DURING APOCALYPSE NOW: SOMETIME DURING LATE JUNE 2008
Emily must have been haunting the hotel again, Spencer thought as he entered the hotel lobby. The six of them—he, Garcia, Emily, JJ, Hotch, and Morgan—had all been crammed into an incredibly small, incredibly hot hotel room. He and Derek had been crammed together in a small bed and the three women were even closer together in the larger double. Hotch took the pull out couch, though it was big enough for two--and somehow Emily kept ending up with him. It wasn't making a comfortable night for anyone. He'd woken and found one of the women missing.
Spencer found her sleeping in a ratty chair in the hotel's central lobby. This wasn't the best of hotels, so he couldn't just leave her there. Not tonight, not after what had happened.
He'd killed a man today. Killed him to keep him from killing Emily.
It should have been him in the caved in building, prey to a killer, not Emily. He'd been the closest to the suspect when the guy had ran, ran right past Emily.
Spencer had hesitated—he wasn't the athletic one, the one who chased the bad guy and pulled him down.
That was Morgan.
He wasn't the cool, collected ones—the ones who did whatever had to be done without a sweat, without a thought, without a problem. That was Emily and Hotch.
He was the brain, the computer, the encyclopedia. The pipe cleaner with eyes and a gun.
He was Spencer.
He'd frozen, for an instant. Long enough for Emily to get a head start on him. For her to be in pursuit of that son of a bitch.
For her to be the one on the roof of that third story building when it collapsed. For her the one to be unconscious in the rubble with a fanatical killer standing over her.
He'd watched his colleague, his friend, watched her fall right before his eyes. He'd peered over the edge and seen her laying ten feet below him with rubble and dust swirling all around, unconscious and bloody.
But the UNSUB wasn't injured, he'd barely looked scratched. And he was standing over Emily, pulling a knife from his ragged jeans.
Then Spencer hadn't hesitated. He'd pulled his weapon and identified himself, but the man had persisted. He'd bent down, grabbed Emily by the hair.
Wrapped his fist in the long brown locks that Spencer knew normally smelled of strawberry shampoo. The knife had lowered, getting closer to her throat.
And Spencer fired. Three times. Just like Hotch had taught him to do. Then he climbed—fell—down the ten feet to get to Emily. He'd wrenched his shoulder, but he considered it a fair price to pay. So he didn't complain.
He didn't regret taking that shot. But he'd always regret that he wasn't a second faster in chasing the bastard. It should have been him.
But now here he stood, staring down at his sleeping friend, eyes scanning her pale face, taking in the two loose braids her hair had been woven into—most likely by Garcia.
He couldn't really see Emily choosing to wear school-girl braids, although they did make her look younger. With her eyes closed, Emily lost the intensity that fueled her, making Spencer aware that maybe she was vulnerable after all.
He'd never seen Emily Prentiss vulnerable—with the exception of the Joseph Smith case, and the whack she'd taken with a 2 X 4. But that didn't count because she'd still managed to give the signal for the rest of the team to get the guy.
Emily Prentiss was like one of those comic book characters he'd read about as a child. Always strong, always doing what's right, always standing up for the innocent.
But tonight she sat, vulnerable, in a hotel that wasn't all that safe. So Spencer Reid paid his penance, and sat with her.
Garcia found him there an hour later, sitting and staring at Prentiss as if she was a magic bean ready to sprout. "Hey handsome, the crowd in the room got a little thin so I thought I'd come find two of my favorite people."
"Hey, Garcia." Spencer really didn't feel like talking.
"She ok?"
"Sleeping. Probably from the medication." Spencer said.
"Good, my little chickadee needs to sleep. I have a feeling she doesn't get enough. Why aren't you out? That shoulder has to hurt."
"I, uh, didn't want to take anything. I'm really struggling, Garcia." Spencer admitted freely, knowing his confidence wouldn't go any further.
There were two people—maybe three, if he counted Hotch—whom he knew he could be absolutely frank with, and two of them were right in the room with him.
"The case? Or is it something more, my handsome gray matter?"
"I hesitated."
