Chapter Eighteen: 'Cause You're Such A Pretty Face
Boom
A bullet flies through the air with hesitation, barely scratching the target it was meant for. Your hands shake from the recoil but you remain still as stone and watch where you hit. Moving the gun slowly, you look over to see the bullet missed the target, hitting the wall behind it instead. You let out a groan of frustration, dropping the gun on the counter and taking the goggles off your face.
"I'll never be able to shoot a gun," you complain. This was your second round, not one bullet hitting where it's supposed to and your anger is slowly rising.
"It takes practice, you won't get it on your first try. Reid failed his qualifications three times in a row." Hotch says. He stands behind you, arms crossed over his chest.
When he first arrived back from the hospital, he promised to teach you how to shoot a gun for protection. It wasn't until this morning that he decided to fulfill that offer. Two weeks ago, you taught him how to cook Alfredo then proceed to rest per his request. Everytime you think about opening the envelope, he pushes it to the side saying you need to turn your brain off. It didn't make you aggravated, more thankful. Even if you couldn't notice it yourself, you weren't prepared and you didn't know how long it's going to take for you to be ready.
For the most part, Hotch has been filling you in about the case when he arrives back at the house. He tries not to work long, always bringing you home a form of dinner even if you already ate. All that's new is that you confirmed Harmony McGraw was in fact dating Axel. You felt bad for the poor woman but often reminded yourself that she was stalking you on his behalf.
"What if someone breaks it and I attempt to shoot, only to hit a vase instead," you say. He shakes his head and bends down.
"Front sight," he says, grabbing the gun from his ankle holster and getting into position, "trigger press, follow through."
Another boom erupts into the area and you watch as the bullet gets the target square in the chest. A nagging feeling forms in your stomach. Whenever you do something new, you like to be the best at it, picking up quickly without regard. Right now that isn't what is happening. You're conflicted on what to do.
He hands you the gun and picks the goggles off the counter, putting them on your face. "Hotch, I don't think I can do it. Seriously, we've been here for two hours already."
"Try again," he says sternly. You huff in annoyance and turn towards the target. Putting the gun in your hands, feeling the weight of it between your palms.
Front sight, you remind yourself, holding it up in front of you. Trigger press— you pull the trigger, allowing the bullet to soar through the air. Follow through— you wait for the recoil to stop, your hands to regain pulse before moving the gun away.
"Are you kidding me!" You fumed, seeing the small hole in the groin of the target.
Hotch chuckles behind you, "Did Emily teach you that one?"
"You're next," you threatened, placing the gun in his hands angrily. "Why can't I just do it? I don't understand what makes this so complicated. I'll never be able to get myself out of danger."
"Y/N you won't get it that quickly," he repeats. "We don't have a known threat as of now, we have time."
"It's easy for you to say, you're an FBI agent. You shut guns for a living and I've only hit the target once," you argue.
"Once more than never," Hotch grins.
You groan and throw your head back. You didn't like this feeling of being unsafe. Now that he is gone, you just want something to feel better about this whole thing, whether it's a gun or not. You glance down at your watch, ten fifty-seven PM. You and Hotch look at each other, a silent agreement to head back to the bullpen where the team should be arriving soon. They had a case in New Hampshire, serial murderer as usual.
"Is Garcia still here?" You asked as you made your way through the halls of the FBI, your heels clanking against the marble floors.
"I suppose," he answers, "Why do you need her?"
"Yeah, I just want to look over Lesly and Harmony once more before the team lands. For good measure," you explain.
He looks conflicted on what to say. There is a sense of tension forming between you.
"No more secrets," Hotch says, gripping your arm loosely. "What are you trying to find out?"
"It isn't a secret," you insist, "I just need some piece of mind."
It was true. This case was confusing enough as it was. There were pieces of the puzzle that didn't fit, things that didn't make sense, people who came out of nowhere. You still don't know why Lesly gave you the money, or why Celia gave Axel your money. You always remember how reluctant your dad was when you told him you were seeing Axel after your mom had died. For a long time you blew it off, almost annoyed with his perception.
Now it all didn't seem crazy. With more information being fed to you everyday, you wanted something to put your running mind to rest, even just for the night.
"Tell me everything. I'll be in my office once you're done, the team should land in the next twenty minutes."
You nodded and gave him a reassuring smile, "It won't take me that long. Tell the team I want to see them before they all go home."
