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atlabeth · 6 days

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dance until we're bones

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem reader

summary: you and hotch both confront a lifetime of things left unsaid when a case forces your past into the light.

a/n: so i started this. two years ago. got 1k in and left it, came back now for some reason, wrote like a freak until it was done. lol. this is quite heavy and different than most things i usually write and it is SO much longer than expected but im very proud of it 🫶 i didn't really pay attention to the canon timeline so just know that reader and hotch were in their early and late 20s in law school (90s) and early and late 30s in present day (early 2000s). title from i lied by lord huron and allison ponthier

wc: 17.1k

warning(s): a lot of angst. typical bau case stuff, murder (familicide), implied/referenced past child abuse, reader and hotch go at it basically the whole time, character death, kidnapping, slight mention of drugging, injuries, mentions of blood. i wouldn’t say a happy ending but a hopeful one

Hotch can barely stay awake.

He got the call thirty minutes to 4 a.m, and if he hadn’t already been up, he would likely be in a much worse mood. He can only hope that the rest of the team has gotten used to rude awakenings at this point.

It’s poor planning on his part—he already got out late due to extra paperwork, and once he got home, he found himself staring at the wall, and then staring at the ceiling. If he’s lucky, he’ll get to sleep on the jet. If things go the way they usually do, he won’t be out until their first night in a hotel.

He started making calls to the team on his way to the office, but to no one’s surprise, he was the first one there. He had time to wash down a shitty office coffee and get started on a second one by the time everyone’s there.

Morgan, Prentiss, and JJ all have coffees—JJ comes prepared with her own thermos, but Morgan and Prentiss fall victim to the BAU’s supply—Reid is fighting back yawns as he tries to fix a hastily made tie, Garcia is slightly less energetic than normal as she passes out files, and somehow Rossi looks the same as always.

Hotch just hopes he’s put together enough to make the team feel better about being here at an ungodly hour.

“Welcome, welcome, welcome,” Garcia greets, setting down the last folder in front of Reid before taking her spot next to Hotch at the front. “As lovely as it is to see all of you this morning, I’m afraid that we’ve got a grisly one on our hands, hence the hour.”

“Great,” Prentiss mutters. “How bad is it?”

“Three married couples have been murdered in St. Louis, Missouri in the past two months, with the most recent one happening yesterday,” Hotch says, and Garcia grimaces as she clicks onto the pictures. “Mom and dad are killed, but the children are spared.”

“Awful lot of similarities between the parents,” Morgan says dryly as he flips through the folder. “Looks like our killer has some family issues.”

Reid nods. “The unsub likely stalks these families once they see the similarities. I’m guessing he was abused as a child, seeing as they kill the parents but keep the children alive.”

“Probably has a grudge against his father,” Prentiss remarks. “They make it out the worst every time.”

“There’s no method to the torture,” Morgan says. “It looks like he’s just trying to make it hurt as much as possible.”

“Our guy probably isn’t trained in anything, then,” Rossi says.

Reid flips to another page in the file. “Serial killers like to see their victims suffer. If he’s not torturing the mom physically, then he’s likely making her watch.”

“He doesn’t kill children, though,” JJ notes.

“Maybe he thinks he’s doing them a favor,” Reid says.

“The unsub sees himself in the kids?” Morgan suggests. “He’s doing what he didn’t get the chance to do.”

“Whatever it is, we have to keep a tight hold on this,” JJ says. “The press eats this stuff up, and the last thing we need is a terrified city making it harder to do our jobs.”

“Especially with families being killed,” Morgan murmurs.

JJ sighs. “I’ll draft something on the jet and make some calls when we land.”

Hotch nods and he closes his file. “Wheels up in thirty. I hope you’re all ready for a long day.”

The jet is silent the entire way to Missouri, full of sleeping agents trying to delay the inevitable—save for JJ scribbling down notes on a legal pad for the first thirty minutes, but even she knocks out sooner rather than later. Thankfully, Hotch manages to fit an hour in himself, though it doesn’t do very much for him. He spends the rest of the time reading through the case file.

The team settles in quickly at the city’s precinct, and Hotch takes charge as usual. The uniforms are just as tired as they are, but he makes it work. Soon enough, JJ is off to work with the local liaison to craft a narrative, Reid has situated himself in an empty conference room to get to work analyzing maps with Garcia, and Hotch and the rest go to check out the crime scene.

It’s brutal—much too brutal for this early, but Hotch forces the emotions out of it and gets to work questioning the present officers. Morgan follows suit, with Prentiss and Rossi going to investigate the rest of the house.

They don’t learn much from the officers that they don’t already know. This is the most recent crime scene—George and Marsha Springfield, undeserving of such a grisly fate. Their two kids, 8 and 9, were off visiting their grandparents in Nebraska when it happened, and though they avoided the same fate, they’re going to deal with a lifetime of guilt.

It’s all Hotch can think about as he examines the first body. The six children left to deal with the carnage, about their past and future marred against their control.

All he can think about is Jack, and the dreary fate that awaits him if his father falls in the field.

Hotch swallows his doubt and his guilt all in one and forces every thought out of his mind. He has to be unshakable for the team, for what’s left of these families, for a city on the brink of hysterics.

They’ll find whoever did this. That’s what gets him through it.

They spent early morning at the crime scene, collecting evidence and gathering information from the officers and trying to make sense of the killer’s motive. Progress is slow, partially because of the hour, but they make enough that Hotch feels comfortable moving onto the next job.

Their four a.m. start time was too early to go knock on doors and get interviews, but now it’s a more normal 10 in the morning. After a quick stop back at the station to share information with Reid, Garcia, and JJ and down a few cups of coffee, they get right back on the road.

Hotch and Prentiss take one van and Morgan and Rossi take the other, splitting up to get what they can from interviews. It’s difficult working with kids, especially with such recent trauma, so they hold off on it for now, allowing the local uniforms that have been with them for a bit longer to set things up before the BAU tries anything.

First they go to a neighbor’s house, then an alleged eye witness. They don’t get much other than personality reads, but it at least gives them the beginnings of a profile. The third place they hit is their earliest idea of a suspect.

“Lucas Hartford,” Prentiss reads off the file one of the local officers had put together. “Thirty-nine, born and raised in St. Charles, Missouri. High school degree, but never got to college because he was in and out of jail.”

“What has he been charged for?”

“Booked a few times for public intoxication and convicted three times for assault. Once was for third-degree assault, Missouri’s version of aggravated assault,” she says. “He got out of jail last year, and it looks like he’s been living in St. Louis for some of that.”

“Assault and drinking is a far cry from serial killing, even aggravated,” Hotch says. “What makes him a suspect?”

“Both parents are dead,” she says. “And from the looks of it, it was not a happy home while they were around. He’s got a sister, so it fits the initial theory of trying to replicate his family.”

Hotch lets out a loose breath and nods. “We’ll start there. Try and get a story from this guy, build a profile, see if it matches the one Morgan and Rossi have made for their guy.”

“And hope we pin something down before more bodies show up,” Prentiss murmurs.

They’re at their destination soon enough, and Hotch parks in an open spot on the other side of the road. His eyes dart around as they walk up to the front door, filing things away in the back of his mind.

The house number and last name—1432, Hartford—on the mailbox plagued with rotting wood. What there is of a yard is poorly cut, and a small garden of wilted flowers has their own corner, victims of the winter weather. One car is parked slightly crooked in a small driveway—there’s no garage, so at least he’s probably home. Two potted plants sit on either side of the door, thankfully alive.

“Remember,” Prentiss says as they come to a stop together, “be nice.”

“I’m plenty nice,” he murmurs, and she huffs the slightest laugh.

Hotch knocks on the door as Prentiss fishes around for her ID, and thankfully, they don’t wait long. The door cracks open after a few seconds to reveal a woman—certainly not their unsub, but something a whole lot more surprising.

You.

Your brows furrow at the sight of him, and Hotch has to hold back his shock.

You don’t live in St. Louis. And your last name certainly isn’t Hartford.

“Aaron?” you ask in disbelief, and he doesn’t even have to look at Prentiss to know the questions he’s going to get later.

He says your name, able to control his surprise with only the slightest crease of his brows giving it away, then corrects himself just as quickly. “Miss Hartford. My name is SSA Aaron Hotchner, and this is SSA Emily Prentiss. We’re here with the FBI.”

Your frown deepens as they show their IDs, and you actually take it from Hotch, skeptical eyes scanning over it for much too long. You glance back at him as you hand it back over. “What is the FBI doing here?”

Emily clears her throat as she puts her credentials away. “We’re here investigating the latest murders in St. Louis. Can we come in?”

“The murders?” you ask with exasperation. “What— what murders? And what do I have to do with them?”

Aaron notices the way your grip tightens on the door just the slightest bit, and a shred of sympathy strikes him before he speaks up.

“We’ll be able to explain everything if you let us in,” he says.

You swallow thickly in your throat, your gaze darting back to Aaron before you finally nod. “Okay. Sure. Why not?”

You move and Hotch and Prentiss walk inside, gesturing with a hand towards your living room as you shut and lock the door behind them. “Take a seat. Uh— do you guys need anything? Water, or coffee, or…”

You trail off, and Prentiss shakes her head. “Thank you, but that’s not needed.” She takes a seat on the sofa, but Hotch can’t stop himself from looking around the house.

It’s a small place, one story—likely rented, seeing how paintings sit on countertops and mantels rather than hanging on the wall. It has a certain charm to it, but something is off about it all.

Two styles clash—decorative pillows at odds with a filled and painted-over hole in the wall, an attempt at neutral tones ruined by dark articles of clothing scattered around, one person’s mess barely being held back by another’s cleaning efforts. You lived with someone else. Likely Lucas Hartford, possibly their unsub.

“Are you gonna sit down, Aaron?” you ask, snapping him out of his profiling haze. “Or do you want to look around some more?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, clearing his throat as he walks over and sits down in an open chair near Prentiss. “Just curious.”

“That makes two of us,” you say, and you cross your arms as you look at him. He notices that you don’t sit down yourself, and there’s still a coldness in your eyes. “You’re FBI now?”

He nods. “I had a change of heart.”

You huff a laugh. “Thought at least one of us would be a lawyer by now. I guess not.”

Hotch frowns, but Prentiss takes over before he can continue on that particular thread. “Miss Hartford—”

You interrupt by saying your first name, and it spurns something strange in his chest. It’s been over a decade since he’s heard your voice. “You can skip the formalities.”

Prentiss nods and repeats your name. “As you know, we’re investigating the murders that have been occuring in the St. Louis area.”

“And you think I have something to do with it?” you ask, the accusatory edge to your voice not lost on him.

“Not you,” Hotch says. “Do you know a Lucas Hartford?”

“He’s my brother,” you say, and your frown deepens. “You’re not saying—”

“No,” Prentiss interrupts, “we’re not saying anything. We’re just asking.”

And just like that, your entire stance, your visage, it all changes. Hotch can sense the walls slamming up around you, and he immediately realizes two things:

Getting information out of you is going to be much harder than planned, and you’re not anywhere near the same person you used to be.

Hotch doesn’t know what he expects, really. He graduated with the intent to prosecute for at least a decade—now, he’s with the BAU. It’s not fair to assume you’re that same girl he met in law school.

“My brother is not a murderer,” you state clearly.

“And we aren’t accusing him or you of anything—” she starts.

“Me?” you interrupt, and you let out a harsh laugh. “I’m a suspect too?”

“If you would allow Agent Prentiss to finish her sentences, you would be less upset,” Hotch says.

You glower at him, but you stay silent.

“We aren’t accusing either of you of anything,” Prentiss finishes. “We’re just trying to gather information with what little we know.”

“I know my rights,” you say, unflinching gaze still meeting Hotch’s. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Prentiss looks at him as well, but his eyes don’t leave yours. “That’s unfortunate to hear, Miss Hartford.”

“You know my name, Aaron. Use it.”

He does, and the letters feel strange on his tongue after so long. “This is a serious matter. This isn’t an accusation—we’re in the early days of this case and we need all the information we can get.”

“Ask away,” you say. “Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”

“Lucas Hartford,” Prentiss starts. “He’s your brother?”

You nod. “He lives with me.”

He lives with me, not we live together. Makes him think that you pay for the place, he came knocking, and you didn’t have the heart to turn him away.

“Why is that?” Hotch asks.

You look at him, those scrutinizing eyes attempting to peer into his soul the same way they did all those years ago. But Hotch has changed since law school, and he’s much better at guarding his emotions. It seems you are, too.

“He’s a student,” you finally say. “He goes to community college. I’m giving him a place to live while he gets his associate’s.”

“Community college and living with his younger sister at 39?” Prentiss is trying to get information out of you, even if it isn’t in the kindest way. Your jaw clenches, and he knows her words have some effect. You’ve probably heard it more than once, the way things are going.

“He’s getting his life back on track,” you say defensively. “I’m the only one left that can help him, so I am.”

“What about your parents?” she asks. “Surely they’re a better option than this.”

“Both dead,” you answer. “And no one else cares enough to help him. Are you here to do anything other than dig up my past?”

Hotch feels Prentiss’s eyes on him, likely because it’s a step in the right direction for a really shitty reason, but he can’t look away from you.

“Really?”

He knows your parents are dead—it was in your brother’s profile, and by extension it applies to you—but it still hits him.

He met your mother, had countless lunches and dinners with her. Helped her move out of her old house. Spent two Thanksgivings and a Christmas with her.

And he didn’t even know when she died.

You shrug and wrap your arms around yourself, and for the first time you look something other than defensive or standoffish. You look— well… sad.

“Mom went a few years after you graduated,” you say, looking at Hotch. “Dad went five years ago.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Prentiss says.

You nod your thanks, the notion a bit numb.

“You never told me,” Hotch says with a slight frown.

“We haven’t talked in ten years,” you say. “Sorry that I didn’t know you still wanted updates.”

Hotch tries to think of something to say in response, but Prentiss starts getting a call and she stands up. “Excuse me.”

His jaw clenches for a moment as Prentiss ducks into a nearby bedroom, but he’s recovered by the time you look at him again. Your arms are crossed, but your expression is even.

“I take it this was as much of a surprise for you as it is for me.”

Hotch nods. “We came here looking for your brother.”

“Does your team know about our history?” you ask simply.

“No.”

“Do you want them to?”

“...No.”

You huff a laugh, your eyes narrowing a bit. “‘Course not. Probably counts as conflict of interest.”

You wait another beat, then ask another question. “How’s Haley?”

“Good, last I heard,” he says, and then he hesitates. “We’re… divorced.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

He nods. “This job isn’t easy for anyone.”

You look like you want to say more, but once again, Hotch is saved by Prentiss as she walks back in. Her phone is closed in her hand and she looks at him. “Morgan and Rossi have a lead. The chief wants everyone back at the precinct to go over everything we’ve found.”

Hotch nods again and stands up. Prentiss takes her card out of her pocket and holds it out to you.

“Thank you for your time, Miss Hartford. If you find out any information, or want to tell us anything else, please give me a call.”

“Pass that along to your brother, too,” Hotch says.

You reluctantly take the card, but you don’t look at it. “You can see yourselves out.”

Prentiss nods. “Thank you again. Have a good day, and stay safe.”

She leads the way, and Hotch follows after her. He fights the urge to look back before he shuts the door.

Prentiss looks at him as they walk back to the car, and he can only imagine what is going through her mind. But eventually she just shrugs and pulls out her phone again.

“Garcia?” Prentiss asks after she picks up.

“You’ve reached the office of all that is holy.” Penelope’s voice comes out through the speaker, and Hotch can’t help the smallest twitch of his lips. “What’s up?”

“Dig up everything you can find on Lucas Hartford,” Emily says, and her glance at Hotch does not go unnoticed. “And throw in his sister, too. He’s one of our only suspects, and we need to know if she’s in on it.”

“On it,” Garcia says. “I’ll call you back when I’m done.”

“You’re the best,” she says, and then she hangs up. They get back to the car, and it only takes Prentiss all of five seconds after they get in for her to start drilling him.

“Alright,” she says, buckling her seatbelt with a click before she sets her attention on him. “What was that back there? You two know each other?”

Hotch busies himself with his own seatbelt and starting the car, answering as casually as possible as the engine revs to life. “We were friends in law school.”

“Sure,” Prentiss nods. “The way you were around her, that’s not just ‘law school friend’ stuff.”

Hotch is once again reminded of how, sometimes, it was a downfall to constantly be around profilers. It was nearly impossible to keep anything a secret.

“It’s nothing,” he says as he pulls back onto the road. “We knew each other, we fell apart, we’re here now.”

Emily hums. “Is it too far to ask if you were together?”

“Yes,” he says sternly, maybe a bit too hasty. “It is.”

“Fine,” she says breezily, and she looks out the window. “But that tension was thick.”

Hotch knows what she’s thinking. Hasn’t he been with Haley since high school, what kind of history did you and him have, were you together, would he be okay to work this case—

He doesn’t really want to answer any of them. You were a part of his past he hadn’t expected to resurface any time soon—if Hotch is being honest, he didn’t know if he would ever see you again once he graduated. Not after the way he broke things off.

You’ve changed a lot. So has he.

And now your brother is a murder suspect, and you could be covering up for him.

That’s the only thing that should be on his mind.

“For the last time,” you huff as you storm down the stairs, “I don’t want to deal with this.”

“Because you know that Mia is a lying bitch!” Cleo exclaims, following after you. “I’m sick of you stealing my clothes!”

“I’m not stealing your clothes,” Mia scoffs in your wake, just behind Cleo. “They’re too ugly for me to want anyways. I bet I wouldn’t even fit into them.”

“You are! And you’re stealing my fucking jewelry, too!” she yells. “All of my shit is going missing, and I know it’s not Little Miss Law School, so it’s got to be you!”

Mia draws out a mirthless laugh. “You are not accusing me of this.”

“I don’t have anyone else to accuse!” Cleo shouts.

They both look at you, and Mia says your name. “You have to settle this before I kill her.”

“Oh, I’ll kill you first!” she hisses. “At least I’ll get all my stuff back!”

You clench your jaw as your nails dig into your palms, and you’re about to bite back when the doorbell rings. You don’t even try to hide your sigh of relief.

