#cm fic

1.

The sound of the door opening was almost so light that he didn't hear it, but your footsteps made it obvious to Aaron that you were there.

He knew it was bad practice to leave his door unlocked when he was an FBI agent. He knew that, which is why you had a key. He still left the door unlocked, anyway.

"Hey, Mr. H."

He gave you a brief nod of acknowledgement, busy gathering his files for his briefcase. He had half a mind to correct you, It's Aaron or you can call me Hotch, but Mr. H might be as informal as you'd ever get. He should know—he tried.

Though he didn't look up at you, he still spoke. "I'm really sorry to call you in on a Friday night. I know you must have other plans." Now he looked up, seeing you standing there, fiddling with the strap of your bag. You must've come straight from school, he thought.

How late are they keeping them at school nowadays?

"I, uh—" you shook your head. "No, I don't have any other plans." He hoped you weren't just saying that for his sake.

He drove his point home. "Regardless, I apologize. I was supposed to have the night off, but this meeting was called last minute." You opened your mouth to interrupt, but he didn't let you offer the assurances he knew you'd give. You were a teenager. Of course, you had better ways to spend your Friday night than with his kid. "And Haley is out of town with Jessica."

"Really, Mr. Hotchner." You pursed your lips into what he assumed was meant to be a smile. It looked more... nervous (and maybe even painful) than anything. But you tried. "It's fine."

He resisted the urge to sigh, both at the return of the moniker and your quick dismissal. You did that often, he noticed. Dismissing yourself. He wished you would stop.

You were a good kid. 

He sometimes wondered if you knew that.

He chose not to worry you anymore with the conversation. He didn't want to make you feel like you had to smile. It was almost as bad as the way you cocooned into yourself, trying not to take up space. Opening the door quietly as to not disrupt. Making yourself smaller despite his efforts to let you know that there was enough room for you here.

He was running late, anyway.

He picked up his bag. "Alright then. Jack is in his room. I should be home by," he checked his watch, "nine. Maybe ten or eleven at the latest."

You nodded absentmindedly as he made his way to the door. Just as he was about to turn the knob, another thought crossed his mind. 

He quickly turned around, perhaps too quick. He barely caught it. If he'd have blinked, he would've missed it. A flinch, sudden and reflexive, before you could stop it. You collected yourself within the same second.

His brows furrowed, but he didn't mention it. Don't read into it, he told himself. (He was already reading into it).

Instead, he just went with his original question. "I forgot to ask earlier, but your parents are okay with you staying out this late, right?"

Again, it was almost too fast for him make out. If he wasn't a profiler. But he was, and he could see the look that passed over your face clear as day. Surprise. Discomfort. Embarrassm—

Stop profiling her.

(He was already profiling you).

"Oh, yeah." You waved a hand in the air. "They're totally cool with it. Don't worry about it, Mr. H." The weird smile was back on your face. Nervous.

He'd be more content that you were back to "Mr. H" if it weren't for the fact that you were trying to placate him. For what, he wasn't sure.

His attempts not to profile had failed. A preliminary profile had already built in his head, filled with bullet points and question marks. He tried to shake it off.

He was late.

He nodded to you. "Okay." He made a mental note to ask you about it later, but right now he had somewhere to be and other promises to keep.

He was out the door before the "bye" could leave your lips.

—

When Aaron got home, he wasn't expecting you to be asleep. He wasn't sure why: you were a kid, and it was normal for kids to be tired at the end of the week.

Maybe because you had never fallen asleep there before, not once in the year that you'd been Jack's babysitter.

You were curled up on the couch, the TV still running in front of you. He should wake you up. He was home, and you deserved to be home, too. Your parents were probably wondering where you were.

It was only then that he realized you were completely still. Not twiddling your fingers or awkwardly trying to find the right way to stand when he was in the room. You were just... there. And because of that, he could now see the bags under your eyes clearly.

His shoulders fell. You were tired. He wanted to let you sleep.

But responsibility won his internal turmoil. He lightly shook your shoulder. "Y/N?"

Your eyes fluttered open slowly, disoriented. "Hm?"

"My meeting ended."

It took you a few seconds to understand. When you did, you bolted up, his hand falling in the process. Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head. "Oh, um—" you ran a hand through your hair. "Jack went to bed a while ago after I fed him dinner. I didn't mean to fall asleep, too. I'm sorry."

His brows knitted together more prominently this time. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I told you, when you're here, you can treat this place as your own." It almost sounded like a scolding.

You winced. "Right. Sorry, Mr. Ho—"

He cut you off, "Hotch." He couldn't help it. You looked confused, so he elaborated, "You can call me Hotch. Or Aaron. Either or."

"Okay... Aaron?" Your voice lifted at the end like you were testing yourself. He gave you a reassuring nod.

He thought he was done, but he added, "And you don't need to apologize for everything, Y/N. You've done nothing wrong." He tried to make eye contact with you so that you'd know he was being earnest, but you avoided it.

"Sorry—" you screwed your eyes shut, very obviously kicking yourself. "Sorry."

He sighed. This was progress. In... some way.

"It's fine." Because he didn't want to make you feel bad about it, he switched the subject. "I can walk you home. It's dark out." You lived right down the street, but he'd seen too many horror stories of young girls who walked home alone and never made it there.

Your mouth opened and closed and opened and then closed again. You looked like you were scanning your brain for something to say. Your profile was brought right back to the forefront of his mind.

"That's okay, Mr— Aaron," you corrected yourself. "I'll be fine." You were already standing up and grabbing your things.

"Y/N—"

"I'll text you when I'm home safely. Good night." 

You practically sped out of the house. The door closed a little louder behind you this time. Not a slam, but not the controlled quiet it normally was.

Aaron was left standing in the middle of the living room. He looked to the couch and then to the door. In a flash, you were there, and then you were gone. He didn't even get the chance to pay you.

Any worries he had that he was overthinking had disappeared. He'd never seen you react like that, let alone cut him off.

You were... skittish. You always watched what you said. You were tired. Maybe overly tired. And your parents. Hotch hadn't ever spoken with your parents. You seemed anxious when he brought them up.

He was worried about you. It was easy to be worried about you. You were so quiet, and in many ways, too independent. In some ways, you reminded him of a younger version of himself of himself. And that scared him.

Aaron knew what he was like when he was a kid, and he also knew why.

His phone dinged, pulling him from his thoughts. He took it out of his pocket, checking the notification.

Y/N (babysitter): Made it home.

A bit of relief flooded his chest. At least you made it home safe. He just hoped you stayed safe. 

He prayed his suspicions were wrong.

But, deep down, he knew they weren't.

2.

It was a weekend. For the first time in a while, the Hotchner house was full. Aaron was playing with Jack. They didn't often get to do this together, so he tried to seize these opportunities whenever he could.

"Hey, buddy, I'm gonna go check on mom real quick, okay? I'll be right back."

Jack nodded without looking at him, too immersed in his toys. Aaron was glad.

It wasn't totally a ruse. He was checking on Haley. Maybe that wasn't the full reason, but it was true.

He walked into their shared bedroom, finding her folding laundry on the bed. She looked up, a smile crossing her face. "Aaron," she playfully teased. His lips quirked up in response, a stark contrast to how things had been between them recently.

"Hi, honey." He kissed her cheek, taking a seat across from her on the bed. "I've been wanting to talk to you about something." She raised a brow, so he added, "It's about Y/N."

Her face twisted in confusion, then concern. "Y/N? Why, has something happened to her?" She fully sat up, angling her body toward him. The clothes in her hands were long forgotten.

