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Chapter Text

The piercing tone of his cell phone rings through the pin-drop silence of his home. The noise has Hotch waking up from his one-off occurrence of finally making it to bed at a decent hour. 

It’s loud, urgent, and all too irritating as it incessantly continues to ring. He’s thankful that Jack is visiting cousins on his mother’s side. 

As Hotch rolls over onto his side, he takes note of the open curtains. Judging by the lack of light in his bedroom, it could only have been a couple of hours since his head first hit the pillows. A quick peek upwards to his nightstand, some red numbers on his alarm clock confirm that it is indeed only a few minutes past midnight. 

His cell phone is still ringing, rattling against the wooden tabletop as it vibrates.

Barely managing to stifle a groan, he flails an arm to reach for his phone. Without bothering to check the caller ID, he blindly slides the accept button on the screen. Pulling the phone up to his ear.

“Hotchner.” he grumbles out, his free hand coming up to rub at the bridge of his nose.

“Hey, Hotch.” Reid greets, his voice shaky.

Immediately, Hotch shoots up. The sheets pool around his waist as he sits up against the headboard.

Something is off about Reid. His breath comes out in short, shallow exhales. His voice wavered when he answered the phone. Although he tries to hide it, he keeps sniffling. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Can you—” Reid cuts himself short, taking his time to draw in another unsteady breath, “Can you come pick me up?”

“Of course.”

In his hurry to leave, he forgoes dressing in anything other than his sleeping clothes, slippers, and a last-minute-acquired coat.

A distant part of him regrets his hasty retreat when his feet get soaked in a puddle of water right outside his car door. Yet, that regret is overshadowed by relief, knowing that the time he saved getting ready will get him to Reid sooner.

As Hotch nears the address Reid texted him, he was a little shocked, to say the least.

It’s a busy street. Multiple bars and clubs opened up for business in one area. Flashy lights reflect in the puddles of rainwater left from earlier in the day. People wander in and out of each establishment, moving on to the next. Music plays from every direction. 

This is exactly the type of place that would have Reid up a wall.

Pulling over to the side of the road, right across from a bar, Hotch reaches for his phone to call Reid. Only for his movements to be halted when he finds himself staring at a familiar mop of hair, sitting on the edge of the sidewalk, only a few steps ahead of his car. 

Head in his hands. Whole body is drawn up in a way to take up as little space as possible. Rigid and tense in all the worst ways possible. 

Hotch wastes no time pushing open his car door. As soon as his already damp slippers hit the pavement, he makes quick work of approaching Reid. Trying his best to ignore the ever present squelch of his footwear. 

Between the first bit of gravel that bites at the sole of his foot to the second squelch , Hotch finally notices. Notices his surroundings that is.

This bar was different from anything else on the block. No, it had dozens of rainbow flags strewn across the front. It had a number of same-sex couples on the edge of public indeceney. Hell, even the name of the bar was more provocative, in comparison to the tame ‘Lola’s’ it neighboured near —

It was a gay bar.

Dr. Spencer Reid was at a gay bar. 

The same Spencer Reid who, whether he liked it or not, had a pantheon of potential female lovers, ranging from prostitutes they had to interview to a celebrity they were assigned to protect to a bartender he managed to save. 

The same Spencer Reid that Hotch incorrectly assumed had been heterosexual for their entire working relationship. 

Whatever questions make their way into his head are pushed down. There’s isn’t time to formulate them into coherent phrases because before he knows it, Hotch is standing in front of Reid, who still has his head in the safety of his own palms.

“Reid.” he calls out, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

No reply comes his way. Nor a confirmation that the other man had even heard him.

Hotch sighs. Instead, he crouches down to Reid’s level, in an attempt to get his attention.

This close to him, he can hear every last sound the pounding bar music was masking. 

Whimpering. Crying.

“Reid.” he tries once again. This time more gentle, more aware. 

This time Reid seems to hear him. 

He stills. His shoulders stop shaking for a brief moment. His hands reluctantly pull away from his face. Coming to rest atop of his knees, flexing into little fists before he forces himself to relax them open. 

Reid takes a moment. Almost as if to brace himself for what is to come next.

But as he raises his face, and Hotch’s mouth falls open, he should’ve been the one bracing himself.

Pale skin is mottled with bruises, smeared and stained with blood. Swollen lip. A dark bruise high up on his cheekbone. Shallow cuts from what Hotc suspects to be a ring.

Everything all the more painful when his eyes catch the remnants of tear tracks on Reid’s face. 

Now, it’s Hotch’s turn to tighten his fists. A million different feelings course through him. Anger. Confusion. Shock. 

He pulls his hands out of his pocket, moving one to cup Reid’s jaw, wary of his injuries. His skin is cold to touch, especially against Hotch’s own. A clear sign that he’s been out here too long.

Welcoming the feel of the hand against his face, Reid pushes closer to it. Even going as far as bringing his own hand to cradle the back of Hotch’s. He shuts his eyes hard, more tears making their escape. 

Hotch wipes them away with his thumb as they try to make their desperate descent. His thumb presses in a little too hard unfortunately, right into the fresh bruise of his cheek. Reid’s face contorts with pain instantaneously. A sob, one that Hotch is sure has more to do with his turmoil rather than the hurt, rips out of his lungs and is sent straight to Hotch’s own chest.

Immediately, he lets up and trails his hand to the back of Reid’s head instead. Reid’s own hand falling away. He pushes the man into the crook of his neck. One hand holds Reid against the skin of his throat as he lets out cry after cry. The other hand rubs soothingly down Reid’s back.

Nimble fingers crawl up to Hotch’s shoulders to clutch and to claw at his jacket. Unkempt nails digging deep.

They stay like that for a while. Soft sounds of Reid crying, Hotch’s even softer affirmations. 

Eventually, though, Reid’s sobbing tapers off, his breathing much less frantic. Only reduced to irregular intakes of oxygen and almost silent sniffles.

Hotch’s hold does not loosen, however, not until Reid tells him to.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” Reid whispers, his mouth open against Hotch’s throat.

“Of course.” and after a second, “Anytime.”

Back at Hotch’s home, he manages to wrangle Reid into one of his old FBI shirts and a pair of too big sweatpants, while everything else is thrown into the wash. 

Reid’s own clothes were a bit trashed; remnants of a spilled beer, some gravel and dirt, and tinge of blood around the neck of the shirt.

When Reid emerges from his bedroom dressed in cleaner clothes, he guides them into the hallway bathroom. Seating Reid on the closed toilet seat as he finds the first aid kit from underneath the sink.

As he rifles through his cabinet, he sneaks a glance at Reid.

The shirt engulfs him. The neck of the shirt almost hangs off a shoulder. The sleeves are especially loose around his wrists. 

Reid was skinny. Hotch knew that. Anyone in a fifty mile radius knew that. 

Usually though, he had his numerous layers of clothing to hide his actual frame. In Hotch’s clothes, he looked even skinnier.

It makes a sort of protectiveness flare up in him. Most definitely influenced by the marks on his face. It has Hotch wanting to wrap Reid up into a blanket and store him somewhere safe. Lest the world try and hurt him once more.

He cannot do that, though. For now, he’ll settle for making him hurt just a little less now. 

Setting the kit down onto the granite counter, he flips it open to find the antiseptic and some cotton pads.

Hotch maneuvers himself into the V of Reid’s legs. He uses his free hand to tilt Reid’s face up to the bathroom lights. Pouring some of the antiseptic onto the pad, he wipes down against the tiny laceration just below his cheekbone. 

Reid lets out a whimper, his eyes scrunching shut against the irritation. 

It makes Hotch’s chest ache. 

He tries his best to make quick work of cleaning is scrapes, but it still doesn’t stop Reid from flinching and wincing at the contact. 

Soon, however, he’s tossing the used cotton pads into the wastebasket. He shuts the kid closed and shoves it back underneath the sink. 

Hotch finds himself staring at Reid’s face. It’s a little mean of him, especially when he knows how much Reid would despise the attention. He just can’t help himself. 

Hotch has seen Reid get hurt, far too much for his liking, in fact.

But, never off the field and never doing something so mundane and normal like going to a bar. 

He never lets up on the staring, unable to take his eyes away as he ponders away. Meanwhile, Reid squirms under the intensity of his looks, wringing his hands in his lap. Unable to stay still for even a millisecond. He avoids looking into Hotch’s direction at all costs, only focusing on his evermoving hands.

“Aren’t you going to ask?”

“Do you want me to?”

Another silence befalls upon them. A rarity where Reid is involved. Yet, all too unwelcome as of now. The only sound Hotch can hear is the ticking of the clock outside the bathroom. Barely permeating through the wood of the door.

“I—uhm,” Reid starts, struggling to clear his throat for a moment, “I was already different as a kid. Obviously. So, getting picked on, getting bullied, it was always something I just had to deal with.

“There were just parts of myself that people didn’t like and that I couldn’t change.”

Absentmindedly, his index finger comes up to scratch underneath his jaw.

“One day I was sitting in the mandatory Sex Education class, right behind Thomas Montgomery. He was the new kid that year. Not too many people liked him. I didn’t know why until Mrs. Dawson started talking about sexuality, about being gay. Everyone laughed and snickered and pointed at me. I was used to it, I didn’t pay it any mind.”

His palm comes up to encompass his other wrist as he lets out mirthless chuckle, unlike anything Hotch has ever heard from the man.

“Then, I realized, it wasn’t me they were looking at. It was Thomas. He, uh, he had a bright rainbow pin on his backpack.

“People started treating him the way they were treating me. Except it kept getting worse for him. They got some guy to ask him out to junior prom, then the guy took him out to an alley. Saying he wanted a quickie or something, before he and his friends beat him half to death. His white shirt was stained red, front to back.”

Hotch’s stomach recoils at the imagery. He knows how much force would be needed to get that result.

“His parents packed up all their things and left Vegas after that.” he finishes, “That’s when I know that I couldn’t be… I was already too different.”

“Reid…”

“I couldn’t change the other parts of myself but, this, being attracted to men, I could change that.”

Lacking the right words to utter in the moment, Hotch simply stares at Reid.

For all of his eccentricities, for all his quirks and strange behaviours, Reid was never ashamed of himself.

Afraid to be himself.

The same feeling from earlier surges through him, wanting to shield Reid away from a world that only wanted to make him suffer. 

“I’m sorry.” he offers in the end, lamely.

“I repressed it all for years. For a while, I even convinced myself I could be… like everyone else.” Reid mumbles.

Hotch wades in a little closer.

“What changed?” he inquires, hopefully not sounding too much like an interrogator.

“There’s this guy and I didn’t know how to get over him, so I asked Morgan.” as he explains, he starts to sound more and more like himself, the lilt of his voice coming back up, “He said the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

Hotch huffs out a quiet laugh that Reid joins in on, “He told you to have a one night stand.”

“Yeah.” Reid says, and Hotch can hear how the hint of levity from before is draining away, “So, I went to the bar and this guy started to flirt with me.

“That should’ve been the first sign something was wrong.”

Reid sounds so small at that moment. All of his years of living and experience dwindling down as he reverts back to that scared child he seems doomed to keep coming back to. He sounds as if he couldn’t comprehend the idea of someone seeing the good in him, wanting it, wanting him.

“Spencer—” he attempts to argue, only to be waved off by Reid.

“No, it’s fine.” he replies, and then he does something Hotch has never seen him do. He furrows his brows in concentration on the next few details, as if to try and remember something, “He took me out behind the bar and I thought we were gonna…”

His face heats up, flushing red as he trails off.

“And then he just… swung at me.” he says, “He only got my face before someone saw him. Then, he bolted.”

Hotch kneels down in front of Reid. 

“Will you be alright?” he asks, “I can call in sick for you tomorrow morning.”

Swallowing, Reid shakes his head. 

“No.” he answers, darting his eyes down to the ground, “I can do my job. I’m not that weak.”

Hotch cradles the underside of Reid’s throat in his hand. Feeling the swell of his Adam’s apple, he forces Reid to look at him.

“Hey,” Hotch admonishes softly, tilting his head to chase eye contact that Reid is hesitant to give, “No one is calling you weak. I just want you to be able process this, okay?”

“The sooner I get back to normal, Hotch, the sooner I can put all of this behind me.”

Disagreeing with the younger man, yet not wanting to start a quarrel, Hotch slowly nods. He drags his hand away from Reid’s neck. Not too far, as Reid grabs it within his own and settles it against his knee. 

“And Hotch?” he murmurs.

He hums in acknowledgement, too busy staring at the way their hands slot together.

“Please don’t tell anyone.” he croaks out.

“I won’t.”

Chapter Text

In the morning, Reid is still there. His clothes from last night are washed and dry but entirely inappropriate for work. There’s not enough time for them to make a stop by his apartment, so Hotch silently hands over a dress shirt, a tie, and some pants that’ll fit with the right belt.

The morning goes by uneventfully. Much to the relief of both men, they make it to the office without delving into any more heavy conversations.

Once they’ve stepped foot into the elevator, Hotch looks down at Reid, who’s muttering under his breath as he fumbles with his tie. His hands overlap and overcross only to end up with a jumbled knot in the end.

He reaches out to pull the tie from Reid’s grip and takes a step closer to him. 

As he swarms Reid’s personal space, he swears he can hear his breath hitch momentarily. His eyes flit across the tiny space as Hotch goes through the routine ministrations. 

Hotch’s fingers are meticulous as he carefully knots the tie in place, tightening it so it’s comfortably flush against the collar of his shirt. 

“Thanks.” Reid mutters, the tips of his ears burning red.

“You’re welcome.”

He savours the closeness for a bit. Staying where he is.

Hotch has no shame in staring down at Reid, not blinking once. Meanwhile, Reid seems determined to memorize the very last detail of his chest. 

Behind them, the elevator dings as it reaches the next level, causing Reid to jump, much to Hotch’s amusement. 

His chuckle fades as he makes his way back to his place at Reid’s side.

The doors slide open and JJ strolls into the cab. She’s busy double checking some reports, her eyes never leaving the pages.

“JJ.” Hotch greets politely with a nod.

It brings her out of her work induced haze enough to realize who’s in the elevator with her. Her face lights up, smiling from one corner to the other.

“Oh, hey, Hotch.” and she turns to Reid, “Hey Spence—”

Her words are cut off as she finally takes in the sight of Reid’s face. In the bright, fluorescent lights of the elevator, all of his bruises and cuts were on display. As if they were an art piece.

JJ’s heels click as she soon occupies the space that Hotch had mere seconds ago.

“Oh my God, Spence,” she exclaims, “What happened?”

Her free hand grips onto his chin, moving him to get a better look at the state of his face. 

From the corner of his eye, Reid can see Hotch staring at him, waiting for whatever excuse he was going to make.

Except one never comes.

“Spencer?” JJ asks, after a moment of silence, “What happened?”

This time, Hotch answers for him.

“He got mugged last night.”

JJ peels her aways from Reid to look at Hotch only to return back to Reid. Her face skewed up in maternal concern she’s been showing more of since Henry was born. 

“Are you alright? Did they take anything? Did you go to the police?” she pesters worryingly, lovingly, “Why didn’t you call anyone?”

“I did,” Reid manages to disclose, “I did call someone.”

“Who?”

He tilts his head to look up at Hotch, and Hotch doesn’t know what he’s searching for. But, when Hotch settles a hand between his shoulder blades, he seems to find it.

“I called Hotch.”

Whenever lunch would roll around, Reid would always find himself wandering into Hotch’s office. Sometimes, Hotch would pack two lunches the night before, knowing Reid would stuff his body frightening amounts of junk food, regardless of whatever statistic he had rattling around in his head. Other times, when Hotch was feeling a little lazy, the two of them would find themselves in a restaurant. 

Either way, they’d sit across from one another. Talking about anything and everything. The occasional lull in conversation would lead Hotch to look up to find Reid staring at him, which in turn would cause a blush to manifest across his face.

Today, Reid had broken their little routine. He rejected Hotch’s offer and instead, settled into his desk, ready to work through his whole lunch.

Reid has already asked too much of Hotch,

Although, it would’ve been nice to be granted the privacy of Hotch’s office. At least that way, no one would try and stare at him.

All day, Reid had tried his best to hide his face. When the others arrived for work, he was already hunched over his desk. One hand covering his bruised cheek, while he stared down his work, greeting everyone without lifting his face to the light. 

Though there was no point in hiding it, as JJ had subtly told the others what had happened. 

They’re not particularly quiet in their concern, especially considering JJ had an office with thin walls and her door was left partially open. 

The others’ reactions were similar to JJ’s own. Questions rooted in worry for the B.A.U’s youngest team member. Placated easily enough, though, when JJ tells them that he called Hotch to pick him up. 

Still, he hides his face, not wanting their pity rooted in a falsehood.

Unwilling to dwell on his dilemma anymore, he winds down to get onto his consults. 

His pen is scribbling away when a cellophane wrapped sandwich is dropped onto the corner of his page.

He stops his writing to look up, finding Hotch smiling in the almost sheepish manner only an Alpha male could get away with.

“We were running a little late in the morning.” he explains. 

And before Reid can even muster up a thank you, he walks back into his office. 

Setting his pen down, he picks up the sandwich. Toying with the little excess of plastic on the edge. 

He grins at the gesture a tad too long. 

As soon as lunch is over, JJ calls everyone down to the round table.

Keeping his head down, Reid tries to avoid any unwanted attention.

It’s all in vain, however, because as soon as he steps foot into the room, the space goes quiet. He can feel everyone’s stares. All of his unconscious bodily functions suddenly require the utmost concentration. Breaths feel laborious and blinking is out of the question. 

He sinks down into his seat by Hotch, using his presence as an anchor of sorts. 

The awkward silence is cut through as JJ heads up to the front of the room. Remote control in hand as an image of a nuclear family type is displayed behind her head.

“These,” JJ gestures to the photograph of the family with the end of the remote, “Are the Kent’s. Ashley Kent, 39, mother. Thomas Kent, 45, father. Sarah Kent, 9, daughter. Matthew Kent, 15, son.”

Clicking past the family photo, JJ shows the team all the crime scene photos. A middle class house. Everything relatively neat except for the messy, undone beds and blood stains the parent’s bedroom. 

“They went missing three days ago from their home in Stillwater, Oklahoma. They were supposed to be hosting a dinner party when they’re extended family came to find their house empty and blood on the carpet of the master bedroom.”

“Crossing his leg over his knee, Morgan leans back in his chair. Playing with the pencil in his hand as he studies the photos.

“Kidnapping? Maybe the family had some debts they needed to pay off?”

“That’s what local PD thought too, until they were contacted by another county.” JJ sighs before flipping through the slides again to find a picture of another family, with an akin resemblance to the Kent’s.

“The Wilson’s.” she introduces, as pictures of each individual family member came up, “Lana Wilson, 45, mother. John Wilson, 50, father. Eleanor Wilson, 10, daughter.”

As JJ presses down on a button, a photograph of the last member of the Wilson family appears.

“And lastly, Alex Wilson, 16, son.”

His photograph was taken post-mortem, right at the crime scene, on the edges of what appeared to be a lake. The boy was shirtless. His chest was torn up, carved into a pentagram with strange symbols. His body was posed in some ritualistic manner. His hands folded over his bloody chest.

Prentiss grimaces slightly.

“Where was he found?” Rossi asks, writing something down in the margins of his case file.

“Guthrie Lake, in Guthrie, Oklahoma. Two weeks before this family was abducted. No signs of assault. Aside from the obvious torture, he had only bruises, most likely from a struggle.”

“And what about the Wilson abduction, does it mirror the Kent’s?”

With a push of a button, the screen shows the photos of the Wilson’s home. In a similar fashion, their house was pristine. All except for the beds and blood stain in the master bedroom, where the parents would’ve slept.

“What’s the timeline?” Prentiss pipes up, “In relation to when Alex was abducted to when he was found.”

“His family went missing on December 30, give or take a few days, and his body was found January 4.”

“At least they got to celebrate Christmas.” Rossi comments grimly.

“If this is the same guy, we only have five days before another body is found.” Hotch murmurs, after taking a moment to look over the contents of the case, he flips the folder closed, “Everyone get your things ready. We’re headed to Oklahoma. Wheels up in an hour.”

On the jet, Reid opens up his case file.

Alex’s death was caused by a lethal dosage of sedatives in his system. He had bruising on his ankles and wrists, most likely from restraints. The carvings on his chest were done post-mortem, which ruled out a sadistic killer who would need their victims alive during the torture. No, judging by the pentagram, they were dealing with a satanic killer.

Both families were similar in age, appearance, social status, economic status. It was clear whoever was doing this had a type. Yet, so far there wasn’t any clear indication if the two families were ever in contact with one another. 

Crime scene investigations revealed the homes were broken into with almost crude techniques. In the Kent’s home, the basement window was broken in. In the Wilson’s, their back sliding door was shattered. Whoever broke in also didn’t steal anything.

Though it was difficult for one man to do all this alone, nothing pointed to more than one unsub. In fact, families were easier to control as the other members could be coerced into doing anything, if a loved one was threatened.

“JJ and Rossi, I want you at the police station conducting some interviews with the families. Morgan and Prentiss, I want you to head over to the Kent’s home. Reid and I will head over to the Wilson’s, once we’re done with the body.”

All of them nodded in acknowledgment before nestling into their own habits, having theorized everything they could at this point.

Chapter Text

As the coroner pulls back the white sheet from Alex’s body, Hotch’s insides twist uncomfortably.

Not due to the graphic nature of the death. Unfortunately, in his line of work, he had been accustomed to worse.

His job, however, had not prepared him for the chance that victims may strike an undeniable resemblance to one Dr. Spencer Reid.

He breathes in the sterile room. The medicinal smell invading his nostrils.

“What do you think was used to carve the body?” Hotch asks, running a gloved finger against the raised edges of the cuts on the boy’s chest.

He wants to turn his head and make sure Reid is still beside him, breathing. Make sure that no unsub, no bigot, no bully could ever lay a hand on him again.

Instead, he settles for looking at the victim’s face, reminding himself that his Reid doesn’t have freckles.

“It was something medical grade, a scalpel most likely.” she answers before she points to the area Hotch had just grazed, “But, a surgical elevator of sorts was used to raise the skin to this level.”

A warm body crowds up behind him. A shoulder behind his own as Reid leans over to get a better look at the victim.

“Looking at the precise, almost confident strokes,” Reid observes, “I think we’re looking for someone with medical training.”

Once they’ve finished up with the coroner, the pair of them make their way over to the Wilson home. 

There’s yellow crime scene tape welcoming them at the bottom of the steps before the front door. Like clockwork, they pull on another pair of gloves.

Hotch lifts the tape enough for Reid to duck down under first, following behind shortly afterwards.

Inside the house, just outside the living room, they’re greeted by two local detectives. A tall woman with her hand settled against her hip holster. A slight man standing just behind her.

“Detective Katherine O’Hara.” she introduces, extending her hand out to Hotch before she pulls back to introduce her partner, “And this is Detective Jacob Bly.”

“SSA Aaron Hotchner, and this is Dr. Spencer Reid.”

Preliminary pieces of information are exchanged and then Hotch and Reid are off investigating on their own, making the silent decision between them to focus on the boy’s bedroom. 

Hotch pushes open Alex’s door to find an anticlimactically average teenage boy’s bedroom.

The walls were painted a blue, his bedsheets to match. He had a computer set up on a desk in the corner, surrounded by a cluster of papers. He had posters on the wall. He had a family photo tucked away on his nightstand. 

In the car, Hotch asked Garcia to look into Alex’s school records. All she had found was a slightly subpar grade in math and a spot on the junior varsity soccer team. No records of bullying, no records of any anger issues, no records of anything out of the ordinary.

Nothing at all to indicate why this young boy was chosen to be the victim of some heinous crime. 

They’re quiet as they examine their own corners of the room.

The rare moment of silence in the presence of Reid certainly didn't help with all his personal jumbled thoughts. His head was still mulling over what Reid had confessed to him in his house.

It wasn’t a matter that quite called for attention. Or perhaps it was. Maybe Hotch was simply making it all out to be bigger than it needed to be. Or maybe Reid wanted him to make it such.

He didn’t know.

All he knows is that he, quite possibly, is the first person Reid has come out to, even if he never used those words directly.

That in itself was something that was commendable. It took a tremendous amount of strength on his part, especially after the ordeal he had gone through that night.

And privately, Hotch can admit that he is touched by the sentiment. To be the one Reid called when he was vulnerable and scared and upset, it had him feeling honoured. It’s an inappropriate thought, no doubt, but he cannot help himself.

As Reid rummages through Alex’s backpack, Hotch clears his throat.

“Did you ever get over that man?” he asks, trying to come across as conversational.

It clearly didn’t work.

“Hotch.” he warns.

“I don’t want you to think I don’t support you.” he attempts to remedy, “I simply want you to know that if you want to confide in me with these sorts of matters, I’m here to listen.”

Through his address, he doesn’t take his sight off the desk he’s sorting through. Unable to look at Reid while he said those words. Emotions were difficult. And uncomfortable. Especially for people cut from the same cloth as Hotch and Reid.

Perhaps a little too uncomfortable, seeing how Reid doesn’t respond for a few moments. Concerned he’s made a mess of things, Hotch is about to open his mouth and spew apologies—

“Thank you.” he says, sincere and genuine, “But, I don’t think I’ll ever get over this guy.”

“Why don’t you ask him out, then?”

“Besides the fact that he’s heterosexual,” Reid snorts, packing away the contents of the backpack, “It would never work out, anyways. There’s professional differences.”

“What? Is he one of our unsubs?”

“I wish.” Reid jokes back, “It would make my life easier.”

This time a comfortable quiet blankets them.

After a seeming eternity, Hotch finally sorts through all the papers only to find out that they’re of no importance. Only math homework that will never be completed and cheat sheets that will never be utilized.

He’s about to tread elsewhere, when his eye catches a leather bound journal perched on the edge of the desk.

Flipping open the journal, he tries his best to skim through the pages to gauge what’s inside. The words and formal, hint less at a journal and more at a diary.

Something a teenage boy would lament having, would be embarrassed having.

“Reid,” he calls the other man over, handing over the journal, “Look at this.”

Faster than Hotch ever could, Reid reads the first few entries within minutes before he looks up at Hotch with a puzzled look on his face.

“Boys don’t generally keep stuff like this.”

“You’re right.”

Reaching into his suit jacket, Hotch retrieves his phone before he sets about dialling a number from memory.

On the first ring, he has Garcia on the other line.

“Quantico’s finest speaking.”

“Garcia, I need you to check all nearby therapy centres for family counselling and see if the Wilson’s are on there anywhere.”

“You got it, boss man.” she chirps, her fingers already typing away, “Garcia out.”

Back at the police station, the rest of the team huddles together in a small board room, chewing on fingernails and gazing off into nothing as they try to come up with conclusions. 

Prentiss sits on the table in the room, her legs swinging ever so slightly as studies the board in front of her. Meanwhile, Rossi sits in a chair, deep in thought that she dared to interrupt. JJ  stands in the back, rereading case files, her own gears turning.

The door opening steals Prentiss’ focus. Morgan walks through, bidding goodbye to whoever was on the other end.

He slips his phone back into his front pocket and comes up beside Prentiss.

“That was Hotch,” he explains, “He said that our unsub most likely has medical training due to the nature of the cuts.”

“Well, that’s one part of the profile down.” Rossi mutters before he stands from his chair, “What about the satanic elements of the murder?”

She blows air out of her mouth, “This clearly isn’t the work of some rebellious teenager.”

“Were either family religious?”

From the back, JJ makes her way over with the case file in hand.

“Both actually.” JJ says, “John Wilson was a church volunteer. Ashley Kent was an organizer for kids’ church activities. They were all regular goers at the Wellston Christian Church.”

“Why all the way out there?” Morgan wonders, “I mean, we must’ve passed three churches on the way here.”

“We asked the families and apparently it’s because they’re much more liberal.” JJ responds, “The Wilson’s made the switch when their son came out to them.”

“Could our unsub be killing gay teenage boys?” Prentiss muses.

“Then, why abduct the whole family?” Rossi questions, moving closer to the photo of the family pinned up on the board, “He’s mission oriented. He’s methodical.”

“He’s delusional.” Morgan adds, “Maybe these boys are sacrifices of sorts and the families play into that somehow.”

“Maybe.” he sighs, scratching just beneath his jaw.

Rossi unpins the photo of Alex’s body, holding it in his hands for a moment.

“I’ll get Reid to look into these carvings on his body.”

After some fruitless attempts at building a profile, JJ steps out of the cramped room. Desperately needing some unrecycled air and a boost in energy, she heads towards the small kitchenette unit in the police department.

Near the coffee machine, she finds Hotch and Reid have returned from their visits to the coroner’s office and the crime scene. Moving from where he was nestled in the corner between two countertops, he crosses a small distance to reach Reid on the other side.

“Three quarters sugar and creamer, and one quarter coffee.” Hotch teases, passing over the mug. 

It’s not like Hotch has never smiled. He smiles whenever the occasion calls for it. Usually it happens outside of working cases, as if he deems it inappropriate to even slightly turn the corners of his mouth when there is an unsub at work. 

It’s never like this. Open. Carefree. Whilst working on a case. It throws her off guard.

Hotch leans down towards Reid, who only accepts the mug while sticking out his tongue.

His smile dims down a bit as he seems to start going off about something, probably the case, but he’s not fully back into his serious and stern persona.

Reid hones in on whatever Hotch is saying. He moves in closer, almost pressing their chests together. His tongue darts out to moisten his lips and then his eyeline drops to Hotch’s mouth and —

Oh my God.

It’s as if all the pieces from the past years fell together.

Spence likes Hotch.

Pens and papers were scattered across surfaces. A map was abandoned on an empty chair. A laptop was propped open in the middle of the table. Yet, still the team members were unable to come up with anything definitively. 

“Maybe we should start over.” Rossi mumbles to himself, “What type of people were the Wilson’s?”

“Um, let’s see.” Prentiss mutters, sliding around sheets of paper until she found the correct one, “Family people. They always visited extended family nearby.”

“What did the parents do?”

“Dad was a plumber. Mom was a school teacher.”

“Activities outside of work and school for the family?”

“The Wellstone Christian Church but, you knew that.”

“Well, Alex was on the school’s soccer team.” Reid pipes up brightly, “And we have reason to suspect that the family may have attended some sort of counselling or therapy. We had Garcia look into —”

His briefing was interrupted by the incoming video call notification from the laptop set up on the table. Morgan reaches an arm over to click accept.

On the screen, Garcia pops off. A sparkly, feathery pen in hand.

“Hey baby girl, what’d you have for us?”

“Basically, Hotch and Reid were right about the therapy hunch. The Wilson family did in fact attend family therapy at,” she looks away from the camera to read, “Heritage Hillside Family Therapy in Wellston. But get this, so did our other family.”

“That might be where the unsub met them.” Hotch murmurs.

“Alright, thanks baby girl.”

“Call me if you need me, P.G out.”

With a dramatic wave of her hand, she ends the video call.

“Our unsub either met these families at therapy or at the church.” Hotch recounts, folding his arms across his chest as he relays a set of duties, “Prentiss and Morgan, head over to the church and see if anyone’s been displaying some sort of suspicious behaviour. And remember our unsub has to have some level of surgical training. Rossi and JJ head to the therapy centre and check for anyone that could fit.

“But, before that, we’ll have to deliver our preliminary profile.”

“We’re looking for a man in his late thirties to mid forties.”

“Due to the methodical aspect of the chest carvings, he’s believed to have worked in the medical field, most likely as a surgeon.”

“Though it may not seem like it at first glance due to the presumed satanic factors of the case, he’s a strong believer in religion.”

“Most likely attends church.”

Pushing past the entrance doors, Prentiss and Morgan stride into the church. Studying the pews, the altar, all of it.

It’s hardly a sight to behold. The building itself was only one story and it wasn’t exactly an architectural masterpiece.

It seemed cozy though. The type of place that might have attracted Prentiss had religion not been ruined for her long ago. 

On their way into the chapel itself, they saw photos of parishioners on a small cork board near the archway. Drawings from little children were hung up. Fresh flowers were set on the windowsills.

She could see why the Wilson’s made the switch.

“When’s the last time you were in one of these?” she whispers to Morgan on their way over to a man dressed in a clerical collar.

“Hello, we’re Agent Prentiss and Agent Morgan from the FBI.” she introduces, flashing her credentials for extra measure, “Is it alright if we ask you a couple of questions, Father?”

“Of course.” he replies, beaming unlike any man Prentiss has flipped her badge to.

He motions for them to sit down on a pew with him. His body language was open. He was genuine when he asked, “How can I be of help today?”

Letting Morgan do all the question asking, Prentiss pulls out a notepad and pen from inside her jacket.

“We're looking for a man that would’ve attended church here.” Morgan starts off, “He would’ve been shifty, suspicious, delusional. He would’ve asked you a lot of uncomfortable questions about religion. The contents of his conversation would be disturbing, troubling at the least. He may have alluded to satanic references of sorts.”

Just like that, all the bubbliness from earlier drains away from the priest. A shadow falls across his face.

“Is there anyone that comes to mind?”

“There was a man like that.” the priest began, dropping his gaze to his folded hands, “At first, I thought he was just invested in religion. But…”

The man trails off, in no hurry to pick up his words.

“But?” she prompts.

“He wrote his own bible. Said it was his interpretation of everything. The contents were so… frightening. I suggested he go seek a counsellor. Religion isn’t an outright cure for some of the things wrong with that man.”

Prentiss’ brows shoot up to her hairline as she notes those details down.

“Do you have a copy of this bible of his?” Morgan asks.

“I have the original.” he laments, “He told me to keep it, that he was sure that I would come around.”

“Do you know the name of this man?”

A cursor moves through web pages swiftly on a laptop screen. Reid wading through them easily after a single glance. 

He finds one that he deems promising and keeps the tab open, as he examines the photo of Alex’s mangled torso.

The sound of shoes against linoleum come up from behind him. In a minute, a familiar hand settles on his shoulder, as Hotch leans down to look at what Reid had opened up on the screen.

His face was near Reid’s own, and he could barely breathe.

That happened a lot with Hotch. He tends to reel from the most minute touches. Press of a knee against his on the jet. Shoulders grazing in the corridors of a small police station. Hands touching fleetingly as they passed off papers. 

Barely suppressing a sigh, Reid mentally berates himself. 

He was hopeless.

Still, he soaks up the bit of attention he can gather for himself. Who knows when Hotch will find someone else to offer these insignificant touches to? Who knows when Hotch will see straight through Reid’s facade?

“Our unsub wants to summon the devil using teenage boys?” Hotch questions, his breath tickling Reid’s ear.

“No, actually. This is a devil’s trap pentagram.”

“Why would our unsub want to trap the devil in the boy’s body?”

A spark ignites in Reid’s head, two live wires connecting.

“You know the reason why we say ‘bless you’ after someone sneezes is because back in the day, people believed that when you sneezed part of your soul left your body and you were vulnerable to the devil entering.” he rambles on, “Maybe this is like that. Our unsub wants the devil to this deceased boy, instead of him, or others even.”

Before Hotch can pitch in his own two cents, both of their phones rang at once. Sadly, dragging Hotch’s hand away from him. 

“Rossi.” Hotch announces the caller ID.

“Prentiss.”

Reid answers the call and so does Hotch. Both of them wandering off to the other ends of the room to hear.

“Hey Prentiss.” he greets.

“We’ve got a name.” she says, “Daniel Whitley. Fits our profile.”

With a quick explanation of how they’re going to go to Whitley’s home for a few questions, Prentiss ends the phone call soon after.

With her hands folded in front of her, Prentiss stands back as she watches Morgan pound on the door.

“Daniel Whitley.” he says, “We’re with the FBI. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

After a few seconds, no one comes to answer the door and Morgan looks over to Prentiss for approval. When she nods, he reaches for the doorknob and finds that the door is unlocked.

Both of them pull out their guns from their holsters, laying low and keeping quiet as they creeped into the house.

The home is in rough shape, to say the least. Wallpaper was ripped from ceiling to floor. Items were scattered and tossed to the ground, some broken on impact. Framed photos were flipped over so that they couldn’t be seen. 

A quick survey of the house had the two of them shouting clear from the respective areas.

Meeting back up in the living, Prentiss holsters her gun and pulls out a pair of latex gloves, slipping them on smoothly. Morgan doing the same. 

“Well, well, well.” Prentiss muses, wandering over to the desk, “What do we have here?”

The computer was switched off. It was completely unplugged, actually. And hanging above the desk was, bingo, a medical school degree.

“Our surgeon theory was right.” Prentiss confirms to Morgan, who’s sweeping through the contents of the television console.

She bends down to find a power outlet on the back wall where the desk was leaned up against. Getting underneath the desk itself, she sets off to plug in the computer to boot it back up, when she hits her head against the wood. Hissing. 

Bringing her hand to shield her head from doing so again, Prentiss feels a piece of paper on the back of her hand.

She plucks the paper attached to the underside of the desk and crawls out from the space.

“Do you think we could have more than one unsub?” Morgan ponders, “I mean, this man abducted two whole families and murdered a boy. That’s a big operation for a one man team.”

She crosses over to Morgan holding up the paper for him to see.

“I think I might know how.”

The piece of paper had a list of people, almost reaching twenty people, and five families. 

Morgan pulls out his phone and dials a number hastily. 

“Baby girl,” he says, “ I need you to run these names through those machines of yours.”

After receiving a call from Prentiss again, Reid starts to work on the geographic profile. From her description, the man didn’t house the family there, nor would he have the means to. He would need a large containment facility, something that was private and far from the public.

God, he was going to need another cup of coffee.

Spotting Hotch’s empty mug by the man’s arm, he snatches both his and Hotch’s as he walks out the kitchenette again. 

By the coffee machine, he sees a familiar blonde there, nursing her own coffee.

“Hey JJ.” he greets politely before he sets about starting the machine. 

“Hotch, huh?” she asks from above the rim of the mug, a smile on her face.

The slight grin on his own face falls away as dread traces up his insides. He tries to swallow but, it’s like his throat is constricted.

It feels as though the world has stopped spinning on its axis, stopped its orbital path entirely. His breathing quickens. The lights become too bright in the room. The sounds of chairs scraping against the linoleum are too abrasive in his ears. The granite counter under his fingertips makes him want to claw his skin to the bone.

Has he really been that obvious?

Did everyone know? Morgan? Prentiss? Garcia? Did Rossi figure it out when he joined the B.A.U? What about Gideon? Was that why he always pushed for him to get with JJ? Did Elle know too?

Did Hotch know? Did he know how irrevocably in love with him Reid was?

If he didn’t know then, he has to know by now. He practically set the parameters for him that night after the bar, and then narrowed it down at the victims’ house.

Hotch must be disgusted by him. How could Reid lust after a happily married man with a family on the way? How could Reid be so selfish with his desire to want a man who had only recently adjusted to becoming a widower? He’s repulsed by his longing, no doubt. Hotch is probably in the next room, recounting all the times they’ve shared rooms during cases. How he regrets changing in front of him, how he regrets touching him, sharing the seldom hug.

What about the rest of the team? Will they be nauseated by his contact now too? Will all of his movements be tinged with some sort of underlying, perverse thinking in their eyes now?

His breathing kicks up and he’s almost on the edge of a panic attack in the middle of the kitchenette, in front of the whole police station, in front of JJ.

Something must show on his face, because JJ puts her hand on his arm, a gentle touch to affirm whatever she’s going to say.

“Hey,” she whispers, “It’s alright.”

He avoids looking at her. Cannot bear the thought seeing something he doesn’t like in her eyes. Cannot bear the thought of JJ thinking any less of him. Instead, he busies himself by toying with the end of the coffee stir stick. 

“You’re fine with this?”

“Of course.” she reassures, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thanks.” he breathes out, his shoulders sagging from their tensed up position.

She retracts her hand, giving him some well needed space, “Does anyone else know?”

He shakes his head, picking at the plastic of the stick. It’s better than picking at his skin. A habit he formed after Tobias Hankel and Georgia and one he got rid of when Gideon left. 

“I can’t blame you.” JJ teases, “Hotch is sexy… In a drill sergeant kind of way.”

Her mouth breaks out into a small, sly grin. Her elbow comes up to rub against his bicep.

Reid’s face burns at her words. He wants to explain what he feels for Hotch is outside the realm of an ordinary crush on a superior officer, how it’s so much more than he could ever experience with someone who could love him back.

But, he clamps all of that down. They’ve got an unsub to catch after all. He can tell JJ once they’re back home, once they’re out of this police station.

He reaches for both mugs and looks at JJ, tilting his head in the direction of the board room. 

From the moment he opens the door, he can feel the weight of Hotch’s gaze. He walks over to him, handing him his coffee without remark nor touch.

Once again the laptop is set on the tabletop, Garcia spewing out information on the other end of the video call.

“Okay, my sweets,” she starts off, “Basically, those five families had me look into, they went off the grid. I mean, they vanished off the side of the earth. All of them quit their jobs, kids quit school, the whole shabang.

“Then, I looked into when these guys went off the grid and lo and behold, it is the same time Daniel Whitley did.”

Prentiss folds her arms across her chest, looking up at everyone, “Are we looking at a cult situation?”

“Could be.” Rossi offers, his hands on the back of the chair, “Or maybe they’re other victims.”

“Do you think there’s anything in his bible that could explain why he’s doing this?” Morgan asks.

“Definitely.”

Prentiss retrieves an evidence bag holding said bible and hands it off to Reid, “Boy Genius here will read through it quicker than the rest of us.”

“Alright, while Reid reads through Whitley’s work,” Hotch places a hand on the small of Reid’s back, only for him to pull away, Hotch frowning ever so before continuing, “JJ and Prentiss work on the missing families, try to see if we can get anything useful. Morgan, Rossi, and I will work on where he could be holding these people. But before that, let’s relay our suspect to the rest of the police station.”

All of them leave the room soon after, ready to reconvene in front of the other officers. Except Reid, who stays back to catch Hotch alone.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll sit the meeting out.” he informs, a hand coming up to scratch behind his ear, “I want to get into this as soon as I can.”

“If you’re sure.”

“And I think I might head into town, find a coffee shop.”

Hotch stares at him, confused.

“But, you have a cup of coffee right now.”

Shit.

“Yeah but,” he struggles for a moment to make up an excuse, “I need the fresh air, you know. Helps me think.”

Hotch still stares at him, unconvinced but not willing to call Reid out on his weak excuse. Instead, he simply exits the room. 

Using the evidence bag, Reid smacks himself on the head a couple of times. In hopes that some of those thinking gears will come loose.

The sun is almost setting as Reid reaches the coffee shop. He decides against entering the establishment itself, and sits down on one of the outdoor tables, away from prying eyes or eavesdropping ears.

Cracking open the book, he dives in Whitley’s work. The first page alone definitely rivals the bible itself. He mimics the format down to a science and uses familiar wordings and phrases to describe his own ideals. His weak, delusional thinking is supported by superficial words that have no real meaning, yet hold the illusion of structure.

Behind all the flowery language, however, Whitley hides away his disturbing psyche.

The nuclear family type Whitley has been exclusively after wasn’t about the need for a surrogate. It’s rather that in Whitley’s head, they are the ideal family model. All the members themselves have a duty to uphold in these households.

 “Mothers must offer unconditional love to her whole family. Through sin and virtue alike, is she there to cherish her family, offering whatever their hearts may require.”

“Fathers are to serve and protect, provide whatever may be needed by the body. He is there to build homes, to hunt and gather, to bring back water. He must provide all these tangible resources needed in life.”

“Daughters must be youthful, for their innocence and purity must be preserved within the family itself. She can only be born as the last child or the only child. She is the saviour. She saves the family from the necessary evils in life.”

The necessary evils in life, which he considers to be the sons. 

“Inside the sons are evils that no man nor being can expel. Serve no purpose does he, other than to be juxtapositions to the daughter, and to be vessels of violence on Earth.”

Flipping to the later chapters, Reid finds the explanation he was looking for behind Whitley’s doing. 

He writes about how death is the only true constant that is capable of fixing these broken dynamics. Sons must die first, in a specially designed ritual, to offer no chance of their souls plaguing their families in the living world. Then, the daughters must follow to ready the family’s next life. Finally, both parents must pass away but, not before tying up matters in this life.