"What?" Garcia asked, "You took the shot. Everyone agreed it was a good shoot."
"He, uh, ran right by me. And I could have taken him down. But I hesitated and Emily ran after him. It should have been me that fell through the ceiling, Garcia."
"Nonsense. Things happen for a reason, Spencer Reid. And I saw the roof's security tape. You did not hesitate, not that I could see, and not when it mattered. You saved her life."
"It shouldn't have been her. I'm the one who always needs saving, Garcia. Never her. It shouldn't have been her. It wouldn't have been her but for me. I can't forget that."
"I think she probably has." Garcia said, wisely. "She's probably grateful you weren't the one who fell through that roof. They said she was lucky—had she weighed anymore she might have broken through those beams she landed on. You would have. It would have been much worse for you, Spence. Do you honestly think that would have been better for Emily to see? You know how much she cares about you—and Emily Prentiss is nothing if not protective of those she cares about."
"I've never seen her vulnerable like that. Unconscious. I was certain she was dead, but inside I knew that wasn't possible."
"She's human, Reid. We all are." Garcia paused, "Although, she does look a bit like Wonder Woman with the hair."
"But not the costume, or the lasso of truth. I can see Emily saying 'the only thing that can surpass our superior strength is our brain,' but I can't imagine her wearing that costume." Spencer laughed softly.
"You know what, sugar. Whenever I see you guys, watch you work, hear you talk, see what you actually do. I think of Super Heroes. My own little Justice League. What you all do is extraordinary. But no one of you is more super than the others. Emily would have done the exact same thing no matter how you replay the situation in your head, even if she knew what would have happened. Just to keep you safe."
"But I've never seen her like that. She was so still."
"I may not be a profiler, gorgeous, but I can honestly say you can't admit she's human because you see her as larger than life, as a sort of mother or big sister figure. Someone who knows the answers to things, someone who cares for you. Children can never admit their parents are weak—in any way. That's why you're so upset."
"Do I think of her in a motherly fashion?" Spencer asked, "I've never really thought about it."
"Do. She tells you the truth, doesn't she? Coddles you when you need it—I've seen her do it to both you and JJ—protects you, does little things to make things easier. Emily needs somebody to fuss over, and you and JJ provide that for her. So she wins, too."
"It is hard, to see her this way. I've never seen her or Hotch hurt or hurting like that. I've seen Rossi, Gideon, even Morgan—but never Emily or Hotch."
"Like I said, kids don't like to admit that Mommy and Daddy are weak at times, too."
"That sounds so wrong. I'm twenty seven years old, Garcia. And they're my colleagues." Spencer protested, though he knew the non-profiler had nailed his views perfectly.
"Umm. But we have formed a family, kiddo. Just look at us. We have Morgan who makes a great big brother, JJ is the sweet sister who everybody absolutely loves, Rossi's like the mysterious uncle who has done literally everything. You're the little brother we love and admire, and have to tease and protect because that's what siblings do. I'm somewhere in the middle, the goofy one who makes you all smile. The class clown, the jokester whom everyone knows not to take too seriously. That leaves the parents—who's job it is to take care of us. And they do it unthinkingly, like parents should. I'll admit, it is hard for us to see them as vulnerable. They are—but they're also incredibly strong. Superman and Wonder Woman."
"So we're a family of super heroes?" Spencer laughed, his mind replaying all the comic books he'd ever read. "If she's Wonder Woman and Hotch is Superman, what about the rest of us?"
"Honey, I've figured it all out. JJ, of course, is the Blonde Bombshell—the Black Canary who uses her voice to mystify, Derek is the sexiest superhero, aka Batman. Rossi's Captain Marvel because he's just seen so much, and me—I'm the Invisible Woman. Because all my work is done when no one can see me." Penelope smirked at the younger man beside her. Wonder Woman still hadn't woken.
"And me?" Spencer was almost afraid to ask where he fit in this family of super heroes.
"Sugar, you're the best of the lot—you're Mr. Fantastic."
"Dr. Reed Richards." Reid had to laugh. "Tall and stretchy?"
