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sequinsmile-x · 3 years

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If Tomorrow Starts Without Me - Chapter 9

Rating: Mature (smut in this chapter) Words: 7,261

Read it on a03, or below the cut

Let me know what you think :)

October 2003

“I am going to kill her.”

Aaron turns from where he is preparing drinks for some of their guests to see his wife standing behind him, fury on her face and their 1 year old settled on her hip. He immediately knows who she is talking about.

He sighs as he abandons his task. “Em, sweetheart, love of my life.” He tugs her towards him and settles his arms around her and their son. “It is your birthday, and this little one's first birthday.” He says, tickling Theo’s side to get a laugh out of him. “Your mother has been here for all of 20 minutes, what has she said to have you considering murder already?”

She huffs out a breath. “She said I coddle him too much.”

Aaron’s eyebrows raise at that, not expecting Elizabeth to have commented on Emily’s parenting. It was something the older woman usually stayed away from, a silent acceptance that her daughter was a better mother than she ever had been.

“All that happened is he wanted to be picked up, so I did. And then she said that.” She carries on, clearly more upset than annoyed by her mother’s comment. “In front of everyone I might add.”

“Em.” He tucks some hair behind her ear, getting her attention to be focused back on him. “You are an excellent mother, please don’t pay any attention to her.”

She lowers her gaze from his and clears her throat. “I know I’m probably a bit over the top.” She says, as if he hasn’t spoken at all. “But we waited so long for him, and went through so much.”

“Emily.” He tilts her chin towards him, makes her look at him. “You are an excellent mother.” He repeats. “To both Theo and Jack. Don’t let her get to you okay?”

She nods and clears her throat. “Okay.” She looks back out of the kitchen over her shoulder. “I don’t want to go back out there.”

“You and Theo are the main event, you have to go back out there.” He reasons with her pressing a kiss to her lips. “Go see the team, I’ll put Jack on Elizabeth duty.”

She smiles at him and kisses him quickly before leaving the room, talking to Theo as she rejoins their friends and family.

Jack runs past the kitchen, so Aaron shouts for his attention. Jack walks up to him, a questioning look on his face.

“I need you to distract Elizabeth, okay?”

Jack sighs. “Why? What did I do wrong?”

“Jack, that's rude.” Aaron chastises whilst smothering a laugh. “Please.”

“Was she being mean to Emily again?” Jack asks, concern spreading over his face, his eyebrows tightening in a way that was so Haley it made Aaron’s gut twist.

“I think Emily is just a bit overwhelmed, and you know how they get to each other.” He says politically.

Jack seems to think about it for a second, before nodding. “It’s going to cost you two boxes of Lucky Charms.”

Jack leaves the room, leaving a very confused Aaron behind.

“I think I just got bribed by my 10 year old.”

__________________

November 2003

They are eating dinner all together when it happens. Aaron has Theo on his lap, giving Emily a break so she can eat a meal that wasn’t cold for once. Emily is telling him a story about Derek and Spencer’s antics in the office, a child friendly version since Jack is sat right opposite Aaron, when Theo wriggles out of his fathers lap.

“Ok, buddy. Down you go.” Aaron says, briefly putting his fork down as he settles the one year old on the floor, assuming he was after the toys that were scattered around the dining room.

Instead, Theo walks over to Emily, like he had done it a thousand times, and places his hands on her thighs, clearly wanting his mother’s attention.

The rest of the Hotchner’s speak almost in unison.

“Oh my god, did he just walk?” Emily asks, dropping her own cutlery down, abandoning her meal immediately.

“Shit, he did.” Aaron replies standing himself.

“I’ll go get the video camera.” Jack says, running off in search of it.

Theo looked incredibly confused over why everyone was suddenly looking at him so intently, and when Emily stands herself, he falls down, landing on his bottom, and he cries.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Emily croons as she picks him up, pressing a series of kisses to his face to cheer him up, knowing he really wasn’t hurt. She looks over at her husband. “Aaron, he walked.”

“Got the camera.” Jack says as he runs back into the room, camera on and recording and Emily smiles at him.

“Thanks, Jack.” She hands Theo over to Aaron. “Aaron, you take him, let's see if he does it again.”

Aaron nods, taking Theo and taking a few paces back from Emily, setting Theo on the ground. He stands there for a moment, looking confused.

“Go to Mama, buddy.” Aaron encourages, pointing at Emily who was crouched on the ground, arms out.

That, as Aaron expected it would, has Theo smiling and walking slowly over to Emily. He almost trips over a couple of times, unsteady on his feet, but he makes it, falling forward into his mothers arms.

Emily scoops him up and kisses him repeatedly, tears falling down her face as she does so. “Oh my sweet, clever boy.”

Theo tilts his head at her and places a hand on her cheek. “Mama sad?”

She shakes her head at him and presses a kiss to his face before looking over at Aaron and Jack, both beaming at her. “No, Theo. Not sad at all.”

__________________

February 2009

Emily really tries to not roll her eyes as Aaron insists on putting the car seat with Amelia down on the porch rather than let her hold it for the 10 seconds it will take him to open the door.

“Doctor's orders, sweetheart. No heavy lifting.” He says to her as the door opens and he picks the carrier back up.

She does roll her eyes that time as she walks past him. “Aaron, she’s not even 6lbs. I don’t think that counts as heavy lifting.”

Aaron raises an eyebrow at her when she winces as she sits on the couch, her c-section scar pulling. If she had the strength she would have got up and hit him, and throwing something at him was out of the question because he was holding Amelia. So she settled on just glaring at him.

“Jessica will be here soon with the boys.” He says as he lifts Amelia out of her carrier and brings her over to Emily without her having to ask. “They are both so excited to see her.”

“I know, Theo wouldn’t stop talking about her when I was home a couple of nights ago.” She takes Amelia into her arms, still blown away by how tiny she was. “I’m so glad you’re home, baby. No more nasty hospital.”

Emily thinks it must have been the longest week of her life, watching her tiny little girl in the NICU, her breathing suddenly becoming a problem on her first night in the nursery. Emily knows she’ll always remember the moment when the doctor came into her hospital room, where she was still recovering from surgery herself, and explained that Amelia needed a little extra care.

A combination of the pain, the hormones and the fear that there was something seriously wrong with her baby had left Emily inconsolable. Aaron sat next to her, his arm wrapped around her, as he asked the doctors the practical questions. Strong and dependable, and right by her side as he always was.

After too many nights sleeping on an uncomfortable bed in Amelia’s hospital room, Aaron having only convinced her to go home once, she was grateful to have her daughter home.

“She looks just like you.” Aaron says, stroking a finger over the baby’s head.

“You said the same about Theo.” She teases, looking up at him, a happy but sleepy smile on her face.

“You have seen our son right? He’s your double as well as your shadow.”

Amelia sneezes, drawing attention from her parents back to her. “I always forget how fucking cute it is when they do that.”

“Now she’s no longer living inside of you, you should probably work on cursing in front of her.”

“We managed to make Theo’s first word ‘mama’ despite my love of the word fuck.” She says, smirking at him when she curses again. “I think we can do it a second time.”

“Oh no, her first word is definitely going to be ‘Dada.’” __________________

May 2009 They get Theo to bed with a story from Emily, his concern about her going back to work manifesting in him all but refusing to go to sleep. The knowledge that when he woke in the morning his mother wouldn’t be there making him more difficult than usual.

She closes his bedroom door softly behind her, making sure he doesn’t wake back up as she sneaks out. Emily yawns as she walks to their bedroom, exhaustion seeping into her very bones. Amelia did not enjoy sleep, or at least seemed to consider it some kind of challenge to stay awake as long as humanly possible.

She enters her bedroom and sighs when she sees Aaron pacing the room, Amelia still very much awake against his chest. He turns to look at her, a tired smile on his face. “I think it’s fair to say she’s officially the most stubborn Hotchner.”

Emily laughs as she walks over, another yawn escaping her as she wraps her arms around her husband, resting her head on his chest next to where Amelia was. “If I feed her she’ll fall asleep.”

He hums and presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Sounds good.”

He passes the baby over, to Emily who whispers to her daughter as she takes her into her arms. She settles on her side of the bed and sits up against the headboard, readjusting her shirt to feed Amelia. She leans her head back and closes her eyes.

Aaron joins her in bed, sits up next to her as she nurses their daughter. “You ok sweetheart?”

She nods and lifts her head to look at him. “Just thinking about tomorrow.” She looks back down to the baby in her arms, who was already drifting off to sleep. “I hope it’s an easy day. No big cases. Just lots of paperwork and an evening back here.”

He leans in and presses a kiss to the top of her head. “You do remember it's the BAU right?”

“Shut up, Aaron. Let me hope just for a second, ok?”

He suppresses a laugh and watches as Amelia finally succumbs to sleep. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.” __________________

“Emily.” Jack’s voice is gentle but it's enough to wake her up. She blearily opens her eyes and sees her step-son standing next to her side of the bed. She shifts slightly, feels Aaron’s grip on her waist tightening, a gentle pull of her body back towards him that was strong enough to move her despite the fact he was sleeping.

It was the only time he was really touching her, his instinct in his sleep was still to seek her out, to pull her into his embrace. When he was awake it was a different story. He’d avoid her affection. Something he had never done, shying away from gentle touches to his skin, or kisses she tried to press to his forehead or cheeks. The joy of being reunited, of all of them making it, had faded into the awkwardness of learning how to be around each other again, and it hurt her more than she would care to admit.

“Jack.” Her voice cracks, sleepiness still present at the edges of her consciousness. “Is everything ok?”

“Theo is having a nightmare, I can’t wake him up.”

Emily gets out of bed quickly, carefully removing herself from her husband's grasp in an attempt to not wake him up. She follows Jack to the room he and Theo were sharing and her heart clenches in her chest when she can hear him whimpering in his sleep. She sits on his bed next to him and strokes her hand over his head, running her fingers through his hair. The sight of the cut on his forehead still made her breath catch.

“Come on sweetheart, you need to wake up.” She strokes his cheek with one hand, and rubs his back with the other, gently bringing him back to consciousness. He wakes up, eyes shooting open as he looks at her. “There you are, sweet boy. You’re ok.”

“Mommy?” He sits up and throws himself at her, seeking solace in her arms. Emily wraps her arms tightly around him, feeling him press his face into her neck, his tears wetting her skin.

“It’s ok, I’m here.” She presses a kiss to the side of his head. “Mommy’s here.”

“George said you were dead.”

Emily tightens her grip on her son, her hatred for Foyet burning through her veins. “He lied, honey. I’m right here.” She soothes him enough for him to pull back and look at her and she smiles at him, she runs her thumbs over his cheeks to wipe away his tears. “Do you want to come in and sleep with me and Daddy?”

He nods enthusiastically, tightening his grip on her again. She stands, lifting him onto her hip. He was really too big to be carried like this now, making her glad it was only a short walk back to the room her and Aaron were sharing. Theo rests his head against her shoulder and she presses a kiss to his head, and speaks words of comfort against his skin.

Emily turns to Jack who was still standing by the doorway. “Will you be ok?”

He nods. “Yeah I’ll be fine.”

She smiles at him and walks past him, grasping his arm briefly as she does so. “Thank you.”

Emily reenters the main bedroom, frowning when she hears crying as she walks in. She finds Aaron standing, Amelia crying in his arms. As soon as the little girl spots her mother she starts to squirm and reaches for her, more tears appearing on her face.

Emily sighs as she places Theo on the bed, placing the already sleeping boy under the covers on her side of the bed. Once he’s settled she looks up at Aaron, and sighs when she sees Amelia is still reaching out for her.

“I only fed her just before we went to bed, so she should be ok until morning.” She walks over to where he is standing, a still struggling Amelia in her arms. “She doesn’t do well in new places, or with new people.” She curses herself as soon as she says it, her exhaustion making her brain short wire. Things she wouldn’t usually say slipping past her carefully constructed walls. The way he looks at her cracks her heart. “Aaron, I didn’t mean it like th-”

“It’s fine, Emily.” He says, passing the screaming Amelia into her arms.

Once she has Amelia in her arms she presses a kiss into the baby’s head, shushing her as she tries to calm her down. She doesn’t miss the pain on Aaron’s face when she looks back up at him, the way he frowns at her when she can almost instantly soothe their daughter when he hadn’t been able to.

It breaks her heart too, memories of the relationship Aaron and Amelia had before all of this, before Foyet, floating around in her head. Images of how he had been the only one who could get her to laugh when she first started doing it, dragging the sweet sound out of her as often as he could. She remembered walking into their living room to find Amelia doing tummy time and Aaron laying on the floor right in front of her, whispering nonsense to their daughter.

In the two days since they had been reunited they hadn’t addressed it, hadn’t acknowledged that Amelia didn’t recognise him, how hurt he was by it, and that he would have to start that relationship from scratch.

“It will get better, Aaron.” Emily says, gently rocking the baby and rubbing her back as she tries to soothe her back to sleep. “It will just take a bit of time.”

“Yeah.” He says simply, looking away. “I’m going to go make a drink.” He points towards the main suite. “Do you need anything?”

She shakes her head, resists telling him that it’s 3am and they should just go back to bed now that the kids are settled again. “I’m ok, thanks.” She leans forward, closes the gap between them and presses a kiss to his cheek and ignores how he flinches away before he leaves the room.

Emily settles Amelia back into her crib before she climbs into bed next to Theo. The little boy immediately seeks her out in his sleep, his hands digging into her pyjama shirt as he moulded himself against her. She wraps her arms around him and closes her eyes, hoping sleep would find her easily.

When she wakes in the morning, Theo is still pressed close to her, and it’s clear Aaron’s side of the bed has not been slept in. __________________

Her parents show up at the hotel that evening, and Emily doesn’t think she’s ever been hugged so fiercely by either of them. The 6 months it has been since she last saw them is not the longest she has ever gone without seeing them by far, but it was different. She’d felt it too.

Theo and Jack are next, pulled into equally adoring embraces by their grandparents. Elizabeth and John both barely cover their upset when Amelia shys away from them, her face buried into Emily’s neck.

Emily is grateful that for once, her mother pays attention to the look she gives her, the silent request to leave it alone.

They spend a few hours together. It’s awkward, and if her parents notice the way Aaron is acting, how he keeps distancing himself from her, they don’t address it. When Theo gets too tired to keep his eyes open, falling asleep against John’s side, Emily gets him up and leads him to bed.

“Mommy, can I sleep with you and Daddy again?” He asks gently, almost embarrassed by the request.

She bends down to his level and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Of course, sweetheart. But it’s going to be a little bit before we go to bed, ok?”

“Emily.” Aaron’s voice makes her whip round to look at him, the annoyance on his face confusing her. “Can I have a quick word with you?”

