#hotchner!reader

Quicker than you expected, Spencer shook his head, “Of course, we have to tell him today. What would happen if you got sent out into the field?” He self-consciously readjusted the strap of his shoulder bag before looking up to watch the floor numbers rise as the elevator went up, “If we didn’t tell him because of my own reservations and then something happened to you, it’d… I’d…”

Your chest clenched as his voice trailed off and you thought of the positive pregnancy tests that were still sitting on your bathroom counter. The tiny wad of cells that had been settling in your womb for weeks without your knowledge – until Spencer asked if you needed pads while you had been grocery shopping – was already so loved.

The first test had come back with such a faint line that you convinced yourself it was just a shadow of an indent on the fragile plastic, but the test you took this morning had been glaringly positive. Slowly, you reached out and took Spencer’s hand, intertwining your fingers as the door to the elevator opened and the two of you stepped out together, “Nothing’s going to happen to me, okay?”

Taking a deep breath, he nodded while holding the glass door to the bullpen open for you, glancing up, you saw that your dad’s office door was open. As soon as you set your things at your desk, you looked at Spencer, nodding up the steps, figuring it was better to do this now than wait.

By Spencer’s math, you were approximately five weeks pregnant, much earlier than people usually elect to share their news. Still, both of you immediately decided it was in your best interest to let your dad know right away.

Leading the way, you knocked on the heavy wooden door to get his attention, his head snapped up in the direction of the noise, shoulders relaxing slightly when he saw it was you, likely having thought a case was being brought in. “Do you have a second?” You asked softly, nerves creeping up as your father waved the both of you in.

“For you, of course,” he responded, nodding at Spencer in acknowledgment before watching suspiciously as the two of you sat in the chairs in front of his desk. “What’s wrong?” He asked, watching you fold and unfold your hands in your lap, it didn’t help that Spencer looked like he had been called into the principal’s office.

You shook your head, “Nothing’s wrong, Dad. We just needed to have a chat,” you told him.

Frowning, his curiosity deepened, “A chat?” Hotch questioned the word that wasn’t a frequent flyer in your lexicon.

“A talk?” You tried again meekly, knowing that he’d start making his own conclusions if you didn’t say something soon.

He looked over at your boyfriend, “If it’s just a talk then why is Reid avoiding eye contact?”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you exhaled heavily, “We should’ve waited,” you muttered to no one in particular.

“Waited for what, exactly? You’re not splitting up, are you?” He inquired, likely developing a list of forms that would need to be filled out if the two of you had in fact broken up.

You waved your hand aimlessly in the air. It seemed that neither of you had fully understood how hard it would be to announce your accidental pregnancy to your father and your boss simultaneously.

Since neither of you spoke, your father continued, “I’m obligated to side with my daughter. Which isn’t solely based on my belief that she can do no wrong, but if-“

“I’m pregnant,” you blurted, clamping your hand over your mouth as if you could recapture the words that had flown from your lips.

What followed was the silence that you had dreaded. Weren’t people supposed to jump for joy in situations like this? However, the moment Hotch jumped for joy for anything would likely end in someone being institutionalized.

Slowly, you dropped your hand from your mouth, watching your father as if he were a ticking time bomb.

“Is this a good thing?” He asked, finally shattering the wall of silence that had been put up.

Your eyes widened as you looked between your father and your boyfriend, “Oh, yes! We’re very happy,” you clarified, bracing your hands on the armrests of your chair.

Finally, your dad smiled and stood up from his desk chair, waving you over and enveloping you in a hug, “Then congratulations,” he told you, pulling away slightly, “How long have you known?”

You looked back at Spencer, who was standing up beside you and looking decidedly less nervous, “About ten hours,” he answered for the both of you.

Releasing you, your father looked your boyfriend up and down, “You should probably get married before the baby arrives,” he suggested. You recognized the mischievous look on his face – you frequently sported the same look.

“Right, of course,” Spencer said, straightening his posture behind you, nerves once again emanating from him.

You held a hand up, “An incredibly bold statement considering I was in your wedding,” you peered at your father.

Ignoring you, your dad continued, “So, we should settle on a dowry.”

“Dad!”

"Ow!" You protest, turning back to face your husband's team, "Can I help you?"

JJ and Penelope share a look as Morgan teasingly replies, "Seriously, girl. Gotta stop watching the man so tensely. You look like you're gonna combust." He gets a soft roll of your eyes as you look back to the field, your head tilting slightly as you bite your lip.

You couldn't help it if your husband is as sexy as Aaron definitely is. It was your duty as his wife to stare. Not those other moms who were quickly earning themselves a spot on your bad side. But to Aaron, they might as well not be there, because time and time again, his eyes found yours instantly. They would speak a thousand words in just one look and you could read him like a book. And right now.... it was a warning?

Your brows crinkle as your eyes scan around for whatever danger Aaron had noticed. Luckily you hear her tight voice before you catch her attention. You have just enough time to slip away from the team and into Aaron's side, almost hiding from her.

You weren't scared of Haley. You had explained that countless times. She didn't scare you, but she was an awful person to deal with alone, so you found it easier to tuck under Aaron's arm as face her as a team.

She was currently flaunting some poor chap around the PTA moms, the women who snicker behind her back about "how tragic Haley is for not being able to keep a husband or boyfriend" and "how that girl came out of nowhere". They meant you, you knew that. These mothers were all very quick to bombard you with questions about Aaron and your relationship as if any of them had any entitlement to him.

They didn't know him, not in the way you did. And you doubted that Haley ever did, just from the way they both talk of their former marriage. Haley, a cloud of bitter, wishing the same fate of her marriage to Aaron to befall you too. Aaron, who wishes Haley the best, but refused to be in a relationship with someone who loved another. Two heartbreaking sides to one story.

But for Jack's sake you tried. Tried to be nice, tried to be supportive Haley's party lifestyle, tried to not snap at her, with all her comments and "observations" as she called them. Tried to be nice to all her boyfriends or "lovers". But that didn't mean you were friends, more like two ships passing in the night. Close enough to acknowledge each other, but far enough to not have to interact without a buffer. The "buffer" unfortunately just happened to be Aaron and most of the time, Jack.

It broke your heart to see that boy let down by her constantly. And you were beginning to see why Aaron had been so confused over your instant kindness to them both. The way you had come into their lives and changed it for the better: brightening Aaron's world and widening Jack's.

"Mom!" A small voice broke your train of thought. Your son (not by blood, but in every way that counts) was running directly toward you, a small scrape on his knee. His eyes watery as he flings his body into yours.

"Oh baby..." You coo, stroking his hair, "Come on, Dad's got some plasters in his jacket." You say, tugging at Aaron's zipper to fish out his mini first aid kit from his inside pocket.

