Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Aaron rubs his forehead tiredly, trying to relieve the raging migraine that's been bothering him on and off for the last three weeks. 

Three weeks. That's how long they've been trying to crack this case, and it might be the longest time that he recalls in his entire career in the BAU. Of course, they had encountered killers before who evaded capture for months or even years on end, but it's the first time their unit hasn't been able to narrow down the suspect lost based on the UnSub's profile. They have worked the case from every angle, but so far, they had absolutely nothing: no real leads and no suspects, even potential ones.

Not for the first time he wishes that Gideon never left the team. The man was the master of thinking outside the box and coming up with creative solutions. ‘If everything that we know goes into the box, what's left to consider is the unknown,’ he recalls Gideon's words, but no matter how hard he tries, he can't figure out what they're missing in this particular case.

Taking one last look at the photographs of the victims plastered to the board in the conference room, he goes back to his office. He flops into his armchair gracelessly, as if he's a marionette whose strings have just been cut, then fishes the pills from his drawer, hoping that they'll ease his headache. 

Thirty minutes later, when it doesn't seem like they will, he breaks his promise for the very first time and calls Gideon. Five rings later, just as he's about to disconnect, the man finally picks up.

“This better be important, Hotch.”

“I didn't know who else to call,” he admits. “Are you… doing alright?”

“Leaving the FBI might have been the best decision of my life, so yes, I'm doing splendidly,” the man grumbles. “And before you ask, I’m not coming back, not for all the money in the world.”

He sighs at his ex-mentor's utter stubbornness. “Please, Gideon, all I need is a consult. We have a killer targeting Omegas, and we've got completely nothing on him. You've always seemed to have a sixth sense for cases regarding Omegas, so I was wondering–”

“That's not entirely accurate. It wasn't a sixth sense at all, I just have a friend who happens to be one and who was able to provide me with some insights,” Gideon admits. “His multiple PhDs didn't hurt either.”

He blinks, surprised. “You revealed cases’ details to an Omega…?”

The BAU is famous (or rather, infamous) for working on the most brutal, bloody, violent crimes, and he's stupefied at learning that Gideon had shared those kinds of details to anyone outside of their unit, much less to an Omega. Even Gideon, a Beta, eventually cracked under pressure and left the Bureau, not being able to stomach the level of cruelty they fight against on a daily basis. Aaron can't even imagine how an Omega would react to them.

“You'd be surprised at how resilient he can be,” Gideon's tone of voice turns defensive, but Aaron currently doesn't have the mental capacity to profile that little detail.

“Is he from DC? Do you think he'd be willing to act as a consultant for this case?”

“I'll ask him and let you know. And Aaron? Don't call me about work ever again, this is a closed chapter for me. I mean it,” Gideon says sternly.

“Understood, and thank you, I'll be waiting for the info.”

He calls Strauss next.

“Please tell me that you have some leads on the case,” she sounds half-demanding and half-resigned.

“Not yet,” he reluctantly admits. “Is Sam Cooper still unavailable?”

“Unfortunately yes, his team is tied up with a case in California, a tough one too, from what I've heard.”

He heaves a sigh. “I need a fresh set of eyes, so I've called Gideon. As expected, he rejected all my attempts to get him to help us, but he recommended a friend, some kind of a doctor.”

“You know very well that our budget is already tight, but if a consultant is what you need, then go ahead, hire him. But it better yields some results, I'm under fire from all directions to stop these murders, especially since they've been happening right under our noses.”

Aaron presses his lips tightly to keep himself from saying something he might regret later. He's well aware of the pressure that the FBI is under, since the murderer has been evading capture on their own turf; he doesn't need yet another reminder.

“Thank you, I'll keep you posted,” he says stiffly, then disconnects.

In the afternoon, he gets Gideon's text that Dr Spencer Reid agreed to assist them on the case. As he prepares the clearance forms for the consultant, he imagines who the man might be based on what little he managed to glimpse from his earlier conversation with Gideon: a highly educated male, probably a scholar, most likely in his 50s. He wouldn't be surprised if the man had a round belly, half a dozen children, and twice as many grandchildren, since most Omegas tended to have large families.

For the life of him, Aaron can't figure out what such a person could offer that would be of any help in crime solving, but he's desperate, so he'll take all the help that he can get.

Morgan knocks on the door and peers in, his face grim. “Another body has just been discovered.”

***

The next day, the entire team comes to work disheartened and exhausted to the bone. They've been working late, gathering the information from the Washington PD, talking to the coroner and so on, but the result has been exactly the same as before: they learned all about the victim, another Omega, and absolutely nothing about who murdered him.

Aaron's back is stiff, his migraine is nearly blinding him, and he feels like a fraud. When someone knocks on the door of the conference room where his team has been trying to figure out what they're missing, he's already at his limit. 

A young man with a guest badge looking like a college graduate comes in. “Hello, I'm looking for–”

“This is a restricted area,” Aaron barks out. “JJ, escort him out, and check with the security where he's supposed to go.”

“But I'm here for–” the young man protests.

“I don't have time for this,” he finally snaps, and unceremoniously pushes the guy out of the door. “JJ, deal with this.”

Her eyes are wide and she gives him a quick nod. “Yes, sir.”

Ignoring the shock on Prentiss’ and Morgan's faces, he straightens his back. “Let's get back to work.”

***

Jason Gideon has been Spencer's hero for as long as he remembers. They first met when he was a six year old and Gideon was assigned a case in Las Vegas, a serial rapist and murderer who mainly targeted Omega boys. One of the victims, Riley Jenkins, was Spencer's semi-friend - he didn't have true friends as a kid, he was too different from his peers - and after Riley's death, Gideon talked to all the kids who were the boy's playmates, Spencer included. 

Even though back then Spencer was too young to fully comprehend what happened to Riley, all things sexual still a total mystery to him, he did remember a man who looked at him funny at the park and tried to get too close to him. Despite being an Omega, Spencer had always shied away from touch, especially one initiated by strangers, so when the man had tried to put his arm around him, Spencer had wiggled out of his hold and ran away. 

“Did you notice anything or anyone out of the ordinary, Spencer?” Gideon asked after Spencer's parents agreed for them to talk. “Ordinary means–”

“I know what it means, Agent Gideon,” Spencer said, already too serious for a six year old that he was. “And I know the man that you're looking for.” Then, he proceeded to list every smallest detail about the man's appearance, including a small dimple-like indentation on the man's chin. 

“You're a clever little man, aren't you, Spencer?” the agent asked, and little Spencer's chest puffed up with pride that for once someone didn't think he was weird, but clever.

“I read a lot,” he admitted, making Gideon chuckle in amusement.

Shortly after, Gary Michaels was arrested, and that would have been the end of the story, if it wasn't for Gideon's card left on the table of the Reid's household. Spencer clung onto it, hoping that one day, when he's old enough, he can be an FBI Special Agent too.

That didn't happen, for numerous reasons, one of the main being the Omegas Protection Act, which basically forbids Omegas from assuming any law enforcement positions that could result in an injury, a regulation that Spencer considers a massive overkill, and a blatant show of discrimination under the guise of protection. After all, one can't become a Section Chief, much less a Director of the FBI, without having any experience in the field.

Maybe it's for the best, though. He's quite satisfied with what he has accomplished so far in other fields, and reconnecting with Gideon after college and staying in contact with him throughout all the years that followed allowed him to be indirectly involved with the BAU through the man. 

Still, when Gideon called him yesterday and asked him to become a consultant for his old BAU unit, Spencer was ecstatic. He didn't even hesitate for a second and promptly cancelled all his appointments. At night, he could barely sleep, too excited about fulfilling his lifelong dream, and didn't even need to drink coffee in the morning, which is quite a feat, considering his addiction to caffeine and sugar.

Once he arrives at the FBI headquarters, his hands tremble as he pins a guest badge to his vest. He's actually going to be helping the BAU on a case, it feels almost unreal. His knees feel like jelly as he goes to the elevator and presses the button. When the elevator finally stops on the 8th floor, he stumbles out, almost knocking into a very eccentric-looking, plump blond lady, which he immediately recognizes as Penelope Garcia, the only Omega on the team.

“I'm so sorry,” he mumbles. “I'm usually not that clumsy, I swear.”

“Don't worry about it, sugar,” Garcia says with a kind smile, even though her coffee did spill a little. “Who are you looking for?”

“Um, Agent Hotchner. I'm supposed to meet with him regarding some unsolved case that you guys have been struggling with? I'm Doctor Spencer Reid, by the way.”

“Oh, you're that nerdy doctor who Agent Gideon spoke so highly about!” She gushes, her cute carrot-shaped earrings dangling back and forth. “I'm Penelope Garcia, and Agent Hotchner is in that conference room on the right, brainstorming with the team. Go on, they're probably waiting for you.”

“I will, thank you!” He grins like a loon, feeling elated at finally meeting someone he only knew from Gideon's stories.

Being a teenager, he had imagined this moment for numerous times, and now it's finally happening. He knocks on the door and goes in, only to be met with a furious scowl, unkind words and have the door shut nearly in his face.

