#queuetip

Marc shows up to your apartment on time, as always, and just the sight of you has all of the tension that habitually sits in his shoulders dissipating. You look mischievous, mouth turned up in a smirk that he can’t help but want to kiss. Although your eyes say it all– bright and sparkling– it's abundantly clear that you’re ecstatic about him being here. It's something he still adapting to but would it be so terrible for him to believe that you genuinely do enjoy his presence? Horrible no, but terrifying. Nevertheless, he’s trying and will continue to show up if only to see that twinkle in your eye, no matter how hard it is to believe that he is the reason.

His self-deprecating train of thought is interrupted when you reach for him, pulling him in for a kiss by the collar of his shirt. Marc melts against your mouth, a hand raising to cup your cheek. There’s nothing that clears his mind like the feel of your lips against his– he would happily give up oxygen to kiss you for the rest of his days. But eventually, you pull away, grinning at him.

“Ready to get your ass kicked, Spector?” You huff breathlessly into his mouth.

He takes your bottom lip between his teeth and bites down on it teasingly before saying, “Ready to do the ass-kicking, actually.”

“Oh, we’ll see about that.”

Marc is all about routine, it's just who he is. It's the only thing he’s taken from his time serving that he is grateful for as it helps balance his mind– all of their minds. So when the two of you get the game loaded and make it to the characters screen he chooses Donkey Kong as he always does. Sometimes to mess with and throw him off a bit you’ll choose Donkey Kong. He has his list of backups– Link, Mario, and begrudgingly, Toad– but those never feel exactly right. Tonight you decide to give him a break, you’ll prove to him that you can beat him in his element or not.

The two of you are neck and neck on the last race, with Marc starting to lurch forward ahead of you. There’s a healthy distance between you, ample room for dramatic turns and frustrated bouncing without either of you accidentally elbowing the other. But, when he starts to leave you in the dust on the last lap around you know exactly how to distract him. Without taking your eyes off of the screen, you scoot an inch closer to him. He’s well aware of your movement, heightened observation comes with Khonshu but he makes nothing of it, focusing on making it to the finish line. The sly grin on your lips spreads and you shift even closer, this time your shoulder rubs against his. Marc stiffens, his grip on the controller fumbling a bit. It's the perfect opportunity for you to make your move, and you brush up against him again to ensure that he’ll glance over at you.

“What’re you doin’?” He asks suspiciously, and out of the corner of your eye, you see that for just a moment his eyes flicker over to you.

You grin, eyes firmly glued to the screen as you watch his character slow down. You pass him easily, your voice innocent as you say, “Nothing.”

When his eyes return to the screen they widen in disbelief as you cross the finish line a few seconds before him. “You cheated!” He accuses, looking over at you with narrowed eyes.

Your mouth drops open in feigned offense, “Did not!”

“Bullshit, baby, I know what you’re doing when you move closer to me.”

“You’re warm, I was cold.”

“Liar.”

“Alright, since you’re so sure, let’s go again. Best 2 out of 3. I’ll even sit on the ground this time, can’t cheat that way,” You insist, before shifting off the couch to sit crossed-legged between his knees.

As nonchalant as ever, Marc bends to wrap his arm around your waist and lifts you with no effort to place a pillow underneath your butt. The simple act of care contrasts with the competitive look on his face as he hands you your controller once more, “No funny business this time baby.”

He lets you get comfortable, waiting to strike. He’s trailing a few places behind you up until the last lap. You’re sure that you’ll win and halfway around the last pass you relax back against the couch. Unseen to you, Marc grins just before he starts to shift his knees back and forth.

“Hey now,” You quip, but you don’t look away from the screen or make any movement, assuming that he needs to readjust in his seat. But it continues and you glance up at him with a knowing look.

“Oh now, who’s cheating?” You ask, trying to lean away from his knees that he’s bumping into your shoulders.

“What was that? I can’t hear you over my impending victory,” He teases, nodding his head toward the screen.

When your eyes follow his over to the tv, you watch as he shoots you with a red shell before zooming away over the finish line. The shell disrupts you completely, and you’re passed by half of the computers. You end up in 7th place and huff in frustration, “Marc!

“Hmm?” He hums through a laugh, bending to press a kiss to your cheek.

You try your best to glare at him, but with his smile this wide and genuine, you can’t even hold the expression for more than a few seconds. “You only beat me because you cheated and I’m hungry.”

Marc frowns at you, setting his controller down on the coffee table before fishing his phone out of his pocket, “What? Why didn’t you say that before? What do you want— pizza?”

“Pizza’s good. I want—“

“I know, baby.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “What if I was gonna say something different?”

He looks up at you with an expression that says ‘really?’. If you didn’t know him, you’d think he was upset, genuinely feeling impatient with you. But, in the time that you’ve gotten to know him— all three of them— it’s become much easier to read them. It’s always in the eyes. And when it all boils down, no matter what he’s feeling or saying, all you ever see in Marc’s eyes is understanding and adoration for you.

“Ok, fair, I wasn’t but if I wanted to?”

He shrugs, a knowing smile on his face, “Then I would know.”

Your cheeks warm and you rest your head on his knee, looking up at him with this soft look on your face that makes him feel melted. To know and be known. It’s all either of you have ever wanted.

Marc clears his throat to distract from the flush in his cheeks he knows is there, “While we wait…y’know, Steven told me about this show— we don’t have to watch it if it doesn’t sound interesting to you.”

“I’m listening.”

Marc goes into an entire spiel, using his hand as he and Steven always do, though Marc’s movements are sharper and smaller. You’ve known that Marc is nerdy by how easy he navigates technology, casually throwing out terms here and there that you never understand. But to see him like this, with bright eyes as he explains the contents of the show, it displays you that similarity between him and Steven that’s always buzzing beneath the surface.

“Are you talking about Ancient Aliens?”

He snaps, eyes going wide, “Yes! You know it?”

You resist the urge to cup his face and dust his cheeks with a flurry of kisses, a difficult feat when he’s looking so adorably excited, “Hell yeah I know it, I watch it with my dad sometimes. I didn’t know you were into stuff like that.”