“Yeah, ok.” She turns back to Theo and smiles at him. “Why don’t you stay out here with Grandma and Grandpa for a bit, I’ve got to go speak to Daddy.”

They walk into their bedroom, and she sneaks a glance at a sleeping Amelia in her crib as he closes the door. When she turns to look at him he looks angry.

“Aaron? What’s wrong?”

“He can’t just sleep in here every night. You have got to stop coddling him, Emily.”

Her eyebrows raise at that, defiance washing over her face. “Coddling him? This would be the second night.” She crosses her arms and tries to keep her cool. “He’s my son. He is upset and confused by everything that’s happened. You didn’t see how upset he was when he woke up last night. So if he wants to sleep in our bed until he’s feeling more settled then that’s what I’m going to let him do.” She runs a hand through her hair. “We don’t even have Archie to defuse it, I left him behind in all the panic.”

He wants a fight, she can tell. The tension radiating off of him in waves. “It’s not just Theo. It’s all three of them. They are too attached to you.”

She tilts her head at him and furrows her brows. “Of course they are attached to me, I’m their mother.”

“You’re not Jack’s.”

She can’t help the gasp that escapes at that, the words he’s only ever thrown at her once before. When Haley had just died and they were trying to find their footing again. She turns to leave, knowing that if she said anything further it wasn’t going to help.

“It’s not like you to walk away from a fight.”

She stops in her tracks and turns to look at him, indignation all over her face. “No, it isn’t. But I did. I tore our family apart because you asked me to leave, and now we are living with the consequences of that.” Emily blows out a breath, tries to calm down. “It’s not my fault Amelia doesn’t recognise you, Aaron.”

He hates that she knows him so well, that she can so easily get to the bottom of what is really upsetting him. “What are you saying? That it is my fault?”

“You started a war with a psychopath that you couldn’t finish. And me and your children had to live with the consequences.” She shakes her head at him. “And if you think for one second that it was easy, you are deluding yourself.”

He opens his mouth to say more, to throw more barbs her way, but the door to their room opens and Jack is standing there, a nervous look on his face. “We can all hear you.”

It’s enough to snap them both out of it, Emily sighing when she thinks about the fact her mother of all people would have overheard everything that had been said. She looks back at Aaron who won’t meet her eyes.

“I’m going out.” Aaron says, leaving the room before she can protest. Emily closes her eyes to stop herself from crying, not wanting to break down in front of Jack and with her parents in the next room. She looks at Jack and tries to smile, mutters an apology as she fails to do so.

Jack nods at her before following out after his father. “Dad, wait. I’m coming with you.”

__________________

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Emily turns to look at Derek, who was standing behind her with his arms crossed and a concerned look on his face. “Yes. I think I need to do this.”

Derek stares at her a second before looking past her to the medical examiner, giving the other man a quick nod. The medical examiner opens a door to a small room and leads them in, a body covered in a sheet laying on a metal table in the middle of it.

Emily can’t help the gasp that escapes her when the sheet is pulled back, the mess of Foyet’s face being brought into view. She closes her eyes for a second and takes a deep breath before making herself look again.

He was unrecognisable. His face was a mess of bruising, dried blood and broken bones and teeth. She couldn’t believe that Aaron, a man who had always touched her so reverently, like she was made of precious jewels, had done this. That the same man who had comforted their children with such tenderness over the years had beaten this man to death, and clearly kept going much longer than was necessary.

She can’t blame him for it, not for a second, because she knows she would have done the exact same thing.

Emily takes a step forward, gets slightly closer to Foyet, and leans down to him. “You lose.”

She walks out the room without looking back. __________________

When Emily gets back to the hotel she sees her mother sat out in the living room, Amelia in her arms, Theo nowhere to be seen.

Elizabeth looks up at her and smiles. “That didn’t take long.”

Emily smiles and nods walking towards the couch. “Thanks for watching them.”

“Did you get what you needed from it?”

“Yes.” Emily replies, sitting next to Elizabeth. Amelia immediately reaches for her mother as soon as she is close enough. Emily smiles as she takes her into her arms, pressing a kiss to her dark hair as she does so. “I think so anyway. Where’s Theo?”

Elizabeth smiles at the mention of her grandson. “Your father is reading him a story, hopefully he’ll fall asleep in his own room tonight.”

Emily sighs. She had left so soon after Aaron and Jack had that there hadn’t been the chance for this conversation earlier. “Mother, please-”

“I’m not criticizing you.” She interrupts, placing a hand on her daughter's leg, trying to soothe her in a way that had never really existed in their relationship. “I promise.”

Emily stares at her, tries to find some of the underlying passive aggressiveness that usually existed in her relationship with her mother. But she found nothing except concern, and something that looked like sympathy. “Ok.”

They sit in silence for a moment, both laughing when Amelia suddenly hauls herself up on Emily’s lap, hands tangling in her hair as she balances herself. Emily smiles at her daughter as she replaces her hair in Amelia’s hands with her fingers. Her heart clenched as it always did when her baby’s hands grasped on tight.

“She’s changed a lot.” Elizabeth says, briefly running a hand down Amelia’s back.

Emily nods. “Yeah, well that’s what 6 months does I guess.”

“You’re still angry at him for asking you to leave.”

Emily turns to look at her mother, eyebrows furrowed. “I’m not-”

“You are, and I can’t blame you. I would have been too.” Elizabeth smiles at her. “I was angry. I went to visit him in the hospital the day after you left.”

She frowns at that. “You did?”

“I did. And then I understood.” Elizabeth can’t help the laugh that escapes when Amelia suddenly launches herself forward, head resting on her mother’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine. You both just need to talk to each other. You’ve always got through everything.”

Emily smiles, tightening her hold on her own daughter as she settles into her. “Careful, Mother. It’s starting to sound like you actually like Aaron.”

Elizabeth smiles at that. “And he can never know.” __________________

They drive in mostly silence after Jack gives him the street address to the apartment they had stayed in during their time in witness protection.

Jack looks at him for a long moment, contemplating if it was really his place to say anything about the argument he had overheard. He turns back to look out the windscreen before he talks, and watches as the city gives way to countryside, memories of the drive out here for the first time seeping in. He remembered Theo and Amelia crying in the back seat. Theo because he had some vague understanding they wouldn't see their father again for a while. Amelia because she absolutely hated car journeys.

Mostly Jack remembers catching Emily’s eyes as he looked into the back of the car, how sad she looked despite the encouraging smile she plastered on for him.

“I think you need to give Emily a break, Dad.” He finally says. “She did her best.”

“Jack, it’s complicated.”

“I know it is, but none of it was her fault.” Jack replies. “Or yours.” He adds quickly, not missing how Aaron’s hands grip the steering wheel a little tighter. Jack clears his throat, an admission leaving his lips before he even realises he was going to say it. “I made her cry once.”

He watches his father frown at that, a question on his face. “Jack?”

“I accused her of sleeping with Sam. I knew she wasn't. I also said she wasn’t my mom.” He says, reminding Aaron what he had overheard earlier. “I just wanted to hurt her so I felt better. It didn’t work.” Jack looks out the window, avoids looking at Aaron. “I think you and me have that in common.”

There is a pause, and Jack swears he hears his dad mutter something about therapy being worth every penny before he speaks loudly enough for him to actually hear. “How did you get so smart?”

Jack smiles at him, and for the first time since he heard Emily and his dad argue he feels relief in his chest. “I’ve had three pretty great parents.” _________________

The apartment is smaller than he imagined it being, the space not seeming enough for his wife and children to have lived in for so long.

It’s clearly been abandoned. There is food left out on the kitchen counter, toys scattered through the living room and he can imagine the panic Jack must have felt when Foyet walked in, claiming his parents were dead.

“It’s a shithole, huh?”

Aaron turns around to look at his son, raising an eyebrow at his turn of phrase, Jack’s only response being him holding his hands up in surrender. Aaron then spots something orange sticking out from under the couch. He bends down to get it, his sore ribs protesting the action, and he picks it up. The fur of the stuffed cat is slightly rougher than he remembered it being, another six months of being fiercely loved by Theo wearing it down slightly.

“Hi, Archie.” He says. “It’s been a while.” __________________

When Aaron and Jack get back, Archie tucked under her husband's arm, she’s reminded of when they left the toy on a plane years ago. Theo was so small then, Amelia not even something they had considered they could have.

“You went to the apartment?” She asks, a frown on her face. She hadn’t been sure what to expect when he had stormed out hours again, but this certainly wasn’t it.

“I wanted to see it.” He says it's like the most simple thing in the world. “Why don’t you go give this to Theo.” He hands over the stuffed cat and she nods, sneaking quietly into the room Jack and Theo were staying in and smiles when she sees her son fast asleep. She places Archie next to him and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead.

Emily turns when she hears noise behind her, and she sees Jack holding a sleeping Amelia in his arms, Aaron behind him with the portable crib the hospital had provided in his hands.

She frowns slightly. “What’s going on?”

“Jack said he’d take Amelia so we could talk.”

Emily turns to Jack. “Are you sure?”

Jack nods, placing his sister in the crib once Aaron sets it down. “Of course.”

She pulls him into a hug. “Thank you.”

They walk over to their room, making Jack promise to come get them if there is an issue with either Theo or Amelia. The door closes behind them and it’s instantly awkward, she stands in the middle of the room with her arms crossed over her chest, looking at anything except him.

“I’m sorry.” He speaks first. “I was out of line earlier.”

She looks at him. “I’m sorry too.” She swallows against the lump in her throat. “I hate this Aaron. I hate that this feels so awkward. It’s never been like this.”

“I hate it too.”

She takes a step towards him. “Then you need to tell me what you’re thinking. I’m a damn good profiler, but I can’t actually read minds.”

He smiles at her, closes the small gap between them and grabs her hand. “I killed a man.”

“I know you did.” She says softly, gripping his hand tighter.

“I didn’t have to kill him.” He says firmly, his voice emotionless. “I could have stopped, and I didn’t.”

“I know.” She repeats, and she smiles sadly at him when he looks at her. “I made Derek take me to see Foyet’s body when you were gone today.” He opens his mouth, words of what she is sure are anger about to spill out. “I needed to see him, Aaron. I had to see it for myself.”

He clenches his jaw tightly for a second before releasing it, nodding at her.

“I’d have done it too.” She says, running her thumb over the knuckles he fractured on Foyet’s teeth. “I’d have killed him. Without a second thought. It doesn’t make you like him.” She cups his cheek. “You are not the same as that man.”

He sighs at that, resting his forehead against hers. “He gave me the same scars as him.”

Emily feels like her breath stutters in her chest, the realisation that was what he had been thinking about all this time hitting her like a truck. “Aaron.”

He pulls back from her, completely removing himself from her grasp, and he unbuttons his shirt, revealing the pattern of scars on his chest. Mixed in with large purple and black bruises she knows are from the final showdown with Foyet.

There was some redness to the scars, raised and slightly puckered still, but she imagined they looked better than they once had. Not for the first time she wishes she had been there with him when he was healing, and she hates that he went through so much alone.

She reaches out and touches one of them, runs her finger over the healed skin. He flinches under her touch and she pulls her hand back.

“Em...”He looks away from her, as if shielding himself from her reaction. Like he had spent the last 6 months convincing himself that anything Foyet had done to him would make her love him less instead of more. It makes her want to go back to the morgue and get a couple good hits in herself, fiery protectiveness for the man who had given her everything licking at her insides. She gently reaches out for her husband instead. Tracing a finger softly over one of the scars before she looks up at him.

“Baby.” She puts a hand on each of his cheeks and makes him look at her, her thumbs tracing his cheekbones. She feels tears gathering in her eyes, and she shakes her head at him. “They don’t matter. I’m not looking at them and thinking of him. I just see you. Just like I always have.”

He stares at her for a moment, as if he is trying to gauge if she is telling the truth, and then he surges forward. His hand tight in the back of her hair as he kisses her fiercely, pouring half a year's worth of love into it.

Emily loses herself in it, letting herself be overwhelmed by the kisses he presses to her lips and down her neck, his hands wandering up the back of her shirt, spanning the whole of her back in a way she has spent months dreaming of. Her memory hadn’t served him justice and she has to choke back a moan as his thumbs graze past her breasts.

Her brain comes back online when he presses her into the bedroom wall, a laugh escaping her mouth as he sucks on her pulse point. “Aaron.” She pushes at him slightly, grabs his face in her hands and runs a thumb over his bottom lip. “Honey, we can’t do this. You’re injured.”

He turns his face to press a kiss to her palm. “Em, please. I just need to feel you.” He presses his lips to her throat and her eyes close, the heat climbing in her body overwhelming.

She wanted him too, so much. This final reaffirmation that they had lived, they’d survived something awful and somehow, by some miracle, still had each other.

“I want you too. So much.” She says, her hand travelling to the back of his neck. “But let's take it to the bed ok?” She pulls him forward to lean his forehead on hers and smiles against his lips. “I don’t think either of us are quite up for fucking against the wall tonight.”

He pulls her tighter to him, and leads her over to the bed without another word, taking her shirt off as he does so.

They lay on the bed together, hands exploring and rediscovering each other slowly. Peeling off their remaining clothes as they go. She feels like her body is on fire, his revenant touch making her shudder.

He sucks a bruise on her shoulder and she decides she’s had enough. Emily pushes him back onto his back and swings a leg over his lap, both of them groaning when she settles over his lap, a jolt of pleasure runnin through both of them. Aaron makes a move to sit up and she gently pushes him back down, linking her hands through his, their fingers intertwining.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” She whispers as she leans down purposely not leaning on his purple mottled skin, kissing him hard on his lips.

She sits back up and sinks onto him, almost biting through her lip to prevent herself from crying out at the feeling. She stays still for a second, allowing herself the chance to adjust, to enjoy the feeling. Then she starts to move. He sits up suddenly, wraps his arms around her and ignores her protests.

“It’s worth it.” He says into her neck, pressing kisses into her skin. “Always...always worth it.”

She nods, unable to argue with him. She moves her head back so she can kiss him, wrapping her arms around the back of his head as she does.

They fall apart together, swallowing each other's moans as they do. Emily rests her forehead against his, breathing heavily as she tries to regulate her emotions. Tears spring to her eyes before she can stop them, and a sob escapes her just as quickly.

“Oh, baby. It’s ok.” He says gently, hugging her to him. He kisses her forehead before pulling her head towards his chest. “You’re ok.”

“I missed you so much.” She cries against him, fingers clawing at his still sweaty back. “So fucking much.”

“I know, sweetheart.” He kisses the top of her head, feels his own tears flood his lash line. “I missed you too.” He strokes the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair. “But I’m here. We’re here. It’s over.”

