The Long, Lonely Road Ahead

The following events take place after Hotch’s divorce but prior to JJ’s giving birth.

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The Long, Lonely Road Ahead

Chapter Twenty-Nine


“Want a drink?” Aaron asked from the kitchen.
“I could use one,” I said. “Got any rye?”
“I’ve got… bourbon. Will that do?”
“It’s close enough,” I said, taking the bottle from him and examining the label. He handed me a glass with some ice in it and I poured a couple of ounces of bourbon into it. “Ginger ale was in the fridge?”
“Yes.” He pulled it out along with a beer for himself. I topped up my drink with mix and put the pop back in the fridge. Then I took a long swallow of the drink. He studied me over the top of his beer. “The bruises should be gone by the end of the week.”
“I was just thinking about them when I was upstairs,” I told him. He led me to the living room and we sat down on the couch. It was fairly late in the afternoon already and the snow, as predicted, was falling outside thick and fast. “The sooner I can forget about what happened, the better.”
“You need to talk to someone about what happened,” he told me.
“I’m talking to you.”
“Not me. A psychologist. Someone trained to help you through this.”
“I don’t know…”
“Terra, you need help to deal with this. You’ve been through some fairly traumatic events this week, including a near-death experience. I don’t think you can do it on your own.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” I sipped my drink, which was already going to my head. “It’ll have to wait though, until I’m back home in Vancouver. I’ve got to get through this next little bit of crap with the DA and see what happens to me, first, obviously… but if it all goes well, I expect I’ll be back home in a week.”
“When’s your return flight?”
“January fourteenth. I was supposed to hang out with Pen for about three weeks. Not that I have much to go home to at the moment, but it’s home, right?”
“I suppose it is,” he said, taking a swallow of beer. I shivered, thinking about the phone call and how alone I was in Vancouver. “Are you cold? Let me turn on the fireplace.” He stood and turned on the gas fire in front of us. It was immediate heat, but I was cold through and through. I sat back on the sofa, suddenly tired.
“I’m exhausted,” I said. “It’s like I can’t get enough sleep any more.”
“That’s stress,” he told me, putting his beer on the coffee table. “Come here.” He held out his hands and I leaned against him. “Sleep if you need to. You’re safe here.”
“I know,” I said, closing my eyes. He was warm and smelled so good. I didn’t want to fall asleep but I couldn’t help it. Within seconds, I was out like a light, asleep in his arms.

When I awoke, I was disoriented. I had no idea where I was or what time or even day it was. My heart raced with panic and I sat up in the darkened room. The only light was from the gas fireplace in front of me. I was on the couch with a blanket over me. I’d been having a nightmare again, only this time I couldn’t remember what it was about—only that it was terrifying and for some reason, I couldn’t speak out or make any noise in my dream.
“Aaron?” I said. My voice was rough and quiet, as if I hadn’t spoken in days. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Aaron?”
“I’m here,” he said, turning on a lamp next to the couch.
“What time is it?”
“It’s almost ten.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” I said with a yawn. “I can’t seem to help myself.”
“You needed it,” he said. “Dinner’s almost ready.” He gestured towards the dining room.
“You cooked?” I asked, getting up unsteadily from the couch.
“I did,” he said with a smile. “Not all of us have the domestic skills of a cactus.”
“I never said I was that bad,” I protested. “I can make Kraft Dinner. I can do my own laundry.”
“I stand corrected,” he said, tossing a salad in a large white bowl. “Can you set the table?”
“I can,” I said. He showed me where everything was, and I set the table in the dining room for the two of us. He set two candles in the centre of the table and lit them with a match. “Nice.”
“It is New Year’s Eve,” he said. “I figured we could at least try for some sense of occasion.”
“That’s a good idea,” I agreed, setting out two wine glasses and two plates.
“Can you open the wine for us?” he asked, handing me the corkscrew and the bottle of wine. I looked at the label. “I assume you approve?” he asked, amused.
“Oh, uh, sure. Looks great,” I said, pulling off the aluminum wrapping and sticking the corkscrew into the cork. “Like I know one wine from the next.”
“You really don’t care what you consume?” he asked, setting the salad on the table.
“I really don’t. I mean, sure, I can usually tell if something’s truly awful or if something’s really good, but mostly it’s just food to me,” I said, uncorking the bottle.
“Well, that’s a red, so it needs to sit for a bit before we drink it,” he told me from the kitchen.
“Okay,” I said, leaving the bottle on the table. “Anything else I can do?”
“I’m going to take the steaks outside to grill,” he said. “Watch the garlic bread in the oven so it doesn’t burn.”
“Uh, I’ll try,” I said as he slid on a pair of boots and a jacket.