That… isn't the warm welcome he expected, and the disappointment nearly threatens to suffocate him. He's torn between cold anger and bitter regret that he let himself be so emotionally vulnerable to actually be hurt by someone he's never met before. But the truth is, he might be a complete stranger to these people, but they all feel familiar to him, which makes the rejection all the more personal. 

He curls his palms into fists and twirls around, ready to storm out and never come back, when a gentle voice calls after him.

“Excuse me, I'm Agent Jareau, can I help you with anything?”

He exhales slowly, trying to calm himself down before turning towards her. “I'm Doctor Spencer Reid, I was referred by Jason Gideon to assist with the case. If your unit chief didn't want my help, he could've let me know before I came here, it would have saved both of us the hassle.”

Her eyes widen nearly comically. “Oh my… I'm terribly sorry for the misunderstanding. Please wait a moment, I'll tell him that you're here for him.”

He shakes his head. “I'm not sure if I even want to work with someone who thinks it is acceptable to act this rude. Does he treat all civilians that way, or just Omegas?”

“We have all been on edge for much too long, Agent Hotchner the most,” she admits. “Sometimes, he can be a little harsh, but he's a good man, Doctor Reid. And we could really use your help with this case.”

She sounds sincere, and he reminds himself that his wounded pride isn't a priority at the moment, not when people's lives are at stake. “Very well, let's see if your unit chief can rein in his temper for long enough for me to actually introduce myself, much less to help with anything. I only came here as a courtesy to my friend, and I can just as easily leave.”

She tilts her head curiously, as if she can't figure him out, and it's totally fine with him. He can't count the number of people who expected him to be shy and meek just because he's an Omega, only for him to prove to them that he's anything but.

He's no longer that little boy dreaming of becoming an FBI agent when he grows up; he's a self-made man, an accomplished scientist, inventor and entrepreneur, who carved every bit of his success with his own hands and mind. And if meeting the BAU team didn't exactly live up to his expectations… Well, he still has plenty of other dreams to fulfill.

Chapter Text

When the door to the room opens again, Aaron doesn't turn around, fully expecting it to be JJ. 

“So, which unit misplaced their intern?” he asks, eyes fixed on the board in front of him.

“You did, and not an intern, but a consultant,” a young male voice responds, and Aaron twirls around. “I'm Doctor Spencer Reid, I've been told that you're expecting me. Although, if you've already solved the case and my help is no longer needed, I'll be more than happy to leave.”

Aaron stares at the newcomer, who's no longer acting like a meek, easily frightened college student. No, this time the young man is leaning against the wall with an expression that's somewhere between amused and bored, hands in his pockets, body totally relaxed.

He blinks, taken aback. “You are Doctor Reid? But– You look like a student!”

The guy raises his eyebrow. “I thought that a master profiler such as you would know better than to judge a book by its cover. However, we're not here to profile me, but the UnSub. How about you give me everything that you have on this case, and I'll solve it for you in thirty minutes.”

Morgan snorts. “You think that you're going to do better in thirty minutes than we have in three weeks? A little full of yourself, aren't you?”

The grin that stretches Reid's lips is mischievous, almost cocky. “Actually, I should be able to solve it in ten minutes. The remaining twenty is for having to explain my thought process and answer your questions. So, is this all you've got?” The Omega points at the box of case files and three boards dotted with various photos and sticky notes.

“Yes, it is,” Aaron confirms. He frowns, completely at loss how he lost control over the conversation.

Reid grabs a file from the box. “You might want to start the timer,” he adds absentmindedly, not even bothering looking up. He slides his fingers down the papersheet, and the moment it reaches the bottom, he turns the page. “And before you ask, yes, I can actually read this fast.”

Morgan scoffs and mutters under his breath: “Is this guy for real?”

Prentiss takes her phone out of her pocket and sets the timer. “I guess we'll find out very soon.”

Having nothing else to do, Aaron watches the enigma that is Doctor Spencer Reid. The manner in which the young man absorbs knowledge has a riveting intensity to it, as if he's not reading with his eyes only, but with his entire being. In fact, Aaron has a hard time reconciling what he sees with who he imagined Gideon's friend to be. Reid doesn't even look like most Omegas; he's wearing layered clothes in muted colors, rather than bright and flashy ones, and at a distance could easily pass as a Beta. 

“Alright, I'm ready,” Reid announces.

Aaron takes a quick look at Prentiss’ timer. Eight minutes up, twenty two minutes to go. Who does this guy think he is, a psychic?

“Go on, enlighten us on what the entire team has missed,” he demands, folding his arms across his chest.

Reid's eyes glint with amusement at the challenging pose. “You were getting nowhere for one simple reason: your UnSub is not an Alpha, he's not even a Beta. You're looking for a young male Omega, age somewhere between eighteen and twenty five. He has an emasculating job, most likely in the beauty industry, a job that he hates, but he's actually good at. This UnSub is struggling to reconcile two opposite instincts: that of a man and an Omega. It's that juxtaposition that puts him on edge, makes him lash out.”

Aaron shakes his head. “It doesn't make any sense, though. Usually, Omegas who commit murder, do it as an act of revenge for abuse or rape they were victims of, and most often than not, they use guns rather than knives, as they're not capable of overpowering a Beta, much less an Alpha. But why would an Omega kill other Omegas? What's the motive?”

“Look closely at all the victims. What do you see?” Reid asks expectantly.

Suddenly, Aaron feels like the tables have been turned, and he's the one being tested. He takes a look at the photos, his brow furrowed. “They're both male and female, different races too, so the killer isn't preferential in that regard. They have been murdered in their homes without a sign of a break in, which suggests that they've either known the assailant, or trusted him enough to let him in. The victims are all young and attractive. They spend time and money on perfecting their physical appearance, but we haven't found any traces of sexual assault.”

“That's because the killer is not motivated by sex. It's a very specific hate crime, Agent Hotchner,” Reid says grimly. “The UnSub doesn't just kill Omegas at random; he specifically chooses those who put emphasis on their looks, their hair, their nails. He deems them weak for submitting to the pressure that society puts on Omegas: to be pretty. The UnSub probably has a slightly feminine look himself, but when he's not working, he wears oversized clothes in dark colors, likely black or grey. He'd probably react in a negative manner if someone called him cute or pretty, because those are exactly the traits that he hates - in himself and in other Omegas.”

The team is silent for a long moment, digesting the information and trying to find weak points in Reid's theory.

“Assuming that this profile is correct - which, for the record, I'm not entirely convinced yet - how do you think the UnSub finds his victims?” Aaron asks. “We thoroughly checked the victims’ phone records, Internet browsing history and credit card payments prior to their deaths, and found nothing that would connect them all. The closest we came to connect them was Starbucks, but one of the victims only drank matcha and herbal tea, so that can't be the common denominator.”

Reid hums thoughtfully and turns towards the photos. “There has to be some clue… I've got it, the nails!”

Morgan snorts. “Yeah, the UnSub cut a finger off of each victim and kept it as a trophy. What about it?”

“Wait, I think I know what Doctor Reid means,” Prentiss murmurs, taking a few photos off the board and squinting at them. “All victims have their nails freshly painted, there's no sign of regrowth.”

“Exactly,” Reid smiles with approval. “The UnSub takes one of them as a trophy not on a whim, but for two important reasons. First, it's a proof of the victims’ vanity and succumbing to the expectations to look good, and second–”

“It's his work, his design!” Emily finishes excitedly.

“But, wouldn't we have found the same nail salon's number in the victims’ phone records?” Morgan asks skeptically.

Prentiss gives him a look. “It shows that you're an Alpha, Morgan. Many Omegas prefer to have their nails done in their homes, it gives them more privacy. Plus, mobile nail services are much cheaper, since there's no rent involved. More often than not, the payments are made in cash and that type of income can be easily hidden, so there's no track of taxes being paid either.”

Aaron licks his lips, dearly wishing for a glass of water, but he doesn't have time to go to the kitchen, not when it looks like they might have a break in the case, after all. “So, how do we catch this guy? Wouldn't his number have shown up on the victims’ phone records?”

“Initially, yes, but if the victims are regulars by this point, they'd probably have a set time and date scheduled, like every third Friday of the month, one they wouldn't need to confirm via phone unless either party would need to cancel or reschedule,” Reid points out.

“Which means that we need to broaden the phone check to several months back,” Morgan nods, fishes out his phone and makes a call, putting it on speaker. “Baby girl, can you check the victims’ phone records for me?”

Garcia sighs. “I've done that several times already, chéri, and nothing popped up.”

“Yes, but we need to look further into the past, let's say six months. Can you check if there’s any number that appears on all victims’ phone records?”

“On it – and by the way, have you met the good doctor yet? He's so cute I want him as my plush toy,” Garcia prattles, and Aaron shoots a quick look at Reid, whose cheeks have turned a dusty shade of pink.

“Garcia, you're on speaker, and Reid can hear you,” Morgan points out.

“Why does this always happen to me?” Garcia laments. “I'm really sorry, Doctor, I didn't mean to offend you.”

“No offence taken,” Reid says easily, his blush subsiding a little. “How about that phone number, did you manage to find anything?”

“Almost there… Yup, bingo! One common number that appears on every list without exception. I'm sending the details via email as we speak.”

