Cherry's Lies

You’re used to the Punisher’s anger. The Punisher's anger is sharp, clinical. A well-honed blade wielded with devastating accuracy. The Punisher’s anger has a purpose and an output and while you may not like it, you know how to handle it.

Unfortunately, this is not the Punisher’s anger.

This is Frank Castle’s anger, and you absolutely cannot handle that.

Frank Castle’s anger is raw. exposed. A live wire sending of sparks of pain that land indiscriminately around him. Frank Castle's anger has no clear target, and it’s only a matter of time before everything goes up in flames.

Frank stares at you for a long moment, his eyes constantly flickering between your face and your bandaged wound. You can feel the tightness of the precise stitches holding you together, thin threads keeping you from bleeding out.

Frank’s voice is unsteady when he finally speaks, “you could’ve died.”

“But I didn’t?” You offer weakly, trying and failing to sit up. You don’t know how to react to Frank’s anger, so, foolishly, you default to deflection. You ignore the overwhelming fear you felt just hours before, attempting to play off your injuries, “besides, it’s just a stab wound. It’s not like I haven’t been stabbed before.”

You wince as soon as you're done speaking, instantly regretting your words. You can practically see the moment when Frank's anger finds a target: you. Frank stands so quickly that the chair he was sitting on falls backwards, filling the silence of the small room with a harsh clang, “Goddamnit, y/n! Take this seriously! You could’ve died and it would’ve been my fault!”

You freeze - is Frank seriously trying to blame himself for what happened to you? That’s a whole new level of misplaced responsibility, and frankly, it pisses you off. You scoff, “your fault? How could Matt’s girlfriend stabbing me possibly be your fault?”

“I let you leave,” Frank paces in front of you. He looks about ten seconds away from punching something, “I wasn’t there to protect you. It’s my fault.”

“You let me leave?” God, you’re starting to remember why you took Frank’s deal. You might’ve gotten stabbed at Matt’s place, but at least he treated you like an adult, “I’m my own goddamn person, Frank. I don’t need your permission and I don’t need your protection. Why can’t you just leave me alone?!”

You notice the shift right away. Frank stops pacing and just stares at you. His voice is mechanical when he speaks, “is that what you really want? For me to leave you alone? After I just saved your life?”

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. You did not think that through, “I, uh…wait, Frank, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Too late, doll. Let’s see how well you do on your own,” Frank walks out of the room. The door closes behind him with the same finality as the entrance to a tomb.

You’d gotten so caught up in your newfound independence that you failed to notice the growing danger. The way Matt was gone more frequently and for longer periods of time. The way he would sometimes come home smelling of someone else’s perfume. The way he didn’t even bother to answer you when you asked him about it. You had made so many excuses for him, but the simple truth is that Frank was right. Matt was always going to put you second.

You swallow your pride and dial Frank’s number.

He picks up on the second ring, “where are you? Red’s place?” No need for pleasantries, he already knows why you’re calling.

“No, Clinton Church.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes, don’t move.” You hear the sound of his truck starting before he ends the call. You shift positions and immediately regret it as pain shoots through your side. You just hope that your shitty bandaging holds up, you don’t want to get blood on the pews. Father Lanthom might not mind, but Sister Maggie definitely would.

You thank a god you don’t believe in that neither of them are here right now. You couldn’t hold yourself together if they started asking questions, and you’re terrified of what might happen if you unravel.

Time stretches into uncomfortable anticipation and you allow yourself moment of mourning for what you will soon lose. After a small eternity, the door to the chapel bangs open and Frank enters like a force of nature. His eyes go straight to you and his mouth sets into a thin line.

“…I can explain?” You offer weakly, well aware that you look terrible.

“Did Murdock do this?” Frank’s voice is far too controlled. You can practically hear the barely contained anger simmering beneath his words.

“No! No, Matt didn’t hurt me. His…well, his kinda sorta girlfriend did?” You pause before adding, “she had a sword,” as if that helps.

It doesn’t. Frank still looks pissed.

“Look, Frank, you can go murder Matt’s hot ninja girlfriend later. Right now I need someone who is slightly better at first aid than me to deal with all of this.” You gesture vaguely at your stomach and the blood that is rapidly seeping through your bandages.

“Shit. Of course darlin’ ‘m gonna pick you up, okay?”

You nod, allowing Frank to carry you out to his truck. You lean against the door as he drives, closing your eyes. Now that Frank’s here, your adrenaline is starting to wane. You feel so tired.

“Hey, doll, you can’t sleep yet. Gotta stay awake for me darlin’.”

You whine weakly, “tired,” closing your eyes again.

Frank shakes you, “no, darlin’. Please, show me those pretty eyes, come on. Can’t lose you too, doll. Can’t let you leave me.”

You force your eyes open and manage to remain conscious for the rest of the drive. Unfortunately, you can’t say the same for the trip into Frank’s safe house. Somewhere between the truck and the door, you fade into a comfortable blackness.

When you wake up, you’re greeted by exactly three things: a pissed off Frank Castle sitting at your bedside, a metal cuff around your ankle, and the vivid memory of the deal you made six long months ago…

“I’ll let you have your little adventure with Murdock, darlin’, but if you come back to me, you are never leaving again.”

Hotch didn’t even flinch, “You’re reading into something that isn’t there.”

It stung even more than you thought it would, even though you knew he was lying. He simply stares back, his face void of anything you can read.

You nod once, “Fine. Then I’m done waiting for something that doesn’t exist.”

You meant it, and you walked out of his office without looking back. The team knew something had changed, but neither of you talked about it. Typically you and Hotch partnered up for most cases, but the following one you spent at opposite sides of the conference room and never alone in the same car. It went on like that for weeks.

“Second one this week,” Morgan mutters, leaning back in his chair watching you change out your shoes at your desk. He lets out a low whistle.

“Third.” Emily corrects. 

You only look up so you can give them both a glare and they smirk back. You stand up and grab your purse, turning to face the audience you’ve gained since changing out of your work clothes. 

“I will see you all tomorrow,” You smirk, finally tossing over your shoulder, “Enjoy your paperwork, everybody.” 

Morgan offers a round of applause and you laugh all the way to the elevator. Rossi steps out of his office, having witnessed the entire exchange through his window. He has no doubt that Aaron did the same.

“Kid’s poking the bear.” He comments, looking over to the half-closed blinds. 

The team looks over, making it obvious their subject had switched to their boss. Hotch forces himself to focus on the report in front of him, not the fact that you’ve left at five everyday for weeks, you used to stay almost as late as him. 

The next day, you’re getting grilled while trying to make your morning coffee. 

“Okay,” Garcia cheers, “I need details on this one!”

You roll your eyes, “His name is Ethan, he’s a lawyer.”

Morgan perks up, “A lawyer?”

“Mhm.” You stir your coffee, “Cute. Smart. Little arrogant. Thinks he’s the smartest person in every room he walks into.” 

He was also charming and able to keep up with you better than most men could. 

Rossi huffs a laugh, walking in for the day and straight for his office, “You got a type, kid.” 

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see you. 

“Alright!” Emily walks up to join, “Who’s in for drinks tonight?”

“I’m in.” Morgan nods. “Me too!” Garcia agrees. 

“I already have plans.” You bite your lip, ready for this to start all over again. 

“Of course she does!” Emily laughs. 

“Bring him!” Garcia insists, “Is it dinner? Just come find us after! We’ll still be out.” 

You give her a skeptical look, “I’ll think about it.” 

It’s truly a terrible idea. You can’t think of a worse one, but you also know it’ll be entertaining at the very least. 

You didn’t know it but later that night, the second Garcia squealed and said you and Ethan were on your way, Aaron decided he wouldn’t be driving home tonight. He accepted scotch from Rossi instead of his typical beer. 

You had fully warned Ethan before coming that he was walking into the lion’s den. You knew it would happen, but his ego would never allow him to bow out from that. A table full of profilers after a few drinks? A cake walk. 

