Chapter Text
The Ink Between Us
The park was quiet, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and the distant hum of traffic. Aaron Hotchner stood by the edge of the fountain. He looked stiff, his hands shoved deep into his overcoat pockets, staring at the water like it held the answers to a case he couldn't close. He was contemplating leaving. It had been nearly fifteen minutes past the scheduled meeting time, and if he were being honest, he was getting nervous. Had he been tricked? Was this all a mistake? His feet turned him in the direction of his car when a voice called out to him. A voice he didn’t expect to hear at this park on the outskirts of town.
"Hotch?"
Hotch turned back, his breath hitching in a way he’d never allow in the office. Ahead of him he saw his co-worker and subordinate, Spencer Reid, slowing from a light jog to a walking pace. He looked frazzled and just as confused as Hotch felt. Reid stopped a few feet away, clutching a book to his chest, his new, short haircut making him look younger, and failing to hide his startled expression.
"Reid," Hotch managed, his voice level despite the adrenaline spiking in his veins. "What are you doing here?"
"I… I could ask you the same thing," Reid said, offering a small, nervous smile. "It’s a bit of a coincidence to see you in this part of the city. I didn't think you ever came down this way."
"I have an appointment," Hotch said quickly. It wasn't a lie.
"Oh. Me too," Reid shifted his weight, looking around the park with an expectant, anxious energy. There was an awkward tension between them. Filled with secrets neither wanted to tell.
"Well, I better go,” Reid said, gesturing the way he just came from. He hesitated a moment, then spoke the words he immediately knew were oversharing, “I’m, uh… I'm meeting someone here."
Hotch felt a cold stone settle in his stomach. The hairs on the back of his neck rose the same way they did while out on the field. An instinctive aura took over. He swallowed hard, glancing down at the book in Reid’s hand, brown leather-bound with a deep red spine. He glanced at his own watch. The timing was too precise. The location was too specific. He took a moment to consider his next words, ones that Reid wasn’t expecting to hear.
"Who are you meeting?"
Reid stumbled over his words, his cheeks flushing a faint pink. "A friend. Well, we uh…haven't actually met in person.” His feet seemed to capture his attention, almost like he was ashamed.
“It’s… It’s a long story. I should probably find them." He began to turn but stopped when he caught the look in Hotch’s eyes.
Hotch sighed and looked away. He still had time to turn and wish Reid well, but he knew he couldn’t do that. So instead, he asked a simple question to anyone else, but to him it was seeking confirmation, "What do they look like? Maybe I passed them on the way in."
Reid bit his lip, a look Hotch knew well. The same expression his agent had while in deep contemplation. Finally he looked up, fidgeting with his book, "I’m not entirely sure. He’s taller than me. He described himself as broad-shouldered, with black hair, and… well, actually, he described himself sort of like you. Professional. Guarded."
The silence stretched. He could see the gears turning in Reid’s mind. Hotch knew the pieces were falling into place in the puzzle both of them had been staring at for months. Hotch’s heart hammered against his ribs. A steady, rhythmic thud that felt like a gavel. He knew. He had known the moment he saw the book, but his brain was desperately trying to find a way out. He could still leave.
"Coincidence," Hotch said, his voice dropping an octave. "I should probably go."
He started to walk away. He needed to be clear of the park before the gravity of it collapsed on him. He needed to be the Unit Chief again. But he only got three steps before Reid’s voice cut through the air, quiet but steady.
"Fix You."
Hotch stopped dead. He didn't turn.
"What?"
"Lights will guide you home…" Reid quoted, his voice trembling now. "Your favourite song. You said it grounds you when the cases get too dark."
Hotch closed his eyes, his shoulders dropping an inch. "Reid…"
"You want to visit Paris," Reid continued, stepping closer, his words tumbling out like a confession. "But your job is too busy. You feel like you’re missing a life you haven't lived yet. You don’t have a great relationship with your parents. Specifically, your father…You feel a disconnect because-"
"I know what I wrote!" Hotch snapped, finally turning around. His face was a mask of conflict; half-authority, half-agony.