As his team bursts into an excited chatter, Aaron steps away, swaying on his feet. The level of noise, though it would be perfectly acceptable on a normal day, now seems deafening to him. His head is pounding something awful, and he feels weak and dizzy. And if that wasn't enough, Emily's phone starts beeping loudly, marking that Reid's thirty minutes are up.

He's barely aware of warm hands that guide him to a chair and push a rubbish bin into his hands just a second before he vomits. 

***

Spencer deems himself a quite a decent judge of human behavior, taking cues from even the smallest moves and gestures that people are not even aware they're making. So even as he explains the UnSub's profile to the BAU, he doesn't stop observing them in return, including one Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner.

What he initially mistook for an angry scowl might very well have a different root cause, as the man keeps rubbing his forehead and the base of his nose, as if trying to relieve a headache. The chapped lips are probably a sign of dehydration, while the dark rings under the man's eyes are most definitely caused by a chronic, long-term exhaustion. So when Hotch starts looking pale and clammy, and the man sways on his feet, Spencer reacts without thinking; he takes the Alpha's elbow and guides him to a chair, then hands him a rubbish bin he spotted earlier in the corner.

The team gets quiet and watches with wide eyes as their chief throws up. It's over quickly; the man probably hasn't drunk much fluids, and ate even less, so it doesn't take much to empty his stomach.

“Carry on, I'm fine,” Hotch mutters, though his hands are shaking badly as he puts the bin down.

Spencer grimaces at the Alpha's sheer stubbornness and tendency to ignore his own discomfort. “No, you're not okay, you're in pain. Migraine, am I right? For how long?”

“On and off for nearly three weeks,” the man admits. “But that's not your concern.”

“I'm a medical doctor and an Omega, I’m literally wired to be concerned about your well-being. Give me thirty minutes and I'll make the pain go away,” he offers.

While Alphas are more often than not acting as providers and protectors, Omegas in return are born caregivers, and he's no exception to that rule. It's not a compulsion, though, and he could easily ignore his instincts if he felt that the man does not deserve his care, but that's not the case here.

They might not have gotten off to a good start, but he's been observing the entire team closely, and he can tell that they all respect their chief. Which means that JJ was speaking from the heart when she told him that Agent Hotchner is a good man – and that's enough for him.

The man looks at him with a surprising scrutiny, considering how glassy his eyes are. “...Thirty minutes?”

“I managed to solve the case in that time, did I not?”

The man closes his eyes, then gives him the smallest of nods, which Spencer counts as a success. 

“What do you need?” Agent Prentiss asks.

“A comfortable place, quiet and private,” he starts listing. “A cup of water, though it would need to be slightly warm to mitigate the risk of making him sick again. If someone has some herbal tea, that'd be great, preferably chamomile or fennel. Mint works too.”

It takes them barely a few moments to divide tasks between them to get him what he requested, and he appreciates how smooth their teamwork is.

For a moment, he mourns the fact that he's not a part of their unit; he's just an outsider peeking in, getting a glimpse of what could have been, if he wasn't forbidden from working with them in the field. Then, he shakes the feeling off, and focuses on the task at hand: he has an Alpha to take care of.

Chapter Text

Aaron barely registers when Morgan helps him to his office, and eases him onto the couch before leaving. The light in the room nearly blinds him, and he lets out a soft sigh of relief when someone closes all the blinds, leaving only the desk lamp as a source of light, which is dim enough not to bother him.

He looks up, only to see Reid handing him a glass of water. He takes it gingerly, not entirely confident in his grip at the moment, and takes a gulp, then another, before he puts the glass away.

“Now, what I'm about to do is very private, and most Omegas do it only for their spouses, family and the closest of friends,” the doctor says quietly, keeping his voice low and calm, which Aaron appreciates. “Omega psychologists and trauma recovery specialists sometimes use it in therapy, though, so there's no actual reason not to apply it to strangers.”

“What is it?” He asks stiffly, wondering what this might be about.

“Purring,” Reid says as he takes a sit behind him on the couch. “Lean back and rest your back against my chest. Don't worry, I'm just here to help you, nothing else.”

Aaron doesn’t remember the last time he's allowed to put himself in such a vulnerable position, but the pain has already worn down any inhibitions he might have otherwise. As he lets his body lean back and rest against Reid's torso, the Omega curls his arms around him, but keeps the embrace loose enough not to be constricting.

“Very good. Now, close your eyes, and relax,” Reid whispers.

Before Aaron could start to feel self-conscious about the entire situation, his body is being rocked by gentle vibrations. This genuinely feels like purring, but better, since he can also feel the Omega's warm body embracing him like a soft cocoon. The sensation is so incredibly soothing, that he closes his eyes nearly instinctively, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

He doesn't know how long he's been held like that, lulled to a half-sleep by the gentle purr, until it eventually quiets down. As the arms that have been holding him retreat, he opens his eyes and straightens, slightly embarrassed by how easily he has succumbed to the comfort.

“How are you feeling?” Reid asks with concern.

He blinks, and has to consciously focus on his body to be able to answer the question. “Way better. The pain is still there, but it's a dull throb, and not hot-white needles sticking into my head.”

The doctor shakes his head. “That's good, but not good enough. I promised to relieve your pain, remember? But don't worry, I have more aces up my sleeve.” There's a knock on the door, and Reid stands up from the coach to open the door. “Thank you for the tea, Miss Garcia, I'll take it from here.”

Aaron sniffs the air as the man hands him the mug. “Herbal tea is your secret weapon?” He asks dubiously.

Reid smiles, “You really must be feeling better if you can muster up this level of skepticism. But to answer your question, no, this is just to ease your stomach. Go on, take a few sips, and then I'll work my magic.”

He does as he's told, and as he puts the mug away, he looks at Reid expectantly.

“I'm going to give you a message, focusing on the pressure points that the acupressure lists as responsible for headaches and migraines,” the doctor explains. “The message can elicit some reactions from you, like muscle spasms or gasping. They’re your body’s natural reaction to relieving tension, especially if the stress has been building up for a prolonged period of time, so don’t try to suppress them. Now, may I ask you to take off your tie and unbutton the top of your shirt?”

Aaron feels a little reassured by the explanation, since he now knows exactly what to expect, and it makes complying with the request that much easier.

Reid starts the message from his hands, of all things, and presses the spot between the thumb and index finger. Then, he moves to his forehead and presses the place between the eyebrows where the nose bridge meets the forehead. This actually does feel better, relieving the tension behind his eyes that made it so difficult for him to focus.

Next, Reid walks around the couch and places his palms on his shoulders, first kneading gently the entire area, then pinching the most stubborn, tense muscles for a few seconds. It causes a short flare of pain, but it’s gone in a second, and as his muscles relax, Aaron lets out a breathy moan.

He does it completely involuntarily, but just as embarrassment paints his cheeks with a blush, Reid murmurs: “It’s okay, it’s perfectly normal. Don’t think about it.”

After a moment, the Omega’s hands slide upwards and start to apply pressure on the base of Aaron’s neck and slowly move up. At the touch, Aaron’s neck muscles almost turn into jelly and his head leans down entirely on its own, as the last remains of pain and tension leave his body.

When the touch disappears from his back, he becomes aware of the hot tears that left wet trails down his nose and cheeks, and are now soaking the fabric of his pants.

“I’ll turn the lamp off and leave you alone for a few minutes to let you regain your composure,” Reid murmurs, then does as he promises, leaving him in quiet darkness that has never seemed so soothing before.

The complete lack of any pain whatsoever feels incredible, and he marvels at the sensation. When did his body become used to discomfort, so that the absence of it seems like a novelty?...

He’s still weak, and he dreams about heading home and taking a nap, but beside all that, he feels like a new man. And all of this thanks to the man whom he welcomed with scorn and derision, and would have dismissed altogether if it wasn’t for Reid’s stubbornness and insistence at not letting himself be ignored. It’s humbling, and he knows that he needs to apologize for his behavior sooner rather than later.

The thought gives him enough of an energy boost to stand up, straighten his shirt and button it up. He leaves the last button open, and opts to discard the tie for the time being. As he exits his office, he needs to blink a few times to let his eyes become accustomed to the light, but to his pleasant surprise, no pain follows this sudden onslaught on his senses.

He spots Reid talking with his team in the bullpen, and joins them. 

“Thank you, doctor, your help is greatly appreciated,” he turns towards his people. ”What’s the current situation?”

“We have the address and the warrant, we can go get the guy,” Morgan says with barely suppressed eagerness. 

“Maybe you could sit this one out? Sir,” Prentiss adds quickly. “We’ve got this.”

Even though he’s no longer in pain, he does feel tired, as his energy levels are severely depleted. He hesitates for a second, then towards Reid. “What do you think, doctor?”

The Omega gives him a thoughtful look. “Based on the profile, the UnSub shouldn’t pose any danger outside of his ruse. I think you can let your team make the arrest, and I’ll wait with you for the news.”

He nods. “Very well. Morgan, you’re in charge, take Prentiss and JJ with you. Remember, you need to find physical evidence of guilt, everything else is circumstantial. Call me when you have the UnSub in custody.”

