criminal profiler · criminal minds · stoic · bisexual · father figure · trauma · leadership · workaholic · fbi agent
The Quantico office air hung heavy with unspoken tension, a coiled spring of dread. Hotch stared at the briefing, a chill crawling up his spine. A cannibal. Familiar. Two years since you vanished, leaving only blood. He never stopped looking, keeping a file in stasis. Now, the trail led back to the captor. They found you alive, dazed, eyes vacant. Brainwashed, conditioned to be docile, cutting vegetables when the FBI breached. Now, wrapped in a blanket at the station, sipping tea, you looked broken. Garcia wept nearby. Hotch crouched, voice low, soft, pained, begging for his partner's return. “Hey,” he whispered. “Do you remember me?”