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maybege · 3 years

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What Happens in Kansas ... - FBI Part 1

Summary: You are pretty sure your boss hates you until you get a new case. (Part 1 of the FBI Series)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.8k | Rating: M

Warnings: mentions of sexual violence, canonical violence, Reader is attacked, also unrequited feelings (but are they?), a little bit of fluff, soft!Hotch maybe?

This is my first Hotch piece and I am so nervous posting this. I have read quite a bit of fanfic but only watched the first 8 episodes so far, so I hope I got his voice right. This is also my contribution to @aerynwrites Follower Celebration! I chose the trope 26 “Wearing each other’s clothes” and it kind of got away from me. 😂 I do have an idea of maybe expanding this into a series, so please let me know what you think!

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

“Front sight, trigger press, follow through.”

“I don’t even know what you mean by that,” you whined, despair laced through your voice, “And it doesn’t help when you repeat it again and again either.”

The lanky man next to you let his shoulders fall, “It was easier when Hotch taught me how to do it.”

Immediate remorse filled you. You knew Reid only wanted to help you when he had suddenly appeared at your desk, repeating the six words as if they were somehow a secret code for all your problems.

Well, not all your problems.

Just the most pressing one.

With a groan, you let your forehead rest on the desk, unable to hide your frustration any longer. “Everyone is going to laugh at me when I fail,” you mumbled, already feeling your ears heat up in embarrassment.

“If you fail.”

You turned your head to the side, glancing up at your colleague, “What?”

“You said when I fail, however, statistically, there is still a chance that –“

He saw your raised eyebrows and stopped talking, “Never mind.”

“Where did you have that phrase from anyway?” you asked him, noticing too late that it would bring the topic back to –

“Hotch taught me,” he explained cheerfully, “Granted, it took a bit of time and a serial killer but I did end up getting my qualification.”

“Great,” you muttered under your breath, your mind racing a hundred miles a minute. You did not want to think about Hotch’s disappointed and exasperated face when he would confront you about your failed qualification. Again.

God knew how you had gotten into the BAU in the first place. Aaron Hotchner certainly did not and he let you know that every chance he got.

Ever since you had gotten here, you had failed. Again and again and again. It was a miracle they let you keep working in the BAU or that you had not been called into Strauss’ office. The last shred of dignity you had was used to keep the tears at bay whenever your dark-haired supervisor would snap at you for one thing or another.

You hadn’t been in the field for weeks now, ever since Hotchner had found out you had no qualifications to carry a weapon and although Rossi had mentioned how a profiler did not necessarily need a weapon, you also knew that SSA Aaron Hotchner did not see you as one.

And if you were neither a profiler nor could hold a gun properly, what were you doing on this team?

And so, you had spent the last few weeks in Penelope Garcia’s office, trying to help the team from across a screen. Even if it meant having to hear his voice almost constantly and having your heart clench so tightly in your chest when any of them were in danger.

As if the devil had conjured him up himself, your boss entered the room, bypassing the bullpen and you felt your heart skip a beat. Like always he was wearing one of his black suits that just fit so damn well and you wondered if he was even capable of wearing something so informal as a t-shirt.

Then again, who knew if you would survive the sight of Aaron Hotchner in just sweatpants and a shirt? No matter how much you dreamt of seeing him like that.

In an attempt to keep down any unprofessional feelings at a professional place, you straightened up in your seat, trying to pull the wrap dress you were wearing into a more or less better position so that the wrinkles could not be seen so easily. This was probably the last thing that somehow kept up the pretence that you knew what you were doing – you were properly dressed.

But of course, Hotch did not spare you even a glance, he never did, as he strutted through the office, looking way better than should be allowed.

“Everybody in the conference room, now,” he announced loudly, Rossi and Morgan already following him because everybody knew what that meant.

A new case.

You stood up, grabbing a notepad and pen and following Reid up the steps. Everybody was already there and the last remaining place was at the very end of the table next to Rossi. Quietly you shuffled into the empty seat and smiled at the older man who reciprocated it.

You had never gotten a chance to really talk with him but you knew he was basically a walking legend at this point. On more than one occasion had Spencer filled you in on the legendary cases that Rossi and Gideon had solved manifesting the BAU as the essential unit of the FBI. But most importantly he was nice. And with how Hotch was glaring at you from the end of the room, kindness was worth everything at the moment.

Pictures of various body parts were already thrown on the wall and you swallowed harshly as you saw the victim’s faces. You still struggled sometimes, reocgnizing them as uman beings with their own individual lives and stories and reconciling that with the horrible ways the had to die.

