Chi 💌

frank castle, the punisher

the prelude¹ - fluff, a little angst on frank's part, tiny bit of soulmate au summary: what can you do when you wake up one day and feel like your whole life's about to change?

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵· ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵· ˚ ₊⊹⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵· ˚ ₊⊹

But he had dealt with that to his satisfaction, and so the 1:99 ratio of his instincts’ reliability made him feel good on a bad day and terrifyingly invincible on a good day. So say he woke up on an unassuming Tuesday morning with every fiber of his being feeling ruffled, tingling even– Frank Castle, the big bad Punisher, felt out of place in his own damn bed. 

He had no idea what to do in anticipation of whatever he’s sensing. So he did the things he would usually do, nothing out of the ordinary. He would never admit it but it was also his way of grounding himself so he wouldn’t get too in his head about a feeling. Not to mention there is also a 1 in 99 chance that nothing will happen at all. 

Frank goes through the motions of his usual day. Make his bed. Brush his teeth. Make coffee. Drink said coffee. Go to work. Stay out of trouble. Eat his lunch and ignore assholes. Work more. Ignore assholes. Time out of work. Go to the diner. Eat pancakes in peace. Take the bus home– literally what could life possibly throw at him now that he couldn’t handle? 

“Hi.” Breathless, angelic, and soft. Frank looked up to the source of the voice that seemingly shocked his heart back to life. Round doe eyes look down at him with a question, expecting- he realizes. His body must have gone into overdrive figuring out what the hell was happening upon hearing her voice that all his other senses blocked out any stimuli.

He blinked himself back into his senses, “Hmm?” 

Her mouth just stopped moving, now biting her lip still waiting– pink lips. Soft. Round. 

With her hand pointing to his lunch which he dropped onto the seat beside him, it dawned on him that she must be asking if she could sit beside him. 

He quickly grabbed his paper bag and gestured to the seat beside her, letting out a sound that sounded more like a whine than anything. His face was heating up and he was quickly finding this encounter to be embarrassing on his part. Blushing? Really? What am I, five in a school yard? Fuck this.

He tried his hardest to keep a straight, neutral face. Even putting the effort to show a little bit of his tough Punisher face. But she smiles at him. Small and bashful, lowering her head as if to say thank you. How could he possibly continue to try to scare her kindness away? 

As she settles in beside him, the sleeve of her coat brushes against the sleeve of his jacket. His heart stutters. His hands clench into fists, crumpling his paper bag as result. He tries to regulate his breathing, faking that she’s had no effect on him whatsoever ever since she spoke. Inhale. 

Mint, bergamot, lavender. Her scent assaults his senses. Exhale. Fuck me. Clenching and unclenching his hands, his jaw– you could very well say he’s tense. He’s not liking this, feeling so out of control, so out of his depth, and so so so out of his mind. 

But he wants more. 

He breathes her in more, slowly. Not wanting to rush it, not wanting it to be over. 

Don’t be creepy. Don’t be creepy. Don’t be creepy. 

She starts humming softly. It’s been a long, long time, he realizes. Henry James. Could this woman be any more fucking heavenly? In his peripheral, he sees her just staring out the window, watching and humming and smelling like a goddamn–

He evens out his breathing like his life depends on it, not wanting to cause any suspicion. Doing his best to not let her in on the little secret that is the animal currently fighting to take over him. 

Primal. Needy. Feral.  Suddenly, it hits him. Loud and glaring- in his mind, in his heart, in his gut– screaming Her. This. HER. THIS. This is exactly why he felt out of sorts in his own bed, in his own home, in his own routine.

Deep inside, Hotch was getting a little worried. That maybe he came on a little too strong. 

Was that too bold? Was that out of the blue? What if you think he’s joking? Or worse, what if you think he’s not taking you seriously? 

On the outside, Hotch is trying very hard to maintain his calm and collected composure, not letting too much emotion seep through his expression. Making sure he doesn’t look worried or too proud, too scared or too smug. 

The small smile on his face is one that he hopes to convey what he means: that he seriously likes you and that he doesn’t mean to embarrass you. But it is a smile that slowly fades the more he sees the panic growing in your eyes. 

Loud clapping shakes you both out of your individual worries as Derek teasingly cheers for the development in your romance— hooting and whooping about how the boss man has finally made his move. 

As if suddenly remembering that there are other people in the room, you both look around to check the other team members’ faces. 

To your surprise, Reid is blushing even more than you and Hotch are, and to absolutely no one’s surprise, Rossi is looking straight at Hotch with a smug grin. Raising his hands theatrically slow to clap painfully slow for his best friend. 

“My man.” Derek proudly says still clapping, and if he was brave enough to risk losing a hand tonight, he would have stood up to pat his boss on the back. 

Hotch shakes his head bashfully, cheeks turning increasingly red.  He looks down at his shoes to hide his face a bit, mumbling a low, “Shut up.” 

But Rossi being Rossi, was not gonna let the moment go, “I gotta say, Hotch, I didn’t think you’d ever do it…or anything actually.” 

Looking at Hotch, you start to giggle. He’s got his head facing the ceiling, acting playfully exasperated at his team’s antics. No doubt already regretting his public expression a little bit. 

But the laughter dies down into soft giggles, and he straightens a little to look at you. Catching your eye, you smile back at him softly, also hoping that he’d understand what you’re saying with that little smile. I like you too. Don’t worry, you didn’t embarrass me. 

Hotch’s worries are instantly quieted by your smile. Like dust settling on the ocean floor, he feels at peace. 

Your little staring moment though, is suddenly interrupted by his cell ringing. And the room’s mood sombers knowing that there can only be one reason someone will call one of your cells late at night— a new body was just found. 

—

It’s 7:00am and the sun has risen brightly. Reid and Rossi went to the ME with the body to further examine what’s been done. Meanwhile you, Morgan, Seaver and Hotch stay behind at the crime scene, knowing a fresh scene can tell you the most right now.

You’ve been staying close to Morgan as he theorizes the unsub’s movements. Following and coming up with theories of your own in terms of the order of the unsub’s entry and exit. 

But as much as you are focused on the case, you look at Hotch and Seaver every now and then, who are interviewing witnesses and authorities on the side. 

Hotch catches you looking at him and Seaver, just as Seaver holds on to his arm to fix the strap of her heel. You may have looked extra irritated but you’d blame it on the sun being on your face. 

Looking back at Derek who had gotten quiet, you find him smiling at you teasingly. Already aware of what you were just looking at— more like who. You roll your eyes at him, “Shut up, chocolate.”

Derek shakes his head as he laughs, taking his sunglasses from where it hung his shirt and wears it on you. 

“Calm down, Cyclops. You might just kill the two of them if you’re not careful.” 

You gasp at his audacity, watching his back as he walks away, not even giving you the chance to respond to his teasing. 

Not wanting to stare at his back any longer, you turn around to pick up right where you left off. Only to have the fright of your life seeing Hotch right in front of you. 

With a hand on your chest you catch your breath, “Oh my god! How even—“ One second he’s more than 6 feet away from you, the next second he’s not even 4 inches from you. 

Your heart beats even faster as Hotch’s hands reach up to your face to remove Derek’s sunglasses. “Morgan!”, he shouts and tosses Derek his glasses. 

Derek catches it instinctively and looks to the both of you in confusion, but Hotch looks back at you and takes his own sunglasses off his face to wear it on you. 

Seaver watches all of this unfold from behind Hotch, and you could see it annoyed her. But she puffs her chest and turns to the people she and Hotch were talking to, continuing the interviews they were conducting. 

— 

Now during the case, obviously there wasn’t really any time for you and Hotch to discuss the romance brewing between the two of you. Absolutely no time to indulge in personal matters at a time where other people’s lives depended on you. 

But that’s not to say that Hotch has not followed up his advances with more actions. Not at all— the complete opposite actually. 

He has only become increasingly affectionate and bolder with his actions. He seems to have given up on holding himself back around you. He’s constantly sitting beside you, placing his hand on your lower back as you walk, then he stands behind you constantly towering over you whenever, wherever. 

He’s even given you his handkerchief multiple times so you could wipe your sweat, and when you guys ordered takeout for the night, he made sure to unpack yours for you and hand you your utensils, even standing to get you water from the pantry before he even touches his food. 

He’s been crazy sweet and even more protective than usual, you almost didn’t need words to confirm how he feels about you… if it weren’t for Seaver who has also gotten bolder with her advances towards Hotch. Then I mean, maybe a little reassurance would be nice. 

It seems as if the recent development in yours and Hotch’s romance was something Seaver saw as a challenge- a hurdle she has to get over to win Hotch. 

Annoying you even more, when she arrived at the precinct the next day wearing a revealing top and tight pencil skirt. She looked good, you had to admit. 

Looking down at your own attire, with jeans, boots, and a plain shirt. You felt a little defeated. Obviously you weren’t going to attract Hotch being this plain. 

But you also wanted to be ready. The team was closing in on the unsub who has become more and more erratic, you could almost predict a chase and maybe even a tussle. 

You were standing beside Reid, looking at the board trying to uncover a pattern in the unsub’s dump sites when you heard an agitating little voice say, “Hotch, I think my top unbuttoned at the back. Could you get it for me?”

