Chapter Text
Hotchner had managed hostage negotiations, serial killers, political pressure, and internal investigations with less collective chaos than what greeted him the moment he walked into the bullpen the next morning.
The entire team went quiet.
Not subtle quiet.
Not normal quiet.
The kind of silence that happened when people were actively trying not to react.
Hotch stopped mid-step.
“…good morning,” he said carefully.
“Morning, Hotch,” Morgan replied immediately.
Too immediately.
JJ was suddenly very interested in her paperwork. Rossi hid a smirk behind his coffee cup. Garcia looked like she was physically restraining herself from exploding.
And Reid—
Reid had frozen halfway to his desk, clearly realizing at the exact same moment that this was now their reality.
The team knew.
Aaron had expected awkwardness.
He had not expected Spencer Reid looking genuinely horrified by the concept of being perceived.
“Spence,” Hotch said quietly.
Reid blinked, turning toward him.
“Yes?”
“You’re standing in the middle of the walkway.”
Spencer looked down, like this information was surprising.
“Oh.”
He moved immediately, clutching his files a little tighter than necessary as he retreated to his desk.
Garcia made a small sound.
Morgan elbowed her without looking.
Aaron stepped into his office, shutting the door behind him—not fully, just enough to create a barrier between himself and the increasingly obvious attention outside.
He exhaled slowly.
This was manageable.
The team knew.
Nobody was upset.
Nobody seemed concerned about professionalism or favoritism or chain-of-command complications.
If anything, they seemed…
Amused.
Aaron wasn’t sure how he felt about that yet.
A knock sounded against the doorframe.
“Come in.”
Reid stepped inside cautiously, like he was entering an interrogation room instead of Hotch’s office.
Aaron watched him for a moment.
Spencer looked nervous.
Not frightened.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… thrown off balance.
“You okay?” Aaron asked.
Spencer adjusted the files in his hands.
“Yes,” he answered automatically.
Aaron raised an eyebrow.
Spencer sighed slightly.
“…no,” he admitted. “Not entirely.”
Aaron leaned back slightly in his chair.
“The team knowing?”
“Yes.”
Spencer sat down across from him before continuing.
“There are now observable behavioral changes in the environment,” he explained. “Increased attention, altered interaction patterns, elevated probability of social commentary—”
“You’re spiraling.”
Spencer stopped.
“…a little.”
Aaron fought back the urge to smile.
“Aren’t you supposed to be better at profiling your own behavior?”
“That’s not how psychology works,” Spencer muttered.
Aaron did smile at that.
Small.
Brief.
Still enough that Spencer noticed.
“You think this is funny,” Spencer said.
“A little.”
“That’s statistically rude.”
“It’s also true.”
Spencer stared at him for a second before the tension in his shoulders eased just slightly.
Aaron counted that as progress.
The first hour of the morning passed with relative normalcy.
Relative being the key word.
Morgan kept smirking every time Aaron walked by Reid’s desk. Garcia had sent Spencer three separate emails with subject lines including the words “LOVE,” “FINALLY,” and “I HAVE QUESTIONS.”
JJ, at least, had the decency to look sympathetic.
Rossi was unbearable.
“You know,” Rossi said casually as Aaron stepped into the break room, “I had money on this happening six months from now.”
Aaron paused.
“You were betting on us?”
Rossi sipped his coffee.
“Not officially.”
“That implies there was an unofficial version.”
“There absolutely was.”
Aaron stared at him.
Rossi grinned.
“You should’ve seen Morgan when Garcia first suggested it.”
Aaron decided not to ask.
By lunchtime, Spencer looked like he wanted to disappear into another dimension.
Aaron found him in the conference room alone, seated at the table with a file open in front of him and absolutely no evidence that he’d read a single word.
“You’re hiding,” Aaron observed.
Spencer looked up.
“This room has lower social traffic.”
“You’re hiding,” Aaron repeated.
Spencer sighed.
“Yes.”
Aaron stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.
“You know they’re not judging us.”
“I know.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Spencer hesitated.
Aaron waited.
Finally, Spencer looked down at the file in front of him.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted quietly.
Aaron’s chest tightened unexpectedly.
“Do what?”
“This,” Spencer said vaguely. “Us. Publicly.”
Aaron moved closer to the table.
“Spence—”
“I’m good at understanding behavior in theory,” Spencer interrupted softly. “But participating in it is different.”
Aaron stayed quiet.
Spencer rarely admitted uncertainty out loud.
“When people look at me now,” Spencer continued, “I can tell they’re recalibrating their perception of me. It’s not negative, but it’s… noticeable.”
Aaron understood that better than Spencer probably realized.
He stepped beside the table.
“They’ll adjust,” he said.
Spencer looked up at him.
“And until then?”
Aaron considered the question.
Then he reached down, resting a hand lightly against Spencer’s shoulder.
Not hidden.
Not secretive.
Just there.
“Until then,” Aaron said quietly, “you remember that none of this changes who you are.”
Spencer held his gaze for a long moment.
Aaron watched the tension in his expression ease again, piece by piece.
“You make that sound very simple,” Spencer said softly.
“It is simple.”
“For you.”
Aaron almost disagreed.
Then stopped.
Because the truth was, Spencer made this easier for him too.
Easier than Aaron had expected.
“You know what I think?” Aaron asked.
Spencer tilted his head slightly.
“What?”
“I think you’re overestimating how much the team cares about the fact that we’re together.”
Spencer blinked.
“They walked in on us kissing.”
Aaron nodded once.
“Yes. And their primary reaction was apparently betting pools.”
That startled an actual laugh out of Spencer.
Brief.
Quiet.
Real.
Aaron felt something warm settle in his chest at the sound.
“There it is,” he said.
Spencer frowned slightly. “There what is?”
“You relaxing.”
Spencer looked away for a second, almost embarrassed by being noticed so precisely.
Aaron was getting better at reading him outside the context of profiling.
That still caught him off guard sometimes.
A knock interrupted them.
The door opened before either of them could answer.
Garcia leaned in.
“Oh good, both of you are here.”
Aaron narrowed his eyes slightly.
“That tone concerns me.”
“It shouldn’t!” Garcia said brightly. “Probably.”
Spencer visibly tensed again.
Aaron almost smiled.
“What is it, Garcia?”
She beamed.
“I just wanted to let you know that the team has collectively agreed not to make things weird.”
A beat.
Then Morgan’s voice sounded from somewhere behind her:
“Garcia, you’re literally making it weird right now.”
She gasped dramatically.
“I am facilitating emotional openness!”
JJ appeared behind Morgan, already laughing.
Rossi looked entirely too entertained.
Aaron glanced at Spencer.
Spencer looked overwhelmed—but not upset.
Important distinction.
Garcia pointed between them.
“For the record, we are happy for you.”
Morgan nodded.
“Yeah, man.”
JJ smiled softly. “Seriously.”
Even Rossi gave a small nod.
Aaron felt Spencer go very still beside him.
Like he didn’t quite know what to do with straightforward affection directed at him.
Then Spencer adjusted his grip on the file in his hands and said, a little awkwardly:
“…thank you.”
Garcia immediately looked emotional.
“Oh no, the sincerity got me.”
Morgan pulled her backward out of the doorway.
“Alright, enough before you scare Reid again.”
“I’m not scared,” Spencer protested weakly.
Aaron watched them disappear back into the bullpen before glancing sideways at Spencer.
“You okay?”
Spencer looked out toward the team for a moment.
Then back at Aaron.
And slowly—
“Yes,” he said.
This time, Aaron believed him.