STITCHES — When you save Aaron and land in the hospital.
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader, BAU x platonic!reader
Genre: Fluff, Whump & bickering
Warning: Kidnapping, getting shot, daddy issues (tell me if I missed any)
A/N: Even if it's 3rd Nov officially here but I wrote this for Hotch's bday. It's not based around bday but I couldn't get an idea for that, so....Positive criticism is welcomed.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY AARON HOTCHNER
You heard a displeased sound, but all you could see was darkness.
You heard the sound again.
“Y/N, as much as I would have wanted to let you sleep, this is not the situation.”
What is he talking about? Oh! Wait a minute. Who is he?
You tried to open your eyes, but it felt as if you had just returned from an exhausting shopping spree, stuffed to the brim and struggling to wake up. But that wasn't the case; there was no time for shopping now.
Your attention drifted to the sensation of someone's fingers wrapped around yours, pressing gently. The pressure wasn't hard, but it was enough to pull you from the depths of your subconscious, urging you to wake up and resist the temptation to whine for “five more minutes.” Suddenly, the memory of what happened rushed back, and your eyes flew open as if you hadn't been trying to wake up at all.
You glanced around frantically. The scene was tilted at an odd angle; everything seemed askew. That’s when you felt something—or rather, someone—shift beneath your head.
As soon as you attempted to move, you were hit with the familiar ache of someone who had just completed their first day at the gym.
“Y/L/N! Y/N! Calm down, calm down,” Hotch urged in his ever-composed voice.
Your eyes locked onto his warm, chocolate-brown ones, filled with care and concern. His irises darted left and right, never leaving yours, even for a moment.
Your gaze then fell on your wrists, turning red from the ropes being tied too tightly around them. But that wasn’t what was important. What was important was the fact that your right wrist was tied to his left, and his right was tied to your left.
“Who ties hands this way?” you exclaimed, looking up at Hotch with the innocent curiosity of a child in kindergarten, eagerly seeking answers from a teacher who loomed over you.
“I think it’s part of the ritual they perform before disposing of their victims. They want to create an emotional connection before they end their lives by manipulating them.”
You nodded in understanding, trying to focus your vision, blinking several times to clear the fog from your eyes. Suddenly, everything faded to black.
When you came to again, your head rested on Hotch’s shoulder, and both of your hands lay haphazardly on your thighs.
“It’s a symptom of the drug—losing consciousness for a few minutes,” he said.
“You let them drug me?” you questioned, a hint of disbelief creeping into your voice, sure that he would protect you.
He looked at you in confusion, his expression scrunching up as if you were an alien rather than the agent he had known for months—someone he had never fantasized about(why would you think that?)
“We’re being kept captive,” he said, as if he were reminding you.
“Being formal about this doesn’t change anything, Aaron. We are kidnapped,” you insisted, your voice rising as you widened your eyes to look into Hotch’s, which had narrowed as he stared intently at you.
Hotch had never seen you like this. You were usually the one to shy away from confrontation, avoiding discussions as if you were facing a gallows. You would opt out of outings with promises of future plans, crafting convincing lies that most believed—except for Rossi and him, who saw through your facade. He didn’t know you had this fire within you.
“You said this would be safe. We’d go to the party to meet your colleagues and return home soon,” you said, accusation lacing your voice, making Hotch set his eyes on you, anger evident in them.
“Yes, but you also knew the dangers lurking around in the city right now, didn’t you, Y/N/N?”
“But you didn’t put a sign saying ‘idiot’ in front of your name, did you? You have years of experience dealing with danger; you walk around with that stoic ‘I am the boss. Don’t mess with me’ vibe, and you’re saying you didn’t know what you were getting into?”
“Like you knew what you were getting into? You came in with roses to propose that day, right before I was leaving, with your enchanting face and beautiful wide eyes. Yet none of those things told me about your lack of common sense and respect.”
“Oh, please! Like you have a lot of common sense. You know what? You should drink your coffee with some sugar. Maybe it will help sweeten your bitter tongue.”
“Yeah, like the amount of sweets you consume did yours?”
“Don’t go after my sweets.”
“Then don’t comment on my coffee.”
