings of a concrete thought evident in his question.

You nod, encouraging him to continue.

"Pride for the first victim, Rachel."

You agree again, but this time the rest of them are also following along.

"Seven Deadly Sins," Spencer surmises from Derek's trail of crumbs.

"What are all of them?" Emily asks, looking between Derek and Spencer.

Derek shifts from one foot to the other. "Pride, Greed," he lists off, counting with his thumb and index finger.

"Lust, Envy," Aaron supplies, tacking on to the end of Derek's sentence and prompting him to continue the count.

"Gluttony, Wrath, and Sloth," Spencer finishes, turning to write them all down in order on the whiteboard.

The team was finally making some headway.

You stand towards the back of the room looking at the victim board, arms crossed across your chest, leaning against the back wall. "So, let's assume its Lust for Father Patrick. The excessive shopping could be indicative of Envy from Mrs. Abad. You guys did say she lived in a posh neighborhood. Keeping Up With the Joneses lifestyle."

"That leaves Gluttony for Cohen. Kid was pudgy." Rossi had been the one to visit the Medical Examiner, so you all trusted his assessment there.

"They're all in order. Could it be that simple?" Aaron questions, leaned forward in his chair, looking at the board with each of the victims' names listed next to one of the sins.

You contemplate his question as does everyone else. Could it be that simple? An Unsub working down the list of deadly sins, picking out victims that aligned with each one. It would stand to reason, given the working profile - you'd all decided that the Unsub must have an Orthodox religious upbringing, in a militant household.

"Occam's Razor," you answer finally, meeting his eyes, a grim set to your face. This meant there were at least two more victims planned. "The simplest explanation is usually the right one."

*------------*

In the past couple of days, the team had narrowed down the scope of the case, having realized that the Unsub had met all of the victims through various volunteer activities. The working theory was that the Unsub had deemed the victims to all be hypocrites - claiming to be doing charitable works while sinning on the side.

Garcia had cross-referenced volunteer activities between the various places of worship and had come up with charities that all of them supported throughout the city. From there she'd catalogued registered volunteers across all of them, against activities each of the victims attended, however hadn't been able to narrow it down enough.

So, here you were manning the precinct late at night with Aaron, Derek, and Emily. The team was taking it in shifts to see if any missing persons calls came in, with victims fitting into either of the final two remaining sins - Wrath and Sloth. Unfortunately, there were simply far too many options for you to be able to determine who might become the unwitting victim in this Unsub's crusade.

It was calm and quiet, only the whirring of the fan and ambient sounds of the printer filling the silence. The four of you had already eaten and were all nursing hot cups of coffee in order to stay awake in the otherwise empty station. Public statements had been made and hotlines set up in case anyone could provide even a hint as to who the Unsub might be.

Emily was slouched over at the table, her arms cradling her head as another yawn escaped her. Bleary eyed, she looks at you and you weren't much better off, only barely keeping your eyes open, tilting back in your own chair in order to simulate the feeling of tipping over; effectively scaring yourself into staying awake. Derek was seated in front of the laptop, with Garcia on video. The two of them had been playing some game, however it appeared that she'd tired of it, being nearly two hours of a time difference ahead of the rest of you. So now, Derek was just watching her snooze, head bent down to her desk.

You look at Aaron, reading the notes Reid had left behind in order to try and make some sense of everything - uncover something that had slipped through the cracks. His brow is furrowed, head bent in concentration. He'd shed the jacket a while ago and despite the time of year, the Texan climate had forced him to roll up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing delicious swathes of forearm for your perusal. His hands - so large compared to your own, the veins prominent as he flips a page, muscle tensing and flexing as he does. You have to bite your lip to suppress a moan. It was the sleep deprivation. It was getting to you. Yeah, that's it. Not your big, strong boyfriend looking all serious and focused and handsome as he tries to hunt down a serial killer. Nope. Not at all…

You stand up suddenly as your chair tips forward, all four legs finally hitting the ground with a soft crash, cushioned by the carpeted flooring. Loud enough, however, to get Aaron's attention, as he turns to look up at you, the Are you alright? plain to read in his eyes.

"Need fresh air. Gonna go take a walk around the block or something," you explain, shaking your head of the cobwebs that had formed over the course of the past two hours, as the night had slipped into what could better be classified as early morning.

Aaron sets the papers down and turns to Morgan, indicating that he was going to join you. If you thought he was letting you go out alone, at this hour, with a killer on the loose, you were certifiable.

He watches as you slip on your blazer but he doesn't bother with his own. It would be quick and it wasn't too cold anymore. He follows you through the precinct and out the front doors, down the steps, matching your shorter pace easily - he's used to it by now.

"You sure you're alright?" he asks, once the two of you have reached the street. You merely hum tiredly and nod, so he grabs your hand in his, and walks in step with you, turning the corner past the precinct.