"And a super genius. Not exactly a big jump, is it." Garcia grinned. "Now we should probably get back to the hotel room. Before Daddy realizes we've ran away with Mommy."
"True, but how we going to get Wonder Woman back to the room? I can't exactly be Mr. Fantastic and manfully carry her." He motioned to the sling around his hand and shoulder.
"I guess we'll just have to call Superman or Batman to come get her." Garcia winked. "But my money's on Superman flying to the rescue."
"You've seen it, too?"
"What, the way Daddy's been watching Mommy lately?" Garcia's laugh was low and maniacal.
"I thought I was the only one who saw it." Spencer admitted, "I thought I was just seeing things—I'm not too good about the relationship stuff."
"Honey, everyone's caught on—and no two are more confused about their relationship stuff than Superman and Wonder Woman themselves."
"What the hell you two talkin about at three in the morning?" A sleepy, rumpled Derek asked as he came into the lobby. Half the team had been missing and he'd gotten concerned.
"Super heroes. And families, stud muffin. What are you doin up?" She had to admit he looked pretty good all sleepy eyed and cuddly, even though she was immensely loyal to Kevin. A girl could look as long as she had eyes, after all.
"Worried. You three disappeared."
"We were just debating how to get Wonder Woman here back to the room without waking her up. Mr. Fantastic is out of commission in the carrying department. You up to it, Batman?"
"Carry a pretty lady to a hotel room?" He teased. "My momma raised me better than that."
"Make an exception." Garcia ordered. "Or I'll email your momma a picture of you with that 'Halloween' honey you met last year—photoshopped into a nice tux and gown."
"You are a wicked, wicked woman." Derek said as he moved to pick the sleeping dark haired woman up. "I think we need to feed Prentiss a little more."
"She is a bit skinny, isn't she?" Reid asked. He didn't fully understand the looks of irony the two shot his way. "You don't really notice until she's not actually moving."
His mind shot back to the roof, shot back to seeing her lying so still in the arms of a killer. He ruthlessly pushed the image away.
They entered the small, hellish hotel room as quietly as they could, Morgan carrying his precious bundle. He stopped between the two beds and looked down at JJ sleeping so peacefully then looked at Garcia as she climbed in the bed on the other side. They were going to be hopelessly crowded in that bed. A pregnant JJ and a wounded Emily, at least, needed a decent night's sleep. "You know, Hotch has all that wasted room. Shame we can't make use of it."
"I say we do." Garcia said, enthusiastically, even though she whispered.
"I don't know, guys, who knows what they'll think when they wake up." Reid said, nervously. "It's one thing for her to sleep there of her own free will, but for us to just put her there...that's different."
"Just do it and go to bed, Derek. It's late," JJ mumbled from her spot, as Spencer retreated to the bathroom. They hadn't even realized she was awake.
"Ok," Derek mentally shrugged as Garcia reached over and pulled the cover back, revealing Hotch's FBI issue t-shirt. Even in his sleep he broadcasted his occupation. Derek lowered the woman onto the pullout mattress, arranging her head on half of the other man's pillow. He had to admit they looked good together. Strange it had taken everyone so long to notice.
He turned to head back to his own bed when a quiet male voice stopped him. It was so quiet he doubted anyone else had heard it. "I see you found her. Thanks, Derek."
"Anytime, Hotch. Good night."
Spencer came out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later, having taken a shower to relieve some of the heat. Everyone was sound asleep as he stretched out on the floor beside the pullout couch, near to Emily.
He'd stay close in case she needed to haunt the hotel again before morning. It was what Super Heroes did—protecting the vulnerable.
Even Superman and Wonder Woman had their weaknesses, he thought as he looked at the two older agents snuggled tight to each other—he just wondered if they knew what theirs were.
He did. And he kind of liked where he fit in the grander scheme of their strange little family. Their own Justice League.
He rather liked that image.
CONVERSATIONDURING APOCALYPSE NOW; LATE JUNE 2008
JJ was stretched out on the bed with a can of Sprite and the crackers Garcia had found in the vending machine. She felt horrible, weak, ashamed, and so damned grateful to be out of that police station.
