rue

He knows the relationship between him and the rest of his team has become fatherly in some aspects (keyword: some), even silently acknowledging the way they call him and Rossi ‘mom and dad’ behind their backs.

Yet, despite his love and respect for them, he was still a tired father man. A man that gave his team the weekend off so he could go home and sleep for 48 hours straight without the annoying six a.m. alarm that was constantly pending and going off.

But, of course, it seemed that you had others plans for him.

You, who he would normally classify as his sweet, beloved angel of a girlfriend, was secretly the devil reincarnated, someone who patiently waited for him to arrive to your shared apartment in order to attack.

He can sense the tension as soon as he steps inside the living area and sees you waiting for him on the couch, sitting primly with your legs tucked underneath you and facing the door. A sweet smile and seemingly innocent look adorns your face but Aaron knows better, and it doesn’t take a profiler to see the mischief that still sparkles through your facade.

He groans inwardly, not just because of those tactics of yours he’s already used to, no. But because of what you’re wearing. The cherry on top, truly.

A short, pink—and overall skimpy—nightie adorns your figure, the satin fabric shining the slightest bit from the glow of the table lamp from behind you. It ends at your mid-thigh, the lace adorned slit spread open over your skin, leaving little to the imagination. He can tell it’s new, a piece he hasn’t seen before—a piece he’s certain you bought with his credit card.

You look sweet, so sweet, but Aaron knows what you truly are.

A horny, insatiable beast.

Out of all the things Aaron has ever wondered in his life, he couldn’t help but be at a loss at how you’ve managed to conceal such ravenous desires with specious normalcy. He knew that hypersexuality and eagerness was a prone factor of yours, given the significant age gap between you two.

The insecurity prods at him now and then, the one that makes him think he’s far too old for a girl like you. But while he still considered himself to have a somewhat normal, healthy libido for his age, yours was over the roof—completely skyrocketed over what Aaron thought was the normal amount for a woman your age.

He doesn’t know how you do it, how you’re always ready to pounce on him at—quite literally—all times.

There’s been times where he’s been woken up with your mouth wrapped around his dick and your head bobbing up and down underneath the blanket, times where little to hardly no work gets done when he’s working from home because he just ‘looked so hot concentrated,’ times where his alarm goes off early in the morning and you call him back to bed with just a spread of your legs.

He swears he’s going to get a heart attack because of you one of these days.

The sound of you shuffling around the couch snaps him back to reality, swallowing harshly when you move to lean over the backrest of the couch. Your breasts push against the cushions, accentuating them further than the nightie allows.

“Welcome home, my love.”

He’s faced far worse monsters than a horny twenty-something-year-old, but he can’t help but look away in mortification as the exhaustion he was previously feeling begins to get replaced by his trousers tightening around him.

Your giggle snaps him out of his trance and he clenches and unclenches his fist, setting his suitcase down by the door. “Hi, sweetheart.”

You grin brightly, eyes twinkling in the low light of the apartment as you tap the seat next to you. Like a predator masking kindness and genuineness in order to get closer to their prey before they attack.

“How was work?” You ask, eyes following his every move as he cautiously makes his way over to you. You shift your body so that you’re facing him once he sits down, the top of your exposed knees brushing against the side of his thigh.

Aaron’s breath hitches. This was all part of your routine, your plan. He knows that you actually do care about how his days go, but right now, by that look in your eyes, he can tell you’re attempting to lure him in just like a siren does with a sailor.

If any of his team members were here right now they’d be snickering at how Aaron Hotchner, their seemingly stoic and intimidating boss, was turning weak in the knees for his horny girlfriend. He swallows the lump in his throat before answering, “It was good. Just a paperwork kind of day.”

You hum, nibbling at your bottom lip and leaning forward, one hand coming to rest on his pantsuit clad thigh. “I missed you today.”

It’s a ruse, Aaron says to himself. It’s all a ruse. The way you flutter your eyelashes at him and creep your hand further up. He knows it, he knows all of your little tricks.

Yet he still has to push you away. He never does.

“I missed you, too, sweet girl.” His heart flutters at the way you bite your bottom lip and smile, another endearing giggle echoing through the room before you finally move onto his lap.

Like a siren with a sailor.

You wrap your arms around his neck, practically shoving your boobs in his face as you settle yourself on either side of his thighs. Aaron groans when you plant yourself right on top of his growing bulge, throwing his head back as you begin to pepper needy, heated kisses all over his face.

His hands come to grip at your waist, hissing when you bite and suck at the sensitive skin on his neck. “Sweetheart—” he tries to usher you, to get you to slow down, but he’s cut off by you grinding down on his clothed dick, eliciting a moan from both of you.

“Missed you so much,” you repeat, voice coming out in a whine like you’ve been starved of his attention for months.

God, Aaron swears he can feel his body go into overdrive in order to attempt to keep up with you. Your lips continue to kiss at his neck while your hands eagerly work to undo his belt, messily pulling and tugging.

He hisses quietly when you reach inside his boxers to spring his cock free of its restraints, the bulge slapping against his tummy while the angry red tip leaks of precome.

“Y/N, honey,” he tries again, trying to regain control of the situation, as if he had ever had any of it to begin with. Another groan is pulled from the back of his throat when you wrap a perfectly manicured hand—a manicure he paid for, of course—around his length, interrupting his attempt to snap you out of your lust-filled haze.

You hum in satisfaction at the sight of him, moving your hand up and down, tugging at the base of his cock and running your thumb over the slit. “So big,” you whimper, nibbling at your bottom lip. “Missed your cock, Aaron. Always miss you.”

Aaron digs his nails into the fabric of the nightie, throwing his head against the cushions when you spit onto your hand and use it as lube to quicken your pace.

Maybe you were secretly a succubus, one that feigned purity and serenity to fool and lure in her victims before showing her true form. One that maxes out all of her victim’s credit cards to buy skimpy outfits and pay for all her things.

But who was he to deny you anything? Aaron never thought he would be able to handle all of this—all of you, even without the constant horniness— but here he was, fighting for his life while you lifted your hips and sunk down on his cock.

Aaron groaned again, the sound loud and guttural as it mixed in with your own cry of pleasure. Your walls clenched, wrapping around him like a vice who never wanted to let go.

“Go on, sweetheart,” he mumbles, his grip on your waist loosening and his hands skirting down your back to slip underneath the hem of your nightie, delivering a particularly harsh slap against your ass that makes you whine. “Take what you so desperately want all the time.”

He chuckles at the sight of your cheeks turning pink, your desperation overpowering your slight embarrassment as you begin to move your hips.

“Aaron,” you cry out, bottom lip jutting out and eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“What? Does that feel good?” He taunts, one hand slipping around your waist, keeping you close while the other leans against the backrest of the couch.

You nod, a fucked-out expression already taking its place on your face. “S-So good, I l-love it.”

“Yeah? You love it?” He coos when you nod again. “Dirty girl, always so needy and ready for me. You have no shame, do you, sweetheart?”

“Uh-uh,” you mumble, “Need you all the time.” The straps from your nightie slip down your shoulder as you lean backwards, resting your palms against his knees behind you before quickening your pace and bouncing needily.

“Shit, honey,” Aaron murmurs, taking in the sight of you before him. Your tits jiggled in his face, threatening to jump out of the fabric covering them, and your head was thrown back in utter pleasure while you rolled your hips. Some of the sweetest sounds Aaron had ever heard in his life were leaving your mouth, a mix of babbled words and moans.

“‘Mma, I’m g-gonna cum, ba-baby,” You whisper, too blissed out to form proper words. “I’m gonna—fuck—gonna c-cum, Aaron.”

Aaron could practically feel how close you were, your walls clenching and unclenching around him repeatedly as you pushed through the pain shooting up your thighs and continued bouncing on his cock.

“You’re going to be the death of me, sweet girl,” he mutters, stopping your irregular movements before pulling you into his chest and taking over for you.

A loud, practically pornographic moan echoed through the apartment as he began thrusting up into you, settling himself further down the couch for a better angle. The only sounds that could be heard were his low grunts and your high-pitched moans along with the sound of skin slapping against skin mixing in with the squelching sound of your pussy.

Repeated strings of ‘yes, yes, yes’ left your mouth, teeth digging into your bottom lip harshly and toes curling as you felt your orgasm approach you violently. You shook in his hold, adding to his thrusts by bouncing up and down again as best as you could.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Aaron whispers into your ear, tightening his hold on you. “Come on my cock, you wanted it so bad, right?”

