wanna be yours [aaron hotchner x reader]

II.V

A/N: "The Night We Met" by Lord Huron and "Out Of The Woods" by Taylor Swift

You cross and uncross your legs. Your mind feels fuzzy. You finish off a cup of coffee, feeling your limbs already tingling and buzzing with the increase of caffeine. You're trying your best to keep your mind focused on the team's initial profile of the bomber. You can't bring yourself to look down at the file in your lap. You force your eyes out the window and watch as the jet takes off.

"The signature matches that of a bomb from a year ago in New York," Hotch rubs his forehead frustratedly, "However, most of those case details are confidential. The brass is not budging."

"What? How are we supposed to profile the bomber or figure out if it's the same psycho with no previous case information?" Morgan's anger is understandable. He doesn't like dealing with government politics. Hotch doesn't have a response and just gives Morgan a small frustrated shake of his head.

There's a lull on the jet. "How many casualties from the first bomb?" JJ's voice is soft and small.

Hotch's eyes flit up to hers. He doesn't want to answer, "15 dead, 20 more seriously injured."

"So how are we supposed to profile this?" Prentiss picks up with the same question as Morgan.

"By the bomb makeup? The location of the explosion? The location of the threats?" Reid rattles off a series of ideas.

"All of it," Rossi confirms.

"I'm more intrigued by the language of the message. It profiles like two different unsubs." Reid pulls the small paper out from the file, "First the message starts by listing off the locations. It's all so straightforward. But then the message ends with this poetic metaphor for sunset."

"One of these will be blown away by the time the paints of pink and purple splash across the sky" Morgan reads at the end of the transcript.

"Bombers like this usually don't team-up. They're usually alone," Prentiss counters, looking between Reid and Morgan in response to their focus on the message.

"Are we supposed to be functioning on the assumption that this is the same bomber from before?" JJ shakes her head and shuts the file, placing it on the table a little bit away from her as if keeping it close is poisonous. Hotch opens his mouth to speak.

"It's not the same guy." You cut him off, finally joining the conversation. You sit up in your chair and look over at them. All eyes turn to you. "That guy is dead."

"How do you know?" Prentiss looks over your face, her brows furrowing a little.

"I was on the ground that day. I saw that building crumble to the ground." You pick at the chipped nail polish on your fingertips. Hotch's eyes sweep over you. He senses your nerves. You feel the anxiety building up in the pit of your stomach. You take a few slow deep breaths. "He was inside that building. What the brass doesn't want you to know is that they didn't know who he was. We never got a real name or identification so, of the hundreds of human remains found at the site, they couldn't decipher which one was the bomber."