The Stars | Aaron Hotchner

Chapter 1: Gravitation

The sun always seemed to shine in Virginia, bright rays illuminating the vibrant colors of Autumn scattered on the ground and among the trees. The sun was already high in the sky by 8 AM, yet it was a chilly morning, enough that you opted to wear a beanie and jacket on your run. You hadn't been fit for a large part of your life, but things seemed to turn around as you gained stability working for the FBI seven years ago, which let you turn your focus on improving your personal health.

It had been a rough start, but you started eating healthier and cooked meals instead of eating fast food, you promised yourself that you would get at least half an hour of physical activity in every day, and you made sure you got enough sleep. All of these were problems in your youth, but you were determined to turn your life around and feel better about yourself. If it didn't help you mentally, at least you would be better physically.

You were determined to stay on this path of self improvement, so you had also started taking at least one picture of yourself every day to track your progress. You captured photos of yourself after the good and the bad, to remind yourself of how far you had truly come whenever you looked back at the evidence.

You were jogging to the sounds of your running playlist when you spotted Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner of the Behavioral Analysis Unit sprinting like Captain America trolling Sam Wilson ahead of you. You watched as he crossed the span of the park and accidentally started to follow him as you hooked a left onto the same street. It was tempting to jog past him, but he stopped to check his watch and you automatically slowed as you blurted the first thought in your head.

"Geez, I hope you're training for something," you called out to him as you pulled your headphones from your ears. "Or do you just do sprints for fun?" You blamed the rise of heat to your cheeks on the embarrassment of unplanned social interaction as he looked at you.

"No," you watched as his chest heaved, "I'm uh, trying to do this triathlon in February."

"Oh," your cheeks flushed further as you realized you must look a mess, all sweaty and out of breath. Not Agent Hotchner though, he made this whole workout thing his bitch as you continued being distracted by his simple breathing. "Oh yeah, the FBI one, you're an agent."

"Yeah," he stared at you with scrutiny and you still couldn't seem to catch your breath, "It is the FBI one."

You grinned at him, hoping to see behind the stoic exterior he was rumored to hold at work. "Oh, am I not supposed to ask if you're an agent?"

There was the tiniest tug of his lip, an almost smile. "I work for the Justice Department."

You forced yourself to not squirm as he still stared at you with a furrowed brow. It didn't feel like you were getting anywhere with him, but you didn't want him to know you basically stalked him through your job, so you selectively omitted the detail. "I, uh, I've seen you doing laps, at the 'Y' too." It was technically not a lie, so...

"And," you watched as his chest rose with his panting, "you're training for surveillance?"

No way. "Grumpy Face" Agent Hotchner made a joke? To you? Maybe you were getting further than you thought.

You couldn't seem to stop smiling, "I am doing a, uh, an autism triathlon." You ducked your head, the trivial fact slipping out before you could regulate your thoughts. "It's in January, but I'm not in as big a rush as you." His damn breathing was scrambling your thoughts, especially as you imagined it right next to your ear as--

"Well, I just have about 45 minutes a day. You know, between work, and home, it's hard."

You blurted out the first thought in your head as you thought about what else was hard, interrupting the end of his sentence as you asked about his biking.