You nod dumbly, eyes shut and face contorted into pure, utter bliss. You quiver when another slap is delivered to your ass, and it doesn’t take long for you to finish right then and there. You squeal in his arms, body stuttering and shaking as your orgasms rips through your body and invades all your senses.

Aaron presses a chaste kiss to your cheeks, not letting go of his hold on you as he continues thrusting up inside your gushing cunt, his own movements becoming sloppy as he feels his own high approach.

“Aaron,” you sigh, “Come in m-me. P-Please, fill me up,” you throw your head back, “Want it so bad.”

All it takes are those words for him to unload inside you, another groan escaping as white, hot ribbons of his come spurt deep inside you, mixing in with your own release.

You both lay still there, his cock still inside you as you attempt to regain your breath. After a while, you giggle breathily, coming up to wrap your hands around his neck and lay your head on his shoulder tiredly.

“What a shame you have to go back to work tomorrow,” you say, the pout on your lips evident despite Aaron not being able to see you properly.

This next part he knows he shouldn’t say, but he can’t help himself.

“I, uh, gave the team the rest of the weekend off.” He feels you freeze in his arms. “I’ll be home, honey.”

You sit back up, your eyes holding that hunger again as you stare up at him and tilt your head to the side coyly. “Really?”

He nods, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

You giggle again. “Well, looks like we’ll have a lot of time to ourselves then, no?”

Aaron groans when he feels you begin to clench around him again.

When he goes back to work the next Monday, he’s approached by a confused looking Rossi, the older man’s brows furrowed as he takes in his appearance.

“You look more tired than before?” He says, the observation coming out as a question.

Aaron sighed.

You’ve just picked a movie to not-watch on the hotel TV when Aaron gets a call. It’s Penelope. 

Your heart sinks. 

As Aaron picks up the phone, you rest your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes against the wretched information that’s probably on its way to your proverbial desk. 

“Garcia, what -... The system is closed now, yes?... This isn’t your fault. Not at all…Have you called the rest of the team?... No?”

This is not good. 

“Okay I’ll take care of -... Yes, thank you.” 

He hangs up. 

“The Replicator is in New York. He hacked into Garcia’s system and has photos of us from this case.” 

A bolt of panic runs through you. “But we have Jack…” 

He shakes his head, already holding his phone to his ear again. “Hey, Beth. I’m so sorry it’s so late. I have a favor to ask.” 

You can’t help it. You push through the double doors to the living area of your suite. Jack is accounted for, sleeping soundly on the pullout couch. You kneel and let your shaking hand fall onto his head. 

Safe. 

+++

Jack (and his brand-new security detail) land at Beth’s apartment without much fuss. He’s still practically asleep, and it’s your only option right now. Aaron’s down with the car and the agents, doling out assignments and keeping the engine warm. 

“Thank you, Beth.” You turn the light off in her office, where Jack is set up. “I’m so sorry for the imposition.” 

“No! No, not at all,” she says. “I get it - bad guys ruining your vacation and whatever.” She pauses and takes a breath. “I’ve got him.” 

“His aunt will be here first thing in the morning to pick him up.” You text her a photo of Jessica, just in case. “Thank you again. Sorry about the random guys in your house.” You shoot a rueful smile at one of the US Marshals - Keith, you think, and he nods at you. 

“Not a problem,” Beth says. “You guys be safe out there, okay?” 

+++

The car ride to the federal building is quiet, save for the sound of Aaron’s fingers tapping against the steering wheel. Your mind is running in circles, screaming at you to call Beth one more time, to turn the car around and check. Jack is fine. He’s safe. You know that. But knowing and believing are two different things.

You exhale through your nose, forcing your grip to relax on your knee as Spencer and Dave slide into the backseat. It’s a bit of a blur - your mind is going a thousand different directions, not to mention fighting the urge to take everyone you’ve ever loved and throw them in a bunker. 

Dave hangs up the phone. “Strauss isn’t answering.” 

“Keep trying,” Aaron tells him. “Reid, any luck with Blake?” 

“Not yet.”

“There are more pictures of you taken outside of Beth's apartment,” Dave says, waving around a new missive from Penelope. “I get it if you want to stay with Jack until we find him.”

Aaron shakes his head. “I've got agents surrounding Beth's building and stationed in the apartment. She and Jack are safer without us since we're the targets.” 

You take the tablet from Dave. Yes, there are ones from Beth’s apartment, but those scare you less than one of you and Jack from the baseball game. He’s sitting on your shoulders, arms raised in triumph as you smile at someone out of frame. A bolt of adrenaline rushes through you. PTSD is a hell of a drug. Your therapist will need a raise this week. 

“Blake,” Reid says, and your heart lightens a little. At least she’s able to answer her phone. “We'll pick you up in a few minutes. The Replicator's back.” 

+++

The four of you eventually make it back to the hotel. It’s a miracle Aaron managed to weave in and out of the New York traffic like he did - any layperson would see a gridlock, but somehow he always finds a route. 

You settle in the lobby as JJ and Derek arrive. Dave heads upstairs to find Strauss. It feels a little chaotic, but everyone seems to be in one piece so far. Every little bit of your resiliency training is doing heavy lifting, keeping you upright and functional. 

Aaron, standing beside you and working with the other agents as they arrive, gets a phone call. 

“Yeah, Dave….We’ll be right up.” He hangs up and gestures to you and Spencer. 

The two of you follow him into the elevator without a word, finally reaching Erin’s room. 

The room is trashed, plastic bottles from the minibar scattered all over the floor, bed unmade, chairs overturned… 

“The window's open,” Dave says. ”She'd never sleep like that.” 

“Did something happen to make her drink again?” Aaron asks, his tone absent of judgement. He’s fallen completely into fact-finding mode, probably hoping to God this isn’t a repeat of last time. 

“No! She was working real hard at –” Something catches his eye on the table. He holds it up for you to see. It’s a red and gold coin with 12 embossed on one side. “This represents a year sober. She hasn't let go of it since she got it. She's even a sponsor now.” He pauses. “The Replicator has her. I'll check the roof.” 

Aaron nods. “I'll have Morgan meet you up there.” You and Spencer get out of the way, just in time to bump into Derek, JJ, and Blake in the hallway. 

“Strauss is missing.” Aaron looks to each one of you, confirming your assignments. “Blake, you and Reid talk to hotel security. We need access points and footage from every camera. Morgan, back up Dave on the roof. JJ, take the west staircase, I'll take the east.” He looks to you last. “Go with JJ.” 

You nod once. It’s almost strange that he doesn’t want you at his back, but you figure he can take care of himself. 

The west staircase is completely clear—no sign of anything.

“What do you think, Jayje?” 

She takes a breath. “The roof?” 

You get a call. “Dave? Do you need backup?”

“No. Hotch found Erin. I just called for an ambulance but…” 

“Dave. They’re on their way. Do we have anything for an APB?” 

“Not yet.” 

+++

You reach Aaron and Strauss at a dead sprint, but it’s too late. 

She’s gone. 

Your eyes sting with tears as you take in the scene before you. Aaron has Strauss wrapped tightly in his arms, holding her lifeless body close to him, almost cradling her. He looks at Dave, mournful and gutted. He turns, resting his head on Erin’s, bringing her closer. 

She didn’t die alone. That in itself is a small comfort. 

Your mind takes you, against your will, to a flash of Aaron holding Haley’s body. You shudder and shake it off. Now is not the time. 

Dave looks shellshocked, and you can’t blame him.

That’s three. 

Aaron, Spencer, Dave. 

Your heart breaks. You’re certain it’s audible.

The ambulance arrives, followed by the crime scene techs, but it feels like you’re rooted in place. Aaron doesn’t move, staring into space, his thumb worrying the knuckle on his middle finger. You’ve seen that look before—when he was barely standing after losing Haley.

The EMTs check him over but it’s clear he’s unharmed. You crouch beside him, placing a hand on his knee. 

“Are you okay?” 

It’s a stupid question. Of course, he’s not okay. His mind probably went to the same place yours did. 

You’re proud of him when he shakes his head. “No, but we have to keep moving.” He puts a hand over yours. It’s cold. He stands, dropping your hand. “I have a couple of calls to make. See what you can do.” 

You squeeze his arm once and let go as he rises, stepping away from you. 

JJ returns from her canvas and you join the huddle. She’s already talking, briefing Alex, Spencer and Derek. “We've got an APB, but the description of the Replicator is too general.”

“He wiped out all of the hotel security cameras,” Reid adds. “ATM and traffic cameras were compromised also. Which means he hacked into at least two dozen systems.” 