It is a little colder outside than it was inside, but his larger hand encompasses yours entirely, making you feel like a child swathed in his warm embrace. The cool air filters through your nostrils, reinvigorating your mind, giving it the jumpstart needed to function once more.

The two of you don't talk as you walk hand in hand down the sidewalk, him walking on the outside as he always does. Only the streetlamps are on, little pockets of light between stretches of darkness. Your mind is at peace. You aren't thinking about this case or your other one. You aren't thinking about any responsibilities and obligations. No worries. Just silent. It's so rare for your mind to be quiet that you relish in it. Allow yourself to bathe in the soundless symphony occupying the chasm in your brain.

As you approach the final turn that will lead you back to the entrance of the station, you find yourself watching Aaron again. He'd been so patient with the entire case with Interpol, despite it taking a toll on him. He'd been pulling double duty - doing all the things he does while also subbing in for everything you're unable to do at home. Him and Jack had sent you a cooking video of the two of them last time you'd been away, as Jack bossed Aaron around in the kitchen and helped him make your chocolate chip cookies for the bake sale at school. You'd sent Aaron detailed instructions, as he'd have to be the one to help Jack brown the butter and ensure he didn't burn himself. You knew he must have been frustrated with the extremely particular list of ingredients you'd sent him, down to the brand of salt flakes (the pièce de résistance of the entire experience) that got sprinkled on top. Yet, he'd tackled it all with aplomb, not complaining to you even once. Jack had confided in you afterwards that Aaron had had to go to three different stores because the salt flakes were a rare item and not every branch of the nicer grocery store carried them. He'd done it though, and Jack had told you they'd turned out exactly like yours. Even Emily had texted you to validate this, asking if you'd come back without telling her when Aaron had brought a batch in for the team the following day.

Aaron feels a tug on his hand right before the turn. You'd stopped and his hand was still holding yours, forcing him to stop as well. You're stood in the shadows, right between two patches of light, your face immersed in darkness, and before he can say anything, he's lightly pushed against the brick wall exterior of the police station building. He lands with a soft oomph. You lean up against him, pressing yourself along the length of him and going up on your toes - utilizing the entirety of your ballet training - your lips meeting his in a heated kiss. He groans into your mouth, hands wrapping around your hips on instinct alone, tongue tracing your bottom lip before gently nipping at it, taking advantage of your resulting gasp to make his way into your mouth, licking every part of you available to him. He lifts you up, wrapping your legs around him and turns to hold you against the wall instead, pressing into the inviting warm juncture of your thighs.

"What brought this on?" he hums, moving from your lips to your jaw, down the column of your neck, his teeth grazing your collarbone.

You shiver at his efforts, a flip in your stomach as you feel the edge of his teeth, followed by the soft bite at the bend of your neck. Unable to answer him, lost in the feeling of his lips and teeth against your skin, your hands mussing through his hair, softly pulling and drawing vibrated groans from him.

At the absence of an answer, he pauses, looking up until he has your full attention, meeting your darkened eyes contrasting against your bashful expression. Your breath hitches when his eyes meet yours. "I love you," you muster with some concentration, soft and blissful, pulling his face back down to meet your sweetly puckered lips once more, drawing him into the cacophonous sea of feeling along with you.

By the time the two of you make it back to the conference room that Derek and Emily were sat in, Emily has stood up, leaning flat against the back wall. Derek has moved as well, taking residence in your old chair, leaning backwards much the same way you had.

"What about you guys?" he asks as you and Aaron enter.

You avoid Emily's knowing look. "What about us?"

"This whole thing - case - heaven and hell. You believe in it?"

"I went the agnostic route," Emily adds, stretching and arching her back like a cat. "If it exists, great. If not, no skin off my back."

Derek looks at the two of you expectantly.

Aaron nods quickly, returning to his old seat, feeling a lot lighter than before. He'd grown up Catholic - heaven and hell were ever-present concepts in his home.

You shrug, grabbing your lukewarm cup of coffee and dropping onto the couch. Your family had been more religious for the sake of appearances and connections rather than any true faith-inspired feelings.

Derek chuckles lightly. "Okay, so if they do exist," he says, turning back to Emily who had sunk down to the floor, seated with her legs stretched out in front of her. "Where you think you're headed?"

"Let me guess, you think you're going to heaven," Emily taunts, a mocking grin on her face.

"I do good, I am good," Derek replies assuredly. "Everything else is up to God. Right, Hotch?"

Aaron breathes out half a laugh along with a raise of his brows, which was about as much agreement Derek could hope for there.

"What about you Princess?"

You look at him, slight roll of your eyes to the ceiling. "Pretty sure patricide rules me out for a ticket to heaven," you respond, your words coated with sardonic dismissal.

Heaven. Hell. What did it even matter when you're dead?

It was a good thing that you hadn't looked at Aaron at that, because if you had, you would've noticed an entirely odd expression on his face at your words - he decides to pin his thoughts for a conversation at a later time. Once the case was wrapped up.