“Then what should I comment on? Huh? How you can’t keep your hair in place? Seriously, how do those strands keep falling on your forehead?” Your gaze drifted toward the way his hair fell, then back to his eyes, and finally to his lips.
He noticed where your eyes wandered but kept his expression neutral. By “neutral,” he meant hiding how his heart plummeted at the brief longing in your gaze.
“Y/N, have some dignity when it comes to my hair. You use serum to tame the jungle of your morning madness and keep it presentable throughout the day.”
Your train of thought was interrupted by Hotch’s unexpected remark. For a brief moment, your eyes met his, a spark of connection flickering before you both returned to the weight of the situation.
How does he know I wake up with a jungle for hair?
Your mind wandered back to the other day when you were telling the girls about this, who then suggested you get some hair products while Hotch and Rossi walked by.
He remembers such trivial things about me.
Stop it! He’s a profiler. It’s in his nature to remember things about people. Don’t flatter yourself, Y/N.
The team had profiled the unsubs to be from the upper class; they had the means to enter these sorts of parties without striking to anyone as odd. The way the victims were disposed of spoke about the unsubs being used to ostentation without meaning to, fitting into the norms of upper-class society.
You and Hotch knew you would be abducted. It was part of the plan; you basically set the stage to lure the unsubs in. Initially, you and Hotch were reluctant to go—more you than him because you found him attractive. You were sure you wouldn’t be able to take your eyes off him the whole night, especially as the people at elite parties dressed to the nines, and you were sure the way the whole team was looking at you would make you drool all night. You pressed your lips together, trying to stop yourself from imagining your handsome boss in a tight shirt, flexing his arms, showing off his muscles.
No, no, no! There’s no way I would be able to focus on catching the unsub.
However, none of them accepted your “no”—not even Hotch. He told you how you would be the perfect choice, seeing the pattern of female victims remained the same—one that you would fit. He turned you slightly toward himself by your shoulders, looking you right in the eye, promising that nothing would go wrong and that he would be there the whole time with you. Promise!
What you didn’t know was that they would hurt you to make you comply. The female victims had fought back; you would have to do the same. But none had been hit in the head—either they weren’t, or you were the unfortunate one. If so, the coroner made a grave mistake, and you would deal with him when you got out of here because your head was pounding like crazy. You were sure you had at least a mild concussion
You and Hotch had strategized in his hotel room the previous night, reviewing case files and delving into the plan to demonstrate a temper akin to that of the unsub and to display behavior contrary to the victims.
“What if we don’t show fear?” you suggested.
He raised an eyebrow, and seeing his expression made you gulp. You hadn’t thought much before speaking; it was a bad habit, but sometimes you couldn’t help yourself.
“Elaborate,” he prompted.
When he nodded, you continued, speaking slowly to avoid waking the sleeping bear that resided within Hotch—the one that got angry and lectured people.
“So what if we show other emotions? Throw them off? They’re organized and live for perfection. Fear is part of the torture they perform, but they won’t be able to if we don’t let things go their way.”
“What do you suggest we do?”
He seemed impressed, his tone hinting at approval. You looked down to hide your blush, and as you pondered your next idea, you began pacing the floor while Hotch sat in his chair. After a while, he realized it had been too long since you started pacing and opened his mouth to stop you.
Hotch widened his eyes in disbelief. “You want us to argue while we’re kidnapped?”
He was trying to match your enthusiasm, but he struggled to comprehend your willingness to argue with him—let alone with anyone. “Are you sure?”
You turned to him, feeling a seed of insecurity beginning to take root. “I think the idea could work well, sir. However, there’s a chance it won’t be effective with me. You can choose someone else from the team if you’d like.”
He immediately recognized that he had done a poor job of reassuring you. “I want you to be there. With me.”
“I am, Y/N. We will go to the ball and execute the plan.”
You nodded your head, without any further arguments. He used anyone's first name on the team only when he was quite serious.
Before you could speak again, one of the unsubs struck both of you, causing you to flinch in pain.
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” one of them yelled, his brows knitted in frustration.
If anyone asked them, they would surely return the two chuckleheads they had kidnapped. You two were effectively ruining their game.
