𝘉𝘓𝘐𝘕𝘋𝘚𝘐𝘋𝘌𝘋 | 𝘈.𝘏. ✔️

• Seventeen

"You needed me?" you queer as you shut the door behind you. His eyes shoot up, taking in your presence. The last time you were in here was to quit your job.

Standing in that very corner, you latch your hands together in front of you, keeping the same expression you had in the bullpen. "Come here," he motions with his fingers for you to come closer.

You obliged and walked slowly until you're at the front of his desk, awaiting his directions. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes," he sighs, retreating from his desk to stand up straight, "I could tell you were overwhelmed, this case is getting to you and this morning wasn't of help."

"It's different being back here," you say.

"I'd imagine."

"Everyone is the same but I feel free, I'm happy to see their faces. They all look so happy," you explain fondly.

"They missed you around here," Hotch chuckles, "I started to think they would go crazy if they didn't see you back here soon enough."

"Well, I'm back," you bring your hands up to motion to your body. He smiles and you walk forward, all the way around his desk until you stand in front of him, body resting in the mahogany wood behind you.

Hotch steps closer until his body is weaseled between your legs, his hands resting on your arms, smoothing them down in a relaxing motion.

"How are you doing with this, really?"

You rest your hands on his chest, toying with the red tie he wears. It was a hard yet simple question. Truthfully, you didn't know how to really answer it. Sure you had the run downed version of how you truly feel but explaining every aspect of emotion that comes with this case is grueling enough. You continue to look at the fabric of his tie, flipping it over to see the Gucci tag on it.

You laugh and allow it to fall back into place. "I don't really know. I thought it would be easier but it seems nothing is that simple, especially when it comes to Axel. I just want my mind to turn off."

"I know how it feels," Hotch agonized. "I used to be like you— determined and very persistent."

"You still are that way, though I don't know if I should be insulted," you teased, looking up at him.

A smirk pulls his lips. "It's not an insult sweetheart, just an observation."

"Whatever," you roll your eyes, "You're the one to stay in the office for agonizing hours on end just to come in earlier than everyone."

"Determined," Hotch argued.

"So you are still like me— or I'm still like you." At this point you were just confusing yourself. You laugh and shake your head out of embarrassment.

"Now you're mixing up words," he jokes. You bite the inside of your cheek to prevent a laugh from escaping you.

Rather quickly, he locks two fingers under your chin, forcing you to look up at him. Butterflies erupt in your stomach and you can't help but look into his honey filled eyes. You notice a small freckle in his left eye just off his pupil. His eyes are a whirlwind of imagination, full of life that you haven't seen in so long. The way he looks at you with adoration and familiarity makes you shutter under your own weight. You can't help but wonder how long it's been since Hotch has seen someone in that way: captivated.

You remember the look on his face just before you passed out on the floor of your own house. It was pained, contorted with worry and you wanted to tell him that you'd be okay. Now, he only looks at you like you're the most important woman to exist.