Tension instantly brews. The team, who has caught on to Seaver’s ploy early on, awaits your reaction. You could feel their gazes on your back, even from Reid who you could feel checking on you from the corner of his eye from where he stands to your right.

But you refuse to give in. You continue- more like pretend to- analyze the map on the board. Even tilting your head a little to sell that you’re really not paying attention to the two. However in all honesty, all your other senses are very much attuned to whatever’s happening behind you. 

Rossi cleared his throat, making you check the room’s reflection on the window on your left through the corner of your eye. And you watch as Seaver turns in her seat away from Hotch, anticipating him leaning close and putting his hands on her. 

Now you thought that since Hotch had an idea about how Seaver makes you feel, that he’d keep his distance. You know, set those boundaries to appease you. But to your surprise, Hotch leans over the distance between his chair and hers, and reaches over to button her top. 

You could feel your face heating up. You don’t know if he simply didn’t care, if he was oblivious, or if he did it on purpose. But now was not the time to act up and make a big deal out of something so trivial. You were all so close to catching the unsub, you poured your focus on the case instead. 

But you need a moment to yourself, maybe a little fresh air or even a pep talk in the bathroom mirror will do. Just as you were about to excuse yourself stepping back from the board, you hear Hotch close the file he was reading- before he was interrupted- loudly. 

His stern voice soon follows, “Just a little advice, Agent Seaver: if you’re assigned to the field, dress like it. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about buttons popping or heels snapping while you’re chasing an unsub or racing to save someone’s life.” 

You couldn’t stop yourself even if you wanted to. Their reflection on the window was blurry enough that you couldn’t make out their facial expressions, so when you hear Hotch’s stern voice your head snaps to look at him in surprise, not expecting him to be annoyed at Seaver given that he’d just helped her. 

You almost feel bad for Seaver who’s turning red in embarrassment. She’d obviously put together an outfit for Hotch. You all knew she was an outstanding agent, so to jeopardise her performance for a man’s attention seemed weird even for her. 

–

To your surprise, her advances towards Hotch did not stop even after his dig at her unprofessionalism. 

As you were all boarding a jet well into the night, exhausted from the long case, you all noticed Seaver subtly rushing to sit first. Unsurprisingly, she chose the seat beside Hotch’s usual seat. Acting normally, she pulled out a blanket settling in her seat. 

But Hotch, who has been behind you the whole time, was just shadowing your movements. The most exhausted out of all of you, he wasn’t even thinking about where he’ll sit. He was blindly following you like a puppy, with a hand on your waist as if to not get lost. 

He was actually just waiting for you to sit somewhere, then he’d sit beside you. So you chose a couple-seat on the far end of the jet, away from Seaver. Neither of you have the energy to deal with her antics. 

In a last attempt to get Hotch to her, Seaver calls out “Hotch, I saved you your seat!”, even opening up her arms that are covered by the blanket as if to invite him to her warmth. 

But Hotch only looks at her silently, blinking. Then in less than 10 seconds, Hotch takes your hand, intertwines it with his, kisses yours softly, and crosses his arms as he closes his eyes to sleep- leaving your hand somewhat trapped to his body. 

You’re surprised at the bluntness of his affection, considering most of your team members were looking at you after Seaver called him out. 

Stealing a glance at Seaver, you catch her shoulders drop before she settles back into her seat, while Morgan mouths to you “Told you,” from across her. 

Turning your head to look at Hotch, you can tell he isn’t asleep yet though his eyes are closed. You squeeze the hand intertwined with yours, trying to get it out of his grip and crossed arms– he opens his eyes to look at you and softly whines, “Stoopp.”

“Hey!” you whisper. 

He breathes out a grumpy, “What?” to which you smile softly and say, “Fine. I guess I’m your girl.” 

Your blouse is buttoned asymmetrically, your hair resembling a bird's nest, and you left your ID at home, making your arrival more delayed as you had to employ Garcia’s help in presenting a copy of your ID to let you through. 

That too was not without stress given that your phone was on the verge of dying as you were in the call, but thankfully you could finally breathe in the elevator. Or so you thought. 

There were two things that immediately caught you off guard as you walked into the bullpen: one, almost all the desks were deserted and two, Reid and Morgan were watching you- as if waiting for your reaction, which led you to look around in anticipation. Is there a surprise? A prank? Did I miss a patch? I’m…wearing pants, right? 

Not wanting to prolong your search, you look at the two for any indication or clue. Tilting your head to the side as if to ask what? But to your surprise, they both nod their heads in one direction. Oh.

Strauss was in Hotch’s office, along with Rossi and a woman you don’t recognize. Hotch looked a bit tense, Strauss firm, Rossi is as relaxed as ever, and the woman… is looking directly at Hotch. Just Hotch. Huh. 

You were stood just shy of your desk when you shook thoughts out of your head, slowly approaching your desk to settle your things. Dozens of scenarios were running through your head, trying to make sense of new additions to an otherwise normal day. 

But the way she was studying him made your chest tight like someone was stepping on it.. and you couldn’t figure out why. 

You approach the two rascals only to lean on Derek’s desk as you whisper under your breath, “What’s happening there?” 

Morgan shrugs but his focused face remains, “I don’t know, kid. I tried Garcia but she doesn’t have a clue either.” Eyes studying the people in the room, noting anything that could tell them something. 

Mulling over more possibilities, you hum in response. Turning to Reid, you ask him- hoping that his eidetic memory can tell you anything about the woman even if they’d only met in passing. 

“Do you know anything, Spence?” But Reid only pouts at you, a sign that he’s thought about it hard but is coming up empty. 

Shaking his head, he soberly replies, “No..I don’t think so. I– I’ve never seen her before. Sorry.” 

Before any more thoughts could be voiced between the three of you, the door to Hotch’s office opens and all four of them file out- the woman walking a little too close to Hotch. 

-

You’re approaching your usual seat on the jet beside Morgan and across from Hotch when suddenly Agent Seaver overtakes you and sits on your seat. Caught by surprise, your eyes instinctively go to Hotch who’s already looking at you. 

He nods to himself, moving from the aisle seat to the one by the window. But it appears Agent Seaver misunderstood his gesture and moved beside him, “Oh! Thank you, sir.” Even going as far as touching his arm and leaning closely. 

Now, you’ve never been a violent person. Rage has just never overcome your senses like that but today.. of all days– you couldn’t help the image of spilling your hot chocolate all over her cream blouse. 

You don’t even notice that you’re frowning as you sit beside Morgan, somehow still unaware of how much their closeness really upsets you. You honestly thought you’ve maintained an expressionless face until Morgan looks up from his file and leans close to whisper in your ear, “You’ll need claws not paws, baby girl.” Winking at you as you separate. 

You steal a glance at Hotch only to see him watching you and Morgan with furrowed brows. He almost looks normal if it weren’t for the clenching of his jaw that’s his tell of irritation. Moving your gaze to Seaver, in case you missed something that’s causing his new mood, you find her reading the case file. 

As you return your gaze on Hotch, you watch as Seaver touches his arm again and engages him in conversation about the case. It’s through the whole jet ride that you had to stomach the constant Agent Hotchner, Agent Hotchner! paired with a giggle or a slight touch. UGH!

If it weren’t for Strauss personally recommending Agent Seaver as a consultant for this case, you would have done– …still absolutely nothing. You had no claim whatsoever over Hotch. Morgan and Rossi may tease the two of you occasionally, forcing that he treats you specially or whatever but his behavior could simply be chalked off as him being a good and attentive boss. 

And yes, okay fine. You may have some moments here and there… but! they could honestly just be built up in your head because of the feelings you have for him. Like when he said he likes it when you stare? Come on, being stared at can be flattering and that’s just a universal truth. 

- 

After a whole day of coming up with theories, visiting crime scenes and M.E.’s, you’re all completely spent. Lounging in the makeshift discussion room, all of you are still working tirelessly on the case given that the unsub’s on a spree and his timeline is alarmingly short. 

Reid’s been silently staring at the board for 20 minutes while Morgan’s pretending to read files of potential suspects with his legs stretched out and feet on the table, “This is impossible. We just don’t have enough.” He exclaims as he tosses the file on the table with a thud. 

To the left of Morgan, you’re also silently mulling over files of potential suspects. Not wanting to admit that he’s right, you guys don’t have enough…bodies. You barely have anything on the guy, barely any clues- for a working profile. 

You sigh heavily, peeling your eyes off the paper and looking at the board. “Reid?” The boy genius shakes his head softly, confirming that the known dump sites don’t say much about the unsub’s comfort zones or hunting ground. 

You suddenly wonder where Seaver, Hotch and Rossi are. You and Morgan got back to the precinct at around 11PM, and you realize you haven’t seen any of them, “Where are the others?” 

Morgan, in an effort to lighten the mood, jumps at the chance to tease you, “Hmm. I think what you’re really asking is: Where’s Hotch and is he with Seaver?” He punches your arm lightly, making it obvious he’s only teasing. 

The smug, playful smile on his face makes you fight one of your own, desperately trying to not give yourself away, “Shut up,” hitting him in the head softly with the file in your hand. 

While you two were exchanging playful glares, Reid interjects, “Seaver wanted to turn in early since she’s also the one meeting with the families tomorrow so Hotch brought her to the hotel.” 