Emily pulls back from his embrace and he immediately cups her face, wipes away the tears on her cheeks despite the fact he knew they’d be instantly replaced. “It’s over.” She repeats back to him before resting her head against him again. “It’s really over.”

He nods, their foreheads clashing slightly. “I love you, Emily.”

She laughs, like it’s the most obvious thing he had ever said, and she palms his face, cupping his cheek. “I love you too.” __________________

She demands to go to the house the next day, just the two of them. He’s unsure at first, doesn’t know if it is a good idea. But she is insistent, and he has never been one to deny her. Elizabeth and John come back around to stay with the children, both Theo and Amelia hesitant to be separated from their mother. It had led to a lot of tears, some from Emily although she would deny it if he brought it up, but they left eventually, a promise that they wouldn’t be long hanging in the air.

Emily is out of the car and through their front door, crime scene tape was still hanging from the frame, before he even had the car parked up. He walks in after her and finds her sood in the doorway of their dining room.

“I used to love this house.” She says without turning to look at him, eyes fixed on their dining room floor where he had left Foyet’s body only three days beforehand. “It was the first place that ever felt like home to me.” She sniffs, the heel of her hand coming to her cheek to wipe away a tear that he can’t see. “I loved our apartment, it’s the place where we became us. But this is the house we bought to have a family in. Even though that never quite turned out the way we thought it would.”

“I’ve always loved it too.”

She looks at his knuckles, still swollen, cuts standing out against his skin. “Theo took his first steps here.” She looks back at the floor. “I’d always think about that when we had dinner as a family. How he shuffled out your lap and just started walking.” She bites her lip, chin wobbling as she remembers the moment that seems so long ago now. “Now all I can think about when I stand here is that you beat a man to death. Or that the last time I came home and I found our living room stained with your blood.”

“Em.”

“I’m not saying it’s your fault.” She finally looks at his face, takes one of his bruised hands in hers and delicately runs her thumb over his damaged knuckles. She sees the doubt in his eyes, the concern she had caused with their crossed words the day before and she's so mad at herself for it she could cry. “None of this is your fault.” She emphasises. “ I just don’t think we can live here anymore.”

He feels relief he wasn’t expecting, a tension he hadn’t realised was in his chest starts to fade at her words. His time alone in the house, and the events that had bookended it, had tainted it for him. The innocence that had once lived in the walls of their house, their sanctuary from the horrors they saw in their work, torn away. “Then we find somewhere else to live.”

She looks at him with curiosity in her eyes, and she tilts her head slightly at him. “You say it like it’s simple, finding somewhere we can call home.”

“Em,” He runs his hands up her arms, finally settling on her shoulders as he pulls her into a hug. “You and the kids are my home, you’re all I need.”

Emily holds him just as tightly. “You’re mine too. I think you always have been.”

__________________

One Month Later - December 2009

Amelia is standing on his thighs, hands squishing his cheeks when he gets the call. JJ’s name flashing across his screen automatically makes his heart drop. The last he’d heard from Emily they had caught the guy. His motivations for one of the murders were still unclear, and Emily was driving with one of the local detectives and the unsub to take him into custody.

She’d even commented that she would be home for putting the kids to bed on her first case back at work. She had asked Derek to take the lead for the first couple of cases back, so she could readjust to it after such a long time away.

He balances Amelia with one hand, the little girl still not quite able to stand completely by herself yet, and grabs his phone to answer it. “JJ, what’s wrong?”

“She’s ok.” JJ starts off, sounding unsure over the phone. “She said not to call, but I thought you’d want to know.”

“JJ, just tell me.”

JJ sighs, as if preparing herself for his reaction. “Emily’s been in a car accident.”

#hotchniss #hotchniss fan fic #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #au fan fic #ITSWM #WTB Universe #criminal minds fanfiction

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imagineaworlds · 3 years

Text

I Love You (Part Twenty-Seven) -- Aaron Hotchner

Written By: @desperately-bisexual

Request: None.

Warnings: Cursing. Talk of murder, rape. sexual assault, forced impregnation, Hybristophilia, loss of child-- literally everything Criminal Minds. Mentions of panic attack(s), anxiety, PTSD, shock, etc. (I think that covers it all. Please, if I missed anything triggering, TELL ME!)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Greenaway!Reader

Word Count: 19029

Timeline: Season 4 Episode 02. Right after part twenty-six.

There were a thousand times throughout the past week when Hotch wasn’t by my side and I felt anxious. He wanted to get back to work as quickly as the doctors cleared him, and since his leg healed pretty fast— or he was at least pretending like it had healed fast—he was back in time for the next case JJ had for us. I was still worried, however. It killed me to go to work every day while he was on bed rest. Getting to come home to him every day, though, to see that he was alive and alright, that was a relief of sorts. Leaving with him on Monday morning after picking him up from the doctor’s office was… less relieving. I mean, they cleared him, of course. He had been going to make sure that his ears were going to be okay, too, since I was worried about that, but he insisted that the doctor said everything was fine. Everything wasn’t fine, though. I could tell. I knew him well enough to know when he was lying or when he was pretending for my sake. He didn’t want me going to his checkups, and at first I understood, but then I slowly started getting suspicious when he was coming home from them without immediately coming to tell me any news— even though it was “all good news”, according to him.

I told Morgan early on that I was worried about Hotch. After New York, Morgan was trying to find ways to be more open and understanding with me. I think he realized that he had been a prick in the car that night when he said he agreed with JJ. I think he realized that he was wrong, and that his choice as my best friend was to either support me entirely or to forget me. And we didn’t want to forget each other. We had been worried sick that night, and his near death experiences in the ambulance seemed to have knocked some sense into him. So when I told him, he insisted that Hotch himself was probably okay, but he was just worried about me in the same way I was worried about him. I wanted to believe Morgan; I really did… But I told Morgan the same thing I had been telling Hotch and all of the doctors: what happened to me that night wasn’t a common occurrence. I didn’t get panic attacks. I didn’t freak out like that. It was a one time thing, and everyone just needed to get over it. If Hotch were really concerned, he should’ve just told me the truth, and then I wouldn’t’ve been concerned about him, and vice versa. Cause and effect kind of thing.

“Are you over Hotch passing out?” Morgan asked as we sat in the boardroom together to get some privacy. I shook my head. “Why?”

“Because he scared the shit out of me.”

“Hotch feels the same way about your panic attack. I saw him. He pulled all of those I.V.s out of his arms and pushed a nurse to the side just to get back to you. If you expect that he has to be honest with you, then shouldn’t you show him the same courtesy?”

Well… I hadn’t thought of it like that. I really didn’t think that what happened to me was a big deal—but that could have just been denial—and I hadn’t stopped to think that maybe Hotch was worried sick about me. I didn’t want him to hide things from me because of me, though. That wasn’t the point. We made a promise to each other that we wouldn’t keep secrets from each other. Him being honest about his health should’ve been the most important thing to us.

Then JJ interrupted to tell us that we had a case. Morgan thanked her while I kept my gaze lowered. We hadn’t talked since New York, and I felt like I had reason to continue staying distant from her for a while. I couldn’t bear that Morgan disapproved of me and Hotch because it sounded like he was more concerned for me than just trying to say: “Are you sure?” a thousand times. Once he knew that I was really sure about marrying Hotch, Morgan gave in because he only wanted what was best for me. JJ, on the other hand… Well, she hadn’t even tried to apologize. According to her behavior, she seemed adamant on maintaining her position. She didn’t think that Hotch and I were a good fit. And that broke my heart into a million pieces, because, of course I wanted her to support us, but I wasn’t going to tolerate that she was disapproving just for the sake of it. Her reasons didn’t hold. She wasn’t sure if I was ready to be a mother to Jack, or willing to spend time with Haley, or ready to actually be a wife. But what she failed to recognize was that I was ready for all of that. I was ready, and I tried to tell her, yet she didn’t seem to believe me. I couldn’t forgive that.

“I’ll call Hotch,” she said quietly.

“He’s at the doctors,” I told her, though I was still looking at the ground.

“I know. I’ll tell him to meet us at the jet.” She stepped into the room and started laying out the case files for everyone.

The rest of the team started filing in moments later. I turned in my seat to face forward, ignoring everyone’s glares, and opened the case file. JJ started running through it, but I ignored her in order to just educate myself. I think it was obvious to her and everyone else what I was doing, though.

Delilah Grennan was found dead in her home two nights ago. She had been raped repeatedly, bludgeoned to death, then presented post-mortem with her palms laid over her chest innocently— which meant that the Unsub felt remorse for what he had done. What conflicted with the hands of purity and innocence, however, were the stab wounds inflicted post-mortem, also a part of the Unsub’s ritual. That part probably came before the hand placement. The oddest part was actually about the rape that occurred during the initial attack. The local PD tried to run the semen found in her through VICAP in order to get a DNA match—which would have made this an open and shut case—the only problem: it matched that of a known serial killer named Cortland Bryce Ryan, also known as the “Angel Maker”. The issue with that was that he had been in prison since his arrest, and the one year anniversary of his execution was two days ago. The day of the murder.

“Were there any other victims?” Emily asked.

“Kinda,” JJ answered, managing to catch my attention. “Victimology and signature match almost perfectly with an old serial killer who was executed a year ago.” I knew that from the file. “He raped and killed six women in ten months.” She pressed a button on the TV remote, which revealed crime scene photos from the original Angel Maker case ten years ago. “It’s all the exact same. The copycat even opened all of the windows in the house, which was what Cortland did; however, that information was never released to the public.”

“So, then, this is definitely someone who knew Cortland personally,” I said.

JJ eyed me cautiously for a second as if she were asking herself if it were safe to address my comment. But she nodded and continued with, “Yes. Probably.”

“There’s one discrepancy, though,” Reid said after awkward silence hung in the air for a moment. “Cortland used his bare hands to beat his victims, but the M.E. concludes that Delilah was beaten with a hammer or some other heavy instrument.”

“So, this guy is weaker,” Morgan concluded.

Emily raised a brow. “Why wouldn’t his victim fight back, then?”

Silence blanketed the room. We all looked over at Rossi, as the lead profiler in the room, to see if he had anything to add. He shrugged at all of us. It was then decided amongst us that we would discuss it more on the plane where Hotch would be waiting. So I collected my file quickly and went to my desk to grab my go-bag. That was when I felt Emily poke my shoulder. I jumped in my own skin before turning and realizing that it was just her.

“Sorry, Ms. Jumpy,” she laughed. “I just wanted to ask if everything is alright.”

“What?”

“With you and JJ.”

I looked up at the boardroom to see Morgan and JJ talking privately—probably about me. I sighed and zipped up my go-bag again. “Yeah, we’re fine.”

“I mean, you’re clearly not.”

“You know I love you, Em, right?” I asked her quietly. She nodded. “Then I need you to really not take offense to this: please drop it. It’s none of your business.”

Emily fell silent and took a retreating step backwards. “Right. Of course. Sorry.”

“No—” I insisted, grabbing her hand. “I’m sorry. I just…” I sighed again. “It’s really complicated right now. I swear, once things are sorted out a bit more, you’ll be the first person I tell. I swear.” I squeezed her hand and glanced around the bullpen quickly. The only person around was Anderson, but he had headphones in as he was eating his breakfast. I looked at her again. “You’re the only one who never doubts me and Hotch. You know that?”

“Why would I doubt you two?” she chuckled. “Like you said, it’s not my business. But the opinion I’ve naturally made is that you’re really good for him, and he’s really good for you. Who am I to come in here and tell you any different?”

I shrugged and looked up at JJ again. “Yeah. I don’t know.”

When we arrived at the jet, I saw Hotch waiting just outside for us. I smiled lightly at him and walked straight towards him while the rest of the team filed onto the jet. When we were alone, I bounced up on my toes and kissed him. He cupped my cheek briefly as he leaned into our kiss. We both pulled away at the same time. I took his hand in mine while looking at the windows of the jet to make sure none of the team was watching. After my conversations with JJ and Morgan, it was probably no secret that Hotch and I were serious about our relationship, and since New York it was getting increasingly harder to hide the fact that I needed physical reassurance of Hotch’s presence and safety nearly all the time. I didn’t like being reliant and distracted like that, but… I almost lost him… I deserved a pass for a bit until I stopped worrying about him. Our rules about not making our relationship a big deal at work were slowly starting to mean nothing to me. I loved Hotch. I loved him more than anything, which was why I worried so much. Touching him, holding him, and kissing him was the only way I could calm down now. The team would understand that, right? Still, though, Hotch didn’t like it. I had to understand that, kind of. So, I let go of him reluctantly.

“What did the doctor say?”

Hotch shrugged. “I’m the poster child of perfect health.”

I furrowed my brows. I didn’t believe him. There was no way that a week after being in a bombing and going through surgery he was suddenly in perfect shape. I mean, he wasn’t really limping now, and he wasn’t fussing about his ears. Maybe it was actually possible. But still. The scrapes and bruises were still on him, and until those would disappear, I’d be wary. Even though I trusted Hotch, and he promised to never lie to me, I had to keep an eye on him. He said the doctor’s said he was fine… If I was suspicious about that, then that was my choice. But until I knew for sure that something was wrong, I was going to bite my tongue.

“Hey, lovebirds!” Morgan yelled at us as he stuck his head out of the jet. “Cincinnati awaits us!”

Hotch walked away from me before I got a chance to inquire further about what happened with the doctor. He was so reluctant to tell me anything about those visits. At first, I was understanding, but now that I could tell he was being weird about something, I was starting to get annoyed. Whatever was going on, I’d found out eventually. He had to know that. I always found out, and if it turned out that he was lying to me, I’d rain hell down on him—just like I did when he went behind my back to ask for a transfer five months ago. How time flew. Geez.

I sat next to Hotch at the big table. JJ and Reid were across from us—though I refused to look up at JJ even once; and Morgan and Rossi were sitting on the couch to my left. While the engines started whirring for takeoff, I felt Hotch’s ankle caress mine lovingly. He knew that even a year in, I still had trouble with the jet taking off. It didn’t help that Reid would always give those statistics about how takeoff and landing were the most dangerous points of a flight. Hotch knew that Reid’s statistics always ran through my mind when the engines started up. He knew that I hated this part. He knew that it made me tense up. He also knew that I was getting better at hiding it because I felt like the others wouldn’t understand my continuous anxiety about something like this. Since Hotch and I weren’t sitting in the back on our own, he couldn’t grab my hand to comfort me. So he used his ankle. And I silently thanked him for it by nudging him back.

