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2025-08-21
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we wander on, shoulder to shoulder

Summary:

A married Hotchniss season 18 fix-it, one ficlet per episode.

They eventually settle on Pelley’s, but not before Emily makes a mental note to talk to Tyler about his run-in at the Tin Cup.

Truthfully, she would rather be home. She has the next best thing, though, because Aaron is there waiting for them when they arrive, a first round of beers already ordered for everyone. Despite introductions and catch-ups, congratulations and condolences, he sticks close, something she loves him for even more. She needs him close.

Eventually, he asks her the question she’s been expecting.

“Have you told them yet?”

Notes:

friends! I am so excited to explore s18 through a hotchniss lens with y'all! my inspo for this first ficlet can be found here.

title from we don’t know how to say goodbye by anna akhmatova, which feels so hotchniss to me that it makes my chest hurt.

Chapter 1: 18.01 | Swimmer's Calculus

Chapter Text

Hotch isn’t surprised when he wakes and Emily isn’t there.

I’ve never slept better than with you at my side, she tells him when they start dating; and it’s true, but some cases supersede his ability to ground her, and the Sicarius disaster is one such case. More often than not these days, he rolls over to find the bed empty in the middle of night, and after a brief sting of panic, his breathing settles and he rises to search for her. Sometimes she’s in the kitchen with coffee (decaf, she claims, though he doesn’t believe her because the decaf grounds he picked up from their favorite neighborhood spot never seem to run out); other times it’s the living room couch, the TV on mute.

It takes him a minute longer than usual, but he eventually finds her in their shared office, curled up on the window seat with a mug of something in her hands. Chamomile tea, he determines as he closes the distance between them. He’ll count that as a win.

“Can I join you?”

“Always.”

He sits beside her in the alcove, something warm unfurling in his chest when she instinctively places her feet in his lap. “Solving the world’s problems?”

Emily chuckles, the sound tight and tired. “Not quite. But hopefully solving some of ours.”

“Yeah? Anything you can talk about?”

She’s silent for a while, her gaze drifting back out to the empty street. Then: “Tyler’s first field assignment.”

“I thought you said he’d been tapped for Mobile.”

“He was. But I’m going to request that Director Madison place him with us instead.”

In the end, it’s always her fingers that betray her. Her voice is steady and sure as she articulates the decision for the first time, but he watches as she drums blunt nails against her mug in little triplet taps. She’s anxious, he recognizes. 

She cares. Deeply.

“You’re looking after him,” he says with a knowing smile.

Her eyes flash up to his. “He has intimate, invaluable knowledge of Voit and his network,” she counters quickly, equal parts defiant and vulnerable in a way that has him sifting through other times he’s seen her protective streak in action.

“Yes, he does.”

“But?”

“And,” he says instead, giving her ankle an affirming squeeze, “he’s lucky to have you, Emily.”

And despite the dim lighting, he can make out a smile of her own tugging at the corner of her mouth.

There’s something else, too. The care written into the lines of her face is familiar, but it’s different from the look she reserves for him—

“He just stresses me out,” she mumbles into her tea.

—Jack, he realizes. It’s how she looks at Jack.

“God, Aaron, do you remember being that green?” she continues, encouraged by his low hum. It’s mostly a hypothetical question; they can both recall her walking into his office with her belongings, but over the years of their partnership and marriage they’ve also talked about the decades before that moment that led them back to each other. Her beginnings with the CIA, his as a prosecutor, two bright-eyed public servants who had no idea the places their careers would take them.

“In some ways, he reminds me of me. All that time spent in the morally grey... I know where that leads. It complicates your definition of justice, for one. He thinks he has his vengeful streak under control, and maybe he does, we’ll see. But it will come out again, of that I’m sure, and whether that’s in five months or five years, these are the people you want by your side when that time comes.” She swallows thickly. “I speak from experience.”

He nods. From the moment he’d learned Tyler’s story, he knew Emily’s mentorship of him was inevitable.

“And in other ways?” he prompts.

Unconsciously, her hand moves up her lap onto her belly. The math is right, close enough for government work.

Tyler, thirty-four; the baby she might once have had in Rome, thirty-eight.

Chapter 2: 18.02 | The Zookeeper

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

He’s waiting for her when she comes home.

