#the girl who loves jude law too much ( OOC. ) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whump-town · 3 years

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In His Eyes

Warning: abuse, mental health, lots of talk about food and starvation, hospital, suicide attempt, suicidal ideations, cutting, and self-harm, cursing, and it’s just very dark

Listen, this might be a little much. The themes are dark and it’s far from a happy story

Main Characters Are Aaron Hotchner, Jessica Brooks, and Haley Hotchner

Probably OOC but I don’t care

His pulse is slow against her fingers but there. She calls 911, sobbing. Choking around the weight of his name on her tongue. Will they let her back this time? To hold his hand? He gets nightmares. He won’t like being alone. “He’s--He’s twenty-two,” she rasps, brushing his hair from his eyes. “This is his first year of law school.” And he’s so fucking smart. She needs them to know that. He’s kind. Always remembers her favorite foods and makes her laugh. He’s just a kid. They’re just kids and he’s the only person she’s ever loved. So, they have to help. Please, God, just help.

Final warning for themes of abuse, mental health, food, starvation, hospitals, suicide attempts, suicidal ideations, cutting, and self-harm

Word count: 9,137

For as long as Jessica Brookes has known her brother, he’s had the thin scars marring the pale, milky flesh of his arms. The first time she’d seen them, she was sixteen too old to play stupid but too afraid to call them what they were. At the time, he hadn’t been her brother. In fact, to the world, he had been no one at all. A ghost that walked the halls of their high school with his pained, sluggish movements and seemingly unseeing eyes. Sweaters dripping down his skinny frame and jeans that were made to fit someone nearly double his size. But, for what little credit it’s worth, no one had ever said a thing about him. He was no one. Nothing.

Haley had seen past all of that. Of course, she had. Haley had never loved anything whole. She drank from cracked plastic straws for fear of what would happen should she leave them behind. Thrown out, that’s what. The world has no use for a straw that can not do it’s one feasible job. Not to Haley, though. Their father used to call her Saint Haley, the patron saint of the discarded. And naturally, Haley clung to the idea of Saint Jude. Another lost soul, seemingly just like her, out there to collect others. A reminder that even the lost aren’t alone and that they may not be as lost as they think. And so how could any of them be surprised when Haley, who hung the moon and stairs, brought home her own lost being? Stumbling in clothes too large for his lithe frame and stinking of booze and cigarettes.

Aaron Hotchner has no place in their home. Jessica had been unwavering in this. Look at him. A semester ago, he’d been kicked off the track team for pot. He can’t even go out and get drunk with everyone else. He smokes cheap cigarettes out behind the Miller’s barn and, thought no one could prove it, they all blamed him for the dead birds and cat half-buried in the woods by the school. How could it not be him? With those large, trembling hands and his inability to stay away from trouble. How many fights had he been in this year? How many times had Jessica come from one of her classes to find the student body surrounding his bowed back as he sat over the hips of another boy, mercilessly beating him? So, how could that dirty boy be worth her sister? If she’d asked him, he’d answer her with the same thought Jessica knew better than to speak around Haley. He doesn’t.

So, how could any of this add up? Aaron Hotchner like a straw bent with damage has good in him too. Jessica had never seen the other boys. The way they pick and preen at him. Smacking his head and kicking at his ankles. Calling names at his back. The teachers never do a damn thing and why should they? He’s not the smartest kid in their classes. He sits in the back. Turns in mediocre work. He doesn’t get encouragement. “I know you’re capable of more than this, Aaron.” No, he gets sighs and shaking heads. So, when he takes action. Thrown to the end of his line, he is the bad guy. Because Aaron Hotchner is just the kid no one likes. His father’s name is the only thing keeping him from getting expelled. No one ever cares to see how he flinches from his father’s touch or the pain in his eyes when new bruises form across his body. Because they don’t care. But Haley. Haley cared and her love had been her one and only rebellion.

Jessica had been the sort to fall for the beauty of rebellion, not Haley. Her first boyfriend had been a biker, a senior who would break her heart. Rolling with anger at her father’s words, that she might be too young to know anything about love, had fallen head over heels for a girl in her biology class. And while she hadn’t given a thing to her senior ex-boyfriend of three months, she gave everything to that girl. Sarah Halls with her bright brown eyes and soft blonde hair. Which had effectively taken much of the heat off of Haley and Aaron. While that had not been the intended outcome, Jessica hadn’t minded taking it for his little sister. She’d found it entirely worth it when Sarah broke up with her a year and a half later. Which, to a heartbroken sixteen-year-old, had been everything. Years and years to which she could never get back. So she did what broken people do and spiraled into every self-destructive tendency she could think, that she could buy.

And Aaron had found her. Sweet Aaron with those thoughtless brown eyes and haggard discoloration over his exhausted face. She had slapped him when he first attempted to collect her. Sloppy drunk, high, and convinced that the world should just end right here. This misery she felt unmoving and forever. Despite what could be assumed about his body beneath those oversized sweaters, old and worn year-round, he is strong. While she kicked, crying, and distraught, he had lifted her into his arms and taken her. One arm under her legs and the other braced against her back. Not so much as a blink, not a frown, or scowl of pain. He had simply looked to Haley, waiting for her to direct him. Slowly, shocked by both of them, Haley had opened the car door and allowed Aaron to place Jessica in.

She’d never forget that night. The way he’d crouched on the floor in front of her bed and wiped her make-up away while Haley held her. His eyes, she discovered, were not unseeing. Darkened with his focus, she could see every thought cross through his mind. The kind, gentle strokes of the rag in his hand over her nose and across her lips. Loving.

