Author Mentions: I've jumped ship. Oh dear. I might not have edited this very well, as I hate editing. Apologies for any horrible mistakes. This is an abundance of episodes, from 3.18 - 4.4 on my view how they could have gotten together (cause they are so together)
Rated: T- M
Pairing: Spencer Reid / Aaron Hotchner
Disclaimer: I own a nice pair of running shoes, top ramen, and lavender bubble bath. No Criminal Minds.
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I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul - Pablo Neruda
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May 11
It was never intended. You never intended anything like this to ever happen.
After the Hardwicke interview, which was regrettably dangerous in the event that the convict was positioned to kill both of you, the threat of which shook your usually hard bones. It struck you as odd that the first thing to race through your head when you realized the man's intent was not if you'll ever see your son again, or how the team will cope without you, but, I hope Reid makes it out alive.
You would have done anything in your power to make that thought possible.
But you both escaped unscathed, due to Reid's never-failing intellect. If there was ever a moment to feel completely proud of the younger man, it was a time like this.
On the car way back Reid keeps clenching his fists, and the windows are open, the breeze wafting slightly. You can smell his detergent, clean cotton and linen, but the tension is almost smothering. He's so nervous, and so, so, fragile it's almost astonishing you don't see it more often.
"Thank you, Spencer. For what you did today," It's a rare thing for you to use his first name. His head snaps up, yearning for praise and a slight smile on his face.
"It's doesn't matter," He mutters, his firsts rolling up into tight fists again. You move your hand to place over his.
"Yes, it does."
It's the start of something you'd never seen before.
- -
June 4th
When Spencer risks his life for the Savage kid, you want to throttle him.
It was so unprofessional and unjustified to put his personal issues at hand and let them heavily intertwine with the case. You reason it was completely out of line, and not to mention, dangerous, how he went to the unsub (after directly disobeying orders from you yourself) to try and reason with him. You reason the fact that it would be a heavy stain on the BAU's record if a team member had died whilst using improper combat.
When you reprimand him you can barely keep the tension out of your voice. It actually takes effort to keep your tone low and cool, serious and firm. He looks at his fingers, so delicate and long, and you can feel your guard weakening, a foreign knot in your stomach as he looks more and more lost. He looks up at for a moment, and you swear, he knows exactly what is going on behind your eyes.
"It won't happen again, Hotch," He mutters softly. His spirit is more than muted and somehow you feel guilty.
"I will have to fire you," You tell him and you want to kick yourself for saying it, but it's protocol and you have to. Even if you don't want to.
Deep down you have a feeling that you could never really get rid of him. Not anymore.
- -
July 19th
You expected him to be startled when you showed up at his doorstep after hours. His eyes shine with this decided softness, the insides of his cottage-like home too warm (he explained how his air conditioning is nearly broken) and unexpectedly well kept. You look around for a second before directing your attention to him.
"You weren't out with us tonight for drinks," You say, and he looks at you and shakes his head before he speaks.
"I didn't know there were plans," He mumbles, but even then it sounds like a thin lie. Almost as thin as the excuse you had for coming over here in the first place. He offers you drinks, which mostly consisted of Orange Juice, Tea and Water. None of these things you want in comparison to your need for him. However, you tell him water would be nice.
He doesn't hear you when he stands in front of the sink, the light in the corner setting a glow to the yellow kitchen. You can hear his gasp of surprise as much as you can feel when your arm snakes around his waist, your lips pressing wetly to the spot of skin behind his ear. His whole body tenses, the water still running and the glass lying broken in the sink. You kiss your way down his neck and he leans forward a bit, positioning his jaw so you have more access to his skin.
You place your knee in between his legs and press your hard pelvis into his back, emitting a small oh from his lips, which were parted in anticipation. You turn him around and look at his hooded eyes, and his half unbuttoned cardigan, his long hair tangled and messier than usually. A voice tells you, always rational, that he's probably never had any type of experience.
You resume kissing him, though, rough and hard on the mouth as he struggles to keep up with your pace, your hands placed on the counter on either side of him, dominating. You know you aren't going to have sex with him tonight, though you want to so badly right now, and your body says yes, but your minds says, no.
You leave him with a chaste kiss goodbye and without any indication that he meant anything.
- -
August 31st
He's at your doorstep after a case. Ever since the New York murder spree and the death of Kate you can feel everyone watching you, him especially. You're careful to avoid his stare, and the effort he puts in to stay in the office even later than you. You feel fine, and you hate the attention you're getting and feeling so vulnerable, even though you fantasize many times of taking Spencer on your desk more than you should allow.
But you're not as well as you thought you would be. After the last case, and the paperwork was all wrapped up about a delusional woman going around and repeating the killings of The Angel Maker in small town Ohio. You head hurt so badly on the way home that you humbled yourself and took a few days off as Rossi had suggested.
You've been at home for a few hours, taking spare naps and flipping through channels while nursing a scotch. The empty house, still so reminiscent of Haley, seems to mock you. You remind yourself, this is why you stayed at work for so many hours after the separation. Everything seemed to ache when you thought of her.
