Archive of Our Own ^beta

As far as states to travel for work to go, Alaska is by far the worst.

The cold is the very first factor, obviously. With temperatures in most regions regularly being down all the way to 30 - 20 degrees Fahrenheit, Spencer shivers just at the thought of stepping foot out there. He’s a Vegas kid through and through, so he and his very light winter attire rarely stand a chance against the abysmal cold there. Not to mention the winter months.

Then it takes them approximately nine hours to get there, at least , and whilst Spencer is known and teased for being able to sleep just about anywhere, his naps on the jet usually leave him restless and unsettled. It’s even worse when the case is particularly urgent or gruesome, because in that case the whole team is tense, all fidgeting in their seats after the briefing is done, as if the urge to go out and help could shorten their flight span somehow.

Unfortunately, this case checks all the boxes.

The small town of Port Mayland, Alaska, already has its fifth death to report, with the span between the deaths rapidly decreasing to as short as five days. The victims were found gruesomely distorted near popular landmarks surrounding the city, with injuries indicating a terrifying hunt as well as torture pre and post mortem. The finale was delivered by a huge fisher hook driven through the victims necks, giving them leverage to be hung in the trees nearby. The killer’s M.O. indicates a staggering amount of anger, but also even more worryingly a lot of experience. This is clearly not the work of a person willing to stop anytime soon, and the rising terror within the fleeing tourists and the desperate townspeople likely will push him to even more terrifying heights without their intervention.

Adding the isolated location of the town and the almost non existent access to the internet or most other communication forms, Spencer knows he’s not the only person eager to wrap up this case and be on his way home as soon as possible.

They land in the nearest city that can store their jet, and on the way over to the helicopters that will escort them the rest of the way, the profiler feels a shiver go up his spine. He can feel Morgan’s eyes lingering on him, and a turn to the side reveals his friend mustering him with raised eyebrows. Spencer resists the urge to roll his eyes and looks away. Morgan had been in his ears about getting more suitable clothes for hard winters for months, but Spencer is stubborn, and he’d rather freeze the entire trip there, bundled up in his layers upon layers of cardigans and lighter jackets, than admit that his friend might have had a point.

They settle into the helicopters, squeezed tightly against each other with their bags stored between their legs, and half an hour later they land in Port Mayland. Whilst northern climate regions are certainly not his preferred vacation spots, Spencer has to admit that the town is stunning. Situated by the coast they have a picturesque view of the sea, and the other side of the town reveals a beautifully maintained and old forest leading up into steep mountains. It appears like all of nature’s beauty had combined to make this little town as attractive as possible, and when accounting for all the cultural landmarks in its vicinity, Spencer can certainly get why Port Mayland is so popular despite its freezing temperatures and isolated qualities.

Once they were greeted by the local sheriff, a rather meagre man with a persistent redness creeping up his cheeks and an air of helplessness coming off of him in waves, they set their base up at the police station. There have been no new murders reported so far, luckily, but the decreasing time span between the past findings suggests that they don’t have much time until the next death is on their hands. The hopelessness of the entire, albeit small, precinct and the panicked looks they received from the locals on their way weigh heavily on them, and even Garcia, who has once again accompanied them as their local tech support, seems withdrawn and tense. The only one who appears relatively undisturbed is Hotch. Maybe it’s the ever present seriousness around him, but his stoic and level headed demeanour when sending all of them out to their respective tasks is doing wonders on Spencer’s nerves. 

He and JJ are sent out to check out the crime scenes one by one, with hopes that Spencer’s vast knowledge of the area and JJ’s observation skills can find them some new clues. It takes them five hours to investigate every site, and by the time they make it back to the precinct, both of them are freezing cold and, much to their frustration, without any new clues to show for. They meet Emily and Rossi on the way in, the grimness on both of their faces suggesting that the coroner and the following deep dive into the life of their victims did not result in any new hints, either.

The remaining hours of the day are spent in a similar manner. Spencer feels like his remaining string of sanity might snap by the time Hotch announces they are turning into the local inn for the night. Unlike their last trip to Alaska, this town has enough rooms for the entire team due to their regularly visiting tourists, but the cosy bed in his single room does little to help him sleep that night.

Despite all his hopes for a quick resolution, the next few days pass agonisingly slowly. They manage to come up with a fairly decent profile: a man in his late 30s to early 50s; most likely a local, with a deep grudge against the townspeople and the tourists in the area. They assume some kind of personal loss and affront to his ego and sense of safety, but parts of his behaviour just don’t seem to fit into their profile, and due to the withdrawn nature of this town, suspicious loners living on the outskirts of this place seem to be more common than not. It doesn’t help that another body turns up on day three; another tourist who had been anxiously awaiting arrangements to return back home after the horrifying deeds of the unsub had urged him to an early departure from his vacation. They manage to clear out the few remaining guests after that, much to the displeasure of the less than cooperative mayor who seems to care more for the town’s yearly income than for the actual murders. That just leaves them and the townspeople, and despite their best efforts to secure more leads and make some progress, the owner of a small gift shop near the coastline disappears on day five.

The pressure weighs on them more heavily than ever, and Spencer is almost glad to be able to seek reprieve and solace in a stuffy room to work on his geographic profile. He spends hours mulling over the maps and reading through the available literature and records provided by the town, only briefly interrupted by his trips to the less than stellar coffee maker in the break room and JJ’s occasional visits to remind him to eat and consume something other than caffeine.