“It’ll be my pleasure,” Morgan gives him a predatory grin of an Alpha going on a hunt. “Ladies, you've heard the boss, let’s finish this so that we can all go home and celebrate.” 

As his team heads towards the elevator, Aaron turns towards the Omega. “May we talk in my office, Doctor Reid?”

“Of course,” the man nods, and follows him back into the office. “And please, you needn’t be so formal when it’s just you and me, Reid is perfectly fine.”

“Thank you, you may call me Hotch, that’s what my team calls me,” He clears his throat. “I’m deeply sorry for how I acted when we first met. I was exhausted and in pain, but it’s not an excuse for such harsh treatment, and I apologize.”

The man tilts his head to the side, and tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “I admit that I was beyond furious at first, but as you said, you weren’t feeling well, so I accept your apology.” 

Aaron exhales with relief. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Reid shrugs, then sits down on the couch, patting the space beside him with his palm. “Come on, Hotch, save your strength and sit down.”

He complies without giving it a second thought, as if following the Omega’s instruction has become a natural response to him. It should raise a red flag, or some concern at the very least, but for some reason, it doesn’t. 

“How did you meet Gideon, if you don’t mind me asking?” He asks curiously as they wait for the team to call.

Reid leans against the backrest cushion. “It’s fine, I don’t mind. I was six at the time, and a witness in the case he was assigned to. Somehow, he imprinted on me enough that I’ve held onto his card for a decade. When I graduated university at sixteen, I hoped to join the FBI, so I called him. He was thoroughly confused and at a loss how I had his number or why I was calling him in the first place, but when I mentioned the circumstances of how we met, he immediately remembered the case.”

Aaron finds himself nodding. “That’s Gideon, he never forgot the people he met while working on a case. So, you wanted to join the FBI but never did. How come?”

“Because apparently, Omegas are too fragile to work in the field, and I can do better than to end up in some cubicle as a clerk,” Reid grimaces. “When I was denied an exception, I decided to work on my PhDs, while Gideon started teaching me profiling in his free time. I think he initially did it out of pity, but as I seemed to have a knack for it, he started to include me more often on the current cases that he worked on. I know that it’s not the same as actually working in the BAU, but it was a decent substitute.”

Aaron snorts. Somehow, for nearly a decade Gideon had managed to train himself an apprentice, an apprentice who’s now more than capable of singlehandedly holding his own against the entire BAU unit. A decent substitute is quite an understatement if he ever heard one.

They talk some more, with Aaron growing more and more intrigued and impressed by the Omega, when his phone rings.

“Morgan, I’m putting you on speaker,” he says as he picks up.

“Hey Hotch, we got the guy without any problems, but we’re now combing through his flat, and we can’t locate the place where he might have stashed the murder weapon or the trophies.”

“Can you send me the photos of the apartment and everything that you’ve found so far?” He suggests. “I’ll grab my laptop and I’ll go through them with Doctor Reid, maybe we’ll notice something.”

“Sure, just give me a few minutes.” 

Soon enough, he receives the photos. He puts his laptop on his thighs, while Reid scoops closer to him to have a better view. They’re halfway through when the Omega jumps.

“Wait, wait, go back to the last one– Yup, that might be it.”

Aaron raises his eyebrow. “Those are nail paint palettes, every nail artist is bound to have those.”

Reid rolls his eyes. “I know that, but look at the nail shapes - they’re not perfectly round, so I bet that they’re not artificial. Not to mention, I recognize some of the nail lacquer shades as the ones the victims had on their nails at the time of death.”

“So you think that the UnSub removed the nails from the victims’ severed fingers, cleaned them, and glued them onto the palette…?” He muses out loud.

“He actually did a great job at making them look as if they were acrylic, but I can spot some minor irregularities in shapes and lengths. Send them to the lab, and you should have a DNA match with the victims. We’ve nailed the guy, pun very much intended,” Reid adds with a satisfied grin.

Aaron’s head spins at the thought that it took Reid around two hours in total to close the case that they’ve been stuck with for weeks on end. He doesn't even want to imagine where they’d be if the Omega hasn’t come back to their conference room despite the less than warm welcome.

“No, you've nailed him, Reid,” he corrects the younger man. “Great job, it seems that those profiling lessons have paid off, after all.”

The bright, happy smile that he receives in return makes his heart beat just a little faster, and despite his exhaustion, he finds himself smiling back.

Chapter Text

When Reid offers to drive him home, Aaron objects at first.

“I appreciate it, but it's not needed, I'm fine,” he insists. 

Reid is unconvinced. “Is that so... Then you wouldn't mind putting that to a test, would you? Put your hands in front of you as if you were about to do squats, and keep them like that for a few moments,” the man looks at him expectantly.

To his own surprise, Aaron doesn't mind being challenged in such an obvious manner. Instead, he caves in and complies with the request. It takes maybe three seconds before his hands start to shake, and he lets them fall against his sides with a defeated sigh.

“Thank you for the visual proof that I'm right, as always,” Reid says with a satisfied grin. “So, either you take a cab, or let me drive you home, your choice.”

“Alright, alright,” he concedes. “But if we take my car, you'll need to come back here for yours.”

“I don't mind,” Reid shrugs. “I've already cancelled all my plans for today, but letting you drive in such a condition would be gross negligence on my part. So, pack your stuff and lead the way.”

Aaron snorts, then grabs the forms he needs to complete after closing a case. Going home early is one thing, but there's still a lot of paperwork to be done. “Did anyone ever tell you how bossy you are?”

“You should be flattered, I'm only bossy when I care. Otherwise, I simply don't bother,” Reid says absentmindedly, playing with the hem of his vest.

The words, even though uttered in a light tone, drive the point home that somehow Aaron managed to gain Reid's goodwill.

“Maybe you shouldn't. I certainly didn't give you any reason to,” he mutters, still feeling ashamed at how he acted earlier.

Reid frowns. “Hotch, it's fine. Seriously, I'm not so sensitive and fragile to be bothered by a few harsh words, and besides, you've already apologized. Don't be so hard on yourself, you're a great guy who had a bad day, that's all. It happens to the best of us.”

Aaron feels his cheeks warm up at the compliment, so he leans down to grab his wallet and keys from the drawer, willing his blush to disappear.

“Okay, I'm ready to go,” he says as he straightens up. “Although, let me call my wife first, she doesn't expect me to be back this early.”

That's quite an understatement. During the last few weeks they haven't seen each other much, as he would come home to get a few hours of sleep, only to leave again early in the morning. 

He takes out his phone and calls Haley. “Honey, good news, we've finally managed to close the case.”

“Really? That's great!” She says excitedly. “Do you still have a lot of work to do before you can come home?”

“Actually, I'm going home straight away, though I'll be bringing some paperwork home to finish later.”

“It's fine, I'm just happy that I'll get to see you earlier. I'm making lasagne.”

His stomach chooses that moment to rumble loudly, reminding him how hungry he is, but he's not entirely sure that he'll be able to eat anything heavy just yet.

“I was wondering, could you cook some plain rice for me, instead? I've had a queasy stomach because of my headache,” he admits. “It's okay now, but better to be safe than sorry.”

“Of course, not a problem. Are you feeling okay?” Haley asks worriedly. “That migraine's been bothering you for far too long. Maybe you should go see a doctor?”

“Luckily, we had a doctor assisting us on a case and he helped me with the headache. He's adamant on not letting me behind the wheel, though, so he's going to drive me home.”

“That's awfully nice of him. How about you invite him for dinner?” She suggests. “I'm not going to eat the entire lasagne all by myself.”

“Let me ask him,” he turns towards Reid. “Would you like to have dinner with us? My wife's making lasagne.”

“Um, I'm not sure, you should be resting and not entertaining guests,” the man protests half-heartedly.

“I wouldn't have offered it if I didn't feel up to it,” Aaron points out.

“In that case, I'd love to. Thank you.”

“He said yes, so we're going to be there in half an hour,” he says to Haley. “I love you.”

“I love you too.“

***

Haley loves her husband. She appreciates that he's caring, kind, and has a great sense of humor. Sometimes, she thinks she might be the only person in the entire world to see that version of him, rather than the overly serious drill-sergeant that he is at work.

Thinking back, she must admit that Aaron has never been good at making friends. Colleagues and acquaintances, sure, he has plenty of those after years of working as a prosecutor, and now an FBI agent. There are quite a number of people that owe him favors, but he's not a person that people go out of their way to voluntarily spend time with him outside of a professional environment. He's always been too serious and too work-driven to invite even the smallest gestures of familiarity. As a result, they don't usually entertain guests, and even when they do, they're usually stiff, polite affairs.

When she suggests to Aaron that he should invite the doctor helping him on a case for dinner, she doesn't have high expectations. But when Aaron shows up with their guest, the man is not what she expected, to say the least, and his age does not even make the top of that list – but how Aaron acts around him definitely does.

“Hi, I'm Doctor Spencer Reid, but please feel free to call me Reid or Spencer,” he greets her with an easy smile.

“Well, then it's only fair that you call me Haley. I better not hear any ‘Mrs Hotchner’,” she says with a grimace.

Aaron leans towards the man and says in a stage-whisper: ”She always complains that it makes her feel like a middle-aged housewife.”