You walk into the bar, Ethan’s hand carefully latched to your waist. When Aaron spots the two of you weaving over to them he nearly drops his glass. You went home to change before this date, you’re wearing a little more makeup than usual and you did your hair. You always look beautiful, but tonight you’ve highlighted it even more. 

“There she is.” Emily grins. 

“Y/n!” Garcia cheers, she gets up to pull you in for a big hug. 

You laugh and hug her back tightly, your shirt riding up in the process. Ethan’s thumb traces over the newly exposed skin, Hotch slams his glass down on the table. Morgan and Rossi look at him, but it goes mostly unnoticed by the rest of the group. 

You introduce Ethan to the group and tell him names as you go.

“So, you must like our girl Y/n here?” Derek smirks. 

“Oh yeah.” Ethan smiles, “She had that whole ‘I can read you in thirty seconds’ thing. There are not a lot of people who have left me speechless.” 

Laughter and smiles circle the table, you want to hide the slight blush growing on your cheeks but you know there’s no point. You can feel the daggers coming from Aaron from the other side of the table. 

It started small. Little comments, subtle enough that anyone else might’ve missed them. Sadly, not a team of behavioral profilers. 

“Corporate law?” Hotch asks, “Must be… stimulating.” 

He raises his glass up to get a refill, something he knows tomorrow morning he will deeply regret. 

Ethan doesn’t miss how sharp his tone comes off, “It has its moments. Not everyone needs a gun to feel important.” 

Morgan goes completely still and Garcia covers up her wide open mouth with her hand. JJ pinches the bridge of her nose. 

You sigh under your breath, “Okay-”

Hotch leans forward, “No. Some of us prefer work that actually matters.” 

The table falls completely silent at the dig. It doesn’t even feel like a Friday night at a crowded bar anymore, you just feel your heart thudding against your chest. 

Ethan smiles, “And some of us prefer not to build our entire identity around a badge.”

“Oh, this is fun.” Rossi mutters into his glass. 

“Guys,” You try again, “We’re not doing this.” 

Neither of them are listening, they just continue to glare at each other. Eventually Ethan leans back, his gaze flicking between you and Hotch. 

“Okay, I get it now.” He says slowly. 

“What?” Hotch asks. 

Ethan huffs a soft laugh that lacks real humor, “You don’t like me.” 

Aaron simply raises his brows to challenge. 

“But it’s not because of what I do.” 

Your stomach drops, “Ethan-”

He doesn’t look at you, “It’s because of her.” 

He nods in your direction and Aaron’s grip on his glass tightens. 

“Careful.” Morgan murmurs a warning. 

Ethan presses on, “So let me ask you something, are you just her boss?”

“That’s enough.” You snap. 

“Did you miss your chance?” Ethan is playing with fire now.

It was already too late, you could see something in Hotch’s eyes snap. 

“Hotch.” You warn. 

He leans forward, “She’s still single to me.” 

Aaron’s words hit the table like a gunshot went off. Ethan is quick to his feet, his chair scraping behind him.Ethan lets out another laugh, “That’s your angle? She’s ‘available’ so it’s fair game?”

“I’m stating a fact.” He manages to keep it controlled, but you can hear the real anger hiding under the surface. 

“No,” Ethan shakes his head, “You’re staking a claim.” 

Aaron’s chair scraps loudly when he bursts up, he’s on his feet and right in front of Ethan. Hotch has a couple inches on him, but not by much.

“Oh, absolutely not.” You stand between them, “You two are fucking ridiculous.” 

Neither of them move a muscle. 

“Hotch!” You yell, “Ethan, back off.” 

Neither of them move still, you look back at the table and Emily is biting her straw with a smile. It’s clear none of them will be any help in breaking this up.

“Aaron.” You try again, pleading. His eyes flick to yours, they soften and he takes a few steps back. 

Ethan runs a hand through his hair, “You know what? This-this is insane.” 

“Yeah,” You mutter, “It is.” 

“You didn’t tell me you had…this.” 

Your throat tightens, “This is nothing.” 

Ethan looks over your shoulder at Hotch and the rest of the group. Nobody verbally argued anything different, but the silence was saying everything you refused.

“Right,” Ethan leans down and presses a kiss to your hairline, “Call me when you figure that out.”

He walks toward the bar door and disappears before you can even process what just happened. You look back at Aaron, waiting for him to say something. Anything. He opens his mouth to start but hesitates. 

“What?” You spit, grabbing your coat, “Now, you’ve got nothing to say?”

His jaw simply tenses and he shifts his weight to the other foot. You brush past him faster than the team has ever seen you move off the clock. The second the door slams shut, Hotch can move again. He goes straight after you. 

“Hotch-” JJ starts but he’s already gone. 

He calls your name the second he’s out the door. You don’t stop, your heels hit the pavement in sharp fast beats. You dig your phone out of your purse, trying to focus on anything else right now. 

“Y/n.” He’s closer now, you spin around so fast that he almost runs into you. 

“What?” You snap.

He lets out a few heavy breaths, buying him a couple seconds. 

“You shouldn’t be walking alone this upset.” 

You stare at him, “That’s what you went with?”

His jaw tightens, “That’s not what I-”

“No, go ahead.” You cut him off, throwing your hands up in the air, “Profile me. Tell me how I’m feeling, since you clearly have me all figured out.” 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“You didn’t have to!” Your voice cracks from the volume you’re reaching, “You just sat there like you had any right to say something like that.” 

He takes a step closer, “He was pushing boundaries.” 

“So were you!” 

You take a half step back and he notices. 

It’s your turn to laugh humorlessly now, “God, I mean you couldn’t even admit it when I gave you the chance. I stood in your office and practically spelled it out for you, and you shut me down like I was imagining things.” 

“I was trying to protect-”

“Don’t you dare say you were trying to protect me or the team.” You pull your jacket tighter around your body, “Look at us right now? How is this better? You don’t get to deny it exists and then turn around and act like you have some kind of claim when someone else shows up. You were so out of line.”

His brows soften, “I never said I had a claim.

“You didn’t have to,” You shoot back, “You practically announced it.” 

“She’s still single to me.” He echoes his words from earlier, it finally hitting him with everything that he said. In front of the team. In front of you. He was too busy seeing red to realize how far he was going.

You point at him, “That. That right there. You can’t say stuff like that and then hide behind protocol and professionalism like this means nothing.” 

“It doesn’t mean nothing.” He blurts. 

Your breath hitches, and just for a second its feels like the two of you could be on the brink of something great. 

“Then what does it mean, Aaron?” You ask, softer now but somehow it makes Aaron feel worse, “Because from where I’m standing, it means you only care when it’s convenient for you or because you don’t like the person I’m seeing.” 

That hits him hard, he doesn’t even try to hide the regret and pain. 

“That’s not true.” 

“Then prove it.”

Silence. He spent years building control and boundaries for this job. You nod once like you had expected it. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

You take another step away. 

“I meant what I said, Hotch. I’m done waiting.” 

“Y/n-” He tries.

You’re already turning and walking away. 

“Don’t follow. I’ll text Rossi when I make it home.”

Ouch. 

The weekend was quiet and passed far too slowly for Aaron. He called. Once first thing Saturday morning, and then twice that afternoon. He attempted once on Sunday, but that one went straight to voicemail so he didn’t try after that. He never left a message, he didn’t even know what he’d say if you picked up. 

Monday morning felt wrong. 

You walked in right on time, professional and composed. You don’t lift your head in the direction of Hotch’s office once and it doesn’t go unnoticed. 

“Morning.” JJ says gently as you pass. 

You smile, “Morning.” 

Morgan leans back in his chair while you set down your bag and get settled at your desk. 

“You good?” 

You look up, “I’m great.”

Spencer frowns, “Your tone suggests-

“Reid.” You warn, taking on a whole new tone that doesn’t need explanation. 

Hotch steps out of his office and all eyes go to him aside from yours. You don’t flinch, you don’t even look up. Rossi watches from the doorway to his office. 

“Well,” he mutters just loud enough for Morgan, “somebody’s in the doghouse.” 