You instantly lift your gaze to him and watch as he removes the marker’s cap and scribbles rapidly on the board, quickly adding “And I’m pretty sure Rossi’s getting us coffee from the diner around the block.” 

You want to blame it on your exhaustion– your inability and ineffectiveness at hiding how you truly feel about what Reid just revealed to you, groaning loudly in pain and frustration. You put your head in your hands, muffling the sounds you’re making that are somehow a combination of a laugh and a sob. 

Morgan understands your reaction immediately and laughs out loud. 

“It’s not funny!” There was honestly no point in hiding it. As much as Morgan teased you, you knew he wouldn’t tell anyway, and Reid.. well, he was honestly an even better keeper of secrets than Morgan, Rossi and Garcia. 

He puts a hand on your shoulder to comfort you, “Baby girl, worry not. You know you hold a special place in boss man’s heart.” Then gripping both your wrists to pry your hands off your face. 

Pressing your face even further into your hands, you let out a muffled version of “That’s not true!” that came out more as “Daffs noft thwu!” 

When Morgan successfully pries your hands off your face, you’re surprised to see Reid’s moved from the board to behind Morgan, half leaning half sitting on the table, curiously watching you. 

Morgan turns around to look at the door behind you, making sure the coast is clear before he says, “Kid. Be real with me for a sec… are you blind?” That was not the question you were expecting. 

You must have looked so lost because he continues, “Hotch cares for you. Deeply. And not in the same way he does for us. You’ve gotta have felt that, kid.” Funny, you are starting to feel like a kid– the only thing missing are his hands on your shoulders to complete that huddle pep talk experience. 

“That’s just not–” you try to start. But Reid swiftly raises his hand, signing you to stop–

“Did you know that every morning Hotch makes sure all the pens and mug handles on your desk are pointing to the right– the way you need it to be– in case the night janitors move any out of place?”

“Or that he never really ate lunch in the office before but started bringing sandwiches and other food he could microwave, while timing his lunches with yours presumably so he could strike up a conversation with you during break?” 

“Or do you remember that one time the AC in the bullpen broke and we were all sweating badly, and I said the heat was making me too thirsty then he disappeared into his office and came back with a bottle of water and an orange juice box only to give it to you?” 

Morgan lets out a loud laugh at that one while Reid pouts playfully, “I mean I was genuinely dying then.” 

Not without his own input, Morgan smiles softly at you with a raised brow “Did you know he personally restocks your favorite hot chocolate in the pantry and on the jet? Including the marshmallows.” 

You breathe in deeply, the revelations sounding too good to be true but winding nonetheless. You crack a small joke, trying to play it off “And I thought the bureau was just feeling really generous.” 

The two, who have grown to be such brothers, give you the exact same look of Really? 

As Reid rounds the table to go back and stand by the board, Morgan catches your attention and holds your eye, “Look, there’s so much more, kid. But they all point to the same thing.” He says this as softly as possible, as if to not scare you away. 

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. Shaking your head, “That just can’t be true.” 

With all three of your backs to the door, you don’t notice Rossi nearing. You just suddenly hear his voice from behind, rounding the table and settling the coffee cups in front of all of you, “Coffee, anyone?” 

As if trapped in the null of the previous conversation, you’re still looking at Morgan as you lean back in your chair, slumping further to seek non-existent cover. Reid, who is now back in his own world with the board, is handed a cup by Rossi, who didn’t even turn to look- only stretching out an arm to receive it and mumbling a distracted “Thanks.”  

Rossi, who is simply too smart for his own good, impressively senses something hanging in the air, nonchalantly asking about the tailend of a conversation he was not supposed to hear, “So… what can’t be true?” 

Back to lounging excessively on a chair that is a tad too tiny for him, with legs outstretched and feet on the corner on the table– Morgan spouts, “That she’s Hotch’s girl, and has no reason to be jealous of Seaver– who by the way needs the HR orientation more than Penelope and I.” 

-

Now– all of your backs are to the door except Rossi’s. Not one of you tried to move due to fatigue, let alone look.

Unbeknownst to you, Morgan, and Reid, on the way back to the precinct from the hotel, Hotch had the genius thought of picking up Rossi so the latter wouldn’t have to walk a block with trays of coffee on hand.

Hotch and Rossi arrived together. And as Rossi went around the table to give you your cups of coffee, Hotch stayed behind– leaning on the doorframe with arms crossed, watching you and the team.

Imagine his surprise, hearing what Morgan just said. His heart skipped a beat, his stomach dropped. His entire being froze entirely.. What? Jealous? 

In his mind, he had two choices: Act like he didn’t hear it and save you from embarrassment or use it to his advantage and make his intentions clear..ish. 

-

You gasp loudly at his bluntness– and in front of Rossi! Straightening in your chair and pointing an accusatory finger at Morgan, “You little– I am NOT jealous! and I am NOT Hotch’s–” 

Cut off by someone loudly clearing their throat from behind all of you, you all freeze, including Reid who hasn’t been actively paying attention until now. 

The hair on your neck stands up as you hear the nearing footsteps, already envisioning digging your own grave in your head when finally, Hotch is standing right beside you. 

You’re all still pretty frozen, save from the slow movement which is your eyes slowly lifting its gaze to the man in question until they meet his hazel orbs. He holds your stare as he leans on the desk, arms straining in his shirt– 

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Rossi fighting a smile, and just as you’re about to mentally curse him in your head, you’re broken out of your thoughts by a deep voice, 

You walk back to the door, quietly working things out in your head. You act out your theories subtly, quickly getting caught up in piecing it together. You fail to notice Hotch taking notice of you, studying you in your element– it’s always been your thing, puzzle pieces. He’s noticed in the first few months since you’ve joined that you view every case like a puzzle, and every clue, every factor, every moment- a piece. 

Hotch, along with the other members of the team, are in awe of you. Even Reid, who is a certified genius, is intrigued at the way you view these cases– often asking you for your thoughts and theories. Sometimes, your input and analogies are actually what helps him solve a case, proving your effectiveness in the team especially given that the team’s clearance rate has only increased since you’ve joined. 

But being too caught up in your own world, you’ve failed to notice Rossi bluntly staring at Hotch– watching him watch you. Morgan, who also noticed, has been smirking into his phone quietly relaying to Garcia that boss man’s in one of his “love haze” trances again, to add to the many that have happened over the course of a few months.

Shaken out of his trance, Hotch straightens himself as if realizing something when he was watching you moving around the kitchen. He walks out the door quietly and disappears into one of your cars. 

While Morgan and Reid continue their investigation upstairs, Rossi stays with you. Partly waiting if you stumble upon a revelation, and partly for Hotch to come back, curious as to why he suddenly went out. 

It’s been a few minutes and the reenactment in your head has taken you upstairs– onto the second victim. 

Just as you were about to envision what could’ve happened, the room made you halt in your steps.  You didn’t know how long you were standing there when you heard Morgan ask, “You okay, kid?” with a barely-concealed look of concern on his face. 

You realized you were probably standing frozen for a while, taking in the gut wrenching sight of the nursery bloodied up. He walks towards you and as he nears you, recognizes the look on your face. You were trying to hold it together, to not let the broken crib and stained sheets break you.

You nodded, “Yeah, it’s just–” you open your mouth but nothing really comes out. Looking around, you realize there are no words to say. You can only offer the four walls your silence for what they’ve witnessed. 

Your shoulders notably drop and that’s when Morgan reaches for you, wrapping his arms around you to ground you. With your head on his chest, you feel the vibrations as he mumbles, “Just another day, kid.” 

With closed eyes, you breathe in his scent deeply– oak and mint, a seemingly weird combination that of course works on him. His comforting touch, rich smell and low voice have all comforted you. It’s brought you back to reality: that this is already done. And that the best you can do is catch the unsub who did this. 

You lift your head from his chest to look at him, to genuinely convey your gratitude through your eyes when you notice Hotch and Rossi out of the corner of your eye, looking at the two of you from the top of the steps. 

-

Deciding to go back to the precinct so you could build a solid profile, you all make your way back to the cars. You went to the crime scene riding with Morgan and Reid but to your surprise, Hotch ushers you out of the house and into the car he’s driving with a gentle but firm hand on your lower back. 

He guides you to the passenger seat- opening the car door for you and closing it as soon as you’re settled. You can only watch Rossi from the window waving you goodbye with a teasing smile, boarding the car Reid and Morgan came in instead of joining you and Hotch. 

As Hotch settles into the passenger seat, he reaches for a water bottle, opens it and hands it to you. You raised it in confusion while looking at him, not really sure why he’s giving you a bottle to drink. But he’s not looking back at you, only buckling his seatbelt getting himself ready for the drive. 

You start to lift it to your lips to drink it when he says, “You haven’t drank water since this morning– you’ve only had coffee.” Eyeing you from the side, as if pointedly saying that’s right, I know. 

The thought of Hotch watching you enough to notice what you have and haven’t been drinking makes all the blood in your face pool in your cheeks. You actually start to feel it getting hotter. 

You turn your head to the window while gulping down water, hoping that the movement and bottle are both masking the smile that’s fighting its way onto your face. 

His concern and ringing silence in the car, despite the radio playing softly in the background, made you feel pressured to talk and fill in the silence. But you really should’ve thought before opening your mouth because making conversation has never been your strongest suit. 