"You okay, buddy?" Aaron's low voice asks gently. Jack doesn't get a chance to answer. Her voice cuts through you and you feel Jack's arms tighten on you.

"My baby boy!" Her screeching voice carries from where she stands with her new beau and the other moms. Jack tries to hide behind you both, knowing how his other mother can be. But unfortunately that doesn't stop her. She moves quickly to you, dropping to her knees and grasping at Jack. "Oh honeyyy!" She coos, trying to comfort the boy.

You'd have thought if she was that worried about her son, she'd be around more... you thought bitterly to yourself.

But Jack doesn't have any of it, moving away from her grasp to the bench, his attention on you and the first aid pack in your hands, "Need a plaster." His voice is now devoid of emotion, his face a mask of boredom. Both you and Aaron can see through it. He's tired of Haley's antics and her way of vying for attention. Using him as a pawn in her game. Jack hates it all. You step forward, undoing the small pack and dressing Jack's scrape. Aaron tries to talk quietly to Haley but she's more interested in sending glares to the back of your head.

"There you go, baby." You say softly, gently patting over the animal plaster, "All better, hey?" Jack nods, a small smile at his lips.

He stands, ready to join his teammates, who are celebrating their win on the field, "Thanks mom!" He calls over his shoulder, running away from the grownups. Haley stares at you as you move to start dishing up the snacks for the kids. She stands back, watching the way you and Aaron tease each other gently, the way you move around each other with ease, like a dance. The lingering touches, the look on your face as he whispers something obviously sweet to you. She sees softness in his eyes and feels her stomach drop.

"You've changed..." She muses to him, her eyebrow raised as Aaron shrugs gently. Her arms cross over her chest.

"It happens... Being at home with my wife and son..." Aaron trails off, realising what Haley is hinting to, that he wouldn't give up his job for her and their marriage, but he did for you. "Our son is worth it. So is she." He refuses to elaborate anymore. Haley nods, sighing deeply, her eyes following the way you talk gently to the parents, reminding them that the next game is held at a different park.

"We were just kids, Aaron...." She starts. It was the same phrase she used to explain away her affair. That they 'were just kids when they got married'. Except this time, it didn't revoke the reaction she thought it would. No pain on his face. No clenched fists.

Instead, Aaron nodded gently, agreeing with her, "We were." His eyes fall onto where you stand with his soccer team. The small boys trying to catch your attention, and you were giving it to them all. Making sure they all felt special in different ways. Aaron smiles softly as he turns back to Haley, "But I'm not anymore. She's shown me what it means to grow up. To want to grow older."

"You left your job!" She argues back, still feeling as though she's missed out on something bigger than herself.

"I did." He smiles softly, "We want a bigger family. Jack wants siblings. And it was easier for me to quit. My hours were getting more unpredictable. So, I stay home, look after them both. She heads to work in the morning and comes back to us at the same time every evening. She... She's my soulmate, Haley." He grabs Haley's hand, squeezing softly, "You deserve to find that too." He lets go almost as quickly as he took her hand and Haley misses the warmth instantly. Your voice breaks through to them as you push past the parents gathered with their children.

"Did you ask him?" You ask, tucking yourself into Aaron's side, your eyes looking down at Jack. The boy shakes his head and you chuckle, "Jack wants to go to that pasta place. Because Dave told him that the unit are heading there now. They want us to join."

Haley shrinks in on herself, realising Jack and Aaron's world has continued to spin without her. Her eyes look around for her date, unable to find him. As Aaron replies to you, she backs away, looking for a way out. You call to her, inviting her along. But Haley shakes her head, mumbling her goodbyes as she leaves once again. It breaks your heart to see Jack deflate at his mother absence. But he's quickly distracted by JJ and Morgan calling him over to the unit.

You pull a face to Aaron and he nods, "She's just like that..." he tries to explain but you were already sighing and pulling him along behind you.

"She's never here. Then complains when she had nothing to talk about with you both. It's exhausting." Aaron chuckles behind you, knowing how cutthroat you could be with your words, you were still so kind when talking about Haley and her... lifestyle choices.

You and the BAU all bundle into two cars. Not without a few lingering kisses between you and Aaron as the man complains about never getting you alone anymore. Haley watches from her car, her heart squeezing as she realises cheating on Aaron to hurt him had worked. But she wasn't expecting someone else to repair his heart before she found herself again.

———

After that, Hotch mentioned your name as sporadically as any other members of his family.

“Y/N will be here for Christmas, and Jack is excited.”

“I have to mail my sister’s birthday gift or she’ll send me a woeful letter about being abandoned.”

“My sister sent us all food for working late.”

Spencer wasn’t one to pry, so he would always just nod along. Taking in her kindness and tidbits of information, eventually allowing letting it all to fall to the back of his mind. It was months before he heard your name again, when JJ questioned everyone’s weekend plans Wednesday morning as they waited for Hotch to come in and start the briefing.

“This one’s a doozy so, I hope it won’t interrupt your weekend plans,” JJ said as she passed out files around the table.

“I hope not, I just got a new couch and was hoping to break it in with a fine lady or two,” Morgan chimed in with a sly smirk on his face.

Emily grimaced, “Ugh, remind me never to sleep over.”

“C’mon, Em, you know you’re welcome anytime. The more the merrier,” he winked, sending light laughter through the table.

“Pass, I’ll be shopping this weekend — sample sales,” she smiled.

“Oh, count me in. Will’s on a stakeout so I’ve got all the time in the world,” JJ said excitedly.

“Girls day!” Penelope clapped her hands together, “I’ll get an itinerary together while you all are away,” she told them, already tapping on her phone.

“Spence, you wanna come? We’ll be near that new bookstore…” JJ offered before trailing off upon realizing his gaze was focused on the window where they could see Hotch speaking into the receiver of his cell with a smile on his face.

“Reid?” Rossi spoke up from his place, interest finally piqued.

“Yo, pretty boy?” Morgan prompted.

“Have you ever seen Hotch smile so much on the phone?” Spencer asked, ignoring their questioning.

“Only if he’s talking to Hailey,” JJ said.

Rossi nodded before adding his own guess, “Or Jack, maybe. He’s not doing that thing with his hands like when he talks to Hailey.” Eyebrows raised in his direction, “What? I’m good at my job.”

“Oh! Or maybe it’s—“ Peneople began before getting cutoff by Hotch’s catlike entrance at the back door.

“Let’s get started,” he spoke, slipping his cell into this breast pocket.

“Of course but first, any weekend plans sir?” Penelope asked innocently and Hotch blinked at her before taking his seat.

“Yes, my sister is moving to New York City and I’m helping so I’d like to be back by Friday,” he urged, eyes flicking to JJ’s still-standing form in front of the board.

