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“You’re bleeding.”
Your comment was met with complete silence. Exactly what you should have expected.
Hotch pushed past you, his steps echoing down the hotel hallway. You watched him blankly for a moment, mind still reeling from the case that had just wrapped up.
It had been a rough one, to say the least- a six day chase across the state and a handful of victims that you hadn’t been able to save in time, ending with an entirely too-close for comfort takedown. The unsub was in custody, and that was all that mattered. At least, that was what you were trying to tell yourself.
You could tell that Hotch was beating himself up for the time it had taken to find the final location. The time that had allowed for the last victim to be killed.
It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was the unsub’s- it always was, but you knew from personal experience that sometimes it was impossible to remember that.
The slamming of a door brought you back, and you blinked in the dim lighting. It was over. Over. Maybe if you told yourself it enough, it would feel true.
You headed down the hall, fingers wrapping around the keycard in your pocket. Without allowing time for hesitation, you knocked briskly before opening the door.
“Hey,” you said softly, your breath catching in your chest at the sight that met you. Hotch sat in the dark on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. He didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge that you were in the room. “Hotch?”
The silence continued until you made your way to him, and he finally looked up. “What are you doing here?”
“Rossi switched keycards with me.” You shrugged, grinning half-heartedly. Rossi always seemed to know exactly what was needed. The epitome of a fairy godparent.
Hotch just blinked at you, the same blank expression on his face. The only proof of the terrifying night you had all survived was the blood slowly drying across his forehead and the far-off look in his eyes. Try as he might to hide it, you knew better.
You always did.
For the last three years, you knew better.
It had started small. So small that it could have been nothing.
But it wasn’t nothing.
It was cursory glances, fleeting touches in passing. It was you bringing him food when you knew that he had forgotten to eat- as he usually did. It was when he would sit beside you on the jet, your legs resting against one another, your hands just barely touching beneath the table. It was late nights in the office when the only people left were the two of you- when his carefully crafted shield would finally start to come down. Just a bit. Just enough for you to get to know him. To really, truly know him.
Every time you could crack those walls, bring out those rare smiles of his, it felt like something. Something big.
It wasn’t nothing.
No matter how hard he tried to shut you out, to stop whatever this was from happening, it was still there. When he tried to push you away, to keep things professional, it hurt but it made sense. He was doing his job. He was protecting you.
But now? You didn’t need his protection. You needed him.
And try as he might to deny it, he needed you just the same.
You left him for a moment, returning with a wet washcloth from the bathroom. When you sank down onto the bed beside him, he still didn’t look at you, still didn’t move.
“Hotch?” Still nothing. You reached out, gently turning his face towards you. “Aaron?”
He finally met your eyes, opening his mouth to speak but nothing came out.
“It’s alright.” You lifted the washcloth to his forehead, wiping away the dried blood. He let out a sigh at your touch, the tension leaving his body for the first time all night. For the first time in six days, really.
Another sigh, his head dropping to look down at the ground. “You don’t need to be here.” The same old story, the same feeble attempt to push you away.
It wouldn’t work. You wouldn’t let it.
“Yeah,” you said quietly. “Yeah, I do.” You fixed your attention on the cut on his head, hand shaking as you continued to clean it. The exhaustion of the nonstop days, the horrifying feeling of having your entire family in danger, of having him in danger, was so much. Too much.
It was like an adrenaline crash, the comedown after operating in a constant state of panic for far too long.
Finally satisfied with your work, you grabbed a box of bandages from your bag. “Rainbows or bunnies?”
That earned you the tiniest hint of a smile. “Y/N.”
“Don’t Y/N me,” you retorted. “Rainbows or bunnies. Make a choice- sir.”
Hotch let out a huff of air, his eyes shining brightly at you despite the exhaustion. “Rainbows, I suppose. If you insist.”
“You know for a fact that I do indeed insist.” You brushed back his hair, placing the bandage just so. It looked absolutely ridiculous and you loved it. Your hand lingered, running through the soft locks and coming to rest on his cheek.
“Y/N, I-” he trailed off, his eyes searching yours. The stillness of the air was suddenly heavy, full of things that you both couldn’t yet say. Things that you so desperately wanted to say. Things that you so desperately wanted to hear. But not yet. Not now.
“I know, Aaron,” you said with a nod. “I know.”
He simply nodded in return and you watched as his shoulders slumped again. Your hands left his face and you began working at the knot of his tie. His hand met yours, causing your movements to still. “This is- this is unnecessary.”
You pushed his hand to the side with a soft smile. “You stubborn man. Let me take care of you.”
Another quiet huff from him, a sliver of a grin on his face. You resumed your work, pulling off the tie and setting it aside. Hotch went to stand, but you pulled him back down before moving on to the buttons of his shirt. It looked like he wanted to say something, though he remained silent. His eyes followed your hands, watching your every movement.
The last button undone, you shrugged the shirt off of his shoulders. “Let’s go to bed.”