It’s in the early hours of day six that he makes a breakthrough. He doesn’t think much about it as he frantically makes his way over to Hotch and the sheriff who seem to be discussing the current plan of action, and it isn’t until the familiarly quiet but firm Reid coming from his superior cuts him off and he registers the mildly horrified look on the face of the sheriff that he realises he has been rambling at record speed without much sense connecting his thoughts. He steadies himself and takes a deep breath before facing Hotch, whose calm and patient expression signals him to go on.

“I think I know where the unsub takes his victims. Dumping the bodies at the landmarks seemed to signal a quite obvious thing, but when you lay it out on the map you can actually connect them to form a sort of pattern. It matches an ancient symbol used by the natives who inhabited this land centuries ago, and if I’m correct, they all lead to a point up in the mountains. Whether the chase or the killings happen there, I’m pretty sure we will find something.”

He finishes his monologue abruptly and licks his lips, anxiously awaiting a reply. Hotch takes a moment before he nods, his eyes doing a brief scan of the precinct. 

“Alright, that sounds promising. I sent Morgan and JJ to check on the current victim’s family and Rossi is following a new lead with Prentiss, so it’s just you and me at the moment. This can’t wait, so we should head out as soon as possible. Officer Wesley, would you mind showing us the way into the area? Heading there without a local would be irresponsible.”

Wesley sputters out an affirmative reply, evidently still not used to Spencer’s rapid conclusions, and after briefing Garcia on the current situation they head out of the station. It takes around twenty minutes to get to their destination by car, and Spencer feels the anxiety building as their SUV follows the sheriff's jeep out of the city into the dense woods. 

“If you’re right, we might bring Mr. Garvis home to his wife and daughter tonight. You found a good lead there, Reid.” Hotch mentions briefly, never taking his eyes off the road. As neutrally delivered as they are, the words have the intended effect. Spencer abruptly stops abusing his lower lip that has been wedged between his teeth for the entire drive, and some tension drains from his body. For all the distance Hotch keeps from them in professional settings, he’s always had an exceptional talent to manage their anxiety, especially Spencer’s. A sigh escapes the young profiler.

“I hope I’m right, then.” He murmurs, gaze absentmindedly trailing off to watch the coastline steadily shrink from their view. “I really need a good night of sleep. And some decent coffee. One more cup of this swill might actually kill me.” The last few sentences slip out of his mouth unbidden, and despite his weariness he immediately realises how inappropriate they are in light of the seriousness of their case. Hotch leaves it uncommented, however, and Spencer’s lack of sleep must finally be catching up with him because he swears he can see the corners of his superior’s mouth twitch up for just a fraction of a second.

The rest of the drive is spent in silence, though it’s far less tense than it was when they started their trip. Spencer’s focus is back on the map on his lap, eyes squinted in concentration once the looming trees of the forest swallow up a significant portion of sunlight. The road eventually comes to an end, and the sheriff signals them to park their car on a small patch near their path. They get out of the car, and Spencer tucks the array of maps and cards he brought with him into the glove compartment of the car before they make their way over to the officer. 

“The spot you’ve marked on the card isn’t accessible by car, but there’s a small path leading up to it that can be taken by foot before we need to diverge and head into the woods. I’ll take you there.” Wesley exclaims, appearing slightly more comfortable now. Spencer figures it’s the change of scenery that is evoking this: after all, this area is best known to him, and it’s the first time ever since their team arrived that the sheriff can claim back some authority and deal with a situation he knows how to handle. The profiler is glad for it. If they do find the unsub here, they will need all the competent help they can get to take him down.

Hotch signals his agreement, and armed with their weapons and flashlights in case they lose more sunlight, the small group makes their way through the woods. The cold is even more biting up here, and Spencer tries his best to clamp his teeth shut to prevent them from chattering. His increased shuffling does gain Hotch’s attention again, but other than a flat look of assessment he doesn’t get much of a reaction out of him. 

“Over there!” Wesley chimes, and Spencer’s focus shifts from his boss to the tree in which direction the sheriff is pointing. Indeed, there are some broken off branches in that area, and as they inch closer to the spot, they can see blood sticking to the tree trunk. It appears to be a few days old.

“Could be from one of our victims, but it’s hard to tell.” Hotch weighs in, frowning. Spencer’s about to answer when the crackling of the sheriff's radio cuts through the silence. 

“Give me a second.” The man mumbles, and he steps away to take the call while Hotch and Spencer take a closer look at the area. The traces suggest a hurried chase, which is consistent with the hunt the unsub has been conducting on his victims. 

“Ah, would you all mind being on your own for a bit?” Wesley chimes back in, rubbing the back of his neck rather sheepishly. “I just got a call from one of my men, someone from the town took a fall nearby and needs help getting back home. Shouldn’t take all too long, I’d be back in an hour tops and you can contact me if you need anything.” He adds with a vague wave at Hotch’s own radio tightened to his belt.

Hotch hesitates, evidently displeased by the thought of being left alone here without local guidance and their unsub potentially on the loose nearby. 

“I studied the maps thoroughly, I should be fine navigating us around.” Spencer says, giving a small nod in Hotch’s direction. “One hour will be enough to scout the area, and maybe Sheriff Wesley can get backup on his way back to us.”

The officer nods eagerly, clearly relieved that Spencer is backing him up. Hotch relents, albeit still reluctant, and after a brief exchange of parting words, Wesley hurries back down the path to their cars.

“Odd guy.” Hotch mutters once he is out of their earshot, and Spencer can’t help but nod. His boss then turns to him, scrutinising him, and Spencer takes a minute to realise he’s waiting for him to take over the navigation. 

“R-right, that way.” The younger man stutters, taking the lead as he recalls the remaining way to the spot he marked on the map.