He took a plate with two steaks on it and went out the sliding glass doors into the backyard. I stood in the kitchen, wondering how long the garlic bread needed before it was done. I decided to sit at the kitchen table and watch the bread through the glass oven door. How did I get here? I thought. I’m practically playing wife with this man and I’ve only known him a little over a week. Granted we’ve been through more together than I’d ever been through with Jesse… and he’d saved my life by killing Darrel. I wondered how many people he’d killed and then shook my head. I didn’t want to know. He slid the door open and came back inside.
“It’s cold out,” he said, shucking his coat and pulling off his boots. “The steaks should be done in a few minutes.” He checked on the garlic bread and took it out of the oven. It was already beginning to get very brown.
“Oh, sorry,” I said, getting up to look at the bread.
“You weren’t lying about your domestic skills, were you?” he said, ruefully. “Don’t worry about it. It’s still edible.”
“I was just lost in thought,” I said as he put the bread on the table.
“What about?”
“I don’t know. A bit of everything I guess,” I said. He stood in the kitchen for a moment, looking at me.
“I have to check on the steaks,” he said, putting on his coat and boats again and stepping outside. I watched him at the grill and wondered how he could do the job he did and still live what looked like a normal life. And then I remembered how his wife had left him and taken his son with her. He didn’t live a normal life, not really. He really wanted to, though. He really did. That’s probably why he looked like super-husband, when we weren’t even close to being married. Hell, I was technically under house arrest! There were police officers outside on his doorstep and here he was, grilling steaks. I was just a substitute for what he really wanted—his life back. His wife back. And it wasn’t likely to happen.

He came back inside with the steaks and we sat down to dinner. The food was delicious and apparently, according to him, not very difficult to prepare.
“I learned how to make a few simple things when Hayley and I were first married,” he told me, cutting into his steak. “She liked it when I cooked for her.”
“I’ll bet she did,” I said, stabbing a piece of tomato in my salad bowl. “I understand that a lot of women really like that in a man.”
“It indicates to them that he cares enough to take on the domestic role in a partnership,” Aaron agreed. “That they’ll be taken care of. That they won’t always be the one having to take care of their partner.”
“I guess. I never really thought about it. Jesse didn’t cook either, so we kind of just lived on take-out and KD and bags of salad. He always wanted me to learn to cook, but I kept telling him that was never going to happen.”
“How did you meet him?”
“He was in my Canadian Lit class at Kwantlen College,” I said. “I should never have gotten involved with him, but at least I waited until he was no longer my student. I guess he had an older woman thing.”
“You don’t look thirty-five, if that makes you feel any better.”
“I don’t care that much about it, really.”
“That’s unusual.”
“I know. Our society places a very high premium on staying and looking young.” I cut a piece of steak and contemplated it. “Jesse was ten years my junior and although he was cute and all, he wasn’t really what I needed.”
“Is that why you broke up?” He broke off a piece of garlic bread. “More wine?”
“Sure.” I considered my glass as he poured wine into it. “Jesse and I broke up because he was young, yes, but there was more to it. He wasn’t interested in anything but himself. I guess I picked up with him because he was good looking and he seemed genuinely interested in me at first. But I realized after a year of living together that he didn’t really care about who I was or anything about me. I used to leave for a week at a time to go hunting up near 100 Mile House, or up Island near Port Alice and he didn’t even notice I was gone.”
“Really.”
“Really. It’s hard to believe that someone could be so clueless. I would pack a bag and leave, and he would just be, like, oh were you gone?” I shook my head. “I have no idea why I stayed with him so long. It was just easier I guess. When we broke up, it just fell apart and neither of us particularly cared. He was just, like, I’m getting my own place and I was, just, okay, whatever. Y’know?”
“Hayley and I were together since high school,” he said. He’d finished his meal and placed his fork and knife by the side of his plate.
“Really?”
“Yes. I met her when I was a junior. She was in the drama club and I joined the club just to be near her. I ended up playing pirate number four in our performance of The Pirates of Penzance, and I was just awful.”
“I can’t really imagine you on stage,” I agreed. I sipped my wine and took another bite of my steak.
“I wasn’t very good, but I was in love,” he said, swirling his wine in his glass. His fingers reached for a wedding ring that wasn’t there any more, and he looked down at his plate. “We waited for a long time before having Jack. He’s going to be five this year.”
“Wow, really,” I said, eating a last bit of bread. “You miss him, eh?”
“I do.” He finished the rest of his wine and emptied the rest of the bottle into his glass. “I keep thinking I could have done something to prevent what happened. That if I’d some how been more observant, I would have noticed that she was so unhappy before she started to sleep with someone else.”
“Sometimes these things just happen,” I said. “I’ve been in a number of relationships… I mean, I’ve never been married, obviously… but I’ve had boyfriends who’ve cheated on me before. I know what it’s like to wake up one morning and realize that the one person you trusted to be loyal to you isn’t.” He looked at me, his face sad.
“It’s hard, but I still blame myself. I know I shouldn’t, that it wasn’t just my fault, but I know I drove her into his arms.”
“She made a choice. She could’ve waited for you. Or she could’ve told you she was unhappy and that she didn’t want to live like that any more. She could’ve done it so many different ways.”
“But she didn’t,” he said. “My father had affairs and no one ever talked about it. I knew he did though and I vowed that I would never do that to my wife when I was married. That I would be the best husband I could possibly be.”
“Interesting that the woman you married ended up having an affair,” I said. “I guess you’re more like your mother than your father?”
“My father died when I was fairly young—lung cancer—so yes, I suppose I would be more like my mother,” he said.
“I’m sorry. We have that in common though, too—my father just died of cancer last year.” “I know.” He shook his head. “This is getting too sad for New Year’s Eve.” He stood up. “Help me clear the table?”
“Of course,” I said. “Dishes I can do.”