Dave stands away from you all, turning the coin in his hand, staring at it. 

“Well, he got into Garcia's place, which means he can get in anywhere.” Derek is thoughtful, still. “This guy's bragging.”

You nod once. “He also wants us to know he can take massive risks and still get away with it. It's probably why he took Strauss into a crowd of people.” 

“That and to humiliate her publicly,” JJ says. 

Your eyes stray to Dave, who still stands vigil by Erin’s sheet-covered body. 

Alex doesn’t look convinced. “But he called Hotch from her phone. It was important to him that we find her alive.” 

You have a weird gut feeling about the phone call coming to Aaron, almost like it’s another targeted mind game. It’s eerily similar. You shake it off. 

He can’t know about the Foyet case. It’s not public. And it’s classified.

Aaron returns. “The Director wants this contained and solved.” 

“Well, at least he's not taking us off the case,” Derek says. 

“He's given us 24 hours and then he will.” He effectively dismisses the five of you, turning to Dave. You stay close. 

“I’m taking her back to Bethesda,” Dave says. “She never liked this city, Aaron. I’m not about to leave her.” 

+++

With a plan in place, the rest of the team heads for the jet. You stand in the hangar for a moment, solidifying everything with Jess over the phone before you board and take off. 

“You’re sure you can come get him?” You ask. Even with a team of marshals at Beth’s apartment, something in you is activated by leaving Jack alone in New York. 

We’re the targets. He’s safer without us. 

It goes against every instinct you have, but you know it’s true. 

“Of course,” Jess replies. “I’d come up tonight if there were any trains running.” 

“There will be a car for you when you get here and the detail will take you home. I’ll send you pictures of the agents.”

“Is it that bad?”

You sigh. “It could be. We’re headed back on the jet now.” 

“Fly safe,” she says. You’re proud of her for trying to hide the waver in her voice. 

You catch Aaron’s eye as he joins Dave by Erin’s casket. His hand, in his pocket, peeks out and beckons you over. You stay a little ways away, but you can hear them. 

“Is Jack staying here?” Dave asks. 

“Just overnight. Jess is coming to get him in the morning and I have the marshals at Beth’s apartment.” He pauses, looking briefly back at you before turning back. “I think it’s a good idea.”

Dave looks at you, standing sentinel by the wing of the plane, then back at Aaron. “You’re lucky to have each other.”

“I know.” Aaron is almost inaudible from here. Your heart pulls. 

“Her children want to meet me at Bethesda.”

“How old are they now?” 

“Too young for this.” He wipes his eyes and fixes them on the casket. He’s not really looking at it, more through it. 

Aaron is the man he is at home, with you, standing beside one of his oldest friends. You know this is something he never wants anyone to understand - the pain of losing your other half, the piercing and unique mark it leaves on the soul. “Are you alright?”

Your gaze drops to the ground. It feels wrong to stay where you can hear, but something compels Aaron to draw you closer.

“She smells of booze, Aaron.” He lifts his head, meeting Aaron’s eyes. “You and I know it’s because that bastard took away her dignity, but her children might not believe that. It’s hard for them to trust anything to do with her drinking.” They both look at the casket, where Erin rests. “She struggled with it all her life. She was finally beating it.” 

Dave tosses Erin’s sobriety coin, letting it spin before catching it again. 

Aaron reaches out and lays his hand on Dave’s shoulder. It looks almost like a benediction, something more than comfort, more than simple connection. It’s all at once a prayer and an assertion that yes, indeed, you are here with him and for him. 

+++

“He knew about Foyet,” Aaron says, quiet under the roar of the plane. The pair of you sit on the couch, with you lounging against the wall, Aaron’s head in your lap. You’re half asleep, your fingers combing through his hair. 

You startle and he sits up. You bow toward him, your hand reaching out for his shoulder. “What?”

“He - he taunted me. He asked me if it reminded me of the call with - with Haley.” His eyes are downcast, his expression grim. “How I wasn’t fast enough. That I didn’t make it in time.”

You didn’t want to be right about the feeling you had earlier. It makes your stomach roll with nausea. That aside, you have a new insight for your profile. 

It takes a unique kind of psychopathy to go out of your way to seek out, target, and torture the subject of your fixation with their own PTSD triggers. To isolate Aaron’s fears and execute a reenactment of the worst day of his life takes planning, insight, and -

Shit. 

Knowledge. 

The archived Foyet case is heavily redacted—even for those who can find the sole remaining paper copy—but the original, unredacted report was released to a select few. To your knowledge, it was placed under a Top Secret/Polygraph access threshold before going to the oversight committee on the Hill. 

Very few people, indeed. A sinking, horrifying feeling drops into your gut. 

“Bastard.” It's an understatement. Your voice is low and a little broken. You wrap your arms around Aaron as he ducks into you, his head under your chin, taking refuge in your body. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

“Me too.”

+++

While some of you get some sleep on the plane, you’re all amped when you land at Quantico. 

“He mentioned Foyet to me on the phone,” Aaron says to the team, silent in the elevator. His hand is tight around yours and he keeps it as you all step off and into the BAU bullpen. 

JJ balks. “He knew about Foyet?” 

“Who's that?” Blake asks. 

“He's the man who killed my wife,” he replies frankly and without hesitation, squeezing your hand. Your heart pulls, even as you notice the strange sort of confusion on Alex’s face as she looks at you. 

You look back at her, clarifying, “That's a classified case that's not in any database.” You know that’s not the question she didn’t ask, but it’s the one you can answer right now.

“Then how would he know about it?” She asks.

“If he had access to the file,” Reid says. “We're talking about someone on the inside.”

That’s unfortunately the conclusion you came to as well. He could be anywhere. 

Aaron breaks away from you and heads to his office. “Conference room in five.”

Alex steps up next to you as you stop at your desk. “If you don’t mind me asking…” 

You look up at her. “Not at all.” You take a breath and pick up one of the photo frames on your desk, handing it to Alex. Haley smiles up at her. “Aaron’s wife Haley was murdered in 2008 by a serial killer the BAU had been hunting since the 90s. He played us, hard, and we got hurt.” You look up at Aaron’s office. “Hotch and I—we, um—” 

“No need to put it into words if you can’t find them.” Blake says, placing the frame back in its home next to your monitor. 

Spoken like a true linguist. 

You let out a halfhearted chuckle. “Thanks. Ready to go?” 

Blake nods and follows you to the conference room. You take a seat even though you feel restless. Aaron joins you only moments later. 

He stands behind you, placing his hands on the back of your chair, his fingers brushing your shoulders. “Garcia, is this everything?” 

You feel a little left out. Everyone’s standing.

“Yeah,” Penelope replies. “The Replicator stuff is here, and the team stuff is there and there.” She turns to Derek, who has crossed to the board, looking over the photos. “How's Rossi?” 

“Not good,” he answers, low and rough.   

“Is he with Strauss?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Okay.” She focuses back in, messing with her tablet and the monitor. “Uh - uh, I started with the question you asked - why attack Strauss, and on this day?”

You shrug. ”The most obvious answer is that it's an anniversary of some sort.” 

Penelope counters, “But there's nothing historically relevant.” You know she checked already and you’re so thankful she’s on your side. 

“It could be the smallest thing.” Spencer says, “Concentrate on New York. If the date's that important, the setting could be, too.”

JJ’s running through the givens in her head, thinking about what you already know and what you have left to consider. “It would be easier to attack Strauss at home. Is there a reason why he waited for her to be out?”

“Well,” Derek says, turning back toward the board, “considering she's hardly ever in the field, he sure got a lot of photos of Strauss.”

“It's like he's obsessed with her.” You pause, considering. “Maybe Strauss was always his first target. He attacked the top of the BAU chain first.”

Aaron’s directions come from over your head, his hands still firmly planted on the back of your chair. “Alright, Reid, you've matched up all the murder locations with the dates. Now we need to know how long it would take to drive to each of these locations, assuming a home base in the district.“ He pauses, casting his gaze on the rest of you. “He brought the fight here for a reason.”

”Well,” Derek says, “it's nearly impossible to figure out when he arrived and departed New York, but we should try.” 

Penelope gathers her tablet, “I'll collect all the public and private transport stuff.” 

Aaron stops her on her way out, meeting her eyes with a grave and gentle kind of severity. “Garcia, I need Kevin to go through every single pixel of these photographs. This unsub gets off on taunting us. He's given us answers here. We just haven't found them yet.”