If he knows her (and he does, better than anyone), she will have kept her tears at bay for JJ’s sake. She won’t have cried on her drive either, because the white noise of the highway will have lulled her into a temporary state of numbness.

But now, as she crosses the threshold to the sight of him already standing, his arms already outstretched and reaching for her—

She sobs. Full-body gasps of air, bags dropped to the floor, her tears hot against the skin of his neck.

They are bedfellows with their mortality, well acquainted with martyrdom. It's a requirement of the job; that he'd buried her once before was proof enough. But it's for this reason that Will's death hurts even more. There is no unsub to blame, no explosive device with flag-colored wires to be disarmed at the last possible second, not even an errant bullet. Just fists to shake at god or whomever else is peering down at them in their grief, if there's even anyone there at all.

So he cries, too, burying his face into her silver hair and breathing her in as she holds him closer—like if she just clings tightly enough, she can tether him to the earth for good and keep him untouched by whatever fluke tore through the air and stole Will from JJ, just like that.

He doesn’t realize he’s talking until she pulls back to look at him, her fingers shaky but soft against his damp cheek.

“I love you,” he’s saying over and over again. “I love you.”

Notes:

so grateful for the response to this fic so far! let me know what you think in the comments below or on tumblr - and thanks so much for being here. 🖤

Chapter 3: 18.03 | Time to Say Goodbye

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

They undress each other quietly.

Gone is the frenzy of the previous days, harsh whispers of I need to feel that you’re alive please please never leave me against each other’s mouths and chests. In its stead is a deep, abiding patience: her fingers at the knot of his tie, his at the bow of her wrap dress. Slow tugs until something gives. Eventually, her hair is unspooled from its sharp twist and they consign their layers to a nearby chair, consigning themselves to bed shortly afterward.

They aren’t young anymore, but they weren’t young the first time they did this either, a hundred dead friends ago, and no amount of finesse is missing from the way that he leans her back against the mattress or the way that she touches him.

You are so beautiful, one of them whispers now. It could be either of them, both of them, tongues still tasting of the wine from Will’s wake. Do you know?

Do you know how much I love you?

How much I need you?

Yes, like that.

Yes, I know.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

Notes:

imo, these lines from the poem this fic gets its name from perfectly capture how hotch and emily might feel after so many decades of close losses: "let's step inside a church and watch / baptisms, marriages, masses for the dead. / why are we different from the rest?"

there's relief in that question of "why us?" but also deep guilt - a concession that they've gotten more time together than they ever expected they would, and a desperation for more. "why us?" and it's to make peace. "why us?" and it's so they might continue to be able to cheat death.

Chapter 4: 18.04 | I'm Fine, It's Fine. Everything Is Fine

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Jack gapes at her.

“Wait. You actually said that to Tyler?”

Emily blinks once, confused by his response. “What? We were talking about losses. Is that not what ‘taking Ls’ means?”

His eyes widen a little before he averts his gaze to his pancakes, suddenly very interested in cutting them into smaller pieces. “I mean, sort of. But—it’s more of a joke, Em. You mostly say it self-deprecatingly or about something that’s kind of, I don't know, embarrassing.”

Deliberately silent, Hotch busies himself with his coffee, but not before she catches the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. The withering look she shoots him from across the table only has his smile widening.

“Like, okay, here’s an example,” Jack continues. “My friend Nick tearing his ACL before our tournament isn’t an L, that just plain sucks. Or Joanie getting dumped out of the blue, not an L. But if I, say, bomb a calc quiz because I forgot we had one and didn’t study…”

Hotch’s fork pauses on its way to his mouth, breakfast potatoes forgotten.

“…that’s an L.”

Emily raises an eyebrow. “You forgot a quiz?”

“Deflecting,” he murmurs. “Let’s talk about your thing again.”

Notes:

teen jack, they could never make me hate you!

Chapter 5: 18.05 | The Brutal Man

Notes:

without further ado, one of the main reasons I took on this fix-it in the first place: the mendoza convo. *dun dun dun*

Chapter Text

“You remember Andrew?”

JJ blinks at the apparent non sequitur. “Mendoza? Of course.”

Emily nods. Taps her hand once on the table, leans back. “Did I ever tell you why we broke up?”