“Who doesn’t wanna know about aliens? Atlantis?”

“You always poke fun at Steven for stuff like this,” You say matter of factly.

“That was before I gave it a chance.”

While you get the controllers put up and decide on an episode, Marc heads into your kitchen to get drinks, the tube of parmesan out of your fridge and the red pepper out your fridge knowing that these are all necessary for pizza night. When he returns, you’re curled into a blanket and he sets everything down on the coffee table before pressing in beside you, his arms caging you into his chest.

Both of you are distracted. Not by the usual attraction— that’s manageable. Snuggled together on the couch like this, you both feel it. There’s this pool of some overwhelmingly delightful feeling neither of you has felt before. You can identify it immediately as love. Pure and gooey, like the warm insides of a chocolate chip cookie. Marc on the other hand refuses to look it in the eye, pushing it deeper and deeper until it’s light and fuzzy, ignorable. The last thing he will do is love someone who won’t love him. It isn’t the same— this time he is simply unworthy, not easy prey to a wounded predator— but he’s been there and done that. That wound sits on his chest, refusing to heal no matter what he does.

You lean back, lifting your head out of the crook of his neck to look at him, “Marc?”

He paused the show and met your gaze before you finished saying his name, “Yeah, honey?”

The remote almost slips out of his hand at the look in your eyes. Could it be more? Marc’s only ever seen that look in the eyes of one other— luckily after everything he and Layla are on amicable terms. But could he really have something like that again? Is that twinkle in your eye what he craves so much that his bones ache?

Under his intense gaze your resolve flatters, your heart, feeling as if it will beat right out of your chest.

“I—,” You breath catches in your throat that’s suddenly gone dry. What if he doesn’t love you back? Losing him means losing Steven and Jake. It means losing the only love you’ve ever known. You swallow those words and opt for others, “Tonight has been one of my favorite nights yet. Thank you.”

He can hear it in your tone. He knows that isn’t what you were going to say and by the look in his eyes, you know that he knows. He stares at you for several moments longer, giving you a chance, hoping that you’ll take the plunge because he can’t. Not yet.

Eventually, the pizza arrives and that cuts some of the tension that’s in the room. Something is clearly off but neither of you can find the courage to say anything as you finish eating and the credits roll on the episode you’d put on.

You let him leave. You kiss him goodbye and watch as he crosses the hall to the stairwell, only closing the door once he’s down the first flight. You feel like an idiot— why couldn’t you have just said it? He was waiting, eyes practically pleading, and yet the words wouldn’t form.

It only takes two minutes for you to decide that this isn’t how the night should end. Fears be damned, he deserves to know— they all do eventually. So you grab your keys, knowing that if you’d left your door unlocked for even the short time it would take to get him back, Jake would scold you about it.

Despite the quickness of your decision to chase after him, Marc is well down the street once you make it out the front door of your complex.

“Marc, wait!”

He stops immediately, recognizing your voice even from so far away. His eyes scan the street when he turns around and as soon as they find you, he’s walking towards you, brows furrowed in concern.

“What’s wrong? Did I forget something?” He pats his pockets, noting that his wallet and keys are there.

Maybe you’d decided to tell him what you were planning to say earlier and his heart begins to hammer again. His mind goes to the worst-case scenario, that maybe you weren’t going to confess deeper feelings for him. That you’re ready to be done with him, that he’s not worth it. That every disparaging thing his mother had ever said about him is true and you’ve just come to realize it.

“No, it’s just that I—“

“Yeah?” He prompts when you go quiet for a minute. His voice is fused with preemptive disappointment and he begins to prepare to leave the headspace, to retreat so far within that not even his alters can find him— Steven or Jake can deal with the aftermath of you. He’ll sulk and disappear like he had promised Steven a couple of years ago.

“I love you. I don’t know what I didn’t just say that before, I’d planned to but then you looked at me and it’s like I was scared all over again,” You whisper, eyes slipping down to look at the ground.

He tilts his head at you, his hand rising to cup your cheek. His voice is tender, and confused as he asks, “What do you have to be afraid of?”

“You know what,” You mumble, refusing to look up at him.

“That I wouldn’t want you? That I’d be stupid enough not to love you too?” He says the words as if they’re blasphemy like they’re the most ridiculous thing imaginable and you can’t help but look up at him.

“Why are you saying it like that?”

His other hand raises so he has both your cheeks in his hands, “Because it's complete bullshit, of course, I love you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, now come here,” He pulls you closer by his hand on your cheek, leaning in to press his mouth to yours. He kisses you fiercely, licking into your mouth with a fervor like never before. You match him, just as hungry and needy to show him how deeply you feel for him not just with words, but with actions.

He pulls away, breathless, “Steven’s saying we shouldn’t make out on the street.”

“Yeah, and what’s Jake saying?” You ask, though you can imagine his opinions on public indecency.

“You don’t wanna know.”

You giggle, before saying once more— firmly this time, unafraid to take the plunge because you know he’ll catch you, “I love you.”

“I love you,” He repeats, his mouth brushing yours as he says it.

You arch a brow at him, smiling against his lips. “Enough to settle who’s won and stay the night?”

“Oh, you’re gonna get it,” He murmurs cheekily through a grin, pulling you back towards your apartment.

It’s safe to say that you both got it.

He hasn’t lived in a house for some time now, Haley and Jack had moved into their home before Foyet and he’d moved into an apartment. Afterward, Jack had just moved in with him; there was no question that neither of them would ever step foot in that house again. It wasn’t that he missed yard work, it's that he missed it being an option of distraction. He’s efficient, sometimes the reports are done, and meticulous so most of the time the apartment is clean. That leaves him with himself and his thoughts that ring in his mind with a loud, rude tone.

Jack is on a trip to Hershey’s Park with Jessica when the free weekend unexpectedly comes. The rest of the team is more than grateful to have some reprieve, but Hotch is not. This means he’ll be alone all weekend, with plenty of time and not enough tasks to busy himself, which is a disaster in the making. But then, Blake presents an opportunity and he takes it.