As you’re slowing down for a red light, you blurted “So… ho-how have you been, Hotch?” and as soon as the words awkwardly rolled off your tongue, you grimaced as if bracing for impact. 

You slowly turned to look at Hotch, expecting him to be annoyed or weirded out by your awkward and random question. Your eyes travel from his hand that’s on the wheel, along the length of his arm, to his shoulder and his neck, and finally to his face- sporting a soft but proud smile. 

“I’m okay, thank you for asking. You?” Thank you for asking? What are you- 4? Hotch is mentally kicking himself in his head, he should’ve said something cooler or more casual. He literally just sounded like a kindergarten teacher or the kindergarten himself. 

He bites his lip, stopping himself from looking like an even bigger fool– waiting for you to just bite and answer the question, then maybe he can come up with a better response and recover. 

Not expecting him to entertain your question, let alone return it, you stumble over your words.  “Oh– uhm.. Well, I’m okay. I’m– I’m good.” Your finesse always seems to leave the room the minute Hotch is in the vicinity. 

Nodding slowly, Hotch answers, “That’s good.. Good to hear.” God, can I be any more awkward? He couldn’t think of a better response, not when your reply didn’t leave him much of a choice but to start a new topic– all possible ones instantly fleeing his head when he sees your blushing face in his peripheral. 

You muster up the courage to steal a glance at him. Normally, you’d be in the backseat in cars, or at the back of a room, or to his side in the conference room– you’d just always be in positions and places that are strategically out of his sight. This was intentional because you enjoyed studying him. 

One would argue that Hotch is the hardest to read out of all the team members, but for some reason it has never been hard for you. You see the clenching of his jaw when he’s angry or irritated. The fiddling thumb thing he does when he’s deep in thought or drowning in worry.

You know his voice gets louder when he’s pushed past his limits, you know the pace of his breaths when he’s trying to calm himself. You know when he’s asleep because his brows twitch, as if the muscles in that part of his face aren’t used to being relaxed after a whole day of being scrunched in seriousness. 

Little did you know that the only reason why you know and notice all these things about him is because he lets you. His guard is alarmingly down ever since you’ve been around. Perhaps because there’s something about you that comforts him. Your presence relaxes him enough that he no longer feels the need to mask how he feels, to make himself unreadable. 

But maybe it’s also because he wants you to know him. The real him. Maybe he worries that you’d think he was emotionless. Hardened by the job and damned by the things he has seen. 

“You’re staring.” The deep voice pulls you out of your thoughts. Oh god, how long have I been staring at him? 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I- I didn’t mean to. I was just– I was thinking and I got wrapped up in my– I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable.” You rambled, fully panicking because not only have you made yourself look like an awkward idiot but you’ve now successfully added creep to the list.  

While the embarrassment is sinking in, you’re trying to look anywhere but at him, but your stomach drops even more when you realize you’re about to pull into the precinct– How long was I actually staring at him??!? 

Hotch easily puts the car in park as you’re now just staring at your lap in embarrassment and regret, and shame and– “I like it.” 

Lifting your head in surprise, “Wha-” in the split second that your eyes met you processed that he didn’t look uncomfortable or annoyed or weirded out– he actually looked.. Is he blushing? His neck is turning red, and you notice he swallows as if to clear his throat. 

“I like it when you stare at me.” Then he unbuckles his seatbelt, wears his sunglasses, and gets out of the car, in the cool hot way he always does while you’re left with your mouth slightly open, your stare following him as he rounds the car and talks to Rossi who just got out of the car parked across you. 

He pauses to think. The doubts are starting to creep up on him. 

Maybe he was too rash with his question. 

Maybe that wasn’t the best way to spring it on you. 

Maybe he should have waited for a better time.

Maybe he should have planned something. 

Maybe she isn’t ready.

Maybe she just doesn’t want to marry me. 

He tries hard to swallow all these dark thoughts, clearing his throat to fake the confidence that’s slowly diminishing, “I said, ‘Marry me.’” After he says those words again he stills, hoping that this time he’ll get an answer. And that.. it would be the answer he so badly wants. 

But time slows down and his heart soon follows as he watches tears start to pool in your eyes. You’re shaking your head– they’re tiny shakes and you look panicked. This isn’t good. Not good at all. 

He really wasn’t expecting this. It never occurred to him you’d say no. Or ..not yes. Aaron’s mind is running a million miles per hour. He doesn’t know what to do, or say. He barely even knows how he feels. And so he defaults to doing the one thing he does best (as a prosecutor at least): object. 

This is triggered by your movement. You move around him, leaving the kitchen towards your living room. Your goal was to sit on the couch, craving some stability as your legs get weaker the more you’re processing what was asked, how you reacted, and how it could be coming across. 

But Aaron’s legs are longer than yours. Before you even reach the couch, he’s holding your arm firmly and gently at the same time. He’s got that furrow in his brows that makes him look stern, but his eyes betray him as you can clearly see the worry in them. 

“Well yes!” he says in disagreement. He doesn’t understand why you haven’t said yes, and as much as he isn’t the kind of man to ever force a lady into anything, a part of him is scared of what he’ll hear if he asks you why you’re not saying yes. 

Though instead of allowing that fear to paralyze him, he allows it to control him. To bear its face because the softer, more rational part of him is hiding. 

You’re avoiding his gaze, crossing your arms– you’re turning away from him. “No- Aaron, you– I don– I ca–” 

You know he’s studying you. You can feel his eyes roaming your face, your neck, your body. He’s taking in everything he can because you’ve given him absolutely nothing so far. And oh how you wish you could voice it all out. 

You just wish it was easy to say I don’t think I’m enough for you. What if you realize one day that I’m not good enough? Are you sure? Are you sure about this? About me? What if you start to want someone smarter? Prettier? Hotter? What if you want someone who is as accomplished or important as you? What if you get bored of me? What if– 

You’re broken out of your thoughts when he suddenly straightens. He looks as if he’s realized something and the next thing you know you’re hit by a gust of wind because he’s running up the stairs. 

Within an instant you run after him. A dozen scenarios are running through your head, the worst being Aaron packing your things because he’s going to ask you to leave. Your heart beats faster as you reach the top of the steps. You peek into your room and see him rummaging through drawers. 

Your worries quiet significantly when you realize they’re his drawers. And just when you’re about to approach him, he turns around meeting you halfway. You’re both illuminated by the sunlight that’s coming through the bedroom window you’re standing in front of. 

He’s still. He’s got a serious look on his face. You take him in, trying to read him but he’s got his profiler look on– unreadable and determined. His voice rattles you, “I’m sorry. That was a mistake.” Firm and devoid of any emotion. 

Oh god.

You’re shaking your head, reaching to hold him by his arms. You start to cry, “Aaron please, that’s not what I–” but… he’s going down on one knee. 

What?

He watched multiple emotions flicker on your face. Defeat, panic, confusion– “It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have said that. I– I planned to do it better than that. I don’t know why I let it slip out, you deserve better than that.” 

Before you can process it, Aaron’s holding out a ring. He’s holding your hand in the other while tears are streaming down both your faces. You have no idea how you heard it but you guess it’s simply a testament to how attuned you are to him when he whispers, “Please, please, please. Will you marry me, honey?” 

Time stops. Literally. You can feel your heart in your chest beating louder, heavier. It’s pounding as if begging to be heard. Begging to let Aaron know that it beats for him and him only. You’re lowering yourself to kneel before him. You want to see his face properly. His eyes. His nose. His lips. This is the man you love. This is the man you want to marry. Your eyes are simply capturing every angle of this moment. 

You’re leveled now. Equals. You grab both his hands in yours and you stare into his brown eyes. You want him to know you mean it, as you nod your head slowly and breathe out, “Yes.” A smile breaks across his face, tears starting to stream again. 

You watch him as he tries to put the ring on your finger, getting it on the first try even if his sight is slightly hindered by his tears of happiness and relief. The sun makes the ring sparkle, catching your attention and you look at it properly for the first time. 

It’s beautiful. Aaron would argue that the stone screams you – grace, loyalty, peace. He catches your eye and the both of you start to smile. You start to giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck while his arms snake around your waist. 

He buries his head in your neck, breathing in your scent while silently thanking the heavens for granting him this. You break apart, startled to hear tiny footsteps nearing. The both of you start to stand up from the floor, straightening yourselves out and wiping the remaining tears staining your faces. 

You both look to the door, waiting for the little boy to show himself. You hear a soft knock right before the door opens slowly, a head peeking in, “Daddy?” 

Aaron goes to the door, opening it more for Jack to come in. The little boy goes straight to you and you pick him up in your arms with ease, resting him on your hip. You have your left hand holding him stable, and even though the little boy’s still groggy with sleep he notices the sparkling addition to your hand. 

You take notice of how his little face lights up in excitement and you have no idea what about it he understands, “I help Daddy buy you that!” His voice is full of pride, genuinely proud that he had played a part in picking. 

You’re confused, not fully understanding what Jack means. Looking to Aaron for an answer, you’re surprised to find him blushing. He looks shy and he’s shrugging at you but you can tell he’s trying hard to play it cool. The smile fighting its way on his face betrays him. 

You decide to take your chance on the adorable kid that is now fiddling with your ring, watching in amazement at how much it’s twinkling in the light. Children are the most honest people you know anyway. Pursing your lips with squinted eyes, you investigate “What do you mean, bubba?” 