“Aaron?”

He had startled as if expecting her to be past the point of cohesiveness. She knew, later, he hadn’t even known that she knew his name. What had she called him in the months since Haley brought him home? Had she ever really looked at him? Allowed herself to even think about learning to love him with even a fraction of the devotion Haley has? Now, those eyes darting between hers, he hums. As he often does.

Gently, slowly (with the same apprehension she’d watched Haley show each time she reached for him) Jessica places her clammy palm to his cheek. He stiffens beneath her fingertips but doesn’t avert his gaze or move to pull away. “Thank you,” she whispers, dragging her fingers against his cheeks. Here, she can see more than she needs to. The deep scar on his cheek and another that runs with his jaw. How each movement of the rag moves the sleeves on his shirt just enough to allow her a hint of what lies beneath. The skin of his wrist raised. Scarred.

She looks back at his face. Haley and Aaron may only be slightly younger than her but they seem like babies here. Now. “I’ll still kill you if you hurt my baby sister,” she whispers, closing her eyes with a smile. She hears his soft puffing laughter as if a hand in his chest squeezes his lungs tightly to stop any real noise. And she realizes she’s never heard him laugh. Real, deep, unhinged. Haley squeezes her stomach and she’s pulled back to them.

When Haley is sixteen and Aaron seventeen (Jessica nineteen and struggling through the second and last year of college), his father dies. Mopping up her tears with a coffee-stained napkin, Jessica’s attention had quickly been turned upside down. How could she waste her worries on Sociology when all she can see is Aaron's skinny little wrists and the scars on his face. The bruises up and down his back. Skeletal, sweet Aaron. She returns home as quickly as she can. Though she out-right refuses it the first time, her best friend gives her money for the bus fare. Her father could not spare her the money. She’s only in college because of a scholarship, they just have the money to spare. No matter how many times Haley called, voice thick with tears, and promising things were okay there at home could Jessica stand to believe her. So she took the money.

She arrived back to their silent quaint town on Tuesday to find Aaron had been in the hospital since Saturday. Refusing to eat or move. Restrained like an animal. She might have thrown a fit. Maybe she should have. The nurses stand at the doors of the intensive care unit and inform her that the floor has strict rules. That Haley can not come back. They don’t allow minors onto the floor but had they not broken that very rule allowing Aaron in? So, why not let the rules slip one more time? For Haley, for Aaron, unless they really want to watch that boy die. Is that what they want? And still, they declined her. Sensing the end of the nurse’s patience Jessica had pulled herself together and succumbed. Fine, yes, she’ll go back. Just her.

And there he is. Sweet Aaron. With those eyes and the bruises. The hospital gown leaves nothing to the imagination. She’s nineteen and he’s seventeen. Children. Too young for the pain of life and the coil of death. It isn’t until this moment that she realizes she loves him. There had been a time when she thought it was even crazy that she might love Haley. So, she’d been startled and hesitant with the idea of being inclined to love Haley’s future spouse. And it would not matter if Haley and Aaron broke-up today, she would still love him. As she suspects Haley would too. Because Aaron is a fighter and there’s something about him that just draws you in. Perhaps it’s the surprise he exhibits when you’re kind to him. Taken aback by gentleness and love. Never understanding how you might have come to love his thoughtfulness. Him.

“What are you doing?” The room is silent. There is no need for a heart monitor, just the IV fluids snaking into the back of his hand. Her father had told her about the doctor’s threatening an NG tube which, at seventeen, he doesn’t have the legal authority to deny. So, if this tirade of his goes on he’ll have to suffer through the procedure. But she knows not to waste her time on a speech about his actions and their consequences. Aaron isn’t stupid.

The moons of distress under his dark eyes look daunting on his handsome face. He’d grown into his body while she was away and it had made her proud to see. Her mother’s apple pies had done wonders for him. Having a steady place to come home to, even if it’s the couch in their living room, had transformed him. Now, he takes a moment to understand her. All the weight he’d put on melted right back off. “I’m tired,” he answers. It requires a breath that pulls his shoulders to his ears. His thin, pale lips parting.

She wants to scream at him. Of course, you’re tired! When was the last time you ate? The last night you slept through? But she looks back at those eyes, little mirrors filled with tears, and she leans down and kisses his forehead. It requires no thought, no hesitation to pull him to her. To wrap her arms around him. He pushes his head against her chest, face pressed into her sweater. “I’m sorry,” he whispers thickly. And with her eyes closed, she apologies too. For not coming back sooner. For not being here when they needed her.

“I know,” she answers, running her fingers through the back of his hair. He sleeps and she stays right there. He wakes a few times. Mouth too dry to speak but those dark eyes are always seeing. Always taking in every bit of information he can. She doesn’t leave. Sometimes she’s reading from textbooks. Stalking around the end of his bed with a phone in her hand, angrily speaking to whoever it is on the other end of the line. He looks up and finds her sleeping a lot. Her long legs pulled onto the chair with her and he wished he could move. Find the strength to wake her and move her to the bed.

His mother never comes. Sean calls but it’s bitter and Jessica can see how upset Aaron is getting so she hastens it’s end. Those calls stop coming when Jessica can properly defend that they only make him worse. Proof that getting better isn’t linear even though she wishes for it to be. She just wants Monday when he eats a snack and laughs at her silly joke for Wednesday to come and him still to be light. Not wrapped like a tight coil, arms around his stomach and crying in pain. But health isn’t linear and Aaron has never done anything the easy way.

