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masterwords · 3 years

Note

I love the way you portrait allergies and hope it raises awareness as there are so many misconceptions.

I know that in previous works you sometimes wrote the team knowing about Hotch's food allergy or finding out about it because someone told them.

However, I would love something about the team finding out about Hotch's allergies due to an allergic reaction, if you're interested in writing that.

I love your writing btw

Hi Anon! THANK YOU! That makes me so incredibly happy to hear and I am glad it is appreciated. Allergies are rough! I hope you don't have any, or that if you do, they are well managed and you are safe! I worked for an Allergist for many years as his nurse and clinic manager, and then I had kids and one of them was born with quite a lot of life threatening allergies so I have a considerable amount of firsthand experience with managing them and spending time in the ER when things slip through the cracks. If I can write it up realistically and shed some light on how anaphylaxis looks, I am definitely glad to do it and I hope no one ever thinks I take it lightly. <3 As requested, here you go! (I went ahead and stuck with @yourlocalheartbreaker's hc that he's allergic to strawberries.)

Warnings - allergies, hospital, vomit, food

***

“Anything for you, handsome?” the waitress asked and Hotch glanced up from the email he was reading briefly, glanced at the menu on the table before him and shook his head dismissively.

“Coffee is fine, thank you,” he murmured and went back to the email. Everyone at the table exchanged exasperated glances – no one ever said anything, but they hadn't seen Hotch eat anything in days. They were sure he must have eaten something but when?

“You know,” Reid chimed in, taking the reins. “Your brain accounts for about 20% of your daily energy use and requires somewhere in the ballpark of 320 calories just to function. I don't think you're getting that from coffee, Hotch.”

Hotch turned his eyes up from his phone, leveled his glare at Reid and stared. Reid felt his heart stop. Full stop, right there in his chest. “Your point?” Hotch asked. Reid gulped and squared his shoulders, ready for the confrontation he'd brought on himself.

“That we have a long day ahead of us and you should probably order something to eat,” Reid said, unwilling to back down. Morgan held his breath and Emily leaned away from Reid, just in case Hotch lost his cool and threw a fork. To his credit, Hotch just stared a moment, and then he closed the email and he stood up to leave the table. Everyone watched silently, concerned that Hotch was going to leave the restaurant entirely. They wouldn't put it past him just to leave. Instead, he approached the waitress while she refilled her pitchers of water and brewed another carafe of coffee. He turned his back to the team so they couldn't read his lips and explained as quietly as he could that he had an allergy to strawberries, and while he wanted to order something to eat he wasn't comfortable going into details at the table in front of his colleagues. He wasn't necessarily hiding it from them, but it would just serve as a distraction and they couldn't afford it. He refused to let them be constantly worrying about him and food, so he rarely ate much when they were traveling, stuck to known safe foods, and he never accepted anyone's offer of food unless it came with an ingredient label. He inquired about the fruit salad, whether it included strawberries and what else they used the knife for that cut the salad. At first she insisted they used different knives, but as they watched the cook slice up the cantaloupe and the strawberries and then rinse the knife under cold water before slicing a tomato for an omelet, Hotch felt justified for his vigilance. She was horrified, wondering how many other corners were cut and he assured her it was normal, especially in busy kitchens.

“My brother is a cook in Manhattan,” he offered with a soft smile. “He's given me a list of restaurants a mile long to avoid, unfortunately quite a few that I've wanted to try. It's disheartening but very common.” She busied herself with the coffee while he asked her for a bowl of oatmeal with blueberries on top, it seemed safe enough and she assured him she'd make it herself since they were the only people in the restaurant and she had time on her hands.

“You win,” Hotch said softly, if not a little sarcastically, when he returned, and his oatmeal was delivered to his place before anyone else got their food. Reid grinned. Emily whined that it wasn't fair, she was starving and Hotch went back to reading his emails silently.

The next morning they ended up in the same diner, and when Hotch saw it was the waitress from the day before he went ahead and ordered oatmeal with blueberries. He added on an order of dry sourdough toast as well, because he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast the day before and he was famished. No one had bothered him about food, but there hadn't been anything he trusted to eat the rest of the day while they were working and by the time he was back in his hotel room he was too tired to think about finding a vending machine. His bed sounded better than potato chips anyway. He excused himself to make a phone call and returned to find the food delivered and there was a small container of grape jelly on his plate of toast. He dug in happily, listening to everyone around him talking excitedly and he was glad that none of it was case related. They had plenty of time for that and while he preferred as few distractions as possible, it worried him when they couldn't seem to turn it off and remember who they were outside of the horrors.