“That’s Aaron,” you say as you grab your coat and your bag from the table. “I’m leaving. If you kill each other, don’t get blood on the furniture.”

You don’t give them a chance to say anything before you rush to the door, open it, and shut it behind you.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” you breathe.

“What’s going on in there?” Aaron asks, amused.

“My roommates are fighting again.” You roll your eyes. “It doesn’t matter. You’re much more interesting.”

“You know this is a study date,” he says wryly, and you cut him off with a kiss.

“Still a date,” you murmur against his lips. “And something seriously needed.”

Aaron chuckles as he wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his side, and the two of you walk to his car. “You’ve gotta get out of this house, honey.”

“I know,” you grumble. “But I can’t afford a place on my own.”

“Doesn’t have to be on your own,” he says as he opens the door for you. “It just has to be away from the girls that are making you miserable.”

“The lease ends at the end of the semester,” you sigh. “Just have to make it until then.”

“You know,” Aaron boxes you in against the car when you lean against the side of it, smiling softly at you, “I do live alone.”

“Oh yeah?” You ruffle his hair with your fingers and grin. “What are you proposing?”

He shrugs, letting his hands linger on your waist. “Just that you hate your roommates, and you don’t hate me. You could spend your time somewhere else.”

“Careful,” you warn. “You keep saying things like that and we might not make it to the library.”

“You keep saying things like that, and I might not mind,” Aaron muses.

You grin as he leans in and kisses you again, once, twice, three times as your back hits the side of his car and you card your hands through his hair. Mia and Cleo are probably killing each other inside, but you don’t really care at this point. They’ve made your life hell for a semester and a half—they can bother each other for once.

“Aaron,” you whisper against his lips, and he gets one more in between words, “I’ve got a test on Tuesday.”

“And today’s Sunday.” He nips at your neck and you laugh, your eyes falling shut as you lean your head back. “You’ll be fine, honey.”

“You have one on Monday,” you remind him, and he sighs. You feel his hot breath against your neck.

“Ruining our fun in the name of schoolwork,” he says. “No wonder all your professors love you.”

“Everyone loves me,” you correct. “Including you.”

You steal one more kiss before you open your door yourself and get in, and Aaron lets out a breathy laugh.

“You’ve got that right.”

He closes your door then gets in the other side, and you’re already rifling through the glove box full of cassettes. You pull out the mixtape you made for him for your six month anniversary and pop it into the player, and Aaron smiles as the first few notes of Stairway to Heaven come on.

“You’re a threat to my grades, y’know.”

“Maybe it’s all part of my plan,” you say. “Distract you with kisses to make sure I’m a shoe-in for this fellowship.”

“A dastardly plan,” he says with mock austerity.

“I’ve been told I have to be more of a shark,” you muse. “Consider this me taking down my competition.”

Aaron laughs, and you find yourself smiling just at the sound of it. You love the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, how they soften just so, how he acts like himself around you, and not some perfected or stoic image that he thinks he needs.

Falling in love with Aaron Hotchner has been the easiest thing in the world.

“Don’t let anyone know,” he says, and he reaches over to intertwine your fingers together. “But I’ll happily fall to you every time.”

“As long as you don’t tell everyone how whipped I am for you,” you tease.

“Looks like we’ve both got reputations to keep up.”

“Looks like it.”

You share a smile, yours just on the edge of a grin as you try to bite it back. You hold hands the rest of the way, just soaking in each other’s presence with songs from bands you introduced to each other floating through the air.

(It is a goddamn struggle to get any work done at the library with that face across from you the whole time.)

You had sky-high aspirations when you were younger.

Ones that would make your teachers offer a smile and tell you to shoot a little lower, that would make your friends’ eyes widen, that your father would scoff at and your mother would humor you on just to get you to move past it.

You didn’t listen. You’ve wanted to be a lawyer since you went on a class field trip to a courthouse in elementary school and saw all the attorneys hustling about, dressed to the nines, making last-minute deals outside the courtroom.

They were just… so confident. So smart, so stoic, always knowing the answer to everything. The good ones had money, sure, but more importantly they had the power to change lives for the better. And as a kid that had to cover up bruises before the school day, nothing sounded more appealing.

All you’ve ever wanted to do is help people.

And as you sit in a cold, empty interrogation room, you can’t help but wonder where the hell you went wrong.

You don’t want to be here, obviously. But you know the FBI won’t stop bugging you until you give them answers—you know Aaron Hotchner won’t stop bugging you.

Because god— what are the odds?

What are the fucking odds of your ex-boyfriend from a decade ago showing up at your door with a badge and an attempted case against your brother?

It’s ridiculous, and it’s such bad luck that you think it could only happen to you. You’ve thought about Aaron Hotchner more than you’d like to admit over the years, especially when you found your old GW crewnecks, and the box of school supplies you used for a decade, and those photo albums from what should’ve been your golden years.

It’s not like any of it matters, though. You only agreed to come in and talk because you want them off your back and you don’t want them poking around your house. You saw it in Aaron’s eyes—he was profiling you and your place the entire time.

If the cops want to invade your privacy even further, they can get a goddamn warrant.

Your thoughts are interrupted when the door opens, and you hold back a mirthless laugh, because of course it’s Aaron. He greets you with your name, and he has a file in his hands. You wonder if it’s on you or your brother. “Thank you for taking the time out of your day to come in and talk with us.”

“Well, you seem to think my brother is a murderer.” You cross your arms as you sit back. “I’m not really gonna let that stand.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked for a lawyer,” he says as he sits down across from you.

“I don’t plan to be here for very long,” you respond tartly. “But don’t worry—that can always change. I know my rights.”

“I’m the last person you need to tell that to.” Hotch sets the file down and looks right at you. Though he’s obviously older—more grizzled, more hardened; harsher, sharper lines that define his face; lips set in a taut, unflinching line—you still see that young man from law school. The passion, the care he puts into everything, the penchant for striped ties.

You wonder what he sees when he looks at you.

“Your last name wasn’t Hartford when I met you,” he says. “Why is it now?”

“Not one for small talk,” you remark.

“I never have been.”

“I remember.” You hold his gaze. “It’s my mom’s maiden name. I changed it to put some distance between me and everything else.”

You can practically see the gears of his brain working, neural pathways branching off with every word you say to make sense of it and reason a thousand different meanings from it. Aaron’s always been like that, but it’s tenfold now.

You suppose one has to be like that, to try and get anywhere with the types of criminals they face.

“How long have you been living in St. Louis?”

“Seven years. I’ve had that house for three.”

“Rent or own?”

“Rent,” you scoff. “I don’t make enough for a down payment, and I don’t want a place tying me down.”

“What inspired the move?”

“Close enough to home to be familiar, far enough to not be.”

“And home is?”

“St. Charles,” you say, and you purse your lips. “Shouldn’t you already know all this?” You nod at the file in front of him. “It’s either on me or my brother, and we share a lot of the same info.”

“We prefer to get our information from the source,” he says.

“Sources can lie.”

Aaron doesn’t waver. “And we can charge you with obstruction if it harms our investigation.”

Your lips twitch for a moment, not entirely without heart. “Ask your questions, Aaron.”

He opens the folder and slides the first picture over to you—your brother’s first mugshot, taken when he was only twenty-one. You still remember riding your bike to the station in the sweltering August heat to drop off his bail and pick him up.

You had to catch the bus home together, you had to pay his fare, and his bail drained everything you’d been saving from your waitress job. But your dad refused to pay it, and you refused to be alone in that house any longer than you already had.

You swallow the memory. It still tastes as sour as the day it happened.

“Lucas Hartford is our main suspect,” he says. “He matches our initial profile—in and out of jail since his twenties, his parents are dead and he has an unstable home life, and he’s got a sister.”

“None of those sound like questions,” you say.

“Where is your brother?” he asks firmly. He’s given you a bit of leniency, but you can tell he’s getting tired of you. Some things never change, you think to yourself bitterly.

“I don’t know,” you admit.

“You don’t know,” he repeats.

“I let him stay with me, and my only requirement is that he goes to his community college classes and stays out of jail,” you say. “He’s done both, so I don’t ask questions.”

“And you’re telling me you haven’t questioned it.”

“I called him the other day after you left,” you say. “He didn’t pick up, and I didn’t get a call back until the next night.”

Aaron’s eyes sharpen. “What did you say to him?”

“I called to see where he was,” you say evenly. “I think you all are wrong, but I wanted to make sure he was okay.”

“You didn’t tell him—”

“No,” you interrupt, “I didn’t tell him about your investigation. If I think you’re wrong, why would I need to let him know?”

He still has that look in his eyes, and you know you’re getting on his nerves with the constant interrupting, the constant backtalk. But he probably deals with much, much worse.

“Good,” he nods. “You could be putting lives in danger if you do—including yours.”

“Please,” you scoff. “He won’t hurt me. He never has.”

“Why do you let him stay with you?” Aaron asks. “You’re straight-edge, he’s a borderline alcoholic that’s been in and out of jail for years. You’ve got a law degree, he never made it past high school. You’ve got your life together, his is falling apart.”

“That’s why I do it,” you say. “Our parents are dead. I’m all he has left, and he’s all I have left. I want him to get better, so I’m trying my best to help him get there. How can Luke put his life back together if he’s got no support?”

“That’s an awful lot of faith to put in someone who hasn’t earned it.”

“I’ve gotten good at that over the years,” you reply.

Aaron stares at you, and you stare back. You let the moment linger. You hope it stings, even fleetingly.

“And you’re wrong, by the way.”

“About what?” he asks. Again, unshaken.

“I don’t have a law degree,” you say. “I dropped out.”

And for some reason, that is what gets him. He frowns, and you wonder what it means that this is the most unexpected thing he’s gotten out of you.

“Why? You were only a year out. You had stellar grades.”

“My mom got cancer,” you say. “Luke was serving his second stint, Dad fucked off to some corner of the country to drink himself to death a couple months before. I was the only one left to take care of her, and I couldn’t do that from DC.”

“I had no idea.” This is the first time he looks taken aback since you’ve met him again. “And she’s—”

“Dead,” you supply without waiting for an answer. “Went a couple months after I was meant to graduate.”

“...I’m sorry for your loss,” he says. He’s just repeating what his agent said at your house, but it feels genuine, at least.

“It’s been a decade,” you say. “I’m just sorry it was her instead of my dad.”

Aaron’s brows knit together again, and less work goes into covering it up this time. “You seem to have something against your father.”

You huff a mirthless laugh. “Excellent profiling.”

“Child abuse is common for serial killers,” Aaron says. “We find it’s typically the root of their problems later in life, or plays a part in their MO.”

You stare at him again. This isn’t just an interrogation with Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner—it’s revealing parts of your past that you never told your ex-boyfriend Aaron.

“Yeah,” you finally say. “Our dad beat us. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“You know th—”

Aaron cuts himself off before he can finish whatever he wants to say, and he lets out a short sigh with a nod. “It’s valuable information for the profile.”

The room feels a lot colder all of a sudden. “Sure.”

He still looks like he wants to say more, but he bites his tongue as he takes the picture back and closes the file.

“I’ll be back,” he says. “Would you like anything? Water?”

You shake your head and remain silent. He takes the folder and stands up, and you watch him the entire way to the door. Just before he can open it, you find words escaping without you thinking.

“Look, Aaron,” you blurt out. He pauses, and he turns to look at you. “I know this is your thing, and this is your investigation, but I’m telling you—my brother and I don’t play any part in it.”

“The profile—”

“I don’t care what your profile says,” you interrupt. “He didn’t do it. He couldn’t have done it.”

“He’s rough around the edges, I know. In and out of jail isn’t good for anyone.” You hold onto the edge of the table as you continue rambling, needing something to do with your hands. “But he’s working to get better, and he is not the kind of person to do something like this. If you believe anything I say, believe that.”

“I suppose we’ll find out,” he says evenly.

He leaves the room, and your hands fall into your lap as your nails dig into your palms. You don’t mean to be desperate, but you feel it. You’ve been defending Lucas at every chance, but you’re terrified of being wrong. You’re terrified that Aaron might be right—that he might be behind all of this.

For his sake—and your sake, honestly, because you think you deserve to be selfish when he’s all you have left—you hope you’re right.

You have to be right.

The room feels even colder.

Your stare drifts to the one-way mirror, where you know his team is watching. You saw the way Agent Prentiss watched Aaron when they came to your house—he said he doesn’t want them to know, but you think they already do.

You wonder the kind of things they’ve come up with about you and him.

Morgan whistles when Hotch walks out of the interrogation room.

“She does not like you.”

“Did you gather anything else?” he asks placidly. He sets your brother’s file down so he can fix his tie.

“Abusive dad, dead parents, criminal background,” he says. “Lucas is looking like a stronger suspect. Oh— and she really doesn’t like you.”

“If you don’t want to go back to building a file on your suspect, move on,” Hotch demands.

Morgan shrugs, clearly unfazed, but he keeps his mouth shut. Reid, meanwhile, is still staring through the glass at you. You haven’t exactly relaxed, but you’re not as tense as you were while talking to Hotch. You pick at a loose strand of thread on your sweater, and when you pull it out, you let it fall to the floor.

“Her brother feels like a prime suspect,” Reid murmurs. “I feel like I could just figure it all out if I could talk to him.”

“I told Penelope to keep an eye on him,” Prentiss contributes. “She’s tracking his cards, the car registered in his name, even called the person in charge of the AA meetings he goes to to keep an eye out—everything. We’ll know if she gets anything.”

“Serial killers want to see the damage they’ve done,” Reid says. “Things are falling apart here—the whole city is terrified. He’s gotta be in St. Louis still.”

“You’re sure that he’s still in the running.” Hotch glances back at you, and he knows he has to at least ask, for your sake. He doesn’t want to put you through anything more than he has to—not after what you’ve told him.

And Hotch knows your past is your business—he just can’t believe you never told him.

He’s turned over your relationship in his head just as many times in these past few days as he did the months after he ended things.

“I’m sure, sir,” Reid says. “I’ve read over both their files, and Lucas matches with our preliminary profile. His stressor could have been his father dying.”

Morgan frowns. “Explain.”

“Family annihilators typically go after their own family for a myriad of reasons,” he says. “Paranoia, to cover up their lies, to free themselves from what they see as oppression, sometimes just pure jealousy.”

“He’s killing the parents but leaving the children alive,” Hotch says. “Sounds like a liberator to me.”

“That’s what I think,” Reid nods. “If Lucas has been banking on killing his father for that attempt at freedom, and then lost the chance?” He shrugs. “That could be why he started going for other families.”

“Other fathers to take his place,” Morgan realizes, and he nods again.

“You should talk to her, Spence,” Prentiss says. “You’ve got a handle on the profile, and you’re pretty good at conveying info. She seems like a reasonable person—just can’t accept her brother doing something like this.”

“It’s typical for someone to deny their family member’s involvement,” Reid says. “No one wants to think their sibling is a murderer.”

“If you lay it all out for her like that, with facts and the profile, I think she’ll listen.” Prentiss looks at Hotch. “She’s too closed off with you.”

“That’s how she is,” Hotch claims.

“Maybe,” she shrugs, “but it’s much easier to hate you than it is to hate Reid.”

Hotch glares at her, and Reid clears his throat to insert himself back into the conversation.

“I’d be happy to talk to her,” he says. “I know what it’s like to be in this kind of position—I can put her at ease, sympathize with her.”

They all look at Hotch, and he wants to say no. He wants to be the one to get this out of you—some part of him wants as much time with you as possible. But he decides to swallow his ego.

“Fine.” He nods, and he hands the folder to Reid. “I trust you to handle it.”

Reid nods too, far too many times, and he takes the file. “Thank you. Uh— sir. I appreciate your trust.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, but it has no bite to it, and Reid walks inside.

He says your name and sits down across from you. “I’m Spencer Reid. I know we’ve already said it, but thank you for talking to us. It may not seem like it, but it goes a long way towards figuring out this case.”

You nod. You already seem more at ease than you were with him, and it makes Hotch…

Not jealous, because that would be insane. But it makes him upset that he doesn’t understand you the way he used to—that he doesn’t hold that key to you anymore. God, it feels like he doesn’t know you anymore.

Hotch doesn’t get why a side of his brain still thinks this way about you.

“They sent a new one in,” you say.

“You looked like you needed a break from Hotch,” Reid says. “Don’t worry. We all do sometimes.”

You huff a slight laugh and your posture eases, your expression softens just so. Reid was right, as usual.

“I can imagine.”

He starts talking to you about the case, laying out all the facts, and though you don’t look happy, you don’t cut him off like you cut Hotch off.

“She’s pretty,” Morgan offers, glancing at Hotch. “And stubborn. I see why you like her.”

“Shut up, Morgan,” Hotch mutters.

He chuckles and holds his hands up, and focuses back on the interrogation.

The rest of it passes in silence, save for the occasional input from Prentiss or Morgan to elaborate on a point. You talk much more with Reid than you did with Hotch, and you don’t stare daggers at him the entire time.

Time doesn’t always heal all wounds, he thinks.

When Reid is finishing up inside with you, Morgan glances back at Hotch. “You think she’s part of this?”

He shakes his head. “No. She has no reason to kill, nothing to gain. She talks about her past too plainly—it hurt her, obviously, but it hasn’t taken over her life.”

“What about her brother?” Prentiss asks.

“The more we learn, the more I suspect him,” Morgan says.

She nods in agreement. “We just have to find him.”

Hotch isn’t sure yet.

But for your sake, he hopes his gut feeling is wrong.

Spring has finally sprung in DC, and you couldn’t be happier.

It’s hard to feel down on your walks to class when the birds are singing and the sun is beaming down on you, when you see students sitting on blankets reading and talking and actually enjoying life for once.

You’re two years into law school, and it feels like you’ve spent 90% of your time studying in either the library or your room. A bit of a sad existence, but it’s made better with Aaron.

You’re laying down on a blanket—one you crocheted yourself in undergrad—resting your head on Aaron’s chest as he reads a book, the spring sun shining down on you. It feels like the first moment of relaxation either of you have had since classes started, and you chose to spend it together in the University Yard.