Three months. For three months after his father’s death, Aaron sits in that hospital. He spends a month in the ICU and two more in general. Seeing Haley both helps and impedes. Jessica finds herself parenting the both of them. Leading Haley to show her when Aaron needs them to step in versus when it’s just best to leave him to his own devices. Because it looks cruel but he needs the silence. Slowly, he finds his feet once again but he’s fallen behind in school and if he wants to graduate on time he’ll have to spend all summer making it up.

But that wasn’t the problem with Virginia summer’s.

“Aren’t you hot?”

Wearing his signature long sleeve, Aaron goes without comment to help Roy dig the ponds up. He hasn’t spoken since being released but he didn’t speak too much before. It’s hardly noticeable to anyone but Jessica and Haley but they both have their own problems to attend to. Jessica is once again taking their heat with her larger news: she’s dropping out of college. So, Aaron’s silence has taken the back burner.

Looking down at his clothed arms, Aaron shakes his head. Continues digging.

Jessica looks up from the porch, waiting for the moment she needs to step in. Legs outstretched on the wooden swing, Jessica looks at the words on her book but takes nothing in. She’s pretending to read. Her father pushes Aaron some more. Offering a tank top or even just a white t-shirt.

“It’s too hot for all that nonsense,” Roy comments, motioning to Aaron’s worn sweater.

Before Aaron can even start doing his rapid, panicked blinking Jessica clears her throat from the porch. “Stop patronizing him, dad.”

Roy huffs but lays off.

For that exact moment, she’s the hero but she’s just a coward. Too afraid to allow the conversation on. Perhaps she should have let her father push him a little more. Make Aaron realize what he’s doing to himself. What he’s doing to all of them. Things aren’t what they used to be. He’s not alone. Can’t he see that?

No. He can’t see that. What he sees is a family he’s not a part of. Painfully reminded around every twist and turn just how alone he is. On Christmas the traditions of theirs that he stumbles over. He’s never decorated a Christmas tree or baked an apple pie. Haley does it without blinking, smiling to encourage him along but he just doesn’t know.

They change. He graduates on time and a year later she does too. With Jessica right there, always encouraging, and positive they both go to college. Haley falls for the science of psychology and Aaron falls head over heels for political science.

For four years its as if that boy never existed. He gets a second wind. A new chance.

But the damage is there and habits are so hard to beat.

Haley comes home early from class. Tuesdays usually mean her days don’t end until nearly seven at night. She’s got study hall and a sophomore that she tutors in Chemistry. Today, the kid had canceled their appointment, and the snow forced her home. Coming in, she’d been excited to find his coat already on the rack. Eagerly she’d torn through their tiny apartment to find him. He wasn’t in the kitchen, despite that being his favorite room in the house. He seems to always be making something, perpetually hungry. The living room had his things, briefcase open, and papers a mess. He can’t seem to think in clean rooms, always has to dirty them up. Their room was barren, not even his half of the bed disturbed. Leaving the bathroom.

Knocking against the solid door, she eases the doorknob open when he doesn’t call out. “Aaron?” Something deep had ached in her chest when she saw the living room. The papers wrong or maybe his shoes discarded almost looking tripped over? Desperate. The apartment felt desolate, cold. Stepping in her breath catches in a gasp, “Aaron!” Sinking to her knees beside the tub, she pulls him up. Moving his face from where he’s so dangerously allowed it to sink into the warmth of the water. Clutched in his hand, submerged beneath the water, a single bottle of Advil.

He’d bought it only two weeks ago. She’d been there, right beside him. Budgeting has been hard and she could see the apprehension in his face when they’d stopped near the aisle. She had mistaken it for fear that they didn’t have the money to waste on something like Advil and now she can’t help but wonder if he’d wondered something else. Would Advil be painless? How fast would it be? But she’d taken his hand and squeezed it, reassuring him a bottle of Advil would be okay. He was getting headaches, bad ones. She assumed he was just too worried to admit he needed them. She hadn’t thought he was suicidal but when has she ever been able to hear the thoughts racing through his mind?

“Aaron,” she runs her knuckles across his sternum. No. No, she hadn’t thought he was suicidal but had she ever really thought he was okay? Don’t be stupid, she’d think, as she sat in the library late at night. Reading books, consuming every bit of knowledge she could obtain without ever admitting to herself that maybe, just maybe the man she’s loved since she was fifteen might be suicidal. Not Aaron who lights up rooms and loves picnics and, on more than one occasion, has woken up to climb onto the roof and watch the sunrise. But maybe he’s not in love with life enough to want to stay here. “Aaron,” she calls, her clothes as soaked as his. “Wake up, baby.”

At the hospital, they give him so much medicine that she can’t even think straight. The whites of his eyes all she can see as a nurse guides Haley through what they’re doing. “It’s a seizure,” the nurse says, unwavering as she watches Aaron’s body jerk and shake. Everyone works around him but no one touches him. Simply moves things away from where he might hit them. “Tell me about him.” She puts herself between Haley and Aaron, averting Haley’s gaze so she doesn’t have to watch the staff move him. Hurt him.

Haley struggles to come up with a thing. “When we were seventeen he--he stopped eating,” Haley manages. Maybe, that will help? “He was hospitalized. He almost died.” Suddenly, all Haley wants is Jessica. Her sister to pull them out of this mess like she always does. Protecting them.