“Hotch are you alright?” Reid asked, leaning forward with an odd look of concern on his face. Hotch hadn't realized it until that moment but he did feel flushed and he'd been clearing his throat, not frequently at first but it had started to feel itchy and thick. He glanced back at the waitress as she cleared a table and thought about hailing her, and then he felt Rossi's fingers on his neck, a strange imposition and he lifted his hands to brush him away but Rossi was already loosening his tie and peering with concern at the raised red welts forming beneath Hotch's collar. He glanced around the table desperately, trying to figure out what was happening, it didn't make sense – his oatmeal was fine, he'd had grape jelly, his toast was dry, and then he saw it. The knife he'd used, his knife, had a small splotch of something red and there was an emptied container of strawberry jam beside Prentiss' plate. It hit him like a ton of bricks, the embarrassment, the panic; frantically he calculated how far they were from the hospital and whether or not he could drive himself by how fast his reaction was spreading.

“I need to go,” he said softly, just trying to hold it together. If he left now he may be able to outrun it, he figured. It was a longshot but there was a long stretch of empty Idaho highway between he and the hospital, it seemed to him that it might work out in his favor.

“What's wrong?” Prentiss asked, and he stared at the knife again, clearing his throat. He didn't want to say it, didn't want to make anyone feel bad and he was slowly coming to the realization that he would need some help, driving was going to be out of the question momentarily.

“Hospital,” he replied, feeling suddenly very lightheaded. He needed to get out of there quickly, to stand up and get his blood pumping or he was going to pass out. “I need to get to the hospital. Please.” That please was hard, admitting he couldn't do it on his own, and he looked at Morgan when he said it. He wasn't asking Morgan directly, he would have gone with anyone that offered, but he was hopeful. Having Morgan with him would take away his worry, his need to try and control the situation, be the leader when he was just trying to keep his heart beating.

Without hesitation, and with full understanding, Morgan sprang up from his chair and helped Hotch to his feet. His college roommate had a peanut allergy and he'd taken the poor guy to the hospital more times than he cared to remember, he knew what it looked like and how urgent it could be. He'd seen Hotch's epi-pens, usually out in the open in his hotel room but carefully hidden the rest of the time and he'd always assumed it was bees or something, never bothered to ask.

“You guys get to the station, I'll take Hotch,” Morgan said, taking charge immediately. “We'll meet up later.” It was like the air had been sucked out of the room, they'd all gone from happily chatting to watching as Morgan practically dragged Hotch out of the restaurant and out to the SUV. He had his hand between Hotch's shoulders, supportive but not overstepping, and the team stared until the SUV was out of sight.

“What the hell was that?” JJ asked, clearly flustered.

“I think Hotch has a food allergy,” Reid replied, frowning. “There must have been something in his oatmeal...”

“Oh my God, I used his knife...” Prentiss muttered, eyes wide as saucers. “He wouldn't have eaten anything on purpose that wasn't safe. He asked for dry toast, and he had grape jelly. I had buttered toast and I used his knife for my strawberry jam...my knife fell on the floor...”

“Strawberries,” Rossi said softly, coming to a sudden realization as images from years past fluttered through his mind. Restaurants, dinners at his home, baked goods in the break room. Prentiss, for all her unshakable charm, looked like she was going to cry. He put his arm around her shoulder and shook his head. “You didn't know...” he whispered. "None of us did."

“Did I just kill Hotch?”

“He's with Morgan, he's going to be fine,” Reid chimed in, still eating his breakfast. “Morgan's college roommate his freshman year had a peanut allergy. He's told me stories. Apparently he was the only guy on the entire floor with an allergy and the other students would prank him, thought it was funny. One time they put peanut butter on their doorknob. Morgan got into a lot of fights that year, he almost got thrown out except he was able to prove finally what was going on and got the other kids expelled. The kid's parents even pressed charges. Anyway, if I was experiencing anaphylaxis, I'd want to be with Morgan.”

Morgan was speeding. Not just a few over the limit, he was flying down the highway and he considered flipping on the lights but he didn't want to push his luck with Hotch who was already on the verge of telling him to lay off the gas pedal, he could see it in his eyes. He'd told Hotch to self-inject before the car rolled out of the parking lot, but he reacted poorly to epinephrine and Morgan was worried he'd somehow made things worse by forcing him to inject in his hurry. He knew all of the steps by heart, was falling back into an old routine but Hotch wasn't like Jeremy, Hotch didn't vocalize his discomfort, he just sat silently sweating and breathing too fast like he was having a panic attack.

“You good?” he asked, hazarding a glance to the side. Hotch had his cheek against the cool glass of the window and his eyes closed in concentration. His lips were parted enough that Morgan could see the fog on the glass from his breath. He nodded, just slightly and winced, squeezing his eyes shut while he focused on drawing slower breaths. His chest was tight and his hands were tingling now, and though his eyes were closed he felt it in his stomach when Morgan pressed harder on the gas pedal and turned on the flashers.

“What are you allergic to?” Morgan asked. The question made Hotch's stomach churn. He didn't want to think about it.

“Strawberries,” he whimpered and Morgan was hit with a flash of clarity, he understood what happened and he didn't press the issue further. “Morgan you shouldn't be using the lights,” he added, turning to look at his friend, upset that he was frightening him so much. He sat up and tried to straighten himself out, tried to look less sick for the other man's sake. “Please slow down, turn off the lights.”

