#cm reader insert

You glance at your sister. She’s worried. You can tell; she’s biting her nails and pacing around the room. You shake your head, “He’s on a case.” 

“SO? You’re in a freaking hospital.” 

You shake your head, “I’ll be fine.” You bury your head into your pillow as a fresh wave of pain rushes through you. This freaking hurts. 

           “Alright Mrs. Hotchner. It seems as though you have a pretty bad fracture in your arm. It’s bad enough that you’re going to need surgery. The sooner the better." 

Yep. You’ve screwed up. You look at Jenna and hold out your good hand. She gives you a haughty look. One that says I told you so. And if you had two good arms you’d go ahead and swat her. But you don’t. You only have one and it’s busy calling your husband. 

“Hotchner.” You can hear it in his voice. He’s tired. And from the few texts you’ve gotten in the three days he’s been gone, you know this is a bad case. 

“Hey sweetheart.” 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Why does something have to be wrong?” 

“Your voice is a higher pitch than usual. You only do that when you have bad news.” 

Sometimes you really hate being married to a profiler. “Don’t freak out.” 

There’s silence, “What happened?” There’s a hint of panic to his tone now. 

“I was bringing the groceries up to the apartment and the elevator was out, so I had to use the stairs. some of the neighbor kids had left some toys at the top of the stairs; I tripped on them, and fell down the stairs.” 

“How bad is it?” There’s panic now.

You wince, “I have a concussion. And some bad bruising.” 

“And?” 

“And a bad fracture in my left arm. I need surgery.” 

“I’m on the next flight out. Is the doctor there? Can I talk to them?” 

“Aaron, you don’t have to fly home for this. . .”

“You’re my wife.” 

“Yes. I remember the wedding and the vows.” 

You can almost see him rolling his eyes, “If you’re hurt I’m coming to you.” 

“What about the case?” 

“The rest of the team is here. Can I please speak to the doctor?” 

Wordlessly, you hand over the phone to Dr. Main. You listen as they explain everything to Aaron, and reassure him they aren’t taking you in for surgery right away. They want to watch your brain for a little while to make sure it's okay.

Eventually, your sister has to leave to go pick her kids up from school, and you’re left alone. You find yourself becoming more and more grumpy as the hours go along. You’re not allowed to sleep for more than two hours at a time thanks to your concussion, and your pain meds aren’t working, but you had expected that. They rarely worked on you. 

It’s nearly two in the morning, when you feel the bed dip. You know it isn’t the nurse because she had just woken you up for a check thirty minutes ago. Your arm is wrapped with a splint for stabilization until you can have surgery which lets you look behind you. And there’s Aaron. 

You smile as he wraps around you and he kisses you. It’s the best you’ve felt since you fell down those stairs. “You came.” 

He snuggles in, “Of course I came.” You sigh, and he nudges you, “What’s wrong?”

“I feel bad, taking you away from the case.” 

“Don’t. You’re my wife. You come first. If you need me? Or  even if you just want me? All you have to do is call and I’m on my way to you.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Always.” 

“Even if you have to take a train?” 

“Of course.” 

“What about a dog sled?” 

He laughs, “Why would I take a dog sled?” 

“You’re on a case where there’s snow.” 

“Even a dog sled.” 

You turn to face him, careful of your arm, “I love you, Aaron.” 

“Love you too, angel.” He kisses you then, gently and slowly. It’s the best cognitive check 

you’ve had so far. 

“Are you going to sign my cast when I get it?” 

“Absolutely.” 

You laugh and drift back to sleep. You get woken up several more times, and Aaron is forced to wake up, too. In the morning he gets a clear look of how you might have downplayed your injuries. You have two black eyes, and your ribs are a dark purple. You’re lucky it’s mostly bruising. And Aaron is more than a little distraught. 

They put off your surgery for another two days. It’s two days spent in the hospital, and Aaron sets up a little office there. He takes calls and works on his laptop. You watch a lot of TV, and when you get bored of that, Aaron climbs into bed and reads to you: Pride and Prejudice. You both love Jane Austen. And Pride and Prejudice had been one of the first things you bonded over.

 When you’re finally cleared for surgery you ask your sister to come back to the hospital and stay with Aaron. While your husband is capable of terrifying  a serial killer, he turns into an overprotective, anxious bear of a man when you’re hurt. 

They let him walk back with you as far as he can go. He holds your good hand the entire time. If he slips in that he works for the FBI a few times and shoots the doctors a warning glare, you don’t say anything. Because if that makes it easier for him then you’ll take it. 

You slip easily under the anesthesia and when you wake up you’re flying. And then you see Aaron. He’s so pretty. And he has a cute butt. You make sure to tell him that. His face turns red and he mumbles a thank you. You say other things, but you can’t remember what. 

Eventually, you fall back asleep and then you wake up again and your mind is clear and your body is achy. Aaron and your sister are both there. “How’d it go?” 

Your sister is holding back laughter, but before she can say anything Aaron says, “Surgery went fine. You’re going to be in a cast for at least eight weeks, and then you’ll have physical therapy.” 

Your eyes slide back to your sister, “What is he not telling me?” 

“Only that you’re hilarious when you’re high, and who knew Aaron was so good in bed?” 

“What?” 

“You were coming out from under the meds and you saw Aaron. You told him he was pretty and that he has a nice butt. You then told him to pull down his pants so the nurses could see. From there you went into great detail about several aspects of your sex life. And all I can say is if they were true, you’re very lucky, and you should also keep an eye on Aaron, because nurses have been flirting with him ever since.” 

Your head snaps to Aaron, “I didn’t.” 

“You did.” 

“I am so sorry.” You’re mortified. 

He leans over and kisses your forehead, “It’s okay. We can just never come back to this hospital ever again. We’ll have to drive the extra ten minutes to the other one.” 

You scoff, “We might have to move. New York City would be good. It’s so packed no one would ever find us.” 

“You hate New York, and so do I. Remember when I got the offer to run the New York Office, and you threatened to divorce me?” 

“That was a joke. This is real life. Please tell me no one got it on camera.” 

Aaron lets out a chuff, “No. Thank God.” 

Your sister leans in and nudges you, “But is what you said true?” 

You look at her like she’s crazy, “I have never shared that part of my life with you, and I don’t intend to start now.” 

“Spoilsport. I’ll wear you down eventually.” 

She goes ahead and heads out and you turn back to Aaron, “How accurate were the things I was saying?"

            "Right on the money, they were the exact same things you told me after Valentine's Day weekend last year.” 

You blush because the two of you had holed up in a hotel in the Poconos that weekend, and you hadn’t left the room. Aaron had rocked your world, and you liked to think you had rocked his too. 

“Yeah, we’re going to have to fake our deaths and start over, Aaron. I’m sorry.” 

He laughs, for real this time and simply says, “Where you lead, I’ll follow.” 

A warm pair of lips placing feather-lite kisses on your face pulls you away from the comforting arms of sleep. You sluggishly open your eyes, blinking the blurry figure leaning over you in the darkness of the bedroom into focus.

“Spence?” You drawl out, reaching a hand up to weave into his curly hair. “Don’t go.” He lets out a small laugh as he gently unthreads your hand from his hair. “I’ve got to go Y/N.” He says reluctantly, moving to rest his forehead against yours for a moment. You close your eyes, reveling in the intimacy of the moment. 

“I love you.” You murmur, your breath fanning across Spencer’s face. You reach up enough to press your lips against Spencer’s in a tender kiss. “Come home safe.” 

“I love you too Y/N. Go back to sleep.” He says as he brings the comforter back up over your shoulders. “I’ll be home before you know it.” 