Hotch gives a tight lipped smile and leaves you alone, rushing back into the bullpen. You take a deep breath— already nervous about what might you find in her office of secrets. That's what nickname you gave the batcave five months ago. You arrive at her door, knocking softly. A faint buzz comes from the security pad by the door indicating it's unlocked.
You brush the door open timidly. Garcia whips around to see you. "Y/N!" She practically yells as she gets up from her seat, running over to you.
"Hey Garcia," you laugh, allowing her to hug you tightly. You sniff her perfume, Daisy by Marc Jacobs, her signature scent.
"Oh my goodness, I'm surprised to see you here this late. Boss man usually is gone by now but with the team coming in I guess he wanted to stay," she rambled, ushering you to a seat.
"Actually, we were in the shooting range," you say quietly, "For extra measures, though I didn't do that great it was still some practice."
Pity is a look that she does well, her brows furrowed and her lip pouts. You try to ignore the way Garcia looks at you, it isn't the first time it's happened.
"How bad did you do?" She asks shyly.
You laugh dryly and look down at your hands, picking at your cuticles, "I hit the target once in the dick...after two whole rounds and the same words repeated over and over again."
"Pretty boy did way worse than you if that makes you feel any better. He was devastated after failing three times in a row, the whole BAU was in a month of depression," she teases.
You raise your eyebrows, "So Hotch wasn't lying?"
She shook her head, biting down in her lip to stifle a laugh. You close your eyes for a moment before reopening them. "I actually wanted to ask you a favor, Garcia..."
She perks up at that, "Yes, anything in the world."
"Can you look over Harmony McGraw again? Where did she grow up and everything. I want to know how she and Axel met..."
"Is that all?"
"No— can you also look into Lesly and who he had contacts with around March of 2011? Specifically friends, places he would spend lots of time at."
Garcia obliged and doesn't ask any questions as she begins to type on her computer quickly. You sit back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other. There had to be at least thirty monitors in this room, all with different newscasters from all over the nation, some with documents of medical records or passport photos. Without the training of being an agent, you still felt like you could piece things together. It was a new found skill you've become thankful for.
She rubs her lips back and forth and hums a tune as she continues with her work. "Okay! I found that Harmony grew up in Baltimore, an only child to Mary and Matthew McGraw. Pretty powerful family, old money kind of thing."
"When did she leave home?" You asked.
"When she got into college two years ago at NYU for journalism. Only twenty and has an apartment in her name in the upper city."
"That's how Axel must've found her. He keeps tabs on powerful families and must have seen her as an easy target considering she was alone in New York,"
"That would be correct my dear! My guess is she doesn't really want to work for him but rather has no choice but to,"
You bite the inside of your cheek, leaning forward to study her ID picture. Her hair is shorter than what you'd seen three weeks ago and her eyes look brighter, an emerald shade of green. McGraw was a familiar name but you weren't ever into business within the elite, opting to stay hidden when it came to that thing.
"What about Lesly? Anything suspicious that year?"
Garcia shakes her head, "He visited a house frequently on the weekends, mostly at night but the lot has since been unstable, the city deemed the area contaminated."
You glance at the clock on her computer screen, it had nearly been twenty minutes. You thank her quickly and explain that her information was a big help. The team most likely already looked into that information about the two but it didn't hurt to get some intel for yourself, after all this case is happening because of you.
She tells you to have a good night and returns back to work. When you get back to Hotch's office, you plop down on the couch by his wall in a state of exhaustion.
"Where did the day go? I feel like we just got here," you say, rubbing a hand against your forehead.
He chuckled, the sound of paper being passed around fills the air. "Time flies by fast when you're here. You slept on my couch for most of the day."
"Wait," you pause, "Are you serious? I fell asleep in your office and I didn't know?"
"You've been depriving yourself. The last two weeks, I come home and you pretend to be asleep when I walk in, but I can tell you're not," he explains softly.
You sit up slowly, using your arms as momentum. Hotch looks at you seriously, the unit chief's face in full force and you can't help but look away. There wasn't a single lie in his sentence. You'd been lacking sleep, it was evident in your face despite the layers of makeup you tried to cover it with. The past few weeks have been hard— harder than you had ever expected. Perhaps he was right, you weren't ready to take this on and it was better for the team to simply deal with it.
When he comes home, he kisses you on the forehead and leaves the food in the fridge before slipping into bed. You know this routine to a tea because you always count how many seconds it takes him to do each. You found it's the only way to even slightly put your mind to rest, but when you do sleep— it's not any better.