“Right so, this unsub…”

———

Though you were nearby now, Spencer didn’t actually meet you for several years, after the team wrapped up the the terroist case in New York.

You rushed into the hospital while Aaron received his check-up the next morning after things had mostly settled. You woke up startled by your brother’s sudden call from an unknown number, and after living in anxiety with the shootings and bombings, you were happy to hear his voice. You barely dressed, throwing on a pair of wash day sweats and a Planet Hollywood hoodie you swiped from Sean, and whatever slip-ons were closest to the door.

You fussed over him when the nurse left, double-checking his temperature and making sure he wasn’t in too much pain.

“Y/N I’m fine,” Aaron argued, moving to stand but you pushed on his shoulders to keep him in place.

“Fine? Someone tried to blow you up Aar, that’s not fine,” you argued checking him over again, taking in all of the bandages and weary look in his eyes.

You were about to administer a concussion test when the curtain was unceremoniously pulled open by a wide-eyed young man with shoulder length brown hair. He looked between you both, confused.

“Ah, sorry, the nurse told me where you were. I didn’t know I wasn’t your first visitor,” he spoke to Hotch, eyes skating over your features momentarily as he tried to place you.

Hotch took the distraction as a chance to stand and begin to collect his belongings.

“Reid, this is my sister, Y/N. Y/N this is Dr. Spencer Reid, he’s a member of my team,” He spoke working his arms discreetly into his suit jacket.

Spencer gave you a small smile and wave as recognition crossed over his face and you were suddenly very self concious as you waved back. Your cheeks heated under his brown eyes, he was far too attractive to be meeting in a serious situation and dressed like some kind of escapee.

“Nice to meet you, Doctor. No handshake right? I’m assuming you’re here for pick up,” you glared at your bother.

Spencer’s face morphed briefly in surprise, eyes quickly darting between the pair. He has never heard someone talk to Hotch like that—except maybe Rossi and he certainly didn’t expect it from someone who looked as young as himself. Hotch stared back at you, and Spencer glanced at his watch before lightly clearing his throat. You looked at him a beat later, and he quickly thought that your eyes were achingly beautiful with a gaze so intense he had to look at his boss again to refocus.

“Yeah, we have a final debrief at 1PP before we can go,” he explained.

That was enough for Aaron to push past you, “Of course,” he nodded, “And Y/N, I’m fine and I really do need to go.”

After a moments hesitation, you caved, “Fine but listen to the Doctors, Dr. Reid included,” you threw a tiny smile in his direction, “And text the second you’re home.”

“I will.”

“Promise?” You held out your pinky and he didn’t hesitate to interlock his own with yours.

“Promise,” the finality in his tone settled your nerves a bit.

You all walked out of the hospital together. You pulled Aaron into the tightest hug you could and smiled at Spencer once more and gave one last wave.

“Nice meeting you, Dr. Reid. Get him back in one piece for me.”

“Promise,” Spencer found himself saying and a soft chuckle fell past your lips as Aaron looked at the younger man with a question in his eyes.

Spencer didn’t care as his eyes followed you all the way until you took a corner and disappeared. Even as you left his field of vision, he had a feeling he’d never forget you.

-----

The outcome could be anything—life, death, a future shattered or salvaged—

No. He wouldn't let his mind go there.

“Family of Hotchner?”

He was on his feet instantly. He looked ready to cross-examine a suspect, not receive a medical report.

“Mr. Hotchner?” She waited for his curt nod before continuing, her tone measured. “Jack is stable. He’s got a fractured arm, some superficial bruising across his abdomen, and a minor cut on his face. Overall, he’s going to be fine. We’ll keep him overnight for observation, standard policy.”

Aaron let out a ragged, silent breath. The brief, sharp cut of relief was immediately chased by a deepening dread.

“I can take you to see him now.” She gestured toward a quiet hallway.

Hotch stopped her, the question a dry, cracking sound in his throat. “What about my daughter?” Jack was safe. Now, his mind was free to tear itself apart over her.

The doctor’s professional composure softened, transforming into a look Hotch recognized immediately - the careful, heartbroken empathy JJ used when delivering the impossible news.

“She’s still in surgery upstairs. Unlike Jack, she took the major impact due to her position in the car. A surgeon will come down to speak with you the moment they can.” She offered a small, strained smile. “Let’s see your son, Mr. Hotchner. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

What if the surgery fails?

What if the damage is irreparable?

What if— Hotch’s breath hitched, his heart plummeting to his stomach

What if I lose her, too? What if this is Haley all over again?

The spiral of guilt and worst-case scenarios was brutally interrupted by the high, bright sound of a child’s voice from the room the doctor had led him to.

“Daddy! Look, I got a blue cast!”

“Hey, buddy!” Hotch strode to the bed, his eyes rapidly scanning the visible injuries. The purple and sickly-yellow bruises scattered across Jack's skin made him wince, but the boy was already chattering excitedly about a nurse and a juice box.

“Are you okay? Does anything hurt?” He gently cupped his son’s face, careful to avoid the bandages and bruises.

Jack shook his head. “I’m okay, daddy.” He picked nervously at the edge of his dressing before his voice dropped, turning small and scared. “It was scary. We were spinning, ‘round and ‘round.”

The sound of his son's terror broke something inside Hotch.

“I know, buddy. I know. You were so brave. The bravest kid I know.”

“Where’s Sissy?” Jack’s eyes, wide and innocent, searched the room. “She said she’d come see me if I went to the fireman first.”

The question was a fresh knife twist. No one had spared him the gruesome update. “Jack, your sister…”

“She has blood like me, too, daddy! She was hurting bad, I think,” Jack pouted, the memory bubbling up. “I wanted her to go first, daddy, ‘cause there was so much blood on her shirt. But she promised I could use her Nintendo if I went first.” The words tumbled out, a frantic justification.

“You did exactly what you should, buddy. It’s okay now. She’s getting help.” Hotch’s voice was dangerously flat, a tremor of fury and self-loathing passing through him.

“I think I saw her crying, daddy. You gotta save her.” Jack was dissolving now, his chest heaving. The pulse monitor began a quick, insistent beep-beep-beep, mirroring the spike in his heart rate.

Hotch immediately lowered the bed rail, sitting on the edge of the mattress and pulling his son carefully into his arms. “I know, I know. You’re safe now, buddy. I’ve got you.” He gently eased Jack back onto the pillows, holding him close.

“She’s gonna be okay, right, Daddy?” Jack sniffled, his voice thick with fear and exhausted tears.

Hotch held his son and stared at the pale wall, the promises Jack needed to hear dying on his tongue. He couldn't lie. He wouldn't.