That’s why Whitley abducted the whole family. He needs them all to fulfill whatever prophecies he’s designed.

Which means the rest of these families are still alive somewhere.

Not for long, though.

Reid fumbles to get his phone out, in his haste to relay his findings to the team.

“Morgan, the unsub is going to pin the daughters onto a tree and have the families watch.”

“What?”

“It’s all in his plan to have these families be reborn into another life. It’s complicated. I’ll explain in person but, I think I know where he’s keeping them.” he turns to the end of the book and finds what he’s looking for; a small, crude map, “There’s an abandoned church in the Quell Forest near Wellston.”

“Thanks Reid. Meet us there.”

The call ends shortly afterwards, leaving Reid in a frenzy to pack up all of his belongings. 

Taking long strides to the parking lot, he jogs over to the passenger side of the SUV first. He pulls open the door, depositing everything on the seat before slamming it back shut.

He makes his rounds over to the driver’s side, when someone interrupts him with a tap on the shoulder.

Then everything hurts. A stinging sensation unfurls across his face.

And then everything goes black.

Chapter Text

Once all strapped into their Kevlar vests and wires, the team splits up into two vehicles. Hotch, JJ, Morgan in one, with Rossi and Prentiss in the other.

From the backseat, JJ shuts her phone off, frustrated. From the front seat, Hotch can hear Reid’s voicemail go off again. 

“Still not picking up.” she informs.

“Maybe he’s already in pursuit.” Morgan suggests, his grip on the wheel tightening as he makes a turn.

“That’s comforting.” JJ quips back.

Reid wakes in an unfamiliar room. 

Although room is a generous term for the space he’s in. It’s almost a closet. Concrete floor. Cracked walls. It’s dilapidated and worn down. It’s dark save for the small flashlight in the corner beside him. 

His wrists are bound behind his back by a rope, his ankles in front of him. He’s propped up against a wall. As much as he can with the restraints, Reid wiggles his foot around but it's pointless. He can feel that his ankle holster. Is empty Some shifting concludes the same about the holster at his hip.

Yet, his back pocket isn’t empty though. 

Not so criminally sophisticated after all, are we now, Whitley?

Shoving his whole body against the wall, Reid slowly hauls himself off the ground. Just enough to get access to his phone. Almost cramping up in the process. 

As soon as he gets the phone in his hands, he drops back down to the floor unceremoniously. 

His thumb protests at the angle but, he manages to dial a number without too much difficulty. His ears strain with effort, but he can make out the telltale ringing and the sharp ‘Hotchner’ from the other end. 

But he doesn’t get the chance to say anything. The busted door opens too soon for him to speak.

In front of him, stands his abductor, or his best guess, Daniel Whitley himself.

Through the little light in the closet, Reid can see the glint of a blade. A knife dangles from his hand on his side. Shiny. Clean. Pristine condition. Because of course a surgeon would know how to take care of his tools. In his other hand, he grips his bible tight. 

Dragging his focus away from his hands, Reid looks up to find himself disturbed by the play of emotions on Whitley’s face. An awestruck smile as he approaches Reid. 

He crouches down, level with Reid’s face. Using the tip of the blade, he pushes up Reid’s chin. The knife digging into his flesh ever so.

“I saw you reading my work.”

“Why did you take me?” Reid manages to ask. 

“You don’t know?” he asks, pointedly pressing the knife further into his neck without drawing blood, “I take it you didn’t make it to the end then, did you?”

Reid shakes his head as well as he can without agitating the knife.

“You look so much like him. He even had the same eyes.” Whitley mutters to himself, studying Reid’s face, “You. You’re going to save all the sons.”

The wonderment in Whitley’s eyes has Reid backing into the wall as much as he can. Unnerved by the man’s firm delusions.

“How?”

“Guide them once you go.” he answers, less of a response and more of a request. 

“Go?”

The weight against his throat is relieved but Reid himself feels no relief. He tries to burrow himself further into the wall with no avail, as Whitley only crowds closer.

The knife is leisurely pressed into the lower part of Reid’s torso, inciting a wince as the tip digs in a little too deep.

Then, without warning nor hinting, Whitley shoves the knife into him. 

JJ and Morgan flinch hard when Reid lets out the first guttural scream. Jolting in their seats in a way that has nothing to do with the gravel road. 

By the time the third scream tapers off into pitiful sobs, JJ has her eyes scrunched up tight and Morgan’s knuckles pale as he steps on the gas. He can imagine that Rossi and Prentiss are doing the same. 

The two of them look torn between wanting to close their ears and wanting to hear every last sound. 

Because if Reid is screaming that means he’s still alive.

A bitter taste finds its way into Hotch’s mouth. The lingering feeling of deja vu hovering over the situation; how someone he loves is on one end, in pain, while he’s stuck on the other end, powerless in doing anything to make it stop.

Between Reid’s phone call and reaching the abandoned church, everything else is a blur. 

On Hotch’s call, Morgan kicks down the door, dusting flying up as it hits the ground. His gun raised and level, as he loudly announced their presence.

They’re greeted with the sight of both their families tied up and gagged at the altar. Front and centre for all to witness.

And there were many witnesses. 

Their ruckus goes unnoticed by the audience. The other missing families were sitting on the creaking pews, free of will, gazing at the wailing families with, what Hotch can only describe as, an enamored gaze. As if they were observing pieces of art, rather than living, breathing people. 

Police officers lug away all the unrestrained families out of the building, no doubt sending them straight down to the station. Meanwhile, Rossi and JJ holster their guns and step up onto the altar. Untying the families as they whisper quiet affirmations to them. Only looking away when Lana Whilson asks if they’ve seen her son. If they found him or not.

Following the sound of undeniable crying, Hotch leads Morgan and Prentiss down towards an old utility closet. With a short, curt nod, Hotch signals for them to get ready. Raising their guns to head level. 

One last look up at Prentiss and Hotch, Morgan swings open the door and immediately the three of them flood into the closet. Spread out to get every possible angle on Whitley.

Reid is on his knees, still bound by his wrists. His shirt dripping with blood, pooling onto the ground where he is kneeling. His face contorted. His eyes open only just. 

Behind him, Whitley kneels, with a knife shoved against Reid’s Adam’s apple. 

Hotch attempts to get words out. Tries to make his demands with the man. But, nothing comes out of his mouth. All of it gets caught inside his throat as he tracks the way Whitley readjusts his hand ever so, gripping a little tighter, and how his other hand is clamped down onto Reid’s shoulder. 

Morgan throws him a sideways glance.

“FBI.” Morgan announces, “Daniel Whitley, let him go.”

“You don’t understand.” he pleads, “I need him.”

Prentiss tries to take a step forward but it doesn’t have the desired effect. Whitley only moves his hand from Reid’s shoulder to above his hip. His fingers digging in on the edge of the wound as he pulls him closer.

The sob Reid lets out has Hotch’s grip on his gun going lax and his knees threatening to fail him. 

From there on out, both Prentiss and Morgan know he’s indisposed. Everything they say to Whitley sounds like static to his ears but, even he can tell that the man isn't going to listen. He’s delusional and he’s on a mission that he isn’t ready to fail.

Whitley drives the knife a little further into Reid’s throat. He steadies his arm in a way that Hotch has seen countless unsubs do.

It’s the moment before skin is cut open and blood is let.

His finger itches to pull the trigger and he’s a nanosecond away from doing so. Something seizes up inside him and he’s about to move his aim when Morgan beats him to the chase. Putting a bullet right through the man’s shoulder.

The knife clatters to the ground. The metallic clank dulled by the puddle of blood it falls straight into. Following in suit, Reid slumps down to the ground, laying on his uninjured side.

Kicking the knife away,  Morgan apprehends the man and Prentiss calls into her wire for a medic. 

Pushing past the two of them, Hotch drops to his knees beside Reid. 

He’s losing blood far too fast. His eyes are unfocused. His whole body is growing weaker and weaker by the second. He needs to get these ropes off of his wrists. He needs to put pressure on the wound. He needs to keep him awake —

Chapter Text

Reid is dying. 

He knows he is. He’s been in this position enough times to recognize all the signs. The lightheadedness. The confusion. The disembodied trepidation in the pits of his stomach that only occur when he’s on the brink of death.

Everything hurts. The adamant pain in his lower torso. His wrists from the scratchy ropes used to bind him. The bruises that still littered his face. The shallow cuts that sting from behind exposed to the air. 

Everything is sticky too, tacky. His pants are uncomfortable from kneeling in his own blood. His shirt clings to skin, wet from the blood, from his blood.

Everything is muted for a moment. All of it. His ears can only vaguely catalogue the sounds of Prentiss calling for medical help, Morgan arresting Whitley, Hotch saying something to him in hushed tones, all the muffled commotion outside the room. It all seems like it’s blocked by cotton in his ears.

Through the haze of pain, he can feel Hotch move his body. Reid tries to help, he really does, but any movement requires so much effort and he’s already so exhausted. 

After some time, seconds or hours, he can’t tell, Reid’s arms are free. Hotch kneels beside him, scanning his body for any other external injuries. 

“I’m dying.” Reid confesses, though he’s not sure how much of it can be considered a confession if everyone already knows.

Hotch doesn’t respond. Only tensing. Ignoring Reid, in favor of pressing down on his stab wound. 

The moment his palm makes contact with his injury, it feels as if his whole body is being set on fire. His back arches up, something he didn’t realize he had the strength to do right now.

Still, he doesn’t hold the position for long, the tiredness seeping back in. He drops down to the floor again, nearly splitting open his skull on impact, had it not been for Hotch’s hand cradling his head. 

The pain keeps flaring up. The only thing that helps are the nearly inaudible lies Hotch keeps telling him as his hand gets drenched in Reid’s blood. 

“You’re going to be alright. Everything’s going to be fine. You’re going to be fine, Reid…”

With time passing by and no medical personnel arriving on scene, Hotch’s voice gets more distraught. 

Only now does Reid register Prentiss’ disappearance from the corner of the room and the loud exchanges going on between the team on the outside of the room. 

Hotch’s fingers are warm against Reid’s scalp. Or perhaps Reid is simply getting deathly cold. Maybe it’s both. He doesn’t know. All he knows is that he wants to get as much of that warmth as possible.

He brings up a frail hand to Hotch’s chest, clawing lightly at the vest he’s wearing. 

“Off.” he whispers.

Hotch doesn’t ask why, only doing what he asks of him. He pulls his hand away from his head, Reid almost whimpering at the loss. But, Hotch manages, rather clumsily, to unfasten his vest with one hand. 

As soon as the material is tossed up to the side, Reid presses his face into Hotch’s shirt, into his chest. His free arm comes up to wrap Reid’s body around his, one hand still putting steady pressure on the still pulsing wound. 

“Hotch,” he says into his shirt, “I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying.” he firmly corrects, looking fixedly at the bleeding mess that was Reid’s torso.

Moving seems so physically taxing but Reid manages to trail his hand down where Hotch’s own was resting. 

“I am, Hotch.”

Ever the stubborn man, Hotch shakes his head. Unwilling to argue further but unwilling to placate his opinions on the matter.

It’s almost endearing, how much Hotch wants him to survive, that he disregards the facts of the situation. 

Medical personnel won’t arrive in time. Reid knows this. It’s evident, seeing how they’re in the middle of a forest. Add in time to rush back to a hospital, and the lacking supplies in the ambulance considering that they’re in a low risk area, in a not so populous county.

Reid’s already transitioning from dying to near death. 

Dragging his hand hand up from his torso, he brings it up to Hotch’s face, cradling his jaw, the same way Hotch had done to him the night after the bar. He smears blood all over him in his wake. Red on his hands, his clothes, his face. 

His hands are freezing but the heat of Hotch’s skin helps. 

When’s the last time Reid ever touched someone like this? When’s the last time he was held by someone like this? Close. Loving. Caring.

An ache builds up inside Reid’s chest and for a second, it rivals the pain in his lower abdomen. 

He’s so lonely. He’s always known this but, it’s always been in the back of his head. He’s always been alone but, he never truly felt lonely until now.

His mother is indisposed. His father left. Gideon too. Elle left. 

When’s the last time he had a conversation in the past year that didn’t occur in the bullpen?

Years ahead mentally, years behind physically left him with no understanding on how to form meaningful relationships. The only appealing quality he presents in any relationship is his brain. 

It’s kind of ironic, in a sad sort of manner. People flock to him because of his intelligence and above average skills but, they always feel when it becomes too much, when his thoughts become too much. 

Every time he thinks he’s figured it out, he’s figured out how to make people stay, they manage to blindside him and leave him in the dust. 

He remembers his first few months at the B.A.U. How everyone could talk to each other with ease, everyone except Reid. How it felt like school all over again. People only speaking with him for help. How it felt like no matter how far Reid got in life, he was always going to be that outcast.

He remembers how his reliance on dilaudid may have begun with Tobias Hankel, but it turned into an addiction when Reid started to use it to fill whatever was empty inside of him, in an attempt to fix whatever make have been broken in him.  

Would they even miss him?

He knows that JJ will mourn but, later on she’ll only recount faint details of Reid to Henry, and that’s only if he asks. Prentiss will mention him in passing to her friends outside of the B.A.U because she has no difficulties connecting with people. Morgan will find another workplace friend to mess with, someone else to call Pretty Boy. Garcia will find another Boy Genius. Rossi might feature him in one of his books.

And Hotch?

Hotch will only remember him as the kid that lusted after him. 

His thoughts startle him, physically jerking in Hotch’s arms. His hand falls from its place. Hotch’s own comes up to smooth down his hair, letting out low assurances.

When Reid looks up, he finds Hotch with unshed tears in his eyes. Reminiscent of when Hotch found Jack safe and sound after Foyet, when Hotch cradled Haley’s lifeless body against his. 

And something inside of Reid shatters in that moment. 

His mouth twists. Erratic sobs push out of his lungs. All his tears fall into his hairline at the angle he’s being held at.

The palm on the back of his head is much more insistent in it’s movements, desperate almost as Hotch tries to calm him down, shush him. 

“It’s okay.” Hotch croaks, his own voice betraying him, “Everything’s going to be fine.”

He wishes Hotch would shut up already. Nothing is fine. Nothing will ever be fine again because Reid is dying and he hasn’t turned thirty yet, and he hasn’t gotten his sobriety token, and he hasn’t mailed that letter to his mother, and he hasn’t gone back to vegas to yell at his father, and he hasn’t told JJ that he doesn’t just like Hotch, that he’s in love with him, he hasn’t told Derek, he hasn’t —

And he hasn’t told Hotch he’s in love with him, hasn’t gotten the chance to explain that what he feels isn’t mere sexual attraction. 

If time was molasses before, now it’s sand, slipping through his fingers. 

His mind multitasks listing off things he hasn’t done in his life in the background, while Reid calculates the chances of an ambulance making it in time to get him to a hospital and into surgery. 

The numbers aren’t looking good. Reid will be dead before he hits the table, hits the stretcher even. 

He’s reeling over everything he hasn’t done in his life, everything he’ll never get to do, everything he regrets never doing. 

He won’t let this be another one. 

Reid tugs his hand from where it fell to Hotch’s chest and moves it to the back of his head.

Hotch pays no mind to the touch, only tunneling in on the blood that won’t stop pouring out of his body.

“Hotch?”

“Save your energy, Reid.”

“Hotch, please,” he pleads, “I need to tell you something.”

“Tell me later.” he dismisses, still unwilling to look at Reid.

“There won’t be any time later.”

And that is what hauls his attention back to Reid’s face.

Seizing the window of opportunity he’s been presented, Reid yanks Hotch down for a firm kiss. They’re connected from almost every point of contact they  can be without aggravating his wound but, it still isn’t close enough. 

For an eternity, it seems, Hotch is frozen, powerless to break away yet resistant in pushing closer. 

But, then he does kiss back and all those butterflies people talk about turn into moths eating away at the caverns of his insides. Each element of the moment soiled with grief as Hotch is already mourning a man who is still breathing. 

It’s cloaked in misery and despair. It almost hurt, sending a pang down to his chest cavity that he knows is completely psychosomatic. 

Even with his eidetic memory, Reid still attempts to memorize everything about this kiss, knowing it is the first and last one he’ll ever share with Hotch.

Reluctantly, Reid comes back for air soon and they break away.

“It’s you.” he reveals and it hurts because he knows that Hotch is a brilliant profiler and sometimes interpersonal profiling occurs by accident and there is no chance that Hotch didn’t already know.

Except apparently he didn’t know if his gaping mouth is anything to go by. Then, his face twists up, and those unshed tears from earlier finally fall down, adding to the drenched mess between their bodies, covering their bodies. 

“What?”

“I’m sorry.” and Reid doesn’t know what he’s entirely apologizing for: having feelings for him, kissing him, or dying.

Combination of all three most likely.

After that, they don't say much of anything. 

Time stretches life taffy between them and it feels like they’re stuck in limbo. Time is neither passing nor stopping. They’ve created their own quantum physics in this bubble they’ve fabricated from nowhere. They’ve created their own tiny universe, privy to their eyes only, and it would’ve been perfect had it not been for the absolute anguish on Hotch’s face.

Nevertheless, Reid thinks this is a pleasant way to die.

In Georgia, Reid was all alone. 

Here, in Oklahoma, he has Hotch. 

There are worse places to die and worse reasons to do so. If the last face he sees is Hotch’s, then Reid must’ve finally done something right in this life.

And then everything goes quiet. And then it goes dark again.

Chapter Text

He wakes up in a hospital bed. He knows it’s a hospital bed before he opens his eyes because only hospital beds have the best reclination yet the worst mattresses.

His shoulders ache. His back wants to be cracked. He’s going to need one hell of a masseuse after this. 

Reid tries to lift his hand up to rub at his eyes but he finds it otherwise preoccupied. 

His eyes flutter open to find the sight of beaming, harsh lights shining down on him. Squinting, he peeks down to find his hand wrapped up in Hotch’s. Hotch, who has his head laid down on the small space between Reid’s body and the bed frame. 

He attempts to pull out of his death grip without waking him up, but he evidently fails when Hotch shoots up, albeit groggily. 

He’s addled for a bit but, then his mouth breaks out into a grin and he hauls him into an embrace, nosing at the top of his head as he breathes him in. 

“Reid,” he says before correcting himself, “Spencer, you’re awake.”

“I am.”

Hotch gives him a brief rundown of everything that had gone on while he was in the hospital. 

Prentiss’ cult theory proved to be true. The other families were sitting, observing Whitley’s work out of their own volition. To them, it was study material, learning how to figure out how to get this next life Whitley had promised. 

The Kent’s were faring considering the circumstances but, the Wilson’s were another story. Lana Wilson was convinced Alex had made it out safe, that he escaped to get help. She was so convinced that Alex led them back there. 

Perhaps in a way he had. Without his death, the Kent’s would’ve lost Matthew, maybe another family would’ve lost their son. 

Whitley confessed to killing Alex Wilson and abducting his family and the Kent’s. Though he didn’t view it as an admission of a crime, rather claiming it was necessary to reach the next life. 

Their jobs ended as soon as the victims were cared for and the offenders/accessories were dealt with, leaving them free to spend every waking moment by Reid’s bedside.

Apparently, they were on a rotation. It was supposed to be Prentiss’ turn to spend an hour with him but she let Hotch stay in her place, while she tied up things for the Unit Chief.

The only one who hasn’t been following the schedule was Hotch, who was with him since the ambulance ride and barely left him since then. 

They go silent for a bit. Each of them debating on how to bring up what had happened. 

“Deathbed confessions don’t count.” Reid blurts out, “You can’t hold me accountable for whatever I did or said.”

“Spencer—”

“Let’s forget about it. Okay?”

“We need to talk about it.”

“Please, Hotch,” he begs, “Forget about it.”

Hotch looks like he wants to say more but, he reigns himself in. Leaning back into his chair. 

He looks at him and breaks the first and foremost rule of being a B.A.U team member. He tries to profile Hotch. To no avail, however, because whatever tells Hotch may have had, have been weeded out of him, trained out of him. There are no ticks or fidgets he can theorize about. No facial expressions that he can discern. There is nothing that can give Reid a hint about what Hotch is feeling right now. 

“Look, I’ll file for a transfer out and until then, I’ll try my best to—”

That pulls a reaction out of Hotch. 

“You’re not transferring out of the team, Reid.” he declares, his words sounding final, “We need you here. I need you here.”

He stares at him with such an intensity that has Reid looking down at the mangled mess of wires and lines that are his hands. His chin resting against his chest. 

“So,” he swallows hard, “You’re not… you’re not disgusted by me?”

“Never, Reid.” Hotch promises. 

He still refuses to look at him but he takes a hold of Hotch’s wrist. Dragging him close enough so that Reid can pull him into a hug. He props his chin up against his shoulder.

The heat of his hands warm up the skin hidden beneath the thin hospital gown. He bathes in the feeling for a second; how big Hotch’s hands are and how he could hurt him so easily but instead he chooses to hold him. How Hotch could easily be like those kids Thomas had fallen victim to, how he could be like that man from the bar, but instead Hotch keeps him near. 

But, he knows this can never last. 

Far too soon for Reid’s liking, he pulls away from Hotch’s touch, and moves back against the bed.

“I’ll stop.” Reid murmurs, “Touching you, if you want.”

“Spencer, I don’t mind.”

That has Reid looking up. 

“You don’t?”

“I don’t want anything to change.” he admits, “Do you?”

“No.” 

Ignoring all the wires and lines, he reaches for Reid’s hand.

“Then, stop worrying.” Hotch gently chastises.

They’re silent. Only the sounds of the monotonous beeping off Reid’s monitors and their breathing reverberate through the air. He takes the moment to take in his surroundings. 

There’s numerous get-well soon gifts littered around the compact hospital room. All of them, he presumed, to have been purchased from the hospital gift shop. There was a teddy bear Prentiss bought, on behalf of her and Garcia. The bear even sported his own tie. As a gag gift, Rossi left behind a balloon that read ‘It’s a Boy’ with ‘Genius’ scribbled in. Morgan bought some Jell-O in the only acceptable flavour, lime. JJ was the most practical, gifting him with a knit blanket, better than the paper thin one he was given. 

His eyes flit around before they settle back on Hotch, who he now realized was wearing a suit, like always.

He’s not sure if it’s because he’s in a loose hospital gown but Reid thinks the suit looks ridiculously uncomfortable, restrictive almost. He even went the whole nines for Reid’s bedside: suit jacket, well-fitted pants, dress shirt, and a tie that looks ready to choke him.

Reid slips his hand free from Hotch’s grasp. Instead, he trails his hands up Hotch’s chest.. He hooks a finger underneath the knot of his tie and undoes it. In under thirty seconds, he has the fabric on the bed. He pushes at Hotch’s jacket, until the other man gets the hint, pulling back to shrug it off. Then, Reid moves to his shirt, undoing the first two buttons. 

When Hotch smirks at him, Reid only ducks his head, hiding the red tint spreading across his face. 

Reid aims to lay back down but his endeavors are thwarted by Hotch bringing up a hand behind his head, keeping him close enough to feel his breath.

Hotch raises his eyebrows in question. 

“You looked uncomfortable.” Reid whispers, resting his hand against the planes of Hotch’s chest

“You just like me with a little less layers, don’t you Dr. Reid?” he teases.

The monitor besides them spikes, beeping loudly; the words making Reid’s heart take it up a notch. 

“Don’t.” Reid switfully cuts off Hotch before he can even think about saying something. 

When Reid is cleared for air travel again, the team gets ready to head out of Oklahoma.

By the time they get on the jet back to Quantico, the sky is dark out and their arrival time is estimated to be somewhere in the early hours of the morning.

All the overhead lights were dim. Everyone was quiet, contemplative of what had happened back there.

The team retreated into their own methods to decompress and compartmentalize what had happened out there. 

On the aisle seat, Prentiss has her head tilted up against the headrest, desperately trying to get some sleep. By her side, Morgan gazes out the window with his headphones on.

Across the aisle, Rossi has some paperwork scattered about that he ignores in favour of doing a crossword. Next to him, JJ actually works on her own paperwork. 

On the other end of the jet, Hotch was failing to complete his own paperwork, and unlike Rossi, it wasn’t out of procrastination, rather a distraction of sorts. Beside him, Reid has his head against Hotch’s shoulder, slumped over, not asleep but not quite awake either. Their seats were facing away from the rest of the team, giving them a shroud of privacy. 

His hand was pushing his pen down hard onto his paper, almost ripping the page with the force he implemented. 

Sighing, he sets the pen down, careful to not jostle Reid. 

If Reid didn’t think he was going to die, would he have ever told Hotch? Or would he have just suffered in silence until he moved on? 

“You okay?” Reid asks, his words garbled by Hotch’s shoulder seam. 

“Yes.” he answers, “I was just thinking.

After a moment, it seems like Reid has fallen asleep finally and Hotch goes to pick up his pen, in another attempt at productivity. Then, Reid shifts around to rest his face against Hotch’s chest, looking up at him with big eyes. Putting a stop to any work he could’ve gotten done. 

“About?” Reid prompts.

When Hotch still doesn’t answer, Reid wraps an arm around his middle. His eyes still looking up at him expectantly. 

“Hotch,” he murmurs, “What were you thinking about?”

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?” he shoots back.

Hotch doesn’t give him a verbal response, only hinting with eyebrows and facial expressions until Reid’s mouth opens up in a soft ‘o’.

“Does it matter?” he deflects, breaking off eye contact, “I told you in the end, didn’t I?”

His hands fiddle with the seatbelt. The material pushing up against his hips, just edging where Hotch knows to be some stitches and bandages.

“Spencer?”

He hums in response, still not glancing up.

“You were never going to tell me, were you?” he accuses softly.

Reid does not deny nor confirm. Only burrowing further into Hotch’s chest. 

He nudges Reid’s head off, disregarding the hurt look on Reid’s face. 

He reaches up and flicks off the overhead light. Between the two of them, he pushes up the armrest, moving it out of the way. Then, he drags Reid back down to rest his head just under his collarbone. Pressing close without the barrier between them 

“I couldn’t.” Reid whispers after they’re settled together, “I couldn’t lose you.”

“You wouldn’t have.”

The sun is barely peeking above the horizon when they make it to the airstrip back home. Everyone is thankful they’ve got the day off, all of them practically dead on their feet as they drag themselves to their cars.

Hotch opts to drive Reid to his own place, unwilling to let him be alone because of his injuries. He tells Reid as such, that he should have someone near him, in case something happens.

He doesn’t say the truth: that he is terrified of letting Reid out of his sight.

Once Hotch makes sure everyone is alright and on their way home, he ushers Reid into the passenger seat of his car. He ignores Reid’s protests and straps him into the seatbelt himself. Double checking that he’s fastened it properly. Then, he climbs into the driver’s seat and starts up the car. 

As Hotch pulls out of the parking lot, he darts a glance at Reid. Unlike the rest of the team, Reid succumbed to exhaustion on the jet, getting some well needed rest. Now, he’s alert and watching the moving images outside the window. 

Reid. 

Spencer Reid who had been through so much, so young. Who had to learn to take care of himself and his mother as a child. Who had to combat bullies and bigots throughout his whole life. Who had to bear through a kidnapping and torture. Who had to battle addiction on his own, when two of his mentors failed him. Who had lost two of his friends when they let tragedy define the rest of their lives. 

Spencer Reid who did not let tragedy define him. 

On top of that, Reid had to suffer in silence over having feelings for his superior. 

How many times did Reid have to hear about Haley? How many times did Reid notice him fiddling with his wedding band? How many times did Reid find him staring at the picture of Haley and Jack on his desk?

How many times did Hotch break Reid’s heart over the years?

“When did you—” Hotch starts off, “When did you know?”

“It doesn’t matter, Hotch.”

“Please.” his hands tighten around the steering wheel, “I need to know, Spencer.”

Reid hesitates. Unwilling to share this detail with him as if he knows that it will only hurt Hotch more. 

But, he needs to know, for both their sakes, Hotch needs to know how long he’s been the one hurting Reid. Maybe in a way, he'll be balancing the scales finally.

“Since... ” Reid swallows hard, trying to prolong the moment before everything changes, “Since, the L.D.S.K.

“You were actually the first man— first person I really fell in love with.”

Reid didn’t just have feelings for him.

He was in love with him. For all those years. 

Reid loved him, even when Hotch was kicking him in the chest, rattling off false insults that probably rang true in his ears. Reid loved him even when he failed to help him with his dilaudid addiction, when he took the easy way out and hoped Gideon was right and that Reid could fix it without his help. He loved him even when he put his life in danger because he was upset and angry over his divorce. 

The world stills for a moment and Hotch is grateful that the roads are mostly empty. 

All these years…

“I’m really sorry.” Hotch croaks out for lack of anything better to say, “If I could, Spencer, I would—”

And the way Reid only smiles at him, feels like the kick in the chest that Hotch dealt out all those years ago. 

“I know, Hotch.” he murmurs, his eyes sad as he looks him over, “I know.”

Chapter Text

Weeks go by and before they know it, February comes rolling around the corner. With that comes Reid’s reinstatement in the field. Which of course means they must commemorate his homecoming with several rounds paid for by the ever generous David Rossi.

That’s how Reid finds himself toppled over a chipped table.

JJ and Emily dance to the music, garnering a lot of looks from some very attractive people. Over to their side, Morgan pulls Garcia in the most obscure, over the top moves, laughing as Morgan almost trips on air. Girls stare at Morgan in want and at Garcia in jealousy but, they’re in their own world. Rossi is at the bar, ordering another round. He’s chatting with the bartender over something, not looking ready to get back any time soon.

On the seat closest to the rest of the space, Hotch sits pressed up against Reid from shoulder to thigh. He’s sipping his own beer, smiling absently in a way that Hotch never does at work. 

His inhibitions are lowered and his thinking is slowed down, a consequence of drinking, so Reid doesn’t really blame his body for acting on desire alone. He reaches his hand to Hotch’s face, his thumb pressing in where his dimples are, resulting in an ever bigger smile. 

Which has Reid beaming in response. 

“I like you like this.” he babbles, “Happy, carefree. When your eyebrows aren’t in a permanent scowl.”

For emphasis, he smooths the invisible line where Hotch’s brows rest, forming the patent Hotchner Glare.

Hotch doesn’t respond in words, only grinning as he tries to look up at what Reid’s doing. 

“Sometimes, I like watching you interrogate suspects. A little too much, I think.” Reid drops his hand back to his lap, leaning in closer to Hotch, “I remember this one time during a consult case with Chester Hardwicke and you pulled off your jacket and your tie. Even without my eidetic memory, I don’t think I can forget how you stripped.”

At that Hotch huffs out a laugh, stifling it behind his drink as he takes a sip.

“I’m not sure that qualifies as stripping.”

Reid frowns at Hotch’s words, or rather how they’re seamless. Unlike his right now, tumbling over one another. Pushing away, he leans back to watch Hotch. His movements are precise and he seems to have enough dexterity in his hands to pick up the glass and put it down, without spilling anything. 

“Why do I feel like you’re not as drunk as me?” he probes, poking a finger at his chest.

“Because I’m not.” he answers, “I’m twice your size and I happen to know how to pace myself.”

Reid waves him off, “What’s the point of drinking if you’re not getting drunk?”

Hotch opens his mouth, no doubt to make a smart ass comment, but whatever he has to say is interrupted by JJ’s return. She’s sweating, as she leans her whole weight by her hand against the table.

“Hotch,” she pants out, motioning her head to where Prentiss is pouting on the dance floor, “Tap out. She’s still got some energy to burn off and I think I’ve lost feeling in my feet.”

He turns to Reid, and in an uncharacteristic move, he salutes him with two fingers. Finally showing the barest hint of inebriation.

“Duty calls.”

Slipping out of the booth, Hotch jogs over to Prentiss, who lights up at his presence. She pulls him close by the bicep, swaying with him to music. 

An ache builds up in him but he tries to push it down. Logically, he knows that Prentiss doesn’t like Hotch in that way and that he has no real grounds to be jealous, but logic is not something the heart takes into account, unfortunately. 

“I think I’m going to go to the restroom.” he excuses himself, but JJ barely processes it, still trying her best to catch her breath. 

As he pushes open the door to the restroom, he takes a quick glance around to find that he is alone.

Sighing in relief, he leans against the wall and tries to collect himself. He finds himself staring at the Valentine’s Day decorations. Pink and red hearts taped to the stall doors. Washable paint against the corners of the mirror. Streamers hanging from the lights.

Almost feels like the restroom is mocking him. 

He doesn’t even register that the door has opened, until another occupant has come up to stand beside him. Their shoulders brushing.

“You okay?” Hotch asks, his hands stuffed in his pockets, “You left in a rush.”

“Loud music.” he lies effortlessly, unwilling to make Hotch guilty for something that is out of his control.

“You know,” he starts off, “I heard some very attractive people on the dance floor talking about. I think JJ’s trying to set you up.”

He turns to see the grin on Hotch’s face and his stomach drops. 

Hotch looks so giddy at the idea that Reid will stop putting his disgusting paws on him. How he’ll have to stop putting up with him if he can hand him off to the next person that will inevitably end up leaving him. 

“I bet you’re really excited about that.” Reid mutters.

“Sorry?”

“Don’t act all righteous.” he snaps, “I know you want to get rid of me.”

He folds his arms across his chest. He doesn’t even know why he said what he said. He doesn’t even know why he’s trying to pick a fight. 

Apparently, Hotch does because he doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he makes his way to stand in front of Reid. 

“Hey,” he says softly, “I’m not trying to get rid of you.”

All that short-lived anger dies down and Reid feels embarrassed by his little outburst. He uncrosses his arms and wipes a hand down his face. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes, “I don’t know why or what… Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” he reassures, “But you should think about it.”

Reid frowns as he looks up at Hotch.

“Things will change.”

“It’s a good change.”

And it is. It should be a good change. It means Reid might be able to move on from Hotch and get a chance at happiness. It should be good. It should be great even.

It should be but Reid can’t help but think back to all those weeks ago, in Oklahoma. He remembers how he kissed Hotch, his mouth cold, their hands drenched in his blood. He remembers how later, when he was laid out on the bed, his skin paler than usual, Hotch told him he didn’t want things to change.

This is change. And a big one.

“I don’t want to date someone else.” he says, “Finding someone means spending lunch with someone else from now on. It means calling someone else when I need help. Someone else to hold me when I cry. It means someone else who’ll take up all the time you have in my life and that means the two of us will drift apart. I don’t want that, do you?”

Hotch stares at him with a sad smile.

“No, I don’t want that.” he agrees, “I hate that I’ll be lonely again if you find someone else.”

“Then, why would you want me to find someone else?” Reid questions, confused by Hotch’s admittance.

“Because I hate the idea of you being lonely even more.” he confesses.

If asked, Reid will blame his intoxicated state for what comes next.

His hands clutch against the sides of Hotch’s neck and pull him the short distance down to meet his mouth. Immediately, Hotch’s hands grip his waist, pulling him near.

One of Hotch’s hands travels up and into his hair. He tugs on his strands, eliciting a groan that makes him open his mouth. Hotch takes advantage of that, pushing his tongue in. 

All too soon, Reid tugs away from the kiss, yet only moving a mere inch away from Hotch’s mouth. His arms still loosely wrapped around Hotch’s neck.

“What are we doing?”

He ducks his head down. Ashamed almost. 

“I don’t know, Reid.” he truthfully answers. 

By the time they all manage to wind down, everyone is drunk, except for Hotch, who only had two beers and plenty of alcohol free iced teas.

The night slowly comes to an end and all of them file into vehicles. Prentiss is spending the night with JJ, so they wait for Will to come pick the both of them up. Rossi calls in a cab for himself. Morgan and Garcia share one to Garcia’s place. When her back is turned, everyone looks at Morgan, resulting in him spluttering and blushing about. 

Hotch takes Reid back to his home. His protests are shot down when Hotch reminds him Jack is at a sleepover tonight. 

Once inside, Hotch goes to the kitchen to get a glass of water, while he ushers Reid up the stairs with instructions to go up to his bedroom. 

His feet drag him across the wooden panelling as he makes his way down the hall, to where he knows is Hotch’s room. 

Reid pushes open the door and swiftfully deposits himself at the foot of the bed. He kicks the bed frame lightly as he looks up at his surroundings. 

He stays like that until Hotch enters the space with a tray. Two glasses of water and some aspirin for Reid’s inevitable headache. After settling the tray down on the nightstand, Hotch makes his way over to him.

He kneels down on the floor in front of Reid. His palms come up to grasp him at his hip bone, circling the skin. 

Then, his hands travel underneath Reid’s shirt, touching his bare skin. His gun calloused hand rubbing delightfully against the soft skin of his stomach. 

“Can I tell you something?” Hotch asks, the path of his palm never stopping.

“Yeah.”

One hand slips out of his shirt and down to his thigh.

“You used to need me. ” he says, staring at the sliver of skin that was revealed as Reid’s shirt rucked up, “You used to look at me whenever you weren’t sure of yourself. You used to come to me when you were confused why JJ was laughing at you. You used to cling to my side in cases during Vegas, pressed up against my side like I was the only thing stopping the bad guys.”

Reid swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. 

“And then, one day you stopped.” Hotch continues, “One day you stopped looking at me. And I remember thinking, oh, you grew up.

“I took my eyes off of you for one second, and you grew up.” he confesses, “You didn’t need me anymore.”

“I still need you.” Reid affirms, his throat watery with inexplicable emotion. “I could have called anyone that night at the bar but, I called you.”

“I need you too.”

“You do?”

“You make me feel a little less alone.” he whispers.

Reid wraps his arms loosely around Hotch’s neck. He presses his cheek against Hotch’s own. He relishes in the moment. His warm skin. Is rhythmic breathing. How nice it all feels.

How it could never be like this with anyone else. How Reid doesn’t want it to be like this with anyone else.

“I don’t want to date anyone.” he mumbles, “I don’t care how pathetic it seems but, no one will ever compare to what I feel for you.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever date anyone. Not if it means hurting you.”

Reid laughs at his words lightly, not taking them seriously. 

Hotch will stop waiting soon enough, and leave. Everyone does eventually. 

For now, though, Reid will soak up the attention he can get. 

“Guess we’ll be lonely forever.” Reid jokes.

Hotch withdraws his hand from his skin, bringing it up to cradle the back of his head. His eyes playful.

“At least we’ll be lonely together.” he declares with mirth.

They stay like that for a while, staring at each other like idiots.

Then, Reid watches how Hotch’s eyes drop to his mouth. All the humour from the moment earlier drained away; replaced with something much more intense.

“Does it bother you?” he asks.

“What?”

“Oklahoma.”

Breathing in, Reid settles back slightly.

Oklahoma doesn’t bother him the way it should. It helps that the memories of getting stabbed are hazy but Reid thinks he would prefer that over remembering how Hotch cried over his bleeding wound as he desperately tried to keep him alive. 

It has him waking up in the middle of a night with a cold sweat. 

“I didn’t like the part where we both thought I was dying.” he says with a certain note of seriousness, “I didn’t like the look you had on your face when I explained afterwards.”

Moving his hand up to Hotch’s face, Reid cradles his jaw. Hotch leans in close, enough for his breath to fan out against Reid’s mouth and vice versa.

“I’m sorry that you thought the only way you could tell me was when you thought you were going to die.”

“I’m sorry that could’ve been the last memory you had of me.”

He rubs his nose against the other man’s. He takes his time memorizing, knowing that there is no nothingness filled void waiting for him after this. 

Then, he closes his eyes and slots their mouths together. It’s slow and languid. It’s better than their first kiss, astronomically so. No blood. No deathbed confessions. No tears. His fingers tangle up in Hotch’s locks, bringing him closer. It couldn’t be more perfect.

That is until Hotch bites down on his bottom lip. It draws out an almost embarrassingly high pitched noise from his throat. 

His mouth falls open from the action and Hotch fucks his tongue in, brushing it against Reid’s. 

Reid pants against Hotch’s still moving mouth. 

“God, Hotch,” Reid moans into the other man’s mouth. Hotch’s wandering hands make their descent to his belt buckle, “What are you doing?”

“I am making up for all those years.”

Whatever Reid was going to say is smothered by Hotch’s mouth again.

Chapter Text

In the morning, Hotch slowly wakes to Reid leaning over the side of the bed, fumbling with his phone as he bleary-eyed types out a text to JJ. He’s dressed in his boxers and wearing that old FBI shirt of Hotch’s he’s seemed to take a liking to. 

Shifting, Hotch rolls over to envelop him in his arms. His naked chest pressed up against Reid’s back. He shoves his face into the back of Reid’s neck, closing his eyes. 

“Good morning.” he greets, his voice raspy. 

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

“It’s fine.” Hotch responds, his eyes still closed, “What’s JJ texting you about this early?”

Hotch can hear Reid’s breath hitch. He sets down his phone on the nightstand. He rolls around to face Hotch, resting a hand against the planes of his chest.

“She talked to this girl last night that seemed to be interested in me.” he answers, pointedly looking at Hotch’s neck instead of his face, “She wanted to see if I was available for a blind date this afternoon.”

“And?”

Hotch places his hand over Reid’s earning him a tiny, reserved smile.

“I told her I’m busy.” he replies, still cautious, as if he’s afraid of Hotch’s reaction.

He moves in closer, pressing his lips just beneath Reid’s ear. Inciting a breathy whine from his throat. Then, he trails his hands around Reid’s waist, toying with the hem of the shirt.

“Yeah?” he teases.

Reid doesn’t get to answer as Hotch tilts his head up, silently asking for a kiss that Reid gives enthusiastically. Almost to the point of being clumsy. The first couple of open-mouthed kisses are messy. Reid even missing and managing to dart a kiss to the corner of Hotch’s mouth instead. A hand snakes around the back of his neck, pulling him even closer. 

He finally sneaks his hands underneath Reid’s shirt, grasping at all the skin he’s given. Pushing him flat against the bed, as he stays by his side. 

One night with Spencer Reid taught him much about the man. How he likes to let Hotch take control of their kisses. How he likes to be gripped at his hips tight enough to bruise. How he likes to be as close as possible when Hotch slides into him. 

How he whines whenever Hotch pulls away from the kiss. How he blushes down to his chest when he realizes how loud he’s been. 

Taking advantage of this particular piece of information, Hotch slows down their kiss. He smiles against Reid’s lips and loves the way his breath stutters. Loves the desperate noises he lets out when Hotch pulls away completely. 

“Aaron,” Reid says, between a moan and whine, “Please.”

Hotch presses his lips against Reid’s jaw. Peppering his jawline and the underside of his throat, as he brings a hand to grasp down between Reid’s legs, palming him through his boxers.

“Who would’ve known?” Hotch murmurs between kisses, “Shy and quiet but, I get my hands on you and you turn into a mess. I was worried the neighbours were thinking I was killing someone in here.”

Reid turns red impossibly more, and Hotch follows the blush all the way down to the hollow of his throat with his tongue. 

Pulling his hand and mouth back, Hotch makes his way to settle between Reid’s legs. He puts his hands on the tops of his knees, groaning at the way Reid only pushes his thighs apart and spreads his legs for him, obediently.

He moves his hand to the top of his boxers. He drags them down slightly to find the bruises on his hips from last night, fresh. 

Testing waters, he digs a thumb into the sensitive skin. 

“Aaron...” he hisses, his hips bucking into the touch. No doubt enjoying the way it hurt. 

Then, he takes a hold of the waistband. Tugging it up and away from Reid’s skin, until he lets go of it. The elastic snapping against the sensitive skin. Hotch finds himself entranced by the way Reid yelps at the pain, only to roll his hips as if to invite it. 

“You like that?” he whispers, leaning into Reid’s ear. 

Already delirious with pain and lust, he can only nod. 

He’s tempted to keep going. To see how far he can go. To see how far Reid would let him. 

Instead he just shoves Reid’s boxers down enough to grasp at his cock. Pumping him hard and fast in his hand. 

He’s fascinated by how perfect Reid is. He’s already made a mess of Hotch’s hand, precum covering his palm. He lowers his head down to Reid’s hip. Biting into the mark he made last night, where he just snapped against. 

“Please, Aaron. I need to— ” he pleads, fingers lace into Hotch’s hair, “I need it so bad.” 