We cleaned up the leftover food and put it away, then did the dishes and cleaned the kitchen. When it was all cleaned up, it was almost midnight.
“Look in the fridge on the bottom shelf near the back, would you?” he asked as he walked into the dining room. I did as he asked and found a bottle of champagne.
“Champagne! Did you have this from before?”
“I picked it up today when you were with Penelope for lunch,” he said with a grin.
“Really. You’re sneakier than I would have thought.”
“I’m a profiler for the FBI. Sneaky is part of the job,” he said, placing a couple of champagne flutes on the counter. “We’re about ten minutes from midnight. Did you want to watch the ball drop in Times Square?”
“Sure. I’ve never done it before,” I said, taking the glasses from the counter. He led me into the den and we sat on the couch. He put on the TV and we sat comfortably as some band I’d never heard of played for a huge crowd in the middle of Times Square. “Have you been to New York?”
“I have. My job takes me all over the country,” he said.
“I know. But have you seen the city?”
“I have. Hayley and I spent a week there before Jack was born.”
“Is it as amazing as people say it is?”
“It is. But you need to see it for yourself,” he said. The band finished and some announcer was talking to people on the street.
“Maybe I will someday,” I said, wistfully.
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t even know where I’m going to be next week,” I said and he shook his head. He turned to look at me, taking my chin in his hand.
“Look at me, Terra. You need to try and stay positive about this. I’m certain that once you provide the DA with whatever information you can, he’ll make sure you stay out of jail. So stop worrying about it, okay?” He took the bottle of champagne off the table in front of the TV and unwrapped the top. Then he worked the cork out carefully, and it opened with a small ‘pop.’ He poured us each a glass as the countdown to midnight on the TV began.
“10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5…” I held my breath and made a quick wish that the new year would bring some form of normalcy to my life, that I wouldn’t have to die, that I wouldn’t have to go to jail.
“4… 3… 2… 1! Happy New Year, everyone!” said the announcers on the TV.
“Happy New Year,” Aaron said, and we clinked glasses before drinking. He leaned in and kissed me, and it was so sweet I had to kiss him back. We kissed for a while and then broke apart to drink some more champagne.
“Happy New Year,” I murmured as he refilled my glass. “Let’s hope it’s a better year.”
“Amen to that,” he agreed, swallowing more champagne. He put his glass down and took mine from me. “Any New Year’s resolutions?” he asked, his lips on my neck. I settled back on the couch as he kissed me.
“Um… more of this?” I said and he laughed into my hair. “Okay, lots more of this?”
“Sounds good to me,” he replied, kissing me on the lips.

His body was warm against mine as I opened my thighs to let him lie between them. We kissed some more and then he pulled up my t-shirt, undoing my bra from the front. He slid my bra to the side, cupping my breasts in his palms, stroking my nipples with his thumbs. I sighed as he took one of my nipples in his mouth, his tongue sliding over it as he began sucking gently on it. I ran my hands through his hair, just enjoying the sensations shivering through me, the feelings he was generating in my nipples shifting every lower. I tugged at his shirt, pulling it over his head and breaking our contact just briefly. His eyes shined as he kissed me; I kissed him back and the sweetness of it was overwhelming. My hands sidled down his bare chest to the button of his jeans, undoing it and sliding the zipper down slowly. I could feel the bulge of his cock through his underwear and my hand brushed lightly against the tip. He groaned low in his throat, and undid my jeans in turn. They slid down my thighs, his fingers catching my panties at the same time and soon I was bare ass on the couch underneath him. I pushed his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his erection, and then pushed him up until he was sitting on the couch with me on his lap. I impaled myself on his hard cock, slowly, slowly, until our thighs met, my legs spread wide, my belly against his. He sighed and reached for my breast again; I held it towards him and he licked my nipple before once again taking it between his lips. We sat like that for a moment before I began my slow, inexorable movement upon him. The feeling of him inside me was so incredible, so fulfilling, that it was all I could do to keep the pace slow. I wanted more. And as the feeling built, as I moved along his length, I watched him, looked into his eyes, seeing more caring and… yes, even love than I wanted to admit. I closed my eyes and began to speed up, taking my pleasure from him, the wave of sensation overtaking me. I gasped, crying out and holding him closer to me as I came. His hips came off the couch and he thrust into me, harder and faster, but I met his movements, thrust for thrust until he came as well, taking me with him for a second time.