Reid flinched, but he didn't back down. His eyes were wide, searching Hotch’s face with a devastating clarity. "It is you. You’re 712."
Hotch let out a breath that felt like it had been trapped in his lungs for months. "And you’re 144."
The world seemed to shrink until it was just the two of them standing between the trees.
"I should go," Reid whispered, this time, of the escape Hotch tried moments ago. The reality of the situation. Every letter sent, every word written in black and blue ink to an anonymous person with a random ID number. All of it spun around them with an intensity unimaginable. They both knew what was said before arriving at the park. The last letter received shared the time and location to meet. They knew what was in the letters leading up to this point, the bond that 712 and 144 had created just through a postage program. The feelings that existed even without a face or a proper name.
"We can’t…” Spencer choked out, “I’m sorry, sir."
He turned to flee, his steps hurried. Hotch watched him for a second, the instinct to let him go battling with his own memory of the letters. The memory of the man in them who understood his silence better than anyone else in the world.
"Spencer!"
Reid stopped. He didn't just stop; he crumbled slightly at the sound of his first name. He turned back, and this time, it was Hotch who moved. He walked toward him slowly, listing the things he’d memorized from the black-inked pages.
"You hate the taste of artificial grapes,” He began, “You read three books a day because you’re afraid if you stop learning, you’ll lose your edge. You once stayed up all night watching the stars because you felt like they were the only things that didn't change."
Hotch stopped a foot away. Close enough to see the way Reid’s eyelashes swept against his skin as he blinked back tears.
"I came here nervous… and excited," Reid whispered. "Now I am confused and scared."
"Me too," Hotch admitted. The air between them no longer awkward, but just as intense.
"We can’t," Reid said, though he didn't move away. "The things we said in those letters… how we…how I felt. How I feel for 712."
"Trust me, I know," Hotch said, a ghost of a weary smile touching his lips. "This is not how I expected this to turn out."
"How did you expect it?"
Hotch hesitated, a rare, genuine flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck. He looked down at his shoes for a split second before meeting Reid’s gaze. "I don’t know. But I sure wasn't expecting to find out my subordinate is the person I was coming to meet after six months of falling… uhm… learning… sorry." He let out a short, breathless laugh. "This is incredibly embarrassing."
A small, watery laugh escaped Reid, “I get what you mean. We shared a very vulnerable side of each other, and now finding out who was behind the pen all along…It's overwhelming."
They stood there, actually looking at each other. Not as a profiler and a genius, but as two lonely men who had accidentally found a world outside their social norm. That world was now crashing against reality.
"What are we going to do?" Reid asked, softly. For once not having an answer to a problem at hand.
"I don't know."
"What do you want to do?"
Hotch went silent, his mind racing through a thousand scenarios. "I… I don't know what to say, Spencer."
"Is what you said true?" Reid pressed, his voice gaining a sudden, desperate strength. "In the letters. What you wrote about… everything. About your life, your revelations, your likes and dislikes. When you admitted your fondness for me, and I said the same. How you felt this connection you couldn't quite put into words, and I agreed… which is rare for me to not know how to-"
Hotch didn't let him finish. He reached out, his hand sliding into Reid’s hair, and pulled him forward.
The kiss was the answer. It was solid, certain, and tasted of the honesty they’d spent six months building on paper. In that moment, the ID numbers lifted to reveal their true identities, leaving only more questions than answers.
The air in the park seemed to vibrate, the silence between them no longer heavy with secrets, but charged with the sheer, terrifying reality of what they’d just done.
Hotch was the first to pull back, though only by an inch. The professional mask tried to snap back into place, but it was cracked down the middle. He looked at Reid. Really looked at him, and the weight of his badge felt like a thousand pounds.
"Sorry," Hotch rasped, his voice thick. "That was… that was incredibly inappropriate. I-"
"Don’t be sorry," Reid interrupted, his voice breathless but firm. He didn't move away. If anything, he seemed to be leaning into the space Hotch had just vacated.