*------------*

"Anything you know could help us identify your husband's killer. Were you able to get a good look at him?"

JJ and Derek are running the interrogation on the latest victim's wife while the rest of the team watches from the other room. The body had been found at the edges of yet another church's grounds, marking it as the sixth victim. However, this time, a witness had emerged. The Unsub had taken Dylan Rogers from his front yard at gunpoint and Ashley Rogers, his wife, had seen it all happen from the living room before calling it in to the precinct.

"She seems tense - her shoulders have been hunched this entire time. Her facial expressions have varied from somber to haunted almost." Reid shifts closer as he profiles Mrs. Rogers, studying her body language.

"Morgan said it seemed like he might have hit her. He saw some bruising when she went to the house to pick her up," Prentiss adds, her voice grave.

Aaron acknowledges both Reid and Prentiss with a nod, his eyes fixed on the interaction taking place in the other room.

"Would fit into the umbrella of Wrath." Rossi mused from beside Aaron. All of you continue to watch while JJ brings in a sketch artist to help Mrs. Rogers construct a likeness of the Unsub.

"It must be killing her - if it's true. Having to help find his killer. Imagine the number of times she must've dreamt of hurting him in the same way he hurt her." All of you turn from Emily back to Mrs. Rogers, thinking on her statement.

"She could've left," Reid reasoned distractedly, his expression casually appraising Mrs. Rogers still for any signs that she might be concealing anything.

You find yourself bristling at that, and you've spoken out before you could stop yourself. "You know, it's funny how whenever we see cases like this. Cases where a man continuously beat up his partner, that's the question on everyone's lips. Why didn't she leave? Why did she stay?"

Reid turns to you, his mouth open and ready to contradict you or apologize, you're unsure, but you continue. "We never ask, why didn't he stop?"

Emily snorts from beside you, her lips pressed tightly together as you both watch Mrs. Rogers working with the sketch artist. She turns to Spencer after a look at you. "Because we accept men as monsters. That is their natural state. Those of them that didn't give in to it - we exalt them. We call them good men. Better men. Because they didn't beat us and hurt us and watch us bleed."

There's a tense silence but this is a sentiment that none of them are unfamiliar with. Reid should've known better.

You see Spencer shift uncomfortably, obviously apologetic for his earlier statement. You shake your head slightly and offer him a small smile, reassuring him that he's alright. This kind of stuff, just hits closer to home for some of you.

Your eyes meet Aaron's and he's looking at you with the question in his eyes that you'd expected as soon as you'd opened your mouth. You shake your head at him too, before turning your gaze back to the front.

Aaron watches you for a beat more, his eyes trained to the side of your face, your unwavering eyes set upon Ashley Rogers and your words swimming in his mind. His eyes had asked the question that he already knew the answer to unfortunately. Yet another reason for him to despise Matthew van Doren's entire existence.

"You know, there was a time I thought he was the love of my life." You all can hear Mrs. Rogers talking to JJ as the sketch artist wraps up. "We had that love - that wake up Sunday morning with pancakes and lose yourself in each other under white sheets kind of love. I don't know when it all went wrong."

*------------*

With the aid of Mrs. Rogers' description, Garcia was able to run a digitally enhanced version of the sketch against all known volunteers who had been at most of the events attended by each of the victims in the weeks prior to their deaths. After that, apprehending the Unsub was just a matter of tying together the identified man to each of the victims directly.

The team was able to prevent the final murder, and while that was of little solace to everyone, there was a tiny part of you that felt happy for Ashley Rogers in all of it. Sometimes the exit route we need arrives in the most unexpected of manners, and it is on us to recognize it and seize it for ourselves. You really hoped that Ashley would claim a new and better destiny for herself.

Since it was late, Aaron was unable to get the jet to fly back the same night, so the team was huddled into a corner of the hotel lounge with drinks in hand. While you're thrilled that you were able to prevent the final victim from being taken, this wasn't the best case the team had worked. You can see it in everyone's eyes, the way they hold their drinks, the hushed whispers contemplating if there was something that would've pointed to him sooner.

You feel bad that you aren't even really thinking about this case anymore. Your mind is preoccupied by the contents of the file you've left upstairs in the hotel room. You nod along to Emily and Derek's conversation, glass of wine held languidly in hand while you mentally collate the work you'd done so far. You know you're contributing nothing to the current conversation, and mercifully both of them have left you to your thoughts. Knowing there's not much chance of you being able to distract yourself tonight, you stand and bid good night to them before walking over to Aaron and Rossi, seated over a chessboard with Reid. They were playing two against one and Reid was still the favored choice to win.

"I'm going to head upstairs." You lean in and whisper softly to Aaron so as to not disrupt the game.

He turns his head to look up, brow furrowed ever so much. It wasn't like you to turn in early when there was a chance to socialize with the team. "I can come with." He grabs his drink as though to finish it, but you stop him with a hand to his shoulder.

