Crying Lighting (Hotch x Reader)// ✔

22. Bag of Bones

Summary:

The BAU finally knows the truth - and Hotch and you deal with a new barrier

Notes:

Ok guys so since im probably gonna be super inconsistent the following weeks (bcs finals) and since this story is already completed in ao3 (the updates don't match bcs im a dumbass and created wattpad v late lmao - and it's probably not a good choice in the long run (?? idk?) to update it all in one go bcs outreach or whatever but ! i literally couldnt care less lmao i just want u guys to read at a leisurely pace (bcs as a reader i would be so fking frustrated if a story im following just stopped getting updated so!)

long story short: im updating the whole thing now! :) - so leave comments and thoughts bcs as a writer i live only thru coffee and feedback (desperate, i know)

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The closer you get to the house – recognizing the streets, the passing stores, and the luxurious villas – the more you feel like you are running out of time. There are words pressing at the tip of your tongue, wanting to pour out of your mouth. It feels like the distance between you and Hotch is stretching wide, even in the small space of the car.

You look at him one more time – one last time, you remind yourself. The strands of hair falling carelessly over his forehead, midnight hair which your slender fingers were tugging at, for what feels like a lifetime ago now; his broad shoulders, steady and strong under your touch; his dimples and cheekbones; and the slow curvature of his lips upwards whenever a smile escapes him.

He stops the car but you refuse to look ahead, careful not to break the moment – because if he's going to rat you out then it means you're going to be back to square one. To when you hated him and he despised you.

Hotch turns towards you, his Adam's apple bops once when he swallows. He holds his breath, gaze transfixed on you. His skin is cast in blue and red lights, flashing across his attractive face. The look in his eyes is unreadable, but his eyebrows are pulled down as if he's apologetic and sad, beyond repair.

Your throat clogs up and you want to say something – it's a foreign desperation that has never before stirred within you.

You want to say aloud: that you wish you'd met sooner, possibly even in different circumstances and not in your trailer, where violence was all you knew; how you even fantasized of different events bringing you two together; and how even with the short time elapsed between you two, you feel more attached and drawn to him than you've ever felt to Nathan.

And you want to confess that you –

He opens the door, and that's when you hear them.

Police sirens, loud and jarring in the environment around you, before they shut off at once.

Twisting your body around you see your house, police cars, CSI and whatever the like. People in uniforms swarm your house. Just like they did when Nathan first disappeared – except for the FBI-mandated SUV vehicles that are new. You storm out, your feet moving on their volition. The logical, cold part of your brain begs you to rein it in; not show emotions; not appear frantic. But you can't.

Because you see your mattress, the one you'd substituted and left in front of the door of your basement, dragged out in front of your yard. The marital mattress which you'd shared with Nathan before you found out the truth about him.

And your blood runs hot, your hands burn.

Running in your high heels is painful, but as soon as you're past your front door you toe them off to continue barefoot. None of the BAU agents are around and you only see strange men and women. A few even ogle at you and your state of distress. There's dirt and gravel over your wooden floor which goes to the kitchen, where men and women take off paintings and dust away for prints. The trail leads upstairs but you halt – noticing the commotion coming from Nathan's office.