my friends call me jj

Aaron and you were too different. He had long before you convinced himself he wanted to be a lawyer, like his dad. Law school was just as certain as death for him, from the get go, from the first talk during orientation, you knew.

You? You wanted to travel. To write. To sell your paintings, to act in your own play, learn new languages, design activism posters. You wanted to live — fully, enjoy all the little things the world had to offer. You had no idea where you would go after graduation, but you knew from the get go — you and Aaron had an expiration date.

And maybe that should've stopped you. Maybe that should've been enough not to cross the line from friends to more. But his lips were so inviting and his brown eyes always made him look like he was begging you for something (and he was).

That complete different vision of a future was a stark contradiction to how similar you were in everything else. You both liked art, philosophy and going to amusement parks.

Aaron liked reading your essays and wrote articles for the newspaper you were in charge of. He took you to museums and cafes and even shitty clubs you two could get drunk and dance at.

There was always something, a spark, a calmness in the air, love, connection — between you two. You matched in ways you had never experienced before. The lonely childhood, collecting coins for him, writing journals and poems for you — it seemed to have created an empty space in your hearts exactly shaped like the other.

You fell fast, hard — it was impossible not to when he smiled at you like that, and for what seemed like a moment, a blink of an eye, you let yourself forget that you were both headed to completely different lives.

Months passed, and then years by Aaron's side, it always felt like the right place to be, where you belonged truly — but it was always meant to end in tears.

The beginning of the end came by mail, an acceptance letter to continue his degree and get a Juris Doctor at George Washington. College was coming to an end and Aaron would stay in DC and start his dream path by fall.

You celebrated immensely with him, showed him how proud you were of him in many ways — but the mood shifted after that. A heavy weight was put on your shoulders to bear. By fall you and Aaron wouldn't be together.

The worst of it all was that he seemed not to notice it, so happy with how things were going in his life to realize how withdrawn you had gotten, less cheery, more lost in your own thoughts.

Sadly the other shoe had to drop eventually — it always does, and it did with a bang.

"I was thinking we could get a place together nearby after graduation." His voice is soft, accompanied by featherlight touches to your face and hair — your head laid down on his lap. It felt like a punch to your gut.

"We?" If your eyes shooting open wasn't enough, your voice definitely signaled to him that something was wrong, you were too surprised. You didn't smile and that made him instantly deflate.

"Don't you want to?"

Want to. Want to. Want to. Of course you wanted to live with him. But you knew if you did you would never be able to leave to chase all your other dreams.

It’s his curse, really. Falling for someone only to inevitably lose them. It has happened every single time before: Haley, Kate, Haley again. Beth moves to Hong Kong and he meets you. He should’ve realized sooner that he wasn’t born to love or be loved for long.

Still, when you first smiled at him that one Monday morning back in June two years ago he knew he had to try. He had no choice but to love you.

And he did it so easily, made an effort to show you what he effortlessly felt for you from the beginning, as if he was never hurt before, like a teenage boy with a crush on someone pretty.

First time he saw you taking pills Aaron didn’t question it, thought to himself they were probably vitamins or something unimportant like that. Then he witnessed the panic in your eyes when you thought you had run out of it before your appointment for the prescriptions.

Antidepressants. He felt the guilt of not noticing it wash over him like a tsunami, his chest tight, his heart heavy. A profiler and your boyfriend and he missed all clues hidden under your smiles and your loving touch.

Aaron made sure not to let guilt paralyze him, calming you down, showing you no judgment and helping you find the missing pills you still had.

He acts normal on your good days but doubles the way he cares for you on your bad ones, even when busy on a case he calls, reassures you of his love, sends you food and asks to see you eating it.

He thought that would be enough. You were medicated and seemed effortlessly happy most of the time. Aaron really believed that and being by your side would be enough.

He worried. Worried about your well being. Made sure you wouldn’t starve yourself or forget to care for yourself on bad days. But he never worried about having to try to save you and failing to do so. He never laid awake thinking about finding your lifeless body in your bathtub. He wasn’t prepared for this.

The day started as it always does for Aaron, so early it can’t be considered bright. 5 AM on the dot, fresh coffee being made by the smart coffee maker you got him for Christmas last year the only noise heard as he quietly enters his boy’s bedroom. It’s too early and he feels sorry for Jack, but he has to be taken to his aunt’s before Aaron heads to the BAU.

Jessica’s car is at a mechanic and will only be done after lunch, it will be easier for her to take the metro with Jack this way.

Normal issues of a normal day. The worst he imagined could happen was an impromptu case, a flat tire even. If only he knew how his day would end.

It’s 10 AM and he should’ve paid more attention to the fact you haven’t texted him good morning. No breakfast pictures, no horoscope screenshots. But you’ve been working so hard and have been so obviously tired that he’s glad you’re sleeping in. You might be more of a workaholic than he is and Aaron just wants you to enjoy resting for a bit.

By noon he is swamped, drowning in paperwork and consultations that need his full attention, and Aaron knows he’s not at fault for doing his job but he wishes he did more than just snap a picture of his salad, he wishes he noticed it sooner, how you didn’t react to it, how he still didn’t know what you had for breakfast or what the day held for Scorpios.

8 PM he finishes work and it dawns on him how absent he was and how silent you’ve being. He curses under his breath, silent treatment was never a thing for the both of you so he assumes you must be extremely mad and Aaron learned from past experiences that he’s not the best at noticing subtlety when it comes to his love life. Maybe it was something he did or said, maybe it’s something he forgot.

Since meeting you he has been trying not to associate flowers with apologies, buying you singles or full bouquets almost every week, but still, that’s the first thing he does after leaving work, however mad you are, flowers and a surprise visit should be enough to melt it away.

He’s happy, annoyingly so if he thinks back, he’s not worried, it’s always easy to solve problems with you and he’s excited to see you, it wasn’t on his plans and that makes him extra giddy, a night surrounded by your scent and your voice is all he needs to feel recharged.

Aaron texts Jess to ask her to keep Jack for the night, tells her he can pick him up if she needs to, but he’s lucky she always seems to be prepared when he needs her, which is often, but less now with your help.

Maybe it would be better if he was worried. It would be less painful, less shocking.

Maybe if Aaron didn’t think you were just asleep when he turned the keys you gave him only to find a dark silent living room, the pained shriek that left his throat after following the bathroom light wouldn’t have been so loud.

But he didn’t worry. So when the bathtub overflown water hit his shoes, the flowers hit the floor, desperately let go as he yelled your name, his arms flying quickly to your cold body, trying to get you out as much as hugging you.

There’s something to be said about lifting dead drenched weight, especially over wet tiles. He slips to his knees before being able to, ends up dragging you out with him.

Aaron does CPR, the paramedics called by the neighbors don’t hide the pity in their eyes when they arrive and see him still trying.

Your name a begging sound, hurting more than the sore muscles of his arms from trying to lift and CPR a dead body.

The wet and stepped on roses leave a lingering scent, one he won’t ever forget.

He’s been trying not to associate flowers with apologies, and now they are forever linked, intertwined with death. Yours.

      He is truly grateful, he is not usually one to act out like a child, much less one to leave people he cares about behind like that. You brought up his best and his worst. Much of his strength and thinking power went towards controlling himself. The rest got messy.

      “What are you going to do?”

      “Well, I’ll apologize tomo—”

      “Aaron!”