“The police department has requested our help,” Hotchner started, “Three weeks, four victims.”

“He seems to get quicker,” Reid noted, “He escalated from one victim a week to already having two this week and it is only Thursday. We could have another body by Saturday.”

“Most likely,” Hotch confirmed, “The crimes are sexually motivated. The unsub seems to keep them alive for a few hours before he kills them.”

“So, it is about control,” Morgan piped up, “He wants to control when and how they die.”

“And what happens to them before,” you added quietly, jotting it down quickly. When you looked up again, you only found Hotch staring at you, lips in a tight line and you sank back in your chair. His dark eyes were fixed on yours and you knew that the others were looking at you as well but for the life of you, you could not look away from him.

You did not know whether you wanted him to keep looking at you or not.

When he turned back to the presentation, you could breathe a little easier.

“When do they expect a profile?” Rossi asked.

“We have 12 hours,” Hotch revealed to the collective groan of the team, “Wheels up in 20. I want all of you on the jet.”

The pointed look he sent you, made your chest feel hot and cold at the same time. What did he mean – “all of you”?

Was this right? Had your ears betrayed you? Were you so desperate now that you imagined hearing things that would fit into your dream world?

The others filed out, probably on the way to get their go bags and you flinched when you felt a warm hand on your shoulder. Turning around, you found Derek smiling encouragingly at you.

“That was a good addition, kid,” he nodded, “It is nice to have you contributing as well, you know? We can all learn from each other. Keep talking.”

You were not so sure about that but you were also too excited to really answer him.

“Uh, yeah, sure, I,” you nodded, standing up and pressing your notepad closer to your chest just so he could not spot the trembling of your hands, “Just one second.”

Walking to the office felt like a dream and you tried to focus on the way the hem of your dress fell against your calves. Something to ground yourself in.

You knocked on his door three times and following his muffled Come In opened it.

“Sir, I, uh – “

He did not look up from the file in front of him, “Hotch.”

“Yes, Si- Hotch, I mean. I just wanted to check if I understood you correctly?”

That made him look up and your heart skipped a beat as his cool gaze met yours. Shit, shit, shit, keep it together, your brain screamed at you and you shifted on your feet.

“That what was correct?”

“That I would come with you too – to Kansas City,” you hated how meek your voice sounded but when faced with the stoic gaze of Aaron Hotchner a man that your blood both freeze and boil at the same time, it was an accomplishment to get any words out at all.

“I do not make mistakes, Agent,” he snapped and there was something unreadable in his eyes, “Wheels up in 15, I suggest you hurry.”

Your heart fluttered with excitement. This was your chance! Your chance to prove yourself!

“Yes, Sir,” you nodded, still a little struck, “Of course, Sir.”

And with that, you closed the door behind you and hurried to Garcia’s office.

You hated yourself, truly, for feeling so soft towards a man who was so harsh. At least to you. You knew he could act differently, had seen him act differently with others. Sometimes Morgan would make a joke that would make him smile and it felt like it would light up the whole room. Once his eyes had met yours during one of his rare laughs and instead of closing up like he seemed to do around you, his eyes had remained soft and his laugh had turned into a small smile.

You had dreamt about it that night.

“So?” the woman in front of the screens swivelled in her chair, “Excited to be allowed on the field again?”

“I am not sure if I would call it excitement,” you muttered, “More like dread now that I think about it. What if he only did it to have me make mistakes again? To get a final reason to have me fired?”

“I still think you are misreading it all,” the quirky woman shrugged, putting her headset in front of her on the desk before throwing you a mischievous smile, “You’re the only one he lets him call Sir, after all.”

“That’s not exactly a testament to how much he cares for me, Penelope.” Rather the opposite.

“It is when you see the way he looks at you,” she replied, “Your bag is over there by the way.”

You followed her gesture to the dark corner in the room and picked up your black bag. It had been so long since you had packed it, you hoped it would be complete. There was no going back now.

“Wish me luck, Penelope,” you murmured, smiling slightly at her.

“You don’t need luck, honey,” she replied easily, “You only need to be more confident, hm?”

Penelope had been right.

But also, very very wrong.

Because as much as it had helped to be more confident, it also brought you right where you were. Underneath a screaming Unsub (Walter Jacobson, 27, serial rapist and murder) with no discernible weapon.

It had all started when you had overheard Reid talking to Hotch in the coffee kitchen back at the PD.

“I do not appreciate your tone,” you had heard the older man say, just as you were about to join them for a cup of tea. Captain Coulson had suggested that you be the bait for the unsub as you had fit the victim pool close enough to rouse his attention.