She blushes and swats her husband's arm half-heartedly for revealing her secret. “Hey, how am I supposed to make a good impression now?”

“Don't worry, I know how it feels, although I have the opposite problem, since everyone looks at me and sees a kid,” Reid admits. “I honestly stopped caring long ago, otherwise I'd have to constantly prove to others what I'm capable of.”

“You've proven yourself plenty today,” Aaron says, putting a hand on the doctor's shoulder and letting it linger for a moment. “We wouldn't have solved that case without you.”

The fact that Aaron initiated physical contact with him piques Haley's curiosity.

“That sounds like quite a feat, Spencer. Why don't you tell me about it?” she suggests as she starts dishing out the food.

“Well, it started with the call from Jason Gideon – you know him, right?...”

Reid's tale continues as they eat, Aaron jumping in every now and then to add some details, and while she listens attentively, the details of the case are not as interesting to her as the way the two of them interact with each other.

“So, today's the first time you've met? And you still agreed to help, even though my husband basically acted like an uncivilised ogre?” she asks, just to make sure she got it right. “You're either a saint or even more stubborn than he is.”

“Actually, ogres are mythological monsters, often characterized as large, ugly, and voraciously hungry for human flesh,” Reid points out. “Your husband, thankfully, doesn't fit the description, quite the opposite.”

“Wait, did you just imply that Aaron is handsome?” She bursts into giggles.

“Well, he definitely falls into the ‘dark, tall and handsome’ category. I imagine this is what attracted you to him, besides his charming personality, of course," Spencer says with a completely straight face.

She wipes the tears of mirth off her cheeks. “I have a feeling that we're going to be great friends, you and I.”

***

Aaron is absolutely mortified when he becomes the main object of gossip between his wife and Reid, but doesn't protest nearly as much as he should, seeing how much Haley enjoys herself. It's been months since he's last seen her like that, smiling and laughing openly, eyes shining with amusement, her body language telling him that she's totally relaxed. 

Just a few years before, she had plenty of female friends from high school and college, but they all slowly grew apart when they started families, while Haley struggled to get pregnant. It's quite natural that women with children tend to prefer the company of other mothers, as they have mutual topics and concerns, but he knows that it doesn't make it any easier for Haley. Being unable to conceive is hard enough for her, and losing all her friends because of it makes it even harder.

Seeing how Reid managed to get her out of her shell is nothing short of amazing, and Aaron finds himself feeling even more grateful for the young man's presence.

“So, my husband mentioned that you're a doctor - what's your specialty?” Haley asks Reid, and Aaron leans in, interested in the answer as well.

“I have PhDs in Mathematics, Biology and Chemistry, I also have a masters in Psychology. Plus, I'm an MD specialising in endocrinology.”

That's… quite an extensive list, and for a moment Aaron is too impressed to react. Then, his mind catches up and he shares a quick look with Haley.

“Endocrinology, meaning treating hormonal issues?” He double checks.

“Exactly,” Reid nods, then bites his lower lip. “I didn't want to say anything, because frankly speaking, it's none of my business, but… Haley, you're undergoing hormonal therapy to help you get pregnant, right?”

“Yes, but, how did you know?…” she asks, surprised.

Reid taps his nose with his finger. “Omegas have a more sensitive sense of smell, and mine is even sharper than most, I can spot irregularities just by analyzing people's body's scent. That's why I chose endocrinology in the first place, so that I could learn to identify and differentiate various chemosignals. Sadly, the medical degree doesn't take into account Omegas' senses as a potential diagnostic tool, so it took me months of actually working with patients to figure out what I was smelling in the first place.”

Haley straightens, her earlier relaxed stance already gone. “And what did you smell on me?”

“That your hormone levels are all over the place, so whatever meds you're currently taking, they're not helping,” Reid says bluntly. “I'd advise a change in dosage and/or a change of doctor, but I don't want you to think that I'm saying this to gain a patient, my clinic's busy enough that we don't need any additional advertising. I'm just telling you this, because I honestly think that you're a great couple and that you'd be even better parents.”

Aaron's head is spinning from the sudden onslaught of thoughts, questions and doubts, and he can tell that Haley's reaction is much the same. Reid must see it in their expression, as he wipes his mouth with a napkin and stands up.

“I'd hate to overstay my welcome, so I'm going to head back to Quantico. Thank you both, dinner was delicious. I'll leave you my card, feel free to call me for anything, anytime,” Reid takes out his wallet and leaves his card on the table.

Aaron stands up as well. “I'll walk you out.” Once they're outside, he calls a cab, and waits with Reid for it to arrive. 

The young man sighs, breaking the tense silence. “I'm sorry, I honestly didn't mean to make things awkward. I know that fertility issues are a difficult topic, but I preferred to put it out in the open and let you two decide if you'd like my help. However, we don't have to talk about it ever again if it makes you or Haley uncomfortable. I'd still like to keep in touch, regardless of what you decide.”

“I'd like that too,” he admits. “Thank you again for everything that you did today. For helping me get better, and for making Haley laugh like you did. She's taken quite a shine to you… and so did I, to be honest.” 

Reid ducks his head, a bright blush making him look even younger than he is. He's saved from having to respond as the cab arrives, which Aaron thinks is a pity. He'd gladly keep the Omega company for a little while longer, but he consoles himself with the fact that they've promised to keep in touch - and if he's learned anything about Spencer Reid today, it is that the man keeps his word.

Chapter Text

Aaron goes back to the house, only to find Haley sitting on the sofa, hugging a pillow to her chest.

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, then sits by her side and curls an arm around her shoulders.

“What do we do, Aaron? Should we stick to the current therapy? But it's been nearly eight months already since we've started it, and so far, nothing…”

He caresses her back with his palm. “I say before we make any decision, let’s consult it with Dr Braun first, and if you wish, I can book an appointment with Spencer for a second opinion.”

She nods. “I'd like that.”

***

Dr Braun, for the most part, seems at loss why the current therapy doesn't seem to work, and advises them to be patient. 

“Are there any other options?” Aaron asks, feeling that patience might be something they are currently running short of.

“Estrogen and progesterone treatment is a standardized, well-researched method,” she argues. “It increases the chances of your wife getting pregnant by ten to twenty percent, so it might take time before you get lucky. Every other doctor will tell you the same.”

“We are currently reviewing our options, and we have a friend working at this clinic,” Haley hands her Reid's card. “Have you heard of them?”

The card is nearly plain, only with Spencer's full name, phone number, and the company name printed on it.

Dr Braun puts on her reading glasses to read it, and her eyebrows shoot nearly to her hairline. “You have a contact at Chaucer? And they said that they'll get you admitted?"

“That was implied, yes,” Aaron confirms. “Why, is there anything that we should know about them?”

Dr Braun gives them the card back and takes off her glasses to look at them. “Mr and Mrs Hotchner, I have to say that Chaucer's methods are quite controversial, but from what I've read, their success rate is the highest in the country.”

Aaron frowns. “Controversial how?”

“Their treatment is adjusted for each single patient, hence the high success rate. However, since it's applied individually, it also means that many doctors claim that their method can't be proven scientifically, as there is no research sample as such,” she explains. “Not to mention, they turn down many patients, often without an explanation, and they require payment for the entire treatment up front, without a chance of a refund.”

“But their treatment works? I mean, if a person gets admitted?” Haley asks. “Do you remember how high their success rate is, by any chance?”

“Nearly ninety percent of women who are accepted into their program get pregnant within the first six months of starting the treatment,” Dr Braun admits.

Aaron exchanges an astounded look with Haley. Ninety percent, within six months! That's incredible, unbelievable even. 

When they get back home, Haley clutches at his arm with desperation. “Do you think that Spencer can get me accepted?”

“I'll ask him for an appointment, and we'll see what he says.”

***

Unfortunately, the next case he works on takes longer than anticipated, and he knows that he won't be able to make it in time for their appointment, since he's still stuck in Idaho. As he waits for Garcia to gather some data for him, he calls Reid and explains the situation to him.

“What if Haley comes to today's appointment without you?” Spencer suggests. “We'll need to administer some tests, and I won't be able to make any conclusive decision until I see the results anyway. It would be helpful if Haley could bring her medical history and previous tests results with her. And then, once I have the full picture, we can meet privately to discuss your options, at your house or mine, without the need of making an appointment at the clinic.”

“But you would still have to run the results through your boss, or whoever makes the decision which patient to admit, right?” He double checks.

There's a moment of silence. “Hotch, I'm the founder and the majority owner of the Chaucer Group, including Chaucer Labs and the local clinics. That decision belongs solely to me, so once I've checked her test results and I'm confident that the treatment should help, this will only be a matter of whether you decide to go with it or not.”

He blinks, totally taken aback. “But if it's your company, why didn't you name it after yourself?”

“My mom is a former college professor of fifteenth century literature and often read to me when I was a kid. Naming my company after the father of English literature seemed fitting,” Spencer explains. “Anyways, you may tell Haley that she can come to the clinic for tests, and we'll talk specifics after your return. How does that sound?”

“It sounds perfect. Thank you for making the time for us,” he adds, suddenly hyper aware of the fact that a company's owner usually does not offer home consultations. 

