stevie

The forest surrounding the cabin is turning orange, a chill breeze drifting across the treetops.

The cabin is warm, the fireplace roaring opposite the sofa. Cinnamon wafts through the air, trailing in from the kitchen where Jason had lovingly made french toast for breakfast. Jason. His head in your lap, legs stretched out across the sofa. Wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose as he scrawled across a newspaper crossword. Your hand runs through his hair, scratching the salt and pepper.

You met Jason three years ago now, in the small diner you worked at. He ordered a berry pie and a coffee, the same every morning. He was smart, older, sweet, he took care of you. You've been together three years now, you moved into his small cabin a year into the relationship. That's around the time he started telling you about his ‘past life’ - as you so called it. His life as SSA Jason Gideon. Profiler.

He would only tell you some things, little murmurings of cases, no specific details, always speaking more of the team than himself and the victims. You can tell he enjoyed his time as a profiler, as much as one can enjoy such a job, but struggles discussing it. He stuck to the safer memories. Team bonding nights, chess matches with Reid (and later Prentiss) on the jet, accounts of all the places he got to travel. Rarely, he discusses the night he left. Packed up his old cabin and hit the road, this road eventually leading to you.

You're still stroking his hair as he finishes his crossword, gently putting the newspaper and pen down on the coffee table. You have a morning routine, you take out the puzzle section of the newspaper and give it to him before skimming over and discarding the rest. He tries not to read the news these days, it would only send him spiralling. Too much hatred, misery, death. He thinks this makes him weak, that he should be able to face the real world. You tell him he's faced enough tragedy for one lifetime.

He rolls over onto his front, pushing his face into your tummy. You giggle softly.

“Your breath is ticking me.”

No response. Instead he nuzzles his face further into you, breathing in deeply, consuming your scent.

“Jason? Can I ask you something?” your voice is quiet, maybe shy.

He looks up at you, eyebrow raised, “you can ask me anything honey, you know that.”

“Do you ever… miss home?”

He lifts himself up, shuffling slightly so his face is closer to yours, “this is my home.”

“You know what I mean… Washington, Quantico, that home”

“Oh that home.” Jason sighs deeply “I guess I do sometimes, I mean I left so much of my soul in that place, it was my life for a long time. But it isn't anymore. My home is here, it's you. Washington is past, I spent enough of my life there, I don't want to spend my time away thinking of it constantly. You see?”

“I see.”

He kisses your cheek, his nose pressing into your face. He always puts such love into his kisses, even the ones to your face. He lays back down, some of his body blanketing yours as he rests his chin on your shoulder. You both sit in silence for a while as your fingers trace his spine, the only sound being the birds singing outside your little cabin.

Your voice breaks the silence. “Would you ever go back?”

He answers quickly, this is something he's thought about. “To the Bureau? No. To Washington? Maybe.”

That answer surprises you. You knew he'd never go back to his life as an agent, but you didn't know he would consider going back to Washington.

“Really? You'd go back to Washington?”

“I would consider it, yes. I miss my team, Aaron, Spencer, they were my family. I don't know if they would accept me any more though.”

You smile softly, kissing the top of his head. “I'm sure they would understand why you left. I like to think they hope to see you again someday.”

He sighs, wistful as ever. Memories of the past, of his team curling through his mind like smoke. “I would love to play chess with Spencer again.”

“Yeah? Have you ever thought about reaching out?”

He sighs again, deeper this time, almost dejected. “I've written letters that I never sent. I just don't know what to say to him. I think I'd rather never speak to him again then risk finding out he resents me.”

Your fingers trace his cheeks, reassuring, loving. “Jace… I doubt he resents you. He might take a while to come round to it. I know he would want a relationship with you again.”

“...maybe.”

“definitely”

“I'll consider it.”

You sit up, excited now. “Really? You'll reach out to him?”

“I said I'll consider it. I'll write another letter, actually try and send it this time.”

You smile and press kisses to his cheek “I'm proud of you baby.”

“Thank you. you do nothing but support me, it means everything to me,” he kisses your lips softly, pouring years of love into the action, “you really are my rock.”

“I'll be with you every step of the way.”

He kisses you again. And again. Cradling your face–his whole world–in his hands.

“I would like you to meet them. Maybe once we're married I'll take you to Washington, show you around.”

Pulling back slightly, you study his face with a raised eyebrow.

“You've been mentioning marriage a lot lately. Anything you wanna tell me?”

Bashful laughter erupts from his chest before he brushes a strand of hair from your face.