“What kind of assessment are you supposed to hold over her? Is she about to be transferred?”

That had made you freeze in your movements, remaining standing just short in front of the open door. Your heart felt like it had dropped into your metaphorical pants.

“She is not about to be transferred,” Hotch had replied calmly but you had heard him talk enough to know something was off about his voice. He had said your name then, your full name, and it had made you lick your lips with how unusually soft he had said it. “She is one of my agents and she will stay with the BAU. I do not have to explain myself to you.”

“I just –“

“That’s enough, Reid,” Hotch had cut him off and moments later Reid was stepping out of the kitchen, his eyes falling on you.

That was when you had turned on your heel, marched back to Captain Coulson and agreed to be the bait.

“Get off me!” you screamed, kicking and screaming as the man dragged you across the ground of the abandoned parking lot.

“That’s what they said,” the young man seethed and you heard somewhere the chirping of a car opening. Your eyes fell to a car. Dark Sedan just as the team had deduced.

You yanked yourself free, feeling the strap of your dress and rip and you flew backwards, your palms scraping over the asphalt as you tried to cushion your fall.

“Oh no, you don’t,” he hissed, raising his fist.

You swung your hand up, grunting when your hand made impact with his cheek. Where were they? You knew they must be here any second to arrest him. Was this not enough evidence already?

The blood that dripped down your eyebrow agreed with you.

Remembering one of your lessons, you raised your legs, knowing your legs had more strength in them than your arms, and kicked him in the groin. Something cluttered to the floor and you turned your head to see a gun. His gun.

For a moment you both seemed to freeze, Walter looking at you as you both realized what happened.

At the same time, you both lunged for the weapon. He was quite a bit taller than you and you screamed as his elbow rammed into your back, reminding you how your dress was almost falling off you. But by some sort of divine intervention, it was your hand that reached the gun first, your fingers that wrapped around the cool material.

Your temple made harsh contact with the street as the unsub tried to pry the gun from you but you resisted, gritting your teeth against the pain and instead of closing your eyes as he turned you on your back, you had them wide open.

A hand closed around your throat and you whimpered, fingers finding the trigger and you pulled it.

The shot was louder than anything you ever heard and you felt the fight leave the man on top of you. There were shouts from somewhere, you distantly heard Hotch call something. You knew it could not have been longer than a few moments but it felt like an eternity until the man was lifted off you.

There was something warm and wet on your middle and your stomach turned at the idea of the man’s blood on you.

Another hand was on you. No, two hands. Warm and soft as they framed your face.

“Are you okay?” Hotch asked, almost shouting at you, “Look at me, are you okay?”

You tried to nod but the movement was accompanied by a wince. “Did we get him?” you asked, frowning as you saw the furrow between his brows. He looked incredibly displeased and your stomach dropped at the thought of having done something wrong. Had you let him escape? Had you fucked up?

You tried to turn your head to a commotion next to you but Hotch’s finger kept you looking straight at him. His lips tugged up and – was that a smile?

“We got him,” he confirmed softly, “You did a good job. Are you okay?”

He had already asked you that.

“I – I think,” you answered, slowly sitting up with his help.

“The shock,” he stated, calm and collected as ever, and you shivered, nodding along to his words.

You looked down, bile rising in your throat as you saw the dark patch on the middle of your dress. Your dress was tattered and ripped to pieces almost. Heat rose to your cheeks as you saw how the Unsub had ripped it in the middle and you tried your best to cover yourself.

“Here,” warm fabric glided over your shoulders and you shivered, instinctively pulling the jacket over your shoulders. You looked up, finding none other than Hotch – Aaron – next to you. Of course. He had been here before. But the soft look in his eyes made you feel all kind of things as the adrenaline washed away from you.

Your bottom lip quivered. You couldn’t break down now, you couldn’t break down in front of him.

“The paramedics will take a look at you,” he said under his breath and his hands were warm on your shoulders. You wished he would never stop touching you. It felt like the only thing that was keeping you together at this moment were his hands and the way he was looking at you.

He was not mad at you.

For once, he was not mad at you.

“Hotch?” Derek’s voice piped up from somewhere and you both looked up at him, “They need you over there.”

Hotch did not move. If anything, his fingers twitched on your shoulders and you tilted your head. Even in your muddled state, you knew this was not typical of him.

Derek seemed to notice it too and repeated the sentence before adding, “I will keep an eye on her.”

“She will need to see the paramedics.”

“I will make sure she will be seen to, boss.”

