Heavenward
Summary: Somebody's jealous of Hotch and Prentiss… H/P. For NicknHotchfan.
Rating: T
Spoilers: Majority of Seasons 4, 5, and 6, especially all those H/P scenes.
Warnings: Bad language, minor character death.
Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds…duh.
A/N: I know this is hugely overdue, but family stuff popped up, then my laptop crashed and (waves) there goes all my files… so, NicknHotchfan, I hope you like it.
He was jealous.
Devastatingly jealous.
Three months after the terrorist incident in New York, he was killed in the line of duty. And the last thing he saw wasn't his wife, or his children. It was her, at least, in his mind.
And now, looking down from above, he saw her and only her. Never once did he pay attention to his wife, or his children. He didn't quite care anymore. He only paid attention to every little thing she did. Her quirks, her pains, her past, he learned it all.
And his jealousy festered, growing larger over time.
He watched her take care of her boss, what's-his-name-Hotch, when his eardrum hadn't completely healed yet. He watched her get beaten by that cult leader, damn-him-to-hell, and watched the reactions of her team, especially Hotch. And it wasn't for naught, for he saw the way Hotch responded, demanding the elder profile to let them go in.
He saw them, later, at her apartment, talking, drinking, eating, laughing, almost as if they were in love.
And he knew something that the rest of the team didn't, something that they didn't even know yet. They were in love.
He watched him poke fun at her when she was hungover in Vegas, or when she was talking to the Counterterrorism girl and blonde. He watched as Hotch told her to go undercover to talk to that uptight, arrogant man, Viper, and watched her, a bit like a voyeur, as she changed into that devastatingly beautiful dress, her long legs tempting him. He watched her reactions as her boss, walking in while she was getting ready, their conversations angering him.
He wanted her, but from his post up here, he knew he was never going to get her.
He ignored his children, he didn't watch his children grow up, slowly, entering middle school, or the eldest graduate. He didn't know when his wife got in a car accident that left her in a coma. He didn't know when his eldest daughter was married.
All he saw was him and her, their interactions driving him to the point of insanity, his jealousy blinding him. He watched them play good-cop-bad-cop to get information out of that woman, and he observed the connection only he saw between them. How they only need a single glance to communicate, or how they worked so well together.
He admitted a long time ago that he was jealous, and totally smitten by the woman. He knew it was wrong, but he didn't care.
He mentally crowed as she spat words at him, when her friends were being killed. He noted the loss of respect, but he knew it didn't last long. She had gained it back, five cases later, when he met his nemesis, the Reaper, and she helped him through it. She visited him, at least once a week, with a bottle of scotch and a pep talk in mind.
Hell, if they had known what was coming. Then, in Canada, he watched them, enviously, when they were wrapped up in each other, they crossed the line for the first time, providing the support they both needed.
He laughed when the Reaper slipped into the man's apartment, eagerly anticipating the death of Aaron Hotchner, so he could have her all to himself. He grinned at the nine stabs the Reaper inflicted and he smirked at the man's pain.
However, his joyfulness dissipated when he saw her distress, oozing from every pore when he didn't show up at their newest case. He frowned as he watched her asked the blonde where the hell was he, and his brows knitted together as she went to his apartment. He then felt her despair of finding him not there, but finding his blood.
He staggered, overwhelmed by the utter hopelessness surrounding the beautiful brunette. He watched as she hopped into the black suburban, driving, breaking ever traffic law known to man, to get to him in the hospital.
Well, damn, he's alive.
He saw the tenderness shining in her eyes as she sat down by his bedside, waiting, waiting…
…waiting…
…and waiting, for him to wake up.
He watched him break her heart as he talked to his ex-wife and son. She had left, given them their privacy, while hiding in the bathroom, silent tears running down her face, once again as depression claimed her.
He watched her escort him to his apartment, his depression larger than hers (his ex-wife and child gone), and watched her run her hand over his arm, soothingly. He watched her embrace him, offering comfort, then watched her leave his apartment.
He watched them work together, again, in a prison, interviewing that-family-annilator-Karl-Arnolds, and he agreed with Karl, that it must've been difficult working with such a beautiful woman. And he smirked, because he knew it was true. Hotch was very often distracting working with her, but he hid it well.
He watched the man she loved clutch his ex-wife's body closer, and felt the despair, sadness, grief, and jealousy grip the woman he loved. But, he watched in defiance in her brown eyes as they left to go on another case.
Their temporary boss, the dark profiler, demanded that they stopped thinking about Hotch for the meanwhile, and concentrate on this. He watched her kick the name down and hold a gun to his forehead, whispering viciously in his ear.
He watched her get hit by the truck, his worry overwhelming…
He felt Hotch's amusement as she yelled at the dark man for bursting her eardrum, and he couldn't help but think how hot she looked angry, and the way the sunlight caught the mahogany streaks in her hair.
He felt the whole team's grief when the blonde announced her transfer to DOD, and felt especially her misery, the blonde was her sister. He cried for her, because he couldn't bear to see her unhappy. He watched her comfort the older profiler, and watched her attempt a negotiation. His anger flared when that sick bastard taunted her, "…your fine ass…" .
He was scared when she came back from that bar, and he knew her life was in danger. He wished he could warn her, not to meet with Ian Doyle. He watched her return home, to him, and watched her cry into his shoulder, but she wouldn't say why.
He watched as he stroked her silky hair, whispering sweet nothings in her ear as they made love, this where his envy overtook him. He felt her pleasure, and was numb. He wanted to be in his place, right now, her body writhing underneath him, as he made to soar into bliss.
He wanted her so much.
He watched her torture, he watched her get stabbed.
He watched her 'die.'
He felt the man's despair, hopelessness and grief.
He felt her pain and heartbreak.
He died, again, with Emily Prentiss. He didn't know the other woman in Paris, France. All he knew that the woman he knew, was dead, and that was enough for him.
fin.
A/N: Well, NicknHotchfan, I hope you liked it. Not really a H/P shipper, but…
Everyone else, if you have any requests, just review or PM. No biggie…I'm calling all you JJ/Prentiss shippers, make my life easy here.
Toodles!
~S12