𝐔𝐠𝐥𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝐀𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫 (1)

nine*

*sexual content (please don't read if you're young!)

...

Hotch grabbed his gun, "Stay here," he ordered, before turning to leave.

"That sounded like Garcia," I ignored Hotch's demand and, grabbing my trusty water bottle, I followed him out of the door and down the stairs.

"Don't make a sound, Reeves." He warned.

I followed in his footsteps, stepping where he placed his feet because I trusted that he had automatically assessed which stairs made the least noise. Footsteps in front of us made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Hotch halted and, silently spinning around to face me, he placed a calloused hand over my mouth. The glint of his eyes in the moonlight told me not to make a sound. His face was inches from my own and, even under the circumstances, I found his rough grip attractive.

When it was clear I understood, Hotch removed his hand from my lips only to press his pointer finger against them instead. I nodded and, in the darkness, I only made out a blur of limbs and the glint of more than one gun as Hotch effortlessly apprehended the suspect and slammed him roughly against the wall, causing a picture to fall off its hook, the frame shattering when it hit the floor. I couldn't help but feel a little envious.

"It's me. It's me," Spencer whined, not appreciating being manhandled by his unit chief.

Hotch sighed, loosening his grip on Reid, "Come on," he told his fellow profiler, "Let's go."

When we got outside we followed the flashlights which, when we were nearer, illuminated Derek —who had beat us to it and had his arms around a weeping Garcia. I did my best to ignore the bloodied body lying a few feet away, rushing towards them both, putting my hand on Garcia's back, "What happened? Are you alright?"

"Garcia saw the unsub, she ran straight towards him," Morgan scolded Garcia, shaking his head in disbelief.

My eyes widened, "Shall we go inside? Put the kettle on?" I offered gently, knowing that as much as the others wanted to help, they had their job to do.

Garcia nodded and I linked arms with her, steering her inside. I sat her down on the sofa, wrapping a warm blanket around her.

...

"So, we think Joshua Beardsley might be our unsub?" JJ asked.

"No," I interrupted, "That can't be right, Garcia and I spoke to him yesterday, he's not your guy."

"We should interview him again tomorrow. Everybody get some rest," Hotch ignored me.

"I'm telling you, he's not the unsub," I pressed.

"All due respect, Reeves, but your hunch has nothing to do with this."

"It's a gut feeling. I've never been wrong before."

That was a lie. I was wrong once before. But on that occasion I had let emotions triumph judgement and this time, as sad as the deaths were, there was no reason for my emotions to get the better of me.

Hotch snapped, "Reeves, I don't need you to tell me how to do my job. Remember your place: we're the profilers and you're the receptionist."

"What he means is that we'll interview him just in case —just to follow protocol. Obviously, Addy, you're a huge help behind the scenes and you help this team run more smoothly."

Reid rushed to salvage the situation but it was too late: the damage had been done. I bit my tongue, not wanting to say something I'd really regret. Glaring at Hotch one last time, I turned my back and marched angrily up the stairs.