“I hope so, buddy.”

It was well after the clock had rounded into the late evening before a doctor finally appeared from the recovery wing.

“Mr. Hotchner.”

Hotch didn’t stand; he simply turned, his face a mask of exhaustion and raw tension.

“Your daughter is out of surgery. She’s stable.” The doctor, a calm, middle-aged woman, spoke slowly. “We did have some complications. We had to perform a splenectomy.” She watched his reaction closely.

A complication. A piece of her gone.

“She’s breathing without assistance, but we are keeping her lightly sedated. It’s safer for her not to wake up in pain or agitated. We’ll monitor her closely overnight. Would you like to see her now?”

Hotch swallowed the fresh wave of guilt.

With Jack finally having succumbed to sleep and Emily volunteering to look after his son, Hotch followed the doctor upstairs.

The sight that greeted him in the ICU cubicle wasn’t just a shock; it was a physical blow. His daughter lay in the center of the vast, too-white bed, utterly limp and motionless. Her skin was a map of vivid bruises; tubes snaked from her arm and mouth; and dried, reddish-brown blood was matted into her hair. The only evidence of life was the relentless, rhythmic beep of the heart monitor.

“Hi, honey.” The two words came out as a desperate, choking sob.

He reached for her hand, his own trembling. The thin, still warmth beneath his fingers instantly dragged him back to the single moment he’d spent a lifetime trying to outrun.

Haley.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the phantom memory: the terrifying, lifeless stillness of his wife, his children's mother, on the floor of their living room.

He had to double-take now, to see the faint, rhythmic rise and fall of his daughter's chest, to confirm that this was not that nightmare. That she was still here.

“I’m sorry. God, I am so sorry,” he whispered, the words a rough, tearing confession into the sterile air. He gripped her hand so tightly it was less a hold and more a fervent, panicked prayer.

“Please, please don’t take her away from me,” he begged, his voice cracking. He wasn't speaking to a God he believed in, or the doctors, or even his daughter—he was arguing with the unforgiving hand of fate that had already stolen so much.

“Don’t take her away. I’ll do better. I’ll be there for her and Jack. I swear I will.” His shoulders shook with the depth of the sobs he was fighting to keep silent.

He leaned his forehead against the rail of the bed, his grip on her hand the only thing tethering him to the room. The silence stretched, thick with monitors and unshed tears.

“I should have been there,” he finally rasped, “I should have protected you.”

The harsh, rhythmic beep of the monitors had finally lulled him into a fitful slumber in the uncomfortable visitor’s chair. He was dragged back to consciousness by the faint murmur of voices.

He forced himself to sit up, rubbing the exhaustion from his face. Then he froze. The nurse was addressing y/n, and y/n was answering.

You are talking.

He could hear her voice.

“y/n?”

Her face was still turned away, but he heard the soft, raspy voice—slowed and strained, but unmistakably hers. It was the voice that used to excitedly babble about school projects or cartoons whenever his schedule allowed him to be home. The nurse offered a quiet, professional nod and slipped out.

When she turned to face him, Hotch’s breath hitched.

The angry swelling on her cheek was giving way to a sickening palette of yellowish-brown and deep purple. Her left eye was nearly swollen shut, a raw, livid cut arcing above her brow, contrasting starkly with the waxy paleness of her skin.

“Dad…” she rasped.

“I’m here, honey. You’re okay. I’m right here now.” His voice was thick with emotion.

She offered a tiny, weak smile, trying to adjust her position. A sharp grimace immediately seized her face as the pain in her ribs and back flared.

“Easy, slow movements, honey. I’ve got you.” He carefully reached out.

“Would you like more water?” he asked, desperate to fill the silence.

“I saw you, while I was sleeping,” she murmured, her eyes fixed on the hospital blanket she was fiddling with. “I must have been dreaming because you were there, Dad.”

Hotch tilted his head, his brow furrowed with confusion. “You saw me in your dreams?”

She nodded. “Right after the accident, I think.”

“Honey… that wasn’t a dream. I was there. I got to you right before they put you in the ambulance.” He tried to soothe her.

“But it felt so real,” she insisted, her tone faint but determined.

“You held my hands. It was warm and rough, just like yours. I missed it.” The last words were barely a whisper, a stark, painful admission.

The air drained from Hotch’s chest.

How long had she felt this distance?

“I’m sorry, y/n,” he started, the familiar words already tainted by repetition. She immediately cast her eyes down.

“Look at me, honey,” he asked softly. When she remained fixed on a loose thread of the blanket, he gently took her chin, his thumb brushing a bruise, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“I’m truly sorry for leaving you,” he began again, his voice raw. “I know I have said it so many times, and I don’t care how long it takes for you to forgive me, but honey, I am sorry.”

He scooted his chair closer, the gap between them too wide, too symbolic. “I failed you. I failed to be a good father. I was supposed to be there for you and Jack, to protect you, but I failed.”

His voice hitched, the tears he’d held back since seeing her limp figure finally blurring his vision.

He swallowed hard, plunging deeper into the unforgivable abyss of his guilt.

“I failed to be a good husband, and now your mother is dead because of it.”

“Please forgive me. I’ll try harder. I’ll try harder to be a good father—for you and Jack.” She remained quiet even after his many attempts for forgiveness.

He interlocked his fingers with hers, an almost desperate, pleading grip. “Honey, please…”

She broke her silence then, her voice flat, devoid of fight. “What does it take, Dad?”

He grasped her hand tighter. “What is it, honey? Tell me.” But her fingers remained slack in his, a broken connection.

She drew a slow, shuddering breath, exhaling the words as if they were a crushing weight.

“What does it take… for you to love me?”

The question was a physical blow, silencing every word he had prepared, shattering his carefully constructed world. He hadn’t realized her mind had equated his absence with his love.

“Honey—no. What are you talking about?” he stammered.

She didn't answer his question. Instead, she offered the cruelest self-assessment.

“Perhaps if I was one of the victims, I would have gotten your attention.” The tone, flare, and absolute void of emotion in her voice carved a knife into his heart.

She forced a broken, empty closure. “It’s okay. They needed your help, right, Dad?” I needed you too were the unspoken words.

I was hurt—I needed you to save me.

She pulled her hand from his. The simple motion felt like a door slamming shut, leaving his own hand cold and empty.

“I’m tired, Dad.” She turned her bruised face away from him, retreating into the lonely silence of her own pain.

“Y/n, please… I—please don’t—” Hotch’s voice was a choked plea.

Her shoulders began to shake, tiny spasms against the pillow as she fought back the tears.

“I—I understand, Dad. It’s okay,” she whispered, the attempted understanding sounding more devastating than any anger. Words he had heard before.