“This is an emergency,” Morgan argued and Hotch sighed, balling up his fists to stop his hands from shaking.

“We're getting close,” he replied and Morgan ignored his pleas from there on out, whipping through what little traffic there was once they hit town until finally he was screeching to a halt in the emergency room loading zone. He didn't bother to shut off the engine, just threw it in park and jumped out of the car. Hotch struggled to get out first, before Morgan could get to him, and the motion of standing made his stomach flip. He dropped to his knees, losing his entire breakfast on the sidewalk. Too weak to move, he just sagged there breathing heavily, waiting. Morgan ran inside and asked for someone to come help him, he tried to keep himself from looking as frantic as he felt. He crouched beside Hotch while they grabbed a bucket and a wheelchair, placed his arm around Hotch's shoulders and told him it was okay, it was all he could think to do. Hotch was gone, his surroundings were nothing but a heated blur as he fought his way through blinding stomach cramps on the sidewalk.

The team were distracted, even after Morgan called and told them they made it. Even after he asked them to focus on the case. He stopped by the precinct while Hotch was being hooked up to machines and grabbed boxes of files to help Reid go through, and assured them again that Hotch was going to be fine, he just didn't want to make him sit there alone. They were texting him all day while he worked from the hospital room, having stolen the rolling table for himself. He stole Hotch's jello, too, but forced him to eat the saltines when the nurses said his blood sugar was dangerously low. Garcia insisted on talking to him face to face and every so often she would shoot him a look that told him to turn the laptop around so she could see Hotch because she couldn't be there in person and she just desperately hated letting them leave her city so much because something awful always happened. Morgan ran interference all day, shut off Hotch's phone when it became clear that it was just agitating him knowing he couldn't be helpful. The nurses brought them popsicles and Garcia couldn't help herself, she made inappropriate comments about Morgan and his. It made Hotch laugh uncomfortably, just a soft little thing but it was enough to ease Morgan and Garcia's frayed nerves.

Hotch was groggy and weak when they made it back to the hotel after spending the entire day in the hospital. All he could think about was his bed. Morgan's phone was buzzing like crazy and he managed to hold everyone off.

“You good?” he asked, watching while Hotch opened his door. There was exhaustion in his eyes, his features drawn and somber. “I'll hold 'em off. Get some sleep, Hotch.”

“Thanks, Morgan.”

They couldn't help being distracted for the next few days, watching him like a hawk when they thought he wasn't looking. He didn't eat, at least not in front of them, but Reid saw him at midnight in front of the vending machine. The hallway light was an odd yellow and Hotch cast an ominous shadow there grabbing a bottle of Sprite and a bag of plain potato chips. He didn't say anything, just smiled when Hotch passed him and let him have his quiet midnight snack without inquisition.

“Have you slept?” Morgan asked, pacing back and forth in front of the SUV when Hotch emerged from the hotel looking like death warmed over. Everyone was running late, checking out, cleaning their rooms. It was always Hotch and Morgan out first, they brought the fewest items and packed up the fastest, rarely sat around and took their time. They just wanted to get home.

“No,” Hotch said softly, too tired to care about putting up his carefully constructed facade. He was on steroids and antihistamines and his system was reacting predictably, confused and worn down. Exhausted during the day, wide awake at night. Morgan drove them to the air strip and corralled the team in the front of the jet where they could play cards and visit, keeping the back of the jet empty so Hotch could get some sleep. On his way back, he was bombarded with the questions everyone had been bursting at the seams to ask him since the diner. He sat down reluctantly in the empty seat beside Rossi and looked at them expectantly, listening to their concerns and questions. He let them all get out what they needed to say, answered as thoughtfully and concisely as he could, and Rossi could see that he was just about maxed out. He patted Hotch on the thigh and smiled.

“I'm just glad you're alright,” he said, nodding and Hotch smiled. “And I'm impressed you managed to keep it a secret as long as you did.”

“It wasn't a secret,” Hotch began softly. “It just never came up. I appreciate all of your concern, but please don't change anything on my account. I've had this allergy my entire life and I can manage it on my own...so long as people don't use my utensils without saying so.” he frowned at Emily and her eyes went as wide as saucers, cheeks draining of all color. He waited a moment more, felt the air stifle around them, before cracking a smile and Morgan couldn't help it, he erupted into a loud burst of laughter. “Excuse me,” Hotch said finally, standing and walking to the empty seats at the back of the jet. He hadn't slept or eaten more than potato chips in two days and he was ready to check out. It took him no time at all to fall asleep.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #spencer reid #david rossi #emily prentiss #penelope garcia #jennifer jj jareau #sick hotch

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whump-town · 3 years

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@yourlocalheartbreaker mentioned this meme I made a while ago and I thought I’d share.