"It's alright. Stay." You brush a kiss against his temple before nodding good night to the rest of them, intent on making some progress once you reached the room.

By the time Aaron gets upstairs, it is much later. Reid had won but Rossi had insisted on a rematch. Rossi just wanted to see Reid beat just once, however Aaron was wise to not bring attention to the fact that you've never played him. He knows that Reid has asked you, but you've made up excuses to not play. He'd always wondered about that, and having seen the chessboard in the New York apartment had made him realize that there was actually a good chance that you could beat Reid if you wanted to. Reid was a genius. That fact couldn't be denied. He knew everything about everything. You were different from that. Reid was driven by his pure drive for knowledge - that desire to understand the world around him better. You learned with more purpose, intention - with the need to add knowledge and skills to your toolkit, ready to whip out and be unleashed upon your opponents.

He enters the room just to see you exiting the bathroom, a robe wrapped around your body. He can't help but sigh internally at the sight. His soft, fluffy, perfect little personal teddy bear. He couldn't wait to just crawl into bed, already fearing that you'd be on another flight out the following day.

You acknowledge his presence with a smile, while toweling your hair dry.

"Who won?" There's a crooked smile on your face as you watch him take off his jacket and tie. As if you didn't already know who would win.

"Reid. Rossi wants another rematch on the plane." He shakes his head, walking further into the room. Closer to you.

You laugh softly as Aaron reaches you, looking exhausted from the long week and yet, he seems alright. All in all, this case hadn't been absolutely terrible. "Hasn't he learned his lesson by now?"

"He's a glutton for punishment." He steps forward, grabbing the towel from you and prompting you to turn around as he takes over drying your hair with soft tussles, allowing the cloth to absorb water all the way from root to end.

You hum at his actions, letting yourself to be lulled into the peaceful, floaty state that you always enter whenever he plays with your hair. It just felt too good.

"You should just give in and play him sometime." He knows he's pulling at that little thread there, curious as to how you'll react at him having deduced something you hadn't told him upfront.

You merely chuckle softly, seemingly unsurprised that he'd worked that out for himself. His profiling skills no longer surprise you much, especially when it comes to yourself. He could read you like none other. "We wouldn't want Spencer to cry, now would we?"

Aaron bites his lip, preventing a smile threatening to sneak out at that. It was nice knowing he'd been right about that. He'd have to make you play him at least. He needed to see how good you were for himself.

You turn around, halting his actions. You'd gotten a call from Clyde when you'd gotten upstairs and you were already set to fly out tomorrow on a red eye. You'd booked the ticket, making the necessary upgrades on your own dime.

"Tomorrow?" he guessed, noting the expression on your face when you looked up at him, drawing yourself up on your toes and wrapping your arms around his neck, the towel slipping from his hands and onto the floor between your feet.

You nod with a sigh, before coaxing him down, and he's quick to meet your lips with his own, knowing the two of now only have tonight. Tomorrow would be spent on the plane and then you'd have to fly out before he'd get even another hour alone with you. His hands instinctively find your waist, drawing you in flush against him. He deepens the kiss when one of your hands moves from his neck to cup his cheeks, thumb brushing over the peaking stubble around his jaw. You hate leaving like this. You can't wait for it to be over. For there to be no more goodbyes layering his touch and yours.

Aaron hugs you closer, wrapping his arms around you fully, the plush robe giving him far more to grab on to. Your lips against his, moving softly, insistently. You break away, struggling to be on your toes for much longer, so he moves, pushing you up onto the desk and coming to stand between your legs as your lips find their place once more against his, this time hands working at the buttons to his shirt as well.

"Wanted to talk to you about something." He breaks away, allowing you to pepper kisses down his jaw and the column of his neck. If the two of you only had today, he didn't want to risk forgetting and having the issue go stale before bringing it up again. He can feel your mouth, sucking, teeth lightly grazing the skin at his collarbone, undoubtedly leaving marks for him to admire afterwards when you were gone. At your hum, he continues relying on your ability to multitask. "Did you mean it, when you said you aren't going to heaven?"

You pause, looking up at him curiously and being reminded of the question Derek had asked. You hadn't realized it had affected Aaron, and yet thinking back on it, of course it had. Your answer had been entirely flippant. He was so serious when it came to things like this. "Yes. I did." Your voice is measured as you answer him, eyeing him carefully to watch his reaction. Even still, his hands have managed past the tie on your robe and his hands are caressing the bare skin of your sides, drawing a soft sigh from your mouth at the sensation. "By any definition of heaven and God and the Bible, murder isn't exactly condoned."

Had this been a few months ago, Aaron knew that this would have been an entirely different conversation. He could appreciate how entirely blunt you're able to be about how you've framed this for yourself. He might not agree with it, but he can appreciate the honesty. "Bible also says an eye for an eye." He raises an eyebrow at you, indicating that he wasn't about to let this go. Not when it came to the matter of your immortal soul. This mattered to him.