Hotch waits for full attention but it doesn’t come. 

“Conference room. Now.” His voice is steady, back to his usual command. 

The team moves quickly, files in hand as they all move to the conference room. You slide into your seat without hesitation and accept the new file being passed out by Garcia. 

Hotch starts the briefing, “We have three victims-”

He dives into the details and you flip open the file in front of you. You can feel him watching you, the team is guilty of looking between you both as well but you don’t look up from the pages ahead of you.

“The geographic profile suggests the unsub is a local.” You comment. 

Hotch somehow doesn’t miss a beat, “Agreed. The dump sites indicate familiarity with the area.”

Rossi hums, a small smile on his face. 

“What clear, direct communication.” 

“Dave.” Hotch warns with a sharp tone. 

He holds up his hands, “What? I’m just saying, when things go unspoken, people tend to fill in the blanks. That can get messy.” 

You pen stills from writing notes to look up at him. Rossi knows that you’ve ignored all of Hotch’s calls and had no plans on talking about this with him during the case. Rossi is trying to force your hand, or rather Aaron’s. You made yourself very clear last Friday. 

“Noted.” He says cooly, “Now, if we’re done here-”

“We’re done.” He settles back easily with a smile. 

Aaron gave him a look that was far from kind, “Wheels up in thirty.” 

-

The jet was too quiet. The usual rhythm was off, no easy banter or teasing. None of the typical energy the team brings to each other that helps lighten the dark cases you usually face. You sit by the window, the file open but you have to fight to focus on each word. Hotch sits by himself towards the front of the plane. 

Hotch holds onto his file with an iron grip, but his gaze is out the window. This is exactly what he’d tried to avoid. The entire team was feeling a fracture in team dynamic because of him. 

The first day on the ground didn’t turn up much. Three different fields used as dump sites with symbols carved into old wood that didn’t quite make a pattern. Mutilated animal remains with each of the human remains. 

Reid theorized ritual escalation. Rossi suggested an intense need for control and strong staging. You knew the unsub would be sharp, insightful, and detached. Ready to kill on sight. 

Day two was worse. A new body was discovered, or at least what was left of one. JJ had to step away for a minute and you honestly wish you had joined her. Hotch steps up behind you. 

“What do you see?” He asks carefully. 

“Precision.” You reply evenly, “He’s not rushing. He’s comfortable and he’s got the time with them to do this.” 

A beat. 

“He thinks no one is going to stop him.” You add. 

Hotch finally looks at you directly, “We will.” 

You nod once, still not looking at him. 

Day three, everything broke open. Garcia called the team just after noon. 

“I found something,” Her voice tight, “The property records. I used the parameters you guys gave me looking through abandoned farmland just outside of the kill zone. There’s a spot of overlap between all of the dumpsites.”

Hotch was already moving, everyone else jumping up as well. 

“Send the coordinates.” 

“Already did.” She continues, “Uh, guys? The satellite image shows a structure.”

“A house?” JJ asks. 

“Worse, a barn.” 

The closer you got, the worse the smell became. It was heavy and rotting and sadly because of visiting all of the other dumpsites, it was now familiar. 

“Stay sharp.” Hotch orders, the team fans out. Everyone surrounds the barn and Hotch gestures for everyone to circle the barn to get the back door covered as well before entering. You go down one side while Derek takes the other. You’re nearly around to the other side when your ankle gets snatched from underneath you. You hit the ground, hard.

You feel a large hand wrapped around your ankle. You look down to see a tall big man, he pulls you down a small set of stairs that are covered in old leaves and dirt. It looks like he’s pulling you down to the basement of the barn. You reach behind you trying to hold onto anything, your gun gone somewhere when he dropped you. 

“Let go!” You kick hard enough to force him to let go. 

Before you can stand fully he slams you hard into a wooden beam, the impact rattling you. He was big, and a hell of a lot stronger than you expected. You drive your elbow into his ribs, and then again, forcing a grunt out of him. 

But he doesn’t stop, he only slows for a moment. He swings and you duck, he barely connects with your shoulder but it’s enough to send you stumbling. He lunges toward you and you manage to connect your fist with his jaw with your weight behind it. He stops all together, spitting blood on the ground. 

“Bitch.” 

“Hotch!” You scream, wherever the team is, it hopefully is still within earshot. You’re under exactly where they should be looking. 

The man slams you into a wall again, but this time his hand grips your throat. Your ribs ache and your lungs start to scream. You reach out with everything you have to claw at the man. His grip remains steady and he tries to stay just out of reach.

A shot rings out, deafening in the small space. 

The hand on your throat lessens, and the man in front of you drops to the ground. You’re close after, fighting to pull air back into your lungs on your hands and knees. Aaron is at your side in an instant, a hand on your back and the other on your face. He forces you to focus on him. 

“Breathe.” 

“I’m okay-”

“Y/n.” He warns. 

You honestly shouldn’t have even tried that. 

A few more moments pass, your breathing slowly returning closer to normal. The unsub still lays motionless on the floor a few feet away. You’re vaguely aware that Morgan is down here too, he stands in the doorway with his flashlight to illuminate the pit of a room you’ve been dragged into.

“Call an ambulance.” Hotch calls over his shoulder. 

“No,” Your head snaps over to Morgan, “I’m fine!” 

“You’re hurt.” Hotch demands, “Where?”

“My throat and ribs, but I can wait to be treated when we get back to town.”

Hotch makes a face that is clear he doesn’t like this idea. 

You force yourself up, “Derek, can you give us a second?”

He nods and puts his phone back in his pocket. 

With Derek gone, you’re forced to return Aaron’s stare. Concern and fear clear all over his face. 

“I’m okay.” You repeat. 

“You could’ve been seriously hurt.” 

“Well, I wasn’t.” You shrug, “I’ve been worse off than this. You know it.”

“What if I didn’t come down here? What if I didn’t hear you?”

“I don’t know!” You shout back, “We’ll never know because you were. That’s the job, we’re a team. We rely on each other.” 

Something in him broke. 

“Don’t act like that didn’t just happen,” he shakes his head, “I thought I lost you.” 

Your breath catches. 

“I thought I was too late.” 

You stare back, softer now “You weren’t.”

“No, but I could’ve been.”

You let the moment pass, you don’t really know what you can say to that.

“I was wrong.” He admits. 

“About what?”

“Everything.” He clears his throat, “I never should’ve denied it, I never should have told you it wasn’t real. It wasn’t the truth.” 

You still at the confession. 

“I care about you,” he continues, “More than I should. More than what is appropriate, and I tried to bury it. I thought it would protect you and the team, but all I did was hurt you.” 

Morgan is at the top of the stairs, pretending he can’t still hear everything. He sees the ambulance pull up, thankfully no sirens so you won’t know he called anyway. 

“So all it took was a near death experience for you to say how you feel? Suddenly we’re doing emotional honesty?”

He doesn’t argue or deflect. 

“I was wrong.” he repeats.

You blink, expecting more pushback or excuses. You study him for a second, waiting for the rest that never comes. 

“Okay…” You say slowly. 

You suddenly smirk, “So you really went with ‘she’s still single to me’ that was your big move?” 

His jaw tightens while you laugh and immediately wince clutching your rib. Hotch is on you in an instant. 

“That didn’t go how I wanted it to.” He admits. 

“Oh no please,” you gesture, “Explain it to me, I’d love to hear the professional breakdown on that one.” 

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, you can’t tell if it’s annoyance or amusement. You hope it's the latter. 

“Not my finest moment,” He laughs dryly, “Somehow I always screw it up with you when I’m trying the hardest.” 

“A tragedy.” You bite. 

“Tell me about it.” 

You snort and he gives you a rare smile. 

“We’re not done talking about this.” You point at him, “I’m gonna make you work for it.” 

“I look forward to it.”

“Okay.” You pause, “You’re being really sweet, but can we get the fuck out of here?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

The jet was completely different on the flight back. The case was closed and the unsub was dead. The small town would sleep better tonight than they had in weeks. 