The way Reid begs almost makes him want to finish him off just like that.

Almost.

He stops his movement on his cock as Reid releases his hair. He takes off Reid’s boxers, before moving back to place his hands on Reid’s hips, sitting back on his haunches. 

“What do you need?” he asks.

“Don’t make me say it.” Reid mumbles, embarrassed. 

He hides his face in his arms, crook of his elbow. Unable to look at Hotch anymore. 

“You have to ask for things you want, Spencer.” he lectures.

Reaching down for his arms, Hotch takes hold of Reid’s thin wrists and places them on either side of his head. Pinning them in place. 

“I need you.” he says vaguely, his whole face burning bright, even as he tries to turn away.

“Yeah?” he questions, “Where do you need me?”

When Reid doesn’t come up with an answer, Hotch removes his hands from Reid’s body. His heart wrenching at the pitiful whine he lets out but, unrelenting still. He maintains eye contact, despite Reid’s attempts to break it. Squirming under the attention. 

“Spencer,” he mutters lovingly, “Good boys answer questions.”

Finally, as if a dam broke, “Fine!” he exclaims, “I need you inside of me — You’re cock inside of me. I need you to fuck me. Please? Okay?”

The last part is huffed out in frustration.

Leaning down with one hand against the pillow, Hotch presses a kiss to Reid’s forehead. His skin sweaty, salty to taste.

“See that wasn’t so hard?”

Whatever Reid grumbles is inaudible to his ears. He’s fairly certain though it's an insult directed towards him. 

Ignoring his almost petulant behaviour, he grasps at Reid’s cock again. This time he pays attention to his face instead. His eyes scrunch up when he twists his hand ever so, his pink mouth opening in an ‘o’ shape. His head almost lifting off the pillow. 

He keeps his hand moving against Reid’s member, twisting and pushing the pad of his thumb against the head to hear him keen. Just as Reid is about to come, he moves to grip him firmly at the base, cutting off his orgasm and forcing a cry out of Reid’s lungs. 

His chest heaves. Falling and rising rapidly. Reid’s eyes are shut closed but tears still escape. 

“You’re so good for me, Spencer.” he says as he dots kisses across his eyelids and cheeks.

He moves his other hand up to Reid’s face, forcing his fingers into his half-parted mouth. His own cock hardening impossibly so, as Reid only moans around the digits. 

Reid is attractive. Hotch isn’t blind, he knows that. 

But, here in Hotch’s bed. Spread out against his sheets. His body mottled with bruises. Tear tracks on his face. His cock hard against his stomach. His mouth around his fingers. 

Here, Spencer looks so pretty. Makes him want to chain him to his bed. Fuck him for the rest of their lives. 

“I love how I could do anything to you and you’d be a moment away from coming.” Hotch breathes out, as he fucks his fingers steadily into Reid’s mouth, “Are you like this with everyone or just me?”

Once his fingers are thoroughly wet, dripping with his saliva, Reid pulls off to reply. 

“Only you.” 

Hotch manoeuvres them a bit, getting them into position. He kneels between Reid’s legs again and brings up his thighs to wind around his waist. He rucks up Reid’s shirt to his collarbones, revealing the pale expanse of skin once more.  

He pushes three fingers into Reid’s entrance right away, knowing how fucked open he was from last night. 

“Aaron,” Reid sobs out, his hands coming up to claw at his shoulders, “I think you’re going to break me.”

In lieu of a response, Hotch crooks his fingers in just the right away. Taking in the sight of Reid writhing around, panting. 

He draws his fingers out, the tips of his digits at Reid’s rim, before he dives in deeper, rougher. 

Reid’s head falls back against the pillows with a moan, and he cups Hotch’s jaw to pull him in a bruising kiss. And Hotch savours the feeling of it all, how Reid clings to his body, the way his hips twitch almost pathetically, and how he fills Hotch’s mouth with his needy sounds. 

Without breaking the kiss, Hotch gets his free hand onto Reid’s chest. Pinching his nipples, getting them hard, swallowing the yelp that comes his way. His hands never stop their torture. He keeps fingering Reid, aiming for that one spot in him. He keeps pulling on his abused buds until they’re aching and raw like the rest of his body. He feels the wet slide of tears against his face, and Hotch likes that he gets to make Reid cry in ecstasy for once. 

Dragging away from the kiss, Hotch looks down to see his fingers disappearing into Reid’s body. 

“My good boy.” Hotch praises, well aware of the effect his words have on Reid, “Sore from last night but you keep taking these fingers inside of you.”

“Your good boy.” Reid agrees, then he gasps as Hotch pushes against his prostate, “God, Aaron, I love you.”

His chest swells with an indescribable emotion and rather than respond, he dives down to smash their mouths together. Trying to say everything he wants to with that kiss. 

Continuing the kiss, he pulls his fingers out, lapping up the whimper that pushes past Reid’s lips. 

Too impatient to take off his clothes, Hotch simply pulls down his pajamas and boxers enough to free his cock. He positions himself at Reid’s entrance. The other man tenses briefly before relaxing as he slowly pushes in.

He’s strangely grateful for his dry spell after his divorce and the fact that Reid seemed to have a problem with one night stands. Grateful because that means he gets to slide into Reid without a condom, gets to fill him up with his come, mark him from the inside out. 

When the head barely breaches the first ring of muscle,  Reid tears away from the kiss. Tossing back as he bares his throat to him.

“Don’t stop.”

“Never.”

He grits his teeth as he revels in the tight heat of Reid’s lithe body, filling him up to the hilt. 

Once he’s fully inside of Reid, he gives him a minute to adjust. Giving him ample time to admire Reid. How his nipples are red from being played with, his cock in a similar condition. Bites and bruises, overlapping old and new. How his hair is damp with sweat, his eyes glossy. 

As he rakes his eyes over him, he finds himself staring at the noticeable bulge at Reid’s stomach. He bites back a groan at the sight. A reminder of how skinny and tiny Reid was compared to him, yet taking his cock inside him with no complaint. As if he was made to be fucked by Aaron Hotchner, and Aaron Hotchner alone. 

He can’t help himself, as he presses a hand against the bulge. Resulting in a moan that seemed like it was being punched out of him. 

“Move. Please, move.”

He braces his hands under Reid’s parted thighs, pulling out to the tip before pressing back in just as slowly. A leisurely pace of thrusting in and out.

Then, Hotch shifts slightly, and Reid lets out his loudest moan yet. 

“Right there, Aaron.” he cries out, dragging his nails across his back. Opening the half-healed, shallow cuts he made on him last night.

He aims his thrusts right at that spot and each time Reid sobs and begs for him to keep going. Drawing up Reid’s legs, he brings his thighs so they’re almost flush with his torso. Heels dig into his lower back, pushing him a little harder with each rough shove. 

Reid’s hand trails down to just above where his cock rested. 

“Aaron,” he panted, waiting for his approval before touching himself, “Can I come? Please, I’ve been so good. Please?”

Reid has been good. He’s been so good for Hotch. Taking everything Hotch will give him. He’s his good boy and he deserves to finish. He deserves everything. 

Except Hotch wants to rile him up. He wants to see just how much Reid wants to please him. To see how much he wants to obey him.

So, instead of giving him what he deserves, Hotch brings his teeth down to bite at Reid’s ear playfully. 

“No.” he teases, torturing his boy for the fun of it, “No, you can’t come.”

And like the good boy he is, Reid tries not to. Goes as far as shoving both his hands underneath the pillow so he won’t be tempted. 

That’s too easy, though, and Hotch wants to give Reid a real challenge. 

He pushes himself up just enough to reach between their bodies and grasp Reid’s cock, jacking him off in time to his thrusts. 

Reid tries to twist away from him but it's in vain. 

“Please. Let me come.” he begs, his voice sounding scratchy from all the noises that he tore from his throat in the last twenty four hours, “Please, Aaron. I love you. Won’t you let me come?”

It seems that Hotch wasn’t the only one who had tricks from last night. 

“You can come, Spencer.” he murmurs, “Can you be good for me and come?”

Beneath him, Reid stiffened, his long body arching as he moans over and over again, brokenly. Making a mess of himself as he comes over his chest.

Never relenting in his strokes, Hotch fucks him through his climax. He doesn’t even stop rubbing his hand against Reid’s cock, even after he's finished. Ignoring his attempts at swatting him away. 

A few more thrusts have him biting down at the base of Reid’s neck, sinking his release into Reid as he rides out his orgasm. 

Eventually Hotch’s hips still. The two of them lie there for a moment, chests heaving, as they just look at each other. Then, he moves to pull out of Reid, relishing in the soft whimpers that ensue. 

“Aaron.” he mumbles sweetly.

Before laying down, Hotch urges Reid up. Helping him take off the shirt. His body is malleable under his touch, and he barely notices when Hotch cleans up his abdomen and groin. Only humming unconsciously.

Their breaths are still coming out short and shallow but they're evening with each passing moment.

It’s a comfortable silence. Two people basking in one another’s presence.

Then, it’s ruined. 

“Right, Reid coughs out, “I should probably get going.”

“Oh,” Hotch doesn’t bother hiding the disappointment in his voice, “Do you have somewhere to be?”

“No, I just…” he trails off, “I thought you’d want me to leave.”

“Why would I want that?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Hotch props himself up on his elbow to get a better look at Reid. 

“I have to pick up Jack today and he’s getting really into astronomy these days.” 

“Astronomy?”

“You could come with me. Teach Jack about astronomy. He loves to listen to you talk.” he says, “I think it’s a Hotchner trait.”

Reid lets out a laugh before it dies down naturally. 

“You sure? I know you don’t get to spend a lot of time with me. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“He’d love it.” he reassures, “Plus, when’s the last time Dr. Spencer came over for a visit?”

Reid shoots him a grateful smile. 

Not once do they talk about the ramifications of what they’re doing. They don’t talk about it while they’re in the shower (albeit they were busy wasting water at the time). They don’t talk about it during breakfast. Nor do they talk about it on the car ride to Jessica’s. 

In fact, Hotch acts as if them sleeping together is a regular occurrence. He doesn’t seem to bat an eye at it. Only taking it in stride. Unlike Reid, who seems to be completely thrown out of loop. 

He wants to figure out what they are to each other, figure out how to define themselves. He wants to draw up a chart of rules and regulations. At least attempt to minimize the amount of heartache he’ll have to experience. 

But, Reid isn’t called their Resident Genius for nothing. He knows that the moment they start talking about it, his feelings for Hotch and Hotch’s lack of feelings for him, he’ll chase him off. Make him come to his senses that anything beyond the realm of platonic with someone like Reid will only end messy. 

So, when the urge to open his mouth and spew out all of his opinions and ideas comes up, he shuts it down. Instead, starting on a tangent about something nonsensical, in hopes of keeping his mind off of it. 

It should be great that they don’t define it. This way Reid gets to keep having sex with Aaron Hotchner, the man he’s in love with.

But on the other hand, if they continue down on the path they’re on, Reid will have sex with Aaron Hotchner, the man who doesn’t love him back. 

All those feelings bubble up but they fizz out just as quickly, as Hotch and Reid walk over to Jessica’s front door. 

Well, Hotch walks, and Reid limps, much to his chagrin. 

“Do you need some help?” Hotch asks, with mock sincerity.

Reid throws him a glare, although it probably looked like a childish pout to Hotch. 

Chuckling, Hotch raps his knuckles against the wood of the door before stepping back.

Soon, the door opens up to Jessica, who’s smiling as she presses her body against where the doorknob is. 

“Hello Aaron.” 

“Hi Jessica.” he greets back politely, “Thank you for taking care of Jack.”

“It was nothing. I already had a houseful of people. What was one more?” she brushes off, “Speaking of, you should've come over last night. My parents were asking about you.”

“Jessica…”

“I know it’s difficult for you but, they don’t blame you.” she reassures before letting out a sigh, “Anyways, are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“My apologies, Jessica. This is Dr. Spencer Reid. He works with me.”

Reid offers up a small wave paired with an awkward smile. 

“Of course he does.” Jessica laughs, “Jack is just getting his things together, he should be out any—”

Jessica gets interrupted by said boy barrelling by her, beelining towards his father’s legs. The straps of his backpack fly as he races over, in his hand he holds a blue book. 

“Daddy!”

Hotch laughs as he gets tiny arms wrapped around his knees. Returning his son’s embrace, he threw his arms around his shoulders. 

“Hey buddy.” he says warmly, “Were you good for Aunt Jess?”

Pulling back, Jack nods earnestly before he realizes who’s standing next to his dad. He waves at Reid politely. 

“Hi Uncle Spencer.” 

“Hey Jack. I hear from your dad that you’re getting into astronomy?”

“Yeah! Dad even got me this.” he answers as he shows Reid the cover of the book: Astronomy For Kids.

“Well, I happen to know a lot about astronomy.” he mentioned conversationally. 

Jack’s eyes brighten as he starts to get excited. 

Whenever Jack got into something new, he would always bombard Reid with questions. Reid didn’t mind it, in fact he welcomed it. He liked answering them and he liked how Jack seemed to genuinely listen to the words he had to say. It was endearing, how much he wanted to learn, and how much he wanted to learn from Reid. 

“Really?” he asks, practically vibrating in place, “Can you teach me something?”

Hotch answers for him, a lilt in his voice, “When we get home, buddy.”

Monday morning, Reid finds himself in the middle of an interrogation near the coffee machine. 

It’s maddening almost. The scent of coffee invades his nose yet, his own mug of coffee was snatched up from him. Held captive in Garcia’s hands, while Prentiss, JJ, and Morgan crowd around him. Even Rossi doesn’t deem the questioning beneath him, finding it worthwhile as he gets to laugh at Reid’s expense.

“C’mon Pretty Boy,” Morgan cajoles, “You can get your precious coffee back if you give us the details.”

“There are no details.” he firmly states, crossing his arms to drive the point home.

“Oh, yeah,” Prentiss preens as she digs her finger into the bite mark on the base of his neck, eliciting a hiss, “What do you call that?”

He slaps her hand away before he self-consciously tugs his collar up. 

“Does she work at the Bureau?” Rossi asks. 

When Reid doesn’t respond right away, Prentiss takes that as an affirmation. She snaps her fingers and points at him. 

“She does!” she exclaims.

JJ and Garcia’s mouths fall open as they look at one another with pleasantly surprised expressions. When they start to giggle, Reid flushes. Rossi only smirks from behind his mug and Morgan claps a hand down on his shoulder. 

“No!” he denies.

It’s fruitless, however, as they take it upon themselves to theorize and deduce who this mysterious woman could be. 

If it weren’t for his coffee, Reid would’ve walked away by now.

“White Collar?” JJ suggests.

“No, the women there aren’t Reid’s type.” Rossi objects with a vehement shake of his head. 

“Is she even an agent? Maybe she’s a technical analyst?” Garcia offers up, eyes twinkling.  

“There is only one technical analyst in my life, and it’s you Garcia.” Reid says in hopes that maybe that’ll get him his coffee back.

It does. Flattery always works wonders with Garcia. She coos and pulls him in for a hug, pressing a kiss to his temple as she embraces him. Once she’s finished, she hands back his coffee, while the rest of them groan in annoyance.

“What?” she asks, innocently.

“He’s pulling your strings, Baby Girl.”

Without saying anything, Reid takes his mug and bids them a silent farewell. He avoids his desk, knowing that none of his coworkers care about professionalism in the workplace. Instead, he makes his way over to Hotch’s office.

Opening the door without knocking, Reid finds Hotch at his desk per usual. His pen scribbling away. Not bothering to look up, Hotch speaks.

“Getting too insufferable?” 

Sighing, Reid settles into the chair in front of the desk.

“This is all your fault. If you weren’t such an alpha male, I could’ve been at peace.” he mutters as he takes a sip of his now cold coffee. 

“Don’t lie. You like it.”

“You don’t know that.” Reid attempts to dissuade, weakly. 

Hotch sets down his pen and leans back into his chair. His hands resting on the armrests while he raises an eyebrow at Reid.

“May I remind you how much you moan when I mark you up?” 

“Oh, we’re playing like that now, are we?” Reid challenges, he sets his mug down on the desk before he leans closer, his elbows on his knees, “How about your obsession with calling me a good boy?”

The only outright reaction he had was simply tugging on his tie. Unlike Reid, Hotch was not susceptible to blushing. It translated to the same feeling though. Hotch was embarrassed.

But, like Reid said, Hotch was an alpha male. Accepting the gauntlet Reid had thrown, he stood up from his chair. He rounded the desk to hover over Reid. Placing a hand on his throat, Hotch used his thumb to press down against his Adam’s apple. 

“It’s because you are a good boy.” he murmurs, “You’re my good boy.”

Reid’s mouth feels dry all of a sudden and the difficulty he has swallowing has nothing to do with the hand on his neck. 

He locks eyes with Hotch. His pants feel tight. His body feels hot all over. He can’t help but lean into the touch.

Tilting his head back, he wordlessly asks for a kiss only to find Hotch suppressing a laugh. 

Then, he snaps out of it, swatting Hotch’s hand away. He leans back down into his chair and tucks his chin on his chest, refusing to look up at Hotch again.

“Okay, you’ve proved your point.”

Chapter Text

Weeks go by and Reid comes into work almost always bruised and bitten. To the point where the rest of the team was starting to get worried for Reid’s well being. Fearing abuse. In fact, it took some red-faced conversations to reassure the others that Reid was being thrown around out of his free will. That he wanted to be battered by the end of it.

He couldn’t look at them in the eye for days after that. 

The bright side of that conversation is that now they know not to go prodding in his private matters. Still, Reid prefers to be on the safe side and starts to wear a scarf around his neck, even in the middle of spring. 

When Reid mentions it casually in a conversation, Hotch takes it as a personal challenge to mark him in places where even the scarf won’t hide. So, Reid ups the ante by wearing turtlenecks. 

Thus far, their arrangement has worked well. Nothing really changed. They’re still professional at work. They still keep the touching to a minimum in front of the team, silently agreeing on keeping what they had a secret. If anything, they’re closer than they were to begin with. 

Hotch goes with him to watch French New Wave films, even if he has no idea what’s happening. He thinks that Hotch just likes it when he leans over to translate. If Reid can muster up the courage, sometimes he’ll join Hotch on his morning runs. Sometimes when he comes over, Hotch has a new book to give him, after he had offhandedly said that he’s read everything in Hotch’s study.  In exchange, he hands over his collection of DVDs after Hotch says he doesn’t really watch anything anymore. 

They take Jack around as well. Reid using his vast knowledge to act as their own personal tour guide. Most of their days off are spent at the zoo, the aquarium, the museum, the planetarium, so on and so forth. 

They’ve gotten closer, as well. The two of them, Jack and Reid. To the point where sometimes Jack will ask for him during bedtime because he gets the character voices right unlike his dad. 

It’s good for them. Reid gets to pretend that those outings are dates, that the three of them are a sort of family unit, that when he kisses Hotch it’s because they’re in love, rather than a lust fueled haze on Hotch’s part. And Hotch gets to —

Hotch gets to have a living, breathing sex doll at his disposal. 

He deflates a little at the thought but, he knows it could be worse. At least this way he still has Hotch in his life. Who cares what it takes?

Beggars can't be choosers. 

“Hey Reid.” Rossi calls, breaking his depressive spiral, “Aaron’s asking for you.”

Reid snaps his neck up from his work to find him pointing a thumb behind him, to Hotch’s open office door. Flipping his folder closed, Reid got out of his chair. 

As he reaches the office, he hovers in the doorway. Knocking against the frame to announce his presence.

More tightly wound than usual, Hotch stands over his desk, shovelling papers into his briefcase. 

“You asked for me?”

“Oh, Spencer. Yes. The school called and Jack’s not feeling well, he wants to come home.” he informs as he shuts his briefcase, “I’d take him myself but I have back to back meetings with the Director. Jess is still at that conference out of town.”

Sensing where this was going, Reid nods right away. Always ready to help when it came to Jack. 

“I’ll pick him up and bring him to yours.”

Hotch sighs in relief as he swiftly picks up his briefcase off the desk, “Thank you, Spencer.”

“It’s no trouble.” he flashes him a sincere smile and Hotch relaxes minisculely. 

 As he reaches Reid, he fishes around his trouser pockets until he finally finds what he’s looking for.

“Here,” he says, handing him his car keys, “Take my car. I’ll call a cab tonight.”

“I’m still on his emergency pick up list, right?”

“Yes.” he confirms, then he looks at his watch, “Okay, I better get going. I’ll see you at home.”

Before he leaves, he steadies a hand against Reid’s bicep and pecks him on the lips. At work. In the doorway of his office. Where anyone could see.

He’s about to reprimand him when he realizes Hotch is gone. Anxiously, Reid scans the bullpen to see if anyone saw what had happened. He’s comforted when he sees that everyone is nose deep within their own work. 

Hotch never kisses like that. He always kisses with intent and purpose, usually aiming for sex. Why would he just kiss him like that? Here especially.

Whatever confusion he has, he stamps it down as he walks back to his desk. Gathering all of his belongings as he readies to leave.

After checking in at the school office, he’s redirected by the secretary to the nurse’s office.

When he gets there, all the lights are dimmed and the blinds are shut. Jack is curled up on the couch, his back facing the rest of the room. By his feet, the school nurse sits, watching him with sympathetic eyes. 

He tries to walk over to the woman quietly, not wanting to wake Jack from rest he needs. It doesn’t work however. His shoes squeaking against the floor is enough for Jack to twist around. 

His eyes blink owlishly as he finally recognizes who’s in front of him. He opens his arms out and calls for him softly.

“Uncle Spencer.”

His voice sounds watery, as if he’s going to start to cry and it makes Reid’s heart seize up.

Immediately, Reid rushes over to the boy. Kneeling beside the couch, he hugs Jack close. A hand pressed against the back of his head and an arm wound around his back. 

“Hey Jack.”

“I don’t feel good.” 

“I know, buddy.” he rubs his hand down his back soothingly, “I’m here.”

Beside them, the nurse gets up to collect Jack’s backpack and lunch kit.

Reid stands up with Jack in his arms. Having him rest comfortably at his hip, his head nestled onto Reid’s shoulder. He shifts to get an arm free, slinging the backpack on and holding the lunch kit in hand. 

“He’s got a bit of a temperature but, if he takes some medicine, he should be fine in two days' time.” she relays.

“Thank you.”

He carries a barely awake Jack into the house. Reid deposits all of their items by the door, hanging their bags onto the coat rack. He kneels down and has Jack lean up against his front as he unties his shoes for him. After he’s done, he toes off his own shoes. 

Once they reach the living room, Reid sets the boy down on the couch. Placing some throw pillows behind his head.

“Why don’t you get yourself comfortable, I’ll get you some food and medicine.”

Jack shakes his head, reaching his arms out for Reid. His grabby hands make Reid's heart clench. 

“It’s alright.” he comforts, “I’ll be back soon.”

Reluctantly, Jack lets him go, pouting slightly.

Reid pushes back Jack’s hair, pressing a kiss on his forehead. Frowning when he feels how warm he is. 

He tries his best to be efficient, wanting to be back by Jack’s side soon. Reid walks into the kitchen, heading straight for the cabinet that held all their medicines. He plucks off the children’s Tylenol from the first shelf. He double checks the dose, reading the bottle front to back. Then, he heads over to the fridge, gathering a handful of ingredients for a simple sandwich. Assembling it quickly. After that, he opens up a different cabinet, getting out Jack’s favourite cup; a blue plastic cup with sharks dotted on the outside. Flicking on the tap, he pours some cold water in. 

Reid places the one tablet onto the plate beside the sandwich and gathers the cup of water before re entering the living room. Jack lies on his side now, his hands folded beneath his head. 

As he sits down on the couch, Jack moves himself to lean against the arm of the chair, getting upright. 

“Here,” he says, handing him the dose and the water, “Can you take this for me?”

He watches the grimace play across his face. He doesn’t complain though, only swallowing down the pill and gulping water afterwards. Jack always took his medicine with no issue, better than Reid, who would rather be sick for days than take his. 

Reid hands over the plate.

“Can I sit with you?” Jack asks, almost shy.

“Of course.”

Reid helps Jack into his lap, wrapping his arms around his middle. Jack lays his head in the crook of his neck, his hand holding onto his opposite shoulder. He uses his other hand to pick at his sandwich.

Soon, Jack finishes half the sandwich, unable to stomach anymore. Reid takes the plate from him and sets it aside with the cup. They stay entangled for a bit longer and then he feels Jack’s breath start to even slightly, almost falling asleep.

“Do you want me to take you to your bed?” he whispers.

“Can you lay with me?”

Reid winces at the thought. He remembers the last time they tried that. Jack had wanted to cuddle with Reid during storytime, only for Reid to end up hissing in pain every time his lanky limbs dug into the wooden bed frame. 

“How about you and I go to your dad’s bed instead?” he offers.

“Okay.”

Reid scoops him up in his arms, leading the two of them upstairs. 

He pushes open the bedroom door with his foot. Reid cradles the back of Jack’s head as he lays him down on Hotch’s side of the bed. Grabbing the blankets at the foot of the bed, Reid pulls them up to Jack’s shoulders. Tucking him in. 

Once he was sure Jack was comfortable, Reid lays down beside the boy, covering himself under the blanket. Promptly, Jack huddles closer to him, resting his face on Reid’s chest, his small hand sprawled over his shoulder. 

“Uncle Spencer?” he mumbles sleepily.

“Yeah, buddy?” he answers, stroking his fingers through his hair.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Always, Jack.”

Hotch finds the two of his boys asleep in his bed. Spencer with his arm over Jack, who was cuddled into his chest. 

He smiles at the sight of them but decides that Jack would be better off in his own bed and Spencer would like to change out of his work clothes. 

He strolls over the edge of the bed. He gets two hands under his son and lifts him effortlessly, resting his head on his shoulder. Jack doesn’t stir once.

Spencer, however, does. As soon as Jack is out of his grasp, he wakes up groggily, confused. He pats the space where Jack had just been. Rubbing his eyes as he lifts his head from the pillow.

“Hey, I’m just going to take him to his bed. I’ll be back.”

Spencer barely registers what he says but nods nonetheless.

After he’s tucked his son into bed and kissed him on the forehead, he wanders back to his bedroom to find Spencer with his knees pulled up, sitting on the bed. 

Smoothing down the blankets, Hotch settles on the edge of the bed, by Spencer.

“How was he?” he asks.

“The nurse said he had a temperature but he’ll be fine in two days. I gave him some Tylenol. He’s got a stomach ache but he had half a sandwich at least.”

“Thank you for taking care of him.”

“How was Strauss?” 

“Horrible.” he huffs out, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“What do you want to do, then?”

Grabbing onto Spencer’s ankles, he yanks the man down into his lap. Laughing at his yelp, before helping Spencer settle onto his lap properly.

Hotch grins as Spencer leans down, rubbing the side of his nose against his. 

“I want you to give me a show.” he answers, unbuttoning Spencer’s dress shirt quickly. He doesn’t move to take it off. Instead, he pushes his shirt and cardigan to drape down against his elbows, his chest fully exposed.

“Sorry?”

“A one man show.”

Hotch laughs when Spencer’s eyebrows shoot up in understanding. Then, he blushes such a pretty shade. 

“Oh.”

Clutching onto the back of Spencer’s legs, he lifts him up, and then settles him down at the foot of the bed, on the edge. 

He pulls Spencer’s belt out of his confines and sheds his pants, and boxers soon after. He walks over to the nightstand and opens up a drawer to find a small bottle. He tosses the lube to Spencer, who catches it with fumbling fingers. 

Still in his suit, Hotch slides behind Spencer on the bed. Covering Spencer’s back with his chest. Entrapping Spencer’s legs between his own. His trousers rub against Spencer’s bare thighs. He wraps his arms around his waist.

In front of him, he watches as Spencer flexes his fingers over the bottle of lube, unsure of himself.

Dipping closer, Hotch reassures him, “It’s okay if you don’t want to do this.”

Spencer shakes his head, “No, I want to.”

He pops open the lube and pours some onto his fingers. 

Then, instead of following the path Hotch expected, Spencer bypasses his cock, and heads straight for his entrance. Inserting one finger right away with breathy wine. The digit sinking in with little resistance. 

Leaning his chin onto Spencer’s shoulder, Hotch can see through his peripheral that Spencer is biting down on his lip, as he pumps his finger in at a leisurely pace. 

He brings a hand around to pull his bottom lip out between his teeth. 

“I want to hear you.” he whispers into his ear, keeping his hand just beneath Spencer’s jaw. 

“But, Jack—” 

“—Is a heavy sleeper and he’s on the other end of the hall. We’ll be fine.”

Spencer nods, mostly to himself. 

Hotch lets his hand fall from beneath his jaw to his throat, swiping his thumb against the skin. Then, he watches Spencer push a second finger into himself, groaning. Spencer uses his free hand to latch onto Hotch’s forearm around his torso. He pushes his feet against the floor for leverage. Rolling his hips. Rocking against Hotch’s groin. 

“Is this how you touch yourself?”

Spencer nods, driving in his two fingers harder than before. Keening when he strokes against his prostate. 

The back of his neck is damp and Hotch can’t resist getting a taste. He uses his palm against Spencer’s throat to push his neck backwards, towards Hotch’s mouth, licking up a stripe on the side. 

“What do you think about?”

“You.” Spencer moans, his words going straight to Hotch’s cock. 

“What about me?”

“Your cock.” he says, breathy, “How big it is. How big your hands are.”

Removing an arm from Spencer’s midsection, Hotch flings an arm backwards, blindly searching until his hands find the discarded bottle of lube. 

Without delay, he pours some onto his fingers and pushes a third digit inside of Spencer. Squeezing his throat marginally. 

Moaning brokenly, Spencer twists in his hold, pushing back against Hotch’s chest as he braces his feet against the floorboards. His sleeves bunch from where they were nestled at his elbows. 

Hotch releases the slight pressure against Spencer’s throat.

“Aaron,” he whines, turning his head for a kiss, “Please?”

As the two of them push into Spencer, Hotch takes the moment to admire the mess he’s made out of him. Staring as Spencer as he closes his eyes when Hotch purposefully presses up against his prostate. Taking in his open, kissable, fuckable mouth. 

He doesn’t. He doesn’t kiss him that is. He takes his hard cock in hand and strokes Spencer. Fast and messy. 

“Please, Aaron.” he cries, squirming as Hotch keeps looking at him, fingering him, stroking him, “Kiss me.”

“Thank you for taking care of my son today.” Hotch murmurs in his ear, “Thank you for always being there.”

Spencer’s fingers stop moving with Hotch’s own. Abandoning them, in favour of thrusting up into Hotch’s hand instead. He winds an arm around to the back of Hotch’s head, pressing them even closer. 

“I love you.” Spencer says panting, “Of course I’d be there for you.”

He turns his head slightly to finally give Spencer what he wants. Leaning down he slots their mouths together. Sliding his tongue in to brush against Spencer’s. It’s soft and slow. A juxtaposition of what they’re doing from the neck below. Hotch’s hand keeps moving up and down on his cock, while he and Spencer keep fingering him at the same time. Their pace fast and rough. 

Then, Spencer lets out a sharp cry, breaking the kiss. He squeezes around the three fingers inside of him. His cock spurts against his stomach. Letting out whimper after whimper, as Hotch helps him ride through it. 

Finally, Spencer sags against him, breathing hard.

“You can still fuck me if you want.”

Chuckling, Hotch extracts his finger, wiping it on his trousers. Doing the same with his palm covered in come.

“No, that was all for you.” 

“Oh.” he lets out after a bit, “Guess Elle was wrong about your sexual behaviour. You’re not so mean in bed, after all.”

“Elle?”

“What?’ Spencer turned to look at him, his eyes glinting, “You think I was the only one in love with our unit chief?”

“Wait, I thought Elle was sleeping with Morgan?”

“Oh, they were.” he confirms, “But, that’s because Elle couldn’t get you and Morgan couldn’t get Garcia. They were friends with benefits, kind of like…”

Spencer trails off as if Hotch is supposed to know what he’s talking about.

“I think I should get going now.” Spencer says, practically leaping out of Hotch’s lap.

He doesn’t get far as Hotch secures his hand around his thin wrist, lugging him back. 

“Or you could stay?” he proposes, “I haven’t finished thanking you yet.”

As Spencer looks up at the ceiling, Hotch appreciates the long line of his body. How he’s bare from the shoulder down but his sleeves pool around his forearms in a mockery of modesty. 

He’s broken from his reverie as Spencer lets out an exasperated sigh. 

 “Can I get cleaned up before we go again, at least?”

Smirking, Hotch hauls him closer by the hips until his midsection is level with Hotch’s mouth. Looking up, he laps up all of his come, swallowing it down. 

“Should I wear a scarf tomorrow?” Reid asks, sounding a little light headed.

“A turtleneck should suffice.”

The next day JJ takes him out for lunch, no doubt wanting to break Reid and get him to tell her who’s got him wearing turtlenecks on the hottest day of the week. 

She sits across from him in their usual diner, in their usual booth. Her hands are crossed in front of the table, staring at him, while Reid focuses on the menu, even though he knows what to order.

“Are you ever going to tell us?”

“What’s there to tell?” he murmurs, flipping the menu over to look at their specials.

“Come on.” she whines, “How did she ask you out?”

“Wait, why do you assume she asked me out?”

“Please,” JJ says, “People fling themselves at you. Remember Lila Archer?”

His face heats up and sinks down into the booth even more. 

“Let’s not talk about that.”

“I bet she’s really pretty, not that you’d care about that sort of thing. She has to have some brains too, especially if she’s working at the Bureau. And if she’s leaving those types of marks on you, I’d think she was working out in the field.”

Reid continues to fiddle with the plastic menu while averting eye contact with the woman in front him. He wishes the waiter would come by already. 

“Can we not talk about this?”

Sensing a losing fight, JJ relents. She sighs, picking her hands off the table before she sits back. 

“Fine, but can I give you a piece of advice?” she offers as she scrunches up her face in a tight smile, “Don’t go on those tangents you always go on.”

“Why not?” Reid shoots back, insulted to a degree.

JJ laughs and to Reid’s ears, it sounds harsh. 

“You like this one, don’t you?” JJ asks rhetorically, “Don’t scare her off.”

“I’m not going to scare her off.” he says defensively, setting down the menu.

He doesn’t know why he feels the need to defend a relationship that doesn’t exist. 

“Don’t you remember the time you asked me out?” she mentions, “It was so awkward. You kept going on and on about statistics. I was heartbroken afterwards. I really liked you but I couldn’t stand it, hearing you talk about the most mundane things.

“No offense.” she amends, realizing how grating her words may have sounded. 

He’s always known people don’t like it when he goes on a long winded rant. It’s annoying. It’s boring. And in some cases, it wastes precious time. He’s always known his head is wired differently and sometimes people can’t handle it. Don’t want to handle it.

It just hurts coming from your best friend and the mother of your godson. 

“Okay.”

He tries to be quiet for the rest of the day. Keep to himself. Keep all of his thoughts to himself too. The others notice it right away when he doesn’t respond to their jibes about his turtleneck. Morgan and Prentiss whisper to each other as they try to deduce what could have happened in a mere hour. Rossi shoots him concerned looks through his office. Even Garcia stops by to set down a lollipop on his desk. Looking sad when his own response is a smile before he gets back to work. 

From the corner of his eye, he can see JJ hovering and a part of him feels guilty for making her feel guilty.

It’s not JJ’s fault she’s right. 

He hears her block heels hit the floor of the bullpen, getting louder as she reaches his desk. 

“Hey Spence.” 

“Hi.” he greets back.

“I’m sorry for what I said back in the diner.” she admits with regret, “You should be able to be yourself with whoever you're with. If they can’t accept that, they don’t deserve you.”

“Okay.” 

“Spence—”

“I have to get this to Aaron.” he mumbles as he brushes past her to get to his office.

Not bothering to knock, he walks into Hotch’s office. 

“Hey Spencer.”

“Hi.”

He sets the file down in Hotch’s metal tray and goes to leave.

“Spencer?” he calls out, “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” and then he turns, hoping that for once in his life, Hotch will stand down.

Of course, his hopes are crushed when Hotch gets out of his chair and shuts the door behind Reid, ignoring his protests.

“You’ve been acting strange ever since you came back from lunch.”

When it’s obvious Reid isn’t going to respond, Hotch keeps going.

“Is it because of JJ?” he questions, “Did she say something to you?”

Hotch takes his silence as confirmation. Sighing, he grabs Reid by the elbow, leading him to sit down on a chair.

“Stay here, I’ll go deal with JJ.”

Immediately, Reid clambers out of the seat. He strides over to get between Hotch and the door. 

“Wait, don’t.” he pleads, “She didn’t mean anything by it.”

“So, she did upset you.” he confirms, “What did she say?”

“Please, Aaron, just forget about it.”

Hotch crosses his arms in front of him, and fixes him with a stare.

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll get JJ to tell me.” he warns.

Exhaling, Reid leans his body against the door, his hands squished between his back and the wood.

“She was talking about my supposed girlfriend and she gave me some advice.” Reid explains slowly, treading carefully.

“What advice?”

“She said that I shouldn’t scare this one off.” Reid takes in a breath, “That maybe I... shouldn’t talk as much.”

After that Hotch turns silent and as each second passes by, Reid’s biggest fear is confirmed. 

Hotch finds him irritating. 

He lowers his head to stare at the floor in front of him. He can’t brave the idea of looking up at him right now. Reid doesn’t want to remember this moment. He doesn’t want to remember the way Hotch is going to lie to him. 

He watches how Hotch’s shoes come into view. 

“I like listening to you talk.” and he sounds so earnest that it has Reid fighting back tears.

He hums in acknowledgment. Trying to end the conversation as soon as he can. He doesn’t want to listen to more lies than he has to.

“You know I only cut you off at work because what we do is time sensitive?”

He nods. Reid still doesn’t look up, though. The floor starts to get blurry and his throat closes up a bit. 

Maybe Hotch could be in love with him if he just shuts up sometimes. 

“I like when you’re passionate about subjects. And I like when you share that passion with Jack and I. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me, whether it’s about statistics or the more heavy things.”

Coughing, Reid tries to straighten himself up, moving off the door. 

“I have work to finish up.” he says, his voice breaking.

Before he can get his hand on the doorknob, Hotch draws him into a hug. 

It’s as if the floodgates have opened. 

He starts to sob into Hotch’s collar, like a child. His fingers claw at Hotch’s suit clad back. A palm at the back of his head pushes him closer. An arm wraps around his body. He keeps whispering soft reassurances into his ear. 

Why can’t someone just love Reid back? Is he really that difficult to deal with?

He definitely is if Hotch has to stop doing his job to comfort Reid because of his own personal shortcomings. 

He’s glad they’re away from the windows. It’s bad enough that Reid has cried into Hotch’s arms more than Jack, he doesn’t need to embarrass himself in front of other people too.

“You know I care about you a lot, right?” Hotch says in a hushed tone.

Not enough, Reid supposes. Not in the way he wants him to.

“Yeah, I know.”

Chapter Text

Construction paper, glitter, felt tip markers, and glue sticks litter the surface of Hotch’s dining room table. A layer of vinyl being the only barrier protecting the wood from being wrecked beyond repair soon. 

Reid hovers over the table as he tries to make a plan of action to help Jack with his solar system project, while he waits for the boy to come back from soccer practice. 

Deep in thought as he places a piece of construction paper down, he barely notices Hotch entering the dining room, until he feels a body slot up behind him. Hands grasping at his waist as Hotch pushes his groin against his ass. 

“Oh my God.” Reid gasps out, “You are unbelievable.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, you are.” he says indignantly as he twists in Hotch’s hold, “I am trying to get everything set up for your son’s project and here you are wanting a quickie twenty minutes before— Oh God!”

The last part comes out as a moan, induced by Hotch’s mouth latching onto his neck. Smirking against his skin when he hears the noise.

“Here I am what?”

“Stop it.” Reid warns, his voice shaky as Hotch keeps pressing kisses into his neck.

“Or what?”

“Or you’re going to scar both your son and Rossi when they walk in to see us naked.”

Hotch huffs out a laugh.

Bringing up both his hands, Reid pushes against Hotch’s chest until he gives in and leans back. Ignoring him, he gets back to organizing the contents on the table. Shifting them the way he likes, making sure the caps of the markers and glue sticks are screwed on tight, double checking that the scissors have the safety sleeve on for now. 

After a while he thinks Hotch has left the room, until he hears him release a deep breath.

“Everything alright?” he asks, still focusing on the table.

When Hotch doesn’t respond, he turns around to find him staring at his phone intensely. His fingers gripping tight around the edges. 

“Aaron?” he asks again.

Looking up from his phone, Hotch shuts it off promptly before pocketing it. 

“Sorry.” he says before waving his hand, “It’s Strauss.”

“Oh.” he lets out, “Is everything fine?”

“Do you remember all those meetings I went to a couple of weeks ago?” Hotch asks, continuing when Reid nods, “She was having me review potential candidates. She wants to add another member to the B.A.U.”

“What? Why?”

“She says it would be for our benefit. Strauss seems to think that we have an unhealthy attachment to one another and for some reason, she believes adding another person will wean us off.” he explains, wearily. 

Strauss isn’t completely wrong. Reid can admit that perhaps they are a little too intertwined with one another than a usual team would be. 

Especially considering that Prentiss took Rossi out for father’s day this year, when he revealed the day always made him think of his and Carolyn’s son. And that Garcia and Morgan have been spending every Valentine’s Day together since joining the Bureau. It’s sickening, actually, seeing them skirt around their feelings for one another. Not to mention that Reid is the godfather of JJ’s son. Or that Rossi coaches Jack’s soccer team. And for crying out loud, Reid is sleeping with Hotch on a regular basis and helping his son with his homework.

They live in each other’s pockets. Why should that be considered a disadvantage? If anything it’s the opposite. Their relationships with each other make them a better team. 

Maybe it won’t be a bad thing, Reid tries to reason with himself. 

Once upon a time ago, he felt the same way. Back when Rossi joined, replacing Gideon, and Prentiss joined replacing Elle. They turned out fine in the end. Look at them now: Prentiss recently gifted him a copy of War and Peace in the original Russian, and Rossi forced him into a cooking lesson last weekend. 

And it’s not like anyone’s leaving this time.

Right?

“Nobody’s getting terminated or resigning, right?” he asked anxiously.

“No, not at all.” Hotch reassures, “How do you think the others are going to take it?” 

“Territorial at first but, they’ll get over it.” Reid answers to the best of his ability, “Who's the new addition?”

“Her name’s Dr. Victoria Whitman. She’ll be joining us tomorrow.”

Hotch still looks tense. His mouth in a straight line while he furrows his brows. Sauntering closer, Reid brings up his hands to Hotch’s face. He cradles his jaw before he presses featherlight kiss onto his mouth. 

“It’ll be fine.” he whispers as he pulls away.

Dr. Victoria Whitman is possibly the most beautiful woman Reid has ever laid eyes on, and that’s saying something, considering the women he’s worked with; Elle Greenaway, Emily Prentiss, Jennifer Jareau, Penelope Garcia. 

Not only is she incredibly attractive with her wavy auburn locks and green eyes but she also has an impressive background, having worked with the FBI’s Domestic Trafficking Task Force for five years before deciding she needed to take her gifts elsewhere. Dr. Whitman has a PhD in forensic psychology and within the five minute conversation Reid had with her in the elevator, he realizes her intelligence seems to rival his. 

When she walked into the bullpen, she looked like she was already running the place. 

With Hotch in his office with both Strauss and Dr. Whitman, the rest of them huddle into JJ’s office. 

“Why do we need another member?” Garcia complains, pacing around, “Think about the cases. There used to be six of you guys and you could split rooms evenly. Now, there’s going to be seven, so that either means more expenses for extra rooms, or three people rooming in a two bedroom.”

“Garcia, you don’t even book the rooms. I do.” JJ says from her desk chair. 

She stops pacing and crosses her arms, pouting at the rest of them. Morgan walks over, settling an arm across her shoulders. 

“It can’t be that bad.” Morgan tries, “She looks nice.”

“I bet.” Garcia mutters under her breath, looking upset.

In the back of the room, Rossi leans against JJ’s filing cabinet, reading through a folder. He scratches at his beard as he hums noncommittally. Beside him, Prentiss peers over his shoulder, curiously. Then, something catches her attention and she starts to read through the page as well.  

