Chapter Text
June 16th, 2007.
2:27 am
“This is a mistake.”
You should have seen it coming.
You saw it coming.
Nothing spoke louder than the rumble in your chest every time he walked pass your desk and asked if he could help with your report so you can have a free night.
When he offered his calloused hand to you to help you walk into the crime scene terrains, your skin ached with burning sensations to linger on his, and hours later you’d lay awake at home reaching out to your ceiling, trying to feel it again but all you feel is as if you’re trying to reach for the sun. It hurt, even from that far away.
It’s so hard to keep anything to yourself when you live amongst the most perceptive people on the planet, you’ve learned that the hard way since you joined the BAU, but you guess no one expected you to have feelings for Aaron Hotchner to profile you for it.
He loves his wife, you’re not stupid, are you?
You told yourself that as well, pretty sure you did. But still you found yourself looking up from your case files and look across the round conference table to where his voice is, more often than you needed to.
When you sat in his passenger seat, head on the glass window, you always found yourself stealing glances through the mirror and a part of you die a little bit every time pretending that note of cologne is yours to have.
He will never be, and you know one day you won’t be strong enough to accept the truth in your face.
And nothing will speak louder than a guilt of the inevitable.
“We shouldn’t,”
You remember the rhythm of the rain that night in the alley next to the police station, the smell of the city on concrete and ashes, the cold and damp wall you press your back against as you try to shelter away from the rain. The case was especially rough on you after you made the wrong call and failed to save a hostage. Her blood was still stained on your hands as you struggled to light your last cigarette, wrinkled from being stuffed in your back pocket. Even the lighter seemed to be fighting against you, chanting curses in your ears with every failed click:
You can’t save anyone right.
You can’t love anyone right.
You were too focused on the sounds in your head to know Aaron was approaching. He hasn’t got out of his bulletproof vest, but his hair and shirt inside were soaked wet. It was months later when you knew he ran out into the pouring rain to find you, so quick he forgot a coat or an umbrella.
Too much has been lost. He can’t lose more.
In your memories his voice was muffled. You can’t make out what he was trying to say, not like it was of any importance. But you do remember his hands on your cheeks, and you didn’t realise you were crying until he lifted your face up to face his and the tear's pooled over your eyes, blurring the blinding street lamp and blurring him.
It didn’t make help you love him any less. He would never know that it wasn’t the victim that died in your hands that made you broke down in his arms and whimpered hopeless “why’s” over and over again, it was because of him (or rather lack thereof)
“I know,”
You knew.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
It was just a late night, too late to call anyone who could help, and your car broke down. You were just about to crash in the lounge of the BAU when Aaron found you.
It was just a ride home, he’s always been nice to everyone and you reminded yourself to not think of it as anything special.
It was just a conversation. You two were colleagues, and in the BAU, that’s practically the same word as family. He told you things are just a bit tough at home, which is why he’s been a little too tense at work as well.
“We shouldn’t be doing this.”
Wow smartypants.
You’ve never thought of that.
It wasn’t like you could have said no when he said he could help you carry a box of files up to your apartment. It wasn’t like you caught him looking in the elevator and could have just looked away. It wasn’t like you could have pushed him away or acted any differently when he dropped the box to the floor at the door and crashed his lips to yours, when you back slammed against the door and you put a hand hovering over his cheek.
You imagined it would burn to touch.
It did.
He didn’t linger, pulled away the moment it came to sense in his head what was going on, but he was towering over you still, his forehead so close to yours you could have sworn they were touching.
“I’m sorry-”
He kept whispering, as if those words would make this any less wrong. As if it would make you want him any less. Perhaps he wanted you to push him away for good, and that’d be a sign for him to walk away.
But you didn’t.
You closed your eyes, pain in your chest space at the thought of watching him leave.
You felt his hands left your waist, slowly, anyone else and you would have believed they did it against their will.
He took a deep shaky breath and nudged his forehead against yours once more before he was no longer there. The warmth was gone.
“This won’t happen again- I’m sorry.”
You couldn’t remember how long you stayed there after he left.
You were staring at the elevator from which he left, having your back against your door, and then slowly sliding down until you were sitting on the ground and hugging your knees, weeping like a child in the dark hallway until the tears are tired of falling.
No one would come, no one would know.
No one had to know about tonight.
December 11, 2007
11:23pm
You didn’t come to work for a week since it happened, and no one asked anything. Aaron was smart enough to make it easy for you, to make sure the team knew you were just sick and needed time to rest after such a case.