It’s just funny because Hotch has nothing so none of the Hotch-stans ever have anything to argue about

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds memes

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literateish · 3 years

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han's two hundred followers celebration!

thank you so much to everyone who follows me! i love you all so much <3 i've decided that i want to write more, so for this celebration, i'm going to be doing prompts!

here’s my usual pinned post

i'm going to be doing this in two ways: you can either send a song and i'll write a fic inspired by it, or you can send prompts from this list, or if you want you can combine the two and send a song and a prompt. some guidelines below!

you can combine prompts (send multiple numbers)

you can send only one song, but can add prompts

please specify what kinda genre you want (angst, fluff, etc. - it's me so otherwise i will just assume angst)

there will be nothing nsfw

for this, i'll be writing for aaron hotchner, emily prentiss, or alex blake x reader, hotchniss, jemily, prosely or reidaway - these are all romantic, but if you want, i'll do it platonic. i'll also do spencer reid x platonic!reader, but not romantic

please only send them to my ask box - don't request by replying to this post or by messaging me

for example:

"happier by olivia rodrigo, with prompt 21, for emily prentiss x reader (angst)"

the prompt list is copied from this post under the cut!

“please don’t leave me alone.”

patching up a wound

“have you been taking care of yourself?”

peppering their face with kisses

“i thought i could trust you.”

crying on their doorstep

“i won't hurt you.”

watching them love someone else

“i can’t love you anymore.”

accidental brushing hands

“i didn’t know where else to go.”

nightmares about losing them

“i wasn’t ready to say goodbye.”

dying love confession

“we’re not just friends and you know it.”

unrequited love

“why would you want me?”

near death experience

“it’s all my fault.”

a lingering hug

“i can’t lose you.” “you already have.”

a kiss on the temple

“i’m never leaving.”

a playful kiss on the tip of the nose

“you should’ve listened to me.”

“i think i love you.”

accidentally falling asleep together

“can we stay like this forever?”

wearing their clothes

“kiss me.”

kissing in a stairwell (height difference)

“is that blood?”

“you’ve got some food on your lip, let me get it.”

friends discovering the relationship

“you owe me a kiss.”

secret relationship

“i hope you’re happy.”

“apparently there’s a bet that we’ll end up together.”

watching a movie together

“are you flirting with me?”

accidental marriage

“you’re an idiot.” “but you love me.”

“i won’t hurt you.”

fake dating / undercover relationship

“i’m so proud of you.”

"i would've done anything for you."

“you’re beautiful.”

“sorry doesn’t fix everything.”

the ‘oh’ moment

“i love you.”

tagging some mutuals! @willowrose99 @meganskane @fruityprentiss @ssahotchswifemain @the-modernmary @jetaime-jespere @yourlocalheartbreaker @jj-arms @mdawritings @softhairedhotch @wonderlandhatter @dudeitiskarev @taralewiz @jemilyisms @reidaissance @adoringpoet @obliviousreid @spencerreidat3am @olivinesea @spookyspence @anastasiahotchner @moderatelydelusional @jillys-feral-fandoms @luvofyourlifeliv @reidyoulikeabook @quietmisery

#han's follower celebration #writing prompts #emily prentiss x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #alex blake x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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themetaphorgirl · 3 years

Note

Wait no but if Hotch is lactose intolerant (he must be because that’s the only reason that pasta would’ve made him so scared)... IS HE GOING TO BE SICK IN THE CAR??? BECAUSE HES ALREADY STRESSED AND UPSET AND IF HE IS IM NOT SURE ILL SURVIVE!!

And the only thing worse would be if he’s sick at school and Spencer is like: lemme take care of you because he did it for his mom and Hotch is just like: kid...

ALSO IS SPENCER’S NICKNAME BUG??

(I may have sent these as separate asks before but I have a terrible memory for these things I am so sorry if I have)

👀 👀 👀 👀 👀

#yourlocalheartbreaker #au: patron Saint of lost causes #listen I have been SO bad about answering asks I am the WORST

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olivinesea · 3 years

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All Your Life

a/n: My attempt at an apology for the bad things I last did to Hotch. Inspired by @yourlocalheartbreaker always going on about Hotch being able to sing (a pleasant thought). ~1.3k

Just Jack & Hotch at bedtime.

It was his favorite time of day, the sun finally set and things moved slow. But not late enough yet to feel the anxiety that came with not sleeping, the early hours where he knew he was doing something wrong by being awake. No, now it was just the gentle moments when everything had finished and children were safely in bed. There was nothing left to do but find some soft place to lean into and maybe get lost in a book. It was the time when he could just appreciate that he’d made it through another day, without having to worry about what the next would bring. A rare moment of peace.

He wandered through the apartment, turning off lights, triple checking locks. He paused in the kitchen to wash the few dishes from their meal of macaroni and broccoli. A corner of his mouth twitched when he thought about the horrified disapproval of his friends but Jack was pleased with it and that pleased him. He boiled water for some tea, Penelope’s assurances running through his mind about the wonders of herbal tea and the near-magical benefits it provided for bad sleepers. He cut the kettle off before it made enough noise to disturb Jack. He’d been having nightmares lately and Hotch wanted to make sure he got all the sleep he could. The last thing he wanted was for his son to develop the same poor sleep habits as him.