A gasp escapes you as his hands travel up your sides more deliberately, causing shivers against your sensitive skin at the feel of his roughly calloused fingers skimming, exploring, claiming. That's what his touch always felt like. A claim.

You try to focus as you think of a response, hands resuming unbuttoning his shirt and undoing the buckle to his belt. You can see he's already hard and as your fingers ghost over the bulge, he exhales sharply, eyes focused on your hands.

Realizing he wasn't getting an answer from you immediately, he helps you out by undoing the button and lowering the zipper on his pants, taking them off as you watch. You're a little confused by the conversation taking place, but you also knew this going into a relationship with Aaron. Like it or not, he was religious. Your family simply hadn't been much. It wasn't the same religious orthodoxy that Aaron had grown up with, at the very least. He wasn't by any means stringent about it, but some beliefs were innate. Good people go to heaven. Bad people go to hell. As far as he was concerned, you were a good person.

"Heaven and hell - I didn't grow up with that. But that whole eye for an eye thing, I don't think that really applies when it comes to taking a life." You help him slip the shirt off of his shoulders as you speak, the material slipping and falling to the ground as well. Aaron actually undoes the tie to your robe this time, pushing the material off of you almost roughly, eager to expose skin that he couldn't wait to taste. His hands move up to cup your breasts, kneading the flesh - the air in the room and his attentions causing your nipples to pucker, teasing him. He's unable to resist bending down and taking one into his mouth, gently sucking as his fingers tweak the other into submission as well, drawing a keening sound from deep within you, distracting you from your train of thought as you're drenched in the warmth of his touch.

You're entirely bare before him as his mouth moves to the other nipple, hands traveling down, grazing over your stomach and down your thighs, causing them to tremble. He pushes your legs apart, letting go of the nipple, his mouth returning to yours with a renewed fervor. His fingers pick up the evidence of your arousal around them, and he caresses your folds, before entering you with two fingers, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing over it as his fingers scissor inside you, locating the spot that has you arching your back, moans escaping you into his mouth.

Aaron releases your mouth so that he can watch you. Your hands scramble for purchase, bunching into the robe beneath you that soaks up your juices as he continues to work you up. Higher and higher. Your breath panting, breasts thrust up as you can feel the orgasm threatening to overtake your body. It only takes another circular motion of his thumb and the ask to Let go by him, for you to go crashing under the waves, your walls pulsing around his fingers. He watches you fall apart, your arms going up to hug against your breasts as you arch and shake and moan for him, his name falling from your lips repeatedly as he continues his machinations against your sensitive bud, intent on drawing it out. He loves to just watch you like this. Begging him to keep going, your breathy voice urging him on, your gorgeous face, mouth falling open - all for him. His beautiful little princess, entirely at his mercy.

He kisses you again as you come down, your earlier conversation entirely wiped from your mind. But not his. Never his. Aaron could focus and keep track of things in amazing order. He hated that you thought you weren't destined for heaven. It shouldn't matter - such an abstract concept and who even knew, really. But in the off chance it did, he didn't want you to think you'd be excluded. You couldn't be.

Your jelly arms and legs wrap around him and he's already worked down his boxers, revealing his thick, hard cock, eager to be buried inside you. He gathers you up in his arms, pulling you to the edge of the desk, before lifting you up and moving the two of you to the bed, managing to drop you onto it sideways, before quickly climbing on top.

You move your hands to card through his hair, watching him, his lovely brown eyes looking down at you, causing a flurry of emotion in your stomach. He leans down and slots his lips against yours once more, allowing you to get lost in the feel of him. You release him with a gasp, finding it difficult to take in air, and he allows you to breathe as he moves and presses a kiss to your shoulder, entering you in one quick thrust. "Genesis 9:5 says, for your lifeblood, I will surely demand an accounting."

What? You couldn't believe him. He was quoting the fucking Bible while buried in you to the hilt.

"Aaron - "

You're cut off as he moves out, the tip of his cock rubbing against your clit, distractingly. Perfectly. Fuck.

He enters you again, harshly, his cock finding that spot inside you as he does. His voice deep and guttural, a groan falling from his mouth as he invades you fully once more. "From each man, I will demand an accounting for the life of his fellow man."

He was still doing it. How could he even remember to quote the Bible right then?! You couldn't even remember your own name.

You don't have the words as Aaron continues, pumping into you, his hand finding your clit to help you reach your peak faster. Neither one of you would last long. You're already a trembling, shuddering mess beneath him, back arched up, feet planted against the mattress for support, your hands traveling and touching any skin of his they could reach.

You can feel his breath hot against your ear, the weight of him on top of you as he ruts his hips against yours, and you can tell he's close. So very close. His hips stutter as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling softly, just enough. "Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed." He was intent on fucking the verse into you. You release a broken cry at the feel of him. At his words. The passionate, gravely quality of his voice. He finishes with a loud groan, spilling into you, his ministrations against your clit paying off, propelling you towards the precipice as well. Your walls squeeze his cock, pulsing, clenching at the feel of his release inside you. He groans again, dropping on top of you, his hand going down and wrapping your thigh around him, pushing himself further into you still.