Everyone settled into seats, everyone noticing Hotch take the seat next to yours. 

Morgan’s eyebrows shoot up, “Oh, this is gonna be good.” 

Rossi leans back with a satisfied sigh, “Finally.” 

The jet took off and it was maybe thirty seconds before anyone said anything. 

“So,” Emily starts, “are you two okay now, or?”

“Emily.” JJ warms.

“What? She’s asking a valid question.” Morgan defends.

You don’t even look up, “We’re working on it.” 

“Mm,” Garcia hums on speaker, “That sounds promising.” 

Hotch kept glancing at you, unable to stop noticing small things. He was not subtle in his gaze. After a minute, you lean your head back against the seat and look over at him. 

“If you look at me like that one more time, I’m going to assume you think I’m concussed.” 

His eyes shine warmly, “You might be.”

“Oh my god,” You roll your eyes, “I take it back, I preferred when you were emotionally repressed.”

A couple quiet laughs ripple across the cabin and you get your second smile from Hotch today. He reaches into his bag and pulls out your prescription, turns out they’ll give you hell of a drug if you go hand to hand with a human tank. 

“You were slammed into a wall.” He reminds, shaking the bottle in front of you. 

“Twice.” You stick your tongue out for good measure, taking the meds from him. 

Across the cabin, the rest of the team is watching every movement. The way Hotch’s arm wraps around your shoulder carefully so you can lean against him. The conversation between you two has turned to whispers they can’t hear. 

“They’re gonna be unbearable.” Emily shakes her head. 

“He’ll keep it professional.” Rossi defends. 

Morgan smirks, “And she’s going to make it impossible.” 

JJ just smiles looking over at you both again. 

“Yeah, I think they’ll figure it out.” 

the couch creaks when you stand. you don’t bother fixing the blanket you’d been pretending not to clutch.

keys, finally. metal on metal. the lock turning.

you’re already halfway across the living room when the door opens.

aaron steps in with his head down, suit jacket still on, tie loosened just enough to suggest someone else had tugged at it hours ago. his shoulders sag in that way you’ve learned means he’s past tired and running on something sharper.

you say his name before you can stop yourself.

“aaron.”

he looks up.

and he smiles.

it’s small. automatic. tired down to the bone. the kind he keeps for you even when he has nothing left to give.

"hi, sweetheart. how was your night?”

you don’t answer.

you just look at him. really look.

his face is flushed, an angry red beneath the overhead light. there’s a split on his lower lip, crusted dark. a bruise blooming along his cheekbone, already turning that ugly mix of purple and yellow. another cut near his brow, shallow but fresh.

your stomach drops somewhere near your feet.

“aaron,” you say again, softer this time, like volume might change what you’re seeing. “what happened? are you alright?”

he nods immediately, like he’s been trained to. like it’s muscle memory.

“i’m fine.”

he steps inside fully, nudging the door closed with his foot. hangs his jacket on the hook by the door with careful precision, as if this is any other night. as if you didn’t just watch your heart stutter.

“aaron,” you try again, and this time it breaks a little. “you’re bleeding.”

“it looks worse than it is,“ he says it gently. reassuring. practiced.

you don’t let him get any farther.

you cross the space between you and cup his face carefully with both hands before he can think to dodge. your thumbs brush his cheeks, and you feel it, the heat, the tightness. the way his jaw locks just slightly under your palms.

his breath hitches.

just once. there it is.

his eyes close for half a second, and when they open again, something is held carefully behind them. pain, leashed and contained through sheer will.

you swallow.

“babe,” you whisper. “you are not fine.“

“the paramedics took a look,” he says. “on scene. they cleared me.”

“on scene,” you echo, stunned. “aaron-"

“i didn’t need to go in.”

“you have blood on your mouth.”

“it’s not mine.”

that doesn’t help. somehow, it makes it worse.

your hands are still on his face. you don’t move them. you’re afraid if you do, he’ll fall apart, or you will.

“sit down,” you say.

it’s not a request.

he hesitates, just for a fraction of a second, stern boss instincts flaring out of habit. then he softens, because it’s you, and because he’s exhausted, and because the room smells like home.

“okay.“

you guide him to the couch, fingers never leaving his skin. he sits, careful, back straight despite the way his shoulders tremble when he exhales. you kneel in front of him without thinking, your knees pressing into the rug.

you tilt his chin up gently.

“this hurts,” you say, brushing the cut near his lip.

he winces despite himself.

“a little.”

you give him a look.

“fine,” he amends. “more than a little.”

you stand abruptly, heading for the bathroom. you hear him start to protest behind you.

“it’s late, honey. i‘m sure you’re as exhausted as i am, you don’t have to-"

“i do.”

you’re back in seconds with a damp cloth and the first aid kit you keep stocked because loving aaron hotchner means planning for impact.

you clean him slowly. carefully. he goes still under your hands, eyes tracking your face like he’s anchoring himself there.

“talk to me,” you murmur.

“he was torturing me,” he says after a moment. “we needed him to think he was in control.”

your mouth presses into a thin line.

“looks like he was.”

a ghost of a smile touches his mouth and immediately fades.

you finish cleaning the cut and sit back on your heels, really seeing him now. the lines around his eyes, deeper tonight. the way his hands rest on his knees, clenched just enough to betray the calm he’s trying to project.

“you scared me,” you say quietly.

“i’m sorry. you know i never want to scare you.“

it’s genuine. it always is. and it always makes your chest ache.

you lean forward, pressing your forehead to his.

“i don’t like it when you pretend you’re not hurt at all,” you whisper.

his breath stutters against yours.

he sits still while you work, which you know takes effort. aaron hotchner is many things, patient is not usually one of them when he’s the one being tended to.

your thumb traces the edge of the bruise along his cheekbone.

“my gorgeous face,” you murmur, lips pushed into a small pout.

he huffs a quiet laugh despite himself. it pulls at the cut on his lip and he stills again, but his eyes soften when he looks at you.

“is it not gorgeous anymore?” he asks, trying to bring light into this situation.

“don’t flatter yourself,” you reply automatically, but your fingers are gentle as you tilt his chin. you open the small tube you grabbed from the cabinet. “okay. i’m going to put this on your lip. it’ll burn.”

he nods once. bracing. trusting.

you dab the ointment carefully along the split, watching his jaw tighten. his breath hisses out through his teeth, just barely audible.

“sorry,” you whisper.

“don’t be,” he says. “it’s fine.”

you’re screwing the cap back on when your eyes drop.

and stop.

his hands rest loosely on his thighs, palms down, but you can see enough. the skin across his knuckles is split, swollen. blood dried into the creases. the bones beneath already blooming blue and purple, angry and deep.

your chest tightens hard enough it steals the air from your lungs.

“…aaron hotchner.”

the full name. the warning bell.

his shoulders tense before you even touch him.

you take his hands anyway, turning them gently, like they’re something fragile instead of the weapons they’ve always been. your thumbs hover, not daring to press.

“jesus,” you breathe.

he looks away.

“he took my gun at some point,” he says quietly.

your head snaps up. “what.”

“there was a struggle,” he continues, calm and methodical, like he’s briefing you instead of confessing. “radio signal got sent. backup was minutes out. i had to keep him down.”

“so you punched him,” you say flatly.

“among other things.”

your throat burns.

you guide his hands into your lap, already reaching for gauze, antiseptic, tape. you clean the cuts as best you can, dabbing instead of wiping. he watches you this time, eyes intent, like memorizing your face is grounding him.

you wrap his knuckles carefully, one hand at a time, layers of white bandage slowly hiding the damage.

“it will heal,” he says, “i’ve had worse.”

you swallow hard. “you always say that.”

he doesn’t argue.

when you finish, you hold his wrapped hands for a second longer than necessary.

“okay,” you say, forcing a breath. you look up at him. “what else?”

it was supposed to be a joke. a weak attempt at levity.

aaron’s lips press into a thin line.

the room goes very quiet.

he studies you for a long moment, like weighing something. then he nods, once.