      “I don’t know. I just don’t. And Beth will be over with coffee in a bit.”

      Aaron watches his much too annoyed closest friend pour himself a sip of scotch, drinking it all in a mouthful.

      “You are throwing away a second chance people don’t normally get. Do you even know why?”

      Of course he knows why. There are many many whys.

      Jack needed the stability only someone out of this godforsaken job could give, and he adored Beth.

      Haley wasn’t an agent and he lost her, being with you was accepting the fact you could leave with him for a case and simply not come back. Essentially getting his son, his baby boy, a step mom that could be taken from him the same way as his mother.

      Beth gave Jack a bigger chance of not losing again.

      It gave him a bigger chance to rebuild his picket fence dream home.

      It was logical. It was the right choice.

      The feeling in the pit of his stomach and the bitter taste on his tongue shows disagreement with that every time he ponders though. And it’s hard to make the right choice when his body and soul begs him not to.

      Before he can even muster enough will power to argument his way out, Dave comes at him with more questions to shake his belief system to the core. “Is this about Haley? About Jack? Or are you really just incapable of letting yourself be happy?”

      Ouch.

      Rossi doesn’t pull any punches, Aaron knows that, it’s why they get along well, no sugarcoating. Doesn’t make it less annoying to deal with it so early in the morning. Especially after the hell night he had trying to sleep and being plagued by thoughts and worries of you.

      “If anything was to happen it would’ve happened before I met Beth.”

      “How could it when you are both idiots?” Aaron simply sighs, not having a good enough rebuttal to that.

      It was a true, he was an idiot, he could’ve gone after you when he got divorced, or after his grief got less painful. But back then he was angry, feeling abandoned by you when he would’ve never done the same to you.

      He begged you to not forget him, to call him. He waited, he called. It was all fruitless as you made your decision to take him out of your life already.

      Now it all seemed too complicated and to act on those feelings would complicate it even more.

      Aaron is saved by the bell, if anyone could consider hearing the knock on his door he knew to be Beth’s, one of the reasons of his internal conflict, being saved.

      At least Rossi leaves him alone for the time being, excusing himself as soon as the brunette enters the apartment with a quick peck to Aaron’s lips. Surely enough, Hotch has to tell her later that morning that no, Dave has nothing against her, he was just moody from being awake too early.

      Luckily most of the day is spent around Jack and what the wanted to do, making it more about spending time with his boy than a date, so he doesn’t have to focus too hard on being a good partner and on not thinking about you. But it’s all he thinks about when Beth leaves at night and he realizes morning come he will have to see you.

      Your eyes don’t meet his for even one second as Garcia presents the case and he knows it then how truly he fucked up. You aren’t angry. You look tired, not your face, not your eye bags. In fact you look as beautiful and put together as you always do, but in the glimpses he catches of your eyes as you talk to someone else, he sees it. And it breaks his heart. You are exhausted, not because of the job.

      Because of him. And the worst thing is, he can’t even leave you alone, being the Unit Chief meant having to talk to his team, it meant to lead. He sighs to himself as everybody gets out of the briefing room and he wants to brush his fingers against yours lightly like old times and make you smile, but most of all Aaron just wants to tell you how sorry he is that this is happening again.

      He can’t do that, knowing right now it would only make things worse, so he just gets up from his chair, grabs his go-bag from his office and follows the motion until everyone is in the jet. There he does his best to suppress what is going on his mind to focus on the case.

      Galena is a beautiful small town, quite romantic even, too bad it is now suffering with the abduction of two children, the case and the BAU disturbing its peace.

      And that disturbance goes well into the night, when no one is able to work anymore and Hotch has to call it a day, figuring out on the spot that Garcia had to book them in pairs, his key card the same number as yours.

      Hotch can imagine Garcia had someone influence her on the chosen pairs, Rossi was practically glowing with childish glee as everyone got their cards.

      Both you and him are too prideful and professional to make a scene asking to switch with someone. You were stuck with him until the case is resolved.

      The two single beds as you enter the room are a relief, but the distance between them aren’t nearly enough in comparison to how faraway from him you wished to be.

      “Just like the old days, huh?” He’s the first to speak, trying to break the tension as he spread the files of the case on the only desk available.

      “Don’t do that,” you reply quickly, your tone as tired as your eyes have been since the first time he saw you today.

      You drop your bag on the floor close to your bed, the loud noise startles Aaron, but you don’t care, body aching and ready for rest.

      “That what?”

      “Talking. Don’t talk to me,” you clarify. Another loud noise, your body dropping on the bed without ceremony. Eyes closed and focused on pretending he wasn’t there.

      He stays quiet for awhile and you think he might respect your request, so you relax in the clean sheets welcoming the slumber.

      Unfortunately for the two of you, now you are annoyed. So annoyed his shuffling around papers make your skin crawl.

      Just like the old days.

      The complete audacity to begin with that as if he didn’t abandon you drunk just two days before.

      You sigh deeply, putting a pillow over your face to try and muffle his annoying overwhelming presence.

      It doesn’t work.

      “God, please, breathe louder, I don’t think Japan has heard you yet,” you shoot at him, immediately sitting up and catching him working the case files.

      “You want me to stop breathing too, is that it?” He doesn’t look up from the papers, annoyed at the childish antics you’re pulling, which irritates you even more.

      “If you could be so kind to, yes!” Your voice is pure sarcasm and venom, reminding him of just how stubborn and strong-willed you can be.

      Just as he stops his writing, pen left to the desk, you get up in a hurry, attempting to go to the bathroom and ready to slam the door behind you. Hotch is quicker, getting up from his chair and grabbing your wrist to stop you from avoiding him even more.

      It doesn’t hurt. His grip is gentle and you know you can easily get away from it. But you don’t.

      “Hey, I’m sorry.” You nod at his apology, but he knows that won’t be all, so Aaron lets your wrist slip from his fingers and waits for the arguing he’s been avoiding to start.

      One beat.

      Two.

      Three beats pass before your mouth moves in sync with your drowning mind, “what exactly are you sorry about?”

      Right to the jugular from the start. He obviously instantly thinks of the easy answer: Everything. But that’s not the answer you’re looking for. Beyond that, he knows it would be unfair for both of you to gloss over the situation once again.

      You know Aaron isn’t stalling but actually thinking by the way his index and thumb rub together, his lips tightly pursued. Your stomach feels like it’s twirling, nervousness making an appearance now that this was about to happen. The talk. The admissions.

      Both of you are aware now shouldn’t be the time to talk it all over, there is a case to work, a hard day to rest from, but this is 10 years in the making. The flight response was already drained, only fight left.

      “I’m sorry for overstepping and turning our friendship into something confusing and uncomfortable,” he says slowly but firmly, but even so Aaron regrets his choice of words, more regret when he catches you rolling your eyes.

      “Confusing and uncomfortable, sure,” you reply with the same sarcasm you displayed earlier, your arms now crossed defensively over your chest, “I hope that’s not the best you’ve got.”

      “I’m trying here and I would appreciate a little less sarcasm.” His eyes are as piercing as his tone, you scoff at the manifestation of frustration, as if he had grounds for that right now.

      Your feet have a mind of their own and you start pacing around the room, “Hotchner, I changed my whole life around ten years ago for the sake of your comfort.” That wasn’t untrue, although it had a lot to do with your comfort as well, but he needed to be reminded of your sacrifices. “And the first opportunity you had to be a dick to me you not only took it but doubled down on it!”