He didn't reply as quickly. He didn't have the answer she wanted. He wasn't sure if he had the answer he wanted. What he knew was that something was happening to you. He just didn't know what.

Some foolish part of him didn't want to know. 

Some part of him already did.

Finally, he responded, "I think that... something may be happening with her parents." He didn't have to say another thing. A look of understanding dawned her face, and he knew she knew what he meant.

He watched as her eyes softened. She set the clothes aside entirely, cupping his cheek in her hand. "Oh, baby." She understood. Too well.

Haley was there for him in high school. She didn't know everything, but she knew enough. She knew that sometimes his ribs hurt just as much as his heart. She knew enough.

He wanted to lean into her but resisted. This wasn't about him. This was about you.

She removed her hand of her own volition. "Aaron, I think that if you think something, then it's probably true. I mean, if... if you have reason to believe something's wrong..." she trailed off. And Aaron knew what he had to do.

He proposed his idea to Haley, being met with her agreement. He kissed her softly, knowing his sweet wife hadn't seen what he'd seen but that she was just as cautious. Cautious and kind.

He hoped he could extend that kindness to you.

— 

"Y/N, come in."

Aaron surprised you by waiting at the door this time. You were used to entering silently, but there he was, waiting. 

"Thanks, Aaron."

He let you walk into the house, guiding you to the couch. "Here, take a seat."

You hesitated. He could see you taking in his attire—not work clothes—and listening in to hear the quiet of the house. You sat down in spite of whatever you were noticing, but you swallowed. "Is— did I do something wrong?"

His brows furrowed. He took a seat across from you. "No, Y/N. You did nothing wrong," he assured you.

"Are you firing me?"

He wondered why you kept jumping to the worst conclusions, but his profile told him exactly why. It wasn't so often that he hoped his profiles were wrong. "No, I'm not firing you."

"Okay, so," you wrung your hands together, "what's wrong then?"

Aaron didn't say anything for a moment, just staring at you. He noted the long-sleeve sweater, even though it wasn't that cold yet. "Is there something wrong?" he prompted.

You stammered, "I— I don't understand." Your hands wouldn't stop moving.

He glanced down at them before making full eye-contact with you. Softly, he said, "Y/N, I don't like to assume things. But I'm afraid that's what I'm paid to do."

Another swallow. "I'm really not sure what you mean."

Hotch had seen tens of kids like you at work. Children of unsubs, victims, and witnesses alike. He saw you whenever he looked at old photo albums of himself as a child, too.

He was hoping he was wrong.

But he wasn't.

He paused, trying to find a way to go about this without causing you to curl into yourself. "Your parents... do they ever hurt you?"

Your eyes widened. "What?"

He repeated himself. "Do they hurt you? Do they leave you home alone for stretches at a time? Are you in that house alone?" Hotch's questions were starting to sound less like questions and more like statements.

Because you both knew everything he was saying was true.

"I—" he watched you get defensive, looking more frustrated than he'd ever seen you—more frustrated than you'd ever allowed yourself to be seen. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" He leaned forward, trying to catch your eyes. "Y/N, I can help you—"

Finally, you broke, and Aaron felt guilty for wanting that outcome. "How?" Tears welled in your eyes. You blinked and one went racing down your cheek. "How can you help me, Mr. Hotchner? Are you— are you gonna alert the authorities and then have me sent to some foster family?" You shook your head. "I— I know you think I'm a kid, but I'm not stupid."

"Y/N, you are a kid." He needed you to believe that. But he needed you to believe what he was going to say next even more. "And you are not alone. You deserve to be supported, just like any kid does."

You sniffled. "And how is that gonna happen?"

Aaron felt a little piece of his heart break. He didn't know how long you'd been in this situation, but it was clear you'd gotten yourself to believe there was no way out of it.

Not if he could help it.

"What if I could get you out and you wouldn't have to go to a foster family?" he proposed. "You could come stay with us."

Now, your eyes widened more than ever. You rapidly declined, shaking your head fervently. "No— no, I couldn't."

Aaron didn't move to touch you at all, too worried he'd overstep a boundary. But he did get closer. "Yes, you could. You wouldn't be imposing. You already help out so much with Jack. It would be fine."

You met his eyes directly, and Aaron could tell that you were at least considering it. "How would you be able to even pull it off?"

"I used to be a lawyer," he reasoned, shrugging. He wanted to be as relaxed as possible so that you knew this wasn't any trouble for him. "I'm confident I can do it."

You wiped your eyes, crossing your arms. Still defensive, but he knew he made it somewhere because you said, "You can try. But— but nothing's going to happen."

He would certainly try. Because Aaron Hotchner wasn't the type of man who just "tried" things. 

He got them done.

3.

Aaron insisted on carrying in your box, despite your protests. It was a single box, a little heavy, and it was quite literally the only thing you had. In his mental checklist of things to do for you, he added: Buy her new clothes.

You had a distinctive style hiding beneath your appearance. Another mental note: Introduce her to Garcia.

He set the box down in your room. It had always been your room, just in case you needed to stay over. Now, it was permanent. 

Just as you were entering the room, his phone chimed. He pulled it from his back pocket, seeing a message from JJ. He didn't have to read it to know what it would say.

It seemed you knew what that meant, too, because you were looking up at him expectantly. Still nervous. Another note (a recurring note): Work on that.

"Sorry, honey. I have a case." It slipped out before he could stop it. Work on that.

You nodded like you didn't notice it at all, perking up just slightly. "That's okay! I can watch Jack for you." If he didn't know any better, he'd say you were happy to see him go. (He knew better).

Work on that.

Still, he felt guilt seeping into his veins. He was pulling out his wallet automatically while simultaneously watching your face drop. "Here," he pulled out a crisp hundred dollar bill, holding it out to you. "Buy yourselves something to eat and then keep the rest."

Your mouth opened and closed, sputtering, "Mr. Ho— sorry— no, not sorry. Aaron. I can't take that."

He raised a brow. "I don't see why not."

"You—" you gestured to him then to the rest of the room, "you're already giving me a place to stay. I can't just take your money."

He found your reasoning ridiculous, but he tried not to show it on his face. You were still all too nervous. Instead, he gently reached for your hand and enclosed it around the paper. "Think of it as an allowance." Parents do that for their kids, he wanted to add. But you weren't his kid, even if it felt like that now more than ever.

Work on that.

"An allowance?" you echoed, breathing a laugh. "You're giving me an allowance even though you're already doing so much for me?"

"You deserve it," he said, still gentle but now a touch firmer. The kind of voice you couldn't quite argue with. "Haley will be home soon. And I promise I'll try to be back as soon as possible."

You nodded, a soft "Okay" leaving your lips. He went to go say goodbye to Jack right after.

It felt like leaving his children. He had to remind himself that he only had one child.

He was working on it.

4.

"Hey, kids, are we feeling like it's a superhero night or an animal night?" Aaron shouted, holding DVDs of Spiderman and Madagascar in alternate hands.

From the kitchen, Jack shouted back, "Episode III!"

Aaron turned to you and gave you a funny look, making you laugh. "Jack, buddy," he groaned, "we watched Episode III the other night."

Jack didn't seem to care, repeating, "Episode III!" as he ran in the living room. Behind him, Haley came running, picking him up and contradictorily scolding him, "Jack! No running in the house. You could get hurt."

She took her seat next to you on the couch, giving you a little smile before looking to Aaron. The smile became a little more exasperated. "Aaron. Don't we think that Star Wars is a little too mature?"