“No, surprisingly.” Then, with as close to a cheeky smile as she can muster: “I always assumed it was because of Hotch.”

That earns her a laugh. “Yes and no,” Emily concedes. It’s true that no one could hold a candle to Aaron; even before they began dating, they had an implicit understanding of each other that was not easily replicated, no matter how hard other partners tried. “I thought he’d get it,” she continues. “I thought Andrew of all people would understand this job and would be able to help me when I was feeling stuck or like there were no good options, as there so often aren’t.

“But he didn’t want to talk about it, Jayje. Not ever. Didn’t want to bring the darkness of work past the threshold of the home. He was thinking of Keely, of course. As much as possible, he wanted to keep her from the horrors that we saw. But even when it was just the two of us, I’d feel guilty if something was weighing on me. The case is over, he’d say. You won. He couldn’t comprehend that it didn’t always feel like a win.”

Aaron could, of course. She’d caved one night, texting him after a drink or two about some case she couldn’t quite put to bed because of how unsettled it made her. It had been late, far too late for him to still be up, but she’d seen the three little dots pop up shortly afterward, indicating that he was typing a response.

I’m sorry, he’d said. You know I get it.

And relief had swept through her, dangerous and warm.

“Anyway, while I doubt it was Andrew’s intention, the end result was that I felt like it was a personal failing of mine that I couldn’t keep things at the door. But you never had to do that with Will,” she concludes, her expression softening at the mist in JJ’s eyes. “In him, you had someone who understood you for all that you are and all that you’ve been. Someone who knew you, heart and soul. You had the real thing. And the feelings that you're feeling right now? Will is the one who would help you through them. But now, no matter how many lives we save, nothing you find in this job is gonna make this better. And I am afraid that the grief will overwhelm you.”

She’s still thinking about their conversation when, in the one moment of reprieve they get after identifying Ronald Graber, she pulls out her phone to send Aaron a quick text.

Thanks for being the real thing.

She can already picture the furrow of confusion that’ll knit its way between his brows as he reads the message.

No bother, she thinks. She’ll explain the context when she’s home.

Chapter 6: 18.06 | Hell Is Empty...

Notes:

in which hotch is all of us seeing silver fox emily with glasses for the first time 😌

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“Come to bed, doe eyes.”

It’s late enough that she hasn’t bothered to check the time for the past hour or so, persisting even though she knows that, realistically, no amount of tired scrawling in the margins of after-action reports will meaningfully set her up for tomorrow. More than anything, though, it’s the moniker that has her glancing up from the files in front of her, a curious smile on her lips.

“What did you just call me?”

Slowly, Aaron moves through their dining room to stand behind her chair, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders as she tips her head back against his chest.

How many times had he met her gaze across the conference table or some permutation of jet seating and been arrested by the depth he found there? How many times had he seen, in her, his own rawness reflected back to him? Emily’s eyes had been one of the very first features of hers he’d been struck by, long enough ago that he shouldn’t have been struck by her at all. Yet still, he’d wanted this even then—to know her, be this close to her.

He never thought he’d actually get the chance. Yet here they were.

“Doe eyes,” he murmurs again. “I used to consider myself lucky that you didn’t know the power they had over me. If you had and you decided to use them to your advantage... well, I would have been done for. Your new glasses have me feeling much the same.”

Her smile widens, conspiratorial now. “Oh?”

They’re simple things, no-frills black square frames that she feels exceedingly neutral about. They serve their purpose; she doesn’t need them to do any more than that. But Aaron? He could go on about the way they illuminate the warm browns of her irises, highlight her cheekbones, make her look a new degree of distinguished.

“In that case, you shouldn’t have told me,” she teases. She cocks her head back toward the files she’d been perusing. “Give me five more minutes, then we can test your theory?”

He nods. Grins.

“Five minutes.”

Notes:

thank you to those of you who have been so effusive about this little project of mine. I made the choice to turn off guest comments after the last chapter, but I will say here - this has, from the jump, always been billed as a collection of ficlets. they are necessarily short, since they are appendices or in some cases rewrites of single conversations. if you do not enjoy short form content, no biggie - it's not for everyone! but it's what I treasure writing. attempts to make me feel bad for not giving you more "content" to consume for free will not work, sorry.

much love. 🖤

Chapter 7: 18.07 | ...All the Devils Are Here

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Don’t make me text that husband of yours.”

