1You met when Aaron, half-distracted by trying to decipher Jack's handwriting on the shopping list, accidentally rammed his grocery cart against yours, broadside like two dueling pirate ships at sea. It was the rattling metal sound that jolted Hotch more than the collision. He quickly dropped the list and pulled his cart back. "I'm sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going. That was my fault."
Having just rounded the corner for a trip down the baking aisle, you looked unphased, saving your bottle of low sodium soy sauce but allowing your boxes of Pop Tarts and Little Debbie Snacks to get knocked around. "No worries. No harm done to me or my snacks." Rather than looking up at his face, you peeked into his grocery cart. "Your frozen vegetables and Eggo Waffles look fine to me."
No longer as ruffled as he was, Hotch checked his cart and nodded in agreement. "You're right. No harm done." He reached down to straighten a few things before picking up his list again.
It was then that you looked at him, while he was once more distracted by his list, brow furrowed in concentration. Clearly by his suit and loosened tie, he must have just gotten off of work and came straight to the store to do his shopping, less than an hour before it would close. Even though he was frowning, too, he was still handsome, clean cut. The attraction was immediate, but then you checked his left hand that gripped the shopping list, and that attraction intensified in the absence of a wedding band. Then you looked into his cart again, and you noticed that he lacked the typical bachelor food staples of a workaholic. He had canned vegetables, frozen vegetables, some apples and a bunch of bananas, jarred spaghetti sauce, pasta, Eggo Waffles of the Spiderman variety, a few fruit snacks and a box of chocolate Pop Tarts, the Danimal Yogurts…
A dedicated father. A family man.
"Shopping for you and your son?"
He looked up, that stern look still on his face, and if you were a lesser person, maybe you would have blanched and let this go. But you weren't. "Or sons, or daughters," you amended. "I'm just guessing based off of your Eggo Waffles. I mean, unless you like Spiderman. Who am I to judge?"
His face softened, just enough that you knew he wasn't bothered. "No, my son is a big Spiderman fan right now, though most days he prefers Captain America." Then he was the one peeking into your cart. "What about you? Grocery shopping for your children?"
You laughed it off, unashamed by your snack choices. "No, the Little Debbie snacks are for me. I get a sweet tooth late at night and this stops me from ordering pizza or something." You knew that if he could read grocery cart items as fluently as you could, he could tell that you were signal. Just to be safe, you brought your left hand up to your face, in case he wanted to check for a ring, too.
If he did, you didn't notice, but he seemed to see something he liked about you because he was suddenly offering his list. "Maybe my eyes are tired but I just can't make out what this says. Can you? Just below the apples there on the list."
Your fingertips brushed against his as you accepted the list. The handwriting was clumsy and cramped, written in a rush you'd say as you brought it closer under your nose for examination. "Uh, it looks like 'cosmic brownies' to me. Does that sound correct?" You passed the list back and a small thrill passed through you as your fingers brushed again.
"Yes," the corner of his mouth twitched as he agreed. "Jack has been asking for those in his lunch box."
"Well, you might want to take mine," you offered, passing the two boxes you had from your own cart directly into his. "There was a sale today and I grabbed the last two."
"Oh, I couldn't do that." He went to transfer the items back, but you pulled your grocery cart away, out of his reach.
"Don't worry about it; I have plenty of other snacks." Feeling playful, you decided to take a chance on him as you once again brushed against his fingertips as you took his list back. Taking your own pen that you used to mark up your own list, you quickly wrote down your name and phone number. "Here's a way you can make it up to me. Any time you're free and you can get a babysitter, you call me and let me know. I'll pick the restaurant."
He surprised you by accepting his list back without protest this time. There was a small smile on his mouth. "Thank you. My name is Aaron Hotchner, by the way."
Pushing your cart past him so you could grab a box of Betty Crocker brownies to bake since you gave up your Little Debbies, you smirked at him. "You have my name and number. Call me, Aaron."
And he did. It took a little over a week, but he did call you, apologizing for the delay. You let it go since you already understood that he was having to make time for you between his job and parenting. Still, you kept your promise, and you decided to take him to this Italian place you knew, assuming that was a safe bet since he had ingredients for homemade spaghetti in his grocery cart.
Once you were both seated and waiting for your dinner after splurging on a shared bottle of cabernet sauvignon, he admitted to you, "This has been recommended to me before, but I just have never had the chance to come here."
Swirling you wine in the glass, you leaned closer. "Does that mean you work too much or you haven't been on many dates?"
