Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first time it happens, no one realizes it until after Hotch leaves the bullpen, rushing off to pick Jack up from Jessica.

Spencer turns to Morgan, words spilling from his mouth until he pauses, his hand raised halfway to his hair. Emily, JJ, and Rossi immediately look up, all familiar with the way a sudden silence from Spencer normally signifies a break in the case.

Instead, he gently cards his hand through his ruffled curls and goes, "I think Hotch kissed me on the way out the door."

***

The next time it happens, it's to Garcia.

She's been busy, filtering through search after search with a massive pool of suspects. She knows she's close, knows it the same way she knows how to code, how to knit, how to pull something from nothing.

She standing in the tiny kitchenette, only the dim lights from Hotch's office and the BAU's briefing office lighting the way when she hears someone come down the steps. She turns, hoping it's Morgan, wanting some reassurance. Instead, it's Hotch, his face drawn and wane, as he heads for the coffee pot next to her.

"Garcia," he greets quietly, his eyes on his drink as he pours hours old coffee into his mug.

Garcia offers a weak smile. "Sir," she says. The two stand in the quiet for a moment, Hotch's eyes on his drink, and Garcia's eyes on him. She shifts eventually, as Spencer and Emily pass by in the office window, casting deeper shadows across the room. "Sir- I just- I want you to know that I'm trying, sir, it's just - these parameters and the pool," she says, gesturing, her bracelets clinking softly on her wrist. "I want to find them, and I know- I know! I'm close," she finishes before turning back to her tea, her eyes lowered.

Hotch reaches out, gently touching her shoulder. "Garcia," he says softly. "Penelope," he amends. "I know," he says. "We wouldn't be able to find nearly as many killers and abductors if it wasn't for your work." He shifts closer to her. "I've never doubted your ability to find out what we need."

"Oh God," Garcia says, her stomach knotting. "I feel like you've just sent me up to fail."

Hotch chuckles softly, the sound so out of place that Garcia freezes. "No," Hotch says, dropping his arm to press an absentminded kiss to the top of her head. "Now, I believe in you so, please, find me our guy." He turns and heads up the stairs, his gait steady and even, completely unchanged.

Garcia blinks after him, pushing her glasses up her face before pressing her fingertips to her cheeks. "Oh my god," she whispers, alone in the room. "Hotch just kissed me too."

***

When Garcia hands out the folder and begins reading the case to the group, JJ pauses. She sees it a split second before Garcia says it, the words he's killing siblings of those who had committed suicides, ringing around her head for a long moment before she tears her eyes away and looks up.

Everyone in the room is either very studiously not looking at her or staring straight at her. Only Hotch looks up in the pause and turns to JJ. "Take a minute before we go," he says, not unkindly but firmly. "This is going to be difficult for all of us, and I need everyone's head in the game."

JJ nods, her mind spinning. She's silent the rest of the meeting, only getting up when she registers the others rising as well. She turns from the room, heading out on autopilot. It's only when she realizes that she's in a dark and quiet place that she allows herself to take in the case.

The victim's faces stick in her mind - the original victims - the suicides - as her brain catches on them over and over again until their faces have become Roslyn, layered over each other in an almost horrific amalgamation of projection. Her mind sticks on the dates as well, so close to her anniversary, days away from when JJ would go to the graveyard and visit her older sister, bringing her Queen Anne's Lace, because even though Ros had been allergic they were her favorite.

She takes in a deep breath, closing her eyes and giving herself a minute to center her mind. She is calm, she is cool, she is collected. She breathes out, blinking her eyes open and taking in the room she had instinctively retreated to. Her old office comes into focus, stacks of miscellaneous folders and cardboard boxes surrounding her.

Behind her, someone knocks softly on the doorframe.

"Come in," she says, her voice quiet.

Hotch enters, his stride familiar. "You okay?" He asks in a murmur. JJ nods, still facing away from him. He shifts his weight, his clothes rustling with the movement. He reaches out for her, just as she turns, his hand heavy on her shoulder until he raises his other hand and places it on her other shoulder. She pauses, a flicker of something in his gaze that makes her hesitate before Hotch tugs her in closer to him. "We'll get him," he promises, his hands sliding up to her face before he tilts her head forward and pulls her into him even tighter.

JJ burrows into his circle of arms, tension sliding from her frame as her brain registers the tiny space of safety Hotch is offering. He brushes a kiss across her cheek before letting go, all traces of openness wiped from his face. "Come on," he says. "Wheel's up in twenty."

***

"Hotch," Morgan says, his voice low and warning. "I don't want to have to do this."

"Then don't," Hotch says quietly, his gaze on the folders in front of him as the plane banks sharply.

Morgan sighs, reaching out to halt his tablet from sliding across the table in front of them. The plane is dark around them, Spencer passed out on the couch across from them, Emily and JJ asleep next to each other, their heads tilted together. At the front of the plane, Rossi sits, staring out the window. Morgan sighs again and turns to face Hotch more squarely, angling himself so he can see the man sitting next to him better.

"It just doesn't feel right," he says.

"Well," Hotch says, lifting his gaze to meet Morgan's. "If it doesn't feel right, then don't do it."

"But -"

"But what?" Hotch interrupts, arching a brow. "The first thing we're taught on this team is to follow our instincts." He stares at Morgan, setting the file down. "So what are they telling you?"

"They're telling me it's a stupid idea to try - to try to even explain myself," Morgan says, almost snapping. "I don't want to have to fight it out every time I see my family."

"Okay," Hotch says evenly. "What does feel right then?"

