Gin Eyre

Part 1

You're in the kitchen, rolling out dough for cinnamon rolls in Aaron Hotchner's kitchen. The two of you have been dating for a little over 6 months and you still can't believe it. You met him at the art museum where you work. He was chaperoning a field trip for his son Jack when the two of you bumped into each other. You usually didn't go for patrons but there was something about his deep, honeyed voice and kind eyes that made you do a double take. The last 6 months had been amazing, and though he was taking things slow with you feelings wise, the sex was incredible.

Your phone starts to ring and your heart flutters in your chest. In the last few weeks you'd realized that you'd fallen madly in love with him. The age difference of 13 years had thrown your friends and family for a loop and that had kept you from being fully invested in the relationship but you couldn't deny your feelings any longer. You're in love with him and when he gets home you're going to tell him exactly that, plate of hot cinnamon rolls in hand. Excited by the idea that it would be Aaron calling to let you know he's on the way home you don't even bother to wipe your hands on your apron before reaching over to answer it.

"Hi, baby, I'm so excited to-"

"I won't be in tonight, Y/n." He cuts straight to the chase no greetings.

You know that the work side of Aaron existed. Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner was no one to mess around with and sometimes he could forget that he was talking to you, his girlfriend, and not one of his coworkers. It had been a long 5 years since he lost his wife Haley and he hadn't dated since; he's out of practice. It doesn't bother you much, you think its hot when he's sharp and bossy but tonight seems different.

"What? Why? You said it was open and shut, that you'd be home. I alright started-" You start to sputter in protest but he quickly shuts you down.

"I know what I said." He mutters in a low voice.

What the hell is his problem?

"Aaron, what's wrong?" You ask softly, hoping that he'll snap out of whatever funky mood he's in. He's never spoken to you in this manner and you're thrown for a loop.

"I've already got the chief of police and the press breathing down my neck, I don't need you to join them. You don't know what I'm dealing with." He just about sneers and you flinch at the sharpness of his tone.

"What the fuck are you talking about? I'm not breathing down your damn neck. And I've never once assumed that I know the shit you go through everyday." You shoot back angrily.

How dare he talk to me like that.

"Listen, I'm hoping I'll be home in a few days so you don't have wait for me until I get back. You can go home."

"Why the fuck are you acting like this?"

"I'd appreciate it if you watched your language."

"Two things Agent Hotchner. My potty mouth has never been a problem, in fact you've said on multiple occasions that I put it to good use. And two, you don't have to worry about seeing me ever again because we're done." You try to keep your voice firm but it wavers slightly from the tears that are pooling in your eyes.

"Fine." He says simply.

Was it really that easy for him to let you go?

"Fine!" You shout, hanging up. Letting out a frustrated sigh you clear the kitchen, throwing away the dough that you had just worked so hard on before you gather your bag and storm out. You drive home with tears streaming down your face, your hair whipping in the wind since you were driving with the windows down. The cold night air makes your tears like icicles on your cheeks and you angrily push them away. When you pull into your apartment complex you sit there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened.