Chapter Text
There’s a saying that goes, We don’t live to work: we work to live. The phrasing makes you chuckle a little bit, knowing damn well you live for your work. At the FBI Headquarters' Behavioral Analysis Unit, it's reasonable to say that if you’re not living to work, you’re not excellent at your job–especially when lives are on the line.
7:00 a.m. It's too early for this shit, but here you are, plodding into the BAU bullpen as if you’re on your way to the trenches. It's not that you don't enjoy your job--you do--but on days like this, when you’re called in at 6 a.m.? They request some time to adjust and wake up.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Derek calls from his desk, flashing a sparkly smile.
“Too early, Morgan,” You grumble back, setting your go-bag down at your desk. You pull out a portable coffee cup, knowing that Hotch is going to announce wheels up as soon as everyone is accounted for.
You make your way to the coffee pot, blissfully full of caffeinated liquid. You pour it into your cup, mixing in just a splash of milk. Sighing contentedly after taking a long sip of the coffee, you feel your brain start to work again. Your gaze drifts over to Aaron Hotchner’s office, the door open and his face clear. You take another drink of coffee, admiring him. He’s sitting at his desk, engrossed in a stack of files–presumably for this case. His sharp jawline, with just a hint of scruff, is set firmly. Although you’re too far to see his eyes clearly, you know that his honey irises are fixed on the text in front of him, gears turning with each bit of new information.
It had been about a year since you had begun working for the BAU, and you still felt a yearning pit in your stomach when he so much as looked at you. There was something about him that drew you in–maybe it was his stoic demeanor, his intelligence, or the fact that he was always in control. Whatever it was, you couldn't help your stupid schoolgirl crush on your boss.
You shake your head a little, snapping yourself out of your thoughts as Emily approaches the coffee station.
“You alright?” She asks, her dark eyebrows raising.
“I’m tired,” You admit. “But the coffee is helping tons.” She chuckles, pouring herself some.
“Do you know anything about the case?” You shake your head, watching as she carefully pours milk into her coffee.
“Hotch is gonna–” She’s cut off mid-sentence.
“Is everyone here?” Hotch stands in his doorway, go-bag slung over his shoulder. You lock eyes as he silently does a headcount, and you feel your stomach twist. Once he’s satisfied with everyone’s attendance, he claps his hands. “Wheels up in ten. We’ll discuss the case onboard." You roll my shoulders and crack your neck, preparing your body for however long it’ll be on the plane.
・❥・
You sat in the cramped airplane seat, feeling anxious about the case the team was about to embark on. You had received word of a string of murders that had been committed in a small town in Texas, and the local police department was requesting the BAU's assistance.
The case you were about to tackle was a puzzling one. The murders had taken place over a period of several months, and the victims seemed to have nothing in common- different genders, races, and ages. They came from different walks of life, had different backgrounds, and there was no apparent motive for the killings. All of the victims had been found in their homes, and all of them had been strangled with a length of cord left at the scene. The method of killing was the same, but there were no fingerprints, no DNA, and no witnesses to help us identify a suspect.
Hotch is quiet, lost in thought as he reads through the files. You can tell he was already forming a profile of the unsub in his mind, trying to piece together the few scraps of information you had.
"We've got our work cut out for us," he says, his voice low. You nodded, your stomach churning with nerves.
"Do we have any leads?" Hotch shook his head.
"Not yet. We'll gather as much information as we can on the plane ride over and start putting together a profile. Reid and Prentiss, you look for patterns. L/N and I will work on victimology. Derek, look at crime scenes, and JJ, reach out to the families."
He hands you one of his manila folders, his hand grazing yours, calloused and strong. You smiled softly at him in thanks as you took the file, opening it and beginning to work.
As the plane flew over the sprawling Texas landscape, you felt a sense of unease. This case was unlike any other you’d tackled before, and you knew that you were going to have to work harder than ever to solve it.
The more you read, the less makes sense– the only connection is the way in which the victims were murdered. Aside from being in the same town, the only thing that truly connected the victims was their unfortunate demise by cord.
As you work, you can feel Hotch's eyes on you.
"What are you thinking?" he asked, dark brows raised.
"I don't know," You admitted. "They’re all from the same town, so maybe our unsub had a rough childhood, a trauma that he feels binds him to the town. It’s hard to tell who’s connected when, in all likelihood, everyone there is connected in some way.”
“Strangulation means that our unsub feels personally wronged by these people, but he didn’t do it with his hands. Could either be because he doesn’t want his DNA on them–but it’s also a possible indicator of remorse.” You hum in agreement. His eyes meet yours and you quickly look away, knowing that this was not the time nor the place to be thinking about what those eyes would look like, peering up from in between your thighs.
As the plane ride continued, the team members started discussing different theories and possibilities about the case. Morgan, Prentiss, and Reid were brainstorming ideas about the murders, while JJ and Garcia were gathering more information about the families and reaching out. Hotch sat in his seat, taking notes and listening to everyone's thoughts.
You sat beside Hotch, observing the team's interaction. It was always fascinating to see how each team member's mind worked differently, yet they all complemented each other so well.
Despite the seriousness of the case, there were moments of lightheartedness. Garcia cracked a joke, making everyone laugh, and Reid shared a random fact about Texas that he had read in a book.
Yet, as you got closer to landing, the mood became increasingly somber. You knew that you were about to step into a town that was grappling with the aftermath of a series of brutal murders, a town that had been changed forever in a matter of months. Now, it was your duty to help bring closure to the families and ensure that justice was served.
As the plane touched down, the team gathered their things and prepared to disembark. Hotch stood up, his face set with determination.
"Let's get to work," he said, his voice low but commanding.
You filed out of the plane, ready to face the challenges ahead. The Texas sun beat down on your backs as you stepped out of the airport and into the awaiting SUVs.
The town was small and quiet, with a population of only a few thousand people, but it was clear that the murders had left a lasting impact. You could see the grief and fear etched on the faces of the residents as we drove through the streets, vigil posters plastering convenience store windows, and people walking together afraid of their fate alone.
You arrived at the local police station, where you were greeted by the sheriff and his team. They looked tired and overworked, but grateful for your assistance.
“Welcome to Wimberly, folks.” The sheriff who introduced himself as Bill Johnson said grimly. “We’re glad you came. Don’t have nearly enough manpower ‘round here to conduct a murder investigation.”
“Sheriff Johnson, these are special agents L/N, Reid, Morgan, Prentiss, and Rossi. This is Jennifer Jareau, our communications liaison. We have our tech specialist, Penelope Garia, back in Quantico to help us with any tech-related evidence.” Hotch said, his voice level.
After Hotch introduced you, he got straight to business, outlining our plan of action. You would be working closely with the local police department, interviewing witnesses, and gathering evidence. With a crack of his knuckles and a nod to you, it was time to begin working.