A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed my first JJ/Hotch fic for this site. I really appreciate it and it's nice to know this couple, who happens to be my fave CM pair, have other fans too.
This one shot contains spoilers for episode thirteen of season five, "Risky Business" so if you haven't seen it yet, beware. LOL.
Where She Needed to Be
Swallowing hard, JJ can feel her hand shaking just a little as she pulls the key out of her car's ignition. Her eyes drift to her engagement ring, the glow of the street lights casting a shadow over the deep red stone, reminding her of where she should be.
Which is at home asleep in her bed, Will's arms around her, his soft snoring in her ear and their baby boy just down the hallway.
But that's not where she is.
She's sitting in her car trying to work up the nerve to get out and knock on his front door because this time, tonight Will's arms, his snoring and the knowledge that Henry is tucked away, aren't going to help her get over this case.
It's a weak excuse ... Will just won't understand but she knows what she's really doing... She isn't even giving him a chance to.
It's wrong not to give him that chance especially when he's experienced loss just like she has ... His Dad, the whole reason he became a cop, passed away in Hurricane Katrina but somehow that doesn't register with her in the same way as Hotch losing Haley does. Somehow she equates Hotch losing Haley to her losing her sister.
She knows that doesn't make sense ... Logically she shouldn't be able to relate to her boss more than she should relate to the man she loves, the man who gave her, her son but it's always been that way.
For some reason - despite him being so closed off emotionally, so stoic in the face of every horror they see - she understands him. She relates to him and that's why she's here - parked at the curb of his house, knowing she's not supposed to be here but that this is where she needs to be.
A fortifying breath escapes her lips and quietly she shuts the door to her car behind her before making her way up the steps to the front door. As she's poised to knock, realization hits her that Hotch isn't living alone like he was before. Haley's sister is living with him and Jack now.
Feeling stupid, she's about to start walking back toward her car, when the sound of the door unlocking, catches her attention. Looking over her shoulder, she's prepared to apologize profusely if Haley's sister is on the other side, but instead her oceanic eyes meet Hotch's familiar deep onyx eyes and she can't help but flush underneath his gaze.
Turning all the way around, her apology dies in her throat at the rare sight of the dimple in his left cheek making an appearance. His voice is husky, lower than she's used to and a warmth spreads throughout her body. "I was wondering when you'd finally get out of your car, JJ."
Offering him a shaky grin, she channels her inner Garcia and remarks, "I really hate profilers."
As soon as the remark tumbles of her lips, the dimple disappears and the soticism she's always been able to see past is back in place. "Knowing you were outside has nothing to do with profiling."
The implication of his statement isn't lost on her. Jack and Haley's sister can sleep soundly in their beds, out of the ordinary sounds - like a car pulling up at this hour - won't wake them, but they'll wake Hotch.
Swallowing hard, she rakes her fingers through her hair and apologizes, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have just shown up here like this."
Shaking his head, Hotch opens the door wider, as a silent invitation. When she doesn't take it, he tells her, "It's all right. My vigilance has nothing to do with you, JJ, we both know that. And you're here now, so you may as well come in."
He knows what she's going to do. He can hear the protest falling from her lips, in his head, even though she hasn't said a word. And just as she's about to, he cuts her off. "Don't apologize. You have nothing to apologize for."
"That doesn't change the fact that I shouldn't have just shown up on your doorstep like this, Hotch."
"It's fine."
He holds her oceanic gaze and can see the exact moment when she gives in. Her lips purse and she let's out a rush of air, silently admitting defeat because like him she can't admit it out loud.
It's hard to ignore the tightening of his stomach, that happens when she walks through the doorway, her floral scent filling his senses. Shaking his head, he quietly shuts and locks the front door before they both walk toward the living room where there's only the faint glow of the lamp in the corner as a source of light.
Sitting across from her, he watches as her slender fingers fumble with the necklace around her neck. The necklace that belonged to her sister who had committed suicide when she was only eleven.
It's easy for him to break the silence that engulfs them. "A few hours ago, someone told me that it does get better," Her head snaps upward at his words, her oceanic eyes staring into his. "That losing someone is never easy, but one day you'll remember her and you won't hurt."
It's scary - he thinks - how he knows what her response will be, but what really scares him is because knowing what she'll say doesn't come from his training as a profiler or his schooling as a prosecutor, it comes from knowing her. From being around her for nearly over five years and noticing her subtleties, her quirks and from having this understanding.
He watches as her lips slowly curl upward, her eyes dance and she taunts, "And I thought you profilers never listened to anything I say."
He can feel his own lips curling upward and a brief chuckle escapes his throat. "We listen to everything you say, we just like to pretend we don't."
The low timber to his voice skates along her nerve endings and a shaky breath falls from her lips. Her instincts are on over drive, her head screaming at her to make her escape and as she moves to get up, he moves at the same time and it's hard to ignore just how close their bodies are.
Her nose is flooded with his scent - heady and masculine - and it's hard for her to breathe. Her eyes briefly linger on his lips and she isn't sure if staring into the endless dark pools of his eyes is doing her any favors. Her head spins and she can feel herself moving closer, even though she knows, she should be moving further away.
Her heart pounds against her ribcage - the sound in her ears like a runaway train careening off the tracks - and the next thing she knows, her eyes are fluttering because she can feel the roughness of his fingers ghosting across her cheek as his name tumbles from her lips, "Hotch."
He feels his stomach clench at the breathless nature of her voice. He swallows hard at how easy it would be to just bend forward, but he can't and he knows she wouldn't want him to.
He lets his fingers linger just a little longer against the smooth slope of her cheek, wanting to commit the feel of her skin to his memory and then he pulls back. He holds back the words he wants to say at the sight of her alabaster skin flushed with a warm peach tint that only makes her more beautiful.
He clears his throat and tells her, "Take care of yourself, JJ. Check in on Henry before you fall asleep. Checking in on Jack always made me feel a little better about what we do."
"You know the take care of yourself goes both ways, don't you, Hotch? You look as beat up as I feel. Although, I feel a lot better now than I did when I was sitting in my car."
"Good."
Walking out to her car, she finally feels like she can breathe. She feels ridiculous as she brings her fingertips to touch her cheek, hoping to capture some of the warmth from his fingers. She bites down on the inside of her cheek, as she pulls away from the curb, thinking about how close she came to ruining everything she never believed she wanted, but now tries so hard to hold onto.
And even though, things almost went sideways, she knows that's where she needed to be.
With Hotch.
Because he understands and he always has.