Morgan shrugs, a helpless look on his face. "I don't know," he admits. "I'm just confused."

Hotch quirks a gentle smile at him. "I understand," he says. "It's hard to get even when you're in the thick of it."

Morgan nods rapidly. "And - I just -" he heaves a sigh. "You guys are my family." He blinks, leaning back his seat, staring at the ceiling. "I don't know what to do."

For a long moment, the two of them are silent until Hotch sighs. "I know you'll figure it out," he says softly. "You always do." Morgan closes his eyes, his feelings swirling in his chest. So lightly, he almost thinks he imagines it, he feels Hotch press a kiss to his cheek before turning back to his paperwork. "I believe in you," Hotch murmurs. "Just do what's best for you."

***

Emily blinks at Hotch as she stands in the doorway of his office. "Hi," she says. "Can we talk?" 

Hotch looks up at her over his paperwork before gesturing for her to sit down. "Yeah," he says. "What's up?" 

"Uh, I just-" She turns and shuts the door, the latch clicking behind her. "Does-" She cuts herself off, sighing and sliding down into the seat. Hotch furrows his brows at her before rising and coming around his desk, sinking into the chair next to her. She sighs again, a short burst of harsh air. "Do you talk to your father?" She asks abruptly, a strange look on her face. 

"Well," Hotch says after a beat. "He's dead, so no."

"Oh," Emily says, her voice dropping. 'I'm so sorry, Hotch, I had no idea." 

Hotch offers her a small smile. "It's not something I mention much," he admits, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. The room is silent for a beat before he narrows his eyes at her. "Why?" 

"Oh, uh," Emily begins before sighing for the third time. "I just - I wanted to talk to you about something but I don't quite know where or how to begin." 

"And you thought you'd start by asking about my father?" Hotch asks, arching an eyebrow. 

Emily shrugs, quirking half her mouth up in a half-smile. "Wasn't a very smart move for a profiler, was it?" She says. "But no, I uh, I wanted to know if you would've made the same call as me tonight." 

Hotch dips his head, running over the case in his mind, laying out all the facts - she had been cornered, at a clear disadvantage, with a gun held on her, and had made the judgment call to signal for a sniper to take the unsub out, rather than talking him down. He inclines his head in a quick nod.

"Yes," he says, cocking a brow at her. "Yes, I would've." 

Emily sighs, tension sliding from her frame. "There just- there was something about his face," she says softly. "I thought I was going to die, for real, and I thought I panicked." She blinks at him, rising to her feet. "I - thank you." 

"No," Hotch says, standing with her. He steps close, and pulls her into a hug, pressing a kiss to her hair above her ear. "You aren't dying on my watch." He tightens his grip on her before relaxing and pulling away, his face as fond and open as it got in the office. "You made the right call," he says, letting her go but keeping eye contact with her. "The correct call." 

Emily grins at him, relief making her expression fierce. "Good," she says, striding to the doorway. "I'd hate to leave you all in the lurch," she says, wiggling her fingers at him. "Come out and get drinks with us." 

"Okay," Hotch says after a beat, shutting the folder closed on his desk with a snap. "Lead the way then." 

***

With Rossi, it's not a surprise to anyone. 

They're drunk at his house, properly drunk, too many glasses of Emilys' infamous punch in, when Rossi decides that he needs to cook them a meal. He sits them down around his counter, pulling out pots and pans, their low chatter a welcome noise in the background. 

He points a wooden spoon in Spencer's direction menacingly, at his low question of what the hell are all these for, before shaking his head. "It's like none of you have ever seen a real chef in the kitchen." 

"Well," Spencer says, blinking slowly at him. "I drink coffee and eat stuff, so -" He blinks again, turning to Emily. "I eat those donuts." 

She pats him on the shoulder. "And you do it so, so, well," she says, grinning at him when he hums in her direction, his attention back on watching Rossi. 

Morgan chuckles from beside him, reaching out and nudging Garcia from where she's slumped over the counter. "C'mon babygirl, don't you want to watch the man work his magic?" 

"Magic?" Spencer says, spinning to look at Morgan and getting up to find his bag. "Do you want to see magic?" 

"Aw, hell," Morgan says, following Spencer from the kitchen. "That's not what I meant Pretty Boy!" 

JJ leans further into Emily, her face open and fond. "We should do this more often," she says, rubbing her cheek against Emily's shoulder. "I've missed this kind of de-stressing." 

Emily smiles down at her, tugging her even closer before looking over JJ's shoulder at Hotch. "You okay over there?" She asks, her grin blooming even brighter when Hotch turns to look at her with vaguely unfocused eyes. 

"Yeah," Hotch says, pulling his gaze away to go back to watching Rossi at the stove. "I'm trying to see the chef." 

Rossi laughs loudly from in front of the stove, striding around the counter and planting a loud smacking kiss on Hotch's lips. "And now you have," he says patting Hotch on the shoulder and heading back to the stove. "The food will be ready in twenty," he says, ignoring the looks from JJ and Emily who are alternating between staring at him and at Hotch. 

Hotch blinks at him for a moment before smiling and letting himself slide deeper into his seat, taking a long sip from his cup of punch. 

"Oh-" Garcia says, her face propped up in her hands as she flutters her eyes at the group in the kitchen. "I fucking love  you guys." From the room over, Spencer and Morgan burst into laughter, the sounds of a deck of cards exploding accompanying them. Garcia sighs deeply, lines of contentment etched into her face. "No," she says earnestly, as the others around her begin laughing too, as a deep swell of contentment rises within the home. "Seriously. Love you all forever."