She’s sitting across from him when he announces the free weekend. “What will you do with the weekend?”

Hotch wets his lips and gives the work-appropriate answer, “Work. Clean. Errands.”

Thinking about his shortcomings, worrying about Jack, and ruminating on you join the list.

You haven’t escaped his mind since the moment he watched you get in your car the night he suspended you. He hasn’t heard from you, he’s not sure that anyone has. He’s wary to ask Prentiss or Morgan after what they saw. There was this silent awareness, a passing of understanding through meeting eyes and head shakes. They wouldn’t dare bring it up, at least in Emily’s case, not yet.

“I told James I’d tackle our yard at some point since he’s away but mowing the lawn? I don’t know.” She purses her lips, glancing out the window in annoyance.

“I could lend you a hand.” He offers, to her surprise.

She takes him up on it, and plans it for the day that you plan to come pick up a book from her house. She’s usually not one to meddle but she knows how you can avoid and hold grudges, thinks it might be good for her to lend a hand in reconciliation. She won’t know the implications of her decision until that day rolls around.

———

Your suspension has been a double-edged sword. You don’t realize how much you depend on the sight of Hotch for self-regulation. You feel vulnerable and nervous, worrying about not only him but the team in the field. There’s no denying that it’s been relaxing to take a break from the job though. You miss it, but enjoy slowing down. Taking time to engage in hobbies you never have time for, you read and bake. Your sleep is terrible, your mind plagued with dreams of him. Soft ones, angry ones, sometimes a mixture. But they always end with you in his arms, utterly terrified and completely at home.

You hardly get any sleep the night before you’ll see Blake, thinking about whether you want to ask how Hotch has been or maybe even ask her for advice. She’s the only one you've reached out to since being on leave. That’s the thing about Blake, she makes you feel safe. She walks into situations objectively, collects information, and tries to stay free of judgment and it allows you to trust her. Your reluctance, to be honest, has less to do with her reaction and more to do with your shame. Shame to feel like after all this time you need someone; shame to have found that someone you need in your boss.

When you pull up to Blake’s the next morning you almost keep driving; you spot Hotch in the yard, cranking up a lawnmower in dirty jeans and a white tank top, and nerves flood your body. However, Blake’s standing on the porch, waving at you as your car slides into the driveway next to Hotch’s. You make your way up to her porch, giving Hotch an awkward wave.

“What’s he doing here?”

“He offered to mow the lawn, I wasn’t going to turn him down. Lemonade?” She picks up a glass off the table, and you take it.

“I didn’t know he was going to be here.”

“You’re still mad at him for suspending you.”

“Hell yeah, I am.”

“You’ll have to forgive him eventually.”

“I don’t know about that.” She eyes you then, trying to read what’s really going on in that head of yours. “Just forget it.”

You shake your head before taking a drink, your eyes wandering over to Hotch though you’ve been internally screaming at yourself to not engage. Blake’s eyes follow yours before she looks back over at you, noticing how your eyes glaze over slightly and how your hold tightens on your glass. You can’t help yourself, your eyes fixed on the sheen of sweat on his skin. Even from this far away, you can see the contrast of his scars, how they’re slightly darker than the rest of his skin. you’ve never seen so much of him. A physical exposure after emotional insight.

“What’s going on there?” She asks, and it makes you gasp as you realize how entranced you were with him. You’d almost forgotten she was there.

“What?”

“You’re…looking at him.” She nods at Hotch before looking at you expectantly.

Your eyes widen before you glare at her. “I am not.”

She raises an eyebrow, eyes bright, “You’re just gonna lie to my face?”

“Blake.”

She puts a hand up in surrender. “I’m not shaming you, I just want to know.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. It's not voluntary, it’s not like I haven’t fought it.” Your eyes flit back to Hotch, tracing every inch of him.

“How deep?”

“How deep do you think?” You murmur before through the rest of your drink.

Blake gives herself a moment, weighing in her mind if she should share this with you. Personal information stays in the vault more often than not, but she wants to help. “I’ve been where you are, you know. It didn’t work out, she wasn’t ready, I don’t think she ever would’ve been. But I tried, I can say that I did try.”

“Why try if you know you’ll fail?”

“I don’t think he’d let you fail. He’s not that kind of man.”

You don’t have a rebuttal to give her because you know she’s right. He would catch you, he’s proven that in more than one way. But you aren’t sure that you’re ready to be caught.

Hotch finishes the lawn just as Blake steps inside to grab the book you’ve come for. His eyes are on you, noticing your standoffish body language. To your dismay, he starts to walk toward you and you begin to fidget with your hands, hoping that she’ll return quickly. She does, coming out the door, just as Hotch comes to stand next to you. She gives both of you a once over, a light bulb going off in her head.

“Here’s the book that you wanted, but give me just a second, I have another one.” She pushes the book into your hands haphazardly.

“No, Blake, this is fine, it’ll take me months to finish this one.”

“Wait here.”

“Blake-“ You try to stop her but the door slams behind her, and it’s just you and the man you’ve spent days thinking about. When you glance over at him he looks like he’s about to start a conversation. “Do not talk to me.”

The bastard has the irritating nerve to chuckle, his eyebrows pulling together. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“You needed the time.” He explains, baiting you into a conversation.

You can recognize it but you can’t keep yourself from responding. “Yeah, and what makes you so sure?”

“Because I needed it too.”

It’s then that you realize he’s not talking about time away from the job, though he does believe you needed that as well. He’s talking about time away from him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about but sure.”

“I heard what you said when you thought you were dying, and while neither of us is ready to go there, I’m acknowledging that this is real. Mutual.”

“I don’t know what you think you heard, but whatever you’re talking about you need to stop.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Why are you pushing?”

“Because I’ve done nothing but let you push me away, and it’s gotten us nowhere.”

“Who said there was anywhere for us to go?”

“I know that you’re afraid. Admittedly, I’m not the most confident when it comes to this…issue either. I haven’t…felt like this since,” His gaze falls to his feet and he takes a deep breath. “Whenever you’re ready to talk about this, I’m here.”