If you had known that the kiss you’d given Spencer before he left for his trip to Mexico would have been the last you’d be able give him for the next 89 days (you had been counting), you would’ve made it more than a sleepy, wet kiss as you yearned for your bed. You would have hugged him tight, pressing your face into his chest, deeply breathing his musk in as you listen to his heartbeat. You would have pulled him in for two, three, four more kisses, murmuring words of love between each.

Most importantly, you would have told him what you had found out only the night before when he had been at work, that you were pregnant. If only you had known what was to happen, you could have saved yourself from the hell to come. 

---

No matter the case, Spencer always made sure to call, or at the very least text, you once a day. But after two days of radio silence, you were starting to worry. You had called him twice, leaving him a message each time asking him to call you when he could. You sent him quite a few text messages as well, becoming more and more concerned as time passed but you receive no call back from him.

By the fifth day, despite having sent a number of additional text messages and leaving enough voicemails to fill Spencer’s inbox, you still hadn’t heard from him. You are so worried that you can hardly focus at work. In fact, you are so distracted by thoughts of Spencer being kidnapped or him being shot and bleeding out in an alley that you got pulled into your boss’s office and reprimanded for your “airhead behavior”, as your boss had put it. When you arrive home, you are gripped with such anxiety and fear that you can only grab one of Spencer’s large sweaters and curl up in bed with it. You can’t even bring yourself to take off your shoes. 

The ringing of your phone early the next morning pulls you from the trance you had been in all night. You frantically start looking for your phone and quickly find it on Spencer’s side of the bed, answering it without looking at the number. 

“Spencer? Is that you? Are you okay?” You blurt out, not allowing the other person to talk before you are firing questions at them.

“Is this Y/F/N Y/L/N?” The voice on the other side asks quickly, stopping you. You immediately know it isn’t Spencer, just as much as you know that it isn’t someone you know. 

“Yes. May I ask who this is and what it is regarding?” You ask nervously, your heart quickening as you wait what feels like an eternity for them to answer. 

“I’m Penelope Garcia and I work with Spencer at the FBI.” She pauses for a moment, as if trying to find the right words to continue. “You were the most called number in the call log on Spencer’s phone and I felt like this is something you should know, as he seems to be someone very important to you, and vice versa.” The brokenness of her voice causes the worry in your chest to bubble up again. “Spencer is in jail...in Mexico.” 

“Wh-what?” You struggle to wrap your mind around what she is saying as you climb out of bed, rushing to find your discarded jacket and set of keys from the night before. You aren’t entirely sure why you’re rushing, or even where you’d be going, but that doesn’t slow you down. “Was there a case in Mexico? What happened?” 

“There wasn’t a case. He took some personal days and went to Mexico for some experimental medication for his mother. He...um..he was arrested for murder, but he doesn’t remember anything.” 

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to sit in one of the living room chairs as you try to fight off the sobs rising in your chest. “Is he, is he going to stay in Mexico? I mean, is he, no, when will...he didn’t do it.” You stammer out, as you try to slow your racing thoughts, stop the inevitable tears from falling, and make your word coherent. 

“Miss Y/L/N, I don’t have the answers to those questions yet. But, I can keep you updated if you’d like. The team left a few hours for Mexico to help Reid. They want to get him transferred to a prison in the states.” Her voice is comforting, but does nothing to tamp down the feeling of impending disaster that is rising in you. You manage to get out a shaky goodbye to Penelope before you lose grip on your emotions.

You struggle to get a proper breath through the onslaught of tears as the reality of the situation hits you. Your phone clatters to the floor as you bury your face in your arms, drawing your legs up to yourself as you try to push it all away. Eventually the tears slow and stop. You gradually unfurl from the cramped up position you had been in. You numbly make your way to the kitchen and somehow manage to make yourself breakfast. The rest of the day passes in a hazy blur, with you almost forgetting that you were supposed to be at work (you called in sick once you remembered, but your boss wasn’t happy the call was coming in three hours late). You spend the night, clutching Spencer’s pillow and wishing that this were all a dream. You don’t fall asleep until the early hours of the morning, when the exhaustion of the last few days finally overtakes you.

The ringing of your phone wakes you later that morning, serving as a reminder that you have to face the day ahead, as much as you don’t want to.

“Y/F/N? This is Penelope with the FBI. I called you yesterday about Spencer.” Her greeting has you sitting up, trying to clear the foggy cloud from your brain so you could think. 

“Penelope, have you found anything else out? How is Spencer?” You plow over any possible pleasantries as you ask the question that had been on your mind for the last day.

“The team was able to get him extradited to the United States.” She starts, her words helping to ease some of the anxiety that had built up since you had learned about Spencer’s imprisonment. “He isn’t out yet, but the team is working on his case. In the meantime, I’m setting up a visitor schedule. If you’d want to come down to Quantico, I can help you fill out the necessary paperwork and get on the schedule to see him, if you’d like.” You quickly voiced your agreement and after getting directions and setting a time, you hung up with Penelope, your mood considerably elevated for the first time in days. 

A glance at the clock has you scrambling out of the bed and to your closet. You had completely forgotten about the doctor’s appointment you had scheduled days ago, before your world had been flipped upside down. You manage to get dressed and ready to go in less than ten minutes, arriving at your appointment only a few minutes late.

Your appointment is short as the doctor just does a routine exam, confirming your pregnancy and letting you know that the baby was healthy so far. You receive a list of different things to avoid (such as caffeine and smoking) and a few different things that are beneficial to your, and the baby’s, health (such as prenatal vitamins). After your appointment, you quickly stop at the store to pick up a few things suggested by the doctor, before heading back to Spencer’s apartment, where you had been staying. Although he had never officially asked you to move in, you had been staying at his apartment most nights for the past few months and had your own drawer and spot in his closet. And with the events of the past few days, it had just felt right to stay, almost as if you had one small part of him still with you. 

 You go to bed early that night, really early, in hopes of getting the time to pass quicker. The prospect of seeing Spencer has you anxious and excited at the same time, making sleep nearly impossible. After a few hours of tossing and turning, with no sleep, you climb out of bed and get dressed. You grab your purse and keys before leaving the apartment. You walk the short distance to your car and start it. Despite knowing that you would be hours early to your meeting with Penelope, you still start the drive to Quantico and the FBI building. 

After almost an hour in the car, and twenty minutes with security (in which they had to confirm your meeting with Penelope before they gave you a visitor credential), you finally made your way to the floor where the BAU team worked. Your eyes scan the bullpen and immediately you recognize Spencer’s desk, even though you had never seen it before. You recognize the pattern in which the items are placed and the semi-clearness of his desk space; it is identical to the desk he uses for work at home. You make your way towards it, tracing a finger along the fake wood edge as you take a seat in his desk chair. Sitting here, you can almost feel his presence behind you, his voice speaking up, sharing an idea he had or some crazy fact, his fingers tapping along the edge of his desk. You take comfort in the feeling as you rest your head in your arms on his desktop. It isn’t long before you are closing your eyes and falling into a light sleep.

A tap on your shoulder jerks you awake, causing you to fly up in a sitting position and blink at the harsh light of the bullpen. “You must be Y/F/N Y/L/N. I’m Penelope Garcia.” A cheery blonde, wearing a bright orange dress and matching hair accessory, as well as holding a bright pink pom topped pen. 

You stand, smoothing out any wrinkles in your outfit before offering a hand out to her. “Yes, that’s me.” She takes your hand but instead of shaking it, pulls you into a hug. You are taken back by her forwardness, but give her a squeeze in return.

“Let’s go see what we can do to get you on the visitor list.” She says softly, leading the way to what you could only describe as her office, although it more resembled a cave, filled with more types of technology than you would know what to do with.