You should probably be studying or doing some kind of homework, but you don’t care. It has been too damn long since you’ve gotten to just sit around and exist with Aaron, and you’ve got at least a couple days until your next quiz. That’s far enough away for you.

It’s been a rough semester for both of you, between classes and endless homework, between your internship and your endless family issues—Luke is two years in, and his parole was denied, and your dad still insists on being the reason you stay on campus year-round.

You don’t think you’re pushing it when you say Aaron’s support has been the only reason you’ve gotten through it, your grades—and your mental state—relatively unscathed.

Aaron says your name, and you hum.

“Are you listening?” he asks.

“Of course,” you say.

“Your eyes are closed.”

“I don’t need my eyes to listen,” you say wryly. “What’s up?”

You feel him tense for a moment, feel him adjust his position slightly.

“I got a call from Haley,” he says carefully.

Your eyes open and you frown.

You know the name, but only in the way that you talked a bit about your past relationships while you were still getting to know each other. She was his high school girlfriend, and it was a big deal then, but they broke up before college because they both wanted different things.

It shouldn’t be a big deal now. But he’s treating it like one, and that makes you hesitate.

“Yeah? What’d she want?”

“…She’s in DC for the weekend,” he says. “Some conference for school. She asked if we could grab a coffee or something and catch up.”

You finally sit up, his hands falling from where he’d been playing with your hair, and you look at him.

“Your high school girlfriend wants to catch up.”

“An old friend wants to catch up,” he corrects. “I haven’t really talked to her since we graduated high school.”

“...Okay,” you say slowly. “Do you want to see her?”

He shrugs. “I thought it would be nice.”

“Do you think she thinks it’ll be more than nice?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t even know how she got my landline. I think my mom might have given it to her.”

Your eyebrows rise. “Your mom gave your ex-girlfriend your number?”

“It’s the only way I can think of her getting it,” Aaron shrugs. “Like I said, I haven’t talked to her since graduation.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to think as you look at Aaron.

You’ve met his mom a dozen times. You’re insistent that she doesn’t like you, despite Aaron’s assertions towards the opposite—it wouldn’t surprise you if she gave this girl his new number in an effort to push him in a new direction.

But that train of thought feels a little crazy. You’re confident in your relationship with Aaron—you love him, and he loves you. God, he made an off-handed comment about marriage the other day. You’re not threatened by a girl from his past wanting to catch up.

“Go for it,” you finally say.

He frowns, like he was expecting the worst. “Really?”

“I trust you, Aaron,” you say. “You say she’s just a friend, I believe it.”

You lean forward to kiss him, your eyes fluttering shut, and it lasts much longer than it should. When you pull away, Aaron’s smiling softly at you.

“Thank you,” he says.

“‘Course,” you say, tipping a shoulder. “I’m known to be rational from time to time.”

He chuckles, and you smile as you lay back down on his chest. Soon after, you feel the weight of his hand on your shoulder.

“I love you,” he says. It feels more like a reminder than anything.

You entangle your fingers together and press a kiss to the back of his hand.

Sometimes you need reminders.

“I love you too.”

“Four more bodies,” Prentiss mutters. “God.”

“You can say that again,” Morgan murmurs.

Hotch is silent as he examines the father’s body. They’ve been so busy the past few days trying to nail down the profile, both on their unsub and geographically, that this happening again hadn’t been at the top of their list. There was a month between the first two, and two weeks between the second and third.

No one expected this to happen so soon.

The entire family was killed this time, and once again, the parents look similar to the other victims. It’s the work of their unsub, no doubt.

Hotch and the team had already been at the precinct for an hour going over all the information they’d found when they got the call at 8 in the morning, the bodies discovered by the family’s maid when she arrived for work.

An entire family, parents and children, senselessly slaughtered for one man’s deranged quest for liberation.

Hotch has been in this business for a long time, seen things that most people only imagine in nightmares, and he still has to take a step back when children are involved.

He sees Jack in every single one. He can’t help it.

Hotch took Prentiss and Morgan with him to the crime scene—JJ has a kid, Rossi had a kid, and he just didn’t want Reid to see it. They’ll all be more valuable working together back there anyways, and it’s imperative that JJ controls the narrative before this can break to the press.

Again, Prentiss talks to the officers at the scene and Morgan helps him examine the bodies. After all, there are double the amount.

“It just doesn’t make sense,” Morgan says as he stands back up. “Our guy is killing surrogate parents to get back at his own, fine. Dad was tortured again, mom was killed with a bullet. But bringing the kids into it isn’t his thing.”

He uses a gloved hand to gingerly lift the father’s arm away from his body so he can examine the underarm. “Look at this. He’s been stabbed at least ten times, and his arm’s nearly severed from his body.”

“And his neck,” Morgan mutters. “He’s half decapitated.”

Hotch sets the arm back down. “The unsub always wants the father to suffer, but this is a new level.” He looks up at Morgan. “I don’t think he has a reason for killing the children. I think he’s getting sloppy—he’s getting overwhelmed by his anger.”

“You think he’s devolving,” he says, catching on.

“Something tells me we’re coming to the end of the line,” Hotch says. “Whatever he does next, he’s going out with a bang.”

The mood in the precinct has fallen dramatically since the last hit. The uniforms aren’t happy that they’re working around the clock, the chief isn’t happy that the BAU hasn’t figured everything out yet, and the city isn’t happy that ten murders have been committed with what they think is no end in sight.

JJ and Rossi have gone out to bring in the suspect that he and Morgan found together for the sake of covering their bases—they still haven’t been able to find Lucas, despite Reid calling you every day to check in and upping police presence around the city.

The rest of the team sits around a conference table, over a dozen coffees between them, going over everything and racking their brains for information.

“This just isn’t matching up,” Reid complains. “Lucas has just been at home for the first two, but for the third and the fourth he’s got alibis.”

“What are they?” Hotch asks.

“He was on the road all night when the third happened,” Reid says.

“And how do we know?” Prentiss asks.

“Garcia picked up his debit card being used a couple times from Des Moines back to St. Louis when the third set of murders happened,” Morgan contributes. “Must’ve been a road trip, because there are stops at a gas station, a restaurant, and a rest stop.”

“The last one happened during an AA meeting he was supposed to attend,” Prentiss says. “I called the leader and she said he was there.”

“Do we have footage from any of those places?” Hotch asks. “We need to make sure.”

Reid nods. “I asked her to check it all this morning, including the AA meeting. She must still be going through it—I can’t imagine it’s easy to get all that access.”

“What about a second unsub?” Morgan suggests.

Hotch shakes his head. “These are all meant to be personal for liberation—catharsis. Involving someone else would take away from the feeling.”

“What about your suspect?” Prentiss asks, looking at Morgan. “Could he be the unsub?”

“Patrick Fenton,” Morgan says, and he shrugs. “He fits it—dead parents, jail time, child of abuse. But he’s got two sisters, and his parents died when he was in his twenties from a car accident. I don’t see why he would start killing almost twenty years later.”

“Maybe we’ll figure something out in questioning,” Reid says hopefully.

Morgan’s phone suddenly goes off, and he hits the button to answer. “You’re on speaker, babygirl.”

“I found the security footage from those three places, the ones that Lucas was at on his supposed road trip when the third family was hit,” Garcia says, voice slightly tinny through the phone.

“And?” Hotch asks.

“I was getting there,” she says. “Lucas wasn’t there. He wasn’t on any of the footage—his sister was.”

Hotch frowns. You?

“You’re sure?” he asks.

“I’m always sure,” Garcia responds. “And I don’t know if Spencer is there, but he also wasn’t there at the AA meeting—I combed through the whole meeting, and he didn’t show up at any point. Just another guy that looked like him.”

“And you’re sure about that, too?” Hotch asks again.

“What is with this questioning of my abilities?” she asks, offended. “Yes. I’ve stared at so many pictures of Lucas Hartford over these past few days that I’ve got him burned into my brain.”

“Thanks, babygirl,” Morgan says. “We’ll call back if we need anything.”

“And you’re always welcome in this house of miracles,” she muses. Morgan chuckles before he hangs up.

“Lucas gave her his card,” Reid realizes. “It’s an easy alibi, but it falls apart when you look into it even a little bit.”

“Probably seemed solid to him at the time,” Morgan says. “He doesn’t seem like a detail oriented guy.”

Prentiss frowns. “That means he’s back on the chopping block. We can put him at the scene of every murder.”

Hotch leans over the table and grabs Lucas’s file, and he pulls out the page compiling his family. “His father died five years ago from liver failure. Hartford got out of jail last year.”

“If he’s been plotting some elaborate murder of his father for years, just to get out of jail and find out he drank himself to death?” Morgan shakes his head. “He’d snap. It doesn’t feel like justice.”

“He thinks he’s saving the kids of these parents that he kills,” Reid says. “He sees himself in them—he can’t look past his own childhood, and he assumes those kids must want their parents dead too.”

“He’s trying to get back at his dad,” Prentiss says. “We know that.”

“But that’s not his main goal,” Reid insists. “If his dad died when he was a kid, the abuse would have stopped. His mom wouldn’t be the battered wife anymore, and he wouldn’t be the battered kid.”

“His goal has always been protection,” Hotch realizes. “Yes, he’s getting his revenge by killing his father over and over, but ultimately, he’s trying to save himself.”

“But he didn’t anticipate the kids being home this time,” Prentiss says. “He had to kill them too.”

“If he‘s seeing himself in these children, recreating what he never got to do, then that means that he effectively died in this scenario,” Reid says.

“He didn’t get what he wanted,” Morgan says. “That’s gonna take a toll on him.”

“He’s coming to the end of the line,” Prentiss nods.

Hotch’s brain is working overtime as they work information off of each other. They’re so damn close—they just need the last piece of the puzzle. If they find Lucas’s next victim, they find him.

“His next crime will probably be his last before he goes out himself,” Reid says.

“You think it’ll be a murder-suicide?” Morgan asks.

“It’s common with family annihilators,” Reid says. “Hell, it’s common with anyone who sees no future beyond their murders. It’s their way out.”

And then the answer hits Hotch like a ton of bricks. Reid is still rambling next to him.

“If his dad was still alive, I’d say he would be the target. But the only one left—”

“—is his sister,” Hotch grits out, and he’s dashing out of the conference room before anyone can stop him.

“Hotch!” Morgan yells, and he turns to Prentiss with wild eyes. “Where the hell is he going?”

“The last victim,” she says as she starts following him. “The one person he never managed to save.”

“Goddammit,” Morgan curses, and he grabs his phone from the table, dialing Garcia as fast as she can while he runs. Reid is close behind him.

“What’s up, sugar?” she asks. “Got anymore leads?”

He laughs dryly. “We’ve got a big one, babygirl. Lucas has finally reached the end of the road — he’s going for his sister. I need you to call JJ and Rossi and—”

“Send them the Hartford address and fill them in on everything?” she interrupted, and he could hear her fingers flying across the keyboard. “Already on it.”

“What would I do without you?” he asks.

“Be half the man and twice as sad,” she says. “I’ve got to call JJ. Be safe, my love.”

“Always,” he responds, and he hangs up.

Hotch distantly registers Prentiss stopping by the chief to alert him of what’s going on, because he’s in the fog of a rampage. He’s in the driver’s seat before he knows it, starting the car, and he sees Prentiss, Morgan, and Reid running out after him.

Prentiss takes shotgun and Morgan and Reid file into the back, and they’ve all got Kevlar vests in their hands. He didn’t really think of that through his haze.

“We’ve got an extra one for you,” Reid says, reading his mind.

“Thank you. I— I know what you’re all thinking—” Hotch starts, but Prentiss shakes her head.

“Just drive.” Her lips set themselves in a taut line. “We’ve got a murder to stop.”

And he does.

You sit on the curb, surrounded on either side by a box of your things. Packing up everything made you realize how little you had at his place. You thought you’d integrated yourself into his life fully, but it really just took an afternoon while he was in a lecture to disappear.

Summer has fully turned to winter, and you’re as morose as the weather. This side of town looks so depressing without the warmer months to pick it up—the sidewalks are lined with dead trees, the grass is shriveled up and yellowing, and you feel like you’re living in grayscale.

A shiver runs through you, the weather only partly to blame.

Amy is supposed to pick you up, but as usual, she’s running late. You don’t know if it’s a personal issue or DC traffic has just struck again, but it doesn’t really matter. Either way, you’re stuck here, and your bad luck seems intent on making it worse, because you watch a familiar car pull around the corner.

It parks a distance away—there’s no space in front of the complex, and he always complained that they didn’t do assigned spots—and you have to hold back a scornful scoff.

Of course you have to deal with this now.

Aaron picks up his pace when he gets out of the car, surprise—and what you think is shame—painted on his face. He says your name when he slows down.

“You’re already packed.”

You shrug. “I’m nothing if not efficient.”

“I could’ve helped you with all this,” Aaron says, frowning.

“Why do you think it’s done already?” you ask.

His throat bobs and he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“Let me save you the pain of chivalry,” you say. “I’ve got a friend coming to pick me up. I’ve already found a place. I called your property manager the other day and argued my way out of the lease, but I still paid my next month. You’re welcome.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says.

“You know what they say about a clean break,” you intone.

“I’m sorry,” Aaron tries again. To his credit, he looks like he means it. Against his credit, it’s about the fiftieth time you’ve heard it from him in the past two weeks.

“I shouldn’t have let you get that coffee,” you say with a grim smile, “should I?”

His lips pull into a taut line. “I didn’t cheat on you.”

“I know,” you say. It’s the one thing you do believe. “I just don’t think you ever fell out of love with her.”

Mercifully, you see Amy’s car pulling up in the distance. She’s your only friend with an SUV, so at least your boxes will fit.

“My ride’s here,” you say as you stand up, and you pick up one of your boxes. Amy throws on her hazards and she gets out to open her trunk.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she breathes. “Traffic was awful, and Jake has been so annoying—”

“Don’t worry about it,” you say with a slight smile as you put your box in the back. “You’re already doing me a huge favor.”

“I want us to still be friends,” Aaron calls. When you turn back, he has your other box in his hands, his expression shamelessly desperate. Amy glares daggers at him.

“Why?” you ask innocently. “So I can go without talking to you for ten years, ask you for a coffee when I’m in town, and then get you to leave Haley?”

“That’s not what happened,” he says, but you’re already shaking your head.

You take the box from him and smile thinly.

“Have a good rest of your life, Aaron. I hope it doesn’t involve me ever again.”

You let out a noise of frustration as you struggle to get the key into the lock, gritting your teeth as you try to fit it in. It’s always been finicky, but you just don’t have the energy to deal with this tonight. Thankfully, just when you start getting annoyed, you get it open.

You get a few steps in before your eyebrows rise, the sight of your brother at the kitchen table a surprise. He’s got his head in his hands, and your surprise turns to concern.

“Lucas,” you say with a slight smile, shutting the door behind you, “I didn’t know you were gonna be home tonight.”

His attention shoots to you immediately as he says your name, and he looks slightly out of it. “I was wondering when you were gonna get back.”

“Stole the words right out of my mouth,” you say wryly, and you ruffle his hair with your free hand as you walk past him. He swats your hand away in brotherly protest, and you snort. “This place has been quiet without you. Well— except for the cops. They were pretty loud.”

“They haven’t been back, have they?”

You look back at him and notice his leg is bobbing up and down insanely fast, and he keeps scratching at the soft wood of your table with his nail.

Your smile fades. “Don’t tell me you’ve been drinking.”

“Of course I haven’t,” he insists, but you turn on the kitchen light, then move closer to peer into his eyes against his protests.

“At least you’re not high,” you murmur, taking one last look before you pull away. “And stop ruining the table. I need it to last for the next ten years.”

He huffs, and you can practically hear him roll his eyes, but he stops.

“Did you go to class today?”

“You don’t have to act like Mom,” Lucas says, crossing his arms again with another huff.

“And you don’t have to act like a child.” You roll your eyes as you set your tote bag on the countertop and begin unpacking the groceries you bought. “I’m asking you about your day—that’s definitely not acting like Mom.”

“Yes,” he mocks. “I went to class.”

“Good.” You glance back at him. “I’m proud of you, Luke. You’ve been making progress.”

His smile is a bit thin, but he nods. “Thanks. How was work?”

You scoff and shake your head as you put a couple things in the pantry. “Don’t even get me started. I swear, Marie’s going to get me fired someday if she keeps her bullshit up.”

“She’s still on it?” Luke asks, and you can’t help but smile a bit.

“Don’t act like you know what I’m talking about,” you say. “Just agree with me.”

“I agree with you,” he says.

“That’s it,” you muse.

Your eyes fall back on your bag, and you’re reminded of what you meant to do next time your brother showed up.

“Oh—” You go back over to the kitchen table for your bag and pull out your wallet. You slide a debit card out and hold it out to your brother. “Thanks for letting me use it while I was up in Des Moines. I finally got my bank to get rid of the freeze on my card.”

“...Of course,” he says, and he takes it back. “Glad I could help.”

“I’ll pay you back, obviously,” you say as you get back to your groceries. “I just have to wait to get paid again.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “And uh— you never answered me. Did the cops come by again?”

You huff a mirthless laugh and shake your head. “You have nothing to worry about, Luke. I think they finally realized they were barking up the wrong tree.”

“…Good,” he says. “I can tell they’ve stressing you out.”

“Like that looks any different than my normal state,” you say wryly. “Besides, it wasn’t that bad.”

You recall the shock you felt when you opened the door to Aaron, and how nervous you were on the drive to the precinct. It’s almost been a decade, and yet he still has an effect on you that he has no right to.

“You remember that guy I dated when I was still in law school? Aaron Hotchner?”

“I think? I was in jail, so.”

You roll your eyes. “I know I told you about him when I visited you while we were together.”

“I remember you telling me how he broke your heart,” Luke says.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“That he’s with the FBI now. The BAU,” you enunciate, and you huff. “He’s one of the guys on this case, coincidence that it is. They came here—they even brought me in for an interview.”

He frowns. “What’d you say?”

“The truth.” You pull your cutting board and a knife out of a drawer and get to work washing your vegetables. “That I didn’t know anything, and neither of us are involved in either way.” You shake your head with a sigh. “They must believe it, because they haven’t come back.”