The recitals—he remembered. You said exactly the same thing.

He wants her to be angry at him, and right now she’s just dejected.

“No—no, honey. I’m here for you now, okay?” He was weeping freely now. He reached out, his hand hovering over her arm, desperate to hold her and close the distance between them.

She shook her head. “Go to Jack, okay? I’ll be okay.” She furiously wiped the tears from her good eye.

“Jack’s okay, sweetheart,” he assured, leaning in, his argument ready. “Emily is with him. I- I want to be with you.”

She shook her head violently. “Dad, please.” Her plea was raw, not for comfort, but for release.

She craved his embrace, but his sudden, panicked presence felt like a cruel spotlight on months of absence. She needed distance to breathe.

“I need to be alone, please,” she gasped. “Jack needs you more. I’m fine. Promise.”

No, you’re not! Don’t do this, Y/n—don’t push me away! Hotch wanted to scream the denial, to fight his way back into her world.

He wanted to force the forgiveness, to hold her until he could fix the mess he had made.

But then she turned her head, her gaze heavy with a terrible, premature resignation.

“You can’t solve this right now, Dad. Not here. Not now.” Her voice was steady, chillingly mature. “There are real victims who need you. I… I will always be here.”

The statement ripped through his composure. The fact that she saw their relationship as a case he needed to solve, his attention as a temporary assignment, and her recovery as merely an administrative pause, like paperwork stacking in his office, was the final blow to his guilt.

She had already internalized his abandonment as her own fault, her own lack of importance.

His hands dropped back to his lap.

“Okay, Y/n. Okay,” he whispered. He pushed his chair back slowly, the sound loud in the quiet room paired with the both of them crying.

“I’ll be right downstairs. Call me the moment you need anything at all. Anything at all, honey. ”

He couldn't leave without a final plea, “I love you, honey. So—so much.”

He didn't wait. He didn't risk waiting for the silence, or worse, for an answer she wasn't ready to give.

—

“I’m sorry, Hotch, no offense, but you look horrible,” Emily’s low voice cut through the strained silence of the waiting area. She slid a warm paper cup of coffee onto the table beside him.

He knew she wasn’t wrong. He was past tired. His mind had spent the night in a dark corner, methodically cataloging his failures.

How many times had his children truly needed him, and he hadn’t been there?

How long had it been since he simply held them?

What does it take to undo the damage of a life spent elsewhere?

He had only dared to return to his daughter's bedside after the nurse assured him she was back asleep, her unconscious form safer, easier to be around.

A nurse entered the room, checking the vitals. “Hmm… her temperature is slightly higher,” she noted, concern in her voice.

Y/n’s temperature spiked rapidly as hours passed and the medical team are working urgently to bring the heat down. Her whole body was slick with feverish sweat, the monitors beeping furiously.

“Help her, please!” Hotch begged.

As the team worked, a piercing gasp tore from her throat. Her eyes remained shut, but a shriek escaped: “N-no Dad!”

“I’m here, honey. I’m right here,” he rushed forward, capturing her hand, pressing it hard against his chest.

“Mom! Mom—I’m sorry! No—Mom!”

Shaking her head furiously against the pillow, she cried, “He’s gonna kill you, Mom! Mom, run! Take Jack and run, Mom!”

Hotch’s eyes squeezed shut in white-hot pain. This was no delusion caused by the fever; this was a vivid, exaggerated reliving of the worst night of their lives.

“N-no Dad! Dad, he has the gun! Don’t let him shoot, Dad- no!”

Hotch was openly weeping again, his tears falling onto their joined hands. “I’ve got you, honey. No one is going to hurt you, promise,” he murmured, though he knew the promise was useless against a memory.

“Don’t take him away, please don’t shoot him!” she thrashed against the restraints of the bed.

Then, the words that shattered him completely.

“Shoot me!”

Hotch crumpled. His hold on her hand went slack as he bent over, sobbing uncontrollably next to the bed.

How could she do that? How could she ever, even in her feverish memory, choose to sacrifice herself for him?

“D-dad, I love you! Don’t leave me, Dad,” she cried, still trapped in the hallucination.

“I’m sorry, I won’t ask too much. J-just don’t leave, please.”

Hotch was full-blown sobbing now, the ache in his heart a physical weight.

“Don’t go, Dad! Stay, please.” Her voice was frantic.

“Stay with me, please.” She begged again, the words cutting deep. “Don’t go to Pakistan, please. Not you too, Dad. Don’t leave us, please!”

The mention of the overseas assignment was the final, devastating confirmation of his failures.

“Stay, Dad, stay!” she wailed. “I’ll be good, I promise I won’t ask too much, just don’t go on the plane. I need you here—I just need you to stay!”

“Agent Hotchner.” The doctor’s calm voice cut through the chaos. She crouched beside him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “We’ve administered a sedative to bring her heart rate down. In my experience, what y/n needs right now is the simple, undeniable assurance that she’s not alone.”

Gaining a fragile strength, Hotch rose and leaned over the bed. “Not leaving you again, honey,” he vowed.

The nurse quietly lowered the bed rails, a silent permission. Hotch eased himself onto the mattress, carefully maneuvering around the tubes and bandages, and gathered his daughter into his arms. The feeling of her slight, feverish body against his felt both agonizingly fragile and perfectly right.

“I’m here, baby. I got you. Shh… it’s okay,” he murmured, kissing her burning forehead.

Sensing his anchor, she instinctively pressed closer. “Don’t leave me, Dad,” she whimpered, her voice fading under the sedative.

“Not leaving you, or Jack, again, honey. Shh… I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, his vow sharp with guilt. He tightened his hold. Her small, broken figure finally settled into stillness.

He began to rock them both, humming a slow, forgotten tune from her childhood.

“I’m fine.” 

“Yeah? Any wobbles?” 

He’s asking if you’ve had a panic attack or anything like it, but for the last few days you’ve felt veritably numb. “I’m okay,” you say. 

You should bring up your symptoms. Clearly, lexapro either isn’t right for you or the dosage is too much; you’re a zombie these last couple of days. Medications don’t always work straight away, so for a time you’d felt like your script was useless, serving only to make you nauseous, but the sickness has finally gone away. 

He opens the fridge to put away the groceries. He’s sliding the bread into your bread box when he says, “Honey, aren’t you gonna answer that? Your phone?”

You blink down at your phone. Spencer’s contact glows in front of a green background. 

You click answer and pull it to your ear. “Hello?” you ask softly. 

“Hey, angel. How are you feeling today?” 

You clear your throat. “Fine.” 

“I was thinking I’d come over?” 

“You’re outside?” you ask. 

“How’d you know that?” 

“Must be something in the water.”

“I’ll come up now. I brought some things for dinner.” 