As the plane started racing down the runway, the team began discussing some theories about the case. Spencer was going on and on about an “evil and an eviler twin” while everyone stared at him blankly. I chuckled to myself. Spencer glared at me lightly and questioned what I thought about all of it. So I looked down at the case file to give it one more review before presenting my hypothesis.

I thought there was no way there were twins involved in all of this. I mean, the DNA would’ve matched, sure, but… come on, that was out there. This copycat we were dealing with used a hammer to bludgeon his victims before performing the same ritual the Angel Maker did. This was all a very convincing ruse to make people think that the Angel Maker was back, but he had been dead for a year. Someone managed to somehow get a test tube sized amount of Cortland Ryan’s semen, and they were using it to “prove” the hypothesis, but we could see through it. Well, all of us except for Reid, apparently. The question about all of this really should have been “why” instead of “how”. Cortland raped and inseminated his victims, and the police thought that the ritual of stabbing his victims’ stomachs was a figurative way of killing the future child that could have been born from that act. However, in prison, Cortland denied this theory, but he refused to say what the truth was. So why? Why did Cortland do it, and why was this Unsub doing it?

Hotch groaned quietly next to me as the plane climbed towards altitude. I stopped talking halfway through my explanation to look at him. He was holding his head in his hands, his eyes shut, his entire body tense.

“Baby,” I whispered, taking his hand under the table.

“Yeah?” he whispered back. He was much quieter than I was, and he still wasn’t looking at me— or really even focused on me at all. It seemed like he only responded just to get me to lay off compared to actually listening to what I had to say.

I squeezed his hand. “The doctor did clear you to fly, right?”

“Mhm.”

“So, then, what’s wrong?”

Hotch bit his lip and threw his head back against the seat. His eyes were screwed shut and his face was contorting into an unattractive look in response to whatever pain he was feeling. “It’s just a headache,” he insisted. “I’m fine.” He tore his hand away from me and looked at the team. They all seemed just as concerned as I was, but he ignored their worry by redirecting their attention back to the case.

Everyone kept watching Hotch closely as he gave out our assignments. Morgan and I were to head to the prison to take a look at Cortland’s personal effects and to talk with the guards there about who Cortland was close to, and who could have possibly helped him get his semen out of the prison. Reid was going to head to the crime scene with Hotch, Rossi and Emily were going to check out the body at the morgue, and JJ was going to start meeting with the local PD about the case.

Hotch hadn’t yet decided to bench JJ since finding out that she was pregnant, but he was adamant about keeping her out of harm’s way. So, she was left to work at the police stations and the hotels. That was it. Honestly, she seemed fine with it. I knew that if I were in her position, and Hotch were benching me like that, I would have been pissed. It had only been a week since we found out, she wasn’t even showing, and yet Hotch was already making sure that she was safe. I mean, I understood the thought process. I knew that he didn’t want her to get hurt, because he was responsible for making sure she was safe and healthy. But still. I would’ve hated the idea of being cooped up in a police station all day. At least she got that much, though. Once she would start to show, I had no doubts that Hotch would pull her out of the field—that was if she weren’t going to make that decision herself. JJ spent a lot of her time in the office and in the precincts, anyhow. She probably didn’t want to put herself in danger while pregnant, and that was understandable.

As Morgan and I pulled up to the prison, I took in every detail of it. Compared to all of the other prisons I had seen inside and out, this place was much nicer. In fact, it had a Victorian era feel to it. The high, castle-like walls were a light tan color, and the material looked like limestone, if I were to make a guess. There weren’t even electric fences surrounding the outside of the prison because that was how high and rough the walls were. There was no way in hell anyone was climbing those—and even if they tried, a guard would probably shoot them off before they could get very far because on every corner and in the middle of each wall were guard towers. Those weren’t modern either. Honestly, if we weren’t in Cincinnati, I would’ve thought we were touristing at a castle in Europe.

The front gate was as expected. The check points were modern, but they were built into the old walls for support. If someone wanted to drive straight through, I wished them luck, because there was no way in hell that any of this was budging even the slightest bit.

Morgan parked the car in the tiny parking lot in the courtyard where prisoner transport buses were kept. We got out, both of us putting our sunglasses on, then headed inside. They required that we put our weapons away in locked cubbies before even entering the security area where they made us walk through two metal detectors, and they still had to pat us down, anyhow. It was exhausting. All of that just to see if there was something of interest in Cortland’s belongings before he died. Honestly, there could’ve been nothing. It was entirely possible that Cortland had nothing in his belongings that pointed to who could have possibly started killing again on his behalf. My hope, however, was that there would be something in the visitor’s logs. Maybe someone who visited often, or someone with a personal connection. Any lead was a good lead.

When we got through security, there was a man waiting for us just ahead. His legs were spread at shoulder width, his hands on his hip, his moustache tickling his lip to the point that he kept scrunching his face to try to stop it.

“Welcome to Hawksville,” the guard said, reaching out to shake Morgan’s hand before mine. “My name’s Sid.” He stood tall and pointed to his name tag. “Sid Rutledge.”

Morgan and I smiled at him politely. I introduced us, then got straight to the point. “We’d like to see Cortland Ryan’s personal belongings, if you don’t mind.”

Rutledge laughed at my bluntness. “Sure thing, little lady.”

When he turned his back, I looked at Morgan and rolled my eyes. We started following him through the corridors of the prison. We were still in the front section of the place, which was where all of the offices and break rooms were. The inmates were kept further into the prison, out of our way. He led us to a room filled with boxes and boxes of past and current inmates’ things. It seemed odd that these things would just be sitting around, collecting dust. It made me feel uneasy for some reason.

“Ryan didn’t have any next of kin,” Rutledge began, “so after the execution, all of his belongings were boxed and stored.” He set two file boxes on the table in front of me and Morgan.

I raised a brow. “This is all of it? All ten years, this is everything? I thought he was popular here.”

“He was; but a lot of the inmates get creative with getting letters in and out of the prison because the Warden keeps an eye on all official correspondence.”

“Isn’t that illegal?” I whispered to Morgan.

“Not in prison, it isn’t, sweetheart,” Rutledge answered.

Morgan opened up one of the boxes and started sifting through all of the letters Cortland got while he was in prison. Most of them were letters from women around his age—crazy fans who were trying to earn his favor. I couldn’t begin to imagine why. I mean, seriously. Why the hell would anyone think: “Ooh, serial killer in prison! He’s hot!” Like… What? But to each their own, I supposed, right.

“Did Cortland have any male fans?” Morgan inquired.

“I suppose there were some, sure. They were all total freaks. This one kid—maybe eighteen or nineteen—would visit every six months or so. He was a musician or some shit like that because he always liked to brag about that damn song he wrote for Ryan.”

“Did you ever catch Ryan trying to smuggle things out of the prison? Maybe to this kid or something?”

Rutledge chuckled. “Usually, they’re trying to sneak stuff in, not out.”

“May I see Cortland’s visitor logs from the past ten years?” I asked. “We need to check every single person who ever came to visit him.”

He chuckled again. “Over the past ten years? That’ll be a lotta names. It’ll take ya forever.”

I smiled sourly. “I’ll figure something out.”

Rutledge shrugged before gesturing for me to follow him out of the room. We ventured down another few doors before taking a left into another room identical to the one Morgan was in. Rutledge ran his fingers over a few of the file cabinets, mumbling under his breath as he counted or something, and then he came to an abrupt halt. He chuckled in eureka before pulling one of the drawers open. I watched as he started collecting about two to three different files for me. When he had everything he thought I would need, he threw them on the table between us.

“There ya go.”

“Thank you,” I said, grabbing a seat at the table.

“If ya don’ mind, I’ll be headin’ back to the other room to make sure Mr. Shiny Head doesn’ steal anything.”

I held back a chuckle. Mr. Shiny Head. Oh, I was going to be using that, and I wasn’t going to let it go, no matter how much shit Morgan would give me for it.

When Rutledge left, I dug into all of the logs. I started at the very beginning, just skimming for names that stuck out or repeated. I took my time, trying to remember any name that I had spotted in the case file, anyone who wasn’t from the state, anyone who didn’t have any kind of relation with Cortland or the Ryan family, and so on. There was ten years’ worth of visitor information in those files, and I had to go through all of it. My hope, however, was that I would spot something out of the ordinary fairly fast so that I didn’t have to waste all day doing this. Maybe Reid should’ve come to the prison to do this. He would’ve read all of these logs in, like, five minutes—if that. Asshole. He was a good friend and a good profiler, but still… Asshole. I wished that I could read half as fast as he could.

And then something caught my eye. Shara Carlino. I had hardly made it through the first year within the logs, and her name showed up every single day. Every. Single. Day. She waited every day before the prison would open just to be the first one to get in so that she would have the longest amount of guaranteed time with Cortland during visitor hours.

As the door opened, I looked up from the records to see who was entering. Morgan was holding the door behind him to make sure it closed quietly, then he smiled lightly at me. I smiled back before looking back down. For a moment, nothing was said between us as he sat beside me. When the silence became awkward, I finally asked him what he found.

“Reid just called,” he gave a half-assed explanation. I raised a brow. “Someone sent the local newspaper a letter claiming to be the Angel Maker.” I chuckled. “Yeah,” he agreed with a short laugh. “He’s authenticating it right now. Hotch wants us to keep working this angle in the meantime. Have you found anything in here?”

I nodded and turned some of the records to face him. “One woman, Shara Carlino, she came to see Cortland nearly every day.” I pointed to some of the examples within the visitor’s log that mentioned Shara’s name over and over again.

Morgan grabbed his phone and told me that he would call Garcia for some more information on Shara. “Hey, baby girl,” Morgan said into the phone while grinning ear to ear, “I need you to get me a home or work address for Shara Carlino.” He waited for a moment. Garcia was probably talking his ear off as she searched for Shara’s information. Then, Morgan’s smile faded. “You’re kidding.” Silence. “Nah. Thanks, precious. I’ll talk to you later.” He hung up and looked at me. “She works across the street.”

My jaw dropped. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. She downgraded from being a famous realtor in L.A to a shitty sales job—”

“And something tells me that downgrade has to do with the prison and Cortland.” I stood, quickly gathering up all of the records and throwing them back in the box. “Let’s go.” I stepped around him to lead the way out of the prison.

Once we had collected our guns from the front and made it back to the car, Morgan and I headed to visit Shara Carlino at her place of work. It was a short drive, of course. In about two minutes—if that—we were pulling into the parking lot just outside of her “shitty sales job”, as Morgan put it. We walked straight in and met with a secretary at the front desk. We flashed our badges and asked him where Shara Carlino’s office was, and he led us there. He knocked on the door and told Shara that the FBI had come to see her. I heard her as she sighed before telling us to enter.

“Thank you for seeing us, Ms. Carlino.”

“Well…” She shrugged. She offered us seats in front of her. “How may I help you, Agents?”

“According to the records we looked at, it seemed like you were Angel Maker’s number one fan,” Morgan stated flatly.

Shara chuckled. “No. His name was Cortland, and I wasn’t a fan.”

“Really?” I cocked a brow. “Then what were you?”

“We were lovers.”

“Last time I checked, death row doesn’t allow conjugal visits.”

“We weren’t physical lovers, Agent Greenaway. It was a spiritual connection. Everything was understood with just one look or one word. There were no secrets between us. It was absolutely blissful. He made me feel alive in a way that no free man ever could.”

Morgan and I both gave each other a glance that sarcastically said: “Okay… then…” I didn’t really understand the appeal of prisoners, especially misogynist serial killers. But he was gone now, and he never hurt anyone else. So… no harm, no foul, I supposed. To each their own.

“Where were you on the sixteenth of this month?” I asked.

“I was away on a business trip with the company. Why?”

“We’re just covering all of our bases, ma’am.”

“You think I had something to do with this?”

“No, but we do think that someone who was very close with Cortland had something to do with this.”

“Well, you can ask anyone here, they’ll confirm my alibi, anyhow.”

“We’ll do that,” Morgan said.

“Now, if you don’t mind,” she slowly started getting sour, “if I’m not under arrest, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Well, we couldn’t argue with that. We weren’t going to arrest her or take her in because we really had no reason to, but we were at least going to check on her alibi first. Maybe then we’d find a reason to continue questioning her. Until then, we had to leave. So, Morgan and I thanked her for meeting with us before we saw ourselves out so that we could go talk to her colleagues.

After we confirmed Shara’s rock solid alibi, Morgan and I headed back out to the car. As we got settled, Morgan didn’t turn on the car. When I asked him what was wrong, Morgan sighed and thought for a second longer before telling me that something was wrong about Cortland’s personal belongings. There was a list in the box that listed everything that was collected from his cell the day he was executed. Like, every single thing—even the weird stuff. But Morgan noticed that a few things were missing, like some paper cranes Cortland made. Originally he thought that it was just that someone accidentally threw them away or something, but he had been churning all of it around in his head, and now he was wondering if someone was selling Cortland’s stuff online, which was how the Unsub got some of Cortland’s semen. It made sense, I guess. Someone smuggled the stuff out in order to make some money off of the Angel Maker.

So we called Garcia with our theory and asked her to look into it for us. She said that she’d use her technological magic to start looking, and she’d get back to us as soon as she could confirm or deny our theory. Until then, Hotch wanted us back at the office. Great. Calling us back when we could just go look for another lead at the prison was a sign that either the team found something really good or really bad… And considering the last thing we heard from them was about the letter they got from the Unsub, I was going to go out on a limb and say it was bad news.

Our stop at the precinct was brief, though. From the moment we got out of the car to meeting with the team inside to leaving again, it was probably all about five minutes or so. It was already getting late, another day come and gone without any viable leads, and there was only one thing the Sheriff could think to do. Since the local newspaper received that letter from the Unsub claiming to be the Angel Maker himself, the town was spiraling into a panic. People wanted to know if Cortland Ryan was really dead. The Sheriff was under pressure to give proof, and we were all trying to tell him that wasn’t the right play. It didn’t seem to matter, though. The Sheriff made the call to dig up the body, and Hotch ordered that Emily and I would go with him to see, while the rest of the team would head to the hotel for the night.

It was absolutely preposterous that anyone could think that Cortland was still alive. I mean, there were witnesses at his execution, and there were professionals that confirmed that he was gone, people were there to see him be buried. To theorize that he was still alive and back to terrorize the town was just… It was out there. But we were only on this case because the Sheriff invited us in. We could consult that he shouldn’t dig up Cortland, but it was ultimately his decision, and there seemed to be no way to convince him not to do it.