“What have they said about me?” he asks.

“I’m not supposed to say.” You roll your eyes. “I think you’re innocent, but I could get charged with obstruction, and I really don’t feel like dealing with that…”

You trail off into a sigh as you finish washing the peppers and set them on a towel. “I hope they find whoever’s doing it, though. It is freaking me out that there’s a murderer out there.”

You pick up your knife and start cutting them up—they’re not the freshest, but it’s all Kroger had after work—and you glance back at Luke. “You really shouldn’t be going out so often with this going on, y’know. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m careful.”

“I doubt that,” you say wryly. “Still, though. I worry about you.”

“Shouldn’t it be the other way around?” he asks. “I’m your older brother.”

“I worry about everything,” you say. “It’s my thing.”

You hear him huff a laugh and you smile a bit to yourself. You get through your first pepper before you remember what’s been nagging at you your whole ride home.

“Oh— can you get the TV?” you ask. “Channel 8, I think. Marcy is getting interviewed for something with her nonprofit, and I told her I’d record it for her.”

Lucas doesn’t respond, though you hear the scrape of the chair as he gets up.

“Thank you,” you say. “I think they have a fundraiser coming up or something…” you trail off and shake your head as you scrape the cut peppers onto a plate. “God. I need to start paying attention in the break room.”

Another few seconds pass, and you don’t hear the television switch on. You huff and turn your head slightly. “Luke, I’m making dinner tonight. This is the least you could do.”

“I’m sorry.”

The words come out as a murmur, but you can tell he’s much closer than he was before.

You don’t even get the chance to turn around before something crashes against your head and your vision goes dark. You feel yourself fall to the ground, and your head hits the floor hard.

Then, there’s nothing.

Hotch has been breaking every speeding law there is.

The station isn’t too far from your house, but it’s still too far. All he can see is your body, crippled and lifeless just like every other victim they’ve had to look at.

It should never have gotten to this point. Lucas has been a suspect for the first day, but they looked to other suspects, got caught up in statements from neighbors and the kids of the victims.

If Hotch just found him and booked him on the first day, this wouldn’t be happening. Your life wouldn’t be in danger.

His hands tighten on the steering wheel.

“I seriously think we’re looking at a murder-suicide if this gets to play out,” Reid speaks up from the backseat. “This is his way of ending this for both of them—the ultimate protection of his sister.”

“No one can hurt her if she’s dead,” Morgan mutters.

“Hotch,” Prentiss starts, treading carefully, “are you sure you’re okay to lead this?”

“Yes,” he says, though he wants to say what kind of question is that?

You were together a lifetime ago in law school, yes, and he might still have feelings for you that he didn’t even realize were there, yes—but he’s an agent and a professional before all of that.

It doesn’t matter that you have history. It doesn’t matter that you likely hate him.

It doesn’t matter that he thought he was going to marry you one day, and then was watching you drive out of his life after he got back with his high school girlfriend another day.

Aaron Hotchner is not going to let you die. It’s as simple as that.

Hotch’s phone rings and he picks it up and flips it open immediately. “Talk to me, Garcia.”

“JJ and Rossi are on their way,” she says. “Are you headed to their place?”

“Yes,” he says, and he puts it on speaker. “I’ve got Prentiss, Morgan, and Reid with me still.”

“Do you think there’s anywhere else he could be?” Morgan asks. “If he’s going to kill her, he might not want to do it in this house.”

“Already a step ahead of you, my love,” she says, and he can hear mouse clicks through the phone. “They grew up in a house in St. Charles—it’s abandoned, from the looks of it, some place on the outskirts. Never got another buyer after the past owners moved out. I’m sending the address to Emily right now.”

Prentiss gets a buzz on her phone and she nods in confirmation after flipping it open. Hotch immediately switches lanes and makes a U-turn, his jaw clenching.

“Tell me how to get there, Prentiss,” he says. “He’s there.”

“You need to get on I-70,” she says, and then her brow furrows. “How do you know?”

“He’s killed everyone else in their homes because he sees it as the source of it all. His sister’s rented place isn’t personal enough.” Hotch shakes his head. “Why wouldn’t he want to go back to theirs to end it all?”

“Hotch.” Penelope’s voice rings out in the car, and he doesn’t even realize he forgot to hang up.

“What?”

“Be careful,” she says, and he rushes to turn it off speaker and press it to his ear. “I… I know how important this is to you.”

Hotch’s throat bobs and his eyes burn with the beginnings of tears. He blinks them away—he can’t be weak now. He can’t let his team see him be weak now. “Dare I ask how?”

“I found an article about GW’s mock trial team,” she says. “Kind of went down a rabbit hole from there.”

Somehow, he huffs the slightest laugh. It feels like a lifetime ago—it honestly is, at this point. Before he saw carnage and gore on a daily basis and tried to solve it, when he thought the DA’s office was the endpoint, when he came home to your smiling face every night.

And now…

Hotch’s spine somehow stiffens, and he knows the other three in the car are watching him. He can’t decide whether he cares or not.

“Thank you, Garcia.”

“No problem,” she says, and he can almost hear her blink in the pause. “Uh— for what, exactly?”

For the memory, he wants to say. But he doesn’t. He can’t, not right now, so he tries his best to snap out of it.

“Keep a watch on the patrol cars,” he says instead. “Update JJ and Rossi on our plan, but tell them to stay on their path. I’m sure I’m right, but we need to cover our bases.”

“Of course, sir.” He hears her fingers flying across the keys. “I’ve got yours and the squad cars’ locations up—I’ll call them now.”

“Thank you,” he says.

“Good luck, Hotch,” Garcia says softly.

Hotch hangs up before he gets too emotional. Penelope has a way of bringing that side out of him.

“We’ll get him,” Prentiss assures. She’s been watching him this whole time, he can feel it—she’s been attuned far too keenly on this entire part of the case involving you and him. “And we’ll save her.”

His knuckles go white around the steering wheel, and for once, Hotch can’t find the words.

It feels like your head is slowly being cranked in a vice when you eventually wake up, a dull but insistent pain. Your arm stings too, but you don’t know why.

You blink a few times as you try to figure out where you are, a low groan slipping out as you fully come back into consciousness, and you move to rub the grogginess out of your eyes.

Your arms don’t move. You try again, panic spiking your heart for a moment, and that’s when you realize you’re in a chair—tied to a chair, your wrists bound together behind you and your ankles bound to the chair legs.

Now the panic fully sets in. There’s a murderer in St. Louis, but you don’t fit the victimology from what you’ve seen, but does any of that fucking matter when you’re stuck in something out of a horror movie?

Lucas was the only one there with you. So either he’s in the same situation, or he—

“You’re finally awake,” a voice murmurs. When he comes into view and sits down across from you, your heart stops.

For a moment, all you can do is stare at your brother with wide eyes. You see the gun in his hand through your peripherals, but you don’t look away from his gaze.

“I was worried I was too rough,” he says softly. “But you’ve always been resilient.”

“Lucas,” you breathe. “What the fuck is this?”

“It’s finally going to be over,” he says, ignoring your panic. “We’ve been hurting our whole lives because of that bastard of a father, and I can finally make it all stop.”

Your brother is fucking crazy. He’s fucking crazy, and he’s going to kill you.

You’ve spent two weeks telling Aaron he was crazy and your brother was innocent, and now he’s going to be proven right when he finds your dead body.

You try to tamp down on your panic. You don’t have a law degree, sure, and you never officially practiced, but you’ve been a good speaker, a persuasive one, all your life.

And if there’s ever been a fucking time to be persuasive, it’s now.

“You don’t have to do this,” you whisper. “We— we can talk if you want to talk.” You tug at your ankle restraints. “This is unnecessary.”

He shakes his head. “I know you. You’d run.”

“Come on.” You manage as much of a smile as you can. “I’ve always been there for you, Luke. Why would this be any different?”

“...You’ve always been too nice,” he says, and he sets the gun down on his leg. At least he doesn’t have his finger on the trigger. “Anyone rational would’ve kicked me to the curb when I asked you for help.”

“You’re my brother,” you whisper. “I— I love you, Lucas. I’d never do that to you.”

“Family’s supposed to be everything, right?” He shakes his head. “You were the only one of us that understood that. You were there to pick me up every time my sentence was up.”

“I’ve always believed in you,” you say.

He huffs a monotone laugh as he stares at the ground. “You’re definitely the only one.”

You shake your head. “That’s not true.”

“Mom didn’t care enough to stop anything,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “And Dad wished I was dead every goddamn day. He didn’t have the guts to do it himself, but he definitely tried.”

You can’t defend your parents. Your dad’s a piece of shit, and your mom didn’t stop anything he did—but you could never find it in yourself to fully hate her because he hurt her too, with more than just bruises.

“I’ve dreamt of killing our dad every day for twenty years,” Lucas says. “And that old bastard had to fuck me over one last time and die while I was in jail.”

You remember when you got the news. You were next of kin—your mother had divorced him by then, and your brother was incarcerated—so you got the call from the hospital. You deliberated for hours before you bought a plane ticket to Montana—apparently that was where he fucked off to drink himself to death—and you don’t know if you’ve ever felt more numb than when you were sitting in some lawyer’s office, listening to him drone on about his will and how his estate would be divided.

“So you killed all of those people?” you asked. “Because you didn’t get to kill our dad first?”

“I was saving those kids!” Luke yells, and you shrink in on yourself. “Saving them before their parents could fuck them up like ours did to us!”

“You don’t have to do this,” you repeat. “You’re just letting Dad win. Proving every shitty thing he said about you.”

“And that’s the zinger, isn’t it? Luke laughs and shakes his head. “He was right. We’re a whole family of fuck-ups. An alcoholic abuser, a battered wife, a nonstop jailbird, and you…” He shakes his head with a sigh. “You should be out there prosecuting people like me.”

“He ruined us,” Luke murmurs. “And I’m finally going to fix it.”

All you can do is stare at your brother, wide and teary eyed. You can’t find the words, but you don’t have to.

Police sirens begin to filter through the air as they get closer, and Luke huffs. “Of course.” He eyes you. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” you say weakly.

When he leaves to peer out the front door, you take a second to look at your surroundings. It takes a second because they’re so decrepit, but you could never forget.

Luke brought you back to your childhood home—the place in St. Charles, rotten down to its bones. It’s abandoned by now, but the atmosphere is nothing less than oppressive. There’s a reason you graduated high school a year early, why you never came back once you got to college—except with Aaron, to help your mom move her things out.

You refuse to die here. Even if you have to claw back through the gates of Hell inch by inch—you will not die here.

You hear footsteps, and when Lucas comes back in, he has a crazed glint in his eye. He shakes his head as his finger returns back to the trigger, and you can’t help but flinch. He won’t. Not now.

“Looks like your friends the FBI are here,” he drawls. “You said you didn’t tell them anything.”

“I didn’t,” you insist. “They’re profilers—they figure things out.”

He shakes his head. “They don’t realize that I have to do this.” Luke kneels down in front of you and takes your chin in an iron grip. “This is the only way to end our pain.”

He lets go of you then stands up, moving behind you—you want to protest, but you don’t get the chance. He presses his gun to your temple and then the door is broken down. Four agents rush in, guns at the ready. Aaron leads them, and he’s got fire blazing in his eyes.

“FBI,” he barks. “Hands up.”

Lucas doesn’t seem fazed, his breathing staying the same. You stare right at Aaron, unfiltered fear in your eyes, and you feel torn bare. He’s going to watch your brother put a bullet in your head.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he says smoothly. “This is a family matter.”

“Put the gun down, Lucas,” Aaron says.

“You know my name,” he says. “I know yours too, Aaron Hotchner. My sister told me you were with the feds. She also told me you broke her heart.”

“Put the gun down,” he repeats.

“I don’t think I will,” Luke says. “You see, I don’t go around just kidnapping people for fun. I have a purpose here.” He tilts his head to the side. “But you know that, don’t you? You’re all profilers.”

“You’ve been targeting families that look like your own,” he says. “You think that killing them will end the pain inside you, and protect those kids in a way that you never got.”

“I don’t think it,” he bites, “I know it. If my dad had been shot thirty years ago, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“This isn’t going to bring you peace,” Aaron says. “Your sister has been the only person to stay by your side through every part of your life. Do you really want to lose that?”

“Trust me,” Luke says. “I’m not losing her.”

He flicks the safety off and you flinch. He’s going to kill you.

“Put the gun down,” another agent warns.

“If you all don’t leave right now, I’ll shoot her.” Your whole body stiffens as he presses the gun harder into the side of your head, your breathing going off kilter. “Except you, Aaron Hotchner. You can stay.”

“We’re not doing that,” the woman says. Agent Prentiss, you think.

“Really?” Luke chuckles. “You think you hold the cards here?”

“It’s okay,” Aaron says. “Go.”

Agent Prentiss frowns, and the other two men look different levels of puzzled. They obviously doubt the decision, but they don’t doubt Aaron, because one by one, they leave.

“Wow,” Luke muses. “They really trust you.”

“Because I know you don’t want to hurt her,” Aaron says. “Deep down, you know you’re not protecting her. Not by hurting her.”

“I’m not hurting her,” he says. “She’s always been the one to keep me safe over the years—I’m finally paying the favor back. I’m finally taking her pain away.”

“You were abused as children. Both of you.” Aaron looks at your brother. “Your sister always tried to protect you, but it never worked. It just made it worse for her, and it made you feel worthless. You’re her older brother. You’re the one that was supposed to protect her.”

“My sister said you’re profilers,” he says, and though his tone is lazy, you know your brother. You can tell it’s starting to get to him. “Is that what you’re doing right now? Profiling me?”

“You would never be good enough for your father, and your mother would never do anything to stop it,” Aaron continues. “All you had was your sister, and even that wasn’t good enough—you hurt her just as much as your dad did. At least your dad didn’t think he was a good person.”

Luke growls, and he puts a hand on your shoulder to pull you closer to him. “Shut up.”

“Your sister has told me you can be more than this,” he says. “And I think she’s right. You’re better than this—better than living between the margins and jail.”

“I’ve had a hole in my chest since I was born,” Luke mutters. “And I’ve tried to stop it, but it’s just grown and grown and grown. This— this aching pit of pain, and he caused it. You’ve got it too— I know it.”

“I— I do,” you say. And you’re not lying. You’ve had a pit of despair in you for as long as you can remember. The only difference is that you’ve fought every goddamn day of your life to keep it from consuming you. “And it hurts, Luke. Trust me, I know. It took me so long to even be able to deal with it, but I know how to. I can help you—we can both walk out of here.”

“No,” he whispers. “No—we can’t.”

“Yes, we can,” you plead. “I love you, Luke. I’ll spend every day of the rest of my life helping you if that’s what it takes to get rid of that hole.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. For a moment, you think you’ve gotten through to him. Aaron never takes his eyes away from you.

“I’ve never been able to protect her,” Luke murmurs. “Not from our dad, not from the world, not even from you, Aaron Hotchner.” He presses the gun harder than ever into your head, like he wants to bury the metal in your skull along with the bullet. “But that all ends now.”

You screw your eyes shut. You don’t want to see Aaron’s face when your brother kills you.

And then it happens so quickly you barely process it.

There’s two gunshots, almost at the same time. You scream, first because of the gunshots, then because of the sudden roaring pain in your side. There’s a thud next to you, your eyes shoot open, and you see your brother’s lifeless body fall to the ground.

You scream again—you can’t even control it, it just rips out of you at the sight of the hole in his head and the blood pooling beneath it—and Aaron drops his gun to rush forward. The rest of his team thunders in after him, all in guns and bulletproof vests, and they’re talking, but you can’t focus on a single goddamn thing because your brother’s dead body is right next to you.

Aaron pulls out a pocket knife and begins to cut through your restraints, and the instant he finishes you collapse. He catches you without a second thought, and you immediately wrap your arms around him.

Torrential sobs wrack your entire body as you bury your face in the crook of his shoulder, every part of you shaking as the reality of it all hits with full force.

Your brother is a serial killer. He killed ten people, he tried to kill you. And now he’s dead.

The only part you had left of your family—gone, just like that, with four other families ruined in his wake.

Aaron’s soft voice in your ear is the only thing bringing you back from the edge of hyperventilation, his own hold on you the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs and he shrugs off his windbreaker to wrap it around your arms. “You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

“He’s gone,” you choke out, voice muffled as you speak into his chest. “He’s gone, and he tried to—”

A fresh round of emotions hit you, unable to get the words out, and you fully break down in Aaron’s arms.

“I know.”

Aaron’s fingers linger on your side and you feel some dull pain, but you feel his breath still for a moment.

“You were shot,” he says with your name. “We have to get you to a hospital.”

You don’t even feel it. God, you don’t feel anything. There’s a distant ringing in your ears, an insistent pain in your skull, and you finally realize Aaron is right when you pull away and see the blood on his fingers.

But black spots start to fill your vision. You may not feel it, but your body holds the score. The pain intensifies in your side as your adrenaline starts to slow down, and you collapse against Aaron.

“Get an EMT in here!” he yells, keeping an arm wrapped around you. “We’ve got a GSW— she’s losing blood fast!”

You can feel Aaron’s rapid heartbeat, can feel his steady arms as he keeps you propped up. You feel the warmth of his body, feel the warmth draining out of yours.

“Aaron,” you whisper, your strength fading. You don’t think he hears you.

He helps you up and you’re suddenly hoisted onto a stretcher, and he’s beside you as the EMTs run you out of your childhood home. The night is a blurry canvas of red and blue lights, and your eyelids feel like they’re made of concrete.

“Aaron,” you try again, and you have enough left in you to grasp his cheek. “Thank you.”

And as the world goes black around you for the second time, you see his lips form your name.

It’s not a bad thing, you think before darkness overtakes you, for Aaron Hotchner to be the last thing you see before you die.

You wake up in the hospital alone.

You don’t know what you expect. You have few acquaintances, fewer friends, and the last part of your family is dead after he tried to kill you.

The real surprise is that you wake up at all.

Lucas is dead.

He tried to kill you. You thought he succeeded.

You let out a slow, even breath, accompanied only by the sounds of beeping machines. It still doesn’t exactly feel real.