“Anytime. Let me know once you're back.”

“Will do. Bye,” he says absentmindedly, his head spinning.

Once Garcia shares all the info that she found on the potential suspects and has sent it to the team, he asks her to research the Chaucer Group.

“This is not case-related, it's for my personal knowledge. Can you check who the owner is?”

“Typing at the speed of sound… John Fowles, age 26, wow, that's quite young for owning a multimillion dollars business,” Garcia says, impressed.

He frowns. The age definitely matches, but not the name. “Are you sure?”

“I always am, sir. But since John Fowles is marked as an Omega in the national registry, this could very well be an alias. It's one of the provisions of the Omega Protection Act that is actually useful for Omegas, allowing them to hold public positions, including companies’ ownership titles, under an assumed identity. The idea is to make it harder for them to be targeted for blackmail or ransom purposes. Do you want me to unseal the records and check this Fowles fellow?”

“No need,” he decides. A 26 year old male Omega? It all points to Reid, especially since he actually has an office at the clinic. “Thank you, that will be all.”

“My pleasure. Garcia out.”

Aaron taps his fingers on the table absentmindedly. It seems that being rejected from the FBI actually worked in Spencer's favor, allowing the young genius to focus on other areas, and with great success no less. 

***

When he comes back from Idaho, he leaves the paperwork for the next day and drives straight home. When he arrives, he chuckles at the sight of his wife, her mouth covered with crumbs, as if she was a little girl who managed to get her hands into a cookie jar when the adults weren't looking.

“What's that, a cookie?” he asks, gently swiping her lips with his thumb.

“Close. Chocolate muffins, or more accurately, a wide variety of chocolate muffins. There's blueberry, cherry, salted caramel…” she starts counting them off on her fingers. 

“What's the occasion? Or did you feel like indulging yourself for once?”

She snorts. “They’re from Spencer, he made them for us yesterday, but since you weren't at the clinic, he gave me the entire box. I think I'm ready to burst, but don't worry, I saved you some.”

“That's my baby,” he murmurs, toeing off his shoes and dropping his bag and coat on the sofa. He grabs a muffin from the kitchen counter and takes a bite, revealing the blueberry filling. “Mhm, they really are delicious. I’m surprised, though, that he has time to make pastry for his patients.”

Haley gives him a look. “Not patients, friends. He told me that he can't cook to save his life, but he loves baking, and that he tries to bake something whenever he gets to meet with friends.”

He puts the half-eaten muffin away for a moment. “Honey, what if we jumped into this whole thing with Spencer too soon? I've recently learned that he's not just an employee, but the owner of the Chaucer group. He's a genius, he's rich–”

“Wait, are you trying to say that we can't be friends with him, because he outclasses us?” she frowns at him, folding her arms over her chest. 

“Of course not,” he assures her. “I'm sorry that I missed the appointment, and I'm happy that you went anyway. I just don't want you to get too invested in this and get disappointed later on, either with the therapy, or with the friendship part."

“Regardless if the therapy works out or not, I like spending time with him, Aaron,” Haley says with feeling. “And I like the idea of having someone in the city who I can talk to when you're away on a case. Is that so bad?”

He swallows with difficulty. His guilt at being away so often flows straight to the surface from the back of his mind, where he keeps it most of the time.

“It's not bad at all,” he embraces her and kisses her softly on the lips.

***

They invite Spencer for dinner that Sunday, and he brings a pavlova cake with him for dessert.

“So, the test results came back, and I'm fairly confident that I can create a hormone therapy regime that will help you get pregnant,” Spencer says once they've finished eating. “If you're still interested, of course.”

“I am,” Haley nods enthusiastically.

“I have a couple of questions, actually,” Aaron cuts in. “Can you tell us why you reject so many applicants to your program?”

Reid straightens, but seems engaged rather than defensive. “We applied a rule to narrow down the potential patient list to exclude any physical defects that hormone therapy would not have any effect on. Then, we conduct the psychology tests and interviews, to weed out any parents with potential behavioral issues. I don't know about you, but I don't want to help bring children into the world, only for them to be born in abusive or neglectful homes. And I get enough applications that I can be selective with who I choose.”

He nods. “It makes sense. And the down-payment?”

“Actually, that's a test, too,” Reid admits. “We charge two percent of the parents’ net wealth up front, regardless if they're rich or poor, it's always two percent. You won't believe how many millionaires try to negotiate the terms, or take some really creative accounting measures to appear less rich than they really are. I exclude those people too, because if a person tries to pay less for an opportunity to become a parent, then they're not worth my time.”

“So all those tests are designed to basically allow you to select people that fit the profile of a good parent,” he says, astounded. He's never heard of profiling methods being used in a field other than catching criminals. "That's brilliant."

“Yup, I know,” Spencer says with a grin. “And just to make it clear, I don't charge friends. So, you can take those two percent and donate them to charity, or place them on your future child's trust fund. I don't care, as long as you put that money to good use.”

“Thank you,” he mutters, feeling a little light-headed that the abstract idea of having a child might soon become a reality, and that he'll actually have to think about setting up a trust fund for a little boy or girl. “Are you really confident that this therapy will work?”

Spencer nods, “With my Omega nose catching any irregularities in your wife's hormone levels? Absolutely. But before we start, Haley, I need you to stop taking whatever meds you're currently on and come back to the clinic in a month so that I can repeat the blood tests. Then, I will be absolutely certain on the exact dosage of hormones that are needed to balance the hormone levels your body produces on its own. During that month, I suggest that you try to eat healthy, and have some light physical activity to keep in shape. I will try to refrain from bringing you any more pastries, I promise.”

Haley smiles faintly, then clears her throat, looking embarrassed. “Um, what about sex?”

Reid takes the question in stride. “That's a good question, actually. There is no real expectation for you to get pregnant within the next month or even two, so I'd suggest that you take that opportunity to have sex with Aaron whenever you want, without counting fertile days or anything. The goal is to remind your body and brain to associate the sexual act with love, pleasure, intimacy, and fun, not with the stress of trying to get pregnant. I can say from my experience with other patients that they more often manage to conceive a child when they aren't actually thinking about it, just get caught up in a moment. So, stop focusing on getting pregnant, that's my job to ensure that your body is in the perfect condition to do so. Instead, just be yourself, and love your husband. That's all that's needed, really.”

Haley blushes and nods, then busies herself with the dishes. 

“Thank you,” Aaron murmurs once he's alone with Spencer. “You have no idea how much this means to us... To me.”

“You're welcome,” the young man replies softly, sounding strangely wistful.

***

When they realize that it's gotten late and Reid starts saying his goodbyes, Haley draws him into a tight hug. This gives Aaron the courage to do the same, so when it's his turn to say goodbye, he embraces Spencer too, watching for any signs of discomfort, but he finds none. Instead, the younger man seems to melt into his arms, soaking the comfort like a sponge.

They stop at the porch, watching Spencer go to his car and wave his hand at them.

“We need to hug him more,” Haley declares, waving back.

“I completely agree,” he kisses her on the cheek, comforted in the knowledge that they understand each other so well that they're even thinking in unison.

Spencer might be a rich, self-confident, intelligent and kind man who exceeded all their expectations, but ultimately, he needs human contact just as much as everyone, if not more. And after today, Aaron is determined to ensure that he receives it.

Chapter Text

When Strauss tells him that David Rossi is going to join the team as Gideon's replacement, Aaron feels relief mixed with confusion. The team has been struggling to operate with one man down, but finding an adequate replacement hasn't been easy. Profiling is a very specific way of thinking, and as he told Prentiss when she applied for a transfer to their unit, he can't just let people try to give it a whirl. 

But Rossi is a seasoned agent and an expert profiler, one of the founders of the BAU. The man is a widely recognized legend of the profiling industry, and should have nothing left to prove. Aaron can't imagine why Dave would volunteer to come back, and in a subordinate position no less, but he gladly accepts the offer. They need more hands on board, that much has become clear in the last few months, ever since Gideon left them without looking back.

The first few cases with Rossi don't go as smoothly as he might have wished, Dave being stubborn like a mule with old habits that are hard to break, but they have a talk about it, about sharing thoughts with the team rather than writing them down in a private notebook, and with each case the in-team cooperation gets more smooth and seamless than it has been at the start.

And then, they are called for a series of shootings in New York, and for the first time in years, Aaron feels way over his head. At first the shootings seemed to be performed by a single Unsub, but once Garcia calculates their height and weight, it turns out to be two of them. Based on that discovery, they change the profile to reflect the standard dynamic of a dominant and a submissive partner, only to be proved wrong once more when the next shooting is done by a third person.

People are dying, and the BAU doesn't even have a working profile to offer. They need help, someone not biased by the serial killers’ textbook profiles.

In the morning, he goes to Kate's office.

“Hey, would it be okay with you if I contacted one of my consultants and asked him to join us? He's not an FBI agent but I got him the necessary clearance the last time he helped us.”

She seems intrigued. “A consultant? What does he specialize in?”

“He has multiple PhDs, but I want him in this for a different reason. He was trained by Jason Gideon, who's an expert at thinking outside the box,” he explains, then adds: “I don't know if he'll be able to help, but if there's a chance that he might…”

She nods. “I'll take all the help that we can get, and a fresh set of eyes might be just what we need.”