“What are you two reading?” JJ asks, getting up from her seat to join them.

“Dr. Whitman’s life story.” Prentiss pipes up.

The rest of them rush over promptly. Squishing themselves against one another as they try and get a good look at the paper. Shoving elbows and peeking over shoulders.

“How did you even get this? This is something I would do.” Garcia mumbles as she focuses on the words.

“You’re not the only technical analyst I know.” Rossi smirks.

The six of them are so engrossed in the page that they barely notice when Hotch knocks on the office door, letting himself in. 

He clears his throat, causing everyone to jump away from each other. Behind him, Dr. Whitman stands, unaware that they’ve just read over her whole life. 

“Team, I’d like you all to meet Dr. Victoria Whitman.” he announces.

JJ’s the first one to step up, offering her hand to the woman. 

“Hi, I’m Jennifer Jareau but everyone calls me JJ.” she introduces before stepping back and motioning a hand to the rest of them, “These are Agents David Rossi, Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan. That’s Penelope Garcia, our technical analyst. And that’s Dr. Spencer Reid.”

Dr. Whitman smiles warmly at them all, delighting in the tiny waves they present her with. 

“It’s lovely to meet you all. I look forward to working with you.” 

“Us as well.” JJ replies with her own grin. All their earlier tension and stress easing away with the woman’s inviting presence.

“Well, I think I should get situated now. I’ll see you all around.” 

“I’ll show you to your desk.” Hotch offers.

The rest of the team disperse, heading back to their own work, relieved that Dr. Whitman isn’t some malicious woman out to destroy them. 

Reid stays back, though. He feels compelled to, as if he has some sixth sense he needs to listen to.

He watches Dr. Whitman and Hotch from just outside JJ’s office, hoping he doesn’t look too obvious.

As he observes the two of them interacting, Reid’s stomach twists up in knots, as dread starts to settle into him. He wants to pretend he doesn’t know why. That he doesn’t know why he feels nauseous when Dr. Whitman’s hand touches the side of Hotch’s arm. That he doesn’t know why he feels uneasy when Hotch laughs quietly at something she said. That he doesn’t know why he wants to close his eyes when he sees how Hotch’s gaze lingers on Dr. Whitman, even after she looks away. 

He wants to pretend he doesn’t know why but he does. 

As he settles into his desk, which is unfortunately right next to Dr. Whitman’s, Reid makes a mental note to start counting the days from now on.

During lunch, Reid heads over to Hotch’s office, wondering if he’s finished up yet. 

He finds him seated at his desk (surprise) and working on the neverending pile of paperwork that is bureaucracy at its finest. 

He knocks on the doorframe lightly, before taking a step inside. Snapping his neck up, Hotch catches sight of Reid. Perhaps it’s Reid’s insecurities, but he swears that he smiles a little less brightly at him than usual.

“Hey, I wanted to see if you were ready to go out for lunch.”

“Actually,” Hotch starts off, sounding apologetic, “Dr. Whitman asked if I would come to lunch with her. You’re welcome to join us, of course.”

He wonders if the disappointment is evident on his face. 

“Thank you but, I think I’ll just go out with JJ.”

A sour look crosses Hotch’s face at the mention of JJ’s name. 

“Well, if she says anything like last time, you can always join us at Annacis Bistro.”

Reid’s chest wrenches at the mention of Annacis Bistro.

As silly as it may be, he always considered it their restaurant. They never took any of the other team members there, nor did they mention it to them in hopes of keeping it under wraps. It was special to them both. It was their special place.

When Hotch came back to the B.A.U after Haley’s death, Reid noticed how he seemed to work through his lunches more than usual. How his clothes started to get loose as the days went by. Hence, one day, Reid summoned all of his courage and dragged Hotch out to the restaurant. Hotch hadn’t eaten much and the conversation was one-sided but, at the end of it, he had managed up a small smile and that in itself was more than enough reason for Reid to bring him back.

The place meant a lot to the two of them. Or maybe it only meant a lot to Reid, seeing how Hotch had qualms with taking someone he just met there.

“Oh, the bistro?” he asks, trying his best to sound casual, “You’re bringing her there?”

“Yes.” Hotch confirms, “You seem to like it a lot so, I thought maybe she would too.”

Reid can already feel his presence being overwritten by Dr. Whitman.

“That’s nice.”

“Are you coming over tonight?” Hotch asks.

“I— I don’t think so.”

As much as it pains him to say the words, he knows that he should try to at least create the semblance of a clean cut. 

It turns out Reid was right, all those months ago. It didn’t matter what Hotch told him, he was always going to leave in the end. 

“Please? Jack told me he made something for you, as a thank you for helping him with his project.”

Distantly, he feels something splinter inside of him. He always knew he had to give up Hotch, he just hadn’t realized he had to give up Jack too.

“I’ll think about it.”

Hotch looks like he wants to fight him on it but he doesn’t follow through with the desire.

Turns out neither him nor Hotch make it home that night, as a case is handed to them. With the urgency of said case, JJ makes the executive decision for them to debrief on the jet, rather than the roundtable as usual.

As soon as the seatbelt sign dims, JJ unbuckles herself. She hands out the stack of files tucked away under her arm, before she heads over to the opposite side of the aisle. Facing the whole team.

Prentiss arm and arm against Dr. Whitman, with Morgan and Rossi opposite them. Behind them, Hotch and Reid are seated together.

Opening up the folder, JJ picks up a photograph inside of a protective, plastic sleeve, holding it up with one hand as she begins to explain what’s going on.

The photograph is of two people, a man and a woman, laying on blood stained sheets, with bullet holes littering their chests.

“Last night, 48 year old Pauline McHale and her 45 year old husband William McHale were shot in the chest several times in their home, in Marblehead, Ohio.”

Shuffling through the contents of the folder, JJ pulls out another photograph, this one being a crime scene photograph of the McHale’s.

“They were found by their neighbour the next day, after they noticed the front door was left wide open for hours.”

The next photograph she pulls out is of a teenage girl, with dark brown hair and brown eyes. It’s a school picture. For a second, JJ struggles to tear her eyes away.

“The neighbour thought that the daughter, Anna McHale, 16, was at school. The police arrived at Danbury High, only to find out she hadn’t come to attend any of her classes.”

“What about the parents?” Rossi inquires from his seat, examining their post mortem photographs, “Any dirty laundry?”

Closing the folder, JJ sighs, defeated almost.

“If they did, MPD can’t find it.” she starts off, “Dr. Pauline McHale was a surgeon at Marblehead Pediatric Hospital. William was an accountant with Corbett Law Firm. Both of them were workaholics, clocking in long hours at their jobs. According to their family, they didn’t really have any friends outside of workplace associates.”

“Anna?” Dr. Whitman pipes up, staring at the young girl’s face in her folder.

“Police are still conducting interviews to gather what type of girl she was.”

“Ballistics?” Prentiss questions.

“Letting the folder hang loose from her hand, JJ gives her a tired look.

She hates cases like these.

“The gun used to kill victims belonged to William himself. So far, the crime scene investigators haven’t accounted for it.” JJ answers back.

JJ watches Reid as he looks over the photographs of the McHale home. Within a second, he straightens up in his seat, leaning over. A surefire sign that he was onto something useful.

“Statistically, it’s unlikely our unsub is a seasoned home invader and a killer/kidnapper. To add on, nothing of value was stolen from the home. There was a clear predetermined motive and plan to what the unsub did. That coupled with the fact that the photographs from the crime scene don’t seem to indicate any forceful entry, suggest—”

Dr. Whitman cuts him off, finishing his thoughts for him. 

“—That our unsub was invited inside, or that it was someone that knew the layout of the home well. Meaning our victims knew the unsub.”

JJ, along with everyone else, finds herself staring at Dr. Whitman for a minute. Usually no one can connect what Reid has to say, not until he finishes his long winded exposition and gets to the actual explanation. 

“Finally someone that can give the genius a run for his money.” Rossi remarks.

JJ laughs but she stops herself when she sees Reid sinking into his seat, as if to hide himself within the confines of the material.

“Good job.” Hotch says, “Once we get to Ohio, I’ll call Garcia to get her to look into the McHale’s accounts. See if they paid for a repairman, technician, any service that would require the worker to come into their homes.”

Once they’ve reached the ground, they’re separated into two FBI issued SUVs and because Reid is a masochist, he decides to ride with Hotch and Dr. Whitman. Morgan drives Rossi, JJ, and Prentiss. No doubt disregarding every traffic law in the process of giving Rossi a heart attack.

He lets Dr. Whitman take the passenger seat. In an effort to plant the seeds of separation, so that they may grow quickly and painlessly.

In her lap, Dr. Whitman goes through the case contents once more. Shuffling papers against papers as Hotch drives them to the police station. 

Dr. Whitman hums unconsciously in her seat.

“What is it?” Hotch asks, sending a sideways glance to her before looking back out to the 

road.

“Oh?” Dr. Whitman responds, “I was just theorizing. Our unsub clearly knew the two victims. The bullets that rattle in their bodies extend into overkill territory. A double homicide incited by rage.

“And since no ransom note was found, our unsub intends to keep Anna. Whatever happened to our unsub, he’s angry enough to kill the parents but why would he take Anna?”

Reid stops himself from joining in, instead filing away in the backseat. Staring at the trees they pass by on their way.

At the police station, after introducing themselves to the locals, Hotch delegates all of their tasks. Spreading them out in the small township of Marblehead. Morgan and Rossi are sent to the McHale home, while JJ and Prentiss work with a couple of police officers to conduct interviews at Danbury High.

Hotch, Dr. Whitman, and Reid take it upon themselves to set up an unused interrogation room as their home base. 

Reid pushes open the door with his back, while he carries a box filled with case related information and some useful supplies. As he walks into the room, he stops dead in his tracks. He finds Hotch pressed up behind Dr. Whitman’s slight frame, as he helps her pin up a photograph that’s too high for her short stature.

Looking down, Reid wills himself to not react outright.

It’s not like he has any grounds to do so, anyways. Hotch isn’t his. He’s allowed to want to be with other people. He deserves to have some happiness in his life.

He just wished it wasn’t at the extent of his own.

Prentiss has an arm swung around the back of JJ’s chair as the two of them sit in an empty classroom at Danbury High. She tilts her head up to look at the tiles of the ceiling, barely suppressing the desire to groan. 

They’ve conducted numerous interviews with all of Anna’s peers. Yet none of them have anything to say about her. In fact, it seems like they’re all actively hiding something. All of them shuffling and shifting in their seats when they mention her name. After the first couple of students, Prentiss excuses herself to call Garcia, asking her to pull up anything she had on an Anna McHale in Marblehead, Ohio.

“Do you think the officers had any luck?” Prentiss asks, rolling her head to the side to look at JJ.

“I don’t think so. I overheard one of the teachers, and he said he didn’t even know Anna was in his chemistry class.”

“Well that’s helpful.” she remarks, slightly bitter.

Prentiss’ ringtone starts to sound in her pants’ pocket, vibrating against her skin. She tugs it out to find Garcia’s caller ID, praying she found something they can use. Immediately, she swipes her thumb across the accept button, and switches it to speakerphone. She places the phone between her and JJ on the desk they’re seated at.

“Give it to me, Garcia.” she says.

“You sound like Morgan when you say that.” she comments, her voice sounding warbled from the connections, “And I can give it to you, I just wish I didn’t have to.”

Garcia sounds upset by the latter half of her words. Silently, JJ and Prentiss share a look, coming to an understanding that they’re most likely going to hear bad news.

“What is it?”

Sighing, Garcia replies, “Anna McHale does not have any social media presence. In fact, the only thing on the internet that has her name on it, is a whole Facebook page dedicated to harassing her.

“On said page, is a video of her getting drunk at a party. Poor girl had so much to drink that when someone yelled at her to start stripping, she did. And instead of stopping, they started to record her.”

Exhaling, Prentiss forces herself to keep going, unable to dwell on something that was out of her control.

“Anything else?”

“A lot, unfortunately. There’s an endless stream of videos of her changing in the locker rooms. Guys taking photos from up her skirt. And…” Garcia trails off before she finds it within herself to keep going, “There are a handful of videos of her during sex.”

“Oh God.” JJ lets out, bringing a hand to rub at her temple, “Do you have a name?”

“Two actually.” Garcia answers with disdain dripping in her words, “I think I can safely say that Amy Green and Laurel Wesley were in charge of this disgusting page.”

Back at the police station, Reid sits in a desk chair in the interrogation room, twiddling a pencil between his fingers as he pretends to focus on the case at hand.

In any other instance, Reid would feel guilty at the prospect of moping around about his minuscule problems when a teenage girl is missing. Today, however, he allows himself. Dr. Whitman can more than pick up his slack. She comes to the same conclusions he does, and uses far less words to articulate said conclusions.

Distantly, he hears Hotch say goodbye to JJ, who was on speakerphone up until now, as he moves back to his prior position beside Dr. Whitman, rehashing the board together.

“I don’t think a teenager could do this.” he offers, more to Dr. Whitman than to Reid,

“You’re right.” she agrees, “Why would Anna’s tormentors kill her parents and kidnap her?”

From behind them, Reid stares at the way Hotch inches closer to her as he points at something on the board.

In another room, JJ is pressed into a back corner, while Prentiss hovers over the two teenage girls in front of them. Stone-faced looks on their faces as the two of them regard the girls in front.

It’s strange, Prentiss thinks. It’s strange how horrific people never look their part.

Prentiss would have never guessed that this girl, who’s dressed in a pink skirt and has glitter polish on her nails, dismantled her peer’s self-esteem with one webpage. She would have never guessed that the girl, who was still in her cheerleader uniform from practice, invaded a classmate’s privacy to such an extent.

Life would be easier if villains started to dress the role.

“You told us that you were Anna’s peers, classmates.” JJ states, coldly.

While JJ talks, Prentiss pulls out her laptop from the bag by her feet. Hitting the power button to boot it up as she places it on the metal desk. 

“We are.” the cheerleader, Laurel, tries to weakly affirm. 

Once the laptop is on, Prentiss flips it around to display the contents of the screen to its perpetrators. The two girls have the audacity to grimace as they see the Facebook page they created in front of them.

Prentiss is glad she’s facing away from the screen. She doesn’t need to see it again. She already has the words ‘Anna McHale: School Slut’ burnt into the back of her retinas for the rest of time, right there with the videos of that poor girl.

“No,” JJ disagrees as she comes up behind Prentiss, “you were her bullies.”

“We didn’t bully her in school.” Amy pipes up, “It was never like that.”

“You just harassed her online. You just posted videos and pictures of Anna at her most vulnerable moments on a Facebook page that half your school sees.”

Shoving her chair back, Prentiss stands up. She stands closest to Amy, leaning over her, as she places her hands against the desk.

Over the two girls’ heads, Prentiss shares a look of confirmation with JJ. Searching for the approval for their predetermined tactics. She’s granted it when JJ nods.

“We didn’t mean anything by it.” Amy tries again, meekly, unable to make eye contact with either of them.

Prentiss brings her hands down to slam against the desk. A clanging noise ringing through the room, causing both the girls to jump, fearful looks in their eyes.

“The hell you didn’t!” she yells.

The volume of her voice combined with the harsh sound of her hands on the surface are enough to get Laurel to start crying, enough to get Amy on the brink.

Pushing herself off the desk, she looks through the one-way mirror, where no doubt her teammates would be looking through right now. She nods at JJ, as she leaves the room to reconvene with the others, leaving JJ to try and extract useful information out of the two.

As she exits the room, and enters the anteroom, she joins Rossi and Hotch, who are observing the interaction on the other side.

“I don’t think these girls killed Anna’s parents and kidnapped her.” Prentiss says, deflated at the thought that they were not any closer than they were to begin with, “They couldn’t handle me slamming my hands down. There’s no way either of them shot a gun, multiple times.”

“You’re right.” Hotch murmurs as he watches JJ question the girls again, “Rossi inform the others and see if they have any new leads. I’ll call Garcia and have her dig deeper into the McHale family.”

“Got it.”

The door swinging shut almost seemed metaphorical to their situation. Another lead debunked.

Without a clue what to do, “I guess I’ll head back in there and help JJ.”

Turning away from Hotch, she heads over for the door. Only stopping when she hears him call out her name.

“Prentiss,” he says, “Can I ask you something? Unrelated to the case?”

“Of course.”

“Do you know if there’s something going on with Reid?”

“Reid?” she relays back, crossing her arms against her front, “No, I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

“He’s been really quiet since we got here.” he admits, “He’s barely said a word since the jet.”

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

Prentiss doesn’t know who she’s reassuring right now.

Nighttime arrives and no new leads are found. The team resigns themselves to heading over to the motel, knowing that they aren’t of any use to the Marblehead Police if they’re sleep deprived.

At the reception, when JJ is done speaking with the motel clerk, she hands the key to both Hotch and Rossi, for their respective rooms. JJ managed to book them three rooms. Her, Prentiss, and Whitman in one. Rossi and Morgan in the other. Leaving Spencer and Hotch to share one as well.

Bidding everyone a goodnight and declining their offer for a late dinner, Hotch walks with Spencer to their room without an audience.

Spencer seems to be dead weight on his feet, as he struggles to hold his bag in hand. Sliding up beside him, Hotch slips the bag out of Spencer’s grasp, replacing it with his hand. 

He expected Spencer to protest about the public display of affection, if not, at the very least, mumble that he’s not an invalid and can carry his own bag. When no complaints are fired his way, Hotch starts to worry about Spencer even more. 

As they reach their room, Hotch reluctantly lets go of Spencer’s palm, using his hand to fish out the key and unlock their door. He ushers Spencer in first, following behind. 

The moment the door clicks shut, Hotch is shoved against it. The bags in his hand drop to the floor with a thud. Whatever words he was going to say are swallowed up by Spencer’s eager mouth licking into him, his palms encompassing his face. 

When his mind finally catches up to reality, Hotch gets his hands around Spencer’s waist. He flips them around, pushing Spencer into the door instead. He moves his hand to Spencer’s leg, hiking it up until he gets the message and wraps both of his legs around Hotch’s torso. His hands trail down to support Spencer against him. 

Eventually, the kissing comes to a natural decline as, unfortunately, the two of them need oxygen. Unwillingly, Hotch rips his mouth away from Reid’s, punctuating it with a sharp inhale. 

“What was that for?” he asks, a little breathless but pleasantly surprised.

That is until he takes a look at Spencer’s face, and instead of seeing the giddy expression he’s used to, he’s met with a somber look.

“Nothing.” he claims with a shake of his head, before drawing him in for another kiss.

In the morning, JJ and Prentiss lay in their beds, trying to sleep in a little bit until their responsibilities come calling. While Dr. Whitman, who is ever the early riser, is already in the shower, two hours before they have to leave for the station. 

Prentiss jerks awake when she hears her cell phone blaring into her ear, right on the pillow her head is resting on.

On the second ring, she manages to reach her hand out and slide the accept button with bleary eyes and fumbling.

“Prentiss.” she answers.

“MPD found another body.” Hotch informs.

“What?”

Immediately, Prentiss jolts up. The blankets fall to her lap as she sits on the bed upright now. For now, she ignores the way JJ is shoving a pillow onto her head.

“Amy Green.” he reveals, “She was found stripped of her clothes in Danbury High’s football field. Shot to death.”

“Hold on for a minute.”

Prentiss presses her cell phone to her neck as she calls out for JJ in the bed opposite of hers.

“JJ.”

She mumbles incoherently but she seems to be on a mission to fall back asleep.

In a louder voice, Prentiss tries again.

“JJ.”

As it becomes evident that JJ’s not about to start talking anytime soon, Prentiss grabs the pillow behind her and flings it in her direction. Satisfied when it hits her in the head.

“What?” she finally responds.

“Where was that video of Anna taken?”

“Uh,” JJ takes a moment to think, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, “Garcia geotagged it to a field not too far from Danbury High.”

Prentiss’ eyes widen at her words as her brain connects the dots that seem to have scattered thought thus far.

It’s in that moment that Prentiss realizes that they’ve got it all wrong, that they’re searching for Anna McHale for all the wrong reasons. 

She hasn’t been taken by some unsub. She is their unsub. 

After that, they touch base at the police station, coming up with a plan of action to take down their unsub.

It’s pretty clear cut what Anna intends to do. She killed her parents two nights ago, then she killed Amy, and tonight she’ll strike again, attempting to kill Laurel.

Though it makes the entire task force and the B.A.U team uncomfortable, the only way to find Anna is to give her the opportunity to hurt Laurel. They have no additional information where she could be hiding and what else she could be planning. Their only tactical advantage is to appear as if they have not made the connections between her parents and Amy, so she can continue on an expected, uninhibited path to murder Laurel. It’s the only card they have and even then, it comes out a little battered and worn down. 

Hotch instructs Rossi, Prentiss, JJ, and Whitman to park in inconspicuous cars around the neighbourhood Laurel Wesley resides in. To keep watch and hopefully warn them if Anna makes an appearance on the roads.

Just outside of the residential area, he has some police officers waiting in squad cars, in case Anna refuses to go down without a fight. He has others surrounding the perimeter. 

For Laurel’s safety, Hotch, Spencer, and Morgan stake out from within the house. The three of them are on a rotation, standing outside of Laurel’s bedroom door, her parents’ room, or the back door. Morgan has first watch on Laurel, while Spencer has the parents, and he has the back door. 

An hour passes and they all switch.

Then another hour passes, and they switch one more.

Then, soon five hours have passed, and Anna hasn’t shown up on any of their radars.

Hotch double checks with everyone stationed in cars and all of them come up empty. The roads are quiet, nobody has been walking on the sidewalks.

At the sixth hour, while Hotch is standing outside of the parents' bedroom door, he wonders if they were wrong. That perhaps, Anna wasn’t going to strike today or maybe she wasn’t going to go for Laurel after all.

His doubts of their plan are squashed when he hears a window break downstairs, followed by a scream. 

The door behind him opens up and before the parents can get a word out, he puts a finger up, telling them to be silent.

Into his wire, he announces, “Anna’s here.”

He gets his gun out of the holster and begins to descend down the stairs, keeping close to the wall as he heads for Laurel’s bedroom. 

Hotch isn’t quick enough because soon he hears some loud voices, one of them being Spencer’s, and then the front door being unlocked, closing shut after. Giving up on stealth, he races out of the door, his gun by his side, and he finds Anna holding a gun to Laurel’s head, while Spencer aims at hers.

Through his peripheral, Reid can see his teammates squat behind cars, their guns aiming for Anna. Behind him, he hears Hotch barrel through the door, Morgan following close, no doubt with their own guns trained at the teenage girl.

“Anna McHale, put the gun down and let go of the girl. It’s over.” Reid demands.

Even though he saw the pictures of her, Reid never expected her to look like this. Her hands look too small to be holding a gun, to be stained with the blood of three others. She looks too young to have been through hell and back in only a handful of years.

He feels more sympathy for the girl holding the gun than for the one with the barrel digging into her head.

Maybe it’s because in some twisted way, Anna reminds Reid of himself: someone who was forced to grow up too quickly.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this!” she yells, sounding deranged, “How long I’ve waited for Laurel to be the one crying!”

True to her words, Reid looks down to find Laurel wailing, as her hands claw at the arm that’s being used to hold her close. 

“Anna,” he says, his voice steady, “There are seven people right now who have their guns pointed at you. Let Laurel go. It doesn’t haven’t to end this way. Please.”

“I don’t care!” she shouts, tears streaming down her own face now, as she pressed the gun further into Laurel’s head, “You don’t get it. She made my life hell. I don’t care what happens!”

Then, Anna does something worse than killing Laurel.

She retracts her gun from Laurel’s head. Then, she drags the girl closer, so that their heads are aligned and level with one another. Anna places the barrel of the gun to her own head.

Making sure if she goes, so does Laurel.

Before she can pull the trigger, in a careless move, he tosses his gun behind him. Ignoring the way Hotch is ordering him to retreat now through his earpiece.

Anna’s grip loosens by a hairbreadth on the gun. Confused.

“What?”

The voice in Reid’s ear fades away as he rips off his Kevlar vest next, taking away his wire and his only communication link with the rest of the team. 

He raises his arms up, letting her know he’s completely unarmed and vulnerable.

“Tell me what she did.” he requests, “Tell me what Laurel did to you.”

Here in the middle of the road, without his vest and gun, his teammates aiming their weapons at Anna, Reid’s taken back to a memory from what seems to be a lifetime ago. He’s taken back to Texas, back to Owen Savage. 

Except this time Reid can’t connect with their unsub. He hasn’t gone through what Anna has. He’s never had his body invaded, his privacy violated, and all for the whole school to see. He’s never had his humiliation posted on the internet, for it to stay there until the end of time. 

“Besides creating a Facebook page dedicated to making me look like a whore, you mean.” she mirthlessly laughs, “Laurel’s sick in the head.”

“How is she sick?”

“Did you know she made her boyfriend fuck me?” she asks rhetorically, “She made him fuck me, film it, and then post it to that little page of hers.”

In her arms, Laurel starts to shake, finally tuning into the conversation after being stuck in a fear induced haze.

“I’m so sorry. I’m really sorry, Anna. I shouldn't—”

“Shut up!” she screams in her ear.

“Anna, don’t listen to her. Talk to me, please.” Reid pleads.

Her mouth contorts. Her eyes are on him but, it’s as if she’s staring through him. Playing back memory after memory. 

It’s not fair, Reid thinks. It’s not fair that kids like Anna and Owen, who are damaged beyond their control, have to spend the rest of their lives paying for pain that people like Laurel had instilled in the first place.

At least they have the rest of their lives, Reid reminds himself brokenly. 

“He used to tell me he was in love with me.” she confesses, “He would tell me he loved me and then I would take off my clothes. And I kept sleeping with him, even after I found out about the videos. Because I thought that maybe that was all I was meant for.

“That maybe I wasn’t meant for love and relationships and the stuff they talk about in those movies.”

Tears well up in his eyes. He remembers thinking those exact thoughts when he was younger. That perhaps Spencer Reid was not a man built for love. He remembers thinking those thoughts this morning outside his motel room as he watched Hotch smile at Dr. Whitman.

Maybe he can relate to Anna McHale after all.

“Have you ever been in love with someone so much that you would do anything to keep them in your life?” she asks, her breath hitching.

He has.

“Yes.”

“Then, you understand.” Anna says, her hand still on the gun in her hair, Laurel still quivering beside her, “I whored myself out because I thought maybe that could make him love me. If I just changed a bit more, that maybe he’d actually want me.”

Her fingers tighten around the grip of the gun. She closes her eyes, scrunching up her face.

“I have someone like that.” he blurts out, unsure of what else to do, “I have someone that I love that doesn’t want me.”

“You do?” Anna asks, narrowing her eyes at him as she readjusts the gun slightly.

“Yeah,” and Reid is suddenly grateful he doesn’t have his wire anymore, the rest of the team don’t need to hear this, “The man I’m in love with is sleeping with me, while he flirts with another woman.”

“Is he nice to you in bed?”

“Yes.”

“Danny was never nice to me in bed. He was never nice.” she croaks out before straightening herself up, “Tell me about him.”

“You see the man wearing a dress shirt and tie behind me?” he asks.

The two of them turn to look at Hotch, who wears a grim expression as he stares at Reid with his gun pointed at Anna.

“Yes.”

“He’s my boss. He can’t— He doesn’t love me back. We’re just sleeping together. It’s not— ” he stumbles over his words, “He told me once that he didn’t think he could date anyone, not if it would hurt me. But…”

“He’s a liar?” she suggests and Reid nods at her words, ringing true in his ears, “I’m sorry. You deserve better.”

Blocking out the stinging sensation in his eyes and his watery throat, Reid tries to get back on track, tries to do his job.

“So do you, Anna but, this isn’t it. Killing yourself isn’t it.” he begs, “I know a lot of people have let you down in your life; your parents, your teachers, your peers. But I don’t want to be amongst the ranks, I don’t want to let you down too. So, please put the gun down. 

"You owe it to yourself after the nightmare you’ve gone through.”

The world stops and scales down to this one brief moment, where time is suspended indefinitely until Anna makes the right choice or the wrong one. Until Anna decides to forgive herself for everything she’s gone through or punish herself one last time. 

He wonders if Anna McHale’s name will be put in the win column alongside Owen Savage or under the already too full loss column. 

After a while, his arms start to ache, from being up in the air for so long.

“What’s your name?” she asks.

“Spencer Reid.”

“Spencer, you deserve better.” she declares, “I hope you get it.”

Then, the gun clatters onto the asphalt road and Anna lets go of Laurel. Letting her run away, straight into Morgan’s arms. 

Anna holds her hands up in the air, the same way Reid had done just moments ago. She uses her foot to kick the gun into Reid’s direction. Smiling faintly when he only kicks it behind himself as well. 

Police cruisers arrive on the scene and immediately an officer is shoving Anna to her knees, reading her rights aloud as they handcuff her.

Reid lets out a breath he hadn’t quite realized he was holding. 

By the time the case wraps up, it’s still dark outside. The local PD decide to finish up the mundane tasks themselves, and let the B.A.U get back to their motel for some well needed rest, as a thank you. 

They stand quietly at the front entrance of the motel. The atmosphere tense from the events that occurred mere hours ago. They all try their hardest to not stare at Spencer, except for Hotch, who has no shame in glaring at him. Finally, JJ breaks the silence, informing them their flight back would be in the afternoon that day.

The team splits off afterwards. Rossi, Morgan, and JJ deciding to head out for a late night dinner, knowing they weren’t going to get any sleep, while Prentiss and Whitman made their way inside, straight to their rooms. 

As soon as they’re out of sight, Hotch roughly grabs Spencer’s elbow. Manhandling him the entire way to their motel room.

The moment he unlocks the door, he shoves Spencer inside the room. Not bothering to hide his anger at the situation that had played out not too long ago.

“What is wrong with you?” he exclaims as Spencer stands in the middle of their room, looking down at his feet.

“Do we have to talk about this right now?” Spencer asks.

“Yes.” he declares, then he moves in closer, “You were reckless and stupid—”

Spencer raises his voice, “I’ve already heard this lecture once before, Aaron.”

“Seems like you need to hear it again.” he bitterly remarks, “Do you want to die, Spencer? Is that what this is?”

Spencer’s head shoots up at that, “No.”

“Why else do you keep throwing your gun away, your vest away, your wire?”

He doesn’t have a response for him.

“Well?” he bellows, almost shouting. 

Spencer flinches at the volume of his voice. It makes Hotch want to vomit, seeing that expression on his face.

He’s not actually angry at Spencer. He’s not angry at him for being stupid and taking risks that didn’t need to be take. He’s not angry at him for breaking protocol or disobeying his orders.

Hotch is terrified by him, for him, for himself. He’s terrified at the prospect that, no matter how much he believes Spencer was an ethereal being sent to save him, he is ultimately and utterly human. He is capable of dying. Has a penchant for it even. 

He softens his gaze on Spencer, stepping closer, ignoring the pang in his chest when Spencer winces. Hotch holds him by the side of his arms. 

“I’m sorry for yelling.” he says sincerely, in a low voice, “You have to realize, people need you. You cannot keep risking yourself to try and save others.”

“Are you done?” Spencer rasps out, not looking at Hotch while he steps away from his touch.

“What?” he asks, thrown off guard. 

“I’m going to go for a walk.” he announces, “I’ll be back.”

Before Hotch can even call out his name, Spencer is already rushing out the door. 

When an hour passes by and Spencer doesn’t come back, Hotch calls him, his phone going straight to voicemail. 

He dials Spencer’s number again.

Again.

And again.

By the tenth, ‘You’ve reached Dr. Spencer Reid,’ Hotch gives up and throws his cell phone against the bed. 

When the second hour comes and goes, he’s debating on going out looking for the man, when he hears a knock on his door.

Rushing over, he opens the door to find Prentiss holding an intoxicated Spencer upright against her body, his arm swung over her neck. His eyes are glossed over but they clear up just a bit when he recognizes who’s standing in front of him. 

“Aaron!” he joyously greets, an antithesis of how he was two hours ago.

He struggles out of Prentiss’ hold before he wraps his arms around Hotch’s neck. His movements languid in a way they never are when he’s sober.

“Me and Whitman were heading over to the bar after we realized sleeping was going to be impossible. We found him slumped over on the counter. Bartender was about to call him a cab.”

“How much did he have to drink?” Hotch asks when Spencer presses his face into his chest.

“No clue.” she says, “I don’t think it was a lot but, you know Spencer, he’s a lightweight.”

“Not a lightweight.” he grumbles, his voice muffled from Hotch’s chest.

“Thank you, Prentiss, for bringing him back.” 

“Always, Hotch.” she promises, “Take care of him, will you?”

Satisfied with his nod, she bids him farewell, before walking down to the hall to her own room. 

After locking the door, Hotch helps Spencer over to sit at the edge of the bed. 

He leans down to help him with his shoes only for Spencer to haul him upwards, pressing a kiss to his mouth. His fingers knotted in Hotch’s hair as he brushes his tongue against Hotch’s. He savours the feeling for a bit, coaxing a moan out of him as he kisses back lazily. 

Then, he registers the hint of alcohol. 

He opens up his eyes and pulls away to find Spencer staring down at him with hazy eyes and a dopey smile. His fingers fall away from his hair and instead cup Hotch’s face. 

“Aaron,” he mumbles, his smile getting wider than it’s gotten in the last couple of days, “I’m sorry I’m late.”

“It’s fine, Spencer.” Hotch says, “I think you should get into bed now.”

Pouting childishly, he shakes his head. 

He removes himself from Hotch’s body before getting off the bed. Then, he settles down between the small valley of space between the two beds, patting the spot beside him. 

Sighing, Hotch indulges him and sits down next to him, only for Spencer to straddle him, his arms around his neck as he asks for another kiss.

Hotch shoves him back gently.

“No, Spencer, you’re drunk.”

“So?” he asks, not understanding the implications, “I want you to fuck me and I know you want that to.”

“Not when you’re drunk.” Hotch denies, “And especially not after the stunt you pulled today.”

He pushes Hotch’s hand to his groin, forcing him to palm Spencer. His touch incites a whimper. He can feel his cock get harder, the longer Hotch presses against him

“I’m sorry I was bad.” he whispers, “I’ll make it up to you.”

Before Hotch can stop him, Reid pulls back to unbutton his dress shirt, clumsily.

“Spencer. Stop.”

Hotch takes the two halves of his dress shirt and covers up Spencer’s chest, buttoning two fastenings in the middle in the semblance of modesty. Spencer tries to push his hand away, frowning when Hotch won’t budge. 

Then, his eyes brighten and he smiles again before he wraps his arms around Hotch’s shoulders, pulling the two of them backwards, to lay flat on the floor entangled. 

Hotch attempts to get up, only for Spencer to wrap his legs around him, keeping him close. Spencer lifts himself off the ground, just enough to suck at the column of Hotch’s throat. 

“How do you want it?” he asks, almost panting when he pulls away from Hotch’s throat, “Me on my back? Should I ride you? Do you want to tie me up? I’ll let you fuck my throat if that’s what you want.”

Lacing his fingers through Spencer’s hair, he tugs him away. 

“What I want is for you to go to sleep.”

“I thought that was what you wanted from me.” he says confused, “Sex, I mean.”

“I like having sex with you but, I'm not going to fuck you right now.”

“No,” he shakes his head, “You need to fuck me before you find someone else. Before you leave me.”

He’s taken back by the words that have left Spencer’s mouth, so much in fact, that Hotch doesn’t even register Spencer unbuckling his belt, not until he looks down to find him touching himself. 

“Please, Aaron, fuck me.” he asks, desperate, as he arches his back up from the floor, “I promise I won’t do it again. I promise I won’t make you mad again.”

“Spencer, I’m not mad.”

Shaking his head, Spencer’s eyes start to water, “You are.” he says, “You’re mad at me for being bad and then you’ll leave me.”

His voice cracks at the end of his words but he keeps touching himself, as if that’s the only reason Hotch is in front of him. 

Softly, “No, Spencer,” he comforts, “I’m not going to leave you just because you messed up.”

Taking his wrist in hand, Hotch pulls his hand up and away from himself before he zips up Spencer’s pants. 

Did Spencer really think Hotch could leave him? Just like that? Did he really think that sex was the only reason they were together?

“I want to be your good boy again.” he tries to go for an arousing voice but it gets muddled with his sniffling. 

Hotch moves his hands to cradle Spencer’s face, thumbing at the tears that fall.

“You are.” Hotch reaffirms with a small smile, “You’re so good to me. You’re so good for me.”

And he is. He saved him once, after Foyet and Haley. He keeps saving him day after day. Spencer keeps him together. Holds all of his broken pieces until he’s whole again. He’s one of the only good things left in his life, he and Jack. 

How could Hotch have forgotten to tell him that? How could he have forgotten to tell him that he loves him beyond comprehension? Loves him beyond reason?

Gently tugging Hotch’s hands away from his face, Spencer rolls his head upwards, closing his eyes.

He’s silent for a while, and were it not for his irregular breathing, Hotch would have thought he’d fallen asleep. 

“You once said that I stopped looking at you.” Spencer says, his eyes still shut, “The truth is, Aaron, you just stopped looking back.

“You don’t need me but I still need you.”

Hotch always thought devastation was a loud sort of matter. After all, him and Haley had screamed their voices hoarse at the tail end of their marriage. Then, he had cried out until he couldn’t anymore when she was gone. 

Apparently, Hotch was incorrect.

Devastation was the quietest noise in the world. 

“I’m really tired, Aaron.”

Hotch wakes up to an empty bed. The sheets beside him, where Spencer lay hours ago, are cold to touch. Sitting up slightly, he sees that Spencer’s bags are gone and the bathroom is empty. 

He reaches over for his phone and finds a single text message from Spencer.

I’m already at the airstrip.

On the jet, Hotch waits for Spencer to take a seat, ensuring that he won’t be able to get away from him without drawing attention to them. He watches how he tenses up when he feels Hotch settle in next to him. 

Once they’re in the air, Spencer pulls out a novel from the bag by his feet. It’s an effort to distract himself from Hotch’s looming presence, he knows that. 

If he’s this wound up from last night, Hotch will give him time to process. He’s not willing to fight with him, not about this. He decides to give Spencer the opportunity to bring up what happened. As a peace offering of sorts, Hotch pulls his own papers out. Spreading his sheets across the table as he gets to work. 

They stay like that for some time. Silent as they go about their own tasks. He can see how the earlier tension in Spencer’s body is gradually mitigated as Hotch keeps to himself. Every minute that passes without discussion has him relaxing enough to knock his knees with Hotch.

His strategy is flawed. Spencer’s never wanted to talk about his personal feelings before, why would he start now?

They’re sitting with their backs to the others. A decent distance between them and the rest of the team. He can hear them play a round of cards, in an attempt to decompress after the case. 

Luckily for Hotch, they’re version of decompressing is yelling at each other while they play Go Fish. Creating enough noise for him and Spencer to have a conversation without the fear of eavesdropping. 

He sets down his pen after scribbling a note in the margins of his paper. 

“Spencer, we have to talk.”

“What’s there to talk about?” he says, flipping the page and starting a new one.

“You thought I would leave you because I was mad at you,” he says in a hushed tone, “Because I didn’t want to have sex with you.”

“I had too much to drink.” 

“Which is also a concern I have. Why did you go out drinking anyways? You told me you went for a walk.”

He shrugs, still reading, “The case was hard and I passed a bar on my way.”

“Spencer…” 

His tone of voice is enough to finally get Spencer to put down the novel with irreverence. 

“Aaron, I messed up. I know, okay? I know I messed up with Anna and I messed up with you.” he reveals, turning his head to look at Hotch properly, “And I’m sorry, for both, I am. Can we please leave it at that?”

Spencer’s practically begging for him to let it go. His eyes big and pleading as he waits for Hotch’s response. They’re already flayed to delicacy by what happened, he doesn’t want to make it worse.

Therefore, despite his desire to pursue this non-issue Spencer claims, he lets it go. He lets it go, trusting Spencer to be telling him the truth. Believing him when he says it was only a hard case. 

“Okay.” Hotch relents, nodding to himself, “We can leave it at that.”

Spencer gives him a grateful smile, “Thank you.”

He reaches for his novel once more, finding where he left off with ease. Hotch picks up his pen again, getting back to his seemingly endless pile of papers. 

“I didn’t stop by the way.” Hotch mentions after a moment, still writing away. 

“Sorry?”

“I didn’t stop looking back.” he clarifies, “You just started turning away.”

Chapter Text

It’s the warmest day of spring to come yet. To make matters worse, the air conditioning is out of commision, technicians being sent in to replace the systems. The rain hasn’t come by either, nothing to permeate the humidity until then. Meaning they’re stuck in the miserable heat for the rest of the working day. 

It’s the reason they’re dressed more casual than usual. Dressed in the least amount of layers they could. The women all go for skirts instead of their fitted pants, short sleeved blouses instead of expected dress shirts. Rossi and Hotch have ditched their suits for the day, in favor of button ups rolled to their elbows. Morgan— Well Morgan always dresses comfortably in his jeans and henleys, so he’s fine. 

Alas, Reid does not have the same liberty as the others. Not if he wants to have Strauss disciplining him for lacking professionalism. Or God forbid, another coworker attempting to discreetly hand him a domestic abuse pamphlet. 

Woefully so, Reid is stuck on the hottest day of spring in his cotton turtleneck as he slaves away at his desk. All because Hotch couldn’t help but brandish his marks into Reid’s skin. On the bright side, the marks are faint this time. Fading quickly, just not quick enough. 

By the fifth time he wipes sweat off his brow in ten minutes, he realizes that he’s barely made a dent in his work. Sighing, Reid pushes out of his chair, heading toward the break room. 

He’s greeted by the sight of Prentiss and Dr. Whitman comforting a distressed looking Morgan. The three of them seeming to be engaged in a discussion about something intense. 

Reid strolls over, deciding to see what was going on for himself. On his way over to join them, he swipes a bottle of water from the case set out on the counter of the kitchenette. 

“Personally, I don’t see it. Kevin Lynch isn’t a forward man. If they’re going to date, Garcia has to be the one to initiate it.” Prentiss says, rubbing a hand between Morgan’s shoulder blades as he sulks. 

“Are we talking about how Morgan won’t gather the courage to ask out Garcia?” Reid asks conversationally before twisting open the cap on his bottled water.

Moping, Morgan tilts his head back, thumping it against the wall behind him.

“But, they make sense together, don’t they? They fit. I mean, he probably knows the difference between the Tenth Doctor and the Eleventh Doctor.” he complains, “I mean, I felt like such an idiot when I bought her the wrong FunkoPop for Valentine’s Day.”

“It’s fine, Morgan. She still liked it, loves it actually. She loves it because you made the effort to try and buy her something she’d like.” Prentiss comforts, “And plus, she likes all the Doctors.”

Reid hears footsteps approaching from behind, and soon Hotch is stood between him and Dr. Whitman. He places a hand against the small of his back, watching with concern as one of his agents brood.

“Is this about Morgan not telling Garcia how he feels?” Hotch asks.

At his words, Morgan lifts his head from the wall to look at Hotch, only to let his head fall once more. 

“Does everyone know?”

All of them share a look before answering in unison, “Yes.”

Morgan groans pitifully. 

“Okay, how about we change the subject?” Prentiss pipes up, recognizing that Morgan needs a distraction, “It’s been getting warmer around here, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Dr. Whitman chimes in,  “I mean, Reid, how are you wearing a turtleneck in this weather?”

His face heats up within seconds. Ducking his head when he hears Morgan, Prentiss, and Hotch chuckle around him. He tightens his hold around the water bottle, the plastic creaking in protest. 

“Dr. Reid is required to.” Morgan teases, his sullen mood from earlier dissipating at the opportunity to embarrass Reid, “That is if he doesn’t want someone to file a report at HR for creating an uncomfortable workplace environment.” 

Dr. Whitman furrows her brows, as she takes in Morgan’s words. Puzzled.

“I’m sorry?”

“Here,” Hotch says, pulling his hand away from Reid’s back, “Why don’t I help explain?”