“i’m not hiding anything from you,” he says. “i just… don’t want you to feel bad. because i know you do.”

your heart sinks.

he reaches for the buttons of his shirt.

“aaron,” you warn, “no.”

“i’m used to this,” he says gently. “but i know you’re not.”

he unbuttons the first. then the second.

when he slips the shirt off his shoulders, your breath catches so sharply it almost hurts.

bruises line his ribs, dark and mottled, fingerprints pressed into skin like accusations. his abdomen is worse, deep purples, sickly yellows already forming beneath. evidence of boots, knees, blunt force. the kind of damage that doesn’t come from a fall.

your eyes burn.

“and you want to tell me,” you say, voice shaking now, “that you didn’t have to go to the hospital?”

he nods.

“they checked me,” he says. “no internal bleeding. no fractures. they gave me something for the pain.”

you stare at him, incredulous.

“and you’re just… here.”

“i told them i have the exact same pain meds at home,” he adds quietly, like that makes it better. like a well-supplied medicine cabinet is a substitute for observation.

you press your palm flat against his chest, careful to avoid the worst of it. his heart beats steady beneath your hand.

“aaron,” you whisper. “this is the worst you’ve ever looked.”

his hand comes up to cover yours.

“i’m here,” he says. “that’s what matters.”

your lips tremble.

“i hate this,” you admit. “i hate that you come home broken and tell me it’s normal.”

he leans forward and cups your cheek with his now bandaged hand.

“i know,” he murmurs. “i’m sorry.”

you shake your head, a tear finally spilling over.

“honey, please don’t cry,” he wipes your tears as he speaks, “i don’t like to be the reason.”

“i’m scared for you,” you say, finally. it rushes out of you, raw and unfiltered. “every time you come home like this — or don’t come home yet — i’m scared. i keep thinking one day you won’t walk through that door.”

his jaw tightens. he doesn’t interrupt you. he never does when it matters.

“i know,” he says quietly after a moment. “and i wish i could tell you it’ll stop.”

you shake your head. “it’s your job.”

it’s not an accusation. just the truth.

he exhales slowly. “it is.”

there’s no defense in his voice. no authority. just acceptance.

“but i hear you,” he adds. “and i’m sorry you carry that fear.”

his hands slide to the back of your neck, grounding, steady. his thumbs brush your jawline like he’s memorizing you.

“you did a good job fixing me,” he says softly, trying to lighten it just enough. “you always do.”

you sniff, pressing your forehead into his chest for a second.

“i try.”

he huffs a quiet laugh.

you pull back just enough to look at him. really look. even with the bruises, the bandages, the exhaustion carved into his face, he’s still him. still yours.

he leans in and kisses you, slow and unhurried. it’s not hungry. it’s reassurance. his lips linger against yours like he’s trying to communicate something words won’t cover.

“i love you,” he murmurs against your mouth.

your chest tightens all over again. “i love you.”

you hesitate, “are you hungry? i made dinner earlier, or do you want to lie down?”

his eyes flick toward the hallway, then back to you. that tired smile returns.

“i’d very much like to be in bed with you,” he says.

you help him up from the couch. he moves carefully, but when he straightens fully, you see it, the brief wince he can’t quite hide. it flashes across his face and is gone just as fast.

you shake your head, already reaching for him. “you’re impossible.”

he squeezes your hand.

you walk him to the bedroom together, slower than usual. the lights stay dim, soft shadows along the walls. everything feels quieter in here, like the world knows to give him a break.

when he slides into bed in just his boxers, he exhales deeply, like the mattress itself is permission to finally let go.

you linger at your side of the bed, uncertain.

“i wish i could do something to make you feel better,” you say quietly.

he reaches for you immediately, fingers wrapping around your wrist.

“you already did,” he says. “being with you — that’s what helps.”

you climb in beside him, stiff with caution, not sure how much pressure he can take. you hover like you’re afraid to bruise him further.

he notices, of course.

“come here,” he murmurs.

you ease closer, laying your head gently on his chest. his arm comes around you at once, secure and instinctive, pulling you into him just enough.

his heartbeat is steady beneath your ear.

his fingers move through your hair in slow, repetitive strokes. over and over. grounding both of you. he presses a kiss to your forehead, then your temple.

you let out a long breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

“you don’t have to be careful with me,” he says quietly. “i’ve got you.”

you tilt your head slightly, listening to his breathing.

“does this hurt?” you ask.

“no,” he answers honestly. “this helps.”

you go still, settling your weight just right. his hand continues its slow path through your hair, nails lightly grazing your scalp in a way that makes your body finally unclench.

minutes pass. maybe longer. time softens around you.

“thank you,” he says suddenly.

you lift your head just enough to look at him. “for what?”

“for not asking me to be someone else,” he says. “for letting me come home like this.”

your throat tightens.

“you don’t have to earn your place here,” you whisper. “you already belong.”

his eyes close. his grip tightens just a fraction.

he kisses your forehead again. “get some sleep,” he murmurs.

Everyone now turns to look back at the office. Hotch has fully set down his pen and is turned to where you’re leaning in the doorway. 

“I give it six more cases before one of them slips up.” Morgan bets. 

“Try five.” Emily throws down. 

“Make it three.” Rossi steps out of his office. 

Aaron’s phone rings and your spine automatically straightens. He answers it with a simple ‘Hotchner’ and says very few words before hanging up. The second he does he looks back up at you. 

“We’ve got a case.” 

He gets up from his desk and you step out of his way. 

“Conference room.” He calls, walking directly to the room. Everyone gets up and follows, a minute later Garcia enters with a tablet in hand. Everyone else has filled in the remaining chairs.

Hotch clicks on the monitor and three pictures pop up on the screen. A uniformed cop shot execution style. Another, shot through the windshield of the police cruiser. A third, off the shoulder of the highway with his car abandoned.

“Three officers in five days.” 

The light atmosphere from the morning was long gone now. 

“The unsub is also taking their service weapon after each murder.” Garcia adds. 

Rossi nods, “Power.”

“Or souvenirs.” Reid adds. 

Garcia pulls more information onto the screen, “All three victims were patrol officers, two different precincts. So far they’ve come up clean, no major cases.”

Morgan frowns, “No personal connection?”

“Exactly.” You nod, all eyes falling on you, “He’s targeting the badge, the officers are interchangeable.” 

Hotch nods for you to continue. 

“If this was revenge against specific officers we’d expect complaints, lawsuits, and arrests from them.” You look at each victim's picture, “None of them have disciplinary records.” 

“So, why them?” JJ questions. 

“They’re accessible, it isn’t personal.” You look up, meeting Aaron’s gaze, “It’s symbolic.” 

He likes watching you talk, you start to talk with your hands when you get invested in something. It’s another thing he noticed but would never admit. 

“He isn’t killing officers.” His brows furrow.

You nod, “He’s killing what they represent.” 

Rossi smiles into his coffee cup, looking between the two of you. 

“That distinction changes the profile.” Reid comments. 

“It does.” Aaron agrees, “He wants the public to see that officers aren’t untouchable.” 

“Exactly.”

-

An hour later, the team was up in the sky. The jet is headed to Cleveland, everyone has settled into their usual seats. Hotch sits across from you, a file in his hand. You’ve already kicked off your shoes and have one leg tucked under yourself. 

Most of the team is resting now, knowing how this will go. Cop cases were hard, the local law enforcement always takes cases like this personally making it harder for them to do their jobs. You and Aaron are the only ones with the window shade up and files open. 

“Public panic is going to get out of hand once the news of the third officer hits the news cycle.” You comment, Aaron nods instantly. 

“I’m having Garcia look into social media posts to see if anyone in recent weeks has had a problem with the police or believed wrongful action.”

After landing, the local police station was buzzing with tension. It was clear that no one was sleeping, exhaustion was evident on everyone’s face. The sheriff met the team at the entrance.

“You’re the profilers?”

Hotch nods and offers his hand, “I’m Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner.” 

He introduces the team one by one, landing on you last. The conference room becomes the command center for the team. Crime scene photos cover one wall, Reid manages a city map with various pins in it. 