But you'd always known you had been gay. You loved Haley, and you don't regret marrying her, but the fact of the matter was she never turned you on the way men did - they way Reid did. She was never quite right, or quite good enough to make you forget everything; your abusive father, the guilt of never being around, amounting paperwork left at work. You're not even sure you miss Haley, but you know the loneliness is consuming.
The knock on the door startles you slightly, and you clicked the television off, padding your way to the front door of your house, the dark rooms glaring at you on the way there. The door opens, and the recalcitrant summer air wafts in, mixing stubborning with the cool air condition.
"Spencer," You breathe, ignoring how soft your voice became, or how brown his eyes looked in the street lamp. You let him in before he says anything, his face calm and his voice abnormally quiet.
"Hotch. I wanted to see if you were..." He trails off, perhaps feeling his reason unjustified, or maybe not having a reason at all.
"Would you like a drink? Scotch? Beer? Water?" You offer, and it's so reminiscent of the first meeting you had with him a month ago. That had long been buried in your mind for so long, daring to be unlocked and examined. You never really knew that he had such full, translucent lips until he smiles softly, reaching a hand to tuck a rebellious strand of hair behind his ear.
"Water would be nice," He speaks, his voice small and slightly unsure.
You find him in the den, looking at the rows of books you had lined meticulously in their built-in-shelves. When he turns around, his eyes are excited and alight. "You have Atlas Shrugged? I read it in 4th grade, quite a conservative book, of course, I don't read much fiction but Ayn Rand is hard to..." He realizes he's rambling, stops abruptly and blushes.
The air grows tense, before he blurts out, "I just wanted to make sure. I couldn't stand knowing that you were..." He looks shocked even at himself for saying it, and his eyes get wider when you take deliberate steps towards him, until you're almost nose-to-nose with him.
"That I was what?" You press, your body aching to reach out and touch him, grab him, run your fingers through his hair. "That I was what, Spencer?"
"That you weren't okay," He breathes, before his mouth his touching yours in an exclamatory and fevered manner, his back pressing against the bookshelves. His shoe-less foot was wrapped around your waist, holding you hostage against his pelvis as you continue to kiss him.
The glass of water was once again forgotten.
- -
September 20th
It's the first time in a long time that you've woken up and you aren't alone.
The feeling of it is unsettling, but also gratifying. When you were with Haley, especially the latter years, you both slept on opposite sides of the bed without ever touching. You had your own spot, and she had hers, and you'd see each other in the morning.
But that isn't how it is with Spencer.
For the first month after having sex with him in your den, it's been an inconsistent pattern of meeting up whenever they had a day off, most frequently after a case. Spencer had been nervous and eager and warm, and for some reason, that was exactly what you wanted, what you needed. The hollowed feeling that had absorbed you in that house, as if you'd forgotten to eat for several days in a row, had seemingly disappeared. It was you, and him, and a mess of whispers and murmurs and the feeling of knowing you're needed, at least by someone.
This night wasn't like all the other nights with Spencer. There was something different about him, a shy confidence you hadn't seen before. Somehow, being around some of the best profilers in the world had left you blindsided. The question that was bugging you all night and late in the morning was, why didn't you notice it before?
The sheets aren't chilled with superficial air conditioning, as Spencer's lithe body is sleeping soundly next to you, his skin opaque and pale in the dark, his hair sprawled out behind him head. His lips are parted and his breathing feels almost too quiet, his cheek resting on his hand as you stare at his face. Without realizing it, you tighten your arms around him, and in response, he nips the tip of his nose against your neck.
The guilt you had been feeling earlier that day was slowly ebbing away as the morning becomes lighter and lighter, and yet your eyes have not moved from his face. Your eyelids feel heavy, but your fascination makes you feel light. In the most honest admission to yourself, you know you're scared. You're terrified of what you're feeling.
Somehow this terror is increased by how lovely he looks in early morning light.
October 2nd
You never intended this. You never wanted to this to become and manifest to what it has been - to what is now. Your primitive need and desperation to have someone around you is quickly evaporated to having need for company, excitement, and most of all, love. You're not sure, even with a mind like yours, where it truly started. Or where it will end. But you know - you know now, after everything, after Haley's death, Reid has always been there. In slight ways and in big ways, he's been there.
It's certainly hasn't been easy, you know, to deal with you. Losing your ex-wife -the best friend you had for many years is almost crushing. Your son losing a mother - almost life threatening. You know he withstood the drunken fights, and the standoffish behavior, the random bouts of verbal abuse - and sometimes why you have no idea - he withstood all for you.
For the moments before work in the morning to the random discussions on the plane rides home, these are the little moments that justify you, define you with him. In suddenly clarity, and a spare moment of clear weakness, you need him. And you know it. And he knows it.
He loves you despite the scars you have. And it's the most promising thing you've ever heard.
- -Thoughts? A review?