Palmers and his crew were horrible, disgusting sexist pigs.
They'd dared to put their hands on her and all her training, both FBI and Media Relations, had flown right out the window. Emily had stepped in, protective like always, drawing the men's fire, their attention.
But the comments still came, the accusations that they'd slept with their teammates. The accusations that they were easy. The demands for attention of the same kind.
Then Palmers had grabbed Emily, jerked her up close to him. Told her if she didn't want the attention don't wear the kind of clothes she'd had on yesterday. Told Emily he'd been able to see right down her shirt, and he'd liked what he saw. Told her she should be flattered at all the attention.
Told them they'd need to learn how to live in a man's world if they wanted to play at a man's game. Emily's knee had gotten him just short of his groin and her threat not to miss the next time had sunken in.
He'd released Emily so fast she'd nearly fallen. Threatened her that it wasn't over between them.
JJ'd known he'd meant it. He'd actually scared her—more than anything save Hinkle's dogs—more than she'd been scared while on the job.
And this was while they were standing in the middle of the police station.
"That was intense, wasn't it, little momma?"
"My aim is getting better." JJ admitted, thinking of the vomit on Palmers' shoes.
"So you did aim for his shoes. Good girl."
"Yeah, but I didn't mean to make things worse for Emily. And then we left her there."
"I have a feeling Superman is watching out for Wonder Woman."
"Wow. Did you see how intense he was?" JJ said, her awe in her voice. "I thought he was going to rip into whomever had dared touch Emily and shred him."
"But Emily tamed the beast." Garcia said, thinking. "JJ, do you think Hayley ever tamed that particular beast?"
"What do you mean?"
"Hotch is damned intense. Albeit in a sexy, alpha type of way. A cold way, I'd guess. Wouldn't he be hard to live with?"
"I'd guess so. I've never really thought about it." JJ admitted. "I think—from what I've seen and heard—that Hayley expected him to be like Ward Cleaver when he was home. Leave the office at five o'clock and forget all about what we do. Lord knows we can't really do that, can we?"
"No, baby jellybean, we can't." Garcia agreed. "That's why I think this thing between Emily and Hotch is kind of…well, terrifying. Intense."
"The way he watches her?"
"That way he stares at her. The way they seem drawn to each other. They're damned magnets. He wasn't like that three weeks ago. I wonder what changed?"
"Will said he found Emily crying at the hospital. Alone in the chapel. Said he told Hotch. Since then, Hotch's been hyper vigilant where Emily's concerned." JJ said. "You think something happened between them?"
"Yep." Garcia said, giving it some thought. "Just like I think something more happened last night then she let on."
"Never thought I'd ever see Emily that flustered—over a man, no less." JJ laughed. Emily's cool was one of the things she envied and admired about her friend.
"Over Hotch!" Garcia laughed. "I wonder if Reid or Morgan's seen what's going on?"
"Can you imagine what signals they'd be giving off if Reid figured it out?" JJ asked, laughing until her stomach whirled.
"Maybe she should just do her Mr. Right, already." Garcia said, referring to the vague description she'd dragged out of Emily less than a month ago. Her Mr. Right had sounded just like Hotch—and she hadn't been aware of it—until JJ had pointed it out.
Looks like Emily was gonna get her Mr. Right, and sometime soon, too. Goody for her, Garcia thought as her cell phone beeped and a gorgeous voice sounded over the speaker. "Hey you, sexy thing. I have a request that only you can fulfill."
"Bring it on, sugar, I'm ready for whatever you can dish out!" She just hoped Emily was ready for Hotch.
ROSSI'S READYDURING APOCALYPSE NOW:
LATE JUNE 2008
David Rossi was ready to go back to work. He'd had enough of convalescing. He needed to be doing something, something more worthwhile then sitting on the porch with Mudgie and rotting away.
David Rossi wasn't old enough to be put out to pasture just yet.
Rossi sat in the living room, files spread before him, nightly news on in the background. Erin Strauss had called him, asking for a huge favor.