Penelope gestures to a black swivel desk chair set next to the wall. “Here, take a seat. I’m going to pull up Spencer’s information and see if we can get you some visitor paperwork.” She says as you take a seat in the chair. The longer you sit there, the more nervous you feel. Unconsciously, you rest your hand on your lower stomach, right over the small bump that was starting to form. 

You don’t realize that you are zoned out until Penelope clears her throat. “Are you okay?” She nods at your hand resting on your stomach. You quickly pull it away, straightening up in your seat. “Yes, I’m fine.”

She gives you a long stare before speaking. “I have some good news and some bad news Y/N.” You nod, waiting for her to speak with bated breath. “The good news - you can call Spencer.” 

You wait for her to continue, but she doesn’t. “And the bad news?”

“I can’t add you to the visitor list. It seems that Spencer doesn’t want you to come see him as a visitor.” She can’t look you in the eye as she says that.

You are quiet after that, not entirely sure what to say. The thought that he doesn’t want to see you hurts. But you also know Spencer, and whatever the reason, you know he has one.

“He can take a call in about five minutes if you want to get on the call list.” She says, looking up from one of her monitors at you. You nod quickly, before voicing your agreement. The five minutes of waiting seemed to go on forever, but finally, she is patching through to a prison phone. “Here you go, he should be on the other line now.” The fact that she immediately gave the phone to you, instead of taking some of the time to talk to him, had you smiling gratefully at her. ‘Thank you’, you mouth as you take the phone. 

“Spencer? Is that you?” You ask, your heart in your throat as you wait to hear his voice.

“Y/N, it’s so good to hear your voice.” He speaks quietly, the low quality of the phone call causing his voice to crackle.

“I know you didn’t do it Spencer. Whatever they are saying, it isn’t true.” You whisper, clutching the handset close to your ear, as if that would bring him closer to you. 

“Y/N...I don’t know-” He starts but you cut him off, knowing he was going to tell you he wasn’t sure what had happened.

“I know Spencer, but I also know you. And that isn’t who you are.” You say thickly, as you fight back the coming tears. “I want to see you Spencer. Why don’t you have me on your visitor list?”

“I don’t want you to see me like this. I don’t want you to see me here.” You start to argue that it doesn’t matter, but some yelling in the background cuts you off, after which Spencer says, “I’ve got less than a minute Y/N before I’ve got to hang up.” He says solemnly, the sorrow in his voice echoing the sorrow you felt. 

You push aside the topic of seeing him, not wanting to waste what little time you had left talking to him by arguing. “I love you Spencer. Don’t forget that okay? I don’t care how long it takes, we-I will be here when you come home. You have a lot of people here in your corner Spencer. They will get you out.” You push back the tears as you talk, not wanting him to hear you cry.

“Gosh, I love you and I miss you. I wish I was th-” His voice is cut off, followed shortly by a dial tone.

You grip at the handset, calling “Spencer? Spencer?!”, wishing for him to respond.

“I’m sorry Y/N. The call ended.” Penelope says quietly. You hand over the handset, moving to sit back in the swivel chair against the wall, roughly wiping away the evidence of your tears as you do.

“What do we do now?” You ask through the tears.

“We wait. The team is working on his case and I will keep you updated on everything that happens. Do you need anything?” She asks, giving you a good look.

You are telling her before you consciously realize what you are doing. “I-I’m pregnant. I just found out and I haven’t had the chance to tell Spencer. I don’t know what to do. I want to tell him when I can see him face to face, when he can enjoy it for what it is, a blessing. But I hate hiding things from him.”

Penelope gives out a little squeal, bouncing up from her chair to hug you tight. “Oh, you are gonna have a baby Reid!” She says loudly, taking a step back from you. The look on your face must have given away the shock on your face because she is quickly apologizing. “Oh my goodness, I am so sorry. What can I do to help Y/N?”

“I just, I need someone to talk to. I miss him, a lot. It’s hard to be going through this alone.” You whisper, looking down at your hands in your lap. 

“Girl, you don’t have to ask. I’d love to be your friend.” She says excitedly, giving you a soft shoulder bump. “And I’m going to do everything I can to get the boy wonder home to you.” She gives you a small smile. “And your little one.”

---

The days follow a routine after that. Work, talking to Penelope, and the occasional doctor’s appointment. Penelope comes to some of the appointments as support, which you appreciate, and when you find out the gender, she insists on going shopping for baby items with you. You are able to talk to Spencer a few more times, although each phone call is shorter than the last, and leaves you missing him even more. 

Each doctor’s appointment is harder than the last. All you could think of when you hear the baby’s heartbeat is that Spencer wasn’t there. All you could think of when you feel the baby move for the first time is that Spencer might never be able to feel your baby move like that. He might never get the chance to feel your baby kick. All you can think of when you hear the gender of your baby is that Spencer might never get to experience that excitement, that joy, of imagining all the future things that might be in store for the baby. 

---

Late one evening in early May, after a long day at work (which you had spent almost entirely on your feet) and a feeling of nausea that had lasted all day, you dig through Spencer’s side of the closet and grab one of his cardigans. You pull it on, wrapping around you as well as you can with your growing belly getting in the way. 

You grab one of the many books resting on Spencer’s side table, taking it with you as you head to the living room. You pull the afghan blanket off of the back of the leather wingback, carrying it with you as you move to the dark leather couch. You get comfortable, wrapping the blanket around your legs and waist before opening the random book you had grabbed.

It isn’t long before the story has your eyelids drooping and your muscles relaxing, giving into the cloud of exhaustion that hung over you. The book, forgotten and half-open, falling to the floor doesn’t wake you, and neither does your cell phone, distant and tinny, as it rings from the bedroom. You don’t wake at the jingling of a key in the lock or the opening of the apartment door. However, the heavy thud that follows the apartment door falling shut has you jerking awake, one hand coming to rest on the swell of your abdomen, the other on the back of the couch. You struggle a bit to sit up, but when you do, after taking a moment to study the intruder, you realize it’s Spencer.

“Spencer?” You whisper, moving slowly from the couch, not entirely sure if he was real or a figment of your imagination. Either way, you didn’t want to scare him away. You stop when you are a foot from him. You search his light brown, almost hazel eyes, the pain and darkness within them, swirling around and hardening his expression. You tentatively reach out with your hand to caress his face. Your fingers slowly graze his stubble covered jaw before you move to rest it against his cheek. 

He leans into your touch, bringing his large, rough hand up to cover yours. Your eyes fill with tears, causing your view of him to become blurry and before you can stop yourself, you are throwing your arms around his neck, pulling him as close as you can get. 

He is quick to return the hug, but after a brief moment, he becomes stiff, his arms sliding loosely down your back. You step back, feeling hurt and confused at his sudden rejection of your affection.

“What’s wrong?” You murmur as you roughly wipe a hand across your face, trying to get rid of the tears that were running down your face. 

“You’re pregnant.” He states, his eyes no longer looking at your face, but instead, your belly.

Your heart beats faster, a rush of excitement going through you. This was it, the moment you’d been waiting for. You’d finally get to tell Spencer that he was going to be a father.

“Spencer, it’s ours.” You answer softly, gently taking his hand in yours and placing right above where the baby typically kicked. “You’re going to be a father.” 

“I-I am?” He questions in disbelief. His hand, which had been rigidly resting on your belly, slowly relaxes just as the baby kicks. He jerks his hand away, stepping back and bumping into the door. He brings his hands up, pushing them into his hair. His fingers grip onto the long, curly locks as uses his palms to cover his eyes. 

“No, this isn’t happening, it’s a dream. I don’t deserve this.” He is rambling now as he slowly slides down the door, landing in a sitting position. His face is still covered with his hands as he continues to ramble. “This isn’t real. I don’t deserve this.” 