      Hotch knows you are speaking about the gala and before he can control his tongue like he would in a time like this, " I got jealous! It took over me.”

      It’s good that he doesn’t expect that to stop you or take your breath away because if anything, you’re angrier now.

      “You have a girlfriend! You have no right to be jealous of me! You were married, Hotch! And I never did something like that to you.”

      “You left! I love you and you left,” he notices his mistake and quickly tries to recover, “I loved you. You’re back and I don’t know what’s the right thing to do.”

      He sits at the edge of his chosen bed, elbows to his knees, hands to his face and you finally stop on your heels, not knowing how to react to the confession you both have been denying yourselves from speaking out loud.

      You swallow dry, sitting on the edge of your bed, right in front of him.

      “I loveーI loved you too.” Your hands find home on his knees and his drop to hold them.

      “l don’t know what to do. I want to do the right thing.” He sounds pained and you have to fight that desperate lover girl in your mind begging you to tell him to choose you.

      “I can’t help you with that,” it’s what you actually end up saying, “I’m sorry.”

So for Valentine's Day you expected the usual of a flirt, the flowers, the wine, the declarations, the kisses. You were actually surprised when you got nothing from him at work, if not a bit disappointed. Red roses was an obvious choice, it was an easy way to please a woman. You knew he knew that, which meant to you that he purposefully didn't send you anything.

You were ready to send him a text when you got home, the smell of lavender waving through you making you stop, "baby? You in here?" No reply, but you could hear him humming to himself so you didn't have to panic it was some sort of murderer in your home.

Slowly, you walked towards where he was, taking note of the candles in strategic spots to bring in the lavender smell you felt, the lights were dimmed making your house feel much more cozier than usual, and the sight of your boyfriend preparing tea by the kitchen wearing only sweatpants added even more to that comfort. You couldn't help but hug him from behind, resting your head on his deliciously muscular back as you did so.

"¿Que pasa, papi?" you ask affectionately, your words muffled by your the fact you're squishing your cheek against him. Derek chuckles under your touch, turning his head to you, his gorgeous smile as bright as ever as he answers.

"For our first Valentine's Day I'm giving you the gift of my full undivided attention, baby girl." You snort not only at his cockiness, but because he always gave you his undivided attention when it was the two of you, only thing that ever got in the way was work. "I know you've been exhausted so we're having a nice night in. Calming candles, tea, those frizzly annoying bath bombs you like..."

He turns around to face you as he cites what he prepped for the holiday, hand on your chin to give you a kiss that made you hum, almost purring if only for a second. "I like when you're being all soft like this, sexy pants."

"Got us some massage oils for later too, save some of those pretty little noises for then."

"Happy Valentine's Day, pretty boy." He scoffs at the nickname, but still offers his hand for you to take, putting his own mug on the coffee table in front of you before pulling you up to him.

Spencer knew very well how much you liked Valentine's Day, you were always a romantic at heart, bringing heart shaped cookies to the squad, writing cards, the whole spiel, it was always unfortunate when a case like this didn't give him a chance to do something special, a proper date with the proper expensive wine, so he tried to make it up in little ways, like not getting on your nerves about going to bed and having coffee at midnight.

"Did you know—" His arms drop to your waist, holding you close, you look at him with taunt in your eyes. It had become sort of a challenge for him, to come up with at least one Valentine's Day fact he hadn't already told you during your years working together and the three of your relationship. "February fourteen was believed to be the start of birds' mating season, that's why the date relates to romance and love so much." You both stay silence for a second, as he waits for your reaction. You only smile and peck him on the lips.

"That's a new one, I surely didn't know that." Victory spreads through his face as he pumps one of his arms and whispers a lingering yes that makes you laugh. Before you even realize he's humming in your ear and your head is laid on his chest.

It takes a while for you to recognize what he's humming as he softly sways you both around:

"Sure, yeah, good... So you don't think I'm attractive? At all?"

"That's not really what I s—"

You barely listen to him, going on a ramble which was one of the reason his coworkers thought you two matched so well, "so if you were to imagine me like, I don't know, naked, you wouldn't want me either? Am I i that bad?" You get up from your chair, pacing around the kitchen, his eyes getting wider and wider as you spoke, trying to interject you from time to time to no avail. "I'm a good kisser, I think, is it my breath? My ass? What is it!?"

Spencer gathers that you're not expecting an answer to that, or at least he hopes so when your hands go to your mouth in exasperation and you stop in front of him. "Forget I said that!"

"I really can't. I mean, I literally can't. Eidetic memory."

"Oh my god, you're imagining it! Stop imagining it!" Your hands hide the warmth of your face, embarrassed not only by the extent of your rambling but the content.

"You told me to! I'm sorry, but I can't get it out of my head!" Figuring this is going to be the best time if anything, as you were already embarrassed, you pull him by his cardigan, gluing your lips to his fully expecting to be rejected, but being surprised by his holding your waist to keep you balanced into the kiss. You expected it to be tender, but instead you were met with hungry lips and tongue matching yours.

Just enough to scratch the moment's itch.

"I don't think you'll ever drink your coffee in peace after this," you say after catching your breath.

I - COME SHOVE ME OVER THE EDGE

"I think Haley is cheating on me." He's not looking at you as he says it, eyes on his feet as he takes a particularly long drag of his cigarette ー one of yours he asked for, you didn't even know he smoked until that very moment, but the way he held the white poison between his fingers and let only part of the smoke leave his nostrils showed you it wasn't his first time.

It's good he isn't looking as you aren't able to mask how wide your eyes opened, completely shocked at first, but it isn't the shock you wished to mask, the following shrug of your shoulders was the bad reaction to such confession. It shocked you because Haley was obviously in love with the man by your side, but then ー it made sense. Loneliness is a powerful motivator for the vastest of actions. And working with Hotch it was easy to see Haley was lonely.

"Complete silence wasn’t the reaction I was expecting."

"And what were you expecting?"

"Not entirely sure. Empathy? Pity?"

You grin to yourself more than to him, if he wanted one of those, he would've gone to one of the other girls. "Don't feel those when I see consequences catching up to the actions deserving of them." Hadn't he complained about your silence you wouldn't be so blunt. But it was almost like he was teasing you, hoping you would bite back.

You hear the air come out of his nose and he coughs part of the smoke he was about to inhale, surprised but amused at your response. Truth be told, part of him needed that, needed some sort of punishment, or so he felt. It's why he went to the roof after you to smoke, and not Emily.

"I think I'm gonna file for divorce," he says after some minutes of silence, watching as you put your cigarette out by throwing it on the floor and stepping on it.

"That's probably wise." It's a short reply to end a short conversation ー one you didn't really wanna participate in. You and Hotch aren't friends. He's your boss. Has been for six months, and by now you made it obvious to everyone that you enjoyed being alone and treating the job as what it is: A job.

As a young new female agent, fresh out of the academy you were designated to the white collar division. It wasn't as physically dangerous, but there you were forced to shut others out, the competitiveness and misogyny made it impossible to have them as family.

The BAU is different, but old habits die hard, especially the ones you gathered as protection.

II - YOU KNOW THAT I'M IN LOVE WITH THE MESS

Aaron teases you, breathless telling you he melted your icy heart, you let him know your heart is as icy as three months ago.