She wanted his input on a new BAU team. She wanted him to head it up for a few weeks once he returned to full duty. Wanted him to make sure the team would be equally as effective as Hotch's team, wanted to make sure they'd have a wide variety of individuals with specialized backgrounds to make them an ultimate profiling force.
Because Hotch's team was just flat out getting too busy to handle all the cases sent their way, and the two other BAU teams just weren't that good. That was part of the favor Strauss had asked as well. Rossi had been asked to reevaluate all the BAU teams' personnel records, and redistribute teams B, C, and the new D, to better balance the individuals.
Team A, Hotchner's team, was being left exactly as it was. Strauss was more than content to leave Aaron Hotchner in his little niche for the rest of his days as an agent, and his people with him. Rossi knew Hotchner was more than happy with that.
Rossi couldn't blame him. Hotch had the job he'd worked hard for, the teammates he respected—and for the most part, handpicked, and access to the woman he wanted above all else. Ironically, the one team member he hadn't hand-picked.
If Hotchner had figured out just what he wanted to do with Emily Prentiss, yet. Rossi knew what he'd be doing with her if it was him in Aaron's shoes.
Maybe that was why he had three ex-wives and Hotchner only had one.
Still, Emily Prentiss was one hell of a woman. Too bad Hotch had met her first.
The TV blipped an announcement and he looked at it out of habit. That woman reporter who never stopped dramatizing suddenly appeared on the screen, "We are now bringing you coverage from Southern California where the members of the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit are holding a conference in regards to the suspected killers of twenty-four innocent people."
At the words behavioral analysis unit Rossi's attention sharpened. He turned the volume up when he saw the familiar face of the pretty media liaison filling the screen. Listened as she described why the BAU was there today.
Watched as she turned the conference over to another agent. A dark-haired, dark-eyed lady who had visited nearly every day she'd been able to while he'd been in the hospital.
His eyes immediately landed on the white bandages. At the right hand in an air cast.
What the hell had happened to Emily? She looked young, beautiful, and vulnerable, and he wondered what Hotch must have been thinking. What was he trying to achieve?
He listened as Emily described the UNSUBS, one disorganized and asocial typology, the other a submissive. Watched as she fielded questions from one man in particular.
Watched her brown eyes flash worriedly, momentarily toward
someone who must have been behind the cameras.
Some of the questions froze Rossi's blood, then heated his temper. "Rumor has it he had a knife to your throat and nearly killed you. Do you care to comment on how he died?"
Sounded like it had been bad. But he was reassured by the way she looked before his eyes. She'd curled her hair, he always liked it when she curled her hair.
He had a sneaking suspicion Hotch liked it curled, too.
For someone unacquainted with Emily, the signal she sent to the blonde beside her would have been missed.
But Dave Rossi had spent a lot of plane rides studying the nuances of the younger woman's expressions, trying to peg just who she was.
He still wasn't sure. But he'd knew enough to recognize the tensing of her lips just the little bit, followed by an almost unnoticeable gesture for JJ to skedaddle. Which the little blonde did.
Rossi's body tensed instinctively. Even through the glass tube he was attuned to his teammates. He knew Emily was expecting something to go down—and she wanted pregnant, vulnerable Jareau out of the line of fire.
Hotch appeared on screen, cold and inscrutable like always. He leaned toward Emily and she leaned toward him, instinctive, like to dark-eyed halves of a whole.
Another question was thrown out over the speakers, and Rossi tensed again. "Just one more question—wasn't it true Palmers was arrested after physically assaulting you and making sexual threats?"
What the hell? Emily had been attacked? Rossi pulled out his cell phone, ready to dial someone who could update him on what was going on. His finger hovered over the button that would link him directly with the technical analyst, Garcia. She always knew what was going down. And was the one most likely not to be at the press conference with the rest of the team.
Rossi paused a moment as movement showed at the bottom of his screen, just behind the flashing tipline number. Morgan posed, looking dark and intimidating in black Ray Bans and black fatigues. Rossi knew by looking at him that he was completely on alert. Hotch stepped closer to Emily, an instinctive reaction that signaled he, too, felt the threat.