“Spencer?” You murmur, keeping your voice low, but audible as you kneel down beside him. You place a gentle hand on his arm, afraid that your touch might startle him. He doesn’t move as he continues to talk to himself. You bring your other hand up to cradle his still covered face. You stay this way for a long time, holding him as much as he’ll allow in his closed off position. Eventually, he stops muttering to himself and is quiet. You shift then, until you're sitting next to him against the door. 

“Lie down, Spencer.” You whisper softly, brushing a lock of his hair back away from his face when he turned to face you. You slide your hand from his hair and over his shoulder, gently pulling him down towards you. He didn’t resist, placing his head in your lap and allowing you to run your fingers through his hair. 

The two of you stay that way until your butt goes numb from sitting in the same place for so long. You squeeze Spencer’s shoulder with your hand to get his attention. “Let’s go to bed, Spence.” You say. He slowly gets up, offering you a hand as he does, avoiding any accidental brushing of your stomach as he did. You keep his hand in yours as he leads the way to the bedroom, only letting go when you move to your side of the bed and get in. He is gone for a few minutes, coming back with a low-slung pair of gray sweatpants and an old college T-shirt on. He gets in bed, but instead of wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close as he usually did, he simply laces his fingers through yours. 

Weeks pass this way, with you and Spencer going back to life as it was, or at least as much as the two of you could with Spencer’s new work schedule and the fact that you were getting closer and closer to your due date. The fact that things remained the same though, as they had been when Spencer arrived home for the first time, was what worried you.

Never once did Spencer engage in the conversations you started about the baby or the nursery you wanted in the small spare room across from the bedroom you and Spencer shared. Whenever you commented that the baby was kicking, he found some excuse to leave the room. He still only ever held your hand at night, completely avoiding your ever-growing belly both in bed and anywhere else. It was almost as if he was trying to pretend as if you weren’t actually pregnant, as if what was happening wasn’t reality.  Not only were you constantly uncomfortable, tired and just all around ready for the baby to come, but you were frustrated that Spencer still acted as if you weren’t pregnant, as if anytime within the next few weeks you wouldn’t be handed a newborn, making the two of you parents. You had finally had enough when you had mentioned going shopping for baby supplies about two weeks prior to your due date and he ignored you, continuing to wash the dishes. At first you thought he hadn’t heard you, so you repeat yourself, but when he acted much the same way a second time, you slam your hand on the table.

“Spencer, you can’t ignore this pregnancy. It may not be something you want right now, or ever, but you can’t just ignore it.” You snap at him, the irritation you had been feeling at his callous behavior finally surfacing. He doesn’t answer as he continues to wash the dishes from dinner. You can tell he heard you though, by the unnecessary sheer force he was using to scrub the plate in his hand.

“Spencer,” you pause, waiting until he is looking at you before continuing. “You have to find a way to accept it. This baby is coming.” Your tone is softer now, but your words don’t hold any less bite.

“I can’t accept it Y/N. Accepting it means it’s reality.” He lets out a harsh, joyless laugh. “And the reality is that I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve a baby. And I definitely don’t deserve this life with you.” He is no longer facing you, rather his back is to you, his shoulders tensed and hunched. 

You place a tender hand on his elbow, wanting him to turn so you could see his face. Instead he roughly pulls his elbow out of your hold, flinging soapy water through the air before returning to the plate. “Spencer, look at me.” You try to speak clearly, steadily, but your voice cracks, betraying the emotion behind your words. 

He does as you ask, but his face is twisted and dark in a way you had never seen before. “Damnit Y/N. You have no idea what I’ve done or who I am.” He is yelling at you now, waving a half washed dish to emphasize his point, causing you to take a step backwards. “You think I should be the father of that child,” he gestures wildly at your belly, “when you don’t even know who I am, what I am.” He drops the plate and the sponge, letting them clatter loudly against the metal basin of the sink, as he walks towards the front door of the apartment, his hands still dripping wet. 

“Where are you going?” Your words are barely audible as you try to force them past the growing lump in your throat. 

He ignores your question as he grabs his jacket from the coat rack by the door and leaves the apartment. The loud thud of the door closings clangs against your ears, the tears you had been trying to hold back freely falling now. You were beyond angry at him, despite knowing you shouldn’t be because he had gone through hell the past few months. You couldn’t bring yourself to wait for him to come back. You were tired of the constant bickering and the numerous different times he had chosen to ignore any mention of your pregnancy or the baby.

You quickly fill your duffle bag with the things you’d need for a few days as you called Penelope. The phone rings three times before she answers with a bright, cheery “hello, Garcia.” 

“Penelope, hey. It’s Y/N. Can I stay at your place for a few nights?” You ask as you zip your bag closed. “I need some space from Spencer.” 

“Of course girl. You’re welcome anytime.” She says warmly. “I’ll get the couch made up and Y/C/M queued up on the TV.”

“Thanks Penelope. I’ll see you soon.” You end the call and upon reaching the kitchen, you find a piece of paper and a pen.

Spencer,

I am going to stay with Penelope for a few days. I just need some space.

I’ll be back in a few days.

I love you.

Y/N

You magnet the note to the fridge, where Spencer will be able to find it. You then grab your bag and make your way out of the apartment and down to your car. The drive to Penelope’s doesn’t take long, and when you knock on her door, she is there, holding a pint of your favorite ice cream and the TV remote. “Come here girl.” She proclaimed, pulling you into a side hug. 

The two of you watched feel-good movies well into the night. It is really hard for you to get comfortable, despite being on Penelope’s comfortable sofa, but you chalk it up to being 38 weeks pregnant and partaking in a ‘girls’ sleepover’. When you finally become too tired to keep your eyes open, you rifle through your bag, finding your toothbrush and toothpaste. “I’m going to brush my teeth Penelope.” You say, standing up to go to the bathroom. A wet sensation washing all down your legs has your frozen in place. The pinching sensation in your back intensifies, causing you to sit back down. “Penelope..” You call through the pain. 

“Huh? Y/N?” Penelope answers groggily, sitting up from her relaxed position on the oversized chair. If the situation weren’t so serious, you’d be laughing at the way her hair was standing up in random directions.

“Penelope, I think I need to go to the hospital.” You say, letting out a breath as the pain subsided. She is at your side within moments. “What’s wrong? Is it-oh.” Penelope stops as she sees the evidence of your leaking amniotic fluid on pants. “Let’s go Y/N. We’ve got a baby Reid on the way.” She says cheerily, helping you up. She grabs your bag, which was sitting by the door and helps you out to your car, opening the passenger door for you. The drive to the hospital goes much slower than you would like as a combination of traffic and increasing contractions makes the thirty minute drive feel twice as long. 

Upon reaching the emergency room, you are wheeled into a private birthing room with Penelope following closely behind. She stays with you throughout the next six hours of labor, leaving only once near the end. The closer the birth of your child gets, the foggier you feel. At one point, someone else enters the room, hovering near the head of your bed, but you can’t focus enough to see who it is.

After six hours and twenty-eight minutes of labor, you give birth to a beautiful baby girl. Shortly after birth, she is placed on your chest, a bright pink and green striped blanket placed over her backside. You laugh through the tears as you look into her eyes for the first time, an overwhelming feeling of love overtaking you. The hustle and clatter of the doctors around you slowly fade away as you get lost looking at the face of your newborn daughter.

“Y/N, she’s…” Spencer’s voice startles you as he trails off, causing you to take in his lanky form, framed by the hospital room door. “I...I don’t know what to say.”

