RED

closed doors, elevators, and arguments

word count: 2981

The atmosphere in the BAU bullpen was thick with tension, the usual hum of activity replaced by an uneasy silence. The rain outside drummed steadily against the windows, casting a dull, gray light over the room. The team sat at their desks, their attention flickering between the paperwork in front of them and the closed door to Hotch's office. The air was heavy with a sense of unease, but no one knew exactly why.

Inside the office, Hotch, JJ, and Erin Strauss were locked in a heated discussion. The door was closed, but the muffled sound of their voices—rising and falling in agitation—seeped into the bullpen, fueling the team's anxiety. No one outside knew what was being said, only that whatever was happening in there wasn't good.

Spencer leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowed in concentration. He tried to focus on the file in his hands, but his gaze kept drifting to the office door. "Something's going on," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Hotch never closes the door unless it's serious."

Derek glanced over at him, then back at the door. "Yeah, and with Strauss in there, it's never good." He crossed his arms over his chest, the muscles in his neck tightening as he tried to shake off the unease gnawing at him. "Whatever it is, it can't be good."

Penelope sat at her desk, her fingers hovering over her keyboard. She hadn't typed a single word in the past five minutes, too distracted by the argument taking place behind the closed door. "Why does it feel like the end of the world?" she asked, her voice tinged with worry. "It's like we're all waiting for a bomb to drop."

Emily was seated at her desk, her fingers drumming absently on the wood. She hadn't spoken much over the past month, her usual sharp wit and easygoing demeanor replaced by a quiet detachment. The shadows under her eyes were dark and deep, a constant reminder of the sleepless nights that had become her new normal. She glanced up at the door to Hotch's office, a flicker of concern passing over her face before she turned back to her work. "Whatever it is, we'll find out soon enough," she muttered, though her tone lacked conviction.

Inside the office, the argument continued to escalate. Hotch's voice was the most distinct, his tone laced with frustration. He had always been the epitome of control, but now, his emotions were raw, his composure cracking under the weight of the situation.

"That's bullshit, JJ," Hotch interrupted, his voice sharp. "This isn't what's best for anyone, and you know it."

"This isn't just about protocol, Erin," Hotch continued, his words muffled but forceful enough to be felt even through the closed door. "JJ is an essential part of this team, and moving her would cripple us. You can't just pull her out like this!"

Strauss's response was too low to hear, but it clearly didn't satisfy Hotch, who shot back with something that made JJ's voice rise in protest.

"I don't want to go!" JJ's voice broke through, louder than before, tinged with desperation. "But if you're going to force this, I—"

"Don't say that," Hotch interrupted, his voice sharp and laced with an edge of something close to desperation. "We can fight this, JJ. We don't have to let it happen."

But JJ's response was lost as the argument fell back into a heated murmur, the tension in the room thick enough to suffocate.

In the bullpen, the team exchanged uneasy glances. The sound of raised voices, though indistinct, was unnerving. Something was happening—something that none of them were prepared for.

Derek finally let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand over his head. "This is messed up," he muttered. "Strauss should have told us if something was happening."