You’ve spent the last two weeks defending your brother against every accusation, and you ended it in the hospital—well and truly alone for the first time in your life.

You look at the television. Some muted soccer game is playing, and you’re thankful. You were worried that you and your brother would be the topic of the day.

Who are you kidding? You’re going to be the topic of the year. He killed ten people. He tried to kill you, and you think he nearly did. He shot you, after all.

You let your head fall back against the pillow. All of your limbs feel insurmountably heavy, your side aches like hell, and you’ve got the worst headache of your life.

And you can’t stop playing it all over in your mind.

He was going to kill you.

Your own brother, your flesh and blood, the only person you had left, tried to kill you and would have killed you had it not been for the BAU.

Had it not been for Aaron Hotchner.

The door opens and someone walks through, your eyes following the movement, and when he sees it, he pauses. And so do you—apparently the devil appears even when you think of him.

“You’re awake,” Aaron says after a moment. It’s the third time he’s sounded surprised since you’ve met him again. Seeing you, finding out your mom is dead, seeing you.

But there’s relief there, too.

He has a coffee in his hand and his tie is undone, the sleeves of his white undershirt rolled up to his forearms. It makes you realize his suit jacket has been slung over the back of the chair near your bedside.

“How long have you been here?” you ask, your brows furrowing ever so slightly.

Aaron closes the door and sets his coffee on the table before he answers you. “Three days.”

“And how long have I been here?”

“Three days,” he says. “You suffered head trauma, they discovered drugs in your system, and… you were shot. You had to go into emergency surgery.”

You frown, and he answers before you can ask any of them. “…Your brother. After he knocked you out, he used something to… keep you out. And after I shot him, he still got one off—thankfully, as he was falling. The bullet hit you in the side instead of the head.”

“How bad was it?” you ask.

Aaron glances away. “You died on the table. They managed to bring you back, but…”

“I guess Luke did succeed,” you say absentmindedly. Aaron doesn’t laugh, and you glance away too. “Sorry. Bad time for jokes.”

He shakes his head. “If anyone’s allowed to joke about this, it’s you.”

Your lips twitch for a moment, but then you look back at him as he takes a seat at your bedside again. He looks— god, he just looks tired. Tired and ragged and downtrod, and you can’t imagine you look much better.

“You were out for two days after,” he explains. “This is the first time you’ve woken up.”

“Why are you here, Aaron?” you ask quietly. “Why have you been here?”

Aaron frowns. “Where else would I be?”

Your throat feels like it’s closing up, and you feel the telltale pinpricks of tears. You blink them away before they can start.

“My brother was a serial killer, Aaron.” Your hands clench into fists as you stare at the wall. “He killed ten people while he was living with me and I— and I didn’t even fucking notice.” Your gaze moves back to him. “I went against all of you because I thought I knew him, and look where it got me.”

“It’s not a crime to want to see the best in people,” he says. “Especially your family.”

“It’s a crime to fucking murder people,” you huff, and it’s only slightly unhinged. “I— I thought I knew him, and I didn’t. And if I did, maybe none of these people would’ve had to die.”

“Don’t blame this on yourself,” Aaron demands. “Lucas was lost. Mentally ill. He was on a path for revenge, for his deranged idea of protection—nothing you could have said or done would have stopped him.”

You shake your head. “It might be easy for you to say that, Aaron, but I— I can’t. He’s my brother. I gave him a place to live, I gave him easy access to families— god, I fought with you all for two weeks about his innocence, all while he was planning his next fucking murder!”

“It is not your fault,” he repeats, slower and enunciating the words. “He was the only member left of your family, and you loved him. You were just stubborn, and that’s nothing new.”

“I just don’t know what to do.” You’ve had these walls up for so long, especially this past week, and now that everything’s come to a head and you’re in the hospital and your fucking brother is dead, the floodgates have opened. “I have to plan a funeral because I’m the only one left to plan one, but— but does he even deserve one? He’s a serial killer, and he tried to kill me for god’s sake, but he’s my brother and even though he’s gone he’s still all I have left and—”

You break off as you suck in a huge breath of air, the notion shaky as you clench your hands into fists to keep the rest of your body from doing the same.

“And I just don’t know what to do,” you repeat, barely a whisper.

You meet Aaron’s eyes, almost desperately. You feel like you’ll shatter into a million different pieces if you even breathe wrong and he might be the only solid thing in your life.

“Whatever you do,” he says, “you don’t have to do it alone. Not if you don’t want to.”

“Aaron,” you start shakily, but he continues.

“I know what you think, and that’s not what I’m suggesting.” Aaron pauses for a moment, and it’s obvious how carefully he’s crafting his words. “I’ve… always regretted how we left things. And I regret losing touch with you. This isn’t the way I would’ve liked to meet you again. But I’m thankful I have.”

He pulls a card out of his shirt pocket and holds it out to you. You realize it’s his business card, and it’s got his number.

“I’m sorry for the formality,” he says dryly, “but I don’t exactly go around prepared to give out my number for purposes other than work.”

You take it without giving yourself the chance to think about it. You run your finger around the sharp edge of the cardstock, pressing the pad of your thumb against the corner.

“Years ago, you wished me a good life, and that you didn’t want to be involved in it,” he says, still treading carefully. You can’t believe he remembers the last thing you said to him. “But— but a lot has changed since then, and I hope that has as well.”

“I’d like you to be a part of my life again,” Aaron finally says, “if you want to be a part of mine.”

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him. Two and a half years of law school flash behind your eyes—coffee shop dates and endless hours spent studying at the library. Movie nights cuddled on his couch, hauling boxes out of your house at an ungodly hour to get away from your roommates. An unhealthy amount of all-nighters immediately followed by going out to celebrate a miracle of an A on an exam. Getting through every soul-sucking part of earning a J.D. together, falling apart before either of you could make it to the other side, and somehow…

Somehow, you’ve ended up on a completely different side together.

“My life isn’t going to be easy,” you say faintly. “Especially… moving through this.”

“My life isn’t easy either,” he says. “I’m divorced with a kid and I try to solve murders every day.”

“It’s not a contest.” An attempt at a joke, but it falls flat for you. Aaron’s lips still quirk at the edges the slightest bit.

“Getting through this certainly won’t be easy,” he agrees. “But I have more experience than most in these sorts of things. So if you ever need anything, call. Please.”

“I imagine you’re pretty busy,” you murmur. “Unit chief and all.”

Aaron shrugs. “I make time for the things I care about.”

Thankfully, you don’t have to figure out how to respond to that, because there’s a knock on the door, and a nurse walks in after you call a come in.

“It’s good to finally see you awake, sweetheart,” the nurse says with a smile. It warms you from the inside out.

“It’s nice to be awake,” you say. Her smile widens and she moves over to the computer in the side of the room—to add some things before she makes her checkup, you assume.

“I’ll give you some time alone,” Aaron says.

Before he can stand up, you grab his hand. It’s fully on instinct, and he looks just as surprised as you feel.

“Don’t go,” you plead, and it’s almost a whisper. “I— just— please.”

Aaron stares at you for a moment, that shock glinting in his eyes before it transforms into something a lot warmer. He nods and sits down.

“Okay.”

And he stays.

This time, he stays.

#i was truly possessed while writing this i can't understand it #i wrote 15k words in 5 days #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner imagine #sadie writes

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abbyromanoff · 6 months

Text

CHOKEHOLD

PAIRINGS: Emily Prentiss x bsf’s child!reader

WORD COUNT: 2704

WARNINGS: smut, anal play, kinda dark Emily, manipulation, poorly written smut tbh, innocence kink, possessiveness, fingering, multiple orgasms, Mommy (E), squirting, cnc, somnophillia, R is JJ’s kid, think that’s all :)

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!

“Love you, Mom. Bye, guys!” Emily watched as you kissed your mom goodbye, the sweet gesture causing her to grin. You waved to the group, walking through the glass door and heading towards the elevator. She knew it was now or never, this was her chance to make her move.

“Alright, I think it’s about time I get home. Why don’t you guys get an early night?” She was usually the last to leave, which is what confused the team. JJ furrowed her brows, spinning in her chair to face the older woman.

“You never go home early, not even on Friday nights.” She noted before a smirk took over her face. “Unless, Emily has somewhere to be.” She teased, causing Garcia to coo as she took a seat next to the blonde. She rolled her eyes, eyeing the clock as she estimated the time of your arrival.

“I didn’t sleep much last night, I’m tired.”

“And why didn’t you sleep much, hm? Were you too busy, say, entertaining other parties?” She flipped the woman off before disappearing past the doors, cursing herself for staying so late before rushing to her car. She started the engine in no time, instantly pulling out of her spot as she followed the coordinates. Her mind never once left you, and she started to worry if she absentmindedly blew a light or took a wrong turn. But she didn��t care, all she wanted was to get home to you.

Her fist came pounding on the wooden door, her gaze falling on every crack and seam that could be used as easy entry, she’d have to warn you about those.

“Em? I, uh, what are you doing here?” You questioned, only to be silenced as she pushed you into your flat, shutting the door behind her while your back hit the cold wall.

“What the fuck, Em-” She cut you off quickly, placing her fingers atop your lips as your breaths became the only sound to fill the room.

“There’s someone after you, and I’m here to protect you.” You furrowed your brows together, kicking away her digit as she towered over you. Her gray hair framed her face, and every line only showed her experience.

“Wha- Why isn’t my mom here, then?” She bit her lip, causing you to repeat yourself. She knew she had to act fast before threatening your trust in her lie.

“They don’t know, okay? Look, you have to trust me-”

“No, I want to know what the fuck is going on.” You pushed, scoffing when she remained silent for far too long. She shoved your shoulders back, forcing you to remain still as she took a moment to admire your expressions in a time of such weakness.

“There’s someone from my past that- that the team doesn’t exactly know about, and when I parked here last week to give you back that sweater you forgot at your mom’s, I noticed his car and I saw him leave the moment he saw me. I- I can’t risk putting you in danger, and since I already have, I’m going to do everything in my power to protect you from it.” It wasn’t entirely false, there was a time in her life when she was haunted by her past, causing her arrival in Paris. But that was when you were so young, you wouldn’t remember a single thing, which she used to her advantage.

“You don’t need to believe me, but all I ask is that you let me stay here, and you let me protect you.” You bit back a snarl and sighed, brushing her off as you brought yourself to the couch.

“I don’t have a spare, you can take the bed.”

“No, this is your place, I’m not going to take that from you. I say we share but if that’s not what you want, then I’ll have the couch.” She debated, crossing her arms over her chest as she examined the building. She wanted it to seem like she was checking in fear of danger, but really she was trying to get a picture-perfect memorization over every inch. That way she could have a better view from beneath her blankets when her fingers were buried deep inside of her.

“Fine, we’ll share.” You mumbled, clicking through endless amounts of channels before losing hope and tossing the remote to the side.

“You don’t have to stand there like a brick wall, you know. We’ve known each other since I was little, you’re allowed to speak.” She took a breath before taking the spot next to you, adjusting her suit jacket before ruffling it off. Your eyes fell to the biceps threatening to break past the tight blouse, but looked away before she could spot you, little did you know she knew the entire time.

“So, you graduated correct?” You nodded, leaning on your hand as your elbow rested on the wooden frame of the sofa. “What was your major again? Psychology?”

“Yeah, I guess I just really wanted to follow down my Mom’s footsteps.” She mimicked your pose, letting the tightness in her muscles loosen with a sigh.

“Well, I think she’d be very proud of her little girl following her lead. In fact, JJ goes on and on about how lucky she is to have a child like you, and I agree, she is quite lucky.” She chuckled at your darkened cheeks, using her thumb to stroke the soft skin after brushing a hair out of the way. It felt right being with you like this, everything seemed to feel right with you. She didn’t know why, no brain she studied had ever given her a clear image as to what differed from hers. She just felt so protective over you, she didn’t want anyone else to get close to you. Knowing you were here, all alone, with no protection until she arrived, it scared her more than she could express.

“I don’t know about that,”

“I mean it! Anyone would be so happy to have someone like you in their life, not only are you such a hard worker, but you’re also the sweetest person I know. Just don’t tell your Mom I said that, she thinks she’s my favorite.” You laughed, slapping her chest lightly as you felt your chest warm. You instinctively shuffled closer, your feet digging under her legs to search for warmth while her hand rubbed your thigh softly to provide you heat.

“Now I feel bad for yelling at you by the door.” You admitted, bringing her to scoff playfully, showing that she wasn’t truly mad at you.

“Oh, don’t stress it, love, I would be pretty annoyed if someone came pounding at my door too.” You gave her a soft smile, letting the comforting silence embrace the both of you before you leaned your head onto her shoulder. She kissed the top of your head gently, getting a small whiff of your shampoo, making her hum in delight.

An hour later she found herself lying next to you, sighing as the comfort of the sheets embraced her. You were in the next room brushing your teeth, and she didn’t try to stop herself as she peeked under the short bottoms you wore.

“I’m keeping my gun nearby, I hope that’s alright with you.” You crawled next to her, tossing the covers over your frame as you shut off the small lamp. She did the same, frowning as your back turned to face her.

“Yeah, that’s okay.” She hesitated before wrapping her arms around your tired body, letting her face press into your neck with a soft smile. You stiffened but eventually relaxed in her hold. You let yourself fall into a slumber, a peaceful sensation falling over you as images flashed through your mind regularly.

Emily admired the softness in your small snores, she felt grateful to be let in, but she felt worried at how easily you let her pass by with a lie. Anyone could’ve made up something similar and got free entrance, she was just lucky you knew her well enough to trust her.

She knew there was no hope in holding back now, this is what she came to do, to make you hers. She didn’t care if you were her best friend's child, you were old enough to make your own decisions and she was going to lead you into making the right one.

“‘M sorry, baby girl, I promise I’ll make you enjoy it.” Her fingers trailed below your large shirt as they pinched your sore nipples, her breath coming out shallow as her eyes fluttered shut. She pressed her crotch into your backside, letting her false cock rut into you.

“You wouldn’t mind if I just,” She brought them lower, causing her palm to rub against your clit as she teased your tight hole. “Touch you right here, would ya’, baby?”

She wished you were as pure as she wanted you to be, she wanted to be your first but could easily tell that she wasn’t. Instead, she let herself picture it late at night when she was all alone. She’d draw her digits in-and-out of you while you clung onto her, begging her to let you cum for the first time. She hoped you thought about it too, but she doubted it. She could read anyone, but you were like a closed book someone forgot to pick up.

“Fuck, you’re so warm, I could stay like this forever.” She inhaled the residue of your perfume and lotion, they were fading but she basked in all of it. She could feel her wetness grow, biting her lip as she continued to grind into your backside. The strap teased her clit, bringing her great ounces of pleasure.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.” She kissed down your shoulder blade as her mouth parted, a loud moan escaping her. You shuffled in your sleep, your eyes fluttering open as you adjusted to the dark room with minimal light coming from the window. You gasped, your hand falling to meet her touch. Her fingers were plunged deep inside of you, thrusting in and out as you gushed around her.

“F…fuck! Em, g-get off,” She chuckled, using her free hand to rid you of your bottoms completely. A slap came to your ass, eliciting a groan from your end.

“If you really wanted me to stop, you would’ve left by now.” You looked down, noticing she was no longer keeping you hostage in her hold. You still didn’t move, gulping as you settled in. Truth was, you had a crush on the older woman since your teen years. It was normal in the beginning, that was until you moved out and your loneliness grew. With the loneliness came a deep arousal that was unable to be removed, the only way to cure it was desperate women at the bar that reminded you of the woman. Your fingers were never enough, but you knew hers would be more than needed.

“Please, Emily-“ You chewed your lower lip, regretting the words the moment they left you. She smirked through a chuckle, sighing as she slowed her pace, bringing a high-pitched whine from past your lips.

“What was that? Please, what, Y/N?” When you came up unresponsive, she repeated her question, slowing even further until she was stilled completely.

“No- d-do that again, please,” Your hand lowered under your shirt as you palmed at your chest, shuddering as your sensitive nipples hardened to a peak.

“Mm, aren’t I already giving you what you want? I thought you wanted me to stop, so I stopped.” You couldn’t bear to face her, not in this moment, not in this level of heat.

“I…I want you to keep going, it feels really, really fucking good.” She hummed, and that’s when you felt the strap pressed into you. You were so consumed in the threshold of her long digits, you failed to notice what else she was planning.

“God, I want to fuck this ass so damn bad. You want that? You want Mommy to fuck your tight ass, yeah?” Her breath was ragged, her lips in a frenzy on your neck. You choked out a whimper, nodding your head slowly as you mumbled a small agreement.

“Would I be the first, hm? Is Mommy going to be the first to stretch out this little hole?” She lowered her pants, the fabric tight against her skin as they were a borrowed pair from you. You insisted she got out of the jeans she wore to work, even if they fit her body perfectly.

“You’re the first, Mommy.” That was all the permission she needed as she thrusted her hips forward, the tip teasing your hole in a rough, yet gentle manner. Her lips came close to your ear, her teeth sinking into the skin as you yelped in pain.

“Oh, don’t I love making you cry like a whiny little bitch.” She eased in the first few inches for what felt like years but only lasted a few minutes. It felt painful, as if there was a fire pooling inside of you. That was until it slowly started turning pleasant, causing a satisfying sensation to take over you. Her digits slid in and out of you slowly, her thumb taking to rub your clit in small circles, but it was enough to cause your brain to fog up. Your tongue peeked its way past your lips, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your hips had a mind of your own, grinding against both penetrating objects.

“Such a good fucking girl, Mommy loves her little girl so much.” You cried out, gripping her arm tightly as you shoved your face into the pillow to muffle the noises she forced out of you.

“No, no, you’re going to let me hear every single moan and whimper and cry; I’m not letting you off that easily.” Her length was now more than halfway through the barrier you set. You followed her hand, feeling a small bulge touching the surface. You pushed yourself impossibly closer to her, letting out a weak whimper.

“Mommy, I,” Your legs shook as you clenched tightly around her, soaking her fingers in your sweet nectar.