He lays on you for a moment longer, the only sound in the room being your breath and thudding hearts, beating in sync.

You're entirely drowned in ecstasy, even as you try to grasp onto the threads of the conversation the two of you had been having. You run your fingers through his soft hair, brushing back the sweat from his forehead, not minding the weight of him on you. He was crushing you entirely and you wouldn't exchange that for anything. No death could be better. Sweeter.

He rolls off of you after a few more moments, dropping next to you on his back, his legs dangling off the side of the bed.

You breathe deeply, before flipping over to lay on your back. You can feel the evidence of both of your releases inside you, but you can't be too bothered to care right then. Your hazy mind has managed to remember the conversation, and you turn your head, tucking your arms underneath to support it as you watch Aaron. He's laid on his back, one arm under his head, eyes closed and chest rising and falling, slowly settling into a steady state.

"If I wasn't going to hell for the patricide already, I'm definitely going to hell now for finding that far too hot." Your voice comes out low and whiny, a near whisper being all you could manage.

Aaron releases a breath of a laugh before he turns to settle on his side, drawing his legs up, moving closer so he's right beside you. So you can feel his skin against yours.

You reach out, your hand cupping his face and he leans in all too willingly, kissing you softly, completely. As he pulls back, you can feel his eyes examining you - searching. Trying to figure out what exactly it is that had you so thoroughly convinced that you didn't belong in heaven. Because he knows you and while at the time killing your father had been awful, he knew that you believed it had been right. Otherwise you wouldn't have done it.

"Can we accept the premise that killing your father isn't a dealbreaker?" he asks cautiously, his hand reaches out, settling into the curve of your waist, fingers curling into the skin. "What is it really?"

You blink, moving into his embrace, hands fidgeting slightly. You're nervous and you're sure he can tell. However, you know you need to tell him. Tell someone. If anyone should know, it's him. You lick your lips and sigh, looking up into his darkened eyes. "You've met my father. If you had to profile him, how would you do it?" Your voice is quiet, timid, unsure.

Your question is met by some apprehension. Aaron isn't certain, however he hesitantly answers you. "Control freak. Narcissist with a God complex."

You nod at his blunt assessment. "Did you ever wonder why my father - why he let me get away with so much?"

He hadn't.

"I broke off an exceptionally advantageous engagement. He did nothing. I cashed out my trust fund and ran away - slutting it up - " He flinches. " - on the cover of every trashy editorial. Crickets. I joined the FBI and he tried to take me out for dinner. Does he seem like the kind of man that tolerates that kind of insubordination?"

Aaron realizes that he should've thought about these questions. He should've thought to protect you from this back then. It was a miss. Especially after finding out what he had about Julian's death. And yet, there had never been anything in your father's interactions with you to suggest that he would do anything to truly harm you. Despite your fear of him.

"Do you remember what you wrote - in my recommendation letter to McKinney?" you murmured, your face right against his. If he moved a millimeter closer you'd be able to feel your nose against his.

Aaron watches you, his brow furrowing, wondering where exactly this was headed. He nods. He remembers. Your skin under his hands is starting to develop goosebumps. Without a word, he grabs you, shifting and maneuvering so that the two of you are laid together, heads at the headboard finally. He pulls at the blankets, draping them over you both and draws you back against him.

You place a quick kiss to his chest in thanks, fingers brushing over the scars that have persisted. Over time, he's become a lot more comfortable having his shirt off around you. It's still not something he will do in public, but around you, he feels comfortable enough. After all, you'd seen them back when they had been much worse.

He nods at you to continue. He has a need to know now. He has to know.

"The night that Matthew proposed to me, Julian and I got into a huge fight," you confess, legs tangling with his as your fingers trace the mapping of lines down his chest and stomach. "He revealed to me that my father - that the proposal was orchestrated. That it was part of some deal between our fathers. That - ." Your voice breaks and Aaron is quick to run his hands soothingly down your back, whispering soft encouragement in your ears, his lips following your hairline. You sniffle and continue on. "He told me that our father gave me away. Without asking. Without talking to me about it. He sold me."

It's Aaron who is lost for words this time. Out of all things, this - this he could not possibly have prepared for. All things considered, you're holding up remarkably, while his mind reels, putting everything he knows about Matthew into context with this new piece of information. He's struck by a tornado of anger towards your father. How dare that man - that awful, cruel man, treat you like property? To be traded and sold at his whims as if you weren't a fully fledged human being of your own.

You find yourself rubbing your hands up and down Aaron's arms, knowing that he must be processing everything all at once. You've had nearly a decade to deal with it and it still feels overwhelming at times.