Penelope has only seen that look once or twice. She nods and gets to work. Everyone else peels off, but stays close. 

You’re finally left alone with Aaron in the round table room, but he’s already got his phone to his ear, running along some train of thought he hasn’t bothered to articulate to you yet. He must have called Penelope only moments after she left, adding to her plate. “Garcia, before you and Lynch get started on the photos, pull the original cases for me before the system goes completely offline. I’d like to review them.” He hangs up. 

“Let me run to the basement really quick.” You rise from your chair, closing your tablet and tucking it under your arm. You talk fast, not looking up at Aaron as you consolidate your printed information to drop at your desk. “There might be hard copies down there, Jamie in archives works fast, and with the system down, we -” You turn to leave, but suddenly—fingers close firmly around your wrist. Not hard. Just certain. You whip around, startled to find a wild sort of look in Aaron’s eyes.

"‘No.’ His voice is quiet, but the weight behind it stops you cold.

Your pulse jumps. Aaron never stops you. Never holds you back. Not unless—"

"Aaron?” You take a step toward him, lacing your fingers with his, trying to ground him. “Talk to me.”

He swallows, his jaw flexing. “I need you to stay with me or Morgan until this man is in custody. Do you understand?”

Oh.

Oh. 

Your stomach drops. “What exactly did the Replicator say to you on the phone?” You don’t mean to make him relive it, but this guy is in Aaron’s head, big time. 

“He mentioned you by name, said it would be a ‘real shame’ if this job cost me someone else.” 

You squeeze his hand. 

He continues. “Erin said that the Replicator told her to tell me ‘I’ll race you home’ and she asked me if that meant anything to me.”

“Aaron…” 

“Please do not leave my sight.” He blinks rapidly a couple of times and you know he’s trying desperately to keep it together. “Please. It’s hard enough with Jack -“ He cuts himself off in an attempt to maintain what fortitude he has left. “If he’s an agent, and he’s finding ways to get to us, one by one, I can’t give him the opportunity to…” 

“I know.” You nod. It’s devastating to see him beg, to plead with you like this when he doesn’t have to. “I know.”

He pulls you close and fervently kisses your forehead before wrapping his arms around you. You let yourself fall into him, gripping the back of his shirt. It almost feels like he’s fighting to get you as close as possible. You can feel him looking behind you, out the window, likely studying every single person in or out of the bullpen. 

+++

Once Spencer has a preliminary timeline for the Replicator’s travel, Aaron calls them all back into the round table room. You remain standing this time, across from Aaron, over JJ’s shoulder. Before any of you can provide an update, Aaron’s phone rings. 

“Hotchner…” He pulls his phone from his ear, putting it on speaker and laying it on the table. “Dave, a figure eight?” 

“That's what it looks like. I just sent you all a picture.”

You squint at the picture, zooming in. 

“Maybe it's an infinity symbol,” JJ says. 

Alex sounds skeptical. “Well, if it's infinity, he could be boasting ‘I'll go on forever’?”

You purse your lips, thinking and turning the photo to the side. “Or if it's an eight, Strauss was his eighth victim.”

“There are eight of us,” JJ says. “Strauss could be considered the ninth, or alternatively, the odd man out.”

“If this is a taunt from him,” Aaron says, “it's too random.” 

He would have authority on that, being the last person the Replicator taunted with alarming specificity.  

Derek looks up, gesturing to the case files and his tablet. “Well, he's only sent one message and he seems to be real proud of it.”

“Zugzwang,” Spencer confirms. 

“Then what does this mean?” JJ asks, flatly. It’s almost rhetorical. She casts her voice to the phone on the table. “Rossi, the cut looks jagged. Any idea, what caused the serration?”

“Best guess is a piece of glass,” he replies.

Derek’s brow furrows. “Maybe he used empty bottles from the mini bar?”

“Those were all plastic. The M.E. is checking for splinters now.”

“Alright, let us know what you find out.” Aaron hangs up, looking at Penelope. “Anything from the photographs yet?”

“We blew up a few more and this one seems to stand out,” Derek says, pushing a photo of himself at some kind of formal event, behind a podium, into the middle of the table. 

"Since when do you wear tuxedos?" you ask, lifting the photo for a closer look.

“It was a British embassy event in London. Security clearance is high.”

“Security was insane there,” Penelope confirms. “That kind of accessibility, plus knowing about Foyet, the fact that he was able to get through all of my security clearances alone, you guys are right. You have to trust your gut. The Replicator has gotta be on the inside.”

+++

“If the Replicator's an insider, is there any way Strauss knew him?” you ask, stirring a little sugar into your coffee. 

“She said she didn't recognize him,” Aaron says. He crosses his arms, his back to the bullpen as you all sit at the table in the kitchen. A change of scenery was necessary after about three hours of deliberation. 

“To her defense,” you add, challenging him a little. It is your job, after all. “She was disoriented by the drug overdose.” 

He shakes his head. “No, she was adamant about it.” 

Alright. That holds water. 

JJ sits beside Derek with her own cup of coffee as he begins to speak. “Well, even if Strauss didn't know him, it doesn't mean he didn't know her.”

“Within the Bureau, she is the face of the BAU,” Alex says. 

JJ nods. “And clearly a target from the beginning.”

“But why?” Spencer asks. He continues. “More importantly, what was he replicating?”

“The drug overdose?” You tell him, like it’s obvious.

Spencer shakes his head, “I mean with the eight. It hasn't been part of any other case, and he's not one to make mistakes. He thought he was replicating a crime.”

Now, that gets Aaron thinking. You watch his eyes narrow as the wheels turn in his head. “The Director made us walk away from the case a few months ago. Strauss said that she wouldn't let it go.” He looks at you. “What if she hadn't?”

You raise your eyebrows. “You think she started her own investigation?”

“Well, if she thought he was an insider, she might have done something to trap him.”

“Why wouldn't she have told you about that back in New York?” Derek asks. 

“Maybe she didn’t have proof,” Aaron says, meeting each of the team’s eyes in turn.

There’s that lawyer again. 

“But her determination, plus the fact that he doesn't make mistakes makes me think that the eight was part of her plan to catch him.” 

You look around as Aaron speaks, finding thoughtful faces and more than a few nods. Aaron sets you on course, now that you’re all on the same page. 

“Do we have her laptop?”

“I got it. It’s in her office.” You jump up, but Derek joins you like a well-trained shadow. 

If the FBI doesn’t work out, he’d make a helluva bouncer. 

He follows you to the eighth floor, where you lead him into Strauss’s office. You’re sure it’s the first time you’ve entered this room without hesitation or anxiety. 

Her laptop sits on her desk, pristine. You grab it, tucking it under your arm, and face Derek. 

“Did Aaron tell-slash-order you to stay with me?” You ask. You don’t mind (mostly), but if they’re talking about you behind your back, no matter the reason, you’d like to be informed. 

“No,” Derek replies simply. “I just can’t imagine he’s gonna be comfortable with the team being targeted like this. Especially with that phone call and Strauss lying dead on a slab downstairs.” He pauses. “And I wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye ever again if something happened to you where I could stop it.” 

+++

You half-jog behind Aaron, walking purposefully down the hall to Penelope’s dungeon. As promised, you're staying within his sight as much as is reasonable. 

“This is Strauss' laptop,” he informs both Penelope and Kevin as he opens the door. They both look up from their monitors. “I need to access who was on the distribution list for my case reports.” 

“You don't know who reads your reports?” Penelope asks, a frown on her face.

“I know she sent them to the head of the criminal division and the Director, but I don't know who else is on the list.” 

Kevin types for a moment and spins the laptop toward you and Aaron. “The last case she sent in was the case in Detroit.” 

“The Cutter,” you remind him needlessly. 

His brows pull together, low across his eyes. “She amended the report and said that the unsub cut a figure eight into his victims' wrists.”

Bingo. 

“But he didn't do that,” Penelope says. 

Aaron glances up at her. “No, he didn't. “

“So, she duped him,” you say, trying to keep your eagerness to a minimum. 

Penelope picks up right where you left off. “Which means that one of the people reading these reports has gotta be the Replicator.”

Aaron turns the laptop toward Kevin “It doesn't show who else saw this.” 

Kevin pulls the laptop closer and you circle him, only crowding him a little. “Two other people read the report,” he says, showing you. Your expression turns sour.

“Who?” Aaron asks, looking at you. 

You sigh. “You’re going to need a tie.” 

+++

Derek drives you home for a change of clothes and one of Aaron’s suits, your marshal detail following you. He stands by the front door, rigid and watchful. 