His fingers grip on your hips with much more strenght than before, it hurts in the best way and you know there will be red marks there in the morning as a treat and reminder. He uses the newfound support to thrust up into you, setting a new pace, faster, relentless, no warning.

You can't react any other way, a loud moan escaping your lips as your nails sink into the skin of his shoulders, a muttered curse leaves his just before a smirk is plastered on his face, amused at your pleasure.

"Sounds melted to me." 

Replying to that is useless, so you don't. Enjoying the feeling of his body against yours and him throbbing inside of you holds more importance than protecting your ego.

You brought him home, the sanctity of your bed now tainted by your sins, so he wasn't wrong, he was melting your heart, finding a place for him there in the depths of your soul in the past three months.

It started slow, you aren't sure if it was his intention all along, following you every time you took your smoking break, buying your cigarette brand and giving it to you as a thank you for sharing it with him, buying you coffee and talking to you. But most of all, enjoying the silence with you.

A month in he offers you a ride home, lips to yours as soon as the car reaches your street. You couldn't wait, neither could he. Fucking in the car was never comfortable, but it was hot, the look on his face when you left the car after you both came, saying goodbye instead of inviting him inside was completely worth it.

In the daze of your desire you didn't even notice his wedding band intact on his finger. It became more apparent with time, so much so he began taking it off before meeting you in hotels. He thinks he does it for your sake, but you know it's actually for his own.

He feels guilty. You wouldn't like him as much if he didn't. But it would make things easier if he didn't have reason to be feeling that way.

"I talked to a lawyer last week." He gets sappy after sex, hands caressing your body with feather-like touches, promises made in loving tones you pretend not to hear. You know your place too well to show how easily swayed you are by him. You hum in reply, nodding into his naked chest. "I'll just wait for Jack's birthday to pass, I want to spend one last birthday without the weight of the divorce. Then I am all yours."

You try not to care, but you do. And worse than that, you believe him.

III - WHEN IT RAINS IT FUCKING POURS

You are angry and embarrassed, but mostly you just feel so humiliated it physically hurts both your head and your heart. Alone in a conference room, all you can do is think and relive how stupid the situation was and estipulate about what everyone was thinking about you.

A nice good-looking cop flirted with you, and you weren't bothered by it, you even flirted back lightly, nothing serious about it and it wouldn't come to anything, you weren't looking to date anyone. It was innocent and you are single.

Aaron didn't see it that way. Made a huge deal of it, told you and the guy off for not paying attention to the case and the way he looked at you... Your colleagues are profilers, the deal was to act normally, and now you know they know it.

It's not like you're the type to care too much about societal morals but the newest team member that doesn't open up ends up sleeping with the boss. No need for any profile course to know the type of assumptions to be made.

You may not care about much, but you care about your job and being seen as less than capable for taking your boss' cock every other day was not in your plans.

You can't even make a scene. Morally wrong women helping men cheat don't get to make a scene.

You get to wallow alone. That's your prize.

That and an explanation text as you won't be alone with the other for a while in favor of professionalism.

I'm sorry. l got overly jealous.

It's hard seeing you smile like that at someone else.

But soon it'll be just us and when you're officially mine everyone will know it.

Everyone will know it. You can only scoff at that. As if his jealousy fit masked as concern for the case wasn't enough for your team of profilers. Everyone knew now. No going back. From ice queen to office whore in a blink, all for a man who has been promising to leave his wife for almost an year now with no actions to keep such promise, nothing to prove his intentions but your trust to his words.

IV - NOT WORTH SAVING IT

You are on your annual leave when he finally does it, signs the papers Haley served him. The fact she was the one to file should be clue enough, but it took the excruciating knowledge of how long it was taking him to sign the damn thing to snap you out of his grasp.

It's just a coincidence, a bitter one to him at that, that Strauss handed your transfer papers and substitutes' files on the same day he signed and mailed back his divorce papers.

He tries to call you, goes to your house but traveling for your AL was your plan for that reason. You didn't want to talk, didn't want his honey-dipped words and warm hands to blur your good sense.

He was starting to get worried too, the family's youngest going radio silent about acceptances from colleges, to him, was beginning to seem like Abbey hadn't got any.

That possibility doesn't bother him, really, he just doesn't want his baby girl suffering alone.

He gets home late and tired, as usual. The two cats he was coerced into adopting years ago are the only ones to welcome him in, two balls of black and orange fur rubbing against his legs lightly and purring as he put his keys, phone and wallet on the table by the door.

"Honey? Abbey?" He scrunches down for a minute, giving Monday and Friday his full attention, and back rubs, "Do you know where mom and your sister are, huh, sneaky babies?" They meow in response. "Gonna need a translator for this interrogation." Aaron smiles to himself and stands up, his knees embarrassingly cracking at the action.

"We're cleaning your office!" His brows rose immediately in suspicion, your voice didn't sound like it was coming from the office, and cleaning it was definitely not your responsibility on the chores chart you both built over the years.

Still, he follows the direction, balls of fur by his side, and is met with the room empty, his old almost falling apart too big GW Law sweater that you usually wore to sleep neatly unfolded over his desk. "Whatー"

"SURPRISE!" He doesn't flinch, turning around in a second, a happy smile, showing a bit of teeth even, graces his face when he notices Abbey wearing a GWU sweater. "Pre-law, officially."

Aaron doesn't say anything, walking over to her and engulfing her in a bear-like hug. You watch from the sidelines, seeing tears watering his eyes lightly as you try to hold back your own.

"Baby, please, don't turn into a defense lawyer." He says half-jokingly after letting go of the hug, pride and joy written all over his face.

"Aaron!"

"What? I'm proud but we gotta be careful, don't want her taking people I put in jail out of there."

Abbey rolls her eyes (yours, completely) at him. "I will if they're innocent. Old people make mistakes." The tone and bite to her tongue are completely his. Strong, matter-of-factly, confident.

Smiling at you is his only reaction, love for what you two created together is clear in his eyes.

Love for the family you helped him build, for the fact you raised Jack and Abbey with values that made both want to help people.

      He shakes his head, trying to get his thoughts back to the case presented now in the board of the DC precinct but his eyes land on you, the way your foot shakes, up and now, your legs crossed, your fingers tapping the table quickly and with a rhythm of their own, your bottom lip would bleed out if you kept chewing on them, but what he noticed most were your eyes, wide and focused on the board with all the pictures from the crimes, even the ones Emily hadn’t sent you.

      This was the reason bringing outside people was not a good idea. Not everyone is prepared to deal with death, horrific deaths at that, the way the BAU members were. You clearly weren’t. He might’ve asked you how you were once more, but as quick as he thought about it, you two weren’t alone anymore as the lead detective and Emily came into the room.

      “They were drugged but could feel everything.” The words ring inside your ears, loud and repetitive like a beating heart. Your heart. Your mouth waters in a way you know too well and you feel your palms clamming.

      You’re going to be sick.

      You give the room half a smile and a nod, quietly excusing yourself from the others while making the effort not to make a scene, but you’re barely able to see where you’re going as you try to reach the bathroom.

      Something tells you you’ve done a good job at being discreet, even if you weren’t able to conceal the awful sounds coming from your throat, the light breakfast you had suddenly not seeming very light. It’s probably the fact no one knows you, or maybe because everyone else is busy trying to solve a goddamn murder case.

      The thoughts in your head were quickly brushed over when you heard someone clear their throat, a light knock on the door of the stall you were kneeling at. Your body reacts fast, holding the door with your palms even though it was locked.