Despite the trees sheltering them, Spencer can feel the wind around them picking up, turning from a light breeze into stronger gusts. The sky is darkening above them as well, and in the back of his mind he recalls statistics of unpredictable snow storms taking over the area in the last few years. When the first snowflakes descend upon them, Spencer is increasingly torn between his eagerness to follow up on their lead and the fear of being caught in a heavy snowfall in the middle of nowhere. The latter ends up winning soon, but before Spencer can suggest a retreat, the decision is taken from him by a strangled scream echoing from afar. Spencer’s eyes snap around to meet Hotch’s, alarmed, and both silently draw their guns whilst his boss leads the way deeper into the woods. 

They hurry their way into the direction of the scream, leaving the small trampled path they have been following so far. The distant sounds of a struggle keeps leading them further south, a little off from the mark Spencer had initially suggested. Eventually Hotch halts and puts an arm out to abruptly stop Spencer as well, mentioning for him to hide behind a big tree. Once stationed, the younger profiler can see what his boss has spotted, and his insides churn at the sight.

A few feet ahead of them is their unsub, covered in dirt and blood, with a manic look of anger on his face. He’s holding down their current victim, Mr. Garvis, who seems to be only partially conscious and weakly groaning in pain. The hunt has already concluded, Spencer’s mind provides with frightening clarity. That means the murder is next on their unsub’s agenda.

Seemingly having realised that as well, Hotch signals him to approach the scene from behind while he takes the front, providing a distraction in case Spencer needs to intervene. He quickly nods in understanding and carefully sneaks around the trees, trying not to get spotted by their unsub. It’s not difficult, seeing how engrossed the man seems to be in his current victim. He can feel his heart rising to his throat regardless once he’s in position and Hotch makes his move.

“FBI, lower your weapon!” Hotch commands, which successfully startles their unsub out of his reverie. The man’s face twists in anger at the disruption. He draws his victim closer to himself, who has become dangerously silent and limp since their arrival.

“ GET AWAY! ” The unsub thunders in return, frantic and evidently furious. “They deserve it, they all deserve it. They need to DIE , I need to kill them, I–”

“You want to send a message, I know. The whole town has heard you. We are listening. Don’t you want the chance to tell them all what you really have to say?” Hotch replies; a last ditch attempt to negotiate their victim out of this precarious situation. The unsub merely yells louder, limbs twitching almost uncontrollably, and it’s at that moment both Hotch and Spencer realise it’s fruitless. Hotch’s eyes briefly bore into Spencer, clearly telling him to start his own approach and apprehend their unsub from behind. Spencer complies and makes his way forward, gun drawn and pointed at their target.

It’s then that his luck fails him, days of sleep deprivation bearing their consequences in the form of him tripping over a large branch he had failed to see in his pursuit. He stumbles forward in a fit of panic, unable to catch himself as his forehead comes into contact with a nearby tree. Pain blooms through his head immediately, hot and sharp, and by the time he has snapped out of his daze, the unsub who had evidently taken notice of his failed approach is charging towards him, roaring with his axe raised to strike him down. Spencer’s body, much to his horror, completely freezes, and he can only watch as the unsub moves closer with clear intent to kill him.

Move. Move. MOVE!!! His brain yells at him, but it’s like the harsh temperatures turned him into an ice statue. By the time he manages to even lightly twitch the hand with his gun in it, two loud gunshots pierce through the screaming roar echoing through the woods. The unsub stops in his tracks, and Spencer sees blood steadily seeping through the man’s jacket before he collapses on the ground with a dull thud. 

Behind him, Hotch lowers his gun, sparing him a quick look before checking up on the victim.

“S–sorry.” Spencer stutters out, mortified. Nine years into this job, and somehow Hotch still has to save him from the most amateur mistakes.

His superior ignores him, instead withdrawing his hand from their latest victim with a grim look on his face. 

“He’s dead.” Hotch states. A quick glance towards the unsub spurs Spencer into action, and he quickly checks the vitals of the body in front of him to confirm his status as well.

“D-dead, t-too.” 

Spencer stands back up, leaning into the tree nearby with a sigh. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, it’s like the power is sapped from his body.

“You’re bleeding.” Hotch says, suddenly in front of him, and Spencer would have missed the slight concern on his face if it weren’t for the years of experience he has in dealing with his boss. Spencer brings a hand up to his forehead, and indeed, meets a small wound on his right temple.

“I’ll be fine. Just superficial, I think.” He reassures. Now that the situation has settled, Spencer takes note of their surroundings. During their pursuit, the snow has picked up heavily, and the flakes are already starting to form a layer on top of the two bodies sprawled out on the floor. There’s no denying it: they are about to be in the middle of a storm.

“We need to get away from here, Hotch. These winds can get unpredictable and we’re gonna freeze to death out here.” He urges, and Hotch gives him a brief nod.

“Do you think we can make it back to the car?” He asks. Spencer, much to his own sorrow, shakes his head. 

“We are at least thirty minutes away, and by the time we get there, the road might already be inaccessible. We need to seek shelter here.” He trails off, closing his eyes briefly to visualise the maps of the area he has studied this morning. “...there should be a small cabin nearby, maybe five minutes away. Our unsub could have used it to store his material, too. I think our best bet is getting there and waiting the storm out until we can head back or someone sends out help.”

“Alright, lead the way.” Hotch agrees, seemingly not all too fazed by the idea of being snowed in in the middle of nowhere. 

