Bombs were the darkest aspect of serial killings—harsh, swift executions with staggering death tolls. They were faceless instruments of chaos, carrying with them a cold and inescapable anonymity. And perhaps most terrifying of all, they were unyielding; there was no way to defuse their lethal potential.

You were an agent with the FBI, part of the Behavioral Analysis Unit—a team not particularly known for bomb defusal. Your mission was to bring to justice those who unleashed these horrors, the predators who thrived on the vulnerable. You were expected to be the hero in a harrowing narrative where lives hung precariously in the balance.

Yet, in reality, you were simply an awkward human, a lover of puzzles and a devout sleeper, who indulged in shopping trips that often ended without any purchases. You collected quirky trinkets and reveled in the geekiness that defined your interests. You had joined the FBI at the age of 23, your excitement palpable at being part of such a formidable institution. A year later, the BAU recognized your potential and brought you into their fold.

It was during this whirlwind of your career that you first encountered Aaron Hotchner. He was a mentor, a friend, and your superior—a figure often characterized as stoic and commanding, intimidating with his unyielding demeanor. But to you, he was so much more: protective, nurturing, and a devoted father to his son, Jack. There had always been an underlying tension between you, an unspoken connection that lingered despite both of you being in other relationships. Now, however, the landscape had shifted, and both of you found yourselves unattached.

This week, your team was embroiled in a turbulent case involving bombs, resulting in unfathomable chaos. Lives were being lost at an alarming rate, and the media could not be kept at bay—news of the bombings spread like wildfire. Just when you thought you had gathered compelling evidence, the situation detonated in your face—quite literally.

The gears of fate turned unexpectedly when you dashed towards a barely audible noise, a critical mistake that would seal your fate. You found yourself in a dimly lit hallway, with the unsub looming beside you, a remote control clasped tightly in his hand, and a bomb ominously strapped to your torso. You knew you had to maintain your composure, but the effort was monumental, anxiety coiling in your chest like a vice.

When the team finally located you, they were faced with an impossible choice. “Only one of them can help you, and the rest must leave,” the unsub declared, his eyes gleaming with malice. JJ opened her mouth to protest, but her voice was silenced by the unsub's warning gesture, the remote a cruel reminder of the danger at hand.

The rational choice screamed for Derek Morgan; his expertise in bomb defusal and his calm under pressure were unmatched. But, to your own surprise, the name that escaped your lips was different. “Aaron… I want Aaron to help…”

A sinister smile spread across the unsub's face as he motioned for the others to step back, creating a space solely for you and Hotch. Slowly, Hotch approached, the formidable stance of his figure softening as he put away his gun and knelt at your side. He meticulously examined the tangle of wires, an intricate puzzle that threatened to consume you whole.

“Aaron, I’m scared…” you whispered, your voice trembling. Hotch met your frightened gaze, your chest heaving with panic, eyes wide with terror. He gently took your hand, a steadfast grip that sought to anchor you. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. I’ll figure this out. Trust me, okay? This isn’t the first time I’ve had to diffuse a bomb.” His tone was steady, filled with a quiet strength that instilled a flicker of hope amidst the despair.