      “Sorry, occupied.” Your voice in rough from putting it through too much, but you stay polite regardless.

      “Are you alright?” There is genuine concern in his, it keeps any shame from creeping up on you.

      “Mr. Hotchner! I’m okay… I ate something bad, it’s alright.” The lie comes without a second thought, but it’s obvious he doesn’t buy it. You get up quickly, opening the door as an attempt to leave the situation behind along with the contents you just flushed down.

      “No one expects you to react to these like we do.” His eyes are piecing and you swallow dry, nodding in understanding and thankfulness, but unable to say much else. “I will leave you to it, we are going through the files again, if you need anything, you can text me.” Hotch hands you his card, realizing you don’t really have his number and stands to his word, leaving you alone.

      Truthfully, he’s not sure what made him follow you to the bathrooms, possibly the fact Emily didn’t seem to notice the way your lips had gotten devoid of color or maybe it was just in his nature to care for others, fascinating alike you or not.

      It doesn’t take you too long to go back to the conference room the team was set, only some minutes to wash your mouth and your face, a few deep breaths to control your heart rate.

      “So the motive isn’t religious?” You hear a police officer ask as soon as you get back.

      “It has religious elements but the message doesn’t seem religious.” You smile to yourself as Emily speaks, fascinated by her quickness to get into work mode, to get into the mind of who was doing all of that.

      “It‘s about punishment.” Hotch repeats your earlier insight, it makes you feel useful, and smart. You knew you were intelligent, brightly so, but having something you said be important in something so big as an investigation was… Different.

      “And how is that not religious?”

      “Punishment coming from a religious motive would probably include whipping and at the most extreme, burning. The use of the cross pose seems purposeful, it is a punishment, a shameful one, but also, there’s some… Status to it, because it was how Jesus was killed.” You can be heard by everyone, but your focus is again on the pictures, your finger quietly drawing invisible crosses along the table. “I guess it can be another way to allude to Catholicism, like Saint Michael, they are the religion with the biggest attachment to the image of Christ in the cross. But then again, it doesn’t have any other aspect of Christ’s crucifixion.”

      No one has the time to reply to your rambling, a loud ringtone interrupting the brainstorming, Hotch answers, promptly putting the call on speaker.

      “The widow was no help, she is shaken up and has no idea who would want to kill her husband.” Derek sounds defeated, “And Hotch, he wasn‘t religious.”

      “Mrs. Beckett said she tried to bring him to mass countless times during their marriage but he always vehemently refused to.” Spencer’s voice is higher in pitch but he sounds intrigued, deep in thought.

      “Alright, come back to the precinct, we are waiting for Rossi and JJ and beginning to create a geographical profile.”

      Your puzzled look doesn’t last long, as the team present begins pinning on a map the victim’s homes and where they were found.

      “No churches near the warehouses, but two near Monica Dawson’s place.” Emily comments first looking at the red pins.

      The phone rings again and you wonder if they don’t get headaches from that sound coming out of nowhere all day, but the sweetest and most cheerful voice you ever heard comes on speaker, Garcia, and you smile involuntarily.

      “Garcia, any leads?”

      “You know I do, my darling sweet boss—”

      “Don’t call me that.”

      “Fine, sweet sir, both warehouses are pretty much truly abandoned, but I sniffed around, and by that I mean I went far far back and found some documents I maybe shouldn’t be sniffing around—”

      “Garcia.” You hold in a laugh at the interaction and the supposedly threatening tone Hotch was using.

      “Both were used for military training, like… SEAL type of military.”

      There is a bit of an awkward silence before Hotch thanks and dismisses her, with the mission to find records of everyone who were apart of those trainings.

      “If we’re dealing with a Navy SEAL…” Emily’s voice is a whisper you’ve never heard before.

      “Things might get ugly. We need to be fast.” Hotch’s shows more confidence, but he is worried and as you realize seconds later when an officer barges in, he has every reason to.

    “My parents were.” The answer is simple and you think it might stop at that, but he shakes his head and scoffs again. “I was an altar boy for years before I left for boarding school.” You nod. 

    “Ah. I've met some of you in my research.” Some of you. Church babies, altar boys. Spoon fed the bible from birth while watching everyone around sin. Sin becoming a term to reflect on what they hated. 

    “And you? Catholic?” 

    “Oh no. Never been.” You don’t explain much, aware Emily probably told him of your time in Rome, where the two of you met. “Your UnSub is though. Either devoted to Saint Michael or knows enough about his roles to look like one.” You note, being reminded of the pictures Emily sent you, big stab wounds, a small scale tipped to one side, the words Hebrews 9:22 written in blood. 

    Hotchner doesn’t reply, making a mental reminder of the new information, he looks around the place as you both leave the church and it hits him, Silver Spring’s St. Michael the Archangel parish, the church you chose as a meeting place. 

    He wouldn’t usually accept consultation for cases, especially from outsiders. And to be fair, the BAU doesn’t usually need any, Reid alone has more knowledge than anyone Hotch has ever met, and despite the humbleness he tends to show, Hotch himself can take care of the general book knowledge if Reid doesn’t step up to it. But he trusted Emily, and Emily spoke more highly of you than of anyone. Honestly, he was also trying to make amends after not having her back during the Matthew case they had not long before. 

    “She's in town giving lectures, it’s an asset we have easy access to, so why not use it?” Were her final and most convincing words before Hotch nodded in agreement, watching Emily make the call that led to the meeting. 

    He thinks now, as he’s driving both of you to Quantico, that maybe Emily should’ve been the one here, his attempts to strike conversation falling flat as you don’t even remember the last time you had to make small talk with someone, it felt awkward all of a sudden, as if you were on a date. 

    “I'm so sorry, I'm not too good with… People.” You blurt out after a long minute of silence, your neck suddenly warm from embarrassment. 

    Hotch side eyes you, brows lifted in confusion. You seemed much less confident in the car now than what you showed him of you minutes before back at the church. He figures you felt confident talking about your area of expertise and that he could relate to easily. “Did you notice anything else by the pictures Emily sent you?” 

    The switch of topic makes you sigh loudly in relief and you mentally thank him for brushing your silliness off. “He’s using different pieces of catholic dogma and putting it together, but most of the symbology eludes to Michael, the stabbing looks like a sword, the tipped scale indicates judgment, the verse he chose doesn’t cite Michael but talks about sins being forgiven by the shedding of blood… He’s the judge and executioner of his victims.” You try not to sound excited as you ramble on, it’s a terrible thing to witness, the pictures were grotesque and would’ve made you sick on a normal day, but the cherry picking of symbols the murderer seemed to make fascinated you. 

    “So you believe it’s a man?” 

    “Oh! I–I don’t know? I just assumed… Is that misogynistic?” You mumble the last part more to yourself, but it’s loud enough to make him chuckle and you look at him quickly to make sure it’s not mean spirited. 

    It’s definitely not. But it is amusing from a profiler perspective, he’s so used to defining serials’ genders by their crimes he hasn’t thought about misogyny being a factor to those assumptions in a long time. 

    “Brutality suggests male. But posing looks remorseful, theatrical…” His grip on the wheel tightens, two victims by now, feet crossed, arms wide open. 