Reid whips his head around to glare at him but, his irritation melts away by the sight he finds before him. A small smile on Hotch’s face

Then, his annoyance comes back, two fold, when Hotch reaches for Reid’s throat. Too stunned by Hotch’s tactility in the workplace, Reid doesn’t register that he's pulling down his turtleneck until he feels cool air brush against his sweaty neck. His blotchy, bitten, and raw skin revealed to his coworkers. 

“Oh God.” Dr. Whitman says, shocked, a hand up to her mouth.

Reid slaps Hotch’s hand away, hauling his garment back up to where it’s supposed to be. Scowling at Hotch with such fervor, it has him sinking away marginally. 

When he comes to drop off his finished work, Reid is still livid from the events of the morning. He enters without responding to Hotch’s greeting, only depositing his papers into the metal tray on his desk, before he turns to open the door.

Hotch, however, pulls him in by the waist. Pressing Reid against his chest and preventing him from leaving. His hands squished between his own body and Hotch’s. Reid tries to shove him off but, he only locks his arms around him tighter. 

He leans down, and rubs the side of his nose against Reid’s. An obvious sign he wants a kiss.

“I’m still mad at you.” 

“I know and I’m sorry.” Hotch says regretfully so, “I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t realize you were that embarrassed about it.”

“It’s just—” he cuts himself off.

“It’s just what?”

“It’s different. In front of Dr. Whitman.” he admits.

He places his hands flat on the planes of Hotch’s chest. He lowers his gaze down to them. Unable to look at Hotch right now.

“How so?”

How so, indeed.

How could Reid explain to Hotch that he felt humiliated to be shown off to Dr. Whitman like that? How could he vocalize that it felt as if Hotch was telling Dr. Whitman ‘this is what I had to use until I met you’? That it felt as if Hotch was making fun of him, saying ‘look at what he lets me to do to him’?

How could Reid possibly explain any of that to Hotch without scaring him off sooner?

“I know Prentiss and Morgan. They’re my friends. I know what they think of me and I know this,” he says gesturing to his neck, “Would never change their opinion about me.

“But, Dr. Whitman, I don’t know her and she doesn’t know me. Now she probably thinks I’m some sort of sexual deviant.”

“Dr. Whitman doesn’t think that. And even if she did, it doesn’t matter. The only opinion you should care about is your own.”

Still, Reid doesn’t look up at Hotch. 

“Yes, well, it’s a moot point, now.”

“I’m still sorry though. It was an invasion of your privacy.”

“It’s okay.” Reid says.

It is okay because at this point Hotch could strip him bare in front of everyone in the bullpen and he'd forgive him. He could look him in the eye and tell him the only thing Reid was good for was profiling and sucking cock and he’d forgive him. He’d forgive him for anything. 

After all, Hotch forgave him for being in love with him. 

Reid lays his head on Hotch’s chest and closes his eyes. Relishing in the way Hotch rubs his thumbs into his hips. 

A hiss rips out of Reid’s lungs as Hotch digs his thumb in deeper at the next stroke, right into the bruise on his left hip. 

Hotch looks down at him. His brows knitting together as he takes in the expression on Reid’s face.

“I didn’t hurt you too bad last night, did I?” 

“No, my skin’s just sensitive.”

Hotch leads his hands to rest on his belt buckle before asking, “Can I?”

Pulling his head off of Hotch’s chest, he nods.

With his assent, he undoes his buckle, leaving the belt inside the pant loops still. He tugs his zipper down and lowers his pants until they hang from the middle of his thighs.

Reid goes red in the face when he remembers what he put on this morning. Blushing harder when Hotch laughs.

“Star Wars boxers?”

“They were the only things I had at your place that weren’t in the wash.” he murmurs, “And I didn’t realize I was going to be accosted at work today.”

Fingers pull down the waistband of his boxers, just enough for Hotch to get a good view of the aftermath of last night. 

“I’d hardly call this accosting.” Hotch says, distracted, as he swipes his thumb against the bruises. 

He goes silent for a bit. Contemplative as he stares at his skin. 

“You like it, right?” he asks, worryingly, “Because if you don’t like it, I’ll stop. I never want to hurt you more than you want me to.”

His chest swells at the words that leave his mouth. He cups Hotch’s jaw, hauling him in for a deep kiss. 

“I like it a lot.” he whispers into his mouth before diving in for another kiss. 

Far too soon for Reid’s liking, Hotch tears away. His objections falling on deaf ears as Hotch gets on his knees, in front of him. Cradling his hips in his palms as he lowers his head to the bruises. 

Hotch bites down on the tender skin in front of him.

“Aaron…” he moans, grasping at Hotch’s shoulders to keep himself upright.

“You’d tell me if I was hurting you, though, right?” he mumbles into the sliver of skin he was gnawing at a moment ago.

No, he thinks to himself. He wouldn’t. Couldn’t bring himself to. 

God, Hotch was hurting him long before they started this whole mess and he’ll keep hurting him. He hurts him every time Reid yells out ‘I love you’ during sex and all Hotch can do is kiss him to shut him up. He hurts him every time Hotch looks at Dr. Whitman during case briefings instead of Reid. 

“Yes.” he lies, “I’d tell you.”

“Good.” he comments before switching to his other hip, sinking his teeth down.

Reid gasps out. Digging his fingers into Hotch’s shoulders. 

A knock at the door pulls the two of them out of their bliss. 

Hotch withdraws from his skin immediately. Laughing as Reid fumbles with his pants before he takes over for him, zipping him back up and buckling up his belt. Once Reid’s finished getting his modesty back, Hotch rises from the floor, going over to the door.

“JJ,” he greets as he lets her into the office, “What can I do for you?”

“The team’s heading over to Rossi’s for dinner after work. He was hoping you and Reid could make it. I’m having Will bring Henry, and he could use a friend. Maybe bring Jack too?” she asks with a smile, before she looks pointedly over his shoulder at Reid, “And maybe this could be Reid’s chance to introduce us to his girlfriend.”

“Never going to happen Jareau.”

“A girl can try, can’t she?” she shrugs, “So, can you two make it?”

“Not like I have a social life outside of work.” Reid answers.

“Yes, I think I can make it. I’ll call Jess and see if she can drop Jack off here after school.” Hotch answers, “Thank you.”

JJ grins and leaves them be afterwards. Happily jogging down to the bullpen, no doubt to tell the others. 

“I can pick up Jack.” he offers, “Why make Jess go through the hassle of driving to the opposite side of town?”

Hotch uses a finger to tilt up Reid’s chin, pressing their lips together in a chaste kiss.

“You’re sweet, you know that?” Hotch states softly before rummaging through his pockets.

“I know.”

“Here,” he says, handing over his keys, “Take the car.”

Reid stands in the elevator, Hotch’s car keys clutched in hand. Patiently waiting for the doors to slide shut so he can get to the ground floor. 

“Hold the elevator!” he hears someone exclaim.

Doing just that, Reid presses his hand against the door to prevent it from closing. 

A bright smile encompasses his face as he recognizes Garcia waddling through. His smile dimming ever so, when he realizes Dr. Whitman is behind her. 

“Hey Garcia,” he greets before turning to politely acknowledge the other woman, “Dr. Whitman.”

“Hey Junior G-Man.”

“Dr. Reid.”

As the elevator pings, descending to the next level, he glances over to Garcia. Finally noticing the pair of broken, black heels in her hand. 

“Yeah, don’t chase Derek Morgan down the hall in strappy heels, when he steals your phone to read through your texts with fellow technical analyst, Kevin Lynch.” she remarks sourly, as she waves the shoes around, “I gotta go home otherwise I’m going to eat dinner barefoot.”

He looks down to her feet. She wiggles her pink painted toenails for emphasis. 

“And Dr. Whitman here wanted to get some fresh air so, I’m going to take her with me on 

my little adventure.” she adds on.

“I could give you two a ride? I’m picking up Jack and your apartment is on the way. Save you some gas.” he proposes.

Garcia grins wide and big as she claps her hands together, delighted. 

“That sounds like a great idea!” she agrees excitedly, “I haven’t seen my other Junior G-Man in so long.” 

Behind her, Dr. Whitman pipes up, “Who’s Jack?”

“Jack, my friend, is the adorable offspring of our unit chief. ”

The moment the school bell rings, signalling the end of the day, Reid watches how Jack comes jogging through the door. Jostling his backpack and lunch kit in hand with every step. 

His eyes light up when he recognizes two very familiar figures (and one not so familiar figure) standing near the flagpole outside the entrance of his school. 

He breaks off into a full sprint towards them. Rushing through the crowds of parents and children.

“Uncle Spencer! Aunt Penny!” 

“Jackie!” Garcia calls out.

“Jack!” Reid says following suit.

The young boy tugs Reid down into an embrace, before letting go and giving Garcia the same treatment. 

“I didn’t know you guys were picking me up today.”

“Well,” Garcia says, drawing out the word, “The team is heading over to Uncle Dave’s and there’s no way we could let you miss out on the fun.”

“And we want to introduce someone to you.” Reid adds before motioning for Dr. Whitman to come over, “Jack, this is Dr. Victoria Whitman. She works with your dad and us.”

Dr. Whitman waves, smiling warmly down at the boy.

“Hi Jack. It’s great to meet you.”

“Are you a hospital doctor or a math doctor?” he asks, looking up at her with interest.

Dr. Whitman laughs before answering, “I’m actually more of a science doctor.” she reveals.

“That’s cool!” he beams.

Garcia comes up beside Jack and relieves him of his lunch kit before taking his hand in hers. 

“Aunt Penny, why aren’t you wearing shoes?” he questions.

Sighing, “It’s a long story Jackie. Basically, the next time you see your Uncle Derek I need you to do something for me, I need you to, not necessarily steal because that would be a bad thing and your dad would kill me for telling you to, but…”

Her words trail off as she leads the both of them into the parking lot. Leaving Dr. Whitman and Reid behind to catch up to them at a leisurely pace.

“So,” she coughs out, “Am I going to be meeting Hotch’s wife tonight too?”

He deflates at her words. It’s better he asks him though, instead of Hotch. He doesn’t need to be reminded of Foyet and Haley and everything he thinks he should’ve done.

“Uh no, she—she passed away. It’s just him and Jack now. ”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is.” he brushes off, unwilling to think about it more than he has to, “What about you? Are you going to bring someone?”

“Me?” she says, “Oh, no. I am utterly alone. You?”

“No one for me either.” 

“What about that girlfriend of yours?”

“No,” he laughs bitterly, “She won’t be coming.”

By time they all make it back to the Bureau, they still have two hours to mull about before they can clock out for the night. 

Garcia ruffles the hair on Jack’s head before she leaves him, Reid, and Dr. Whitman to get back to her tech lair and do whatever it is she does in her downtime. Meanwhile, Dr. Whitman and Reid take Jack over to the bullpen to meet the others. 

There they find Morgan moping at his desk, still hung up over Garcia and Kevin. JJ attempts to console him with the help of Will. Through the glass panels of JJ’s office, he can see Henry colouring at his mom’s desk. Rossi is still stuck in his own office, no doubt wanting to finish up all his work before he has to get home and accommodate a house full of ten people. Hotch is discussing something with Prentiss over by her desk. 

When he hears the little pitter patter of tiny feet against the floor, Hotch looks up and he breaks out into a wide grin at the sight of Reid and Jack. He and Prentiss approach them halfway.

“Hey buddy.” Hotch greets, his voice lilting in a tone that is never used in the B.A.U.

“Dad!” he exclaims before hugging his legs tight, after a bit he lets go, waving at Prentiss, “Hi Aunt Emmy!”

“Hey Jack.” she says before running her fingers through his hair, ruffing it up like Garcia did, “How’s it going?”

“Great!” he chirps back before grabbing Reid’s hand in his own, “Uncle Spencer and  Aunt Penny picked me up from school. And I met Dr. Whitman. She’s a science doctor.”

Chuckling, “That she is, Jack.”

“Buddy, the rest of the team and I still need to finish up some work.” Hotch says, “Do you want to go hang out with Henry? He’s in Aunt JJ’s office.”

Jack nods eagerly before he takes his cue to race over to JJ’s office. 

The heat doesn’t seem to let up any time soon. And seeing that he is the only person in the B.A.U that has finished their work, he’s put on water duty. When he’s not running about handing water bottles to anyone that texts, he’s playing games with the boys in JJ’s office.

He gets a text from Garcia to hand him a water bottle, it’s the third one in the row. Usually he’d get annoyed but he just feels bad for her. She’s got all those machines whirring around her, only adding to the gross humidity of the day. 

Reid excuses himself from the kids. JJ laughs from her chair when he announces that Aunt Penny needs to rehydrate again or she’ll die (her words not his). 

Cold water bottle in hand, he strides down the hall towards Garcia’s den. He’s about to make the turn to her door when he recognizes some voices.  

“Hotch isn’t seeing anyone, then?” he hears Dr. Whitman ask.

“God, no.” Prentiss breathes out, “He hasn’t even been trying.”

He slows down his pace, muting his steps as best he can. Then, Reid pushes himself against the wall and wills himself to breath as shallowly as possible. All while negating the moral consequences of eavesdropping. 

“Is it because of his wife?” 

“No, he’s not— Grief is one of those things you learn to live with but, no I don’t think it’s because of Haley.” she answers truthfully, “Hotch isn’t one for dating. I mean, when he’s not here, he spends all of his time with Jack. A woman can’t compete with that. Not with his son and his job.”

If Hotch really wanted to, he could have found a willing woman the moment he signed those divorce papers. The issue is that he’s scared. Scared of whatever he initiates ending the same way his and Haley’s marriage ended. Hotch doesn’t know how to show his whole self to people. With Haley, he had to be her loving husband. With Jack, he has to be his caring father. With the team, he has to be their authoritative leader. 

He divides himself up into factions and it tears him apart in the end. Most people cannot handle loving only one side of someone, only seeing one facet of their personality. Haley couldn’t. 

She couldn’t reconcile the Aaron Hotchner who wanted to be a good husband and father with the Aaron Hotchner who wanted to be a good unit chief. 

Even if Hotch didn’t compartmentalize himself into boxes he hides away to his desire, it’s not as if he can find someone that fits his needs. 

Prentiss is right. It’s impossible for someone to compete with two of Hotch’s great life purposes; being a father and being a part of the Bureau. His partner would need to understand that they come second to that. And nobody wants to be second to anything in a relationship, not before it’s truly even begun.

He’s only sleeping with Reid because he has needs and Reid is the only one readily available. Only one just as lonely, if not more. 

JJ has Will. Prentiss has commitment issues and Reid is fairly sure she isn’t even attracted to men. Derek and Garcia are pining after one another. Rossi is out of the question. 

So, yeah, it makes sense why he’s sleeping with Reid. 

“What if a woman didn’t need to compete?” Dr. Whitman asks, curiously.

“Sorry?”

“I mean, what if he… started dating someone from the B.A.U?” she says, almost shyly, “That way he doesn’t have to choose between his relationship and his job.”

“That could work but it’s not as if he has options in the team, I mean JJ has Will, Garcia and Derek, and I—” Prentiss cuts her words short, “Oh, you mean…”

“I was thinking of asking him out.” Dr. Whitman confesses, “Do you think he’d say yes?”

Reid’s chest constricts. 

“Maybe.”

It may not be a concrete conclusion but it’s confirmation enough to Reid. That he was right about Dr. Whitman and Hotch. That Hotch is going to leave him soon. 

“I was thinking I’d ask him tomorrow.” she explains, “In case he doesn’t say yes, I don’t want to make tonight awkward.”

Hotch is going to leave him after tonight. He’s going to fuck him one last time and then tomorrow night, Reid is going to be all alone again. This time with the memories of all he could’ve had. 

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and shoots Garcia a text about there being no more water bottles left through blurry eyes. 

Music plays from the speaker system in Rossi’s home, floating out the backyard, where he and Will are grilling their dinner. Inside, Garcia mans the bar and makes everyone their own specially concocted cocktails that should be illegal with the percentage of alcohol in them. She makes conversation over the counter, while JJ and Prentiss cut up some vegetables for the side dishes. In the living room, Spencer and Whitman watch a documentary about marine animals on Rossi’s flatscreen. By their feet, Morgan plays with Henry and Jack on the floor. 

After paying the ‘bartender’ a visit, he wanders back to the living room with a glass of wine and an alcohol free iced tea. Leaning over the back of the sofa, Hotch hands Spencer his drink from over top of him. 

He tilts his head up and shoots him a grateful look before accepting it.

“Hey, what about the rest of us?” Morgan complains as Henry crawls onto his back.

Hotch rounds the couch, and sits down on the empty spot between Spencer and Whitman. Stretching his arm behind Spencer, enough for him to lean back against it. 

“I only have two hands.” Hotch shrugs before taking a sip of his drink. 

He vaguely hears Morgan mutter something about favourites before he gets up to grab his own drink, the boys trailing behind him. 

Looking down his side, Hotch watches as Spencer smiles, almost sadly, at the glass of wine in his hand.

“What?” he asks, curious.

“Nothing.” Spencer answers, “Just… thank you.”

“You okay?” he questions, dropping his hand from behind Spencer to his shoulder, “You’ve been acting strange since we got here.”

It’s worrisome. He barely said a word on the car ride over. Only answering Jack’s questions when asked. He hadn’t even responded to Morgan’s teasing when his turtleneck had sunk down a bit.

The last time Spencer got this quiet was in Ohio, which in turn, resulted in a rather spectacular mess. With Spencer sprawled out on the floor, his hand around his cock, as he cried, begging for Hotch to fuck him before he would leave him. 

Hotch still isn’t quite sure what had gone down that night. He’s not sure if Spencer knows either. 

“I think I have a headache.” he mumbles as he rubs at his eyes, “I’m going to go lay down in the guest bedroom.”

Spencer sets his glass of wine down on the accent table beside the couch. He rises from the couch and heads down the long corridor, remembering where to make the turn in Rossi’s massive home. 

Hotch goes to follow him but a hand on his forearm stops him.

“He’ll be fine.” Whitman reassures, “I think he just needs to be alone.”

An hour later, Hotch is still unable to shake off that worry that something is inexplicably wrong. He goes against Whitman’s advice and decides to check up on Spencer. Venturing down the hall to Rossi’s guest bedroom. 

Rapping against the door softly, he hears a quiet, “Come in.”

He opens the door to find Spencer curled up on his side, on top of the covers, facing away from the door. 

Spencer doesn’t open his eyes as he feels the mattress dip. Instead, he wiggles closer to where Hotch is sitting on the edge. The sight causing his heart to practically burst. He brings his fingers up to tangle in Spencer’s hair, eliciting a pleasant hum. 

“Dinner is still going to be an hour.” he informs softly, not wanting to make his headache worse.

“Can you lay with me?”

In lieu of answering, he simply toes off his shoes. Spencer shifts over to create some space for him. 

As soon as Hotch is situated in the bed, Spencer leans his head against his chest and tangles their legs together.

“You know,” Spencer starts off, “There was a study done that suggested that orgasms help alleviate headaches.”

Hotch snorts.

“We are absolutely not having sex in Rossi’s guest bedroom.” he declares.

Spencer lifts off of his front, planting a hand down against the mattress to look at him straight on. 

“There’s a lock on the door and the team knows not to expect either of us any time soon.”

“What about the stains on the bed?” he questions, “How are we supposed to hide that?”

Spencer slides a hand down to his neck. Looking at him with blown eyes as his breath plays across Hotch’s mouth. 

“Rossi has a cleaning service and I’m pretty sure they’re not going to ask him about any come stains.”

“Spencer—”

“Don’t you care about me?” he asks his voice thick with emotion that wasn’t there a moment ago.

Right away, “Spencer, you know I do.”

His words are swallowed up Spencer’s mouth. His hands clutching at the side of Hotch’s face as he reels him in closer. 

It takes a second for Hotch to play catch up, his hands awkwardly hovering over Spencer’s body. Soon, instinct takes over and he grabs him by the waist. He rolls them over. Shoving him on his back against the mattress. The sheets rippling around them. He drives his tongue inside Spencer’s mouth, inciting a moan loud enough that has Hotch worrying if anyone is wandering the hall outside. 

Which reminds him.

He pulls back from the kiss, and as expected, Spencer whines loudly. His nimble fingers catching at the collar of his shirt. Holding him close like he’s afraid Hotch is never coming back. 

Doesn’t he know that Hotch will do everything he can to come back to him?

“Hey, it’s alright,” Hotch coos, stroking a hand down his head, “I just need to get the door.”

The fearful look on Spencer’s face is still there but he slowly loosens his grip on Hotch to let him lock the door. 

Once he’s done, Hotch gets back to the foot of the bed and wraps a hand around Spencer’s ankle. Hauling him down to where he was, his feet hitting the floor. His sweater hiking up in the process.  

He gets both hands underneath the fabric, raising it even further to Spencer’s collarbones. He gathers Spencer’s hands in his own and places them where his sweater is scrunched up. Silently telling him to hold the cloth there. Lowering his head,  he plants wet, open mouthed kisses on his torso. His fingers coming up to pinch Spencer’s nipples to hardness. All while Spencer writhes under his attention, as he bunches his hands in his sweater. 

On a particularly rough pinch coupled with Hotch biting down on his sternum, Spencer moans loudly. His back lifting off the bed. 

“Better keep quiet, Spencer.” he teases, his mouth hovering over Spencer’s skin, “You don’t want the others to hear, do you?”

His face turns the prettiest shade of red at Hotch’s words. 

He retracts his fingers, and replaces it with his mouth. Biting down on his nipple. Teasing it between his teeth as he watches Spencer squirm.

“Oh God, Aaron!” he exclaims, his face burning brighter when he realizes how loud he’s been.

“Or maybe you do.”

Travelling upwards, Hotch crawls over him to kiss a line up his chest. Spencer lets go of his sweater to wind his arms around the back of Hotch’s neck. 

“Are you going to be good for me?” he murmurs as he noses at the underside of Spencer’s jaw.

“Yes.” 

Hotch draws him in for a kiss, Spencer responding eagerly. His tongue prods at the seam of Spencer’s mouth waiting for him to open up. When he does, Hotch wastes no time in brushing their tongues together. 

He raises a palm flat against Spencer’s throat. Applying the tiniest bit of pressure, he feels Spencer’s breath hitch. His Adam’s apple bobbing as he struggles to get air to his lungs.

When Hotch breaks away from the kiss, he finds Spencer staring at him with glazed over, half-lidded eyes. His lips red and glistening with their combined spit.

Lifting his palm off, Hotch maneuvers Spencer to sit up just a bit. Getting his hands underneath his sweater, Hotch tugs it off. 

Except it comes with it's difficulties as there is no sexy way of ripping off a turtleneck sweater off of someone. The turtleneck portion gets stuck around the high part of Spencer’s neck. Enveloping his whole head with the remainder of the sweater, hiding away Spencer’s face within its confines. 

Instead of helping Hotch, Spencer just laughs at him. 

The sound loosens something inside of him and he finds himself pressing a kiss onto his smiling mouth through the cotton of the sweater. 

Eventually, the sweater comes off and is tossed to the floor. Spencer’s hair becoming more tussled than it was to begin with. 

Spencer’s abused neck is a contrast to his relatively unblemished torso. The skin at his throat has been bruised and bitten raw. Recent marks overlapping old ones as Hotch never truly let his skin heal uninhibited. 

Unable to resist, he brings his hand up to Spencer’s throat, scratching lines down his sensitive skin. Spencer keening as he goes. 

“Tell me you love me.” he requests into Spencer’s ear.

“Aaron, I love you so much.” Spencer stutters out between intakes of air, “I love you so much, I think it destroys me sometimes. I’d do anything to keep you in my life.”

Pushing between their bodies, he gets a hand over Spencer’s clothed cock. As he digs his fingers in deeper at the skin of his neck, he feels his cock twitch underneath his palm. 

It makes something stir in the bottom of his stomach. Spencer being in love with him. Being in love with the way Hotch hurts him. 

He wants to tell him he loves him too. Tell him that he feels the same way. Tell him that he misses him the moment he leaves his sight. Tell him that he wishes the team knew about them so he wouldn’t have to stop himself from holding his hand on the jet.

He wants to tell him that, sometimes, when Hotch wants to give up and let go, he thinks of two people he’ll leave behind. He thinks of Spencer and Jack standing over his grave and suddenly every problem he’s ever encountered becomes minuscule. 

God, there’s so much Hotch wants to tell him. He wishes he were like Spencer or Prentiss, who know so many languages, because right now there are no words in English that can be strung together. None that come close to accurately describing the effect Spencer has on him. 

“Aaron,” he cries as he gets two hands behind Hotch’s head, “Please.”

Knowing he’ll fall short with his words, Hotch tries to show him how much he loves him instead.

Lowering his head enough, Hotch gives Spencer what he wants and slots their lips together. Beneath him, Spencer barely participates in the kiss, only lazily brushing his tongue against Hotch’s while he takes control. He keeps dragging his nails across Spencer’s throat. Scratching a line right into his Adam’s apple.

Hotch feels wetness spread against his face and for a second he panics. He’s about to pull back when Spencer beats him to it.

Spencer drags his mouth off of Hotch’s, only moving an inch away. His chest is heaving. Rising and falling quickly. Tears stream down the sides of his face. 

“You know I love you, right?” he asks, struggling to take in a proper breath.

“Yeah, I know.”

“I’d do anything for you.” he pants, “I’d dress up in skirts and dresses if it made you happy, put on high heels and strut around for you. I’d pour wax over myself if you wanted me to, cry out your name the entire time if that’s what you wanted. I’d let you slap me across the face until my face bruised with your handprint. I’d warm your cock in my mouth for hours on end. 

“God, Aaron, I'd do anything for you. Anything you want. All you have to do is ask.” he promises, pleads almost, half into Hotch’s mouth. 

A lump builds up in Hotch’s throat. He ducks his head as he skims his hands all over Spencer’s torso. 

“I’d do anything for you too.” Hotch responds, struggling to get the words out, “Just ask.”

With nothing left to say, Spencer unbuckles his belt. He throws it off the side of the bed, while Hotch hooks his fingers along the waistband of his pants. Pulling them off, he’s left with Spencer wearing his mixed matched socks and Star Wars boxers.

“I thought you said you didn’t plan on being accosted today.” he murmurs as he lifts Spencer’s ankle so he can remove his socks.

“Yes, well, one never knows with you Aaron.” Spencer answers, staring at him lovingly as he pulls off his boxers next.

No matter how many times Hotch sees Spencer naked underneath, it always takes his breath away. He’s beautiful.

Though that doesn’t say much because Hotch had thought he was exquisite when he was bleeding out in an abandoned church utility closet. He thought he was diaphanous when he was laying out a hospital bed after surgery. Thought he was ethereal when he threw his gun behind him in the middle of the road. 

He thought he was pretty even when he was drenched with mud, coming home from an adventure with Jack.

For a minute, Hotch doesn’t do anything. Only staring at Spencer spread out naked beneath him, while he’s still fully clothed. His pale skin displayed only for Hotch’s viewing. He smooths his hands across his thighs. Pulling his legs apart as he goes. Hearing Spencer’s breath pick up the longer he looks at him. 

“Can I suck you off?”

Spencer lets out a guttural moan before dropping his head to the pillow.

Hotch barks out a laugh. Consequently causing a red flush to spread from Spencer’s face to his collar bones. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” 

Slipping off the bed, Hotch drops to his knees. His head level with Spencer’s body as he lays on the bed still.

He holds onto Spencer’s left hip with one hand as he uses his other to grip Spencer’s cock. Finding the base, he licks a strip up the side. Tonguing every ridge and vein as he goes. 

“Aaron!” Spencer cries out sharply, interlacing a hand through Hotch’s hair. 

Soon, Hotch opens his mouth up and dives in for more. Taking the head of Spencer’s cock into his mouth as he makes shallow laps with his tongue. 

“Fuck…”

He relaxes his throat as much as he can as he takes Spencer’s cock fully into his mouth. Letting it slip down even further in small increments. His throat closing around him. After a few moments, he starts to bob his head. Flattening his tongue against the spit slick cock as he moves up and down. He feels Spencer’s hand fall away from his hair. 

Still sucking on his cock, Hotch looks up to find Spencer still flat on the bed, his hands twisted up in the sheets as he gasps out, over and over again. His hips bucking up into Hotch’s warm, wet mouth. 

“Aaron,” he keens, “Can I come? Please?”

Hotch only hums around his cock. Watching him shudder from the vibrations of Hotch granting him permission.

He brings up his other hand to Spencer’s right hip. Circling the twin bruises on each side, before sinking his nails in.

“Aaron!” Spencer cries out. 

His back arches up as he cradles the back of Hotch’s skull in his palms. Coming down his throat, hard.

As Spencer starts to go soft in his mouth, Hotch pulls off of him. He inches up the bed to face Spencer, who had his eyes closed and his mouth open, letting out soft puffs of air.

Cupping his neck, Hotch pulls him in for an all consuming kiss. Dripping the remaining of Spencer’s release into his own mouth. Groaning as Spencer swallows it down, gulping noisily. 

“You’re something, you know that?” he whispers once they pull apart.

“I found some body oil in the ensuite bathroom we could use.” Spencer breathes out, just barely coming down from his orgasm.

Hotch chuckles as he shifts to lay down, bringing an arm behind Spencer to haul him closer. 

“As much as I know you’d like that, you insatiable minx,” he teases, “I don’t think I’d want anyone, let alone Rossi’s cleaning service, to find our come stained sheets. So, no, I think I’ll wait until we get home.”

Spencer hums in response. Too exhausted and sated to bother arguing with him on this. 

After that, they just stare at each other. Spencer raises his hand to Hotch’s face, stroking the side of it. Then, he watches as the loving expression of Spencer's face dies down, replaced with something that he can't quite name. Spencer’s eyes start to shine a bit before a tear rolls down his face.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Hotch asks, concerned.

“Nothing’s wrong.” he croaks out, his voice betraying him.

“Spencer…”

“No, honest.” he claims, “It’s something good. Great, even. It’s going to make you so happy, Aaron. Happier than you’ve ever been.”

Hotch’s brows knit together as he tries to reconcile the look on Spencer’s face with his words.

“What is it, then?”

“You’ll know tomorrow.” Spencer promises as he looks up at him with a sad smile, lightly patting his hands against Hotch’s chest, “Just let me have tonight.”

Before Hotch can come up with a response or start questioning him, the doorknob rattles violently causing Spencer to jostle in his arms. 

Spencer shoots him a panic stricken look before Hotch just rolls his eyes.

“Yes?” Hotch calls out.

“Hotch, Dr. Reid, dinner’s ready.” he hears Whitman through the door.

“We’ll be out in a minute.”

He hears her heels clicking against the wooden panels of the floor as she walks away.

“You think they’re going to suspect?” Spencer asks.

Snorting, “Come on, Spencer. It’s me and you.”

Spencer shrugs out of Hotch’s hold. Laying on his side as he looks at the bedroom door. 

“Yeah… me and you.”

Chapter Text

Reid wakes up to the shrieking tone of the alarm on his cell phone going off. It sends a throbbing sensation straight to his temples. It probably doesn’t help matters that last night he set it out right on his pillow. Next to his ear.

But, Reid remembers why he did it and the ache in his chest rivals that with his headache. 

He wanted to get it over with as quickly and as painlessly as possible. 

Reaching beside him, he taps a button on his cell phone and he’s greeted with the gift of blissful silence in return. 

Sneaking a glance behind him, Reid sees that Hotch is still fast asleep. Undisturbed by the noise that occurred just a second ago. Reid trails his hands down to where hotch’s arms are wrapped around his bare torso.

Prodding at his arms, Hotch doesn’t respond. If anything, he seems to shift closer and hold him tighter.

Sighing, Reid decides to rip the bandage off. He pries Hotch’s arms off as gently as he can and soon his skin is no longer touching Reid’s own as he is standing beside the bed now. Hotch makes a sleepy noise of disapproval that has Reid fearing he’ll wake up. 

He doesn’t though. Only turning his face into the warm spot Reid vacated. 

Bending down, Reid brushes his hair up and off his forehead, before pecking a kiss onto his skin. Then, he gathers his clothes from the floor of the bedroom before entering the ensuite bathroom. 

From there on out, Reid pointedly avoids Hotch for the rest of the day. He’s sure the only reason Hotch hasn’t filed a missing persons report is because Reid sent him a text message in the morning detailing his whereabouts and the fact that his work mysteriously appears in Hotch’s tray when he’s not there. 

In an effort to make a clean break, Reid doesn’t bother meeting up with Hotch for their usual lunch either. Bitterly, he wonders if he’s already at Annacis Bistro with Dr. Whitman. 

Instead, he finds himself sitting in JJ’s office. Eating a gross salad he made in the morning because he woke up before Hotch could make them lunch for the day. He also stomachs it because he woke up before Hotch could make breakfast, resulting in him being starved. 

He’s sitting in one of the chairs facing her desk. His knees are pulled up onto the seat. He stabs at his disgusting salad he’s got in his hands. Adding Hotch’s cooking skills to one of the things he’ll miss about him. Depressingly so, he thinks about how hard it will be to go back to his usual diet of Pop Tarts and take out food. 

“You okay, Spencer?” JJ asks, while she eats her own, perfectly put together salad, “You’re quiet.”

“It’s nothing.” he mumbles.

“Is it about how you’re not eating with Hotch?”

Reid doesn’t answer that. Only shoving a ranch laced piece of lettuce into his mouth. 

“So, it is.” she deduces, “You want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head.

“Fine,” she sighs, “So, whatever happened with the Hotch thing anyways? Was it like a gay fluke or something? I mean one day you’re thirsting over our unit chief and then the next, you have a ravenous girlfriend.”

He ducks his head down. Averting eye contact with the woman in front of him. 

“It wasn’t,” he gives himself a minute, struggling with the words he has to say, “A fluke. It was— It’s— I’m…”

He gives up on his salad. Closing the container, he drops it back into his messenger bag before lamenting on how awkward it’s going to be when he has to give the tupperware back to Hotch.

It shouldn’t be so difficult to say. It’s only one eight letter word. A rather harmless one at that. It’s not a bad thing nor is it a good thing.

Reid just wishes it didn’t have to be a thing at all. 

It’s not as if JJ is extremely bigoted, either. She took the news of his attraction to Hotch well. She never tried to hand him conversion therapy pamphlets. She never spat bible verses at him. Never accused him of lusting after her boyfriend. Never pulled Henry away from hugging him. 

But, that’s because she thought he was only gay, then. Now, she thinks he’s straight.

How is she going to take to him telling her he’s neither? That he’s in fact, something else entirely.

He’s already going to lose Hotch today. He doesn’t want to lose JJ as well. 

But, he knows he has to clear the air. For himself. He owes it to himself. He owes it to Thomas in a way too.

“I’m,” a lump builds up his throat but he swallows it down as he picks at the skin around his thumb, “I’m bisexual.”

Reid waits for the outburst. The reaction. The exclamation of sorts. He waits for her to scream at him to pick a side or to shout with joy at his formal coming out. Expects anger or excitement. Streamers or flames. 

All he gets is a nod in understanding and, “Ah, that makes sense.”

“You’re not going to tell anyone, right?” he asks anxiously, still keeping his head low.

“No, Spencer,” she promises, “I won’t tell anyone.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he finally brings his gaze up to JJ, who’s smiling at him warmly.

His office door opens and by the tentative footsteps that he hears, he knows it’s Spencer who’s come in. 

“Hey Spencer.” he greets as he finishes signing the bottom of a document.

He looks up to find him standing in front of his desk. Rocking on the balls of his feet as he grips his messenger bag tightly in his hand. 

“I just came in to tell you I’m heading home.” 

Shuffling some papers around, he starts to separate his work into two piles: one for home and for work. 

“Just give me a minute to get ready.” 

“No, that’s fine.” he says, “I was just going to take the metro.”

“Nonsense, we’ll go together. I missed you in the morning today. And I missed you at lunch.”

He did miss him. A lot. 

It felt exceptionally lonely to roll over onto quickly cooling sheets. Waking up to a text that Spencer was already at work without him. Even Jack had missed him. Wanting Spencer to take one last look at his science fair project before he had to submit it. 

Lunch was somehow worse. He tried to search for Spencer as discreetly as he could but it was in vain. He ended up having a stilted conversation with Whitman over a meal that was meant to be shared with Spencer.

“Yeah,” Spencer mumbles as he shifts the strap of his bag higher onto his shoulder, “But, I think Dr. Whitman wants to discuss something important to you. And, I, uh, I need to do something when I get hom— when I get to your place.”

The conscious decision to change his choice of words doesn’t go unnoticed by Hotch. 

“I’m sure whatever Dr. Whitman wants to discuss can wait until tomorrow.” he says as he gets up from his chair. 

“No!” Spencer exclaims loudly before wincing at his volume, “I mean no. It’s time sensitive.”

“If you know what it is, why don’t you just tell me?”

“I can’t.” Spencer tells him, “It’s not my place.”

Rounding his desk, he moves closer to Spencer. Sliding a hand to the side of his neck as he brushes their noses together. 

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

“Why did you leave so early in the morning?” Hotch asks.

“You’ll figure it out soon.” he answers vaguely before clutching onto the lapels of Hotch’s suit jacket.

“Is it about the good news you told me about yesterday?”

Breaking off eye contact, Spencer nods.

“I’m guessing I’ll figure that out soon too.”

Spencer nods again. 

Then, he reels him into a kiss. A desperate one at that. It reminds him of their first kiss, back in Oklahoma with the two of them drenched in his blood as they tried to stop time from stealing Spencer’s breath.

It has the same air of finality. The same lingering feeling of goodbye etched into the kiss.

Soon, Spencer pulls back and puts some space between them.

“I’ll see you later.”

For a second, Hotch doubts his words.

His duffel bag is set out on Hotch’s bed. Beside it, he has a pile of his clothes and all of his personal items that seemed to have accumulated in the house over the past months. A stack of DVDs, his books, his glasses, his cell phone charger, his laptop. 

He folds all of his clothes meticulously before placing them inside the bag. He could’ve been done an hour ago but Reid knows he is just delaying going back to his own apartment, knowing that the only thing waiting for him is a life of loneliness and dust. The last time he was at his own home, Reid had only walked in for a few minutes to get another change of clothes while Hotch waited in the car outside.

For the millionth time that day, Reid rubs at his eyes, willing himself to stop before the tears won’t. 

Hotch doesn’t need to see him like that. 

The front door opens and Reid can hear it clearly from all the way inside the bedroom. 

“Spencer?”

“I’m in here.” he calls out to him, briefly wondering if he can hear the shakiness in his voice from that far away.

He stops folding his clothes, stops packing for a second. Drawing in a breath as Hotch opens the door.

When he enters inside Hotch is still looking down at something on his cell phone. 

“I was wondering if you wanted to give Dave a day off from soccer duty and pick Jack up…” 

His words trail off when he finally brings his gaze up to where Reid is. His eyes zeroing in on all of Reid’s stuff neatly arranged on the bed, waiting to be packed away.

“Are you getting a change of clothes from your apartment?” he asks.

Hotch fumbles with his suit jacket. Trying to fold it over his arm as he keeps his sight on Reid. 

“I was thinking that maybe I should head back to my own apartment for a while.” he explains, folding his clothes again if only for something to do with his hands. 

“Oh, uh, why?”

The grip on his cell phone tightens. Practically white knuckling it. 

Instead of answering Hotch’s question, he asks his own. 

“What did—” he coughs before continuing, “What did Dr. Whitman ask you?”

Hotch gives up on folding his suit jacket and simply tosses it on top of the dresser

“She wanted to grab dinner but I told her I had other plans.” Hotch furrows his brows.

Reid finishes folding all of his shirts and packs them away into the bag before setting out for the pants. Keeping his head low.

“Maybe, you should go with Dr. Whitman.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because she’s a wonderful woman.” he answers, “She’s intelligent. She’s kind. She likes children and I’m sure she isn’t opposed to the idea of marriage. And you have eyes so you're well aware that she’s attractive.”

Dr. Whitman is all the best parts of Reid and then some. 

She’s intellectual but not in the same abrasive way Reid is. Her words are quick to the point and it impresses people how she says so much in such little. 

Unlike Reid, who feels the need to relay to everyone how exactly the dots connected in his head.

He’s seen her with kids. With the poor kids that end up involved in their investigations, sometimes the kids that are their victims. He’s seen her with Henry and Jack. At Rossi’s house, after they came out of the guest bedroom for dinner, he heard JJ talk about how cute it was when Jack kept tugging on Dr. Whitman’s hand when he had a question about the documentary on the T.V. How adorable it was when Henry did the same. 

It took Reid a long time to bond with them both and Dr. Whitman had managed to do it in a day. 

He knows she wants to get married. She talked about it once when they had a case involving newly wed couples and Reid saw how Hotch’s eyes raked over her. 

Reid doesn’t want to get married. The thought of commitment to such a degree that it involved the law and the government, it had him scratching at his skin. 

Dr. Whitman is the perfect woman on paper for Hotch. 

How could Reid ever get in the way of that?

“Why does it sound like you’re trying to convince me to go out on a date with her?”

Reid doesn’t answer that but his silence tells Hotch enough.

“You are.” he accuses, “Why would you want me to date someone else?”

“It would be good for you.” Reid tries to reason, with himself or Hotch, he doesn’t know, “You want to settle down.”

“Is this that good news that had you crying last night?” he asks exasperated, “Why would I want to settle down with Whitman? I’m dating you.”

The pajama pants in Reid’s hands fall to the floor. For the first time since Hotch walked in, he met his eyes. 

“We’re not dating.” 

“Yes, we are.” Hotch argues, striding towards Reid, “You stay over at my house.”

Shaking himself out of it, he bends down to pick up his clothes before getting back to packing.

“Because I get tired after sex.”

“You help Jack with his homework. You pick him up from school sometimes. You spent a whole week researching science fair project ideas.” 

Bonding with a child isn’t exactly a defining marker of a relationship. Plus, he owes it to Jack. He’s one of the only two children that have dismantled and disproven the Reid effect. Of course he’d help him with his homework, pick him up when Hotch can’t make it, research into the night about volcanoes and moldy bread projects. He’d do anything for Jack. After all, he always gives him that dimpled smile at the end of the day. The same one Hotch does. 

“What does my relationship with Jack have anything to do with us dating?”

Hotch huffs, “Okay, riddle me this, what do you call all those times I took you out to dinner, or the opera, or those movies, or those festivals?”

“Friends spending time together.” he answers. 

A hand shoots out to his wrist and the clothes in his hands are set aside, as Hotch pulls him closer. He lowers his head enough to meet eye to eye with Reid, who has his chin resting on his chest. 

“I’m in love with you, Spencer.”

An ice cold feeling floods all  of his veins and arteries. His whole body paralyzed until he looks up at Hotch and finds him staring with a small smile. 

The stupid grin is enough to have him break away from his momentary frozen state. He pushes Hotch away harshly, putting a few feet between them. Finding satisfaction in the way that his smile only falls apart at his actions. 

“Fuck you, Aaron,” he croaks out, “You’re not in love with me.”

Turning around he attempts to finish packing briskly. He throws all of his things into the duffel bag haphazardly. Not caring about the wrinkles in his clothes or the possibly bent pages in his books or how he’s getting back to his lonely life sooner than he expected. 

“Yes, I am.” he argues.

Reid disregards his words. Not bothering to grace him with an answer either. 

Hotch tries to reach for him but he only forces him away. Not budging from where he was standing over the bed. 

Reaching around, Reid tries to zip up the bag but the zipper gets caught in its own teeth and won’t go the entire way. Frantically, he yanks at it as much as he can. Tuning out the voice in his head telling him to think rationally about his problem, all of his problems. The sound of blood surging in his ears is the only thing he can hear. 

“Spencer, I’m in love with you.”

Reid lets go of his tight grip on the zipper.

“No, you’re not!” he shouts, whipping around to look at Hotch, “A man like you isn’t capable of loving someone like me. Christ, Aaron, you’re not even gay or bisexual or anything. You’re just horny and I’m the nearest available cocksleeve.”

Fiery builds upon the broken foundation of hurt on Hotch’s face.

Reid’s chest rises and falls rapidly as he breathes heavily. 

“Is that what you think you are to me?” he asks before getting closer to Reid, “Is that how I make you feel?”

