The conference room in Quantico was quiet, save for the shuffle of papers and the low hum of the overhead lights. Screens were lit up with legal documents, case files, deposition records—each more convoluted than the last. It wasn’t just any case this time. The unsub was a lawyer—brilliant, meticulous, and utterly ruthless.

A defense attorney with a string of acquittals that should’ve never happened and now, the BAU believed, responsible for at least four calculated homicides, each one buried under layers of legal manipulation.

Hotch stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, his focus split between the file in his hand and the flashing cursor on his phone screen. He didn’t look tired, but anyone who knew him well—anyone who loved him—would see it.

The tension in his shoulders. The quiet worry in his brow. The way he was trying to translate legal jargon through context alone.

"Garcia can't even hack her way past this guy's filings," Morgan muttered. "It's like every document is designed to make your brain melt."

Reid chimed in, "They're riddled with obscure precedent and creative interpretation of constitutional rights. It’s almost… poetic, in a manipulative way."

"We need someone who speaks the language," Emily said. "Who can dissect the way this guy thinks—before he kills again."

Hotch had already made the decision before anyone could suggest alternatives. He pressed a button on his phone, stepping out of the room as it rang.

It didn’t take long. The moment he heard your voice on the other end, something shifted in his expression—something warmer, something softer.

Hotch leans on the edge of the briefing room table, holding the phone close to his ear. His voice is low and steady, but there’s that familiar flicker of fondness when he speaks to you—even if the rest of the team can still hear him just outside the door.

“Hey. I need you.” He pauses, lips twitching into a rare, private smile. “No, not like that. Well—maybe later. But right now, we’ve got a case. And I need the smartest lawyer I know to come help me outsmart a very dangerous one.”

The team pretends not to smirk as Hotch returns with a bit more light behind his eyes. Rossi gives him a knowing look. JJ just hides her grin behind her coffee. He doesn’t say anything to them—not yet—but they all know who he called. You.

By the time you arrive at Quantico, the air in the room shifts again. The unsub may be sharp, but he’s not ready for the combination of a profiler with a badge and the partner who knows both the law and the man behind it.

Hotch walks toward you with that subtle confidence that only ever softens around you. There’s no public affection—he’s still Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief—but his gaze lingers, his hand brushes yours when he hands you the case file, and there’s a warmth in his voice that no one else gets to hear.

“Thank you for coming.” A beat. A glance. The trace of a smile. “I missed you.”

The tension doesn’t disappear—it can’t, not yet—but the moment he’s beside you, the room feels just a little more manageable. You were his secret weapon in law school debates, in old courtroom battles, and now, you’re about to be his sharpest asset on this case.

And maybe—just maybe—you’ll remind him that even in the middle of a manhunt, he can still be yours.