He chuckled quietly, and the sound passed through you like blast of heat on a cold night. You welcomed it, guessing that by the lines on his face, he's the not the kind of guy who laughs too often. "I work a lot, and I haven't been on a date in a long time."
"How long?"
Darkness passed over his face like a raincloud. "I can't remember, but it would have to be before my divorce. I'd say almost five years."
You set your wine aside, having guessed that he was divorced by the lack of a ring but the presence of a child. "Was it work that got in the way or something else?" Realizing the tenseness of the situation and that this was a first date, you drew back and hastily apologized. "Sorry, you don't have to tell me. I just figured, you know that since your job has already come up once or twice…"
"No, you're right, it was work." He didn't seem too bothered. In fact, he seemed while not exactly happy, but satisfied that you were having this conversation. "I loved her, but my job is very demanding of my time. So she asked for a divorce, and I agreed, for her sake. Even when we were divorced, though, the job still came between us." He looked down at his left hand, and despite the dimness of the light, you were barely able to detect the paleness of his skin on his ring finger. Aaron had only just stopped wearing it. "She passed away almost four years ago now."
Placing your hand over his in a gesture of comfort, you said, "I'm sorry for your loss. This must be hard on your son, too. Jack, right?"
Aaron nodded, but did not withdraw his hand. "Jack was young when it happened, but he still remembers her. Sometimes he'll ask about her." After a pause, Aaron straightened his shoulders and sat up again, figuratively shaking the conversation off like the hands of a lingering ghost. His hand turned over under yours, not hesitating to lace your fingers together. "I'm sorry we had to discuss that. I haven't really…talked to anybody about it who didn't already know."
"It's fine. We're getting to know each other," you soothed. "But now I am curious. What do you do for a living?"
With a little less vulnerability than he had before, Aaron almost recited to you, "I work in the FBI in the Behavioral Analysis Unit, or BAU. My job requires me to travel all across the United States and consult with local police or other law enforcement in order to find criminals."
Before you could stop yourself, you asked, "What kind of criminals? I'm guessing you don't mean drug lords or gangbangers."
Now he seemed almost apologetic. Aaron clarified, "Usually serial killers."
Instead of responding, you picked up your wine glass again and took a fortifying gulp. "So, when you say that the job continued to come between you and your ex-wife…I take it to mean that she did not die of natural causes?"
Though he was definitely regretful, Aaron did not look away from you as he answered, "That would be correct."
Air left your lung, but you weren't sure if it was an attempt at laughter or a sigh or an appreciative gasp at the taste of the wine. Inside your head, it was like all of your thoughts were categorized on pieces of paper that looked suspiciously like shopping lists. They swirled around and around like a tornado, and then they caught fire. You couldn't think; you didn't know what to think.
Aaron finally withdrew his hand from yours, lacing his hands in front of him on the table. It had to a pose reminiscent from his work, you were sure, when he was interrogating witnesses or possible suspects. "I know this is a lot… I can call for the check, if you want."
"No," you told him forcefully, and then had to forcibly soften your tone. "No, I'll be fine. I just…" You realized your wine glass was empty, so you reached for his and drained it dry. "I'm fine now. I promise. Don't let me drink anymore."
Once again, Aaron allowed you to reach for his hands, and you pulled them until you had one of each. You squeezed his palms briefly. "I am so sorry for your loss. Um. I just don't know what to say. But I can say that I understand how you're going to be busy, but we can still make it work. I work for an airline, so I travel a lot, too."
It was like you took a stack of bricks of his shoulders. Though Aaron didn't exactly brighten up, he did steer the conversation into clearer waters, and you were able to gather your thoughts coherently again. The rest of dinner was a dream, and by the end of the night you had realized that you've committed what was possibly the biggest mistake of your life. You'd fallen in love with an FBI agent, and you lied about your profession.
You were not a serial killer, but that was just a matter of semantics. Your job required you to travel all over the world and kill people for a price. You were a hired assassin, and you were damn good at it. This had been your profession for years, for more than a decade, and it was all you knew. When you were a teenager, you had normal jobs like cashier work at a grocery store, but then you just…fell into this line of work and you couldn't see yourself doing anything else.
Lately, though, as you've gotten older and realized that your joints ached for days after a hit, you had the realization that you could not do this forever. You needed to retire. And while retirement was possible since your job paid handsomely and you lived cheaply, retirement also meant loneliness. You had no one in your life. No friends, no family, not even neighbors since you did not talk to them.