“What about the bodies? We can’t just–”

“Leave them here.” Hotch states, more firmly this time. “There isn’t anything we can do for them, and dragging them with us would take up too much time. We need to get going. Now .” The pointed look spurs Spencer into action, and the two of them make their way through the woods towards the cabin. The wind is absolutely brutal by now, assaulting Spencer’s body and making its way through the layers of clothing until it reaches his skin. This time, Spencer can’t contain the chatter of his teeth, and even Hotch seems to be on the verge of frostbite by the time the cabin comes into sight. Spencer almost sobs with relief once they push their way through the door, which Hotch shuts behind them with a sense of finality, shutting out the howling noises of the storm steadily building outside. 

Hotch turns on his flashlight then, allowing them both to take in their surroundings. The cabin isn’t big by any means, but it’s more than enough for the moment. The bed on the right side of the room takes up the most space, covered in a few pillows and some blankets. There’s a table with candles and wooden figurines scattered on the opposite side of the room, and Spencer can even make out a small supply of water and food stacked next to it. It all appears relatively untouched, making it unlikely that the unsub used this as a station like Spencer had originally believed.

“Sit on the bed and warm yourself up.” Hotch orders curtly. Spencer is too cold to even attempt to protest. He barely has the mind to brush off some of the snow on his body in order to prevent getting the sheets wet before he slumps on top of the mattress. The surface is lumpy and hard, not comfy in the least, but as Spencer shrugs his boots and gloves off before burrowing beneath the blankets, he can’t get himself to mind.

From his spot on the bed he watches Hotch light some candles, illuminating the sparse room around them. His boss then walks around the room, seemingly checking the walls to assess their sturdiness and make out any holes or cracks exposing them to the winds lashing against the cabin from outside. Satisfied with what he sees, the older man eventually grabs his radio, attempting to send out a message. The crackle followed by silence they get in return is disheartening, but not unexpected. It will probably take until the storm has mostly passed to get any semblance of a signal again.

Hotch puts the radio down on the table with a sigh, and the sound slams into Spencer and makes his breath hitch. Now that his body is regaining some semblance of warmth, his own role in their unfortunate situation catches up to him and brings along the inevitable guilt.

“S-sorry.” He stutters out, miserably. Hotch turns to him.

“For what?”

Spencer shrugs, ashamed and feeling thoroughly pathetic.

“Getting you up here. Telling the sheriff it’s okay to leave us alone. Not warning you sooner about the storm. Getting our victim killed. Getting us stuck in here.” He lists, voice small. Hotch’s features soften.

“You had the first solid lead in days, and we ended up finding and taking out the unsub. Our victim was very likely already beyond saving when we got there. Then you found this cabin to keep us safe from the storm. You have nothing to be sorry for, Reid.” He replies gently, making sure to hold Spencer’s gaze to get his point across. The latter shrinks further into the mattress. Whilst the words alleviate his guilt, he still feels pathetic for forcing his boss to comfort him when they are both in the same precarious situation. It’s then that he takes note of the way Hotch’s lips are tinted blue and how his body is wracked with shivers. Right, he reminds himself. He’s not the only one who is freezing.

“Come sit down with me.” He says, not really thinking about what comes out of his mouth next. “Sharing body heat will be the most effective way of keeping us both warm, so if we wrap ourselves in these blankets and huddle close, we should be fine for the next few hours.”

His comment is met with silence, and it takes Hotch’s slightly raised eyebrow for Spencer to finally realise, with mortification, that he essentially just asked Hotch to cuddle. Hotch. Cuddle. With him .

“Th-that was probably not—I mean–!” He squeaks out, his arms detangling themselves from the blankets to wildly wave them in a fruitless attempt to communicate.

The look on his superior’s face stops him in his tracks. Unlike in the car, he knows he’s not imagining it this time.

Hotch is smirking at him.

He can feel his cheeks reddening, and he knows it’s not from the cold.

“Alright, boy genius. Scoot over then.” Hotch says, the unusual use of a nickname sending further heat into Spencer’s cheeks. It would be a welcome warmth if he wasn’t so flustered by the situation. How come Hotch always manages to get under his skin that easily?

Despite his nerves, he makes space on the bed as requested. Hotch takes off his shoes and places them on the other side of the bed. He then takes off his gloves and places them on the nightstand next to the bed along with his gun before getting on the mattress next to the younger profiler. As per Spencer’s own advice, he lifts the blankets and rearranges them, and after some awkward shuffling, both of them are wrapped securely under the layers, pressed tightly against each other.

Spencer doesn’t think that he has ever been this close to the man.

God .

Here they are, stranded in some cabin in Alaska, about to be snowed in and cut off from their team for the foreseeable future. And Spencer, to his own humiliation, can only focus on keeping his composure before his body language gives away anything too revealing.

The deeply rooted something he feels for Aaron Hotchner is all the way up on that list.

His body, traitorous as it is, doesn't seem to care much for his reservations. Every piece of skin pressed against Hotch’s feels like it’s on fire, which is frankly ridiculous because with all the layers they both are covered in, there’s no way to actually feel any skin at all. Underneath the smell of woods that clings to both of them, Spencer can smell the familiar and comforting cologne that Hotch wears every day, and the assault of HotchHotch Hotch on his senses makes it hard to stay calm.

How in the world is he supposed to stay like this for hours ?

“Does your head still hurt?” Hotch breaks the silence eventually, forcing Spencer to actually look at him.

“No, it’s fine. I don’t even think it’s a minor concussion, I just fell awkwardly. The cold is more of an issue, for both of us, but—-well, t-this is helping.” Spencer concludes, and though it’s a clear tell of his troubledness, he averts his eyes anyway.