You manage your first laugh that dreary day. It’s nearly normal. “Okay. I might not have room.” 

Spencer promises to be up quickly and disconnects the call. You lift your chin to find Aaron already looking at you. “Do I look okay?” you ask. 

“Beautiful, don’t worry.”

“Is this an ambush?” you ask. 

“Not an intentional one. Can I make you something to drink?” 

He’ll make you something you like, you trust. You try to sit properly on the couch before Spencer gets here, rubbing under your eyes, checking there’s nothing on your t-shirt and sweatpants. It might not matter if there were, you know Spencer thinks you’re pretty without makeup or fancy clothes, but he doesn’t necessarily have to be truthful about it. 

“Aaron,” you say, before you can forget, “did… was Jack’s soccer okay?”

He passes you a mug, squeezing your shoulder lovingly. “It was great. I’ll show you the photos.” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t go.” 

You were supposed to. Spencer even drove to pick you up, but he got here and your meds weren’t working and your heart was beating wrong, so you stayed home. 

“It’s okay.” Aaron looks like he wants to hug you, but he doesn’t. “Nobody’s mad at you for that.” 

“For other things?” 

“Nothing.” 

Your door opens again. Spencer bursts in with two things, a brown paper bag of groceries and a bouquet of flowers. It’s a pretty huge bouquet, as they go, white and pink flowers, cornflower blue chrysanthemums spotted throughout, the end of his scarf stuck in the flowers and his coat unbuttoned in the struggle. “Hey. Hi, Hotch.” 

“Spencer,” Aaron says, which is strangely warm. 

Spencer shoves the bouquet aside to see you. “Hi, you okay?” 

You force yourself to stand. It’s obvious you’re not feeling right, your head whirring, but you have to make sure he still wants you. “Spencer.” 

He puts the bouquet down. The groceries next. “Angel,” he says, meeting Aaron’s eyes quickly, then back to you, where he smiles sympathetically, “How long have you been feeling like this?” 

You’ve only taken a few steps toward him when he catches you for a hug. It’s nice and polite, but not without tenderness. He doesn’t pull your weight in like he would if you were alone, but he holds your back and sits a quick kiss against your cheek as he pulls away. 

“I don’t really know, a few days?” you suggest. 

“You could’ve told me. Or Hotch, you know?” 

“I know, I was going to, just–” You press your hand to your eyes. “Didn’t really notice it was happening.” 

“Don’t get upset,” Aaron says, coming to join you both in the kitchen. “It’s alright. Spencer isn’t scolding you, he just wants you to know we’re here for you no matter what happens.” 

“I don’t feel like myself,” you say.

“That’s okay,” Aaron furthers, holding you by the shoulder, his hand settling behind the nape of your neck, “we can talk to your doctor again, this isn’t permanent. We’ll talk to them today, if it’s what you need.” 

“I’m sorry. Not many people have such an adverse effect to lexapro, I was hoping you wouldn’t be an exception,” Spencer says. 

To your surprise, Aaron answers for you, “You couldn’t have known. This is just something we’ll have to keep doing together.” 

Someone sits you down. Aaron warms his fancy soups and toasts the bread he brought, making a plate and bowl for each of you without asking. Spencer barely balks. You manage another laugh, for which you’re rewarded with two smiles. 

Aaron can’t stay much longer, having to pick up Jack from Jess’, but he offers to come back. You decline, not wanting Jack to see you feeling as depressed as you are. He promises to call the doctor tonight and leaves in a rush. He must’ve stayed longer than he should’ve. 

Spencer is more forthcoming with soft touches once he’s gone. He didn’t eat much but neither did you, pushing the plates across the coffee table. He’s still wearing his coat. 

Fond, you reach for his chest and begin slipping buttons from the eyelets. “You’re staying, right?” you murmur. 

“If you’ll have me.” 

You open his coat and push it away from his shoulders. He dressed fancy even when he’s not going anywhere, it’s so strange, the button up and the tie and the sweater vest, all of it, but you love it. You run your hand down his vest. He lets his head dip forward. Not for kissing, just to be near. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“Just feel wrong.” 

“It’s not really a good idea to stop taking the lexapro now. It’s technically an antidepressant, and your body won’t adjust well.” He holds your waist as you hold his. “But this is weird, huh?” 

“Feels weird.” 

“Short term, uh, I think we should just try and make sure you feel alright today. Is there anything you need?” he’s murmuring, rubbing his thumb into the soft of your stomach. “I can get anything. Or we can do anything.” 

“You don’t have to… worry about me.” 

“Are you kidding?” he asks softly.

“We haven’t been…” You trail your hand to his stomach, where it stays. “I just don’t expect you to deal with this, you didn’t sign up for this.” 

“I don’t think that’s true. I had no idea what I’d find out about you or what you might go through when we first met, but I wanted to find out. I wanted to take care of you then, and I do now,” he says simply.

“It’s not good timing for me to be like this.” 

“Stuff happens all the time. I wouldn’t want to wait for you to be perfect before we met.” He smiles genuinely. “Not that you’re not perfect.” 

“I really feel like I’m not even me.” 

“You’re you,” he says, dipping so close to you that you can’t see his face anymore, just his skin.

You slouch into his chest, coaxed by long, lithe arms cradling you, as kind as anyone’s ever touched you. He smells clean, your nose finding its way to his stiff collar. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. 

“You don’t have to be. Nobody wants you to be sorry, okay?” 

It’s a new feeling. Spencer spends the night with you on the couch and doesn’t for a moment seem like it’s something he doesn’t wanna do. You end up laying on his chest, his fingers drawing lines like a meandering figure skater up your back. Twirls and loops, long laps around your spine. When your phone rings, he’s nice enough to click answer and hold it to your ear. 

“Aaron?” you ask sleepily. 

“Hey, honey. I’ll be by tomorrow to take you back to Dr. Chester’s office, alright? If you don’t want to keep taking your lexapro, don’t. But if you can manage it, take another tonight, and we’ll figure out the new plan after your appointment.” 

“Okay,” you say, feeling very small. “Thank you for doing that for me.” 

“I’d do anything. Jack says he loves you, he’s making you a painting of yourself. He’s very good at the colours.” 

“I bet he is,” you say loudly. In the background, you can hear Jack’s pleased little thank you. 

“Do you want to talk a while?” he asks.

“That’s okay, Aaron, I’m half asleep on Spencer right now.” 

“Good, that’s good. Tell him to take good care of you, okay? Or I won’t be happy.” 

Spencer laughs above your head. “When is he ever happy?” he jokes in a whisper. 

“Shh,” you say, giving Spencer a light shove. “He says he will.” You swallow a lump, as you’ve had to do all day, but it isn’t rawness that colours your voice now. “I love you. Thank you for, uh, calling the doctor. Thanks.” 