“It’s okay, baby, make a mess all over me. That’s it, Mommy is so proud of you, sweetheart.” She drove her hips with a harsher pace, watching as your hole squeezed her until she could barely move. She didn’t stop her ministrations, making you twitch in excitement and pain.

“It’s t-too much, Mommy.” She rubbed your clit faster, her groan evident as your juices sprayed across the sheets. You wept loudly, not caring for the neighbor's complaints the next day, they already disliked you, there was no point in trying to amend that.

“No, it’s not. You can go back to sleep, dove, Mommy just wants to play for a little bit longer.” You both knew there was no possibility of you resting after this, you’d both be continuing until the sun rose.

“Your Mom is going to fucking kill me, but, God, I want to taste you so bad.” Your eyes widened as you remembered the plans you and your mother were having the next day. She was supposed to come over for lunch before the two of you would leave to go shopping as she insisted you needed decorations for your new apartment. Emily couldn’t be here when she arrived, she’d instantly get an understanding of who left the dark marks over your neck, anyone who saw you would easily be able to guess the activities that were to be had the night prior, but it didn’t help that it was her job to read people like books.

“I don’t care, just fuck me, Mommy…please?” The moment you spoke she knew she was going to fulfill whatever request you made, and your small, tired voice only proved that. She bit her tongue, leaning close as she placed her digits on your lower lip, dragging it down as you took the offering with a grateful sigh.

“Whatever my girl wants, they get.”

#emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily prentiss #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss smut #Emily prentiss fluff #Emily prentiss angst #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #Emily prentiss x reader smut

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jessicaslittlelovesickmess · 1 year

Text

Reunited

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader, Emily Prentiss x Platonic Fem!Reader, Penelope Garcia x Fem!Reader

Warning: mentions of cheating, teasing, divorced parents

Word count: 928

"While you all stay at some hotel, I'm going to stay at my mother's house. Penelope too" Emily smirked as she sat down at her desk "I thought you didn't like Elizabeth?" Spencer asked. "Not her. Y/n" she rolled her eyes "Hotch's ex-wife?" Derek questioned as he walked in "yeah?" Emily flung her hand around.

"Hotch is going to have a blast with this one" Rossi laughed silently as he listened in "And I miss my little sister" she admitted bashfully.

"Where's Emily?" Hotch sighed as the team began gathering at the jet "She might have taken the earliest flight last night with Penelope to go stay with her mom" JJ winced.

Aaron let himself into your home a day after they arrived in town, wanting to find his two missing members "Mommy there's a strange man inside!" a young girl had panicked. You had come running at her scream, not thinking before getting him to the ground face down "I see you've still got it" he joked with a wheeze "Aaron?" you gasped.

"Are you crazy?" you yelled getting off him "What are you doing here?" helping him off the ground, your daughter running to hide behind your legs. "I hear you have two of my agents" he commented straightening his tie "They're out" you shrugged placing a hand on the girl's shoulder.

"I'll be sure to call you when they're back though" you forced a smile trying to push him out of the home "Look Y/n. I'm sorry" he apologised with a deep breath. "Well, Aaron. thank you but it's many years too late" you smiled sarcastically "I know" he winced "and yet you still tried" you chuckled airily.

"Please Y/n. I'm trying" he rubbed his face "I don't know what you want from me" you admitted honestly "My girls have gone out like I said, there's not much I can do" shaking your head. He only smiled "What about coffee?" he asked "I can wait for them to get back and knowing you, there's probably fresh baked goods" he stepped forward.

"You're insane you know that" you chuckled "You might have told me a few times" he shrugged "You're so annoying" he mocked watching your mouth open. Taking a deep breath you lifted the girl onto your hip "Follow me" as you ventured into the spacious kitchen.

Emily and Penelope held their breaths as they walked into the home half expecting there to be screaming and yelling, things being thrown or smashed. It was no secret that your divorce from Hotch had been messy, you were devoted to the man and loved him endlessly but he had cheated with his high school sweetheart.

What they had seen was something completely different, Hotch was sitting at the table with your daughter colouring as you cooked lunch. He asked the girl questions here and there, most of them you hadn't been able to hear nor her answers as they spoke, there were cakes and various sweets around them.

"This is lovely" Emily teased placing her bags by the door followed by Penelope "We aren't in trouble are we?" the blonde asked nervously. "Nonsense" you smiled beginning to serve everything "Can you girls help with the table please?" Emily nodded stealing a brownie as she packed things away.

Penelope stuffed a cupcake into her mouth as she grabbed the utensils, Hotch felt a little out of place- sure he used to be married to you and this was your normal but it felt odd. Maybe it was the fact you had a child of your own now? or that you looked amazing yet he couldn't sneak up behind you wrapping his arms around your smaller frame to press a kiss to your neck whispering how great you looked?".

He knew he fucked up big time and that maybe it was the fact you weren't his anymore that hurt the most. He had hurt you, neglected you, cheated and still he wanted you more than anything.

Lunch had gone smoothly- too smoothly, it felt like your old Saturday lunches with the girls as you all talked and laughed until it became the time Aaron cleared his throat after.

He thanked you for the food but admitted that he had to get going and the girls too, you walked him to the door leaning against the frame "Why can't they stay Aaron?" you whispered looking up at him. "Why must you punish me more?" you asked as tears gathered along your waterline "You come here looking all hot and I can't do a damn thing about it but just.. Look".

"You think I didn't have the same thoughts watching you... Y/n I regret everything that I did to hurt you but now I've got a son and you have a daughter who has a father somewhere".

"He's here" you confessed "Where?" placing a hand to his chest you repeated yourself "Me?" he asked confused "I was going to tell you that day but I had found you two and I- just... it never happened and well you didn't want children at the time".

He cupped your face gently as you looked down "You're telling me that I have missed out on almost ten years of that little girl's life because I didn't know just what I had until you were gone?"

"In two months, I'll come back. I'll bring my little boy Jack and the girls too, we'll go to our old little cabin cause your birthdays coming up and that's how we'll celebrate".

“Together”

#imagine #wlw #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #penelope garcia x reader #emily prentiss x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #penelope garcia #criminal minds #bau x reader

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bloodlustngore · 1 year

Text

Stolen Hoodie - Emily Prentiss

This was already uploaded on my Wattpad but I forgot to put it on here so this one shot is kinda late :)

Emily had been on a case for a few days, and Y/n missed her girlfriend so she decided to wear Emilys favourite red hoodie, and go to bed in it. Emily comes home late at night and wakes Y/n up as she looks for her hoodie, realising that Y/n has her hoodie on.

This has been sat in drafts for ages so not really proofread bcos cba so if it's bad oops 😬

Your girlfriend Emily Prentiss had been on a case for a few days now, you had Sergio the cat that you both adopted. But even he was missing his first mom to the point he sometimes waited at the door a few times waiting for her to come home.

You and Emily had been texting back and forth though, whenever she can. Texting you 'good morning' or 'good night' both of you asking how each other have been. She even called you yesterday, saying that she could be home today, but not a specific time. You understood Emily's job was difficult, that you both couldn't spend every single day with each other, she was an FBI Agent, while you worked as a nurse.

It was difficult for you to both be apart quite a bit, but atleast you had an apartment together. And Emily's team practically became your chosen family as much as it did hers, they were always happy to see you whenever they had days off, or whenever Emily forgot something at home, or when they were having gatherings at Rossi', a br, and those ladies nights with JJ and Garcia with Emily. Shes been with them for three years now, whereas you and Emily have been together for five years.

You fed Sergio, then made yourself some food, before taking a shower and then drying your hair. You wished Emily was here because you missed showering with her, it was something you had both gotten used to for quite a while now. Going into the closet you shared with your girlfriend. You missed her so much to the point you went to her side and found her favourite red hoodie.

Emily had this hoodie for quite a few years now, there were a few cigarette burns on the end of the sleeves, which was an indication shes had this since around high-school or college. She had mentioned that she had this for a while. It smelled like her, and all you wanted to feel right now was as if she was here.

You checked your phone whilst you climb in bed, after you put on the hoodie and a pair of pyjama shorts. Emily hadn't seen or replied to your text and it had been two hours. She was probably busy. You tried to stay awake for as long as you could, but it was one in the morning and you felt tired. Sighing you put your phone on the bedside table.