“Are you ready?” You look down at the ground too, bracing for his answer.

“Not in the slightest, but I could be,” He pauses again like he’s not sure if he should say what he wants to. His eyes flit up to you once more, “For you. I could be.”

You lift your head sharply upon his answer, eyes enlarged with shock, lips parted. His words reverberate somewhere deep within you, within your heart and you feel your guard soften ever so slightly. He meets your gaze with a look you've never seen before, it's soft and tender, his eyes a deep molten pool of something you're too afraid to name. The door opens suddenly and you take a step back, looking over at Blake.

“Hey, I couldn’t find that book,” Blake looks between the two of you. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” You plaster a smile on your face, blinking the tears in your eyes away. “I’ll see you both at work on Monday.” Holding up the book you start to walk towards your car, avoiding Hotch’s intense gaze as you crank up your car and drive away.

Blake and Hotch watch your car in silence until it rounds the corner. He sighs, wiping at his brow again with the towel. “Thank you.”

“What for?” She looks over at him, her face only slightly smug.

“Pretending to have a book so I could talk to them.”

“Least I could do since you’ve mowed my lawn. Come on, I’ll make us some sandwiches.” She gestures to the front door before opening it.

He follows, turning around for just a moment to glance at where you’ve disappeared. He’s done his part, and he hopes that when you’re ready, you’ll do yours.

tagged: @ssahotchsbitch, @shyhotch, @azenpal, @chelseyjoyce, @dadbodhotch11, @ssamorganhotchner, @choppa-style, @kuolonsyoja, @heliotropehotch, @averyhotchner, @zetasaturno99, @art-and-thoughts, @scuttling, @akira-155, @j-cat, @laurensprentiss, @ssa-montgomery, @thinking-bucky, @silvermercy, @freesiasandfics, @ashhotchner, @moonshine-evelyn, @emlynblack, @ssahotchnerxx, @sunshinexhotchner, @dindjarinneedsahug, @angelfxllcm, @ssahotchslover, @wheelsupkels, @multiverse-mxdness, @jaspxr, @gspenc, @sadgirlml, @hotchs-bitch, @lcvingprentjss, @crowfootwrites, @wilbur-rabbit, @hotched, @aaronhotchy, @mommyhotchner, @reidselle, @fightingdragonswithreid

You’re there with him and JJ as they walk through the plan, they’ll feed off of each other’s behavior in a good cop, bad cop kind of way. If you’re not mistaken you sense some reluctance in Hotch’s voice even though he’s the one who proposes the plan. But it’ll require him to raise his voice and you just can’t picture it.

Even 2 years in, there’s more for you to learn. Being the newest means teaching moments still come and this is one of them. While the rest of the team goes to search the woods for the victim that may still be alive, you're to stay and watch the interrogation, read the unsub’s behaviors, and run point with the police precinct if any other information comes in. This is how you end up, staring wide eyed through one way glass, your hands so tightly around the other that they go numb.

Your assignment forgotten, you watch him silently, grasping onto every word and movement. He’s strategic, slowly but surely building into this version of a man he could never truly be. He’s angry, viscerally almost violently so, his neck red and straining against the knot of his tie. He stands, sliding off his jacket, moving in closer to the unsub as he sneers at him with eyes dangerously dark and empty.

It’s a facade, one that he’s too good at and you wonder how much of it is true. How much of this anger bubbles inside him about all that he’s lost and endured? You know that he would never handle it this way, that he uses his work or exercise or doesn’t handle it at all. In this show he’s put on, you see him once again; deeper and darker.

The unsub finally cracks, giving JJ and Hotch the exact location of the victim who is in fact still alive. JJ dials a number on her phone, rushing out of the interrogation room as the words pour out of her mouth a mile a minute. Hotch follows shortly after, stopping to assess you as soon as he’s out the door.

“(Y/L/N)?

His voice snaps you out of the trance you’ve been in. You frown at the pain that’s begun to register in your hands from your grip. He moves closer to you, prompting you to take a step back. You can’t risk him reaching out again, or smelling the fresh, heady scent of his cologne. You can’t describe the feeling you get when his impassive mask fractures for just a moment.

He’s reading your reaction completely wrong.

While the glint of mixed emotions in his eyes is subtle, it's his eyebrows that aid in reading him. Surprise and denial, confusion, woundedness and then a sort of acceptance. It seems he feels all of this and pieces himself back together in no more than 2 seconds. If you weren’t so dedicated to seeing him you would’ve missed it. Anyone else would’ve missed.

Instead of responding you gather your bearings, and walk away, ignoring him when you hear him call after you. You make a beeline to the bathroom, locking the door behind you. Your hands meet the cool, white stone of the sink. You thought you had things under control, that you had turned your feelings for him into this tangible object and locked them up. But somehow he’s found the key and set them free, allowing them to take over you entirely. You were lucky to make it out of there without spilling your guts.

Turning on the tap you concentrate on the feeling of frigid water splashing onto your warmed skin. It’s like a shock, a switch and after a few moments of staring at yourself in the mirror you feel more balanced. When you step out of the bathroom you’re almost inclined to turn right around. Hotch is just down the hallway, on the phone with someone but clearly waiting for you. Hoping he’ll keep talking and let you by you start towards him, keeping your eyes on the ground.

“I’ll call you back, ma’am.” He murmurs just as you pass him. “ (Y/L/N).”

You stop in your tracks and glance over your shoulder at him. “Please, don’t.” With a head tilt and soft eyes, the complete opposite of what he just was, he nods. You don’t hear him following after you as you walk away.

The case is only an hour away from the BAU, allowing the team time to head back and start reports. The drive also gives you time to imagine what it would be like to give into your feelings. And to have them reciprocated. While your feelings for him are definitely there you find them jumbled, and a little terrifying. If you weren’t so hellbent on trying to deny and eventually erase them, you could talk to him about them.

It doesn’t take much for Hotch to understand a person, to assess their wants and needs. With the kind of man he’s shown you he is, you’re convinced that he would hold you in the way you would need. He could explain your feelings to you, rationalize them, validate them. You’ve surpassed looking at him as a boss or a leader or a man…you’re thinking about him as a partner.