"I didn't want to believe it, but it made sense."

Aaron opens his mouth to speak - to say something helpful but no words come. You shake your head, reassuring him that it was alright. He needn't say anything.

"So, I woke him up. We talked. I told him I wasn't about to waste my life - being the perfect daughter and the perfect wife. I couldn't."

He nods. He expected nothing less. You weren't some trophy wife.

"Matthew didn't want me to work after we got married. But I wanted something to work towards. Something that would be mine. It wasn't fair that just because Dominic was the eldest son - that he would get it all. Everything. The entire empire. It was the one thing Matthew could never deny me. He wouldn't have dared."

Aaron's eyes widen as the realization begins to sink in. He takes in your gaze - blazing with renewed fire and fury at the situation you'd been in. The fervor within to escape, be your own person within the confines of the life you were in.

"My father - he fought me on it. Because the thing is, sons inherit the earth. Sons and not daughters." You take a deep breath, watching Aaron who appears to have followed along marvelously, because you can tell that he knows exactly what you're trying to say now.

"I showed him, however -- " You nod your head shakily "-- how I had built connections with all the right people. How I was smarter, would work harder, be better than anyone else he could possibly hope for to fill his shoes."

"You'd take over." His voice is low and the words feel reluctant on his tongue. Resigned despite the truth of them.

You nod. There it was - it was finally out there. Your worst secret that no one else had ever known. This secret had gone to the grave with your father. You hadn't even told John, knowing how disappointed he would've been in you - especially so soon after Julian's passing.

Aaron looks at you, taking in the guilt behind your eyes, the fear at revealing this to him. He knows too, that you're right. That if you had applied yourself to that, even half as well as you did to your job, you would've done it brutally well.

"That's why you think you aren't going to heaven," he concludes, his hands still rubbing up and down your back. He can feel your heart beating rapidly against his chest. It wasn't killing your father. It was this. "Sweetheart, you didn't do it, though. You didn't."

"I would've," you argue. "If Uncle Robert hadn't told me, even with Julian dead, I would've. I signed up for all of it Aaron. He trained me. He groomed me. Those things that you wrote in your letter to McKinney - all about how I'm adept at reading people. Because I can manipulate anyone into doing anything I want. He taught me how to do that. That I have an aptitude for navigating politically nuanced situations - because he showed me how to get close to the people that really matter. That I am exceptional at tactical planning - because from that day onwards, he planned out my entire life. And I let him. I helped him. Everything I did, anyone I spoke to, was all part of it. Part of his plans. So when I left, he wasn't ready to let go. He wasn't ready to waste his investment in me." The words leave you like a storm - evidence in the case you'd been building against yourself, carved from marble and sitting heavy against your heart for the past decade. You hated how much of him you saw in yourself.

You're breathing really hard and there are tears clinging to your lashes as Aaron continues to hold you, pulling you in even closer, if that were possible. He couldn't even imagine how long you'd carried this with you. Nearly a decade of guilt and for what? For something you hadn't even carried through with.

"You didn't actually do it," he repeats himself, brushing his lips against your forehead, knowing that right then that's what you need. All the reassurance that he doesn't see you any differently. That he never could. Especially not for this.

"Aaron, I would've been someone the Bureau goes after. Someone you'd have gone after. But the difference is, I would've never been caught."

Again, he knows you're right. Aaron isn't even surprised really at your entire confession - it stood to reason that you'd want the keys to the kingdom. From what he knew of you and your siblings, you really would be the person who was most capable, despite the dubious nature of the job. He's not naïve enough to think you couldn't have done it if you wanted to. You would've been exceptional at it. But you didn't. Given the chance today, you wouldn't. For him, that's what mattered.

He brushes the hair out of your face tenderly, sweeping away all the wisps and baby hairs, holding your face in his hands. "You need to forgive yourself, Y/N. You need to realize that there is a difference between signing up for something and actually doing it. What you actually did, that's what matters. Regardless of the circumstances. That's what truly happened."

You're quiet, so he holds you. He can feel the tears trickling down your face, onto his chest as you bury your head into him once more.

It was an upheaval, telling him all of this. It's Aaron - and despite everything awful that you've revealed just then, he's being kind, compassionate, and understanding. You just told him that you'd essentially signed up to do every evil job known to mankind and he was comforting you. Making sure that you wouldn't beat yourself up. That you forgave yourself. He didn't even - it was as if it didn't even matter to him. How could it not, though? How could it not claw at him, being tangled up with someone he knows to be entrenched in evil?

"You are a good person, Y/N. A wonderful person. This - this one thing doesn't define you. Being good is a series of decisions and choices in that direction. One thing doesn't derail it entirely. That's what amends are for. What forgiveness is for. To show us that no matter what, we always have a chance." Aaron could only hope that you saw yourself the way he saw you. As someone who tried to be good. As someone who was good, through trying alone.

You want to believe him. You do. It sounds peaceful. But how do you know if you've made enough amends? How do you know if you've done enough?