You expected an argument, a rebuttal, for him to tell you to go back to your original room. Anything to serve to push you away, to try to stop whatever this was. Instead, he simply stood and walked to the bathroom. The door shut, and you heard the sink turn on.
There was a brief moment where you debated going to your room for your clothes, but it just seemed so far away. You turned your attention to the suitcase beside you instead. Just this once.
Hotch came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, shutting the door quietly. He made his way back to the bed, stopping in his tracks when he caught sight of you.
Distance.
He had spent so much time creating this barrier between the two of you. Every time you got close to crossing that line, to breaking down those walls, he built them up twofold. It was what was best, what was necessary. At least that’s what he told himself.
So much time, so much energy spent creating this distance.
But now? Staring at you in his oversize sweatshirt, the hem grazing your bare legs, he almost forgot why the barriers were there in the first place.
They seemed so insignificant, so infinitesimal. Life was too short, everything could be taken away from you in an instant. He had seen it time and time again.
All of these barriers, and for what?
He wanted to cross them. He wanted to so badly, but he wasn’t sure that he could. If he could allow himself to.
Hotch’s face was unreadable as he gazed at you, and you began to doubt yourself. “Sorry,” you said under your breath, tugging at the hem of the sweatshirt. “Is this alright? I can- I can take it off if-”
The hesitance in your voice caught him off guard, made his eyes soften. “Y/N,” he cut you off, stepping towards you.
The distance was pointless, a waste of precious time. He was certain.
Finally, he was certain.
His hands hovered for just a second before coming to rest on your waist. “It’s more than alright.”
You nodded shakily, the sudden contact overwhelming. Despite the years, despite the lingering glances and hidden touches, this was the closest the two of you had ever been, the tension between you almost palpable. It took over your thoughts, his steady hands on you the only thing on your mind. You buried your head in his shoulder, your arms wrapping around him in return.
The seconds passed by slowly, the silence in the room punctuated by a sharp inhale from Hotch. A pause- and then you felt him begin to shake in your grasp. You stepped away, tugging him gently onto the bed.
Once nestled under the covers, you blinked at him in the dark, watching how he tried to catch his breath, how he tried to hold himself together. Always with the trying. It was exhausting to watch, to know just how much he was struggling and how much he refused to let go. Your hand met his, lacing your fingers together. “It’s okay to not be okay,” you said softly. “It’s just me here.”
“Just you?” The laugh he let out was faint, broken even. “It’s not just you.”
The pain in his voice hurt, made your chest ache. You reached up, your fingers tracing his features with the lightest touch. Across his eyebrow, just below the bandage; down his cheek; across the sharpness of his jaw; and coming to rest on his lips. You could feel his breath on your fingers, feel the way that it hitched.
His hand wrapped around yours, and he pressed a kiss to your palm.
This. This was all that you wanted, all that you had needed for the last three years. For him to let you in, to just stop trying to keep that impossible distance. To just give in.
He took another shaky breath, a tear slipping out. Just one tear, the most you knew that he would allow himself.
You brushed it away with your thumb and just that tiny contact seemed to break the dam, to break that limit that he so steadily held himself to. He let out a quiet gasp, the tears falling more freely now.
You pulled him towards you, your arms wrapping around him once more and your hand running through his hair. Listening to his almost silent tears, feeling the way he trembled in your arms, broke your heart. This stoic, imperturbable man- your boss, your teammate, the man you had been in love with for the last three years- finally allowing himself a moment to let his guard down, a moment to feel.
Nothing else mattered, nothing else existed except for this. You and him. Alive, safe, together. You wanted nothing more than for him to trust you, to allow you to see the most vulnerable parts of him. They were some of the things you loved most about him.
The minutes ticked by as you repeated the same slow motions. Hand through the hair, the other on his back, tracing languid circles. Steady. Grounding.
When his breathing slowed and the shaking stopped, he pulled away, just enough to see your face. You brushed away the remaining tears, resting your hand on his cheek.
“You don’t always need to be okay,” you murmured. “But I’ll always be here.”
Silence fell over the room, enveloping the both of you as you gazed at one another. There was so much he wanted to say, needed to say. It felt like too much. The words threatened to choke him, and they wouldn’t come out. He settled for a silent offer, his arm wrapping around you, tugging you back toward him. You nestled into his chest, the sure sound of his heart just below your ear.
There was nowhere you felt safer, more loved, whole. If only you could spend every day right here. If only you could make a home out of his arms.
Hotch broke the silence, his voice just above a whisper as he finally spoke the words that had lived in the back of his mind for so long. “You know that I love you, right?”
A pause as you processed his words. It felt as though your heart had stopped, as though the world had stopped.
Three years. Three years of this seemingly endless dance, the two of you stepping around what was right in front of you. And now, here it was. Close enough for you to touch, to grab a hold of and never let go.
“Yeah,” you said softly. “I know. And I love you too.”
His hold on you tightened, his hands steadfast and sure. It felt right, like they were meant to be there. Like you were meant to be there with him.
Home.
You were finally home.