Aaron, for lack of a better word, looked sheepish. For a lawyer, he didn't have much of a rebuttal, and you—taking pity on him—pitched in. "If it makes you feel better, Haley, I was watching much worse when I was his age."

Hotch could tell by the look on her face that it didn't make her feel better, but she still upturned her lips nonetheless. A sigh of defeat left her. "Okay. I suppose Episode III, it is."

Jack cheered while you giggled. Aaron watched the two of you contentedly. His kids. His kid and the kid that wasn't his kid (but felt like it, anyway). It warmed his chest to know that you felt more comfortable participating in family discussions now. And as he stared at you, Jack, and Haley sitting on the couch, that's what this felt like. A family.

He got rid of his initial choices and picked up Episode III, taking the disc out of the casing. He always handled it by the edges with careful fingers, but it was still scratched from previous use. He'd deal with the buffering, though, if it made Jack happy.

The best thing about the suspension from Strauss were these movie nights. Time chasing killers turned into time watching his family grow.

He turned off the lamp and sat down as the opening credits started rolling. Amidst the darkness, Haley's eyes met his. A wordless conversation took place, but he was enough of a profiler and enough of a husband to tell what she was saying. The tilt of her head. The soft quirk of her lips.

See? Isn't this better? Spending more time with your family instead of being halfway across the country?

A small feeling of guilt crept up his spine, knowing there were other things he was missing. He tried not think about them.

Instead, he nodded back to her, and then turned to the TV, watching a movie he'd all but seen countless times.

When he got back to the BAU, he would put in for a transfer to a desk job. It was what was best for his family.

—

Yeah, well, make sure you give your son a kiss before you leave.

Hotch closed his eyes tightly, reaching a red light. Haley's words had been echoing throughout his head the entire time he was in Milwaukee. Time had passed since he last saw her, but the conversation still played through his head on a loop.

I can't just switch off my loyalty, Haley.

Who are you being loyal to?

He didn't know how to balance it. How to be the husband and father his family needed and a leader for his team. He was trying. He wanted to make it right—he needed to make it right.

He pulled into his driveway, quickly slinging his bag across his shoulder and beelining for the door. All the lights in the house were off except for the kitchen, so he hoped Haley was still awake and that he could talk to her. That he could make it right.

But when he walked into the kitchen and found you sitting at the dining table, his confident step halted. "Y/N?"

When you looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes, he nearly forgot what he was doing in the first place. 

He dropped his go-bag to the ground, rushing to the seat next to you. "Hey, hey, hey, what's wrong?" 

His hands found your forearms effortlessly, like comforting you was an evolutionary instinct he couldn't control. And, truthfully, he couldn't.

His mind was already running a mile a minute, doing mental calculations to tell how long you'd been sitting here, alone, crying to yourself. He started to wonder where Haley was, but then—

You sniffled, "Aaron, I'm so sorry." You couldn't get through saying his name without your voice breaking.

Aaron's left hand moved to wipe a tear as it fell. "Sh, sweet girl," he whispered, wiping away another tear like he'd been caring for you his whole life. "What could you possibly need to be sorry about?"

"I— I couldn't stop her. I tried." You shook your head lightly. "But I couldn't stop her."

Suddenly, Aaron understood exactly what you were saying, no matter the wobble of your voice. His heart dropped into his stomach. 

Make sure you give your son a kiss before you leave.

He knew what happened, but, if not just to torture himself, he asked, "They're gone?" It wasn't a question.

Slowly, you nodded. He blew a breath through his lips. They're gone.

He was halfway through processing it when you spoke up. "Aaron, I am so sorry. I swear, I can leave—"

He was pulled out of his trance by your apology, making him pinch his brows together and cut you off. "Y/N." He faced you head-on; you didn't look away. That was good, because he needed you to hear what he was saying. In the same manner he talked to his team, he firmly said, "This is not your fault."

You didn't look convinced, protesting immediately, "No, I showed up and then look what happened—"

"Y/N." He re-positioned his hands so they rested on your shoulders. Then, he repeated himself. "This did not happen because of you. Haley and I had an argument about my work. This is my fault, not yours."

The dam in your eyes broke despite what he said. "I'm sorry."

He engulfed you in his arms without a second thought, and you quickly returned the embrace. Your cries tugged on his heartstrings like you were a musician and he was a guitar. He shushed you, wanting to make this terrible song end. "Sh, you have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart."

He didn't know if you believed him. He rubbed your back hoping you would understand that he was telling the truth. But the truth was simple.

You still believed you had to apologize for your existence. His act of leaving to join the case had set you back months in confidence.

And it set him and Haley back years in their marriage.

But he just kept rubbing your back, kept holding you, in hopes that he could keep at least one part of his family.

5.

It'd been a few months since Haley left. Aaron had been working through divorce proceedings with her. They agreed that she should have full custody of Jack, who was too young and deserved a kind of stability that the unit chief of the BAU couldn't provide. You, on the other hand, stayed with Hotch. You asked to stay with him, so you did.

There were some undeniable facts of your relationship with Aaron, including the fact that you would be leaving for university sometime soon. Haley believed you shouldn't be moved around so often, so she let Aaron keep the house. At least for the time being.

"What about Georgetown?" he suggested. "I went there for my undergrad before GWU."

The two of you were sat at the dinner table yet again. The difference this time was that college pamphlets were scattered across the table.

"Or, if you don't want to be in DC, I have a colleague who vouches for Yale tremendously. Another for CalTech, but you haven't mentioned anything about technology, so I assumed—" he glanced away from the pamphlets momentarily, seeing you wringing your hands nervously. He turned his full attention. "Hey, are you okay?"

You opened your mouth, but then it looked like you swallowed the words. He waited patiently for you to be able to express what was wrong. Finally, you said, "Aaron, I don't think I can go to any of these schools you're talking about."

He furrowed his brows, confused as ever. "Why not? You have the grades to do it. I've read your report card." Your senior grades had improved immensely since you started living with the Hotchners. You qualified for all the advanced classes you wished to take. You just took the SAT. In his mind, you could make it anywhere.

You opened and closed your mouth again. This time, he knew you had the words, but you were clearly reluctant to share them. "It's not about that."

He tilted his head. "Then what is it about?"

All the telltale signs of a flush appeared on your face, signalling that you were embarrassed. He was even more confused, but you explained, "I don't... I don't have the money for Georgetown or Yale, or... anywhere, really."

Realization dawned on him. "Y/N—"

"I mean, I'm not a super-athlete, so I can't really get any major scholarships, and financial aid won't pay nearly enough—"

He called your name a second time. "Y/N." You stopped rambling, choosing to gnaw at your bottom lip instead. And, for what felt like the thousandth time, Aaron felt his heart snap in half at the look on your face.

He wasn't your dad. He wasn't. But you felt like you didn't have any parent to turn to at all, and that caused a burning in his chest that nothing could get rid of.

He maintained eye contact with you and tried to keep his voice steady, despite the lump growing in the back of his throat. "You don't ever have to worry about that. You can go wherever and do whatever you want. Let me take care of the money." That's what parents do for their kids.

You chuckled the same way you did whenever he gave you money. Only this time, you were discussing a lot more than a hundred dollars. But to Aaron, the dollar value didn't matter.

You were worth every penny.

"You can't keep spending all this money on me—"

"I have the money," he interrupted. He tried to lighten the mood by adding, "You're not going to put a dent in my wallet, I promise."

It clearly worked, because your lips curved up into a smile. Albeit, it was bittersweet, but you were smiling, nonetheless. "Aaron, you have a kid who's probably going to go to college, too—"

"Don't worry about that," he said. "Just let me take care of this." Let me take care of you.