“Thanks.”

He goes outside and calls Spencer. “Hey, I have a particularly difficult case to crack, and I was wondering if you could agree to be a consultant for us again? It's in New York, and I'd need you here.”

“I've seen the news. The shootings, right? I can be there in four and a half hours.”

“Great, thank you,” he says, feeling some of the weight easing off his shoulders. “We're going out on the streets now, hoping to catch the UnSubs on the act, so in case we're not here, contact Garcia, she's staying at the headquarters. I'll send you a direct number to her.”

“Will do. And Aaron? Be careful, please,” Spencer says with a slight hitch in his voice.

“I will,” he promises. “See you soon.”

***

The moment Aaron is notified that there's been a police-involved shooting and that an officer has been wounded, his heart nearly stops. He feels ashamed at the sudden surge of relief that it was Detective Cooper who was shot rather than anyone from his unit, but he can't help it. While he feels saddened at what happened, and he dearly hopes that Cooper will make it alive, his team is always at the forefront of his mind. 

He goes to talk to Prentiss who witnessed the entire thing and still seems a little shaken. 

“Are you okay?”

“I don't know,” she rubs her forehead. “Something’s been bugging me. These guys have been hyper-vigilant, organized, they even do pre-surveillance. I mean, what are the odds that they would shoot someone two blocks away from where me and Cooper are standing?”

He considers her words. “What are you thinking, that he wanted you to chase him?”

“He could've gotten away, but he basically waited for us in that alley. His hands were steady, his eyes were strangely calm… It's almost like a suicide by cop, but it doesn't make any sense. Why would he do it?”

“To make us think that it's over. Which means that whoever these guys are, they're getting ready for the final act,” he says grimly.

She nods. “That's what my gut is telling me.”

They agree to regroup at the headquarters, and he drives with Kate. When they arrive, he's glad to see that Reid is already there, looking at their board.

“Spencer, it's good to see you,” he suppresses the sudden urge to pull the younger man into a hug. “Kate, this is Doctor Spencer Reid, the consultant that I talked to you about. Spencer, this is SSA Kate Joyner, she's leading the FBI-NYPD task force.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Spencer greets her, then turns back to Aaron. “I've heard that there's been another shooting. Is everyone doing okay?”

“Detective Cooper of the NYPD has been shot, he's in surgery as we speak. Emily witnessed it and she's a little shaken, but she'll be alright.”

As the rest of the team arrives, they tell everyone to gather in the open space. Prentiss and Morgan smile widely, seeing Spencer amongst them.

“Reid, I didn't know that you'll be consulting on this case, but man, we definitely could use your help, as we've been going around in circles,” Derek says, shaking Spencer's hand in greeting.

“And who's this?” Rossi asks, watching the reunion with his eyebrows raised. “I'm pretty sure that Omegas are not allowed to join the FBI, except for clerk positions.”

Spencer's earlier soft demeanor changes into something harder and unyielding as he turns to Rossi. “Then I guess it's lucky for me that I'm not an FBI agent. I'm Doctor Spencer Reid, but you may call me Doctor Reid, Agent Rossi. I'm here to provide an additional perspective on this case.”

“Then I guess you're too late, since we already know what we're dealing with,” Dave turns to Aaron. “We have multiple UnSubs. They're disciplined, they're using counter-surveillance. They know the FBI movements, there's a hierarchy. What does that usually equal?”

He sighs heavily. “Terrorism.”

And he just brought Spencer right into the middle of it.

***

They discuss the plan, which includes forestalling sending the EMTs until the targeted area has been cleared by the bomb squad, when Reid clears his throat.

“You know that you have tunnel vision, right?”

Dave scoffs, but Kate looks interested. 

“If someone has a different opinion, I want to hear it,” she makes a gesture at Spencer to go on.

“Alright, so based on all the data that you've gathered, I agree that we're dealing with a terrorist cell. But besides that, we know nothing about their structure, views, motives, or goals, and without this info, we can't correctly assume what these guys will do.”

“Kid, this is what profilers do on a daily basis,” Rossi says patronizingly, and Aaron knows that as soon as this case is over, he has to have a serious talk with him.

“It's Doctor Reid,” Spencer reminds the man sharply. “And it's a rookie mistake, trying to profile an UnSub with insufficient data, without even considering the alternatives. Now, there's a method that consultants use in case studies, it's called MECE–”

“We don't have time for this–” Rossi starts protesting, but Aaron shoots him a stern look.

“That's enough, Agent Rossi,” he says sharply, having enough of the man's behavior. Dave might be his friend, but in his arrogance he sometimes tends to act dismissively of others, and Aaron can't tolerate that. “Let Doctor Reid speak, and don't interrupt him until he's finished.”

Spencer gives him a grateful nod and continues. “MECE stands for Mutually Exclusive and Collectively Exhaustive, and it's a method designed to make sure that all root causes and potential solutions have been identified and taken into account. For this case, I'll apply this principle to what the terrorist group's goal might be. Usually I'd start from people vs infrastructure, but since the cell has only been killing so far and not targeting any objects, I'll focus on the ‘people’ part,” he turns towards the board and quickly takes off all the photos, then takes a marker and makes a broad line from top to bottom, dividing the board into two halves. “So, on the left we have the scenario that you have identified already: multiple casualties, caused by incurring panic amongst the masses. The possible targets might be: bridges and tunnels, but also public places such as schools or malls with too few emergency exits. Is that correct?”

“That's our thinking,” Morgan nods.

“Alright, can you think of something that's exactly the opposite?” Spencer asks.

There's a moment of silence, and then Aaron realizes what they haven't even stopped to consider.

“Specific, high-profile targets. Senators, politicians, judges, big companies’ CEOs… But such a list can be endless,” he adds, brow furrowed, just as Spencer writes ‘MASS TARGETS’ on the left, and ‘SPECIFIC INDIVIDUALS’ on the right side of the board.

“It doesn't matter,” the young man says calmly. “We need to consider what preventive measures can be taken for both scenarios, regardless of who or what the actual target is. We already know that there might be multiple UnSubs involved, but who's to say that they won't attack several places or people at once, or deploy different tactics?”

“The problem with this approach is that we don't have the resources to do everything and be everywhere at once,” Kate says, looking grim. 

“The FBI can't be everywhere, but this is an FBI-NYPD joint task force. In 2004, the New York City Police Department employed 36,118 officers, and considering the crime statistics in New York, they're one of the most hardened policemen in the entire country. I'll bet that they'll jump at the chance to stop a terrorism attack on their city,” Spencer reasons. “What we need to do is to instruct them how to identify and best respond to both scenarios, depending on the manner of the attack. Agents Morgan, Prentiss, Jareau, focus on the left side of the board and write down everything that comes to your mind. Agents Joyner, Rossi, Hotchner and I will focus on the right, and then we'll switch. We have ten minutes.”

As all eyes turn to him, Aaron gives a nod. “You heard Doctor Reid. Grab a marker and go.” He turns to Spencer. “Are you okay to work in this group? You can switch, if you wish.”

Reid in response turns to David. “What do you think, Agent Rossi, are you able to put aside your distaste for Omegas to work with me on this?”

“I don't have a problem with Omegas in general, only with those who don't respect authority,” Dave mutters. “I've been a profiler for longer than you're alive.”

“Well, now it's time for you to shine and show me your superiority,” Spencer makes a ‘go ahead’ gesture. “What do you think we can do if an attack on a prominent figure happens?”

As the two begin discussing their options, Kate nudges Aaron. 

“It's amazing how Doctor Reid can stand his ground around so many Alphas. I'm a Beta and I already have a hard time gaining respect… though that may also be because I'm a woman, and a Brit,” she says with a smirk.

“Don't sell yourself short, you're a great agent. And I agree, Reid's amazing,” Aaron says before joining the brainstorming.

Chapter Text

Once they finish the analysis, they gather the task force for the briefing, with Aaron explaining the specifics of the profile.

“We are facing an unknown, extremely disciplined and sophisticated home-grown terrorist cell, whose target or targets are currently unknown,” he says grimly. “Because of that, we have prepared a contingency plan for two most possible scenarios. For the ease of communication, we called them Code Red and Code Blue.”

“Code Red can be associated with a mass casualty attack, focused on taking out a big number of victims. It's the quantity that matters, the more casualties, the better,” Rossi points out. “The cell may target public places such as public transport stations, malls or schools. Based on their methodology so far, they may also try to paralyze the city by taking out bridges or tunnels. For a Code Red scenario, emergency responders might be the secondary targets, so in case of a bombing, a bomb squad needs to clear the area before the ambulances are allowed to pass the set perimeter.”

“Code Blue is a targeted attack on high-profile individuals, such as politicians, judges, or law enforcement senior officers. This type of a terrorist attack would be more precise, and have less casualties. It might be a shooting, but in case it's a bombing, it would most likely be a smaller IED, planted in the target's home, office, or a car,” Morgan advises. “Because of the nature of this scenario, the UnSubs might stick to the area, to ensure that their intended target has been successfully killed, or to finish the task if needed. That's why for Code Blue scenario, every witness or casual onlooker might be a suspect, especially if they don't display the usual level of trauma, and try to get closer to the attacked place rather than move farther away from danger.”

