*A/N: Written to Sade's "Long Hard Road."*
It was late. An hour that even he didn't normally see at the office when they weren't working an active case. But the paperwork had been piling up on his desk for far too long, and with Jack staying with Jessie, he had little desire to rush out to an empty home. Sleep was always just out of reach, and without the distraction and relief that his son provided him with, Hotch knew that home would be a torture greater than red tape.
Glancing at his watch, he forced himself to his feet. Even if he planned on staying there all night, he needed to get up and move before his muscles cramped. He walked out of the office, wondering if another cup of coffee was a good idea, or if the added caffeine would just give him the jitters. His body froze, though, one foot poised over the stairs down to the bullpen, when he saw a light under a familiar door. Frowning, he changed direction smoothly and headed toward the unexpected evidence of someone else there that late.
He knocked gently, but there was no answer, and he pushed the door open slowly. The lamp on the desk was on, pushing the shadows only far enough back to keep them on the other side of the room. Hotch peered into the dark corners as he moved farther inside, but he couldn't pick anyone out.
Until he heard the soft movement of air to his left.
Turning, he saw JJ sitting on the floor behind her desk, knees pulled up to her chest. Her eyes weren't red, but they were tired, and from the puffiness of the skin beneath them, he could surmise that she had shed more than a few tears that night. She looked up at him, making no move to explain her presence or get up. She just met his eyes, not bothering to put her walls back up.
Hotch recognized that look, that resignation. He didn't need to know what had happened, though that didn't stop his mind from registering the chain around her neck that he'd only seen her wear once, or the lack of a ring on her right hand. JJ didn't need someone to profile her, or for someone to walk in with the answers. She needed someone who understood - a need he knew so well, one that dug at him day after day.
And he suddenly realized that they had more in common than he'd ever known.
Keeping his eyes on hers, he moved closer, until he was standing beside her. Then he rested his back against the wall behind him and let himself slide to the floor, his arm and thigh touching hers. He could feel the tension in her body, the way she was wound tightly like a spring. He also knew how that could make a person ache if they held it long enough, the physical pain a reminder of the shambles that had become their life. If he had learned the secret to letting it all go, he would have gladly shared it with her in a heartbeat, sparing her the frustration of learning through experience.
But he had nothing to share.
Except for the one thing he suddenly realized he had gone without for far too long. Sitting next to her, the need hit him deep in his gut, and he almost gasped at the pain that drove through his bones, the dry ache that just continuously drained him. He didn't let his mind dissect it - he just let his hand fall to the floor and seek out her own.
She flinched, and he wondered how long it had been since she'd been touched, and that thought saddened him more than he could comprehend. Slowly, though, she relaxed, and let him entwine their fingers, both clinging painfully to the contact.
Turning his head, he pressed a soft kiss into her hair, and she let out a long sigh, leaving him to wonder if she had breathed even once since that first breath he had heard. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she leaned her head on his shoulder.
And they breathed.