He walked quietly down the hallway, already anticipating the warmth of his bed. The mug was heating his fingers and the rest of his body was demanding its share. He slowed as he got to Jack’s door, debating looking in, one last confirmation of his safety. He knew it was irrational but he felt waves of fear whenever Jack was out of his sight for too long. The family counselor said it was normal, that it was only a natural result of the trauma and loss they had both suffered not long ago. Hotch wanted to believe that but the illogical nature of it, knowing there was no way his son was not in his bed where he left him less than an hour earlier, clashed with this creeping fear. He wanted to conquer it, deny its existence and it felt as if giving in, opening the door to quickly check, would only give more power to the fear. Like it would only reinforce the hyper-vigilance he was repeatedly told was unhealthy.

As he struggled with himself, his ears caught a small whimper. It took all his self control not to throw the door open, to jump to fight whatever was causing Jack pain. He knew that action would only scare him and was completely unnecessary, regardless of what the animal instincts raging through him were telling him. Instead he knocked lightly before turning the doorknob. It was dark except for the nightlight, casting planet shaped shadows low on the wall opposite the narrow twin bed. He could just make out Jack’s little form, curled up with the blue spaceship blankets thrown off, shivering slightly.

It only took two steps for Hotch to be at his side, setting the mug down a little too hard, making it splash on the bedside table. He sat on the mattress more gently, touching Jack’s shoulder.

“Hey, buddy,” he said quietly, “what’s going on?”

Jack sniffled as he turned his head over his shoulder to look at his dad, his little face reddened and wet with tears he’d been trying to muffle. Looking at him twisted Hotch’s heart, he was familiar with the desperation of trying to hide sadness, trying to be okay. He hated that Jack was trying to hide this from him.

“I miss Mommy,” the little boy whimpered.

Hotch felt his breath catch, the words sending pain shooting through all his scars, all the places where his bones haven’t quite healed.

“Me too buddy” he said sadly, rubbing small circles on Jack’s shoulder.

Jack started to cry harder so Hotch scooped him up and held him close against his chest. He bent down and kissed the top of Jack’s head, smelling the sweet baby shampoo Jack still used because Hotch was terrified of getting real soap in his eyes. He let him cry for awhile, feeling the tears dampen the fabric of his t-shirt. As he cradled his son on his lap, he wished things could be different. He would give anything to get Haley back. Not for himself, he didn’t deserve that, but for Jack to have all the love he was owed.

After a little while he asked, “Do you want to talk to her?” It had been a suggestion from the counselor—that they begin the practice of talking to Haley as if she could hear, that this could help Jack to feel connection to his mother. That it might make it easier for him as he grew up without her there.

But Jack shook his head, holding his hand against his mouth, crying more softly but the tears unrelenting. Hotch thought, running his fingers through the soft blond hair as he wished there was someone to tell him what to do.

“Do you want me to sing to you?”

Jack pressed his face into Hotch’s chest and nodded his head, making a small humming noise so similar to the one Hotch made it was impossible not to recognize.

Hotch closed his eyes and grasped at a song. Though he had no memories of anyone singing to him as a child, he did clearly remember Haley doing it sometimes when he had nightmares. When they were young and it was just the two of them in the world. Before the cases and the criminals and the fights and the silences. He never could have imagined then that what had come before would be simple compared to what came after. That one day, sooner than anyone could have predicted, it would just be him alone again, stumbling through the responsibilities of caring for the only piece of Haley left in the world. The only piece left because he had failed in every way.

He pushed those thoughts away, he’d come back to his long list of sins later. This moment was about Jack. He hesitated, it had been awhile since he’d sung anything, tried a melody more complicated than some mindless humming. This felt important. Jack was snuggled against him, hot breath steaming his shirt. Hotch adjusted them so his back was against the headboard, long legs scrunched onto the child’s mattress.

“Alright,” he murmured, “Mommy liked this one.”

At first his voice was unsteady, but as he got to the second refrain he’d found his place. His voice was deep and Jack was soothed by the vibrations resonating through his dad’s chest as much as he was by the sound of his voice. He’d fallen back asleep by the second time through the song, a limp weight, heavy on his chest. Hotch sang it one more time, quietly to himself, to Haley, remembering being in Jack’s position while Haley ran her fingers through his hair, chasing away his bad dreams with her sweet voice.

you were only waiting for this moment to arise

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, not ready to disturb Jack, though he knew he’d pay for it with a sore back in the morning. He gladly let the sleep creep past the edges and slide him into a dream where Haley was there, singing with them.