You bowed your head down, and he knew he had you. Still, you insisted, "I will get a part-time job, and I will help pay."

He smiled one of his rare smiles. They were never rare around you. "Sure, sweetheart." He picked back up the first pamphlet he saw. "Now, what about UPenn?"

He didn't say You're my kid, too. But somehow, he hoped you heard it.

+1

Hotch sat at his desk, reading over reports from his team. He skimmed them, checking everything was correct before he signed his name in black ink. 30 minutes in, and the stack on his desk still stood tall.

He was halfway through signing when the telephone rang. He picked it up without lifting the pen from paper. "Hotchner."

"Uh, hi, sir." He raised a brow at the sound of Anderson's voice, already moving onto the next file. "There's a kid here to see you."

He paused, the file still mid-air. "A kid?"

"Yeah, says her name's Y/N." Aaron dropped the file onto his desk; it would have to wait until later. It wasn't even noon yet—you were supposed to be in school. "She's not listed on any log, so they called me down to verify—"

"Bring her up," Aaron ordered. He hung up the phone and stood up in the same breath, heading for the door. His gut churned with something intuitive, knowing you wouldn't be here if something wasn't wrong. He'd meet you at the elevator.

He took the steps down from his office two at a time, finding Rossi at the bottom. With a coffee cup in cand, the greying man raised his brows. "Case?"

Aaron's response was automatic. He said it without thinking about the implications or the weight his words held. "No, it's my daughter."

He didn't wait around to see the way Rossi's brows raised even higher. He didn't even wait to process what he said himself. He strode toward the elevator with his heart thumping louder by the second.

He got there just as the doors were opening. As soon as your face was in view, he could've sworn his heart stopped.

Because, even though it was faint, he could see the unmistakable beginnings of a black eye.

He got his bearings, racing to you. Anderson seemed to get the memo, stepping away while Aaron wrapped his arms around you. He barely gave you the chance to hug back before he was pulling away, holding onto your shoulders. "Sweetheart, what happened?"

You gave him a pained smile—pained because you were nervous and because it looked like it was actually hurting you to do. "We should probably get out the elevator before I dive into the details," you joked.

Through profiling Through living with you, Aaron had learned that you didn't take your trauma seriously. You liked to joke about things or deny that they ever happened. But considering that you were there, giving him a heart attack, he figured that you did plan on telling him.

Trying to calm his heart, he stepped out of the elevator, his hand on your back. He nodded to Anderson, telling him in no words to go away.

He turned back to you, his eyes practically gluing themselves to your bruise. He all but demanded, "What happened?"

You sighed. "Don't freak out."

He might as well have just blown a fuse. "Honey, I'm not sure if you're aware, but I'm kind of already freaking out."

You took a deep breath, and then you let the words speed out of your mouth. "I got into Georgetown, but Stephanie didn't, and it was her dream school, and she hates me, so she hit me, but don't worry, it doesn't even hurt!"

Aaron blinked, trying to process everything you just said. Then, a smile spread across his face. "You got into Georgetown?'

You let out another sigh—of relief, this time—and you reciprocated his expression. "Yes."

You weren't even finished enunciating before Aaron was engulfing you into his arms again, making you squeal as your feet lifted off the ground. He knew by now that agents must've turned in your direction, but he couldn't find the will to care about anything but the fact that you into university and—

His eyes narrowed, and he set you down. "Who is this Stephanie girl?"

You screwed your eyes shut, then opened them again because it likely hurt. "I thought the whole Georgetown part trumped the Stephanie part."

"It did. Momentarily. Now, who is she?" He crossed his arms together, slipping back into his work persona almost seamlessly. "I can have Garcia find her. I'll make sure she doesn't get into any university on grounds of violence toward another student—"

You stopped him, putting your hands on his arms. "Dad. I'm fine, I promise." It took you a few seconds to realize what you said, but Aaron realized instantly.

Dad.

You called him dad.

If his heart didn't stop before, it certainly stopped now.

You slapped your hands on your mouth, your eyes going wide. "Oh, my gosh, I'm so—"

He didn't let you finish whatever apology you were going to spout, opting to give you his third hug of the day. You shut up immediately.

With wet eyes, he muttered, "I told you, Y/N. You don't need to apologize for everything."

"I'm s— right. You're right."

He huffed a small laugh. You were the most endearing person he'd ever met. He'd even forget about Stephanie—momentarily—so that he could be here, with you. 

He kissed your temple and didn't hesitate before he told you, "I love you, kid."

You went stiff for a moment, and he almost got worried, but you soon relaxed, hugging him even tighter. "I love you, too, dad."

And in that moment, Aaron knew that, no matter your blood, you were his kid through and through.

He would never reject the thought ever again.

Double Bonus!

Inside the bullpen, the BAU had ceased pretending to do work. Their paperwork lied exactly where they left it as they crowded around Spencer's desk, peeking out to the glass doors where their boss stood with a girl with a black eye in front of the elevators.

"Look, he's hugging her again!" Emily whisper-yelled, smacking Spencer's arm.

"Ow," he muttered, but no one paid him any mind.

"Do you think she's his girlfriend? Ooh, or a long, lost niece!" Garcia guessed.

Morgan made a face. "Ew. She looks like a kid. I doubt Hotch would ever go that young." He shuddered at the thought, despite having no idea how old you were. He nudged Reid on his other shoulder. "Reid, c'mon, pretty boy. Read those lips. What are they saying out there?"

"I'm trying!" he defended. "The girl was talking too fast for me to tell what she was saying." He spun around in his chair, facing his colleagues. "Given his behaviour, though, I would say she has to be some form of close family. She's far too young for her and Hotch to be romantically involved. There are around 439 teenagers in the immediate Quantico area. If you include the rest of the Washington Metropolitan Area, where Hotch lives, that's 819,578—"

This time, Garcia pushed him. "Shut up, nerd, they're talking again!"

Reid turned back around, his eyes squinting and flying over your lips to see what you were saying. "She's talking about someone named Stephanie."

"Stephanie?" Prentiss echoed. "Who's Stephanie?"

"I don't know," he answered, watching as your lips stopped moving. "I think Hotch's is saying something now. I don't—" he cut himself off, his eyes widening.

"What? What, pretty boy, what is it?"

"I—" Reid was having a hard time jumpstarting his brain again, stuck in shock. "She just called him dad."

"What?" Garcia screeched.

Emily followed up with, "No way. She's like seventeen!"

"How the hell is that possible?" Derek asked. "He's never said anything." At the sight of Rossi passing by with what looked like his second coffee of the day, Derek called to him. "Hey, Rossi!"

Rossi stopped walking, turning to them with an all-too-smug and all-too-knowing look on his face. He looked them up and down. "What do you nosy kids want?"

"What's this about Hotch having a daughter?" Morgan interrogated, crossing his arms.

Rossi glanced out to the elevators then turned back to the team. A smirk grew on his face. "It's true." He shrugged, already starting to walk away. In a sing-song voice, he confirmed, "She's his kid."

With those three simple words, chaos erupted in the bullpen. 

Hotch would have to deal with it later.

After all, that's what parents do for their kids.

taglist: @saturnscomedown @pastaparker @rethasavedlives @alexxavicry @vivs30 @gael2020 @person-005 @hiireadstuff @cicadasexfest @zaddyhotch @tatumemma2021 @bookworm-in-disguise @percysley

There’s something about her smile. It makes you wish you were a poet. It needs to be appreciated in a way that only art can capture. Leaving you breathless and yearning for something you should be at peace with not having by now. 