“Are you stayin’ in here?” Morgan interrupts your hazy contemplation. He’s standing outside of the car, holding your door ajar. Hotch is a distance away but is definitely looking and you wish that you could be swallowed up by a hole.

“No, no, I’m good. Sorry.” You reach for your bag and jacket before scrambling out of your seat, brushing past Hotch without so much as a word.

All of you work diligently, nothing but writing fixtures at your desks. It takes you a lot longer than usual to finish your report, your eyes drift around always finding your way up to Hotch’s window. His blinds are open, so you’re treated to an array of sights: him staring down at his desk at report, the slight movement of his left arm as he writes, and even a smile when you catch him on the phone with who your heart hopes is just Jack or Jessica.

Completed report in hand, you knock on his door, obliging when you hear his voice float through the wood as an indicator to come in. You only get as close as you have to, dropping the file on his desk from a distance. “Finished this.” You avoid eye contact, turning on your heel to walk out of his office.

“Wait, (Y/L/N).”

Fuck.

You turn around slowly, keeping your expression impassive. “Sir?”

“About today,” He begins but you wave him off with a light chuckle.

“You played the part you needed to. It was impressive.”

“I saw your reaction, you were unsettled. I just want to emphasize that it was an act. That’s not who I am, no matter how well I play it.”

“I know, Hotch.” You breathe, hoping that’s the last of it.

He’s nothing if not persistent. “You’ve been avoiding.”

“I have not. I easily could’ve bribed Morgan or Reid to bring this up to you. I came myself, that’s the opposite of avoiding and you know that.”

“You’re pushing back against honest concern, again. You’re getting wordy and defensive. Clearly there’s an issue, and if it’s something that I’ve done-“

Your hands are on your face in frustration, rubbing at your temples. “God, it’s nothing that you’ve done. There’s nothing wrong. Just stop, alright?”

There’s a flash of something in his eyes before they harden. “Alright.”

You’ve hurt him, which has never been something you want. This is to protect both of you. Softening your features you take a cautious step towards his desk, resting your hand on the edge as you avert your gaze. “Don’t stay too late.”

He lets you sit like that for what feels like an eternity, wondering what he’s done to deserve the snide remarks and back and forth. Keeping the wall up with you is harder, he started to acknowledge that long before you did. It doesn’t occur to him that you’re possibly struggling with the same issue in your own way. He doesn’t see himself that way, and doesn’t expect you or anyone to.

He settles on, “I won’t.”

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Pope’s at your side, falling to his knees so you’re at the same level, “I’m here, I’m right here.”

When did you get on the ground?

You look at him, dazed, “What?”

“You screamed for me, I’m here,” He says gently, his eyes continuously scanning over your frame. “Let’s get them up, keep the knife in,” He starts to scoop you up, but then you gasp, your teeth digging into your bottom lip.

“Santi,” Your face twists as the pain lances through your body, your side throbbing and warmed with blood. You don’t want to look so you keep your eyes trained on him.

He shakes his head, running his hand over your sweaty brow slow and repeatedly, “Hey, you’re fine. You’re okay, do you hear me? Look at me. You’re fine.”

You are not fine. The knife that you’ve been stabbed with is filthy, covered in dirt and sweat, and bacteria. Keeping it in until you made it back to the house saved your life but allowed the infection to set in. It’s only a day later that you feel the discomfort in your side growing, regardless of how much pain medication you take.

They’re all at your beck and call but when Benny brings you more water and you tell him that something’s wrong he immediately disappears. You assume that he’s going to get the rest of the guys, but Pope enters the room alone and sits in the chair next to your bed.

“Benny said something’s wrong, talk to me,” He urges, but you’re still angry, turning your head away from him. “This isn’t the time to keep holding that grudge, tell me what’s wrong. Now.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms against your chest stubbornly. The move hurts, sending another wave of pain through you but you ignore it, and let out a frustrated breath, “I think it’s infected.”

He’s on the phone with the doctor in the same breath, his voice low and directive as he tells him that you need more than the painkillers, antibiotics to be specific.

“What else do you need?” He asks when he’s off the phone.

You’re facing him now, but you still won’t make eye contact. You aren’t showing it but your heartbeat is fluttering a bit quicker than before. He’s done the bare minimum of making sure you’ll have the medication you need and your body effectively swoons. But your brain doesn’t forget those words he said in the forest. Not yet at least.

“Will you look at it? It feels more damp than usual,” You ask tentatively, your fingers skimming the hem of your shirt.

His eyes follow your fingers, watching them closely before they meet yours again. His voice is breathy when he replies, “Sure.”

He raises your shirt just high enough to expose your bandages that are red and completely soiled. He works slowly as he undoes your bandages, but he hates what he sees. The skin there is incredibly warm, your wound angry and red, but what worries him most is the smell. It’s only faint, but it’s acidic and makes his nose wrinkle, “Jesus. I’ll be right back, don’t move.”

He’s up and out of the room before you can say anything, and returns shortly with all the supplies to clean and redress. He’s pleased to see you stayed in place and when his fingers touch your skin again you can’t help but sink into him.

“How bad?” You try to look down at it but his finger curls underneath your chin, raising it. The gesture makes you tremble and you pray that he assumes it's from your injury.

“You don’t worry about that. Do you feel a fever? Chills?”

“No. Not yet.”

He hums in response before tapping your hip, “Turn over a little more for me, I’ll redress your wound.”

“Pope, you don’t have to, someone else could do it. Frankie would be more than happy to.”

“I know I don’t have to. Turn over,” The tone of his voice gives you no room to argue and you do as he says. When he starts cleaning your grip tightly at the pillow, breathing deeply through the sting of the disinfectant. He figures that talking will distract you, “I’d be more than happy to do it too.”

“Thanks.”

“Phoenix, about what I said that day-“

“It’s alright. I get it.”

Another pause, this one shorter than the last, “I do care about you.”

“I thought caring about me was a liability?” You challenge.