#Criminal Minds #aaron hotchner #jack hotchner

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electricsockhead · 3 years

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URL CHANGE!!

moreidstrobed -> electricsockhead

⭐️ previous pinned ⭐️

tagging some moots 🙈🙈: @thejeidhater @yourfinalbow @hotchgan @yourlocalheartbreaker @4x24 @i-am-golden @morceid @cabotism @tenelevez @plethores @naomireid @makaylajadewrites @spencers-renaissance

#🍒.txt #updates

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sodone-withlife · 3 years

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enough

yay this is my first fic in over a month, and as per usual, there's not much proofreading. all mistakes are my own. also, this isn't as whump-y as my past works and includes a number of my headcanons

@yourlocalheartbreaker here's over 2k words of a rather OOC Criminal Minds fanfic based on your post :) I've intentionally made the ending a bit ambiguous, so let your imagination run wild. the case is also based on what happened in Boston.

here’s a post that clarifies some ambiguities

warnings: alcohol, mentioned character death, mentioned canon typical violence. also, I love all of the characters, but for the purposes of this story, this will come across as everyone (except Hotch, Morgan, and Strauss) slander. don't like it, don't read it.

word count: 2.2k words

“I really am sorry I couldn’t do more,” Strauss said quietly.

Hotch shook his head, staring into his whiskey. “You’ve already done so much,” he said equally quietly. He hesitated, wondering if he should give voice to the thought that had been nagging at him since the last in a week-long series of grueling questioning and testimony.

Fuck it, he thought, dowing the last of his whiskey.

“I think we both knew it was coming,” he said, looking at his now-former boss unflinchingly. To her credit, Strauss didn’t try to hide that she shared his thoughts as they shared a knowing look. “Too many minor bureaucratic infractions, a few major fiascos,” he continued, shaking his head ruefully, “it was only a matter of when.”

Strauss remained silent, swirling the last of her own drink in her glass. It was a longstanding tradition between the two of them to go out for drinks after especially taxing cases and bureaucratic nightmares, one that started weeks after Gideon stepped down and went on leave.

Finally, she broke the silence. “Why did you lie? You and I know very well you had nothing to do with it.” She turned to face Hotch fully, a hint of confusion appearing in her expression. “Why take the fall?”

The answer easily came to Hotch, but it didn’t erase the bitterness with which the words came out. “The leader is replaceable, but the team isn’t.” He looked pained, avoiding her incredulous stare. “Same reason as always.”

He could understand her exasperation; it wasn’t the first time he had discussed the issues within the team with her. Over the years, she tried again and again to get him out, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he did. She eventually accepted his refusal to leave, but it didn’t stop her from dropping hints of disapproval here and there—and they both knew some secret part of him agreed with her disparaging comments, much as he tried to ignore it.

The team dynamics had never truly recovered from Boston and Adrian Bale, and that had carried over to the newer members of the team who joined after the fiasco. His standoffish, laconic nature certainly didn’t help. Eventually, even Gideon was ignoring the cracks in the foundation of the team,

Out of all of his coworkers, only Strauss and Morgan remembered (and still sometimes saw) the less-guarded agent with surprising idealism that he had been before everything went to shit.

Now, after years of leadership under his belt, he didn’t know how to be anyone else but the sharp, authoritative unit chief.

Especially after Haley.

(As he had stood in front of the freshly dug grave, he swore that his family would never meet SSA Hotchner, Unit Chief, Agent No-Smile Hardass, if he could help it.)

(The moment he stepped through the front door, he would only be Dad.)

(And in front of a select group of people, he would be Aaron, the man who was just barely toeing the line between profiler and unsub in his jaggedly broken, near-unhinged protectiveness.)

And so he received each act of insubordination from the team, no matter the magnitude, with unflappable calmness, even as he stayed late and went to work hours early to deal with the towering stacks of paperwork that joined the already existing piles of budget expansion requests and case consults.

He trusted their judgment, even if that trust didn’t go both ways.

“You’re very respected, you know that?” Strauss suddenly commented. “It’s the only reason you’ve been able to cover for your team for so long.”

That was something Hotch knew very well. Much as he hated it, he often found himself in the midst of political maneuverings that embroiled his higher-ups, aided especially by his upbringing and law school education. In these circles, where everyone knew everyone wore masks to hide unsavory secrets, there was some degree of grudging respect for everyone, no matter their placement on either side of the aisle. Even those who came from money had to have special acumen in order to make it this far in the cutthroat world of DC politics.

Hotch had gained quite the reputation as a prosecutor in DC, and not just because his father had been a well-known attorney with high-profile clients. Coupled with his meteoric rise through the ranks of the bureau, helping out the right people and collecting numerous contacts and favors along the way, it was no wonder that he had managed to keep the team out of the line of fire for so long.

More and more often, however, he was questioning his decisions to reject each opportunity to move up the chain of command, to instead stay with the team as a field agent. Even though he could almost always understand the reasoning behind each act of insubordination—hell, he even encouraged it sometimes—he couldn’t help but want for things to be different, especially with every night he went home too late and every time he pulled out the concealer he had always had near him since childhood to cover up the bruise-like eyebags that found a permanent home on his face.

But in the end, Hotch didn’t even have a choice.