“Black, blue, or brown?” You call. It’s irrelevant, but focusing on something trivial suppresses the stress bubbling in the center of your consciousness. 

You hear Derek’s steps on the carpet and he appears in the doorway. “It’s the Hill, so I would say black blends in best.” 

“Blue, it is.” You select your favorite - the navy suit with pinstripes he wore to Berry Hill, a solid baby blue button down, adding navy socks for good measure. As for ties, you pick a blue-gray one that always reminds you a little of scales.

Scales for the snake pit. 

His suit laying over your arm, you shove his clothes to the side, stirring a breeze and getting a noseful of Aaron that makes you smile. You grab something for the office and tactical blacks, just in case you need to get on the road. On your way out, you snag a garment bag off the closet door, hanging the suit inside it. 

You smooth down the garment bag when you’re done, turning to find Derek watching you with a funny little look on his face. 

“What?” 

“You’ve settled in nicely.” 

You roll your eyes. “Derek, it’s been a year and a half.” 

“No, I know. You just seem…” He searches for the word. “At home, here.” 

“It is my home,” you tell him flatly, passing him in the hallway. 

Derek scoffs. “You know what I mean.” 

You can give him that one. “I do know what you mean.” You almost speak your thoughts aloud, but you refrain. “What I was thinking will make you gag, so I’ll spare you.”

He leans on the hallway arch. “No, c’mon, what is it?”

"It’s easy to feel at home because… well, he is my home."

Derek groans dramatically. “Yeah, okay, I regret asking.”

+++

It seems everything about this case is triggering in one way or another. As you step into Aaron’s office, your refreshed go bag in one hand and a garment bag hanging over your other arm, you’re starkly reminded of the late nights in this very room when Aaron would sit behind his desk for hours, poring over the Foyet case.

You only realize you’ve frozen when Aaron steps up behind you, taking your bag from your hand and placing it by the door. You startle and he immediately apologizes, placing a hand on your waist as he passes you. 

“You okay sleeping in Derek’s office tonight?”

You nod, hanging the garment bag on the little hook behind the door. “Yeah. You need to be rested for your visit to the capitol tomorrow. I’m not about to take your couch.”

“I hate the thought of you sleeping in an armchair,” he says, drawing you close and resting his hands on your lower back. 

You shake your head, bringing your hands to his chest. This green really is a gorgeous color on him - it’s a shame you couldn’t enjoy it. “Not the first time, certainly not the last time,” you remind him with a half-smile. 

He sighs. “I would send you home, but -”

…And there’s the Elle trauma. Put that on the list. 

“I know. He’s a wildcard. Even an insider can’t access Derek’s locked office.” And Derek always locks his office. “And going home is a risk, especially with Jess and Jack coming back in the morning.”

He only addresses the first part of your comment. You suspect he’s compartmentalizing, keeping even his thoughts far from Jack to avoid crumbling from the stress. “I had bomb squad and hazmat clear Morgan’s office when we got back.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Overkill, much?” 

He shakes his head. “Never.” 

+++

The following morning, you sit on your desk in a loose circle with Blake, JJ, Spencer, and Derek. Blake sits in her chair, JJ in hers. Spencer stands, catching thought-volleys from the middle, and Derek mirrors you, sitting on JJ’s desk. You’ve been going through everything together. 

This is your favorite way to profile, a classic, Socratic circle where you all bounce off of each other, fusing ideas and finding new insights one brain would have missed. 

Your phone buzzes. It’s Aaron. 

10:56am Fax machine. 

You stand and hop over to the ancient fax machine in the corner, standing by as the lists come through. 

“What’s goin’ on?” Derek asks. 

You hold up one of the pages as it comes through. “Looks like Hotch’s visit to the Hill was successful this morning. We have a list.” 

You gather the pages and make copies, handing them out. When you’re done, you pull your phone. 

11:14am Thank you <3 Printed and distro’d.

He replies almost immediately. 

11:14am <3s are unprofessional. 11:14am See me later.

You suppress a smile and return to your seat. 

“At least this narrows it down,” Alex says. “Finding someone on the inside should be easier. 

“Not necessarily,” Spencer replies. “If our unsub was trained by law enforcement, he'd know how to fit in perfectly.”

Your turn. “There's meaning and purpose to everything he does.”

“Why did he choose to replicate the Silencer case?” Derek asks, looking at you. 

JJ answers instead. “Well, that unsub went dormant for years 'cause he was locked up. Is that a clue about the Replicator?”

“Well, it speaks to his patience,” Derek says. What about his M.O.? He sewed mouths shut.”

“It symbolizes keeping secrets,” Alex muses. “There could be something in that.”

Spencer squints. “He's targeting everyone. So how does that particular case factor into all of us?”

“It's the first one Garcia and I worked on with Blake,” Derek offers. 

You make a skeptical kind of noise. “Yeah, but the rest of us worked on the Seattle case before that. The unsub who used his kid to bait the victims.”

Spencer looks back at Blake. “We need to see if he replicated that one.” 

“I’ll go see Garcia,” Derek says.

+++

Derek gets the reports from the replicated Seattle case and Blake gets up to copy them, feeling restless. 

You roll your phone over in your hand, thinking and staring into space. Movement catches your eye and you watch Spencer stop JJ from approaching Dave as he walks into the bullpen. He doesn’t look at any of you, walking up the stairs.

JJ watches him, turning back to you, looking helpless. All of you exchange looks as Rossi crosses the bridge and steps into his office without a word. 

The five of you eventually huddle around the Seattle case file, compliments of ViCAP and Penelope, bouncing ideas about what this one means to your meticulous unsub. 

Aaron appears through the glass doors, his stride measured but purposeful. Your heart leaps a little. It’s been years, of course, but you’ve never stopped feeling that flash of… something when he shows up unannounced.

His gaze sweeps across the bullpen, landing on each of you in turn. "Conference room. Now."

You all file in, standing in a near-identical circle to your huddle downstairs, except there's a table in the middle. 

Aaron doesn’t hesitate once you’re all in and settled, speaking quickly and crisply. “A dozen federal employees have read our case files over the last two years - that was the list I faxed over. They all went through the highest levels of security. Each of those names needs to be checked against Reid's list.”

“We should get them all in here and start the interrogations,” Alex says.

Aaron hesitates. “If he knows we're looking his way, he might retreat.” He looks at JJ. “We should also check the support staff of all those employees.”

“Each one has two assistants, so we're already up to 36 people,” she replies. 

Spencer, as always, has more criteria to nail it down. “We should start with agents who work a four-tens schedule, given the fact that most of the murders happened over a long weekend, which means if the unsub traveled by car, no one at work would've missed them.”

“Well, he probably wouldn't fly,” JJ notes. “It would leave a paper trail.”

You hand Aaron the copycat case file from Seattle. He looks at you, really, for the first time since returning. “What's this?”

“The Replicator's first case was the same as mine,” Blake says. “Remember the sadist who made Ridgeway look tame?”

He looks over the file. “In Seattle, so it wasn't the Silencer.” 

“Do you think it's a coincidence he started all of this when I joined the team?”

“I don't know,” he says. His focus shifts past you, down the bridge. “Dave's back?” You nod and he excuses himself. 

Derek follows him, and you can hear the brief. “He's only been back a few minutes; it looks like it's hitting him pretty hard.”

You all review the Seattle file and help Reid with his lists. You’re tuned into Aaron, though, who has apparently passed Dave in favor of his own office. The director has been calling him almost non-stop. Without Strauss, the management apparatus for the section has fallen apart. You can see how easily Aaron could assume that role. 

“Rossi, what the hell are you doing?”

Derek’s voice carries and you drop your file, stepping out onto the bridge warily as Aaron leaves his office. 

He sees something that slows his movement and treads carefully. You can’t see past Derek - you can’t even see Rossi. Aaron looks over his shoulder and waves you off. You stay back, but you don’t go far. The team continues on without you, conversation flowing freely. 

Aaron steps into Dave’s office. His shoulders are stiff and his posture is purposefully open. You see him lean forward, his arm extended. To your shock, he tucks a gun into the waistband at his lower back.

You catch only a little of what Derek says as he leaves the office: “… paramedics.” He runs down the stairs, skipping the last four. 

You step out fully, your hands on the railing. “Derek, what -?”

“He drugged Rossi.” 

He was here. 

The on-site emergency medical arrives within minutes, and Aaron stays with Dave until he’s rolled out on the gurney. The rest of you stand just inside the bullpen. Watching. Waiting. 