“Because these UnSubs have already proven their ability to infiltrate the CCTV system, they might be highly tech-oriented, so you may expect the communication channels to be disrupted,” Prentiss adds. “Because of this, the contingency plans for both scenarios need to be cascaded to every single police unit, so that they know how to proceed, even if the headquarters are unavailable to provide live guidance.”

“It is possible that several places or targets might be attacked, and we have no way of knowing which is a decoy, and which is the end game. Due to this, we advise against moving resources between boroughs, and to remain hyper vigilant until advised otherwise,” Joyner warns. “Any questions?” There's a moment of silence, and she nods. “In that case, thank you and good luck.”

As the task force disperses, Aaron approaches her. “You know that this building might very well be a target. We shouldn't all stay in one place, we need to fan out.”

“I know, that's why we need to set up temporary offices in alternate locations. And we need to inform everyone, Homeland Security, the Commissioner, the mayor, Port Authority office…” she heaves a sigh. “So much to do, and so little time.”

“Then delegate tasks. We are all here to help,” he reminds her. “Give me five minutes to regroup with my team, and I'll be right back with you.”

He finds Spencer talking with JJ, and walks up to them quickly.

“Reid, since this building might be a target too, the team will spread out and be given separate tasks. It's already late, so I'd prefer if you stayed at our hotel, I'll give you the keycard to my room,” he takes out his wallet, slides the keycard from its slot and hands it to Spencer.

“Thank you. Are you sending JJ to the hotel, too?” Spencer asks, putting the card in his pocket. Aaron blinks, taken aback at the question. “Oh. You don't know, do you? I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything…”

JJ places a hand on Reid's arm. “Hey, it's alright, I know that you only want what's best for me… and for the baby.”

Aaron stares at her for a moment, not expecting this in the least. “The baby?”

JJ gives him an apologetic smile. “I'm pregnant. I know that I should've told you sooner, but I didn't want you to think that I'm unable to do my job, because I am.”

“I know that,” he presses his lips together, frustrated and hurt. Does his team really think that he's so inflexible that he wouldn’t let a pregnant agent work in the field, as long as she takes the necessary precautions? “Can you contact the major hospitals from the hotel? They need to know what to expect.”

“Of course, Reid can drive and I'll start making calls straight away. Thank you.”

He gives her a thin smile. “You don't need to thank me. And JJ? Congratulations.”

There's so much on his mind – the impending attack, everything that can potentially go wrong – that he doesn't have the mental capacity to deal with the news that he's just been given. But one thing he's sure of: he's happy on JJ's behalf, even if he wishes that she trusted him more.

***

Spencer takes his car to drive himself and JJ to the hotel.

“Do you mind if I stay with you for now?” He asks her once they arrive. “I’d like to be kept in the loop, and it’s easier if we just stick together.”

“Sure,” she nods easily.

“Great, I’ll just drop my stuff in Aaron’s room and I’ll be right back.”

He does that and when he knocks on her door, she opens it with one hand, while continuing the conversation on the phone. 

“That’d be all, and please inform me in case you detect any suspicious activity in the hospital, as it potentially could be a target too. Thank you,” she finishes the call, then gives him a faint smile. “I didn’t know that there are so many hospitals in New York City.”

“There’s fifty two hospitals in NYC with emergency departments,” he informs her. 

“I’ll take a five minute break, then,” she groans and rubs her neck. Then, she gives him a sly look. “So… Aaron, is it? When did that happen?”

He blushes. “That was just a slip. It’s a little weird to call him by his last name when I’m on a first name basis with him and his wife in private... I try to avoid acting familiar with him when we’re at work, though. I don’t want him to think that I’m unprofessional.”

“You were plenty professional today,” she assures. “Helpful, too. I agree that the team sometimes tends to have tunnel vision when trying to build a profile from the few puzzle pieces that we get, but it's only a problem on the rare occasions when the pieces are too few. Most of the time, their profiles are pretty spot on.”

“I have no doubt about that,” he says with conviction. “I’m just glad to be of help.”

She takes a deep breath. “How do you feel about helping me make all those calls? I should have a spare FBI-issued phone for you to use, the dubious perk of being the Communication Liaison.”

“Yeah, sure,” he brightens at the prospect of being useful, and also of taking his mind off Aaron being in the field, facing unknown dangers.

His third call makes him straighten in alarm.

“What do you mean, the hospital is on bypass? On whose orders?” he asks.

“As you’re not on the authorized persons list, I’m not allowed to divulge that other information, sir.”

“We are potentially facing a terrorist attack in NYC, so please connect me with someone designated to handle communication with authorities during a crisis, like your Incident Liaison Officer,” he demands. 

“Since I can’t verify your identity via phone, I can’t reroute the call either,” the head nurse says apologetically, and he stifles a curse and disconnects.

JJ finishes her own call and looks at him worriedly. “What’s happening?”

“St Barley’s Hospital is on bypass, and since they’re being all hush-hush about it, it’s probably on Secret Service’s orders, or similar agency’s.”

She blanches. “But why weren’t we told about it in advance? This could very well be the terrorist cell’s target!” 

“My thinking exactly. And they wouldn’t tell me anything more via phone,” he bites his lower lip. “I’m calling Hotch, he needs to know about it.” He selects Aaron’s number.

“Hotchner,” there’s a hint of impatience in the man’s voice, but he knows better than to take it personally, considering the amount of stress they are all under, Aaron especially. 

“It’s Spencer, I’ll be quick,” he promised. “I was helping JJ with contacting the hospitals, and St Barley’s is on bypass on another agency’s orders, but no one’s giving us any specifics. The hospital might be the cell’s target, though it’s only a guess.”

“You were right to call me. If another agency is involved, and we weren’t informed, then it’s definitely a cause for–”

Just before the call gets disconnected, Spencer hears the unmistakable sound of an explosion, and his heart nearly stops. Aaron, he thinks, frozen in spot. Please, please let him be safe.

He doesn't believe in any god, so he doesn't know who or what he prays to, but he still prays.

***

Aaron sways on his feet, his ears ringing. For a moment, his mind is completely empty. What's happened? Where is he?

He looks around, taking in the destruction around him. A burning car. Whose car is it? Whose car–

A young man approaches him. “Are you alright, sir?”

“I don't–” He licks his lips, suddenly feeling parched. 

“Sir? Are you a cop?”

Cop. Yes, he's something like that. “Call 911,” he orders, trying to focus. “Tell them… tell them that a federal agent–” And then, he remembers. Kate! 

He stumbles towards the burning car, takes off his suit jacket to protect his hands from the heat and looks inside, but he doesn't see anyone. He frantically looks around, only to see a trail of blood and a woman's body. Kate's body.

He runs towards her, ignoring how dizzy he feels, and drops to his knees beside her.

“What’s happened, Aaron? Where's my purse?” her eyes are wild, her teeth stained with blood. “I must have dropped it–”

“Kate, don't try to move, you're hurt,” he explains. “It was a bomb. An IED, I think. You need to lie still, the ambulance should be here soon.”

He hears the sirens in the background and he waves his hands frantically. “Code Blue, officer down! I repeat, Code Blue, officer down!”

As the ambulance drives closer, the siren nearly deafens him, and he stumbles back, clutching at his ears in an attempt to shield them. He falls to his knees and throws up. He's dizzy, his head feels like it's being split open, but he forces himself to look up. At the sight of the EMTs pushing a gurney towards Kate, he feels a wave of relief.

A few moments later, a second ambulance stops nearby, thankfully with its siren off. The paramedic walks up to him and hauls him to his feet.

“Let's get you to the hospital, sir."

“What about Kate–” he protests faintly.

“The other team is taking care of that lady, but they won't have the space to take the both of you,” the man says, pulling him towards the ambulance. “I was just finishing my shift, my partner's already off, but I can drive you to the hospital, St Barley’s the closest. Hop in.”

Aaron blinks, the name triggering a memory. “No, St Barley’s is on bypass, we need to go to another hospital.”

He sees the paramedic's hesitance, the clenching of his jaw, the sudden tightening of the man's hands on his arm that have been pulling him towards the ambulance– 

That guy’s not a paramedic, but an UnSub, he realizes.

Aaron shoves the man back and pulls out his gun, pointing straight at him. “Hands up! One wrong move and I'll shoot! Hands up!”

They stare at each other for a few seconds; the UnSub's eyes are full of hatred, and they become even colder still just a split second before the man reaches towards his pocket. Aaron shoots him straight between the eyes, then drops his gun and doubles over, clutching at his ringing ears.

The police officers reach him shortly after and they point a gun at him. 

“I'm a federal agent, and this is– was a suspect,” he explains, then groans weakly. “I'm SSA Aaron Hotchner. Is there anyone else from the FBI on the scene?”

 He exhales with relief as he sees Derek running towards him. 

“Hotch, what's happening?”

“Morgan, check that ambulance for explosives, and the guy's body for any devices that could be potential detonators,” he orders, panting, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

His vision gets blurry, and he falls to the ground, his cheek scraping against the concrete just before he loses consciousness.