(But a small part of him knew that this was always how he was going to go.)

Really, he understood why they did what they did. Ten years ago, he would have done the same thing himself.

Now, however, he couldn’t afford to put Jack’s safety and wellbeing on the line.

Some might say that Jack was his weak spot, and they wouldn’t be wrong—he would wholeheartedly agree with them.

He couldn't find it in him to feel guilty about putting his family ahead of all else, but what JJ said when he called them into his office after the fiasco had cut deeply.

You of all people should understand, JJ had spat in his face, and every harsh word he was about to say himself, reprimanding them for callous insubordination to the highest degree, died on his lips. He wasn’t sure how much time passed as he just stood there in silent, pained shock, but it didn’t take long for JJ, Prentiss, and Reid to leave his office with an air of vindication, not sparing him another glance.

Hotch had spent the rest of the day fielding call after call, trying to piece together the exact course of events and fending off the sharks smelling blood in the water.

The bloody chunks of flesh of the three agents who died immediately in the blast, the two who didn’t even make it into the operating room, and the one adult hostage who couldn’t far enough away in time.

Now, sitting across from Strauss and staring into his empty glass, he wondered if things would have been different if he had gotten there faster, adding his own input in formulating a negotiation strategy that factored in the variables he only knew to take into account because of his combined years in prosecution and SWAT and because of Boston.

Especially Boston.

(He already considered all of the what-ifs. He knew that short of suddenly gaining time travel or teleportation abilities, he couldn’t have done anything.)

But maybe he foresaw his current situation the moment he saw Strauss’s emailed request for an urgent meeting the morning after he worked late into the night trying to control the fallout.

Just budget meetings with the higher up of higher-ups, he reassured Morgan when they bumped into each other as Hotch and Strauss made their way out of the Academy offices towards the parking garage. He knew Morgan didn’t believe him—he was wearing the suit that he reserved for black tie events and meetings on the Hill, for one—but there was a reluctant acceptance and a hint of knowing in his eyes.

(Of course, Morgan had an idea of what was going on. No one in the country was ignorant of what had happened yesterday afternoon. As he was looking through the news coverage, confused and horrified as to how something like this could have happened, memories of Boston rose to the forefront of his mind, and he knew that this would end in blood.)

(Then Hotch called him in a frenzy, apologizing profusely for bothering him on his weekend off while all but begging for him to look after Jack for the rest of the day. It was an easy decision. Morgan took Jack to the movie theater, helped him with biking, took him out for ice cream, whatever it took to keep Jack happy and occupied while he himself worried over the state of things at the office.)

(It was well past midnight when Hotch finally fell into a restless sleep in bed next to Morgan, who had a standing invitation to stay overnight and was trying to help him loosen up his tensed muscles.)

“I’m coming into the office tomorrow to tie up loose ends,” Hotch suddenly told Strauss. “I’m not going to pull a Gideon. They don’t deserve that.”

He said as much next day as he stood in the bullpen, looking out at the agents he had worked with for years as he made his announcement.

“After careful consideration, I have decided to retire from the BAU,” he ignored the sounds of shock that rippled through the crowd, “and with my retirement, I am cutting all official ties with the Bureau.”

He carefully avoided looking at the team as he continued. “Please respect that I would prefer to not discuss the details of my retirement at this time, but I will say that this recent case had a lot to do with my decision,” he swept a stern gaze around the room, ignoring the pang in his heart and sudden burning in his eyes when he accidentally made eye contact with a devastated-looking Garcia.

Hotch quickly looked away and continued with his goodbyes before he managed to find an out to retreat to his office, where he picked up the last box of his belongings. It’s surprisingly light, he thought distantly as he took in the stripped office for the last time.

Oh, right, Strauss had helped me pack everything else and bring home the law books and framed certificates after we went out for drinks last night.

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

The door opened, and Strauss stepped inside, shutting the door behind her and closing the blinds to give them some modicum of privacy from the profilers waiting in the bullpen with their barrage of questions.

“This is it, then,” she commented, eyes on the badge and gun that was left on the expansive desk.

Hotch nodded. “I’m sure the suits will be sweeping through my reports and cases soon enough. The team will find out then.” He turned to meet her gaze, an unreadable glint in his eyes, “But I daresay we will be seeing each other quite soon, however.”

They grasped each other’s hand firmly, something unspoken passing between them. There was a beat of stillness, then Hotch let go. He opened the office door and swept past her, past the team, and into the elevator with his phone already next to his ear, his professional mask back as he left this part of his life behind.

Strauss walked out onto the catwalk, looking out into the bullpen at the profilers sitting at their desks, shell-shocked at the man’s sudden (and all-too-final) departure.

Truthfully, Strauss didn’t know what he meant when he hinted that he would be seeing her (and presumably the team) again soon, but she assumed it had to do with the closed meeting he was pulled into the moment he arrived at the office this morning. She may not be trained to notice the details in human behavior, but she could tell there was a peaceful ease to Hotch’s goodbye that shouldn’t have been there, in addition to the strange lack of the bitterness she knew had been there last night when they went out for drinks.