“Confirmed, no overlap in arrests,” Garcia sighs on speaker, “No lawsuits, no complaints, no disciplinary records, no common calls for service. This guy is cleaner than my browser history.” 

Morgan looks up, “That’s not saying much.” 

You snort into your coffee. 

“I’ve checked family connections, nothing.” JJ shakes her head. 

Reid paces in front of the board, a legal pad in hand. 

“If we assume he’s selecting officers randomly-” 

“He isn’t.” You interrupt and tap the photo in front of you with your pen, “He wants us to think he is.”

Rossi leans back in his chair, “Explain.” 

“He isn’t picking the officers, he’s picking symbols.” You get up and walk toward the map, “Symbols still have patterns. All of these officers were killed in highly visible locations.” 

“Public places.” Emily agrees. 

“So the message is more than the victim.” Hotch finishes. 

You nod, “He wants witnesses.” 

The room falls quiet. Aaron watches you for a second before calling the sheriff into the room. 

“When does the second shift end?”

The sheriff looks down at his watch, “In about forty-five minutes.” 

“I want every available officer briefed before they leave.” 

The sheriff shifts in place, adjusting his hands to rest on his hips. His cliche mustache doesn’t even hide his frown. 

“We’re already short.” 

“And you’re going to be even more short if this unsub keeps finding exhausted officers alone.” 

The room falls silent, Hotch steps closer to where you stand by the map. He points to the same three spots you had minutes ago. 

“He’s hunting opportunity, let's not give him any more.” 

Officers crowd into the station, the other local precincts call in. 

“Fatigue creates opportunity.” 

One lieutenant crossed his arms, “We can’t stop policing.” 

“No,” Hotch frowns, “no, you can’t.”

He looks around the room. 

“I’m not asking you to,” He continues calmly, “I’m asking you to be smart.” 

Hotch began issuing instructions for everyone, calm confidence and a stern look leveling the room. It settles the few grumbles and pushbacks from angry men already looking for revenge.

“No one goes home alone. Double units only. If your shift ends, another officer escorts you to your front door.” 

He looks around the room once more. 

“You’ve been running on adrenaline for five days. Tired officers make mistakes, go home and stay vigilant.” 

The room slowly emptied, you watch Aaron for a moment while the rest of the team returns to the conference room. 

“You know,” You take a step closer, “You’re good at that.” 

“At what?”

“Making people listen.”

He bites back a rare smirk, “I’ve never had much luck with you.” 

“Well, I never said you were perfect.” You smile, breezing past him to follow the rest of the team. 

By eleven thirty that night, the precinct was abandoned. The lights had been dimmed and the cleaning staff made a pass through, but the team was still situated in the conference room. Garcia is still on screen, but her eyes are starting to glaze over. 

“I have officially entered the part of the evening where every license plate looks like alphabet soup.” 

“You passed that hours ago.” Emily sighs. 

Morgan stretches in his spot, “My back hurts.”

“My brain hurts.” JJ echos. 

“Everything hurts.” Rossi tops. 

Reid hadn’t sat down in nearly an hour, pacing keeping him awake. 

“Maybe he identifies with law enforcement but simultaneously resents authority.” 

“No.” 

Everyone looks over at you and you don’t even lift up your head. Your head is resting in your hand, which is resting on the table. 

“He doesn’t identify with them… He envies them.” You rub a tired eyes and a long yawn escapes, “If he identified with them, he’d want acceptance.” 

Rossi nods, “He wants control.” 

“Good distinction.” 

Hotch writes it on the board, “Envy.”

“If he wanted revenge, he’d escalate emotionally.” Another yawn escapes, your elbow slides down the table, “He’s…”

“Y/n?” Emily looks up. 

Morgan looks over, “Did she just?”

“She fell asleep.” JJ smiles. 

You’re still sitting mostly upright, completely asleep. 

Reid looks genuinely impressed, “I didn’t know people could actually fall asleep that quickly.” 

Hotch looks over from the board, a soft expression crosses his face immediately. It was subtle, and most people would miss it. His shoulders relaxed and the hard line between his brows disappeared. He looked fond. You were the only person in the room to miss it. 

Nobody said anything or tried to wake you. For twenty minutes the team worked around you, speaking softer without realizing it. Eventually Garcia yawns loudly over the speaker. 

“Okay my crime fighting ducklings, I officially vote bedtime.” 

Rossi checks his watch, “I second.” 

Hotch reaches into his pocket for his phone and checks for any new messages from the sheriff. 

“We’ll resume at six.” 

Everyone slowly packed up and grabbed their things. Everyone except for you. You were still asleep and undisturbed. 

“Who’s gonna wake her?” Reid whispers, nodding in your direction to Morgan. 

“Just wait.” 

As if on cue, Hotch leaves the board and stops beside your chair for a moment. Morgan deliberately busies himself with collecting files. JJ slowly organizes the crime scene photos. Rossi takes twice as long to put on his jacket. 

When Aaron looks down at you, something warm fills his chest. You look softer when you sleep, the sarcasm and sharp edges tucked away for the time being. A loose strand of hair has fallen across your face.

He should hesitate, but his want overpowers him for a few seconds. He carefully brushes it back, stopping it from tickling your nose. 

Behind him, Emily’s brows shoot up toward the ceiling and Morgan’s smile nearly splits his face. JJ looks over at Rossi who has a simple knowing smirk. 

Aaron crouches slightly beside you, his voice drops a full octave. 

“Y/n.”

Nothing. 

A tiny smile tugs at his lips. 

“Y/n.” 

This time you stir slightly, “Hm?”

You don’t even have the energy to open your eyes. 

“We’re heading to the hotel.” 

You sit up, blinking slowly as you try to orient yourself. 

“Did I fall asleep?” You look up at him. 

“A little.” 

You look around the conference room and see everyone’s eyes on you. The team is clearly packing up and moving toward the door. 

“That’s embarrassing.” You mumble, standing up and stretching, clearly not too embarrassed. 

“Not really.” Hotch looks down. 

“You all just let me?” You point at the team and Derek makes a face that clearly said absolutely. 

You groan dramatically, “I’m transferring.” 

Emily laughs, “Too late.” 

You shift in your spot, the tiredness still seeping into your bones. 

“C’mon Sleepy Girl.” Morgan chuckles. 

“Shut up,” You slowly roll your eyes, “Some of us didn’t sleep on the flight, some of us worked.” 

“What, you and Hotch?” He raises brows that show you walked right into that one. 

“Shut up.” 

Everyone makes their way back to the SUVs. No one utters a word when Hotch opens your door for you. 

-

The hotel lobby was almost empty at five thirty in the morning. A sleepy desk agent noticed Aaron’s sharp suit and straight tie for the early hour as he makes his way over to the coffee station. He makes one black and the other doctored to your liking. 

Five minutes later a knock echoes in your hotel room. You groan into your pillow, your alarm still has two more minutes. 

“If it’s Morgan…” 

Another knock. 

“I’m armed!” 

Aaron's voice comes through, close to the door. 

“It’s Hotch.” 

Your head quickly snaps up from the pillow, suddenly sleep is the last thing on your mind. You toss off the covers to make your way over to the door. You crack the door open and squint at the bright light it lets in. 

Aaron looks down at you, barely awake. Your hair is a mess and you have a big FBI hoodie hanging off one shoulder. 

“Are we being called in already?” 

“No.” He holds out one of the coffees, “I thought you might need this before heading over.” 

You look down at the coffee, then back at him, then back to the coffee. 

“You’re voluntarily bringing me caffeine?” You raise a brow. 

The corners of his mouth curl slightly, “I’d like you awake for the morning briefing.”

You finally accept the cup, your fingers brushing his as you take it. 

“I think you just like seeing me suffer.” You tease, “My alarm hasn’t even gone off yet.” 

Now he openly smirks, “We’re supposed to leave for the station in ten minutes.” 

“Don’t doubt me.” You shake your head and take a long sip of coffee. You aren’t surprised it’s exactly to your liking.