But you can’t hide at home forever. You want this job. You want to go out there. You miss the thrill, you miss the feeling of saving people, knowing you’ve defeated a little bit of evil in this world.
And, as twisted as it is, you miss Aaron.
It’s just amazing how long you both have managed to hide it away and acted like normal co-workers. Months of briefings, dozens of flights and drives back and forth around the country, a handful of life threatening experiences and takeout dinners. The secret was rather simple.
You avoid him, and he avoids you, and you both rarely ever ends up in the same space for too long.
As long as no one ever talks about it again, it’s as good as never happened.
And for a while you’ve got it off your chest. People all make mistakes, right? You were vulnerable, he perhaps was as well, and a kiss meant nothing if it didn’t happen. It was just a mistake. A dream.
“Anyone up for a beer today?” Morgan throws his leather jacket over his shoulder and pushed his chair into his desk. Having just returned from the Wilkinson case, the team mostly too wasted to work, but not tired enough to waste a good night.
“How about 5? I sure am.” Emily tapped on your table and bring your attention up to her, raising her eyebrow once to ask if you were coming along.
“Send me the address, I’ll catch up when I’m done."
“Princess if you’re trying to use that as an excuse to not go again-” Morgan came around your desk and put his hands on your shoulders, squeezing once and swaying you back and forth. “It won’t work this time, huh? You’re pushing yourself.”
“I promise. I promise I’ll be there, I promiseeeee,” You’ve just recently received some extra job responsibilities after the annual evaluation, and is just trying to balance things out, and that means a fair amount of going through files.
“Okay busy-bee, you better,”
The office goes peacefully quiet after they left. You sighed and put your face in your hands, even Reid is going out to party and you just flood yourself with work to avoid thinking about a stupid kiss. What are you, a lovestruck teenage girl?
Okay, truth is, you really didn’t want to go. You find yourself getting tipsy way too easy to hangout with them heavy drinkers, and JJ and Garcia always seem to be ready to get secrets out of you. Last time they found your senior yearbook photo. This time, you have too much hiding to risk it.
“Agent Hotchner,”
You heard Anderson’s voice from across the room. It wasn’t because you had a keen ear or something, it was just a certain someone’s name you still haven’t quite manage to stop feeling things for. He was at the door with Aaron, handing him a parcel and Aaron scribbled on the delivery sheet.
“Thank you.” He looked at the parcel on his hand, he frowns so much all the time that you’ve started to think that’s his neutral reaction. You can’t help but realise he’s a bit… disturbed? Confused? It’s a profilers force of habit you think, to get lost trying to understand everything.
“Staying so late?” So lost you didn’t notice he was looking back at you, caught you staring.
“Said you.” You only managed to give him a friendly smile. “What’d you got there?”
He looked down back at the parcel, and though you can’t quite see clearly, let out a breath before he spoke across the empty bullpen.
“Haley.. Haley’s filed for divorce. We’ve separated since.. June.”
Aaron Hotchner knows very much that what happened that night months ago was real. He’s replayed it times and times over again in his head. Was he perhaps frustrated as the previous case ended on a bad note? Was he frustrated that Strauss was still standing in his way leading the team? Was he frustrated at himself about what happened back home? He lost his cool, and for a moment he just wanted you. You’ve always brought a certain sense of peace to him- someone in the profession who shoulders the same burdens, someone kind and caring, someone undoubtedly a pleasure to be around. He just isn’t sure of his emotions anymore.
When Haley left he felt empty.
That should describe it.
More or less he knew the day would come, since his suspension, since those days he would be at home but almost constantly riled up and tense, since those arguments that have started.. well, for forever, since he no longer feel the dread of missing his wife when he leave in the middle of the night but rather a sense of calmness at his office. It can’t be help that he doesn’t love Haley anymore- well, not like the way he knew, at least. The glue holding the family together was Jack, his motivation was Jack, his reason was Jack, but now Haley’s took him away and he can’t do anything but accept.
Alright. Pen down. Maybe this is better for all of them.
December 22, 2007
10:01 pm
You can’t remember the last time you got a whole weekend off. Morgan is off to some bar, Reid’s back visiting his mother, and everyone seemed to have plans to savour these precious days, but there you were, curled up on your couch on a Saturday night. The TV was playing some sort of reality show, it’s not like you paid it any attention. You poured yourself another bit of scotch, window open and cigarette lit, and your mind isn’t quite yours.