And his first instinct was to move himself in front of her. Which he did.
Which told Rossi a lot.
Hotch's feelings for Emily hadn't changed in the last several weeks. And he was intent on protecting her from whatever it was threatening her.
No matter what Hotch had to do.
Emily ended the conference and stepped off toward the side of the stage. Hotch's hand was at her elbow. He appeared as nothing more than a lackey, subordinate to the agent they'd apparently made the deliberate face of the investigation.
He knew Emily wasn't like SA Jill Morris, out to make a name, so she was handling the press conference at Hotch's insistence. Rossi had to wonder why.
His curiosity was practically insatiable. He watched, cell phone in one hand, remote in the other-the burned one, the one he couldn't really use anymore. The one he didn't really like to look at. As Hotch moved his body even more in front of Emily's. As Morgan came up behind them, blocking Emily from the other side.
They're every action shouted to Rossi that both men sensed something—something directed not at them, but at Emily.
"Day of Judgment" were the unclear words that came from the television as what sounded like a hundred rounds of bullets sprayed across the court house foyer.
Rossi actually jumped and dropped both the phone and remote, watching anxiously as Hotch swung Emily out of the way, blocked her body with his, as they both unholstered their guns. They began to move around the column they'd taken cover behind, and the screen went completely blank.
Now all David Rossi could do was wait. Wait and pray that when the team came home—they'd all come home, in relatively one safe, and happy piece.
David Rossi hated being idle, put out to pasture, away from his team…And never more so than now.
Dammit…David Rossi was going back to work.
HAYLEY'S REPLACEMENTDURING APOCALYPSE NOW: LATE JUNE 2008
Hayley wanted to scream at the man on the other end of the phone, but she wasn't angry with Dave. No, she was angry at Aaron, and no one deserved her wrath but him.
He'd promised to keep Jack for the weekend, it was coming up on Thursday, and she'd not heard a word from him. And he wasn't answering his cell phone.
"Listen, Hayley. I'm watching the press conference right now. Channel eighty-seven. If you don't believe me, turn it on. I'm sure he'll get back with you as soon as he can." Rossi said, from Hotch's office phone.
He'd went in to the office after watching the first press conference to get a few files, both for the project he was working on for Strauss, and to keep his mind fresh.
Basically, he'd just wanted to be out there doing something productive, rather than sitting at home looking at his mangled arm. He'd used his spare key to Hotch's office to get some of the files he was looking for and had ended up working at Hotch's desk. It had just happened, and when the phone had rang, he'd answered out of habit.
It reminded him why he never answered his own exes' telephone calls.
"Look, their showing what exactly happened out there, and I need to watch it. One of my colleagues was hurt. I'm sure Hotch will get back to you as soon as he can." With that Rossi hung up the phone very gingerly.
Hayley actually felt the desire to stomp her foot, her resentment of the BAU and it's members making her feel bitter and guilty all together.
She'd used to be so proud that Aaron was the one making monsters go away. Until she'd learned that those monsters made Aaron go away, too.
She flipped on the television, knowing Jack wouldn't wake from his nap for at least another hour. Just to see what was going on.
Nancy Grace was speaking on the screen, loud and emphatic as usual. "These are a series of clips detailing exactly what has happened over the last few days, at the Nortan Springs Police Station in California. Listen closely to the words this man, this chief of police, says. To an FBI Agent. Is it always like this for female law enforcement agents? Take a look and we'll have callers after the video."
Hayley watched as a grainy video filled the screen. It showed a young blond and she recognized her as the media liaison for Aaron's team. She hadn't heard she was pregnant, but the shape of her stomach was unmistakable. Hayley couldn't remember if Agent Jareau had ever mentioned dating anyone. Hayley watched in disbelief as several men—dressed in uniforms—badgered the young woman. Watched as the more dramatically dressed blonde she vaguely recalled as working with Aaron was pushed rudely aside. She could hear them teasing both women crudely, and she looked down the hall quickly, making sure little Jack's door hadn't opened. He didn't need to hear those things. Hell, she didn't need to hear the comments being said to the women she'd met and liked.