“Erin, what the hell was that about?” Rossi’s voice shook her out of her thoughts. She turned to the approaching agent, game face back on and preparing to finally unleash the full scope of what had happened over a week ago onto the remaining profilers, who had been shielded from the consequences by Hotch’s presence and tireless negotiations alone.

Whatever Rossi was about to say next was suddenly cut off by an outraged “What?” coming from Morgan, who had been all but interrogating Prentiss, JJ, and Reid about the guilt was practically painted all over their expressions. Now, he ran out of the bullpen, chasing after Hotch and ignoring the calls of his name behind him.

Strauss watched all of this calmly; Hotch had asked that one of the team be made unit chief after his departure, but there was no way she was letting that happen on her watch. Especially based on Morgan’s determined chase after the now-former unit chief, she imagined she would be having two open positions to fill.

It was about time those two got their heads out of their asses, she thought, smiling internally.

May you find your peace, Aaron Hotchner.

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #derek morgan #erin strauss #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia #spencer reid #david rossi #jj slander #emily slander #reid slander #probably #bau #tw alcohol #tw violence #tw death

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ellyhotchner · 3 years

Text

When rituals break

A/N: i'm so euphoric right now, i'm finally posting a fic NSDCJNKSD i had this idea yesterday and here i am (also i hate how i ended it but i didn't know what to write, i just wanted to post this because i'm so proud of it even if i know i'll laugh at myself in three days reading this)

Warnings: references to child abuse, spiraling thoughts (let me know if i missed any)

Word count: 783

When he was at home, Hotch had always been the type to have little rituals that made him feel safe and complete at the end of the day. Be it meticulously preparing Jack’s breakfast, deep-cleaning the entire kitchen, or buying a small pizza at the same shop every day while going home to cut and eat before dinner, he had some little things that kept him grounded and steady.

The problem with having these little rituals arises when, for whatever reason, they are interrupted, and the feeling of security derived from them consequently vanishes.

He already didn’t expect to see Haley going away. Sure, even if he would have never admitted it, he knew it could have happened. He knew that he was challenging whatever patience and tolerance she had left, he perfectly knew that, and he was aware that one day Haley would have had enough. But he had never pictured that day, it felt distant and impossible.

Until it happened.

When he got home and saw Haley wasn’t there, his first thoughts were pure and utter panic. His job was dangerous, he had seen colleagues having their lives destroyed because of some psycho guy, so he knew the odds. When it was clear that it was simply Haley finally reaching the limit, he almost relaxed.

As always his thoughts started to run and tell him that Haley was so much better off without him and that was also why she had taken Jack with her. He deserved that, he was a stranger to his own kid, how was he supposed to take care of them and protect them, when he was nothing more than their friendly neighbor?

He had work in the morning, and sleep seemed the best solution to stop his train of thoughts, so he quickly got ready and slipped under his covers, turning around to switch Haley’s bedside light as he always did when he got home after a case and Haley had already gone to bed.

But this time, the light was already off.

That’s when it hit him, the weight of all that had just happened. The tears started forming in his eyes, all the safety and the feeling of being done with another day that such a simple gesture usually brought him suddenly taken away from him. There was sadness, of course. How could he have not seen it coming? It must have been evident that Haley was tired, he knew because she tried everything to keep their marriage together. Then why did he not notice? How could Aaron Hotchner, a renowned and high valued profiler, the man that saw things everyone didn’t, not see his marriage crumble around him? The love of his life, the woman he had known since high school, losing faith in their seemingly unbreakable relationship, leaving what they had built together?

Then the anger hit. He was doing his best. He hunted serial killers every day, just to keep everyone, and especially those he loved, safe. It was obvious that he was doing everything he could to be a good dad and still excel at his job. And that was how his soulmate repaid him. By leaving him, selfishly and without notice. Taking away his son, one of the only things that made him see the light at the end of the tunnel, the good in the world after everything he saw at work.

He winced in horror at what he had just thought. That was exactly the proof that Haley was much better off without him. A good husband, or, more generally, a good human being would have understood that he was too away from home, that Haley was not to be blamed because she was human and she had had enough. He should not have thought any of the things he had, it was why she had gone away.

Those thoughts, and the empty bed space right next to him, kept him up all night, reminders of how bad of a man he was, that didn’t deserve anything he had accomplished. For a night, the child he once was, the boy that would go days without sleeping, the boy that was so afraid of his own self, the boy who believed he was worth nothing more than what his father told him, came back stronger than ever.

It took him a while to accept this new reality and the fact that he had managed to scare off the love of his life, just like he used to think he would one day. Things, after that night, were never the same, and he never got to tell Haley how sorry he was about everything he had put her through.

@hotchgan @yourlocalheartbreaker

#aaron hotchner #hotch #criminal minds #haley brooks #haley hotchner #sad hotch

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