“Daddy asked me what ring pop you want, so I asked you when we watched Spiderman and you said your favorite is the green one so I tell Daddy you want the green one!” 

Your heart stutters and the tears start coming in again. Aaron asking Jack for his opinion for your engagement ring. Jack thinking it's a ring pop. Jack asking for your favorite ring pop flavor. Jack being proud that you got the ring you want, pop or not. 

Brought out of your thoughts by Jack wanting to leave your hold, you put him down. You watch as he happily walks out of your room, presumably to go to the kitchen. You look at Aaron again, and just as you’re about to say something about what you just found out, you realize one thing. Spiderman.

You gasp. Covering your mouth in surprise, you slap his arm lightly, “That was our third date!”

Aaron laughs loudly, rushing out of the room before you can throw questions at him or even comments about how insane he is. He couldn’t care less. He was right. 

They’ve seen a total of seven applicants walk out of his office without a handshake, which is Hotch’s tell on whether he would consider that candidate or not. Out of those seven, two were way prettier than they were smart, three way too confident than they were competent, and two solely able to step foot in Quantico because of their last names. 

As for those that did walk out with a handshake were… well.. non-existent. If anyone were to ask someone from the team, they’d insist that they don’t need a new member. They don’t need anyone new to replace the beloved ones that have left. 

However, remembering the previous cases from the past two weeks– the truth is, they all felt a little like they were drowning. It felt like the more days that went by, the more cases there were to filter, solve, and close. The more killers there were to profile, hunt, and stop. The more reports there were to fill out, file, and submit; 

Each member of the team was doing double the workload of what they usually handle which had started to take its toll on their health, both physical and mental. And Hotch being the responsible leader that he is, recognized what had to be done. Especially after Reid fainted while running and Morgan’s strength notably faltering while in a tussle with an unsub. 

Now, the team didn’t know if it was perhaps because Hotch was measuring all these potential agents against Emily and JJ but none of them appeared up to his standard. Although accepting applications was his idea, judging by the way his brows had furrowed permanently they could tell Hotch was starting to regret it. Rossi, who knows Hotch a little better than everyone, could tell that he was about to give up. 

He could tell by the way he had his lips pressed in a thin line for the past forty minutes unwaveringly. 

He could tell by the way his shoulders were more obviously rising and falling, his breaths deeper- like he was calming himself. 

He could tell by the way Hotch would stand with clenched fists, unclenching them slowly on his sides. 

He could tell by the way Hotch was staring at the files, not reading. 

But just as Rossi was about to go up to Hotch’s office so they could all call it a night. To give his friend a pep talk about being there for each other and how tomorrow’s another day. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone entering the BAU walking briskly. 

The profiler in him skims over the figure quickly: 5 foot 3. Tiny. Mid-20s to early 30s. Young. Cardigan, jeans, sneakers, and a messenger bag. Is this kid Reid’s twin or what. Soulful round eyes, cute nose, pink lips. Pretty. 

“Uhm, hi.. I’m here for an interview? with uhm.. Mr– Agent Hotchner, sorry. Could someone point me to his office? Please?” Interesting. 

For some reason, none of the members of the team spoke, mainly surprised by the sudden addition of this stranger’s presence. One by one, like falling dominos, they slowly pointed to Hotch’s door. Simultaneously taking their precious time assessing whatever they can from what they’re seeing. 

Their observations didn’t stray far from what Rossi had seen. You’re pretty. That’s the first thing one can deduce. The incredibly-adorable kind of pretty, Garcia thinks. You seem smart, the same way anyone knows boy genius is smart– darting eyes like you’re thinking at a thousand miles per minute. Like you’re studying your surroundings, assessing threats, friendlies, and potential threats. 

You’re shy. You speak softly as if scared to intrude. Your movements are precise as if scared to impose. You stand still as if scared to take up more space than necessary. But your posture says otherwise. You may be introverted but your intelligence reeks in your diction and the way your head is held high, a part of you you’re sure of. Literally a lot like Reid, it’s creepy. 

You’re young. Young enough to steal pretty boy’s title as the baby of the team if you were to be accepted. To be honest, you look like a college student. Like a straight A, extra credit, shy and quiet type of student– and they weren’t wrong. 

You didn’t find anything weird about their behavior, the silence with which they responded to you. Probably because you were too nervous about your interview. Everyone knows the BAU is the team that’s the most difficult to get into, and that their unit chief’s the most intimidating man in the FBI that the Director himself avoids running into him altogether. 

So it was definitely a surprise when you were called in by Erin Strauss. A fresh graduate from the academy, you had no field experience at all. You’d only been working as a forensic scientist for the Organized Crime Division for a little less than a year, and more often than not you were in laboratories and morgues. Mainly there as a junior consultant than anything, having the more seasoned agents out in the field, on active crime scenes. 

Your gaze followed where they were pointing to, nerves permeating through your body. As you make your way up the stairs to get to his door, you’re trying to even your breathing- desperately. You don’t want to seem incompetent and inexperienced, pathetic even. 

Raising your hand to knock, you take in one last deep breath. Suddenly aware of all the people watching you from behind, possibly profiling you– you knock. Loudly. Like you were trying to prove something, show false strength and confidence. 

Maybe a little too loud, you realized. Shit. 

You’re in your own head when the door whips open and you see him. You knew he was good looking. You’ve seen him on TV and in pictures but god they did not do him justice. Just as you were processing how good-looking he was and how it would be a crime to embarrass yourself in front of him, your body decides it’s time to let out that big breath you inhaled before knocking. 

Now it appears you’re just blowing cool air into his chest, frozen while he stands there towering over you, most likely curious about why you knocked on his door so hard, why you are blowing cool air into his chest and more importantly, who the heck were you? 

“Hi, I’m, uh, here for the interview. For, uhm, the vacant position at the BAU team, Sir– Agent!” clearing your throat you scramble to make a good impression, or at least salvage what’s been established. 

Swallowing your pride, you bow your head in embarrassment, softening your voice as you say “Sorry, Agent Hotchner. What I meant to say is that I’m applying to be on your team. I’m here for the interview.” Looking up at him eye-to-eye, to hopefully convey your sincerity, you held his stare and his breathing stuttered. 

Let’s be honest. Hotch just went through four hours of his personal hell, getting to know people he doesn’t want to get to know. Asking questions, engaging in small talk, studying mannerisms and language– all to assess whether that person could be the much needed addition to his team. And the last thing he wants right now, as it nears the end of the work day, is another applicant to entertain. 

So Hotch, along with the rest of the team, becomes quite surprised when he moves his body out of the way to let you in his office when seconds ago he looked like he was about to give a very tempered advice at whoever just banged on his door. 

While he gestures for you to sit walking around his desk to sit on his own chair, he convinces himself that it’s because he is a good person and because he would do anything to help his team even if it meant enduring another painful interview. 

Definitely not because of your eyes. Or pouting lips. Or the adorable way blood rushed to your cheeks in embarrassment. Or your soft, soft voice that said his name in such a way that he’s dying to hear it again. 

Nope. It is simply his duty to lead and care for his team, and that means interviewing you. Somehow. 

-

It was quiet. You were nervous. It was obvious. He was waiting for you to talk but you’ve been staring at his tie instead of his face. You’re fiddling with your rings, wiping your palms on your jeans. And you were still very obviously trying to even your breaths. 

Observing these were enough to make him soften his voice slightly as he spoke, “Could you tell me about yourself?” He said slowly and softly– soft enough that if the air conditioning was a little louder you probably wouldn’t have heard him at all. 

Hotch became extremely conscious about coming across as demanding. He simply didn’t want to intimidate you further. He knew that if he wanted you to talk, open up, and present yourself justifiably, he would have to tread lightly. 

Now, he didn’t know when exactly he had started to care about whether he came off as intimidating or not, nor does he know why he’s the one adjusting for someone applying to be on his team– but apparently the times have changed. 

He’s brought out of his thoughts by your faint reply, “Well I, uh, have a bachelor in Psychology and in World Literature. Uhm, and.. I also have a Masters in Criminal Psychology but pursued Forensic Psychology for my doctorate.” You sounded almost hesitant to list all your achievements, which made him think you’ve probably been told once or twice that it is impolite to talk about such achievements to one’s face. 

The thought of someone invalidating your achievements, your brilliance infuriates him. You’ve achieved so much so early in your life, you deserve to be celebrated. There’s a subdued smile on his face, hopefully one you interpret as encouragement to continue. 

With a small smile gracing your face at his kind reaction, you added, “I only recently finished actually– I did it simultaneously with the academy’s progr–”

He cut you off, “Congratulations– sorry.” Too eager. Since when am I the one doing the impressing? “You like studying,” he observed. The smile on your face, although small, seemed genuine. Your face and your posture increasingly relaxed the more you talked.

You breathe out a laugh, “A little.. A little too much maybe.” Looking at your hands, rearranging the rings that adorn your nimble fingers. 

Hotch’s face has softened. He didn’t notice by how much, but it has relaxed a lot more the longer he observes you, everything about you. He commits your every movement to his memory, every mannerism, chalking it up to some part of his assessment. Words that describe you flashing in his head: introverted, intelligent, beautiful, accomplished– He hasn’t read your file. He gave up on reading files three candidates ago and has been relying on his profiling skills to get him through. 