You heard the little patters of Sergio running into the bedroom, jumping up and meowing at you. You pet him and he immeditely curled up on your side of the bed with you. "I know bud, I miss her too. Emily will be home soon, though." You spoke, tiredly.

~~~~

Emily had only just gotten her girlfriends text when she landed and got a lift back with Hotch, Reid and Derek to Quantico, so she could get her car and go back home. She had missed Y/n and Sergio so much that she was glad to be finally home and rid of that unsub. Saying her goodnights to the others as they got to Quantico, Emily got in her car in the parking lot and couldn't wait to get home to her favourite person and cat.

It was two in the morning, so she tried to be as quiet as she could, when opening the front door. The moment she stepped into the apartment, she let out a quiet sigh, putting her go-bag on the kitchen counter, she would sort that out when she wakes up but right now she wanted to see her girlfriend and just go to bed, she did think about having a shower then realised that it was too late and she didn't want to wake Y/n up.

Walking to the bedroom, she tried to be quiet, as she turned the light on. But the moment she did, Sergio immeditely sat up and very loudly meowed. Jumping into Emilys arms. Y/n stirred in her sleep.

"Hi Serg, I missed you too but don't wake Y/n up" Emily mentions, practically talking to the cat. She put Sergio down onto the bed and he suddenly climbed on top of Y/n' chest and made her stir in her sleep again when he put his paw on her nose. This was something he had done for a while now whenever Emily came home and Y/n fell asleep, it was the cutest thing. As if he was worried Y/n would miss her if she didn't wake up quick enough and she'd be gone a few days again, and then he ran into the hallway.

Emily walked into the closet, and stripped off all her clothing, putting them in a laundry basket. She wanted to wear a hoodie because it was the quickest thing to put on. But she couldn't find her favourite, red hoodie.

"Now that is a vision" Y/n smirked, as she stood in the doorway of the closet, admiring the slightly older woman who was very naked in front of her. "Hi, I missed you so much Emily" Y/n mentions.

Emily smiles at Y/n, when she realises that she was wearing her red hoodie. "Thats why I can't find my hoodie" Emily chuckled. "I missed you too Y/n" she added.

"I'm sorry, I just missed you and it smells like you and-"

Emily interrupted Y/n with a quick kiss, before she went back to slipping on t-shirt and some pjyama bottoms. "Don't worry, I like it on you anyway. Looks so much better on you." Emily adds.

Y/n smirks at her girlfriend, pulling her in for another kiss, this time the kiss was passionate and needy, they'd been away from each other a few days so it was to be expected. Emily squeezed Y/n' ass slightly as she picked her up, throwing Y/n down onto their bed, as she straddled her hips. "We should sleep" Emily chuckles.

"I like the sound of that, does that mean you have a few days off?" Y/n hoped that she did. Then again Emily could be called back into work at any time. "Since that was a big case, Hotch has advised us to take two days off. So we have a whole forty-eight hours, longer if theres not another case which will be highly unlikely. And I want to take you out. That's if I don't get called in on those two days off" Emily adds.

"God, I've missed you Em" Y/n sighs.

"And I've missed you to Y/n. Emily adds, as she climbs under the sheets with her girlfriend, wrapping her arm around her waist and pulling her close. Turning the lamp off, Sergio of course comes running back in and finds a space at the end of the bed, curling up.

Y/n was glad that Emily was finally home, even if it doesn't last so long.

#emily prentiss #criminal minds #emily prentiss x reader #fluff

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codename-mom · 4 months

Text

It's a piece of cake

Summary: Jack is turning six and Penelope wants to do something for the occasion, but Hotch may have a bad news for her. Or maybe not.

Characters: BAU team (Pentagone JJ's era) and Jack, Will and Henry

Contents: TW mention of nausea, but it's completely safe. :)

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

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

___

Hotch was trying to figure out why there was a seventeen pennies discrepancy in the agency's accounts when a tornado rolled into his office.

“Sir! Sir! Sir!”

“Garcia, calm down, he ordered her softly. And stop calling me “sir”, please.”

The young woman had been working under him for seven years and still hadn't broken this embarrassing habit. He knew why she did it – because he still impressed her despite the deplorable state she'd already seen him in – but it bothered him terribly every time. This "sir", supposedly respectful, added twenty years to his real age and added a layer of austerity to his already cold and distant appearance.

“… Hotch?” she murmured, suddenly shy.

“Better. What… why are you here?”

“I don’t disturb you, I hope?”

Aaron glanced in the direction of his interminable table of numbers and commas, still broken, then returned to his guest.

“… No. Go on.”

“Okay, she commented, starting to fidget again. It’s Jack’s birthday this week, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Thursday.”

“Perfect! That's exactly what I noted, she pointed out with a certain pride. Would… would you like me to prepare a little surprise party for him this weekend?”

If there was one thing the director hated, it was seeing disappointment on the faces of people he loved. And even more so on Penelope's plump face, which held a special place in his heart. Jack adored the technical analyst, who gave him all sorts of odds and ends every chance she got, and who told him extraordinary stories with boundless energy. And the agent cherished the little boy as if he were her own, never failing to notice that he was the unit's first baby – a fact that seemed crucial to her. Both would have gladly accepted this proposal. But…

“… In other words, there's already a party planned for him this weekend. Saturday, to be more precise.”

All the former hacker's enthusiasm died down like a soufflé. Hotch had to restrain himself from rising from his chair and taking her in his arms. However, his interlocutor was resourceful and her ingenious brain suggested an alternative route.

“And… and you’ve already organized it all?”

“I was all for it, but Jessica stopped me when I started to estimate precisely how much food each child would eat, taking into account their intolerances, allergies and other specific dietary requirements.”

He'd already built a chart based on what he'd read on the Internet, but his ex-sister-in-law had closed his laptop without even glancing at it.

“So nobody's organizing it anymore?”

“Actually, someone does. Jessica.”

“Ah. And you think she could need a hand?”

He sighed, feeling that this conversation could go round in circles for several more hours if he didn't quickly put things right.

“Penelope, what do you have in mind exactly?”

“Well, I'd like to throw a party in honor of Jack – who, I remind you, is the BAU first-born – with the whole team, as well as Will and Henry.”

“I see. Look, Jack loves you but… he’s about to be six, he just want to celebrate his birthday with kids of his age. With his school mates.”

Aaron saw that his protégée looked even more distressed than a few minutes earlier. He felt as if an invisible hand were crushing his heart. And it didn't get any better when she said, nose down and eyes wet:

“… Oh. Okay. So… sorry to have bothered you, sir. Well, Hotch, I mean.”

She slowly turned her back on him and walked away towards the door. Logic would have dictated that this discussion should end on this sad note, but he couldn't bring himself to let her leave with that discouraged expression. And so it was the turn of his brain's cogs to activate and deliver a parry that would suit everyone.

“Penelope.”

“Yes, sir?” she answered cheerlessly.

Looking sheepish, she almost stood on the threshold, her brown irises turned towards the carpet, as she no longer dared to face her superior's piercing gaze.

“…There's always a way to throw him a second birthday party the following weekend, he said, controlling the timbre of his voice as best he could. As long as he has cake and presents, he's happy, you know.”

The round ginger’s attitude changed in a split second. She straightened her shoulders, lifted her nose, smiled again and a warm glow lit up her eyes.

“So you don't mind if I prepare something for him?”

“No.”

“And you're giving me carte blanche?”

A shiver ran down the giant's spine.

“… Yes, of course.”

“Oh, thank you! Love you!”

She immediately ran in his direction, rounding the desk at full speed to take him in her arms, before setting off again at the same pace towards the exit. He then heard her trumpet the good news to the whole team. He didn't know if he'd made the right decision, but he'd clearly annihilated any sadness she'd felt earlier. A good thing done, he thought with a smile. Then he turned his attention back to his spreadsheet and frowned. Where did this penny difference come from?

Two weeks later, as planned, father and son went to Garcia’s home. To keep the surprise going, the young woman had invited everyone to her home, and Aaron had used the pretext of a celebration of some kind to take his offspring with him. For good measure, the boy had drawn a group portrait, which he held proudly in his hands while his father pressed the doorbell. The hostess quickly opened the door and exclaimed, cotillions as necklaces:

“And here is the hero of the day! Welcome, my little duckling!”

She placed a kiss on his cheek, leaving a cherry-red mark.

“Hero of the day?”

“Come in,” Hotch advised him, smiling.

Jack took a few steps into the apartment and discovered his name banner hanging from the ceiling. All the guests present cried out in chorus to wish him a happy birthday, and the child was left stunned.

“Happy?” asked him the tenant.

“Yeah! That’s so cool! Thank you, Penelope!" he said, jumping around her neck, a smile reaching up to his ears.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

And she kissed the top of his head, as pleased as her guest of honor. She then released him so that he could rush over to the other agents and greet them appropriately.

“And all the team is here! So great!" he exclaimed, in the arms of the former liaison officer.

“We wouldn't have missed it for a million.”

“Not even to catch a bad guy?”

All eyes turned to the unit manager, who had taken the time to undo his jacket while following his son going around.

“We would have postponed it until the following weekend," he replied confidently.

The little boy was fascinated by superheroes, and rubbing shoulders with FBI agents always made him particularly happy. He felt extraordinarily privileged because he really knew people who were saving lives on a daily basis, like those characters he watched on television. And since Aaron only wanted the happiness of his descendant, he knew that the analyst's idea would please him enormously. To tell the truth, even if it hadn't been for his birthday, he would have been content to see them.

“Did you know?" the toddler questioned, coming back to him, his hair a mess.

“I've had a few clues, yes," he said, helping him off with his coat.

Spencer had picked up his drawing along the way and seemed to be studying it very seriously at Will's side. Henry was perched in his arms, gawking at the work. The two boys were two years apart, and the eldest's artistic talents left his cadet in awe.

“Come and sit down, everyone! Penelope called out, clapping her hands. Cake is ready.”

Everyone immediately moved closer to the table and chose a seat according to their preferences. Jack was invited to sit at one end, on a booster seat, and this attention was just right for him. Presiding over the assembly, he eagerly awaited the delicacy that the luscious redhead had prepared especially for him. Candles lit, barrels releasing clouds of sparks, she walked towards the group, who began to sing more or less in unison. The kid was walking on air. Cheered on by the spectators, he blew out all the flames and received a round of applause. Everyone congratulated him, and his delight grew even stronger.

Then the cook removed all the candles to begin the cutting, and the munchkin's smile was instantly wiped away. Aaron immediately understood why.

“What? What's wrong?" worried the event organizer.

“Uh… Sorry, apologized her superior, embarrassed; I should have warned you, but Jack doesn't like pineapple.”

The cake boasted magnificent yellowish slices and a distinctive sweet smell emanated from the edifice of cream and fruit. There was absolutely no doubt about its composition.

“Oh, my God! Really?”

“Yes,” confirmed the saddened child.

His father guessed that he was blaming himself at not being able to appreciate the cake she had baked, and took his hand to reassure him. His son wasn't the most demanding of eaters, so he hadn't expected the computer expert to select the one food he refused to eat. He was therefore the only one to blame in the story, even if there were more urgent matters to deal with. All eyes were on the bespectacled blonde, who looked distraught.

“Oh. Uh… Well… I… Maybe… Hold on.”

She abandoned the spatula she had planned to use to cut the slices for her guests and returned to the kitchen. Hotch saw JJ and Emily wince. They felt bad for their fellow sister.

“Yes! Exclaimed their hostess victoriously. I… I still have some brownie, if you want.”

“Yeah! I love that!”

“So, the gentleman's brownie is advanced, she said, her joy restored. Just give me time to warm it up a bit.”

From his seat, Aaron saw her cut a generous slice, place it on a plate and pop it into the microwave. After setting the timer and pressing the start button, she returned to her guests and, with a smile on her face, continued:

“Is pineapple cake okay for everyone?”

“Yes, of course,” affirmed JJ.

“Perfect!” commented Dave, unfolding his towel and slipping it into the collar of his shirt.

“Don't hesitate to give me a big slice," asked Derek, already holding out his trough.

“Wonderful! Give me your plates.”

She then began diligently to break up her culinary work and, with an expert gesture, distributed the first edible block to her nearest neighbor. The manager watched her do it without saying a word, surveying the size of the remaining shares out of the corner of his eye. Then the oven emitted a loud "Ting!" and she let go of her utensils to bring back the day's celebrity snack. With the steaming brownie safely in the boy's hands, she planted new candles on the shiny crust. She continued dismembering her cake until all were served, then set fire to the wicks, lighting up Jack's already bright eyes.

The disorganized choir began singing again, and the kid repeated his feat before the wax dripped onto the chocolate. After the applause, everyone melt into their meal, nibbling the stacked structure of pastry, cream and fruit spoonful after spoonful, all the while chatting happily. Aaron looked at his son's ecstatic face with a smile on his face. He had brown crumbs all around his mouth and chocolate on the tip of his nose, but his father was delighted for him. Seeing his offspring happy was what mattered most to him, notwithstanding the vital importance of his work for the well-being of his fellow citizens. The toddler met his gaze and he returned his blissful expression. Then Penelope's irises intercepted his and slid down to his still-full plate. He hastily swallowed another mouthful.

Then it was time for gifts, and Jack energetically tore up all the colored papers before squealing happily as he discovered each of his presents. The profilers were right on target without having received any clues from the giant. The youngster was proud to show him all the toys he'd received, and commented on each one. Like a movie star, he thanked all his benefactors on the fly, his latest trophy still in his hand, and declared that they were "awesome". In response to this assertion, Garcia threw back a round of cake, offering a sizeable slice to her boss, who thanked her with a nod. Behind his navel, his digestive system snorted violently as the caramelized odor reached his nostrils. He clenched his teeth.

A little later, while Jack, Will, Derek and Dave had taken their places on the sofa to play video games, and Spencer, Emily and the tenant of the premises were chatting in another corner of the living room, JJ and Aaron were still seated at the table. He noticed the crinkling of his former liaison officer's eyelids. She was staring at him with too much insistence for his taste, but he guessed why.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I… - he managed a pause – I try to convince my stomach to digest what I forced it to ingurgitate.”

As if to confirm his words, the principal concerned rushed dangerously under his ribs.

“What do you mean?" she raised an eyebrow, puzzled.

“I… I hate pineapple.”

For as long as he could remember, he had loathed this fruit. He hated its taste as much as its fibrous texture and shunned it like the plague. When he got Jack back after almost two years without seeing him grow up, he had to rediscover little by little everything the child would or wouldn't eat, sometimes coming back several times to make sure that the first refusal was the result of a genuine disgust and not a simple apprehension of the novelty. In fact, he'd had to put pineapple back in his shopping basket, praying he wouldn't have to finish it. In the end, it was Jessica who took charge, as her nephew rejected this food with at least as much force as his progenitor.

“What? Croaked JJ, before lowering her voice. But… you ate two slices of her cake.”

“I know, he growled, holding back another retching. But did you see the look on her face when she found out Jack wouldn't eat it? I wasn't going to tell her that I didn't either. She prepared this birthday party for two weeks.”

“Aaron, did you just force yourself to swallow two slices of a cake filled with a fruit you hate just so you wouldn't upset her?”

“Yes.”

Jennifer shook her head in dismay.

“It’s going to kill you one day, you know.”

“And what was I supposed to do? He retorted immediately. Tell her I find it disgusting.”

“No, you could have told her that you don't like pineapple either and that you wouldn't have minded a slice of brownie yourself, she suggested in a tone of the obvious. She's the one who made it, she would have been happy that you liked her recipe. Even if it wasn't the one originally intended.”

Hotch analyzed this proposal and realized that it was not without meaning. On a contrary. And it would have spared him that unpleasant feeling of being on the deck of a sinking ship. Drops of sweat beaded on his forehead and icy waves crisscrossed his entire torso as he couldn't help swallowing to repel what was at the back of his throat.

“… Too late.”

“Okay. How high are you on the nausea scale?”

“So much so that if anyone ever says the name of this fruit again, I can't guarantee that I'll keep it all.”

Just uttering those words made his esophagus rebel, and he had to concentrate not to let go.

“I'll see if I've got anything in my bag to help you get over the hump,” said his neighbor, looking at him strangely, probably torn between pity and the desire to slap him in the face.

“Thank you.”

“And next time, speak.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

JJ stood up with a smile and reached for her purse. In the meantime, Jack returned to his father and climbed onto his lap, not without putting all his weight on his belly, already battered from the inside. Aaron put on a brave face, however, so as not to spoil the party.

“Do you have fun?”

“Yeah! Confirmed the little boy. Spencer, he’s doing magic tricks so great!”

“Yes, I’ve seen it.”

“How is he doing?”

“I don’t know. Those are secrets of magician.”

Sitting further back than the multi-graduate's spectators, he saw what the latter couldn't, and thus understood some of the young agent's sleight of hand. But he would say absolutely nothing to keep Reid's mystery to his son.

“Can you do magic tricks too?”

“No.”

“Oh, he said, disappointed. Why?”

“Because. I can’t do everything. No one can do everything.”

“Oh,” he repeated, pouting.

Year after year, the boy realized that his extraordinary dad, who saved so many people and stopped so many villains, was perhaps not so fantastic after all. Sure, he still had an impeccable suit, a very nice watch and an FBI card that opened a lot of doors, but he couldn't cook, wasn't extremely wealthy, didn't fly the BAU’s private jet, couldn't fix electronic games and, now, had no gift for magic. The toddler assimilated this new disillusionment while his progenitor – usually attentive to this kind of tragic revelation – tried to ignore the acid smell that rose up his nose.

“Dad?”

“Yes, Jack.”

“I thought you don’t like pineapple.”

“I don’t,” he admitted with a feverish smile.

“So why did you eat the cake?”

“Because your father is an idiot,” declared JJ reappearing by their side.

She sat down in her place, grabbed the water jug placed in the middle of the table and filled the titan's glass.

“Really?” wondered the youngster, fluttering his eyelids.

Like all children, he did not perceive the second degree, which the adults around him handled with varying degrees of dexterity. At six, he was just beginning to grasp that he wasn't always being told the truth, and that some of the answers he was given were in fact humorous red herrings. But systematically, he took all the statements made by grown-ups at face value in the first place.

“What JJ means is that, in order not to make Penelope sad, I've agreed to eat something that's going to make me sick, he confessed, before taking the glass in which a pale yellow mixture now sparkled. But, thanks to the magic of this, it should get better.”

“What's that?" he asked immediately, curious.

“Secret," quipped the blonde as Hotch sipped his life-saving beverage.

Jack watched him do this for a moment then redirected his attention to ex-agent Jareau, his discreet eyebrows furrowed.

“But I didn't want to make Penelope sad either.”

“No, but you're all forgiven, the mother reassured him, stroking his cheek. Don’t worry.”

“Is that true?”

“Yes," confirmed his father, putting down his glass before kissing him on the forehead.

The rest of the afternoon passed without a hitch, with JJ's magic potion working beyond his patient's expectations. Then came the terrible moment of separation, the only couple invited indicating that it was time for them to go home – a bath and a meal awaited Henry, who grunted with fatigue.

“There's some cake left, Garcia pointed out, appointing the third of the pastry that was still intact. Who want some?”

“Me!" Spencer replied sharply, raising his arm.

“I wouldn’t say no,” Rossi agreed.

“I'll be fine," said Derek, who had had the largest portions of the group.

“Ditto, supported Prentiss, satiated. I'm already going to have to roll back to my car…”

The analyst served the gourmands, then turned her gaze to the last ones not to have spoken.

“Hotch?”

“Uh… that is..." he stammered, thinking quickly to get out of this trap.

“I know Jack doesn't like it, but you and Jessica can always eat some.”

He opened his mouth, not knowing what to say, but felt a violent kick strike his shin under the table. He then met the menacing gaze of the wiry blonde beside him. The message was clear: he had to refuse this proposal at all costs. The problem remained to find the right reason not to leave with something that neither he nor his son would eat, without hurting the feelings of the person who had taken the time to cook it.

“A… actually, Jessica doesn’t eat it either. She’s… she’s allergic.”

“Oh.”

At the edge of his field of vision, he saw JJ's bluish irises roll into her eye sockets.

“On the other hand, he continued, I'd like your brownie recipe. Jack loved it.”

“Of course! Rejoiced the pastry chef energetically. No problem. I’ll send you an e-mail.”

“Great.”

“Yeah!" exclaimed the little boy, salivating in anticipation.

Jennifer and her companion retrieved what was left, but not without her gaze lingering on the giant. He couldn't decide whether she resented him for piling one lie on top of another, or whether she appreciated the fact that he had reached a compromise in spite of everything. At this hour, however, he was mostly happy that his son had had an excellent second birthday party and that it hadn't turned into a disaster in his desire not to offend anyone. One day, perhaps, he'd find the courage to express his true feelings; in the meantime, it was time to take all these toys home without leaving a single accessory behind.

___

And this is the second entry for the CM Office Party challenge. This one was written just for the occasion (as the next one). That was fun! :D

I love to describe Hotch as the silly idiot he can be sometimes (remember when he litteraly beg to go back to work when the doctor was saying that he's going to be deaf). XD

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illdowhatiwantthanks · 13 hours

Text

The Peapod (The Surprise, Part 6)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: pregnancy times, established relationship, fluff on fluff on fluff, some fairly innocent references to breasts, the most wholesome BAU content, platonic love/found family 4ever Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: You and Emily are finally ready to tell the BAU your good news, so you invite everyone over for a dinner party. Celebrations ensue.

A Note on Timeline: In my head and in this fic, we're forever stuck in the Elite Team era of the BAU (Unit Chief Hotch, Morgan, Rossi, Garcia, JJ, Reid, Emily).

Week 13: The Peapod

“What did you say this was called?” Rossi asked you, dipping a hunk of cornbread into his stew.

Light music played from the record player in the corner, and the sounds of people enjoying good food and good company surrounded you. You and Emily had invited the whole team over for dinner. Emily was dying to tell them about the baby, but she’d wanted you to be there, too. This was, you knew, Emily’s version of sharing the news with her family, especially since her mom hadn’t been very enthusiastic. The BAU was her family, and you were her family, and she loved when her two worlds collided.

“Brunswick stew,” you answered, putting a few pieces of ice in Jack’s and Henry’s bowls as you ladled so that it wouldn’t be too hot.

“Thank you much.” Will nodded at you, grinning. “Been a while since I had Brunswick stew.”

“Us southerners gotta stick together up here, right?” You placed little slices of cornbread at the corner of their bowls. “You and JJ and Henry should come over for brunch sometime. I’ll make you biscuits and gravy.”

“We’d love that,” he said warmly, settling Henry in his seat before taking his own.

“You know, Brunswick stew may have originated in either Brunswick County, Virginia, or Brunswick, Georgia, but nobody knows which one.”

You shook your head. Of course Spencer knew the origins of Brunswick stew.

He kept going, tearing bits of cornbread and sprinkling them on top of his bowl. “Originally the stew would have been made with squirrel, rabbit, or possum meat. It cooks so long that it was ideal for tenderizing wild game.”

The room went silent. You passed behind Spencer carrying your own bowl and patted him on the shoulder.

