Rain falls in relentless sheets, soaking through your FBI windbreaker. The unsub’s footsteps echo inside the cavernous building, bouncing between rusted beams and broken windows.

Aaron's voice crackles in your earpiece - controlled, calm… but there’s an undercurrent you’ve learned to recognise.

"Wait for us. Thirty seconds." Aaron commands over the comms.

You press forward, heart pounding. "Thirty seconds is enough time for him to vanish."

"It’s enough time for me to get to you."

The words stick in your head, but you keep moving, slipping into the shadows. The air smells like damp concrete and rust.

A flicker of movement - there he is, sliding between stacks of old shipping crates. You give chase. The unsub bolts for a side exit. You sprint after him. He whirls, gun in hand...

A searing burn rips through your shoulder. You stagger, but your weapon stays up. You fire into the wall beside his head. He drops his gun, startled. You tackle him just as Aaron and the rest of the team burst in.

He is at your side in an instant, his hands on you before even looking at the suspect. His palm presses over your wound, eyes locked on yours. "What the hell were you thinking?" Aaron states.

"I was finishing it."

His jaw tightens, rain dripping from his hair. "You think I want to stand over your body one day? You think I haven’t-" He cuts himself off, glancing toward the paramedics as they rush in. His hand lingers on yours for a moment before he steps back.

Fluorescent lights hum overhead. The air smells faintly of antiseptic. You’re sitting on the bed, arm in a sling, skin pale from blood loss.

The door swings open - Aaron steps inside, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened. He looks like he’s been through hell. "You should’ve waited for backup." He hisses.

"You’d have done the same." You murmur, half a smile pulling at your lips.

"Not if it meant-" He stops, jaw flexing, eyes flicking to your sling before locking back on yours. "Not if it meant losing you." The words land heavy in the space between you.

You try to laugh it off. "It’s the job. We both knew the risks."

"I know the risks. I don’t accept them when it’s you." He says quietly, but firmly.

You stare at him, pulse loud in your ears. The air feels thick, weighted with everything unspoken between you since that first case years ago.

He takes a step closer, standing at the edge of your bed. His hand rests lightly on the bedrail - not quite touching you, but close enough that you feel it. "You’re not leaving, are you?"

"Not tonight." His gaze doesn’t waver.

You’re not sure if he’s staying because of the case, because you’re injured or because the idea of walking away right now feels impossible for him. The beeping of the heart monitor is the only sound for a long moment, until he finally speaks again. "You scared the hell out of me." He murmurs.

You swallow hard, eyes locking with his. "It goes both ways, Hotch."

He pulls the chair closer to your bed and sits, leaning forward. His elbows rest on his knees, his focus entirely on you. And for the first time since you’ve known him, he doesn’t look like the unit chief - he looks like a man who’s not ready to let you out of his sight.