He hides his smile now, “You have five minutes.” 

He turns and leaves your doorway and heads in the direction of the elevator. 

“Yes, sir.” 

He almost reaches it, but you step out into the hall with your hand still holding your door open. 

“Hotch?”

He turns, taking in your bare legs as you’re just standing out in the hall. Your free hand braces the door behind you so you don’t lock yourself out.

“Thank you.” 

He nods and the elevator doors open and you go back inside your room. Taking your coffee with you. A second later the room across the hall from you opens, Morgan steps out and looks both ways in the hall. JJ walks out of her room just down the hall in time to see the elevator doors close with Aaron inside. 

“He just brought her coffee.” Derek shakes his head and gestures between the elevator and your room. 

“Coffee…” JJ nods. 

Rossi steps out next, adjusting his watch on his wrist. 

“Good morning.” 

“Hotch is getting awfully domestic.” 

Rossi smiles, “I noticed.” 

You're the last one to join them in the lobby, coffee still in hand. You take one last sip before throwing out the cup by the door. By six o clock, the team is back at the precinct. The atmosphere felt different. Heavier. 

The sheriff meets everyone halfway to the conference room. His face said everything before he even had to speak. Hotch noticed it instantly. 

“What happened?”

The sheriff swallowed. 

“We lost two more.” 

The room froze. 

“They were together.” 

Silence. 

Emily’s shoulders drop, “They followed protocol?”

“They did everything they were supposed to.” 

The sheriff rubbed tired eyes. 

“They were parked outside a closed convenience store waiting on another unit.” 

Morgan frowns, “How?”

The sheriff passes Hotch a folder, “Explosion.”

Everyone loops up. 

“There was an IED placed on the cruiser.” 

Reid’s expression darkens, “”Remote detonated?”

“We think so.”

“He adapted.” You speak up. 

Everyone turns toward you and you continue to stare at the crime scene photos. 

“He expected us to pair officers.” 

Hotch nods once, “So he changed tactics.” 

Rossi sighs, “Which means he’s watching.” 

Derek folds his arms across his chest, “He knew our response procedures.” 

-

Half an hour later the team is standing outside of what’s left of the police cruiser. The blast tore through the driver’s side, metal warped in horrifying directions. Bomb technicians were still searching the area. 

Morgan crouches near the crater “He knew exactly where to place it.”

“He needed line of sight.” Reid looks around the intersection. 

Your head turns on a swivel, “So he was nearby?”

Aaron scans the surrounding businesses, “Watching.” 

His phone rings loudly and he answers it, putting Garcia on speaker. 

“I’ve got surveillance cameras from the liquor store across the street.” 

Back at the sheriff’s station everyone crowded around the laptop with the file Penelope sent over. The time stamp read 2:13 AM, a patrol car pulls into frame. The footage is grainy and nothing happens for the first four minutes. Then, a figure walks calmly on the sidewalk. Hands shoved into a hoodie pocket, he doesn’t even look in the direction of the officers. 

“He isn’t looking at the cruiser.” Morgan observes. 

“He doesn’t have to,” You reply, “He already knew exactly where it was.” 

Garcia works on enhancing the footage. Enough to see dark work boots and a baseball cap. One shoulder sits noticeably lower than the other. Reid notices it instantly. 

“He’s not carrying his weight regularly.” 

“Domintant right side.” You agree. 

“Construction?” JJ guesses. 

You shake your head and trace the angle of his arm, “He’s carried something heavy on one side for years.”

“What?”

“I don’t know.” You admit. 

Hotch hasn’t taken his eyes off the screen, “Play it back.” 

The footage backs up, he leaves the frame, before starting over again. This time it’s slower and focused on his walk rather than the explosion. 

“He never looked back.” You swallow.

“He’s done this before.” Aaron continues, eyes darting to yours. 

The words settle over the room with weight. Your eyes stay locked on his as you continue to think, finally placing what you thought you saw before. 

“Someone who spent years carrying a rifle.” You point to the suspect’s gait. 

JJ nods before adding, “He scans reflections instead of turning his head. Store windows, car mirrors.” 

Rossi looks towards Hotch, “Military.” 

Aaron nods, already looking down at his phone. 

“Garcia, look into anyone who recently applied to the police academy with a military background.” 

Her typing became audible with rapid speed. 

“Former Staff Sergeant Daniel Mercer. Three deployments, honorably discharged four years ago.” 

Garcia puts his photo onto the screen, “He was diagnosed with severe PTSD after his last tour. He applied to three police departments” 

Three rejection letters appeared. 

“The psychological evaluations all came back the same.” Garcia’s voice softens, “Not fit for duty due to unresolved combat trauma.”

“That’s him.” You stand suddenly, grabbing your badge and gun. 

Rossi nods, “The military gave him purpose… Law enforcement was supposed to replace it.” 

“When they rejected him,” Morgan sighs, “They became the enemy.” 

Garcia sent the coordinates for Daniel’s hunting cabin to everyone’s phones. 

Hotch reaches for a vest, “Let’s move.”

The cabin sat deep in the woods. It was too quiet, the team studies the layout before moving in. 

“One front entrance.” Morgan points. 

“No movement.” Emily confirms. 

You adjust your point tail tighter, “He knows we’re coming.” 

Aaron looks over, “We need to assume he has every inch trapped.” 

You smirk, “You always know how to make a girl feel welcome.” 

He gives you the look. Even now. 

You smile, “There it is.” 

JJ shakes her head, “Seriously?”

Hotch continues to stare you down, “Focus.” 

“Breach on my count.” 

Three. Two. One.

The flashbang goes off and the front door explodes inward. The team floods into the cabin. 

Morgan and Emily go left. Rossi and JJ clear the kitchen. Reid heads upstairs. You and Hotch move deeper into the house. Empty rooms with lights off, Hotch leads through the halls. There’s a closed door at the very end, he opens it and you march in. Hotch follows close behind, then the door slams behind the two of you. You both spin around to face him, Daniel Mercer standing there with a gun already raised.

“Drop it!” Hotch shouts. 

Daniel’s eyes weren’t on him, they were on you. He doesn’t negotiate for a second, his finger tightens on the trigger. Two deafening shots ring out, the impact slamming you backward. You crash to the ground and Aaron’s world stops. 

Mercer doesn’t get the chance to raise his weapon again, Hotch fires. Once. Twice. Three times. He drops before he can hit the ground. Aaron doesn’t even look, he’s on his knees next to you. Blood roars behind his ears and his heart thunders in his chest. 

His hands shake as he reaches for your shoulders, he can barely breathe. Somewhere behind him he hears the door open and he can see David, Morgan and Prentiss in his peripheral. 

“Y/n?” He whispers your name.

You suck in a painful breath and he freezes. Two hot pieces of metal sit against your vest, protecting you from actually being pierced. 

You wince, “...Ow.” 

He simply stares for a few seconds. 

“I think I have some broken ribs.” You mutter. 

He still looks unable to process, stuck in a state of panic. You reach out a hand slowly to his arm. His eyes dart down at the contact. 

“Hey.. you look,” You hesitate, “...really freaked out.” 

He lets out something between a laugh and a sob. 

“You got shot.”

“In the vest.” 

“You got shot.” He says it again, but this time you can hear the raw deep emotion in his voice. Fear. 

He pulls you into his arms, carefully. One arm behind your shoulders and the other behind your back supporting you. He’s holding onto you like if he lets go you’ll disappear. You hiss through the slight pain. He loosens his grip immediately. 

“Sorry.” 

Emily blinks looking down at the two of you. Morgan couldn’t ignore it either. None of them said a word, not now. They hadn’t seen fear like that on Hotch in a long time. His composure was gone, breathing uneven. His hands still shake where they hold you. 

He pulls back and looks at you. Then, very faintly, “You scared me.” 

Your teasing smile softens, “I’m sorry.” 

The sincerity in those two words hit him harder than he cared to admit. You were rarely serious and normally would take every possible opportunity to tease him. Only after you give his hand a squeeze does it finally stop shaking. He lets Morgan help you up. 