“This baby, she’s a piece of you and me and if all I’ll ever get is a piece of you, then I’ll be happy. I love you and I want this life with you, but I can’t force you to love us either Spencer.” You pause, wiping away the tears falling down your face in frustration. “No matter what you think Spencer, I won’t ever stop loving you, just as this little girl won’t ever go a day without knowing who her father truly is. A kind, compassionate man who gave himself wholly and completely for the people he loved, regardless of what that meant for him. That’s who her father is.” You are looking at the baby in your arms now, her bright wide-eyed look bringing a small smile to your face.

You aren’t paying enough attention to Spencer to realize that he had come closer, almost to your bed, and was now staring at the girl in your arms in amazement. “She’s so small.” His words are thick with emotion and cause you to lift your head to look at him. His hazel eyes are glistening with unshed tears as he stares at his daughter.

“Do you want to hold her?” You question, slowly moving her towards his hands, which were hanging awkwardly out in front of him, as if he had anticipated your question. He hesitates a moment before nodding so you place her in his arms.

He cradles her against his chest, holding her as if she was made of glass. His eyes never stray from her face as they study her features, almost as if he was memorizing what she looked like in case he never got to see her again. You lean back against the stiffly starched hospital pillows as you watch them, exhaustion pulling at you.

“You would never have to force me to love her, or you.” His words snap you from the light doze you had fallen into. He is no longer standing as he watches the baby in his arms, now he is sitting in the chair next to your bed, the baby sleeping soundly in his arms. His eyes bore into yours as if he is trying to tell you with his eyes what he was struggling to with his words. 

“I have never stopped loving you.” He looks down at the baby girl in his arms, running a gentle finger over her small cheek. “I just don’t understand what I did to deserve this, to deserve you and her.”

His words break your heart and you place a hand on his knee. “Spencer, of all the people in the world, you deserve this. You deserve love and a family. You do. And I’ll be here, no, we’ll be here everyday to remind you, of who you are and what you do deserve.” You whisper, squeezing his knee as you look at him through teary eyes. 

He leans forward to press a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Thank you.” Those two words, uttered softly near your ear, hold more meaning than the typical words of gratitude and they meant the world to you. They meant he would stay, even if it wasn’t always easy, even if it wasn’t always what he felt he deserved, he would stay.

You toss the covers to the side, and take the steps two at a time. And because Derek knows you, he’s waiting at the bottom step. He looks exhausted, but there’s still so much love in his eyes. He opens his arms, and you just skip the bottom three steps, leaping into his arms. He catches you; still strong. Always strong. He crushes you to him, and spins you in a circle, before pressing a kiss to the side of your head. 

“There’s my Sweet Girl.” 

You tighten your hold on him, as he sets you down. Your toes graze against the wood floors, but you don’t let go of each other for several minutes. When you feel good, you give him a squeeze and pull back. You keep your hands on his chest though, “You caught him.” 

He shakes his head, “We barely did anything. The FBI on the other hand. These profiler guys came in, and it . . . it took them days. Days to catch a killer we’ve been hunting for six months.” 

You can tell this is going to be a story. You push him towards the kitchen, and the two of you start moving around the kitchen, heating up the leftovers you had saved him from dinner. Once everything is good to go, you settle at the kitchen table. He takes a bite, and closes his eyes in bliss. Personally, you don’t think your cooking is that great, but Derek always acts like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. 

You nudge his foot to start his story when he’s halfway done, “These guys, the Behavioral Analysis Unit, come in, and just by looking at the crime scene and based on statistics narrowed down the guys sex, ethnicity, and age. And they were able to predict his movements. It was amazing.” 

He’s holding something back. You can always tell when he’s doing that. You’ve been best friends since childhood, you had held his hand at his father’s funeral and the two of you hadn’t let go for nearly twenty-four hours. You’d been high school and college sweethearts, and you’d gotten married a month out of college. You knew Derek Morgan better than you knew yourself. 

You lean your arms against the table, and wait. “What’s that look?” 

“What look?” 

“That one, on your face.” 

“My face is my face Derek.” 

His eyes narrow, and he takes another bite of food, before giving in, “I might have made some observations that impressed them.” 

“Annnd?” 

“They offered me a job pending my performance at the FBI academy.” 

Your jaw drops, “That’s amazing. You have to do it!” 

He laughs, “You have lost your mind.” 

“How?” 

“I can’t just go off and become a federal agent.” 

“Why not?” 

“Well, for one we’re married.” 

You shrug, “So. I’d go with you.” 

“You have a job.” 

You smile sweetly, “True. A job that I’m so good at, that I can get a new one anywhere. Being in Tech does that. Not to brag or anything.” 

He smiles, “Go ahead and brag. That job provided for us until I made team lead in Swat. We also have kids. Two little girls. They have lives here.” 

“They’re three and one Derek. As long as you and I are there, they’re not going to care.” 

“Fine. I didn’t want to pull this one, but our mothers.” 

You freeze at that. Because your husband has a point. Your mothers lived for their granddaughters. “Simple, when we move, we also change our names.” 

He leans back in his chair, all chase of joking gone, but his usual smile is still there, “Sweetheart. . .” 

“Derek. . . do you remember when we were in high school?” 

“What specifically?” 

“It was after school one day, career day, and we had just heard from the Chicago police department. And you turned to me, as we were going home and said, I’m going to join. I’m going to be like Pops. I’m going to make a difference. Because you dad always said . . .” 

“When you want to  make a change, you have to start with the man you see in the mirror. It is so not fair that you can parrot back every word I ever said.” 

“You do the same with me. If you want this Derek, we’ll do it. We’ll make it work.” 

“It means time away from you and the girls. It means putting those plans we had for another baby on hold.” 

“Your plans. I wanted to wait longer anyway.” 

You both laugh. “I love you something fierce Sweet Girl.” 

You move across the room. You catch the sight of men as you go. And when you reach him, you can’t help but trail your fingers up his back until your hand cups the base of his neck, and then you just sort of, drape yourself across him. 

He doesn’t tense or show any anxiety at the contact. He’s good. You lean forward a bit, “Hello Aaron.” 

You catch a twitch of the lips, “Hello Angel.” It’s your code name. A name you’ve been living with for six months. You’ve been working clubs like this for months, looking for an unsub who’s been killing women who look like you. You’ve flirted with more men in that time than you have in your entire life. 

And now your unsub and another have started working together. So now the BAU is involved. And since they need information they’ve sent Aaron in. Your unsub is a good decade older than you who likes his women younger. That makes Aaron the perfect person to flirt with, to show your interest. 

With a smoothness you’d never expected from him, he takes your hand and turns you into his arm. He guides you back and onto the dance floor. He knows what he’s doing. He’s perfectly at ease leading you around the floor. 

He leans in and presses a kiss just below your ear, it’s a good cover that let’s the two of you whisper back and forth. “What information do you have?” 

“He hits the same eight bars but in no particular pattern. I’m his type. I haven’t come across him though. At this point it’s all about luck. What about you?” 

He twirls you out, and then back in, so that his front is pressed against your back, his arms wrapped around you. “He has a different type of woman. But we think he’s older too, going for younger women.” 

His hands move from yours down to your hips and he places a kiss on your throat. Your eyes flutter closed. There was a lot of speculation about Hotch among those who dated men in the FBI. There were bets that he was an amazing kisser and that he knew his way around the bedroom. So far every move he’d put on you was enough to melt you into a puddle. 

He turns you again, so that you’re basically glued against him. “Any leads?” 

“We think he moves in the same bar, and that they’ve made it a competition.” That makes your belly turn with nausea. He kisses that spot near your ear again, “We’re pulling you and the other agents in the club. It’s become too dangerous.” 