You rub your tired eyes as you take a seat on Rossi’s staircase, ready to lace up your boots and desperately trying to smother a yawn. Your stomach was full and your body warm. Tonight had been a welcome reprieve after one hell of a week. You can smell the smoke from the log burner Morgan, Rossi, and Hotch were enthusiastically setting up outside (JJ had already teased them for acting like boy scouts), and you just needed to push through another drink to ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ at their new toy and then you could make your escape. Your bed was calling your name and as much as you loved everyone, the case this week had been exhausting and Emily was making your head spin. You needed to go home and be alone. 

“You’ve been very quiet tonight.” JJ interrupts, pulling your attention from your boot. Her eyes alight with curiosity, and completely invalidating her attempt to appear casual. 

You look away with a sigh and retie the knot you’d been focusing on. “It’s been a long week.” 

She hums in agreement, and you hope that is where she’ll leave it as you turn your focus to your other boot and tie a tight bow. When you lift your head, she hasn’t moved but her attention has been captured by Penelope and Emily chatting in the other room. Your shoulders relax without your knowledge, a soft smile tugging on your lips, an instant reaction to having her in your eyeline. You don’t know what was wrong with you tonight, why this ache in your chest was so prominent. Maybe it was being in this environment with your family, the warmth and familiarity. Or just the fact Emily looked like she was glowing, her smile large and infectious. But fuck the feelings you had tightly packed into a neat little box were not cooperating and if you didn’t get ahold of yourself you were gonna give it all away.

You’re so entranced you fail to notice when JJ returns her gaze back to you.

Until she speaks.  

“You look at her like she hung the stars.” She observes.

Your chest seizes, emotions clawing at your throat as your eyes fall closed. You release a shaky sigh and lift your gaze to meet JJ’s before tearing your eyes away again, unable to handle the care you see reflected in them. 

Penelope pulls Emily into a hug, a squeal leaving her lips. It's been years, and still shock dusts the raven-haired womans features. Always a slight delay before she allows herself to sink into the other person. Her eyes closing, cradling their back gently, undoubtedly savouring the sensation of having her friend close.

You remember every time Emily’s arms have held you up. Every time her reassurance and kind words have reminded you that you belong in this job. Your fingers brush against the old ligature marks on your wrists, the damage has long since faded, healed flesh taking its place, but the memories remain. It was her eyes that you saw when you wanted to stop fighting, to give up, and one day hallucinations had made way for the real things. Those deep coffee brown eyes in front of you and ready to rescue you from hell. Her hands cutting you free, her hand holding you as you were loaded onto a gurney and taken to the hospital. Her, her, her. 

“She did so much more than that.” You confess, voice hoarse with emotion. “And I can’t ever be grateful enough, even if I wanted to.” 

“Y/N–” JJ shakes her head, speechless. 

You smile at her tiredly and shrug. “It’s okay.” 

JJ’s frown somehow deepens, “You should tell her.”

“Come on, we both know she’s not ready for that.”

She shrugs, “I think she might surprise you.”

You shake your head, deeply in denial even as your chest beats with something that feels dangerously close to hope. You push yourself off the stairs and grab your coat from the closet, the urge to flee overwhelming. Memories of your capture resurfacing and Emily’s kind eyes hovering in sight, all just too much to bear. “I’m going to get going. I’m tired anyway.”

“Y/N–” She protests. 

“Tell Rossi I say thank you for everything. I’ll see you at the office on Monday.” You manage a flimsy smile and quickly back away, ignoring her second call of your name as you make your way out of the mansion and firmly close the door behind you. 

The cold air hits you like a brick; filling your lungs and sending a shiver through your body. Spring was approaching, but the cold air was yet to break, and damn was it making itself known. You push through the attack on your body and continue rapidly down the steps, determined to get to your car and leave tonight behind you.

When your car was finally in sight – and you were gonna have words with past you for parking so goddamn far away. – you hear hurried footsteps and another call of your name, “Y/N!” 

You do not stop and do not turn around. Emily’s voice is immediately identifiable and you don’t want to talk to her. You don’t want to do anything but leave. 

“Y/N! Hey!” She calls again, the sound of her footsteps drawing closer. It’s no use. You can’t outrun her, you’ve never been able to. 

Your car is just in front of you. Freedom at your cold fingertips. 

Emily’s hand brushes your arm, bringing you to a halt as your shoulders sag. Eyes shutting. “Hey,” She murmurs to your back. Her voice gentle, always so kind when she’s with you.

Sometimes you worry she still sees you as a victim. It’s been five months since the abduction, three months since you were given the clear to return to work, and yet, she was still so gentle with you. She must know you wouldn't break if pushed too hard, right? You’re terrified of the answer.

“What happened?” She asks softly, “You just ran out of there.”

You turn around to face her, arms wrapped against your chest to protect yourself from the biting air. You sink back against your car to give yourself some space, hoping the solidity of the car will provide you with some form of support. Emily's flushed cheeks and deep breaths make you wince. Her jacket is thrown on haphazardly, wind flowing through the unzipped leather. You’re half surprised to find her shoes on the correct feet.

You sigh and step forward, so much for space. Your fingers pull her jacket tighter against her body, so you can easily thread the zipper closure together.

“You’re gonna freeze.” You grumble. 

Her eyes trace your features, probing for information. You ignore her and focus on your task, battling with the zip when it protests, your brows furrowing and your lip stuck between your teeth as you concentrate. She’s silent the entire time, not using your momentary distraction to question you, which you’re grateful for. You glance up, breath catching in your lungs when you find deep brown eyes watching you closely.

You swallow and force your gaze back to the zipper, hands shaking slightly, which you hope she’ll attribute to the cold and not because her attention is making you flustered. With one final jiggle the zip detaches from the fabric and you manage to glide it up successfully. You release a satisfied sigh, stroking the zip flat before you step back. Emily’s eyes are already on your face when you lift your head, endlessly deep and caring, and causing an insecure laugh to bubble out of your throat.

“What?” You croak, hoarsely. 

“Thank you.” She responds sincerely, brows furrowing just slightly. Like you’re a puzzle she’s still trying to understand. 

You wave your hand, tilting on your feet as your gaze skates away momentarily. “It’s cold.” You say. Which is as much of an explanation as it isn’t. 

She nods, her tongue running over her lip as she tilts her head. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” 

“Em,” You groan, shaking your head. 

“You’ve barely said a word tonight.” She shakes her head, the furrow of her brows deepening. “Something is up. Are the nightmares back?”

“No–Well yes– but that’s not it.” You stare at the woman watching you with caring, gentle, non-judgemental eyes, ready to help in any way she possibly could and you feel the overwhelming urge to stomp your feet and run away.

“I’m not a victim!” You choke, emotions bubbling up your throat. “Please stop, please–” You shake your hands, “I need you of all people to not see me like one.”

She rears back, her eyes widening, her mouth falling open as unshed tears block your vision and words pour from your mouth.

“I will never be able to express how deeply grateful I am for you. For everything you’ve done for me. And nothing I ever do will ever be enough to repay you. I owe you everything, Emily. But I can feel the way you’re watching me. I can feel your gentle kid gloves just waiting for me to break and I need you to understand that isn’t going to happen. I’m okay. I’m healing. I don’t want you to think–” You voice cracks, hot tears spilling down your cheeks. 

You wipe away your tears with cold fingers. The only noises in the air being the low whistle of the wind and your sniffles. The silence eats at you as you keep your gaze to the ground and continuously wipe away tears, too scared to see the mess you’d made. 

“I don’t see you as a victim.” She croaks. “I just didn’t want you to go through this alone.”