He shakes his head and smiles to himself, not surprised by your will to bicker with him even though you're wounded, “It is.”

“Aren’t you trying to apologize?”

“I am apologizing. You don’t get it, I care…” He hesitates a moment, his voice shaky. “I care about you too much. It is a weakness. If I let myself think about it, I’d compromise an entire mission to keep you safe.”

He can’t believe he’s just said all of that. You can’t either if you’re being honest, though it’s what you’ve wanted from the start.

He finishes redressing the area as you mull his words around in your head. And once he’s done, he rests one hand on your hip, the other on your back, both of you deathly still. The room is thick with tension, so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. Instead, your ears swell with a cacophony of mingled breathing, your racing heart, and pumping blood.

You know what you want to say, but the words sit heavy in your mouth. You're afraid but he's here, finally telling you how he feels and this could be it. There's not much left hidden between you, and after begging him to be honest you might as well be completely honest. He already knows anyway.

“I love you too, you know. It doesn’t have to be scary. It could just be,” You turn your head to look at him, watching as his eyes widen and he grows incredibly still. The words sound foreign to both of you, and your confession makes something twist in his chest.

The two of you gaze at each other, both suspended in this moment for what feels like hours. It’s the closest you’ve ever felt to him, his eyes full of some tender fire that you’ve never seen before. All you can think is how you feel that fire blaze for him in your bones every day; it feels good to finally know he has it too. It catches you off guard even though he's been honest, and before you realize it you’re reaching for him, wincing at the action, but it doesn’t deter you. You smooth your hand over his cheek, your thumb trailing across his lower lip before he jerks away abruptly.

“Rest, cariño,” He softens the blow of breaking the moment by taking your hand and squeezing it tightly before leaving.

Now along with the pain in your side, there’s some combination of feelings swirling through your chest. You’re not entirely sure if that went well or not, or where the two of you stand.

It gets worse before it gets better. The air in your room becomes thick with the odor of infection, and the pain becomes unbearable. You cry a lot, this is something you’ve never encountered before. Any move makes you feel as if you’re crumbling, shattering from the inside out with discomfort. Your body feels like one big simmering ache, hot and unclean.

Frankie, Will, and Benny spend the days with you, trying to keep you cool and dry and comfortable. None of their efforts work.

Pope can’t bear to see you like this. When you’re awake he stays away, busying himself with operations and planning as the other guys stay by your side. Every once and a while he’ll stand outside your door, listening to the sound of your weak voice as you talk with them or your groans from the deep discomfort and irritation of the wound.

At night he comes to sit on the floor near the door while you sleep. You look so delicate and fragile, your face illuminated by the small amount of light reflecting off of the moon. You always like to have your curtains cracked to have the light come in. He's surprised that you can fall so deep into slumber; you don't know he’s coming to visit you.

It’s a few days later when Frankie finally pulls him to the side, his voice angry, “They’re asking for you.”

Pope frowns; he thought the pestering about whatever happened between you and him was over. He’d made it overwhelmingly clear that night when they’d all asked him questions that the subject was off-limits.

“I know,” Is all he says in return, before turning on his heel.

“Santi-”

“I said I know,” His voice is firmer, and he turns to face Frankie again. “Mind your fucking business.”

Frankie takes a step forward, his eyes hard as steel, “They’re all of our business. Being a coward and going at night isn’t enough. I know what you two mean to each other. They need you.”

“Don’t.”

The two men stare at each other, waiting for the other to crack. It's not completely unheard of, any of the guys being at odds with each other. They can all be a little hot-headed, and it doesn't help that they’re extremely protective of you.

Frankie backs away first, rolling his eyes, “Whatever, man. You wanna fucking lose them, that's on you. They’re not gonna wait on you forever.”

The next time Pope enters your room it's the cusp of dawn, the subtle golden glow peeking over the horizon starts to creep into your bedroom. This time he sits in the chair next to you, perusing a set of blueprints as he waits for you to wake up.

You wake quietly, feeling different than you have the last few days. Your skin is cooler, less heated from fighting off the infection, and the pain in your side is much fuller though it’s still there. You shift in bed carefully, blinking slowly and taking in your surroundings. Groggily, you realize one of the guys is still here, sitting in the chair with his head in some files. As you get a better look you recognize Pope’s boots, and his posture, the way his feet are positioned as if they’re always ready to move him to the next place.

Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you sit up a little, “Pope?”

He gives you a sympathetic smile as he sets the papers on the ground next to him, “Hey, how are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” You do feel better, your brain less cloudy, your body less achy.

“I heard you’ve been asking for me,” His voice is expectant.

Your face heats in embarrassment, but you nod as you watch your fingers twist in your lap, “Yeah, I have. You didn’t come back after I said what I said. And I wanted to apologize, there was no reason for me to spring that on you like that. Especially given our history, or maybe I should say our lack of history,” You pause to take a deep breath before continuing but he holds a hand up to stop you.

“You’re rambling,” He observes.

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m just nervous and embarrassed.”

“You’re cute when you’re rambling.”

You pause for several moments, blinking as you process what he’s just said, “I’m sorry, I’m…cute?”

“Did they get your ears too?” He teases, his mouth pulled into a smirk.

“Watch it,” You’re overzealous, leaning towards him to push on his shoulder. It sends a wave of pain through you and you wince, using your other hand to steady you as you lean back into the bed.

His face drops and he moves closer to you, planting himself on the bed as his hands reach for yours, “Take it easy. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, I’m okay. I feel better than I did yesterday, I think it’s taking a turn for the better,” You reassure him but he continues to look at you, eyes narrowed. “I’m okay, Santi, just…don’t run again okay?”

Guilt flashes through his eyes and he squeezes your hands, nodding in agreement, “Look…I’m sorry for not being better about this. It’s never ideal to develop what we have with someone you work with. It makes everything much more difficult, but I don’t have anywhere to run anymore. I can’t hide how I feel about you anymore, I have to face it. If you’ll still have me. Will you say it again?”

There’s no hesitation on your part, and you lean in, your lips hovering near his, “I love you, Santiago. I always have, I always will.”