The only person you might have had in your life was Brandon, a work acquaintance turned boyfriend, but you quickly broke things off with him once you realized how self-destructive he was. While you were both assassins, you were choosey with who you killed. Kids were a definite no-no. For Brandon, though, he didn't care. In fact, he enjoyed killing. You and him had collaborated once to take out a board of trustees for a corporation at the behest of a CEO. Brandon's kills were personal, the corpses mutilated. He made it look like a serial killer. It wasn't long after that you left him.
And you had been single for about three months until that faithful day you met Aaron at the grocery store, and there was just something so compelling about him that you liked him, and then loved him way too soon to be sane. But you did. You loved him, and you could picture your life with him and his little boy Jack, who you soon met and fell in love with, too.
You started taking less and less jobs, getting ready to remove yourself entirely from the underground life you led. You'd already started warning off some of your past employers, claiming that you were starting to have health issues that made this job unmanageable. Early onset arthritis for once, but also hypertension and stomach issues. In short, you were getting old. Most of them understood and quickly gunned for the younger ones who would take the job for much less than you would. You had a feeling that in time, you would be able to disappear from the assassin life altogether, and it would be just you and the Hotchner's as a family.
But the assassin life had a way of interfering all the same. You were in the middle of cleaning up from what you hoped would be your last kill when Aaron called you. You answered, still pouring bleach on top of the naked corpse in the bathtub. "Hello, love."
"Hi, honey." Despite the immense amount of distance between you two, just hearing his voice over the phone was enough to make your heart swell. "I've missed you these last few days."
"I know, but I should be flying back tomorrow, and then we have Jack's soccer game Saturday, right?" Once that jug of bleach was empty, you started pouring another.
"Right, I wouldn't miss it for the world." He sighs, then, into the mouth piece, and your ears prick. It wasn't just one of his tired sighs.
"You just get home from your case, Aaron?" You guessed, cradling your phone between your ear and shoulder. "Was this a really bad one?"
"Yes. This job…weighs on me. But I can't imagine myself doing anything else. I want to help people. I'm good at this," Aaron confessed. You had talked to him before about his job, about if the opportunity for a promotion would arise and have him safely in a desk job, though Aaron did admit he couldn't see himself taking it, even for Jack. His explanation was that if Aaron left his team, they'd still be taking all the risks and every time someone new was hired, Aaron knew that they might have a family, too. Working at the BAU wasn't exactly fair, but it was Aaron's home. This only solidified your choice to stop working as soon as you could, for Jack's sake.
Though lying to Aaron was easy, it still hurt when you did it, like now. "I can't imagine what you must see every day…" You lied as you looked over your shoulder at the bag of teeth and fingertips you collected from the corpse. Your client had been very specific about what they wanted.
"I'm glad you don't see what I do every day." Then Aaron's voice lightened up as he quickly changed the subject. "After you're home tomorrow, after work, I have something special planned."
"Just the two of us, or is this a family thing?" You asked, half-smiling, though he couldn't see it.
"A family thing." You could tell Aaron was excited. "Jack doesn't have school tomorrow either for a weather day, so it'll be just you and him while I'm at Quantico."
"Sounds fun. Maybe I can convince him to watch something else besides The Winter Soldier."
Aaron chuckled in your ear, warming you from the inside out. Just the sound was enough to make you forget at the chemical stench singing your nostrils. "Good luck. I'll see you soon, honey. I love you."
Even after a year, you would never get used to hearing that. "I love you, too, Aaron. Goodbye for now."
You bit your lip as you considered what the surprise could be. While you still kept your own house, you practically lived at Aaron's apartment. At one point you offered your home to Aaron, claiming that while Jack may have to transfer school systems, there would a yard that you could install a pool in, or Jack could have a dog. You could tell that Aaron liked the sound of that. Maybe he was going to tell you that he wasn't going to renew his lease, or maybe he wanted to be married.
As you finished cleaning the blood stains from the apartment, you were smiling, your mind definitely elsewhere, where your heart was. Just as you were getting ready to catch your plane, though, your phone rang again. This time it was from a number you didn't recognize, but that was a common occurrence in your line of work. "Yes?" You answered.
"Baby," a familiar voice started, "You always wanted me to call you 'Baby,' not 'honey,' so what changed?"
If you weren't such a professional, you might have gasped. Instead, you pushed those emotions aside and greeted flatly, "Brandon. Are you interfering with me job?"