    “If there were more allusions to the crucifixion, yeah, but I–” You take your phone out to look at the pictures once more, an attempt to seem less abstract in what you’re about to say. “No crown, no nails, this isn’t about Christ, it’s about punishment–I mean, I think.” You’re not usually self conscious about your knowledge but inferring characteristics and desires to someone by looking at a crime scene was not your specialty. 

    “To further point they were judged and executed…” Hotch nods, understanding where your line of thought is going and completing it immediately, not leaving you much time to doubt yourself. 

    “A very shameful execution.” 

    You both spend the short ride from Silver Springs to Quantico going over the symbology present, you tried to help here and there with the associations of what you saw to who could’ve done it, even though that was not what you were called in for. Strangely enough—for him at least, Hotch didn’t seem to mind your guesses, they were educated ones.

    And it was interesting to hear someone speak with such passion about religious aspects without any of the fundamentalism. It was definitely something he wasn’t used to.

    “Mi amore!” Are the first words you hear as you enter the famous bullpen from Emily’s texts, her arms surrounding you in a tight warm hug you haven’t felt in years—it hits you then how long has it been. You weren’t able to come and mourn Matthew with her, his parents weren’t fond of you either (Lord almighty, you didn’t even go to church with them!) and you were busy with your lectures.

    “Hey troublemaker, how’s it going?” Your question is muffled in the hug, your hands clasping together behind her back.

    The reunion doesn’t last long, curious eyes set on you two and a rather impatient Hotch leading the way to what you learned was the conference room.

    The briefing room. The round table. Emily told you about it when she first got into the BAU.

    You end up sitting between Emily and who you would bet was Spencer—there’s this sweet kid working with us, he’s super smart, annoyingly smart, but so sweet, he reminds of Matty when we were teens—the lanky boy was the only one with what seemed like naivety enough in his eyes to be the one Emily mentioned back then. 

    Aaron sat in front of you almost, serious, stern, very different from the few chuckles you got from him in the car. This was unit chief Hotchner, the subtle difference was fascinating.

    “Alright, as we know, DC is in trouble, second murder in three weeks.” blonde and gorgeous, you believed that was JJ, there had been no time for introductions, all you could do was try to remember the e-mails and few phone calls you shared with Emily the past years. “Richard Beckett, married, no kids, 27. He works for his father's car dealership.” 

    Pictures show up on the screen, showing the man when he was alive. It’s a punch to your gut, just minutes before you were fascinated by the way this real person was murdered. You’re glad you had a light breakfast by the way your stomach turns.

    “Monica Dawson, divorced, no kids, 53. She’s a counselor at a local school.” The woman continues speaking, with more pictures on the screen. And then pictures of their deaths, side by side. The fascination is completely extinguished then. “Both were stabbed countless times with a large blade. Left in abandoned warehouses posed in a cross position, a tipped scale on their side. Both naked. Both were heavily drugged.”

    “They didn’t have kids, is that a coincidence?” You hear Emily speak up and suddenly you can see all their brains working.

    “Could that be the linking between them? The victimology is all over the place.” Derek. Oh. You’ve heard of Derek. You’ve seen pictures of Derek. He needs no introduction. 

    “Reid, Morgan, go talk to the first victim’s widow. Rossi, JJ, Ms. Dawson’s ex-husband can give us insight on her life. Emily and us—” He gives you a look and you understand he means you, nodding in reply. “Will head to the DC police precinct.” The way Hotch gives orders is effortless, not only his job but his vocation. 

    Everyone listens and agrees quickly, moving and leaving the table, even Emily is fast on her feet, even though she won’t leave without you and him. You stay still, stiff, eyes glued to the screen.

    “Are you alright?” His voice is soft, laced with worry, genuine worry. You didn’t even notice he had stayed behind, but you nod again at Hotch, a question burning at the tip of your tongue.

      Normally you wouldn’t drink before an argument, still when he gets to the kitchen he sees you calmly sipping on a tall glass of wine, fingers tapping on the table, hair up, face clean but red, you were in your pajamas already, nothing like you probably looked hours before.

      “What’s the only thing I asked of you, Aaron?” You don’t move, don’t glance up at him, eyes focused solely on how the purplish red liquid moved in your glass, taking a big sip right after.

      Aaron sighs in frustration, he didn’t want this to become a fight. He was so tired. “I know, I’m sorry–”

      “Answer the question, please.”

      “Don’t make promises I can’t keep.” He takes his tie off quickly, suddenly feeling suffocated by the fabric surrounding his neck. That’s why your relationship worked, you knew he was busy and his schedule was unpredictable, so very early on you accepted it as it was, saying you wouldn’t be mad at him as long as he didn’t break any promises. If you’re not sure, don’t promise me you will be able to make it.

      First months he wouldn’t promise you anything, too afraid to break it, to disappoint you.

      He watches as you take the wine in a mouthful and refills the glass, the bottle now empty and starts getting frustrated, you’re a loud drunk and you’re surely already getting tipsy.

      This was the first time he slipped up, it didn’t need to be such a big deal, it didn’t avail to having his things right at the door as if he was getting kicked out. All the other times he promised he could take time off, he did it. Just–Teens were getting kidnapped, the team needed him.

      “We saved two girls today.” Low blow. But it was true, he wasn’t back in time because of that, he got on the jet instead of staying back to do that. To save two thirteen year old girls. Not some futile reason. It had to count for something.

      “I’m proud of you for that, Aaron. Are you proud of me? For the promotion we were supposed to celebrate with my boss? Or are our accomplishments only worth it when it’s about saving someone?” You raise your voice only slightly, the alcohol from the sweet wine getting to you slowly and then all at once.

      You always tried your best to keep your voice down when arguing with him, simply because he never raised his, and it could be an endearing feature if it didn’t look like he did it to look like the rational one, the right one.

      “That’s not what i said–”

      “I know what you said. You want to make the fact you let me down okay because you did a wonderful thing someplace else. That’s not how it works.” You open the second bottle of wine of the night, feeling his eyes on your back. “I want you to leave.”

      “You know this is ridiculous, you’re acting like a child.” Sore spot. You were a few years younger and that had never been a problem. But he couldn’t go back now, he could see the anger darkening your eyes, your knuckles turning white by the strength you’re using to grip on the edge of the table.

      “How am I a child?” You begin slowly and keeping your voice down, you get up finally from the chair you had been sitting, facing him directly, his instincts make him try to touch your arms, but you dodge it quickly. “We had an agreement. You broke it. Am I a child for not giving you permission to hurt me again?”

      He knows you’re about to snap, your chest coming up and down in rapid breaths, and he doesn’t feel particularly in the right, he knows he screwed up and he’s sorry, but your reaction is out of proportion to him, an exaggeration made to make him feel more guilty than he already does. “I said you’re acting like a child. The one time things don’t go your way and you’re packing me out?” Aaron almost feels the sharpness of a slap but he’s quick enough to grab your wrist. “See? proving my point.”

      “How many times do I have to accept you screwing up so I can be seen as mature?” You yank your arm out of his grip and go back to your drink, “Same times as Haley? How many times did she forgive you so you could go around and do it all again?”

      Lower blow.

      Hotch feels it right in his core and he’s angry at you for bringing up but more so angry at himself because you were right. Still, it is anger nonetheless that guides his next actions, quickly and firmly walking up to you, caging you against the table in sudden movements.

      Your breath hitches from the surprise, and your attempt to move is stopped by his roughed hands on your chin, firm but never close to hurting. “I’m not leaving.” You wince, not in fear of him, but of how easy he can make your mind go blank when he’s that close.