He tips his head forward, closing the small fraction of space left between your lips. His mouth moves firmly against yours, and you can tell by the way his body tenses that he’s holding back. You anchor yourself to him, knotting your hand into his hair as you lick into his mouth desperately. He groans, deep and visceral, and his hand rests at the base of your throat and applies a slight amount of pressure as he pulls you even closer.

“I love you, too,” He murmurs, before laying you both down in bed and pulling you close.

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You’re gorgeous, he noticed from the moment he saw you. You’re always so put together, your hair in place, soft and dainty. That is until you open your mouth or someone takes a look into your eyes. You’re determined, well-spoken, and can be a little hot-headed when you feel you aren’t being heard. It’s never been directed towards him, you’ve never been anything but respectful and kind to him. It makes his skin warm and the crotch of his pants swell knowing how ruthless you can be.

It happens for the first time when you’re dropping off papers for him to sign. Similar to every other time you’ve entered his office, it feels like you’re stepping through a thick layer of tension when your feet cross the door’s threshold. Jonathan feels it too, he has from the day he saw you months ago, when the talks of a collaboration between departments started and you finally made it to one of those meetings. Whatever this energy between you two is, it’s been growing since then, each meeting supplying a charge.

He’s always sweet, asking you how you’ve been, if you’re enjoying the cold winter weather. You’re trying to get out of there as quickly as possible, knowing the thoughts you’ve had about him. Murmuring sufficiently polite answers, you hold out the folder to him to take. You let go of the folder too quickly and it falls to the ground, the papers inside fanning out across his office floor.

“I’m so clumsy, I’m sorry professor,” You murmur, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

Professor. He’s still not sure how he feels about that word coming out of your mouth. There's a part of him that he’s ashamed of. That part of him enjoys your hesitancy to call him anything else, and wants to hear you breathe it, whine it even.

Both of you drop to the ground, hands brushing as the two of you get the papers back in order into the folder. “It's alright, look how easily we got them back together.”

You get the folder in your hands again and both of you rise to your feet. Keeping a firm grip on it, you hold the folder out to him once more, “Hopefully second time’s the charm.”

He can't help himself when he goes for the folder again, putting both of his hands over yours before taking it out of them. Your breath hitches and his eyes meet yours. It feels like time stops with how long you hold each other’s gaze. He moves slowly, never moving his eyes from yours. He sets the folder on his desk behind him before threading his fingers through yours, his other hand finding its place on your hip.

“Professor…” You breathe, granting one of his wishes.

“Yes?” He leans forward, his nose coming to graze yours.

“Please.”

He doesn’t speak, just guides you backward until your back is flush with the wall. He’s gentle, his hand circling the base of your throat as his nose skims your temple. You smell sweet— almost ambrosial— and he inhales deeply to make sure he can describe the scent when he’s alone. So he can conjure it, along with the greed shining in your eyes in his mind while fisting himself in the shower.

“Are you sure?” His left hand rests on your cheek, the metal of his wedding ring cold against your warmed skin.

It’s his way of giving you a reminder. That this is more than a student getting involved with a professor. That this is a little more complicated because he’s married with a family. You remember that, all of it, and still you can’t resist.

“Yes. Please,” You finally look up at him, peering into his dark brown eyes.

He doesn't break eye contact as the hand that was on your cheek comes to slowly remove his glasses and tuck them in his back pocket. The act alone has you melting into a puddle, ready and willing to do anything for him. You can't precisely explain why the removal of his glasses is so hot, it just is. Maybe it’s the way you can see his face unobstructed, how the wire frames are no longer there to keep you from seeing all of him. He doesn't give you much time to think about it before he claims your lips with his.

Your mouth is so soft, and tastes of herbal tea. He licks into it tentatively, pressing further into you as both of his hands circle your wrists, keeping your arms at your side. You melt into him, kissing him back with just as much force but letting him lead. He can take you wherever, he can do anything he wants, and you don’t fight when he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth to bite down on it with his teeth. He’s gentle at first but increases the pressure and you moan, bucking forward against him, chasing any kind of friction. And when he draws blood, only the tiniest prick of it, he just pulls away, looks you in the eyes as he collects it with his tongue before kissing you again.

The soft warm scent of each other and shared taste of copper is like an omen. A forbidden ritual that’s bound to end poorly.

| > next

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Aaron’s been trying his best to be okay, he’s usually great at compartmentalizing but you can see the filing cabinet that is his mind about to burst and scatter. While it’s a huge accomplishment for Jack, you know it’s just a reminder that he’s going away. And with Jack’s departure to college, Aaron relinquishes some of his control.

When you make it out of your room, you peak into Jack’s to find him soundly sleeping. You continue down the hall to the living room stopping at the french doors that lead to the backyard. Since moving into the house, Aaron has this habit of sitting at the small pond in the backyard when he needs a moment. It doesn’t happen often, usually just around dates surrounding Haley or when there’s a particularly bad case. But you knew today you’d find him here.

You step out into the backyard, staying a healthy distance away from him as he sits on the small wooden dock. Studying him for a moment you watch his fingers thrum against the wood, bedhead dancing in the gentle breeze.

“I know what you’re thinking.” He says without turning around, picking up a rock and examining it.

“I thought you were a profiler not a mind reader.” You quip back, walking towards him.

He sighs before throwing the rock into the pond. “You’re thinking that he’s graduating and it shouldn’t be a big deal.”

“No, I’m thinking that he’s graduating and it is a big deal and that I’m terrified but happy for him.”

He looks up at you with an eyebrow quirked, completely unconvinced. “You’re terrified?”

You can’t help but laugh at his surprise as you take a seat next to him on the dock, grasping his hand.

“Of course I am, he’s our son and he’s leaving. But we’ve both had to do this and I think we turned out okay. You and Haley raised him right and I think I’ve done my fair share as well.”

“You have done your fair share. You raised him too.” He kisses your hand before tacking on, “And you’re good at concealing your panic.”

“That’s because I know your brain is going haywire and one of us has to be sensible.”