Emily’s eyes fly open, all traces of sleep instantly gone. “Excuse me?”

Dave chuckles as he moves from the doorway of her office into one of the seats arranged in front of her. “I said, don’t make me text Aaron and let him know that I caught you asleep at your desk again.”

“God, please don’t,” she grumbles, lolling her head back to crack her neck. “I got a lecture on burnout and taking proper breaks last time. From Aaron Hotchner of all people. Can you believe him?”

How many times had she seen him rise from his couch — her couch now, christened by naps of her own — and slip his suit jacket back on like a shroud? How many times had she stayed late at the office under the pretense of paperwork just so he wouldn’t be the only one on the sixth floor?

(How many times had he let her, knowing full well said paperwork was correct and complete?)

“Maybe you can teach an old dog new tricks.”

“Maybe he’s a massive hypocrite,” she posits instead, but her tone is thick with affection. “Be honest, did he deputize you to keep an eye on me?”

Dave just smiles. Pushes a fresh cup of coffee toward her with the flat face of his FBI ring. It’s not so dissimilar from a hundred coffee cups they’ve exchanged over the years, including one in an abandoned lot when they still hardly knew each other. Perhaps he’s thinking of that seminal moment, too, because when he speaks, his voice is far softer than is warranted for their impending conversation about disciples and arachnids and intergenerational rot.

“When have I ever needed Aaron to tell me to look out for you?”

 

Notes:

I am who I am, which of course means that there is a non-married hotchniss version of this in my WIPs where rossi lets slip to hotch that emily has been sleeping in the office more and more, and hotch — all too familiar with that pattern of behavior — stages an intervention in the form of a coffee date. and even though she knows she's walking into a trap, she can't help the relief she feels at the sight of him, an exhalation in and of itself 🥹

just three more episodes to go!

Chapter 8: 18.08 | Tara

Notes:

cruciverbalist gang rise up 🤠

Chapter Text

Emily’s heart is pounding when she presses dial.

“Hi, honey.” His voice is low and warm, an instant balm for her frayed nerves. She can picture him perfectly, scratching away at a crossword to wind down for bed. 18 down, a group of assassins named for the dagger they concealed in their cloaks: SICARII. 26 across, to spring on unexpectedly: AMBUSH. “You on your way home?”

“I’m not coming home tonight.”

“Em, you need a break—”

“Aaron, please just listen, okay? I don’t have much time. Tara was shot tonight and she’s in critical condition.” Her view of the highway lights goes momentarily blurry at his shocked intake of breath. “I’m on the way back from St. Colette’s to brief the team. Because she was targeted, I can’t rule out that the rest of the team won’t be, too, so I’m letting you know that I’m assigning a protective detail to the house. Shit, I should have one assigned to Jack’s dorm, too,” she thinks aloud, before shaking her head. “No, no, campus is nearly an hour away and nothing in the profile suggests they’d go after our families, fucknevermind.”

“Hey, hey. Breathe, Emily. Breathe for me.” Hotch inhales and exhales loudly, half in example and half because he needs it himself. “I’m still armed,” he reminds into her silence. 11 across, one temporarily holding a place: LOCUM TENENS. “Delegate our detail elsewhere if you need the manpower.”

“Not a chance.” More so than her words themselves, it’s her voice — the hollow ache in it — that leaves no room for argument. He feels it in the center of his chest, the same gnawing he feels on the days his brain is particularly unkind and asks if things might have been different for Haley if Sam Kassmeyer hadn’t been alone.

“Okay,” he says. Swiftly, softly. She’s seconds from goodbye when he cuts back in. “Emily, I need you to hear me say this: Jack and I are going to be okay. Tara is going to be okay.”

39 down, to will something into reality: MANIFEST.

He says it so fervently that she has no choice but to believe him.

Chapter 9: 18.09 | CollateRal

Notes:

psst - for best results, please make sure you have "show creator's style" enabled above.

Chapter Text

They have a system for times like this.

Hotch just needs proof of life, that’s all. A heart react or thumbs-up to his message, an unspoken promise of more words later. The time and effort required for the tapback are deliberately minimal; it's easily executed via the watch on her wrist.

