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(SEASON TWO, EPISODE TEN)

Aaron sighed. He had just gotten home from their latest case and all Hayley had wanted to do was fight. He was exhausted.

All he wanted to do was come home and see his wife and son, and Jack was asleep and Hayley could barely look at him. Tensions had been high in the house for months now, and it only seemed to get worse with every case he worked and every trip he took. He knew she had never signed up for this life, she had expected him to be a 9-5 Prosecutor forever, but she also knew how important his job was and that this was who he was.

The arguments had gotten worse ever since Jack was born, and while he tried his best to be as present as he could when he was home he knew she struggled when he was away. The arguments always went the same way, with Hayley screaming that he loved his job more than his family, and Aaron retorting back "what if it was Jack." He understood her side, so why couldn't she understand his?

If it was god forbid Jack who was in trouble, they would want the team assigned to his case to be working 24/7 until he was safe. They would want them to see Jack as their own and fight for him as if it were their own child in danger. It was a part of the job to see every victim as a person, not just a name or a picture. To see them as their wife or brother or child. It helped them understand their lifestyle, their character, and most relevantly their vulnerabilities that made them fall victim in the first place whether that be a high risk lifestyle or simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

This was the job, and that's what made him who he was. He cared.

While he did his best to balance his career and his family, the job often meant long hours and weeks away.  His priorities torn between the greater good of America and the health of his marriage, and unfortunately his marriage hadn't been at the top of this list for a while.

He couldn't help but reflect on the happy go lucky teenagers they once were, hopelessly in love dreaming of the future they now lived in - a beautiful home with the sweetest son they could have ever asked for.

Those teenagers seemed so far away now, as if it were another life. On paper it had all gone to plan, but in reality Aaron was a hardened man far too aware of the overwhelming dangers that lurked in every shadow, with a wife who resented him and his job. Jack was exactly as he'd imagined though, so blissfully childlike and the ever shining light in the darkness.

As Aaron thought of Jack he smiled and got up from the couch to check on him. He opened his sons bedroom door just a crack and could see him laying in his lowered crib. He was over a year old now and was becoming more and more independent with each day that passed. He closed the door again and headed back down to the couch, his usual sleeping place these days.

He took a sip of his whiskey before opening his laptop. His mind reflected on the past few days and the unexpected visit from Emily Prentiss.

He had been shocked to see her, immediately recognising her but not quite sure where from for a moment until his brain had retraced his career and recalled his time working for her mother. He had only met her the once before she went off to school at a fancy Gala. She had looked beautiful that night in a black fitted dress with her dark hair trailing down her neck.

He remembered being so scared of his new boss John when he berated him for losing 'the Ambassadors daughter' and the panic he had while searching for the young woman. He recalled the instant relief when he found her, that was almost immediately replaced with nerves when he saw her up close and was taken aback by her stunning features. He had stuttered almost every sentence when speaking to her, but she was so kind and 'normal' compared to the rest of the clientele he had experienced that night. When she acknowledged his nerves and assumed they were because of John he was glad, because admitting to her, and himself, that he was stunned by her wouldn't have been a great look for his career or his relationship with Hayley.

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