Aaron walks back through the glass doors, his expression unreadable. You know that face—it’s the one he wears when he’s barely holding something together. 

He exhales once, measured, before speaking. "They've given him a sedative and they’re gonna take him to the infirmary. He’ll be okay."

“How did it get into his system?” Alex asks.

“The report must have been dusted with whatever he used on Strauss,” Aaron answers.

“Luckily,” Spencer says, fidgeting only a little, “the transdermal absorption rate was lower than her ingestion of it, so it wasn't fatal for Rossi.”

“Then this was a warning,” JJ says. 

You shake your head. “If he wanted to kill Rossi, he had every chance to do it.”

“If this is his endgame,” Alex asks, “why is he wasting time with warnings?

Aaron answers. “He's toying with us and we're playing into him. He's turned Rossi against Morgan. Even if it was temporary, he wanted to show it could be done.”

Alex’s brow furrows. “But why?”

Derek returns from his call, cell phone in hand. “Strauss was dosed with a chemical cousin of Doctor Death. He altered it so her torture would be longer.”

“A biochemist, computer hacker, and federal agent?” JJ walks through it, looking about as concerned as you feel. “Who the hell is this guy?”

You all stare at each other for a few seconds. When nothing new comes to mind, Aaron dismisses you all. “Conference room in fifteen. I want to review the security footage.”

The rest of the team scatters, but you follow him to his office, taking your usual chair. “How was the Hill?”

“Terrible,” he replies. 

“Did you have to deal with Speese again?” 

He nods grimly. “He’s the chair of the Intelligence Committee, unfortunately.”

“He’s also,” you pause for comedic effect, “an asshole.” 

Your comment has its intended effect. Aaron offers you the ghost of a smile. “He is. He also said hello to you, by the way.” 

“Well, I do not say hello back.” 

“I figured you wouldn’t.” He looks back down, adding his incident report notes for the Dave situation to his ever-growing file. “So,” he starts, getting back to business. “What do you think?” 

You mirror him, fixing your posture and dropping back into Work Mode. “He’s obviously meticulous, well-organized, has space for the amount of biochemistry and technology that he uses, he knows Strauss, and he’s on one of our lists. We just have to narrow it down.” 

“Do you think this is about Alex as well?”

“I think she’s involved in his fixation, for sure. Between her and Strauss, there has to be a link there.” You pause. “Is Dave really going to be okay?” 

Aaron sighs. “I think so. Obviously the loss will be hard on him, but he can take the leave he needs and we’ll be there for him.”

“For better or worse, if anyone knows what he’s going through, it’s us.” 

“Right.” Aaron looks up from his paperwork, meeting your eyes. You have no doubt he’s thinking the same thing as you. 

I wish we didn’t understand. 

He stands, breaking the spell and offering you a hand as he rounds his desk. “Ready?” 

You join him. “Yessir.”

He kisses the back of your hand and then lets it go. 

+++

Penelope stands in front of the large monitor and you watch as security footage plays on screen. “Only half the cameras are working because the system is still rebooting itself, so the security guards have to go old school. That means everyone has to sign in. You can't take your ID and run it through - well, you know what old school means. So, if you have a badge, you don't get harassed. The man who signed in to see Rossi went up to the sixth floor, held the door open for Kevin and Anderson…”

Kevin looks dumbfounded. “I can't believe he was right there.”

“Walked through our BAU into Rossi's office,” Penelope continues, “signed in as Adam Worth.”

Spencer perks up. “Adam Worth?” 

“Isn't that the same alias he used when Maeve went missing?” JJ asks. 

Spencer nods. “Yeah, which means it's not just a taunt. It speaks directly to his psychology. Adam Worth was a famous criminal from the late 1800s, commonly referred to as the Napoleon of Crime. This unsub obviously sees himself in the same light.”

“So,” Derek says, his brows pulled together, “this guy is a malignant narcissist who wants to be known as the worst enemy we've ever had.”

You look at Aaron. That’s a high bar. 

His eyebrow twitches, his arms crossed. Tell me about it.

“And look,” Blake says, gesturing to the monitor, “he's careful to hide his face from the cameras.” 

“Because he knows exactly where they are,” Aaron agrees, grim and low. 

+++

You look over Alex’s shoulder as she creates a list of all of the Replicator’s taunts so far. 

Strauss - New York

Reid - Zugzwang

JJ - Flowers

Garcia - Computer 

Morgan - DNA

Rossi - Poison

Hotch - Foyet Phone Call

For you, she has the photo at the crime scene listed. 

When it’s all laid out like this, it looks like you and JJ got off light. In hindsight, the photo did rattle you quite a bit, but you’ve figured out that the thing he was trying to target was exactly what Philadelphia PD’s very own Rizzo played into - your reputation. Strauss covered a lot of blowback when you and Aaron disclosed. She kept your team together because you assured her you could remain professional and not let it affect your work. The Replicator, with the photo of you and Aaron, attacked that very premise. 

Alex sighs, looking over her list. “The Replicator has directly taunted everyone on this team except for me.” 

“You may be part of his endgame,” you tell her, taking a seat beside Spencer. 

“Then so was Strauss,” she says. 

“He chose to use drugs as his final replication,” JJ notes. “That's no accident.”

“Is that a connection to you?” There’s genuine curiosity in Aaron’s inquiry. This is something, of course, that the two of you discussed in his office. You’re curious too - mostly wondering if you were right. 

“Strauss and I had issues during the Amerithrax case. It started in New York with poison.” 

“And it was delivered by envelopes,” Spencer adds. 

Derek shifts in his seat. “Why would anyone on the inside hold resentment over that case?”

“Because that person suffered a professional setback just like Blake,” Aaron says. 

You add to his thought, “- but was patient and psychotic enough to get revenge.” 

Penelope rushes in, two files in her hands, and starts talking immediately. “I am all over the DOJ names including support staff. I have Kevin pulling files and photos. System is down, so it's hard to check entire career paths, but there were two agents in New York in 2001. Scratch that- Lehman died in October - that leaves Curtis.” Penelope plonks a file down in front of Alex.

Alex flips through the file. Her face goes still, and for a moment, she doesn't say anything.

"Wait a second..." Her fingers tighten on the page. "John Curtis?"

“You know him?” Penelope asks. 

“I haven't seen him in a long time. He was a nice guy. We were first office agents together, but I thought he left the Bureau after the Amerithrax case.”

Aaron jumps on it. “Could it be him? Does he fit the profile?”

“He was quiet and a loner, but brilliant. He specialized in a lot of fields, but his passion…” She pauses, “was biochemistry.”

+++

You’re thankful you thought to pack your tac blacks. You change in Aaron’s office, the shades drawn. He answers an email, standing over his desk. 

“So, we’re taking the choppers?” You zip your fleece, shoving your credentials in your pocket. 

He nods. “I’ll fly one of them with a co-pilot and we’ll have someone outside the unit fly the other.” 

“Where am I going to be?” You ask. It’s not a leading question - you’re genuinely curious. 

“You’ll be with me,” he answers quickly. He crosses to you, getting the velcro under one arm while you handle the other side. There’s something hidden behind his answer, but now is not the time nor the place. 

You snatch your phone off the coffee table and turn back toward him. “Let’s go.”

+++

The six of you walk with extreme purpose down the hallway, taking the stairs to the roof. 

Penelope briefs you as you go through your comms. “He inherited a family compound in rural Virginia. Coordinates on your phone.” 

“What else do you have on Curtis?” Alex asks, turning her head toward her mic.

“Just like you thought. John Curtis was demoted in the FBI after the Amerithrax case. He was slated to take over the coveted New York field office, but then was shipped to the not coveted Kansas City one. He worked there for many years quietly before he was able to weasel his way back into the nation's capital. On paper he is a rock star. He immediately transferred to the Department of Justice, the intelligence oversight section. He's a genius on multiple levels.”

You spare a thought for James Comey, who reinstated the physical fitness testing. He’s probably the only reason you’re not in a puddle on the landing by the tenth floor. 

“What's his background?” Aaron, of course, the king of cardio and runner extraordinaire, is hardly out of breath. 

“Only child, parents died when he was eighteen. Never married. Total loner, just like Blake said.”

“Then all he's ever had to care about is his work,” Aaron says. 

Derek sounds resigned as you reach the roof. “And when he lost that, he snapped.”

+++

"Hey, Hotch,” Derek pulls him aside, away from the noise of the rotors. His voice is low. “Are you sure about this?"

Aaron tightens his jaw, checking his watch like the conversation isn’t happening. “It’s what the situation demands.”