"What's left to interfere with? You kill him, you've got the teeth and tips, you're cleaning up. How's your agent fellow?"
You were out of the door and on your way to the airport in no time. You tried not to think about the teeth and fingertips in your bag as your blood roared in your ears. It was hard to breathe. "What's this about, Brandon?"
All traces of playfulness were gone from Brandon's voice now. It sent chills over your body. "I heard you were getting out of the game, so I did a little digging as to why. Never thought you'd be one to settle."
"I wouldn't exactly call what we do a game."
"You're avoiding the important questions, baby."
Ignoring the taxi driver as you passed them a hundred-dollar bill, you growled into the phone, "You don't get to call me 'baby' anymore."
"See, that's where you're wrong, baby. You're always going to be my baby. We belong together, but you just don't see it yet. You think you can be normal with that guy and his kid – but you can't. You're like me. We're different. We're special."
You had heard all of this before when you first broke up with Brandon, but then at your encouragement, he had taken a string of messy murders that had him backpacking from Europe to Asia until he reached Shanghai. You'd hope the distance and time would take his mind off of you and onto another obsession. You'd been wrong, obviously.
But the sad part was that you used to believe what he was trying to convince you now. Your time with Aaron had changed that. After listening to him explain what he did and how he wanted to help people, even some of their unsubs, you knew you didn't want to continue doing this. When you'd tuck Jack in at night, sometimes by yourself, and read him a story, you couldn't imagine that the hands that held his storybooks were also the hands of a killer. You didn't want to be like this anymore.
"Brandon, I'm going to give you the chance to walk away from me and find some happiness elsewhere." You tried to placate him, to tell him what he'd want to hear. After all, at one point you did like him. You knew that this job led to different ways to cope and if Brandon wanted to relish the killing to fall asleep at night, you were hardly one to judge. "You can do better than me. I'm not doing this anymore, and I know that you'll never stop. Find someone who wants to follow your lead."
"I can change your mind, baby." This time it was Brandon snarling in your ear. "I promise you; you'll be the one crawling back to me."
"Goodbye." And you meant it.
Your flight didn't get in until late, and you crawled into your bed without a second thought to Brandon. You didn't think he'd try anything with you, considering he knew that you were good at what you did. You also had a feeling that since he found out Aaron was an agent, he might be too scared to come close. Brandon was always paranoid.
In the morning, you woke up to Jessica dropping Jack off at your house and after saying goodbye to her, you and Jack headed to your bedroom to go back to sleep. You slept easy again, warm and drowsy with Jack cuddled up next to you. You didn't realize that you'd been careless and had left the front door unlocked.
When you woke up again, it was nearly noon, and Jack had crawled out of bed before you did. You sat up and stretched leisurely before the sound of muffled conversation coming from your kitchen had you hopping out of bed in excitement. Jack was talking to someone, a man you judged by the deepness of their voice, and you hoped that it was Aaron who either came home for lunch or managed to take a half day. Once you reached the kitchen, where Jack was eating a bowl of his favorite cereal at the table, you recognized that the voice belonged to Brandon.
He looked up as soon as you walked in, and you saw a flash of longing in his eyes. "Well, hello, sleepyhead. You slept for a long time. Late night?"
"What are you doing here, Brandon?" You surprised yourself by sounding calm if not completely bored though that couldn't be further from the truth. By now you knew exactly what happened when Haley died, and while you were sure that Brandon could never touch you like that, you didn't want to cause a scene in front of Jack. The last thing you needed was for him to start asking questions.
"I came to bring you home, baby. You're not thinking clearly." He stood up and walked toward you, and though you wanted to run as far as possible from him, you were glad that he was putting distance between himself and Jack.
With Brandon standing directly in front of you, you checked over his shoulder to see that Jack was watching you both, placidly chewing his cereal. Leaning close to Brandon, you lowered your voice so that Jack couldn't overhear and start asking questions. "Leave him alone, Brandon. This is between you and me."
Brandon had no such similar concerns as you. "Actually, this is between you, me, and that agent fellow. He's at work, isn't he? Bringing home the bacon for you and your little…family." Brandon spat the word with disgust. "You're playing house, baby. Where's the fun in all of this when it can come crashing down in an instant?"
"What do you want from me?" You impatiently interrupted, no longer able to keep a level head anymore. "You want me? Is that all?"