You look up at her through tear-stained lashes and your heart shatters at the sight of her lowered head and tense body. 

“You’re just always so gentle with me.” You respond lost and confused. 

She lifts her head, meeting your gaze for a second before looking away and releasing a wet laugh, pained and broken. The sound is like a dagger to your chest.

“If I’d known you just thought this all was some quid-pro-quo, some debt you thought you had to pay off–” She shakes her head, stepping back.

Your stomach twists.

“It was never supposed to be that. I thought you...” She trails off, blinking away tears that barely have the chance to appear as her downturned lips and furrowed brow become more prominent. 

Her head tilts, lips tightening inwards. “So every kind thing you’ve done for me over the last few months? What? That’s just been your attempt at alleviating your own guilt?” 

Your eyes widen in horror, “No, wait, that’s not what I meant. It was never that–” 

Emily continues on with narrowed eyes, ignoring your protest, “I was treating you how I thought you deserved to be treated. It wasn’t gentle-kid gloves. If I thought you were going to break I’d tell you, I’d tell Hotch. I wouldn’t stand-by why you put yourself and everyone else in danger.” She shakes her head, a frustrated huff leaving her mouth as her eyes fix on a point above your head.

“I was gentle with you because you’re an easy person to be gentle with when you’re not making me mad.” She chokes, a wave of emotions clogging her throat, tears you wished she’d trust you with again blinked away as the fight leaves her body. 

Your eyes burn in your attempt to hold back your own emotions. Breath stuck in your chest. “Emily, I promise you it was never that. Fuck, its just…”

Your internal war with yourself spills outwards; hands shaking and half gasping breaths escaping your mouth as your lungs protest.

“You saved my life, Emily. Like found me in hell, rescued me from a monster, and then continued to turn up everyday to make sure I didn’t sink into the dark, kind of saved my life. I could’ve drowned. I-I wanted to. But you were always there fighting for me when I didn’t have the energy to fight for myself.”

Tears fill your eyes again, emotions choking you up. “And you’re right, it’s not a debt. But how am I meant to thank you enough for that? You mean so much to me.”

You look away, blinking back tears, words and emotions clogging in your throat. “More than I should express.”

You shake your head and release a wobbly breath. “And I’ve gone about all of this the wrong way, and I’m sorry about that. Can we just forget tonight even happened? I think I’m just exhausted. It’s been a long week.” You beg, frantic to fix the mess you’d made and get back to before. 

She sighs into the cold night air and steps forward, “Come here.” She murmurs, gently grasping your arm and pulling you towards her.

You stumble forwards into warm arms that wrap around your body holding you close as a new wave of tears threaten to make themselves known.

It's easy to bury your head into her neck, to fist your hands into her back, to grip onto this woman you didn’t know what you’d do without. You inhale, allowing the comforting scent of her perfume to fill your senses and calm your system. 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, words muffled by her neck. 

“It was never because I saw you as a victim,” She says gently, voice vibrating through your body, and despite everything, making your lips tilt up slightly. “There were no kid gloves. I was just doing my best to treat you how you deserve.”

You pull back slowly so you can lift your head, her arms dropping so they settle on your waist. Her gaze is stuck in the distance, jaw locked. You tenderly reach up to cup her jaw and her eyes fall closed at her contact, but you push forward, even as you hold your breath, gently running your thumb over tight soft skin. When she doesn’t protest or try to push you away, you slowly guide her face back to yours, continuing to stroke the skin and smiling slightly when she sinks into the contact. 

“Emily, open your eyes.”

Hesitant brown eyes flutter open, and you smile. Hope swarming in your chest again, this time not attached to denial and dread. 

“You are incredible.” 

She blinks, vulnerable. 

“And wonderful and smart and kind.” 

She attempts a smirk, defensive and flimsy, “You’re feeding my ego, be car-“ 

You place your finger over her lip, silencing her. Her eyes widen in surprise, her hands still sitting heavily on your waist, grounding you, a needed comfort. “Don’t joke. I’m serious. I’m so sorry for hurting you, Emily.” You sigh, deeply looking into her beautiful dark eyes. “You really have no idea how astonishing you are, do you?” 

Her lip falters under your finger, her eyes welling up slightly as a frustrated sigh leaves her mouth. “Fuck.” 

You pull your finger away, tracking her expression closely. Vulnerable eyes fighting some sort of battle, heaving breath, and pink cheeks. “Emi-”

Soft pillowy lips tenderly caress yours. And your body reacts instantly. Buzzing and stumbling forward into her as if pulled by a magnet. You don’t falter, sinking into her rhythm before she can pull away. Joy bubbles up in your chest, a smile you can’t contain spreading onto your lips as you kiss her back softly and thread your fingers through her hair. 

She pulls back just enough to catch your eye, a light laughter rippling from her chest. Happy, free. 

She places a kiss against your forehead and releases a relieved sigh. You can only hum in agreement. 

You both stand there for a long moment, wrapped in each other, protecting one another from the cold night air. For a moment, you no longer feel alone. Your lips still tingling from her kiss, a smile you can’t contain all over your face, and warm arms wrapped around you, filling your soul with a true sense of safety. You didn’t need anymore words, not right now. Not while time stands still and it’s just her and you. 

You were silly to put it down to her smile. It wasn’t the smile that was all-consuming, or maybe it was, but it was also just her. Plain and simple. Her. You didn’t need to dissect the parts of her because simply being in her presence left you feeling both breathless and safe. 

It was her. She was the art. 

She was everything. 

And it was going to be okay. 

You were organized to some degree, the piles of paper made sense to you. The rest of the team always joked about the crash site on your desk, but it was your way of organizing things.

Spencer once tried to sort the papers for you and you spent the rest of the day sorting it back into its piles, because you couldn’t find shit with it sorted like that. Spencer had looked so sorry and troubled that you also went to get coffee and a snack to make sure he didn’t feel too bad about ruining your structured chaos.

Since the team had come back from the last case earlier today, well late afternoon at best, you've all been swamped with paperwork. Not just for this case but apparently the last half of the year.

Well, not quite that bad but you've been constantly on the go the last month and now you all had to suffer through the growing mountains of paperwork.

Most of the team had left during the last hour, JJ had to go home so she could tuck Henry in for the night, Reid left shortly after her not wanting to take the subway so late at night and Derek had excused himself so he could go out clubbing.

It was only you and Emily left in the bullpen, Hotch was up in his office and Dave was currently busy with his book tour. She was sitting two desks away from you, her hair falling in her face and she looked like she was about to fall asleep while writing. Maybe she'd even continue writing in her sleep.

You weren’t in much better shape, the last case had them staying up for nearly 50 hours straight and you hadn’t been able to sleep on the way back to Quantico. Something that was Emilys fault, not that she knew it.

She had decided to sit next to you during the flight, as usual, and after about 20 minutes her head was on your shoulder, her breathing even and deep and you didn’t dare to move a single muscle, because her sleeping on your shoulder was everything but normal.

So instead of getting some rest like your tired body wanted to do, your brain was hyper aware of everything and every little movement. You just didn’t want to risk losing this innocent form of physical contact and sign of trust.

It was no secret that you had a crush on her. After basically completely falling over your words when first meeting her it was only a matter of time for the rest of the team to tease you about it.

Well, the first two weeks they were all nice and professional and as soon as you started to make friends, they were making jokes about it and teasing you. At first you wanted the ground to swallow you whole but one day you actually looked at Emily while JJ was making on of her jokes and she was sitting at her desk, acting like she wasn’t listening but smiling. And she definitely didn’t smile at a case file like that.

