𝐔𝐠𝐥𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝐀𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫 (1)

eighteen*

*sexual content and substance (alcohol) abuse. Don't read if these things will trigger/upset you!

...

I sat on the side of the bed, my bare feet dangling over the edge, brushing against the cold floor. Hotch was sleeping soundly beside me, his bedhead making me giggle softly as I itched to reach out and run my hands through it. But I didn't risk waking him, the only rest the man got was his sleep. I tiptoed over to his closet, selecting a warm-looking fleece to pull on over the faded cotton shirt of his that, at this point, I had adopted as my own. Grabbing the blanket off the edge of the bed, I made my way to the balcony—careful to open and close the door quietly so as not to disturb Aaron. I sunk into one of the musty armchairs, wrapping the blanket around my legs.

I thought about the profile I was working on: it was almost ready. Using tips I had picked up by watching the team work case after case, I had an idea of who I was looking for. I just needed a way of narrowing it down. That was the tricky part because to do that, I needed to hack into Garcia's computer which meant I needed a window of opportunity where I could use her system without alerting the whole team. Thanks to her lessons over lunch, I knew my way around her computer enough to locate him. And, courtesy of Hotch, my aim had been getting better and, last week, I had managed to shoot my target in the head. I was convinced that when it came down to it, I would not miss. I had decided to wait until Saturday night because, unless there was a case, the team wouldn't be back until Monday morning. That gave me a week to get everything in order.

I knew it was a gamble.

I knew it was unpredictable when a case would arise but I had to take that risk. I wasn't sure what would happen afterwards, all I knew was that Rosie would be safe. I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt at the fact that I was planning to betray the people that I had grown so close to over the last year that they felt like my family. But far stronger than my guilt was my love for Rosie.

I missed her like summer missed spring. I missed her like a musician robbed of his hearing missed music. I missed her like a dancer stripped, by age, of her flexibility missed to move. The sharp pain in my chest had been building for so long that it was getting harder to bear. I talked to her on the phone all the time. I listened to her voice memos over and over again while I ate supper alone or at night when I tried to sleep. Or when I woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, disorientated and calling for my daughter who wasn't there. But hearing her voice, although it brought me much comfort, was not the same as holding her in my arms.

I didn't know how long I sat there like that. I watched the sunrise with tears in my eyes until the scrapping of the balcony door alerted me to the fact that it was early morning and Hotch was awake.

"Hey," I greeted him, wiping my eyes before I faced him, "Good morning."

He blinked in the daylight, still half asleep, "What are you doing out here? It's freezing," he touched my arm, "you're freezing, come inside."

I stood up, noticing how cold I actually was when the blanket fell from my legs, exposing my bare skin to the cool winter air, "I think you'll find I'm very hot," I joked, turning around to face him, my hands roping around his neck.

He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me inside and closing the door behind me, "That you are," he whispered in his deep, sleep laced voice, "But I could always warm you up."

My cold lips met his warm ones as he backed me up into the wardrobe, his hands tangling in my hair. I gasped as the cold mirror of the wardrobe met my thighs. He grinned and pulled the fleece and top that I had borrowed over my head, pausing to admire my naked body. I pushed him backwards until his knees hit the bed, waiting for him to fall backwards before I straddled him, moving my hair out of my face as I leaned down to kiss him. I moved my body against his, eliciting sinful sounds from his throat. His hips buckled under me, our bodies finding their rhythm and moving in synchrony. I kissed his neck painfully slowly, trailing little red marks from his chest to his abdomen as he groaned under my touch, his lips parted slightly in bliss.