"You make it sound so easy, baby." Brandon reached out and touched your face, and it was like he was erasing every caress that Aaron ever did to you. Your blood boil in your veins, your fingers twitched, but you remained as still as a statue for Jack's sake. "But I do want you. All of you. I'm going to possess you, and you won't even be happy without my permission." He raised his eyebrow at you. "You know what the alternative is, right? You know why you're going to let this happen."
Your eyes darted to Jack before you could help it, but you did know why. It didn't matter what Brandon might do to you; it's never mattered. You took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Give me some time to pack my things and we can drop Jack off somewhere safe before we leave." Brandon looked like he was about to argue, but you stepped into his space, taking his hand in yours. "Please just let me have this and then I'll be yours."
The pleased look on Brandon's face made your stomach turn. "Five minutes."
Immediately you pushed past Brandon. "Jack, please come with me, we've got to pack."
Jack was already finished with his cereal as he followed you. "Where are we going?" He asked, still half-asleep it seemed.
You ignored Brandon as you led Jack to your bedroom, his little hand folded in yours. "We're going to play a game." Once you were sure that Brandon wasn't following you, you told Jack. "You know how you work the case with your dad? You're gonna do that again. You know that one place that I told you was off limits for hide-and-seek?"
"Uh huh." Jack opened the closet door and pointed toward your suitcase. Thankfully, you had ditched your suitcase where your employer wanted it. This other suitcase was your emergency one, one that you hoped you'd never touch. You pushed the suitcase aside to show the small access door that led up to the attic. It was barely a crawl space; one you were well familiar with when you were Jack's age. This house was the only thing left from your parents, and you'd turned the crawl space into a panic room of sorts. That was where Jack crawled into now.
"You're going to caught to one hundred, and then you're going to use that phone to call your dad. Tell him to come home because you're working the case."
Jack nodded, and you hoped that he would never remember this. You also hoped that the soundproofing would make sure that Jack wouldn't hear what would happen next. "I love you," Jack told you, so sincerely, his eyes wide.
You nearly broke, but managed to hold it in. "I love you, too, Jack. Now scoot over so I can grab this." On your hands and knees, you pressed a brief kiss to Jack's forehead before grabbing the axe that you kept the inside of the crawl space. It was a fireman's axe, not one of utility, but made entirely of gleaming silver. Your dad had gotten it once he retired, and it was one of the few things you kept. Once you pulled it out, you hid the door to the crawl space with your suitcase again and shut the closet door.
With the heft of the axe in your hand, you could feel yourself transform into that person you were when you were working. In your head, you visualized yourself with a piece of rope, wrapping it around your middle and tying it off with a knot so you wouldn't fall apart. You pushed aside your emotions, smothering them down, and returned to your kitchen. Brandon had thoughtfully put Jack's cereal bowl and spoon in the sink and was washing them by hand, something that you suspected he did so as to hide any trace of himself in the apartment rather than a gesture of kindness. When Brandon heard your footsteps, he turned and froze at the sight of the silver axe.
"Baby, don't do this," he sighed. He was not afraid, but you could tell he was angry. "If owning you means killing you, I'll do it, and that little boy."
You didn't say anything as you raised the axe higher.
Brandon shut up, his eyes betraying him as he looked to the knife block you kept on the counter. Once his eyes were off of you, you struck. The silver blade cleaved his chest in two, cracking his sternum. He hadn't even had time to raise his arm in self-defense. Brandon gaped at you, and as the blood trickled from the corners of his mouth, he smiled. "Killing me doesn't change anything. You're…" he coughed and his blood sprayed over you like a misting perfume. "You belong to me."
Again, you were silent except for your grunt of exertion as you pulled the axe free. You swung it again and again, cutting Brandon down until he was on the floor in pieces. That rope that you always tied was frayed and unraveling now. Those emotions that you smothered flared up again like an errant fire freshly fueled. The anger that you hid away from Brandon was completely unleashed now, and you didn't stop swinging the axe until there was nothing left of Brandon except for a mess.
And even then, each swung was like ripping off pieces of yourself, you couldn't stop because this wasn't just about you. The anger was for Jack, was out of fear that you'd wake up to Brandon doing unspeakable things. So, you did the unspeakable first. You had paused to breathe, and heard from behind you the smallest of voices speak your name. When you turned, it was Aaron, who had gotten here way too soon, even if Jack hadn't waited to call him.
You blinked, and then you were able to see that Aaron was not really your Aaron – he was SSA Aaron Hotchner, pointing his gun at you, tears in his eyes. "Where's Jack?"