"I have to be," Hotch countered, though he didn't sound convinced. "I’m-"
"My boss. My friend. My penpal," Reid listed, a small, dizzy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Hotch let out a startled, breathless laugh, the sound bright and jarring in the quiet park. "Yeah. All of the above. It’s an HR nightmare, Spencer."
"It’s statistically improbable," Reid whispered, his eyes searching Aaron’s. "I didn’t even… before, when you were just Hotch to me. My boss… I didn’t have feelings for you. I mean, I did. You’re my friend, and I trust you with my life- but not romantically. I never let myself go there."
"Same for me," Hotch admitted, his thumb mindlessly brushing against Reid’s cheekbone. "I had a box for you in my head. 'Subordinate. Genius. Friend.' I kept it locked."
"But now?" Reid’s breath hitched. "Knowing that vulnerable side of 712 is you… knowing the man who writes about his fears and what his favourite songs are to a stranger, is the same man who leads us into the field… and the way I felt just now, when you kissed me…"
Hotch flushed, the heat creeping up his neck as he realized he was still holding Reid’s face like he never wanted to let go. He dropped his hands abruptly, looking almost guilty. "Sorry, I just… I had to see. I shouldn’t have without asking, but it just came over me and I-"
This time, Reid didn't use words. He reached up, his fingers landing against the hair at the nape of Hotch’s neck, and pulled him down.
This kiss was different. The first had been a question; this was an exploration. It was longer, deeper, tasting of suppressed longing and the ink-stained honesty of the last six months. When they finally parted, they stayed mere inches apart, their foreheads resting against each other, sharing the same shaky air.
"Sorry," Reid murmured, a playful glint finally breaking through the shock in his eyes. "I had to see too. Make sure."
Hotch breathed out a laugh, his eyes still closed. "And?"
"And… I think we are completely fucked," Reid said.
The absurdity of it finally broke the tension. Hotch laughed. A real, deep-chested sound, and Reid joined him, the two of them standing by a freezing fountain in Virginia, giddy with the disaster they had just walked into.
The walk to Reid’s apartment was the strangest three blocks of their lives. They walked close. Occasionally, their sleeves would brush, sending a jolt of electricity through both of them that almost made them trip over their own feet.
"So," Reid started, looking at his shoes. "Tomorrow morning. Briefing room. 8:00 am."
"I know," Hotch said, sounding pained. "I have to stand at the head of that table and pretend I didn't spend my Sunday kissing my Senior SSA."
"To be fair," Reid pointed out, his intellectual defence mechanism kicking in, "you were technically kissing Correspondent 144. It’s a matter of compartmentalization."
"Spencer, you quoted Coldplay to me. The compartments are gone. They’ve been incinerated."
They reached the door to Reid’s building. The yellow streetlamp cast long, dramatic shadows across the pavement. The awkwardness returned, sudden and sharp. It felt like the end of a first date, except they’d already shared their darkest secrets and seen each other at their worst on crime scenes.
"I don't know what happens next," Hotch admitted, his hands stuffed in his jeans pockets. "We have to sort this out. Talk about… what happens next."
“Do you want there to be a next?” Reid asked, honestly, “We can still pretend this didn’t happen.”
“Is that what you want? To forget all of this happened?” Hotch asked carefully.
Spencer looked down for a moment, thinking, then back to Hotch’s eyes, “Not really.”
Hotch stepped into Reid’s space one last time, reaching out to adjust the lapel of his coat just so he had an excuse to touch him. "Then for now…for tonight, I just want to remember the letters."
He leaned in, a soft, lingering kiss pressed to the corner of Reid’s mouth. Gentle, promising, and entirely personal.
"Goodnight, Spencer," Hotch said, his voice dropping to that low, warm register Reid rarely heard directed at him.
Reid smiled, a genuine, glowing thing that reached his eyes. "Goodnight, Aaron."
Hotch turned to walk away, but Reid watched him until he reached the corner. As Hotch disappeared from view, he touched his lips, feeling the faint sting of the cold and the lingering warmth of 712. He realized then that for the first time in years, he wasn't going upstairs to write a letter to a stranger.
He was going home to reread every single one, to figure out how he didn’t know it was him.