You haven’t stopped thinking about Aaron since the last time you talked.
What’s the big deal anyway? What if he’s divorced? It’s not like it’s any of your business- it’s not like it’s your fault, is it? It’s not like that will change anything or give you a chance.
It was never meant to be.
The alcohol should have gotten to you by that point, because your front door was banging and you didn’t seem to notice it the first time. God curse whoever is at the door at this ungodly time. You can’t even get drunk and sad alone anymore.
“Coming-!” You dragged yourself up, and the dizziness hit you like a hammer in the head, making you stumble your way through the living room as you yelped. “You know- it’s just a door- hitting it harde-”
“I tried to call. You didn’t pick up. 6 times.”
Aaron Fucking Hotchner was at your door.
Thanks, universe.
“Is it a case- ? I- have my bag-”
“No.”
It happened quicker than a second. His hands cupped your face in an instant and he walked you backwards into the room, muffling you with his open-mouthed kiss. He guided your face to a side and you complied, letting him pry your mouth open and suck on your lips, over and over again until you felt a sharp pain in your chest devoid of air.
“Tell me to stop.” He breathed into your lips as he held your face still, his forehead leans down against yours as he pushes you up against the cupboard at your apartment entrance, a sort of pleading tone you’ve never even imagined coming out of him. “Tell me-”
“Is it still a mistake if it happens twice?”
“I’m sorry.” There was a long silence and his mind was a blank state. He found himself in his car, needing to just go for a breather away from the empty house. He found himself mindlessly driving this way. He found himself in front of your apartment before he knew it, and now this. He wasn’t really thinking. For a man that understands others, he sure can’t seem to read himself.
“Are you going to leave now? Again?”
“If you want me to, I can-”
You closed your eyes and reached your hands up to put on his cheeks, pushing yourself forward and planted a kiss on him again, long and slow. If this is what it came down to be, so be it. Who do you want to fool? You desired him, for months, agonising over accidental touches and stares lasting longer than they should.
Now he’s in front of you.
“What if I want you to stay?”
December 23, 2007
8:34 am
Hangover is a bitch.
His hands eased at your cheeks and slid down to hold you by the waist, pulling you flat against him as his lips devoured you down to his pleasure, to yours.
And that also happened. Your head was in a frenzy. Like if there was music playing inside, but music of a bad teenage metal band.
He led you to stumble your way through your own house, careful enough to not let you stub against any of the sharp edges. He spent his time dipping the water, laying gentle kisses down your jaw and underneath, as if he was afraid he’d be a little too rough and you will disappear.
You looked around. The side next to yours on the bed is empty, the pillow is placed neatly in its place. You reach your arm over. It is still warm.
He took you to bed, each of your moans and the way you lifted your arms to wrap around his neck was a confirmation for him to kiss a little longer, intruding his tongues and clash with yours, sloppy and messy.
Your clothes from last night was carefully folded and placed on the nightstand, besides a cup of water, a bag of medicine and a note,
You allowed yourself to surrender, bending to his will, letting his hands slid down your thighs and tucked at the hem of your nightgown, letting it be pulled off above your head. His lips never left you, letting your swollen lips rest he would go for the thin skin of your neck, and downwards between your collarbone, drawing a straight line on your naked skin. No words were exchanged, this is an illusion you’ve both been building for yourselves in this little sacred place, a little sanctuary of pleasure so fragile that a word of reality might shatter it all.
“Drink water. Breakfast is outside. Drink the vitamin B for your hangover. Take 2 Aspirin after food if you need something stronger.
-A.”
There was also a box of Plan B, much very kind of him.
He had you bare in your own sheets, intoxicated by his forbidden touches, your hands finding their ways to strip his jacket off and tossed his shirt aside, giving your nails later the freedom of digging into his back when he took you for his pleasure. It was long, cautious, it was pent up desire, at times he would grip or thrust a little too rough, frustrated perhaps, and then muttered into your skin a lullabies of “sorry”s, slowly rubbing circles around the area of skin that he might have bruised.
You lifted yourself up by the elbow and sat up on the edge of the bed, holding your head to not fall face down. Your skin was littered with love marks, bruises near the hips, and you can’t seem to really shook off his scent on you, in your room, on the pillow next to you. It’s fleeting. Too little to have happened but too much to be just a dream. Putting on the nightgown again and dragging yourself out to the living room, you are met with a sandwich and a bowl of neatly cut fruit, some that came from your fridge and some definitely just bought this morning. No sign of him, you still wonder if that was for the better or worse.