The nurse shakes her head. “No,” she clarifies. “No, tell me about him.”

About Aaron. “He loves blueberry pancakes,” she chokes, an inappropriate laugh forcing its way up. “Really loves them.” She smiles and the nurse nods, smiling too. It’s easier to think of him like this. The boy who used to climb up a tree outside her dorm to wave at her from her window. “He will make himself sick eating them.” His childhood had been so bleak, so bland. He’d known only oatmeal as a breakfast food. The first time her mother made them, he’d eaten so many he had been sick and she’d sat right by his side rubbing his back. “Still,” she adds with a shake of her head. “To this day, twenty years old and he still makes himself sick eating blueberry pancakes. Like--” she starts to cry. “Like he’s afraid you’ll take them away.”

Standing in that emergency room, Haley wonders how much of what she knows about Aaron is true.

“Has he tried to do this before?”

He wants to be a lawyer. A better man than his father putting away the bad guys and fixing the system. He’ll never graduate. No one wants a suicidal lawyer. She’s torn between morals. He’s spent the last few years fighting for this and this one silly mistake could unravel it all. Just a silly mistake. “No,” she chokes. “No, he’s not-- he’s not suicidal. He gets migraines.” She looks up from the tiled floor. “He had a migraine. That’s all. He forgot how many he took and I wasn’t there. I should have been there. He was just confused. I told him to take a bath. Really, he was just confused. That’s all.” Haley had never been good at lying.

They leave her, after that, perhaps having realized they won’t get anything from her. The truth will not come from her, not today. She ignores the tired look they give her when she asks for a note to give Aaron’s professors. So that she can get his work or maybe just make sure he’s not being too penalized. And again, as the doctor signs, he asks if Aaron’s ever done anything like this. “This--this accident.” And she knows exactly what he’s doing. Trying to guide her to the right answer. Her answer is solid. No. Never. And she leaves him to go sit with Aaron.

The nurses come in and out. Looking but never saying. They move over his body and he lets them so long as she is there. Within reach and she always is. She finds magazines and books and spends too much of her time convincing herself that if he’d meant it, she would have noticed. That everyone else is wrong. If the signs are there then it’s not that hard to notice! Fuck this cognitivie dissonance. She’s smart. She would see.

Right?

He’s just smoking more because he’s stressed out.

Normal college students struggle to balance a sleep schedule.

Aaron is always withdrawn.

He’s moody because he’s not sleeping.

These signs aren’t meant for him. They mean nothing. And she repeats it again and again until she starts to believe it. The signs don’t mean anything.

Now, she stands with her back to Aaron. Her arms crossed on her chest, finding the courage to dare them to question her. What lie will she conjure for the fresh cuts on his arm? Not even healed. Probably done last night in the bathroom with the kit he taped to the bottom of the sink. With the razors she pretends not to see wrapped in toilet paper. But she’s afraid to say something. They’ve been together for half a decade and he’s only just now started sleeping without a shirt. Only just allowed her to see his body. The cuts and the scars both from his own hand and his father’s.

But they don’t say anything. Perhaps it’s too taboo but no one says anything.

The signs mean nothing. He smokes because he always has. He’s withdrawn because he always has been. Aaron is and always has been these signs. So, he’s fine.

He’s fine.

They get married at the end of the next semester. He’s had months to recover but the body isn’t so quick to forgive. His voice is rough from where they had to intubate him for so long but the therapist all assure them that with time his voice will lose its rasp and he’ll sound like himself again. His classmates poke at him for his “time-off” and he’d prefer they think him a spoiled brat off partying than what he really is. A disaster. One misstep away from trying again.

He never voices this. He doesn’t tell the therapists or Haley.

“I want to apply to the academy.”

Marriage is not even marginally the hardest thing he’s been forced to understand. He knows what he’s doing when he makes Haley his sole beneficiary-- asides from his textbooks which he wants to go to Jessica because she’s still bitter he “wasted” himself with the bitterness of law. But marriage is easy. Giving himself is second nature. He never thinks about the little things she clings to. How he always remembers to put the seat down and cooks dinner or washes the dishes. He’s not normal.

But this sudden change of pace takes her by surprise. “The-- The academy?” At first, she thinks of films and actors and actresses. That sort of academy but bitterly, sickly she remembers how close they are to Quantico. About David Rossi & Jason Gideon, who he met two weeks ago and hasn’t stopped talking about since. There’s a flush to his face, excitement she hasn’t seen in the longest time. And she wants to say yes but she can’t be certain this isn’t some new method he’s found to hurt himself.

He nods, shoveling corn and green beans into his mouth. Happy, she realizes. He’s happy.

“It’ll be in the fall so I’d have a few more months left with the District Attorney.”

No. She wants to say no so badly. The last thing they need is a gun. As if she doesn’t already check the knives over, counting and recounting the razors he uses to shave. Convinced he’ll try again. But she can’t say no because she doesn’t have a good reason. They’re financially stable. She’s working at a school only down the street and joining the academy won’t be taxing. It’ll be a bit of a money cut but he’s not making bank with the DA anyhow. He’s too smart to fail the courses but, as twisted as she knows it is, she thinks he’ll get hung up. He’ll need a physical and have to pass psych evaluations. There’s no way they let him through.

“Okay,” she decides, returning back to dinner. It kills her to see him smirk and celebrate while she sits certain that they won’t allow him in. There she plans what she will do to protect him of the recoil. Of what will, undoubtedly, occur. A safety net that he can fall into.