“I love you too. I’ll leave you to sleep now. I’ll come at eleven, alright?” 

“Alright. See you tomorrow,” you say. 

Your voice is weak. Spencer pulls the phone away and hangs it up, tossing it without force onto the coffee table, before wrapping his arm around you snugly. 

“It’s gonna be fine,” Spencer says. “You’ll see, things aren’t going to be like this forever. It’s statistically impossible.” 

“Ooh,” you croon, pressing your tired face back into his chest, “I love when you talk statistics to me. Tell me more.”

You hadn’t meant to keep it a secret this long. You didn’t want to. But when it came to you dating, your brother was way too overprotective. You loved him to death for it but it also pissed you off to no end.

Spencer freaked when he found out that you were Hotch’s baby sister and even broke it off for a while because he felt as though he was betraying him. But you had crept into his heart and you weren’t planning on vacating any time soon.

Even when you weren’t together, you were the only thing on his mind. You’d be there constantly whilst he was on a case. He couldn’t concentrate and it was painfully obvious to everyone. Even Hotch. The latter pulled him aside and told him to fix what was going on before he got someone or himself killed.

That counts as his blessing, right?

As soon as they touched down in Washington he rushed over to your apartment to see you. Throwing quick goodbyes to everyone and not looking back.

“Pretty boy has a girl. I’m calling it,” Morgan called out, pointing at the quickly retreating Spencer.

That was almost 11 months ago. 11 months of sneaking around behind your brother’s back. Which wasn’t too much of an issue when you first started dating but now you were an agent in the Criminal Investigative Division of the FBI. That meant both you and Spencer had longer work hours and often different schedules. So sometimes you two decide to see each other at the office. You knew it was risky and quickies in the car doesn’t compare to the bedroom but you both took what you could get.

However, recently, Spencer had been arguing that maybe it was time to tell your brother. You assumed he felt guilty. Not guilty enough to stop the sex in the FBI garage but guilty enough.

He did feel guilty but there was another reason he wanted to tell your brother.

You wanted to tell Aaron too. Really you did. But you’ve put it off so long that you know that he’s gonna be disappointed you didn’t tell him sooner. Anger you could take but the one thing you never wanted to do was disappoint him.

He was your idol. Your hero. The person you’ve always looked up to. The one you wanted to make proud. That’s why you joined the FBI. You wanted to make him proud. And he was, he just wished you’d picked a safer occupation.

He was concerned and worried every time you and your team left the office and was finally able to breathe when you arrived back. If he was away on a job when you came back you went to see Penelope or Peach as you called her. It was a deal you made with Aaron so he knew you were okay. Spencer didn’t oppose to this arrangement either because all he had to do was look at Hotch and he’d know that you were okay.

But one day, that call from Penelope was a little different. The team had come back... without you.

The simple arrest of Washington’s newest drug kingpin had turned into a kidnapping. Yours.

The BAU team couldn’t do anything but wait for the plane to land in Washington. In four hours time. Hotch hadn’t said a word. Neither had Spencer and the moment he didn’t make his move on the chess board, everyone took notice.

He just stared out the window and waited. Images of what you were going through at that very moment flashed though his mind. Were you hurt? Were you scared?

Were you alive?

Even your brother had snapped out of his thoughts and took notice of his lack of presence inside the jet. Sure he’d noticed your closeness but he didn’t think anything of it. You were close with Penelope and JJ too. But as he started to think back, he starts to see all the little signs. Small things.

But one thing in particular was how comfortable Spencer was with you. So easily comfortable. It all started to become clear. Aaron had figured you were seeing someone but you wouldn’t tell him who and as you’ve grown older you’ve become more adept at covering your tracks. Morgan also speculated on multiple occasions that Spencer was seeing someone.

What should he feel? Anger because you didn’t tell him or betrayal because you’re his sister and Spencer was one of his agents? His baby sister. And no matter how old you were, that’s what you were always going to be.

He would’ve been completely pissed. Shouting, demanding answers and an explanation if it wasn’t for what he was seeing in front of him.

Worry, fear, pain and helplessness. The same thing he’d see if he looked in the mirror right now. He didn’t have to ask. He knew.

When the plane finally landed, the team wasted no time in getting back to the office. Aaron inserts himself into the operation to get you back, not taking no for an answer and Spencer is right there with him.

Even when he was ordered not to interfere because he was too close, he did exactly that. You were in trouble, no way was he not going to tear up the entire state looking for you.

He told the team to stand down, not wanting them to get into trouble for defying a direct order but none of them budged. At this point, you were their family too.

The longer you’re missing the more it takes it’s toll on Spencer. So much so that he’s the first one to lash out at your boss when it’s found out that there has been a ransom made in exchange for your return to no action had been taken to do that.

“We’re not going to hand over all the evidence for his trial,“

”The hell we won’t,“

“We can’t—”

“—leave her there”

“Reid,” Aaron spoke, his voice loud to get his attention but no anger was in it. He reached a hand out and placed it on his shoulder, gently pulling him away from your boss “so,” he started, stepping forward to take his place, “What exactly are you doing to find my sister?”

“I don’t tell you how to run your team Hotchner, don’t tell me how to run mine,”

“Alright listen here,” Aaron stepped closer, right in his face, “if one hair on her head is out of place, I swear I’ll—”

“Hotch!”

“What?!”

“Maybe we should just give them some space to work and—”

”they’ve had five hours and they barely know where she was snatched from,“

Gideon gave him a look. One that told him to play along. He did and the team followed him to their usual conference room. Each of them branching off to do what they do best, working tirelessly to get you back.

And they did this for hours until Morgan got a text from Penelope, who conveniently was lounging at your desk.

They received a video

Aaron and Spencer rushed out of the office and down to yours. Your brother had tried to stop him from going, not wanting him to see you in a possibly horrific state but he couldn’t stop. He had to see you and he did.

He tried to ignore the blood, the wounds and focus on your hands, that to your captors, were wriggling due to the ache of them being tied up for hours but to Spencer and the others it was a message.

Trains... every 12 minutes... the only clue you knew about your whereabouts, and you knew that maybe it wouldn’t be enough so you added a little something to prepare for that.

I love you

With the reminder of their demands, the video fades to black, much like your vision.

Your eyes only opened again when you heard gunshots and shouting. The voices sounded familiar but muffled, far away. Perhaps you were imagining them and you were convinced you were until a door clanged open.

Someone called your name, followed by the sound of running footsteps, that got louder with each step. It wasn’t long until the footsteps stopped and a figure knelt down beside you.

”Angel?“ he spoke softly, his hands moving to cup your cheeks. His thumbs wiping the tearstains away.