It takes everything you have not to go stiff. You swallow the lump in your throat, “Is that why I’m being pulled, or are you jealous.” You flutter your eyelashes and you see a dangerous glint in your husband’s eyes. Your marriage to Aaron was not well known. Only the highest ups of the higher ups knew about it. 

Before you can blink he swoops down and catches your mouth. The kiss is hard and persistent. It’s a reminder that he and you both know who you’re going home to. It’s a statement that he has nothing to worry about because the two of you are madly in love and if you can both handle being in the FBI, he can deal with you playing bait even if he doesn’t like it. 

You kiss him back. It’s a reminder for him, that you love him, and the men in this bar hold absolutely no interest for you. He’s your husband. You chose him, and you continue to choose and grow with him, just like he chooses you. 

He pulls back, and then leans his forehead against yours. It’s an intimate moment. “We need to regroup and narrow things down. Right now it’s a turkey shoot, and that makes it dangerous.” 

You wince. You’ve never been good with men yelling. It makes you nervous and scared. And sometimes it makes you cry. And Aaron, God bless him, knows this. So when you bury your face in his back, and dig your fingers into his tee-shirt, his hand comes back to rest on your hip. It’s a reassurance that his father isn’t going to touch you. 

Words from two years ago, when he had first been sent to St. Annes rings in your head. “I was finally big enough to stand up to him. So I did. I got to him before he got to my mom. He was drunk so it only took one punch, and he went down, and now I’m in boarding school.” 

Aaron’s voice is firm, “We aren’t asking for permission. We’re eighteen. We’re out of highschool, and we’ve already done it.” 

“Is the whore pregnant? Is it even yours?” 

You go stiff. And this time Aaron’s voice is chilling, “She isn’t pregnant. And if she was, I wouldn’t let you near her or our child.” 

“So you’re just throwing your life away for a bit of pussy?” 

“I married her because I love her!” 

“Well, you’re not getting a cent from me.” 

“I don’t want anything from you.” His hand finds yours, and he gently tugs you to his side. “We’re going sweetheart. It’s okay.” 

You barely make it a step before you hear a roar of rage. Aaron pushes you out of the way just as his father barrels into him. You watch, nearly sick to your stomach as his father gets in one good hit before Aaron turns the tables. It doesn’t take long before he has the man on the ground, and is laying into him. 

Some part of you expects him to keep going, but instead, the moment he’s down Aaron is back on his feet. He gives his father a disgusted look, and walks back to you. There’s bruising around his eye. You reach up and gently brush your fingers over it, before he pulls you to him. He whispers his apologies like a prayer; like he’s terrified that you’re going to leave him. You’re not. 

Aaron isn’t his father. You’ve known that for years. He never starts fights, but he can finish them. He’s smart as a whip. And you’ve watched time and time again as he’s helped the under dog. You kiss him, and you put reassurance into it. You’re in it for the long haul. You love him. When you said “I do,” and had taken your marriage vows you had meant every word. Even with the odds stacked against you.

He leads you out of his parents’ house. And you each grab a bag of the things you’d come to retrieve. You pass by his younger brother. You expect to see fear on his face, but there is none. He and Aaron stare at each other for a moment before Aaron heads out of the house and you follow. 

You load the things into your already stuffed car, and your belly flips. You climb into the passenger seat while Aaron takes the wheel. You’re nauseated. You look over at your husband, and that is such a weird thing to call him, because you are only eighteen. But that doesn’t change the fact that Aaron Hotchner is your husband and you’re his wife. 

He had transferred in during your sophomore year. He’d been angry at the world and your lab partner. He’d also been smart as a whip. You’d quickly learned that he had no interest in making friends and even if he had  you doubted he’d want to be friends with you. Very few people seemed to want that. 

You were a nerd. A rich nerd. But a nerd nonetheless. You spent your time reading, and writing, and drawing and avoiding fake people who only seemed to want you for what you could do for them. You had complained about that to your mother once who had simply rolled her eyes and said that was how the world worked. Your father’s response had been even harsher. He had told you that you only had yourself to rely on and to get used to it now. 

So, you had kept to yourself. It was safer that way. The chance of you being used or getting hurt was significantly less. You stayed on the fringes and you listened as people talked around you as though you weren’t there. You knew some of the best kept secrets in the entire school, but you never told anyone. You didn’t have anyone to tell. And then there were the not so well kept secrets. Like Aaron Hotchner was hot. Bad boy hot. Rumors had built up in the two months he’d been at your school. 

St. Annes was the top boarding school in the United States. You had to know people to get in. And while Aaron’s father was a successful lawyer he wasn’t that well connected. And the reason on why he’d been sent to the school varied from him having killed someone to throwing a huge party and trashing his parents’ house. 

Girls flirted with him like crazy. He always stiffly but kindly rebuffed them. He never accepted invitations to parties. But people just seemed to gravitate towards him. And during group projects he became the natural leader. Quickly his reputation changed from bad boy to the must have boy. Especially when he made the baseball team. And while he may have become a little more open, and allowed himself to socialize he still spent a lot of time alone. You saw him in the library a lot. You were just grateful that you got more than grunts in Science class. 

The two of you connected, when the class listings came out. The two of you were tied in several areas where you had been the stand alone winner before. You knew that wasn’t going to go over well at home. You had been trained to be the best. Your siblings had all been the best, and you were expected to be the best too. 

Your father paid you a special visit. He spent three hours yelling at you in the dorm on how you had failed, how you were a disgrace, how he expected better of you. You were in tears by the time he left, and you had strict instructions to stay at school for the summer and study. The girls in your dorm had peered in and whispered to each other. You had caught snippets, and when you couldn’t take anymore, you had run. 

You had gone to your safe place: the library. The librarian was, Mrs. Jones was one of the few people who were kind to you. But you didn’t stop to say hi. Instead, you vanished into the stacks. You went to the sections where no one went and you curled in on yourself. 

You must have stayed that way for at least an hour before someone settled down beside you. You’d still been crying, your eyes red and your face was splotchy. And there was your science partner; the one person who had managed to tie with you. There was a look of concern on his face. 

And you knew what was coming the moment he opened his mouth, “Don’t.” Your voice was rough from the crying, “It’s not your fault.” 

“It’s a little bit my fault. I could hear him yelling from outside your dorm.” 

You screw your eyes closed. Of course the bastard had attracted a crowd. “You worked hard for your grades. It’s my fault. I didn’t study hard enough.” 

Aaron had snorted at that, “You study more than anyone I know. He’s a jerk. A bully. And he’s wrong. You’re going to do something really awesome with your life. You know that, right?” 

“Do I?” 

He nodded, “Just like I’m going to prove my own bastard father wrong and become a better lawyer than him.” You saw it then. The understanding. The knowledge of what a sucky home life could do. 

You lean back and stare at him for a moment, “A lawyer? That makes sense.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. You’re stubborn enough for it. And cool under pressure. You’d be good at that.” 

Aaron had started showing up more after that much to your confusion. He would sit with you in the library. He’d talk to you more in science class too. He’d ask you about your day and other things. It was nice and also suspicious. 

You finally confronted him in the library, “What are you doing?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Why do you keep hanging around me. You were very nice after my father showed up, but I don’t need pity.” 

He had stared at you in amusement. “It’s not pity. It’s just nice to be around someone who understands. You know, friends?” 

“Friends?” 

He smiled, the first smile you’d ever seen on him. It had made butterflies fill your belly.

 He had started hanging around you more after that. He’d walk with you in the halls, sit by you in other shared classes, and study with you in the library. 

Of course some people didn’t like that Aaron had taken an interest in you. You’d been backed into a corner when Aaron had come to your rescue. He hadn’t started anything physical. He had, however, called them out for their behavior. And then he’d pulled you away. 