“All of the previous ones shivered in fear before us, begged us to spare their lives, but you two are… bickering?” He toyed with the knife in his hands—the same knife you suspected had been used to stab the female victims multiple times. Stuffing down the feeling of emptiness inside, you forced a sweet smile.
“See, first of all, we were arguing, not bickering,” you huffed, feigning annoyance at their mislabeling rather than genuine fear.
Things I do for this job!
“Exactly. And what are you saying about fear? Try living with this woman—she's a walking nightmare!”
He means dream, actually.
You gasped. “YEAH! You didn’t see the nightmare when you happily accepted my proposal. Oh! Or at the altar?”
“If I had, I wouldn’t be here, wearing the ring, would I?” he retorted, giving you a fake smile—more mocking than sincere.
The team had taken care of the rings for the whole undercover mission and made you guys wear them in front of them.You closed your eyes slightly, suddenly remembering the embarrassment of that moment, the heat rising in your cheeks.
The way your cheeks were turning red, Hotch was glad this was a mission and he was not actually married to you; otherwise, he would never be allowed to set foot in the house after the stunt he just pulled. He was definitely sure of that. You were clenching your fists. He wondered whether they were for beating him up or controlling your anger.Your eyes betrayed your frustration, the one you were trying to hide.
“I’m telling you, Aaron. Shut up!”
The way your name rolled off your tongue sounded so soft and fluffy that he could hardly believe it. He knew his heart would ache when you went back to Hotch. He pursed his lips.
“You always complain about me not giving you enough time,” you said, your voice harsh. He nodded in acknowledgment.
You and Hotch could see the team surrounding the room, clad in FBI vests with guns trained on the unsubs. When you glanced at Hotch, he signaled for you to proceed with the plan.
He knew it was risky, but it was a solid strategy to shock them. You were against it. Your face had turned horrified the night before when he explained his plan. It felt as if he had promised you paradise and then snatched it away. You were hesitant at first; he understood, but eventually, you warmed up to the idea.
“Tell me, why should I make time for you when you're always busy at the FBI? In your office, having an affair with your case files,” you said, your tone dripping with feigned anger.
“Like you aren’t in the office, working so hard that you don’t even remember your husband works in the same place.”
Your heart stopped for a moment. You mentally squealed at his use of the term ‘husband.’
How much I wish it were real!
“Wait, what?” one of the unsubs asked, his voice filled with disbelief.
“What did you guys just say?” His tone was low, likely from the shock of realizing he had kidnapped two FBI agents.
“From everything we’ve said, that’s what you gathered?”
As the realization hit him and he raised his gun to shoot you and Hotch, Morgan and Emily barreled into the room, swiftly disarming them. Thus, ending your and Hotch’s plight.
“You know, for being a parent, you are quite adventurous.” You said to Hotch as you walked down the stairs, who in turn moved his head toward you. You were so close that one move and your noses would touch.
“What can I say? Being with you brings out my inner talent,” he answered back, continuing the funny banter you had begun.
You chuckled quietly. “Oh really? Then I probably should tell Garcia about this. She would be really happy for you to try new things.”
“No. I’m pretty happy that those types of adventures are out of my comfort zone,” he added.
“Getting kidnapped comes in your arena, huh?”
“Absolutely,” he let out a laugh.
Lost in the bickering, neither of you noticed anything else. You were so invested in winning and being lost in each other’s eyes that you paid no heed to your surroundings.
The team and the detectives were searching the place for any other evidence or things that needed their attention. Hotch, being the boss, should have been there. He knew that. You knew that, but neither of you made any attempt to move, staying in your place and bickering like an old married couple.
Unbeknownst to you, the hours spent in captivity had forced you out of your comfort zone with him. You were trying to retreat back to your ‘before-you’ self, but it was proving to be a challenge. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it. Hotch was grappling with similar feelings.
He didn't interact like this with anyone on the team, except Dave, but he had known him before he became Unit Head. When he transitioned from prosecutor to agent and had a wonderful life—not the broken one like now—Dave had been a part of that life. It was easier to share things with the man who had seen him evolve into the man he was today. He would always understand where he was coming from.
On the other hand, the others were too young to be burdened with his matters. They didn't know much about him, and it would be foolish to share too much with them. However, you were the exception.