But there’s something about you. Something that he can’t figure out, can’t name or explain. He felt it the very first time your eyes met, which isn’t even an hour ago but feels damn near to ages ago. He’s feeling it deep in his bones– a tingling feeling, an electric current, a rush of excitement. His heart has been beating slower yet louder. He feels it strongly in his chest. 

It had made him silent for a minute, so you look up from your hands subtly to check if he’s alright. For a second you were worried that he had said something that you just didn’t pick up on, and he’s been waiting for you to respond. 

But as your eyes meet again, he feels he’s suddenly in unfamiliar territory, treading powerful waters, and he can do nothing but go along with it. 

You’re surprised by the look in his eyes, but the sudden silence is at the forefront of your mind and you try to diffuse it, “Uhm–”

He cuts you off again, “Tell me something about yourself that I won’t read on your file.” He had the same idea- to talk. But for you, it was to diffuse the silence you thought was a dead giveaway of how disastrous your interview’s turning out to be. To him, it was to get somewhere, anywhere.

He’s got this weird feeling– a desire to get you talking more, even though soon enough there will be an awakened part of him that is certain there will be more talking in store for you two in the future. 

“What?” You don’t know why you said that. You understood what he said. Now you probably helped him affirm in his head that you’re ditzy and possibly the least reliable candidate to make agent. 

But..you just caught him looking at you like he was in love with you. Now you’re officially crazy. Dark, compelling eyes calling to you– it threw you off. It wasn’t even the usual sickening look of love, it was more of this serious, earnest yearning- almost pained.

- 

Now while the two of you were battling awkwardness and inexplicable feelings, the team was watching the whole thing unfold through his office window like a silent film. In fact, Garcia and Derek were already sharing a bowl of popcorn he ran to microwave the second they all saw Hotch’s entire existence falter at your presence. 

“What– what is happening? They’re barely talking!” Garcia worries. You’re tiny and adorable, and you look so kind and so incredibly soft and fragile. She just wants to protect you regardless of having met you less than briefly, minutes ago. 

“Baby girl, look closely. Both are just nervous, blushing idiots. They’ve just gotta push through this. Aren’t I right?” Derek’s smart mouth smugly adds. Looking to Rossi for any confirmation that he had guessed right: Hotch has a crush. 

Ever the skilled lip-reader, Reid comments “It’s been six whole minutes and Hotch has only asked her to tell him about herself.” He ponders for a moment, tilting his head “And judging by his relaxed jaw movements, gestures, and the decreased amount of strain his neck shows, I’d say he’s speaking softer than his usual volume.” 

Essentially Hotch’s best friend, every member looks to Rossi for his reaction. If they need any sort of confirmation that they’re reading their boss man right, they only ever have to read his right hand man Rossi who wears how he feels and what he thinks like Garcia wears her individuality. 

Dragging his feet across the carpeted floor, his pajama pants hanging low on his hips and white shirt fitting him oh-so-snugly, he tries to find you. He’s rubbing the sleep of his eyes as he peeks his head into your shared bathroom. No sign of you. 

He’s covering his mouth as he yawns when he quietly opens the door to Jack’s bedroom–still no sign of you. Remembering his son has been nursing a stomach bug since yesterday, he opened the door further to check on him. No fever. No chills. No sign of discomfort. 

When he’s sure Jack’s okay, he turns around to go back to find where you went. He even checked the backyard as he passed by a window to see if you’re at your favorite swing reading, that perhaps you just woke up early and wanted to feel the morning sun because you claimed it lightens you. 

He smiles a little to himself as he treads downstairs, finally hearing your soft murmurs as you spoke with someone presumably over the phone. As he neared the kitchen he realized that the person on the line was your colleague and friend Tilly, and that she was on speaker phone making it easy to listen in. 

He slows down his steps as he nears the landing and pauses when he gets behind a wall near the kitchen. He doesn’t know what came over him. He doesn’t usually sneak around to eavesdrop, nor did he ever feel the need to especially when it came to you. You tell him everything, prompted and unprompted. 

But perhaps it was the haze of the morning or the curiosity of what could possibly get you out of bed this early when you’re usually the one snoozing away as he’s getting ready for work– he stayed quiet behind that wall and made it his mission to understand the conversation. 

He clears his mind and strains his ear, going as far as making his breaths slow and far apart. 

He hears Tilly giggling, “Don’t get me wrong, Adam from Finance is really cute but.. isn’t he just a little too serious? He’s always got that frown going on.” 

You sigh a little loudly, obvious that it’s a sigh to humor and not of exasperation, “Tilly, you know I love you, but every day you complain about being single. And every other day there’s a decent guy who you always always find that one flaw in that just crosses them off for you forever.” Tilly lets out a sound that’s a mixture of a laugh and a gasp. 

“That is so not tr–” “Oh, Hugh’s just too clean. And Frederick’s too hard, it’s like- scary. Yes, veiny hands are hot but there’s veiny and too veiny, and Jason was just a double too veiny.” 

Aaron momentarily pauses his listening and looks down at his hands, suddenly conscious where he fit in that category. Factoring in his age, his work, and the action he gets from the field– these all show. He tried thinking of a time you could’ve shown any dislike or disgust towards his hands but all he could think of was that one night when he cupped your face and you leaned towards it more, turning slightly to take his thumb into your mou–

He’s shaken out of his thoughts when he hears Tilly asking about you leaving, “What time are you getting to the office by the way? I just don’t want to get there without you. Adam might ask about that second date and I just need you as my bluff, my beautiful girl.” He makes a mental note to message Jessica before you both get ready for work. 

“Riiiight. Remind me how many guys have I scared off for you now? And how many times have I helped you scare them off? Besides, I can’t go today and I’ve already told Bobby I’m on leave.” 

In a slight surprise and panic Tilly whines, “What?! Why? You’re such a traitor. You know damn well I get so bored without you.” Aaron didn’t even know you were planning on staying home. You hadn’t mentioned anything about it last night which made him even more curious what made you decide. 

He hears your soft laugh, “Don’t be so dramatic. You’ll manage a day without me. I mean you have to– my son caught a stomach bug yesterday so I just want to make sure he’ll recover completely.” 

Aaron can hear Tilly responding, something about soup and warm baths, but his heart has just stopped so he’s not really processing any new words at the moment. 

My son. My son. My son. My son caught a stomach bug. 

He feels lightheaded. His heart kickstarts again, his pulse is ringing in his ear. He can feel his chest pounding to his heart’s beat. The words that rolled off your lips so effortlessly, so mindlessly, echoes in his head. 

Jack may be young but he is smart. So so smart beyond his years. And he has grown to understand what had happened to his mom Haley, but not once has he– and even you allowed Jack to forget who Haley is and how much she loves him. 

Images of you joining in their traditions of honoring and remembering Haley plays in his head in flashes. You helping Jack arrange a bouquet for Haley’s death anniversary. You helping Jack make a card for her birthday. You mixing the paint to get the right shades as Jack paints a portrait of Haley for his Mothers’ Day homework. 

Aaron had told you everything there was to know about Haley and you’ve listened. He knows you adore her. You adore her for the same reasons he adored her. You understood the space Haley had in his life and in Jack’s life, and not once were you ever jealous, immature, or selfish about it. Even though he would’ve completely understood if you were. 

You were nothing but supportive, and understanding, and loving. Even when he didn’t deserve it. Even when you deserved better. Admittedly, there was a point in time when he struggled with coming to terms with falling in love– with you nonetheless. You’re young, ambitious, brilliant, talented, insanely beautiful, and unfairly kind. 

When the two of you had met, this was his profile: divorced with a kid, recovering from trauma that stemmed from being stabbed multiple times in his own home, emotionally unavailable, annoyingly serious and fatally dull– which really makes him wonder what made you fall in love with him in the first place, and even more so what made you stay even when he was bafflingly dense about how you felt about him.  

He didn’t know how long he was standing there, like a deer caught in headlights. Replaying your words and his memories over and over again, slowly coming to the conclusion that you’re absolutely perfect and he’s absolutely gone for you. 

Slowly coming to his senses, Aaron becomes more aware of the silence. The call must have ended while he was having realizations about things. He rounds the corner silently, getting a feel of where you’re facing. Luckily he guesses right, that you’re facing away from him. 

You were rummaging through the fridge– the vegetable drawer if he had to guess, judging by how much you’re slouching and reaching, and the sound of the glass containers you use to prolong their freshness. 

He quickly surveys the scene- your phone is on the counter, beside it is a chopping board with carrots and onions, a carton of chicken broth, Jack’s favorite dinosaur-shaped pasta, and chocolate milk– the one drink you both know can make Jack feel instantly better, happier. 

His heart pinches again. You got up early to make sure Jack had something to eat for breakfast in time for his medicine. You got up early even though you aren’t planning on going to work. You aren’t going to work because you want to stay with Jack. You called Jack your son. 

With so many things running in his head, he stands quietly observing you finding god knows whatever vegetable. Maybe it's the intensity of his stare or the volume of his thoughts, or maybe he started to breathe loudly– but suddenly you knew he was there. He could tell. 

You slowly straightened your back from when you were leaning. Your hands have stopped rummaging through the drawer, and he could see the goosebumps on your legs and shoulders from the way the sunlight hits you through the kitchen window. 