But the call comes and the cake she’d been making-- vanilla with rainbow sprinkles and blueberry pancakes cooling by it’s side-- to console him turns into a celebratory one. He’s done it. Training and evals, passed. Made records won awards. She’s got herself one hell of a federal agent.

Jessica comes down, smiling and with a bag in hand. She hates this development nearly as much as Haley but is much better at hiding it. “Look at you,” Jessica mumbles in amazement. She turns him over, fingers finding his hardened muscles through the sleeves of his sweater. Looking for something, anything to clue her in one what’s happening behind his dark eyes but all she sees is happiness and she can’t help but wonder how long that will last. “You were nothing but a scrawny kid and they’ve turned you into a man and a half.”

There it is, that half-strangled puff of laughter. He smiles, dimples, and chin, and whole face. A man, she is reminded, not that fifteen-year-old prone to drinking in the woods and getting knocked down in the halls. He quit smoking that month and Haley did too. For once, he started taking care of himself. Not as if he never had before but suddenly there were just things he did that he had never before.

He stopped cutting. Which had been harder than losing the cigarettes. She only noticed in passing and could never really pride him on the achievement. Never draw attention to it. But she’d see the scabs healing when he wrapped an arm around her bare hips. Eventually, there were no scabs. Only scars.

“I love you,” she reminds him because she’s not sure if this will last.

And his eyes always twinkle just a little when she says it. Pleasantly surprised each time. “I love you too.”

He gets posted in Seattle and as they’re preparing for the move she watches him closely. As it turns out, she’s the one afraid not him. The world seems to open up, right then, for him and selfishly she thinks about everything she’s just left behind. No, she realizes. It’s not selfish. She worries about him, he worries about her. She’s worried about herself and he worries about himself. It’s a balance and no good things come without a little give.

Seattles is okay.

She tutors a young boy with epilepsy that has fallen behind do to a spout of recent hospitalization. He reminds her so feverishly of Aaron that she naturally takes to him. His name is Sam and his hair is blonde and his eyes the same soft brown as Aaron’s. He’s smart and funny one day and sad and silent the next. The last decade she’s spent living at Aaron’s side has made her ambidextrous to this behaviour and she doesn’t blink.

Aaron spends his days folded into case files, not all that different from when they were in Virginia but he’s lighter. They both are. He doesn’t seem even bothered by the rain. Smiling each time he comes in soaked to the bone to chase her around, shaking the rain from his hair onto her.

One night, she rolls over and attaches herself to his back. She’s antsy and he’s an insomniac so she’s not too surprised when he tangles his fingers with hers over his stomach and hums to answer the question she hasn’t asked yet. Breath ghosting over the back of his neck, she asks, “Do you still want to have kids?”

He chuckles, turning slightly so she can see the silhouette of his nose and lips as he answers her. “Mmm, ten.” Slowly, moving her legs and twisting, he faces her. So that his forehead is against hers and kisses her. “Wanna make one?” he asks teasingly, fingers skimming the skin peaking out from under her shirt. “I hear it’s pretty easy.”

She hits him but deepens the kiss, allowing her hand to slide over his hips and squeeze his butt. It makes her laugh and he just shakes his head. “I want to talk about kids,” she reminds him, breathlessly as his hand snakes up underneath her shirt to cup her bare breast. “Not ten,” she whispers, pulling his head closer as he kisses her neck. “One or two. At least one boy.” He hums and she doesn’t even need to consider if he’s listening or not because he always is. “We could adopt.”

He smiles, placing a hand on both sides of her head, completely overtop her now. She whines a little as he sits up, extracting his body from the tangle of hers. “We could foster even more,” he offers, because he’s thought about it. “Have a few, adopt a few, and be one of those sweet old couples that fosters every kid they can find.”

She squints her eyes at him reaching up and bopping his nose. “You have a savior complex,” she whispers. Which they both know isn’t true. He’s a helper, a watcher. What else would you have him do? He’s never been one to sit by. But she thinks about it. Long after that night and later that night. When she rolled over and he’d fallen asleep in a massive tangle like he always does. This man doesn’t know how to exist without creating a mess. His desk is never neat and he can’t sleep without one half of his body stuck in the sheets.

She considers having a child exactly like him. With his exact brown eyes and those dimples. Adopting one that slowly becomes a part of them. Learning there little habits. A child with hair to dark to be Aarons but too light to be hers that like dancing around the kitchen with her and has that soft, strong way of speaking that Aaron does. Kids. With him.

They aren’t compatible.

She knows she shouldn’t have pushed when the scabs come back. It’s not bad, well… The cuts are small and low in number but she knows they’re there long before she sees them. He starts to sleep in long sleeves again. She sees them when he’s in the shower. Three or four on each arm and he’s been wearing the shirts for a month so it’s not that bad. He’s certain done worse. He’s just got a lot of pressure on him at the moment.

She lets it go.

“I haven’t had my period in a while,” she says over dinner. She told herself to wait for those cuts to heal but they never do.

He chokes on his food. He hasn’t been eating a lot and she thinks he might be smoking again. Which she would point out but she might just be paranoid. Sam got sick last week, had a seizure that she had seen, and she’s a little ashamed to admit she picked it back up to soothe herself. Unsure and unable to tell Aaron about it. How could she? It had nearly scared her from the topic of children, what would it do to him.

