Are You Profiling Me?

-21-

Another LONGGG chapter! 

You got onto the jet and thought about Rossi's words. You knew you worked with profilers. Were you that transparent? You sat in your usual seat, thinking that not sitting by Hotch and Rossi would seem weird. You huffed as you sat down. Hotch never looked up from her file and Rossi was sitting on his phone. You tried to sleep when the plane took off.

You're sitting near the window, your head leaning gently against the cool glass, your eyes closed, body slumped into the seat. The exhaustion of the day has taken its toll, and despite the lingering weight of the case, you find yourself drifting off, the steady rhythm of the plane lulling you into a rare, uneasy peace.

At first, it's just a flicker—your breathing slows, the tension in your muscles fades as sleep overtakes you.

But then something shifts.

Your face tightens, a frown forming as you shift uncomfortably in your seat. Your eyes are still shut, but something in your breathing has changed. The air around you seems heavier now, and the nightmare begins to creep in, dragging you back to the darkness.

It's always the same—a place of dust and smoke, the feeling of being trapped, the sting of betrayal. The horrors of Syria replay in your mind, and the panic rises quickly.

You whimper quietly in your sleep.

Hotch hears it. His head jerks up, eyes scanning the cabin. At first, he tries to dismiss it, shaking his head slightly as if he's imagining things. But then, the noise comes again—this time, louder.

A small, gasping cry slips from your lips, and Hotch's chest tightens. His heart pounds. He can't do this. He promised.

The nightmare is here, the echoes of your fear cutting through the quiet cabin.

His mind is racing, but he knows he shouldn't intervene. You've asked him for space. You said you needed time. And he'd promised you he wouldn't cross that line.

But the sound of your distress is too much to bear.

Rossi, sitting across from him, notices too. He stands slowly, his expression unreadable. He doesn't have to ask—he knows what's going on. His own face softens with concern, and he moves toward you.

Hotch watches, his jaw clenching, hands tightening into fists. He wants to help, but he doesn't want to push you. He doesn't want to make things worse.

But the cries are getting louder now, more desperate.

Rossi glances back at Hotch, his expression a silent plea. He knows how difficult this is for the both of them, but you're struggling, and they both know it.

Rossi crouches beside you, his voice soft but firm. "Danielle," he says, as gently as he can, "it's just a nightmare. You're safe. You're on the jet."

For a moment, nothing happens. You shudder, your eyes still closed, and your breathing hitches, but you don't respond to him.

Rossi glances up at Hotch. His eyes are full of understanding—this is not something they can handle alone. Hotch knows it too, and before he even realizes what he's doing, he's standing, moving to join them.

His chest feels tight as he approaches you. He doesn't want to intrude. He doesn't want to make things worse. But he can't stand to hear you in pain like this.

He crouches down next to Rossi, his eyes on your contorted, terrified face. His hand hovers near your shoulder, but he holds back. He's so close, but you've made it clear that you need distance, that you need to work through this on your own.