~

"God, I've missed you Y/N." His hands wrap around your waist, his cologne fresh on his suit coat. He pulls you into him in a welcoming embrace, your head resting on his shoulder blade. His hands slide around you to meet your cool hands with his warm ones, as he grasps them. He's behind you, hugging you from behind now. You lean back into him with a smile as he rests his chin on the top of your head softly. This. This is what home feels like.

"Bambi, if you don't get your ass up in five minutes I am going to be calling that old man to come drag you out. Now get up!"

Emily's voice startles you awake with a gasp. You sit up, and you can almost swear you can smell his cologne. Two nights in a row you have dreamt of Aaron Hotchner. While you've spent the daytime looking at the portrait and googling things about him and his life.

"Jesus Em, you scared me. I was having such a good dream." You groan, reaching for your robe. A scoff comes from across the room, where you glare at your rambunctious friend.

"Oh yeah? Who's Aaron?" She asks, making you freeze mid-shoe.

"What are you talking about?" You ask innocently, hoping maybe she won't dwell on whatever she is about to ask next.

"Last night I heard you mutter the name Aaron and something involving the word Hot. Were you having a sex dream? Oh my God, you were. Who's Aaron? How is he hot? You nasty little-" She gets cut off by a pillow thrown by you directly at her face.

"I did not. I don't know anyone named Aaron, you nosy little b-" You also get cut off when the pillow slaps you back in the face as well. You spend the next few minutes laughing hysterically before Emily leaves to go down to the breakfast buffet the hotel offers. As soon as she's gone, you quickly throw on a flowered blouse and jeans, and hop back into the bed on your laptop. You open to the last page you were on before you fell asleep.

It's the hotel history, and you looked up keywords Hotchner.

Other than his stay in 1940, and that same portrait popping up again, you can't find much information on him. You sigh, starting to click off the page.

"Waste of my time. Total waste of my time." You complain to no one, shoving the computer off your lap.

But then, at the bottom of the screen, states something that makes your heart feel as if it were completely frozen. A news article dated from three years ago:

"Pictured: Former FBI agent Aaron Hotchner at the Grand Hotel Thursday amidst the investigation of the dollhouse murders." 

You click on the link faster than anything.

"Come on, come on, come on!" You snap, as your computer takes what feels like 16 hours to load up the image and the article. When it finally does, you feel your whole body go rigid other than a tingling feeling coming from your chest. Your hand shakes as you enlarge the photo.

There, stands a man right outside the press conference room you hosted in three years ago at this very hotel. Around his neck, lies a pendant. A blue jewel with diamonds around the crest. He has grey hair and brown eyes, though the eyes are hardened with a solemn look upon his face.

It's him.

"Come back to me, my darling."

The voice of the elderly man with the soft eyes those years ago echos in your mind as you feel like you're going to pass out any minute. This can't be happening.

Come back to me my darling? THE Aaron Hotchner, the man in the portrait, the man you've been infatuated over since arriving here, spoke to you? And said those exact words? You lean against the pillows for a moment, too overwhelmed to continue on your rather stalker like hunt on the internet.

What did he mean by come back to him? Why did he call you, a stranger, his darling? It all doesn't make sense.

You lean back towards the laptop, staring at that man in the photograph. Then back over to your nightstand where the exact necklace Aaron Hotchner gave you sits. You have worn it nearly everyday since the encounter, although you've never been sure why.

"This can't be real. This literally, cannot be real. I am hallucinating or something." You mutter, skimming through the rest of the article. The cold feeling in your chest returns, this time it feels as if someone reached through your chest and ripped a giant hole within your heart.

At the bottom of the article a statement reads:

"Update: We are saddened to inform that former FBI agent Aaron Hotchner died in his sleep at home the night this photo was taken. We ask our readers to respect his memory at this time."

He died the same night he gave you that necklace.

A new wave of determination strikes you, and you continue frantically with your research before Emily can get back and disrupt your thoughts with her rambling. You manage to find out that Aaron Hotchner had a nurse living with him for the last ten years of his life, to help with his daily activities. Her name is Daisy Wilson, and you find the address in which she resides. Much to your surprise and pleasure, you find she still lives in Michigan, only two hours away. You quickly scribble down the address onto a notepad, and rush to the bathroom to freshen up before heading out.

---

It has started to sprinkle rain as you pull up to the address on your paper. It is a huge, white colonial home with columns. It eerily reminds you of the hotel.

A quick few taps on the door, and a ring of the doorbell, your chest clenches as you hear footsteps approaching. The door opens just a crack, and an older woman peeks her head out cautiously.

"What do you want?" She snaps rather rudely, as you're taken aback by the hostility.