“How--” his voice cuts off. He doesn’t mean “how”. He knows exactly how. They talked about children and have been careless. Two scared people hoping that if they pretend to not want this with every burning fiber of their beings they might get it. He can’t remember the last time he used a condom and her birthcontrol has suddenly disappeared from the bathroom sink.

“How long?”

She puts her fork down. “Three months.” They’ve been trying twice that long. “I have a test,” she tells him, trying to hide her excitement. His eyes meet hers and she reads him like her favorite book. “I could take it.” Their lonely kitchen is filled with the sound of scraping chair the two of them fumbling to move.

“Oh.”

It’s negative.

Aaron’s mouth is dry, he doesn’t know why he’s so disappointed.

“We can keep trying,” she soothes, trying not to shake or cry. Even though she wants to throw that stupid test against the wall. Tears fall down her cheek and she looks up to see his own gather.

He shakes his head.

Jessica comes down the next week and pretends not to notice the return of the long sleeves. Aaron greets her with a smile and kisses her cheek. Telling her about everything but that test. The hope so swiftly taken from them. She takes Haley to a clinic. They count her eggs and smile, assuring her that she’s young, healthy, and her eggs are in fantastic shape. She should consider herself lucky, it should be easy for her to have children.

Easy.

Clearly, they have never met her husband.

His sperm count is low. Enough that the doctor’s face falls a little as he explains their options. It’s still possible to do this on their own but they shouldn’t be ashamed if things need a little help.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

But he is ashamed and he counts out each offense on his skin.

Sam, the boy she tutored, dies shortly after they learn all of this. His little body just couldn’t take all the stress.

Haley feels selfish but she’s glad she was no where near him when it happened.

A week later, Aaron comes home, hangs his coat on the rack and sits down on the edge of the couch. “I saw David Rossi today.” His eyes are haunted by the dark circles under them. She notices them but the people in his office never seem to. They comment his quick work and sharp mind which is why Dave had been so quick to accept him. Aaron’s curiosity has always been the brightest burning part of him. “He wants me to move back to Virginia. Take some profiling courses. Join his team.”

Aaron has read everything about the Behavioral Science Unit he can get his hands on. So, by extension, she also knows a lot about them. Every time he finds something worth excitement he finds her to recount each detail. He wants this, she knows.

She’s making muffins, trying to keep her mind off of Sam. When he tells her this, what David Rossi wants from her husband she’s furious. Fuck that man. What do they care about him? They have a life here. But… they really don’t. The lease on their apartment is ending and she keeps trying to decide if she really wants to renew it. Sam is dead. Aaron has a job opportunity.

“Do you want to move back to Virginia?” she turns, to him. Pressing her hips across the oven and watching him.

He looks down at the floor. Does he? He hadn’t really considered that. Does he want to work with David Rossi? Yes, very much so. So, he nods. “I want this,” he says.

She brushes the wet dough on her hands off on the apron on her chest and moves across the kitchen to him. Placing a hand on both sides of his face, she kisses him. “Okay,” she whispers. “Then lets go.”

David immediately loves him.

I work too slowly.

I get too attached.

I’m only good with victims.

I am not a good profiler.

But David sees that spark. The yearning for more, fire hissing and popping and Dave is eager to throw gasoline on him. To see him rise and consume them all. “You’re a bright kid,” Dave commends, one afternoon. They’re having dinner on the way home. Dave has no girlfriend or wife to call so he’s very content to get a little tipsy and let Aaron drive him home. Aaron is wondering what Haley’s doing, Dave thinks this is adorable.

“Um,” Aaron can feel a deflection on his tongue but Dave covers his hand with his own.

With far too much seriousness for a tipsy man he says, “alright. You’re next lesson is acceptance, alright? I give you a compliment and you say--” Aaron just stares back at him. “You say thank you, Dave.”

He nods his head.

Dave blinks. This goddamn kid, he swears. But he’s so enchanting, charming in his youth. Bashful but always looking, watching. Dave wants nothing more than to see him smile even more. To see him grow steady and assured in his abilities. And that it almost taken from him. A sniper in some case that feels more like a movie, something that happens to someone you’re only lightly attached to. That you gasp at but forget about in a day or two. The blood that just sprays, thick and heavy and hot. Dave’s never lost an agent.

He’s lost men but that was war. This isn’t war. It’s just profiling. His people aren’t supposed to die and the kid-- fucking Aaron, his Aaron, almost died.

“You must be David.”

Dave is sleeping in the room when she comes. A thin little thing with straw blonde hair and a very scorned looking face. Aaron has gone on and on about her. She’s beautiful and he can see, immediately, why Aaron’s so drawn to her. As stupid as it is, he smiles when he sees her. So tiny and yet drawn up like she’s ready for a fight.

“That must make you Haley.”

She hums, a habit he finds cute. Humming fits Aaron well. He’s a silent man but not Haley. Aaron had told him they had been together since they were kids, high school sweet hearts. It must be a bit of Aaron’s spite she has drawn up as she walks through the room to stand at her husband’s side. Stoic.

The worst is yet to come.

The shot had been surprisingly clean. Aaron would need a sling and to keep his arm delicately strapped to his chest to allow his shattered clavicle to repair. He wakes two hours later, to the soft hum of Haley and Dave whispering over him. He’s not coherent and he’s in pain and falls right back to sleep the moment Haley takes his hand. A softly sighed “oh” on his lips as his eyes shut and he’s gone again.

Dave doesn’t say anything about the scars. He knows about them. (Do you really think they’d let anybody into the FBI without making notes in files, annotations for men like David Rossi to read and re-read a dozen times as they consider allowing men like Aaron Hotchner onto their teams?)