      His eyes go from your eyes to your lips, he notices your failed attempt to conceal the way you licked your lips, he glances at your chest, heavy breathing under your thin pajama shirt, nipples hardening against the fabric.

      Damn you for choosing wine.

      Hotch reads your mind almost, but his smirk doesn’t last too long displayed on his lips, your hands pulling him by the neck, a low groan followed by a “Fuck this” leaving your wine tasting lips just mere seconds before gluing to his.

      Eager to get your forgiveness, he is quick to follow your lead, both hands sneaking under your clothes, one down the waistband of your shorts, grabbing hard on the flesh of your ass, the other drawing soft circles on your nipple.

      You melt into the kiss, his lips, his hands, his scent, him. And you have no time to feel bad about it, pulled up to sit on the table, legs around his waist, you can feel how hard he is against your wetness.

      A pained whimper leaves his lips when you use the new position to grind onto him, needing something, anything against your clit at this point.

      Aaron sinks his teeth into your bottom lip to get your full attention, earning a loud moan in response, his hands travel your thighs and you pull his shirt out his pants so you can feel his skin under your fingertips, not bothering to unbutton them and working with what you got under it.

      His lips travel your neck and your collarbone, “I love you, so, so much”. His declaration comes in between kisses and the sucking of your skin, “Please don’t make me leave after this.” It comes in a whisper now, but he doesn’t stop, pushing your shorts down and sliding it down till it drops to the floor with your help.

      “Just shut up and take your pants off.”

      “You know I can only do one of those.” It makes you laugh and you sink your nails to the bit of fat on his side, the tiniest bit of annoyance at how easy he had you in the palm of his hand and how he didn’t even seem to know it truly.

      On the edge of the table sliding his hard cock into your folds was an easy feat, pants, shoes and his boxers long gone, his socks stayed on almost making him lose balance as he feels just how wet you are. He drops his head, forehead on your shoulder

      “Fuck—Oh my god, you are so wet, you’re always so wet for me.” It isn’t arrogant, it’s appreciative almost, you move his head so you can look at him, hot, sweaty already, cheeks so red as his eyes were glassy, the mix of lust and love and regret clear in his dark caramel irises.

      You kiss him once more, sweet, forgiving and he takes this as his sign to continue, pushing you down the table, Hotch holds your thighs for support, plunging his cock into your wet cunt with ease, bottoming out at the first thrust. You enjoyed the stretching pain and you never had the patience to wait.

      Lower lips between your teeth, you slide one of your hands to your clit, two fingers working your arousal, quickly replaced by Aaron’s calloused fingers. You arch your back and moan loudly, “Fuck, yes, and move.”

      It feels like an order and for Hotch it is one, he is delighted to oblige, maintaining the same finger moves on your clit and beginning to fuck your pussy, strong, firm and precise at first.

      “Honey, fuck—Please…” His begging is meant to warn you that if you keep clenching around him he won’t be able to control himself, you almost don’t listen, fingers working on your own nipples enjoying the high he is always able to get you in.

      “Aaron—I’m… Fuck, don’t stop, you’re so good.”

      The praising, the guidance, the reassurance, it makes the moans leaving his lips seem like whining, he enjoys it too much.

      “Yeah? Like this?” The way your hands try to grab him is enough answer to him, along with how tight your pussy is throbbing against him, you’re almost there, he can feel it.

      His movements on your clit get sloppier, the sight and sound of your wetness against his digits making him go insane. Your back arches once more and your whole body begin to squirm, the tight coil in your lower belly finally ripping, “Yes, fuck—“ You’re breathless, weak, but you still have it in you to edge him in, “Aaron, baby, cum for me, please.”

      He would be crazy to do anything but, so quickly you ask him and his hands are hoisting both your legs over his shoulders, getting a new, deeper position, it doesn’t take long for you to feel him filling you up, “I can’t live without you, you’re so, so good for me” His lasts broken words before letting himself go.

      You don’t move and neither does he, his dick softening inside you, his hands caging you in the table and his head dropped to his chest, both just trying to recover.

      “Aaron?”

      “Yes, sweetheart?”

      “You can stay.” He looks at you with nothing but love and happiness and gratitude, “But if you screw up again do not try fucking me into forgiving you, I’ll chop your dick off.”

      “You like it too much to do that.” His grin is sincere, feeling finally free to joke around you, he gets out of you and you whine at the loss. “See?”

      “Bite me.”

      You turn from the scrabble pieces and set your wine glass down, not minding the interruption to the cozy game when his voice sounded like that and his eyes looked at you like you were something so precious you could break. 

      “No, babe, why d’you ask?” 

      “You’re fidgeting like an hyperactive kid who hasn’t been put on Ritalin yet lately.” His explanation catches you off guard in a way that you almost reprehend him saying his name in a high pitched voice and slapping his arm in between laughter. His smirk shows you just how accomplished he feels that he made you laugh like that. 

      Aaron takes both of your hands in his, kissing your knuckles and urging you to talk with him just by the way he looked into your eyes, eagerly waiting for you to vent about what was making you so restless. 

      “I haven’t told them about the engagement yet. I want to have them over for dinner, to share the news but they are so…” You sigh profoundly, looking up to the ceiling trying to finish that though in a way that made sense. “Difficult.” 

      Aaron knows what difficult really means. It means patronizing. It means unsupportive. Unwilling. Unhelpful. It doesn’t mean unloving, but it means old fashioned in a way that it feels unloving. “We could have dinner in a nice restaurant instead, to ease up some of that pressure.” He suggests, always the problem solver. 

      “It would be perfect, handsome, but we did that last time…” Your voice trails off, laying your head on his lap, urging him to gently pass his fingers through your hair by that act alone, cozying up to him in an attempt to ignore the problem at hand. 

      Hotch follows your lead, not forgetting to place a kiss on your forehead, but also, not letting the problem go. “And my dear future mother in law will start dropping hints again that we don’t want them here.” You nod quietly. “Alright. Don’t call. Text her inviting them over with the details. Less talking.” 

      You groan, “She will complain about that too…”

      “Once they’re here.” He kisses your forehead, “So it’s only one,” and your nose, “Night,” your right cheek, “Of,” your left cheek, and you’re already grinning like an idiot, holding in your laughter at his boyishness, “Complaining.” Aaron finishes, brushing his lips against yours. you nod and pull your head up slightly, finally connecting you two in a sweet slow kiss.

      You get your big girl pants on after a delicious making out session with your fiancé, the scrabble pieces long forgotten as you gulp down your whole glass of wine and pick up your phone. His hair is messy, his cheeks are flushed and he grins at you with reassurance pouring from his sweet eyes as you send your mother the text, throwing your phone back to the table before seeing a response and going back straight to his arms.

      He made it easier, always. Helped you sort your feelings out, helped you find out the less stressing way to solve your problems. It was a joy to have him, to watch how he talked to Jack and see how it should be.

      More often than you would like to admit, you caught yourself thinking wow my parents would not let that slide, and then you would be faced with the reality that they were in the wrong, not Aaron.

      You talked to him about it once, asked how could he be so sweet and so effortlessly so to Jack, his answer came quickly, no hesitation: Jack had lost enough, losing his trust on his dad was not something Aaron would let happen, he didn’t want Jack to go through what he had as a child.