He knows you're struggling to believe him. He wants to convince you, paint it into your skin, emblazon it onto your soul in a manner so unmistakable that you'd never question it again. You're a good person. He needs you to believe it. Desperately.

Aaron tilts your face up by your chin, his lips meeting yours intensely. "You are a wonderfully good person, Y/N" His whisper falls against your lips, forcing you to swallow in his words. Breathe them in. Taste them. Let them settle into your stomach.

He places another kiss to the turn of your neck, tongue peaking out to lick at mark he'd left earlier, soothing over it. "You're a hero. You save people." He will make you believe it.

You watch in awe as he shifts, placing another kiss to the swell of your breasts. "You take such good care of me and Jack." He will make you believe that you're the good he sees in life. Through all the horrors he sees day in and day out, he looks to you and he sees goodness and purity, laughter and joy.

You can feel the tears welling up again in your eyes, for an entirely different reason as you watch him. Watch this man, make his way down the length of your body, reminding you that you conquer monsters for a living. Remind you that you took down your father and in turn prevented him from doing more evil. Impress upon you the importance of everything you've accomplished since then - all the people you've saved, all the happiness you've brought, all the people you've loved.

You can't help but press yourself to him. Closer to him. Because his touch is the forgiveness you can never seem to give yourself. His touch is pure. His touch is good. It is divinity itself. Maybe if he touched you enough, it could make up for it all. Letting his essence cover up everything that came before.

Aaron draws up on his haunches, having just kissed your clit, causing your eyes to roll back into your head. You taste like what he imagines sunshine might taste like. He moves you up with him, into his lap and waits until you've met his mouth of your own volition, before pulling you down onto his cock, seating you fully against him.

You can taste yourself on his lips. You can feel him inside you so entirely, consumingly, fully. He clutches onto you, the drag of him inside you so powerful and potent, the bubbling euphoria encasing you. Your arms curl around his shoulders, fingers in his hair, as his wrap around your hips, helping you ride his cock exquisitely. Vastly, painstakingly slow.

Aaron watches you in his lap, taking him in - his. Mine. Mine. Mine. A chant on repeat in his brain as your wet, velvety walls grip him like a vice. Your beautiful pink lips parted ever so slightly, eyes half lidded. In his lap, against his body, taking his cock. This - this was goodness. You were the source of all pleasure, delight, and happiness that he feels. If that is not goodness, then what is? If the God he calls God didn't recognize you as such, then what kind of God was he? Because he would gladly worship at your altar instead, if need be.

His hands grip you excruciatingly tight against him, unwilling to leave even the semblance of room between the two of you. It was as though he began where you ended and you ended where he began. "I don't care if you believe you're going to heaven or not," he declares, watching you take him. "I'm going to believe it enough for the both of us."

Before you can say anything in response, he draws your attention downwards, forcing you to watch. Watch as he exits you, wet and shiny, drenched in your arousal. Watch as he brings you back down, entering you immeasurably slowly and causing you to clench and flutter around him. His.

You look back up, meeting his warm brown eyes, shining with love and compassion and the utmost respect. Everything that made you fall in love with this man. You watch as he pushes into you, moves you just so - so as to perfectly hit that spot inside you. You tilt your head back on a moan, your body shuddering and your back arching once more, pushing you closer and closer against him. When you return to face him, he looks at you. His eyes fixed on you. That look on his face, was nothing short of reverent.

You come achingly fast, teeth sinking into his shoulder as you shudder around him, taking in his release. He continues through it, pushing his cum back into you in the process, keeping it there, mingling with both of your earlier release.

You're entirely weak as you sit in the cradle of his arms, balancing on his thighs. Your mind is far away and present at once. Present only in him - his touch, his feel, his lips, his words - surrounding you thoroughly.

You are both unhurried in your movements as you clean up together, no need or desire to speak further, content in the silence of one another.

Aaron cleans up the bed, making sure there are fresh sheets, as he watches your tired body put on the small slip you'd left out earlier. Your hair was wet again and he grabs a fresh towel, drying it once more as you lean against him, unable to stand on your own for much longer, your body still sore. He can see the marks he'd left behind blooming and he takes extra care as he urges you towards the freshly made bed. You slip in to your side as he lifts the duvet, quickly climbing in beside you and tucking the two of you into the covers - swaddling your body against his own. He places a gentle kiss to your lips, murmuring his love against them, the echo of his words reverberating against them. You fall asleep first, entirely spent, physically and emotionally. With any luck you'll enter a deep, dreamless sleep. He can hear your steady and even breaths paralleled with the slow rise and fall of your chest, persuading him to join you in slumber.

Even if you didn't go to heaven - if for some God forsaken reason you were denied entrance - he'd willingly, gladly, go to hell with you.

With that final thought, he gives in to the call of your warmth and the sound of your breaths, allowing himself to be drawn into sleep beside you.

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