Suddenly, your gaze landed on a figure at the top of the stairs, his finger poised on the trigger. You instinctively pushed Hotch aside, but you couldn’t move yourself.
Though you had some inkling of what was happening, you felt no pain. Instead, you saw shadows moving around you, felt a shove, and then you were falling, like a ragdoll.
For a fleeting moment, an unfamiliar fluttering stirred in your stomach—not the kind that came for him, but something more alarming.
What the hell? Why does it hurt?
You closed your eyes, wishing the pain would vanish as if it were a fleeting thought. When you opened them again, you found yourself in someone’s arms, both of you on the ground, the ceiling above seeming impossibly high. Your head rested on his forearm.
Honestly, it was getting hard to put together what was going on. You closed your eyes again. But soon, someone was patting your cheeks, asking you to wake up!
Rude! What happened to manners?
As you opened your eyes to scold the intruder, you were met with the most beautiful brown eyes you had ever seen. Had you been more lucid, you might have noticed the worry and glistening tears in those eyes. You raised your hand to touch Aaron's face, but it felt impossibly far away.
I need to eat more. I have no energy.
Aaron caught your hand in his.
“It's okay, Y/N. It's okay,” he said softly, a tone you had never heard from him before.
I want to hear his soft voice every day.
A sharp pressure at your wounds made you gasp. You gripped the person’s wrist, trying to stop him, but he didn’t flinch, continuing to apply pressure. Pain shot through you, relentless and overwhelming.
“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry.”
He was feeling the pain of getting you shot. One minute, you both were talking, and the next he was on the floor while Reid shot down the assailant.
Hotch grabbed you instinctively, lowering your hand to keep you safe before you could fall hard. His focus was solely on you, blocking out the chaos around you. Just moments ago, he was teasing you, trying to draw you out, and now he was fighting to keep you with him. He never saw the attack coming, but you had, and you had acted heroically to save him.
This moment shouldn't have happened. He took off his jacket hurriedly.
Your darting eyes and panicking face pulled him out of his train of thoughts—more of a train of depressing thoughts. He clutched your hand, trying to provide some comfort, some sort of… anything to keep you from feeling only numbness. To keep you here.
Your breathing grew shallow, and he could feel your heartbeat racing beneath his fingertips.
“Y/N, listen to me. Look at me,” he urged in a firm yet gentle tone, and you complied.
“Take a deep breath. Copy mine.”
He guided your hand to his chest, demonstrating as best he could.
“I know it’s hard. Please, just try,” he said, watching your eyes flutter open and close.
His sole purpose was to comfort you, to ensure you lived. You had to— for the team, for your family, for him.
He pursed his lips and scanned for the paramedics, who should have been there by now. He fought the urge to shout for them as your blood soaked his clothes at a pace that terrified him.
Your groans sent a chill through him, a reminder of the stakes.
How could I have made such a mistake? What did I do?
Dave appeared as if summoned, taking the jacket from Hotch and applying pressure to your wounds. You winced at the pain, squeezing Dave's wrist to distract yourself.
“It’s okay, it's okay, it's okay, Y/N. Don't worry. I need to do this. I’m sorry, but it's required.”
“It hurts,” you said, tears in your eyes.
“I know, I know, Bambina. I’m sorry.”
“I’ve called the paramedics. They’re stuck in traffic,” JJ rushed in, her voice laced with frustration.
“Tell them to hurry!” Hotch snapped.
“I have, but they said it’s going to take time,” JJ replied, anger and helplessness evident in her tone.
“It’s okay, JJ,” you said, trying to comfort her despite your own pain.
Hotch’s mind immediately wandered to Kate. Just how similar the situation was. So much blood had been on the road in New York, and he was trying to stop the bleeding while Kate spoke whatever came to her mind. How he tried and failed! Failed Kate. Failed in protecting you. Today again, he had been placed in a similar situation. However, he wouldn't let you lose your life today.
“Make it stop, Aaron. Please, please, please.”
He was sure your cries would forever haunt him. The pleas to save you would plague his mind like how Hayley's death did.
“Hotch.” He looked at you.
“What happened?” you asked him, dazed.
He could see the delirium in your eyes, the blood still flowing, your head tilting to the side.