Twenty minutes later you're sitting in the back of an ambulance. The EMT carefully examines your ribs, you wince every couple of seconds as the bandage braces you tighter. You’re sure to have a couple of ugly bruises as well. 

Aaron stands several feet away, his eyes still carefully trained on you. Rossi wanders over, no longer able to watch the man suffer alone. 

“You can breathe now.” 

Aaron doesn’t answer. 

“Aaron.” 

Still nothing. Rossi looks toward the ambulance. You’re laughing despite the pain as JJ fusses over you. 

“You almost lost her.” 

Aaron's jaw tightens. It’s the first sign he’s shown that he’s actually listening. 

“I know.”

“No,” Rossi looks directly at him, “I don’t think you do.” 

Aaron finally looks over. 

“I’ve seen you worried about this team. I’ve seen you angry. I’ve seen you blame yourself.” Rossi nods in your direction, “I’ve only seen you fall apart like that once.” 

Haley. 

Aaron looks away. 

“I thought she was dead.” 

“I could tell.” 

Another long silence. Finally Rossi smiles. 

“So…”

Aaron already knew where this was going. 

“No.” 

“You need to do something about that.” 

“I don’t know what-”

Rossi doesn’t even let him finish, “You emptied half your magazine into a man because he shot the woman you’re in love with.” 

Aaron sights, “I’m not-”

Rossi holds up a hand, “Save it.” 

-

The ride from the station to the airport was unusually quiet. Everyone was tired and you were wincing every time the SUV hit a bump. You tried to hide it, but failed miserably considering the audience. 

Emily commented on it first, “You okay?”

“I’m great,” Another pothole, “I hate Ohio roads.” 

Aaron looks over from the driver’s seat, “You got shot.” 

“In the vest.” You sigh dramatically, “We’ve been over this.” 

JJ smiles in the backseat, “We’re worried about you.” 

You twist painfully to look at her in the back, “This is excessive.” 

By the time you reach the tarmac, so does the rest of the team. Morgan insisted on carrying your go bag. You try to take it back but he slings it over his shoulder and walks ahead. 

Emily reaches the stairs first, “Easy.” 

“I’ve climbed stairs before.” You roll your eyes. 

“Not with bruised ribs.” Aaron calls from behind you. 

JJ hands you a water as soon as you settle into your chair, “You haven’t been drinking enough.” 

Reid frowns thoughtfully, “Actually, hydration helps with tissue recovery.” 

“Alright, alright.” 

It was clear that without having to discuss it, the team had all decided you wouldn’t be lifting a finger tonight. The jet lifted into the darkness within a half an hour. The cabin lights were dimmed to a minimum. Reid fell asleep with a book on his chest. Morgan was stretched across the couch. Emily and JJ took two seats near the back. Rossi quietly sipped coffee in the way back. The engines settled into their familiar hum that signaled it was time to go home. 

You shift in your seat and regret it instantly. 

“Ow.” 

Aaron looks over, “You alright?”

“I’m discovering muscles I didn’t know existed.” You sigh, trying to stretch out and keep your ribs straight. 

“You don’t have to pretend you’re fine.” 

Your eyes snap open to look at him. He openly stares back and you smile faintly. 

“I know.” 

He hesitates for a few seconds, looking at the empty chair to your right. He quietly moves into the seat beside you and you look at him with an amused smile. He adjusts the armrest between the seats so you can lean against him, not having to support yourself while still being able to stretch out across to the seat he had just been occupying.

“You’ve never sat here.” You sound surprised, “You don’t have assigned seating?”

“I don’t.” 

“So this is voluntary?” You raise a teasing brow. 

“Yes.” 

You smile, “I’ll try not to let the power go to my head.” 

For a minute, the two of you just sit there. You enjoy the feeling of his warm chest under you, his arm protectively keeping you there. Eventually Aaron breaks the silence. 

“I’ve replayed it.” 

You look up at him. 

“Back at the cabin,” his jaw tightens, “if I had entered first.” 

He huffs and you start to frown. 

“If I’d seen him sooner, if I’d-”

“Aaron.” 

“I can’t stop thinking about it.” His voice is barely above a whisper. 

“I thought…” He swallows, “I thought you were dead.” 

You watch him carefully. He isn’t looking at you, he’s staring at his hands. 

“I’ve lost agents before.” He continues quietly, “I’ve attended funerals. I know what this job costs.” 

Another pause. 

“But today,” His voice cracks just enough for you to hear, “Today rattled me more than it should have.” 

You already knew what he meant, he finally looks back at you. 

“It shouldn’t affect me like that.”

“Why not?”

“I’m your unit chief.” 

You hold his gaze, “Aaron.” 

He waits. Hanging on your every word. He would wait for the rest of the flight if you made him. 

“You don’t look at me like you’re my unit chief.” 

He doesn’t deny it and you give him a small smile. 

“You haven’t for a long time.” You tilt your head, “You look at everyone else like you’re responsible for them. You look at me like I’m precious.”

His breath catches, “I tried.” 

“I know.” 

He sighs, “I told myself a hundred times that I needed to keep things professional.” 

You nod, “I know.” 

“I convinced myself that what I felt would eventually…” He searches for the word, “fade.”

“It didn’t.” You look all over his face. 

“No,” a humorless laugh escapes him, “it only got worse.” 

Your ribs want to protest, but you reach your hand out to his. He looks down at it, tightening his grip before looking back at you. 

“Today, I was terrified. When you went down, I was terrified. I wasn’t thinking like your supervisor, or a profiler. I wasn’t even thinking like an FBI agent.” 

His thumb brushes against your fingers. 

“I was thinking like a man who was about to lose the woman he…” 

He stops and you give him an encouraging smile. 

“Go on.” You bite your lip to stop the grin from spreading. 

He laughs softly, “I profile serial killers for a living.” 

“And yet this is somehow harder?” You bite. 

“It is.” 

You squeeze his hand, “I know.” 

He looks at you for a long moment. 

Then, with all the certainty he brings to every single profile, “I love you.” 

The words hang in the quiet cabin. 

“I’ve been trying not to, burying it under paperwork and professionalism.” He smiles weakly, “It didn’t work.” 

“If it makes you feel better, I’ve been denying that I’m in love with my boss.” 

His eyes widen and you squeeze his hands again. 

“I love you too.” 

Every worry he’d been carrying since the cabin vanished. Every ounce of fear seemed to disappear all at once. Neither of you speak, you simply look at each other. He lifts his hand and you lean into the touch when he cups your cheek. 

“I almost lost you.” His voice is impossibly soft. He takes your hand up to his lips, kissing the back of it. 

“I know, but I'm here.” You remind, “Because of you.” 

You lean forward enough to rest your forehead against his. 

“I’m here.” 

Your words are warm on his face, he smiles. 

“You are.” 

He leans down, closing the short distance between the two of you. His lips are careful on yours, clearly not trying to shift you around and hurt you. You don’t let that stop you, chasing his lips to deepen the kiss. 

A few rows behind the two of you, Rossi smiles into his coffee cup. 

JJ looks up from her book, “I can see forehead touching.” 

Emily looks over, thanks to being nudged by JJ a dozen times. 

“Told you!” 

Morgan stretches at just the right time, “Confession time!” 

Rossi shakes his head, “And it only took one of them getting shot.” 

“Wait, so who won the bet?”

Back at the front of the cabin you smile, finally pulling away from him. 

“Should we tell them?” You nod back toward the team filling the rows behind the two of you. 

Aaron straightens for a second, looking over the top of the chair and catching several eyes immediately. Everyone looks elsewhere too suddenly. Emily inspects the ceiling. Morgan suddenly reaches for the safety card. JJ’s book is now somehow upside down. Reid is still asleep. Rossi simply raises his coffee in acknowledgment. 

He sighs, settling back into his seat and pulling you back against him. 

“I think they already know.” 

You laugh, “They’ve known longer than we have.” 

“Should that make me proud?”

-