”you found me“

”Yeah, Angel, we did,“ he replied, moving to untie your hands. As soon as you were free, you threw your arms around him, holding on so tight because you were afraid that he’d disappear. He moves his head slightly to the side to press a kiss to your temple, ”I love you too, Angel“

”I love you more,“

You smile, pulling away. He got your message. The smile faltered slightly when you looked up and your brother came into view.

Uh oh. Did he know?

You didn’t know what to expect. The thought of losing your brother was worse than the pain you had been through the past god knows how long.

You had thought about him finding out so often and he was angry, disappointed, betrayed. None of your playthroughs of this moment ever ended happily.

”I’m so glad you’re safe, (y/n),“ he smiled, leaning down to press a kiss on your head like he had always done.

”you’re not mad?“

Spencer looked up at him too, curious about the answer himself.

”of course not,“ he said, okay a little lie but you’d been through enough and he’d be stupid to ignore what was right in front of him.

Your eyebrows scrunched as you lift you head from Spencer’s chest, moving closer because you were sure you misheard him, ”you’re not,“

He sighed opening his arms for you to hug. You didn’t waste any time, tears falling as you sob into his shoulder, ”I thought you’d be mad, and I’d lose you,“

”I was mad at first,“ he admitted, one of his hands stroking your hair in a soothing rhythm, ”because you didn’t tell me,“ he added and you started apologising profusely but he stopped you, ”I’m not anymore because the truth is—“ He patted Spencer on his shoulder ”—you couldn’t have chosen a better man“

You smiled so much of the way home. So much so, you thought your cheeks were stuck like that.

You had asked Aaron if he wanted to join you two for dinner and after you giving him that look you always gave him to get whatever you want, your best puppy dog eyes, he said yes.

Fridays were usually trash. The final bell dragged its feet, the hallways reeked of expired deodorant and stress, and every teacher suddenly remembered they forgot to assign this week’s workload. But this Friday? This one felt different. 

The sun was out, traffic wasn’t awful, and I had my windows down, music blasting just enough to feel like I had control over something, anything, after sitting through six hours of calculus and cafeteria mystery meat. Plus, I had a plan. 

By the time I pulled into our apartment building’s parking lot, I was grinning. Dad was home. I knew that before I even stepped inside. The smell of coffee and that faint, lemony cleaning spray he used on the kitchen counters wafted through the air the second I opened the door. 

“Hey, sweetheart!” He called from the living room. 

I kicked my shoes off by the door, slung my backpack onto the hallway bench, and stepped into the apartment with a bounce in my step. Jack was already curled up on the couch in pajama pants, a half-eaten bowl of cereal in his lap and a cartoon playing on the TV. He waved at me enthusiastically. 

“Y/N!” He grinned, cheeks sticky with milk. “You’re home!” 

“Of course I am, little man!” I said, ruffling his hair as I passed. 

Dad looked up from the case file he wasn’t supposed to be reading on his day off. The moment our eyes met, he narrowed his gaze just slightly. There it was. The Hotchner sixth sense. 

“You’re smiling,” He said cautiously. “That usually means trouble.” 

I dropped onto the armrest beside him with a dramatic sigh. 

“I always smile. Smiling is healthy. You should try it sometime.” 

“Y/N.” 

“Okay, okay.” I said, smirking. “So I was driving home and I passed this adorable little pet store, you know the one a few blocks from here? The one with the green awning and the hand-painted sign?” 

“I know it.” He said slowly. 

“And I just happened to wonder,” I continued sweetly. “How cute a small animal might be in our apartment. Like, something fluffy. Or maybe feathery. Or possibly something with little whiskers-” 

Jack gasped, cereal bowl sliding off his lap and onto the coffee table. 

“You mean like a pet!?” 

I gave him a wink. “Maybe.” 

Dad closed the file slowly and gave me the look. Not the angry look. Woese. The exasperated-but-I-still-love-you look. 

“Y/N, you know how I feel about pets in the apartment.” 

“Yes,” I said, tilting my head. “And I know how lonely apartments can feel sometims, especially when a certain FBI Unit Cheif is gone for days at a time chasing serial killers-” 

“Y/N.” 

“-leaving behind his two emotionally vulnerable children-” 

“Oh my gosh!” Jack breathed. “We could get a rabbit!” 

“-who are just doing their best to survive in this cold, cruel world.” 

Dad sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You should’ve gone into law, not drama club.” 

I shrugged. “I can multitask.” 

“I’d feed it!” Jack said, bouncing now. “And clean up after it! I promise!” 

“I could even train it,” I added. “You know how responsible I am-” 

“You forgot to put the milk back in the fridge this morning.” 

I paused. “...I’m growing.” 

Dad sat back against the couch, running a hand through his hair. 

“This feels like an ambush.” 

“It’s not an ambush if we smile sweetly and look incredibly cute while asking.” I said, batting my lashes. 

Jack joined in, leaning across the cushions to wrap his arms around Dad’s side. 

“Pleaseeeeee?” 

I watched Dad’s face carefully. His eyes flicked between the two of us. Me with my best innocent face, and Jack practically glowing with excitement. I could see the wheels turning and the cracks forming. 

“Something small,” He said finally. “No dogs. No cats. No reptiles. Nothing that requires a special license or eats live rodents.” 

My jaw dropped. “Wait… is that a yes?” 

“Something small.” He repeated firmly, pointing a finger at me. “You both have to take care of it. Feeding, cleaning, everything. No sticking me with it when you get bored.” 

Jack launched himself into a celebratory dance on the couch cushions, cereal flying. 

“I’ll draw up a chore chart!” He yelled. “We can call it Operation Fuzzball!” 

Dad sighed again but I caught the tiniest smile tug at the corner of his mouth. Victory! Sweet, adorable, fluff-coated victory! 

“I’ll start looking tonight.” I said, grinning. 

“Looking online.” He said sternly. “No bringing home a ferret tomorrow without talking to me first. 

I held up a hand. “Scout’s honor.” 

“You were never in Scouts.” 

“Well… drama club is a survival sport.” 

Dad chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. 

“What did I do to deserve you two?” 

“You saved a lot of people and built up some pretty good karma.” I said, resting my head on his shoulder. Jack beamed at us from the floor. 

“I vote for a bunny!” 

“Noted.” Dad said dryly. 

As the three of us sat there, sunlight pouring through the windows, a cartoon playing in the background, and Jack already writing out ‘bunny name ideas’ in his notebook, I felt it. That warmth. That strange, beautiful thing that felt like safety, even in a world that could be so dark. Maybe it wasn’t a dog and picket fence kind of family, but it was ours. And soon? It would get a little fuzzier.