Yes. Maybe. No. He doesn’t know. 

All he knows is that to Hotch, he is a warm, familiar body that satiates all the burning needs within Hotch’s own. All he is, is an over glorified sex doll with some extra functions. God, Reid knows that the only reason Hotch lets him into his bed is because Reid would do anything for him, to him. 

But, Hotch never made him feel that way. He never did anything to make him feel that way. 

He never made him feel like any of that for a second. Not once. He made him feel like the exact opposite. That for a second, if Reid forgets the context of everything, he can pretend that Hotch kisses him like that because he loves him, and nothing else matters. 

“No,” he settles on after a moment, “Listen, this isn’t what this is about.”

Hotch crosses his arms against his chest as he glares at Reid. Giving him the patented Hotchner Glare that Reid hasn’t been on the receiving end of for a long time. 

“Then, what is this about?” he grills.

“This is about you going on a nice date with a nice woman. Someone who’ll make you happier than I ever could.”

All the fire on Hotch’s face falls apart at his words. He uncrosses his arms as the hard look on his face softens.

“You make me the happiest I could ever be.” 

Reid shakes his head at his words, as he picks the duffel bag up and off the bed before setting it down next to his feet.

“You’re a marriage man, Aaron. You feel committed to me even though we aren’t in an actual relationship. You’re loyal.” Reid explains, splaying his hand against Hotch’s chest.

Hotch holds onto his wrist with his hand. Afraid that if he lets go, he’ll be letting go of Reid forever.

Good.

He should be letting him go.

After all, Reid is.

“But I let you go, Aaron.” he declares, staring at him unwaveringly, as Hotch’s hand tightens around his wrist enough to make his bones creak, “I love you and I let you go.”

“Damn it, Spencer,” he curses, “I don’t want you to let me go.”

“I know you said you didn’t want to date anyone. Not if it would hurt me.” Reid pauses, gathering all the valiance and gallance he can before continuing, “Well, seeing you miss out on a chance at love, real love, that hurts me. So, I let you go, Aaron. You’re free now.”

His bones stop rubbing together as Hotch rips away the ironclad grip on his wrist. His face unfurls into an expression of pure, unadulterated hurt. Hotch steps away from Reid, running a hand through his hair as he paces a bit.

“You deserve to be happy,” Reid says, his throat closing up on him slightly, “And right now, your chance at happiness is with a woman that wants to go out for dinner. Take it.”

The next words are punched out of Reid. Leaving him breathless.

“You’re not me, Aaron. You’re not in love with a man who cannot love you back, no matter how hard he tries.”

Though there is only a few feet between them, it feels as if he and Hotch are oceans apart. 

And for the first time in a long time, both of them stop reaching out for the other.

Hotch stops his pacing and pulls the hand out of his hair. He turns to look at Reid. 

“I love you, Spencer.” Hotch tells him, his voice cracking, “Why can’t you believe that?”

Reid does believe that. He believes that Hotch thinks he’s in love with him. But, the truth of the matter is that he’s mixing lust and love together. Blurring the lines before they are one in his head. 

Hotch said so himself, he’s lonely.

“You do,” he agrees, “Just not the way you think.”

Taking a step into Hotch’s personal space, he lowers his gaze as he holds out his hand to Hotch.

“Give me your phone.” he requests softly.

“Spencer…”

“No, Aaron,” Reid says firmly but the effect is lost as he avoids looking up at Hotch, “You told me last night you would do anything for me and right now, I’m asking you to give me your phone.”

When Hotch doesn’t give him his phone nor an explanation, Reid takes another step closer. He darts his hand to Hotch’s side as he plucks his cell phone from his front pocket. 

Hotch reaches to retrieve his cell phone back but his attempts are thwarted when Reid simply turns away. He walks into the opposite direction. Typing with one hand as he uses the other to stop Hotch from getting near.

“Victoria,” he says, speaking out what he texts, “My plans got cancelled last minute. I was wondering if you still wanted to go out for dinner.”

The three dots appear and disappear as Dr. Whitman writes out her text on the other end. Soon, there’s another message waiting to be read.

“I’d like that.” he reads her text aloud to Hotch, “Meet me outside Caesar’s at nine. Can’t wait.”

Shutting off the screen, Reid pushes the cell phone into Hotch’s chest. Hotch’s hand coming up to hold the device against his front as he stares down at Reid, his mouth open. Betrayal on every detail of his face.

The look is too much for him. It has him hanging his head in something he would call shame, if he didn't know what he did was the right decision.

“I know Jessica is with her boyfriend tonight, so I’ll, “ he swallows before continuing, “I’ll look after Jack tonight.”

“God, Spence…”

Reid pushes past Hotch to gain entry into the walk-in closet behind him. Though it pains him to do so, he shrugs off the hand that comes up to his shoulder.

Faced with all of Hotch’s wardrobe options, Reid knows instantly what he wants Hotch to wear. What he thinks will have Dr. Whitman impressed by him.

He flips past the garments with ease as he already knows what he’s looking for. He lets out a little noise of triumph as he finds Hotch’s fitted plain black dress shirt. He flings it over his arm as he scans the little section full of pants. He throws the pair of navy blue trousers over his arm as well, Then, he bends down to survey the variety of footwear before he decides on some dress shoes to match.

By no means, is Reid a fashion expert. He just knows what looks good on Hotch, what he finds looks good on Hotch. 

He hands off the clothes to Hotch, not meeting his eye nor letting his hands linger on Hotch’s.

“Spencer—”

“Wait.”

Leaving the closet, he heads over to the dresser back in the bedroom. He pulls open the first drawer and retrieves the black, velvet box from inside.

In the box was a modest silver chain. Gifted to Hotch from Rossi. Hotch never really wore it. Always thought it was too flashy somehow. That it made him look like a jerk slightly. Still, he didn’t have the heart to hand it over to someone else. Didn’t have the heart to pawn it either.

He only wore the chain once. In fact, the whole outfit Reid’s constructed, Hotch has only ever worn out once.

They had gone out for drinks. Only the two of them. And like always Reid had managed to get himself far too intoxicated, all the while Hotch laughed at him. 

They were calling it quits for the night. Hotch was in the middle of waving down a taxi, when Reid had loudly begged in Hotch’s ear to buy him fries. Sighing, Hotch reluctantly lowered his hand, as he started to walk in the direction of the nearest McDonald’s. Holding onto his hand to prevent him from wandering into traffic as Reid got distracted by his own statistics and facts. He was finally silenced when he looked up to see the golden arches of the McDonald’s logo.

The moment Hotch had gotten their order, Reid dragged him outside to the almost empty parking lot. Yanking down Hotch by his face and kissing him with far too much tongue for a public setting. It startled Hotch so much that he dropped their bag of fries, straight into a puddle. Instead of complaining, Reid had only laughed into his mouth. Then, soon, they were two drunk idiots standing, laughing at each other, a pile of split fries between them.

He swipes a thumb over the soft material of the box. Smiling at the memory.

When they got home, the two of them fell asleep in their clothes. Then, in the morning Hotch had fucked him in the same clothes, with Reid stark bare beneath him. Reid biting on the chain to haul him down before forcing their lips together. 

His smile dies down.

Maybe the outfit wasn’t a good idea. 

He’s about to tell Hotch such when he drops everything in his hand to the ground, rushing over to Reid. Pressing him up against the wall, before smashing their mouths together with a clash of teeth and tongue. 

Selfishly, Reid lets it go on for a moment too long. Wanting to drag out the last kiss he’ll ever get from Hotch.

It doesn’t last much more than five seconds before he’s bringing up his empty hand to Hotch’s chest. Shoving at him gently. 

“Please don’t.” he mumbles.

And the way Hotch just pulls away so easily breaks his heart a bit more.

It’s irrational, he knows, but he can’t help it. 

A part of him just thought Hotch would’ve fought more for him.

Hotch takes a step back and nods. He collects the box from Reid’s hands and picks up his outfit from the floor. Heading over to the ensuite bathroom, he clicks the door shut.

Soon, he is treading out and back into the bedroom. Dressed in the same outfit he was in that McDonald’s parking lot, all those weeks ago. 

The air is knocked out of Reid’s lungs when he catches the sight of him. He looks… good for the lack of a better word. 

He looks good for Dr. Whitman. 

Approaching Reid, he holds out the chain in his hands, offering it up to him.

“Can you?”

Nodding, Reid takes it from him. He moves closer to Hotch as he lowers his head for easy access. Sliding it around his neck, Reid leans up a bit to clasp the two ends together.  Hotch’s palms coming up to hold him by the waist. He prolongs the moment by fiddling with his collar. Settling the chain underneath the cloth before he pops open the first few buttons of his shirt.

When Reid tries to break away from his hold, Hotch merely grips on tighter.

“Just for a little bit.” Hotch murmurs into his ear, “Until I have to leave.”

He wraps his own arms around Hotch’s neck. Giving himself one last moment.

“Until you have to leave.”

Chapter Text

At some point, they fall away from one another in such a natural progression that it has Reid biting back an outcry.

He tries to comfort himself with the thought that he was luckier than most end up. He got to know when the last kiss would be, when the last hug would be. He got to appreciate it all one last time before he took a step back. Got to bask in the warmth of embraces before he had to go. It’s more than what a lot of people get.

It’s still a goodbye though. It’s a chapter that has been completed. A door that has been closed shut.

The tips of his fingers twitch on their own accord. They want to haul Hotch down for one more kiss. One more press of dry lips together. Once more before they cannot anymore. Once more before Hotch is a taken man and this becomes adulterous.

But, Reid knows himself too well and he knows that if he gives in to the urge now, he’ll never be able to let Hotch go again. 

The click of the front door travels all the way into the master bedroom. Reid can hear Rossi and Jack bustle through the front door and into the house. Laughing loudly as they return from soccer practice for the day. 

Without giving Hotch a second look, he leaves him behind in the bedroom before he makes his way to the living room to meet up with the other two. 

Still in his bright red soccer uniform, Reid watches Jack babble on about something to Rossi, who stands over the boy, listening to him with a grin, holding is backpack in his hand. 

Slapping on a smile for the young boy, Reid greets him brightly when he walks in, “Hey Jack!”

He lowers himself to one knee and opens his arms wide for the boy that comes racing in his direction. Once he’s in his grasp, Reid hugs Jack tightly before clutching even closer to stand with him still in his arms. 

“How was practice, you two?”

“Eventful,” Rossi comments, “A father almost got into a physical altercation with me.”

“Wow.” is all Reid can get out.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Rossi sighs before rubbing at his forehead, “Why do I keep doing this?”

“Because you never had children of your own and now use Jack as a surrogate son to fulfill those desires within yourself, without having to sacrifice parts of yourself.”

“Haha.” Rossi laughs sardonically.

Before Rossi can let out a too-smart comment, Reid hears the tell-tale sound of Hotch’s dress shoes hitting the wooden panelling of the floor. He and Rossi turn to face the man.

As soon as Hotch comes underneath the soft lighting of the living room, Rossi lets out a low whistle. Scanning him up and down in a way that has Hotch dipping his head, smiling.

“Look at you, Aaron Hotchner,” Rossi remarks, “All dressed up for what?”

“Hotch,” Reid begins with a teasing cadence in his voice while something fractures beneath his breastbone, “Is going to be spending the evening with Dr. Whitman.”

Rossi’s eyes shoot up to his hairline but he keeps quiet. Not wanting Jack to hear whatever he wants to say.

“Which means,” Reid says, shaking Jack in his arms, causing him to giggle, “You and I are going have some special Spencer and Jack time, without your dad there to annoy us.”

“Yeah!” he exclaims, spreading both his arms out wide, “Can I get changed now?”

Nodding, Reid sets the boy down onto the floor gently. Jack takes his backpack from Rossi with a small murmur of thanks before he totters down the hallway into his bedroom. 

“A date?” Rossi smirks once Jack is out of sight and ear shot.

From his peripheral, Reid can see Hotch freeze up for a second. Then, he starts to fix the buttons on his cuffs, in place of looking at Rossi.

“The word wasn’t used but, it was implied, yes.” Hotch answers back stiffly.

“That’s my boy.” Rossi declares as he slaps a hand down to his shoulder, “What time’s the date?”

“I’ll be leaving the house at eight forty-five.” he informs tersely.

“That leaves us at least three hours for me to coach you on how to give a woman a good time.”

“Dave!”

Though Reid has proclaimed himself to be a masochist outside of the bedroom, he doesn’t subject himself to the suffering of watching Rossi teach Hotch how to woo Dr. Whitman. He attempts to help Jack with his homework for the night, only to be ushered out of the room. With the declaration that Jack is a big boy and wants to finish it himself, and that if he needs anything he’ll ask.

With nothing else to occupy himself with, Reid makes the familiar trek down to Hotch’s bedroom once more. 

He decides to shuffle through everything once more, just to make sure he doesn’t leave any of his possessions behind. Reid doesn’t want to have to come back after tonight.

Cross-legged on the ground, Reid sits with neckties spread around him. Trying to decipher which ones are his and which ones are Hotch’s, when the man himself slots up behind him.

“You should stop doing that.” Reid murmurs, continuing on the task at hand.

“Do you really have to leave?” Hotch asks, “I don't want things to change.”

“It’s a good change.” he echoes words from what seems to be eons ago.

The irony isn’t lost on him. 

“Spencer—”

“Reid,” he corrects softly, “You should start calling me Reid again.”

It’s compartmentalization at its finest. Both he and Hotch know it.

Spencer is the person that Hotch pulled out of the ditch covered in mud, after a botched attempt at a morning run. Spencer’s the person that took care of Hotch after he caught Jack’s sickness. He’s the person that Hotch brings to his bed early in the morning and late at night. The person he holds after rough cases.

Reid is the person that spilt coffee all over Hotch before his meeting with Strauss. Reid’s the person Hotch yells at when risks are taken when they don’t need to be. He’s the person that talks too much but says so little. The person that fell in love with him and almost ruined his chances with Dr. Whitman. 

Hotch doesn’t say anything but Reid knows that he understand the implications of what he said. He’s intelligent. Another reason why both he and Dr. Whitman are attracted to him.

He tenses up before getting off the floor. Then, he leaves the room wordlessly. The door swinging shut behind him. 

From the front porch, Reid holds a pyjama swaddled Jack in his arms, as the two of them wave off Hotch, who pulls out of the driveway.

Through the glass of the front windshield, Hotch smiles at them both as he returns their waves.

Soon the car drives down the street out of view. Reid flips the porch light off and leads the two of them back into the house. As he’s locking the door, Jack yawns loudly into his chest.

“I think it’s time for bed, now.” he announces, laughing as Jack only burrows deeper into Reid’s shirt.

Wrangling an arm free from where he was holding Jack, Spencer opens up his bedroom door. He flips the lightswitch on before he makes his way to the bed

He deposits the boy gently onto the soft covers, holding his head as he does so. Then, he grabs the blankets at the foot of his bed, pulling them snug around his shoulders.

Reid bends down to examine Jack’s little bookshelf compartment underneath his nightstand before he finally finds the book he was looking for. Jack shifts a bit on his bed to give Reid some space to sit down. 

Soon, Reid is cracking open the book but before he can get the first words out, Jack interrupts him with a question.

“Why weren’t you here in the morning?”

“I had to do something important.” he answers vaguely, pretending to find his place on the page.

“I missed you.” he reveals earnestly.

His chest clenches painfully so at the sight of Jack with sad eyes as he pouts at Reid.

“I missed you too, Jack.” he says, his heart caught up in his throat, “I always miss you.”

And he does.

He misses him so much when they’re out on cases because sometimes the phone call at bedtime isn’t enough. He misses him when he’s with Jessica at some Brooks’ family event. He misses him when he has soccer practice, counts the hours until he comes back home.

It’s pathetic, almost, how much he misses Jack when he’s not there. It’s pathetic because in a few years time, once Hotch is married to whomever and Reid has been thoroughly replaced in his life, Uncle Spencer will only be a name in stories.

“Then, you shouldn’t have left in the morning.” he states, his pout turning into a frown.

“I know.” he agrees, smoothing a hand down Jack’s hair, “And I’m sorry.”

The frown on his face falls away but Reid can’t see the new expression in its place as Jack envelops him in his tiny arms for a hug. 

“It’s okay.” he mumbles, almost sleepily, “I love you, Uncle Spencer.”

“I love you too, Jack.”

If Jack notices the tears that seem to find their way into his hair, he doesn’t show it. 

At nine o’clock sharp, Hotch stands outside the front door of Caesar’s. He can hear the soft lull of music pouring out from in the restaurant to the sidewalk outside. People walk in and out of the establishment, laughing and smiling. The bell on the top of the door signalling the entrances and exits. 

Hotch obsessively checks his phone. Hoping that Spencer will tell him he needs him back home right away or that JJ is calling them away onto a case.

No amount of staring at his screen produces either option.

“Hi.” a voice calls out.

It startles him to such a degree, he almost drops his phone against the pavement. Turning around to where the voice came from, Hotch is greeted by the sight of Whitman in her finest clothing. 

A strapless black dress that he would have never thought she owned, let alone wore out in public. She’s wearing high heels but, even with them on, he still has a couple of inches on her. Her hands have a death grip on the strap of her purse.

“Whitman.”

“Please, call me Victoria.” she offers as she walks up to him. 

“Alright,” he says before staring up at the sign above them that reads Caesar’s, “I’ve never been here before.”

Her eyes light up but, not in the same way Spencer’s do.

“Really?” she asks, “That’s good. I mean, not that you haven’t been here before because the food is good. But, that I’ve chosen a restaurant that you haven’t eaten at. Or maybe that was a bad idea. Should I have taken you out somewhere you’ve already been?”

She speaks so quickly that she’s nearly out of breath when she finishes. 

Victoria is a complete juxtaposition to Dr. Whitman. It’s a contrast to her calm, collected manner at work, and not in a good way. At work, Hotch can count on one hand how many times she’s strung two sentences in a row. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s heard her trip over her words. In fact, he’s fairly certain that she hasn’t up until now.

He suppresses the urge to groan. If only because she works with him and he doesn’t want to ruin their professional relationship by being rude. 

Spencer was seldom wrong. It came with being a genius. Perhaps, he was right in thinking that he can have a good life with Whitman.

“No, it’s fine.” he responds.

Then, Whitman is grabbing onto his hand and her acrylics are digging into the flesh of his palm, hurting in a way that never happens when Spencer digs in his nails. She rambles on about something as she leads them inside the restaurant.

Silently, Hotch prays that this is the first time Spencer is wrong. 

Once Jack slips off into slumber, Reid finds himself wanting to do the same. If only to make this long night as short as he possibly can. 

Usually, he’d have no problem with falling into Hotch’s bed.

But, usually Hotch wasn’t out on a date with another woman. 

Instead, Reid makes a trip to the linen closet and acquires a handful of blankets and pillows. Then, he treads back to the living room. Laying everything out onto the couch as he tries to create a comfortable space to sleep for the next couple of hours. 

The rest of Hotch’s evening is as pleasant as the start of it was. Whitman talks a mile a minute and Hotch only as he shovels salad into his mouth. Only adding on to the conversation when he can finally figure out what she’s saying. He can tell she’s nervous but he doesn’t do anything to quell it. It’s almost grating, how much she keeps going on and on. At least with Spencer, he would ramble on about what he found interesting, with an enthusiasm that was contagious.

He smiles a bit at the thought of Spencer but Whitman assumes it’s directed towards her. She beams before straightening up in her seat, going on another tangent about whatever it was they were talking about.

Once they’ve finished with their meals, Hotch declines Whitman’s offer for a drink at her place. It’s almost satisfying seeing her deflate when he talks about his son needing him home. 

Though, Hotch feels the tiniest bit of guilt, so he offers to walk her back to her car.

Practically vibrating in her seat, she nods vigorously. As they finish paying for the bill, Whitman hooks an arm around his elbow unprompted, and attempts start up another conversation. The words travel through one ear going out the other, as Hotch’s head is somewhere else, thinking about someone else.

The parking lot is filled with cars but no patrons wander about. They’re alone in between the rows of vehicles. The veil of privacy.

Before he knows it, they’re at the driver’s door of Whitman’s car. Reluctantly, she lets go of his arm.

Her hands come up to her purse but she doesn’t take out her keys the way Hotch would expect. Instead, her hands travel upwards to the strap, resting there with restlessness.

“I had a good time with you tonight.” she comments, shyly tucking in a strand of hair behind her ear, “I hope you did too.”

“I did.” he lies.

Whitman stares at him with an expression that Hotch cannot quite decipher. Her tongue darting out between her lips as she stares at him. Then, she takes a step closer to him. In his personal space the same way Spencer always is. Far less endearing than he is.

A hand slides up to his neck and he fights the desire to pluck it away, finger by finger. Whitman brings Hotch down to her level. Gazing up at him slightly before she takes the plunge and presses their mouths together. Hesitant in a way that Spencer never was. 

All he can think of with his lips connected to Whitman’s is how short she is. How with Spencer, he never had to lean down inches only centimetres. How with Spencer, he never got a crick in his neck from kissing for far too long. 

When Whitman smiles against him, Hotch feels bad for the woman. 

He’s spent an entire evening with her and the only thing he can think about coherently is how much he wishes Spencer was in front of him instead.

It’s not fair to Whitman to kiss her when he has no intentions of continuing this with her. It’s not fair to Spencer either.

He abruptly pulls back from the kiss.

“I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, is it because of your wife?” Whitman asks with too big eyes.

“No, uh, I’m in love with someone else, actually.”

Whitman takes a step back like she’s been physically struck by his words. She wipes the back of her hand against her mouth. Slightly smearing the lipstick she has on.

“I didn’t know you were with someone.” she breathes out, practically horrified.

“It’s complicated.”

Complicated didn’t even begin to scratch the surface of what he and Spencer have going on. It was a series of entangled webs they wove themselves into. It was Daedalian and it was Byzantine. It was a complete mess. 

Yet, however terribly convoluted of a mess they made with each other, to Hotch, Spencer was a noble pursuit of happiness. He was the only happiness, in his head, that was worth pursuing.

If love was quantifiable, if love could be measured with numbers and scales, why would Hotch spend the rest of his life with a seven, when he knows his ten is only a phone call away?

“You’re either together or you’re not together.” Whitman bluntly states.

He’s not stupid. She’s trying to give him an ultimatum. Attempting to get Hotch to choose between Spencer and her.

There was never really a choice to make, was there?

“We’re together, then.” he announces and though he hasn’t said Spencer’s name, it feels nice to declare that they mean something to one another.

He watches Whitman shut down at the declaration. She goes back to the Dr. Whitman he’s familiar with. The one that does not fumble with her words, does not shy away from eye contact, and the one that most definitely does not try to kiss him in parking lots. 

“Oh,” Whitman lets out, keeping a tight control of the emotions that want to play across her face, “Well, I hope this doesn’t affect our working relationship.”

“It won’t.” he promises, “You’re a good profiler, Dr. Whitman, I’d hate to lose you over something like this.”

Earlier in the night, she would have blushed at his admission. Now, she only nods before retrieving her car keys from her purse.

“Have a nice night, Hotch.”

It feels like he’s being dismissed. Oddly enough, Hotch doesn’t have a problem with that.

“You too, Dr. Whitman.”

Slowly, Reid wakes up to fingers playing with his hair. He distantly registers himself mumbling as he shifts closer to the digits at his head.

“You awake?” he hears Hotch ask.

He’s half tempted to play pretend and stay asleep but he knows Hotch has seen the real thing enough to know the difference.

Reid opens his eyes to find himself facing the back of the couch, before he rolls around to stare at the television in front of him. In the corner of his eye, he sees an arm outstretched to his head. He follows the long line of the limb to see Hotch sitting on the floor, his side pressed against the couch. His shirt is untucked and his sleeves are rolled to his elbows.

He darts his eyes to the clock hanging above the television. Surprised when he realizes it’s barely been two hours since Hotch left.

“Hey.” he rasps out, “I thought you weren’t coming back for a while.”

“Why don’t you believe me when I tell you I’m in love with you?” Hotch questions, paying no mind to what Reid said.

Sighing, Reid rolls onto his back, the fingers in his hair falling away as he stares up at the textured ceiling. 

“I wish you would stop talking about this.” he mumbles as he picks at the skin of his thumbs.

“When did you become such a coward, Spencer?” 

In his tone, there is no malice nor accusation, there is merely disappointment in the underlying layer of his words. 

Yet, that disappointment is enough to have him fuming. His hands form into fists that rest at his side. His jaw clenches hard around nothing. 

How dare he call him a coward?

Reid is the one who’s stuck holding the shattered parts of himself, desperately trying to put himself back together before the next person comes around to do the same. 

Reid is the one who’s been telling the truth since the first day they began this whole mess. No matter how much it hurt him when Hotch would stick his tongue down Reid’s throat instead of acknowledging he cried out that he loved him. 

Reid is not the coward here.

He is not the one lying behind meaningless words so that he may, for a second, feel better about himself. Feel better about breaking someone’s heart twice in a row. 

“Fuck you.” he grits out.

“Excuse me?”

Pushing himself up and off the couch, Reid takes the blankets with him for comfort as he stands over Hotch, who is still sitting on the ground. His hands scrunch up in the soft material around him as he tries to get a hold of his spiralling thoughts.

“You know why I don’t believe you, Aaron?” he spits out, not bothering to wait for his response, “It’s because everyone that’s loved me left me in one way or another. My mother couldn’t stay because of her illness. My father couldn’t be bothered to leave with the final I love you that I could’ve pretended was real for all these years. Gideon left me, leaving a note behind. Elle barely said goodbye at all. Ethan didn’t even try to stay in touch.”

The blankets around him feel like an inferno and he flings them off of his body. Frantically. Desperate to a degree. His eyes are downcast so he doesn’t see Hotch standing up, not until he tries to reach out for Reid.

Reid can perfectly conjure up the image of Hotch’s face falling when he takes a step back from him. He crosses his arms against his chest as if to protect himself from Hotch’s onslaught of lies. 

“I’m a mess,” he croaks out, willing his eyes to stop burning and his throat from closing up, “I’m a possible schizophrenic drug addict with abandonment issues that suffered a cut off of peer support during his key developmental years. I don’t know how to be normal, Aaron. I don’t know— I don’t know how to create meaningful relationships. I don’t know how to not be annoying.”

It’s no longer about proving to Hotch why he doesn’t believe him. It’s safe to say Reid has done a good job of it. Yet, these words keep pouring out of him, slipping through the carefully constructed traps of his mind. Every confession, every truth he didn’t realize he had buried deep inside of himself where no one, not even him could reach, crawling out of the crevices from where they were hidden away. 

Everything is being aired out in the open for critique and consideration and it should grant him that sense of catharsis therapists always talk about. 

Reid just feels like an idiot. 

Spouting off everything wrong with him? 

Reid is a persuasive man. By the end of it all, Hotch will only be able to agree with him. 

“I annoy JJ so much that she doesn’t even listen to what I have to say anymore unless it’s about the job. The other day she had to ask me what my favourite colour was and that’s only because Henry wanted to know. I could tell you the exact shade of blue she likes, down to the hex code, and it’s not because of my eidetic memory.”

He feels like such a child. Who gets upset over someone forgetting such a small detail about them? 

In the back of his head, he hears a disembodied voice telling him it’s about much more than JJ simply forgetting what his favourite colour was. 

“So, yes, Aaron, that’s why I don’t believe you when you say you’re in love with me. Because everyone who said they loved me, didn’t love me enough.”

He doesn’t notice he’s crying. Not until Hotch thumbs a teardrop away from beneath his lower lashline. His rib cage feels like it’s cracking with every breath he pulled in. His lungs feel like they’re punctured with every breath he lets out. 

Reid tries to swat Hotch’s hand away but he doesn’t let up. Instead, he only pulls him down to his chest. His hands are stuck in the space between the two of them. Hotch’s arms wind around him. Rubbing soothing circles into his shoulder blades that only cause Reid to sob harder into his shirt. Spreading tears and snot all over the front. 

It’s embarrassing. Hotch coddling him like the child he feels like in the moment. Only another reason to tack onto the already long list of why Aaron Hotchner could never love him. 

“Purple.” he whispers.

Sniffling, Reid lets out, “What?”

“Your favourite colour is purple.” he answers, “You’re afraid of the dark or as you say ‘the lack of light’. You recently started to pick at your thumbs again, something you only started doing after Georgia, that you had gotten rid of after Gideon left.”

He shifts his head to be able to look up at Hotch. 

“You want to be buried so that people can always visit you even after you're gone. You have a stack of letters you have addressed to your father that you never sent. You never want to have any of your own biological children lest you hand off the predisposition to schizophrenia.”

His hands slip from Reid’s shoulders to his lower back to his hips. Caressing the bruises with his fingers.

“And you don’t want to begin a proper relationship with me because this way what we had, have, cannot be tainted by reality or real world consequences.”

After that, they stay quiet for a bit. Hotch never asking for a response and Reid never offering one. The only noises in the room are their breathing and the ticking of the clock hanging above the television. 

Hotch is right. 

If they never truly begin anything, this way Reid can remember the two of them the way he wants to. He can remember kisses against laughing mouths. He can remember playing Monopoly with him and Jack, and somehow losing to the boy. He can remember the way Hotch looked at him after he came all over himself. 

This way Reid doesn’t have to chance ruining these memories at the expense of better ones that may never come true. 

“Spencer,” he mumbles, breaking the silence, “I’m in love with you. And you don’t have to believe that right now but, I’ll spend the rest of our lives proving it to you until you want me to stop. All I ask for you is to try.”

Could Reid try? Could he let another person waltz into his life, make a lovely home within the confines of his soul, only to walk the other way once he finally scares them off?

Could Reid do that one last time? 

“Promise me something?” Reid asks, his voice muffled by Hotch’s shirt. 

“Anything.”

“When you get tired of me, tell me right away.” he requests softly, “I don’t care if we’re on a date, in the middle of a case, wherever we are, when you don’t feel happy anymore, tell me.”

“Spencer…”

“Promise me, Aaron.” he pleads.

And though it sounds like it’s torn out of him, Hotch relents, “I promise.”

His arms drape themselves along the contours of Hotch’s shoulders as he tilts his head up just a bit.

His wordless demand is met as Hotch dips down to meet him halfway. He kisses him chastely. Keeping the kiss quick, their mouths closed. Furrowing his brows, Reid tries to lick at the seam of his lips but Hotch doesn’t grant him entrance. Switching tactics, Reid trails a hand down to his belt only for Hotch to separate their bodies. 

“Hey.” Reid whines Hotch's body slips out of his grasp.

“We are not having sex tonight.” he declares.

“What? Why not?”

“Because,” he says, “I know how your brain works. If we have sex tonight, you’re going to wake up in the morning convinced the only reason I came back from the date early was to fuck you.”

All the annoyance and puzzlement in him drains away. Replaced with the overwhelming feeling of love directed towards the man standing in front of him right now. The man who knows him so well. Knows him better than he'll ever know himself. 

That’s all Reid ever wanted in life. Someone who understood all the jumbled thoughts inside his head.

He has to will himself to keep his hands by his sides. He's sure that Hotch wouldn't appreciate a kiss right now. He settles for gazing up at the man. Taking in the way he looks ridiculously hot in his clothes, and how by all means should be in bed with another woman, but he's here instead. Negating sex and kissing for a night with Reid.

“If we’re not having sex, what are we going to do?” he asks, “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep after this.”

Hotch beams down at him. He bends down to retrieve something from the floor, hidden out of his sight by the couch.

Reid hears a sort of crinkling noise but before he can question Hotch about it, the man is rising to his feet once more. In one hand, he holds out a brown paper bag with the unmistakable McDonald's logo printed on the front. In the other, he has a DVD of the 1970 movie adaptation of Uncle Vanya. 

"I thought we could watch a movie." he suggests, "I couldn't find one with English subtitles, so you'll have to translate for me."

This time when the urge to kiss Hotch bubbles back up, he follows through with it. Uncaring about what Hotch said earlier. Only dragging him down for a sloppy, overeager, open mouthed kiss. 

It throws Hotch for a loop. Enough so that he drops both the bag of fries and the DVD. He stills before he decides to take advantage of his free hands to clutch at his waist. 

At the last possible second, Reid breaks off the kiss with a gasp. He looks down to find fries spilled across the floor, littered onto their feet as well. The parallel from weeks ago combined with the lack of oxygen to his brain has Reid laughing deliriously into Hotch's still open mouth.

“I love you, Spencer.” he proclaims, a little breathless, “Don’t forget that. Not now. Not ever.”

“I’ll try.” 

And he will. 

After all, he told Hotch he’d do anything for him.

Chapter Text

After a tiresome conversation with Strauss over budget cuts, Hotch finally finds an opportunity to end the phone call. Shutting off his phone, he strolls back into the bedroom to find Spencer sitting in the middle of their bed. Half undressed. His pants having found a new home on the bedroom floor, his sweater vest joining it. 

All that’s left adorning his body is his dress shirt, completely unbuttoned down the middle, his boxers, and a pair of mismatched socks that end at the middle of his calves.  

Spencer sits on his haunches, reading a book that Hotch doesn’t recognize. His thighs splayed apart. 

Hotch’s mouth goes dry at the sight of him. All his soft skin revealed.

He sheds his suit jacket, setting it aside on the dresser to be properly hung up later. For now, he slots himself behind Spencer, pressing his chest to his back.

Sliding his hand around to Spencer’s stomach, he traces invisible patterns into the skin. He settles his chin against the bare skin of his shoulder, from where the shirt has slipped off. 

“You know,” he starts off, “Dave and Jack won’t get here until five. Which gives us two hours alone.”

Spencer barely reacts to his words, nevermind his touches. Merely reading the words on the pages in front of him. 

Undeterred by the lack of acknowledgement, Hotch leans into his neck to mouth against his throat. Letting his hands warm up Spencer’s torso as they roam around on his skin. He trails wet kisses down the side of his neck to the apex of his shoulder. 

After some time, it becomes obvious Spencer’s attention hasn’t been diverted nor will it be anytime soon. Rolling his eyes, Hotch stops the path of his mouth. He reaches for the edges of the book in Spencer’s hands, and throws it across the room. Right into a corner where Spencer can’t get it. 

“Hey!” he protests as he turns his head to frown at Hotch, “I paid for that book with my hard earned money, so I would appreciate—”

The rest of his complaint is inaudible as Hotch seizes his mouth with his own. All the defiance in Spencer’s body melts away as he shifts around to get a hand on his jaw. Hauling him closer as he opens his mouth up a bit to invite Hotch inside. Shuddering a bit when his tongue brushes against Hotch’s.

His hand makes way to the growing bulge in Spencer’s boxers. Using the heel of his palm to press down to hear Spencer moan into his mouth, to feel him hardening under his touch. He brings his hands back up to the waistband of his boxers. Toying with the elastic. Teasing it down inch by inch. 

Then, Spencer huffs as he pulls back from the kiss. He draws away his hand from Hotch’s jaw, as well. Leaning up just a bit, he tugs his boxers down to the middle of his thighs to expose his hard cock. 

Settling back down, Spencer takes one of Hotch’s hands and brings it down to wrap around his leaking member. He uses his own hand to enclose Hotch’s fingers around himself. 

“Bossy.” Hotch remarks as he begins to understand what Spencer wants of him.

He slowly strokes his cock. Taking his time in order to elicit those soft noises that come tumbling out of Spencer’s open mouth. 

“Horny.” Spencer corrects him, panting. 

On an especially rough upward stroke, Spencer moans unabashedly. Throwing his head back against Hotch’s shoulder. Enticing him with the long line of his throat, enough so to have him pressing sloppy kisses to the skin. From where he can see, Spencer’s chest falls rapidly in time to take in breathes, he’s flushed all the way from his cheeks down to his sternum.

“Aaron!” he exclaims when Hotch thumbs at his slit, smearing precome against the head, “Please.”

“Please what, Spencer?” he teases, “You have to use your words.”

“Please,” he begs, “Let me come.”

When he turns in Hotch’s hold to face the man, his brown eyes are big and blown. There are tears clinging on to his lashes for dear life. His mouth is swollen red from kisses, glistening with spit. 

Hotch inhales sharply as he takes in the disheveled state of him. His own cock hardening more impossibly so. Desperate to bury his member deep inside of Spencer, to fill him up with his come. He wants to watch his boy fall apart on his cock. Sobbing for him. Crying for permission as he tries to convince Hotch he’s been a good boy, convince him that he deserves to come. 

His hand never acquiesces around Spencer’s cock. If anything, he’s spurred on by his thoughts and the desperation in the high noises that escape from Spencer’s throat. He tightens his grip around him as he jerks him off roughly. 

“I don’t think so,” Hotch says playfully, “You’re going to come when I’m inside of you.”

“No, please, I need it so bad.” he pleads, shaking his head, “Right now. Please.”

He brings up his unoccupied hand to Spencer’s throat. Noticing the way his breath hitches when Hotch applies a scarce amount of pressure. The way his cock grows more slick with precome at the touch. 

“Don’t you want to be my good boy?” Hotch asks, squeezing his throat slightly as he speaks.

Under his palm, Hotch can feel the way he swallows shallowly before Spencer goes to nod his head.

Steeling himself, Spencer drops a hand down to rest against his forearm. Not guiding in any way nor in a bid to shove him off. Remaining there only to feel the muscles in Hotch’s arm work as he strokes his cock up and down.

Soon, he eases his hand off of Spencer’s throat. Ignoring the protests that come his way in favor of holding Spencer’s free hand. It’s a rather awkward placement but they make do, and entangle their fingers together. Pressing their joint hands into the mattress. 

“I think you have a kink for this.” Spencer rasps out as he tries, and fails, to stop his hips from lurching up into his touch.

“For what?”

“You being fully dressed. Me being more or less naked.” 

“You’re very pretty.” is all Hotch can offer.

If either he or Spencer truly wanted to psychoanalyze the reasoning behind the disparity in clothing that occurs so often, he’s confident that they’d uncover something related to Hotch’s inability to accede dominance. Inside and outside the bedroom. 

Although, Hotch isn't quite certain that he’d want that particular piece of information unearthed. It would only lead them both down a rabbit hole he’s convinced neither of them need to discover. 

However his statement still stands true. 

Spencer is very pretty. Hotch has always known this, long before they started a relationship. But, now he knows just how pretty he can get. During late nights in motel rooms when they have to fly out the next day. On early mornings when it’s raining, forcing Hotch to stay in for his run. Against bunched up bed sheets. Pinned against the tiles of the shower. Sitting across from him in his office. 

How pretty his eyes get when Hotch tells him he loves him.

He can’t get a good angle to watch Spencer’s face as he has his head on his shoulder. Even if he could, his eyes are shut as he fights the urge to come. Instead, Hotch decides to settle for pushing his face into the crook of his neck.

“Spencer,” he murmurs, “I love you.”

Suddenly, Spencer keens loudly. His nails digging into Hotch’s forearm. His fingers going lax underneath Hotch’s palm. His hips jump pathetically as he unexpectedly comes all over his chest and Hotch’s hand. Making a right mess of himself as his cock spurts against his skin. Staining the edges of his open shirt and his boxers. 

Placing a kiss to his sweat soaked hairline, Hotch strokes him through his orgasm. Never stopping until Spencer whines and clumsily pushes his hand away. 

“I think I discovered your kink.” Hotch jokes as he bites his earlobe. 

“Like you don’t have the same one.” he gasps out.

Once Spencer has his breathing under control again, Hotch helps him take off his dress shirt. He pulls his arms through the sleeves before depositing the dirty garment onto the floor beside their bed. Then, he urges a sated Spencer to lift himself up as Hotch tugs off his boxers. Tossing them to join the shirt on the ground. 

As Hotch removes himself from where he was plastered to Spencer’s back, he gently lays him down against the sheets. He heads over to the foot of the bed to pull off his socks next. Balling them up before hurling them somewhere.  

“You’re still going to fuck me, right?” Spencer double checks as Hotch goes to sort through the nightstand. 

Chuckling, “Yes, you minx.”

After rooting around the drawer, Hotch finally finds what he’s looking for and throws a small plastic bottle of lube onto the sheets. He starts to undress himself. Starting with unbuttoning the row of fastenings down his shirt. 

A growing need to look up builds within him. He gives in to the desire and raises his head to see Spencer watching him derobe. A lazy smile on his face as he circles the skin of his thigh with an index finger. 

“Oh, don’t stop for me.” Spencer informs, “I was enjoying the show.”

Laughing, Hotch focuses on shrugging out of the shirt, promptly casting it away to the floor. His finger deftly undo his belt buckle, pitching it aside, along with his dress pants. He’s left standing in his underwear and acutely conscious of Spencer’s gaze. 

As Hotch crawls back onto the bed, Spencer spreads his legs obediently to allow him to kneel between them. Picking up the lube from beside him, Hotch opens it up to pour some onto his fingers. 

With the dry pad of his thumb, he rubs at his tight hole to watch Spencer shiver at the touch. He begins to slide in his index finger. Slowly so as to not hurt the man beneath him. It’s proven pointless, however, when Spencer only pushes back against the digit. His spent cock filling up once more. 

“You have the refractory period of a teenage boy.” Hotch comments as he adds another slick finger inside of him, not bothering to be as careful as the first.

“At least I won’t have to start using viagra in a couple of years.” Spencer retorts, his voice breathy as he tries to get more of Hotch’s fingers inside of him, “You can add another.”

At his suggestion, Hotch pushes in his ring finger alongside the first two. He gives him some time to get used to the feeling. Only ever twisting inside of him. Never truly pulling out. As the seconds go by, Hotch can feel him getting less and less tense. 

Once Hotch is sure he’s acclimated to all three of the digits inside of him, he draws them out. Leaving only the tips of his fingers at the rim before he thrusts them in at a maddening pace that has Spencer’s hips twitching at the sensation. 

“Hands and knees?” Hotch asks after a moment.

Leaning up on to his elbows, Spencer goes to answer his question. 

“Can I—” he cuts himself off with a whimper.

It seems as Spencer is in no hurry to pick up where he left off. As a matter of fact, Hotch is fairly sure that he’s probably forgotten that they were talking in the first place. He watches as Spencer tilts his head back, his mouth falling open when Hotch purposefully brushes a digit against his prostate once more. 

“Can you?” Hotch prompts him as he keeps driving his fingers in.

“Can I take it just like this? On my back?” he asks between gasps.

“The angle’s better when you’re on all fours.” 

“It’s just,” he hesitates before speaking, looking down at his chest, “I like seeing you.”

Spencer’s voice sounds so sweet and earnest as he tells him. It has him canting his head up to press their lips together. Hotch’s fingers jostling inside of him as he does. The change in the angle subsequently has Spencer breaking off the kiss, his mouth falling open once more in a high-pitched whine. 

“Okay.” he agrees, smiling.

Spencer gives up on leaning on his elbows. Instead, he makes the descent down the short distance to the pillow. Staring at the ceiling as he fights to take in ragged breaths. 

“Are you ready?” Hotch asks.

Still keeping his eyes on the ceiling, Spencer can only nod. 

He whimpers softly as Hotch pulls his fingers out. He swallows that small noise up with a chaste kiss that Spencer can barely participate in. After that, Hotch leans back to take off his underwear. 

For the first time that afternoon, Hotch touches himself. He uses the remaining lube on his fingers for a smoother grip around his cock. Groaning at the touch. He’s half-tempted to finish just like that. Then, he watches as Spencer draws his knees upwards as he spreads himself wide, holding onto the soles of his feet. His cock heavy against his stomach for the second time since they began. 

Rearranging their bodies, Hotch positions himself at Spencer’s entrance before he steadily pushes inside. His teeth grinding together as he breaches the first ring of muscle. 

Once he fills him up to the hilt, Hotch lets out a heavy sigh from deep within his chest. Spencer lets go of his feet, letting his legs fall down to the sides of Hotch’s own. While he gives him some time to adjust, Hotch ducks his head down to Spencer’s neck. Brandishing him with bruises anew. Sucking on the ones that are starting to fade away. He pulls some of the sensitive flesh in between his teeth, biting down on it.

After a while, Spencer shoves gently at Hotch’s shoulder to get him to pull back. When he does, Spencer’s eyes are brimming with tears and his hands have now twisted in the pillow behind his head.

“Oh God, Aaron,” he moans, “Move. Please.”