Derek doesn’t buy it. He leans in. “That’s not an answer, man.” He pauses, mindful of the time. “I know this guy got in your head - he’s got all of us on edge - but we have to make the right choice, here. I know you’re flying, but…”

Aaron’s mouth tightens, pulling into a thin line. “Morgan.” He takes a breath and Derek is horrified to hear a shake in it. “I am making the only choice I can live with, and I need you to get on board. I know you would make a different choice  -”

Derek places a hand on Aaron’s shoulder, cutting him off. “I get it. It doesn’t matter what I’d do. I’ll see you both when we get there.”

Aaron leaves Derek and takes his seat in the cockpit, adjusting the controls and finishing up pre-flight checks. You put on your headphones, strapping yourself into the six-point harness. 

“You good?” Alex asks. You can hear her clearly in your headset, but you turn the volume up a little. 

“All good. Spence?”

Spencer doesn’t reply, but offers you a thumbs up as he tightens his six-point. 

You tap on the back of Aaron’s seat, making sure your mic is on. “Aaron, we’re all good back here when you’re ready.” 

“10-4. Thank you,” comes the crisp reply. 

You’re in the air moments later, rising from the helicopter pad on the roof in tandem with the other half of the team. You knew Aaron can fly almost anything, but it really is something else entirely to see him take the control column, flipping switches and turning knobs as you rise higher and higher, tipping forward to start your journey. 

Alex eyes you, watching you watch Aaron out of the corner of her eye. You shrug. 

Sue me. 

+++

As you get further and further away from Quantico, the lights on the ground get sparser. Aaron patches Penelope into the onboard channels. 

“HRT will divide us up when we land,” Aaron says, checking his instruments and fixing his gaze to the vast darkness ahead of you as the helicopters split. 

He patches Penelope into the channels, and after you all give a 10-2, signal good, she starts with what she’s found on John Curtis. 

“As you can see from the geo ref'd he's got plenty of privacy. Five and a half acres, three structures, house included.” 

Almost as soon as she finishes her thought, the screens turn to snow, all of the electronic instruments suddenly useless.

“Garcia,” Aaron says. There’s urgency, yes, but he’s not panicking. 

“I see it, too, sir. It must be some sort of system override.”

The helicopter pitches down and you reach out, holding onto the handle on the back of Aaron’s seat. Your stomach drops and you focus solely on keeping your mouth shut. The last thing you want is for Aaron to focus on you, even a little, when he’s handling… whatever this is. 

“What's happening?” Penelope asks. 

“Autopilot's seized,” the co-pilot says. Aaron attempts to override the seizure, pulling on the yoke as it moves, seemingly with a mind of its own. 

“Altitude. Altitude,” the Black Hawk’s warning system placidly tells you as you drop more than 100 feet. 

Aaron flips a final switch, and the helo stops descending, leveling out. “I got it back.”

“Are you okay?” Penelope asks. 

“We're stabilizing,” he assures her. 

You’re able to stay on course without any further incident for another few minutes. Aaron reaches back subtly with one hand and you briefly squeeze it before it disappears to the front once more. 

The controls shudder again and you take another breath. 

Maybe helicopters were not the move…

You flash to a conversation you and Aaron had, months ago, when he had to go re-up his flight hours to renew his license. 

“That’s the thing about helicopters and motorcycles, you only get so many rides. If you fly or drive them long enough…”

The implication spoke for itself. 

The alarms sound again, the warning system informing you that you’re losing altitude. 

The alarms blare, the cockpit flashing red. The helicopter dips, shuddering violently beneath you.

Aaron curses under his breath, both hands gripping the controls.

The co-pilot turns, his face grim. His eyes lock onto each of you—just for a second, just long enough to make it real.

“Brace for impact.”

You brace against the front seat, reaching a hand around to make contact with Aaron. Your hand lands on his ribs, over his vest, as he reaches for his own handles. His hand covers yours for a blink before returning to its proper place. 

Checking under your arm, you see that Alex and Spencer are properly braced as well, and you can hear their breathing in the headphones. 

That’s good. At least we’re all breathing. 

For now. 

You can’t see the ground, so it’s a shock when the helicopter touches down, hard. With your brace, there’s only the smallest downward impact on your body, but your back and legs receive an unpleasant jolt regardless. You take a deep breath, sitting up and feeling dizzy, disoriented. You don’t remember hitting your head…

You’re out before you can process your next thought, dropping back against your seat. 

+++

You come to as your door is wrenched open by JJ and Derek. 

“Are you guys alright?” Derek asks, his voice only a little touched by fear. 

You’re relieved when Aaron answers him. “Yeah.” Unfortunately, it sounds pained. 

JJ unclips your six-point with the emergency release on the seat, catching you a little as you attempt to step out. One of the SWAT agents does the same for Spencer. 

Derek’s flashlight stays low as JJ asks, “Where's Blake?” 

“What the hell is this?” Derek says, picking up a canister from the floor by your feet. “What is this?” 

You straighten and take it from him. “This looks like a quick-release gas canister to me.” 

Derek looks grim, taking it back from you as Aaron roughly clambers out of the pilot seat. You lurch forward, catching his right shoulder as he loses his balance. He holds fast to your arm and you’re thrilled he’s not treating you politely, trusting your strength as you bear most of his weight. 

“You okay?” He asks, straightening and checking you over. His hand ghosts over the side of your head, then down to your shoulder, taking stock. 

With a nod, you assure him you are. He takes you under his arm and the five of you walk away from the landing site, headed toward the SUV driven in from the Richmond office.

“If he'd wanted to kill all of us,” JJ points out, “he could have.”

“He's playing God, just like he's done all year.” Spencer almost sounds offended. “He hard-landed us, knocked us out with whatever was in that canister so he could take Blake.” 

Aaron squeezes you around the shoulders before letting you go, walking ahead to get back in the driver's seat of the SUV. If he were a weaker man, you’d be a little worried, but his threshold for mental and physical fortitude goes without saying, at this point. “He had plenty of chances to take her before tonight,” he says. “He wants it to be a spectacle.”

+++

You can see SWAT’s lights down the road as you pull up. Derek takes your hand to help you out of the car and you take it, patting his shoulder as soon as your feet touch the ground. 

“You okay?” He asks.

You puff a breath out through your mouth, shaking your head before you answer. It’s been a long day.

There’s no need. “Understood,” Derek says. 

The two of you join the rest of the team at the SWAT staging area. 

“Morgan,” Aaron says. “I want you to go through the breach plans. Look for tactical holes and opportunities for the Replicator to lay traps.” 

Derek nods, splitting off. 

“The rest of us will prepare for breach with SWAT.” 

+++

You take Aaron’s six with Spencer as you cross the vast yard and approach the cellar doors. Spencer looks at you and you nod once. 

Ready.

Aaron throws open the doors, allowing you and Spencer to cover for any threat on the stairs, before he resets and leads the way. You have a flashlight gripped tightly, crossed under your gun hand. 

The basement appears deserted, but difficult to clear on account of all the shelves. You find his photo processing space and clear it, doing your best to avoid the faces of your partner and almost-son in many of them. You startle a little when you see one from the cemetery, with you sitting on Haley’s bench and talking with your hands, your flowers resting on her gravestone. This guy is taking stalking to another level, apparently. 

Derek and JJ turn the corner and the three of you fall in line with them, finding Alex chained to a chair at the end of the hall, a gag in her mouth. 

JJ reaches her, removing the gag from her mouth. “Which way did he go?”

“I don't know,” Alex sounds exhausted.  

Aaron evaluates Alex, the locks, the chains, everything with a discerning eye. “Morgan, you and JJ find him. We've got this.”

You holster your weapon and kneel opposite Spencer, who counts the keys. 

“He said he used eight locks because there are now eight of us.”

“That's all he said?” Aaron asks. 

“About that, yes.”

“There's only six keys,” Spencer says, falling into stream of consciousness. “That means two keys will be used twice. Each key is a letter, likely corresponding to a number on the locks. Seven-seventh letter of the alphabet's G…” 

You look at him. “What are the other letters?”

“Um, Z, U, W-” He stops, looking at you and Aaron in turn. “Zugzwang. It's too easy.”

Spencer hands you and Aaron half the keys and you get to work, separating them and trying the locks. They work as expected. The two of you work side-by-side in silence, cooperatively shifting and passing keys to their respective locks. It would almost be fun, save for the imminent peril. 

Morgan and JJ return, jogging to you and stopping short. “He's got the place lined with C-4,” Derek says. “We've only got three minutes.”