She watched as Agent Prentiss—whom she'd only met once or twice—stepped into the frame. Moved in front of her colleague. The woman whom Aaron had been strangely reluctant to ever talk about. She knew it had always grated on him that she'd been assigned to his team without his approval. How he'd felt she was there to spy on the rest of the team. She gasped as Agent Jareau vomited on the man's shoes. She remembered those days from her own pregnancy. She tightened her hands on the arms of the chair when the man actually jerked toward JJ. Was he really going to attack her? Oh, God, where was Aaron and the rest of his team?
Hayley might not have been a profiler but she'd spent years married to one—and the woman who stepped in front of Jareau to protect her didn't have an alternate agenda.
Hayley actually covered her mouth at the filth spewing in SSA Prentiss's direction. Bitch, whore, other words Hayley cringed at hearing. All rained out of the man's mouth as he jerked the dark haired woman against his chest, looked down her shirt.
Hayley actually cheered when the woman kneed the son-of-a-bitch where it mattered most.
The filming stopped for a moment, and Nancy Grace reappeared. "It's not over, folks. Some people just don't know when to stop. Take a look at the rest of the video."
The second clip showed the same players, only Aaron, SSA Morgan and Reid were present as well. She watched as her ex confronted the son-of-a-bitch who'd said such vile things to SSA Prentiss.
Nearly dropped the remote when the man told Aaron to get his little whore out of his precinct. Said he'd give SSA Prentiss something to enjoy—something a whole lot hotter than what she was getting from Aaron.
Moved closer to the television when the man she'd been with for over twenty years lost his temper in a way she'd never, ever, seen him do. Feared for a moment, he'd kill the man—right there on screen.
She watched in complete puzzlement and astonishment as Reid jumped out of Aaron's way, as Morgan and another man she didn't recognize jumped to block Aaron's path. As Aaron struggled against them both and would have made it around them.
But SSA Prentiss stopped him.
Hayley watched as SSA Prentiss--Hayley couldn't even remember her first name--wrapped one hand around Aaron's arm and said his name. Called him by that nickname she'd always abhorred.
And he stopped. Just like that. Just pulled back.
Just that simple, he did what SSA Prentiss wanted, no argument, no battle, none of the hell that had characterized her every request for the last few years of their marriage.
When had that happened?
Hayley's mind was so filled with assimilating the idea that Aaron might have found someone else that quickly after the divorce was final, that she didn't hear Richard's key in the lock.
Richard worked in the legal department of the FBI. She'd met him six months ago, when dropping Jack off at the Bureau for a visitation weekend with Aaron. They'd been sleeping together since the week after the divorce was final. He'd had a key for nearly a month, now.
Unlike Aaron, Richard never went into the field, was never gone for more than an overnight consultation. Never bottled everything up inside and shut her out.
This weekend marked a turning point in their relationship. They were going out of town for the weekend, and Aaron was supposed to keep Jack. If she could get a hold of him by Friday afternoon, that was.
"Hi, sweetheart. What are you doing?" Richard asked in his slightly nasal tone.
"Press conference for the BAU." She said, hesitantly. He didn't really like hearing her speak of Aaron. Their divorce was still a little to recent for him to be entirely comfortable.
Especially since he worked in the same building as Aaron. Aaron had something of a reputation, apparently. And Richard was scared of him. Hayley had reassured him that Aaron would never physically lash out against anyone, no matter what the provocation.
She wasn't so sure about that after what she'd just seen.
She sighed, eyes still on the screen, as she wondered briefly—when was the last time he'd fought like that for her? Instead of fighting with her.
She couldn't remember.
As Richard leaned in to kiss her, she closed to her eyes and made one wish for the man she'd always care about. She had spent the last twenty years of her life with Aaron, and she'd always have a place in her heart for the father of her child.
She wished, briefly, that he'd find someone who'd understand him better than she ever had. Someone who'd know him better than himself. Aaron deserved that. Maybe SSA Prentiss could be that person.