“Haley?” The second time he’s distraught. Panicking. He remembers the warmth of his bath, the Advil bottle in his palm. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, just as he had when he woke the first time, all those years ago. “I won’t do it again. I’m sorry.” He remembers thinking how uncomfortable he was in the tub. How he wished he had a pillow or was shorter so at least his knees could sink in. That he could see his clothes plastered to his skin.

He mistakes her momentary confusion as disbelief and he grows agitated. Gasping in pain but twisting and pleading. “I-- I--,” his sentence is cut off by his strangled cry. He moves his hips the wrong way and his shoulder is pressed down into the mattress.

It breaks her heart just as much this time as it had last time. To see his face pinched in pain and confusion. But she is shocked in place.

Dave stands, grabbing Aaron’s unrestrained hand. His hand wrapping completely around until his finger rest against the inside of Aaron’s wrist. His hand engulfing Aaron’s. The scars moving under his touch. “You’re okay,” Dave assures him softly. He smiles, priding Aaron when he manages to whisper Dave’s name in soft shock. He pats Aaron’s cheek, “there he is. My bright boy. How are you? You okay?”

His sense come back to him. The memories slipping into place. “Hurts,” he rasps. Gradually, his body calms and he stops kicking out against nothing. “My arm hurts,” he whispers, his eyes full of tears as he looks between them. Trusting one of them will stop it. One of them will help.

Haley leans down and presses a kiss to his temple, brushing her fingers through his hair. “You’re okay sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. He hums, turning into her touch. She never calls him sweetheart.

She wipes his tears away and Dave says nothing. At that moment, she doesn’t know him to well but eventually, she’ll learn that his silence in that moment was new. Dave never shuts up. She’ll crave that silence in his company. But he’d been thinking, watching and she’d been preoccupied. He was taking in what he was seeing to stored for a later date. Though he had thought for theory not practice. How wrong he, in fact, was.

He retires a year later. Aaron and Haley are just getting the courage to try again for a kid.

When he returns he’s thoroughly surprised to find things haven’t entirely changed. The bits that have changed are encouraging.

“How much do you know?” Morgan asks him one night, a little too tipsy to be having this conversation. But he’s been sitting on it for months and he’s got to know. It’s his job to protect the team and while he and Aaron always seem to butt heads, he won’t leave him out of that equation. “About… About Hotch.”

Not Aaron, anymore. He’s a whole new person. The Unit Chief, strong stoic and up until that moment Dave had even thought hidden. His little secret tucked beneath those multi-layered suits. Evidently not if Morgan knows. “Should we be discussing this?” he asks. It’s an answer within itself. If he knows they shouldn’t be discussing it then he knows about it.

Morgan understand this. He pops a handful of nuts in his mouth, chewing them thoughtfully. “He’s important to us,” Morgan says after a long while.

Dave nods. “He’s important to me too.”

Neither fully explains where they stand. How much any given member of the team knows.

Spencer Reid isn’t stupid and even if he were, he’s not oblivious. He’s never seen the scars on the inside of his superior’s wrist. Never seen any of the scars for that matter. There’s still something about Hotch, nameless and without a good proper name, that Spencer cues in on. Self-destructive with control issues. They never talk about it. It’s safer that way.

It hurts Penelope to think about for too long. She’s seen the scars but she’d known what to look for and she’d looked. Even though she knew what she would find and knew it would hurt. Though she was never made to be the silent observing type, she doesn’t mention them. But sometimes she places little goodies in his go bag so that when he finds them he’s forced to be reminded that he’s loved.

JJ knows the signs now. She was too slow the first time. Now she wears that burden around her neck each day. There’s something so raw about Aaron Hotchner but she doesn’t think he’s suicidal, not anymore at least. Maybe in another life, at a different time. Today, tomorrow, yesterday… he’s okay. But she’ll keep vigil. She watches.

Though Emily hates his guts when she first arrived, she’s found herself close to his side over the course of the last few months. Enough to know more about him than the others. Maybe not because he tells her but because she’s simply there and it’s hard to hide things once you allow someone else that close.

The divorce doesn’t come by too big of a surprise.

Neither does Haley’s reaction.

“I need to ask you to do something for me,” Haley whispers.

JJ is rocking Henry when Will comes in with the phone and she’s honestly surprised it’s taken Haley this long to get around to her. “Haley,” she responds, wondering if Haley is out there someplace rocking Jack. “You know you don’t have to ask.” JJ and Haley had gotten along great when JJ first joined. JJ was the only girl on the team and Haley knows how Hotch can be.

“He doesn’t mean it, honest.” Haley had defended. Referencing Hotch’s more elusive if not silent nature.

JJ had brushed it off, “oh no. He’s a sweetheart.” And was and still is. He very well was probably the only person who didn’t give her a hard time.

“I know Aaron isn’t taking… all of this well.” That is an understatement. He’s not doing anything drastic but starving away in his office running on caffeine and random sandwiches one of them forces him to eat isn’t thriving. “Can you just look after him? I would-- you know I would but we can’t do this--this balance if I am always there to catch him. That doesn’t change anything.”

JJ closes her eyes, leaning her face down to Henry. Allowing the soft scent of baby and lotion to soothe the anger and pain she feels swelling up. “You know I will,” she promises. “He’ll be okay, Haley. We’ll get him through this.” The call ends shortly after that. Haley asks about Henry and JJ about Jack. And the two part. It’s better that way.

