𝗗𝗢𝗡'𝗧 𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗚𝗘𝗧 𝗠𝗘 | 𝘼. 𝙃𝙊𝙏𝘾𝙃𝙉𝙀𝙍

five

Like an alarm clock, but it was a slow, sort of broken one. For once you were glad to hear the sound, but you didn't feel like you needed to get up- because you couldn't. There was faint clinking of trinkets and a lot of blue, lots of people racing around and something uncomfortable stuffed down your throat; you could hear something.

[ Mommy loves you so much, you know that don't you Duckie? Mommy and Daddy love you so much. A memory. It was an empty parking lot, much cleaner than it should've been. A large off-white truck was there, and you stepped in front of it; the headlights came on, reflecting in your eyes. ]

'She's crashing.'

[ It sped towards you, screeching- what did you do? It wasn't real, could you die? ]

'We're losing her.'

[ Come on, decide. ]

'Clear.'

[ You were safe, out of the way, it didn't hit you, but vanished. ]

'We got her back.'

'How is she?' Hotch interrogated the nurse the moment she stepped out.

'We lost her for a second, but she's fine, she'll be alright,' and the chief could only lean back against the wall, taking out his phone.

'She's alive. Beck's alive,' he sighed with a smile of relief on his stoic face.

You could smell hospital, that clean, sickly odour of hospital cleanliness, flowers- lilies, your favourite, and a very strong, comforting waft of men's aftershave. Hugo Boss- your boss- Hotch. You blinked, trying to adjust to being alive again with the sun blaring into the room. To the right was his jacket rested on a chair that had clearly been pulled closer to the bed and through the window you could hear him talking. He peered in and saw you smile quietly saying, 'She's awake.' and ending the call. Momentarily, the whole BAU entered the room, Garcia holding a plate of cookies and standing right next to you, JJ sitting down. Hotch was stood at the back, and didn't say a word.

'How are you feeling?' JJ smiled, grabbing your hand.

'I've had better days,' you grimaced.

'You gave us quite a scare, kiddo,' Rossi said, making you smile with guilt.

'You like the flowers? You know, lilies can actually boost y-' Spence began on some factual rant.

'I don't think she can comprehend that right now, kid,' Morgan spoke and Dave thought the same.

'Come on guys, we could all use a drink and Beck could do with some rest,' Garcia shooed the team out of the room, with Hotch coming forward to get his jacket; he didn't look at you once but when he tried to swiftly turn around, you reached and grabbed his hand- wincing.

'Stay,' you pleaded, and he looked out at Rossi, who nodded, and he placed his jacket back down, seeing you were in pain.

'Are you alright?' he furrowed, still not letting go of your hand.

'I'm fine,' you lied blatantly to his face, looking into his eyes. They were like mini earths, trapped in his face. Beautiful, you thought.

'Beck. Talk to me,' he said, concerned.

'About what? There's nothing to talk about, Hotch.'

'Don't think I haven't noticed; jumping over rooftops before judging them, the pills,' he paused, 'Saving my life by risking your own?' he had pain in his voice, it was obvious.

'I don't know what you're talking about,' you begged implicitly he would stop, looking away, but he squeezed your hand a little. He was there.

'Please,' he spoke, and a tear fell down your face. You couldn't stand to see him like this, he sounded like he was in more pain than you.

'The 11th of August. We were just coming back from a friend's summer party. Me and my brother were in the back, my parents in the front. We had a nice family car...'

[ It was blue, and the radio was on, windows down, just feeling the summer breeze. It was about 11pm and no one else was on the road, until we pulled out at a crossroads and this off-white truck came out of nowhere and into the side of us. It was all blurry then, all black; my brother was slumped forward at the time, he was 12, I was 13, and both of my parents were dismembered to say the least. I looked up at the driver in the other car, and he was looking right at me. Smiling. He had the most cynical look on his face. The cops, the coroner and the medics came; they said the airbags were faulty. Faulty... ]

'...And no one believed me when I said I knew he did that on purpose, I knew he made the airbags defective in that car. Years passed by in and out of foster care, and when I was 18 and I had a steady job for the previous years, me and my brother moved into a small apartment together. He didn't recover, not like I did. He spiralled into a psychotic depression and was given meds, but they didn't work. You have no idea how many days I came home and had to take knives from his hands. How many cuts I got? But one day, I came home, and he had a gun. I don't know where or how he got it, but he was stood in front of me. And he shot himself. His blood painted on my face like a goddamn canvas. Then, I was put on medication too for depression, 6 months in therapy and then this job. I saw my brother in that kid Hotch, I knew he was going to shoot you and I couldn't live with myself if I lost you...' tears fell from your face and he wiped them away, maybe not even noticing the ones slightly welling up in his own.

'You could've... you could've told me,' he consoled.

'I didn't want you to worry, I knew you'd notice eventually. I just did something stupid enough first. I don't want to die, Hotch; I love this job and I love the people I work with.'

'We couldn't solve these cases without you, and you know that,' he looked up at the clock, 'Coffee?' he said, trying his best.

'Please,' you smiled, 'And Hotch?' you said, completely tear free. He spun around and you beckoned him towards you, 'Closer,' you whispered, and he leaned in, locked on your eyes. You began shuffling up his tie, telling him, 'You're starting to look slack you know,' and a full smile beamed across his face as he walked away from you.

You turned to see the sun setting, thinking, he really should go home, god knows how long he's been here with me. I want to tell him more; I don't think we're just colleagues...are we? Before he could return, you were sound asleep; as he walked in about to ask if you wanted sugar, he saw you and smiled. No, you weren't just colleagues. He never smiled like that with anyone but you.

White and bold, it was soared up into the sky and it was all you could see out of the window, casting shadows on the tree in the foreground. 10pm; you turned to see Hotch, who had shuffled the chair even closer, was sleeping rested on his own arm and had his other hand clasped around yours. Guarding you. You both felt safe. They were still heavy, your eyes, and you fell back asleep with a warmness in your heart.

What you didn't know was that about a half hour later, Hotch had woken up and before leaving the room to stretch, regain his senses, he had brushed the hair from your face and kissed your forehead, ever so gently as not to wake you. Yet within, something was gnawing at him from your past. He just had to check the files, usually he wouldn't do this, but he was worried to say the least.

'SSA Aaron Hotchner, do you have the medical records of Gene Beckett?' he asked, a little more uptight but in the kindest tone possible.

The same nurse who recognised you handed them over saying, 'I'm so glad she has someone in her life who cares about her now. She's been so lost before,' and walked away, leaving Hotch with the files. He scanned the document; he couldn't understand what he was seeing. Three times. Three attempts in the last three years. It all added up with the very few times you'd not shown up to work. Sick, he felt sick, he just wanted to rip away all the hurt you'd been through, but instead, he took his jacket and left, without saying a word.

It was now 1am, why do I keep waking up? There was another presence in the room; you evaluated and saw a figure sat in the left corner in a chair, holding something before them- they saw you looking over.

'Hi.'