“No squirrels here, though,” you assured them. “Just pulled pork from Hill Country.”

You settled in your seat next to Emily, Derek on your other side, and looked around for a moment, smiling. You were so thankful for these people. Thankful that they took care of each other so well, that they took care of Emily so well. They did such difficult work, but they got through it together. They really were like family. Overlapping conversations washed over you, and you were content to just listen for a while.

After dinner, everyone sprawled across the apartment, conversing happily. You were standing and talking to Penelope about the new Zelda game when Emily came over and took your hand. It was time. She grinned at you, and there were no nerves, only excitement. You gave her the slightest of nods, and she tapped her wine glass.

The conversation trickled to a stop as everyone looked to Emily.

“So we actually have some news,” she started, looking at you and squeezing your hand. “Y/N and I are, uh… we’re having a baby.”

Jaws dropped and huge smiles broke out.

“What!?” Penelope squealed excitedly, wrapping both of you in a bear hug. She was echoed by the whole team’s congratulations, happy calls of “Wow!” and “Congrats!” and general sounds of happiness, even a few scattered claps.

“Which one of you’s carrying?” Rossi asked.

Spencer answered before you could. “It’s Y/N. You can tell because she’s gained weight around the face and also because her breasts are significantly bigger to prepare for breastfeeding.”

“Spence!” JJ exclaimed, smacking his arm. A happy roar of laughter broke out, and you blushed beet red.

“Reid, can we not talk about my wife’s boobs, please?” Emily chastised, but you could tell she was overjoyed. This was the reaction Emily deserved from her family. You were so glad she was finally getting it.

Hugs were given all around and happy mumblings took over the room as you and Emily were swarmed for conversations and congratulations.

Rossi put his arm around your shoulder and squeezed. “I’m happy for you kids,” he said, placing a quick kiss on your cheek.

“Thanks, Dave,” you said, smiling at him.

Penelope swallowed you up in another hug. “I am so excited!” she gushed. “You and Emily are gonna be the best, most kickass moms, and we’ll have another little BAU baby! Have you all been clothes shopping yet!? Can I come!? Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?!”

You laughed and rolled your eyes. “Well, Emily’s pretty sure it’s a boy, but that’s based purely on her ‘profile,’ so it’s still up in the air.”

“Ugh, profilers, am I right?” Penelope groaned, commiserating with you.

JJ and Will came over to offer their congratulations, too, hugging you tightly.

“It’s the greatest gift,” Will told you. “There’s nothing like it in the world.”

“How far along are you?” JJ asked.

“Thirteen weeks.”

“Second trimester,” she observed, nodding.

“Yeah, thank god,” you said, chuckling. “Morning sickness kicked my ass.”

JJ laughed, then shuddered. “Oh, I remember. Is Emily taking good care of you?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “The best. She’s amazing. I couldn’t do it without her.”

“Well, I’ll try to keep her home as much as I can,” JJ told you with a wink.

“Thanks, JJ.” You squeezed her hand.

“And, you know, if you need anything, we’re here,” she added. “Even if it’s just to call and talk about the shitty parts of being pregnant.”

You groaned, but smiled. “Please. And thank you. Emily’s here and she’s great, but…”

“It’s different when it’s your body.”

“Yeah. It is.”

Reid came to stand awkwardly between you and JJ. You were all silent for a moment before Spencer blurted, “I’m sorry I talked about your breasts.”

You and JJ burst out laughing.

“It’s okay, Spencer,” you assured him, patting his back.

“I’m really happy for you both,” he said, so straightforward, so awkward and sincere. You loved that about him.

You noticed Hotch standing off to the side, waiting his turn to speak with you, and excused yourself to join him.

“Congratulations, Y/N,” he said, smiling softly, wrapping you in a quick hug. Hugs were rare for Hotch, and you felt honored to be a recipient.

“Thank you,” you said, and you really meant it. You stood in comfortable silence for a few minutes, watching the team gather around Emily, smiling and laughing. You beamed at her. She looked so happy. You loved seeing her happy. You loved seeing her loved as deeply and as well as her team loved her.

“I hope you know,” Hotch ventured, his voice serious. “That I do everything I can to make sure she comes back home to you safely.”

“I know,” you said, taking his hand and squeezing it. “Thank you, Hotch.”

The last to approach you was Derek, and he had already known. Emily had told him just a few days earlier, swearing him to secrecy until the dinner party.

He smirked at you, pulling you into him for a hug. You wrapped your arms around him and squeezed.

There weren’t any words needed, not with you and Derek. He was Emily’s best friend. He was over for dinner or video games or a movie at least a few times a month. He was like a brother to her. And, therefore, he was like a brother to you, too.

You both watched Emily, who was showing the rest of the team a photo of a peapod to illustrate the baby’s size. Her face was alight, her cheeks tinged pink with joy and probably a little too much wine. God, you loved her.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Prentiss so excited.”

“Me neither.”

Derek looked down at you, smiling. “You know she loves you more than anything, right?”

You nodded, feeling so happy you thought you might cry. “I know.”

“She picked good,” he said, his arm around your shoulder.

“Are you gonna be Uncle Derek?” you asked him. You hadn’t talked about it with Emily, but you were sure she’d be on board.

“Girl, I better be Uncle Derek.”

You laughed and rested your hand over your belly, your heart full. This baby was going to be so, so loved.

Later that night, Emily crawled into bed next to you, flopping onto her back and grinning like an idiot.

“Happy?” you asked, eyes shining as you stared at her.

She exhaled deeply, her tongue pushing at her bottom lip then, so quickly it took your breath away, flipped over and kissed you. It was a happy kiss, a light kiss, a kiss that wasn’t quite a kiss because you both were smiling and laughing so much.

“You make me happy,” she said, her hands gently cupping your face. You pecked her on the lips once more before her nose crinkled up in a smile and she fell to your side, wrapping an arm around your waist and laying her head on your chest.

You held her close and kissed the top of her head, running your fingers through her hair. So soft, like it was running water. It wasn’t often that Emily let you hold her, and it was even less often that she initiated it. So you held her tight, taking advantage of the rare and beautiful moment. Maybe it would become less rare, you thought. Maybe the little peapod was making Emily go soft. She already was, of course, but she had a hard time admitting it, showing it.

“You deserve to be happy,” you told her as she drew lazy circles on your stomach with her fingers. “You deserve people who love you.”

She was quiet for a while, and when she finally replied, her voice was barely above a whisper. “You really think so?”

You kissed her head a few more times for good measure. “I do.”

Emily took your hand and kissed your palm, holding onto it and twisting your wedding ring back and forth. Neither you nor Emily said anything else, and you didn’t need to. Everything unsaid had already been said, time and time again, year after year. All the words of love and dedication and admiration–you’d said them so often that sometimes the silence simply spoke for you. And sometimes you just held each other and let it.

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily prentiss fluff #emily prentiss drabble #emily prentiss fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #bau team #bau #bau fanfic #bau x fem!reader

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storiesofsvu · 1 year

Text

A Dangerous Game Ch 12

Emily Prentiss x reader Warnings: language, alcohol, mentions of smut.

I promise y'all I AM putting the read more's in, this hellsite is glitching still...

While Sacramento had once been on your list of travel destinations, you hadn’t wanted to be exploring the city’s streets solving a string of murders.

The upside: the team had taken down the unsub in a matter of days meaning you’d make it back home for the weekend.

The downside: the jet was being serviced and wasn’t available until late Friday morning and you were stuck another night.

Everyone had split off but with a little bit more energy left you and Morgan found the closest dive bar to the hotel with a pool table and cheap beer, alternating between who was paying. You’d just missed your third shot in a row, letting out an annoyed huff before swiping your beer off the side of the table and chugging half of it back.

“You’re off your game Wilson.” Morgan teased, easily sinking his shot, “ya pent up or something?”

“Oh I’m sorry did you already forget about the fact that you booted me in the ribs earlier today?”

“I was aiming for the unsub!”

“Well your aim sucks. And you should be picking up the entire tab tonight.” You scowled in his direction until he finally missed a shot.

“Tell me something, why’re you so grumpy? Weren’t you the one complaining about being stuck in DC? We’re in sunny California and you’re frowning. Or is this about your so called enrichment time?” He waggled his brows in your direction and you scoffed with a roll of your eyes.

“I get plenty of enrichment time.” You stated, stepping up to the table to unfortunately miss yet another shot. Your words were true, it was just that this week Emily was stuck back in the office with extra administrative duties. There was no point in Vegas being a thing if she wasn’t in the field with you.

“Yeah? What’s her name?” Derek grinned.

“Your mom.”

“Very funny Wilson.” He shook his head for a laugh, “and I’m serious, you need to get out more.” Extending the pool cue he went to prod at your ribs and you let out a shriek before he sheepishly backed off with an apology, having already forgotten again.

“I get out perfectly fine.”

“Yeah, coffee with Garcia, farmers market with Prentiss, babysitting for JJ and third wheeling my dates. How many phone numbers did you get that week?”

“Nine.”

“And how many have you called?”

“One.” You half confidentially replied, hoping he would drop it.

“Savannah doesn’t count.” He chuckled and a puff of air blew through your lips as you dropped against a chair behind you. “C’mon, I know a perfectly pretty girl who’d love to go to dinner with you.”

“Oh Derek… please… no.” You eyes widened slightly, shaking your head and he chuckled, pulling out his phone and firing off a couple of texts.

“Tomorrow’s Friday, you always say all you do Friday nights is take out and tv.”

‘And Emily.’ You thought, glancing away as you tugged your lower lip into your mouth. Your moment of distraction had Derek thinking you were considering it, clapping you on the shoulder when his phone pinged.

“Perfect! Look, six thirty at Monocle!”

“Ugghh!” Groaning you pushed off the chair, grabbing his arm to drag him off to the bar, “you’re buying me tequila shots.”

Back in DC Emily was working late, which honestly she wasn’t surprised at, extra admin duty plus signing off on any paperwork from the Sacramento case the team had sent over already. Not to mention she wanted to get it all done by the end of day tomorrow, to not have to drag it into her weekend, she had plans.

Since the floor was basically empty and she was in the privacy of her own office she figured she’d get comfortable, her blazer was tossed over the back of a spare chair, her sleeves rolled up and a couple extra buttons of her shirt undone. She’d also pulled her hair up and if you asked her what was in her coffee mug she’d be lying when she told you it was coffee. With a soft sigh, she scribbled a signature onto the last page of the case papers and went to flip the file closed when a loose piece of paper from the back went rogue, shooting across her desk. Picking it up her brow furrowed, quickly reaching out to her phone, swiping up to your contact.

‘Why is there an incident report on my desk?’

It took a couple of minutes, she glanced at the time to do the quick math in her head as she tried to figure out what time it was in California and finally her phone buzzed.

‘Cause Morgan doesn’t know how to aim his kicks.’

‘Where’d he get you?’

‘Ribs.’

‘Please tell me it was your good side…’

‘Oh but that would mean luck was in my favour.’

‘You okay?’

‘EMT’s did a check, should be bruised but fine, just wanted to cover all my bases in case something flairs up.’

‘He better be sucking up.’

‘He’s currently kicking my ass at pool.’

‘Dick. Tell him he should be letting you win.’

‘He can pay my tab. I really just want to get home. It’s weird without you here.’

Her lips curved up into a grin and she felt her entire body relax at the unwritten words in your sentiment and that you were un injured enough to be out and not curled up with an ice pack. Her mind began to wander, wondering if maybe this weekend you could go out rather than do the usual take out, she’d just opened a browser on her phone to look up fancy at home date night meals, her mind still full of images of you when her ears picked up the sound of high heels approaching her office.

“Hey.” Penelope greeted and Emily glanced up, shooting her a grin, “am I interrupting?”

“No.” She shook her head, locking her phone and dropping it onto her desk, “what’re you still doing here?”

“Lost track of time going through the unsub’s hard drive and then I noticed you were still here and I knew you weren’t going anywhere anytime soon, so…” She held up the bag of take out, “figured I’d order for two.”

“You’re an angel Garcia.”

“Oh I know.” With a proud smile she moved through the room while Emily cleared off her desk so she could unpack dinner. “Also I won’t tell if you won’t.” She pulled down the side of the bag to reveal a bottle of wine and Emily chuckled.

“Way ahead of you.” She gestured to her coffee cup, earning a laugh from the other woman. A comfortable small talk over took the office as they began to dig into dinner, little bits of playing catch up and almost gossiping about the team and most recent case.

“You have plans this weekend?” Penelope asked and Emily nearly groaned.

“I dunno…. I mean I’m still trying to decide between home cooked, take out or going on for dinner tomorrow. It’s not like it’s hard!”

“Well if you’re cooking, make sure you’ve got everything in your fridge already, cause you’re not gonna want to stop after work tomorrow to pick things up. I’d go take out, privacy of your own apartment but quality food you don’t have to worry about cooking and both of you can choose exactly what you want.”

“What’d you mean both? I don’t let Sergio order himself a human dinner.”

“You think I didn’t see you smiling like an idiot at your phone when I walked in? Not to mention you haven’t been in the field all week so I know the bruise on your tit isn’t from a punch.” Emily gasped, her hand shooting to clutch the sides of her shirt together, attempting to do up a button with one hand while Garcia chuckled, “and actually, now that your hair’s up I can see the fading one behind your ear. I’d place money down on the bet that there’s at least one on your inner thigh too.” She smirked and Emily blushed a deep shade because there certainly was one on her thigh, and it wasn’t exactly fading yet despite being a week old.

“Thought you weren’t a profiler.” She grumbled, finally admitting defeat and using two hands to redo the button.

“I’m not but I’m surrounded by them all the time, and because I’m not you guys have a tendency to let your guard down a little bit when it’s just little old me. So… who is she?”

Emily sighed, letting out a small groan but when she looked over at Garcia she saw her eyes full of hope and excitement, a warm smile on her cheeks. The girl loved love, and loved seeing her friends happy even more than that, she just wanted to be supporting, an ear to listen so Emily shook her head with a grin on her lips.

“Girl I met at a bar a few months back.” It wasn’t a lie, so why did she feel so flustered about the entire thing?

“You take her home that night or wait til the third date?” Penelope asked with a grin and she laughed.

“Technically we didn’t make it out of the bar…”

“Oho… you’re naughty.” She giggled over a bite of food, “so how long have you been together then?”

“Oh! We’re not— it’s not— uh… no.” She fumbled, “just sex, strictly sex.”

“Must be good then. Because you have been like, blissfully fucked recently.”

“Penelope!”

“You sure it’s just sex? That’s how all these things start off…”

“Yes.” Emily laughed, doing her best now to keep her guard up.

“How often do you two see each other?”

‘Oh only Monday to Friday nine to five not counting trips out of state, Saturday afternoons together and countless hours in the bedroom each week.’

“Once a week…” Emily strained, “dinner, drinks, you know… we usually grab take out, watch a movie or something.”

“And you like her…”

“Well obviously!” She chuckled once again, “it’s not like I’m going to let someone I hate into my apartment. And before we play twenty questions, she’s nice, sweet, gorgeous, a great cook with even better choices of take out, I’m pretty sure she’s Sergio’s favourite person—”

“Sounds like she’s your favourite person too.”

“I—” Emily bit at her thumb, if she admitted it to someone else it meant admitting it to herself and she wasn’t sure if she was ready for that yet, “she could never replace you Pen.”

“While I appreciate the sentiment I highly doubt you right now Agent Prentiss.”

***

Emily had managed to duck into the break room right in time to find you on your own, rinsing out a Tupperware container from lunch.

“Hey, glad I caught you.”

“Did I miss some paperwork?”

“No.” She laughed softly, “I know it’s your turn to buy tonight but I’m stuck in a craving of either Thai or Indian, what’d you think?” Her smile faltered on her cheeks at the way your eyes widened.

“Oh fuck me…” you muttered, “I totally forgot to tell you, I can’t tonight, I’ve got a… thing, tomorrow maybe?”

“A thing?” She raised a brow and you groaned, wincing when you spoke.

“Morgan set me up on a blind date…”

“That’s his way of making up for kicking you in the ribs? Good luck.” She teased and right as you opened your mouth to reply Spencer rounded the corner, greeting both of you before turning to Emily and beginning to ramble off about a theory for a case leaving you to freely slip out of the room.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been on a date, or at least an actual date. After Skylar there had been a couple of girls here and there in Jacksonville but nothing ever stuck, nothing was ever meaningful or substantial enough to bother continuing on. You found yourself digging through your closet for almost an hour before you finally found clothes that were appropriate to wear. At the very least, Derek had given Maya your number and you’d been able to hash out the details for tonight and exchange pictures so you weren’t going in blind.

Monocle was by far fancier than what you’d expected, it was lavish, five star rating, and the prices on the menu were far beyond what you would normally be willing to pay. You couldn’t help but let out a tiny sigh, if tonight went well, if Maya seemed to be worth the effort, would you really have to be getting all dolled up for too fancy places for weeks on end? You already missed take out on Emily’s couch in sweatpants where you didn’t have to care about what you looked like, where you were completely comfortable with each other already. You knew each other’s history, flaws, favourite shows, preferred drinks, you didn’t have to sit through this boring awkward small talk over drinks. Entrée’s had been ordered, Maya had started on the appetizer while you chose to just continue to pick at the bread basket, doing your best to contribute to the conversation.

If she had asked, you would’ve lied, but you were a hundred percent profiling her right now. She was nice enough, she’d already insisted she would take care of the bill, her dress was well fitted, a high end brand, same with the jewelry, she held herself with confidence, almost too much though. She could hold a good conversation, but it was almost stale, like she was only spewing off things she knew would be impressive, things to show off with, there was no full bellied laughter, no smiles that crinkled her eyes, smirks as she teased you with a glimmer in her eye. At first you thought she was just lacking personality, and then it dawned on you.

No matter how hard she tried, she would always be lacking something.

She wasn’t Emily….

Emily thought that maybe a free Friday night would be a good thing, a nice chance to relax by herself, do some self care, have a nice meal. Instead she was reminded as soon as she got home about Garcia’s comment, there certainly wasn’t anything in the fridge she wanted. She didn’t have it in her to try and choose where to order from so she tossed a frozen ravioli into the microwave for dinner, pouring herself a hefty glass of wine. She settled at the kitchen island, blowing on the pasta in an attempt to cool it down when Sergio jumped up on the counter.

“I already fed you.” She grumbled but did give him a scratch behind the ears and he sat down on the counter, looking between her and the empty spot across from her before he let out a particularly loud meow. “What?” She laughed over a bite.

“Mrroooww.” He looked again toward your spot at the island and she huffed.

“Relax buddy, she’s not coming tonight.”

“Mow?” His head tilted.

“I know, it sucks.” She sighed once again, she knew there was a chance you’d gone on the date just to get Morgan to shut up, but something was still irking her, she was so used to having your company on Fridays. It helped the entire wind down for the week, not having to do it alone, not to mention it was your turn to pay this week.

“Meoow?” Sergio plopped down onto his side, baring his stomach as if he was demonstrating exactly why you should be there instead.

“I dunno, she’s out with someone.”

He let out an almost annoyed purr, rolling back onto his stomach as he glanced between the two sides of the island, meowing in Emily’s direction.

“Stop asking me questions I don’t know the answer to!” She mumbled, taking another bite of food.

This time Sergio got up, wandering over to her with an extra loud meow before he head butted her chin.

“Oof, jeeze bud.” She began to scratch at his head as he continued to yell “I know, I know, it’s not fair, she should be here. Friday’s are our days.”

And there it was, she had basically said it out loud.

“Fuck…” she muttered, Sergio mewling up at her once again, glancing between her and the ravioli she wasn’t eating. “You really want this? It’s disgusting…”

“Mow.” He nearly nodded and with an eye roll she slid the container in his direction.

You had your phone on the table just in case something happened, but to be polite you’d stashed it underneath your napkin. When you picked that up to wipe off your hand your eyes darted toward the screen, the only reason it was alit was the brief touch from the back of your hand, nothing was going on. Maya let out a little chuckle,

“Everything alright over there?”

“Yeah.” You mumbled, eyes still on the screen almost trying to manifest a message popping up when you realized you didn’t actually need a real message and picked up the device, “but, work…” you feigned a wince, “never ends.”

“Must be nice.”

“What?”

“Having a guaranteed get out of jail free card.” She stated with an amused grin, folding her hands under her chin.

“You’ve lost me.”

“With a job like yours, you can use it as an excuse to get out of basically anything you don’t want to be doing. You’re seeing someone, I get it.”

“No! I— that’s not, I’m just distracted tonight.”

“Because you’ve been thinking about her since you walked in the door.” She stated plainly, surveying you for a moment, “let me guess… it’s been going on for a while but you both insist it’s only casual, nothing serious, maybe even secretive. But now that you’re out with me on an actual date you’re realizing that you’re wishing it was her on this side of the table instead of me?”

You paused for a moment, your brow furrowing in her direction across the table, “I thought I was supposed to be the profiler…”

“The psychiatry degree comes in handy once in a while.” She shrugged, flagging down the server as they walked passed, asking for a couple of take out containers, “take your food to go, enjoy what’s left of your night.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” She smiled softly, “no point in wasting time, right?”

“I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Emily, completely unable to stop thinking about the fact that you were out on a date with someone else, that there was a chance you were going to spend the night with them, had decided to start deep cleaning her apartment in a feeble attempt to distract herself.

Rock music played through the apartment, a little louder than she would normally have it, trying to drown out her thoughts as she went. She’d finished the kitchen, clearing out the fridge and freezer, already having taken out a couple loads of garbage. Now that she was into the living room Sergio seemed to want to help, continually jumping up onto whatever surface she was trying to polish no matter how many times she dropped him back to the floor. Clearly she wasn’t the only one affected by your absence tonight. She sprayed the tv with Windex as Serg began to slink between the picture frames and artificial plants on the television stand, meowing and purring as he went. He reached the end, turning around to do it again and gave a little extra sway of his back leg, effectively kicking off one of the plants and sent it to the floor where it shattered.

“Sergio!” Emily yelped, scolding him again before she scooped him up to lock him in the bedroom while she cleaned it up to make sure he didn’t step in any broken ceramic.

Letting out a weary sigh she grabbed the broom and dustpan, starting to sweep up the dirt and little pieces, she was sure she was just sweeping dirt and faux leaves when something clinked against the metal dustpan and her brow furrowed. She tilted the dustpan a bit, shifting the dirt and a piece of silver buried amongst the black caught the light in the room, glinting right back at her. Her body shifted into high alert, her heart jumping in her chest as she shifted it again, metal glittering back at her and she was thoughtful enough to keep her mouth shut. Squatting down her fingers shifted through the dirt until she managed to pick it out and her suspicion was confirmed.

It was an audio bug. Someone had been in her apartment, more importantly, someone had been listening in to everything that had been going on in her apartment. Letting out an internal swear she suddenly remembered the night at Rossi’s when she’d found her window cracked open. Whoever had planted the bug had been listening in for months. She practically jumped out of her skin when her phone rang, ringtone blaring through the apartment effectively stopping the music and she dropped the bug back into the pile of dirt.

“Hello?”

______________

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