“That’s good.” His boss responds, and despite his own distraction the younger man picks up a certain shift in his tone. 

Right. Whilst Spencer is torn between humiliation and bliss, sharing space and warmth like this must only be awkward for Hotch.

“Sorry.” He says, again , because the load of events of the past few days finally catches up with him and leaves him without any resources to be anything other than his clumsy self.

“I thought I told you already. You have nothing to be sorry for. As for this…” Hotch trails off, eyes darting towards the door. Spencer absently wonders if his cheeks were that red before.

“How long do you think it will take until we can get out of here?” 

“Until next morning, at least.” Spencer eventually replies after pondering the question for a bit. “Some of these storms can last for days, but the sudden and violent onset suggests a short duration. With the supplies we have in here, we could theoretically last a couple of days, though, in case my estimations are false. The biggest threat is the cold, but the candlelight and the structure of the cabin will keep in some warmth. It still comes down to us….sticking together for some more. Uhm. I hope you don’t mind?” His voice turns squeaky at the question, and Spencer cringes internally.

Stupid.

Of course Hotch minds.

“It’s necessary for us to stay warm.” Hotch says, words oddly drawn out and measured. The man clears his throat, and suddenly it’s like they both are in a competition to avoid meeting each other’s eyes. “You seem to be uncomfortable, however. I apologise. I understand that this is a highly inappropriate setting for you to find yourself in with me. We can debrief and assess this situation once we are back.”

The words themselves are formal and very much like Hotch, but the context makes them so absurd and uncharacteristically clumsy that Spencer can’t help but giggle. 

“R-right, I’ll file a report about it. Violation of paragraph 40, section 3 of the FBI manual. Source: inappropriate sharing of body warmth.” The thought is so ridiculous that Spencer keeps on giggling, unintentionally slumping further into Hotch the more he dissolves into his laughter. The lack of sleep clouds his mind enough to disregard the unfitness of his behaviour.

“I’m glad you regained some sense of humour in this dire situation.” Hotch retorts, dryly. Spencer hiccups a final giggle and rubs at his eyes to wipe away the tears that had gathered in the corners.

“Sorry, you just—that was so not you . You’re always so strong, and measured, and appropriate, and reliable, and—well, not like this? I mean, I know you’re human and all, but on the job—I don’t even know if I’ve ever seen you blink . You’re our pillar of strength and sometimes you still terrify me a little, but now I’m essentially cuddling into you and you can’t even look at me, and—” Spencer blinks, startling himself back into reality. Just when has he gotten so comfortable ? “...and I should probably stop talking now.”

“I terrify you? Really?” Hotch responds, almost worried, completely disregarding the rest of Spencer’s tired ramble.

“I mean….kind of? Not in a bad way—” He rushes to add, but his words fall flat. “Just—ah, I don’t know? You’re very…demanding of respect and authority, and I do! Respect you. I also like you, obviously, ah, you’re very important to me, uh—is that weird to say? Well, you are. When I say you terrify me, it’s actually kind of positive? Sometimes you have that fierce look on your face and it shoots right through me, like a thrill, and whilst you usually make me feel safe and comforted, sometimes there’s more. More of a….good thrill? Excitement, maybe? I–I feel a lot around you, these days.” There’s an incessant niggling in the back of his mind, and he faintly registers that he should definitely stop talking now. He groans quietly and rests his head on his right palm. “Forget what I said. I think I need to get some sleep. It’s been a while.”

Silence settles between them then. It’s welcome, at first, but despite the merciless need for sleep closing in on Spencer, parts of his brain are still aware of the proximity to Hotch, and oh god, what exactly has he just told the other man?

He’s startled out of his brooding by sudden movement next to him, and his mind comes to a screeching halt when Hotch moves his arm behind his back, essentially forcing Spencer further into his side until he’s half resting on his boss’s chest.

Wait. What?

“Huh?” He stutters out, too tired to care about it showing on his face as he lifts his head to muster Hotch.

Oh.

The blush on his cheeks is definitely not because of the warmth. Hotch’s face is unreadable, but for once far removed from stoicity. Instead, various emotions seem to flicker across his face unbidden, and oh , Aaron Hotchner losing his composure is a sight to behold.

“I think you might be wrong about not having a concussion.” Hotch says, finally meeting his eyes. “Or the lack of sleep truly is getting to you. Either way, you would normally not say any of this. I should not take advantage of this situation.” The older man clears his throat, seemingly struggling to determine his next words. When they do come out, they are rushed and unsure.

“Do you mean it?” 

Spencer tilts his head.

“Mean what? I think I said…a bunch of embarrassing things.”

“Forget it. You should try to sleep.” 

There’s a hint of dejection in his voice, and maybe it’s that tiny admission of something that spurs Spencer to throw all his caution into the wind.

“I do really like you, Hotch. You’re…very, very important to me. More than you should be, being my boss and much older than me and…” Spencer exhales and licks his lips. “I know it’s inappropriate, but it’s been insistent. I can’t seem to help it.”

The brief surge of bravery leaves him, causing him to turn his head towards the ceiling as he closes his eyes. 

Before he can further contemplate his plans on disappearing via spontaneous evaporation, he feels a surprisingly warm hand cup his cheek. The rough calluses caressing his skin are precisely how he used to imagine them.

He opens his eyes just in time to see Hotch lean down and close the gap between them, cautiously pressing their lips together. It’s brief and chaste, the barest brush of lips against each other, but it causes Spencer to gasp like the air has been punched out of him. Just as quickly as he approached, Hotch retreats, and the man settles back into the headrest of the bed. 