When we arrived at the cemetery, there was already a crew there, digging up the body. There were yellow work lights on stands surrounding Cortland Ryan’s grave, about three workers already moving about, and one small excavator machine just waiting for the go ahead from the Sheriff to pull the casket out. Hotch kept trying to convince him that this was all a bad idea. To be fair, it was a shit idea. By digging up Cortland’s body, we were playing right into the Unsub’s hand, which would just encourage him to kill more on Cortland’s behalf. I mean, there was no way in hell that they body wasn’t there, so, realistically, this would help get the public off our backs— which was the Sheriff’s point in the first place—but if there was any chance there was something wrong with the body in that casket, things were going to get much worse for us.

The Sheriff told off Hotch one last time before gesturing to the man in the excavator. We all fell silent in order to watch. The machine started moving up, pulling at the chain attached to it. As the chain went taught, a loud creaking sound screeched around us. The casket budged in the grave slightly. They gave it another tug with the machine, and it gave another screen, which was finally when it started moving out of the grave. As the casket was lifted, it scraped against the metal walls, and the machine itself was rusty and old, so it also gave off a high pitched, shrill cry that made my ears hurt. As I cringed, I clocked Hotch out of the corner of my eye as he pressed his palms to his ears and stumbled back.

I furrowed my brows and followed him. “Aaron—” He kept walking away from me. “Aaron, stop!” I skipped a few steps to catch up to him. “Aaron.” I cupped my hands on his elbows and crouched slightly so that my face was in his field of view. He was staring at the ground while stretching his jaw to (probably) make the ringing in his ears stop. It was like New York all over again. “Aaron, what is it?”

“It’s just my headache,” he insisted quietly.

I looked over at Emily, Rossi, and the Sheriff. They were all watching us, even though they should’ve been paying attention to the casket that was finally being carefully set down on the grass. I let go of him and stood up straight. The three of them looked away from us long enough for me to sneak my hands up to Hotch’s face. I made him stare right into my eyes. Neither of us said anything as I tried to get a read on him from his dry lips, his racing eyes, his shortness of breath, and his weak limbs. He was lying to me. He wasn’t as healthy and perfect as he had been claiming. And this certainly wasn’t a fucking headache. I needed him to tell me the truth, but before I could pry for answers, I heard Rossi, Emily, and the Sheriff all gasp and curse under their breaths.

I let go of Hotch again before we both hurried over. We leaned forward slightly to look into the casket, and what I saw made my stomach churn. Cortland wasn’t there. There wasn’t a single body—or, hell, even a hint that a body had been in there in the first place. I sighed. What the fuck were we supposed to do now? The locals were going to have a million and one questions, the Sheriff was probably going to crack under all of this pressure, the news was going to have a field day, and the Unsub was going to be so happy we played his game that he was going to start killing more just to keep up the ruse of “Cortland Ryan, the Angel Maker, back from the grave to kill everyone!”, and a lot more women were going to die because of it.

Hotch didn’t sleep that night. I tried staying up as late as I could with him while working the case, but at some point, the caffeine stopped working, and my eyelids got too heavy to keep fighting. My exhaustion reached the extent that Hotch had to grab my pajamas from my go-back and help me into them because if it were up to me, I would’ve just gone to sleep in my work clothes. Hotch wouldn’t let me do that, though. So, he helped me get ready, and he tucked me into bed, kissed me goodnight, then turned off all the lights except for the small lamp on the desk so that he could keep working.

I felt somewhat sorry, to be fair. This case wasn’t just for Hotch to work on his own. He had been proving that something was off, and I should’ve stayed up all night with him, no matter how tired I got. But I just couldn’t. Besides, Hotch would have rathered that I were in tip-top shape for a long day’s work, than stay up all night running into the same walls we had been facing with the case all day. Sleep was good. Sleep was healthy. That was why I wished Hotch would’ve joined me, but since finding out that Cortland’s body wasn’t where it was supposed to be, I understood that he wouldn’t rest until this case was through. Fair enough.

In the morning, he woke me up and gave me a cup of coffee to get my day started. I sat up and kissed him. He pressed into our kiss lightly for a moment before handing me the cup and escaping into the bathroom. As the water started running, I heard him tell me that he wanted me and Morgan to keep up with the potential lead of finding whoever was selling Cortland’s things on the internet for profit. When I argued that we wouldn’t be able to do anything until Garcia reached out to us, he said that we should just focus on the profile until then.

I snickered to myself. “Ha. Easier said than done,” I whispered under my breath as I brought the rim of the paper coffee cup to my lips.

Then, when Hotch got out of the shower, I pushed into the bathroom to get ready. He snuck up behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and kissed my neck again and again until it started tickling and I laughed while brushing my teeth. Hotch finally gave up with one last passionate kiss. I watched him walk into the bedroom, pulling off his towel so that he could get dressed.

“Don’t be shy, turn around,” I snickered before spitting the toothpaste into the sink.

Hotch glanced over his shoulder at me. “You wish.”

“Mhm.”

And then my phone started ringing. Hotch let the band of his boxers snap slightly against his hips before reaching over to grab it for me. He brought it to the bathroom. “It’s Garcia.”

“Ask and you shall receive!” I cheered to the universe before kissing his cheek as we exchanged the phone and I pushed past him. “Garcia, give me some good news, please.”

Garcia chuckled over the phone. “Well, sunshine, I’ve got your lead… Is that good news?” I hummed a “yes” while picking up a pen off the desk so that I could scribble down notes. “I tracked down who has been selling Cortland’s stuff on the internet. Drum roll, please! A man by the name of Sid Rutledge.”

I chortled. “You’re kidding.”

“What? You know him or something?”

“Yeah. He’s the guard at Hawksville Prison that was helping me and Morgan.”

“Well, it turns out that he’s not exactly that helpful to the justice system. He didn’t show up for work today.”

“Do you have a home address?”

“Ready when you are.”

I started writing down the address as Garcia gave it to me. Hotch was now dressed and ready for the day by the time I hung up with Garcia and tore the page out of the notebook. Hotch grabbed the page from me so that I could get dressed. I explained everything to him while getting dressed. I told him who Rutledge was, how he always creeped me out, that he seemed more concerned about keeping an eye on Morgan (a black man) over me (a doe eyed white woman). He was the poster child for racist, sexist asshole. I supposed that it made sense that he was helping Cortland this whole time.

When I was ready, I took the paper back from Hotch. We approached the door to the hotel room together, taking a moment to stand close to each other and stare for a moment because our time together was never guaranteed. Since New York, we had been trying to make the best of every second we had. We always knew that our jobs were dangerous, and there was always a chance that we could lose each other in the field, but those near-death experiences made it more real, and it was terrifying. So I craned my neck up at Hotch while taking in every detail of his face. From his black hair that hung in his face as he looked down at me, to the mole on his cheek, his thin pressed lips, his smile lines, his thick brows, his sharp jawline, everything. He was so perfect. He was so handsome, so gorgeous, so sexy, so lovable. And he was all mine. I would never forget that. He was mine and I was his, and I was just waiting for him to finally make it official.

“I’ll get Morgan,” I whispered, afraid to raise my voice, thinking that it would spook him off somehow. “We’ll go check out Rutledge’s place.”

Hotch reached out and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Be safe for me.”

I nuzzled against his touch. “I’ll try.”

He leaned down to kiss me passionately. The second his lips were on mine, I felt myself melt. If it weren’t for his hand cupping my cheek, I thought that I might have actually collapsed right then and there because of how light and loving the kiss was. He wasn’t being rough, dominant, and possessive with me. He was kissing me in a way that said: “Come back to me for more.” And I just knew that I had to get back to him.

Hotch blindly reached for the doorknob while we were still kissing deeply. He was practically towering over me, and I had to grab onto his jacket to maintain my balance. But the second the door was open, we tore away from each other. I fixed his jacket before stepping around him. In the hallway, he went to the right to head towards the elevators, meanwhile I headed to the left to knock on Morgan’s door.

“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty!” I teased while knocking an annoying number of times.

Morgan opened the door to make me stop. “Jesus, what do you want?” He was dressed and ready, but he still seemed cranky.

“Late night?”

“I was working until about four. You?”

“Two.”

“I hate you.” He stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him. “What is it?”

“Garcia got our lead on the internet seller. Sid Rutledge—the guard from yesterday— he’s the one who’s been selling everything. Here’s the address,” I said while handing the paper to him. He took it from me. We both started walking towards the elevator as he took note of the address. “You want the honors of arresting him?”

Morgan smirked at me as we stepped into the elevator. “I’d love nothing more.”

Nearly twenty minutes later, as we were pulling up to Sid Rutledge’s house, I grabbed two FBI vests from the back of the car. Morgan put the car in park, and I handed him one. Rutledge seemed like a pussy, if I were being honest, but we were going up to a prison guard, and we were going to attempt to arrest him. He wouldn’t exactly be too happy with us. Wearing vests was just a precaution, and since Morgan scared the shit out of me in New York, he had to wear the damn vest whenever I made him.

During our approach up to the house, I had to be sure to step around all of the dog shit on the sidewalk. Sid must’ve had a huge dog that he didn’t clean up after. Then, I let Morgan take the lead with knocking since I promised that he could be the one to arrest Rutledge. Since meeting him at the prison yesterday, Rutledge’s appearance just kept getting worse. I mean, he started out looking like a shmuck. But then it turned out that he was racist, sexist, and who knew what else; and now we were arresting him for smuggling shit out of prison, selling it on the internet, then having the audacity to lie to Federal Agents during a Federal Investigation. I wondered which judge on planet Earth would be lenient with him.

“Woah—” I stopped Morgan from moving by grabbing onto the back of his shirt once I noticed that the door was open. “Two deadbolts and neither of them are locked.”

For a guy like Rutledge who worked in a prison long enough to see all the different kinds of evil that existed out in the world, there was no way he left his door unlocked. If I worked in a prison, I wouldn’t leave my door open, either. If there were ever any prisoner who didn’t see eye to eye with me then got released… yeah… So, of course Rutledge would lock both of those deadbolts. The fact that they weren’t locked was a fair reason to worry.

Morgan nodded knowingly. We both pulled out our weapons, and then I followed his lead into the house. “Sid? It’s the FBI… From yesterday… Sid, we’re coming in.”

Morgan gestured towards the kitchen, so I started making my way there. Morgan kept moving slowly towards the bedroom. The living room we were in was entirely clear, so I stepped into the kitchen, but it was also empty. Well, not empty. It was the dirtiest kitchen I had ever seen, but, then again, Rutledge didn’t seem like a put together kind of person.

“Y/N,” Morgan called calmly from the bedroom. “We’ve got a problem.”

I sighed and holstered my weapon. I knew what that meant. Rutledge was our only remaining lead thus far, and if he were really dead, as I expected him to be based on Morgan’s tone, then we were utterly fucked. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that—

Shit.

Rutledge was lying dead on his messy twin sized bed. The sheets looked like they hadn’t been washed in… Well… Frankly, forever. Just like the kitchen, it was so messy in the bedroom that we could hardly walk around. Rutledge was a huge hoarder, so there were boxes, food containers, candy wrappers, and used condoms everywhere. I honestly had no fucking clue who would sleep with him, especially in a place like this. But who was I to judge. What was truly eye catching, however, was the overkill stab wounds on Rutledge’s chest and crotch. It certainly was the same M.O. of the copycat—bar the fact that this was not a female victim. The stabbing, the open windows, everything… But his arms weren’t crossed over his chest to symbolize innocence or regret. The overkill of the stabbing, and the fact that his arms weren’t crossed, all indicated to me that this wasn’t about the Angel Maker. I was sure that the copycat did this, but not for the same reason he had been killing the other victims. Rutledge probably sold the semen—and maybe other things—to the Unsub. He probably knew who we were looking for, therefore he had to die in order to keep him quiet.

“This is complete overkill,” Morgan stated the obvious.

“And it’s personal,” I added. “This isn’t about completing the Angel Maker’s vision, it’s about revenge.”

I walked into the bathroom and opened up the medicine cabinet. There was Motrin, TUMS, Advil, medication for his hyperthyroid, but that was about it. Nothing too special. What was on the counter, however, was an entirely different story. My jaw dropped as I picked up the orange pill bottle. That was new and interesting.

“Oh, yeah, definitely personal.” I brought the bottle back to the bedroom and held it out for Morgan. “Viagra.”

If this was personal—which it certainly fucking was—then the Viagra just smacked us across the face to tell us that we got our whole profile wrong thus far. This whole time, we had been focused on looking for a male Unsub who was obsessed with the Angel Maker’s work; but we never stopped to think that this was a female obsessed with the Angel Maker. Our profile was off before… But now we had a better idea of who we were dealing with. The Viagra indicated that the Unsub was obviously sleeping with Rutledge, yet the stab to the groin told us that it wasn’t exactly a… consensual experience. I mean, it could have been, but not in the traditional sense. Obviously, our Unsub wanted Cortland, whom she couldn’t have, and if she was the one getting the semen out of the prison through Rutledge, it was possible that having sex with him was payment for keeping their secret quiet.

“I’ll call Hotch,” Morgan said.

“Tell him to give the profile without us.”

“You sure?”

I nodded and turned back into the bathroom to keep digging. “We still need to find everything he was selling.”

Besides, we knew the profile now, and that was all that mattered. We didn’t need to waste our time by leaving the crime scene to go help present the profile to the local P.D., then head back out into the field to do more work. Our time was better spent where we were. That being said, I still needed to churn the profile over in my mind a few times.

Now that we knew that our Unsub was a woman, a few things changed. Our age profile, for example, narrowed down because the only kind of person who would do all of this for Cortland was someone who was madly in love with him. Someone like Shara Carlino. If she didn’t have the most bulletproof alibi I’d ever seen, she would’ve been my first visit after leaving Rutledge’s house. So, if she were in love with him, she had to be around his age—30 or so. The fact that she was female also explained why the bludgeoning of these victims was so different from Cortland’s original M.O. But she was still strong, which told us she wasn’t any younger than 25, and she definitely wasn’t older than 45. Since Cortland was 36, nearly the perfect median, it made sense that our Unsub would be around the same age, too.

Just as I deduced earlier, she likely killed Rutledge because he knew who she was. But what changed now that we had the Viagra bottle was one simple thing: sex. Rutledge was an asshole, obviously. He was an asshole who probably didn’t do things for free. Smuggling and selling Cortland’s things benefitted him financially, but selling the semen to our female Unsub gave him leverage. The Viagra bottle, the way he was half naked on his bed, and the stabbings to his groin, they all pointed to the fact that Rutledge was forcing her to sleep with him in return for the semen and his silence. But now that we were approaching her endgame, he became useless to her. So, she got her revenge. She loved Cortland, she wanted to give her body over to him entirely, not to Rutledge. Sleeping with him probably felt like a betrayal to Cortland. By killing Rutledge, she was apologizing to Cortland… In some fucked up way. But this was all fucked up, so.

