Chapter 1: From the Mouths of Babes...
a/n: Um, right. What happened here? I have no idea. I was going to write a quick one-shot based on a prompt from criminal_prompt, and next thing you know I'm writing a multi-chapter sequel to "Isn't It Wonderful?" Am I on drugs? No. Maybe they would help.
Anyway. Sequel to "Isn't It Wonderful," and if you haven't read that you're going to be very, very confused. It isn't 100% necessary, but you've been warned. :)
Disclaimer: Criminal Minds and the characters pertaining thereto do not belong to me. Thanks to Jeff Davis et al. for creating them and letting me play. :D
How I wish you could see the potential,
The potential of you and me.
It’s like a book elegantly bound,
But in a language that you can’t read…
Just yet.
-Death Cab for Cutie, "I Will Possess Your Heart"
Time plays funny tricks on a man’s mind. It had been six months since Aaron Hotchner had met the strange, ageless man who called himself Clarence. It had been six months since he’d had a glimpse of what his life would be like if he’d never lived it (as confusing and odd as that sounds…). Six months since he’d been touched soul-deep by an experience he still couldn’t begin to understand.
Six months. In the days and weeks since the moment he’d sat on his living room sofa and contemplated eating his gun, he hadn’t again reached that level of despair. Was it because of Clarence? Because of the things he’d seen in that…other…reality? Garcia thin and wasted and paranoid; his beloved BAU banished to the bowels of Quantico; Reid and Gideon dead; Morgan wrongly imprisoned…
The things he had learned and the memory of Clarence’s fathomless eyes still echoed through him like the sound of mighty wings stirring a phantom wind, and they affected him every day. He held Jack a few heartbeats longer than he normally might. He worried after his team like a mother hen. He savored every sunset; relished every breath. He knew it all was temporary. Fleeting. Ephemeral.
Clarence had taught him that much, if nothing else.
Back to his original point, though: time plays funny tricks on a man’s mind. It had been six months, and sometimes the memories were as crystal clear as though it had all happened yesterday, and other times…other times it seemed as though it had all happened to someone else, and he’d merely found himself fascinated by an interesting, puzzling tale he’d heard over too many beers late one night.
With a long sigh he splashed some cold water over his face and dabbed it dry with a towel. They were in Maine on a case, and the weather outside was miserable. Temporarily stranded at the hotel; Hotch felt like they were all trapped in a Stephen King novel. He was staying in room 217, even. (“The Overlook was in Colorado, not Maine,” Prentiss had reminded him drolly. “Hardly the point, Prentiss,” he’d shot back with a brief roll of his eyes and an even briefer quirk of his lips.)
Regardless. He’d learned from his time down the rabbit hole (as he often found himself referring to that strange, life-altering day) that everything happens for a reason. If they were trapped here for the night, it was because they were meant to be here. Though the rest of the team was restless, Hotch found himself feeling strangely serene and Zen-like about the whole thing - despite his ominous room number.
Remembering the brief exchange with Emily brought a smile to his normally pensive face. He’d been doing that more recently, too - much to astonishment of his team - and while Haley’s death sometimes still felt like a raw wound, fresh and newly-abraded, most of the time the ache of it was soft and poignant, like a melody played just out of earshot. He would never stop missing the woman he had loved for so long, but she still lived in Jack’s bright smile, his endless curiosity, and his unadulterated joy for life.
Speaking of…Hotch checked the time and grinned again; it was time to call Jack. He dialed the number, and was delighted when his son answered. “Daddy! Guess what? Aunt Jessica made us ‘sghetti for dinner!”
“Spaghetti? Wow, buddy, that’s great. How was school today?” His son always started conversations that way: he liked to lead with the highlights, and leave such mundane things as “hello” for amateurs.
“Super awesome. I made a really big tower with blocks, but then Billy came over and smashed it, but Miss Jodi made him ‘pologize. He did, and we rebuilt it together, which was better anyway, and then Josh brought a frog to show and tell, which was really cool…”
Hotch leaned back against the bed’s headboard and closed his eyes as he listened to his son’s joyful chatter. He made appropriate exclamations of surprise and approval as the story progressed, shared the boy’s horror at the idea of Brussels sprouts, and otherwise let the cares of his day get washed away by Jack’s perfect, innocent beauty.
“Daddy?” he said after a few minutes’ monologue.
“Yeah, buddy?”
“Tell Miss Em’ly I said hi, ok? Tell her I miss her.”
Hotch blinked in surprise. “Sure, buddy; of course I’ll tell her.”
“She draws great pictures. Hey, Daddy?”
“What’s up?”
“Maybe Miss Em’ly could be your girlfriend. I don’t think Mommy would mind.”
“I, um…” Hotch cleared his throat around the sudden thickness that clogged it. “You don’t think she would?” he finally managed.
“No, I think she’d be happy. I thought about it a lot.”
He found himself unsure what to say, but after a moment he realized he was nodding inanely. Frowning at himself, he cast about for the right words. “Thanks for thinking about me, buddy. I’ll, um, I’ll consider it, ok?”
“Ok. I miss you, Daddy. Come home soon.”
“You know I will, Jack. I love you.”
“Love you, too. Night!”
Hotch bid his son goodnight and sweet dreams before hanging up. His face was set in deep, pensive lines as he considered what Jack had just said. What his new life philosophy had been since the rabbit hole. Emily was his colleague; the Bureau regulations against inter-office romance existed for a reason.
He remembered with startling clarity his thoughts as he sat on that dirty street and looked up at Emily Prentiss the stranger. He remembered the way his heart had ached at the thought of living in a world where he couldn’t know her. Recalled in the here and now her smile, her laugh (the most contagious sound he’d ever heard), her warm midnight eyes.
They’d been spending a lot of time together outside of work since that first dinner six months ago. She’d become a bit of a fixture in his life and Jack’s. She hadn’t exaggerated her take out ordering skills, but she’d certainly underplayed her cooking abilities. Despite her protests to the contrary, she was a great cook…much to Jack’s delight, since his seemingly invincible father was easily defeated by such run-of-the-mill chores as boiling water.
Hotch’s smile was closer to a grimace as he reflected on his life the past six months. What would it have been like without Emily? And what was the point of everything he’d learned down the rabbit hole if he didn’t take his son’s innocent advice and let her know how much she’d meant to him?
Time does funny things to a man’s mind, but, Hotch reflected almost ruefully, it does even stranger things to his heart.