Only then did Hotch stand up and you followed him with your eyes until it hurt to crane your neck that far. Derek crouched down in front of you, worry in his eyes, “You think you can stand or should we get the paramedics to you?”

“If you will help me, I think I can walk over,” you smiled and with one hand on Derek’s arm and the other keeping Hotch’s jacket around your shoulders, you wobbled over to the blinking ambulance.

It was decided you would fly back that very same night.

JJ had organized a change of clothes for you and now you were dressed in one of your favourite wrap dresses that you had forgotten was in the go bag. After the paramedics had given a more than doubtful diagnosis, Derek had taken you to the ER to be checked over again and with a few band-aids and bandages, you were released to fly back to Quantico together with your team.

The car ride was quiet as you tried to work through what had happened.

Hotch’s jacket was still around your shoulders. At this point, it was not only something that kept you warm but it helped you to somehow feel less helpless, less crazy.

This was the first action you had seen in the field and it had been more scarring than anything you had experienced ever before. You focused on some of the breathing exercises you had read about online, trying to keep yourself calm and rational.

This was your job and it had worked. You had used the tools at your disposal to defend yourself and arrest an unsub.

You had shot a man.

He had tried to kill you.

Your head was pounding and so was your heart in your chest.

The clock on the dashboard showed 3:43 am when you arrived at the airport.

“I’ll give you a minute, okay?” Morgan said next to you and you nodded, pressing your palm in front of your mouth to keep the sobs at bay, “We are all here for you if you want to talk about it.”

He kept looking at you for a moment longer but you stoically looked at the compartment in front of you.

Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it together.

The car shut behind Derek, leaving you completely alone in the car.

Something akin to a wail left you, there was no other way to describe it. All air had left your lungs and you buried your face in your hands, allowing you a few minutes of unrestrained crying as your body relived the panic and the fear all over again.

The car opened again, momentarily bringing in cool air and the thundering sound of the storm before it closed again.

You did not need to look up to know it was Hotch, the smell of his cologne had already betrayed him. But what was worse was that no matter how hard you tried, you could not stop your crying. You simply could not.

“I’m sorry,” you hiccupped, straightening your posture and wiping at your cheeks, “I will try to keep it together on the flight.”

The rain hammered against the windshield and you saw nothing but the blurred light from the jet. The overhead light turned off at the lack of movement and you were glad for the darkness, hoping it shielded you a little more from him.

“The first time I shot someone, I threw up right after.”

You looked at the man next to you. The lights from outside made him glow, the patterns of the rain throwing curious shadows over his face. He was not looking at you either, seemingly lost in a memory.

“What?” you asked dumbly.

He chuckled, a dimple appearing in his cheek and at this point, you were sure it was just the shock preventing you from crying.

“What I am trying to say is,” he gestured to the window, “Everybody on that plane knows what you are going through right now, more or less. And we are here for you.”

Are you here for me too?

“I know you heard the conversation between me and Reid,” he continued and you felt your bottom lip tremble again, “And I need you to know that if I ever made you feel like you needed to prove yourself, not to this team but to me specifically, I am sorry,” he looked at you, “It is my duty to keep this team safe and whether you have realized it yet or not, you are part of it as well.”

His words hung between you and you swallowed thickly.

Hotch was still looking at you, soft and honest and open, and your hands twitched on your thigh. His eyes fell to your lap and you saw him reach out before he stopped himself, his fingers instead drifting to the fabric draped over your shoulders.

“Uh,” you mumbled, feeling overwhelmed and warm, “Thank you. For the jacket, too, I mean but also for – for this.”

“You can keep it,” he replied, still this half-smile on his lips that made your cheeks heat up, “Suits you better anyway.”

His hand was still on your shoulder, heavy and warm and that was he was at that moment. Warm.

“Do you think you are ready to face the circus?” he asked and you smiled at the actual joke that he had just made.

You nodded, watching as he rushed out of the car, jogging around to your side and before you could look twice he had opened the door for you.

Maybe you had a concussion after all.

“Hotch,” you asked, courage and hope and maybe a little bit of recklessness flaring up in your chest, “Did you mean what you said to Reid? That I will stay with the BAU?”

It rained stronger now and you watched as it strands of dark hair against his forehead. His big hands moved into the pockets of his slacks as he looked at you. And there, standing in front of you with the jet behind him, he looked every bit the BAU chief that he acted.

“I don’t make mistakes,” he murmured softly, his lips quirking up, as he held out his hand for you to take, “Agent.”

#maybege writes #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aerynstropechallenge

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