𝘉𝘓𝘐𝘕𝘋𝘚𝘐𝘋𝘌𝘋 | 𝘈.𝘏. ✔️

• Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Four: Where Have You Been?

"I don't understand this game," Hotch grumbled watching you place down your last card. He lost, again.

"Don't worry, one day you'll get the hang of it— when I'm not here to beat you every time." You tease.

It's been about three days since the dinner on the roof with Jack. Recently, you'd been occupied with decorating your office everyday with the help of Penelope when she gets the chance. The team just got back from a case and Hotch surprised you with ice cream, the one with all the colors of the rainbow.

You didn't care to question why half the team was missing during the case. When Hotch called you for those three nights away, you only wanted to hear his voice. Distancing yourself from everything has been a blessing. You're writing more and not just about Axel, but your knew relationship with Hotch.

There wasn't a label on it and that's what you liked. You liked being able to explore with him without locking it down already.

"You will always be here to beat me," he protests, "I'll have to play with Jack, maybe he can help me beat you."

You smile, "Jack would beat you as well, I thought you were more strategic than this. Place a card with the same color or number, easy."

"There are more cards than just numbers and colors. I don't know what this means," he explains, placing down a wild card.

"That means that you can use it to make it any color you'd like," you say shaking your head softly, "Aaron it's just uno."

"It's a derogatory game."

You chuckle, "Now you're just being a sore loser."

"I'm getting a beer," he sighs, getting up off the floor, cracking his back along the way.

"What about the cards?!" you groan, collecting then into a pile and separating them into the box. "You suck Aaron."

"What a derogatory insult, sweetheart," he teases, "Didn't think you'd have that in you."

"Do you like the word derogatory? You've said it twice already."

"It's a descriptive word," Hotch cracks the beer open and takes a sip.

You roll your eyes and climb onto the couch. Your body sinks into the soft cushions and you close your eyes for a moment. Even though you've been trying to sleep, lately it's been even harder and you're physically exhausted. You didn't know what was happening with Axel, which you thought would be best— and it is, but your curiosity was always there.

Heavy footsteps travel over to you and Hotch sits down next to you, moving your head to place it in his lap. He grabs the remote and turns on the TV to a crime show of course. He can't get away from it all, he doesn't want to. Gently, he runs his fingers through your hair.

Hopefully you can sleep now. It's been hell laying awake and looking at the ceiling every night. You start therapy in two days. One that isn't attached to the FBI for your own sanity. It's a fancy one Hotch insisted you go to for the best care in DC.

"I'm nervous," you admit, "What if I hate my therapist?"

"Than we will find you a new one, and if you hate them, we'll move onto the next."

"That's good to know," you laugh. "I hope they don't have white walls in the office."

"Why?"