“Hey, hey, Y/N. Open your eyes. Keep them open.”
“I would rather be mean than let you lose your life, Y/N,” he said in a desperate tone, wanting you to stay conscious until the medics arrived.
He yelled, succumbing to his instinct to urge them to hurry.
“Don't yell, Aaron, please.”
“Okay, sweetheart. I won't.” Neither of you noticed the slip.
As sirens wailed in the distance, he gathered you into his arms, pressing his jacket to your wounds, and rushed outside, placing you on the gurney. He relayed the necessary information while clutching your hand, reassuring you both that everything would be alright. It had to be.
He looked down at his hands. Covered in blood—your blood—they were crimson, reminiscent of a child's crayon used for innocent drawings. Yet today, the red staining Hotch's hands and sleeves, which he had dismissed, marked your act of sacrifice to save him. Save him. He chuckled bitterly at the thought.
Why on earth would she save me?
He thought about the numerous times he let someone down in various ways. Hayley always topped the list. He had ruined the one good thing in his life back then—the thrill of their early relationship.Guilt wrapped around him like a suffocating embrace every time he was away on a case.Not being there with her, even for a day, felt like a punishment.
However, as time flew, he gained more responsibilities, going from being a newbie on the team to being the Unit Chief when Gideon took the teaching job at the Academy. From worrying about not being home for a day, he became worried about how to solve cases and how to tell his wife he wouldn't be there again.
It was a mess. His life was a mess. He was a mess. And you put your life on the line to save the man who didn’t have anything in his life to live for except for his son.
He could feel the coldness of the hospital’s black seats, on which he was adamantly made to sit. While he tried to give a stare, he was no competition for Dave, who just raised an eyebrow in response.
“How on earth do you plan to help her if you constantly try to land in the hospital, Aaron?”
With an audible sigh, he dropped into the seat beside Garcia, who muttered words that sounded like “She’s going to be okay” and “Don’t worry, Penelope. She’ll come back and confess her love.” Hotch had no idea what she meant.
His eyes drifted toward the operating room. He didn’t know how long he had been staring, lost in thought until he felt a hand resting on his knees. Morgan had placed his hand there, a silent reminder to stop bouncing his legs.
“She’ll be alright,” Spencer said, his voice filled with such conviction that it ignited a flicker of hope in Hotch’s heart, warming the void that had settled since he had held you in his arms, your blood and life slowly leaving your body.
He was struck by how quickly you had integrated into the team, despite having joined not long ago.
He couldn't help but reminisce about the first time you entered the bullpen. He always laughed at that memory. You looked like a child who had entered their favorite toy shop, looking around in the hope of buying the whole shop, even if it was impossible. He could see the way your eyes lit up at every scene they captured.
He concluded that it was probably due to being in the BAU, chalking it up to your dream. If you had such wide, radiant eyes at the prospect of meeting unsubs, then he needed to order an evaluation, stat.
Lost in thought, he didn't realize when he stopped and was basically in your path until you bumped into him and jumped two feet back as if you had just been electrocuted. Maybe you did, because he felt a spark through his body when you made contact. He shook his head slightly, hoping not to be noticed, and focused on your apologizing self.
“I didn't see you there, Sir. I was—”
“No worries, Agent. It happens,” he reassured, sensing your anxiety and hoping to quell the panic rising in you.
He didn't know why, but the way you reacted stuck with him. As time went on, he couldn't help but notice how you reacted to things. It was rather wrong of him to profile you, but after being on this job for so long, he did it naturally. He sensed that your fidgeting stemmed from some past trauma, a lingering shadow you carried.
Once, Garcia and Reid came into the office, looking downright nervous.
“Sir, we want to ask you something, and we don't know if you’re gonna get upset, but we need to ask. We don’t mean it in a negative way—”
“Yeah, it’s just we’ve noticed things and thought we should clarify. We know you couldn’t do it, but—”
“What is it?” Hotch asked, hoping to get them out of the awkward situation they had placed themselves in.
“Have you said something to Y/N?”
“In what context?” He didn't know where this was going. He talked to you about many things—from cases to asking about your mental health to your godson’s picture, which you kept on your desk, and whose soccer game you attended where you met Aaron—and he knew they could be talking about anything.