"Hello ma'am, my name is agent Y/N Y/L/N with the FBI, and I was just interested in learning some things about the agent you worked for years ago." You say smoothly, your lying game is perfected when working in the BAU.

"What do you want with Hotch?" She hisses, still not budging from the doorway.

"I just would like to hear things about his technique and his life. It is always an honor to learn about our elders." You lie, a smile on your face.

"Well I think you can shove your interest up your-" She starts, but stops mid sentence when her eyes become fixated on your neck. You self-consciously place your hand on your neck, grasping the pendant in your fingers protectively.

"Where did you get that?" She demands, opening the door a little bit more.

"That was Hotch's most prized possession. He would never allow anyone to touch it. It went missing three years ago. Where the hell did you get it?"

You look down at the pendant, then back up at the hostile woman in front of you.

"Aaron Hotchner gave it to me three years ago at the Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island." You say, and the look in Daisy's eyes changes from angry to sad.

"Why don't you come inside dear?" She asks, pushing the door open to let you through. Her whole demeanor has changed, as you nod your thanks and step over the threshold and into the home. To your surprise, the house smells faintly of a cologne.

"Follow me." You follow Daisy into a large room, with high ceilings and windows around it. An antique looking couch and chairs sit in there, as well as a big glass case with a model of the Grand Hotel sitting in it. It's beautiful. You immediately walk over to look at it. Every detail put into this model was perfect. From the details in the rose bushes to the stitching of the chairs, it was magnificent.

"Hotch had that specially made back in the 50s. That is also one of his prized possessions."

"It's gorgeous, I can see why. I wish I had one." You laugh awkwardly. Daisy doesn't join in. She sits down into one of the chairs, scooting it away from the one facing the windows with a pained expression. 

"Hotch died in that chair. He was sleeping and never woke up." She answers your thoughts, and it feels as if your heart might just stop too. You step away from the chair as well, eyeing it carefully as if Hotchner were to appear from the beyond and scare you to death.

"I was his nurse for 10 years. He left me his house and belongings, he didn't have any relatives still alive or anything of the sort. I was really all he had." She sighs.

"That was very kind of him." You say, looking at a small wooden chest on a dresser. It has golden flowers all around it, and a turn key on the top.

"That's yet another one of his prized possessions. The only other thing I can think of that's his prized possession is his favorite book. He read it dozens and dozens of times. Ah! Here it is. You may take a look if you'd like." You turn your gaze back to Daisy, as she hands a blue binded book over to you.

When you read the cover, another chill goes through your body.

It's titled Time Travel: The marvelous tales of time by Professor Regan.

Professor Regan was one of your psychology professors in college. He lectured your class on time travel all the time, no one in that class ever took him seriously despite him being an accredited author and college professor.

"Everything alright dear?" Daisy asks. It sounds strange to hear her being nice, when only moments before she acted as if she wanted to see your head mounted over her fireplace.

"Yes. Everything is fine." You say quietly, flipping through the pages of the book. Daisy gets up and walks beside you, but you barely notice. Your mind is racing as you flip through the pages. Multiple lines where highlighted and bookmarked at one point in time.

Aaron Hotchner was not just a stranger in a photograph anymore.

Soft music begins to play, and you snap your head up. The small wooden chest from earlier turns out to be a music box, with ballerinas dancing when you open it up. However, this isn't what caught your attention. It is the song it is playing. It's Smile by Charlie Chaplin, the instrumental violin version. Your favorite song in the world. It always would calm you after a stressful case, something about it would make you relax instantly.

"May I keep this book?" You ask, your mind rheeling. As crazy as it sounds, could you really time travel to 1940? Is that what this all means? To your surprise, Daisy nods. You quickly thank her and explain your hurry before rushing out to your car. You quickly put it in drive, and head out.

---

You arrive back at the Grand Hotel the next morning to a very pissed off group of yours. Derek insists that you quote "Got some", much to the dismay of Spencer. In reality, you drove all the way to Indiana, where you went to your college in order to speak to your old Professor Regan. After you found him, it took all of the convincing in the world for him to tell you about time travel and what it is about. He assumed you were screwing with him, until you pulled out your FBI badge. His tune changed rather quick. He even told you specific instructions on how to do it.

In order to time travel according to the professor, you need to isolate yourself from the real world. Lay out in a room with nothing in it reminding you of the present. You must be wearing period clothing, as well as a script. You are to repeat over and over that it is in fact the designated year you wish to be in until you feel yourself drifting away, and you're there.

How do you explain to a group of FBI agents that you literally plan to try and time travel in order to meet a man in a photograph?

Answer to that is:

You don't.