He gathers his thin wrists in each hand before he pins them on both sides of Spencer’s head. Then, he moves to pull his cock out just enough so that the head is still inside before he pushes it back. Groaning at the rediscovery of Spencer’s tight heat.

As he sets a semi-leisure pace, Spencer’s back arches into the thrusts. 

“Harder.” he begs.

Obliging his wishes, Hotch pushes back inside of him, harder than before, rougher as well. Each time, he aims his thrusts at his prostrate if only to hear him beg for more. Spencer lifts his legs up and off from the bed and wraps them around Hotch’s waist. Digging his heels into the small of his back. 

“Aaron. Touch me. Please.” he pleads, “I need you to touch me.”

“I don’t think you deserve it.”

“Please.” Spencer cries out, “Please, I’ve been so good.”

“Have you, Spencer?” he asks rhetorically, “You came when I said you couldn’t. I don’t think that’s very good.”

He never lets up on the harsh pace he’s begun. Only pushing right up against his prostate each time. Spencer thrashing around the bed when he does, writhing against the sheets. 

“I’m sorry.” Spencer says as he struggles to get out of the death grip Hotch has on his wrists, “Please, I promise I won’t do it again.”

“Well, if you promise.” Hotch teases. 

Hotch relinquishes his hold. One of his hands doesn’t travel far as he interlocks his and Spencer’s fingers together. The other one trails down to his cock. Jerking him off in time with his thrusts. 

It doesn’t take long to finish him off. Spencer’s back arches up one final time into his touch and soon he’s coming all over himself with a shout loud enough that it has Hotch grateful they’re alone in the house. Spencer’s stomach becomes drenched with his release from his first orgasm and now this one.

The face Spencer makes when he comes combined with the noises that stumble out of his mouth and the tightening grip around his cock are enough to put Hotch right at the edge. He pulls out of Spencer completely. Paying no notice to the petulant objections that are sent his way.

Hotch moves to straddle Spencer. He takes his cock in hand once more, hissing at the touch, too wound up still. It only takes a few more strokes before he’s biting back a groan, coming across Spencer’s torso. Adding to the mess that’s already present. 

Heaving in a breath, Hotch settles down to lay next to Spencer. He winds an arm around him to drag him close to let Spencer rest his head on his chest. The two of them ignoring the feeling of the rapidly cooling come on Spencer’s torso gradually spreading to Hotch’s side.

“Still think I’m going to need viagra in a couple of years?” he jokes once they’ve calmed down.

“For my sake, let’s hope not.” Spencer replies, “Hey, what do you want for dinner?”

“I don’t know. I could make us something or we could get some takeout from that—”

He’s cut off by the sound of his cell phone ringing on the nightstand next to him. As he leans over to check the caller ID, Spencer groans in annoyance, smashing his face into the planes of Hotch’s chest. 

“Please don’t tell me it’s JJ.” he whines. 

“It’s Prentiss.”

Lifting his head up, Spencer groans even louder. 

Hotch slides the green accept button before he raises the cell phone up to his ear. 

“Prentiss.” 

“Hotch, do you have any idea why Reid’s not answering his phone?” she questions, “I’ve tried to reach him almost ten times and it keeps going to voicemail.”

From where he’s settled under Hotch’s collar bone, Spencer can hear the worry evident in Prentiss’ voice from the cell phone. He looks up at Hotch sheepishly before mouthing ‘ it’s in the living room ’.

“Jack wanted to learn more about astronomy, so Spencer came with me to set up while he’s still at soccer practice.” he lies, while rolling his eyes at Spencer, “He left his phone in the living room.”

On the other end of the phone, Prentiss lets out a sigh of relief that progressively morphs into a somewhat garbled growl over the connection. 

“I’m going to kill him.” she threatens, “Can you please hand the phone to him?”

“Sure.”

Hotch hands off the cell phone to Spencer as he swings his legs over to the side of the bed. Standing up, he crosses the small distance over to the dresser. As he goes, he hears Spencer switch the call to speakerphone so that Hotch can listen in. 

“You need to head to Garcia’s tonight.” 

While Hotch pulls out two pairs of clean underwear from the drawer, Spencer casts him a puzzled look. 

“Uh, why?” he asks. 

After he pulls on his own pair of underwear, he walks over to the pile of soiled clothing they flung to the floor. He picks up the first garment he can find, which happens to be Spencer’s shirt, before he makes the stride back to the bed. 

With one foot still on the floor, Hotch props a knee against the mattress as he hovers over Spencer. He uses the dress shirt to wipe away at the come on Spencer’s stomach and between his thighs. 

“Because Morgan has messed up monumentally and Garcia has issued a girls night.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Spencer starts off, “But I am a guy.”

Once Hotch has deemed him adequately clean to his standards, he leans back to throw the shirt to the ground to be dealt with later. He gets two hands around Spencer’s hips to help lift him away from the bed. Assisting him into a fresh pair of boxers while he holds onto his shoulders. 

“Yes, but Garcia thinks of you like a little brother.” Prentiss insists, “And right now, your duty is to help cheer her up even if you don’t fully understand why she’s sad.”

“What about Aaron and Rossi?” 

“They’re like her dads. ” she says, causing Hotch’s face to blanch much to Spencer’s amusement, “You know what they would do. They’d either fight Morgan or they’d genuinely give good advice. I don’t think she needs advice right now. She just needs to vent.”

“I still don’t understand how I play into this but, I’ll come over.”

“Great. I’ll see you at seven at Garcia’s and make sure you’re wearing your pyjamas.”

“Wait, pyjamas?”

At seven o’clock, Reid steps off the bus outside of Garcia’s apartment complex, having refused Aaron’s offer to drop him off. It wasn’t worth the trip. Plus, he’s gotten so used to having a personal chauffeur around, he needed the sense of humility public transportation provides. Especially when he’s dressed in his sleeping clothes that consist of one of Aaron’s shirts, flannel pants, and slippers. 

He strolls over to the list of residents just outside the entrance doors and scans all the entries until he finds a P. Garcia. Hitting the small buzzer beside the name, he’s greeted by Prentiss’ voice telling him to make his way to the third floor, apartment 2c. 

After his small trek up the stair climb, he walks down the hall. Glancing at all the apartment numbers until he reaches the one he’s looking for. 

Knocking on the door, Reid only has to wait a second before it swings open. On the other side stands Prentiss. Her hair tied up in a messy bun on the top of her head, wearing a threadbare sweater and some sweatpants. 

When her eyes recognize who’s in front of her, she sighs in relief.

“Thank God you’re here,” she exclaims, “They’ve been talking about feelings for the past hour and I don’t know if I can stomach it anymore.”

Prentiss encircles her fingers around his wrist as she drags him inside, barely giving him enough time to toe off his shoes. Stumbling, Reid enters the living room to find everyone already situated. The coffee table has been moved from its usual spot to make room for all of them to sit on the ground. Every inch of the floor has been covered with soft blankets and plush pillows that match the interior of Garcia’s home. 

Laying on her back, Garcia has her eyes open staring up at the ceiling. The usual smile he expects of Garcia is not there. In its place is an all too unwelcome frown. She’s wearing her favourite pink pyjamas with wool socks. Hair braided into pigtails on both sides. 

To her right, JJ sits with her back against the couch, her legs straight out. Listening attentively to what she has to say. She’s dressed in a too big t-shirt, that Reid suspects belongs to Will’s, and shorts that come up to her knees. Her hair is pulled into a ponytail.

On Garcia’s left sits Dr. Whitman. Leaning an elbow against the cushions behind her, Whitman’s loose curls fall against the couch. Her choice of sleepwear is a thin robe and some slippers. 

“Hey,” Prentiss calls out, “Spencer’s here.”

The girls barely notice the two of them. Engaged in deep and heavy conversations with Garcia that has Reid understanding Prentiss’ aversion. She walks him over to sit down beside JJ. Taking his bag from his shoulder before pitching it behind the couch. 

“Stay.” she commands as if he’s a dog.

Prentiss heads off down the hall to the kitchen. Most likely brewing up some drinks for all of them.

Drawing his knees up, Reid settles his hands against the tops of him as he tries to tune into the conversation.

“—I’m not overreacting right?” Garcia questions.

Both Whitman and JJ shake their heads vigorously.

“No, not at all.” JJ responds, “It’s not okay for Derek to lie to Kevin about something like that.”

“About what?” he asks.

JJ leans over to run her fingers through Garcia’s hair. 

“Kevin asked Derek if Penelope would be interested in going out on a date.” she explains, then she lets out a heavy sigh, “Derek lied to him and told him that he didn’t think Penelope would say yes, even though she talked to him about how she was interested in him.”

Reid winces. 

Morgan messed up. Big time. 

“He’s so stupid.” Garcia whines as she starts to sit up, “First, he tells me we can’t be together because he doesn’t want to ruin our friendship. Then, he lies to Kevin, a guy that actually wants to date me. I mean, who does that?”

“Derek’s scared.” he tries to explain.

Garcia scoffs before rolling her eyes, “That’s what he said too.”

“But,” Reid starts up again, “That doesn’t give him any right to make decisions for your dating life. He made his bed when he said he didn’t want to get together, now he needs to lay in it.”

“Thank you for putting it into words.” Garcia exclaims as she gestures a hand towards him, “Now, I know exactly what to say to Derek if he dares show his face to me ever again.”

“Derek sucks.” Whitman claims.

At that moment, Prentiss walks back into the living room, and as expected, she holds a tray of drinks in her hands.

“Yes, he does, Dr. Whitman.” Prentiss agrees.

Taking extra caution, Prentiss takes a seat on the empty spot in front of them all. Once she’s comfortable with her cross legged position, she sets the tray down on the ground. 

There’s an array of drinks on the tray. Ranging from shot glasses to full blown cocktails, colourful to transparent, fruity to purely ethanol. 

Leaning over, Whitman plucks off a blue coloured drink with a tiny umbrella perched on the rim of the glass. She raises it up to her nose, proceeding to take a sniff of it. Only to gag before she pushes the drink away from her nostrils. 

“Christ, Emily,” Whitman says, “How much alcohol did you put into these things?”

“Enough.” she remarks. 

The others follow suit and pick up their own drinks. In an attempt to keep the contents of his stomach where they belong, Reid selects the least extravagant appearing drink; a clear liquid with only ice. 

From beside him, JJ’s eyes widen at the choice in his hand. 

“You sure you want that one?” she questions.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

As JJ opens her mouth to explain, Prentiss cuts her off before the words can be uttered.

“No reason.” she answers for her. 

Reid narrows his eyes at her. Suspicious of her behaviour. Prentiss, however, remains unfazed by his treatment. Feigning innocence as she chooses her own drink from the tray. Soon, she raises the glass above her head. 

“Fuck Derek.” she toasts.

The four of them raise their own glasses. Cheering to Prentiss’ declaration. Repeating her words before they throw their drinks back. 

The instant the liquid hits the taste buds on his tongue, Reid gags with such fervor that he nearly sprays the drink everywhere. Swallowing it quickly, he prevents himself from making a mess. Regardless, it doesn’t go down without a fight. Burning his way down to his stomach. 

He coughs hard. Pounding at his sternum with his fist as he struggles to get a hold of himself. 

Once he’s managed to not kill himself, he looks up to find Prentiss laughing loudly, the others joining her in taking pleasure in his misery.

An attempt is made to glare at Prentiss, albeit a weak one, seeing that his watery eyes must make it impossible for her to take him seriously.

The effects of the alcohol are nearly instantaneous as Reid has virtually no tolerance to begin with. He feels looser than he’s felt in a considerable amount of time. He keeps stretching the fingers of his unoccupied hand. Enjoying the feel of his skin going taut in his inebriated state.

With each sip he takes, the less and less Reid wants to gag. By the time he finishes his first, the others are already on their second ones. Yet, he’s not far behind the others in losing his sober condition. 

Soon, one drink becomes two, two becomes three, and the numbers start to blur in Reid’s head. All he knows is that they’re drunk. With the exception of Whitman who was the only one pacing herself. 

Back on the ground, Garcia lays down against the blankets, JJ joining her. The two of them balance their drinks on JJ’s stomach, precariously. Prentiss is on her back too, kicking her legs up in the air. Meanwhile, Whitman is still put together enough to sit upright. 

Reid isn’t sure when he buried his face into a pillow, laying on his stomach, but he decides it’s not worth the effort recollection would take. 

“I want to hear about your guys’ love lives.” Garcia says after some silence.

Getting up to her elbows, Prentiss looks over Garcia and JJ at Whitman.

“Victoria, whatever happened with Hotch?” she asks.

Sighing, Whitman straightens herself up.

“The date itself was fine.” she begins, “We went out to Caesar’s and we had a nice time. After, he walked me to my car. Then, I kissed him.”

Shrieking, Garcia draws her hands to her chest. Shaking, she jostles JJ, almost spilling the drinks on her abdomen. 

“What happened after?” Garcia prods, “Did he kiss you back?”

She shifts around in her seat. Uncomfortable with the attention and embarrassed by what had happened that night. 

“At first, he did.” she answers a little sullen, “But, then he pulled back and he said he couldn’t do it. That he was in love with somebody else. I thought he was talking about his wife but he wasn’t. Said it was complicated with whoever he was with.”

At her words, JJ leans up onto her elbows. The drinks spill over the rims onto her shirt. She doesn’t notice, however. No one does. Instead, they all gape at Whitman. Staring at her as they process the information they’ve been given. 

Now, it’s Reid’s turn to get uncomfortable. In lieu of looking at them, he shoves his face back into the pillow. 

“Wait, Bossman has a lover?” he hears Garcia exclaims. 

“Pretty much.” Whitman mutters as she takes a hefty sip of her drink, needing it. 

“Does everyone have a secret lover?” she whines, “First Spence. Now Hotch. Next thing you know, Rossi’s working on wife number four.”

Then, the four of them turn silent. They stay quiet long enough for Reid to get concerned. He lifts his head from the pillow to find them all staring at him. Their smiles mischievous as they quirk their brows at him. 

“You know, Spencer,” JJ starts, “Penelope’s really torn about this. Maybe, if you told her who your girlfriend was, it would make her feel better.”

Without moving from her spot, Garcia reaches her arms out to him.

“I would be out of the slumps instantly.” she adds on, a slight slur to her words, “Like no more slumps. I would be allergic to slumps if you told me this very vital piece of information you should tell me, even if I wasn’t in the slumps.”

Prentiss joins in on their scheming. Using her foot to poke at his side.

“Come on, Spencer,” Prentiss cajoles, “If not for the fact you should be telling your friends these things anyways, for Penelope’s sake. She’s depressed.”

Now, they’re all ganging up on him as Whitman decides to unite forces with the other women. 

“Look at the sad look on her face,” Whitman says as she points at Garcia making an overdramatic frown painted on, coupled with a finger tracing an invisible tear down her cheek, “Don’t you want to make her feel better?”

Soon, they’re all hounding him. JJ yelling at him to confess in between sips. Garcia mimicking crying as she begs him to tell her. Prentiss keeps nudging her foot into his rib cage. Whitman makes her own coherent arguments as she pokes at his ankles. All of them practically shouting at him. 

“Okay! Okay!” he exclaims over them, laughing, “I’ll tell you this much.”

Within a second, fear rolls over him. Finding way into his head, sobering him up enough to realize the ramifications of what he’s doing. 

He’s about to backpedal. Lie about a detail. Maybe pretend to not realize what he’s saying. But, then he fights against the desire to do so. Instead, he leans up and over JJ, taking a sip from the drink still stacked onto her midsection. 

Liquid courage is invited into his body and all his doubts are dissolved within it. As if they were never there to begin with.

If it weren’t for alcohol he consumed just now, Reid would have spent a month mulling over this reveal. 

Maybe it’s better this way.

“It’s not a girlfriend.” he corrects, “It’s, uh, it’s a boyfriend.”

The room stills. The people within it freeze, even JJ, who knew his sexuality. He comforts himself with the observation that it’s not a bad freeze. A contemplative one if anything. A minute needed to digest particulars.

“Oh.” Garcia lets out, her smile dialing down from the wide beam to a simple grin, “I didn’t know you were attracted to men.”

“Yeah,” he says, rolling over onto his back, “I’m bisexual.”

“That’s cool.” she comments, “So, what’s his name?”

Snorting, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Just like that the heavy atmosphere is dispelled with his flippant behaviour. The women take it as their cue to start pestering him for details once more. 

Stubbornly, Reid stays silent. Paying no mind to their questions as he distracts himself with drinking and thinking about Hotch. Though the latter option may not be a good tactic to use. 

“Come on!” Garcia complains, “This isn’t fair.”

He hums absentmindedly as he thinks about his shower with Hotch.

Sensing their stratagem may not be the most efficient, JJ sweeps the drinks off of her stomach. Setting them aside as she sits up. Silently, she wraps her hands around his wrists, ignoring his yelps. He sets out to yank himself free but it’s futile as her grip only grows tighter.

Sparing no effort, he kicks his legs as if to accomplish anything but, those too are restrained by Prentiss sitting on top of him. 

The two of them look over to Garcia. Tilting their heads in signal. Walking on her knees, she settles beside them. 

“You have one last chance to tell us his name.” she warns. 

Once more he makes the forceful effort to get free but it’s thwarted. 

“Okay, it’s like that, then.” Garcia says.

Then, Garcia brings her fingers down to his sides and the implications are crystal clear to Reid, whose eyes widen at her actions. He wiggles around in Prentiss and JJ’s hold but none of it matters because Garcia takes it as her sign to begin tickling him mercilessly.

Laughter rips out of his lungs as he thrashes around. It spreads like a contagion in the room and the others join in on chuckling at the pain he’s being put through. 

From her corner, Whitman smiles into her glass. 

Hours pass by and once more they begin to broach the territory of emotional conversations. It oddly feels like group therapy. Prentiss confesses how much she fears settling down. Whitman admits that under all the accreditation and intelligence, there isn’t much for people to look at, and she’s scared that no one will ever be able to accept the person behind the facade. Garcia discloses that she thinks the real reason why Morgan won’t get with her is because of the way she looks. JJ confesses that she shot down Will’s proposal because she didn’t want to chance the idea of divorce.

Reid attempts to be helpful and settle all their concerns but it only ends with JJ glowering at him when he goes on a ten minute rant about divorce rates and the most common factors why people fall out of love. 

Needless to state, he is quickly shoved out of the bedroom and banished to bide his time outside in the living room, until they’re finished with their heart to heart conversation.

Plopping down onto the couch, Reid sighs loudly as he looks around. He taps his fingers against the cushion. Trying to wait out his exile. It doesn’t work as it’s not long before he finds himself growing more bored by the second.

Reid fishes his cellphone out of his pyjamas with gawky and graceless movements. Letting out a little ‘aha’ when he finally gets it out of the prison cell that was his pocket. Unlocking it, he hits the contacts application and scrolls until he finds a very familiar contact listed under ‘H’.

He hits the call button and within the first couple of rings, the other end picks up. 

“Hotchner.” he hears him greet.

“Aaron!”

“Hey Spencer,” he says brightly, over the phone he can hear him shift around, “How’s your night?”

“I have been forced into the living room while the girls talk about their feelings.” he informs, “You know, after I rattled off statistics that confirmed JJ’s fear of marriage.”

As Aaron chuckles through the muddled connection, Reid lulls his head back against the top of the couch, stretching his spine out.

“How much have you had to drink?”

“Hmmm, I don’t know, I stopped counting.” he reveals, “Can you come over?”

“I don’t know, Spencer.” Aaron hesitates, “I don’t think Garcia wants me there.”

“Oh, please,” he brushes him off, “Garcia just didn’t want you to pummel Morgan into the ground after she told you what he did.”

“What did he do?” Aaron asks, a protective streak flaring up in his voice.

He doesn’t bother responding to his question for obvious reasons.

“Please?” he begs, “I’m really lonely. They won’t even notice you coming in and you can leave without them knowing.”

On the other end, Aaron stays quiet, only letting a small reluctant noise. 

“I love you, Aaron.” he says, knowing exactly what it does to him, “Won’t you do this for me?”

Groaning, “You know one day that won’t work, right?”

“Highly doubt it.”

A shallow knock against the door is enough to get Reid jumping up from his seat. He unlocks the door and finds Aaron standing there. 

Eager, Reid wastes no time in reeling Aaron inside the apartment. Shutting the door as silently as he possibly can to avoid alerting the others. 

He’s buzzing with excitement by the time Aaron’s done pulling off his shoes. Pushing into his space immediately, Reid wraps his arms around Aaron’s neck. Looking at him with a giddy expression. 

“I told them I have a boyfriend.” he reveals. 

“That’s great, Spencer.” he says as he presses a kiss to his forehead, “I take that it went well?”

“Up until the point they tortured me to know your name.” 

Aaron lets out a little laugh at that before he furls his arms around Reid’s waist. Tugging him closer as he tucks his chin on top of Reid’s head. 

“We never really talked about that.” he muses as he begins to stroke down Reid’s back with a hand. 

“Hmm?” he asks, sighing blissfully at Aaron’s touch.

“Telling people. The team. Jack. Jessica.” Aaron specifies, “Don’t you want to tell people?”

Does Reid want to tell people?

Of course he does. 

Reid yearns to tell the whole world that he is in love with Aaron Hotchner, and that this time around, he’s in love with him back. There’s a sort of tangible ache inside of him whenever he has to physically stop his hands from reaching for Aaron in a crowded room. To stop himself and dart his eyes around empty rooms in the bureau to kiss him. To make sure the door is locked. That the blinds are closed. To ask if they’re on speakerphone whenever they call each other. 

Reid doesn’t want to have to do any of that. 

At the same time, though, telling the team what they are to one another makes it all too real. And in Reid’s lifetime, he has learned that real things are very much breakable. Reality tends to crack down on any bit of happiness he has. 

If Aaron and Reid never admit what they are to anyone, then this beautiful contrivance they have created between the two of them can exist in a realm that cannot be touched by anyone’s hands. It can stay genuine without the risk of anything else because right now, they aren’t playing into anyone’s expectations of how they should be to one another, they are simply themselves to each other. 

Reid does not believe in a God. If he were to, though, he does not think it would exist inside of himself. It would not be inside of him nor would it be inside of Aaron. If there was a God, and if Reid were to believe in it, he thinks it would be in the space between him and Aaron where purity is at its height. The small distance that they have to conquer each time.

But, if that purity is easily tainted by other people’s knowledge of its existence, was it ever truly pure to begin with?

Regardless of its state, Reid would still very much like to share this bit of happiness with his team, with Jack and Jessica. 

“Yes.” he settles on after a while, pulling his arms away from Aaron’s neck, “But, not everyone together. I want to tell each person alone. In case, their reactions conflict.”

“Conflict?” Aaron prods.

“Like if Garcia squeals and Rossi scowls.” he offers as an example, “I want to avoid that.”

“But, you want to tell them?”

There’s a moment in time where he contemplates saying no. Telling Aaron they’re better off keeping each other a secret.

But, they’re not. There is not a universe in which he and Aaron are better off lying to their family. There is no reincarnation of themselves nor are there alternate versions of themselves that would benefit from hiding their love. 

The tense look on Aaron’s face dissipates when he watches Reid nod. Aaron smiles at him brightly. He cradles the back of his head in his hand before pushing Reid against the hard wooden door. His palm shielding him from the impact. 

Aaron slots their mouths together. Coming together with an ease that they have worked so hard to realize into fruition, to sustain within themselves. 

They keep kissing each other. Taking all the time they want. Their world has been reduced to the small perimeter of Garcia’s apartment door. It’s bliss.

That is until Reid registers the sound of feet hitting the floor a little too late.

“Oh my God.” he hears Prentiss exclaim, “Hotch? Reid?”

Reluctantly, Aaron rips away from his Reid’s lips. 

He watches as Aaron tries to get a grip on himself before he turns around to face Prentiss.

“Prentiss.” 

“You and Reid— You’re— The marks on his neck—” Prentiss stutters as she furrows her brows, perhaps still a bit too drunk, “You and Reid are together?”

Maybe Reid is still a bit drunk too because instead of the worry he would expect after being found out, he’s only amused by Prentiss’ gaping mouth. Sinking back into the door, he starts to giggle, continuing even when Aaron throws him a glare. 

“Yes.” Aaron finally answers, “Me and Spencer are together.”

“Oh my God.”

“Emily, I need you to keep this a secret. We haven’t told anyone. Not even Jack.”

“Oh my God.” she repeats, her eyes seeming to stare right through them, most likely replaying every interaction she’s ever seen them have, recounting how she could have missed this.

“Emily. Please. You can’t tell anyone yet.” 

His pleading tone seems to snap Prentiss out of her shock just enough so that she can finally tune into the conversation at hand.

“Of course.” she promises, “I will not tell anyone that you and Reid are together. Or the fact that I encouraged Whitman to ask you out when you are very much a taken man. Or the fact that he’s the one you’re in love with. Or the fact that you are the one that has been bruising him up for these last couple of months.”

Before Aaron can get another utterance in, Prentiss turns on her heel and heads back into the living room. Most definitely still addled and more than dumbfounded by what she had walked in on. 

“At least that’s one person down.” Reid remarks.

To his side, Reid hears Aaron let out a heavy sigh. He bends down to slip his shoes back onto his feet rather hastily. Not bothering to tighten the shoelaces. 

“You’re leaving already?” he pouts when Aaron stands back up, Reid’s fingers clutching onto the inside of his jacket, “You just got here.”

“I don’t want a repeat of that situation.” he says, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one was there, “You’re staying the night here, right?”

“Yes. You’ll pick me up in the morning?”

“Always.” he swears before leaning down to press a soft kiss to his cheek, “Don’t drink too much.”

He slowly twists the doorknob to open up the door as silently as he can. 

“No promises.” Reid says cheekily as he watches Aaron slip out of the apartment.

Chapter Text

As Reid walks out of Garcia’s apartment complex with his bag slung over his shoulder, somehow fully dressed for work, he desperately wishes he took Aaron’s advice last night and kept a close eye on his alcohol consumption. 

His head feels a moment away from imploding. It certainly doesn’t help that it’s a bright day out, which means the sun has no impediments in searing into Reid's sensitive pupils, as much as it desires. His ears aren’t any better off. The noises of cars on the street or, God forbid, people speaking are enough to flare up the preexisting pain at his temples. 

Reid severely regrets drinking on a Thursday. Especially since he now has to get to work and subsequently do his job. 

His feet drag him across the asphalt as he strides into the parking lot. Immediately, he finds Aaron waving a hand at him in the distance. He’s leaning up against the side of his car, dressed for work. 

Too hungover to deal with the pleasantries of a proper greeting, Reid stumbles over to him and promptly tosses himself at Aaron. Latching onto his neck as he strives to hide from the sun’s wrath.

It incites a laughter from the man. Usually, the sound would be something Reid found akin to hymns and symphonies strewn together by only the greatest. Now, however, after a night of drinking and participating in questionable games, it is only a drilling tone within his ear drums. 

“Shh.” he mumbles.

He feels Aaron’s body shift around his before he gets a hand inside his pockets, digging around. Soon after, Reid is being nudged off of him with a shoulder. Before he can get a word of complaint out, Aaron fits a pair of thick rimmed sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose. 

As soon as they’re perched, the world is encompassed under a dark filter that provides only bliss. The bright sunlight pouring down onto them no longer feels as though it is stabbing him from his eyes to the back of his cranium.

“You are the love of my life.” Reid declares before planting a wet kiss onto the side of his mouth, “There will never be another like you.”

“No need to be so dramatic.” he murmurs, almost shy in a way Aaron never is.

The shoulder strap of his bag slips away from his body as Aaron takes it within his own hands. He opens up the car door to shove the bag into the backseat. 

While Aaron does that, Reid rounds the car to get to the passenger side door. With his hand on the handle, he looks up to spot Prentiss strolling into the parking lot, sporting her own sunglasses, looking just as miserable as he had. 

“Prentiss.” he calls out, wincing alongside her when he realizes how loud his voice is.

“What are you doing?” Aaron hisses.

Reid looks at him strangely. Further puzzled, when Aaron whips around to face away from Prentiss, as if that would be enough to hide his 6’2 stature in stark daylight. 

“What?”

“She saw us last night.” he reminds him, darting a look over his shoulder to find that Prentiss was still steadily approaching them, “She knows we’re together.”

“So?”

“I don’t want to have to talk about it more than I have to.” he says before ducking his head down.

A wide grin grows on Reid’s face as he abandons the car door handle, in favour of walking back over to Aaron. Standing only a hair breadth apart, Aaron endeavors to put some distance for propriety’s sake, but as he moves back so does Reid. Soon, he’s caged against the car and Reid’s body. 

“What?” he teases, “Are you embarrassed?”

“Of you? Never.” Aaron assures, “The situation? Absolutely.”

Laughing slightly, Reid reaches his hands out to cradle Aaron’s face. He shoots a glance behind him to find that Prentiss is still looking towards them. Without further warning, he hauls him in for a deep kiss. Aaron struggles against him as he attempts to pull away but all of his efforts are in vain as Reid knows his biggest weakness. Opening up his mouth a bit more, he lets out a small moan.

The change is almost comical as now Aaron strives to produce more of that little noise, placing his hands on his hips as he tries to tug him closer.

But, Reid can hear Prentiss’ block heels hitting the ground and he knows better than to let this continue any longer. 

He pulls away to find Hotch a little breathless as he stares down at Reid’s mouth. Letting a tiny chuckle slip out, Reid steps away from him to settle by his side. 

“Hey Prentiss.” Reid greets as she comes to stand in front of them, her own bag hooked onto her shoulder.

“Are you two going to suck face whenever I see you?”

Aaron doesn’t turn red but it’s a near thing. 

“No, I just wanted to remind you in case you’d forgotten.” he says playfully.

“Trust me, there is no way in hell, I’ll ever erase the memory of you getting groped by our boss.” she says with a grimace as she hikes her bag up on her shoulder, “Just so the two of you know, the moment I stop being hungover, you’re getting questioned.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything else.”

In comparison to last night, the morning passes by relatively uneventfully. No arguments are sprung about as Garcia and Morgan are avoiding each other like the plague. As always, Reid and Aaron were keeping it professional at the workplace, meaning no one was batting an eye at them. Prentiss was still recovering from her hangover, treating it with copious amounts of Advil and caffeine. Though, Reid is sure that’s unsafe to do. His own hangover is coming down as Aaron handed him some homemade cure of his in the car. 

Once lunch rolls around, Reid takes a quick glance at his watch before setting his pen down and pushing himself out of his chair. He crosses the short distance to Aaron’s office. At this point, Reid no longer bothers to knock in order to announce his presence, only heading straight in and plopping himself into the chair facing Aaron’s desk. 

Aaron beams at his presence and though it has been weeks since the two of them have finally gotten their acts together, it still manages to steal the breath from his lungs. He watches as he places his papers into a file folder before setting it aside. Then, he takes out two lunches that Reid recognizes as leftovers from last evening’s dinner before he headed out to Garcia’s. 

Tupperware is set out in front of him, followed by utensils and their water bottles. 

“You know that one time I woke early and came to work without you, I had to make my own lunch.” Reid admits as he watches him open up the containers.

Laughing at him, Aaron hands over a fork, which Reid gladly accepts. Without waiting, he digs right into lunch, taking a big bite of last night’s lasagna. 

“I assume it didn’t end well.” Aaron comments, grinning at Reid, as he picks up his own fork, stabbing it into the dish.

“Let’s just say, when we break up,” he says through a mouthful of pasta, “I will severely miss your cooking.”

As he swallows down the food, he watches the smile that was occupying Aaron’s face dim, much to Reid’s confusion. Aaron stares at him strangely as he abandons the fork in his tupperware. 

“What?” Reid asks, defensively.

  “You said when.” he repeats, “When we break up.”

“Oh.” Reid says as he gingerly sets down his own fork, “It just slipped out. I’m not breaking up with you anytime soon.”

“But, you think I’m going to break up with you?” 

Maybe. 

Most likely. 

Definitely.

Nothing good can ever truly last. Reid knows this. It erodes and deteriorates with time. Everything has an expiration date. Love is not the exception. If anything, it sets the precedent. He wouldn’t be surprised if Aaron left him in the morning to come. He wouldn’t be surprised if he became another memory to be slotted between his father, Elle, and Gideon. 

“No.” he murmurs, as he picks up his fork again. 

It’s pointless speaking at that point. Any profiler within a five mile radius can comprehend that his quiet no might as well have been a roaring yes. 

Before Aaron can open his mouth to get a word out, knuckles rap against the hard wood of the office door in quick succession. The sound is followed by the hinges creaking as the door opens up to reveal Prentiss standing, half in and half out of the room. 

Her risky concoction of Advil and caffeine must have worked wonders because she looks less on the verge of death than Reid had observed earlier. 

“Hotch, I’m stealing your boy toy for the rest of lunch.” she announces.

“Prentiss, now is really—”

Even if Reid was a lesser creature, he would be able to recognize what would happen if Prentiss leaves the room without him right now. He and Aaron would have another uncomfortable conversation about emotions that Reid would rather save for when the two of them are old and senile. Or better yet, buried under seven feet of dirt. 

In Reid’s professional opinion, he thinks they have talked enough about his insecurities to last them several lifetimes now.

In desperation for an out, he jumps at the opportunity Prentiss has laid out before him ceremoniously.

“No worries, Prentiss.” he says, cutting off Aaron.

Standing from his seat, Reid walks over to where Prentiss was waiting. Without another word to Aaron, he closes the door behind him. 

Silently, he follows Prentiss as she leads them to JJ’s office. It wouldn’t be totally out of character for her to borrow JJ’s office for an impromptu grilling. 

She unlocks the door with JJ’s key and ushers Reid inside first. While he plants himself into one of the chairs facing the desk. Prentiss shuts the door, locking it with a click. She makes her rounds to the windows and closes the blinds. 

Once she’s finished giving them every ounce of privacy they can gain, Prentiss heads over to JJ’s chair and sits down. Staring at Reid as she does so.

If this is how it feels when unsubs are being interrogated, now he can understand why their case ratings are so high all the time.

“How long?” Prentiss asks as she settles her clasped hands onto the desk.

“Six months.” Reid answers, “Six months, one week, and three days.”

“How’d it happen?”

That was a loaded question, if he ever heard one. 

It’s multifaceted for sure. Their progression from coworkers to partners involved many key events such as Reid being in love with Aaron for several years, finally kissing him because he thought it was the last thing he would do, trying to operate as platonic as they could for some weeks before Reid kissed him again in the men’s bathroom, which then lead to the two of them falling into bed together over and over again while Aaron thought they were dating and Reid thought they were only sleeping together, until they finally communicated what they meant to one another after Aaron’s date with Whitman. 

Multifaceted indeed. 

“We started sleeping together casually and then he started to return my feelings.” 

Perhaps it’s not the most detailed answer he could have provided but, it is the one he is the most comfortable giving right now. And really, Prentiss did not need to know every aspect of the self deprecation and loneliness he had to endure to get to this point in time with Aaron. Nor did she need to know all the graphic details of their sex life and all the heated discussions they had to have to establish what they had. 

“Why did he go out with Whitman if he liked you?” she asks, her eyes boring into his.

“Uh,” Reid lets out as he scratches at his neck, “I told him to.”

He watches as her eyes widen.

His admittance is enough to get Prentiss to break from her interrogation routine and stop treating him like a suspect, instead of her friend and coworker. 

“You really love to torture yourself.” she says, blowing air out of her mouth, “So, do you see it going anywhere?”

“Sorry?”

“I mean, I know it’s only been six months,” she says as she lifts her hands off the desk, “But do you see it going anywhere?”

The chair squeaks as Prentiss leans back into it. She sets her heels onto the edge of the desk. Careful to avoid any important appearing documents that may be laying about. 

“Of course, I do.”

“Good.” she nods, approvingly, “Because I don’t think Hotch would start anything if he didn’t mean to follow through with it.”

Her words are cryptic, as if she’s tiptoeing around something. It’s unusual for a woman like Prentiss, who rarely speaks in parables, to act like this. He’s sure if they weren’t talking about Reid and their boss, she would have stated it bluntly. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he questions as he folds his arms across his chest. 

“Hotch is a marriage man.” she shrugs, “He’ll probably want to get married.”

His heart feels as though it has plummeted into his stomach. All the branching of his vessels have broken off and are emptying themselves of blood into the cavern below them. He feels ill. 

Reid doesn’t want to get married.

He never wants to get married. He would rather die lonely than ever be called someone’s husband.

His arms clutch around himself tighter. His short fingernails bite through his shirt and dig into his skin as he tries to stop the onset of distress from playing out on his face for Prentiss to profile. 

Thousands of thoughts are racing through his head. None of them are discernable enough to relay to Prentiss, even if he wanted. 

“Emily, it hasn’t even been a year.” Reid reminds her as much as he does himself, trying to calm down, “He doesn’t know if he wants to get married to me. “

“If it was anybody else, sure.” she agrees, “But, c’mon, you and Hotch have known each other for how many years now? He probably knows stuff about you that most married couples don’t even know about each other. I wouldn’t be surprised if he popped the question by the first anniversary.”

“We haven’t even moved in together.” he weakly tries to disprove Prentiss. 

“You’re telling me you never stay over at his?”

“No but—”

“How many books do you have there?”

All of them. They’re all scattered across the home. In Jack’s room. In Aaron’s room. On the coffee table. On the dinner table. There are stacks in the garage. There are stacks in the living room. Aaron had talked to him about purchasing some more shelves so they weren’t spread about in the home so much. 

“That’s only because I think Aaron needs to liven up his shelves.” he says in lieu of a legitimate answer. 

“DVDs?”

All of his DVDs were at Aaron’s house too. Unlike the books, they were neatly arranged in alphabetical order underneath the television, in the entertainment console. He and Aaron had even started rating what they watched. Keeping a list of what was good and what was downright terrible, as they slowly but surely make their way through his collection. 

“He has better quality.” Reid, again, attempts to deflect answering the question at hand.

“Clothes?”

Over the months, his clothes had gradually migrated from his own apartment to Aaron’s house. At first, it was only casual clothes to wear to lounge around together. Then, it became work clothes when they couldn’t make it to Reid’s every morning for a change. Bit by bit, the rest of his wardrobe had made its way over. The last time Reid had seen his closet, it was empty with only a couple of hangers left behind. 

“Convenience.” he half-lies.

Prentiss gives him a faint smile. She lifts her legs off the desk and sets them down onto the ground once more, as she sits back into the chair properly. 

“Face it Spencer,” she says, placing her forearms along the armrests, “You’re living with the man and you don’t want to admit it. I bet your apartment’s only got expired noodles left.”

Although, he loathes to admit it to the woman sitting in front him, she was completely right in thinking that. The only possessions that remained in his apartment was the furniture, food that needed to be thrown out, and his family photo albums that were neatly tucked away in his bedroom. 

“You can say whatever you want. But you better be prepared for Hotch to get down on one knee.” Prentiss advises.

To Reid it sounds more like a dire warning. 

That right there was what Reid had wanted to avoid once they told everyone about their relationship. The unwelcomed criticism and critique. What they should and shouldn’t do with each other. Which was the correct and incorrect way to love one another. 

It grates on his nerves, terribly so.

Swallowing hard, Reid maintains eye contact with her as he speaks, “Emily, you are my friend. But, please do not try and make assumptions about mine and Aaron’s relationship.”

“Not an assumption.” Prentiss denies, “Though, I'm not sure if you want to get married.”

“It’s none of your business.” he snaps.

Prentiss jerks in her chair marginally. Physically taken back by his hostile tone. Her brows knit together in concentration. The surefire sign she’s in the trials and tribulations of profiling him.

Would the world burn to ash if Reid didn’t want to get married? Would oceans flood into land if he never wanted a stupid piece of paper with his and Aaron’s name on it? Would the planet stop its orbital path if he didn’t prove to the government that he and Aaron are legally one another’s?

In Reid’s experience, a marriage certificate doesn’t mean anything. Wedding bands can be pawned. Vows can be broken. 

All of it is a falsehood designed to comfort people with the guise of commitment, but Reid knows that people can still break apart after a marriage. 

His parents had. 

Diana and William were in love with each other. Before schizophrenia and Riley Jenkins, before notes from fathers and unmedicated mothers. Long before everything had fallen apart so acrimoniously, the two of them had been in love. 

As a child, Reid remembers watching their old wedding tapes on the VHS player. He can recall every detail of the ceremony as if he were there to witness it, sitting in the pews alongside his grandmother.

Reid can remember vividly watching his father recite his vows to his mother, to the minister, to their family and friends. 

He can remember how his father had manipulated everyone in attendance, including himself, to believe him while he uttered the words for better or for worse. How he had lied when he had said in sickness and in health. How he had deceived his poor mother when he had said till death do us part. 

Marriage cannot account for long lasting relationships. 

Even Aaron and Haley, who Reid regarded as the exception to the perjury of marriage, had fallen apart and gotten a divorce. They still loved each other but, in the end none of those feelings nor memories mattered in the face of reality. 

For better or for worse was a lie. In sickness and in health was a lie. Till death do us part was lie. All of it was lies and fabrications of the highest degree. None of it meant anything in the long run. 

In his opinion, marriage cheapened the value of love.

The legs of his chair scrape against the floor as he pushes it back. Reid rises from his seat quickly and stuffs his hands into his pockets. 

“Are we done here?” he asks, not meeting her eye.

“Yes.” Prentiss decides, “We are.”

He stalks over to the door. As he flings it open, he finds JJ standing on the other side, case files in hand.

“Roundtable in five minutes.”

By the time Reid enters the room, he’s the last one left to arrive. He would have been a little earlier, if he hadn’t made the detour to try and find his messenger bag. It’s a little childish but it's his comfort item. One he is in desolate need of after the revelations that were induced by Prentiss’ discussion and his Freudian slip with Aaron. 

Avoiding meeting Prentiss’ eyes, he’s acutely aware of her gaze as he makes his way to sit in his usual seat between Morgan and Aaron. Once he’s settled into his seat, he flips open the manila coloured file folder in his hands. 

Nodding at JJ, she takes it as her cue to get started. She rises up from her seat beside Whitman to walk over to the front of the room. Using the remote control in her hand, she switches on the case presentation program behind her. The screen lighting up to life as she does so. 

“Yesterday, a couple were found dead in their living room by their daughter, Katie Williams, in the township of Greenville, Illinois,” JJ states as she clicks to display a photo of their victims on the screen, “Rachel Williams, 43 and Noah Williams, 40.”

On the screen, there is a photograph of a woman and a man posing together, their backs facing a beachside somewhere. Both are white. The woman, Rachel, has straight jet black hair that reaches just past her shoulders. By the looks of her, she’s certainly athletic. Her husband, Noah, is more on the lankier side. He’s got shaggy blonde hair that hides the topes of his ears. 

With her thumb, JJ presses another button on the remote control to flip past the photographs of Rachel and Noah smiling. Now on the screen are their photographs taken at the crime scene. 

In the image, Reid observes how the couches and the coffee table have been pushed back to create more room. In the empty space left in the middle, Rachel and Noah are tied down to dining room chairs. Restrained with ropes as they’re positioned to face one another. 

A close up shot of Noah reveals that he was shot in the side of his head. In close proximity, seeing that there is a clean exit wound on the other side. Save for the bruises on his wrists from the ropes, there seems to have been no other physical harm done to him prior to the killing. In contrast to Rachel, who was beaten bloody and bruised. Her dark hair matted down with tacky blood. Her face is littered with lesions. The rest of her body is, no doubt, in the same condition. Another close up shows that Rachel was also shot in the side of the head. A crisp exit wound on the other side as well.

Beside him, Morgan leans his elbows onto the table. Twirling the pencil he had in his hand as he looks up at JJ. 

“Ballistics?” he asks.

“Nothing.” 

Opposite of Reid, Prentiss sits with her ankle crossed over her knee. She shakes her foot slightly, syncing the rhythm to the way she taps the pads of her fingers against papers. 

“Signs of sexual assault on either victim?” Prentiss asks.

“Coroner’s office is still working on the autopsy as we speak but, it’s pretty conclusive that Rachel and Noah were attacked in the same way our other victims were.”

JJ presses a button to blow up an image of another couple on the screen.