Today, 9:41 PM

Aaron
I saw the Melgren shooting on the news. Tell me you’re okay when you can, please. I love you.

Five minutes pass. Ten.

Ten minutes is nothing in the grand scheme of things, little more than a blink mid-melee, but it feels like an eternity. Truthfully, he can't believe he ever survived the seven months she was in France, thirty thousand times his present wait. At least then he'd had Pakistan, the sweltering heat offering an insistent distraction.

Now he doesn't even have that.

Fifteen minutes. Twenty.

He's not the praying kind — what good has praying to his father's god ever gotten him — but the bubbling of his stomach is nonetheless reminiscent of upending a rosary into a jar, loose beads clattering against glass.

According to the Catholic Church, the preferred way to dispose of a rosary is to bury it. He doesn't entertain thoughts of burial, though, because Emily will be okay. She always is. She is sharp and capable and fierce, more so than anyone he has ever met. More so than he ever was.

He knows all of this. And yet, when his phone finally buzzes —

Today, 10:04 PM

Emily
Reacted ❤️ to "I saw the Melgren shooting on the news. Tell me you’re okay when you can, please. I love you."

— he exhales. Says a prayer in thanks.

Chapter 10: 18.10 | The Disciple

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

They eventually settle on Pelley’s, but not before Emily makes a mental note to talk to Tyler about his run-in at the Tin Cup.

Truthfully, she would rather be home. She has the next best thing, though, because Aaron is there waiting for them when they arrive, a first round of beers already ordered for everyone. Despite introductions and catch-ups, congratulations and condolences, he sticks close, something she loves him for even more. She needs him close.

Eventually, he asks her the question she’s been expecting.

“Have you told them yet?”

 

 

The number of times she’s said the words “I’m retiring” can be counted on a single hand. Even then, she’s only said them to Aaron, though she has a sneaking suspicion that Dave knows, too. He always seems to know these things, a sixth sense that extends beyond profiling.

There has long been a part of her that viewed retirement as a concession, a card to play when she had none left. She can hear her therapist’s gentle query: Is that how you feel, Emily? Whose voice is that?

(Elizabeth’s voice. It always is.)

Sure enough, she’s only held that judgment for herself, wouldn’t dare impose it on others. Aaron’s decision to retire, for example, had marked a triumphant beginning rather than the limp across the finish line she envisions in her moments of self-doubt. He was owed the respite; her, not so much.

But Will’s death forced a perspective shift. Only afterward was she able to see that retirement was a viable response to the presence of everything, not the absence of something: not a fold, but a full house, literally (more slow breakfasts when Jack is able to make the drive; another cat, maybe, some spiritual cousin of Sergio’s) and figuratively (coming back into her body for joy instead of survival; breathing life back into relationships that shifted when she took on the mantle of unit chief).

“Not yet,” Emily answers him finally, reaching over to twine their fingers together. “Today was a long time coming. I want it to stand on its own. I don’t – I don’t want to take away from that.”

Hotch studies her for a long moment. On the far wall of the bar, a game is projected onto the brick. At once, there’s a swell of cheering around them in response to the change in score, but his gaze never so much as flickers from hers. “Having second thoughts? It’s okay if you are.”

“No,” she says honestly, a fond smile tugging at her mouth. “I’ll just miss this.”

Luke and Tyler, bickering in the good-natured way of theirs she’s quickly grown fond of. Tara and Rebecca, in their own little bubble though they’re in the center of the fray. JJ and Garcia, walking back over from a game of darts, the former crowned champion as usual.

“You can still have it. They love you, Emily,” he says as if it’s the simplest thing in the world, “with or without the corner office.”

As if on cue, Luke lobs over a comment she can barely hear over the other patrons: something cheeky about Hotch hogging their boss, the two of them being too old to party.

“Oh, let them rest,” JJ chides with a lazy thwap to his arm. “They deserve it.”

Yeah, Emily thinks, her smile growing as she leans into her husband’s side. Yeah, we do.

Notes:

thank you all for your many, many kind words about this fic. we wander on is the first full-season fix-it I've ever taken on — fitting, given that season 18 is the first season I've watched air live since seasons 4-7 all those years ago.

if you enjoyed this journey, check out songs of innocence and of experience for an in-depth look at the moment I envision emily deciding to retire.

& let me know what you think in the comments below!