"I've uh— I've been having nightmares again," you whisper, toying with the ends of your hair, "Not about my sister or the fire, about Axel and Harmony."
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks softly, moving to sit next to you. "I can help."
The couch dips with his weight, his cologne filling your senses with relaxation. Hotch's effect on you never seemed to go away, rather grow to an enormous amount. Being in a simple proximity was enough to make you nervous, in a good way. It wasn't out of this world for the team to experience nightmares, you know because you witnessed Reid try to get over his with the help of Hotch. Something about asking for help makes you feel too vulnerable.
"It's just I didn't know what to say...each dream is the same, Harmony and Axel show up at the house with guns. Yet— they never shoot?" you say almost in a questioning manner.
"How many times have you had this dream in the past two weeks?"
You think back to every night, what Hotch brought you for dinner. It helped you remember the days of the week weirdly enough. "It started exactly two weeks ago. I had it three nights in a row and that's when I uh- I started to force myself awake."
Hotch takes your hands to stop you from picking at your nails and fighting. A breath escapes you as you try to control the way your heart is beating rapidly.
"Have you thought about counseling? You can try it for a month, see where it takes you. If you don't like it, you never have to go back again." Hotch suggests slowly.
You shake your head, "I've tried that Aaron. A few months ago I tried it when it was about the fire."
A thick bubble of tension forms around you, the silence almost suffocating. He looks like he wants to say something but is too scared, his mouth opening and closing every few seconds. You squeeze his hands in reassurance. You'd never seen him nervous like this, the sweat accumulation on his palms was growing as your hands began to slide. In the back of your head, you think he is going to suggest something bigger, like therapy or medication and the thought itself was enough to work yourself up along with him.
After a long moment, he finally says, "Try sleeping in my room tonight. That way you won't be alone and i'll be there if something happens,"
"I'm surprised you didn't ask sooner," you mocked with a sad smile. "Are you sure you're okay with that?"
Hotch stands up, pulling you with him. Your hands fall onto his chest to steady yourself, gripping the collar of his shirt.
"I want nothing more," he says, his lips hovering over yours. "Plus, my room is freezing and you are always burning up."
You roll your eyes and look up at him. "Well in that case, I have something to tell you..."
"What is it?" Hotch questioned.
Laughter bubbles in your throat but you ignore it.
"Aaron...you snore," you tease.
His face contorts in disbelief. "I do not," he argues. You can't help but laugh at his offense.
"You do," you confirm. "Actually, you sound kind of like the beast from Beauty and the Beast, you know when he grumbled a bunch of words-"
To no surprise, he cuts you off, "I do not snore, I would know if I did."
You back away from him with a cocky smile on your face. A look of victory showing in your features as your lips are pulled up. "There is a word for that, you know?"
His arms cross defensively over his chest, a clear sign of becoming closed off. Emily mentioned it once. "Oh really? And what is that?"
"Mani-festa-tions," you say extremely slowly, moving your mouth in an exaggerated way so it seems you're talking to a little kid. "You know, when people say things aloud to make it actually happen."
"I don't need to manifest my sleeping habits," Hotch grumbled, "Trust me when I say, I sleep soundly like a baby throughout the night."
"Whatever you say," you draw out, sucking your bottom lips between your teeth. "Speaking of going to bed, the team still hasn't shown up and I am getting pretty tired. Why don't we head back and say hello in the morning?"
Hotch nods and grabs his briefcase from his desk, opening his office door and allowing you to walk out into the bullpen first.
• • •
"The Beatles produced two hundred and thirteen songs and you can't pick a single one?" You queer as you follow Hotch up to the front door.
"There is too much music to pick from. Their era was good at its own will," Hotch defends. "You can't pick one song out of that many."
You laugh. On the way home, the song Here Comes The Sun came on the radio and Hotch couldn't help but sing along. You expressed that your dad is obsessed with the Beatles— which of course promoted an argument on how old Hotch really is, but it also gave you a good conversation starter. You poked and pried about his music taste, learning he also enjoyed Sleeping With Sirens and Arctic Monkeys.
Part of you was excited to learn more details about him and finally listen to his little bits that opened up his personality. Sensing a wave of intimacy with the more information you know about each other. Even if you didn't know what you were to each other— it was good to know that he felt safe enough to tell you. When you first started you knew he was closed off, never to speak about his interests or likes. Knowing his music taste was a very small yet large step.
"Oh, my goodness you're so difficult," you shake your head, "There has to be one that you could listen to over and over again without getting tired of it."