“Marie Lee, 21, and Grant Colby, 22. Found dead in their living room by their friend.”

Their second pair of victims were nothing like their first. Marie was of Asian descent while her partner was African-American. In the photograph used, the two of them were dressed in their graduation gown and cap, holding their individual degrees up to their chests as they grin at the camera. Marie had blue streaks in her, otherwise, black hair and unlike Rachel, she was a rather petite woman. Grant was more on the bulky side. Reid would consider him of medium build. He had tightly coiled black hair. 

After everyone’s taken a look at the victims, JJ continues on with the presentation and showcases all the photographs taken at the second crime scene. 

In the same way Rachel and Noah were found, the two of them were tied down onto their dining room chairs. Ropes used to restrain them as they were positioned to face one another. 

However, this time, it wasn’t the woman who was beaten. It was the man. 

Grant was in a state akin to Rachel. His eyes were swollen shut. Blood was dried in paths trailing down from his mouth and nose. With the exception of her wrists, Marie was free from bruising and bleeding. The two of them had been killed with a bullet to the side of the head. An exit wound on the opposite side. 

“Definitely the same guy.” Rossi comments, as he stares up at the crime scene photograph before scribbling something down. 

“Time between murders?” Whitman pipes up, her eyes still on her case file.

“The Williams were killed August 19. Marie and Grant were killed August 22.”

“Meaning, at most we’ve got four days before our unsub strikes again.” Hotch informs as he shuts his case file, “Everyone get your things ready. We’ll work on victimology and motive on the jet. Wheels up in 30.”

As the team steadily makes their way out of the room, Reid decides to stay back and do some damage control with Aaron. For his own peace of mind, if not anything else. Under the guise of getting prepared to leave, he rearranges some papers while he waits for the room to empty out. 

Once he hears the last pair of feet patter across the floor, followed by the door shutting closed, Reid gives up on acting. Leaving the papers scattered against the tabletop, he scrambles over to where Aaron was standing. Leaning over the table, as he scrawled something down. 

“I don’t want to break up with you.” he blurts out.

Aaron doesn’t even bother meeting Reid’s eyes when he speaks. Only focusing on moving his pen across the page. His left hand smudging over the still drying ink as he writes. 

“You just think we’re going to break up.” Aaron comments bitterly.

“We can’t control what happens to us.”

“You can control what you do now, though.” he reminds him, finally looking up from writing to look at Reid, “You can’t spend the rest of our relationship with one foot out the door.”

His hand tightens around the strap of his messenger bag, using it as a crutch of sorts to ground him. He drops his chin down to his chest as he breaks off the eye contact Aaron is already unenthusiastic in giving. 

“I’m not.” he says feebly, “It’s more like I’m waiting for the other shoe to fall.”

Sighing, Aaron pushes himself away from the edge of the table. He inches closer to him until Reid doesn’t even need to reach out to brush his hands against Aaron’s suit jacket. He uses the tip of his finger to nudge Reid’s chin up, forcing him to look at him. 

“How many times do I have to get it into your head?” he murmurs, “I’m not leaving you.”

“Gideon said that to me once.” Reid admits, his voice thick with emotion, “After I told him about my dad. Then, he left too.”

Reid watches how Aaron cants his head up to look over Reid, to the window behind him. As soon as he weighs the risks and the benefits, Aaron makes a decision and pulls Reid in. Immediately, Reid wraps an arm around his shoulders, clutching at the fabric of his suit jacket. Turning in his hold, he rests the side of his face against Aaron’s chest. His messenger bag awkwardly jumbled between their bodies. 

“I’m sorry I’m frustrating to deal with.” Reid mumbles.

“Don’t be sorry.” he whispers back as he strokes his hand down Reid’s back, “Just trust me on this.”

Reid stays silent. 

He and Aaron are the first to make it to the airstrip. Once they push past the doors of the jet and step inside, Reid follows Aaron as he lets him decide where they’re going to sit. He stops at the seats on the other end of the aisle. Letting him take the window seat, he ushers Reid in first, taking his go bag from him as he does. 

As Reid gets comfortable for the flight, he watches how Aaron reaches up to slide their bags into the overhead storage compartment. His shirt stretching taut to reveal the contours of Aaron’s torso. 

“I can tell that you’re staring at me.” Aaron comments.

Sinking into his chair, Reid’s skin flushes a deep red at being caught eyeing his partner. 

“I wasn’t— Why would I—”

Shutting the overhead compartment, Aaron effortlessly puts an end to Reid’s useless refutations. Instead of sitting next to him, like Reid would expect, he leans across the empty seat between them. His hands supporting his body on Reid’s armrest as he moves in closer. 

He only stops once Reid can smell his aftershave. His eyes darting down to Aaron’s lips as he unconsciously licks at his own. 

“You’re pretty when you’re embarrassed.” Aaron says quietly.

“You’re a bully.” he retorts, half-heartedly.

“I don’t think bullies do this.”

Conquering that last bit of distance between them, Aaron presses what he intends to be a chaste kiss against his parted lips. 

However, it turns into anything but that, when Reid opens his mouth up. Taking it as an invitation, Aaron lazily drives in his tongue against Reid’s. He laps up the small noises Reid makes as he does so. Aaron’s hand drags away from the armrest to trail down to his torso. As they keep kissing languidly, he pulls the tails of Reid’s shirt out from where they were tucked into his pants. He takes advantage of the opening and caresses the bare skin of his stomach with his hand. 

“You know for two people trying to keep a secret, you’re not doing a very good job at it.” Reid hears Prentiss say.

Instantly, the two of them break apart from each other. The string of spit connecting their mouths stretching thin until it finally snaps. Bringing up his hand, Aaron wipes his mouth dry, while Reid shoves the bottom of his shirt back into his pants. 

On the other end of the jet, Prentiss searches for her own seat to claim as she holds her bags in hand. 

“Sorry.” Aaron says as he finally slides into his seat. 

“Whatever,” she brushes off as she slots her bag into the overhead compartment, “Just please stop sucking face.”

“Noted.”

Person by person, the other team members slowly trickle into the jet. After they’ve put their bags away and settled into their seats, the pilot begins their ascent. 

Once they’re steady in the air, the signals above their heads light up, informing them that they can now take off their seatbelts. 

As Rossi, JJ, Aaron, and Reid crack open their folders, Prentiss, Whitman, and Morgan all unbuckle out of their seatbelts and make their way over where the rest of them are seated. Agreeing to the unanimous decision that was made. 

Flipping through the contents of her case file, Prentiss leans her hip against the side of JJ’s chair, while Whitman does the same against Aaron’s. On the opposite side of the aisle, Morgan goes to plant himself onto the arm of an empty seat.

“Victimology.” Rossi says to start them off as he looks at the photos of the victims.

“No obvious overlap.” Whitman answers, peering into her own folder, “Unsub crosses race, gender, age, economic status.”

“But, there has to be something about these people.” Morgan adds, “This guy beats one of the pair into oblivion each time. That amount of force and passion would suggest he knew at least one of the two.”

“What person would know both a white picket fence couple in their forties with a teenager, and two kids that just recently graduated from college and are trying to make ends meet?” JJ muses.

As Reid continues to read the crime scene investigation notes, he gets caught up on some particular details. 

The doors of either victims’ homes weren’t broken. There was no evidence that could prove any attempts were made at picking the lock nor did their unsub try to use brute force. Marie and Grant lived in a third floor apartment, which meant it was virtually impossible for their unsub to gain access through a window. As for the Williams, none of their windows were reported to have been broken. 

“Our unsub could know these people.” Reid disagrees, “The homes weren’t broken into, meaning he was let inside.”

“Or he was wearing a uniform.” Whitman tacks on, “We should get Garcia to look into their accounts. See if either couple paid for a technician to come work on something in the homes.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches as Aaron nods at her suggestion and writes it down as a note in the margins of his papers. 

“Do we think our guy is sadistic?” Prentiss asks.

“Sadists usually finish the job the same way they started it.” Rossi explains, “Why would he end their suffering quickly with a bullet? It’s the exact opposite of what a sadist does.”

“How does he choose which one watches and which one gets beaten?” Morgan questions as he flips his folder closed, “What’s the difference between Rachel and Marie? What kept our unsub from beating Marie?”

Reid is pulled away from his own thought process at the sound of Whitman’s quiet humming. He observes as she mumbles something incoherently to herself before sharing it to the rest of the team.

“He might be trying to prove dominance,” she proposes, “I mean look at Rachel. She was slightly taller than Noah and she was incredibly fit in comparison to her husband. And Grant was bigger than Marie. He was well built.”

“Inferiority complex?” Reid adds on.

“Possibly.” Whitman considers, “It would explain the rage in the killing, if he didn’t know these people that well.”

“We’ll know more once we make it to Illinois.” Aaron says before he shuts his folder, “Prentiss and Whitman, I want you two to head over to the coroner. 

“Morgan, I want you at the station to help Garcia with the parameters, help her narrow down ways these two couples could have been connected.” 

Morgan’s eyes widen. He shifts around on the armrest, trying to straighten himself up. 

“With all due respect sir, I don’t think it’s not the best idea for me to work with Garcia on this, I’d be better suited for—”

“You’re working with Garcia on victimology.” he repeats, cutting him off, “Consider it a punishment for whatever you did to her yesterday.”

Save for Rossi, who is confused by Aaron’s words, everyone in the jet attempts to stifle a laugh when they catch sight of the absolute panic on Morgan’s face. 

“Rossi and I will head over to Williams’ residence. JJ, I need you to organize an interview with Katie Williams. Reid, you set up at the station with Morgan.” 

As the coroner leads them over to the metal tables where the bodies were laid out, Prentiss and Whitman tug on a pair of blue latex gloves. She watches as the coroner pulls back the white sheets shrouding the corpses of Rachel and Noah Williams just below their collarbones. 

Prentiss stands by the edge of where Rachel’s body was laying. Beside her, she feels Whitman’s shoulder brush against hers, as the two of them examine the bodies under the bright morgue lights. The coroner standing on the other side of the metal table. 

The combination of both the sight and smell of dead bodies does not mix well with Prentiss’ stomach, which is still struggling with the effects of her hangover. 

As she swallows down the bile that threatens to come out her mouth, she pushes past her own issues, in an attempt to do her job properly.

“Signs of sexual assault on either victim?” she asks.

“None.” 

“Injuries on Noah Williams?” Whitman questions as she tilts her head to get a better look down at his body.

“Ligature marks around his wrists.” the coroner informs as she lifts the sheet up to reveal his arms, “He definitely struggled against the ropes for a while. He also suffered an injury to the head.”

“Enough to knock him unconscious?”

“Definitely.” she confirms.

“That would explain how he manages to tie up two people in a one man operation. Clocks them over the head.” Whitman says to Prentiss, as she turns to look at her.

“Only Noah.” the coroner objects, “Rachel didn’t have any injury like that. However, I did notice something else.”

Hooking her latex laden fingers onto the top of the white sheet covering Rachel’s body, the coroner pulls it down to reveal the mottled expanse of her torso, littered with bruises. 

“A considerable amount of these were done post mortem.”

“Why would our unsub beat Rachel up once she’s already dead?” Prentiss asks Whitman, “She’s not responsive to his rage. She’s not in pain anymore.”

Whitman bites down on her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth as she continues staring at the bodies. Deep in thought, Whitman mumbles something to herself. An indicator that she’s about to spell out something important for their profile. 

Suddenly, she lets go of her bottom lip and her head snaps up to look at Prentiss.

“It’s because he’s not invested in Rachel’s physical pain. He’s invested in Noah’s emotional turmoil.”

At the edge of the Williams’ property, he and Rossi flash their creditinials to the uniformed police officer standing out on the front lawn. Once they’re given the approval to do so, they walk over to the house. Lifting up the yellow crime scene tape that’s strung from both sides of the doorway, as they make their way inside. 

As they head into the living room, they pull on a pair of gloves. They’re greeted by the sight of another police officer. His hand splayed across his hip as he checks something on his cell phone.

He pockets his cell phone quickly when he notices them enter. 

“Captain Andrew Bailey.” he introduces himself, offering his hand.

Hotch accepts his hand, shaking it as he speaks, “I’m Agent Aaron Hotchner and this is Agent David Rossi.”

After Bailey exchanges pieces of information about their investigation, he excuses himself out of the room. Stepping out to take a phone call, while he lets them look around the crime scene on their own. 

Wandering around, Hotch takes note of how the living room is relatively clean except for the tiny bit of blood splatter on the carpet. On the mantle of the fireplace, just below the T.V, are a series of framed photographs. Near the ground, he spots a wedding album leaning against the side panels of the fireplace. The spine cracked from being opened so many times. 

By the looks of the living room, the occupants of the home were definitely comfortable within it and with each other. Personal items that would be tucked away in the privacy of bedrooms are strewn around casually. A collection of pop CDs sits at the accent table rather than inside Katie’s room. A laptop is casually left open on the coffee table. A cell phone is left on the couch, the screen facing up. 

“Happy family.” Rossi remarks as he walks by the fireplace, “I guess we can knock family therapy centres off our list of places where the unsub met our victims.”

Strolling over to the couch, Hotch picks up the cell phone. He presses the power button and soon the screen lights up with a message sent to Rachel from Katie. 

“Be back soon. Love you.” Hotch reads aloud to himself.

“Hotch,” Rossi calls, “Come here.”

Setting the phone back down onto the couch, Hotch strides over to where Rossi was standing in front of the fireplace, staring at the mantle.

“You see anything wrong here?” Rossi asks. 

Hotch tries to figure out whatever Rossi wants him to figure out. He rakes his eyes over all the photographs lined up. All of them are commemorative. Moments from some of the best days of this family’s life. Anniversaries. Birthdays. Proms. 

Furrowing his brows, he notices something off about the arrangement of the photographs. All of them were going in chronological order. The first one being a candid moment of Katie’s first hour after being born. 

But, that can’t be right. This type of loving family would surely have the parents’ wedding photograph somewhere there. 

That’s when Hotch notices the small gap just before the first photograph. As if there was something there before.

“He took their wedding photo.” he realizes.

“And I’ll bet our first couple is missing a frame, as well.” Rossi adds on, “It seems our unsub has a vendetta against happy couples.”

After discovering one component of their unsub’s motive to kill, the two of them decide to finish up at the Williams’ residence. They climb into the SUV parked at the curb. Rossi gets into the passenger seat, while Hotch takes it upon himself to drive them back to the station. 

On the ride to the police station, Rossi stays oddly quiet. From the corner of his eye, Hotch can see him tapping his thigh with his index finger, staring out of the window. Every so often, he’ll turn to face Hotch as if he’s about to say something, but then he’ll go back to looking at the moving expanse outside the car. 

By the fifth time he does it, Hotch is ready to snap and ask him what the matter is, when Rossi finally decides to say whatever is on his mind. 

“I know.” he says vaguely.

At the odd inflection in his voice, Hotch turns his head for a second to watch him. He finds Rossi staring straight out to the road now. His expressions under control. Before he can profile him, he has to bring his focus back on driving. 

“Sorry?” 

“You and Reid.” Rossi reiterates, “I know you two are together.”

"Oh."

Have they been that obvious? That careless?

Hotch is so sure that he and Reid have taken every and any possible precaution to ensure that no one, least of all their teammates, suspects that the two of them engage in anything other than a platonic relationship. 

They try to limit the touching at work, only ever getting close in empty rooms and behind closed doors. When they recount stories about their weekend to the team, they’re careful to redact each other’s name unless appropriate. They even make sure to ask if they’re on speakerphone when they call one another. 

“How did you figure it out?” Hotch asks after a while. 

“How couldn’t I figure it out?” he snorts, “Reid’s always there when I drop Jack off. His stuff is all over the place, and I know it’s his because neither you nor Jack can read Russian. And I see the expression on your face when someone teases Reid about his girlfriend. You get all smug looking.”

Hotch sinks down into his seat a bit. His fingers flexing hard against the steering wheel as he tries to avoid Rossi’s gaze.

Maybe they haven’t been trying so hard to keep it a secret.

“And except for a couple of off days, you two have been happier.” 

Hotch has. He’s been happier than he has been in a long time. 

But, after what happened during lunch though, he’s just not sure if Spencer feels the same way. 

“Dave,” he says, breaking the formality for his next words, “Spencer and I want to tell people at our own pace. You cannot tell anyone else about this.”

“Of course.” Rossi recognizes, “When you do make it public, though, I’ll take over as Reid’s supervisor on paper.”

“You would do that for us?”

It would mean extra paperwork for Rossi after every case. An extra report that needs to be drawn up with detail and effort. It would mean having to navigate post case briefings with Strauss, which is a horror on its own. It’s additional work that requires attention that could be otherwise utilized in much more congenial manners. It’s additional hours spent at the office that could be spent at whatever Rossi likes to do outside of coaching soccer and drinking. 

“It’s just a couple of pieces of paper.” he downplays, “That’s nothing if it means Strauss won’t reign hell on your asses for fraternization.”

Growing serious, Hotch turns to face Rossi, meeting the other man’s eyes.  

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.” Rossi waves off, “So, who else knows?”

“Prentiss.” he answers, grimacing slightly as he brings his eyes back to the road. 

“Emily?” 

“Yes, she, uh,” Hotch brings a hand off of the steering wheel to scratch as his neck, “She walked in on me and Spencer at Garcia’s.”

“My God.” he says, horrified. 

Realizing what he made the situation sound like, Hotch rushes to elucidate what he had meant by his words. 

“No, no, not like that.” he clarifies, “We were just kissing.”

“That’s good. I thought you were having sex in someone else’s home.”

Shooting a quick glance to the side, Hotch sees that the scandalized look on his face is gradually clearing away. Replaced with relief at the comfort of knowing that he and Spencer aren’t defiling one another on other peoples’ sheets.

Hotch winces internally, as he remembers Rossi’s dinner some weeks ago. 

“Why are you making that face?” Rossi questions, almost scared at the answer he’ll give.

In a moment, Hotch is sure he’ll be less scared and more bloodthirsty.

“Do you remember that time you invited the team over for dinner?” he asks tentatively, “Do you remember how Reid went to lay down in the guest bedroom?”

“No.” Rossi denies, shaking his head, “There is no way you had sex in my home, while there were nine other people inside. One of them being your son.”

“We didn’t.” he says, “I just gave Spencer a blowjob.”

“Aaron Hotchner, I swear to God, I will—”

Back at the police station Reid, Whitman, and Prentiss sit in a room that was reconfigured to be their base of operations for the duration of the case. The three of them are spread across the space as they stare up at the photographs, attempting to make their own conclusions. 

Whitman occupies a rolling chair, with Prentiss hovering behind her, resting her hands against the top part of the back. Meanwhile, Reid stands just off to the side of the board, gnawing on his nails.

“Hey, where’d Morgan go?” Prentiss asks after a while.

“After the fourth time Garcia ‘accidentally’ hung up on him,” Reid says, using air quotes, “He decided to tag along with JJ to interview Katie Williams.”

“Won’t she get in trouble for unprofessionalism?” Whitman questions.

“No, because though Aaron will loathe to admit it, Penelope is his favourite.” he answers as he heads back over to the table where they’ve got all their papers spread out.

He hears Prentiss snort.

“Sure, Penelope is his favourite.” she agrees sarcastically. 

Before Reid can begin to retort, the door opens and soon the sound of Rossi’s voice floods into the room. He’s definitely annoyed about something. He keeps interchanging between English and Italian as he barely keeps himself from yelling. By his side is Aaron, who rubs at his ear with a wince. 

As Rossi catches sight of Reid at leaning over the table, he redirects his irritation to him. 

“You!” he exclaims, while he points a finger at him, “You and Aaron are no longer allowed to wander my home without supervision.”

For a minute, Prentiss and Whitman can only stare at Reid. Prentiss grinning as she can infer what he and Aaron could have done to incite such a dramatic reaction from Rossi. Whitman is only confused by the prospect of Reid doing something so dire that it garners an outburst like that.

From over Rossi’s shoulder, he looks towards Aaron, who only mouths ‘ I’ll explain later.”

Clearing his throat to break the awkward silence that has now overtaken the room, Reid lowers his gaze to the papers he was reading a second earlier.

“So far, Garcia and Morgan haven’t been able to find any victim overlap but Garcia said she’ll dig into what our victims did on their last day to see if they crossed paths somehow.” Reid informs.

Rounding the table, Aaron makes his way to stand by Reid, while Rossi plops down into one of the empty chairs by Whitman, sighing as he goes. 

“We might as well redirect our focus on our unsub now.” Aaron announces, “Any links between the victims will only be found by Garcia.”

“Well, Rossi was right.” Prentiss starts off, “Our guy isn’t a sadist. At least, not in the traditional way. He beat up Rachel Williams even after she was dead.”

Prentiss slides a copy of the coroner’s report to Rossi. As well as to Aaron from across the table. 

Though he’s got it memorized already, Reid leans in closer to Aaron as he reads the report once more.  

“To instill emotional distress in Noah.” Whitman adds on, “He likes to make the submissive partner suffer mentally.”

Aaron sets the coroner’s report aside but Reid still doesn’t move away. Soaking up the closeness for a while. 

“He’s going after happy couples.” Rossi includes, as he rubs at his temples with his hand, still reeling from whatever Aaron was supposed to explain later, “He took the Williams’ wedding photo.”

“Chances are he’s single.” Aaron pipes up from beside him, “He has very limited relationships.” 

“Single?” Whitman questions, “Couldn’t he be in an unhappy relationship? That could explain the motive to kill these happy people.”

“No.” he says, “If he were in a relationship, he would be trying to find a surrogate for his partner. Someone that looks like the person he actually wants to kill.”

“So, all we have to go on is a single guy that picks his victims at seemingly random?” Prentiss sums up, “That’s just great.”

After they’ve managed to do what they can with what little they have, the group of them disperses. They delegate themselves into their own assignments, waiting for JJ and Morgan to come back from their interview, waiting for Garcia to find something connecting their victims.

Hotch suspects they’re all praying on the inside for some new information because as of right now, they have nothing on this guy.  

He decides to draw up the beginnings of a preliminary profile they can deliver to the police, who have started to become antsy at their lack of progress. Officers keep stopping by the room, asking if they have anything. Muttering something lowly to themselves each time one of the agents reveals they’re still trying to get something favourable.

In the now empty room, Hotch sits behind the table, facing towards the window. Staring off into the distance as he tries to come up with something promising. 

His thoughts are derailed by the sight of Spencer walking past the window. On his way to get another cup of coffee, if the mug in his hand is indicative to his actions. Hotch smiles when he realizes his own coffee mug is nowhere near him, but is instead in the hands of his partner. 

The smile on his lips wanes as he watches a female police officer come up to Spencer. She says something that has him beaming. In turn, he offers up a joke that has her laughing a little too much. She uses it as an excuse to let her hand fall down to rest on his forearm. Ever oblivious, Spencer isn’t aware that he’s being flirted with, and accidentally returns the woman’s behaviour by saying something else that has her blushing.

Hotch hopes it’s accidental, at least. 

Sighing, he pushes his chair back and approaches the window. For his own sake, he closes the blinds. 

As he turns back around, he finds himself face to face with Prentiss. Jolting slightly at her unexpected presence.

“You okay?” she asks.

“How did Spencer somehow manage to see me off on a date with another woman, while I can’t even watch as he talks with someone?” he murmurs as he darts a small look through the gaps of the blinds. 

“He’s a masochist.”

Ripping his gaze away from the window, Hotch moves past Prentiss. He makes his way back over to the table, situating himself back into his seat. 

“That he is.” he agrees as he decides to revisit the crime scene photographs. 

“Do you see it going anywhere?” 

“Excuse me?” he asks, raising his head up to look at Prentiss.

She’s leaning back against the wall, settled onto the space next to the window. She has one foot planted flat against the wall, while the other is resting against the floor. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest.

“Your relationship with Reid.” she clears up.

“Prentiss, I shouldn’t have to remind you.” he lectures, “These types of questions are inappropriate to be asking right now.”

Usually, his tone is enough to get anybody on the team to stammer out apologies but, Prentiss isn’t even fazed by him. Hotch is starting to think that having Spencer around has made him soft.

“Because Spencer does.” she continues, ignoring him, “He says he sees it going somewhere.”

His heart skips a beat.

“He said that?”

A small part of him had thought Spencer was going to break things off with him, after what he had said in the afternoon, regardless of the reassurances and explanations he had sent his way. His slip of words had been in the back of his head all day long.

“Told me so himself.” Prentiss confirms, as she settles both feet against the floor now, “What about you?”

Hotch can see the rest of his life with Spencer. God, he can imagine the two of them getting married. Somewhere private, with a small ceremony. Only their family in attendance. Jack would be their little ring bearer. Morgan would be Spencer’s best man, while Rossi would be his. He swears he remembers hearing Garcia say she was ordained, maybe she could be their officiant. 

They’ll have a small honeymoon too, spent somewhere in a run down vacation lodge because they don’t need extravagance. They just need each other. 

He can imagine them decades from now. Old and grey as they spend their last couple of years just trying to remember each other for forever. 

“He’s it for me.” Hotch confesses, “I want to marry him.”

“Yeah?” Prentiss asks with a smile.

Before either of them can say anything else, Hotch hears a thud against the bottom half of the doorframe, followed by Spencer walking in through the open doorway, two coffee mugs in his hands. 

Both Prentiss and Hotch lock eyes, worry evident in the lines of their faces. 

“Prentiss, we’ve just managed to get a hold of the friend that found Marie and Grant.” Spencer says, “Rossi wants you to come with him to the interview.”

“Got it.”

Just like that, she brushes past Spencer and leaves the two of them alone in the room.

“Hey,” he says before coughing a bit, “You didn’t happen to hear anything I said to Prentiss, right?”

“No, why?” Spencer asks as he approaches him, handing him his mug, “Was it about me?”

“Maybe.” he says noncommittally, “Thanks for the coffee.”

Lowering his head, Spencer presses a kiss against the top of his head.

“No problem.” he mumbles.

As the sun begins to set, the day comes to an end and they are still nowhere near close to figuring out who their unsub is. JJ and Morgan didn’t find anything promising during their interview with Katie Williams, nor did Prentiss and Rossi with Amelia Moore, the friend that had found Marie and Grant. 

Like Prentiss had said earlier around the table, as of now all they have is a single man, who is killing couples at random. 

Hopefully, Garcia can determine how the unsub is choosing his victims. The Godsend that she is, Garcia decides to stay up all night as she combs through every last thing both the couples did before they were killed. 

The rest of the team are lucky, as they get to head back over to their hotel and get some sleep. 

While they wait for JJ to return from the reception with their room keys, they bide their time in the lobby. Hotch spots Whitman and Prentiss huddled up close, as they laugh quietly with one another. Near them, Rossi sits in one of the waiting chairs, flipping through an old magazine about cars. Behind his chair, he can see Morgan typing something on his phone. 

For his sake, Hotch hopes it’s an apology to Garcia.

Both he and Spencer are resting against the wall. Hotch feels him tip his head to lean against his shoulder. 

“Rossi knows.” he murmurs to Spencer.

Snorting, “Yeah, I could tell after he forbade us from walking alone in his home.”

“Can you blame the man?” Hotch asks, “I mean, I gave you a blowjob in his guest room, while he was cooking us dinner.”

He feels Spencer’s finger lightly graze his own. To the outsider’s eye, it looks like it’s an accidental touch but, to Hotch and him, it’s much more than that. 

“I knew Whitman was going to ask you out the next day,” he admits quietly, to make sure no one else can hear, “I wanted to make every last moment count.”

“Masochist.” Hotch whispers, equal parts wistful and playful.

Their little private bubble is broken by Morgan’s voice and the tap of his shoes against the floor. 

“Hey Pretty Boy,” he says as he walks up to Spencer, “You want to room with me tonight?”

From where they’re pressed together, Hotch feels Spencer tense up. His fingers stilling against his. 

Before either of them can come up with an excuse, Rossi pipes up from the other side.

“Absolutely not.” he declares, not looking away from the magazine he was reading, “I am not sharing a room with Aaron. Not after what he did.”

At Rossi’s voice, Prentiss and Whitman finally pull away from their own conversation to listen to the one at hand. 

“What did he do?” Whitman questions.

“Nothing.” Hotch quips before Rossi can answer her, “Nothing at all.”

From Whitman’s side, Prentiss arches an eyebrow at him, suggestively. Spencer pays no mind to it but Hotch is mortified at the prospect of her knowing. It makes him want to shrivel up and die but, since that isn’t an option, he settles for pressing up further against the wall.

“Well, I am not sharing with Rossi for the billionth time in a row.” Morgan announces, “He snores.”

Dropping his magazine onto the side table, Rossi shifts to the edge of the chair and points a finger at Morgan.

“I do not snore.” he refutes, “And I’m not exactly jumping for joy whenever I have to share with you.”

Any impending argument that was building up inside of Morgan is halted by the presence of JJ, holding numerous sets of keys in her hand. 

“No one's sharing.” JJ states as she starts to hand out everyone’s keys, “I managed to wrangle each of us our own room.”

Both Morgan and Rossi let out a sigh of relief. Prentiss and Whitman look pleasantly surprised as well. Usually, they had to be frugal with their budget, otherwise Strauss comes knocking down their door. 

When JJ comes around to him and Spencer, he hesitates taking the key from her. 

Since he and Spencer began their relationship, the two of them hardly ever slept in separate beds. Even without Spencer’s eidetic memory, Hotch can recount how many times they were apart during the night, on one hand. 

As JJ says something about meeting up in the morning for breakfast, he watches as Spencer gives him a reassuring smile.

Once Reid makes it inside of his hotel room, he tosses his bag onto the middle of the bed. Toeing off his shoes as he sets them aside. Then, he shrugs out his jacket before casting that onto the bed as well. Reid unzips his bag to gather a change of clothes, his glasses, his contact lens’ case, and his toothbrush.

Stripping himself of his clothes, he pulls on his sleepwear and heads into the ensuite bathroom to make quick work of his nighttime routine. Reid brushes his teeth vigorously before spitting out the paste in the sink. Next, he takes out his contact lens methodically, replacing them with his glasses so that he’s not completely blind. 

He’s about to settle under the covers when he hears a timid knock against the door. Reid makes a small detour, and heads over to answer it. On the other side, he finds Hotch standing in the hallway, also dressed for bed. 

“Hey.” he greets with a smile.

“I was wondering if I could stay the night with you.” Hotch asks.

His only answer is opening the door wider for Hotch to come in through.

Their second day in Greenville is spent much like their first. Nothing conclusive comes up and they are left to do rather menial tasks until they’re given something propitious. Garcia hands them over a list of places all four of their victims had visited the day they were killed. Prentiss and Morgan head out to where Marie and Grant had gone, while Aaron and Rossi take it upon themselves to check out where the Williams’ had been prior to their death. 

Meanwhile, back at the police station, JJ is advising the local reporters about what details they should and should not release in order to avoid unrest and paranoia within the community. Which leaves Reid and Whitman to work on the preliminary profile Aaron had begun yesterday.

Reid sits at the table, fiddling with his pencil as he reads Aaron’s writing aloud to Whitman, who stands at the whiteboard, a marker poised in her hand. 

“Uh, let’s see,” Reid says as he reads the paper on the table, “Statistically speaking and in accordance to our demographic, our unsub would be white.”

Under the heading that’s titled ‘Profile’, Whitman scribbles in a bullet pointed followed by the word ‘White’.

“Got it.” she nods.

“Twenties to thirties.” Reid continues on, “He’s in his prime. If he was in his forties and fifties, and unmarried, he wouldn’t be killing. He’d be drinking. Plus, the force required to beat someone so severely suggests that he’s young.”

Below the first point, Whitman plots another dot and writes down ‘20s-30s’.

“Lives alone. Estranged family. Struggles to make meaningful relationships. But, his coworkers would—”

His description is cut off by the sound of his cell phone ringing against the surface of the table. Reaching over to pick it up, he sees Aaron’s name and contact photo lighting up his screen. 

“It’s Aaron.” he informs Whitman.

Tapping the back of the marker on her bottom lip, Whitman only hums as she stares at the whiteboard.

Sliding his thumb across the accept button, he brings his cell phone up to his ear. 

“Hey.” 

“Spencer,” Aaron greets, “Do you know where JJ is? She’s not picking up her phone.”

“She’s talking to some reporters. Why?”

“Can you do me a favour?” he asks, “Can you tell her to call Captain Bailey? He wants to organize a press conference. He's changed his mind about sending out details intermittently through outlets.”

Nodding, “Got it.”

“Thanks.” Aaron says, “I love you.”

At his declaration, Reid redirects his gaze to where Whitman was writing something down under victimology. 

He wants to say it back but, he’s sure that Whitman would hear and quirk an eyebrow at him. 

“You’re welcome.” Reid settles on, leaving his ‘I love you’ unanswered.

Soon after, Reid ends the call. Placing his phone back onto the table, he stands up from his seat.

“I’ll be back.” he says to Whitman, who’s still facing the whiteboard, “Aaron wants me to tell JJ to talk to Captain Bailey.”

“I’ll be here.” she responds, distractedly.

After Reid leaves the room to go find JJ and do whatever it is he said he was going to do, Whitman is left on her own to finish up the preliminary profile. 

Sighing, Whitman sets the marker down against the railing of the whiteboard. She makes her way over to where Reid was sitting moments ago and finds the sheet of paper he was reading off of. 

As she struggles to read Hotch’s chicken scratch, from the corner of her eye, she sees Reid’s cell phone screen light up with a text message.

Now, Whitman didn’t look at his screen with the intention to snoop and pry. Honest. It was only the consequence of a reflex. One she had developed after joining the B.A.U, having to be quick at responding to text messages.

She didn’t purposefully seek out to read such a private message on his cell phone. 

Could it even be considered a private message? 

Whitman knew that Reid had a boyfriend. Words of this nature wouldn’t be considered personal in any other context. 

Though, a part of her still can’t help feeling guilty when she reads the text message.

‘You didn’t say I love you before you hung up. :(‘

However, all of that guilt is over shrouded with shock, when Whitman glances up at the contact that sent it and finds their Unit Chief’s name there.

The dragging day finally comes to an end and cognate to yesterday, the team has come up empty handed once more. No more closer to a definite profile than the day before. 

Hotch and Rossi had interviewed almost everyone that had seen the Williams’ the day before they were killed and no one they spoke to had seen anything suspicious nor had they seemed suspicious themselves. Morgan and Prentiss gained the same results from their own interviews.

Back at the police station, JJ had worked with Captain Bailey on the press conference that was organized for tomorrow, while Whitman and Spencer delivered their preliminary profile to the officers. 

Hotch calls for a debriefing in the boardroom before they make their way back to their hotel, after yet another disappointing attempt at finding their unsub. They’ve already wasted two days trying to find him, and in two more days, there will be another pair of victims up on their boards.

The team files into the room, one by one, all of them looking discouraged by their lack of progress. As they haul themselves into their chairs, Hotch heads over to the front of the room, in order to address everyone. 

However, before he can begin whatever disheartening speech he was going to deliver, his cell phone rings. Fishing it out of his trouser pockets, he looks at the screen to find Garcia’s caller ID looking back at him.

Hotch accepts the call quickly before he switches it to speakerphone. He tosses it into the centre of the table, so that everyone can listen in. 

“Garcia, tell us anything at this point.” Hotch says, borderline pleading.

“Sir, I found something very interesting while I was morbidly digging through these people's’ lives.” she starts off, “The day before each of our couples died, Rachel and Marie were both fined with traffic violations, issued by the same officer—”

As Garcia speaks, Hotch gets the feeling he’s being watched. He lifts his eyes up to the open door, taking notice of a police officer walking past them a little too slow for his liking. 

“Hold that thought.”

He shoots a look over to Morgan, who understands what he means and gets up to close the door, as inconspicuous as he can. 

“Proceed, Garcia.” he prompts, once he hears the audible click of the door jamb.

“They were all fined by the same officer, Wes Quincy.” Garcia continues, “Sir, there are no other connections between these people other than this one man.”

“It would explain how he knows where they live.” Rossi considers, “Copies down the information from their licenses.”

“Him being an officer explains how he gets inside too.” Morgan chimes in as he shifts closer to the edge of the table, “The victims open up the door because they recognize him, because he has a uniform on. Quincy makes up something about a misfiled ticket, he lies his way in. He pulls out his gun, they freeze up.”

“It would help make sense of why only one of the pair had a head injury. He doesn’t need to knock the other unconscious, if he has the element of surprise.” Prentiss says before she turns to look at Whitman, “Clocks one over the head as he waits for the other to get home.”

Leaning his hands against the edge of the table, Hotch contemplates what they have so far. 

The team is right. It would all make sense if Quincy was their unsub. If their unsub was a police officer, he would know the basics of a crime scene investigation. He would know the do’s and the don'ts. He would know how to avoid leaving traces of evidence. 

“Garcia, give us the rundown on Quincy.” Hotch requests.

Through the phone connection, he can hear her type away at her keyboard with vigor. Letting out a small noise when she manages to find what she was searching for. 

“Wes Quincy. Twenty-five years old. Born and raised in Greenville, Illinois. He was engaged to Allison James. They broke off the engagement last year. Yikes, then around the same time, he attended several weddings. Distant cousins. Coworkers. Friends. And, oh God, Allison passed away recently from complications relating to a chronic illness she was fighting. ”

“How recently?” Morgan asks.

“A month ago.”

“That could be the trigger.” Whitman says what they’re all thinking, “And the reason why he’s not looking for a surrogate. He’s not mad at Allison. He’s mad at other people for having what he couldn’t.”

All of their loose ends can be neatly tied up by this one man alone. He has the means, the motive, the trigger, and everything else they were looking for. Wes Quincy fits their preliminary profile and like Garcia said, he is the only thing connecting their couples together.

But, as much as Hotch wants to hold Quincy accountable for all these murders, he knows that what they have is circumstantial at best. 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Hotch says, reeling them in, “We’ll bring him in for questioning tomorrow. And I don’t think I need to remind you all where we are.”

As everyone nods in his direction, Hotch bids Garcia goodbye before he ends the phone call. Reaching across the table, he picks up his cell phone and places it back inside his trouser pocket. 

Soon, the team begins to gather all of their items, packing up for the day. They’re less despondent than they were when they first entered. 

“Does anyone want dinner?” Prentiss asks, as she shoves her folders back into her side bag. 

From across the table, Morgan shrugs as he organizes his papers, “I could grab a bite.”

“I’m in.” JJ pipes up from beside him 

“Me too.” Rossi adds.

“I’ll never say no to food.” Whitman chimes in.

While everyone has their heads lowered to their own menial tasks, both Hotch and Spencer share a look with each other before giving Prentiss an answer.

“Not that hungry.” he says, as he shuts his briefcase.

Hotch watches as Prentiss first narrows her eyes at him before redirecting her gaze at Spencer. 

“Count me out too.” Spencer adds.

“Suit yourselves.” she responds, most definitely knowing the reason why they were turning her down, “The rest of us will toast your absence.”

After that, the team begins to file out of the room, their conversations drifting off into silence, and soon it’s only him and Spencer left in the boardroom. 

Hotch picks up his briefcase from the surface of the table, and wanders over to Spencer, who scribbles something down on an empty sheet of paper. Using his free hand, Hotch reels him in by the waist.

“The window.” he hisses as he darts a look over Hotch’s shoulder.

“Calm down.” Hotch says, amused by his concern.

Spencer looks ready to pick a fight with him at his words but he doesn’t get to, as Hotch presses a soft kiss to his mouth. Beneath his lips, he can feel as the tension drains away from him as he settles a hand down on Hotch’s shoulder.

“Are you ready to leave?” he mumbles against Spencer’s mouth a second later.

“Yes.”

The two of them make their way out to the back of the police station, heading over to where their SUV is parked. As Hotch casts a quick look around them, he realizes that the lot is empty of people walking around. Reaching down, Hotch entangles his and Spencer’s fingers together. Spencer smiling to himself as he does so.

“Whitman was acting strange today.” Spencer says, “Do you think she knows?”

“I don’t know.” he admits honestly, “I thought we were doing a good job at hiding it but, then apparently Rossi knew for some time.”

“You think he’ll ever forgive us?” he asks, as he lightly swings their hands together between them.

“Rossi will forgive us but, he won’t forget about it.”

Hotch doesn’t think Rossi will ever let the two of them go a day without reminding them nor will he ever take his eyes off of them when they’re over for a visit. 

In his defense, Spencer was the one who convinced him. Plus, it wasn’t like they had left a mess behind for him to clean up. If it weren’t for Hotch’s barely there moral compass, Rossi could have spent the rest of his life blissfully unaware about what he and Spencer had done on his sheets. 

Once they round the car, Hotch reluctantly lets go of Spencer’s hand. Using the keys, he unlocks the doors as Spencer walks over to the passenger side. 

As Hotch brings a hand up to the door handle, he hears the sound of footfalls behind him. Something churns unpleasantly within his gut at the sound. He's about to turn around to give himself some peace of mind when he feels something hard knock down against the back of his head. 

Buckling to the ground, Hotch lets out a hiss. Faintly, he can hear Spencer saying his name on the other side, as a throbbing sensation spreads around the area of impact. He presses his hand down against where he was hit. Flinching, as he feels something wet on his fingers. Hotch brings his hand back around to look at it. Black spots dance around the edges of his sight as he recognizes blood on his fingers. 

Just as he’s about to call out for Spencer, he feels another blow dealt out to his head and his vision begins to black out.

Chapter Text

The first thing Reid notices when he begins to regain consciousness is the metallic smell of blood making its way inside of his nose. The second thing he notices is the sensation of something wet dripping from his forehead and onto the front of his pants. 

Still a bit disoriented, he wills himself to open up his eyes. When he does, he catches sight of the steadily forming pool of blood on his clothed thigh. 

He pushes past the haze that has settled into his head and goes to wipe away the sticky blood trail from his face, only to find that his hands are restrained. They’re being held down by scratchy ropes, tied to the arms of the chair he’s been bound to. 

Reid manages to drag his eyes away from his own body to look up to find himself confronted with the sight of Aaron constrained to his own chair, his head tipped back. 

The image in front of him is enough to disperse the fog from inside of his head. It’s enough to trigger the onset of memories from earlier that evening. Reid remembers the two of them had been in the parking lot. They were about to climb into the SUV and head back to their hotel when he had heard Aaron yelp from the other side of the vehicle. 

Just as Reid was going to check up on him, he came face to face with a man he didn’t recognize, dressed in a police officer’s uniform. Then, he saw a metal baseball bat, glinting in the light leaking out from the windows of the station, before it came down to swing at his head.

They were attacked by the unsub and Reid strongly suspects their unsub is Wes Quincy.

He’s pulled away from his thoughts by the rhythmic noise of something dripping against the wooden floorboards. It’s coming from Aaron’s direction. Taking a closer look, Reid spots a puddle of blood behind Aaron’s chair. A droplet of red splattering after it descends from the back of his head. 

His injury seems to be much more alarming than Reid’s own. He’s bleeding profusely. A concerning amount, even given the fact that head wounds tend to bleed a lot. 

“Aaron.” he whispers.

The other man doesn’t stir. Uselessly, Reid jerks against the ropes around his wrists as he tries to reach out for Aaron.

“Aaron.” he tries again, a little louder, a little more desperate.

Still nothing. From the way he’s positioned on the chair, Reid can’t even tell if he’s pulling any oxygen into his lungs. 

“Please, Aaron.” he croaks out, pleading. 

This time, Aaron finally registers the voice calling out for him. He shifts around in the chair minutely. His fingers twitch on the arms of the chair. His head lifts up from where it was hanging over the back of the chair. Aaron lets out a quiet groan as he rouses from his unconscious state.  

It only takes a few more moments of fidgeting before Aaron’s eyes flutter open. Immediately, they land upon Reid. He squints at him ever so, as if to bring him into focus. 

“Spencer?” he mumbles.

“Aaron.” Reid says, “Are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere else beside your head?”

“Spencer, what’s going on?” 

“We were abducted by the unsub.” he answers, “I think the team was right. I think it’s Quincy.”

“Who’s Quincy?” Aaron asks, “When were we abducted?”

At Aaron’s questions, Reid’s stomach begins to twist up into knots uncomfortably. 

“What’s the last thing you remember?”