Chapter Text
The first time Aaron Hotchner met Elias Vance, it was under the most unassuming of circumstances. A new analyst, recommended through the higher-ups, seemingly vetted and competent. Elias was quiet but observant, slipping into the BAU with an ease that should have raised suspicion, but Hotch had been too distracted to notice. Cases piled up, and the wear of leadership sat heavy on his shoulders. Elias had been a welcome presence—efficient, reliable, and, to Hotch’s reluctant admission, attractive in a way that had made him self-conscious.
What began as an accidental brush of hands while reviewing case files turned into late nights in Hotch’s office, murmured conversations that edged toward something dangerous. Elias had a way of making Hotch forget himself, forget the weight of the world pressing in from all sides. He hadn’t let himself indulge in years, but Elias—Elias made him want to.
Hotch had resisted at first, but the allure of warmth after years of self-imposed coldness was intoxicating. One evening, after closing a particularly grueling case, Elias had waited for him, leaning against his desk with a confidence Hotch should have questioned. One moment of weakness, one soft kiss, and the dam had broken.
They were careful. At least, Hotch believed they were. It wasn’t as if he flaunted their relationship—if it could even be called that. It was stolen moments, whispered words, the ghost of a smile exchanged in the hallways. Elias never pressed, never pushed, and that, more than anything, made Hotch trust him. If he had only looked deeper, if he had only questioned the timing of Elias’ arrival—
But he hadn’t.
The case that finally tore the blinders from his eyes had been a brutal one. A string of murders, all eerily intimate. The victims—men who bore a resemblance to Hotch, if only vaguely. And all of them had one thing in common: they had been romantically involved with law enforcement. The photos of their lifeless bodies, posed almost reverently, sent a chill down Hotch’s spine.
At first, he rationalized the discomfort. A coincidence, maybe. But as he pored over the case files late into the night, the similarities piled up like a weight on his chest. The pattern, the ritualistic nature of the killings, the eerily personal connection to the victims—
Then, the realization. Elias.
Hotch had been in his office, reviewing the files, when Elias appeared, quiet as ever, standing just beyond the threshold.
“Long night?” he asked, his voice smooth, even.
Hotch hadn’t looked up at first, too absorbed in the horrific details sprawled across his desk. But then he did, and he saw it. The slight curve of Elias’ lips, the satisfaction in his gaze. He had seen that look before—on the faces of those they hunted.
He stood slowly, his heart pounding in his chest. “Elias,” he said, his voice careful, measured.
Elias only smiled. “You figured it out, didn’t you?”
Hotch’s blood ran cold. He had let him in. Let him close. And now, he was alone in his office with a man who had killed for him.
Elias stepped forward, slow, predatory. “You weren’t supposed to figure it out yet, Aaron. Not yet.”
Hotch moved subtly, shifting toward the edge of his desk where his gun lay just out of sight. “Why?”
Elias tilted his head. “Because you belong to me.”
The words sent a chill down Hotch’s spine. He lunged for his weapon, but Elias was faster, catching his wrist, twisting it just enough to send a sharp pain up his arm.
“I never wanted to hurt you,” Elias murmured, almost regretful. “But you just couldn’t see it, could you? I did this for you. I did it all for you.”
The struggle was brief but violent. Hotch, trained, experienced, fought back with everything he had. He managed to wrest himself free, sending Elias stumbling backward. The commotion was enough—enough for Morgan, for Prentiss, for the rest of the team to burst in, weapons drawn.
Elias didn’t resist. He only smiled, that same unsettling affection in his eyes. “You were worth it,” he whispered as Morgan cuffed him. “Every second.”
As he was led away, Hotch exhaled, his hands trembling as he braced them against his desk. He had let a monster into his life, into his bed. And the worst part? He had never even seen it coming.
Days later, as Hotch sat in his office, staring at the empty space Elias once occupied, he felt the weight of his choices settle deep in his bones. He had been compromised in the most intimate way, manipulated by a mind as brilliant as it was deranged. The BAU had always warned others of the dangers of emotional entanglements, and yet, he had fallen victim himself.
He could still hear Elias’ voice in his head, smooth, affectionate. You belong to me.
Even now, behind bars, Hotch feared Elias truly believed it. And worse—some part of Hotch feared that, in the darkest recesses of his mind, he had believed it too.
But the nightmare wasn’t over.
Three nights later, a package arrived at Hotch’s doorstep. No return address, but he knew. The box was small, perfectly wrapped. He hesitated before opening it, but curiosity—or perhaps dread—got the better of him.
Inside, there was a single photograph. A picture of him, taken weeks ago, in his own home. Elias must have been there, lurking in the shadows, watching.
Beneath the photo was a note, written in Elias’ familiar, elegant script: Miss me yet?
Hotch’s pulse roared in his ears. Elias was supposed to be locked away. He was supposed to be contained.
But somehow, some way, he wasn’t done yet.
And neither was Hotch.