      Then it clicked to you once more, how you would never want to treat your hypothetical children like you had been treated too. 

      You try not to think too much about these things too often nowadays, but even as you laid on Aaron’s chest and felt his fingers lightly, softly, trace designs on your skin, now all you could think about was the damned dinner.

      Your mom wasn’t too judgy when it came to what you cooked, your dad was and annoyingly so, always had some remark about what would have made the food better, just like he did to your mother back home. 

      So first thing you did the next morning was think through all dinners and remarks and find something you could do following his tips to lessen the complaining, Aaron’s idea, of course. 

      “He always says my lasagna is delicious but too dry,” You mumble to yourself, but not really, you have your earphones on and Aaron on call, in the office doing reports he was able to entertain you as you picked up ingredients for extra sauce.

      You can hear him smiling, the sound of his aggressive pen on paper stopping for a second, “Even Rossi loves your lasagna, it is delicious. Just give your father a bowl full of sauce, he will be happier.” You snort and he goes back to his papers, satisfied to have made you laugh through the stress.

      Gathering the rest of the ingredients is easy enough, you’re already used to the grocery store’s layout and setup, you keep him on the line either way, a tradition you both kept whenever you were doing monotonous tasks, even when he didn’t speak, listening to his breathing, the shuffling of papers and his pen quickly making work through all his reports made you smile, calmed you down.

      Hotch thought it was silly at first, but quickly warmed up to it when he heard you softly,  secretive so, humming songs to yourself as you worked on your own reports, or went shopping, not to mention how adorable he found you to be when you forgot he was on the line and jumped scared as he spoke something.

      Most of all, he loved being immersed in a paper trail and being surprised by a hey I love you right in his ear as if you were there.

      It pained him to know how much of yourself you tried to mute down to please your parents when he loved every single tiny piece of what made you… You.  

      Hotch excused himself from the call to talk to Rossi just as you were about to go back home, satisfied you convinced him to get Rossi’s sauce recipe. 

      “Hers is great, why does she need mine?” Rossi sound almost exasperated, as if Hotch himself had said something about your cooking. He is quick to reassure that’s not the case and explain how you’re trying to please your father, Dave doesn’t seem that much happier about it, always pleased with the dishes you made for dinner parties at his mansion, but he still takes his phone and sends you a voice note explaining each step of his homemade tomato sauce. “Anything else?”

      “I need a favor as well. I’m gonna need the next weekend off for this.” Hotch begins, he knows Rossi would never mind that, no one would, in fact most people from the Bureau agreed he needed time off. “I know myself enough, I need to be completely off, no calls, no briefings.” He’s learnt his lesson from too many past mistakes, if he knows the case, if he knows the team needs him, he will be putting his job above anything else, Aaron can’t afford to do that anymore, so he prevents it. 

      His left thumb rubs the side of his index finger, his way to calm his racing thoughts, just the possibility of ruining this dinner has him anxious, this little habit of his was something he hadn’t even noticed he did before he met you. It was one of his tells and he never realized before you took his hand in yours and looked sweetly into his eyes saying you’re stimming, what’s wrong? In the softest tone he had ever heard anyone speak to him. 

      You were always quick to notice if anyone around you didn’t feel well, always a caretaker, it was a sight to take in and a pain to prove you so, being seen as selfish your whole life at home. 

      That day he got home late, Jack was doing his homework with your help while you worked on a few things on your laptop—a presentation you needed to finish soon as possible to get the next Friday off. 

      His office had become a shared office with your help, a U shaped desk where both of you could work being one of the first changes you made to it as soon as you moved in, it was perfect and it gave Jack space to sit close to either of you when he needed help.

      The sides faced the walls while and front faced the window where you and Jack sat, focused, it gave Hotch time to lean in the door frame and watch you both.

      “I’m not sure about that one, Jack-Jack…” You stop typing to read the question in his book again, impressed with how little you remember of school math. “If I Google this up, promise not to tell your teacher?” Aaron clears his throat at the question, catching your attention and making you laugh: Caught in the act. 

      “No Google, buddy, sorry.” Jack scrunches his nose at his father’s ruling out, a loud groan coming from his pre teen little voice. 

      “Told ya we should have started this earlierrrr—” You tease the boy, insinuating you two would have been able to find the answer online without his dad knowing then, you ruffle his short hair softly, loving the endearing smile he always gives you when you do that.

      His smile quickly turns into a yawn, the weight of the time stamped on Aaron’s watch getting to Jack’s eyes, “I’m sleepy.” 

      “You can finish tomorrow, let’s get you two to bed, buddy.” 

      Hotch picks Jack up and the young Hotchner is nothing but a ball of giggles, always saying he’s too big for that now, but obviously still loving the attention. 

      “Enjoy while you can, Jack-Jack, your old man is not getting any younger.” 

      “Yeah? I’m carrying your ass to bed soon too, my back can handle you both for years still.” You and Jack both laugh at him. It’s always almost as if a harsh mask melted when he got home, in its place would remain his soft features and the bickering you loved so dearly. 

      It was warm. And kind. Even when he came back home stressed, you never had to worry about accidentally setting him off or saying the wrong thing. It was a completely different dynamic than what you were used to. 

      It takes a few minutes for Hotch to come back, but he comes ready to make true of his promise, hands straight to your waist to carry you, tickling his way into your defenses, he laughs at your laughter and at how easy you melt to his touch. “I’m just finishing this up, babyy—” Your voice is purposefully whiny, pouting at him and getting a kiss in return, “Go eat your dinner while I do it, I heated it up when I got your text!”

      He stops trying to pull you up his shoulder or around his waist then, the look he gives you then reminds you of why you fell for him: Sweet like caramel, always betraying his known frown. 

      Aaron looks at you like every act of kindness you do makes him fall in love again, and it does. He traces your features with his thumb in silence, the mix of his calloused fingers and the softness of his actions makes you sigh, leaning into it.

      “I love you. I love our little family.” He kisses your forehead and leaves you to your presentation before you can even reply, before you can even tell him the two Hotchner boys are the first healthy family you’ve ever been in.

      You don’t even mind your dad complaining about your lasagna having way too much sauce the week after. Aaron eats for the both of them, compliments every single decision you made while cooking.

      The second your mother tells you you’ve been gaining weight, Aaron replies with a simple “If anything, we’re both getting bigger and happier.” A squeeze tight to your knee, stopping you from tearing up at how that was the only thing your mother did notice.

      They seemed happy about the engagement, but not too sure you’ll be able to care for him and his child as they needed to be cared for. You’re forgetful. You’re not maternal. You worry about work too much.

      You’re not even sure how good news could lead to such rambling about your flaws but again, before you can either cry or lose control and yell—Aaron comes in, his soft smile being completely betrayed by his furrowed brows and stern tone. He’s trying to be polite. “We take care of each other well, and together we care for Jack. It works. We work.”

      It’s simple but effective, what he wants is to shield you, to tell them how lucky they are you grew up as kind and hardworking when all they did was bring you down and doubt your feelings and your dreams.

      He wants to show them drawings Jack made of you and essays he wrote about his family. 

      But for now he settles on being polite. There’s still the whole wedding preparation and the actual wedding to go through. He has time to do all that. Right now he just makes sure to show you and them how much he supports you and how nothing they can ever say will change how he sees you. 

      At least he’s glad his mother is dead, one less problematic in law to deal with.