So when she fell asleep on your shoulder on the plane it was her finally being vulnerable in front of the team. You had spent weekends on your couch binge watching Sex and the City and Desperate Housewives, but at work she was always nice but not friendly.

Like she hadn’t placed her hand on your leg when laughing at a funny scene on tv. Like she hadn’t looked at you a bit too long when you turned the tv on. Like she hadn’t traced her fingers over your face when you had a black eye and she just wanted to examine it closer.

JJ had asked you once what the deal with the two of you was but you had just shrugged, telling her that she knew better than anyone that Emily was a mystery.

But now your little mystery was basically falling asleep on her desk, eyes falling closed every few seconds and constantly yawning, which called for a little break.

So you walked over to her desk and leaned against it, you wanted to seem cool and casual but in reality you were just as tired as she was and not about to stand without support.

„Prentiss, you falling asleep on me again?“

Her head shot up like you had woken her from her hundred year slumber, eyes a bit glassy and unfocused but a small smile on her face.

„Carter, don’t flatter yourself, I'm just soooo into this paperwork I wanna take it to bed with me.“

„Oh I see, so you wouldn’t be interested in a coffee and maybe this?“ You dangled the keys to the rooftop in front of her face and her eyes followed them like you were hypnotizing her.

„Well played, Carter.“ She smiled and tried to snatch the key from you but failed due to her reflexes not being on her a game right now.

„Let's get coffee and head up there before Hotch kills us for a) still being here, b) for drinking coffee this late and c) for kind of stealing the key from him.“

Emily looked a bit surprised when you confessed stealing the key, but it was soon replaced with mischief and something dangerous.

x

The worst part of being in a relationship with someone you work with is that sometimes, you bring your work home with you. You and Spencer try not to let your work affect your personal life, but you can’t let this one go. Everyone from the office felt the tension between you two before you left, and during the car ride, you prepared what you were going to say to him as soon as you walked through the front door.

“So, you’re just ignoring me now?” Spencer asks and follows you inside.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Spencer. Why do I even tell you things if you’re not even going to fucking listen to me?”

“What you suggested was wrong, and had I listened to you, someone else would have gotten hurt.”

“No,” you whip around to face him, “I told you how to get the unsub and where he was going to be. I told you he was going to be armed so I suggested bringing in the SWAT team as backup. What did you do? You and Derek enter the house alone and disregard everything I told you.”

“Had I gone in with the SWAT team, the unsub would have seen them and started shooting. Morgan and I were able to trap him by sneaking up on him. I can’t very well do that with a whole team behind me.” He sets his bag down on the counter and rubs his face tiredly. “Besides, I don’t know why you’re bugging about this. Everything worked out.”

“You don’t get it,” you scoff. “It’s not about how we got the unsub. It’s about the fact that you didn't even consider what I had to say. You went ahead and did it on your own. If that’s how you want to do things, then fine. I won’t help you ever again.”

You grab a water bottle from the fridge and make your way to the stairs.

“You’re overreacting about this.”

“I’m sleeping in the guest room tonight.”

With that, you leave your husband at the bottom of the stairs alone. He rolls his eyes and decides to let you have this night. Tomorrow, he’s going to make you see that your plan wouldn’t have worked.

In the morning, you’re already at work by the time he gets up. Normally, sleep is a cleanser for you. If you go to bed angry, you’re usually calmed down by the morning. However, he can see you’re going to milk this as long as you can. That’s fine. If you want to play games, he’ll play it your way.

Spencer walks into the office and sees you at your desk. You know he’s here because the chatter gets quiet. Your coworkers are curious to see how this is going to play out. Derek and Emily think Spencer is going to stay strong and stand his ground while JJ and Rossi think he’s going to fold because you have this man wrapped around your finger even if you don’t see it.

Spencer walks past him but you don’t look at him or even acknowledge his presence. He waits for you to say something. When you don’t, he gets a little annoyed with you.

“Really? You’re giving me the silent treatment?” You don’t give him a response. “Okay, fine. I’ll play your games.”

You grab some files and make your way to Penelope’s office without a look back at him. She swirls her chair around to greet you, a big smile on her face.

“What are you smiling about?”

“You’ve come to the right person.”

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“I heard you and Spencer are fighting.”

“I’m fine. There’s no fighting because there’s nothing to talk about. He doesn’t see me as an equal and doesn't want to consider what I have to say. What is there to talk about?” you shrug and hand her some files to work with.

“So, you’re not going to be an adult and have an adult conversation?”

“No,” you wink and leave her office.

The only way you’re going to talk to Spencer is if it’s about work. He thought you were going to give in and apologize after the first day, but you’ve been this way all week. You’re at work before he gets up, you don’t greet him anymore, and you still sleep in the guest room. By the end of the week, you realize you were wrong about how to handle the unsub. Spencer’s plan was the right one. He knew how the unsub was going to behave and made a plan based on that while you based your plan on how to subdue him easily.

The last thing you’re going to do is tell him he’s right.

Now, it’s a game of how long you can do this to him before he breaks. Everyone, including Spencer, knows he’ll be the first one to break even if he doesn’t want to admit it. You’re very good at getting your way, and this is no different. Spencer can tell the shift in energy from you being genuinely pissed at him to doing it on purpose. He knows you too well to know that you’re only doing this to be petty.

He told himself to not go without speaking to or kissing you, but it’s proving to be a lot harder. His love language is touch and he’s craving yours. He hasn’t kissed you in over a week and he’s getting desperate. Like admitting-he-was-wrong desperate.

You have Friday off since you requested it off a month ago, but Spencer was called into work for a few hours to help with something. You’re sitting on the couch reading a book when he walks in. He debates on speaking to you knowing full well you won’t speak to him back. How long can you go like this? You’ll have to speak to him at some point.

He sighs and walks out of the front door to get to work, and you watch him go to the car. He gets in the front seat and starts the car, but he doesn’t drive off. He grips the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turn white. You wonder what he’s thinking. He looks behind him as if he is going to reverse but gets out of the car instead. He storms back into the house, and you immediately pretend like you were reading this whole time. 

Spencer walks over to you, grips your hair tightly but not tight enough to hurt, tips your head back, and kisses you. The book falls from your hand as you kiss him back. This kiss holds a week’s worth of sexual tension. When he gets back from work, you know he’s going to take you to the bedroom for the rest of the day. He slides his tongue into your mouth and massages yours, leaving you wanting more.

When he feels you leaning into him, he pulls away with a smirk. Without saying a word, he leaves the house and this time, he actually leaves the driveway. People say he’s wrapped around your finger when really, you’re wrapped around his.

x

You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but his muttering was adorable.

"No, that’s the 1992 reprint, the footnotes are condensed—"

You cleared your throat. "You look like you’re losing a battle."

He startled, blinking at you like he hadn’t expected another human to acknowledge his existence. "I—uh. Just. The 1987 edition of The Interpretation of Quantum Mechanics has a misprint in the third chapter, and this store claims to carry rare academic texts, but—"

"You’re that kind of reader," you said, grinning. "The ‘I need the exact version or my soul will wither’ type."

He frowned. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."

"It’s endearing." You held up your own book—Still I Rise. "I’m more of a ‘as long as the words are there, I’ll make it work’ person."

Spencer’s eyes flicked to the cover, then back to your face. "Maya Angelou."

"You know her?"

"‘You may shoot me with your words, you may cut me with your eyes,’" he had recited softly, "‘you may kill me with your hatefulness, but still, like air, I’ll rise.’"

Now, pressed between the poetry shelves and the warmth of his body, you couldn’t help but smile against his lips.