“Sir, we’ve seen the way she fumbles and the constant fidgeting with her bracelet. So, we thought you had scared my new favorite pookie,” she said, now herself looking scared to stand in front of her boss.
“No, I didn’t, Garcia and Reid,” he said, addressing the genius as well, who looked at him with fear, the expression screaming, If you scare my friend, I won’t leave you. “I am not aware of the reason she does it, but I’m pretty sure I’m not behind it.”
At that moment, the reason for your anxiety walked onto the floor, flanked by a cadre of guards. He was a significant figure, an employer who provided for many—but to you, he was the man responsible for your fear.
“Agent Y/N Y/L/N?” the doctor called out.
“Yes.” The answer came in unison, and the team exchanged glances as Hotch stepped forward.
“The operation was successful. We’ll keep her under observation for a few days, but she’s going to make a full recovery.”
They sighed in relief at the news and thanked the doctor, who walked away smiling. Hotch felt his knees ready to collapse with the sheer amount of relief he experienced. He shuddered, thinking of everything that had happened during the last few hours. Hearing the news about you brought a smile to his face. His professionalism faded into something more intimate, a shared feeling of happiness growing inside his chest at the thought of you being okay again.
Suddenly, a commotion drew their attention—doctors, senior staff, arriving to greet a man Hotch didn’t recognize.
“She’s doing okay now. The bullets went through, but we repaired the damage. She’ll be just fine,” one of the doctors assured.
Then the gruff voice reached him. “Are you SSA Aaron Hotchner?”
“I’m Arthur Y/L/N, Y/N’s father.”
“Hello, sir.” Hotch extended a firm handshake.
“And I assume this is the team, right?”
Everyone either nodded their heads or, in some cases, gave a little wave. However, the common factor was that they all looked confused.
“None of you got injured?” he demanded.
Hotch maintained his stoic demeanor while Emily replied, “No, sir.”
Arthur snorted. “Shows Y/N’s incompetence, doesn’t it?”
The team stiffened, sensing the tension. Hotch narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”
“I know, I know. She isn’t cut out for this agent thing. I’ve known her since she was a child. I know her capabilities.”
Morgan and Reid exchanged incredulous glances, fully aware of your remarkable capabilities in fighting, learning, and prioritizing. Rossi shot them a warning glance, suppressing the urge to confront the man standing before them.
Hotch opened his mouth to respond, but the audacity of Arthur Y/L/N cut him off, allowing the tirade to continue.
“Her decision-making ability was nonexistent from the very beginning. If I hadn’t guided her, she wouldn’t have even finished her studies—she’d probably be stuck with a GED or something. I know, Agent Hotchner, it takes a great deal of skill to thrive in this field.”
No, you don’t, Hotch thought, anger simmering beneath his calm exterior.
Mr. Arthur Y/L/N sighed as if he couldn’t help but stop, having so much to say but not wanting to expose his problem child.
“I hope, Agent Hotchner, you make the right decision now. You’ve seen how she ended up in the hospital. What good could it do for her to stay? If she leaves the FBI, your headache would vanish. I have my son handling my business right now—he could do something for her.”
Listening to him talk about you—a friend, a daughter figure, perhaps even a future lover—filled everyone with rage, yet no one dared to speak. They knew Hotch would take care of it; he didn’t need their help.
“Listen, Mr. Y/L/N. Y/N is the most hardworking and dedicated agent I’ve ever encountered. So don’t you dare speak ill of her,” Hotch said, stepping closer, his anger simmering as he examined the features you had inherited from this man. The thought of you living under his shadow sickened him.
“The decision I’m about to make is to have you removed for speaking against a federal agent and trespassing when she doesn’t want you here.”
“How would you know that?” Arthur challenged.
“I’m pretty sure she never contacted you after moving out. You must have people watching her closely; you got here too quickly for someone who wasn’t even contacted. By the way, I just remembered—you aren’t her emergency contact.”
Hotch was. A fact he was pretty joyful and grateful about, despite how he felt he had broken your trust.
