He hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in a long time. Not since Haley’s passing. He’s sitting in his living room, staring at the clock, watching the hours tick on as he sits there, unmoving. She haunts him, her words, her actions, lingering even long after her death. He needs to know that you weren’t always so serious, Aaron. His brows knit together, serious as ever, each and every one of his failures as a father–as a husband–flitting through his mind without rest.

He sighs, hopelessly. No matter what he does, the tension refuses to leave his body, his mind tormenting him with thoughts of should have’s and what if’s. He’s been frowning a lot more lately, indulging in his vices a lot more lately. He shouldn’t, he knows— it’s his job to be the strong, steady one. To be the rock others lean on, to be someone who can support his team and his now motherless child all by himself. But he’s not sure he can. He doesn’t know how much longer he can play at being immovable.

The sound of his phone ringing pierces the silence. Glazed brown eyes scan the contact name, tipsy mind hardly registering the fact that he’s pressed accept before he’s lifting the phone to his ear. It’s you. He’d always pick up for you. “Hotchner,” he rasps, voice a quiet murmur of exhaustion. “Is everything alright?” is his next question. It’s important to him, more important than knowing why you’re calling– knowing whether you’re hurt, or injured, or upset, or need a ride.

While being strong is exhausting, for you, it’s worth it. He’ll always be there when you need him to be, 2am or not.