"Spence..." You pulled away with a quiet laugh as he tried to chase your mouth, his fingers tightening on your waist. "We should not be doing this here."

His eyes flickered between yours. "Why not?"

"Because," you whispered, "we’re in public."

Spencer huffed, but his lips twitched. "The chances of anyone even noticing—"

You pressed a finger to his mouth. "You’re an FBI agent, not a highschool kid trying to get lucky."

He nipped at your fingertip, grinning when you yelped. "I am lucky. And I like kissing you here."

"You’re impossible."

"And yet," he murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, "you love me anyway."

You did. God, you did.

"You know," he mused, his breath warm against your neck, "Angelou once said that love recognizes no barriers."

You smirked. "Is that your way of justifying making out in public?"

Spencer laughed. "It’s my way of saying I missed you this week."

Your chest tightened. He’d been away on a case for five days, and though he’d called every night, hearing his voice through the phone wasn’t the same as having him here—solid and real and yours.

"I missed you too."

His thumb brushed your cheek, his voice barely above a whisper. "I thought about you every day. Wondered what you were reading, if you were drinking that awful lavender tea you love, if you—" He hesitated, then smiled sheepishly. "If you missed me half as much as I missed you."

You leaned into his touch, your heart swelling. "More."

Spencer exhaled, his forehead resting against yours. "Good."

A store employee—a lanky teenager with a name tag that read Ethan—stood a few feet away, pointedly examining a shelf. "Uh. Just letting you know that, uh…" He gestured vaguely toward the security camera in the corner. "Management kind of frowns on… activities in the aisles."

Spencer’s ears turned pink. "Right. Sorry."

You bit your lip to keep from laughing. "We’ll behave."

Ethan nodded, already backing away. "Cool. Just… maybe save it for the parking lot or something."

The second he was out of earshot, you dissolved into quiet giggles, pressing your face into Spencer’s shoulder.

Spencer groaned, but his arms tightened around you. "I blame you."

"Me?"

"You’re the one who kissed me first."

You pulled back, mock-offended. "That is a lie."

His grin was unrepentant. "Selective memory, then."

You swatted his chest, but he caught your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. "Come on," he murmured, tugging you toward the door. "Before we get banned from our own love story’s setting."

The evening air was crisp as you stepped outside, the streetlights casting a golden glow over the sidewalk. Spencer didn’t let go of your hand.

"Where to now, Dr. Reid?" you teased.

He hummed, pretending to consider. "Dinner. Then home. Then—" His voice dropped. "I’ll recite all of Angelou’s poetry to you. If you want."

You hadn’t thought it was possible to love him more.

From the moment he’d first asked you on a date - uncharacteristically timid, stumbling over his words, so unlike the fearless leader you’d come to idolise and respect since joining the team all those years ago - he’d treated you as if you’d hung the stars in the sky yourself.

He wasn’t overly affectionate in public, but you didn’t mind. You were well aware that he had an image to uphold. When you were alone, however, he showered you with affection. It was overwhelming at first, and you’d felt undeserving, not used to being in a relationship with someone that adored you, that loved you completely, that respected you all the more. But as time wore on, you’d become accustomed to these little romantic gestures that, even now, had your cheeks tinting a light pink, butterflies forming in your stomach, and a smile that you tried (and failed) to suppress tugging at your lips.

On the nights where you were apart, back when you were still living in your own apartment, he formed small, affectionate habits. He’d send a text to check you were home safe, following a date or a long day at the office. He’d have flowers delivered regularly, bright bouquets waiting on your doorstep when you returned home from a gruelling case, always accompanied by the sweetest, handwritten note (you had a shoebox full of them tucked away in your closet, a physical reminder of his love for you). He’d call you as you settled into bed, his voice gentle over the phone as he was wished you sweet dreams, told you how much he missed you, how he couldn’t wait to see you again.

When you moved in with him, just a few short months before he proposed, his gestures changed in tandem with your relationship. If he had to be at the office early, you’d wake to a note left atop his pillow, hastily written messages of love and adoration ensuring a beautiful start to your day. After a particularly difficult case, he’d usher you into the bathroom the moment you got home. He’d run you a bath, help you ease into the water, and disappear into the kitchen to cook you one of your favourite meals while you allowed the hot water and bubbles to melt away your troubles.

On your wedding day, he’d allowed himself to be less reserved. The moment he saw you, as you began your descent down the aisle, he was consumed by emotions, his beautiful eyes shining with unshed tears. He’d leaned into you as you took his hand, matching smiles on your faces, and whispered sweet nothings into your ear, telling you just how beautiful he thought you’d looked. He seemed unable to resist touching you after that initial contact. At any given moment, his hand was pressed to the small of your back, or his fingers were intertwined with your own, or his lips were pressing tender kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your lips. Though he kept reminding you of his love for you throughout the day, whispering it into your skin, you could feel it through those small gestures, too.

He held you close to him as you danced together for the first time as man and wife. His eyes were on you the entire time as the pair of you moved effortlessly around the dance floor, surrounded by your loved ones, his ever present smile unwavering. During his speech, you’d cried tears of happiness, so overwhelmed by the life he’d given you, the joy he made you feel every day.

He loved you wholly, and you didn’t think you could love him more.

That was, until the first time you saw him hold your daughter.

It had been gruelling, the birth. Long. Tiring. Aaron had been by your side constantly. He held your hand, wiped the sweat from your brow, and told you over and over how proud he was of you.

And the smile that had consumed him, all teeth and dimples as your daughter had come kicking and screaming into the world, left you breathless.

He was smitten from the moment he laid eyes on her. Had waited for your subtle nod of assent before he left your side to be with her while the nurses weighed her and cleaned her up, unable to take his eyes off of her for a moment. When she was placed in your arms for the first time, he’d wrapped his arms around the two of you as a choked noise left you, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. And although you weren’t alone in the room, midwife and nurses alike still floating around, it felt as though the world had shrunk to just the three of you - husband, wife, child.

He whispered against your cheek how perfect, how beautiful she was. Just like her mother. You’d scoffed then, partly because you’d always been unable to accept a compliment, mostly because you were certain you were anything but beautiful in that moment. Your hair most definitely resembled a birds nest, your lips were chapped and dry, and the sweat had dried uncomfortable onto your skin. But as you’d looked up at him and found his gaze settled on you for the briefest of moments before he’d leant forward to press a gentle, loving kiss to your lips, you thought perhaps he’d truly meant it.

Aaron didn’t hold the baby - Ivy, you’d settled on fairly quickly - until the three of you were finally alone. Though he’d refused to stray far, he knew how important those initial moments of bonding were between you and your tiny speck of a baby, so had refrained for as long as possible. But after a while, you’d looked over at where he stood towered over your bed, eyes roving over the baby as if trying to memorise every tiny detail of her little body. When you’d finally caught his eye, you’d tilted your head in a silent invitation that he join the two of you on the bed, a small laugh bubbling out of you at how quickly he shuffled in beside you. The baby was transferred into his awaiting arms, and as you curled yourself into his side as best as you could, you felt your breath catch in your throat at the sight of them.

Ivy, who was already a little small for her age, appeared even more so as she nestled into her father’s chest. The palm of one of his hands encompassed her back, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against her through the blanket she was wrapped up in. The baby had grizzled as she’d been moved from her mother’s arms to her father’s. But as Aaron whispered into her ear how much he already loved her - something he’d done to you countless times over the years - she settled, as if she knew she was safe. Protected by the first man to ever love her.

And as the three of you rested in comfortable silence, you felt it again.