December 28, 2007
1:22 am
Things hasn’t really changed. You spent a day to fix yourself up before arriving at work on Monday, and cases after cases of abduction, murders, tortures and talking to victims and filling in report forms and bureaucracy and much much bloodshed and organs and everything gruesome successfully left you no time to think about the complications between you and Aaron.
But certain things definitely aren’t the same anymore. In moments where you find your mind wandering, force of habit leads you to glance across the room to find Aaron, and you’re sure you saw him looking at you as well on occasions. He stopped assigning you two in groups anymore, always having a perfectly sound reason with it to save you both from any suspicion. It always help that killers seem to be much more motivated at the end of the year, you find yourself spending more time on the jet and in motels than at home.
Today is one of those days.
You struggled through the key and dropped your go-to bag on the ground, only now when your back hits the uncomfortably stiff mattress of the motel did you realize you have been tense all day. Things have only got worse since the morning when you have just landed and almost had to get hospitalized when the suspect you were interviewing just got a little too.. angry. You insisted you were fine, and after the medic confirmed it wasn’t anything serious, you head out almost instantly, straining and stretching yourself thin interviewing witnesses, reading files over and over again, and most annoyingly, trying to do your job around this one young sheriff who just can’t stop being an annoying asshole hitting on you. You skipped a meal? Or two? Replacing food with a fair amount of crackers and shitty coffee, chucked some pills for your stomach ache at the middle of the day and has not had an appetite since. Must be really nice being a federal agent.
You came to the door after your shower in just an oversized tee, drying your hair carefully with a towel. It feels almost like Deja Vu how recently all the times you’ve open doors you’d see Aaron Hotchner.
“Have you eaten?” He hasn’t moved from his post, lifting a bag he got on one hand that seemed to be some sort of takeouts and eyed you up and down, stopping just before it goes lower than your shirt.
“I’m not really hungry-” You fought to avoid his eye contact, blocking him at the door but your stomach betrayed you and told him otherwise.
“I’m sure you’re not. But it’s wonton soup.”
You’ve always felt like he had a power to open up anyone and read them like a book, and sometimes you find yourself being a children’s comic book in front of him. You surrendered, stepping away from the door to let him in and ended up eating from the plastic bowl on the single-sized bed, him almost sitting on the edge and changing the bandage on your head since the morning.
“I can do that mysel- Hey ouch-!”
“Quiet.” He pressed the disinfectant-soaked cotton once more lightly on the abrasion on your temple, and then clean around it, paying no attention to your nagging.
You sat still and quietly ate, the soup was still warm so he must have just got it when everyone was settling in their rooms. He was done before you finished half, bandaged it up neat and careful before letting go of your hair and put all those medicine-cy stuffs back in a bag.
He didn’t have his wedding ring.
They were right, it’s hard to stop being a profiler once you become one. You can’t help but notice the tan line on his ring finger, the absent of the golden jewellery you’ve noticed a few times before.
He still had it the night before.
“There’s also aspirin in the bag but I don’t think you should take too much of thos-” He didn’t seem to notice you were staring, still going through the bag and pulled out some boxed with instructions stuck on them.
“Hotch.”
“Hm?”
“Can you stop doing that?”
Your question seemed to have caught him off guard. For a moment he didn’t understand what he did wrong, but it was more like he didn’t understand what he.. didn’t do wrong. He tried to keep his distance from you, he swore he did, he has only stepped half a step out of his mess of a marriage and already ended up on you, breaking through all sorts of socially acceptable steps and working place policies.
“Stop doing..?”
“Can you stop acting like you care?” There was a hint of annoyance in your tone. It’s been a long and tiring day, and it has been long and tiring days of you trying to figure out what was going on. A moment he was all over you like some kind of believers finding true religion, a moment later he made you feel disgustingly guilty and just wrong, a moment later he was your boss, and a moment later he was tending to your wounds with all the gentleness in the world like it hurt him as well. “It’s late, you can.. le-”
“I’ve never acted in front of you.” He lifted his hand towards your face and let his fingers brush over your cheeks so ever softly, treading thinly, asking for permissions.
He leaned in and sooted to sit closer, his palm embraced your cheek and his thumb rubbing slowly under your eyes, up your eyebrows, down your nose, and your lips, slow and steady.
“Do you really want me to leave?”