“I couldn’t help myself, either.” Hotch mutters, the lovely blush still present on his face. Spencer gapes at him.

“H-Hotc—”

“Sleep, Spencer.” The older man interrupts him, voice gentle. There’s traces of a smile on his face, containing a warmth Spencer hasn’t seen before. It makes his heart soar. “We’ll discuss this tomorrow, when you’re more yourself. I promise.”

Ultimately, the warmth of their blanket cocoon gets to him, causing Spencer to relent and follow Hotch’s order. He shuffles further down to rest his head on the man’s chest, limbs coming to wrap around and cling to the body next to him because if Hotch can kiss him in this cabin in the middle of Alaska, Spencer can take the opportunity and indulge.

He swears he can hear Hotch huff out a chuckle, but he’s halfway asleep at that point, so he simply allows his eyes to drift shut and finally allows himself to rest.

The last thing he registers is a hand carding carefully through his hair.

Spencer groans softly as a light shake of his shoulder rouses him from his well deserved sleep. Whoever is trying to wake him has to wait. He doesn’t know how long he has been sleeping for, but he does know that it hasn’t been nearly long enough to compensate for his sleep deprivation of the last few days, and he also knows that he’s too comfortable to give up this peaceful rest. So he blindly swats at the hand that’s settled on his shoulder, which prompts his assailant to chuckle in return. The voice is oddly familiar and comforting, but most importantly, he can feel the chuckle as it rumbles through the soft surface his head is resting on.

Spencer opens his eyes, confused at the sensation, and it takes a few blinks to realise that said surface he is staring at is actually someone’s chest.

Wait.

Yesterday’s events come rushing back to him moment after moment, and whilst Spencer could definitely use a few more hours of sleep to feel well rested, his brain is now more than capable of realising the full extent of his several inappropriate behaviours from the day before.

Suddenly he’s wide awake and very aware just what and most importantly who he is laying on. The younger man’s flight instinct kicks in and he shoots up into a seated position, scrambling around to get as far away from Hotch as possible. Unfortunately for him, the blankets he was so intricately wrapped around the night before are still tightly secured around his body, and as he wiggles himself loose, he loses his balance and falls backward and over the edge of the bed. He barely has the time to mentally resign himself to falling in front of his boss for the second time in twenty four hours when a strong hand reaches out to grab his arm, successfully managing to pull Spencer onto the bed and straight back into the older man’s chest.

“Careful, now. You’ve gotten injured enough as it is.” The voice above him sounds again, torn between amusement and reserve. Spencer can barely contain a whimper. He doesn’t need a mirror to know his entire face is flushed when he pulls back and finally manages to gain a more appropriate distance to his boss, at least as much as he can without getting up or falling off the bed again.

Hotch, to his credit, looks relatively unfazed by it. There are twitches of emotion crossing his face again, like his guard isn’t completely up to filter his feelings as it usually does. He looks a lot more tired than Spencer feels. A twinge of guilt runs through him. Of course, whilst he slept without a care in the world, his boss is far too responsible to sleep as well and leave them both essentially unattended, even if the biggest threat was a candlelight catching too much fire. 

“Sorry for waking you.” Hotch murmurs after a while. “I would have let you sleep but the snow seems to have lessened and I wanted to try using the radio again. There was no getting up with you wrapped around me, though. You were a bit…clingy.” His lips twitch up into a smile again, but the usually endearing sight does nothing to lessen the blow of humiliation.

“I am so— so sorry. I should have gotten more sleep during the case, it was irresponsible. From the fall I took to—my behaviour in this cabin, it was completely unprofessional and unacceptable. I promise I’ll do better. Just don’t fire me. Please?”

Hotch musters him carefully as if he’s trying to gauge his reaction, and Spencer feels so scrutinized under his gaze that he barely represses the urge to remind his boss of the no profiling rule established within their team. He forces himself to resign to the scrutiny, because at this point he figures the more he complies, the better are his chances of getting back in his superior’s good graces.

“I’ll try to contact the sheriff now.” Hotch informs him before he untangles himself from their blanket nest, much more gracefully than Spencer, and makes his way over to the radio on the table. Now that the first surge of shock and mortification has passed, a growing numbness takes over him. Whether he gets to keep his job or not, his behaviour almost certainly and irrevocably damaged the tentative friendship between himself and Hotch, and he can be lucky if they at least rebuild some of their professional relationship once they return back to Quantico. 

Just how did he let it go this far?

He barely registers when Hotch finally does get a stable enough connection to reach the sheriff, who is stumbling over his words in an effort to apologise for leaving them alone in the first place. He can faintly hear the team’s sound of relief and questions in the background as Hotch relays the events of the last day as well as their current location to them. His brain drowns out the rest of the conversation in favour of blankly staring at his hands, further contemplating his misery.

It’s only when the bed dips that he looks up again, met with Hotch’s piercing stare once more.

“A rescue team is on its way to collect us and the bodies of the victim and unsub. The snowfall last night was pretty heavy so they estimate that it will take them two hours to get here, at least. Then we can go back and warm up properly.” Hotch explains, most likely having noticed Spencer’s despondent state during the call, and the younger man nods in return. Hotch hands him a water bottle he must have collected from next to the desk, and they each drink from their respective bottles. The water soothes Spencer’s aching throat, only now realising just how thirsty he has been.

“Thanks.” Spencer croaks. Two more hours alone with Hotch, then. More than enough time for the consequences of his actions to fully sink in.

He hears the older man sigh.

“I’d much rather be doing this in a more familiar place, with both of us warm and well rested. But I can already see the gears turning in your head, so let’s discuss this now.”