“I’m sorry, I should’ve asked you.”

“I’m not sorry. And I’m fine, really, it hurts but I know it’s different for you. He’s always been yours.”

Aaron hates when you minimize the impact you’ve had in Jack’s life. His mouth drops into a frown, before he rests his forehead against yours. “He’s as much yours as he is mine.”

“Mom, Dad, what’re you doing?”

You and Aaron lean away from each other, turning around to look at Jack who’s hair is sticking up in too many directions to count.

You bite away your smile before starting to stand. “Just talking. You hungry?”

“Duh.” He replies with a smirk on his face.

“Start the coffee, I’ll make us breakfast. Do you wanna have Tess over?”

“No, she’s with her girls, but we can pick her up for graduation right?”

“Absolutely.” Aaron agrees easily.

“Sweet, thanks dad.” Jack heads back inside, whistling some random tune that you can’t place. It always made you soft how happy and light Jack turned out given everything.

Aaron moves to rise to his feet but you put a hand on his shoulder to keep him down, shaking your head. “I’ll leave you out here to brood some more, I’ll call you in when breakfast is ready.”

He places another kiss on your hand, looking at you with lovestruck, molten eyes. “I love you.”

“And don’t forget it. I love you too.”

___

Aaron is about to walk out of the room after getting dressed when you notice that his tie is crooked.

“Aht, come here.”You reach for his arm and he allows you to pull him close so that you can fix his tie. “There, you’re perfect.”

He leans in to give you a few thank you kisses, eventually pulling away before he starts something he has no time to finish. “I need to make a few calls and then I’ll start the car. Will you go check on him?”

“Sure.” You follow Aaron out of the room, heading in the opposite direction to Jack’s room. “Jack? Can I come in?”

There’s some grunt that comes out of him so you take that as an invitation. When you step into Jack’s room he’s standing in front of his dresser, a picture frame you immediately recognize in his hands. It's a picture of him and Haley.

He turns to look at you, an apologetic smile on his face, eyes wet with tears. He looks so much like his father. “I miss her.”

You close the door behind you, and take a seat on his bed, patting the space next to you. “I know honey, I know, come here.”

Taking his place next to you, he rests his head on your shoulder. “I wish she was here.”

“I wish she was too,” And you mean it when you say it, “but she’s watching, I promise.”

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, and you just hold him, smoothing his hair as you rock him gently. He pulls away to look at you, taking a deep breath. “You know how you told me to talk to mom before prom last year?”

You nod, tilting your head at him in question.

“Well usually, dad does it with me, and we light a candle and talk to her. But I thought maybe you could do it with me this time. Just so I can tell her.”

“Of course.”

You get a candle and lighter out of your bedroom and shoot Aaron a text to give you a few minutes. You sit next to Jack and light the candle, watching him with wet eyes as he talks to Haley like she’s there. It’s bittersweet, and shows you just how grown up he is already from everything he’s endured. He mentions his university, and Tess and even you, and it takes everything in you to keep the tears in. His talk ends with some sniffles and I love you before he blows out the candle.

Your arms circle around him as soon as the flame is out. “I’m so proud of you Jack. And she is too.”

“Thanks, mom. I love you.”

“I love you so much, handsome boy. Are you ready or do you need a minute?”

“I’m ready.”

Though Jack is only talking about himself being ready at this moment, you can’t help but feel that his words are truer and deeper than he realizes. You’re ready now too, for this and for all the moments after, including being away from him.

___

When Jack walks across the stage and is handed his diploma, Aaron is the loudest you’ve ever heard him in the 9 years that you’ve been together, whooping and clapping like his life depends on it. You don’t know how you could love a person so much, watching him be so excited and supportive in a moment that you know has caused him so much anxiety. You yell just as loud, and when they call the next name Aaron pulls you into a hug before kissing you slow and deep.

“What was that for?” You look at the people around you who are trying hard not to pay attention, your face warm from the pda.

He murmurs, his lips brushing yours with each word. “I’m just really grateful I get to do this with you.”

You smile so wide it makes your cheeks hurt. “Me too, sweets.” You whisper before the two of you turn back towards the stage.

Tess’ name is called long after Jack’s and the two of you stand to your feet again, yelling and shouting just as loud as you did for Jack. Knowing that her family couldn’t make the time to be here for her breaks your heart and pisses you off, but you and Aaron are happy to be stand-ins for her.

You and Aaron meet Jack and Tess outside, scooping them both into tight hugs and showering them with flurries of kisses on the cheek. Jack can’t even bother to be embarrassed by the affection because his heart is so full. He’s with his mom and dad, can feel the presence of Haley, and he’s got his girl next to him. In his eyes things can’t get much better.

You snap some pictures of just Jack, Jack and Aaron, Jack and Tess, and then some of all three of them. You make sure to get some of just Aaron and Tess, noticing the twinkle in her eye when you ask. Switching positions with Aaron you get the same combination with yourself before he asks some random dad to take some pictures of all four of you.

“Can we go find some friends and then head to the diner?” Jack asks, his hand in Tess’.

“Of course, you two take your time. I’m proud of Jack, and I love you. The same goes for you Tess.” Aaron gives him one last hug, before planting a kiss on his forehead.

“Thanks dad, I love you too.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hotchner.”

“Aaron.” He corrects, reaching out to give her arm a comforting squeeze. All Jack can do is smile before he and Tess run off towards a sea of other graduates.

“How are you feeling?” You loop your arm through his.

Aaron lets himself think about it for a moment. There are a lot of feelings and thoughts swirling around in him but there's only a few words that can describe the feeling. “Full. And ready.”

“Funny, I was gonna say the same thing. Maybe I’m the mind reader.” You joke before pulling him into a kiss.

An hour later the four of you are at the diner with a buffet of greasy, delicious food spread across the table. Through the entire meal you continue to sneak pictures of everyone while conversation about you and Aaron’s graduations spill out of you both. While Aaron pays you invite Tess over for a movie night and Jack asks if you can build a fort. You say yes because it's become a tradition of sorts; big moments warrant forts. It makes things feel right.

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