ALEX | a. hotchner (sequel to BLAKE)

22

Timothy was stiffer than his suit and more paranoid than any man you'd ever meet. When he spoke you could hear the elitism in his voice, Alex would bet anything that he'd gained his position out of privilege rather than qualifications. He held himself like a mannequin, even his hair was plastic-perfect. Hairspray. She couldn't stand men in hairspray. For the most part he simply resented women in the office, and every mistake Alex made was used as a stick to beat her with.

Timothy  ran a finger down his Glock 19  with the same expression most people reserve for loved ones. The door opened, in seconds he had his poker face locked in place and the weapon holstered, leaving swiftly for the basement. He gazed about at the other men, not one of them had a suit as nice as his, or shoes for that matter. Running one hand over his already perfect hair and pressing his lips together, he stood right behind the boss. He listened, ready to apply just the right level of flattery. The brown envelope in his hands was worth thousands. His insides were on fire; he would soon be a very rich man. In the beginning he'd denied his own thirst for money, but now he'd accepted the hunger he felt inside. He was a narcissist, self diagnosed, and a perfect mimic.

*

I woke up in cold sweat, another nightmare hanging over my head. I closed my eyes, pushing skin against skin as hard as I could. I could still hear what the dream had been saying, like it was communicating in metaphors, offering suggestions and seeking answers in return. A hand grabbed my shoulder, urging me to open my eyes.

"Are you alright?"

Aaron.

I loved him, so I kept my nightmares to myself, always on silent-mode. If I ever spoke of any of it out loud, it would be more than my heart could take. Because some nightmares weren't fiction, they weren't open for interpretation. They were a reality that I had to live with.

I swallowed thickly, whispering, "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

I carefully looked up at him, the look he gave me consumed me. In his eyes was his humanity, the person he really was. There were times when it got lost, when he wore his suits and became the man the world demanded of him. But his eyes were the softest brown infused with green, and combined with the gentleness of his features and honeyed skin, he could soothe anyone. He smoothed down my hair and pecked my lips gently. And before he could say anything else, he froze.

He frantically pushed the red button, calling for a nurse. His eyes searched mine in panic before settling on my stomach. My shirt was soaked with blood by the time the nurse approached me, I must have ripped my stitches open in my sleep. He carefully cut open the material and removed the shirt, glancing at me every once in a while. But it didn't hurt, not at all, and that's what I told Aaron when he ran his hand through my hair in soothing patterns. But despite my reassurances, he looked about ready to have a heart attack.

"What's going on?" Emily asked from the door.

"We have to redo the stitches, nothing too serious," the nurse replied.

"Hotch, can I talk to you for a minute?" Emily motioned with her head that he should follow her out.

Aaron looked down at me.

"I'm fine," I said.

"Alright," he reluctantly pulled away from me and left the room.

I could hear them talking through the door as the nurse stitched me up.

"Was it another nightmare?" Emily asked quietly, probably didn't want me to hear.

Aaron didn't reply, but I'm guessing he nodded as she kept going.