You turn around slowly, as if you were just caught doing something you aren’t supposed to be doing, “I’m so sorry, did I wake you?” grimacing as if it was a crime to be hot and cute and gut-wrenchingly-sweet. 

“No.” His voice is groggy. Deep and rough given that he just woke up minutes ago and hasn’t really used it since. Looking at you through studying eyes, he clears his throat “Uhm, I woke up to get ready for work and you weren’t there.” 

Aaron suddenly feels a little cold. The thin material of his shirt and pajamas doing little to contain what warmth he has left in his body. Or maybe it’s you, maybe his body has sensed that you’re near and is now craving your warmth, making him feel a magnified amount of its absence.

“Oh.. I’m sorry I just wanted to get ahead of cooking so Jack can have soup before he takes his medicine at 8 and since I was also planning to do some work though I’m on leave, it just made sense to get an early start…” You slow your words, noticing how Hotch is studying you tenfold in the moment, as if you were an apparition, “Are you okay? Did you want soup too? I can pack you some before you go?”

His silence makes you panic a little. You can’t really tell if he’s upset about something or if he’s sleepwalking, “Or you can eat here. I mean– you live here, of course you can eat here. I mean like instead of bringing it to the office– not that if you eat here, you can’t bring some anymore.” 

The longer he stays silent, adoring you, the more you scramble to fill the silence, “I’m just– you know you can do whatever you want. You can eat here, there, anywhere. Unless you don’t want soup. I mean we still have leftover steak, I cou–” 

You pause your rambling because you can see a smile starting to form on his face. A real, big smile. Laugh lines and dimples and all, which makes you smile. Realizing how stupid you were sounding and how funny the situation was becoming, you started giggling.

And just as you think he’s about to join the laughter to make fun of you, his smile softens and he says, “Marry me.” 

So you thought this interview is perfect to justify your design choice. To use the conversation pit for actual conversation. Which brings you to now, sat across your good friend and favorite interviewer Zane Lowe, your previous and latest album being the topic of conversation. 

“Your previous album was– you know, I mean, it was–” Zane appears to struggle for a word to encapsulate one of the lowest points in your life. Fractured was definitely an emotional album to make and an even sadder one to listen to.  

“Depressing?” you jokingly say. Talking has always been so easy with Zane. He just has this air to him that lets you know he truly just wants to know you. You sit on the couch sideways, facing Zane. Leaning on the back rest with your elbow, head resting on your hand while your other hand fidgets with the tassels on the pillow. 

He laughs, “Well, you were definitely at a low point in your life romantically.” fiddling with his chin, thinking of his next words, “You just– I think you perfectly captured in your songs that sort of loss and tangible grief that comes with letting go of a person- not because there weren’t any love anymore but more because love just wasn’t enough to keep it going.” 

Remembering what had happened– the air felt thinner. Like it was getting harder to breathe. You had to remember that that point of your life was over. You felt such real pain that time, so much so that you struggled to function in your daily life. That void. That ringing emptiness. 

You’re brought back to reality by Zane’s voice, “Could you touch on how that came about?” 

You breathe out a small sigh and with a gentle smile you recall, “Yeah, uhm.. I was in this relationship.. which in hindsight, I’m so lucky to have been in. It taught me so much and truly made me so much more mindful I guess. I mean like, smarter? More conscious definitely of what goes into making a relationship work, and what makes it strong.” 

“But like you said, it ended because as much as we both wanted it to work, as much as we loved each other, it just wasn’t happening. And it was a vicious cycle that was tiring us out. We just knew it wasn’t supposed to be like that.” You pause for a bit, reflecting. 

Flashes of you and Aaron driving home in silence after a dinner at Rossi’s play in your head. You didn’t talk the whole night. Not when you were dressing up. Not in the car ride on the way there. Not when you sat down together. And definitely not when each of you were across the room, busy in separate conversations ignoring the glaringly obvious. 

Looking down at the decorative pillow in your lap, you start, “And I think that in my experience, that’s a lot more painful. I think that break-ups that happen when one hurts the other is somehow better because you get to hold on to I deserve better or like– there’s just thing like anger that drives you to move on.”

You’re taken back to that night. Coming home and feeling the weight of it fall on both your shoulders. You sat for hours in silence, holding each other. Knowing that when the sun rises, he’ll go to work, you’ll go on tour, and your little world will be put to rest. 

“But having that overflowing love for a person who is just not meant for you– I mean how do you tell yourself to let go? How can you even try to convince yourself ? Because people say so often that as long as you love someone there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for them and that’s true. I’ve been there, and even everything wasn’t enough. And that was something we really struggled with.” 

“Just admitting that we had to love each other from afar before we turned into strangers together.” 

It just didn’t make sense. The love you had for each other was real. It was deep and true, and neither of you had any doubt of what you meant to each other. There was no question of loyalty or trust. 

But the traveling, the conflict in schedules, the missed calls and messages left on read. You just became both so busy, you were worlds apart. It even reached the point that you haven’t talked for days and neither of you noticed. Or minded. You thought of each other, yeah. But there wasn’t that urge to reach out anymore. There was just… longing. 

–

“Which brings us to now. Your latest album Leftover Love– it’s a lot more hopeful isn’t it? I mean I’d even go as far as saying that it’s about falling in love all over again.” Zane sips on the tea you made him. Leaning over the makeshift coffee table to add more milk in there. 

You straighten a little. Mood instantly lifting at the mention of your favorite album to date. Images of the inspiration behind the album filling your head. 

Zane puts down his tea to gesture generously, “And hearing it live, you could just feel it in the crowd– this kind of electricity. And because there’s no other way to put it– your songs in this album feel a lot like jumping and dancing with a partner in a room full of people and everything is just in slow motion. It’s like this sort of alignment or clicking into place, finding that one person that makes those small moments feel so.. big.” 

He put it perfectly into words. You had really hoped to relay through your songs the recent turn of events in your life. People who have supported you and loved you when you were at low points in your life got you through that, and you felt so strongly that they deserved to know and feel even a fraction of the happiness that you’re feeling right now through your new songs. 

“Definitely, I mean I’m so proud to say that these songs, even if they’re a touch fictional or exaggerated or romanticized– they are based on truths, on real things that have happened or are happening in my life.” You’re getting excited. Pulling the sleeves of your sweater to cover your hands until only your fingertips are visible– you place both hands down on the pillow as if bracing yourself for the climax of a rollercoaster ride. 

“The song Blindly for example, it’s about that feeling or like moment of realization that you’re just so crazy in love you’d follow this person anywhere blindly. I love that the sound’s so grunge-y and messy– insane. Because that’s literally how it feels to be in that whirlwind.” 

Zane picks up on your excitement, nodding at your explanation. He relaxes more into his seat and gestures to you, “It’s a good thing you mentioned that because I actually wanted to ask you why that song slows down at the end. I think that was such a unique and beautiful thing to do to the song and it works so well. But I just want to know what made you do that–” You’re biting your lip smiling, so proud that it was recognized as a conscious choice as a musician and artist.

Zane continues, “It goes from crazy drums and guitar, and the bass– then slows down into this almost hypnotic music box sound that transitions by the end into just this beat like a pulse.” 

Your smile grows bigger which Zane mirrors, “I’m so happy you picked up on that. I have to say that’s actually one of the songs I’m most proud of because it’s one of the first songs that I was heavily involved in the engineering of the sound.”

“But yeah I guess ultimately I just wanted it to mimic that transition from being in crazy love, tornado-esque to it literally settling into this beautifully calm and serene kind of love.” 

Zane listens intently, nodding and humming in agreement and knowing. Finally understanding the point of view from which the sound was created. He has this gentle smile on his face, almost of encouragement knowing you had more to say, 

“Like you go from all these dates and the honeymoon phase, and your heart’s just beating crazy fast all the time and then it turns into that steady murmur of your fridge in the null of the night when you’re baking muffins together in silence.”

You take a deep breath, chewing on the inside of your lip. Hopelessly trying to minimize the smile fighting its way on your face, “It’s just that process of someone becoming your home.” 

-

You're ushering out the last of the production people. Walking alongside Zane who’s the last to step out your front door, you give him a big hug which he returns warmly. 

“I’m so happy you’re happy,” he murmurs into your ear. 

You bury your face into his shoulder and breathe out a laugh, “Thank you.. Really.” 

You separate and smile at each other. Waving goodbye as he walks backwards to his car. You stand by your front door until they pull out of your driveway.

Once you see that your driveway is empty, you turn to your door and see him leaning against the doorframe with a smug, knowing smirk. 

Rolling your eyes playfully as you pass by him into your home, he chuckles. You hear his footsteps behind you and you know he’s following you around while you tidy up the dishes you and Zane used, “Aaron, take out the trash please.” 

This man just listened to you talk about him for hours. With headphones and a monitor set up in the other room– Aaron just got his ego inflated to a size so immeasurable he can’t hide his smile from the strangers beside him controlling lights and volumes. He has got to be humbled.

“Oh so I’m back to Aaron now?” He catches up to you, halting your movements from behind as he takes hold of your arms so you can put down whatever was in them. Then he turns you around by your shoulders so you’re facing him, grinning that smile that makes you go Fuck and then blank in your head.