Something shifted inside you as your tried to put the pieces of yourself back together again. To Aaron, it looked as if every single one of your joints were dislocated and were slowly being popped back into place until you resembled a person again. He could barely stand to look at you with all that blood soaked down your front, staining your clothes and your hands, the axe dripping with it like a hungry, rabid animal in the midst of a feast interrupted.
You gestured with your axe, still unwilling to pry your fingers from the handle. Its weight did not register with you. "In my bedroom closet, behind my suit case. He's safe."
Aaron side-stepped in that direction, but seemed reluctant to leave you alone. He consciously did not look at the body on the floor. "Drop the axe."
"Aaron, love," you addressed him, and you shivered because suddenly you were so cold. The only heat you could feel on your body was from the rapidly cooling, sticky blood. Brandon's blood. Your brain told you that you were in shock. You managed to uncurl your fingers, but did not let go of the ask as you held it still in your outstretched palms in what was supposed to be a pleading gesture, though you were sure Aaron didn't see it that way. "How did you get here so fast?"
His head twisted, mouth tight. You could tell he wanted to tell you something, but he was holding back. He didn't have to say anything though as you watched his agents – his friends – trickle in behind him, their guns raised. They were all wearing vests, but Aaron wasn't. He must have rushed ahead of them.
"Drop the axe!" Morgan shouted at you, and you thought about how he was always a little distant from you when you hung out with Aaron's team at the bars.
"Aaron," Rossi said quietly, "Are you okay? Where's Jack?" Rossi had always been friendly. He had opened his home to you. He had told you that you were good for Aaron. You hated to disappoint him.
Jolted to action by Rossi's voice, Aaron put away his gone and immediately went to your bedroom. Once he was gone, you threw your axe down, unable to hold it any longer as it grew too heavy. Morgan and Rossi moved in on you, Rossi pulling out his handcuffs. As soon as he reached to clasp them on your wrists, your body moved.
First, you took out the clip from Morgan's gun, ejecting the round in the chamber. Then you took Rossi's handcuffs and placed them on Morgan, kicking him on the side of his knee so that he collapsed. You tripped Rossi, taking his gun away as you dissembled it as well, and then you were chasing after Aaron. As soon as he left your sight, you knew that it was over. That nothing you could say would change anything, but you still had to try.
"Aaron, please! Love, I can explain!" Though you knew you were the one speaking, the only voice you could hear was Brandon. "Please don't go! I love you! You're my family, you and Jack!"
You stopped at the door to your bedroom when you saw that Aaron was holding Jack tightly in his arms, pressing his face against his chest. You registered that Jack should not see you this way, but he could probably still hear you. Your jaw clicked shut with an audible snap of your teeth, and behind you, you could hear Morgan and Rossi, now joined by Reid and Emily.
Stepping aside, you let Aaron leave you without another word of protest. Once he turned his back to you, the strings that held you together were snipped forever. You fell to your knees and held out your hands. All you could see was the red of the blood. Morgan tackled you to the hardwood floor, probably retribution for your earlier actions, and with the coldness of the cuffs against the sensitive skin of your wrists, you finally let yourself cry.
That night, Aaron had Jack in his bed, afraid to let him sleep alone. He had been unable to attend your interrogation, but Dave had told him that you confessed to Brandon Holdenfield's murder as well as your profession as an assassin. An anonymous source had been the one to notify Garcia's office, flooding her computer with pictures of you and cold case files for murder. Aaron could only wonder what would have happened if he had gotten there sooner…or too late.
"Daddy," Jack asked, "Will you read this to me?" He passed him his worn and well-loved copy of Where the Wild Things Are. Aaron could remember all the times he would peek into Jack's room and catch you reading that to him, sometimes more than once in a single night.
"Sure, buddy." Aaron started reading it, needlessly concentrating on the task as he tried not to think of you. You were going to prison, though you'd probably be expedited for some of your overseas murder cases.
As Aaron neared the end of the book, he paused, choking on the words of the Wild Things as they chased after the little boy Max, sailing away on his boat. "Please don't go, we love you so…We'll eat you whole." Aaron let the book drop to the bed, thinking Jack to be asleep.
But Jack was not yet asleep, only on the verge of it. "Daddy?"
Aaron quickly thumbed away his tears. "Yes, buddy? Do you need a glass of water?"
"No. Does this mean you're not gonna get married?"
Aaron's throat constricted, not allowing for words or air for a long moment. Jack was fully asleep by the time Aaron could answer him. "No, Jack. It's just gonna be you and me, forever and ever."