Spencer nods, again, but doesn’t show much of a reaction otherwise. 

“Spencer. Look at me.” 

The younger man complies, albeit reluctantly. Hotch looks…well, he doesn’t look mad , at least, but considering his tendency to stoicism that doesn’t have to mean much. He is still calling him Spencer, however, which the profiler confusedly takes as a good sign.

“Good.” Hotch approves when Spencer holds the established eye contact, as uncomfortable as it is. “Now first of all I want you to get the idea out of your head that you are in trouble. Yesterday was an exceptionally difficult day for both of us and I in no way blame you for whatever it is you think you did wrong. Okay?”

Now that is much harder for Spencer to comply with, because no matter how Hotch may see it, his own behaviour is still nothing short of unacceptable to himself. However, as pragmatic as Hotch can be, Spencer knows he would never outright lie to him to keep the peace and avoid confrontation. If the man says he doesn’t blame Spencer, then he is telling the truth. That, at least, calms him a little. After some hesitation he hums affirmatively to signal his agreement with Hotch’s words. Maybe their relationship can be salvaged, after all.

“Alright. Now that that is out of the way, I need to ask you how you’re feeling. Are you a little clearer headed than last night?”

Spencer nods, again.

“Words, please.” Hotch coaxes. “This needs to be a proper conversation, even if it’s difficult for you.”

“Y-yeah, I’m clearer now. The sleep helped.” Spencer replies, slowly, like the words are weighing heavily on his tongue. It takes him a little more effort to properly find his speech again. “The last 12 hours — no, the last few days, did a number on me, but I’m ready to talk to you about this. I’d much rather get it out of the way now before the team finds us and notices something is off.”

And isn’t the thought of JJ or Morgan or god forbid, Emily or Rossi , staring him down and reading him like a book terrifying. The more he thinks about it, the more willing he is to take the plunge with Hotch right this second.

“I see.” Hotch halts, as if bracing himself for the next question. It’s ridiculous, Spencer thinks. Hotch is not frightened by anything. “The things you said last night, regarding me and your feelings for me, did you mean them? It doesn’t matter whether you intended to say them. I need you to very clearly confirm whether you meant them and how you meant them.”

And there it is, the moment of truth.

Spencer takes a moment to contemplate his options. He could use up every bit of masking and deception skills he has in him and lie to Hotch. Assure him it was the concussion talking, that he deeply admires him and whilst he does want them to be closer on a platonic level, his brain had clumsily expressed that desire and projected it in a way that could easily be misinterpreted for more. Despite Hotch’s vast knowledge of his tells, Spencer thinks he could pull it off.

He doesn’t.

Because if there’s one thing he feels he owes that man, it is honesty. Hotch had spent the last few years navigating the most difficult sets of crises Spencer has ever witnessed, and whilst it might make their personal relationship awkward to speak his truth, his boss deserves to know just how much he means to someone. And Spencer, well. His experience with interpersonal relationships is limited, but he thinks this is a good time as any to allow himself to live out his feelings too, for once.

“I did.” Spencer confesses. “I don’t think I’ll be particularly more well versed than yesterday, but I’ll try. Hotch, I’ve been working with you for nine years now, and known you for almost a decade. It’s crazy to me every time I think about it, actually. You, this job, you are one of the few constants in my life. That probably sounds pathetic, but it’s the truth. My feelings for you have shifted during that time, though. I don’t know when, but eventually you became this…. anchor to me? I always trusted you and sought you out, looked up to you. And at first it was because you are our boss and you are so good at what you do, but—eventually it wasn’t just about reassurance anymore. It was about proximity, connection, intimacy, and that realisation scared the hell out of me. I wanted to see you smile, to share some of your burdens for once because we all saw how hard these past few years have been on you. And I know that must sound ridiculous, because out of everyone on our team I might be the most inadequate person to provide comfort or wisdom to you of all people. That doesn’t keep me from wanting to try.” 

He breaks off before he can get too self decrepitating. This isn’t supposed to be about his issues, this is about Hotch. So he licks his lips nervously, heaving a big breath before continuing. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in love before, not like this. It’s not fleeting, or superficial, and I have tried so hard to see you as just a friend because you are unattainable and I didn’t want anything to come between our friendship, but I can’t shake this. I know it’s unprofessional, inappropriate, embarrassing, like just about everything I’ve done these past twelve hours. But I figured that if we already made it this far, you….deserved to hear this. From me.”

He ends his impromptu speech as abruptly as he starts it, and though he’s mentally bracing for the gentle let down that’s certainly to follow, he feels an unfiltered relief course through him. After years of trying to define and come to terms with his feelings for Hotch, it feels good to let it all out in front of the source of his struggle.

Hotch, for once in his life, looks speechless. The blush from yesterday has returned to his face, which Spencer figures is understandable considering what he just dumped on his boss. The older man swallows, thinks, and then swallows again, nervously licking his lips in a motion Spencer’s eyes can’t help but eagerly follow.

“You said unattainable, just now. In all your deliberate consideration, you seem to have forgotten that I kissed you yesterday.”

Spencer’s eyes widen at that. He hasn’t forgotten about it, exactly, but all of his own uncharacteristic behaviour has been taking up his thoughts to the point that their kiss had somehow been put on the back burner. Now, though, the memory rushes back to him. They kissed. Hotch kissed him . His boss initiated it, without Spencer’s prompting. He also was the one to sling his arm around his shoulders and initiate the proper cuddling session of their shared night.

Oh .