“And here I was thinking I was home.” Aaron pulls you close, sliding an arm around your waist only to settle on your back as the other holds your hand against his chest, in between you. He starts swaying you both slowly as he buries his nose into the side of your head, humming a familiar tune. 

Kiss me once, then kiss me twice

Then kiss me once again

It's been a long, long time

Haven't felt like this, my dear

Since I can't remember when

It's been a long, long time

You'll never know how many dreams

I've dreamed about you

It took Reid a good 6 seconds to realize he’s kid before he shakes himself out of the trance and answers, “Well, considering the hours he’s spent typing on his personal laptop as opposed to the office computer and adding the minutes he allots on the jet to jot down on his writing notebook– assuming he’s writing in a similar format to his previous books–  I’d say….you’re actually well into the third chapter of your manuscript.” 

Still with his eyes trained on whatever caught his attention in the first place, Reid unsurprisingly impresses Rossi again because he is indeed a little over halfway into the third chapter.

But Rossi and Emily instantly become interested with what or who Reid has been staring at for the past minute, noticing that even when going off on his boy-genius tangent, his stare had been focused somewhere else. 

Reid jumps in his seat a little as the two level their heads on either side of his to see where his gaze has been glued. He had been so focused on figuring out the worrying sight and what caused it that he hadn’t noticed how much of him wasn’t aware of his surroundings. 

To their surprise, they’re met with a seemingly everyday sight: Hotch, in the pantry, stirring his coffee. And by everyday, they mean that to any passerby they’d think this is incredibly normal. Nothing at all out of place or out of character. 

But to the trained eye- to profilers who also spend almost everyday with the man, they slowly see what Reid must have seen. 

Hotch is stirring his coffee. But he doesn’t even put sugar or creamer in his always black coffee. 

He’s doing it absentmindedly. Literally looking lost in his head. Hotch is a busy guy, a busy boss guy, with millions of things to think about, but Hotch is never absent. His movements are always purposeful, precise, and calculated. Never lacking and never excess. 

Hotch has his head tilted down and to the side. Like a perpetually confused puppy. One of the things that make Hotch Hotch is his posture. His rigid, firm posture. Back always so straight, hands always clenched, jaw always tight– Hotch is never just there, his presence alone is commanding. 

And worst of all, Hotch’s hair is neat. Too neat. Okay, Hotch’s habit of being neat -with his pressed suits and shined shoes no matter where he is- naturally extends to how he styles his hair. Over the years, he’s learned to gel it out of his face for both convenience and aesthetic. But this neat- this neat looks a little too flat and ruffled at the same time. Like he’s run his hand through it a hundred times in a matter of minutes. 

So Rossi and Emily finally understand. The two share a look of understanding, while Reid looks up at them with curiosity and a little worry. 

“Do you guys think he’s.. okay?” Reid asks quietly with a little grimace. He looks between the two, trying to figure out what they’re thinking, “I mean it has been exactly 12 minutes that he’s been stirring nothing into his coffee.” 

“12?!” If Emily had any sort of drink in her mouth, she surely would have spat it out all over Reid–for which he is silently thankful she doesn’t because as much as he adores Emily, he’s just not mentally prepared for… well that. 

Finally, there’s movement in the pantry. Unaware of his colleagues now watching his every move, Hotch wakes up from the trance he was trapped in and quickly retreats back into his office with his now-cold cup of coffee. 

Knowing that Rossi’s the only one to easily get through to Hotch, Emily and Reid turn to look at him, wordlessly nudging him to check on the poor man who spent 12 minutes stirring his painfully plain black coffee. 

Raising both his hands as he stands from where he was leaning, Rossi surrenders “Alright alright! But I am not telling you rascals what he tells me in confidence.” pointing at the doe-eyed pair. 

Rossi lets the possibilities run through his head as he walks up the stairs to Aaron’s office. Maybe Jack’s having trouble with that one kid again– what’s his name? Or maybe Jack’s having trouble with Mothers’ Day coming up. That’s never been easy. But the stirring and staring into space and the hair? What could possibly– Knock knock. 

Rossi doesn’t even wait to hear Aaron’s voice. He pushes the door open to be greeted with the sight of Aaron finally looking a little more him: writing on his desk knee-deep in case files. 

Aaron looks up for a second and continues writing reports, “What can I help you with, Dave?” Putting extra pressure on penning that last period before closing the case file and grabbing another to open. 

Dave stays quiet for a bit and takes in the sight. Looks fine to me. But his silence halts Aaron’s writing and he looks up to Dave who’s just studying him by the door. 

“You know you can sit right?” Aaron stoically jokes. 

And a joke?! Dave finally cracks and sits down to say, “Boy genius just watched you stir your coffee for 12 minutes which we all know is black. Your hair’s messy and too fixed at the same time, you were standing in the pantry just minutes ago glaring into nothing. And you were slouching with your head tilted to the side.” 

“Honestly whatever it is, it’s none of my business but you just scared two members of your team and I think this may be the seed of doubt in your leadership skills because you’re finally not a robot.” It was obvious that Dave was trying to play it cool, masking concern with humor and sarcasm. 

But Aaron is a painfully private guy. He’d think it over for days before he decides to open up or seek advice from a close friend. Only he has thought about it for days and not saying anything’s been driving him insane he genuinely feels like he could implode at any second. 

Aaron takes one big breath and through clenched teeth he grumbles out, “It’s a she.” Finally staring Dave straight in the eyes, he clarifies, “the it in whatever it is is a she.” 

Realization and more worry hits Dave at the same time which Aaron clearly sees on his face. But Rossi quickly recovers and gives Aaron a soft, comforting smile, “Well what’s so bad about your she that’s got you so shaken up?” 

In Dave’s head, he’s already preparing responses for the worst: 

She doesn’t approve of my job. Well she can suck it. This is who you are. 

Jack doesn’t like her. Aaron, the one thing I like about kids is that they give it to you straight. I think you should take that as a sign

She’s not comfortable with the age gap. She’s way older. She’s way younger. I’m scarred in more ways than one. I’m not sure I still know how to– 

Aaron could see the increasing concern in Dave’s face, “I just–” he started. 

Dave’s thoughts were cut short by Aaron’s voice, thankfully because his mind was starting to reach the point of no return. Anticipating Aaron’s explanation, he leaned forward in his seat trying to read Aaron’s expression. 

“A few months ago, I’d stay here. After a case, when I know my son’s fast asleep and Jessica’s with him- I’d stay here.” Dave kept quiet, intently listening and trying to piece together where this could possibly go. 

“I would choose to stay here and finish reports, make a dent in the never-ending pile of case files because when I’m focused on helping others, I don’t have time to think of how alone I am.”

Before Dave could try and quell this ‘alone’ sentiment, Aaron quickly follows it up “I love my son. And he’s always been more than enough. And I have the team but… you guys have people to come home to. Arms to fall into at the end of a grueling day.” 

“For the longest time, since Haley.. I haven’t allowed myself to feel. To want. And if I’ve just been honest then it’d be known, I want to be loved. All that I carry, I drop all of it at the door and then there’s just this exhaustion that hits me. And all I want is for someone to hold me.” 

Dave takes all of this in, feeling an immense amount of love and sadness for his friend who deserves nothing but happiness but hasn’t for the longest time allowed himself the one thing that can give him that. 

“I know you think that getting into a relationship makes you a bad father, splitting the only time you have left with someone else instead of your son. But the truth is Aaron, Jack’s growing up. He has his sleepovers, camps, and football now. Soon he’ll leave for parties and college, and as much as he adores you he’ll have his own family.”

“I know. And then I’ll be alone.” Aaron’s voice starts to sound rough. Like this fact’s caught in his throat and he can’t speak. Dave studies Aaron and considers all the things he knows are holding Aaron back.

“So give it a shot.” Dave insists. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. Just set a date, and show up.” 

Aaron looks at Dave pointedly, “You make it sound easy–” “You make it sound hard.” 

Aaron appears to recover. He smoothes a hand over his tie and straightens his back yet again. In an instant, he’s back to looking stoic and stern with brows furrowed and eyes glaring.

He’s not used to being vulnerable, even in the privacy of his own office. Feeling like an open book for others to read makes goosebumps trail up his spine- in a bad way. Dave quickly reads this and decides to lighten the mood. 

“So…. when will we meet her?” Dave asks smugly. 

“Funny.”

“I understand.. your concerns. But I don’t think you’d be so worried about it if you weren’t already serious about her. So, what’s really going on with her?” 

Aaron thought he could get away without revealing much about her. He’s uncomfortable enough talking about himself, and all the more protective he is when it comes to you. Especially as someone who wants to keep your little world away from the harshness of everything else–

He sighs. He knows Dave is relentless and as payback for his concern, he decides he has to give Dave something. 

“I don’t know. Really. I don’t– I told you one day I’m tiring myself out so I don’t have to come home and process my empty bed as empty..”

“Now I’m tiptoeing in my own kitchen so as to not disturb this crazy singing person washing my dishes while my kid wipes the plates. And I watch them for god knows how long, instead of going up to my office to attend to case files whose deadlines are a bit too close for my liking.” 

“I don’t know,” Aaron shrugs. A soft, weak smile grows on his lips at the memory of you.

Dave stands from the seat, a knowing smirk on his face, “Hmm.” Teasing Aaron as he walks to the door and grabs the handle.