He’d taken you to the library to the place he’d found you after your father’s impromptu visit. The two of you stayed there for a few minutes before you said, “I’m weak.” 

“You’re wrong. Your father, if you can call him that, is a mentally abusive asshole. He’s beaten you down, and made you doubt your self worth. You’re brilliant and you’re beautiful and those girls are jealous harpies.” 

“That doesn’t change how I feel. And just because we have similar dads, doesn't mean you should be sticking your neck out for me. I’m not the only one with powerful parents around her. You could make a lot of contacts that could get you in with some amazing law firms when you graduate and . . .” 

“I want to go into prosecution, and I’ll get there on my own merit.” He had taken a deep breath, “And you’re not weak. Weak . . .  is letting your sperm donor beat your mother because you’re too scared to stop it. Until you think he might actually kill her and finally step in.”

Your eyes had gone wide, and without thinking you had taken his hand. You had expected him to pull back, instead he had gripped your hand and smiled. “You’re kind, and you’re smart, and you’re genuine. And those are things most people aren’t.”

It takes you a moment, “We’re not them Aaron.” 

He squeezes your hand, “And we won’t ever be.” 

After that, you and Aaron spent a lot more time together. Eventually, the two of you became inseparable. Aaron was still the big man on campus, and you were able to make a few friends of your own. It was nice. And things only got better the night Aaron had kissed you for the first time. 

It was summer which meant no classes. It also meant that you and Aaron spent a large amount of time watching movies in your room. The two of you had ended up falling asleep and somehow you had ended up curled up together. You had awoken to his hand running up and down your back and him watching you. 

You had seen it then. Love. Care. A good man. And a surge of bravery had taken over you. You had stretched your neck and he had met you halfway. The kiss had been tentative at first and then flames had flooded your body. 

Your bodies had pressed against each other, until you had pulled him on top of you, his body had blanketed yours, and instead of terrifying you, it was reassuring. His lips had moved against yours, smoothe and persistent. Then he had nipped your bottom lip, and soothed the sting with his tongue. 

And when he had pulled back, both of you out of breath, you had reached forward and cupped his face. And the terror had flooded you. Aaron hadn’t dated since coming to St. Annes. He hadn’t had any hookups. In the time of your friendship, you had realized that wasn’t him. 

He leaned down and kissed you again, and then pressed a kiss to your cheek. And then he whispered in your ear, “Just you and me against the world. I promise.” And Aaron always kept his promises. 

Over the next two years you and Aaron moved from a teenage relationship into what you were certain was meant to be. You weren’t a romantic. And you and Aaron both tended to be realists, but when it came to your relationship the two of you knew what you wanted. You worked through things together; your insecurities, his anger towards his father, and arguments were always solved within twenty four hours. The two of you silently disowned your families, stayed at school during the holidays, kept your grades up, and started planning for your future. 

You had a trust fund and a college fund. And those were expected to be used for an Ivy League education. Aaron applied to every scholarship he could find. He refused to take anything from his father. He was ready to cut his family completely up. And your senior year, he got a full scholarship to GWU. You were accepted into Yale, just like the rest of your family. You were also accepted full scholarship into GWU, and you knew, the moment you got your acceptance letter, what you were going to do. 

 Yale held no appeal for you. It was filled with the same people who had tormented you, people who would spy on you for your parents, and those who wanted nothing but your family name and money. When you told Aaron of your choice his eyes had gone wide. “But it’s Yale.” 

You shrug, “I want something different.” 

“What’s that?” 

“You. A happy life. My own life.” 

“Didn’t you say your parents would cut you off . . .” 

“I don’t care. I have a full scholarship. And, I’ve been squirreling away money from my trust fund and the money they send every month. I have a nice nest egg.”

He hesitated, “I don’t want you to do this for me.” 

“I’m not. I’m doing this for me. I’m saying no to a toxic family, yes to a man who loves me, and yes to a future that I get to decide.”

He had pulled you onto his lap, and you had snuggled in. You had stayed there for several moments before he had whispered, “Marry me.” 

Shock had flooded you, “What?” 

“Marry me.” 

You had sat there in shock for several minutes before standing up. “Aaron, that’s crazy. We’re eighteen. We’re about to start college. And the statistics about teen marriages, and . . .” 

He had grabbed your hand, “We’re the exception. We know what we want. I want you. Do you want me?” 

You hadn’t hesitated, “Yes. With everything I have.” 

He smiled, “You’ll marry me?” 

“Yes.” 

You had waited for graduation. And two hours after you had accepted your diplomas the two of you had climbed into your car and gone down to the court and filed for a marriage license. You’d had to wait for seventy-to hours afterwards and then you had gotten married in front of a judge. You’d worn a simple sundress, and Aaron had worn slacks and a button down. And then you were married. 

You had sent off an email to your parents. The next day your trust fund had been pulled, and you had received an email from daddy dearest declaring he was disowning you. Only joy had filled you. Your car was in your name, and that was a huge thing. The two of you had also gotten some graduation money which will hopefully keep you afloat. 

You squint and look out your window again until a small grunt gets your attention. You look over at Hotch. “There’s no visibility left.” He glances at the GPS, “But there’s a rest stop up ahead. At the very least we can pull in, and keep from running the car off the road.” You’ll take it.

By the time he pulls into the empty rest stop, you’re a bit relieved because it seems like the snow is coming down even harder now. You’re grateful for the still half full tank of gas, four wheel drive, and the space the FBI issued SUV provides. And at least here you have access to a restroom and a vending machine. 

You take turns going into the bathrooms. You go first and the moment the cold hits you, you sprint towards the building. No ice has gathered yet, but you know that won’t last long. You do your business, and raid the vending machine before heading back to the SUV and allowing Hotch his break. While he’s gone you scoot into the back and pull out your suitcase. You always bring a fuzzy blanket and a pillow with you on cases or where you have to testify, simply because it allows you a small amount of peace. You throw them into the back seat for later, because you have a feeling that you’re not going to be able to keep the car on for long, which means no heat. 

A burst of cold air and the door slamming shut alerts you to Hotch’s arrival. You smile at him from the back seat and he raises an eyebrow, “What are you doing back there?” 

You toss your head towards the blanket and pillow, “Wanted to make sure we had a few creature comforts.” 

He smiles at that, and then your eyes focus on his hair. It’s filled with snowflakes. Without thinking you reach forward and brush them away. You can feel his eyes on you, and your belly does a flip. Your little crush on Hotch wasn’t necessarily a secret: Penny knew about it, JJ knew about it, Emily knew about it, and you lived it.

It had started off small, watching him be kind to a victim or their family, seeing him comfort one of the team, observing his dealings with local law enforcement. From there it had grown when you had seen him interact with his son, or smile, or subtly tease someone on the team. You’d gotten very good at reading him.

And for that reason you kept your distance. You rarely said anything to Hotch directly. You kept to the shadows, happy to make quiet observations. More often than not you were paired with Rossi or Emily in the field. You weren't even sure if he really knew anything about you. The girls found the whole thing very frustrating. Which was how you’d ended up here. 

When the small town of Smithville, North Dakota had called asking for two of you to testify, Garcia had signed the two of you up before you could blink. You could both kiss and kill the woman. You’d very nearly killed her when she had asked if you had packed any pretty underwear. And you, yourself, had nearly died when Emily had instructed you on how to be bold and make your intentions known.

As you retract your hand he says a quiet, “Thanks.” And you just shoot him a quick smile. You slip out of the back seat, into the cold, and then back into the front seat. Climbing over the console would have probably put your butt in his face and then you would have died of mortification. So braving the cold is worth it in your book. 