“Oh.” Spencer repeats, out loud this time. The implications floor him right back into wordlessness, but the ridiculous amount of hope that sparks in his chest must show on his face anyway, because Hotch now smiles at him.

“Yeah, oh. If anything, you could report me, because last night I broke plenty of fraternisation policies.” Hotch reaches out and takes his hands, a hold which Spencer returns, fiercely, without thinking. “I’m much less brave and much less gifted when it comes to sharing my feelings, but I really like you, as well, so if you are willing to get your evaluations reassigned, fill out some paperwork, and sit through a few potentially uncomfortable hearings with me–”

“Actually, the paperwork isn’t mandatory. The forms you are referring to will be unnecessary once we brief Strauss on this, seeing as she will most likely forego the paperwork and go straight to the hearings to give us hell.” Spencer supplies automatically. The grin on his face is spreading to the point his cheeks are starting to ache.

“ Spencer .” Hotch sighs, exasperated but so incredibly fond that Spencer can’t help himself.

He’s straddling the older man’s lap with newfound confidence within seconds, his hands coming up to cup Hotch’s face and finally kiss him the way he’s been wanting to for so long. It’s sloppy and uncoordinated at first, too much enthusiasm and exciting novelty between them, until Hotch laughs against his lips and cups his cheeks in return. Spencer allows Hotch to take the lead then, as he always does. The kiss deepens into something more orderly, gentle, intimate. They kiss until they are both smiling too hard to maintain the connection of their lips. Spencer is too happy to even consider how cheesy that is. 

They pull back then, both a little breathless. Hotch is smiling so widely and openly that it's lighting up his entire face, revealing laugh lines whose existence Spencer could have only dreamed of before. There’s also a delightful glint in Hotch’s eyes that is new to Spencer. He knows he will do just about anything to witness this sight as often as possible.

“Is that a yes, then?” Hotch teases with a grin, to which Spencer huffs.

“Yes, Hotch. Of course .”

“I think you should start calling me Aaron now. At least in this context.” 

“ Aaron .” Spencer repeats, almost dumbly, letting the sound roll off his lips with newfound wonder. He repeats it once more, then again and again, until Aaron pulls him back into another kiss.

Spencer loses track of time after that, but he still whines in indignation when Aaron carefully ends their kiss and leans back against the bedframe to get some space between them.

“As much as I’d like to continue this, the rescue team is on its way and this is not how I want to break the news to everyone.” The older man states, thumb rubbing fondly over Spencer’s cheek.

“Actually we have approximately one hour, 13 minutes and 26 seconds until they get here, at least , which already takes a ten minute time span to get properly dressed and cleaned up into consideration. Now I’d much rather not waste this on discussions with you.” Spencer supplies after a quick glance at his watch, his mouth leaning forward and finding the expanse of Aaron’s neck to mouth at the skin there, simply because he can .

“As lovely as that sounds, one of us needs to stay focused, and I fear we’re going to get sidetracked if you continue this.” Aaron’s voice is strained, which makes Spencer smirk into the crook of his neck. The knowledge that he’s getting to this otherwise so unfazed man is exhilarating . 

“I have complete faith in your ability to keep track of time.” He retorts, hands impatiently sneaking below the multiple layers of clothing in front of him on his pursuit for skin. Much to his displeasure, they are stopped by a firm grip on his wrists.

“You highly overestimate my self control.”

“I could never.” Spencer retorts, underlining his statement with a light nip to Aaron’s jaw.

“Behave, sweetheart.” The other scolds, and this actually causes Spencer to pull back with a whine.

“You can’t just say that and expect me to retreat. Do you know how unfair you are being right now?”

“Patience.” Aaron replies, amused now that Spencer has backed off a little and allowed him to regain his control. There’s a foreign heat in his eyes as his hand lightly graces the wound on Spencer’s forehead. “Once we get that checked and are back home, I’ll make sure it’s rewarded. I promise.”

The implications of that promise are exciting enough for Spencer to slide off his partner’s lap and settle back down next to him. There’s no more kissing for the remaining time of their wait, but he does manage to convince Aaron to cuddle some more. All for the purpose of heat conservation, of course.

To everyone’s relief, the case is wrapped up very quickly after their return, and once Spencer is cleared to fly by the town’s medic team, the BAU finds themselves back on their jet on their deserved flight home. Spencer is curled up on the couch space, bundled in several blankets (courtesy of the combined fussing of JJ and Garcia) and peacefully resting. 

“Man, I’m still so cold.” Morgan complains from his seat, rubbing his hands together in a futile attempt for warmth. Garcia happily takes the chance and snuggles closer to the man, seemingly doing her best to provide some warmth with her very own measures. Morgan grins at her before he turns to Spencer. “I can’t even imagine how cold you must have been. How did you and Hotch even manage to not freeze to death up there?”

The details of their survival methods flash through his head and Spencer flushes, mouth moving in a futile attempt to form words.

“Reid used his vast arsenal of niche knowledge to creatively keep us warm before he fell asleep. You’d be lucky to be stranded with him. The blankets and candles certainly helped, however.” Hotch supplies curtly, not looking up from the paperwork he’s working on.

“Yeah, I’m sure pretty boy gave you some good lectures before nodding off.” Morgan chuckles in return, content with the answer. He returns his attention back to Garcia, who gleefully engages in their familiar flirting routine.

Spencer’s eyes fall back on Hotch just in time to catch his gaze flickering up from his files. Their eyes meet for a second, and Spencer spots a glint of mirth in the man’s orbs.

Tease , Spencer thinks, and turns on his other side in order to return to his nap.

He will get his revenge later.