You sit back on your heels, echoing Spencers thought from before. “This seems too easy.”

“Zugzwang also means a dilemma in chess where the best move is not to move at all…” Spencer muses. As Aaron finishes the final lock, the chains falling away, Spencer shouts, “Wait, don't get up!” He pauses as she stands, explaining, “It's a pressure sensor.”

Shit. 

You follow the pressure sensor wires to…

The door.

The moment you see it, it starts to slide closed, solid steel scraping the wall. 

Derek lunges forward, slamming into it with his shoulder. "No, no, no—!"

It’s too late.

You whip your head to Aaron, who stares impassively at the blocked exit. His eyes flicker to you and you swallow heavily, seeing something that looks like hardened acceptance in his eyes. 

We got this. Don’t get complacent. 

The six of you look for alternatives, following cables and wires. All of them lead to the door. You’re on the floor, examining the structural integrity of the setup, when Aaron drops beside you. 

“Hey,” he says. 

You look at him, still holding the wires. “Yeah?”

He pauses, his eyes flick to your mouth, then your left hand, then back to your eyes. “I love you, you know that.”

“I do.” Your word choice isn’t lost on you. You place a hand on the floor between you and he covers it with his own. 

“I’m s-”

“Don’t apologize to me.” You make an attempt to smile. “You can tell me when we get outta here.” 

His jaw tightens and he nods. 

Derek watches the two of you when he exhausts his examination of the door. All that trouble to keep you safe, now you're all about to blow up in this room together. He sees the impossibly soft, affectionate, and determined look on your face as you say something to Hotch that has him dropping his head, picking your hand up to kiss the back of your fingers and holding them to his forehead with a kind of ferocity reserved for 18th century knights brought to their knees by the sight of an ankle. 

The door opens, startling all of you. Dave is on the other side, holding a radio transmitter. 

You and Aaron jolt to your feet, looking at the rest of the team. 

“You know what they say about gift horses,” you prompt. 

Derek laughs, a little hysterical with relief, and sprints out of the room, clearing your path. Dave joins him. 

Aaron grabs your hand and practically drags you out as your brain restarts and your feet start moving. The Virginia midsummer night hits you as you leave through the front door. 

“Everybody get back!” Aaron shouts, using his free hand to wave the staged agents away from the house. “There's C-4 in the basement. Everybody back!”

Spencer is just past the fence line when he stops. “Wait, where's Rossi?”

Derek turns, mentally counting all of you. He only gets to six. “He was right behind me.” 

Aaron takes a couple steps toward the house. “Dave!” 

“He just let us out. Why would he go back in?” Derek asks. 

Seconds later, though you’re not sure if you had seconds to spare, Dave appears, jogging toward you from the side of the house. Aaron corrals you all behind one of the cars. 

When the house explodes, his hand is warm between your shoulder blades. 

+++

“I’m glad we didn’t blow up,” you say in the blue darkness, sitting on the couch. He cradles you in his arms, lounging against the arm of the sofa, one leg stretched out in front of him, the other hanging carelessly off the couch. You lay across his chest, your ear to his heart, your hand playing with his hair. 

Aaron turned the TV off a while ago, Jack long asleep in his room, but it was nice to sit in silence, the tick of the clock the only other sound in the room beyond your breathing. It’s been a couple of days since the explosion. Erin’s service is on Sunday.

He doesn’t reply, but kisses the top of your head. 

“What were you going to apologize for, in there?” You ask. 

He huffs a laugh down his nose. “It seems silly now.” 

“That’s why I didn’t let you do it, you know.” You lean into him, tucking your face into the slope of his neck and shoulder. “I didn’t want you to say anything you’d regret in the unlikely event that we wiggled our way out of there.” 

Now, he really laughs, low and soft in the dark. “Very thoughtful of you, thank you.” He’s quiet for another minute. “It’s not something that I’d regret. It just isn’t relevant if we aren’t facing our imminent demise.” You laugh quietly, because it’s the only thing you can do. If you thought about it too hard, it would be scary. Now it’s just funny. 

"I was just thinking about how sorry I was that—” He stops. Shakes his head. “That we - I wasted so much time.” 

He pauses again.

"Time apart. Time spent dancing around what we knew. Time I spent convincing myself I couldn’t have this.” His hand skims your arm, back and forth. “I was a coward.”

“It’s not,” you whisper. “And you’re not a coward.” 

“I was about us,” he replies simply. 

You sigh. “Neither one of us were particularly brave, if I recall, but we made it.” 

“No,” he says. You can hear the smile in his voice. “You made it.” 

A thought comes to you. “If I didn’t kiss you, were you just going to let me yell at you until I got it out of my system?”

“That was the plan, yeah,” he’s so matter-of-fact, it makes you giggle. He joins you, holding you closer.  

“God, you’re such a masochist.” 

You feel him shrug under you. “I had been so in love with you for so long. I wanted anything you would give me, even your anger.” He shakes his head. “The masochism started long before then, trust me.” 

You’re speechless for a moment. You sit up just enough to meet his eyes, bracing your weight on his chest. “Aaron Hotchner, that might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.” 

He draws you toward him by the chin, stopping you before his lips meet yours. You watch as his eyes track down to your mouth. The heaviness and devotion in his gaze almost makes you feel self-conscious. It gets worse when he tightens his jaw for a moment before his tongue sneaks out to wet his lower lip. 

You nearly lose your breath, his lips slightly parted as his eyes leisurely wander back up to yours. He’s said nothing, has hardly moved, but you’re held by his eyes like a physical vice, unable and unwilling to move. 

A spark of mischief lights up his eyes as he asks, “You gonna kiss me?” 

“I was waiting for you,” you tell him, dazed. 

He moves in, his lips just barely grazing yours, his breath warm against your skin as his nose traces along yours. “Please don’t ever wait for me again.”

+++

“It had to be a perfect round. And sure enough, coming right back at me was the target. And it was blasted right through the chest. The goggles come off... And it's Strauss.” Derek laughs. “I mean, I was like, what? I would have never believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. That woman... She was one hell of a shot.”

You’ve gathered at Dave’s after the service. It seemed like the only thing that felt right, to truly honor her as a team. 

Penelope’s next. “Um...do you guys remember that one time that she called me, but I thought that it was somebody else?” She throws her thumb toward Derek. 

“Oh, no,” he says. 

JJ tips her wine glass toward Penelope. “That was funny.”

“Oh, maybe to you,” Penelope says dubiously. “I was mortified!” 

“What did you say?” Alex asks.

“I said, ‘Talk dirty to me.’” 

It’s never not funny. You bark a laugh and smother it in Aaron’s sleeve, his hand on your thigh under the table. Alex leans forward. “No!”

“Yes, she did,” Derek says. “That's my girl.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Hey, that was my line,” Dave interjects with a smile. You’re glad he’s able to celebrate her, at least, for one evening.

Derek claps him on the shoulder as another round of laughter echoes around the table. 

“I remember when I walked into her office the day after Aaron and I had a conversation at home about going above board with-” You gesture to the space between you and Aaron, “- this.”  

“I went into her office and before I could say anything, she says ‘You’re either here to hand me your badge or to ask for two copies of a conflict of interest disclosure form.’” You pause as a ripple of laughter runs around the table. “I didn’t even know what to say. I think I short-circuited for a second and said ‘The second one,’ and she said nothing, pulled out the forms from her top drawer like she knew I was coming.” You pause for dramatic effect. “The only empty field was the date.”

The table laughs.

“In fairness, you were the least subtle people on the planet,” JJ says. 

You roll your eyes. “What I’m getting at is that Strauss was far more… liberal than any of us gave her credit for.” You glance at Dave, whose smirk is just starting when you cut him off. “Ew. No.” 

Another laugh. After a moment, the table grows quiet again, pensive. More stories bounce around for some time, your dinners all finished, your wine glasses refilled, and Dave taps his spoon against his glass. 

“Last year, right here, we had a… very different kind of celebration. Of life.” He pauses, looking at JJ. “Of love.” He looks at you and Aaron, where you lean against his shoulder. “And good people. This year it’s the, um, other side of that. Because, well, that’s what families do.” He pauses, looking at Spencer. “It’s been a hard year.” Spencer ducks his head. “But tonight, we celebrate a life well lived, well loved.” He raises his glass and the rest of you join him. “To a good woman. An even better mother. Our friend."

Dave takes a steadying breath, his fingers tightening around the stem of his glass.

“Who I will miss very much.”

+++