You look your hand through his arm as he unlocks the front door. Forcing yourself to remain awake, you lean against him, cheek pressed against his arm.
"You Never Give Me Your Money," he answers, turning the key and pushing the door open.
Just as you step in, you both stop abruptly. You immediately detach yourself from him: stunned at the sight in front of you. The TV was on, cartoons playing, toys scattered around the living room floor and the kitchen a complete mess, flour and sugar spread out. Chocolate chips on the floor and the smell of fresh baked cookies filling a strong scent in the home.
Jessica whips her head around, pulling her focus from Jack on the floor at the sound of your arrival. She looks between the two of you, her face already saying an apology.
She stands up, brushing off her jeans that are coated in the aftermath of the baked treats. You cross your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling out of place in the home.
"I was trying to call, I swear— the cell towers are down and I-I didn't have anywhere else to bring him," Jessica stutters out, rushing over to you two.
"Is everything okay?" Hotch asks concerned. He shimmies off his suit jacket and hands it on the coat rack behind you.
She glanced back at the young boy in the living room, "Something come up at work that was immediate, I couldn't leave him alone I'm so sorry I know you couldn't take him,"
A look casted at her by him urges her to continue on, so she does. "My boss called from the publishing office, some type of PR crisis. I really have to go Aaron, I can't watch him."
"Of course, go." Hotch says, ushering her to grab her things. She gives him a very thankful look and runs back into the living room.
Jessica explains to Jack that she has to leave and that his dad is back. After a kiss on the forehead, she grabs her things and is out the door. You stand there awkwardly, biting the inside of your cheek as you watch the scene in front of you unfold. When the door slams shut, Hotch sighs.
You smile at him and grip his arm, "Aaron, Jack probably missed his dad and you're home now. Don't worry about anything."
"He doesn't know that you're still staying here, he's been with Haley's parents for the past few weeks after the fair- I just- I'm sorry."
"Come on," you say, pulling him along with you through the house. "If anything, we will explain that it's more complicated and it'll be fine."
"What if he doesn't understand Y/N?" He stops you by putting his feet in place, Jack still occupied with his toys and cartoons.
You look down at your feet, swallowing the lump in your throat. "It's been a while, he was fine with me two months ago, we can only hope for the same," you paused, "And if not— I can stay somewhere else for the time being."
"No- no I don't want you to go somewhere else; please don't leave," he says quickly, "Jack isn't used to this anymore,"
You reach up, hand stopping at his cheek. You trace the lines down his face, near his mouth and under his jaw. "Used to being with someone you mean..."
Surely, he nodded, a deep breath escaping him. Your mouth twitched upwards only for the heavy air to pull it back down onto a frown. You didn't want him to worry, neither of you had an obligation to each other even if that realization hurt to accept deep down. There was a look in his eyes, almost begging, to show you that you didn't have to leave because of his fears that Jack wouldn't be able to handle it.
Instead of dwelling on it, you grab his hand again and this time walked into the living room where Jack was sitting. When you were in Jack's eyesight, you dropped Hotch's hand and crouched down onto the floor.
Jack's attention didn't waver.
"I haven't seen you in a while!" You announced. His head shot up at your voice, his toys now easily discarded from his hands.
Jack's eyes widened, "Y/N!" He screamed, lunging at you, latching his arms around your neck.
You gasped at the sudden movement but wrapped your hands around his petite body. A real laugh escaped you at his excitement. "I didn't expect to see you here tonight buddy," you admit.
He pulls back, "My grandma and grandpa had to go somewhere and Aunt Jess said I could stay here with you and daddy!" Jack trilled.
"Me and daddy?" you questioned curiously. You simply wanted to know where Jack stood with your presence and you could feel Hotch in the background on the edge of the couch, nervously.
"Mhm! I told Aunt Jess that you live here now with daddy!"
You suck in a breath visibly, your hands become clammy with the anxious feeling seeping into you with each passing second. Technically you do live here, temporarily.
"Jack-" you start but the happy child interrupts you without noticing his manners.
"-Dad says that you know how to cook good food just like mom, and you will play with me!"
You laugh awkwardly and look back towards the man on the couch. Something passes him, a look you can dispatcher, but his cheeks coat in red with embarrassment. Hotch talks about you.
"Yeah," you breathe, "It's uh- something like that Jack."
-
A/N-
How cute- not. I hated this chapter I low key because I feel the plot is getting too confusing but I'm trying to straighten it out a bit!