Hotch keeps the car on for about thirty minutes before stating, “We’re going to need to preserve the gas we have just in case. The warmth in the car should last a while as long as we don’t open the doors.” 

“I have a blanket back there if we need it.” 

His lips quirk, “I know.” 

You blush, and mentally groan. You had already told him about it. You sink into your seat, and reach down to pull out a book. You have no desire to kill the phone on your battery just in case. About five minutes in you can feel eyes on you. You look over to see Hotch studying the cover of your book. You bite back another groan. Cheesy romance novels were a guilty pleasure of yours. They allowed you an escape from gruesome and mentally taxing things you witnessed on the day to day. 

His eyes rise to meet yours, “Is it any good?” 

You shrug, “I’m only about two pages in.” that’s when you realize he doesn’t carry a purse, and he probably doesn’t have anything to entertain him. “Do you want to read it with me?” 

“Do you mind?” 

You shake your head, flip back to the start of the book and lean into the console. He leans into it too. When you reach the end of the page, you look over at him. You keep that up for a little while before his hand settles on your forearm. His hand is large, and warm, and you can feel the calluses on his fingers. You can feel your cheeks heating up. When he’s done with a page, he applies the slightest bit of pressure to your skin. 

You’re about a third of the way through the book when things take a turn. The words, and there was only one bed come up l, and you realize where the scene is going. While many of your books tend to have more . . . mature scenes, you hadn’t thought this book was one of them. A friend had recommended it to you, and the cover had been deceptively innocent looking. Every bone in your body is telling you to slam the book shut, and toss it out into the snow and then follow it with your own body, because freezing your butt off has to be better than embarrassing yourself in front of your crush/ boss.

The slightest of sounds comes out of Hotch’s throat and you realize, completely horrified, that he’s reached the start of the scene. The words tumble out of your mouth, “I didn’t know that scene was in there. Penny recommended the book to me.” You throw your friend under the bus so fast you can’t even help it. 

There’s an actual, small, smile on Hotch’s face, “Why doesn’t that surprise me? We can always skip the scene if it make you uncomfortable?” 

Your mouth drops open in shock, “You want to keep reading?” 

He shrugs, “I’m invested now.” 

You pass the book to him, “You hold it for a while.” 

He doesn’t say anything else, he takes the book, and you reverse your positions. This time, it’s you with your hand on his forearm. His jacket and dress shirt keep you from feeling his skin. You steadily avoid looking at him while you read through the scene. But it’s just your luck that there are three more of them within the book. 

In the end it takes about four hours to read through the book, and by the time you’re done the warmth has left the car, and the sun has nearly set. Hotch hands the book back to you and goes to start the car, to get it warmed up a little bit. When the engine stalls you scowl. It’s apparently gotten too cold for the car to even start. That figured. 

“What else do you like to read?” 

The question snaps you out of glaring at the front of the car, “What?” A very intelligent response if you do say so. 

“Do you only read romance novels, or do you read other things?” 

“I try to stick to more lighthearted stuff. It kind of erases bad things from my head, it helps me sleep and relax. It allows me to think about something other than cases.” 

He leans back in his seat, “So no murder mysteries?” 

“No. I read those too. They’re fairly easy for me to solve, and they don’t even come close to what we see. I just try to keep reading fun, it’s one of my few outlets. It’s like how Penny Knits, or Derek renovates houses, or Spencer plays chess. It allows me to disconnect. What about you?” 

You watch him think about it, “I build things with Jack. Models or legos. When he was little we would build with blocks and lincoln logs. The occasional fort.” 

You smile at the thought of him and Jack in a fort, “He must love that.” 

The smile on Aaron’s face is soft, “He does. I know he’s only six, but I’m pretty sure he’s going to become an architect or an engineer.” 

Conversation flows easily after that as you and Hotch get to know each other. It’s flowing so well, that you barely even notice when your teeth start to chatter. When he shrugs out of his jacket and lays it over you, you protest, “No! You’ll get cold.” 

“I’ll be fine.” 

You shake your head and start to remove it, but he reaches over the console and somehow maneuvers you into it. Your brow furrows, as you wonder how he did it. You’re a special agent with the FBI you should be able to figure it out. But then a new scent surrounds you; it’s a mix of coffee, pine, and his cologne. It’s entirely masculine and it makes butterflies stir in your belly. 

“Thank you.” 

He smiles at you, and feeling the need to do something you fish the snacks you had gotten from the vending machine out of your purse along with two bottles of water. He looks down at the purse as you pull item after item out of it. You hear him mumble something about Mary Poppins before he takes the water. You tell him to choose first and you’re only slightly surprised when he chooses the chocolate. Who knew Hotch had a sweet tooth? 

The two of you make it through your dinner of vending machine crap, and head out into the storm to use the restroom one more time. This time you go together, but you leave Aaron’s suit jacket behind. You’d both been to too many crime scenes where something bad had happened at a public restroom. You do your business and come back out to Aaron waitin for you. 

You make a mad dash back to the car, and you’re only slightly surprised when he steers you towards the back seat. He quickly reclines the seat back before ushering you in. You’re both shivering, but instead of taking care of himself, he reaches for his coat and the front seat, and wraps you in it again. You shrink into it, and grab your blanket, you go through with your next movement before you can stop yourself. 

You snuggle into his side, wrapping the large blanket around the both of you. The blanket plus your combined body heat provides the first amount of relief from the cold that you’ve had in hours. It’s then that you realize Aaron’s arm is wrapped around your shoulders. 

You look up at him and he smiles down at you. You stay like that, perfectly quiet and content for quite a while, before you feel fingers start playing with your hair. You glance up at him through your lashes and find his eyes closed. He looks peaceful, but you know the two of you can’t stay just like this for long or you’ll both be hurting in the morning. 

“Aaron.” Your voice is quiet, kind of like the snow. 

“Hmm.” 

“We have to readjust or we’ll both be hurting tomorrow.” 

His eyes open and he looks over at you, “Pass me the pillow.” 

You do so and he places it against the window. You scoot back as he brings both of his long legs up onto the seat. And then he’s gently pulling you towards him. You find yourself laying on top of him, your ear over his heart, and his fingers tangled in your hair. When he presses a kiss to the top of your head, you nearly scream. Instead, you bury your face in his chest. 

He wraps the blanket around the both of you again, and you feel his hand rub soothingly up and down your back. “Let me know when you’re ready to talk.” 

You look up at him then, and you can see it in his eyes: he knows! “How?” 

He knows what you’re asking, “Heard you talking about it nearly eight months ago. I didn’t believe it for about a month until I cornered Garcia and confirmed it. But I needed to make sure.  I’m not a fan of making a fool out of myself or having my heart broken, and you, have had the power to do both since you first walked into the bullpen.” 

Your fingers tighten in his shirt, and his hand settles on your hip with his thumb stroking back and forth there. “I waited for you to make a move. You didn’t. And just something about today felt like something was telling me to make the move. So I did. IF you’re uncomfortable at all we can pretend today never happened.” 

“No.” The words comes out fast and loud. You look up at him, meet his eyes, and then bury your face in his chest again.

There’s a light laugh, and his fingers start playing with your hair again, before he leans down to kiss the top of your head, “My shy, sweet girl.” 

You smile at that, and perfectly content, you drift off. You wake up the next morning to Aaron wrapped around you, but you certainly don’t mind. You adjust against him smiling to yourself, and watch as he opens his eyes. Before he can even say good morning, and before you can lose your nerve, you stretch up and kiss him 

Both of your lips are a little chapped due to the cold, but they fit and move together like the two of you were made for each other. When you pull back he smiles at you, and you can’t help but be grateful for meddling friends and snow storms.