The divorce is the easy part.

Foyet attacks and nine new scars find their way on his body and suddenly they all know that those aren’t the ones they need to worry about.

“Emily, Em--Emily.” She’s sleeping in his guest room, curled under the warm sheets. A cat, he thinks dizzily, as she stretches and hums sleepy at him. Arching her back and stretching her back and arms out like he’s seen plenty of street cats do. The kind that aren’t bothered when you come marching through their alley.

She winces at the light but finds him. The apprehension on his pained face and the dark, wet rag he’s holding with his left hand over his right.

“I-- There was-- It was an accident,” he stumbles.

The wet rag she realizes is soaked in his blood. Crimson. She wakes quickly, suddenly cold. Throwing the blankets off her legs. He just stands in the doorway, leaning heavily to the side. “What did you do?” she demands, afraid to look and see. Afraid to see. She covers his hand with hers, pressing against the wound. Her mind turns this over slowly. His blood dropping in fat drops by their feet. “You have to go to the hospital.”

His eyes flash with something but she knows it’s not remorse for what he’s done. “It was on accident,” he rasps. “I’m sorry.”

She knows. “To the hospital,” she instructs, guiding him through the dark hall. He’s dazed, clearly confused. It takes her a moment to wrap his coat around his shoulder. “Hold it,” she mumbles, wrapping his fingers back around his wrist. Then she’s shoving her own feet into shoes not thinking twice about the fact that they’re both in pajamas and she in shorts. “Aaron,” she stands back up and he’s loosened his hold. The way she says his name shocks him. “Put fucking pressure on it.”

She steers him to the car, guiding him by his hips. By the time she moves to the driver’s seat he’s pressed his head to the door’s cold window, turned a nasty grey color. “Aaron,” she shakes him roughly. Paying no mind to the wounds on his chest that haven’t healed. “Stay awake.” She’s not going to loose him like this. She hits him several more times, it’s one jarring him back to life. She knows she’s hit a few bruises and not healed places on his body but he’s slipping and he’s not going to die in her passenger seat.

“You’re a goddamn idiot.” she seethes. They’re outside the emergency room. She’s pulling his thin grasshopper like legs out of the car, grunting when the rest of him comes with them. His head finds her shoulder and she stops, holding him there for just a second as they both collect themselves. “Are you okay?” she asks softly. The first truly kind thing she’s had to say all night. He nods. “Okay,” she pats his back. “Come on, jackass, we’ve got plenty more fighting to do.”

They won’t let her back with him which she almost hopes causes a scene. But Hotch goes listlessly into the wheelchair and silently allows them to take him away. He doesn’t fight. Which is worse than if he’d begged them to let her come. But he goes, his bloody rag in his lap. Head tilted resting against his chest.

She calls Morgan first. He tells her not to call anyone else. It’s two in the morning and they need the sleep. He’ll be there in twenty minutes. He’s there in ten and when he sees her sitting there he doesn’t say a word, just wraps his coat around her bare arms. They sit, shoulder-to-shoulder, neither saying anything for a long time.

Eventually, he can’t stand the silence. “Did he do it on purpose?” Morgan asks.

She shrugs. She doesn’t know. “He said he was sorry.” The raspy quality of her own voice surprises her. Looking down at her hands, she scratches at her nails. Frowning at the blood she pulls up. They all do things they shouldn’t. He just… It wasn’t on purpose. It wouldn’t… He wouldn’t…

“Emily Prentiss?”

She looks up, surprised to find a nurse standing there. How long have they been sitting here? Not saying a thing. Just thinking. Assuming the worst. “Yes?” She stands, suddenly too aware of how silly she must look. Her night shirt covered in blood and in shorts that show all of her legs and-- only after looking down-- does she realize she’s wearing a pair of Hotch’s shoes.

“Mr. Hotchner is very dehydrated. We’re going to keep him here for the night. You can come back, if you’d like. He asked for you.”

She glances back at Morgan and then at the nurse. “I want to but,” she motions to Morgan, “can we both go?” She can see the hesitation wash over the nurse. “You can ask Hotch-- Agent Hotchner. His name is Derek, Hotch won’t mind.”

The nurse caves with a nod and motions for them to follow her.

He’s in a section marked off by curtain. Asleep with his heavily bandaged hand curled on his chest and the other by his side. They’ve bandaged both, the left with a few bandages versus the heavy gauze of the right. He sleeps but it’s not deep no more than the shallow naps he’s been getting lately.

Emily moves to his left side and waits for the nightmare she know will grip him.

“He didn’t… He wasn’t trying to, was he?”

Emily rubs her thumb his knuckles. “Morgan?” If he was, would he have come to get her? Would he have covered the wound himself, first? Trying to stop the blood on his own? Morgan looks up. “You can’t talk about it. Promise me, you won’t ask him about it.” That would kill him.

Morgan stands in the corner, arms crossed on his chest. “Will you talk to him about it?”

She doesn’t want to. “Yes.” But someone has to.

“If he does it again--”

Emily cuts him off with a scowl. “He won’t.”

Morgan breaks a little, sadden by how vehemently she believes this. “Okay,” he caves. “Okay.”

He does.

#tw mental health #tw food #tw self destructive behavior #tw hospital #tw suicide #tw suicide attempt #tw cutting #tw abuse #jessica brooks #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #haley hotchner #david rossi #spencer reid #derek morgan #jennifer jareua #penelope garcia #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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