All of her behaviors pointed to her being a groupie. For context, groupies were a thousand times worse than your average fan. She was on a mission. Her whole life was now about completing the Angel Maker’s work because it was the only thing that could bring him back to life in her mind. She was in love with him. That was worse than being a groupie. Love could make anyone do anything. I mean, look at how I practically ran into a bomb zone just to be by Hotch’s side after the explosion in New York. For me, love would make me climb mountains for Hotch. I’d die for Hotch. Our Unsub felt the same way about Cortland; though we differed because she was willing to kill innocent people for Cortland.

“She left something by accident,” Morgan said from the bedroom. I left the bathroom since there was nothing else notable, and I joined him in the bedroom. He was standing up straight after grabbing something off the floor. “A turkey baster.”

“Jesus…” I muttered under my breath.

“What?”

“I’ll bet you anything that’s not leftover gravy in there.”

Morgan shivered and set it down on the bed. Well, at least we knew how she was simulating the sex now. The fact that she accidentally left it here was concerning, though. She probably wouldn’t have wasted Cortland’s semen on Rutledge since she viewed it as the most important part of him and her M.O. But she had brought it with her, and it must’ve fallen out of her rape kit. If she brought it with her, that meant she was on her way to—

And then Morgan’s phone started ringing.

“It’s another victim,” I said as he reached to answer it.

Morgan furrowed his brows at me in confusion, then answered. “Yeah, Hotch?” Silence blanketed the room as he waited while listening. “Y/N and I will meet you there. Send CSU here to Rutledge’s place.” Silence again. “Alright. Thanks, Hotch.” He hung up and put his phone away. “You scare me sometimes, Greenaway,” he teased me as we started heading back out to the car.

“You scare me all the time, Morgan.”

“That’s hot.” He laughed and skipped to his car door before I could slug his shoulder with a rough punch.

“You wish.”

“Hey, a man can dream, right?”

“Disgusting.” I pulled my vest off and got in the car. I finally got to punch Morgan once he was sitting down next to me, busy with turning on the car so that we could meet Hotch at the crime scene. “Idiot.” I didn’t even hit him that hard, yet he was pretending like I just smacked him with an iron shovel.

“I’m telling Hotch when we get there.”

“Tattle tale.”

He laughed to himself, then started driving.

When we arrived at the crime scene, we could see Hotch and Emily standing outside of the house with the Sheriff. The police department was surrounding the property with their cars, trying to keep curious neighbors out. Morgan and I made it in without hassle. When we met up with Hotch and Emily, the Sheriff started reviewing the case with us while walking up towards the house.

“Maxinne Chandler. 28. Lower Cannan native. Single, living alone—”

“How many kids did she have?” Hotch asked after stepping over another kid’s toy in the yard.

“None of her own,” the Sheriff answered. “She ran a daycare out of her. One of her clients, a father, was dropping off his son when they found the body.”

Emily and Hotch continued inside with the Sheriff, but I tugged on Morgan’s sleeve to hold him back. “Morgan, wait… Delilah Grennin and Maxinne Chandler worked from home. They had open door businesses. A jewelry maker and a daycare center. That can’t be coincidence.”

We had been waiting for a second, real victim to connect the dots in victimology, and there it was. Our Unsub was going after easy targets. Delilah and Maxinne both had their doors open for strangers, and Rutledge opened his door for her because he was hoping to get some action. It made sense. Cortland went after women that sexually attracted him—hence the rape—but this Unsub’s purpose was to serve Cortland, not gain sexual gratification. Because she didn’t get anything out of forcefully entering the home and pinning the women down, she had to be smarter about it. She would probably come in during the day when the businesses were open, ask to use the bathroom, leave a window open, then sneak in late at night when it was time to strike.

“Let’s tell Hotch,” Morgan offered.

The body was in the bedroom, still on the bed, left untouched in its posed position. Her arms were over her chest, her eyes were closed, there were stab wounds in her stomach, and Emily was talking to the M.E. about the traces of semen found. Hotch was staring at the stab wounds, his arms crossed over his chest. Morgan and I had clearly entered at a bad time, so we waited back for them to finish discussing the scene.

When the M.E. left, Emily and Hotch started hypothesizing together. We still stayed silent. They were working as a team on this, and Morgan and I were anxious to tell them what we had put together as our own little team. One thing at a time.

“Nine puncture marks this time,” Emily said. “It doesn’t look chaotic or disorganized, though.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Can I see your pen?” she asked him while pulling out a small notebook. Hotch agreed and handed it to her. We all stayed quiet as she scribbled something down that was slowly occurring to her. “She did this on purpose… I knew that they felt familiar, but I wasn’t sure how… But look at this—” She turned her notebook around. She had drawn the dots the same exact way the Unsub did, and suddenly all of the pieces were falling into place.

“The Big Dipper?” I questioned.

“No,” she shook her head, “The Dolphin from the Heavenly Waters family.”

Hotch took his pen back. “Tell Reid to go back and reexamine each of the bodies to see if the same connection can be made.” Emily nodded and stepped out to call him. He turned to me and Morgan, “What did you guys discuss outside?”

“We think we found the connection between the victims,” Morgan began.

“They both ran in-home businesses with an open-door policy,” I finished.

Hotch considered for a moment. “It makes sense, I suppose. The Unsub can get in and out during business hours, then comes back later with a ruse or something. She’s small, as we know, and she looks welcoming enough that she’d be invited into the victims’ homes.” He was saying what we already knew, but he was working through it himself, so I didn’t stop him. “Reid’s been working on deciphering some of the letters the prison sent to us from Cortland’s correspondence. Maybe he can use the information of the ruse to narrow down who we’re looking for.”

“I’ll tell Emily so she can let him know,” I offered, stepping out to meet up with her.

When we got back to the precinct, everyone gathered in the boardroom to start brainstorming. Originally, Rossi would’ve called this our “group think session”, but Hotch had yelled at him a couple of cases ago about calling it that, so it had since ceased. However, he wasn’t entirely wrong. Hotch was all about politics, so he had to maintain face about what our team really did on cases—and the Bureau hated group thinking. Calling it “group thinking” around Hotch was worse than saying that profiling was just guess work. But, realistically, we did group think while we were profiling.

When I first joined the team, Gideon told me that every member of the team offered something new and different. According to him, no one was dead weight. I had always tried to keep that in mind while profiling like this as a group, but it seemed like we had suddenly run into a wall. Without the letters that Reid was working on, there was nothing more we could do, much to his chagrin. I didn’t like taking credit for profiles, because that wasn’t the point, but while skimming the notes of what we had, I couldn’t help but chuckle at how most of this came together because of me and Morgan. Telling Hotch that was also a death wish— even for me. We were a team. No one person was responsible for a profile. But, damn…

“I cracked it!” Reid cheered, running over with a stack of papers. “I deciphered the letters.” He handed them to JJ. “She wasn’t just a fan—They were in love.” I could’ve told him that. “Look—” He gestured to JJ to hand the letters out.

JJ handed Cortland’s letters to Hotch, then she hesitantly handed me the stack from the Unsub. We didn’t look at each other as I took them from her. She walked away from me silently and sat down at the opposite side of the room, putting her hand over her stomach.

I started reading the first one on my stack. “’My dearest Cortland, thank you for writing back to me. The day the verdict was read, we shared a silent moment. I knew then that there was a force willing us together. Every time I see you, I feel warmed as if by the sun; and, yet, I fear that if I come too close, I’ll be consumed by your fire. I long to see you again. Love, your dove.’”

Hotch went next. “’My dove, ever since your visit, I am crazed with thoughts of you. Already you’ve entered my dreams. Each time you appear to me, I’m embraced by a feeling of trust and belief as if I’ve known you all my life. Dreams are not enough, however. I yearn to see your face once more. Come visit me. Yours, Cortland.’”

“’My dearest Cortland, as always, I’m touched by your words, and I do long to see you again, but they won’t let me. We’re not supposed to have any connection since the trial. It breaks my heart to think that I may never get to lay eyes on you ever again… Continue writing me, my love, for it’s the only thing that brings me comfort throughout my days now since discovering that I will bring a part of you back into this world. I love you. Your dove.’”

“My secret wife, all appeals have failed. All hope is lost. The guards are celebrating my defeat by clearing out my cell, destroying what memories I have of you. My execution has been set for tomorrow. By the time you read this, I will be gone, and all of you will have of me is what you will bring back. I will be watching you from the stars. I will love you from above until one day we are reunited. I love you.’”

“What do you think she meant by that last line?” Emily questioned.

“The murders?” Morgan hypothesized. “By pretending to be the Angel Maker, she’s revived his memory and the terror in this city.” I chuckled to myself. “What?” he asked, turning to me.

“Boys,” I whispered under my breath. When I realized that all eyes were on me as the team was waiting for an answer, my smile faded. I tapped the paper and said, “She was pregnant.”

Emily looked impressed. “Well, if she really did have his kid, we might be able to track her through birth records. Maybe—”

“Agent Hotchner,” the Sheriff interrupted, storming into the boardroom. “We just got a report that a woman was attacked in her house by a female assailant. The victim’s alright… I can’t say the same for the attacker.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“The victim was walking home from work when she was attacked,” the Sheriff answered. “She screamed out for help, and the whole neighborhood ran out to help her.”

“This isn’t our Unsub’s M.O.” I spun in my chair to face Hotch. “It isn’t late at night, she was attacked out in the open—the ritual couldn’t be completed there.”

“Maybe she was rushing to get to the last victim because she knows we’re after here,” Emily offered up.

The Sheriff shrugged. “You can ask her yourself when you get to the crime scene, if you’d like.”

“Y/N, Emily, take this one,” Hotch ordered, nodding out towards the front door.

We nodded, too, and headed out.

Emily jumped into the driver’s seat in one of the SUV’s outside, and I got into the passenger’s seat beside her. We started following the Sheriff to the scene. Allowing him to navigate was faster than following a map and getting lost on our way there. This way, we’d get to the scene as fast as possible—hopefully before the paramedics could take the victim to the hospital. From the description the Sheriff gave, it sounded like the victim wasn’t as hurt as the attacker was, but the paramedics probably still felt like it was best to take her back to the hospital to make sure she was alright. I didn’t blame them. Even if she wasn’t physically injured by the attacker, the shock could do more harm than good.

“So, are you ever going to tell me why you and JJ are on bad terms?” Emily finally asked me while still staring at the road. I sighed. “I know, I know, it’s none of my business. But I love you and JJ equally, and I want to make sure that you’re both alright. But if you tell me again to drop it, I will. I’ll respect that choice. I promise, Y/N.”

I knew she would drop it if I told her to. I knew that her promises meant the world to her, and that she understood a thing or two about keeping secrets. I mean, really, what did I know about Emily? Of course, we were close, and she was a dear friend of mine and Hotch, but she kept a lot of secrets from all of us. She kept a thousand things bottled up, and none of us ever pried. There were rules in our team. We didn’t profile each other, and we didn’t pry when it came to secrets. Hotch and I were different because we had a rule that we wouldn’t keep secrets from each other just to save our own, personal relationship. But I wasn’t required to tell Emily anything, the same way she was never required to tell me anything.

The worst part, however, was that I wanted her to know. I wanted her to know the truth the same way I had eagerly anticipated JJ and then Morgan the truth. But I’d been burned one too many times. It didn’t matter that Morgan had since come around, or that he was trying to get me and JJ to apologize to each other… What they initially said to my face hurt me. I confided in the two people I thought would understand most, and they both let me down. I wanted JJ to know that Hotch and I were going to get engaged, and that we decided that we wanted to have kids. I wanted her to be the first person to know because she was the only other person on the team who could have possibly understood. But she took my heart from my chest, threw it on the ground, and stomped on it. She practically told me that Hotch and I weren’t good for each other—that I shouldn’t take things with him too seriously. But what about her and Will, huh? Why did they get to know each other for just a few months, then have a baby, and everyone’s fine with it; but Hotch and I date for a year and have a conversation about marriage and kids, and suddenly I’m the bad guy.

I wanted to tell Emily the truth. In a way, I needed to tell her, just to see if her response would be any different than what Morgan and JJ’s were. Emily told me before we flew to Cincinnati that she supported me and Hotch, and that she felt she had no right to judge us. Plenty of people at the office didn’t support our relationship. There was the issue of the age gap, the fact that he had gone through a messy divorce with a kid in the mix, and, oh, yeah, he was my boss. It didn’t matter that the FBI had no rules against our relationship; people still looked down on it anyhow. I wasn’t going to convince people’s minds, but my family—the people I spent every day with at the office and entrusted with my life in the field—should’ve at least given me the courtesy of feigning excitement on my behalf. Morgan was my best friend. Even if he didn’t think mine and Hotch’s relationship would be perfect, he should’ve supported me and my elation. Hotch didn’t hit me, mistreat me, or not love me. Hotch was good to me, and Morgan knew it. If there was any sign that Hotch and I were toxic, then, yeah, Morgan would’ve earned the right to warn me away from marrying Hotch. But this was real life. This was our reality, and the truth was that Hotch was good to me and loved me more than anything. Therefore, Morgan should’ve been on my side from the get-go.

Emily… She… I didn’t know enough about her personal life to make a call on where she would stand on all of this. Would she react like Morgan and JJ? Would she still be adamant that it wasn’t her place to give an opinion? Or would she be excited for me? I wasn’t sure. I hoped that she would be thrilled for me and Hotch, but how could I know for sure? Well… there was really only one way to know. I had to tell her.

“Before the explosion in New York,” I began, “Hotch and I talked about getting married and having kids.” Emily didn’t say or do anything. “We decided that we’re ready.”

I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. A slight upward curl of her lip slowly became more prominent until she was smiling wide with her teeth showing. My heart jumped in my chest. That was so different to how things went with JJ and Morgan. Neither of them smiled when I told them. But Emily did. She was smiling until she was laughing gleefully, and then she removed one of her hands from the steering wheel so that she could hold my hand.

“That’s so great, Y/N!” she cheered.

I squeezed her hand, a smile slowly forming on my face now, too. “You think so?”

“Of course, I think so!” She waved my hand around. “Hello! You two love each other! You two have always been a perfect, happy couple. I was always wondering when the hell he’d get around to finally asking you to marry him. Honestly, when I joined the team and found out that the two of you had only been dating for six months, I was shocked. I thought he would’ve married you the day he met you.”

My smile widened. “Thank you, Emily,” I said in all sincerity, trying to suppress the giddy shake in my leg.

“For what?” she furrowed her brow slightly while smiling at me.

“For believing in us.”

“Is that what this is all about? You and JJ?”

I nodded.