“A father having his daughter trailed just to know about her speaks volumes. Do you know she’s afraid to speak because she doesn’t want to be a bother, doesn’t want to be scolded just because you used to talk to her like that? She cut all contact with you so she wouldn’t have to be near you, so it would be best if you leave before I take drastic measures.” His voice rose, startling Garcia.
Now, everything fell into place for everyone in the room, and their hearts broke.
How could a father be like this?
They had encountered many men like Arthur, but they had hoped that beneath your caring exterior lay a loving family—something none of them had ever known. But they forgot that none of them had any chance of that; otherwise, they wouldn’t be in the BAU.
“Jack is lucky to have you as his father.” Your comment now made more sense in Hotch’s mind.
“She’s just another agent to you. You can dispose of her. No need to make a fuss,” Arthur continued with a crooked smile.
“She’s not an item you can dispose of. She’s a person, an individual. She’s special to many people.”
“Oh yeah? Who is she important to? To you?”
“Yes. And if I ever see you near her without her permission, I won’t hesitate to get a restraining order. I’m letting you off this time because you’re her father.”
“I will end your career, Agent Hotchner,” Arthur threatened, a dangerous glint in his eyes.
“Try your best.” Hotch turned and walked toward your room, leaving Arthur to simmer in his anger.
“What a pretty face to wake upto.” you said, making him move his head from the window he had been looking out of, thinking about your father. You looked at him with a soft smile.
As you offered the compliment, Hotch felt an unexpected warmth flood his cheeks, a rare blush creeping up beneath his usually stoic demeanour. His heart quickened, betraying the calm facade he so often maintained.
It was a warmth that contrasted sharply with the wan smile Arthur had worn. Hotch felt a surge of protectiveness. Hotch was sure he would have done something if your father hadn’t left quietly. However, he was certain of one thing: he wouldn’t have regretted it. He would never regret standing up for any of his teammates—especially not for you. Hotch smiled softly.Yes, you bore a resemblance to your father, but you radiated warmth and humanity that set you apart. And you had a very pretty smile.
When you finally woke up, it felt surreal. Before you sat the man of your dreams, the one who had invaded your thoughts for months.
I know I have a crush on you, but geez! Stay out of my dreams!
You squinted at him, still dazed.
“Who?” Hotch feigned ignorance, but you shot him a look that he recognized as one Dave had taught you.
As far as he knew, no one except the medical staff had been in your room.
“Your face. I have a talent for reading expressions, especially yours.”
“No. The nurse mentioned you argued with him earlier.”
“Don’t. You did me a favor, Aaron.”
“Wow! Your name sounds nice,” you mumbled, and Hotch felt his heart swell. He knew the medication had you loopy, but he was genuinely flattered.
“Shhh. Just listen. I would have fought him too.”
Your gaze held his, and he felt the weight of everything between you—the unspoken connection, the shared warmth. His usually stoic expression softened as he grasped your hand.
“You’re not alone anymore, Y/N. I’m here for you.” He smiled, and you returned it, a spark igniting in the air between you. For the first time in a long while, there was hope.
From the doorway, the rest of the team watched, unable to tear their eyes away from the chemistry crackling between you and Hotch. It was a warmth that cut through the sterile chill of the hospital, a bond forged in adversity.
“What just happened?” Prentiss whispered.
“I believe we just witnessed the start of a love story,” Rossi replied with a knowing smirk.
“Bossman is in love,” Morgan added, grinning.
“Well, it’s better than watching them steal glances at each other and be awkward,” JJ said, smiling at the prospect.
“Actually, it’s going to be more. They’re bound to evolve into more affectionate gestures,” Reid chimed in.
“Nooo. It’ll be cringeworthy, but the blackmail potential would be priceless,” Morgan teased.
“Oh my! We can use this for their wedding speech!” Garcia exclaimed.
“Wedding?” Rossi raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, maybe we’re getting ahead of ourselves,” JJ admitted.
“Yeah, probably they won’t even start dating anytime soon,” Prentiss added.
“You haven’t been in love, Em. I’m telling you, they’re going to get married soon,” Garcia insisted.
But in that moment, as Hotch stood by your bedside, he felt the flicker of hope—perhaps even love—beginning to ignite in the space between you. A new chapter was unfolding, filled with promise, support, and a chance for happiness.
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