“Oh, Y/N,” she tsked her tongue. “What happened?”

“She and Morgan doubted us. They didn’t think that Hotch and I should get married. They think that we’re rushing things.”

“Screw them.”

I chuckled. “What?”

“Screw them!” she said with more passion. “We love them, they love us—but screw them and what they think about you and Hotch. They don’t know your relationship. No one does but you and Hotch. If the two of you think you’re finally ready, then I say go for it. It’s your choice, not theirs. Once they see how happy you two are while married—even though they should already see it now, the same way I do—then they’ll understand that you made the right choice. You and Hotch are adults. Make your choice to be happy, and prove them wrong.”

We were suddenly approaching the crime scene, so Emily released my hand. She set the car in park. The scene was still busy with the paramedics looking at the victim in the back of their ambulance, and the police were trying to keep all of the neighbors back. Because of what the Sheriff told us about how they practically ganged up on the attacker, I was surprised that they hadn’t broken through the barricade yet. The attacker was sitting in the deputy’s car across the street, but from where we were, I couldn’t see who it was. I truly believed that this wasn’t the work of our Unsub. The Sheriff and the team could be suspicious all they wanted, but I had an inkling. Our Unsub wouldn’t do this. She wouldn’t risk finishing Cortland’s legacy like this. The last kill would probably be the most important one to her. She would be careful and take her time with the last victim. This… this was all so messy.

Then I saw who was sitting in the car with their hands cuffed behind their back.

“Em,” I said suddenly, stopping in my tracks. She stopped with me once she caught on. “That’s Shara Carlino.” Emily looked confused. “The woman who thought that she was Cortland’s only ‘lover’.”

Emily’s eyebrows raised in shock. “You’re kidding.”

“She’s Cortland’s number one fan. Her alibi is solid. She’s not our Unsub. We’re just wasting our time here.”

“Maybe…” She trailed off as she started walking towards the car. “Ms. Carlino,” she said after opening the door, “I’m Agent Prentiss with the FBI. I work with Agent Greenaway. You spoke with them yesterday.” Shara looked over Emily’s shoulder to glance at me. “Why… Why did you do this? We know that you’re not the woman we’re looking for, so why?”

“I just wanted us to be together again…” she cried. Her face was all bruised and bleeding from the mob that jumped on her after she tried killing the victim. Yet she didn’t seem to care. She was crying because she failed to do what our Unsub was doing. She couldn’t connect with Cortland in the same way, and she was furious because of it.

Emily slowly closed the door on Shara and turned to me. “Well…” Well, I was right. We had wasted our time—actually, Shara had wasted our time. “That was certainly—”

My phone started ringing, cutting Emily short. My eyes apologized to her for the interruption as I answered. “Morgan…” I growled.

“Sunshine, you’re gonna love me right now,” Morgan cheered on the other end. I rolled my eyes. I was in a bad mood still because of Shara, and not even Morgan’s snippiness could change that, unfortunately. “I’ve got you the name and address of our Unsub.” Okay, the cheered me up a bit. “Chloe Kelcher. She was on the jury during Cortland’s case, and she started visiting him once every six months while in prison so that no one would piece together that they were close.”

“She’s his dove?”

“Yeah. Birth records show that she had a baby about three months ago that died after being born.”

“That’s definitely a trigger.”

“Uh huh. We’re all heading there right now. Looks like we’re closer, but Hotch wants you and Prentiss to meet us there.”

I sighed. “Okay.”

When I hung up, I told Emily everything. She told the Sheriff, and we gave him the address so that we could race there. We turned the lights and sirens on as we left the crime scene. Emily stretched between the front seats we were in so that she could grab two vests for us to wear. Knowing that we were heading to the Unsub’s house, it was best to play it safe. Besides, if I even decided to show up without one, I was sure that Hotch would strap one onto me forcefully anyhow. And while that was normally an appealing idea, I wasn’t in the mood. I hadn’t forgotten about last night. I hadn’t forgotten about the plane ride. I hadn’t forgotten my worry over the fact that I knew that something was wrong, and he was refusing to fess up. That was when I realized that if I showed up and Hotch wasn’t wearing a vest, I was going to strap one onto him. Funny how those things worked.

At Chloe Kelcher’s house, the team was gearing up at the cars they brought. Hotch was putting on a vest… Thankfully. Then, when Emily and I got out of the car, he spotted me while making sure his gun was loaded. We exchanged a brief glance as I moved my hair out of my face so that it wouldn’t distract me inside. He was watching me closely. That morning, in the hotel room, he begged me to be safe for him. Since New York, I understood why he was being a little more protective than usual, but this was different. The look in his eyes was different. He was practically begging me to stay in the car, which was preposterous. I would do nothing of the sort. I was a part of this team; I was on this case—it was my job to go in there and search the house with them. If he wasn’t going to sit in the car, then neither was I.

So, when everyone was ready to head in, we carefully approached. We were going to do a hard entry—which meant that Morgan was going to kick down the door, then we were all going to disperse into different rooms in order to clear the house. The hope was that we were going to catch Chloe off guard so that we could grab her before she would have a chance to run. With a hard entry, however, there was no time for planning. We didn’t have a chance to stop and account for how many rooms there were to clear ahead of time. But we were used to this. The first ones in the door made their way to the back of the house, while the people in the back cleared the front rooms like the kitchen and the living room. I happened to be towards the back with Emily, so we headed straight for the kitchen. We separated around the table in the middle of the room. She ventured to the left, and I went to check the pantry on the right.

“Clear!” Rossi called out.

“Clear!” Morgan responded.

“Clear!” I added.

“Clear!” Hotch finished up.

I sighed and lowered my weapon to my side. Emily and I moved back into the living room where Rossi, Morgan, and Hotch had also gathered.

“Okay, spread out,” Hotch ordered. “We need to find out what her end game is and where she is before it’s too late.”

I immediately turned towards the hallway where the bedrooms were, and made my way to the last one on the right because Hotch was taking the one on the left. When I stepped in, I stumbled slightly. I hadn’t anticipated what I saw. I thought that it would be just another bedroom, or maybe a home office, or even a goddamn shrine praising Cortland… but this… this caught me off guard. I was standing in a nursery. Like, a baby’s nursery. We knew that she had a baby that she lost, but I… It had been months. I… I wasn’t sure why I was so shocked to find that the nursery was still there and put together.

The walls were painted a light baby blue for a boy, and the ceiling was a dark navy blue to imitate the night sky. The one thing that didn’t surprise me was the glow in the dark stars stickers shaped into The Dove constellation. Expected. She wanted her baby to be raised with a constant reminder that his father was watching over him. That part made sense, I supposed. But what sent a shiver down my spine was the empty cradle with a red dinosaur toy eerily similar to the one Jack and I loved to play with, and the pajama onesie that was laid out next to it. It was like she was still expecting her baby to show up again…

“You okay?” Hotch asked from the door.

Frightened by the sudden intrusion, I jumped in my own skin. When I realized that it was just him, I caught my breath and nodded. He started walking in to take a look around with me. “Note the view,” I snipped, pointing to the ceiling. Hotch glanced quickly. “This is probably the cleanest room in the whole place. Her grief sent her into a spiral of deep depression to the point that she couldn’t keep anything together besides the one thing she had left: hope and love.”

“Do you blame her?” Hotch asked me.

I shook my head. “No.” If I ever lost Hotch, Jack, or a bab— Well… Or anyone else… I wouldn’t know what to do with myself either.

“Did you look in here?”

I turned to see that he was pointing at a wooden chest in the corner of the room. It looked identical to the one we had in our office at home. But I hadn’t really noticed it when I entered the nursery. Even if I had, I figured it was probably just filled with baby toys or diapers or something.

Hotch flipped the top of the chest open. Both of us leaned in with our weapons raised, ready to shoot something. I wasn’t sure what we were expecting to shoot in a goddamn wooden chest, but better safe than sorry, especially with this Unsub. But what we found only confused us. Hotch and I lowered and holstered our weapons.

“That…” I sucked in a deep breath. “That explains a lot.”

There was a corpse trapped in there, covered by a loose plastic bag in an poor attempt to preserve it. After finding out that Cortland’s body wasn’t where it was supposed to be, and now finding this corpse in our Unsub’s house— specifically her baby’s nursery, I supposed I shouldn’t have been shocked, honestly. If I were to guess, she somehow got ahold of Cortland’s body just after he was executed. I only assumed that because it didn’t seem like the grave was bothered before we dug him up last night.

“Wonderful,” Rossi said sarcastically as he came into the room. “I assume that’s who I think it is.” Hotch and I both nodded. “Listen, I think I might’ve found something here. It’s a weekly planner,” he explained while handing it to Hotch, “and it has Delilah Grennan and Maxinne Chandler’s names in it on the day of their respective murders.”

“What about today?” I inquired.

He nodded. Faye Landreaux. 162 North Red River Drive. She’s an accountant… Works at home…”

“That’s it,” Hotch agreed, jumping on his toes. The three of us ran out of the nursey. “Let’s move!” he shouted throughout the house. Emily, Reid, and Morgan, and the Sheriff immediately hurried outside to the cars.

Emily and Morgan were with me, Rossi and Reid were with Hotch. Morgan drove, following Hotch and the Sheriff to Faye's house about ten minutes away. It was conveniently nice that it was close… but it was also worrisome because that meant we were at least two steps behind our Unsub, meaning it could’ve been too late already.

When we arrived at Faye’s house, we spotted an extra car in the driveway—and, of course, the license plate was “ANGLMAKR”. How did no one fucking notice that before? How did we not catch that in some kind of records or something? Jesus. Morgan noticed, too, so he ran up to go see if there was anyone or anything inside of it. Meanwhile, the rest of us grouped up to start considering how we should handle this.

“Hotch,” Morgan called in a whisper while jogging over to meet us, “the car’s still warm.”

“And the windows are still closed,” I said, pointing up at the house. “She hasn’t killed her yet.”

If she had, then she would’ve made sure to open the windows to make sure that the soul could leave the house. If anything, she was probably… Well… Worst case scenario was that she was already setting out her rape kit. But we couldn’t know for sure. And if we tried anything, there was a possibility that Chloe would kill her before we could even get into the house.

“Find a way in,” Hotch told Morgan.

“Right,” Morgan agreed before racing off to search the perimeter of the house.

Hotch turned to Emily. “You’re gonna take point talking to Chloe.”

“But the profile says you’re not going to be able to talk her down. She has to complete Cortland’s work,” I argued.

“I know, but it’ll occupy her long enough to give Morgan a chance to get in and rescue Faye from inside the house. We just need to buy some time.” He turned to the Sheriff. “I’m gonna need all of your vehicles to quietly pull up to the front of the house, facing forward. On my mark, they’re all going to turn their lights on at the same time. I’m also going to need a megaphone.”

The Sheriff nodded and hurried off to do everything he was told. The rest of us started getting in position on the driveway. Because it was so dark and the streetlights on the road had been blown out, we didn’t need cover as we waited for the Sheriff’s department to pull up all of their cars. I was standing between Hotch and Emily, Reid and Rossi on her other side. When the P.D. was ready, Hotch held up his hand, waiting to give the signal. On the count of three, he dropped his hand. All of the cars suddenly turned on their high beams, lighting up the entire house, definitely alerting Chloe to our presence. Well. Hopefully we didn’t just get Faye and Morgan killed.

“Chloe, this is the FBI,” Emily said into the megaphone. “We know you’re in there.” She looked at me and Hotch. We both shrugged. She could do this if she just had a little more faith in herself. We knew that this wasn’t going to stop Chloe, but it was just going to buy Morgan time, like Hotch said. If Emily just kept talking for a bit longer, we’d be golden. “I know that you think that finishing what Cortland started will somehow bring you closer to him. We both know that’s not true. You’ve been lied to, Chloe. Cortland wasn’t who you really thought he was. I think it’s time you know the truth.” Spencer started scribbling a script for Emily onto a notepad. She nodded an acknowledgement to him before continuing. “Those letters that you think were so special between you and him? Well, he sent them to dozens of other women, too. ‘Without the flesh, there is only the soul.’ Does that sound familiar, Chloe? ‘You don’t need to touch me to feel the love I have for you.’ He said the same exact things to other girls like you, Chloe. He was a liar. He didn’t really love you. He was a narcissist. He couldn’t love you.”

A scream from inside the house shook the whole neighborhood. Panic ran through me as I didn’t see Morgan yet, but there was also no sound of gunfire or a struggle—which was good. I just had to know that he was safe. Since New York, I didn’t need to keep worrying about him. He scared the shit out of me with that ambulance stunt. This wasn’t easing my conscience at all. Asshole. Where was he? Why wasn’t he out yet?

And then Emily tapped my arm. I glanced at her quickly to realize that she was staring at the yard to the right of the building. I followed her gaze to see that Morgan was helping Faye along as she limped beside him. He was okay. He looked fine. No cuts, no bruises, no scrapes, no bullet wounds, no blood, nothing. He was safe.

Suddenly, the front door of the house opened. We all watched for movement for a minute before Chloe took a slow step out. She was wearing all black—two sweatshirts and snow pants, all for the sake of making her build look bigger, like a man. In her hand, she was carrying a small revolver.

“Chloe,” Hotch began as we all pulled our weapons, “drop the gun.”

She continued moving towards us, so I put my finger on the trigger. Hotch repeated his order. Chloe looked up at all of us, yet she didn’t stop or listen to Hotch’s order. He tried ordering her again. She hadn’t raised her weapon at us yet, she hadn’t made any sudden movements to give us cause to fire, and she was still far enough that she could surrender. So Hotch tried one last time before I whispered to him that I was waiting for the order. He didn’t seem to hear me, though.

Chloe looked up at the sky and whispered, “I’m coming to you, my love.” And then she started raising her weapon.

The Sheriff got the first shot in before the rest of the team could squeeze their triggers. As I fired, I saw out of the corner of my eye how Hotch stumbled back. I stopped firing so that I could look at him. He was wandering around aimlessly as the team continued to shoot at Chloe to make sure she was down. My eyes softened in concern. Hotch was still stumbling, even when the gunfire ended, and he ran into a car while holding his head between his palms. He was trying to guard his ears from the loud sounds. I spotted the similarities in relation to how he looked in New York. The way he was holding his head, the way he was stumbling around like he didn’t know where he was, and the way he could hardly stand up straight unless he was leaning against that car… My heart started pounding in my chest.

I looked at the team, who was also eyeing Hotch with concern. “Go!” I yelled, shooing them towards Chloe. They took the command without argument. While they moved to see if Chloe was really dead, I hurried over to Hotch to make sure that he was alright. Suddenly, he collapsed onto his knees. Thankfully, I managed to catch him by grabbing onto his elbows, and I held him up against the side of the car.

Hotch was blinking like crazy, looking at nothing specific as he glanced around at everything but me. I grabbed his face to let him know I was there, and he tried to squint and focus on me. “Baby,” I said to him breathlessly. “Baby, what is it?” He still didn’t respond. “Hotch!” I yelled, shaking him.

“I can’t hear anything,” he tried to explain calmly, but his tone was in a panic. He groaned as he hid his face in his hands. “Fuck… I can’t hear anything…” I brushed my fingers through his hair to let him know that I was there with him. “Y/N.” He braced his hands on my shoulders as his sight started to come back.

“I’m right here.” I smiled to make him feel better. “I’m right here.”

His hands squeezed my shoulders, and he stood up tall. “Shit…” he cursed under his breath. He stretched his jaw and his face to help clear his ears. “I’m okay,” he reassured me. I shook my head at him. He clearly wasn’t okay. “I promise.” He pushed past me to meet up with the team again.

I stayed where I was. My jaw was hanging, practically on the floor, and my eyes didn’t even blink. How did this happen? Why? He said he was alright, yet for the past two days, he had proven time and again that something wasn’t right. Ever since getting on the airplane at Quantico, I knew that something was wrong. This… The way he seemed just as dazed and confused as he did the night of the bombing in New York… He had been lying to me this whole time.

I didn’t sleep that night. Hotch fell asleep fairly quickly after kissing me goodnight and rolling over to face the wall. But I stayed curled up on my side, watching his back. I was worried about him, and I knew that worry wouldn’t allow me to sleep, and it really didn’t. Even when I tried to close my eyes, I would just be tortured by the memories of New York. I saw flashes of the street camera recordings of the bombings, of getting that first call from Garcia when she told us something bad happened, of holding Kate’s back together with my hands, or seeing Hotch collapse in the middle of the hospital, of seeing him as he broke down when he found out Kate didn’t make it out of surgery. It was all killing me.

Then I would think about how Hotch couldn’t seem to hear anything when they were pulling the coffin out of the ground, and when I fired my weapon at Chloe—That was my fault. How did I not realize that I did that? He didn’t have a problem with it until I fired my gun because I was standing right next to him. That one was my fault. I should’ve realized that there was something still going on with his ears, and I should’ve held out. But then she could’ve shot Hotch. He was right in her eyeline, her posture was squared up to shoot him. If she was going to shoot anyone, it was going to be him. I saw her raising her weapon, and I made a choice. I made the right choice. It was him or her, and I didn’t hesitate.

Finally, when morning came around, Hotch woke up to the sound of his alarm. He groaned and grabbed his phone to turn it off. Meanwhile, I closed my eyes, ignoring the flashes of nightmares, and pretended to be asleep. I was so worried about him; I didn’t need him worrying about me and how I didn’t fall asleep. Eventually, he turned over to face me, and I felt him put a gentle hand on my arm to wake me up. I gave it a few seconds of him massaging my arm awake before I opened my eyes. He was smiling at me while I pretended to be slowly waking up. I forced myself to smile back at him.

“Wanna shower before we head to meet up with the team?” he asked me quietly, brushing a strand of my hair out of my face.

I shook my head and closed my eyes again. I was trying to silently play it off like I was just tired, and I wanted to sleep in for another few minutes while he showered. It seemed to work because he kissed my temple and carefully slid out of bed. When he was gone and the bathroom door closed, I sat up and I started to think while he showered.

About fifteen minutes later, Hotch stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his hips, another one hanging from his neck as he used one corner to clear the water out from his left ear. I shifted on the bed while thinking about what was underneath that towel and how good he looked while his chest was still dripping beads of water. I had to shake off the thought, knowing that wasn’t what I wanted to do or talk about. I needed to focus on having a real conversation with him that had been weighing on my mind since New York.

He smiled at me. “I wish you would have joined me.”

But I didn’t smile back like I should have. “We need to talk about something.”

His smile disappeared and his forehead wrinkled as his eyebrows raised in worry. “Are you okay?”

I nodded and sat up. Hotch walked over and sat down by my feet. He reached out for me, so I turned onto my knees and crawled over to him. He pulled me onto his lap, his arms wrapped around my torso to hold me close. I tilted my head to the side so that I could press my forehead against his. As his wet chest soaked my pajamas, I thought long and hard about what to say next. There wasn’t enough time to prepare for such a conversation, and I wasn’t even sure if there were words to express exactly how I felt, but I needed to try.

I sighed quietly before taking in a deep breath of bravery. Fuck it. Full send. I just had to be honest. “I need you to be honest with me about what the doctors have been telling you. I didn’t want to pry because I knew that you would tell me when the time was right, but it’s been eating me alive, Aaron. I can’t sleep and I can’t eat because I spend my entire days just worrying about you. Something changed in New York. You didn’t used to keep secrets from me, which is how I know that this is really fucking bad. You would tell me if things are actually okay. So, I need to know the truth before it literally kills me.”

Hotch’s arms tightened around me while he pulled his face away from mine so that he could get a good look at me. I wasn’t smiling, I wasn’t smirking, and I wasn’t having any fun while trying to get answers out of him without having to start an argument. What I needed most was for him to just come out and say the truth, no matter how terrible it could be. Even if he were dying, I wanted to know. Even if he were so healthy that he could do a backflip, I wanted to know. There was something missing from what he had been telling me about his health since New York, and I had enough. He was the love of my life, there was no denying it. There was no one else out there who could love me the way he did, and there was no one out there that I could love with the same intensity that I had for him. But for us to work, he needed to just be honest with me. I could take anything, no matter how horrible. If there was even the slightest chance that I was going to spend the rest of my life with him, I needed to know that I could trust him wholeheartedly and that he shared the same sentiment. If we didn’t trust each other, then what was the point? I wanted him to know everything— hell, he did know everything about me, even the worst of the worst, the lowest of the low. He could show me the same courtesy, couldn’t he?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“For what?” I inquired with worry, pushing his wet hair out of his face.

“I didn’t want to lie, I swear. I thought that I’d be fine, and I just didn’t want to worry you.” He looked at me while he mimicked my actions by brushing my hair out of my face, too. “I’ve been so worried about you since New York. I don’t want you to have another panic attack because of me.”

“Just tell me the truth.”

His gaze fell from my eyes to my shoulder. “I’m technically not supposed to be in the field… The doctor didn’t clear me to fly, and she doesn’t want me to be around loud noises, like gunshots.”

My eyes softened. Why would he lie about something like that? That was nothing to be ashamed of. This was his fucking health— Did he not realize that a fucking doctor told him to not put a strain on his ears and that they likely told him that for a fucking reason? It wasn’t just a suggestion as he was taking it to be. They knew what they were fucking talking about and he had blatantly—

I took in a deep breath and tried to relax.

“Maybe I should have listened,” he admitted.

Yeah. Maybe he should have. Just a thought… God, I wanted to smack some sense into him so bad. He probably didn’t realize how frustrating it was to hear that he was going out of his way to hurt himself.

“My ears, they keep ringing to the point that I can’t hear or see anything… And when it happens, I go right back to that night and I can just see myself holding onto Kate while screaming for help that just won’t come. I feel so lost and panicked every time—” He looked at me. “But then you’re there, and you’re holding me just like you are now, and I find my balance and I remember where I am. I remember that I love you and that we’re both okay, and that’s enough to help me calm down.”

I took in another relaxing breath, this time because I knew that he was right. I wanted to be mad at him, but he had the right idea about being held and grounded by each other. Knowing that he was safe and alive was the greatest sedative for the mind and heart.

I tried to ask my next question as calmly as possible because he had been honest with me and that was what I wanted. I didn’t want to punish his honesty by yelling at him, but there was so much anger penting up in my chest, and I needed to let him know one way or another that he had made a huge mistake that didn’t just affect him. So I proceeded cautiously with, “How long have we known each other, Aaron?”

“What? I—”

“A year. We’ve known each other for about a year. In all that time, have you ever doubted that I can take care of myself? Even when the worst thing imaginable happens and you get all worried about me, do you doubt that I can handle any situation life throws at me?”

“Never.”

“So then don’t doubt me when I tell you that what happened in New York is nothing to worry about. I’m not lying to you. It’s the truth. Do you really want to know why I panicked like that?” He nodded slightly. “You fell to the floor and I thought you died. I saw you laying there, and I thought that I had lost you for good. I can’t bear to lose you, Aaron. That’s why I had a panic attack. That’s why I couldn’t breathe. But you were fine, just needed a little fixing up and you were good to go. Now you’re telling me that you’re not fine and that you’re putting yourself in danger? Did you ever stop to consider how I might feel about it? Your health isn’t just for you to worry about, Aaron. You have a family. We have a family. What if you were to come home one day and you can’t hear Jack’s laugh anymore, huh? You come home from a case and you can’t hear me tell you how much I love you, or Haley’s trying to tell you something important about Jack that we had to miss while we were gone, and you can’t understand her? You can’t do that, Aaron. It’s not fair. It’s not fair to you, to me, to Jack, the team, or even Haley. There are people who need you to be healthy and safe. We’re relying on it. You can’t just make the decision for yourself that you’re going to disobey the doctor’s orders and then have those around you suffer the consequences.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“I know you are, baby.” I pressed my lips against his forehead, keeping myself there for a minute. He leaned in and pecked a kiss against my neck. “I just want you to be safe and healthy. Is that too much to ask?” He shook his head. “I.” I kissed his forehead. “Love.” I did it again. “You.” He giggled slightly. “I love you, Aaron Hotchner.”

“I love you, too.” He looked up at me. “I.” He kissed my lips. “Love.” He did it again. “You.” Again. “Y/N Greenaway.” I smiled against his lips. “And I really am sorry. I promise, I won’t lie again. I swear it.” We hugged each other tight as he fell back onto the bed. I laughed and tried to roll off of him, but he held me tight. “You’re not going anywhere.”

When we were dressed and ready to leave the hotel, Hotch and I headed down to the lobby where the team was waiting for us. We apologized for being late, which earned a snarky remark from Morgan about how Hotch was getting “some action”, and in return, Hotch told him that he’d get to ride back-middle seat in the car as punishment. Morgan’s face fell. I chuckled as I walked past him to claim the front passenger’s seat in the car that Hotch would be driving.

We drove to the precinct first so that Hotch and JJ could wrap up a few things with the Sheriff, since he apparently wanted to discuss something with them in person before the team would get on the jet. Everyone got out of the car to stretch their legs again because they knew that they had a long flight ahead of them, but I did it because I knew that Hotch and I had an even longer trip. After Hotch admitted that he wasn’t clear to fly, I told him that there was no way in hell I was letting him get on that jet home. He told me that he understood, and we discussed how we were going to road trip home. It wasn’t ideal, but it was what we had to do in order to keep him safe.

Hotch and JJ finished talking with the Sheriff and one of Cortland’s original victim’s mother a few minutes later. She handed him a plate of cookies, which he thanked her for. As they all said goodbye to one another, Hotch and JJ slowly started making their way back to us. I pushed myself upright from leaning on the side of the car. Hotch and I exchanged a quick glance. Recognizing the signal, I opened the trunk and grabbed our go-bags while he handed the plate to Emily. When I had our bags, I closed the trunk, and I handed him his black duffle bag.

“You’re not coming?” Emily questioned, following Hotch around with the plate of cookies.

“No,” Hotch shook his head. “We’ve, uh… we’ve decided that we’re gonna drive back.”

“That’s a seven hour drive!”

Hotch looked over at me. I nodded a reassurance. “I… I really shouldn’t be flying.”

Emily looked over at me, too, now. She put two and two together. Knowing that this was something that we had discussed privately, and it was a decision we made together, she decided not to push. She nodded understandingly, then told us to drive safe. Morgan and I exchanged a glance as he got in the car with the rest of the team. I smiled lightly at him. Rossi was the only one who didn’t get in yet. He waited for them to close their doors before approaching me and Hotch.

“You know, I’ve done that drive before,” he said quietly. “There’s a lot of small towns—even more miles of absolute nothing. It gets kind of dizzying to spend all those hours on the road without stopping. Maybe you two should stretch the trip out for a day or two. Take a few days off to be yourselves again.”

Hotch nodded. “It’s something we’ve considered.” He reached out to shake Rossi’s hand. “Thanks.”

“Stay safe out there,” he said to Hotch, shaking his hand. “Don’t let him drive,” he joked, pointing at me. We both chuckled together, but Hotch only glared playfully at me. “We’ll be fine without you two for a few days, don’t worry.” He turned to get into the car.

When the whole team was settled in the car, Reid started the ignition. Honestly, I didn’t envy them after knowing that Reid was going to be driving them to the airport. I did feel bad, however, for not joining them, and for potentially not being at work over the next few days… but being with Hotch to make sure that he was okay… that meant more to me than anything else. That was what was important. I didn’t want to lose him, and that included losing any part of him, like his hearing. This was the safest thing for him, and I was going to be with him every step of the way, holding his hand as we got through this together.

He was going to hate me over the next few days. If he didn’t know it yet, he was going to learn very quickly that I didn’t appreciate being lied to. When Elle tried lying to me about her pain tolerance after getting shot, I stayed at her house for a bit to baby her, to make sure that she was alright and doing everything the doctor’s told her to do. She grew to dislike me over those two weeks because of that. But she was also the reason I didn’t immediately move in with Hotch, so she kind of had it coming. In Hotch’s case, he lied to me the same way she lied… and, boy, oh, boy, was I going to have a field day with making his life hell to make sure he knew to never lie to me again.

So as the team drove off, I held my hand out in front of me, my palm facing up. Hotch tried lacing his fingers with mine, but I playfully pulled away. “Keys,” I explained.

He furrowed his brows. “You’re not serious.”

“I’m dead serious. Keys, Agent Hotchner.”

He moved his go-bag from his right to left hand so that he could dig into his pockets for the car keys. “I’m perfectly capable of driving, Agent Greenaway.”

“No, you’re not.” I took the keys from him. “I love you.” I pressed a quick kiss against his cheek before hurrying off to the driver’s side of the car we were taking. Hotch watched me for a moment. “You can pick your jaw off the floor now,” I said, biting back a laugh, and opening up my car door.

His eyes brightened and a smile crept onto his face. “You’re something else… You know that, right?” I nodded. I could practically see his heart beating in his chest like we were in a damn cartoon or something. “I—” He was at a loss for words, which only made me smile. “I love you.” There it was. “Even though you’re a pain in my ass sometimes,” he mumbled under his breath as he got in the car.

Touché.

I was going to show him just how much of a pain in the ass I could be. Poor Aaron Hotchner had no idea.

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